#Man occasionally does the wrist limp too?

[wenzie76aster]

Hueso appreciation post because the second he did a death drop out of knowhere he instantly became the best secondary character in the show, I don’t make the rules

And Leo’s little “yeah:)” appreciation was adorable. Gay kid looking up to his queer uncle✨

#rottmnt #senor hueso #rottmntleo #Nickelodeon stole this dynamic from us Istg #Man occasionally does the wrist limp too? #Leo collects father figures like Pokémon cards. #I miss rise so much it hurts:(( #rise of the tmnt #unpause rottmnt

[safety-writes-noms]

Blank Eyes

Summary; Miguel and you are separated after a mission gone wrong. You go looking for him… only to find him in an odd state.

This is a short story with vore in it!! It is sfw and nonsexual so if you don’t like that, don’t read!

Tw; there’s some fear play in this one but still all safe. There’s also some descriptions of blood and violence :D

—

The first thing you register is the crushing pressure over your chest, Your head is spinning and aching with a fury, sharp pain lancing down your side every time you try to breathe. Your hands scrabble at the hard edge of the thing holding you down, finding purchase and pushing.

Your arms tremble and your palms are tacky with blood – but you manage to shift the massive slab of concrete off of your body, and roll out from under. The second you let go, the thing crashes into the ground with a massive plume of dust. 

For a moment, you have no idea where you are and how you got here before your memory revives itself with a sickening flash. The mission. The explosion. The shadow falling over you as debris rained down from above, the sickening jolt of pain – then darkness. 

Your ribs have to be at least fractured judging by the ache nestled in your chest, you definitely have a bad sprain in your left ankle, and overall, you feel like all of your body is just one massive bruise. Everything hurts like hell, and you take a second to catch your breath and prepare yourself. 

“Okay – okay, come on,” You mutter, taking a fortifying breath, “You’ve got this – you totally got this.”

You delicately push yourself upwards, ignoring the concerning tightness in your chest accompanied by aching agony, struggling to your feet with difficulty. Your ribs practically sear with pain at the movement and you pray that they're not broken. 

You check your wrist, wincing at the cracked watch strapped over it — when you try to turn it on, it fizzles pathetically before the screen goes dark with only occasional glitches of light. Still, you should at least try to get a message out. 

“Hello? Uh. Can anyone hear me?” You ask, fiddling with the dial on the side of the watch as you try to get out a signal. The dial promptly pops off the damn watch and clicks as it bounces on concrete, disappearing into the debris coating the ground. You gape in disbelief. Miguel is totally going to give you shit for that. 

Miguel. 

He was closer to the explosion — there’s no way he didn’t get buried under the rubble too or at least somewhat injured. Something cold and frigid burns into your organs and you look around, searching for a glimmer of neon red or dark blue. It’s too dark in the partially crumbled parking lot to see much. It’s massive, compared to you and you silently curse this dimension’s — well, dimensions. It just had to be one of those giant ones, didn’t it? 

Either way, you decide to look at the bright side: You’re not dead (yet). Hooray! And Miguel is too stubborn to die too, you reassure yourself. There’s no way he’d kick the bucket from a measly bomb. 

You limp along, carefully stepping around bits of debris and rubble littering the floor, waving away the thick dust permeating the air. You’re thankful that this area is abandoned — you don’t need civvies to make things harder. 

“Miguel? Boss? You there?” You call out, cupping a hand to your mouth. No answer. You frown. He has to be here somewhere. You duck around humongous support pillars holding up what’s left of the second, third, and other floors up above. There isn’t much, but there’s still some. 

You scout out the bottom floor, finding nothing but more cracked infrastructure. It takes you a while with your injured ankle and throbbing abdomen, but you manage it, coming up disappointingly fruitless. How does one lose a 6’9 man with shoulders the length of a football field? Easily, you find out with annoyance. 

He’s wearing a neon suit brighter than Las Vegas. It really shouldn’t be this hard but it is.

However, you do find traces of bright crimson webbing, strung up messily. Erratically. Normally, Miguel is knife-precise with his webbing but you’re more focused on the fact that you found traces of him to really think about that. You also find deep claw marks from where he had probably dug himself out of. Awesome. That means he’s not collapsed in a pool of his own blood somewhere. All good signs. 

Unfortunately, as you follow the trail of webbing up, he’s climbed up to the second floor and is somewhere up there in the ruins. Is he looking for you? You had been on the second floor when the explosion went off initially, only to be knocked all the way down. That’s a little weird — you thought he would’ve taken a more methodical approach of searching all of floor one before moving on, but you dismiss it. 

Half the time, you have no idea what he’s doing anyways. It’s probably not that important, and you now have a cookie crumb trail leading you straight to the big boss himself. You plaster your palms to one of the support beams, hissing in pain as the scraped skin meets cool concrete, but you force yourself to climb anyways. Your hands ache, and you’re going at the pace of a snail, but at long last you manage to make it up there with some help from your webs. 

From there, you just follow the geometrical lines of Miguel’s webs, rounding corners and avoiding chunks of concrete and various pieces of rubble. It’s darker here, and the only sources of light are the neon webs glowing dimly from where they’re splattered randomly upon surfaces. 

Your healing factor must’ve kicked in by now, since the pain in your ankle is lessening — if not incredibly slowly. You’re able to put a tiny bit more pressure on it as you walk on, periodically calling out for Miguel. 

There’s no answer. 

You don’t let it get to you. And you do find Miguel, once you slip under a fallen pillar and see — a massive figure hunched over in a corner, suspended in a nest of crimson webbing. You mutter a curse, squinting up at him. He’s not moving and other than the occasional rattling hiss of breath, it’s utterly silent. You find your heart starting to constrict on itself. A fear response. Why? Miguel isn’t a threat. He’s fine. 

Why do you feel like this? There’s an impending sense of danger shrieking in your head but maybe your senses are just .. off. You swallow a bit nervously before clearing your throat loudly. 

“Miguel! I’ve been looking for you — you okay?” You ask, forcing your irrational fear down. He moves then, his huge frame tensing as he turns around, his eyes eerily blank. Jeez, his pupils are massive and his hair is all messy, errant strands flicking in front of his face as he stares down at you. “Hey, big guy.” You try for a smile, ignoring the way your voice goes high at the end. 

He clambers down from the web slowly on all fours, his eyes completely fixed on you and nothing else. He’s moving pretty gingerly and you spot a couple of lacerations and possibly some broken bones as he moves. Not the best, but you’re mainly just glad he’s fine. Miguel’s nostrils flare, and he opens his mouth slightly, inhaling slowly. He’s acting weird. Really freaking weird. 

“Miguel? What’s up with you?” You retreat a step. He advances a step, and you can see him bare fangs, the sharp points glimmering in the dark. 

That’s your only warning before he lunges, his huge body moving scarily quick as you throw yourself to the side, narrowly missing the outstretched talons. Your pulse is thrumming in your ears as you gasp, eyes wide as saucers. 

“Miguel — its me! Miguel —!” You shout, only to be cut off as he lowers himself to the ground again, reminiscent of a hunter’s crouch. You can’t see anything but Miguel’s eyes and you can’t quite strangle the scream of fear as one gigantic hand reaches out lightning quick and wraps around you. His talons retreat back into the pads of his fingers, and while his hold is surprisingly gentle, you’re still completely unnerved by the way he’s acting. You stay completely still as he raises you up to his face — and he inhales.

His brows twitch into a frown and he sits back on his haunches, using his other hand to carefully examine your hands, his eyes tracking over all the various bruises and scrapes spread over your body. The frown only deepens when he glances at your ankle. He’s still being oddly silent, and while you’re grateful he’s not being hostile, you still have no idea what’s going on. He tilts his head. Examining you with laser sharp focus. 

Then he opens his mouth — and you freeze up as you stare down the dimly illuminated maw, the plush flesh shifting and dimly, you realize you’re being lowered down toward the abyss. Saliva pools inside Miguel’s mouth in preparation and the warmth of his breath washes over you. For a second, you can imagine it. The sensation of slime soaked into your body, the visceral click of teeth sealing you away, the suffocating vice of being squeezed down that powerful throat, never to be seen again — no. 

You refuse. This isn’t how it ends. It can’t be. 

You snap out of your daze and throw out a massive amount of web, hitting him square in the eyes with a panicked flurry. Miguel jolts back with a loud snarl immediately, dropping you to tear at the thick coating over his vision, talons sinking into the web viciously. 

You can’t help but scream as you land on your ankle with a sickening crack— holy fucking goddamn shiiit, if it wasn’t broken before, it definitely is now. You glance up at Miguel — still trying to take off the thick webbing — and hobble away, dragging yourself with heaving breaths. Farther, faster. 

You have to breathe through the stars burning across your vision as you search for something to help. Anything. You used the last of the webbing in your canisters on blinding Miguel so now, it’s just you. Everything is hurting and you can barely see straight as you get as far as you can and crawl into a tiny hole barely big enough for your body, a shelter made from rubble and concrete. It’s tight and cramped and you can’t stop your chest from heaving. Tears of pain squeeze out of your eyes and you press a hand over your mouth to muffle any pained sounds that could escape. 

There’s a loud ripping sound as Miguel finally tears off the makeshift blindfold with a roar, and you press yourself back against the walls bracketing you in. He’s gone insane. He’s actually crazy. You stifle a hysterical sort of giggle.  How the hell is this your fucking life? 

There’s a quiet snuffling sound and your blood runs cold as you realize he’s following your scent trail. Plus there’s no way you didn’t leave an incriminating trail of crimson with how you’re injured — he’ll find you. There’s no doubt about it. 

Footsteps, nearly silent, pace closer and you hold your breath, willing your heart to stop beating so loud. This is utterly terrifying. Everything is quiet for a moment. You don’t dare make a single sound, and you can’t tell what Miguel is doing at all. 

For a moment, you hope that he’s lost interest and moved on. Maybe he’s looking somewhere else. Maybe he’s decided you aren’t worth it as a meal. You pray and you hope against hope. It’s quickly dashed as one bright crimson eye fills your vision as Miguel peers in through the hole, his pupils completely dilated, leaving only a faint ring of red. 

You scream as talons pry off the top part of your shelter with apparent ease, stabbing through concrete like butter. You’re too scared to move as his hand shoots out and captures you again. This time he looks distinctly grumpy with you, brows furrowed and mouth set into a down turned line. 

He sniffs at you again, somehow looking even more disapproving when he gets to your ankle again, glaring at you like it’s your fault. You can’t help but take mild offense to that. 

Miguel delicately plucks off your web shooters and discards them which — hey! Those aren’t cheap to make — before wasting no time and opening his mouth. You barely have time to blink before you’re eased inside his maw carefully, spit immediately covering you in a thick sheen. You splutter, wiping the thick fluid off of your face as warmth soaks you to the bone. His tongue shifts under you only a small amount, only flicking to drench more parts of you in saliva. Miguel makes a satisfied hum, the sound vibrating through your body as he takes you completely into his maw.

Oddly enough, he keeps you far away from any of his pearly incisors, only deciding to make sure you’re covered in slick spit. Once he’s determined you’re ready, he swallows once, dragging your feet toward the yawning abyss of his hungry, twitching throat. 

You shriek, trying to cling onto anything as another loud swallow gets you down his throat from your chest down. Your hands grab at his uvula, holding on as tight as you can as you desperately try not to disappear down his ravenous gullet. 

Miguel makes an annoyed sound, then you feel everything tighten around your body as he swallows forcefully and your grip on his dangling uvula is lost. You squeeze your eyes shut as he swallows one more time, sending you down his throat — not nearly as crushing as you had imagined, and letting you pool into a more spacious area. 

The inside of here is soft and extremely squishy. When you try to brace a hand against the ground, it just sinks into the flesh, plush and malleable. You’re in a shallow puddle of fluid — saliva? Acid? — and while it doesn’t burn, it coats everything. Including you, and you swear, this is the weirdest thing you’ve ever experienced. There’s still fear burning through your veins, and you can’t stop yourself from trembling. 

But fuck, you’re so exhausted and it’s so warm here. While the fluid is uncomfortable, it’s nothing against your acute tiredness and you can’t stop yourself from just sinking into the cushy, gurgling walls. 

Miguel purrs quietly from outside, retreating back to the web-nest he had created earlier, seemingly satisfied with the little weight inside his gut. He curls up, ignoring the lancing pain from his wounds. He’ll have to explain a whole lot of shit once he returns from this instinctual state but for now, he’s content to curl up, secure and safe. 

In the back of his mind, he can register something vaguely sounding like the completely freaked out human side of his brain shrieking it’s head off, but it’s so inconsequential that he finds himself blocking it out lazily. Something about not eating his subordinates…? 

Eh. He’ll figure it out when the rest of the spiders come to pick them up. He places a hand over his stomach, massaging it idly. 

—

@diningopossum

#safe vore #soft vore #extreme cuddling #sfw vore #nonsexual vore #nonfetish vore #Sw writes fics #s: spidervores #spidervore #spidervores

[veryace-ficrecs]

Dinluke fic recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

three rules (back straight, head forward) by queen_rowenas - Rated T

Leia is helpless to watch as Senator Almen continues on as though nothing is wrong. “Mand’alor, may I introduce you to Senator Organa’s brother, Jedi Master Luke Skywalker.” She can feel all of her hard work crumbling, whatever trust she had formed with the Mandalorians shattering before her as the Mand’alor slowly stands to his feet. Great, she thinks numbly, Another galactic war on my hands. (Leia Organa has never been one to back down from a challenge. Although advising the new Mand’alor in his introduction to the Senate and also trying to keep her Jedi brother from causing an intergalactic incident could prove to be a bigger challenge than expected.)

It Was Always You by subtlehysteria - Rated G

He’s strong, powerful, his footwork far better than just your average person who occasionally skates for fun. As if that wasn’t enough, Luke watches in shock and awe as the man executes a neat triple toe loop, landing near-flawlessly with only a slight wobble. He doesn’t even register what’s happening, just sprints down the last set of stairs and rams into the barrier, hands raised to cup over his mouth and help project his voice. “HEY, YOU!” The man falters, head snapping to Luke. A single thick brow rises in question. “DO YOU WANNA BE MY PARTNER?” Luke yells. * Or, the one where Luke needs a new ice dancing partner and Din just happens to be in the right place at the right time.

begging for you to take my hand by luminouskywhiner - Rated T

Cara could laugh, but Din knew one thing for certain. Luke Skywalker was utterly and unfairly beautiful, and the most captivating person Din had ever met. If only he could manage to get more than three words out around him without the tips of his ears burning. ~ Alternatively titled; Din Djarin is a socially awkward and sleep deprived single father who falls in love with the prettiest pre-k teacher in the galaxy.

I'd like to hang out with you for my whole life by coffeecatsme - Rated T

The first time Din touches his helmet to Luke’s forehead, it's by complete accident. Or, 5 times Luke doesn't know Din kisses him and 1 time he does.

Crystal Tears by Insomniac_with_dreams - Not Rated

“This is going to be awkward,” Luke sighs down at the baby in his arms. R2 beeps besides him and Luke nods in agreement. “Nothing to do but go back.” His X-Wing is almost completely dismantled, sparking where wires hang limply. There is no way he’s getting off of this cruiser until it’s repaired. There aren't even any escape pods on board all of the docking bays empty. He hadn’t anticipated this, and now he was going to have to walk back to the bridge with the baby and explain himself to a heartbroken Mandalorian.

The Weight of Words by subtlehysteria - Rated E

Dim blue eyes stare up at him. Hair that might once have been rich with colour hangs limp and brittle around a gaunt face. A face with a split lip and a fading bruise on one cheekbone. A face that is blank of all emotion and yet simultaneously screams help. No, he doesn’t see danger. He sees only a man trying to meld with the wall and make his body as small as possible while staring down Din with a glare so cold that it could cause anyone’s blood to turn to ice. The man is dressed in thread-bare prison garb that hangs off his slight frame like oversized drapery and around his wrists is a pair of complex-looking cuffs. They’re the same ones Grogu had been shackled with, cuffs that somehow diminished his powers. If this man bears them too could that mean… Din crouches, bringing himself down to the man’s level. “Are you a Jedi?” * In an alternate universe where the name Luke Skywalker has long since been lost, Din Djarin discovers an unexpected prisoner aboard Gideon's ship, finding not only a potential teacher for Grogu but also the man who will change his life, and his heart, for the better.

First Star I See Tonight by snapdragonpop007 - Rated T

“You’re bleeding,” Luke murmured. “I’m...maybe not fine.” Din conceded. Luke gently held his face between his hands while giving Din a very bright, very angry smile. “You think?” -- Or, Din is heavily concussed after that whole darktrooper thing, and it takes him a second to recognize his husband.

i give to you by treescape - Rated G

“They’re lovely,” Luke said, and if the pleasure in his voice seemed genuine, his brow furrowed slightly in consternation. Din shrugged uncomfortably, because what was he supposed to do—bring a gift for the kids and nothing for their teacher? Or, Din's been accidentally courting Luke.

Where There's a Will There's a Way by xiaq - Rated M

Luke walks straight to Din and Din suddenly feels like he should be doing something with his hands. “Hi,” he says. “Hi,” Luke agrees, grinning. “So. I didn’t get your name, before. Grogu just calls you ‘Daddy’ in his head but I’m assuming I should call you something else.” Din chokes a little. ***** This is basically an Accidental Warlord Din Djarin fic in which Din plays the role of reluctant DILF leader with a heart of gold and Luke plays the role of initially distrusted twink who quickly becomes beloved by all (especially said warlord). The Mandalorians are like, "we've only had Luke Skywalker for a day and a half but if anything happened to him I would kill everyone in this room and then myself."

The Way in the Sky by ShyOwl - Rated T

The man, the Jedi, the individual who had been so calm and detached just moments ago now tripped back out of the elevator, cloak tangling around his feet, with a panicked look on his young face, “I forgot to tell you where we’re going!”

Yoda’s Academy for Li’l Padawans by MissDinahDarling - Rated T

Being a new student is hard. Being a new student whilst your socially awkward father avoids the school at all costs and your new teacher pines uselessly over a man he’s never met before is even worse. But by god, Grogu is gonna get through this.

unstoppable force, immovable fathers by godbinder - Rated E

“I just need a refuel,” Luke tells the droids, carefully throwing his legs over the edge of the cockpit to slide to the ground. Grogu coos softly, his hands opening and closing his three fingers. “Not a problem, we’ll have you—ready to go...” She trails off when she gets a look at the child, who begins babbling. The Force moves around her in happiness then surprise, shock, then something akin to anger sparking faster than a thermal detonator. Before he can open his mouth, in a move that would have left Han impressed, she has a blaster in hand and shot him in the face.

#luke skywalker #din djarin #grogu #dinluke #din grogu #grogu djarin #star wars fic recs #star wars #the mandolarian #veryace recs #ao3 fic recs #fanfic recs #ao3

[sharkbeneaththelotus]

Pangzi wears Xiaoge as a backpack I HAVE TOO MANY FEELINGS ONLY PANGYE CAN CONTAIN THEM ALL:

He first does it on the way out of the desert, the sun scorching their combined backs and the air bitterly cold. Xiaoge keeps his back shaded, and Pangzi keeps Xiaoge's front warm. He's too light; his wrists dangle down like driftwood wind chimes, but he's warm and breathing.

