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“𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞, 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐦𝐞…”

Part 2 | Dabi x fem!Reader

CW: yandere themes, some mentions of noncon, gaslighting, manipulation, kidnapping, complicated feelings, stockholm syndrome

SYNOPSIS: you are finally saved from the hands of your captor, who was now locked up, far away from you. But to this day, the memory of him still haunts you in your dreams, still so present in your life, still reminding you that you are his girl.

A/N: here the reader finally decides to read Dabi’s letters, we’re taking it slow guys ;)

Part 1 | REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

Your hands rummaged through the mailbox to grab the letters that were sent from Tartarus. You stared at the envelopes, your chest suddenly feeling tight, for a second you were about to change your mind and throw them away. Though you felt something gnawing inside of you, the guilt and fear of ignoring Dabi, you felt like you were still obliged to him even if he was now locked away, technically out of your life. You must read those letters and you must reply back. You wouldn’t want to anger him would you?

“You know what happens when you make me mad..” Dabi would whisper in your ear, grabbing your wrist tightly. “Don’t get out of my eyesight, I won’t repeat myself twice.”

You vividly remember how that day he had taken you to the shopping mall, wanting to spoil you with nice things since you’d been so good to him lately. Though as you would go through the aisles, staring in awe at the variety of clothes and cute things you could buy, you forgot that you had separated from Dabi, when he had clearly told you not to go too far and wait for him.

“Shall I put ya on a leash and drag you around for you to finally understand?” he scoffed.

“I’m sorry” you mumbled. “I won’t walk away again”

First thing you would always do was apologize of course, because you knew how far Dabi would go. If he said something, he would actually do it. And you didn’t want to be on the receiving end of his heinous acts. You remembered how tense you felt, if you had run away and called for help back then, would someone have helped you?

“No” Dabi’s voice echoed in your head. “They would ignore your pleas, leave you there to die, thinking that some righteous hero will come to save you soon. But they don’t care. This is what society has become, rotten to the core.”

This was what he was fighting against, to burn down the whole system, take down the corrupted heroes, and he would passionately talk about it with you, making you part of his bright future.

You shook your head off the thoughts taking over your mind, and opened the envelopes, grabbing the one of the letters.

“My pretty girl,

wonderin’ what you might be doing right in this moment as I write this. Have you been good? Are you inside your little apartment, watching those favorite TV shows of yours? Or are you outside, going to places that I don’t know of? Meeting new people, having fun and all that? Trying to create a new life after our separation, trying to fit back into society…

I bet you are. I wonder how that is going~

As for me, I am sitting here, losing count of days while being surrounded by these four walls 24/7. Kinda boring to be honest, nothin’ much happenin’ around here. You are all I think of baby, and the remains of your pretty face in my memories. My hands are itching to just grab at it and kiss it just how it deserves to be kissed. I gotta admit, this punishment is much worse than being locked up, it hurts a lot baby. Knowing that all this time you haven’t bothered to check on me once…damn, it really hurts a lot~

You like hurting me though don’t cha? I guess it’s fair, knowing the ways I’ve hurt you and marked your body all over. But you know that it was all out of love, right? That’s how I like to express it, just imagining what a piece of art your body looked like whenever you ended up on my hands baby..

Fuck it- even now as I think about it I’m aching, and your pretty mouth, that soft tongue could be the only solution to my problems~

Do you realise how much I crave you? Physically and mentally, look what you do to me princess. And the more you ignore me, the less that fire goes away. I guess distance strengthens relationships don’t you agree? I wonder how you’ve been feeling lately, do you miss me? Just a little bit? I bet ya do~

I miss you a lot. Terribly. I ain’t good with words so that’s how much I can express it. Y’know I’m mostly a man of actions, words don’t do it for me.

You can ignore me all you want, I won’t stop writing you. I know one day you will be sitting down to read these letters, because I know you feel the same fire inside of you that only I ignited. We are made for each other, you are just meant to be mine, never think otherwise.

Waiting patiently for a letter back. Make sure to put something in your envelope as well. A recent picture of you, your perfume, or maybe something else, y’know it~

Yours only,

Dabi.

For a while you stared into nothingness, only the sound of your heartbeats in your ears. The letter was clutched tightly on your hands.

“Fuck..” you whispered, before letting out a breathy laugh. You continued laughing to yourself, all while your eyes filled with tears. You weren’t sure if those tears were tears of anger, sadness, hopelessness, fear, love, maybe altogether.

You were terrified, that was certain. Terrified that he still hasn’t forgotten about you, nor given up on you. Terrified that he still thought that this fucked up relationship was true love, despite all the suffering you endured. Through all those sentences and words, you could feel as if Dabi was right in front of you, you could even hear his voice reading the letter for you. It’s like he had possessed you, like a demon that took place in your body and mind forever.

“This isn’t love..” you mumbled. “This is not love, this is NOT LOVE!”

You screamed at the letter, throwing it away.

“I hate you!” you finally burst into tears. “Why can’t you leave my life?! Why, why, why?!”

Why do I miss you like this?

Have you become addicted to the hurt and pain? Or maybe the way he would hold you close and kiss you and worship you right after he completely broke you, maybe you got addicted to that. You could only imagine his reaction if he knew what you’re feeling.

“Told ya so” he would say with a cocky smirk on his face and his cerulean eyes glaring at you hungrily. “Me and you are meant to be”

The rest of the letters pretty much held the same content, though the more he wrote, the filthier he got. It was clear that he craved you badly, as he sat there alone in the prison cell. You squeezed your thighs shut, swallowing nervously while your body remembered the feeling of his cock thrusting in and out of you, always hitting that one special spot deep inside of you and making you see stars.

Apart from everything, Dabi was sexually frustrated. Hands just weren’t enough for the job, they could never replace the way your wet cunt wrapped so nicely around his aching cock. He was getting off on memories, every day and every night, bringing back on his mind the ways he would take you, softly or roughly, just as he pleased. He loved the way you screamed and cried and begged for him to stop, he got addicted to it, nothing and nobody else could even get him hard anymore.

“Do you still get wet for me baby?” Dabi wrote in one of the letters. “Do you play with yourself late at night while remembering the way I ate that pretty pussy of yours, slurping every remaining juice, licking that sweet clit.. I almost drool as I think about your flavor, need to quench my thirst so bad. Just need to dive in between those plush thighs of yours and devour you all damn night, until it gets too much and you start crying. And even then I won’t stop, cause y’know hearing you cry just gets me off real nice. Yeah I am sadistic like that, you already know it baby. And yet you like me just the way I am, you always feel that thrill, I can tell by the way your pussy fluttered each time I got my hands and fingers on it, each time I left marks on you, my little painslut”

Dabi was sure he had turned you into his little masochist, he trained you to cum only when he inflicted pain on you, and the pleasure mixing with it sent you over the edge.

You took all the letters and made sure to get rid of them, burning all of them until they were nothing but ashes. Though the words written in them never burned away, they planted themselves deep inside of you, not leaving your mind for the rest of the day. As the days went by, you decided to distract yourself as best as you could. Meeting your old friend, going out for a walk, going shopping, karaoke nights, watching movies, going for a drink, you name it. And yet you couldn’t shake off the feeling of emptiness, that in some fucked up way only that monster could fill. How could you be so terrified of someone and yet so addicted at the same time? You were sure it would pass as time went by, but it never did. Your body still held the memories of the past, the nasty burn marks were there, probably would stay there forever too. For some reason you found comfort at the old memories, at the old feelings, the abuse had become a familiar thing to you, and you wanted familiar. The outside world and its people, no matter how much you tried to fit in, it was all foreign, unfamiliar, you didn’t belong there.

You belonged to him only.

“Face your fears” someone used to say. “Once you bravely face your fears, they won’t haunt you anymore. Make it known that you don’t submit to them anymore, they don’t affect you anymore, they don’t scare you. And it will all go away”

Should you face Dabi? Should you tell him right to his face that things between you and him have ended forever, that you now are living a good life, happy, away from him? Would that be a lie? Yes.

“I don’t like it when you lie to me” Dabi used to say. “I can tell when you’re lying baby.. I hate liars”

***

“Two more weeks” the guard said, not turning to look at the prisoner. “The boss said we are at the last steps of preparation. We will finally get you out of here, sir”

Dabi nodded, exhaling the smoke of cigarette. “I am a patient man”

The guard continued. “One of our men informed me that the girl had called the prison yesterday, asking how the visiting hours worked in here”

Dabi quirked a brow, slowly turning his head towards the guard outside of his door. A grin creeped up his face, his eyes widening in pure thrill. “Is that so? Haa, m’getting excited now, seems like the little angel indeed misses me a lot”

He stood up, heading towards the door and peeking through the small window.

“Let me know as soon as she decides to come and visit. Must look decent in front of ‘er”

The guard chuckled.

“Of course, sir”

🏷️ tags: @hunajan @touyalove @murderous-snail @syrenkitsune @baby-tini

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Eyes lit

notes: Artist Keigo is something I did not know I needed until I made my own dumb paintings lol. Title credit from Crimewave by Crystal Castles 

characters: Hawks/Keigo Takami

warnings: 18+, artist!Hawks, drug use, minor choking

summary:

You see swirls of purples and greens forming spirals that you’ve never thought of before, dancing like glitter being blown in the wind and then suddenly you see white. You’re thinking in tones of purples and pinks, they pulse and shine against a wall of white and now you’re thinking of Valentine’s day.

The blanket is pulled from over your head and you look up into golden honey eyes, they look even brighter and you swear that they glow as you look up into them. “You having fun under there babe?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ✧

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Hello again, trying to find another fic yet again

This one is a hawks x reader, reader has wings but doesn’t know how to fly so the fic starts with reader trying to fly on their own by jumping off a cliff or building or something but Hawks shows up and stops them, I don’t remember the rest of the story until the end where it’s after reader learns how to fly and they go to Hawks agency and him and reader basically play tag while flying as his sidekicks laugh and talk about how cute they are

Please let me know if you find or know the fic

#hawks x reader #hawks comfort #hawks x female reader #hawks fluff #hawks imagine #keigo takami #mha hawks #bnha hawks

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Baby Keigo and his little downy feathers

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Without a Look Back

Fandom: BNHA Word Count: 4k Pairing: Hawks x Reader Tags: SFW, Hurt/Comfort Warnings: Mentions of Hawk’s abuse at hand of his parents, Angst, Summary: May we be loved for parts of us known and unknown.

“A secret for a secret,” you wager, a devilish glint in your eyes as you laid  spread over the breadth your lover’s chest. Sparkling there is a glimmer of curiosity that threatens to circle right back around and nip you in the ass. Luckily for you, Hawks finds it cute, adorable even, the way you may as well be vibrating in place, wiggling about with barely contained excitement. Your pretty legs kicking in the air with anticipation as you keep your head aloft with stacked palms.

He brings his glass bottle of iced coffee to his lips and grimaces at the bitterness. With every drag, Hawks momentarily mourns the corner shop having run out of his favorite brand. To the disgust of his coworkers and friends alike, he adores his coffee sweet enough to make his eyes water- so laced through with sugar that it’s a toss up as to whether it or the the caffeine is what helps keep him awake late into his shifts. Swallowing down the cool liquid, he lets his head fall back against the couch cushions and curls a wing around your back. His feathers tickle the bottoms of your feet and you giggle. He smiles and squeezes your sides.

“Fine, but because it was your idea, you have to go first.”

“Okay,” you agree readily and he squints down at you with an air of playful distrust in response to your quickly given compliance.

“That was easy. Not planning on asking for national secrets or anything, are ya?”

“Would you give them to me?”

“I can not in good conscience, or by legal precedent, break the rules of our binding contract. A secret for a secret,” he replies solemnly, chuckling when you slap his chest in response. “But to know certain information would place you on some federal watch list or another. Are you ready to risk being put in Tartarus for the knowledge I can reveal to you?”

“Absolutely not,” you respond cheerfully and proceed to breezily wave him off. “I’m not interested in state secrets. I just want to know more about you.”

Hawks feels his heart stutter in his chest and he hopes it doesn’t show too much. The grin you give him shatters that silly little dream.

“On you go, dove.”

Keep reading

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In A Rut (Monster!Hawks x Black!Fem!Reader 18+ One Shot)

Pairing: Keigo “Hawks” Takami x Black!Fem!Reader (Coworkers to Lovers)

Synopsis: You haven't seen your boss around the office in a while ever since he started feeling "under the weather", but when you decide to visit him one day to cheer him up with some soup, you realize that this isn't a normal spring cold. Your boss is in heat and you, his good little assistant, are the only one who can help him cure it.

Warnings: Monsterfucking; Monsterfucker!Reader; Mild Power Play; Boss x Assistant; Mild BDSM; MDom/fsub; Marking; Heat Symptoms; Hawks Has a Big ol’ Dick; Deepthroat; Cunnilingus; Sloppy, Rough Sex; Scent Play; Overstimulation; Ownership; Multiple Orgasms; Multiple Creampies; Multiple Positions; Cum Play; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: Happy spring, y'all!! 💐💐🌼🌼🌻🌻 Fucking FINALLY winter & the cold is gone! Now that the weather is heating up, I wanted to write something about my favorite birdman suffering from heat. Enjoy! -Jazz

********

You’re worried about Mr. Takami. 

Or “Hawks” as he’s told several of his employees, staff, and interns to call him around his agency time and time again. But as his personal assistant for over a year, you take respect and professionalism very seriously. 

Hawks is one of the most laidback bosses you’ve had in your professional career. He doesn’t make you fetch coffee unless you’re getting some for yourself, he’s flexible with deadlines, he lets you go home early despite the workload, and has all of his employees take off on Fridays…which he also pays for. 

Though it’s a nice change, you also can’t help but be wary of Hawks. It isn’t that he’s a bad guy. He is considerably nice––always greeting you in the mornings; checking up on you in the afternoons; letting you use his office when he isn’t in it, etc.

But he is also extremely cocky. It comes with the territory of being pro hero #2, you suppose, but the way he saunters into the office every Monday through Thursday in his designer clothes and Rolex watch always rubs you the wrong way. 

Not to mention he’s a humongous flirt. Your friend calls it being “overly friendly”. She also says he doesn’t flirt with any other woman at his agency like he does you. He always gives you those charming smiles that seem to irk you to no end and puts that flirty lilt in his voice when he speaks to you. Not to mention the constant compliments on your outfits and work that stick with you until the end of your shifts. 

Last week on Monday, the last day you saw him, was no different. You were sitting with your friend at your desk that morning, sipping on your iced coffee before the 9 AM meeting. Your friend was giving you the latest gossip on two employees hooking up in the stairwell during lunch last week when you both saw Hawks sauntering into the office. 

“Shh, shh!” she hushes you even though you didn’t say anything. She straightened up and smiled at your boss, bowing. “Good morning, Mr. Takami,” she chirps. The blonde, in his navy blue suit and red bottoms, gave you each a smile that lingered on you for too long. “Ladies,” he greets. 

You looked away, busying yourself by checking your email. “I’ve got your schedule and plans for today’s meeting for you,” your friend said, passing him a folder. “And your coffee, made by yours truly.” She nudged you, making you narrow your eyes at her. 

“Ah, thank you!” Hawks happily sighed. “And I told you before: just call me Hawks. I don’t need all of that ‘Mr’ shit.” His golden eyes then trailed down to you, his stare making you feel uncomfortable in your long-sleeve blouse. “Thank you, Ms. L/N,” he purrs. “See you at the meeting?” 

He gave you a wink, a hint at his joking manner, and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. He was always picking on you like this. “I’m required to be there as your assistant so, yes,” you replied, blandly so.

He didn’t think anything of it. “Good,” he hummed happily. “I’ll need my right hand when I get tired of talking or my coffee doesn’t kick in fast enough. Carry on.” 

He gave you a flitting wink before walking off to his office for some time alone. Once gone, your friend fanned herself. “Oh, my God, he’s so fucking fine!” she groaned. You shushed her, hitting her arm. “Come on, his office is right there!” you hissed. “He might hear you!” 

“But isn’t he so fine?” your friend went on, ignoring your warning. “You have to admit that he’s fine!” You chose your words carefully, stirring your straw around in your coffee. “He’s…okay,” you weakly replied. “But he’s our boss! Whatever I think of him doesn’t matter.” At least you told yourself that. 

The meeting was about new anti-discrimination policies in workplaces and merging with UA High and Indeed to create a special job website for aspiring pro heroes and those with quirks. 

You sat across from Hawks and Rumi, his friend and co-owner of the agency, who sipped on her coffee free of cream and sugar. “Took you long enough,” she grumbled to Hawks. “What, you forget to fluff your feathers this mornin’ or somethin’?” 

You giggled to yourself at her joke before the meeting started. You met with Principal Nezu who happily bowed in front of the laptop personally set up to meet his eye level. “Good morning, everyone!” he exclaimed. “I appreciate all of you for your time today, including the Indeed associates, and for Hawks for allowing me to take you away from work for a moment. Now, Hawks, if you would like to share your opinion first?” 

