#don’t even dare to touch him your fucking one-eyed cat
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he means the world to me your honor ✋🏻😭
#don’t even dare to touch him your fucking one-eyed cat#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk season 2#yuta#yuta okkotsu#yuta x reader#jjk yuta#okkotsu yuuta#yuuta x reader#jjk yuuta#yuuta x you#yuuta x y/n#jujutsu kaisen yuuta#yuuta headcanons#yuuta okkotsu x reader#jjk okkotsu#yuuta okkotsu x you#jujutsu okkotsu#jujutsu kaisen okkotsu#yuuta okkotsu fluff
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Okaeri BkDk Week Day 4
Photographs/ Day Off/ Cooking
Katsuki squinted. “What are you doing?”
Izuku looked like a cartoon, balanced on the tip of his toes to reach the back of the kitchen cabinet.
“I was going to cook! For tomorrow’s picnic.” He held up the multi-layer bento Katsuki had laid out for tomorrow.
The Bakugous and Midoriyas had decided to go on a picnic for Hanami. Flower Viewing. The two families used to often go when Katsuki and Izuku were young and the tradition continued.
It wasn’t a day off per say, the two heroes were still on call but not on active duty. Even the Wonder Duo needed time off now and then for their family.
“And give everyone food poisoning?” Katsuki deadpanned. “Don’t you dare touch my stove!”
Izuku grabbed Katsuki by the shoulders before he could snatch the spatula from him and pushed him out of the kitchen. “You always cook, let me do it for once.”
“There’s a reason I cook nerd.”
Izuku was going to ruin his kitchen and turn it upside down, Katsuki’s gut screamed at him to stop.
But his husband’s optimistic, radiant, freckled smile had always been Katsuki’s downfall, bending to his ridiculous requests and every whim and fancy.
“Let me pamper you once in a while.” Izuku kissed him sweetly and promptly threw him out of the kitchen.
“Pampering doesn’t mean doubling my work.” Katsuki sweatdropped. Sighing, he made himself comfortable on the armchair, Cracker curled up in his lap with a book in his hand.
It wasn’t all that bad to put his legs up for a while and take it easy. A quiet, relaxing evening—
A loud booming voice jolted Cracker right off his lap.
“Deku! Don’t use your damn phone while cooking!” Katsuki hollered from the living room.
“I need it for the recipe!” He yelled back.
“I’m coming in!”
“Nooooo! Kacchan!” Izuku shooed him out, threatening to chuck the spatula at him.
Katsuki is mildly offended. “You’re going to set of the fire alarm.”
“That was one time.”
“I’ll only watch over!”
“Nah!”
At this rate, tomorrow’s Hanami lunch was going to be Oreos and Instant Ramen.
“Deku—“
“Kacchan! No means no!”
—
Katsuki left him alone when Izuku was half a mind away from depositing him in the living room by BlackWhip.
The Symbol of Victory paced along the length of their couch and around their coffee table, constantly disturbing Cracker from her cat-nap.
He kept glancing back towards the kitchen, jumping when he heard a crash or a clatter.
“Hey Kacchan? Should I use the pans from the top cabinet?”
Katsuki’s eyes widened but knew it was too late. “No, no, no, no! Don’t ruin my non-stick.” He groaned when he heard the scratching noises, slumping with his head in his hands. “It was new.”
—
“Tada!”
Izuku made jazz hands as he placed a plate before Katsuki. “Taste it!”
Katsuki eyed the food suspiciously. It looked cooked enough but—
“Is this your way of killing me to get the insurance?”
Izuku smacked the back of Katsuki’s head.
Katsuki hesitantly picked up a spoonful. It was Omurice. How hard could he fuck this up? It was simple enough.
If Katsuki’s hand trembled as he brought the spoon towards his mouth, then you’re highly mistaken.
“So…? How is it?” Izuku waited eagerly for the verdict.
Katsuki’s face contorted, rushing to the sink to spit it out. “Are you trying to widow yourself?”
He guzzled down a bottle of water, getting that foul taste out of his mouth. “Just how much salt did you put in dumbass?”
“I followed the recipe exactly Kacchan! It said two spoons of salt and a pinch of olive oil.”
“Deku…” Katsuki’s voice was that of exasperated silence. “It says a pinch of salt and two spoons of olive oil.”
“Oh.”
Katsuki picked up his precious pan full of scratch marks. “You ruined my non-stick for this disaster.”
“It’s just a scratch.”
“I’ll throw this on you!” Katsuki raised the pan like he would a baseball bat.
“Sorry Kacchan! I’ll buy you another one. Promise.”
“The same brand.”
“Yes Kacchan, the same brand.”
“Now move, I’ll make the rest of the bento. Stupid Deku!”
“Noooooo!”
“Wha— you want to kill our parents?”
“Kacchan!” Izuku whined. “I just misread two or three lines. Besides the salt, the food is cooked perfectly right?”
Katsuki paused. Well…..that was true. The egg was fluffy and the rice was not raw. The sauces were perfectly balanced too. It was only the salt.
“Ok then!” Izuku chirped pushing Katsuki into their bedroom. “It’s past your bedtime, go on! I’ll make the bento!”
Katsuki accepted his defeat. Izuku was about as stubborn as a mountain. Unbudging.
Eh! It’ll be like a break for him. He scooped up Cracker and went to bed, trying to drown out the noises form the kitchen, resisting the urge to run in with a fire extinguisher every time Izuku yelped.
—
“Mom, smile!”
Inko looked up just in time as the flash went off, Izuku grinning behind his polaroid camera. Inko was right below a sakura tree, petals falling perfectly in frame.
Katsuki had gotten it for him for his birthday and Izuku had found a new hobby. In a matter of few months he had collected albums (yes, plural) worth of photos of his favourite thing in the whole world— his husband.
Polaroids of Katsuki drooling in his sleep, cooking in the cute yellow apron Izuku had gotten for him, shooing Cracker off the counter with a spatula when he cooked fish.
“Deku! Stop fooling around and get the food out of the car!” Katsuki barked, spreading out the picnic blanket. “Sit down, Auntie.” He grunted and cracked open a soda can for his mother-in-law.
Cracker jumped and curled up in Mitsuki’s lap, stretching her paws. She cooed, scratching the back off the kitten’s ears. Cracker had grown in the past few months, no longer underweight.
Cracker jumped and curled up in Mitsuki’s lap, stretching her paws. She cooed, scratching the back off the kitten’s ears. Cracker had grown in the past few months, no longer underweight.
Izuku picked up his camera, clicking an embarrassing picture of Katsuki.
Katsuki noticed, red eyes turning murderous and chucked the first thing that came to his hand at Izuku’s head. Mitsuki’s straw hat.
“Brat, give it back!”
“Ask your fucking son-in-law!”
Izuku had to admit, he looked good in his mother-in-law’s hat with the big pink bow.
“Kacchan, you look so cute!” He held up the polaroid, Katsuki’s mouth opened wide enough to gobble the onigiri in one bite, a grain of rice sticking to his chin.
“Tear it up.”
“Hell no!” Izuku had better plans. He finally found a picture good enough to place it in the photo frame in his office. He told Katsuki as much.
“Fucking no!” Katsuki didn’t need his co-workers and interns seeing that picture. He had a reputation to maintain dammit! He was Great Explosion Murder God fucking DynaMight.
Izuku yelped, swiftly pulling the photograph out of his reach. Mitsuki and Inko sighed at their grown children, still shoving and wrestling like toddlers. One would think marriage would tame their rivalry down but no…..
Their mothers still held onto a wistful hope.
“Alright you two.” Masaru, ever the peace-maker interjected. “Let’s have lunch.”
”Mhmm, Katsuki-kun this is delicious.” Inko praised, digging in.
“I didn’t make that.” Katsuki didn’t offer any explanation, idly cocking his head in Izuku’s direction. He was too busy enjoying his husband’s cooking.
“I-Izuku made this?”
Izuku scratched the back of his head sheepishly.
“It’s really tasty.” Masaru had moe-moe flowers all around him, proud of his son-in-law.
—
Izuku and Katsuki sat under the sakura tree, legs stretched out as they watched the petals waft in the air.
“From now on, you’re cooking everyday.” Katsuki ordered.
Izuku chuckled, wrapping his arm around Katsuki’s waist. “As you wish.” He winked, the two laughing quietly, as though careful to not disturb the tranquil atmosphere around them.
Katsuki took Izuku’s hands in his, running his thumb over his bandaged knuckles. Izuku had stayed up all night cooking. “You could have let me help you a little.”
“Eh, I need to show off my husband skills every now and then.” Katsuki snorted shaking his head, Izuku pressed his lips against his temple.
Katsuki’s eyes fluttered shut with a soft rare smile.
—
Izuku smiled at the photo frame on his desk. The one picture that powered him through his dreadful day of paperwork. Which was also counter-effective on somedays, reminding him of what’s waiting at home for him, tempting him to shove all the work on the sidekicks and run home.
Speaking off which— he wanted to go home now.
The final picture chosen for the frame was clicked by Masaru— Izuku asleep on Katsuki’s lap, the blond threading his fingers through his hair.
#okaeri2022#domesticbkdkweek#domesticbkdkweek2022#dkbk#dekubaku#dkkt#dekukatsu#izukatsu#decchan#izkt#bakugou x midoriya#midoriya izuku#bakugou katsuki#boku no hero academia#domestic fluff#married bkdk#deku x kacchan#kacchan#katsuki x izuku
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Please i'm begging youu i want to see more fantasy au for tokrev and that pirate would be so good i even have some idess on me already 😩
–🎴
I HAD A FUCKING FIELD DAY WITH THIS I WANNA HEAR YOUR IDEAS PLS SHARE
i’m currently sleep-deprived, so some of these are probably really basic and there’s most likely errors somewhere in here skdkcmdksk
also, requests may be closed, but discussions and more ideas are absolutely welcome.
faerie!kokonoi, who preys on the heartbroken drunkards at upscale bars, listening with a secretive smile as they spill their life stories to the bartender. silver-tongued and clever, kokonoi purrs his condolences, slipping their name into the conversation with ease and feigning oblivion when they, cloudy-eyed and ignorant, hand over their precious bank information and the locations of their valuables.
tailor!mitsuya unable to concentrate on stitching up a torn dress with the incessant clanging in the background and snapping at blacksmith!pah-chin, who’s busy forging knight!baji a new sword. mitsuya chastises baji for being so careless, but all baji does is grumble and turn away, black oil and dirt smeared on his flushed cheeks and long hair clinging to his sweat-stained forehead from his previous sparring session.
wizard!mitsuya spinning golems out of clay and shooing them away with an order to find him more materials to craft matching cloaks for his newest apprentices, luna and mana.
leprechaun!nahoya luring unsuspecting villagers into the forest with the promise of gold coins, only to send branches crashing down onto their heads when they venture far enough. they shout irately and scramble after him as he tumbles, laughing, into the shadows… but it’s no use. he’s too fast.
mermaid!yuzuha punching the shit out of pirates and dragging them down from their ships when they disturb and/or hunt the peaceful merfolk
knight!draken pledging his life to princess!emma
werewolf!baji, who appears to casually laugh off questions about his sharp, prominent canines; when in reality, when he’s secretly sweating bullets. werewolf!baji, whom the others wrinkle their noses at and tease when he orders his steak rare. werewolf!baji, who can’t hide the particularly ferocious, almost predatory glint in his eye that only appears during brawls after the sun has fallen. everyone laughs it off, mistaking his bloodlust for adrenaline. it’s only baji, he’s just intense, they reason.
half-blood!takemichi, who leaps through time with the protective blood of a phoenix coursing through his veins. half-blood!takemichi, whose blood aids him in resisting the beckon of death that pries at the empty body he habitually leaves behind and enables him to keep rising back to his feet no matter who knocks him down.
dybbuk!shinichiro, whose rage inhabits mikey’s body, only flaring to aid in crushing kazutora beneath his little brother’s fist. dybbuk!shinichiro, who plucks away at mikey’s sanity day in and day out, demanding for his death to be avenged. dybbuk!shinichiro, who is the reason that mikey can no longer set foot in his bike shop, because no matter how hard he tries, mikey can’t seem to shut out the eerie groaning of forgotten bikes as they rust away or the crackling squelch of metal colliding with bone that he’s positive he’s never heard before—so why is he hearing it now?
executioner!kazutora, who has no problem with the unjust slaughters that tyrant!kisaki approves, because his unchecked guilt can only be satiated by “cleansing the kingdom of immoral souls.” executioner!kazutora, who hums a crude tavern song as he takes his sweet time lining up his blade with the neck of the shivering woman hunched before him—the shivering woman whose only crime is swiping some bread to feed her starving family. executioner!kazutora, who only finds retribution in the twisted cycle of playing the role of god’s “divine” axe.
knight!toman forming a wall in front of their king to square off against an approaching army, a measly one hundred men with fire in their eyes and swords dripping with blood—a measly one hundred men fully prepared to offer up their lives to protect king!mikey.
jester!hanma, who flirts with the women of the court and openly takes cheap shots at tyrant!kisaki, regardless of whether or not he’s in the vicinity. still, it doesn’t matter how humorous the joke is. no one dares to allow even a twitch of their lips. how hanma hasn’t been executed yet, they don’t know.
pirate!nahoya, who cackles like a madman and jeers at an opposing ship from his place perched atop the crow’s nest
apothecary!souya meeting his future s/o in a field of lavender while he’s searching for fresh herbs. apothecary!souya, who’s mortified by the chalky powder spattered on his overalls and runs a hand through his hair, accidentally smearing a yellow dust through his blue curls. apothecary!souya, who blushes when you kindly offer to brush the powder from his hair. apothecary!souya, who offers you one of the dandelions peeking from his pocket as a gesture of gratitude.
ladies-in-waiting!emma and hina scurrying off to deliver empty dishes to cook!mitsuya, who leans forward expectantly to hear the latest gossip when they approach him with sparkling eyes and poorly concealed smiles.
adviser!draken storming into king!mikey’s private chambers without an invitation to shout at him for neglecting his duties and drag him by the ankle out of bed
sorceress!hina enchanting a four-leaf clover necklace with a spell to keep knight!takemichi safe in battle
spymaster!sanzu scaring the shit out of his scribe!s/o whenever he pops up in the windows of the library in all black with no prior warning
doll-maker!izana, who lives in a secluded area of the woods with his apprentice kakucho and obsessively lines his shelves with replicas of the older brother he wishes he had
knight-in-training!chifuyu working extra hard to impress knight!baji, who had recruited him and taken him under his wing
steampunk inventor!chifuyu, who’s never seen without his trademark goggles that kazutora always pokes fun at and threadbare overalls splattered with oil stains. inventor!chifuyu, who nearly has a heart attack when baji hobbles in on one leg, grinning at him with a face swollen with bruises while waving his detached prosthetic leg in greeting. inventor!chifuyu, who keeps wrenches on his belt specifically to hurl at his idiot friends whenever they come into his shop all beat-up with their bronze prosthetics severely damaged
steampunk!hanma, who has a glass eye with the word “pain” engraved on the iris. steampunk!hanma, who asks kisaki to hold something for him. when the latter holds his hand out with an exasperated sigh, hanma sets his replacement eye in his palm and cackles hysterically when kisaki promptly jolts with disgust and chucks it across the room
cyberpunk!sanzu, who’s already inebriated but continues to drown deeper in the neon lights of the club as he pops an array of glowing pills into his mouth, body numb to the robotic assistants that hum around him and intermingle with the equally delirious crowd in case someone were to collapse from overdosing
masquerade!mitsuya, who smiles at you with such kindness and respect as he guides you onto the marble floor that you immediately resolve to discover his identity at a later date
masquerade!kakucho, who does everything in his power to prevent you from uncovering his identity. masquerade!kakucho, who fears that you’ll be disgusted with his deformed appearance once you see his scar.
samurai!yuzuha, who rescues you from a band of thieves but is perplexed when you insist on repaying her goodwill. samurai!yuzuha, who eventually starts coming to you whenever she needs her wounds bandaged or a home-cooked meal. samurai!yuzuha, who refuses to let you touch her sword with your pure, unsullied hands.
potion-maker!ran, who always despises when rindou barges into his workspace for nothing else than to tip over a couple jars and poke fun at his craft. potion-maker!ran, whose skin and hair have been permanently imprinted with the scent of clove and allspice berries. potion-maker!ran, who concocts love spells and perfumes that grant increased intimacy for the lovesick women who visit him when their own assets aren’t working. potion-maker!ran, who smiles charmingly and calls his female customers “darling.” potion-maker!ran, who has no problem with allowing them to test his products on him in order to guarantee their potency—but only if they’re attractive and have a pretty penny to spare :)
gunslinger!mikey, who almost shoots his big toe off trying to impress the beautiful barmaid across the room
servant!baji, who isn’t the slyest but always makes sure he leaves out a saucer of cream for the stray cats that wander through the town during the night, regardless of how much trouble he gets in. servant!baji, who develops a forbidden bond with his royal!s/o due to their shared love of animals. servant!baji, who is ignorant of the ways of courtship but does his best to flirt with you, however flustered and awkward he may be. servant!baji, who sheepishly seeks advice from his mother about how to impress royalty despite him being unable to offer you any material items.
necromancer!takemichi who doesn’t know wtf is going on and is literally only a necromancer because he fucked up reading a recipe for garlic bread that was written in cursive
vampire!kokonoi, who looks wistfully upon his collection of dusty, old perfume bottles as he recalls how they’d been the most expensive items on the market centuries ago. vampire!kokonoi, who possesses splintered, wooden chests overflowing with outdated currency that will never again be utilized. vampire!kokonoi, who sits for hours and stares at the photo of the young woman that he’s preserved in mint condition for countless years, wondering why he can’t remember who she is
half-blood!mikey, who wonders why his legs are so much stronger than the rest of his body, why he’s always been so much faster than his peers, and why they’re always chock-full of energy. half-blood!mikey, who’s blissfully unaware that the blood of his ancestors is not as it seems. half-blood!mikey, who has zero clue that his lineage marks him a descendant of the minotaur.
farmer!chifuyu, who’s too shy to approach the seamstress’s daughter, so he resigns himself to only admiring her from afar until she makes a move herself. farmer!chifuyu, who’s beyond embarrassed when he accidentally bumps into her, the dirt and grime on his clothing soiling her pristine outfit. farmer!chifuyu, who tries to brush it off, only to panic when the dust on his hands stains the fabric. farmer!chifuyu, who shows up at your mother’s shop the next day to apologize and is nearly chased out due to his kind “not belonging there,” only for you to object and invite him in, claiming that he’s your friend.
jack the ripper!sanzu, who leans up against a dirty brick building with his head low, tongue clicking in rhythm with the slim hands on his golden pocket watch as he decides on his next victim. jack the ripper!sanzu, who dons a simple, shapeless white mask that contrasts sharply with the elaborate feather woven into his top hat. jack the ripper!sanzu, whom others eye skeptically when he skillfully, easily slices his steak into cross-sections with nothing more than a butter knife. jack the ripper!sanzu, who smiles so charmingly at women, basking in their ignorance as he lures them into a sense of false security with a few sweet words. jack the ripper!sanzu, who seals all of his letters documenting his crimes with a lipstick-stained kiss and giggles manically when it smears onto his cheek. jack the ripper!sanzu, who is taken aback when one of his targets whirls on him with anger in their eyes and a knife gripped in their hands, fully prepared to give him a dose of his own medicine.
achilles!izana and patroclus!kakucho. that’s all i have to say. y’all know what’s up👀
soothsayer!takemichi, who’s looked down upon by his fellow prophets because of his frenetic efforts to change the future. while the rest lounge beneath the shade of trees, sweet-smelling smoke curling from their ornate pipes and hazy eyes trailing after people who they know are supposed to die tomorrow, takemichi is doing his best to track them down to warn them of their fate. “he’s just a boy,” the others chuckle, “he won’t make a difference.”
victorian era painter!s/o, who finds seishu inui snoozing beneath a tree and resolves to capture his beauty on a canvas. seishu, who’s well-aware of what you’re doing but decides to let you have your fun. painter s/o, who’s mortified when seishu happens to “wake up” as soon as they sigh with satisfaction and requests to see the picture.
barista!izana, who mixes drugs into his drinks for certain customers while they discreetly slide a handsome wad of cash across the counter
archer!chifuyu, who accidentally spears his superior through the leg while struggling with his bow. archer!chifuyu, who meets kazutora in the dungeons and befriends him during the one night he spends there. archer!chifuyu, who is confused and hesitant when he is abruptly assigned to join the ranks of the prince’s bodyguards. archer!chifuyu, who is white with shock when he sees kazutora stroll into the room, a golden crown balanced atop his head and a wide smile blooming upon his lips when he spots his new friend.
ROBIN HOOD!CHIFUYU
potion-maker!souya, whose face always softens whenever you stop by his shop during your daily mail delivery route. potion-maker!souya, who’s ashamed of himself for having considered exploiting your trust in him and slipping a love potion into your drink. potion-maker!souya, who always offers to make you something befitting the occasion whenever you’re running low on energy, not feeling well, or are nervous about something. potion-maker!souya, who’s too shy to confess his feelings for you.
town crier!nahoya, who sometimes slips a swear word or two into his announcements and prefers to storm the town on horseback, disregarding his elaborate attire. town crier!nahoya, who has definitely snatched you off the street during his routes, leaving you to cling to his sweat-dampened clothes and shout at him for being such an imbecile.
shapeshifter!nahoya, who diligently keeps his eyes closed because he can change everything about his appearance, except for his distinctive eye color.
#tokyo revengers#tokyo revengers x reader#tokyo revengers baji#tokyo revengers souya#tokyo revengers nahoya#tokyo revengers kokonoi#mitsuya takashi x reader#tokyo revengers pah chin#yuzuha shiba#emma sano#draken x reader#tokyo revengers draken#takemichi hanagaki#tokyo revengers shinichiro#tokyo revengers manjiro sano#tokyo revengers mikey#tokyo manji gang#tokyo revengers hanma#kazutora hanemiya#tokyo revengers kisaki#hinata tachibana#tachibana hinata#sanzu tokyo revengers#izana kurokawa#tokyo revengers kakucho#tokyo revengers chifuyu#tokyo revengers haitani ran#seishu inui#🍬arba’s beloved 🎴🍬#🍬arba’s got mail🍬
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The Queen and King: Chapter one
Summary: Y/N is the Queen of Guns and James ‘Bucky’ Barnes is the King of New York City. She wants him as a buyer, but Bucky wants her to be his queen. After all, every King needs a Queen.
Word Count: 2.1k
Warnings: this will be a +18 series, AU, Mafia!Bucky, Dark!Bucky, sexual tension, sex implied, mentions of murder and dismembered fingers (minor character), swearing.
Series Masterlist
Total Masterlist
Chapter One- The King
Y/N knew everything about James Buchanan Barnes, otherwise known as Bucky. The King of New York City. Nothing happened without him knowing about it. He was the most powerful man in the city. He ran the drugs through the area and killed any rival that dared to come into his territory. He had the police and politicians in his pocket and made smaller businesses pay him for protection. Y/N had plans for James. She was the lead gun seller in the eastern region, and she wanted him as buyer. She had infiltrated his second in command, Steve, meeting him and spending two weeks sleeping with him and trying to gather intel, but he kept his lips locked tight when it came to Bucky’s business. Y/N knew Bucky was currently buying his current gun supply from Brock Rumlow, one of her competitors. But she had already taken care of him, having some from her team kill him and chop off a finger to send to each of his buyers. The package for James had already been dropped off on his doorstep as proof of how serious she was. It was a very clear message- either join Y/N or she would tear you to shreds.
Bucky licked his lips as he watched his new club fill up with bodies. The music was loud and the bar was busy. Just what he liked to see. He sat at the round booth, Steve and Sam at either side of him. He nodded to one of the waitresses who promptly went to the bar to grab him a drink. He leaked power off of him. Everybody knew he was the King and he made sure to prove it every chance he got.
As the waitress was on the way bringing a glass full of dark whiskey, she was stopped by a woman wearing ankle high black boots with a heel, black shorts, and a tight maroon tank top, “I’ll take this.” Y/N hissed out to the wide eyed waitress, taking the drink from her hand. She turned to meet eyes with Bucky who had his eyebrows raised at the ordeal unfolding in front of him. Y/N could already tell she had captured his attention just as she wanted with the way he was eyeing her and the grin that rested on his lips. Y/N walked over to the table, tapping the glass with her index finger as she held it. She broke her gaze from Bucky to look to Steve, a smile appearing across her lips that were painted with a deep shade of red lipstick, “Stevie.” She sang out, making Steve snap his head around to look at her.
Steve looked at Y/N in shock seeing her while he was working. He stood quickly, “What’re you doing here, Y/N?” He asked. Y/N had been sleeping with him the past two weeks. He had told her nothing of the business he was into and nothing about the night club he would be at tonight. Steve had no idea how Y/N was here.
Y/N smiled at him, “That’s for me to know and for you to.. dot dot dot.” She said softly, keeping her gaze on his as she took a sip of the whiskey in the glass, leaving a red lip stain on the rim. She slid into the booth, taking Steve’s spot next to Bucky and sliding so close to him so their legs were touching. Steve sat back down on the other side of Y/N, a confused look on his features.
Bucky watched, his eyes flickering between Steve and the mysterious woman named Y/N. He was curious, was this the piece of ass Steve had been bragging about for the past two weeks? He raised an eyebrow as she slid in the booth next to him, watching her take another drink of his whiskey, “And what can I do for you, doll?” He mused curiously, a smile resting on his lips. He couldn’t believe Steve had scored such a beauty like her and keep it a secret from him. Bucky knew why Steve didn’t tell him though, she was gorgeous. A woman that Bucky would have no problem taking back to his bedroom and devouring. He licks his lips as he continued to look her up and down, undressing her with his eyes.
Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, “I heard you were looking for Rumlow.” She said shortly, taking the last swig of the whiskey and setting the glass down in front of Bucky, unflinching as the liquid slid down her throat with ease. Y/N could tell by the way Bucky was looking at her that she had his full attention. And Y/N couldn’t lie, those dark, powerful eyes on her made a small tingle shoot through her body. She had always been attracted to power, and Bucky was dripping with it. Not to mention he was very handsome and the darkness behind his gaze magnetized her.
Bucky shifted a little bit at her words. Rumlow was his main arms dealer and they were supposed to meet here tonight to sort out a gun shipment. But Rumlow was late which was very unlike him, “What are you? His messenger?” He asked, keeping a grin on his lips as he stretched both his arms on the top of the booth to spread across Y/N shoulder, reaching down the let his finger stroke her shoulder softly, fiddling with the strap to her top. He could already tell she wasn’t wearing a bra.
Y/N grinned at his words, leaning closer to him until her lips were brushing against his ear lobe, “A messenger? Fuck no.” She quickly slid herself onto his lap to face him, her hands running up Bucky’s chest as she licks her lips. Y/N could feel Steve and Sam watching her in shock, but she didn’t care. Bucky was attractive. He had the looks and the power she craved.
Bucky’s grin widened as Y/N moved onto his lap, dropping his hands to her waist. He knew he had an effect on women with the power and darkness that swelled around him, but this woman seemed different. She had the effect that seemed like she was a cat playing with a mouse. But Bucky was amused and allowed it to continue. He squeezed her hips, pulling her body roughly against his.
Y/N tilted her head at him, her eyes staring at his as the lights around them pulsed to the music, “You see, James,” She began, tilting her head so her hair slipped to one side of her neck, “Stevie blue eyes over there never spoke about your business, even after I gave him the best sex he’s ever had. But I’ve been watching you for a long time. I know you’re the King of New York.”
Bucky’s eyes flashed to Steve with a bit of anger and jealousy before returning to Y/N’s face, “You mean my club? Just opened, it wasn’t exactly a secret.” He said as a cover, wondering what exactly Y/N knew about him. Even if she did know about his drug running, he wasn’t just going to admit that blatantly even if the woman was as hypnotizing as Y/N.
“You were fucking me for information?” Steve asked suddenly, his jaw clenching as if he was angered by her comment. He should’ve known by how forward she was with him that there was some ulterior motive. She was always asking what he did as she drew small circles on his chest after they had sex but he never said a word about it.
