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witch-hazels-musings · 3 years

Text

Until you are safe

Warning: Vision Hunt Decree still in effect, kidnapped themes, reader grabbed by hair (Thoma), possessive themes (scara)

Character X GN Reader | Anthology

Includes: Albedo, Scara, Thoma, Zhongli

Albedo

The frosty chill of the mountain side was more than you could bear. Every time you thought you gained warmth it was ripped from your body by icy hands threatening to drive you insane. You shivered and wrapped your coat further around your body while you scowled against the frigid cold.

Ahead of you stood Albedo who seemed indifferent to the temperature and while you were impressed that he knew how to handle this without any complaints, you were also irritated by the fact. He was barely wearing anything and here you were shivering under countless layers of cloth.

He turned to tell you something but with the turbulent winds and nibbling frost against your ears, you didn’t understand a single word he said. Quickly, you forced your legs to move as you made your way to his side.

“W-w-what di-did you s-say?” Your chattering teeth made it hard, and painful, to speak but you did your best anyway.

“We are nearly there, can you keep going?” He narrowed his eyes at you but you knew that was a common thing he did. It was unlikely to have any additional meaning behind it.

“H-how f-f-f-ar?”

“Just around the bend.” He rested the back of his hand against your cheek and somehow that made you shiver even more than the touch of frost. When you nodded and began to walk forward, he took up position behind you and directed you toward the camp.

With the cave blocking out the wind, and several warming mechanisms already glowing, you stumbled your way in between them an the fire. Trembling hands extended toward the orange and yellow light while you watched the snow drip from your clothes.

“I always h-hat-te this p-p-part.” You complained, shaking your head and shoulders to warm up the muscles. This wasn’t the first time you traveled to Dragonspine with Albedo, but each time you braved the conditions you recalled the promise you made yourself last time. Never again, well ... I guess that promise was made to be broken.

“Here, this will help warm you.” He handed you a cup and immediately you caught the scent of fresh and soothing tea. The aroma itself perked you up and even though your fingers were still stiff, you graciously took the offering. Warmth seeped into your throat as the liquid carved a path down your esophagus and into the pit of your baron stomach. With a refreshing hum you smiled through the steam.

“P-p-perfect. Thank-k y-you.” Another sip warmed your lips and tickled your nose but you didn’t dare stop.

“This trip should be less strenuous than last time.” Albedo began, his back turned to you as he rummaged through the stacks of books. “Where did I place that ... perhaps it got caught in the wind, that would be unfortunate.”

You giggled, eyes watching him meander and speak to himself all at the same time. He had a habit of doing it but it never bothered you, in fact it was comforting to hear his voice, stabilizing, grounding.

“You ca-can head out. I’ll b-be fine here after I w-warm up-p.” The shivering had eased, but you still succumbed to the residual affects as your body began to shift from frozen to thawed.

“No need, I can wait here for a while.”

“Haha, that’s silly, g-go on ahead.” You took another sip of the cup and found yourself sad at the emptiness of it. That’s when a hand entered your field of vision and you watched Albedo walk toward a table, refill your drink, and return to your side. He offered it to you and when your fingers found the circumference his nestled against them.

“Until I know you are safe, I will be here.” His eyes held your own for a while as if waiting for your reaction, your response, and when you nodded he mimicked your action before slipping back toward the bookshelves and research table.

You were glad he left you, because if he hadn’t you were sure the only way to cool down was to step beyond the barrier of the cave and into the never-ending snowstorm that protected Dragonspine.

Scara

Being at the side of a Harbinger had it’s own trials. If it wasn’t the constant movement between assignments or the threats against your life, it was the loneliness which creeped in every single day. There were some Harbingers who left the life of love far outside of their reach: Signora, who vowed to never love again and instead put all her attention into fulfilling her duty, Childe, found love a difficult thing to ignore and did his best to keep what he cherished hidden behind closed doors.

Scara, he never understood the meaning of the word until it crashed around him like a house crumbles into itself, and the way he kept his belongings safe was to have them near him at all times. It was far better to be under the watchful eyes of his competence than leave something so valuable in the hands of another. So, here you were, following him around and staying hidden until he called for you.

The room was empty, absent of all the things you would have normally kept to make this place more homey. If you could get away with it, you’d have made some changes to the décor, but the problem with never settling in one place for long made this desire of yours difficult to accomplish. It wasn’t feasible, you thought to yourself but that didn’t stop you from adding a bit of comfort when you could.

The night came and went without issue and after you prepared yourself for bed you wondered where your lover was. Was he succeeding, was he accomplishing his goals, would he return to you tonight or would you wake up alone yet again. Luckily for you, you had learn to be patient.

Your dreams kept you occupied but there seemed to be something about them that pulled you toward consciousness, a subtle wish drifting across your imagines to wake up.

Something brushed across your cheek, but was it the dream or reality, you couldn’t tell. Gravity pulled you close to something sturdy, but was it a creation of your imagination or the real thing - why was this so challenging. When your eyes finally opened and adjusted to the light of the room, you realized what had been calling to you.

“Scara?” You pulled your hand down from behind the pillow, the muscles tense from being locked into that position for so long. “What has-”

“Go back to sleep.” He spoke and the sound of his voice pulled you closer to him.

“Is everything okay?” You continued your question as if what he said was never uttered, your eyes trying to find the outline of his frame while your skin adjusted to his touch.

“Nothing to concern yourself with, just sleep.”

“But, why are you here?

“I don’t recall needing your permission to do anything.” His words may have been direct, but you could sense there was something else behind them.

“... would you ... like to come to bed?”

“I can’t.” He adjusted and you felt the warmth of the blankets cover more of your exposed skin. The chill of the evening became blocked by the sheets and you hummed in response. You were confused, but the feeling of his hand running along your neck, your jaw, and into your hair made all the questions you had disappear. Moments like these brought out something completely different in the Harbinger and you wondered why he treated you so differently.

With a yawn, you turned into his touch, lips finding the palm of his hand easily and placing a tender kiss against his skin. “You don’t need to stay if you have work to do. I’ll be fine.” You hummed again as he thumb ran over your lips and the gentle pull of sleep began to find you. It was quiet for a while and you focused on the warmth, the closeness, the comfort he provided until you practically melted into the bed.

“I can’t do that either.” Scara whispered, hand pressing into the mattress as he leaned closer to your face. “Not until you are safe,” He breathed in your scent, gazing down at your trusting form beneath him. “Even from me.” He spoke as his fingers curled into the sheets and before he lost himself in you, he slipped from your bedroom and made his way down the hall.

Thoma

He ran so fast as soon as the news reached him. The weight of his feet as he dashed through the countryside grew with every passing second but there was nothing more painful than his clenching heart and anxious thoughts.

What have they done, am I to late, please don’t be too late. He wracked his brain over and over again, blamed himself for the stupidity of leaving you. If he had been there would the outcome be different? If he had stayed, would he have been able to fend off their attack enough to get you to safety. How foolish of him for thinking they wouldn’t use dirty tricks like this to accomplish their goals.

Rumors and intel began to swirl like wildfire and at this point he couldn’t differentiate the accuracy of it all. There was one thing he knew for certain, the vision hunters had you and he was going to get you back.

Their campsite was simple and you wondered if they would really be able to escort all of these prisoners back to the city on their own. They were intimidating enough to keep most insurrection at bay, but you were not about to let them get away with this. After a quick analysis of your surroundings, you found a few potential options worth trying, now it was only a matter of timing.

“You won’t get away with this!” Someone shouted next to you and you patiently waited for an opportunity.

“Shut up.” A soldier barked, his dismissive attitude apparent from the lack of eye contact and the wave of his hand.

“This is wrong and you know it! Do you think you’re immune to the decree, when the day come to hand over your vision will you?!”

The soldier turned and made his way through the trembling captured, you used the scuffling of those trying to get out of his way as an excuse to move closer to your escape. The dirt scraped against your bound hands and pulled at your clothes, but you didn’t care because each inch you gained the closer you got to freedom.

You watched the soldier lift the woman from the ground, his impressive height apparent as she dangled above the well worn soil. “I will do what is necessary for the Raiden Shogun. I am bound by honor, unlike the resistance.”

“Honor! You know nothing of it. Put me down you brute.” She spat in his face and he reacted in kind. You hated the fact that you were using her as your distraction, but hopefully if this all worked out in the end freedom would be enough compensation for her bruised face. Your fingers brushed against a metal handle, the sword you were aiming for had been reached and you quickly worked to get yourself free from the bindings.

The loosening rope told you of your success but when your hand wrapped around the hilt of the weapon and you moved to stand, a sudden pain against your head made your vision go blurry.

“What do you think you are doing?!” Shouted a voice near your ear. They were so loud that you shrunk away from it only to be yanked right back. “You think you could take on all of us? Are you stupid.”

“I didn’t think so.” You wheezed, blinking harshly to try and bring your vision back to clarity.

“Well let me help you understand.” He drug you away from the group but before you could take but a few steps, an intense groan blasted it’s way near you and the hand that held your hair fell away in an instant.

“Are you alright?” A familiar voice asked, hands finding your waist to steady you. It was like your eyes snapped back on because as soon as you turned your head, you found Thoma standing their with an expression you’d never seen before: fury.

“I’m - ouch - okay.” You whispered and then you realized the implications of him being there. Turning, you pressed your hands against his chest and pushed against him, your voice turned tense as you shouted. “Ge-get out of here! What if they catch you!?”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Thoma!”

He looked down at you, his arm tightening around you and you swore the world shifted red and the screaming soldiers shouts became muffled. “Until I know you are safe, I’m not leaving.” He looked forward and the glint of his polearm caught your attention. “Now hold on, okay.”

The dry landscape turned into a wildfire until only what Thoma wanted to remain, remained.

Zhongli

“This is very kind of you, Zhongli. To walk me home.” You chuckled, gazing up at him as you made your way down the path and toward the city. It wasn’t uncommon for Zhongli to escort you from place to place, but tonight you would have assumed he would stay on the Pearl and continue his lively conversation.

“It is no trouble at all, to allow you to walk by yourself would not sit well with me.” Zhongli commented matter-of-factly, his eyes closing as he nodded his head and gazed up toward the stars.

“You were having such a nice time, know that I didn’t mean to bring that too a close.” You scratched your forehead and adjusted your clothes after climbing the stairs from the docks. It was a rather pleasant night, but it usually was in Liyue this time of year.

“I would never insinuate you had ill intentions. I made this decision on my own, to escort you is no trouble at all.”

“Yes, well, that’s very kind of you Zhongli.” The lights of the festival swayed in the wind. To you they looked like fireflies in the sky, but that was such a silly thought you kept it to yourself. “I think I can manage on my own, if you want to go back?”

“Nonsense, I will stay until I know you are safe.” He glanced down at you and offered you a smile, one that spoke true and gave you the impression of ‘I will not be swayed.’

“Well, thank you.” You turned away from him in hopes that he wouldn’t notice the embarrassment you were sure shined in your eyes and flashed across your expression. How can someone so regal find your company enjoyable at all - but Zhongli was so kind to anyone you fought against your better judgement to believe this gesture was more than common courtesy of a gentleman.

“It is my pleasure. Did you have an enjoyable time?” He asked, head examining the city streets and decorations as you had earlier.

“Oh yes! Thank you for inviting me, I’ve never attended something so high class.” You fussed at your outfit again, it was apparent you weren’t used to wearing something like this but you did your best to fit in and not insult the guest who invited you to join him.

“I am delighted to hear. It is far better to enjoy ones time when in company you relish, don’t you agree?”

“Absolutely!” For a while, the two of you discussed the highlights and lowlights of the gathering. The sound of your laughter and excitement caught the attention of late night patrons, but you didn’t mind because it also caught the attention of the one you wanted the most.

It wasn’t until you neared your home that the conversation began to drift. Your heart was sad that the night was coming to a close but responsibilities held you to a tight schedule, even if you felt the itch to break them.

“Thank you again, Zhongli. This night will be one I remember for a while.” Your nails had received a break all evening, but, now that you were about to be alone, they felt the dig of your nervous habits once again.

“It was my pleasure, it is always a gift to spend the evening with you.” He bowed, his long hair slipping over his shoulder at the motion.

“I tend to agree with you.” Chuckling, you moved to unlock your door and when you looked back to Zhongli, his face was illuminated by the sparkling lanterns and yellow glow of the city. No matter what he did he radiated colors you’d never fully understand.

“Liyue has many festivals,” He began, his tone wistful, “though I must say the ones where lanterns adorn the city are my favorite. Do you not think they look like fireflies in the distance?” He asked, gazing up at a few that dangled across the bridges and walkways that lined the city.

“Yeah, actually I do.” You whispered as your eyes fell onto the man you loved so much it hurt to look at him, but, if it meant you could capture even a hint of his existence in your memory, you would happily suffer this pain.

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hotwings0203 · 3 years

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HOWDY!! how are u doing?? Its that person who asked if you would write something for that deku imagine that @candy-hime wrote, about you and deku forced to live together and you corrupting him it could be you or reader but I just love that concept of corrupted! Deku 😩🙏🏾💕💕

Thank you, have a nice day/night!! 😪💜

OH HI HAHAHA MASSIVE BET, I think I’ll do a little bit of both. This will probably be a little self indulgent but I’ll still put it as an “x reader”!

Tw:noncon, misogyny, the reader is a bitch, vouyerism

It was a dare by your friends to live with Izuku Midorkya for a month if you really could handle any type of man.

You’ve dealt with Hawks’ cocky nature, Shoto’s bland comebacks, Bakugo’s constant state of rage- you’ve done it all. Any type of scummy or tiring man a girl has to date you’ve seen in all of these men. They’re practically walking red flags.

Until you’re forced to room with Deku for a whole freaking month.

You just don’t get him! Why is he always so cheery? What the fuck is he smiling about? And who the hell is he baking for? There’s only two of you in the house, it’s not like you’re his girlfriend or anything.

You don’t buy it. There has to be some kind of catch to all this facade of a gentleman.

“Hey, Y/N?” He knocks on your ajar door and peeks his cute little face in. “Did you have dinner yet? I was gonna eat but then I thought I’d have some ramen with you-“

“Did I say you could enter?” You slowly lift your head up from your laptop and glare at him. “Are you some kind of pervert? What if I was changing?”

“N-no! I’m so sorry, I should’ve let you answer first, I just wanted to see if you were hungry-“

“God, what are you, my dad? Is that what you want? For me to call you Daddy?” Sneering, you jump up from your bed and stall towards the door.

Deku stumbles over his feet to retreat after seeing the look on your face. “No! Not at all, what? Come on, I didn’t mean any harm-“

“Yeah? Then knock before you enter closet perv.” And with that, you slam the door mere inches away from his startled face as hard as you can, uncaring if the low this on the other side of the wood was his connection to it swinging shut.

“What a fucking brown-noser,” you mutter loud enough for him to hear.

It’s odd how long you wait behind the door before you can hear his footsteps retreat.

A week later you decide to amp it up a notch. There’s no way he’s so fucking green, there’s gotta be some twisted thing inside him that makes him tick.

And so on the day of his turn to do laundry, you decide to dump your fanciest and sluttiest undergarments into the laundry basket.

He’s in some dorky apron when you catch him kneeling over the bag, ruffling through clothes and spraying them with detergent like the good little boy he is.

You perch on the couch behind the laundry room and wait. He doesn’t hear a thing with his headphones blasting some stupid happy-go-lucky songs in his ears.

Eventually he pulls out your lace g-string, and stares at the crumpled mass in confusion. He unravels the lace and stares at it for a good minute or two in surprise you think.

But nonetheless, like the chivalrous man he is, he shakes his head and slaps his reddening cheeks to get over the shock before reaching for the spray.

This was your cue.

You make sure to sound out of breath and extra irritated when you flounce over to his kneeling form and snatch the garment out of his hands.

