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#yes it was just an empty threat to get him off her back

babygorewhore · 3 months

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Daddy issues

After your dad is arrested, you try and beg for his job back. But Rafe Cameron decides another way for you to help your father. And his arrangement is different than you imagine.

Warnings! Daddy kink! Talks of violence! Slight reference to abuse! Choking! Blow job! Rough unprotected sex! Breeding kink! Virginity loss! Dirty talk!

You didnt know if you were more angry or surprised when you got the call from the officer that your dad was arrested and currently in jail for assault. You were finished working your late shift at the restaurant when your phone rang.

You screamed in your car on the way to the station. Your dad was a dead beat. An asshole who didn’t know how to fucking control his temper. Daddy dearest also liked to get loud with you, throw things when he didn’t get his way and one time he slapped you in the face.

You slapped him back and threatened to slash his tires. But the threat was empty considering he needed to work, which you had no idea how he kept his job at the docks while working for Rafe Cameron. It used to be his father Ward until his suicide. You’d met him often while picking your dad up, given you had to share a car.

He was…polite you could say. But he was also scary. He glared at everyone and he was short tempered. You usually heard him snapping or yelling if something wasn’t done right. Your dad complained about how strict he was.

But his status and wealth made everyone obey him and intimidated you. His attractiveness however was on another level. His height made you feel small and his blue eyes cut through people.

You slammed the door at the station and went to the desk. After signing in, you tapped your foot impatiently as an officer came up to you.

“Are you…?”

“My dad is here. He just got arrested.” You ground out. You hated being here. She nodded and looked at paperwork in front of her.

“Are you here to post bail?”

“I’m here to see if there’s any way we can clear this up as a misunderstanding.” You tried to plead but she shook her head.

“Ma’am, he attacked a man at a stoplight. He beat him up to the point he lost one of his teeth.”

You pressed your head against your hand. Jesus Christ it was worse than you thought. “How much is bail?”

She looked again at the paperwork. “Looks like we’re at 6,000 dollars.”

“What? I thought the bail was lower than that!” You shrieked.

“Ma’am. He also had multiple charges. Public intoxication, disturbance and assault. He caused a lot of trouble. I suggest you alert his job tomorrow. But until then, he’s going to spend at least 60 days in jail.”

You started crying. You couldn’t help it. It hurt so much. You couldn’t get a break. And now you’d have to face Rafe Cameron and face the humiliation of your dad being in jail.

You cried on and off the next day as you had to switch your schedule to the evening and make the phone call to your dads manager about his current situation. It was immediate termination and you broke down even harder in your bedroom. You refused to take his phone call, afraid you’d explode on him.

As you got ready for another dreaded work shift, your phone started ringing to a number you didn’t recognize. Hesitantly, you answered.

“Hello?”

“Your dads in jail, huh?” You immediately froze. It was Rafe’s voice. How did he-well he was capable of finding anything out.

“I-um. Yes. And he can’t work for you anymore. But if you’ll please reconsider. I know he’s a piece of shit but this is the only job he’s lasted out and we desperately need the money. I’m trying to get a car and we have to share one. I know this is probably pointless but I can’t help but try. So please, please take him back.” More tears came and you felt like a total cry baby but you pushed through.

You expected him to laugh but instead silence met you.

You bit your lip hard enough it bled.

“Meet me at my house. I’ll text you the address. I have a proposition for you.”

“Why can’t you tell me over the phone?” Your stomach tightened.

“Do you want me to help you or not?”

“Yes. Of course. I’ll be there.”

“Good girl.”

You set the phone down but seconds later his address came through in a text and your breath stopped short. He wanted to see you after work.

Five minutes before closing and after you finished cleaning, the drive to Rafe’s house wasn’t that far and now you knocked on his door. When he answered, you tried not to reveal how much you found him attractive. His hair was in his face and his eyes were glazed as he looked down at you. His fingers twitched and you imagined what he was doing with that hand…

Rafe gestured with his head for you to come in and you followed him inside the massive penthouse. He had everything you imagined. Expensive furniture, floors and lights.

You followed him to the kitchen where he pointed to the bar stool. “Have a seat.” He muttered.

You obeyed and watched as he circled the island in the center of the room. “So. You wanna save your dads job?”

“Yes. I’m willing to do anything-“ You stopped short when a smirk fell on his face.

“Anything?” Rafe challenged. “It looked like you hated him whenever I saw you talk to him.”

“It’s complicated.” You replied and his smirk grew into a cruel smile.

“Looks like someone has daddy issues.” Rafe countered and you crossed your arms.

“I-well when you put it that way-“

“I’m just bringing up what you’re telling me. Your dad beats the shit out of someone. He went to jail-and now you’re doing anything you can to fix it. Tell me if I missed anything.” Rafe’s voice was low and you hated that he was right.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound pushy. I’m just in a tight spot.”

“Oh I’m sure you’re in a…tight spot.” His meaning was clear and you swallowed.

That was the exchange.

“Look at you. Being a little smart girl and figuring it out. I’m gonna get to the point. You want me to take him back? Bail him out? I get to fuck you. Anywhere. Anytime. And anyplace I want. No condoms. No hidden birth control. No. I wanna see my cum leak out of that desperate pussy.”

Your mouth opened and closed. “I can’t just fuck a stranger. And no birth control? I can’t fucking get pregnant.”

“I’m a selfish whore, baby. And I can afford one. And those are my terms. Either that. Or your dad rots.”

You bit your lip. You weren’t in a position to say no. You needed the money. And Rafe was hot. There were worse guys. Rafe got closer, his big hands reaching to cup the side of your neck.

“Yeah? You want it?”

Slowly, you nodded.

Rafe crooked a finger, signaling you to come closer. You stepped down and approached him gingerly and looked into his gaze. Rafe then latched his hand around your throat. His grip was so strong your feet almost lifted in the air and your eyes widened as he crushed his lips to yours.

His lips devoured you as he shoved his tongue into your mouth. You weren’t experienced. Sure, you’d touched yourself and made out with people.

But actual fucking? You’d never done that. And you knew that was about to change.

“You want me to take care of you, don’t you?” Rafe loosened his hold on your neck and pressed you against the island counter, “need someone to be your daddy?”

Your hands flew to his chest as you brought him impossibly closer, his lips sucked your skin with bruising force. You opened your mouth as he slipped his fingers inside.

“Suck.” He commanded and you listened. Spit gathering on your lips as he kneed your legs apart and lifted you up on the counter.

“Need daddy to help you? Fill you up with my cum?” His dirty words made your cunt twitch as he started toying the end of your skirt. Your thighs dampened as he trailed his thick fingers along your flesh, his fingers grazing the wet patch of your underwear.

You started grinding to give any friction against your arousal as he apparently changed his mind and threw you to the ground by underneath your arms. Rafe gestured to the crotch of his pants. “Consider this your first payment, baby. You ever done this before?”

You shakily remained silent as he huffed an amused laugh.

“Really? A girl who’s such a perv that she’s willing to fuck someone giving her money? Never would have guessed. I guess I’ll be nice and help you.”

Rafe undressed his lower half, his cock leaked with precum and he took your hand. “Swipe it with your thumb, get it all wet.” His massive hand compared to yours was almost comical as he grabbed the back of your head.

“Open your mouth, princess. And remember to breathe through your nose.”

After that, he silenced whatever worries you had by shoving his dick forward. You run your tongue along the thick underside, lessening some of the heavy weight by massaging with your hand. You took the tip through your mouth, shoving down any nerves as you sucked. Rafe bobbed your head up and down as he pushed you further, your head bouncing as your eyes squeezed shut.

“No, no, open your slutty eyes and look at me.” He growled. He leaned over the arch of the space between the counter and where you sank on your knees. The skin of his cock was supple as you continued aiding with your hand. It was hot to the touch.

“Good fucking girl. Maybe I’ll reward you by fucking your pussy.” He started thrusting and hitting the back of your throat. “Breathe. Breathe through your nose.” He wiped a few tears away with his thumb as you listened to him.

You knew he was getting closer as he stopped talking, his breathing heavier as he moved your head. His cum spilled inside your mouth, as he released you and you coughed.

“Not bad for your first time. We’re gonna practice some more.” Rafe smirked as his face was flushed and his fist flexed.

He moved on top of you on the floor, hiking up your skirt and ripping off your panties. He spread apart your wet cunt and dipped his middle finger inside your clenching entrance. “You’re such a whore. Never done any of this and you’re already gonna cum. Should have known you’d be daddy’s cum slut.”

Rafe yanked your legs apart, and spit on your pussy. “Not that it needed it, but I’m gonna be a little more kind to you.” You shrieked as he grabbed your jaw.

“Are you on birth control?”

“No.” You quickly answered. “Never-never needed-“

“Good. And you’re not going to. Got it?” Rafe moaned as he pushed his tip in your pussy, “fuck you’re so tight.”

You winced from discomfort but then his knuckles hit your clit, aiding to relieve your tension as he circled them. “Gonna make you mine. Take you away from all that shit.” He grunted as he pushed further.

Rafe let you wrap your arms around his neck as he thrusted.

“Tell daddy you like it.”

“I like it.” You sobbed as he moved harder. “I like it, daddy.”

It was slightly shameful how quickly you came all over him and spilled onto your legs. Rafe also came again and you felt it inside you. He was serious about no protection.

He stayed for a few seconds before getting up. And pulling his pants back on. He extended his hand and pulled you up. You knew you were a sight to be seen, fucked out eyes and messy hair. You just lost your virginity to Rafe Cameron.

You cleared your throat and watched him sweep his eyes over your face. “So. My dad?”

He shrugged. “He’s already out.”

You paled. “What?”

“I posted bail a few minutes before you got here. But as for his job, you’re gonna have to work harder than that. I have conditions.”

“But I already said-“

“More than just fucking you, baby girl. I own you now. You are mine and no one gets to even think about fucking you. I will cross any line you make to keep me away. And if you try, I will punish you.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” You whimpered as he loomed over you.

“And?” He mocked. “You already agreed. You need me. Don’t you?” He cupped your jaw. Tightly but not as harsh.

“Yeah.” You leaned in to his touch. Your defenses are completely down. You needed care. You were always working. Always cleaning up after someone’s mess. And now…he was going to take care of you.

And either make your daddy issues better.

Or worse.

@xxhellfirebunnyxx @imyourdaninow @lesservillain @take-everything-you-can @slvt4jamesmarch @ifeeltoofuckingmuch @scene-and-dandylover @emsgoodthinkin

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alotofpockets · 1 month

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Meeting again | Part 1 - Part 2 | Leah Williamson x Reader

Where you take your son to Leah's book signing and you reconnect with your high school friend/crush.

Happy birthday to our blonde pookie!

Woso masterlist | Words: 2.7k

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You were doing some work around the house when your ex called. “Hey Ryan, what’s up?” You say as you turn off the vacuum. “Hi y/n, I’m so sorry. I know that it’s my day, but I’m going to be stuck at work until late. Is there any way you can pick up Liam from school and take him to that book signing from Leah?” The two of you had gotten a divorce many years ago, when you had finally come to terms with your sexuality. Ryan had always been understanding, and now you were still friends, and co-parented your son Liam together. “Oh yeah, don’t worry, I can do that.” You could hear the relief in his voice. “Thank you so much, I owe you one. He has a half day, so he should be done at school in about an hour. I packed his Arsenal jersey and scarf, he wanted to wear them to the signing. Thank you again, I have to go. Send me pictures of the signing?” Your kid would always be your number one priority, so you hung up the phone and got ready.

“Hey bud, your dad is stuck at work, so I’m going to take you to Waterstones later, is that okay?” The boy greeted you with a hug. “Yes, of course, you’ll get to see Leah again!” Back in high school you and Leah were very close, there was even some gossip about the two of you dating, but when you got wind of that you shut those rumours down quickly by starting a relationship with Ryan, a relationship that drove a wedge between your friendship with Leah. Your love for the women’s game continued to grow though, and you have supported Arsenal all your life, just like Leah. Liam fell in love with it too, and you often found yourself amongst the crowd of Arsenal WFC and Lionesses matches together. Liam was a smart kid, and after finding you looking at TikTok videos of Leah, he started asking questions. “Watch it, or we’re not going.” You said with a fake seriousness. Liam knew full well that it was an empty threat as you loved messing with him.

You decided to make it a special day for your son, by taking him out for lunch before heading over to Waterstones. It was to no surprise to you that he wanted to go to his favourite restaurant. “Smile for your dad.” The boy looked up from his plate with a big grin on his face. Proudly wearing his Williamson jersey and his Arsenal scarf.

The line at Waterstones was long, but you bought the book and joined the line together. You could tell he was excited just by the way his eyes lit up, and his smile was constantly present on his face. His excitement made you glad that you were able to join him on this occasion, but it didn’t trump your nerves of seeing Leah again. Of course, you had seen her play, but you were always just a person in the crowd, and now you were going to be face to face with the girl you’ve had a crush on since you were fifteen.

Never in your life had you been so nervous to see someone from your past, but you set it aside for your son, this was his moment. Plus Leah would probably not even remember you, right? You were a nobody, and she was the England captain and the Arsenal co-captain.

When it was your turn, Liam walked up to the signing table, while you stood back to take pictures. “Hi, what’s your name?” You heard the blonde ask your son. “I’m Liam, it’s very nice to meet you. My mom is a big fan of yours as well.” The sneaky little bastard, you thought as your eyes met Leah’s. Her eyes showed instant recognition. ‘Yours?’ she mouthed your way, and you answered with a nod. “It’s very nice to meet you too Liam, want to come over to this side for a picture?” Leah signed the book, and wrote something on one of the cards laying to the side as Liam made his way around the table. “I see you’re repping my jersey! You know what would go great with that?” He shook his head. “This new cap, would you like one?” Liam looked over to you with hopeful eyes, “Can I mom?” You smiled at the interaction between Leah and your son, “Yeah, of course.” He turned back to Leah, “Thank you so much!” The two posed for a picture. “Any time Liam. Here is your signed book, and could you please give this card to your mom?” He grinned big when he saw a written phone number on the back of the card. “Thank you Leah!”

“Mom! I got you her number, you have to call her!” You look at the card that Liam handed you ‘Would love to catch up, send me a text if you’re up for it :)’ along with her cell. You looked between the card and Leah, who shot you a smile before returning to the next person in line. “Please tell me you’re going to send her a text, please!” Liam was tired of always seeing you admire Leah from afar, and now that you had a real shot to reconnect with her, he wanted you to take it. Plus how cool would it be if his mom would go out with the Leah Williamson? You pocket the card, “Maybe later, you little snitch. I thought we had a deal.” You say playfully as you put your arm around his shoulder. Quite frankly it scared you a little to send her a text. “Let’s head home.”

When you got home you put Leah’s number in your phone and stared at the message screen forever, trying to decide what to text her. You really wanted to reconnect with her, but you also didn’t want to overcompensate, and ruin any chance you had. You settled on something simple, letting her make the next move.

You: Hi Leah, it’s y/n. It was good seeing you today, catching up sounds nice.

You hadn’t expected to get a message back from her so soon.

Leah: So glad we ran into each other. Talk about the details later?

The message notification was staring back at you, your heart was beating out of your chest simply from her message. You quickly put your phone away, without opening her message when Liam walks in. “Mom, you know that I want you to be happy right?” You nod, “Of course, I know that kiddo. What makes you say that?” He shrugs, “I just don’t want you to hold back because of me.” You shake your head, “You’re too smart. I love you, kiddo.” He hugs your side, “I love you too, mom.”

The two of you were hanging out at home, when Ryan called again. “Hey, thank you for sending me those pictures. They really made my day, glad to see him so happy.” You notice the exhaustion behind his words, “Yeah of course, I don’t want you to miss out on stuff because of your job.” Liam was so important to the both of you, but your divorce had led to missing some things here and there, that you always tried to minimise together. “Speaking of work, I should be done around eight. You know I hate to ask, but-” You interrupted him, “You don’t have to ask, of course. Pick him up whenever you are done, okay?” You heard the relief in his voice, “Thank you. Can I talk to him for a moment?” You walk over to Liam and hand him the phone, “It’s your dad.” After handing him your phone, you give him some space to talk to his dad.

You continued vacuuming since you weren’t done when you had to pick up Liam from school. So, you didn’t hear the interaction with Ryan, or when the call was over, and definitely not when you got another phone call. Liam looked at the contact and smirked to himself. When he realised you didn’t hear the phone call, he picked up himself. “Hi Leah, it’s Liam.” The girl had not expected your son to pick up, but she went with it anyway. “Hey Liam! How did you like the book signing?” He told her how much he enjoyed it before Leah continued with her questions. “I was looking for your mom, is she around?” If it were a video call, Leah would have seen the mischievous look in Liam’s eyes, but since it was a voice call he could hide behind the screen. “She is a little busy right now, but she said she wanted to invite you over for dinner tonight if you had time.” Leah knew she should’ve questioned it more, but she wanted to see you so badly, that she set up dinner plans with your son.

Just ten minutes before Leah said she would be there Liam came walking up to you. “Hey mom, so I kind of invited Leah over for dinner tonight.” Never in your life had you turned around so quickly, “You did what?” You could not believe what your son had just told you. “She will be here in-” His sentence was interrupted by the doorbell. “Now.” He said with a big smile. You were frozen in place, Leah Williamson was at your door, and you were in sweats and a tank top, your hair a mess from the house work you had been doing for the past hour. “Are you going to let her in?” You turned to Liam, “You are going to be in so much trouble later.” Again, Liam knew there was no actual threat behind your words, because that’s not how you parented.

On your way to the door, you tried to quickly fix your hair. You open the door, “Oh hi Ryan, you’re here early.” He smiles back at you, “Yeah our last meeting got cancelled, sorry I didn’t let you know.” You shake your head, “No, no it’s okay. Liam, your dad is here!” The boy came running into his dad’s arms. “You’re here!” The bond between them was amazing, he truthly loved the both of you equally. “Have you had something to eat yet?” Liam shakes his head, “How does McDonald’s sound?” You grab Liam’s bag, and give him a quick kiss on his cheek, before waving the both of them off.

As soon as you closed the door, you ran up the stairs to quickly get changed, and look more presentable. You had just finished doing your hair when your doorbell rang again. This time it was Leah standing on the other side of the door. “Hi Leah, come in.” She looked so beautiful in her simple white t-shirt and a pair of green cargo pants. “Hey y/n, thank you. No Liam?” She questioned when you walked her further into the house. “He wanted to be here but his dad came to pick him up a little bit ago. I’m sorry to say that McDonald’s has been picked over dinner with you.” You joke, hoping to make the moment a bit lighter. Hearing Leah’s laugh brought you back to those days where you would sit on the grass, and make fun of the boys on the football team.

“So, Liam is a big fan of football then?” Leah started awkwardly. You loved talking about him, so you just started talking. “Yeah, I started taking him to matches when he was still a little baby. He loved it ever since, I can’t go to an Arsenal match without him nowadays. A gooner from the start, just like you.” Leah blushed slightly. “So, you’ve been coming to our matches all this time?” Now it was your turn to blush. “Maybe.” The both of you laugh. “Ryan surprisingly never got into football, so it’s been something I get to share with Liam.” The name you mentioned caught Leah’s attention. “Wait Ryan is Liam’s dad? You actually married high school Ryan?” You realised that bringing his name up was probably a mistake since he is what drove the two of you apart. “Oh yeah, high school Ryan indeed. Liam’s dad indeed, and I did marry him. We haven’t been married for like five years though.”

Leah’s ears perk up at that. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” You shrug your shoulders, “It’s all good, it was time I finally figured out my sexuality. We’re still friends, and he's great with Liam. Anyways, how have you been?” The two of you start talking and catching up, and somehow even though more than a decade had passed and you had lived such different lives, it felt like you had never not known each other.

You walk into the kitchen together, still talking, when the both of you start getting hungry. That is when you realise that you had to go to the grocery store today, and didn’t have much in the house. “So, confession time. I didn’t actually know you were coming over until Liam told me about ten minutes before you arrived.” Leah laughed, “I had a feeling the invite wasn’t extended by you, but I didn’t want the opportunity to go to waste.” You blush at her words. “I am very happy that you are here, don’t get me wrong. I was just not prepared. It was Ryan’s day with the kid, but he got stuck at work so I didn’t have a chance to go to the grocery store like I had originally planned. Let’s see, I have Potato Smileys, and literally nothing else. I am so sorry.” Leah did not care what you would eat one bit, she was just happy to be there with you. “Good thing I love Potato Smileys then!”

You shared a laugh at the situation and decided to make the best of it. While the Potato smileys were in the oven, you set the table with some condiments to go along with them. As you were waiting for the Smileys to cook, you and Leah fell back into conversation. You were reminiscing over old times, and shared stories from the past years since. It was easy talking to her, it really felt like no time had passed.

Once you were done with dinner, you moved to the living room where you each found a comfortable place on the couch to continue catching. Before you realised it, hours had passed by. Leah looked at her watch, and noticed the time first. “Oh it’s late, I hadn’t realised so much time had passed.” You glance at the clock yourself, “Wow, yeah it is. I’m really glad you came over tonight, catching up with you has been great.” Leah smiled in return, “Yes it was, I’ve missed this. I hope we can hang out again soon!” You walk her to the door, “For sure! Liam and I will be at the match Sunday, maybe we can do something after? If you don’t mind him tagging along of course.” Her smile grew big, “I would love that, and for Liam to tag along always!”

As you said goodbye, and Leah got into her car you couldn’t help but feel hopeful for what the future might hold. Just having Leah back into your life in whatever way possible made you extremely happy. Tonight had been so nice, and you really wanted to see Leah again soon, Sunday didn’t feel soon enough. So, you decided to send her a message. You felt less nervous sending this message than the one this afternoon, but still there were some nerves.

You: Would you maybe want to grab a coffee sometime this week? I’d love to meet up sooner than Sunday.

As you were getting ready to go to bed, your phone dinged with a new message.

Leah: I know a great spot! Are you free tomorrow?

You smiled at the text, Leah proposing tomorrow had to mean she wanted to see you again soon too, right? You quickly let her know you’re free, before sending her a goodnight message and calling it a night. Though, your mind kept you up for a while longer, not wanting to let go of today just yet.

Continue reading part 2!

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#leah williamson #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson x reader #arsenal wfc imagine #arsenal wfc #arsenal women #awfc imagine #awfc x reader #awfc #woso #woso imagine #woso imagines #woso x reader #engwnt x reader #england lionesses #engwnt #engwnt imagine

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vampyrsm · 23 days

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𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐏

✽ — PAIRING: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader ✽ — SYNOPSIS: When a job goes south, Bakugou and Kirishima are left dealing with the consequences of saving a life that maybe they shouldn't have. ✽ — WORD COUNT: est. 30.2k ✽ — WARNINGS: Female reader (she/her used), Cyberpunk AU, gun violence, gunshot wounds, descriptions of dead bodies, blood, body modifications, amnesia, death threats, POV changes between Bakugou & Reader, enemies to lovers (?), eventual smut, angst, no beta reader, no second part, there are no happy endings in night city. ✽ — NOTES: It only took me two years but hey, it's here. You don't necessarily need to know anything about cyberpunk to read this, I've tried to explain things as best as I can in the fic itself. But if you have any questions, please feel free to send me an ask! ✽ — EXTRAS: Playlist // AO3

“Shit!”

“The fuck did you do now?!” The blonde rounds the back of the car, a hand clasping the handgun tight in one hand whilst the other runs frantically through his sweat-slicked hair. It was not meant to go like this, this was meant to be an easy job.

That’s what Aizawa said! Easy! The warehouse they were supposed to hit tonight was rumoured to be empty, no one had been seen moving in and out of it for days. There wasn’t meant to be a gunfight and now Bakugou worries about how it’ll come back around to bite him in the ass.

His eyes snap away from the pools of blood and a mixture of chemical fluids. Kirishima is hunched over something in the open trunk of the car, his shoulders are bunched and Bakugou can practically feel the tension rolling off of his best friend in waves. “Oi, what the fuck is—”

Kirishima steps back, and Bakugou’s words die on the tip of his tongue when he stares down at the loot Aizawa had sent them to get. He had said it was just a simple shipment, a bunch of cyberware shit that needed to be shifted from one side of Night City to the other. But this was not just any old sort of cyberware.

Arasaka cyberware.

That meant the crate would most likely be tracked, and inside of it would be goods worth more money than either of the two Mercs had touched in their entire life.

“Oh fuck me–” Bakugou speaks first, eyes locked onto the metallic case. “Ei, we need to drop this shit. We can’t be caught with it, they’ll have our fucking balls.”

“No shit we can’t be caught with it! But what do we do with it now?! We can’t just leave it, what if the Maelstrom comes back and takes whatever’s inside of it?” Kirishima’s the one glaring at Bakugou now, the look making the man of 6’8” seem more of a terrifying monster than anything. “Why did you have to say yes to this job, man? We were fine for a few more weeks–”

“Because it would’ve gotten us both out of the fucking city Eijirou!” Bakugou yells finally, he is shorter than Kirishima but still at his own height of 6’3”, he makes up for his lack of height in comparison with his explosive anger. “I took it so that we could go back fucking home! Don’t you want that?!”

“Of course, I wan–”

Bang!

Instinctively Bakugou and Kirishima drop to the ground, Bakugou pulls his handgun up and is ready to fire whilst Kirishima's skin shifts with the metal plating. The two of them were a two-man team that was inseparable, Kirishima the shield and Bakugou the firepower. Both of their eyes are locked together as they wait to see if there’s another gunshot, Bakugou’s heart feels like it might beat its way out of his chest any minute now. He was certain he had gotten everyone, his optical enhancements had confirmed as much.

The red of his eyes flash to life as he takes a deep breath before peeking over the back of the car, it’s silent for a moment before he hears a dragging noise and sure enough—there’s a body heat signature east of the car, hidden behind some boxes and crates. His arms adjust on the car, holding his gun steady, ready to shoot the second their head peeks over the crate.

…But then the heat signature flickers out, and Bakugou drops his position in confusion before there’s another bang and this time the bullet does collide with the car.

“Fuck, they’ve got some sort of tech that lets them hide from my optics,” Bakugou whispers harshly to Kirishima who has his back plastered to the car, his face stoic despite the possibility of being taken out by someone who was possessing cyberware that’d allow them to appear out of thin air practically.

Kirishima nods once, the body plating along his forearms clicking into place as he readies to use himself as a human shield. Bakugou steels his nerves, eyes flashing back to life before finally saying “Move with me.”

The two of them are up in an instant, Kirishima crossing his arms over his upper half and tensing his muscles to ensure his body mass covers Bakugou entirely whilst the blonde slips his arm just beneath Kirishima’s with the gun poised and ready to shoot. The crimson of his eye gleams in the darkness when he catches the heat signature once again dashing from one crate to another and this time Bakugou doesn’t hesitate. The gun fires in rapid succession, neither of the men flinching. The reaction is immediate when there’s what sounds like something falling to the floor.

“Lost visual again,” Bakugou confirms when the warm red spot vanishes from his vision, leaving just droplets of what must be blood on the floor in their wake. Both mercs wait in silent anticipation, Kirishima moving with each step Bakugou takes as if it were second nature to him—perhaps at this point in life, it was second nature.

Kirishima had come with Bakugou from Tokyo to Night City nearly 15 years ago with the plan that the two of them were simply there for one job. It was going to give them life-changing money, something the two of them desperately needed for themselves and their families back home.

“Ei!” Bakugou yells, Kirishima plants both of his boots against the ground and brings up his arms to defend his face. The bullet buries itself into the metal plating of his arm, pulling a deep grunt from the man.

“Motherfucker–!”

Bakugou again fires the gun, a snarl resting on his face and this time he hears the sound of flesh being hit by the bullet, and then the sound of a body slumping onto the ground. Kirishima finally steps down from being the human shield, pulling his arm up to view the bullet that’s embedded deep into his forearm. No doubt the Doc will be pissed about this when he gets back.

“All good?” Bakugou asks, changing out the mag in his gun before glancing towards the foot he can now see peeking out from behind the boxes. Kirishima grunts a yes whilst pulling the bullet free from his arm, the sound of it hitting the floor loud in the now silent warehouse. “Doc’s gonna kill ya for that.”

“Ya think? She only just upgraded it for me.” Kirishima almost whines, quite the opposite of the man he just was as he watches the black liquid of the synthetic fluids leak from his arm in place of blood. “If I ask her nicely, do you think– Hey, where are you going?” Kirishima watches Bakugou slam shut the trunk of the car before stomping his way over to the body he’d just shot, he had to know if it was enough scumbag from some gang or if Arasaka were already onto them.

Bakugou rounds the crate, readying his gun to fire once more and freezes in place; gun raised just slightly, eyes widened and mouth ajar. “You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me—Ei, get here. Now.”

Kirishima walks over when the ash blonde hisses at him to hurry the fuck up, wiping the black liquid free from his arms before looking down at what Bakugou was staring at.

“Ohh.. fuck, dude.” He gapes at the girl lying on the floor, covered head-to-toe in blacked-out clothing. But it wasn’t the fact it was a girl that Bakugou had taken down, but rather it was the fact she had the Militech symbol stitched into the sleeve of her t-shirt. “What the fuck did Militech want with this?”

“I don’t know—maybe to reignite that old corporate war they had years ago with Arasaka? Everyone knows both of them are fucked up.” Bakugou is still frozen, the handgun still aimed to shoot. If he takes out this Militech assassin, it’s most likely going to be tracked back to them and by them; he means the new family he had found in Night City. It was a tightly knit group, all coming from similar backgrounds to his own but ending up in NC for different reasons. He couldn’t do that to them, he couldn’t get them killed because he took a job to run away.

Kirishima squats down next to the body, head tilting as he leans a little closer towards her head. His hand hovers just next to her face, “The fuck you doin’ now? Gettin’ your big ass fingerprints all over the body so they ca—”

“Shush,” Kirishima demands, and Bakugou goes to defy immediately before he’s shushed for a second time whilst Kirishima puts his index finger beneath her nose. It’s a tense moment, but he feels it. “Still breathing, we could still call trauma and—”

“And what? She relays to her boss that she ran into one very identifiable red-haired giant and his angry friend? No. We kill her.”

“Wait! Wait!” Kirishima moves to push the gun away when Bakugou raises it, meeting his scathing glare with his own determined one. “What if we use her for info? Clearly whatever is in that box is worth enough to get both Arasaka and Militech willing to fight.”

Bakugou’s jaw ticks as he clenches it, eyes flicking between his red-haired friend and the girl on the floor. He’s right, Aizawa might know something about this, and if they’re able to pull info from her about Militech then they could probably sell it to Arasaka for a pretty penny.

“Shit.” He huffs, finally pulling the gun back and holstering it. “Fine, but you’re the fucker that’s got to explain why we’re dragging a half-dead Militech asshole through the Docs door.”

“—not keeping—”

“This is your—”

“Guys.”

Everything felt…wrong. Nothing felt like it belonged, and yet it did at the same time. Mechanical parts clicking and groaning, blood pumping in and out, brain whirring to life. Lights that are far too bright for delicate eyes, and all noises submerged in synthetic water.

What was happening?

Where were you?

“Can you hear me?” a voice calls from a distant place to your left, you want to open your eyes or will your lips to move to form the words that are hanging at the end of your tongue. What happened to you? Nothing made sense, you didn’t recognise that voice and you didn’t recognise the coldness of the metal table you were laid on.

“Hey—wait, calm down.” A smooth, cold hand presses itself against your sternum and it was as if a light switch had been flipped in the dark recesses of your mind. You didn’t have to think when your own hand wraps around the offending limb, fingers curling dangerously tight.

“Shit, I knew this was a fucking mistake!” A new voice, distantly familiar. There’s a scrambling of feet, and finally, your eyes are opening. The light is blinding, but you can make out the blurry outlines of figures that are double your size and they’re frantically moving to reach something; guns, you belatedly realise and you don’t miss a beat in hauling yourself off of the metal table.

The two men—you can finally see them now and they’re nothing short of a pair of gigantic cyborgs—have turned to you with guns raised but they haven't made a move yet. Your arm tenses around something until you hear a squeak accompanied by a choking sound. Hesitantly you glance down to see you have a woman with brown hair pinned to your chest with one forearm crushing her throat and the other raised in their direction.

“Now, just hold on.” The one with the red hair speaks, his hands raised to show he’s no threat but you don’t miss the way his skin shifts with the metal plating. Armour. He must be the shield, and the other must be the firepower.

“Lower your weapon.” Weapon? You flick your eyes towards the blonde who most definitely isn’t lowering his weapon. The redhead shifts again, and he’s taken a step forward towards you but his hands are still up in surrender. “Please, lower your weapon.”

He must see the confusion on your face so he points towards your free arm currently not crushing the woman to your body. You hesitate to look where his finger is pointing, but it’s hard to miss when your eyes drift slightly away from the redhead. In place of your arm is what looks like an M-179 precision rifle.

Wait—how do you know what type of weapon that is? You’ve never held a gun in your life before, you–you…–you were just some street rat. The weapon retreats back into your arm, clicking your own metal plates back together until it’s smoothed over as if it had never existed in the first place.

Did these people put these parts into you? Had they found you passed out in some dark alleyway and dragged you here to experiment on you? That’s the only explanation, it’s the only reason you’re in this dingy ripper doctor's office.

“S–Stop. Can’t—breathe.” the woman croaks against your arm, and you realise you’re actually starting to crush her windpipe with your forearm. She stumbles forward with a hard choke, whilst you launch yourself back into the surrounding deskspace. Metal clangs and surgical instruments fall to the floor in a loud clatter, the roaring in your ears is too loud to hear what the people are saying to you.

Another set of hands place themselves against you, your upper arms this time but they’re no longer cold, they’re warm. A shroud of red covers the edges of your vision and all you can focus on is the face directly in front of yours, his lips are moving and it’s impossible to decipher what he’s trying to say.

Why does his face seem so familiar? You had seen this hair somewhere before, and those teeth. You had never run into someone with such sharp teeth and yet your mind couldn’t stop trying to find just where you had seen them before. The red-haired man looks over his shoulder, letting you see the blonde who was frowning in your direction still brandishing the gun that was pointed directly at your head if anything were to go wrong.

“—know man!”

“Move so I can—”

“You.” Both voices silence immediately. Two different sets of red eyes on you and yet they both carry a different feeling; one filled with curious sympathy and the other hardened disgust. “Who are you? I–I think I know you.”

“Uh, well, I’m Kirishima.” There’s a groan of annoyance from what you assume to be the blonde whilst the one named Kirishima keeps his eyes on yours. “What about you, what’s your name?”

Your lips part, tongue moving to accommodate the syllables of your name and yet nothing comes forward. You try again with furrowed eyebrows but it feels like your tongue is too big for your mouth and your throat is restricting around your name. In your oncoming panic, you latch a hand to your throat, widening your eyes when you try again and again to spit your name out.

“Hey! Alright!” A hand comes around your wrist and peels your fingers away from the skin of your throat, and Kirishima takes a deep breath when he looks down at you. “You don’t remember a thing, do you?” your only response is a shake of your head, and you swear the man's shoulders slump as he deflates a little at your admission. Had they known you?

