#heart shaped pebble
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Go along the bank of the Thames to find a heart shaped pebble i found a stack of three and gave them as a present for mother’s day, when your feeling better take Rosie can be a gift for John when he gets back! x
Sounds like a good plan. Maybe we also find a corpse again. Or at least some bones.
#heart shaped pebble#thames#river thames#london#sherlock roleplay#roleplay#sherlock rp#rp#johnlock roleplay#sherlock answers#gifts for john
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REALLY regretting that i let my mom convince me to throw out my rock collection when i was like 13 :(
#the terasuress.......#i should dig up the neighbourhood yard next time im there it has to be somewhere under the soil#i had a zinc crystal and a heart shaped rock and so many quartz rocks and some smooth pebbles#and something that looked like a plant imprint !!!!!
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Can I Suck Them?
Synopsis: Asking jjk men if u can suck on their boobies, ranked from most sensitive nipples to least w/ GN!Reader
Includes: 𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢, 𝐍𝐚𝐨𝐲𝐚, 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨, 𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢, 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨, 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨, 𝐇𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢
(a.n)the only one that has like 'real' smut it gojos, the first time I write for Naoya...... scary.
MDNI
Kento Nanami
Nanami had caught you staring at his chest a handful of times, often thinking why you were looking- or why you had that depraved look in your eye. But when you finally had the gall to ask- “Can I suck your tits?” in a playful tone- eyeing the little bumps beneath his white sleep shirt that accentuated his large pecs.
“I don't have tits, sweetheart.” he smiled with a sigh as he looked down to his coffee cup. You hummed, looking at the curve of his chest,
With a smile you crooned, “Is that a no?” watching his expression fall- in all honesty Nanami thought you were kidding, the question not too strange from the usual things you'd say to him. Knowing you'd say little unfiltered comments with no meaning behind them.
He furrowed his eyebrows, cocking his head to the side waiting for you to laugh and say you were kidding.
Only you didn't.
Finding you standing before him, thumbing the protruding bud hidden by the white fabric as you stared at his waning expression.
Nanami tried keeping a stoic face- he tried pretending that it didn't feel like anything. But the more he tried to keep the little sighs in the sound of whimpers to himself- the more they wanted to come out.
All that from just a few swipes of your thumb on his nipple. Nanami knew he was sensitive- often having to wear an undershirt beneath his button downs to avoid the light grazes from the coarse fabric. But he didn't know they were sensitive in this way.
In the way that had his cock jumping in his pajama bottoms, had his heart pounding beneath his plentiful pecs, and most embarrassing of all- had his eyebrows pinching up in a light crease, with soft puffs coming from his lungs in the shape of small whimpers.
And though you looked at him with an astonished expression- he still felt a sprinkle of vulnerability as you pressed your thumb onto the pebble beneath the fabric.
Here you were- thinking if he’s squirming now, even with the millimeter of his shirt separating your thumb from his nipple- what face would he make once you sucked them?
Nanami placed his mug onto the kitchen counter, fearing if you continued he might drop it.
You pulled your thumb from the white cotton, mouth watering, scoffing lightly at how you could almost see the halo of pink beneath the white fabric.
Your hands fell to the hem of his shirt- looking into his eyes and asking, “Can I?” with an expression that could only be described as wondrous.
Nanami hesitated, he furrowed his eyebrows and thought about it for a solid few seconds- unsure if he wanted to tread through these waters so early in the morning.
Bordering on perverted how fast your hands maneuvered his shirt off the second he nodded ‘yes’.
You stared at his plump chest for a second- admiring the light peach fuzz on them, Nanami was used to your deranged antics, sure. Times when you'd bring up something new to try in bed. Or when you'd spout insinuating compliments to him when he got home from work. Almost all those times, you were on the receiving end.
But this- this was easing into a new dynamic that was unexplored between you two. You flashed your eyes to him, parting your lips and leaning in closer to his chest.
The sound that left his throat when you licked a stripe onto the little stiff mound- was intoxicating.
Your hand went to his other, rolling it in your fingers as you pressed your lips onto his chest. Nanami’s shoulders shivered from the warmth of your mouth, small huffs falling from his lips without censorship.
The feeling of succession you felt when you finally swirled your tongue around it, how it felt to feel his cock harden against your tummy- it was like finally cracking a level of a game you've spent countless hours trying to beat.