He jumps a bit and takes his headphones off when he sees your hand descending.

“Oh, it’s just you. You scared me for a sec’ there,” he laughs sheepishly and rubs his neck. “I was just doing the laundry, sorry if that looked weird.”

“Looked weird? You’re fucking disgusting, Dick-u. I’ve been looking for these for days now, and where do I find them? In your grubby little hands.”

His jaw drops open.

“Huh? No, you’ve got it all wrong! It was in the basket, I swear! You must have misplaced it by accident or something.”

“Oh, so now you’re calling me a liar? You think I’m crazy or something? Im not the one sniffing girls’ panties!”

He frantically waves his hands to negate your accusation but you merely spit on the floor next to him.

“Don’t touch my shit again you fucking freak. Go buy a pocket pussy or something since you can’t keep it in your pants.”

At this, he pinches his eyebrows together and starts getting up.

“Hold on, what’re you being so aggressive for? I told you, they were just in here, I’m not that kind of guy.”

He steps towards but you don’t back down. Rather, you jab a finger in his toned chest and bring yourself face-to-face with him.

“Dont fucking walk up to me like that you douche. You’re the one in the wrong here, so I wouldn’t be so aggressive, like you said. Come at me like that again and I’ll fuck you up.”

With the lace in hand, you barely contain your smirk as you storm back into your room, relishing in how Izuku stands like a statue in the same place as you left him, his hands curiously curling into fists and his nostrils inflated.

But behind the safety of your door, he doesn’t continue any shenanigans.

He stays relatively quiet and out of sight for a couple of days, and you start to get bored again.

So this time, you put all your cards on the table and do a double whammy.

One night you call Katsuki, a fuck buddy of yours for a while and use him to help you get off.

You’re not really horny, but the blond side does have a way of getting you there. Luckily, your room is right next to Deku’s so your plan is executed to the best extent.

“Katsuki, oh Katsuki, please. Fuck, fuck yeah, ‘wanna hear you cum for me baby, I want you to bruise my cervix,” you babble loudly as you shove two fingers in your pussy and use your thumb to press on your clit.

“Yeah, you fucking whore, you like that? You like knowing that a shitty nerd like him’s prolly getting off to you calling my name like a slut? I bet you do, keep fucking yourself to my voice, do it otherwise I’ll bruise your ass black and blue when this month’s over.”

“Kat-Katsuki please fuck meeee dadddyyyyy oh fuck-Kacchan!” You cry out and cum violently around squelching fingers.

You put the phone down for a moment to catch your breath, but hear nothing from the other room.

Your face falls as Bakugo rambles on the other end. You hang up with him mid-sentence and remove your fingers from your legs, licking it off absentmindedly and thinking of your next move.

The next morning, you don the tiniest pairs of shorts you have in your closet that accentuates the shape of your ass and the skimpiest bra you can find that shows a peek of the top of your nipples.

You tie your hair up and amble out into the kitchen where he already is, reading something on his his phone and sipping form a black mug.

He barely darts his eyes and lifts the corners of his mouth in a hesitant greeting when he sees what you’re wearing.

He chokes on his drink and does a massive double take, juice spilling from his open mouth.

You raise an eyebrow and smooth your baby hairs, rolling your eyes and walking behind him to grab your own cup.

“See something you like?” Water trickling is the only sound in the room apart from your quip.

“Uh, n-no. Just swallowed wrong I guess.”

“Wonder why,” you drawl with a bored voice and edge closer to his back.

He’s hunched over, mindlessly scrolling too-fast on his phone to be deemed as actually reading anything. You recognize this form of coping from people like yourself who try to find distractions at parties where you don’t know people, just flipping through tabs to look like you’re actually doing something.

As you walk around him again, you make sure to train your eyes on his own, hounding he out for the moment he slips.

And slip he does, but only after you pretend to stretch and lift your self on your tippy toes in front of him, your shorts hiking up to show some cheek.

It’s only for a moment, but while the cup is against his mouth and his phone in his hand, his eyes dart to the exposed skin, then back up to your triumphant eyes.

“I knew it.”

He sighs and puts his cup down. “Knew what?”

“That you were a sick little virgin who gets off on staring at girls.”

“Y/N, I wasn’t-“

“I also know,” you raise your voice above his and slowly walk over to the table on the other side across from him, leaning forward and making sure that your tits squish together as you drop them on the countertop, “that last night you were totally listening to me on the phone with Bakugo. I heard your grunts and disgusting fapping noises. You don’t have to make it so obvious that you don’t get any.”

And this time, regardless of his indignation and frustration, he can’t stop himself from watching your hands trail up the sides of your bra and slowly drag the material down, down, down until your perfect breasts spill out and embrace the cold granite.

You honestly have no idea if he jacked off to last night’s call or not, but he doesn’t seem to be denying anything.

His mouth opens the widest you’ve even seen it. His face is beet red, and he visibly starts to perspire.

Your hands mold the soft skin and squeeze until your nipples swell and peek out from between your ruthless fingers, but you still look as bored and slightly curious as ever.

“This is all you’re ever gonna get, you sad incel. Take a good long look at them since I know this is what you’ve been wanting this entire time now.”

His mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out.

When he groans and starts to bring his down down between his legs, you strike.

“I guess I really was right. You’re not some nice guy, it was all a facade. Can’t wait to tell everyone how fucked in the head you are.” His vision starts to clear as you sneer at him again and start packing your tits back where they belong.

As you turn around, you call out over your shoulder, “Oh, and by the way? You whimper like a little bitch.”

It’s silent as you walk with your head held high back to your room, sure that you had broken him and that he was going to take his loss with his own held low.

You don’t really expect to hear the thunderous sounds of someone dragging their chair away and positively sprinting towards you.

You turn halfway and your eyes widen as you see him barreling towards you with the most terrifying expression you’ve ever seen on him.

“What the fu-“

But you don’t get a chance to finish your exclamation, because Deku body slams you onto your bed and immediately seized your wrists above your head. You can feel his hard-on rub against your mound as he straddles your flailing body and keeps you pinned between his muscles calves.

“Get off of me, are you fucking crazy?” You scream and toss your head side to side, trying to arch your back to throw him off of you-which only succeeds in pressing your mound against his.

“You teasing slut. All I’ve done is try to play nice with you, but you just had to fucking push it, didn’t you?” He rages quietly, his arms shaking in effort not to snap your wrists in half. You still as his jaw clenches and trembles, his green hair hanging over his eyes that reflect nothing but malice and hate.

You’re scared. For the first time this entire month with him, you want him away from you and off of you.

“Look, I-I messed up, I know, I’m sorry-“

“-You’re sorry?” He laughs high pitched and you cringe when he thrusts his face towards yours, practically brushing noses and seeing his bloodshot crazed eyes.

“Yeah, you will be sorry. After today, you won’t ever fuck with me again. Or at least want to. I’ll do whatever the hell I want with you though since that’s what you’ve been so hellbent on achieving, right?”

His scarred hands waste no time in yanking down your bra the same way you did before, except much less gentler than you did by yourself.

“No, no, Deku please, I’m really sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.” You whimper and struggle again beneath him, which is promptly stopped with a loud squeal when he pinches your nipple.

“Shut up. Wanton bitches like you don’t get to beg for mercy.”

He smirks and lets his tongue flop onto your strained neck, slobbering like a dog all over you.

“This is what you wanted right? For me to put you in your place and fuck your needy hole? And you had the audacity to call me disgusting,” he laughs and draws back, mocking your wobbling lips.

“Oh, oh baby don’t cry,” he holds both your wrists in one hand and uses the other to caress your cheek, slapping it hard when you turn away from his touch. “You’re just gonna get what’s coming to you.”

He indicates what he means by grinding his hips against the front of your shorts, snickering as you whimper and dipping his fingers below the hem, teasing you cruelly.

“Whose whimpering like the bitch now, huh?”

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introloves · 4 years

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Aone having a FAT crush on a tiny quiet barista at his new favorite cafe, they’ve memorized his order and even makes sure to keep his favorite seat open every morning for him- maybe they go to his school too but they never really talk? They kinda smile at him and wave in the hallways but never talk?

THIS IS SO CUTEEEE!!!!! nd bc im me i turned it into smut :( sowwy

— first times + big dick aone, embarrassed abt his size + size kink + brief summary of aone x reader’s relationship before we get to the smut + hard smut towards the end + f! reader

he wouldn’t say anything, he couldn’t say anything but you’d know by the way he he’s always mumbling when he gets to the counter, eyes shying away from your own, hands shaky everytime he’d hand you money, 2.25, every morning for his favorite cup of tea.

it’d always take you a couple seconds to put yourself back together, your own shaky hands tenaciously putting together his drink, perhaps making it with extra care.

he’d usually come alone, but on rare days there’d be a couple other faces. one in particular with brown sleek hair, would push him to mumble out words other than, ‘thank you’.

the teasing laughter and bright red coloring to his face was a dead giveaway. you’d only mess with your friends like this if there was crushing involved.

it’d make you burn up at the thought that he had a crush on you, he’s so big and intimidating and at first you’d have your guard up everytime he stepped inside, a looming presence not hard to notice.

but as the days went by, you’d see how much care he’d put into things. he’d take time to clean up his booth, make sure to recycle his cup, and always shyly nod his head towards you in a silent goodbye. on days where he feels especially brave, aone leaves a flower, one that he thinks most closely resembles your beauty.

on those days, when its your turn to clean the tables and you see a single, delicately picked flower, your heart thumps loudly in your chest.

you’d started falling for him before long.

and of course the dating starts shortly after.

you swear you’ve never felt love before him. he’s everything you needed, a nice security in an otherwise tumultuous and very scary world.

he holds you with arms that are twice as thick as yours, could squeeze you tight enough to hurt so very easy, but instead cradles you to sleep with so much care.

hands that work tirelessly, calloused, veiny and wide touch your face with a delicacy that doesn’t come naturally to someone of his size. he works at it, works at making sure he’s careful.

and you appreciate it, you do, but when you see him open jars for you with ease, reach over your head to pluck whatever you need from the top of shelves in stores, pick you up with no groan or strain, it makes your mind wander.

everything with him is so easy, so you don’t know why, when you’re slick between the thighs, throbbing with want for him, he makes it so hard.

he refuses your advances, pulls you off with a sad smile and jumbled words of,

“he’s not ready.” when you can clearly see he’s hard behind his pants.

it makes you cry, wondering if you’re not good enough. was the flustered flirting, kisses, and confession all just a big joke?

your tears break him, he hurriedly explains that it’s him. he won’t hurt you, can’t, refuses to.

“what are you talking about.” you hiccup, whipping away the tears.

“i just...” he sighs, running a palm down his face.

“i’m too big.”

your jaw nearly drops at that. the heat of embarrassment and lick of something hotter burns at your neck and tummy.

you’ve never heard or seen a man shy away because of his size, usually they boast and brag and have very little to boast and brag about.

you tell him it doesn’t matter, you want him. eyes wide and pleading, hoping he doesn’t shy away because you want him so bad.

his resolution is broken, he’s attracted to you after all. but you’re so small, so cute and plush and curvy in all the places he wants to sink his fingers into.

“i’ll be gentle.” he thinks when he finally grabs you, pulling you onto his lap.

he doesn’t miss the way your mouth shuts closed when you feel him, hips giving a small push against him to make sure you aren’t imagining him like this.

the kissing starts, fevered lips painting eachother in spit, shy moans leave the both of you.

foreplay is skipped, you’ve both held back long enough, and you wouldn’t let him anyways.

“not a good idea.” aone mumbles, but you don’t listen. you want him now.

one again you push at his weak spots, everything he does, he does to please you. but you make it seem that it’s quite the opposite, you want what he wants.

and aone is anything but an aroused man with a cute, soft, tiny girlfriend beneath him.

the first meeting of his cockhead against your leaking, twitching hole has him clench his teeth, hand placed heavy over your tummy to still your hips.

“it’s going to hurt.” he reminds you, but you still don’t care.

“i want you.” you breathe, it makes him hiss.

there were many steps you’d both taken together to get where you were.

from the first time he saw you at the café, bustling around with a smile that tugged at his heart, to a couple minutes ago, when you panted wantonly into his ear about how much you fantasized of him burying himself in you to the hilt, watching your eyes roll back as he pushes in is his favorite so far.

he’s not that expirienced, but knows that the growing wetness dripping onto his thighs with every squelch of your pussy as he sinks in is a good sign.

“g-god. nobu, you’re so big.” you chant.

he knows, he warned you.

but it’s not a bad thing, he thinks, because with just a few pumps in, the stretch he gives you, along with hips brushing against your clit, you’re already creaming around him.

he doesn’t blink the whole time you do, zeroed in on the shake of your thighs, fat squishing him against you, pussy equally trying to milk him of his own.

he thinks the best thing to do is to stay still and wait until you’re okay.

aone knows you are when the talk starts back up.

you can see the sweat glisten against his chest, you know he’s holding back, giving you shy thrusts once more.

it’s good, the same shy, tentative thrusts just made you cum so hard you couldn’t hear for a second, but there’s a hint of raw power he’s holding back.

“takanobu.” you call to him with a shaky voice.

he responds with a worried glance.

“use me.”

he looks at you in disbelief,

“n-no. i’ll hurt you.”

your hips rut, swiveling around the very hard cock of him in absolute desperation.

“i want you to hurt me.” you say. and he sees red.

there’s a tinge of fear at the hardened gaze he gives you, he moves you with an ease, making a show to grab your hips in both hands, lifting you off the bed as he kneels down.

he does as he’s told, moving you how he wants, impaling you down on his big cock over and over, watching the soft parts of you jiggle with the intensity of it, meeting the fat of your ass and thighs with harsh slaps. he digs already darkening splotches the shape of his nails into you.

you can do nothing but scream, trying to hold on to the bed so you don’t slam into the creaking headboard. but you don’t really have to worry, even now he makes sure to keep you from moving away from his pounding.

you can’t feel your legs with the second orgasm that takes you, knees lock and pussy once again creaming all over him while he drills into you.

this is what you wanted, your own pleasure being driven by aone. just like everything else, he makes sure to take care of you so good, your cunt numb and fucked open by the time he’s done.

he pulls out to cum all over your pussy, there’s so much.

he finally comes back to you with a noise that sounds apologetic.

“i’m sor-“ you cut him off before he can say anything, grabbing his face in both hands with shaky arms thanks to him.

“don’t.” you begin, telling him that it’s okay to not be careful, something he’s always been.

you let him know that with you, he doesn’t have to tip toe, that in the safety the two of your shared, he was free to do everything those who didn’t know him whispered about him. he was allowed to be mean, allowed to use those muscles he’s built, allowed to be scary.

finishing with a kiss to his lips,

you’ve loved him since he left you flowers at work, and you’d still love him even after drilling your pussy into submission.

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todrokishoto · 3 years

Text

fluff ft. bakugou, deku and todoroki

character(s): katsuki bakugou, izuku midoriya, shouto todoroki

warning(s): i don’t think there are any? it’s just pure fluff. mentions of eating/food, though.

summary: just some fluff with the three musketeers.

a/n: found inspo from this prompt list so,,, enjoy! also, come talk to me about the first episode of season 5!!!

B A K U G O U

a pair of crimson eyes are staring at you when you reluctantly open your own. it takes a moment for you to adjust to the harsh rays of light fighting their way through the blinds. once you do though, you feel your brows furrow as you meet the gaze of your boyfriend. you offer a sheepish smile at his unamused face, seeing straight through him immediately.

“good morning to you, too, grump.”

his lips tighten as he studies your face. ignoring his scrutinizing gaze, you sit up, despite the protests from your body. you roll your neck, a sigh of relief escaping you as the tension eases. sensing your boyfriend’s urge to say something, you turn your head to look at him.