“Fuckin’ brilliant, Ei. Now Aizawa’s gonna have our ass for bringing back a death machine with memory loss and the tendency to lash out!” Death machine? Did he mean you? However you don’t get to answer the question because the blonde stomps out of the room, the slam of the door stunning the room into silence.

Another sigh before Kirishima drops his hands from your upper arms and straightens out to his full height. He is huge, bigger than anyone you have ever seen before. “You should rest before tonight.” He supplies, turning towards the door and you realise the brown-haired woman had also vacated the room at some point.

“Wait. Tonight?” you take a careful step after him and you don’t miss the way his shoulders stiffen, nor the way his forearm plating clicks to ready himself. Was he scared of you? No. That can’t be right, this gigantic man could not be scared of you. You’re certain he could crush you if he wanted with just a single hand.

“Tonight you’re meeting our fixer.” and just like that he was gone, the door closing behind him with an audible click.

They had locked you in.

Looking back around the room, eyes caught on the glint of various medical tools that had been scattered across the white tile floor. There are no windows besides the one at the far back of the room, but even from where you stand you can see it’s barred. You were well and truly trapped.

And so, with nothing else to do, you sat in the desk chair by the bed you had woken up on—and waited.

...

The next time you see Kirishima is when he had come to collect you from your makeshift prison, at some point someone—you assumed it was the Ripper—had shoved clothes in through the small gap of the door, you hadn’t realised you were in a state of undress when you had initially woken up.

Kirishima smiles at you, but you can see it doesn’t meet his eyes as he towers over you. He’s dressed differently too, in a black leather jacket over a red distressed vest and black jeans with some very expensive-looking sneakers. He looked much more like his age like this, you didn’t realise he was more around your age.

“Ready?” Kirishima offers, burying both of his hands into his front pockets and leaning against the frame of the door—While he seemed relaxed, you knew he was blocking off your only escape route.

You look down at yourself, you’re not quite sure how they had managed to get your size somewhat right but the black cargo pants and graphic tee were comfortable. The only thing they hadn’t measured correctly was the heavy orange bomber jacket that dwarfed you immensely.

“Yeah, readier than I’ll ever be anyway.” Kirishima just nods, finally pushing the door open and letting you walk out first before he shuts the door behind you both.

The door immediately opens out onto a street, the floor is wet from the rain and the neon street lights give the dingy alleyway some light. You can’t tell where you are, when you look up there is nothing but a concrete overpass blocking you from seeing the sky. “C’mon, he doesn’t like tardiness.”

“Who?” You jog to keep up with Kirishima’s wide – normal – steps, you barely come up to his shoulder and you have to crane your head up to look at him.

“Aizawa, our fixer. He doesn’t normally meet with new faces, but you’ve piqued his interest.”

“But how? I’ve not done anything, I don’t even know who I am.” You try to explain, the emptiness that sits in your brain is unnerving, to say the least.

Kirishima finally looks down at you, nothing but pity in his eyes. “That’s exactly why he wants to see you.”

The rest of the walk is in silence, not that Kirishima seems to mind much whilst he flicks through his phone. You’re not quite sure who Aizawa was, but you knew what Fixers were. They were smugglers, fencers and they loved to handle information. Is that why he wanted to see you? To get information from you? But you had none to give, and when Fixers often don’t get what they want… they dispose of the useless item.

Sparing a glance towards Kirishima, he was far too engrossed in his phone to realise the thoughts you were currently harbouring. You could make a run for it, he’s much bigger than you, sure, but you’re smaller. Maybe you’re faster. He could lose you easily in a crowd of people, you don’t want to be killed for something that’s not your fault.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Kirishima says without missing a beat, his eyes not drifting away from his phone and you have to focus on not tripping over your own feet at being caught out. He hadn’t even looked at you, you weren’t that obvious– “If you run then that means I have to admit Bakugou was right and then I have to chase you down.” Finally, he looks at you, raising an eyebrow to see if you’re still going to do it.

“I won’t run.” You say with less conviction than you would’ve liked but Kirishima seems happy enough with it, finally pocketing his phone into his back pocket before nodding his head forward.

“Here we are.” You turn to look at the building you’re both standing in front of. It fronts what looks to be a bar, not quite as modern as some of the others you had passed by. It looked more oriental and authentic. It’s not imposing, it blends in perfectly wedged between two other buildings that look like stores—it’s the perfect place for a Fixer you realise, it stands out enough to those seeking the man known as Aizawa but in an area shoddy enough that it won’t draw in too many people.

Kirishima doesn’t give you more time to inspect the building, guiding you inwards with a hand between your shoulder blades until you’re past the old wooden doors and inside a very well-kept bar. It’s relatively empty, with a few people hanging around by the bar but it’s quiet.

Your eyes rove over the multitude of artwork hanging from the walls, swirling paint strokes and sculptured mythical creatures. Kirishima drops his hand from your back once he’s sure you’re secured in the building, leaving you standing alone whilst he meanders towards the bar to talk to a pretty girl with bouncy curly pink hair.

“Oi,” a gruff voice calls from behind you, your shoulders jump at the closeness of the gruff voice and you spin to see the blonde from earlier. He has a frown on his face the second he meets your eyes before they drag down and latch onto the bomber jacket you’re wearing. He seems to glare somewhat harder, sucking at the back of his teeth. “No fucking around. I won’t hesitate to blow your head off this time.”

“This her?” a deep, almost sleepy voice drawls and you turn to meet the man to whom the voice belongs. He’s got shoulder-length black hair, and tired eyes yet the look he’s giving you is enough to tell you he’s very alert. You can’t help but straighten your spine a little, attention drawn away from the blonde who just huffs and wanders elsewhere. “Doesn’t look like much of a threat to me.”

You’re left blinking at the man, the silence suffocating until you look hesitantly across the room to meet a set of red eyes—but they aren’t Kirishima’s. Bakugou was clearly growing agitated the longer this was drawn out. “I’ve never been a threat.”

“Bakugou and Kirishima seem to think otherwise, even our Ripper Doc had said you have some interesting chrome.” Aizawa continues, settling into one of the seats close by before he regards you again. “But they also said you don’t remember who you are, is that true?”

“I–... Yes, it is.” Interesting chrome? “I don’t know how I got my upgrades, I woke up surrounded and I just acted on instinct.”

There’s a beat of silence, the palms of your hands growing sweaty and you suddenly feel like you’re standing in a pit with lions.

Then Aizawa breathes in deeply, sighing a little on his exhale. “I don’t know why, but I believe you.” There’s a noise of disagreement from Bakugou somewhere to the side but Aizawa continues anyway, “You could be useful to us. I’m sure your memories will come back over time and you’ll be even more valuable to us then. It’d be stupid of me to let you go.”

“Let me go? You want to keep me prisoner?”

“Not a prisoner. We just can’t have you wandering the streets in the state that you are, it’s safer for everyone involved if you stay here.”

It made sense, you supposed. You would be safer staying in one place instead of wandering the streets, especially if you had no idea who you were. Swallowing the lump of anxiety, you nod your head in agreement and Aizawa visibly relaxes in his seat before he casts a glance towards Kirishima and Bakugou.

“On second thoughts… I think it’ll be better for you to stay with those two.”

“What?!” Bakugou all but yells, the beer bottle in his hand smashing onto the floor in haste to get to his feet in disbelief. “I am not a fucking babysitter, and I’m not looking after some corpo—”

“You found her, you look after her. Didn’t I teach you that when I found you?”

Bakugou’s upper lip curls into a snarl, his eyes darting from Aizawa and towards you–it’s like you’ve been pinned to the spot underneath his hateful gaze. His tongue drags along his lips, rolling his bottom lip into his mouth before he leaves without another word. Kirishima is quick to take his place, stepping up close to you to take you back to wherever you had to stay.

“I promise he’s not always this bad—well, most of the time he is but he’s a good guy,” Kirishima says, a hand back on the spot between your shoulder blades to guide you out of the bar and back onto the open street where you finally see Bakugou once again. He’s sitting on a motorbike, an expensive-looking one. “Yo, Bakugou. Are we–”

“You have one fucking chance left. If you pull that shit again that you did at the Docs, I’ll personally rip your head from your shoulders. Got it?” Bakugou points a finger in your direction, which only makes Kirishima huff a sigh of annoyance and drag a hand over his face. “One. Then you’re done.”

He must not expect an answer as he slips the helmet over his head, the sleek black of it reflecting only the neon street lights but you can still feel his glare on you before he revs his engine once, twice—then he’s gone.

You look up at Kirishima finally when Bakugou is gone, and the redhead just smiles awkwardly at you whilst rubbing the nape of his neck. “I did warn ya.”

To say the next few days were painful is an understatement.

You had been confined to an apartment shared between both Kirishima and Bakugou, whilst the redhead was happy to have another roommate—Bakugou was not. He made it his mission to make it hellish for you.

It started with him refusing to cook you food whenever he did for Kirishima and himself (Kirishima had to convince him to at least give you something to eat or you’d die and then Aizawa would be pissed). Then it started with the loud music early in the morning, you had no real bed so you had to sleep on the expensive U-shaped couch and Bakugou took great joy in turning the radio on and making sure it was on full blast.

Kirishima did try to stop Bakugou’s attempts to drive you to a point of anger that would make you act out, which only had Bakugou sneering in your direction before he left to go do whatever the fuck he did all day.

And it was going somewhat well, that same routine every day. Until Bakugou got a call.

Currently, you’re sitting on the couch, your elbows digging into your thighs whilst you lean forward. The room was deathly silent, save for the sound of the passing Trauma Team AV that flew by the window.

Kirishima was staring out of the window, both of his hands pressing against the cool metal window ledge, the lights of the nightlife outside reflecting off of the various strips of chrome covering his jaw and down along his throat.

Opposite you was Bakugou, his knee bouncing in what appeared to be nervousness whilst both of his hands were buried deep in his blonde hair, head tilted back to stare at the ceiling above.

“This cannot be fuckin’ happening.” He groans for the nth time that evening since ending the call. “That old fucking man—the nerve, all of the shit I do for him… and this is how he rewards me?!”

“Dude, Aizawa has never steered us wrong. He obviously thinks we can trust her.” Kirishima says in an odd tone like his voice was devoid of any emotion. You supposed it made sense, he had never been able to trust you either for whatever reason.

“Well, I think we can’t.” Bakugou drops his head back forward, meeting your gaze and a sharp shiver rolls down your spine. “You remember what I told you before I let you come and squat in my apartment?”

“Our apartment.” Kirishima supplies quietly, though Bakugou is undeterred.

“You’ll kill me.”

“Right, I’ll fucking kill you.” Bakugou finally stands, swiping the pulse rifle off of the table between the two of you before fixing it over one of his shoulders. “Now get the fuck up, we’ve got a Tyger Claws cunt to go kill.”

The back of Kirishima’s car was very plush, you couldn’t help but wonder how good at being mercs the two of them were. They seemed to be living in the lap of luxury yet they decided to stay in Night City, but you didn’t dare ask why they were still here. Bakugou would probably take the opportunity to bite your head off.

You sunk into the leather and watched the city pass by, the rain bounced off of the roof of the car and rolled down the windows in thick streaks. It still made no sense as to why Aizawa put you on this mission with them too, they were capable on their own so just what did Aizawa expect from you? You can’t even remember a time when you had used a gun so surely you’d just be deadweight—another reason for Bakugou to be on your ass if you fuck up.

As if somehow sensing your inner anguish, Kirishima turns in his seat enough to meet your eyes.

“Ready for this?” You’re not quite sure why he’s asking, even Bakugou seems to furrow his brows in confusion at why the redhead even gives a fuck about if you’re ready or not. “It should be a pretty simple gig, the Tyger Claws are ruthless but this guy we’re going for? Big junkie, won’t see us coming.” Kirishima grins at the end of his sentence, and you can’t help the small smile that grows on your face.

“Right, yeah, I’m ready.” You say with a small nod.

“Say it with more confidence and I might actually believe you for once.” Bakugou gruffs from his own spot in the driver's seat, with only one hand on the wheel and the other propped up on the door beside the window. He’s chewing at the skin of his thumb; one might think he’s actually a bit anxious. Kirishima only gives you a look you now know is his attempt at apologising on behalf of the antagonising blonde before he sinks back into his seat with a huff.

“Don’t gotta be so rude all the time man, she probably doesn’t want to be here as much as you.” Kirishima all but grumbles to himself, looking away when Bakugou shoots him a scathing glare.

“Yeah? Then maybe she’ll fuck off at the first chance she gets, won’t have to deal with her anymore.” The car falls into an awkward silence at that, not even Kirishima can counter the fact that it would be simpler if you did disappear but you can see the sad frown that’s making him look much more like a kicked puppy than anything. The music on the radio does nothing to squash the tension, instead, it only adds to the palpable dark energy rolling from Bakugou in thick waves.

Soon enough the car is pulled into a darkened alleyway, only the rats and drunkards faintly aware of the presence of the two big mercs who get out of the car in a heartbeat. They seem to move in an organised way; a practised routine you realise. By the time you close the car door behind you, there’s a gun being thrust in your face. “Here, I know it’s not much but—it should do the job,” Kirishima leans a little as if sharing a secret “It’s all Bakugou would agree to give you, think you still scare him.”

You hum, eyeing the handgun in your hand and feeling its weight. It felt lighter than you expected, your fingers moulded perfectly around the hilt and you tilted your head to inspect the barrel. Something feels very familiar with the gun now in your hand, and as you look at both Bakugou and Kirishima to thank them you falter for a moment.

Your vision flickers, the city behind them flashes to an old warehouse before it returns to normal. Kirishima seems to be talking animatedly but Bakugou’s eyes are locked onto your own, an unreadable expression on his face—maybe it’s because there is no real emotion on his face. No scowl, no anything, he looks like a blank slate.

“Anyway, we ready for this? It’ll be over before we know it and then we can go to that ramen noodle bar I mentioned last week!” Kirishima grins, slapping a hand against his hardened stomach.

“Yeah.” Bakugou finally speaks, breaking his eyes away from your own and down to the weapon in his hands. “The plan is Kirishima will be the shield, I’m the firepower, and you just follow us and keep quiet.” He says whilst staring you down, gone is the blank expression and that familiar frown is again creasing his skin. You just nod, and he seems happy enough with that response to turn on his heel and lead the way into the back exit of the building.

The building is rundown, as are all the buildings in Night City outside of the high-end Corporate zones. You traverse over tipped-over vending machines, various boxes and crates that had been ripped apart and ransacked for all their worth. It’s dark and dingy, a low stream of smog flitting through the air from the old vents in the ceiling. The only way you can tell you’re going the correct way is with the help of the flickering dim fluorescent lights overhead, Kirishima and Bakugou are both deadly silent and somehow moving without even making a noise.

The journey up the stairs is quick, without the worry of someone hearing the three of you coming, both men take the steps three at a time—leaving you to hurry after them as quickly as you can.

Both of them freeze once they reach the door that leads to the 6th floor, Bakugou shifting a few steps back and Kirishima takes his spot wordlessly in front of the blonde. The clicking of Kirishima’s skin has you focusing on him, the way the metal plating shifts almost looks like his skin is hardening. Bakugou has his own gun raised, the heavy rifle looks like it weighs nothing in one hand when he taps the other on Kirishima’s shoulder indicating he’s ready to breach.

It all happens in three very quick steps.

First, Kirishima rips open the door to the point where it’s detached from the wall and tumbles down the stairwell—you have to plaster yourself to the wall to avoid being squashed.

Second, breaching. Bakugou has both his hands back on his rifle, his eyes illuminating the chrome strips on his face whilst Kirishima steps forward with purpose.

Third, gunfire. It happens in five quick taps of the rifle's trigger, Bakugou hardly shifting from the recoil as he swivels just his upper half whilst hunching his shoulders slightly to ensure each and every single one of his shots is a direct headshot. The sound of bodies slumping on the floor is your cue to finally enter the room, and a part of you wishes you hadn’t.

The room smells horrific, a stench you for some reason recognise as death. But it wasn’t coming from the fresh bodies, no, it was deeper in the large room. The translucent sheets of plastic that hang from the ceiling obscure most of the room, with multiple splatters of blood staining the material. Bakugou lowers his weapon slowly, Kirishima finally parting ways to do his own investigation of the place.

“Think we got him?” Kirishima asks, using his foot to roll over one of the men Bakugou took out before grimacing at the clean shot between the eyes. Bakugou was a beast with the gun, there’s a reason why he was so sought out by Fixers other than Aizawa.

“Dunno, I didn’t get a clear look at their faces.” Bakugou comments from the other side of the room, squatting down to roll a guy over to inspect his face.

Both men are too occupied with the gig to notice that you’re traversing through the middle of the room, pushing past the thin sheets of plastic to grow closer to the source of the blueish neon lights. With each step, the smell grows stronger, a rotting kind of stench mixed with what smells like fried electronics. A shiver rolls down your spine, a warning to stop yourself from pushing past the final sheet of plastic. Your fingers curl against the material, crinkling it and still, both men are blissfully unaware of what you’re about to unveil—

An empty ice bath.

Your eyebrows furrowed together, multiple thick wires and cords were all scattered around the bath yet there was no one connected to those wires. You take a hesitant step forward, the smell is still so strong—something isn’t right. The ice bath looked fresh, except for the blood staining on either side of the white porcelain, following the streaks upwards until you see a blinking screen displaying vitals.

Ayaka Ichida. Age: 26 Occupation: Arasaka Executive ECG: N/A Blood Pressure: N/A

“Arasaka?” You murmur to yourself, fingers ghosting underneath the word. Why did that name send a painful twinge through your head? Perhaps it was just the notoriety of the corporation. Arasaka were rumoured to be funding the Tyger Claws way back in 2020 but it’s been nearly sixty years since then—

Your eyes lose focus the longer you stare at the screen, no longer looking at the words but rather the reflection of something moving behind you. It’s neither Bakugou nor Kirishima, you would’ve heard them approaching. This is a woman, her skin completely exposed, and dripping wet. Shit.

Her arm raises, the revolver sitting in her hand looks weighty and it’s definitely fully loaded when you catch the barrel of it. You spin on your heel, a hand stretched out ready to yell at Bakugou to move but it’s like you hit an invisible wall. Everything feels fuzzy in your brain, a wave of electricity passing through your body and shooting up and down your spine.

You must’ve shouted something because you can see Kirishima raise his head in worry, Bakugou clambering to his feet but it’s as if everything is moving in slow motion. The barrel spins, the trigger clicks and the flash of the gun is bright in your eyes.

You don’t quite realise you’ve moved until it’s too late, the fuzziness in each of your limbs is all-consuming. It’s as if you’ve been dunked in ice water and your limbs are slowly regaining their warmth—it’s painful. You blink, and suddenly your face is in Bakugou's; his eyes are wide and mouth agape as if he’s at a loss for words. Your entire right arm aches, but your spine hurts something fierce.

Not quite understanding how you had moved from one side of the room to the other, you glance over your shoulder to see the body—it’s more of just a pair of legs at this point, blood sprayed up along the walls and to the ceiling; bits and pieces dripping and dropping with a sickening wet thud. Did you do that?

The ache in your arm brings your eyes back to it, and it’s no surprise to see that the entirety of your arm was replaced with the rifle you had pulled out not too long ago at the Ripperdocs. It doesn’t look like you damaged your arm, the skin easily shifting back into place whilst you turn back to look at Bakugou. There’s a spray of blood on his face too, the blonde of his hair tainted by a dark shade of crimson that almost looked black. Bakugou is looking at you with what you might assume is worry, or some level of it anyway as he still seems to be frowning.

You open your mouth to speak, your throat tightening until you sputter out a thick vicious black liquid. Immediately your hand comes up to your mouth, touching your lips to see the synthetic blood leaking from your lips in thick rivers. “Wha…” you try to speak. Taking a step back from Bakugou, it feels like you’ve been hit by a train, your fingers go to press against the sore spot on your back but instead, you meet—nothing.

Your fingers pass through where your side should’ve been. You can feel the sticky synthetic blood coat your fingers as it continues to pour from your body, you can even feel the outline of the frayed edges of the artificial muscles you didn’t know you had.

“Shit!” There’s a set of hands on your shoulders, your entire world tilting backwards suddenly. “Hold the fuck on!” A voice calls from somewhere, yet you can’t see where it’s coming from. Your senses shut down one by one until you’re left floating in an endless amount of space.

It’s dark here.

Cold.

The vastness of the space around you expands over the horizon, and it feels like something is pricking into your skin. It hurts, everything hurts here. It’s too loud, yet it’s completely silent. Glancing down at your hands, your stomach drops and swoops in anxiety at the sight—you’re not made of human matter, but rather data. Pixels, bunched together to form a non-corporeal form of yourself. You’d heard rumours of this before.

Cyberspace.

It’s an odd feeling, to be existing but also not at the same time. The Net was such a vast expanse of data and network that almost anyone in the world could access but not everyone could take a step into cyberspace in the third dimension. It was jarring without a doubt but the unlimited knowledge one could access whilst inside of it? That’s why there were so many Netrunners, people dedicated to diving into the Net and hacking whatever data they needed.

But this place you were currently in didn’t feel like you were getting an endless stream of data, it was as if you had been cut off. Everything around you is freezing cold, with not a single thread of data to grab onto to understand just where you are.

“Hi?” someone says from your side, your head turned sharply to see someone with both lilac hair and eyes, they had a tired expression on their face but even the surprise on their face was easy to spot.

They hadn’t expected to be put into the Net alongside you. Both of their hands moved up to show they had no weapons, not that an experienced Netrunner would need weapons inside of a place like this.

“Listen, I was told to try and come pull you out. You’ve been in here for two weeks and—”

“Two?” How has it been that long? You had only just woken up, it felt like you had just been in the gunfight and protected both Bakugou and Kirishima; even potentially giving your life up for the blonde. “I–I don’t understand, how has it been that long? Who even are you?”

“My name’s Shinsou. You need to listen to me very carefully if you want me to get you out of here, okay?” He takes a step closer, stretching out a hand in an attempt to touch you—

There’s a pounding on your head, a throbbing pain that spreads behind your eyes and down to the base of your skull. Accompanying the throb is a low hum, more of a thrumming kind of noise that beckons you to turn around. Slowly you do, eyes glancing up from your hands to meet a set of dull blurred verdant eyes. Though these eyes do not seem familiar, they seem deadly, calculating. They glare at you through the opaque screen you hadn’t noticed, you can just about make out their body on the other side.

They have a single hand pressed against the screen, and the other curled into a fist that’s repeatedly beating against the screen. Each time it hits you can feel the pressure on your brain, was this your own consciousness? Who was this person? You move to take a step back but their punches only grow more frantic, more aggressive. It’s getting louder and louder, and the pressure on your brain is unbearable. Why can’t you wake up? The throbbing grows more intense until there’s a shooting pain that brings you down to your knees, curling your fingers into the ground.

You can’t hear the voice of the man named Shinsou anymore, you’re not even sure if he’s still there. All you can focus on is the throbbing pain, the way it chokes you and holds you in place. Demanding your attention.

“Found you.” A static-filled voice speaks from the darkness, and you look up to see the crack in the screen with a much clearer view of almost black-green hair. It sounds like he might be laughing, it sounds almost manic before he calls out a name, a name you can’t ignore—your name. “I’ll see you soon.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, the world around you started to melt away until you were left in complete darkness once again, though this darkness felt somehow different. You could feel something beneath you, smooth and metallic, familiar.

The second time you awake in the Ripperdocs office isn’t quite as jarring as the first, the lights are dimmed and there are no arguing voices. It’s easy to open your eyes, staring up at the overhead lights that have been turned off. The room is silent, the only distant noise is the street just on the other side of the door.

Slowly you rise from the table you had been laid out on, you didn’t need to look around to know you were alone this time. Has it really been two weeks since—you gasp, fingers touching the side where you had been hit but instead you meet the warm flesh of your body? Looking down to confirm that you weren’t imagining it, it looked like you hadn’t even been hit. No scars. Nothing.

There’s a laugh nearby, drawing your attention to the set of double doors you had never set foot through before. You slide from the cold table, your bare feet gently slapping on the cold tile floor. Taking a step forward your body falters, swaying to the side on uneasy legs, the table of surgical instruments clatters when you bump a hip against it and you freeze to see if anyone would be alerted to your presence.

No one comes bursting through the door.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you take another step forward. This time you were careful of where you placed your feet, and with each slow yet steady step you finally regain control over your legs. Soon enough you’re standing in front of the double doors, the voices on the other side muffled but they don’t sound familiar in the slightest. Were you even back with Bakugou and Kirishima? Had you been sold off as Bakugou had wanted? Fear danced up and down your spine, you’d have to fight your way out of here if that was the case.

Steadying your heart, you raised your hand carefully to the door, ready to burst through.

Three… Two… One.

You slam the door open, throwing your body through the now open space and your arm lifts as if on autopilot to readjust the metal plating to reveal the rifle buried deep into your very bones. With a quick scan of the room, you register you’re inside what looks like a common room of some sorts. There was a sofa, a pool table, a kitchen on the east side of the room and a gigantic TV that was broadcasting something.

There’s movement, a heat signature, and your arm automatically moves to point at the two men who are on the sofa. The yellow-haired one is the first to scream, then the one with black hair who scrambles off of the sofa to try and seek safety.

“W-Wait!” The black-haired one yells, throwing his hands up, “Don’t shoot! We’re not the enemy!”

Another door on the other side of the room beside the kitchen bursts open, there’s a scrambling of feet and clambering to all get in the room first. But Bakugou is the first in, his hand firm around the gun in hand as he raises it ready to shoot until he realises he has the barrel of his gun pointed at you. If you weren’t staring at him you might’ve missed the way his shoulders sag in relief. Kirishima is next to come in, eyes darting from both men who were sprawled amongst the mess of chips and used beer cans that had been dashed across the room in their attempt to flee immediate death.

“Oh, you’re awake.” A voice that’s now familiar to you calls your name, the man with lilac hair sidesteps around the two hulking figures. There’s a lazy smile on his face, “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Both Kirishima and Bakugou parrot the name Shinsou had given you, eyes drifting from Shinsou and to you, connecting the name to the face they’ve been living with for a while now.

“Yep, that’s the name of our friend here.” Shinsou walks into the room as if there wasn’t just a standoff moments ago, dropping into an unoccupied seat. “We should probably tell you everything that happened whilst you were ‘out’.” He makes quotation marks around the word, both of you missing the way Bakugou has his eyes locked onto you—or more importantly, your side. Shinsou gestures for you to sit down, and you make your way around the couch slowly whilst the two men you had scared scamper to sit elsewhere.

“I’ll be blunt with you. You’ve been out for nearly three weeks in total. We would’ve tried to pull you out faster but… you have some very impressive chrome. It took me two weeks to break your defences and even then you rejected me in a heartbeat.”

Your eyes break away from Shinsou as he explains your ‘absence’ to watch Bakugou as he tentatively perches on the arm of the couch right next to you, both of his arms crossed over his chest. But the things Shinsou is saying make no sense, you hadn’t pushed him out, it was—you scrunch your eyebrows together, the headache still ever present in the back of your mind the harder you think.

The silence stretches out in the room, just the sound of the TV droning on about Militech moving towards renewing partnerships with Lazarus.

Shinsou clears his throat, demanding your attention once again. “Your wounds actually healed by themselves. You have synthetic muscles but they’re something else. No one has ever seen something like that, even Uraraka said it’s not something Rippers can get their hands on.”

“Yeah… you weren’t actually breathing by the time we got you back here… I—We thought you were going to die.” Kirishima supplies from his position behind the couch, both of his hands clamped on the back of it and you can see the worry settled on his face when you look up at him. So you were dead for a portion of time, had all your chrome and cyberware saved your life? If what Shinsou said is true about your muscles repairing themselves then the time locked into your consciousness made sense.

Shinsou seems to notice the shift in the air first, clearing his throat before he stands up. He gives a stern look towards both Kaminari and Sero who are blatantly staring at you as if you were some anomaly. “We should go.”

“But—” the one with the yellow hair and black streak starts, eyes darting back to you with a question that was probably best unasked.

“Nope. Get the fuck up, we’re leaving.” Shinsou commands, already partway out of the door and he knows Sero and Kaminari will follow as he doesn’t bother looking back.

And soon enough, it is just you, Kirishima and Bakugou who looks like he’s about to shit himself with how tense he is next to you. It’s awkward, to say the least. You’re not quite sure what you should say, sorry for the trouble? Sorry for not dying? You’re sure that last one would apply to Bakugou, he had wanted you gone.

“Why?”

It’s Bakugou who breaks the silence, his head held now between his hands as he stares intently down at his shoes; knee bouncing, he’s anxious. You glance at Kirishima but the redhead just shrugs, urging you to look back at Bakugou. “Why what?”

“Why the fuck did you take the hit, huh?” His eyes meet yours, and you can’t miss the white of his eyes partially red, he was on the verge of tears. “Why the fuck would you do that when I mean nothing to you? It makes no fucking sense, no one just jumps in front of a bullet for someone. I wouldn’t have fuckin’ done it for yo–” He stops himself short, chewing on the words on his tongue that are better left unsaid. But the words still sting the same regardless of how true it is: Bakugou would not have taken a bullet for you, he would not have risked his life for you. Why did you care so much?

“I don’t know.” But it’s not the answer Bakugou is searching for, a frown is on his face but it’s not quite the same as the usual one you often saw him wearing. This one looked pained and confused. He diverts his gaze quickly, refusing to look at you once again before running a hand through his hair. “I guess I felt like I owed you for saving my life.”

Bakugou only gives you one last glare before he’s up from his spot and marching back out of the room, leaving an icy chill in his wake that makes Kirishima sigh.

“He means to say thank you, it’s… been a lot for him. We really did think you’d die on us back there, and I think Bakugou didn’t want another death on his conscience that wasn’t done by his own hand.”

Kirishima stands to his full height when you do, both his hands buried into the pockets of his jacket. “Anyway, let’s just go back home, yeah? You probably want to shower.”

“Tellin’ me I smell, Kirishima? You don’t smell of roses yourself big guy.” You grin when he smiles at you, the banter between the two of you is easy. His shoulders sag with relief before he’s strutting out of the room before you.

“Nah, not roses. Just pure manliness.”

“Manliness smells like a Maelstrom cesspit?” Kirishima whirls on you with his mouth agape, a chuckle leaving his mouth.

The city opens up to both of you when you step out of the doors, the difference this time being it’s the middle of the day and the streets are bustling with people going to and fro with their plans for the day. You take a deep breath in, Kirishima still rattling on just next to you about how Maelstrom actually doesn’t smell that bad. You break into an easy smile, a genuine laugh leaving your mouth for the first time in a long time.

A tingle runs up and down your spine, the shard slot on your neck buzzing as if someone was tugging on it, you look in the opposite direction of Kirishima to see if perhaps there was a nearby jammer or Netrunner who tripped on your own network.

But instead, you’re faced with something that makes it feel like you’ve been submerged beneath icy waters, your bones rigid and muscles tightened.

Standing idle amongst the moving crowd is a large man, with broad shoulders but that isn’t what makes him stick out like a sore thumb. It’s not the corporate suit he’s wearing, but rather it’s the mop of green hair on his head accompanied by emerald eyes that are wide with mirth when you meet his gaze over the crowd. You can see his lips move, but it's like his voice is deep in the back of your brain.

‘Soon.’

Kirishima calls your name from your side, drawing your attention back to him for a split second before you glance back towards the crowd. The man was gone. “All good? Do you need more blockers?”

“Huh?” You blink up at him, blockers? Oh. Meds that rippers always pumped you full with whenever you had any amount of cyberware. When was the last time you had taken some anyway? “No, uh, I’m fine, thank you. Think I just need a real sleep.”

“You just woke up from like a month-long nap, you’re telling me you’re still tired?” He grins down at you, guiding you back down the familiar street.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

The door to the apartment slides open with a hiss, revealing the dim lights of the amber overhead lights. Bakugou was home. Kirishima steps in first, shedding the thick jacket he had on to toss it onto one of the hooks. You followed after him easily enough, it hadn’t felt like so much time had passed but looking around the apartment you could see it.

Things had been moved, the plant on the window ledge had blossomed and grown beautiful red leaves. Stepping further into the apartment, you watch Kirishima disappear behind a black glass door that slides open for a split second to reveal Bakugou who was hunched over what looked like one of his rifles before the door slid shut.

You had been forbidden to enter the armoury, it was for Bakugou and Kirishima only. Bakugou had come with that rule, you couldn’t blame him but it wasn’t as if you needed their weapons. The thought of the gun embedded in your arm makes it ache, a tingling sensation that numbs your fingertips momentarily. Sitting down on the couch, you let out a sigh of relief when your muscles finally decompress and relax.

Despite your body relaxing your mind was still running far too fast, too many thoughts bouncing back and forth—you suppose it’s from the fact you were connected to the Net with no blockers, all that information could fry someone's brain and you’re just glad it hadn’t happened to you.

The peace and quiet doesn’t last long however, soon enough the entrance door opens with a whoosh and you turn in time to see a multitude of people walk in. You recognise two by name; Aizawa and Shinsou. You recognise both men with yellow hair and black hair, but there’s a woman with them that you haven’t met before with short dark purple hair.

“What the fuck are you all doin’ in my fucking house?” Bakugou growls from near the armoury, arms crossing over his chest.

“You didn’t think we’d let you walk away with the coolest new member of the gang, right?” The one with yellow hair flops into the seat next to you, long gone is the fear he had shown just earlier that day.

He grins at you when you stare at him, “Denki Kaminari, but you can call me whatever you want.” Kaminari offers with an easy smile, earning him a snort from the black-haired man who smacks him on the back of the head.

“Ignore him. Name’s Sero, it’s nice to meet you without a gun pointed in my face.” You shake his hand when he offers it to you, still wordless at how they’re effortlessly welcoming you into their gang.

“Don’t fucking ignore me!” Bakugou finally yells, but no one flinches at the volume of his voice. “What the fuck are you all doing in my house?!”

“New job.” Aizawa supplies, and immediately the room plummets into silence. “I know it’s only been hours since you woke up, but we really could use your help on this next one.”

Bakugou moves to open his mouth, but Shinsou jumps in. “You’re the only one here who can disappear from someone's optical enhancements. Do you know how rare that is? We wouldn’t be asking you to do this if we didn’t think you’d be able to pull it off without any problems.”

Aizawa continues, “You won’t be doing it alone of course. The whole crew will be going, but you will be the key player in this job, you’ll have to be the one to go in first.”

“When?” is the first thing you ask, and all eyes shift to you.

“In three days. Ideally, we would’ve done it sooner but I figured you might want to rest first. From what I hear, you had quite the trip on the Net.”

Aizawa notices the way your eyebrows furrow, “Shinsou was in there with you, but it was Jirou–” He points over his shoulder at the girl, who raises a hand for a moment. “–who broke through your defences. Apparently, there was some resistance from an outside source. Got anyone who'd be interested in protecting the data in your head?”

You shake your head, the only outside source may have been the man with green hair but even then you weren’t sure if he was real or not. You hadn’t been on blockers, you had been using your chrome carelessly. It could just be exhaustion.

Aizawa just nods his head, turning his attention to both Kirishima and Bakugou before gesturing with his head for them to come to talk to him privately. Kaminari and Sero both dive instantly at the chance to talk to you, gushing over the cyberware you were sporting. Apparently, they had never met someone who lived to tell the tale after having so much changed.