The satisfaction of hearing the little gasps from his throat when you grazed your teeth against the little bud was something you didn't know you needed to hear till now. Even more when you'd let it go with a quiet ‘pop’, blowing light air onto the damp peak on his chest.
The shivering breaths he exhaled were exhilarating to hear.
It wasn't long till you granted him the favor of pulling his weeping cock from his bottoms, stroking him slowly as he braced his hands onto the kitchen counter, knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping onto it.
It wasn't an act that needed any dirty talk, nor any teasing from you. All you wanted was to please him. And maybe, soothe the itch you've felt in your brain since you noticed how suckable his chest really was.
You were sure that this little discovery would make its way into some intimate moments with Nanami, judging how fucked out he looked from a few soft strokes and having his nipples sucked on. You were positive he could cum from that alone, but that was a trial for another day.
Naoya Zenin
I honestly don't think he'd be open to it- but if he was he'd need a lot, a lot of convincing. But, I think if you were to be kissing him- sloppy and his tongue practically shoved down your throat. His back flush against the wall as your hands gripped onto his bare torso. He’d pull away, huffing with a light blush on his cheeks-
Naoya would place his hand atop your head, aiming your head down his bare torso. He would always do this, guide you to suck his cock before any kind of intercourse.
Only you weren't some anti-romantic monster like he was. In an attempt to make this more caring- more sensual. You placed light kisses onto his collar bones, undoing the buckle of his pants as he huffed in annoyance.
Naoya gruffed, “Hurry up.” he spit through clenched teeth, not knowing why you’d always have to take your time when it came to these things. Even when you explained ‘it feels better when it's slow’ he didn't believe you.
But as you licked a small stripe past his nipple- just trying to convince him that a little build up was fun. Naoya unwillingly let out a sound neither of you had heard before.
A mix of a hic and whimper- You froze with your lips parted, almost as though time stopped. Naoya’s shoulders tensed up, waiting for you to make a snide comment or make fun of him.
Only you didn't, instead you darted your tongue past your lips, pressing it back gently onto his nipple as he huffed a quiet, ‘Sto-’ with a quivered lip, melting into the feeling of your tongue on his sensitive bud. Swirling the tip of your tongue around the erogenous zone as he sighed with a gulp.
That was till the realization of what was actually happening set in. He grasped your shoulders- pushing you back lightly. The look on his face was littered with confusion, a deep blush, a hint of thrill and most of all: he looked mortified.
You looked at him with wide eyes, inhaling as you parted your lips- only for Naoya to interrupt. “Don’t.” he gritted through his teeth, “Don't say anything.” he avoided your gaze as he tried catching his breath.
“It’s okay Naoya-” you exhaled in a whisper, leaning in to kiss his cheek only for him to pull away with an exhale. “Shut up.” he gruffed, pushing away your hand that tried to caress his cheek.
Seeing as he refused to look at you or accept your assurances, instead you leaned down to the center of his chest. Right below his collar bones and pressed a kiss to his flushed skin. Being able to feel his heart pounding against your lips as he sighed. A mix of distress and satisfaction at feeling your lips press against his skin.
With your lips brushing against the little curve of his chest, “I just wanna make you feel good.” you murmured against his skin, only hearing a small exhale from Naoya’s bowed head, trying to hide the embarrassing expression he was making.
“It's repulsive-” he whispered with a hidden grimace as you pressed soft pecks around his sensitive nipple, the blush on his cheeks tingling the tip of his nose.
You tried hiding the smile that tickled his skin, “No, Naoya,” your words vibrated against his chest as you pulled from it, “It's hot.” you smiled before darting your tongue back out of your mouth. Assuring him that this wasn't some anomaly or out of the ordinary. You were ready to show him just how alluring his sensitivity was with your tongue.
Again, he would let you do it. But only after a lot, a lot of convincing. But once you start, he's a puddle in your hands.
Satoru Gojo
I see him applying lotion after a shower, carelessly swiping his hands to massage the lotion onto his chest. If he was being honest, Satoru had noticed your little staring problem whenever his chest would be glazed with something, clenching your jaw as you eyed the curve of his chest.
A shit eating grin splayed onto his lips as he felt you gawk at his bare chest. “Hungry?” he spoke up with a cocky giggle. You sighed heavily, almost agreeing with what he asked.
“It's so unfair.” you muttered, keeping a light tone as you watched his eyebrows furrow.
“Unfair?”
