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kaidabakugou · 8 months

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𖤐 OCTOBER 7TH | "PLAYING WITH FIRE" 𖤐

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑! 𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐀 𝐗 𝐅! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

♱ — 𝐖𝐂: 6.4ᴋ

♱ — 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: ᴇᴇᴇ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴇʀᴇ!! ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ, ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟɪᴇꜱ!! ꜱᴏ ᴇxᴄɪᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ʙᴇ ᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏꜱ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴋɪᴄᴋ ᴏꜰꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴘᴏᴏᴋʏ ꜱᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʏꜱᴍ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ!!♡

𝕹𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖑𝖞 𝖙𝖜𝖔 𝖒𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖎𝖆 𝖆𝖌𝖔,

𝖆𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙.

The taste of ash weights heavy on your tongue when you descend through the clouds towards the glare of fire below. The heat from the smoke prickling at your skin causes you to tighten your grip around the black spikes on Kirishima's back where you sat atop the crimson dragon as he rushes towards the commotion below, massive leathery wings tucking close to his large body - far too large for a juvenile like himself as his shadow swallows the night sky behind him when you emerge from the sea of smoke revealing the magnitude of destruction the town has suffered in mere moments. Streets that were once booming with vendors and some of the finest establishments you could find this far south of the kingdom, now nothing but ruins that further crumble under the weight of the wind from the red dragon’s wings as you continue to hurry towards the source that caused such calamity.

You'd traveled from the west with Bakugou, the dragon prince, and his dragon Kirishima, the Crimson Dread, under the orders of the king to deal with the issue of a fiery dragon that's been rumored to have gone rogue and has been terrorizing the southern towns at night. Upon your arrival the immensity of the situation was evident when the ancient bridges that connected to the neighboring towns were demolished for the river below to swallow, something only the great scaled beasts could manage, leaving the southerners to result in new measures and travel by boat.

It was only your second night in the town when you were setting up the fire place in your inn with Kirishima whilst you waited for Bakugou who ventured into the other side of town in search of something to cook for the three of you for the night, when the thunderous sound of an explosion in the distance alerted you. Rushing to the open area of the plaza where Kirishima could shift without causing damages to the housing nearby as you quickly mounted the dragon and headed towards the commotion. The orange glow of fire blazing in the horizon only feeding the worry that sat heavy on your chests knowing Bakugou was near that area of town, and now as you fly through the core of where the beast continues to wreak havoc, you could only pray to the gods above that he was okay.

A piercing roar ahead pulls you from your thoughts as it collides with the crackling sounds of Bakugou’s explosive magic followed by the clashing of steel from his dual swords. The silhouette of the onyx dragon comes into view amidst a pit of fire, your eyes frantically searching for your prince as you spot him beneath one of the beast's hind legs trying to wriggle out from between its three prehensile talon-tipped toes that hold him captive as the chest of the dragon begins to glow a deep orange hue, preparing to spew a stream of deadly fire upon him that was sure to leave a flaming crater in its wake from the force - one that not even Bakugou’s fire resistance could survive.

Swallowing the vile lump that builds in your throat at the thought, you lean forward against Kirishima’s back, the rough scales of the dragon’s armor brushing along your palm when you reach for the large spikes of his torso. The ones that prepare him to attack once you give him the command, but just as you take a sharp inhale to give him the order you're interrupted by the rumbling of snake-like hisses building up a thunderous roar as Kirishima leaps towards his opponent.

Catching the attention of the onyx dragon as he directs his fire towards you, but the Crimson Dread is not only known for his size, but also for his abnormal speed and agility that was rare for a beast of such calamity as he quickly rises to flash his hind legs. Sharp claws locking onto the beast’s neck, pinning him down as the horrid screeching of both dragons clashes together - one from anguish in a desperate attempt to be released and the other from a raging hunger for blood as Kirishima's claws pierce through the black scales, slashing the dragon’s throat open causing it to wriggle beneath him as it chokes in its fiery blood. But the red beast remains unsatisfied as he leans down to grasp the head of his victim in between his dreadful maw before tearing it from its body and tossing it into the fiery pits of its own creation followed by a victorious roar that seems to further agitate the flames that surround you.

You press your palm to his scales in an attempt to calm him despite how taken aback you were from his actions for he has never acted on his own without his rider’s orders regardless of the ravenous creature he was. Gently caressing his heated scales whilst you coo down at him as his snarls slowly shift into low rumbles under your touch when your soft voice reaches his ears between haggard breaths. Shaking his head with a final blow of smoke through his nostrils as his scales shudder from head to tail until he returns your pets with a content purr, letting you know he's calmed down before directing your attention towards Bakugou who was already climbing up the dragon’s side to join you on his back. Unharmed, lest a few scratches that oozed with blood yet nothing you couldn't heal later with your magic.

“All good?”, bare chest pressing against your back as he leans forward to press his palm to the crimson scales alongside yours as you look over to your side where his head rests on your shoulder. Only answering with a nod when your eyes meet his vermilion ones, not all there as he looks lost in thought before your gently nudge him with your elbow as they focus on you again, sharing the same concern for your dragon but nothing to fret about right now considering the long night you've all had as you feel him relax against you before signaling Kirishima again. Taking to the skies once more as you fly back into town for the night since you couldn't do anything else for now until the fires die out with morning come.

The ache in your muscles melts away as you sink deeper into the hot springs, the warmth enveloping your body when you rest against the edge to peer up at the night sky where remnants of the smoke from the fires obstructing your view of the stars as the faint orange hue of the horizon begins to fade, letting the sound of the water around you prevent your mind from thinking back on the prior events.

Once a dragon bonds with one rider, no other person can bond nor ride them throughout their life for they will remain loyal to their mount until they are parted by death, but Kirishima is the first ever dragon to bond with two riders. Claiming both Bakugou and you as his mates, a rare case in history that not even the wisest of maesters could decipher, tossing it up to be a result of his shifter abilities. But being a mate to the great fiery beasts of this era was not for the faint of heart as dragons undergo different stages in their lifetime that could be overwhelming for some, and your dragon’s recent stubborn behavior could only mean the beginning of one thing.

You lean over the edge towards the tray that rested on the rocks near the natural basin, reaching for the bowl of hot water to pour it over the previously strained matcha before taking the chasen and begin whisking. Too distracted to notice the water rippling behind you but your ears prick at the sound of low purrs approaching, hearing him before you feel him as sharp claws circle around your thighs. Curving along the plush skin of your hips to trail up your sides causing the hairs on your spine to rise towards your nape as he presses his nose above your rear before following the prickled skin up towards your shoulders in a slow calculated pace that causes your toes to curl against the hot stone below until his nose finds the crook of your neck - inhaling deeply as he savors your scent, the smell unlike any other causing his tail to slowly sway from side to side through the water whilst the purring amplifies. Feeling the vibrations against your back when he presses his hot chest to your skin as you lean into his frame, claws circling your abdomen when scaled arms hold you close causing you to hum at his touch as you settle back into the water.

The heat that radiates from him rivals the one around you as hot puffs of air fan across your skin, feeling the tips of his forked tongue ghost along the back of your ear where his nose is nestled into your hair. An occurrence that wasn't foreign to you since the three of you often slept wrapped around each other and Kirishima would find solace in sleeping with the smell of his mates right under his nose, but there was something different in his current demeanor.

When a dragon's heat is near, there are often visible warning signs to heed to avoid falling in their grasps when overcome with lust. The scales along their skin tend to darken in color, one of the more elusive signs to notice considering the change is very minimal but easily spotted for those that are in constant contact with the scaled giants. Their breathing patterns as well as their purring shift from long and passive inhales to heavy huffs followed by exhales of higher temperatures to their regular hot breaths. Every dragon's purrs are slightly different in melody but it's often deeper while in heat, emitting from somewhere further down their chest and at a much quicker pace than normal. The most identifiable of the signs are their behavioral changes, although already territorial, dragons tend to be more aggressive and jealous towards others lurking around their den and mates as well as seek out physical touch more often and show higher levels of affection. All signs that usually begin to manifest weeks in advance.

But Kirishima’s changes only began hours prior. Even though it wasn't the first time his heat had started abruptly, another unknown factor that the maesters could only assume as a product from his shifter abilities, it was the first time you've been in battle when it happened. Which justifies your worry while seizing the onyx dragon earlier.

The air around you felt heavy and the tension was almost palpable with the way he was holding you, like prey caught in the jaws of a predator as his claws travel along your skin, occasionally gripping at your flesh while his hold on you tightens. Moments like these remind you of the danger that he kept hidden from you most of the time until he had you in his grasp - so pliant and at his absolute mercy, he could do anything he wanted and you’d let him.

A sharp dark claw travels across your abdomen in slow back and forth motions beneath the water before trailing up the exposed skin of your chest. Circling your tits in a teasing matter that has your nipples hardening at the threat knowing it wouldn’t take much effort for those claws to rip into your skin. Kirishima smiles against your neck when he feels the way your heartbeat increases under his touch, how the rise and fall of your chest quickens the more he greedily explores your body. Savoring the way your smooth skin feels against his calloused one, the sweet scent of you downright intoxicating as he feels his teeth ache at the thought of you on his tongue. Moving his mouth to rest at the juncture of your neck at the temptation to feel your skin give under the force of his fearful maw, tearing into your flesh and watching you bleed for him as his purring deepens at the thought knowing how pretty you’d look covered in crimson to match that of his scales.

His tail curls around your ankle as it slowly travels up your leg until it’s wrapped around your plump thigh, squeezing the fat of it while scales drag against the curve of your rear. The scaled pointed tip ghosting along your inner thigh as it occasionally brushes through the tuft of hairs above your cunt at slow, almost ticklish pace that had you suppressing your moans against the edge of your cup as you bring the warm tea to your lips, enjoying it while you can knowing that it will soon be forgotten with the way Kirishima’s scorching breath was fanning over your skin alerting you of how close he was to your vital spots.

“Fuck, my love”, the searing touch of his tongue licking along your skin makes you gasp as thick drips of drool burn onto your skin, “I need you”.

“Your heat becoming too much, baby?”, you hum against him before drinking the last of your tea as you reach forward to return the cup onto its tray.

“I could just devour you right now”, he purrs close to your ear as he takes a deep inhale of your skin, continuing to let your scent invade his senses. “Will you let me, love?”

“Go ahead”, you tilt your head further giving him access as your voice falls into a breathless whisper at the feel of sharp teeth grazing against your skin. “Tell me how I taste”.

A guttural growl ripples from his chest at your words as his tongue laps at your skin again, more drool dribbles against you before his lips press to the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder sucking on that spot as you arch your back with a sigh, the feel of his teeth digging ever so slightly into your skin behind closed lips sends a whirlpool of emotions to your gut. The moans you suppressed earlier ripping from you when his fangs finally break through your flesh as a rush of warmth spreads across your skin where he eagerly drinks from you, letting your blood quench his thirst before he sucks bruising kisses higher up your neck making you squirm against him.

Tightening his grasp as he slowly moves your bodies towards the edge of the natural basin where claws circle your waist to spin you around as he looms over you, caging you between the warm stone that digs against your back and his large body as he presses himself against you. Gently nuzzling his nose into the top of your head before slowly trailing down the center of your forehead to meet your nose as your eyes lock with deep pools of scarlet staring back at you. Your hands reach for his biceps, feeling the scales shift under your touch as you continue to trail upwards towards his nape where your fingers brush through the crimson strands of his hair whilst your other hand reaches for a stray strand on his forehead, securing it behind the dark, curved, and angled horns that protrude on either sides of his head that would demand submission from even the most endowed elks that roamed the enchanted forests, a grin spreading across his lips when you do before he leans down to press his lips to yours.

Hot breaths melding with each other as claws curl around your throat pressing his purlicue beneath your chin causing your head to tilt further, giving him more access as his lips move frantically against yours - messy and wet as spit smothers against your skin while your tongue tangles with his long one until the need for air becomes inescapable. Leaning back to catch your breath as far as his firm hold around your neck allows you but he can't help but chase your lips with his sharp teeth, keeping his intentions gentle against the delicate skin but still so, so hungry for you as he nibbles on your bottom lip until it splits for him. The sting makes you hiss as lustful eyes meet your equally lewd ones when he slowly pulls back, sucking the small dribble of blood into his greedy maw until your lip slips from his own. Not giving you enough time to recover as the warm pads of his digits digging into the sides of your neck twitch as they pull you back in to meet his lips - mouths bruised and swollen as his tongue swipes against you to lick into the small cut.

Parting from your lips to press kisses on your jaw and down your neck as his hands reach down to grip your waist and hoist you up onto the edge. Stopping when he reaches the valley of your breast as he leans back to look at your body now fully on display for him, mesmerized at the sight like the first time he saw you like this and he can’t help the shudder that ripples through his scales and settles at his pelvis where his cock twitches beneath the water.

Fiery pupils dilate when they rake along the curve of your breasts and settle on your nipples, wet and glistening and so inviting as he dips his head down to capture the erect bud in his mouth. The feel of sharp teeth scraping against your skin threatening to pierce through your flesh sends shivers down your spine followed by the smooth contrast of his warm tongue alternating between fast flicks and tight curls against you that causes your hips to slightly grind forward as arousal begins to gather at your core. The faint smell of it hitting his nose only riles him further as he suckles on your tit harder while roughly kneading the other as he pulls and twists the bud between his clawed digits.

Only stopping to sink his teeth into the flesh of your chest again and again with low mumbles of ‘mine’ whispered into each nibble as he continues to trail them down your abdomen. Drowning in the increasing scent of your arousal the closer he gets to the source, his mouth unable to stay away from you other than to quickly move to another unmarked spot on your skin as his breaths become haggard at the mouth watering aroma of your drooling cunt leaking onto the stones below. Calloused hands curve beneath your thighs as he spreads you open for him, ankles resting on his broad and scaled shoulders while his mouth never leaves your skin as it reaches your pubes. Inhaling deeply into the tuft of hair as he feels the way your body twitches against his touch when he slowly pulls the hairs between his lips, his warm breaths feels almost ticklish but the sensation is quickly replaced by the slight sting from his tugging before he releases the hairs from his lips.

Diving forward again to run his nose through them, his head dipping lower and lower until the slick feel of your pussy lips meets with his own, savoring you a little longer as he trails his nose through your swollen slit causing it to part as he does. Eyes fluttering at the feel of your arousal coating his skin before finally surging forward into your heat making you arch in your spot as your arms stretch behind you to support you further from the intensity of his mouth against you. Tongue pressed flat on your pussy as he wriggles it from side to side while thick globs of saliva drip from his thirsty mouth onto you - creamy slick and viscous spit mixing together as both of you become more and more lost in pleasure.

Moans falling from your lips without a care if others residing within the inn could hear you for you’re unable to hold them with the way his tongue laps up towards your clit, circling it with just the tip before his lips wrap around the sensitive bud while his eyes look up to meet yours causing something to ripple in your stomach the closer you get to your release. Watching how they darken when he feels your fingers skim across his pointed ears, ghosting along the wet strands of hair before wrapping around one of his horns knowing it would get a reaction out of him with how sensitive they were, especially during his heat and you can't help the grin that breaks through your features when you see his lip curl with the nastiest growl you've heard resonate from his chest thus far. Strong enough to make the water around him shake causing it to ripple at the same thundering cadence while his hands pinch and knead at your thighs, feeling how the muscles clench and tremble under his touch when you feel the vibrations of his snarls against your pussy.

Causing your features to morph into a whine as you let your head roll back onto your shoulders to release a moan up towards the sky while briefly closing your eyes before your entire body jolts when Kirishima slots his hot mouth onto the length of your puffy slit. Demanding your attention as your eyes meet again, a newfound hunger in his fiery orbs as your clench around his imposing figure when the tips of his forked tongue tease along your entrance before wriggling it’s way inside - velvety walls tightening around the incredibly long and thick muscle as it spreads you open, greedily slurping every last drop of creamy arousal that pours from your messy pussy.

Both of your hands now wrapped firmly around his horns to pull him closer and the snarl that follows causes his sharp teeth to scrape dangerously against your swollen clit, sending you over the edge as static rings in your ears making the world around you spin as your release gushes into his awaiting tongue. Claws dragging up and down along your thighs leaving red, throbbing marks in their wake before they press into your hips, threatening to pierce the skin as he holds you down when your hips continue to jerk and twitch. Overstimulated as he continues to drink every last drop of your sweet nectar, not stopping until he gets his fill as your cries clash with the loud and wet squelch of your pussy ravished by his hungry maw.

Slowing his movements to ease you down from your high as his tongue slithers out of your warmth, running it through the red and swollen folds of your sopping wet pussy before leaning back to watch the pretty mess he created - thin threads of syrupy slick and viscid spit clinging to his skin causing it to glisten under the faint moonlight emerging from the smokey clouds as the distant fires begin to die down. Whimpering at the empty feeling as you fall back onto the stones breathless, your hands slipping from his horns in exhaustion only for scaled ones to catch them as he brings them towards his face, nuzzling into your palm to lay kisses onto your wrists - soft and tender unlike the previous ones as he repeats the actions on the other one before trailing up the length of your arm while slowly rising from the water to slot his body above your own.

Warm droplets of water dripping onto your skin where he continues to lay gentle kisses as his lips press against your stomach to travel up onto your breasts, briefly nibbling on the plush skin before dipping towards your collarbones; feeling how he follows the outline of your protruding bones with the tip of his nose to settle at the small hollow at the center where his searing exhales fan over your skin causing you to lean your head back to allow him more access as he wanders up the length of your throat where he slows down to feel it contract against his lips when you swallow, eliciting his purrs to return as they vibrate into your jaw until he curves along your chin to finally capture your lips in his. Tasting yourself on his tongue when it tangles with yours as it freely explores every inch of your mouth before he pulls away to peer down at your pretty face, noticing your eyes glossy with tears as he smiles down at the sight before leaning in for a kiss once more.

So enthralled with each other that you don't hear the distant call of your names when the wooden door of your room slides open. Only the feel of something hot dripping against your thigh capturing your attention, making your breath hitch into him as he pulls back to press his forehead onto yours for the both of you to peer between your bodies to reveal his large cock.

A mass of dark pubes trailing from his belly button towards the base where thick veins throb with need around a swelling knot as they fork out onto the ribbed crimson ridges that matched those of his scales leading up to a tapered tip that dripped molten globs of creamy white onto your skin where it hanged heavy causing it to curve downwards from the weight and size as it twitched the more his knot continued to grow with the overwhelming and carnal desire to empty load after load of the sticky cum that resided within the hefty balls that rested hulking between his muscular thighs inside your heat.

The same thighs that slide closer to press behind yours as a clawed hand slides along the side to grip the back of your knees and guide one leg around his waist, mirroring the action with your other leg as they lock at the dip of his back where his long tail sways languidly from side to side. Securing your bodies together as he lowers his hips to meet yours, slotting his cock between your thighs to slide his pulsing length through your weeping slit. Gasping in unison when he grinds his hips harder through the slickness as your hands snake around his broad shoulders to bring him closer, his lips already chasing yours as claws tangle in the hairs at your nape where he cups your head to deepen the kiss. His thumb smearing away the stray tears that stain your cheeks at the feel of every ridge and curve of his cock rubbing through your slick pussy, getting caught against your clit with each thrust making you mewl into his mouth as he swallows every sound.

Groans and purrs vibrating softly against you when he feels your hips roll up and fall into rhythm with his. Smiling against him when your actions elicit a broken whine to rip from his chest, amused at how such a feared beast could be reduced to such a needy thing when it came to moments like this, entangled with each other in such ways that it's uncertain where one begins and the other ends.

The growl that festers deep in his chest pulls you from your thoughts as a heated sting spreads across your bottom lip when he draws the sensitive flesh between his teeth to get your attention once more, prying your mouth open for him as he chases your bloodied lips with a carnivorous hunger that elicits another growl to crawl up his throat as clawed digits wrap around your wrists to capture your hands in his and stretch your arms above your head, pinning you beneath him and rutting his hips desperately against you until the bulbous head of his leaky cock finally presses against your entrance. Both of you falling silent as you peer down between your bodies, watching how your pussy splits open and swells around each girthy bump of his cock until it reaches the curve of his knot as it presses against your slit; ceasing his movements to relish the feel of your heat wrapped around him while you bask in the way it stretches your pussy so good you could almost feel him in your throat as you lips part around a silent moan.

Heavy knot throbbing against your entrance, not quite ready to slip inside just yet as he rolls his hips back - your pussy molding perfectly to each ridge as the friction makes you arch your back so beautifully into him. Both of your hands restrained under one of his while the other curls around your center to hold you close as his lips press along your jawline, whispering sweet praises in his mother’s tongue as he falls into a steady pace that has the telltale coil winding tightly inside you sooner than expected as white spots cloud your vision when you sink into sweet ecstasy. Soft kisses and nibbles morphing into feral bites as he grows wretched with need at the taste of your blood mixed with the tight clench of your silken walls gripping his cock so deliciously he feels he could devour you whole.

Slowing his thrusts to a gentle rock as his lips find yours again in a sloppy and panting mess - the sound from your heaving chests echoing through the area loud enough to quiet the heavy patting of feet against the damp stone floor approaching your position until a shadow obstructs the dim light of the candles that surrounded the hot springs, looming over you as it waits for the two of you to notice its presence.

“‘M gone a few minutes and you two can't keep yer’ hands off of each other that long, eh?”, both of you peer up to meet vermilion irises staring down at you with amusement. Grin spreading across his features when your eyes simultaneously trail down to look at his cock fully displayed before you, the thick vein beneath his shaft throbbing all the way up his leaking tip where milky beads of white coat his skin.

Meeting his gaze again, your sultry smile matching his own as you feel lips press to your jaw followed by the slight tickle from Kirishima’s hot breath fanning over your skin as he speaks.

“You're just in time, my prince - our little princess is just about ready to take me whole”, a dark claw brushes through the stray hairs that cling to the damp skin of your forehead as he tucks them behind your ear to press his nose to your own, voice falling into a whisper. “Aren't you, baby?”, nodding into his touch while he beckons Bakugou closer.

“Come ‘er, Katsuki… I want to watch you both as she takes my knot”, to which he complies as Bakugou lays down beside you. Pulling you towards him when Kirishima leans back from his position as you straddle the blonde, his eyes wandering down your skin as his fingers trace along the wounds that adorn your body - bruised and bloodied.

Digits stained with red as he brings them towards his lips for a quick taste, eyes fluttering when he does before he reaches for your skin again to collect more of the blood that dribbles from the bites left by the dragon, bringing them up to your lips this time where it mixes with the drooly blood from your bottom lip as you wrap them around his fingers to languidly suck on them.

Clawed thumbs dig into the fat of your hips as Kirishima positions himself behind you, curling along your spine to press his chest against you. His large physique overpowering the both of you when he stretches his wings, briefly casting a daunting shadow that consumes you before he tucks them back into place. Leaning in close to nuzzle his face into your neck as Bakugou mimics his actions to your other side, their warmth encompasses you entirely like a heavy cloth draped over you on a cruel winter. Bakugou’s lips press tender kisses along your mangled skin while a long, wet and hot tongue laps a stripe all the way to your ear where he nuzzles into you once again.

“Hold still for me, my love”, arching into Bakugou’s chest when the tip of Kirishima’s cock presses against your cunt, dripping heavy glops of precum that seared against your skin - so impossibly hot like it was made from the molten steel used to make the finest of swords. Spreading it through your slit as he strokes it up and down causing syrupy strands of arousal to leak onto Bakugou’s thighs before his cockhead catches your entrance.

Immediately feeling the stretch of every ridge and curve again as your lips part around a loud whine, both men reacting instantly as hands roam every inch of your body in a mixture of soothing touches and hungry kneads from sharp nails that twitch at the urge to tear at your skin to elicit more of those sweet noises to rip from your body. Kirishima doesn't waste time to settle on a fast pace that knocked the wind from your lungs, lost in the way your pussy sucked him further - squeezing him so tightly he couldn't help but to nibble on the skin of your neck again, fangs piercing anywhere they could reach causing his purring to morph into wet gurgles from your blood while Bakugou leaned back to ogle at the sight.

In all your years together, nothing riled him up more than moments like these. The both of you look ethereal above him - recalling all the times he had the same thoughts and he fears they might fall short to the sight before him. The first time he laid eyes on Kirishima when the crimson hybrid shifted into a fierce dragon for him to ride after many had failed to mount the fiery beast; the same beast that never allowed anyone to get too close to him, yet there you were mounted on his back treating a tear to his wing while cooing down sweetly at the scaled giant while all his rider could do was just stare at the two of you in awe in that field of freshly bloomed blue irises all those springs ago. He never thought that just winters later he would find himself by a ditchfire and a chalice filled of your joined blood, a scar on each of your left palms to prove it - wed by fire and blood to be sealed by a long night of mating.

And now, as the hard stone cushioned by a the thin bedding of moss forming on the rocks dug into his back as he stared up at the two of you above him, your skin riddled with bites and blood with Kirishima still latched onto your neck as you cried out into the night to soon take his knot, the sight before him rivals all the others for he thinks he's never seen the two of you so beautiful as this very moment.

His heart skipping a beat when both of your eyes meet his own, reaching for him as your hands curl around his shoulders while claws press against the dip of his skull to bring him closer to your bodies. Your lips pressed against his while Kirishima nuzzles the crook of his neck, smiling against Bakugou when you feel his breath hitch at the dragon’s fangs piercing into his flesh. The taste of both of his mates blood mixing on his tongue turn his thrust violent, extremely so you can't contain the overstimulated squeals that ripped from your chest and before you can register it he thrusts forward in a hard roll of his hips until you feel it - a wet pop as you're stuffed to the brim with his knot. Your eyes rolling while you feel lightheaded at the mixture of his thick, knotted cock grinding deep inside of you along with the heat that radiates from their bodies engulfing you completely.