Aizawa sighs when he’s away from the group, slumping against the wall whilst Bakugou and Kirishima stand before him. Kirishima looks tense, and Bakugou is… well, Bakugou.

“You remember the original job?” Both men nod. “The package you were ordered to retrieve is Arasaka’s countermeasure to the new power Militech has come into. Jirou had a look at it and apparently, it’s some sort of advanced AI that can short-circuit everyone in its vicinity and even cause people to spiral into Cyberpsychosis.”

“What the fuck?” Kirishima murmurs, keeping his voice down so as to not alert the others.

“What’ve you done with it?” Bakugou asks, not missing the wince on Aizawa’s face.

“Handed it back to them.” Bakugou’s frown deepens, lip curling to reveal gums and canines but Aizawa jumps back in. “I didn’t have a choice, Bakugou. It was tracked, after you left with the girl they sent some jacked-up chrome head to come and pick it up.”

Bakugou runs a hand through his hair, gripping at the roots. This was bad. Arasaka were pieces of shit when it came to cyberware and if they were going to hit Militech with this then another corporate war would definitely be on the cards. “Shit, fuck. You sure it was an Arasaka guy that came to pick it up, not someone working for D—?”

“No, if I picked up on his chip, I would’ve put a bullet between his eyes myself.”

“Not if I do it first.” Bakugou snarls, earning a nod of approval from Kirishima. “Fucker already ruined our lives enough, we don't need him to get his hands on something that could kill us all.”

“You think they know about her?” Kirishima prompts after a beat of silence, all three men turn their attention to watch you on the couch. You were still static, Kaminari arguing with Sero about something whilst Jirou and Shinsou teased Kaminari about whatever it was. You looked out of place but at the same time, it felt as if you were always meant to be amongst the crew. You smiled easily, even laughing along with the group.

“I don’t doubt it. Jirou said the outside source that was blocking her from hacking into the system was military grade. She has something important to someone very wealthy. With this next job, stick close to her. If Arasaka makes a move, they’ll be trying to take her out first. If Militech makes a move…”

Aizawa shares a look with Bakugou before the blonde nods in understanding. “Good. Good luck on this next one, you’re going to need it when working with those idiots.”

Both men watch Aizawa leave before joining the rest of the gang on the couch, Bakugou sinks into a spot opposite of you and Kirishima slumps himself not too far from everyone, his legs spreading as he fully reclines into the seat. All attention is still on you, and Bakugou can’t help but keep his eyes locked on you.

“We should celebrate!” Kaminari grins, practically bouncing in his seat at the prospect.

“Celebrate what?” Kirishima is the one brave enough to take on Kaminari, effortlessly shifting the attention away from you momentarily.

“The newest member, obviously! I think we should show her a good time.” There’s a series of groans, a squawk of indignation from Kaminari whilst Sero berates him for always making everything an innuendo. Yet Bakugou can’t find it within himself to fight the decision, his eyes watch the way your eyebrows lift in interest before a smile brightens your features.

Maybe he’ll go along with it, just this one.

...

Part of him wishes he had fought Kaminari on some part of it. It was no surprise that the bar hopping eventually led them to visit Jig-Jig Street. It wasn’t the nicest place to be, it was the rundown part of Japantown that people often went to when they were desperate enough to get their dick wet.

Jig-Jig Street was the red light district of Night City, where you could ‘buy love’ by the hour or even get in contact with dealers who would sell you the most exotic of drugs or enhancements that would cost you a pretty penny. It was dangerous too, something that Bakugou often argued about whenever the others tried to drag him here. Too many times he had come home with a nasty black eye or even in the back of a police car from the fights that broke out here.

The crude flashing neon signs had Bakugou hunching in on himself, practically snarling at Denki who dared to poke fun at the gigantic blonde. Thankfully, it’s Kirishima who once again saves the day by shooing Kaminari away with the rest of the gang before he draws Bakugou in by his shoulder.

Bakugou just grunts, crossing his arms over the broadness of his chest before his eyes drift towards the redhead who’s now staring down at him.

“What?” Bakugou barks, modified canines adding to the visage of him being a feral dog.

Kirishima just laughs, “Loosen up man, let Denks have his fun. I have a feeling this next job is going to be a hefty one.”

Bakugou shakes his head, squaring his jaw whilst he mulls over Kirishima’s words. He supposes Kirishima isn’t exactly wrong; this next job feels like there’s a heavy weight resting on them. An expectation of something; something that Bakugou hasn’t quite figured out yet.

His eyes drift over towards you, embedded right in the middle of their little group. You still were a little bit stiff, eyes blinking owlishly whenever Kaminari came on a little too strong—but the alcohol had helped you loosen him, he thinks, you seem to smile a lot more now.

“Whatever, get the fuck off me.” Bakugou snips, shoving Kirishima’s hand off of him and Kirishima knows not to take it to heart. Instead, he steps aside, watching his oldest friend stalk away into the crowd to god knows where.

Bakugou wades through the crowds, dodging the half-naked bodies and the people high out of their minds who attempt to grab at him for his attention. He hated this part of town, it was the worst part of Night City – besides the gang wars and other shit the corpos got up to.

But this was a display of the depravity of the city, a show of just how long people would sink to feel something in this shithole of a city.

Finally, Bakugou breaks out of the crowd into the open street. It was empty, given that it was nearing three in the morning. He lifts his head to stare at the sky, the overcast clouds enough to make him grumpier. The rain always fucked with his chrome, the cold chill that came with it would send it haywire.

Glancing back, he can’t see the group he came with anymore and something in him itches to find you and make sure you didn’t get into any trouble that naturally comes with both Sero and Kaminari.

“Running away?” A voice comes from his side, and it takes the years of experience that comes with being a hired gun to not jump out of his skin. His head snaps down, and a shiver rolls down his spine when he meets your gaze.

“Yeah,” he admits, surprisingly, “Can’t fuckin’ stand this place. And you should split when you can too, you’ll end up getting roped into a threesome or some shit.”

That makes you purse your lips in an attempt to smother laughter before the corner of your lips threatens to break into a smile, there’s an easy air around you. You seem more relaxed, most definitely because of the drinks you had been throwing back when Kirishima challenged you.

“Nah, Kirishima let me leave.” Bakugou arches an eyebrow at that, Kirishima had known you were leaving too? That motherfucker. He knew you’d come following after him, like a moth to a flame. “Figured it’d be safer to walk home with you than try and navigate my way out of here.”

That has Bakugou nodding in agreement, the fuzziness of tonight's drinks softens his need to put his guard up around you. “C’mon, it’s about to piss down and I’m not getting caught in it.”

He’s already walking away, and it doesn’t take long for you to match his stride. Your own hands are buried in the pockets of the orange jacket Kirishima had given you all that time ago – did you know it was his? He bought it with one of his first paychecks, it was in one of his favourite shades of orange but somehow it looked much better on you.

His eyes drift away from the jacket you’re wearing and up to your face, you’re eyeing the signs as you walk by. They’re a range of ads for braindances that plunge you into a full-blown porno and ads for physical enhancements for stamina. It’s no surprise that everything in this part of town was about sex, Japantown practically ran off of it.

But his eyes catch on your bottom lip, how you worry it over with your teeth and squint a little like you’re not really reading everything that goes by.

“Somethin’ on your mind?”

“Huh?” You look up at him finally, and it makes Bakugou’s chest flutter with something unknown. It takes everything in him to push it down, chalking it to the previous train of thought about advertisements.

“What you worrying about? Yer gonna chew through your fuckin’ lip if you keep overthinking whatever it is.”

The way your eyebrows draw together and your face nearly crumples makes him want to backtrack, but instead you wipe your face of whatever emotion you had just felt.

“It’s hard to explain. More of a feeling than anything.”

Something Bakugou isn’t good with, he’s not one to talk about his feelings or whatever the fuck is plaguing his mind. “Just spit it out.”

You follow him up the steps to the large apartment building, and yet you remain silent as you try to mull over the words you want to say. Bakugou expects you to just ignore his request, and he doesn’t blame you. He’d never talk about his feelings even if someone held a gun to his head.

Once inside the apartment, he watches as you sidestep around him to go and stand before the large window. Pressing a button to let the metal shutters roll upwards in quick succession until the district of Japantown is exposed to you. It’s a sea of neon lights, people ebbing and flowing like water as they move around each other without ever looking away from the devices in their hands or implanted in their minds.

“Can I show you?” You speak finally, once he shucks off his jacket and flings it onto the back of the sofa. He eyes you for a moment, show him? Show him what, your feelings? His nose crinkles in thought, but he finds himself relenting. The liquid courage he drank earlier makes itself known when he relaxes on the sofa.

“Sure,” and you’re turning to look at him as if you expected him to shout at you or worse. But you don’t comment about it, scared to lose your chance so you move over to him. Settling into the seat next to him he can’t help but notice you don’t budge him at all, your own weight nothing compared to his own — had you always been this tiny?

“You gonna kiss me or some shit?” He blurts when you turn to face him, your knee pressed into his thigh and he tries to not think about the bareness of your legs. You snort, however, shaking your head.

“No, nothing like that.” And you’re reaching for him despite that, his body grows rigid beneath your touch. Your fingers are gentle as they stroke along the smoothness of his neck before they card up through the short hairs of his undercut at the nape of his neck. You’re so close he can see the intricate thin strips of metal that help with your enhanced eyesight.

He doesn’t find himself moving away, but rather leaning into the gentleness of the touch.

“Hold still,” is all you supply before he feels something slip against the back of his neck, the plating shifting and moving until his body involuntarily jolts. Everything in his body yells at him to move, to stop you from doing whatever the fuck you’re doing but it’s too late. The connection is made and he’s plummeted into darkness.

There’s a blinding light and he blinks it away, only to find himself submerged in what must be the depths of your consciousness. It’s similar to what he’d seen in his short dips into cyberspace when the time called for it, but this is different. He’s standing in the middle of nowhere, screens and flicking images dash around him.

Memories, he realises. Your memories from the moment you woke up and up until the very moment you sat down with him, but it’s not the memories you’re showing. Rather it’s the emotions connected to them, it’s bombarding his senses. He feels the tug at his heart, the fear that races up his spine when you first woke up in an unknown place and then the blissfulness you had felt when he took a bullet for him.

How could you feel at peace when you were going to die? It was too much for him to wrap his mind around, and quickly the emotion was changing. There was a sadness that weighed down on his body this time like his body was being pulled into icy waters when he heard the words he spat at you when you first woke up.

You felt sad? Bakugou didn’t know, it made his heart ache something fierce. He didn’t want you to feel sad because of him – fuck, he just wanted you to know how much it bothered him for you to dive in front of him like that. He wanted you to know just how much time he spent in that shitty docs office, watching your near-lifeless body repair itself before his very eyes.

But he couldn’t tell you that, he couldn’t tell you that Kirishima often was the one to wake him up from his slump across your lap in the mornings when he fell asleep hoping you’d just wake the fuck up and explain yourself.

Another jump in emotions, and he feels happiness – acceptance. You’re sitting among all his friends, and even with him in the picture, you feel like you found a place. Something in the memory makes his eyebrows raise, you glance at him and that feeling spikes. It feels like a thunderous amount of butterflies flutter in his stomach, rising up until they bombard his heart.

He hadn’t even known you were looking at him like that. Yet beneath all that, he could feel the melancholy that came with your circumstance. You don’t feel like you belong, or perhaps it was the reality of your previous life's existence that weighs heavily on you. You had unresolved business, and that’s something Bakugou can relate to fully.

The next time he blinks, he feels the pressure of your forehead against his own. The slipping of the cord from his plating and how your fingers curl a little more into the longer hair further up the back of his head.

“Do you get it now?” You’re the first to break the tension, your question but a whisper above the whirring of the fan above your heads.

And he thinks he does, that feeling that you couldn’t quite describe. You were content yet you were lost, you were happy yet you had a longing for something. You felt something towards him that was so indescribable it made his heart flutter. So he just nods, his own forehead pressing a little harder against yours to get it across that he truly does get it.

His hand cups your jaw, thumb rolling across the fullness of your cheek before it presses into the flesh just a little. Your breath smells sweet; faintly reminding him of the drinks the both of you had earlier in the night. He doesn’t suspect you’re drunk, he definitely isn’t but that soft buzz keeps him from thinking too much.

“It’s so confusing.” You admit, the word is just a breath against his lips and he finds himself wanting to swallow it. “I don’t want to think.”

That’s enough of a sign for him to make a move, his stomach churns with anxious excitement when he leans in. His lips finally press to yours in a tentative touch, your lips are warm and just as soft as they look. It draws him further, and further until his lips are moving against your own in a fluid movement.

You don’t fight him when his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you into position so you can’t escape when he pries your mouth open with his tongue. The sweetness is stronger on your tongue, tangy with alcohol yet intoxicatingly enjoyable when he explores you like he might never get the chance again.

It’s like everything explodes at that point, Bakugou grows insatiable; he needs to taste you. He needs to know you inside and out, this hunger pooling low in his stomach and burning a river of fire down to his groin. It makes him groan into the kiss when you offer a reprieve for a quick breath, he nips and bites at your bottom lip to see if he can pull any noises from you.

And he delights in it when he can, your moans are so foreign to him yet it’s a heady feeling. It has him tugging at you until you’re situated over the tops of his thighs, and in a fluid motion, he’s standing. His hands cupped under your ass, squeezing and massaging the flesh that he’s never had the chance to feel before.

It takes him no time at all to cross the space from the living room to his bedroom, the door sliding open and closed with a hiss before the automatic locks click into place. He tosses you from his grip onto the plushness of his bed, the sheets still rumpled from the morning when he didn’t bother to make it.

Bakugou looms over you like a predator, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths – you’re no better than he is, your lips are swollen and wet from his ministrations. Your heavy breathing only accentuates your breasts, drawing his attention down to them to see the rise and fall of your chest. His fingers move automatically, tucking underneath his shirt to tug it over his head.

It’s flung off into some unknown direction, and when he looks up you’re leaning up. Your fingers skate along the sharp edges of his muscles, pressing into the places where the fat resides. Then you trace along scars that are white and some that are pink; you’re transfixed on him. It makes him preen under your gaze, and in your momentary distraction, he undoes the belt on his jeans before they’re pushed down too.

The smile you give him makes his heart pitter-patter in his chest, you’re smiling up at him as if he’s the world to you. But the rational still-sober part of his mind insists that it’s just for the sex – he’s just a one-night stand to you and the feeling is mutual. Right? That is what Bakugou wants out of this, right? The tension in his stomach is unnerving, something akin to nausea at the idea of letting this not blossom into something more.

But he doesn’t get to ruminate on it further, your fingers drift downwards along the deep V on his hips until you’re at the top of his boxers. Automatically his fingers stroke up along your jaw, across your cheek until he’s hooking his fingers to the back of your head when you start to lean in closer.

The feeling of your lips against the hard outline of his cock makes him jolt and melt at the same time, the rumbling moan is deep in his chest. How long had it been since he was last with someone? Fuck, he doesn’t even know but he can’t focus when the tip of your tongue slowly drags up along the thick vein on the underside of his cock.

He must jolt too harshly because you laugh a little to yourself before you take pity on him. Bakugou wants to snap at you, shut you up for even daring to laugh at him but the words die on his tongue the second he even thinks of them. Your hands are undeniably soft when you wrap your hand around his hardness.

There’s a small crease between your eyebrows, an indication of either your concentration or perhaps your trepidation for what’s to come.

“Lie back,” he offers instead, your eyes drifting back up to meet his and you slip free from the hand hooked on the back of your head, the loss of your softness around his length leaves a longing that lingers in the depths of his stomach. This time he takes the time to undress you, sliding you free of the dress Mina had managed to wrangle you into.

It looked far too good on you, something he wouldn’t admit at the start of the night but his inhibitions continue to slip. “Look at you, so beautiful.”

His fingers skim up along the now bare expanse of your hips, brushing past your panties line and mapping their way up your sides. You’re just as scarred as he is, but yours are so different from his. He can see the almost invisible lines where someone has taken a scalpel to you and modified your body. Did you even know who did it?

He swallows the lump down in his throat, forcing his attention up to your breasts once his hands brush along the sides. His thumbs roll up over your nipples beneath your bra, the pebbled skin hard enough–sensitive enough to earn him a shiver of delight. The smile that brightens up his face is nothing short of sinful, it shows the modified canines and displays all his carnal desires without him having to even utter a word.

You lift your body up when he demands it, letting him slip you free of your underwear until you’re as bare as he is. And Holy fuck, you’re fucking gorgeous. His eyes leave no part of you unseen, his gaze roaming over you until you’re practically squirming.

“Please.” You whisper, gasping when his fingers finally find a home in the width of your hips. “Stop staring and do something.”

That has an eyebrow rising in your direction. “Oh? Someone’s demanding when she wants something. You want me to hurry up and fuck you until you’re too dumb to remember your own name?”

“You’re too much.” You all but whine, and he imagines he’d be able to feel the heat in your cheeks if he were to lean in closer.

“You have no idea.” Bakugou grins, a sultry smile that has your hips bucking beneath his iron grip and he’s swooping down.

Lips pressing into yours in a much more hurried fashion compared to earlier; it’s a hunger that can only serve to work someone up until the point of completion. It has his tongue rolling into your mouth, brushing against the back of your teeth and trying to hear you choke on him when he’s bearing his weight down on you.

He’s positively devouring you, and his hands work to spread your legs wide for him on either side of the thickness of his own thighs. Then his fingers make their way down between your legs, brushing against the crease between where your thighs bend. You’re whining, moaning and biting back just as hard when he dares to bite your bottom lip.

He wants to fucking ruin you.

Bakugou draws his head back just enough to peer down at you, the light filtering in through the half-shuttered window highlights parts of you that are otherwise shrouded in the darkness. It illuminates the harsh rise and fall in your lungs, the way your nipples are pebbled in the cool air and the slight glisten on your inner thighs.

Finally, he indulges you. His fingers press between your folds to slide against your clit before they slowly venture downwards. His middle and ring fingers circle against your entrance teasingly slow, his lips parting to breathe in your whines for more.

His eyebrows crumple with your own when you moan at the intrusion of his thick fingers, his head is swimming with how intoxicating it is to be above you like this. To have this level of power over someone who could definitely kill him before he could blink.

The stretch is easy enough with how wet you got so quickly for him, and he groans all low and rumbling in his chest at just how tight you are. You’re so soft and velvety inside, your walls clenching rhythmically with your deep inhales.

For a moment, he just holds his fingers deep inside of you completely still. Relishing in the way you try to shift your hips beneath him despite how he’s pinning you down beneath the weight of his own body. It’s such a stark difference to the nervous wreck he’s seen you as, and so fucking better than the cold-blooded killer he knew you were deep down.

“Fuckin’ look at you.” He whispers into the heated air between the sparse gap between you two, his eyes half-lidded as they meet your own. You’re trying your hardest to glare at him, but you can’t quite fight the euphoric feeling of him curling his fingers just a little to shut you down.

“Who knew all it took to get you nice and compliant was to stuff you full with my fingers?” His tone is a little mean, a little condescending. The tears don’t come for you however, but he can see you slowly dropping into the headspace he wants you to be in.

“Please,” you beg—a plea, a sweet melody that Bakugou thinks he wants to listen to for the rest of his life. But this was just a one-night stand, right?

“Tell me what you want.”

“Just–... Move already, please.” He grins wide at the whimper at the end of your words. A small part of him wants to draw this out, make you suffer just a little but the rational voice in his mind tells him he’ll only get more out of you if he obliges.

So he does. His fingers crook upwards, brushing against the spongy spot that no one but he could reach with the length of his fingers. The reaction is immediate, you moan so sweetly that it has his own eyes threatening to flutter and roll into the back of his head.

You’re practically gushing around his fingers as he fucks them into you, repeatedly crooking his fingers in an attempt to see how quickly he could make you crumble beneath the palm of his hand. Your thighs tense up, squeezing around his own when you try to close your legs to stop the onslaught of his fingers.

Bakugou noses into your cheek when you tilt your head back, your lips parted as you try to breathe in. But he doesn’t give you the chance, he pushes you further into the bed with his weight, shifting his body up just slightly so your hips are forced to bend with him – then suddenly he’s fucking his fingers into you impossibly deeper.

His lips hover just next to your temple, panting heavily against you. It’s a task and a half to stop himself from painting the inside of his boxers that he’s still yet to remove. But he’s a man on a mission, and that mission is to make you cum on his fingers.

He doesn’t stop when he feels your hand clamp down around his forearm, the strength there is enough to stop a moving truck—except you’re distracted, lost in the pleasure that races up and down your spine until it settles in the back of your mind. You’re too lost in your own head to be embarrassed about the sloppy sounds between your thighs, his fingers forcing more and more juices from you until he’s certain his bed will be soaked through.

As much as Bakugou wants to watch your pussy take his fingers so well, he can’t move his gaze away from your face. You look like something they used to paint in cathedrals, an angel. Your head is thrown back into his pillows, eyes scrunched closed and mouth open to let your moans spill free. The light from outside bathes you in neon colours, catching on the metallic strips of your chrome.

Even if it is just a one-night stand, Bakugou doesn’t think he’ll be able to forget the image of you in the throes of pleasure.

Especially not when you finally do reach your climax for him. Your hand at his wrist tightens immediately, your thighs lock up with a tension that would worry him if he wasn’t aware of the intricate materials that you were composed of. Your chest stutters, and your mouth opens wider until he’s gifted with the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard; a series of moans that grow breathier with each pass of his fingers.

“‘S too much.” You protest weakly, the hand that was wrapped around his wrist pushes in an attempt to free your swollen pussy from his long fingers. But he doesn’t pull out yet, only slowing down the roll of his wrist until finally he pulls free. Your entire body relaxes finally, muscles growing lax from where they’re wrapped around his waist.

“It only takes one time and you’re done?” Bakugou questions with a teasing arch of his eyebrow, watching in amusement when your head rolls slightly to glare at him. It’s a hardly-there glare but you still give it to him regardless, it makes him grin down at you. “Nah, you’re not done.”

You’re like putty in his hands with how easily he manoeuvres your body around, tucking both of your legs together before twisting your lower half to the side. A large arm keeps your legs held up and off to the side, whilst his unoccupied hand strokes along the rigid length of his cock. It aches, pearled with pre-cum from just watching you cream all over his hand.

He levels the tip of his drooling cock to your entrance, easily finding the hole that was previously spread so wide around just two of his fingers. The warmth is intoxicating, flooding his senses and clouding his mind. He doesn’t even notice you moving just slightly to slide a hand down over your hip to feel the length of his cock disappearing deeper and deeper inside of you.

The groan Bakugou lets out once his hips fall flush against your own is sinful enough to have you clenching around him, turning that beautiful groan into a hiss through clenched teeth. He snaps his gaze up to you, only to see your own gaze heedy with lust and half-lidded. He can feel every single inch of your velveteen walls, can feel the way you’re still panting and clenching around his cock.

He thinks he could die here, quite happily might he add.

A large hand comes down to your ass, shifting the flesh just enough so he can flit his eyes downwards and see the sticky mess that’s already tacking his pubic hair. That same hand comes back down again to level your ass with a firm spank, and it has you squeezing around him tight enough to stop him from rolling his hips back to start fucking you.

It’s enough to make him forget he’s fucking you raw.

“Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ hard. You like it that much, hm?” Bakugou goads with a bite to his bottom lip when he feels you pulse at the tone he takes with you. With enough willpower, he rolls his hips backwards just enough to pull himself out halfway before fucking his cock back into you. “Tell me how much you like it.”

His stomach tenses when you brush the pads of your fingers against the tensed muscles there, his eyes drift away from where he was connected to you, along your arm until he finds your face. You’re looking him in the eye, eyelids heavy and lips parted when you moan low at the feeling of him rolling his hips smoothly once again.

“Say it,” Bakugou bares his teeth at you, the modified fangs in his mouth gleaming with the passing lights through the window.

“Bak—”

He moves before he can even think, faster than you can react. His hand engulfs the entirety of your lower face, thick fingers digging into the flesh of your cheeks until he can feel the solid metal that was buried in your very muscles. Your eyes are wide, more alert but you don’t fight him surprisingly. Bakugou hunches his body over your own until his forehead connects with yours, forcing you to look directly into his eyes.

The angle he’s at now has your eyebrows crumpling together, mouth opening in a wordless moan—he’s so fucking deep that he’s pretty certain he’s pressed right against your cervix.

“No, use my fuckin’ name.” He growls in your face, hissing his words through clenched teeth. You’re clenching around him so tightly that his head feels like it’s filled with nanites, infiltrating his brain until all he can think about is you, you, you.

A harsh thrust of his hips has you gasping, he can see you fighting the urge to let your eyes roll back and eyelashes flutter closed to bask fully in the pleasure. But you keep his gaze, sturdy and unyielding.

“Katsuki.”

He’s never heard his given name on your tongue before, so breathy and sweet that it has his pace faltering for a split second. His name sounded perfect when you said it like that, as if your very vocal cords were crafted just to moan his name like that—like an angel. Bakugou gives in to the urge to moan in return, jaw falling slack.

Your hand is delicate around his wrist, guiding him to free you from the grip he still had on your jaw to slide it downwards until he finds your throat. His fingers latch around it naturally, digging in just enough to have you gasping against his open and waiting mouth but not enough to hurt you. He can see that you enjoy it—can feel it in the way your pussy drools for him more.

The second his hand locks around your throat, everything empties from his mind. His hips move as if they were designed to fuck you, to feel your skin slap against his and to have your entire body jump with each harsh rut. Your moans vibrate against his palm, a shiver working its way down his spine whenever your moans grow louder, more desperate when he shifts his weight just enough to bully the tip of his cock against your cervix.

The hand around his wrist tightens, the tips of your nails digging into his flesh. It makes him hiss in pain, gritting his teeth to fuck you harder. His entire body glistens with sweat, dripping down along his hairline where strands of his ash blonde hair stick to his dewy skin. It pools in the hollow of his throat and builds along his biceps, which flex and bulge with the effort of keeping up his position hunched over you.

“G’nna—” You gasp, his hand instinctively closing around your throat before relaxing. “‘M g’nna cum.”

And fuck, if he thought you whispering his given name was hot then he’s not sure where that ranks. He’s not sure why he’s never considered just how hot it would be for you to admit you were close to orgasm, to inform him that he’s doing such a good job at fucking you that you’re about to cum.

“Yeah?” He huffs in the effort of his pace, suddenly rearing back and releasing your throat in favour of shifting your position. He throws your legs over his shoulders, large hands grasping at your hips to pull you to the edge of the bed properly. “Then cum.”

With his hands lower down on your body, Bakugou’s able to free one hand from grasping at the meat of your thigh to let his thumb roll over your clit with enough pressure to have your knees turning inwards and back arching off of the bed. The moan that comes you from is angelic, a sound that has his stomach twisting in anticipation and the need to cum—but not yet, he’s going to fuck you as much as he can before he reaches his end.

He can feel you clamping down on him, squeezing the ever-loving fuck out of him to the point where his hips are forced to take shallow thrusts. But his hand doesn’t give up on your clit; he switches to his fingers to pinch and cruelly swipe at your swollen clit. Your toes curl against the back of his head, and Bakugou finds himself leaning into the feeling—needing to feel every single part of you whilst your pleasure crests.

And when you do cum, Bakugou can’t help but groan alongside you.

“Fuuu—... That’s it, good girl.” His tone is a little breathy, his chest rising and falling with the quick breaths he has to take to keep up the pace to fuck you through your orgasm and beyond that. His hand drops away from between your thighs, sliding up to grab at your waist before moving you up along the bed whilst situating himself on top.

He tugs your legs down from his shoulders, wrapping them tightly around his waist—you move easily for him, so pliant and willing to do anything for him after he made you cum on his cock. Your thighs mould easily around the thinner part of his waist, your ankles locking naturally.

His cock remains buried deep inside of you, still savouring the aftershock waves of pleasure that have your walls throbbing around him. Bakugou leans down into your space, with one elbow to the side of your head whilst the other latches itself onto the headboard. You meet his gaze, finally gaining back some clarity.

“Back with me?” He grins, sharp teeth on display when he looks down at you. He wonders if you find him intimidating like this, you’ve shown you were somewhat afraid of him in the past—never stepping on his toes, or overstepping when he ordered you to stay the fuck out of his way. Part of him doesn’t want you to be afraid of him anymore, he wants to make you smile more, laugh more, moan more—

A hand caresses itself along his cheek, drawing him out of his lust-ridden mind until he finds your eyes. Your thumb drags itself along the apple of his cheek, across the corner of his lips until you press your thumb against his lips. He’s not sure what’s enthralled him exactly, maybe it’s just the look in your eye—because you’re not looking up at him like you’re afraid, but rather you’re looking up at him with something scarily close to admiration.

Your thumb drops down from his lips and to his chin, and with the slightest of tugs you pull him down into your space. He collapses onto both of his elbows on either side of your head, his breath coming out in warm puffs against your face. He can smell you this close, a mixture of sweat and that sweet perfume Mina had bought for you.

Again, he doesn’t fight it when you pull him that final inch. Your lips are smooth against his own, so gentle and intoxicating. You kiss him like you want to savour this, savour him. And so he lets you, he lets you savour him just as he savours you in return. His mouth pries yours open easily enough, your tongue eager to meet his own in a smooth curl.

His hips begin to move on instinct, both of his thighs spread wide so he can thrust hard and deep. Your skin slaps against his, a wet sound that has the pit of pleasure in his stomach tightening and tightening with each passing second. His balls smack against the roundness of your ass, drawing up with the urge to spill deep inside of you—but he won’t, as much as he’d love to feel your walls milk him for all he’s worth.

You’re the one who breaks the kiss off, head falling back into his pillows whilst he props himself back up over the top of you. With a better view of your body, your tits that bounce with each rut of his hips, he finds himself standing right on the precipice of his climax. His thrusts grow faster, more erratic in their strength and depth—effortlessly fucking you through your next orgasm when you open your mouth in a silent scream.

“Fu-fuck, fuck,” Bakugou pants, his stomach clenches and his balls draw up tight. He pulls back suddenly from your space, away from the intoxicating heat that radiates off of your body to pull from your pussy entirely. His hand wraps around his cock and he fists it aggressively, thumb pressing against his head before he sucks in one deep breath, only to release it in a loud groan.

His cum comes in thick waves, drawing lines up along your stomach and up along your chest. You lay there, with your legs wide open and eyes half-lidded; watching him cum all over your body. Bakugou finds his hips still thrusting with each spurt from his cock, squeezing every last drop before tapping the sticky tip against your belly button where it had mostly gathered.

His entire body relaxes immediately, the weight of his responsibilities disappearing into nothing when he lets his mind bathe completely in that post-nut haze. You seem in the same mind, letting your legs droop at his waist and an arm coming to rest over your eyes, giving you a moment to catch your breath.

Slipping away from you, Bakugou doesn’t bother to pick up the clothes scattered around and instead beelines it for the bathroom attached to his bedroom. He pauses by the door leading out, he can’t hear any noise—hopefully, Kirishima was still out, if not then he’s going to be up Bakugou’s ass about fucking you.

Rummaging through a stack of towels, he finds a light and small one to wipe you down with. But as he’s about to re-enter the bedroom, he turns to see you’re standing up and looking around for your underwear.

“Where you runnin’ off to?” He gruffs, his own voice ruined from the session—he needs a drink of water, he makes a mental note.

You look up at him, quite like the image of a deer in headlights. “Uh, well—I just thought you’d want me to… go.”

Bakugou’s eyebrows furrow together before his eyes flit down to the ropes of cum still on your skin and he wants to ask if you planned on ruining your clothes with his cum. Instead, he shakes his head, stepping back into the dimly lit bedroom.

“Get back in bed, let me clean you up.” He watches as you stare at him for a second more, hesitating or debating on refusing his offer. But clearly your exhaustion wins out, because you turn with a drop of the dress in your hand and climb back in his bed, careful to not drip any of his cum on the sheets.

On the way past, he reaches down to a compartment in his wall to pull out two bottles of water. Placing them on the bedside table, he stands at the foot of the bed looking down at you. He can see you squirming under his gaze, the embarrassment starting to creep up on you but Bakugou can’t find it within himself to be embarrassed about the fact he was still completely naked. It felt good, with you.

You don’t squirm away when he wipes you clean, careful between your legs when he sees how puffy and swollen you look down there. But it still makes you flinch, a quiet gasp leaving your lips and it’s impossible to not smirk up at you before he drops the towel somewhere in the pile of abandoned clothes to be dealt with tomorrow.

Grabbing one water bottle, he offers it to you. “Drink up, and then actually get in bed. ‘M tired as fuck.”

He turns away when you take the bottle from him, still sporting that slightly bewildered look on your face as if you expected him to kick you to the streets—or rather, the sofa. Part of him does question why he’s letting you stay in his bed in the first place, but the idea of you going out to that shitty sofa after sex… it just doesn’t sit well in his chest.

He gives you the time to bury yourself beneath his sheets whilst he kicks the dirty clothes towards the far wall, next to the laundry basket before returning to you. You look tiny in his bed, made especially large to accommodate his height. You’re nearly lost beneath the thick sheets and mountain of pillows, it makes his lips curl into a playful smile before he crawls into bed with you.

You shift out of the way to let him lay down, the room dimming further until you were both plunged into darkness save for the passing lights through the slatted shutters on his window. He can still make you out in the dark, with his optics shut down and eyes naturally enhanced—he can see you’re looking at him over the top of the covers, debating on if you should still make a run for it.

“Fuckin’—...” He huffs a sigh, shifting under the sheets so quickly you don’t have the time to stop him. “Stop actin’ like I’m going to bite you or some shit.”

You curve into his muscle easily enough, moulding into the shape needed to be held close. His chin rests atop your head, thick arms looped around you. It’s odd—Bakugou wasn’t a hugger, definitely not a cuddler but having you in his arms, the smooth feeling of your softer skin beneath his and the warmth that comes from your very being is comforting.

His heart flutters in his chest when he can feel your arms slowly wrapping around him until you’re embracing him fully. You cling to him as if you were expecting him to rip you away at any given moment and ruin the moment. Has he really been that harsh to you? Sure, he’d been a bit of a dick when he first met you but you were choking out their only Ripper whilst holding a gun to their faces that’d eradicate them before they so much as blinked.

And sure, he had a tongue as sharp as a knife… fuck, maybe he was that harsh with you. He blames it lazily on the drink still in his system, despite the pestering fact in the very back of his mind that he worked most of it out of his system fucking you into his bed. It makes his head ache with the sudden rush of conflicting feelings, thoughts that clash over and over—

Forcing his eyes to shut and muscles to relax, he basks in the warmth of your much smaller body wrapped around his own and lets himself fall asleep.

You wake up feeling… warm. Not hot, nor cold. Comfortable too. The softness of the sheets around are some of the best you’ve felt in weeks, the blanket you’d been given to sleep with on the sofa was somewhat scratchy when you’d tuck it under your chin. This one is smoother, doesn’t catch on the thin intricate strips that are near-invisible to the naked eye that line your body.