Y/N looked over at Steve and put a pout look on her face, “Oh, don’t look so surprised, darling. You really think this,” She looked at Bucky, gently rolling her hips over his. Her eyes fluttered as she let a beautiful moan pass her lips. Her face snapped emotionless again after the act and she tilts her head at Steve, “Was real? Oh please. You’re far too gentle to have me make those noises.” She smirked at him.
Bucky gritted his teeth as she rolled her hips against his. Damn, she was good. The moan that passed her lips, even if was an act, made him want to be the cause of the sweet moan. He snaked his hands up her back, wanting to rip the tank top from her skin. He wanted her, right there and now. He stared up at her face with a grin, “And why would a woman like you be curious of my business?” He asks, leaning up so he could whisper it into her ear seductively.
Y/N looks to Bucky as he whispers to her. She snakes a hand up his chest and behind his neck, gripping his hair between her fingers and pulling his head back by his hair. She leans her face down to his until her lips were inches away from his, “You’ve been getting your guns from Rumlow the past couple years. That ends now.” She told him, “My name is Y/N Y/L/N. And you may be the King of New York City, James Barnes.” She brushes her lips along his cheek until she reached his ear, “But I am the Queen when it comes to guns in the eastern region. And I will be the one you’ll be doing business with from now on.” She bit his ear lightly before pulling her face back to smile at him, releasing his hair from her grasp. Y/N slipped out of Bucky’s grasp and slid over onto Steve’s lap giving him a deep kiss, her tongue rolling on his bottom lip as she separated, “And I’ll see you later. A girls got needs and maybe next time you’ll get it right.” She said as she slid off his lap and out of the booth. Y/N turned to look at Bucky, a smirk returning her lips, “I’ll be in touch.” She could see the jealousy in his eyes from her move with Steve. She could tell he was a possessive man that craved her.
Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle when she called herself a queen. Confidence leaked off of Y/N the same way it did from him. He could tell she was powerful. But more than that, she was the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen and had the fierce attitude to match it. And Bucky wanted her. He couldn’t help but frown a little as she kissed Steve. He looks at Y/N as she started to head out, “What happened to Rumlow? I just like to know if I need to clean up a loose end.” He said with a smirk, looking up and down her figure with his wanting gaze. The things he would do to her…
Y/N turned her attention back to Bucky, noticing him eye-fuck her. She licks her lips, “Oh, you’ll see him when you get home. Well, a piece of him. Just to let you know how serious I am when it comes to my business.” She said with a sinister smile before turning on her heels and promptly exiting the club, a few men following her out.
Bucky watched her go, licking his lips that were curved in a smile as he watched her leave, tilting his head as his gaze fixated on her ass. When she was out of view he wiped the smile from his lips, pointing his finger over at Steve, “You will not see her later. There will be no next time.” He growled out, rage flashing in his eyes showing he was serious. Bucky wanted Y/N all to himself. As of this moment, she was only his.
Steve looked at Bucky, seeing the darkness and rage in his boss’s eyes that meant he was deadly serious, “Of course, sir.” He said quickly with a stern nod, “Are we going to get into bed with her?” He asks, curious what Bucky was thinking. As his second in command, these were things Steve needed to know. Would they get into buying guns from Y/N?
Bucky sat back in the booth and a small grin returning to his lips. He spread his arms back across the top of the booth, “We will buy her guns. And I will be the only one getting into bed with her. She’s a Queen. And a Queen needs her King.” He said possessively. He could already imagine what he could do with Y/N, business and personal. Bucky would have her guns and would have her folded over his desk with him behind her at the same time.
#dark!bucky#dark!buckybarnes#dark!bucky x reader#mafia!bucky#mob!Bucky#Bucky barnes#bucky x reader#bucky x y/n#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes au fanfiction#Bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky x you#bucky barnes x you
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Sally Face X Black Reader
♡︎𝙰/𝙽: 𝚒 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚒𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚛 𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚂𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜
♡︎𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜: 𝙻𝚘𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕-𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙵𝙽𝚊𝙵, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚂𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝙵𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝟷𝟿𝟿𝟶’𝚜-𝟸𝟶𝟶𝟶’𝚜 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚔....
♡︎𝚃𝚠𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝚂𝚌𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔, 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐
♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎
“Hey! Close the door!” You squeaked and hid yourself from the burning brightness emitted from the opened door. A small shadow slid through the opening of the door and quickly shut it, the word ‘sorry!’ repeated over and over.
Your eyes quickly readjusted to the darkness and you saw Sal, holding his school bag and a gameboy.
“Hey, Mask Boy.” You wiggles your toes at him and he hummed. “Was school tolerable?”
He shrugged, opening his bag and pulling out an orange car and setting it on the floor. You smiled and reached down to it, rubbing your thumb behind its ear.
“Hi Gizmo!” You grinned at the plump cat and he purred and pushed himself into your touch. Sal chuckled and sat next to his cat and leaned onto your knee. He began rambling about how his day at school was, how boring classes were, Travis, and a new oddity in the school he discovered. You listened to him curiously, albeit getting a bit agitated about Travis and his infuriating antics.
“I’ll come to school with you tomorrow….” You mumbled. “I know I don’t go much anymore, just having you and Larry give me my homework and letting you turn it in, but I’ll go with you guys tomorrow.”
Sal nodded, holding his excitement behind his mask and simply saying ‘ok’.
“You’re smiling under that mask aren’t you?” You teased and he didn’t say anything, just a noise of embarrassment. You giggled and ruffled his hair, continuing with your game.
“Did you get a new character?” Sal asked.
You sighed, “Unfornately no. They just gave me a stupid 4star claymore.”
“Hey! Claymores are badass!” Sal defended with a happy tone.
“That’s why I’d be a bow or pole arm user. Light weapons.”
You scoffed playfully, “Like you could even lift one! I bet they weight like 60 pounds!”
“Nah, catalyst needs no weight at all. Just waving your arms around with attacks.”
“Is that why you main Mona?” Sal smiled, watching as you used Zhongli’s burst to destroy a bunch of fatui.
“Hey! Mona is gorgeous.”
Sal took hold of his cat, stroking his tail. “She’s also very mysterious.”
“Which makes her even better! It’s written in the stars!” You grinned and Sal rolled his eyes.
“Ninguang’s better.”
You began quickly mashing your buttons, trying to defeat the stupid abyss lector in time so you could pass. Sal began chuckling at your rising frustration and when you started shouting for Razor’s burst to recharge, he lost it, bursting into a fit of laughter. You got really close to the TV and began shaking the controller, unleashing a purple wolf made of electro at the hydro abyss mage.
“C’mon! Just dieee!” You groaned and kept slashing the oversized fluff ball until it disintegrated into red ash. The timer stopped and it showed you with two stars. You raised the controller in the air and smiled, falling back onto Sal and cheering for yourself.
“You really hate abyss mages, huh?” He smiled at you and you pouted, raising a middle finger to the screen.
“Fuck you, fuck ya daughter, fuck ya grandmother, fuck ya dead great grandmother. Fuck you, and all ya kids. And your ugly ass motherfucking black ass son!” You jeered at the teasing enemies, a great distain for them in your heart. Sal crawled to sit between your legs and watch you blow through the spiral abyss. He urged you to use your bursts at times and would cheer for you softly whenever you managed to gain three stars. He undid his pigtails and pulled his fingers through them, even using it’s length to try and distract you.
You played for hours, co-opting with Sal and Larry to fight bosses, help Larry with his trash character builds and unlock all the waypoints in his world.
☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾
You looked at the school’s name hanging above it’s entrance with annoying and a twinge of fear. You didn’t even realize how long you were there until a hand intertwined itself with your left one. You looked at Sal, a smile coming to your face and you walked inside. You waved to Maple and Chug, seeing them at Maple’s locker with a a notebook and a pencil. You didn’t bother to stop at your locker, deciding to carry your bag with you throughout the day.
“Hey Y/N!”
You looked to Ashley who was putting lipgloss on in her locker mirror. She turned to you and waved to you, walking up to you and Sal. You smiled at her and the three of you walked to your first classes.
When you sat down, you heard your teacher make a hum towards you. You looked up at him and he lifted his chin.
“I was wondering when you’d return, Y/N.” He croaked, his neck turning to look at the door. “I figured you’d drop out.”
A few giggles came out from the corners of the class. You felt an arm on your side, telling you to let it go but you tilted your head with a shit-eating grin, “And I thought you’d be fired, yet we’re both here so..”
Your teacher narrowed his eyes at you, which only made your grin grow with satisfaction. He began teaching, mostly boring stuff about biology. The only problem was it was so boring you felt like sleeping, until a buzz on your waist kept you awake. You pulled up your phone and read a text from Larry, asking you to bring the ‘stuff’ from your locker. You replied with an ‘ok’ and continued to pretend to pay attention. Your imagination began to wander, thinking of how big Bowser must be. At least 9 feet, but that’d make Mario an Italian midget…. And peach would be like 5’7.
Lunch was okay, but you didn’t eat the school’s lunch, not after the bologna incident. You watched as Sal came up to you from his geometry class and sat beside you. Larry and Ashley joined you. Larry gave you a look and you pulled up a grocery bag to the table. Larry smiled wide and untied it, pulling out a container of Chinese food. Ashley gasped and asked how he got it.
“Don’t worry I got us all food.” He reassured and pulled out a box of tacos for Ashley and a container of sushi for Sal.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were going to school today.” Larry said.
“You’re good. I’ll steal you guys’ food.” You giggled and immediately snatched a taco from Ash. She made a face and it made you snort. You immediately covered your mouth of embarrassment, your friends laughing at the noise.
“It’s ok, it’s cute Y/N. I promise.” Sal looked at you with warm eyes and you nodded shyly, biting into your stolen taco. Larry handed you a piece of drenched chicken bite and you took it, biting into it.
“Yknow, we should actually go out for lunch. It’d be more fun.” Ashley beamed.
“Yeah but I don’t wanna hear a teachers mouth about us leaving….” You rolled your eyes at the thought.
“What’re they gonna do? Tell us we can’t eat?” Larry laughed at his words and Sal shrugged.
“This isn’t too bad of an idea… putting stuff in one of your lockers.” He said and you nodded, wrapping your arm around him and pulling him to whisper in his ear.
“On your birthday, I’ll leave some applesauce and pizza for you in my locker. Your favorite brand and shop, ok?”
Sal nodded eagerly, his pigtail bouncing with happiness. The four of you looked around to see some kids leaving for next class and you decided to do the same.
“Hey, shithead!”
Sal sighed at the aggressive voice and turned to see Travis, an aggravated scowl on his face. You rolled your eyes at the dumb bully and started to pull Sal to your next class.
“What the hell do you want Travis?” He said, rather annoyed at these interactions with the boy.
“You think because your bitch is here you can act all hard in front of her?!” He shouted, which made you a little pissed. “Yeah, I’m talking to you, what?”
“Travis, you aren’t even worth my time.” You declared and turned away from him. A set of heavy footsteps came rushing towards you and Sal, a hand shoving you to the ground and a few thuds landed in your eardrums. You saw yourself on the tiles, and Sal on his knees holding his mask. You stood up and stomped toward Travis. He had a nonchalant look on his face, asking you what you were gonna do, that you wouldn’t dare hurt him. You whipped your hand across his cheek, pushing him back into the lockers. You stared daggers at him as you helped Sal stand and walked him to another hall. As Travis tried to get to Sal once more, you stepped toward him and pushed him back again, a look of rage on your face was enough to tell him to stop.
You looked at Sal once you were around the corner, trying to see if he was ok, but he hid his face. His mask was clutched to his chest and his fingers did their best to cover his scarred skin. You peeled them off, telling him to let you look and he closed his eyes in fear that you’d be disgusted. You rubbed his jaw, blood forming on his bottom lip and a gross slit on it. You wiped it gently, fear of opening the gash or hurting your precious Sal. You eyed the bruised lip, decided to lean forward and give the blue haired boy a soft kiss. He looked at you with wide eyes as you smiled sweetly at him.
You put his mask back on mad began to go to your next class but he stopped you.
“Why’d you…. Why’d you do that?”
You patted his head. “That’s what couples do. We’re no different, Sal. C’mon.”
He nodded and the two of you quickly rushed to class.
☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾
You heard the door of your room open and turned to see Sal and Larry walk in. You nodded to them and they waved to you.
“Did you bring my food?” You asked and Larry put a bag of sweets on your dresser. You thanked him and Sal sat beside you as you clicked away at your mouse and keyboard. He watched as you looked at the cameras, flipped your bear mask on and winded up the music box.
“Hey… heyyyy, get back.” You ordered as you flashed the red fox. Then your fingers fumbled to pull the mask over your head and a broken down animatronic appeared in your office. You gasped held your breath, throwing the protective mask on, but to no avail. You died.
You groaned in frustration and reached for the box of sweetness, grabbing a soft cookie and biting into it.
“Why do you okay that game? It’s so scary..”
Larry mumbled. You smiled at his comment, saying the game wasn’t scary and that Larry was just a baby. He tried to defend himself, saying that the game was scary but when you started up the game and he saw the shiny new chicken move to another room, he shrieked.
You laughed as he proved your point and kept playing your game, trying to beat the night and advance. You listened to Sal and Larry go on about their school day and you laughed as you kept your focus on your game.
“Did Travis do anything today?” You asked and Sal shook his head. Larry gave you a look as you reached for another cookie, asking if something happened when you went to school. You shook your head and explained what happened with you and Sal.
“That little…..!” Larry fumbled his words from anger and you waved it off, telling him to calm down and to drop it.
“That blond turd won’t do anything. And if he does, I’ll kick his ass.” You declared. Sal smiled at your words, thanking you for your help earlier. You turned and smiled at him, “I’m your partner in crime. It’s part of my job description.” You turned back but saw a bright blue bunny with rosy cheeks jump for you, killing you. You groaned in frustration, hearing one of Larry’s screams of terror. Sal chuckled and apologized for distracting you.
“Alright you dumb animals…. Let’s see what you got.”
#sally face#sally face x y/n#sally face x reader#sal fisher#sal fisher x reader#sal fisher x y/n#larry johnson#ashley campbell#bologna
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🐈Aizawa HC’s🐈
I dunno if people will care for this; I suspect my HC's for Aizawa are a little off the fandom norm. Still. I tried. Things get approximately NSFW under the cut. Minors do not interact.
- - - - -
General
He has like, one discernible change of clothes per season. There is no distinction between hero outfit, casual wear, and pajamas. That fabric used to be black. It is now an exhausted shade of ‘please stop washing me.’ If you suggest that he buy new clothes, he will stare you down like you have three heads, and none of those heads have a brain.
This man does not spend money. He has a mind-blowing amount of savings, but no one will ever know until he dies and wills it all to a random animal shelter in the middle of nowhere. Has a secret scholarship fund for UA students. Again, this is completely anonymous. Only the principal knows.
He's a startlingly competent sketch artist. Nothing fancy, and he never took an art class in his life, but his quirk innately lends itself to spacial reasoning and feature recognition. He has sketch books brimming with sloppy but pin-point accurate life drawings. He can capture your soul in three strokes of a dried-up ballpoint pen. It's eerie.
Given his schedule, you’d expect him to prioritze convenience first, but junk food makes him cross-eyed. His body is a temple and he eats like a fucking monk.
He’s a wine snob. Well, a liquor snob generally. He knows the name of every regional sake-maker in Japan, and can tell you exactly which bottle is the best, down the the month of production. Assumes everyone possesses such laser-focused knowledge.
Tea drinker. Yeah, he has encyclopedic knowledge about that too. Apparently everything this man drinks comes with a bibliography.
Technically he’s supposed to live in the UA dorms part of the time. He sleeps poorly there, and goes home whenever he has the opportunity.
His house is old, but not valuable. Probably inherited. Traditional style with very few modern updates. He keeps it meticulously clean and does repairs as needed, but the age is still obvious. Everything creaks. You swear the place is haunted but won’t dare admit it aloud - he WILL laugh you out of the house.
There’s a garden but he doesn’t have time to keep it up. He has a lot of memories of the plants in full bloom. Letting it go to seed upsets him more than he lets on.
He has zero personal possessions aside from household appliances, which he meticulously researches and keeps in perfect condition.
Reads an insane amount of books. These mostly come from the library. There’s always a stack near his bed. You have no idea how he finishes them, because every time you see him with a book, he’s asleep with it on his face.
He doesn’t adopt cats so much as just leaves his doors open and lets them freely colonize the place. It’s not his house, it’s theirs. Somehow there's not a single cat hair on anything.
Most of these cats are cuddly little angels; you've never met nicer. But there’s a few beasts in the mix, with battle scars and three legs and a craving for human meat; these are Aizawa’s special favorites.
- - - - -
Dating
Falls for you when he stumbles across you taking care of one of the hideous strays he usually feeds on his route. Doesn’t approach you at first (definitely tries to hide) but the cat is like "mrrr?" and brings you over to him, giving the game away. Traitor.
Will make you pay for your half of everything, down to the last yen. So what if you’ve been together for ten years? You have your own income.
One exception to the above: he’ll never buy you presents but he WILL treat you to lavish meals in dark restaurants with hand-written menus. Don’t mistake this for romance, he just likes the quiet atmosphere and excellent service.
He cleans every day; there’s an unwritten five-dimensional schedule and that schedule is EXACT. Zero time wasted. He’ll never actually ask you to help with any of it. He’ll never directly thank you, either. But if you learn how to take over certain chores and do the daily upkeep while he’s away, he’ll love you forever.
Not the type to talk about his day; he’d rather sit with you outside. He values silence. Not because he doesn’t want to talk to you, but a lot of the time he doesn’t have the energy to give you his full conversational attention. Physical contact is easier, and more comforting besides. Just... hold his hand a while.
His scalp gets tingly and sore from overusing his quirk. If you run your fingers through his hair he will pass out instantly.
He will cozy trap you. He’s touch-starved and was definitely a cat in a past life. Will hang all over you if you don't give him enough attention and constantly falls sleep in your lap. Hope you don’t need to get up anytime soon; he’s not moving.
You don’t exactly ‘move in’ with him. He never wants to spend a night without you, but his living space is already exactly how he likes it. He will never move out of that old house, but he’ll give you some rooms to yourself. Your stuff and his... complete absence of stuff... stay pretty much separate. Do NOT clutter up the bedroom.
The kitchen is the exception. That's a warm and cozy shared spot, the heart of the home. You’ll always be stepping around a cat.
He LOVES when you cook for him (so that he doesn't have to take the time). Will shower you with praise and encourage you to make huge earthenware vats of old-timey tsukemono that the two of you cannot possibly eat by yourselves. He’ll help with food prep and knows his way around, but he insists you’re the better cook (even if you aren’t).
Big on actions over words. Makes an effort to be present with you as much as he can.
Will stare into your eyes until you look away. When you look back, he's still staring with a rare warm smile on his face.
God, he loves you. You will never, ever know how much. He doesn't tell you often, but he shows you every day.
- - - - -
Somnophilia???.........
ACE ACE ACE ACE
This man is A-fucking-sexual. He’s not sex repulsed in any way, he’s just not personally invested.
Aromantic too. Deadass doesn’t get the hype. You are the most important person in his life and he’s deeply commited to and comforted by you. Just don’t expect to be seduced; it will literally never happen.
If you are allosexual, he will still be devoted to your sexual well-being. At first, that means buying you a DELUXE toy and encouraging you to use it on your own.
His voice is too damn sexy, even when he isn’t trying. He’ll give you all the phone sex you want; he thinks it’s sweet how you unravel for him. Edging you for ages is a fun little power play, but he’s definitely grading papers while he does it. Don’t be offended. Toshinori has overheard some THINGS.
When your relationship gets sufficiently serious, he’ll help out with his hands. He’s VERY SKILLED AT IT. He likes to lay down next to you and whisper encouragement in your ear. Eventually he gets possessive about your orgasms, and will make you ask for permission.
Sometimes the stars align, but his arousal is a rare bird. He'll take a whole afternoon to prepare. It’s love-making, full stop. Always slow and intensely emotional. He'll cherish every inch of you but might not cum at all; you can’t force it.
#aizawa shouta#aizawa sensei#aizawa x reader#aizawa x you#aizawa x y/n#gender neutral#aizawa headcanons#bnha#mha#bnha headcanons#mha headcanons#fred writes
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The Cold Never Bothered Me Anyway (1/?)
Loki Laufeyson x Reader
Summary: You are a mutant with the powers of ice and cold and you have never been able to be touched or touch anyone without making them uncomfortable, or worse, hurting them. You’ve always desperately wished for physical affection, and it isn't until a new silver tongued Asgardian moves into the Avengers tower and takes an interest in you that anyone really dares to try to be physical with you.
Word Count: 2.6k
A/N: This part is pure fluff, but future chapters will be... more.
Warnings: None for this chapter besides maybe a few cavities!
It had been like this since you’d been a child. You couldn’t remember a life without your ailment. You’d always seen it as a curse more than a blessing- but as you grew up and learned to control it to the best of your abilities, your mind started to change a little bit. Being adopted into Xaviers Academy had been the best thing that could have happened to you. You’d been homeless at the young age of 5 after your third foster family had thrown you out, and Charles had found you sleeping in the snow. It was lucky for you that you didn’t mind the cold at all- your powers were the cold. You could freeze anything, alive or not- and at first that was the problem. You’d frozen your mother’s heart whilst in the middle of a tantrum, and your father met the same fate after he tried to hurt you for doing it. The police found a crying child within hours, surrounded by dead parents and a house full of ice and snow. No one could prove what happened, and no one knew what to do with you from then on. After a life of constant abuse, Charles took you into a world of safety and understanding, and thankfully, that world was really the only world you knew in your conscious mind today.
The trauma was still there, but it was rooted deep in your subconscious mind. Now, as an adult, you’d been taken in to your new chosen family- The Avengers. And your home was no longer at the Academy, it was Avengers Tower. You still taught there every once in a while, whenever Charles called you, but your days were filled with world saving and working out with the worlds mightiest superheroes.
Your best friends in the complex were easily Natasha and Wanda, seeing as you all came from similar lonely backgrounds. It was a quick friendship built on trust, sarcasm, and constant blatant flirting and fucking with eachother. You loved the whole team differently, but Nat and Wanda were definitely special.
Besides them, you were definitely a little… taken with a new member of the household. When Loki was taken in by the Avengers to try and “change” him for the sake of Thor, life definitely got a little… uncomfortable. He was just so attractive, and so sassy and his smart mouth was probably the hottest thing about him. That silver tongue as you’d heard it been called constantly got your mind whirling. The girls mocked you ruthlessly for your crush, but they never pushed it to be more- they both knew your fear of relationships, friendship or otherwise.
Loki, on the other hand, was equally as enamored with you as you were him. He never stopped watching you, trying to learn every facet of your soul as he could from far away. There was something about you, and he looked at you as a puzzle that he desperately wanted to solve.
He loved watching you with your friends- the way you all so effortlessly joked and laughed with eachother- you had what he’d always wanted. An ease with earning love from others with no effort whatsoever. But something that plagued him was the juxtaposition that was your physical affection. You were so jovial and happy with everyone in the house- but you never let anyone touch you. You never touched anyone else either.
At first, he put it to what he knew was your background- abuse and loneliness. Maybe you’d been hurt more than you let on, so you didn’t let people touch you. But he threw out that hypothesis when he spent more time watching you. You always leaned in towards everyone close to you- and they leaned more away as if trying to retreat from your proximity. When with Natasha and Wanda, they always went to touch you, and you just stopped them with a look. It was such a sad look, and Loki longed to understand the pain behind your eyes. The women would pause, sigh, and take their hands back, pull their bodies back, put more distance between you and them, seemingly hurt at having to.
Today was no different. Loki was sitting on a chair in the library by the window with it open, pretending to read a book but actually watching you, while you were lazing on the couch actually reading a book. Something you had both grown very fond of in your time together. Neither of you said much, but you just enjoyed the company of one another with the chill wind coming in from outside. That’s when Natasha came to sit with you. You moved your legs and curled them up into yourself, but something new happened. Natasha, who threw something at you- ah, it was a cookie- to get your attention, and you laughed and ate it while looking at her curiously. She covered herself with a big, thick blanket, and then patted her lap for you to put your legs on top of her. You thought about it, looking pained and unsure, before slowly giving in, your eyes weary with doubt. But… nothing happened. Natasha smiled like the cat who got the cream as she pulled her phone out, and you went back to reading your book with the loveliest look of surprised warmth Loki had ever seen gracing your beautiful features.
After a little while, your eyes started fluttering shut, and you moved yourself so your head was on the red heads lap instead of your legs, and you fell asleep faster than you ever had in your life- a few happy tears falling down your cheeks.
Loki watched you sleep and forgot to put on the facade of reading, which caught the attention of Natasha, who didn’t even look up from her phone. “Whatcha staring at, Loki?” She asked, continuing to scroll.
Loki looked up at her surprise etched into his eyebrows. “Oh, nothing. I just- She’s never let anyone that close to her- how did you do that?” He asked her, eyes falling back to you.
“Y/N doesn’t let anyone touch her because she’s watched them flinch away from how cold she is her whole life. If they’re not flinching away, she hurts them by accident because most of the touches of her life have been dangerous or abusive, and she’s had to protect herself. Her powers don’t ever really turn off, they just… quiet. As long as we’ve been friends, this is the closest I’ve ever gotten to her letting me touch her.” She said, eyes on him now, watching his expressions. “Why do you care to notice?”
His eyes flew back to hers, trying to guard his expression from her knowing gaze. “I was just curious. Trying to figure you all out- she’s been the hardest to understand.” But his eyes falling back to your face gave him away, and when he looked back at Natasha, he knew she knew. She had the decency not to say anything, but the look on her face was enough to make Loki look back to his book and actually try to read this time to avoid any more speculation.
Days passed, and all he could think about was the look on your face when you were able to get some kind of physical affection- and he wanted to see it again. So this time, when he found you in the library like he always did- he didn’t choose the chair by the window. He sat down next to you. You looked up at him, and he could feel your surprise.
You eyed him up and down, and he just smiled that little smile that seemed to be only reserved for you, and started to read. The window was open, as it always was- this was your favorite room, because almost no one came in here besides Loki, and he never seemed to mind your proclivity towards keeping this room cold.
You two were like that for a while, but you started to notice him leaning more towards you- you were already at the end of the couch, so there wasn’t really anywhere for you to go, so you tried to will yourself to calm down and just focus on reading. His presence always calmed you down, he was so charming and kind- well, he was kind to you. You loved watching him read, as his tongue poked out as he was really involved with the words on the page.
Unable to focus on your page in front of you, you instead focused on the way he felt beside you. Normally, when someone was near you, you could feel their warmth radiating off of them- especially Thor and Steve. They seemed to have very naturally high body temperatures, and it made you feel itchy, like there was fire licking at your skin. Vision was one of your favorites to be near- his presence felt like nothing. No warm or cold coming off of him, so completely neutral and it made it very easy to be around him. Loki… well, Loki had never been close enough for you to be able to tell. You expected him to feel like Thor did, seeing as they were both Gods and all, and came from the same place; Asgard. But… Loki felt different. He was… normal? Well, normal for her, that was. He didn’t feel warm, he didn’t feel like anything? He kind of felt like Vision, and that surprised her.
Your curiosity got the better of you, and you scootched a little closer to him, your feet brushing his thigh on the couch next to you. You watched out of the corner of your eye for a reaction- but there was nothing negative. If that had happened with Peter, he would have shivered a little and pulled away from the touch because of how cold you were. Tony would have made a joke like, “Just because the cold doesn’t bother you, Elsa, doesn’t mean the rest of us are like that,” and you’d pull away embarrassed at the reminder of how different you are.
Loki moved again, tucking his feet under himself, which repositioned his upper half to be a centimeter from being arm and arm with you. And considering his button up had the sleeves rolled up and you could see his arm hair- God, you wanted to play with it- you were almost skin to skin. Your hands started shaking and you were about to pull away to protect yourself from the inevitable pain that would come from seeing him flinch away in pain- but before you could, it happened. His skin was pressed up against you, and your heart sped up three times as fast… and nothing bad happened. He didn’t move, he didn’t flinch, his face looked… serene? He looked happy touching you.
Now the gates were open and you needed to know more- know why.