Claws suddenly digging into your flesh as Kirishima yanks your bodies closer to him, switching from marking Bakugou’s neck to yours back and forth while lips brushed against skin in a mantra growled in the old draconic tongue.

Mine mine mine

“You're mine, yeah? My blood?”, each question is followed by a pull of his lips against your skin and all you can do is desperately nod against him as salty tears stain your cheeks while your cunt spasms around him, squeezing and pulling him deeper as he grinds rapidly into you.

“Both of you were made for me”, he snarls as his lips chase Bakugou’s next, piercing his bottom lip in a much more hurried manner than he did yours causing a groan to vibrate loudly from the blondes chest as the redhead devours him.

“You were born bound to me, right?”, your bodies were dripping in sweat and your brains were fogging with the overstimulation of both pleasure and pain, as the dragon reminded you who you belonged to while switching between your bodies; licked, sucked, and bitten into the skin of the familiar things pinned beneath him. Chasing your sweat with teeth and tongue, drunk on the scent of home - of mate. Many would call the love Kirishima felt for the two of you an obsession, but that pales in comparison to the unwavering hunger and passion he felt for you.

His thrusts turn vicious, borderline animalistic as he rolls his hips forward once, twice, three times until you finally feel it. The rush of cum pouring in hot, always so impossibly hot, heavy globs against your velvety walls as he ruts his hips close to bury himself deep in your pussy to ensure you were plugged up and stuffed full with his seed that continued to pour inside of you in a never ending river that had the both of you falling depleted against the blonde making him groan at the sudden weight pressed against him. All three of you panting as your bodies relax against each other, hearts beating as one while you let the soothing sounds of the water splashing behind you ease you down from your highs.

But the Crimson Dread was nothing if not insatiable, leaning back as clawed digits captured Bakugou’s chin between them to bring him closer, pulling him into a kiss while you trailed kisses along the blonde’s jawline. Your ear pricking when you hear the redhead speak into the kiss and you can’t help the grins that follow at his words.

“Your turn, my prince”, he whispers while maneuvering your bodies into the warm water to soothe your wounds and prepare you for the long night ahead.

#🕸️—𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑’23 #kirishima eijirou #eijirou kirishima #kirishima eijirou x reader #eijirou kirishima x reader #eijirou kirishima x reader smut #kirishima eijirou x reader smut #dragon shifter! kirishima #dragon shifter! kirishima smut #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader smut #mha x reader smut #kiribaku x reader #kiribaku x reader smut #kiribaku smut

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naeverse · 3 months

Text

Hearts On Fire

A/N: I completely adored writing this—like OMG!!! I just wanted to thank my bestie, @amariiyagurl , before diving into the story since she was the one who gave me the wonderful idea. Once again, I really, really enjoyed writing it, so thank you, girlie!!🤎🧡 Art(s) by: mariammew2 & Pinkiemme

🐴staring: BountyHunterMiguel O’Hara x Fem!SassyVaquera

🌵preview:

“What do ya want from me? To see me lose control? To go against my damn duties?!” The hunter shouted, his face trembling in uncontrollable anger. “What ya find pleasure in that? Seeing me lose my shit?”

“Why, yes indeed..."

🐮summary: Miguel O’Hara is a ruthless and cold bounty hunter of the Wild West, renowned for his sharp wit, perfect aim, and unprecedented tracking skills. He never cared about the outlaws he arrested, sometimes even killed. It was merely business in his eyes, nothing more.

It wasn’t until you revealed your beautiful face as an outlaw of the Wild West that the hunter found himself completely smitten by your gorgeous smile, ravishing body, and sharp tongue, which he both loved and hated.

But you were an outlaw, and he, a bounty hunter.

You and he were like water and oil.

You didn’t mix…

Or so it seemed…

🐴tw/cw: Bed-Sharing, Big Dick Miguel, Bondage, Butt Groping, Cock Bulge, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Doggystyle, Forbidden love, Late 1800s, Missionary, Multiple Orgasms, NFSW, Olfactophilla, Praises, Rough Sex, Squirting, Temperature Play (If you squint), Western Themed, Wild-West Base, 19th-Century

🍺Pet names: Cariño (Darling), Querida (Dear), Miel (Honey), Vaquera (Cowgirl), Bebè (Baby), Princesa (Princess),

🤎Rating: 18+ explicit I SMUT I

🌵 Word Count: 14.4k words

"Mierda!"

The curse fell from the lips of the notorious bounty hunter, Miguel O’Hara, upon dodging yet another set of flying bullets being shot at him. He growled, straightening up on his saddle and giving the reins of his ebony horse a sharp snap, pressing the spurs of his boots into its side to urge his adored stallion faster.

He couldn’t let you get away again.

Not this time...

Miguel O’Hara was a famous bounty hunter who was known throughout the Wild West for his reputation as a relentless tracker and unmatched sharpshooter. The mere mention of his name struck fear into the hearts of outlaws, knowing that if you had a hefty price and were on the bounty hunter’s list, you were as good as captured, or in some cases…

Dead.

Although Miguel had an infamous reputation of being the end of many ruthless and cunning outlaws, there was one that always managed to slip through his fingers…

You.

Y/N, the vaquera with the excellent aim, sexy body, and witty tongue always seemed to continuously evade his capture. He couldn’t help but despise the woman just as much as he secretly admired her.

It was always that damn mouth of hers…

She could sweet-talk and charm almost anyone, even the infamous bounty hunter, which was the reason behind his countless missed arrests of the beautiful vaquera.

But not today.

Miguel was going to make sure of it.

"Vamos, Xian! Vamos!" Miguel shouted to his horse, his body leaning forward as his black stallion snorted in response, her hooves thudding faster against the rocky and dry terrain of the desert. Miguel's black durst coat blew behind him in the wind as his mahogany eyes were trained on your figure, riding upon your horse just a few miles ahead.

A wicked smirk spread across the hunter’s lips upon getting closer to you.

‘You aren’t getting away this time.’

Miguel thought, effortlessly, he hoisted his iconic steel six-shooter from its holster, aiming the long barrel directly at you, who was galloping at lightning speed to escape the notorious bounty hunter. With a click of his thumb upon the hammer to cock the gun, he didn’t hesitate to shoot, pulling the trigger.

Only for a second, the piercing sound of the bullet’s release reverberated through the desert, to be followed with a frustrated snarl from the hunter at the sight of you dodging it.

You let out a gasp, one hand flying up to clutch your brown wide-brimmed hat to keep it from flying away, just as you veered your horse to the left to avoid the passing bullet.

You glanced over your shoulder with a taunting smirk on your cherry lips, the sight only making Miguel’s blood boil. “Stop fuckin’ runnin'!” He bellowed, his gruff voice full of rage with a potent Western and Latino accent.

A soft laugh passed your lips at him. “Stop chasin’ me then!” You shouted back with an amused smile that almost took Miguel’s breath away; but in that brief moment of awe, he didn’t notice when the attractive vaquera pulled her gun out, firing at him once more.

His attempt at dodging the bullet was unsuccessful as a loud whine from his horse filled the desert.

“Xina!”

Miguel exclaimed in shock and worry, feeling his stallion stagger in her steps and begin to slow down. His mahogany eyes snapped up to see you getting further away from him, Xina’s whimpers of pain bringing his attention back to his wounded horse as he knew she wouldn’t be able to keep up with you.

Not in this state…

At that revelation, irritation filled Miguel's being. “Shit! I almost had her!” He hissed in frustration, watching the beautiful vaquera ride off into the distance. He clenched the reins of his horse tightly, trying to calm his anger.

“I’ll find you again, Cariño.

I promise you…”

It was now evening, and you were sitting inside a saloon in a town you'd encountered, enjoying a nice glass of whiskey after your successful getaway from the infamous bounty hunter.

“Another glass, and keep ‘em comin’,” you exclaimed to the bartender with a grin as he poured you another glass of the alcoholic drink.

You smiled, bringing the whiskey to your lips when you, suddenly, felt something hard press into your side. You winced at the sensation of the solid object being jabbed harshly into your ribs before a warm and overpowering presence came over you.

"Holler or make any sudden moves, and I’ll gladly put a bullet in ya.”

You bit your lip, instantly recognizing the deep voice of the owner of the gun currently prodding into your inner organs. “Why, if it ain’t Miguel O’Hara. It’s nice to see ya again.” You chuckled in a breathy tone due to the piercing pain, watching the large bounty hunter take a seat on a wooden stool beside you at the bar. His grip on his gun seemed to tighten after your greeting.

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your lips at the sight of the massive, stoic Latino.

Miguel O’Hara was a hunter you’ve never met before—so determined, stern, and versatile. He was honestly a jack of all trades, and one that had greatly piqued your interest upon encountering him for the first time six months ago.

Dressed like a shadow, he was adorned in his usual attire of a black durst coat, collared shirt, pants, and black sturdy boots. A wide-brimmed hat, with a skull, also sat upon his head of coffee-brown curls and tanned, rugged features.

Instantly upon meeting his cold mahogany orbs, you knew he’d be fun to play with—more than the other hunters. But you had to admit, the Latino didn’t get his great reputation senselessly.

He always gave you a run for your money—just like now…

You peered at the silent bounty hunter, trying to suppress the urge to wince from his gun still poking into your side. Your eyes roamed his face, taking in his hardened expression of a clenched jaw and permanent scowl that could curdle milk. His mahogany eyes, hooded by his black hat, traced your seated figure.

You could see the conflict occurring behind those enchanting orbs of his.

He was trying to make sense of you, but he simply couldn’t…

In all of Miguel’s years of being a bounty hunter, you always seemed to surprise him. With a loaded gun pressed into your side that could be fired any moment, you didn’t seem a bit fazed.

He’d seen outlaws that practically shit their pants at being held at gunpoint, yet you continued to drink your whiskey and kick your legs under the table like you were enjoying a nice lil’ ride on a wagon.

The bounty hunter was secretly impressed, but that damn taunting smirk of yours was working his last nerve.

“I can’t say the same 'bout you, chica,” he bluntly replied, leaning in close, as you instsntly felt his anger radiating from his body.

“You not only robbed that fuckin’ train, but you shot my damn horse.” He spat harshly, his voice full of malice. His gun dug deeper into your side, and his face was so close to yours that your breath was practically mixing. “And you hurt my Xina; I should shoot you dead right here.

Right now.”

The bounty hunter threatened through gritted teeth. You rolled your eyes, hearing him say the same thing before. “Then why don't you?” You asked, taking a sip of your whiskey.

Miguel's thick eyebrows furrowed in confusion at your inquiry, his puzzlement only making him angrier. Once again, you were using that sharp tongue of yours to try and screw with his brain. “What shit are you yappin’ now?” He growled, irritation found in his voice.

A snicker left your cherry lips at the hunter’s perplexion. “It's not that hard a question, Miguel.” You giggled, peering over at him from under the hood of your brown hat.

“Why haven't you shot me dead yet, hm?”

You smirked, watching his tan, rugged features scrunch up further in rage, the sight pleasing you immensely.

Miguel's grip tightened upon the handle of his pistol, his teeth clenched so harshly that he believed they'll break any moment. “Perhaps I'd rather see how that pretty face of yers would hold up in prison.”

You laughed, taking note of his compliment. “Whatever you say…” You snickered, turning to take another sip of your whiskey.

"Whatever I fuckin’ say!?" Miguel snarled, unable to believe how nonchalantly you were taking him. Most outlaws’ attitudes would hastily change at the mere presence of the infamous bounty hunter, but here you were, still badmouthing him and acting like this was a joke.

It was only enraging Miguel further…

His scowl deepened as he sharply thrust the barrel of his six-shooter into your side, making you groan. “Here you are playin’ games and talkin’ shit like this is just a fun lil’ evening for ya.”

“Because it is.” You retorted, trying to ignore how your side would surely be bruised with how deep his gun was burrowed into your skin, despite being covered by your shirt.

Miguel figured you'd say that, but it still didn't make him less pissed.

“Then I'll love nothin’ more than to wipe that damn smirk from yer face, especially after what ya did to my precious Xina.” Miguel threatened, his mahogany eyes seeming to become a scarlet red at his seething anger.

You scoffed, shooting him a glare. “This fuckin’ horse again?!” You spat in irritation. “I believe your damn horse is real fine.” You replied, casting a glance at the entrance of the saloon to see his ebony horse standing behind the gated entrance. She looked relatively healthy, aside from a bandage upon the side of her massive black body. “Stop over exaggerating; it looks like just a darn graze to me.”

“And that fucking ‘graze’ is going to cost me a hefty sum of cash,” he sternly said, but despite how angry he was at you…

Damn, you were too sexy for your own good…

He couldn’t help letting his eyes drift down your body, taking in your vaquera attire of a simple pair of dark blue, slim-fitted pants and a matching button-up with brown fringe along your outfit. A set of brown boots and a wide-brim hat sat upon your head. He also took notice of how the outfit seemed to accentuate every piece of you.

Your attire was not only breathtaking, but it broke all the regulations assigned by men when it came to the makeup of a woman. Unlike the proper lady, pants adorned your gorgeous legs instead of the usual housewife skirt.

However, despite how rebellious your entire outfit was, it made you look hotter than a Texas summer; your stunning body was a quality the bounty hunter couldn’t get enough of, and it never failed to stir a wave of conflicting emotions through him.

Miguel cleared his throat, shaking off his adoration and lust for you to replace it with the annoying and rageful traits you shared instead. He leaned in close, his western and Latino-accented voice dropping to a low whisper.

"You must be aware of the hefty bounty on yer head, don’t ya, princesa?” He inquired in a hushed tone, not wanting anyone to overhear.

Miguel's breath fanned against your cheek due to his closeness, the sensation causing tingles to run down your backside. “Indeed, I do.” You simply stated. “A thousand…Correct?”

Miguel laughed darkly at your reply, shaking his head. “After your little shenanigans in that boom town last month, your price has been raised, sweetheart.” He uttered, your sweet natural scent along with the sweat and dirt on your skin filling his senses, igniting his concealed desire.

“Five thousand...”

The hunter stated, causing your heart to drop. However, your face held its usual unbothered expression upon hearing the new price. You looked away from him, snatching up your glass of whiskey in frustration. Miguel smirked, watching you gulp down the rest of your glass in hopes of calming your nerves.

“Five thousand is on your head, dead or alive, querida.” He said, finally taking notice of your adamant attempt to avoid his eyes, the sight angering him.

Without warning, he took your chin in his large, gloved hand, snapping your head to meet his stern and rageful ones. Your eyebrows furrowed in a mix of anger and surprise upon his sudden action.

“Be thankful I haven't filled ya with lead, chica, with yer attitude that option is seemin’ more and more temptin’.” He growled, his eyes roaming the beautiful face that has caused so many problems in the West. Your beauty only fueling his fury.

“You've been a damn thorn in my side since your first robbery down in the Southwest.” He rasped, his gloved fingers tightening around your jaw as with his every word, his barrel pressed deeper into your side, causing your eyebrows to screw together in pain.

You groaned softly, glaring daggers at him, and noticed some of the customers of the saloon starting to look over at the two of you.

“I'll be darn, that's Miguel O'Hara, ain't it. Look, Willy, ain't it?”

“And here I thought you were pullin’ my leg, Hank. That is him—but wait… and that's that cowgirl too, right?”

“Shoot dang, it is!”

The chatter of two loud older male customers filled your ears. Their recognition of not just Miguel but also you really pissed you off.

‘I didn't come here to cause a damn scene and draw attention to myself. Got enough shit to deal with as it is.’

You thought angrily, deciding it was time to make your exit. With an endearing grin, you gazed up at the bounty hunter, placing a hand onto his forearm that grasped your jaw and giving it a gentle caress with your fingertips. “Miguel, dear, we've been at each other's throats for months now…ain't we, babes?” You stated with a pout, continuing to brush the pad of your fingers along his arm with your eyes trained on him.

The bounty hunter completely stiffened at your touch, his mahogany eyes glancing down to your hand before snapping back to you.

He knew you were trying to seduce him with your alluring eyes, hypnotizing touch, and sultry voice, but damn was it hard to resist you. His desire was already growing, and your enticement was only feeding the flames.

“We have…” He practically growled through gritted teeth, the only thing keeping him stable was his grip on his steel six-shooter that was still piercing into your ribs, reminding him of his duties and reputation along with the importance of him detaining you…

Or killing you…

Miguel's eyes, practically red, glared down at you; seeing the bounty hunter angry always seemed to rile you up even more. You bit your lip, running your fingers up to his bare wrist, the only bit of skin that wasn't concealed by his sleeve or leather gloves.

You traced your fingertips along the valley of bulging veins that resided there, keeping your eyes on him. “Indeed, hunter…so perhaps, we can become allies instead of enemies, eh?” You suggested while caressing his wrist.

Miguel's jaw clenched, unable to ignore the wave of heat that was spreading through his being at your touch, and he only became more enraged at his body's adorning responses.

It was always like this with you…

He finally gets you cornered with nowhere else to go, believing he has won before you allure him enough to give him the slip.

Miguel had promised himself that today would be different, that today would be the day he would finally catch you; but with the way you were looking up at him from under your beautiful eyelashes, stroking his wrist and speaking to him so seductively…

He was close to taking you right there at the bar.

“I don't align myself with people, let alone outlaws, miel.” He said, trying to stay focused on his mission and not the growing excitement in his pants.

At his rejection, your pout deepened.

“And here I thought the last time we met up like this was somethin’ special…”

You slyly trailed off with a devious grin, watching, for a moment, as the bounty hunter’s thick eyebrows furrowed in disbelief and shock.

‘She really went there.’ Miguel thought, smirking at the recollection of his previous heated encounter with the beautiful vaquera and how very pleasing it was.

He removed his revolver from your side, tucking it back into his holster but not removing his large hand that encased your jaw. “You think bringin’ that up is going to save your sexy ass?” He inquired with a chuckle, his words bringing a smile to your lips. “No…not with you.” You giggled, batting your lashes up at him. “You are too smart for that.”

Miguel’s eyes narrowed in frustration. He hated how slick that mouth of yours was—it was like an eel dipped in oil, able to outwit and outsmart anyone with just a smile and a little teasing.

And goodness, did you love to tease…

You grinned, looking up at Miguel. “Mmm, but just think of how good it was, Miggy.” You uttered, moving your hands to run along the front of his duster coat, gripping the flaps and pulling him closer to you.

Miguel growled softly, his pants seeming to become painfully tighter the more you spoke and talked to him.

With a glance down, it wasn't hard to miss how aroused the hunter was. The enormity under the black fabric of his trousers demanding attention and yours, in particular. You smirked, finally having him under your control.

“You remember, don't ya?” You whispered, leaning in closely to the hunter's face, his stern expression faltering at your nearness.

Miguel tried hard to resist you, but it was like he was under your spell, feeling your lips ghost along his jaw, up to his ear.

“How good ya felt in my throat and how well I took ya?”

You muttered seductively into his ear while removing a hand from his coat to trail down his chest. Your fingers tracing his bulging pecs and abs as you descended further.

“Just imagine how good yer feel elsewhere? Perhaps…”

Your fingers found what you desired, looping through his front belt loop of his pants, and tugging him towards you with a seductive grin. A gasp escaped his lips, his black-gloved hand landing on your arm, ceasing your movements as his mahogany, slightly dazed, and lustful eyes gazed down at you. Your hands upon his pants, temptingly close to where he wanted you the most, drove him to the edge.

You instantly became surprised, the rare sight of such an expression upon your gorgeous face enough to cause him to stir underneath his briefs; however, he was once again conflicted—not knowing if he should listen to his head or his desires when it came to you.

You were just too risky to let go, and too sexy to lock up…

And there was a wretched part of him that didn't want to see the sexy vaquera in bars, regardless of how much of a pain in the ass you were.

So, what should be done with you...?

You gazed up at Miguel, taking notice of how his stoic expression had returned—that attractive smirk of his gone and replaced with his scowl like before. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight.

Was he not buying it?

Was he about to arrest you?

Shit, you were nervous as hell.

“Miguel? Babes-”

“Stand up.”

Miguel abruptly said, removing his hand from your jaw and pulling away. You laughed nervously, reaching out for his gloved hand. “O-Oh, Miggy, who knew you were quite the funny one-” Your dismissive words were cut off by the hunter suddenly swatting your hand from him and hastily grabbing your arms, pulling you onto your feet. A gasp passed your lips at his rough actions.

“What the hell?!” You shouted as effortlessly, Miguel tossed your body over his broad shoulder as if you were featherlight. His burly arm wrapped around the back of your thighs to hold you firmly against his massive body.

You scoffed in disbelief, laying upon what felt like a boulder for a shoulder. “What the fuck is wrong with ya! I-If you don't put me down, ya sidewindin’ two-faced piece of shit!” You hollered whilst punching his backside in hopes of him releasing you, but to the hunter, you were like a dust devil—all wind and no impact.

Miguel turned, taking notice of the obvious attention the two of you were bringing—many of the customers now staring. The hunter tipped his hat to the fellow individuals of the saloon in a gesture of apology. “Pardon the ruckus, folks, this just business.” Miguel said in his usual, gruff voice, the vibrations of his tone rumbling throughout his massive body.

With a smirk, the bounty hunter carried you out of the saloon, your loud and repetitive kicks and curses following the two of you.

Miguel stepped outside, taking in the earthy and sagebrush scent of the new town he'd tracked you down to, named Roca Roja. It was a town that he could count on his fingers how many times he'd visited, but currently, he'd never seen so many bodies decorating the streets, especially as the sun was now setting on the horizon.

However, he couldn't exactly enjoy the nice, dry breeze of night with your damn yelling in his ear.

“I don't know what the hell is goin’ on in that thick skull of yer's, but yer've done lost yer darn mind!” You yelled from atop Miguel's shoulder as his black boots crunched under the rocky terrain of Roca Roja.

He continued to ignore your insults and shouts, clicking his tongue to signal his horse that fell into step beside him.

The hunter's Xina, an Appaloosa with a beautiful white spotted pattern down her ebony backside and around her snout, walked next to the both of you. Her loud snorts and clomps of her hooves filled the night and drawing your attention, but what really caught your eye was the nicely wrapped bandage that covered her torso.

You averted your eyes from the horse, feeling slightly guilty, but your demands and protests never ceased while the hunter continued to bring you to this unknown location. “Where are ya even takin’ me!?” You exclaimed, continuing another barrage of heavy punches to his muscular backside to no avail. His boulder of a shoulder digging into your already bruised side, only further angering you.

Your punches and kicks were completely useless to the huge male. Once you became tired, you slumped upon his shoulder, wincing slightly at how it continued to jab into your bruised ribs. You scowled, glaring over at the hunter. “What the hell is the matter with ya? Kidnappin’ a gal like this is a crime too if ya didn't know!” You shouted in annoyance.

Miguel heaved an irritated sigh, not understanding how a sexy thing like you can have such a nasty attitude. “If ya stop ya bitchin' I just might answer yer questions!” He shouted back at you.

A growl passed your cherry lips, finally quieting down to allow the hunter to speak. “Now…what's going through that pretty noggin’ of yer's is correct.

I'm takin’ ya in.”

Your eyes widened at his words, hastily, returning back to trying to escape.

You'll be damned if you go to jail so easily like this…

Swift hands flew to your holsters on your hips to find them empty, your revolvers missing from their places. The dark laughter from the hunter following your discovery only made your heart drop.

“Looking for yer guns, Cariño?” He taunted, giving your ass a playful smack, making you jolt. The sensation left you in a mix of anger and arousal at his spank. “Yer been a bad gal, so no guns for a beaut like you.”

You snarled, glaring at him. “So what!? After everythin’ we've been through, yer just gonna throw me to the wolves? You know what they'll do to me in there!” You exclaimed, trying to hide the worry in your tone at possibly being a part of such an unsanitary place with harsh conditions that could cause any sane person to lose their sanity.

Miguel's arm tightened around your thighs, his heart shamefully tugging. “Don't tell me yer scared, vaquera,” he teased, continuing to walk through town with you over his shoulder. “Shut it, hunter,” you scowled, delivering another punch to his backside in rage that only left him laughing. “Why, if ya do the crime, ya do the time. You know the law,” he replied.

You heaved a sigh, not believing after all your fun you would be sent to a place so hideous and dehumanizing— some jails didn't even separate by genders.

You'll surely lose your mind in there…

“Yer not…seriously goin’ to take me back to Nueva Yorkano in one night, ain't ya?” you inquired, hoping it was a ‘nay.’

Miguel grunted, acknowledging that his horse, Xina, wouldn't be able to make a trip to the town, Nueva Yorkano, where you were most wanted in, without breaks, especially at night. There were many obstacles a traveler could encounter—coyotes, ruthless vaqueros, the harsh elements, and the extreme drop in temperature were all your enemies on a night journey through the desert.

The hunter cast a glance over at his horse whose steps were already starting to slow down. His wounded stallion hurt him more than anything due to him raising her from just a young foal; seeing her like this tore him up inside.

“Nay, we'll be gettin’ a room,” Miguel stated, clicking his tongue and gesturing with his head for his horse to follow him to the right, changing his destination to the nearest inn.

A grin spread across your cherry lips at your delayed arrest.

‘Perhaps, I can escape before we-’

“Fuck! What the hell!?!” You exclaimed at the sharp spank Miguel delivered to your rear, the smack pulling you from your thoughts and leaving an intense sting. “Don't get any funny ideas, chica, I'm still pissed at you about Xina,” he growled. “So try anythin’, I won't hesitate to rough you up, got it!?”