There’s a weight across your body, a leg wedged between your own and a heavy arm draped over your waist. The warmth is coming from directly behind you, a solid press of muscle that breathes steadily against the back of your head. And if you glance just enough over your shoulder, you find a head of blonde hair that’s softened after a night of sleep.

Bakugou has himself plastered against you, completely. His face is buried into the back of your hair, and with him this close, all you can smell is him. His bed smells strongly of the aftershave he uses, and the man himself smells like your late-night activities—a musk that has your head in the clouds in remembrance.

You’ve never felt anything like that before. Not that you can remember, anyway. Bakugou treated you more than just someone he wanted to fuck, he didn’t toss you around or disregard the fact you had to cum too to enjoy yourself—he made sure you were on the same level as pleasure as he was, if not more. He kissed you like a lover would.

That last thought has your face heating, an odd feeling of butterflies fluttering up into your stomach until they settle in your lungs. It was ridiculous to have such a childish thought flit into your mind, Bakugou certainly wasn’t the type of man to settle down—his lifestyle didn’t fit with it.

You could tell just from the way he lived in his own home, he functioned to serve himself only—with the exception of Kirishima when he forgot breakfast. But outside of the walls of his apartment, his work lifestyle wasn’t fit for a partner in any sense of the word. He was a merc, mercs didn’t lock themselves down with someone because it was dangerous. Simple as.

Having a partner in Night City was the same as putting a target on your back. You became weak and vulnerable—something Bakugou would never let himself be. You knew that just from the weeks of living beside him.

“What’s got you thinkin’ so hard this early?” Bakugou’s voice is deeper, raspier in the mornings… and it’s impossible to not clamp down in longing that he was still buried inside of you.

He shifts behind you, one long deep breath in before he releases it. His muscles ease off of you when he breathes out, the weightlessness of sleep disappearing with each second. Instead, the arm that was slung over your waist grows bold in it’s movement. His large hand guides his fingers delicately over your skin, circling your belly button before meandering off until he finds your hip.

“Hm?” He nudges you with the tip of his nose, prompting you to glance over your shoulder at him. His eyes are smouldering, barely open and yet the red that stares back at you is bright. The long eyelashes you’ve never had the chance to see so clearly bat delicately against his cheekbones.

“Nothing, sorry for waking you.” You whisper back, and his eyes automatically drift down to watch the movement of your lips. The hand at your hip kneads softly at the flesh there before it moves lower, the tips of his fingers skirting up and down along your thigh. It’s enough to draw a harsh shiver up your spine, and in turn, causes Bakugou to let out a raspy chuckle.

“Yeah?” You pick up on the playful tone in his voice, a teasing grin growing on his face. “How ‘bout you make it up to me? Hm?”

You’re drawn to him biting on his bottom lip before his grin grows wider, watching you watch him—a back-and-forth dance to see who snaps first under the surmounting sexual tension in the room. The hand on your thigh slips down, hooking his fingers into your inner thigh to hoist your leg a little higher up on his hip. His cock is hot and hard where it presses between your thighs, the tip tapping against your clit.

Shifting himself up onto one elbow, partially hovering over you from behind, he finds your lips with his own. The kiss starts off softer than he kissed you last night, it’s not as hurried—not yet anyway. Bakugou kisses you like he wants to savour your flavour, to save the taste of you on his tongue. He tilts his head just slightly to delve in deeper, and then prying your mouth open with his.

His tongue is invasive, in the sense that he has to dive as deep as he can into your mouth. His tongue curls against the roof of your mouth, feels along the points of your teeth before he’s back to caressing your tongue with his own. The hand between your thighs spreads you lewdly beneath the blankets, a middle finger finding your clit before he strokes it down along your slit; wet and slippery for him.

Bakugou groans into your open mouth, before greedily going in again after the single breath he takes. This time the kiss is more energetic, more consuming. His cock twitches between your thighs, tapping against your thigh with its sticky tip. You can’t help but roll your hips back into him, push your ass out in invitation—

A loud bang in the living area has you both flinching, lips parting just enough for you to see the scowl starting to form on Bakugou’s face.

“Fuckin’ Ei. Just ignore ‘im.” His voice is harsh with desire, a low whisper that has your stomach tightening. Bakugou swoops back in, devouring your lips with more vigour, desperate to get what he wants now he knows that his roommate is awake—who knows when he’ll get a chance like this again.

He manoeuvres you on the bed, climbing over the top of you until you’re in a similar position as last night; your thighs at his waist and his hands pressed into the sheets on either side of your head. His cock bobs again between the two of you, smearing his pre along the smooth skin of your inner thigh. His lips part from yours once again, this time to chart a path down along your jaw and neck. He bites and kisses in tandem, sucking your skin until you can feel the bruises starting to blossom there.

Bakugou continues to consume you from the outside, pressing his hips down finally to relieve himself of the pressure building in his groin. He groans beautifully against your skin, a sound so intoxicating you can’t stop your eyes from rolling and your hands seeking purchase in his hair. It’s soft to the touch, and it doesn’t go unnoticed when you accidentally tug on it, his hips press harder against your own. Rutting his cock against your pussy.

“Shit, g’nna fuck you—”

“Yo, Bakugou!” The bedroom door opens with a loud hiss, and you can only squeak out in surprise when Bakugou all but presses you into the bed in an attempt to hide you. “I thought you said we had food in, and—... uh–...”

“Get the fuck out!” Bakugou snarls, reaching over to grab the closest thing to him on the bedside table. There’s a shift of his entire body, something flying through the air and the resounding plastic crunch of Kirishima being smacked by the poor water bottle that was launched.

“Sorry!” Kirishima back peddles it out of the room before Bakugou can scramble to find something else to throw, the door hissing to announce that he was well and truly out of the room.

The air is no longer thick with sexual tension, instead, there’s a lingering awkwardness that has Bakugou deflating on top of you. His face is buried into the crook of your neck, and you can feel the heavy sigh that’s pushed out of his body in acceptance that he won’t be fucking you again today.

“He’s such a fuckin’ idiot, can’t trust him to do shit on his own.” He grumbles against you, his lips so close you can feel each word forming on them. He leans up off of you, kneeling between your legs and you try your hardest to not grow embarrassed at your nakedness on display. He looks almost sad, defeated at the fact he knows he has to go deal with the red-haired giant that’s no doubt ripping apart his kitchen looking for food.

“Sorry,” he huffs, leaning down to leave a lingering kiss on your lips before he’s up and out of bed. “You can just sleep in here if you want. I know that eyebags said you need to rest after whatever the fuck happened so—just, rest here.”

You raise an eyebrow before realisation dawns on you; he means Shinsou. You smile at that, tucking the comforter back around you and burying yourself among the pillows. You watch as Bakugou blindly digs through his wardrobe, plucking out various clothes until he finds what he wants.

As if sensing your eyes, he glances over his bare shoulder at you with a wicked smirk on his face before bending down to draw his boxers up his legs. “The showers just in there, feel free to use whatever's in there.” He nods with his head in the direction of the bathroom.

“Okay, thank you.” You smile at him when he turns to look at you, he looks awfully handsome like this. Half dressed, a shirt in one hand and belt loose around his waist where he still has to button up his black cargo pants. He hovers for a second, fingers curling a little tighter around his shirt and you can see his jaw working to help him spit out the words he wants to say.

Except, he’s interrupted again by another bang—one that sounds suspiciously like the microwave door being broken. Bakugou groans in annoyance, running a hand through his hair before giving you one last glance just before he leaves the room.

You’re left in silence, the outside world still asleep despite the sun rising.

“You fucking idiot!” Bakugou yells, muffled but still loud enough that you feel like you’re in the room with him. The rest of the argument fades out into muffled voices, and soon sleep retakes you with the comforting smell of Bakugou still clouding your mind.

It isn’t until a handful of hours later that you emerge from the bedroom. It had quieted down soon after Bakugou had come out to confront Kirishima, and you managed to shower uninterrupted—you found clothes laid out on the bed for you, no doubt from Bakugou who must’ve heard the shower running at some point.

When the door hisses open, you’re met with the smell of beer and the voices of multiple people. People you’ve come to know as Shinsou, Sero and Kaminari. Of course, Bakugou and Kirishima are there too but the former is quiet as he watches the group yap about something he’s uninterested in.

“Nah, man. I’m telling you, she was looking at me.” Kaminari whines, earning him a snort of laughter from Shinsou and a shake of a head from Sero.

“You’re delusional, she’s a doll. They don’t see a thing.” Sero snickers when Kaminari pouts at that, leaning into Kirishima’s side who mockingly consoles him for thinking he had a chance with a doll.

The name is something that most people know, it was a way for people to get away with doing whatever they wanted to another person without the repercussions. Fuck a doll and they have their memory wiped by the end of it, confess murder and they’ll just smile at you. Dolls. You’d seen plenty of advertisements for it last night whilst visiting Jig-Jig Street, the idea of a chip like that existing made you feel sick.

A call of your name has your eyes blinking, snapping out of the trance and looking towards the source. Shinsou. Immediately Sero and Kaminari flinch in realisation that you were standing right behind them on the sofa, an unwanted reminder of when you had nearly blown them to pieces no more than 48 hours ago.

“How’re you feeling?” Shinsou asks, head tilting slightly.

“Fine, better than yesterday.” You smile back a little, eyes making their way automatically towards the ash blonde who sits with his knees apart on the opposite side of the sofa, an arm draped over the back of it and a beer can cradled in the hand on his thigh. “Still tired.”

“Even after you slept all day?” Kirishima asks next, and you make the mistake of glancing at him because he has a very knowing smug grin on his face. “Or maybe it was because you didn’t—”

“Oi, shut the fuck up.” Bakugou grunts before taking a sip of his drink, and you’re thankful for the intervention. You use the momentary distraction created by Bakugou to slip into a seat, finding the only place available between Bakugou and Shinsou—there’s a large enough gap that you know was reinforced by the blonde.

Bakugou only offers you a sideways glance when you settle into the seat next to him, you can feel him watching you; observing to see if you had any regrets from the previous night. But you have none, not a single one. You felt… happy. You didn’t have an overwhelming sense of dread sitting on your chest, instead you felt at ease. You relax into the plushness of the sofa, indirectly sinking into the spot where Bakugou had his arm slung over the back.

The conversation has already moved on, thankfully. All four of the men engaged in the conversation, with Bakugou drinking away at his beer whilst observing the group gathered.

“Do you remember that gig over in Watson?” Sero snorts, earning him a groan from Kirishima and a laugh from Kaminari. Sero flicks his gaze over to you, and you can see the mischief there when he realises he has an audience who haven’t heard the story.

“Hanta, don’t.” Kirishima whines, sinking into the seat with a large hand coming up to cover his face. You’ve never seen him quite like this; embarrassed. It was new, and you can’t help but smile at the idea of hearing something that would cause the giant of a man such emotions.

“But she hasn’t heard the story!” Sero exclaims, grinning from ear to ear as he leans forward to put his beer down on the coffee table. “Alright so, we had this gig over on the Northside, up in the Watson district. It was probably one of the easiest gigs to date, a simple in-and-out steal.”

You can feel Bakugou shift next to you, and out of the corner of your eye you can see him grinning over the lip of his beer can.

“Anyway. It was me, Denki and Ei.” He gestures to each of them in turn. “And for some reason, big Red here wanted to be the guy to do the stealth portion of the mission.”

“Don’t look at me like that, Uraraka just installed some new cyberware. She said I wouldn’t make a sound!” Kirishima huffs when you shoot him an incredulous look. A man who was over 6 ft 7 was definitely not suited for stealth work. If anything, you would’ve picked Sero—lanky, tall, light-footed.

“You’re about as heavy as a bull, you’re heavy footed as fuck Ei.” Bakugou goads, a grin on his face when Kirishima turns the glare his way.

Sero snickers, leaning his elbows on his knees. “We were meant to just steal this van, apparently it was Maelstrom property but we needed what was in it. All Kirishima had to do was sneak in, hotwire the van and get the fuck out of there. Instead, he trips every alarm known to man and has to hightail it out of there in a van with only two wheels.”

Bakugou offers a laugh, a genuine laugh at the memory of Kirishima returning to the hideout with a van hanging on for dear life.

“What about the time we had to eradicate that Daemon on the Net?” Kaminari snickers, which in turn has Shinsou turning his sights on him. “Shinsou popped a boner when his connection was flooded with those sex toy ads.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Shinsou growls, and you watch quietly when he lashes out at Kaminari who dares to laugh in his face. “I told you, the next time you tell someone that shit I’m—”

The conversation fades out slowly, your eyes focused on the spot in the centre of the coffee table. Daemons on the Net. Something about that sounds too familiar, would the man you saw in your own subconscious connected to the Net count as one of those daemons? Has someone injected you with something to cause a break in your cyberware?

You can still hear his voice, calling out your name. You could still feel the shards of glass he shattered in your mind, in your soul. They were lodged so snuggly against your vital organs, pressing yet waiting to be given the order to execute. That happiness you had felt just moments ago is washed away, replaced with the reminder that you were clueless as to who that man was—clueless to who you are.

A nudge to your foot has you blinking rapidly, glancing down to see Bakugou had knocked his foot against your own. You look at the man at your side, only to find his eyes already set on you. His hand is empty of the beer can he was drinking, and he’s staring at you like he was able to see your inner struggle.

“C’mon.” He grunts, standing up suddenly and you have no choice but to follow after him. You follow him towards the front door of the apartment, where he suddenly turns to you with the black and orange bomber jacket you’ve grown attached to. You don’t fight him when he throws it over your shoulders, holding the arms to help you with putting it on.

“Where you goin’?” Kirishima calls from the living area, all of the guys turning their heads to watch you adjusting the jacket on your body whilst Bakugou does the same with his own riding leather jacket.

“Out. Need more beers, figured I’ll take this one with me to save her from you guys being a bunch of freaks.” That earns him a number of groans and insults. “Shuddup, last time you were left with a girl alone, you all had to stiff leg it out of there.”

He doesn’t wait for the next round of insults hurled his way, instead, he pushes you out of the door first before letting it shut with an audible hiss behind him. You can still faintly hear them arguing through the door but Bakugou shows no issue with the fact he probably just left his own apartment to delve into chaos.

Bakugou leads you down the stairwell that leads to the garage, he holds the door open for you once you reach your destination and you’re met with a large parking lot. You’ve never been in here before, all the times you went out it was with Kirishima and he was adamant about walking around Night City instead of driving—he hated traffic just as much as the next person it seemed.

You follow behind Bakugou like a lost puppy, eyes darting from car to car. All of them ranging from heavily modified or straight-up pieces of junk that should be scrapped for a few Eurodollars. When he comes to a stop at the end of the garage, a light flicks on overhead to show the sleek black motorbike you saw when you had been first introduced to Aizawa.

Bakugou steps off to the side, rummaging around through a bio-coded locker which leaves you to investigate his motorbike a little more closely. It’s beautiful, obviously one of the pride and joys of the ash blonde. Your fingers ghost delicately along the smooth leather seat, it looks untouched—or rather, well-loved and cared for.

You tilt your head to look down along the expensive body, eyeing the fact there wasn’t even a single scratch on it. Just how well did he care for this bike? Your eyes spot what you’re looking for; Yaiba.

“It’s a modified Kusanagi CT-3X, if you’re wondering.” Bakugou finds himself next to you, one helmet perched atop his head and forcing the hairs down into his eyes, the other is under an arm.

“A rare Arasaka bike, right?” Bakugou nods at your words, an eyebrow arched as if he’s impressed you even knew that—to be fair, so are you. Your mind buzzes at the information you’re able to pull effortlessly from the bank of information sitting in your mind. “One of the fastest and most expensive bikes out there, how’d you get it?”

“Callin’ me cheap now?” He sneers but there’s no heat to it, he grins when you turn to look at him. He adjusts the helmet under his arm, holding it up to you so he can place it carefully over your head. “It was something I got with my first real paycheck, I always wanted one. Even as a kid when I lived in Tokyo, Yaiba had some of the best bikes out there and I just knew I wanted one.”

You smile up at him when he reveals just a slither of his past. So he wasn’t from here, it made sense. There was something about him that was never truly comfortable about being in Night City, no matter how long you live here—you’re never truly a part of the city as an outsider. Bakugou’s careful in pulling down the helmet, pressing a button on the inside before pushing down his own helmet.

“You hear me alright?” He questions, and you have to stop yourself from flinching at the voice in your ears. You nod at him, and you can hear him snicker quietly over the Bluetooth connection between the two helmets. “Alright, let’s get going before Ei comes and hunts us down.”

He slings a leg over the bike effortlessly, the entire thing bouncing on it’s suspension before he looks over at you through the small lifted gap of his visor. You hesitate for a moment, glancing from him to the seat behind him—if you can even call it that, there’s hardly any room and you’re going to be pressed up right against him. Why does that even matter when you were naked and under him this mor—

“Stop thinking and get the fuck on.” He grumbles, going as far as to reach over to grasp at your forearm to tug you forward. You have no choice but to clamber ontop of the bike behind him, your hands coming to loosely grab at the material of his leather jacket. Bakugou sighs heavily through the comms, using one hand to grasp at each of your hands individually to secure them snugly around his chest. “Hold on, this thing goes fast.”

The bike rumbles to life beneath you, Bakugou no doubt revving it on purpose to make you scoot closer to ensure you weren’t going to slip away when he put his foot down. You cling to him, your arms tucked tightly around his ribcage and head tilted so you’re not poking the front of your helmet into his back.

Soon enough, you’re out on the road, and you’re amazed by just how easily Bakugou moves the bike with his own weight. He makes it seem effortless when he weaves in and out of traffic, how he bends easily forward forcing you to move with him so that he can pick up speed. You can only watch the world blur past, streaks of rain hardly leaving a mark against your visor from just how quickly you’re going.

You cling to Bakugou, hands grasped tightly on his stomach. You can feel each of his muscles under his shirt, they tense and hardened when he rounds corners much too quickly. He sits back up from his leaned position, forcing you backwards and tilting your head to look over his shoulder. You can see from the speedometer that he’s way above the legal speed limit, hitting a solid 150mph.

The wind and rain batter against the exposed strips of skin on your body, and your hands sting like you’ve been pelted with a million little rocks but you can’t complain too much. The rush, the adrenaline, it’s something else. You feel weightless when Bakugou expertly rounds corners or when he picks up speed along a long stretch of road, weaving between cars that beep and no doubt scream at him for being such an idiot.

“Look to your right,” he speaks into the microphone that’s connected directly to your helmet, his voice sounds calm—at peace. This was his peace, his getaway. To speed his way through a city that could kill him in the next moment.

You do as he says, glancing to your right to see… you. It’s a clear reflection along some corporate building, you can see yourself attached to his back holding on for dear life. The city on the other side of you is bright, flickering and flashing despite the downpour of rain. You didn’t notice it when you were in the garage but Bakugou had modified his bike to light up, the inner trim of the wheels is set alight with bright neon orange lights.

In a moment of bravery, or perhaps stupidity. You let go. You can hear Bakugou over the comms shouting at you to grab ahold of him again but you feel free. Weightless. Truly weightless. You can’t hear that man's voice in your head anymore, you can only hear the howling wind and the beat of your own heart. You can’t feel that barrier in your mind, splintered and fractured, irreparable because you’re free.

When your arms extend out at your sides, you can feel a frantic hand grab at the fabric of your jacket. Bakugou holds you in place whilst you let yourself go; to feel free, for the first time. Your heart races in your chest, the feeling like nothing you’ve ever experienced before in your life and you want to cling to this feeling, to this freedom. To the man in front of you, the one who had gifted you that freedom so easily.

The reflection of the two of you disappears quickly, the building left behind and you can’t help but grin when you finally hear Bakugou again over the whistling wind.

“I swear to fuckin’ god, I won’t be scooping your brains off the road. Put your arms back around me!”

You laugh into the helmet, wrapping your arms once again around his body. You can still feel the tension in his back but it melts just slightly when you grasp tighter than before, holding the entirety of your body against his own.

“You got a death wish or somethin’?!” He still growls despite you being reattached to him, and you give him another laugh that makes his shoulders sag just slightly in relaxation. “Fuckin’ idiot—...”

“Thank you for bringing me out tonight.” Your words are met with silence, your head comes to rest against the broadness of his shoulders comfortably as you watch the world pass by. The city eventually bleeds out into green, grass and trees that tower high into the sky. You’ve never been here before.

“Yeah, whatever.” Bakugou grumbles quietly, and if it wasn’t for the connection between your helmets you would’ve missed the bashfulness in his voice. “We’re nearly there so just hold on this time, dumbass.”

You let your body move effortlessly with his, swaying from side to side when he does sharp turns around corners that would have an inexperienced rider thrown off the back of their bike. The rain has started to lessen, only a light drizzle that drenches the back of your jacket and you only squeeze tighter around the single source of warmth.

Bakugou slows the bike down to a complete stop once he reaches the destination in mind, with a glance around you can see you’re in the middle of nowhere. There are a few houses dotted around, if you can call them that, they’re more like massive mansions.

“C’mon, keep that on and keep quiet.” Bakugou taps your thigh to get you to climb off the bike before he follows after you. You watch him manually move his bike to hide in the shadows behind some bushes and you’re furrowing your eyebrows immediately in confusion. Just what exactly was he planning?

He tilts his head in a gesture to get you to follow, taking you off of the road and down a steep hill that leads further into the underbrush. The city is obscured by the number of trees and large shrubs, and you nearly lose sight of Bakugou when he ducks in and out of the shadows—but as you watch him, you realise he knows his way through all of this a little too well.

“You’ve been here before?” You whisper over the link, and you see Bakugou glance over his shoulder at you for a moment before returning his gaze forward.

“Yeah, been comin’ here since I first moved here. It’s the only place with some real grass.” His voice lowered down to a whisper has your stomach set alight with butterflies. You continue to wordlessly follow him until he abruptly stops, throwing a hand back to grab at your forearm before pulling you down into a crouch next to him.

You peek around his shoulder, your eyes silently activating to see what he might be seeing. Immediately you hone in on a large SUV parked up on the ridge of the road, around fifty feet in front of you. There’s four heat signatures, all of them belonging to men who are in thick armour and strapped with multiple weapons.

“Arasaka.” You whisper to Bakugou, who quietly nods his head. He doesn’t move a muscle, holding your wrist tightly in his hand as if he’s waiting for them to just look in your direction and open fire. “They’re not holding their weapons, they’re not looking for anyone.”

“The Arasaka estate is up ahead. They’re still on guard dog duty.” Bakugou supplies, causing your eyes to move away from the group of men to the estate he speaks of. You can see it much more clearly with your augmentations active, you can see the heat signatures within and the overwhelming amount of security measures in place.

There’s an indistinctive shout causing you to dart your eyes back towards the group of people only to see them piling back into the car. Bakugou visibly deflates in relief, his hand around your forearm slips down to your wrist before he’s tugging you after him. You follow lowly just behind him, mindful of each step as you grow closer and closer to the edge of the underbrush. Bakugou exits first, standing to his full height which drags you up next to him.

When you glance around, you’re silenced by the view. It’s beautiful. Night City is in the distance, so wide and yet so tightly compacted into tall skyscrapers and tall flashing neon signs. Bakugou’s hand slips away from your wrist when you take steps towards the cliff edge that looks down on the lower level of residents, you can’t take your eyes away from the city before you.

It looked so… small. So dense and yet you knew the intensity of it all from the very moment your eyes opened in that ripper’s office. Night City was a vicious beast, a machine that chewed you up and spat you back out if you weren’t strong enough to survive—but when you look at it from here, look at how insignificant the people are and how tiny the city is. It’s almost impossible to comprehend.

“I come here when I need to clear my head,” Bakugou speaks clearly next to you, having taken off his helmet and holding it beneath his arm. You follow suit and remove your own, thankful for the fresh breeze and slight drizzle against your face. You glance towards Bakugou only to see his eyes set on the city before you, absorbed in his own thoughts. “Figured you could use it too.”

“It looks so beautiful from out here, but inside… it’s—”

“One of the worst places to live. Yeah, I thought it’d be great moving here all those years ago. But I was a dumb kid with a dumb idea, and now here I am.” Bakugou huffs, running his free hand through his flattened hair to re-fluff it before settling himself down onto the ground.

You take his lead and sit next to him, putting your helmet to the side and being careful to not let it roll off the edge of the small cliff in front of you. Setting your eyes back onto the city, you feel that sense of freedom again. You were free from the city, even for just a moment, you felt like you could breathe for yourself for the first time. Your heart wasn’t pounding, your mind wasn’t racing and your skin wasn’t itching in knowing what lay beneath it all.

“Any reason you spaced out when Dunceface started talking about Shinsou’s gig with the Net?” Bakugou inquires after a moment of silence, you turn your attention to him to find he’s leaning against his propped-up knees, head tilted in your direction. “Don’t gotta tell me shit but—”

“It just reminded me of when I was… healing.” You admit, not missing the way Bakugou visibly winces at the reminder of what put you there in the first place. “When I was in there… Something happened, and hearing Kaminari talk about Daemons—it made me think about why I can’t remember anything.”

“What, like someone’s infected your network or something?” Bakugou shifts slightly, raising his head to look at you properly with a level of concern that looks frankly terrifying on his face. He looks… worried.

“I don’t know, maybe? It’d make sense. I have this empty part of my head that I can’t access, like it’s been cut off from me or something. What if there’s a Daemon in my system? Or worse.”

“Shinsou would’ve picked up on that. Or even Jirou, she’s the one who said you had impressive firewalls inside that head of yours.”

A part of you wants to agree with him, because it does make sense. They would’ve found the source of whatever was wrong with you, but instead, they came out empty-handed and you, empty-headed. But you can’t shake the vision of that man, the blurred green of his eyes and then when you saw him in the street… something just wasn’t right.

“Maybe you’re right. I just—it’s scary, y’know? Not knowing who I am.” You whisper that last part, and Bakugou’s eyes turn from concern to a shade of pity. He shifts himself closer to you, slinging a heavy arm around your shoulders to pull you in close until your head is tucked against his shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter who you were, that’s what I always told myself when I moved here. I’m not the same guy as I was back then, I found myself. I found a new purpose. That’s just what you need, a new purpose, a new life that you created yourself.” His words are mumbled from where he presses his cheek against the top of your head.

A new purpose, a new life. That’s what you wanted. To shed yourself of whoever you may have been before all of this, before you had met Bakugou and Kirishima—before you had been let into their family even with them knowing you were capable of killing them all. Your heart aches but not in agony this time, it aches with joy.

You wanted so much more than what this city had to offer, you wanted to find out what you liked; your favourite foods, your favourite movies, your favourite smells and also the things you hated. You wanted to live.

“I think I’d like that,” you smile, shifting your head against Bakugou’s shoulder to look up at him. He meets your gaze with a soft look on his face, an almost invisible smile on his face. “I want to see the world.”

“Yeah? The world? That’s a lot to see.” His smile grows when you laugh quietly.

“Would you show me the world, Katsuki?”

Bakugou is quiet at your question, his eyes flit down to your lips before they find your eyes again. He looks so beautiful this close, the different shades of red in his eyes are breathtaking. There’s so much captured in them, every emotion he feels and every thought he has flicks behind them before his eyebrows visibly relax, his body holding you closer.

He leans in, lips brushing against your own before he speaks. “I’ll show you it all.”

And when he kisses you, he kisses you softly and gently like you were to be handled with such care. It’s not love but you have a feeling that it might blossom into something like that. One day.

Before you know it, the three days of rest have come and gone. It felt like you had blinked and you were back right where you started before everything had happened in that plastic-wrapped room. But this time you had Shinsou on one side and Kaminari on the other in the back of Bakugou’s car.

Currently, Shinsou was connected to your interface via a cable that slipped free from his wrist and fused itself into the plating on your palm. He had told you it was to relay all information that you’d need to ensure you got in there unnoticed, he loaded you with visuals of maps, layouts of their cameras and their usual patrolling routes.

Kaminari on your other side was fiddling with a hunting knife, the jagged edge was glinting in the passing street lights and every now and again it would buzz with electricity. He told you it was connected to his own chrome, he’s able to absorb electricity and pass it back through objects—something that had earned him plenty of shocks to the system that left him reeling.

Even with the presence of Shinsou in the back of your mind offloading a multitude of data, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Bakugou who was once again in the driver's seat. He had been different in the three days since that night outside of the city. He was more open to the idea of intimacy, often opening his arms for you at night and holding you in the mornings until he had to inevitably get up.

Kirishima had noticed it too, grinning along with the back-and-forth jokes between you and Bakugou. He thankfully didn’t make a scene out of the gentle touches he absolutely caught the two of you exchanging when you assumed no one was around.

Your chest fills with those pesky butterflies, the smile on your face must look mushy because you can feel the ache in your cheeks. You felt genuinely happy, an emotion that was your own and something you were able to hold onto. You wanted to experience everything with Bakugou at your side, and no doubt Kirishima would tag along too.

After that night out in North Oak, you had returned home to find that it was just Kirishima left and Bakugou had offhandedly said that a trip to Japan was on the table. Kirishima had leapt at the opportunity to talk about his hometown, about the different shops and restaurants there. He spoke about his country with so much love, and Bakugou had a nostalgic look on his face—so you asked if he’d take you there one day. He agreed, of course, stating it’ll be the first stop on your way to conquering the world.

Kirishima, of course, had no idea just what that meant.

“Try to keep your head clear,” Shinsou comments from the side, effectively dragging you free from your thoughts. “It’ll go more smoothly if you’re not actively trying to force me out of that brain of yours.” Your eyes drag along the cable connecting the both of you, something that could open you up in the most vulnerable of ways.

During the three days of rest, you spent more time with Shinsou too. He had been a Netrunner for a long time, even coming from Arasaka’s very own prestigious school with the help of Aizawa funding him through the entirety of it. The rest of the crew hadn’t been so fortunate, coming from no education at all or limited from when they lived in Tokyo.

That was another thing you were curious about. People didn’t just come to Night City for fun, it was a city designed to trap you here until your inevitable death. Apparently, Shinsou had always been in NC, born and raised in Japantown but almost everyone else had tales of the way things were being run back in Japan—long story short, it was being overrun by corporations that had no regard for people who were beneath them. It was either leave or die.

“Done. Should be good to go.” Shinsou says, withdrawing the cable connected to your wrist. The information flickers through your mind rapidly, similar to how someone would graze through a filing cabinet. Everything was here, this would be a simple operation if you pulled it off correctly.

You hadn’t realised the car had drawn to a stop until Bakugou turned his head to look at you, eyebrows furrowing together as if he was trying to figure out something to say. But instead, it’s Kaminari who speaks up, slapping a hand against your thigh before he grins.

“Ready to pull off the coolest fucking job?” You don’t miss the way Bakugou’s eyes lock onto the hand for a second too long before he meets your eyes again. All you can do is nod along, still unable to break your eyes away from Bakugou until he forces himself to look away first.

With a nod of his own head, Kaminari deems that worthy enough of a response and grins at you. His hand squeezes your thigh absentmindedly before he climbs out of the car, yelping with Bakugou grunts a command at him the second he steps out of the car.

Soon enough, you’re out of the car too whilst Kirishima ensures you have your weapon loaded and Shinsou talks over the game plan again. “You need to get to the underground levels. On the first floor, it should be primarily empty, the rest of Maelstrom will be beneath that. All you have to do is get into that room, snag a shard and leave. We’re here for backup.”

“I’ll have to go dark when I’m inside.” You see Bakugou shift on his feet a little at that, the uneasiness of you being unable to communicate with them properly if anything was to go wrong. They all nod in agreement regardless, stepping back when you slip the handgun into its holster on your waist before shrugging off the orange jacket that Kirishima had given you all those weeks ago. Bakugou wordlessly takes it from you.

Looking at the building just across the street, it looks unassuming. A simple warehouse, but even you could see the spray tags on the walls of the Maelstrom, this was a significant base of theirs.

Just as you’re about to step forward to begin the job, a hand grabs your elbow and you turn to see Bakugou looking at the building instead of you. “Don’t do anything reckless this time.” His eyes drift down to meet yours, the red flaring to life in his eyes for a second. “Got it, hotshot?”

Your eyebrows raise. “Hotshot?”

“You took a pulse rifle shot—”

“Oh, you’re terrible. Really? Hotshot?” You grin at his words, it was another terrible joke he couldn’t stop himself from making. His lips twitch in a small smirk before it fades, the gravity of the situation settling on him once again. “I’ll be fine, I have you to back me up this time. Right?”

Bakugou stays silent for a moment before he nods. “Right. I’ve got your back.” He looks hesitant when you take a step backwards, his fingers that had been in contact with your elbow twitching at his side before he ultimately decides to pocket them. “Don’t play hero either, you get out of there if you have to.”

“It almost sounds like you care for me Katsuki,” his eyes widened the tiniest amount at the use of his name, no doubt a flurry of memories from just a few nights ago flitting through his mind. “But don’t worry, I’m not going to be taking bullets for anyone today. I have the world to see, remember?”

But before Bakugou could say anything, you fade into nothing right before him. Even when his eyes flash to life, he can’t see you anywhere. His eyebrows draw together in concern, this plan felt rushed—he should be going in with you, you shouldn’t be taking this on alone. What was Aizawa thinking? A hand clapping on his shoulder draws his attention away from where you may have gone.

…Your shoulders drop once Bakugou looks away, you could see the concern on his face, painted as clear as the sky above. You couldn’t remember if you had ever done solo missions like this before—having a partner to help would’ve been nice, but you had no time to dwell on it when you started to walk towards the big warehouse. You note the multiple cameras as you pass by them, the red blinking light flickers for a moment before they’re shut down. Have you always had cyberware that could shut down electronics?

“That was me.” Shinsou’s voice is loud in your head, as if he were speaking directly next to you. “Sorry, should’ve said something.”

“Yeah, no shit.” You murmur back, eyes darting back and forth once you slip through the open warehouse door. There was a big truck in the centre of the room, modified with spikes and reinforced windows. Definitely Maelstrom.

“About twenty feet in front of you, and then to the right there should be a door that will lead to the stairwell. That’s your way in.”

You follow Shinsou’s guidance without hesitation, feet moving silently across the floor whilst your eyes dart back and forth through the dark warehouse. It was odd for it to be so empty, were they all really below ground? Surely there should be a guard— “Stop!” Shinsou all but hisses at you, your entire body freezing at the edge of a rack of crates.

There’s movement, and your eyes dart upwards to see a drone scanning slowly. Drones? Since when did Maelstrom have the money for drones? You don’t say anything as you watch the silent drone pass by, thankfully having not detected you even through your invisibility. This could prove to be a problem if they’re using tech like that, who knows what else they have hidden.

“There are no mentions of drones anywhere. They’re chromeheads, sure, but they always liked doing shit themselves.” Shinsou supplies once you’re moving again. Slipping into the stairwell that Shinsou had directed you to, you notice the difference in temperatures almost immediately. It’s freezing.

“Turning off comms.”

“Wait—” His voice cuts out immediately, something doesn’t feel right down here. It shouldn’t be so cold, it’s like stepping into an industrial freezer. Maelstrom didn’t like the cold, for one simple reason; it fucked with their cyberware.