“no breakfast? i thought sundays were eat-breakfast-in-bed kind of days?” you’re teasing, naturally, but your words still spark something in your hot-headed partner.

he grunts. “i would’ve had breakfast ready but you were sleeping on my arm and i didn’t want to wake you.”

your heart swells as he rubs the back of his neck, suddenly finding the duvet covers very interesting. you push away the urge to continue your teasing, fully-aware of how easily it could turn into an argument if he isn’t in the mood. you smile at him when he meets your eyes again.

“your arm’s asleep, isn’t it?” you muse, noticing how he’s rubbing it with his other arm.

“yeah, no shit. because you slept on it for eight shitty hours.”

“how about i make breakfast today then?”

you throw the covers aside, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. when your feet are planted on the ground, you go to stand up but a hand wraps around your waist before you can do so. he pulls you back down effortlessly and you squeal, colliding with his bare chest.

“or we could order food and just stay in bed until it gets here,” katsuki suggests, his lips brushing against the exposed skin of your shoulder.

M I D O R I Y A

“it’s so pretty,” you gush, your eyes fixated on the view in front of you.

the wind takes ahold of your hair, playing with it briefly before moving on. you wrap it back behind your ear mindlessly, still mesmerized by the scene unfolding before your eyes. the ocean sparkles underneath the remaining sunlight, reflecting the most perfect color palette from the sky above.

pinks, yellows, oranges, and blues mixed together so perfectly you can’t bring yourself to tear your gaze away. it had to have been one of the prettiest sunsets you had ever seen. you lean forward, analyzing every detail, feeling the railing press against your waist in the process.

there is no reply from your boyfriend and you turn in his direction. his wide, green eyes are already looking at you when you do so and you feel your heart speed up immediately. there’s a look within them that cannot be described as anything other than pure adoration.

“i love you,” your freckled partner blurts, a rosy color tinting his cheeks.

“i love you, too,” you respond, not even bothering to hide your wide grin. “i-is there something on my face though? you’re kind of—”

he shakes his head almost furiously, his wild green locks bouncing all over the place. you watch with amusement, the wings of the butterflies moving just as crazily as your boyfriend’s hair. he grabs your hand in his own and it still surprises you how perfectly your hands fit together, fingers intertwining immediately.

“i-it’s just... i remember practicing how to ask you out in the mirror,” he pauses, his green orbs meeting yours again. “and now you’re my girlfriend and i just— feels kind of surreal, y’know?”

you nod, understanding his feelings exactly. “well, i’m glad you mustered up the courage to move on from the mirror. i can’t imagine my life without you, zuku.”

T O D O R O K I

the two of you are lying on his bed, limbs intertwined, noses almost touching. no words are being exchanged, just the sounds of your breathing filling the silence engulfing the room. yet, there is not an ounce of awkwardness. you’re both at ease with each other.

it took awhile to knock down his walls but you had been determined. during the months of your mission to get to know the quiet boy, countless questions had been asked but not nearly as many had been answered. to be quite frank, silence had been a regular occurrence and by now, neither one of you minded one bit.

feelings had blossomed, too, which you hadn’t been able to foresee. little did you know that a mission to bring your classmate out of his shell would result in a relationship, but you didn’t mind that one bit either. the two-toned boy had confessed his feelings before you could, blunt as ever.

being with shouto is refreshing. you don’t have to go out on a limb and try to read his mind; he is very willing to share his thoughts if the right questions are asked. sometimes, even without being prompted to do so. he brings a whole new level of excitement into your life that you had no idea you needed until you met him.

“i want to marry you.”

and, just like that, the silence was broken. his words take you by surprise. while him sharing his thoughts happen regularly, you still haven’t gotten used to just how blunt (and sometimes a little oblivious) he could be.

his words echo in your mind, every gear churning to process them. the two of you have been classmates for almost three years already, but have been together less than six months. there is no denying that you are completely and utterly in love with him, but this conversation had yet to be brought up. until now, it seems.

“not now, obviously,” he explains, his bicolored eyes studying you closely, obviously noticing your distress. he knows you better than anyone. “but sometime in the future. i cannot picture a future without you in it, y/n.”

your cheeks hurt from smiling, your heart thumping against your rib cage like a galloping horse. your boyfriend remains - seemingly, anyway - unfazed, merely continuing his staring. you can tell he doesn’t expect a response.

“i want to marry you sometime in the future, too, shouto.”

your words come with ease because you mean them with your whole being. if he isn’t in your future then you don’t want it. you had decided as much during your first conversation.

he smiles. then, he closes the barely-there gap between your faces, his lips meeting yours. he’s so gentle you can barely feel it, so you grab a handful of his shirt, pulling him even closer. he doesn’t object, his smile only widening against your lips.

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platoniclokiimagines · 3 years

Note

Teen reader joining Avengers and Loki finds out they have powers similar to magic and can use it infinitely so Loki becomes their teacher.? (Bonus for Loki slowly warming up to reader and Avengers teasing him about it)

WC: 1439

Rating: G

TW: none

A/N: This was fun! I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Also this is very lightly proofread because I had very little time to write this. My sincerest apologies.

When you first arrived at the compound, you felt extremelyout of place.

You were much younger than almost everyone else on the team,save for Peter, and you were certain you were out of your depth, even with Tonyand Steve assuring you that they’d never seen anything like you, and that youhad amazing powers that would help the team out immensely.

As you brought your bags in so you could get settled in thenew room Tony’d had set up for you, you were keenly aware that you were beingwatched by someone on the opposite side of the living room, and when you lookedup and realized who it was, you triednot to look too anxious.

You’d been in New York when Loki had first helped thechitauri attack, and while you’d had some time to talk to Thor about Loki andwhat had happened, you were still a little waryof the God of Mischief, and it seemed they felt the same way about you. Youwere a new person, after all, and Loki was new to you. It made sense that they would be just as wary of you as youwere of them.

All the same, you mustered your best smile as you shiftedyour suitcase in your hand. “…hi. I’m Y/N, I’m… I’m new around here.”

Loki said nothing, only nodded once, eyes narrowed as theyconsidered you, and you stayed very still, waiting for some kind of judgment orcomment or something, but they onlynodded once, and then went back to reading the book in their lap.

You let out a breath you didn’teven realize you were holding, and went on your way, wondering if this was anyindicator as to how your stay at the Compound would go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the next couple of days, you made it a point to befriendly to everyone, especially your first time properly meeting them. Youintroduced yourself, held conversations, made plans. Everyone was verywelcoming, and it made you feel a lot better about being new.

But Loki continued to elude you.

Whenever you would try to hold a conversation, they wouldparticipate, but you were never quite sure of your standing with them.

Every time it went the same: you would say hello, and theywould nod once. You would ask them the most blasé question you could imagine,and they would answer with the most Shakespearean, dressed-up answer that hadlittle to do with what you’d asked at all and often made you feel infinitelyless smart than you were, and when you tried to answer, Loki would just consider you.

They would say nothing else, they would do nothing else. They would just look at you.

It never failed to make you nervous, but all the same, youkept trying.

After a few weeks, you felt like you might be making someprogress.

When you’d enter and say hello, Loki would actually smile alittle, and greet you in response. They’d ask you questions unprompted, and you’danswer honestly, whether it was as mundane as wondering how your day had been,or about how you’d come to have your powers.

It was almost like you were friends.

But one day, you vowed toyourself, you’d have a realbreak-through.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That break-through came in the form of you and Loki being inthe training room together a few weeks later.

You’d been at the compound for a few months, by then, andwhile you’d trained around most of the other team before, this was the firsttime you happened to be in the same training gym as Loki, and as you watchedthem warm up by themselves, sending a few bolts of magic at some mannequins,you tried not to feel intimidated.

Rather than keep watching, and risk being caught andquestioned by the very person you were watching, you turned back around to themannequins F.R.I.D.A.Y. had had set up and automated for you, and gave her thego ahead to start your training module.

Once you began, you were truly in your element. Your powershad always felt like an extension of yourself, but using them in battle felteven more right. Everything camenaturally to you, as you dodged and reached out with your hands, tendrils ofbright magic following the path your hands laid out as you attacked every dummyF.R.I.D.A.Y. sent toward you, and by the time you finished with your firstlittle module, you’d hardly even broken a sweat.

“Reset, please, Miss F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” you called out as youturned around to pick up your water bottle, and you startled when you realizedLoki was standing at your side, brow furrowed almost comically as they studiedyou.

“You never told me you had magic.”

You blinked a bit, your own brow furrowing. “I… suppose I’venever considered it to be magic. Itjust… feels like me.”

Loki seemed mildly surprised by your answer, and consideredit, and you, in silence for a long moment. “…well, it’s rather like my ownpowers, if you don’t mind me saying.”

You wondered to yourself why on Earth you would mind themsaying that, but outwardly you only smiled. “Well… Maybe you could teach me afew tricks.”

That caught Loki off-guard more than they’d already been,and you opened your mouth to apologize, worried you’d offended them, but theyanswered before you could. “…you’d want that?”

You shrugged a shoulder, smiling a bit as you fiddled withthe lid of your hydroflask. “Well… yeah, I mean… No one else has any powerslike mine. Maybe we can even learnfrom each other. One day we might even be a pretty powerful team-up.” Youlaughed a bit at the idea, but Loki only continued to look at you, and youcouldn’t help but feel like they were sizing up you and your offer.

“….alright.”

“…alright?” You tried not to look too excited, worried it might be a little off-putting, but Lokionly smiled, more than you’d ever seen them smile before.

“But don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

You grinned. “Wouldn’t dream ofit.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the next few months passed, you and Loki became muchcloser as you trained more and more together. Loki was able to help you honeyour skills and unlock even more power than you realized you’d had, and youwere able to help Loki find a way to detach their feelings from what they weredoing to reduce the risk of accidents from any emotional outbursts, which you’dfound Loki a little prone to when they were in a bad mood or were simply havinga bad brain day.

It was nice to have someone that understood you and yourpowers on a different level than anyone else could, and Loki seemed to enjoyhaving someone to talk to about anything and everything.

You truly felt like you were a pair that was a force to bereckoned with.

One night, after a long day of training, the two of you madeyour way to the dining room, which was already crowded with everyone elsemaking their plates and finding somewhere to eat. You’d just gotten a plate foryourself and handed one to Loki when you heard Tony’s voice speak up over thedin of everyone talking to each other.

“You know, I really can’t believe how much you’ve gotten theicicle to warm up to you, Y/N.”

There were a few laughs from around the room, but you knewit was all good fun.

“Well, maybe if the rest of you didn’t call Loki names, you’dbe graced with their friendship, too.”

There were a few “ooooohs” from the rest of the team, andyou couldn’t stifle your bout of laughter.

“What, it’s true.”

“Well, trust us, Y/N, we’ve all been around Loki for a lotlonger than a few months, and we’ve neverseen them warm up to someone like they have with you,” Steve pointed out.

“Yeah, I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much as a smile from them before they startedteaching you,” Nat agreed, smirking at Loki, who looked like they wanted tomelt into the carpet from sheer embarrassment.

“No, no, Loki smiles sometimes,” Thor added, and thenlowered his voice to a comical stage whisper. “They just like to act a lottougher than they are.”

“Alright, enough,or you’re all getting worms in your beds tonight,” Loki declared, all butsulking in their seat.

All you could do was laugh as the entire groupstarted to whine.

#Loki imagine #platonic Loki imagine #Loki #Loki Laufeyson #Loki Odinson #Loki x reader #platonic!Loki x reader #mutualsituations #ask #answered #thank you for the prompt #teen!reader #teacher!Loki

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hongism · 4 years

Text

a little jealousy - c. san 18+

day 14 of kinktober: jealous sex - choi san warnings: explicit smut, unprotected sex, fingering, jealous sex, sir kink, dirty talk, creampie, fwb au, a lil bit of ~possessive san~ aka that fic where 'yeah we aren't anything but i'm still jealous' wc: 1.8k genre: pwp, smut, 18+

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset!” You exclaim as you bring your arms up to your chest. It’s a defensive mechanism, yes, and San can clearly see that because he knows you better than you know yourself sometimes. Which isn’t fair, first of all, but it’s also infuriating because the look he gives you through the reflection of the bathroom mirror is a knowing one. You wish you could smack it off his face but you don’t have the willpower to do that.

San doesn’t respond, although it’s not like he could even if he wanted to thanks to the toothbrush hanging between his lips. He simply stares back at you, one hand resting on the edge of the sink with the other moving the toothbrush over his teeth. His expression is eerily calm, as though he wasn’t just snapping at you minutes ago.

To put it in perspective, you and San share a unique relationship. That is, you are friends with benefits, emphasis on the benefits part. You are nothing exclusive and mutually decided that it was best just to call it what it is without having any strings attached in the process, which is why you fail to understand the issue in what he’s upset about.

You just got back from a small dinner date. Nothing important or dramatic – it was a shitty date, to say the least – and yet, San was furious when you stepped through the door. One because you had to ignore his first call thanks to the date, and two because of the date itself.

“We aren’t going on another date anyway. And I’m still coming home to you, so what’s the big deal in all this?” You continue your tirade, eager to get all your frustration off your chest before San can respond. He arches a brow at you through the mirror then leans over the sink to spit the toothpaste out. You’re still seething, and knowing San’s temper, he is as well. He’s merely doing a better job at concealing it than you are.

“Because–” San starts, pausing to rinse his mouth out with water “–you didn’t tell me about said date.” He stands up straight again, and now his eyes are practically blazing as he looks at you through the reflection. “That’s the issue.”

“Why do I have to tell you about it? We aren’t dating, San. All we do is fuck around for stress relief, no?” The words are bitter on your tongue, and if you dared to be honest with yourself, you would admit that it isn’t truly what you want. The choice between dating someone else or San would be easy. You don’t want anyone else other than him, but you aren’t even sure that the feeling is mutual.

“We agreed to at least tell each other about any possible dates though,” San argues. “Did we not?”

You realize too little too late that he is, in fact, correct about that matter. But you can’t lie and say that it slipped your mind entirely because you did think about it when he tried calling you during the date. It sparked something ugly in you too: the desire to push your limits as much as possible and see how much bending San could take before he breaks. In short, you wanted to make him jealous, if only to see whether he would show the emotion.

“I asked you a question, princess,” San hums. You glance up at him with wide eyes, finding him standing directly in front of you now. He brings an index finger to your chin and slowly pushes you until you look him in the eye. “Did we not make said agreement?”

“W-We did but–”

“But? But what, baby girl? Did you not ignore my phone call on purpose?”

“I didn’t!”

“You said you were in the bathroom. Why could you not answer then? You weren’t with your date in the bathroom, were you?”

San is seeing through the guise of your plan with far too much ease.

“I… wasn’t, no.”

“So why didn’t you answer the phone?” San edges closer to your face, hot breath wafting over your cheeks, and you subconsciously move further into the touch. “Because you wanted to make me jealous?”

Bingo.

You inhale sharply and try to keep your expression as level and normal as possible so that he doesn’t see through you. It’s too late at this point, but you’re still clinging to the hope that he doesn’t read you that well. San hums and tilts his head from side to side a few times. Then, his touch leaves your face and he steps around you. You think he’s about to leave you there until you see him standing just past your shoulder in the reflection of the mirror. He nudges you forward with one finger, and despite his touch being as light as a feather, you hurry to move the way he wants you to. He doesn’t relent until your abdomen hits the edge of the bathroom counter. Then the finger on your back becomes the palm of his hand, and San bends you over the chilled granite.

“Did you want me to think of someone else bending you over like this?” San slips his hands down to your hips. “Touching you and undressing you with their eyes?”

You bite back a whine, teeth sinking deep into your lower lip to hold the sound back. San lets his touch travel lower and lower, snagging the band of your skirt and tugging it over your ass with little resistance. You shiver as more skin is exposed to the cool air. San hums his approval at your reaction. His movements don’t stop until the skirt is down to your ankles, and you don’t wait for him to tell you to step out of it.

