#i would be able to tell what's whose based only on the fucking fabric feel

[cyphyra]

me: -looking for an outfit to put on after showering once i finish mowing the lawn later- there's no way i ran out of fucking underwear, i dont shower every day and laundry's done every week, surely i have a fourth or fifth pair

-remembers i had a whole fight w/ my old man who kept stealing my new socks thinking, stupidly, that they were his because "uhhh ummmm they looked like mineeee"- ah. my old man probably yoinked my fucking underwear

[ohmysparkle]

🍑 filthy 🍑

🍑 🖤 🍑 🖤 🍑 🖤 🍑 🖤 🍑 🖤 🍑 🖤 🍑 🖤 🍑 🖤

🖤 pairing: Hyunjin x Reader

🖤 length: 2.6K

🖤 warnings: smut, impact play, pegging, anal play, femdom, crying.

🍑 🖤 🍑 🖤 🍑 🖤 🍑 🖤 🍑 🖤 🍑 🖤 🍑 🖤 🍑 🖤

He’s been needier than usual for a few days, getting whinier during sex, rubbing absolutely every part of his body against yours whenever you cuddled.

But you knew that you had to save these moments, since they were special occasions that couldn’t be repeated too often. Sure, you both enjoy sweet, sensual sex and lovemaking, but every once in a while something builds up in Hyunjin.

He says it’s all caused by you, his admiration to you, how proficient you seem with everything - you are his queen, his goddess. He begins to call you these things instead of princess and darling, as if on top of all the love he also worships you. He’s extra careful, when he gets in these moods, to say thank you for everything, to kiss you after every small gesture, to compliment you at every step.

And then it escalates, he’ll not dare touch you to start sex, but he’ll look at you with the most pleading eyes. He wants you to control things, to control him. He wants you to do filthy, filthy things with him and he’s willing to do anything to plead for his cause. Anything.

Today you are lounging about in your room, and Hyunjin takes a shower at an unusual time. You can only guess what he’s up to, but when you hear a whimperish grunt from along the sprinkling water you have all your suspicions confirmed. You have a little satisfied smirk on your face, as you begin shuffling your soft legs together in anticipation.

You make sure to slip on a matching set of undies before he gets out, just a simple mesh thing and a matching bralette, and get your little black box from beneath the bed and set it aside.

Hyunjin is nervous in the shower as he fingers himself, and he gets pathetically hard thinking how he’ll have to beg to you, how you’ll degrade him and hit him. He can’t help but let out a second mewl that escapes his breathy pants. He imagines himself looking up at your glorious body from his position in the ground, how you’ll use his body as if it were an object of pleasure - sure, he’ll gladly be that so long as it’s only for your pleasure. He likes it when you make him feel small, he feels like he is undeserving of you, and that he deserves punishment and pain and degradation until he is able to prove to you that he is good and deserving.

You’re so good, so so good, he thinks as he now plunges two fingers in his ass. He wants you to be angry and vicious, but you’re so loving and sweet that the only reason you do it is because of his begging and pleading. It’s all his fault for being so filthy and horny, he wonders if he can use that to make you angry today.

He pulls out just before he’s past the point of no return. One final wash, and he’s out drying himself and brushing his hair. Moisturizer, toner, leave in conditioner, deodorant. He makes sure to smell and feel good for you. Once the mirror is clear of some steam, he takes one final look at himself. Running his hands over his toned abdomen, and turning around to spread his cheeks and catch a glimpse of his pink and puffy hole in the reflection. He grabs a tiny towel and wraps it around his waist before he heads into the room.

You’re laying on the opposite end of the bed, on your side so that your waist and hips form a beautiful snake like figure, and your looking at him like some panther whose about to pounce. Your eyes are all dark and lusty, your nipples are stiff and poking through the transparent fabric that pulls them at a beautiful angle. All he can do is walk up to the edge of the bed and kneel in front of you, keeping his fearful face just inches away from your sultry stare.

“What were you doing in there?” You ask him. You’re resting your weight on one arm and the other roams over your body, your thighs, your ass, your tummy, all slow and sensual, as if you had not the slightest urgency or care in the world.

He won’t lie to you, he’s shameless. “I was touching myself.”

You turn to lay on your abdomen, propping yourself up on your elbows, and face him directly. “And how did you touch yourself?” You ask as you tuck one wet strand of hair behind his ear and stroke his face with the back of your finger.

“I fingered myself.”

“Did you cum?”

“No, I was hoping you would help me with that.” He says, and his resolve cracks a little and he’s looking down now, avoiding your eyes.

You sit up and settle in the end of the bed so Hyunjin’s figure is between your dangling legs. You cup his face so he looks up at you, but your affection is almost mocking him, laughing at his pitiful arousal. But you admire his pretty pleading face, and stroke his hair back gently before yanking it back at which he releases a yelp.

“And why should I?”

“Because I’m a good boy.” You hated being this mean, he really was a good boy. You don’t say anything nice but you lean down to his angled head, fingers still gripping his hair and your other hands tracing the column of his throat and you give him a slow, deep kiss. You really are a good boy, you say with the gesture, and it almost breaks your heart to get up and walk away from him, leaving him hazy and disoriented.

You settle a harness on your hips and insert a dildo, 10 inches should do since your boy is a champ, and you bring a bottle of lube along with you.

He’s waiting on the ground, trailing you on his knees and he looks up at you like a little pet on the floor, looking for his master’s acknowledgment. You stroke his dark hair back once more as he bats his eyelashes slowly, making the prettiest faces he could to be beautiful for you.

“Such a shame, you’re so pretty... yet you’re going to be crying and screaming soon. You’ll be all messy...” You mindlessly muse. He feels his cock twitch against the fluffy towel that still hugs his hips, and the hole in his ass feels horribly empty.

“You gonna be good?” You ask, and he obediently nods and presses a kiss to the wrist of your hand which cradles his head. “Then suck.”

It’s a pretty sight, you wish you could feel what those lips feel like wrapped around a cock, but for now you enjoy the visual stimulation and you let it arouse you. He begins at the top, grabbing the base of the pink cock, and sucks it. He never breaks eye contact, he looks up at you with his expressive eyes, acting all pretty and seductive, arching his back out as he sucks. He swirls his tongue around, and lets his plump lips tease at the head, sometimes he sticks his tongue out and rubs the head of the dildo back and forth over it. Such a tease.

“More.” You gently demand, nudging at the back of his head so it comes closer to your hips, “unless you want me to fuck you with a dry cock.”

Hyunjin takes in the head past his teeth. It’s a bit girthy, but he can still manage a few inches in his mouth. You let him adjust for a moment before you decide to thrust your hips into his face, making him gag and pull back to cough, his lips still connected to the dildo with a glistening string of saliva.

“More.” You simply demand. And he crawls right back to you and eagerly takes more. He grips at the base to set a cutoff and takes in everything from that to the tip, it’s about half of the pink phallus and he chokes a little but slowly goes until it’s settled in the back of his throat. He places one hand on your hip, urging you to fuck into his mouth, and so you do. You watch him as the pretty wet noises and gags leave his mouth, the discomfort of the sensation leaving him so vulnerable, and he begins to bob his head to meet your movements. Eventually, he lets go of the base and slacks his jaw, and you cup his head with your hands and fuck into him. He gags even more now and every handful of thrusts you pull out to let him breath and he gasps in breaths as if he had been drowning, then gets right back in, desperate for more. His eyes water, and his lips shine with a generous coating of his spit that spills with every few smacks of the dildo.

Eventually you pull out all the way, and his chest heaves as he looks at you with expectation. He looks so messy already, but you want more. You lean down to his face, swipe some of the leftover saliva on his chin and dap it on the dildo. He’s quick to wipe the rest of it off with the back of his hand, making himself presentable just in case you’d grant him another kiss. You do, just one. It’s what you always do between these steps to reassure him.

“Get on the bed baby, show me just how well you fingered yourself.”

He immediately crawls about with long and desperate limbs and tears the towel from his hips. He gets on all fours but then rests his weight against his head and shoulders so he can reach back and spread his buttocks, showing you that beautiful little hole. He’s not gaping, but you press a finger to the ring and notice that he is comfortably loose. You run your hand over his ass, it feels so soft and warm and his skin is spotless - a perfect blank canvas for you. You play with the two mounds, eventually roaming over his back and thighs too. He gets back on all fours, with arms stretched out and his spine arched, so that his ass sticks up, and his waist dips beautifully leading to his broad and muscular shoulders. You lean over him and press a kiss to one side of his back, while brushing his hair neatly since you’ll want to see his face when you make him collapse in pleasure.

Before adding lube to the dildo, you reach in between his legs and give his cock a few tugs, as well as kneading his balls. He was all firm already and it springs back when you let go, earning a whine from him and a chuckle from you.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes mistress.”

“Tell me how ready you are.”

“I fingered myself a lot so I’d be ready for you to fuck me, but I didn’t cum because I only want to cum when I’m with you.” He pleads.

“Awww... poor little baby, so desperate for me... so loyal and obedient.” You coo, but there is still mockery in your voice. You position yourself behind him, standing beside the bed as his knees rest in the edge. you let the head of the cock sit atop his anus and you feel him suck in a breath, you slap his ass once so he stays still while you later his hole and your cock with lube.

“Don’t move.” You warn.

“I really need you mistress, please.”

“Yes, and you won’t move or I won’t fuck you.” Spank! He yelps, and you can’t wait until those noises start up.

You rub the cock between his cheeks so that the lube coats it all around, before grabbing the head and pressing it into his ass, guiding it until he’s past the bottom ridge of the head. He whines and shudders, he really is trying to stay still.

You give short thrusts around the middle of the length, and he seems to be taking it easily enough. You press the rest into him slowly and thrust back every time you feel resistance in order to slowly ease him into it, but you know he’d be fine if you thrust it all to the hilt with no regard for the pain, so that’s exactly what you do for the last few inches and he screams. His arms give out in surprise but he’s quick to pick himself back up and you begin to roll your hips at a more consistent pace.

“Do you like having me in your ass, little prince?”

“Yes mistress, yes!”

You add more lube for safe measure and thrust it in once more, you grip his hips in the grove between his thighs and his pelvis and you snap your cock harshly against him now. He whines out, moans wantonly in high pitches and eventually screams. You love grabbing at whatever bit of soft flesh you can find to grind him against your hard movements.

You notice a point of particular desperation in his cries and you slap his ass harshly. “Touch yourself” you cry out, and as he begins to tug desperately on his cock you grow hysterically aroused and take that out in his ass by thrusting hard, slapping your pelvis as hard as you can while watching how his hole absolutely swallow the entire length of the dildo.

“You’re fucking filthy, look at how fucking sloppy you’re ass is.” You said as you rubbed some of the lube over his groove and the crests of his cheeks. You didn’t mean it, really, the sight was beautiful. “Look at you... so pathetic and desperate to get your ass fucked.”

With the way his body jolts and squirms around, you know he’s come. And in the aftermath you slowly ease him down as his whines fade into tired breaths. He colapses on the mattress, limbs going limp, and the dildo slips out of him with a little pop and flick. He still squirmed a bit until his legs fell off the side to the floor and his reddened bottom was bent over the edge of the bed. You spread him open to see how his hole fluttered and clenched, and you kissed one of the dry parts of his cheeks.

“Mommy...”

“Hmm...?”

“More please, please please please...”

And so with that you knelt behind him and dove right back in fucking him until the tears ran from his eyes and he spilt over the sheets a second time. His body was completely limp and exhausted, and he sobbed and whined loudly in ways that made your core throb and ache. Your hands roamed all over his waist and back, soothing him through and even more intense orgasm before you pulled out of him to remove the harness.

You managed to sling him back on to the bed, his perky and abused ass facing upwards, and you draped yourself over his figure, feeling his skin on yours, and hushing him until he was out of his dreamy daze. When he begins to compose himself you kiss his face and he grips around in search for one of your hands, locking his fingers with yours.

“Am I really filthy?” He asks, and there’s a bit of sadness in his voice. You kiss his temple, his shoulder, and his hand that you hold before answering.

“Sometimes... but I love it. You know I don’t mean those bad things I say...” you comfort him with sincerity, “I adore you, all of you. Everything you are is precious.”

His eyes open and meet yours. “I love you.”

[mypoisonedvine]

Making Ends Meet | dark!Mandalorian x reader

summary: you’re just a simple woman trying to make your way in the universe, with the universe’s oldest profession.  unfortunately for you, a new customer doesn’t plan on going easy on you.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: smut (dub con), kidnapping (?? kinda), prostitution, rough sex, pain kink, lots and lots of degradation, ooc mando being a meanie

please do not read if this content would be triggering or upsetting for you, dark fics aren’t for everyone and it is your responsibility to manage your own content consumption

If you were going to have any hope of making rent this month, you needed to book someone tonight— and not a cheapskate who’d try to stiff you after he’d already stiffed you, no, you needed a big spender, a high roller.  You needed somebody who had extra credits to throw around and wore it on his sleeve.

You needed a guy like the one who had just walked in— with beskar on his sleeve.  That’ll do quite nicely, you thought to yourself as you watched the Mandalorian cross the room to talk to the bartender.  

Seemed like he was here on business, unfortunately, from the way he didn’t even venture a glance at you or any of the other women skulking about; but then again, you couldn’t be entirely sure where he was looking with that big helmet covering his face.  It might not be the easiest sell, but you were determined to get this guy for the night— and, more importantly, his money.

Walking up to the bar with your best sultry saunter, you leaned in beside him and smiled as he turned his head to look at you.  "Hey," you purred.  "Haven't seen you around before.  We don't get a lot of new faces around here… even when they're hidden."

He didn't say anything, which was a little concerning, but his head tilted down a bit as if he was looking at your body, which was a good sign.

“What brings you to Tatooine, hm?  Business…” you trailed off as you ghosted your fingertips over his armor-clad forearm, “or pleasure?”

“Business is my pleasure,” he informed you sternly.

“And pleasure is my business,” you countered with a smirk.  Before you could say anything else, the bartender returned with a sack in his palm that he tossed into the Mandalorian’s hands, something metallic jingling inside.

“For a job well done,” he explained with a crooked, toothy smile, “as promised.”

“Payday, huh?” you noticed, your tongue darting out to wet your lips.  “Never comes often enough, amirite?”

Your quip was met with tense silence as he slipped the bag into a sack at his waist.  He turned to leave, but you reached out for his shoulder and stopped him.  

“Wait,” you requested, desperation starting to taint your tone of voice.  He spun and faced you again, and you tried to keep your body language relaxed and sensual in spite of your stress.  “What are you gonna spend all that on?”

“My ship,” he decided after a quick moment.

“Why not spend it on yourself?  You must be tired after working a long, hard day,” you sighed sympathetically, stepping a little closer.  “Why don’t you stay a bit longer and take a moment to relax?”

It didn’t seem like he knew what to do with that, and you motioned to a wide, cushioned chair nearby.  Amazingly, it worked; he walked to the chair with that swagger of his, the blaster at his hip suddenly so much more obvious with the way it swung with every step.  As soon as he sat down, you put a leg up beside him, straddling him slightly but leaving enough space to (hopefully) have him wanting more.

“You must be getting hot under there,” you smiled, making sure the double entendre was obvious.

“Maybe I am,” he shrugged.

“All this heavy armor... does it get uncomfortable?”

“I’m comfortable,” he denied.

“Good,” you purred before biting down on your lip as you rubbed his chest— or, rather, his chestplate.  “You know, I’ve heard that Mandalorians are even harder underneath the steel.”

He paused a little before he answered.  “Only in a few key places,” he finally replied, his gloved hand reaching to brush over your thigh.  You grinned, knowing you finally had him.

“Why don’t you come to my room and show me?” you suggested.

“I imagine your time isn’t free,” he observed.

“Fifty credits for an hour, or a hundred for the whole night,” you enumerated.

“That’s a little steep,” he noted with a tone of irritation.

“It’s my price,” you shrugged, “take it or leave it.”

“I’ll leave it,” he decided, shoving you back and standing up to leave.

“No, wait,” you blurted out, “eighty for the night.”

“I don’t have all night,” he informed you sternly.  “Twenty for the hour.”

“Twenty?!” you squawked.  “What kind of girl do you take me for?”

He grabbed your wrist tightly, suddenly, and pulled you into him.  “A whore,” he answered with a rough growl, “and apparently not as cheap as you look.”

You swallowed dryly, irritated by his attitude but desperate for the cash you knew he had.  “How often do you come through Mos Eisley?” you asked quietly.

“As rarely as I can manage,” he replied.

“If you pay a hundred now, I’ll be here every time you come in, for as long as you need,” you offered.  “Standing order, permanently.”

It was difficult to negotiate with someone whose face you couldn’t see: you weren’t sure if the silence was him considering it, or just watching you squirm in his grasp for fun.  

“A hundred,” he repeated slowly, “for whatever I want.”

“Whatever you want,” you nodded quickly.

“Whenever I want,” he added.

“Whenever you want.”

He let go of your wrist and you stumbled back, rubbing the sore skin with your other hand.  “Show me to your room,” he requested suddenly.

You led him back behind a few tattered curtains, past the hall and up the stairs to your cramped apartment.  It wasn't much, but the red silk draped everywhere and the incense burning in the corner certainly set the mood for the work you did.  Your door slid shut automatically behind him, and normally this is the part where he’d kiss you or you’d kiss him, but that was sort of impossible in his current state.  With an awkward pause, you waited for him to undress.

“Take off your clothes,” he instructed instead— and it was even more dominant than you expected, but you were happy to oblige as you untied the strip of fabric keeping your flowy tunic together, letting it fall off of your shoulders and onto the floor.  You didn’t have anything else on, just for the sake of simplicity, and he said nothing as he stepped forward until he was just inches away from you.

He quickly disposed of his gloves to touch you with his bare hands; his rough, warm skin over your waist and hips and breasts was a strong contrast to the worn leather, and even moreso to the hard, cold beskar.  His skin was tan, especially considering that it rarely saw the sun, and you let yourself imagine what the rest of him would look like based on that long with the subtle dusting of dark hair that extended from his arms.  Of course, in your mind, he was stunningly gorgeous, because it was more fun for you that way.  The way he spun you around quickly and forced you to bend over the edge of your bed made you realize he wasn’t as interested in your fun, though.

You yelped a little at the unexpected force, and again when he slapped your ass out of nowhere.  

“You’d better make it worth my while, after I paid a hundred credits,” he grunted.

“Of course,” you agreed quickly, looking back to see him slipping to fingers underneath the edge of his helmet.

“Don’t turn around,” he growled.  “Don’t look back.”

“Okay,” you nodded nervously as you whipped your head back to face in front of you, staring diligently at the dark red comforter beneath you, “I— I won’t.”

You heard the rustle of clothing and a sigh of relief— noticeably one not modulated through the helmet speaker.  Unceremoniously, his helmet was tossed down onto the bed beside you, bouncing and rolling a bit before it found purchase on your quilt.

Next must have been his trousers, as you heard his heavily-equipped belt fall to the floor just before the subtle little grunt you’d come to know as the sure sign that a man had freed a throbbing cock from the confines of his trousers.  He roughly kicked your legs apart, grabbing your hips and using them to hold you up as he started to grind his bare cock against your slickened folds.  You could tell by the way his shaft spread your lips that you had no chance of taking him— he was too thick, you couldn't even tell how long he was yet but he was definitely too thick.

He must have realized something similar, because he pushed you forward a bit; you realized he was looking down at your pussy, which made your face burn with embarrassment.

"Get yourself wet for me," he instructed firmly.  

You didn't think you would ever be able to get wet enough to fit him.  "How?" you asked.

"I don't care how, just do it.  You have thirty seconds."

You gasped a bit but shoved your hand between your legs and frantically rubbed your clit— it didn't really feel that good, with the pressure and fear overwhelming your senses instead of pleasure.  And he didn't make it any easier on you by literally counting each second.  You got a bit wetter, sure, and you'd already been turned on from earlier, but it was still not gonna do you much good against the monster he intended on putting inside you at any moment.

"Fifteen," he continued counting, his voice dropping so much deeper all of a sudden.  "Fourteen."

Halfway out of time already and you weren't that much more wet than when you started.  Your mind was racing with thoughts of everything sexy you could manage to conjure— his voice did help, the deep timbre reverberating right up your spine as anxious fear started to blend in with forced arousal.  You tried to focus on the ways that being fucked by a faceless, mysterious stranger was sexy, rather than the ways it was terrifying.

"Ten," he counted, his voice changing as you heard him smile— you weren't sure how you could hear it, but you could.  "There you go, I can see it now."

You whimpered a little, the sound catching in your throat as fingers suddenly teased your entrance, not quite pushing in but threatening to.  As they swirled around your folds, a lewd wet sound filled the air, mixing in with your heavy breathing and his dark chuckle.

"You hear that?" he asked, and you nodded quickly.  "Just a few seconds left, make them count."

Rubbing faster, you felt your hips start to rock of their own volition, similarly to the way your walls were clenching around nothing in search of being filled.  

"Three, two, one," he finished as you felt the thick head of his cock start to push against you.  You dropped your hand, knowing you'd need both to stabilize yourself.  "You want it?" he asked roughly.

"Yes," you answered, your voice coming out weaker than expected.

"Beg for it," he instructed coldly.

"Put your cock in me, please—" was all you could get out before the words stopped in your throat as he suddenly pushed in.  You were barely processing the first inch as he barreled past your resistance to shove the next few in.  It already felt like you would run out of room inside your body before he ran out of cock.

"F-fuck," you hissed, "slow down.  You're too big."  You hoped maybe he'd take pity on you if you phrased it as a compliment.  You were wrong.

"You're a whore," he reminded you, "can't you take it?  It's all you're good for, anyways."

That got you to shut your mouth as he thrust himself completely into you, finding the end of you easily with the head of his cock while your hands clutched the bedsheets for dear life.  You winced but managed to suppress a cry as he started to fuck you, not quite fast yet but so much deeper than your brain could process.  "Ffffuu-uuck," you stammered, the sting starting to fade but the overwhelming pressure never really letting up.

"How's it feel?" he asked, almost sounding like he could moan but holding back.  "Don't lie."

You realized, then, that he didn't want you to fake pleasure like most clients did— he wanted to see your pain, and know he caused it.  He enjoyed hurting you.  You swallowed the lump in your throat and whimpered your honest reply: "Hurts."

"Good."

His balls slapping against your clit only added to the overwhelming sensations you were trying so hard to ignore, pain and pleasure becoming indistinguishable all of a sudden.  You could tell your walls were clamping down on him as pressure built in your gut and threatened to push past the point of no return.  Your moan was so much louder than you expected it to be, broken and guttural and animalistic. 

He pulled your hair roughly, making you yelp.  “That’s right,” he instructed through his teeth, “fuckin’ scream for it.”

“Fuck!” you sobbed loudly.  

He leaned forward and it felt like his body would surround yours, somehow, especially when he reached down to roughly grope one breast and then another.  He never stopped thrusting through it all, even when his head fell exhaustedly between your shoulder blades— it was so odd to be able to feel his forehead and hair on your skin but have no idea what his face looked like at all.

The telltale signs of orgasm were arriving in your body— your thighs quivered, your voice cracked, your walls and clit throbbed with need.  It felt like you could read every detail of his cock inside your silky wet heat, like the ridge of his leaking head was rubbing up against your swollen g-spot with every thrust.  You felt as if being so full of him had forced you to vacate your mind, too, to accommodate his size— as if that were possible.  

Either he sensed your peak approaching as well, or he just had convenient timing.  "Wanna feel you come around it," he grunted.  "Can you come for me?  Or are you completely useless?"

“‘M close,” you warned him as your answer, shame sending a shiver up your spine even though you felt guilty for it.

“Then come,” he ordered, “right fuckin’ now.”

It was odd how that actually did push you over the edge, his brutal thrusts and degrading words creating a perfect storm inside you as the friction became too much to bear.  You sobbed as it wracked through you, arching your back absent-mindedly, clenching your legs together as best you could with his legs in between them.  He didn’t stop fucking you through it, which meant that the sensation built to the point of ‘too much’ extremely quickly as your attempts at begging for mercy were lost to breathless moans.  Overwhelmed, your body collapsed onto the bed limply, your hips only staying up because he held them up, like your weight was nothing to him at all.

"Yeah, just like that,” he taunted, “fuckin' come on my cock, fuck— you're just a dumb slut, huh?  You love getting fucked like the desperate, needy fucktoy you are, is that it?"

"Y-yes," you whined weakly, cheeks burning at the feeling of him using your body— or maybe it was from the head rush caused by the afterglow of your orgasm. 

"You like it when it hurts,” he posited.  “You want me to hurt you."

"Yes— don't stop, please…" you whimpered, quiet but definitely loud enough for him to hear.

“Not gonna stop,” he promised, “‘til you’re full of my come.”

“Fuck,” you groaned, voice sounding hoarse and thin.  It had been a while since you lost your voice because of a session… and since you had walked funny for a few days afterwards.  This one was definitely going to do both.

As his hips started to slam harder and faster into yours, you really hoped it was a sign that he was close; his raspy groans made you sure of it, though.  You could feel his cock swelling and flexing, incredibly, and it made you a little light-headed but it made your overstimulated walls throb around him as well.

With one deep, exhausted growl from the man behind you, a warmth began to spread through you from the inside out.  When he released his grip on your hips, you fell onto the bed with a sigh and a thud.  A hand appeared in your peripheral vision to snatch the helmet off of your bed, and it only took him a few moments to stuff his softening cock back into his trousers and magically be dressed again.  Funny how he looked exactly the same as he had half an hour ago, meanwhile you were confident you looked totally fucked-out and fucked-up.

“You’re a good fuck,” he offered a monotone compliment as he pulled on his gloves, staring down at you as you slipped your robe back on and tried to ignore the warm sticky feeling between your legs.

“You’re… intense,” you replied, chuckling a little.  “Guess I’ll see you around, then.”

He didn’t respond, or leave, but just stood there looking at you for a minute as you stood up and adjusted yourself, trying not to limp noticeably because you figured he didn’t need any more ego.  “‘Whenever I want’ only applies when I’m on this planet,” he observed suddenly, interrupting the silence, “which I try not to be.”

“You can come around as often as you like,” you explained.  You froze when he appeared behind you, reaching his arms out and caging you in against the wall the second you'd turned to face him.

“But wouldn’t it be so much more cost-effective if you were with me all the time?  On my ship?”

You whimpered a little as he leaned in closer, and you felt his gaze on you through the dark visor of his helmet even though you couldn’t see it.  “That… that wasn’t the deal,” you whispered nervously.

“The deal’s changed,” he growled, ignoring your yelps of pain as he manhandled you and pinned you to the wall by your neck before you could even try to fight back.  “Whatever I want, whenever I want,” he growled, “that’s what you said.  I’ll hold you to that.”

The leather gloves creaked softly as he tightened his grip on the sides of your neck, forcing your lips to fall into a useless gasp for air.  Your hands reached out to claw at his chest, a silent plea for release, but he wasn’t having it.  

“Whatever you want,” you barely managed to croak out as your vision started to go dark.  “Please, Mando…”

“Whenever I want?”

“Whenever, please,” you cried, tears stinging your eyes.  He let go, finally, and you crumpled at his feet.  Somehow, you’d managed to sell yourself into slavery— for a measly hundred credits.  This whole thing had begun with you needing to make rent, and it ended with you realizing you wouldn’t return to your apartment again at all.  

He didn't need to shackle or bind you to make you follow him to his ship; his power over you was nauseatingly effortless, but you weren't about to try to run from an unhinged warrior like him.  

You'd always wanted to leave Tatooine and explore the galaxy… this wasn't exactly how you'd imagined doing it, as a Mandalorian's whore, but there were worse fates.  Like being a Mandalorian's target.  And you planned on doing whatever he wanted you to if it meant avoiding that.