Freezing temperatures caused it to malfunction, which meant… it’ll fuck yours up too. You need to back out, and report what you think might be down there but—something is stopping you. Aizawa would be pissed if you back out of this with your tail between your legs, he definitely wouldn’t let you come back empty-handed either.

With slow careful steps, you continue to descend into the freezing depths of the basement. Rounding the corner that leads to the final set of steps, you stop in your tracks. The lights are off, save for a slow, long blink of a red light. All the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, something screaming in the back of your mind to back out now. Your hand slips to the handgun on your holster, withdrawing it when you press your back to the cold concrete wall.

You can do this. You can find out what’s in this room, slip by and find the shard. You can do this. You can. Sucking in a harsh breath, you brace your body before whipping around the corner with your gun raised but your blood runs cold, determination falling from your face and morphing into fear. “What—”

...

“What the fuck do you mean you can’t contact her?” Bakugou snarls, glaring at Shinsou who’s hunched over a laptop that was once tracking your whereabouts.

“She said she was turning off comms, but she wasn’t even in the basement yet.” Shinsou frowns, running a hand through his unruly purple hair for a moment. “Fuck, you don’t think she…?”

“No,” Kirishima replies, leaning against the car with his eyes locked on the building in front of them. “She wouldn’t do that, not now.”

“Should we go in?” Kaminari offers, glancing over Shinsou’s shoulder to stare at the blank map.

Shinsou opens his mouth to talk before all heads whip towards the warehouse, their hearts thumping in their chests whilst the sound of the alarms being tripped drowns out any words any of them may have wanted to say.

There are approximately three seconds of calm before the storm hits full force. The Maelstrom weren’t in fact in the building at all, instead hiding in the surrounding smaller buildings dotted around. Yet none of them looks at the group that is sitting staring at the scene unfolding; they’re all descending onto the warehouse.

Onto you.

“It’s a setup,” Bakugou says, words coming out monotone as if he wasn’t quite aware of what he was saying—unaccepting of the ugly truth. “She’s been fucking set up.”

He doesn’t hesitate. His feet move before he fully registers that he’s barreling towards what is most likely certain death, he thinks he can hear Kirishima shouting at him to stop but he can’t. You weren’t going to fucking die now after everything.

His heart hurts from how hard it pounds against his ribcage, the rifle in his hand is light when he raises it to shoot anyone who steps foot into his path. Bakugou barrels through the open warehouse door, following the directions Shinsou had given to you no more than ten minutes ago. It seems a lot of the Maelstrom have made their way below ground, or had been shot on Bakugou’s way in.

His stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought of you being trapped beneath the ground with a gang of twenty or more descending on you with the intention of killing you. His hand itches around the rifle, fingers twitching with the urge to open fire the second he can.

Something like true fear starts to pool into Bakugou’s stomach once he deduces that you must’ve descended the only set of stairs. The freezing fog slowly creeping up the steps is enough to make him shiver, the chrome in his body aches from the slow approaching cold. There’s no way you could be down there and still be alive, you were more metal than human than he was.

And yet still, Bakugou pushes through the veil of fear that washes over him and descends the stairs. The fog swirls and wraps around him like tendrils, tugging him further into the icy depths of the dark basement. His thumb brushes against the side of his gun, flicking it off the safety and soon a red laser helps guide him through the dense fog.

He can’t see anything, or anyone, it does nothing to quell the horrid feeling that’s making a home in his chest. Had they already gotten to you? Kidnapped you? Did they know you were a high-priced target? The Maelstrom were no strangers to wanting to get their hands on money, they’d do anything for it.

In the darkness, Bakugou stumbles as the tip of his boot catches on something. He catches himself quickly enough, gun darting downwards and he’s unsurprised to see the remnants of one of the gang members. They already weren’t people anymore, but seeing them like this was something else. You had certainly been the one to cause such damage, but that just leads to the question – where the fuck are you?

A hand clamps onto his shoulder, jolting the large blonde to move and reposition his gun until it was under the chin of whoever dared to sneak up on him. Just through the thickness of the fog, he’s able to see the illuminated red eyes of Kirishima staring down at him. It only soothes his heart a little, he knows Kirishima will have his back through this and for whatever is to come next.

“You fucking big idiot, who just grabs someone in the dark?” Bakugou hisses regardless of the relief that settles into his rigid bones, his heated breath puffs out to add to the ever-growing fog that surrounds them.

Kirishima smiles a little, albeit sheepishly and lets his hand drop from Bakugou’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to shout, who knows what’s in here.” Kirishima manages to whisper back, his eyes finally darting away from Bakugou to scour the darkness.

Bakugou can only grumble about that, Kirishima did have a point. Neither of them knew what was in there, and Bakugou couldn’t rely on his eye enhancements in the frigid cold. So he just moves, and Kirishima moves naturally along with him.

“Do you think they got to her?” The dreaded question comes tumbling from Kirishima’s mouth.

“I fuckin’..- I don’t know.” Comes Bakugou's blunt reply, but he doesn’t mean for it to be so blunt. There’s just no other way around it, the possibility of you being taken or worse is slowly increasing. Bakugou doesn’t know what to do with the slow-building guilt in his conscience. He should’ve turned this job down for you, you were just blindly following whatever Aizawa demanded of you.

A click has both of the men freezing, Bakugou’s rifle in his hand poised and ready to fire the second the threat shows itself.

…The gun feels like a ten-tonne weight in your hand, it makes the synthetic fibres in your muscles in your body ache. But nothing is quite as heavy as the shard in your hand, it makes your stomach lurch uncomfortably to the point where your breakfast threatens to make a return.

When you rounded the stairs and found the shard in a lone storage slot within an open cabinet, you had never wanted to run more. It wasn’t the fact it was a shard—but rather that it had your name engraved into the delicate metal.

As soon as you had picked it up the red blinking light had turned off, the freezing air spilling from the now empty cabinet and tumbling onto the floor. You were plunged into darkness, and yet you could still see the shard as clear as day in your hand.

However, it wasn’t just any data shard; it belonged to Militech. They were known for their ruthless advances in A.I. and other technological achievements, and the very thing in your hand with your name etched into it—you knew it could only mean trouble, whoever had dropped it off here wanted you to find it. But why? You didn’t understand, with each passing thought that involved Militech and the shard in your hand, it felt like your brain was ripping itself apart trying to recover memories that were locked behind a thick wall.

You had to get rid of it; destroy it or make sure no one ever got their hands on it. This thing could hold countless pieces of information on the inner workings of Militech and its operations.

“Hurry, or they’ll kill you.”

There’s a quick shuffle of footsteps coming down the steps behind you, and your fingers tighten uncomfortably around the chip. If you died here, you’d never be able to get away and ensure this thing never saw the light of day. The Maelstrom must’ve paid a pretty price for this thing, or perhaps they were keeping it safe until Militech came and picked it up. You couldn’t risk any of them getting their hands on it.

You only had one choice.

It’s not a painful procedure, it feels more like a tingle when the chip slides into the slot next to your own data shard on the back of your neck. But then it locks in, and it feels like you’re injected with nanites; they bite and chip away at you until they take root in your brain. They skitter and scamper across your spine, wrapping themselves around every vertebra. You can feel the way it spreads and wraps itself around your frontal lobe, squeezing until it’s too painful to bear.

You squeeze your eyes shut, and your fingers press fruitlessly into the slot to try and pry it out of your body but it won’t release. It feels like your very soul is being warped and pressed into a mould, ripped and torn until you’re no longer a person anymore.

The scream that tears apart your throat doesn’t sound like your own, it’s mangled and distorted—you can feel yourself fragmenting, your very skin splitting apart to rebuild itself in an attempt to save itself from the A.I. that was rapidly infecting your system. Your mind feels like it’s on fire, burning in the deepest depths of hell until finally, you feel nothing.

Everything clicks into place, and the pain vanishes just as quickly as it had latched on. You move automatically when the first wave of Maelstrom approaches you, your handgun tossed to the side in favour of the gun embedded in your arm. It whirs to life, and you can only watch through the tinted glass of your eyes as you make your way through people as if they were nothing more than wet paper.

It all slowly comes to a lull, bodies slumped to the floor and blood sticks to your skin. It should feel cold but you feel like you’ve been locked out of your own body—everything is numb.

It’s all so empty now, the memories you had formed over the last few months of being part of a family flicker and fade from existence. You couldn’t put a name to the faces in your mind, the voices and laughter becoming nothing but static that blinds you to the noise of approaching footsteps.

Not until it’s too late. You hear a shout, your eyes adjusting to the darkness to make out two outlines of gang members. One has a gun raised to you, the other has their hands raised to you as well yet you don’t spy a weapon. The Maelstrom weren’t known for their chrome for nothing, you suspected they had some interesting weaponry just like your own.

Your eyes flicker, the augmentations in your eyes malfunctioning the longer you resist the command to execute all those who pose a threat to you. A warning flashes across your vision, a clear message that if you continue to resist you’re at risk of imminent death.

You raise your gun in response. There’s a presence looming just behind you, out of sight, yet you can hear a low chuckle – the familiarity of it has your blood freezing, and yet you can’t find the strength to stop yourself from acting on command for whoever was in control of the A.I.

“Put it down!” One of them yells, yet it’s muddied by the static in your ears. It sounds like they’re shouting through an old radio. “Lower your fucking weapon!”

“They’ll kill you. Make sure you get there first.” The voice over your shoulder supplies, and you swear you can feel the puff of warm breath against your neck. There’s a soft brush of curls against your cheek when they lean just enough into your peripheral you can see green.

There are more whispers between the two of them, words you can’t make out but their momentary distraction is enough. Your arm tenses, the warning across your vision vanishes and then there’s a blinding light, it illuminates the darkness of the basement enough for you to finally make out the faces of the two men who had approached you.

You can only blink, the familiar red and blonde hair makes your heart lurch. This all seemed so oddly familiar, a strange sense of deja vu washes over you. You expect to see one of them fall to the ground, but instead, it’s you who watches the world tilt and fall away.

You can’t move. Your limbs feel like they’re too heavy for your bones, and the cold finally starts to seep through your bones the second you make contact with the floor.

“FUCK!” The blonde all but screams, and before you know it he’s in your face. Your body moves like a ragdoll until you’re scooped into his lap. You think you can feel the brush of his fingers against your forehead, frantically swiping away the hair that clings to your sweat-ridden skin. You can feel one of his hands move away from your face to press hard against your chest, you watch his face crumple when he realises something.

He’s speaking, rocking just slightly and the static starts to fade away until you hear him. “‘M sorry. ‘M so fucking sorry. I didn’t–I knew I shouldn’t–.” His sentences aren’t complete, broken up by the wet sobs that shake his body. His hand is wet when it comes back to your face, the smell of synthetic blood clogs your nose.

The unnamed blonde continues to press his fingers against your face, squeezing your cheeks in an attempt to get you to respond but you can feel something now; a tug to just let go. You can only watch when the red-haired one squats down next to you as well, his mouth moves but there’s no sound.

You don’t think you have it in you to speak, to tell them something—anything, your world slowly starts to darken around you. But you hope the man cradling you knows he meant something to you; even if you can’t quite grasp the reason why. You just know that perhaps you might’ve come to love him, if you were given the chance to.

“Another disappointment.” The unknown man shrouded in a cloak of darkness watches from over the shoulders of both men who crowd you, but neither of them seems to notice him, too preoccupied with attempting to stop the rapid warmth that is spilling from your chest. The last thing you see is him shaking his head, a flash of green before there’s nothing.

. . . .

There’s a clatter on the sofa, followed by a choked sob. Bakugou rakes his hands through his hair, pushing back the long strands that fell onto his face. He side-eyes the headgear next to him; a braindance.

It wasn’t just any braindance, it was one he had made specifically for him. They called it ‘Soulswap’, it was a walkthrough of your entire time with him, from the moment he had found you in that warehouse and up to the moment he had shot you. How it was made was something that Bakugou fought with for a while, it was morally wrong. To have someone dissect you like some high school science experiment and implant strands of your data—your memories—into something that he could watch.

A ding on the coffee table draws his attention away from the braindance, and he swipes up his phone to see Kirishima has sent him a message.

[22:34] RED: Stop reliving it. You know that isn’t what she wanted.

Bakugou scoffs, what the fuck did Kirishima know about you? What the fuck did he know about the weight in his chest that replaced his once beating heart? He knew nothing. No one listened to him when he said that it wasn’t you at the end, that you weren’t in control.

It was charted down to Cyberpsychosis on your unofficial death certificate.

The uneasiness continued to eat away at Bakugou, even when he chose to ignore the onslaught of text messages from the others. It’d been this way for the last four years and it had only come to fruition now. It was hard to find someone capable enough of creating a braindance that wasn’t just a cheap way to get off or to kill someone without repercussions.

It was a delicate job, and he had finally found the guy to do it.

Yet now he’s unsure if he should’ve gone through with it. Whilst it was all in cyberspace, he could still feel the emotions you had in your final moments. You had felt something for him, just as he had felt something for you—does feel something for you.

Sinking back into the sofa, the world buzzes around him yet it feels like Bakugou is still stuck in that basement all those years ago. It used to take a more violent toll on his body, his modifications often becoming the victim of neglect until Kirishima forced him to keep taking the blockers to ensure he didn't spiral into psychosis.

Bakugou’s head lulls back, staring up at the spinning fan on the ceiling. It won’t be long until Kirishima comes back and lectures him about bad habits or whatever the fuck he wanted to be on his ass for.

“And with the renewed partnership between Militech and Lazarus, I truly believe we’ll be able to bring a stop to crime here in Night City.”

That voice causes Bakugou to snap his head up, glaring at the television that hung from the ceiling in the centre of the room. It wasn’t often he would make TV appearances but it wasn’t unexpected. He watches the camera pan across an array of Militech drones and other tech that he can’t quite understand before it falls back onto the CEO of Militech.

Izuku Midoriya.

Midoriya has a fake smile plastered on his face, hands buried in his deep expensive pockets as he stares at the interviewer just off to the side. His verdant eyes are dull, devoid of anything lifelike. Bakugou isn’t surprised entirely by that, Izuku was… once a friend, but he betrayed him and the rest of them for a chance at fame.

He moved to Militech and quickly overtook the company, plunging them into tech that wasn’t short of war machines.

“Hah, yes. It is true, we have been working on a new AI that we think will definitely be capable of deterring even those inflicted by Cyberpsychosis.”

Bakugou blinks, his attention drawn back to the screen to see Izuku laughing about whatever had been asked, something about that laugh sounds familiar – not just from when he had known Izuku but from recent memory.

And when it slowly dawns on him, it curdles his blood and makes his stomach tense. That laughter. The voice that lacks any emotion. The world fades into nothing around him the longer he stares at Midoriya talking animatedly about something in the interview, his chest tightens more and more until it feels like his heart may just burst.

It wasn’t a case of regular Cyberpsychosis.

Izuku Midoriya was the one who triggered it. He must’ve been the one who had planted that foreign chip, he wouldn’t just hand something like that over to the Maelstrom.

“We’re proud to announce the next line of fully-developed Artificial Intelligence; Akuma. This is just one of our newly created full cyborg—”

Bakugou finds his body locking into place, muscles growing tight and stomach twisting in knots before his heart plummets down into his stomach. His eyes widened. There. Right next to Izuku is… you. But it’s not the you he knew, it’s a duplicate, one of the new cyborgs created to withstand ‘Akuma’.

He can tell from the way you hold yourself, rigid and cold like you were just some lifeless robot. You don’t respond to the stimuli around you, staring blankly ahead. It feels like his heart is being torn apart once again, shredded in a blender until there’s nothing left but an empty void that sits in his chest.

He knows for a fact that it’s not the real you, the one he held, the one who took a bullet for him—the one he was going to take home to meet his parents. He watched you go up in flames at a pyre funeral. It was Aizawa who had suggested it. “To make sure no one gets her.” Looks like that didn’t fucking matter, did it?

…No. Izuku must’ve had your DNA stored from when you worked at Militech. You were just an experiment, all the chrome you were sporting wasn’t just because you were a Militech worker, but rather because you were one of the prototypes for Militech. From the very start, you were destined to fail—another disappointment.

Bakugou doesn’t even register that he’s already moving, swiping up the bomber jacket you wore. The pulse rifle swung over one shoulder and the door slammed shut behind him. It was time to pay his childhood friend a visit.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x you #katsuki bakugo oneshot #bakugo katsuki imagine #cyberpunk!bakugou #bakugo smut #bakugo katsuki smut

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 26 days

Text

1.2k / 18 / soap soulmate au, part 1

...

You're Soap's enemy. One of Graves' Shadows. You just betrayed him, and now he's seeing his name tattooed across your skin. The Las Almas night nearly eclipses the soulmark's inky color. But it's there, clear as day. He can't wrap his adrenaline-addled mind around it.

He ghosts up behind where you're posted--pacing, patrolling, on the lookout for him--and wraps his hand around your mouth. You react in surprise, grabbing his wrist. But before you can twist out of his grasp, he slides the blade of your fallen Shadow's knife against your back.

If you're his soulmate, it changes nothing. He'll still be one man against dozens, chances slim to none that he'll make it out of this alive. But he has to know.

"You," he growls. "What's your name?"

You still. You're trained to keep a cool head under far more extreme circumstances than this.

"Your name," Soap repeats, voice like gravel.

He loosens his grip just enough to let you speak.

You release a slow breath out. "Classified."

He increases the pressure of his knife against your back. "That bastard Graves trusts you, aye? Not many others posted this way. Nobody'll find you for awhile." He presses the tip of the knife back into the fabric of your uniform. He'll keep the pressure there until he gets what he wants. "Your full name."

You say nothing for a long moment. But then, you see no reason to die overlooking these twisting Las Almas alleyways. You tell him your full name.

It confirms what he already knows. It's the name printed on his own skin, the name he's repeated to himself thousands of times over. The knife disappears from your back.

"Look at me," he tells you.

You push his arm away and turn on him, drawing your sidearm and training it at his chest. You step back, looking him up and down. "You're the one we're looking for. Aren't you? Capture or kill--" Your voice falters when you see he pulls his shirtsleeve up, revealing his own soulmate. He doesn't give you one goddamn second to try to deny it or turn your eyes away the way you've been trained. Your name. Tattooed on your target's arm.

Seeing you eye to eye, Soap's breath catches in his throat. His own name on the side of your neck is clear as day to him now.

"You're her," he says, still not quite believing it.

You take another step back. What are you supposed to do? You should shoot him, yes, but could you even make your finger pull the fucking trigger now? You lower your gun, but you don't put it away.

"You should go," you tell him, voice low. "Now."

But he doesn't move. He wants to take this moment in, study your face, memorize every detail. You're the real thing. His blue eyes stay locked onto yours, and a myriad of scenarios play through his mind, just like yours. What happens if he leaves? Will he be able to find you again?

He takes a step toward you.

"Don't do that," you warn him, sliding back a step to keep the same distance between you. "Don't make me hurt you."

"You wouldn't." He moves for you now with the confidence of a man who believes that, too. He wants to touch you again. Just to make sure you're really here. His voice is rough and thick. "I need to look at you."

You bite down on a gasp when your heel knocks against the wall. He's getting too close. You can't let your control on the situation slip. You can't forget why you're here or what will happen if Graves finds out about this.

"Back off," you warn him again. You still have your sidearm in hand, but you're terrified he's right--pointing it at him is an empty threat.

"Can't."

He moves in close to you, his breath hot on your neck. You swear you can feel his body heat through the layers of both your uniforms. Your nerves are on fire. His scent is everywhere. This can't be happening. Not now. It should be a dream, meeting your soulmate, but it's a nightmare.

"Listen to me," you force out. "They'll find you and kill you. Leave. Now."

"Can't." Soap is close enough to whisper it into your ear. His hands close around your arms. "Can't think straight with you in front of me." His gaze darkens as he pushes forward, pressing you into the wall and pinning you there. If he's not going to live to see morning, he's going to kiss you. He has to taste you.

You hear another Shadow under you, boots thudding against the metal stairs, scaling up to your lookout perch.

You try to fight the panic welling up in your throat. You could both be shot for this. Killed for it. Worse.

You can't let them see him. If you give him what he wants, he'll go, right?

You grab his collar and pull him forward, meeting his lips in a searing kiss. His lips feel like stubble and taste like blood. He shudders, feeling your body suddenly pressed against his. He deepens the kiss. He's starving, but it's not enough. Just the taste and feel of you isn't enough. His fingers weave into your hair and he pulls you close, pressing even harder against your body.

You forget yourself for a moment. Your brain chemistry shifts hard, heat and want burning in your veins.

Then you hear voices from below and reality washes over you again. With a strangled groan, you push him away. "God damn you. Hide."

Soap has to force himself to let you go. It takes every ounce of control to keep from reaching for you again. But the look in your eyes when you push him away... he knows you've crossed a line.

He disappears the moment two more Shadows crest the top of the iron staircase.

You avoid rousing suspicion as you lie to your allies' faces, reporting no sightings of either target. By the time you're forced to leave your post and follow the others back to the nearest rendezvous point, you're resigned to never seeing him again. It's better not to wonder.

All you can think about are his fingers weaving into your hair, his lips on yours, the burning grip of his hands around your wrists. You tell yourself not to think about it... but then your mind goes back to it, over and over. No matter how much you tell yourself it's better not to fantasize.

Even when you learn he evaded capture, he's a wanted man. A dead man walking. You're better off pretending you never saw your name tattooed on his skin.

...

There is no other thought on Soap's mind but you long after he slips away into the Las Almas night. The sight of you leaving with the other Shadows haunts him when he closes his eyes. He wakes up adrenalized, thinking about you in his hands, his heart pounding like it could punch through his rib cage.

His soulmate got away, and the weight of regret is setting in.

...

[part 1] / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

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ryunnggg · 5 months

Text

Naughty - ITZY Yuna

9230 words

"Is it time for my detention, Mister Y/n?" cooed Yuna, strutting forward across the classroom and flaunting the Q heart on her cheek, an out in the open sign of her lust for white cock while she moved happily forward.

The door was locked and the hallways had finally emptied. It was likely only Yuna and Mister Y/n left in the school, give or take the janitor and some loose teachers sequestered away to feverishly grade. Nobody who could get in the way, letting the brunette sway and swish between the desks on her way toward the front of the class. "Time for me to learn how bad a girl I've been, and how much I need to be fixed?"

"It's only us here, 'Y/n' will be fine," said Mister Y/n. A substitute teacher from America working abroad to see Korea, about a decade older than Yuna. Handsome, decently muscular, very white, with a well kept beard and slicked back auburn hair. "It's just us."

"If I'm not calling you my teacher, maybe I should call you daddy instead," purred Yuna, rushing faster across the classroom to get to him. "Maybe you should pull out your huge, white cock and force this disobedient little Korean jailbait slut to get on her knees and choke on it. For detention! To teach me a lesson, Mister Y/n." Yuna leaned over her foreign teacher's desk, smile brightening as she wiggled enticing toward him, begging for his attention. "Don't you want to discipline me?"

Yuna was a danger. She was too powerful, coy and ruthless and fully able to weaponize her raw sexuality against Mister Y/n. Not that he minded, of course. "I think I need to hear some things out of your mouth to be worth disciplining," he told her, his hardening cock begging to slide into her mouth and ruin her.

"Oh? Like what, sir? Like saying I'm a filthy, needy Korean slut who can't keep from fantasizing about her American teacher's fat, white cock? That I'm a little bleachbitch who is going to find foreign men to fuck her throat whether it's you or not? Is that worth punishing me, Mister Y/n? Does the threat I'll go find other hung white studs to bleach my pussy and fuck some white babies into me make you angry enough to punish me?"

Yuna was unreal. Y/n had absolutely not come to Korea to teach solely so that he could date a Korean teenager, but he was absolutely unrepentant about doing so, rising up from his seat with his cock freed from his pants. A massive, throbbing, glorious, white cock that Yuna leaned immediately forward to begin to worship. No hesitation, just her mouth clung to the side of his shaft and slobbering all over it, praising it with kisses and hopeless obsession as she fell into the joy of what she needed most. Yuna understood what she was, what she wanted, and she didn't try to pull away from that, accepting and embracing her desires fully.

"I love white cock," she moaned, a little drunk on excitement from the very start. The burning desperation urged Yuna forward, licking all over her teacher's aching dick, already hard from her words and from just knowing what 'detention' after school entailed. The sloppy spectacle behind her love and her hunger was overbearing, direct, driven by an underlying desire to blow his mind and make him crave her on a level so fundamental that he'd never shake it off. Yuna knew her part and she knew how to wear him down for that, slobbering noisily on his dick, peppering it with kisses in a hazy show of wanton adoration. Her kisses ran along the length of his cock, messily praising his length. "This cock fits so deep in me. Only white men can hit girls in those places."

Y/n didn't try to contain himself, his head rolled back and his fingers running along the back of Yuna's head, trying not to take too much charge too quickly. He was absolutely unrepentant about these joys, about having this sweet girl doting on his cock and lavishing him with all the praise she could muster, so sloppy and loving and intense. Yes, she was closer to half his age than to his age. No, he didn't care. The burn of these spectacular lusts carried him deeper, kept him hungry for her touch and ready to feel her give him everything. "Should girls your age really be such bleached sluts?"

"Yes, of course!" gasped Yuna. "We should. We all should. If Korean teenage girls didn't bother with silly crushes on disappointing Korean boys and went right to serving white men, we'd be so much happier." She continued to flutter her kisses all over his cock, throwing in licks and sloppy adoration, both hands gripping his massive cock to continue tending to it and to continue delving in to the slow-burning surrender that this offered her. Yuna felt unstoppable, wanting only to push on harder, hotter, to let the sloppy lusts carry her into the deep end. "I'm so lucky that I have a big, strong, white man who fucked my jailbait pussy before I could give my virginity to any two-pump three-inch Asian boys."

Every word made Y/n's cock throb harder, drove him mad with desire. He wasn't exactly holding back or discouraging what Yuna was up to, but the weight of these wild pleasures definitely did to him things that felt maddening for how intense they were, how hotly the wants shuddered across him. He didn't try to fight it. He didn't resist her words or her touch. But the weight of just how intensely she delved into bleached talk and hard raceplay on a dime was always a bit staggering to him. Not that he didn't also encourage her along. "I saved you."

"My white savior," she moaned in turn, licking slowly up along the underside of his cock, toward his head, before she sucked it down deep, letting the lust carry her to the pleasure and the fever of senseless excitement now without restraint. The pleasure was just there to give in to, maddening in a spiral of devotion and lust to succumb to. The thick cock filled her mouth, made her jaw loosen to take him all in, but she was devoted and determined, forcing herself to sloppily revere this glorious white cock, to lose herself to what it demanded from her. Yuna was so ready to please, so hungry for white dick, and she wasn't able to pretend she could contain herself along her hunky, foreign boyfriend's length.

She pushed deep, hasty and sloppy, relentless in how she pushed onward to let loose the wicked satisfactions that she craved. The pleasure carried her to need this, to crave whatever she could get from the depths of these satisfactions now. It was pleasure she didn't feel able to process, struggling through these wants and through the need for warmth that this invited her to fall in to. Yuna felt unstoppable, every moan and push and slurp making her white stud feel better, want her more. She looked up into his eyes, saw the stares she received back, and everything he offered her made her burn brighter. Her desperation was unreal, and as she let him hit the back of her throat, Yuna remained committed and unstoppable.

"You're such a dirty slut. I need to keep you here in detention with me, so you don't go looking for strangers to bleach you instead." He grabbed the back of her head, finally taking some harder charge, forcing her deeper down his cock, easing into more of her throat.

Yuna was happy to choke him down, happy to give herself up to these sloppy, wild delights with less and less restraint with each passing second. She was unstoppable, ravenous, burning with unreasonable desperation and a need to let the pleasures carry her deeper. There was no resisting this, no fighting how nice it felt to give up fully. She needed to surrender to these lusts, giving in deeper to his touch, letting herself be the hazy, ditzy bleachslut she knew she was. Signaling with each motion of her head just how ready she was to serve him, Yuna let obsession consume her. It was easy to get into the right frame of mind to mindlessly be a slut for white cock. Especially Y/n's. The teacher before her was fully deserving of the most she could offer, prepared to submit in full, to accept how far down into lust she was ready to slide, unable to resist the allure and the chaos of surrender and desire now.

Throbbing harder in her mouth as she gave him what he wanted, Y/n tried his best to contain himself. "Such a dirty little whore. I see you in class, daydreaming about raising my kids, giving up on your idol life to be a white man's slutwife. You want it so badly, don’t you?"

"Gluk gluk," was all Yuna offered in response, continuing to slide down into the lust of his demanding touch, continuing to fall apart with less and less of a clear idea how to deal with her own ruin. Yuna didn't understand how she could have so easily crumbled to one cock like this, but it was all she cared about, the rightful plunge into beautifully demented surrender and a lust carrying her to need to give in. She was obsessed, devoted, bleached past the boundaries of reason, fully obsessed with her teacher's cock and with drooling all over it, fitting him into her mouth and bobbing along his shaft, letting her throat adore every inch of his shaft in impressive, relentless desire. Yuna felt unstoppable. Felt ready.

The bliss carried the moment into deeper, compromising fever, into pleasures that she was unable to resist or hold back. The pleasure just kept ripping across her thoughts, tearing with thunderous joy through her body, carrying Yuna to want to fall to pieces and to need whatever she could find in his touch now. The sucking did its work, tending to every inch of his cock, slathering it in spit, encouraging the wild, mad throbbing in her throat that told her that she was well on her way to tending to all of this. It was a beautiful feeling, a surrender to pleasure and desire she didn't try to hold back now. The pleasure felt outrageous, but she knew that as good as she felt sucking him off, Y/n felt at least as good getting this relentless deepthroat adoration.

Probably, right? Y/n had to enjoy having his cock sucked as much as Yuna enjoyed sucking it, at minimum. Y/n himself wasn't even so sure of that.

But the continued reverence and sloppiness and spectacle behind Yuna's deepthroat worship kept up a pace as reckless as could be, and Y/n didn't know if he could contain all of it.

Hotter groans carried him deeper in to these wicked pleasures, the need to continue to surrender to, all driven by the want that made him want to fall to pieces. "I'm gonna cum," he warned.

Yuna was happy to jerk back, smiling bright and welcoming his load. "All over me, daddy," she whined, jerking his cock off with both hands, moaning in sloppy reverence, serving his needs deep. "I want to wear white cum all over my face, like a good bleached whore," she moaned. She continued to tend to him, jerking him off faster, harder, throwing herself in to these wild pleasures. She didn't hold anything back, every stroke reckless, forceful, direct,

until he came all over her face. Hot ropes of gooey spunk splattered across her bright features, with Yuna moaning through all of it, her eyes shut to receive his massive load. Y/n always came hard, always made a gooey mess of her, splattering across her face with unbelievable desire.

With spunk dripping from her face and a shaky warmth washing over her body, Yuna needed only to surrender deeper. She licked some cum off of her lips and grabbed at his body, not satisfied yet. She wanted more.

"Can you take me home tonight?" she asked. "To keep an eye on me. Make sure I don't do anything. Maybe..." She leaned forward to plant more kisses onto his cock head again. "Maybe fuck a white baby into me. Please, Mister Y/n. I'll do anything. I'll eat your ass like a good Korean girl and make you so happy that you have to take me back with you."

An offer like that wasn't one any man could have been strong enough to fight. Turning quickly around, Y/n pushed his hips back and got a knee up onto his desk, leaning forward to show off his ass, his dangling balls, and his spit-shined cock to his teenage whore. "Do it," he told her. "From the moment I showed you my cock and you fell to your knees instead of calling the cops, I knew you were something special. Prove how special you are."

Yuna didn't need to be told twice. Shoving forward, she buried her face right into her favorite treat: white man ass. Grabbing his cock to stroke it and milk a load out of him, she got to work at licking against his rim slithering with her sloppy love across his ass, letting the wild desire carry her to want more and more of this. There was no restraint to hold her back from the sheer depth of her lusts now, carrying her to just have to give in to these lusts, to surrender to what she knew was the absolute only way forward.

Her tongue slithered around in broad strokes tending to the ass with hopeless obsession. This wasn't the most dignified way forward, but she needed it, moaning loudly through her feasting delight, committed to being consumed utterly by need and sloppy desire. Lust carried her to want to fall to pieces, to need to surrender to lust. Yuna loved eating white ass, and she threw herself into it with the gusto that such a glorious thing deserved. She rubbed her face in his ass, moaning, slobbering, letting her cock drunk lust carry her in serving him 'properly'.

"Such a good little ass eater," he groaned, reaching back to grab her head and pull her in. Yuna loved praise, and the more he gave her, the better she performed. It was a clumsy balancing act, something carrying him to want more and more of these lusts. There was no escape for Yuna, but she didn’t want any escape. She wanted to keep pushing, keep slobbering, keep revering this white man and giving him everything she could. The burn of these desires were too steep not to.

"I love slobbering all over my white man's ass hole," she moaned, sounding territorial and greedy while licking down to begin slurping on his heavy nuts, too. She was happy to pepper kisses all over his taint on the way down, reckless, ravenous, driven by a desire only to keep serving and slobbering. The pleasure continued to do to her things she didn't care about resisting, the unrestrained joy and greed to fall in to. There was only pleasure to give in to here, drunk on the sweet surrender and the delirium of needing more. The continued surrender to give in to offered to Yuna what she needed most. She sucked one of his balls into

her mouth and left his sac slathered in spit too, insisting herself into the moment as hard as she could. "Keep going. Keep telling me how good I am at serving white men."

"How about the fact I haven't fucked any of your classmates, because you're such a perfect bleached whore that I haven't needed to look for another girl?" He ground back against her face, savouring the ways she made him feel as she licked back up his taint to make out with his ass hole again. There was no restraint for Yuna, no moment where she could hold back or imagine controlling herself, letting the burning hunger carry her to a further depth of ruin and desire now. She needed to keep slobbering and serving, tending to his ass harder. His words made her lose her mind, the 'kind' praise of something that urged her harder forward, kept her desperate to make him feel all the things she hoped might help her fall to pieces now. The greed carried her to a lot of weirder places, to a satisfaction and a hunger she couldn't do anything about.

The sloppy lust carried her to need more of him, slurping on his ass hole while she jerked his cock harder and quicker. Switches down to lick his balls kept things fresh, surprising him with the messy fever of what she was at, delving on these pleasures and keeping up with something meant to make him burn with need. Yuna felt clingy, needy, burning with a desperate desire to make him feel good centered around the worry that if she didn't, he'd go find some other girl to bleach, and she could not let that happen. A little jealous, a little territorial, keeping up her passion. "Korean tongue feels best against white ass holes, doesn't it, sir?" she moaned.

"The best, especially yours." Gripping the table and keeping steady so she could work at his touch, Y/n was lost to these pleasures, struggling to hold himself together as she jerked him off faster and harder, both hands mercilessly working to tend to him while he fell in deeper. She was a complete wreck, but the pleasures continued on with burning excitement. Yuna was happy to not rat him out and to not bring him any trouble for exposing himself in front of one of his students, keeping her as his girlfriend. Yuna was desperate for it, ready to please him and ready to give him everything he desired. She was happy to keep him giving in, happy to tend to his every desire and to lick his ass hole like a good slut.

