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cinnaminsvga · 3 months

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🥀 | yoongi

the sleep deprived series (n.): drabbles that i write when i’m sad and tired

→ vampire!yoongi ft. lots of miscommunication (all because newly-turned yoongi doesn't know how to talk to women lol) | 2.6K words → a/n: SURPRISE i am miraculously alive and well (?) back at it again with some weird monsterfucker propaganda... it's been months since i've written a fic so pardon the lacking quality but i Am Trying... also i added ghost!maknaeline bc i think they'd be cute... umm this might become a series if anyone is interested but i think it works as a standalone... enjoy!!!

When Yoongi first agreed to being turned, he never imagined being so tired all the time. Even as a mortal, Yoongi had never been the most energetic soul. He preferred loafing around at home or reading a nice book by the fire. He rarely left his drafty villa, always isolated despite the nearby town. The most cardio he would ever do was when he’d take the few steps needed to get to his piano and play a few soft songs for the ghosts wandering down his halls.

He knew the neighbors liked to whisper about him, liked to refer to him as a local boogeyman to scare naughty children. “Beware the man who sold his soul to the devil,” they warned, though Yoongi supposes their silly rumors weren’t so far from the truth. Although, it was only a month ago that he did “sell his soul,” just not for the reasons that people might have expected.

Still, being a vampire was still very strange and new to Yoongi. He’d known about spirits and ghosts for as long as he can remember, but even he thought that creatures of the night were nothing more than an urban legend. All it took was one high-stakes game of cards and an empty promise to pay back a debt for Yoongi to realize that it probably isn’t smart to make deals with ghoulish-looking men in strange clothing in the first place.

It wasn’t all bad, save for the never-ending fatigue and deathly pallor to his skin. He was still Yoongi, just… worse, if you will.

For safety’s sake, he hadn’t told anyone about it. He was a bit embarrassed, to be honest. If his brother found out, he’d surely get an earful (or a stake through his heart, though Yoongi hopes his Seokjin hyung would remember all the good times they had together). Most importantly, he could absolutely NEVER tell you about his turning. That would be absolutely humiliating.

You were a witch doctor he had met just a few weeks prior to his turning. You had just moved into his sleepy town as a “pharmacist” who could “magically” make any ailment disappear. You had decided to move there on a whim after being exhausted from the high-paced nature of the big city.

You had spotted a small line of ghosts trailing after him on the night you had moved in. He had been on the way to the convenience store for a caffeine fix, and you had been on the way there to grab a couple of toiletries you had forgotten to pack.

You were so sweet, shyly approaching him under the guise of asking him if he could reach for a snack on a high shelf. But he could see your worried gaze fixed on the three spectral children climbing on his back, though he did nothing to shoo them away. After all, they had no mass, so as long as they didn’t lick his neck or something weird, he was fine with letting them be menaces.

When he had his back turned away from you to grab your snack, he could hear you quietly telling the ghosts to get off of him. They only laughed in response, their giggles always sounding a little muffled and distorted.

Yoongi plucked the bag of chips from the shelf and turned back to you, catching a glimpse of your annoyed expression before you could school it back into something more neutral.

“Is something the matter?” Yoongi asked smoothly, handing you the bag. He amusedly watched as your brows furrowed, not even hiding that you were glaring pointedly at the little gremlins making faces at you from his shoulder.

Jungkook, the youngest of the three ghosts, climbed on Yoongi’s head before proceeding to pull down his pants, mooning you with his spectral ass.

“Uh, nothing,” you eventually said, huffing indignantly as you stomped away. Yoongi caught you discreetly poking your tongue out in annoyance before you turned to another aisle.

Thus began your cautious attempts at exorcising him without trying to “alert” him to it. It was amusing to watch you try to “save” him from the three little ghosts that decided to cling onto him, and it was even more amusing to watch you fail repeatedly every time.

Yoongi made no comment when you were suddenly bumping into him everywhere he went. There was always a terse grin on your face as you performed as many anti-ghost spells as you could, but none of them ever seemed to work. The truth was, ghosts could only be exorcised if the haunted person in question wanted them to leave, but Yoongi had found himself a little fond of these stupid little kids. They might be slowly sucking the life force out of him, but Yoongi didn’t really care. They were just kids, and he’s always been too soft for his own good.

Your many encounters with him created a subtle friendship of sorts, one that Yoongi found himself enjoying. He was never been one to foster friendships with living beings, but perhaps your sweet attempts to save his soul might have defrosted his little grinch heart. But he wouldn’t ever tell you that, of course.

Plus, it didn’t hurt that you were very pretty, for that matter. He certainly would NEVER tell you that as well.

Was he feeling guilty for not telling you about his ability to see ghosts? Slightly. But was it cute watching you trying to outsmart three little ghost babies to no avail? Very much so.

So, Yoongi stayed quiet and enjoyed your company, even if you had no idea who he was or what type of things he was capable of.

That was until he got into that damn bet with the stupid bloodsucker.

Probably shouldn’t call him that, given that I’ve become one myself, Yoongi groaned internally. He’d been hiding in his house for a month now, and your “random” visits were surely on the horizon. He wasn’t sure if you’d immediately clock that he’d turned into a vampire, but he wasn’t going to risk it. If you found out, then you’d find out about everything, and that wouldn’t be a good impression.

Yoongi knew he wasn’t great at interacting with people, let alone people he had a crush on. But at least he knew that lying to someone for extended periods of time was probably not in his favor.

Little Jungkook fluttered close to him, his smoky form twinkling from the moonlight streaming through the living room windows. “When is the pretty witch coming to visit?” he asked, a little forlorn. Among the three ghosts, Jungkook was the one who’d grown attached to you the most. “I miss playing with her…”

Yoongi sighed, rubbing his face. “Hopefully never,” he responded, voice muffled by his hands. He peered through his fingers and saw the two other kids floating by his doorway.

Jimin, the older twin, nudged Taehyung forward to speak. “Y-Yoongi… I think she’s coming soon,” Taehyung whispered, a tinge of excitement evident in his tone.

“You can’t keep hiding from her forever… She's sure to find out anyway,” Jimin warned, uncharacteristically stern.

Yoongi stretched his tired limbs, his aching back cracking as he pushed himself off his sofa. Time moved weirdly ever since he turned into a vampire. This month had felt like a day, so it was hard to tell how long he'd been sitting so still. His creaking bones gave him an idea though, that's for sure. “I know… how much do I have to bribe you three to scare her away?”

Jungkook giggled, floating over to sit on Yoongi’s shoulder. “Nothing. We do that all the time for free,” he snickered.

Taehyung nodded in agreement. “It’s true… but she never seems to go away even when we do.”

“In fact, I know she thinks we’re cute,” Jimin said, and Yoongi couldn’t help but agree. Your cat and mouse game with the three idiots was probably past the point of annoyance and more towards the territory of playfulness. You likely noticed how they weren’t exactly the malicious ghosts that people feared, so you humored their antics.

(Yoongi hoped that you stuck around for him, too.)

“How much longer ’til she gets here?” Yoongi asked, walking to his bedroom. The air was stale inside the room, not having to use the bed as much as he once did. He opened his closet, trying to find some better-looking clothes than the threadbare robe he had decided to live in. He plucked a nice button-up shirt, before thinking better of it.

Am I really going to look like a stereotypical vampire when I meet her? What’s next, a cape?

“She’s a few blocks away,” Taehyung responded. The ghost paused, looking at the shirt Yoongi had put back. “No, wear that. She likes it when you wear that shirt.”

“She thinks you look regal in it,” Jimin agreed, grabbing his only pair of slacks. “These, too. She likes your butt in them.”

If Yoongi were still human, he’d probably blush. “I told you boys it’s rude to eavesdrop on her thoughts,” he scolded.

“You like the reassurance, though…” Jungkook muttered, but Yoongi ignored him.

“Two minutes away…!” Taehyung reminded him before disappearing. The two others followed suit, likely going to meet you before you arrived. Yoongi sighed, a headache slowly forming by his temple.

As promised, after two minutes, there was a knock from his front door. As Yoongi reluctantly approached and reached for the doorknob, he could hear you arguing playfully with his little friends.

“Taehyung, no pulling! I just got my hair fixed,” you whined. Despite your words, Yoongi could hear the affection in your voice, plain as day.

“You look really pretty today, noona…” Jungkook giggled, and Yoongi could imagine Jungkook placing a chaste kiss on your cheek in greeting. “Are you finally gonna tell hyung about your crush on him?”

“What are you talking about?!” you yelped. Yoongi heard something fall, then a string of curses from you. “Oh gosh, the food! I hope nothing spilled…”

“Don’t worry, noona. I doubt Yoongi hyung is hungry,” Jimin giggled slyly. “Unless you count how he’s hungry for you…”

Before you could reply to Jimin’s out-of-pocket comment, Yoongi swung open the door, an alarmed expression on his face. “H-hey, Y/N,” he began, a little awkwardly. He cleared his throat, trying to appear as if he hadn’t heard anything at all. “What do I owe this pleasure?”

You froze when Yoongi suddenly appeared. You were in the midst of rearranging the plastic bags of take-out food with your jaw agape, likely about to chastise Jimin for his rudeness. You floundered for a second before straightening up quickly. Your cheeks were a cute shade of red.

(Yeah, maybe he was a little hungry…)

“Yoongi! Oh god, sorry, I was just…” you stumbled for a moment, trying to figure out a way to explain yourself. Behind you, the three stooges grinned evilly, full of satisfaction.

“Do you need help?” Yoongi asked instead, bending down to gather your bags. The smell of take-out Chinese wafted into his nose, and he had to hide his growing smile. His favorite food, you had remembered. If he could eat, he’d be salivating.

“Yoongi hyung is salivating for a different reason…” Taehyung muttered, reading his thoughts. Yoongi and your eyes widened in alarm, causing the three kids to guffaw in response.

“Sorry, I was on the phone with somebody and the bags slipped,” you coughed, quickly grabbing the rest of the bags. In your haste, your hands accidentally touched, making you gasp in surprise.

“Gosh, Yoongi! Your hands are terribly cold! Are you alright…?” you asked, trailing off. When you tore your gaze away from his pale hand, you slowly turned to face him fully. Due to the uproar caused by the kids earlier, you hadn't been able to look at Yoongi properly since you arrived.

Yoongi braced himself, a terse smile on his lips.

You observed him silently, a mysterious emotion flitting through your face. Yoongi saw the way your gaze shifted to the injury on his neck, which he had recklessly forgotten to at least try to cover up. The dots were connecting, and Yoongi waited for you to make the first move.

To his surprise, you started by staring inquisitively at the kids. “Did you guys…?” you asked, suspicious. This was the first time you had openly addressed them in front of him, and Yoongi was shocked. Not only for that, but for also potentially thinking that they were to blame, somehow. Didn’t you trust them by now?

Jimin looked affronted, scoffing at your train of thought. “Us? Of course not! Why on earth would we do that to hyung?”

Jungkook huffed, wrapping an arm around your waist with a sad pout. “Yeah! Why would we hurt hyung on purpose? You don’t think we’d do that, right?” he asked, eyes watering with hurt tears.

Immediately, your expression softened. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean…” you trailed off, sighing. As if remembering where you were, you snapped back to reality, staring incredulously at Yoongi as if he’d grown three heads. Well, or turned into a vampire, he supposed.

“Yoongi! What on earth happened?” you asked, terrified for him. Or perhaps, terrified of him? Yoongi knew he should be feeling guilty, or embarrassed, or maybe a little ashamed, but all he could see was your worry for him, and his dead little heart would have skipped a beat if it still could. God, he was pathetic.

Instead of answering you truthfully, Yoongi chose to run away from his problems, like he always did. “It’s just a mosquito bite,” he explained lamely. He rubbed the very conspicuous marks in question, wincing slightly. It might have been a month since he turned, but it still felt as tender as it did the day it happened.

You stared at him, unimpressed. “In the middle of winter? When you rarely step out of your house?” you asked sarcastically. You gave him a steely glare. “Be serious with me for a second, Yoongi.”

But Yoongi couldn’t. He couldn’t tell you, or else he’d literally die a second death, from embarrassment or heartbreak, he couldn’t tell.

“I… I don’t actually know,” Yoongi lied. It was sort of true. He didn’t know that the stupid bet would actually mean he’d give up his soul to pay for an impossible debt. He had been swindled, that was it. He still didn’t understand how he could’ve been so stupid.

“He didn’t know he was stupid… what a joke,” Jimin murmured, causing the others to giggle in turn. You and Yoongi ignored them.

When he didn’t explain further, your shoulders slumped, defeated. You likely didn’t believe him one bit, but you were never the type to push. You were probably as shy as he was, which had caused its fair share of misunderstandings in the past. Most of the time, those misunderstandings helped Yoongi, though he often wished that he didn’t need them. One day, he’d be honest with you, but for now…

“May I come in, Yoongi? There’s something I have to tell you…” you started, eyes shifting behind you. The kids hovered closer, watching you with curiosity.

Yoongi felt the air turn colder, though he wasn’t sure if it was just him, the wind, or the ghosts doing it. Or maybe it was you.

Yoongi opened the door wider, gesturing for you to come in. “Please, make yourself at home…” he whispered before closing the door gently.

Outside, the three boys didn’t make a move to come in.

“Now… we wait,” Jimin whispered. The other two nodded, faces determined. They floated to the second floor of Yoongi’s villa, still keeping their ears to the floor. As much as they wanted to interrupt, they knew this was an important development for the two of you. They wanted to give you a false sense of privacy, but they could never stop themselves from hearing the gossip. God knows that these rascals would be bored without their daily dose of real telenovela romance.

In the living room, Yoongi took a seat as far away from you on the couch as possible. He laced his hands with an iron grip, forcing himself to stop any fidgeting.

Breaking the silence, you sighed tiredly. “So… where do I begin?”

#yoongi scenarios #yoongi imagines #yoongi x reader #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts x reader #min yoongi #the sleep deprived series #this has been IN MY DRAFTS for months now....#god i am so stuck in my monster phase #i want to write more... MORE...#is this what it feels like to be inspired #idk who i think i am but man... love this guy #kinda obsessed with this au tee bee aych

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nerdieforpedro · 2 months

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Day Nine - Bees

Word Count: 557

Warnings: unsafe beekeeping protocol, Ezra is a menace, past possible crime, honey use?, fluff

Notes: I'm not sure why I pictured Ezra with bees. Maybe it was the honey, maybe it's because you can make many things with it and there could be a beekeeping underbelly simmering below the surface. Maybe I just wanted him in one of those outfits because it reminds me of his gear in Prospect. Who knows?

Main Masterlist / March Spring Prompts 2024 / Writing Challenge

The saccharine words are swayed toward you as does Ezra. He’s donned his wide brimmed hat with its screen net obscuring his face. You know he’s grinning. “Honeycomb, let me see your sweet lips. I need to test the balm.” With wide steps he’s making his way toward you in your full body suit. You’re in the middle of collecting honey from one of your older colonies and are delicately placing the golden substance in a large jar. You’re able to set it down on a table you have nearby and close the top to the colony before turning to face your partner. The powder blue provided an almost comical background to his appearance.