The pro sat back in his chair, legs crossed and glasses perched on his eyes. You secretly liked it when he wore glasses. “I think it’s a perfect idea,” he said with a shrug. “As I’m sure all of you know, my agency is open to all new talent, whether they graduated from UA or not. We don’t discriminate against anyone with a particular quirk or education. As long as they are willing to learn, respect our rules, and participate in training, we will hire them.” 

“But what if the public has concerns about who we hire and whether they will be able to effectively do their jobs with no UA education or license?” one of the Indeed associates asked. Hawks smiled. “I’m glad you asked that.” He nodded at you, smiling warmly. “Y/N, would you mind answering this question? After all, it’s your wonderful brain that came out with such a well-thought-out plan for this.” 

Though you flushed at the compliment, you pushed those butterflies away and stood. “This agency is not new to the scrutiny of the public,” you explain, poised and calm. “Hawks and Nezu-san are proposing the opening of a new pro hero license program for those who cannot afford UA or are over the age of 18. This program would include…” You continued just as you rehearsed, not looking at Hawks who looked dead at you, almost as if he was staring through your clothes. 

When you finally finished, you sat and Nezu thanked you for your well-spoken words. “What is your opinion on that, Hawks?” he asked. The pro didn’t answer, too busy staring at you. Now his eyes were hooded and looked slightly sharper than they were before. You squirmed uncomfortably in your seat, mostly because of how warm his stare made you. 

“Hawks!” Rumi hisses in his ear. The blonde blinked, snapping out of it. “Huh?” he dumbly asked, looking up at the screen. “Are you alright?” Nezu worriedly asked. Everyone was staring at him, including you. He had never acted like this before. “Yeah, just…” He paused, clearing his throat as a flush appeared on his cheeks. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?” 

Nezu repeated himself, asking for Hawks’ opinion on the internship program and when he’d prefer to announce it. “It is the spring already, but I believe the summer is when most of my student body will be looking to do internships,” he explained. 

You watched as Hawks’ eyes grew wide at the mention of spring, but he did his best to keep it lowkey. But you noticed. “U-Uh, yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ll do it in April.” You also noticed his body language for the rest of the meeting: his knee bouncing anxiously; his eyes flicking from yours to back at the screen or down at his papers; his cheeks flushed red. 

Was he sick? Was it the coffee you made? After the meeting, Rumi confronted him on it, grabbing his elbow. “Hey, what the hell happened in there?” she asked. “You looked like you were about to deck Y/N!” 

“I…sorry,” he huffed. “I just…” He paused, seeing you and his eyes roamed over your lower body in your pencil skirt. “I need to go to the bathroom,” he quickly replied before rushing off to his office. You followed him. You don’t know why you did. Maybe you felt obligated to do so as if his assistant. Maybe you just needed to make sure he was okay. 

So you knocked on his door, tentatively so. “Come in,” he raggedly said. You opened the door and automatically closed it behind you. Hawks leaned against his desk, his back to you, breathing concerningly hard like he just got off the treadmill. 

“Mr. Takami?” you questioned. Your heels clicked against the hardwood floor as you walked farther into his spacious, high-rise office. “Hawks, is everything alright?” Hawks didn’t look at you as he spoke: “Y-Yeah,” he replied, still sounding winded. “What’s up?” 

You stood two feet away from him, afraid to get near. You didn’t want to spook him or cross any boundaries. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be writing a ‘thank you’ email on your behalf to Nezu-san and the Indeed associates,” you lied though you were planning on doing that anyway.

But Hawks shook his head. “Don’t bother. You did a good job today, Y/N.” His voice sounded so off. It was usually light and syrupy, but now it sounded deep and raspy. It did things to you. 

“Did I do something wrong?” you blurted, confused at his strange behavior. The blonde quickly shook his head, turning slightly towards you. His sleeves were rolled up, showing off his forearms and the feather tattoo on the inside of his left wrist. “No, no, of course not!” he protested. “I’m just…not feeling well.” 

“Well, you know you can always go home,” you said. “We can hold down the fort here like we always do.” Finally, Hawks turned around and you saw how flushed he looked, his cheeks a rouge hue. He gave a smile that felt too intimate. Too adoring. “Thank you,” he sighed. “That’s so like you. Always so professional. Always so sweet.” 

He took a step toward you and instinctively, you took a step back. “M-Mr. Takami?” you weakly asked. He continued to walk to you until you finally stood with your back to the wall, unable to escape him. His cologne clouded your senses, the scent of sweet and spicy invading your nostrils as he stopped in front of you. 

“Y/N,” he began, his voice breathlessly and soft. “I…” He stopped, raising his hand to touch you. And then he stopped, dropping his hand and using it to cover his mouth instead. “I-I’m sorry,” he muffingly said. “You should go. I don’t wanna get you sick.” 

Quickly, he reached beside you with his free hand and opened the door. The sound of chatter, coffee machines, and ringing phones smacked you back to reality. “You should go,” he said, his eyes willing you to do so. So you did and he shut the door in your face, leaving you feeling breathlessly and hot. 

That was over a week ago. After the work day, Hawks headed home and sent out a staff meeting the next morning about being out because of a “spring cold”, but he’d be back soon. “Soon” hasn’t come yet. You haven’t heard anything from him in days! 

It’s starting to worry you. A spring cold can’t last this long. Is it the flu? Is it something else? Plus, no one can seem to get in contact with him. What if something bad happened to him? 

These worrying thoughts swim in your head all week every time you see Hawks’ empty office. 

Finally, you reach your breaking point. You’re not going to call, text, or email him. You’re going to be a good assistant and instead, bring him something to let him know that you’re checking on him. Something to make him feel better. So on Friday, you leave work after your shift and stop by your favorite cafe to buy a bowl of their best chicken noodle soup.

You then drive to Hawks’ penthouse on the Upper East side of the city having kept his address to deliver things from work to his house if need be. When you park your car, you walk to the front door and click a button to buzz to his room. At first, nothing happens, so you press it again. Finally, on the third buzz, someone answers. 

“Yeah?” a deep, raspy, growly voice barks. It startles you. “Uh…I’m sorry, do I have the wrong room?” you ask. “I’m looking for Keigo Takami.” The other end of the line pauses and you think that they left. “Y/N?” they ask, sounding shocked. “Why are you here?” 

You blink at the speaker, shocked that this is your boss talking to you. Why does he sound like that? Is he that hoarse? “I came to give you some soup,” you say, suddenly shy. “I haven’t heard from you in days, so I bought this just to let up your spirits. That must be some cold.” 

You wait for a response, but when he never gives it to you, you begin to feel stupid. This was a mistake. “Well, I’m gonna go now, but I’ll give it to your doorman so he can–” 

“Don’t,” Hawks interrupts though he still sounds strained. “Come up.” You scowl in confusion, wondering if you misheard that, but then his doorman is meeting you at the front door to guide you to the elevator up to Hawks’ penthouse with the soup. 

You take the elevator up, your heart pounding and your hands shaking slightly as they hold the soup. You almost explode from your nerves when you finally make it upstairs and the doors open, revealing Hawks’ beautiful, luxurious, and empty penthouse with an included gameroom, private gym, balcony, pool, mini bar, and expensive-looking kitchen. But he is nowhere to be found. 

You walk further into the living room, your heels clicking across the hardwood floor. “Hawks?” you call. You don’t get any answer right away. The home is uncomfortably silent, making you feel paranoid. “Hawks!” you call again, louder this time. “Where are you?” 

“Upstairs!” he rasps from the staircase leading to the upper floor. “Don’t come up here!” He sounds so pained. In such agony. You place the soup on the counter, confused and worried. What’s going on? Why does he sound like he’s in trouble? 

Not listening at all to your boss’ warning, you slowly head up the steps, taking each tentative step further up in your heels. The hallway is dark when you finally make it upstairs, the only door open being the one at the end of the hallway. It is cracked and through it, you hear the sound of your boss’ soft pants and grunts of pain. Hawks’ bedroom. 

Though something inside of you is telling you to turn around, you persevere and walk towards the bedroom. Slowly, you push the door open, revealing a dark masterbedroom with drawn curtains blocking out the outside world. “Hawks?” you tentatively question. “It’s just me. I just came to–” 

“Go away!” he bellows from inside. “I told you not to come up here!” You jump, startled by the volume of his voice. He’s never yelled at you in such a way. You poke your head inside and gasp at the absolute mess of his bedroom: furniture askew; clothes and empty water bottles discarded on the floor; a rumbled mess of red sheets on the bed.

The smell in the air is thick with sweat and something else. Something tropical. Coconut oil? You look towards the king-sized bed where a heap sits hunched under the sheets which move up and down as it pants heavily. You thought it was just a pile of clothes at first, but no. There’s something under there. 

“Hawks?” you question, your voice wavering in fear. The strange heap stirs, reacting to your voice. It breathes raggedly, almost as if it can’t get enough air in its lungs. “Hawks, what’s going on?” you demand. “Tell me. I want to help you.” 

But he turns away, the sheets shifting as he does. “You can’t,” he whines. “You can’t.” Not being able to take how he sounds anymore, you storm over to the bed and snatch the sheets off of him. There, under the covers, you see your boss with your own two eyes. “H-Hawks?” you whisper. “Is that you?” 

You almost can’t believe it. He has gotten much bigger in the past couple of days since you’ve last seen him, his muscles almost bulging. His pecs are ridiculously big, his nipples hard and perky, and veins protrude from his forearms and hands. Speaking of hands, they barely resemble human hands anymore. Red feathers sprout from his skin and long, sharp talons have grown out of his fingernails like knives. 

When he looks at you, his face is flushed and his eyes are nothing more than red slits, those warm, golden irises gone. But all of those things aren’t even the most shocking to you. You are more shocked by the size of his wings. They have doubled in size, nearly taking up the entirety of the bed, and are red as the purest blood. His feathers shake and ruffle as if someone has run their fingers through them, disturbing their peace. 

He looks shocked to see you and then embarrassed. “I didn’t want you comin’ up here,” he pants. “Didn’t want you seein’ me like…this.” He shifts and sits up so the sheet falls off of him, revealing his naked body to you. He is flushed and coated in sweat all over his tan skin and toned muscles. Your eyes trail down his abs and V-line to his cock which is way too obvious to look away from. 

He is big and throbbing, the head a blush red and dripping in precum. One mouth-watering, angry vein trails from his shaft up to the head of his cock that twitches. Hawks winces, not looking like he is enjoying this at all. In fact, he looks like he’s in complete agony. You can’t be embarrassed or mortified by this when he looks so awful. “W-What happened to you?” you softly gasp. 

He covers his throbbing dick with the sheet, but it’s no use. You can still see it protruding from underneath it, creating an obvious tent. “I’m in heat,” he sighs. “It’s what us mammals go through around this time. A spring thing.”

He wipes the sweat off of his forehead, his blonde hair soaked in it. “That’s why I’ve been hiding,” he explains. “I’ve been here tryna get through this, but I just…can’t!” 

He grabs at his hair, running his hands through it. Now you understand it: his absence; the transformation; the smell of coconut oil in the air. You feel yourself blush, feeling hot in your clothes. All of this because he’s horny?

“How long does it last?” you curiously ask, but you’re not even sure you want to know. Hawks sighs, looking doomed. “Either a day or months depending on if my heat is satisfied.” 

“Months?” you gasp. “Are you in pain?” 

Hawks’ face screws up, triggering something in your core. “Terrible, baby,” he groans, wrapping a hand around his cock, his talons long enough to curl around the entire thing...and he’s at least 12 inches. “I can’t even sleep. I’ve been up for days, sweatin’ through my sheets and tryin’ to cum as many times as I can.” He releases himself and looks down at his hands, clenching them. “But my hands don’t do it for me anymore and I broke my fuckin’ toy.” 

He nods at the fleshlight you didn’t even notice lying near his nightstand, completely broken in half. He completely tore that pussy out the frame, you realize in shock. What the fuck could he do to a real one? “O-Oh,” you exhale. 

“Yeah,” he sighs, running his hand down his sweaty face. “I’m sorry about this, Y/N, really. I didn’t want anyone seein’ me like this.” He looks away from you, appearing so utterly humiliated and ashamed that it pains you. You find yourself not liking him like this: so utterly downtrodden and hopeless. “What can I do?” you blurt. 

He faces you, his slitted eyes widening. “What?” he gasps. “What do you–” 

“I wanna help you, Hawks,” you cut in, already taking off your cardigan to reveal your pretty, pink blouse underneath that you paired with a skirt. “What can I do to help you get through this?” 

He watches you, looking completely stunned and mortified, but his cock also twitches at the sight of your outfit. “No, no, baby, no,” he protests. “Y-You can’t…you don’t need to do this.” But you stand firm on your decision, refusing to leave him like this. “I know I don’t need to,” you firmly respond. “I want to. Just look at you! I can’t let you go on like this.” 

Hawks still doesn’t move, but his cock begins to leak pre for you, dripping down his thick thighs and onto the mattress. The sight is so lewd but so arousing, making your pussy throb indeciently in your panties. You shouldn’t be doing this. There are so many consequences you could face from this…but you also find that you don’t care right now. “Let me help you, Hawks,” you whisper. “Just tell me what I need to do to help you. I’m your assistant, after all.” 

A fire explodes behind Hawks’ eyes, lit with lust and need. A low growl leaves his chest and you find that he has fangs in his mouth. The sight scares and thrills you. “You wanna help me?” he asks in his low, deep voice. “Then take off your clothes.” 

You swallow hard, feeling like you just dry-swallowed a gigantic pill. You start with your blouse, your painted fingernails teasing the buttons before you begin to pop them open one by one. You expose your lacy bra to him, one of your favorites because of how it makes your breasts look: pretty, juicy, and appetizing with the lace trim of the cups adorning them. 

You peel off the blouse and let it fall to your feet. Hawks barely notices it, too busy staring dead at your chest. He slowly begins to pump his cock with his hand, lewd, wet sounds of his pre and coconut oil acting as lubricants drifting to your ears. Under his laser-eyed gaze, you feel like an animal being watched behind a cage. A specimen. It makes you feel slightly uncomfortable, but also hot and bothered to see that you’re affecting him so deeply. 

You then move to your skirt and begin to unzip it, but Hawks puts a hand out to stop you. “Slowly, mama,” he raggedly says. “Don’t rush this.” Biting your lip, you slowly drag the zipper down and then slide the skirt off of your waist, leaving you in just your matching bra and panties. You go to take off your stockings and heels, but he stops you. “Leave ‘em on,” he demands. 

So you stand there, arms at your sides and trembling like a leaf. “Turn around,” he orders, his pink lips parted as he continues to fuck his hand nice and slow. You listen and turn, exposing your ass to him. “Ah, shit,” he hisses, soft pants leaving his lips. “I knew you had a nice ass.” 

You bite your lip, feeling your pussy flutter and throb impatiently. “Sit on the bed and bend over for me,” he orders. “I’m not gonna touch you. I just wanna see you rub that pussy for me, okay?” 

You turn around, staring down at your shoes. “Yes, sir,” you whisper and flush at your words. They just came out of you, as naturally as breathing. 

Hawks shudders, affected by your reply. “Such a good girl,” he sighs dreamily. “I’ll definitely take that over just ‘Hawks’ right now. But ‘Keigo’ works too.” Your face grows hot with a blush, having never referred to him by his first name before. Not wanting to waste his time, you slowly get on the bed and face away from him, your feet tucked under your butt. 

Then you bend over for him, your back arched. “Yes, that’s it,” he encourages, softly panting and the move bouncing slightly from his ministrations on himself. “Pull those panties to the side, baby. Let me see you.” Biting your lip so hard that you’re sure to draw blood, you pull the thin strip of cotton covering your sodden, wet, puffy pussy to the side and expose all of you to him. 

Hawks shudderingly moans at the sight of the wet strand of your arousal connected from your pussy lips to your panties. “God, mama,” he groans. “You have the prettiest pussy. Look how wet you are!” He growls once more, sounding so much like an animal. “You like what you’re doin’ to me?” You can tell he’s started to stroke himself harder, faster, his pants and heavy breaths becoming more intense. “Keigo,” you softly whimper. 

You’ve never been this horny before. Your pussy is about to slide off the bone with how wet it is. 

“That’s right, say my name,” he groans. “Play with your pussy, baby. Don’t let me do this alone.” 

So you do. You sneak your hand down your ass, teasing him before you begin to rub your cunt for him in time with his strokes. A weak moan leaves your lips as you rub your clit in tiny, firm circles, your ministrations impassioned by the sounds leaving Hawks’ lips. He sounds so desperate. So slutty as he pumps his cock, imagining that he’s doing so to your pretty, little pussy. “So fuckin’ cute,” he says, agonized at your beauty and sexiness. “How the fuck are you this adorable?” 

You want to look back and see him, but you get the feeling that he doesn’t want to be watched, so you instead close your eyes and drift away at the sounds of his moans and his lubed cock fucking his hand, making the bed bounce slightly underneath you. You imagine that he’s fucking you like that, his big hands gripping your ass and talons digging into the fleshy part of your ass cheeks. You can almost feel his cock stretching you out, pumping you full again and again as he uses you, doing his best to not break you like he did his fleshlight. 