There was simply no way that Y/n could have let a girl like her go. Shuddering through these hopeless pleasures, allowing passion to be his undoing, he gave in deeper, messier, unable to resist the pleasures that continued to ruin him in the name of losing himself. "You're so fucking good. Keep going, Yuna. You're the best. You're going to--oh, fuck, you're the perfect Korean girl."

That made her moan like she was cumming, just from the pride and the glee alone, throwing into a beautifully deranged burn of passion, the pleasure carrying her to fall apart utterly under his touch, giving in to the pleasure in full, accepting it as all she could do, the unrelenting joy of crumbling to pieces for him. For a white man. For her white man. She jerked him off faster and she relentlessly tonguefucked his ass in pursuit of more of that praise and of the chance to make him erupt all over her again.

With a sudden groan and a twist around, Y/n smacked Yuna across the face with his cock in trying to turn himself around as quickly as he could. The impact didn't shock her too much, and Yuna did her best to take it, moaning appreciatively and allowing his cock to blast across

her face with another messy load. More cum that splattered onto her beaming smile, keeping her overjoyed to be giving up to all of this. She took the facial in pride, loving the feeling of his cum all over her face, the dripping mess she received and the joy that she found in so wholly lost to this. Yuna savoured everything about this mess, jerking his cock off and making sure she wrung out every drop before drawing back with a gasp of pure delight.

"I can go home with my white daddy now, right?" Yuna asked, dragging cum off her cheek with her fingers and licking it off. "I've been a good girl and earned it?"

Y/n stared at Yuna with cum dripping down her face, knowing full well that there was only one answer to that question.

******************************

Down on her knees in the car, there wasn't much for Yuna to do but suck his balls. Hidden under the steering wheel while he drove home, she hadn't actually wiped anything off of her face, leaving all the clear mess of her lustful, slutty surrender right there on the spot. It just made her feel better that way, slapping herself with his huge cock while she sucked on his balls, slurping noisily on them and giving them some devoted love, having rimmed his ass hole and deepthroated his cock already otherwise. The insistence and the raw desire behind this was all so simple, so direct, built on Yuna's hopeless hunger and just how badly she craved white cock.

"Fuck, you make it hard to focus," groaned Y/n, trying his best just to drive and not go off the road even with the gorgeous idol slurping his nuts. It was an amazing burn of pleasure, the heat to keep giving in to, pleasure enticing him to want more and more of this. There was a pleasure to this to keep giving in to. It was pleasure direct and messy and enticing him to just need to sink in to this. All of it. Dragged into the weirder pleasure to continue falling in to left Yuna needing to give up to this. She shook under the wild pleasure to give in to hotter, the satisfaction to want more and more of. "Such a perfect slut. You were born to be bleached."

"All Asian women are," moaned Yuna, slapping his cock across her face, keeping up the pleasure and keeping up the huger and the fever of wanting to give in hotter, needing more of these pleasures that continued to plunge her into this, deeper and sloppier fever that continued to sentence her to this demise. She didn't try to contain herself now, keeping up this pace and keeping the pleasure burning across her. Messier fever and fire continued its desires, and she let the passion carry her deeper in to all of this, a hungrier fever and a passion she just wanted to embrace in full. The unquenchable desire continued to do to Yuna things she couldn't resist, giving in to all this lust and falling to pieces under what it demanded from her now. She needed it, and nothing could hold back her cravings.

The taste of his balls drove her wild. Yuna didn't care if she came off like a sloppy addict. She didn't want to be anything less, didn't want to even pretend she had a capacity now for restraint. There was only the satisfaction of giving in to this, craving whatever he could do to her and accepting how ready she was to just give up to it. Everything inside of Yuna craved this singularly obsessive burn, a moment of devotion and fire she didn't try to resist.

Everything she did was direct, sloppy, burning up within her as she pushed against it now. Sucking on these heavy, white balls let Yuna focus on how full they were, how ready to blow

they surely were. On the idea that what she really needed was to give in fully to these sloppy spectacles. It was everything to her now, a dead end rush of lust burning her up from within.

It was only ball worship, but it was also reverence of a white man's ability to breed girls like her. Even after blowing two loads all over her face, Y/n’s nuts felt so heavy, so ready to blast rope deep into her womb. White men were so fertile and indomitable, and she praised his nuts, knowing they were the key to blowing her mind and making her feel all the sloppy, wild emotions that she craved so badly. Yuna didn't care about restraint, needing to push forward, needing to accept the surrender inviting her to fall to pieces. It was just too good not to, the sweeping desire and delight of letting this plunge carry her into depths from which she was never going to escape. That was good. That was how she wanted it. With every sloppy push forward, Yuna focused herself on tending to his balls, on slapping herself with his cock. Just out of view, she tended to her teacher's cock, ready and sloppy and surrendering everything to these pleasures now.

This was impossible for Y/n to focus through, but he was so happy to let the pleasures carry him on deeper in to this mess of ruin and hunger. The pleasure remained so insistent, driven by the sloppiest of passions, by desires to keep riding out. The pleasure kept him hungry and reckless, driven by the sloppiest of passions, needing only to seek out how good it could feel to let everything go. There was only pleasure to this mess, the pursuit of ever-sloppier, ever- filthier lust. There wasn't a shred of restraint behind her devoted, throbbing passions now. He was such a lucky fuck, and he didn't pretend otherwise, letting Yuna's every doting push keep him well adored, tended to with unbelievable excitement, needing to savor these sloppy lusts and every desire that came with it. Letting Yuna adore him was the only way forward, the only possible relief he could have wanted, and it carried him to need more. To crave it. To let himself give in.

Smacking herself silly with his cock and letting her thoughts fall apart, Yuna kept up her sloppy attention, moaning harder on his balls while she slobbered all over them. "I'm going to drink your cum this time, because I don't want you to stop being able to see my pretty face under all this cum. I want you to know you're fucking a gorgeous Korean teen with every stroke, daddy." Her 'daddies' were strategic little missile strikes to drive him mad, and they kept working perfectly to drive him mad.

Y/n took one of his hands off the driving wheel and grabbed her head, shoving her deep down his cock. Yuna said she was going to drink it, but 'drink' implied she would swallow. Y/n didn't let Yuna swallow, forcing her to deepthroat his cock and pumping into her with unrelenting greed, the pressure and the chaos of fever that pushed her over the line. She struggled through letting him pump his load directly into her stomach, the moaning ecstasy carrying her in hazy surrender and a beautiful madness she didn't have any idea how to resist this. Maddening pleasure carried her to fall fully to pieces under the pleasure of all this pleasure, the heat of needing to just give up to all of it. It was a brilliant mess of desire and need and hunger to give up to, and she didn't have a prayer against it.

"We're almost there," he told her. "Just stay down there until I stop, okay?"

Yuna was happy with that, suckling on her daddy's fat white dick like a hungry little baby pig. She would have been happy doing this all day instead of having to suffer with actual class work.

******************************

Back at Y/n's, Yuna was happy to immediately fling herself to her teacher, stripping herself out of her clothes and unveiling the luscious mess that her body had become. Red ink all over her fit idol body made clear what she was about. The Q-laden heart on her cheek was only the beginning of the mess she'd made of her body. There was the row of heart vines along her thigh, the words 'WHITE BABIES ONLY’ lovingly rendered and framed in floral accents to serve as a womb tattoo. Hearts and roses and motifs around them enshrined other phrases like 'RACE TRAITOR', 'HAPA FACTORY', and 'BREED WHITE' all over her body. One of Korea's top idols had on hiatus and almost immediately covered herself in red ink glorifying white men, something that Yuna was unabashedly not ashamed of.

Especially when it made Y/n look at her like a piece of meat.

The tattoos were Y/n's idea. He was the one who'd corrupted her into this, the one how had bleached her and pushed her to just fall completely to pieces, showing her the tattoos American women got to signal their devotion to white men and then helping Yuna book appointments to get herself covered in them. She was unashamed of all of it, proud of the mess made of her body and how readily she wanted to give in. Not that Yuna minded covering herself head to toe in these appreciations, of course. She adored all of it.

"Aren't you happy that you've tamed me into a good bleachbunny for you?" asked Yuna, pushing Y/n down onto his bed and ripping at his clothes. "I'm such a dirty little slut for white cock now. I can never return to the stage looking like this now. Korea wants its idols to pretend that Korean boys are worth anything, but I'm just a white man's whore. I can't pretend. I won't pretend. Korean holes should only be filled with white cocks. Korean men shouldn't fuck Korean women; they should only watch superior men fuck them."

"God, you're perfect," Y/n groaned, groping Yuna's perky tits and her taut ass, adoring her body while he eyed all of her tattoos and all of the utterly demented lust behind all of this. There was a pleasure to these feelings that absolutely nothing was going to resist now. "I don't think you could say anything that could make me harder than what you're saying now."

Yuna licked her lips. 'There's one thing," she said, fishing his cock out and looming above it, her cunt dripping from all the oral worship she'd given him to get to this point. Her body shook in wild appreciation of these joys, the lust pulsing across her with unrelenting desire. Her smile widened. "Do you want to hear it?" she asked. 'I think it'll excite you. I think it's just what a hung, white stud here to fuck jailbait Korean girls wants to hear."

"Please," he groaned, not user what it was but trusting fully in Yuna's demented ideals, knowing that whatever she was about to confess to him would be unbelievable. He continued to knead her ass and her tits while awaiting the sweet surprise.

"I've gone off my birth control, daddy."

Yuna followed up the words with a wild slam down onto his cock, taking every inch of white dick into her tight, teenage hole, moaning in hopeless desire as she got to work at taking him in. Her moans were outrageous and desperate, driven by the absolute sloppiest frontiers of obsession now. Up and down she went, throwing herself into ravenous surrender to his cock. Up and down she moved, needing to give in to this, embracing the sloppy lust of everything

she craved. The Her body was ready, sloppy, pushing on for the most reckless of desires, keeping up pleasure and fever she needed only to let take her. It felt so good, so insistent, and she didn't care about holding back from it, didn't want anything to hold her from these lusts now.

"Fuck," groaned Y/n, lost to the immediate weight of her desires and what she wanted. He seized her hips tightly, guiding her up and down on his cock with unbelievable greed, the desire carrying him to need whatever he could get from this, her pussy squeezing around him. "Does that mean--"

"Yes, it means I want you to knock me up. I want to be a traditional Korean slutwife for you. Only you. I want to tend to your home, respect you, submit, and worship your foreign cock. I want to carry your white children and I want to fulfill my purpose. As a woman. As an Asian. As an Asian woman. I need to be yours." She was desperate, shameless, slamming harder onto his cock with merciless devotion. 'That's why you came here, wasn't it?"

"Not just t--"

"Not 'just'. You craved teenage Korean flesh so bad, and you didn't even wait a week before you pumped a load into me. You want this. Don't fight it. I want it, too. I'll give up on being an idol so I can come be yours instead. It's all I care about." Yuna let her hips work wildly up and down atop his lap. she was full of love and devotion, needing to give in to this and craving whatever she could find from it, throwing herself to want more and more of this, the pleasures carrying her to crave him with all she had. There was just no good way for anything to contain her now. Wildly riding his lap and carrying on with all she had to tend to him, Yuna knew that this was the way forward. The way to make him happy, and to change her life.

This was unbelievable. Y/n stared at the broken little cockslut he'd turned Yuna into. He'd never imagined she would so easily become so hard bleached. There was no doubt; she'd immediately converted over to it and let it become a lifestyle for her. It was either a testament to how amazing his cock was, or to how ready Yuna was for BWC to dominate her. maybe both. Maybe they were perfect for one another, destined to come together so his white cock and her race traitor pussy could find one another. It was a beautiful decadence and a chaos to keep giving in to, pleasures demanding only the hunger and the fever to keep pushing for more of.

Yuna was an unstoppable beast, a creature of lust and hunger and desire pushing her to want to give in. she didn't care about restraint, the irresistible chaos and the passion she wanted to keep her wanting more and more of. Pleasure and indulgence carried her to keep needing more, keep pushing in to these maddening lusts. There was a pleasure and a want to keep giving up to hotter. Every slam down onto his huge cock kept her needing more. "You should really consider putting a ring around my finger so that I never ever run away. You could even get me a collar instead, if you wanted to. A nice little diamond choker with a heart on it. Anything to prove I'm your bleached pet."

Every precision strike tease drove Y/n madder. His cock throbbed in hopeless, smoldering greed, keeping up a feverish desire and a hunger to keep wanting more and more of this all. There was no restraint behind these wicked lusts, keeping up the chaos and the passion to keep indulging in, embracing the hungers he wanted more and more to give up to. There felt

like absolutely nothing to give in to hotter, the wilder mess of these chaotic throbs, a lust tearing across him and keeping up wilder hunger now. The pleasure kept up its pace of pure hunger, wanton and sloppy and keeping up with this all. There was a pleasure to give in to hotter now. Her body felt unstoppable, driven by a sloppy momentum carrying her to just want to give up to all of it, needing to embrace these absolutely demented lusts now, desires and hungers she couldn't get enough of.

Moaning in hotter, hazier surrender, Yuna loved being such a sloppy bleachbunny for him. Her eyes rolled back, moans stuttering and shivering through these hopeless lusts. Keeping up the pace here imposed something upon Yuna that felt truly beautiful now. She didn't want it to stop, didn't want anything to hold her back from these devotions now. "White cock is the best. I need it. I need you. Knock me up and make me your wife already, what's keeping you?" She continued to greedily slam down onto him, unstoppable, imposing, demanding that he fuck her and fill her. There was no restraint for Yuna, only the dizzying surrender of satisfaction to keep chasing, and she was happy to keep up with it, to push him, to demand from him everything.

How could Y/n possibly resist? He slammed her down on his lap in maddening greed, desire carrying him to want more and more of these wicked pleasures, sloppy fever to give in hotter to. The unreasonable, overbearing ecstasy drove him to need this, every craving pushing him along until he just lost all control. Senseless, sloppy, hungry, he slammed up into her, pumping into Yuna with shot after shot of gooey cum that drove her over the line, keeping her needing this in fully, sloppier hunger keeping up the pleasure beyond reason. It was a beautiful mess of hunger, the heat to continue to give in to deeper. There was a pleasure behind these unreal and unreasonable devotions, the tremble of shuddering lust to just give up to utterly.

"Breed me, breed me! I want my white babies. The best thing a Korean woman can be is the mother to white children!" Her screams of sloppy obsession carried her to need this, craving the hunger and the fever of desire she didn't try to resist. Cravings consumed her utterly, and Yuna wanted to give up to all of it, delving in to the hotter of passions now, keeping her needy and sloppy and lost to the purity of hunger upon her. There was nothing she wanted to do but give up to all of this, the more and more imposing lusts she gave in to fully. The warm, gooey cum set her off, made her gasp and shudder through wilder passion, the pleasure she let carry her to the limit. It was an unbelievable hunger to need more of, giving in to this lustful heat without a shred of reason or dignity now. There was just pleasure to all of this, the burning fever to want more and more of. "Breed me again."

Yuna was happy to twist around and turn toward him, shaking her perky ass and showing off the big white heart on her ass cheek that read 'WHITE OWNED' with a crown. It was the kind of sight that could make Y/n’s thoughts go a bit crazy as he lurched forward. He meant to slide right back into her pussy, but as her wiggling, tatted-up ass advertised itself as white- owned, Y/n decided he wanted to go for something else, ramming his huge, white cock up her tight little backdoor without a word of warning.

Squeaking in wild shock at the pressure behind it, Yuna didn't exactly mind. "Of course, you want to fuck my ass, too," she moaned. "I don't mind, we'll get back to breeding again." She worked against him harder, happily tending to these sloppy devotions, her hips working to

meet his thrusts and to give in to the wildest of her desires. "Every part of me is made for you, and I'll be a good wife for my white man by letting your cock dominate all of my body. I'll learn how to cook American meals and give you them while I give you head, just like a white man deserves!" The sex was just a step in the process now, devotion carrying her along.

Yuna felt like she needed to just embrace these wicked and depraved ideas now, sloppy indulgence and obsession that carried Yuna to let herself go. She didn't care about these relentless passions now, the pleasure to keep her falling in to deeper, the hunger and the fever of giving up to all of this. The pleasure didn't leave a shred of sense behind now, the pleasures carrying on the sloppier fire and the chaos to want more and more of. Her hips shook and slammed back, feeding the needy heat pulsing across her body, tending to Yuna's every desire and hunger. she didn't want to slow down, needing to feel whatever she could get from this sloppy spectacle, greedy and lost and lit up with the fierce indulgence and desire that could turn a girl dumb. She didn't want to slow down in the face of this, needing only to let the pleasure carry her deeper, to feel this huge, white cock rearrange her guts.

"Can't help it," groaned Y/n, ramming up Yuna's ass with all he had, seeking the sloppy embrace of single-minded lust and the need carrying him to want to just go all out. It was too much pleasure to contain, the burning fever and ferocity that demanded he do everything he could to give in to this. It felt like everything he needed. "You could be famous, but you want to be my whore wife instead."

"Pleasing a white man brings me something so much better than being famous ever could," she whined. The pleasure enticed madder pleasure that she needed more and more of.

Unrestrained carried her to need to give up to all of these excitements, the passion to need more and more of. Unreasonable, unreal desire carried her to crave this now. Her tight ass got stretched out even harder than her cunt, and she knew she wanted only to give in to all of this, needing to surrender to these joys in full, keeping up the sloppiest of passions and joys now. The pleasure demanded that she succumb utterly, melting under the burning ecstasy to continue sinking in to.

The bed creaked and heaved a little bit under the force of wild doggy style anal, pounding madder into her. Drunk on these desires and sinking into the lust, Yuna didn't want anything to slow her down, carried on into the sloppier, deeper chaos to give in to, struggling through ideas of burning ecstasy that she continued to fall in to now. The pleasure was relentless, ferocious, burning across her and inviting her to just need to succumb to all of this. Yuna knew what she was about, and she knew what she wanted, embracing all of the hungers to carry on with hotter. There was no good way to handle these ideas, pleasure and chaos that carried her to want more and more of now.

"My whole body is bleached. I'm such a dirty slut. I'm such a naughty whore for white dick. I'm so happy that you're the white stud who broke me in, but I was destined to be a dirty whore for white men. It's what any Asian woman is made for. It's what we're born for!" She squealed out in hotter chaos, the surrender of delving in to these wicked ideas, pleasure to fall in to deeper, every craving igniting inside of her the purest of devotions and lusts now. It was what she needed most, and everything about these drunken joys drove her over the line now. "Do you like my tattoo? Once I'm done having my first baby, I'll let you choose what my other ass cheek gets." She twisted and giggled through this sloppy delirium, through a

continued need carrying her to want this all. She felt the unstoppable desire rip harder across her.

"I'm going to fucking cover you in them," he groaned. "Your presents will just be finding new ways to cram ink on your body to say you're a white-owned cockslut." Y/n didn't try to resist it, didn't pretend otherwise. Wilder greeds drove him to want to ruin her, to keep up pleasures that felt madder, sloppier, like a wild rush of burning excitement, the burning wickedness of needing to break her down completely. The utter depravity carried him to want to burn her up hotter, sending her into sloppier fires and lusts that continued to push her along. "I knew I'd take a girl in my class and turned her into a white worshiping whore, I just didn't think you'd be so easy."

"Any Korean girl would break if such an amazing, white cock broke her in. I know it. I'm just the lucky girl too pretty for you to resist. Now turn me into a Korean housewife who's loyal to her husband. We make the best wives. We're obedient. Respectful. Reverent. My white god will never have anything but pure love from me."

All of Yuna's babbling and whining urged Y/n to just let himself go. He remained unable to care about restraint, without a choice in the hard, mad slam forward, pumping into her with relentless joy. He came up her ass, flooding her ass with a hot load of molten spunk, sending her into the thrashing, shrieking joy of an overdrive she fell in to hotter, loving every second of burning greed now. It was unbelievable fire, the ferocious joy that she was able to give in to in full. Yuna thrashed, ached, gave in to these hotter spectacles and a passion that she didn't care about holding back from. The irresistible fever carried her to crave this, and she just did not care about restraint.

The cock pulled out of her ass, and Yuna shuddered. 'SO big," she whined, dripping with his cum from both holes now. "I can get bred again now, right daddy?"

Yuna turned around to face Y/n, eager and sloppy and hopelessly committed to getting what she wanted now.

But Y/n’s cock was starting to soften. A white cock had the stamina to go all night, but it did need a few breaks. "Maybe after dinner," Y/n said, slumping back against the bed. "You did make me cum five times since school ended and it's... I don't know what time it is, but it's not that late."

No. No, that was not acceptance. Frowning and pouting, Yuna stared at the softening cock, slowly falling down. Not shrinking much, though. Her teacher was huge even soft. But she wouldn't let him be soft, and she had to throw herself into the hopeless joy of grabbing his cock and licking it all over. She didn't care about going ass to mouth. Nasty bleached sluts did whatever it took. "No," she whined, licking and kissing all over his cock, tending to him with the burning fever and the desire carrying her to want more and more of all this. The pleasure carried her to crave these joys now, satisfaction and lust driving her into the deep end of fever and ferocity.

"You're such a desperate little whore," he groaned. "Does having white babies fucked into you matter so much?'

Yuna didn't answer, staring up at him with tempestuous, pouty fury while continuing to slobber all over his cock. Of course it did! He knew it, too. He was just teasing, but his teasing was working. She continued to lick and kiss all over his cock, her sloppy reverence carrying him to give in to this, urging him to give her what she wanted.

Slowly but surely, he hardened up against the desire aching across him. Yuna didn't hold anything back, and the raw sexual delight of seeing this desperate little Korean teen slave over his cock drove him mad. How could he not get hard again? His cock rose to attention, every groan he let out one of pure delight at the sheer control he held now over her. "Such a good little slut. You want your babies?"

"Yes," she whined.

"You want to get bred white?" "Please."

"You want my white cock to colonize your little race traitor pussy and pump you full of white babies so that you can start your life as a bleached housewife the second you graduate?"

"It's the only thing I want!" she screamed.

Y/n threw her back down onto the bed and slammed upon her from above, his cock forcing its way with brutal insistence into Yuna's pussy, starting up on the wicked satisfaction that it took to absolutely ruin her. Powerful, feverish slams rattled her to her core, made Yuna shriek as he got back to pounding her cunt, fresh off of a little reminding and a little fluffing.

"Own me," she whined, her legs kicked up into the air for this mating press, letting his body come crashing down upon hers. So powerful, so harsh, so ready to make her melt under his touch. Yuna felt drunk beneath its daze, wanting to continued to let these passions urge her deeper, unable to resist how good it felt to just let go. Everything about these sloppy needs encouraged her to want to collapse, and she didn't care about anything but white cock as he took her. "I'm yours. I'm yours. I'm yours!"

"That's right. You're mine, and you're never going to stop being my little bleachslut now. Ricebunny whore. Jailbait cocksucker. I'm going to marry you the second I'm no longer your student."

The words made Yuna shriek with wild joy, the passion madder and sloppier, carrying her to want to give in to this now. She was powerless against these devotions, passionate hunger to keep giving up to, continuing to surrender herself to this and wanting to give in to these pleasures now, the deeper ferocity that she was ready to give in to deeper now. There was no restraint behind these ideas, hunger and sloppy desire she wanted more and more of now.

There felt like no good way to handle these frustrations, chaotic fire and desire too ferocious to be able to handle. She needed this, craving his touch and wanting to give ever deeper in to the idea of losing control.

Her legs pressed tighter against his sides, drunken whines continuing to ring out in brighter desire now. Yuna felt powerless, the hunger sloppier, wilder, carrying her to need more and

more of this. There was only devotion and desire to this mess, and she was ready for this. All of this. She needed to give in, and she needed to surrender herself to these maddening lusts, carried into pleasure and want she didn't know how to resist. It was a relentless passion to carry on with, giving up to these lusts to give in to deeper now.

This was an addiction. Unable to contain herself and knowing that she was a sloppy wreck giving up hotter by the second, Yuna simply couldn't contain herself, couldn't care. She gave in to these desperate lusts, ecstasies ripping across her madder and wilder now. Drunk on these lusts and ready to give up fully to this mess, Yuna fell gleefully to pieces, lost to this hunger and lost to the sloppiness of ecstasy that tore her utterly to pieces now. "I need to get bred,” she whined. "Please. Please. Babies. Let me brag. I'll get it tattooed on me. All over. Breed me white and I'll cover myself proudly in it. It's all I want." She was a dizzy wreck, thrashing under the lust and the heat of needing to simply give in to all of this, the pleasures she wanted to break under fully.

Unrestrained greed carried Yuna to want to just fall to pieces, succumbing to pleasure desperately demanding that she break down in full. There was no good way to handle these passions, and it became a pleasure she just couldn't resist. The pleasure was unreal, a sloppier fire carrying her to give in deeper to this now. The pleasure carried her to want to fall utterly apart here. The pleasure was truly spectacular, and she didn't want it to hold her back. There wasn't anything to do but gave up to all of this, pleasures demanding that she fall apart in full. It was beautiful, desperate, reckless, and she just gave up to all of it now. She had to. Yuna was drunk on the bliss of betraying her race, and her pleas were hopelessly committed to the most demented of surrenders.

"Fuck," groaned Y/n, who struggled to hold himself together long enough to actually get into this groove. The pleasure was relentless and feverish, sloppier pleasures he knew he needed to give up to deeper. The most ravenous of these lusts demanded more from him, keeping up pleasure and want that continued to give in deeper now. There was a pleasure that didn't feel sane, senseless and wicked. "You're unreal."

Yuna squealed hotter. "That's all I can get? One of the most famous idols in Korea is your bleached cumrag, and all you can call me is 'unreal'?"

"You're the perfect fucking woman!" he hollered, throwing his head back, cursing, thrashing, giving himself up to this hotter. The burn of noisy hunger and fever drove him over the edge, all sense melting away in the throes of these pleasures. He came hard, pumping her full of cum and letting loose the sloppiest of his desires now. Relentless, hungry, thrashing wildly about, he let loose the hungers that drove him mad. It was pleasure as desperate and as forceful as he could have handled now. The sloppier and hotter chaos continued its demanding hungers now.

The words sent Yuna shrieking into another orgasm, sloppy and noisy under the wild satisfaction of just needing to give in to this. It was everything to her now, the pleasure to carry in to hotter. The ever-sloppier chaos drove her mad with hunger, and she just had to accept the sloppy desire and ecstasy of wanting all of these wicked passions now. Her cunt squeezed down around his cock, and her screams of desperate drunken fever carried her to the limit. "Daddy daddy daddy daddy bleach me!" She was lost her mind with joy; this was

the day she had been waiting too long for, and she wanted to give up to these wicked desires, a pleasure she wanted to succumb to utterly, and she didn't pretend she was even remotely capable of reason now.

As she came around his cock and screamed for this, Y/n happily gave in to the morally dubious ecstasy of these pleasures too, giving up to all of this and embracing the utter ecstasy that kept hitting him hard. His cock erupted with wild joy, needing to fill her up, throwing all sense away and allowing senseless joy to be become everything now to him. The pleasure wasn't real, wasn't sensible, and all of these ideas became their undoing. He held her down to the mattress and pumped her full to the brim with cum, sending her into the collapse of all sense under the sheer satisfaction of what he needed most now. This was his time, the beautifully deranged passion he wanted more of, and he just would not hold himself back from all of it.

"Groaning, aching, shivering atop her, Y/n groaned, "I’m going to fuck you all night. Pussy only, to make sure it takes. But dinner." He pulled out of her. "First, we get some dinner."

Yuna nodded happily. "I'll make you something," she cooed, ready to get good practice at being the wife that he deserved.

#kpop smut #yuna smut #itzy smut #yuna #yuna x reader #gg smut #smut #male reader

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wutheringcaterpillar · 11 days

Note

Omg pleeeease I need a dark/angsty Tommy fic where he ends up hurting the reader? Like an argument gets too heated and he ends up slapping her or something. Like maybe she was flirting and dancing a bit too much with someone at a party they’re hosting and he gets jealous and drags her to their room, then they start arguing and he gets so enraged that he basically sees red and absolutely slaps the hell out of her (some non con/dub con smut after as well???). Just need some heavy, dark, possessive, violent, scary/mean Tommy Shelby 😫 The darker the better lol

Warnings: noncon, p in v + anal, physical abuse, degradation, threats with a gun, some blood play, misogyny, name calling

Hope you enjoy! Thank you!

Tommy watched from afar, seeing you and Ada drunk, giggling like a bunch of school girls at a table filled with men. He may not be able to control his sister but his wife was another subject. People were beginning to stare, especially the men Tommy needed on his good side for now. The dress you were wearing was skin tight, your panties just barely showing through the thin black fabric.

Tonight was a prestige dinner with delegates that Shelby Limited was in talks for business deals. The plan was too conversate, find weak spots, understand the patterns of movements, but the only thing Tommy was focused on was you, a long with every other man.

Even Arthur made a remark, a statement that angered Tommy even more. “Y/N’s quite the appeal tonight isn’t she?” Arthur chuckled, taking someone’s glass of whiskey and finishing it himself.

“What are you talking about?”

“Look at her, need to cherish her better brother before another man makes a move.” That was it, that was enough. When Tommy slammed his glass down and started to walk away Arthur pulled him back, pleading and convincing Tommy to just allow you to have fun for a night but he wouldn’t listen. Frowning, Arthur returned to the table, grabbing another drink whilst Tommy tried to keep his compusure. Greeting and checking in with the guests before approaching your flailing, inebriated body.

Three tradesman of London were in attendance, the blatant look of disgust from where they stood at the bookcase, giving your husband a look of disapproval before carrying on in conversation.

“Tommy! My husband, come here!” When you attempted to pull him down by the sleeve of his expensive suit, he pulled back, tucking his hands in his pockets, giving you a stern expression that told you to follow him.

Pouting, you crossed your arms, rolling your eyes annoyed, picking up a bottle of champagne before walking away with him, making flirtatious remarks to random men as you wobbled away until you were in the master bedroom.

Closing the door, you fell onto the floor laughing in a disarray of emotions, your vision blurry and your eyes dilated. Tommy pulled the nearly empty bottle from your hands, tossing it into the corner of the room before grabbing your wrist forcing you up onto your feet.

“What the fuck are you doing, eh? Are you stupid, is that it? You know how important tonight is and you go and fucking wreck it, bidding yourself off to other men when you are a married, taken woman.”

“Relax Tommy, we’re just having fun. What the boys can do whatever they damn well please but because of what’s between my legs I’m expected to just be formal, elegant?” Tommy looked at you with expecting eyes, not understanding where the confusion is. There were important men here tonight and seeing you galavanting around like some whore and being incoherently drunk made his blood boil.

Biting dowm on his tongue and locking his jaw, he pointed with dictation, sapphire eyes raging with fire as he seethed out the following words.

“Yes. It’s that fucking simple. You can’t even fucking stand up straight.” Scoffing, you tiptoed around the room, holding onto the dresser to keep your warm, sweating body from falling. The room was spinning but that didn’t change the anger from the double standard that was always set against you. You hadn’t thought before speaking, the words simply sputtering out what you’ve held in.

“You should be thanking me for flirting with them, without me you’d have nothing. I’m simply the means to an end to the shit deals you can’t make on your own.”

Tommy cut you off with the back of his hand slapping across your cheek ferociously, silencing you for good. Grabbing for the bruising skin, you looked back at your husband in shock and fear. He’s never, ever layed a hand on you.

When you ran for the door, he was faster, shoving the wooden object closed with his hand and yanking you back by the strands of your hair, pushing you carelessly onto the bed.

His hands tightened around your wrists as he shoved his hardened member upward against your mound.

“I’d have nothing eh? I’ll show you what it’s like to be treated like you’re nothing.”

Screaming hysterically, you wept as Tommy ripped the expensive gown, exposing the bare, delicate skin of your thighs. Hitting and fighting against his chest to push him away, he simply lifted his hand, slapping you harshly once more to stop the whining.

You pressed your hand gently against your temple, a headache forming in the core of your mind from the impactful blow.

Hearing the buckle of his belt, you panicked but were too weak to defend yourself from the man who claimed to be your husband.

“Maybe if you had just listened and weren’t a fucking whore tonight we wouldn’t be in this postion. Someone’s forgotten their place eh?” Pushing the thin laced fabric of your panties aside, he thrusted upward, letting his thick length penetrate you without any lube. Writhing and seething in pain below him, tears prickled at your eyes, not recognizing who was staring at you anymore.

Spitting at his face, he smiled slyly, a dark twisted grin bellowing at what you had done.

Returning the favor he spat back, hitting you once more with a forceful, strong slap that echoed through the room and knocked out your hearing in one ear.

“Don’t forget sweetheart. I own you, you’re my property.” Wrapping his hands around your throat, you struggled for air as he drilled into your dry cunt, shredding open the sensitive skin like a grater would cheese. Blood slowly leaked out from your pussy, the ability to scream non existent as your airway was constricted, bruising as his nails dug into your skin.

When your hands reached up to try to push him away from your neck, desperate for air, he shed himself of his tie, wrapping the fabric around your wrists tightly to the headboard and shoved his underwear in your mouth.

Slapping your cunt repeatedly, he mocked your whimpers, feeling your walls slowly start to produce your sweet syrup against your will.

“How pathetic, is this what you wanted? Someone likes me cock, who knew my wife was a little fucking whore.” Screeching beneath the makeshift gag, your skin seethed in pain, wanting nothing more for this to be over.

His hands grasped at your breasts, tugging and pulling at your nipples, smitten by how easily your body gave in to him.

Flipping you over onto your stomach, he spread your ass cheeks, pulling the fatty skin apart finding that tight, untouched hole you’d been denying him for so many years, now he was going to take it for himself.

There was nowhere for you to go, your eyes searched, panicked looking for anything to get you out of these bindings, but there was nothing.

Aligning himself with your taint, you could feel the rounded head of his shaft resting at your virgin entrance. Every bone and muscle in your violated body tensed when his head pushed through your strained, congested walls. You screamed in agony as he wasted no time burying himself balls deep in your taint.

“Oh fuck…Didn’t know you could feel this good love. My little slave, that ass devouring me cock. About time I reminded you of your place. Nothing but a slut, a mere stupid little bitch.” He moaned in between thrusts as he fucked your anus, pounding your ass up and down on his shaft while holding the cheeks of your ass roughly. The sporadic pain was different than your pussy, far more intensified. It didn’t feel like stinging anymore, the size of his penis sent flames of fire through your hole.

When he buried his neck into the crook of your neck while he continued to pump relentlessly into you. You fumbled with the bindings while he wasn’t paying attention.

Realessing a choked sob, you were on the verge of being free, fidgeting with the tight knot with a tremendous effort, working over the fabric through the tears and painful agony, but you weren’t as smooth as you thought. Tommy’s hand shot up, slamming down on yours and pulled you arms behind your back, causing the gag to fall out in the process.

“Help! Help! Ah-“ Striking you in the back of your waeay head, he shoved his fingers between your lips, invading your mouth and pulling at the sides of your lips.

“Shut the fuck up. Listen to me, are you listening sweetheart?” You whimpered through his fingers, nodding your head, squeezing your eyes closed in a pained expression when he thrusted his cock violently with a force of strength and dominance.