“Give me a minute. I need to remove my flow veil. Why aren’t you wearing your full suit? Are you trying to be laid up again whining about being pink, sore and itchy?” Your voice is light and cheerful as is your smile. He stands before undeterred by his lack of protective equipment, he knows you’ve sealed the colony, but it doesn’t mean there couldn’t be a few that didn’t make it back in. No matter, he’s been stung by much worse, some of which he liked. Plus if it meant he could be laid up and have you care for him again, he’d milk it for all it was worth.

You’d thought that joining Ezra in another one of his schemes would lead to moving states again to keep from the long arm of the law again but thankfully it did not. The business had started out in Texas, but Ezra had found a larger plot of land for the business to grow on in North Dakota. The pair of you stick out like splinters in a pinkie finger. Ezra with his blonde patch, thick southern accent and flowery turn of phrase kept locals on their toes with exactly what to do with the man. Your accent wasn’t as strong as his, but your loud commanding voice, direct manner of speaking and wide frame had people weary of you as well. The market for honey in North Dakota was large so the profits were much larger so despite people’s misgivings, and they eventually came around.

Ezra scoffs as he lifts your veil and places a hand on your hip, pressing his palm into your soft flesh as he presses his lips to yours. He coated his lips with the lip balm to test, stating that he needs help in finding creative ways to try out different products. It is emollient on your lips but feels too thick as you report. The smirk remains on his face, always up to something this one. Not like you didn’t like it though, otherwise you’d have left a long time ago.

“I happen to be fond viscous products as you well know.” Your smile grows wider at his words, and you shake your head. Most roads lead to that with Ezra.

“It’s supposed to be something we can sell Ezra. We are running a business after all.”

“I’m sure we can sell some of it and the rest we can use on a cool spring evening. Imagination is paramount, my honeycomb.” The laughter between the pair of you as the collected honey is carried inside fades on the tease of a warm breeze that blows through.

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #ezra x plus size reader #ezra prospect #A Nerdie fic #March Spring Prompts #Bees

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rumbelleshowdown · 1 year

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Author: Rose Daughter

Prompts: Every day. Monster, fear, cold sweat. Celebrity.

Group: B

Tomorrow

“You’re late, dearie.”

Belle jolts, whirling around, her feet skidding on the shelf of wet rock. She manages to keep her balance, wobbling on the edge of the crystalline pool. Two dark eyes bob above the water, sharp and observant, unsympathetic to her flailing.

“I’ve told you not to sneak up on me like that,” she huffs.

The creature lifts further out of the water, looking menacing with his mane of matted curls hanging in his face. Then, he shakes his head like a wet dog and grins.

“Your lack of spa-cial aware-ness has naught to do with me.”

The words are stodgy in his mouth, so he pronounces them slowly. These were acquired from the book she read aloud to him yesterday. Rumple’s mind was a funny wee lagoon; when she cast new words into it, they usually resurfaced as ammunition to tease her.

He slithers to the pool’s edge, moving through the water like an eel. He props his elbows up on the rocks.

“You’re late,” he says again.

“How can you even tell?”

His crocodilian eyes shift to a silver pocket watch that dangles from a knobbly finger of overhanging rock. It looks suspiciously like the one that used to hang from a fob on Jefferson’s waistcoat.

Belle’s lips press into a thin line. “Yes, well, it’s becoming quite tricky to leave my house without being badgered about another ‘recovery mission’. I think I might need to start charging for my services. You’re becoming too…popular in the village.”

Notorious is a more appropriate term, but she knows he would enjoy that label far too much.

It is not uncommon to see Finfolk off the coast of the Orkney Islands. It is, however, unheard of to catch more than a glimpse of talon and tail as they steal a fish off the end of your line. They don’t linger near the shore. And they certainly don’t take up residence in a grotto at the base of the headland, transforming the limestone ledges into a personal museum of pilfered trinkets.

“I hear you’ve been tipping rowboats again,” she says.

“Shouldn’t have rowed so close to the cave,” he trills, “Def-ini-tely shouldn’t have been out on the water if you don’t know how to swim.”

Rumple’s behavior has elevated him from overgrown sardine to local celebrity; a spectacle at the best of times and a menace at the worst. And when Belle’s routine visits to the grotto became public knowledge, the villagers thrust a title upon her as well. Hostage negotiator.

She scans the cave, searching for possible new additions to his hoard. She feels like she’s playing one of those ‘spot the difference’ games they print on children’s menus. Ah, there. Coiled around a stalagmite is a heart-shaped locket, its ruby pendant winking in the reflection of the pool.

“You know, Miss Lucas used to have a necklace just like that. She took it off to swim one afternoon and, by the time she’d paddled back to the docks, it had vanished.”

“Extra-ordin-ary coincidence.” His expression might have looked innocent on a small boy or a puppy, but it only succeeds in making him look all the more devilish.

Belle shakes her head and bends down to unravel the locket. She pockets it, ignoring his cry of protest.

“And I’m going to need the tackle box you nicked from Marco’s boat.”

He scowls up at her. She can just imagine his tail flicking with irritation. He must have known she’d come asking for that particular prize, as he’d stashed it beneath the water rather than displaying it above.

“What if I trade you for it?” she offers.

His gaze darts to the basket cradled in the crook of her arm. His furrowed brow gives a faint twitch, his resolve instantly weakening. Hook. Line. Sinker.

With a profane grumble, he ducks back under the water. His vocabulary has been increasing in color ever since he started spying on the sailors at the docks.

Belle watches him disappear into the deep as she sits down at the pool’s edge and begins unlacing her boots. She has learned the hard way that heels have rubbish traction.

Some say that jewelry and fishing gear aren’t all that the Fin like to steal. The villagers tell tales of those that have been ferried away to a kingdom beneath the waves. The legends serve as requiems for the men and women who were dragged to the depths and eternally imprisoned in unlawful marriages to the Fins that snatched them. Belle thinks that’s nonsense. The Finfolk detest humans and – typically – want as little to do with them as possible. It would be like kidnapping a cockroach from the gutter to keep as a pet.

Still, the superstition persists. Even when begging her to rescue his tackle box from the sea beast’s lair, Marco had cautioned, “Be careful, girl. He’ll steal you too, if he gets the chance.”

Belle dips her toes into the cool water. Marco’s words echo in her mind as she feels a clawed hand latch onto her ankle. Her scream bounces off the cave walls. Rumple’s head breaches the water’s surface again, eyes glinting with wicked glee.

“…for…for god’s sake, Rumple,” she gasps, pressing her hand over her chest, trying to work her heart out of her throat.

He laughs, baring two rows of razor-sharp teeth. She’s reminded of what a terror he must be to unsuspecting fishermen.

His grin wanes when it comes time to surrender his treasure. Rumple reluctantly hands over the tackle box, looking so forlorn that she almost regrets taking it from him. She knows how enamored he is with the little lures and bobbers.

He plants both hands on the rock and, lean muscles straining, heaves himself up onto the rim beside her. His tail hits the stone with a wet slap.

No artist has ever truly rendered the ethereal beauty of a Fin. They refuse to be pinned to a canvas and captured in a frame. There is no shade of paint that can reproduce the exact green-gold color of their tails, nor their iridescent quality in the sunlight. Belle’s eyes follow the scales up his body to where they become a smattering over his belly, just about where most human men have a trail of fine hair.

Aware of where her eyes are fixed, Rumple reaches for the basket with both hands like an impatient child. Her reflexes are a tad quicker and she slides it out of reach.

“No. Don’t grab. It’s not polite.”

He gives her a rude gesture – something else he undoubtedly picked up from the sailors. The effect is somewhat less potent with his webbed fingers.

After the thermos of hot chocolate had gone down so well last week, Belle suspects his serrated teeth might be quite sweet. She produces a small bundle from the basket, unwrapping the gingham handkerchief to reveal a crumbly stack of homemade shortbread. Rumple peers at it, captivated as the scent of honey and coriander hits his nose.

“Dry your hands first or it’ll go all mushy.”

Rumple does dry his hands; not on the handkerchief, but on her jumper, his talons snagging the woolen yellow fibers on her sleeve. He swipes a wedge before she can delay him any longer.

He takes a small, suspicious bite. She can tell the exact moment that the butter-rich biscuit dissolves on his tongue. His eyes go wide and he looks to her with such childlike delight, it makes her heart beat wildly against her rib cage.

“There are otters up the coastline. They have pups,” he says suddenly, as though trying to bolster his half of the trade. “I’ll take you to see them.”

“I’m not dressed for swimming.”

He rolls his eyes. That isn’t something he learned from the sailors. That is something he adopted from her.

“You can’t get these clothes wet, but you can put on different clothes speci-fic-ally to get wet?”

He wrinkles his nose indignantly. His derisive ‘urgh, humans’ is unspoken, but is heard all the same.

“I’ll wear something suitable tomorrow. You can bring me then.”

Tomorrow. He loves that word more than anything.

His sullen expression melts away. He leans in expectantly. Now, this is special. This is something he taught her. Belle meets him halfway, resting her forehead against his. His crooked nose presses into her cheek, their faces slotting together like two puzzle pieces. They stare at one another for a long, quiet moment. His lips twist into a lopsided smile and he pulls back.

That means, ‘I’m happy’. It means, ‘thank you’.

It means, ‘love you’.

Rumple’s tail thumps the rock again, splashing water over her legs, the droplets clinging to her calves like a sheen of cold sweat. She watches him examine a second piece of shortbread like it’s made of solid gold.

‘Yes, tomorrow’, Belle thinks, smiling down at where his fin grazes her ankles.

‘Perhaps he’ll steal me tomorrow.’

#rumbelle showdown #round one #rumbelle fic #rose daughter

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celestie0 · 17 days

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🪷 adding to your headcanon about beach gojo..he loves the beach and the sun but that love is NAWT reciprocated. No matter how much sunblock he applies he always ends up with a mean crackling sunburn. He's #1 enemy of the local seagulls.

I have a hc that one time he went w his team to the beach and fell asleep (because my baby was tired after so many competitions and college🙁) and the guys put sand on him in a way that he tanned everywhere except his chesticles, almost as if he was wearing a bikini. (Something like this- https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRF20kFLYoLKDrLhSpXLJ_FU8lT8mJ6tCSeNttWPVGbe51n_WmFG1ogwy8&s=10 ) That was Suguru's plan. That was also the first time nanami almost passed out laughing.

Your hcs for their date are so cute fuckkk 😭😭😭 imagine him getting like...idk a crepe or something for reader from one of the beach trucks and the seagull snatches that shit right from his hands and he's just standing there like 🧍🏻while reader bursts into fits of giggles. Worth it in the end because hey you laughed and he thinks you're prettiest when you're smiling.

Thank you for these hcs again you have the wrinkliest brain among us ☝🏼

(2)🪷 is hereeee. Also yeah bae I think it's a lotus/lilypad emoji? Similar tho lmao. Btw i hope you had a good day!

ooo okie okie lilypad r so cuuutee omg 🥺🪷🐸

thanks my deaaarr i had a nice day yesterday :”) i hope you had a good day too n i hope today is wodnerful as well!!

lmfaooo im dyinggg you’re so fuckin right he’d get sunburnt like a mfer 😭😭😭 dude probably spends hundreds of dollars a year on sunblock 🤣🤣 i cannttt. the tanlines wld go crazy too hahah

IM CRYINGJGKGK AT THAT IMAGE LIKE I LITERALLY SCREAM LAUGHED PLS they wld so totally do that 😭😭 he wakes up n he got a sand bra burn lines n he’s like 😯…..wait why do i kinda…look good like this 😏 PLSS. also they probably burried him so deep once that only his neck was above sand n he’s like haha guys suuuuper funny now let me out!! n they all just leave him there. n he’s like guys this isnt funny 😃….guys? 😅…..guys 😨

im crying 😭😭😭

ALSO YES I WAS JUST TALKING YESTERDAY AB HOW ANNOYING N MENACING SEAGULLS ARE what a coincidence. ur so rightt n him jsust being happy reader got a giggle out of it 🥲💕 sobsbsbs

thank uuu for the ask bb omg no YOU have the wrinkliest brain ur asks have me reeling i am still dying thinking ab that pic link u sent 🤣🤣 have a beautiful day darling <33

- ellie 🐸

#i need to make a crackhead drabble of the kickoff boys at the beach #pls remind me for 1k follower event #🪷 anon #kickoff #asks

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dmwrites · 1 year

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It was the song that caught his attention. Ren had just come back to the castle, his castle, and heard very odd music coming from the vault. He peered down into it, and saw the heads of a crowd of people, all just casually hanging out with the diamond reserves.

“Uh, guys?”

And then the assembled crowd looked up as one, and for a moment, the breath in Ren’s throat seized as he looked down upon a sea of Xisuma’s faces. He imagined them reaching out their hands as one and tearing at his clothes, taking his crown, telling him he was no longer king, that the admin was in power now, and always had been.

But no, no, it was just a costume party, of course. The moment of panic burrowed back under the king’s skin as he saw each person holding up their Xisuma mask with a delicate pole, or tied behind their head.

“EXCUSE ME!” Ren dropped down, megaphone held to his mouth, a flurry of concerned murmuring greeting him. “What on earth is all of this?”

There was a flurry of rockets and sparks, and almost every Xisuma took off, fleeing the party like rats from a pantry. Only one remained, and he was already groveling, bowing so low that there was no question as to who was under the mask.

“Bdouble0, what is the meaning of this?” Ren shouted into the megaphone, reaching over and pushing up the mask his right hand man wore.

“I- my liege, I thought this was approved by you!” Bdubs took off his Xisuma mask and set it on the jukebox.

“Why on earth would I arrange for a party to be held in the vault, penetrating my most private of areas?” Ren blustered.

“Yeah, I did think the party favors of diamond blocks was a bit out of character for you.” Bdubs said, eyes then widening at what he’d revealed.

“WHAT?” Ren looked around, then, shouting expletives into his megaphone, flew back up to the castle main, and out towards the royal quest area, hoping to catch someone guilty around. But the area was silent, and Ren landed by the entrance with a huff of annoyance. Bdubs landed next to him after a moment.

“Who arranged this?” Ren asked.

“Impulse.” Bdubs replied.

“Impulse…” Ren hummed, walking over to the royal priority quest and taking out the placemarker Impulse head that lay inside. He held it up so he was eye-level with the dwarven man’s head. “The to-the-books rule follower? You’re sure he didn’t have someone whispering in his ear? I’ve heard the local cleaning lady is a bit of a menace. Or perhaps a soulmate from another land…” Ren’s ears flattened as he came his made-up conclusion.

Bdubs held out his hands. “My king. I am loyal to you and only you.”