You took a few steps closer to him, a feigned mournful look on your face as you reached out to his still damp chest, holding his tits gently in your hands as though they were a prized possession, earning for Gojo to let out a breathy giggle, “Yes, deeply unfair.” you scoffed, running your thumb over his pale nipple. Earning a small huff from him in response.
Gojo felt an itch crawl up his back as you lightly grazed his nipple with your thumb, your other hand indenting into the swell seeing how pliant his skin was.
Early in your relationship you were aware his nipples were on the more sensitive side, seeing how blushed they'd get after he straightened his back, the friction from being chest to chest in missionary the cause. But you had yet to suck on them, even if most times your mouth would water seeing the light sheen of sweat on his chest after intercourse.
You sucked your teeth, “They're sooo pretty ‘toru.” you exasperated, causing him to scoff at your words that sounded more sarcastic than you meant them to.
Trying to play along- “You wanna suck ‘em?” he smiled, expecting you to laugh it off and continue your little charade. Only your eyes glimmered with a smile on your lips, and you didn't laugh it off.
“Would you let me?” venturous and mouth watering at the thought.
True, Satoru would let you if you really wanted to. Knowing you sucking his nipples wouldn't be the oddest thing done in your sex life- but it was an unmapped area that neither of you had brought up till this point. Though there were small grazes in passing- kissing down his torso before you went down on him, sure. But never did you latch onto it.
And as Satoru looked at your expression, filled with yearning and want- it made one thing clear to him, that he was gonna be on the receiving end of nipple stimulation this time.
You wanted to find a better place to do this than in the humid bathroom- so with a few sloppy kisses as your fingers lightly tugged and pulled on his pinkening nipples. You were surprised with the little whimpers he breathed into your mouth, knowing he was sensitive generally but he was extra sensitive as you tempted the rosy peaks of his chest to harden.
Finding yourself kissing down his neck, your hands rolling his pink buds in your fingers as Gojo laid his head into the pillows. Softly whimpering as his cock started to harden against his pj’s.
You pulled your lips from his collar bone, amazed with the roaming blush that only accentuated his pretty tits. You sighed as you watched him wriggle from your hands pinching his nipples, “Does it feel that good?” you asked, awestricken from how loud he was starting to whimper.
Gojo huffed with a small smirk, “You have no idea how good it feels.” he whimpered with a light whine. You placed your lips onto the glistening swell of one his pecs, removing your stimulating fingers and tracing it down his carved torso.
Your hand found its way to the elastic of his bottoms, softly palming his bulge as you placed wet kisses to the blushed swell of his pec. His large hand was on the back of your head- almost cradling it as he felt a ghost-like stripe of your spit dampen his nipple. Pulling back ever so slightly and blowing gently onto where you previously lapped. Causing a shivering whimper to rumble from his chest.
Breathlessly, Satoru huffed, “You keep doing that and I might cu-” he tried warning, only to be interrupted by your hand dipping into his pants, softly grasping his shaft as you attached your lips back to his nipple. A whiny ‘nngh’ from his throat as your reward.
Swirling your tongue against the sensitivity- his hand on your head bordering on fisting your hair from how worked up he was getting.
You were amazed at how pretty he sounded- how his cock was crying into your hand. Gojo sounded so fucking desperate- so needy. Like he was close to orgasm, but he couldn't focus enough on cumming. Your hand was too slow, stark comparison to your tongue that was flicking and slathering over his tender nipple.
Satoru inhaled- filling his lungs with as much air he could as he reached his hand up to his opposite nipple, gently rolling it like you did before- you flashed your eyes to his hand, watching him play with his nipple causing a low groan to vibrate onto his nipple from your tongue.
This caused Satoru to grunt from the sudden tingle- “Faster baby- m’so close-” he managed, the words littered with whimpers as his hips bucked into your hand.
You quickened your hand- fisting his cock as quick as you could. Hearing chopped throaty moans fall from his lips at the action- various breathless’- ‘Dont stop’ and warnings, ‘m’cummi-’ between every whimper and moan.
Even if he meant it as a joke- you were happy to suck his tits till he was shuddering with ragged breaths. And Gojo was more than happy to let you.
Toji Zenin
Oh god, this man. I think you'd make a comment on it once. Just once, and now anytime he'd catch you staring he'd remind you he can feel your gaze.