[trash-writings]

See You Then

Nanami x Fem!Reader x Aizawa

Another commission. If you're interested in commissioning me, send me a message!

Summary: Your boyfriends surprise you for your birthday. (this is not set in either jjk or bnha, just some fun smut).

Warnings: Fem!Reader, nipple play, fingering, oral (f. and m. receiving), vaginal sex, anal sex, double penetration, one (1) spank to the ass, daddy (aizawa) and sir (nanami) kink, pet names used: bunny, baby, and brat (let me know if I missed any!!)

Word count: 3k

--

Something was off. You knew there was just something not completely right whenever you got home, but you are still struggling to place it. It’s like an itch that you can’t scratch, constant irritation and burning while you desperately try to dig your nails into it to no avail. You set your bag down, letting it rest on the recliner adjacent to your couch.

Whatever it is, you’re sure it’s probably nothing serious. Nothing looks like your apartment had been broken into or anything stolen. Shaking your head to clear any intrusive thoughts, you open your bedroom door and find a large black gift box laid across your bed. It has a bright red ribbon wrapped around it, the stark contrast between the colors almost comically sinful. The ribbon is silky to the touch, and you almost don’t want to open it since it’s wrapped so perfectly.

Inside the box, a dark blue lingerie set with a matching blindfold sits perfectly laid out with a white rose on top. You can’t help but giggle. Whether it’s with excitement or at the absurdity of the grand way this has been placed, you’re not sure. A small note is tucked between the rose and blindfold. Picking it up, you open it to find it’s from Aizawa and Nanami.

We’ll be home at 8. See you then, love.

Checking your phone, you see you have just over two hours before they’ll be here. Your feeling was right, something is definitely up here. With your time, you decide a quick shower and time to get ready is needed, even indulging in a new sugar scrub you hadn’t had time to try out in the last few days. You had ordered a box of new self-care products since your birthday is… well, tomorrow.

This is the first year you’ve ever had someone, let alone two someones, surprise you with something so intimate. Your cheeks are starting to hurt from the permanent grin on your cheeks since opening the box, so you try and relax while applying some moisturizer after your shower.

As you slip on the lace lingerie, you can’t help but stand in front of the mirror for an extra moment or two, enjoying the way the fabric hugs your body as if it were crafted just for you. You slip on a black robe over the revealing material and tie the sash tightly to feel secure.

The urge to text one or both of them is strong, even checking if you have any messages from them every few minutes. Only an hour left before they’re home. You wish they had given you at least a little more instruction. Are you supposed to put the blindfold on now and sit with your thoughts for an hour? Should you stay in your room or go sit on the couch to wait?

Even now, you’re lost in all these uncertainties about what you should or shouldn’t be doing. Yet, a part of you knows it doesn’t matter. Both of them are happy to serve you, always following your lead and making you their priority. Whatever you choose to do before the time given, and as long as you slip on the blindfold, you know it’ll be worth the waiting and one hell of a surprise.

Deciding the bed is the best place to wait, you untie the rope, letting it hang open while you sit at the bottom of the bed, legs hanging off the edge. The blindfold reminds you of Nanami’s friend, whose name you can’t quite place at the moment. It feels soft against your skin, and not too tight which you had worried about. It doesn’t completely blackout everything in the room, you notice as you look around. It does just enough to leave some mystery behind the shadows you can just barely make out.

The clicking of the lock from your front door makes you turn your head towards your bedroom door. Your stomach turns with excitement, and every hair on your arms seems to be standing at attention as goosebumps spread. Quiet shuffling, and words you can’t quite make out make it harder to stay still.

As the door to your room swings open, you dig your fingers into the edge of the bed, trying your best not to lift the mask and jump on the two figures you can make out through the blindfold.

“Kento, would you look at that,” Aizawa’s voice makes you smile. “Our girl is so good for us.”

“She really is,” Nanami starts to move from your line of sight. You feel the bed dip, and his slender fingers caress your shoulders. You melt back against him and whimper. “Happy birthday sweetheart,” he kisses the base of your neck.

Part of you wants to correct that it’s not technically your birthday until tomorrow, but the other part is screaming at you to shut up and just be good. You’ll let that part win tonight.

Another set of hands caress your thighs, rougher than Nanami’s but thicker fingers. Aizawa’s hands always make your body react in some way as if they have magnets inside forcing your body to pull towards him. His thumb and fingers squeeze your skin, making you gasp as they move up your thighs.

“Since you’re being so good, we thought you’d like some extra attention tonight,” Aizawa tells you, his breath dangerously close to your core.

If you could squirm, you would. But with Nanami behind you and massaging your shoulders and Aizawa between your thighs, you know there’s no way you’d be able to move without them holding you still. They’re not touching you in any way that’s extraordinary, but every fluid motion of their fingers on your skin makes your body heat rise and your panties wet.

“What do you think Shouta, is she ready now?” Nanami asks from behind you.

Something about the way they don’t directly address you, even while touching you so sensually, is driving you nuts. You want to beg them to fuck you now, but something else deep inside of you is telling you to wait. They must have something planned, the way they are working together so seamlessly to work you up with such little attention proves that.

“I think she isn’t quite warmed up, what do you think?” Aizawa’s fingers softly drag over the lace of the lingerie covering your clit. You moan, pushing your hips forward and he laughs. “I think she wants something.”

“Go on, tell us what you want baby girl.” Nanami coos in your ear, while his hands slide down your chest and begin massaging your breasts.

“Want you both,” you moan as his thumbs flick over your nipples.

“That’s not very specific, sweetheart. Tell daddy what you want him to do.” Aizawa presses his fingers harder against your clit and you gasp. “How can we know what you want unless you tell us?”

“Daddy,” you whimper as he presses harder on your clit. “Want you to eat me out.”

He chuckles, his breath warm against your throbbing core. Pulling your panties to the side his warm tongue licks up your folds once, stopping and swirling around your clit. You let out a loud cry, excited to finally have what you wanted so desperately between your thighs.

“What about me baby? Tell me what you want too,” Nanami cooks between soft kisses on your neck.

His fingers focus on pinching your nipples and tugging lightly. Between this and Aizawa’s tongue, you’re having trouble thinking straight, let alone trying to come up with something to tell Nanami.

“You, Sir.” You gasp out and whine when he pinches your nipples harder.

“That’s not a good answer, brat.”

“Kiss me!” You answer quickly, your words breathy and desperate.

Aizawa’s tongue teases around your entrance, his hands pulling your ass nearly off the bed while he buries your face between your thighs. Nanami doesn’t waste any time, taking full advantage of you now laying against his chest. He tilts your head up, his lips pressing to yours and moving roughly. You part your lips, letting his tongue slip into your mouth as one hand comes up to wrap around your throat.

You moan against his mouth as Aizawa pushes two fingers inside of you, scissoring them to stretch your hole. You buck your hips once and he holds you down, sucking hard at your clit. You pull away from Nanami’s kiss, breathless and panting.

“C-close,” you moan out before Nanami shoves his tongue in your mouth again.

His free hand pulling your lace bra down and exposing them to him. Releasing your neck and lips he lays you across his lap. You hear the unbuckling of his pants, then your head is turned by his hand and your lips are met with the soft skin of the head of his cock and a wet drop of precum.

“No cumming until we tell you, sweetheart,” you hear Aizawa tell you as Nanami’s cock pushes in your mouth.

He groans as your tongue swirls around the head. Aizawa’s fingers pull out of your cunt, and you whine, making Nanami groan louder. He holds your head guiding you to suck him off while you feel Aizawa’s cock prodding at your wet entrance.

“Better get my cock nice and wet, baby.” Nanami says in a deep tone. “that way it’s nice and easy to stretch your tight little asshole.”

You clench around Aizawa’s cock as he pushes inside, the thought of finally being filled in both holes making it harder for you to contain the orgasm that’s threatening to ravish your body. It’s overwhelming already, and the blindfold is starting to slip up off your eyes and onto your forehead. You can barely make out the dark blue shirt Nanami is wearing as the fabric pushes against your nose and you choke on his cock.

“Fuck, you take my cock so well,” he groans.

“She’s so perfect,” Aizawa comments while thrusting inside of you roughly and making you whimper. “Our perfect little bunny.”

It’s too much to hold back now, you cum around Aizawa’s cock without permission. Your toes curl and your eyes water. Tear stains on the blindfold only grow while Nanami fucks your mouth through your orgasm. Aizawa doesn’t stop either, his rough pace only picking up and making you shake.

“Bad girl,” he coos. “Cumming around my cock without asking. Who gave you permission?”

Nanami pulls his cock out of your mouth and slides the blindfold off your eyes. You look up, his normally stern face softer and smiling at you while he strokes your head and cheek.

“Are you ready?” He asks you softly, and Aizawa slows down until he’s stilling inside of you. “You have to tell us if you are.”

“Don’t feel pressured either, baby. We only want to make you feel good.” Aizawa tells you, his hand stroking your thigh softly.

“Just tell me what position you need me in,” you joke looking at them both.

Aizawa pulls out of you and laughs as you pout. “Do you want us to position you or not?”

“Brat,” Nanami teases while standing you up at the end of the bed before sitting where you had once been. “You have to tell us when to stop or slow down, okay bunny?” He kisses your back gently.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” Aizawa kisses your lips softly while backing you up between Nanami’s thighs.

Nanami sucks on his middle and forefingers before slowly pumping them into your asshole. You whine and squeeze Aizawa’s arms while he holds you still. He spreads his fingers, prepping you for his cock while you stroke Aizawa’s cock in front of you.

“Sir, please,” you moan.

He pulls his fingers out, pulling you down by your hips and sinking you down on his cock. The stretch burns before feeling unbelievable as you roll your hips. He lets you set the pace at first, holding your hips while you ride him.

“You love his cock, don’t you baby?” Aizawa coos, kissing your foreword and reaching down between your thighs to toy with your clit. “Of course, you do. You’re soaking wet.”

“W-want you too,” you rasp as Nanami begins to thrust up into you. “Please daddy!”

“I love watching you beg for more,” he smiles.

Nanami leans you back against him, giving Aizawa access to your cunt while he holds you still. Aizawa pressing inside of you is nearly enough to make you cum again, nearly. You can’t help but close your eyes and let out a lewd sound as you’re filled completely. They alternate thrusting inside of you, their pacing almost too perfect and leaving you never wanting.

Nanami’s grip on your hips is tight, and you can’t help but imagine the pretty purple bruises that’ll grace your skin in the morning, if not a few hours from now. Aizawa sucks on your nipple, the other being assaulted by his strong fingers pinching and massaging.

Each thrust of their cocks is intense, Aizawa’s hitting your cervix, and Nanami incredibly deep in your ass is overwhelming.

No, it’s ethereal.

A sharp smack to your ass from Nanami’s hand makes you yelp, and he laughs. You feel yourself reaching your second orgasm, the threads threatening to snap inside of you. The way their cocks throb inside of you makes you aware that they are incredibly close too. If you cum, they might too.

Aizawa releasing your nipple and rubbing circles against your clit sends you over, you cum crying out a slur of curse words and words you can’t quite make out. They both stop inside of you, leaving you completely full as you clench around their cocks.

“Fuck, fuck,” Nanami curses before releasing inside of you, cum dripping out of your ass and around his cock.

You have no time to breathe, Aizawa pounding inside of you a few times before he cums as well. He’s rougher, fucking you through his orgasm and leaving you breathless. They hold you still, everyone breathing slowly and recovering.

Aizawa pulls out first, kissing your forehead and disappearing to your bathroom. Nanami lifts you up gently, sitting you down on the bed and ribbing your arm to soothe you.

“You did so well, bunny. We’re so proud of you.” He kisses the back of your shoulders, continuing to rub your shoulder and arm.

Aizawa bends down in front of you, smiling at you. “Feeling okay, sweetheart?”

You nod, tired and not wanting to use the energy to speak just yet.

“Can I clean you up?” He holds up a damp washcloth and you nod again.

He gently lifts your leg up and wipes you clean while softly rubbing your leg. He doesn’t take too long, letting you recover and relax on the bed. He sits beside you, pulling your head onto his lap so he can comfort you along with Nanami before you’re ready to move. Your body is tired, but your mind is still buzzing; making it easier for you to snap back quickly.

“Okay, I’m good now.” You tell them both giggling. “That was amazing,” you laugh louder.

They both laugh, getting off the bed. Nanami leaves the room, heading towards the kitchen and you raise an eyebrow to Aizawa.

“Kento is going to go start a late dinner. I’m going to treat you to a nice bath first, though.” He Pulls you up by your hands and helps you to the bathroom.

You hadn’t noticed the water running before, but you see the tub is nearly full when you get inside. Aizawa helps you out of the lingerie set, tossing it into a laundry basket before setting you in the hot water. He gets in behind you, letting you lay against his chest while he holds you.

“What is Kento making?” You ask with a giggle.

“Oh, not interested in my bath?” He teases and you smack his arm. “I think he’s making some pasta you like; I can’t remember if I’m honest. I just picked out the cake.”

“There’s a cake?!” You sit up, turning to look at him.

“Of course, there’s a cake! It’s your damn birthday, brat.” He kisses your nose, and your smile laying back on him.

As you relax you begin to smell the food from the kitchen wafting into the bathroom. Your stomach growls, and Aizawa laughs.

“Let’s get out now then,” he helps you out and dries you off before leaving you to get dressed.

He leaves your bedroom while you’re dressing, helping Nanami in the kitchen. As you peer out the bedroom into your kitchen beyond the living room, you can’t help but wonder how you got so lucky to not only have one but two perfect boyfriends.

“----?” Nanami calls your name, eyes bright and a smile on his face. “Dinner is ready.”

“Get in here, brat,” Aizawa adds while setting the table.

You giggle skipping to the dining table to join them.

[babybottlepop96]

7 minutes in heaven: NARUTO (NSFW)

A/n: basically what the title says... If you wanna see anyone specific let me know! I'll do sfw and nsfw!

Wanting: blow jobs, grinding... That's about it...

"Ino, why do we have to play this game?" You asked your best friend while looking at the party activity list and pointing to the specific game you were talking about.

"What's wrong with seven minutes in heaven?" She asked while putting her hands on her hips.

"Nothing….." you trailed off. You only had eyes for one particular goofy, knuckle headed ninja. And there was no way he was interested in you. His heat eyes belonged to Sakura, who happened to only have heart eyes for Saskue.

"Is it because you don't want to kiss anyone other than Naruto? And could also be because you would rather not take the chance to get Saskue?" The mention of your current crush and your ex boyfriend had you banging your head against the snack table the two of you were previously setting up.

"Maybe…" Ino sighed.

"Listen, it won't be that bad. If you really don't want to play you don't have too." She smiled and put a hand on your shoulder.

"Really?" You looked at her with big eyes.

"Really, besides, it'll give me a better chance at getting Sai." She sighed dreamily and you giggled. She was hopelessly in love with the clueless ninja.. it was so cute and sweet you get a cavity just looking at the way she looked at him.

"Well then, now that that's settled, we should finish setting up for the party." The two of you smiled and got back to work. A couple hours later and everything was ready. The rest of the gang started to arrive and that's when the party began. Sake was passed around and snacks were being eaten and everyone was just having a great time. Including you, taking too Kiba and Shikamaru about everything and everything. That was, until Ino made the announcement about playing seven minutes in heaven. 

You sat back while everyone got into the living room and settled down. All the girls placed an object into a hat Ino had lying around and the guys picked from it. Neji and TenTen, Shikamaru and Temari, even Lee got Ino's cousin and when they exited the closet, you just knew something happened.

"Whose earring is this?" A familiar blonde ninja's voice spoke up and you, being the curious person who you are, wanted to know who he got. So when you saw that Naruto was holding up one of your earrings, you gasped and grabbed your ears. Sure enough, you were missing one. You glared at Ino who just smirked at you.

"Why, that's (y/n)'s!" She spoke and Naruto looked….. happy?

"Ino, I said I didn't want to play!" You scolded and you could've sworn Naruto's eyes got a little bit dimmer when you spoke.

"It's okay, (y/n). You don't have to, I'll just pick again." He said giving you back your earring. "But it could be fun!" He smiled and your heart melted. He really wanted to go in with you? You sighed and tried to hide the blush threatening to creep up your face.

"Fine… I guess I can play." Everyone cheered and Ino quickly shoved you two into the closet.

"H-hey, (y/n)?" Naruto's voice sounded through the darkness.

"Yeah?" 

"Is…. Is it okay if I… kiss you?" He whispered directly into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Y-yeah." Then suddenly, you felt his soft lips gently pressed against yours. And god of the feeling of them didn't send sparks coursing through your veins. Your hands slowly made their way around his neck and his to your waist. You two pulled back for a moment, just staring at each other. Looking at each other's eyes in silent agreement. Both of you crashed your lips together in a list filled kiss, teeth and tongues colliding in a fire fueled frenzy. 

Your hands snuck their way up under his shirt and his lips made their way to your neck, sucking on the spot right behind your ear. Your nails raked down his toned pecs and you heard a small growl. "(Y/n), keep that up and I may not be able to contain myself." You heard his warning, but decided to test the waters. Your nails gently made their way to his abs and fiddled with the hem of his pants. 

He suddenly lifted you up and your legs Instinctively wrapped around his torso, your back now pressed against the wall. His lips found yours again as he grinded his hips against yours, small moans leaving both of your lips. "N-Naruto?" 

"I've liked you for so long." He grunted as he grinded against you again. "But I've only pretended *grind* to like Sakura *grind* because I thought *grind* you didn't like me back." You moaned after each grind against your clit, the fabric shielding you both caused just that much friction.

"I… I like you too." You gasped out after he had decided to take a small nip at the base of your neck. "L-let me… nggh… let me help you out." He looked at you for a moment in confusion. You just unwrapped your legs and he set you down. Then you turned the tables and pushed him against the wall, pushing his pants down swiftly, just enough that his hard-on was freed. You quickly got on your knees and took him into your mouth, causing him to choke back a moan, a hand tangling in your hair.

Knowing you were on a time limit, you worked him as fast as you could. You could tell he was close when his hand gripped your hair in a vice grip. He then came when you suddenly deep throated him, your nose now pressed against his pelvis. His hot, thick cum was now running down your throat as you tried not to gag. When he softened, you pulled off of him and had to help him fix himself. Once he was finally out of his blissed out state, he helped fix your hair that he, unapologetically, fucked up. 

The door opened just as you two were finished and Ino just gave a knowing smirk. The two of you exited the closet, going your separate ways.

"You two are boring!" Kiba shouted, completely oblivious to what actually went down. 

After the party, Naruto made his way to you. "Yeah, um.. would you maybe wanna get some ramen tomorrow? Like.. a date?"

"I'd love to." 

"Then I'll return the favor." He whispered into your ear, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

[hlizr50]

Update: Revelations

Chapter 3: Midnight Conversations

Finally an update for Revelations, where Hawke finally finds out about Poppy's experiences with Lord Mazeen and gets big ragey mad about it (because that's what we live for).

Read on AO3

Hawke stalked down the hall mentally checking off the list of things he needed to address with the fire-haired woman he had just caught on the Rise. Gods, where to even begin?

How did you learn to fight?

Why did you learn to fight?

Why were you on the Rise?

Are you absolutely mad?

Do you have no sense of self-preservation?

Do you own no proper clothing so you aren’t fighting Craven in a nightdress and satin slippers?

He’d taken a few minutes to rinse the blood from his armor and his face and out of his hair. The guard had begun his trek back to the Maiden’s chambers as soon as he’d stowed his broadsword.

Yes, they still had so much to discuss. Those questions – and others – swam through his mind as he reached the heavy oak doors. Using a surprising amount of restraint he raised a fist and rapped on the wood. After a few moments the door cracked open, revealing the lady’s maid – Tawny.

“The Maiden is sleeping –“

“Doubtful,” Hawke interrupted, amused at the untruth. He lowered his chin and gave the lady a pointed look, but she didn’t open the door wider. So he pushed through the opening, mouth quirking as Tawny stood agape. He kicked the door closed and fixed his gaze on Poppy, who’s jaw had also dropped in apparent astonishment. As if she should be surprised to see him there. “It’s time for that talk, Princess.”

The guard cast a glance toward Tawny, jerking his chin in the direction of the door. “Your services are no longer needed this evening.”

“You don’t have the authority to dismiss her!”

Hawke turned is gaze back to the Maiden whose pale cheeks and emerald eyes were alight with ire. He raised a brow. “I don’t? As your personal Royal Guard, I have the authority to remove any threats.” He barely suppressed a dark chuckle at the notion that Poppy’s lady’s maid could pose any real danger.

“Threats?” Tawny’s lips curled down. “I’m not a threat.”

“You pose the threat of making up excuses or lying on behalf of Penellaphe. Just like you said she was asleep when I know for a fact that she was on the Rise,” Hawke retorted. The maid inhaled sharply and whipped toward the Maiden.

“I have a feeling I’m missing an important piece of information,” she accused. An amused grin lifted the corner of Hawke’s lips.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you. And it wasn’t that important,” Poppy argued. Not that important? Oh how she wounded him.

He snorted. “I’m sure it was one of the most important things to have happened to you in a long time.”

“You have an over-inflated sense of involvement in my life if you really think that.”

“I think I have a good grasp on just how much of a role I play in your life,” Hawke deadpanned. Indeed. Her first kiss, the first time she’d even been touched by a man. But it was more than just the carnal urges that had brought them together that first night. He was, as far as he could tell, the only person who was willing to address what the Duke had been doing to her. He felt… drawn to her, felt a nearly overwhelming need to protect her inside this structure of stone and cruelty – one place where she was not able to protect herself.

“Doubtful.” She turned the word back on him and he could barely keep from rolling his eyes.

“I do wonder if you actually believe half the lies you tell.”

“I am not lying, thank you very much.” Gods, she was so stubborn.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, Princess,” he breathed with a grin.

Poppy scowled. “Don’t call me that!” she exclaimed with a stomp of her foot. The guard lifted a brow at her, pouting his lips.

“Did that make you feel good?”

“Yes!” she cried. “Because the only other option is to kick you.”

There it was again, the need to fight roiling beneath her skin. That did something to him, sparking a flame deep in his belly. He chuckled. “So violent.”

“You shouldn’t be in here.”

“I’m your personal guard. I can be wherever I feel I am needed to keep you safe,” he stated. Hawke wished she weren’t so argumentative. He just wanted to talk to her, to understand her – dig deeper into her strength.

“And what do you think you need to protect me from in here?” She flung her arms out, gesturing to the empty room. “An unruly bedpost I might stub my toe on? Oh, wait, are you worried I might faint? I know how good you are at handling such emergencies.”

The Atlantian smirked. He knew she had been irritated that afternoon in the atrium, as the ladies in wait resorted to ever escalating heights of ridiculousness to garner his attention. He was like a shiny new toy, a handsome new Rise guard from the capital. If only Poppy knew that his attention was ever only centered on her.

“You do look a little pale. My ability to catch frail, delicate females may come in handy,” he countered, earning an enraged inhale. “But as far as I can determine, other than a random abduction attempt, you, Princess, are the greatest threat to yourself.”

“Well…” her lady’s maid drew out contemplatively. At least one of them was reasonable. “He kind of has a point there.”

“You’re absolutely no help,” Poppy spat.

Hawke softened his voice slightly, keeping his eyes fixed on her gaze that was green like Atlantian spring. “Penellaphe and I do need to speak. I can assure you that she is safe with me, and I’m sure that whatever I’m about to discuss with her, she’ll tell you all about it later.”

“Yes, she will, but that’s not nearly as entertaining as witnessing it.”

She was quite the spitfire, as well. The Maiden sighed.

“It’s okay, Tawny. I’ll see you in the morning.” She almost groaned.

Tawny was incredulous. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. I have a feeling that if you don’t leave he’s just going to stand there and drain precious air from my room –“

“While looking exceptionally handsome,” Hawke interjected. “You forgot to add that.” Poppy rolled her eyes, but her lady’s maid giggled.

“And I would like to get some rest before the sun rises,” she finished. Likely story that was, coming from the woman who had just left her bed to fight monsters on the city walls.

Tawny heaved an exasperated sigh. “Fine,” she muttered. Hawke glanced at her as she moved to leave. “Princess.”

His lips curled up in a devilish smile. Spitfire, indeed.

“Oh, my gods,” Poppy groaned. He waited for the lady’s maid to exit through the adjoining door before showing his delight.

“I like her.” Hawke grinned.

“Good to know. What is it you wish to talk about that couldn’t wait until the morning?”

As he looked back to her his breath caught. He’d always known that she was a lovely specimen, but seeing her before him in that thin nightgown and red hair unconfined and falling wildly above her shoulders. She truly was magnificent.

“You have beautiful hair,” he murmured. She just blinked, and he could see that she hadn’t been expecting that. He was glad to have been able to take her by surprise.

“Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“Not exactly,” he shrugged and then allowed his eyes to very obviously roam over her barely-clothed body. The skin of her shoulders looked so soft, the dip at the base of her neck between her collar bones so inviting. The swells of her ample breasts were barely hidden, and the soft fabric clung loosely over her stomach and hips. And of course those pretty thighs and sculpted calves. She looked absolutely delectable, and the way the flush exploded over her flesh as she felt his gaze feel every curve caused his pants to tighten. She moved to grab the robe that was strewn across the bed and the corner of Hawke’s mouth curved devilishly.

And then she stopped, a challenge settling into those emerald pools as they met his. Ah, yes, she knew he’d already seen most of what her sleeping gown revealed, and a tremor of admiration rippled through him when she straightened, choosing not to hide herself from him.

“Was that all you were wearing under the cloak?” Hawke asked, balking at how utterly insane she must be. Truly.

“That’s none of your concern,” Poppy answered hotly.

“Feels like it should be.” His voice was raspier than he’d intended, throat tight from the vision before him. “I meant what I said that day. The Duke and the Lord told you that it was a lie, but it wasn’t. You are absolutely beautiful.” He noticed the widening of her eyes, the pace of her breathing increase. Again he had caught her off guard, although rage boiled through him with the knowledge that no one had allowed her to even consider the truth of her devastating beauty.

Poppy’s body seemed to sag all at once as she sighed and turned away from him, padding to one of the chairs by the fire. Hawke followed her with a burning gaze, unable to avoid how the slit in her nightgown revealed nearly her entire leg when she walked. Gods, she was going to be the end of him. He fucking knew it.

He followed and stood next to the chair across from her, watching as the reflection of the fire made her eyes appear to glow silver, how her body seemed to now bow into itself. She had fought so well – had knocked him on his ass – but it had only been two days since her punishment at the hands of Duke Teerman.

And Lord Mazeen.

The guard was determined that he would get answers this night. He would find out what the lord was doing in that room, what his interest in Poppy truly was. The oily, heavy feeling deep in his stomach told him that he wouldn’t like the answer.

But he knew he couldn’t just come out and ask, not considering how she’d try to deny the obvious torment even when he could see it with his own eyes and scent it on her skin. He would have to weave his way expertly through their conversation, through her defenses and over her walls.

“I’ve been thinking. About what you said.” Poppy turned her chin to him, the emeralds in her gaze finding him as he remained standing. Hawke was stunned that she had initiated the conversation, and even more taken aback by her quiet, steady tone. It was so unlike her.

“What I said?” he urged before gesturing to the chair. “May I?”

“You told me to think about the things they did. The Duke, the Ascended. To trust my instincts. And I,” she paused, turning her stare back into the fire, “I think Lord Mazeen had something to do with Malessa’s death.”

Hawke had settled into the chair, forearms resting on his knees, when his eyes snapped up. “Why do you think that?”