“Perhaps you are correct, sir Bdouble0.” Ren sighed. “It was just the masks… Xisuma is no leader, but he does have certain powers that I… lack.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it, Ren.” Bdubs said soothingly. “Why would the people ever turn on you? You’re a wonderful king.”

Ren nodded slowly, not quite believing either one of them.

#December 11 2022 #fic #hc9 #king ren #bdubs #long post #finally finished this from when impulse threw that party lol

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ncteez · 9 months

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ok. the last ask got eaten and i THINK it might be bc i included a link on anon so fuck tumblr. I’ll send u the link and u can add it if u feel like it. (its rhythm ta hwa)

OK SO! PUNK HWA! he is! so intimidating and scary looking, especially him being quieter and calmer in public with his resting bitch face. but he’s such a nerd who loves lego and gundam and girl groups (i’m imagining punk hwa doing chungha covers loml) and he just looks so mean especially when he’s out with the any of the boys (especially joong) but he’s just a sweetheart

OK just a lil nsfw BUT! punk!hwa being such a pussy drunk loser! just such a fucking simp for his s/o. you’d be at a bar and he wouldn’t let you get one drink for yourself. or if someone is trying to flirt w his s/o he’d go fucking halateez!hwa on their ass just Glowering at them. he’d lowkey love when people assume he is the more dominant one in the relationship bc he loves letting it slip that he gets put in his place. especially if he’s getting flirted with and his s/o comes up and gets a lil dom and shows off so the mf flirting w him gets embarrassed and leaves. The WAY he would love getting punished at home for it too. take care of him! punish him! he doesn’t care he just wants you!!! happy to take anything you give him! and the fucking smudged lipstick too. (him eating you out and getting his lipstick all smudged ahg)

(also have Thoughts about hongjoong makeup but thats another ask)

-sycophant anon

over two months ago u sent this, and i finally found it bc it's ur birthday and i love u , my fave mortal enemy.

Firstly, i imagine punk!hwa being all menacing with his narrowed eyes and slack jaw like he is on stage all the time. walking with perfect posture, looking cocky, confident, and SUPER fucking intimidating.

Messy hair, piercings, chipped off nail polish, the whole shebang with punk hwa. then, in public, on lookers will see him in the club, or at a dingy show for local bands that are growing popular and see you next to him.

Maybe ur a lil punk bitch too, but i like the idea of shocking people with his choice of s/o. Like they would go as far as walking up to him when he's off getting you another drink, because he will be damned if anyone else does, better yet if you have to get your own drink. and they'll get real close to him at the bar like

"You don't seem to be enjoying yourself with the person you came with, why don't you come hang out with me and my friends?"

and he'd just fucking ignore them. they'd keep talking though.

"Come on, we won't tell them if you're bored. Let's have some fun!"

and THEN he'd be as fucking menacing as possible as he turns to look at them, eyeing them up and down before blatantly walking away (bc ignoring someone hurts more than 1000 slaps in the face.)

that group of people would keep their eye on him tho, noticing how you're not the one clinging to him. he clings to you. Such a big, broad, intimidating man looks to be nearly buckling to his knees when you whisper something to him against his messy hair.

and good lord when they see him perform with his own local band, seeing him after the show getting into his car with you. Kissing you right there, steaming up the window for whatever onlookers are still wandering around bc he can't fucking help it. like he needs you to love on him right then and there or he will simply fucking die.

anyway,

punk hwa at home is still punk hwa, just a softer version. You're right in saying he would take anything from you. Love, passion, anger. punishment. edging. sexual torture.

you know him better than he knows himself, and trusts that you'll always probably love him better than he loves himself too.

#[mail]#sycophant anon #HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY LOVE

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glitchinginhyperfixis · 2 years

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Mike recently became a waiter at a local restaurant. He's around the apartment less, and though Max would never admit this, she missed him. One night she decides to go visit him and give him shit.

Mike doesn't notice her, until he gets to the table. He immediately frowns and trys to go to another table but she grabs his hand and pulls him back. She has that stupid smirk on her face that drives him crazy. (he loves it)

She ends up ordering something ridiculous off the menu, and constantly calls him over the entire night just to annoy him. She stays a tiny bit longer so she can go home with him after his shift. He keeps saying how embarrassing she is, and how's she banned for coming back, and all she does is just grin and lay her head on his shoulder.

Mike never admits that night was one of the funnest nights he's had in a long time. It's like she knew just how to cheer him up. That's something he never realized back when he met her all those years ago. The both of them knew the exact buttons to push.

They're two sides of the same coin.

- 💍

!!!!!! spouse, you make my days brighter with these asks. this is amazing. the balance between their antagonism and affection is making me emotional.

they really are two sides of the same coin.

i imagine that sometimes the whole party will visit them at their apartment, and they’re just in awe of the way mike and max’s dynamic works. they never thought mike and max would get along this well. instead of making each other worse like everyone thought they would, they made each other better.

i also imagine another day like this but mike sees max sitting at one of the tables and just lets out the loudest sigh. one of his coworkers asks him what’s wrong and he just points to her. “my roommate. that’s what’s wrong. she’s a menace.”

also with the “embarrassing” part, i’d like to think he would do this a lot, but he’d always try to hide a smile and fail miserably.

#you’re feeding me endless content and i don’t know how to thank you for that #platonic madwheeler #ask collection #ring anon my beloved

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manor-tea-time · 4 months

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Bartie brings a few baggies in his teeth for the group. There are multiple ornaments, a rose, a candle, a tree, and a dress. “Hello everyone! Happy Holidays!!! -Tatya”

As the sparkling ornaments went up onto the tree, each one of Tatya’s gifts was handed out by the delightful scuttle of the local patroller. Each giving the small creature small pieces of food and candy to thank Bartie for his services.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Ivy ξ(❁) ⊕) ξ :

The costume maker gingerly plus led the rose from one of the bags. Smelling it and twirling it in her hand a few times before setting it by one of her smaller projects for the holidays. “Thank you Bartie.” She wrapped a small box with a small wool knitted hat with her own season’s greetings attached to a card and handed it to the patroller. “Could you be a dear and bring this back with you? I can give you some more cookies to snack on later.”

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Wayne (-⊕ ζ ⊕-) < :

Wayne’s face seemed to light up at the sight of a new candle. They were always useful in case he was low on proper fuel for his lamps. Along with holding a kind smell of nostalgia he could never quite place. “How thoughtful of her. I’ll have to send her something in return quite soon.” He turned his gaze down to the (surprisingly) menacing patroller. He wasn’t sure he’d want to entrust his present’s delivery in the hands of Bartie. At least for now. “I wonder how she knew I like this sent… I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned it.”

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

LeRoy 🗝️>(⊖▼⊗´)•ζ :

“What a darling sprout. What a great surprise for this celebration!” LeRoy said as he carefully inspected the small tree. “This will be so fun to look after between matches. Although, I’d need to find some good soil to plant it in.”

The Forest Ranger gave the patroller a light pat on the head giving them some small biscuits from their bag as a small rewarding treat. “What do you think I should send her back? I’d imagine something shiny. Maybe I can find some interesting gems!”

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Miss Manni (,◡ _ ◡,) :

“Oh my! Miss. Tatya truely has gone above and beyond hasn’t she?” Miss Manni hummed as she inspected the dress gleefully. It seemed to be just her style (if not a bit more modern). She’d have to wear it around the manor and show it off during her next off day.

“Thank you for delivering this to me Bartholomew. I hope the two of you have been having a lovely holiday as well.” She lightly patted the patroller’s head. “Now let’s get you something warmer to bundle up in! It’s freezing out there you know.”

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

#“key-master”#the costume maker #the lampsmith #the living mannequin #Anon Visits #idv oc ask blog #idv askblog #idv ocs #identity v #oc

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simplydm · 2 years

Text

I literally can not stop thinking of the concept of foolish being on hermitcraft in like, let’s say, five years or so. Like, new hermitcraft/mcyt fans come and they’re like oh this foolish guy seems cool and then they do a deep dive and discover that he used to be on dsmp and like skyrocketed to fame in like a year and is friends with corpse and dream and all these other streamers and he’s still having building-related meltdowns on stream but now he can’t swear. There’s stories about him that people can’t believe is true now (punz licked his elbow one time while in Vegas? No way!). Just, the potential of new fans finding out all the wacky stuff he does now is hilarious

#like obvs idk if he’d ever be allowed to join hcraft #but I like to imagine he’d be a local menace #foolish gamers #speak up dm

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p---ink · 3 years

Text

“What’s Gotten Into You?”

Author’s Note: Hi :) It’s been a while. I feel like I say that in every author’s note. Work has been draining, yada yada yada, writer’s block, blahj blahj blahj, please. You guys know the routine. Now this request is long over due. @blowmymbackout requested it ageeesss ago. I’m just happy to find inspiration just before her birthday. Anyway, happy birthday love! I really hope you enjoy this one.

Summary: Bruce is pleasantly surprised when he finds out you’ve taken a sexual enhancement.

Warning: Smut, language, you know the deal. Minors DNI (do not interact)

Word Count: 3.5k

Song: Lights On by Fka Twigs. There’s no specific reason I chose this song, other than I thought the lyrics could be in Bruce’s perspective if you squint hard enough. It’s just a bop in my opinion, don’t think too much about it lol

Disclaimer: Pictures and dividers are not mine. Nor is the gif.

Dr. Hubby: You know I don’t enjoy surprises. They stress me out.

You: Well you’ll enjoy this one, if you know what I mean ;)

Dr. Hubby: Just tell me what it is.

You: Just be here at 8 Bruce 😒

Maybe telling him you had a surprise wasn’t the best idea. You knew he’d be anxious about the thing all day. But all was well, because you didn’t plan on telling him what it was now.

Speaking of what it was, you rustled through the plastic bag that clung loosely around your wrist. It was solid black for what you imagined was for discretion since the contents weren’t so innocent.

The little pink box you pulled out was decorated with a fancy purple font and a tiny white cat, whose eyes were electric. Menacing the thing was, but the pink pussycat guaranteed pleasure.

“Take one hour before intercourse. Drink at least 16 ounces of water…” You mumbled, as you read the instructions aloud.

Not that you two needed the aid of the supplement, but after the promising reviews and not to mention your best friend swearing by it, you wanted to give it a try.

After all why wouldn’t you, after this comment you saw on their instagram page,

Littytitty420 commented My pussy had its own heartbeat shortly after I took this pill. My sheets were drenched, and I drained my partner of every bit of energy they could offer. The only bad thing I have to say is that it is crucial to drink plenty of water. Ignore that 16 ounces shit, you’ll need to hydrate consistently throughout the day. Trust me: it will save you the trouble of water breaks between your fuck sessions. So start chugging now, sis. Also WARNING: DO NOT take this pill if you are not prepared to fuck for your life. IT LASTED 68 HOURS FOR ME, and my partner was spent after two! So be warned, that bullet will not satisfy you, you’ll need a human sized bag of meat!

“I’m sold.” Was what you said, shortly before deciding to make the trip to your local adult toy shop.

If I were to ask you to describe your sex life with Dr. Banner in one word, you would say “relaxed” in a heartbeat.

Banner took his time with you. And for good reason too. It took a lot of convincing on your part, for him to even consider the act of sex. But with a lot of time, patience, communication and trust, you two eventually made love. A lot.

With perfection comes practice, you always said. Suffice to say, you two practiced a lot. Every time you “practiced” you took it a step further than the last. And now, you were convinced that tonight was the one that you had spent all this time practicing for.

You had a detailed agenda for the evening:

7:25 Take Pill

7:30 Prepare Dinner

8:00 Eat Dinner

8:25 Have Bruce eat me.

Dinner, quality time, and mind-blowing sex: that’s the plan, you thought to yourself.

But sometimes things don’t always go according to plan. For instance, Bruce arriving two hours ahead of schedule, was not a part of the plan.

“Damn it B! I told you eight o’clock!” You complained after he hurried inside of your door, placing hasty kisses on each of your cheeks, and one on your lips.

“What?” He whined, sporting that puppy dog look you always loved. “I was too excited to wait that long.”

How could you stay irritated at that? Still you whined back, “I haven’t even made dinner yet. I was gonna give you your surprise after that.”

“Aww muffin, let’s just make it together. You know I like helping you do that.” He replied, turning his back to you and fumbling with his phone as he paired his bluetooth to your speaker. Before long the familiar sound of his favorite Bossa nova playlist flooded your ears.

“No you like eating the ingredients, then complaining later because we never have enough sausage.” You say over the soft jazz.

“I can’t help that you never prepare enough! You have to take into account that your boyfriend is a very hungry man!” He expressed passionately. You chuckled at how sincere he sounded. “I’m constantly eating for two, and I always tell you this. ‘I need more meat Y/N. Prepare six servings instead of’ two—”

He interrupted himself when you shot him a disapproving, but playful, glare.

“—Joking. Joking.” He finished, throwing up his hands in a defensive manner. Then he quickly added, “Where do you want me Captain?” scurrying to the sink to wash his hands.

“Peel the damn potatoes Banner.”

“Anything you say, boss.” You heard him say, as you tucked the pink pussycat into your apron pocket, before slipping away to your bedroom.

Another thing that was not a part of the plan, was the pill taking effect a full 30 minutes earlier than you thought it would.

You grossly underestimated the effects.

It didn’t help that you had engulfed a glassful of wine. Alcohol and a sexual enhancement was not a good mix.

What also didn’t help , was Banner taking it upon himself to give you a very intimate lesson in chopping veggies.

You felt his presence envelope yours. An earthy aroma mixed with lemon and ginger overwhelmed your senses as he pressed his front against your back. Placing his hand over yours and the knife, he guided your movements slowly.

“I read in an article once, that the way you cut an onion can impact the taste.” He told you, his whole body softly reverberating through yours and raising the hairs on your neck. “There’s an enzymatic reaction in them that produces the flavor. And the finer the slice, the more enhanced the taste. ”

Your reply to that was, “Fuck baby, I love it when you talk nerdy to me.”

Your breathy moan caused him to abruptly halt his actions, cough and stumble backwards. “I’m sorry what?” He asked you, eyeing you incredulously, an amused glimmer shining through his eyes. Had he heard you right?

You cleared your throat, trying to recompose yourself before you say, “It was just a joke. Haha. I’m so funny!” You awkwardly squawked, hoping you didn’t scare him too bad with your forthrightness

“Right.” He agreed, skeptical mug still painting his features. You didn’t joke like that. But he decided to let it go. You were so embarrassed that you tried to as well.

Good thing your embarrassment didn’t last long. Over the course of the meal, shamelessness took its place.

It was the little things. The everyday things that were innocent on any other occasion.

The way his teeth lightly grazed the prongs of his fork, made you jealous of the silverware. How you wanted him to tease your nipples the same way.

The jet black and gray fluffy strands of hair that shook when he spoke, would feel heavenly right about now if they were tickling at your thighs.