“I bet you wanted to make me think that your date was undressing you like this, making you needy and wanton after only a handful of touches.” San brings two fingers over your folds, letting them dig your underwear further against your skin. There’s already a bit of wetness there, something you’re almost ashamed of because it betrays your plan and feelings without you wanting it to. “Hm, looks like I was right.”

“S-San, please,” you whine without shame this time.

“So you did want me to get jealous then, baby girl? And once I did get jealous, you couldn’t resist the taste. Just wanted more and more of it, so you drove the knife further in?”

“San,” you gasp, hips jerking as his fingers slip past your underwear. He leaves a dragging touch on your wet folds and wastes no time in pushing his index finger into your tight hole. He shifts it in you, letting you buck back onto his hand. It’s a desperate attempt to get off, and it is practically impossible to get any pleasure from the action. “Please, please put another finger in!”

“Is that really what you deserve though, princess?” San chides after clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You’re lucky that I’m in a giving mood today. All I want is to show you who you belong to.” He catches the band of your underwear and tugs it down to join your skirt on the floor. Then he returns to your fluttering hole and buries two fingers deep inside you. The stretch has you moaning for more, but San doesn’t give you anything more than that yet. He focuses on stretching you open with those two fingers, scissoring them over and over. He effectively avoids your g-spot with each pump of his fingers though. You know why he’s doing it – it’s payback for making him jealous – but that doesn’t keep you from wanting more.

“P-Please fuck me. San, I need you. I need you so badly, please.”

“Well, princess, you’ve got me jealous now. Are you satisfied?”

“San, I need – fuck, I need more,” you beg when he withdraws his finger from your folds.

“Of course you do. You’re such a needy little slut for me, are you not?” San drops a hand to your ass. The sound of skin slapping skin resounds, and you whine at the sensation.

“I-I am, yes.”

“Yes what?” San coos as he leans over your body. You hear the clink of his belt buckle then the sound of his pants falling to the ground.

“Yes, sir!”

“There’s a good baby girl,” San praises. You glance up at him, eyeing the reflection through the mirror. He smirks down at you with a brow arched cockily as he moves closer to your exposed backside. His cock presses between your drenched folds, and he’s quick to find your hole. He eases into you slowly, letting you get used to the larger stretch, but it’s not uncomfortable in the slightest for you. A moan slips past your lips when he bottoms out, the head of his cock penetrating deep inside you.

“You feel so good, sir,” you whine. San huffs a laugh through his nose then reaches down to keep your cheek pressed hard to the granite counter.

“Did you want me to imagine someone else doing this to you? How far did your little game go?” San’s hips rock against your ass, and you can only manage a desperate moan at the sensation of his cock rolling in and out of you. The angle has you seeing stars in mere seconds; something you love about sex with San is the way he knows how to push all your buttons with such little effort. “I don’t think I could hold back if someone else fucked you like this.”

“God, y-yes, I want – shit!” Your thought is cut short quite quickly when San pistons his cock into your tight heat at a faster pace.

“So good for me, princess,” San coos. “Bet you could cum just like this.”

“I’m – I’m gonna, oh god, I’m gonna cum,” you stammer through gasps. San’s pace is brutal but delicious, hitting your sweet spot over and over without relent. Your mind devolves into a jumbled mess of pleasure. Within seconds, the stars in your eyes turn to a hazy fog, and you orgasm with a start, back arching and walls squeezing tight around San’s member. He fucks you through the orgasm. It doesn’t give you even a second to breathe, and the overstimulation of his tip rubbing over your walls causes your moans to become broken whines.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so good and tight for me. Gonna – ha, gonna cum in you.” San throws his head back, and a deep groan leaves his lips before he stills inside you. His dick twitches a handful of times, then warmth spreads through your core. He spills hot cum into your heat, filling you to the brim with his seed. It’s all intentional and purposeful on his part, an effort to push that possessive nature a bit further and show you who you truly belong to. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I need to make you jealous more often,” you exhales once you catch your breath.

“I’m not sure you could handle that, baby girl.”

...

a/n: im sorry this is rushed asfoijogijiodfg also hi @ppersonna please don’t read this iTS SO BAD

link to kinktober masterlist

taglist: @noonawriter @daniblogs164 @felixity @okokokok123-45 @jeonartemis @crescent-hwa @wheresmymoniat @nlost21 @lonely10vely @atletino @monbecaratstayarmy @hello-its-ya-boi @onyxblade01 @kimnamshiks @poutychangbinnie @toothlessshiber @xxbluestrifexx @lokihoeforhyunjin @ice-cold-taeyong @essantial @blueish-sun @etaerealboy @notbeforelong @wideawakeficrecs @adestinyuwu @simpforhyunjin @naajix @lilyliline21 @leaz-kpop-life @hyunjinsicedamerican0 @marigold-bebee @changbinswifu @xcookiemonsteer @ddalgi-yong @seoha @jiminq @succulentpk @singjiries

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babiesdreams · 3 years

Note

I really love the way you write!! You make the situations seem real and I'm loving it!❤ I was wondering if you could do a jealous Yuta scenario that ends in sex? I'm new to sending requests, so I'm sorry if my request is very vague.\🍄

Thanks for liking my content babe ^_^. And don’t worry I all requests are valid love <3

Testing my patience +18 Nakamoto Yuta.

Warnings: fingering, praise kink, teasing, cum control, edging,

Your fingers caress the screen, slowly, as if you could really feel the boy. "What are you doing?" Yuta asks from the distance. His voice seems like a mere memory of what your relationship used to be, a simple audio record from a golden era.

"I love this idol" You reply softly, still mesmerized by Taeyong's figure as he walks over the stage. "I don't see anything special in him, to be honest" The boy replies, brushing away your words as if they were meaningless.

"Maybe I like him because he's kind" You spit out, wanting to create a reaction in the boy, wanting him to notice the problem without needing to directly tell him. "Am I not kind?" He asks, offended by your words. "Lately... not so much" You simply reply, not getting your eyes off the screen.

"What the fuch does that mean?" He asks, getting closer to where you were sitting , yet you don't stop looking at the screen where your favourite idol was still dancing like it was nothing.

"Look at me" Yuta orders but you don't turn to look at him. "I said look at me" He repeats, this time with an angry tone, as his hand forces your chin to turn in his direction. His eyes get lost as soon as they meet yours, completely losing any sign of anger that they could have been holding.

"Do you still love me?" Is the only thing Yuta can say with a broken voice tone that makes your heart skip a beat. You look down, intimidated by his powerful brown eyes and the depth his expresion gave them. "Look at me" He repeats again, lifting your face slightly more.

"Of course I love you Yuta. But you've been cold to me lately... I always loved to feel the warmth of your love and affection, after a long day of work. You always made me melt for your words and your touch and now I barely get to hear your voice, and I felt like I was losing you, like I needed to look for a new warmth in my life to survive. So the question here is: Do you still love me?"

His eyes switch from looking into both of your eyes, not knowing how to take your words in or how to answer properly. "I do, of course I love you" He finally says. His hand moves slightly, from a forced hold of your chin to a gentle caress on your cheek.

"I'm so sorry that I acted like that baby, I was too busy working and I didn't even think of that. I promise I'll take more time for you and I'll try my best to show you how much I love you everyday, okay?" You simply nod, noticing the genuine tone in his voice and his eyes that were now full of tears from realizing just how different his sense of reality and yours were.

His face gets closer to yours and you let your eyelids close, to help you get lost in the sensation of his soft red lips. It always gets you, the way his lips feel against yours, the way his tongue moves inside your mouth and how his hand makes patterns across your soft skin. That sensation that always helped you get away from reality and get a dreamy thought to cross your mind.

But, as always, that sensation soonly breaks, turning into a far more overwhelming one, turning into that one thing that the whole planet could die for, turning into a heated lust thought that can't go away from your brain. His body lays on top of yours, his hand trapping yours, as his tongue gets off your mouth, only to travel along the already familiar highway of your neck, slowly getting lower and closer to your cunt.

But it's his hand the first one to get into your panties, slowly spreading the wet fluids along your folds before he makes circles on your clit. You can't help but moan against his shoulder while he looks at your expression mesmerized by the views. "You're doing so good baby" He says, with a deep voice that has you rolling your eyes back out of satisfaction.

Yuta smirks at the sounds you make and, after a short while, he gets down on you. You're only wearing a bra at this point and his tongue moves over your folds in a way tha you truly can't resist and sooner than you could've imagined you feel your climax close. But you're not the only onw who notices, as your body softly shakes due to pleasure, making Yuta realize the situation.

"What a good girl, you're already so close huh?" He says, and you simply nod, admitting the embarrassing truth. But his moves completely stop, getting you to experience a painful edge. He gets closer to you, as you calm down, and stop your heavy breathing. He kisses you softly, as if he didn't just edge you to death, hiding his mischief behind an innocent curtain.

Once you're all calmed down, his fingers come back, pushing inside of you as they curl, massaging your g-spot in soft and slow circles. "Fuck" You whisper to yourself, making Yuta chuckle at your reaction. "I'll get you back, you demon" You say to him, but his reaction is to speed up his moves, making you get closer to your climax once again.

"Y-Yuta" You moan out and his brows instantly arc, as if asking what you wanted to say. "Can I cum please?" You ask but his answer is short and clear: "No" You roll your eyes, in despair, yet you would be lying if you said you weren't enjoying it.

It goes on like that for six more times, until you're shaking heavingly, desparate to get relief in any form. And that is enough for Yuta to give up and let you cum messingly. Your moans are louder than they've ever been and your expression looks more satisfied than his, even if he's enjoying the moment to its fullest.

"You did amazing baby, so so good" He says in a deep voice that has you losing it completely. His hand caresses your cheek slowly, as your body calms down from your high and you can properly rest for a second.

"It's been a nice session" The boy says, trying to get away with it, but your arm quickly grabs his shirt and pulls him back before you say "We haven't finished, demon"

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I hope you liked it, It feels nice to write something after a long time ^^

Masterlist –requests open– How to request? Check out your score.

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emptyacnt · 3 years

Text

Made for love (Sanemi x F! Reader) NSFW

Minors DNI!

The battle was over. His brother was dead. Sanemi now had no one, he had no family, he didn't even have a reason to be a swordsman anymore. He wanted to retire comfortably, but how could he when fighting was the only thing he could ever do right. He moved. Away from where demon slayer headquarters had once been to a small home several days walk away. In the mornings he would sit on his porch and watch the sun rise, and allow himself to cry. It seemed no matter how many mornings this happened, he always had more tears. Tears he had been holding in his entire life.

One day as he did this, he heard a strange rustling noise and instinctively his hand went to the sword at his hip. He couldn't bring himself to stop carrying it for the comfort it brought him. He was surprised to see a large yellow and white dog bound towards him, it's mouth open and tongue lolling out, tail wagging furiously.

"A.. dog?" He said, reaching out his hand as the dog approached him, barking a friendly hello as he nuzzled against Sanemi's hands.

"Are you lost?" He asked. Around the dog's neck was a red collar with a bell and a name tag.

"Hacchan, that you?" He asked. Hacchan barked in response.

"Hacchan! Hacchan!!" A distinctly female voice cried as you came running up the path, chasing Hacchan who had broken away from you to chase an interesting scent. That scent had been Sanemi.

"I'm so sorry sir!" You apologized, bowing deeply.

"It's alright. I like dogs." Sanemi replied, scratching behind Hacchan's fuzzy ears.

"Did you just move here?" He asked, furiously wiping his face to make sure you didn't notice a single tear.

"Yes, we did! Just down the road. Hacchan was friends with all my neighbors back then, I guess he's lonely now with just me.." You said sadly.

"Why'd you move?" Sanemi asked. You hesitated to reply.

"You don't gotta tell me if you don't wanna." He said, shrugging.

"I had been engaged. My fiance imagined I was cheating on him, I wasn't, but he told everyone I did. I was shunned and we had to move." You confessed. Hacchan, sensing your sadness, came to press himself against your side.

"He sounds like a cunt." Sanemi said simply.

You were shocked by his vulgarity.

"What about you? Why did you move out here?" You asked.

"I was a swordsman. But now I guess. I'm just a man." Sanemi said. The sorrow in his voice was so heavy it made you want to cry.

From that day forward Hacchan insisted on visiting Sanemi every morning on your walks, and you began bringing him gifts. When you made dinner in the evening you always brought him a portion the next time you saw him. If you bought tea, you bought enough to share. While Sanemi didn't seem to react one way or the other to this, it certainly didn't go unnoticed. And finally one morning when you were about to turn to continue your walk with Hacchan, he reached out and grabbed your hand.

"Marry me." He said. It wasn't a question, more of a demand. He felt ready to begin the next chapter of his life, to take a wife, to start a family.

You and Hacchan moved in with him shortly after. Though even after living with him for three months, he would never say he loved you and you still hadn't slept together. Finally you got fed up with this, wondering why he asked you to move in with him if he didn't intend to act like a couple with you. He was sitting on your shared futon reading and you settled yourself onto his lap. He looked up from his book, raising an eyebrow at you.

"Sanemi, do you love me?" You asked.

Sanemi didn't reply. He seemed to be thinking for a long time.

"I don't know. I want to love you. I can't tell. The only people I have ever truly loved are dead. Perhaps if I let myself love you, you will die too. Or maybe, I am simply not built to love." He said, an edge of anger in his voice. You wrapped your arms around him, pressing his head against your soft chest.

"Of course you are built for love, everyone is!" You said. Sanemi made a strange almost growl as he pushed himself away from you, tearing open your yukata. He ripped the fabric off of your shoulders, exposing your breasts and completely tearing your obi in half. You had never experienced strength like that, and you sat there stunned on his lap, almost completely exposed to him.

"How can you say that? My hands are trained to kill demons and that's it, I'm not good at anything else, I don't know how to make them do anything else, I only know how to destroy." He said, his voice cracking under the weight of tears that wouldn't come.

"You are made for love. You can do more than destroy." You said, quietly but sternly nonetheless. You took his hands, so much larger and rougher than yours, pressing them against your breasts. Your nipples, already hard, pressed against the palms of his hands and he groaned as he felt his cock beginning to harden.

"You can be gentle." You said, leaning forward to kiss him as you moved his hands in slow circles on your breasts. Sanemi stared at your chest when you broke the kiss, flexing his fingers as he groped and kneaded you, pinching and twisting your nipples.

"A-ah! Gentle!" You said.

Sanemi grunted in reply and leaned down to take one of your nipples in his mouth, he bit it, but before you could scold him he was suckling and licking it with perfect gentleness. His hands slid the remains of your yukata off and then snaked up and down your body, rubbing your back, your arms, your hips and ass. He finally released your breast and looked up at you.

"You're so damn soft. Squishy, warm.." He mused, hugging you so he could feel your breasts press up against his scarred chest.

“Wanna know what you feel like in here..” he said, brushing two of his calloused fingers against your cunt. He pushed your panties aside, swirling his fingertips around your entrance.

“Already wet, huh?” he said, smirking at you.

“Well I.. Love you a lot Nemi.. I’ve wanted to be with you for a while..” you confessed.

Sanemi looked up at you, placing a rough hand on your cheek.

"I love you." He said. It hurt him to say it. The only people he had ever said that to were dead. You noticed how he seemed to become lost in thought, or dragged away from this moment by some painful distant memory.

“Stay here, with me.” you said gently as you kissed him.

Sanemi tangled his fingers into your hair, kissing you deeply while he shoved two fingers into you, curling them against your g-spot roughly. You gasped and arched your back, and Sanemi held you close, pressing you to him.

"Tell me how it feels." he growled against your neck, reaching his free hand down to untie his hakama, reaching into them to stroke himself.

"Feels good.." you managed between soft moans.