Pangzi puts his emptied pack back on over Xiaoge, and pulls the straps tight. Ahead of them, Wu Xie slogs doggedly along the path picked out by his compass, and Pangzi puts his head down and walks.

Xiaoge breathes cool air over his sweaty neck and the fabric trapped between them grows sodden with their combined body heat. At the edges, where sweat wicks into exposed cotton, the wind chills it instantly to ice. Pangzi can't tell if that's a relief from the burning heat, or the worst shit he's ever felt. He spends way too long thinking about it, one foot in front of the other, trudging onwards towards the camp Wu Xie insists exists.

He hopes Xiaoge doesn't mind having Pangzi's sweat on him; there's no way the Great Zhang Qiling is sweating. Hah!

---

The second time is soon enough after the first that Pangzi wonders whether Xiaoge was awake enough to remember that journey, because Xiaoge fits himself onto Pangzi's back like he is a backpack.

He's exhausted, mildly feverish, and only got off the tubes and monitors a day ago. Pangzi should not have brought him out to the gardens without a wheelchair to haul him back after. But he'd needed to see Xiaoge amongst green and growing things, and he was right; Xiaoge had come alive with plants to molest with his Zhang fingers. He'd even taken his slippers off before walking on the grass, so now Pangzi has to deal with pale green stains on his trousers, where Xiaoge's feet brush against the white fabric.

"Hup we go..." He warns, and Xiaoge curls tighter over his shoulders, bony elbows jabbing his collarbones as though Xiaoge's joints are just suggestions rather than actual rules. Bony and boneless, please make your mind up, Xiaoge.

He feels Xiaoge's sigh against the back of his neck, then the press of a sharp nose against the muscles between neck and shoulder; it was too much input, Pangzi should have known it would be. Back to the quiet room in the stroke ward he goes, Xiaoge's slippers dangling from his fingers and the man himself doing half the work of holding on to Pangzi's back.

Experimentally, Pangzi lightens his grip on Xiaoge's thighs, and the grip only gets firmer.

He lets go completely, and Xiaoge hold himself in place without problem.

"Hah! I'm one big mamma, and you're a baby monkey, ah?" He jokes, putting his hands back under Xiaoge's knees so the poor man can rest a bit. Xiaoge sighs heavily and goes limp as a sand bag.

"Alright, alright, this way..."

He gets a few strange looks, and is challenged by a security guard, but the band on Xiaoge's wrist is as good as a passport, and back they go.

---

The third time, Xiaoge isn't even ill.

As far as Pangzi can tell, and he's getting good at this hazy-eyed version of their Xiaoge, he's just grumpy. Their walk through the old streets of the antiques district had been peppered with quiet announcements about fake goods, and Pangzi had had to stop Xiaoge telling the whole market about it. They couldn't take that kind of heat! And Xiaoge didn't have a sword!

He'd been able to tell at a glance, in most cases, and occasionally with a touch, and apparently he had been restraining himself for their entire acquaintance, because the twist of his lip at the worst of the forgeries is hilarious. And going to get them both beaten straight out of the market.

He gets mulish about leaving, and Pangzi off-handedly threatens to carry him back to his shop and put him up in the window for sale, at which point Xiaoge climbs onto his back and hunkers there like a barnacle.

His hood brushes against Pangzi's freshly clipped undercut, and he feels the brush of eyelashes against the skin of the back of his neck, and Xiaoge goes tense all over in a shiver, then lax again.

Pangzi grabs him under his knees, hefts him up a little, and accepts that technically he did offer.

#dmbj #Wang pangzi #pangzi #Xiaoge #zhang qiling #whump

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Burn Before Reading: (Part 4) Takeomi Akashi x Fem!Reader

synopsis: Takeomi Akashi never wanted to attract too much attention - because it always brought some ne'er-do-well to his doorstep. But at college, he seems to have attained (and retained) the ire of the Head Bitch on Campus, i.e., you. And it’ll take a miracle for you to leave him alone.

wc: 1.4k

tw: smut

previous part💋 masterlist 💋 next part

You shudder and lean into the man beneath you, kissing at his lips once more as he deepens his strokes, almost bottoming out in you with how slippery you are. His grunts are primal, almost nonsensical, but when he leans his head back and his eyes flutter shut, you feel it. You feel the power you've desired for so long filling you, filling your deepest need, and making you take control.

Your hips begin slapping against his and for a second, Takeomi looks incredibly shocked, but then he grips your hips and fucks into you from below.

"Fucking... stupid..." you pant, hands snaking around his neck. Takeomi grips your wrists before you begin to choke him, his eyes holding your gaze as you ride him. He doesn't remove your fingers, though. He just holds you there, his eyes communicating: I'm letting you do this. You whimper at his defiance - his cock driving a little deeper with each stroke - but he doesn't relent, and neither do you.

"You wanted that dick, so bad, huh?" Takeomi grumbles, but you don't reply, still holding onto his neck. "All you had to do was ask."

"Fuck you," you gasp, then you prep yourself for the childish retort that's soon to come.

"You already are," he moans, suddenly letting go of your hands and lifting up slightly. You let go of his neck as he grips your ass in both hands, huffing in your ear and muttering filthy shit in your ear. Shit you'd never repeat to anyone. Oh, but how it stoked the flames in your stomach, how it tugged the cord, how it made you weak in the knees.

"Gonna cum," you cry out, grabbing his face in one of your hands.

"You gonna cum?" Takeomi whispers, pressing a hand back to the back of your neck so you're nose to nose with him. "Huh? That fucking brat gonna cum?"

"I hate you," you hiss, feeling the high crest in your bones. "I hate you so much."

"Then kiss me." You moan into his mouth and grunt and shiver and let go of everything you'd been holding. You even forget your name while you cum all over his cock, a flood of emotions pushing themselves up, and then back down as you regain your sanity. Takeomi pulses into you rapidly, his dick twitching after you cum, no doubt spilling himself inside of you thanks to your orgasm. He rests on his back once more and you follow suit, trying to catch your breath as you both come down from your illicit high.

"Looks like the rain has let up a bit," he mumbles, sniffing, and you turn your head to look out at the clearing, your vision unblurring.

"Good." You hurriedly get up, grabbing your leggings and pulling them up around your cum-smeared thighs. "I'm ready to go."

_____________________________________________________________

Takeomi can barely recover from the whiplash the rest of the trip.

When you both make it within forty feet of the cabins - by the grace of whatever lived in the sky - you push him away and mutter, "I don't want to be seen with you. Go around and come out from the other side."

"What the fuck?" Takeomi wonders, frowning. "You can't just--"

"Go," you snarl. "Or I'll--"

"Whatever." He walks off, stumbling back into the fucking nightmare. "You're welcome!" You don't even bother to acknowledge his call for gratitude he notices, your ankle still hurting as you limp onward to the cabin you're staying in.

And now... even though all has been said and done and you'd ignored him the rest of the trip - only sparing him dirty looks and the occasional middle finger - Takeomi can't help but feel like he missed something. A lot of somethings.

"Hey, you're back!" Shin's cheery voice doesn't improve Takeomi's mood, and neither does the following hug. "Couldn't get a hold. of you--"

"Lost my phone," Takeomi mutters, remembering the misery of the days without his device, though he rarely used it. "Sorry."

"Did you do what I told you?" Benkei wonders, mouth stuffed full of a chocolate chip cookie.

"Didn't work," Takeomi replies, climbing the stairs of the frat house quickly. Everyone notices how short he is with conversation, he knows this. Yet, they seem eager to persist.

"Wanna tell us what happened on your trip?" Takeomi pauses at his door. Every feeling inside of him bubbles to the surface, and your face flashes in his mind. Your mouth is open, your eyes are shut, but you're riding his dick like it means the world to you. It almost clouds out the pain from your sudden departure, from your swift dismissal.

"I fucked her, okay?" Silence.

"Um... come again?" Waka wonders, his head popping up from behind his laptop.

"I fucked her." Even Draken and Inupi appear, their eyes widening at the man standing at his door, facing the wood with a shaking mouth. "Alright? I fucked her brains out and then she acts like I don't exist. She's all chummy with Ran, still. He doesn't even know I..." Benkei lets out a long "uhhhhhh" before adding:

"When I said be nice to her, I didn't mean--" Takeomi doesn't let him finish. He opens his door, throws his bags inside, and slams it behind him before falling face-first on his bed and letting out a lengthy, angst-filled shout.

_____________________________________________________________

"Knock, knock..."

"Go away."

"Too bad, I'm coming in." Wakasa pushes past the door, carrying a laptop and looking over the man lying in the bed, Takeomi's eyes rimmed with red as he brings a joint to his lips. "Got you a little present. And before you ask, no, it's not porn."

Takeomi looks over at the blonde-and-purple-haired man who sits beside him, his hair up in a bun on the top of his head while he opens the laptop. The light reflects off of Waka's glasses and he fiddles with the Dango stick in his mouth before typing in the password and then plopping the computer down on his lap.

"Wanna see something cool?" The way Waka looks up from the laptop in his lap is almost sinister, and the darkness of the room doesn't help at all. Takeomi doesn't reply, too high to even form a full thought, but when he turns the screen around and almost blinds him with its brightness, his annoyance builds.

His eyes slowly adjust to the display and Takeomi sits all the way up, frowning at the words on the page.

"The fuck is this?"

"Y/n's friend came to me because he sort of... broke her computer after borrowing it. Virus or some shit. And I found something you might want to see."

"If it's her text messages, I don't--"

"It's much better than that." Waka chuckles, smiling devilishly. "It looks like it's her journal or something." Takeomi inhales deeply, focusing his eyes on the script once more.

...found it hard to tell him no this time. But next time, I'll sock Kisaki in his motherfucking teeth, I swear to god. I hate that mouth breather.

Takeomi laughs a little, imagining you facing off with Kisaki with your pointed finger and perfect scowl. He wouldn't stand a chance.

"You're in here, too."

"Huh?" The haze of Takeomi's high begins to taper, and he puts the joint out on the ashtray next to the bed before leaning forward and squinting at the screen.

"I'll pull it up." Waka swings the laptop back around, his glasses lighting up with the journal. "October 15th, I'm not proud of myself. I mean, okay - I'm kind of proud of myself. I finally feel like I have the upper hand with that fucking loser. Takeomi's stroke game isn't bad - might be the best since Ran won Mister University --" Waka hums and raises his brows at Takeomi, but keeps reading. "But I'm not stressing over that. Or anything. We had sex, so what? It isn't like it means anything. Especially because he's still poor, he's still a stoner, and he tries too hard at marketing. He'll always be second-best to me, and I just can't be with someone like that. Sorry, Akashi, you're just... trash." Waka trails off as Takeomi grabs the laptop, making sure that the words he read aloud are actually the words that were on the screen.

Every single word is there, standing out like a brick in the middle of a walkway. "Fucking loser". "Poor". "Stoner". "Second-best". "Trash". Each word sears him in his pride, the blazing-hot blade cutting through him cleanly.

"Sorry, man," Waka breathes, but Takeomi barely hears him over the thumping heartbeat in his ears.

"Send this entire thing to me," he growls, and Waka's eyes widen.

"Wait, man, I--"

"I want this whole fucking thing. Don't care how you have to do it. I want to have a copy."

"What're you gonna do with it?" Waka wonders, but Takeomi gets up off his ass, dusting his pants off and straightening up.

"I'm done with this bitch."

#takeomi akashi x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyorev smut #takeomi akashi smut #takeomi akashi #akashi takeomi

[wri0thesley]

examination - overhaul x reader (2.5k)

warnings:  dark content. yandere/overly controlling overhaul. non-consensual drugging, medical kink, glove kink, examination, surgical setting kind of, reader is basically a prisoner, choking, mindbroken reader, needles, non-con implied. afab reader, fem pronouns. not sfw, minors dni!

me: might write that overhaul choking drabble today idk. also me: writes this 2.5k shameful bullshit instead

this is the first mha fic i’ve ever written pls be nice to me, i love this horrible horrible man

The leather of the operating table sticks to your bare thighs uncomfortably as you tug the gown down, despite knowing that the small gesture is useless. You will end the ‘examination’ on your back, gown pushed around your hips, feet in stirrups--

The door opening startles you, big doe eyes flying to the door to see him. Half of his face is still covered by the bird-mask that you always see in your nightmares, but the overall expression of his eyes is satisfied. You are exactly where he told you to be, exactly when he told you to be, exactly how he told you to be. It’s not a surprise – he’s aware of how much fear he commandeers – but it’s still pleasing to remember just how thoroughly broken you are.

He doesn’t greet you as he comes to stand by the operating table, his eyes instead roaming over all of the bare skin not covered by the medical gown. You’ve been careful. You know that you’re not bruised, or cut, or scratched – you’d looked at yourself in the mirror before you’d made your way here.

Bare-faced, hair brushed back, skin still looking a little uncomfortable and raw from the thorough scrubbing you’d given yourself. It’s better to pre-empt these things, you’ve learnt.

He lets out a sigh. Gloved fingers come to pinch at his mask and remove it – you lean back automatically, not wanting to breathe on him or anything that might set him off, and you win a light tilt of his lips that’s covered with a clinical black surgical mask a moment after you’ve seen it.

The gloves he’s wearing are tugged off with a furrow of displeasure, dropped onto the tray beside him as he snaps the new dark latex ones over his hands and wrists instead. Seeing his bare hands always makes a flash of fear go through you. He does not threaten, in so many words – but sometimes, if you displease him, he tugs at the wrist and you feel coldness drench your back.

“Open your mouth,” he says, detached. He always talks like that to you; still, you occasionally hear talk of what he’s like with those who have displeased him, and you think perhaps his cool detachment as he probes and pokes and prods at you is preferable to the other options. Two of his fingers push on your lower lip, forcing your jaw wider until you ache. “Stick out your tongue.”

You think actual doctors use some kind of tool for this; you don’t think they press two long fingers onto their patient’s tongues so that your eyes squeeze shut for a moment, the taste of rubbery latex flooding your senses. You just manage to stop yourself gagging; there’s no telling what he’ll do if you do that with his fingers still in your mouth.

“Hmm.” He says, golden eyes trailing over your tongue. You are not aware of the throb of heat that goes through him at the sight of you, docile and obedient, your mouth wide open for him. He is an expert in making sure his feelings do not project onto his face. “I’ll up your vitamin dose.” He pulls his fingers out, eyes narrowing in displeasure as he changes out the glove on the hand that was on your tongue.

You sometimes wonder how many pairs he goes through, and let yourself have a brief smile at the thought of how much of the Shie Hassaikai’s budget must be devoted to things like surgical masks and latex gloves and anti-bacterial hand gels. Certainly, your little room in the compound must have cost a pretty penny in all of the vitamins and supplements and other various medications that Overhaul tells you to take.

Another vitamin. Your face is falling before you can stop it, and school your features into a blank mask. He does not miss the change; you are usually so good for him.

(You don’t need to be taking half of the things that Overhaul makes sure are emptied into your too-large pillbox. But you’re easier, sweeter and more pliant when you’re so drugged up you can barely open your eyes.)

“Is there something wrong?”

There’s a knife edge to his voice. Your shoulders shrink in, fear evident in every inch of your expression. Thumb and forefinger come to grip your chin, jerking it harshly so you’re looking directly upwards into narrowed, golden eyes.

“I asked you a question. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

A knot of fear in your throat almost stops you from speaking; but that fear, you know, will be tenfold if you make him madder than you already seem to have. Overhaul doesn’t shout; but his cool, clinical tone and the dangerous glint of his iris is just as frightening as if he did.

“I already take so many,” you whisper, your voice very quiet, cracking. You don’t speak much anymore. His face twitches.

“Perhaps a throat spray, too,” he says, evenly. The fingers on your face trail down, and you bite back a whimper as suddenly both of his hands are on your neck, thumbs pressing directly into your windpipe. He doesn’t press, yet, but the danger lingers there as he keeps his gaze on you. “You sound scratchy.”

(He thinks of a throat numbing spray; of your sleepy, dazed eyes as he pushes himself further inside. He might make you bleed, or tear something, he supposes – but his quirk was made for quickly fixing such flaws, even if he was the one to have made them.)

He presses one thumb down, relishing in the soft wheeze that issues forth from your mouth; the terrified, deer-in-headlights shine of your eyes under fluorescent lighting.

“S-sorry, ‘m sorry--” You manage, voice sounding even drier than before. Overhaul tips his head to one side to consider you. You certainly look sorry, pathetic as you are. But . . . not good enough. Your neck feels good under his hands. He presses the other thumb.

Your hand flies up as if you’re going to grab his forearm, but flutters before it does. You force it back down, curling your fingers around the edge of the operating table – good. He doesn’t know how he’d have punished you if you’d been so bold as to touch him without permission or asking, but he knows you won’t have liked it.

You hate the feeling of the latex gloves on your bare skin; hate the squeaking sound they make when they rub against something, hate the cloying scent of them that lingers wherever Overhaul goes.

The fingers wrapped around the back of your neck dig in, too. He’s pressing too hard, restricting too much airflow – you try and take a hurried breath of air, but nothing can get through the blockage. Your lips suddenly feel very numb. Panic is flooding your senses, as well as a vague sense of . . . nothing.

If Overhaul chokes you out right now, and keeps going until you’re limp and your heart stops beating, nobody will do anything. Nobody will care. The thought is strangely comforting.

He releases the pressure, turning away in distaste as you let out a series of distressed little coughs. You manage to get your wrist in front of your mouth before you cough everywhere, but an antiseptic wipe is still pressed into your other hand forcefully before you’ve even stopped choking.

“What do you say?” He asks you, as he turns back to the medical trolley as if he didn’t just come seconds away from killing you. His gloved hand brushes various silvery medical tools, not all of which you recognise, and your heart misses a beat in fear at the sight of the surgical blades. He ignores those ones, thankfully, instead settling on a syringe.

You’re not sure what’s in this one, but you don’t ask. He’ll tell you as he does it; you no longer know how truthful he is, but it’s not like it matters.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” you manage, through the hazy mess that is your poor oxygen-deprived brain. “I-I’ll t-take whatever you tell me to take.”

“I do it for your own good,” he tells you, tapping the syringe with one gloved finger. He looks at it with that same bored, unreadable expression. You wonder if you could tell what he was thinking better if he didn’t wear the mask. “I just don’t want you to be sick.”

He stresses the word. He is always talking about how filthy and ill and diseased the rest of the world is. You swallow again. You should be grateful. You should. Should be grateful that, for all he tells you is wrong with you and plies you with medicines and drugs and vitamins, he doesn’t think you’re sick enough to just outright disassemble you and put you back together.

You hold your arm out, hoping your compliance will make some of his anger at your outburst fade. His eyes linger on the pinprick bruises of your inner elbow, the side he usually injects.

“Just a painkiller,” he says to you, but you don’t believe him.