“He had… he had just come into the hall from that direction. Before she was discovered. He smelled of jasmine, and there was a petal left there. And he seemed… enthralled. He wouldn’t stop staring at her, with her skirts hiked up and her corset pulled down.” Poppy continued boring her eyes into the flames, as if the fire might give her the answers. He observed her with narrowing eyes, absorbing every word, every implication. “It felt so wrong, the way he stared at her. Nobody did anything to shield her, to give her even the smallest shred of dignity in death. But Lord Mazeen… he couldn’t seem to look away.” She looked down at her hands, then, alabaster fingers fidgeting in her lap. Hawke looked down at them, too, carefully considering her words. And only one thing continued to echo in his mind as the silence around them seemed to swallow him whole. One thought that needed only a spark to ignite a killing rage, one question that needed to be answered even though he knew it might boil him alive to hear it.

“How do you know what he smelled like?” Ice laced the words, a quiet promise of torment and death.

Hawke’s voice was usually warm, mirthful. He enjoyed their arguing, liked getting a rise out of her. But this question… the answer that could confirm that the lord – with his reputation for lust and degradation – was close enough to Poppy so she could smell him…

His shrewd eyes noticed everything, like the predator he had trained himself to be since his return to Solis. Her fingers stilled, jaw clenched, shoulders tensed. The redhead was immediately on guard, and Hawke understood with disturbing clarity that the lord would be a difficult subject.

“Poppy.” He whispered a warning. He could see the noiseless tells as she was trying to work through an explanation to feed him, to placate him. With a snarl he rose and strode the short distance between them. Grasping her chin between his thumb and finger he jerked her head to face him. “Don’t you dare lie to me.” Those green eyes flashed in promising defiance, then guttered to a dull, fathomless dark. And for a moment the Maiden before him was just a girl – lost, confused, alone, abused.

Gods, that look broke his heart.

Hawke released her chin and lowered to his knees in front of her, their eyes still locked on the other’s. He hesitated for a breath before reaching to cover her hands with his.

“I swore to protect you, Poppy. But if I am to do that, I need you to be completely honest with me. I can’t protect you if I don’t know what or who is causing you harm.”

She laughed bitterly, turning her gaze back to the flames. “Nobody can protect me from the Duke. From Lord Mazeen. The power they wield, the way they manipulate. I told you before – there’s nothing to be done.”

“Just because nobody has protected you doesn’t mean that I cannot,” he urged, nearly growling with her unwitting admission that the lord was yet another danger. His heart pounded in his chest as he murmured desperately, “What has he done to you?”

He could feel her racing heartbeat in her fingers, could hear it echoing through the hanging silence. His grip tightened, and Poppy’s spring green eyes slid to him.

“Please, Poppy. Let me help you.”

He was in too deep with her, he knew. But there was something about her, something he couldn’t understand. Sure, he could write it off as a decent man seeing a woman who needed help, who wouldn’t stand by while someone innocent was mistreated.

But it was more than that.

And after he’d seen her cutting down Craven on the Rise? A goddess of violence and beauty. He was irrevocably tangled in her web.

“The night Malessa died, Lord Mazeen stopped me in the hall coming from that direction. I had been on my way to the garden with Rylan, but he said he wanted to speak to me. Privately.” Poppy walked through her story with firm determination, nary a tremble detectable in her voice. “He pulled me into an alcove to the side of the hall and began his games. He knew that I knew that I didn’t have a choice. As the Maiden I am not supposed to linger or speak with anyone, but it would also be disrespectful not to participate in the conversation. One word to the Duke for either offense and…”

“And you get called to his study to satisfy his sadistic whims,” he finished the sentence after she trailed off, earning a terse nod. He hated it, hated them. He would kill the Duke for what he’d done, as slowly and painfully as he could.

“Lord Mazeen was taking the opportunity to… remind me… that his position was such that he was above reproach. He… he lifted his hand to my face, touched my cheek, my lips, down over my jaw and neck and… lower.”

Hawke breathed a curse, rage coiling tightly into a spring poised to snap. He squeezed her hands tighter but then let go, fearful that his grip may become painful as his ire grew. Instead he gripped the cushion on either side of her knees, trying to reign in his immortal strength as he kept his gaze fixed on eyes of shimmering green. Her throat bobbed.

“I tried to excuse myself and leave, but he pulled me back to him. His hand was still at my chest, my back against his front. I could… feel him.” Poppy took a deep breath, as if to steady herself. “I always knew he delighted in making me uncomfortable, but I don’t think I realized…”

She shook her head, finally breaking the link between their eyes as her lashes lowered. “That’s how I know he smelled of jasmine. I was able to run away when someone screamed – when they found Malessa.”

Hawke looked down at his hands, knuckles white has his fingers dug into the plush forest green upholstery. Would Lord Mazeen have dared to go further? It wasn’t much of a leap from his slimy touch to further violation. His vision blurred, his chest a chasm of disturbing realizations and maddening what-ifs. He only knew that he was still breathing because he could hear it – labored, sawing breaths. He grounded himself by focusing on her face – the raised pink skin of the Craven scars, the full luscious lips, the smooth porcelain of her flesh that he reached out to touch. Fingers traced over her cheek and jaw before pushing gently under her chin, her eyes raising to look back at him.

“And what about when you are summoned by the Duke. Is he always there, too?”

Poppy’s breathing stuttered, eyes widening as they lined with silver.

“I told you I heard everything, Poppy,” he murmured as his thumb drifted over her skin. “What was he doing there?”

When a tear escaped over her lashes, it was like the world shifted under his feet. When had everything become so fucked up and twisted? He’d always known the Ascended were monsters, but knowing that those two beasts took such great pains to back the Maiden into a corner, with no possible way to escape their sadistic attention… It made his stomach roil.

Slowly, so she would not be caught off guard, he lifted his fingers from her chin to wipe away the droplet that slowly fell over her cheek. Taking a calming breath, he encouraged, “You can trust me, Princess. I know it’s hard to do, and I know that I have only been at your side for a few days. But it is abhorrent that nobody in this Godsdamned castle has tried to shield you from these predators and I will not let it stand a moment longer. I swear it to you, Penellaphe. With my sword and my life, I vow to protect you. Not the Maiden,” he spat, “not the Duke or the Duchess or any of the lords and ladies, not this Godsforsaken castle or anyone else in it. I said your name. I promised you.”

She stared at him, expression calculating, weighing his declaration. Hawke pulled his hand away, resting it against her knee. He braced himself as she swallowed, preparing to speak.

“Lord Mazeen began taking a special interest in Duke Teerman’s lessons a few years ago. He likes to watch.” The redhead paused, gaze returning to her hands. She had started wringing her fingers again when she continued, “The Duke requires me to disrobe to my waist. He prefers to strike bare skin.”

Holy fucking gods. Hawke forced himself to breathe, keeping his eyes trained on her reddening cheeks and dreading that she had more still to tell.

“I lean against his desk to support myself, and in my state of undress I will hold myself up with one arm and try to cover myself with the other as much as I can,” her voice cracked. He could feel the heat wafting from her skin, face flushing with shame. He never could have prepared himself for how complete her degradation had been at the Duke’s cruel hands. “The last time,” she whispered, “it wasn’t enough for Lord Mazeen to just sit there. He… stood in front of me. Leered at me. He pulled my arm away from my chest and held my hands to the desk… so he could look his fill as the Duke took the cane to my back.”

Hawke was frozen, staring at Poppy’s bowed head. He could smell the salt of her tears as they silently coursed down her cheeks, glowing gold in the firelight. Gritting his teeth, nostrils flaring, a snarl rose from his throat. His head was empty of all thoughts, save for the need to massacre the monster. But the shimmering of her crimson locks grounded him, and he lowered his forehead to her knees as he struggled to calm his racing, raging heart. Air hissed from between his teeth, the sound of his ragged breaths roaring in his ears, and he could feel his fingernails clawing through the fabric that covered her cushioned seat.

“Poppy,” he groaned desperately. “I need you to talk. About anything else. I need – I need to find a way to calm down.” The guard’s shoulders tremored with coiled rage.

“Hawke?” Her soft voice pierced through the night. “I don’t understand.”

“The only thing keeping me from finding that worthless pile of refuse and tearing him limb from limb is knowing that I can’t protect you if I’m swinging from the gallows,” he seethed through clenched teeth. “Please, Poppy. I need–“

Any remaining air whooshed out of his lungs when he felt timid, trembling fingers combing through the ends of his hair. Immediately his muscles relaxed, shoulders bowing in. When he lifted his gaze she snatched her hand back, cradling it to her chest.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. The corner of his mouth tipped up.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?”

Poppy’s breath caught, but her eyes stuck on his. Green, like an Atlantian spring. They were beautiful and clear and shining. Hawke felt like he couldn’t look away, and he wondered for a moment – maybe even hoped – if she felt just as entranced as he did.

“What is?”

“How it feels like I’ve known you longer. You feel that, too,” he answered. That gentle tickle of her fingers in his hair, a caress of care and a promise of… whatever this was. It was as if they had always shared such familiarity. But then her hands dropped into her lap, eyes following. “Why were you on the Rise?”

“Wasn’t it obvious?”

Hawke’s grin grew. “Your motivation wasn’t. At least, tell me that. Tell me what drove you to go up there to fight them.” She paused, casting her stare into the fire as she contemplated.

“The scar on my face. Do you know how I got it?” she asked.

Of course he did. It had been one of the many, many things Vikter had seen fit for him to know. “Your family was attacked by some Craven when you were a child.”

“Vikter filled you in?” Poppy smiled slightly, but it didn’t crawl into her eyes. “It’s not the only scar.”

Hawke didn’t respond to that, but he mentally scowled. More scars meant even less perfection, more opportunities for the Duke and the rest of the Ascended to remind her that she was somehow less. It grated at him.

The Maiden told the story of her family. How the town only had a short wall to protect them, but that it hadn’t seen Craven in decades. That seemed odd. And then how someone had somehow saved her and her brother.

“I woke up days later, back in the capital. Queen Ileana was by my side. She told me what had happened. That our parents were gone.”

He’d had to carefully school his features at the mention of the Blood Queen. To Poppy she had been a guardian, someone she could trust. To Hawke she had been a nightmare. He hoped to the gods that Poppy would understand one day. Regardless, he understood what it was to lose people that he loved. And for her to have been so young. It was truly tragic.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I truly am. It’s a miracle you survived.”

“The gods protected me. That’s what the Queen told me. That I was Chosen. I came to learn later that it was one of the reasons the Queen had begged my mother and father not to leave the safety of the capital. That… that if the Dark One became aware of the Maiden being unprotected, he’d send the Craven after me. He wanted me dead then, but apparently, he wants me alive now.” She laughed bitterly as Hawke quietly analyzed what she’d said. The implication of the Dark One in her family’s attack stood out to him, as he had never been able to control the Craven, much less send them to kill an innocent red-haired girl.

“What happened to your family is not your fault, and there could be any number of reasons for why they attacked that village,” he urged softly as he reached up to tuck a loose tendril of fire behind her ear. “What else do you remember?”

“No one… no one in that inn knew how to fight. Not my parents, none of the women, or even the men. They all relied on the handful of guards,” she explained. It wasn’t necessarily surprising – yet another way the Ascended were able to keep the mortals under their heel. “If my parents knew how to defend themselves, they could’ve survived. It might’ve been just a small chance, but one nonetheless.”

It made so much sense. So much so that Hawke scolded himself for not understanding sooner. “And you want that chance.”

“I won’t… I refuse to be helpless.”

“No one should be.”

And it struck him, then, the double meaning behind his reply. She had taken the steps to ensure that she could defend herself. She was highly skilled, enough to have knocked him on his ass. And brave to the point of recklessness. And yet, inside that hellish study, she may as well have been any lady in wait – with no skill or training or hope of escaping whatever the Duke planned for her. It was so, so wrong.

“You saw what happened tonight. They reached the top of the Rise. If one makes it over, more will follow. No Rise is impenetrable and even if it were, mortals come back from outside the Rise cursed. It happens more than people realize,” Poppy rambled. The guard tamed his expression, careful not to react to yet another unintended confession. He had heard rumors that the child of the gods would assist in providing a dignified passing to those who had been bitten. A day or two ago he never would have believed that it was the Maiden, that the chosen one would commit treason to ease the suffering of those cursed. But now… he truly wasn’t surprised. “At any moment, that curse could spread in this city. If I’m going down-“

“You’ll go down fighting,” he finished for her. When she nodded he mirrored it. “Like I said, you’re very brave.”

“I don’t think it’s bravery,” she muttered. “I think it’s… fear.”

“Fear and bravery are often one and the same. It either makes you a warrior or a coward. The only difference is the person it resides inside.” And he knew which one she was, without question. Hawke leaned back, settling himself to sit before her on the ornate rug. It took her longer than usual to respond.

“You sound so many years older than what you appear,” she answered quietly. Gods, if only she knew.

“Only half the time. You saved lives tonight, Princess.” He leaned his forearms upon his knees and peered up at her.

“But many died.”

“Too many,” he agreed. “The Craven are a never-ending plague.” Poppy sighed.

“As long as an Atlantian lives, there will be Craven.” It was all he could do not to roll his eyes. He would have to be as patient as he could for her to see the truth. But that didn’t mean he had to listen to the slander.

“That is what they say,” he answered dryly, turning golden eyes to the fireplace. “You said that more come back from outside the Rise cursed than people realize. How do you know that?”

“I’ve heard rumors,” she offered, voice slightly higher than normal. He could hardly suppress a grin. She really was a terrible liar.

“It’s not spoken about a lot, and when it is, it’s only whispered.” Hawke’s eyes drifted back to find blazing, defiant green.

“You’re going to need to be more detailed.”

He lifted a brow. He already had her backed into a corner, but if she insisted… “I’ve heard that the child of the gods has helped those who are cursed. That she has aided them, given them death with dignity.” The guard studied the Maiden, mussed hair waterfalling over her shoulders and burning against her ivory skin. Her body was rigid with tension, an easy indication that she had been caught. And yet all he could really think about was how her flesh would feel beneath his fingers, against his lips.

“Who has said such things?”

Hawke shrugged. “A few of the guards. I didn’t believe them at first, to be honest.” And that was the gods-honest truth.

“Well, you should’ve stuck with your initial reaction They’re mistaken if they think I would commit outright treason against the Crown,” Poppy huffed, earning a snort from her guard. She lifted a defiant eyebrow in question.

“You’re a terrible liar, Princess.” Indeed, it was any wonder she was ever able to placate the Duke and Duchess. He continued before she could argue, “And I understand why you would. Those men speak of you with such awe that before I even met you, I half expected you to be a child of the gods. They would never report you.” He wondered for a moment if there truly was more to her, somehow. That she could be beautiful and courageous and strong and also… more.

“That may be the case,” she retorted, “but you heard them talking about it. Others could hear them, as well.”

“Perhaps I should be clearer in what I said about hearing rumors. They were actually speaking to me,” Hawke explained, fixing her with a pointed golden stare. “Since I too have helped those who are cursed die with dignity. I did so in the capital and do so here, as well.” Her plump lips parted in surprise, and he desired so badly to touch them with his own.

“Those who come back cursed have already given all for the kingdom. Being treated as anything other than the heroes they are, and being dragged in front of the public to be murdered is the last thing they or their families should have to go through.” Hawke lifted himself from his seat on the floor, brushing invisible lint from his breeches as he basked in the light of the surprise shining in her emerald eyes. Rendered speechless. How unusual. “I’ve kept you up long enough.” With a dip of his chin he started toward the heavy wooden door. He had made it a few paces before her voice called to him.

“Can I ask you a question?”

He paused and turned back to her, but she was still facing the fire. All he could see was the fiery mane above the back of her chair.

“Of course.”

“I know that what Duke Teerman and Lord Mazeen do to me is wrong. I know that. And I know that I am trained, and that I could fight back – but I don’t, because it would be catastrophic for Vikter. But…” Her voice trailed off a moment as she seemed to search for words. “I… I could have stopped Lord Mazeen. I could have cut off his most precious, private possession when he tried to touch me. But I didn’t.” Another long, heavy pause. She turned her head so he could see her profile, a silhouette before the flames.

“Does that… what does that say about me?”

Hawke’s shoulders sagged, heart cracking yet again. “The only thing it says, Poppy, is that you are in an impossible situation. That you are locked so tightly in a cage that they have given you no hope for escape. And yet you still stretch your limbs to protest it, in your way, and with great and grave potential consequence. And that is extremely brave.” The guard ran a hand through his unruly dark hair. “And the fact that you bear those consequences – not willingly, but to protect someone you care about – is perhaps even more courageous. You should feel no shame for that.”

With a nod she turned back to the fire. He was hopeful that he had convinced her that it meant nothing beyond the notion that the Ascended were monsters, and that they did nothing but abuse her and use her as a symbol to keep the citizenry in their thrall.

“Get some rest, Princess.” His paces carried him to the door, and as it creaked open under his had he paused again. “And wear better shoes the next time you go out onto the Rise. And thicker clothing. Those slippers are likely to be the death of you, and that dress… the death of me.”

[jojosbizarrefanfics]

What about, the Reader has to patch up Joseph after he gets injured, but the wound is on Joseph's leg, so reader has to take off his pants to look at the injury. But Joseph cannot get that fact out of his mind? 😳😂🥵 A little nsfw?

two completely separate requests, but I think these happen to go really well together, so anon(s) I hope you don’t mind this two-for-one action! this was incredibly fun to write; joseph is just such a hot shit

“Can you help patch me up?”

It wasn’t the first time Joseph asked you to help him. You were studying to be a nurse, after all, and he was always getting into trouble. You became fast friends after frequent visits to each other, but you always yearned for more. Joseph was 6’5” and handsome from head to toe, and you always wondered what those muscles looked like beneath those clothes. You never dared ask.

This time, it was a cut on his thigh that needed some help. “Sure,” you said. “But JoJo, I’ll need you to take your pants off.”

Joseph was visibly surprised. “Huh?”

“It’s pretty high up on your thigh. Rolling the leg up won’t cut it, and I don’t want to ruin your pants. Take them off and sit down.”

As you grabbed some first aid supplies, Joseph did as he was instructed. Unbeknownst to you, his head was swimming. He considered himself a successful flirt, but he was never sure how to come on to you in a worthy way. Yet here you were, telling him to take his pants off.

When you got on your knees to sit on the ground between his thighs, Joseph’s heart started to race. He tried to close his eyes as you focused, but when he did, all he pictured was your mouth wrapped nice and prettily around him, and he felt the blood starting to rush to his groin. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, not sure if that or the sight of you actually right there was more tempting.

“There,” you said with a smile as you gently patted the bandage on Joseph’s thigh. “All set.”

You glanced up at Joseph from between his legs and noticed two things. The first thing you noticed was how red his cheeks had gotten as he bit his bottom lip, but not seemingly from any pain — no, it was from anxiety, a trait you never saw Joseph exhibit. The second thing you noticed was right in front of your face: there was a tent now made from the fabric of his briefs. Your best friend was hard as a rock.

“(YN), thank you!” Joseph said with a nervous laugh. He ran his fingers through the front of his hair, pushing it out of his face a bit. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Your smile turned into a grin. “It appears you have another problem on your hands, now. Shall I help you take care of that as well?”

Joseph’s eyes widened. He couldn’t believe his ears. “Can I be completely frank with you?” When you nodded, he smoothly said, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this since you told me to take my pants off. And, honestly, it’s crossed my mind a few times before then, too.” There was that confidence you knew and loved.

Feeling bold, you replied, “I’m going to need you to strip further, JoJo. You’re not the only one whose had those thoughts.”

It wasn’t very becoming of you to say that, but that’s what Joseph loves the most about it. Almost too eagerly, he lifted his hips so he could remove his briefs, letting his cock free as the briefs pooled around his ankles. He kicked them off, careful to not hit you with his leg, so they could join his pants.

Like the rest of Joseph, his cock was massive. What you were about to do would be a challenge, but a welcome one. You licked the underside first, placing your hand gently around the base of his cock, and you wrapped your tongue around the tip once you reached it. The sound that came from Joseph’s mouth was delightfully sinful, so you began to take him in your mouth, slowly yet surely, as best as you could.

After not too long, Joseph began to lose himself in the pleasure. His hands were both by your head: one at the top digging into your hair, the other on the nape of your neck. He was close to the edge of the chair but reclining, and as his head rolled back while he let out a loud moan, he thrust his hips into you.

His thick cock filling your mouth so suddenly was a bit of a shock, but you were well enough prepared and managed to only gag on him a little bit. The sight of you salivating on him was almost more than Joseph could bear, and he just started chuckling as he rocked his hips and tightened his grip on your hair and head.

“You’re so sexy, you know that? Especially drooling all over my cock like this. You like this, baby?” Joseph asked. You nodded, more than happy to pleasure him - his moans and dirty talk both were enough to have you extremely aroused, especially after feeling his thigh muscles for yourself earlier - and content with him fucking your face like this. You loved Joseph’s wild side, and you were thoroughly enjoying seeing it take this form.

For a moment, Joseph thought he was dreaming. He rocked his hips forward again and at that, he officially took control. As methodical thrusts became increasingly sloppy, you could tell he was getting close, and that was confirmed when you felt and tasted his cum on the back of your tongue.

Joseph withdrew his cock from your mouth as you swallowed his cum, and before you could even move, he gently placed a hand on your shoulder and leaned you back so you were lying on the floor.

“Don’t go anywhere, you pretty little thing.” His fingers ran down to the spot between your legs. “Now it’s your turn, yeah?”

[angelanika]

How Bizarre

[ProHero! Bakugou x Black! Fem Reader]

Part 1.                                 Part 2>>>>

Chapter Warnings: cursing, sexual themes, mentions of alcohol

[Please see the series masterlist for overall warnings before getting too invested 💀 characters are aged up!]

“hey....hey Ground Zero....are you awake?”

The faint whisper of someone calling out his name was enough to stir the Pro Hero out of his slumber.

He let out a deep, frustrated groan as he lazily opened up his crimson eyes, only to be met with an unfamiliar face peering over him.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Bakugou speedily shot up from the hotel bed, startling you just as much. You quickly backed away from him, slamming into the adjacent wooden dresser, as his hands began to spark.

“WAIT!! Waitwaitwaitwait,” you cried with your hands up and eyes tightly shut, “I- I just wanted to know if you had any clothes I could borrow!!”

The popping of Bakugou’s blazing hands began to simmer down as he took in his surroundings. The fighting stance he had equipped was slowly disabled and he slouched back down into the hotel bed, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose irritatedly. 

His head began to pound as the blurred memories of the previous night came crashing in. 

From the multiple drinks he ordered for himself at the bar, to the Raspberry Lemon Drop Martini he had the bartender send your way. From the way your hips swayed as you drew nearer to thank him, to the way your firm ass grinded against his clothed dick as you lost yourself on the dance floor. 

His past couple of weeks had been overwhelmingly busy and last night, he knew he had to get laid if wanted to be able to get through the next.

He eyeballed your curves from across the bar for quite some time before he finally sent the drink over. He always had to be extremely cautious when dealing with these sort of things due to his status and popularity, he couldn't run into it too quickly no matter how sexually frustrated he was and how intoxicating you looked. He had to feel you out from afar a bit first.

However, when you approached in that dress that had your melanin shining and his dick straining, your tits slightly bouncing and your manicured hands dragging down his sleeves as you border-line moaned out “Thanks for the drink Ground Zero ;)”, he knew he made the right decision. 

And sweetcheeks, that was the first of many more moans to come. 

Bakugou practically dragged you into his car and to the nearest hotel as soon as you gave him the green light, easily securing a more-than-comfortable last minute hotel room for the two of you....hero perks.

As soon as you both were through the door, he pounced. He was rough and wild, going at you round after round after round....not that you were complaining though.

You could tell that he must’ve been frustrated about something or the other, but then again, that was none of your concern. You had your own problems to worry about and as sexy of a fantasy it would be to date a ProHero, you were there to hit it and quit it just like he was. 

What do you think this is? Some sort of fanfiction??

But now the night of fun is over and here we are...

When Bakugou had finally gathered all his thoughts and his headache began to dull, he trained his eyes back on you. The hot brown-skinned babe whose back he had repeatedly blown out just hours before, now stood nervously in front of him wrapped in a hotel robe. 

Your hair and make-up were a complete wreck as you stood there, reminding him of how he had your body shaking and thrown into all sorts of positio- WAIT WHY ARE YOU STANDING THERE?

“Oi! Dumbass!” 

You sharply turned to him, not appreciating the nickname, but giving him your attention nonetheless.

“Tf are you still doing here and waking me up for?? Is this your first one-night-stand or something?” he said mockingly, bringing his arms above his head and resting back on them. His biceps flexed and he didn’t miss the way your eyes drank them in, causing his smirk to widen even more. 

Cocky bastard...

You straightened your posture with your hands now firmly sitting on your hips, not granting him the privilege of thinking you’re intimidated by him whatsoever. “No,” you rolled your eyes, “In fact, I was actually on my way out when I realized that I can’t leave.”

He shot you a quizzical look, “Door’s unlocked. See yourself out.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

You huffed as you strode over to the other end of the room, descending to gather something off the floor, before making your way elsewhere to pick up another item. Bakugou shamelessly eyed your round ass as you bent over. Your skin seemed to be glowing even more now and he silently wished that the cream-colored bath robe would ride up jussst a little bit higher. 

Suddenly, you turned back to him holding up the items in question. 

“I can’t leave because someoneee got a little too excited last night and tore my clothes to shreds,” you threw the garments at the culprit. “They’re completely unwearable now so that’s why I wanted to know if you had anything I could borrow.” 

Bakugou inspected the pieces fabric that had him thoroughly whipped for you the previous night and noted the frays, stretches and burnt holes in them before uncaringly tossing them to the side and making himself more comfortable in the bed, “I just booked this fucking hotel! Of course I don’t have anything for you to wear!”

As he began snuggling back into the sheets, ready to doze off, you bravely dragged them off, exposing his bare chest to the sharp, cool air once again. 

“TF DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”

“Could you please at least give me a ride?” you begged, eyes glossy with desperation, “I need to be at work in less than an hour and I don’t feel like riding the bus bare-pussied.” 

“Tch. Who TF goes clubbing the night before they have work?!” he barked.

“None of your business.”

He rolled his eyes and groaned, yanking the sheets back up and turning over in the bed, “Call a fucking Uber.” 

“Too expensive.”

“Damn, you’re fucking annoying!”

Grumpily, he sat up in the bed and looked at the bedside clock. 

6:14am?? No fucking way he’s getting up now to drive some extra home on his day off. 

In a flash, he pointed towards the small, velvety chair in the corner, with his pants messily thrown across it. “My fucking wallet is in the pocket. Just grab a $50 and go!” 

(please forgive me but i’m basing this off of US Dollars cuz i’m not too familiar with the Yen conversion and value SORRY!!)

You were definitely taken aback by his instructions, but made no more complaints. Dropping a quiet “thanks”, to which you received no reply, you waddled over to the money pouch. 

Upon opening it, your eyes lit up. There you saw the $50...and another one....and another one...and ano- you knew the man was loaded, but the man was LOADED!!

“How does this all even fit in here??” you whispered to yourself as you inspected the polished, leather casing.

You slowly peaked behind your shoulder towards the bed. There, was one of the top Pro Heros dozing off in the bed and here, was his jam-packed wallet in your shaky hands.

You mentally cursed yourself as your fingers clasped around 2 hundred dollar bills as well as the fifty. You knew your ancestors were looking down and spiritually spitting on you right now, but the temptation got the better of you. 

I probably need it more than him...right? He won't even notice...

With that, you quickly pocketed the cash and booked your uber.

A few minutes later, you’re making your way out of the building and to the car waiting for you with the extra money in hand. You tried your best ignore the bewildered stares from the guests and workers in the lobby as you paraded in the hotel’s robe, but DAMN did they make you feel noticed!