"Your fingers are rough b-but, it feels good.."

Sanemi deftly flipped you over, pressing your legs to your chest as he kissed you gently. His body was so warm and strong, your eyes fluttered shut as you enjoyed the comfort of being so close to him, until he shoved himself into you in one hard thrust. You gasped as your eyes flew open. Sanemi fucked you slowly, painfully slowly. Dragging his cock out slow and pushing it back in all the way to your cervix.

"N-Nemi, faster please!" you begged, holding onto his biceps tightly.

"Faster? I thought you wanted me to be gentle." he said, his tone teasing and sarcastic.

"Sanemi please, you feel so good-" you gasped as he picked up his pace immediately, ruthlessly pounding you into the futon.

"You feel so fucking good baby.." he growled.

"Tight, so warm.." he said, he grunted with practically every thrust, his eyes squeezed shut as he focused on the feeling of your slick walls around him.

"I should've done this a long time ago.." he said, licking your neck before biting it hard. Any wish you had for him to be gentle with you was gone.

"I-I wanted you to!" you managed, words becoming more and more difficult as your climax approached.

"Yeah? Did you want me to just force you down and dominate this little cunt?" he asked you bit your lip, your eyes rolling back as the lewdness of his words pushed you over the edge. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to open your mouth.

"Lemme hear you, you're gonna make me cum.." he said as he fucked you even harder, a punishing pace as you gushed around him. You were nearly screaming by now, unable to even continue holding onto his arms as your body trembled. The sight of you so completely destroyed because of him, and only him, made him finally climax. You could feel his release, his hot cum filling you up as he let out a feral growl. He stayed inside of you for a while after he finished, panting against your neck.

"I love you." he said breathlessly, kissing your cheek gently.

"I love you too, Nemi." you said, wrapping your arms around him and hugging him tightly.

#luca writes #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #sanemi shinazugawa x reader #kny oneshots #demon slayer oneshots #kny x reader

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thatgoblin · 3 years

Text

Drown

Zemo x Reader Fic

Summary: You’re on a team with Bucky, Sam, and Zemo to hunt down and find super soldiers or scientists trying to make them. When split up from the group, you’re attacked and put in danger. Zemo to the rescue.

Warning: Near death experience, drowning, vomit, hospital

Words: 1623

The last thing you remember is splitting up from the group.

You, Sam, Bucky, and Zemo were once again hunting down scientists who were selling super soldier serum. Somehow Bucky had made a deal with the Wakandan’s and Germany to have Zemo out of prison, but working for them. If he tried to flee, he’d go back with the deal broken. If he didn’t follow orders, back to prison. The whole affair was simple. Also the tracker they implanted in him would keep him under tabs as well.

The four of you had searched through an abandoned water treatment plant that your leads had taken you to. With your psychic powers, you were able to judge that the people giving you the information weren’t lying that the scientists were there. What you weren’t able to do was see their minds directly and know that it was a trap.

As soon as you strayed from the group, you were jumped and knocked in the head.

You weren’t sure how long you had been out, but it couldn’t have been that long. Groaning, you push yourself up to your hands and knees before reaching back to feel the giant goose egg on the back of your head. There wasn’t really any bleeding so stitches weren’t necessary. Standing up, you take in your surroundings as your stomach falls. There is a large, grated pipe but that is it. Looking up to see the light source you saw you are maybe 12 or 15 feet down a shaft with smooth walls. The top has a similar grate to the pipe that was in the hole with you, meaning as soon as water started to come in, you were trapped.

“Hello!? Can anyone hear me!?” You scream, checking your person to find that your weapons and tools are gone. Whoever it was that had captured you had even taken your boots as well. All you can do is stand there in the bottom of nearly freezing cold water, barefoot, and scream.

No one is answering. Had they been captured as well? You hope not. A quick pull on the grate of the nearby pipe shatters any hope of possibly trying to get out that way. There is no way you can pull it out, you didn’t have Bucky’s strength. The grate at the top is probably locked as well. The only way to find out for sure would be to wait for the water to rise till you could test it, but even then you’d be screwed in the likelihood that it was locked.

“Bucky! Sam! Hello!?” You scream. “Somebody help!”

Just like you feared, after a bit of yelling, the water was turned on. It didn’t rush out at full blast, no, it wasn’t going to be a fast death.

“Help!” You keep screaming despite the water nearly drowning your voice out. After just barely five minutes the water is up to your waist, stoking your panic. “Bucky! Sam! Please!”

Tears were starting to come as the water is up to your chest. You could swim and hold your breath for at least 5 minutes, Nat had made sure you could swim sufficiently as well as hold your breath in case of being on a boat or the open water when she had trained you when the Avengers were still together. But would five minutes be the difference between living and dying?

Treading water, you watch as the grate comes closer and closer to your head. Still, you keep yelling for help.

“Sam! Zemo!” You scream as you have a few feet left between you and the grate. “Help!”

Footsteps thunder towards you, giving you hope as Zemo came into view.

“Get me out of here! Please!” You cry as you are able to grab the grate.

“It’s locked,” Zemo says, going right to work. “I can’t shoot it, it’s too thick.” You watch as he looks around before putting a finger to his ear piece. “James, I need you in the well room. Y/N is locked in a large water well and I need help.”

“Check the lockers! Maybe there’s bolt cutters!” You cry, panic pressing on your chest just as much as the water was. “There’s gotta be something!” Zemo is quick to follow any suggestion, checking everywhere in and out of the room.

“Damn it James, where are you!?” He curses as he comes back empty handed.

“Zemo,” you choke as you press your face to the grate, trying to keep breath. He drops to his knees next to you, grabbing your hand and holding it. It was a small comfort as you took the biggest breath you can before the water covers your face.

“Shit,” Sam hiss as he and Bucky run in. You can hear them yelling and see Bucky and Sam trying to pry the lock open. Zemo never lets go of your hand, even as you squeeze it with both of yours, your lungs burning as your vision becomes spotty. Air forces its way out of you in choking coughs as your body tries to breath. You try to keep a hold of Zemo’s hand as he yells words you don’t understand at you, but it was getting hard very quickly to keep your grasp.

On the edge of blackness, you can hear the three men yelling your name as your hands went limp. It was painful and also strange. Like you were floating with knives stabbing your from the inside out. Before you could succumb to whatever entity would be waiting for you, the grate was lifted and you were pulled out.

“Y/N!” Zemo cries as he starts to perform CPR on you. “No, no, no. Now is not your time,” he growls. You can hear him, you can hear and see all of them. Sam is trying to get a medic evac for you as Bucky is right next to Zemo, saying your name and begging you to come back.

Instead of floating away, leaving everything behind, you feel someone behind you shove you towards your body with a tired sigh. ‘Not yet.’ The voice says.

In a flash of light you are back, jolting up and coughing out the water. Zemo rolls you to your side as your lungs work to get the water out and air in.

“Oh thank fuck,” Bucky breathes, helping Zemo hold you as your body began to wake up.

“That’s it, keep coughing it up. Good y/g. Good y/g,” Zemo says as he rubs your back. “They need to go to a hospital. They have swallowed enough water to have secondary drowning, possibly.”

“Helicopter is on its way,” Sam says. Looking around, you aren’t back to fully functioning. You’re light headed and dizzy, nauseous and weak. A moment later, anything in your stomach came up, making Zemo hold you on your side longer.

“Spit it out, don’t breathe it in,” Bucky says, going as far as to dig the sickness from out of your mouth to make sure you don’t choke.

“They’re here, we need to get them outside,” Sam says, motioning them. With help, Zemo lifts you into his arms to take you to the medic, Bucky following closely behind.

Passing out again, you don’t remember much. There were brief flashes of looking up to see Zemo’s worried face next to Bucky’s and Sam’s, the doctor’s that work on you, even the night sky as you’re wheeled into a hospital.

It wasn’t until you are settled completely in the hospital room that you wake up completely. There is the steady beating of the heart monitor and soft voices beyond a door. You try to swallow, but feel something obstructing you. It’s a tube taped to the outside of your mouth, leading in and down your throat. Had you been so bad that they had to intubate you? Looking down, you see the wires and IV taped to your hand as well. Well, you had nearly died, so it was called for.

“Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Were you not so lethargic, you would have jumped at the voice. Looking over to the chair next to you, you see Zemo. Sitting in the god-awful hospital chairs with a book in hand, he looks like he’d been killing time at a bus stop and not waiting on you to wake up.

You raise your free hand slightly, the tube making it impossible to talk. He places a bookmark between the pages he was reading before setting the book aside to stand.

“The doctor said you’d have the breathing aid in till you woke up,” he says, moving close to the side of your bed. Picking up a pad of paper and a pen from a side table, he hands it to you.

‘Where B+S?’ You write.

“They went after the scientists. Once you were here and stable, I volunteered to stay behind with you. It wouldn’t be in your best interest to wake up to a strange place with wires and tubes inside you,” Zemo says. “I’ll call the nurse to let them know that you’ve woken up. I imagine that you aren’t very comfortable with the breathing tube.” You nod slightly, hoping to be able to talk. Once the call button is hit, you scribble onto the pad before tapping Zemo’s hand.

His eyes dart down to your words before a soft smile forms on his face. “You’re welcome, Y/N. Besides, I didn’t want to lose the only member of the team I liked,” he says with a wink.

The last thing you expect is to be Zemo’s favorite, but if you have to tell the truth, you don’t mind it so much.

#baron zemo #zemo/reader #fanfiction #zemo x reader

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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

Text

His Good Sweater: Chapter 9

Masterlist

As always thank you to my beautiful bestie @acollectionofficsandshit you can also thank her for all the Max content in this chapter. Its a long one, enjoy!

Word Count: 9.6k

Recommended song: “Hate the way” by G-Easy and blackbear

The one thing that never failed to lift your spirits was your dad's homemade blueberry chocolate chip pancakes. Whenever you were upset as a kid, whether it be your team losing a sporting event, your high-school boyfriend dumping you for the head cheerleader, or getting rejected from an ivy league college you never expected to get into in the first place, his pancakes had been there to cushion the fall. Clever as he was, he always messed them up in some insignificant way like leaving off the whipped cream and hiding the container so you were forced to talk to him in order to remedy it. Then he would crack some stupid joke or cheesy pun that would just barely have the ghost of a smile curling your lips.

Blueberry chocolate chip pancakes were no match for the heartbreak of losing your best friend.

The morning after, you only trudge to the kitchen when your stomach's demands to be fed become too loud to ignore. A steaming pile of fluffy pancakes sits at your usual spot, no syrup in sight. You don't have the energy to find your dad and ask where he's hidden it, instead picking at them. You knew the flavor should be fruity and sweet but every bite tastes like ash. One pancake is all you can manage before nausea roils, threatening to make your meager brunch resurface.

"Some is better than none," Ben murmurs behind you and you drop your chin in the barest of nods. "We can save the rest and you can warm them up later."

"Thanks," you mumble when he takes your plate. You pull your blanket tight around your shoulders as your gaze turns to the window while your brother washes your dishes, wishing for all the world that you could make your uncooperative limbs move and help him but the mental effort it requires is too taxing. Instead you stay curled up on the chair, the noises of the house waking up around you a dull buzz in your ears. At some point your mother kisses your head and hustles out the door to work, her husband close behind. Ben is the last to leave and is reluctant to do so.

"Promise you'll text me if you need me," he says. "Mom already gave me permission to cut class after trigonometry."

"Sure." You both know it's a lie and a bad one at that. Your voice is dull and flat, completely void of emotion.

"Mom said she's coming home early anyway,” he tries. “Something about overstaffing at the greenhouse."

"Okay."

The mechanical spooling of the garage door tells you he's finally gone. Your elbows slide forward until your head rests on the table, unable to hold it up any longer.

Every fiber of your being yearns for him, to hear the distinct r's and flowery lilt of his accent as he comforts you through the heartbreak, always knowing exactly what to say. It was second nature to call one another when either of you had had a bad day or a good day or just a normal day - you'd talked so often that last year you had convinced your parents to add international minutes to your phone plan.

Your fingers itch to dial the number you had long since memorized, knowing it would ring no more than twice before he picked up. He never let it go to voicemail unless he absolutely couldn't avoid it and you had a hunch he was waiting for your call.

Despite knowing better, you scroll through the messages on your phone. Love was evident in each witty remark and wish goodnight, pulling at your heartstrings. Your finger hovers over the delete conversation button, and after a minute of debate, you can't bring yourself to do it. You would allow yourself one reprieve to look back on and remember the good.

It would be so much easier if he had given you a reason to hate him. If he'd cheated or intentionally led the media to your house, hating him would be easy. You wouldn't have to admit that you still loved him because his betrayal would have yanked out the newly blooming bud of love you nurtured and crushed the fragile petals. Instead, you were left knowing that it had been your choice to inflict damage in him. You had no right to seek comfort in his arms or even ask how he was doing. You deserved to be miserable for causing him to feel the same way.

Yuki is the first to check in on you. You don’t know what he expects; you lie through your teeth when you tell him you were fine.

The press is asking me for my thoughts. No idea why. I told them not to stick their noses where they don't belong.

At least someone had the guts to stand up to those bloodsuckers. Yuki was the last person you'd suspect to do so, but the scrappy twenty-something continued to surprise you.

Thanks, you type back. How is he?

You hesitate. You didn't really want to know the answer. Pierre was devastated and just as broken as you are. You delete the last part and opt to refrain from subjecting yourself to biting off more than you could chew.

I'm here if you need me, is Yuki's reply.

Charles, Daniel, and his newly promoted girlfriend were the next ones to text you, all offering varying degrees of support. Daniel's friend was the one that offered to sucker punch anyone that came near you without your permission, and actually dragged a single huff of laughter from your aching lungs.

I'm good thanks. But if I need a bodyguard you'll be first on the list.

Just because Daniel can lift me with one arm doesn't mean I'm not punchy!

I believe you.

Spent, you set your phone down and retreat under the down comforter. The bright pink clashed with your earthy decor, but at least the old blanket didn't smell like Pierre. Your mother had taken it upon herself to erase all trace of him from your room when she had managed to coax you into a shower, and the half hour you had spent letting the scalding water run over your skin had given her plenty of time to do so. The absence of him hurts almost as much as the trace of cedar you know you're imagining when you breathe deep.

It has to be impossible for so much agony to be contained in your body. No matter how much you try, the tears won't stop flowing because Pierre's crushed expression had taken up residence at the forefront of your consciousness.

It didn't help that so many of your recent memories were touched by his presence. Getting into university served to remind you of the ecstatic call you'd gotten after his race that Sunday, voice strained with a mix of excitement for you and the disappointment of his race ending crash on the opening lap. Even something as simple as staring at the saggy bean bag chair in the corner brought back the memory of the countless times he had lounged there, sprawled out like he owned it.

Max's text brings you briefly back to reality.

You doing okay? Dan told me what happened.

No, was all you say back. Within a minute, Max's face occupies your screen. You sigh but accept the call, laying the phone on the pillow.

"I don't feel like talking, Max."

"That bad huh?" He asks, concern lacing his usually chipper voice.

"Yeah. That bad." As if that summed up getting your heart torn to shreds.

He's uncharacteristically quiet for a beat. "Wanna hear about Vic's day? She had some crazy clients at her salon- it'll take your mind off it."

"I guess," you say, utterly nonplussed. You could care less if he kept talking or not, you wouldn't be paying attention. He prattles on for a few minutes, seemingly unaffected by your silence as his words pass through one ear and out the other.

"Told you it was crazy," he says finally, your cue to respond. You hum noncommittally and Max just sighs.

"Look, I don't know how I can help you unless you come here. I know you have a flight booked- do you still wanna come to the gala? My date's been stolen so I'm in need of one."