You rubbed your sizzling rear-end, muttering under your breath. ��Rough me up…” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You won't dare put ya hands on me,” you said from atop his shoulder as Miguel heard every word, bringing a smirk to his lips.

“Why…there are other ways I can ‘rough’ you up, Muñeca.”

Miguel uttered suggestively; one could dare say the hunter was flirting with you. You chuckled, smiling over at the stoic male. “Well, puttin’ it like that, it sounds like somethin’ I wouldn't mind experiencin’ then.” You giggled.

Miguel grunted in irritation at your comment, trying to ignore how turned on he became at your response. His mahogany eyes located a small inn nearby, its sign holding in big letters:

‘Cobweb Comfort.’

“We'll rest there,” Miguel replied, walking over as you looked over in the direction he was taking you, a groan passing your lips.

“You must be pullin’ my leg, Miguel. Here! Of all places!?” you whined, taking in the rustic and aged inn with paint peeling from its walls from years of neglect and windows layered with desert dust.

The closer Miguel got to the place, you could make out the uneven porch, loud creaking rocking chairs that sat upon it, and the nearby stable that showed many signs of disrepair but held many horses inside.

Everything about the inn was distasteful in your eyes, wishing to reside elsewhere that actually gave some care to the appearance of their establishment unlike this one.

Despite your complaints, the hunter ignored you, signaling for his horse to wait by the door before going into the inn.

The door creaked open, and you observed how the tall hunter's hand clutched his black hat as he slightly lowered to pass under the short doorway upon entering.

The interior of the inn looked quite similar to its exterior, with peeling wallpaper, heavily scuffed floors, and faded landscape paintings upon the walls.

Miguel's eyes took in the lobby of the rustic inn, instantly making contact with a rather familiar man sitting behind a weathered wooden counter. The innkeeper seemed more invested in smoking and reading his book to even notice the both of your arrival.

You scoffed. “Trash-ass customer service too. Darn, didn't see that comin’.” You mumbled sarcastically with an eye-roll, earning an annoyed grunt from Miguel.

The hunter approached the desk, his boots thudding upon the wooden floorboards, causing it to creak with his every step. The wood and smoky scent only intensified the further he walked into the inn.

Miguel peered over the counter, staring intently at the male that looked to be his same age, who was still oblivious to him having customers. Strangely, the innkeeper seemed familiar to the hunter, but due to the few oil lamps that hang from hooks inside the lobby, he was unable to see him clearly.

Miguel cleared his throat, hastily getting the male's attention, his amber eyes glancing up in surprise. “Ah, pardon me, didn't see ya there.” He chuckled, closing his book and standing from his chair, although, upon making eye contact, both men recognized each other.

“Well, I'll be damned, Miguel O'Hara! My buddy!” The guy said, giving the stoic man a friendly pat on the shoulder that the hunter simply glanced at.

Peter B. Parker was a bubbly and too jolly innkeeper that Miguel had saved a few months ago from being shot dead by an outlaw he'd been tailing. On the spot, the auburn-haired man bought Miguel drinks and offered him a free spot anytime at his inn to repay him—but the hunter didn't think he'd ever actually encounter him again…

Miguel gave Peter a mere grunt for a greeting, the male snickering as he exhaled the smoke from his cigarette. “Still not much of a talker, I see.” Peter joked.

Your eyebrows rose in surprise at Miguel actually having friends.

You never would have thought…

You peered over your shoulder at the innkeeper, making eyes with the rugged-featured male that had auburn short, slick back hair upon an ivory skin tone face of stubble with a cigarette hanging from his lips. A dark blue button-up, tan pants, and dark brown boots adorned his rather lean body, except for his plump stomach that was visible through his shirt. You glanced upon the name tag that clung to his top, reading Peter B. Parker.

“Well, I see yer still on the job.” The guy named Peter commented, looking at you as you flashed him a smile and a wink from Miguel's shoulder. The male wolf whistled at the sight. “And a looker too-”

“Peter!”

Miguel barked, his mahogany eyes flashing red. “Give me a damn room and stop wasting my time.”

You chuckled at Miguel's evident sign of jealousy while Peter only shook his head at the hunter's sudden anger. “Fine, fine, seems someone is ready to hit the hay.” Peter said, rummaging around on his desk for his desired items.

“But just wonderin’ if it's your own head that's gettin’ the rest or yer alluding to somethin’ else.” Peter smirked, glancing over at you and then Miguel playfully. “I must warn ya, them walls in this inn ain't that solid.” The innkeeper laughed as you could feel the fuming rage radiating from Miguel's body at the innkeeper's comment. It took everything to hold back from laughing at the rather hilarious interaction.

“Peter…” Miguel growled through gritted teeth, his voice full of warning. “Okay, pardon me, let me see here…” Peter said, snickering to himself while peering through another large hardback that looked similar to a registration book.

Miguel stared at Peter as he located a room for the two of you in his ledger, never in the hunter's entire life did he wish to leave a conversation.

After a while of looking in silence, a disappointed, shoot dang, was muttered by Peter. He shook his head, looking up at Miguel. “There's only one room left.” He said, looking over at you and then at the hunter.

“And it's a singles.”

“Mierda.” Miguel cursed under his breath, looking at you and then at Peter. He was certain that spending a night with you in an enclosed bedroom would lead to nothing but disaster.

One that would only lead in himself and you tangled up in the sheets and experiencing another moment of unashamed passion.

“Why the hell is there only one!?” Miguel inquired in irritation causing the innkeeper to chuckle, raising his hands in defense. “No need to yell at me. I'm just doin’ my job.” He said. “But a few days ago, gold was found along the bank, folks been comin’ from all ‘round to try and get some.” He explained, causing another curse to leave the hunter's lips.

You sighed, glancing over at Miguel. “Told ya, we shouldn't have come here.” You added as Peter looked up at you. “Actually, every inn is real full in Roca Roja, due to the gold strike and everythang.” Peter said, picking up a quill and dipping it into the bottle of ink. “But gotta love it, has my business boomin’ at the moment.” He chuckled, glancing up at the hunter and you.

“So…You stayin’?” He asked, his amber orbs mainly on Miguel, awaiting his response.

The hunter sighed, seeming like he'd hit a trail's end.

He knew Xina would need time to recover—her injury wasn't major compared to what it could have been, but his stallion being on her hooves would only worsen it.

Xina resting up would do her some good.

Taking Peter's word that the inns were all full, Miguel would hate to try his luck and spend the night roaming all of Roca Roja, pushing Xina and hearing more of your yapping, just to end up roomless.

At least here, he wouldn't have to pay…

“Fine.” Miguel growled, watching a beaming smile spread across the smoking innkeeper. “That's the spirit. Here ya be well takin’ care of.” Peter promised, jotting down the hunter's name under a room and handing him the key.

Miguel tucked the brass key into the pocket of his black durst coat. “And Peter, ‘nother request.” The hunter added, suddenly dropping a wad of cash upon the counter, the sight surprising both Peter and you. “I know ya have connections, so find Xina a good doctor and tend to her real nice.” Miguel ordered.

The brown-haired male nodded, tucking the cash into his pocket and walking around the counter. “Of course, I love nothing more than to help my buddy.” He chuckled, thanking Miguel and you for staying at his inn with a pat on the hunter's back and a tip of his hat in your direction before he left to fulfill Miguel's requests.

The hunter heaved a sigh, standing alone with you in the lobby, who was still slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour. He casted you a glance, already feeling a stir inside of him at the mere thought of seclusion with you, and he hated every bit of it…

He already had a feeling that disaster was impending—one he wouldn't be able to stop no matter how hard he tried…

“Yer jokin’, right?”

You asked from your curled position upon the singular bed in your shared room. It wasn't the fact that Miguel had insisted on sleeping in a mere lounge chair across the room that led to such an inquiry; it was the fact of how the hunter believed you'd get any sleep with your hands and legs tightly bound together by rope.

Your eyes were trained on his seated form upon the aged lounge chair of the room, his massive legs spread, and his body dressed only in his black wide-brimmed hat, black button-up top, pants, and boots. His durst coat hung on the back of the raw umber cushion while his mahogany eyes stared back at your restrained being.

He lit what felt like his fourth cigarette since the two of you entered, placing the tobacco between his lips and taking a deep inhale before releasing the smoke through his nose.

He remained silent at your question, simply keeping his eyes on you like a guard dog.

It was quite unnerving…

“Hey Miguel! You there, or are ya lost in the tumbleweeds!?” You shouted at him in annoyance while wiggling upon the bed like a fish out of water.

“What is it?” He said, finally acknowledging you with his words rather than his piercing gaze. You sighed, looking over at him through your long eyelashes and putting on your most pitiful expression. “Oh why…t-this rope is real tight, you see. I-I can't even feel my limbs.” You uttered, laying on your side with a pout. “Can't you maybe…loosen them a tad bit?” You genuinely asked because upon bounding you, Miguel had fastened the ropes so taut that it was practically etching an imprint into your skin and cutting off blood circulation.

“Nay…” Miguel simply stated, taking another puff from his cigarette. At his denial, you growled in frustration. “Why, at least stop your damn smokin'. You're makin’ it hard to breathe in this already dusty inn.” You complained, burying your face into the beige blankets in irritation.

But if only you knew how much Miguel was holding on by a thread.

Upon entering the shared bedroom, he instantly felt it…

The longing.

The arousal.

He never gave a damn about things like that—too busy with his bounty job to care. But ever since you've shown your face and made an appearance as a new fugitive, he began to desire it…

You were always on his mind, even during the times you went into hiding, and he was tracking someone new.

He craved you,

needed you.

Now you were laying upon a bed, bound tightly like a pig being served to him on a platter, and it was taking every fiber of his being to stay rooted in his seat.

Miguel's eyes traced your body, taking in your fallen hat and unkempt hair upon the bed, hands bound behind your back along with your ankles secured tightly together. Your clothes hugged your figure even more than they did before, the sight only leaving Miguel clawing at the armrests of his seat.

He took another huge inhale, watching his cigarette slowly losing its life because of his need for solace when your voice filled the room again. “Hunter, can I ask ya a question?”

“I'd rather you not.” He hastily responded in his dead tone, knowing any signs of flirtation or seduction would have him out of his chair in a blink of an eye.

You rolled your eyes at his words. “Come on, now. I can't sleep; you ‘parrently not going to either, so… let's talk.” You chuckled, looking over at the bounty hunter from your restrained position.

“Since my days of freedom are numbered. Might as well…” You added, causing Miguel to sigh, your words secretly tugging at him. He took his dying cigarette into his gloved fingers, snuffing it out in a nearby tray. “Speak then, but say anythin’ improper, I won't hesitate to put ya to sleep myself.” He threatened, but you couldn't help but have your head go straight into the gutter.

“Put me to sleep, ya say…?” You smirked, biting your lip at the thought of having some other type of restless fun with the hunter. Miguel scowled at your suggestive tone, anger the only thing keeping his arousal at bay. “You know what I mean; now either ask yer question or shut yer mouth and sleep.”

You rolled your eyes, taking in the hunter's booted foot constantly bouncing against the wooden floorboards and the sight of him lighting yet another cigarette. “Are ya stressed or somethin’?” You asked, watching his chest greatly rise due to his massive inhale of the cigarette—his pecs and abdominal muscles becoming accentuated under his shirt.

“You can say that.” He replied, avoiding your eyes to look out the window behind you. “Well, then let's talk 'bout it. What's yer problem?” You inquired with a grin. “What's got ya so antsy that yer glued to that pack of cigarettes?”

Miguel glanced at you, mahogany eyes narrowing in thought of if he should speak about his ‘problem’ or not, soon deciding the latter. “None of your darn business.”

You snickered, expecting him to remain secretive. “Damn…must be real bad.” You assumed, glancing over at him and making eye contact, causing the hunter to hastily look away, a grunt of irritation passing in response.

Miguel was obviously avoiding your gaze, and you couldn't help but find the large male's attempts rather adorable. You grinned, turning your eyes up to the ceiling, allowing a pleasant silence to fill the room, except for the rhythmic bounce of Miguel's sturdy black boot upon the floorboards. You deeply inhaled, taking in a big whiff of the hunter's cigarette smoke before speaking.

“I believe I know what yer ‘business’ is, hunter...”

Miguel's heart dropped at your words, his blood running cold as every part of his body stilled. His tongue fiddled with the cigarette between his lips as he eyed your tied body, taking notice of your ability to maneuver onto your back, now gazing up at the ceiling.

He took in the sight of you, your waves of beautiful hair spread like a tapestry, creating a soft frame around your head. He clicked his tongue, taking another puff of his cigarette.

‘This gal is just tryin’ to get under my skin. She don't know a thang.’

Miguel thought, trying to keep a level head. “Vaquera, you don't know what yer talkin’ ‘bout,” he said dismissively, leaning back in his chair and taking his cigarette into his two fingers, exhaling the smoke through his lips.

You hummed, his avoidance only making you want to poke the bear further. “Oh, I believe I do,” you stated, keeping your eyes on the ceiling.

“Over these past couple of months, yer've been watchin’ me, as I've also been watchin’ you, hunter.” You said in a mysterious voice, Miguel's hardened face faltering at your confession.

A sly grin spread across your lips as you pressed on. “I've read and heard how the great bounty hunter captures and kills many outlaws—never taking him more than a week to complete a bounty and not given a rat's ass about any of ‘em.” You explained. “‘Even toppin’ yer rival, the great, Jessie Owens and her gunslingers on many occasions with yer many arrests.” You chuckled tauntingly.

Miguel felt a mix of emotions, stuck between being flattered and irritated at your constant prodding. He glanced over at you, flicking the ash of his cigarette into the tray, trying to figure out what you were getting at.

The hunter hated when you screwed with his brain and made him feel like a hopeless mutt that you had wrapped around your finger.

He wanted you to get to the damn point…

“And what ‘bout it?” The hunter snarled, glaring daggers at you. You simply giggled as if you weren't being targeted by a raging bull. “Be patient, Miggy, I'm gettin’ there.” You teased, your tone of voice and nickname causing the hunter’s insides to stir.

“What did I tell ya ‘bout that name?” He spat coldly, his voice holding a tone of dominance. You only laughed, struggling over onto your side to get a better view of the hunter. “To not call ya that, but yer should know better than anyone that I don't follow the rules.” You said, giving him a fake pout whilst laying your head upon the soft blanket, trying to find comfort despite being tightly restrained.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes at your fake pout that he couldn’t help but find adorable. “‘Cause yer've never had proper punishment.” He bluntly stated, his cigarette smoke leaving his lips and nose to further encase the room.

You bit your lip, glancing over at the smoking Latino up and down. “And what punishment is proper in yer eyes, hunter?” You inquired, knowing he'd surely take the bait.

Miguel looked at you, your perfect skin, the way you bite your lip, the sight only causing his breath to catch in his throat. It didn't help how tightly your clothing hugged your body, the rope only further accentuating your figure and leaving nothing to imagination of how you looked underneath all that fabric.

He wanted nothing more than to see you in all your glory…

Your eyes darted down at an evident bulge that poked against the hunter’s black pants, the corners of your lips turning up into a devious grin. The Latino, like you anticipated, took the bait, falling right into your trap.

“A proper punishment is tossin’ ya across my lap and bruisin’ that pretty ass until ya learn to behave.”

The hunter said huskily, desire potent in his western-Latino accentuated voice; however, upon seeing your amused smirk and raised eyebrow at what he'd just confessed, he cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “Just…goes to show that yer parents didn't teach ya how to conduct yerself properly. Anyone would believe the same.”

“Mhm…” You hummed teasingly, unable to hold back from laughing. Miguel scowled at you, hating how you always seemed to make him feel like a schoolboy time and time again. His lust and arousal blinding him so greatly that he’ll forget everything—his duties, the consequences, who you were to him.

You were a damn criminal, a dangerous one at that, with your sharp tongue and killer body that can seduce any and everyone. You did whatever it took to satisfy your own wants and desires, so why the hell was it so troubling for him to detain you?! He'd taken down and killed many outlaws, so why?

The hunter’s hands clenched tightly into fists upon the armrests, his knuckles turning white with tension under his gloves. His mahogany eyes appeared redder with his raging fury. “Stop playin’ ‘round and get to the damn point!” He barked, taking another deep inhale of his cigarette.

You grinned at his satisfying anger, the hunter never disappointing you when it came to him showing how evidently you were pissing him off, but you’ve gotten what you were seeking from him— his previous response answering your prediction.

“Fine, ya fancy me…

Don't ya, hunter?”

Miguel's heart skipped a beat at your perfect assumption. It took everything in him to hide his emotions—something he'd never had a hard time doing until now.

He scoffed, averting his gaze. “Ya wish, sweetheart.” He coldly said, snuffing out his fifth cigarette into the ashtray and wetting his lips with his tongue.

You chuckled, shifting upon the bed to soothe the growing ache in your wrists due to the tight ropes. “Well, Miggy, a wish or not, you ain't answer my question.” You emphasized, watching his defined jaw clench and his black, gloved hand enter into his pants pocket once more, fishing for his box of cigarettes.

Miguel's entire body was heating up, feeling like the room was closing in on him; it was taking all of his willpower to not do something that could jeopardize his duties. But with you using that nickname he's told you countless times not to address him by, it was causing his pants to become increasingly uncomfortable around his already swelling member.

The hunter's bushy eyebrows tightened, his mahogany cold eyes trained on you. “Outlaws and hunters ‘re like water and oil—we don't mix, it's why we're enemies for goodness sake.” He sternly said, lighting a match to ignite his sixth cigarette. He took a deep inhale of the tobacco, a sigh of contentment passing his lips. “And I've told ya, I don't experience such feelin’ for people, and definitely not ya.”

“But yet, ya do.”

His head instantly snapped over to you, finding your gaze already on him with a grin upon your cherry lips. “And ‘cause ya do, it's tearing ya up inside…

Ain't it, Miguel?”

A scowl crept upon the hunter's lips, his nose scrunching up in anger at your persistence.

‘What did she want? For me to spill my guts? To see me weak?!’

Miguel pondered, trying to discern your motive behind your pressing questions. He took another huge puff of his cigarette, trying to control himself.

“What game are you fuckin’ playin' at?” He growled, becoming tired of your jokes and giggles.

You laughed, giving him an innocent shoulder shrug, still bound tightly due to his handy skills. “I simply am askin’ questions like yer've allowed me to.” You said, raising an eyebrow from your laid position. “What? Have I struck a nerve?”

Miguel's eyes flashed red at your taunt, and before he could stop himself, he was standing up from his seat and walking over to you. “Don't play fuckin’ innocent with me, smartass” He snarled, his large hand encasing around your throat, effortlessly pulling you up onto your knees on the bed, bringing you face-to-face with him.

A small gasp passed your lips, his grip tight around your throat more in intimidation than harm. You glared back at him due to his sudden rough action, but upon seeing he was clearly holding on by a thread, you couldn't help but give him a flirtatious smile, one that caused his rage to deepen. “What do ya want from me? To see me lose control? To go against my damn duties?!” The hunter shouted, his face trembling in uncontrollable anger. “What ya find pleasure in that? Seeing me lose my shit?”

“Why, yes indeed... ”

Miguel's eyes widened in disbelief at your confirmation, his anger hastily bubbling back to the surface. “What the fuck did ya just say?” He said through gritted teeth, his cigarette hanging dangerously low from his lips, its ash dropping close to your face.

Your eyes roamed his facial features, taking in how furious he was, but you were certain his fury wasn't solely from you.

He was frustrated…

Sexually…

It was like you were a slab of meat to him and he was a starving dog. You were teasing him with your mere presence and honestly…you were enjoying it.

You could never understand why you secretly liked this hunter. Yes, he was the best of the best, and it was so fun to watch him blow his top, but it wasn't what truly led you to want to know everything about him—what kept you yearning for another encounter with him.

It wasn't until now that you finally discovered it…

His resilience to temptation was what you adored. How fascinating it'll be if he was to experience even a taste of what he craved.

It was why you allowed him a little bit of fun during your previous interaction; but even still, he was composed, never losing himself in the moment of you down on your knees for him, granting him the relief and satisfaction he so desperately was yearning for.

But you wanted him to forget your roles of hunter and outlaw and give in to his desires.

That's what you wanted from him, needed even.

You bit your lip, looking up at him from under your eyelashes. “Ya heard me, hunter. I want ya to give in to yer wants, and if that means losing control…

Then so be it...”

You smirked, watching his cold expression falter to one of surprise at your request. You grinned, never before seeing him so speechless. To entice him further, you leaned in close, your hands still bound tightly behind your back and his gloved one still around your throat, the smell of smoke and his natural musk filling your nose, only exciting you more.

“It'll be so good, Miggy to finally let go—to crave that hunger ya have for me.”

You coaxed in a low whisper, your western accent potent in your voice. Your eyes glanced down to his lips that were pulled into its usual scowl, unable to ignore how enticing they looked.

“You know I won’t stop you..."

Miguel groaned softly, his fingers flexing around your throat as his member twitched inside of his pants, begging him to give in to your words—to submit to his desires. The more you gazed up at him, saying all the right things in that sexy voice of yours…

He was tempted to give in…

“Do ya even know what ya askin’ of me?” He inquired, his eyes full of lust as he removed his cigarette from his lips. You nodded, wanting so much to touch him and persuade him. He was so close to submitting—you could feel it.

“Yes…I want ya, Miguel O’Hara. I’ve wanted ya for a long time.” You honestly said, biting your lip and looking him up and down. "Gosh, I’ve never wanted someone to fuck me so badly.”

“Mierda.” He muttered under his breath, his restraint snapping at your words of desperation as he crashed his lips to yours.

Miguel devoured your mouth in an intensity he’d never felt before. His hand tugging you closer to him by your throat to keep you pressed to him, feeling the softness of your body against his firm one was enough to make him lose it. His tongue penetrated your parted lips, finally tasting you after preventing himself for so long.

It was like he was finally tasting the forbidden elixir of the Wild West. Your sweet scent and lips enveloped him and lingered like the aftertaste of a smuggled bottle of top-shelf whiskey, each moment a clandestine sip that descended him more into the depths of no return.

You moaned softly into his mouth, his hunger being what you’ve wanted for so long. His dominance and lust grew with each interlock of your lips, and when he finally parted, you realized how breathless and aroused you were.

Miguel gazed down at you, breathing heavily while taking in your flushed cheeks and glazed eyes. Every time he saw you, you seemed to become even more breathtaking than before.

You looked back at him, panting and feeling a throbbing in your lower belly that longed to be satisfied. Now that you’ve gotten a taste of the bounty hunter, he was like a drug—his roughness and hunger turning you on more than anyone ever had in your entire life.

You wanted so much to touch him, to caress his sharp jawline decorated with a hint of stubble and feel how painfully hard his member was, but you were still, sadly, restrained—hands bound behind your back with your ankles tied together as well. Miguel ensured you wouldn’t be escaping him tonight upon entering your given room at the inn, but you wished for nothing more than to be released.

Currently, you had no desire to leave…

“Miguel…unbind me.” You requested a little desperately through ragged breaths, causing the hunter to chuckle. “Untie ya? That what ya want?” He inquired with a grin, bringing his cigarette to his lips to take another puff, exhaling the smoke. You nodded, wanting nothing more than to be free, so you could touch him in return.

The hunter saw the eagerness in your expression, bringing a smirk to his lips. He couldn’t help but feel satisfied at finally having power over you for once; it was honestly, a good feeling.

He held his cigarette between his lips, his gloved hand slipping into his pocket to pull out his steel pocket knife, effortlessly cutting through the thick rope that covered your wrists and ankles.

You sighed in relief at the sound of snips, along with subtle fibers separating, soon feeling yourself being freed. Usually, you’d instantly feel the desire to escape, to run for the heels with a huge grin upon your cherry lips at being able to outwit the hunter once more…

But not this time…

Your hands found his waist, caressing his taut skin through the fabric of his black collared top. “I knew ya could have fun.” You teased, bringing a rare smile to the hunter’s lips. He took your face in his hand, bringing you closer to him once more.

“Then saddle up, Muñeca. I’m just getting started.” He whispered, inhaling his cigarette once more before pressing his lips to yours, releasing the smoke into your mouth with each kiss.

The sharp, lingering bitterness of the smoke mingling with each exhale, accompanied by the combination of his sweet lips, created the perfect harmony. Each kiss left you breathless and lusting for him even more.

Miguel groaned softly, his thick gloved fingers moving from your neck to begin unbuttoning your dark blue and brown fringe top, revealing your gorgeous skin and assets that had been teasing him from the first time he’d encountered you.

Leaving your mouth, he trailed his lips along your throat, kissing the sensitive spots and not hesitating to push the dark blue top from your body, exposing your bare chest and stomach to him.

Your eyes fluttered at his kisses as you took the lit cigarette from his fingers, taking a drag and relishing in the serene tingles that filled your head along with Miguel’s kisses, sucks, and nibbles along your skin. You felt Miguel smirk at your action, pressing a final kiss to your collarbone before pulling away.

The sight of you gazing up at him, that playful smile on your lips as you smoked from his cigarette had to be the sexiest thing he’d ever seen—his cock throbbing in his pants to be released.

“Vas a ser la muerte de mí.” He muttered, his mahogany eyes dark with lust, as they trailed your body. His face of awe—enough to show how he was feeling.

You chuckled at his expression. “I’ll take it you like what you see?” You teased, bringing a toothy grin to the hunter’s lips. “I’ll be lyin’ if I said I didn't.” He chuckled, his large gloved hands cupping your perky breasts in his massive palms—the pair feeling like soft pillows in his hands.

He savored the soft moans that escaped your pretty mouth, capturing each whimper with a peck to your lips, unable to resist how addicting it was to kiss you.