He doesn’t give you a warning the way nurses used to when you had to be injected as a child. The needle presses into your skin immediately, almost too deep, and you’re immeasurably glad that Overhaul doesn’t see the flinch on your face because he’s too busy watching the liquid be injected directly into your bloodstream.

Needle out. Gauze. Medical tape. He is practised, clinical, careful as he bandages the site of the injection.

(It’ll kick in in about fifteen minutes, he thinks. By then, you’ll have your back flat and your feet in stirrups and you won’t say anything as he presses three gloved fingers inside of you. All you’ll do is let your breath catch, your hips jerk, your eyes hazy and unfocused as the tranquiliser works its magic.)

An alarm sounds from the device wrapped around your wrist.

“Ah,” he says. “I’ll give you the new vitamin now, then. Just a moment.”

He strides over to the other side of the room and you are well-trained enough to not let your eyes follow him, as perfectly organised cupboards are opened and the rattle of pills echoes in your ears.

You turn the bracelet around your wrist off. It’ll beep again once more, later on, for your third lot of medications. Once in the morning, to both wake you up and to tell you to take your first cocktail of pills. Overhaul never usually sees you until the afternoon unless he wants to check on something, but that doesn’t mean he’ll let you rot in bed hating your life all day.

(You are permitted some books, some hobbies that Overhaul does not think will be damaging to your poor health and that don’t make a mess. There is a half-finished embroidery in your desk drawer, a jigsaw puzzle you must have done twenty times spread out over the desk proper, origami animals in a neat line on your bedside table.)

The second alarm goes off at five fifteen. You are supposed to be in this room – you always consider it the surgery room, though it’s more of an examination room than anything else. You’re not permitted to wander the upstairs of the base at your leisure, much less the cavernous underground hallways, so you often wonder what else Overhaul is hiding down here. Overhaul gives you these drugs himself; sometimes this particular cocktail features some new tablet that you’ve never taken before. He watches you take them with the eyes of a hawk, checking underneath your tongue to make sure you’ve swallowed them all.

And the last lot are taken before you go to bed (half nine in the evening, always. Overhaul says a routine for you is integral to keeping you well).

He’s back. One small cup full of rattling pills and medication is given to you, and a half glass full of purified water from the water filter jug in the refrigerator.

He watches you tip the small cup back, watches the bob of your throat as you trustingly swallow them.

You don’t bother looking inside of it before you do this; you probably won’t recognise half of what it is, anyway. You’re going to take them no matter what, so you have decided perhaps it’s better the devil you do not know.

A gulp of cold water, too loud. You’re given a tissue to wipe your mouth.

You’re suddenly getting very tired. Your arms feel very heavy, your mouth dry, your head stuffed with cotton wool. You blink so slowly you feel like you’re wading through a marsh.

“Mouth open,” he’s saying, again, and you do it so he can check you’ve taken the medication, but it sounds and feels like he’s very far away. If you spoke aloud right now, you feel certain that your words would come out slurred and unrecognisable. “Good.”

Your brain attaches itself to the phrase. He so rarely praises you. You feel your mouth pull at the corners, your smile somnolent and pliant. You cannot see the way Overhaul smirks at your expression underneath his mask, but you can see the pleased light reflecting in his eyes.

“Last examination,” he tells you, brusquely. “Lean back. Feet up. You know what to do, don’t you?”

You do! You’ve done this one a hundred times. A soft giggle escapes from your lips as you swing your legs slowly onto the table and the back is readjusted by Overhaul’s own steady hands to make you comfortable. It is comfortable, despite the cold, sticky leather. You miss the stirrup the first time, and you hear Overhaul click his tongue as you’re forcibly pushed into them. It’s not your fault. You always feel drowsy after taking your medicine, but today is even worse than usual--

“Just relax,” he tells you. Latex-covered fingers rest on your outer thighs, pushing the thin medical gown up so that the hem is ruched up around your waist. “Close your eyes. This will be cold--”

You close your eyes and let out a soft sigh as slick, cold fingers (you suppose that he lubricated them, and you’re grateful – he’s not always so kind) gently prod at the space between your legs.

You could fall asleep, right here, you think – which is absurd. You shouldn’t be feeling so heavy and tired and comfortable whilst your . . . you never have quite the right words to describe what Overhaul is to you, but the fact remains that you shouldn’t be so trusting and naive as to fall asleep here with fingers that have killed probing your slit.

You can hear a clock ticking as if it’s somewhere very far away. You can hear Overhaul’s meticulous, even breathing – like even that has to be perfectly in time, perfectly meted out. You can feel your own erratic heartbeat, like a bird trapped in your chest.

You shouldn’t fall asleep, you shouldn’t fall asleep--

You watch fireworks and swirls and patterns on the inside of your eyelids like you’re at a festival; the kind you are no longer allowed to attend, lest somebody’s sickness rub off on you. Watching your own in your mind seems like the next best thing.

You drop into oblivion.

#overhaul x reader #yandere overhaul #overhaul smut #bnha x reader #mha x reader #yandere bnha #chisaki kai x reader #not sfw text #yandere for ts #writing #overhaul x you #medical kink #glove kink #mindbreak for ts #drugging for ts #non con for ts #dub con for ts #bnha posting

[sabababa]

You give them a prostate orgasm headcanons

Hawks, Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugou, Mirio Togata, Shota Aizawa x GenderNeutral!Reader

Author’s note: Please use lube when playing with people’s butts and don’t touch any genitals with a hand that’s been up a butt, thanks for coming to my ted talk ALSO THANK YOU FOR 100 FOLLOWERS

Warnings: Cursing, smut, dom!reader, sub!characters, pegging (if you’re a uterus owner), a single spank (Hawks receiving), some smutty pics I drew

Hawks

Doggy style

“Fuck, Lovebird, you’re gonna ruin my insides!” Hawks panted out in ecstasy as his front dropped against the sheets

You pounded into him from behind as you got a beautiful view of his ass jiggling each time your hips snapped against him

You set a brutal pace being egged on at the sight before you, and at hearing the wonderful moans that would leave his sinful mouth

“Fuck! Don’t stop~” He mewled as his eyes rolled to the back of his head, his hands gripping the sheets tight as he felt you go deeper each time

His prostate received a lot of attention in this position and he started to feel something swell within him

“Fuck, Lovebird, I’m gonna cum!” He whined, giving you pleading eyes to help him reach his climax, to keep fucking him

It was hard to grip his hips from behind, so you had to settle for gripping his ass cheeks as leverage to pull him against you

He let out a low moan at feeling your fingers dig into his skin, a slap to the rear caused his ass to jump up in surprise to meet in time with a thrust that would send him over the edge

“Aaaahhhhhh! Fuck!” He moaned out as his head jerked up and his wings fanned out to their full length

You did one last thrust and kept yourself inside him to let him ride out his orgasm as he grinded against you

His body convulsed and shivered, his ass wiggled against you as he kept letting out deep, guttural moans

You felt his heels dig into your thighs as his toes curled, his legs pulling you impossibly closer to him as his body kept shaking

His wings twitched and shuddered along with him, occasionally flapping from the extraordinary feeling coursing through him

He pushed against you to the point you almost lost your balance since he caused the bed to shake as well

You pushed back and he let out a wail of pleasure

“Fuuuuuuuck, right there~” His tongue rolled out his mouth as he felt your length press into his swollen prostate to intensify the feeling

(Art belongs to me, please do not repost)

It was like he had an orgasm over and over again, all he could focus on was the high as his vision was blurry and unfocused from his eyes constantly rolling to the back of his head as he tried to come down from it, but it was too fucking good to ignore

He shook a few more times before his body finally went limp, his muscles relaxed and his wings fell to his sides

You slowly pulled out of him which caused him to let out a groan from the loss, his ass twitched and jolted up when your tip left, you thought he would cum again

But then you noticed he never came at all, there was no mess beneath him and he was still hard

“You alright, Hawks?” You asked as you sat beside him, worried that you didn’t actually please him

“nev’ bet’r,” he slurred and rolled onto his back. He let out a small gasp at feeling the pressure of his rear touch the bed and his hips jolted up slightly before calming down again

An arm came up to rest over his eyes as he tried to catch his breath

“Are you really okay?” You pressed again, you had never seen him look so winded before

“Baby,” he began and pulled his arm away from his eyes to look at you, “you rocked my world, best orgasm of my fucking life,” he moaned at the memory and his hips jerked up a bit when his body twitched from the leftover stimulation

“But you didn’t cum?” You asked confused

He chuckled at your naivety. “You gave me a prostate orgasm, Lovebird, first one in fact, didn’t think I’d ever experience it.” He rested a hand behind his head and lifted his other arm to offer his side to you

You gladly crawled over to him and rested your head against his chest, careful to avoid laying on his wing, and you could hear his heart still beating fast

A big smile was on your face as you felt a sense of pride for pleasing your man so well

He wrapped a hand around your shoulder and squeezed you as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “When I can feel my legs again, I’ll return the favor~”

(Art belongs to me, please do not repost)

Izuku Midoriya

Missionary

Izuku threw his head back when you picked up your pace

His head made contact with the pillow as he moaned out

Your hands grasped his hips as you pounded into him, hitting a very sweet spot inside him over and over

He couldn’t stop the moans and whimpers that escaped his mouth as he felt the tip rub against his already swollen prostate

You gave him permission to stroke his aching cock long ago, but his hands gripped the pillow behind him as he was lost in the pleasure

His eyes were half-lidded and they started to roll back into his head as he felt something coil in his stomach

His breathing picked up and he closed his eyes when he started to feel the familiar climax building up

But a different feeling passed through him as his eyes flew open and the most delicious moan left his lips

“Aaaaaaahhhhhh~” He dug his feet into the bed, toes curled, and caused both your hips to be raised from the bed

You stopped your thrusting and bottomed out inside him, your hands gripped him close as you saw his body shudder and convulse

His legs shivered as you tried to hold him steady against you, his hands flew from the pillow to grasp your arms as he kept shaking from the intensity

That was when you noticed his cock was still hard, but nothing was coming out as his hips would jolt forward, rocking against the member sheathed inside him

You were too entranced by the way his body rattled to even think about jerking him off and from the way he held onto you, he didn’t care about it either

Izuku kept letting out moans as he shook from the pleasure wracking his body

He had never felt anything like it before. It was an intense feeling, like he was having multiple orgasms coursing through his body all at once

He let out one last whimper as his body finally stopped convulsing

Both of your bodies fell against the bed again as you panted to catch your breaths

“You okay, Izu?” You asked as you pulled out, his hands still holding your arms

His body would twitch slightly at the tiniest of movements as he tried to control his breathing

“W-what was that?” His eyes were closed as he panted out. His hands fell to your wrists; his fingers were still wrapped around them, but his grip was loose now

You slipped your hands into his and intertwined your fingers. “I think I just gave you a prostate orgasm,” you said with a sly smile

You felt some pride that you were able to reduce your boyfriend to a shivering mess, that oragasm looked intense and pleasurable, you were jealous honestly

“Can you do it again?” He looked at you with half-lidded eyes. A pleased smile on his face as he was still coming down from the high

You chuckled and climbed over him to give him a sweet kiss. “How about I actually make you cum this time?”

(Art belongs to me, please do not repost)

Katsuki Bakugou

Cowboy

“Fuck, why does it have to be so big?” Katsuki groaned out and attempted to hide it as a complaint, he really was enjoying himself, but he wouldn’t let you have that satisfaction

He continued to ride you, letting out small moans and grunts

He mostly grinded himself down on your length, not wanting to look too eager. After all, he was the dominant one in this situation

No, he wasn’t, and you gladly showed him that

You jerked your hips up which caused Katsuki to let out a shocked moan. “Ah!”

You smirked as you placed your hands on his hips, making him grind deeper into his core

“F-fuuuuck...” He said under his breath as his eyes fluttered closed, he hoped you didn’t hear him, but you did

Your smirked widened as you grinded your hips upward to meet his

“Fuck!” He moaned out fully and leaned forward as his hands rested on the bed at your sides

“You’re such a good boy, Suki” You said sweetly as you slowly grinded up into him, not a hint of mockery in your tone

You saw his eyes roll back into his head before they closed, he let out a small grunt at the stimulation. You almost had him

“Always my sweet boy,” you confirmed and rolled your hips

His breath hitched, but he kept his eyes squeezed shut

“You’re so pretty for me, Suki, such a good, sweet, pretty, boy.” You mused as you used your fingers to pull his chin forward. He leaned into your touch, which caused him to slightly raise up from your length

You snapped your hips up into him and he finally let out a loud moan when his eyes flew open

“Fuck!” He gasped. 

“Will you be my good boy now?” You asked innocently as you held his face in your hands

“I-I’ll be your good boy,” he moaned out as he grinded against you, preparing to fully ride you

Ladies and gentlemen, we got him

He leaned back and placed his hands on your thighs as he started fucking himself on your member, at a rather fast pace

He was always such a good boy~

His moans filled the room as he continued to spear himself on your length, feeling it pound against his already swelling prostate

It caused his pace to falter at the pleasant feeling, but you wouldn’t let him have a moment’s rest

You reached out to pull his arms forward, which stopped his ministrations

He panted as you gripped his wrists with both your hands and started to mercilessly thrust into him

“FuUuUuUuUuck!” His voice vibrated with your thrusts and he threw his head back in ecstasy, your hands holding his wrists helped balance you both as you fucked up into his tight hole

His eyes rolled back into his head and he let a wide, open smile make it’s way onto his face as you pounded his ass, drool dribbled down the side of his mouth as he was lost in the pleasure

He felt the familiar swelling building up inside him

“I-I’m gonna cum!” He moaned out happily

His body shook violently and it caused him to fall over onto your form

You did one last thrust and buried yourself inside him to let him ride out his orgasm

He shuddered aggressively against you, his thighs squeezed your sides as he kept humping you. His arms snaked underneath to your back and he dug his nails into your skin, leaving love scratches

He continued to convulse and he hid his face in your neck as he whimpered and groaned into your ear. 

It felt like he was cumming repeatedly, but not actually cumming, just the sensation of it, it repeated itself over and over as he sobbed from euphoria. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

His hips kept jerking against your member as his body spasmed, it added and refueled the delight he was feeling

His body was wracked with pleasure and it sent goosebumps across his skin at the unfamiliar sensation, his toes curled as he rolled against your length one last time

He continued to twitch as he calmed down from his high, his hips kept jerking forward from the leftover stimulation, he wasn’t ready to give the feeling away just yet

As he continued to shiver against you, you pulled out of him and he let out a whine near your ear

You could still feel that his cock was hard as it twitched between your stomachs, but noticed he never actually came

He panted as he sat up slightly to look at you, his thighs and hips still twitching

“The fuck was that?” He grunted out in his normal tone, a scowl on his face, along with a blush from embarrassment as he never had an experience like that before

“I just gave you a prostate orgasm,” you said cheekily and rubbed your hands on his rear, pushing his cheeks together to give pressure to his pucker

He jerked his hips forward with a sharp inhale of breath before he growled down at you as a warning

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it!” You laughed and rubbed his back soothingly

“Tch,” he scoffed and wrapped his arms back around your form, nuzzling his face into your neck and you felt him pout. “Never said I didn’t, Dumbass.”

(Art belongs to me, please do not repost)

Mirio Togata

Flatiron

Mirio gripped the pillow tight against him and smothered his face it in as your pace became rougher

“Fuck, Sunshine,” he moaned out, “you really know what you’re doing.”

Your hands gripped his ass tighter as you continued to drive your length into his tight pucker

“You’re doing so good, Sunshine!” He praised with a euphoric smile on his face

One thing about Mirio is that he loved to praise, no matter what position he was in. It never failed to give you a confidence boost to try some bolder moves with him

His prostate swelled from the pleasure as you continued to ravish him

“That feels so good~” He purred as he closed his eyes and nuzzled the pillow while he panted

You took the chance to press your front to his back, lying against his sweaty form

His muscles twitched at the change and he let out a long moan at how much deeper you went

“You’re so deep, Sunshine!” He said breathlessly as he felt your member grind against his swollen prostate

You resumed your rough pace and he jerked his head up as he let out a series of moans

“Don’t stop, Sunshine! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” His words were muffled as his face fell into the pillow again

He felt a tightening in his stomach as you continued your ruthless pace, you brought your hands to rest on top of his and intertwined your fingers, he squeezed yours tightly

“Make me cum, Sunshine!” He moaned with a smile at the pleasurable feeling. “Fucking make me cum!” He moaned out desperately that time

His breathing quickened as he felt his release come close

But then he held his breath as his body shook violently at this new feeling

You gave one last hard thrust seeing him quiver and let him ride it out as he shivered against you

He raised his rear off the bed as he kept shaking and then dropped it back down, causing your length to bounce against him and poke his prostate

He finally took a breath in at the sensation and his legs spasmed before bending and locking you against him

Mirio’s back arched as he pushed his ass up again, his toes curled at feeling how much deeper you went

He let out a series of high and breathy moans, as the climax surged through his body, making his limbs tremble and spasm as he didn’t know what to do with them

This new orgasm he felt was so amazing, he couldn’t get enough of it, he wanted more from his Sunshine, he wanted to feel like this all the time. Shivers up and down his spine, the vibrations of an orgasm wreaking his body, the sensation of multiple releases, it was mind-breaking

His body finally stopped convulsing and he rested flat against the bed again with a content sigh, his legs dropped and went limp, parts of him twitched every now and then

He laid his head on the pillow and panted, his eyes closed, a groan left his lips when you pulled out

His fingers still squeezed yours as the last of the orgasm was still pulsing through him, it kept him grounded as he rode out the high

“You okay, Miri?” You whispered and rested your chin on his shoulder

He cracked his eyes open and gave you a weak, but blissful, smile. “That was amazing, Sunshine,” he said breathlessly, “I just- I need a minute.”