“You're staring.” he'd say, knowing he wore a compression shirt that was not only- a smidge too tight (a lot tight), but it was also white- put those together and you can practically see the pink ring of his nipples through the fabric.
It was almost like he was doing it on purpose. Like he was trying to tempt you to ask him. “Hard not to when you wear those tiny shirts.” You scoffed, earning Toji to look down and pretending to think if it was too small. Being able to see the stretch of the fabric across his chest.
“They shrink in the wash.” he retorted, almost offended by your complaint. You gave a sarcastic ‘uh huh’ before returning your gaze back onto his chest. “I mean I can see your nipples from here-” you complained, hearing a sigh fall from his lips.
It was early, having breakfast after getting dressed. Which brought on this whole ‘tiny shirt’ debacle.
“You don't like it, don't look.”
“That's exactly why I'm looking.” you huffed mindlessly. Earning for him to scrunch his eyebrows together and pout his lip in a light grimace. You inhaled, chin in your hand as he played with the food on his plate, “I mean- you don't feel the air brush-”
Toji called your name, almost too stern and in a borderline irritable tone. “-If you wanna ask me somethin’- ask.” he huffed, looking at you with a stoic expression.
“Can. I… ssssuck them.” You droned out- not even bothering to make it sound like a question. Toji perked a brow in astonishment- he knew you wanted to do something to his chest- but the way you said it shocked him from how forward you were, knowing you usually danced around what you wanted leaving him to guess.
“You want to suck my-” Toji tried speaking trying to get a clearer answer from you.
“Your tits. Yes.” he scoffed at your crudeness. Toji thought it over, leaning back into the chair as he looked at your expression that got more and more flushed by the seconf.
He sighed, tilting his head almost in pity at how nervous you had gotten, “I don't see why not.”
And with that you practically teleported onto his lap, straddling him as he sat on the dining chair. The over excited look on your face told him this had been a thought in your mind for a while-
His hands reached for the hem of the tight shirt- only for your own to halt it. “Don’t.” you smiled- almost maniacally.
Toji shrugged it off, assumed you'd take it off for him and watched your hands trail onto his chest, placing your extended fingers onto each pec and squeezing lightly. “Are they sensitive?” you whispered feeling his hands rest on your hips with a sigh.
“Dunno- no ones ever been weird enough to ask if they could suck ‘em.” he spewed almost in exasperation. Keeping a straight face as you huffed in amusement.
Excited to be the first to ever find out if he’d be responsive to you sucking them, you grinned. And that only proved his point in you being peculiar.
You trailed your right hand down, now that you were up close you could see his nipple clearly through the strained fabric. Placing your index and middle finger on either side of the peaking color, pressing them closed and feeling the little bud between your fingers. “You said suck ‘em, not play with them.” he practically scolded, his cheeks starting to flush in the slightest.
You sighed, leaning down and slipping your tongue past your lips- so ready to lick a stripe against the cotton. Only Toji watched what you were doing with furrowed eyebrows, a little unsettled that you were so eager to lick at them through fabric. But Toji knew he was in no place to judge, there have been stranger things done between you two, at his request.
You fluttered your eyes shut as your tongue wet the white cotton. Almost instantly making the fabric clear against his nipple. Toji tried to keep an unbothered expression, but the small little laps against his nipple. The wet fabric caused his nipple to harden beneath the translucent spot you had licked.
Little by little, one gentle lick after the other, Toji started squirming beneath you. His cock rising not knowing if it was from your tongue, or from watching you.
Feeling the sensitivity build up with every roll of your fingers over his opposite one. Till the feeling started making him regret allowing you this, and when he finally removed his damp shirt.
Toji was able to feel the difference of how the air felt against his chest, being able to feel every light breath you exhaled from your nose. A shiver settled in his lower spine as you lightly brushed the tip of your tongue against the little bud of his nipple.
Though the feeling was new- it wasn't unwelcomed. I think Toji would just see it as a new form of foreplay to be explored.
Choso Kamo
Ahh my favorite boy. I'm discarding my favoritism for once. After a deep detailed conversation with my brother and a lot of analyzing, i've come to terms with choso being in the lower middle when it comes to how sensitive they are *sigh* as much as i'd like to say he's the most sensitive, i have to write this unbiased (￣ε￣〃)
I feel like the first time you ask him- out of all of them he would have the most ?? reaction. Let's pretend this takes place well after the many firsts of a relationship, okay?