“Loki?” You asked, your head turned to face him.
When he turned to face you, you could feel his breath on your face. “Yes, darling?” You almost choked on your spit- he’d never spoken to you with that endearment before.
“Why- I mean… How? I… Loki-” You tried to get a reasonable sentence out, but the words got caught in your throat as tears started prickling your vision.
Loki put his book down and turned to face you, movements slow as if he was afraid to spook you away. “Can I try something?” He asked, hands in his lap, waiting for permission for something. You nodded dumbly, completely unsure what was about to happen. All you knew was that a door had been opened to something, and you knew there was no going back now. Loki’s hands moved, and your instincts were to pull away from him, but you fought them. You wanted to see what was going to happen here. His hands found yours, and he covered them with his own. His skin was so soft, and you looked down and noticed that his skin started to turn a different color- so you pulled away, worried you were hurting him. But you hadn’t felt a surge of your own power?
You were about to ask him, but he beat you to it with the answer. “Did you know I was adopted? Odin stole me from my home when I was a baby- whether to hurt my people or to use me as a peace making tool, I still haven’t figured out, but I am not really Loki Odinson. I am a Frost Giant from birth, raised as an Asgardian. My birth name is Loki Laufeyson. The blue you just saw was… a piece of my real form, coming out at your touch, not because you were in any way hurting or negatively affecting me… so please, let me-” He reached out again, but this time, one hand found your face, his thumb running over your cheek bone, while the other hand ran over your arm softly. Your eyes fluttered closed- his touch was like nothing you’d ever experienced. He somehow felt the same temperature as you did to yourself. He wasn’t cold or hot, he was just… perfect. The tears that were threatening to spill before finally did, and Loki raised his other hand to cup both sides of your face and wipe away the tears as they fell.
“I’ve finally figured you out. It took longer than it ever has for me, but I’ve done it. I’ve never been so taken with figuring someone out before, not like this. You don’t pull away from people because you don’t want physical affection- you pull away because you’ve never had anyone who could physically handle you. No one’s temperature matched you. You’ve never been able to be touched gently. You’ve never been able to let yourself. You are so strong, my popsicle, but you don’t have to be anymore. I was made to be able to touch you, and be touched by you.” You opened your eyes and took him in in his base form- he was the most beautiful shade of icy turquoise, his eyes red as rubies, and he was touching you. He was touching you so lovingly and so sweetly, you couldn’t stop crying. In all your years, you had never been touched like this. No one ever could. Without a beat, you clambered up into his lap and wrapped your arms around him, sighing when his arms wound their way around your waist, pulling you closer to him.
“I’m not hurting you?” You asked, your voice shaking.
“Not in the way you mean, darling, but you are hugging me a little tight.” You felt his chuckle vibrate in your chest, which made you laugh too. “Don’t stop, though.” He whispered into your hair.
“You’re so beautiful, you know. Why don’t you let people see your real self?” You asked, burrowing your face in his neck, pressing your nose into the column of his throat.
“I’ve spent my whole life using my magic to make myself look a certain way- it’s more or less unconscious at this point. And I’m… a little insecure about this form. Very few people have seen me look like this. And it’s never been for a good, healthy reason like this.”
“Well, I’m honored. Thank you for this. No one… no one has ever been able to touch me without it hurting them. Thank you so much, Loki.” After a few more minutes of you straddling him on the couch, wrapped around him, you came to your senses enough to know that this was probably not completely appropriate- so you got off of him as a blush crept from your cheeks to your neck to your chest, smiling shyly and biting your lip.
Loki thought you were beautiful before, but you’d never looked more beautiful than you did right in that moment.
You went back to reading together, enjoying the chill air fill the room from the window, pressed up against one another on the couch- comfortable for the first time in your life.
Part 2
#loki fanfic#loki (marvel)#loki laufeyson#loki x reader#reader insert#reader fanfiction#marvel fanfiction#loki fanfiction
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Into The Unknown, Part 9
First
Previous
It was kind of weird how quickly they got acclimated to civilian life.
Sure, Marinette often came out of the day with way too much energy, but they could burn off most of it by sparring. A ten to twenty minute session a day (excluding warm ups and cool downs, which added another thirty minutes or so) was enough to maintain their physiques and get rid of the uncomfortable energy that came with the sudden loss of constant danger in their lives.
(Not that this Gotham wasn’t dangerous, but it was… markedly less so. The Rogues Gallery didn’t exist in this world, what with Batman not existing, so the only thing that they really had to fear was mob activities and the occasional mugging. As long as they kept their noses clean and never stopped to tell a person the time, there was no reason for them to be scared.)
Other than that… it was almost too easy to get used to the new life that they lived.
Marinette woke up first in the mornings for work and would take care of Damian while she got ready. Tim had baby duty for the nine hours a day she was at work and commuting, so it was the least she could do.
And, really, he wasn’t all that difficult now that she was starting to get the hang of the whole baby thing.
Damian was trying to mimic her -- anticipatory socialization, she was pretty sure it was called (Or was it imprinting? Observational learning? Damn it, her psych major was not coming through for her right then). She found it cute and it was completely normal so she was perfectly fine encouraging it: she had gotten him mini versions of all of her makeup brushes.
One time, though, this backfired on her: he had dipped one of the cheap makeup brushes she’d gotten him into her makeup when she wasn’t looking and applied it to his face.
Marinette glanced down -- he had been quiet for too long, never a good thing -- and gasped. “Dami, you can’t whitewash yourself!”
Damian looked up at her, eyes wide with confusion.
She tried not to pout because he might take it wrong. Why must her best jokes always come to her when no one was around to hear?
“Don’t touch the powder stuff, please. It's not for babies, it's for grown ups.”
Damian frowned and looked down at his brush. She gently took it from him and worked at getting the makeup out.
When she gave it back to him he still seemed a little sad.
She sighed and gave him a short hug. “I’m not mad. I promise. It’s just… not your color!”
(The real reason was that makeup is very expensive, but kids don’t really understand money so she needed an excuse.)
Damian was still a little pouty. She didn’t know what to do. Damn. She supposed that served her right. She shouldn't have dared to think that she was getting the hang of having the whole ‘having a baby’ thing.
She sighed and looked down at him for a few moments, thinking. He was sitting in the high chair they kept him in when both of them were too busy to hold him. Usually he would be swinging his legs back and forth like a toddler -- probably because he was a toddler -- but now he was remarkably still, green eyes wide as he looked up at her.
She glanced at the time. Damian had woken her up early that morning, so she had extra time to get ready…
Marinette pulled her phone from her pocket and checked the internet.
… hm. Makeup could be toxic to babies. Good to know.
She grabbed one of her makeup wipes and scrubbed it from his face. She’d make sure to tell Tim so he could look out for any rashes the kid might get.
Then, she pulled out a comb and started brushing the tiny curls on Damian’s head. There wasn’t much, so it was mostly just dragging against his scalp, but the kid seemed pleased so she kept doing that for a few minutes.
At one point, he tried to take the comb from her. She allowed it, figuring he wanted to try and brush his own hair, but then he reached for her.
She leaned down to take him out of the chair, she was mostly done getting ready anyways, but instead he started trying to brush her hair.
… oh.
She felt, strangely, like crying. Her kid -- sorry, this kid -- was just so cute.
… but she didn’t want to mess up her hair...
He made a vague whining sound and she was weak.
She could always fix her hair on the train or something, she supposed.
She hesitantly leaned down so he could brush her hair. “Fuck it? I guess?”
“Fuck it,” Damian said, giving a short nod.
She groaned internally. “I’m actually going to have to stop swearing, aren’t I?”
“Fuck it!” Damian said again, louder this time.
Her lips twitched. “You’re so right, Dami. Who cares about a few little swears?”
“I do,” said Tim, who was apparently standing in the doorway.
She yelped. She probably would have flinched away if Damian hadn’t managed to make a giant knot in her hair in the few seconds that she had let him touch it.
She turned and sent Tim a weak smile. “You’re up early.”
He rolled his eyes. “Please stop teaching him swears.”
“I mean… it’s kind of funny, though.”
“It’s not.”
Marinette groaned overdramatically and turned to look at Damian. “He’s such a stick in the mud, amiright?”
“Sti-in-mu,” Damian said, nodding.
Tim huffed. “I’m starting to think he likes you better.”
“As he should,” Marinette said. She picked up the baby and nuzzled her nose against his. “Who’s a smart baby? You are!”
Damian giggled and tried to nuzzle her back.
~
Tim hummed as he went around the apartment, sweeping the floors. He and Marinette had come to a kind of unspoken agreement: he would do the cleaning, and she would do the cooking. It was only fair, since Tim’s standards for cleanliness were higher than hers and she was the only one out of the three people there that was physically capable of cooking an edible meal.
(Yes, he was aware that he was comparing his cooking skills to that of a baby. It was accurate, okay?)
Damian crawled along after him. He was trying to help, Tim was pretty sure, swatting the floor behind where Tim was cleaning...
Tim smiled. Maybe he should get the kid some fake cleaning supplies like Marinette had done with all of her makeup brushes. Would he like that? Only one way to find out, he supposed. He found the grocery list and wrote it down.
When he turned back to where he had left Damian -- which, he reminded himself, he shouldn’t be doing, because the kid was surprisingly fast when it came to trying to get himself killed -- and found the kid…
Holy shit.
He was walking.
Tim watched with a bright smile as Damian struggled to his feet and took a few steps towards him.
It didn’t last long. Damian had only really managed about three steps before he fell back to his knees and crawled the rest of the way. But…
Tim made a slightly embarrassing squealing noise in the back of his throat and leaned down, scooping the baby up in his arms and hugging him close. He couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off of his face.
“Look at you! Walking! Oh my god! Oh my god oh my god oh my god!”
Damian was blinked up at him in wide-eyed confusion.
Tim leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of the kid’s head and refused to pull back until he had calmed down a little.
He smiled down at his younger brother, who looked delighted at the attention but also very confused as to what was going on.
He looked around until he found Kaalki, who had been on his phone doing… horse things? God things? Who cares?
“Please tell me you took a video of that.”
“Nope. I did get a picture of you kissing his forehead, though.”
Tim huffed a little. “Delete that.”
“Too late. Already sent it to Marinette.”
Even this wasn’t enough to dampen his mood.
And Tim knew that the fact that Damian was walking had almost nothing to do with him, but he was proud, damn it. Or maybe the better way of saying it was that he was happy for the kid? He didn’t know, he had always been terrible with emotions. It was a good emotion, though, that much he was sure of.
He kissed Damian’s forehead again and smiled when the baby giggled at him and reached out, smushing his cheeks in his hands.
“Hello,” Tim struggled to say with the baby hands pressing in on his face.
“Nano,” Damian said.
“Close enough,” he said. “Want to watch some TV to celebrate?”
Damian nodded vigorously. Tim wondered, vaguely, if the kid understood what he was saying or if he just kind of gave answers when he knew that Marinette and Tim were asking him things.
Didn't matter. Tim would put on that one weird show with the talking cat that Damian liked and they could watch that until Marinette got home.
And, when she did, she practically ran over. She didn’t even take off her shoes, a sure sign that she was excited.
Damian looked away from the TV and smiled. “Mar-ree.”
Marinette’s mouth dropped open for a second… and then curled into a bright smile.
“You’re so… cute!” She cooed. “Yes! Hi! Good to see you, Dami!”
Tim pouted, slightly jealous.
She seemed to notice because she stuck her tongue out at him. “You got to see his first steps and I didn’t. I deserve this.”
He disagreed. The pout on his face remained until Damian saw and twisted around in his lap, leaning up and wrapping his arms around his neck in a kind of hug. Because it was kind of hard to stay sad when he was doing that.
He hugged the kid back for a few moments and then drew back, planting a kiss on his nose.
Marinette hesitated.
“Can I… have him for a few minutes? I want to see him walk.”
Tim considered this.
Then he smiled. “Only if I can take a video.”
“I would have made you do it, anyways,” she said.
Tim chuckled softly and handed the baby over so they could take the video.
~
She slipped into the apartment after a long day of work.
Tim was fluffing the pillows, apparently out of apartment to clean.
Damian looked up from the pillow he was hitting at the sound of the door clicking closed, and he seemed to light up. He grabbed Tim’s hand with one hand for his attention and pointed at her excitedly with the other.
“Nano! Yanzur! Mar-ree!”
“Yeah, that’s Mari,” Tim agreed.
Marinette flexed her feet now that they were out of the god-forsaken heels that she had been wearing.
“Hi, Dami. How was your day?” She asked.
Damian didn’t understand the question and certainly didn’t know enough words to respond, but he seemed sated by the acknowledgement of his existence. He slowly slid off of the couch and started his way over to her.
Marinette smiled faintly, amused. She looked over at Tim while she waited for him to get to her.
“So… he told you to look at me, that I get… but what is a ‘Nano’?”
“That’s what he’s calling me now, I think,” Tim said, slightly flushed.
She blinked. “That… isn’t even close to your name.”
“I know,” he said, shrugging helplessly.
Her lips twitched. “Maybe he’s calling you short.”
Tim threw the pillow he had been fluffing at her.
She let it hit her -- it was a pillow, it wasn’t like it would hurt -- and then stuck her tongue out at him. “Don’t blame me! I’m but an innocent bystander in this! He’s the one that did it!”
Damian tugged on the fabric of her shirt. She looked down, a grin still on her face. He made grabby hands and she obliged with ease, picking him up and nuzzling her nose against his.
Then, her eyes sparkled with mirth.
“Tell me, Dami, is Tim short?”
Damian looked between the two of them. Marinette was nodding and Tim was shaking his head vigorously.
“... shor!”
Marinette burst into a fit of giggles while Tim groaned.
“I hate you.”
Her amusement didn’t die down in the slightest. “Oh, if you hate me, then I guess I’m only making food for Dami and I. Hope you didn’t eat all the leftovers for lunch today...”
“Wait, Mari, let’s talk about this --.”
~~~~~
Next
@unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff
#the nano thing is an actual thing that happened to me#i still dont know how my sibling came up with that#my real name is even further away from nano than olivia is#into the unknown#maribat#timinette#timari#timmari#shutterbug#tim drake#marinette dupain cheng#ladybug#red robin
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Ok hi again, I may be over doing it......idgaf I like ur shit! Good shit grade A writing. Aha
Aftercare, does it happen? What do they do?
Also....are these guys aware of their s/o limit if so do they stop😈
Pressing X for doubt
yandere ! BNHA thirsty headcannons
Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3
goodiebag WARNINGS: yandere, noncom/dubcon, abuse, manipulation, mind control
BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN
He’ll at least ask. He’s always careful to ask. The actual response isn’t too important. Protest that are drowned out in a moan can’t be seen as an actual protest anyway, and he always makes sure that her words are chocked in her throat. Bakugo knows his worth, he knows that each and every thing he does to her in that bed, it’s guarantied she likes it. Her pride makes her a liar, she can’t be trusted with her own pleasure, not when he knows and has proven time and time again that he knows her body and her limits better than what she does. When he has her bent over his lap, that cute little ass that he knows belongs to him, aiming to make sure that she knows it too, each time his hand comes in harsh contact with the soft flesh, feeling it up like putty in his hand as she winces and cries for him to stop. Her protests can’t be taken seriously, not when two fingers gliding up her pussy tells him all he needs to know, feeling how soaked she already is for him, all warm and velvety and ready. That’s all the answer he needs to keep going.
As far as aftercare goes… it can vary. Sometimes he’ll draw a bath with bubbles and lavender oil and light scented candles. Other times he’ll make food, where he’ll bake desserts more than anything. But there are days he won’t do much more than keep a painfully suffocating grip on her as he drifts rather quickly off to sleep. Exchanging no words except for those growls of good night and I love you. Leaving the rest for after they wake up, having an early morning where he’ll never let her sleep in, dragging her with him to shower before he has to leave, where afterwards he’ll treat her to more tender care on the bed with his face buried between her thighs in a way of apologizing for having to leave her alone all day.
DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA
She shouldn’t worry her pretty little head about anything. Dabi might look like your worst nightmare, but you’d be surprised how soft the darkness really is. He can be persuasive and disarming if and when he wants to be, or he can be foul… He likes finding a mix between the two though, they work better together anyway. Make her feel safe, but only if she obeys, and make her feel fear if she doesn’t. He won’t bite… at least not for any longer than to make her cry for him, for those precious little water-works to bubble up to the surface. Making a chew toy out of that pretty swan-neck of hers, paint it with purple, resembling what hue of mulberry-wine found on his marred skin. Nibbling on that cute button between her legs, feel her tremble in his hold and hear her gasp out his name. Or grinding those perfect little nipples between the rows of his teeth, watching her blubber out her pleas when the pressure he applies threatens to bite the flimsy nib off, feel her pussy clench around his shaft upon the anticipation and fear. Fear does such peculiar things to people, especially in the form of threats, especially when walking hand in hand with pleasure. His darling doesn’t know what to make of herself, left completely like putty in his hands, all for him to toy with and tamper and tease. Where she doesn’t dare try and make him stop, she doesn’t dare allow herself to enjoy what he’s doing either, because only mad people run into things they already know to be a trap.
He’ll hush and coo at her to stop crying afterwards, her little mind on the verge of breaking and her pitter patter heart standing on the cliff’s edge ready to jump with nothing but Dabi to hold onto, the knot in her lower abdomen already having exploded time and time again because of him. She’s such a mess, such a cross-eyed wet hot mess, his little mess and that always manages to bring a smile to his face.
SHIGARAKI TOMURA
If Tomura’s in a mood, as in a childish fit, she can expect no rest, because the wicked as we know get no rest, and the unfortunate sweet thing kidnapped by the wicked get no rest either. Tomura’s mood, quite like his morals, change like tidewater. Sometimes he’ll behold her precious beautiful body as though she’s made up of fine porcelain, meant to be touched and worshipped softly, where the fact of her wanting the worship or not is irrelevant. He’ll still touch and touch and let himself get carried away by how insanely soft her skin is as opposed to him. He’ll fuck her slowly, each hump meaningful and hauled out to the max as so to feel every single inch of him filling her up… Then there’s his other mood… The feeling of opposition is no less there, how unfairly gorgeous she is in contrast to how appalling he is, however… instead of it evoking worship… it evokes humorous triumph. Gut-wrenching nasty despicable satisfaction, where it brings him such inane pleasure to think that someone as disgusting as him has the power and the will to corrupt something so pure, something so pretty, and how there is quite literally nothing she can do to stop him, nothing at all… it gets his blood rushing in sadistic glee when he pushes her down on her stomach, fisting her hair while jutting into her from behind, every little salacious depraved thought growled into her ear, with no regard to her choked screams except for a wild grin, spiked to go even faster.
Not much tender aftercare here I’m afraid, he thinks it’s best to leave her alone, getting in his chair to game, taking one long last look at his cum seeping from her hole, his handprint red across her ass, still looking so pretty even with all those bruises… maybe even inspired to go for another round.
SHINSO HITOSHI
Aww. Little kitty is at her breaking point? The collar is too tight for Master’s precious pretty pet? Pussy-cat wants a break? But good kittens deserve good toe-curling eye-crossing world-shattering rewards, and bad kittens will be punished however Master chooses, won’t they? If she screams no, he’ll hear yes. If she screams stop, he’ll hear more. If she screams please, well… he’ll still hear please… It’s so unbearably cute to see her stutter and frustrate over how her words come out all wrong, as if someone’s picked her brain, pulled on her strings as though she were a puppet, changed what she wants to say, to what he wants to hear. What’s even cuter is when those large eyes of hers go all ditzy, crossing paths, that crinkle between her brows furrowing, with her tongue falling over her lips. But, the cutest thing is when her tail wraps around his thigh and leg, holding onto him in such a soft embrace when her bliss strides over her body, reaching all the way to the tip of her plushy soft tail, when her wrists and ankles are too busy being kept tied snug and firm together, as he continues to slam himself fast-forwardly into her.
He’ll erase his mind-tricks afterwards, careful to restore anything he might have disturbed or broken during their playtime. Her fluffy tail still slithered around his thigh as he pets her over her soft ears, telling her what a good little kitten she is and how proud she’s made him, feeling her shiver and jolt against him, small little spasms followed by short acute hiccups, proof of how bendable those so-called limits are when Hitoshi takes control. Proof of how good he can make her feel, so good she loses track of where she is, so good she loses contact with her mind, so good the only thing she’s still able to do is purr.
TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS
Oh… She can’t blame him when his rut rolls around the corner. He can’t control those urges. Not when she’s there, so plain and defenseless and a perfect fit for him to take all that cooped up frustration out on. He just needs to fill her each and every crevice up with his seed, make sure she’s well bred, pump her full of his cum until his balls no longer have anything left to give. He’ll hump like a frenzied pup, hands gripping her hips so tight her feet don’t even touch the ground. He’ll pound until he’s exhausted, until she’s left a swollen sweat-slicked mess, no longer able to stand straight without her weak and wobbly knees giving out beneath her. She wishes his rut and her heat could line up, so she doesn’t have to go through the same thing twice, but she isn’t that lucky, and Keigo is. He’ll be counting down the days until finally picking up those sweet tones in the air, that aroma that makes him go feral. She does him a favor by acting so shy, so ashamed, it makes it that much more fun when she’s struggling against both him and herself. All it takes is for him to put his thumb in her mouth… how she’ll begin to drool at the very first taste, her eyes losing that feral fight and falling prey to the feeling of her nerves being set on fire. He gladly indulges her needs, his heart fluttering at how clingy she becomes, how sweet, blubbering out gibberish, shapeless words that are such a good replacement for what vile things she’ll yell at him most other times.
He’ll be so hungry in the mornings after, disappointed for the lack of food in the house, but he can’t blame his darling for not cooking, not when he’s rendered her lame, she can’t very well cook if she can’t stand. He’ll order so much take-out the smell of sweat and juices soon gets coated and overwhelmed by the smell of spice and broth. Eating, regaining all his strength… that was only day one of two weeks… the rut is only just beginning.
MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU
Don’t worry, Izuku knows how much to give and how much to take, just as he knows when to give it and when to take it, and how to give and how to take. He knows what punishment is due for what crime as well as he knows when rewards are in order. And if he so happens to need to punish her… he’ll make sure she does something in need of punishment. It’s not often he needs to act on those sadistic carnal vulgar yearnings, but a bad day gets a whole lot better if he can come home and take it out on someone, especially when he gets to play with her beforehand, poke and prod until she slips up, allowing him to pounce on her the second she fucks up like a fox finally done playing with his food, his little bunny. The ends justify the means after all. He knows that it’s unfair to take his frustration out on his little darling… but… it being wrong… somehow makes it feel better. Having her blubbering on choked sobs and quaking beneath him, under his blood-soaked scarred hands, her little hole serving as such a snug and no doubt painful fit for his cock to abuse. Hearing her apologize for doing absolutely nothing at all, just to satiate his craze, all because he decided he wanted to exercise his dominance.
One thing that’s good about Izuku is that once is enough, and though that one time might feel like a million times stretching over a million days, where she’s left unable to walk properly… once he’s done, she can be sure he’s done… at least until the next day. If she hasn’t passed-out, he’ll let her cry it off when he’s done, offering no words but still comforting her by stroking her back or fiddling with her hair, twirling it about his fingers as she rests on his chest, her tears making his bicep itch with irritation, but he’ll allow her that much.
CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL
He tries being sweet, he tries being gentle, he tries mimicking the same type of softness as his darling bestows upon him, yet… although she’s sweet, she’s also so aggravatingly reluctant, and Kai doesn’t have the time nor the patience to second-guess every single little thing he wants to do. It’s impractical, it’s wasteful, it’s stupid, and stupidity as we know is a disease he can’t risk being infected with. No, better then, for him to just take the lead, for him to make the decisions for her, for him to decide her limits, up to him to decide when she’s ready to take his cock, how fast and hard he can thrust into her, how tight he can grip her wrists when she starts pushing at him, how many bruises are too many, how many times she can cum. Besides, if things go too far… he knows how to piece her together again. He hasn’t studied every single detail of her just to let all that valuable information go to waste. He’ll see to it that she’s as good as new once their done, if not, maybe even better, maybe even less reluctant to give into what he wants next time, maybe a bit more respectful of the rules, maybe a bit more understanding of who there is the boss and who there is the brittle brainless little toy.
Pain is a good cleanser anyway, despite it being bloody and gory and mixed in with tears and drool and snot and whatever else may occur once the need for his quirk arrives after his aggression causes something to bruise or break. She might think that it’s cruel that healing her has to hurt more than the wound itself, but what she needs to learn is that prosperity always comes at a price, a price that he’s all too willing to pay when she fails to live up to her potential.
TODOROKI SHOTO
Limits are made to be broken, to be conquered, in order for us to prosper. She should be grateful she at least gets the liberty to be with the one she loves, the one who loves her. She should at least be grateful that it’s not just anyone who’s breaking her limits, but him. Him and his hands and his tongue and his cock and his frostbite and his flames and his smile and his biting laughter. She knows by now that there is no stopping him when he starts, she knows that her only hope is to wait for herself to achieve that opium-blown ecstasy and ride that insanity where her skin feels like fire and her insides like ice and every touch, no matter how feather-light or how brutish and bruising, is god’s touch.
Shoto is unprecedentedly thorough and dreadfully talented at aftercare. While his darling is lying all limp and numbed-down, holding onto the prickling feeling dancing like fire-ants on her skin, she can barely even capture the feeling of Shoto wrapping her up in a fuzzy robe. His cold lips pressing onto her forehead and by the time she comes to, when she finally and woefully breaches the surface and gets reeled back into reality, right when she’s at the verge of collapsing from having all her hormones crash, her adrenaline fizzing out into nothing and she’s left feeling all cold and so dreadfully sad, Shoto’s right there, making her feel warm and appreciated and safe. He’ll light candles, scented with rosehip, he’ll already have picked out a movie, he’ll have the chocolate ready, the tea brewing in their matching cups, swiftly braiding her hair into a neat loose setup to keep it from falling into her face as he knows she’s much too drained to lift her hand, resting between his legs, her head using his chest as a headrest. If he’s being honest, he isn’t quite sure what he loves more, the play-session or the aftercare, all he knows is that one is impossible without the other… yet again proving the importance of balance.
Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3
#yandere izuku#yandere deku#yandere bakugo katsuki#yandere chisaki#yandere boku no hero academia#yandere bakugo#yandere katsuki#yandere#yandere dabi#yandere todoroki#yandere tomura#yandere takami keigo#yandere shigaraki#yandere shoto todoroki#yandere shinso hitoshi#yandere shinsou#yandere shouto#yandere bnha#yandere kai chisaki#yandere keigo takami#yandere keigo#yandere izuku midoriya#yandere midoriya#yandere mha#yandere midoriya izuku#yandere my hero academia#yandere hawks#yandere hitoshi#yandere hitoshi shinso#yandere chisaki kai
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Choke
Hey guys! I decided to post it here too~ Anything this is some Frank x Danny x female reader insert hella self indulgent smut~
Ngl, had someone ask me, "how far do you take your dirty talk?" aaaand here's the example I guess?? lmao
Either way it was fun as hell! Enjoy! <3
Can also be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31056830
Tags include: dub-con (ish), verbal humiliation, dirty talk, name-calling, spitroasting, f/m/m threesome
The Fog had been a living hell, for sure. You dare say you were getting used to this “Entity” and its foul games. The pain didn't seem to feel as bad as when you first got here—or maybe that was just your mind knowing you wouldn't truly die? Your cruel resurrection was inevitable in this hellscape. But, you found solace in the small things. To start, you had the other survivors. The companionship was at least enough to keep you sane (for the most part) until you found a way out. But was there?
Trial after trial, your morale drained slowly—that is, until your curiosity was piqued. Some of these vicious killers were... well, human. For the most part, maybe. Take The Legion for example: although they switched off, they were all still four human punk-asses. Sure, being cat called while chased by Frank or having insults hurled at you while Julie choked you to death wasn't the most ideal thing... But it was a breath of fresh air. There were others, yes, but the most talkative or entertaining ones were primarily Frank and Danny—The Ghostface, as they called him.