His eyes closed again when his hips jerked forward once, a ghost feeling of the climax still there, he let out a high, but short moan. “Ah~”

“That was different,” you commented quietly, still resting against him

“Yeah,” he grunted at the memory, “you just gave me my first prostate orgasm!” He managed to get a chuckle out

“Is that what that was?” Your eyes widened a fraction

“Yep!” He popped the ‘p’ at the end. “And a damn good one!” He mused and gave you a lustful stare

“Give me another minute and I’ll get even with you!” He winked

(Art belongs to me, please do not repost)

Shota Aizawa

Prostate Massage

Aizawa let out a small grunt as you continued to push two fingers in and out of him

The pads would press against his prostate each time they entered and it caused his thighs to twitch every time

Your mouth was just above his tight pucker, lightly sucking and licking the sensitive skin underneath his sack, while your other hand used it’s thumb to press small circles into the spot where his thigh and groin met; sending a tingle up his spine

You were purposefully avoiding his cock, you even gave him orders to not touch it either, so his hands were stuck up top by his head

His cock was red and achingly hard, pre-cum dribbling out the tip

“Fuck,” he hissed as you sped up your pace, his prostate painfully swollen from the teasing. “Can I please touch myself?” His voice was strained, not wanting it to sound too much like begging

“Mm-mm,” you dismissed him and the vibrations of your voice against his skin sent a shiver up his spine

“Damn it,” he growled underneath his breath in annoyance

He decided that the next best thing he could do to get himself off was to grind against you

His hips came forward and it caused your fingers to slip deeper inside him 

“Ngh!” He groaned at the feeling and halted his hips

You pulled your face away from his groin, a smirk on your lips. “You wanna fuck yourself on my fingers?” You teased

He set himself up on his elbows as he looked down at you

“Can I?” He mocked as his brow twitched in annoyance, he wasn’t used to being the submissive one

“Go ahead,” you leaned an arm on his leg as your head rested in your hand

He gave you a suspicious stare as he slowly rocked his hips forward, not fully trusting you to keep your fingers in place 

But when your fingers pressed against his prostate, you did a light ‘come here’ motion with the tips of your digits

Aizawa groaned again and he fell back against the bed as he continued to pleasure himself against your fingers

You bit your lips as you kept watching him buck against your pointer and middle, it was a sight to behold

You then pulled the bottle of lube back out, quietly opening it and coating your fingers in it, especially the third one

Right as he went to rock forward again, you inserted the third finger

He gasped and let out a deep groan, almost like a growl, his hips stuttered from the stretch, but continued none the less

You decided to pick up the pace and fuck your fingers back into him, causing them to go deeper than before

His hands flew up above his head to grip the sheets as he grunted at the feeling, your fingers prodding his prostate each time they thrusted in

He felt the familiar sensations of his orgasm approaching, a swelling feeling within him

“I’m gonna cum!” He gasped out. “Can I cum?” He pleaded, hoping you wouldn’t leave him high and dry

“Go ahead, Tom cat,” You thrusted your fingers harder against his prostate

His body convulsed as the orgasmic sensations vibrated through him, his legs spasmed before he tightly wrapped them around you to pull you closer, your fingers pressing against his p-spot to help him ride out his high

He thrashed against the sheets as his rear would rise up and then fall back down, then his head leaned back against the bed to prop his body more as his back arched

Low groans kept getting caught him his throat as he choked on air each time he trembled

It felt like multiple orgasms happening all at once, but his cock wasn’t cumming, he was still hard as he felt another wave shudder through him

His toes curled as his thighs twitched and he bucked his hips against your fingers

Finally, with one last shiver, he eased down from his high and let out a deep breath, but still panted slightly

You pulled your fingers out and kept that hand away as you crawled on top of him

His hair clung to his forehead from the sweat, his cheeks rosy as you watched him pant to regain his breath

“Did you just...” He breathed out, not having enough energy to finish his question

“Give you a prostate orgasm? Yes, I did,” you grinned and moved some hair out of his face with your clean hand. “Did it feel good?” You asked genuinely

He nodded, his eyes closed as his breathing finally calmed. “Felt amazing...” he mumbled and then drifted off to sleep

You only chuckled at him and gave him a tender kiss on the cheek. “Sweet dreams, Sleeping beauty.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If you want to request some headcanons please go here for the rules!

Masterlist

#hawks x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #mirio togata x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #izuku x reader #katsuki x reader #mirio x reader #shouta x reader #midoriya x reader #bakugou x reader #togata x reader #aizawa x reader #deku x reader #smut

[bittersweetmorality]

OMG CAN U PLS WRITE A SUB CHUUYA SMUT I BEG

ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE BABIE!! sub chuuya is my favorite chuuya 😋😋 sorry this took so long !! i was actually admitted to the hospital and .. YUH so i haven't been able to do literally anything for a bit. but ! i back. also i was listening to the Mitski cover of Let's Get Married the entire time i wrote this ANYWAY i hope u enjoy ^_^

— i'm going to take such good care of you, baby~ pt. 1

☾ pairing: sub!chuuya x GN!Reader (f!bodied reader in the next part, but no pronouns specified in either)

☾ summary: chuuya wants you to take care of him

☾ warnings: very suggestive themes, but no explicit smut (yet), making out, i think that's it

☾ a/n: HIHI Y'ALL. i'm currently writing the second part and it's basically finished, i just thought the only way to pace this fic out was by separating it into two part-- idk why it just seemed off to me if it wasn't. BUT ANYWAY ! SECOND PART OUT VERY VERY SOON !!! and it's literally filthy like ... lord have mercy

☾ w/c: 1,358

| PART TWO |

the entire evening, chuuya was barely being subtle about his feelings— his desire. light touches on your thigh that lasted a little too long not to arouse suspicion, kisses that lingered farther than they should’ve, and the dark look in his eyes as his gaze drank your figure.

even the most oblivious person could tell what was going on— chuuya was never one to hide his feelings, anyway.  even at an extravagant event like the annual port mafia gala, he still managed to show enough PDA to make anyone uncomfortable.

pressing you against him on the dance floor, trying his best to subtly (but failing miserably) grind against you, bringing his face down to your neck.

“chuuya!” you yelped, as he nipped a small mark against your collarbone. “i told you, we’re leaving soon, can’t you calm down for just another 10 minutes?”

you weren’t against PDA— of course not. you knew what you were signing up for when you agreed to be his girlfriend.  but, you just wished that he would be professional for this one night and hold himself together so you didn’t have to shield your eyes from the stares of mafia members.

“aw, are you flustered?” his movements were slightly sloppy from his light alcohol consumption, and you could feel his smirk against your skin. you scoffed, placing your hands on his shoulders and pushing ever so slightly for him to look you in the eyes.

he didn’t move an inch.

“no. i’m not flustered, chuuya,” you tried again, with more force this time. “i just—“ again.  he still didn’t budge.

with a huff, and your patience running dangerously thin, you grabbed his chin harshly. his eyes instantly met yours, big and full of surprise.

“we’re going. now.” your voice wasn’t loud, but it would be nothing if not powerful; stern. 

you had his undivided attention now.

he blinked dumbly a few times before snapping back to reality, and doing his best to regain some semblance of composure “ahem— the gala doesn’t end for another half an hour, babe.  we’re in no rush, are we~” he moved in to steal another kiss, his eyes dark and his hands lingering.

your jaw tensed, and your grip on him even rougher now, “did you hear what i said? now.” you nothing but growled lowly in his ear.

you swear you could hear his breath hitch in his throat, but at that moment your frustration ran far too high to find the means to care. you grabbed his hand, speeding to the front hostess, and giving her a half-hearted ‘thank you,’ as she returned your fancy dress-coats.

as the two of you rode back to your shared apartment, the tension in the air could be sliced with a knife. you noticed that way the red-head seemed to shrink in the passenger seat; but most certainly not out of fear. intimidated was the better word— and as if he wanted to know what you were going to do next.

you’ve never acted like this before, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it.

“chuuya, baby, why didn’t you listen to me when I told you to tone it down?” you questioned.  your tone wasn’t completely calmed down yet, but it was significantly more gentle than at the event.

he scoffed, “can’t help it when you dressed up like that, doll~” he attempted at teasing you and taking more control, despite his inner dilemma.

something about the way he thought he always had complete control just made you want to ruin him.  you just gave him a small smile, planting a small kiss on his cheek and saying nothing else.  

by the end of the night, you just knew you would make sure he listened to every command you gave him.

for the remainder of the way home, you barely gave him any attention, simply turning on your music and keeping your focus on the road.  his neediness didn’t subside; if anything, it only got more heated.  he still had one hand on your thigh, stroking lightly and squeezing occasionally, whispering sweet nothings like, ‘can’t wait to get you home,’ and ‘want you so bad.’

you couldn’t agree more.

finally unlocking the front door and stepping in, you were instantly met with a messy kiss from chuuya, his arms beginning to snake around your waist.

oh god, was your patience running thin with him tonight.

you grabbed him by both of his wrists, pinning them by the sides of his head and looking him straight in the eyes, “you should know by now, you’re not calling the shots tonight, baby.”  

chuuya was never one to give up quickly, you knew. it wasn’t going to be easy to get him to submit to you, but damnit, you were going to make this man beg on his knees for you to fuck him.

he groaned into your mouth as you kissed him roughly, gently poking your tongue out to brush against his pink lips in question. instead, his lips sealed immediately, breaking away from your kiss and looking into your eyes with a dark gaze.

oh, you knew this would be difficult.

“let go of my hands,” he growled.

“or what? what’re you gonna do about it, sweetheart?” you cooed in his ear. you could feel his muscles tense under your hold as if he was about to break out, but you quickly moved in retaliation. You caged him in with your body and bringing your knee up to brush against his growing bulge. “hm... you want me to let go, but it seems like you’re enjoying this just as much as i am, sweetheart~”

his brow quirked upward, the way it does when he doesn’t know what to say for himself. his body was betraying him. without realizing it, he was finally able to submit to you— throughout the entire evening, the butterflies in the pit of his stomach were purely anticipation.

anticipation for what you were going to do to him.

yet, he still attempted to break out of your hold, feeling the strain in your hold. he was much stronger than you-- you both were well aware of this. if he really wanted to break out and take control, he could. of course, you wouldn't let this remain unspoken between you.

"something the matter, hun?~ you want your hands free?" you whisper, letting your voice run low and your breath fan against his ear, "hm? if you want it so bad, then do it. you know i wouldn't stop you~"

you gave him his time, never rushing him to make the final decision, you wanted chuuya to as comfortable and content with everything.

suddenly, you felt the tension in his wrists go limp. you expected to feel reluctance radiating from him, in his eyes, in his actions. instead, you were met with his blue eyes, big and round and trusting. he relaxed into you.

he was yours.

you chuckled lowly in his ear, basking in your victory for a short moment before beginning to lead him to your shared bedroom. you wanted to make sure the entire experience was perfect,

just for him.

suddenly, you felt a light tug against the fingers wrapped around your hand, ever so slight that if you weren't giving him your undivided attention, you may have missed it.

you looked back at your boyfriend, immediately being able to pinpoint his nervousness.

"hey... chuuya, baby," you whisper, cupping his face gently. "if you don't want to do this, that's okay. hm? i promise, okay?"

he moved his gaze up to meet your eyes earnestly.

"take care of me... please," he said under his breath.

your heart swelled at his words. you knew just how much courage it took for him to say it, and how much trust he had in you for him to mean it.

"oh, honey... don't you worry..." you coo, pulling him flush against you, chest-to-chest. despite his nervous appearance, you could feel his arousal press up against you-- straining against his slacks. oh, he definitely wanted this.

"i'm going to take such good care of you, baby~"

masterlist

#chuuya smut #chuuya x reader #chuuya x you #chuuya drabble #bungo stray dogs headcanons #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #chuuya x y/n #bsd imagines #bsd fanfic #bsd x you #bsd x reader #bsd smut #bsd smau #morality.reqs

[tiredb0igivemesugars]

Cold basement floor

Summary: Y/n is taken hostage

📝Words📝: 1.7K

⚠️Warnings⚠️: detailed mentions of stabbing and pain. Knives, smoking and burns.

💙Pairing💙: none. Tony Stark as Y/n's father

📎Note📎: I know this is a lot different from my usual stuff but I still wanted to post this one, hopefully you won't think too ill of me after this

The big metal door swung open and then closed, the loud noise startling you. You weren’t actually sure if the door was metal since you couldn’t see but it sure sounded like it. A pair of heavy boots walked on the concrete floor. That you were sure of, you had felt the cold and wet concrete floor yourself. You shook out of coldness in the room. The cold shackles on your wrists and ankles kept you from moving along with making sure you got deep cuts on your skin from the edges. You had no idea how long you had been gone. You just knew you were starving. You heard the same broken water pipe dropping droplets of water on the floor, forming a puddle. The larger the puddle got, the deeper the sound was. You had momentarily considered drinking from the puddle, but decided against it once you deducted that you couldn’t reach it.

The man with the heavy boots walked around the room, his steps echoing throughout the room. The sounds from his steps echoed in the room, bouncing off the walls. They had blindfolded you, at least that was what you thought. The chains on your arms weren’t long enough for you to touch the blindfold but you could still feel the soft material wrapped around your head, covering your eyes.

A chair was dragged across the floor, a screeching sound now echoing in the room. The man sat down on the chair. ”Y/n now was it?” He asked. You heard as he pulled something out of his pocket. A lighter. Suddenly the room smelt of cigarettes. He was smoking. His mouth made wet noises as he sucked on it. The ashes made the quietest sound when they fell on the floor beneath him. You didn’t answer his question, trying to pay attention to every sound in the room and possibly outside of it. The direction of the wind changed. You felt it as the wind grazed upon your exposed upper arms. ”Your dad is not paying the ransom money,” the man said. His voice was rough, raspy even. He had no foreign accent so he wasn’t hydra. He sounded slightly surprised, like he tried to make conversation with you about the fact.

You listened as the man shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable in the position he had chosen for himself. ”You probably have no idea how long you’ve been here,” the man suddenly said. That he was right about. ”Three days. Three days without food or water. That does something to a person,” he continued. He stood up and began walking around the room. His steps became further away before they came back, this time closer. So much more closer. You pressed yourself against the cold wall, desperate to get away from him. The dust and pieces of rock from the wall dug themselves into your skin, making you feel uncomfortable. ”You see. Now when your dad isn’t paying up, we get to have all the fun we want,” he said. His voice so much closer. Closer than ever. You could even feel his breath on your skin. He blew smoke into your face. You coughed at the repulsive smell. There was a sudden pain in your forearm. A burning pain. You bit your lip, trying to not give in to the temptation to scream as the pain worsened.

The man suddenly yelled something to his accomplices, startling you. The metal door banged again. At least two other people came into the room. The sounds of their steps echoed in the room, fast and determined. Pairs of hands grabbed your shackles. ”No no please stop,” you begged. You trashed against their firm hold, ”no please don’t hurt me,” you begged. The cold metal against your skin was gone, now a hand was laid against your scalp, pulling on your hair. ”Let’s go,” a deep voice said and pulled you up by holding onto your hair. You cried out in pain. He began pulling you forward, out of the room. Your feet barely touched the ground as the man pulled on your hair. The cement was freezing cold against your bare feet as you were dragged out of the room. The hallway was filled with different noises. The sounds of different machines running and people screaming in agony. You too, screamed in agony as you were pulled into another room. You felt another pair of cuffs getting tied around your wrists, then suddenly, you were hanging from the ceiling. You panted, anxious for what was to happen next.

The number of steps had been reduced to one pair. Another cigarette was lit. ”Now,” the familiar voice said. It was the same man from before. ”We’re gonna have fun,” he stated, sounding ominous.

You breathed in deeply, trying to embrace yourself for whatever it was that was about to happen. You could hear a cart being wheeled towards you. The wheels screeched and screamed in pure agony. The man hummed a song as he touched every object on the table. Something thin made of metal. A big machine with the outer layer being plastic and lots of switches. A small plastic object with some glass on it. The man suddenly grabbed an object, it slid against the table as he took it in his hand. He took steps around the room, like dancing. His humming became louder and clearer. It was no melody you recognised, although somewhat familiar. He seemed to have stopped in front of you, there couldn’t have been more than five inches between his nose and yours. His breath smelled foul, the occasional hint of nicotine mixed with whiskey and something rotten. He licked your cheek before spitting on your barefoot. He smacked his lips together. ”Sweat, tears, dirt and maybe a hint of blood,” he spoke in a calm matter. You shuddered as the chills ran down your spine.

He pressed an object against your stomach. ”Do you have any idea why you’re here?” He asked. You could now tell that the object was a knife. Its sharp point was pressed against your skin, only the thin fabric of the open-back hospital gown separating it and you. You chuckled awkwardly, trying to hide your fear. ”I- I have no clue,” you answered. You wanted to make a joke, ease the pressure in your chest but you couldn’t. The fear that came with losing one of your main senses was too powerful. It kept you in check, woke you up to the reality that you had no idea what was going on. You had no idea what was to happen next. You could hear him breathe. Feel how the small air current changed with each of his exhales and inhales.

This room. This place you were in, had been in for three days, was his kingdom. He was in absolute control. You were powerless, like an animal in a cage at his mercy.

”You’re here as a paper we’re going to write the message onto. You can tell your dad that he messed with the wrong people,” the man whispered as he pushed the knife into you. You could feel your skin split as the sharp object was pushed further into you. It burned. You were on fire as you screamed. The pain was excruciating as it spread throughout your body. Over and over again, he sunk the knife into your skin and dragged it in every possible direction to inflict the most pain possible.

Once the pain in your body and throat became too much, you fell limp. Your mind was now up for rent. Owners from before had gotten their deposit back and now new inhabitants were to move in. Yet, no one hauled their sofa and dining table in through the doorway that was just a little too small. As minutes went on, you failed to react or really even register what was happening anymore. None of it mattered, you didn’t care. This pain that was being inflicted upon you was too much, why be around to feel it?

Eventually, it came to a halt. He stopped digging the sharp blade into you. The cart made a loud noise as he threw the knife back on it. ”Like a Christmas present,” he whispered in your ear, his rough hand caressing your wounds.

Tears escaped your eyes as you hung there, chest rising and falling as you failed to fully re-enter your body. His hands stopped roaming your body as he took a step back. The screeching noise of a chair being pulled filled your barely conscious mind. He seemed to sit back down, unmoving. Eventually, he moved. He moved and began humming the same tune from before. He grabbed the knife from before and you braced yourself for more pain. But when no pain came your breathing eased just the lightest amount. Yet, still, you hung there, from the ceiling on hypervigilance. This seemed to go on for hours. The man just humming the same tune over and over again as he sat there, most likely watching you.

There was a loud crash. It startled you as it seemed to do the same to the man. He pushed himself off the chair and hurried out of the room, yelling orders. You felt relieved upon hearing the loud sirens of the security system. Finally, you were going to be released from your nightmare. You listened as guns went off and people screamed, crying tears of happiness when you heard every metal door being opened systematically. Blood pumped into your ears as you listened to the nearing sounds of the doors opening. The hinges of the door creaked and you sighed in relief. ”Hold on, I think I got something,” the familiar voice of Steve Rogers aka Captain America spoke. ”Hello?” You called out once you heard no movement. ”Y/n?” Steve’s voice asked, confused and concerned. You cried out in relief. ”Can you please help me?” You pleaded, hearing how desperate and raw your own voice sounded. You heard Steve’s steps as his feet came in contact with the cold and damp floor. His hands undid your shackles before lifting you to carry you. You sighed in relief as your head fell on his shoulder. You felt the rhythm of his steps as he walked. The sounds of the fighting had stopped, feeding into your relief that yes, your nightmare was in fact, over.

”I’ll help you. Always will,” a voice said. Your blood halted. It wasn’t Steve’s voice.

#marvel #avengers imagine #iron man #captain america #steve rogers #tony stark #x male reader #x reader #angst #oneshot #y/n stark

[yoonpobs]

know your worth | myg

pairing: min yoongi x oc

genre: swordsman!yoongi, fluff, mini angst

warnings: heartthrob yoongi basically, some mentions of sexism, eventual smut!

words: 4, 599

summary: as the chosen one, you've never believed in yourself. enter yoongi

“Your limbs are too flimsy. You’re meant to slice the sword—not swing.” Tone laced with nothing unyielding authority, Yoongi reminds you why you’ve thought about slicing his head off with the sword.

“I heard you the first time.” You grit out.