Finally, you can’t take it anymore. “K-Keigo!” you whine. “Fuck, I’m about to cum!” Hawks groans at your warning, happy to hear this. “Uh-huh,” he pants. “Do it for me, baby. Cum all over those fingers for me.” 

And you do. You rub and flick your clit until it can’t take any more stimulation and explodes all over your hand. Your sweet moans of release push Hawks over the edge. “Fuck!” he bellows, his voice bouncing off of the walls as he cums in his hand, shooting warm cum all over his thighs and stomach. Your moans and whines mix with one another, creating a symphony of pleasure as you both cum together. 

When the high of your orgasms finally fades, you both sit there for a moment, panting and sitting in the reality of your situation. “I…I’m sorry,” Hawks awkwardly huffs.

You don’t answer, unsure of what to say until you turn around and find that he’s still hard. “Keigo!” you gasp. “Y-You’re still–” 

“I know,” he sighs, frustration evident in his handsome face. “Like I said, my hands ain’t doin’ it for me at this point. I need more.”

His slitted eyes, red as crimson blood, narrow at you, a deeper meaning in his words. You gulp, weighing your options but only briefly. You realize you’re thinking more with your pussy than with your head, but the curiosity of feeling Hawks’ wings wrapped around you while he fucks you is too tempting. 

“Keigo, it’s okay,” you softly purr, putting a hand on his thigh. He flinches as if your touch burns him. “We can do more if you need it.” You then dip your fingers between your thighs and come back with them dripping in your cum. His cock twitches at the sight, but he doesn’t have to imagine how you taste for too long. 

You lean forward and put your fingers to his lips. “Use me,” you say, a plea in your voice. “I’m all yours.”

Right then, something in Hawks snaps the moment he wraps his lips around your fingers and greedily sucks your cum off of them. He is no longer entirely human, his animal instincts taking over. He snatches you up and places you in his lap, emitting a small gasp from you at being yanked up so forcefully. “Just tell me ‘no’ if you want me to stop,” he orders. “And tap my thigh three times if I got my cock in that mouth. Understand me?” 

Unable to reply, you wordlessly nod. That’s enough for him. Immediately, he’s on you, pressing a rough yet passionate kiss to your lips, nibbling on your bottom lip and swirling his tongue with yours. His kiss is brutal yet hot; forceful yet careful as he wraps you up in his arms and soft wings. It’s the best kiss you’ve had in your life. 

And the sex he gives you by far trumps all of the other bedroom adventures you’ve had. You’re so glad he gave you a non-verbal safety precaution because Hawks takes the “use” thing literally when he finally gets his dick down your throat. He is as big and thick as he looks, your fingers barely being able to wrap around his girty, throbbing shaft. 

You have to cover his cock in copious amounts of spit and coconut oil just to make it easier to stroke him, Hawks’ crimson, lustful eyes and soft moans encouraging you. “That’s it, baby bird,” he growls, one clawed hand in your hair. “Take me nice and easy.” Though he allows you to slowly take his cock down your throat, it doesn’t do much to ease the stretch of your jaw. 

Unfortunately for you, Hawks’ heat gets the best of him and his impatience rises, making your time to adjust to his size shorter. When he grabs your hair and begins to fuck your face, you have no choice but to take it. He shoves his cock so deep down your throat that your eyes burn with tears and embarrassing, wet gagging sounds leave your mouth as you gurgle around his cock that throbs and pulses in your mouth. 

“Thaaat’s my girl,” Hawks grunts, staring down at you throating his dick. “You’re takin’ this dick like a champ, baby bird, y’know. You could make this a profession if workin’ as an assistant don’t work out.” He takes his cock out and taps it against your tongue, loving how slutty you look for him with your tongue hanging out and makeup a mess. 

“Or you could add this to your duties of bein’ my little assistant,” he hums, smearing his cockhead across your plump lips. “You could fetch my coffee and take this dick over my desk every workday. How would that sound?” He doesn’t allow you to answer as he grabs you again and forces you down onto his cock, groaning at how amazing your wet tongue and soft mouth feel. “God!” he groans. “I hope your pussy is this fuckin’ tight.” 

His curiosity gets the best of him. After a few minutes of fucking your throat like it’s a toy, he pulls out with a moan, giving you heart eyes at the image of your messy hair and sloppy mouth dripping in spit. He holds your face in his big hands, his talons gently caressing your cheeks. “On your back,” he orders. You must go too slow for him because he tosses you down onto your backside himself and quickly ducks between your thighs, his big, feathered hands parting them. 

“K-Keigo,” you stammer, but that’s all you can get out before he’s cutting the waistband of your panties off with his teeth and sliding his big, fat, wet tongue all over your slit.

All words cease to exist as pleasure washes over you which only builds the more his tongue swirls against your clit and inside of you. Your eyes widen and your hands dig into the skin of his muscular back that flexes as he dips his head low to eat you out. His soft wings caress your skin as they wrap around you, making you feel like you’re being pampered from all ends. 

Hawks knows how to run his mouth, but also knows how to work it. His tongue moves magically inside of you, slurping up your juices as his nose and soft lips bump against your clit. You grind your hips up into him, meeting his tongue thrusts while his talons dig into the fleshy parts of your ass.

You can’t keep quiet, too enveloped in the ecstasy you’re feeling. “God, yes, Keigo!” you whine, bucking your hips up. “That feels so fuckin’ good! Keep going, please, ooooh, shit!” 

Hawks gladly takes all of those lovely sounds, moaning into your cunt. He is a rapid, ravenous animal, slurping up your pussy like he’s yearning for it. “So good,” he whines into your clit. “So fuckin’ good.” 

Your orgasm comes rather quickly, that knot in your core threatening to snap as he continues to work his tongue in and out of you. “Fuck, Kei!” you sob. “I’m gonna fuckin’ cum! Please let me cum, sir please!” 

“Mmm-hmm,” Keigo hums, sucking gently on your pussy lips. “Do it for me, baby bird. Cum all over my fucking face.” He goes back to eating you out, moving his tongue against that little spot up and inside of you that makes you see stars. “Do it,” he growls in his deep, gravelly voice. “Fuckin’ cum for me. Give it to me now!” 

A scream erupts from you–”Oh, shit!”–as you explode all over Hawks’ tongue. He moans in release with you as he slurps and laps you up, drinking in all that give him while you buck and writhe under his hands. Even when the orgasm high fades, he doesn’t stop. He continues to eat you out even as your pussy and body twitches. “O-Okay, Hawks,” you stammer. “Please, ah, please stop. I-I can’t…oh, my God!” 

Tears prick your eyes as the agonizing pleasure continues, swallowing you whole. His crimson eyes stare up into yours between your thighs, loving how desperate and pathetically horny you look as you writhe against his tongue. But as good as you taste, he needs to know how you feel. So he hikes himself up on top of you, his big body covering your smaller one, and his wings creating a curtain around you. 

“I’m gonna be honest with you, baby,” he pants. “I need to fuck you now and when I do, I ain’t gonna be nice. I need to cum as many times as it takes to ease this heat and that could be hours. You sure you’re okay with that?” Despite his obvious need, he is holding back, his cock throbbing against your thigh. 

Knowing that, you nod and press a kiss to his lips. “Yes, Keigo,” you purr. “I want this too.” You give him a smile, pretty and seductive. “So fuck me.”

The pro doesn’t need to be told twice. He starts by fucking you on your back, your knees tucked up into your chest. You’re happy for the lubricant and orgasm because it is a stretch. His cock stretches your pussy out in a way it didn’t do to your jaw, making your mouth go slack and your eyes widen. “Relax, mama,” he coos, pressing a kiss to your face while he rubs your clit. “You’re doin’ so well takin’ me.” 

After a few minutes of adjusting and slow strokes, Hawks feels you relax around him and finally begins to pound you like he needs to. He fucks you into the mattress that shakes and bounces beneath you, making your tits bounce in time with his thrusts. Each pump of his thick cock sends sparks of pleasure throughout your body as your soft, spongy pussy walls stretch and mold into his shape. 

“O-Oh, my God!” you cry, grasping his shoulders as he takes you straight to poundtown. “Fuck, Keigo, yes, baby! Fuck me just like that!” 

The winged pro grips your thighs and pins them down to the bed, giving you a stretch that yoga couldn’t even do. “Just like that?” he teasingly asks, smirking down at you. “Look at you takin’ this dick like a champ, baby bird. Bet you couldn’t wait for your boss to fuck you, huh?” 

You whine in response, earning a tongue shoved in your mouth as Hawks gives you a wet French kiss while he pounds into you. He nuzzles his nose into your neck next, covering himself in your scent and you in his.

You’re so deep in the pleasure that you don’t even realize that Hawks’ feathers, sharpened to the touch, cut off your bra until you feel the cool air on your nipples and then pleasure as he stimulates them with his feathers. 

When he begins to get closer, his crimson eyes glow red and the black rimming his eyes grows sharper like a hawk’s. You feel scared yet aroused at the same time, your pussy clenching around his cock. “I’m gonna cum, baby,” he grunts. “Gonna fill you up. Want you to fuckin’ cum with me too!” 

“Fuck, Hawks!” you whine, tossing your head back against the pillow. Your second orgasm erupts and sends you on a trip while Keigo fucks you like he’s trying to hit a home run. When he cums, he does so with an animalistic grunt and grips your hips so hard that they bruise. He tosses his blonde hair back, every muscle in his body tense from the pleasure. You gasp as he fills you up with his cum, feeling warmth flooding inside of you. It feels good to be full, you realize. 

But even when the orgasm fades and he has successfully filled you up, Hawks looks down at you with an increased level of need and lust that shakes you. “I ain’t done with you yet,” he growls. 

And he’s not. He fucks you in every single position imaginable. He fucks you doggy style, his cock pumping into you again and again while he yanks on your hair and dirty talks in your ear.

“You my little slut?” he pants, his hand grabbing and smacking your ass. “You love gettin’ fucked by me? You love this number 2 pro hero dick, don’t you, baby?” You can only whine in response, words and logical thoughts completely gone as he turns your pussy into mush. 

He fucks you on your side, his big body spooning yours and red wings wrapped around you as his throbbing cock drives inside of you. In this position, it’s easier to rub your clit and tilt your head back to kiss him, the two of you sharing breath as you hotly pant and moan into each other’s mouths. 

He fucks you with your head hanging off the bed and your leg pinned up to get a better angle at your G-spot and to drive himself deeper into you. 

He fucks you in mating press, his feet on the bed as he mounts you and drives himself inside of you like he’s trying hard to breed you. 

He fucks you in full nelson. 

In prone bone, his hands massaging your ass. 

While standing up, you bouncing like a cute little fuck bunny in his arms on his dick. 

From the bottom while you ride him, both from the front and the back, his hands groping your bouncing tits and jiggling ass. 

“Mine,” he growls to you in every position known to bed that he puts you in. “You’re fuckin’ mine, baby bird. Only mine.” 

And in every single position, he makes you and himself cum. He seems to always know how to trigger your orgasm so you cum again and again. He then uses your tight walls to chase his orgasms, cumming inside of you and filling up over and over again. He makes you sweat out your hair and your makeup, making you look like the sexiest Goddess to him as you take his cock like it’s your job. 

By the time he finally finishes, hours have passed and you are spent. Your body aches. You are wet with sweat and cum. Your pussy twitches and is sloppy with his and your cum mixed together, all of it dripping down your thighs and through the crack of your ass. 

Hawks, finally back to his normal self, lies down next to you and snuggles you into his chest. “Thank you for doin’ that,” he sighs, pecking you on the forehead. “You did so, so well for me, honey. I hope a dinner date can make up for that workout.” 

You only mewl tiredly in response, but you wrap your arms around him and snuggle into his chest. He chuckles, the sound pleasant to your ear pressed against his heart. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he sighs.

And then you sleep, satisfied and comfortable finally. 

THE END. 

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Lost & Found part 1

(Quirkless AU ft. Todosiblings /big bro Touya/ dabihawks but it’s complicated)

The smallest PS: This will be an on going comic, based on an AU @pandatanks and I created (Previously known as Punk AU)

[evalineplayz19]

A silly :3

[evalineplayz19]

a weary head

(r18+)

hawks || takami keigo x reader

ao3

word count: ~2.5k

Keigo fucks you senseless, literally. But, he cleans up his messes well.

warnings:  dom/sub, aftercare, subspace, hawks literally concussing the reader by accident, sex accidents in general, vomiting, panic attacks

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Your legs are wrapped around Keigo’s waist that you can feel muscles beginning to pull. It almost hurts enough to ask him to stop— almost.

“Holy shit, you’re really this much of a slut, huh?” Keigo’s squeezing at your windpipe again, forcing your lungs to starve and your vision to haze up. “I can feel you clenching down on me, babe!”

You try to spit, wretch, turn away, anything to get away from his gaze.

It’s feral, the way Keigo is staring down at your slick body as he pounds into you. You’re already so bruised, thighs and hips colored purple and black with his biting grip. Your cunt is gushing slick, lube, and old cum. It’s dripping to the floor, slicking the hardwood beneath you, making finding purchase all that much harder.

Keigo’s eyes are still piercing yours as you turn your head away, trying to focus on anything but the obsidian stones set where his pupils should have been.

“Oh, so that’s your game now? Is that really smart?” Keigo chides, rearing back to slap you across the face, forcing your face back to him. He grabs your cheeks, nails biting into the soft skin of your jaw. “Open up, birdie.”

“You’re disgusting,” You spit back, but it hardly matters. Keigo has two fingers in your mouth, forcing you to keep your lips open for him. He leans forward to spit into your mouth, drool globbing into your mouth. You know better than to bite him, no matter how much you want to. The punishment that follows from biting the hand that literally feeds you was too great and too damaging.

Instead, you just choke as Keigo laughs at him, regripping your thighs with raking nails.

And he starts back up at an unforgiving pace, not a single ounce of him holding back on your ravaged cunt.

You’re screaming, fully, and with your entire chest. Your arms, tied expertly behind your back are bruised and sore beyond feeling. They were hardly holding sensation as they were beaten into the floor beneath you.

You sob as Keigo grabs one of your tits, purposefully sharpened nails driving into the squishy flesh. You screamed, trying to kick at Keigo, but you were so effectively pinned.

“Be a good little fucktoy and maybe I’ll let you come again,” Keigo sneers, squeezing to the point of breaking your skin. Your chest was already covered in scratches and thin lines from his talons. You’d be aching the next day, even if he tended sweetly to them.

Keigo’s getting close, pace downright frantic as you sob over and over. You can���t tell pleasure from pain as Keigo drills into your deepest parts. Drool leaks from the side of your mouth as Keigo somehow manages to speed up.

“You’re gonna come when I tell, right cocksleeve?” Keigo is just fucking cruel at this point.

You manage to nod, breathing getting a little too fast.

Keigo’s hand, slick with sweat moves to the front of your throat, squeezing at the sides.

The muscles of your shoulders and neck had been straining for so long, all through Keigo’s relentless fucking. How many rounds and orgasms had they had to hold your head up with your arms for leverage?

“Cum for me,” Keigo growls down at you, free hand taking to slap your across the face.

It didn’t matter, really. The muscles supporting your head and upper body pulled painfully and gave out. The strain on your neck had finally made you go limp.

With each thrust, Keigo is moaning and crying in ecstasy. He’s fully within rapture as he bruises your insides, making them match the outside,

You, on the other hand, are having a very odd orgasm that wasn’t all that pleasant. It is half-hearted, body so used up and spent that it was hardly holding together. It’s mainly interrupted by the rhythmic slamming of your head against the floor that Keigo was fucking you into.

Your vision is swimming by the third impact, breathing coming in painfully fast gasps.

By the fifth, your brain is mush and you were having trouble staying conscious.

By the sixth, your perception was being warped.

There’s stillness, but only for a moment. You can vaguely here Keigo’s breath change, but it feels like you’re underwater. Every part of your body is thrumming with a fucked up mix of adrenaline and endorphins. You felt like you were swirling and ungrounded.

Keigo gasps and curses above you.

“Oh, fuck,” It’s Keigo’s voice, disembodied. “Oh, fuck, (Y/N).”

There’s some activity, you guess.

Your head is starting to hurt.

The tension on your arms is released. You can’t feel them very well.

“Hey, hey, can you talk to me?” Keigo’s voice is firm, but there’s an edge of nervousness to it.

You make a small, weak noise from the back of your throat as your eyelids scrunch. Your body buzzes and twitches, making your head hurt even worse.  

You could feel one of Keigo’s hands smooth over your cheek, “Can you use your words?”

Oh, it takes all of your effort to push anything from your lips. Your vision is still fucked though you can tell Keigo is doing something. Maybe.

“C-can’t.” Your voice is hoarse, rawed along with your body. The face-fucking earlier really shredded your throat.

There’s something cold on the back of your head, where it had been hitting the floor. Your body moves on its own, away from the sudden sensation, but something (someone, Keigo) catches you and forces you to stay put as he applies the lightest pressure.

“I didn’t realize I was hitting your head, I’m so, so sorry angel,” Keigo’s voice is so sad.

“S-s’okay,” You slur. Your breath is still coming too fast, but it’s slowing down. “Happens.”