You lowered your head in attempts to hide your embarassed (and guilty) face as you ran into the street and tumbled into the car. 

The driver looked at you just as strangely as the hotel staff but you still felt a little more at ease.

“Goodmorning,” you chirped. “Headed to 34 Anika Street right?”

To be continued...

[gallickingun]

welded hearts || b.k.

SUMMARY: You and Bakugou have to try and pick up the pieces after the incident with Awase, but neither of you are doing a very good job. It leads to distance and lies, and you’re not sure if there’s any way to save the fragments that remain of your shattered relationship. Especially when you find out that Bakugou has been tracking your every move.

Follows the events of Ensnare, an Awase x Reader x Bakugou fic written by @lady-bakuhoe​.

PAIRING: Pro Hero!Bakugou x Fem!Reader RATINGS: M/E+ WARNINGS: language, smut, slight violence, etc. WORD COUNT: 11.7k+

LINKS: ao3 | masterlist | mobile | writing tag

AUTHOR’S NOTE: after reading Jo’s fic, I immediately rushed to her inbox to foam at the mouth about what kind of angst would follow when Bakugou and Reader attempt to put back together what is left of their relationship, with Bakugou really not feeling like a man, and reader feeling absolutely suffocated, and this little fic was born. Also, this is my first time not tagging any blogs, I just need to start fresh. I hope everyone understands!

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

　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　

The strange combination of distance and suffocation make your head spin.

Nightmares plague your mind at night, leaving the opportunity for visions to run rampant through your sleep-deprived brain during the day. You spend the daylight hours looking over your shoulder, your forehead broken out into a constant sweat, and you spend the evenings wondering if you might have imagined the whole thing.

You wake up alone most of the time, no matter what phase of the night you are suffering through. The first few times you would go searching the house for him, wondering where his overactive body could have taken him this time. Most nights you found him at the kitchen table going over suit designs and contracts for more hero patrols and brand deals.

You’d ask him when he was coming back to bed only for those familiar vermilion eyes to pass you a blank stare and his dry voice to echo out, “Don’t worry about me. Go back to bed.”

And each night you’d listen.

You curl up beneath the covers, tugging the fabric to your chin, and stare at the wall. You attempt breathing exercises and grounding techniques, but that does not stop the shadowy figures you see in the hallway or the closet. Your imagination gets the better of you as it hallucinates the image of the culprit himself stood in your bathroom doorway, a smirk on his lips and a glint in his eyes.

“So fucking pretty,” his mouth snarls around the words, dark hair shining despite the dark. His teeth are pearlescent even in the dim moonlight filtering through your window, “Whose going to stop me? You?”

A shudder shakes your shoulders and when you blink, he’s gone, like a phantom escaped in the night. You rip your hands through your hair and tears drip down from your lids into your lap, staining the fabric of your pajama pants. Your hands shake in front of you, fingertips showing double the harder you try to concentrate.

His presence is akin to smoke billowing within your belly. The tendrils of his black cloud wrap around your spine, traveling up your torso until it sits in the base of your throat, suffocating you endlessly. Every day you spend breathing is another day fighting for relief from this monstrous thing in your chest.

Bakugou turns to much different means of coping.

At first it was sweet – him checking in on you. He would offer to come pick you up from work if you’d ever decided to leave anytime after seven, and if he was stuck on patrol or in meetings, he’d arrange a car to bring you home. When you go on your afternoon runs, he’d volunteer to go with you even though he’d done rigorous amounts of training at work.

The simplest ways he would show his sense of pride in protecting you would be to hover closely, his body within an arm’s length so he could snag you out of any bad situation if there ever were one. Still, even with his insatiable hovering tendencies, he would keep his own personal touch at bay.

At times when he would usually hold your hand or brush up against you, he stays at least three feet away. It’s as if he’s chosen to self-quarantine himself from you, deeming your affections as either insufficient or insufferable, which neither are good options to choose from.

Once it becomes overwhelming, you find yourself in too deep, too bitter. You try to reach out to him in the form of affection – brushing your palm over his hips as you pass him in the kitchen, trying to grab his hand when you’re walking together, and reaching out to touch his shoulders when he faces away from you the few nights he does end up in bed.

To shout out now would be hypocritical, as you have had a part in pushing him further from you, isolating his affectionate touches even further. Yet, the longer he keeps himself from brushing even his clothed thigh against you when he passes you by in the kitchen or at the grocery store, you wonder who is actually suffering from the lack of physical affection and who is merely existing.

Eventually he grows more suffocating.

Bakugou will not let you be out of his sight for longer than a few minutes at a time despite sitting opposite from you on every surface he can find. You have started to hide in the bathroom, proclaiming cramps or bad pork before skittering off to the bathroom with your phone clutched in the grasp of your fingers, if only to find some peace from his prying eyes for a few moments at a time.

He has never been so clingy before, and you know that it is laced with the trauma as a result of the Awase situation. However, this doesn’t make it any easier to stomach his lurking. On the other hand, it adds a stinging sensation at the irony of it all.

Bakugou wants to be completely involved in every facet of your life without even kissing you good morning when he hands you your coffee.

You knew that what had happened with Awase all those weeks ago had to have affected him, coloring his outlook on life no matter how bleak it had been before. With each passing day he grows closer to you, hands metaphorically wrapped around your throat, squeezing every last pound of air from your tongue. But still, you never imagined that he would take t his far.

And so, you lie through your teeth.

Yaoyorozu was invited to the grand opening of a bar in the plaza sector of the city, and she invites you and the other girls for a night out. You know that if Bakugou heard about you going on about visiting a bar and intending to drink, he’d say some new form of the word ‘no’ and persuade you with his big, round, crimson eyes to stay home.

There were too many safety hazards, after all. Especially if you are going to be drinking. Your senses would be impaired, and you would be much easier to take advantage of once you are two shows into the wind. And then Bakugou would casually remind you that Momo normally finds a guy and ditches you, thus forcing you into taking a cab ride home, which creates an entirely new set of problems.

Which is why, when you tell him why you won’t be home tonight, you lie, “It’s just a sleepover, like back in high school! Momo and Ochako wanted to get back together and I think Mina might even be coming too!”

Bakugou nods, looking over the top of his combat training manual, “Just let me know if you need me to come pick you up, alright?”

You nod, not daring to reach forward and try to brush your hand against his forearm, afraid he might recoil or redirect you. Instead you force a smile, nodding your head as you open the door, “Momo is picking me up, and she said she’d be fine with driving me back tomorrow, but I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

His posture visibly relaxes at the sentiment. It is maddening how one simple shift of his composure makes you want to barrel into him, to forget your entire night and attempt to curl up with him on the couch. It has been so long since you last felt his touch, even in a casual sense. The bar counter top acts like a prison, barring him from you as he isolates himself.

“Have fun,” he manages, eyes falling away from you.

And you’re glad, too. At least when he’s not looking at you, he can’t read your face for lies. Bakugou is like a human lie detector, able to sense any unease in your usually relaxed posture.

Of course he has no reason to disbelieve you – why would you lie to him in the first place? You have preyed on that trust, a thing you feel so despicable for even considering, the fib scraping against your teeth like nails on a chalkboard. You wince at his tone, unbelievably naïve, but the door stays open regardless of your conviction.

The lie rolls around in your belly like a parasite, preying on the poor decisions and leeching on your inhibitions. You feel it suffocating your throat as you blow a kiss his direction, telling him not to wait up as you readjust your backpack full of overnight accessories and a change of clothes that is slung over your right shoulder.

Bakugou smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, which only further feeds the parasitic being taken up a home in your stomach. It sits heavy on your tongue when you tell him goodnight, threatening to chew right through your cheek until it’s been bared to the whole world.

He nods, licking his lips as he watches you leave. You wave one last time as you shut the door, guilt eating you alive until you feel tears press against the backs of your eyelids. You swallow your conscience and head towards the car you recognize as Momo’s, the weight of your club clothes sitting heavy in your backpack. You cinch it closer to you, praying that Bakugou hasn’t somehow developed x-ray vision to be able to see through your bag.

And yet, a part of you wants him to come barreling down the stairwell to beg you to come back inside, back home. You want him to whisper your name like a prayer, his hands outstretched so you can reach forward to slot your knuckles between his.

At least in your hallucinations he still wants you.

--

Once you’re at the club bar, it doesn’t take long for you to find yourself in a drunken stupor.

“Listen,” you slur, pointing a finger into Momo’s ample chest, “I-I’m not sayin’ he’s gotta dick me down every night, b-but like-once?!”

You take a long drag of beer, swallowing the acidic liquid until it’s burning your throat. You slam your cup back down on the table top, pursing your lips as you take in a deep breath, “I mean it’s been months, guys. Months.”

“A-Are you serious?” Uraraka leans in closer to you, eyes widened, “N-Not since-”

“Nope,” you huff, slumping down in the booth seat. “I-I know that since the incident that things have been different, but it’s like he doesn’t even want me anymore.”

Momo reaches her arm around your shoulder, tucking you into her side, “I’m sure he just doesn’t know how to handle all of it, and he’s just trying to do his best.”

“Bakugou?” Mina laughs, bright eyes hidden behind her lids as she screws her face up into a giggle. She takes a sip of her beer, propping her feet on the nearest unoccupied table, and sighs, “Good luck with that one, babes. I don’t see things returning back to normal anytime soon, not with how damn stubborn he can be.”

The beginning of a fresh set of tears presses like a crater into the backs of your eyes, a pulsing headache drawing out a groan from your lips. You drop your forehead to the tabletop and relish at the cool surface opposing your heated flesh, “I-I know that normal isn’t exactly an option yet, but I would like to feel like I wasn’t so fucking alone in my own house, y’know? I mean, he’s right there and yet it’s like I’m there all by myself?”

Your phone buzzes from within your purse and there is a collective grouching that echoes from everyone at the table, sour expressions making it obvious the way they feel about your ringtone. Momo crosses her arms over her chest, “You do realize this is the seventeenth time he’s called you, right?”

You reach into your purse but her hand is on your wrist before you can snatch your phone. She shakes her head and Mina huffs through her nose, “Why can’t you just put that thing on silent? When is he going to stop bugging you?”

“Yeah?” Momo brushes her thumb against your forearm, “Didn’t you tell him you were coming out with us tonight?”

A bright red tinge sits hot on your cheeks, making your skin look flushed. Your friends understand your conflict then, sitting back from you in shame. Mina is the first to speak, “You lied?”

“I-well, I couldn’t just-” You rack your brain for the right words to say to defend yourself, sweat accumulating at the base of your back in droves. You want to run away, but there’s nowhere to go. If you head home now, Bakugou will most likely have a full rant ready for you as soon as you walk in the door.

“You can’t keep lying to him like this,” Momo presses her palm to your cheek, brushing away a tear before it can slip down your face, “You’re going to have to be honest with him eventually. He needs to back off, to let you live. There’s no reason he has to be attached to you like an umbilical cord all of the time.”

“His concern is kind of nice, though,” Jirou speaks up.

Your head snaps towards her and she shrugs, “All I’m saying is at least he’s trying to protect you. He’s not completely self-absorbed after all.”

Before you can try to refute her or defend him, your phone starts ringing once more. Your hand dives into your purse, pulling it from within and looking down at it like that might keep it from ringing any longer.

“I don’t understand!” You’re whining now, fresh saltine droplets settling in your lashes. You wipe at your face, “I-I don’t get why he won’t just leave me the hell alone. I told him exactly what I was doing tonight, exactly where I was going and who I was going to be with. I just-”

“Except you lied.”

You feel all of the heat leave your body, only frozen fingertips and an icy, rigid spine left behind.

You turn your head at the familiar baritone voice that cuts into you from behind, and your heart drops into your stomach. When you breathe, the parasitic thing living there begins to swallow your stomach whole, gnawing away at your most sensitive parts first.

You grit your teeth, forcing yourself to feel anger instead of shame, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What, pray tell, the fuck are you doing here?!” Bakugou snaps, eyes a conflagration of brassy tones, pupils dilated to prove his anger, as if it weren’t so evident from his tone.

Mina goes to speak up when she sees you flinch, but you’re already being dragged out from the safety of the booth seat. Bakugou’s blunt nails are digging into your bicep and forearm like little spears, snagging you so you can’t get away. He yanks you into the hallway, your back pressed into the wall as he further infringes on your space with his closeness.

“You fuckin’ lied to me?”

His voice is held together by rage, begging to be broken apart as he lets the feelings seep through the cracks of his resolve. Bakugou’s jaw quivers as he grinds his teeth together, heaving breaths making his chest expand to brush against your own. It’s the closest thing you’ve felt to intimacy since that night in the alley – since he decided to pretend that you and your needs didn’t exist.

You want to start bubbling out another fib, foaming at the mouth with lies so smooth he’d have to believe them. Your brain is stumbling in attempt to keep up with his fast paced thinking. Every phrase you could possibly say to make this go down like honey instead of vinegar passes through your mind, but you know that this will sting no matter how long you put off trying to swallow it.

The intentions you have now, to make everything easier on him and spare his emotions, have been tainted by your conniving words from before. You weren’t preparing for a confessional in the middle of this hole-in-the-wall bar, but not every night goes exactly how you plan it.

The both of you understand that sentiment rather intimately.

Bakugou’s eyes are ablaze, vermilion bleeding to amber nearest his pupils. His jawline is flexed, nostrils flaring, and you know that laced within his anger is something akin to fright, fearfulness. Every single feature he possesses is pinched tightly, as if his body were wound like a coil, and he is going to snap at any moment.

And then, when your mouth bobs open and shut, and you can’t find the right lie to squeeze between your teeth, you begin putting the whole situational puzzle back together. Anger replaces the acrid taste in your mouth, cinders of fury settling on your tongue the more it all starts to make sense.

Your eyes meet his and he feels the shift, his grip on your arm lessening at the sight of your furious irises honing in on him. The reality that he is not as innocent as you would like to believe seeps into your skin, settling like sticky acid, and you itch religiously to get it off of you.

“How did you know that I was here?” you ask, voice eerily calm as your vision begins to blur at the edges. You gnaw on your lower lip, tilting your head to consider every falter in his expression, “I told you I was going to be at Yaoyorozu’s. You had no idea that-”

You can’t help the choking sound that comes from your throat next, gagging on your words as pure fury overwhelms your body. Your shoulders shudder under the strain of these destructive emotions as realization settles in. Even the fear in his own irises cannot stop the tumultuous build of vehemence that seeps through you like molten lava, crawling upwards through your veins until all you can see is red – blinding red.

You’re repeating your question when it appears he won’t answer you to speak the truth; eyebrows furrowed, forehead wrinkled. Your jawline pulsates with muscle tremors as you grit your teeth down fervently, a high-pitched whining sound echoing within your own skull at the action, “What did you do, Katsuki?”

It’s not a question, though, not this time.

Bakugou’s throat bobs and before he can give you some shitty, half-thought out excuse, you’re poking your finger into his chest, directly between the taut line of his pectorals, “Where is it?”

“Wh-What?” he manages to cough out, tongue bitten between his teeth.

You take a step back with each question of the location, chin wobbling in denial, “My bag? My phone? My car? Did you put it in me, Katsuki?”

The sound of his given name dripping like toxic acid from your tongue makes his heart constrict within the confines of his chest. The organ beats at a thunderous pace, so hard that he’s sure there is an outlined bruise in the shape of it if you were to peel his shirt back and look. Still, he knows better than to argue with you – knows even better than to try and deny it. You are a human lie detector when it comes to him. You know his mannerisms so well that you’re able to spot a stuttering breath from a mile off, even the smallest of hints to his dastardly secret-keeping seeming like bright white lights to you.

He has backed himself into a corner in trying to keep you safe, so he admits with his head hung low, “Your phone.”

A shuddering breath makes your chest collapse, jaw fallen slack at the confession. Your spirit was praying that he might have just found out from a friend, maybe Kirishima discovered that you were out with Momo and Mina and told him. But no, now he’s admitted to the crime and he knows that he’ll have to face the punishment.

You want to root around in your purse until you’ve found the offending object, but it’s not the time, at least not right now. He can’t take advantage of using it while you’re both still in the same location. You’ll have to handle it later.

“How long?” you ask, voice small.

Bakugou does not answer immediately. His eyes are downcast, unable to meet yours as his lower lip quivers just enough for you to make it out in the dim light of the bar. Your heart thrums at the sight of him so distraught, but you lock your knees and force your body to straighten your spine and steel your resolve.

You repeat the question, digging your fingertip into his skin until you are sure that you’ve drawn blood underneath the fabric of his black tank top.

He snaps, the blood vessels in his neck thudding against the tanned skin there, “Since Awase, when the fuck else do you think?”

And just like that, your entire body is thrown back in time. You are that helpless woman in that alleyway, your body used for the lustful gratification of someone else, thrown to the side like a plaything when he was through. You feel hands, lips, skin, all over you, torturing your body even now when you are awake. The ghost of his crooked touch makes your eyes water, thick droplets sticking to your lashes.

The sound of that villain’s name makes your ears burn and your tongue turn to sandpaper. A chill runs down your spine despite the massive blanket of heat in the room from all the bodies burning with alcohol and movement. Your head feels fuzzy, eyes unable to focus as you attempt to come back to this version of reality.

A single tear drips down your cheek, but Bakugou knows better than to try and wipe it away like he might if it were any other time.

“I-I can’t believe this,” you murmur, withdrawing your finger from him to cover your mouth with both hands. You blink slowly, turning your gaze from him to the floor, taking it all in with stride, attempting to breathe as evenly as possible while still processing everything unfolding in front of you.

Bakugou reaches up to touch your elbow, just enough contact to try and bring you back down to earth. Your eyes snap upward, meeting his vermilion gaze with an expression opposing your fiery wit from earlier. He’s never seen your body waver in such a way that would leave him to believe you to be weak, but now all he wants is to hold you between his arms, piecing you back together bone-by-bone, vessel-by-vessel.

You’re lost in the simplistic touch of him, the first you’ve felt in what you know to be weeks, but believe to be eons. He has been so distant from you that you almost forget why you are angry when he’s this close to you, suffocating your body in the best of ways. You can smell the telltale sign of his quirk, an ashen sweetness that you are sure you’ve become addicted to throughout the entirety of your relationship.

A breath bites through your lungs and you sharply cut your teeth into the inside of your cheek, trying to snap yourself out of your dazed stupor brought on by isolation. As you open your eyes again, you steel yourself, stepping up with brazen confidence to slap away his hand from your arm.

The burning flames licking at your throat turn to white-hot rage, “I don’t know what the hell your problem is, Katsuki, but this controlling me shit has got to stop.”

His eyes refocus on yours again, pupils swallowing those pretty red globes whole, fear riddling every bone in his fragile body, “Wh-What are you talking about?”

Now it is you who has backed him into a corner, his backside and shoulder pushing against the wall. He tries to reach out to stop you, to beg for your forgiveness, but the stony expression in your irises tells him that he needs to be still an listen no matter how many biting insults and wanton words sit on his tongue.

“You’re breathing down my neck, Bakugou,” you inhale a shuddering breath at the sound of his surname being forced through your teeth. Tears lick at the corner of your eyes, your fists shaking by your sides, “I can’t take a shit without you wondering why I’m gone for longer than three minutes. You’ve been so fucking controlling that I can’t even go out with my friends without you needing to make it a momentous occasion!”

“You lied to me, for fucks sake!” Bakugou presses into you, snarling around his words. “You expect me to just forget that? What else have you been lying about?”

Your teeth clatter against one another, rattling around in your head, “I had to! You’ve been this glass case of emotion lately! And you won’t even let me walk home alone! I feel like I have a damn shadow everywhere I go!”

“I’m trying to-”

A thought hits you then, mulling you over so powerfully that you stumble backward, putting distance between the two of you. Your gaze falters from him to the wall, unable to look him in the eyes as you utter the next few syllables, “You don’t trust me?”

Bakugou is quick to refute you, stepping forward to take you out of your haze, “Hell no, baby! Of course, I trust you.”

“You put a goddamn tracker on my phone!” you snap, muscles quivering beneath your skin as your entire body tenses at the statement. Tears settle in your lids, dripping down over your cheek when you force him off of you. “What the hell am I supposed to think?”

He reaches out and wraps you up in his arms forcefully, despite your thrashing and shoving. You tear into him with your words and your touch, trying to punch him even though your range of motion is rather limited. Bakugou puts his chin on the top of your head, bottling you up like liquid rage, holding you together as you try to fall apart.

Bakugou has one hand against the back of your head, hands tucked into the tresses of your hair to cradle your head into the curve of his neck. His other palm rubs up and down the length of your arm as he tries to calm you down from your frenzied state, the loud music and pulsing bodies in the background of the bar doing little to deter your heightened temper.

You gulp as you feel his mouth bury into the crown of your head, kisses sprinkled into your hair like little flowers, petals of kind words tucked against your scalp. Bakugou wants to take you by the hand and drag you home, to curl up with you for the first time since that horrible night in the alleyway, and whisper promises into your skin until he goes hoarse.

You tilt your head upward, face shining bright with tears, nose bumping into his chin, “The-Then why do you-”

Katsuki nudges his nose over yours, a shuddering breath making his lip tremble against the bow of your mouth. A snarling growl rips his throat wide open as every feral, primal instinct buried deep within him is unleashed, “Are you really that dense, dumbass?”

The insult takes you by surprise, facial expression souring as you roll your tongue against your teeth, attempting to swallow the acidic retort sitting on the tip of the muscle in your mouth. Bakugou watches you with a careful eye, making sure that you aren’t going to speak up before he tries to rephrase himself.

“Listen, I just-I…” The words are caught in his throat, raking into his esophagus like shards of glass. Bakugou hates being vulnerable, especially with you. It makes him feel raw, torn open, and uncomfortable. He wants to be the pillar of strength you believe him to be, and how can he prove that he’s worthy of your trust when he feels so weak?

And yet, with you standing in front of him with expectant eyes and shaking hands, he finds it within himself to say what has been plaguing his mind for weeks.

“This shitstorm happened to me too, y’know?”

He sounds so heartbreakingly honest that it makes your skin prickle. A chill tightens like a coil around your spine, spreading shards of ice throughout your veins until your whole body is burning from the frigid feeling, fingertips numb.

Bakugou’s mouth bobs open and shut before he tears a hand through his hair, the other never leaving your body, frustrated at the fact that he can’t think of the right things to say. He looks up at the ceiling, a breath expanding his chest so he’s flush with you.

“Every fucking time I close my eyes, I see that shit all over again.” The veins in his body are prominent as he stresses himself out by trying to speak, “I see you, helpless, because I fucked up and lost focus. I-I couldn’t do anything and you needed me an-”

He can’t force the words out, can’t muster them up from the back of his throat no matter how many times he licks at the inside of his mouth, desperately searching his own skin for the answers. The reality of what might come to fruition when he says his truth out loud is too much to bear, no matter how much he knows he has to have this conversation with you. This is not something you both can just move on from, not without addressing it in all of its ugliness first. He wills the words to come out, closing his eyes and breathing deep. And even still, his mind will not cal.

Katsuki is a raging sea and you are the rickety lifeboat caught in his violent storm.

You swirl in his vortex for a moment longer before prodding him, hand pressed flat against his chest. You brush your thumb over his collarbone, “Katsuki, come on, talk to me. Please.”

Bakugou’s hand flinches by his side and you wonder if he wants to reach out to touch you with the pads of his fingers; to use you like an anchor, weighing him down in the right in the right way to bring him back to the current version of reality.

“I’m right here,” you whisper, pushing him further, knowing what he’s trying to tell you, but needing to hear it from his own tongue.

You step into his space and crowd him into the tight expanse of the hallway, and he can’t draw his eyes away from you despite the shame he feels from the tears currently clouding his vision. Every naysayer in his life comes to him in that very moment, telling him that he’s weak and spineless, completely useless if he can’t do the simplest of tasks. They scream at him, clawing at his heart until he’s bleeding out tears, hands shuddering in pain.

All he wants is to see you smiling again; a genuine, shining smile. He wants to watch as your eyes light up when he kisses you, or when he touches you here and there, casually in passing. Bakugou misses the old kindling the two of you had before that fateful night all those weeks ago. There was a familiarity that now feels lost in translation, wafting somewhere between the space separating the both of you.

You’re begging him in his ear now, words lodged like knives into his heart, a new syllable signifying a new blade, “Why are you doing this, Katsuki? Please, tell me!”

That is the last one – the proverbial blade that shoves its way through is spine to split him in two. He can’t help the way his voice shatters when he finally breaks, falling forward on weak knees, “To fucking protect you! Goddammit!”

You take a short step backward, shuffling away from him at his sudden furious outburst, the change in volume startling you. Goosebumps pebble on your skin and you feel a wave of anxiety wash over you, settling in your stomach to eat away at your resolve, that same parasite from earlier flaring up all over again. You swallow the pent-up emotion in your throat, but Bakugou isn’t finished, not yet. Now that he’s finally been ripped open, he can’t stop the flow.

“Every night you’d get further and further away from me,” his hands are flexing at his sides, knuckles turning white, little crackling explosions lighting like a warning sign, “And I can’t fucking get over this shit, okay?!”

The familiar ashen sweetness lingers in the air at the bare minimum usage of his quirk, but it’s comforting in a way. You breathe it in and try to stave off any tears from stemming down your cheeks. It is his turn to crumble, to fall down at your feet and beg for you to help him repair the gaping wound in his chest.

As you watch him fall apart, it’s physically painful to witness the way his body quivers, every muscle coiled and ready to spring into use. His lower lip, full and pink, is wobbling while he tries to form coherent sentences. You’ve never wanted to reach out and touch him more, to calm him with a tender brush of your knuckles over his cheek, or a hand flattened onto the plane of his chest. But he is too far away from you now, distant in the worst way.

It’s like he’s a figurative bomb, building up and ready to detonate. Each passing moment only fills him with more gunpowder, stuffing his throat until he’s suffocating under the notion that he can’t save you. Has he ever been capable of keeping you from harm?

“I-I was weak,” his voice breaks and so does his façade, tears brimming in the ducts of his reddened lids, “I let that fucker get the best of me, and i-it cost you. You were hurt because I couldn’t protect you.”

Bakugou’s palms shudder at his sides, fingers curling around smoke. You want to step forward, to reassure him that he is the furthest thing from weak that you have ever seen, but he cowers from you when you get too close. He reminds you of a caged animal finally set free, unsure of where to step, how to breathe all of the fresh air at once. Almost as if he is withholding himself from you now that his confession has broken through the bars around his heart, echoed loud for you to hear.

“Throwing yourself into danger isn’t going to help,” you answer him, “and neither is suffocating me.”

The fire fueling your bones from earlier returns at the realization that he has been distancing himself from you on purpose. You assumed it had been a subconscious decision based on the trauma experienced from the encounter with Awase, but you never would have guessed he was actively choosing to ignore you, especially physically. And now, with his hands shaking at his sides, you are beginning to wonder if he feels the same pull that you do, the desire to let your palms search one another’s skin to find the answers to your innermost questions.

“The only thing I’m any good at is fighting!” Bakugou falls back against the wall, eyes downcast in defeat as his shoulders slump forward. He opens his palms in front of his body, flexing his fingers. “All I can do is work as hard as I possibly can to be the best. I have to be the best.”

He curls his fingers back to fists, fury coursing through his veins like fire, accumulating in his palms to a head, a bomb settled in the cracks and crevices of his skin. “All I can focus on right now is getting stronger, to be a hero that you can trust to keep you safe.”

When his eyes snap up to meet yours, there’s a flame burning deep in his vermilion irises that makes them look alight, the bright amber color in contrast to their usual hue. It frightens you slightly, sending a tremor down your spine until you are curling your toes.