Speaking of those two—back to the predicament at hand. How the fuck are two killers allowed to be in a trial at the same time!? It wasn't fair! Not only for obvious reasons but more personal ones... Sometimes, you wanted to punch Frank in his stupid face for his chastising, filthy mouth. But, that was only really because of how hot and bothered it actually made you. You knew back before this shit, you were really into dirty talk and stuff, but here? Now? Surely, The Entity knew and was doing this on purpose.
No, you were absolutely sure The Entity was doing this on purpose when you saw the second killer was Danny. He had a nasty mouth on him too—a bit more aggressive than Frank overall, but it still didn't help you not be affected by his “teasing”. But why? Sure, you enjoyed their talk, even if your brain tried to yell at you that they were there to murder you, not sweet talk you to bed. But did The Entity even give “graces” like this? No, no—it must be for the killers. After all, they were the ones that essentially gave power to this thing.
No matter why or for who, it didn't matter. You weren't going to look this gift horse in the mouth. You deserved a slice of pleasure too, right?
So, here you were, being dragged into the old ski resort lodge, two sets of hands moving over every inch of your body, making you squirm between them.
“Hey, hey,” Frank cooed in a smug tone as you were turned to face him. “Settle down, kitten, we haven't even started yet!”
“She can't help it,” Danny mocked behind you, grabbing your ass, which made you give a squeal of surprise. “She's gonna get double fucked! Any slut would be excited by that.”
“You're right,” Frank practically purred, sliding his hands under your shirt and making his way up to your chest. “I'm surprised she's not already trying to tear out of her clothes.”
“Fuck you,” you hissed weakly, trying to squirm from their grasps—but, the both of them proved to be too strong and they kept you firm in place. “Let me go...!”
“Oh, don't worry, kitten,” Frank said, lifting his mask to sit on the top of his head as he eyed you over. “You'll fuck me soon enough~”
You were too busy examining the details of a face you hadn't seen without the mask to notice Frank giving a nod at Danny. There was a chuckle behind you and, suddenly, Danny had his hands over your torso, ripping open your shirt and pulling the ruined garment off, letting it fall to the floor. Another squeal escaped you as you tried to cover your arms over your chest, face flushed. Of course, Danny wouldn't let you do that as he gripped your wrists and held you in place.
“Fuck, she's got some nice tits,” the man behind you mused.
“Hell yeah, she does,” Frank agreed, brandishing his knife. “Let's get a better look, though...”
Before you could make a protest, Frank's knife slipped under the front of your bra, harshly tugging upwards to tear it in half. Quick on the move, Danny let go of your wrists to let your arms hang low so that he could swiftly tug your destroyed bra off and down to the ground.
“D-Don't touch me,” you shrieked, only to have them do just the opposite. Danny's hand cupped one of your breasts, while Frank toyed with the other, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. You were trying so hard not to make noise, but the look on your face must have given you away.
“What a slut,” Frank laughed, making you jolt as he pinched your nipple. “Hmm? You like having killers play around with your tits?”
“Look at her face,” Danny cooed. “She totally does! Nasty bitch~”
Your mind was failing to think of words to says, insults to hurl, threats to make. But, it didn't matter, they were too strong for you and you had nothing to fend them off with. And if the heat pooling in your core had any say in the matter, you were likely going to break anyways. Sooner, rather than later, if they kept this up.
You tried to at least keep quiet—if you couldn't make threats, the least you could do was not make any moans. Your focus was brought back to the situation as Frank cupped your chin, forcing your head up to look at him. For the moment, he had let go of your breast and Danny took full advantage of that by cupping both in his hands, squeezing them.
“Fuck,” Danny grunted behind you. “I've gotta get my dick between these sometime...”
Frank seemed to be searching for something in your face as he looked you over, yet abandoned that endeavor rather quickly. He let go of your chin and scoffed, grabbing hold of your hips now.
“I bet you anything she's already fucking soaked,” Frank mocked, emphasizing his last word as he popped the button of your jeans. “Let's just check that... 'Kay, kitten?”
Frank slipped his palm over your stomach, making his way down as you squirmed in Danny's grasp. He slipped past your pants and toyed with the waistband of your panties briefly before finally slipping his hand down over your folds. There was no warning when Frank brought his head closer, dipping under your chin to bite harshly into your neck, at the same time he pushed two fingers into your pussy. You were already losing yourself, but there was no way you could hold back the moan that ripped past your throat at Frank's actions. You could practically feel his smirk against your neck...
“Ho~ly fuck,” Frank cooed as he released your neck, pulling his head back to look at you while he pulled his fingers out from your jeans, just to hold them in front of your face. Of course, Frank was right —you were already wet by now. “This bitch is a total whore! Look at how wet she is already!”
“Damn,” Danny laughed, pinching both of your nipples in an attempt to draw noise from you. “I guess we got lucky with this one, huh?”
You whimpered softly as Danny pinched again, squirming as you watched Frank make a show of licking his fingers clean. Your mind teetered on the edge between wrong and right, just a touch away from going over and begging for them. In some pathetic last attempt to escape, you tried to pull away again. Frank clicked his teeth and gripped your hips again to hold you in place, Danny giving a light grind into your ass. Fuck, you could already feel how hard he was.
“Please,” you spoke softly, trying not to look Frank in the eye. To this, he roughly grabbed your chin and forced you to look him in the eye, a smirk tugging his lips upwards.
“Please what, kitten,” he sneered, bringing his face even closer to yours. ...That was it. That was the tipping point and your brain tumbled down the wrong side. But, you didn't give a hot damn. You needed this... and you needed it now.
“Don't tease me,” you breathed out, flashing Frank a look—oh, did he know that look well. The look of letting go and giving in to carnal desire. It was show time.
“That's what we wanna hear,” Danny chuckled, his voice more clear now and you could only assume he took his mask off as well. “A slut in the end—can't resist having some cock in you, right? Even if it's from a killer?”
Frank gave a vicious grin from ear to ear, letting go of your chin to dip his head down against your neck.
“Good girl,” he purred, giving another firm bite before working on pushing your pants and panties down. This time, when he bit into you, you let out a soft whimper, wiggling your pants and panties down the rest of the way to help, then stepped out of them.
Behind you, Danny removed his gloves, letting his bare hands slide down your chest, savoring the warmth of your skin as he kept moving further down. Sure, he knew Frank was right—but he couldn't help to feel for himself as his fingers dipped between your damp folds, his fingertips gliding up and down some. Your breath had already started to become labored from his small actions alone, surely stroking his ego more than it was. You wanted to savor the moment, but Frank seemed a bit impatient.
“Lemme have her,” Frank spoke, a bit of a grumble behind his tone. “I got an idea~”
Frank seemed to enjoy simply tugging you along and keeping you out of the loop. Throwing you over his shoulder like he would to carry you to a hook, that instinctual fear almost began to rise. As Frank started to climb the stairs with you, Danny followed behind, looking just as impatient as the other man.
“Don't worry, baby girl,” Danny cooed, patting your cheek some. “You're not going on a hook. We got something better in mind for you!”
On the second floor, there were a few empty rooms with faded memories of what this place once was, long ago. In one of the rooms, there was a large mattress and pillows, cigarette butts littering the ground with the smell of smoke still rather fresh. This was probably Frank's sort of make shift bedroom, if you had to guess... You almost wanted to ask (why, you weren't sure), but the wind was briefly knocked from you as Frank threw your body on the mattress with ease.
“You're gonna love this, kitten,” Frank hummed as you coughed a bit. “All just for you! I know a little whore like you can probably take more... But we'll start here, okay?”
You weren't sure what he meant and you weren't given any time to dwell on it before he rolled you onto your stomach, just as Danny came around to sit on the mattress, close enough to your face that you could practically feel the warmth radiating from his body. Grabbing your hips, Frank lifted your bottom half up to meet his crotch as he let his erection rub against your ass through his jeans. With a chuckle, he shoved his hips forward, forcing your face into Danny's crotch, making you both groan.
“I know you're excited, kitten,” Frank sneered, giving a harsh slap across your ass. “So get to work! I'm sure my friend here would love to see how talented that slut mouth of yours is~”
Propping your torso up just a bit, you looked up at Danny as he began to unfasten his pants, pushing them down a few inches just to make it easier to take his aching erection out. You couldn't help but stare for a moment, impressed by his girth. Damn, were all the killers like this...? Taking your distraction as hesitation, Danny ran his fingers through your hair, gripping tightly as he tugged your head forward a bit.
“I'm not gonna wait all day, bitch,” Danny sneered, purposefully rubbing himself against your lips. You whined a bit at the tight grip he had on your hair before obeying—placing one hand on his thigh to steady yourself as the other gripped the base of his cock. You gave one long, broad lick along the underside of his cock, dragging your tongue up until you flicked it off of the tip. Frank rubbed the side of your ass he slapped earlier, as if silently giving praise at the little show.
“Ohh,” Danny groaned, flashing a smirk down at you. “I can already tell she's used that mouth well before. Think she's tried to use it to bargain for the hatch?”
“Probably,” Frank said with a laugh, giving your ass another slap, causing you to gasp out. “At least, I wouldn't put it past her.”
You could feel yourself throbbing, started to become impatient yourself. But you weren't going to beg—oh no, not yet. To keep yourself quiet, you took a few inches of Danny into your mouth, sucking lightly as if to savor him. Danny groaned and muttered small praises to you, so focused on him that you were deaf to the sound of Frank's zipper being pulled down behind you. When you felt his rubbing the tip of his cock against your slit, you gasped, but were unable to stop the soft moan you gave.
“Oh, you're gonna feel so good around my cock,” Frank cooed, rubbing a bit more incessantly. You started sucking harder around Danny's length, trying not to give in to the feeling of Frank rubbing against you. Trying was the key word, but your body acted first, trying to rub back against him for more friction. He gave a click of his tongue and used his free hand to keep your hips still.
“You want it, kitten,” Frank asked with a mocking tone. “You gotta beg for it~”
Danny yanked your head up and off his cock, making you wince as you glanced up at him. Seeing the smirk on Danny's face made your heart jump and you were all too sure that Frank had the same look on his face. Flushed, you chewed your bottom lip a bit, as if a bit embarrassed to say it out loud. Frank gave you an encouraging, yet hard, slap across your ass, making you squeal out and tremble a bit.
“P-Please,” you squeaked out, whining as you tried to press back against Frank. “Fuck me, Frank...! Please...!”
“You want my cock in you,” Frank chuckled, giving another smack to your ass. “Say it, bitch!”
“Y-Yes,” you moaned out. “I want your cock in me, Frank! Please!”
“What a total cock slut,” Danny laughed as he brought your face close to his cock again, making sure you had him in your mouth before releasing his hold on your hair. You felt Frank lining himself up, pushing just the tip in before gripping your hips with both hands. Without warning, he suddenly gave a single, sharp jerk of his hips, thrusting himself inside you to the hilt, causing you to lurch forward and deep throat Danny. You almost gagged on him from the sudden force, but Danny only groaned, cursing under his breath.
“Fuck,” Frank groaned, keeping still a moment. “She's tight, too... Damn, she feels good!”
Frank pulled you back some, letting you off of Danny's cock to catch your breath, watching you cough a bit from the surprise forced deep throat. Once you were mostly settled, Danny gripped your hair again to guide you back to his throbbing length, rubbing the back of your head encouragingly. Frank pulled out most of the way before speaking up again.
“That was your warning,” Frank taunted, rubbing his thumbs over your hips. “So you better get ready—'cause I'm not stopping until I've filled you up, got it?”
“Do anything you want to me, Frank,” you whined out, glancing over your shoulder at him as your mind clouded with lust. “Please use me...~”
“Damn,” Danny scoffed, turning your face to him again with an amused grin. “She's a compliant little cock sucker.”
“Ohhh,” Frank cooed, fingers digging into your hips. “You just sealed the deal there, babygirl~”
Listening to Frank, you knew this was your one second to attempt to brace yourself. Taking Danny back into your mouth, you pressed your tongue against the underside of his cock, but let your jaw hang slack. If Frank's “warning” was anything to go by, you wouldn't need to be doing much head movement, anticipating his thrusts would be enough to do that for you.
And that it was. Frank showed no mercy, no easing you into it—no, he immediately started with a rough, somewhat quick pace as each thrust would push you back down onto Danny. You had let yourself go well before this point, so there was no trying to suppress your moans, loud and needy as they were. The small vibrations from your moans sent a shiver up Danny's back as he gripped your hair tight again, seeming to be holding back the urge to straight up fuck your mouth.
“Shit,” Danny hissed, leaning his head back some as he savored the feeling of your mouth. “It's gonna feel so good to cum down your throat!”
The anticipation and promise of his words excited you, more so than you thought as your inner walls clenched down around Frank, drawing a low moan from him.
“Easy, kitten,” he groaned, the bruising grip on your hips never letting up. “I know you're a fucking cumslut—nghh—but no need to rush it~”
Frank's pace started to deepen as he was back to burying himself all the way in with each forward snap of his hips. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as everything started to become overwhelming—the way Danny almost hit the back of your throat every time you were shoved forward, the lewd sounds of skin slapping skin from the force of Frank's hips, the pleasurable throb that came each time Frank's cock rammed against your cervix. You were a mewling, moaning (and if you could move, you'd probably also be writhing) mess between the two men.
You could already feel that familiar heat starting to coil down in you as you practically drooled onto Danny's cock, doing your best to rock your hips back against Frank. His grip was stead-fast, but he seemed to let up just a tad to enjoy you trying to fuck yourself back onto him. It earned you a groan from the man behind you, your wet walls throbbing around him in a pleasurable thrum. You were close, you knew it—but it seemed Frank knew this too.
“What a whore,” Frank groaned as he stilled his hips, swatting Danny's hand away so he could grip your hair instead, wrenching your head off of the other man so you could speak properly. Danny made a groan of protest, but allowed it as he was just as eager to hear your cries. “You wanna cum, bitch?”
“Yes, please,” you whined out, frustrated from being so close to your blissful high.
“Yes, what,” Frank sneered.
“I want to cum...! Please, let me cum!”
“And you wanna take our loads like the good little cumdump you are, right?”
“Yes! Fuck, yes, I-I want to be filled by you both...!”
“Atta girl~”
Frank promptly shoved you back down on Danny as he went back to his brutal pace, close to his own release. As you were shoved down and fucked hard, you finally snapped, your orgasm tearing through your body like a tidal wave. You moaned loud around Danny's length and your pussy clamped down and convulsed around Frank, both being the final push they needed to fill you. Frank bit his lip as he moaned behind you, burying himself all the way before cumming hard inside your willing cunt. Danny gave a few thrusts into your mouth, hand back in your hair, and held your head in place while he released in your mouth, groaning low.
“Swallow you fuckin' cumslut,” Danny growled, keeping a firm grip on the back of your head. You didn't need to be told twice as you swallowed a few times, making sure to take down every last drop. Satisfied, Danny pulled you off of him and released your hair from his grasp. Behind you, you could feel Frank pulling out, taking a moment to admire the view as his cum dripped from you, a few drops hitting the mattress below.
“Damn,” Frank hummed, giving one side of your ass an appreciative rub. “Now that is a good fuck!”
“Fuckin' right,” Danny concurred with a laugh before lifting your chin to meet his eyes. “Give us a sec and we'll get you ready for round two, babygirl. Don't think we're done with you yet~”
#dead by daylight#dbd#fanfiction#reader x killers#danny johnson#frank morrison#the legion#the ghostface#ghostface#smut fic
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Just had an idea, what if s2 was Billy figuring out about the three teens that no one will talk about. And why the prettiest boy he's ever met has gigantic claw marks on his shoulders.
Tommy noticed them, Billy saw him side glance the marks a few times but never bring it up. It was concern and confusion that made Billy’s gut churn, unprecedented emotions based on how roughly they’d been treating Harrington for the last four days, but worry nonetheless.
Billy wanted to reach out and touch them. The almost jagged lines. Like a large cat had jumped him from behind and tore up his shoulders by trying to bring him down. Scars that were mostly healed, leading all the way down just past his shoulder blades.
Tommy set his soap back and didn’t meet Billy’s eyes, “Thought you ditched boy scouts, Harrington?” Billy clenched his fists and tried not to reach over and sucker punch the idiot in the gut.
Steve was all dewy eyed to the point that Billy felt the need to…touch. He lifted a finger. Steve refocused on the two around him and chuckled humorlessly. But gave no other response. Billy made sure to narrow his eyes enough that when Tommy reopened his mouth, it immediately shut again.
-
Steve wasn’t at school the next day. In english, Billy couldn’t help but blame Tommy’s thoughtlessness. Nancy sat next to him with a   medical gauze around her forearm and bags under her eyes. Billy didn’t waver when she caught him staring.
“What do you want, Hargrove?” her voice didn’t steel as much as it usually did.
“Where’s Harrington?” he demanded, almost asked to leave the room after hearing how obvious he sounded.
Nancy raised one of her brows and set her book down, “He’s—” she looked down at her papers. “Just keep to yourself, Hargrove.” He checked the teacher talking to a girl in the front of the room and leaned toward Nancy more so he could speak lower.
“Either you tell me now or I find out sooner or later.” Nancy didn’t lift her chin. “Was it a fight? Did Harrington try to get friendly with the wrong sort again?” He didn’t miss the way Nancy’s fists clenched. “I heard you messed him up a bit last year. Your new boyfriend get too rough or somethin’ again?”
She hunched her shoulders and Billy tilted his ear towards her, “Don’t you dare bring Jonathan into this.”
Billy smirked, “Touchy subject. So,” he looked between her scowl and her brimming tears, “Who was it then? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure Steve has perfect attendance. He wouldn’t just skip unless something was wrong, his language grade is bad enough.”
“Don’t talk about him like that.”
“I’m just stating a fact.”
Nancy pointed her thin finger at him, “And stop talking like you know him. You don’t know shit. You don’t know what he’s been through or about the monsters that hurt—” She abruptly cut herself off and looked down. Like her mess up was nothing.
But Billy got the gist.
-
Neil went to bed at exactly 10:30 PM every night. That gave Billy approximately nine hours to leave and return.
He left and prayed in curses as he rolled down the street in the dark. Drove all the way to the Harrington house and tried to ignore the shadows as he ran to the front door.
“Open up, Steve!” The door opened less than a minute later. “Why don’t you tell me about anything? Nancy is really bad at giving information and she’s also really bad at keeping her mouth shut, so we’re never telling her about whatever this is for sure.”
“What are you saying, Billy?”
Billy didn’t have an exact answer to Steve’s question. All he knew was that Steve had a nasty cut along his jaw and he limped as he walked through the foyer.
“Was it the shadow things that did this to you?” Steve was brighter than he was perceived, he knew people. And he knew Billy just as much as Billy knew him, maybe even better. He didn’t have to explain things to Harrington.
“When did you see?”
Billy hesitated and then leaned down to pull up his pant leg, revealing the fresh scar by his ankle, “Something grabbed me the other night. Figured the police wouldn’t know what the fuck to do. So…” he shrugged and quieted as he saw Steve nodding.
Harrington started pulling up the hem of his shirt, “We’ve somehow managed to keep this crap under the wraps, it’d be a shit show if we lost it now. Hopper would have our heads.”
Billy followed the shirt as it was strewn over an accent table. He closed his eyes and looked away. Steve’s shoulders were dark, raw pink. Reflections of the old lines were re-etched, something out of a horror movie. He caught more in the mirror above the table by accident and pressed his lips together. The pretty, pale expansion of Steve’s mole spotted back was ruined by even longer rips. Some were badly covered in band-aids while others looked haphazardly stitched together.
“Nancy’s hands shake a lot when she’s under pressure.”
Billy sucked in a breath and straightened up, Steve looked unsurprised at his reaction. He could see him trying to offer a consoling smile, but it landed flat as he shivered in the cold draft of the house.
Billy panicked a little and stepped forward to finally touch, “Common, I’m gonna take care of you, Princess.”
#tw scars#thank you for the ask!#billy hargrove#steve harrington#harringrove#billy/steve#stranger things#tommy hagan#nancy wheeler
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✾M.I.- Heat✶
Make a request!
Master list
Warnings: smut, neko!reader, virgin!Izuku, talk of heats
Words: 2773
Pairing: Midoriya Izuku x FEM!reader
Summary: Having a neko quirk is all fun and games until you desperately want to fuck your virgin boyfriend.
HOLY MOLY FUCKARONI 200 FOLLOWERS?? Thanks sm!! <3
===NSFW below the cut==
"Wh-what does that mean?" The nervous boy looked at you curiously, scratching the back of his head.
"Uh-," well, this was certainly unexpected. You guess it made sense when you thought about the lack of experience he had— and the lack of cat facts he obtained. "A heat, uh, since I have a cat quirk, means that uh..."
"Does it mean that you're gonna shed?" Midoriya asked, struggling to think. "well, no, maybe you're growing some more hair..?"
You couldn't help but giggle at his suggestion, your tail swishing airily. "N-not quite, sweets."
You eyed his thoughtful expression as he tried to figure it out himself, brow furrowed and lips mouthing nonsense. Izuku was so cute, even if he was just mumbling a mile a minute.
"It just means I'm gonna be really horny," you interrupted, causing Midoriya to sputter and cough.
"—what?!" He managed to squeak. His face was flushed a deep red as he peaked into your eyes, his hands winding together restlessly.
"The cat in me just really wants to get knocked up, is all," you shrugged, basking in his speechless state. "The birth control I'm on makes them a lot more bearable, and a plus is that I won't actually get pregnant!"
Izuku stood stiff as a board, not sure what to do or say. You... were going to get really horny? When? How soon? His face felt extremely hot, and his palms started clamming up. "Uh, w-what s-should I do t-to support you so that y-you're comfortable?"
You licked your lips and flicked your tail, leaning closer to him, "hm, maybe a heat pack, one of your sweatshirts, snacks, water, cuddles..." you trailed off, grinning at your nervous boyfriend, "..and a good fuck."
Izuku's breath hitched in his throat at your last words, and tried desperately to ignore them, "j-just get all comfy i-in your dorm, a-and I'll get you some t-things."
"Thanks a ton, 'Zuku," you purred, heat rising in your chest at the thought of him making sure that you're all right and comfortable. "See ya there," you wiggled your fingers in a wave as you slipped out of his room, heading back to your own.
Midoriya let out a heaved breath once you closed the door behind you, and he flopped onto his bed. He let his muscles relax, allowing arousing thoughts to run through his head. His eyes were still wide as saucers as he stared at the ceiling, trying to process what the actual shit just happened. You proposed to fuck him. The two of you haven't done that yet! And he was a fat virgin.
"Gah," Izuku grumbled into his palms at the thought of your beautiful pussy clenching around him. He sighed in frustration at how hard he was, and decided to quickly jack-off before he made a list of things that will help you through your... heat.
You lay in a throne of cushions, cuddling up to your body pillow and waiting for when your heat would arrive. You would often feel it's approach a day or so beforehand, giving you time to prepare. You were curled up in your bed when Izuku arrived at your room, clutching a plastic bag in a shaky hand.
"I-I didn't know what you needed so I grabbed a few things," he squeaked out, holding the bag out to you.
"I'm too comfy," you complained, burring your cheek into a pillow. "C'mere."
Izuku tip-toed forwards, apparently scared of 'awaking' your inner horniness. He placed the bag on your bed and dug around, pulling out some of your favorite snacks and handing them to you. You happily grabbed them, setting them beside your mass of pillows and blankets.
"Thank you, Izu," you smiled at him, flashing your sharp canines.
You went to grab the bag he brought, curious to what else was in it. Midoriya, for some reason, pulled the bag away and blushed profusely. What was in there that he was so embarrassed about? You flared your nostrils, taking advantage of your enhanced sense of smell. Plastic... juice.. and latex?
"Izuku," you stifled a giggle, "did you buy condoms?"
"W-what?!" He panicked, face heating up. "W-well since you— uh. Well, I mean— yeAh."
"Puurrrfect," you hummed, snatching the bag from his sweaty hands. You shuffled through the bag and retrieved a small box. A grin split your face when you saw the 'ribbed for her pleasure' label, looking up and gave him a wink.
His face flushed harder, going on about something probably irrelevant to the current situation. He was a cute stuttering mess as he tried to collect himself, but one glance into your eyes drove him to blabber on again. You looked him over and noticed that the hoodie he was wearing was plain, which was unusual for him. Normally it would be some sort of AllMight merchandise.
"Izuku, baby, calm down," you shushed, grabbing his sleeve to pull him closer. "Give me some cuddles."
He almost sank into your embrace, but quickly sat up, "I-I can't right now, y/n-chan. I promised AllMight that I would train with him."
"Awh," you huffed, "at least let me have your sweater, 'Zuku."
He only stood for a moment before he grabbed at the hem and pulled it over his head, his T-shirt riding up with the hoodie. You grinned with your lip between your teeth, admiring his abs and scars.
"H-here," he stuttered, flushing at your staring. "I'll probably be back in a few hours."
You nodded your head as you crumpled up his hoodie and pulled it to your face, inhaling his sweet scent. He smelt extra good— probably your heat kicking in —and you hummed happily, "thank you, Izu."
"I-I'll see you later," Midoriya squeaked as he practically ran out the door, shutting it firmly behind him. You laughed into empty air as you heard him rush down the hall, trip, and continue running.
You pulled his hoodie over your body, putting up the hood, and bringing the sleeves to your face. It felt so nice to be engulfed in his scent, and it sent you into a peaceful cat-nap.
When you woke up from a particularly steamy dream— you couldn't help it —you felt so hot that you had to strip down, but you refused to take off Izuku's precious hoodie. Your hand trailed up your thigh to your pussy, and you shuttered thinking about Izuku's hands. You had gone down on each other, sure, but he was too inexperienced to tease you. Your head fell back onto a mound of pillows and you delicately ghosted a finger over your folds, imagining Izuku's nervous smile as he teased you.
You slid your finger up and down your slit, feeling how wet you were. You rubbed at your sensitive clit and let out a soft moan, hips slightly bucking up. You craved to be filled, and groaned just thinking about Izuku's pretty cock and how it would feel inside of you. You reached under one of your many pillows and grabbed your dildo, desperately gliding it over your folds. How would he do it? You thought. Maybe he would slap his cock on your pussy, or maybe even use your slick as lube for himself. Your back arched, and a desperate plea left your lips. You got on your knees, shoulders all the way down so you could reach over and tease the head of the dildo into you.
A startled squeak came from your doorway, and you peaked over to see Midoriya slam the door behind him. His eyes were wide and blown out, cheeks dusted with a heavy rouge, and he stuttered awkwardly.
Izuku couldn't tear his gaze from you. He had never seen such a lewd position, and his mouth began to water. Your eyes were heavy lidded as you looked at him, letting out a soft whine. God, you looked so good. Midoriya could see how wet you were even in the dim room, and he wanted to reach out to touch you.
"Izu," you whimpered, wiggling your hips, "I'm so horny it hurts."
Well if Izuku wasn't hard already, he certainly was now. He shuffled forward and tried to say something, anything, but his mouth blubbered open and closed like a goldfish. Seeing you fuck yourself on the mint green dildo petrified him, but he couldn't get himself to move. He was hypnotized by the rutting of your hips as you drove the toy deeper into yourself, moaning out his name.
"Please," you moaned, "it's not enough."
Izuku was finally able to move, but he didn't dare speak in fear that he would say something that ruined the moment. He shakily reached forwards and gripped the end of the toy, pushing and pulling it to hear the soft squelches of your pussy.
"Harder," you whined, your hands grasping the sheets beside you, "fuck me harder."
Izuku let out a deep groan, putting a little more strength into his movement. His cock felt strained against his tight boxers, trying to escape from its prison. You thrusted your hips back, creating a rough rhythm with him. Your soft squeaks made Midoriya's brain malfunction, and he seriously thought he was dreaming.
"Get your cock out, 'Zuku," you ordered impatiently, wiggling your hips towards him. "Fuck me, please."
"I- I've never— uh. Can we do this in— uh— a better position?" Izuku managed to choke out.
You huffed at him and rolled over onto you back, the toy still inside of you. Midoriya gulped as the dildo slowly slid out of you, revealing more and more of your wetness. Izuku scrambled to the bag he gave you, and pulled out a towel. You swivelled your pelvis up so he could lay it underneath you, and he gently pulled the toy outside of your vagina. He groaned as he watched your cream spill out onto the towel.