Keigo doesn’t reply, but you can just feel that he doesn’t like that response.

“Angel, I’m gonna pick you up and take you to our room, okay? Get you somewhere nice and dark,” Keigo doesn’t make you reply, but rather scoops you up and carries you off.

You’re becoming more lucid, slowly. There are weird strikings of fear in your heart, like odd jolts over your mind in its beaten state.

Keigo pulls out your specific aftercare blanket, a soft, baby pink fluffy thing. He slides onto the bed, against the pretty headboard, sending a flurry of feathers to do his bidding. He situates you in his lap, the blanket pulled over the two of you.

Despite the fact that being next to Keigo felt incredibly good, but the position made your stomach swirl and head pound even more.

Being upright is awful, you decide. You want to be on the mattress better.

“Can I lie down?” You try to blink, your vision a little clearer as you turned to look at Keigo better.

He shook his head, smoothing over your sweaty hair, “I’m sorry angel, but you gotta eat or drink first. Then I wanna look you over.”

You feel crushed, your chest hurts. You hurt so bad and you just want to lie down.

You must’ve started crying because Keigo is cooing at you a moment later, rubbing his thumbs at your cheeks.

“It hurts,” You manage to say before pressing your aching head to Keigo’s neck.

“Oh, angel,” Keigo squeezes you, pressing the gentlest kiss to an unbruised part of your skull. “I know, but I need to help you first. Can you trust me to help you? Then, we’ll get you laid down.”

You sniffle. You don’t like the answer, but you do trust Keigo with your life, literally.

Your nod is weak against his sweaty collar.

Some of his feathers must’ve returned because Keigo is resituating the two of you. Your back is supported on the headboard and he’s sitting in front of you. He’s wearing boxers and helping you into a soft shirt. It’s one of his, smelling like his nice, spicy cologne and sweat. It helps dull the pain of wanting him close, but it certainly doesn’t quell it fully.

Your vision is nearly fully back, perception almost proper, but everything truly does hurt. Even your teeth feel like they’re rotting in your skull.

“Kei’, I-I don’t feel good,” You whimper at him, moving to your knees, rubbing at your face. “Help.”

It’s not a request you’d ever make outside of a scene or subspace, not so bluntly anyways. Keigo is immediately running kind hands up and down your arms, regarding you with the softest, most loving gaze. It’s laced with concern, moreover. There’s a pull at his brows and a bad quirk in his lips.

“You did so well, angel. I’m so, so proud of you,” Keigo is shaking as he pulls you into him, rubbing up and down your bruised back. “You took it all so well. You’re so good. So, so good. I love you so much.”

You press into him. With your eyes shut and pressed to his sticky chest, the world is duller and your head hurts worse, “Can I go to sleep?”

You ask again, hoping for a different answer.

“No, love, I’m sorry. You gotta trust me, okay? Let’s start with some water,” Keigo is pulling away and you hate it. You want him touching you. It feels like you’re burning alive if he’s not.

“NO!” You shriek, grabbing his arm as it goes for a condensation-covered bottle laying on the bed.

Keigo freezes.

You tug.

“Angel,” Keigo’s voice has dropped, far deeper than his usual, pretty, high baritone. It’s a tone that you know too well when he chooses to assert himself. He moves to grip your jaw, where he had earlier, but far softer. “You are going to listen to me, understand? I love you, and I’m helping.”

You’re crying again because everything hurts. Your head and body are aching and Keigo is being mean to you and you just want to lay the fuck down—

And then you’re scared.

And then you’re panicking.

And then you’re choking on air.

Your lungs won’t fill fast enough.

Keigo rushes to wrap you in his arms, wings, and legs helping to press down on you. You are both familiar with the helpful nature of weight during moments like this. His lips are at your ear, breathing slow to encourage you to do the same.

But it hurts so much.

Your stomach is churning to the point of intense nausea.

“Keigo,” You manage to push out, giving him a desperate look. A hand is wrenching into your hair.

You’re lucky Keigo knows you so well and has a near-supernatural intuition. There’s a trash can in front of your face. You stick your face fully into it and you wretch. You’re sobbing as you vomit up everything in your stomach, bile, acid, and all. Keigo holds your hair, rubbing at your back.  

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” Keigo is so soft but almost grief-stricken as he rubs at your shoulders. “Get it all out, okay? I’ll take care of you. Just get it all out for me.”

The notion is comforting, but the feeling quickly lost as another wave of sick leaves you.

Finally, you’re just coughing and spitting. You’re still crying and your whole face is burning in addition to the migraine you’ve fully developed.

Keigo gently pulls you upwards, feathers taking the waste away. There’s a soft, warm cloth running all over your face, it pays extra attention around your mouth and nose.

It covers your nostrils and you freeze up.

“Blow, (Y/N),” Keigo urges, nodding with a soft smile.

In most other situations, this would be fucking humiliating. But, now? You did exactly as you were told, feeling somewhat comforted as much as your body hurt.

Keigo disposes of the washcloth, grabbing the water bottle from before and giving you a clean cup, “Rinse and spit as much as you need. Then, drink as much as you can, okay, angel?”

You nod, weakly, doing just as he said. It hurts, drinking so much water. It hits your tummy harshly and you stop after only a fourth of the bottle, looking at Keigo helplessly.

Keigo pressed a kiss to your forehead, pulling out a bowl of somewhat warm rice, “Cold, huh? Let’s get something else in you.”

“The only other thing I want in me is your fat cock,” You manage to crack a joke quietly, weakly, very much kidding, but it manages to get a bark of laughter (a little too loudly) from Keigo.

“There’s my girl,” He’s still laughing a little as he presses some of the rice to your lips. “Eat as much as you can, okay? You don’t have to finish it all if you can’t. Tell me if you feel like you need to throw up again, okay?”

You nod weakly, opening your mouth for the bite of food.

You eat painfully slowly, stomach tolerating food to some level. Keigo is patient, offering words of encouragement as your brain slowly rises from the hellishly low section of subspace it was in.

You manage to finish it all, earning loads of praise and kisses from Keigo.

“Thank you,” You offer him as you finish the bowl. He beams you with the radiance of some divine being. His wings have been folded politely to his back, but you can see them fluff up with his joy. Keigo is kind, leaving tender, feather-light kisses wherever he can reach. Your body is still aching and your head fucking hurt, but it is soothed by Keigo’s comforting and distracting presence.

You’re so distracted, it takes you a moment to realize Keigo has pressed a handful of pills into your hand, another water bottle at the ready.

“They’ll help with the pain, we just needed something in your tummy before you took them,” Keigo soothed, running a soft hand over your shoulders.

You down them wordlessly and with a nod.

Keigo proceeds to lay you out on the bed, pulling off your shirt as he does. You don’t like being so exposed, but he calmly explains he needs to clean you up and deal with any other wounds he made.

Oh, right.

You’re leaking like four loads of cum right now.

Marathon sex with Keigo usually ended with you destroyed, but this instance was a lot.

There aren’t too many deep wounds, luckily. Just a few scratches that wept a bit too much blood to be left alone. Keigo cleans and bandages them, talking to you softly. You don’t say much in reply. You know that part of Keigo’s aftercare is letting out the remnants of his energy about the scene vocally.

He presses a kiss to the last bandage with a smile, looking up at you as you slowly put your shirt back on.

“You okay?” You ask him, eyes softening. “That was a lot.”

“It was, but it was very fun. I am very okay. I’m far more concerned about you.” Keigo’s eyes softened as he strokes at the bruised skin of your thighs. “I feel awful. I didn’t realize I was hitting your head like that. I’m very sorry and it will not happen a second time. New rule, pillows for your head for floor sex.”

You groan, “That takes away so much of the allure, though. You know I like getting roughed up like that Kei’.”

“Angel,” He gently pushes you down to the bed, guiding your now somewhat soothed skull with a tender palm. “What you’re not gonna like is when I have to take you to the doctor tomorrow to check if you have a concussion.”

You grumble and snuggle into him.

There’s sweet silence for a minute.

“Thank you, Keigo. You did well too,” You kiss his jaw a few times. “But, if you don’t take the day off tomorrow to take care of my ass, I will personally come to your agency, sit under your desk, and give you head until your balls fall off.”

“Oh, baby,” He nuzzles into you with a throaty laugh. “Say less.”

You’re not sure which option he means, but you suppose its the one where he’s tangled up in you.  

[evalineplayz19]

Sick Days

Hawks x Sick!Reader

Hawks comes through the front door, grocery bag held securely under one arm. He listens in the doorway, but there’s no sound except for the soft jingle of the bell on Pearson’s collar as the cat runs up to him, mewling plaintively.

“I know, buddy.” He responds to the feline. “I’ll feed you in a minute. How’s your mama?”

The cat meows in response and Hawks nods along as he moves into the kitchen, setting down the bag he’s holding and starting to unpack it.

A loaf of soft sandwich bread, some bananas, applesauce, two cans of chicken noodle soup and some saltines all get set out on the counter alongside a box of cat food and a six pack of Gatorade. Before he goes to check on you Hawks sees to the now profusely crying Pearson, topping off his water bowl and setting out a plate of that raw, organic meat mix you insist is better for him than the dry kibble Hawks was feeding him before you moved in.

Maybe that’s why Pearson took to you so quickly?

Shaking the thought from his mind Hawks heads for the bedroom, pushing open the door as quietly as he can.

You’re curled in a very lumpy burrito on one side of the bed, the corners of the comforter tucked in around you where he’d left them. Tissues overflow the paper bag you’d been throwing them in, empty cold medicine blister packets left abandoned on the bedside table alongside a half finished bottle of water and a drained glass of juice. He moves over and gently brushes his fingers against your cheek, sighing in relief. Just from that touch he can tell that your fever has broken and he sits down on the edge of the mattress as your face scrunches up and your eyes flutter open.

“H’wks?” Your voice is still rough from the sore throat and coughing, but at least you no longer sound like death crawled up your nose and made it his life’s work to restrict your airways.

“Hey. Feeling better?” He asks, smoothing his hand over your hair. You blink slowly, eyes still heavy with sleep and exhaustion.

“Yeah. Not as cold.” You respond. He smiles, soft, and nods.

“I bought soup and some other stuff. You want anything?” He asks you. You think about it for a minute before shaking your head once.

“Nah. Maybe later.” You mumble, already halfway back to sleep. Hawks nods and leans down to kiss your forehead.

“Sleep, then. Call for me when you wake up.” He instructs. You hum in response, eyes sliding closed as you cuddle back into your cocoon of blankets.

Hawks can’t help but smile as he exits the bedroom, closing the door softly behind him.

He might as well chill out on the couch with the cat for a while, maybe catch up on that drama he’s been missing because of work.

There’s plenty of time for him to tell you about the results from Hero Planet’s latest popularity poll. Maybe the two of you will even celebrate him making 4th place later. For now, though, the most important thing (in his mind) is making sure you get better.

Because his life would be a whole lot worse without you in it, and he’s not afraid to admit that.

[evalineplayz19]

As Long As You’re Mine: Hawks X Sidekick!Reader

Wrote this on a whim: hope you enjoy it.

Sidekick and Hero romantic fraternization is frowned upon, both in the community and by the media. Hero dating Hero? Perfectly acceptable but dating a subordinate? Abuse of power. Such things can interfere with the work, after all. Professionalism may not be Hawks’ strong point, but he can keep up appearances well. He’s slipped up a few times, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear or fixing the way your costume sits while on patrol, but the media has chalked up to the sibling-like affection between you two. “The Best Big Brother” they called him while showcasing a picture of him ruffling your hair. It’s for your sake that he doesn’t correct the media. Your career is important after all and how would it spiral after the revelation that you are dating someone who is essentially your boss?

Keep reading

[evalineplayz19]

feathers in the attic | freakebana | part i. | blueberry trainwreck >> blackberry kush

yandere keigo takami x reader, goldfinch. words: 4567. explicit content. 18+ MDNI

He longed for a world where heroes had too much time on their hands.

No one knew better than his wives how he’d rather spend his days.

please be mindful of the ample warnings as we're all responsible for curating our own fandom experience✌️ this chapter contains neuro spice, chronic pain, non-consensual fingering, degradation, involuntary & forced orgasms, physical abuse, throat fucking, enforced sobriety, and mention of the breeding plot within the harem.

“Would’ve made a hell of a name.”

Lazing over a bed of flannels and plumage, you flip through the well worn pages of the magazine until you’ve found it.

You can still remember when an idol graced the cover. It’s an old issue from 2018 with a midsummer run, scratched to ruin ages ago. The full shoot was left virtually untouched along with the accompanying article. 

She’d posed so pretty, selling her story to perfection. Not that you could fully appreciate what she was promoting.

These types of interviews tended to lose their impact, dated as they were. 

No intimacy. No stakes or connection. No urgency in your step to rush to the nearest theater to support the little girl with a dream.

The farthest you could take yourself was the toilet.

Not quite the Library of Alexandria—but oh, how the loss of context tore you apart.

Within the confines of these four walls, time was a construct at your most lucid… a prison when you were dragged past the depths of your dark and twisty recesses.

The nights he’d sweep your broken body from the floor. Hold you in his crimson embrace and manhandle you to his whims. When all the fight left your lungs so you couldn’t even scream, let alone tell him no.

He stole your name twice over in a swinging pendulum of perception; Goldfinch for times you were his sweet girl… Bluebird when you were less than pliant.

It bruised him to see you scorn his affections, so he called you in kind.

He’d pin you down. Pry you apart. Fuck himself into your cunt and soul, leaving you a mere ragdoll to his desires.

You’d only ever been what he had demanded of you.

He wanted a victim, you could damsel with the best of them. This was a show that would go on with or without your approval.

He’d feed you. Rape you. Dry your tears.

Anything more than that, he can stand to spoil you.

Could’ve been hours before you’d feel him leave your side. Days, even. You’d hardly know the difference—only that his side was barren, cool to the touch as you washed a hand over the sheet… 

Here one minute, gone the next. Pain emanating and all your own.

Without the organic warmth of sunlight on your cheeks, you’d never feel the day break for yourself.

He took everything from you. Your power. Your will. Your life.

The room was set to a constant low light, controlled by the flick of his wrist and a tablet. 

Never natural and never enough, same as every inch of every room of this godforsaken place. A damn menagerie, down to the fucking temp. 

dry heat so you won’t catch cold… fans in the warmer months. 

He kept you maintained. Albeit depleted in your current state, but no one was about to accuse the bastard of neglecting you.

If they ever found his nest, that is.

Would it matter?

                         Would they care?

White knuckles hold the spine as the water bottle at your side loses the last of its tepid edge.

You can’t think about it. Mainlining dopamine where you could manage would have to get you through the worst of it for now.

Vivid colors punch a sigh from your lips, even muted in the dark like this. More than satisfied, you’re relieved. Manic thoughts swirl that someday he might deem the material obscene. He was a jealous man, mercurial by nature. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for him to tatter disagreeable content beyond recognition.

Maybe leaving the article unmolested was a gesture on his part, a bygone offering.

Perhaps he’d just overlooked the whole thing. It could mean nothing.

Fingers graze the gorgeous arrangements until you can match the scent into your mind and memory. Citrus and pome. Florals you haven’t thought to conjure in years. 

Freakebana.

You take your time tracing the header with a wavering touch before devouring the article.

Composition. Purpose. How to style your very own lovely item.

In another life you’d be all over this shit. You and your quirk.

Don’t think about it.

It’s a striking contrast that never fails to overwhelm you…

Sensual. A serenity that follows the warm blush of anthurium piercing the understated pears. Surreal. The next image featured a bit of Queen Anne’s lace and soft peonies over an orange. Vulgar.

The dissonance of rotting fruit and lush botany was breathtaking. The writer was on the fucking money in the best of ways. 

You had some trouble placing the last of the flowers through the hurricane wreaking havoc over your joints and muscles. Breath catching, the aches come roaring back.

You’ve passed the eye of the storm.

Just as well, you’re wrapping on your daily indulgence anyways. Spoil yourself now and you risk the brainrot of whatever envy you’ve got waiting in the wings.

You tuck the magazine under the mattress with a frown.

“Seriously.” Falling back on the mattress, you set the heels of your hands over your eyes. “Like taking a shower and having that perfect comeback all those hours later. So goddamn irritating.”

A voice cuts through the vent, where her wall meets your ceiling. “Never took you for the hero track.”

“Never said I was.”

You hone your focus on the neon numbers at your bedside, blinking away one hour to the next. 

The clock reads five fifteen. He’ll be darkening your doorstep soon enough.

A distant cry tickles your eardrums. You curl in on yourself, tremors washing over you with a groan. The contractions in your belly spread like a wildfire of pain past your thighs and calves. It’s all you can do to pull the sheet over your shoulders and bury yourself deeper.

Five thirty.

You’d thought to ask if she heard anything on her end but Magpie had long grown quiet in the room beside yours. It’s all you can do to force your bloodshot eyes open.

You have to stay awake—you can fall apart when he’s taken to the skies or buried six feet under.

Five fifty… 

Before sleep can take you, a near melodic taps hit your ears; the sweeping fingers of a key code just beyond your reach.

Keigo lets himself inside, his feathers shutting the door faster than you can think to act.