Bakugou’s hands creak as he turns them to fists, knuckles turning white, “I’ll be the best, even if it kills me.”

The very permanent word involving mortality turns your knees to jelly, bones grinding against one another in a desperate attempt to keep yourself upright. Your throat closes, emotion billowing like smoke in your esophagus until it is pushing into every available space, effectively choking you where you stand.

“Y-You don’t have to be so, so,” you struggle to find the words, breath hard to come by as you gasp for air, “so-”

“So what?!” Bakugou’s voice is patronizing now as he grows defensive at your tone, taking a downward turn to the other side of kind. He grits his teeth and you allow yourself to see him for what he truly is in this moment – a frightened child, begging for a savior, or at least some solid ground. He grimaces, shaking his head, “I couldn’t protect you when I needed to. And if I can’t keep you safe, what else am I good for?”

Silence hangs between the two of you at the heaviness of his words, creating an even further distance as his words settle like embers on your heart.

You want to brush the cinders away, blowing the ash into the wind and along with it, the horrific memories from the past few weeks. His name sits on the tip of your tongue, scratching at the muscle and begging to be freed from the cage of your teeth. Your fingertips ache at your sides, keening towards him with the desire to find something to feel, some tactile version of reality to reaffirm that you have not lost everything. The heaviness in your feet keeps you from shuffling forward, tucking yourself into his body and promising him that you’ll never see him as anything short of incredible.

“See?” Bakugou’s voice shatters into another wave of jagged pieces with every longing look you give him, tossing his arms in the air to show his defeat, “And then you go and do shit like this, where you look at me like I put the fuckin’ sun in the sky every morning.”

He’s wheezing the words out now, manic movements jerking his arms and shoulders, praying that his palms might go off in the middle of this club so you both can get booted out and forced to go home. Maybe then he can break through the barrier of how he has been feeling to show you why he’s treated you like a child.

“How the hell am I supposed to live up to this pillar of greatness you’ve made me out to be? This perfect image of me you have in your mind is a lie,” Bakugou is begging you for an answer with his gestures. His hands reach towards you, never touching, eyebrows cocked upward as his eyes search your face for a secret message hidden beneath your skin. “You think that I can do no wrong, that I’ll always be your hero. And now that I’ve fucked that up, and you still look at me the same exact way, how am I supposed to live with that? With being a fraud?”

Bakugou blinks and two identical tear droplets seep over the corners of his lids, tracking down his cheeks as he gasps for air, “I-I can’t help it when you look at me like I have all the answers when I-I can’t even fuckin’ figure out how I-”

You cover him like sunlight, warm and safe. He feels your mouth against his, your hands on his face and chest and its like you’ve pulled him from where he was floating midair back down to the ground again. Bakugou’s body is flush between your torso and the wall, either side of him pressed into something. He is hot, too hot, like his body temperature has skyrocketed. Sweat trickles down his spine, sticking his shirt to his shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur as you part from him.

Your nose brushes against his, the bow of your lips still touching when you speak, “I haven’t been very considerate of you. I was too wrapped up in the way I was feeling that I didn’t stop to consider how it has been affecting you.”

You palm at his face, fingertips fawning over his cheek bones and brows and temples. Bakugou’s jaw is quivering, hands still dormant by his sides, flexed until his palms are splotched red with effort. You run your hand up from his chest to his shoulder, kneading the heel into his muscles to try and relax his body.

“Katsuki,” you call to him. “Look at me.”

And he listens.

The trail of your fingertips on his forearm feels like gasoline, trickling down his skin slowly but surely, making its way to his palms where his skin will act like a detonator. Bakugou grinds his teeth together as he tries to stay focused in on your face, the effort from it all makes the vein on his forehead protrude, thudding profusely beneath his skin.

“Take me home.”

--

The walk up the stairs to your door is tense, quiet.

Bakugou turns the key into the lock, the door opening with a gentle click. The two of you step inside, your bags strewn on the countertop and your shoes kicked off near the mat. Your hands wring in front of you as he faces away, the only visible thing being his backside.

“I don’t deserve you.”

The words take you by surprise, shaking you to your core. You stumble backward, hand clutched over your heart when it starts to sting, “Wh-Why do you think-”

“Do you know what it’s like to have people’s lives put into your hands, and then to fuck it all up?” Bakugou turns to look at you, hands glowing with the threat of his quirk, “To put the one person you care about more than fucking breathing into danger?”

His jaw quivers, “You didn’t see the look in your eyes when he was putting you through that shit. You were looking to me for help and I was fucking welded to a goddamn wall!”

You reach out to press your fingertip into the center of his palm, diffusing the built-up nitroglycerin in the crevices of his skin. Bakugou’s shoulders shudder, his eyes widening at your touch. You force a smile, but it does not reach your eyes, and he notices.

“Hey,” you call to him, your other hand drifting up to cup his cheek, trying to turn him towards you. “Stop that. Look at me.”

Bakugou’s eyes stop flitting around and focus on you, connecting your gazes. He looks frightened again, like a scared child. All you want is to hold him tight and put him back together again until he feels whole.

You push yourself up onto your toes, nudging your nose over his cheek slowly. You’re taken aback when you feel his hesitant touch dredge over your hip, thumb just beneath your top. It’s the most intimate feeling you’ve received from him in weeks, and it sends every atom of you on high alert. Your spine tingles as you stutter-step forward until you’re pressed into him.

Your breath hitches at his closeness, fanning out over him in a wave of heat that makes him shiver. You feel your heart ready to explode from within the confines of your chest, begging to be let free as it tries to claw its way out of your ribcage. You can’t look away from him, it’s like he’s turned into a magnet for your body.

As you graze over his chest with your other hand, the one against his cheek brushes up into his hair to card through the blonde strands. Your thumb catches against the stubble of his undercut just behind his pierced ears and it makes you smile, remembering the conversation where you coerced him into getting the new haircut in the first place. And now he can’t go a couple weeks without getting it shaped back up.

“Kiss me,” you plead, your touch like that of a siren, calling him deeper into the water, “please, Katsuki.”

In spite of him suffocating you mentally and situationally, you know that he’s been distant physically. It wasn’t hard to realize the shift in affections, especially since you’ve grown accustomed to his wayward glances and casual touches. Once he started to withdraw from you, you began to worry but your own anxiety wound so tightly around your body that it drowned out any other inhibitions that might have drawn you closer to asking questions. Bakugou has never been one to bare his emotions anyway.

Every morsel of him wants to dive headfirst into your waters, to drink you in through his nose and mouth until it is only the essence of you that remains. And yet there is something holding him back, like strings attached to his shoulders, forcing him to stay still.

It is that very look in your eyes right now that keeps him at bay. The reality that you’ve not tainted your view of him makes his stomach churn. You should hate him for letting Awase take advantage of you. You should want to slap him across the face and punch him in the gut. You should want to rip your fingers into his chest and slay him where he stands, cutting a gaping hole where his heart once was, filling it with a black ooze that might represent your disdain and disappointment.

Anything other than this overwhelming prideful look gleaming in your eyes that tells him he could do no wrong.

The sight of it brings tears to his eyes and he has to look away, the weight of it all too stifling as he attempts to breathe again. Bakugou struggles with oxygen, feeling lightheaded as you stand so near to him.

“Look at me,” you beg of him, your own voice sounding raw. You swallow every possible reticence you might have in this moment and focus all of your energy on him, “I love you, okay? There’s nothing you could do to change that, Katsuki. Nothing, so-”

You’re cut off mid-sentence by the familiar feel of his lips, warm and full against your mouth. He has captured you entirely, his hands on your face as he steps in closer to you. You shudder with tears at the sensation of him kissing you for the first time in weeks. A wash of warmth seeps through your body, starting at your head and curling around your spin until it has reached your toes. You feel lightheaded at it all, so wrapped up in him that you can’t focus on anything else.

Bakugou’s arms wrap around your shoulders, his body squatted in front of you to push himself closer into every crevice of available skin. You dip your hands beneath his top, the pads of your fingers mapping out the contours of his muscular frame.

“Fuck,” he murmurs between your teeth, your tongue catching the word by lapping against his gums.

His hands find your backside, squeezing the supple skin like his life depends on it. You moan, rolling your hips forward. Your mind is foggy, your entire being in a haze, at the passionate way his hands obsess over your body.

When he taps your hips with his thumbs, you know what it means. You leap upward, his forearms catching your thighs to wrap you around his waistline. You don’t break away from kissing him. You’re not sure after this if he might retreat back into himself, so you full well intend on milking him for all that he’s worth in every aspect of the word.

The next thing you feel is the cool sheets beneath your steaming backside, sweat making your shirt cling to your body. Your hand sifts through Bakugou’s hair and he nips at your lower lip, relishing in the way the moans fall freely from your tongue.

He sits back on his thighs, tugging his shirt over his head, when he mumbles, “Shirt. Off. Now.”

The momentary burst of authority makes your cunt clench beneath the lace of your underwear. Your eyes go wide, but you do not hesitate to pull the offending fabric from your upper half. Bakugou has settled between your thighs when you can finally see him again. He makes quick work of your bra, flinging the garment across the room carelessly before swooping in to begin sucking at your chest.

He tweaks one piqued nipple between his thumb and forefinger, the other side of you preoccupied with his mouth. You whine, bucking your hips upward. Even through the thick fabric of his jeans, you can make out the impression of his bulging erection. The thought of getting to feel his dick again makes you keen, reaching up to thread your hand into his hair, the other palm digging fingernails into the thick, corded muscle of his shoulders.

“Damn, Princess,” he murmurs as he releases your nipple with a pop. “Such a good girl for me.”

Your breath shudders out of your lungs, fanning over his hair to make the strands shake in the darkness of your bedroom. You wrap your legs around his midsection to try and grind yourself up into his clothed length.

Bakugou slips his hand beneath your shorts, unbuttoning them swiftly as his middle finger finds your clit immediately. You can’t help it when your whole body goes rigid, the once lost sensation of his hands on your lower half returning in a blinding wave of white-hot pleasure.

“Please, Katsuki,” you force yourself to look him in the eyes even though you think you’re seeing stars, “I just want you, please. I want you in me.”

He’s hesitant when he looks down at you, eyes stuttering over which of your features to focus on first. The tip of his middle finger is brushed up against your slick folds, not delving in just yet. Your chest is heaving, eyes clouded with the threat of tears while you palm at him, desperate for every inch of his skin to be mapped out beneath your fingerprints.

“You have me,” he whispers, cracking voice barely audible. He nods, slipping his finger slowly between the walls of your cunt, “You have me, baby.”

As he starts to coil his finger within you, the squelching sound of his digit and your pussy echoing off the walls, he looks you directly in the eyes. His free hand is near your head but you wish he’d touch you with it, your body insatiably itching for his next pass. You lick your lips and go to beg for him again, unwilling to sit through the torture of his fingers, but he stops you with a kiss.

“Let me do this, let me make you feel good.”

You are speechless, left only with a gaping mouth that is claimed by his tongue. He licks at your teeth and cheeks, whining for you to reciprocate while his finger still pumps in and out of you, knuckle dragging in a tantalizing way against your smooth walls. You hold him as tightly as you can by the neck, keeping him anchored to you, the fear of him running away from you again settling like a lead anchor in your belly.

It doesn’t take long for him to push you to the edge of your first orgasm. You’ve been denied of him for so long that you’re sure you could come undone under any circumstance at this point. But still, his thick digits curled up in the heat of you, coaxing forth the first white-hot wave of pleasure makes your body shudder.

“Katsuki,” you pant, rolling your hips in time with his finger’s thrusts.

The coil within your stomach starts to bunch up, so you clench around his finger. You whine, throwing your head back, jaw hung slack. Bakugou kisses up the column of your neck, “C’mon, baby, I know you can do it for me, yeah? You’re so pretty when you come apart.”

His encouragement is what throws you over the edge. You’ve missed the sound of his timbre coaching you into orgasm after orgasm. You cry out, your voice breaking, and your hips fall slack against the mattress as the pleasure digs into you. The silvery strands of your slick coat his fingers, but he doesn’t part from you until he’s sure that he’s lured every last whimper from your lips, every last wash of arousal from your hips.

You have him by the neck, digging your fingers in to pull him back towards your mouth for another drawn out kiss. Your nose and teeth clash, but it doesn’t matter because he’s here and he’s got his hands on you. The way your body sings at his caress does not go unnoticed by him, or rather he relishes in it, basking in the sound of your wanton moans and the reaction of your begging limbs.

“Please, Katsuki,” you’re grabbing for him as he pulls away. Your fingers desperately cling to his skin, digging in and forcing half-moon prints into the tanned flesh, “I need you, please.”

The words throw him back to those moments in the alleyway when your eyes screamed the phrase you’re speaking now. He was powerless to help you then, but he can be the one to save you now.

Bakugou stands to his feet and shuffles out of his pants, his cock throbbing between his thighs when he pulls away his briefs. You try to tug down your shorts but your body is so weak and you can’t force your brain to communicate with your extremities, so you end up pouting, hot tears clouding your eyes in frustration.

“Hey,” he nudges his nose over your cheek before kissing you long enough for you to forget about your predicament. Your body molds to his intentions, hands finding his undercut to sift through the short hair there, his skin providing you with some sense of calm despite the raging emotions thudding like thunder in your brain.

He gently tugs down your shorts, peeling them from your ankles before depositing them on the floor. Bakugou runs his hand down his cock, using his bead of pre-come and what remains of your arousal on his hand to lubricate the skin. You’re salivating at the sight of him, inflamed red cockhead ready to split your cunt wide open. You’ve missed the familiarity of him inside of you, and your body notices because despite just having a spectacular orgasm that should have put you to bed for some time, your pussy flutters as a new wave of slick trickles down to the sheets.

The tip of his cock opens your pussy up enough that you’re keening forward, pleading to take more of him with the canting of your hips. You whimper out beseeching words, eyes searching his face as your hands try to find purchase on his shoulders. He shakes his head, brushing his thumb over your cheek, “Hush, baby. I promise I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”

The duality of his words is not lost on you.

Your jaw hangs open slightly, eyes wide as you look up at him. Bakugou grips the headboard with one hand, the other guiding his cock into your heat. If you look close enough, you can see the threat of glassy tears washing over his pretty red irises, making them look like little jewels in the moonlight filtering through your bedroom windows.

“Katsuki,” you whimper his name like a prayer as he slowly sheaths himself between your folds. He grunts when the base of his cock meets the lips of your pussy, eyelids fluttering somewhere between open and shut at the sensation.

He drops his head, gritting his teeth, “Fuck, I missed you.”

A relieved, broken laugh shakes your throat, the smile left behind making Bakugou see stars. You palm at his chest, “I missed you too, so much.”

The two of you have still been together every day, even sleeping in the same bed, and yet you’ve been so distant it was heartbreaking. You feel the shards of your shattered heart slowly piecing back together with each thrust he throttles into you, his hips slamming into your thighs.

It’s intense, but somehow graceful. Bakugou is not just ramming his cock into you for the sake of doing it, but he’s proving to you with every stroke of him that he’s never leaving your side again. He’s gripping the headboard so hard that his nails are leaving scratches, but you’re more focused with the tantalizing snap of his hips, the drag of his cock and those prominent veins as they stimulate your pussy even further.

His jaw quivers, hands white knuckling as he clutches the headboard even harder, picking up his pace to start building that starburst in your belly. He’s unwilling to let his hands go near you now that he’s got himself sheathed completely.

He doesn’t deserve every part of you, not yet.

Bakugou’s chest twists as he realizes he hasn’t earned his honor back; he hasn’t won the prize of feeling your skin under the sensitive pads of his fingertips while he’s fucking into you with his aching cock.

His breath stutters, heart clenching within the confine of his ribs, at the sight of you, your irises focused on only him. Your pupils are blown wider with each thrust, black swallowing the color of your irises as you reach that peak subservient headspace. His hips move slow but with purpose, his cock pulsing within your walls as you clamp down on him.

Snapping his hips up into you, the heat of it all starts to overwhelm him and he can’t breathe. The mix of your warm skin and the absolute adoration held for him in your eyes is too stimulating once you tighten your cunt around him, trapping his dick in your heat.

“Fuck, baby,” he whimpers, stilling his hips as his nails screech against the headboard.

Your hands are on him in an instance, exploring his chest and shoulders. You lick your lips and force your ass to stay put on the bed, breathing heavy through your lips. You swallow and your throat bobs, only proving further to him how absolutely enamored with him you appear to be.

“Katsuki,” you whisper into the void, cheeks warming with a blush.

Bakugou shakes his head and with the ferocity that he’s gripping the headboard, he wonders if your nailbeds can bleed. He bites down harshly on his lower lip, listening to your pleading calls for a moment too long before responding, “I-I don’t-”

He can’t form coherent sentences, not when he’s buried to the hilt inside of you and you’re gazing up at him like he’s just gotten back from hanging the moon. He squints hard, eyes filling up with tears, “I can’t, fuck.”

“Hey,” your breathless voice catches him in midair, anchoring him back from the dull hallucination that he could never find his way back to you. You reach up to gently press your palm onto his cheek, the cooling touch of your hands doing enough to dispel some of the heat on his cheeks. You push away the sweaty locks of blonde hair sticking to his forehead so you can see his eyes in their full clarity.

Katsuki’s chin wobbles as he looks down at you, forcing his eyes to stay trained in on your face no matter how much he wants to look away. He still doesn’t believe he deserves that look you hold for him within your gaze; the way you tell him that he’s nothing short of a pillar of strength in your mind with a simple look is absolutely baffling.

“Hey,” you call again, tender tone striking a chord in his heart.

Your thumb brushes underneath his eyes, the height of his cheekbones, and you smile at his fragility. Bakugou’s eyes flit around to everything but you, overactive and unable to focus on you when you’re looking at him like he’s painted the stars in the night sky.

His conscience berates him as he lays with his cock buried deep into your pussy, his hips flush with yours, the doubt kicking him in the ribs to remind him that he must be nothing short of a piece of shit – how could he let you fall into someone else’s hands? How could he be so careless? How could he-

“Katsuki,” you rub your hands over his face once more, patiently pulling him from the recesses of his toiling mind, “Come back to me.”

Bakugou’s pupils dilate but somehow you manage to bring his attention back around to your face, connecting your gazes once more. You are struggling to maintain your composure between his cock pulsing within you and the lack of his hands on your skin, your body stimulated but still wanting, but you whimper the words, “Will you kiss me?”

In that simple sentence, Bakugou realizes that he could never truly run from you.

Tears drip down from his cheeks onto your neck, pooling at the little cavity created by your collarbones. You smile up at him, brushing at the droplets as they drip down from his eyelids, cradling his face as he makes the decision to start running back to you instead of sprinting away.

“I love you,” he chokes out the words before claiming your lips with his searing hot kiss.

Your hands dip into the curves of his hips, prodding him to move forward while your lips sink deeper into his. Bakugou groans at the sensation, eyes rolling behind his closed lids, and slowly his palms find your body.

It’s almost like the first time he touched you, his fingertips searching every inch of available skin as if it were new to him. He rolls his thumbs over your ribs, counting each one under his breath as he fucks into you slowly. You whimper when he bites your lower lip, your jaw slack as he starts a biting path of kisses down from your chin to your earlobe.

“Katsuki,” your toes curl when he bottoms out within you, the tip of his cock brushing that delicate, spongy spot at the back of your core. Your nails drag salaciously down his shoulders, drawing little beads of blood in their wake.

“Fuck,” he groans, biting down harshly on your neck. He chokes on a sob before licking and kissing your collarbones, “I love you.”

Bakugou is fucking into you steadily now, his hips slamming into you at just the right angle that the vein running along the underside of his dick drags against your folds. You clamp down on his cock when you feel it begin to twitch again, his cockhead brushing your cervix. He’s sniffling, breath catching at the sound, “I love you so goddamn much. I don’t fucking deserve you.”

He’s overcome with emotion but it only spurs him forward faster. His hips slam mercilessly into you, every rut telling you what he cannot coherently say with words. And you accept his wordless confessions with the tightness of your core, the openness of your eyes.

You respond in fervor, your lips singing his praises as you feel the beginnings of another orgasm curling into a hot fire in the pit of you. It’s like lava has dripped down every vein in your body, lighting your skin on fire with its proverbial heat. You whine, your back arching in the perfect way for his mouth to latch onto your pert nipple.

“Katsu’, please, fill me up,” you whimper, palming at his injured back, finding scars and wounds alike, “I want your come, won’t you come in me?”

He’s nodding around your nipple, affirming you non-verbally, but the gentle tug of his teeth makes you whine again. You are completely distraught with the pounding of his cock into your tight, wet heat, the obscene sounds reverberating off of the walls only to bounce back at you like an echo.

“So fuckin’ pretty, baby,” he grunts, hot tears mixing with the saliva that covers your breast, “such a good girl for me. Takin’ me so well. Gonna take this load?”

You can’t help the way you nod ferociously, pleading with him through both words and actions. You whine, a shuddering of your throat making the sound much more desperate than you intended, “Please, Katsuki. I just want you to stuff me full, I want to be full of you.”

The last time your cunt was full, it was with another man’s seed.

Thinking about it makes your tongue turn heavy and your stomach sour. You grit your teeth and the scent of ashen sweetness fills your nostrils, taking over every thought you’d had previously. You can’t linger your memories on the way something made you feel before, you will destroy your mind and your pride.

All you can focus on is scrubbing yourself clean with Katsuki.

He washes over you like a soothing balm, the heat of his body burning away any trace of anything else from any time before this moment now. Every one of your senses are overwhelmed by him – his body, his breath, his scent. You want to drown in him, only fulfilled through his means for the rest of your days, to dive headfirst into his pain and break through until it is only the two of you left.

You lick at him, the familiar taste of his skin settling on your tongue as you lap over flesh and bone. You beg for his hands to touch every inch of you with wanton moans falling from your lips, scrubbing away at the nightmares and replacing them with the fiery blonde with a quipping tongue to match his superpower. If you thought you might could handle it, you’d ask him to blast you with his quirk, to burn away what is left from before until there is only the now.

“I love you,” you whisper into the dark, “It’s only you, Katsuki. Always.”

Bakugou’s mouth is licking at your neck when you feel his hips still, the telltale sign of his release begging to be set free. You palm at his face, forcing him to look you in the eyes because you can’t hold it in anymore, the words making your chest swell until you think you might burst wide open, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

He thrusts forward in time with your chanting, his lower lip quivering with desire as he pumps himself forward at a much faster pace. One of his thumbs reaches down to brush against your clit, stimulating you until you can’t speak in full sentences, let alone syllables. You grit your teeth together and beg for his load, “Fill me up, Katsuki.”

Your words mixed with the tone of your voice are what push him over the edge, the cusp of his release washing over the both of you. Bakugou’s hips stutter, sloppily fucking into you as he chases that blinding pleasure only you can provide him.

“Take it, Princess,” he murmurs into your lips as he claims you by painting your walls white, the final part of you that needed to be wiped clean.

Katsuki’s hands rest on either side of your head as he holds up his quivering body, spent from effort and emotion. You brush your thumb over the tear-stained parts of his face, clearing his skin of what remains from his vulnerable confessions, no evidence left behind. He can start anew, pretend that he never bared his soul to you only mere moments ago.

His eyes never leave you, drinking you in religiously as you blink slowly, irises soaking up every inch of your precious expression. Your pupils shrink enough for him to see the color of your irises clearly, tilting one of his hands upward so he can brush his thumb over the curve of your jaw. Your lids flutter closed at the tender sensation, losing yourself in the feel of his fingerprints.

When you blink your eyes open, you reach upward to tenderly cup his cheeks between the palms of your hands, “I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah?” he leans his head into your hand, nudging his nose over the swell of the heel. Your pulse thuds in his ears and he can tell that you’re nervous based on the pace.

Your voice is thick when you whisper the words that have always rang true in your heart, but you’ve never said aloud because they seemed so pointless. He hears them every day from citizens, begging him for autographs and screaming his name when they see him on patrol. You’ve been afraid that they would fall hollow on deaf ears, futile and empty. But your heart squeezes within your chest and you know that it doesn’t matter anymore. The two of you have learned how precious a few moments can be.

“You’re my hero, Katsuki.”

Your thumbs run back and forth over the skin of his cheeks, seeking out the heat and also providing him what you hope feels like comfort. His cock twitches within the walls of your aching cunt, mouth hung open slightly, just enough for you to see the pink of his tongue.

You nod, sniffling as tears press hot into the back of your eyelids, “You’ve always been my hero, no matter what. Nothing will change that.”

Bakugou kisses the inside of your palm before leaning forward to press his lips to yours. This kiss is slow, deliberate, as if he’s trying to communicate something between the volley of your tongues. You lean up and wrap your arm around his neck when he snakes his hands up the expanse of your back. He’s fully pressed into you now, your bodies flush with one another as he kisses you.

Secret words are passed back and forth from your throat to his, emotion swelling in your chest, begging to burst the longer he’s pressed into you. You curl your hand into his hair, anchoring him to you despite the growing heat billowing in the lack of space between your bodies. Bakugou licks at the seam of your lips and you let him in, you’ll always let him in, your hips rolling forward to meet him at every juncture of your bones.

And that’s how you fall asleep that night, entwined in such a way that neither of you can tell where one of you ends and the other begins.

　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　

a/n: i hope you guys enjoyed it! drop me an ask if you did!! 

[bard-llama]

PWP WiP Snip: Iorveth/Roche

I fell asleep on @useless-empty-brain before finishing my new PWP, so I figured I’d share a snip, that what they have something to read today!

Iorveth’s face was twisted into a snarl as he stared down at the duty rosters for his Scoia’tael and tried to figure out how to ensure that they stopped losing people to the Blue Stripes, led by Vernon fucking Roche.

He hated Roche, hated everything that Roche stood for and everything that Roche was. But, he had to admit, the man was damn good at what he did.

The problem was ‘what he did’ was kill Iorveth’s men. Far too many had been lost of recent and Iorveth knew they blame laid entirely with him. He hadn’t prepared them well enough, hadn’t been able to make them understand that you could never underestimate the Blue Stripes. 

Individually, each Blue Stripe commando posed a significant threat. But when brought together by a man who seemed to be able weave battle plans specifically tuned to enhance each of his commandos, they became even more deadly. 

That was Roche’s strength. He understood his people down to their core. He knew how they thought and what their habitual openings were and he used that knowledge to give them every edge possible. 

It was kind of amazing, honestly. Like, it was absolutely horrible that Roche led the Blue Stripes so effectively that Iorveth was losing too many people. But from one commander to another – Roche was impressive.

“It’s a shame such skill serves the enemy,” Iorveth lamented. Then he was startled by a knock against his window and then a young elf cartwheeling into his office. “Rinn! Wha–?”

She waited until she was standing in front of him on the other side of his desk to raise her fingers and sign her answer. If you’re done daydreaming about him, your dh’oine just crossed the perimeter into the forest.

“Alone?” Iorveth asked in surprise. And then her words really hit him and he flushed brightly. “I was not daydreaming! And he’s not my dh’oine!”

Uh huh. Rinn looked supremely unimpressed. You know, you’d probably be less agitated if you just got laid already.

Iorveth let out a choked croaking noise, face burning. “You – what – that is beyond inappropriate for you to care about.”

If you decide you wanna get a leg over, Rinn continued, entirely remorseless, he’s at the ruins of Cáelmewedd. I’m gonna nap for the rest of my shift. If you want someone to watch him be stupid enough to enter the forest, you’ll just have to go see yourself.