“No one is coming to your rescue, you belong to me, and I have the right to use and abuse my property all I want and you will listen, or suffer the consequences as you are right now. Get up.” Tommy pulled you onto his lap, reinserting his lengthy shaft into your soaking wet walls. You mewled from the discomfort, struggling to make eye contact with Tommy.

His lips connected to your hardened nipples, biting down on the flesh harshly, aiming to draw blood. Slapping you across the face once again, your head whipped to the other side fiercly.

“Ride me. Go on, you claim to be so great in bed to those men out there. Can’t treat your husband the same?” Another backhand, before his hand gripped the fat of your ass cheeks, slamming you up and down on his cock, an immense joy curdling within him from seeing your pathetic tears.

Then an idea struck you, if you’r just get him off surely he’d let you go. A satisfied grin spread across his face when you began to rotate your hips, staring slowly at first before picking up speeding.

“Ah, fuck, that’s it love. Show me what that worthless cunt can do.” You continued to whine and whimper as you rode his cock, your ass landing on his thighs with each powerful bounce, your breasts flying up and down for his amusement.

You could feel him begin to pulsate, he was close, very close.

Arching your back, Tommy focused in on your pussy devouring his lengthy member with each pivotal motion of your hips. Your walls tightened, constricting his length, and within seconds his seed was filling your tortured void, flooding into your ovaries.

At that moment you moved as fast as lightning, taking the lamp and smashing it over his head to try to escape his bitter soul. Rushing to put clothes on, you ran to the door, thinking that someone would help you but Tommy wasn’t weak and you were nowhere nearly as strong as him. He was quick to recover, but not as quick as you. Throwing on a nightshirt and slipping on the closest thing to work as underwear, you opened the door just nearly out when Tommy pulled on his pants, rolling over the bed and running, rushing toward you, slamming the door closed once again.

You punched the door in defeat, frightened to turn around until he forced you to, pulling out something you’d never thought he’d use as a threat to you.

“If you think I am playing some sort of sick game, you are sadly mistaken sweetheart. Now get back on the fucking bed, you’ve done enough tonight.” Removing the safety, he pointed the gun directly on the middle of your forehead, the cool metal barrel sending chills down your spine. Is this what your marriage had come to? How were you supposed to move forward from this catastrophic night? Surely people would notice the bruises but then again, no one ever questioned Tommy Shelby, not anyone that gave a shit about their life.

Surrendering you rose your arms, the shaking of your trembling hands visible. The man facing you, you no longer recognized. There was no guilt, or shame, or any type of love present in those venomous, frigid eyes, he really wasn’t joking. Making your way back to the bed, you tucked your head onto the pillow, weeping relentlessly into the case of the feathered object. Tommy layed the gun down on the table, taking a seat beside you. You flinched away from his cold, heartless touch, terrified of what was to come next.

“I need to go back and entertain our guests. You stay here and be good. Can you do that?” He twisted your labia, pinching the sensitive skin, causing you a tremendous amount of pain, reminding you what could happen if you don’t listen.

Nodding with fearful, tired eyes, you watched as Tommy dressed himself, and stayed in your fragile position on the soiled sheets, eventually crying yourself to sleep in the dark room.

#thomas shelby #tommy shelby #ranaewrites #peaky blinders #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #requested

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mattyriddlesbitch · 9 days

Note

Okay so what if like the reader is a big prankster(preferably in Gryffindor) and she like plays a prank on the Slytherins but Blaise catches her and eventually it leads to spicy stuff 🥵🥵

I love this idea. Thank you! <3

Caught

Blaise Zabini x Gryffindor!F!Reader

Warnings: a teeny tiny bit of blackmail, unprotected sex, oral(male receiving), cussing

18+ Minors DNI!

You and your friends had a little rivalry with the Slytherin boys. It was all just pranks, nothing harmful. You guys didn’t hate each other, but you played into the house rivalry of Gryffindor vs Slytherin. You guys actually found it fun. No hard feelings between each other.

This time, you had the brilliant idea of rigging it so when they got their clothes out of their lockers next for quidditch, they would get covered in a red powder that stained the skin pretty well. So you snuck down to the locker rooms after you thought everyone had left. The locker rooms were empty so you started working on rigging all the lockers, which was definitely going to take a while considering how many you had to do.

You were about halfway done, trying to hurry up and finish just on the off chance that someone-

“What are you doing?” A voice said behind you and you jumped, turning around to see Blaise leaning against the lockers behind you. Shit.

“Nothing.” You lied, shutting the locker you were working on.

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” Blaise smiled. “You can tell me, I won’t be mad.”

You hesitated. If you told him, he would tell his friends and the prank wouldn’t work. But he might let you go. “A prank.”

“I can tell that much. What’s the prank?” He asked.

“The prank won’t work if I tell you.” You said, smiling sweetly.

He pushed off the lockers and took the few steps to step in front of you, leaning closer to your face. “I won’t tell.” He said, still smiling.

“I’m not saying anymore.” You said, backing up into the locker behind. Bad move.

He followed you, trapping you against the locker. “Come on. I won’t say anything. I just don’t wanna be on the receiving end of that prank.”

“No.” You shook your head.

“I could always go get Snape…” You knew he wouldn’t, but that threat hung in the air for a moment before you decided to do something stupid to save yourself.

You kissed him. You had wrapped your arms around the back of his neck and kissed him. His hands moved to your waist as he kissed you back, leaning you against the lockers. You were hoping to catch him off guard and then slip away, but he seemed ready and made it so you couldn’t just leave.

“Thought you would surprise me and then just get away, huh?” He said as he moved his lips to trail kisses along your neck.

“I was hoping so, yes. Seems you caught on.” You said, sighing softly at his kisses.

“I’m not as dumb as I look, love.” He said before biting softly at the skin on your neck.

“Clearly.” You moved a hand to tangle in his hair as a small moan escaped your lips.

“I’ll make you a little deal, then.” He said against your neck before moving to the other side. “I won’t tell anyone I saw you here, you can have your little prank, if you help me with something.”

“And what’s that something?” You asked, but you were sure you already knew the answer.

Instead of saying anything, he grabbed your arm and brought your hand to his crotch, where his dick was already straining against his pants. Your eyes widened slightly, but you didn’t move your hand away. You already were feeling yourself get wet from those kisses, you couldn’t deny part of you wanted it anyways. “So…Are you going to take the deal?” He asked, biting at your neck again.

“Yes.” You nodded.

“Good.” He said and pulled your hand away so he could undo his pants. He pushed them down along with his underwear and pulled away from your neck to see your face. You were staring at his cock and something about that look made him harder. “Come on. On your knees, baby.” He said and backed up to give you room.

You listened and got down on your knees, feeling the cold, uncomfortable ground. But you didn’t mind, you were too focused on his dick. You wrapped your hand around it, giving it a stroke before teasing his tip with your tongue, looking up at him. He moaned softly from your touch and wrapped his hand in your hair, pulling your hair away from your face.

“I think you can do better than that, right?” He said before pushing your head down so you took him in your mouth. You gagged as he hit the back of your throat and he groaned. He seemed to like that a lot. “Glad we could finally put your mouth to use since you didn’t wanna talk.” He teased as he guided your head up and down his cock. “Fucking hell, this is definitely a much better use of your mouth.” You moaned around him in response. “Wonder if your pussy’s better. You want me to fuck your pussy, baby?” You tried humming out a ‘yes’ around him, but that was a little hard when he kept hitting the back of your throat. He seemed to figure it out, though, because he pulled your mouth off of him and helped you stand up. “You really want it, ma?” He asked as he put his hands back on your waist.

“Yes. Please, I want it.” You nodded.

He smiled and moved to tug your bottoms and panties off before he worked on your shirt and bra. He pulled off his shirt as well and kissed you again, pushing you back against the lockers. He brought his hands to your legs and lifted you up, keeping you pressed against the lockers as he guided his cock to your entrance. “You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?” He said before he started pushing in, making you moan in reply. He bottomed out and you both moaned as he leaned his forehead on yours. “You’re fucking tight, baby. Shit.” He said before he started thrusting.

“Oh my god. Fuck.” You moaned, throwing your head back against the lockers, your arms holding onto him tightly.

“Is that good? Does that feel good?” He asked, kissing along your jaw and neck again.

“Yes! Feels so good, Blaise!” You nodded.

“Are you trying to let everyone back at the castle know how good I’m making you feel?” He teased, but did nothing to quiet you.

“No! Fuck! Just feels so good.” You reply, crying out as he starts thrusting harder.

“Yeah? You wanna cum on my dick, beautiful?” He asked, moving a hand to rub at your clit.

“Fuck! Yes! Please!” Your nails were digging into his back now and he hissed slightly from the pain, but kept going.

“I don’t know. You were trying to play a prank on us. You think you deserve it?” He teased, biting down on your neck again, pulling a whimper from you.

“Yes! I’ve been so good for you. Please.” You nodded.

“Hm.” He hummed against your skin before pulling back. “Fine. I wanna see you cum then. Look at me.”

You tilt your head back down to look at him as he keeps fucking into you. It was hard to focus on him when your eyes wanted to roll back in pleasure, but you managed as you were moaning and crying out for him. Only a few more thrusts and you came, crying out his name like a prayer as he helped ride out your orgasm. He wasn’t far behind you as he pulled out and came on your stomach and tits.

He brought you over to the showers in the locker room and helped you clean up. You both went over to collect your clothes and get dressed afterwards. He went over to open his locker and before you could warn him, the powder exploded on him, covering the top half of his body and you stood there covering your mouth, trying not to laugh.

“You better run, baby.” He warned without even looking at you.

You finally laughed as you took off, leaving him in the locker room covered in the red powder.

#slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys smut #blaise zabini x reader smut #blaise zabini x reader #blaise zabini smut

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redflagshipwriter · 1 month

Text

Hot Ghouls in your area ch 6

part 1

Masterpost

Danny felt like something scraped off the pavement. Through an act of absolutely heroic willpower (and outright fear of Jazz trying to help him rebalance his workload) he made it through his morning classes.

He staggered away from campus, brain buzzing tiredly over numbers and formulas and also his accidental concubine.

Nope. He shook his head rigorously. “I need a pick me up,” Danny decided. He ignored the common sense that said ‘coffee isn't going to fix this.’ Sure. That was true. But it wouldn't hurt, would it? And he was way overdue for the first meal of the day.

He shouldered his way into a café near campus. This wasn't one of the most convenient ones or one of the trendy ones with different seeds or organic whatever baked goods on rotation.

Nah. It was dark, mostly empty, and multiple tables were along the wall with nice views of the windows and door. The only other customers he had seen in this place were 50+. Well, there had been a high school girl inside once, but she'd clearly come in because her grandmother was the owner. Danny beelined to his preferred table and unloaded his backpack onto the spare chair before he gratefully collapsed.

Ah. Dark. Quiet. He slouched onto the table a bit.

“You look tired,” said the owner.

Danny lifted his head just enough to give her a cheesy smile. “Can I get a coffee, please?” He croaked. “And- is it still lunch hours?” They stopped doing lunch at two, didn't they? Shoot. What time-

“I can do lunch,” she reassured. She scribbled something deftly onto a pad of paper. “Roast beef sandwich set?”

“I will protect you with my life,” Danny vowed.

She laughed and turned away, but he was for real for real. Danny forced himself to sit up enough to look around his surroundings. He wanted to stay awake. He had just one more class today - a 4 to 5:30 lab. Once he got through that, he could go to bed.

Huh.

He accidentally made eye contact with a young guy holding up a book. Danny lifted a single wave and then looked away awkwardly.

‘Wait a second.’

Danny did a double take.

Yes. Yes, that fucker was holding up a copy of a book from the library in Pariah's keep. It had ghost writing on it.

The guy slowly, pointedly lifted an eyebrow. He was- he was hot and huge and Danny had seen him lift like 200 lbs of books like they were nothing at all.

Danny flushed bright red and buried his face in his hands.

Okay. Okay, so that was Jason's face. How had he found Danny??? That was absurd. …Was it a threat? It felt kinda threatening. Was he in like, danger? Danny pulled his hands away from his face and squinted as subtly as he could at his hellion of a ghost spouse. What kind of sick mind game was it to lurk along his daily route and passive aggressively remind him that he should be working on their divorce?

Worse than that. This was the fastest anyone had ever found his personal identity. Fear and confusion trawled around his gut. How? Literally how? Danny raced back through his memory of their conversation and kicked himself over every misstep he could remember. Clearly, Jason had been prodding him for enough information to trick him into doxxing himself. It was a betrayal, honestly.

Wait. The burner phone. Danny didn't know how, but Jason must have been able to track it. It was a trick.

Danny gave him a nasty look when he figured that out.

Jason pretended to be absorbed in his book. The bastard!

Danny got tenser and tenser, the tendons in his hand flexing into visibility on top of the table.

He felt guilty about not dropping everything and then resentful that apparently Jason wanted him to. He had other things to do, okay? His school life was important.

“Here's your coffee.”

“Thanks,” Danny said automatically, and moved his hands to free up space for the cup and little container of cream. He immediately spooned in sugar and dumped in all the cream. He was way too grateful for something to do with his hands. He breathed in steam and then took a careful sip. It was a good chance to steal another glance at Jason through his lashes.

Jason was still pretending not to pay attention to him.

What was his deal?

His plate came. Danny ate mashed potatoes and gravied meat with more viciousness than usual, casting dark looks at Jason over the vividly orange carrots he speared into his mouth.

The sugar, caffeine, and confused anger hit his nervous system and converted itself helpfully into energy. Danny buzzed with energy. He was going to tell Jason to back off, he decided. The guy still hadn't moved other than to sip at what had to be ice cold tea by now.

“Do you have a problem?” Jason drawled. For the first time, he shut the book and fixed his green eyes directly on Danny.

“I was wondering what your problem is, actually,” Danny shot back. He gave a pointed look to the book. “Real funny bringing that out in public.” His gaze tracked back up to make eye contact and then his brain stuttered.

Holy cow. That was an ecto sheen on his eyes.

‘... I've already contaminated him?’

“It's just a book,” Jason said, voice full of fake confusion. As if he hadn't brought it there to make a point!

Yeah, okay. Danny scoffed. “Whatever, asshole,” he dismissed. He dug money out of his wallet and slapped it on the table to cover his lunch. He barely remembered to grab his backpack through the haze of anger. “I'm sure I'll see you soon.” He took the time to aim an ugly face at Jason on the way out, pulling his lower eyelids down and sticking out his tongue. He barreled out the door while Jason was still sputtering in his fake ass shock.

Boo! That jerk!

#red hot ghouls #dp x dc #dc x dp #dead on main #jason todd #danny fenton #Jason fails to enjoy a nice cup of chamomile

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beenbaanbuun · 9 days

Note

hi! i wanted to ask something about yeosang

since he's a werewolf, would he change in full moon? would he have ruts? how would the family take care of it?

now, yeosang may not transform when the full moon hits, but he certainly acts more primal. even after he’s grown used to being around the family and coddled by darling, he can’t help himself when it comes to that time of the month.

the day before, he’s always a little grumpier. seonghwa can’t ruffle his hair without yeosang snarling at him, hongjoong can’t make a snarky comment without getting a snooty remark in return, and darling can’t irritate him as much as she usually does without him pinning her to the floor like a disobedient pup. not that she particularly minds being pinned; it only adds to her fun when he’s leaning above her, anger racing through his expression as he reprimands her.

but the day of the full moon is when the three of non-werewolf residents really need to watch out. if his mood is bad leading up to it, it’s absolutely foul when it actually hits. yeosang will go back to his old biting habits, baring his teeth if anyone does anything even vaguely in his vicinity. if seonghwa accidentally steps on that creeky floorboard whilst walking to his favourite spot on the chez, yeosang will snap his jaws. if hongjoong puts a chess piece down a little too loudly, yeosang will snarl. if darling dares to touch him, we’ll, let’s be real, he won’t do much more than pin her and bare his teeth, but it’ll still be much meaner than usual. the scolding will actually feel real for once, even more so than those empty threats he chucked her way during the first few weeks he was there. safe to say even she tries to avoid him when it’s that time of the month.

as for ruts, yeosang does experience them but it’s nowhere near as painful and violent as media makes it out to be. sure, it’s unpleasant to have a permanently hard dick for a week, three times a year, but he’s not bed bound or anything. he can still get up and move around and interact with the rest of the family without jumping darling’s bones. he’s just a little more… desperate… in a way that makes him completely and utterly submissive. like sure, he wants to breed but he’ll beg for it first. and yes, he wants darling to be in his arms 24/7, but if that means he needs to act as her personal teddy bear for a week then goddammit he will. he hates his ruts for this specific reason; he can hardly pretend to be the big bad wolf when every bone in his body is telling him to do whatever it takes to have his precious pup curled up nice and safely in his arms.

and hongjoong and seonghwa let him have what he wants, if it suits them. during the day when they’re both busy, he has to be good; keep his dick in his pants and stick solely to cuddling her by the fire. of course, yeosang will obey. in the state he’s in, he’s so desperate to keep darling with him that he’ll listen to whatever it is seonghwa and hongjoong tell him.

but as soon as one or both of them are free to monitor that he doesn’t go too far, and providing darling is okay with it, yeosang has free reign. the poor thing is so desperate that he barely lasts long, but it doesn’t really matter because it’s just as much about getting his partner off as it is himself. he explained it as ‘proving himself’ when hongjoong had asked why he was so desperate to make darling cum too. the man supposes that’s as good of a reason as any…

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #opposites attract universe #yeosang x reader #matz x reader #seonghwa x reader #hongjoong x reader

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xdacted · 8 months

Text

You and Me (always forever)

Paring: Reader X Max Verstappen

Warnings: Fluff, mentions of child abuse

Word Count: 2,060

Status: Complete

____________________

Max was so dead.

He was going to be in so much trouble if his father caught him. But that threat has never stopped him before, it certainly won’t start tonight.

He knew better than this, better than sneaking out before a race, but he had seen her. She was on the makeshift paddock earlier, standing with her helmet tucked right beneath her arm. The practice for that day had gone well, he’d lost out to p1 by merely hundredths of a second, but of course, that was never good enough.

Jos had torn into him. Berating him in their garage, swearing and pushing at his shoulders. Max didn’t want to cry, he didn’t want to scream, he just wanted to hide. He hated when his dad screamed at him, especially when he did it infront of everyone. When he did it infront of her.

She found him after his father stormed off, Jos demanding that he clean up the mess on his own. There was a worried look in her eye, face red with anger. It was cute and it made Max burst into laughter.

“He shouldn’t speak to you like that,” She said, crossing her arms in front of her and glaring at the direction in which his father left, “It’s wrong.”

“He’s my dad,” Max tried explaining to her that it was just the way things were. His dad didn’t hate him, Jos was trying to make him better, stronger. He was the son of a Formula one driver, Max couldn’t embarrass him.

“Exactly,” She stepped closer to him, throwing her hands in the air, “You’re his son!”

With a roll of his eyes, Max turned away to begin disassembling his kart. If he didn’t get started now, he’d be here until sundown. She was silent for a long while, standing at the opening of their garage, just watching him collect the tools and roll the tires away, until she let out a loud groan.

“You don’t have to help,” Max reminded her, but it never made a difference.

She began to wipe down the tool box, smoothing out the paint of his kart. He’d nearly lost himself on turn five and it caused a rock to crack at the side of his kart, the thought made his face burn. He hated making mistakes, he hated it when he wasn’t able to perform the way he wanted - the way he should.

His father demanded perfection, but it was more than that. Max knew he could achieve it. He knew that he was special and he hated when he let childish mistakes hold him back from that. He was only 9, but that didn’t mean a thing. He needed to be ready. He needed -

“Will you meet me under the track?”

He nearly dropped the rags in his hands, “Tonight?”

“No!” She mocked, “Tomorrow. Yes, tonight.”

They��d been meeting there since they were six. It was a little ditch right underneath a part of the track. The grass was smooth and at this time, it was filled with dandelions. It was their place, their space away from everyone else. It was just for them.

“Yeah,” He muttered, “Yeah, okay.”

“Good,” She turned to him, tossing him a wrench, “See you then.”

It’s how he was there now, standing with his hands shoved into his pockets, looking around. He always waited for his father to fall asleep before slipping out of the motorhome, Jos never woke up - far too a heavy sleeper - but it still made his stomach curl with anxiety.

Max shivered in the night wind, the calm roll of the air blowing past him. The blades of grass danced in the moonlight, with the dandelions nearly glowing as bright as the stars. It was beautiful here. Just him and the sky.

Dark and mysterious, an infantate void of emptiness. Sometimes he wondered what it was like to be a star, be so high above that no one could ever hurt you. Safe from screaming and shoving, twinking so brightly that everyone looked at you. Everyone loved you. Being so warm, right beside the moon and the sun.

It must be a beautiful life.

“Max!” Her voice pulls him back to himself. He blinks a few times, eyes suddenly stinging. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been like that, staring into the distance, but she marches up to him.

“You’re shivering!”

Before he can utter another word, she’s throwing a blanket around him, it’s a wool one - one that her mother made her for Christmas. She’s quick to set her backpack down, pulling the fabric around his shoulders, fussing around his collar.

“I always tell you to bring a blanket and you never do!”

“Because you always do…”

His words don’t leave him with their normal snark, emotions still thick in his throat. For a moment, she pauses. Her bright eyes meeting him, Max can’t take it. They pierce right through him, she can see all of him. There’s nothing he can hide from her.

He hates it.

When he tears his gaze away, she catches him. Her warm hands are at either of his cheeks, directing him right back to her. It’s odd. Even with the intensity of her eyes, Max never feels judged. There’s nothing that he fears she might see, he just hates that he can’t hide how weak he is. He hates that all his insecurity is right for her to see.

But Max is sure she’s seen it more than once, plenty of times, and yet, here she is. She hasn’t run.

“Of course, I do,” She huffs after a long while, breaking their staring contest first, “You always forget.”

He can see, even in the darkness, that her cheeks are red, spreading all the way to the tips of her ears. It makes his stomach flip. She settles beside him, pulling her pack closer to her. She digs within it for a moment, pulling out a pack of gummy worms - their favorite.

It was definitely contraband form her older brother, neither of them were allowed candy on race weekends. She unwrapped it like it’s a delicate piece of china, the wrapper crushing under her administration. Max has lost count of the amount of gummies they’ve shared here, the number far above what he can remember.

She scoots closer to him, and he wordlessly opens up the blanket for her. There’s another, sitting right in her bag, but she never uses it. She fixes the blanket on their shoulders, moving closer until they’re huddled into a pile of limbs.

Max thinks that they might be getting too old for this. He can feel their knees knocking together, over the summer he’d grown taller, and now the fabric was hanging lopsided on his shoulder. The thought frightens him.

To think that one day they’re going to be too old to do this, sit here with the stars at their special place.

He fears that one day it won’t be special anymore, that one day it’ll just be a patch of grass. Max hadn’t ever really given much thought as to what his life would look like after that. Even when he imagines himself as a Formula One World Champion, he thinks of celebrating here, dancing among the dandelions with her.

Would it all come crashing down?

Would she still be there?

Would it -?

She smacks him in the face with a worm, pushing the bag into his hands, “Where are you?”

“OW!” He grumbles, snatching it from her, “I’m right here!”

“You drifted away again,” She said, moving closer to him.

Max turned away, digging his fingers into the bag. He grabbed at the gummies, popping them into his mouth. It was his favorite flavor, he hadn’t been allowed to have candy in such a long time.

She said he drifted away a lot. Saying that she could always tell when he wandered into the depths of his mind, it made Max squirm. They had known each other so long and had grown together - their roots forever intertwined. He often forgot that just as easily as she could look into his mind, he could see hers.

When he looked over at her again, she was picking at the skin of her fingers, her cheek caught between her teeth. There she was, getting angry in his place. She felt his emotions for him, especially when it came to his father.

For Max, his feelings were far too heavy to bear. He could never truly understand just how much pain he was in, never allowing himself to dwell in it. That was a weakness. But for her, she reveled in the emotions he couldn’t bring himself to feel.

Max reached over, interlacing their fingers. He could feel the searing glare she sent his way, but she left her hand in his. He traced stars into her skin.

“I don’t like how he treats you,” She pushes herself closer to him, cheek pressed against his shoulder, “ ‘s not right.”

Max rolls his eyes. He doesn’t bother trying to explain it this time, she never listens. It was just the way things were. It was life.

She doesn’t let the silence linger for too long, sighing loudly.

“I would never yell at you…” She mumbles.

“You yelled at me when you got here.”

She lifts her head from his shoulder, craning her neck to look at him, “You didn’t have a blanket! I always tell you to bring a blanket! You could freeze to death!”

Though her voice is loud, echoing in the night air, it doesn’t scare him. It doesn’t feel like she’s yelling at him. Max can’t help it, he bursts into laughter. Tears spring to his eyes as he doubles over, clutching his stomach.

She snatches her hand back, crossing her arms over her chest with a pout, “It’s not funny…”

It was hilarious.

Max’s stomach curls, he can hardly breathe. He catches himself on his knees, trying to study his heart. There’s a part of his brain that knows he’s being too loud, that if his father were to hear him - he’d be dead. But he can’t help it.

He laughs.

Eventually, she begins to laugh too.

Small chuckles that morph into a howling laughter, the smile on her face bright. Max thinks he’s staring into the sun. It feels like they never stop, rolling around on the grass, the blanket falling from their shoulders.

Truly, Max isn’t even sure why they’re laughing anymore, but he never wants to stop.

Their cackles die into silence, only the sound of their gasping breaths left as evidence of their fit. They’ve fallen onto their backs, staring up at the sky.

With the race track lights off, there’s nothing to see but the slivers of stars. The dandelions curl around their bodies, tickling the backs of their necks.

If growing up means never having this again, Max decides that he never wants to.

“Maybe one day I’ll save you.”

Max snickers, sparing her a look, “You can’t save me!”

“Why not?!”

“You’re a girl!” He feels the laughter building back in his stomach.

With an over dramatic gasp, she shoves him. He moves further onto the grass, barking laughter into the blades. He can’t believe it. His stomach still sore from the fit only moments ago.

“I’m serious.”

Max knows she is. When it comes to him she always is. He takes a peek at her. The curve of her nose and lips outlined by the moon, she’s so beautiful. Max thought that he might love her. Just staring at her, no one to breathe a word about this but the stars. And he was more than sure that they would keep his secret.

He loves her, but loving things makes it complicated.

He wasn’t ready for that.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” He whispers, clutching her hand in his, “Not if we’re together.”

She doesn’t say anything, but Max can feel her heart beating. Her pulse is steady and strong. She’s a constant. Max knows that if he can just be in her orbit - just like a moon orbiting a planet - he’ll be fine. If he could just be near her, he would never need an understanding father. He’d have her.

That’s all he would need.

She squeezes his hand, “Just you and me.”

“Always forever.”

____________________

A/N:This work has been cross posed on Wattpad and AO3. All are under the name XDACTED. Thank you for reading and feel free to requests fics about any of the drivers <3

#formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen imagine #x reader #female reader #fluff #jos verstappen hatred lol #sorry #one shot #f1 fluff #f1 imagine #red bull f1

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fluentmoviequoter · 2 months

Text

Pictures of You

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!artist!reader

Summary: While patrolling the fairgrounds, Lucy convinces Tim to have their picture drawn. She doesn't expect you, Tim's wife, to be the artist.

Warnings: fluff! mention of a bomb threat

Word Count: 1.3k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

“Why are you acting like you’re being punished? This is fun!” Lucy exclaims.

“Feels like a punishment,” Tim mutters, not slowing down as he looks around while he walks. “Fairground duty is not my idea of a good time, Chen.”

“What do you have against fun and showing you have a personality, Bradford?”

“If you’re having so much fun, why don’t you focus on that instead of me? You just do your thing, and I’ll do my job.”

Lucy groans but continues walking through the endless rows of booths. There’s food, games, face painting, vendors, and more local artists than she can count. Tim keeps his eyes on the people rather than the entertainment, only looking away when his phone rings.

“Bradford,” he answers.

“Bradford, how’s it going?” Wade asks. “We haven’t seen any indication that the threat was legitimate at any of the other venues.”

“Someone called in a fake bomb threat? Who could imagine such a thing,” Tim answers with his unique blend of sarcasm and grumpiness. “I haven’t seen anything here other than the usual suspicious individuals that show up for cheap booze and carnival rides.”

“It’s not a carnival!” Lucy interjects. “If you’re going to hate on it, at least hate on it correctly.”

“Sounds like you’re having a good time,” Wade teases. “Keep an eye out, the day isn’t over yet.”

“Yes, sir,” Tim answers.

“Oh, and one more thing, Bradford. Loosen up and have a little bit of fun for once, would you?”

“And risk finding out that the bomb threat was legitimate, no thanks. Bye, Grey.”

“Tim, look!” Lucy squeals. “Caricatures! Can we please get one?”

“We are on the clock, boot.”

“I’m going to ignore the ‘boot’ comment and simply remind you that I am no longer a rookie, but I’ll let it slide. I’ll say please again.”

“No deal. We’re here for work, Chen, not to get temporary tattoos or eat funnel cake.”

“You like funnel cake?”

Tim glares at Lucy before saying, “Not the point.”

“Tim,” she groans, tilting her head back. “What did Wade say?”

“To keep an eye out.”

“And to have fun?”

Tim doesn’t answer, and Lucy bounces in place.

“One booth,” Tim concedes. “And then we’re going back to foot patrol. Don’t forget why we’re here.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Lucy answers, mock saluting him before she hurries to the first booth in a row of artists. “Are you more of a ten-minute portrait or a caricature guy? Do you know the difference?” she asks when Tim joins her side.

“You pick. But you only have five minutes before I leave, whether the picture is done or not.”

Lucy nods enthusiastically before she begins walking. She slows down to look in several booths while Tim keeps an eye out for anyone matching the description from the call this morning.

“This one,” Lucy decides before pushing Tim into the empty tent.

“Hi,” Tim greets.

You look up from the sketchpad in your lap and smile. “Hello, officers,” you greet. “How can I help you?”

“Hi! We want a caricature,” Lucy answers. “Oh, and I’m Lucy and this is Tim; we’re off the clock for a few minutes, so we wanted to have some fun.”

“We’re not off the clock, boot,” Tim grunts.

“Boot?” you inquire. “You’re a rookie?”

“Not anymore, he’s just grumpy and doesn’t understand how much fun I can be.”

“Well, Lucy, what kind of fun would you like to have? I can do, or at least try, just about anything you’re interested in. Though if you want a portrait in ninety seconds or less, there is a guy down this row that can do that.”

“Are they any good?” Lucy asks quietly.

You shake your head before gesturing toward two seats on the other side of your canvas.

“I’m giving you free reign, but if you can make it kinda caricature-like, I wouldn’t be opposed,” Lucy says.

Looking over at Tim, you decide what you want to do. The wedding ring on your fingers glints as you reach for a marker, and Tim’s eyes drop as he watches your hand before meeting your eyes.

“I’m going to regret this,” Tim grumbles.

“Tim, be nice,” Lucy scolds under her breath. She sends you an apologetic look, but you only smile.

“I’m used to it,” you promise.

“Lots of unwilling models?”

Turning your attention to your paper, you shake your head. “Officer Bradford, care to explain?”

“Lucy, this is my wife,” he says reluctantly before saying your name.

“Wait. Oh my gosh, I have so many questions!” Lucy responds.

“You only have four minutes, so make everything quick before I send you to check the portable restrooms,” Tim snaps.

“Tim,” you warn.

“Bradford?” someone asks from outside your booth.

You chuckle as Tim closes his eyes. He rubs a finger over his left ring finger, and you smile when his eyes return to you.

“Officer Thorsen, good to see you,” you greet.

“Hey, Mrs. Bradford,” he replies. “Makes a whole lot more sense now.”

“You didn’t think Tim would willingly have his picture drawn?”

“Aaron, you knew?” Lucy asks. “I knew Tim was married, but- Tim, why didn’t you introduce me?”

“I actually met Aaron on accident while I was at the station once,” you offer, adding the finishing touches to the caricature.

Aaron steps to your side, pressing his lips together to hide his smile before he radios for all nearby officers to meet at your booth.

“Thorsen, you just saved Chen from a long afternoon of checking the backside of this event,” Tim interjects.

“Worth it,” Aaron responds happily.

“Bradford?” Nolan asks as he approaches. “Oh, you got a caricature! Can we see?”

A small crowd gathers in your booth: your models, Aaron, Nolan, Celina, and two other officers wait to see your picture.

“You told Aaron to call for backup for when you get mad at me, right?” you joke, winking at Tim.

You smile at Lucy before turning the board around so they can see the finished picture. Tim remains impassive, but Lucy laughs, leaning backward as the other officers yell in surprise before laughing so hard tears come to their eyes.

“Who’s the boot now, Bradford?” Lucy asks through her laughter.

The picture of Tim as a cowboy boot with a police badge and Lucy as a puppy in a police uniform goes over well with every cop in the booth.

“I’m getting you back for this,” Tim says. “Both of you.”

“Don’t threaten civilians, Bradford,” Nolan chides.

“Don’t threaten your wife!” Aaron amends.

Celina and Nolan leave first, and soon you, Tim, and Lucy are alone in the booth again. Lucy happily takes the picture, holding it against her chest as she watches Tim.

“We got a bomb threat this morning,” Tim says softly. “So, if you want to head out early, I’ll be home as soon as my shift ends.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to pose for your own copy?” you ask.

“If you want to draw me, just ask,” Tim replies as he stands. “But we both know who’s on every page of that sketchbook.”

“Who?” Lucy asks.

“Me,” Tim answers. At the same time, you say, “Kojo.”

Tim rolls his eyes and snatches it from your side. He laughs as he sees the most recent picture of Kojo. After he flips a page, though, he’s met with a picture of him. Lucy coos, immediately commenting on how cute the two of you are.

“Let’s go, boot. A word about this, and I’ll have you assigned to cavity searches,” Tim says as he steers Lucy out of your booth. He turns back to you to add, “I love you. I’ll see you at home.”

“I love you,” you answer. “And don’t be too hard on her, I drew the picture after all.”

“You’ve got ring immunity,” he says, pointing to your wedding ring. “So, I make no promises.”

“Tim!” Lucy yells. “There’s funnel cakes!”

Tim rolls his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose as he steps away from you. You laugh as he waves over his shoulder, glad you got to see him, even if he will be teased about it for a while.

#tim bradford x reader #hanna writes✯#tim bradford fluff #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford #the rookie abc #requests #fem!reader

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popquizhot-shot · 10 months

Note

O my gosh do you think you can do a Miguel x teen reader. Where the reader has been in a depressed mood lately and no one can figure out what's wrong till they reveal that their headphones broke on their last mission and it was the last thing their remaining family member gave to them before they died and they blaime themselves for not being more careful with them.

Headphones-Miguel O’Hara x teen!reader.

As someone who’s emotionally attached to her heradpjones yes I can and will write this. Thank you all so much for the love and support from my last post! I’ll be taking a short break after this and I hope you all like it! Please comment and reblog if you do :D love you<3333

Warnings: Implied Hobie brown x reader; mostly fluff dw, crying.