Not that it matters. You couldn’t fight him off if you’d been training from the start of your confinement.

Your eyes remain locked on the time. Jaw tight, you commit to refusing him.

Five fifty one.

He’ll be late if he doesn’t hurry the fuck up and get face time with every wife. There was a ritual to these things. 

Timing had to be down to an art form otherwise the fastest man would have to be late to the day job. Usually a punishment or two. 

Hate to do this, he’d say. Lies spewed past a tight jaw and a strained cock. 

Rather than present a front of urgency to the fact, he only lets out a long suffering sigh at the sight of you.

You hear his voice before you ever make his face. 

“I know you’re awake.” You tense under his avian gaze. “Was it another bad one?”

He drops the tray of breakfast and meds on a dresser you’ve always found woefully redundant. Then he’s crossing the room, shameless in his liberties over the unclaimed space.

The mattress dips beside you. His body runs flush against your back as an unwelcome touch traces shapes over your belly.

“Finch…” A plea on his lips, a warning to your ears. “I’m sure you don’t want to make a bad time worse. You know the kind of stress I’m under. C’mon, Songbird. You gotta give me something.”

Silence begets silence. He frowns in the darkness, ever waiting on a poised reply from his captive bride.

“Tell you what. You talk to me. You behave, I’ll see what I can do on my end,” he coaxes with his fingers carding through your hair. “We can have family game night. Maybe a movie?”

“So generous,” you rasp.

He hums into a modest shrug, pressing a kiss over your shoulder. “I thought so, at least.”

Smug fuck.

“You still have Starling on the suppressants?”

His wings posture around you reflexively. You have only a second to relish in the chaos before his grip is tightening. He pulls the hair he’s buried himself in. 

“I thought you were gonna be a good girl,” he accuses.

“That was your mistake… You’re the one who wanted me to sing.” Spite bleeds from your lips like a curse. 

“Really now.” He quirks his brow, almost impressed. “You know what, fair play.”

Drawing your head back for a torturous moment too long, he keeps you in those eyes right there with him. Molten and tragic—fixed solely on you. 

You catch your breath in the pillow, heaving into a series of coughs.

He passively regards you as the strewn feathers do his bidding. They haul you from the mattress, raising you up with ease. Remaining on the bed, Keigo knocks both wrists under his neck to lean on. 

Hands above your head, he has you bound and restrained midair. You watch the idle plumage sharpen in your periphery. Only two.

You can’t muster the fucks it would take to panic… Never mind the pleas to get out of this. 

The aches are ever present, blossoming upwards now. It grounds you, pins you to the moment as the feathers keep you locked in place. 

“Here I wanted to have a nice breakfast with all you pretty birds on my day off,” he grouses.

“The pain I’m in is killing me. Day in, day out. You leave me to wither and rot without a thought to my suffering. Not me, not any of us.” You’re absolutely raging beneath his phantom hold. “Fuck your day off.”

The blades move closer. Just a nick in the right place, that’s all it would take to end this nightmare for you. There’s nothing else for him to take.

“As much as I appreciate your blessing, I was already planning on it.”

One slice. And another. A mere whisper of cloth that leaves your breasts exposed.

Both straps of your silken nightdress come undone on his order. They turn the remaining scraps to ribbons until you’re completely nude for him.

Rising from the bed, his wings bristle ever so. 

Keigo takes his time sauntering towards you. Rounding the bed, he pops a grape in his mouth. It only takes one fallen feather trailing behind him to swipe pills from the very same tray.

“Not like either of us have anywhere to be. Why don’t I make you really sing, hm?”

Close as he is, you find yourself flinching. His calloused touch ghosts across your skin, breath fanning in tandem over your cheeks.

“What d’ya suppose I’m gonna find when I get down there.”

“Drop dead,” you curse.

Your head is knocked back into the wall before you even register the slap. A practiced hand slips inside your mouth to silence you, taking his time fucking you with his fingers. Never once does he break stride with the hand that keeps time over your pulse.

Your cheek burns. His fingers gag you as he smothers the sounds of protest at your airway. Emboldened by the sounds at his fingertips, his breath stutters over your cheeks as he ruts desperately against you.

He releases you. Presses on, low as he dares to tread in these little hours.

Down your chest.

Past your stomach.

Quick as a flash, he pulls himself from your mouth leaving a trail of spittle that runs down your chin. The absence leaves you fighting for your life, choking on air one minute and a scream the next. 

Deft fingers bite into your throat. You groan, arching into his touch.

“Tell me why you’re so interested all of a sudden,” he bids. “Couldn’t possibly be out of concern for me…”

You want to tear away from him. Claw his skin, his eyes. Those feathers aren’t granting you any favors—palms bleeding stigmata, their loyalties remain solely with the master who controls them.

You’re in a losing fight with the pain.

You’ll have to ride this out until he kills you or tires from the game. Fuck this and fuck him.

“Star…ling,” you grind out.

A weak swing of your legs is thwarted with ease. 

He loosens his touch some. You hurl your answer at him while there’s a fraction of a chance he’ll leave you alone.

“Lend me her power or up my dose… I don’t care, just give me enough to end it.”

This gives him pause. He hovers over your collarbone. You watch him swallow.

“I can’t live like this anymore,” you sob. “The pain is unbearable and you’re not letting me heal myself. No sunlight. No relief. I can’t sleep unless you put me under and it’s never enough. It was for me, Keigo.”

He sends for a feather to fetch his whims. Rests the heel of his waiting hand against your mons.

“That’s what you’re going with?”

You hang your head. “It’s the truth.”

His lips lock around your aching nipple just as he dips inside you.

He spreads your thighs, appraising your legs with a scrutinizing eye and a wandering touch to match. You’d scream if you thought it would help.

Keigo slots your legs over his shoulders. Sucks a bruise into your thigh, cups your cunt. You jolt into the assault.

Slow to start, he presses down and teases you with his relentless strumming. His middle finger laps your juices, fucking them deeper into you every time.

Thighs shake. Your stomach tenses, bracing for the forced release. 

His wrist twists in quick succession. It’s all you hear. He latches on your clit, a steady staccato of tongue and teeth with his forearm shining with sweat and your own wetness.

Your breath catches on a wail, riding the orgasm for all it’s worth. The last of your release comes pouring out of you, stuttering the last of the stream all over his face; a shining testament to an evil man who knows just how to give migraine-shattering head.

The hormonal gremlin that haunts your attic almost wants him to fuck you. Best taken as a sign you’re ovulating… better to stay away.

It’s like he can smell the apprehension on your skin. His eyes stare up at you in the dark. Not in awe, rather a cautious advantage.

Ever the predator, he watches and awaits the moves of the prey.

You’re still a writhing mess on his tongue. If you could bury yourself in his hair, you would bear down with a white knuckle grip and a piercing cry to match.

Your arms tingle in the restraints above you. “Keigo… stop.”

He does so. Pulls away from you entirely. 

You slump to the floor. A groan, “Keigo—what the fuck?!”

The scruff on his chin glistens in the low light. He smiles down on you, aglow as an angel. 

Even Lucifer had wings before the fall.

You flinch when his palm reaches your jaw. It takes you by surprise how gentle, how earnest it was. Almost reminds you of the beginning.

Never enough. Not really.

Of course you knew who he was. Hawks was renowned on and off the job; a top hero during business hours and a notorious playboy after dark. He frequented your flower shop when you were earth side.

Still, he never touched you. He didn’t have to when he’d been grooming you from the start. 

You came. He called. Service with a smile, even with eyes locked on the scene of him devouring the deepest parts of you.

He left you to your own devices for the most part. One day you got a little too familiar, too comfortable with the back and forth, letting it slip that you’d been living with chronic pain for years. 

And maybe you shouldn’t have reassured him that your form of management is often self medicated, supplied by your plant quirk… 

But he looked so sad. 

Little did you know the ammunition you’d be giving him. A warrant signed by your own hand for a drawn out death, long and tortuous.

Coming to, you gag around him. 

“Take it,” he demands. “Shut your whore mouth and take it.”

He’s got a fistful of your hair and you can’t get a breath in while you’re warming his cock.

You push on his thighs but he only tightens his grip, pulling you flush against him.

He stutters above you and then slows.

Stays still inside you, caresses the bulge taking purchase down your throat.

One roll of his hips. Then two to follow. He came on your tongue before he could see to the third.

“Don’t you dare swallow yet.” He twists your nipple, further scrutinizing you as he nods towards your quivering lips. “Open up, let me see.”

You do as you’re told. In the dark like this, you don’t have the luxury of foresight. You could never have known that he had you where he wanted; primed with a grape and your cocktail of pills and vitamins.

He takes the grape in his mouth, tracing your pout with his thumb. After a few moments pass when he drops a languid pool of spit over his come. You choke on the intrusion and are afforded no time to recover. He presses two tablets on the pile before making you take it all. 

Palm across your mouth, his thumb caresses your throat. He’s got his fingers censoring you, guiding you.

You swallow with a retch and grimace before taking the rest.

He watches, expectant. Keigo snags a circular style, day of the week pill dispenser from an errant feather. Snaps the lid open and presents you with your haul for the morning.

“Go on,” he urges.

You present your palm to him… It dawns on you both that you were bleeding still.

“Damn it,” he scoffs. Runs off to a trunk in the corner and comes back with first aid. Regards the blood with a rough double take. “Fuck.”

“If it’s really that bad, maybe you should stop doing it. Food for thought.”

He turns your hand over, alcohol wipe in hand. Doesn’t give you any countdown, just starts scrubbing his scene.

“Fuck,” you hiss. “Son of a bitch…”

“Do you want the vitamins or not?”

“Are they going to put me in a good mood?”

“Ginger, garlic, and elderberry… mostly immune boosting. Best I can do. You know how I feel about you girls and drugs.”

You watch him, incredulous. “And just what does your little philosophy have to say about forcing sleeping pills on your wives so you don’t have to worry about them keeping up, hmm?”

“Finch, you’ve taken your punishment like a good girl.” He nurses his temple where he’s bound to have a migraine as well. “You can take a day off from being a brat, for once.”

You catch him in the low light. Seems he’s nursing a bruise to match. Onto your own scrutiny, his feathers cut you down before the gripe can draw breath.

His attentions never leave the work. 

You pry your hand away, cradling the wound with a hiss. “It’s aftercare for me to watch you squirm, dickless.”

“Is that so…” Keigo sounds almost bored. He rolls his eyes, turning up the brightness of the room. “Well today it’s gonna be antibiotic ointment and gauze pads because someone decided to waste time with an attitude.”

Keigo dresses the wounds without dictation. You allow him his silence until an intrusive thought has you groaning.

“What is it now?”

You shake your head. “I can’t. It’s really bad.”

“Say your peace, Finch. I’m only one man and I have all of you to get through.”

You reel back with a wince, more hurt now than the slap across the face earlier.

The hand hangs limp in his own, touch matching his ever softening tone. 

“No. That’s not… fuck.” A biting sigh. “I’m sorry. That’s hardly fair… How’m I supposed to call myself the fastest if I can’t even hack time management with my family.”

He returns his attentions to the inflamed palm. Draws you to his lips, all adoration.

“You know you can come to me with anything.”

And now he’s just gaslighting you.

Fingers splay across your neck and jaw… forcing your gaze, forcing your intimacy.

Your eyes well with tears when there’s nowhere to hide. He steals them away with a frown, lingering across the bruises that betray your sleep deprivation.

“Why are you crying?”

You push him with barely any fight left. “Please. Just go.”

As you thrash to get away, he can only fight to hold you closer. The pain spikes in an unforgiving swipe across your abdomen. You whine into his shoulder, shuddering into his arms.

He cradles your head to his chest with a soothing rock. Feathers run down your arms and back, all forgiveness. 

“You know what would help…”

He’s the devil at your shoulder. You are fully aware of what he’s about to say.

“A baby won’t begin to fix this,” you break down. He has to strain to hear, this you know. “…won’t fix me.”

The warmth of his kiss bleeds under your skin. He thrums a gentle rap against your arm, just waiting for you to settle.

He shushes you, flying over his crimson helpers for an assist. A damp cloth. Dragon balm. Some medicinal chaser that tasted more like sewage runoff than remotely helpful.

Keigo carries you back to bed. He lays you down, spreads you out. You wince as he cleans his mess. Mercifully, you can’t see him. But you hear him. Feel him.

You make the sounds of him rustling with the cap. It’s mercifully warm on your abused muscles before the cooling menthol hits.

“Tell me the name.” Your blood runs cold as it registers what he’s asking of you. 

He must’ve gotten to Magpie during their conjugal. Shit.

You swallow when he serves the crumbs anyways. “Little Birdie told me that our beloved Blue had heroic aspirations of her own, once upon a time.”

His touch roves over your legs to start, working the product into the meat of your thighs. He waits for what must feel like ages in his eyes… but it would never be long enough for you.

“C’mon. You’re really not gonna tell me?”

“Expect an answer, you’ll have to stop talking at some point,” you grouse. 

Your breath catches on a strangled wail, meeting no resistance when he flips you.

“Quit your whining,” he snaps. “It’s all I ever hear from you. And fuck me for trying to make this marriage work, right?”

His touch is unrelenting. Prying the tension from the source, spreading his fingers over your lower back.

You try to reach out to him. Make him stop. Bat him away. Fight.

A feather nicks your hand away with the swipe of his whims.

“The name, Blue.” It’s not a grounding request anymore. “You give me the name, this all goes away.”

Starling flashes in mind and memory. If you could sleep, if you could dream—

“Freakebana!”

You curl in on yourself, pushing him with what little strength you have left from this ordeal. With any hope, your pride would be toll enough for him. 

The one thing you had, gone in an instant. Precious and private, thoroughly yours. Now it was known to him. Sullied by his acknowledgement. He could twist your comfort and make it ugly—could do whatever he wanted, really.

Keigo was no stranger to it. This would be the least of his atrocities.

He nods to himself in quiet concert, seemingly mollified for now. Keigo leans beside you and presses a kiss over your bruising cheek. His idle touch traces the thrumming pulse before throwing the baby out with the bath water and simply scent marking your whole arm.

“Thank you,” he whispers into your wrist. 

When Keigo rises from the bed, you keep yourself small. He crosses the room to the dresser. Out of the drawer and into his arms came the clothes meant for you.

You must have been a sorry sight if he’s dressing you in his boxer shorts and cotton undershirt over the negligée.

Again, woeful redundance. He’d disposed of your clothes in the first week, imposing a preference for nudity and teddies. What little he keeps on hand for himself, the only times your husband is liable to share are rare moments such as these.

Toe to toe, back to back.

He’s more patient coming back to you.

Two arms in each hole, ever minding your head as he finishes with the well worn v-neck. Right leg and the left until you’re left to your relative comforts.

“Just… I want you to think on it, yeah?”

You furrow your brow. “If this is about the fucking baby—”

On hands and knees, he remains unabashed in his desires. It’s an old tune, one he’s carried for years now.

A baby will cure your pain. A baby will give you purpose. A baby will soothe your broken heart.

Each and every argument has been run into the ground. He doesn’t need another mouth to feed, let alone want one. The others had been thrust into the position, far before their time or consent.

You were one of two holdouts, yes. But as ever, he remains a slave to his instincts. There were fledglings in his care and he craved their unborn siblings. 

“I don’t want to fight,” he sighs. Scrubs a hand across his face like he actually believes it. “I just need you to know there’s an out for you. One that would make me very happy.”

You restrain yourself.

You let him kiss you.

You feel him leave your side.

Only when the door shuts behind him do you give yourself permission to fall apart.

Head pounding, pulse racing, a death rattle crawls from your lips. 

The neon lighting bares down in an obtrusive vermilion that burns your eyes, ever the voyeur to your utter destruction.

[evalineplayz19]

Nobody

Dabi x Fem! Reader

Warnings: None really. Kidnapping (but not yandere), depression, soft Dabi, angst, fluff(ish)

Word Count: 1.2k

Author’s Note: Alrighty, there’s this trend going around weeb/anime tiktok (and possibly other tiktok communities but I wouldn’t know) where it’s a pov where y/n gets kidnapped by the league and is completely forgotten and joins the league. Normally it’s when they kidnap Bakugo and then the heroes save him and forget y/n exists, but I wanted to make this a little more adult-friendly and less minor-friendly. Idk if I’ll ever write other parts to this, but if I do I plan on making at least one part NSFW which means Minor! Reader is a no-go.

Enjoy~

Keep reading

[evalineplayz19]

Puppy Girl | 18+

pairings: dabi [ touya todoroki ] x female! reader. 

summary: dabi takes his puppy whore for a walk. 

warnings: pet play, public, humiliation, dubcon, sex toys. 

wordcount: 1.8k |

navigation

It was starting to become a recurring event. He had promised you it would be a one-time thing but lately, he was pulling you to the park naked with him every other week.

 It was a simple bargain the first time. You listen to him and indulge in his deranged, lewd fantasies and he lets you live without a dog collar attached to your neck for a week. 