With that, she yawned and walked out his door. Iorveth sputtered, not entirely certain what had just happened. Rinn was an agent of chaos, always eager to encourage mischief, but she took her work seriously. She knew she was one of the only spies that could tail Roche without getting caught. If she was quitting in the middle of her shift, then there had to be a good reason. And sure, she’d put it crudely, probably just to make him blush, but she couldn’t actually mean that. Roche was his enemy, there was no way he would be ‘getting a leg over’ with Roche! 

Roche was dangerous. And Rinn was asking him to take over for her, which meant it was serious.

Iorveth nodded to himself. He should go to Cáelmewedd immediately. He was wearing only light armor, having dressed down with the expectation that he would not be going out this evening. If he’d had time, he would’ve pulled on the gambeson and mail and all that – but he didn’t have time. It would have taken time for Rinn to return to base to report, and if Roche had been without a Scoia’tael shadow for nearly half an hour, there was no telling what kind of damage he might have done. No, Iorveth needed to leave now. 

Decided, he grabbed a few more daggers and his swords and was off, climbing out through his window and jumping to the nearest tree branch. Because it was faster, obviously, not because he didn’t want to announce that he was going after Vernon Roche. Alone.

Ciaran was definitely going to kill him for this later. But there hadn’t been time to gather back up and Iorveth and Roche had always stood on equal ground in a fight. Sometimes Iorveth lost and sometimes he won, but even though he’d never managed to kill Roche, he could fight Roche off.

Once he reached the ruins of what used to be a beautiful bathhouse, he drew his blades, creeping silently around the perimeter, searching for his prey. 

Except Roche didn’t seem to be anywhere in sight and Iorveth was growing frustrated, not thinking to watch his footing–

And then he was falling down into a bath with a huge splash, leaving him breathless and struggling to his feet. His sodden clothing weighed him down and that distracted him long enough to draw a proper breath – except then he caught sight of Vernon Roche. Vernon Roche, who apparently came to actually bathe in the elven baths, because he was entirely naked and Iorveth sputtered, distracted by all the skin on display.

Which was why he was completely unprepared for Roche to charge at him, shoulder hitting his solar plexus and pushing him back into the water. He couldn’t breathe and Roche’s warm hands held him under the water and–

Then he was being pulled back up, mind fuzzy even as he sucked in precious oxygen. He had just a moment to meet Roche’s dark eyes and then Roche was pushing him under again. The water over his head turned his vision hazy, but he couldn’t seem to look away from Roche’s body. 

He’d only ever seen Roche in battle before. He knew from spy reports that he dressed more casually in his personal life, but every time they’d met, Roche had been wearing layer upon layer of armor. Iorveth hadn’t even known what Roche’s hair looked like before this. 

That was the only reason he was getting so fixated. He’d never seen a naked dh’oine from up close before and Roche had always seemed so much bigger in battle, but even if Roche was a lot more scrawny without all those layers, he was still as competent as ever, one hand tight around Iorveth’s throat, holding him under. 

Iorveth tried to struggle, but he just couldn’t get enough air, and instead of the fear and hate he should feel in this moment, he just felt – calm. Restful, almost, with his mind hazy and focused entire on Roche. He knew there was some reason he wasn’t supposed to give into those feelings, but it had been so long since he’d been able to turn off his brain and–

Roche pulled him up again, tugging him forward into Roche’s body in an unexpected flood of warmth, so startling after the cool water. Iorveth sucked in air greedily, slumped against Roche and not particularly interested in moving again ever.

“Iorveth?” he heard Roche ask vaguely, but he felt overcome with a lassitude and he found he didn’t quite care about anything at all, as long as Roche’s warmth remained wrapped around him. 

He wasn’t sure how long he spent like that, clinging to Vernon Roche, but eventually he became aware enough to remember why that was super weird. He stiffened and the hands that had been stroking his back pulled away.

“Iorveth?” Roche asked, gripping his shoulders and pulling him away from Roche’s chest.

Iorveth grumbled, not enjoying the way he was suddenly cold everywhere that Roche had been touching him. “What?”

“Uh,” Roche cleared his throat, then grabbed Iorveth’s thighs and stood up, twisting to seat Iorveth on the bench next to him.

Iorveth blinked, unreasonably disappointed to lose that strong touch against his thighs. “You should fuck me,” he blurted, flushing as he realized what he’d said. He didn’t take it back, though.

Roche stared at him with wide eyes, adam’s apple bobbing as the dh’oine swallowed. “Only if you get naked, too,” Roche said, seeming almost surprised at himself even as he uttered the words.

Iorveth licked his lips, lust and want flooding through his veins like fire. He grabbed the hem of his tunic and tried to pull it off, but the wet fabric kept getting stuck to him and when he tried to pull it off over his head, he just got stuck in it, vision blocked and arms tangled in the cloth.

There was a soft chuckle and then warm hands were touching him again, shifting Iorveth’s arms until they could pull the clothing off.

Blushing slightly at his show of ineptitude, Iorveth looked up to meet Roche’s judging gaze – only Roche was much closer than he’d expected, close enough that he could clearly see that there was no judgement in those hazel eyes.

He swallowed hard, feeling almost like he was under a spell, under the sway of the man whose lips parted, and his own mouth fell open on instinct.

“Iorveth,” Vernon murmured, almost close enough that Iorveth could feel the shape of the word.

Close enough that, when Iorveth’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, it dragged over Vernon’s lips too. Vernon made a soft sound and Iorveth felt suddenly desperate, reaching out to tangle his fingers in Vernon’s hair and pull him closer. Vernon’s heat pressed along his front and Iorveth shuddered, kissing Vernon properly.

Vernon moaned, low in the back of his throat, and Iorveth had never given much thought to kissing, but somehow he never wanted to stop kissing Vernon. So when Vernon pulled away, a whine escaped him before he could think about it.

Smiling softly, Vernon kissed the corner of his mouth, then dropped down to the ground, kneeling on the cold tile of the bathhouse ruins. Iorveth gaped down at Roche, awe and something else coursing through his heart. Vernon cupped the back of his right calf, signalling for him to raise his leg. 

Iorveth obeyed automatically, and Vernon slipped his boots off, first his right, then his left. 

Wearing only his hose and underwear, Iorveth’s arousal was more than obvious – thighs wet with slick and his cock bulging against the material. He flushed, feeling like he should be embarrassed to want this so transparently, but Vernon just licked his lips and knelt up to hook his thumbs in the hose, stroking Iorveth’s hips. 

“May I?” Vernon asked, mouth close enough to breathe hot air over Iorveth’s cock.

Iorveth swallowed and nodded.

Moving slowly, Vernon pulled down his hose, once again signaling for him to lift one foot at a time. Now only his underwear stood between Vernon’s mouth and his genitals.

Except the sight of the green lace and silk panties was clearly a surprise to Vernon and the dh’oine froze for a moment, glancing up at him. He blushed fiercely, wanting to pretend that he didn’t know why Vernon had stopped. He just… liked feeling pretty. He wore enough layers of armor that normally, his habit of casually wearing beautiful lingerie underneath his clothing would never be discovered. But here, here where he’d worn only a tunic and hose, his perversity was on full display.

He cleared his throat, something sour roiling in his belly. So of course that was the moment he realized that when Roche had been holding him under, his bandana must have come off. Which meant his scar was on full display.

Stiffening abruptly made Roche look up at him with an expression that surely couldn’t actually be concern. Why would his enemy be concerned over him? Horror would make more sense. Roche had just discovered that his mortal enemy wore panties, as if some pretty silk could hide his ugliness and gods dammit, Iorveth wanted to not care what anyone thought, but this was Vernon, and his opinion mattered.

“Iorveth?” Vernon – Roche – the dh’oine’s voice was soft as he rose to his feet and yes, it really did appear to be concern in his eyes.

Iorveth’s throat clicked as he swallowed, feeling nauseated at the confused jumble of emotions in his belly. 

“If you’ve changed your mind,” Ver – Roche said, giving him an opening to leave.

Except… he… didn’t really want to leave. He didn’t understand why Roche might want him, why Roche wasn’t reeling back in horror from his scar. But… looking into Roche’s eyes, it was clear that horror was nowhere amongst the things he was feeling. 

Iorveth’s lips parted, “I haven’t.”

Roche – or should it be Vernon now? – wrapped warm hands around Iorveth’s hips, thumbs rubbing into the skin again. He pulled Iorveth closer to him, leaning in to kiss the corner of Iorveth’s mouth again.

A soft sound escaped Iorveth and he tilted his head until their lips were sliding together properly. His fingers found their way into Vernon’s hair again and when his hips bucked, their cocks brushed against each other, making them both moan.

“Fuck,” Iorveth panted, shoving Vernon back to sit on the bench again. Then he crawled into Vernon’s lap, grinding his panty-covered cunt against Vernon’s cock.

“Oh!” Vernon gasped, head falling back, relaxing into Iorveth’s grip on his hair. “Iorveth.”

His name was whispered breathlessly and Iorveth immediately decided that that was the best way it had ever been said. 

He rocked his hips, dragging his cunt along the length of Vernon’s cock, and even through the material of his panties, he was getting Vernon wet.

Shuddering, he used his grip on Vernon’s hair to pull the other man in for another kiss. Vernon returned the kiss passionately, like he was putting everything he was in Iorveth’s hands. And Iorveth had no idea what to do with that, but he was helpless to resist the urge to kiss back, meeting him with just as much hunger.

Vernon’s hands slid up his back, one tangling in his hair and the other cupping his face so very sweetly and Iorveth could do nothing but lean into the touch as they kissed and kissed and kissed.

Gods, he could happily kiss Vernon forever. 

He was still grinding against Vernon’s cock, but everything that wasn’t Vernon’s kiss sort of faded into the background and Iorveth had no idea how close he was until Vernon pulled away to nip a line of kisses across his jaw.

“Come for me,” Vernon growled in his ear and his hips bucked, muscles seizing as he did as ordered, pleasure overcoming him in hot licks of fire.

[warmau]

warning: violence mentions | the rivalry au based off kick it mv

diamond dragons

jaehyun

the head of the diamond dragons, as the only child of the prestigious and almost obnoxiously rich jung household it was only right that he take over as the new and young leader

he grew up with most things being handed to him on a silver platter - but spoiling him didn’t make him less calculating or smart

he likes consistency and is fiercely rigid about social order - that being said, if someone who doesn’t even have the status to be able to look in jaehyun’s eyes as much as raises their voice or hand against him

with a snap of his wrist, he’ll crush their entire existence

so you can see, not many people choose to test their limits

he becomes known as a silent and cutthroat businessman, his family’s ties and his ability in finding only the best, most qualified people to work for him has allowed him to build a gambling empire 

sitting on the boards of famous hotels and casinos

and when things don’t go exactly his way - well he has other members of the diamond dragons take care of that for him

he just blinks  or tilts his head and that’s enough for his men to know their job

quite frankly, you don’t know how you ended up in a position like this - you had just finished your shift as the nightly poker dealer and were going to head home

when a sleek, long black car had pulled its way directly in front of you

you brace yourself, digging around in your purse for your keys because you’ve seen this in movies - you need to at least defend yourself

but then to your shock, the keys falling from your hand - the window rolls down and you see 

jung jaehyun

“you’re the dealer from table 127, right?”

unable to speak - seeing someone so glamorous, so rich up close - you nod

the driver suddenly hurries around from his seat and opens the door of the car

jaehyun steps out, tall and glorious, the suit he’s wearing is made of silk and the cut between the lapels is deep - showing the beautiful and clean skin underneath it

you also make out the peek of something dark on the dip of his left collarbone

it’s the dragon tattoo everyone in seoul knows he has

“i’d like you to quit your job and work for me.”

he leans down a little - your eyes suddenly drawn to his own

a smile unfurls on his lips when he sees the shock of his proposition seep into your expression

“why?”

“let’s just say i have a soft spot for dealers, it’s the uniform. it turns me on.”

he chuckles, the sound low in the back of his throat as he toys with a strand of your hair and lets his hand settle on the bright red vest you wear for work

with that he turns and disappears into the shadow of his car, the driver rushes to close it and then turns to you with his hand extended

in it is a playing card, you see a “J” and think it’s the joker, but it’s actually not a card at all.

in the center where there should be an ace or a spade, is a curled dragon and the contact number jung jaehyun

you want to ask - exactly what does this job entail? but the car curves left and out of sight 

the spot on you where jaehyun had touched sears a little

something tells you he’s had his eye on you for a while.

taeyong

a martial arts specialist, trained since before he could fully walk a straight line

he has two major interests: perfecting his technique and lace

he is a very very very big fan of lace

for someone who knows over three hundred ways to break bones - he craves and adores soft, beautiful things

people assume it’s because he himself is basically ethereal - that he wants to emulate it in his lifestyle

but really he just thinks there’s power in in it - no one ever said you had to knock someone out in bloody, dirty clothes

he agreed to be a part of diamond dragons partially because he respects jaehyun’s meticulous commitment to fine aestheticism 

but also because beautiful things aren’t cheap 

now he’s jaehyun’s main source of protection - quietly appearing in the shadows when jaehyun is threatened and taking care of “problems” without leaving a mess

he’s always dressed in white silks, lace collars and even lace ribbons on his arms and fingers and even in his hair

some members nicknamed him an angel of death because to be hurt by something so beautiful,,,,,,can’t be all that bad

you know taeyong, not as a member of the diamond dragons, but because he’s a customer of yours

you work with all the fabrics he adores, so when he needs tailoring he  comes to you - always wearing something gorgeous and insanely expensive

long fingers adorned in jewels, yellow-brown eyes hidden behind blonde strands of hair

he claims no one else can tailor like you do - you treat the fabric with such care

it flusters you to be complimented by someone like him, but you never think twice about a man so polite and gentle

not until taeyong happens upon your shop in the middle of a robbery

and you frighteningly back up into a corner as a figure looms over you - money clutched in hand and wicked eyes

you think something bad is bound to happen until suddenly - the figures head is gone

you look up to see taeyong

his leg outstretched in a perfect high-kick, one angry flash of silver in his eyes 

it takes you a moment to put things together - to understand what kind of force it takes for someone to do that

taeyong calmly straightens back out and steps over the slumped body

he takes your hand in his, still as gentle as ever and smiles

“i’ll make sure this goes away, now tell me - did you finish that order of mine?”

you cant breath for a second

his beauty had turned ravenous for a second - and yet, you aren’t horrified by it

instead the impact has somewhat enchanted you

you simply nod, leading him over to your work desk

the two of you ignoring the rolls of money that have fanned out on the floor  

when you tilt your head to look over, taeyong pulls your chin toward him and he says it again

“ill make sure this goes away.” 

yuta

a one shot fireball 

some people have perfect pitch, he has perfect aim 

any weapon, any size, any power - drop it into his hands and he’ll know what to do with it 

and how to do it perfectly

yuta used to enjoy traveling alone, a sort of transit lifestyle that let him do and see whatever he wanted

much to the shock of many of jaehyun’s companions, hiring yuta was kind of out there

he was closer to a street banger than the refined masters jaehyun had a preference for

but yuta didn’t care about the stuck-up opinions some people had about him

it had been simple, jaehyun had bumped into him at a gala where he was attending as a guest and yuta had been hired to take care of a festering problem known as a corrupt governor who was also in attendance

jaehyun had sat back with his glass of wine, watching yuta do his work

even in a packed ballroom of people - he had got his mark - and then had calmly turned on his heel and disappeared

jaehyun had found him, of course, and had offered a position with the golden dragons

yuta had laughed at it, he wasn’t going to be a second hand call dog to some rich boy with a taste for refinement 

but the money and the possibilities jaehyun spoke of had turned his tide

even though doyoung would scrunch his nose up when yuta strolled into meetings in less than appropriate attire or playfully twirled explosives in his hand 

he was a true golden dragon now, he even had a small symbol tattooed behind his ear to show solidarity 

you are the child of an extremely powerful casino owner, and therefore jaehyun knows and is acquainted with your family

the problem is - your father refuses to work with jaehyun on a certain amount of issues

yuta doesn’t think much when the order comes down and he gets himself ready for the job

your family is going out to dinner as usual, and yuta strolls through the restaurant and your table where you and your father are laughing

he sees the target - but something causes him to stop

your smile is so vibrant, shimmering with a kind of light he’s never seen before

you briefly glance up at the awkward, but handsome man but then refocus on your father

yuta takes his seat and stares down into the perfectly white plate - what he has hidden in the pocket of his jacket now feels heavy and unfamiliar

a sensation so new and obtuse to him that when he fishes it out

taking a second to line up his shot - the trigger feels wrong

the room disappears and like tunnel vision he sees you

usually he looks at people through crosshairs - yet something soft glows around you

once again you turn your head a little and catch his eye

a pretty smile accompanies it and yuta grinds his teeth

when he lines up the shot again - something happens that’s never happened before

he misses

the bullet ricochets to the left, hitting the wall to the kitchen

a flurry of panic breaks out and you get up, hand on your fathers back 

yuta sees you one last time before he’s getting up too

a small voice reminds him that jaehyun will not be pleased

but yuta can only think

fuck jaehyun. i need to go toward them, i need to go toward that light.

doyoung

the famous lightening thief, whose reputation comes from being able to steal anything from anyone

and not petty grabs like cars or wallets or whatever

his repertoire includes everything from art museums to royal family homes to top corporations 

if you want it - and you can pay the price for it - kim doyoung can get it

the police have made disgruntled points about his hands being kissed by midas or something, considering he’s never left fingerprints anywhere so they can’t tie him to the crimes

but it’s public knowledge that paintings and sculptures hanging in the homes of the affluent got there somehow

and that folders upon folders of incriminating evidence against powerful and corrupt ceos had to come from somewhere

his broad web of connections and perfect organization has made him a vital part of many rich families business

but he particularly enjoys working for the diamond dragons because the commission fee he gets is triple what he usually sees

and jaehyun’s missions for him always test his mathematical brain

he does, in fact, have one thing he can’t steal 

and it’s tortured him for years

watching you work for jaehyun’s most despised rivals - the ragtag group that calls themselves the golden tigers 

you’re the close confident of their leader, mark lee, and although doyoung has figured out enough to understand that you are nothing more to mark lee than a friend

there’s something about that closeness that doyoung craves 

and so whenever jaehyun comes in contact with them, doyoung makes himself there 

he watches you, wearing the thick leather jacket with the prowling golden tigers climbing up both sleeves

your eyes are always on mark or jaehyun, and doyoung looks at you past the frames of his glasses

no one has ever been more beautiful and more unattainable ,,,,,,,, he’s thought of multiple ways to get you to be his

but all of them are dark and horrible - unacceptable 

doyoung swallows when he sees you approach at mark’s side, your hand settles on his hand and mark whispers something to you

doyoung doesn’t understand - why doesn’t jaehyun just take care of this group of children, he could spare you and let doyoung-

suddenly something turns the blood in doyoung’s blood freeze over

your eyes, linger on him, they start from his face and travel downward

you’re scoping him out - you’ve never done that

doyoung’s shoulders tighten, his lips thin and he can’t help but feel the heat of your stare 

he’d dream of the day you noticed him, but he could have never imagined it would feel like this 

he meets your gaze and the side of your mouth twitches into a small smile - a secret smile - it causes him to step back

a couple of the members throw glances at him, but doyoung’s mind nearly breaks

what did that mean? why are you finally look back at him?

jaehyun moves taeyong and yuta in front of him and mark calls upon on haechan and jungwoo

you lurk back into the shadows and doyoung knows its against his better judgement but he does too

while everything breaks out into hell - he watches you slip away and this time he doesn’t want you to go

he chases after you and falls right into your trap - he feels your hand against his back

“have you always had a soft spot for me? sorry it took me so long to notice”

you say, your voice like a goddesses hymn. 

doyoung wants to say something, but everything suddenly dims. 

golden tigers

mark

break it till you make it kind of mentality, from a hard working family that lost it all because of evil people in power (most likely because of something jaehyun’s family did - but that’s too deep in the lore for now)

he’s been making his own money and helping out friends since he can remember 

and even though he looks like the most gentle, kind boy and he is - when you’ve been training to protect those you love your whole life

you can grow a tougher skin

and at some point it clicks for mark that he doesn’t have to sit around and do nothing - he can actively stop the people who hurt others for their own gain

and that’s kind of the whole reason behind the golden tigers

that and mark’s always felt an affinity for the animal, his mom used to call him little cub

and when he wants to be - mark can be ferocious, especially when it comes to jung jaehyun

who resembles everything mark hates, and jaehyun doesn’t fancy mark either - seeing him as one of those people whose social status just doesn’t match up

you’re mark’s childhood bestfriend whose seen firsthand how hard mark has fought for everything

how he’s taken the things the rich have done to the people of his community and reversed it

a lot of people owe debts to the jungs in your neighborhood, your older brother being one of them and on numerous occasions mark and the golden tigers have saved his and your life

you hate to fall into the cliche, but you think you’ve been in love with him for as long as you can remember

so watching him wear himself out - worrying about everyone else but himself - it’s made you anxious

you find him slumped over in an alley one night, dropping your bags of groceries to run over to him

a small drip of blood streamlines down his lip and he explains that he’s fine

but you can tell he’s been jumped - probably by one of those underlings for the diamond dragons

you help him back to your home and mark starts insisting that he go, that he leave

and for once you stop him - hand on his, still bandaged from when he broke it the week before

“mark lee, you can be a fierce tiger and fighter and protector - but have you ever thought about protecting yourself?”

he falters at your sudden straightforwardness

“i protect myself-”

“well! that’s not good enough. from now on, im your protector.”

you lean up to wipe the blood away with your sleeve and drag him with any force needed into your home so you can make sure he’s really alright

but thankfully mark kind of falls into step behind you easily

this side of you new, but inviting in some kind of mysterious way

“do-do you want to be a part of the golden tigers?”

he asks when you’re standing in front of him with wads of cotton, and hot tea on the counter

“i thought i already was - mark lee, you’ve bleed on my carpet like a billion times.”

mark laughs a little and his hand comes shyly to rest on your waist

he admits it now. you’ve always been there for him too.

but right now you just look so much more beautiful than all those times before,,,,,,,,,,,,,he can’t really explain why.

haechan

particularly skilled interrogator - he has a keen sense of reading people and fishing out their weaknesses

its not to say that he enjoys psychological games as much as he’s natured to be insanely good at them

he says he’s not a golden tiger, but he is - probably more than anyone else 

because he understands mark and when he isn’t pretending like he’s not interested in this whole vigilantism

he too doesn’t particularly have a good history with the powerful

which is why maybe,,,,,,,,,it is sometimes to watch them squirm

with nothing but words

he does adore the other members as well, especially taeil who haechan thinks is just the most entertaining person in the world

he describes him as a matrix - his personality and his skill set just do. not. make. sense. 

haechan loves it! 

you’re actually a student at the university haechan attends, because as much as he is a golden tiger - he still wants to do something outside of the group for himself

you, of course have no idea about his affiliations, but boy do you and haechan get into it

he nitpicks at things and you argue that that’s not the right way to get to someone

he always points out it is the right way to get on your last nerve though

everyone in the room can feel the tension between you two, the whole will they won’t they

and haechan’ wont lie - it’s nice to tease someone not because you need their information to help save others or to destroy the plans of someone evil

but simply because you like their reaction

but one day, haechan realizes hes let you in too close

because as you’re walking with him to the bus stop - a group of figures spots him and spots you

they don’t approach, but haechan can tell they’ve taken note of you and it makes his blood cold

“hey, can i make sure you get home today?”

“oh - are you being nice to me now for some sort of reverse psycholog-”

haechan sees the dragon tattoo on one of the men’s necks, he swallows and steers you in the opposite direction

“no im not playing, just let me make sure you get home.”

“haechan c’mon im not gonna-”

you start, but something in haechan’s eyes dims and you look around and see that there are other people staring

“haechan,,,,,,what is going on?”

you whisper and he thinks quickly, reading their body language and nodding at you

“run.”

“what?”

“run. now.”

haechan and you end up sprinting through the winding streets, you’re too scared to look back and see who is following you, but when you finally do

haechan just grabs your hand and tugs you after him

once he thinks you’re somewhere safe, he doesn’t let your hand go

you look at him - eyes wide - he thinks, oh fuck i can’t let those guys get to them now

“haechan-”

“i know. i’ll explain everything.”

jungwoo

model turned casual member of golden tigers

he used to be straight onto a path of stardom and money, his pretty face and long lithe figure had made him quite popular for magazines and runway

but that kind of life came with so much loneliness and sadness that one day he just up and quit

he had met mark only a week later, after spectacularly failing an interview at a local coffee shop whilst also dodging unwanted attention from several of the patrons

mark had thought it was odd, the way someone could be so easygoing and still ward off the bad things around them

jungwoo had asked to sit at mark’s table and the two had talked, by the end of it mark had said if jungwoo needed anything he could come to him

and jungwoo didn’t need anything per say

but he did have something to offer

“im agile, im tall, and i can pretty much perfectly blend in with the kind of people you’re fighting. don’t you think i’d be useful?”

now he sports the golden tigers jacket, spends days flimsying around taeil’s makeshift basement lab

and hovering over haechan’s shoulder when he’s doing schoolwork

but it’s true - he’s on several occasions been able to get into the hotels the jungs have a hand in and has picked up anyone of interest to be interviewed and taken care of, if need be, by the other members

you’re supposed to be charmed by jungwoo because it seems like you have information on jaehyun

but instead of you being too charmed by anyone - you just seem just as obliviously beautiful as jungwoo 

when he starts talking to you, you stare long and hard and then pick an eyelash from his cheek

“you should make a wish.”

jungwoo hasn’t heard that in years

but he happily obliges

when he asks you about jaehyun again you sort of deflate a little, the whimsical sparkle of your eyes dims

“i don’t know much about him, i don’t quite think i really ever want to know much about him.”

something clicks in jungwoo’s head and he asks you if you want to ditch the event you’re both at

you agree, wholeheartedly - thinking you two might run off for a midnight stroll or a stop to eat

instead you find yourself in front of mark lee and other golden tigers, but not for the interrogation they thought would happen

“i think you should let them join.”

jungwoo insists and haechan mutters that you can’t just let everyone jungwoo has a crush on join to mark

but mark sees something in you that he sees in jungwoo

when you ask if this is a gang, mark laughs and shakes his head

“no, that jung family is gang. we’re just trying to help.”

jungwoo gives you an enthusiastic nod - you don’t really know why but there’s a sense of trust you feel with these people

none of them are wearing those masks you’re so used to on the faces of the elite

you agree to see if you can be of any help and jungwoo shrugs off the jacket he’s wearing

 the one with tigers on the sleeve

“it’s getting cold, plus you’ll have one just like it soon.”

you accept with a blush and haechan groans about how flirting isn’t supposed to be allowed! 

taeil

scientist

but like a little crazy

but like he has no funds or an actual laboratory so he makes experiments in his basement 

and almost blew up the apartment building down the street because of it - but like seriously it wasn’t on purpose he just spilled some stuff into some other stuff and it was weird

mark knows him because he actually used to work for jaehyun, the moon family is pretty infamous for being doctors and phd researchers

and taeil’s happened to be in chemistry - which is always a fun thing to have if you want to run a deadly operation

he left for unknown reasons - he left way before mark’s name had ever been uttered to jaehyun

and even though doyoung, jaehyun’s own private information thief, had been trying to find him for a while now

taeil had the help of the golden tigers to keep him on the fringes

which is why, from time to time, he likes to help them out as well

jungwoo and haechan both really have come to like him - mark likes him too and all, but those three somehow know how to have fun together

taeil’s favorite thing to experiment with is acidity, he likes making poisons and acids that can destroy things

and sometimes his own clothes (and even skin) pay the price - but that mans pain tolerance is so high he could probably be shocked by lightening twice and be standing

you’re one of the people who lives in the building beside taeil’s and you always hang around the back lot where the stray cats are

one is your ultimate favorite - a chubby black cat with one eye who you’ve named bruce - one day you see bruce pawing at the basement window of the other building so you go to see whats up and almost jump back when you see a person

his eyes shift from you to the cat and the window suddnly opens

he pushes forward a can of cat food - but you stare at it questioningly

“i didn’t poison it.”

he says

“,,,,,,,,,,who are you?”