You spread your legs farther apart, and gripped the backs of your knees, "please, 'Zuku."
Midoriya's vision was slightly blurry from nerves, and he groped around for the box of condoms he bought. He quickly tore it open, and fished out a square plastic package. He shakily ripped it open, and rolled the latex over his twitching cock.
"I-I'm not gonna last more than a minute," Izuku blushed. "Well at least according to my research—."
"'Zuku, I don't care how fast you cum." You whined impatiently, "just put your dick in me already."
Midoriya squeaked, his hair covering his eyes as he looked down to guide his cock into your perfect pussy. He slowly inched into you, gasping at how you sucked him in. You impatiently dug your heels into his lower back, forcing him to bottom out inside of you.
"Shit!" Izuku yelped, falling forwards and catching himself with his forearms beside your head.
"Feels so good, 'Zuku," you mewled, looking up into his wide eyes, "fuck me."
He slowly stuttered his hips, struggling to stay sane. He could already feel the build up of cum in his balls, and he desperately clutched the bedsheets. His face was growing redder as he forced his orgasm back into his body, letting out little whimpers as he tightly shut his eyes.
"Harder, Izuku," you complained, pushing your hips closer to him.
His breath hitched, and a waterfall of words fell from his mouth, "I-I'm sorry! 'M gonna cum... gonna cum, y/n."
"Please cum, Izuku! Can't wait for you to fuck me harder," you moaned, trying to thrust your pelvis in sync with his erratic ruts.
"Gahh!~" he groaned, letting his guard down. His abdomen was more relaxed, easing his orgasm through his body. Your warm walls coaxed his cum out, and he cried out loudly as he came inside the condom.
You whimpered frustratingly at the loss of Izuku's cock, and looked up at him with pleading eyes, "more, Izu. Fuck me more."
"G-gimmie five minutes," Midoriya heaved, trying to tie the condom closed. "I'll be ready in five minutes."
You huffed, reaching for your dildo again. It was still slick with your juice, and you easily pushed it inside of you. Izuku's eyes never left yours as you pumped yourself with the toy, your eyes only grazing down to watch his semi-limp dick slowly twitch back to life. You smiled and bit your lips, pounding yourself harder at the thought of Izuku fucking you again.
Midoriya's hand couldn't help but wrap itself around his length, and the green haired boy let out little moans, "a-almost ready again, baby. I'll last a little longer this time... I hope."
Your heart rate sped up as you watched your boyfriend roll another condom on his now fully hard dick, and you slid out the toy and gave it a lewd suck before you put it back down. Izuku gave you a swift kiss before gliding himself into you. You moaned at the feeling, and rolled your hips up closer to him.
"So tight," Midoriya mumbled, burring his face between your shoulder and neck. His sweet smell invaded your nostrils, and you turned your head to get another whiff.
"Fuck, Izu," you encouraged, clutching onto his broad shoulders. His rhythm sped up in a burst of energy and thrusted harder, a loud moan leaving you.
He moved his head to have a better look at your face, and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your parted lips. One of his hands snaked down your torso to your clit, circling the pad of his finger on the sensitive bud. He swallowed your moans, speeding up is fingers as you struggled to stay still.
"Hmmhngn," you griped, clawing his back. You were so close, and you could tell that Izuku was too. His kisses became messy and rushed, the sweet sound of slurps and slaps echoing through your room.
"F-fuck," Izuku peeled off your lips, increasing the strength of his thrusts, "you're so good, doing so good y/n. Go on and— c-cum for me."
You whined in felicity, ears flattening as your tail struggled to contain itself. Izuku's words rattled your brain, and in another few thrusts you clamped down on his cock and came hard.
"Fuckfuckfuckfuck 'Zukuuuuu~!" You wailed, throwing your head back and rolling your eyes.
"Holy— s-shit," Midoriya admired your fucked out state, and he felt himself cumming again, "cumming! F-fuck I'm cumming for you!"
Your pussy clenched so hard around him that he was seeing stars, and he was forced to stay inside of you. You wriggled your hips breathlessly, eager for more. Izuku was starting to shake his head when he locked eyes with you, and he couldn't help but continue fucking you. His labored groans filled the room as he struggled with overstimulation, just trying to not fall on top of you.
In a flash of strength you flip Midoriya onto his back and started bouncing on his cock, tongue lolling out of your mouth. Izuku's eyes were half shut, shakily holding onto your waist. He clenched his jaw and fucked up into you, and he could feel his cum slowly leaking out of the condom. You were on birth control. You were fine, he was fine. He scooped a hand through his sweaty pine hair, tugging on it lightly.
"So- so good, Izu~!" You mewled, cupping your breasts and tweaking your nipples. "Want to cum again."
"I-I c-can't," Izuku weeped. He writhed underneath you, carelessly fisting the sheets beside him. "I don't h-have anything left in m-me."
"Please just get me to cum one more time," you pleaded, bouncing harder. "Touch me, 'Zuku."
Midoriya's brain struggled to send signals to his hands and fingers, but once he found your clit he rubbed it in fast circles. He was gasping at the lewd noises coming from your mouth, and tried his best to propel his hips harder. His mind was spinning, and he thought that he might be cumming again.
"Izu! Izu! Yes!" You sobbed on top of him, pinching and rolling your nipples. "Coming! Fuuuck, Izuku."
Midoriya felt his abs clench, and a weird erotic fueled pain crawled up his body. He couldn't help but cry out with tears in his eyes, confused in his pleasure. He babbled intelligibly, eyes almost crossing.
You begrudgingly slid yourself off of Izuku, still not completely satisfied. It would have to do for now, because you were exhausted and your boyfriend couldn't handle anything more. You carefully slipped the condom off of his limp dick, biting your bottom lip as he whimpered quietly.
"This is only the start of my heat, baby," you purred in his ear as you curled up beside him. "I'm not done with you yet."
#midoriya izuku#midoriya izuku x reader#izuku midoriya#izuku midoriya x reader#mha#mha fanfiction#bnha#bnha fanfiction#anime
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Do You Still Love Me • Derek Morgan • Chapter Five
Chapter Name: "Don't Make Me Regret This"
Fic Masterlist
Italic writing stands for flashbacks.
Content/Trigger Warnings: Drug Abuse talk, Parental Abuse, Cheating, Smut, Gaslighting
Bold Italic stands for the talking between phone calls
---
"You sure your ok?" Derek asked.
Everyone drove back to the station and split up in different cars. Surprisingly, Derek and Y/n got one to themselves and were following others to the hotel.
"Yep," Y/n answered quickly, popping the p as she took out her phone.
Going to her messages, she clicked the second to last name, ignoring the most recent message from Emily.
James
Aug.22nd,2008 at 7:59 P.M
Happy's Diner at 9. No funny business.
See you at 9.
"I'm going to regret this," Y/n silently mumbled as she closed her phone and reached out for Derek's hand.
She couldn't help but feel like betraying him. She wasn't doing anything wrong, just going to meet up with an old friend.
Even if he's done things to her that friends don't do.
"You don't wanna stop by your old house or something?" Derek grabbed Y/n's hand as he pulled to a stop at a red light.
"Get sober or get out!" Y/F/N shoved Y/n into the wall, her head bouncing from the impact.
"I'm gone." She walked away, her hand rubbing her head trying not to wince at the touch.
"Not the best memories at the place," Y/n chuckled, shaking off the tears that dared to fall.
Derek pulled into the hotel lot, parking behind Hotch and others almost exactly 4 minutes later. Everyone grabbed their bags from their trunks and key from Hotch and headed into their separate rooms.
Clearing her room, Y/n sat down on her bed and glanced at the small clock.
8:07 PM
Burying her face into her hands, Y/n shot her head up at a small knock on the door. With no hesitation, she ran to the door and opened it, relief running through her body at the sight of Derek's warm smile.
She pulled the door open more and let him step in before locking it.
"What was it like growing up in Texas?" Derek stepped over to the window, staring at the cars on the street on the other side.
"Drink! Drink! Drink!" Everyone chanted.
"It's only one! Just try it!" He said.
"That's my best friend!" Y/n screamed at Daniela.
"It was pretty boring, not much to do." Y/n shrugged her shoulders and wrapped her arms around Derek's torso from behind.
"Looks like it," He joked.
Y/n buried her face into the shirt of her boyfriend, his cologne strong in her nose. They stayed like that for a while, the outside world disconnecting in the moment. The silence was interrupted by Y/n's phone going off at the sound of a new message.
"I'm going to head to my room and grab some clothes, ok?" Derek called out and left at the small nod Y/n gave in return.
James's name appeared on her phone, along with 2 new messages. Ignoring them both, Y/n grabbed her jacket and headed to the door, bumping into Derek on her way out.
"Where are you-" He started.
"I gotta go. I can't explain it right now. I just have to go," Y/n quickly rambled.
Derek eyed her for a second before kissing the top of her head.
"Just be careful alright?" He said, moving out of the door frame.
Y/n turned around and mumbled something into his ear before heading into the elevator. Derek closed and locked the door before he set his clothes on the bed and pulled out his phone, dialing Hotch.
"Derek?"
"Yea, it's me."
"Did you find out anything from her?"
"No, she just went out though, in a rush also. Follow her?"
"No, if she has her guard down, Garcia can track her phone in the worst-case scenario."
"Hotch man, this doesn't feel right. We're betraying our own."
"Y/n is hiding something. It's crucial to this case and we need to find out."
"Still isn't right."
"Neither is lying."
Sighing in defeat, Derek wrapped up the conversation and started the shower, the water flowing over his body with ease.
The bell above the door dinged as Y/n walked into the diner.
Her eyes scanned the room, landing on the figure sitting in a booth towards the back. She walked towards and sat across, neither of them making eye contact.
"Your early," He mumbled.
"So are you," She scoffed.
"Why did you call me here James?" She looked up.
"Why did you agree to come?" He questioned back.
Instead of answering him, Y/n scooched to the end of the booth and started to get up.
"You can't pretend that everything is fine, not this time," James started.
Looking back, Y/n finally made eye contact with James and scoffed at his words.
"Excuse you?"
"You can't pretend that everything is fine." He repeated.
Taking a seat at the very edge of the booth, Y/n kept herself together as James continued talking.
"You do this thing where you shut people out. When you shut us out, shit gets bad. It can't get bad again. Y/n, we can't do this again."
"Bullshit." She mumbled.
"Oh? What about the day that Dani-" He flinched at the finger come at his face.
"Finish that sentence and I'm gone." Y/n threatened.
"Shit Cat!" Daniela's voice echoed throughout the floor.
"I'm not done with you just yet," Catarina teased.
Y/n swung the door open and gasped at the sight of her best friend in between her girlfriend's legs.
"Kitty? Dani? What the fuck?" She screamed, turning on her heels and down Daniela's stairs.
"Y/n! Wait," Daniela chased after her, only wearing Catarina's shirt.
"That's my best friend!" Y/n cried, leaving out the front door.
"... they all did you wrong." James's voice brought Y/n back into reality.
"Yea, they did," Y/n muttered.
"Did I? Did I ever do you wrong Y/n?" He questioned, his tone completely changing.
"Yes." She quickly answered.
"Really? When? I was the shoulder to cry on, I was the one who helped you get sober. I didn't leave like them. I didn't leave when you pushed me away, I stayed-" He started to ramble.
"You used me when I was vulnerable." Y/n accused.
"I used you?" James got up and walked over to Y/n, face to face with her. "Baby, you wanted it. You wanted me and I let you have it. Y/n, I know what's best for you, I'd never hurt you. I never did." He took her in his arms and let her cry on his shoulder.
"I'm not like them," He cooed.
After a few minutes, they both walked out of the diner, James's arm around Y/n's shoulder as they headed to the SUV.
"Thank you," Y/n said, unlocking the car.
"Anytime." James nodded and waved off at the car disappearing before him.
He pulled out his phone before hitting the number labeled as M. He let the person talk for a bit before rolling his eyes and cutting them off.
"I did not fuck her! And I told you, we have Y/n right where we want her."
#derek morgan#Chocolate Thunder#derek morgan fic#derek morgan x reader#bau x reader#reader insert#mjmoreid#Criminal Minds#Criminal Minds Fanfiction#criminal minds fic
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He didn’t make it to 42
Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader
Summary: it’s Dean’s birthday, you go to visit him with some news and things that need to be said.
A/N: Happy bday, De.
Warnings: so much angst, mentions of sex, hopeful/happy ending (?)
Dean’s dead. It’s Dean’s birthday and he’s dead. You can’t argue much.
Sam denied the demon blood inside him, and that didn’t stop its evil nature from growing and gasping for his fresh air to the point he was almost shocked alive. Dean denied his dad’s destructive methods’ results for the longest time, and that didn’t stop the cicatrixes in every emotion he had ever shown. You denied the absence of Dean and that didn’t stop the bricks cracking in your soul. There’s only so far you can go with your eyes closed.
So here you are. Standing in front of an empty grave. You are bigger than the dull tombstone, yet you can’t help but not to feel tall, at all. How can you even start to talk? Talking to Dean used to be easy even when it got hard and now you’re feeling like a lost kid in a supermarket. Your snide thinking spells out his name with venom, saying it isn’t easy for you to open your barmy mouth and spill out contrarian shit because this isn’t Dean, just another meaningless symbolism that Sam promises that will help. The real Dean died almost a year ago, he was burned in a hunter’s funeral, the flames dancing over his body as the smell of burnt meat invaded your nostrils. Whenever you try to remember his fragrance, that manly aroma which you loved to scent each morning, all your brain can come up with is the odor of his skin and guts burning. The smell lingers like bad perfume, it doesn’t matter how many times you wash yourself with his soap-- that only broke your heart worse.
But today is Dean’s birthday. He deserves a visit, even if it’s not him. Then you go and attempt to deal with the desolation, push it away just a little, and pick up something from the enormous pile of things you wish to tell Dean. You glance at the cold tombstone: Dean Winchester. 1979 - 2020. Beloved son, big brother, and husband. Hunter. A hero. Simple definitions that can never make it up for who he was and what he meant. You purse your lips and cough a little, a gentle wind touches your cheek so tenderly. If you were still a believer, you’d think this is some sort of sign, Dean’s presence or some other pious hoax. All you do now is to remain in quietude, a deep breath. Ultimately, your voice comes:
‘’You didn’t make it to forty two, huh?’’ You scoff humorless, reminiscing to the multiple days that Dean said he wouldn’t go past 35. He did live each year like it was the last--- you aren’t sure if it's such a good thing. If you carry on like your days are outnumbered, you are silently entertaining yourself until death's knock on your door. ‘’I always hated when you were right. Let’s be honest, you had the words of a pessimist and the wants of an optimist. Still, if you were to be right about something, it would be about a bad situation. A nest with too many vampires, how crappy the motel’s bedroom would be, or how that third glass of wine would make me tipsy. So yeah, I always hated when you were right. And look at you now! You aren’t right, you aren’t wrong. You are dead! And I’m the crazy girl screaming at an empty tombstone.’’
You let out a laugh empty of joy. That’s how a hunter’s life is: you die and people stop talking about you because it’s too sad or too long gone to hold any pity, meanwhile the ones who recall about you go loud with all the spirits in their heads. You put your hand in the pockets of the heavy leather jacket that once belonged to a green eyed man who would be turning 42 today, some strange force causing you to speak again.
‘’Wow.’’ You shake your head to the blue way you paint the scene until you notice that you never greeted him. ‘’Hey.’’ The simple word adds a comical insult to injury. ‘’Guess the dead don’t care about manners, huh?’’ You arch your eyebrows with a grin that demonstrates anything but happiness. ‘’Miracle died. Sam digged a hole next to the bunker and buried him there. He isn’t the same since you died, you know? Not the deceased dog-- Well, he wasn’t the same either. Always whining and scratching your door like a fucking cat, and sniffing your old boots. He made me company in your bed and I whined as much as he did when you didn’t come back home that day. He stood by the door most days, waiting for you to appear. I can’t judge him, I did the same.’’ You shrug, not caring about how risible that confession may look. It's true. You became as irrational as a loyal dog at some point in this sorrow. ‘’And Sam, your baby brother… I think he died with you right there, Dean. He didn’t try to bring you back as he promised, but I shouted and screamed so much. I said I would burn the bunker and throw Baby over a cliff if he didn’t-- if he didn’t let me try. I lived up to the mad woman title.’’
You are crestfallen, pacing on top of where the eldest Winchester - Sam’s brand new nomination - supposedly was buried. You know your boots barely touch an infected land, there's no deceased man under your steps. The dead thing is in you.
‘’I spent days dragging your body everywhere and nowhere, anywhere I could catch a crumb of relief in hope to bring you back. But I couldn’t. Jack could, but that ungrateful idiot doesn’t wanna follow his grandpa steps and get too attached to mere humans, the creation or whatever. As if we are just some skin and bone to him, as if you are just another human.’’
You sit down on the tombstone, some tender solace in being close to a thing that's supposed to represent him, like sleeping hugged to a pillow or waking up to a photograph of his. Your nails sink against the gelid concrete at the thought of screaming into the sky for the new God that seemed as deaf as the last one. His calm answer to your burning pain. How he dared to tell you he knew what he was doing— as if he was the original lord and not a three years old. You can't make him do it, so you hold on the fury of some overthrown nation.
‘’Anyway, I couldn’t bring you back. Your body, well, you know how human anatomy works. Your body started to smell like death. We tried to stop with human and magic ways, and it wouldn’t work because you were dead. You should’ve seen the doctor’s face when we got you in that fancy hospital tha night. I think we traumatized the doctor with so much violence and trauma. She didn’t even give us a false hope or anything, you know? She just asked about organ donation of what was left. She just wanted to take every little thing out of you, as if you were just another accident on a Tuesday night.’’ Your shake your head as the memories and your points start to mix, it's hard to discern things and keep a straight line when you have an open wound in your insides. ‘’Well, they couldn’t bring you back to life, and neither could Rowena or whatever I looked for. Don’t be mad because I tried, Winchester. You know I’m too stubborn for my own good. I had to try.’’ you refuse to apologize, yet adds the playful words in his eulogy. ‘’But then your body started to stink and God, how could I continue to be so violent to your corpse? That was when I decided to listen to you for the first time and to Sam, so I let you go. I hate you for asking that.’’ What an ambiguous, contradictory truth to bare. You are glimpses of a person for months because of Dean Winchester, still have the energy to argue his selfless logic, just to love him even more. He's got your devotion, but man you can hate him sometimes. ‘’I hate you for going on that stupid hunt. I hate you for being dead, you giant idiot that I love so much.’’ You can't bring your mouth to say loved. "I was always telling you to let the past go and now I’m in love with a dead thing. What a comic way to end our history. I told you that Miracle died, right? I don’t know if dogs go to heaven, but I hope he’s in there with you. I wonder what your heaven is like. I bet it has Whiskey.''
Your dry chuckle makes your notice the tears in your eyes, glistening your orbs as they go like a waterfall to be absorbed by the thirsty land after leaving your cheeks.
"Sam and I-- We tried to make some sense out of this cruelty, but we can’t. You are dead and I can’t seem to put it past me. I still sleep in your bed, and I can still taste your body burning on the roof of my mouth in the quiet nights. I cried this morning because someone asked for a burger, can you believe that? It was so stupid since I used to shake my head and argue with you about cholesterol. Suddenly I was crying at lunch in a restaurant because some stupid kid asked for a burger with extra bacon. They sang Happy birthday to this dumbass child, and I interrupted with my awful crying, and wished that you were celebrating your birthday and not that kid. I guess you could say I wish death upon an innocent child with a problematic eating routine.’’ That was a whole new level of low, as if you are the one wrapped with the sentiment of laying six feet under.
‘’Everyone tells you about how grief is singular and particular with similar emotions that bring people who went through this together. They even have that crap stages thing and all that. You know what they don’t tell you?’’ Your mouth shuts for a moment, like you are waiting some response. You nod as if whatever you were expecting is handed to you. ‘’Grief can be fucking ridiculous. Who cries because of a burger full of oil and cardiac diseases? Who cries because they found a grocery store recipe under her dead boyfriend’s bed? Who falls on the ground screaming in the middle of the mall because they saw a flannel? Who? Those things are so stupid.’’ You smile like there's no tomorrow and the laugh leaving your lips is a treacherous tone. Perhaps you just aren't build up to express joy anymore. ‘’You see it in the movies and in the books and you think, you know, you think to yourself that grieving is being sad on special dates and randomly remembering the loved ones because of some screaming memory, like a flannel or their perfume. Thing is, it’s not just that. All your body seems so small, so tight for all the ache and agony inside it. Your senses go wild, you are not just one person in one place. You’re just the pain everywhere, like being pulled apart and you beg to jump in the fucking grave with them. At least you would be together, at least you would feel like one person and not suffering edges of a broken earthy thing. And--And you start remembering things you didn’t even know you had mesmerized. I look at the ceiling and remember you saying you’d paint it someday. I look at the kitchen and remember me screaming at you for giving Miracle the rest of the food. I smell Sam’s clothes and started crying because hey, they don’t smell like alcohol. You don’t iron them while drinking anymore, so of course they don’t smell like cheap beer.’’ You are chuckling through the tears and it only makes it more monstrous. ‘’Everything is you now that you are gone. Every man has something similar to you, every garden is green as your eyes, and each step sounds like you are coming home. They didn’t prepare me, not for this.’’ You said breathless. A soft single follows. The knife cuts both ways; the empty breeze and the words hurt. Where's the middle term? Where's the limbo? Where's the only safe place for you to rest your weary head?
Out of nowhere, you blurt out, ‘’I can’t masturbate,’’ I know it’s something stupid and even selfish to say, but I think you’d like to know. I can’t masturbate. That’s a part of the whole losing someone process that people are too ashamed to discuss, or maybe they don’t have the urge to be touched anymore because after someone you love dies, after someone-- the hands who touched are dead and cold, you become a haunted object. That’s how I feel most days, like I’m a haunted house because you touched me and now you’re dead and some days I believe I am too.’’ You look around the places. It's beautiful. It's lonely. It has trees and flowers and green. Not as green as Dean's eyes, but it doesn't matter anymore. He doesn't even have eyes at this point. ‘’Well, I can’t masturbate. I can’t touch myself. And I can’t ask someone else either. I tried and ended up punching the guy, Dean. I swear. I panicked when he was between my legs and just punched his nose. You’d have liked it, you were always the jealous kind. I won’t admit that, but I thought it was kinda hot. Especially when you got possessive in sex.’’ A dirty grin appeared on your lips, the echoes of luxury lasting in your eyes for a brief moment. ‘’I don’t think I can be cared for anymore, honestly. Sam tried to hug me when Miracle died and I… It was like I wasn't there. I got frozen in time, and I live in my sleep. In my nightmares you are alive. I dream about the day you died every week and I used to wake up screaming, but now those nightmares are the only proof you were alive now that you’re as dead as the police report says this time. It was the most painful, calamitous moment for you and I swear it was a nightmare for me, but then I realized that at least I had you there, egoistical or not, I made my nightmare into a dream.’’ You aren't sure which opinion Dean would have on that. Would he understand? Would he shake his head? You wish you can ask him just this one more thing, just beg him to write it down for you on how to be without him here.
You raise on your feet, glaring at the name craved in the concrete. The tears go by still, although they're as usual as the blood in glir veins at this point. ‘’Death is so silly. What it takes, anyway?" Each word conquers more inches of pure wrath. ''People die because they stumbled on their own feet and hit their head somewhere, or they drove their car too close and too fast to the cliff, or because they were giving birth, or because they dated the wrong person, or because they were hunting a fucking vampire and got impaled. What are the chances? How stupid, and idiotic is death? Always creeping and waiting to bite and chew a piece of you-- Taking every scrap of you from me like that’s its right.’’ You are screaming, starting to kick and punch the tombstone with any piece of straight you have. Your limbs hurt and the blood is visible, but you keep going. ‘’YOUR STUPID DOG DIED, DEAN! AND YOU DIED! AND I DIED! SAMMY DIED! YEAH, IS SAID SAMMY! GO AHEAD, TELL ME ONLY YOU CAN CALL HIM THAT.’’ Another punch, your knuckles are ripped. Another kick, your boot as a hole. ‘’DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.’’ Kick. ‘’SAMMY, SAMMY, SAMMY!’’ A punch to each name. Anything to get a reaction, to get comfort. Anything. ‘’YOU CAN’T BECAUSE YOU ARE DEAD.’’ Gasping for something you don't need anymore, sweet oxygen, your eyes are on the tombstone again. And the definitions. And the trees. Your body is sore and aching. It is the kind and coercion no person wants which you needed; the freedom of feeling outside the exact pain that was inside. ‘’You can’t because you are dead. I’ve been playing some sick games in my mind, you know? Sam stopped hunting and had his closure. He was always better at letting go than you and I, but he’s still hurting. I never saw him hurting so much. I think he knows you won’t come back this time, how could you make us promise something like that? Well, my twisted game is a bunch of misleading what ifs. What if you hadn’t gone after John? What if you hadn’t gone on that last hunt? What if you had stayed with Lisa? At first I didn’t like her much. Jealous, I admit that. But she grew on me. She gave you something I couldn’t back then and I’ll always be thankful for that. And even though it would rip me apart, I’d rather you to die at sixth after living your suburban dream with her. Have another kid besides Ben, maybe a girl this time, and just have that apple pie life. You and Sam would live close and your kids would always play. They’d be as close as brothers. Maybe I’d get a guy and bring my own kids and we could’ve a barbecue and everyone would be happy. But we don’t get soft epilogues here. It ends how it starts, right? Bloody and desperate. I thought maybe, maybe Lisa could understand what’s going through my head now. I drove to her new address and parked close to her house. I must have spent hours there, thinking if I should come in or not, If she somehow remembered after Castiel died or if I could make her brain work again if I told her the truth. But then I just drove back home and fell asleep wrapped in that stupid lumberjack flannel of yours. The one I always mocked, yeah? She may understand me, but I know you wouldn’t want that. You want her, you want me and Sam to be happy. I don’t know if I can do that, Dean. It’s like myt brittle soul shrewd and my body is just waiting to collapse.’’ You signed, overwhelmed by the battle without an anthem. The victory with no triumph. Is it still a win when you don't have someone to come home too? ‘’Your dog died, it’s the first birthday you didn’t live to see, and I bought all the things you told Mrs Butters you wanted for your birthday because it’s your birthday. I just don’t know how to celebrate it with you dead. People stop counting after they die, right? They just say he’d have been 42 or he died at 41. They give melancholy smiles when they wake up and check the day on their phones and a woe atmosphere swallows them for the rest of the day. Then they get better the next day. I think everyday is your birthday.’’ You attempt to wipe away your tears, which only causes your pulsating hand to stain your face red. ‘’Dean, for the first time, what died stayed dead! Congrats.’’ Once again, a hysterical laugh. ‘’I wish but no. What died didn’t stay dead, you are alive, so alive in my head. I swear you are there some days. I wake and watch the door, so sure you’ll come back. Sam says I’m living in delusion and I have to wake up and keep going since that's what you would want. That's enough to make him keep going, but it only makes me angry. Everyone we know and some strangers looks at me like I'm a house on fire and no longer a warm home, like I'm a car accident. They think I don't notice but I do.’’ You look at your boots, the whole is rolling out blood like your hands. You feel closer to Dean. How sick.