Sitting criss cross in front of each other on your shared bed. An expression that can only be described as mortified on his face, “You want to what?” he murmured with an irked head, thinking he misheard you. You sighed, all the confidence it took to say it the first time only to repeat it.
You inhaled, “Choso can I-” you huffed seeing the look of mortification stay on his face, realizing he didn't mishear you the first time. “Would you let me- suck your… chest?”
Choso knew of nipple stimulation, of how it can provide some pleasure. Though he himself hadn't explored it, he was skeptical of it feeling like anything to him. At first he’d only say yes to not embarrass you.
“I don't see why you'd want to.” he mumbled to himself as he took his t-shirt off, you scooched closer to him, reaching out your hand and running your fingers atop the swell of one of his pec’s.
“I found out the other day that some men have really sensitive nipples.” you smiled, running your thumb over the little peak. Flashing your eyes up and watching his expression go unchanged.
“And if mine aren't?” he looked down to your exploratory hand, raising a brow as you lightly swiped across it.
You grinned, “There's no harm in checkin’.” with a hum, pressing your index finger and middle finger on either side of his budding nipple. Lightly pinching it between the sides of your fingers as he shifted softly.
“What does it feel like?” you whispered, flashing your eyes to his expression that seemed slightly perplexed. Choso felt his cheeks tingle, not from the action itself but watching that little glimmer in your eye form, how amazed you were at it getting firm between your fingers.
Choso shifted slightly, feeling your fingers pinch softly. A small smile formed on his face as he felt the little pinch send a tingle down his spine. Choso furrowed his eyebrows, “Dunno.. weird?” he mumbled, causing you to flash a giddy smile.
You pulled your fingers from his chest, and placed them into your mouth. Only the action confused Choso, since you asked to suck them, and didn't really get what this build up was about.
“Like-” you scoffed, placing your damp fingers onto his nipple. “A good weird or a bad weird?” you smiled, seeing his lips part as you rolled his firm nipple between your fingers.
Answering your question without words, he let out a little exhale that took the shape of a moan as you pinched it lightly. “Is t-this what it feels like for you?” he huffed, his cheeks starting to blush as his cock jumped in his sweats.
You grinned, seeing your efforts pay off in the meek way he asked that question. “Sometimes-” you hummed sweetly, watching his shoulders shudder. “Can I put my mouth on it now?” you grinned, Choso bowed his head- not wanting you to see the expression forming on his face.
“If you want to.” he mumbled, straightening his back and planting his hands behind him- pushing his chest out to you as he looked to the side. You almost let out a lecherous giggle at how shy he looked, but you held it in. Not wanting to embarrass him any more than what was needed.
You rested yourself on the backs of your calves, placing your hands on the sides of his ribs as he inhaled. Aware of what was coming but not knowing what it would feel like.
With a smile you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his temple, “You want me to jack you off too?” you whispered into his ear as you trailed your hand to his neglected nipple. Being able to see his cock rising to life beneath his sweats as you grazed your fingers against the other.
The way Choso called your name made it seem like you had just said the most filthy thing he had ever heard, brushing lightly onto his unstimulated bud, making note that though at first he may not feel much, the more you play with them the more sensitive they became.
“I just wanna help,“ you smiled, looking down at the prominent bulge in his pants, “-but if you don't want it~” you teased, rolling the hardening bud between your fingers.
“Just-” he huffed, feeling you roll the bud between your thumb and pointer finger, “Just don't say things like that-” he managed, feeling a small kiss pressed onto his cartilage before you trailed them down his neck.
You left light trails of your saliva on the curve of his pec, looking up at him as you fiddled with his other nipple, “Is that a noo..? Or?” you smiled against his skin, being able to feel his heartbeat pound against your lips.
Choso took a minute to think on it, your mouth avoidant of his nipple and your fingers stimulating the other making it very hard to think right now. You huffed a smile against the little trail of spit that glistened on his chest, “You think I can make you cum from just sucking them?” there you went again saying things that made Choso let out a sigh.
“No, probably not,” he muttered through clenched teeth, “probably’ll be frustrating to try.” he finished, feeling you hum against the curve of his tit. You took that declaration and started trailing your hand down his torso, keeping the other planted on the bed as you plunged your hand into his pants, grasping onto his member and assisting it out of his bottoms.