You turn your body as you jump into an elegant twirl that provides you with the momentum to slice the hundred-year-old sword through the air, position stopping right in front of Yoongi who has nothing but a vacant expression on his face.

“Clearly you weren’t listening enough. You’re still swinging. Tense your arms.” He scolds, tapping your elbow provokingly with the edge of his thousand-year sword. A gift from the previous master himself.

“I am.” You spit.

Your body feels loose, and not in a relaxing way after a calming massage but instead with the echo of your muscles telling you to stop. Hours of practice cooped up in the chambers of the temple seemed futile when you didn’t see an end to your practices, especially given the man who leaves no room for imperfection was the one who kept you on your feet.

With one last push, you tense your arms as hard as you can to ensure that your grip on the sword is tight enough so that when you do slice the sword in the air, you’re able to stop it just enough for him to be satisfied.

Your own standards be damned.

“Stop.”

His curt voice breaks you out of your final effort in appeasing his exceedingly high standards and you freeze in the middle of your ministrations, limbs giving up on your intentions as you droop and let your knees greet the floor.

You’re panting when you hear his feet shuffle right in front of your bent figure, the shadow of his silhouette looming over you as the constant reminder of your failure, the lack of satisfaction that you were able to provide to him.

“Stand up.” He commands.

You want to defy his orders because it’s been hours since you’ve stepped foot into the temple to learn from one of the swordmasters today, and months since he was the one that was appointed to you when the town first found out you were the worthy one to bear the hundred-year-old sword.

When you first found out about your predetermined future, you were baffled, to say the least, because your entire life was spent by your mother’s side curating apothecary for the village folks, occasionally boiling dumplings to be distributed to the poor in your area.

You’ve lived a life nothing short of ordinary, and you were the poster image of mediocre. There was nothing to you that screamed worthy or unique enough to be chosen as the next apprentice. The town you lived in awaited only two things each year, Lunar New year and the announcement from the deities above on who was the next person in line to carry the legacy of your townsfolk’s.

You never paid any mind, purely because you were busy with other things and that you cared for the people around you rather than the chatters of aunties and uncles that would place bids on their sons to be next in line—the title indefinitely guaranteeing a lifetime of fortune.

So when your name was announced as you packed the last bits of dumplings to be distributed, every person in town was bewildered, because you weren’t of royal blood, nor were you in connection with any one of power. You were nobody.

And a woman.

The first time a woman has been called as the chosen one in all the years of history that your town has been aware of and it’s this … nobody.

You definitely felt like an outsider when the council brought you to the temple, secluded far away from your town to ensure that you were immersed in your training and not get distracted by anything else but your duty to fulfill.

Your imposter syndrome only became worse when you somehow ended up with someone as unbearable and unforgiving as Min Yoongi as the person who was meant to determine whether you were fit to represent your town in a year's time.

Were you really worthy?

“I said stand up, _____.”

His deep voice breaks you out of your trance as you make your way up on shaky knees, wobbling as you grip the sword tightly in your fist while you avoided his formidable gaze.

“Why did you stop when I didn’t tell you to?”

He knows the answer to the question, you’re sure he does. You’re sure under the exterior of all the coldness that ebbs away on his skin, the slight wrinkles that come with experience surely held wisdom and observational skills that would rival an average person. He knows.

You remain silent, knowing not to engage in another argument with him.

Amongst all the apprentices that Yoongi had the favour of training, you were by far the most … interesting.

One, because you were a woman, which was already different from every other person that enters the halls to learn from him.

But mainly because you seemed to doubt yourself a lot more than someone who was chosen by the deities should have.

The people that walked through the entrances of the temple usually carried some form of confidence with them, and dare Yoongi say—cockiness, which is why he turned people away when they let their egos get to their head.

The deities choose the worthy ones, but only the worthy ones are chosen by Yoongi.

You don’t know that because all Yoongi is to you is your superior, someone who pushes your body till it breaks and until you can’t breathe. But what you don’t see is what he sees in you. The fight of a woman who cares for her people. Who understands human nature far better than any chosen one has ever felt.

You also were oddly mouthy. It wasn’t … bad. But interesting. Never had Yoongi have an apprentice that was as ballsy to call him an asshole amongst other colourful nicknames as you were. But you were far from conventional.

Maybe that’s why Yoongi calls you out.

“You want to curse at me.” Yoongi muses, his tone far from accusatory but more as if he was stating the obvious.

You snap your head to look at him, eyes narrowing at his figure who holds the sword of his behind his back firmly. His onyx, cat-like eyes pierce through your expression that races with every time he blinks at you, and you try to convince yourself that the race of your heart is because of your intense practice rather than his gaze.

“I want to do a lot of things to you …” You mutter under your breath, loud enough for him to hear.

You don’t realise the double-meaning behind your words until you see Yoongi cock an eyebrow at you.

Your ears burn at the honest mistake, but you don’t fight to take the words back because Yoongi had a way of making you feel small with just his stare.

“And that is?” He pries, twirling his sword with precision and ease as he glides his long fingers against the body of the blade; your eyes trained on the clarity of his actions.

“Let’s start with slicing your head off, yeah?” You grunt.

Amusement dances in Yoongi’s irises as you avoid his heavy-lidded glare, feeling all the more flustered when he takes a firm step towards you, the heat of his body apparent against your own even if you were the one that was sweating.

“Would that help you with your technique?” He cocks his head to the side, tone anything but joking.

You look at him carefully as you observe for any sign of a taunt, but he just gazes at you with his blank stare that frustrates you till no end because while you were an open book with your expressions, Yoongi was just as mysterious as when you first met him.

“I dunno. Will you stop yapping at me if I say yes?” You retort.

Instead of replying, he grabs your wrist in a swift motion, causing you to yelp at the sudden touch.

His hand is hot against your skin, a big palm engulfing your wrist that looks small in comparison to his hand. You feel the roughness of his palm that came from years of practice and familiarity with the sword, and you gulp when he drags it to his neck—eyes never leaving yours.

“W-What are you doing—?” You stutter, but then he grabs the sword in your other hand in a moment of weakness and brings it to the hand by his neck as your eyes widen.

“W-Wait—Yoongi—”

Yoongi doesn’t leave room for you to hesitate or pull away when he voluntarily brings his neck alarmingly close to the sharp edge of your sword.

“Slice.”

The hand that isn’t holding the sword to your trainer’s neck falls limp to your side as you gape at him when you note that his words and expression are dead serious, not an inkling of fear on his face at the prospect of you potentially slicing his head off.

“What? No! Are you crazy?” You try to retract your hand, but his wrist returns to grab at it.

Your face is forced to stare at his when he levels a hooded stare at you, making your heart beat faster, flustered at the proximity of your bodies.

“The motion, ____.” He calls your name, and even as it falls from his lips you feel less worthy; like a stranger in the temple.

“If you swing—you’ll kill me. If you slice above my neck, I live.”

The gamble he offers you is petrifying, and it’s even worse because it’s his life on the line—not yours.

Yoongi always had unorthodox methods of training you but never had he put himself on the line like this just so you would learn something.

“I-I’ll fix my motions—I swear! But I’m not going to … I can’t do what you’re asking me to,” You tell him firmly.

Yoongi’s head leans closer, skin barely touching your blade when he pulls your wrist closer as you see the indent of the sword against his pale skin.

“I tell you what to do. Not the other way around.” He reminds you.

You know there’s no room for argument anymore because if you weren’t going to do anything, you were sure Yoongi would take matters into his own hands.

You wanted to call him crazy for trusting someone like you with a sword as sharp as yours against the delicate expanse of his neck, but you were both flustered and scared at what were to happen if he came closer.

“Why would you do this?” You whisper.

“I’m not skilled enough to do this Yoongi …” You tell him, hand shaking around your sword as you feel a lump form in your throat.

Suddenly, you feel the grip on your wrist loosen; and you’re afraid that your words serve as a reminder to him that he’s wasted nearly a year on a hopeless case like you; that he was disappointed in all the time he’s dedicated to training you for you to be unable to carry out a simple slice of the sword.

“I said, slice.”

His stare is cold, eyes blank, and lips pursed when he repeats himself.

You blink up at him, and if he notices the way your eyes are glassy; he doesn’t comment. But you know his expression is one of patience, but there’s only so much that he can take and wait for, and you didn’t want to test him anymore.

So, you slice.

You slice, and bring the sword back to your side, chest heaving and heart beating rapidly against your ribcage. You don’t want to look at Yoongi, terrified if you’ve hurt him.

You stay still with your eyes shut, sword limps in your arms until you hear the shuffle of feet right next to you, and your sword is retrieved from your grip.

“Good.”

You open your eyes and only then do you realise that you’ve foolishly allowed tears to fall.

“You’re okay.” You breathe out, observing the fact that his neck is clean—barren of any scar and red.

“Would I risk my life to train an apprentice?” He asks.

You open your mouth to answer but snap it shut when he places your sword next to his against the wooden frame. He gestures for you to sit, and you hesitantly do, mulling over his words as he mirrors your position, right across from you.

“You could do it. So why didn’t you do that earlier?” Yoongi asks a question where he expects an obvious answer.

But you didn’t know. You didn’t know why you weren’t able to slice earlier when you were able to put on the spot with Yoongi’s life on the line.

You think of an answer, but it burns your ears—and you would never dare utter it to Yoongi. A man who feels and breathes nothing but his work.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, awaiting your response as you swallow your words.

“I don’t know.” Is what you settle for.

Yoongi sighs, rolling up his sleeves to reveal his forearms that show the strength he’s trained for over the years that he’s been a thousand-year sword-bearer.

Yoongi had always been cold. A little disinterested and definitely detached from any sentiment that people would usually offer to their apprentices. It seemed that he was only interested in making sure that you weren’t going to embarrass his name after months of relentless training with you.

It’s always been a hard truth to accept, especially when he’s the person you spend most of your time with; nearly twelve hours a day, and the person you want to see you.

But you’re just … his apprentice. A foolish one, one that fails to show the true glory of a trainer like him.

“You do know, ____. Think.” He leans forward, hands placed on the floorboard in between the two of you as he looks straight into your eyes.

You bite your lip, afraid to tell him why. Afraid that your answer will only push him away rather than please him.

“I-I don’t know Yoongi.” You say softly.

Yoongi blinks then lean back—distancing himself from you.

Your eyes dart to the side, avoiding his stare because you were sure you were going to break if you saw the disappointment that mars his expression.

“Then let me tell you.” He finally says after a moment of silence.

Your eyes widen when your head snaps back to look at him.

You’re terrified that he sees through you. That he recognises the dopey look you give him when he isn’t looking, or why you sometimes get distracted, or your palms sweat for a reason that isn’t because of how hard practice is—that he sees your heart, and he’s here to snap you out of it.

“It’s because you’re worthy.” Yoongi whispers, hands reaching out to grab your own, and suddenly you’re pulled onto his lap.

You gasp, attempting to balance yourself as you find a position that doesn’t strain your thighs and one that isn’t mortifying.

“Y-Yoongi … what—”

“Do you know why you’re here, _____?” He asks, eyes searching for your own.

His expression is still the same. It’s still very much Yoongi, but it’s softer, more mellow. Like he wants you to not be afraid of what’s to come.

“The deity’s chose me …?” You say hesitantly, voice soft and hesitant.

“It’s because I want to keep training you.” He tells you.

His confession knocks the breath out of your lungs as your eyes widen. Your hands that were locked between his starts turning sweaty, and you want to curse at yourself for displaying obvious signs of nerves when Yoongi is debatably the most observant man out there.

“But I’m slow … and I can’t nail your techniques like a true sword-bearer … and I argue with you—”

He interrupts you with his own set of words, accompanied by the soft look from earlier.

“And that’s okay. You’re not here to be judged by my pace or standards. It’s not fair for you and you won’t get anywhere if you want to nail my techniques my way.” He whispers.

You blink, feeling your heart constrict at his honest words.

“B-But you’re always yelling at me.” You pout.

Yoongi wants to rub his thumb between your furrowed brows, but he knows that you needed to be trodden lightly with and that he was sure you were going to faint if he did anything more than just have your hands in his own.

“And that’s because I see what you can do ____,” He tells you, “You’re always giving up because you think you can’t do it. That’s what frustrates me. That you can’t see how great you are at sword-bearing even when your body fights against you to continue.”

You stare at him in shock when he releases your hands to only reach up to grab your cheeks, forcing you to stare at his face.

You’re sure your face is burning, and you can’t even avoid his gaze because he’s dead-set on making sure your eyes stay on his when they chase yours that run away.

“Look at me, ____.”

You reluctantly avert your eyes to his, and you see every pore up close, you see the gentle whip of his long eyelashes and the pout of his lips that look too inviting.

You briefly see his gaze drift to the bottom of your face, where your lips are, and you feel your heartbeat erratically against your chest.

Yoongi looks good when he trains you, eyes scrunched and focused as his black hair remains tousled when he demonstrates positions for you to mirror. But he looks breathtaking up close. The usual blankness of his face looks less intimidating closer like it was your blank canvas to paint—a face where you were in charge of what was to be expressed on it.

“Stop doubting yourself or your skills.” He tuts at you, and you burn under his attention.

“I want you to continue fighting the way you have always fought here. The fire that you have in you? Yeah, don’t let that burn out because you’re more than just the chosen one _____. You’re … you’re talented. No one can convince you but yourself, so I need you to start trusting yourself more because once you’re done with training it’s just going to be you against the rest. I won’t be here to remind you anymore.”

You’re stunned to silence with the honesty of his words. You know that Yoongi doesn’t say this, in fact—it’s the first time you’ve heard such earnest words from the man himself throughout the long months you’ve spent training under him.

Even the other residents of the temple have told you that Yoongi wasn’t the most expressive person, and even if they didn’t tell you—you weren’t blind to how he treats you or people.

The way he looks at you makes you hope, and it’s a dangerous feeling given your position and how weak your heart is compared to a man like Yoongi.

You snap out of your daze and push him off, scrambling to your feet as you grab your sword to leave—tears in your eyes because you feel like a fool for thinking anything more than what he’s offered you.

Yoongi had been nothing but honest with you … and you weren’t in the right to ask of anything else.

Who were you to?

“____.” He calls out when you reach the entrance, and you feel his imposing presence behind you.

“I’m sorry Yoongi but … I can’t.” You tell him shakily, gripping the frame of the door, back faced to him.

“I won’t force you, ____.” He says, curt.

You turn around, heart dropping at the change of his tone. When you see his expression return to the blank expression that he usually has, you have to stop yourself from being disappointed. Realising that what he told you when he held you; was probably to keep you on your feet and determined.

“You don’t get it, do you?” You exasperate.

He furrows his brows, attempting to read you. But your heart is confused and so is your mind.

“I’ll train hard. I know that …” You clear your throat, attempting to level your words out.

“I won’t ask for more. I’ll do better.” You say firmly.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything but pulls you closer by the elbow until you’re pressed against his chest.

“I don’t think you get it, ____.” He says slowly.

You open your mouth to respond, but he’s faster with his response.

“What did you think I meant just now when I told you to stop doubting yourself?” He asks.

“Yoongi, what are you—”

He shushes you with a finger to your lips, and you blush at the touch.

“Answer my question.”

You sigh, slapping his finger away from your mouth to glare at him. But Yoongi simply offers a small shrug of his shoulders in response.

“Look. I know I’ve been slacking off and this is you trying to be nice … which I appreciate, a lot. Really. I do. I know you don’t do …” You gesture to your bodies, “… all of this. So I’ll work harder. You don’t need to—you don’t need to walk on eggshells with me.”

Yoongi blinks.

Not once, but twice.

You gulp, afraid you’ve said too much but you’re helpless against his tight grip on your body so that you’re unable to run away, away from his gaze that you still can’t read.

But then he laughs, and you’re confused at the sound because Yoongi rarely ever displayed any emotion but stoicism when he was with you, and you think you’ve heard him laugh a total of three times throughout the past few months you’ve trained under him.

“Why are you laughing?” You pout.

Yoongi looks at you fondly and sees a fighter but also a woman, a woman who is yet to understand social cues or affection may be because of the way you were brought up—but also maybe because of how Yoongi is by nature.

So instead of explaining in words, where you can misinterpret it, he reaches for your chin gently to turn your face to him so that you see his gentle gaze—and he kisses you.

On the lips.

You’re too shocked to kiss back, your arms staying awkwardly by your side until Yoongi slides a hand down to your hips and squeezes them that you reach your arms around his neck.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to feel his lips against your own, soft, hot and gentle. It was everything like how you dreamt of when you selfishly allowed yourself to indulge in your fantasy—it was now served as a reality and it was so much better than you could ever have thought it to be.

The kiss was so … Yoongi. He wasn’t rushing, he savoured every taste of your lips against his like he had all the time in the world like he spent years planning this very step with calculated precision because Yoongi was not the type to half-ass anything.

It’s until you feel your lungs fighting for air that you pull away, mesmerised by the string of saliva that connects your lips and the swollen pink flesh of Yoongi’s.

“W-What—”

“This is me, ____.” He says against your lips, as you feel your heart race against your chest.

“I believe in you.”

Somehow, you understood. Those four words were enough for you to know where his heart truly laid, and where he stood with you.

“I just … wow,” You breathe.

But then, with all your doubts overcome with joy, you throw all shame out of the window and pull him by the collar until his mouth is on your own again.

This time, with you leading the kiss, you kiss harder even with the inexperience. Yoongi was your first kiss but you knew that you wanted him, that your heart was his even against your better judgment.

You feel him lick into the seams of your mouth, hands reaching down to pull your hips flush against his pelvis, backing you up until your back reaches the frame of the door.

All you feel is Yoongi. You smell him, the slight tinge of perspiration with the scent of nature that surrounds the temple. He tastes just like everything you’ve been waiting for and more, and he only proves how much he was yours as you were his when he grabs your hand to interlock it with strands of his dark hair.

He leaves open-mouth kisses against your lips, breathing heavily with want when you let out small whimpers of desire.

“You really know how to put on a show, huh?” He whispers.

You grin up at him, reaching for the buttons of his shirt, offering him a tempting smile that he grins fondly at.

You’re just about to slip his shirt off when the door slams open.

“Yoongi! ____! We were—”

Before you can even yelp, you shove Yoongi off of you until he drops on his back on the floor, a loud groan reverberating through the walls of the training room as you attempt to straighten your unruly appearance.

You were sure that your lips were swollen and that you were flushed with the way your lips made a home out of Yoongi’s, but you hoped that the three men by the door were dense enough to not catch what was going on.

“A warning would’ve been nice, yeah?” Yoongi grunts, glaring at you when you snap your gaze away from him to offer a meek smile at Jimin, who is all but grinning maniacally at you.

You feel like you’ve committed a crime, but in reality—there was no restriction in making out with your trainer … nor were there any when it came to dating but you knew the mirth that danced between the eyes of the men and you weren’t looking forward to what was to come.

“Sorry to disturb, hyung. It seems that you were … occupied.” Jungkook speaks up, snickering when he catches a glimpse of Yoongi’s shirt halfway off, exposing the firm slope of his abdomen and chest.

You absentmindedly ogle his body, heat surging through your body until you remember that there were people who would call you out.