"Who stole your-"

The realization hits you before you can finish. Pierre. Pierre stole Max's sister and left him without a date. Something about his willingness to replace you so quickly rubs you the wrong way. It shouldn't have been so easy for him to find someone new; he should be hurting just as much as you. Fundamentally, you knew nothing would happen between Pierre and Victoria. She wouldn't go for him out of respect for both of you and you were thankful in the knowledge that it was completely platonic. Still, it was like rubbing salt in a wound.

"You know what? I'll go." It was the most you'd said all day, your throat scratchy with disuse. Max whoops on the other line and you could almost see him punching the air in victory.

"Great! When's your flight get in? I'll bring the Acura and pick you up."

You put him on speaker and login to the airlines website to punch in the flight number. Last night you'd debated canceling the flight that Pierre had paid for, determined to stay home and be miserable. Looking back you were glad you'd trusted your gut and left the reservation untouched. If he could find someone else to attend the gala with, so could you. "I land in Nice at noon on Friday. It'll be a short flight, I can text you when we take off."

"Sounds good. I'll set up the spare room for you. Victoria is staying here too, I'm sure she would love to help you get ready and do whatever it is girls do before fancy events."

"Hey, Max?"

"Whats up?"

You trace patterns through the condensation left by the glass on your nightstand. "Thank you. For understanding."

"That's what friends are for," he assures you. "Is there anything you wanna talk about now? Or are you planning to wait until you're here?"

"Ben's been keeping an eye on me. I'm okay for now." Better now that you had something to look forward to.

"All you have to do is call," he promises. "I'll listen, I don't have anything going on this week besides streaming."

You latch on to the small redirection and run with it. "You and the twitch quartet?"

"They've been kind enough to allow me to join them on the sim this week, yeah."

"I'll try to catch a race. No promises though."

"See you Friday. Try to contain your excitement."

Your lips twitch upward. "Bye Max."

**********

The rest of the week was more of the same. You stayed home and your family dealt with the swarms of people that still gathered on the lawn each morning not so patiently waiting for you to tell your side of the story. You had decided that the best course of action was to keep your mouth shut and let them figure out for themselves that there was no longer a story to report thanks to the wedge they had driven in your relationship.

By the time Ben drives you to the airport Friday the buzz has died down. You hug your brother tight before checking in for the flight and texting Max. His response is immediate, letting you know he's excited to see you.

You wish you could return the sentiment. You wanted to see your friend, sure, but you were beginning to dread the upcoming gala. Max would be your crutch and you knew he was okay with that, but it still felt wrong.

Unlike your brother, Max was waiting at the curb when you arrived in Nice. A nondescript cap was perched on his head, the oversized sunglasses he wore hiding his eyes from passersby. His gleaming orange peel of a car attracted more attention than he did for once, people stopping to ogle the Acura as they came and went.

"Hey you," Max greets, a broad grin causing his trademark dimple to appear as he wraps you in a rare hug. You cling to him, throat going tight at the intimacy of it. Max wasn't a physical person by any stretch; if he was hugging you this tightly it meant he knew how broken you were.

He waited for you to break contact first, giving you all the time you need. You sniff and wipe the single tear that had somehow escaped and laugh lightly.

"Hey," you say, voice scratchy. "Thanks for picking me up."

He waves a hand, brushing it off. "Vic wanted to come but she changed her mind when I told her I was driving."

"Probably a smart choice," you observe, letting him pop the trunk- which was in the front of the car, since the Acura NSX was a mid-engined beast of a Japanese supercar- "and considering your choice of car, she wouldn't have fit anyway."

"This is true." He starts the engine, the roar of which makes a poor old woman a few yards away drop her purse.

The drive back is near silent, broken only by Max's occasional quips about a landmark or an observation about someone's driving. It was impossible for any driver to turn off the analytical part of their brain, their Formula 1 habits crossing into their daily lives.

When Max parks at the curb outside his apartment, you move to open the door but he hits the lock button. You glance over your shoulder at him and quirk a brow.

"Am I your prisoner?"

"Are you gonna talk about what happened?"

Sighing, you sink back into the seat. The way the bolstering hugs your sides almost makes you believe you could fade into it if you try hard enough. "I wasn't really planning on it."

It had only been a handful of days since you had broken it off, the wound still leaking fresh blood when you poked at it. It refused to scab over or give you any kind of reprieve from the torture.

"You know you'll have to face him tomorrow at some point. He'll want to talk to you."

"That's why I'm going with you. You won't have a problem telling him to leave me alone."

Max sighs. "Yeah, I suppose. If that's what you think is best."

The trudge up the stairs and subsequent silent elevator ride allows your thoughts to wander to Victoria. It wasn't her fault that Pierre had asked her to come with him after you'd canceled, after all she was already planning on going and the late notice meant it was likely no one else could make it, but it didn't stop the pang of jealousy that rocketed through you each time you ruminate on it.

It didn't help when she wrapped you in a hug the moment she saw you and whispered an apology in your ear, like she knew she'd done something wrong. Tears spring to your eyes again and Victoria shoots Max a leave us alone look.

"Uh, I'm gonna hop on the sim. Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge if you're hungry."

"Thanks Max." Your eyes are pinned to a smudge of dirt on the wood floor, safely out of range of anything triggering. Keeping it together was more of a struggle than you'd expected.

"I hope you don't hate me," Victoria starts genuine concern lacing the words. "It was just easiest-"

"I know," you cut in. "And I don't." Your smile is tight, not quite hitting home as she returns it.

"Well then. Let's figure out how we're gonna do your hair tomorrow, shall we?"

**********

The dress was a single, simple piece of fabric, spun of sunset orange and free of any bells or whistles. The feather light chiffon hugged every supple curve through your hips until flaring out slightly at the bottom just enough to allow you range of motion. The deep vee of the neckline prominently displayed your cleavage, toeing the line between attention grabbing and scandal starting and leaving little to the imagination. The back dropped low, leaving the elegant curve of your spine free to be kissed by the salty Mediterranean breeze.

The dress is nothing special compared to the thousand dollar pieces that the other boy's dates would be wearing, but you didn't have the money- or the will- to find something new. It by no means broke the bank when you picked it up from the second hand store last year, but it looked the part. It had been a showstopper at the spring formal you'd originally worn it to and judging by Max's reaction, it still was.

He let out a low whistle when you stepped into the living room. "I'm sorry, did you pick that out with me in mind?" He laughs and despite yourself, heat rises to your cheeks. You hated being the center of attention, even among friends. "It's the perfect shade of orange to match my tie. I swear I didn't plan it that way!"

"I know you didn't." You give him a forced smile, praying he doesn't call you out on it. The dress you wore hadn't been your first choice. The one you originally planned to wear still sat in your closet at home collecting dust. It had been the perfect shade of blue to compliment Pierre's sky eyes, but it didn't match Max's deeper ocean blue. So at home it had stayed, and you had chosen the orange one because it made the necklace at your throat pop.

Your fingers engulf the stone before you can stop yourself, as they always do when your thoughts wander to him. Him, because you could scarcely think his name before your heart wretches at the reminder of what you'd lost. Flashes of bright smiles and soft kisses filter through your mind, making you lock up. You swear you can feel the ghost of plush lips to your throat and the scrape of callouses over the curve of your spine. Your eyes fall shut, desperate to get lost in the idea of him like you used to.

"You good?"

Max's quiet words startle you back into the present. No, you were in no way shape or form good, but you had no choice to fall back on the familiar mask of humor to cover up your inner turmoil.

"The real question is are you?" You smirk and look him over. The Red Bull navy suit strains over his broad shoulders, suggesting he had put on muscle since the last time he'd been forced into it. "You look stiff as a board in that tux."

"I feel so awkward." He straightens the suit coat and absentmindedly lifts a hand to tousle his hair. You grab his wrist just in time to keep him from ruining his sister's hard work and shoot him a chiding look. He grins sheepishly and lowers his hand.

"Vic would kill me if you got to the gala looking like you got run over."

"That's a good point." He offers you his arm and you accept the lifeline he unwittingly offers you. "But I refuse to leave the windows up on this beautiful night, so we'll test how well it'll hold."

You quirk an eyebrow at him. "You're driving us there?"

"Well duh. I always drive when I'm at home."

You glance sidelong at the glaringly orange Acura parked at the curb a few floors below. Your dress would blend right in with the paint, but perhaps that was a good thing. It would provide that much more of a shock factor when you arrived and stepped out.

"Just don't crash out on the hairpin," you tease half heartedly.

He rolls his eyes. "At least it's just the two of us so I don't have to call an uber. Vic's getting picked up by-'' Max cuts himself off and gives you an apologetic smile.

"You can say his name," you whisper, eyes trained on the tile of the hallway as you walk. "It's not like he's gone."

"Getting picked up by... Pierre," Max tries, carefully monitoring his neutral tone. God, you thought you could handle it but you can't, stumbling over your own feet with only Max's grip on your arm to catch you.

He'd dance with Vic tonight, and probably countless other women, his hands drifting over their bodies like they'd done on yours only days ago. You'd be forced to watch from the sidelines and make small talk that no one would remember come morning, utterly unable to do anything about it. At least Daniel’s girlfriend would be there to be the voice of reason, if you could peel her away from Daniel long enough to speak with her for any length of time.

Max was uncharacteristically quiet on the ride to the venue, leaving you to study the city as he drove. Few yachts were left in the harbor as the sun was swallowed by the sea, the owners undoubtedly set sail for a weekend getaway. Your gaze involuntarily searched for the slip that held Charles' Ferrari red speedboat that you'd visited countless times with Pierre. The eyesore was hard to miss when surrounded by its monotone brethren, memories flooding back in droves at the sight of it.

Sighing, you turn away to glimpse what you can of the city through the ridiculously tiny sliver of windshield. How anyone could confidently drive the Acura while having so little field of vision was beyond you. It was probably second nature to Max, who weaves through the narrow streets with practiced ease and barely lets off the gas through the corners.

The city of Monaco rarely slept, and tonight was no different. Soft yellow fluorescent glow seeps from high rise balconies, the occupants soaking up the last dregs of sunlight before heading out to the casinos and clubs. People spilled out of cafes onto the sidewalks, their laughter lingering on the breeze as you speed past.

The list of people you trust enough to get in the car with and let them drive with such intensity is short: Max and Pierre. Not even Daniel made the final cut, not when his then not-girlfriend had recounted the tale of him losing the rear of his McLaren 570s at a track day and nearly sending them into the wall. According to her, he'd been too busy ogling her to keep his full attention on the road, but it was enough for you to question his judgement at times.

If you close your eyes, you could pretend it was someone else next to you, cutting through the gears like a hot knife through butter and coaxing every inch of performance out of the car that he could with the light traffic. You draw a surf-scented breath deep, lungs aching with the effort.

Max joins the queue of cars waiting to park outside the venue, your attention trained on the guests stepping out of cars and climbing the wide set of marble steps leading to the sleek glass building. The modern structure is slightly out of place among the Roman-esque buildings surrounding it but the air of importance it exudes overrules any who dare say it doesn't belong.

"I can't tell you how glad I am that there's an open bar," Max remarks, hanging his head out the window to wave at someone. "It makes these events so much easier."

"You're telling me," you mumble, searching involuntarily for a familiar head of dusty blond hair in the droves of people arriving. Instead of sight, it's the unforgettable rumble of his Civic Type R's exhaust that alerts you to his arrival. Your head whips around, eyes eating up the pearl white paint of Pierre's favored car as it slides in behind you. You silently thank whatever deity is listening that his windshield is tinted, protecting you from seeing the smirk you are certain is playing on his lips.

Once upon a time, the cockpit of that car had been your favorite place in the world. You'd spent countless hours inside it eating shitty gas station cuisine and singing along to the radio at the top of your lungs as Pierre drove you to whatever adventure he had planned for the day.

Max waves at your- his friend, you remind yourself sharply- and revs his Acura in response. He leaves the keys with the valet, picking up on the tension in your shoulders as the white car parks behind you. Max tugs your arm in attempt to turn you away, but your feet are rooted to the spot.

“I see you found another date-” The flash of a grin on Pierre's face as he steps out is immediately dashed when he notices you on Max's arm.

If looks could kill, Max would keel over then and there. A muscle in Pierre's jaw flutters as he takes in the sight of the two of you together, your hand on the Dutchman's forearm and your matching attire looking for all the world as if it was purposefully coordinated.

Max lifts his chin, spine going straight under Pierre's threatening glare. “Her airfare was already paid for and she already had the dress. Someone had to take her.”

Your stomach sinks; the last thing you wanted to do was become a point of contention between the two boys, but you refused to apologize for at least attempting to enjoy yourself.

Pierre doesn't speak again, only nods to Max and pointedly avoids your stare. He tosses the keys to the smart-dressed kid serving as his valet, coming around to open Victoria's door. With his back turned to you, you take a moment to study the crisp white suit he's chosen for tonight. You had always told him black wasn't his color and he seemed to have taken it to heart. White was what you loved seeing him in, and the tight cut brought back memories of a different type of suit in an entirely different city only a few weeks ago. You'd peeled him out of that Alpha Tauri race suit the moment he made it to the trailer, eager to worship him after his podium. You'd be lying if you said it hasn't been the best sex of your life.

"Come on," Max urges, placing a chaste hand on your upper back and turning you around. He leads you up the stairs, his comforting touch never leaving your skin for a moment. The callouses were all wrong, the fingers too broad to be who you wanted it to be, and yet you couldn't help but imagine it was Pierre leading you up, stopping to smile for the few cameras scattered around.

Flashes spot your vision as you pull your face into an expression of excitement. Max murmurs something in your ear that you think is encouragement but the din of reporters is too deafening to be sure.

"How come you aren't with Pierre?"

The shouted question comes from an unknown assailant but it strikes you like a physical blow. You freeze, mouth going dry as you search for a suitable excuse. Max grants you the space of a single heartbeat to respond before he does so on your behalf.

"How about you mind your own damn business and worry about your cheating wife?"

The man who had bombarded you goes slack jawed, Max's wild guess clearly somehow hitting him just as hard as he had hit you.

"Keep walking," he urges you, leading you through the blinding sea of flashing lights. When you hear the same question directed at Pierre, his flippant laugh grates on your nerves.

You don't have it in you to appreciate the grand architecture of the entrance hall, too busy trying to keep your breathing in check. Max steers you off to the side and places his hands on your shoulders.

"Look at me," he demands, and you drag your eyes up to his face. "Breathe. He's hurting just as bad as you, only difference is he's better at hiding it. Just enjoy the night okay? I'll grab you a drink and we can find Daniel and his friend and you two can catch up."

You nod, placing a hand on your throat. The delicate chain of the necklace is a vice around your neck, the reminder of him pulling it tight. Your pulse hammers beneath your fingers and you focus on it until it slows. "Get me whatever you're having."

Max disappears in the crowd, and you take a seat at the bench tucked in the corner. No one pays you any heed as they walk past, entranced by the elegant decor and fragrant florals. Your head falls forward to rest in your hands and you struggle to take deep, calming breaths.

Pierre was here. Inhale.

He looked happy. Exhale.

He was getting by. Inhale.

You could get by, too. Exhale.

Renewed, you glance up in time to find Max standing before you with a drink of dark liquid adorned with maraschino cherries in each hand. He extends one glass to you and you don't bother to question what it is before swallowing half in one go. "Better?"

"Much." You stand and brush out the wrinkles in your dress. "Where are we sitting?"

"Er, about that," Max starts, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "They put two teams at each table. We're at the Red Bull Alpha Tauri table."

"I see." You take another deep, steadying breath, letting the anxiety ebbing in your veins fade out with the exhale. It was times like this that you channeled Daniel a bit. It sounded silly and you would never admit it, but the slogans on his helmets worked if you focused on them hard enough. All good, all ways.

If Pierre could get through tonight, so could you.

“I can try to see if I can switch tables-”

"It's fine," you say and down the rest of the drink. “I can handle it.”