You locked eyes with him, mouth watering at the thought of how tender and malleable his nipple would feel on your tongue. In tandem with the first stroke on his cock, you traced the tip of your tongue around his slightly swollen nipple. Choso’s lips unwillingly letting out a muffled grunt mixed with a whine.
Though it takes more time to get him to that whimpering point, it's worth it.
(if u want more my ‘prettier in pink’ fic has soooo much nipple play with choso ʘ‿ʘ)
Suguru Geto
He'd look at you with a quirked brow, all but asking- ‘Are you serious?’ as you looked at him with dazzled eyes, your hands planted on his sternum as you straddled his hips.
The question came from your lips without permission- middle of foreplay when your eyes caught onto his nipples. You traced the pads of your fingers onto one of them, hearing a low groan rumble from his tongue. Not from the feeling, but from the act of it.
Suguru has always been open to trying anything once, and the way your eyes glimmered as you thumbed the little bud on his chest. “Can I suck them?” you muttered, feeling his hands trail up your hips, he perked his eyebrow, a light blush on his cheeks as you ground your heat onto him.
Though he was confused at your request, he nodded his head ‘yes’. Causing you to hunch your back and lean your head down. Kissing on his bare collarbones, trailing them between his chest, leaving a trail of your spit between them as his clothed cock shifted beneath you.
Usually Suguru was the one who took on the responsibility of pleasuring you over his own needs, even if you offered- he’d just tell you it's fine. So the dynamic was a little different as you kissed onto the swell of his pec’s.
Suguru was watching you with furrowed eyebrows, convinced that this was hardly foreplay. Besides, what's gonna come from a little nipple sucking?
But as you circled the ring of his bud, the exhale that came from your nose tickling his damp nipple- a chill ran down his spine settling in his lower abdomen as you swirled your tongue around the ring of color. Again, not from the action itself, but how you mimicked the way he would swirl his tongue around your own.
You flattened your tongue and did a full swipe of his velvet nipple.
Keeping up the light licks and small grazes of your teeth as he did with you, earning little to no reactions.
And even as you were riding him- trying your best to give him some kind of pleasure through his nipples. But not only did you manage to get them sore, you managed to get him frustrated enough to groan in dissatisfaction. Even if he was fucking into you- your attempts at stimulation were mildly irritable.
“They've just never been sensitive.” he huffed guiding your head to pull from his chest and looking at you, only you muttered something like ‘lemme keep going’
That's when he just gave a little laugh, “No- its starting to hurt.” he joked, gripping onto your hips and fucking up into you- hoping you’d forget this little urge to suck his chest.
Overall, he would let you. But realistically he wouldn't feel much, would let you try and try till they were sore just because he liked you so very much.
Hiromi Higuruma
Unfortunately I think Hiromi probably has the least sensitive nipples:(
When you asked he kinda grimaced? Not seeing attraction or a point in it since he's not reactive to those kinds of touches. But he would let you try after you looked at him with a pout.
And try you did. You did all you could, rolling them between your fingers, pinching them, lapping at them softly, then harsher. Didn't really achieve much, but Hiromi did get hard watching you try. Finding it endearing that you were so eager to make him feel good from just his nipples.
But once you gave up, Hiromi was eager to show you how sensitive his cock was instead. 100% believe all the sensitivity he would’ve had in his nipples, doubled onto his cockhead.
Hiromi was very excited to show you where he was most sensitive, “You can suck and lap at that as much as you want- I'll be responsive.” He assured with a smug smile.
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#jjk x reader#nanami x reader#nanami smut#naoya x reader#Naoya x reader#gojo smut#gojo x reader#toji smut#toji x reader#choso smut#choso x reader#geto smut#geto x reader#hiromi smut#hiromi x reader#jjk smut#jjk x gender neutral reader#jjk x chubby reader
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Run Away To Me (I)
AU MASTERLIST || PART II
PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader
WORDCOUNT: 4.8k
WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, being hunted/chased, medieval period-esc standards, arranged marriage insinuations, toxic family insinuations, angst, protective Johnny?, etc.
A/N: This series is so Lord Huron coded
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
You rush through the low-hanging branches of the reaching pines, their green arms tearing at the once perfect and virginal white dress clothing your body; waves of delicate fabric like bird’s wings. Shredded and torn, you sob in large gasps while the shouting gets louder behind you—the pound of vile hooves along cobblestone.
“After her!” Blood was rushing down a long slice in your palm, dripping to the verdant grass as you traversed the off-trial paths, the roads of animals and bandits—monsters in the night.