ART BY THE AMAZING @thattripleabattery

“Is it just me, or is something off about her?” Miles nods towards you who is sitting all alone away from and sipping juice desolately as they all listen to Miguel’s newest monthly goal meeting.

“Something looks off about her, like something’s missing.” Gwen narrows her eyes at your figure.

You just keep nodding at intervals and try to pay attention but all you can think about are the headphones your brother had given you.

You considered them an extension of you, going so far as to even sometimes wear them during light missions while you waited for the threat to show up.

Your last mission had been gruelling, so bad to the point that both Jess and your dad had suggested you take a break from fighting to recuperate.

You were so devastated on the inside, all you did was just nod.

You knew that Miguel knew you were off. It was obvious that you joked less and acted tired. Not to mention the little amount of sleep you got.

It was stupid really, all this drama over a pair of headphones. Yet, they were the last connection you had to your brothers and it felt like you had truly lost your family when they broke into two.

Your mind was literally empty as you nodded at whatever Miguel was saying. You just dipped your juice and kept zoning in and out. It felt wrong that they weren’t there around your neck where they usually were.

Miguel started to notice your constant fidgeting and the way your hands kept rubbing your neck. He had also noticed your dull nature and the way your sweet smile stopped making its way onto your face.

Even to his lamest dad jokes, you’d respond with a huff and small twist of your lips.

As he wrapped up the plan, his eyes flit to yours and he saw you still nodding, your eyes glassy.

He takes a deep breath, “Dismissed, all of you leave. Now.”

The shuffle of chairs fills the room as everyone files out one by one.

He says your name, “Stay back.” And turns around to look at the hologram.

Miles and Gwen look at each other and then at you, who breathes in and nods without a word.

Once everyone has left, he turns back around to find you looking at him with your hands behind your back.

“What happened?” He asks and you sign.

“Nothing.”

“It’s rude to lie.”

“Manners maketh man and all that jazz.” You reply with a roll of your eyes.

“Seriously.” He raises his eyebrow and his hand rests on your shoulder, “You okay?”

“Yeah, god I’m fine! I was just an irresponsible shit and I broke my headphones.”

His eyebrows furrow, “The ones your brother gave you?”

You clench your jaw and nod, eyes smarting as you struggle not to cry at the thought.

He shrugs, “They’re just headphones, kid. You can always get another.”

You just scoffed, “Yeah, I know.”

“I mean, you get it right?”he tips his down to make a point.

“Yeah, yeah whatever.” You smile wryly and turn away so that he can miss the tear forming in your eye, “Cool, I’ll uh catch you later boss man.”

He stares after your retreating figure with remorse, did he say something wrong?

“You dumb idiot.” Lyla pops up.

“What?” He snarls, whirling to look at her.

“She was really attached to those headphones, Miguel.”

“She can always get new ones, Lyla. I’m getting them for her anyway.”

“Miguel it’s as if her brother died all over again.” Lyla replies firmly, “She’s hurting, ans you made her feel worse.”

Miguel hangs his head, “Shit.”

The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you, but after years of shutting himself out, he didn’t understand people’s feelings like he used to, and he wanted with every fibre of his being to cheer you up, and he managed to screw it up.

“You need to go apologise and fix this.” Lyla points towards the doorway.

——————-

“It’s okay. Let it all out.” Hobie’s soothing voice is calming as his hand travels up and down your back to soothe you.

You breathe deeply before letting out another broken sob that only makes you more embarrassed, and in front of Hobie of all people. The guy just oozed absolute “don’t care” energy while still simultaneously being one of the most caring people you’d ever met.

Your apologies are hushed and he takes your face between his hands and wipes your tears from your cheeks, “You look pretty even when you cry.”

You roll your eyes, “Shut up.”

You hug him again, “Thank you.”

“I know what it’s like to lose something like that, and I’m sorry. But I know you will get over it and I salute you for being so brave.” He winks, “I’ve gotta run, catch you later.”

He quickly kisses your forehead and dashes off, leaving you stunned. After a few moments, a smile makes its way onto your puffy face.

“I’m going to kill that kid.” Miguel seethes as he watches from the camera.

———-

You were exhausted after a long day of training and you couldn’t wait to just go and fall asleep in your quarters.

The door swung open easily and your eyes flitted to the shabbily wrapped present on your bed. The bed that was unmade in the morning but was miraculously made and cleaned now.

Your eyes narrow as you tear away the wrapping to find a near identical pair of headphones to the ones that broke and your eyes widen in shock as you hold them up in front of you.

There’s a post-it stuck to the wrapping paper and you read the note that is unmistakably written by Miguel. You can recognise his chicken scratch handwriting.

“Im sorry for hurting your feelings this morning. And I hope this makes up for it. Don’t blame yourself, it was an accident and accidents happen. Im proud that you learnt your mistake and that you act so wise for your age, despite the fact that you decide to go to a weird British punk spider for advice, I am still proud of you. No es tu culpa, none of this is your fault.

Love,

Dad.”

—————-

“She seems to be in a much better mood today.” Gwen nudges Miles.

“She’s smiling and trying to get him to laugh.” Miles grins at your antics.

“Wait her headphones! They were missing, they’re back around her neck, that’s probably why she was in a shitty mood!” Pavitr reasons as Gwen nods in agreement.

“Are the three of you paying attention?” Miguel looks pointedly at the three kids and his glare then falls in Hobie who is seated next to you.

“Everyone dismissed!”

As everyone files out he says yet again, “Hobart, stay back.”

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x you #mini miguel<33 #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara #atsv #atsv x reader

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nina-renmen · 3 months

Text

You’re Mine

Yandere Price x black reader soulmate au pt.2

pt.1 pt.3

Warnings⚠️: Yandere themes, blood, gore, empty threats, death, parents wanting reader to date within her race, family issues, profanity

summary: Y/n gets back from her mission but price is suspicious of her and catches on to her avoidance

“Stop nagging me.” Y/n barked out, turning away from her teammate as she prepared her dinner. A month had gone by, and soap was still nagging her.

“Not until you tell me why.” Soap huffed.

“Soap, stop-“

“You know, not everyone gets the chance to meet their soulmate.

”Soap-“

This is the chance of a lifetime!”

“I said stop!!”

Soaps voice died down. Your voice echoing throughout the halls. “Y/n?”

“I’m scared…” Y/n’s voice was barely above a whisper. “What if he’s not the man I need? What if my family doesn’t approve?”

“Y/n, why wouldn’t your family approve? I mean…sure he’s about a decade older than you but…” Soap trailed off, you were right. You would be his controversially young soulmate.

“Not just that…my family. My family wants me to marry inside my culture. Bringing him home would-“

“How do you know?” Soap cut you off. His form looking over yours. “They make hints at it, the one time I came over with a-“

“But they haven’t said it outright. Y/n I know your family. You’re thinking too much about this. They just want you to meet someone. Yes, preferably someone that’s in your ethnicity but it’s not a requirement.” Soap out his hand in your shoulder, giving you a gentle squeeze. “Talk to the captain. I’m sure price would be enthusiastic-“

“Enthusiastic about what?”

Y/n’s face paled. The two were facing the counter. The man behind them could only see the back of their heads.

Soap looked down at y/n. She vigorously shook her head no making the males shoulder drop. “We’ll com’on, what this thing going on between you two? You’ve been runnin around like headless chickens for the past mon.” Prices gruff voice reached the females’ ears.

Y/n turned around, soap followed. Prices gaze locked onto the female. He never noticed the colors in her hair before. It brought out her skin tone. “You look like you’re gonna hurl sergent.” Price commented, folding his arms over his chest. Y/n only shook her head opting to leave the room “oh no you don’t, my office. Now.” Price barked out orders. “I’m tired of you avoiding me. We need to sort this out.”

“Captin, I don’t think-“

“Don’t wanna hear it soap.” Price cut off the shorter male. Johnny casted y/n an apologetic look as y/n hesitantly walked past him. Price shot Johnny a glare before following after you.

Entering his office Price could see you settling inside. Or…maybe not since you were so stiff. You stood off to the side, hands clasped and a blank expression on your face. Y/n’s colored eyes followed his every steps like a predator.

“Have a seat.” Price said as he walked around his desk, sitting in his chair. With careful, hesitant steps y/n sat in front of his desk. Her muscles were tight, hands in her lap. As if she was a rookie once more, standing in front of a yelling sergent.

“You’ve been avoiding me y/n. Every time you see me you go the other way. What’s up with that?” Price asked, leaning back in his chair.

No answer from y/n.

“Look, I get you’re anxious but I can’t have someone on my team if they can’t even communicate with their captain.” Annoyance was evident in Prices voice. But he couldn’t be mad at you. For some reason he kept thinking about you late at night. He had to remind himself that he had a soulmate, he wouldn’t end up like his parents.

Still no answer from y/n.

Price was starting to get frustrated. “Look sweetheart,” Price chuckled, trying to simmer the frustration. He noticed y/n’s gaze on his lips, her eyes softened, her shoulders loosening ever so slightly. Price continued to speak “I don’t think this team is right for y-“

“You should smile more….Its cute.” Y/n’s voice was barely above a whisper, but her voice still reached Prices ears. Almost immediately the room quieted. A burning sensation was on John’s arm. “What did you say-“

“I’ll see myself out captain.” Y/n stood up, the chair behind her almost falling over. “I’ll ask Laswell to switch me to another team. Have a good night.”

John felt like he couldn’t breathe. You? You were his soulmate? For once in his life he was glad about soulmate privileges within the rules. The regulations let soldiers get intimate with eachother as long as they could prove they were soulmates. “Y/n wait! I didn’t know-“ The sound of the door closing cut off the older male, snapping him out of his daze.

With quick steps he opened the door, stepping out into the hallway. You weren’t there causing John to close his office door and search for you. His heart pounding in his chest, he wished he hadn’t chewed you out. He wished he hadn’t made empty threats towards you. He just wanted you to talk.

After an hour of searching for you he began to get frustrated. Why couldn’t he find you?! “Ghost.” Price called out, causing the taller male to look up from whatever he was doing on his phone.

“Where’s Cobra?” He asked in a rushed tone.

“Soaps room.” Ghost said before looking back down at his phone. John’s eyebrows furrowed as he turned on his heel. Why the fuck were you in soaps room. Jealousy swirled in John’s chest like a festering blister.

Price knocked on Soaps door. Within a couple of seconds Soap opened the door just enough so John could see him. “Where is she?” Price asked, arms crossed over his chest.

“Where’s who?” Soap questioned, playing dumb.

“I’m not fuckin stupid Johnny, I know she’s in here-“

“With all due respect captin’ she doesn’t want to talk with you-“

“As her soulmate I have the right to talk with her. Open the door Soap. That’s an order.”

The area became quiet. Soap glancing in a random direction in his room. The sound of soft, padded footsteps came from behind the door. “It’s okay Johnny.” Y/n whispered, making Soaps harsh grip on the door knob loosen. The door slowly opened to see y/n standing next to Soap.

The bare expression on y/n’s face seemed broken. She looked away from Price. “I want to talk….privately.” Price’s voice was softer than it was with Johnny. Soap casted y/n a glance as if encouraging her to go on. “Alright….fine.”

The walk to his office was…awkward. Y/n kept her distance from Price. But as soon as the door to his office closed Price spoke up. Y/n’s back was turned to him as she wrapped her arms around her midsection.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Price asked. His back leaning up against the closed door. “You made me believe….”

“I was worried.” Y/n spoke up. Turning around to look at him. She looked as if she were about to cry. Her eyes glossy as she looked down at the floor. “What could you possibly be worried about?” Price questioned as he closed the distance between the two of you. “Look up at me.”

When you didn’t look up at him Price hooked his fingers under your chin. Pulling your face up to look at him. “I’m not here as your captain. I’m not even here as a damn friend. I’m here as a lover. So don’t give me a bullshit excuse.” Prices voice was barely above a whisper. As if speaking too loud would scare you away.

“My family…I mean…the age gap between us is..” Y/n trailed off.

“We’re both adults y/n. There ain’t nothin wrong with that. Whatever they have to say they can keep it to themselves.” Price said.

“It’s not just that…My family wants me to marry in my culture-“

“I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding sweetheart.” Price said as he moved your hair out of your face.

“No….You don’t get it. I can’t loose my family over this.” Y/n said.

“Would you choose your family over me?” Price asked, forcing y/n to look up at him. Y/n didn’t respond at first. “Well? Would you?”

“Yes….yes I would.”

Likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated

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endless-ineffabilities · 1 year

Text

babydoll

Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

word count: 800 ▪︎ masterlist

The reader and Bucky have a 4am encounter.

You scramble out of bed, groggy from sleep. Having woken up half an hour ago, you've just been lying there, staring at the ceiling, thinking of what Natasha said to you earlier.

"I have it on good authority that one Sergeant Barnes has his eye on you."

"Oh? And whose authority is that?"

"Mine, of course," she winked, "The only authority you can trust in this compound, mind you."

Your footsteps make no sound as you quietly walk to the shared kitchen on your floor. Everyone's sound asleep, or potentially out at some bar, if they were coaxed into it by Sam. Potentially world-ending events, terrorist threats, homicidal purple aliens. Whatever might come, Sam's enthusiasm to grab a drink and lay back will never wane. Everyone's best friend.

The panel to the kitchen slides open, F.R.I.D.A.Y. scanning and recognizing you. You blink through the haze of sleep, and proceed to rummage through the fridge. Tony's cheeseburgers, Wanda's borscht, Nat's carefully planned meals. And an obscene amount of beer. Taking one, you shuffle around for the bottle opener.

"Need some help with that?" A deep voice asks, startling the shit out of you. The bottle slips from your fingers, but a metal arm catches it just before it empties out on the floor.

"Fuck!" Your eyes meet Bucky's in the faint light, "you really do move like a ghost, don't you?"

"Actually, the name's Buck," he hands the bottle to you, with a cheeky smirk, "and yes, I've been told that before."

"Funny," your heartbeat still races, but no longer due to the almost-accident.

"Here," he reaches forward and deftly twists the bottle cap off with one hand, and clinks his bottle to yours, "Cheers, babydoll."

You take a huge gulp of beer to stifle your awkwardness. Damn him and his hulking form and his sensual musk and his steel blue gaze.

"What was that you called me?" you leaned back against the counter to steady yourself, "Don't think you've said it before. Not to me anyway."

"Hmm, what? Babydoll?" There's a playfulness in his eyes, as if he's aware of how he's making you feel.

"Yeah, it sounds... nice."

He takes another swig of his drink, "Glad you think so. It suits you. Anyway, I'm sorry for scaring you like that. I was just sitting over there," he points to the couch in the dim corner of the room, "and you didn't seem to notice me."

"Couldn't sleep either?" You peer up at him, and let your eyes run over the faint lines around his. You make a mental note of how beautiful it is when he smiles and they appear like sunburst. It took a long time for Bucky to come back to himself, but he truly has let go of the Winter Soldier.

"Mmm," he leans against the counter beside you, and you're even closer than before, "sleep doesn't come easy to me. But at least I bumped into you now, eh?"

"Were you looking for me, Barnes?" You don't know where you've found the courage to flirt, but you're not dwelling on it.

"I just," he hesitates, pausing between his words, "haven't seen you around so much. And... I wanted to. See you more, that is."

Was Bucky getting flustered around you? Perhaps Natasha was not kidding, after all. You already hoped, but it's different to see it now, unfolding in front of you.

You smile, and his lips slowly curve upward while looking at you. "Why is that?"

"Y'know, the last person I called babydoll was this dame called Dot. I took her on a couple dates, back in the 40s. I liked her quite a lot then, so I suppose I saw fit to call her by that little name."

"Oh?" You mull over his words, confused as to why he's telling you about another girl. And then...

"Oh." You whisper once more, "So you..?"

He sets his beer on the counter, and stands in front of you. Bracing his hands on your waist, he lowers his lips close to your ear, "I like you quite a lot now, babydoll."

Blood rushes to your face, and you feel lightheaded. Definitely not due to the alcohol.

"And, I actually have it on good authority that you like me too," he adds.

Realization hits you, and you can't help but fondly roll your eyes, "Tell me, Buck, does this 'good authority' happen to be a certain redheaded former assassin?"

"Yeah, how did you..." His eyes widen slightly, "Oh, of course. She told you, didn't she?"

"That's our Nat," you smile, and testing the waters, you interlace your fingers behind his neck.

Sunburst lines erupt around his magnetic blue eyes, "So I take it she was telling the truth?"

"Oh, just kiss me already."

🖤

First ever Bucky blurb. I've always loved his character, but why did I feel like I was cheating on Aemond or Daemon? 😭 wow, I need therapy..

Not me thinking, 'Aemond would be so jealous right now.' Hahahaha it's a problem.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes one shot #mcu fic #sebastian stan #sebastian stan imagine

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that-sarcastic-writer · 9 months

Text

Twisted Love

Billy Russo X Latina!Mercenary!Reader

Summary: based on this moodboard murder date with Billy made by the love of my life @fluffyprettykitty thank you for the inspo

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors yall better dnfi, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, fingering, blood kink, choking, hair pulling, degradation, he calls her a whore and she likes it, allusion to gunplay & knife play, Billy and reader get turned on by questionable acts, def dark themes, dark!Billy, dead bodies, actual murder, many acts of violence, and Billy canonically likes it rough and painful, they're both just unhinged

Reader is referred to as she/her, speaks Spanish here and there and is described to have long hair. If this is not you, that is okay. This is solely based on the moodboard. I use no further specifications so you can enjoy it regardless :)

WC: 4k

A/N: I'm sorry in advance for the person that I am, I blame selene for encouraging this. You have been warned, you read under your own responsibility. I missed Billy and his murderous questionable kinks, so here we are. (If you actually enjoy this you I guarantee we will see each other in hell)

"Billy." You groaned quietly, the voice in your earpiece shutting up at the sharpness of your voice.

"Yes darlin'?"

"I can't focus on shooting your target if you keep saying how you're going to fuck me stupid tonight. Or how you've been really wanting to fuck me with your gun." You said the last part through your teeth as you did your best to remain professional and stay focused. You were a mercenary, sure, but you were a professional one.

"If you keep talkin' back, I will do so much more than that. You like knives, don't you?" You could hear the smug smirk he probably had on his face through his voice, even through your earpiece.

You couldn't help but groan, your skin growing burning hot under all of your gear, and it was getting hard to control your breathing the longer he kept spitting filthy words at you.

"This is your op, Billy. So we can either have phone sex or I can shoot your target. Can't do both." You rolled your eyes, adjusting your grip on your handgun as you tried to ignore the heat between your legs. You heard him chuckle.

"You're gettin' paid either way darlin'," he reminded you. "But if you get a headshot, I'll give you your bonus."

You actually laughed at this, a smirk of your own falling on your lips, "You know I never miss. Don't gotta double tap if I shoot 'em in the head."

This was like a little game of yours. Any time Billy called you— for anything other than a good fuck— it was for a target mission off the books. Legally, he was just a private contractor. Private security was his main gig. But off the books, he was still getting paid to take out targets for his old military superiors. When someone pushed at his buttons too much, he called you. Because you were like a ghost, in and out, no one even knew you were ever there. And he thought your post-op adrenaline made for killer sex. You getting paid was just a courtesy on his end. You had honestly stopped caring about the money a long time ago. But he paid you your part anyway. So it was a win-win situation for everyone involved.

"Mhmm, I love it when you talk dirty." He sighed a long breath and you smiled to yourself, holding your gun close to your chest as you quietly walked through the dark, otherwise empty house. You could hear movement and indistinct voices on the other side of the wall

"I hear voices in the next room. Two targets so far. Standby for confirmation." Billy laughed at how official you sounded. You truly never did get rid of that military part of you.

You peeked your head through the crack on the door of a large study. You chewed on your bottom lip as you tried to identify the targets. One was the man Billy had hired you to kill, a Marine Colonel that had gotten too greedy and was making threats. That didn't exactly sit well with Billy or anyone else involved. The other man, though, you weren't sure, but he also seemed to be military.

"I'm looking at your target. But I'm not sure who the other one is. Looks military, though. What do you want me to do?" You whispered the question to Billy. He stayed silent for a few seconds. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, growing inpatient at his silence. But he spoke before you could yell at him.

He groaned first, clearly something hadn't gone according to plan. "Just take both of them out. I don't need witnesses."

"Whatever you say, pretty boy." You took in a deep breath, your heart starting to race as the adrenaline started to pump in your blood.

"Remember, I want you in and out, don't worry about nobody else. That's what I'm here for, baby."

"You're such a romantic, mi cielo." You bit your lip, you heard him chuckle in response.

You waited another second, long enough for them to be close enough for you to take them out both at the same time before the other could draw their gun. Stealth was your specialty anyway. You were thankful the large doors didn't creak when you opened them further. Both men were facing away from you. Good. You took a step inside the study, and with a grin, you pulled the trigger.

One.

Two.

Both men dropped to the ground with a thud. You sighed out the breath you had been holding and you slowly approached the two bodies. And you smiled at your work.

Headshots.

"I'm done here. Getting out now." You said to Billy. You heard him give you a quick hum of confirmation.

You nodded to yourself, picking up your shell casings before you hurried out of the study. You went around through long halls for what seemed to be an eternity, until you came to the hall that led to the foyer of the house.

Almost there.

"Don't you fucking move." A voice rasped beside you. You saw out of the corner of your eye the barrel of a handgun. Well so much for Billy taking care of everything.

You closed your eyes, slowly raising your hands to show your handgun. You turned your head enough to look at the man. More military. Great. This was going to be shit show.

"Who the fuck are you? Why are you here?" The man screamed at you, his gun still on your face. You said nothing, you simply stared at him. He couldn't really see your face, not through your balaclava. Only your eyes were visible. "Give me that fucking gun and get on the ground. Now!"

You stared at him, not moving a muscle. The only man you would ever get on your knees for was Billy. This one could shoot you for all you cared.

"I said get on your knees or I'll shoot!'

"Shoot me then." You said dryly, hands still in the air.

Just get a bit closer, you thought.

The man seethed at your response and stepped closer. Your lips irked up. You turned your body, your free hand gripping his gun and diverting it away from your head. The man squeezed the trigger. You grunted loudly, your ears ringing, but you didn't care. You wrestled with the man, landing a punch on his face that made his nose gush with blood. He stumbled backward but didn't fall. If anything, that made him more angry, and he lunged at you. He reached for the braid that stuck from under your balaclava and he pulled, really fucking hard. You grunted out in pain when he tugged your hair to drag you close enough for him to grab you. You fought against him, but you could only do so much against a man twice your size. His fist hit your jaw with enough force to make you dizzy for a second. And he took that opportunity to grab your vest and threw you over a nearby coffee table. Your body slammed so hard against it you ended up on the floor, with it in pieces.

You weren't a religious person, but goddamn, you were seeing God right about now. You groaned in pain as you tried to push through. You tried to sit up as fast as you could, but the man was already towering over you, and a large boot forced you down by your chest. You forced down the cry of pain you wanted to let out, only breathing out sharply instead. You couldn't find your gun, and you had one, pointed right at your face now.

"Fucking bitch." The man spat, leaning down to tear your balaclava from your face. You grunted, your face twisted into a scowl as he pulled it off. He scoffed. He was about to say something into his walkie when a voice you were all too familiar with caught his attention.

"Hey." Billy stood a few feet away, having heard the gunshot and ran in. He didn't even flinch when he pulled the trigger. The man dropped dead a second later.

You blew out a breath of relief, and you laughed, running a hand over your face. Well shit. You were hoping you wouldn't get any blood on yourself tonight.

Billy was beside you in a split second, a large hand pulling you up to your feet. His eyes were big with a mixture of panic and anger, and he scanned your body for injuries. His hand landed on your lip, split and bleeding. His jaw ticked but you shook your head at him.

"You okay?" He asked with a heavy breath. You nodded at him, your own hands touching his face. Blood stained his neck and part of his face. But you had a feeling it wasn't his. "Si?"

You nodded again, "Si."

Billy plastered a hard kiss on your lips, his hand holding the back of your head. You hummed against his lips, gripping his own vest. He pulled back after a few seconds, and his eyes landed on the dead man lying next to him. His neck twitched, and his jaw tightened as he pulled the trigger two more times. The man was already dead, Billy had shot him in the head the first time. But he needed to get that out of his system.

"That was by far the hottest thing you've ever done for me." You breathed out, adrenaline pumping through your veins. You kissed him this time. Much harder. He groaned into your mouth, the side of his handgun brushing your hip as he gripped them with both hands.

"Did you do what I asked?" He muttered against your lips.

"Headshots. As always." You smirked against his lips, your skin growing hot just as the ache between your legs grew.

"Mhmm, that's a good girl." He pressed another kiss to your lips. "Come. Gotta get outta here."

You nodded, looking on the ground for a second for your handgun. Your eyes skimmed around for a bit before you smiled and you happily picked it up from the ground. When you looked up, Billy was looking at you with an irked eyebrow.

"Que? It's my favorite gun. I wasn't gonna leave it here. It's got my fingerprints all over it." You shrugged, casually walking past Billy towards the kitchen. You came through that backdoor. It'd probably be easier to leave that way as well.

Billy watched you with a raised eyebrow. It did always turn him on to see you in your tactical gear. He laughed to himself and followed you. He stayed close behind you, within hand reach at all times. He was so close that he actually bumped into your back when you stopped abruptly. You turned around, and one of your hands came to grip his vest while the other held up your handgun. He frowned, about to question you when you forcefully moved him to the side an inch or two.

"Agh shit!" He grunted out, a bullet still catching the plate on his back with enough force to make him stumble.

You kept your grip on his vest as you pulled the trigger twice and he heard a loud thud a second later. When he turned his head he saw a guard on his back, writhing in pain as blood gushed from his chest. Shit, he must have missed the guy when he was clearing the outside of the house.

He draped a hand over his shoulder where the bullet hit, eyes never leaving you as you quietly walked over to the guard, gun held up. The man began to stammer, coughing up blood as he tried to crawl away. You blinked, head tilted and jaw tight as you pulled the trigger two more times. The man stopped moving with that second bullet. Your face twisted with disdain when you felt blood splatter on your face. Again.

"Agh, puta sangre de mierda." This fucking blood.

You harshly wiped your hand over your face, probably making a bigger mess than there already was. You flinched, your gun held up and stopped at Billy's chest. He had a wide smirk on his face, his hands raised, but he was just mocking you.

"You wanna point that gun somewhere else, pretty girl?" He taunted with a smirk. You gritted your teeth and clenched your jaw.

"Estás fucking sordo?" Are you fucking deaf? Billy couldn't speak Spanish. But he had learned to pick up on your angry Spanish over time. His smirk only grew wider when you holstered your gun and slammed your flat hands against his chest, attempting to shove him, but he didn't move much. "Did you not hear the motherfucker coming? Are you okay? Did the bullet go through the plate?"

He found your angry concern amusing, endearing even. But the mocking smirk on his face only made your blood boil more.

"Aw, my pretty mercenary is worried about me?" He taunted you more, and the fire in your eyes made him completely forget about the throbbing on his shoulder blade. Though he felt a different kind of throb when he felt your flat palm collide with his cheek.

His eyes widened for a second as he processed the heat spreading through his cheek. He breathed a laugh, but it wasn't a humorous one. Not in the slightest. He ran his tongue over his lips, he could taste the smallest bit of blood. He counted in his head. Six guards altogether, three Marines inside. There were five dead bodies outside. Four inside. Good.

He didn't say a word as he reached out to you, he grabbed the back of your braid and crashed his lips against yours with so much force it gave you whiplash. You didn't protest though, you welcomed it, actually. You gripped his vest tightly as he slipped his tongue inside your mouth. He hummed with satisfaction as you clung to his vest. He gripped your hair tightly as he made you back into the kitchen island behind you.

You gasped into his mouth when you felt him hoist you up on the counter.

"The fuck are you doing?" You pulled back enough to speak, not that you were arguing with him, you had been wanting him ever since you got here. He flashed you a sadistic grin as he gripped your vest and pulled you to the edge so that he was standing between your open legs.

"Gonna fuck you stupid. That's what." He replied in a heartbeat as his fingers unbuckled the clasps of your vest. He tossed it aside and his eyes instantly landed on the blood splatters staining your jaw and neck.

"Right here?" You gave him a wide eyed look, lips slightly parted as he ridded himself of his own vest, leaving him a plain black long-sleeve compression shirt.

"Right here. You did everythin' I asked, and more. And you know I'm a man of my word." Your long-sleeve black shirt was gone next and his lips immediately attached to your jaw. "You don't gotta play innocent with me darlin'. Bet if I touch you you’ll be soaking wet."

Fuck, you wished he didn’t know you so well. You were real fucking good at pretending with the whole world. But you couldn't pretend with him. And you couldn't deny that you had been wanting him to fuck you senseless the second you saw his face that day. And that tactical uniform of his, fuck it didn't help your cause in the slightest.

"You know I always want you, doesn't matter when or where." You answered through a ragged breath, your eyelashes fluttered as he ran his tongue over the skin of your neck, and at the same time, he shoved his hand into your cargo pants, right past your panties.

"Yeah, you want me? You want me right now? Covered in blood and everythin'?" He pulled back enough to watch your face as his finger brushed over your cunt. And he was pleased by how right he was. You were so wet. Your mouth fell open as he slipped a finger into you with ease. "You are such a fuckin' whore. You've been this wet this whole time, haven't you? You just killed three men for me, and you're wet?"

God, you should feel disgusted with yourself, with him, but you felt nothing of the sort. If anything, it aroused you more. You ground your hips against his hand, desperate for more as your shaky hands fumbled with the belt of your cargo pants. You tugged until you ultimately got them off one leg once you managed to kick off one of your combat boots. Billy only watched with amusement as you struggled. But he otherwise didn't help you. He liked watching you struggle.

"Goddamn you're so needy. Such a needy whore." He mocked you with a laugh, but he rewarded you with another finger nonetheless.

"Yes, yes I'm a whore." You whined, holding yourself upright by gripping his shirt. "I'm your whore. Fuck— Please, I did good."

Billy nodded at this, the pathetic pleads coming from your mouth making his cock strain against his cargos even more. How such a fierce and vicious mercenary like yourself could give in so easily to him he had no idea, but he sure wasn't complaining. Not in the slightest.

"Yeah. Yeah, you did. I'm gonna give you exactly what you deserve, don't worry." He spoke through a groan, he rutted his palm against your clit, brushing against it as he curled his fingers against that one spot that made your thighs shudder.

You bunched his shirt around your fist as your mouth fell open in a silent moan, your hips involuntarily grinding against his hand. Billy watched with amusement as you desperately rocked yourself back and forth on the counter while he undid his pants with his free hand.

His fingers left you abruptly, leaving your chasing and jaw slacked. You whined, your mouth opening to curse at him but he was gripping your braid with one hand as he brushed his cock through your folds, coating himself in your slick.

"Yell at me again and I will fuck you with my gun until you cry." He spat, his jaw twitching as he forcefully slammed into you with a snap of his hips.

You actually cried out this time, your toes curling and your nails dug into his chest. He pulled you to the edge of the counter until your legs hung loosely over his hips. He wound up his hand around your hair, pulling your head back as he rutted himself against you. He held your neck on full display as he dipped his head and ran his tongue over where blood stained your skin.

"Fuck baby— you always feel so good. But goddamn, you fuckin' taste like heaven." He breathed against your skin, dragging his tongue from your pulse point to your jaw.

Your fingers slipped into his hair, tangling around the chocolate locks to the root. And you pulled, and you pulled so hard he actually grunted in pain.

"Dios Billy." You moaned, your lips against his ear, and he slammed into you so hard then he made you slide back on the counter.

"Not God, baby. But I can be." He breathed out a laugh, his face pressed against your cheek as he wrapped his long fingers around your throat. "Trust me, darlin', when I'm done with you, not even God is gonna make you get outta bed tomorrow."

You choked out a cry as he brought you closer against him— if that was even possible— and threw one of your legs over his shoulder. His cock hit so deep it actually made you roll your eyes back this time.

"O-oh shit— shit Billy. I'm gonna come. Please, I wanna come." You spoke in between pants, what you could manage to say with his hand on your throat. You were holding on to him for dear fucking life, both arms thrown over his shoulder as if he was the only thing keeping you from slipping off the countertop.

"You wanna come? My pretty mercenary wants to come? You earned it, didn't you?" He pulled back enough to watch your face, and he released the grip on your throat so you could respond.

"Yes! Coño I earned it, please." You sounded so desperate but you didn't care, if there was one man in this world you could let yourself be vulnerable for it was Billy.

"Mhmm, of course you did." He slipped his hand between your bodies and his thumb rubbed harsh circles on your clit and he drilled into you, pretty much holding you in one place with a tight grip on your ass. "Yeah, like that? Yeah just like that, come for me. You're good at following orders, so come."

You were seeing white the second his thumb was on your clit and your fingers tugged at the roots of his hair as you came with a silent cry. You eyes were screwed shut and your mouth was hanging wide open as you gripped him tight enough to make his cock twitch. He breathed out a sigh of satisfaction and his lips curled up as he felt your wetness coat his cock. He looked down, and the sight of his cock slick with your come almost made him lose it.

With a grunt he held you to his chest with a tight grip on the back of your neck and his fingers dug into your ass, holding you still for him as he fucked you.

"Yeah, you take it just like that. Fuck— fuck that's a good girl." He moaned out the words, his head falling back ever so slightly. Enough for you to press your lips to his neck. But what made him completely lose it was your tongue, on his neck, similarly licking up the dry blood on his skin. "Ooh fuck me."

His fingers dug deep into your scalp, enough for you to feel a slight burn, but you didn't fucking care. You dragged your lips up to his jaw as he fell still and you breathed out a laugh of satisfaction when you felt him spill himself inside you. He dragged his hips lazily, once, twice more before he just stood still. His fingers were deep rooted in your hair and his eyes were closed. You closed your own eyes as you pressed your forehead against his chest with a lazy smile on your face.

Billy was silent, his fingers loosening on your hair until only his fingers were lazily dragging his fingers through the now loose strands. You kept your face on his chest, simply listening to his rapid heartbeat that matched your own. It slowly went steady, back to its normal rhythm. Only then Billy pulled back enough to look at your face. His dark eyes watched your face with something much softer and his fingers brushed over your bruised lip.

"'M fine Billy. You've done worse." You sighed softly at him, your hand coming up to hold his wrist. He furrowed his eyebrows at you.

"That's me, though. I've never hit you— without your permission anyway. But I've never bruised your face. It ain't the same." He frowned, and you couldn't help but grin at his protectiveness.

"I said I'm fine, mi cielo." You squeezed his wrist and shot up your eyebrows at him with a suggestive smile on your face. "Does this place have a master bathroom?"

Billy thought for a second, he had been here once at least before. He figured a house this big probably did have a large bathroom.

"Probably, why?"

"Wanna wash this blood off me?"

Billy's scowl was quickly replaced by a wide smirk of his own and he could feel his cock twitch the slightest bit as your suggestive tone.

"For this pussy? Baby, I'd kiss the fuckin' ground you walk on."

Billy was a fucked up man that had met his fucked up match. And he'd be damned if he ever denied you anything.

#billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #billy russo x you #billy russo smut #billy russo #the punisher

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