You were aware that the hunter had experience, but it felt like he knew your body like the back of his hand. His massive palms kneaded your supple flesh, switching between soft and rough squeezes, while his fingers flicked and pinched your hardened pebbles.

In your fingers, you held your shared cigarette, eyes half-hooded. With every maneuver of his hands along your chest, your juices spilled down your thighs. “Ya like that?” He asked with a smirk, gripping your breasts tightly, making you cry out. “Mhm, Yes! Just like that,” you gasped, chest heaving with the growing pleasure.

Miguel growled at your words of satisfaction, feeling the need to be released from his clothes—his cock painfully hard inside his pants. “I have something better for ya,” he said, pulling away to remove his black wide-brimmed hat, tossing it across the room, and tugging his shirt over his head.

You bit your lip, your core pulsating at the mere sight of his defined chest. His chiseled pecs, bulging biceps, and toned abs were covered with dark brown hair, each muscle completely taut from his years of being a bounty hunter. Along his torso were faint scars and beauty marks that only emphasized his attractiveness. “Not bad, hunter,” you laughed, giving his body a once-over. Your gaze followed the happy trail of coarse hair that descended from his navel to dip under his pants towards the massive bulge that was begging to be freed from its confines. At the sight, memories of your previous encounter with him filled your mind, causing your juices to further coat your thighs and drip down your legs.

Miguel smiled, savoring the way you were looking him up and down, appreciating his body. He couldn’t remember the last time he had experienced this, but it felt good to be admired, especially by you. He noticed your eyes focused on his crotch, prompting a chuckle from him. “Don’t be scared, ya seen it before,” he said tauntingly, making you roll your eyes but unable to hide your small grin.

You crawled towards him, placing the cigarette into your mouth and beginning to unbuckle his belt, maintaining eye contact. “I must say, hunter, I’ve missed this,” you snickered, pulling his pants down to release what you’ve desired since your previous encounter.

The sight still left you speechless…

His fully erect, tanned member was presented in front of you, slightly darker than the olive skin tone of his body. A bush of dark brown coarse hair sat atop his veiny shaft, his tip a Tuscan red, with a protruding vein running along the underside that led to a pair of large, heavy balls. The hunter was definitely above average, being very girthy and long as well. You bit your lip, feeling your arousal soaking through your pants, sullying the dark blue fabric.

Miguel completely adored that look of awe upon your sexy face, leaning down to kiss along your neck while lifting you slightly to lay you down upon the bed.

His teeth and lips sucked marks along your skin that you gladly accepted whilst his heavy shaft rested against your stomach, causing your belly to flutter, and a whimper to escape your lips. “Gosh, I-I can’t wait any more,” you whined, wanting to feel him inside of you, the throbbing of your empty core becoming painful.

Your desperation was music to Miguel’s ears, his body needing you as well. “Then, let’s not wait 'round no more, Cariño.” He effortlessly whipped you around to lay you on all fours upon the bed—your forearms and knees holding your body up as your clothed rear end was thrust into the air, left completely vulnerable to him.

Miguel took in your gorgeous backside, an evident trail of your arousal sprouting down your pants like the trails of a passing storm, nature’s delicate brushstrokes down the dark blue fabric that covered your bottom, the sight making his cock twitch.

He licked his lips, reaching over to remove the lit cigarette from your cherry lips to place it in his, inhaling it as he ran his large hand along your clothed bottom. Your eyes fluttered, the sensations seeming to be heightened due to your inability to see him. The hunter groaned, giving your cheeks a rough squeeze, releasing a moan from your throat.

Fuck, ya perfect,” he whispered, feeling his gloved fingers roam along your clothed, drenched folds, adding slight pressure that caused you to further soil your pants—your essence soaking the fabric even more, and revealing the evident outline of your soppy pussy underneath. Miguel groaned, roaming his hands to squeeze your bare hips and caress your rear, soon returning back to where you wanted him the most.

You whimpered softly, savoring how good he was making you feel until the loud sound of a rip filled the room, causing your eyes to snap open.

A rush of air suddenly made contact with your rear end and throbbing pussy as you looked over your shoulder to see that Miguel had ripped your pants open—granting him a clear view of your heavily dripping core.

You were conflicted, not knowing whether to be angry or even more aroused; however, you weren’t able to respond as the hunter didn’t hesitate to grind his massive length along your dripping folds—the wet sound filling the walls. “O-oh fuck,” you moaned, arching your back and moving in sync with him.

Miguel couldn’t get over how wet you were, his thick cock gliding through your folds, testing your saturation. “Hmm…ready?” he asked in a small growl.

You were only able to muster a broken, "Mhm," in response before feeling his massive tip begin to seep inside of your soaking entrance.

A drawn-out moan passed both of your lips, his gloved hand clenching the remnants of your pants that enclosed around your waist, holding you during his insertion. Once he bottomed-out, it took everything in him to not lose himself in how much your pussy was gripping him, the urge to thrust into you with total abandon being very enticing.

Your fingers gripped the beige blankets tightly, eyes rolled into your skull at how much he was blissfully stretching you. It instantly made your mind go blank.

The pleasure only heightened with his slow slide out and breathtaking slam of his cock back in, releasing a loud mewl to erupt from your throat. With each drag of his member inside your dripping entrance, his force and speed increased until he was brutally fucking you like a rabid animal.

Miguel couldn’t help himself; he tried so hard to take it slow, to not harm you like he feared this whole time, but you were too perfect, he swore you were.

You took him so well, too well, that he became lost in the pleasure. Your exquisite pussy gripped his cock just right with each thrust, his hips smacking loudly against your rear.

The room was filled with the echoing of slapping wet flesh, high-pitched moans, deep grunts, and the loud creaking of the bed.

The scent of sex and smoke was potent as Miguel occasionally took puffs of his cigarette. You didn’t even notice the pleasurable and painful tears streaming down your face at the sheer intensity of his pace—switching constantly from erratic and rough to slow and deep.

The ashes from his cigarette occasionally dropped onto your lower back, burning your skin and sending a sting throughout your entire body. The pain only deepening the extreme sensations coursing through your being. Your brain was scrambled, your body trembling, and already releasing for the second time under his influence.

Miguel groaned, brushing your hair from your shoulder to nuzzle into your neck, inhaling your sweet, natural scent, his pace never ceasing. “Fuck, bebé, you feel so good. Mierda.” He moaned into your ear, his cigarette hanging from his lips, as his praises caused the familiar knots to form in your stomach again.

It seemed Miguel had found the weakness to your witty tongue. With his pace, you couldn’t form a word—whimpers, whines, shrieks, and the occasional cries of his name were the only sounds you could muster.

With any other man, you would have felt pathetic, but with him, you’ve never felt so alive.

With a gasp, Miguel pulled out, flipping you to lie on your back. Your dazed eyes blinked, trying to settle your blurry vision on him.

The hunter gazed down at you, your rosy tear-stained cheeks, messy hair, hickey-filled neck, dripping pussy only arousing him once more. He inhaled the rest of his cigarette, pinching the end to snuff the flame before kissing you, his cock entering your eager hole once more.

You moaned into his mouth, the smoky taste, and his lips only intensifying the burning tension in the pit of your stomach. His thrusts were slow and deep while his mouth ravaged yours, exchanging the smoke of his cigarette with you with each interlock of your lips.

Miguel was feeling himself getting terribly close, his balls becoming painfully tight, every clench of your pussy leaving him twitching; but he needed another orgasm from you.

He groaned into your mouth, your kiss becoming more messy. Saliva dripped from your chins whilst your tongues entwined with each hungry mesh of your lips.

With each kiss, Miguel slowly increased his pace—his coarse hair grinding into your swollen clit, heavy balls smacking into your rear along with his gloved hands gripping your hips, angling himself as he pulled you against him in a frenzy.

Your eyes rolled, moans constantly becoming stuck in your throat with each of his deep thrusts. His member constantly attacked your G-spot, causing you to become a moaning, trembling mess underneath him.

Abruptly, your orgasm crashed into you like a stampede. You cried out Miguel’s name through your climax, spraying your juices in thick spurts, haphazardly, into the air, coating your stomach, thighs, and Miguel’s abs and cock with your essence. The loud sounds of dripping and squelching filled the room upon your orgasm.

At your release, your pussy clutched Miguel’s cock tightly, a blissful rush of tingles coming over him. His thrusts became sporadic and inept following you in your climax.

He hastily pulled out, shooting his creamy, white load upon your stomach with a guttural groan, the veins upon his lower belly and thighs pulsated, his mahogany eyes closed whilst breathless grunts passed his parted lips with each release of his essence.

Your eyes fluttered at the warm sensation as you tried to catch your breath and regain your thoughts and strength after the intense moment, but it was no use…

Miguel had fucked you senselessly.

But it was so worth it.

You’ve gotten what you wanted—the hunter to give in to his desires, to grant you the fucking of a lifetime, and he’d done so and even more.

Miguel climbed on next to you, the bed creaking under his heavy weight as he laid down beside you. His burly arms wrapped around your frail body, pulling you gently to his chest. He found your pants and small tremors utterly adorable as he kissed your bare shoulder. You blinked back the dizziness from your previous encounter, glancing over your shoulder at the hunter to find something you couldn’t believe…

You found love in his eyes…

“You okay?” He asked in his usual gruff voice, stroking his thumb across your rosy, tear-stained cheeks, his mahogany eyes roaming your face with a trace of concern. You scoffed at his expression. “Of course.” You chuckled, noticing that he wasn’t at all breathless and tired as you were—simply lying upon the bed like the two of you weren’t just fucking like two animals in heat.

“Did ya enjoy yourself?” You inquired, turning to face him, but with some struggle—your body already feeling sore. He placed a hand on your hip, caressing you with a smile. “Of course, what was not to love?” He genuinely said, making you raise an eyebrow at the flattery. “Oh really now, is the infamous bounty hunter complimenting me?” You asked teasingly, finding his damp coffee-brown curls clinging to his sweaty forehead rather cute.

At your playful remark, hus grin broadened on his tanned face. “You can keep a secret, can’t ya, sweetheart?” He smirked, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

Miguel never felt his heart swell so much. He didn’t know what he was feeling, but he didn’t want it to ever stop.

You laughed, gazing up at him. “Of course…At a price.” Miguel snickered, anticipating the response, but it still piqued the hunter’s interest. “And what’s that, miel?”

“Don’t turn me in.”

At your words, meant as a joke, Miguel’s heartfelt smile instantly dropped, bringing him back to the reality of the West.

You were an outlaw…

He was a bounty hunter…

Bounty hunters and outlaws didn’t mix…

He’s supposed to take you in…

“Mierda.” He sighed, every happy emotion he felt draining from his face to be replaced with his usual cold expression of a scowl and dead mahogany eyes.

“Miggy?” You called out to him, your eyebrows furrowed. “Are ya okay?” You inquired, your turn now to ask about his well-being, but it was met with silence.

Miguel had never felt more disheartened and conflicted. He adored his job as a bounty hunter, the thrill of the hunt and the ability to use his exceptional skills to track down any criminal for a hefty amount of gold and cash, but you made him question everything…

It’ll be hypocritical of him to chase down outlaws like a damn dog, arrest them or either kill them depending on their crimes, and do neither to you.

You were a criminal, you’ve robbed and stole from many, and have taken a few heads with you along the way.

But fuck…

He couldn’t bring himself to hurt you or arrest you.

So he’d returned back to the question once more.

What should be done with you…?

He turned over to look at you, taking in your troubled eyes that gazed back at him. His hardened expression softened at your face that showed genuine interest in him in return.

Or were you playing him once more…

The hunter reached out, cupping your cheek in his large gloved one, the action instantly making your heart warm. You leaned into his palm, eyes trained on him. “Ya thinkin’ again. Ain’t ya?” You asked, heaving a sigh.

Miguel stroked your face with his thumb, relishing in how soft your skin was. “How can I not? This is goin’ against everythang I stand for.” He uttered, but unable to pull his hand away, and neither did you wish him to.

Even though you were used to the seduction of many men—only sleeping with most of them for survival or for a means to escape, but now…

You desired the hunter, despite him being your enemy.

He’d killed and arrested many people like you— did it without a blink of an eye, but instead of feeling fearful of that, it oddly, only made you want him more.

You placed a hand on his chest, delicately tracing patterns along the curves of his chiseled and ruggedly hairy pecs, a comforting silence enveloping both of you. Miguel’s deep sigh of contentment escaped his lips as his large hand moved from your face to tenderly stroke your lower back, pulling you closer to him.

“Yer never answered my question.” Your western accent filled the room once more, looking up at him. Miguel's bushy eyebrows furrowed, his mind a little foggy due to your mere closeness and touch. “What question?” He asked, glancing down at you, his confusion making you giggle. “Gosh, how did I remember and not ya?” You playfully teased, believing he’d previously scrambled your brain to no return, instead, it seemed you’ve done so to the hunter.

The corners of his tightly drawn lips twitched to a smirk. “I was just…lost in the moment.” Miguel replied. “But what’s the question I didn’t answer?”

“If ya fancy me or not.” You stated, the hunter’s heart jumping at the reappearance of the question. He grunted, his burly arm enclosing around your waist possessively, pressing his firm body against your soft, supple one. “I shouldn’t...” He whispered with a heavy sigh, feeling with each passing second, he was doing what he’d told himself he’d never do.

Love…

Feel…

“But ya do.” You retorted once more, cupping his face. “So whatcha gonna do ‘bout it?” You asked playfully with a grin.

That smile—that smile was everything to the hunter and always made his heart flutter and his stomach to stir. “That’s what I’m debatin’ in my head, Cariño.” The Latino sighed. “For the first time, in a long time, I don’t know what the hell to do.” A troubled expression crossed the hunter’s face, making you feel sorry for him—you’ve never seen him so conflicted.

"What's yer head sayin'?" You asked, already knowing the answer. "To take yer fine ass in," he replied in a gruff voice, tightening his grip around you, as if he never could let you go.

You hummed, feeling him rest his chin upon your head, another sigh passing his lips. "And how 'bout this?" You asked next, placing a hand over his right pec, where his heart resided.

"What's that cold heart of yer's tellin’ ya?"

Miguel's mahogany eyes snapped down at you, your inquiries seeming to punch him in the gut each time. He kept your gaze, staring into your intrigued orbs.

The hunter wet his lips before cupping your chin between his gloved fingers, leaning close to you, his breath mingling with yours. His eyes roamed your face before allowing his heart to speak the words he'd been holding in for so long.

"To make ya mine."

Miguel said, his mahogany eyes never leaving yours. "I wanna take care of ya, not allow ya to have to steal another coin in yer entire life," the hunter uttered, his fingers caressing your chin and jaw. "I wanna protect ya, love ya, ride alongside ya in the desert—not as enemies with an intent to capture ya…,

But as lovers…"

You stared back at the infamous and cold bounty hunter, not quite believing the confession pouring from his lips.

In all your life of being an outlaw and criminal, you've had moments where you've tangled in the sheets with a few individuals, them speaking similar things as the hunter did, but you never felt the same. Simply flashing them a grin, and upon them falling asleep, hastily finding the nearest exit and riding off into the sunset. However, right now...

You didn't want to run.

"Ya sure?" You asked with a smirk. "I'm quite the handful." You said, tucking a curl of his damp coffee brown hair behind his ear. Your words caused a deep rumble of laughter to erupt from the hunter, one that surprised him. His mahogany eyes that usually held death and coldness in them, now were full of love and affection.

"I reckon I've always been fond of a good challenge." The hunter said, pressing his lips to the top of your head, his kisses always bringing a wave of warmth to spread throughout your body. "I figured as much." You giggled, meeting his loving gaze. "But let me let ya in on a 'lil secret." You grinned, beckoning him closer with a finger. Miguel raised an eyebrow, a small smile upon his lips as he leaned in, awaiting your next words.

"I've always had a soft spot for ya, hunter."

You said in a low whisper, the Latino swiftly pulling away in shock, meeting your eyes to find any sign of deceit, but either you were playing him again, or you were genuine. Either way, his heart swelled at your confession.

"So…whatcha tryin' to do, vaquera?" He asked, his duties, reputation, or him being a hypocrite vanishing to the back of his head. Your confession tugged at him more than he'd expected. It was something he'd always secretly wanted, needed even—for his oppressed affections and missed arrests to not have been for nothing.

That after all this time of exchanging bullets and cutthroat words, you actually felt the same…

The hunter still couldn't wrap his head around the fact you fancied him in return, but he was certain he was willing to do anything for you in this moment.

You flashed him a grin, knowing his duties as a bounty hunter were tied to his very soul, unable to separate from him as your troublesome nature was with yours. "Then how 'bout we try this whole… secret lovers thing, eh?" You proposed, caressing the side of his thick neck and along his broad shoulder.

Miguel hummed at your touch, deep down liking the idea very much. He wanted nothing more than to experience moments with you that didn't end with guns being drawn. "I'll be willin' to give it a go." The hunter replied, not knowing how much his agreement made your heart soar.

You hastily pressed your lips to his, capturing him in a passionate kiss. Miguel smiled, kissing you back with much fervor and pulling you on top of him. His hands caressed your soft flesh while you straddled his hips. Your kiss swiftly became more heated and intense as a small groan escaped the hunter's lips, soon feeling something hard brushing against your thigh.

You parted from him with a laugh, glancing down to find he was heavily aroused once more before meeting his eyes. "Ya want me again, hunter?" You asked in a sultry voice, causing a huge grin to spread across his lips, a sight still so foreign from his usual deep scowl.

"Always…"

He uttered, cupping the back of your neck and pulling you into a long searing kiss. Your evident adoration for each other felt in each deep interlock of your lips.

And in that moment, the hunter knew he loved you, as you knew you loved him in return…

“Ya sure it’s him?”

The rough western accent of a woman uttered through the quiet of the night, the breeze brushing along her ebony skin and running through her thick, black curls.

“Absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt,” the older male replied. “Yeah, he was lookin’ real close with that outlaw back at the saloon, a lil’ too close if ya know what I mean,” the other added, causing a growl to escape the woman’s crimson lips.

“What the fuck are you doin’ Miguel?”

She hissed under her breath, her gloved thumb spinning the caliber of her pistol in thought.

“So…Jessica…what’s the plan?

We gettin’ rid of him?”

“Nay…” Jessica Owens replied, whipping around to look at the two gunslingers. Her cold amber eyes bore into them through her black eyeglasses, and the two straightened up under their leader's harsh gaze.

“I wanna see this for myself…”

A/N: Thanks so much for reading!! I know I've already mentioned it, but gosh, I enjoyed writing this, and to confirm, yes, there will be a part 2. 🧡🐴

Honestly, along with my other stories, Entangled Desires (The kink series), and requests, there is a lot that I'll like to get done, so please be patient with me lol. 😅 Once again, thank you so much, bestie, @amariiyagurl for the idea. Love you so much girlie!! 🫶🏾🫶🏾

Make sure to like, comment, reblog, and follow! If you'd like to add a request to the kink series, Entangled Desire, or have an idea in general, just message me or submit an ask. I hope you all have a wonderful day and stay safe! 🤎🧡

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Note

OH GOD YOUR REQS R OPEN, i would rlly like to request something, could you write an one shot of price with a little daugther reader? just like, him coming home and spending some time with his little girl, she tells him about her school, he tells her some funny stories that happened while he was at work, he cooks her favorite meal, just a big fluff, i love this man more than anything and i just need some paternal love LMAO, feel totally free to deny! do everything in your time and remember to take good care of urself!

Memories of Youth

Pairing: Father!John Price x F!Daughter!Reader

Synopsis: It was hard being away from his little girl, but warm mornings spent in each other's company were blessings - even if they were far and few in between. It didn't matter the form.

Word Count: 4.5k (short and sweet)

Warnings: Angst (just a little cuz I can't help myself), a lotta fluff, banter, just good platonic/paternal relationship in general, etc.

A/N: Didn't specify if the reader was adopted or blood-related, so that's really up to you! Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

He got the call at the halfway point of crossing the English Channel, Northern France behind him and Southern England just on the horizon line as the sun began to spread its orange glow over the waves. Sitting high above the water in a slick black Heli, John Price’s hand snaps to his side pocket, fingers deftly peeling back the layers as the overwhelming sound of helicopter blades shakes the hull.

The rest of Task Force 141 watch with varying interest, only Gaz taking notice of the sudden frown that mars his Captain’s face; the furrowed brow, and the spark of concern in his eyes. A call was unusual. The Sargeant tries not to intrude, but can’t help the way his body lightly shifts so he can have a better view.

John doesn't bother to look at the contact when he takes the device out, rapidly pressing the answer button and slotting the phone at his ear, tilting his head so his opposite rests at the junction of his shoulder. It only stops a fraction of the noise, even so, it would have to do for now. But with how his ears were already straining to find a sound over the line, he may not need to force out the jarring racket after all.

Inside his chest, John’s heart is racing – confusion laces his mind. This was abnormal.

I told her only to call if it was an emergency. What could she have gotten herself into now? I said to stay out of trouble…

“Where are you?!” The Brit has to shout down the line, his familiar deep accent loud and guttural.

His mind flies through every possibility. An intruder had broken into the house, you had broken your arm falling down the stairs again, or a fire had broken out in the kitchen. Fuck…he was too far away to help if anything bad had happened. John’s jaw clenches, eyes looking out over the water as the bucket hat on his head flops in the wind. It was only a product of his job that made him think like that; years of intuition and thinking on the fly leading to his mind making up the worst scenarios.

Especially when you called on a secure line when he told you it was only appropriate for life-and-death situations. Especially when it was his little girl.

I told ‘er about the Pistol in my office, yeah? The Captain asks himself with a steel-like resolve. And gave her Laswell’s number?

John’s fingers tighten over the phone when he hears your breath over the line, a shuffling of clothes, and a deep exhale.

“Sunshine!” He tries again, sitting up straighter as his pulse gets faster. Why isn’t she answering me? “Where are you right–”

“We don’t have anything for breakfast.” Your voice is heavy with sleep; fatigue drowning the syllables and holding them under the very waves that rage under John only separated by thin sheets of metal.

The Brit stops. His body freezes, and as the tense minutes go by his panic falls away and leaves a thick stain of annoyance resting behind his eyelids. Of course. John brings two fingers to his nose bridge, digging into the skin until tiny crescent moons are left behind; he has to take a deep breath before answering, but his tone leaves nothing to the imagination.

“...Breakfast…?”

“Yeah, Old Man, you need me to spell it for you? B-R-E-A-K-F-A–”

“Enough!” John barks stiffly and has to hold back his anger as you laugh from the other side. Ever the jokester – did you not realize how serious this was? How fast your father’s heart was racing with adrenaline?

Fuck, he had just about been ready to radio the cockpit and force the pilots to fly faster.

Across the way, Ghost locks eyes with the man, and with a tilt of his head and a loud call he asks, “That the Mutt?”

The Captain’s eyes slip back into a firm blank slate.

“Affirm.” John tilts the phone away from his mouth, ignoring your sarcastic comments to catch his sanity for a moment and respond to his Lieutenant.

Simon blinks as Johnny perks up at his side, looking in from the view in favor of the Captain with newfound interest. A bright smile forms over his scruffy cheeks

“She all good?” The skeletal man asks, and Gaz smirks lazily tapping his fingers over his knee, immediately noticing your shenanigans and the way the Cap was so worked up.

But anyone would be when they had a daughter thousands of miles away.

John simply nods once with an exasperated expression to Ghost. MacTavish snorts out a laugh, knowing the context of the situation without having to think hard.

“Is that Uncle Simon?” You ask, and with a scratch at his beard, your father hums in confirmation, letting the sound of your voice put him more at ease. She’s just fine. “Tell him I want him to come over and play Mario Cart with Gaz, Johnny, and me again! He wiped the floor with ‘em last time!”

There’s a clinking of pots and pans as you move throughout the house.

“Sweetheart,” Your father grumbles, sighing through the call. His voice takes on the authoritative tone that works for both soldiers and teenagers – but it rarely works on you, despite that fact. Took after your dad too much, is what John would say. Never listened until it was absolutely necessary. “What did I tell you about callin’ this phone when I’m away from the house?”

He hears your scoff and raises a warning eyebrow, though you can’t see it. You know your dad enough to know he’s doing it despite being separated. It was pretty common.

“Not to, unless it’s an emergency…But I’d say food is a big enough reason, y’know? Unless you want me to eat the leftover cake for breakfast – which I haven’t thrown out as a possibility yet, honestly.”

“You’re not eatin’ bloody cake for breakfast. You’ll get sick.” Gaz snickers, turning his face away to hide the amusement at the comment.

It hadn’t been a surprise that the Captain’s daughter was such a familiar creature – they saw traits reflected every time the two were together. Everyone had expected her to take after her old man in nearly everything, and when she had they had bumped fists and prayed for the brown-bearded man. But it was funny nonetheless, considering they got along better than most fathers and daughters; practically reading each other's minds when everyone was playing poker. Johnny was still pretty ticked off about that – he’s a good deal deep into the sweets debt he owes you because Price helps you win. But where they really shined was with the shared deadpan attitudes, bottom-of-the-barrel sarcasm, and knowing how to command a room without even trying. Safe to assume that the rest of the team would do anything for you.

“Will not.” You grumble in retaliation, and John’s lips threaten to tilt into a grumpy smile when he hears you put the cake plate back into the counter.

Letting the tension fall from his shoulders, the brown-haired man takes a glance outside, watching the waves go bright orange as they lap and writhe like great sea serpents.

“How long have you been up, eh? The sun’s barely risen. Thought Sunday was when you always slept in?”

There’s a pause in what John believed were fingers digging through a cupboard, and he narrows his eyes in confusion as the silence grows long. He frowns when you speak again, words so quiet he has to place a hand over his other ear to hear properly. Having half a mind to go and tell the pilots to hurry up and go faster so he can just talk to his little girl in person, he refrains, knowing that’s not how this works. But something was wrong – it had been laced in your previous words, as tiny and unnoticeable as it may have been. Only a father would notice it.