“im taeil.”

“do you live down there?”

“you could say so.”

you watch as bruce shuffles toward the food and meows gleefully

“is he yours? i thought he was a stray?”

the voice asks and you shake your head

“he is. ive also been feeding him,,,,,,,,,,hey - whats that smell coming down from there?”

“oh nothing.”

the man smiles and you think it’s a little suspicious - but people are weird - and if he’s been helping the cat he can’t be all that bad

you notice a mark on his hand when he reaches out to move the can, it looks like the end of a dragons tail but you don’t say anything

he meets your gaze and waves a small tiny goodbye

before he closes the window for good he says something weird

“i could though.”

“hmm?”

“i could make a poison out of that.”

the window shuts and you sort of stay crouched, confused

bruce looks fine though and you follow him back out onto the street 

when you return, there’s a curtain in the window

huh, maybe ill see him again. but what’s all that about poison?

taeil hums to himself as he continues working and then stops

“ah, i shouldn’t have said that to them. probably not cute to flirt with my knowledge of deadly chemicals.” 

wild card

johnny

he was supposed to grow up in a monastery and be a man of belief ,,,,,,,,,,, but things happened

and now he’s extremely good at just about everything both the golden tigers and the diamond dragons would want in a member

problem is - he doesn’t feel solidarity toward either of them

because he doesn’t know the answer

is life about money or is it about helping others instead of yourself?

that’s a little to ethically on the nose for him

instead he likes to play both sides

jaehyun’s all about the gambling business - mark’s all about bringing those debt collectors down

so every now and then johnny shows up at a poker game or at the doorstep of someone whose running away from the jungs

he dangles his loyalty and then pulls it away, the thrill junkie in him expressed by the loud yellow motorcycle he zips through around town

he knows playing both sides of a card is risky

but he likes it - the adrenaline rush isn’t matched

you figure out what he’s doing pretty quickly, as you are the only person who does have his commitment 

and when he does come home and you splay a hand over the toned plane of his chest

you ask him to stop, just so he’ll be safe

“i will, soon. they’ll both be destroyed.”

“how?”

johnny shrugs, leaning in to brush his lips against yours - he never lets this conversation get too far

but the day comes when both sides figure it out

they’re being played

and jaehyun doesn’t like wild card and mark doesn’t like playing the game all together

so johnny tells you to grab and go to run away with him and from this place

he’ll take you somewhere better and new

you stand on the corner of the street, 3 am and in the dim light

“how will i know you won’t run away from me, how you’re running away from the problems that have caught up to you?”

he steps closer to you - craddling your face in his large hands

“because i would die for you.”

he pulls something from the back of his pocket and places it in your hand

“you don’t have to answer me now, but when you’re ready - i do want to know. will you die for me too?”

johnny turns out to be right, the golden tigers and the diamond dragons will come to destroy each other

you don’t know if the evidence he collected and left at the doorstep of a local precinct helps with that

well anyway, it isn’t your problem anymore - you and johnny have moved on to bigger and better things

at least the rings you wear prove as much

[captainamericasbeard]

Rescue (1/10)

Pairing: Alpha!Bucky x Enhanced!Omega!Reader 

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: violent and abusive situations

Summary: The Avengers are sent in to rescue a group of omegas from the hands of Hydra. There Bucky finds you, an enhanced omega. Can you ever be fully rescued from what Hydra has done to you?

A/N: I’m incredibly excited for this story. I love A/B/O stories and I’ve wanted to do one for quite a while, I just didn’t have the right idea. I’m hoping you all go on this journey with me and that I’m able to contribute something of value to the A/B/O genre. This fic is dedicated to @all1e23​ whose fic Heart & Soul is the pinnacle of A/B/O stories. Thanks for always being a source of inspiration. 

Masterlist

“Sergeant Barnes… Sergeant Barnes I need you to wake up.” FRIDAY’s lilting accent comes over the system in Bucky’s room dragging him from his sleep.

“Whatdaya want.” Bucky mumbled into the pillow, squinting one eye open to try to read the time on the clock. 6:35, way too early for the man that never sleeps.  

“Captain Rogers has requested your presence in conference room B.” Came FRIDAY’s reply.

“Tell the good Captain to fuck off, FRIDAY.” Bucky grumbled, burrowing deeper into his covers.

“Captain Rogers anticipated that response, Sergeant, and says if you’re not in the conference room in 5 minutes he’s sending Sam to your room with a pitcher of ice water. I believe Sam has opted for a bucket.”

“Alright alright, tell him I’m coming.” Bucky groaned loudly and hauled himself off the bed. He knew Steve was deadly serious about sending Sam after him. He quickly dragged on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and pulled his hair into a low bun. He said he’d show up, he didn’t say anything about looking presentable.

Bucky risked Steve’s wrath with a detour through the kitchen for a cup of coffee. As he was pulling his favorite Star Wars mug from the cabinet Sam came grunting around the corner with a five gallon bucket of water and what appeared to be all the ice from the freezer.

“You can put that away, I’m up,” Bucky said as he poured coffee from the steaming pot on the counter. Sam dropped the bucket down with a thunk and icy water sloshed onto the ground.

“Aw man,” Sam whined, “I was really looking forward to that. I was going to have FRIDAY record it and everything.” Bucky smirked over the rim of his mug as he took a sip. “Come on man, Steve’s getting antsy. This is a big one.”

Bucky followed Sam down the hallway away from the kitchen, past the lab where Bruce sat tinkering and into the conference room. He found Steve, Nat, Tony, and Clint already gathered, their eyes plastered to the holoscreen in front of them. Bucky studied the screen and easily recognized it as a Hydra base buried deep in a mountain range.

“What’s the story?” Bucky asked as the eyes in the room swiveled to him. Steve took in his disheveled appearance and rolled his eyes before launching in.

“Ok, let’s start.” Everyone moved around the table and grabbed a seat as Steve began sliding briefing files in front of them. Bucky caught his and flipped the file open revealing a photo of an emaciated girl in threadbare clothes. His stomach clenched at the obvious signs of abuse on her body.

“This girl was picked up in a small town in the Ural Mountains.” “Where?” Sam quipped “Russia.” Bucky muttered, knowing the area far too well.

“Right,” said Steve, “she’s an omega and she says she escaped from this base where they are experimenting on a group of young omegas.”

“Experimenting how?” Nat asked, her mouth drawn into a tight grimace

“They got ahold of something alien and they’re trying to enhance the girls. Give them powers.” Steve replied.

“Why would they want to enhance an omega? Everyone wants their omegas weak and submissive." Clint spat bitterly. As the only omega in the room Clint was especially disturbed by the file he was reading through.

“Not everyone, sweet ‘Mega.” Nat purred with a reassuring hand on Clint’s knee. Steve cleared his throat and carried on.

“Apparently they’ve also been working on the area of the brain that controls submission. I think they’re trying to create an army of enhanced omegas that will submit to whatever their alphas tell them to do.” Steve stated.  

“Makes sense," Sam said, “It’d be hard to get a group of enhanced alphas to submit to anything.”

“Exactly," Steve replied. “The objective is to take down the base and rescue the hostages. Bucky, do you recognize the place?” Steve’s voice was strained as he asked the question but Bucky knew where he was going with it.

“Yeah, I’ve been there.” Bucky said, his voice tight.

“Ok, Bucky gets in and finds the hostages and we keep the battle away from the omegas. Draw Hydra outside and light ‘em up. Tony, you take out security, Clint, your our sniper. Sam, Tasha and I will keep the fight on the ground-“

“-or in the air-“ sam quips

“-and give Bucky time to rescue hostages. From what we’re told, there’s only about a dozen. Some of them are pretty young. Let’s not screw this one up guys.” The group nodded their assent.

“Let’s suit up.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Bucky could smell fear on the air as soon as he breeched the Hydra facility. It tickled his nose and unsettled his stomach. Omega fear, the place was rank with it. He moved like a ghost through the halls, taking out stray Hydra agents as he went. He could hear the chatter of the main battle over his comms.

Steve: Three on your left Tasha

Sam: I got ‘em

Natasha: Thanks Sam

Bucky tuned out the chatter and continued his portion of the mission, rescuing the omegas that were being experimented on in this facility. He moved deeper into the maze of the base. Enemy agents became fewer till there was no sound but that of his own blood rushing in his ears, his heart beating in his chest. Bucky passed an open doorway with a stairwell beyond and the stench of fear nearly made him gag. It was rolling up from the depths of the tunnels below. He could also smell the hot metallic hint of another Alpha.

Bucky braced himself and moved steadily down the stairs. He’d reached the deepest place this base had to offer, where the tunnels turned to stone caverns and the cages were built out of the mountain itself. He never could have prepared for the sight that greeted him. Omegas chained to the cave walls. Girls no older than 20, emaciated and dressed in fabric far too thin for the chilly damp air. They cowered away from him as he approached. He was an Alpha and Alphas meant suffering. There were no sweet alpha smells here, the acrid, burning stench of fear blanketed everything and he had to cover his nose with his gloved hand to keep from retching.

You sensed Bucky approaching the cave where you and your Alpha stood waiting. You smelled him before you saw him and a gasp choked in your throat as you did. You hadn’t smelled a sweet smelling Alpha since you’d been ripped from your father’s arms 15 years ago. The scent of sunshine and soil and fresh cut grass cut through the stink that usually flooded your senses and you stumbled back a few steps into your Alpha’s burly chest. He grabbed you roughly by the throat and brought his nose to your scent gland, reminding you who’s you were. His scent was all metal and blood but it was fighting for dominance at the moment. His deep voice whispered in your ear,

“When that Alpha comes around the corner you’ll do as I say, won’t you Omega. You’ll do as I say or I’ll put a bullet through your skull.” You nodded your submission, your whole body trembling.

Bucky heard the man’s whispered threat and tightened his grip on his gun. He was steps away from the cave when a smell reached him and confused his senses. Lavender. True, pure lavender like the kind his Ma used to grow in her window box. She’d take ripped stockings and make little bundles of lavender to sell on Sundays. He couldn’t understand how your scent was cutting through all the fear in this dungeon but he knew that’s exactly what it was- you, reaching out to him, begging him to save you.

Bucky stepped around the corner and locked eyes with you, his gun trained directly between your Alpha’s eyes. His scent overwhelmed you. As a bonded Omega another Alpha’s scent shouldn’t have this much of an effect on you but it did. You couldn’t describe how his scent made you feel, you’d only felt fear for so long. But now something else began to creep in. You became aware that your Alpha was shouting at you.

“I said deal with him, you bitch!” He snarled. His grip was still around your neck and he thrust you away from his chest toward Bucky like a shield. The sight made Bucky’s hackles rise. Electricity crackled at your fingertips but you already knew you’d never make a move to harm the man standing in front of you. Bucky glanced down at your hands and then looked back to you questioningly. You let the lighting in your hands fizzle out, your gaze promising him you’d never use it against him.

“You think I’m fucking around you dirty little cunt!?” Your Alpha shouted. He kicked the back of your knees out, dropping you to the ground as he pulled his gun from his holster and pressed it painfully to the back of your head. Bucky rushed forward as close as he could, the cave’s bars keeping you an arms length away. “Fucking finish him or I’ll finish you,” your Alpha screamed.

“Drop the gun asshole,” Bucky growled. Your Alpha sneered in response and pressed the gun harder against your head.  

Tears streamed down your face as you dropped your gaze to the floor. You felt bile rise to the back of your throat. You knew you were sealing your own fate with your next words,

“I won’t do it. I won’t fight him” You whispered, sobbing quietly. The gun cocked immediately and a shot rang out, the echo ricocheting off the walls. Before you could register what had happened a pain like you’d never felt was ripping through your chest. Someone somewhere was screaming while you lay on the floor clutching your chest as wave after wave of burning pain washed over you. The sound of metal being ripped apart and there are hands on you, gentle hands brushing the hair out of your face.

“What is it? Where are you hurt?” His voice is frantic and still someone is screaming. The pain doesn’t stop.

“Try to calm down. Let me help you. Shh, shh, sweet girl.” Bucky’s voice is slowly anchoring you. You realize the screaming is you and with that knowledge the screaming stops, replaced by a low groaning.

“Please, tell me where you’re hurt” “You killed him. You killed my Alpha.” It’s the only coherent thought you can communicate and you look up at your rescuer, your eyes begging him to understand. Bucky’s eyes widen in fear. He didn’t know, he couldn’t have known how much danger he was putting you in by saving your life. “How long were you bonded?” He asks desperately as he begins to gather you into his arms.

“Since I was twelve.” You’re groaning and shaking violently. Bucky’s stomach heaves at the thought of a bonded twelve year old but it’s much worse than that. If he doesn’t get you help in the next few minutes, you’re going to die.

Chapter 2

[believerindaydreams]

Me: omg this took forever to get to the action scenes

Me: whoo

Me: think I'll let this sit for a few days and then do the a03 post

Into the fire part 9

"Colonel Hsu. Sir."

Not sure what he wants to see me for. The Colonel's a busy man, with more to think about than two former soldiers leaving town.

"Boone, is it? I understand you were a good soldier. First Recon."

"Yessir."

He sighs; the kind of tired patience you get from a man who's seen too much and been awake too long. "I have to understand it that you're intending to leave the Mojave. Would you be planning to return to the NCR?"

"...that's not my intention. Sir."

He looks you dead-on. "It is my regretful duty to inform you that, as per the orders of Brigadier Cassandra Moore, your discharge has been cancelled and you are henceforth recalled to this base. No duties have been assigned to you at this present time."

Can't have heard that right. "I never reenlisted, sir.'

"I'm aware of that. But given the impending Legion situation, the NCR can't afford to let manpower stand idle. I'll tell the same to Vargas, when he comes in."

"Yessir. Am I dismissed?"

The Colonel's frowning. "Forgive me for saying so, but you don't seem to be very quick on the uptake. Care for a smoke?"

I take one, have it lit before remembering I'm giving it up. Too late.

"You could," Colonel Hsu says softly. "You could ask me how many people have been recalled like this. The answer might surprise you."

"How many, sir?"

"Just two. And I think you know the other one." He lights a cigarette of his own. "You might be curious to know what was important enough to fast-track Moore's promotion over my head. Or that she's left a standing order with me to contact her immediately upon concluding a conversation of this nature."

"Sir. If the NCR needs the manpower this badly-"

"Don't you have a wife? A pregnant one, I believe?"

The Colonel rubs his forehead with his knuckles. "I...am doing my best not to overstep my authority and my oaths. But more important than either, as far as I'm concerned, is my men. Still. If you're actually satisfied with this situation-"

The door swings open, hard, as though it's been kicked.

Arcade. Not the way I've ever seen him; he's dressed in stark black, holorifle at the ready, and his face is flushed like he's on Med-X. Maybe a few other things.

I've seen him at the Sierra Madre, and the Legion camp. I've seen him be frightened

What I'm looking at is cold-blooded.

"Colonel Hsu. I order you to stand down and surrender your prisoner."

"May I ask under whose authority?"

"Enclave."

The word drifts across the room like smoke; and there's no taking it back.

Maybe I shouldn't trust him. Maybe I never should have. An agent- spying with the Legion- and I've spilled my guts to him- "Where's my wife? Where's Manny?"

"Already evacuated. You're the last one."

And that makes it simple. Doesn't matter if I'm a traitor the moment I walk out that door, if the whole NCR army is ready to gun me down; everything I care about, I can only get back by following Arcade.

I can always gun him down once I see they're safe. Or if they're not.

"Don't let me hold you up, then," Colonel Hsu says.

There's a tiny smile on his face.

I don't need to understand what's going on here, to know I don't like it.

*****

"Look. I do have to close the shop eventually, you know."

Not good news, because Arcade told me to get Carla to the Westside Co-Op and not move once we got there. And after the trip here, crawling through the dirt and blowing hell out of anything that even twitched the wrong way, I really don't feel like another journey.

Carla is ignoring everything, cross legged on the floor and knitting. I think it's keeping her calm. "Look, this is important. Arcade Gannon told us to stay here, it's important Follower business."

"Never heard the name, I'm afraid. If you could leave, come back tomorrow-"

I don't know what I would have done next- refused to budge, probably- but the door swings open, and it's finally the duo I'm hoping for.

"Boone!"

And I wrap him in a bear hug. Still alive. Not visibly wounded. Maybe a bit startled.

"All right, we're here," Boone growls at Arcade. "Answers, now."

"Not in here," the exasperated clerk says. "Out. We're closed."

So that's how we end up on the street, drifting down a Westside alley in search of a place to sleep. It's too late to head for Freeside even if Carla was up for it.

Though right now she'd probably say yes to a trip to the moon. "You have no idea how much I missed you. Oh, Boone..."

"Nice to see you too," he says, voice softened. "But- what the hell? One minute I'm talking with the Colonel, next thing I know I'm being goddamn kidnapped."

That's weird. "Didn't you show him the sealed orders?"

Arcade shakes his head. "No time. There really wasn't at Camp McCarran, and then...well, let's just say we weren't talking for most of the trip here. You're going to have to explain it, Manny, because I don't think he'll believe anything I say right now."

"....okay. Well. To begin with, Spades was dicking around on the Major's terminal, trying to guess what they'd be doing next. Like he does."

"Yeah?"

"Not when you're around. We all thought you'd pop a stitch over it."

"Get on with it," Boone says, not unbending an inch.

"Okay. The Major had a set of sealed orders that he hadn't been able to crack, and I suggested Arcade, and everyone said great, let's see what it is. You know what those orders were? Fucking Cassandra Moore saying that the minute he could get word to either you or me, do it, get the whole unit back together, and then send the whole of First Recon back to Shady Sands. By Vertibird, no less."

"So what?"

You can drag a Boone to Lake Mead but you can't make him drink. "So? Betsy and Spades took off before you could say jump, they're going AWOL who knows where. Bitter stayed on because he's a stubborn fuck who won't leave his dad, and Sterling said he's old enough to chance it, which I bet they'll both regret-"

"For the love of- stop it," Boone says, crossing his arms. "I'm not moving one more step until I know what's going on."

"Boone, it wasn't going to be spelled out in words," Carla says gently. "But- there was the dating. Arcade said it matched up to not long after the Cottonwood Cove massacre."

"Is that what they called it?" Arcade asks. "You have to remember, they didn't exactly leave radios lying around at the Legion slave camp."

"...so you don't know it was all over the radio, or that Mr New Vegas was telling everyone about the NCR victories that nobody at McCarran had ordered," I say. "Boone. You fucking changed the shape of the war single handed, and the NCR figured out who did it, and they want you back."

"And if I thought it would be for any reason that could possibly end well for you," Arcade says tiredly, "I wouldn't have burned every bridge I have in the Mojave, by claiming to be Enclave. By the way, Carla, thanks for the fabric. You were right about the safety pins."

Boone takes his sunglasses off.

"That wasn't me," he says, voice distant. "I mean, it was, but- that was the Stealth Boys I found at Repconn. If I'd tried it bare-handed I would have plain died."

"...I don't think they're going to believe that," Carla says. "I think NCR is going to pin their hopes of ending this war on First Recon giving them the perfect killing machine, and that's why half your old unit deserted, and that's why we really, really need to leave the Mojave as soon as we can."

"Unless you really want to repeat the performance and head to the Legion camp again," Arcade mutters. "They'll be happy to see you, I daresay."

"I don't know what to believe anymore."

Desert's turning cold with night, now.

Who knows where we'll be by morning.

[thehomierobbstark]

Eat Your Dinner

Requested by @ljstraightnochaser​!!

Pairing: Erik Killmonger x Reader [#TeamErikDon’tDateWhiteChicks]

A/N: Lmaooooo ummmm I???? Don’t know what this is????? Like the warnings are at the bottom but like i don’t even know if this is a thing and if it is whats its called I literally just had a thought and this is the result anyway hi again you guys I got yelled at last time i posted so @l-auteuse​ heres your tag ma’am!! I literally have no explanation for this story but i hope yall enjoy it!!!  Imma go 🙈 in shame now bye.

Warnings: At the bottom 👇🏿👇🏿👇🏿.

This is for all my lil cute ass black gorditas out there rockin back fat, belly rolls and thick ass thighs that touch!!  x Reader is always gon be black, chubby, and sassy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The carpet was nice.  

Almost a little too nice, though, you thought as you eye the delicate fabric on the floor. It was a beautiful velvet red faux fur rug that laid underneath the glass dinner table, which gave a nice contrast against the dark hardwood flooring.

Erik was so extra for that.  You never thought you could meet a man who would be too bougie for even your taste, but here he was. Acting high siddity.

You snort at your own mental commentary, rolling your eyes at Erik’s home decor.  It catches the attention of the man in question, whose eyes glance away from the iPad he was holding to regard you.

“Something funny?”

Your face immediately drops from the small smirk it was holding, and you shake your head from side to side.

“Good, thats what I thought.  Now sit there and be quiet like the good girl you’re supposed to be.”  He brings the iPad back in front of his face, swiping the stylus across the screen as he starts typing again.

You whimper a little, lips quivering and poking out more than they already were.  This was the first time in the last 20 minutes he’d acknowledged your presence, but he was still being so cold and mean.  

You didn’t want to lose his attention now that you’d gotten it back, so you desperately scoot forward a little closer, trying to make eye contact again.

You even add a little shine to your eyes, looking up at him as innocently as you could.  

Eyes flicking from the screen, he narrows them at you testingly, and you can feel your metaphorical tail tuck between your legs as you shrink back, gulping and looking back down at the carpet.  

Erik shifts himself in his seat, biting his lip with a muffled groan.  You didn’t know it, but you had the cutest little pout of disappointment and frustration on your face that made him want to fuck the shit out of it.

He loved telling you no just so he could see that adorable look on your face, right before caving in and giving you whatever you wanted. His Precious Pouty Princess.

“Look at me babygirl.”

You eyes quickly spring back up to him, wide and hopeful.

“You want my attention?”

“Mmm-hm!” You hum, nodding your head eagerly.  Erik bites his lip, your wanton desperation making him hard.

“Alright, tell you what babygirl.  You eat all your dinner like a good girl, and Daddy will let you have dessert.  How does that sound?”

You nod your head again, wiggling around excitedly.

Pushing himself away from the table, he leans back in his chair, arching a brow at you with a grin.

“Well? Start eating.”

Taking a deep inhale through your nose, you move your head back, slowly letting Erik’s thick fat dick slide out of your throat.  You try to swallow some of the streams of saliva that trail from your lips as you fully release him, but you can’t, and they split, dripping down both his shaft and your chin.  

Finally able to fill your lungs with breath, you clear your throat, flexing your jaw and feeling around the inside of your mouth with your tongue.  

This was the longest you’d throat trained for him, having been on punishment since you got home for your bad behavior earlier.  Usually it was only 10 or 15 minutes you’d spend on your knees keeping his cock warm in your mouth, but this time it was a whole 45 minutes.

20 minutes for your brattiness, and an extra 5 for every time you talked back on the car ride home.

You don’t know when it happened, but you do know at some point in your punishment you’d lost your voice.

It was pretty safe to say you’d learned your lesson.

Pulling your lips into your mouth with a with a swift lick, you reach forward to pick up his heavy dick, smoothly working your hand up towards the tip.  You flick your wrist gently, careful not to tug too hard at his already soggy foreskin.

Returning your mouth to him, you poke out your tongue and flick at the base of his dick, stiffening it as you draw all the way to the top.  Encompassing the tip between your lips, you generously suck and slurp at his cock, savoring the taste of the salty precum leaking from his slit.  

You swallow it hungrily, twisting your hand and milking him as you spend a few more seconds there bobbing up and down.

Erik’s head falls back, the pupils of his eyes pointed somewhere in the back of his skull as he lets out a throaty groan.

The sound tickles at the nerves of your bud, and you squeeze your legs together to try and keep your own excitement at bay.

Like a vacuum seal, you hollow out your cheeks as you come back up, sucking at him tightly before freeing him from your mouth with a wet slurp.  

You look at his tip,  seeing it so swollen and red with arousal.  It almost looked was if it were crying, silky precum once again leaking out and down the length of his shaft and over your gripping fingers.

Leaning forward, you swipe your tongue over your thumb, cleaning it of the mess.  You peek up at Erik and see him staring down at you with a fierce intensity, desire written all over his face.

Biting your lip, you bring his dick to your lips, poking them out to place a soft kiss to his frenulum.  You keep eye contact as you bend down, sticking out your tongue to lap against the underside of his balls as you swallow them into your mouth.

Erik’s eyelids flutter at the feeling, and he can’t help but to close his eyes and let his head fall back again when you start to suck and massage his sac in your mouth.  

“Fuckkkk meeee.”  He moans, whimpering as you let them fall out of your mouth to make circles with your tongue at the skin of his taint before gobbling them back up.

Unbeknownst to him, all that time you’d spent on your knees with him in your mouth gave you the opportunity to get very creative with your plans of apologizing.  And since you weren’t able to use your voice, you had to make use of your mouth in other ways.

“Shiiiiit,”  He hisses and grips your head as you return your attention to his chocolate bar, pumping and twisting your hand around him vigorously as you chase it with your mouth, salivating around him greedily.

You reach with your other hand to push his shirt up and massage his stomach, loving the feeling of his keloids running across your palm as you rub his abs.

The sloppy degrading noises coming from your mouth wrapping around him made his muscles tense, and he clutches his hand in your hair tighter, making you moan out in delicious pain.

“It’s almost time for dessert babygirl. You ready?”  He can barely say the words in between his own groans, his wide eyes looking down at yours to let you know he’s about to burst.

You give an enthusiastic nod one more time, humming and whimpering sweetly for your treat.

He pulls you off of him all of a sudden, giving you three seconds to gather your breath before shoving you back down, holding your head in place as he fucks up into your mouth rough and quick.  

Your hands struggle to hold onto his thighs for leverage as he uses your mouth like a toy, praising you the entire time.

“Fuck, look at you princess.”

“You look so good with my dick down your throat, you know that?”

“Daddy gonna give you a reward. You did such a good job, I’m so proud of you baby.”

“You gonna swallow all this cum like a good little girl? Huh?”

With four more harsh pumps, he was balls deep down your throat, and you feel the first splash of cum hit the back of your throat.

Immediately swallowing, you nudge your head forward, burying your face into his crotch to get every single inch of him in your mouth.

He continues to shoot spurts of his load into you, and you focus on breathing through your nose, relaxing and opening up your throat as you let all his nut slide down it.

When you finally feel the need to swallow, you slowly come off of him inch by inch, guzzling down every drop of his seed and making sure not to let any of it go to waste.

You were so into finishing your mission you didn’t even realize Erik was whining and twitching, the stimulation of your tongue cleaning up and down his pole getting to be too much for him.

Needing to take back some control, he grips your throat, shoving your dangerous mouth away from him, and he bends down, putting his face in yours.

“Open.”

You smile, opening your mouth wide to show him your clean pink mouth, not a drop of white to found anywhere.  You even lift your tongue up to show him the underside.

He smirks at your cockiness, reaching down to pick you up and plop you into his lap, his mouth immediately attaching to yours.  

He kisses you deeply, exploring your mouth with his tongue in both gratitude and eroticism.  That mouth of yours was the best and worst thing about you, and he loved them both equally.

Finally pulling away from the heated make out session, he rests his forehead against yours, breathing heavy as he lets a lazy smile engulf his lips.

“You did a great job with your food, babygirl, I’m so proud of you.  Now let Daddy put his princess to bed.”