It was sinful the way his long fingers encased the small utensils. You could just imagine them tangled in your hair or pulling at your hips as he pounded into you mercilessly.

His lips wrapping around his wine glass, had you whining in more ways than one. It was hard work trapping those whimpers in your throat. Hard work taming your ass from bucking forward in your seat.

“Mmm” Banner groaned (a little too erotically in your opinion), “Fantastic job as always! Dinner was delicious.” His compliment went ignored, as your focus was zeroed in on his chin.

He noticed of course and asked, “Is there something on my face?” Immediately letting his hand hover over the area.

“Yeah there’s a bit of sauce on your chin.” You softly answered.

“That’s embarrassing. I’m such a messy eater sometimes.” He shared. You could practically hear the drip from your panties that spilled onto the mahogany dining stool. It was caused by the innocent innuendo. But what was worse was his next action. He let his finger collect the substance, then his tongue darted out to clean the thick creamy mess. “Every drop counts right?”

“Do you have room for dessert?” You chimed. He had barely finished his sentence, but his ears perked up at the offer.

“Depends on what you have in mind?” Was what he replied.

“Me.”

Tongue now in cheek, impish grin and cloudy eyes overtaking his features, he leaned back in his chair and asked “Is that right?

“That’s right.”

“Why don’t you come a little closer then?”

And you didn’t need to be asked twice. Before you knew it, you had leapt out of your chair and straddled yourself over his waist. The action almost tipped you both over, but before he could say another word, your lips were over his.

You couldn’t decide if you wanted your hands in his hair or on his neck, but the decision to plant one on each came quickly.

And then you kind of ungracefully invaded his mouth with your tongue. “Mm. Slower baby.” Bruce pleaded between kisses.

“Sorry” You mumbled into his lips. Rocking your hips and lightly digging your nails into the sides of his neck, you went slower but as a consequence your actions became a bit more rough.

He pulled back a little before commenting, “That’s a little rough, angel.” when you bit his bottom lip a little too harshly. This time you didn’t reply, and instead decided to capture his neck between your teeth. Sucking and bruising the skin harshly, you pulled back to completely ruin one of his favorite shirts.

When you ripped it open, the clatter of little plastic buttons connecting with the floor rang through his ears, while going unnoticed by yours.

“Geez Y/N!” He all but hissed. “What’s gotten into you tonight?”

“I can tell you what I’d like to get into me. I can even tell you how to make it happen. You can start by taking those pants off.”

He had never seen you act like that before. To say it turned him on would be an understatement. He was no longer in control of his actions from this point forward.

He stood so quickly you felt dizzy, as he placed you on the edge of the table. He reconnected with your lips and firmly squeezed your breasts through your shirt. His kiss turned rougher. His touch was firmer, and he even let his thumbs scan your chest as they more than lightly grazed your cloth-covered nipples.

And though Bruce was now on board with your eagerness, he still couldn’t quite match your enthusiasm. You threaded your fingers through the bottom patch of hair on his neck, and let his happy trail guide your other hand to the button of his jeans.

Bruce mirrored your action, letting his hand slip under your dress, then panties at the same time that you released him from his jeans.

You swallowed his groans as your wrist repeated its slow up and down motion on his shaft. He swallowed yours as his fingers massaged your swollen clit.

“How are you already so wet?” He groaned to no avail, because you were too busy fucking yourself on his fingers to answer any question he could think of.

Seeing you so vulnerable yet so shameless as you took your own pleasure, sent welcome shudders down his spine. The combination of you undulating your hips up and down to meet his fingers, whilst you massaged his dick had him slightly leaking onto your hand.

Not yet, he thought. He still had to taste you. Still have to feel you around me, before I cum.

Keeping one hand connected to your heat, Bruce gently pushed you back, so your body could lie flat on the surface of the table. Then he hiked your dress around your stomach, removed your panties, and took a seat. He needed to: he made up his mind that he wanted to be here for a while. Then he pulled your body closer to the edge, wrapped your thighs around his neck and buried his face into your sex.

He relished the burn he felt in his scalp as you pulled and tugged at his hair. Took delight at the lack of breath from your thighs closing in on him. Felt proud of the deafening wails you let out as you vibrated against his face.

Stiffening and relaxing his tongue in a repetitive cycle, was how he had you convulsing around the muscle. His fingers were both delicate and determined, as they moved in and out of your weeping hole.

Don’t get me wrong, Bruce never had trouble in the orgasm delivery division, but never had he experienced such an intense display of pleasure. I mean you were shaking long after you had cum. Not that he was complaining. He was curious, but uncomplaining.

“Ready for more?” He asked after a second (and I mean a second) of letting you calm down.

“Yes, please.” You relayed, but he had already begun the process of lifting your legs. With one ankle hooked over his shoulder, and the other dangling behind his waist, Bruce was able to sink deep into you; a sigh of pleasure escaping you both, as your body welcomed him with its warm hug.

“Fuck, baby” He groaned after one excruciatingly slow thrust. “What did you do?” But he didn’t really need to know the answer now. Not as if you were in the right mind to give it to him anyway. Not as if he was in the right mind to comprehend it. He was too busy focusing on the soft jilt of your tits as his sharp thrusts sent your body up and down the table. Too busy focused on the impossibly wet, impossibly warm feel of you. Entirely too busy concentrating on the sound of your moans mixed with the lewd sticky wetness that rang through his ears when he slowly inserted himself in and out of you.

One, two, no three strokes later, and your hot juices are already washing over him. Your tight pussy already growing tighter. “Shit!” he all but yells, when he too almost cums right then and there.

Pulling out completely he wasted no time in helping you to your feet. “Bedroom now. And this,” his gruff voice spoke lowly, in reference to your scantily clad dress, “this better be off when I get there.”

Your wobbly legs almost gave way when he released you. It was part due to your recent activities, and part due to the tone of his voice. Mostly due to the look in his eyes that you had never seen until now.

Still you did as he said, rushing, ungracefully might I add, to your bedroom.

You pulled your dress over your head, followed with your bra, and you had it mostly off by the time you felt his presence at your bedroom’s entrance.

“So this is what I can give my blame to.” You turned to see what he was going on about, when you saw him holding the same little pink package you held not an hour earlier.

He was silent as he read the carton. Silently brooding. “Bruce—”

“Hands and knees, Y/N. And don’t make me repeat it.”

Is he upset? You thought, but still you climbed onto the bed. Much too turned on to worry. What have you gotten yourself into?

You heard the whipping of his shirt as he pulled it off, followed by the rustling of his pants as they too fell to the floor. Then you felt the bed depress as he climbed on behind you.

“How do you want me to fuck you?” He asked. He lined himself up at your entrance, and gripped your hips as he awaited your answer.

He never said the word fuck when he referred to sex with you. Partly because he never fucked you. Nevertheless you softly answered, “Hard.” To which he replied,

“Tap out if you need me to stop.”

“I won’t want you to.”

“I sure hope not.”

And then the only coherent word you could form after, is the strangled yes that escaped your throat just after he rammed his dick into you.

It’s hard to keep your balance with the way he’s abusing your cunt. Your nails are clenching at the sheets, in a similar fashion to the way Bruce’s nails are digging into your skin. The sting it produces would be painful on any other day, but now it only riled you up. Suffice to say your pain and pleasure receptors were blurred and royally fucked up right now.

You began whimpering his name, and throwing your hand back in what he thought was to lessen the impact of his blows.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” He grunted, staggering in his pace but snaking an arm around to roughly massage your chest.

“No, fuck me harder!” You screamed, the words leaving your mouth quicker than you can think about the consequences.

And though his voice (now much, much deeper than normal) warned, “You’re playing with fire, Y/N.” He gave you what you asked for.

Quicker sharper thrusts in and out of you made your arms collapse beneath you, as Banner set a brutal pace. And the new angle created by your arched back allowed him to sink deeper, and deeper into you.

“This feels so fucking good!” You cried into the sheets. And before long, you felt that familiar coil in the pit of your stomach threaten to snap as pleasure washed over you. “Don’t stop, baby!”

And he didn’t. No he didn’t even let up. Didn’t even falter, when your whines turned into screams. It was the same blend of merciless yet accurate strokes, even when your pussy began contracting around him again.

No, the milky glaze you left around his dick allowed him to slip in and out of you even quicker.

And though your body was sore and spent, it was far from satisfied. You moaned, and cried his name, lazily trying (and failing) to push yourself back onto him to meet his hips with yours. But you stopped when you caught a glimpse of his hand as it fell beside yours.

His normally olive-toned fingers slowly began turning a shade of green. But before you could tap out, his pace staggered as he spilled his cum into you, letting out an almost animalistic groan.

He bought his hand back to your waist, and glued his hips to yours, forcing all of his cum into you. He slowly rocked his hips into you as waves of pleasure rippled off of him and into you, while he rode out his high, shamelessly moaning and whimpering just as you did earlier.

“Bruce?” you hesitantly called, “Baby you still with me?” but he didn’t answer. Instead after a few moments of hearing nothing but his steady breathing, you felt his lips on your spine, as he planted kisses down your back. His warm breath, and sweaty forehead lingered at the base, as he continued trying to catch his breath.

And though you were relieved, his lingering kisses on your spine had you wet all over again.

“You wanna tell me what the hell you were thinking?” He hissed through gritted teeth, as he laid down to get a better look at you. His eyes were hooded from exhaustion.

“About what?” You innocently asked, through a labored pant, a little too focused on other things to think about what he could mean.

“Geez, I don’t know. Maybe when you decided to take,—fuck,” He moaned out, before finishing his thought with, “a sexual enhancement.”

You smirked down at him, as you swayed your hips back and forth onto his dick. “You think it was a bad idea?”

“I didn’t say that” He retorted quickly, grabbing your hips to match your movements with his, as he rolled himself up into you. “I’m just saying…” He started slowly, a little too focused on other things to organize his thoughts, “Maybe you could give a guy a heads up next time.”

And as you took in his words, and took in him, you found yourself cumming again before you could ask, Where’s the fun in that?

Grinding down onto him slowly, you rode out your climax, with the aid of him fucking you threw it. A sweaty, shaky mess you were, (your body not exactly equipped to lose so much water, on top of the strenuous activities) as you came undone on him, for what had to be the...well you don't know, you lost count.

Your body was hot to the touch and your throat was sore from all the moaning. So was your jaw, and even your mouth was dry from having it open for so long. Simply put, you were fucked out, and were finally ready to give it a rest.

As you laid down beside him, he draped his arm around your limp body, pulling you closer to him as he held you tight. The feeling of him was nice. His scent, much like it was earlier, was intoxicating. And he was warm and soft. The heat of his body just about coaxed you to sleep. But,

“Oh no, angel. We’re not doing this again.” He protested, when he felt your lips on his skin.

And then you chuckled when you recalled, “That’s what you said last time” before dragging your body on top of his.

A:N// Hi babes, tell me what you guys think :)

#bruce banner x reader #Bruce banner smut #black reader #Bruce banner #mcu smut #Hulk #Bruce banner imagine #mcu #marvel imagines

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lo-frequency · 3 years

Text

Bakusquad + Todoroki Pet Headcanons!

Just some hc’s of what pets I think the boys would have and how they’d treat them. This is definitely a crack post 💀

Bakugou

-A bulldog, named Killer. Killer the Great Explosion Murder Dog to be exact.

-He’s an all white bulldog with a little spike collar around his neck. The alternative is a collar with a fake grenade attached, usually used when Bakugou takes him out in public.

-Killer also has a harness with the little flare attachments on each side like on Bakugou’s mask.

-Despite his name (and what Bakugou wants you to believe), Killer is as sweet as they come. “C’mere, Killer!” Bakugou calls him, smacking his leg and you’re expecting this absolute menace to come charging down the hall. Instead, Killer’s stocky self comes trotting out of Bakugou’s room with his tongue hanging out of his mouth and his lil’ tail nub wagging.

-Bakugou’s like “I’ve been training him to be an attack dog” and Killer only runs like a few feet from the house before stopping, opting to lay down and roll over for a belly rub.

-Don’t be fooled by all his tough talk, Bakugou most certainly spoils Killer, that’s exactly why he’s so lazy. His days consist of begging for treats and pretending not to understand Bakugou’s instructions. Not to mention that he has a big, memory foam dog bed, gets fed real food, and Katsuki takes him for 2 walks a day, everyday.

-Pats him roughly, but Killer is one of those dogs who likes slaps on the butt so he doesn’t mind lol. They play rough too, and at any given time Bakugou can be found rolling around the floor, play wrestling with Killer.

-Imagine if he posted tiktoks of Killer and people started trolling him like “Killer is slow, my dog can run faster than him” “Killer is overweight” “He can’t even run down the street”

-Bakugou truly believes Killer can do everything he says about him, and gets offended if you even insinuate otherwise. He would get mad at all the haters in the comments, clapping back at them like “I know you’re not talking with that lil’ rat dog in your profile pic” and he’d challenge them to races in the local dog parks so he can defend Killer’s reputation 💀. Well, one person actually accepted so now Bakugou has to train Killer for his first race.

-And then when he posts videos of him and Killer exercising, people are like “You’re pushing him too hard” “Poor Killer” “Stop forcing him to exercise” He just can’t win 🤷🏾‍♀️.

-Denki comes over and exposes him like “Killer’s been training alright, training his jaws” while filming Bakugou passing Killer food under the table.

-“Where’s Killer?” “He’s training in the pool right now.” “In the pool? Dude, you know bulldogs can’t swim, right?” “Well my Killer swims all the time!” And his friends rush to his backyard to see Killer lazily paddling around Bakugou’s pool with a floaty fitted on his little body lol.

-Killer loves him some Katsuki. He would be so clingy with him, following him everywhere he goes in the house, to the point where Bakugou has almost tripped over Killer several times. He has to close the door or put a baby gate up so he won’t interrupt him and all you hear in the background is Killer howling at the door.

-Killer fan cams, lmaoo

-Katsuki goes live and all people are asking about is Killer, and all the donations are “Killer’s Treat Fund” “Feed Killer on Camera” “Give him a belly rub”

-Bakugou never should’ve showed Killer on social media, it’s his account now 💀

Todoroki

-I can see Shoto with beta fish, but he wouldn’t know that you can’t put two males in the same tank.

-So one day, he comes home from work and sees that one of his fish is,,,not alive.

-Shoto quickly puts two and two together after seeing that the other beta fish is a little injured too, and he is absolutely horrified.

-After he cleans up the mess, he just looks at the survivor fish. Shoto can’t help but feel contempt toward him. He’s a murderer, he killed his other fish.

-From then on, Shoto does not like the survivor fish. He still takes care of him, but out of duty as his owner, only 😒.

-People on social media ask him what his fish’s name is. “He doesn’t have a name.”

-And then he makes a post like “Some of you have asked me why my fish doesn’t have a name. It’s because I don’t like him. He’s a murderer.” (Y’all, please 💀)

-People start calling him Killer Fish and Bakugou comments that there can only be one Killer, and that’s his dog.