“Noona, your …” Taehyung gestures to your cheeks and you mortifyingly reach for your cheeks only to feel the heat.

“What did you guys want?” Yoongi grunts, pushing himself off the ground and hastily buttoning his shirt as he takes a position next to you, his presence more engulfing now after you’ve had your taste.

You see Jimin’s eyes dart between the two of you quickly, a cheeky smile adorning his face before he speaks up.

“Dinner’s ready.” He tells you, pushing Taehyung and Jungkook out the door.

Only when he’s halfway out does he say:

“It seems like you had yours already.”

When they’re out of your vision, you groan, burying your head into Yoongi’s chest; absolutely mortified at the two of you being caught.

Yoongi rests a gentle hand on your lower back, and another reaches to hold your chin gently.

“This isn’t over.” He whispers against your lips.

You feel giddy when you walk into the dining hall, his hands intertwined with your own.

#bts imagines #bts fluff #bts fic #yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #mutual pining #yoongi imagine #yoongi fic #min yoongi fluff #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi fic #daechwita #swordsman!yoongi

[bimswritings]

Savage Opress x Reader

Request: Open

Warnings:Yandere Themes, canon-typical violence

Summary: On their conquest of the universe, Savage finds himself drawn to one of the newest captives in their spread of power.

A/n: The next chapter of ‘This is our way’ is up on my Ao3. It will be posted here after I finish and upload my current Armorer x reader fic.

__________________________________________________

Your planet wasn’t anything special. Located out in the outer rim, it was little more than a moon compared to its neighbors. Its land was barren and cold, an almost ever present frost covering the ground.

Yet you and your people had made it your home, learning how to grow a small amount of crops and mine the rare metals underneath. A job you had yourself, providing enough money for you and your younger brother to live on until he was old enough to work as well. What was produced was enough to give your people an economy, yet remain under the radar and out of the war that ravaged the rest of the planet. The Republic and Separatist had limited interactions this far out at best, and you were able to enjoy a peaceful life, if not a bit exhausting.

Unfortunately, it was this isolation that had been your saving grace for so long that also proved your downfall.

Their ships arrived in numbers you had never seen before, landing on the grey dirt and unloading copious amounts of armored men and women. Your village didn’t even have time to put up a fight, overpower and subdued before you could even think of a weapon to protect yourself.

Soon you were corralled into the town center, separated into groups seemingly at random. Families were torn apart, mother from child and husband from wife. The entire time your brother clung to your leg, hiding as the armed guards shoved you along through the crowds. You tried to stay out of sight the best you could in an attempt to draw the least amount of attention to yourself, hoping, praying, that you could go unnoticed enough to keep him with you.

Above it all, standing out against the dull sky with their vibrant colors, were two Zabraks. Creatures you had only ever heard about in stories from the occasional trader that passed through, and had been just that, stories, until now. Their horns alone were enough to send shivers down your spine, each one protruding from the crown of theirs heads like a twisted version of a crown. Unlike a crown, you knew they weren’t for decoration. The damage they could undoubtedly do if provoked only solidified their threatening presence.

Now they stood above you all, tattoos illuminated in the light of the setting sun. The shorter red one stood in front, chin raised and chest puffed with pride as he looked over your people with another armored man, this one clearly human. He seemed to not even notice the cold, bare chest on full display for anyone to see the unique markings that marred his skin. Just beyond him stood the second Zabrak. His yellow markings stood out even more than his companions, only emphasized by his large size. None of the others even came close to his height, let alone the bulk you could tell he possessed under his armor. Even from here you could tell he could wrap a single hand around your neck and snap it easily with his strong fingers.

His gaze was just as impassionate, if not more so, seeming more bored than anything as he watched the proceedings.

“Come on! Move it!” One of the guards yelled, catching your shoulder as he pushed you forward, reminding you bitterly of Telik being led to slaughter. You kept Jay close, keeping your head down as you passed more guards, pace increasing. Just a few more yards and you would be with the others. Whatever the future had in store for you, at least you would still have each other.

“Hey, you!” A voice called, clearly directed your way, though you pretended not to hear. A cold sweat broke out across your skin as footsteps closed in, hand reaching out and stopping you in your tracks.

“Children don’t go in this area.” He growled, prying Jay from where he hid, ignoring his cries and your screams as he was pulled away. A guard stepped forward to hold you back, another coming to his aide as you fought to get to your brother, who was making it just as difficult for his own captor to drag him away. Even with the muscle gained from the mines you struggled against them, putting up your own desperate fight.

“Stop moving you little- fuck!” He yelped, pulling his arm away and out of Jay’s mouth, which had latched on to the only unarmored part of the hand holding him.

Immediately he turned and was running back towards you, tears streaming down his face and blue eyes wide with fear. In his panic to get back, his childish coordination caught up to him and his feet caught on one another, throwing him to the ground as he was left to scramble. All the while the guard he had bitten approached. 

“You little brat!” He snarled. His hand moved to his hip, producing a whip from its depths. The long weapon crackled to life, sparking with energy as it extended to full length.

Your own stomach dropped in fear as you watched. 

Jay, the one light in your life, the only person you had left, was in danger. You were his older sister. You were supposed to protect him, guide him into adulthood in place of your parents. Be there to kiss away every injury, wipe away the tears after every nightmare.

A new burst of energy flooded your system, giving you the strength needed to push past the guards, leaving them stumbling as you flew towards Jay.

The man brought his arm down, whip swinging in a wide arc aimed at the defenseless boy on the ground. 

It didn’t even have the chance to hit him. You slid the last few feet on the rough terrain, body covering his at the last second and jolting as the electric weapon met your clothed back, ripping through the material like a stone through water. A pained scream tore itself from your lips. Not even when you had gotten a burn from a small explosion in the mines had it hurt this much. In fact, you would take a dozen burns before this. This was just pure agony, the pain not even limited to a single area as the electricity coursed through every part of your body, invading every nerve.

The man was far from done though, and he repeated the action again and again, turning your skin into a bloody mess as Jay continued to cry underneath you, struggling in your protective grip. Still you held tightly, biting your lip to muffle your cries with every lash.

No one lifts a finger to help, not even looking in your direction in fear of the same treatment as they continue to shuffle along. You don’t even have it in your heart to blame them, knowing your reaction would be much the same if the situation was reversed.

Unbeknownst to you, your little altercation has caught the eye of the golden Zabrak, a small twinge in his heart at the deja-vu feeling he gets from the scene. From your age, he can only assume that the boy is your brother. You look too young for him to be your son.

He has flashbacks to his own brother, giving himself to the cursed Nightsisters in exchange for his life, only to be forced to kill him in a cruel show of power.

Before he realizes it, his hand has fallen to his lightsaber, already taking a step to where you are. He only gets a step before Maul calls to him, pulling him away to the ships and leaving him to look back over his shoulder at you crumpled form.

“Come. We must set up camp. The prisoners will be dealt with later.” Maul chuckles. “Those that survive anyways.”

And so he follows, leaving your fate to the Mandalorian who has yet to relent in his cruelty. But out of sight doesn’t mean out of mind, and the memory of your form curled on the ground, taking every lash with little more than a jolt and muffled cry, sticks in the front of his mind and prevents him from having a single moment of rest.

It's hours before he’s able to slip away. Between his brother and Death Watch, it’s nearly impossible for him to make his way to where the captives are being held. They’re all gathered in one of the far corners of the camp, held in place by the ropes around the wrist and looking miserable as they huddle for warmth against the lightly falling snow. He feels no guilt for what their eventual fate will be. They’re nothing to him, mere insects in his brothers plans. Animals to the slaughter. All for the greater good.

The fear he can feel radiating off them feeds a twisted sense of pride within him. The Sith side of him. They know who he is. They know he could easily kill them with no consequence should he choose. 

He’s not here for them though.

A dozen yards away, your body is still laying in the same spot as before, more lifeless than when he last saw you. This time there’s no Mandalorian enforcer above you. Instead, he’s replaced with the small boy from earlier. What remains of your shirt is peeled back from the skin and even Savage, who’s used to many grisly sights, grimaces at your wound. The skin that isn’t lacerated is red and swollen, and he now notices that the young boy has shed his own shirt, using ripped strips to clean the blood away and form a crude version of bandages. He’s busy fumbling over himself, fingers clumsy and stiff from the cold as he does his best to care for the wound with no medical supplies.

So focused on your wounds, he doesn’t even hear the large Zabrak approaching, not until it’s far too late. To his credit, and Savage’s amusement, the boy refuses to leave you, placing his body in front of yours. His bare chest is rapidly moving up and down with fear, thin body on full display. Not an ounce of muscle on him, Savage muses, moving closer to your body. If he doesn’t get you proper medical attention soon the wounds will undoubtedly become infected and kill you, if the blood loss hasn’t already damned your fate.

When he goes to pick up your limp body however, he’s stopped by your brother. Well, stopped is being rather generous. It’s more like he’s latched himself onto Savage’s waist, small fist beating at him with the strength one would expect of a child. He might not have even known he was hitting him if he wasn’t watching it happen.

It’s times like this that he’s most grateful for his cursed strength, easily detaching the boy from him and holding him by the back of his neck, tucking him under one arm as the other reaches for you. It's almost concerning how cold your body is against his own skin, and he’s more careful as he lifts you over his shoulder. His brother would surely find it laughable if he saw how gentle he was being with you.

Without hesitance, he turns back to the main camp, ignoring the looks the others cast his way as he carries your unconscious and broken body over his shoulder, your brother still fighting under his other.

Let them gossip. There’s none that will stand against him.

____________________________________

The first thing you’re aware of is warmth. Surrounding and enveloping your form, begging you to stay as it threatens to drag you back into the land of dreams. That in itself is enough to alarm you. The heating was always turned off at night to save energy, replaced in favor of thick blankets made from the local TekTek wool.

That’s your second red flag. TekTek wool is warm, yet coarse and scratchy. The fabric currently piled on top of and under you is significantly softer, having a slight musk to it.

Finally managing to drag your eyes open, the sight that greets you is not one you were expecting. 

Dark fabric makes up the majority of the tent you find yourself in. It’s clearly worn, yet does a surprising job of keeping the wind outside from entering, slight ripples waving across the fabric yet never entering. A fire sits in the very center, smoke curling up and through a hole in the ceiling. It’s glow provides the only source of light in the space, illuminating the few objects scattered around, including the cot you currently find yourself residing on. Buried under layers of blankets, your hands travel to the bandages wrapped around your chest, the only thing covering your upper body and providing little warmth in comparison to the blankets you were previously under.

How did you get here? Where was Jay? The last thing you remember was the invaders arriving, then nothing. So the question was, how had you gotten from there to here? Alone in an unfamiliar tent.

Your questions are soon answered, a shuffling from the front of the tent drawing your attention. From between the flaps emerges a large figure, his horns nearly catching the fabric as he enters.

You both freeze, eyes locking on one another, equally surprised. There’s a moment of pause, each of you trying to determine your next move. It’s only broken when he takes a step forward, cautiously, but still sending you into a panic. Ignoring the nearly debilitating pain coming from your back, you scramble to the edge of the cot, pressing your back against the fabric and you can feel it straining against your weight. Trying your best to look intimidating, you send a glare his way.

“Where’s my brother?”

He says nothing for a moment, and you almost repeat yourself, cut off as he begins approaching. He’s there before you know it, long legs easily eating the space as his arms reach for you, forcably turning you around despite your resistance. He lets out a grumble as he inspects your back, scoffing about how you’ve ‘reopened them’.

The next thing you know, his hands are worming their way under the wrappings, loosening them as he goes to remove them.

The panic you had felt before was nothing compared to now, knowing where this scenario was going all to well. The stories of what you had heard from other village girls filling your mind, darkening your thoughts as you could only imagine what this monster was about to do to you.

“No! Stop!” You sobbed, knowing full well that there was nothing you could actually do against his strength. The bandages become looser, only held up by your hand as you wildly swing out with the other. All the while you try to distance yourself from him. 

“Please!”

To your surprise, he pauses. His first sign of even showing he heard you since entering. His gaze never leaves you, and you can see the debate going on within his eyes. About what, your guess was as good as any. All that you cared was that he had stopped for the moment, allowing you to cover yourself with one of the many blankets in an attempt to preserve any decency you had left.

Growling, her turns and storms out the way he came, a wisp of freezing wind invading the tent as you're given a glance at the dark night sky outside before you’re once again left on your own. Not for long though, and you think he’s returned once again when the flaps open, only to reveal a young woman in similar armor that you had seen earlier. Not the person you trusted the most right now, but you still preferred her over the large Zabrak from earlier.

She approaches slowly, setting a medkit down on the bed as she smiles your way. “I’m here to change your bandages.” She extends a hand your way, which you only look at, neglecting to come out of your little corner. 

“Please. You’ve opened your wounds again. If you don’t come out now, I’ll just wait for you to pass out and change them then.” she sounds a bit exhausted, and it takes a few more minutes of coaxing before you allow her access to your back, keeping your back towards her as she slowly unwraps the bindings. She deposits them into the fire, leaving you to watch them burn to ash as she retrieves a small container from the medkit. 

Inside is a blue gel, surprisingly warm as it touches your skin and leaves a pleasant numbness. You can almost feel her gaze burning into your skin as she applies the gel, eyes skittering across old scars, fingers even tracing them when visible underneath the new wounds. Seeming to sense your unease, she rushes through the rest, quickly wrapping new bindings around your torso, apologizing with every small grunt of pain you let out. 

Far too quick for your liking she’s done, packing up her things as she prepares to head out. If she’s leaving, then that means there’s more of a chance that he’ll come back. In fact, you have no doubt that she’ll go and tell him once she’s out of here.

Snapping the case closed, she turns back to you and hesitates for a moment.

“I don’t know what you did to gain Savage’s attention, but believe me,” her green eyes lock onto yours, holding a sense of severity that chills you to the bone. 

“, he’s your best chance of surviving.”

With that you’re alone once again, left to your own thoughts and the crackling of the fire, which has gone down a significant amount since you first woke.

What did she mean by that? Gained his attention? And he was one of the ones who lead the attack on your home. Why would he be your saving grace? If anything, he would be the most likely to kill you.

Once again the flap opens, and you almost want to groan about the number of people going in and out, letting the heat out of the tent.

It’s the Zabarak. Savage, you remember the woman from before calling him. This time he has some additions. A cloak draped over one arm and a plate in hand. He moves slower than before, almost cautiously approaching you as he sets the items on the far end of the bed.

“Eat.” His voice is a deep baritone, rich yet monotone as he speaks, nodding towards the plate before moving towards the fire. Your eyes never leave his form as he tosses more wood onto the flame, moving them about without a fear of burning himself. Despite the fear still gripping your nerves, the food is tempting and only now do you realize how empty your stomach is, almost turning in on itself as it lets out a low rumble.

You grab the plate cautiously, picking at its contents as the man continues to poke at the fire. When you do finish, you find yourself wishing you had taken more time with it, no longer having the small distraction from your current situation. Despite the desire to throw on the warm looking cloak, you don’t. While he had directed you to eat, he had said nothing about the cloak. The last thing you wanted to do was make him angry, especially after he had shown how easily he could manhandle you earlier.

“You’re going to travel with me from now on.” He spoke, his back still towards you, yet it still carried loudly through the air, leaving no room for you to mistake his words. “If you have any objections, your fate will be the same as the rest of your village.”

You have no idea why he’s saying this, not when he could just direct you without any information. There’s only one thing on your mind though, present from the very beginning and still burning on your tongue.

“Where’s my brother.” You ask once again, praying to the maker you’ll get an answer this time. “What about him?”

His shoulders tense for a moment. The first emotion he’s shown besides anger.

“He will be allowed to come along given that he trains as a Mandalorian warrior. This is the best option for him.”

You let out a sigh of relief. While being forced to train with the ones who captured him wasn’t an ideal situation, you could only be thankful that he wasn’t fated for something more unfortunate. The only thing that worried you was his size. He was never much of a fighter, too kind to want to cause others pain. You would need to be there for him.

“I...I can still see him.”

“Yes.”

You bit your lip, trying to decide if you should ask another question. He already seemed to be wearing thin with his patience, but you had to know. You would never get a moment's rest until you knew.

“Why am I here.”

He doesn’t answer right away, throwing a few more logs onto the fire before turning to face you. His face was nothing but shadows, eyes standing out in startling contrast. His footsteps were slow and heavy as he made his way over to your form, unable to back away any further as you already find yourself in a corner. He grabs the cloak as he passes, the article almost ridiculously small in his hands.

As soon as he’s close enough, he lifts his arms and you flinch, expecting him to strike you out of annoyance and anger. It never comes though. The only feeling was that of heavy fabric settling on your shoulders, only there a moment before it’s clasped and you feel yourself being pulled forward. 

Savage’s hands are wound tightly into the fabric, forcing your face to nearly touch his. This close you can see every detail of the markings splashed across his skin, the black only making his amber eyes burn even brighter, nearly suffocating with the intensity with which they stare. Almost like molten gold themselves.

His breath fans across your skin, lips nearly brushing yours as his forehead grazes your own, making you whimper as his horns roughly scrap the skin.

“You’re mine now. You will never leave my side, there at my every beck and call no matter what I may need. If you even think about trying to leave or betray me,” he pushed further, forcing you to lean back onto the bed. His weight pushed down enough to keep you in place without being crushing, one hand releasing the fabric of the collar to travel up your face. It brushes the hair away, catching the tear you hadn’t even realized had escaped.

“I’ll force you to watch as I kill your brother in the most painful way imaginable.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he leans forward, baritone voice speaking lowly in your ear as his lips tickle the skin.

“You’ll wish, beg, that I had killed you as well instead of what will happen to you after.”

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars x reader #savage opress x reader #savage opress #x reader #tcw #fanfiction #darth maul #tcw x reader #star wars the clone wars

[commanderserwin]

Bee...if u ever write an erwin smut...and if ur comfortable....pls...I beg I grovel I worship at ur feet

I’ve had this in my mind for approximately a million years and cannot...stop thinking about it I’m running out of rentable space in mah brain...

But erwin...with messed up hair... “Mr. always in control bigshot Commander” who always keeps his cool...losing self-control and just snapping...and then reader is like oh into it pls more???

I’m foaming at the mouth I can’t get this out of my stupid brain I’m so sorry PLEASE DONT FEEL PRESSURED TO DO THIS I JUST-

✧ tags. UHM,,,, public escapade & fwb??? — SMUT ?