Max shifts on his feet, his discomfort something you rarely see from him. He usually excelled at keeping a straight face in uncomfortable situations but it seems that your unease rubbed off on him. “We should get going then, dinner will be served any minute.”

You once again take the arm he offers you, the liquor in your veins already granting you false courage. “We would have time to mingle if you hadn’t taken the scenic route.”

“It was nice out,” he protests, and pulls you to a halt when he spots Daniel across the hall. His girlfriend waves at you with a sad smile. She gestures between the two of you to indicate that you’ll talk later before Daniel pulls her towards the McLaren table. That boy was punctual to a fault and would be caught dead before he was late to anything.

Thankfully, the two of you arrive before Victoria and her date and are able to secure seats that ensure there’s a buffer between you. By some small miracle Christian Horner and his wife were absent and instead a few engineers and their significant others sat at the packed table. Max greets Gianpiero while you take your seat, happy to observe.

“Hey!”

You twist in time to see Yuki’s short frame emerge from the crowd and point to the empty seat to your right. “This one taken?”

You shake your head, standing to give him a quick hug. “How are you doing? Where’s your date?”

“Ah, she couldn’t make it. Had some family stuff to take care of. You look great, by the way.”

You dip your chin in thanks, unsure how else to respond. He was in a white suit that you were sure would wind up stained five minutes into dinner. “Did they mandate that you wear white?”

He shakes his head with a rueful smile. “Honestly, it’s the only one I own. I haven't been to enough events to build up my closet yet."

"Well I think it's…"

You spot Pierre before he sees you. His brow is slightly creased as he hunts for the correct table using the same focused determination as when driving his Alpha. For a split second, he meets your gaze. The cacophony of the event fades to background noise and suddenly it's just the two of you and you damn near lift your hand in a wave. You're positive he can see your heart beating out of your chest like in an old cartoon as you curl your fingers into a fist in your lap. Your restraint proves fatal, the floor falling out from beneath your feet when he drops your stare. This was your new normal, you remind yourself. Stolen glances were all you would get.

"I can move," Yuki says, starting to rise. You grip his wrist, holding him in place.

"Please don't." The only other open seats were across the table, and at least then you didn't have to worry about brushing elbows with him all night long.

Yuki nods, slowly settling back in. Max finally takes his seat after giving your shoulder a supportive squeeze.

"You don't have to say anything to him," he reminds you, barely audible over the scrape of chairs and various chatter.

You find anywhere else to look as Pierre pulls out Vic's chair for her and makes his rounds to greet everyone. Daniel and his girlfriend are seated a few tables away and you distract yourself by attempting to read their lips. You manage a few minutes of tenuous peace, catching snippets of Daniel's cheesy jokes and her disapproving, yet flirty, responses.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You squeeze your eyes shut at the sound of home. His words are honey and you lap them up like you'd never tasted anything sweeter. They weren't even directed at you and yet somehow you twist them to fit your narrative.

Pierre stands at the bottom of the stairs like a chaste high school prom date patiently waiting for your grand entrance. He checks his watch and rakes a hand through his messy hair. You stifle your laugh with a hand, amused by his unnecessary nervous energy.

Taking mercy on him, you clear your throat. His gaze snaps up to you, mouth falling open. You take your time gathering the orange fabric of your dress and descending the stairs, savoring the way he eats you up. He was resplendent in his crisp white tuxedo and you had half a mind to make him late for the gala and strip him out of it then and there and devour him.

Your heels clack on the marble floor of his entirely too fancy apartment and you pause to do a little spin for him, earning you an appreciative whistle for your trouble. A laugh bubbles out of you and you place your hands on his shoulders. His own settle on your waist to pull you flush against him, his body heat soaking through the thin fabric of your dress to warm your core.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You start when knuckles graze the back of your bare neck. The touch is there and gone but you know immediately that it's Pierre. It's slight enough to be brushed off as accidental to anyone else, but nothing was accidental with Pierre. The barely there contact conveys more than any words ever could.

He still loved you. You looked stunning. He wishes you were still his so he could prove it to you. All this and so much more contained in a half second brush of his skin to yours.

It all comes back to you in a rush, the emotion you'd so carefully tucked away in a locked box in the back of your mind finally set free. His touch ignites any other thought in your mind that isn't him, burning it away until it's ashes on the wind.

Despite your better judgement, you lean into him, giving him permission to unravel you. This time you sigh when his fingers ghost over your skin, electricity sparking in their wake. You didn't care who might be watching; the tiny touches were slowly repairing your shattered heart. Your traitorous mind replaces his fingers with the brush of his lips to your nape, imagining the heat as he slides the strap of your dress off your shoulder, lips moving to follow.

You bite your lip to stifle a groan when his heat is withdrawn, leaving you feeling inexplicably naked. You open your eyes to find Victoria's pitying stare paired with an apologetic smile. Max nudges you with his elbow, and you realize someone has addressed you.

"Um, what?"

"I said I like how you guys coordinated outfits," Pierre repeats and openly prods your shoulder. "Obviously Max chose the color."

His tone is playful, but his words are clipped in a way only you understand. Craning your neck, you twist to look up at him. His eyes are cloudy and his smile doesn't reach them, more for show than anything else. "It was an accident."

"Doesn't look that way."

Your retort is ready on your tongue but he doesn't give you a chance to reply before retreating to his seat. His ability to act as if nothing has changed astounds you, as your head is still reeling from the pinpricks of his skin on yours. Instead of being rendered speechless, he strikes up a conversation with Yuki about the Alpha's performance, leaving out the confidential details but giving enough away that it surprises you.

The sheer fact that he can so easily switch off whatever feelings he harbors is unfair. The sensation of his fingers on your neck still lingers and it's all you can do to keep from stepping around the table and slotting yourself between his legs like you had in that bar in London. Your nails bite into your palms, listening in if only for his voice to wash over you and calm your racing heart.

When he mentions the rake angle, you know it's just to mislead anyone who might be eavesdropping. He'd told you the exact angle in the past, and it certainly was not one degree, and it did not cause the level of understeer he was describing.

"The understeer comes from improper tire selection," you blurt. "And driver error."

All eyes turn to you and you straighten. You knew enough about the construction of a Formula 1 car to be positive your assessment was correct. You were almost as certain that he'd said it to force you into speaking to him whether you liked it or not.

"What was that?"

If Pierre could torment you with his subtle touches, you could do the same and call him out when he was wrong.

"Driver error caused the rear end to slide out around that turn in Japan, not the rake angle. That's got nothing to do with it. Your tires were blistered because of you taking an imperfect racing line and they were old. You miscalculated the level of traction they'd give you."

Why no one else had pointed it out was beyond you.

"So you're an engineer now?" Pierre challenges, crossing his arms. Something about the arrogance radiating from him rubbed you the wrong way. You let all the emotion of the past few days surface and add fuel to the fire.

"No, but I've learned enough to see through the bullshit drivers spin to mislead other teams."

Max murmurs your name in warning but your frustration is boiling over. He replaced you tonight, didn't even pause to consider going alone and instead choosing to take Victoria. Sure, it had been your fault that he was dateless, but that didn't give him the right to hurt you too. He knew it would destroy you to see him with anyone else even if it was completely platonic, but he did it anyway.

"Why don't you tell me where I should brake on turn ten since you're an expert all of a sudden?" Victoria lays a hand on his arm but he yanks it out of her grip. "What crack in the pavement? Or is it a mark on the barrier? Drive one lap in my car and then you can tell me how to drive."

It wasn't your analysis that had upset him. You'd done so plenty of times and he had always taken your criticism with an open mind, using it to tweak his driving style to improve his lap time or turn it into a teaching experience so you could learn. No, judging by the way his eyes are lined with silver that he fights to blink away, it's your betrayal that upsets him and rightfully so. You glance around the table but no one is willing to meet your eyes save for Max, who angles his head as if to say fight for it.

But you can't. It's monumentally easier to let Pierre win and sweep it under the rug than to address the deeper issue. "I was trying to help," you say lamely, picking at the salad in front of you.

"You don't get to do that anymore."

The venomous words hit like knives, knocking the breath out of you. Your mouth hangs open like a fish gasping for air but any reply you think up dies on your tongue.

As the music fades out and a man climbs up onto the stage, Pierre gets up and leaves. You track his progress as he weaves through tables, noting Daniel reaching for him as he passes. You flinch when the balcony door slams behind him, an astonished murmur rocking through the crowd.

"You should probably talk to him," Max whispers.

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. You had no idea what you would say. 'Sorry' was insignificant and 'I love you' would be cruel when the barest of thought regarding how the media treated you made your stomach churn.

Max pulls his phone out under the table and you think you see Charles' name on the screen. Good; someone had to make sure Pierre didn't do anything he would regret in the morning and if it wasn't you, Charles was the next best chaperone. A minute later, the Ferrari driver leaves his seat too, exiting the same way as Pierre.

Focusing on what's said on stage proves fruitless. Try as you might, your attention is trained on the side door Pierre had disappeared through, praying he returns despite knowing it would mean more barbed words hurled at you. Neither he nor Charles return at any point during the presentation. His absence was quickly becoming a gaping black hole, swallowing up any semblance of sanity you had managed to gather in preparation for tonight.

"Try to have some fun," Max says, nudging you with an elbow. "As soon as this guy shuts up I’ll get us some more drinks and then we can eat and get out on the dance floor and forget about everything, yeah?"

You nod. You already feel the buzz of the first drink, and one or two more would push you thoroughly over the edge into blissful forgetfulness. "I don't wanna be sad anymore."

**********

He didn't know where he was going. All he knew was that he had to get away from you before he said something that would tear whatever hope he held of repairing what was between you to ribbons. He registers Daniel's low, "Gas, you good?" as he breezes past, but doesn't pause to answer. His sights are locked on the wide, carved oak doors that lead to fresh air.

The breath whooshes out of him when he flings open the balcony doors. They slam behind him and he winces. Chalk that up as something else for Helmut to pick him apart for on Monday.

Pierre rakes a trembling hand through his hair and rests his elbows on the railing, sucking in lungfuls of air like he'd just surfaced from a dive in the harbor.

When you'd agreed to come to the gala with him, he had been overjoyed. You hadn't made it to the winter gala earlier this year due to a last minute exam and he had sulked the entire night. He still had the place card embossed with your name in the fishbowl by his door, the sizable container nearly overflowing with memories of you. Everything from forgotten earrings to plastic hotel key cards filled the bowl and it was a bright reminder of your adventures together. His plan had been to add another place card to the mix after tonight but after what he'd just said to you, he'd rather forget today ever happened.

He fucking hurt. Everything just hurt, from the shirt collar scratching at his neck to the bone deep ache that had started when he laid eyes on you on those steps, arm locked with Max's. You'd stolen the words from his mouth, the jab he'd planned to toss at Max dying at the sight of you.

He hadn't expected you to come tonight. Despite anyone's objections, he'd been fully prepared to get completely shit faced to the point that the ghost of your skin no longer haunted his fingertips and your voice no longer sang in his head. But seeing your damned face had shattered the false reality he had constructed, the one where you never broke him and left him scrambling to piece himself back together.

The universe had dealt him another low blow when he discovered Red Bull and Alpha Tauri would be at the same table and he'd be forced to endure your presence at arms length, close enough to touch but absolutely not allowed to do so. It was his own personal hell, constructed solely to punish him for whatever transgressions he'd made in his life.

And that fucking dress.

The orange painted the aquamarine charm at the hollow of your throat in sharp relief, showing it off like he somehow still owned you. If you had arrived with him, he would have already led you back to the Civic and bunched that damned dress up past your hips to drag his favorite sounds from you with his tongue. If he could just get you alone, he's sure it wouldn't take more than a single touch to have you crashing into him and begging for more.

Seeing you with Max tonight paints an entirely different picture.

It's Max he sees tearing off the dress at the end of the night when you get back to his apartment. Max's hands slide over your hips and you laugh, walking back so you can keep your lips on his as he slams the door shut behind you. You dip your head back when he presses you to the wall, Max unfaltering as his lips and teeth trace the curve of your exposed throat and he slips the straps of the matching dress of your shoulders to let it pool at your feet. Max's name breezes past your lips on a shaky exhale as you become putty beneath his fingers.

No matter how loud Pierre calls your name, you don't hear him, instead cupping the back of the Dutchman's head and pulling him in for a heated kiss. When you do finally notice him observing from afar, agony wracking his body, all you do is grin. It feels real, even though Pierre is certain it's a crazed fever dream, his mind spinning his worst fear to life: you seeking comfort in the company of someone that wasn't him.

Pierre starts when the door squeaks open, the nightmare thankfully dissolving. Charles steps out clad head to toe in blazing Ferrari red and instantly he knows who sent him. The thought alone stokes rage in his chest, the image of your lips on Max's still fresh.

"Not as easy as you expected it to be, is it?" He asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Fuck off," Pierre growls and immediately regrets it. Beyond you, Charles was his closest friend. They had known each other for ages. It wasn’t a friendship he was willing to sacrifice just because he felt like shit. Pierre sighs and throws him an apologetic glance. "No it's not."

"Why don't you talk to her?"

"She doesn't want to fucking talk, Charles. Take one look at her, she's hanging on Max like she can't get enough of him." Pierre hangs his head in his hands, emotions shifting faster than he did on race day. "I can't go back in there and watch her choose him over me."

"You don't really believe that bullshit, do you?" Charles asks, joining him at the railing.

Not entirely, but he still struggled to understand your thought process. He thought he knew you, but you being here tonight when he had been certain you wouldn't be proved he didn't.

"I don't know what to believe anymore. I thought it would be forever, that I'd finally found someone who didn't mind my lifestyle and accepted it for what it was, who loved me unconditionally. I thought she was my forever."

"You think she's done with you just because some assholes invaded her privacy?" Charles shakes his head. "She's loved you for a long time, years even. You haven't seen the looks she gives you, but the rest of us have. You hung the moon in her sky, Pierre. That kind of thing doesn't just get swept away by the breeze."

His shoulders curl inward in an attempt to hide the frustrated tear that escapes him. "What am I supposed to do?"

Charles shrugs. "I don't think there's a right answer to that. Try giving her some space. She didn't grow up in the spotlight like we did. It's not an easy adjustment for some people, mate. And blowing up on her when she tries to make conversation doesn't help anything," he says gently. "Let her figure it out and come to you when she's ready."

The concept of letting you go even temporarily was terrifying to him. Waiting on you to make the first move was even worse because he was setting his fate in your hands.

"I miss her," he murmurs, turning his face to his friend.

"I know." Charles throws an arm around the taller man's shoulders and follows his gaze out over the tiered streets of Monaco's city center. "My suggestion is to throw yourself into the season. Show her you know how to fight, y'know?"

Pierre nods. He could do that. It was how he normally handled his problems anyway; let the track wick away whatever was on his mind and force him to hone in on the details surrounding him in each moment.

"You ready to head inside?" Charles asks.

"I don't think I can go back just yet."

"Want me to hang out here with you?"

"No. I'll be back eventually."

Charles' hand falls from his shoulder after a short squeeze, the sound of a tinny voice over the speakers temporarily flooding the balcony as Charles returns to the banquet. Pierre allows himself a few more moments of reprieve before slipping back inside just as the applause starts. Rather than returning to the delicately portioned meal that sat cooling before his empty chair, he orders a drink. Whiskey on the rocks, his go to in times of crisis. He takes one sip before the reminder of you ordering it for him in London makes holding the glass of caramel liquid unbearable and he downs it in a single swallow, going back to order a beer instead.

He nurses the green bottle of Heineken as he leans against the wall until the meal is finished and the chit chat starts. You stand with Max, practically pressed against him as you snatch a flute of champagne from a passing server. You search the crowd, brows drawing together when you don't locate your quarry. Pierre had made sure that he was tucked out of the low lighting, unsure if he could survive you stealing worried glances at him all night.