Keep reading

[evalineplayz19]

Aizawa x Sick Daughter Reader

Warnings: being sick

This day could not have gotten any worse, Y/N thought to herself as she woke up yet again. She rolled over and saw that it was four in the morning. This is the third time I’ve woken up in the past five minutes! Deciding that sleep was no longer an option, Y/N slowly sat up and slid her legs over the side of the bed.

Standing on her two unbalanced feet, she made her way to her bedroom door. Peeking her head out, Y/N looked for any sign of her father. Once she saw that he was nowhere in sight, she quietly made her way down the hall and into the living room. Y/N sat down on the couch and pulled her phone out of her pocket, deciding to text her ‘uncle’.

Y/N: Hey Uncle Mic, are you awake?

Turning off her phone, Y/N walked into the kitchen to get a bottle of water. She pulled a bottle from the fridge and sat back down. Her phone lit up with a notification.

Uncle Mic: Sure am kiddo. What’s up??

Y/N picked it up and typed her response.

Y/N: I don’t feel well but I don’t want to wake dad up

A few seconds passed before Hizashi responded.

Uncle Mic: Aww, I’m sorry. If you don’t feel well then go wake up your dad. He won’t mind. What’s wrong? Does anything hurt?

Y/N: My stomach feels off and I think I’m running a fever.

Y/N: Dad won’t be happy if I wake him up. You know how he is…

Y/N wrapped her arms around her stomach, suddenly feeling sick. Once her stomach settled back down, she picked her phone back up.

Uncle Mic: He’ll understand kiddo. If you don’t feel well and don’t want to wake up Shouta, then try and catch a few z’s

Y/N: I tried that. I can’t sleep.

Uncle Mic: Hang in there kiddo--

Y/N didn’t get to read the rest of the message for she was about to be sick. Sprinting down the hall and into the bathroom, she dropped her head over the toilet and the contents of her stomach left her. Footsteps rushed down the hall and Shouta Aizawa appeared in the doorway. Once he realized what was going on, he dropped down beside his daughter and pulled her hair away from her face, speaking to her softly.

“Shh,” he soothed, using one hand to hold her hair and the other to rub Y/N’s back. When she was finished, Y/N flushed and leaned back against her father, crying.

“It is alright,” Aizawa whispered, hugging his daughter. “It’s over now.”

After several minutes Y/N finally calmed down to the point of silent tears falling every now and then.

“Dad?” she croaked, voice now sore.

“Yes darling?” Dadzawa reached up to the counter and grabbed a cloth. He shifted so he could get it wet and he handed it to Y/N. She wiped her mouth off and tossed it back onto the counter.

“I-I’m sorry,” she cried softly. Aizawa sighed, resting his head on hers.

“It’s alright. Have you felt like this all night or did you just wake up?” he asked softly, trying to comfort Y/N.

“I kept waking up and went to the living room not too long ago,” Y/N answered.

“Why don’t we get you back to the couch, hmm?” Aizawa suggested. She nodded.

“Carry me?”

“Of course.” He picked Y/N up off the floor and the two made their way to the couch where Aizawa sat her down gently and went to the medicine cabinet in the kitchen. Y/N picked up her phone and lazily typed in her password, checking her unseen messages from Uncle Mic.

Uncle Mic: Hang in there kiddo. You’ll be ok. I’ll call your dad if you want me too. I can wake him up for you

Uncle Mic: Hello???

Uncle Mic: You there kid???

Uncle Mic: That’s it, I’m calling dadzawa

Just then, Aizawa’s phone wrang from the other room. He walked out of the kitchen and out of Y/N’s line of sight. Murmuring came from his room, becoming clear the closer he came to the kitchen.

“I know,” he muttered quietly. “I heard her running down the hall. She got sick but she’s alright now.” There was a pause. “I guess.” Aizawa walked over to Y/N, his hand outstretched with his phone. “It’s Uncle Mic. He wants to talk.”

Y/N took the phone and put it to her ear. “Hello?” she greeted weakly.

“Hey there kiddo!” Mic exclaimed, although it wasn’t as loud as he would greet Aizawa or anyone else. He knew how bad Y/N must have been feeling and he didn’t want to make anything worse.

“Hey, Uncle Mic.”

“How ya feel, hm? Glad dadzawa’s awake?” Y/N could almost hear Hizashi’s smile through the phone.

“Yeah,” she answered. Then her stomach gave a violent jolt. Y/N wrapped one arm around her stomach and groaned, gagging slightly. AIzawa heard the noise and quickly appeared in the doorway with a bowl.

“Are you ok?” he asked softly, moving beside his daughter. Y/N nodded with a grimace.

“Yeah, I’m ok.”

“Well, I’m going to let you go kiddo,” Hizashi said through the phone. “I just called to make sure you’re ok. Let me know if you need anything, alright?”

“Alright,” she muttered.

“Bye kiddo, love ya.”

“Bye Uncle Mic, love you.” Without hanging up Y/N handed the phone back to her father. Aizawa put the phone down and placed the bowl on the floor in front of him.

“How do you feel?” he asked softly, running his hand through her sweat-soaked hair.

“Tired,” Y/N answered. She sat up slowly and reached for her water bottle that sat on the floor in front of her. As she took small sips of water AIzawa moved to sit behind her.

“Are you hungry? Do you think you can eat anything?” Y/N screwed the lid back on her water bottle and leaned back against Shouta. He wrapped his arms around her and placed his chin on her head.

“No,” Y/N responded, shaking her head. “I’ll just throw it back up.” Aizawa nodded.

“Alright,” he said,” But I’m going to have you eat some soup and crackers later, ok?”

Y/N nodded.

“Now,” Aizawa started again, “Why don’t you try and get some more sleep?”

“Stay with me?” Y/N asked, looking up at him. Aizawa smiled.

“Of course.” The two fell asleep not long after and stayed like that for several hours.

Hizashi walked into the house with a bag in his hand. Upon opening the door he could see the heads of the two Aizawa’s. Deciding to let them sleep, he walked into the kitchen and started a pot of soup.

While Y/N was sick, Hizashi and Aizawa both made sure she was as comfortable as possible until she felt better. Y/N loved her father and Uncle just for the fact that they both went out of their way to care for her...

[evalineplayz19]

what now?

character: dabi | todoroki touya

genre: smut + angst

notes: eeeee happy birthday dabi!!! sorry i’m a day late, and sorry i keep writing angst for your birthday. this piece is set directly after dabi’s touya reveal, in that dingy little safe house he seems to love so much! please heed the warnings below and stay safe!

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, rough sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, dom/sub dynamics, use of master/owner/sir, fem!reader, minimal prep, biting, branding, blood, the piece switches between both dabi and touya as names, size kink + size difference, spanking, objectification, degradation + dumbification, a lil bit of praise, dabi’s pretty mean when he’s fucking, dabi carries reader, toxic relationship, dacryphilia, choking

words: 8.8k

It’s dark by the time he returns, reeking of charred flesh and ash. He had stashed you away in a decaying little safe house—a place no one else knew about, a place that was his and his alone—and had told you to wait for him. He had promised he’d return to you, no matter how long it took, no matter what happened, he’d be back, pinky swear.

Touya never breaks his pinky swears. Dabi might, though.

You had seen his video. You had been watching the news just like he told you to, anxious, waiting for any sign or indication of trouble, of terror, but the heat and the dust had been too much for the news cameras to penetrate, and there had been no reports of casualties on either side. 

Yet. 

It’s astonishing to think that the whole world knows his name now—his true name, the one buried in his blood and his bones, the one staining his soul, the one he can’t snuff out, no matter how hard he tries. You remember the first time he told it to you. 

“Touya.” 

He had said suddenly, randomly, while laying in bed with you one night back at the League’s hideout—back before all of this was set in motion, back when there was just the gentle clink of glass sounding beneath the floorboards, followed by a muddled curse and the rapid mashing of plastic buttons. 

It was muttered out in the dead of the night, when the wind was stagnant and the moonlight shimmered through grimy windows, brilliance of the beams diffused by the dirt, turning everything a hazy silver, glinting off his stitches.

“Hmm?”

“That’s my real name. Touya.”

“Touya,” you had murmured to yourself, rolling the letters around on your tongue, allowing them to seep into your flesh. “It’s beautiful.”

“Todoroki Touya.”

Oh.  

“It’s still beautiful,” you said softly, after several moments of silence, feeling Dabi melt beneath your words, tender yet resolute. “Even if the man who gave it to you isn’t.”

“Yeah,” he had responded, though his voice had sounded weird to his ears; odd, off, broken. “Fuck that guy.”

And that had been it. You hadn’t made a big deal about it, or pushed him to tell you more, or badgered him with questions and curiosities about his past. You had just accepted it and continued on. 

He had offered up shards of information over the next few months, always murmured out in the dead of night, always a piece and never a whole, always something too jagged to fit with any of the other pieces of his jigsaw he had gifted you. 

But it didn’t matter. Who he was, his past, the name he carries around and DNA twined inside his body—none of it mattered. He was, and will always be, the man you love, irregardless of the name he was born into, and the curse it bears.

The harsh unlatching of that decrepit painting startles you from your stewing thoughts, your gaze snapping toward the noise just in time to catch Dabi crawling through the trick window, entrance hidden behind the heavy gilded frame. 

Your legs toss themselves off the fraying couch the instant his gaze meets yours, heart kickstarting thick bouts of adrenaline to rush through your veins, footsteps keeping time with the tattered exhales each bang of your heart sends barrelling up your throat, body colliding into his only a moment later.

He catches you with ease, laughing loudly as he sweeps you from the floor, strong arms locked at the wrists around your lower back. Instinctively, your ankles hook together at the base of his spine, fingers immediately wandering into the dirty hair at the nape of his neck, whole body wound around his own.

He’s still laughing, bright and breathless and so, so beautiful, even as he crushes his lips to yours, even as your tongue pries past his teeth and slams against his own. It spills down your throat in warm vibrations and you swallow it readily, greedily, hands sinking further into tufts of ink-tinged ivory and twining the strands around your knuckles, desperate to tug him closer. 

The tang of death stings your tongue, earth and copper and smoke, so poignant you swear you can taste their screams, those who lost their lives to his flames and Machia’s feet and the rubble left in their wake, but you don’t care.

You don’t care, because he’s here, he’s home, he’s safe and back in your arms, with his teeth clacking against yours and his spit flooding your mouth and his unruly little giggles consistently breaking the flow of your lips. 

“Did you see it? Huh? Did you see it?” he hurls the words into your mouth, lips still mashed against your own but spread in a smile, sapphire eyes twinkling.

“I did,” you confirm with a nod, tips of your noses nudging. “I did, it was brilliant; you were brilliant, baby.”

“I know,” he snickers, foreheads knocking together, breath wafting in small, ragged pants across your face as his feet begin to move, unable to stand still. “It couldn’t have gone more perfect, I swear to fuckin’ Christ. It was—It was better than I could’ve ever imagined. I can’t even believe it.”

Words continue to tumble from his lips in excited gasps as he twirls in wide lopsided circles slow and careless around the decaying little safe house, his boots conjuring small puffs of dust beneath their soles.

“I wish you could’ve been there, baby, honest. I wish you could’ve seen that fucker’s face, it was fuckin’ priceless, and—Oh! Fuck, how could I forget the best part!” 

Halting his whirling, he pulls back to look at you more resolutely, as if he has to see the whole picture, sapphire darting around your face all wild and erratic, his smile spreading impossibly wider; uncanny, inhuman, eyes glowing with the thrill of the secret he’s about to spill.

“Shouto was there, too! How much happier could a coincidence get!” 

“Shouto?”

“I wasn’t expecting him to be there, but seriously, it was the cherry on top.” 

His feet begin to move again, resuming his impromptu dance number, adrenaline thrumming in his veins, overflowing from his orifices—smile stretching, chest swelling. 

“His presence is what really made it spectacular, you know? Sure, dad was broken, but Shouto…” Dabi shakes his head. “Little baby Shouto was knocked off his fucking feet.”

“Oh, I can only imagine…” 

…How horrifying of a realization it must’ve been; how terrifying it must’ve felt to encounter your father’s worst mistake in the breathing, bloodied flesh.

“I doubt he even remembers me—” Dabi continues, “he was only five or so when I died; he barely knew me at all.” He laughs, but it sounds tangled, caught on something buried in his throat. “Imagine that! Your big brother, only ever a ghost haunting your life, back from the grave!” 

“I’m sure he was very shocked,” you giggle, pressing your forehead to his again, fingers combing through the hair at the back of his skull. 

“Shocked? Baby, he was beyond shocked. He was—He was—I don’t even have a word for it!”

Another laugh spills from his lips, jagged and squeaky and full of razors. 

And, oh, how breathtakingly beautiful genuine happiness looks on him, even if it’s tinted with derangement—the edges of his smile a little too sharp, the glint in his eye a little too vicious.  

“The whole thing sounds magnificent,” you admit, soft and genuine, lips brushing his own. “I’m so happy it went so well.”

“It was perfect,” he gushes in a sigh. “The only way it could’ve been any more perfect is if mom, Yumi, and Natsu were there—but I’m sure they all caught the broadcast.”

You’re sure they did, too. That news programme had been playing on every major screen across the entirety of Japan; you’d have to be buried beneath a rock to have missed it.

He’s still babbling, feet still hopping and skipping around with you cradled tightly to his chest as the anticipation of his return finally wears off, clears from your system, and you take a real, good look at him. 

And your heart sinks.

New burns have bubbled up on his cheeks, leaving only a sliver of skin between them and the scars below his eyes. Staples have snapped in half, hanging precariously from chunks of dead flayed flesh, their broken edges tinged an ugly black, burnt by Todoroki flames. Speckles of crimson are splattered artfully across his hair—though whether they belong to him or someone else, it’s hard to tell—the small remaining patches of healthy skin marred by dried black dye. 

“Baby,” you breathe, struggling to keep your smile from trembling, struggling to keep concern from seeping into your voice. “You’re filthy.” 

“Yeah, you should’a saw the other guy!” he giggles at his own joke, strident and sticky in his throat, but his smile is still so bright.

“And you’re hurt.”

He blows a dismissive breath from between his lips. “Can barely feel a thing, though—and I’m not even rolling right now!” 

“Still,” you say, a frown beginning to weight the corners of your grin. “You should let me clean you up.”

“But it isn’t even painful.”

“Still,” you repeat, tender fingers brushing strands of white back from his forehead. “I want to clean you up.” 

Begrudgingly, he allows it, sat on the closed toilet lid and continuing to chatter on as you tend to his wounds, words bubbling up on breathless excitement, massive smile still slapped, almost uncomfortably so, across his face.

Oxygen keeps escaping him before he finishes his sentences, everything bouncy and enthusiastic, and it’s such a stark contrast to the Dabi you’re used to, with his languid apathetic drawl and unhurried, uninterested speech. 

And despite the subject matter, it’s nice, it’s cute. 

He tells you about his father’s paralyzation and the tears in Shouto’s eyes and the horrified panic coating their faces as careful fingers dab and wipe and smear, meticulous in their task, devoted to their cause, your head nodding along with his endless recounter, emitting the perfectly placed ooh’s and mhmm’s, asking questions when the opportunities present themselves.

And even though you love seeing him this way, full of pure joy and exhilaration, you can’t quite kill the question sprouting in the depths of your mind, chewing on the back of your brain.

What now?

It’s on the tip of your tongue, searing your tastebuds, begging to be spoken. You try to swallow it down, but it claws at the back of your tongue, clinging, curling up in your throat and refusing to be forgotten. 

What now? What’s going to happen now that Enji knows of his existence? What’s going to happen the next time he encounters his eldest child, swathed in the flames he once cherished so dearly, praised so hopefully, eating away at his boy as his hatred burns higher, blazes brighter, consumes his blood and flesh and bones and hopefully swallows down the monster that bred him in the process? 

Will there even be anything left at all? Of either of them?

Does Dabi even care? Does Touya? 

You know he’s still in there, despite the fact that his heart’s been corroded by the bitterness that’s been festering inside of him for eleven years—you’ve seen him. 

You’ve seen him, trailing along with Toga, causticity eating at his teeth as he spits that she’s fucking stupid, this is so fucking stupid, but allowing himself to be led anyway, zero resistance as her tiny hands tug him along behind her bouncing form, feet following willingly. 

You’ve seen him, meticulously picking through the glass bowls at the League’s small Halloween get together, checking and then double checking that everyone’s favourite candy is there, growling that he really doesn’t give a fuck, actually, he’s just looking for his own all the while, despite the fact that his fingers have skipped over that particular chocolate bar several times. 

You’ve seen him, on those nights where Tomura just can’t get to sleep, sprawled out on the couch in the early hours of the morning, dirty boots an inch from Tomura’s crossed legs, staring blankly at his phone and waving Kurogiri off with a go to bed already, old man. 

 So what now?

“He tried to cool me down.”

The sudden switch to a quiet, monotonous voice snaps you from your tangle of thoughts, eyes refocusing on Dabi’s face, realizing you’ve rubbed a streak of his cheek near raw. 

“What?”

“Shouto. He tried to cool me down. With his ice.” A pause, a drop of blood, balancing precariously on his lash line. “Like…Like how mom used to.” 