Kirishima

-A turtle. He’d have one of those turtles with the raised horns/spikes on its shell and his name would be Tank.

-So Kiri thinks Tank the Turtle is the toughest little dude around, and often posts videos of him swimming or walking around outside.

-He’s like “You know, I think he’s faster than most turtles.” “How do you know that?” He shrugs, watching Tank with a grin “I can just tell, I mean look at him, he’s going!” And Tank is chugging along the ground at a good .002 mph.

-He’d have Tank on his back as he does push ups or on his chest as he lifts weights. “What number are we on Tank? 100? Alright, 100 more to go!”

-Kiri would make videos of Tank doing tricks, like knocking down a wall of tiny styrofoam bricks or climbing over a little ramp he made. He’s cheering for him the whole time, and he gets a treat after. “That was so manly, Tank!! Good boy!”

-Yes, a turtle can be manly too.

Denki

-A guinea pig, mostly blonde except a little black mark on her head, just like Denki. And you guessed it…he named her Pikachu.

-Denki is enamored with her for the first couple days, carrying her everywhere with him and constantly posting her on his social media. He couldn’t wait to get home from work so he could play with her and feed her little bits of lettuce.

-She seems to adore him too, hardly moving when he pets her so she can maximize his attention as much as possible, and jumping on his lap whenever he takes her out of the cage.

-He holds her up to the camera like “What can I say? The ladies love me. Isn’t that right, Pikachu?”

-She’s so cute that he doesn’t question how her cage seems to pop open by itself sometimes, or how she sometimes nios at his fingers if he holds her for too long.

-The unfortunate truth is that Pikachu cannot stand Denki 💀. Idk what he did, maybe it’s the way he smells, maybe it’s his voice, idk, but she is trying her best to stay away from him.

-The cage doesn’t pop open by itself, Pikachu has figured out how to escape, so now Denki regularly comes home to an empty cage and he has to track her down to put her back.

-“Day 3 of missing Pikachu. This is what come home to everyday, guys” and he flips the camera to show bits of food and guinea pig droppings scattered all over the place. Her little squeaks haunt him at night, but he knows he won’t be able to find her.

-He has such a hard time finding her, and he swears she teases him by squeaking nearby, then running somewhere he can’t get her.

-He’s on live and people try to give him advice but none of it works. Pikachu rushes past the screen behind him and they tell him to look. Denki abandons his live to chase after Pikachu and you just hear crashing and yelling in the background.

-When he comes back, he’s in his ‘fried’ mode and people are like wtf happened 💀

-He managed to put her back in the cage, but he had to end the live early.

(Can y’all imagine being jealous of a guinea pig? 😔) Thanks for tuning in! :)

#bnha headcanons #bakugou headcanons #todoroki headcanons #kirishima headcanons #denki headcanons #bnha x reader #denki kaminari #shoto todoroki #todoroki shoto #bakugo katsuki #bnha crack #todoroki shouto #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou

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the-scandalorian · 3 years

Text

Tempered Glass: Chapter 1

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader (no use of Y/N) Rating: M (will become explicit in later chapters) Word Count: 5.5k Warnings: slow burn, canon-typical violence, cursing, sexy thoughts, pining, non-graphic description of wounds Summary: With the ghosts of your own mysterious past close on your heels, you can’t afford to get in the middle of someone else’s fight; however, attraction drives you to make a reckless decision, and you end up swept up in the Mandalorian’s story. Notes: (1) Reader is bisexual. It will probably only come up peripherally, but I wanted to make a note of that. (2) I did my best to keep physical descriptions of the reader out of my writing, but please let me know if something slipped in that isn’t as inclusive as it could be!

Masterlist | Next Chapter

Image from The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

You felt the weight of the Mandalorian’s gaze before you saw him.

Sitting in the cantina on Nevarro, you were alone in a corner booth—a seat close to the back exit that had a clear view of the front door.

You were halfway through your drink when the hairs on the back of your neck prickled, and you had the overwhelming feeling that you were being watched.

You scanned the cantina and, in your periphery, registered the Mandalorian’s head snap back from your direction to face the man sitting across from him. You hadn’t noticed him enter, but it must have been just moments ago because you surveyed your surroundings every few minutes.

The two men were seated a few tables away. You observed the Mandalorian for a moment, noting his stiff-backed posture and the tension in his shoulders under his battle-worn armor. He could tell you’d caught him staring and that you were watching him.

The man sitting across from the Mandalorian was gesticulating as he spoke. You’d been on Nevarro long enough to recognize him as Greef Karga, local leader of the Guild. You could only see his back, but he was boisterous—a stark contrast to the Mandalorian’s silent stillness—and his voice carried.

Karga was saying something about bounties and currency—no surprise there. Mandalorians were the most feared bounty hunters in the galaxy. You didn’t know much about them besides the legends you’d heard as a child, though it was very unclear what was true and what was myth. You’d only ever seen one in person before, and that Mandalorian had been terrifying, threatening.

This Mandalorian, however, was... intriguing? He was, of course, intimidating—in his head-to-toe armor with a long rifle leaned against the table, he was the very picture of a warrior. Any person with sense would be scared of him, and judging by the sidelong glances he was getting from the other patrons, most were.

The very relatable experience of having someone catch you in the act of watching them—as you’d just done to him—however, humanized this Mandalorian. Noting his broad shoulders, you couldn’t help wondering what he looked like under all that heavy metal. You’d heard rumors that some Mandalorians never took off their armor in front of another person. That would be a real shame.

Though you’d have preferred to continue thinking about the man under the armor (and the things you wanted to do with him), a small voice in your head reminded you of the potentially dangerous reality of your situation.

Why was he watching me? He can’t possibly recognize me.

No one had come after you in years. There was likely still a steep bounty on your head, but many of the people who wanted to find you were dead, imprisoned, or deep in hiding. Some were convinced you’d been taken out in a star cruiser explosion (because you almost had been). And, you no longer looked like the photo that was attached to your bounty puck. Your hair was a radically different shade and length. You wore contacts to obscure the real color of your eyes. You always chose high-necked clothing to conceal the identifying scar that slashed an angry line beneath your clavicle.

You kept a low profile, moved often, and assumed a fake identity, but you felt safe enough in your anonymity to come to a planet like Nevarro, a place that was swarming with hunters.

Plus, you reasoned that if the Mandalorian was looking for you for a job, this is probably not how it would have happened. It would have been stealthy and quick, potentially bloody and violent.

No, you didn’t think he was looking for you, which meant he had been looking at you. Out of interest. And that was so, so much better.

You turned your body towards him pointedly to make it more obvious that you were watching him. The slight forward lean of his shoulders told you he registered your movement in his periphery. His helmet stayed trained on Karga, but it was impossible to know exactly where he was looking through the black t-shape of his visor. You would have bet he was looking back at you.

The Mandalorian responded to Karga, pushing some credits back across the table. You could hear the low undercurrent of his modulated voice, but you couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. It looked like they were arguing about the currency of the credits on the table.

As Karga dug in his pocket for something, the Mandalorian turned his helmet slowly back towards you. Throwing caution to the wind, you smiled at him and winked, and he dipped his head in acknowledgement. You watched him expectantly, figuring this was when he’d walk over to your table.

Instead, he turned his head back to Karga, responded to something he said, and grabbed the credits off the table. They were clearly finishing up their deal. The Mandalorian slid out of the booth and strapped the long rifle to his back. He started toward the front door.

Maybe you’d read the whole situation wrong. Like you, he was trained to be aware of everyone, everything around him. Perhaps, he’d just been surveying the cantina, not necessarily you.

Feeling slightly disappointed, you finished your drink, dropped some credits on the table, and got up to leave. You were pulling on your jacket when a familiar feeling made you flick your head up. The Mandalorian was standing at the front of the cantina, his dark silhouette framed in the light of the open doorway, visor trained on you.

From where he was standing, he looked you up and down, lowering and raising his helmet to survey your body from top to bottom and back up again—a gesture that could have easily been achieved without moving his entire head in such an obvious way. His penetrating gaze and brazen attention made you shiver.

He waited to see what you would do.

You were tempted to go to him, to see what would happen, but the stubborn part of you wanted him to come to you—and, more importantly, the sensible part of you was worried this was somehow a trap. You made an impulsive choice and decided to prolong the chase...whether that chase would prove to be literal or figurative, you weren’t totally sure.

You smiled slyly at him and turned, slipping out the back door.

***

The second time you crossed paths with the Mandalorian, you saw him before he saw you.

You were walking down Nevarro’s main thoroughfare, a busy street lined with vendors, pushing through the crowd, when you spotted the back of his reflective helmet. A couple weeks had passed since you had seen him in the cantina, and you’d been hoping to see him again, always keeping an eye out for his distinctive profile.

These past two weeks, you’d found your thoughts straying to his image—strong, mysterious, intimidating. He was sexy. There was no getting around it. You’d spent enough time around people in masks and full-body armor to know that it wasn’t just the mystery of the helmet that attracted you to him. There was something about him you couldn’t shake.

It didn’t help that you were bored and lonely here on Nevarro. It was not your favorite planet. It was dry and hot, the surface a mosaic of cracked flows of hardened lava and loose tephra—unwelcoming terrain. It was volcanically active, too, steam pouring from fractures in the hard, black ground. A river of molten lava ran under the city itself. Who would choose to live here?

For you, Nevarro was no more than a stopover—a place to stay for a few months before moving on to the next planet. You could leave any time, easily book passage to a bigger city on a prettier planet, but that shameless part of you that imagined the Mandalorian fucking you in his full armor was bold enough to convince yourself to stick around for a little longer and see if you could run into him again. Why not?

You’d been running for years, denying yourself comfort, companionship, consistency. Couldn’t you indulge just this once?

You had no reason to think the Mandalorian had thought of you for one second after seeing you in the cantina, but you let yourself hope. He didn’t hide the way he looked at you, and he hadn’t pursued you as a quarry when you left the cantina (and what a relief that was), so that meant...he’d flirted with you...right? That was probably how a Mandalorian flirted? Maybe you were stuck in his head the way he was stuck in yours? A girl could dream.

You watched his helmet disappear and reappear as you both weaved through the throngs of people. The Mandalorian had a purposeful gait and an immediate effect on everyone around him: the crowd parted for him as people avoided his path and his gaze. No one wanted to be noticed by a Mandalorian.

Well, almost no one.

The Mandalorian clearly relied on his menacing appearance and the notorious lore associated with his armor to ensure that he was left alone. You, on the other hand, depended on stealth and the ability to disappear in a swarm of people to stay hidden. This meant that while the crowd parted easily for him, you struggled to wend your way through it.

He turned down a side street.

The fact that he’d hounded your thoughts since you first saw him spurred you into recklessness, and you followed. As you turned down the same side street, you saw the edge of his cape disappear into an alley. The further away you moved from the main street, the more you began to question yourself.

This is potentially a bad idea.

This is definitely a bad idea.

Your existence hinged on your ability to stay lost, to be anonymous, to change your appearance, to never be sought out. And here you were, seeking out a bounty hunter.

You’d been slipping into a dangerous false sense of security these past few months—spending more time in each place, neglecting to change your chaincode as often as you should. Just because no one had come for you in a couple years, didn’t mean you were safe. You needed to snap yourself out of this delusional thinking.

But maybe... not yet?

You picked up your pace.

It was just the two of you in a long alleyway, and you were sure he could sense you behind him by the slight turn of his head, but he didn’t stop or turn around. You weren’t being stealthy, only a few long strides behind him. He had to know you were there.

He walked surprisingly quietly, considering his heavy armor and determined stride. The loudest sound he made was his cape whipping around his calves. His long rifle was strapped to his back, and he was carrying a camtono in his left hand.

He quickly slipped down another shadowy passageway that you hadn’t noticed. You turned to follow, about to say something, but the passage was deserted. You walked to the end and back, checking to see if he’d turned again, but there was no trace of him. No doorways led off the passage. The only things in the alley were a stack of abandoned wooden pallets and a grate that emitted hot steam. He must have given you the slip on purpose, taken some secret route to evade the stranger on his tail.

Understandable. It’s what you would have done too. I probably should have come up with a better plan than just pursuing him.

Well, fuck.

You were more disappointed than you cared to admit, but you turned and headed back to the apartment you were renting a few blocks away. You were slightly embarrassed by how impulsive you’d just been. You wouldn’t have felt so abashed if it had paid off, but it hadn’t.

You’d overstayed your time on Nevarro. Your self-imposed limit was two months per location, and you’d been here two and a half. You couldn’t push it any more, especially for such a ridiculous reason. It was time to go.

***

The third time you encountered the Mandalorian, neither of you saw the other coming.

You packed up your things, fitting everything you needed in one backpack. You purchased more food and let the hours of the afternoon drag on, waiting for the sun to sink low in the sky before heading out.

When it was evening, you slipped your blaster into the holster at the small of your back. You slid a vibroblade into the sheath at your hip and strapped a much smaller one to your calf where it was concealed under your pants. As you slung your bag over your shoulder and scanned your small space to make sure you hadn’t forgotten anything, noise erupted outside—an explosion, not far away.

There were enough ex-Imperials and bounty hunters on Nevarro that street fights and loud commotions were commonplace. You slipped out your front door, figuring you could avoid the action by slinking through the alleyways. You knew the layout of the city fairly well by now.

You crept through the dim streets. You guessed that the fighting was a couple blocks to your left based on the muffled sounds of intermittent blaster fire. You made your way toward the cantina where you knew a few regulars who would have transpo connections, but you only made it a couple blocks from your apartment before you ran into trouble.

Suddenly, shouts echoed down the street behind you. You made a hasty left turn, looking back to see if anyone was following as you broke into a run. With your head turned, you didn’t see the Mandalorian backing his way down the street toward you. You collided painfully with his back and crumpled to the ground next to him. He, mostly unfazed, made a grunting sound and snapped his head to the side to see who’d hit him. He kept his body and his blaster trained forward at two shadowy figures that were stalking towards him, but he pointed his left vambrace down at you, prepared to neutralize you if needed.

He cocked his head at you as if trying to assess whether or not you were a threat. Before you could think of anything to say, blaster fire screamed down the alley toward both of you. You grabbed your own blaster and sprang to your feet.

Noting the way you trained your blaster away from him, the Mandalorian redirected his attention back to the oncoming assailants. As more blaster fire streaked toward you, he jumped in front of you to shield your body with his and fired back down the alley.

I guess he decided I’m not a threat.

The figures drew nearer—one, a hulking man, and the other, a wiry woman with blue hair... both bounty hunters. They slunk around stray crates and garbage bins, making it difficult for either of you to land a direct hit.

The Mandalorian’s beskar armor lived up to the crazy stories you’d heard. Blaster fire pinged off of it without leaving a mark. Standing so close behind him, you noticed that his armor was different than what he’d worn just earlier that day. His old armor, painted a rusty reddish-brown, had been mismatched and battered. This was new, pristine, unpainted—a stunning reflective silver.