✧ notes. suz,,, this is all your fault

✧ more. I AM NOW WALKING AWAY DON’T MIND ME AND MY CRINGY SMUT

— rumors with erwin smith.

being both in higher positions and closer to each other, it seemed about right for erwin to invite you to come with him within wall sina for a visit of some sort to some wealthy businessman that you have no idea who. everything was pretty vague, considering erwin woke you up from your slumber with a loud knock at your door— without even acknowledging your delayed grunt of a response as who might it been.

but you let it pass because for some reason, you knew it was him— and it was okay for him to barge in like that.

like mentioned, close.

wall sina was decorated with beautiful and elegant people, houses big with great architecture as the walls on wealthy houses were tall— secluded from each other. you admired the architecture while erwin talked to the businessman a few feet apart, occasionally looking back at your wandering eyes. as he finished your talk from the corner of your eyes, you stared back at him, basking in the way sun danced around him.

an angel reincarnate— but his eyes devious as you slightly squinted, lips pursed because you know that look.

it came out of nowhere—even erwin thought so too. perhaps it was the way your eyes devoured him, or the parting sigh that escaped from your soft lips that awaken something in erwin.

erwin looked back once more to the businessman, raising a hand— until he pulled you close to him, shoulder to shoulder as you two walked around aimlessly.

you counted. it took fifty steps for him to grab your wrist, pull you back to him, dragging you out of the public eye as he eyed the narrow alley— tall walls from parallel houses. still— it was out in the public, anybody could walk in the alleyway.

he flushed you against the rough wall, placing a hand on your jaw as he tilted your chin up, making you question as to what he was doing. hearts thumping as blood rushed on your cheeks, feeling the sensation of his calloused fingers dig in to your skin from just one touch.

and every time he touches you— you turn into a mess, finding a haze in your mind as you searched more and wanted more of him.

“now?”

your voice danced teasingly and soft on erwin’s mind— your eyes challenging him if this was really about to happen. the stare between you lasted for 10 seconds, until erwin watched you drag your tongue across your lower lip— your eyes flicking downwards, and it was all he ever needed.

“now.”

erwin untangled your thin green jacket, his big hands coming over to take control over your gentle ones as he unbuckled his belt— leaving it open as he widened your legs apart with a nudge. his fingers made work over your own belt and trouser, pulling them just a little to get a view and of your underwear— as he moved in closer, shielding your body on one side.

he held the eye contact, as his fingers rubbed just over your clothed cunt— clicking his tongue as he moved his fingers just above. immediately, his lips found yours— kissing you forcefully at first, his lips moving faster than yours. and once you placed your hands around his cheek and one on his nape, you took control, pulling the kiss gentler but still in a hurry.

his fingers didn’t stop running up and down until you felt the air hit— making you moan on to his lips just as when he pushed inside you. erwin chuckled in the kiss— feeling the way your walls flutter within the sensation of his two fingers, softly and hard as he continued all the while capturing your breathy pleas and moans.

erwin listened to two things: your lewd sighs on his ear, and the one around the surroundings, specifically the heels on the cobblestones as faint laughter of the people walking by, aware of the couple in the alleyway, yet oblivious to the act.

or not.

“do you promise to be real quiet?” erwin asked, kissing your jaw at each word, as he pulled away— his eyes stern and dark, “they might hear you and know that i’m fucking you with my fingers.”

your body jolted, holding on to his arm as his thumb rested circles on your clit, making you inhale deeply— biting down your lip, as your nails dig on his skin. he played with your clit so well, moved his fingers inside you so well— filling you up as the coils in your stomach tightened as well as the drawled out sounds that you tried to repressed echoed in the air.

erwin chuckled at the mess that you were making, your thighs tensing up as he nudged them away with his knee, a playful smirk on his lips as your walls fluttered on him again and again as his fingers worked harder and faster— ignoring your hold on his wrist as your eyes clenched shut, your lips repeating his name over and over again.

“... win, erwin,” you breathed, holding his wrist as his thumb left your clit for a second before diving back in— feeling your close, “i’m going to— oh,”

“not until i say so,” erwin whispered, holding your jaw again as he rested it upright, “open your eyes for me, i want to see you.”

it was a struggle— his eyes blinding you as well as the ministrations as his knuckles hit your core with a sinister glint on his face, watching your teary eyes beg and close. he didn’t mind that your nails were digging deeper into his skin, probably marking him.

“please,” and then he nodded.

your hold on him trembled as did your shoulders, your breathing hard and heavy as you whined loudly enough for some eyes to go your way but they didn’t pay attention more than a second longer.

erwin chuckled, rocking his fingers inside you, riding out your high as he continued to pump against your limp protests.

his fingers continued to move, snapping you back into reality and away— as you pulled him down, clashing your lips with his to shut yourself up as your second release were close to peak until his finger rubbed on your clit to no ends, tears forming at the corner of your eyes, but erwin paid no attention as your walls fluttered at the added sensation, smiling against your lips as his name became a prayer on your mouth once more.

“please,” you begged, placing soft kisses on his lips and on his chin, “erwin, no more...”

“you can’t do one more?” erwin kissed you back, eyes softening at your begging. he found your lips again, shutting down your whines, “baby, be quiet for me.”

“hmm,” you nodded, gripping him tight.

you felt your high come closer once more, chest panting as he moved deeper, his fingers tantalizing your release with every hard thrust to your core.

you dragged your hand down his chest, to his cock— palming his hard length, enough for erwin to grunt loudly and in return, attacked your neck with sloppy kisses as the tips of your fingers dragged the waistband of his briefs.

“does that feel good for you?” you breathed, kissing his jaw— but his response was neither a verbal one, instead, a faster pace of his fingers, making you grip his wrist tighter.

erwin hissed against your neck, when he felt your fingers play just at his reddening head, wiping away the pre-cum that elicited just from your touch. he flushed his hips against your hand, making you gasp and smile— working your hand on his cock, building enough pressure and friction against his length as he grunted loudly.

the pad of fingers moved agonizingly slow on his length, making him shiver under your touch— and gone in a while as you wrapped your fingers around his cock, teasing him.

“hey! what are you two doing there?” a man asked loudly, making erwin peek from your side, pressing his body to yours, “there’s children around—!”

“wait,” a woman shrieked, moving closer as erwin looked at your fucked-out state, “is that commander—?”

erwin looked at you, zipping your trousers up as he placed your jacket flimsily around your shoulders, making use of your wide shoulders to give you space to fix yourself up.

anger filled you up for a few seconds, annoyance dancing on your eyes and face as it felt so close. it was ready— all it needed were few more uninterrupted seconds and it all came down in an instant with a scowl on your face.

but suddenly, you bubbled out soft chuckles, making erwin look at you, his brows furrowed in confusion but he laughed with you nonetheless. his cheeks were flushed with hot blush, fingers slick and messy as he wiped it on the inside of his jacket before making sure you were all covered.

“can you walk?” erwin asked, pulling you to him, wrapping an arm around your waist. “i’ll clean you up later.”

“hold me up,” you chuckled, wrapping an arm behind him as he held your waist— flushing you against his side.

erwin sheepishly looked back once more, making you hold on to his nape, in a way for him to not actually look back. but alas, it didn’t work.

“that is commander smith,” a man confirmed, his voice ringing loud, as he gasped, “i didn’t know he has a partner!”

both of you chuckled to yourselves, erwin holding you up as he matched his strides with your slower ones. you pushed yourself up, ignoring the mess in your trousers as erwin covered it up.

but not really partners.

like mentioned, real close.

#D WORD TIME #erwin smith imagine #erwin x reader #erwin smith smut #aot imagine #aot imagines #aot smut #attack on titan imagine #attack on titan imagines #snk imagine #snk imagines #aot fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin x reader #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #snk smut

[demonic-intervention]

Whumptober 2021 - Day 13

No. 13 - THAT’S GONNA LEAVE A MARK

“This is gonna suck” | burns | cauterization

Word of Honor EP27, missing scene, Wenzhou, 1.5K, see tags for more info - AO3 link

Masterpost

-----------------------------

The two really gave a pitiable picture. Although Wen Kexing was in a state much worse than Zhou Zishu after their encounter with Ye Baiyi, Zhou Zishu was the one swaying on his feet. Arm in arm, they were dragging each other back home. Actually, Wen Kexing dragged Zhou Zishu home, but the latter would never admit to that. Entering the yard of the Four Seasons Manor, they immediately went for the bedroom.

"Sit. Wait." Contrary to his harsh words, Wen Kexing put Zhou Zishu down gently and immediately left to gather some things from a nearby cabinet. Having found what he needed, he knelt down in front of Zhou Zishu. "Let's look at that shoulder of yours." Without waiting for a response, Wen Kexing opened the ties of Zhou Zishu's robes. "Lao Wen, what abou- Ahh, zzzh," Zhou Zishu hissed as his shoulder was jostled. "Lao Wen, what about your injuries?," he tried again, panting. Without raising his eyes at Zhou Zishu, Wen Kexing answered, "They can wait. You first." His stern voice gave Zhou Zishu the reason to believe that he couldn't be persuaded to reconsider.

Carefully and focused on the task in front of him, Wen Kexing pulled back layer for layer until the robes were pooling around Zhou Zishu's waist. He looked Zhou Zishu up and down to make sure he didn't miss anything before addressing the obvious. He seemed fine for the most part. No cuts but a few bruises. As he shortly got up to inspect Zhou Zishu's back, he saw more bruises blooming just where the belt usually sat. "Your waist will hurt." A little dazed, Zhou Zishu looked up at Wen Kexing. "I fell on a tree trunk." He thought about the stiffness that would arrive in the morning and add to the general stiffness caused by the nails. Certainly something he did not look forward to.

Finally, Wen Kexing turned to access Zhou Zishu's shoulder. It looked weird. The arm was hanging lower than it should, pretty much useless. His shoulder had a new edge to it that made it look boney. Gently, Wen Kexing held the motionless arm with one hand while feeling around the joint with his other. All throughout, Zhou Zishu couldn't stop himself from hissing occasionally. Still, Wen Kexing was able to confirm his suspicion. "Ah-Xu, your shoulder is dislocated. I can fix it for you."

There weren't really any better options. Yet, it felt wrong for Wen Kexing to just assume what Zhou Zishu wanted. Thus, he put his arms into his lap and waited for him to answer. It didn't take long for Zhou Zishu to utter a silent "Please do." At Zhou Zishu's request, Wen Kexing sprang into action. Slowly, he lifted the limp arm into a horizontal position. "You might want to steady yourself with your good arm." Obediently, Zhou Zishu followed the instruction. "Ready?," Wen Kexing asked at which Zhou Zishu only faintly nodded. "This might suck." Wen Kexing began to steadily pull on the arm. Warily, he drew the arm laterally until he could hear and feel the little plop he had waited for. However, even without the sound Wen Kexing could tell that the shoulder was back into place because Zhou Zishu let out a growl and doubled over. "Lao Wen," he panted, "I can tell you - it does suck." Wen Kexing chuckled till bright eyes glared at him.

After a moment, Zhou Zishu sat up again. "Alright, time to let me take a look at your injuries." With a flick of the wrist, he opened the tie of Wen Kexing's outer robe before the man could say a word. "Ah-Xu, I still need to bandage your arm. And you shouldn't strain it for a while, too." Unsurprisingly, Zhou Zishu didn't stop pulling at the robes. "Fine, you do that then. But I will tend to your wounds in the meantime." He looked him in the eyes with a gentle smile. "I promise I will only use my right arm." And who could really say no to these eyes. Wen Kexing certainly couldn't.

Thus, Zhou Zishu continued to peel Wen Kexing out of his robes while he ripped some old clothes into bandages. He was just beginning to wrap Zhou Zishu's arm when the latter stopped in his movements and pouted at him. "Lao Wen, please." He gestured at the arms who were still in the robes. Wen Kexing sighed but relented. "Fine," he slipped out of the sleeves mirroring Zhou Zishu's appearance.

Not knowing how else to look at Wen Kexing's back, where he knew Ye Baiyi had hit him with his sword, Zhou Zishu hooked his chin over Wen Kexing's shoulder. Wen Kexing grumbled but it actually made his job easier. He had just reached the shoulder and now needed to wrap the bandages around the thorso for stabilization. In this position, he would not need to move thanks to his long arms. He could wrap the bandages in one consecutive movement.

Meanwhile, Zhou Zishu glanced at the huge bruise on Wen Kexing's back. Across his spine, red, purple, and blueish marks bloomed. With his good hand, he faintly poked the enflamed skin. Wen Kexing let out a hiss. Quickly, Zhou Zishu apologized, "Sorry." Hot to the touch and obviously painful then, Zhou Zishu thought. "Lao Wen, we need to talk about your tendencies to make stupid decision." Wen Kexing leaned back to look at Ah-Xu. Then, his sulky expression turned into a cheeky grin like it had earlier. "Takes one to know one, Ah-Xu." Although Wen Kexing wasn't wrong, Zhou Zishu thought, he still reserved himself the right to roll his eyes at his lover's antics.

Nonetheless, the bruises looked bad. Deeming Wen Kexing temporarily distracted, Zhou Zishu tried to reach for a vial with balm. With his bandaged arm of course. Believing his intentions to be undetected, he streched his arm to the side grabbing the vial. Yet, without looking up, Wen Kexing had blocked his hand. "Ah-Xu, what did I tell you?" Keeping his eyes fixed on the bandages he was in the process of uncoiling, he took the vial out Zhou Zishu's hand and pushed it into the other hand. Then, he guidedd the injured arm back down into Zhou Zishu's lap and continued. Zhou Zishu rested his eyes on Wen Kexing's face for a bit, staring at the man with uncertainty. They had survived this evening, but there was so much trouble still waiting for them. And for once, Zhou Zishu didn't have all the answers.

Shaking himself out of the trance, Zhou Zishu placed the vial beside him on the bed and scooped some of it up with his fingers. Remembering to keep his touch light, he began to rub tiny circles into the battered skin. Although Wen Kexing didn't hiss this time, Zhou Zishu could feel him stiffen under his fingers. Zhou Zishu worked meticulously to cover the whole bruise with balm and once he did, he used his palm to knead away the sore spots. It took him a while, but soon Wen Kexing relaxed again. Going slack, he rested his head a little on Zhou Zishu's neck, careful not to put pressure on the shoulder. With practiced movements, Wen Kexing tied up the last piece of bandage. He couldn't resist to give the spot a satisfied pat. "Okay, all done." Zhou Zishu entwined himself from Wen Kexing. "Me too."

Coming up, they gazed at each other in silence. They really were a despicable couple. The bruises on Wen Kexing's face had only deepened in color and Zhou Zishu was slumped to the side in an attempt to minimize the stress on his shoulder. Unable to keep it in any longer, they burst into laughing. It was freeing and came from the heart. They weren't even sure what they were laughing about anymore. Escaping death? How pitiful they looked? The absurdity of the situation? The uncertainty of the future? Maybe all of it, but what they knew was that they had each other. Albeit both men thought that their partner should stop putting their life on the line for the other all the time.

Eventually, they calmed down and decided to go to bed. It was late at night and the best they could do for their damaged bodies was to sleep, get some rest. After Wen Kexing had watched Zhou Zishu fumble with his belt and robes, he took mercy on him. Once the tangled robes were pulled free, he helped Zhou Zishu into new robes for the night. He held the sleeves open, low so Zhou Zishu wouldn't have to lift his arm, and went around him to tie them closed, hands lingering on the waist for a short moment.

Both men were exhausted, almost falling over each other when crawling into bed. Finally settled, Wen Kexing had to ask, "Ah-Xu, what are we going to tell Chengling now?" Already half asleep, Zhou Zishu mumbled, "I don't know. Something. That's something we will deal with tomorrow." With the tiredness pulling at him, Wen Kexing wasn't too interested in finding solutions as well. "You're right. Good night, Ah-Xu." Closing his eyes, he yawned deeply but could not expect an answer from his Ah-Xu anymore. He was already sleeping away peacefully next to him.

#whumptober2021 #no.13 #this is gonna suck #word of honor #fic #dislocated shoulder #wen kexing #zhou zishu #wenzhou #word of honor fic #woh fic

[themilky-way]

on a foreign planet

gif credit: santigarcia

pairing: din djarin/the mandalorian x reader

summary: din isn’t too fond of touch, but after a particularly cold mission, he realizes just how important it might be. 

warnings: uh is me being touch starved a warning bc if so oh boy

author’s note: got the cot inspiration from 1) the literal fucking cot scene-you know what i’m talking about and 2) miss birbs’ lovely fic @whirlybirbs​ 

-----------

from what you saw, it had been a faulty mission on tatooine. the minute he stepped off the lift of the crest and set out to look for something was the minute your gut tightened in an all too familiar feeling. you came to know it like the back of your hand-living and occasionally partaking in conversation with the mandalorian the leading cause. you learned to trust that ache and never questioned it despite many efforts to do so; desperate attempts to urge him to not leave the safety of his ship were made, and sometimes a laugh threatened to escape because of how silly you must’ve sounded. the mandalorian never listened and never would, so all you could do was prepare the emergency kit stationed within the cabinets of the cockpit. 

he’d bust in whenever you’d least expect it. a weary hand clutching the side of his abdomen or a limped gait indicated he needed some form of assistance, and the responsibility was almost always yours. most of the time he never said a word, as was his usual demeanor, and just situated himself on the floor near your bed, his back leaning into the mattress. he knew you’d do it-care for him and restore his health-and now it’d be no different. 

“i’ll be back before sundown,” din informed. his armor seemed to glisten more in the early morning rays than it did in the evening, an odd comparison you made when he entered the cabin. he stood proudly at the door, as he definitely should, wiping his pistol with a small rag and inspecting its crevices and compartments to ensure its performance. then he looked up. 

you were sitting-cuddled, more like-in his pilot’s chair with the baby pulling on the strings of din’s blanket from the ground. short, high-pitched sounds came from him to gain attention. this isn’t yours, he wanted to say, but was stuck with the only language he knew: gibberish. “feel free to keep my blanket by the way,” the mandalorian assured, “you’ll need it for the blizzard tonight.”

“what blizzard? i thought it was just desert here,” you inquired, sitting up a bit in bewilderment. the blanket slid over your legs at the sudden motion, falling over the child still tugging at it. it covered his tiny head all the way to his tiny toes, outlining his (rather large) ears and torso. “maker,” you huffed after hearing a muffled, yet complaining coo, “what’s up with you today?” lifting the sheet with one hand, you brought the baby along with you and positioned it on top of your leg. “there. take a nap, will you?”

when you finally got the opportunity to look away, you captured a glance of din exiting the craft with his equipment in hand. you didn’t expect anything less; his attitude was meant to be cold and harsh. he didn’t have to say good-bye every time he left for a mission or tell you good morning whenever he woke up, yet you’d be lying if you said that the absence of these aspects didn’t take a toll on you. hell, a friendship would've been nice considering all the time you’ve spent with one another, but what you received would have to suffice.

it wasn’t often that you were left alone. somehow, and for some strange reason, the man who so earnestly follows his creed never lets the child or you out of his sight. it was fun at times; you bought the weekly groceries while din scavenged for an alien for its monetary value. a win-win. 