‘’Help, I’m still right where you left me." You plea, his love lingering like a bruise. ''I think gravity is overwhelming and it keeps me here. Sometimes it’s like I’m one of those dusted books Sam used to read. Or those Bukowski ones that you hid, so we wouldn’t see how smart you’re. You tried so hard to hide your intelligence because you didn’t think you were entitled to it. You saw yourself as the protector and never the valuable one for protection. You, the man who made an EMF out of an old radio, who rebuilt the Impala from the ground multiple times, and who knew patterns better than any detective. The man who showed me I could rely on someone other than myself. The dude with a lopsided grin, tough hands and a heart of gold. I miss you so much. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were singing all those classic rock songs and Taylor Swift pop hits, while I drove here. I would think you were home, smelling like guts because you wanted to eat before taking a shower after a hunt. I would think that you are in the Deancave, waiting for me to curl up on your lap to watch Scooby Doo or Doctor Sexy MD until we aren’t watching anymore. If I didn’t know better I would think no death could take you from me. There would be no tear us apart in our vows.’’ The only thing that keeps your organism working is that Dean died knowing how much you loved him. You never let this talk for later or never. No tomorrow is promised. That's a nice comfort, maybe that's what will help you to let go in the future. ‘’But yesterday your stupid, skink dog died and I lost the last living thing that I had from you. You know what’s more angerting? I cried and Sam cried and I noticed we were the living things you left behind and all we have is each other. All your closets of backlogged dreams were left for us-- so yeah. Sam is done hunting and he’s met a lovely girl, and they are moving in like in your domestic dreams. I’m taking care of the family business like your other contradictory dream and making sure Sam is safe enough to be normal. Because I have to, we have too. Stupidly enough, I still wait for the day you’ll burst out the door and tell us to hit the road again. I still watch every episode of your dumb tv shows to make sure I’ll know everything that happened when you ask. I still drive around in your car and close my eyes when the street is calm, only picturing you driving as Baby’s engineers go wild but those are my hands on the steering wheel. If I didn't know better, I’d think you are still around. But I know better. I still feel you all around. I love you.’’
Your monologuing ends as astutely as it stated. You get up, press a kiss to your ruined for the next weeks hands and place it on the rock with writings. You turn around and walk back to the car that you parked near, only in case of Dean wanting to see Baby. How knows? You and your clandestine faith. You lick your lip and get in the car.
You swear you the AC/DC cassette wasn't there before, but when you turn on the car and the radio it starts playing. It's the first true smile that comes to your mouth, it's bloodstained and you look like a shameless woman. With that you can deal.
It hurts a bearable hurt for now. You didn't think it was possible. Maybe someday.
The end.
(she takes a little longer to arive in heaven than sammy. his baby brother says that women are most likely to live around six years more than men. it doesn't ease him up, though. dean waited sam for too long, his platonic soulmate. and now he has to wait his romantic one too? the eldest Winchester considers it the best earthly present when the he sense you around, that smell of orange and apples. it's you, he knows before even turning around. he can't wait to love you again. your name rolls off your tongue so naturally, as if you had seen each other just yesterday: ‘’hey, y/n.’’)
But then again, nothing ever really ends, does it?
REBLOG AND COMMENT. Feedback is magic and helps me!
Starburst's footnote: It just didn't feel right to make an author's note on the top. I wanted it all only to be an arrow to the story. So, this is my side note: it's six am and I'm up writing this after inspiration kissed me with a bruise in the middle of the night. Or more like grabbed my throat. Anyway, I had to write and finish this one to post today, even pushing sleep aside. Hey, we are writers, that's what we do! I've been watching the show since I was eleven and I cried like a baby with the finale. This series was just so important and crucial to molde aspects of relationships for me. The song marjorie by Taylor Swift was used here, and so was the line "you got my devotion/ but man, I can hate you sometimes" by Harry Styles. I told you guys I would use it somewhere! A special thanks to @msmarvelouswinchester who helped me with her encouraging and opinon. You are the best! And with all of this I wanna say: Happy bday, Dean Winchester!
REBLOG AND COMMENT! Feedback is magic! Especially about this fic, I’d like to know your opinion. Tags in the reblog! Send an ask or dm to get in the taglist.
#dean winchester#dean's birthday#dean winchester x reader#dean x you#dean winchester's birthday#dean winchester x you#supernatural#spn#dean winchester imagine#supernatural imagines#spn reader insert#dean winchester headcanon#dean winchester imagines
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risky business | dabi
Rated: M
Words: 5.3K
Pairing: dabi x fem!reader
Summary: On your way home, you run into Dabi. He has no intentions of letting you go without having a little fun.
AN: This is a secret santa gift for @vixen-scribbles <3 I don’t think we’ve spoken much, but I hope you had a wonderful holiday! Also a special thanks to @the-smut-pile for hosting this exchange! This is by far the riskiest (hur hur) thing I’ve ever written, so I hope all of the degenerates out there are happy lmao
Warnings: smut, dubcon (consensual non-consent/roleplay), predator/prey undertones, knife play (and minor blood play) public/outdoor sex, mentions of voyeurism/exhibitionism, anal play, dirty talk (degradation), choking, hair-pulling, spanking/slapping, spitting rough sex, overstimulation, creampie/unprotected sex, aftercare at the end
Blue eyes stare down at you tauntingly from across the alley. He cocks his head to one side, watching as you shrink back against the wall. Amusement flickers across his face, a sick smirk tugging at his lips as you stare back at him, wide-eyed. Frozen in place now that there’s nowhere left to run. There’s a scream lodged in the back of your throat, trying to force its way out, but icy fear tears through your chest and rips the air from your lungs.
As your bottom lip trembles, his smirk only grows, pulling grotesquely at the staples holding his mismatched skin together. Burning, turquoise eyes look you over slowly, trailing from your terrified expression to your legs, your bare skin on display thanks to your short little skirt. Hungrily, he devours you with his eyes. Expression calculated. His eyes are practically glowing as he stalks towards you, his irises reflecting the light of the blue flames dancing threateningly on the tips of his fingers.
The predatory glint in his gaze makes your stomach twist into knots, but you still can’t will your legs to move.
“Well, what do we have here?” Dabi asks, his voice low and rough. A shiver runs down your spine. He stops when the two of you are nearly touching, an inch of space left between his chest and yours. Close enough for you to feel the immense heat radiating from the flames. “You lost, sweetheart?”
Concern drips from his tongue, but it’s mocking. Snide. Maybe the question would sound sincere if you didn’t know exactly who he was. If it wasn’t a wanted criminal standing in front of you. A villain. If he wasn’t looking at you like you were prey that he hunted down.
He’s playing with you. Toying with you now that he finally has you cornered. The chase was fun while it lasted, but now he has you right where he wants you, looking up at him like you’re nothing but a scared little animal. It’s pitiful, really. How easy it was. You made it so easy for him to catch you, almost like you wanted to be caught. A willing participant in the game of cat and mouse.
You don’t respond. Can’t. Desperate, your gaze flicks towards the mouth of the alley, hoping to find someone who could help you. The streets are still busy this late at night, the last train yet to depart.
It’s with a sinking feeling that you realize no one is going to help you. Most of the passersby refuse to look into the dark alley. And the lone man who does quickly averts his eyes.
Dabi’s gaze follows yours. Sick satisfaction bubbles in his chest when he watches the same man scurry away, his eyes wrenched away from the scene, ignoring what he’s just seen.
The flames licking at his knuckles extinguish themselves. Smoke wafts through the night air, dispersing slowly.
The tips of Dabi’s fingers scorch your skin as he grabs you by your jaw, digits digging into your chin. You wince as he yanks your head around, forcing you to face him. The fire is gone, but his hands are still burning hot, and his grip is tight enough to hurt. When your eyes lock, you find it impossible to turn away. Hypnotized by that deep shade of blue.
Suddenly, your mouth starts to work. “Please,” is all you manage to choke out, trying to beg him to stop, but the rest of the words die on your tongue.
“That’s right. Start begging like the little slut you are.” You want to shake your head, but his grip is too tight. “I’m in a good mood tonight,” he says, digging his fingers into your cheeks even harder, liking the pained grimace you give him. “Be a good girl for me and this won’t hurt too much.”
Hot fingers brush against your bare leg, and you’re wrenched back to reality. You slam your hands into his chest and shove him away. He grunts, taken off-guard by your boldness, and stumbles back just enough for you to slip away. You throw yourself to the side, lunging towards the mouth of the alley. But Dabi is faster. Before you can get far, he’s on you again. A strong arm wraps around your waist and hauls you back. You start to cry out, but the sound is smothered by a scarred palm covering your mouth. Instinct drives you to lash out, but Dabi throws you up against the wall before you can kick him.
It knocks the breath out of you. This time, his hand wraps around your throat and squeezes hard, choking you. It doesn’t take long for black spots to dot your vision. Your hands scramble for purchase around his wrist in a weak attempt to pull his hand away. Hot metal burns your fingertips. And you claw at him, your nails digging into the back of his hand and ripping at the staples holding him together.
Dabi swears as you manage to tear one of them out. The bloody staple clatters to the pavement, and the quiet, metallic chiming sound it makes might as well be a death toll. It’s followed by a louder shink that makes your blood freeze in your veins.
Cold metal grazes your cheek. Your struggling comes to an abrupt halt, your grip on his wrist loosening. Heart skipping a beat, your stomach twists as he carefully drags a knife down to your jaw, the sharp tip digging into your soft skin, though Dabi is careful not to cut you.
He sighs, low and frustrated, and you fight the urge to curl into yourself when he levels you with a harsh look, blue eyes alight. “You really wanna piss me off, dollface?” As he taps the blade against your cheek, you squeeze your thighs together, ashamed of the slick feeling growing between your legs.
When it becomes clear you aren’t going to fight him again, he releases your throat. Lightheaded, you gasp for breath. The knife shifts away from your skin, but doesn’t go far. Moonlight reflects off the blade as Dabi holds it in front of you, letting you get a good look at the thin, sharp object. The threat is blatant, and you shrink back against the wall.
There’s an audible hitch in your breathing as the tip of the knife touches your collarbone. The cold steel against your bare skin almost makes you flinch, and Dabi chuckles when he hears the small, shaky sound that falls out of your pretty mouth.
“Not so brave now, huh?” he murmurs, dragging the flat side of the knife along the column of your throat. You shiver as he ghosts the blade over your pulse point. “You gonna behave this time, or do I have to teach you a lesson first, pretty girl?”
The question hits you between your ribs, and you bite your lip when the knife slides back over your collarbone, trailing towards your cleavage. He clucks his tongue when you don’t respond. “Answer me,” he demands.
The blade stops when he reaches the top button on your shirt. You hold your breath as the sharp tip slips beneath the fabric. The button pops off and falls to the ground as Dabi slices through the thin string holding it together, revealing more of your pretty skin to his predatory gaze.
With the knife tracing the curve of your breast, you don’t dare ignore him. “No. I’ll—I’ll behave,” you tell him, stumbling over your words. Unintentionally, you arch your chest into his hand as the knife presses against you even harder, just shy of marking you.
“Good girl.” Dabi slips the knife under the next button, but changes his mind before he can cut it. Instead, he places the blade under your chin, forcing you to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. “Now why don’t you strip for me?”
Your eyes widen. “What?”
“You heard me.” Dabi shoves his knee between your thighs, forcing your legs apart. Your stomach rolls, but you have to stifle a moan when he grinds his leg against your clit through your panties. “Give me a show. Nice and slow, and maybe I’ll let you cum when I fuck your cunt.”
There’s something perverse about undressing yourself for him. Letting him watch as your shaking fingers fumble with the buttons on your shirt, practically ripping at them in your hurry to comply. He’s making you a willing participant in your own humiliation. Dabi wets his lips, rocking his thigh against your cunt with every button you pop open, which only makes you fumble more.
It doesn’t take long for him to grow impatient. As you struggle with the last button, Dabi murmurs a curse and tears your shirt open for you.
In his haste, the knife nicks your collarbone. The pain makes you whimper, and you flinch, causing the knife to dig into you harder before he angles it away. Blood wells in the cut. It isn’t too deep, or too long, but it stings. Your hips jerk against Dabi’s thigh, grinding against him. This time you moan outright, pleasure mixing with the pain, though you’re ashamed of yourself for it.
Dabi tenses when you mewl and rut against him, watching, fascinated, as a line of blood drips down your chest and soaks into the lacy cup of your bra. Even in the dark he can see the fabric stain.
There’s a split-second pause after as he presses the knife to your face. His demeanor shifts. Those blue eyes meet yours, searching your gaze, and he hesitates. Like he’s waiting for something. There’s blood on the blade from when he cut your chest, and it smears across your mouth as he slowly traces your bottom lip. Your gaze doesn’t waver, and you taste iron on your tongue after he pulls the knife away.
He slips back into character as his fingers slip into your hair. Dabi grabs a fistful of the soft strands and yanks, forcing your head to the side. A pathetic little whimpering sound is all that comes tumbling out of your mouth, and he smirks as you look at him with wide, teary eyes that do the begging your mouth can’t.
Your shirt is left intact as his attention shifts lower. He removes his knee from between your legs, and you almost whine at the loss of contact that you know you shouldn’t want. It shouldn’t feel good, but it does.
The knife leaves your cheek.
You tense.
The flat of the knife teases the inside of your leg, and you don’t dare move as Dabi drags it higher, inching closer to your dripping pussy. His hand disappears under the hem of your skirt, and you mewl, back arching off the wall as a hot hand teases your sensitive inner thighs. The fabric bunches around his wrist, revealing inch after inch of velvety soft skin to the chilly air. He grabs your leg with his other hand. Scorching fingers dig into your thigh, easily prying your legs further apart. As you shiver, Dabi runs the blade against you, making you squirm even more from the cold and the underlying threat of danger.
He stops. Looking down at your trembling form, Dabi eyes the mess he’s made of you already: your shirt ripped open, chest bloody where the knife sliced you open so easily, your skirt hiked up over your quivering thighs. You’re practically begging for him to bury his cock inside of you. Fuck you like a little bitch in heat.
You’d take his cock so well. Squeeze him just right. But he’s not done playing with you quite yet.
Suddenly, the knife is pressed up against your panties. The flat edge grinds against your clit, and you squeal. Without thinking, you grab his arm again, this time to steady yourself. His fingers are slick with blood where you ripped out one of his staples, but you don’t care, clinging to him as your legs threaten to give out. Your head falls back against the brick wall as he rubs the blade against your covered slit. “Don’t,” you plead, voice weak and laced with arousal. “Please…”
Dabi laughs when a soft, pleased mewl slips from your lips, your hips rolling back against his hand as he rubs your clit with the flat of the knife. It’s fucking filthy. Hot. And you hate how good it feels to have him play with your pussy like this.
You willingly spread your legs for him this time, and Dabi finally pulls your skirt over your hips. He leaves it bunched around your waist and takes a small step back to watch you grind your slutty cunt against the knife.
By now, your panties are soaked with your arousal. An ache settles low in your belly, and your walls clench around nothing as he presses harder against your clit. Tears burn at the backs of your eyes, shame swirling sickly in your stomach as you tug on his wrist instead of pushing it away.
The blade shines under the moonlight, glimmering wetly, and he quirks a brow. You barely stifle a whimper as he pulls his hand from between your legs. Before you can squeeze them shut, he shoves his knee between your legs again, his thigh grinding up against your pussy, not allowing you a moment to breathe.
“Look at that,” he muses, twisting the knife between his fingers so that you can see your own slick glistening on the blade. “Fuck, that’s hot. Thought you didn’t want me, dollface?” Your skin burns where he touches you. “Look how fucking wet you are already. Kinky little slut.” You turn your head away, but Dabi grabs your chin and forces you to look at how wet he made you.
When he’s sure you’re paying attention, he lifts the knife to his mouth. Heat flares in your belly as he licks your slick from the blade. Taunting you.
You slump forward as he yanks his knee away from your pussy, your legs giving out underneath you. Dabi catches you, manhandling you as he grabs your hips and spins you around; shoves you up against the wall, your cheek pressed to the bricks as his hand fists in your hair. You barely have time to steady yourself with your hands. Dabi presses the knife against the curve of your ass cheek, and you gasp as the sharp blade slips under your panties. He cuts the lacy fabric away and it flutters down, catching around your ankle. It’s soaked through with your arousal, cold against your leg.
The knife dangles from his fingers, pressed up against the inside of your thigh. The blade barely grazes your clit this time, teasing your slick folds. This time you can feel the cold metal against your swollen nerves, the sharp edge so close to nicking your sensitive folds.
Dabi slaps your ass suddenly. You squeal, hips lurching against the knife. He angles the blade away before you can cut yourself, spreading your cheeks apart so he can see your dripping slit. By now, you’re practically trying to grind against the knife, anything to relieve the tension between your shaking legs. It hurts. And the humiliation that washes over you only makes it worse.
“Gonna cum for me already?” Dabi asks, watching your hips stutter as he brings the knife back to your thigh. You whimper as he nicks you again. Warm, wet liquid beads in the cut, blood mixing with the fluids dripping from your drenched pussy. The blood smears against your leg as he rubs his knuckles against you. “Dirty bitch. Cum then. Or do you need a little help getting there? Hmm? You want me to make you cum all over my fucking hand?”
You shake your head, sobbing as he tosses the knife to the ground. Dabi’s arm wraps around your front as he brings his hand back to your leg. His fingers burn as they trail across your inner thigh. Small welts in the shape of his fingertips scorch your skin, leaving marks that won’t disappear for weeks.
Lazily, he strokes your clit, hand still hot to the touch as he rolls the swollen nub with his thumb. His chest molds against your back, crushing you between him and the wall as he traces your slit with two fingers.
Your body responds eagerly to his touch, your legs spreading to accommodate his hand. He chuckles as your hips roll against him, practically begging for him to fuck you, to make you cum over and over until you can’t take it anymore. And he’s more than willing to give your body what it wants.
You gasp as he shoves two of his fingers into your pussy, immediately picking up a harsh pace as he fucks you with his hand. You make it easy for him, your pussy taking his fingers so fucking well. They’re thick and long inside you, and it doesn’t take him long to find that spot that makes you squirm and cry out.
He shoves your face harder against the wall. Bits of brick dig into your cheek, but you barely feel them as he grinds his palm against your clit.
Expression contorted with bliss, you whimper as he forces a third finger inside your tight cunt, your walls stretching around the digits. He doesn’t give you time to adjust, rough thrusts picking up speed as your legs tremble, threatening to give out beneath you. It stings. Too much. Too soon. But Dabi doesn’t stop his brutal pace, even when there are tears streaming down your face and you choke out a sob, pleading with him to stop or slow down.
That only seems to encourage him. He yanks on your hair, pulling your head back against his shoulder so that your back is arched and he can see the line of blood dripping down your chest. You wince as one of the staples on his palm catches on your clit. The cool, metallic sensation is foreign and rough, but so, so good. Dabi grinds against your ass suddenly, making sure you feel every inch of his hard cock.
There’s a mocking tone in his voice when he asks, “That hurt?” He presses his thumb against your clit, rubbing with fast circles. “Can’t be that bad if it’s making you this fucking wet. Bet you like this, huh? Fucking slut. Letting a villain play with your cunt like this. Are you gonna cum for me? Fuck, this pussy is gonna feel so good around my cock.”
Your cheeks burn as you hear the slick sound of his fingers thrusting into your pussy, fluid dripping down his hand. Humiliation burns in your chest as you realize how quickly he’s going to make you cum just by fingering you in some dirty back alley. And your body betrays you, your cunt clenching around his fingers as those staples rub against your swollen clit again. The contrast between his hot fingers and the cold metal is dizzying.
“Please,” you whimper as he curls his fingers against your sensitive walls. Your pussy clenches around him tighter, a knot winding tight in your belly as he forces you closer to the edge.
Dabi lets go of your hair. You moan as he slaps the back of your thigh. “Desperate little bitch,” he calls you. “Begging me to play with your dripping cunt in some dirty back alley. Now fucking cum. That’s all you’re fucking good for.”
It’s him degrading you that gives you that last push you need, your body unable to fight him anymore. Dabi’s fingers curl just right and your hips buck into his hand, taking him deeper. Those staples rub against your clit harder, and your body locks up as an orgasm rips through you, leaving you breathless as you cum all over his fingers with a silent scream.
He drags your pleasure out until you’re crying, but you’re too weak to push him away. All you can do is squirm and cum again as he overstimulates you. And you feel empty when he finally pulls his drenched fingers from your cunt.
You slump against the wall as he lets go, fingers scraping the bricks as you try to hold yourself up on your trembling legs. He doesn’t allow you to get comfortable though. Dabi’s hand slaps your ass, and he chuckles when you squeal. He takes a step back, watching your cum drip down your thighs before glancing at your swollen pussy.
His belt jingles as he rips at the buckle, tearing at the leather. Your cunt clenches. Dabi shoves his pants down his hips just enough to pull out his thick cock, the tip flushed and beaded with pre-cum. He hisses as he strokes himself, his fingers running over the piercings lining the underside of his dick.
Somewhere in the back of your mind you realize his fingertips are on fire as he grabs your waist and forces you to bend over, giving him a nice view of your ass and your sloppy cunt. His grip on your hip is bruising, his burning fingers digging into your side harshly, branding you with more small burns. You flinch away from the heat, but Dabi only grabs you harder, holding you in place.
You whimper as he rubs his cock against your slit, rocking against you slowly just to torment you. The metal piercing through the head of his dick is hot enough to make your toes curl as it rubs against your sensitive clit, your nerves frayed from his earlier ministrations. The bricks beneath your hands scrape at your palms and scratch your cheek. Unwanted arousal further mixes with the sharp spikes of fear prickling at your skin, sending heat flooding your belly as slick drips down your inner thighs.
“Please,” you mewl as he reaches between your legs and lines his cock up with your entrance. Dabi easily knocks your legs apart when you try to squeeze them shut. “Please, stop, I can’t—” Your protests turn into a choked moan as he swipes a finger over your clit to shut you up, getting sick of your whining.
That’s all it takes to distract you, your naughty hips wiggling against him enticingly when he rubs with fast circles, his fingers heating up.
It’s amusing, Dabi thinks. How you keep pretending you don’t want this. How you keep telling him to stop when your body is begging for him. Little slut.
He buries himself inside of you with one hard thrust, splitting you open with his cock. You squeal, jerking, and buck against him, taking his cock even deeper as your walls stretch around him until it hurts. He’s so fucking big inside of you. Even his fingers weren’t enough to stretch you out. And the piercings lining the underside of his shaft rub your walls perfectly as he drags his cock back out until only the tip is left inside.
“Knew you wanted a fat cock inside of you,” Dabi sneers, laughing as you clench around him and moan. “Fucking cock slut.”
Dabi doesn’t let you breathe as he starts thrusting and grinding against your dripping cunt, fucking you roughly from behind. His hips slap against your ass with each hard thrust. His fingers dig into your waist. At some point, one of his hands palms your breast, slipping beneath your bra to pinch and pull at your nipple.
The filthy sound of your wet walls clinging to his thick cock fill the alley. Abruptly, you’re reminded that anyone could walk by and see you like this. Sobbing and moaning as you let a villain—a wanted criminal—fuck your soaked cunt. The thought makes you clench around him harder, your pussy sucking him in deeper.
And Dabi knows exactly what you’re thinking. “Fuck, your pussy feels good,” he tells you, grabbing either side of your waist so he can drag you back on his cock and fuck you harder, using you for his own pleasure. “You get off on this? Being fucked where anyone could see you?” He snorts. “Naughty girl.”
You shake your head weakly, and Dabi laughs at you again. More tears burn your eyes.
Dabi grins as you start rolling your hips back against his, finally taking his cock like a good girl. Your teary cries have softened into muffled moans and mewls, slutty little sounds that make his cock twitch. Every thrust makes his piercings rub against your walls. Your pussy won’t stop fluttering around him. Clenching and trying to take him deeper.
You’re dripping all over his cock and balls. Making a mess all over him with your sloppy pussy. He can’t help but dip one of his hands between your legs to run his fingers through your slick folds. He rubs your clit with his thumb until your hips start to twitch, then cruelly pulls away just to hear you whine and beg for him to touch you.
A slicked-up finger slips between your cheeks, and you squeak as Dabi’s thumb presses against your hole. The way you moan when the digit slips inside of you is needy and embarrassing. The knot in your stomach coils tighter as he stretches you out, playing with your ass as he fills you with his cock.
Your muscles clench around him. Dabi’s fingers dig into your ass cheek, spreading you apart so he can watch you take his cock, see his finger shoved inside of your other slutty hole. The sight makes his cock twitch inside you, and he groans.
Dabi’s thumb pops out of your hole. He slaps your ass hard enough to make you cry out. Fingertips dig into your skin, littering you with small burns that make you writhe underneath him. The air surrounding you is sweltering, leaving you sticky with sweat.
He grabs you by the neck, yanking you upright and pulling your back flush against his chest so he can whisper absolutely filthy things in your ear. You latch onto his wrist again, your head lolling back against his shoulder, back arched in a pretty curve. The new angle has his cock battering your sweet spot with every thrust, and your hips move with his, grinding back against him as his fingers constrict around your throat, choking you. Dabi shoves your torso against the wall, giving himself better leverage as he fucks you harder.
A hand dips between your legs again, this time to play with your clit, rolling and pinching it with his fingers. He’s going to make you cum one more time. Make you cum around his cock like the slut you are. Stubbornly, you try to squirm away from his rough touch, refusing to give in. Pissed, he slaps your cunt, making you squeal. Hot fingers roll over your clit, and this time you give in to the heat, letting it cloud your mind as you lose yourself to bliss.
Blue eyes glance at your parted lips, your mouth open as you pant, your eyes half-lidded and hazy. Dabi tightens his grip on your neck. Tilts your head back for a better angle. Spits in your mouth. Your eyes widen, but he squeezes your throat. “Swallow it,” he murmurs in your ear.
You do as you’re told, further humiliated. But you don’t have time to dwell on it as his cock pounds you and his fingers swirl over your clit just right.
Your mouth falls open as you clench around his cock, cumming hard, your orgasm tearing through you. It leaves you breathless. The only sound you make is a choked whimper, a mewl that almost sounds like his name, but it’s so muddled you can’t tell. Your legs tremble beneath you, Dabi’s chest and hands the only thing holding you up.
He fucks you through it, groaning again as your cunt spasms around him. Dabi drags your orgasm out until it hurts, your body sensitive and spent from everything he’s put you through.
With a resounding slap, he buries his cock inside of your pussy, cumming deep inside of you. The rush of warmth has your eyes fluttering shut, a sigh falling from your pretty mouth.
Thick, milky fluid drips down your thighs as he eases his cock out of you, tucking himself back into his pants. Cool air brushes against your wet cunt, and the uncomfortable feeling makes you shift. Dabi’s cum is sticky on your legs. Hot. And he slips a hand between your legs to shove it back into your pussy.
Your heart is still pounding in your chest when his grip starts to slacken. Dabi’s hand loosens around your throat, allowing you to breathe again. Heat sinks into your skin as he rubs his thumb against your hip, soothing a tender spot where his fingers dug into you a little too hard. There are burns there. Not bad enough to scar, but you’ll feel them later every time you move, his touch imprinted on your body, claiming you.
Possessiveness flairs in his chest, and he presses himself closer to your back, relishing the feeling of your body against his. Slowly, he moves his hand higher, slipping it under your ruined shirt. Two fingers tap against your waist, demanding attention like they did earlier, when he leaned in close while walking you home and told you to run. Indulging in a scene the two of you have only talked about before.
You looked at him with such wide eyes when he did, nervous and excited. It was the heat in his gaze that sent you running, pangs of arousal already getting you wet before he even caught you.
“Hey.”
Dabi sighs when you don’t react to the sound of his voice, your gaze far off as you stare at nothing, your breath slowly evening out. He adjusts his grip on your waist, squeezing you just a bit tighter to his chest. “Hey,” he tries again, jostling you with his shoulder. His fingers dig into your cheeks when he grabs your chin, gently turning your head towards him. The pad of his thumb brushes against your bottom lip, coaxing you back to him. The vacant look in your eyes slinks away when his gaze finds yours in the dark. And you sink into deep blue. “You with me, doll?”
The arm looped around your waist doesn’t lose its tension until you finally nod.
Slowly, you lean into the hand on your jaw, soothed by the heat and the rhythmic motion of his thumb stroking your cheek. Dabi lets you nuzzle into him, your eyes falling shut. His breath fans over the side of your face, and you subconsciously lean back against the warmth sinking into you from behind, seeking out his affection.
“Okay?” Dabi presses his lips to your temple, lingering as you sigh.
“You broke character,” you whisper as he eases you around in his arms. And you cling to him, hands fisted in the back of his jacket and your head tucked against the side of his neck.
He only shrugs. “Wanted to give you a chance to tell me to knock it off. Didn’t think you’d like me cutting you up like that.” His tone turns teasing. “But you took my cock so well, didn’t you, doll?” He runs his hands down your hips. “What a good girl. Next time I might fuck that cute ass, too.” Dabi grabs your cheeks and squeezes suddenly, and you squeal, giggling as he forces you up onto your toes. “Bet you’d like that.”