It was the same Mandalorian though. That you were sure of.

You kept most of your body behind his protective stance, just peaking your head and arm out periodically to take a shot. You leaned around him again to fire, and you hit the woman in the thigh while she was momentarily exposed. She grunted in pain and paused her advance.

You ducked back behind the Mandalorian. You were surprised and confused by the way the he was treating you like a partner, protecting you instinctually. You hadn’t exchanged so much as a word yet.

Weren’t Mandalorians supposed to be merciless, violent bounty hunters? Why was he trusting you? For that matter, why were you trusting him? It sounded absurd to think that he just felt trustworthy.

The next time you poked your head out, you noticed that the man had stopped shooting and was watching you intently from where he was hiding behind a stack of boxes. He made eye contact with you and held it, and you saw recognition dawn on his face. He pointed at you, turning to the woman to yell something in a language you didn’t recognize, and then charged forward, blaster drawn. His mouth formed your name, your real name, as he thundered towards you. You froze where you stood, partially exposed.

Fuck. He recognized me so easily. How?

Hot blaster fire zinged past your ear. The Mandalorian lurched forward and fell to one knee in a controlled movement as fire erupted from his vambrace. His quick thinking snapped you out of your panic, but your heart thundered as you processed how close you’d come to getting shot.

As the man’s clothes caught fire and he began to flail in panic, you came back to your senses and shot him in the chest.

The female bounty hunter, who was still several paces behind the man, disappeared down an alley behind her, just as you resumed shooting in her direction.

It won’t be long before word spreads that I’m alive on Nevarro. FUCK.

The footfalls of the woman faded quickly, and you knew she was too far ahead to catch.

You and the Mandalorian were left alone in the alley. Things were quiet for a moment.

You turned to look at each other. It was then that you noticed the bundle tucked tightly in the crook of his right arm, the same arm that held his blaster. He shuffled the bundle to his left arm carefully... tenderly?

He tilted his helmet slightly, starting to say something just as you did the same. Before either of you could form a sentence, several more figures rounded the corner behind you.

“Come on,” you yelled, grabbing his arm to drag him forward. For the moment, the two of you were in this together. It was better than being caught in this fray alone. You figured you’d be able to slip away from the action soon enough.

As you ran through the streets, you both noted the echoing footsteps picking up behind you at each juncture. More and more people—bounty hunters—were joining the pursuit. It seemed like every bounty hunter in Nevarro was being drawn to the Mandalorian.

What did he do to bring this much heat down on himself? I need to lose him.

You considered turning down every street or alley you passed, but at least one hunter blocked each one. Every doorway was shut tight. The hunters were right on your heels. You kept running, the Mandalorian pounding along behind you, until you reached the main street, emerging near the archway that marked the entrance to town. Beyond the archway, the flat expanse of Nevarro stretched out before you; a silver ship, not far ahead, was the only thing that broke up the uniform landscape.

You both stopped abruptly in the middle of the street, as at least twenty bounty hunters closed in around you, each with a blinking fob in their hand. You were trapped. The pinging chorus of the fobs was enough to rip you back to a not-so-distant time when that sound was a constant refrain in your nightmares. But even at the height of the Empire’s search for you, you’d never had this many people on your tail.

Up until this moment, you hadn’t been too worried about making a getaway. You knew you would get out of this. You’d been in worse situations. But now? Blood rushed in your ears, and your adrenaline spiked. You were cornered, outnumbered, and somehow in the middle of a fight that had nothing to do with you. You were surrounded by bounty hunters, and one had already recognized you. You’d spent years disappearing and here you were, back in the thick of it because you turned down the wrong alley at the wrong time.

You glanced at the Mandalorian and tried to formulate an escape plan—or at least a way put some distance between you and him.

He surveyed the scene, seemingly calm in his blank mask of beskar, and began to walk towards the archway, as even more bounty hunters appeared. Not having come up with any better alternatives yet, you followed him.

The Mandalorian stopped short when Greef Karga sauntered out from the shadows to block your path forward through the archway.

“Welcome back, Mando!” Karga’s voice, the voice that had seemed jovial in the cantina weeks ago, sounded threatening as it rang through the street. “Now, put the package down.” He rested a hand on his hip, pushing back his cape to expose his blaster.

The bundle must be valuable. You wondered briefly what the Mandalorian had wrapped so carefully under his arm. A rare material like kyber? Something unstable like rhydonium? A set of holodisks with important intel?

The Mandalorian mirrored Karga’s movement, hovering his hand over his own blaster. “Step aside. I’m going to my ship,” he replied calmly. He sounded awfully certain considering the circumstances. Your eyes flicked back to the silver ship, an old Razor Crest, that sat just beyond the archway.

Karga chuckled. “You put the bounty down and perhaps I’ll let you pass.”

“The kid’s coming with me.”

KID?

“If you truly care about the kid, then you’ll put it on the speeder,” Karga said, pointing to a speeder parked in front of the building on your right, where a droid sat in the pilot’s seat. The droid let out a series of cheerful beeps, indicating its readiness.

“How do I know I can trust you?” asked the Mandalorian.

How did he know he could trust me? This guy seems to play fast and loose with trust.

Karga scoffed, “Because I’m your only hope.”

Shit.

Any second, this fight was going to turn into an every-person-for-themself situation. You and the Mandalorian had helped each other thus far because it had been convenient, but now that you were trapped, you knew this precarious alliance you’d formed out of necessity was about to fracture. You hadn’t missed the way he said I and me, not we and us. You weren’t part of his equation, and you couldn’t blame him—of course, you were also going to prioritize your own safety over that of a literal stranger.

You surveyed the street, looking for the least obstructed escape route. You hoped you could run fast enough once this tense moment passed and the fight started in earnest.

The Mandalorian stepped back into you suddenly, taking the opportunity to whisper urgently, “Jump in when I say go.”

You were stunned—so stunned that you followed him without thinking as he walked over to the speeder.

For the first time, the Mandalorian looked down at the bundle in his arms. You gasped when you saw that it was in fact a sleeping child—a tiny green infant. He took a moment to watch the baby before glancing at you briefly. He looked back down at the child and without any warning, he breathed, “NOW.”

You dove head first onto the speeder as he raised his blaster and shot a hunter who was right behind where you had just been standing. From the outside, you imagined that it looked like the two of you were partners—the way you moved together, coordinated and seamless.

You scrambled back and pushed crates out of the way, staying down on your stomach, as the Mandalorian flung himself over the side of the speeder and landed next to you. Blaster fire screeched all around you as the hunters reacted in unison.

You both stayed prone on the floor of the speeder, reaching only your blasters up to return the fire that was raining down on you. The Mandalorian rolled over to carefully place the kid down before yelling at the droid at the front of the speeder.

“DRIVE!”

When the droid shook its head in refusal, the Mandalorian demanded again, holding up his blaster threateningly. The droid acquiesced, and the speeder lurched forward. You grabbed the child and hugged them to your chest as the crates shifted around you.

You made it almost all the way to the archway—you and the Mandalorian taking out several of the bounty hunters as you went—before someone had the sense to shoot the pilot droid. The speeder crashed to a halt in a rain of sparks. Fire ceased and a tense quiet fell.

The Mandalorian edged toward you on his elbows. You could hear the bounty hunters closing in around you, the crunch of their boots ominous. You curled your body protectively over the child.

“Fuck,” you whispered. “What now?” You looked into the black t of his visor, wishing you could see his eyes.

He nodded as if that was a sufficient answer to your question and worked his way toward the edge of the speeder. Slowly, silently, he pulled his long rifle from his side and eased it between two crates, pointing it at a hunter on the roof of the closest building. You heard the sound of the rifle powering up and its screeching discharge as it vaporized the hunter. And then another. And another. The Mandalorian’s reload was lightening fast. You took the chance during the ensuing chaos to scoot to the edge of the speeder and take aim at a hunter with your blaster. The remaining hunters scurried away, taking shelter behind walls, doorways, whatever they could find.

The Mandalorian paused, and for a tense moment, nothing happened. The threat of the Amban Rifle was enough to create another temporary ceasefire.

“That’s one impressive weapon,” bellowed Karga. You couldn’t see him from where you lay.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna walk to my ship with the kid, and you’re gonna let that happen,” the Mandalorian stated authoritatively.

We.

“No, how about this? We take the kid, and if you try and stop us, we kill you both and then strip your body for parts,” Karga spat back.

You could feel the hunters starting to come out of hiding all around you. The subtle rasp of tephra under foot gave them away again. You looked behind you and saw that one hooded hunter was edging closer to the speeder. The Mandalorian had his back to the hunter, as he faced Karga. You trained your blaster on the approaching hunter, ready to fire. Before you could pull the trigger, the Mandalorian kicked the canister at his feet, knocking the hunter over, and sat up to stun him with the rifle.

Apparently, he had been aware of the man the whole time. His peripheral vision must be largely obstructed in his helmet. How is he so acutely aware of everything around him?

Everyone opened fire once again.

Over the sound of blaster fire, you heard Karga yell, “Don’t hit the target!”

The Mandalorian rose to his knees, leaned over some crates, and activated his vambrace so a sudden burst of flames cleared out the hunters that were closest to the speeder. You took out two more with your blaster while they were distracted by the flames.

The Mandalorian grunted in frustration as the fire streaming from his wrist sputtered out. Then, he grunted and doubled over in pain when blaster fire hit him in the side, where he wasn’t protected by his armor.

He clutched his side and ducked back down to crawl his way over to you, gently pulling on your arm until you released the child, so he could look at their face. The child cooed and opened two huge, watery eyes.

You looked away, feeling like you were encroaching on a private moment.

Is this his kid? Who is after a child? What is the story here?

You leaned away and fired several more shots, injuring another hunter.

Then you heard it. A streaming projectile took out one of the hunters on a nearby roof. As the hunter screamed and fell to the ground, several figures in Mandalorian armor, powered by jetpacks with blasters in hand, rose up from behind the row of buildings lining the street. There had to be at least a dozen of them—maybe more. It was hard to tell in the chaos. They seemed to be everywhere. They took out hunter after hunter as they slowly lowered themselves to the ground and sparks rained down around you.

You both sat up to watch.

A particularly huge Mandalorian in blue armor with a large repeating blaster touched down next to the speeder and bellowed, “Get out of here! We’ll hold them off!”

“You’re going to have to relocate the covert,” responded the Mandalorian, raising his voice to be heard over the din.

“This is the way,” replied the huge blue Mandalorian, as he continued to fire at the bounty hunters.

“This is the way,” agreed the Mandalorian next to you.

In one fluid movement, he strapped his rifle to his back. You sheathed your blaster as he thrust the kid back into your arms, and he grabbed your free hand, hauling you to your feet as he stood. You jumped from the speeder together. He pulled you along behind him, continuing to shield your body with his as much as possible. The juxtaposition of the way he held your hand and how he was brutally taking out hunter after hunter with his blaster was jarring.

A blaster shot grazed your thigh as you ran, and you swore at the stinging pain, doubling over slightly without loosening your grip on the child. The Mandalorian turned his head but didn’t stop pulling you forward. You faltered for a moment but gritted your teeth and sped up to sprint behind him, leaving the chaos in your wake as you crossed under the archway. You made it the short distance to his ship, where the ramp was already lowered.

You followed him up the ramp. He shoved his blaster into the holster on his belt and started forward into the ship.

The idea of being trapped with this strange Mandalorian was absurd, but you didn’t have much of a choice. If you stayed on Nevarro, the remaining bounty hunters would tear the city apart to find you. This was the fastest way to get off world: a calculated risk.

You sensed movement behind you before you heard Karga’s voice.

“Hold it, Mando.”

You both spun around to face him. Karga had a blaster trained on you and the kid in your arms.

“I didn’t want it to come to this. But then you broke the code,” he spat.

The Mandalorian was silent as he assessed his options. Silent was clearly his default state. He was used to hiding behind the intimidating mask of his armor.

You were trying to guess how good Karga’s reflexes were and if you could grab your blaster from where you’d resheathed it at your back fast enough. As you thought it out, the Mandalorian tipped his head subtly to his left at what looked like a carbonite chamber. Before you or Karga could register his plan, he shot a metal cord from his vambrace, hitting the button to activate the chamber and filling the hull with freezing mist.

In the gloom, the Mandalorian grabbed you roughly and pushed you out of the way. Karga shot blindly. You whipped out your blaster and fired back, knowing exactly where he had been standing. You heard him grunt and fall backwards off the ship with a thud.

The Mandalorian made quick work of shutting the ramp, deactivating the hissing carbonite chamber, and initiating the takeoff protocol from a control panel on the wall.

You slumped onto a nearby crate, exhausted, as the ship lifted off the ground. You let your backpack slide off your shoulders onto the floor next to you. Still holding the baby to your chest protectively, you loosened your arms to study their sweet sleeping face.

His face? Her face? Who is this child?

Wordlessly, the Mandalorian stomped forward and snatched the kid from your arms. You looked up in surprise as he disappeared up the ladder next to you. He was gone for a few moments before the ship jolted as it left Nevarro’s atmosphere and jumped into hyperspace.

You rested your head on the cool wall behind you, trying to catch your breath. You let your eyelids slip shut for a minute—until you opened your eyes at the loud thud of the Mandalorian jumping back down into the hull, ignoring the ladder all together. He walked purposefully towards what looked like a storage bay, set the sleeping child down inside, and closed the door with a snap. He turned slowly to face you.

***

Chapter 2

#my writing #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #mandalorian fanfic #mature #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x female reader #mandalorian reader insert #tempered glass

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ackerlert · 3 years

Text

Sneaky Link

Pairings: Porco x fem reader x sugar daddy!zeke

Summary: University reader becomes Zeke’s sugar baby after meeting each other at her work, which is a stripper, ofc. Eventually develops a relationship with Porco Galliard, of whom Zeke employs ;)

TW: alcohol usage, oral (m / f receiving), food (icing) play, mirror sex, phone sex

You needed some money during college, and tutoring stupid high schoolers wasn’t making the bills. Plus, you couldn’t put up with their slowness one second longer.

When Sasha took you out for a night at the strip club to relieve some stress, her joke that you could always make bank shaking your ass for old men actually sounded quite appealing. It was a lot more fun than tutoring, anyways.

Out of curiosity, you found yourself browsing the internet for openings at nearby nightclubs. Soon you were watching YouTube videos of strippers going through their daily routine, counting their tips, and describing their success in the industry. You were hooked.

You ask Hitch to take pole dancing lessons with you, and she doesn't suspect any of your true intentions, since this was on your bucket list of things to do together.

Soon you secured yourself a job at a local strip club. The first person you confided in was, unsurprisingly, Hitch. She was surprised you actually pursued being a stripper, but the shock didn't really last for long considering her knowledge of your freaky tendencies.

Hitch advised you to be careful, and she was particularly worried about how you would manage to fit this new job into your tight school schedule.