“You said you were gonna be home last night. I stayed up.” It takes a moment of halted breathing before John’s eyes widen, blues full of realization.

Oh.

…Damn it. He lets out the tense breath of air from his lips, shifting in his seat as the gear around his body weighs him down. His gun digs into his chest.

He hadn't seen you for over a week – leaving you in the care of a close and trusted neighbor, Mrs. Lilly, just as he always had when he needed to leave for work on short notice. But seeing as you were older now, it became apparent that, with your learned independence, staying at the house by yourself was alright as long as you checked in with the neighbor every morning and night. You had been waiting for him to come home. All alone. In the dark.

Fucken’ hell, John thinks in a deep layer of guilt as wrinkles overtake his forehead, I did tell her I’d be back yesterday. I forgot to call and tell ‘er. Shit! He didn’t want to imagine the stress that had been put on your shoulders. God, what’ve I done?

Not checking in was something he had never missed before – he always told you when he was about to come back. What had gone wrong this time? How had something that important just slipped his mind? Sure the Op had been tedious, but he was trained to handle it. It was no excuse.

“Sweetheart,” John starts and then pauses the soft and gentle endearment, knowing that an apology didn’t fit into what you were looking for. You didn’t want an ‘I’m sorry’ right now, you wanted your father. Flattening his lips into a line, he continues, wishing he was with you more than ever so he can press a kiss to your forehead. “...I should be back before 1200. How about when I get back I’ll cook you up somethin’ myself, yeah? Or we can go to that Cafe you like down on Newman Street and I’ll get you whatever you want.”

“...When do you have to go back?” You don’t answer his question, and yours makes his heart hurt.

John clears his throat.

“None of that, now. We’ll talk more when I get back, Darling, alright?” You don’t respond, but he hears you sigh and quietly scoff under your breath. “Alright?” He tries again, head tilting forward and eyebrows rising as if you could see him. Maybe you could.

“Fine. But you better make me pancakes. I don’t care if it’ll be noon.”

“Pancakes it is.” The Captain looks up in time to see Johnny mouthing words to him, and with a blank face and stiff lip, your father mutters with a grunt, “Johnny says ‘hello.’”

Your shocked snort makes him feel better, but a layer of guilt still stays. You were awake all night waiting for him, and he never showed up. Did you sleep on the couch? Damnit, he hoped you didn’t…but in his rattling chest knew you had. He found you like that every time he came back from a long stay away. Huddled under blankets, no pillow under your head. Sometimes you steal one of his shirts and hold it like a stuffed bear to your chest, shoving your face into it.

How could I forget to fucken’ call her?

Your voice takes him out of his growing self-resentment.

“Tell him to watch his back – I’m getting better at Rainbow Road. Soon enough I’ll be able to beat him in a 1V1!” John can’t help the slow chuckle that bounces in his throat, mind, for the moment, at ease as long as you continue to speak to him.

“I’ll be sure to pass it along. But, eh,” The Brit makes sure he speaks slowly, letting you hear every syllable of his next words. “Promise me you’ll stay at the house until I get there. No goin’ out with friends, yeah? You know how I worry.” John ignores the teasing look from Gaz and peeks out again to see how close they were to the mainland with narrowed lids. “‘Specially when I’m not there.”

Getting back to the Base wasn’t the problem, it was the damn reports coming in that would wring his neck before he could get out the door. But he’d push it off for however long he could; call in favors from Laswell to get him more time with his little girl so he can fix his mistake. As a dad, the only thing that counted was seeing his daughter after a seemingly unending Op that he didn’t want to relive. The hardest part wasn’t the blood or the guts – it was being away from you. Nothing would ever change that, even if he was the one on the ground gritting his teeth at the bite of a bullet.

“Scout’s honor, Old Man.” The happiness in your voice makes him smile to himself.

“Stop calling me that, Muppet.” John grumbles affectionately, rolling his eyes, “I’ll give you a call when back I’m in town, Sunshine. Make sure the door’s locked–”

“--Locked, the windows too, plus, if someone knocks on the door I need to look through the peephole and if I don’t recognize them don’t open it…Am I missing anything?”

“Mind yourself, now you’re just being cheeky, you are.” John teases, scoffing, but proud that you remembered his rules. It made all of this just a bit more manageable.

“Who do you think I got it from?” You laugh, but it tapers off sullenly, “Just…get home safe, okay, Dad?”

John’s beard pulls back into a soft close-lipped grin, eyes crinkling as his heart warms. He so desperately wanted to ruffle your hair.

“Of course, Hun. But, eh, take a nap. It’s still early, and I know you’ve got schoolwork to do later. You sound like you’re about to keel over where you stand.” You scoff before agreeing with a muttered grumble, most likely already stumbling to the living room couch, and then the line goes silent and is replaced once more by the whirring of the helicopter blades.

The man peels back the phone and pockets it, hand unconsciously brushing his breast pouch where a picture of the two of you always sits. It was a baby picture, with your little form held in his grip delicately; looking down at you with soft eyes and an easy smile on his lips that always formed when he was with you. From under a soft blanket, your tiny hand reaches out to try and brush his stubbily cheek.

It never failed to bring him ease when he realized the photo was there. A reminder that if everything else in his life went horribly wrong, you would still be looking up at him with those eyes of yours. At the very least, he had managed to do one thing right.

“She’ll be fine. She’s a good kid.” Gaz calls at him, and John spares him a glance out of the side of his eye with a raised brow.

“I know she is. I’m the one who raised her.”

—

You remember eating a piece of toast before you made your way over to the couch, throwing your phone to the coffee table haphazardly before tossing yourself onto the cushions. Still in your pajamas, you can’t find it in you to go and grab the homework in your backpack this early. The sun had only just risen, and the bags under your eyes reminded you how late you stayed up last night.

But your father had never shown up.

Frantic was too light a word to describe the feeling you had when your eyelids had peeled back to the empty living room and the TV still playing. It had been second nature to snatch your phone and call the secure line – half of you had said it was better to call Laswell, just in case, but your adolescent brain had wanted nothing more than to hear your father’s voice.

He would make it better. But you needed to hear his voice.

Dad, you remembered pleading to yourself as the sound of the dial tone echoed in your ear, please answer the phone. Please. Answer the fucking phone.

Your heart was pounding; hands shaking. He never just didn’t show up when he said he was going to. Never. Your dad was punctual – always on time no matter what – and he had ingrained the same sentiment in you as well.

When his deep voice finally bounced in your eardrums you nearly started to cry, missing the first hurried and concern-filled inquiry of where you were. Hearing his voice put you at ease, and after a week of missing your father’s strong presence and his warm hugs, it was hard not to take a shaky inhale when he seemed so close.

You just wanted him home; you wanted him to make you pancakes and help you with your schoolwork. You wanted him to read a book to you on this couch like you were a toddler again while his old record player was on in the background.

It was childish, getting so worked up about it, but your dad meant the world to you. Not having him here felt wrong.

Sighing, you rub at your eyes and revel in the darkness before letting out a strained yawn, grabbing the blanket from the back of the couch and pulling it over your body. It didn’t take long before your eyes were flickering shut, a calm quiet settling over the house as cars passed by outside in the street. You pull the blanket closer and breathe, inhaling pine needles and ash.

You don’t know how long you were there, twitching in your sleep before the scent woke you up – it makes your nose scrunch, eyelids blinking away fuzz. There was a pillow under your head, the blanket wrapped tight around your neck to keep out the London chill, and a clanking of pans in the kitchen. Scraping spatula over cast iron, you knew, the sizzling of batter.

The haze of that in-between state, sleep and consciousness fighting in the back of your skull and under your hairline, stays even as you try to force it away. It was like a wave – it constantly pulled you under when you thought you were getting to the surface. Your eyes would blink open and closed; comforted back into sleep by the deep humming, the waver of an old record player. Feet over hardwood and the smell of fresh pancakes.

Dad’s home.

A delirious smile slides over your sleep-hot face. That was why you were so content. This was what home sounded and smelled like.

Dad’s home. You repeat it once more, nuzzling farther into your father's travel pillow he brings to and from Base. Pine needles. Ash. Cigar smoke.

Dad’s home! Your eyes snap open wildly, your body shooting up from the cushions as the blanket falls to the floor. Angling your head to the separated kitchen, you swipe the drool from your mouth with a heavy hand and listen.

Your dreams had tricked you before, but no. Not this time.

He was humming along to some old tune under his breath that mirrored the record player behind the couch; the antique turned low so it wouldn’t wake you. Blinking in shock, your mouth morphs into a rich smile instantaneously.

Throwing yourself off the couch, your feet slam to the floor, rushing and almost tripping over the blanket on the floor as your body slants forward. Giggling, you push on, righting yourself with no second thought other than welcoming your dad home the same as you always did. Zipping around the corner, a shadow is already turning your way, a plate of pancakes ready to be put on the table and devoured.

“Dad!” You yell loudly and launch yourself at him, hearing his chest let out a grunt and his hands splay around you so he won’t drop breakfast food all over the floor.

A velvety chuckle is wrung from his body, and his free digits go to rest heavily on your head as you shove yourself into his hold. Gripping his shirt tight between your fingers, you try not to cry when that scent that had been fading from the house comes back tenfold. Your eyes burn, but you only let one tear out when your dad’s finger begins stroking your hair just like he did when you were little.

You had been so worried.

“There’s my girl,” His voice whispers out, “I’m here, Sunshine. Easy now.”

“I thought you died,” You can’t help the helpless gasp that rips from you. Your father’s hand freezes; body going rigid around your smaller, desperately grasping frame. The atmosphere of the room flips. Digging into the fabric of his shirt the full flood of tears finally comes forward. “W-when I woke up and you weren’t here I… I thought you were never coming back home, and that I would have to go and live with the neighbors and I’d have to bury you in the cemetery. I don’t-don’t wanna have to put you in the ground.” You’re rambling, but you can’t stop the words. “I don’t want you to leave me alone, Dad. Please don’t leave me alone.”

At some point, the plate of pancakes had been tossed to the counter without care for if the porcelain cracked from the force, and both of your father's arms hand scooped you into his hold effortlessly. Your breath was hiccuping violently, tears making his shirt wet and sticking to his skin.

But John didn’t care.

He wrapped his arms around you and curled his body in, taking you into a hold so warm and tight you couldn’t leave it even if you tried.

What’ve I done? The man feels his lips tense, blinking down at your shaking body with guilt as you sob. Oh, my Little Girl, I’m so sorry. What’ve I done to you?

Had he never noticed the toll that this job was taking on you? John asked himself this in disgust as he pressed his lips to the crown of your head, whispering words into your hair under his shaky breath. He hated when you cried because of him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Love, alright? Look at me.” You don’t move your bruising grip, face still held away from sight as you gasp down frantic breaths. John’s voice gets firmer, “Sweetheart, I need you to look at me, yeah?”

Your tight fingers stutter, and your head barely shifts to the side, one red eye peeking up as he looks down at you with all the love he can muster without looking incredibly broken. He never wanted to see you cry again but knew that would be an impossible feat to accomplish – but he’d do his damndest to try.

“There she is.” John’s hand goes to your cheek, brushing away the saltwater with a calloused thumb as you sniffle. “Just keep those eyes on me, Little One.”

“...M’ not little anymore.” You grumble out, your cheeks heating even as your pulse slows as you focus on your dad's eyes. So soft the edges were nearly liquid; water that held your attention as they lapped across your form.

“To me, you’ll always be little. Can’t change that I’m afraid.” The man grunts out, tilting his head down at you and letting his eyes travel from concern to comfort. But that doesn’t change the present.

“I’m so sorry, Love,” Your father mutters, eyes flickering away from yours in guilt so rarely shown to others. He always prided himself on being strong, you knew, bearing the brunt of the weight. Apologies weren’t often verbally said until it truly mattered. “I should have called you. That’s all on me, that is. Bloody stupid to forget about, knowin’ how you wait up for me.”

Your lips thin to mimic your dad's, brows pulling close. But in your chest, your heart couldn’t be larger. You didn’t hold it against him, but you wished he could be here more often; not put himself in dangerous situations. Knowing as little as you did about your dad's actual job, you still knew it wasn’t entirely safe.

Maybe the two of you protected each other from the things unseen.

Your chest aches.

“...You’re funny lookin’ when you have to apologize. Like a kicked bear.” Pulling back your lips, a tiny smile lighting your face, and you look up at your dad with a sniffle in your nose.

His visage snaps to yours, eyebrows going high on his head in surprise, and hooded blue eyes widening. It takes a moment, but a smirk pushes back his beard when he sees the tears have stopped falling.

“Yeah?” John asks you, a grumble reverberating in his chest, “Now, y’know, that is just bloody rude, Sunshine. Thought I raised you better…And after I made you pancakes.”

Laughing, you pull back, stomach rumbling and nose twitching at the prospect of the nearly forgotten food. Slithering past your father, you snatch the plate and fork before rushing into the living room. Jumping on the couch you begin to cut into the carbs, piling pieces into your mouth and smiling at the taste. No one else could make them as your dad could.

The Brit comes not seconds later, a cup of tea held in his hand before he sits down next to you with a groan, stretching out and laying his socked feet on the coffee table next to your tossed phone from hours earlier. You giggle, suddenly leaning to his large frame and hearing him grunt in retaliation.

“Tell me a funny story,” You demand, listening to him sip his drink in the mid-morning glow that spreads outside the house and leaks in through the opened curtains. Birds sing outside, heard from the street.

Your dad hums, his beard tickling your scalp as he leans into you in turn, making you chuckle before he nuzzles against you kissing your head; leading to a larger exclamation of glee before you elbow his gut.

He laughs and answers with a smile in his voice.

“Hm, did I tell you ‘bout the time Gaz fell out of the Heli?”

You laugh, eating the rest of the pancake remnants; feeling incredibly happy and warm. There were many memories you loved of your dad and his recounting of stories fit many of them. He always kept out the gory bits – promising himself that he would never lead you down that path no matter what – and always opted for the many downright hilarious situations the rest of the 141 always seemed to get into.

“Yes, but tell me again. It’s funny, especially when you describe his face afterward! Like he–”

“Like he had shit his pants and didn’t want to tell me,” John chuckles, eyes squinted, looking down at you as you snuggle into his side. He wraps an arm over your shoulders, taking your empty plate with one hand and putting it on the side table before pulling you close and making sure his tea won’t spill. He feels your tiny, bird-like, heartbeat on his ribcage and knows that nothing could ever take you away from him. You would always be his little girl. “Yeah, Love, I remember that one. Now, let me start from the beginning…”

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unboundprompts · 10 months

Note

Hiii love your blog! Can you please do prompts about gray eyes description? I'd really appreciate it!!!!

Different Ways to Describe Gray Eyes

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

They had eyes like dark storm clouds.

She had eyes that held the fog that clouded a winding road on an early spring morning.

In his gray eyes, she could see the sparks of a fire.

Their eyes were the same color as the pencil sketches on the paper laid out before them.

His eyes made them think of the sea after a terrible storm, the gray rolling clouds reflecting onto the almost-blue surface of the water.

She had eyes like the black-and-white movies she watched as a kid.

Their eyes were the rocks by the cliffsides.

Her eyes were unwavering and hard as steel.

At first glance, he had thought their eyes were blue. Now that he was close, however, he saw that they were gray.

Their eyes were the same as the smoke that escaped from their lips.

Her eyes held no emotion. They were blank. Clouded and gray.

His eyes were like two blinking moons, and she was trapped in their light.

Their eyes made her think of soot from a fire. The kind that clung to your skin and reminded people of tragedy.

Her eyes were nearly silver, and they twinkled like the stars in the night sky.

His eyes reflected the sword in his hand: dangerous and ready to strike.

Gray eyes had never held such color.

She had eyes the same color as the silver jewelry that hung from her neck and wrists.

There was a fire behind his gray eyes.

Her eyes reminded him of the full moon, bright and constantly watching.

He had eyes like smoke and they followed her as she walked through the alley.

Their eyes were silver lightning: quick and observant.

She was certain that his eyes reflected the stars in the night sky, twinkling and mirroring his white smile.

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider buying me a coffee! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi! Become a member to receive exclusive content, early access, and prioritized writing prompt requests.

#ask box prompts #writing prompts #dialogue prompt #otp prompts #soft prompts #prompt list #rp prompts #writing prompt #romance prompts #dialogue ideas #writing ideas #love prompts #character description

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i-drop-level-one-loot · 3 months

Note

Hun something else I want to ask is if you would do a hybrid dragon Yan..? Forgot to mention it in the last ask because I forget ideas a lot <3

-from the one anon who said to use 3 names you like :)!

P.s I’ll probably refer to myself as this forever now hun

I'm sorry this took so long!! Here it is:

CW: mild violence, video game logic

Yandere!Dragon x GN!Reader

The winds in the mountains were cold enough to slice open skin and leave blisters.

Traveling up towards the sky was (Reader), a warrior known throughout the lands for their incredible feats, climbing up the snowy pass towards the dark splotch on their map.

The dragon's lair.

Only human in appearance, (Reader) had slaughtered almost every type of monster and fiend in the continent, sending fear through all living beings. They were rumored to be immortal, since they seemed to be capable of recovering from any wound they received, no matter how critical. Whatever life threatening hit they took, and no matter how certain their death seemed to be, (Reader) would only black out, waking a few hours later. A warrior without a past, without a home, who only lived to kill.

Slaying a dragon would be the last creature on the killer's list, having already defeated deities and apocalypse level threats. It wasn't that a dragon would be harder than killing a god; they just hadn't gotten around to it.

In the grand scheme of life, dragon slaying would be a side quest.

(Reader) doubted that the battle would be difficult in any sort of sense; aside from their incredible physical attributes they also had legendary gear such as "the Ring of Absolution" which was forged from the tears of a Golden Warrior. That ring alone made it impossible for enemies to block their attacks or use "break out" to parry.

Upon finding the cave and entering recklessly, (Reader) wished that someone had told them sooner:

That "when you're at the top, the only place to go is down.."

A blast of fire knocked their helmet off their head as the heat pushed them back. Shocked (and a little excited) the warrior raised their vampiric sword. Inside the cave, a giant red and golden dragon sat posed, muscles tense and eyeing the invader with intrigue.

"Who are you, to enter my home?" His deep voice sounded more confused than offended. And when (Reader) pointed their weapon at him in response, he chuckled. "Adorable little human, if you wish to live a long life, leave this cave now, and I shall spare you."

(Reader) shouted, igniting a glowing light around their body, then lunged, slashing at the beast.

To the dragon's surprise it hurt.

"Foul little thing!" He snarled, attempting to blast the human with another bolt of flames (this time not as a warning) but the fighter rolled out of the way, effectively dodging the attack. (Reader) thrust again, angering the dragon when he found that he could not block the sword, the blade passing his harder scales and hitting his soft flesh despite his guarding.

Amidst the rage and frustration a new emotion began forming within the centuries young being; respect.

There were no dragons he wished to associate with, there were no creatures that approached him of their own free will. He was alone. For a very, very long time. For he was not just a dragon..

He was Targov the Malicious.

A dragon of legend, ender of nations, killer of kings..

And his health was slowly being chipped away by the steel of a mortal.

(Reader) did not know who the dragon was, only that this was the closest location for a dragon nest.

"Small human.. I have a proposition for you."

The warrior paused, tilting their head as they waited for the dragon to continue.

"You have impressed me, and you have earned my admiration. So I offer you a chance at life eternal: become my mate, and ascend to a higher state of being.

You shall never want nor need for anything. I will be your willing servant for all of eternity."

It wasn't the first proposal (Reader) had received, yet it was certainly the first from a beast. They stepped back a fraction as though his words caused them to stumble. His request sounded so genuine that it almost killed their blood lust.

Almost.

Disappointment and betrayal filled the dragon's eyes as (Reader) suddenly threw their sword like a spear, lodging it into Targov's chest, a feather's distance shy of his heart. But even that only further fueled the growing need he had for the mortal. And the obvious solution to the warrior's resistance was to make the choice easier for them.

Targov flew forward, but instead of attacking like (Reader) had predicted, he grappled the human in his talons and continued faster, propelling them both out of the cave and into the sky as he built speed.

The wind jostled the surprised human about like a rag doll as they rose higher into the atmosphere. Their ears popped painfully, but they could still hear the roaring laughter of the dragon.

"HA! Now what do you say, human?! Shall you be mine? Or shall I drop you?!" He held the adventurer loosely by the fabric visible under their armor in an attempt to frighten them. But what he saw next made his heart falter.

His eyes widened as (Reader) smiled triumphantly, raising a dagger while maintaining eye contact, and sliced off the part of their outfit Targov held onto, willingly allowing themselves to fall.

It was just a fall.

Yeah, it would hurt. It would hurt like a son of a bitch, but (Reader) knew they wouldn't die. They never did.

However, their near immortality was something that Targov didn't know about.

Before his emotions could fully form into separate feelings, Targov dove, recatching the little human, now with a more secure grip, and flew back to his home, his heart beating a billion beats per second once it restarted.

(Reader) was thrown to the floor by the dragon seconds before being blinded by a bright flash. The dragon was consumed in a bright white glow that illuminated the cave, morphing into a more human appearance, with deep golden skin and red hair. His horns and claws still remained, but as (Reader) could see clearly from his lack of clothes, was now mostly human. He charged towards (Reader), face twisted in his confusing mix of emotions. Anger, shock, hurt, feelings his adrenaline wouldn't give him time to categorize as he closed in on the confused human.

He hoisted (Reader) up by their neck.

"You'd really rather die than be mine?!" The enraged dragon screamed.

Struggling to breathe, the warrior grabbed one of his scaly hands while trying to smack his face with their dominant hand.

The glint of their ring caught Targov's attention, who recognized it instantly. He had been alive for a very long time, and killed many a god during his rebellious years. Sharp teeth sunk into (Reader's) fingers, the dragon biting their hand lightly, suddenly, earning a shocked cry from the struggling human. Targov dropped (Reader), pulling the ring off their finger with his fangs as he did so.

The warrior didn't notice their missing ring until they regained their composure and attempted to attack the humanoid dragon, who blocked their attack perfectly fine.

Targov wore the ring on his smallest claw.

"I see I was right about you.." His deep voice chuckled, but (Reader) couldn't tell if it was out of amusement or fury. "A fellow God killer.. who better suited to be my mate?"

He grabbed (Reader's) wrist, and despite it's low speed, the ring prevented (Reader) from dodging.

"Welcome home, my mate."

"Even if I have to break you, I will have you. And you will learn to love me."

#sorry this took so long #ive been so busy #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere dragon #yandere dragon x reader #gn reader #video game logic #short drabble #dragon hybrid #dragon x reader

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creepercraftguy · 1 year

Text

Pokemon Scarlet/Violet - Voice Actor Headcanons.

So here’s the latest update of this little series on my blog where I assign official voice actors to characters that don’t have them. I also did this with the previous title, Legends: Arceus.

I have to reiterate the same points every time, but it’s just so we’re all aware -

This is NOT CANON. These are HEADCANONS and are unofficial. It’s just a hypothetical situation. If the characters were voiced, this is who I imagine would voice them.

Every major character in both games is included here, so there are HEAVY SPOILERS for the game’s main storylines. DO NOT READ THIS POST IF YOU HAVE NOT PLAYED THE GAME OR DON’T WANT TO BE SPOILED.

The only character I did not include in this is Jacq. He already has an official VA thanks to the Pokemon Go Gimmighoul Trailer. I don’t know who it is though because they go uncredited.

So without further ado, I hope you enjoy my ideas. Or don’t. Your choice.