Dabi kisses from your neck to your collarbone, his lips finding the small cut he made. It’s stopped bleeding already, but there’s a ruby line trailing down your chest. You sigh as he focuses his attention there, being unusually soft with you.
You call out his name—his real name, but he shakes his head, pulling away to level you with a fond look, and you realize he needs this as much as you do. “Let’s get you home, doll.”
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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 11.3k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+
sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:
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banner designer @jamaisjoons | many thanks to @joonsrack for her translations and @jooneggs for beta reading
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: just a heads-up, there is French in this chapter. it isn’t translated because y/n does not speak French and thus has no clue wtf goes On BUT if you want the goss, feel free to use google translate or ur Local Translation Engine. explicitly sexual content, cursing, voyeurism, exhibitionism, filmed sex, spanking, dom!jimin obv, sub!reader, public (not sex-sex but sexytimes in public), shoe kink, dirty talk, humiliation, degradation, use of safeword, teasing, bondage, gagging, use of sex toys, fingering, multiple orgasms, forced orgasms, overstimulation, crying during sex, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, a sexy sliver of aftercare before yn zonks it
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DAY SIX
You wake up early in the morning to a sore throat. Though the arm that rests heavy on your waist and the breath that tickles the nape of your neck tempt you back to sleep, you can’t even swallow without wincing, and the only solution is a cool drink and some pain meds.
Namjoon doesn’t react when you slip out from under him, sliding your pillow under his arm. He simply lets out a satisfied hum and curls it closer to him. Still, you dress in breathy silence, tiptoeing out and leaving the door open a crack for your return.
Downstairs, the blinking numbers on the microwave read shortly before 6am and you groan. The chance of you getting any more sleep after this was slim.
You pour some water and swallow some basic pain meds with a sigh. If you were honest, quiet moments like this were rare. Past the glass sliding door which leads to the outdoor dining area, you can see glints of reddy golds and flaming orange, pooling between trees to warm the concrete patio. This villa was truly beautiful, and you knew you’d never stay in a place like it again. Not only the house itself but the company you shared was invaluable. All the guys had such a personality to them, and you were surprised at how quicky you’d grown accustomed to them all. Fond, too.
Yoongi’s thoughtfulness, Jungkook’s energy, Jin’s stability. Taehyung who was so giving and Hoseok who never let the mood falter. And more recently, Namjoon becoming more confident and Jimin revealing flecks of heart behind the stone facade. Everyone brought something to the villa that made it a truly magical place. You feel like you’d be happy even without the mind-blowing sex. As the elimination day draws painfully close, your stomach turns with the thought of turning someone away. Of removing them when they’d only just gotten settled. The Lady was the hardest job in the game in many ways.
Finishing your glass, you set it in the sink with a wet clink and roll your shoulders, arching your back as the last of your sleep leaves you in a final yawn. You turn to leave, squeaking when you’re met with a solid body coming out of nowhere.
“Woah- Jimin?” The last person you expected to be up so early, you cringe as your voice raises in disbelief.
The man in question grins, eyes twinkling even in the relative darkness of pre-dawn. “Going so soon?”
“I-” You find yourself at a loss of words, feeling caught somehow, and you clear your still-aching throat. “What are you doing up?”
“Looking for you, little mouse. Or did you forget I’m next in line?” He speaks as light and melodic as a music box, but his lips are twisted in a grin as his eyes roam over you, wearing the same clothes as last night. “Has our Namjoonie finally popped his cherry?”
The way he plays with every syllable has you feeling so vulnerable, so under his control, and your gaze falters, looking instead at his odd attire. Like he’d gotten up in a hurry, he’s wearing a mix of pyjamas and clothes. His legs are tightly clad in glossy faux leather, blacker than black, and his top half is a silk pyjama top, sinful red trimmed with black, and with only a single button done up in the middle of his torso, exposing his lower stomach and the top of his chest. You suck in a breath at the expanse of skin, and what looks like the black sliver of a...tattoo?
“Cat got your tongue?” he questions, drawing your eyes back up as he licks his top lip slowly, purposefully.
“It’s none of your business,” you reply, cursing the way your voice catches throatily, clearly affected by him. “And if you’re going to take your turn, can we at least go somewhere a little more comfortable? It’s six in the fucking morning.”
Like a switch is flipped, his face darkens, the humour gone. You swallow the lump in your throat as Jimin’s mouth sours into a scowl, but you can’t deny the heat that pools between your legs at it too. “I knew it,” he announces, voice acidic.
“Knew what?” Your fate sealed, a streak of confidence rises within you. You’d ruffled him. And every part of you is screaming to make him react again.
His eyes are molten power as they focus on you. “Five days and you’ve already become a spoilt brat.”
Your mouth drops open. “Fuck you! It’s your job to fuck me.”
“Why should I fuck you when you haven’t done a thing to earn it?” Jimin takes a step forward and reflexively you back up. “You’re an ungrateful cockhungry slut, little mouse. If you want me, beg for it.” He takes another step and again, you shuffle back, heart picking up.
“I shouldn’t have to beg,” you counter, though your voice isn’t as firm as before. Jimin simply raises a brow, continuing to walk you further into the kitchen until your lower back strikes the countertop. You swallow again, wishing you weren’t so easily affected. “If you don’t fuck me, I’ll just send you home.”
“You could,” he gives dismissively, lips twitching into a sneer at his following words, “but I don’t think you will. I don’t believe you’d send me home if I didn’t fuck you. Because you want to know how it feels.”
You bite your tongue, glaring up at him, at the way he’s so indifferent about it. “Fine. Then fuck me.”
Jimin tuts reproachfully, his arms leaning forward to prop himself up on the bench behind you, caging you in. Your heart stops beating, the throb felt between your legs instead as he’s close enough to touch, his mouth close enough to kiss, not that you’d dare. “That isn’t begging,” he whispers in disapproval.
“I don’t beg,” you insist, even as your hands clench, fighting the urge to touch him.
Suddenly, the shadow over his face disappears, and he pushes up, creating some distance between you again. “It doesn’t matter, anyway,” he says airily, causing you to frown in confusion. “We aren’t at the begging stage yet. You know what you need first?”
You stare at him blankly, giving him a shake of your head.
Jimin grins, and you swear you see his eyes flash. “Punishment.”
“You can’t be serious,” you breathe, though instead of sounding offended as you intend, you just sound needy. Fuck Park Jimin and his iron grip on your arousal.
His grin broadens like the Chesire Cat. “You’ve been very bad, little mouse. You’ve been demanding and impatient, you’ve used vulgar language and I seem to recall the night you interrupted my sleep because of how loud you were next door. I can’t let it slide,” he divulges with a solemn shake of his head, like your poor behaviour pains him, “I just can’t.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you say with a disbelieving laugh. “You can’t punish me like a child.”
“And that will be another one,” Jimin says instead, perfectly calm, rich blue hair catching the light as the sun continues to rise just outside.
“Another what?” you fire back, beginning to tire of so much talk and so little action.
“Another spank,” he deadpans. Were it anyone else, any other situation, perhaps you would’ve laughed at it. Instead, you stare wide-eyed at the stoicism on his face. “That makes it five for swearing to me in this conversation alone, four for being impatient, and five for keeping me up that second night. Should we round it up to twenty?”
You stay silent for a moment, desperately trying to process it. You shake your head slowly. “You can’t make me,” you point out.
“Of course I can’t,” Jimin gives with a chuckle, running a hand through his hair as if to demonstrate how calm he is. Your eyes are magnetised by the silver rings that glint on his fingers, unable to keep yourself from imagining how they might feel on you. “You can always use your safeword, and I’ll respect it,” he continues. “But I doubt it. Whether you like to admit it, little mouse, you want this. You think I haven’t worked out that you a little pain with your pleasure?” He stands back, just a step, but the extra distance makes you feel suddenly unanchored, and you hate it. “I’m going to give you three seconds to turn around and bend over. If you don’t, I’ll walk away and you get nothing. If you take your punishment like a good girl, then we can talk.”
You huff, pressing your lips - and thighs - together in an effort to stay strong.
“One,” Jimin begins, eyes alight with bemusement. You don’t move, just sighing in annoyance again. “Two.”
Your incisors are clamped on your tongue so tightly you can almost taste blood as you glare intensely at his mouth. He draws it out cheekily, letting you wait painstakingly as he wets his lips and finally opens his mouth, the pink of his tongue pressing against his teeth as he-
Before you can process it, you’re flipping yourself around and pressing your upper chest against the counter, eyes squeezed shut in humiliation as Jimin begins to chuckle.
It’s far too loud for the stillness of the early morning, and you muffle a sob in your forearm - not regret, but neediness. A week he’d deprived you, and the smug fucker was right: you’d take what you could get, and love it too. Blessedly, he doesn’t seem to notice the sound, the air filled instead with his triumphant peal of laughter at seeing you presenting yourself to him just like he knew you would.
“Oh, little mouse,” he coos. “What would the others think if they saw you like this, hm? Bent over for me in the middle of the kitchen where anyone could walk in.”
You take in an unsteady breath, feeling your pulse race with excitement as his fingertips - still cold from the morning air - slip under your waistband, as he painstakingly slides it down, revealing your ass. You let out a small whimper when the toe of his shoe catches your ankle, pushing to widen your legs apart. You bite your lip, cheeks heating, core heating even more.
Jimin runs his palms flat over your bare ass and you hiss through your nose at how icy his rings feel. While his hands are smaller than those of other guys of the house, you feel no less under their control, shivering at the contact. “Was it twenty we agreed upon?” His tone is light, playful. He knows he’s got you, and one final burst of defiance bubbles up through your chest.
“Fuck you,” you spit. “Does that make it twenty-one?”
You’re jumping before you even feel the lacing of fire on your right cheek or hear the smack that echos in the room. You choke on a moan, unable to deny how the pain settles into a low-burning pleasure that adds to the wetness between your thighs.
From behind you, you hear Jimin sigh heavily and quickly, like he’s trying to calm himself. “I want you to count them,” he instructs, and you flinch as his hand comes down on you again, but this time his slaps are weak, light swats that warm your skin to prepare it. “Twenty starting now. Understood?”
You bite your lip, but pull yourself up a little to free your face, propping yourself up with your elbows. You feel so vulnerable like this, just your ass bared, legs spread and at his mercy, but all you can think of is feeling his hand on you again. Blearily, you nod, and a pleased hum comes from his throat, barely audible.
Jimin makes you wait for it, holding the silence so that your ears strain, fighting the urge to glance ba-
You jerk with a shallow cry as your other cheek stings with his smack, core clenching. “One,” you announce quietly. With every moment of sunrise, the room gets lighter and lighter, and you squeeze your eyes shut at the thought of someone walking in on the two of you. Was that dread in your stomach or excitement?
He doesn’t speak, only smoothing the skin to cool it before laying another blow, waiting for you to call out a shaky “two.” He’s wearing at least three rings, and you can feel them, more unforgiving than his flesh and painfully ice cold. You wonder in the back of your mind if they’ll leave marks. You can’t help but hope they do.
You’ve made it to eight strikes before your knees begin to shake slightly. Every lick of pain simultaneously hurts more on the raw skin of your ass, but pools as liquid pleasure between your legs faster as you grow accustomed to it. Your pussy aches for contact, and you arch your back after the ninth spank falls, presenting yourself to him even more in the hopes that he’ll be tempted, but Jimin just tuts in disapproval.
“Look at you, little mouse. Soaking after a few spanks. You love this, don’t you? No part of you can deny it anymore.” You pant and bite down hard on your lip, wanting so bad to beg for it. Still, you refuse. Jimin just hums at your attempt at stoic silence, amused more than anything. “Almost halfway. It’ll be over so soon, don’t you think? We should make the most of this.”
You frown at his words, more so when you feel the heat of his body leave you. You crane your neck automatically, spine lifting to stand, but his voice freezes you.
“Fucking face the front and keep position,” he seethes, “I never said you could move.”
You sink back down, widening your legs and lowering your chest so it rests on the edge of the countertop, eyes locked onto the splashback in front of you. With ears straining, you shudder at the sound of a drawer sliding smoothly open, and the various clinks and thuds that follow as he rummages. Once the drawer shuts again and Jimin returns, you can barely breathe, goosebumps breaking out on your thighs and arms.
He pats something against you, then slowly runs it over the heated skin of your ass, the slight friction making you hiss. “Do you know what this is? Feel it.” He continues to brush it around slowly, and you wrack your mind. It’s not metal or plastic - the texture is a little too rough and it isn’t as cold as his rings were. You hiss when you feel it dip down between your thighs, too low to touch you were you need it most. The shape is a tall oval, flat on one side but concave on the other, and you let out a low moan, back arching lower as you work it out. Jimin laughs, bringing it back up to tap it teasingly on your cheek. “I think you do,” he remarks. “Shall we continue?”
You bite your lip but it can’t fully cover the needy moan that spills out. He’s really about to spank you with a wooden spoon, and you’re really dripping for it. “Ye-yes,” you gasp out, a cry ripped from your throat at the first hit. It’s far sharper on your skin than his hand, whistling through the air and landing with a resounding smack. The sting lasts longer too, almost like you can feel the exact outline of the spoon on your skin. “Fuck, ten.”
When Jimin speaks again, his voice is rich with sadistic amusement. “Do you like it, little mouse? You should see yourself. The outline of the spoon just now, the marks from my rings-” he drags a single nail down one of the aforementioned marks, and you keen, the raw pain sent straight to your core, “you mark so beautifully for me. This perky little ass of yours is so red, you know? Should we make it even redder?”
Without waiting for your answer, he lands three smacks in quick succession - right, left, right again. Your body’s instinct takes over and you pull your body forward, tucking your ass in as if to escape it, even as your core throbs with need and your nipples press stiffly against your shirt.
Jimin won’t have it, though, and you moan in a low keen as he wraps an arm low over your hips and tugs you back down, pressing the middle of your back with the fist and clenches the spoon so that you arch beneath it, dropping down that hand to run his knuckles lightly over your abused skin. “Shh,” he hushes firmly, “we aren’t done here yet. If it’s too much for you, you know what to say.”
Your heart warms at his reminder of your safeword, but you have no intention of using it, already melting under the additional physical contact. Instead, you lean back into his grip, presenting yourself for more.
You sense rather than see his grin, but it makes you shiver nonetheless as the amused breath escapes his nose, his cool fingers running over your flesh, thumb and pointer as the rest wrap around the stem of the wooden spoon. “Are you gonna count them then, little mouse?”
Your mouth drops open to answer, but you pause, having to really think back. “Mm, uh, twelve? Eleven?”
Jimin chuckles, returning to those light teasing pats of the wooden spoon, just to make your thighs shake. “Thirteen, actually,” he reveals in a rakish tone. “If you wanted more, you just had to ask.”
Before your brain can process a retort, the spoon comes down again, an audible thwack that jiggles the flesh of your ass with the force of it, and you keen, knees buckling for just a moment. The contrast of intense stimulation of the fiery skin on your ass and the complete neglect of your needy core is infuriating but addictive nonetheless. “Fuck, Jimin, fo-fourteen.”
You automatically suck in a breath in the sudden lull as Jimin rears his hand back, but the quiet reveals a different noise, the laughing and joking and thud-thud-thud of people coming down the stairs, and you’re choking on the air in your lungs, freezing as two familiar faces round the corner and come to a halt as they witness the scene you’re in.
Your legs shiver but your core throbs still as Jungkook and Taehyung watch you wide-eyed, eyes dancing in unision from Jimin, to you, to your ass and the spoon in Jimin’s hand. The cheeks of your face are somehow hotter and redder than the others, but regardless you stay frozen in position, waiting for someone else to make a move.
Unsurprisingly, it’s Jimin who speaks up first, the only one of you four unbothered. “She has six hits left, boys,” he offers up, patting your hip like you’re a ride to have a go on. “Any takers?”
Taehyung steps forward first, Jungkook’s mouth still hanging low. As you watch his slender fingers wrap around the handle of the wooden spoon, you shiver, and he chuckles at your reaction.
“You know,” he muses casually, replacing Jimin behind you as the older man steps away to lean against the bench beside you, “I think I’m starting to warm up to this whole situation, petal. Where else would I get to walk in on a sight like this? And Jimin-hyung is so generous to let us help out. Thank him, Y/n.”
A breath rushes out of your throat, one you hadn’t even realised you were holding. Humiliation rushes through you, but it’s cloudy with arousal, and your tongue is loose with it. “Thank you, Jimin.”
“Good girl,” Taehyung coos shortly, and that’s the only warning before he’s swatting you harshly with the flat back of the spoon, and you let out a strangled moan. Your ass won’t stop stinging between hits, but you obediently call out ”fifteen, sixteen, seventeen,” until you only have three to go.
Taehyung relinquishes his turn reluctantly to Jungkook; the youngest contestant in the house eying you up strangely, almost like he can read and understand the pleasure in the welts on your ass and the tremble of your knee. Almost like he’s been where you are, or somewhere close. Judging by the apparent variety of his streams, you don’t doubt it.
Like Jungkook’s testing the waters, his first hit is the weakest, barely making you flinch. You exhale lowly in disappointment. “Eighteen,” you say, swallowing down the drool that threatens to gather.
Before any more land, you instead feel fingers at your hairline, brushing back strands that have covered your face. Small but strong points of pressure light up on your jaw as Jimin pulls your chin to look up at him, his eyes swirling with deep satisfaction.
“I wanna see the look on your face,” he announces quietly. “I want our Jungkookie to make these last two hurt. Will you take it for me?”
His voice brooks no disagreement, still dripping with authority and control, but you know that he’s once more giving you an out should you wish to use your safeword, so you nod shakily, eyes fluttering. “Please.” You’ve still received no friction - or contact at all - on your pussy, and you feel yourself going crazy. The pain is addictive, licks of pleasure that seep into your veins after every spank, but you can’t handle how you drip down your own thighs, soaking your panties even as they rest hooked just above your knees. Two more hits and you’d finally get what you needed.
You haven’t seen Jimin’s face this close, and certainly not seen his eyes in such intense detail before, and instead of anticipating the next hit you find yourself blinking up at him dazedly. His hair, the deep glossy navy that you’d never seen on somebody before, is swooped gracefully over his brow, which is still a natural black, and below it his eyes are molten with lust and satisfaction, watching your face intently. His hands are hot on your face, the rings cool points of unforgiving contact, and you can’t help but wonder if the plush pillows of his lips are warm like his hands or cool like his rings. They’d feel softer against yo-
“Fu-fuck!” you cry, eyes squeezing shut as two sharp hits strike you not on the already-red skin of your ass, but the tops of your thighs instead, just below the swell of flesh. It’s more painful than you’d expect, but you’re so turned on that your mind just screams better and more. Caught up in it, you belatedly gasp out a “nineteen, twen’y,” and feel yourself sink against the countertop, held up by Jimin’s hands on your face and jaw.
“Little mouse,” his voice calls out, and your brows knit together as you struggle to decipher his tone. “Little mouse.”
You force your eyes open, breathing heavily through your mouth as everything except the burn below and Jimin above fade away. “Jimin,” you whisper, lips barely moving.
His give a twitch, pleased. It warms your heart to see the flicker of approval. “What do you say, hm?”
You don’t even think, but your body knows the answer. “Thank you, Jimin.”
“I’m not the only one,” he remarks, though a pleased grin is evident on his face and in his voice.
Truthfully, you’d almost forgotten the others, but as you thank them, eyes still locked on Jimin, you feel your toes curl at the realisation that you’re surrounded by three extremely attractive men. Men that are all here to-
The dopey smile of anticipation is struck from your face when Jimin abruptly lets go of you, pushing off the countertop. You stumble, catching your legs under you and fumbling to pull up your jeans reflexively. “Where are you-?”
You jump at the dull clang of the wooden spoon being tossed in the sink, Jungkook’s hand free as Jimin discards the tool. You watch openmouthed, panties and jeans barely on as the former rest uncomfortably soaked against your core, as the eldest of the three rolls his shoulders and sighs happily. “So, boys; should we make some omellettes for breakfast? I feel like cracking a few eggs.”
Taehyung grins and Jungkook’s gaze slides to you in uncertainty but the two agree, casually retrieving ingredients and utensils like you aren’t sitting there with a stinging ass and your jeans unbuttoned.
“Jimin,” you mumble dumbly, and to your surprise he acknowledges you this time, walking over to stand in front of you with a congenial smile.
“You’re done here, Y/n,” he announces. Unabashedly, his hands slip down and begin to fully slide your panties and jeans up, fingers slipping up the zip and buttoning them closed. “You didn’t want to beg, and I’m not going to make you. You took your punishment, so why don’t you toodle along? I’m sure one of us will call for you when breakfast is ready.”
Your mouth drops open, the final lusty haze of the scene evaporating fast enough to leave you reeling. “Are you serious? You aren’t going to do anything?”
Jimin’s eyebrows lower intently, voice hushing like he’s sharing a secret, even though Taehyung and Jungkook are right behind him in earshot. “Oh, little mouse. You know exactly what to do to get what you want.”
He waits expectantly, but your eyes dart past his shoulders to the other two boys. Begging was one thing, but in front of the others? You fight a pout, hoping your face looks angry rather than put out. “You’re an asshole, and I’m voting you out.”
His grin broadens, wolfish. “Well then,” he remarks with an unbothered lift of a brow, “I better hurry up and make these omelettes before I get sent home, now, shouldn’t I?”
And with that, he turns his back to you and begins chatting to his friends. You stay for one more moment of shocked silence, but soon turn tail, stomping back up the stairs with the wet fabric of your panties pressing coldly against you.
---
When you peek your head in the door, Namjoon is still asleep, so you quickly duck back into your room and change into some fresh clothes and underwear before going back in, content to chill on his armchair until he wakes.
You’d told him you would stay, and the way the fabric of your leggings rubs against your sore ass when you sit only reminds you of the fact that you’d been gone longer than anticipated already. He looks peaceful, though, clearly quite content with the pillow you’d left him with. Namjoon’s mouth is parted slightly, slack and half-pressed into his own pillow. He clutches yours with both arms, snuffling or grunting in his sleep every few moments.
You’re happy with just scrolling through your phone aimlessly for the half hour or so it takes before he wakes, back arching and neck cracking as he stretches. A beam broadens on your face at the dazed slow blink and wide yawn that he emits. “Sleep well?” you ask softly, not wanting to startle him.
He pats the pillow and mattress beside him in confusion, sitting up to stare at you with a squint. “You stayed?”
“I said I would,” you dismiss, a single thread of guilt wrapping around your heart at the memory of where you’d just came from. “I woke up a bit early and needed a drink. Sore throat.”
Namjoon’s eyes widen dramatically, the concern on his face ringed by a mess of tanged purple hair. “I’m so sorry! I should’ve asked…”
“You’re fine, Namjoonie,” you murmur. “I was actually wondering if you’d want to-”
You break off to the sound of what is undoubtably Jungkook belting out his lungs from downstairs, announcing breakfast is ready. Namjoon lights up, kicking the blankets off in a rush to get out of bed. “I’m starving,” he chimes, getting dressed without a shred of the self-consciousness you’d witnessed the night before. Hunger has seemingly stolen all his brainpower, and you follow his eager slipstream as he rushes down the stairs noisily, thumping into the kitchen.
Both your heart and your core throb in disappointment, your opportunity for morning sex lost by the offer of a hot meal. Your mood sours even further when you come face-to-face with the three youngest serving up omelettes, Jimin smiling brilliantly, still dressed in a barely-buttoned silk pyjama shirt and some black glossy pants.
He barely spares you a glance, even as he sits almost directly across from you. You take a seat between Namjoon and Jin, Taehyung, Jungkook and Jimin on the other side and the heads of the table kept by Hoseok and Yoongi.
You have to admit that the wafting smells of cooked egg, cheese and various spices have your stomach grumbling, so you vow to ignore the unsatisfied heat between your legs and the smug man across from you and tuck in, your knife cutting through the omelette like butter. It’s delicious, and clearly everyone at the table shares the same sentiment, moans of surprised enjoyment filling the air.
“I’m impressed, Jimin,” Yoongi admits, “the first time I’ve even seen you awake for breakfast and you make us this. It’s fantastic.”
His voice is melodic, teasing at your eyes even as you avoid looking at him. “Thanks, Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin replies warmly, “I was actually taught the recipe from one of my good friends who works as a chef in France.”
Hoseok isn’t impressed, and the way he scrunches his face up in annoyance makes you suppress a grin. “Let me guess, Remy the rat? If we dig around in that hair of yours will we find him tugging you around?”
Jimin ignores him coolly, knife twirling deftly around his fingers. “I haven’t seen Victor in several years, but his cooking lessons have always stuck with me. Dis-moi ce que tu manges, je te dirai qui tu es.”
“You are what you eat,” Namjoon muses, shoveling a wobbling stack of egg into his mouth.
Your eyebrows lift, turning to him with shock. “You speak French?”
Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jimin straighten in interest at the man directly across from him, but Namjoon doesn’t seem to notice, cheeks bulging as he hurriedly tries to finish his mouthful. “Took it as an elective in university,” he explains once he’s done, “never actually been to France, though.” He turns to Jimin finally, eyes shining with the spark of curiosity that always seemed to smoulder there. “What’s it like?”
“C’est incroyable,” Jimin enunciates, the French dripping off his tongue like sparkling water. “Tu devrais y aller un jour. Mon ami a un appartement à Paris avec une chambre d’amis dans laquelle je séjourne des fois.”
Namjoon gasps, and you glance around the table, everyone bar the two of them looking totally confused. “Avec vue sur la Tour Eiffel?” The only indication it’s a question is the way his pitch rises, but the rest is incomprehensible to you, so you just return to your omelette, content to watch the conversation play out like a foreign movie without subtitles. Body language and tone being your only clues.
“Bien sûr,” Jimin replies easily, his head tipping to the side, eyes burning as he stares at the older man, “mais on pourrait peut-être parler de choses plus excitantes que cela? As-tu apprécié la compagnie de Y/N dans ton lit hier soir?”
You straighten up as you hear your name, glaring at Jimin in suspicion. You’d never regretted picking Spanish in high school instead of French more. Namjoon, interestingly, seems equally ruffled by Jimin’s comments. “That’s really none of your busi-”
“Tu vas me parler en Français, Namjoon, ou je vais commencer à te poser des questions en Anglais. Qu’est-ce que t’en dit? The choice is yours.” Jimin’s voice turns sharp, spitting out the syllables like jabs. The choice? In unison, everyone at the table turns to Namjoon in question as the academic flushes.
“Fine,” he says shortly in English, before switching back to French. “On n’est pas vraiment... allés jusqu’au bout. J’allais lui proposer ce matin, mais tu nous a appelés pour le déjeuner. .”
Jimin’s mouth curls slowly, deviously, making Namjoon swallow. You feel your own cheeks heat at the thought that they were very likely speaking about you. “Is that so?” Jimin asks in English, head tipping slowly. He takes a single bite of his breakfast, making Namjoon shift awkwardly in his seat at the wait. “Well; I do apologise for interrupting.” You look up between the two of them. Was he referring to him spanking you that morning? Or him calling you down just when you were going to make a move? Jimin isn’t done, sliding down in his seat just slightly, so he’s leaning back. “Laisse-moi me faire pardonner.”
Namjoon’s brows knit and his mouth opens to reply, but suddenly he goes ramrod stiff, eyes flying wide open. “Wh-what are you-?” His chest heaves once, his throat bobbing as he swallows down the rest of his sentence.
You frown, glancing down to see the shiny tip of Jimin’s shoe pressed firmly against Namjoon’s crotch, shifting back and forth. You look away, hoping to avoid attracting more attention to Namjoon’s predicament, but you can’t deny the hot rush of heat between your own thighs at the thought of Jimin getting Namjoon off at the breakfast table with just the sole of his shoe. You finish off the last of your omelette bitterly, hating the way that your mind wishes you were in Namjoon’s seat right now.
Like nothing’s happening, Jimin continues to converse with his elder, the others at the table seemingly none the wiser. “Ce n’est peut-être pas une une chatte bien chaude et humide, mais tu es un bon garçon, n’est-ce pas? Tu vas prendre ce que je te donne, non?”