His Adams apple bobs with the heft of a thick swallow, his eyes blank and unblinking, staring at your shoulder. 

The blood in your veins runs frigid, hand held rigid and hovering over his wounds.

“During the fight?” 

His gaze stays fixed on that spot as he nods, slowly, just once. 

“I was overheating, and he…” 

Another beat of silence passes, the sound of your own breathing echoing in your ears, harsh and fast with the rapid beating of your heart. The blood collecting along his lashes finally overflows, escaping their confines to pool in the crinkles of dead skin and coat gold in crimson.

“Hey,” you murmur, so gentle, so soft it inspires a second wave of blood, dainty hands cupping his jaw and tilting his face to yours. 

Thumbs swipe through the thick streams of scarlet trickling down his cheeks, smearing bright strokes across healthy skin. His eyes, red and glazed but tearless, hold yours for a moment, his nostrils twitching twice. 

Beneath your palms, the hinges of his jaw flex with another dense swallow, warped smile wobbling a little.

“Whatever,” he says, voice less than an octave off from normal. “Doesn’t matter, not important.”

It does, you want to say. It is, you want to insist—

“All I want to do now is celebrate the best day of my life with the love of my life.”

Saliva pools beneath your tongue, the threat of tears thick in your throat.

“Touya…” your eyes search his face, worry woven into the wrinkles between your furrowed brow. “It—”

“Please,” he whispers, so quiet it’s barely more than a wisp of air, his eyes closing briefly for a moment as he gathers himself, lids lifting a second later. “Let me have this.” 

You want to, you so desperately want to—want to allow him this space to be happy, unfiltered and unadulterated, even in all of it’s unhinged, brainsick fervour. You don’t want to ruin this for him, the self-proclaimed Best Day of His Life, but…

What now?

It’s nipping at your lips, leaving them tingling and twitching, but you press your tongue to the roof of your mouth and suck, melting the question in the smothering heat. 

Now is not the time to ask. You will save this question, will fold it into a neat little shape and stash it away in your stomach, where it will rage and roar and demand to be spoken, where you will shove it down and stomp it into submission until it is time to be released.

You refuse to steal this moment from him.

“Okay,” you finally murmur, stroking his blood-slicked cheeks. “Okay.”

It’s hard to ignore the concern scraping at the walls of your skull, to disregard the talons tearing at your heart, to snuff out the flames licking at your lungs, but you’ll do it for him.

Always for him.

And for the first time tonight, his smile softens, sharp edges gone melty with love.

Large hands, hardened by blue fire and the ends of Marlboros, skim up your bare thighs, the callouses adorning his palms scraping roughly against sensitive skin, inspiring trails of chills in their wake. The hem of your dress pools around his wrists as his touch climbs higher, filthy fingers, with dirt caked beneath their nails and grime lining their cuticles, wiggling their way beneath a frilly pink waistband, curling almost protectively around your hips, tips digging into supple flesh just shy of too hard.

“A perfect day deserves a perfect end, don’t you think?” 

The question drips from his lips in a sultry murmur, stare heavily lidded as he tugs you down into his lap, a leering smirk smeared across his face. 

“Oh, yeah?” your arms wind around his neck, nose bumping against his own. “And what’s that?” 

“Stuffing my favourite girl full of my cum.” 

Lips trace along the edge of your jaw as he speaks, words leaving sloppy strokes of saliva as his mouth moves against you skin. 

“Over,” kiss, “And over,” kiss, “And over again, until it’s leaking out of her pretty little pussy, all over her pretty thighs, all over my pretty cock.”

“I think that—ah—I think that’s a great way to end the day.”

“Mm,” he hums, painting a flat, wide stroke of saliva up the column of your neck, the tip of his tongue tracing your cupids bow, nose bumping against your own. “It’s my favourite way to end the day.” 

His lips press to yours, tongues finding each other instantly, dragging across one another in crude, sloppy caresses, heavy and slow and firm as they grind, massaging together in little circles. It’s almost as if you’re trying to soak up his taste, to permanently imbue your tastebuds with it, to keep a little reminder of him—a single piece—with you forever. 

It’s messy, thick drool oozing from the seams of your conjoined mouths, but you don’t care, licking excess saliva from the corners of his mouth, sucking the dribble steadily collecting on his bottom lip, lapping up the foamy spit coating his chin staples, leaving them gleaming with you. 

Lips clash again, teeth gnawing their way into the warm, wet heat of mouths, desperate to devour any part of each another you possibly can, sucking gasps and mewls and laughs from one throat into another, inhaling shards of your souls and swallowing them down, burying them in pits of stomachs and depths of guts—keepsakes, kept safe.

You can taste his blood in your mouth, salty with the tears that can’t fall, trickling from the edges of his eyes. Unfurling from your mouth, the tip of your tongue licks a thin strip up his ragged cheeks, over dead skin and warm bumpy metal, sopping up crimson sadness and consuming it. 

You hold it for him, extract it from him, bear it with him, letting it soak into your heart where it can stay, for as long as he needs it to.

But that isn’t enough for him, because he wants something in return; he wants your blood, too.

Sharp teeth sink into your bottom lip, sucked taut and pressed tight to his tongue, a muted chuckle vibrating in his chest at your responding yelp. The strong hinges of his jaw flex, burrowing ivory deep, deep, deeper into your flesh, until the barrier snaps and copper explodes on his tongue, sticky and potent and so, so much. 

He refuses to release you, ribs rattling with a growl when you try in vain to tug your lip free from its captors, a sob hitching in your throat, followed by a wheezy whine. 

“Stay put, goddamn it,” he mumbles the words through his occupied teeth, tongue stroking your lip in the process. “M’not finished.” 

Your squirming stops almost instantly, body deflating into his own, and he huffs out a snort, hot against your face. 

The grip of his teeth loosens marginally, the tip of his tongue laving over the steadily weeping wound in firm, thorough strokes, tracing every indent his teeth left behind, dips rapidly swelling and filling with watered down blood, a mold of six teeth carved into your flesh. 

The strength of his suction increases, siphoning fresh blood from the tiny gashes, and he moans a little, eyes rolling back in his skull as fluttery lashes frame the whites, his hips twitching up. 

Sicko. 

His cock is already hard, rutting into your core in irregular little movements, the lace of your panties so delicate you swear you can feel it throbbing, his motions molding the dainty fabric to your soaking folds with every slight jerk upward.

Slim fingers flex, grip on your hips tightening and further burying his nails in your flesh as he forces you to begin rocking in his lap, grinding down to meet each roll up.

His lips have left your own again, his mouth streaked with your blood, a pretty pink shimmer glazing the bottom half of his face. Blood is still trickling from the six tiny slashes his teeth left, overflowing from the seam of your mouth and flowing down your chin in unbroken streams. 

Swiping a thumb through the thin floods, he smears sticky crimson across your skin, collecting a healthy swap of the substance on the pad of his finger—so much so it begins dripping down the curve to settle in the lines of his knuckle and his palm.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, repeating the action, painting you in messy shades of yourself. “Just beautiful.” 

A whimper slips through your lips, eager tongue catching his thumb and curling around the appendage—protective, possessive—drawing it into the heat of your mouth. 

He lets you guide him willingly, watches with lust-blown pupils as your lips pucker around the second knuckle, slick tongue cradling his thumb as it sucks it to the roof of your mouth, pools of saliva washing your blood from his skin. 

His breath is coming out in hot, hard huffs, exhaled through parted lips as your mouth tightens, swallows his thumb down further. His pupils pulse, gnawing away at his irises as they try to devour you whole, blue so thin it’s scarcely an outline tracing gaping orbs of black.

Your hips are still gyrating against his in erratic little circles, a single palm still clasped around your waist guiding you, encouraging you as he bucks in response, straining cock rubbing along your cunt. 

It’s just barely catching your clit, nothing more than teasing little grazes, dense heat simmering in the pit of your tummy.

You need more.

“Dabi,” you whine a little, wriggling in his grasp, a desperate attempt to garner more friction. 

“Uh-huh?”

“Touya.”

“Yeah, baby,” he answers, the nonchalance in his tone contradicting the mischief glinting in his eye. “What is it?” 

Chrome chips your nails as you claw at the heavy buckle of his belt, leather squeaking against metal. His free hand captures your wrists easily, holding them together in one palm, hard enough that the bones grind together.

“You want something? Huh?” 

Brows knitting, you glare at him, bottom lip quivering a little, fighting the urge to jut into a full-blown pout, fighting the urge to spit out what do you think? 

“You know.”

He does, of course he does. 

But that doesn’t mean he’s just going to give it to you.

“C’mon, I wanna hear you say it,” he purrs as your chin puckers, your whole face scrunched up in a scowl. “C’mon, baby, c’mon, be a good little girl and ask for it.” 

Sapphire scathes your skin, almost as bright and burning as his flames, his unadulterated attention nearly too much to bear, confidence and brattiness withering beneath his scorching stare.

Lashes fluttering, your eyes flee his, tears forming to shield you from his heat, shoulders caving inward in an attempt to protect you from his unyielding scrutiny. 

“W-Want your cock.”

His tongue clicks in disapproval, a mocking frown slapped across his face barely suppressing his amusement, eyes shining, power flaring. 

“That’s not asking, sweetheart.” 

Swallowing thickly, you force your gaze to his, lids squinting a little beneath his brilliance.

“Can I please have your cock? Please?” 

“Please what?”

And although he’s acting unaffected, he can’t quite quell the spasming of his hips, jerking up in minuscule movements and grinding his cock into your sopping hole, panties clinging uncomfortably to your folds.

An eyebrow raises, a question of Well? I’m waiting… imbued in the subtle action. 

He isn’t going to give it to you unless you ask properly, like a good little girl is supposed to.

As expected.

“Please, Master,” you mewl, fingers curling over the edges of his belt and tugging, sharp leather biting into soft hands. “Please, please, let me ride your cock, Sir.”

Cavernous eyes observe you for a moment, scanning for dishonesty, grin growing when a whine vibrates in your throat, low and needy.

“Please?” you whimper, the leather of his belt creasing beneath your grip, squealing as it rubs together, a plead hitching in your chest. “Pl—Please, Sir.”

“Alright, alright,” he’s pacifying, acting as if he’s doing you some sort of favour, as if his cock isn’t jumping eagerly with each drool of pre-cum leaking from its slit. “Go on, then. Get it out.”

Words of thanks are pouring from your lips as your hands hastily undo his pants, yanking at the buckle, tugging at the zipper, shoving at the waistband, messy and urgent until his cock is finally released.

The stretch is nothing short of incredible, as it always is with him, little hole trembling as it swallows around his girth, drawing him in further and further, deeper and deeper, slow and steady until the head nudges your cervix, his hips twitching up twice, ensuring he’s hit the end, buried to the hilt with nowhere else to go, completely stuffing your cunt full. 

And despite the trademark ache, delicate flesh stinging as it splits into little fissures to accommodate him, your hips begin moving immediately, starved and raring, whimpering a little into his shoulder as you cling to him, every rotation of your hips radiating pricks of pain through your gut.

“God, you’re pathetic,” he snorts, but the insult is soft, edges dulled by love. “So fucking desperate for my cock, aren’t you?” 

“Can’t help it,” you murmur, rubbing your cheek along the curve of his neck, then his jaw, streaking your face with his sweat. “Missed you so much.” 

“I know, baby,” the tip of his tongue swipes through the blood still staining your chin. “Bet you missed my cock just as much, if not more.”

“Yes, yes, Sir,” you’re nodding in messy little motions, hips still rocking languidly against his own, clit gliding against his slick pubic bone in rhythmic strokes. “I did, I missed it s’much—”

A gasp slices through your slurred words, sharp air shoved from your chest as his hips begin snapping upward, rough and ruthless and without warning, the hands grasping your hips tightening around your flesh as he forces you to stay in place.

“Of course you did,” he grunts out, as if it’s preposterous to think otherwise. “I’m not at all surprised; my sweet lil slut can’t live without my cock, can she?” 

“Never, never, ne-never,” you babble out in confirmation, words stuttered harshly with the piston of his hips. 

Another laugh spills from his lips, airy and malicious in melody.

“No, never,” he rasps, ever-so-slightly breathless with the effort, dewdrops of sweat beginning to adorn his hairline. “Fuck, how would you ever get off without me, huh?” 

The question sends a pang searing through your heart, echoing a question you’ve been asking yourself often as of late—how would you ever survive without him? 

The thought stings your eyes, thick tears rushing to cloud your vision and rendering him nothing more than a watery blur of ivory and violet.

“I—I wouldn’t, Sir, I wouldn’t!” you cry out, rapid fluttering of your lids dislodging teardrops, streaming down your cheeks in glistening pairs. “I n-need you, I need you, always, always, al-always!” 

Your fingers curl against his shoulders, nails catching on staples, a hiss spit from the gaps of his teeth. They sink into grafted skin, dead and weathered and dusted in ash, and cling, knuckles locked and stiff as you try to pull yourself impossibly closer to him.

Gnarled flesh collects beneath the edges of your nails as your grip strengthens, chewing on his body and gathering it in your grasp, consuming whatever tiny slivers you can, a silent plead to stay.

“It’s okay, precious,” he hushes you, lips pushed into a mocking pout, contradicted by the smothering affection exuding from his eyes. “M’here, m’not going anywhere.”

God, you hope not. 

“Please, please—” 

And you drown yourself in it, drown yourself in him; his taste, spicy hickory and warm smoke, exhaled onto your hungry tongue, soaked up and swallowed down; his gaze, overflowing with adoration and intense attention, tying itself in a thick braided noose around your neck and tightening; his touch, stamping his prints into your flesh in blotchy bursts of blue, singeing his name with licks of sapphire that welt and wound, that crust and crater and scar. 

Your ribs squeeze, sucked inward by the voracious black hole your heart has morphed into—never sated, never filled, always vying for more—whole body curling beneath the strain.

But he’s right there to hold you, to steady you, to keep you intact, his hands the stitches you need to keep from unraveling.

“I know, I know,” he’s cooing as you choke on sobs, still scraping weakly at his back, “your Master’s gonna give you what you need.”

Slim fingers flex, soot-stuffed nails latching onto your flesh like tiny leeches, dug in nice and deep, using his grasp as leverage to control the speed and angle of your hips. 

Your feet skid against the chipped bathroom tile, the muscles in your legs tensing as you attempt to find stable purchase on the floor trying to aid in his movements, to fuck yourself on him.

It’s no use, though—it’s not like it matters, anyway, not when Dabi’s got complete domination over your body, over all of its movements and positions, manhandling you into whatever arrangement he pleases, reduced to nothing more than his favourite little plaything. 

“It’s real cute,” he’s telling you in that sugared condescension you’ve come to love so much, “that you’re trying so hard to help me.”

A whine escapes your lips, caught somewhere between apologetic and petulant, hips stammering as they begin to slow, and he laughs. 

“Aw, no, don’t stop,” his tongue clicks against his teeth. “Keep trying, it’s so precious.” 

And although his tone is taunting, full of characteristic derisive glee, his eyes are encouraging, begging you to keep going, for him. 

And so, you do, desperate to please him, the muscles in your thighs beginning to burn as you work in vain to pathetically hump away at him, hips knocking together irregularly as your footing continues to slip.

It doesn’t do much to assist him, but he’s happy anyway, a certain type of pride saturating his features, dulling the points of his wide smile, dimming the harsh brilliance in his eyes, turning his face into something a little softer, something a little sweeter.

Dabi keeps an iron grip on the pace—not that you’d ever expect anything different—forcing you to ride him hard and fast, bouncing you on his cock as his hips buck up in expert rhythm, completing your movements every time. The head drags over that engorged spot with each pound into you, sending a judder of scorching sparks to rush through your blood, each bout more intense than the last.

“God, look at you, you’re such a little slut for me, huh?” he pants out, rapacious eyes sweeping across your face, keen to soak up your expression. “Taking my cock like you were fuckin’ made for it.”

He’s really fucking into you now, jerking you on his cock like a toy, because you are—something that’s his to use whenever, wherever, and however he sees fit, something that’s his to own, to care for and splinter to bits and painstakingly piece back together, over and over and over again.

Tears of ecstasy are pouring from your eyes, cascading down your face in twin streams, excess dewdrops embedded in spiked lashes glittering with every rough pump of his hips.

It all hurts—always does, with Dabi, incapable of treating anything with any degree of gentleness; not a flaw, just a fact, oblivious to his own strength—but the pain only works to elevate the pleasure, pushing it higher and higher and higher until it’s choking you, smothering your lungs and stuffing your throat and spilling out your mouth in the form of messy, stringy sobs.

“S’been so long, Sir, so long,” you weep, nails burrowing further into his body, almost as if they’re desperate to reach his core—to pry past his ribs and claw into his heart and curl up in his soul. 

Because it has been so long, too long, most of Dabi’s attention soaked up by Paranormal Liberation duties and his own extensive planning as Shigaraki’s due date drew closer and closer, any scraps of time thrown your way whenever he had a spare moment to sneak off to this dilapidated safe house where he’d stashed you away, his visits sporadic and unpredictable. 

“You’re right,” he says, and there’s a tinge of melancholy to his breath. “It’s been way too long since your sweet cunt has been filled with your Owner’s cock, hasn’t it?”  