Nemona - KAYLI MILLS

Also Voiced:

Emilia (Re:Zero)

Alice Synthesis Thirty (Sword Art Online: Alicazation)

Keqing (Genshin Impact

Katy - DOROTHY FAHN

Also Voiced:

Konan (Naruto)

Tsumugi Shirogane (Danganronpa V3)

Mercedes (Fire Emblem: Three Houses/Three Hopes)

Brassius - ROBBIE DAYMOND

Also Voiced:

Goro Akechi (Persona 5)

Hubert (Fire Emblem: Three Houses/Three Hopes)

Prompto Argentum (Final Fantasy XV)

Iono - IRONMOUSE

Also Voiced:

Herself (On her twitch videos and Speak of the Devil)

Tanith (An Incorrect Summary of Elden Ring | The King & The Serpent)

Kofu - CHRIS RAGER

Also Voiced:

Hercule Satan (Dragon Ball)

Marshal D. Teach/Blackbeard (One Piece)

Gahuko Asano (Assassination Classroom)

Larry - XANDER MOBUS

Also Voiced:

Joker (Persona 5)

Master Hand (Super Smash Bros)

Rokuzo Taguchi (Bungo Stray Dogs)

Ryme - REGINA KING

Also Voiced:

Huey and Riley Freeman (The Boondocks)

Kreela (The Ant Bully)

Dynamite (Planes: Fire and Rescue)

Grusha - ALEJANDRO SAAB

Also Voiced:

Cyno (Genshin Impact)

Yuri (Fire Emblem: Three Houses/Three Hopes)

Izumi Miyamura (Horimiya)

Tulip - MELANIE MINICHINO

Also Voiced:

Alice Hiiragi (Persona 5 Strikers)

Anya Corazon/Spider-Girl (Spider-Man (2017))

Yan (Indivisible)

Director Clavell - KIRK THORNTON

Also Voiced:

Kisame Hoshigaki (Naruto)

Shadow the Hedgehog (Sonic the Hedgehog)

Jade Curtiss (Tales of Zesteria)

Penny - AMANDA CELINE MILLER

Also Voiced:

Toko Fukawa (Danganronpa/Danganronpa Another Episode)

Boruto Uzumaki (Naruto)

Makoto Kino/Sailor Jupiter (Sailor Moon)

Mela - ERIN FITZGERALD

Also Voiced:

Chie Satonaka (Persona 4)

Noire/Black Heart (Hyperdimension Neptunia series)

Junko Enoshima (Danganronpa series)

Giacomo - SEAN CHIPLOCK

Also Voiced:

Diluc (Genshin Impact)

Rean Schwarzer (Trails of Cold Steel)

Guido Mista (Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure: Golden Wind)

Atticus - TODD HABERKORN

Also Voiced:

Korekiyo Shinguji (Danganronpa V3)

Death The Kid (Soul Eater)

Shiro Iori (Kill La Kill)

Ortega - CASEY MONGILLO

Also Voiced:

Emporio Alnino (Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure: Stone Ocean)

Protagonist (Shin Megami Tensei V)

Shinji Ikari (Neon Genesis Evengelion)

Eri - CHERAMI LEIGH

Also Voiced:

Makoto Niijima (Persona 5)

Asuna Yuuki (Sword Art Online)

A2 (Nier:Automata)

Arven - KAIJI TANG

Also Voiced:

Owain (Fire Emblem Awakening)

Gonta Gokuhara (Danganronpa V3)

Archer (Fate)

Rika - SUZIE YEUNG

Also Voiced:

Eula (Genshin Impact)

Makima (Chainsaw Man)

Pumpkin Pie Cookie (Cookie Run Kingdom)

Poppy - KIMBERLY ANNE CAMPBELL

Also Voiced:

Nahida (Genshin Impact)

Hayase Nagatoro (Don't Toy With Me, Miss Nagatoro)

Typhon (Re:Zero)

Hassel - JAMIESON PRICE

Also Voiced:

Sojiro Sakura (Persona 5)

Leo Whitefang (Guilty Gear Strive)

Rider (Fate)

Geeta - SHARA KIRBY

Also Voiced:

Candace (Genshin Impact)

Franceska Mila Rose (Bleach: Thousand-Year Blood War)

Tomomi Takei (Kageki Shojo!!)

Dendra - ALEX CAZARES

Also Voiced:

Rebecca (Cyberpunk: Edgerunners)

Oblina (Nickelodean: All-Star Brawl)

Dagr (Fire Emblem Heroes)

Saguaro - PATRICK SEITZ

Also Voiced:

Dio Brando (JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Crusaders)

Ira Gamagoori (Kill La Kill)

Ladiva (GranBlue Fantasy: Versus)

Salvatore - BRYCE PAPENBROOK

Also Voiced:

Kirito (Sword Art Online)

Eren Jaeger (Attack on Titan)

Nagito Komaeda (Danganronpa 2)

Tyme - REGINA KING

Also Voiced:

Huey and Riley Freeman (The Boondocks)

Kreela (The Ant Bully)

Dynamite (Planes: Fire and Rescue)

Miriam - XANTHE HUYNH

Also Voiced:

Haru Okumura (Persona 5)

Marianne (Fire Emblem Three Houses/Three Hopes)

Ui Hirasawa (K-On)

Raifort - ALLEGRA CLARK

Also Voiced:

Shamir (Fire Emblem: Three Houses/Three Hopes)

Maki Zenin (Jujutsu Kaisen)

Beidou (Genshin Impact)

Professor Sada - JENNIFER LOSI

Also Voiced:

Ganyu (Genshin Impact)

Shinobu Kawajiri (Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure: Diamond is Unbreakable)

Mizuki Nakahara (Lycoris Recoil)

Professor Turo - KEITH SILVERSTEIN

Also Voiced:

Zhongli (Genshin Impact)

Johan Liebert (Monster)

Hisoka (HunterXHunter)

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bimbosanddolls · 7 months

Text

Choose Your Own Adventure: The Dark Sorceress

You stand outside the door to the Midnight Cathedral’s throne room. Inside, you’re certain that you will find the Dark Sorceress Narcissa. The very thought of her sends a chill through your body. For years, Narcissa has tormented your kingdom. Tales of princesses being vanished away, curses placed upon entire towns and villages, and countless other terrible stories are whispered throughout the taverns and castles alike. In an attempt to finally cast the shadow of Narcissa away once and for all, a group of promising heroines were assembled and trained to become a new Order of Witch Slayers. You are the fifth Slayer to be tasked with Narcissa’s defeat; the first four having never been seen again after storming the Cathedral. You shudder as you think of your fellow Slayers before taking a deep breath to calm your nerves. You would be the one to finally end the Sorceress' reign of terror and avenge your sisters. With a renewed sense of purpose, you summon a blast of wind magic and send the heavy onyx doors flying open. Inside the throne room, your bold entrance has fallen surprisingly flat. Four veiled figures turn their heads and, though you cannot see their eyes, you can feel their gaze on you. It feels familiar but unfriendly. You’ve interrupted something and they are not pleased. You notice that they are nude; their lithe bodies in stark contrast to the sheer, black veils they wear. Between them, dressed in a long, black gown, sits the Dark Sorceress herself. Her eyes are also fixed on you, but you do not sense any concern in them. Instead, you see her blood red lips curve into a wicked smile as Narcissa stands from her throne and takes a step forward. “My my, what do we have here?” her words are heavy and sensuous. “Had I known we were expecting company, I would have dressed the girls in something a little more… appropriate.” You can feel your blood begin to boil. It’s clear she doesn’t see you as a threat. You reach for the blade at your hip but freeze when your eyes dart from the Sorceress to her attendants. A look of disbelief washes over your face, and Narcissa responds with a knowing laugh. “Oh? Did you notice your friends? Or, forgive me, were they your sisters? I never did bother to understand the structure of your little Order.” You look past her again, taking a moment to focus on each woman still kneeling by the throne. Narcissa wasn’t wrong; these were indeed the missing Slayers. Each of them is recognizable to you, yet different. The fire that previously burned in each of their eyes is now doused. Their toned bodies appear softer, and more inviting. You can’t tell whether either is the result of the Dark Sorceress’ magic but you suppose it doesn’t truly matter right now. Your mission is clear; slay the witch. Rescuing your allies would have to come later. You reach for your blade again, determined to finish this once and for all. If Narcissa is worried at all, her expression does not show it. “Oh darling,” she purrs, “do you really think that cheap piece of steel is going to do anything to me? It doesn’t need to be this way, you know. You could join me, join the others."

She gestures back towards your sisters, "Don’t they seem happy? Does it really seem as though I’ve harmed them in any way? I know you all consider me to be some sort of ‘Dark Sorceress’ but I assure you I am a very kind and loving Mistress.” You say nothing but your eyes shoot back to the former Slayers. Could it be true? Or was this just another one of Narcissa’s evil tricks? Perhaps seeing your hesitation, she takes the opportunity to elaborate. “Think about it, dear. They took you from your families, trained you to little more than tools for their cause, and denied you the chance to make your own path. All I’ve done is offer your ‘sisters’ a choice. And now I offer you the same. You may join us and experience a life of your own, a life that the people you mean to defend have hidden from you. Or, you can fight and feel the fullest extent of my power.”

#caption #I have no idea what to tag this as #choose your own adventure #but kinky

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ms0milk · 7 months

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𝟏𝟐 | 𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"You will spend summers in rainstorms and autumns in his orchards because you are Alderan and he will kill Takoban gods to get you there."

cw brief description of drowning and a claustrophobic struggle with the ocean. suggestions of suicidal intention and self harm. reader tries to fight the sea and your prince has horrible misunderstandings about it. bkg 🫱🏽‍🫲🏼 unethical rescue tactics pt 2, borrowed clothes, a fevered fireside confession in the bedroom you’ve been searching for 6.4k

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If Takoba is the edge of the world, Aldera is the center. You so starved for comfort, stand with your feet at the tip of the surf and tie your braids together.

You watch the sea at midnight and the winds coming off the water bite your scars before they chill your bones. Autumn at the edge of the world is miserable. Lakes freeze but the ocean is colder, and full of tides , like Todoroki said, which you’ve spent the day reading about. Unlike lakes and winter ice skating, the ocean has a taste. Salt and decay. It tastes unfathomably ancient. You watch its many maws foaming under the moonlight and seashells burn in frigid water when you step onto them.

In the view from Bakugou’s bedroom, you’ve lined your boots up neatly in the sand and stand watch beside them for a moment. You’re dressed to stop a midnight siege, in your white nightgown and padded habergeon, staring so small and far away from the warmth of his fireplace. You in a dark blue world, framed by his open window. Bakugou would have sipped his tea and rolled his eyes at his newly fucked up sleep schedule and how ridiculous you insist on looking in public if his cup wasn’t spilt on the rugs where he dropped it. If he hadn’t already ripped his door off its hinges in his sprint out of the castle.

You couldn’t sleep. You have no appetite and no mobility yet for sparring. Just books. Just Uraraka answering your questions about the sea while watching her men train. The ride with Todoroki yesterday was nice but it left your throat stiff and you are still in your kingdom’s service. Today in Takoba, tomorrow and forever behind your prince. Long before the blue gardens and scars, before the kitchen, before sticky crowds and white horses and cold hallways, something somewhere started to die.

You take another step into the swollen water, it rises with the moon, to confirm your suspicions and grimace when a crab scuttles over your foot. Another step and you’re up to your hem. It would all be easier if your heart was still a forest fire. When did that stop? When did the rain come? Up to your knees now. Seawater climbs your nightgown.

As it stands you’re no longer a dragon, just damp tinder. The black sea sways you side to side at the hips now so gently– keep walking, don’t look back. You will free yourself from doubt and you will fight a god to do it.

“Moon makes tides,” Uraraka yawned and slouched and stretched as you sat on your knees beside her in the pit.

“Can you swim in it?”

“In the ocean?” she squinted, “Yeah of course. But don’t tell me you want to swim in this weather?”

“I won’t.”

Shinsou could only pretend not to hear for so long from his spot beside you both this afternoon, “The moon makes tides, and tides make storms.”

Good. Up to your ribs now. Wear the rock there like an anchor.

In the cold water your body heat becomes that much more apparent and it’s lovely like home. Genuinely hot for a second. Your nightgown floats up around you and you sink quickly from chest to nose when the sand under your feet drops to freezing nothing. The sudden dip sends icy pain behind both eyes and the sensation of failing steeles every joint sickly sore. Walking through the ocean is like a fight, like driving a sword through someone solid, like braving a thunderstorm, but sinking into it is easier than sleeping.

You gasp and spit out the aftermath of losing your footing but you also fight too hard in anticipation of sinking and you’re suddenly in the open air up to your waist like a salmon leaping upstream. The weight of the nightgown settles you back down to your shoulders and it’s silent except for the sound of waves kissing the beach and one another. Whistling wind. You bob only some ten meters out from shore, just short of where Todoroki held you back for fear of drowning and something wild like greed blinks open a sleepy brown eye.

You hardly have to move a limb to keep your head above water; the sea is free and gentle. You float easily here, where a lake wants to watch you fight. It’s part of the fun at home and in exchange you are safe in freshwater. Salt stings– saliva pools under your tongue to keep it from getting inside– but it also holds you up in the foam like two hands under the hip.

Is this what you were so afraid of? This is the god you planned on killing tonight?

Every day in this miserable place you have been beaten. You have fallen apart in some way, your hair is too messy, your new clothes don’t fit right. You lose Aldera with every step, heel toe– earrings that are no longer yours, heel toe– a weapon you can't return, heel toe and stand at attention– a brooch you’re too afraid to wear, to lose too, so you keep it under your pillow and wear silver seashells instead. Blue fire took the first victory in the forest and you salvaged your prince with your life thin in your teeth. Takoba took the second victory and strung you out in your nightgown for nobles to pick at like crows. A driftwood table took the third and Bakugou stole the fourth. The only time you have ever won here is when you decided to die. When you churn the water with your arms a pain echoes across your back not quite inside your scars.

Kirishima on the verge of tears, Shinsou above your operating table, Uraraka at your side, Todoroki holding you back from the edge of the world– your prince, wet to his knees– you have never, not once in your life have you ever failed. Their gazes make your throat hurt and you spit again into a tiny rolling wave that lifts itself over your chin and into your ears.

The goddess of the sea does not pity you.

She pulls you into her arms and laughs when you rub your freshwater eyes. She tossels your hair with silent waves you could never have seen coming. She reminds you of her strength. And Todoroki told you that you couldn’t possibly challenge her– eat your words sealace prince. Even just this once, witness me. You are a gem in the crown of Aldera, the left hand of the golden family. Takoba is no setback the sea is not your master, you are a chosen servant, not a mistake. It is so wonderful to be in the presence of a queen again and at night her water is soft and black.

The shore is farther than you remember when you finally glance back at the world. You bob like a peach, a frozen peach, and realize you can’t feel the cold anymore. Time to head back. Today was just a test anyway, to make sure you could put up your fight. Maybe sleep will come now that you’re starting to breathe heavy and now that your muscles ache again after days without real training. Ice creeps up the back of your neck from wet hair.

The goddess of the sea plays with you for a few more seconds and you can’t wait to come back in the warmth of the sun to lay on your back with her to whom you no longer need to prove yourself. The ocean pulls in its depths just as much as it pushes at the shore so you brace your eyes for discomfort and duck under the surface to kick a good length forward. It would have worked in a lake, at the center of the world.

When you resurface you are somehow farther than before and considerably shorter of breath. The cold starts to press on your lungs now that you’re truly using them. It’s okay, one more time. You kick once to let the goddess lift you up with her salt and breathe in the free air before diving under again but all you actually do is stir bubbles around you exactly where you started. If anything even farther. Your boots are too small to see now.

There are no storms, no raging waves, no rain, no thunder, hardly wind, what is putting up the fight? Whatever. You paddle above water, thankful for light clothes, and weary of the growing ache under your jaw– the start of a pulsing headache. More than anything you are finally excited for bed, but no matter how hard you push there seems to be a growing distance between you and safety.

Dread drops in your peachpit stomach and you start to feel long pretty fingers tickle your heels in black water. The ghost of the flame mage happy to drag you with him to the bottom of the sea. Irrational like a fear of the dark, but still there’s no more time for testing pride, you have to get back to shore. The little girl inside of you cowers when you take one more heavy breath and then release it to sink yourself as deep as the salt will let you. You can see the breaking point, all you need is to reach the seafloor and kick yourself to it.

As you drift down into the pitch black something so much better than sand or ghosts meets your feet. You connect with rock as your lungs begin to ache for air and kick with every well trained muscle your legs have, forward towards the shore. Faster than freshwater, you rocket to the surface and gasp excitedly, blink rapidly, and infinitely closer to white sand, and then immediately the goddess pulls you under again.

Sure you found the breaking point, sure your toes tease the start of the shore you want to reach so badly, but that’s what waves do here. Break.

Something so silent couldn’t possibly be this powerful, but your head is forced back under as your hips are pulled back out and you tumble head over knees, mouth filled suddenly with salt and sand in the darkness. Resurfacing is no fun task, choking. You’re thankful it’s easy to float in the ocean but saltwater dries out your mouth as you retch it back out from your throat into the foam and then there’s another break over your head to remind you that humans should stay far away from god.

You’ll die just thirty meters from the shore. Salt blinds you. Water deep in one ear keeps you just dizzy enough to let this sea carry you out once again, and shouting isn’t an option. Shouting or gasping, you have to pick one. Ache has turned to paralysis; muscles so beaten and a heart beating so fast you’re already at the last limit reached by your master, training to failure. Striking and swinging until you can no longer hold your weapon. Hours of training reduced to fifteen minutes at sea.

The bruises of your shoulder protest every paddle you force out of them and go much stiffer much faster than the rest of you. In a way, the mage is drowning you. In every way the sea is much more claustrophobic than a war room.

The moon watches you heaving for air stuck between beating waves and being swept back out to sea. She doesn’t do anything. You are pulled under again. The rocks beneath you scratch your soft skin this time and your instinct is to flinch which fills your nose with water and drowning is certainly not as peaceful as poetry makes it out to be.

Of course it ends like this. A soggy creature fighting gods alone.

Of course he’s watching you, his Captain, being stolen by the sea.

You surface forcefully with a grip on your scruff and while your body remembers how to breathe, magic every furious color of the rainbow arcs above your head. The water recoils for a moment around you in the force of his impact. Bakugou erupts from the sky as he always does into the tragedy of your life in Takoba and you have no control over your searing gaze when it turns to him above you, framed by sparks and stars. Halo from the moon.

You both fall back into the water but not so helplessly as a moment ago. Your prince hooks and arm across your chest, pressing your back to his front and with so much more strength than you could ever muster, rips his way through the water in half of a backstroke. Half of him focused on keeping you afloat and only half of him conquering the sea. His legs create their own current. He holds you and you’re sure you’re breathing loudly enough into his collar to hurt his ears.

You are an excellent swimmer. Weak children, drunk diplomats, tests from your master; you have dragged your fair share of victims out of rivers and as the victim yourself you know better than to struggle or panic in your prince’s grip as he drags you from the goddess, but you can’t help how your fingers scratch at his translucent tunic. Cling to the warmth of his bicep.

In twenty seconds he has reached the break. Strength like a war criminal, like a godslayer. He turns in the water, times it to match the swell of a wave for height, and pulls you chest to chest with a guiding hand on the side of your head to fold you into him. The sea drops you and you know what comes next. Bakugou anticipates your struggle, or a drowned man’s panic, any logical thing and wraps another arm around you tight as he pulls you both under, but you don’t fight a single second and neither do you breathe.

He knows the sea so much better. If you weren’t unraveling like a common soldier you would have realized too, just how much calmer the water is underneath its surface. Even with ears full of sand you can hear the wave crash above you but there is no pull underwater. The roll of the goddess back out to sea twirls through your hair but nothing else. She lets your prince push up to the surface and doesn’t stop you from catching your breath inside the crook of his neck. Eleven seconds to beat the break. What does he even need a captain for?

This time when the tide drops, you don’t quite drop with it. Knees in the sand. Back on solid ground you realize how hard a body can shake and then water is beating you down again from behind, and a warm hand has you by the back of the haubergeon to keep you from slipping out to sea or laying flat down to sleep in the surf.

Both hardly walking, and you more-than-half carried, you and your prince stagger over seashells like glass back to the spot where your boots rest like nothing bad has ever happened at all, chased the whole time by a disappointed tide. You collapse the second he lets you. You, useless with cold and vomiting seafoam.

“Why?!” Your prince chokes, similarly out of breath beside you, hunched over his knees from the effort of winning your war. You can feel the glare. You are warmed by it and then entirely numb again, in a terrible turn of events, to even his attention. The very last ember dies without smoke.

Bakugou, even in a temper tantrum, has never looked quite so disheveled. He’s been wet before, and pushed his hair back with big hands and caught his breath through his teeth just like this, but he’s never looked at you with such confusion. His eyebrows don’t sit right. Without a scowl his whole thing really falls apart, huh?

“Answer me, Eyes!”

You wheeze instead of speaking when you try to use your voice for the first time and spit out the last of the salt that comes up with it. He doesn’t move, catching his breath across the sand at midnight. Your prince really is so pretty and something inside is eating you alive to the beat of the wash of waves. He is a star and you are the bloody little creature beneath him always, not chosen at all.

You sit yourself up. Bakugou is beautiful. Broad chest and shoulders trained for his magic and a wet tunic that clings to every lovely shape, just a few feet too far away to touch. Unmarred face and shaggy hair. His eyes. His jaw slopes sharp, sharper still in the moonlight and dripping with water, up towards his hungry red eyes that eat everything they’ve e–

“Wake up!” He barks.

He’s not eating you. He brings back your focus and when you hold his stare this time it’s so obvious he’s not confused, or angry, not exhausted or embarrassed or exasperated. He’s six and he’s holding your hands in a velvet carriage, terrified.

Oh boy. You guess self-control died with your heart, because your shoulders start to shake in a chuckle. Bakugou stares. Any fold of his brows melts immediately at the sound of your soft laughter but he hardens again when he speaks.

“What about this is funny?!” and pulls himself up to his knees as you lower yourself to clamshells, not-quite-laughing but not fighting the smile either. This is exhausting. “You just tried to kill yourself!”

This makes you snort, which is ugly, and shuts your prince up entirely. One laugh like a lie and then another and you curl in on yourself, shivering arms folded above your head and forehead pressed flat to the sand. Something like an apology. You are redundant, not suicidal.

If it were a real apology you would wait until he spoke again to raise your head like Todoroki in the stables, but that’s not what you’re doing at all. You ache from the inside. Burn in fact. You chuckle again and spit salt one last time when you sit up, then grab for your shoes with muscle memory instead of feeling since the cold has stolen that from you too. Bakugou is staring again– it is irritating, you should do it less.

The ocean makes a lovely noise when you are not drowning in it. It’s much quieter and sounds a bit like laundry sliding over itself. Or apples tumbling into a basket. You are the first to your feet, clumsily, and you are not so delirious that you forget you need proximity to a fire. Anyone else might not be able to stand through this adrenaline trembling but how many apprentices have come so close to death so many times as you?

“Oi,” Bakugou growls, confused again by the wrong emotion for just long enough to let you escape.

The hill between the castle and the sea is overgrown with dune grasses tall enough to tickle your hips and that is what you decide to climb. Empty stomach, ruined shoulder, shaking legs, deep dead eyes.

Your clothes cling to you. They make you small. He can hardly breathe in the cold as he rushes to catch up, dripping what he's sure are icicles, and you look as if you could hardly stay conscious in it. Does your face feel as red as it looks? Friction or fever? “Captain!” And it’s obvious Bakugou can’t decide on his volume, but bulldozes after you nonetheless husky with exertion, “fuckin wait–”

There are sandy paths beaten into this seaside hill, small like children made them on their happy little way to swim. Bakugou makes quick work of it. You hike. You put all your effort into staying on two feet through a chill you could hardly ever imagine. Heat pounds in your temples, cruelly imitating Alderan fire when really it’s something poisoned like liquor.

“Please don’t follow me sir,” you call over the wind when the prince gets a few steps too close to catching up and he makes a sound almost like words, like words you shot dead in his throat. You know that sound because you have been shot at the same exact angle. Deadly isn’t it? He falls back.

Just for a moment Bakugou stops and watches, filled with something neither of you have the words for yet. Recovering just as quickly as you are succumbing to exhaustion.

Wait, he stares. Just– “Y/n.”

Wrapped in white, you are framed by rolling seagrass in the moonlight. You finally stop climbing and turn. You like a half-drowned painting. In a furred cape you might be a queen. From your spot smiling sadly at the edge of the world, your nose has started to bleed.

“Give me an order.”

Six and shaking in his hands. Eleven soaked in a fruit filled hallway, always working and fond of libraries. Sense of humor that doubles over his queen. Often covered in blood, staring too earnestly right now for him to remember that anger might fix this. Bakugou doesn’t breathe.

You turn back towards the castle alone and for the very last time, your body keeps the tears at bay. On a hill of swaying green grass and bright in the moonlight, your prince, frozen, looks so much like his mother you should kill him for it.

You always thought you were hiding from him on duty, only slightly more stealthy than a dragon. It got better when Jeanist stopped training you in chainmail, but your excitement at every small job bounced off the walls of his castle so obviously. Squirrel duty? You helped a hundred bastards back outside without pause. Sent up to swept bookshelves under the Great Oak and you're the only person he’s ever seen hum to themself so high in the air. Stable duty? Stable master more like. Seven and stacking stools to reach the saddles before Jeanist set you back on the ground by your scruff like his kitten. Bakugou can’t remember what went first, your heartbeat or his hearing.

The very first time you snuck up on him was in August under a plum tree, nine years old. He slept beside his book in the shade on a perfect day, perfectly alone and free of tutoring for the afternoon. Maybe because you were barefoot, but somehow even out of breath, the only thing that gave you away was your voice.

“Careful Highness.” He shot awake with that and figured for a moment that you were a dream while his eyes adjusted to the light through the leaves behind you– panting above him and holding tight to a plum. Like premonition your other hand lurched to catch another as it fell toward him, “they’re ready for harvest.”

Bakugou sat up. Off at an impossible distance for you to have run to catch plums, Jeanist stood beside a hanging line of red uniforms waving a beckoning hand.

“Laundry calls,” you whispered. As the little prince turned stupidly back to you above him, you set both plums on the grass beside his book and bowed.

Wait.

“Maybe a nap in the vineyard? Grapes won't bruise.”

Wait, I know you.

He watched you bow one last time and jog out of the shade back to Jeanist and Alderan laundry, just as he watches you stumble now in the dark, towards the faraway lights of a castle without the fire you need.

Wait!

“Y/n!” Bakugou bursts over the ridge and back onto marble pavement, what the fuck is he gonna do– your name won’t work twice, he’s wasted too much time. “Captain!”

You pay him no mind drifting away with your back still turned and with even less coordination than when you dragged yourself from the sea. You are deteriorating– fuck, fuck it. Bakugou, brimming with something to the left of anger, charges. If you hear him coming you do nothing to stop him. Not as he closes your distance with eight good strides and slings you over his shoulder.

"I–!" you jerk to strike instinctively, “Put me down!”

Good, you can shout. He still has time, you’re still alive. He’ll apologize for touching you later, for hesitating and staring, he will say everything he set aside in anger when you are not trying to kill yourself.

“Put me down,” you hiss like you know you’re one of three people that can make his skin prickle with threat.

“Not a chance.”

You grip the back of his tunic, clinging so wet to his body that you grab equal parts flesh and he turns away from your path to the glowing front gates all those hundreds of meters away, to kick in a door on an insignificant corner of an insignificant annex in the shadows of the castle that is only unlocked because it’s the same one he flew from, instead of his window, when he was trying not to startle you with his magic and into the sea.