“Jimin,” Namjoon croaks out, voice surprisingly steady even as it’s low with arousal, “i-is there any more batter left? I’d love another omelette.”
Jungkook pipes up, finally hearing enough English to be able to contribute. “There’s not much left, but I was actually thinking I kinda feel like some hash browns and bacon, so we could go for round two if anyone else is up for it?”
Yoongi and Jin, like they’ve been awakened with the promise of more food, drag their chairs back simultaneously to stand. “I don’t trust you with frying bacon, Jungkook,” Jin answers from beside you with a small grin, “let hyungs help.”
Half the table files away, Hoseok also joining those in the kitchen, probably because he’s hoping for some taste-testing, and you’re left with Taehyung being the only unaware party, on his phone as he mindlessly sips away at a glass of juice.
“Regarde-moi ça,” Jimin announces with melodic glee. “il y a moins de regards sur toi maintenant. Les autres sont dans la cuisine, Taehyung ne nous prête pas attention, et Y/N sait déjà ce qui est entrain de se passer; regarde-la.”
You glance up at your name but Taehyung doesn’t even react, mouth slightly open as he focuses on the video he’s watching silently, pinky finger tapping at the condensation on the glass absentmindedly.
Namjoon turns to face you, before glancing down at the shoe which rocks faster and broader between his legs, his cock tented and leaking a small wet patch in his trousers. He knows you know. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t-”
Jimin overtakes deftly, making Namjoon hunch over the table as the jerking of his shoe against Namjoon’s clothed cock speed up. Even as Jimin’s eyes are on you, he addresses the older man in lush French. “Est-ce que tu vas venir comme ça, hm? Crois-tu pouvoir rester silencieux?”
Your skin feels like it’s on fire, the heat stemming from between your legs as you wish you could’ve felt some contact from Jimin instead. Even just the sole of his shoe would be better than nothing, but it seems that Namjoon doesn’t share the sentiment, as his hand shoves at Jimin’s foot. “Rouge,” he gasps out lowly, and Jimin recoils like he’s been shot.
Sitting upright, feet to himself again, Jimin’s eyes widen at the word. Even with the little to no French knowledge you have, you can guess the meaning. Red. Namjoon used the safeword. “I’m so sorry,” Jimin croaks, and you’re startled at the vulnerability and genuine apology in his voice, “are you not-?”
“Juste parce que je suis techniquement vièrge, ça ne fait pas de moi un soumis,” Namjoon explains with a rueful smile. You wish he would’ve spoke in English, but his light tone at least reassures you that he isn’t mad or hurt or upset. He mostly just seems a little embarrassed and overwhelmed.
“Can we stop speaking in baguette?” Taehyung pipes up miserably, putting his phone away. “Oui, oui. Mercy. Oh reservoir. Anything more complex than that and you’ve got me lost.”
Namjoon frowns, bewildered. “Do you mean merci and au revoir?”
“Do I?” Taehyung questions rhetorically, eyes dazed. Namjoon just shrugs hopelessly, but that seems enough for the black-haired boy. He cheers up a bit and, glancing at Namjoon’s hunched figure, lets out a short sigh. “You look tense, hyung. Do you need some help relaxing?”
Jimin bites his lip with guilt, and you hate the way you’re drawn to that pillow of flesh, so pink against the white of his teeth. What you wouldn’t give to lean over there and see what it felt like to kiss him.
Namjoon, however, seems less concerned with Jimin. You get the idea that perhaps he’s not one to have a short temper or hold grudges. “It’s okay, I think I might have a quick shower upstairs before the second lot of breakfast is finished.” Displaying his characteristic shyness, Namjoon makes an awkward yet completely unsuccessful attempt to leave the room without revealing his tented crotch.
Taehyung’s eyes follow it out until Namjoon’s out of sight, his mouth hung open. After a moment’s thought, brows knitted tightly together, Taehyung turns back to the two of you at the table. “Do you think he’s turned on by food or something? He did seem pre-tty eager to chow down that omelette. I should go ask him.”
“Jesus Christ.” Jimin sinks his face into his hands as Taehyung scrambles after Namjoon, and you honestly don’t blame him.
--
You manage to make it to late afternoon before you encounter Jimin again. After the meal, he speaks quietly to Jin and the two disappear into the private rec room. For you as well, the day is spent inside, Jungkook asking for your assistance in spotting him at the indoor gym, mostly so he can explain to you and Hoseok the extremely elaborate plot of his latest anime show while he lifts weights. You and Hoseok, completely lost, ended up spending hours there trying to understand all the character arcs and plot twists and backstories, eventually moving up to Jungkook’s room so he could show you the first few episodes. By the time he let you go, you made your way downstairs with a bag of laundry, having almost spent a full week in the villa.
Unlike most of the house, the laundry feels very basic and surburban: a front-loader, a dryer and a sink with some cabinets are really the only pieces of furniture, so you perch on the dryer as you wash, and the washer as you dry your load of clothes.
Letting the regular thump of the drying machine lull you into a sleepy daze, you’re too zoned out on your phone to notice someone approaching until fingers wrap around your phone, pushing it down away from your face.
Jimin’s still hasn’t changed out of his red pyjama shirt, and as you sit up ramrod straight and focus onto him, you admire the way the lapels lay open to expose his collarbones. “Fancy seeing you here,” he announces with a grin, eyes raking over you as you sit atop the washing machine.
“What a coincidence,” you deadpan, crossing your arms. “I know what you’re doing.”
“And what would that be, little mouse?”
You fight the urge to press your legs together at the petname, Jimin’s eyes intelligent and self-satisfied as they watch you. “Coming here to seduce me.”
Jimin laughs, and your cheeks flush hot at the sound, his head tipping back to expose a graceful neck. “Oh, Y/n, don’t think so highly of yourself. I’m just here to do my laundry.”
Dubious, you keep your legs dangling over the side and your arms crossed as you look down. True enough, a basket of washing rests and his feet, and you wait bitterly as he brushes your legs wider so that he can turn on the machine, selecting the right settings and pouring in a scoop of detergent. You keep a stoic silence, biting down on your tongue at his actions, but he doesn’t seem to care about your eyes on him.
In fact, he appears to openly thrive on it, sinking into a crouch in front of the machine and blinking up at you innocently, his face in front of your aching crotch. Refusing to give in, you press your lips together while he opens the door and deposits his clothes, socks, underwear, everything he’s been wearing the past few days. Once he’s done, you feel yourself relax a bit, but then he lets out a thoughtful hum.
“I suppose I should wash these too,” he muses, fingering at the bottom edge of his shirt, and your mouth goes dry. That fucker. He doesn’t even look at you as he undresses, but the smirk on his lips speaks volumes.
Your hips long to writhe, but you force yourself still as he unbuttons his shirt, opening it up and chucking it in casually, running a hand over his now-naked chest, quite literally rubbing it in. The most skin you’ve seen on him yet, you allow yourself to drink in the sight. He’s more muscular than you’d expect, though it’s all lean muscle, graceful yet speaking to a corded strength.
Even though you know it’s coming, there’s nothing that can prepare you for the obscene sight of him pulling down the zipper of his black patent leather pants, revealing equally black boxers. He’s not hard, not even the slightest hint of a chub, and the thought infuriates you that he could make you so needy without even getting aroused himself, like it was the easiest thing in the world.
As he lowers his pants down, his thighs are revealed in all their glory, the thickest part of him. They flex as he lifts each leg, tugging off the pants fully and tossing them in. Though you hadn’t noticed before, now is the first time you’ve seen him without his shoes on, and you marvel at the fact that he loses none of his power like this, that it really comes from within, from his piercing gaze, knowing smile and confident posture. Chucking them in the washing machine too, he pauses for a moment, lip tugged up in a smirk, before his ringed fingers find the elastic waistband of his boxers.
Startled, a breathy, “Jimin,” falls from your lips unbidden, barely audible.
“Hm?” Jimin has no regard for modesty as he bares himself fully, cock twitching as you stare, wide-eyed. “What’s the problem, little mouse? This is a shared facility.” He chucks the slip of light fabric amongst the rest of his clothes and shuts the lid, pressing start. A gasp escapes you as the machine kicks into gear, already beginning to shudder and rock under you, sending vibrations to your needy core.
As you stare, Jimin stands in front of you, resting a hand on the edge of the machine, right between your splayed legs. His dick is slowly plumping up, the man completely unbothered as he lowers his free hand to press at the skin around it, sighing.
Your fingers clench into fists as your arms remain crossed, pussy thriving and dripping with the pleasure after so long, but cursing that his hand is so close yet so far to your clothed cunt. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you spit, leaning back and tipping your head up to stare stubbornly at the ceiling. The image of him, his naked body is still seared onto your eyelids and you let out a huff. “You have no shame.”
“Shame never seemed like a particularly useful quality to have.”
“I’m not giving you what you want,” you insist, voice trembling slightly - though you blame the steady jarring of the washing machine that runs from your core all the way up to your teeth.
“Then I could say the same to you,” you hear Jimin reply easily, before letting out a suspiciously low groan.
Your head shoots down and you gawk at the way he grasps himself, fully hard now, and runs the crook of his pointer finger over his weeping head. His cock is gorgeous, the hair above trimmed neatly and the tip arcing towards the ceiling, towards your shocked stare as he smears the glistening precum around his head, hissing at the coolness of his rings on the heated skin.
“What the fuck are you doing?” you utter in complete bewilderment. “This isn’t washing your laundry!”
Jimin hums, head tipped back and eyes slipping shut in indulgence. “I can leave to jerk off alone if that makes you more comfortable?”
You fall silent, eyes locked onto his languid strokes. That isn’t what you want at all, and he knows it. “Jimin,” you murmur lowly, captivated by the slow drags of his hand on his cock, rings glinting wetly. He makes a noise of response, almost lost in the mechanical whirring and thudding of the washing machine that stirs in your loins. Your voice is barely louder than his. “Jimin, why are you making this so difficult?”
His head tips back down, lips parted and eyes lidded. “Oh, little mouse,” he sighs, “do you wish you could touch? Do you wish I was inside you?”
You glance again at his hand, resting mere centimetres away from your core. “You know I do,” you admit in a small voice.
“Then beg,” he replies simply, hand slowly picking up speed on his dick. “The only thing that’s keeping you horny and unsatisfied is yourself. You could’ve cum three times already if you knew what was good for you.”
You sigh, licking your lips needily. A light ding echoes in the room; your washing has finished in the dryer. You ignore it. “Please, Jimin.”
Jimin’s eyes open fully, locking on you with a smirk. “Closer,” he answers, teeth exposed as he grins just slightly. Still, though, he continues to stroke himself, even going so far as to take a half step forward to rest the underside of his cock against the washing machine, groaning at the vibrations.
You huff when you realise he isn’t going to speak further. “You do realise I could just go get myself off, right? You don’t have all the power here.”
You know you’ve said the wrong thing when his cheeks lift, lips spread wide in a teasing sneer. “We both know that’s not quite true. Perhaps I don’t have all the power, but a little birdie told me that you’re no longer allowed to put your hand in your own pants. I don’t suppose that rings a bell?”
He knows about Hoseok’s deal. Perhaps they all do. In an effort to wipe the smug look off his face, you scoff, spreading your legs wider in a show of relaxation. “Well then, I guess I might as well go upstairs and ask Hoseok to fuck me. I bet he’d do a better job than-”
Like lightening, his hand leaves his own cock and lashes out, fisting your shirt in his hands and tugging you forward, hard enough that you have to quickly uncross your arms and grab onto him to stop your foreheads from knocking together. You gasp at the fiery look on his face, his voice a sharp growl. “If you think he can fuck you half as good as I can, you’re dreaming.”
“Wha-?” you make out, so close that your breath ruffles the wisp of hair that swoops over his brow.
Just as quick as he grabbed you, Jimin lets go, stepping away. “Your laundry is ready,” he announces lowly. “You’ll be waiting outside my bedroom door in two hour’s time or you won’t get anything at all. Clear?”
Startled, you nod, jumping down off the mid-cycle washing machine, your legs feeling wobbly with the sudden withdrawal of vibrations. Grabbing your washing out of the dryer, you rush out the room with one last glance at him before the door slams and locks behind you. All is silent in the hallway as you ascend the stairs, but internally you scream with excitement.
--
Two hours drags and stretches and then snaps, everything too slow and then too fast until you’re knocking on Jimin’s door, stomach swirling sickly with anticipation.
He takes his sweet time answering, heightening your heart rate, but by the time he does it takes your breath away. He’s in a different pair of black pants, jeans that are skinny enough to make his legs seem a million miles long. His chest is fully covered this time, but it’s a transparent white mesh singlet, a white pressed blouse with gold buttons and cufflinks unbuttoned at the top to expose it. His lips, plush as ever, are covered in a sheer gloss that glints in the light and his eyes are intense in the frame of thick lashes and a hint of shadow on the lids, warm and smokey. As usual, he’s laden with jewellery, his classic silver rings paired with a pair of thin dangling chains from his lobes that sway hypnotically when he tilts his head in greeting.
You, too, had dressed for the occasion, seeking out your prettiest pair of lingerie - a black lace set with embroidered vines and buds around the hems and cups. The only thing you’re wearing on top is a black silk robe tied lazily around your waist. Thanking your lucky stars nobody had wandered into the upstairs hallway while you were waiting, you step inside, the thick carpet under your bare feet muffling your steps.
Jimin is back in shoes, and you bite your lip when you recognise them as the ones he’d worn at breakfast just that morning. It feels like days ago, your heightened arousal the whole day stretching time into an eternity.
“Kneel,” he instructs shortly, pointing at the carpet in front of him. For a moment you hesitate, but you'd gotten so far and it would be foolish to test your luck and risk getting thrown out with nothing yet again. Besides, part of you wants to see what he'll do when you're actually good for him. You kneel.
His room is perhaps one of the largest excluding yours. His bathroom door is shut, but even just the bedroom has room for a queen bed, two nightstands, a dresser and a chest at the foot of the bed which you're facing. You wonder idly if he'd paid the staff off for the biggest room, but before you can ponder much more he steps in front of you, his crotch right at your eye-level. You glance up him, sucking in a breath at how perfect he looks glancing down at you.
You lick your lips in anticipation, and it draws his attention. "This pretty little mouth of yours," he muses, reaching out to run his fingers over your lips, tugging down the flesh to watch it bounce back. Your chest puffs in pride, mouth practically watering at the thought of sucking him off. You part your lips when he presses on the seam, and his first two fingers delve into your mouth, slowly thrusting so that the pads run along your tongue, making you drool around his digits. You widen your jaw obediently, eyes pleading. But his face changes, then, a frown clouding his features. "More trouble than it's worth," he decides stiffly, and suddenly your mouth is empty, Jimin wiping your saliva off on your cheek before he turns his back to you, opening the chest.
Your mouth stays slack and open, but for a different reason. From what you can see, the wooden box is filled with toys, slips of fabric and leather, metal chains, everything. Suddenly, something catches your attention. At the bottom right corner, the initial PJM have been gracefully engraved, painted in with a glossy black ink. This is his, you realise, what he uses for his shoots. You feel your panties dampening between your legs as he rifles around.
When he turns back around, you recoil slightly, recognising the buckled contraption he comes up with. A ball gag. He smiles wickedly at your reaction, standing over you and running his hand through your hair, combing it back from your face. "This is a good thing, little mouse," he explains, tapping your lips twice to indicate to widen your jaw. You obey in a daze, feeling the sphere of unforgiving black plastic fill the front half of your mouth, your teeth keeping it in place. "Now you won't be tempted to run your mouth. Isn't that thoughtful of me?" You glare up at him as the straps wrap around your skull, his deft fingers tightening the buckle just enough so you can't spit the ball out. Your breath comes through your nose now, huffing at him.
He chuckles, crouching in front of you. It's overwhelming, suddenly having his face so close again. The perfect swells of his cheekbones, the sculpted brows and intelligent eyes so intensely locked onto yours. "You can't speak now, little mouse. So your safeword is going to be non-verbal. Click your fingers once for yellow, and over and over as much as you can for red. Okay? Click now so I know you can do it."
You click your fingers, feeling your chest ease slightly with the reinforcement of your safety net. The moment you're done, however, that warm concern vanishes, and he straightens up, turning away from you yet again.
"You're lucky," his voice announces, leaning over to dig in his box of tricks, "normally I'm not so generous. Normally I wouldn't let you cum until you'd well and truly earned it. But those cries of yours on the Monday night..." He trails off, spinning back on his feet to face you, a pair of leather cuffs in his hand, unconnected with heavy duty silver loops dangling from them. His eyes pierce you with a hint of vulnerability that you don't think he even realises he's showing. "You drive me crazy, Y/n. I want to hear you cum over and over and over again for me."
No matter how much your chest rises and falls, you feel breathless, eyes wide. Unable to verbally respond - though you don't even know what you'd say - you just give him a pleading gaze, hips rocking against the bottoms of your feet in search of friction.
He lets out a breath, stepping forward. "Take off your robe," he instructs with a rough voice. Your fingers fumble with the slack knot, hurriedly shedding it and tossing it away, leaving yourself in just the lingerie. "Fuck," he says with a breathy chuckle, "you're gonna be the death of me, little mouse. Wrists."
You clench your teeth around the ball gag in a keen at his words, lifting your arms up to reach him.
One at a time, he fits on the leather cuffs. They're relatively wide, though not too thick, and once he does up the buckle on each one you feel your eyes flutter. Something you'd never felt before but it's divine, the way they wrap so snugly around your wrists, not only a physical anchor, but a reminder that you're his, letting out a low moan when he slips a finger in one of the silver loops, tugging to ensure the fit.
Jimin's lip twitches at your reaction, and instead of telling you to stand, he uses the hoops, pulling your wrists up by the cuffs until you stand to ease the pressure, stumbling slightly as you get off your knees without your hands to assist. He leads you to the head of the bed, where you see the two chains that wrap around the bars of the headboard.
"On," he instructs, letting go so you can clamber up, sitting as you await further instruction. "On your back, darling," he coos, pressing at your shoulder so your head rests back onto the pillow. Automatically, you lift your arms, pulling a smile from his lips as he loops the chains through the silver hoops of your cuffs, spreading your arms wide apart, knuckles brushing against the wood of the headboard.
"Don't go anywhere," he remarks teasingly before leaving you, retrieving a few things from the chest. You tug slightly at one of your cuffs, testing it, and muffle a groan at the feeling of being trapped, tied down and at his mercy.
When he returns, his hands are full, and he tosses the fruits of his labour on the bed beside your torso, getting up on the bed to sit between your legs. You gasp when he tugs your ankles firmly, making you slip down so that your arms are straight, less room to struggle. This way, too, you can barely crane your head up, chest blocking your few of the toys he's brought over.
"Now," he says with a patient sigh, fingering the hem of your panties, "let's get rid of these, mm?" You lift your hips obediently when he goes to slip them down, curling your toes at the sudden cool air on your pussy. "Fuck, look at you," he gushes lowly, his fingers running up and down your slit so light you can barely feel them, making you whimper. "So fucking wet, little mouse. I haven't even touched you."
You lift your head to moan at him, trying to get out your plea, though your words are unrecognisable through the ball gag.
He pouts teasingly, rubbing the flat of his palm over you, slicking up his hand. "Oh, poor baby. The mean old Jiminie kept teasing her, did he? Baby just wants to cum?"
You groan, eyes scrunching shut as you nod your head. Even the simple touch of his hand between your legs is so good you could cry.
You tremble when you feel two fingers slip inside your wetness, a tight fit but one that lets him in so smoothly with how much you're soaked for him. He finds your g-spot with an almost supernatural ease, rubbing at it with the pads of his two fingers, curling inside you. You let out a strangled groan which makes him chuckle.
"I'm being generous now, aren't I? Say thank you, Y/n."
You sob. He knows full well you can't speak, but you obey nonetheless, letting out an unintelligible garble of your thanks.
"Good girl," he coos, and your legs fall apart wider in bliss as he begins an indulgent pace, the cool bands of his rings when they plunge inside you addictive. The second his thumb lifts up and begins rubbing at your clit, you're already on the edge from being deprived so long, and you cum almost immediately, shuddering around his fingers at the deep but powerful satisfaction.
You come down from your high relatively quickly, but he's already slipped his hand out, and you glance down in confusion, only to choke on a moan when you see him, tongue poking out slightly in focus as he uses your own slick to lube up a dildo, a powder pink silicone one that's roughly the shape of a cock, but far smoother, getting wider at the bottom for a place to hold it.
Once he's done, almost without acknowledging you, he grips your knee, making it bend and your leg lift higher up the bed, spreading you wider open for him, the other one still flat on the mattress, splayed wide.
"That was your warm-up, little mouse, I hope you enjoyed it," Jimin remarks with a grin, and you breathe heavy around the gag, back arching as he presses the head of the dildo into you.
It's far wider than his two fingers, and the stretch dumbs you, making your mind slow to a halt to appreciate every inch that fills you, dragging against your sensitised g-spot. Jimin's knuckles bump your clit when he bottoms out, and you shiver, the dildo so deep inside you.
"Let's get started, shall we?" he declares rhetorically with a wolfish grin, and once again your eyes squeeze shut when he begins a bruising pace, every strike spearing you open and making your eyes water. Your spine hitches as you writhe beneath him, but his grip on your bent leg is too strong, and no matter how hard you clench he drives the dildo so fully inside you that your mouth is slack, wide enough that your teeth don't even clamp around the ball on your tongue. With an open mouth, more sound comes through, and you hear the room filling with the wet sound of him fucking you with the dildo, but also your own moans and hiccuped screams.
He fucks you to the edge faster than you can comprehend. There's so much pleasure on every stroke, and he's using so much speed that it feels like you can't take it, like you might explode, but still he pins you down, letting you yank at the cuffs that bind you as you're forced to cum violently around it, thigh muscles clenching as you try to clamp your legs around the intrusion.
"Fuck, that's it, don't stop cumming," you hear him growl, and you sob with pleasure as your orgasm morphs quickly into oversensitivity, but Jimin never lets up for a second.
Your eyes water, tears slipping down over your temples as he continues to fuck you, and suddenly you no longer feel his hand on your leg, it flopping down weakly as fingers tap over your hand.
"Don't forget the signal," he instructs as you sob and writhe, "I'm not fucking stopping without it."
It takes you a moment to process that he's asking about the safeword, but as overwhelmed as you are, you don't want him to stop. "Hngingn," you cry, his name coming out jumbled through the ball gag, and your legs automatically lock around his hand, seeking to stop the roughly thrusting dildo, but his spare hand just rips your legs away, one of his jean-clad knees pinning down your shin and your screams reach a new pitch when you feel fingers strumming at your clit, the pleasure like a million needles, making your hands fist.
After an eternity of going crazy with overstimulation, you pass a bend. The pain turns back into pleasure, and you settle, going quiet and shifting slightly to seek it out, eyes rolling at the rhythmic rocking of your hips as he fucks you with the dildo.
"That's it," Jimin guides, breathless with exertion, "I want you to cum again, little mouse. Clench tight for me."
You do as he says, eyes so blurry you can't even see anything but the patch of blue in your vision, his head bobbing slightly as he speaks.
Without thinking, you follow his instructions, and like clockwork a third orgasm rips through you, taking you by surprise as the extra pressure of the dildo on your g-spot plunges you over the edge. You hadn't even realised you were close, but clearly Jimin had, and you tremble beneath him, letting the waves of pleasure flood to every corner and crevice of your body, your fists tightening and your toes curling. You weep openly at how good it feels, whimpering when his fingers on your clit stop and the dildo slows, slipping out of you one last time with a slick noise.
You're sweating, twitching, trembling, but still you manage to blink away your tears and focus on him blearily as you feel him removing the ball gag from around your head, fingers gentle as they massage your jaw slightly, letting you close it and lick your lips, feeling the ache.
"Did so well," he praises, and you pant happily, a lazy smile stretching out on your face as your tears begin to dry. The sound of a zip makes you frown, so you glance down to see Jimin already fisting his own cock, just as red and needy as the last time you'd seen it. You whimper as he shuffles forward, lifting your legs up into the air to spread you wide for him.
Almost forgetting you can speak now, you whimper wordlessly for a few moments, before making out a weak, "Jimin," tone pleading.
"Shh," he coos, his cockhead tapping at your drenched entrance, making you shiver. "One more, little mouse."
"I can't," you sob, chest hitching as he slips into you, just bigger than the dildo. You let out a reedy cry at how he strikes you're abused g-spot, and his fingers massage the backs of your thighs soothingly.
"You can," Jimin insists, fucking into you slowly, making you hiss every time, "just one more for me. You have your word."
You sob at the overstimulating madness as his pace picks up, driving so intensely inside of you, but you don't use the safeword. There's a kind of euphoria bliss to being stretched to your limits, pushed so far, and you trust him to take care of you, want to do a good job for him.
So you shake your head, moans blending into cries blending into whimpers. "Fuh-fuck," you gasp as once more sharp stimulation turns warm again, and you near a fourth orgasm. You shiver under Jimin, his thrusts so deft and powerful, jerking your body in rhythm. "I ca- I can't cum again," you admit shakily, "'s too much, Jimin, I can't take it!"
Jimin grunts with the force of his thrusts, but his hands are gentle as they keep your legs spread. "You're almost there, little mouse, you're doing so well."
Your back arches violently when he drops one of your legs to rub at your clit, fresh tears streaming into your hairline. "Fuck, oh god, I'm gonna- fuck!"
You stream as your final orgasm takes you like a train, and a feeling you've never experienced rushes through you as you squirt, thighs clamping iron tight around his hips as he curses at the sight and spills into your trembling body.
Even in the throes of his own orgasm, you feel Jimin's hands pass up and begin releasing you from the headboard, your arms falling limply as he cups your face, barely even rocking into you as every slight movement plunges you into oversensitivity.
You gasp, trying to catch your breath with closed eyes as this thumbs brush away your tears, his cum hot inside you.
"God, Y/n, you were amazing, did so well for me," he confesses lowly in your ear, and you let out a whimper as he presses a single kiss to your cheek, the most tender he's been with you so far.
"Did well," you repeat mindlessly, "Jiminnie."
"You did," he promises, and you hiss as he pulls himself out of you carefully, the feeling of his seed mixed with your own cum flooding out down onto the sheets. "God, look at you," Jimin muses under his breath, surely not meant for you to hear.
Barely conscious, your eyes flutter, and the last thing you remember seeing is him stripping off his expensive white cotton blouse, cleaning you up with it so gently that you barely feel the sting on your clit.
FAN FAVOURITE
On the sixth Day of every Week in the game, the Audience Fan Favourite vote is released for 48 hours following the post of the fic. Please note, this is NOT the elimination vote, which is taken on the seventh Day of each Week.
Please vote for your favourite member in the house according to Week One only. Vote here. Multiple votes are allowed but please do not spam the voting as this is an overall audience pick. I’m very excited to see what the results will be !
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TAGLIST
Okay real talk doing 5 ppl per comment takes fucking AGES so imma just try 45 since last time 50 didn’t work.
@agustdpeach @tinysweetscrown @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d @saikokirastuff @kim-ji-woo-hoo
@starryskyslove @taemetiger @wildly-lost-lantern @mini-coop25 @bbbrats
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@swanqook @parksfilter @jungtaeyoongles @lilylovsu @kaitlynmarie1120
@karma299 @tearkth @hjordan1994 @bangtan-dreamland @sarcasmflowsinmyveins
The rest will be in the comments!
Unable to tag @risefallrise @btsphdotcom @kitty-queen-13 @stardust-and-ashes@crazykpopaddict @positivelyjada @paradisetaemin @awixxx @litty-dumb @passionate-love-57911 @sweeneyblue1 @carrooooooooo @purplepearl07
#ficswithluv#maknaesmutsociety#bangtanarmynet#btswriterscollective#btswritingcafe#btswritersnet#magicshopnet#bangtanfairygarden#bangtanhq#bangtanidx#smutcentralnet#ksmutclub#jimin smut#bts smut#jimin x reader#bts x reader#namjoon smut#namjoon x reader#minjoon#minjoon smut#jungkook x reader#taehyung x reader#hoseok x reader#yoongi x reader#jin x reader#bts series
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