It was simple: you would take your classes, do your assignments, and report to your job at night. You’d work through the closing shift and get back to your shared apartment with Mikasa, Sasha, and Hitch sometime past 2am.

Zeke is a regular.

He gives you larger tips than any of the other girls.

He even pays for private sessions, which consist of you dancing for him mostly an hour at a time.

Eventually you two fuck it out in a booth of the club.

He asks if you'd like to “do this again sometime”. Naturally, you agreed. He exchanges phone numbers with you and asks for your cashapp.

Blushing because you didn't realize he intended on compensating you for your arrangement, you agree to give him your account number.

You and Zeke continue this for a couple months, growing more addicted to the orgasms he gives you every time.

You had two generous sources of income now.

You found out a lot about zeke: he owned a decently large company, fucked a lot of women before he met you, and he was even more freaky than yourself.

One day after a session with Zeke, you're sprawled out on the side of his bed, toying with the golden hair that trailed down his torso, and staring up at the ceiling, mind completely fucked out.

“I have a business event coming up soon,” Zeke states.

You hum in approval, not expecting zeke to continue on.

“It’s plus one.” He pauses, “I was wondering if you would like to join me.”

You turn your head to look at Zeke, almost asking him to repeat himself. Was this like a date thing?

Zeke turned to look at you too. His eyes glossed over at the sight of your surprised face and post-sex hair floating around the crown of your head. He smirked, visualizing the way he had made that sex hair. Gripping your h/c locks and pulling your head back, pounding into you from behind.

Your lips were swollen from being stretched around his thick cock, making him cum round after round. Now they were parted, unsure as what to make of his question.

Zeke repeated himself, “Are you free next Saturday?”

“Y-yes. I’m free.” You said, “I would love to go to your work thing with you.” A smile graced your lips. He fucking loved that smile. Loved seeing it bloom on your face when your eyes rolled to the back of your head, begging to take more of his cock.

“Alright,” he grabbed for his phone, pulling up the information from his calendar. Your phone dinged, no doubt zeke sending you over the event details. “It’s formal attire. Do you need to buy something to wear?” He glanced up lovingly from the screen at you for a mere second. “Fuck it, never mind that.” His eyes reconcentrated back onto the phone. Your phone dinged again, the familiar melody of the cashapp notification filling your ears.

“Let’s take you shopping, princess.” His legs swung over the side of the bed. A back completely full of endless scratches faced you while he stretched those long arms of his. His back muscles rippled as he did so, the sight making your stomach flutter with butterflies.

“Wait!” You say desperately and propping yourself up on the bed. You didn't intend on opening your mouth, but now you had to commit to it.

Zeke side glanced at you, acknowledging your pathetic request.

“Let me suck you off one more time,” you said. You added, “before we go.” A husky chuckle escaped from zeke’s throat. “Such a slut for me.” “What a good girl, knowing just the way to make me hard.”

Porco and you meet each other at the business event, it’s an instant click. He’s employed by Zeke. Soon you're exchanging numbers with him.

These business parties became more frequent with Zeke. And every time, Porco was there. You two would sneak off to help yourself to drinks while Zeke was bombarded with potential buyers inquiring about his product.

Porco makes you laugh so much. Honestly, it’s probably the alcohol, but every joke he cracked earned a cute giggle from you. It only made him harder for you than he already was.

“I could go a lot longer than him, you know.” He whispers in your ear.

Sooner than later you’re texting Zeke that the alcohol was killing your stomach, and you just had to get out of there right away.

Porco didn’t wait to stick his strong hands in your pants when you tumbled into the taxi.

“Gonna take you away from that old man’s dick, yeah baby? Give you this big cock like you deserve?”

You make it back to his large apartment, practically humping his clothed leg on the elevator ride.

By the time you’re inside his place, your panties are soaked and the black lace Zeke bought you is falling from your shoulders.

Porco throws you on the bed, not leaving you any time to remove your heels.

He climbs over you and just starts completely obliterating you with open mouthed kisses across your collarbone.

You don't fail to notice the mirror above Porco’s large bed, seeing the way he straddles over your small body.

Porco sits up from his position on the end of the bed and grabs for your ankles, yanking you closer to him. Just as he hums into your folds, a buzzing emerges from your purse in the middle of the living room.

“Shit,” you say, recognizing the pattern as Zeke’s contact. “It’s Zeke,” you groan.

“Answer the phone, pretty girl.” Porco says with a devilish smirk.

“Wha-?!” Your face fills with terror.

“I said answer the phone.” Porco grows stricter in tone.

“O-ok” your hands shake as you make your way across the floor to where your purse was.” As you accept the call, Porco motions you back to the bed.

You nod, doing as he says.

“Hey princess,” Zeke says with a smile on the end of the phone.

“Hi,” you say shakily. Porco gives you a menacing look.

“Not feeling good?” Zeke refers to your text.

You let out a shy “Nuh-uh” in response.

“I’m sorry baby,” Zeke says, “I can pick you up so you can spend the night with me in case you feel any worse.”

“No!-“ You say startled, “I mean, no, my girlfriends have me all bundled up back at my apartment.”

Silence from Zeke.

“Oh, well, that’s too bad.” He adds, “I wanted to make you feel a little better than they could tonight.”

You look at Porco, a little intimidated by his intense stare on you. He can hear Zeke’s toying with you from the other end of the phone. He nods, urging you to play along.

You giggle softly, a bad attempt at sounding sicker than usual.

“Really? How so?” Porco slides down the edge of the bed, focused on your legs.

Zeke clears his throat, obviously getting off at the anticipation of phone sex.

Some shuffling is heard on the other end of the phone before Zeke says, “You know, maybe cook you some food. That layered strawberry cake you like yeah?”

You hum in satisfaction, but quickly noticed how your approval angered Porco.

He aggressively pushes your legs apart, eyeing your wetness.

“Use that icing on you.” Zeke says, “Make you filthy when I run it over that pretty body of yours. I’d fucking lick it off you because you taste so good.”

Porco starts to kitten lick between your folds, earning a whimper from you.

You imagine Zeke piping the vanilla icing onto your torso as he pushes himself into you, smearing it across your breasts and stomach with his rough hands.

The pressure between your legs rises as the licks grow longer and rougher across your clit. Porco suckles on that bundle of nerves, and you can’t help but cry out a moan.

The sounds from Zeke’s side of the phone indicate he’s jerking off vigorously at this point. “Say my name, kitten.”

You look wildly down at Porco, who stops his motions to shake his head at you. No way he’d let you moan another man’s name on his own bed.

“Daddy,,” you drawl out. You earn approval from Porco, who resumes lapping at your pussy.

Porco taps your thigh, indicating to you that it was time to hang up on Zeke, who hadn’t cum yet.

“Oh gosh, Zeke baby” you start, “One of the girls is coming in i have to go-“

“Wait, y/n-“ but you didn't let him finish. You sigh with relief knowing you can fully indulge in Porco now. He grips your thighs roughly, leaving bruises to be discovered tomorrow.

“What’s Zeke doing now, huh?” “Pumping his weak cock thinking about this tight little pussy of yours?” “I wonder what he’d think if he knew your pussy was taking my tongue so well right now. Acting like such a whore for somebody else.”

Porco pulls himself off of your sweaty body, panting and licking up your wetness.

His eyes are dead set on you, and you felt small under his glare. His hands grab under your arms, quickly flipping your positions. “Bounce on me for it,” he growls.

You nod eagerly, situating yourself above him. Your face reddens as you align your entrance up to him, nervous about his judgement.

Porco softens, noticing your hesitance, “It’s okay baby girl,” His warm hands caress the side of your cheek, thumb grazing your plump lips, “You’re doing really good,” Porco looks earnestly up at you, flashing you a soft grin. You press into his hold on you, strands of hair covering your forehead that tangled around Porco’s fingers.

You finally push yourself down on Porco’s length, his large girth stretching you full. Porco moans at the new feeling, and you can’t help but whimper at the burning pleasure. Your hands roam around Porco’s strong torso, feeling down his thick abs and rubbing circles into his sides. A low groan emits from his chest, and you admire his expressions from above.

You begin moving along his hard length, his tip hitting just the right spot each time. Keeping a slow pace, you tease Porco a little longer, but he’s quick to bark at you to go faster. You let out a playful giggle, “Okay, you’re the boss.” “Doing so good putting Zeke in his place, hm?”

Porco groans at your words, and you swore he was growing larger inside of you at the thought of demoting his Zeke.

Your movements quicken and Porco continues to let out strings of curses.

“Yeah ride my cock baby, just like that. Just like you do for Zeke.”

The thought of another man puts butterflies in your stomach, and you feel yourself falter.

Porco doesn’t miss a beat, however. He quickly thrusts up into you, earning a gasp from your mouth. His hands fly to your sides, balancing you while he does all the work. You whimper at his rapid pace, nearing your climax.

“Porco,” you moan, “I-ah, g’nna cum.”

“Ok, baby,” he says in between thrusts, “Cum then.”

That was all you needed to hear before spilling your release over Porco.

He continued to milk you out, eventually finishing not too long after. He lets you fall on top of his frame, palms rubbing circles into your and easing you from your high.

“Good job, y/n.” You lift your head up to look at Porco’s face. He smiles back at you tenderly. “Alright let’s clean you up.”

He settles you on the bed next to his side and slides off the bed to grab a clean towel from the linen closet and discard the condom in the trash. You watch his muscle-y body move across the apartment floors, his clear focus on grabbing the right things for you.

He comes back with an iced water and starts cleaning up your thighs.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you smile, “I can do it myself.”

He looks up at you, eyebrows screwed up in confusion, “What? No, I’m doing it.” He continues his work at cleaning you off.

“..oh, ok.” You say shyly, butterflies in your stomach from his actions.

“Does he not do this for you?” Porco asks, not looking up from fixing up the sheets below you.

You replied slowly, “No, not really.”

Porco sighed, “He’s such a selfish dick.”

You laugh at Porco’s attitude. But now that you think about it, Zeke was always thinking about himself. The thought passed as soon as it came, and you did consider the fact that he was paying you.

Porco nestled himself on the side of you after he was done, grunting a little from his tired state. His big arms hugged around your smaller body as he pulled you in close.

“Porco?” You called.

“Hm?”

“Thank you,” you muffled into his chest.

Porco blushed at your comment, but simply toughed it over and patted your ruffled hair, “Mhm”.

A few pings were heard from your cell phone as you drifted into sleep, no doubt from Zeke, and each time Porco pulled you in tighter. A smile curled crept onto your lips, “It’s not like I’m gonna leave, Pokko,” you giggled.

“Good,” he said, “I wasn’t planning on letting you anyways.”

#zeke jeager #zeke jaeger #zeke yeager #zeke yaeger #zeke #zeke smut #zeke x reader #porco galliard #porco #attack on titan porco #attack on titan zeke #porco smut #attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kiyojin #snk #attack on titan smut #aot smut

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333sth · 3 years

Text

dove. (frankie morales)

chapter ii. previous. series masterlist.

pairing: frankie morales x ofc (’dove’) no use of y/n

warnings: ptsd/military service, violence, injury detail, language, angsty.

summary: santi’s hunch is no longer a hunch, but only will knows how close they are to finding frankie’s girl.

rating: mature wc: 1.8k

When a strong hand had clamped around her shoulder, Dove’s instinct was to break it. It wasn’t menacing; they were just waiting at the bar to be served.

A burly, middle-aged man was towering beside her, clutching a beer bottle that looked miniature in his thick grasp. His arms, still holding the shadow of what was once impressive muscle, were littered with military tattoos. Dove could spot a stick-and-poke from a mile off.

“I recognise that,” He gestures to her neck, where a small Delta Force tattoo was usually disguised by her long hair. “You ex-forces? Delta?”

She wanted to kick herself. The sticky atmosphere had gotten the better of her and she’d thrown her hair into a ponytail without thinking.

“Yeah, but that isn’t exactly public knowledge ‘round here.” She murmurs.

Across the room, Roni throws her head back in exaggerated laughter. A group of men, who looked barely out of their teen years, had come over to make some desperate attempts at getting laid. Dove had excused herself to buy the next round after one of them had cracked a mortifying joke about liking older women.

“That’s understandable.” The man held out his hand, which she took hesitantly. “My name’s Mark, I just retired out here. Served for twenty three years.” He chuckled gruffly, his voice thick from cigarettes. “I got jack shit to show for it, mind you.”

“Tell me about it.” She laughs, but she doesn’t offer her name.

Mark notices as the conversation lulls. “I trained with a guy who made Delta. Santiago Garcia - we called him Pope, ‘cause he just had that way about him. You probably knew him.”

Dove swallows, chest lurching. “Sounds familiar… You know how it is though, the nicknames all blur into one eventually.”

That’s a lie, you never forget your teammates’ names. Mark knows it and so does Dove. Thankfully, he doesn’t push a conversation she clearly doesn’t want to have, and raises his bottle to her.

“Well, it was nice to meet you anyway. Enjoy yourself out here.”

“You too, Mark.” She tries to smile, but her lips press into a thin line that probably looks more like a grimace.

Mark had called Santiago the following day, the alcohol-blurred memory peaking his interest once he remembered his old friend’s plea a few months back. He’d asked around for any heads-up if any ex-Delta women around their age popped up. Mark had thought the man was delusional when he’d heard. If she was Delta Force, she wouldn’t be found unless she wanted to be.

Apparently, he was wrong. Maybe even the best of the best got rusty after a while.

The town Dove had been spotted in was questionable to Santiago. It was too cosmopolitan for a woman who was starting over. However, after a onceover on a map of Mexico, Santi spotted its smaller neighbour. He’d never heard of it, which meant it must be the place. Small population, right on the coast, with enough amenities and business to get by without any trouble.

“And, man, she had a wicked scar on her throat. Sort of shit you’d only see on a Delta.” Mark had added, with a chuckle. “I can’t imagine that ain’t your girl.”

‘Dove isn’t my girl,’ Santi wanted to bite back instinctually. He bit his tongue, and instead offered, “It sounds like her. I can’t thank you enough, brother.”

Santiago only told Will what he knew about Dove. He had the mind to retain that information no matter what this trip threw at them. Plus, he trusted him with his life, plus a couple other lives that came to mind. Call it insurance, if things went south.

Plus, Will didn’t have Tom’s mouth, or twisted morality. Tom was more than willing to accept that Dove would miss out on their prospective fortune, that the ‘hunch’ would have to wait until Lorea was dealt with. Santiago knew his brothers well enough to know Benny would throw a hissy fit if they knew where Dove was and she wasn’t included. She’d spent enough time stitching up their war-torn skin and shoving them out of bullets to deserve a cut.

So, Pope told a little white lie. They had a stop in Mexico to meet with a contact.

Frankie had murmured, “Better be worth it, stuck in this shitty car with you fuckers for ten hours.”