You will spend summers in rainstorms and autumns in his orchards because you are Alderan and he will kill Takoban gods to get you there. Your nails on his back begin to burn with your silence and it’s haunting not only because you weigh less to him than a phantom, but because the smell of the sea follows you inside when there is no one else left to close the door. Immediately it is warmer without the wind but he will not slow until he finds fire, because you are gripping him instead of screaming again– because you are freezing to death and he will not let you win under new circumstances after he worked so hard to save you from the first.

This part of the castle is his, below the kitchens, the deep white underbelly in the cliff over the sea where no one will find him except cooks and staff who keep his secret and the queen who kindly ordered these quarters before she lost her mind. There is no difference of weight or warmth when he sets you down without a fight in front of the only red door in the hall. You aren’t a ghost. Even if you aren’t convincing. He throws the door open.

You would win in a contest but Bakugou too can make a steady fire. It’s still chirping bright in his fireplace when he crowds you inside of his quarters. Wood and furs. The smell of bread, everything so unlike Takoba. Small. Hard surfaces cushioned or covered in anticipation of winter, with red and gold and wool, forest tapestries from home– and it is a small victory that you take another step, then another, deeper inside without hint or suggestion.

“where are we?”

“You need to change,” Bakugou dismisses when you’re far enough inside to close the door, and pulls open a cherry chest of drawers at the foot of his bed. It’s draped in pelts and pillows. Faded herbs hang in bundles above you.

“have clothes in my room.”

“Didn’t ask.” When he looks over his shoulder, you are wobbling towards the fire like a starving woman, with two hands reaching subtly from your side. Good, shut up and warm up. Bakugou rifles through his options one more time and grimaces, raising his own black Alderan riding tunic aloft; it’s the only thing that’s going to be long enough to cover all of you.

He’ll sort out this shitshow step by step– dry you off, shout scream scold, get you warm, shout some more– a good Alderan lecture, and then tie you to him if he must since you obviously can’t be trusted alone. Walking into the sea when you thought everyone was sleeping. And for what? He grinds his teeth and grips the sids of his dresser with the realization that he’s probably not going to sleep again tonight. He’d kill you if that wasn’t what you so obviously wanted.

“Alright asshole, get ch–” Bakugou chokes when he turns back to you, sitting politely fireside with a dagger materialized in your good hand, blade pressed flat to your collar. He jumps, black tunic flying and shouts indiscernibly in a lunge for the weapon.

Not fast enough because by the time he makes one step, you’ve driven the blade down your chest and clear through your shirt. It falls open and your bare ribs seize in goosebumps this close to the fire, “told you I’m not trying to kill myself.”

“Drop it!” He wails, as if to a dog.

Oh how you will haunt him until the end of time. A month with you, just some soldier from his castle– a prodigal apprentice in a kingdom of geniuses– an impersonable, silent, invisible guard, who should cause harm only when necessary and appear only in danger– a woman who does this job to a tee, and still somehow steals his attention to any corner of the room she conceals herself in– just a month and you have beguiled him. Reaping grim satisfaction from watching you wreak havoc in this place he loathes.

You sit in front of his fire in his secret room, half bare now that you’ve decided to cut your clothes off of yourself, and entirely bare when you run the lip of the dagger across your shoulder to catch the fabric and then rough straight down the other side. You are pink from heat and staring through him entirely unfocused, all chaotic braids and parted lips. There’s a dry track of blood smeared under your nose and he shudders to think what part of his back it was wiped on while he was carrying you away. The fingertips of your scar peek into free air. Bakugou can’t spin around fast enough, howling in anger.

You sound like you’re smiling again mournfully like last time, “following orders, sir.”

“Don’t call me that!” He roars and shoves the black tunic behind his back towards you. This room is small, maybe five paces wide, and so he sits as far as he can from you on the floor beside his bed, still within arms reach. Back turned.

What the fuck is so funny? This isn’t a headache this is sustained torture. Bakugou’s own wet clothes cling to him in dry patches of salt and stick and grit that he’s desperate to bathe away just as soon as you are tethered to another magician. In another kingdom. You breathe heavily behind him in a mismatch between effort and task and then a sopping thud reminds Bakugou that you are stripping to nothing behind him and piling your rags onto his fine rugs.

“You’re a fucking nightmare.”

“you’ll be free of me in a moment.”

And it dawns on him, seasick irony, that there isn’t a person alive in this kingdom but him who could stop you from doing a single thing.

“If you think I’m letting you out of my sight you’re concussed.”

You pause your fiddling behind him for a second before resuming and you’re close enough that he can still hear your less than methodic pulling and ripping. A huff here and there. In the seconds it takes you to speak again your voice is still laced with the amusement that makes his skin crawl, “third time I’ve told you I’m not trying to kill myself.”

“Save it– just hurry up.”

“was just saying a prayer.”

“Save. It. An excuse that fulla holes wouldn’t even work on Kirishima the naif.”

“because nothing gets past the Champion.”

Bakugou erupts, out of unwounded fists to clench, and jerks around with every intention of barking at you. He’s not sure what he pictured before turning and he’s not sure where his voice went, but you are sat beside his fire draped in his black tunic with an expression he can hardly find the words for.

What is it in the way your shoulders hang? Exhaustion? The way your chin tips or your eyes flutter? Hunger? You watch him like you’ll eat him alive, like your life is the least of his concerns. The laces at your collar drape limp over your fingers from where you gave up their tying and so the shirt hangs loose and open, and much much too big. Bakugou has never thought of the shape your sternum makes between your breasts or what color the fine hair on your thighs might be. He knows the answers now because you’ve given up on posture like a selkie out of water and everything so unlike his Captain– because something inside of you is slipping.

“don’t bother the Champion with this,” your voice is still draconian. Even as your body fails, your eyes are still dark and infinite and possessive beside the glow of his fireplace and under a window that looks out over black water, “or Lady Mina, or your Lords. Don’t worry them with me.”

Bakugou mirrors you unconsciously in the way he sits close enough to touch. Why do you say that? You keep saying it, ‘Lady Mina,’ all month the same thing. Sir Sero, like he’s not a soldier in Jeanist’s rear guard. Like Mina and Denki didn’t grow up in the castle with you all to learn magic fifteen years ago.

“They’re not,” he admits because something about you unraveling by the sea sucks the malice like marrow from his bones. Maybe something inside of him is slipping too.

The pair of you slouch on the soft rugs from home and sticky with foreign salt, looking. Your next smile seems to take every ounce of strength, “what?”

“They’re not lords.”

And in a rush, such horror ignites in the eaves of this tiny room like an Alderan dollhouse. It is a grease fire film of oil on water. He is the match. You drop your head to your shoulder and start to laugh like Bakugou isn’t watching the life evaporate from the top of your head and out his window in the heat that pinks your cheeks and blotches your chest. You laugh like you have life to spare, “course they’re not.”

You manage enough coordination to hold the chest of his tunic closed with one hand as you rise, still giggling bitter, nothing like the bells you rang for Todoroki.

“Stop–” Bakugou reaches for you as you walk past him towards the door but stops short of touching even the air.

“dream something sweet Highness, I won’t interrupt again.”

“Oi, wait–” He gathers himself awkwardly barefoot and still dripping seawater, to catch the door before you pull it open. You bow your head and reach for the knob at the same time as he manages to slam his palm and weight against it in case you decide you have enough life left to fight.

“Told you, you’re not leaving my sight.”

Maybe staring isn’t so much a habit as it is a system to keep you from collapsing under the weight of Alderan sun. You who watch the world carefully so that when you attack it is silent and succinct. As long as you’re only looking, just watching carefully, the world will never be in danger of you spilling the secrets obvious only to you, and your kingdom won’t have to acknowledge the war crimes it takes to teach a kid how to kill.

Bakugou looms above you and rests against his door on a forearm. You raise your head like it’s lead to look at him. Your mouth even opens to speak but then something like fire punches to life in the blacks of your eyes.

It’s not a blink this time, it’s a stutter at first– and your face is so flushed that it almost looks like you’re glowing– before something you see feeds the kindling to roaring. For a blessed second you aren’t smiling. You stare so deeply into your prince he can’t look away for long enough to realize that you’re reaching for him.

Why? Why are you leaning closer?

The first heat pools at the hinge of his jaw and then scalding follows. Why are your hands so hot? You pinch his earlobe between thumb and pinky and let your fingers graze over the ridges of ear just so gently that sparks itch where sweat prickles at his neck.

It’s still for a second before chills, agonizing, erupt up his spine, bone by bone as he realizes– as your prince’s face drops and his own hand jumps to reach his ears and what’s no longer there. His right hand grasps at Alderan gold, a tiny sun. His left only cups yours, so much smaller– and the ghost of your earring lost somewhere deep at sea. Six and bleeding in his hands, all grown up and at his mercy.

“I hate you.” You smile in anguish.

You don’t bother pulling your hand from his, only rest your head against the door and let your heavy eyes finally close. Nothing to hold back the freshwater tears now.

Bakugou almost isn’t fast enough in his shock to catch you when you begin to slide down the wall in collapse, “Y– shit– Y/n!” One hand pulls up on your own and the other reaches around your back to try and bring you into him instead of hard against the wooden floor like he’s still a prince and not just a man whose heart won’t stop racing.

“Y/n? Y/n,” he shuffles you in his lap where you landed, and breathes the shapes he hopes make the sound of your name as he searches, distracted. You are limp in his arms and entirely too warm to have been freezing to death a few minutes ago. Lips parted and rolling like you’re trying to speak. Running to safety with you on his shoulder, the seachill must have hidden your fever from him. He cradles your head to check for blood and holds your cheek when his fingers come out dry from your hair, "c'mon, Captain."

“majesty..”

Your heartbreaking laughter still bubbles up in quiet sobs and incoherence murmured through abandoned ego, “..m sorry,” when you manage to see through the tears for a moment before falling unconscious again. Every apology laced always with “mitsuki.” You must have been holding it back. You must have been keeping the fever at bay by sheer force of will because now on the floor against him, your body is so hot it’s making his chest clammy. Sweat has soaked into the nooks of your black tunic and pools in salt licks between your breasts. Fuck Alderan fire.

Your prince gathers your shoulders and chest, your waist hips and exhaustion, into a bundle in his arms and pulls himself up with his doorknob because he will not let you drown, he will not let you freeze, and you will not win by setting yourself on fire. As he rises, blood leaks again from your nose. Tears fall aimlessly against his heart split to six like a pomegranate. When Bakugou is king there will be no child soldiers.

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tagged angels ✧.* @nnubee @nonomesupposedto @zombiewarprincess @kotarousproperty @strawberry-mentos69 @sveetnn @lunrai @km7474 @arayoflia @cathwritestragediesnotsins @idimmadontgiveashit @kooromin @k1tk4tkatsuki @litiri @kiwibao @sarcasticlittlebook @condy-wants-a-cookie @mysticalfridge @falling4fandoms @katanaski @romiinlove @cherripunch26 @acid-rain27 @bakugouswh0r3 @zukowantshishonourback @ultracrii @chandiewashere @screechingdreameater @mecuryxmoonstone @onlysarcasm @ilovemushroomss @when-you-are-just-done @levisbae2 @flyhighinthesky @1astr0id1 @thebluespacecow @mizzfizz @butterscotch-ripple-icecream @phoenix-draws77 @ltadoriyuujl

#told you ch 12 was steamy #insofar as its hot and wet #can you tell im the eldest daughter?#a hymn to black water #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #fantasy bakugou #fantasy bakugo #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha fantasy au #mha fantasy au #bakugou fantasy au #bakugo fantasy au

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green-eyedfirework · 13 days

Text

It starts on a windswept evening in Bludhaven. Dick is running across rooftops, breath caught in his throat and wind roaring past his ears, using every trick in the book to remain one step ahead of his pursuer. The sound of sirens shriek in the distance, evidence of the police presence Dick managed to attract. Somewhere amidst the cacophony is a crooked mob accountant being placed into police—and, hopefully, protective—custody.

He did just almost get assassinated, after all.

Dick doesn’t stutter, doesn’t falter, doesn’t fall, but it doesn’t matter. He’s not fast enough. On the next rooftop, a steel grip latches onto his shoulder and hauls him back—before Dick can raise his escrima for an attack he’s slammed against the brick of the rooftop access door hard enough to squeeze the breath from his lungs.

By the time he blinks the dark spots free, his escrima are gone, his wrists are above his head and squeezed in an inescapable grip, and there’s a gloved hand wrapping around his throat and pushing his head up to stare directly at the orange-and-black mask of his pursuer.

Dick grins.

“You’re too clever for your own good, little bird,” Deathstroke growls, and they’re inches apart, close enough that Deathstroke’s gun holster is digging against Dick’s stomach in a way that makes him want to shiver.

“Really?” Dick asks, testing how much space he has to move. Deathstroke doesn’t budge an inch. Dick’s mouth feels very dry. “I think I’m just clever enough.”

“No,” Deathstroke disagrees. His thumb rests on the underside of Dick’s jaw. “Because then you would’ve realized that getting rid of my target meant that there would be no one left. Except you.”

Something sinks inside of him, deeper than his stomach, a flash Dick almost doesn’t recognize. But he’s not paying attention to it, because there is a mercenary pinning him to a wall in a grip he can’t squirm out of, and charm is just another tool in his arsenal.

“Oh?” Dick asks, voice sly. “What’re you going to do about it?”

Deathstroke makes a low, inarticulate sound, and the hand around Dick’s throat leaves to instead pull the man’s mask off. The mercenary looks incandescent, eye narrowed and roiling, expression twisted into a snarl, and Dick doesn’t have any time to react before a fist twists in his hair and holds him still for the mouth that plunders his.

Dick makes a shocked sound and Deathstroke swallows it, taking like Dick is just a limp ragdoll to be used as he pleases, and this time Dick definitely registers the warmth of arousal. He can’t move—the fingers in his hair tighten to the point of pain to force him on his tiptoes, the hand holding his wrists feels like it could crush his bones, and Deathstroke has caged him so effectively that Dick can’t even try to dash himself against the bars.

The fire inside of him grows.

It’s not the first time they’ve kissed, it’s just. It’s never felt like this before.

Dick makes the smallest of whimpers as Deathstroke shifts, the weight pressing against him something his body classifies as extremely hot, but the mercenary moves back and not forward, disengaging the kiss.

“Why did you stop?” Dick pants, peering up at Slade’s faint frown. The fingers in his hair have loosened as well.

“You sounded hurt.”

“I’m fine,” Dick says, aware that he’s already half-hard and his cup is getting quite painful. He pouts at Slade. “Can we get back to the kissing?”

Slade makes an irritated noise and lets go, stepping back for good measure, and a part of Dick cries in disappointment. “And give you more incentive to try this shit again?” the mercenary huffs. “No. Get lost, kid. If I see you again, I’ll shoot you.”

“Mm-hmm.” Dick darts forward and braces himself against Slade’s broad shoulders to get a quick peck. Slade grumbles but doesn’t try to stop him. “Sure you don’t want to come to my place for a consolatory drink?”

Slade looks unimpressed. “Does that line actually work?”

Dick smiles up at him, still leaning against the mercenary’s solid bulk. “I don’t know,” he says, low and languid, “you tell me.”

Slade’s eye darkens and Dick laughs as he’s pulled in for another dizzying kiss.

~#~

The encounter is as satisfying as ever, Slade is an attentive lover, and Dick curls up, sated and spent, in the mercenary’s warm arms when he’s done.

But.

It didn’t feel the same.

It didn’t feel like it did on the rooftop, exhilarating, electricity with a thread of danger, and Dick isn’t sure why.

He’s got a taste of it, and he wants more.

~#~

The next time is months later—this time, Slade’s playing security not assassin, and unfortunately for him, Dick may have accidentally kinda sorta exploded the collection of chemicals that he was supposed to be guarding.

“Sorry?” Dick tries, escrima already out as he faces Deathstroke across the catwalk. The nearest perch is too far to reach and Deathstroke is advancing, a solid line of threat.

“Sorry?” Deathstroke echoes, and he’s unsheathed his sword. “Sorry?” Dick jumps back before it bisects him in two, and oops, looks like he’s really pissed Slade off this time. “Is sorry going to put half a million dollars in my bank account?”

“Half a million dollars?” Dick says, momentarily distracted. “I didn’t know they had that kind of cash.” He ducks the swing of the sword and jabs up with the escrima and curses when all Slade does is shudder. “You sure they could’ve paid you in the first place?”

Dick’s too close—too close for Deathstroke to swing that overcompensation he calls a sword, but also too close for Dick to dodge Slade’s retaliatory swipe. It sends him crashing into the catwalk railing, stunned and breathless, and before he can get back up, his escrima are yanked from his grip and tossed to the floor below.

Slade’s in his personal space now, and fighting hand-to-hand against Deathstroke is never anything but a losing game. Dick loses fast and hard, ending up bent over the railing, metal digging into his hipbones, hands twisted behind his back.

“You cost me a paycheck, kid,” Deathstroke growls. Dick is shoved further over the railing, hanging in the void a solid thirty feet above the warehouse floor, and the only thing keeping him from falling is Deathstroke’s grip.

Dick swallows against the vertigo, faintly dizzy, heart beating fast and throat tight. “I’ll make it up to you,” he manages, breathy from adrenaline and not by choice.

Deathstroke presses closer, until Dick can feel his weight layering on top of him, the precarious angle doing something to Dick’s head. “Yes,” Slade says, low and dark and dangerous, “you will.”

Dick’s blood rushes south so fast he gets dizzy. He’s suspended thirty feet off the ground, the warehouse is in chaos below them, Slade’s a heavy, present threat against his ass, and all Dick can think is no, not here, he wouldn’t. He makes a sound closer to a whimper than he’d like.

The world spins inhumanely fast and when Dick can see again, vision blurry and breaths too fast, he’s standing on the catwalk. Slade’s hands are on his shoulders. “You okay?” the mercenary asks, voice gruffer and gentler than it had been a minute ago.

“‘M fine,” Dick says automatically. “Just—got a little dizzy.” No—that wasn’t what—Dick doesn’t know what did happen, only that he feels strangely off-kilter and Slade’s hovering isn’t helping.

Slade stays silent for a beat too long, clearly not buying it, his grip firm on Dick as he looks over the catwalk.

Dick is breathing hard—and abruptly aware that a certain part of him is aching. He presses himself closer to Slade and breathes out, “You wanna take this somewhere more private?”

Slade keeps him at arm’s length and flicks his forehead. “Fuck off, kid. I need to go shake someone down for what money they will give me. Get your ass out of here before you blow up something else.”

“Technically the explosion wasn’t my fault!” Dick calls after the retreating mercenary. He feels like sulking and he doesn’t even know why.

~#~

He gets himself off when he gets home, once, twice, and a painful thrice. He still feels unsatisfied. Dick growls and does his best to block out the memory of Slade’s dark threat reverberating in his ears.

~#~

It can’t be the heights. They’ve fucked on rooftops before, though admittedly never quite so close to the edge. It can’t be the threat of being seen, there was once when they almost were caught and the situation had been more boner-killing than arousing.

It can’t be the roughness, Slade is plenty rough during sex and Dick has never felt like that. That thrill that goes deep into his toes, like adrenaline pricking at every part of him, like Dick is freefalling without a net, half terrified and half excited and all gleeful—

Oh.

Dick runs the situations back over in his head—Slade, forcing that kiss, and Dick pinned in place unable to fight it, and then Slade holding him down and insinuating what he wants while Dick hung helpless…

It’s the danger he wants. The thrill and the fear. Taking the world’s deadliest mercenary to bed isn’t enough, not when there’s a part of him that knows that if Slade truly wanted to ruin him, Dick wouldn’t be able to stop him.

The thought should not be making him hard. It is.

Dick imagines the warehouse again. Imagines Slade bending him over the railing, threatening to drop him, ripping the back of his suit open. Imagines Slade shoving into him, hard and rough, with no thought or care for Dick’s pleasure. Imagines his inability to move as Slade fucks him, cries ringing out, begging Slade to stop, please, while the mercenary just laughs—

Dick comes so hard his vision goes white.

He returns to himself, panting hard, staring up at the ceiling, hand wet and sticky. Well. That was his answer.

Fuck.

~#~

For a half-second Dick imagines trying to bring this up with Slade before violently shutting that thought down. Nope. He has no wish to see Slade’s reaction to that.

~#~

Even if labeling his desire has made him all the more desperate.

~#~ Even if Dick really really wants it.

#my snippets #sladick #kink discovery #enemies with benefits

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sprout-fics · 1 year

Note

I love dark konig. He just tickles the brain pickle yknow?

I loved when konig noticed how small the reader was, this dude would just straight up, if he thinks you’ve been hurt or gone against him too much, would just scoop u up or curl around u entirely like a human cage. He’s a big dude, and dark konig ain’t afraid to use it.

See also: Huge man goes feral trying to protect smol, injured girlfriend

(Little Mouse Masterlist)

Their guns are trained on him.

Eyes bright, wide, intent on their target, the members of the 141 level their sights at the massive man before them, their voices loud, thunderous as they bark orders, commands. It sounds like the churn of a supercell in your ears, clouds grinding black and flashing with fatal streaks of lightning. The wind seems to lift you from your feet, carry you away into the funnel cloud descending low and ominous on the horizon. A cataclysm.

You can barely keep your eyes open. Your attacker's blade still sits deep in your shoulder, unable to stem the tide of red that blooms around it like scarlet fever. It's warm, wet against the shirt under your tac vest. With every pulse you feel it gush crimson against your body, your thoughts.

They're so close, your allies. If you could find the strength to reach them, to lift your arm in search of their aid, you know they will rush to you, hands descending and voices firm, worried, angry you went off on your own, managed to get yourself stabbed. It was a foolish decision, a stupid one. You had sauntered forward thinking that perhaps he would be there, would trace your steps from the shadows, would keep you safe from those who would do you harm.

He had. A moment too late.

König had roared when the blade carved into your shoulder, sounding for all the world like a descending missile, cleaving apart the heavens as it rocketed downwards towards earth.

He'd ripped the man apart with his bare hands.

Yet that touch was gentle as it landed on you, dragging you onto him, cradling you against his chest even as his fingers stained red at your wound. His voice softer, tender, fearful at the way your strength seemed to fail you, one hand uselessly trying to push him away, knowing it was a futile effort.

"Maus. Maus can you hear me?!"

It's bad. You've had enough injuries, enough near-death experiences by now to know the severity of your injury. It may have nicked an artery, unleashed a tide of warmth that even now seeps down your shoulder like the Nile turned red by plague.

He'd shushed you when you whimpered, hooded face hovering over yours as he muttered nervously in German, the undercurrent of rage ever present in his words. The sight of his eyes had been enough to briefly dull the pain- shocked, frantic, afraid.

"Stay still, Maus. I'll get you out of here, I'll take care of you. Keep your eyes open."

The whisper of the anathema inside you, of the secret, hidden piece inside of you that had almost wanted to see him fluttered helplessly against his fingertips when he had searched for your pulse. You couldn't answer him, trying to find the balance between pain and the forbidden need to have him call you that again, his special name just for you.

Then the world had shifted, and König had snarled, arms securing around you and dragging you to him. His behemoth frame curled over yours, caging you in from all sides as he crouched over your broken body, a single massive arm keeping you tucked against his chest protectively. Keeping you safe, keeping you safe from them.

Ghost and the others had nearly fired on him, almost missing your smaller figure tucked into his front, obscured by his arms as he shielded you from their sights. When you had lifted your head towards them the world had spun dizzyingly, wavering like a desert mirage.

"Rookie! Get away from him!"

"She's hurt."

"Fuck! Can you hear us?!"

It had been Soap who had lifted his gun first, voice nothing less than murderous as he glared at your guardian, eyes glinting like steel, promising violence.

"Did you do this to her?!"

König hadn't answered, his only response being that of the low growl in his chest, the imperceptible shiver of his hands cradling you into his front.

"Don't worry, Vöglein." He murmurs, and the sound of his voice feels lush and soft in the confines of your thoughts, that of a friend. "I'll keep you safe."

Your reply curls across your tongue, and your answer is one you'll never be able to speak. Not here, in front of them, where they can hear the true revelations buried deep inside you. Maybe someday, outside this theatre of war, you'll consider them once more- the truth of them pale and delicate like edelweiss that blooms in the waning warmth of summer.

"I know I'll be safe with you."

---

Taglist (Reply or reblog to be tagged)

@nijiluvbot

#König #könig x you #konig x reader #könig x reader #call of duty #fic: little mouse #asks #requests #Keep upping the stakes with these two and I'm not sorry about it

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xxladyballadxx · 7 months

Text

Reunited

Richter Belmont x f! reader

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Summary: Richter never thought he would see his long lost childhood friend, (Y/n) (L/n). When they were both children, the two of them got separated during the invasion in London. An army of vampires attacked the city, the war tore the two apart from each other.

Nine years later, he bumped into someone he knew from his past...

Note: Nothing to do with the events from the story. This is something I unexpectedly came up with. If you don't like this, don't read it then.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Richter scouted ahead with Maria and the revolutionary group, checking to see if there were any vampires to hunt down. They summoned their weapons when a band of vampires with a human girl ambushed them. A few children were being held captives by them. Richter and Maria wondered why they have that bruised human girl dressed in ruins with them, why her hands have been chained. Ashes of black and small pale bruises were noticed on her face. The commander of the vampire clan grasps one of the children roughly, the poor woman watches in horror as he swiftly places the blade close to the child’s neck threatening her if she doesn’t transform into her elemental goddess form. The woman had no energy to do so since she was in her weakened condition during her fight against people that she had been forced to kill. The prisoner had the chains off her hands, she grunted after being kicked in the back, her body slammed the ground. “Transform or else those children will die!”