Charles winds his way over to pass off a roll he snagged from dinner, practically forcing the Frenchman to eat it before returning to his date. He nibbles at it absentmindedly, entirely too focused on you to divert an ounce of focus elsewhere.

Your dress is a glowing sun in a sea of earth tone garments, drawing his eye as you pull Max out onto the wood platform serving as the dance floor before the tables are fully cleared. The flush in your cheeks tells him you're deeper in your cups than you should be; Max didn't know your limit as well as he did. Three drinks was all you could manage before you got tipsy, five if you wanted to be completely blitzed.

The lights dim and his hiding spot is no longer quite as good as the party lights sweep over him from time to time. Max places one hand on your hip and you place one on his shoulder and grin up at him. Judging by the fit of giggles that requires you to lean into Max for support, you were teetering dangerously on the edge of being wholly drunk. You throw your head back and laugh at whatever Max says in response to your fit, Pierre straining to hear the musical sound over the band.

"Hey," Victoria says, breaking his concentration. "You wanna get out there?"

Pierre grimaces. He had managed to completely forget about her, too stuck in his own head. "Sorry, Vic. I don't think I'd be a very good partner tonight."

"No worries," she says, a soft, understanding smile on her lips. "I can keep myself busy."

Pierre nods his thanks, his attention immediately returning to the dance floor. Daniel and his girlfriend steal the show, both laughing as he dips and twirls her across the floor.

Being together was so fucking easy for them, effortless in a way it wasn't for you and Pierre. They never once paid any heed to the photographers that swarmed them or the headlines printed about them, they just laughed the rumors off and carried on. No one could question their love for each other because they were vocal about it- sometimes annoyingly so- and Daniel was rarely seen in public without her at his side. They were always touching, holding hands or stealing kisses or even the near scandal of his hand blatantly on her ass at the podium a few races back, and neither of them cared.

Their love was all that mattered. They didn't care who knew it.

But you and Pierre were far too private to be like that, at least not when you were still trying to figure things out yourself. The first sign of outside pressure had you cracking, and he wouldn't stand for knowing he was the source of your pain.

He tries and fails to convince himself he isn't jealous of the way Dan's hand so easily glides under the navy blue silk of her dress to caress her back without a second thought, wishing he could do the same to you. If he's being honest, he's living vicariously through Daniel for the next few songs, pretending he was someone else observing you and himself on the dance floor instead. It almost works; the way she shudders when his lips graze her ear is strikingly similar to how you'd react. The smile she flashes up at him is agonizingly close to your own wicked grin.

When her mouth finds his, Pierre gathers his wits and turns away. Their blatant public affection flipped a switch inside him, disgust rocking through him for a split second before he pushed it away.

He was happy for them. He knew what a long, rocky road it had been for them to become lovers instead of friends, had firsthand knowledge of the stress they'd gone through before they'd finally admitted their feelings to each other, put their pride aside and got together. Pierre had been the one to offer her advice on a night not much different than this one months ago, helping repair the damage Daniel's idiotic, thoughtless words had caused.

But Pierre had since become the person who was sickened at the sight of others in love. It reminded him that part of himself was missing and he hated it.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering back to you. You still occasionally scan the room as Max struggles to lead you through a dance. By some stroke of bad luck your gaze snags on him just as a spotlight illuminates his face and he grimaces. A slow blink is the only surprise you let show before laying your head on Max's shoulder. Jealousy spikes through him like wildfire, igniting his blood and tinging his vision with red.

He wants to march over and rip you off Max. He wants you tucked safely against him as his thumb rubs circles on the bare skin of the small of your back. He wants, more than anything, to take you to his apartment and half carry you up the stairs, having to shush you because you're giggling loud enough to wake the dead, and lay you down in his bed. He wants to help you out of that stunning dress and into a pair of his sweats and curl up against you, letting you sleep off your hangover until noon.

He'd fucked up that chance though, hadn't he? He had slipped up and driven you straight into your friend's arms, who he trusted not to make a move on you but not enough to negate the jealousy coursing through him.

In that moment, he hates you. He hates the hold you have on him, the way a simple gesture between half-drunk friends could send him into a spiral so steep he didn't recognize himself. He hates that he can't keep his eyes off you, your gravity too strong for him to resist.

Most of all, he hates that he doesn’t know how to quit you.

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval

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hotwings0203 · 3 years

Text

I JUST SAW FIGHT CLUB AND HOOOLLYYY-

Bro could you IMAGINE FightClub!Bakugo?

Tw:noncon, language, harassment

Okay okay get this: you’re down in the basement listening to the usual men holler and punch each other around while you do your job as their cute little “accountant”. While many of them have good jobs and a real life, the actual members don’t have time or the intellect to juggle the numbers and money around as fast as you can. You’ve been coming here for a while now, and you’re used to the jeers and wolf-whistles coming your way since you’re basically one of the few or only women who dare to come down here.

But there’s one fighter who just can’t seem to take no for an answer.

Bakugo fucking Katsuki.

The man is ruthless, he’s relentless, he’s a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. You swear he’s had to have taken a shitload of steroids in his youth, otherwise how else could he have built up that much muscle? There’s no way an average gym-goer has that kinda build.

He’s always the first and the last one out in the rink, swaying back and forth with his fists up, a twisted grin on his face that was so reminiscent of a wolf before it lunges for its prey.

It usually took more than two men to pull him off the unconscious bodies that he had just beaten to a pulp, effectively breaking one of Fight Clubs Rules: get up when someone is down.

But he’s too good to let go, no one has the balls to tell him to take his money somewhere else since they’re all scared shitless of him.

Which leads him to believing that he’s practically a god down here, that he can conquer anything: including you.

No one really calls it harassment because no one really cares. What’s so wrong in a guy having a little crush? What, you came down here seeing all this testosterone but you can’t deal with it yourself? Don’t be a prudish bitch.

“Bakugo, I’m at work right now, I don’t want to.”

“C’mon toots, this ain’t even real work, you’re just fumblin’ my hard earned cash.” He grins slyly and crosses his bulging muscular arms, leaning against the doorway of the little office you’re given to work your magic.

You turn in your rickety seat and glare at him, ignoring the way he licks his lips and lets his eyes roam all over your body. “If I’m so shit at my work then go somewhere else and stop bothering me.”

He chuckles in his baritone voice and shakes his head at you. “Naw, can’t do that sweets. If I did then I’d never be able to see your pretty face again now, could I?” Bakugo leers at you and you turn your face in disgust.

“I don��t wanna go out for lunch, or ever with you. Now get out before I have to call someone in here.”

“Oh, is that so?” He uncrosses his arms and steps through the threshold, his body growing larger and more menacing as he slowly draws closer to you. Luckily a fight had broken out near the office months ago so there was no more door from the aftereffects, but that didn’t mean you felt safe even with open space.

“G-get out. I’m serious, Bakugo-“

“-Call me Katsuki, angel. And you don’t really mean that, do you? Look at you, you can barely look me in the eye when you say such mean things.” His voice drops an octave as he comes to stand in front of your seated form, towering above your wide eyes, clenched fists and trembling figure.

He leans down and you flinch and gasp as his breath ghosts over your face. He places both arms on either side of your chair so you have nowhere to look but him.

“You’re such a nice breath of fresh hair down here, through all the blood and violence. You’re like a flower...” he tucks a stray hair behind your ear and breaths out a laugh when you turn your head and squeeze your eyes shut.

“A flower, so fragile...a flower that smells so fucking good...” you feel like you can’t properly breathe as he leans in next to your ear and inhales deeply.

“A flower waiting to be deflowered herself.”

“What’s going on here?” A lanky body in the doorway appears.

Bakugo pulls back and turns his head ever so slightly towards the dude, growling under his breath at the interruption.

“We’re in the middle of something here, so you can just get the fuck ou-“

“-Well, it doesn’t really look like she’s into whatever you’re doing,” the man scoffs and takes in your pale face and shaking hands.

Bakugo stands to his fullest height, almost neck and neck with the man at the door.

“Yeah? I didn’t hear a complaint from her.” He cocks his head and stretches, allowing his muscles to ripple with each movement, something that didn’t go unseen by your much skinnier savior.

But he doesn’t back down. He only swallows and rubs the back of his neck.

“Well, we’re all being called out to put our bets in for the next match anyways, so you better come out before we get our asses kicked.”

The blond grumbles about weak men and no balls, then casts a dark look at your frozen figure before shouldering past the man at the door, almost knocking him down.

As soon as he’s out of your line of vision, you exhale and relax into your seat.

“You okay?” The fallen soldier scrambles back up and cautiously approaches you, looking over your body in a way that didn’t remind you of Bakugo undressing you with his eyes...rather, it was a protective, and worried once-over.

“Yeah, he’s just...a lot to handle sometimes. Doesn’t know when to quit.” You laugh shakily and run a hand through your hair.

“No wonder the dude’s a menace. He’s used to getting what he wants, I guess.” The man acknowledges this grimly, and for the first time you’re relieved that finally someone hasn’t turned a blind eye to your harassment.

“Are they really calling us down for bets?”

“No, I just said that to get him off your ass. Didn’t seem like you liked whatever he was doing.”

You give him a wobbly smile and he returns it.

“Sooo we should probably run before he comes back up here, right?”

“Oh most definitely,” you actually giggle before leaping out of your seat and joining the man to bound up the steps two at a time to freedom.

You both end up bonding pretty well over the weeks, even going out for coffee and lunch dates here and there. You’ve come to really like him, his shyer demeanor more than a majority of the ragtag men down in the basements, his chivalry refreshing to you amongst the blood and foul language thrown around the ring.

You feel like a woman with him, not some piece of ass like you were used to.

Bakugo noticed all this, of course. You started avidly avoiding him, ducking your head down and hiding behind your new ally before he could open his coarse mouth and stalk towards you. He couldn’t find you in your dingy office anymore either, because your savior was up in a cafe doing the calculations with you, laughing away about the latest matches.

That has to change. Effective immediately.

“Yo, newbie. How you been? Haven’t seen you fightin’ here for a while,” Bakugo claps his meaty hand on the scrawny guy’s back, nearing sending him toppling over.

“Yeah, y’know, just haven’t been feeling it lately.” He rubs the stinging feeling away from his sore shoulders and side eyes the blond suspiciously. He had seen firsthand just how bad-news of a guy he was, and he didn’t wanna get caught up in all that.

But Katsuki wasn’t just all brawn. He had some brains, too.

“Look, I know I prolly gave off a weird first impression with Y/N back then. But it’s all in good health, ‘was just messin’ around like I always do.”

“Yeah, sure...”

“How ‘bout we get some coffee or somethin’? You seem like a solid dude, plus we got shit in common to talk about.”

Like fucking around with my bitch.

“Uh, you sure? I kinda’ wanted to see the last fight,” he trails off unsuredly, scratching his jaw as Katsuki steers him away from the growing crowd.

“There’ll always be fights, man. I wanna show you that I’m a nice guy.”

Bakugo Katsuki was not a nice guy.

And everyone knew that too, which is why when some shifted to give the duo a curious glance he met them with a death glare. Any gazes locked on Katsuki’s hand wrapped around the lanky guy’s shoulders were immediately casted down.

You didn’t see your savior for a while.

It had been two weeks since he mysteriously disappeared from his usual place in the outskirts of the crowd, because unbeknownst to you, a certain fighter was keeping him away from you and convincing him to have a friendly brawl over lunch.

You only found out about it on a Friday night, when a crowd much bigger than before was gathered in the dim basement, voices hushed and whispering.

“What’s going on? Why’s everyone so quiet?” You whisper to one of the usuals.

“‘Heard Bakugo’s fighting some dude that was handpicked by himself. He somehow managed to convince the poor bastard to have some kinda’ match with him.”

You felt your heart sinking.

“Who did he pick?”

“‘Dunno, some skinny guy, a newbie I think. Hasn’t been around for too long so I guess he doesn’t know how big of a monster he’s gonna be beaten by.” The groupie shrugged, and you felt the blood drain from your face.

Without saying another word, you spun around and started running around all over the place looking for either of the two.

You end up stumbling into the men’s bathroom, desperate beyond salvation to stop this bloodbath.

He’s there, he’s at the urinal and he yelps when he hears you barge in. You avert your eyes and let his adjust himself as he sputters indignantly.

“Y/N? What’re you doing in here? This is a men’s-“

“Don’t fight him.”

“What?”

“Don’t fight Bakugo, please, he’s gonna kill you, I know he is-“

“-Calm down, what’re you so worked up about? C’mon, I would’ve thought you’d had a little bit more faith in me to be able to stand my ground.” He teases you but you don’t find it funny, on the contrary you’re terrified out of your mind for his life.

“Did he put you up to this? How could you fight him, you’ve seen what he does to the other guys in the ring!”

“Well yeah, but he knows not to go that hard on me. Actually, he’s not that bad of a guy, we’ve gotten some drinks for the past two weeks and I was wrong about him.”

You gape at him. “Wrong? You saw how he cornered me that one day!”

He shrugs, not put off by the distant memory. “The guy just came back from a fight, he still had testosterone going through him. You can’t blame him for wanting to let a bit of it out, right? You should really give him a chance y’know, he talks about you all the t-“

But you can’t hear anymore, this is madness, there’s barely 10 minutes left until they’re going to call the two down for their death match. You need to find the source of this problem firsthand.

And somehow, a little voice inside your head tells you exactly where you know he is.

You round the corner to your office and there he is in all his glory, seated like a king on your chair, leaned back with his knees spread, carelessly looking through your bank statements and bet papers.

He barely looks at you as he says, “Oh there you are, I was starting to think you’d miss the show.”

You sink to your knees.

He looks up at that.

With a tight chest and burning eyes, your dry throat barely permits you to choke out, “Bak-Katsuki, please, please don’t do this. Please don’t fight him.”

He cracks his neck and leans forward, regarding you with dark vermilion eyes. He looks your position over appreciatively before speaking.

“Why not? He’s so good and great isn’t he? I’m just trying to show you how right you were, after all. I’m sure he’s got a fair chance of beating me.”

You shake your head vigorously, knowing what he’s playing at.

“No, no, you’re better, please. I was wrong about him, I shouldn’t have been friends with him, please don’t fight him Katsuki I’ll do anything-“

“-Oh you’ll do anything I say regardless of if I beat him to a bloody pulp or not. You wanna know why?”

You can barely contain a whimper as he stands and walks over right in front of you, his bulging crotch mere inches away from your face.

He suddenly grabs your hair and you cry out before he yanks your head up to meet his cold eyes.

“Because no one in here is gonna say shit to me. I run things here, toots. And if you want your little boy toy to live through today, you’re gonna watch every blow I give to him, and you’re gonna kiss the fucking knuckles I beat his face with. Got that?”

You sob as he grinds his clothed erection against your tear-streaked face, sniffling when he moans loudly and bucks into your open mouth.

A loud knock on the bare hinges stops Bakugo from pulling the front of his shorts down.

You both turn your heads and see a red-faced side-liner looking down and mumbling something about the match starting.

“‘Be there in a minute. Tell the guys to give my girl here a special front-row seat to this match, she’s gonna wanna see her man win, after all.”

The runner scampers off, leaving you both alone.

He bares his teeth down at you and you cower under his painful hold, the roots of your hair ripping from their strands.

He eventually tosses your head to the side after a few seconds of staring you down, and the second he does you clutch your sore cranium.

“I better see you down there in a minute sweet thing. You gotta get used to it anyways, since you’re gonna be getting accustomed to my rituals before and after matches.”

#tw:noncon #bakugo x you #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo oneshot #bakugo katsuki #mha #bnha #bnha smut #mha smut #bakugo smut #katsuki smut #katsuki x y/n #katsuki scenario #mha yandere #bnha yandere

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