Santiago resisted the urge to agree. God, he hoped it would be worth it too. He hoped he wasn’t driving them into a dead end, a bluff on Mark’s part. Or even worse, invading Dove’s beautiful new life without them. That would destroy everything; Dove, the boys, Frankie. What if she had settled down? What if he pulled into that idyllic beach bar she wanted and she’s there, a baby with the same brilliant eyes balanced on her hip? She was never sure about kids. A vivid mental picture of the wrong diamond, glistening on her ring finger in the afternoon sun, and the wrong man pecking her lips, made Santi physically wince.

Fish would never forgive him. Will and Benny would never forgive him. He’d never forgive himself.

It was a long, apprehensive drive. Santi’s eyes were drying, squinting against the headlights that occasionally glared past them. His jaw had been clenched for the last few hours as his anxiety grew, nothing but open road to stare at while he contemplated over and over as to whether it was the right decision. It didn’t help that Frankie never really slept like the others did on the move. While the other boys passed out, Frankie’s soft eyes continued scanning the scene flying past the window. It was like he stayed awake to watch Pope’s back, as if they were still in combat, or as an unspoken act of kindness to keep him company.

Really, Frankie was a terrible sleeper. Santi remembered that from the early days, before he and Dove gave it up and became an item. He was the last to drift off and first to wake up, always restless. Once Dove started tip-toeing over to his cot in the night, he became the worst snorer in the division. Always splayed on his front, one arm tossed over Dove’s waist and the other under his pillow. She’d kick him in the night so he’d roll over and shut up, but it never lasted long.

One night, Benny had enough, and groaned to Dove, “Put us out of our fuckin’ misery and smother him with your pillow, for the love of God.”

Dove had snapped back, “Fuck off, Benny, just ‘cause you aren’t getting any of the action doesn’t mean you have to get all bitter.”

“I’ve told you guys - I’m more than willing to join in-”

“Ben.” Frankie grumbled into her shoulder. It was gruff with sleep but still menacing enough to make the hairs on Dove’s arms stand on end.

Before a pillow smacked into his head, Benny guffawed, “Oh, so he is alive after all.”

Wringing a soft rag for polishing glasses between her fingertips, Dove descends the wooden steps at the entrance of the bar. The last huddle of regulars holler behind her, wrapping up their weekend drinks as the evening creeps closer to the early hours; Dove always notices the time when moths start colliding with the lanterns.

Roni rises from a crouch on the ground, dropping a paintbrush into a can with a clatter. “See, your own little touch!”

The wooden panels that constructed the side of the bar, usually concealed by a stack of cardboard beer boxes, is decorated with little doves. Despite studying criminology, mainly for the satisfaction of her parents, Roni loved painting and insisted on brightening the exterior of their beach shack.

Dove cracks a half-smile. “It’s lovely, Ron. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” She beams, throwing the half-empty cans into the nearby bins. She pauses, glancing hesitantly at the older woman over her shoulder, “Dove’s not your real name, right?”

“No, no. Nickname from when I was nursing overseas.” Dove chuckles, before adding, “Feels more like my real name than my Christian one nowadays.”

Roni passes Dove on the steps as she returns to the bar, “It suits you. You’re always graceful, but… you’re fucking fast.”

Dove laughs with her, ignoring the familiar clench in her chest. It’s exactly what Frankie used to say. The difference is Roni notices when she almost drops a glass, or her tray of drinks starts to wobble, and Dove is there to catch it with such fluidity Roni never saw her coming. Even the way Dove’s knife slices through fruit like each piece is a slab of melted butter. Frankie witnessed the extreme of that, the stealth and grace that usually ensured the enemy was dead before the others had even thought to raise their guns. Still, he admired her the same way Roni was right now. It was like awe.

It’s probably because he loved her effortlessly, every single aspect of her being without a glimmer of doubt or judgement. And now he wasn’t here.

The group of regulars stumbling down the steps break Dove from her thoughts, chortling and wishing her goodnight. One of the older men turns and jerks his thumb towards the road, “You might wanna tell them you’re closing, bonita.”

Before the road becomes the sand, there is a small, dusty wasteland that doubles as a makeshift car park. A vehicle is parked, glaring headlights facing towards the ocean and forming peculiar, alien-like beams in the dark. She’s definitely getting rusty; she’d barely registered the idling truck.

“I’ll sort ‘em out, Miguel, don’t you worry.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” He jokes, waving to her. “Buenos noches, Dove.”

Military habits are practically impossible to shake, and immediately, Dove’s mind launches into overdrive. She raises her hand above her eyes, squinting against the blinding white LEDs in an attempt to make out a registration plate or even a recognisable model. Her mind is fine-tuned to memorise; most of the locals’ cars are already catalogued in her memory, but this isn’t one of them.

Maybe they’re tourists, ready to push their luck with the opening times. That’s the reasonable side of Dove’s mind. The irrational, dark edges whisper, ‘What if someone found you?’ By someone, it means someone bad. Someone she wronged during her service, an enemy or straggler that got away. Even a civilian that might have been caught in the crossfire. She thought about those ghosts often. Hell, some of them she could still name. When she can’t sleep, sometimes she lists them, pictures their faces if she can recall them, just in case they ever came back.

She inhales a sharp gust of ocean air through her nostrils, welcoming the clarity that spreads through her mind. Parting her lips (the lips Frankie always teased were in a permanent pout), she released the breath slowly, trying to relax the stressed scrunch in her features.

“Your face is gonna get stuck like that someday.”

The voice is familiar. A deep, breathy chuckle, barrel-toned and gravelly. It sounds like home.

taglist: @mishasminion360

#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie x reader #triple frontier imagine #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier fic #frankie morales x ofc #dove #Santiago Garcia #Benny Miller #Will Miller #pedro pascal #frankie morales imagine #frankie morales fic #francisco morales #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal characters

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ssplague · 3 years

Text

Chapter 0ne

“And so it begins”

Katsuki B. X Reader

Rated M

Warnings: Gaslighting, manipulation, power play, light degradation

The day before the two of you left for UA; Your best friend gave her word to your mother that she would always look after you. Now that the two of you are in your third year she’s officially FED UP with your attitude and childish antics. Mentioning her dilemma to your shared group of friends results in the most unlikely person offering to be her solution to the problem that is YOU.

A/N: The girl in the banner is NOT how the reader is “supposed” to look, it was just a drawing I did specifically for this. You look however you want to, I don’t really make any specific references to your appearance in this story.

🌅

Its Saturday morning; Ive been awake for about five minutes now, but I’m not ready to open my eyes and embrace the conscious world just yet. Hearing the door of my room unlock and open does the trick though. Only one person (other than myself of course) has a key to my dorm room.

“I made breakfast for the both of us, its your favorite” announces Euphie as she walks in, kicking the door shut behind her. I sit up, just as she’s pushing my black out curtains to the side I let out a hiss of disdain as sunlight immediately begins to permeate the room.

“Thank you Euphie” I say with a yawn.

She hands me a plate before settling down on my bed, acknowledging my thanks with a nod as we both tuck in.

“We have plans this afternoon, can you be ready by at least 12:30? No need to get super made up but at least out of your pajamas?” Euphies voice is gentle, but I catch the underlying “I’m not asking, but telling you” vibe she tries to hide.

“For sure”

She smiles at my seemingly agreeable mood so early in the morning and we easily segway into our standard start of the day discussions. “Are we um…Are we going to be busy all day? I….I kinda planned on going to hangout with-“ Euphie cuts me off as she picks up our plates: “No worries you’ll have plenty of time for that, I promise!” Giving me a wink before shutting my door.

She didn’t even know who I was referring to, or what I was going to say….

At 12:55 Euphie reappears to rush me out of my room.

“Hey I forgot my purse I-“

“Don’t need it”

“But my wallet is-“

“Not necessary”

Her tone is clipped, and she has a death grip on my wrist as she quite literally drags me down the hallway. Initially I was taken aback, not being used to receiving this type of treatment from her. My bearings have started returning along with growing frustration each time one of my questions are receiving one word answers, or met with a complete dismissal. Reaching my limit I fail to notice that she’d began to slow down, and I’m wrenching my wrist free of her grip at the exact same time she’d come to a stop.

“What in the fuck is your problem?! You told me that we had plans to go out this afternoon, and you’d treat me to whatever I want!

This-“ I’m interrupted again.

“I certainly wouldn’t do anything for a fuckin’ brat throwing a tantrum like this”

My eyes snap to the side where I see the irritated scowl of one Katsuki Bakugou, as he leans against his door frame glowering at me. Embarrassment further fuels my anger as I turn toward him, pointing an acusatory finger as I begin “No one fucking asked you, stay out of it Katsu-“.

Kirishima suddenly emerges from Bakugo’s room, giving Euphie an enthusastic greeting

“Hey there! You look nice, ready to head out?”. The red head is flashing his signature shark toothed grip at my best friend as he offers her his arm. “You know it” she giggles, taking hold of his muscular bicep. The two of them start to walk off, confused and furious I start to head after them, but a large hand grips my shoulder grounding me in place.

“Bakugo told me he wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on you while Kiri and I went out this afternoon, this way you’ll stay out of trouble and get to keep the plans you’d made with him, bye!” The closing elevator doors add a sudden finalization to her brief explanation.

“Plans?” Bakugo questions while uncermoniously yanking me backwards.

I stumble back, falling through the doorway and landing flat on my ass in front of the now closed door (Which he is standing in front of). Glaring up at him as he continues: “She must have me confused with the local brothel, because thats the only place I’d imagine wearing a skirt as short as that would be deemed appropriate”. His insult doesn’t deter his crimson eyes from roaming the length of my body, lingering on the aforementioned skirt. Getting to my feet, he walks around me and move towards his desk, taking a seat behind it.

“Oh fuck you Katsuki, you can be a real dick sometimes, I dunno what stupid Euphie told you about keeping and eye on me, but I dont need a fucking baby sitter! So ill be off now” with a huff you turn towards the door. “________, I’m not in the mood for bullshit today so just sit down and shut up” he growls, not turning to look at you. He always feels embarrassingly giddy when you adress him by his first name, thats why he insisted you call him by it. That in itself should be an indication of how he seems to favor you.

It makes him almost feel a bit guilty for using a harsh tone when he’d spoken to you. Despite how he treats others, Katsuki is hardly ever outright mean to you; He’s never even given you a derogatory nickname like he has for everyone else. Today’s an off day though…He’s just not used to running on little to no sleep. That paired with his already non existent level of patience makes for a blow up. Especially when YOU were the cause of his latest bout of insomnia….turning to look at you has his thoughts beginning to wander.

Those lips of yours flapping away as you berate him…

They sure would look a helluva lot better wrapped around his-

“-Not even fucking listening to me are you?!” You snarl, starting towards the door again. “I cant believe I woke up this morning wanting to hangout with YOU, guess I’ll change my plans and hangout with someone not so shitty to me…. Like Deku!” A loud crash comes from behind you. The now enraged man had stood up so abruptly, it sent his now vacated chair careening into the wall and toppling over.

“You really just cant help yourself can you?”

His voice is so eerily quiet as he turns to face you, something unidentifiable flashes in his rapidly darkening crimson orbs. You couldn’t exactly identify it, considering it disappeared as abruptly as it had originally came.

“Course you cant, I already know that”

A menacing smile appears on his face as he takes his first step toward you, immediately triggering your natural “Fight or flight” response.

“I know what you need”

He’s only an arms length away when you start to step back.

“You dont know shit”

You somehow summon the courage to speak, but are unable to summon any false bravado to keep you from betraying how unnerved he’s got you feeling as he takes another step.

“I know that your best friend cant stand what a spoiled fuckin’ brat you’ve become, I know she’s so fed up with your shit that she’s about to write you off completely”

The defiant expression you’d worn all this time finally starts to falter.

This marks the first time Katsuki has ever seen how you look when your confidence begins to ebb away, only to be replaced with a mixture of uncertainty and fear.

His sadistic side emerges with glee as your now saddened doe eyes meet his.

“You’re constantly disregarding everyone’s opinion of you unless it aligns with your own, but you dont even know what to think of yourself now that your faced with the possibility of being alone now…do you?

You remain silent, taking yet another step back as he continues speaking.

“You need someone who isn’t afraid to correct you, but they’ll have to of earned your respect….So when you inevitably step out of line, you wont put up a fight when you get put over their knee”

Your back hits the wall.

You swallow down the panic that slowly begun to rise from your chest up into your throat as you realize there is nowhere left for you to go.

“You desperately want to be a good girl, just dont know how to be one, huh princess?”

It’s so adorable the way your bottom lip juts out, but at the first quiver it quickly gets sucked between your teeth.

“That’s why you’re acting out right now isn’t it?

I bet you drench your cute little panties every time you get a rise out of me. Always hoping that its going to be the time I yank you the fuck up and put this brat in her goddamn place, hah?”

You shamelessly lean into the large hand thats now cupping your cheek, letting out a sigh as his thumb caresses your soft skin.

“Mhmmm”

It’s horrifying how easily you just admitted your most guarded secret! The triumphant smirk he sports makes it even harder to accept.

His tone is surprisingly gentle when he starts addressing you once again;

“I can do that for you baby….Let me be the one that finally brings the princess down on her knees”.

Your eyes are practically sparkling at the feel of a sudden pressure being applied to your throat. His calloused fingers squeezing the delicate skin of your neck, effectively making it harder and harder for you to breathe. The thrill of this foreign feeling is instantly addicting.

“Tell me if thats what you want: If its not then shake your head and we never speak of this again”

Bakugo has to at least give the illusion that you have a choice in the matter. Even though its more than obvious that you need want this just as much as he does.

“I want it, I want you” your words come out in a breathy whisper as he releases his hold on your throat.

“I wanna hear you say it princess, what do you want me to do with you”

“I want…no I NEED you to….t-to make me into your good girl please…”

He gestures for you to continue, his raised brow implying you must be forgetting something.

“Please make me into your good girl….Daddy”

The pleading expression and twinge of desperation in your voice stirs something deep inside Bakugo. It was something akin to the last vestiges of some ancient seal had disappeared: The monster that it had rendered dormant had finally roused from its slumber, intent on wreaking havoc.

“You do understand that you’re mine now right ________? Every part of your being belongs solely to me”

Gorgeous ruby eyes scrutinize your face carefully, searching for a single trace of fear, uncertainty, or possible apprehension. All they found was admiration and girlish excitement, and this earned you a genuine smile from the almost always scowling young man.

“Yes, every part of me belongs to you now Katsuki”

“Better get used to this then”

Before you could inquire what he was referring to, he was kissing you.

❤️‍🔥

A/N: So concludes chapter one

Oh god I hope this is well received.

Should I get a tag list together? Is it too soon? If anyone would be interested leave a comment. SMUT in the next chapter, we’re moving faster here because let’s be honest; Smut is what all of us want! 💦

#katsuki bakugo #bnha #daddy bakugou #bakugo x y/n #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #husbando #bnha x reader #mha fanfiction #tw daddy kink #tw gaslighting #bakuhoes #Plaguescorrection

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