(Y/n) coughed, her head held up. The vampire threw a rapier sword towards her, “If you can’t transform! Then you will have to fight them with steel!”

And so in order to protect the children, she obeyed him. The girl slides her hand to reach the hilt of the rapier sword. She rises from the dirt, readying herself to fight the target, “Let my life come to an end…”

Richter crashes through the vampires and faces towards the girl. The prisoner twirls in the air and begins her attack on him. “Shit!” The Belmont evaded and dashed to the side. The two fought against each other as Maria and the revolutionary group focused on killing the vampires coming their way.

“No more….NO MORE!” The prisoner cried, switching from fire to using wind magic. She blasts the Belmont away and tries to pierce her sword through him.

Richter dodged, lashing his whip at her. “Ugh!” The girl grunted, elicited the hit from his whip. She shot the ice cold spikes aiming towards him. “Disappear!” The girl shouted, her voice hinting of pain. Richter could tell that she had been forced to do this, seeing the suffering in her sorrowful eyes.

As the girl spun up in the air, striking towards him. Richter unsheathed his sword and blocked her attack quickly, their blades clicking together, “For fuck’s sake!”

With his sword being pressed on by hers, Richter looked deeply into the girl’s face, her eyes and everything. Memories of his only childhood friend flooded in his mind.

It was her…

It was (Y/n)….his long lost childhood friend.

Before Richter could call out to her, Maria summoned her magical glowing birds to move (Y/n) away in a distance. “Maria, wait! Don’t hurt her!” Richter sticks out his hand, giving her a sign to not harm (Y/n). Too late, Maria summoned her turtle close to (Y/n), knocking her out as she dropped to the grass , “Finally, I can be at peace…” she mumbled her final words as if she was about to die. (Y/n) shut her eyes slowly, her consciousness fading after being hit by that summoned turtle.

“(Y/n)!” Richter dropped to his knees, carrying (Y/n) in his strong arms. Maria rushed off to see Richter holding the girl in her arms, “Richter, why are you-“

“I fucking told you not to hurt her!” Richter shouted, his hand caressing (Y/n)’s cheek. He was too focused on her. A single tear dropped down the girl’s face, her unconscious face tilted to the side.

“Richter…” Maria walked closer to take a glance at (Y/n), “do you know this girl?”

Richter embraced (Y/n) close to him, her head resting on his chest, “I do.” He stands up to carry her in his arms, his blue ocean eyes showing a spiral of sadness, “We were friends ever since childhood. She was the only friend I had since we were both children.”

“You two seem pretty close…” Says Maria, feeling apologetic for harming the girl. The group came back with the children they saved, they asked Maria what to do with them since they have no one or nowhere to go to. The group were being told to take care of them for a while till they find them a home to go to.

Richter held unconscious (Y/n) close, carrying her as he headed straight home with Maria, “(Y/n)...” he mumbled her name in a soft , sad-concerning face looking down at her.

~~~~~𖤓~~~~~

After (Y/n) was saved by Richter and Maria, Tera laid her to rest in the extra room upstairs. Nursing her back to health, doing everything she can to wake up Richter’s dear lost friend.

Richter couldn’t believe his own eyes after fighting (Y/n) without even realizing it was his dear friend from his past. When the vampires attacked London nine years ago, he assumed that (Y/n) was killed during the attack.

How come she’s here? In France?

How did she survive?

Where did she get those strange powers from?

A few days have passed, (Y/n) hasn’t woken up yet. Richter checked up on her a few times, growing concerned for his childhood friend. He begged her to wake up. Her eyes remained closed.

One night, while Tera and Maria were sleeping, Richter headed off to the room where (Y/n) was resting, he pulled up a chair next to her and sat down. Just sitting there, watching an unmoving (Y/n) sleeping to the window. A moon shone through the glass pane, its radiant light shimmering on (Y/n)’s resting face.

Richter smiled softly, admiring how beautiful she is. Grown into a fine young lady. He reached his hand out to hers, his thumb rubbing her knuckles in gentle circles.

“Please wake up, (Y/n)...” he murmured, wanting her to open her eyes…

…Still her eyes stayed closed

~~~~~𖤓~~~~~

The very next day, Richter and Maria came back from the revolutionary meeting. Talking about a bunch of politics that bore the hell out of Richter while he sat by the tree, pretending like he was listening.

Tera came rushing down the stairs, “Richter!” She called out his name, walking towards him as she began to tell him the good news, “Your dear friend, (Y/n)...she’s finally awake!”

Richter was clouded with shock after hearing this. Maria huffed in annoyance, giving him a smack on the back and yelled, “Well, what are you waiting for?! Go to her, you stupid fool!”

“R-right!” Tera moved out of the way as Richter jogged upstairs, rushing off desperately just to finally see her. He swung open the door and saw a conscious (Y/n) sitting at the side of the bed, looking through the window.

“(Y/n)?” Richter made her turn around when he said her name loud and clear. (Y/n) set her eyes on him, her face fell into shock, “R-Richter?!” She rose up, looking deeply into his blue eyes. (Y/n) took a moment to finally recognise him, a few drops of tears flowing into her eyes, “It’s you…it really is you!”

Richter smiled softly, relieved to see his very dear friend, “It is. After nine years, I…I thought you were dead. (Y/n), I…” he lost the words to say to her after not seeing her for so long, assuming that she was killed by the vampires in London.

“I thought I would never see you again, Richter…” (Y/n) sobbed tearfully, she never dreamt this day seeing him again. Richter pulled her into his arms, his hand placed on her head while the other on the back.

“We will never lose each other again…as long as we stay together..”

||Here’s a second part to this!||

↳ To Love and To Cherish

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

(A/n) - I really don't know whether to like this or not. I kinda rushed it. Well, hope you all like this though!

UNTIL NEXT TIME 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

#castlevania #castlevania nocturne #richter belmont #castlevania x reader #castlevania nocturne x reader #richter belmont imagine #richter belmont x reader #x f!reader #castlevania imagine

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fanfoolishness · 2 months

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Headcanons from the (first) Kashyyyk mission

So there was supposed to be an arc with the Batch on Kashyyyk in S7 of Clone Wars, but like Dark Disciple it didn’t get a chance. But I still like to think of the Batch each finding a moment on Kashyyyk where the war receded into the background, and they felt something new:

Wrecker has never seen trees like this. They soar up into the clouds, trunks the size of cruisers, villages spiraling up into the trunks. As the others scout ahead he rests his hand on a vast trunk, so large around its surface almost seems flat instead of curved. The wood beneath his palm feels invincible. For the first time in his life, he feels small in a way the steel and sea and rain of Kamino never had achieved.

Echo takes a deep breath. The smells of smoke on the battlefield, blaster fire and droid grease are thick on the ground, but behind that he catches gusts of a green and living scent rich and raw and real. Water mists on his face, cutting through the grime of battle. It’s nothing like the sterility of Skako Minor, and he breathes deeper, waiting for another hint of green.

Tech’s ears perk up at chatter in the trees. He’s adding fluency in Shyriiwook to his list of languages, filing away each growl and utterance in his mind, cross-referencing with his translator, putting it together. But Kashyyyk is a whirlwind of other sounds, too, and he catalogues and isolates each one as fast as he can in the downtime between the next assault. Spiders insects birds water leaves, the sounds of blaster fire in the distance mingling with the songs of night creatures in the lower canopies, the sighs and flows of the forest. His mind buzzes with it. He records three data cards’ worth of memory in two hours.

Hunter’s senses jangle, whole streams of information coming in through every sense he’s got. This place is absolutely exploding with life at every turn, and it’s a cacophony that takes him a few hours to acclimate to. But even when he’s got a handle on it, there’s still a buzz and a hum he feels more than hears, a webbing that’s got nothing to do with the giant spiders, a connection between… well, everything. It’s a pulse in the soil from tree to tree, the wind carrying animal calls and tree pollen alike, the crackle of mycelia deep in the soil underfoot. He could live here a dozen years and never untangle all of it. But he might like the challenge.

They might be supposedly safe here, but Crosshair still scans the environment, searching for signs of anything suspicious. His vision glides over bark in a dozen shades of brown and gray, smatters of jewel-bright mosses and lichens, vines in flowers of scarlet, violet, gold. There’s creatures, too, scampering furry things of tawny gold with tufted tails, the jet-black glitter of massive spider eyes, insects half the size of clankers with emerald wings and kaleidoscopic scales. The sky peeks through the ceiling of leaf and canopy, and for an instant, he catches just a glimpse across the blue: the silver shimmer of translucent feathers, the suggestion of enormous wingbeats, the shadow of a long and sinuous tail. His eyes sting. He blinks away the water from them, his chest feeling oddly light.

#the bad batch #tbb #the bad batch headcanons #tbb echo #tbb wrecker #tbb crosshair #tbb Hunter #tbb tech #kashyyyk #shyyyo bird #wrecker tbb #echo tbb #tech tbb #Hunter tbb #Crosshair tbb #my batcher fic

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macbethsymphony · 7 days

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The Swordsman and the Blacksmith | Chapter 2

Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Chapter wc: 3.2k

Chapter rating: SFW

Content/Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Fem!Reader, Enemies to lovers, SLOW slow burn, Eventual smut

Summary: Your skills as a blacksmith have made you desirable to both the government and pirates. You know you have to leave this island if you want to escape your fate, but that doesn't make the choice of leaving any easier. Roronoa Zoro is intrigued by your skills as a blacksmith. Your work is like nothing he's ever seen before. Unfortunately, you're hot-headed and he's rude and you both definitely hate each other.

Chapter [1]

Slowly crossposting from AO3 Feel like binging the rest of it? it's all there!

Chapter 2: Join my crew!

Nothing could have prepared Roronoa Zoro for what he was about to witness. He wasn’t sure what he’d imagined when he’d heard about the blacksmith woman. Maybe something along the lines of tall and muscular. Someone a little gruff in attitude, rough at the edges. Someone a little older, stern, dedicated to their craft. Someone a little like that old man from his childhood. Well, anything but the woman who was standing before him he guessed.

Here was the witch, so many had warned him about the night before. Small in stature, chubby cheeked and hammering steel with the intensity of a demon. A scowl adorned the otherwise soft features of her face, plump lips muttering something inaudible through the sounds of the forge. What shocked Zoro was not the disparity of his imagination to the reality before him but the sheer display of power present before him.

Dark spirals buzzing with red filaments flowed around the woman in an eerie spectacle. The air was thick, hard to breathe in, and it wasn’t because of the heat of the fires. It felt as though the weight of gravity had doubled and yet, the hair of the blacksmith seemed to float in some kind of wind, flowing in an unnatural underwater-like movement. The woman’s gaze didn’t shift from her work, not registering their presence. The block of steel she was working was the same familiar black as Shusui. It was clearly infused with haki. But everything he knew told him that should be impossible. What in the hells was he seeing? His breath hitched in awe for a second. This display of power… it looked right out of a fairy tale illustration. The control she exerted. It was beautiful. Luffy was just as speechless as he was, beads of sweat forming under the rim of his straw hat.

Zoro took a step forward, standing next to his captain. The air crackled, the tyranny of the aura surrounding the woman doubling in intensity as proximity increased. He suddenly had a hard time regulating his breaths, sweat forming on his brow. Deep down he knew this was haki. He knew this wasn’t some mythical demonstration of power. But rationality had no place in his mind right now. A witch. Magic. It was the only way he could describe the manifestation of raw power this woman was conjuring.

“I’ll wait outside,” Robin said blood slowly draining from her face. Zoro grunted, unable to peel his eyes of from the woman.

“Is that? Is that conqueror’s haki? Armament haki? I can’t tell.” Luffy pondered in amazement. Zoro wondered the same, the questions he’d had multiplying.

The blacksmith’s relentless hammering continued, still oblivious to their presence. Each strike reverberated through the air with the intensity of a war drum. Thumps carrying hypnotizing waves of raw energy that hummed right through their bodies. Luffy, ever the curious fool, took a step closer, his eyes wide with wonder. Despite the oppressive aura emanating from the woman’s presence, he couldn’t contain his fascination with the incredible mastery of haki presented before him. The pirate captain reached out a hand, drawn to the block of steel being forged before him. Every cell in Zoro was telling him that this situation was dangerous. He quickly grabbed his captain’s collar dragging him back.

“Oi! Luff-” Zoro started.

“Hey! Witch!” Luffy cut him off, unable to restrain his excitement. “What kind of haki are you using? It’s amazing!”

Her strike halted midair, hammer dropping with a loud clang to the floor. The clear surprise on her features didn’t last long, her previous scowl returning with a vengeance.

“Huh?” She shouted. “Witch?” her tone was almost indignant. Crackling red followed her eyes, leaving a faint line in the air as her gaze settled on them. Zoro couldn’t help the flinch in his shoulders at the pure look of rage directed to him. Abrasive had been an understatement. This woman was clearly insane. The red and black energy intensified, seemingly matching the intensity of the woman’s anger. “The fuck did you just call me?” She shrieked, taking a step forward.

“Ah! Sorry, sorry” Luffy rubbed his neck sheepishly. “I’m Monkey D. Luffy, the man who’s going to become king of the pirates. And this is Zoro, the man who’s going to become the greatest swordsman in the world,” he continued completely oblivious to the situation. “You’re the witch, right? The one they speak about in town? You should join my crew!”

The scowl on her face deepened at that last part, clearly hitting a sensitive nerve. Zoro twitched at his captain’s antics. They didn’t know this woman. No way he’d let her join just like that.

“Your crew? The fuck are you pirates doing barging in MY workshop anyways?” she asked, hand moving towards a knife at her belt. The movement didn’t escape Zoro’s eye. His stance widened, hand reaching towards his swords, ready for a fight.

“(Y/n)! That’s enough!” The woman from outside barked, quick strides carrying her in front of him and Luffy in a protective stance. Zoro’s hand froze on the hilt of his sword, eye not leaving the blacksmith’s form. “This tantrum of yours needs to stop. NOW! (Y/n)!” she pleaded to the blacksmith before turning to Luffy. “And you. You,” she started indignantly, her index poking the rubber man in the chest repeatedly as she tried to find the words she wanted to say. “I literally told you not to get in here. Show an ounce of respect, would you?” She chastised.

Zoro watched as the small woman took in a deep breath, visibly calming herself down. A look of guilt passed through her eyes before they dropped to the floor in embarrassment. The heaviness in the air dissipated quickly, black spirals disappearing into thin air as if they had been an illusion. She took off her leather apron, letting it fall to the ground before quickly stepping past them and out of the building. He watched as she disappeared through the trees. With her presence gone, he lets his hand drift away from the hilt of his sword, stance relaxing.

Luffy grinned at the taller woman lecturing him, seemingly unfazed by the recent events. “My bad! Maly” he exclaimed, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.

“It’s Mary! M-a-r-y” she corrected him in annoyance. Luffy laughed.

“Luffy, Zoro” Robin, kicked in, clearly uncomfortable with the events that just transpired. “Should we get going?”

“Ehhh, already?” Luffy complained. “But, we just got here,” he kicked his foot in the dust, pouting, clearly having absolutely no intention of leaving.

The woman named Mary sighed. “Would you like some tea? We don’t have much, but I made cookies this morning. If you’d like some before going on your way back, you’re welcome to stay for a while. After all you’ve trekked all the way here, just for this to happen,” she gestured to the surroundings with her hands.

Mary's offer of food seemed to brighten Luffy's spirits instantly. His eyes lit up with excitement, and he nodded vigorously, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Cookies sound great! Thanks, Mady!" The woman groaned at her name being butchered once again.

As she led them into a makeshift living space, the atmosphere shifted from the darkness of the forge to a warm, cozy environment. Fresh flowers were scattered all over the room, the scent of freshly brewed tea wafted through the air, and a plate of cookies sat invitingly on the table. Mary gestured for them to sit, and Luffy wasted no time, grabbing a handful of cookies and shoving them into his mouth. Robin smiled politely as she took a sip out of the cup presented to her.

Zoro stayed standing. He couldn’t help but remain alert, his eyes scanning the surroundings. He half-expected another unexpected turn of events, a rage induced return of the blacksmith girl. He wasn't one to easily trust the calm that followed a storm, especially when it came to powerful and unpredictable encounters like just now.

Mary took a seat across from them, her eyes glancing towards the door as her gaze followed Zoro’s eye. "I apologize for (Y/n)'s behavior,” she said, pouring herself a cup of tea. “My sister's passionate about her work and doesn't take kindly to uninvited guests, still this was heavily uncalled for on her part," she continued, pouring tea into her own cup. “She’s just on edge these days,” her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “She’s not usually like that,” she added under her breath, a whisper barely perceptible they all heard.

Luffy, momentarily paused in his cookie feast, looking genuinely curious. "These days?” he asked at the same time as Robin.

Her gaze dropped down to the cup in her hands, thumb rubbing the edge in a soothing movement. “We’ve had quite a few unwelcome visitors, these past few months,” she explained, gaze filled with sadness. “(Y/n) has to take a decision she doesn’t want to take, you see. It’s been keeping her on edge for the past weeks.”

“Visitors?” Robin inquired, voice calm, encouraging the woman to speak on.

“I’m not sure I should be telling you this” she mumbled, tears starting to fill her eyes. The woman’s hesitation was palpable, the weight on her shoulders threatening to crush her at any moment.

Zoro sighed. Another sob story. He honestly wasn’t really interested in getting involved in whatever was happening here. He leaned down to take a cookie, listening from one ear as he decided to explore the surroundings instead. The small black iron objects littered all over the room seemed far more interesting to him than the conversation that was happening in the background.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed, (Y/n)’s skills with steel are somewhat special” Mary explained. “These past few months, both the government and pirates have been showing up demanding she joins them.”

Zoro picked up a small letter opener. The black blade felt strange in his hands, as though the object had a soul of its own. He twirled it absentmindedly in his fingers as he continued his tour of the small room. The balance of the blade was immaculate. He couldn’t help the little smile of satisfaction that donned his lips at the well-crafted blade.

“It’s been taking a toll on her,” Mary carried on. “The constant threats, the demands – It’s pushing her to a breaking point. At first it was nobodies, but ever since that admiral and that Yonko visited, she’s been afraid of the consequences her choices might have on us all.” Her hands dropped to her knees, fingers fiddling with the ruffle of her dress.

“A Yonko came here?” Luffy couldn’t help but ask.

“Yes,” she answered softly. “Red-haired Shanks… He’s not a bad ma-”

“Shanks was here??” Luffy cut her off, incredulous. “Woah, she must be really special,” he mused.

Zoro’s eye settled on a pair of daggers. Even from afar the craftsmanship looked beautiful. He picked one up. He’d been right, flawless balance once again. As he put the dagger back, he noticed a wanted poster.

“Oi! This can’t be for real,” he couldn’t help but turn back to the conversation, poster in hand.

Luffy sauntered over, ever so curious.

“1 billion berries!” he screamed, snatching the poster from Zoro’s hand.

“Yes” Mary answered sadly.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Robin began, a soft frown on her brow. “The way your sister imbues steel with haki is certainly impressive, but it can’t be the only reason the government wants her so badly.”

“You have good instincts,” Mary responded. “It’s… complicated,” She admitted, voice quivering slightly. “You’re right, her ability to infuse haki with steel is impressive but not as impressive as the strength of the weapons she crafts,” her gaze went to a sword mounted over the mantle of the fireplace. “Those swords,” she clarified, “you could say they have a will of their own. The power they give their owner is immeasurable,” she paused. “But in the wrong hands, they’ve also made people go mad,” she finished a dark look in her eyes.

Mad? Zoro was intrigued.

***

You’d been standing outside the door for a while now. At first, you’d thought you’d hide and wait until they’d left to come back in but they’d been talking for a while now. Listening to your sister’s worries broke your heart. All your life you’d done everything you could to shield her from the burdens you had to carry. Your talent came with a price, you knew that. But it was yours to pay, not hers. The both of you had already had to run from island to island ever since your childhood to make sure you were safe. You didn’t want to impose this level of uncertainty to her ever again. This island had been a haven you’d never imagined you could have. And yet. Yet, your selfishness to create had shattered this peace. Your greediness had not only failed to keep her safe, but you’d endangered everyone who had welcomed you here. Your heart shattered in a million pieces as you heard her explain the situation.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the door and stepped back into the room. Your gaze met the curious stares of the boy and woman sitting at the table. You then spotted the taller man reaching for one of the swords mounted above your fireplace.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you, swordsman,” your tone was sharp, the warning clear in it. His movement halted. “The last idiot who tried to unsheathe this one almost lost his one remaining arm to it.” You added as matter of fact.

“What?” He asked incredulously.

You rolled your eyes. Was he fucking dumb or something? You’d literally just explained. “You’ll lose your arm,” you repeated. “You’re too weak for this one,” You stated. His stance shifted a little, frown furrowing his brow.

The tension in the room was palpable as your words hung in the air. The swordsman's gaze narrowed as he regarded you, his hand slowly retracting from the sword as if realizing the gravity of your warning.

"Too weak, huh?" he muttered, his voice low and dangerous.

You didn't flinch at his tone, holding his gaze steadily. "It's not about physical strength," you replied evenly. "These swords have a will of their own. They choose their wielders. And trust me, this one has a particular dislike for those who aren't worthy."

The swordsman's expression hardened, his jaw clenched as he absorbed your words. Beside him, the pirate captain shifted in his seat, clearly wanting to say something.

"Zoro, let's not start a fight," the woman interjected, her voice calm but firm. "We're guests here, remember?"

The swordsman, Zoro, glanced briefly at her before turning his attention back to you, his gaze still sharp. "Fine," he grumbled, reluctantly backing away from the sword.

Your eyes shifted back to the table. You sighed as you took a seat next to your sister. You weren’t so good with words. “I’m sorry,” you said simply. You felt your sister’s hand on yours, encouraging you to continue. “What happened earlier. It was uncalled for on my part. I apologize.” you blurted out with gritted teeth.

Mary’s expression softened as she looked at you, her eyes reflecting a mixture of understanding and relief. “Thank you, (Y/n),” she whispered gently, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t worry about it,” the woman in front of you said. “I’m Robin, by the way, I don’t believe I introduced myself to you before.” The smile she gave you was kind, you felt shy under the empathy in her gaze.

“(Y/n),” You responded.

“Nice to meet you (Y/n),” her tone was friendly. “The interaction between haki and your craftsmanship is truly remarkable. It’s quite the unique skill,” Robin commented. You couldn’t help but feel pride at her comment.

“It’s not that special really,” you mumbled reluctantly.

“Nonsense,” she laughed.

“Yeah!” The boy who had introduced himself as Luffy earlier added. “I’ve never seen someone control haki this way before.”

You felt uncomfortable under their interest in your skills. They seemed genuine but again you weren’t sure of their intentions. People rarely ever had genuine intentions when it came to your skills. You could feel your reservation towards these people coming back as uncertainty clouded your mind again.

“You should join my crew!” Luffy offered after it was clear you weren’t going to say anything. You cought the swordsman’s flinch from the corner of your eye. You couldn’t help the little pang of hurt at such a reaction. It doesn’t matter, you told yourself. You didn’t like the asshole either.

“No,” You answered his proposal bluntly.

“What? But why?” He asked.

“You should go,” you stood up abruptly, the conversation done in your mind.

As you made to leave the room, Mary’s voice stopped you. “Wait, (Y/n),” she said gently, her eyes pleading with you. “They don’t seem like bad people. You should give them a chance!”

“I said no!” you snapped as you left the room.

“It’s alright,” you heard Robin say faintly. “We don’t want to overstay our welcome.” The tone of her voice was considerate.

They were making their way back down the mountain in silence. The condescending tone of your voice as you’d told him he was too weak replayed over and over in Zoro’s mind. He was really annoyed.

“Wait!” he heard a feminine voice shout after them. They stopped in their tracks allowing Mary to catch up to them.

“Here,” she muttered between pants, handing a wooden box to Robin. “As an apology for my sister’s behavior.”

“There’s no need,” Robin tried to hand back the box to the woman.

“No! I insist! They’re just nails, if you ever need to repair your ship or something, nothing will work better than those!” It was clear to Zoro that arguing with the woman was pointless.

“Thank you, then,” Robin accepted with a smile. “I’m sure our shipwright will love them!”

“You should come back tomorrow!” Mary added. “If you have time that is.”

“Why?” Zoro couldn’t help but ask.

“I’ll try to convince her, so please ask her again tomorrow,” she said looking at Luffy.

Zoro could feel the irritation threatening to cloud his mind at the thought.

Luffy, oblivious to Zoro’s irritation, grinned widely. “Sure thing! We’ll come back tomorrow and talk to her again! Right Zoro?” he nudged the swordsman with an elbow.

Zoro grunted in response, not bothering to hide his annoyance. Mary smiled brightly at the captain.

“Thank you!” She yelled running back towards the house, waving farewell energetically.

Luffy was unusually silent as they made their way down, Robin being the one to break the silence instead.

“Luffy,” She started, her tone serious. “I’ll rely on your judgment, but I think we should take her with us.”

“I disagree,” Zoro interjected. “She’s quick to anger and we don’t know her, I vote we leave her here.”

Robin ignored his comment. “I’m worried about what the government wants to do with her,” she admitted. “If anything, we should try to get her out of here. Drop her off somewhere else if she really doesn’t want to tag along,” She continued. “But here… On this island I think she’s in danger.”

Luffy hummed in answer. He looked at Zoro. “I like her,” he said. “She should join our crew.”

Zoro sighed defeated. He hoped you wouldn’t.

#the swordsman and the blacksmith #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x y/n #one piece x reader #zoro x reader

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