With one arm around your back, he lifts you up in his lap, angling himself before slowly letting you descend onto his soaked meaty member, the sound of your choked moan echoing through the house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warnings: Smut, Cock Warming, Throat Training?? is that a thing? Daddy!Kink

[newtafterdark]

Taste of Metal - Chapter 5:  Reality Check

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26157634/chapters/64305886

Summary: What if the overwhelming VR experience Gordon went through, had a deeper purpose than just being a simple simulation & a freelance debug job for him?

But most importantly- what if Gordon Freeman listens to Metal & used to be in a band? aka. the "Metalhead Gordon AU"

PS: This is the E-Bass mentioned in this chapter.  !t’s a real beauty, honestly!

- - -

It took Gordon a while to return to the others. For one, he always kind of zoned out for a bit when having a bath… and additionally, the reality of what had happened to him in the past few hours (or days? He wasn’t entirely sure and that unnerved him to no end-) had slowly started to sink in as well.

Zoning in and out of what was his reality now screwed heavily with his perception of the passage of time… and if getting his leg stuck while trying to slip into his comfort PJs and almost falling on his face added a few extra minutes… then that was between him and his checkered bathroom mat.

He rubbed the fabric of his dark floral-print pants between his thumb and pointer finger. It was a comfort thing. Always had been. Just something to help him stay in the moment with the help of adding the sense of touch when everything else was a tad clouded.

His still very much wounded arm was pressed lightly against his chest, the smooth fabric of the worn Nine-Inch-Nails shirt adding another layer of comfort to his current self-care choices.

Gordon hoped the Science Team would not question his comfort outfit… too much. It was just what he needed right now, as silly as the combo of rose-patterned pants & band merch might be.

His long hair was a mess as well. Yes, he had managed to get it clean and untangled most of the messy strands… but man, it was apparent that he needed to fix his undercut sometime. Right now though, he’d just have to deal with the state of his messy (and now also very fluffy post-hand-dryer) mane. Being able to run his fingers through it again and fluffing it up a bit further in the process... was a very nice thing though.

Gordon didn’t really look at anyone when he exited the bathroom and made his way to the couch- only to settle down on the floor, his back leaning against the front of the couch. He leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling.

“Do you- Do you feel a bit better now, G-Gordon?”, he heard Tommy ask from a few feet away. Gordon managed a soft smile and a nod in affirmation.

“I… yeah, I do. I am exhausted to all hell and back but… yeah. I think I’m actually here... if that makes sense. Don't feel as removed anymore. So… uh… thanks. Everyone.”

He lifted his head carefully, giving himself the time to catch a glimpse of each Science Team member in the room. G-Man must still be around as well, as the man’s ominous briefcase was still leaning against a nearby wall.

The silence that followed was not one of comfort, Gordon could tell. There was an aura of unease and worry in the air. Even from Benrey, who had been seemingly calm previously.

“Guys, I… I still have a lot of questions, not gonna lie. But… first I do want to thank whoever sweetvoice’d my stump. I… I don’t know how to react to my arm actually being gone and frankly….. I am actually freaking out slowly but surely… but still… thanks. Hurts less and all that.”

Gordon jumped a bit as a high pitched noise escaped Benrey, followed by a hiccup and the guard trying to sink further into the bean chair he was sitting in.

“Dude, you don’t have to swallow your Sweet Voice around here. I am way past freaking out about it, believe me.”, Gordon assured him, followed by a short laugh- “It’s actually nice. And helpful. I can fully admit that now, honestly.”

Benrey let out an orb of pink Sweet Voice at that.

“Glad it- that it helps, man. Wasn’t sure if it would... now that we’re all here in... uh, in person.”

Gordon lifted his injured arm carefully, looking the wound over.

“I still have no idea how it works… but yeah, it does help a lot. Again, thanks.”

“Welcome.”

…

Another moment of awkward silence was beginning to start when Bubby suddenly stood up-

“Can we stop with the sulking? Seriously?! We’re OUT! FINALLY! We should be going outside and having the time of our lives-”

“Uh-”, Gordon suddenly looked very alarmed-

“-steal a car! Go on a real goddamn road trip-”

“Bubby-”

“What?!”, the tall man almost hissed out, immediately regretting raising his voice as Gordon curled up a bit into himself at the noise- “M-My apologies. But you get my point, don’t you?!”

Gordon nodded at that, despite shaking a bit.

“I absolutely do! Hearing that you guys were legit locked up for god-knows how long… I would want nothing more than wanting to go outside and explore this world if I’d be in your shoes! It’s just... how aware are you guys of what has been going on on the surface for the past 10 years? Do you… do you guys even know what year it actually is?”

Tommy perked up at that-

“It’s 2020! Not all of us had a good grasp on time, but my dad and I do!”

“Me as well, Gordon!”, Dr Coomer added with a smile- “As much as we as a group had our jokes about Wikipedia, it was basically our only window to the world outside for a very long time. So thanks to it we do know about a lot of things… in theory.”

Gordon let out a short sigh of relief.

“O-Okay, that’s actually good to know- I mean, it sucks that that was all you guys had! But… at least we don’t have to start on nothing.”

“We’ll be perfectly fine dealing with the outside world, thank you very much!”, Bubby threw in, arms crossed.

Dr Coomer reached over and put a hand on Bubby's shoulder-

“Bubby, dear, I can still see us getting overwhelmed with it though. It might not be all new for me, but it is for you! And for Benrey as well. Do trust me that we all need to take this slow.”

Gordon slowly sat up, actually deciding to move up onto the couch, pulling one of his legs under him while stretching the other out.

“Guys… if you want, you all can stay here as long as you want.”, he said, earning himself a collection of surprised looks from everyone- “I know my place is small but… you saved my ass. I want to at least try to even that out by letting you stay for as long as you need.”

He ran his intact hand through his hair again, a few strands falling over his right eye.

“And I know G-Man said not to worry about what Black Mesa might do with you all on the loose now… but honestly, I will sleep better knowing you all are closeby and not in imminent danger. Call me selfish, but I’ve grown to like you guys. And I do care for your chaotic asses.”

Gordon went on, grateful for the patient silence the team graced him with at the moment-

“I need to be upfront about this and not bottle this shit up, so let me be absolutely clear: The shit that happened in the simulation? I do not hold that against any of you. Knowing the context of that whole thing… yeah, it was horrid, not gonna lie- but we all ran on fumes… b-but it was also kinda… cool?”, he added with a nervous chuckle.

“Like, how you all tweaked the code in small ways? It added up to such a chaotic mess that was hella stressful… but really fun to experience too? Like- Benrey!”

“Huh whu-?!”, the guard in question sat up in the beanbag, eyes wide.

“Your no-clipping for bits? Your entire goddamn boss fight?! It was terrifying and So. Fucking. COOL!”, Gordon explained, wildly motioning around with his intact hand and then looking at the others in the room one after the other- “Look, I didn’t really know what you guys’ deal was, along with this being a professional job, so I didn’t really get to talk about all the stuff I get excited about but MAN!!”

The entire gang turned at the sudden sound of a low chuckle coming from the doorframe to the kitchen. G-Man was leaning against it, a soft smile on his lips.

“I… am glad that it wasn’t as traumatizing for you as it could have been, Mister Freeman. I take it, you are quite comfortable with the themes you saw in the simulation, yes?”

He motioned at the walls of Gordon’s living room, causing the man in question to blush and curl up a bit into himself. The Science Team exchanged a few confused glances before taking the opportunity to actually take in Gordon’s apartment properly.

“Look guys, I-”, Gordon started in a slightly defensive tone, before suddenly getting stopped by Benrey’s hand on his chest. Gordon snapped his head up, staring at the guard- whose whole attention was focused entirely on taking in the apartment's aesthetic.

The furniture around them was a wild collection of thrifted items. Wear and tear showed on the dark wooden table and on the clunky shelves on the walls.

Several big moving boxes sat in the corners, stacked on top of each other. It looked as if they hadn’t been moved in months, as if Gordon had not bothered opening them after moving into the place whenever ago.

The couch, beanbag chair and the two additional armchairs had several patches messily stitched onto them. A dresser to the side had been painted with various spray paints… and had a ton of smaller tags written on it with dripping pens at some point.

All his was the base… but what left the team staring with wide eyes were the small decorations of the place. The walls were absolutely plastered with band posters. And not the kind they would have expected from Gordon-

Countless of them had hard-to-read fonts on them, flames, lightning… and the number of bones and skeletons were honestly a bit overwhelming. Especially Benrey, who was now letting out a constant stream of excited-sounding Sweet Voice.

The skeleton theme actually continued with the other decorations around the room as well. Several different skull-themed items sat on the shelves, really putting the room together. And not cheap-looking stuff either! Some of them had a metal finish, others were carved out of wood and a rather big amethyst skull divided Gordon’s decently-sized DVD and Video Game collection.

There was what could only be described as faux-taxidermy all over the place as well. Small bottles labelled with things like “void eyes” and “dragon blood” instantly drew Darnold’s attention.

Dr Coomer ended up walking up to the wall-mounted dragon head with a colour-changing skull in its mouth and just gave it an approving nod.

Bubby, however, was still scanning the band posters until- “GORDON?!”

“Y-Yeah? Wha-”

“YOU PLAY ELECTRIC BASS??? AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME?”

Gordon grinned and got up, walking over to where Bubby was standing.

“Oh yeah! That’s my old Fender! Haven’t touched that babe in a good while… probably needs a bit of re-tuning, now that I think about it...”

Bubby shot him a look-

“I repeat: you play e-bass???”

Gordon let out a warm laugh.

“Yeah! Sometimes guitar too, electric and acoustic. Just haven’t really had a reason to in a while.”

A pained expression suddenly appeared on Gordon’s face. “Not like I will again anytime soon, you know?”, he added, lifting his stump.

Bubby waved him off.

“Oh please. Harold told you he has a plan to get that “fixed”. Trust him on that. He doesn’t break his promises. And his work is extremely high-quality and responsive. You will be able to play again with no issue.”

Before Gordon could reply to that, he suddenly felt a hand on his healthy arm, only to find Dr Coomer right beside him.

“Indeed, Gordon! You will have a proper prosthetic arm in no time! Well… I hate to admit that the entire process will probably take at least a full week.”

“Oh! T-That’s still extremely fast! I… I don’t even know how to thank you for that, Dr Coomer. Do you need any specific tools? I think my computer building tools should be around here somewhere-”, Gordon rambled on, only to be stopped by Coomer’s laugh.

“Oh Gordon, don’t worry! I’ll be able to find everything I need with ease! Most of it I already have! I plan on stripping your VR Suit for parts, you see!”, the older scientist explained to him- “You go sit down and let yourself relax and heal. Which is something that needs to happen before I can even think about fitting the prosthetic properly to your arm anyway! I am sure Benrey’s Heal Beam will be of much-needed assistance with that in the following days!”

A loud “HELL YEEEEAH” was heard from the other side of the room.

Gordon chuckled.

“Alright then- uh…. Do you guys want some snacks and get comfy? I think I still have-”

“Mister Freeman… I took it upon me... to get that covered. I hope you don’t mind too much.”

G-Man walked into the living room with a big baking dish and wearing Gordon’s flame-print oven mitts.

“G, my good man, you will never hear me complaining about such perfectly baked Mac’n’Cheese- oh shit, is that sliced ham in there too?”, Gordon stared at the perfectly brown cheese layer on top- “… yeah, you are allowed and encouraged to cook whatever and whenever you feel like it while you’re in my four walls, holy shit.”

“Ah… thank you for the high praise Mister Freeman, but-”

Gordon shot G-Man an unimpressed look, which startled the taller man a bit-

“Alright, Rule Numero Uno of Hotel Gordon: You will be complimented here and you will take it. That goes for everyone here. Yeah, sometimes we will get salty over things, as we have before… but guys, here comes a fun IRL fact about me: I am aggressively supportive.”

“G-Gordon, I am not sure that is needed-”, Tommy stammered out, only for him to slightly freeze as Gordon turned towards him with an intense stare-

“Oh? Wanna test me? Think I won’t say that I still deeply appreciate how you selflessly dragged my sorry ass along when I was too weak to walk on my own? That you had my back in ways that I will be in debt for until the end of my life? You sure??? Absolutely sure?”, Gordon said, grinning and pointing a finger at Tommy… who was now hiding his face behind his hands, letting out a soft “buuuuuuh” sound, followed by a flustered laugh.

Gordon looked at all of the Science Team with an affectionate glint in his eyes. It felt so good to actually be himself around this chaotic bundle of people he learned to care for so deeply.

[softestgentlest]

Lily & Harry - high school fanfic

Harry Styles.

Harry fucking Styles.

An egotistical, quick witted asshole with a silver tongue and easy charisma.

He's also irritatingly privileged; not only is he filthy fucking rich, but he's also extraordinarily intelligent, and to top it all off, positively, mercilessly, despicably gorgeous. As if he wasn't already dealt the winning hand, his otherworldly physical attractiveness afforded him the freedom to do whatever the hell he pleased, whenever, and wherever he wanted to do it.

And, of course, in some cruel twist of fate, he most often chose to utilize his influence by victimizing me: Lillian Mercier, a quiet, harmless junior, whose sole desire is to graduate ASAP, so I can move onto Cambridge University by the Fall of next year.

I'm on track to receive my diploma a year early, according to my guidance counselor, but I've got to keep my GPA above a 3.8 at least, if I have any hope of getting admitted into my uni of choice.

My mind is humming, sifting through upcoming exams, assignments, papers that need writing, and a number of other priorities as I open up my locker.

I'm just pulling out my SAT prep book, when a series of excited murmurs echo through the crowded hallway. A girl a few feet away turns, whispering to her friend, "I think my ovaries just exploded, dude. Look at Harry's haircut."

I roll my eyes, swapping the prep book with the AP English text that's currently weighing down my bag. I try to focus on my mental "to do" list, but I'm now annoyingly in-tune with the girl's conversation, unable to block them out.

"I know! How could he have gotten even hotter? And look at his outfit...like, he can literally make anything look good."

"Oh my goooodd dude, he's graduating this year. I honestly think I'll die, like, he's the only thing that makes this school tolerable."

"Shhhh, they're coming over here."

The girls go quiet, and I tense, keeping my eyes trained on the interior of my locker. Harry will be graduating at the end of the year, as he's a senior, and with that knowledge, I feel intensely relieved.

Even if I can't graduate early, he'll be gone, and I'll actually be able to enjoy my senior year.

A smile plays across my lips as I stretch to reach the top shelf of my locker, standing on my tippy toes. I'm 5'3, and these lockers were clearly built by men of average height, with little to no regard for high schoolers of smaller statures.

I know I threw some flash cards up there in the rush to make the bus yesterday, but even when I step up and onto the metal base of my assigned storage space, I still can't seem to-

I gasp, as I lose my footing and fall backwards. Luckily - or, maybe unluckily - my fall is broken by something solid. I hear a soft grunt, and large hands grip my waist, steadying me.

I pant, pressing a hand to my racing heart, when I feel something soft brush against the sensitive shell of my ear, "good morning to you too, clumsy."

I shiver, and pull away, immediately recognizing that deep, accented voice as it burns hotly into my skin.

Do not engage, I mentally remind myself, forcing my trembling hands to occupy themselves with the contents of my backpack.

He tssks, clicking his tongue, "Aren't you going to thank me?"

"Thanks." I concede through gritted teeth.

He chuckles, leaning too close for comfort once again, "it was my pleasure, Lillian." His voice drops an octave on the word 'pleasure,' giving it an unnecessarily sexual undertone, if only to get under my skin.

At the corner of my vision, I see his shadowed silhouette as he leans against the locker beside mine, tall and domineering as ever.

I ignore his presence, slowly zippering up my bag, and securing my lock, before reluctantly turning to face him.

The first thing I notice is the lack of hair. What had once been long, lustrous, chocolaty curls, is now shortened gossamer strands of hair falling over his forehead in a provocative, untidy tumble. The new cut exposes his defined jawline, and those sharp, light catching cheekbones.

As usual, he's dressed to the nines, somehow managing to make his unexpected attire look effortlessly appealing. Today, he's clad in a strange mix of professional, and bohemian pieces: a blue and white checkered wool jacket, a dark pinstriped suit, a red beaded necklace. He's got on bright pink socks, and white loafers, and his signature assortment of rings.

I clear my throat when he catches me checking him out, "Harry, I didn't know you could sew."

He looks perplexed, considering my assumption with furrowed brows, "I can't."

"Oh, then I suppose it was your mother who made that jacket from one of her tablecloths?"

He tilts his head to one side, and runs his fingers roughly through his freshly cut curls, "this," he snarks, smoothing his hands down the woolen fabric, "is a $2,000 jacket, love."

I roll my eyes, hitching my bag over my shoulder, and turn to walk away, only to come face to face with Mitch and Nick, two of Harry's equally asinine friends.

"Excuse me." I prompt. The two boys ignore me, smirking over my head at their scumbag leader.

I huff, turning back around, knowing full well that they aren't going to do anything unless he commands it. "I don't have time for this, Harry." I cross my arms, pursing my lips in annoyance, "I'm gonna be late to class, and so are you."

His mouth curves dangerously, drawing my attention to the pillow-soft push of his lips. "And we wouldn't want that, now would we, Lillian?" he pronounces my name so that it drips from his shapely lips leisurely, provocatively. "What with your big plans to graduate early."

Immediately, I recoil, meeting his expectant stare with wide eyes, "H-how...?"

"Oh, you thought I wouldn't find out?" He pushes off the lockers, Stepping closer, "did you know that you're GPA is just .01 points less than mine?" His voice is honeyed, sickeningly sweet - it sets off warning bells in my head.

I swallow nervously, taking a small step backwards, "I don't see what that has to do with my plan-"

"Oh, but it has everything to do with your plans." Again, he advances, but this time I hold my ground, tilting my head to meet his stare, "you see, we weren't competing before...not really. But, if you graduate ahead of your class and maintain that same GPA, well...Cambridge won't even look at me, regardless of my achievements, because you'll have the edge."

I blink, processing his words, "You want to go to Cambridge...?"

He quirks a dark brow, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

I'm dumbfounded, "But...but I-you...but-that's just ridiculous!" I nearly stomp my foot at the sheer absurdity of the notion, but opt to clench my fists at my sides instead.

He looks utterly amused, and leans a bit closer, a challenge in his eyes: "is that right?"

"Why would you want to go to Cambridge?!" I note how whiny my voice sounds, but I'm too distressed to care.

He's full on grinning now, his emerald eyes dancing with glee. "wouldn't you like to know" He purrs in that slow, sexy drawl, his voice dropping so low that it can only be heard by the two of us.

It is then that the bell rings, shrill and disruptive, tearing me from his trance-like stare.

I realize how close we've gotten, our faces perhaps six inches apart. I can feel the warmth of his body radiating off of him and wrapping around me. Before I can stop myself, I inhale his intoxicating scent: spicy and earthy and masculine, like cigarettes and pine and the leather spines of old books.

For a fraction of a second, my eyes slip shut...he smells so damn good.

Then, just as quickly, I blink, and step back, my heart racing in my chest. I did NOT just...

He straightens, raking his eyes over my trembling frame with an air of affected smugness. Silently, he steps the side, watching me as I collect myself, an embarrassing blush infusing my cheeks.

Slowly, I move down the hallway towards my class, uncharacteristically unconcerned with the possibility of being marked tardy. I can tell that he's following, as students all around turn to stare behind me. We're in the same English class.

My brain seems to have gone into overdrive, conjuring up insane reasons for why I'd smelled him and liked it enough to consider doing it again. Impossible. Harry's a prick. The bane of my existence. Sure, he's wildly attractive, but never have I ever been even remotely interested in him...sexually. So what the hell was that?

Why am I all hot and blushing and trembly? Why?! Especially after he'd dropped the Cambridge bomb! I mean, really? Of all the schools for him to choose, it had to be my dream school. And of the thousands of people I'll be competing with to be admitted, it just had to be him.

Harry's one of the smartest people I've ever met, and he's got the resources and connections to get into any school he wants. The chances of two kids from the same high school getting into Cambridge are absolutely zero, and whether I graduate early or not, Harry's a shoe in for a spot there - he's the ideal student: rich and intelligent and driven, with a shit ton of community service and extracurriculars under his belt, and with a number of published poems and short stories.

He'll take my spot there just by aiming his perfect white grin in the right direction. And if we were both admitted, by some miracle, that would be even worse! 6 more years with him?! I'd die. I couldn't take it. I'd-

"Ah!" I gasp, colliding with a tall boy for the second time today. My books fly out of my arms again, and I fall flat in my ass with a soft yelp of pain.

"Woah! Are you ok?" A voice asks, and I glance up to find a familiar blonde boy looking down at me.

"Um, y-yeah." I say, quickly moving to stand up. Like a gentleman, he reaches down, offering me a hand, and I take it, allowing him to pull me gently to my feet. "Uh, sorry about that. I wasn't paying attention..." I smile sheepishly,

"Oh, no, it's totally fine." He grins back, then kneels down to pick up my books. "As long as your ok."

"Really, I'm fine." I giggle, kneeling down to help. "Your Neil, right? I think we have psych together?"

He hands me my things, standing up, "close! It's Niall, and yeah, 6th period right?"

I nod, "Niall. Yeah, I'm Lily. I'm the one always shouting out the answers and then getting yelled at." I giggle nervously, feeling a little self conscious around this boy with pretty blue eyes and a kind smile.

He laughs, "well, I'm definitely not one to shout out answers. I'm terrible at Psych." He gestures for me to walk with him, and I do, "I'll walk you to your class, just to make sure your alright."

I roll my eyes playfully, but follow, "I already ran into you. Don't let me be the reason that your late to class too."

I lead the way to the English wing, and we joke lightly about our Psych teacher, Mrs. Campbell. By the time we've arrived, the bell has rung, and I know that he's going to be late because of me, but he doesn't seem to care.

"Hey," he calls out, just as I'm about to open the door to my classroom, "maybe you could tutor me sometime? In Psych? You always seem to be yelling the right answers, and I could really use the help..." he rubs the back of his neck nervously, and I can't help but smile at how cute he looks.

"It's the least I can do after running into you." I say, "let's talk in class later?"

"Yeah, sure!" He backs down the hallway, "I'll see you then, Lily!"

When I enter the classroom, there's still a smile on my face, and I quietly make my way to an empty seat in the back. My teacher, Mr. Gray, shoots me an inquisitive look, since I'm not one to show up late to my favorite class, but he doesn't call me out on it.

"Alright guys," he says, "while I was reading you essay submissions from last week, I noticed quite a few spelling errors, so I thought we might have a little bit of a...spelling bee today, just to see where we all stand when it comes to commonly misspelled words." The class groaned collectively, and he laughed, "nothing to worry about. This won't count for a grade, I just want a chance to see where everyone stands. It'll be fun!"

Mr. Gray proceeded to split the class into two groups, and two at a time, he called students up to the board, and in tournament fashion, the winner played the winner from the opposite team. I could tell that he was saving certain students for the end, since they would likely beat out all the competition, thereby depriving their teammates of turns. By the time it got to me, only a few students were left on the opposing team.

"Ok, Kim," he called to my competitor, "your word is Accidentally" Kim correctly spelled two words, and then swapped out with another teammate, Jamie, who only beat me on one word.

"Alright, this is it, guys. Last two. Harry, join Lily up front."

Immediately, my eyes found him, just as the rest of the class turned to watch him rising from his seat. He took a step towards me. Then another. I sort of shivered, watching him move, observing his long legs, slowly closing the space between us with their every measured step. There's something almost feline about it - the way he moves - very masculine...and very...sexual, if that makes any sense at all.

I averted my eyes as he took up the space beside me. Again, the drowsy scent of books and pine with undertones of coffee and tobacco invaded my senses, and I felt my knees threatening to buckle.

"Harry, your word is 'allegiance'"

I felt him smiling, tasted his smooth baritone, skating hotly down my spine: "A-L-L-E-G-I-A-N-C-E. Allegiance."

"Lily, controversy."

I spelled it correctly and held my breath, gazing stubbornly straight ahead.

"Harry, 'immediately.'" He did the same.

"perseverance"

"Accommodate"

"I-N-T-E-L-L-I-G-E-N-C-E, Intelligence." I glanced over at Harry, noting the look of intense boredom on his face as he stared off into the distance. Clearly, this was too easy for both of us.

"Too easy is it, Lillian?"

"Uh, w-what?" I snapped out of my reverie, glancing at Mr. Gray, who looked rather amused.

"If you think it's too easy, we can really put you two to the test. What do you think class?" Mr. Gray looked around, and the class erupted into excited giggles and shouts.

Realizing my mistake, I felt my cheeks flush hot with embarrassment, "oh I-I didn't m-mean to say that um...out loud sir..."

The damage had already been done. Mr. Gray grinned, clearly excited to have piqued the class's interest, "alright then, let's try....sacrilegious."

Harry, looking rather more alert than he had before, turned to look at me, holding my stare even as each honeyed letter fell from his lips "S-A-C-R-I-L-E-G-I-O-U-S" the flecks of gold in his eyes danced, embers crackling, glittering.

"Conscientious, Lily."

"Oh, um..." I quickly averted my gaze, glancing nervously at my trembling fingers, "C-O-N..." my heart wobbled in my chest. What's comes next? "...S-C-I-E-N-T-I-O-U-S, Conscientious." I want this to be over...

Harry chuckled beside me, low and slow. I felt his eyes on me. "bureaucratic." He spelled, quick as a whip, and all eyes were back on me.

"Bourgeoisie." Amidst the nerves and exhaustion, my stubbornness gave way to another correct answer. I won't lose to him. Not this, not Cambridge.

He managed "clairvoyant," "coalescence," and "kaleidoscope." I got through "lachrymose," "mnemonic," and "pharmaceutical," and then, finally, he messed up.

I heard it in his voice first, knew before it happened that I had won. Mr. Gray - once again proving himself to be my favorite teacher- threw "triskaidekaphobia" at Harry, and we both froze.

"T-R-I-S-K....A-D-E-K-A-P-H-O-B-I-A." Harry murmured uncertainly, sounding just as breathless as I felt. The class had gone silent, and I could hear my heart racing.

"Incorrect." Mr. Gray uttered, but before the class could erupt into cheers, he continued, "let me just say, Harry, Lily, that was extraordinary. Really, very good show." He slowly began to clap, and our classmates followed suit, whooping and jeering at Harry good-naturedly.

I turned to glance at him then, not feeling very excited about having won. I couldn't help the little gasp that escaped my throat when I saw his face. He had curved his mouth into a grin, ran a hand through his hair boyishly, a calculated carelessness slackening his features - but I saw it in the way his lips twitched, in the way his eyes glossed over and darkened to muted jade.

He's upset. I realized, moving closer without really thinking about it. He's really, really upset.

"H-Harry?" I heard myself whisper, voice trembling. Everyone had, by now, moved into their own little groups, all talking animatedly about the results of our little duel, so they weren't really paying us any mind.

His smile faltered - just for a moment - "good game." He husked, his voice raw. He held out a hand, quirking a brow, watching me with those expectant eyes.

It was then, in that moment, that I realized, very suddenly, that Harry is...beautiful. Like, proper beautiful, like earth shatteringly, mind numbingly gorgeous.

The realization hit me with such immense force that I had to grab his outstretched hand to keep from crumbling to the ground. "O-oh." My mouth parts on the startled little noise, and suddenly I'm very aware of the gentle press of his cold rings against my fingers, his large hand claiming mine, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he holds me. "Uh-huh." My response catches in my throat and comes out sounding like a strangled hiccup.

Quickly, I pull away, stumbling back a few steps, I tear my eyes from his face, flailing my hands around like a monkey.

What the fuck?

•••••••••

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT A PART 2 💛