“It has, it has,” you’re nodding sloppily, tongue tangled in threads of spit.

“My poor lil pussy,” he pouts, and it’s so derisive. “Must be starving, it hasn’t been stuffed nice and full with my cum in forever.” 

“No, no, no,” you’re chanting in agreement, “feels so empty without you, Sir, feels s-so wrong.”

“Aw, don’t worry, sweetheart,” he crudely laps at the steady stream of tears, vicious bouncing causing his teeth to nick your cheek. “I’m gonna change that.”

Chapped lips find your ear, slicked with saliva, his voice dropping an octave as he continues. 

“Because tonight,” he breathes, sweltering against your ear, his tongue darting from between wet lips to trace along the curve. “I am going to stuff you so full of my cum that—ah, fu-fuck—that it’s going to flood your cute lil tummy, that it’s gonna seep into your organs, into your fucking blood, that it’s gonna be leaking out all over the fucking place.” 

“Oh, oh, please, Sir, please!” 

The pleads come out as a single string, melded together with drool and garbled on your tongue. Little jolts of fire shoot through your body with the constant ramming of his hips, flames licking at your veins as they sear through them, the sharp slap of your ass against his thighs complementing his harsh pants and your broken moans.

“Yeah, I know, my little cumslut wants that so badly, doesn’t she?”

Your brain struggles to stitch together a sentence longer than his name, your mind gone delirious for his seed—and it’s an aching, it’s an addiction, sick and depraved and downright uncontrollable—little uh-huh!’s mercilessly fucked from your throat, head bobbling along with the affirmations.

You can feel it, a taut pleasure building within your body, a fluttering that furls into a tight ball of sapphire flame in the pit of your belly, pulsing a little faster, a little harder, a little more with every drive of his cock. 

“Oh, Touya, Tou—Touya!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, say my name.” 

A growl rattles against his ribs, whole chest vibrating with the force of it, and his head dips down, slick tongue painting strokes of thick, shimmering saliva across your skin, an artist priming his favourite canvas.

“C’mon, tell me who’s making you feel this good—” and although it’s supposed to be a command, it comes out as a plead, voice tapering off into a low whine, muffled against your shoulder. “Tell me, tell me.”

“You, Touya,” you choke out, the name mangling itself in your throat. “You, you, you!” 

“You’re goddamn right, it’s me.” 

Sharp teeth bury themselves in your flesh, mouth clamped over the junction of your neck, harder and harder and harder until the barrier of your skin finally splits, syrupy copper erupting on his tongue. 

His name shatters on your lips, a dark chuckle soaking into the wound when you arch your neck, stretched and strained and offering him more room to work despite the squeal of pain sticking in your throat

It’s all so much, too much, his teeth in your flesh and his cock filling your cunt and—and—!

“Gonna—gonna—!” 

A large palm collides with your ass, sick slap echoing off the cracked walls. 

“Is that any way to ask your Master for permission?” Dabi spits, voice dripping with disappointment. “God,” he huffs out a laugh, incredulous, but the mirth shining in his eyes is so bright, so blazing it almost hurts to look at. “My cock must’ve really made you go fucking stupid, huh? Don’t you know this body belongs to me?” 

Another spank lands against your bottom, a yelp hitching in your chest with the ruthless jackhammer of his hips, his fingers sinking into the burning flesh in a bruising grip, amplifying the sting of the slap, digging it deep into your tissues. 

“This body is not allowed to cum unless I say so—so ask nicely, you little bitch.” 

“M’sorry!” you cry out, a fresh torrent of tears flooding your eyes. “M’sorry, m’so sorry, Master—”

“Yeah? Yeah?” 

His other hand snakes between your heaving, sweat-drenched bodies, thumb and forefinger clamping down on your clit and tweaking, hard enough to force a scream from your tongue, sending spikes of pain rushing through your veins. His fingers flatten against the engorged little nub a moment later, rubbing hard, quick circles into it, a malicious little giggle squeaking in his throat because it’s so swollen, baby and Christ, you must wanna cream all over his cock so badly! 

Sounds of affirmation spill uncontrollably from your lips, head nodding in frenetic little motions, whole face shimmering and sticky with salt, snot, sweat. 

“Uh-huh? Uh-huh?” 

He’s mocking you, chin tilted up in superiority, staring down the bridge of his nose to regard you in patronizing pity, eyebrows raised and imploring you to continue. 

“Apologies are not asking, baby,” his grip catches your slippery clit again, twisting it harder this time, your eyes scrunching shut as a cry shatters on your tongue, fingers scrabbling against his shoulders, tearing out staples. 

He’s right, you know he is, but he’s making it difficult to speak, difficult to ask, difficult to stitch together a single word at all, let alone a full thought, when he’s playing with your clit like that, alternating between pulsing pinches and gentle caresses, the calloused pads of his fingertips providing just the right amount of friction. 

Your whole body quivers with the effort of holding your orgasm back, muscles pulled tight and taut with the strain, and he laughs—beautiful, breathless, bona-fide—cock twitching inside of you. 

“Pl—Please, Sir,” you manage to gasp out, entreatment forced from your tongue in a single thin breath. “Please, let me cum, please, please, please!” 

The pleads melt into one gooey stream as they flow from your lips, slathered in drool and dripping from the corners of your mouth in thick cords. 

“Yeah? You want it? You wanna cum all over your Owner’s cock?” 

“Yes, yes!” you practically wail, pawing urgently at him. “Please, sir, let me cum, make me cum, I wanna—I wanna—”

“Alright, alright,” Dabi’s pacifying, but his actions don’t slow, hips merciless with their assault on your body. “Go ahead, sweetheart, make a pretty mess on me.” 

Never one to disobey a direct order from your Master, you do, almost instantly, entire body convulsing as your cunt pulses around his shaft, gushing so much slick that it floods his thighs and soaks the waistband of his pants.

The constant circles ground into your sensitive clit as you spasm around him only work to heighten the pleasure, brain gone numb with the shocks of ecstasy coursing through your body, another flurry of jolts sent through your veins with every run through the routine, skin rippling with the impact. 

He doesn’t stop his assault even after you cum, vehemently refusing to let up even as the clenching of your cunt fades into something faint and erratic, even as violent tremors loop through your veins, entire body quivering in his tight grasp, even as your fingers claw weakly at his wrist, crooking staples and scraping scarred flesh, blood rushing to fill the gouges left by your nails. 

No, he doesn’t stop until you’re teetering on the brink of passing out, wandering in and out of consciousness, his name leaving your lips in a near incomprehensible jumble, slurred and heavy with spit. 

Only then does he scoop you up in his arms, your legs dangling limply from his elbows as his palms firmly clutch your ass, hard cock still aching and buried deep inside of you, and carry your pliant body to that worn, fraying couch, with the puffs of white cotton leaking through the polyester and the exposed springs groaning beneath your weight.

You barely notice the change in scenery, though, still blissfully fucked out, nerves gnawed raw  by his overstimulation, a soft hiss slipping from between your teeth as the scratchy cushion rubs against your bare bottom, a raised imprint of Dabi’s palm and all five fingers still rapidly swelling. 

“It’s my turn now, angel,” Dabi’s words drift over your body in an indistinct haze, vision fuzzing at the edges, your head nodding instinctively. 

“Gonna—Gonna make good on your promise, Master?” 

“I always do, don’t I?” 

And then his hips are thrusting, cockhead repeatedly ramming your cervix with every harsh plunge forward, leaning down to catch fresh tears with his lips. The tip of his tongue traces their salty trajectory all the way to your bottom lashes, matted into wet little spikes, before sucking a hickey into your cheek, tiny capillaries bursting beneath his tongue, staining the thin skin with swiftly developing violet.

Tufts of ivory cling to his temples in damp clumps, dried black dye liquifying beneath his heat and running down his cheeks, leaving streaks along the line of his jaw and the curve of his neck. Sweat collects in the dips of his collarbones, shimmering gently in the flickering light spilling from the television set, a wavering news reporter recounting the tragic events of today, stuttered by static.

“God,” he nearly whines, voracious eyes sweeping across your face, desperate to soak up your twisted expression of pleasure-tinged pain—the way your lids keep drooping as you struggle to keep them pried open, eyes speckled with stars, lashes encrusted with tears; the way your tongue keeps lolling out to draw your slick lip back between your teeth, muffling your whimpers and mewls, and oh, no, he can’t have that, a gentle tut of his tongue clicking against his teeth as his thumb tugs it free from your mouth, drawing out a stringy whine in the process.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous when you go dumb from my cock.”

The words leave his lips in an airy gasp, as if he can hardly believe you’re real beneath him, as if he can hardly believe it’s his cock making you look this way, a hand leaving your waist to slide along your torso, taking the hem of your dress with it, rough palm tracing every curve and dip and bulge as it crawls to your collarbone. 

He takes his time to admire you—to appreciate the sensation of your skin beneath his touch, fingers gripping, kneading, scraping, gathering palmfuls of you in his grasp before letting go again in a stunned sort of marvel—hips slowing to an uneven rutting, unable to fully halt his fucking. 

Keeping a firm, steady grasp on your body and pinning you in place, his free hand continues to roam, hardened fingertips sinking into the pretty blue lace of your bra hard with enough force to elicit a yelp from your lips, amusement tugging at his lips. 

“So, so beautiful,” he pants, eyes skimming your now exposed body, his fiery gaze outlining every edge, dedicated in committing every contour to memory. “Fucking look at you.” 

In all the time you’ve been with him, your body has become a scrapbook of Dabi. It tells stories of him—what he’s done, how he’s felt, where he’s been, why he did it—stamped permanently into your flesh using his teeth and his tongue and his flames, in raised flesh and puckered craters and glittering scabs.

You can’t tear your stare from his face, though, too busy worshipping him, sapphire eyes gaping and glazed as they travel along your body, soft huffs of breath escaping his lips, pushed from his throat with the tender heaving of his chest, saliva glistening on his lips, smeared so prettily across the staples climbing his chin. 

Dainty fingers grope at the air, pathetic and yearning, clawing at nothing, and he laughs a little, nothing more than a smooth, deep vibration at the back of his tongue.

His touch finds the apex of your thighs again, nails dimpling flesh as he spreads your legs wide—so wide your muscles begin to burn, taut beneath the strain—a quiet groan rumbling in his chest as he stares at your stretched cunt. 

Two fingers press into your clit, still slick and swollen, grazing over it in slow caresses—back and forth, back and forth, gliding easily over the puffy nub and snorting a little at the way your hole flutters, eager and aching, squeezing his cock, sucking him in, begging for more. 

So cute. 

Eyes wide and unblinking, he plays with you in a trance, slowly but surely building up pleasure in you, pressure in you, fascinated by the way your body so readily reacts to his simple motions, grinding circles and rubbing strokes and pulsing fingertips. 

It enraptures him, puffs of hot air exhaled through slightly parted lips as he watches just his touch bring you to orgasm for the second time tonight, obsessed with the way your cunt trembles around his cock, a surge of your essence streaming from your hole, embracing him in a thick, wet heat.

Your cunt gorges on him—so fuckin’ greedy, even after cumming twice—fluttering a little around the base of his shaft, still oozing so much slick that it’s glazing your ass and his balls, steadily seeping past the tight seam of your hole. 

It’s so pretty, it’s so fuckin’ pretty, baby, he’s breathing, eyes hazy with awe, hips drawing back just a little to watch the way your body clings to his girth, sheathing his cock in a shimmering layer of arousal. 

A palm wraps around the base of his shaft, the head of his cock still buried an inch or two in your straining cunt, and he jerks himself hard and quick, sick wet slaps echoing out among the room as his hand slams between your cunt and his pelvis. 

“Fuck, f-fuck—” 

His hips start moving on their own accord, too impatient, his hand nothing compared to the sweltering ecstasy of your cunt, and he releases his cock, sticky hand collaring your throat, pinioning you to the couch, his thrusts so vicious they’re jostling your body up the cushions, the palm crushing your airway keeping you in place.

Lithe fingers flex as their grip on your neck tightens, coarse pads of his fingertips beginning to heat up, blood in your veins bubbling beneath his touch. 

Your flesh melts beneath his hold, melds itself to his grasp, desperate to stay in his hands forever. 

The sting is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, his palm and all five of his fingers singed into your skin in the prettiest, most precious permanent necklace. You can barely breathe, exhales coming as weak little wheezes, and you swear his flames must be licking into your throat, down to your lungs and straight through your veins, incinerating your blood as your body goes numb, cunt clenching around his cock for the third time, wailing out shards of his name. 

But you don’t allow his hold to let up, to loosen at all, both of your hands placed firmly over his, holding it there harder, a loud moan escaping his lips, his hips stammering out of rhythm. 

“Brand me, Master, brand me, brand me,” you’re gasping out, voice wrecked and raw. “Make me yours, mark me as yours, forever!”

“Jesus Christ,” he nearly sobs, his thrusts turned brutal, primal, losing any semblance of finesse as he relentlessly fucks you, motions stuttering as he finally cums, a violent shudder coursing through his body before he collapses on top of you, drenched in sweat as his cock throbs, filling you to the brim with hot, thick cum. 

“More, Touya, more, more!” you’re crying out, scrabbling at his shoulders as you try to pull him closer, shivering legs latching around his waist as tight as you can manage as your hips roll up to meet his own, crudely humping him. “Gimme more!” 

A groan, dense and heavy, spills from his lips, his entire body rippling with hiccups as he ruts into you—automatic, instinctual, desperate to give his sweet girl what she wants, even if it hurts.

“Yeah, yeah, ye-yeah, Touya, Touya, fill me with y’r cum!” 

And so, he does, using your cunt to milk himself even as his form quivers with every rock of his hips, chills skidding across his flesh with every bump of his cockhead against your abused cervix. 

He keeps going, just like you begged him to, just like he promised he would, until your tummy is stuffed full and your cunt is leaking with his seed, until neither of you can take it anymore, bodies shuddering with every hump and drag and grind, deliquescing into one another, a puddle of limbs. 

You stay like that for a while, his body blanketing yours, breathing as one, being as one. Gentle fingertips trail up and down the column of his spine as his bones begin to fuse and harden again, tiptoeing over the trails of staples stitching dead skin to healthy flesh and evoking a mild shudder, pads of your fingers pressing into each golden suture, counting them lovingly, kissing every one. 

Eventually, after your fingers have traversed across all thirty-one, he shifts, manhandling you onto his chest as he shuffles himself beneath you, cradled between his thighs. 

“What now?”

You don’t mean to say it, don’t mean to shatter that delicate, post-orgasmic, precarious peace with two simple words, but they claw up your throat and pry past your teeth and gnaw on your lips, desperate to be vocalized, immortalized, heard.

What now? 

They’re uttered out softly enough, lips moving against his heart, warm breath seeping into his chest, the question worming its way beneath his skin. 

His muscles go rigid, his breath stalling in his lungs.

What happens now that his goal has been reached, Part One in his plan succeeded? What’s the next step, now that the world knows Todoroki Touya is alive and simmering in his hatred, fuelled by spite and ravenous with revenge?

What happens when he goes to face his father for the final time? And what happens if he never returns?

“Oh, I dunno,” he sighs out, but his voice trembles. “We could fix this place up, all nice and swanky, have a couple’a kids, get a golden retriever—y’know, real nuclear family type shit.” 

You laugh, but it comes out strangled, sounding strange to your ears, a distorted sob. 

“The dream, huh?” 

“Yeah,” he says, quiet, nostalgia for a time that has never happened, that will never come, aching in his words. “The dream.” 

A silence settles over the two of you, as tender as the edges of a festering wound.

“I have to do it,” he says after several moments have passed, and his voice is soft—softer than you’ve ever heard it before, softer than you ever thought him capable of—infused with apology.

He does.

You know he does. You understand why. That’s how the story ends, the final chapter he’s been drafting—you were never meant to be a part of this tale, written in between lines and margins, stuffed between words, twined throughout the pages nonetheless. But ultimately, this is his story—to write, to tell, to edit, to revise, to create, to conclude. 

You know.

But the acceptance sticks in your throat, furled into a tight, hard lump, so you nod instead, punctuating your affirmative with a kiss pressed to his chest, planted right over his heart. It soaks into his skin, burrows itself into pulsating muscle and finds salvation there, finds home there, a puzzle piece that snaps into perfect place—something that’s always been missing, now complete. Something he’ll take with him, when his pen leaves the page, when his book snaps shut.

You don’t dare look at him. You don’t need to. You can feel the stutter of his chest, hear the hitch of his breath tangling on hard truths to swallow, smell the copper streaming down his cheeks again.

And you hug him tighter. 

You know. And no matter how badly you wish to, you won’t stop him. 

[evalineplayz19]

I need help finding yet another fic

Short summary from memory

Dabi x reader, reader is pregnant and Dabi is in jail and the fic starts with reader watching dabi be hauled off to jail and the reader meets up with the todo family (in this dabi has been revealed to be Touya) and reader forms a bond and at the end the reader meets up with dabi in jail and he runs out of his cell to give reader hug and kiss

This might be very vague but it’s all I remember so if you find it please let me know