“i’m gonna go in that room...” you pointed to the small door of the cot, “...and i’m gonna sleep for a while, okay?”

the child looked at you and gurgled a reply. it began pointing its ears forward as a cat would if it were content. his stubby hands, which were hard to differentiate between that or paws, reached upward to indicate his wish to be hoisted. “you wanna come with?” you asked quietly, and a set of miniature teeth that were barely there flashed in a wide grin. 

the plan wasn’t to doze off for more than two hours. the siesta wasn’t meant to last through the whole evening either. 

the quilt (that wasn’t rightfully yours) was too warm for you not to fall asleep. the baby cozied up in the junction of your arm and elbow with its fuzzed head against your shoulder. your legs and torso were contorted to accommodate the limited capacity of the bunk; it wasn’t the best position per se, but it did the trick. 

on his way back from an assigned trade, the mandalorian’s field of vision turned foggy. a gloved hand that was possibly blue with the frost clung to his belongings in the same manner as when he’d left. to discard the items and shield himself from the falling snowflakes was what he wanted to do, but each slow, deep tread of his boots promised a closer distance to the comfort of his plane. snow developed into sleet as he neared the engine, with the droplets of water trickling down the “T” of his visor serving as a fun game of ‘which drop will reach the bottom first?’ it was childish in itself and not in the slightest bit appropriate for his current conditions. 

when the sleeve of white beneath his shoes became metal, his back straightened with a few cracks (one of his perks, he liked to say). his brain was running automatically, directing his steps and turns to where he could find one fragment of peace: the cot. 

he knew you were inside. the visibility his helmet equipped him with was astonishing; a single click of a button and the steps you took during his leave would be all his to analyze and detail. the same trembling hands from before reached for the latch and opened the door of the compact room. he tried to speak as clearly as he could without arousing a scare in the child or you, a free palm gently grasping and shaking your ankle. 

“hey,” he whispered. “canyouwakeupplease?” it came out rushed and scrambled, his teeth chattering in between syllables. 

“din’ika?” you slurred, voice heavy with sleep. “what time is-okay, why are you holding my feet?”

“needed s-something to wake y-you up,” din shivered. he took a step back, and for the first time that day, you fully saw him. there wasn’t much light in the space besides the one light coming from the cockpit but the shape of his beskar helped diminish your fatigue. 

“maker, din, you’re freezing. get inside.” 

he didn’t hesitate or fight your suggestion as he typically did. instead, with some trouble, he gradually squeezed himself inside the little space as you slid up the mattress. you swallowed a giggle when the top of his head hit the ceiling because, well, it’s funny.  

“don’t l-laugh at me, i’m c-cold,” he said. 

“i know you’re cold,” you smiled. 

din made the choice to sleep on his back, while your option was to lay on your side and the baby in the middle. it wasn’t horrible. the three of you could live with it.

a few minutes followed before you felt the cold leather of his fingers encircle the tips of yours. the sensation was new; an experience that wasn’t in the script for him. he was afraid of how you’d react. is this too tight? too clammy? i’m wearing gloves, it doesn’t even matter. no wait, yes it does. 

the thoughts stopped as abruptly as they came. he felt the air surrounding the room span across the skin of his wrist, and then the top of his hand. it flowed beyond that to the beginning of his fingers until his covering was completely off. 

your hand was warm and it fit so perfectly in his when you melded it together. a sharp breath hitched in his throat, unaware of how to speak and how to act. in this moment, din’s instinct demanded him to turn away and be who he was presumed to be, but that was nearly absurd now with his hand wrapped in yours.

“is this okay?” you spoke softly. 

he squeezed his eyes shut as if it would dissipate him from existence, trying to overlook your breath fanning into the opening of his suit. “yes. is this alright with you, too?”

“yeah. it is.”

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian #din djarin #star wars #star wars fanfiction #pedro pascal #all my fics w din include hand holding LMAO #it's cuz its cute #my writing!

[roadkill01]

Hange/Levi (platonic) x Male Reader

All you could do was watch as the tongs came closer to your fingers, digging underneath your dirtied fingernail. A shrill scream vibrated across the bloodied stone walls as the nail was ripped from your finger. Tears streamed down your face as you begged for this torture to stop, but it was all done to no avail. You felt the blood drip down and collect at the end of your limp hand. The only sound in the room was heavy pants heard from both parties and the occasionally splash of blood against the hard stone floor. Your torturer huffed, and pushed a hand through his sweaty hair, making it slick back and stick up in odd places.

“I don’t understand why you won’t just speak. I have taken all of your finger and toenails. Your body has been burnt and lacerated. I’m not even sure how you are alive...” you wished for death though. Pleading and begging for this seemingly endless torture to stop. Tears ran down your bloodied cheeks, and your torturer brought a warm hand to your face. He swiped away the tears with the pad of his thumb, smearing the blood up your cheekbone. He moved his hand to hold the stump at the end of your ear. A month ago there was a pretty silver earring attached to it. He didn’t like how it glistened in the candlelight though, so naturally it had to go. 

“You were so handsome [Name]. Such a perfect husband. Waiting patiently for me to come to you.” You didn’t understand what had come of the sweet boy you had grown up with. What had changed? Why was he forced to become such a heartless vicious man as this? The slam of a door brought you from your darkening thoughts. He had finally left. You let out cry after cry, mourning the old Eren. And wishing a peaceful death upon the new one. He had to rest. You know so much, and yet you didn’t. For just as life, Eren continued pushing on. It didn’t matter through which obstacle. The love of your life wasn’t initially put in to torture you, originally it was supposed to be Hange and Levi. Eren took it over, as you had heard from him and you’d been moved cells. Your captain and the one who thought of you as a younger brother, neither could apparently bear to do it. Nobody could. You were such a happy influence on them all, it seemed ridiculous that you were accused of being a traitor. You had been in this dreaded cell for a month now. The only person you had seen was Eren. You were the subject of inconceivable rumours when it came out that Reiner and Bertholdt were Titans. You had been close friends with the two, and frequently interacted with Annie. The survey corps couldn’t take anymore risks. You would never blame them for this. You heard clattering come from up the stairs, and wondered if Eren was home already. 

What surprised you however was the concerned deep voice that called out. “Hello? Is anyone here? Please call out.” You let out a nervous greeting to the stranger followed by heavy thumping come down the stairs, almost as if someone was jumping down them. You closed your eyes and sighed, the energy immediately dispelling from your body. If you were going to die now, you would accept it graciously. You opened them once more when the owner of these footsteps stifled a gasp. You only grew curious at the sound but didn’t look over yet. 

What made you look over, was when the voice called out a loud. “Hange. Your going to want to see this.” You looked over as Levi began to fiddle with the locks on the other side of the bars. You could see how is hands kept slipping and shaking. You took a shaky breath as another set of footsteps (which you guessed were Hanges) made their way downstairs. The second they saw the state you were in they took off their glasses, tears flowed down from their brown uncovered eye. “[Name]? Don’t tell me? No, no, I’m so sorry.” All you could do was watch as the bright optimistic person you’d come to known fell apart at the state you were in, and who could blame them. 

You looked half dead anyway, the clothes you once wore hand been dyed a crimson with the sheer amount you had bled. There was darkened ashy skin, where Eren had burnt you, peeling away and revealing the clashing pink of exposed flesh underneath. There were chunks that had been taken out of your body, namely your arms and thighs. The finger and toenails now newly removed seeped more of the dreaded red liquid. There was just so much. A seemingly endless wave of blood. It would never stop crashing upon you and those who stood too close. With a clank the door unlocked. Levi had opted for kicking the door in instead of trying to break the lock. Hange rushed in first, immediately undoing the rough rope pulled taught against your ankles and the chair leg. Levi coming next you, to pull away the loose pieces holding your wrist down to the arm of the chair. As the ropes were pulled away, you felt as though you could finally rest now. You were saved, right? Your limp body fell forward onto Hange as Levi undid the final rope on your left wrist. 

They held you up, and carried you like a baby as you clung to them. Your legs wrapped around their waist and your arms around their neck. Hange held your back and pulled you into them as they carried you up the stairs, Levi anxiously picking at his nails next to you and Hange. The pair walked through the upstairs in complete silence, not daring to utter a word. The only sound on that damned floor was the eternal dripping of your blood. As you reached the door to outside, Hange pushed your head into their neck, the sunlight would be a surprise for a man who had not seen light in a month. A small murmur was heard from you as you asked. “Are you two okay? If I die now, I need you to know I never once blamed you.” Tears unwillingly fell from their face once more and even Levi had to stifle a cry at the words. 

The commander of the survey corps carrying a limp body was a sight to see, so naturally it dragged the attention of surrounding villagers. Muttering began as they realised the body belonged to you, none other than [Name] [Last Name]. A strong soldier with a future in the military brighter than Queen Historia’s hair. You had always been good to the general public, and as such they had loved you in return. The survey corps knew the amount of influence you held over these villagers, even if you did not. They loved you, because you were kind even after the unrelenting dangers of the outside, you always kept your morals no matter how difficult and helped wherever you could. A small blonde girl ran up to Hange, ignoring the cry’s of the crowd gathered, and gripped the bloodied material of your shirt. She looked up to meet the commanders eyes silently pleading that you weren’t dead. She was one of many people you had helped and as such felt indebted to you. Your joyous face whenever you returned from an expedition out the walls would make her heart soar and you would even bring flowers for some upon occasion. She had a flower now, clutched in her trembling pale hand and she thrusted it into the space between you and Hange, and dropped it. The stem was discoloured and crumped from how tightly the young girl had gripped it. Hange nodded slightly, closing their eyes before speaking loud enough for everyone to hear. 

“[Name] [Last Name] is not dead. Not now at least. We will get him into immediate care, and hopefully someone can tend to his injuries, as you can see they are quite severe. Do not worry though, we can keep you updated about his current condition and will tell you immediately if he does,” she began to choke up. “If he does end up dying.” A few in the crowd began to cry and others angrily shout. “Who the hell is responsible for this!” Hange looked down casted and they began to walk away, avoiding the question. If word got out that it was another scout, much less your own partner all hell would break loose and the scouts headquarters would most definitely be compromised. They would deal with Eren all in due time, and by god would he have hell to deal with. 

Levi however turned to the man, and feeling nothing but absolute hatred for the former member of his squad spat out a bitter, “Eren Jeager.” Hange could punish him later, as long as justice was brought for his friend. The pair began to speed up as Hange felt your heart beat grow weaker, eventually breaking into a full blown sprint. Levi ran ahead to prepare the doctor, saying it was of the upmost importance. You and Hange eventually reached the doctor with Hange practically flinging themselves through the door and gently laid you on an unused table. The doctor was quick to rush to your side and carefully peeled off the sticky clothing, occasionally using a knife to cut parts away. With your body lying bare, both the doctor and the longest surviving members of the survey corps could fully see the damage Eren had inflicted. Hange let out a choked sob as Levi just stood, anger and disbelief evident on his face. The doctor immediately ushered the pair out the room, and pushing a piece of paper into their hands. “Find these plants, there are drawings in case you need help with identifying them.” He then pointed to the forest a whiles walk away from the doctors house. He slammed the door in their faces and got back to helping patch you up. It seems he wasn’t all talk as he helped stabilise your near death condition. 

A knock at the door alerted the doctor of Hange and Levi’s arrival. He yelled at them for come in, not wanting to leave your body alone for any amount of time in case your condition would suddenly drop. The entered and the doctor set to work grinding the specific herbs and plants into a paste which he would apply to your body. Hange’s hand swiped over your newly cleaned face, you looked a lot better now that there wasn’t quite so much blood everywhere. The doctor smeared the newly made green paste on the more severe lacerations and quickly wrapped them in cloth. 

“I.. I don’t know if he’ll make it out alive.” The blunt statement filled Hange and Levi’s head. You wouldn’t make it? But you were [Name] [Last Name]? The boy who kept smiling through everything? And yet as your chest rose and fell irregularly both Hange and Levi knew the chances of you living were slim. 

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

“Can I see [Name] today mama? I wanna give him flowers!” The woman looked down at her daughter and ruffled her blonde hair. “Of course honey, be back for lunch though, okay?” The girl nodded, beaming and rushed out her house, sprinting over the mismatched cobbles and up to the woods where you resided. Once she’d reached the forest, the trees split, almost as if guiding everyone who came, directly to [Name]. She ran down the rocky path, the villagers had collectively gathered to make a stone path all the way to [Name] so people can easily come and visit him. She almost tripped and dropped the flowers but a bush caught her, and she steadied herself once more. When she arrived she already saw Hange and Levi sitting by the sandstone headstone. “Ah- Mx Hange and Mr Levi, I didn’t know you were here sorry.” Hange smiled at the girl and beckoned her to come closer. 

“That’s quite alright, we were just telling him we’d be back soon, we’ve got a mission coming up soon, and I can’t bring myself to not run every plan through him first.” Levi grimaced at their words, he knew they weren’t taking [Name]’s death particularly well, especially after Eren only really got off with a slap on the wrist. He would come with her, hoping they wouldn’t do anything rash especially after Moblit died. Besides, he too had come to care about the ridiculously happy [hair colour] boy in his squad. The girl came and sat by his gravestone, taking the dying flowers off the grave and putting on her fresh ones. Hange smiled at the action, glad that even if Levi and them were to die, there would at least be someone to take care of his final resting place. “I wish you the best. [Name] [Last Name]”

#aot #attack on titan #male reader #snk #snk levi #hange zöe #hange supremacy #angst? #eren yeager #sad ending #unless you want to die #I probably shouldn’t put spoilers #don’t read the tags unless you want spoilers

[katsukikitten]

So like a paragraph or two of this was in my drafts and I found it today with no earthly idea of the direction I was goin in. So here is this lol. As usual 18+ warnings are corruption and I'll throw dubcon/ non con in there too just to be safe.

A wall of blue flame encircles you. His hands a vice around your waist, charred cloth and skin burn into your nose and cling your hero suit like incense. You fight the urge to gag, you knew this would happen if your party split up. Despite your pleads and warnings Denki and Kirishima agreed to "cover more ground" in an attempt to fight off and maybe capture a few infamous members of LOV.

But you knew that would never fucking work. The flames of his quirk call to yours, the small white flame the only thing keeping you from burning alive, still sweat rolls down your back

There are no plot twists for you,

You never let life surprise you. So surprise it for once, deviate from the plan.

In a swift motion you turn, pressing your breasts against your assailant. His two toned lips curl upwards in a taunting smile while blazing blue eyes burn into yours. Your mind formulates the plan as you go, knowing that if you did this one little thing, or maybe this one big thing, you'd be able to tilt the scales of fate into your favor.

But the question was did you have the stomach to so it?

Well, you'd have to. Your fire power being swallowed whole by his dancing blue flames, feeding the already intense heat. Sweat follows the length of your spine and dampens your hair as you force yourself onto your tiptoes.

It's just a kiss you remind yourself closing your eyes as your lips touch his. You brace yourself for dry, chapped skin.

Instead both lips are smooth, supple and the groan that escapes his throat sends an impossible shiver down your spine. Kissing him felt like Denki's million volt shot. With bodies acting on your own you shove him against the brick, kissing him hungrily as you become addicted to his taste.

Although he reeks of fresh burns he tastes much different. He tastes like campfire smoke and something sweet, like a marshmallow perfectly roasted. His hot hands trail up your sides and in an instant he has flipped the rolls, pinning you against the unforgiving brick wall. Forcing the breath out of you from the force, he kicks your feet apart to spread your legs before he keeps them separated with his knee. Dwarfing you as he crowds your personal space, eyes sparkling with a threat.

"Little hero, are you trying to seduce me?" His laugh echoes around the alley, hugging you close to him as flames lick at your sides. Your stomach flips from the sound, mouth dry from both the heat and his mouth too close to yours.

You lick your lips, fisting his black jacket as you slowly blink up at him.

"I don't know big bad villain, is it working?" A tease, your voice hushed and hinting at lust. He presses his knee against your sex, grinding it as you bite your lip. Trying not to get too into your act but he doesn't let up, somehow hitting that damned spot until you're starting too see stars and your lip begins to bleed. You try to tilt your hips away from him but his large hands push your hips back into place, he leans in close, voice warm and yet dark.

"We aren't leaving til you cum little hero slut. So if you want me to tell my friends to keep your friends alive, I advise you follow through with your half baked plan." He nips at your ear and when you don't respond he pins your hands above your head in one of his.

"I'd like an answer." He taunts, bumping his knee into you again.

"Okay, okay." You huff out, feeling exhilarated and yet a little slimy all at once.

The disgust dies in your stomach and burns like molten lava in your core as his hands explore your clothed body.

"You really picked the wrong one sweetheart. You wanna know why?" He asks, nervously you shake your head yes, "Because I love to play with my food."

He burns off the crotch of your tight hero suit and yet leaves your skin unmarred. His fingers, hot from his quirk, collect the slick from between your folds. He let's out a groan he hadn't meant to, only having thought of you since the first fight the two of you had, dreaming of white flames dancing with intense blue ones.

He wouldn't dare pass up this opportunity now.

"So wet and for a villain too." He slowly circles your puffy clit, "You're so naughty little hero."

"I- aaahh." He cuts you off by upping his speed, occasionally stopping to slip into your sex just so he can feel you clench around him. He shudders as his mouth finds your throat, sucking and biting at the tender flesh as you cry out into his ear. He strokes the spongy spot within you until you're bucking your hips against his hand.

"You're so desperate you've got to fuck yourself on my fingers huh Princess?" He coos in your ear and you cry out. Losing control on your quirk as his heat calls to you. Slowly white flames form at the base of his, sending his to unprecedented new heights without any effort or exertion of his own.

His skin tingles from the warmth, his cock twitching as he watches you losing the fight, holding back your release and for what?

"Because of status? His body wanted yours and yours his. And he sure as hell noticed how you squeezed him when he gave you that little pet name.

"Have you been neglected Princess?" You mewl at the name, and whine when he withdrawls his fingers from you only to set a deadly pace against your clit. Rubbing against you vigorously until you're clutching at him. Legs shaking as you lose the ability to stand as the coil in your stomach threatens to snap.

Should you, should you cum for a villain? What would your teammates say? Would they look at you less for actually enjoying this man toying with you? Like a cat would a mouse.

"Tell me who this pretty pussy belongs to."

Morals be fucking damned, you were doing what you set out to do when you were trapped.

You were surprising life for once. Silently you made a promise to yourself as you came. From this moment on you wouldn't bite back your venom to spare someone's feelings, you wouldn't hold back your quirk when your flames begged to consume, and you wouldn't let another person strike your ire without them tasting white hot flame. They would burn if the crossed you.

Just as you felt like you were burning now, your white flames licking up your frame and his as the two fired intermingled. Stoking your orgasm as he pushed you through one, no two, no you're beginning to lose count as he forces your legs open, fingers poised over an abused clit. And he does so while you shake, clenching around nothing and crying out his name as if it were a prayer.

"Dabi, Dabiiii, DABIIII. " You cry until a clear liquid splashes agaisnt his wrist and jacket as you helplessly convulse before your body begins to go limp. Dabi groans from the sight, damning the promise he kept himself to take you later. His weeping cock and your flames caressing his shoulders will not allow it. He unsheaths himself using his hand covered in your slick to pump from his tip to his shaft.

Without warning or tenderness he slams himself into you causing you to cry out again. Giving you a moment to adjust to him as he presses you against the scratching brick wall, totally holding up all of your weight. You cling to him with shaking arms as you wait for him to move, rasping out his name desperate for that godly friction.

"Da-Dabiii." Your cunt twitches at the sound of name and the own lust of your voice.

"No Princess, call me Touya."

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #dub con #non con #bnha x reader