Flashes of torchlight had gone out long ago, the rain slamming the ground with ancient purpose as the storm got angrier. Tree trunks slam into your shoulders, the wedding dress ripping away in strips as pine needles pierce the bare skin of your feet. Your shoes had slipped off as soon as you had started this mad dash.
“She went this way! Quickly!” You run faster, shuffling down a long hill as mud gets packed into your flesh; infecting wounds with its slimy make-up.
“Please,” your voice begs lowly, hiccuping out vowels as you drop to your knees at the bottom of a ravine before you sob and grit your teeth. Wading through the stream of chilled water, you dig into the ground and shove yourself up on shaking legs as rain pelts your head. “Please, I can’t go back.”
Even your thin clothes are heavy on you—body weighed down by terror and a desperate plea. Because what you said was true. You can’t go back. Can’t go back to the search party, can’t go back to the ceremony…and you can’t go back to the man you were supposed to marry. No, you’d rather face the woods.
Scaling up the other edge of the ravine, you slam a bloody hand down to the rocks atop, pebbles flying past your face as a flash of lightning momentarily illuminates your field of view. Noises reminiscent of an animal carve their way out of your esophagus, teeth gritted as feet slip and strain.
You heave yourself over and fight the weakness in your arms. Coughing, you pray the storm will wash away any trace of your charge to freedom—the blood and the tracks. With any luck, the hounds won’t be able to pick up your scent even with the strips of your dress left behind in the branches.
Pushing away the water from your forehead, you stumble onwards on unsteady feet that pound with pain. Grasping at your gushing palm, you cry out as the burning pain echoes up your forearm.
“Whatever God is out there,” You speak in gasps, slurring the words as your dry throat grates. It’s all but lost to the wind in its great bouts of staggering attacks through the trucks of the trees. “Please, offer me sanctuary.”
Lightning is the world’s answer, more streaks of light that make your soaked body flinch and shake even more. Yet, in that tiny second of light, there had been something in the far distance—a shadow.
Your eyes peer harder, the calls from the riders suck in the back of your mind as they taper off as the search is re-routed.
What was…?
Wooden sides, three separate rectangular shapes that stand firm in the rampaging elements. Your feet slide over the ground as you limp in the direction you’d seen them, the flesh of your body so cold that you had gone numb in the sheets of rainfall.
A heart fills with senseless hope.
A homestead! With no other option, you take a deep, ragged, breath and continue on as quickly as you’re able; dress hanging off one shoulder. When you reach the front door some ear-ringing minutes later you’re barely standing upright—legs teetering and thighs shaking with dying vigor.
Panting, your first banging to the wood is weak at best, barely a sound above the thunder and the slap of rain. You strangle a sob and wrench your shoulder back, landing three hard hits that act more like punches. Pain blossoms in your hand, but you continue striking the wood.
There’s a loud ruckus from behind the blackened barrier, a yell, and before your knuckles can make themselves bleed from fear-filled adrenaline, the door is whipped open. A dim firelight spills out from a low hearth and you find yourself staring into the narrowed eyes of a man and his exasperated expression.
There’s the beginning of a growl, heavy with an accented voice, “Now who in the hell is—!”
A strong jaw goes slack, brunette stubble stilling. Blue eyes like cobalt instantly peel back to show the whites, words strangled away in a sharp inhale.
The man is in his late twenties, stocky, and clothed in a loose sleep shirt made of thin linen with black pants. His shoulders were near large enough to knock on the frame of the door as he stood in it, built with the strength of a boar and then some. His large, lightly-tanned hand on the door slackens as his eyes speedily dart down your disoriented form. Biceps the size of your skull.
Heart hammering, you stare for a moment longer, rain pelting your back and looking like a wet dog. It’s as if you’ve forgotten to speak beyond gasps for air, but your eyes implore enough for you. The stranger recovers from his surprise at seeing such a beautiful lone woman at his door with a clearing of his throat.
“...Christ, Dearie, you’re soakin’ wet out here.” He shoulders the door open wider without another question. “Inside, now, quickly.”
You wrap your arms around your waist and speed into the shelter of the home, water dripping down to the wood as you shiver and your teeth clatter. Not for a second did you think if this might be safe or not, too scared of the riders and their hounds than anything. You wouldn’t allow them to drag you back to your husband-to-be. Not in a million years.
Your voice is hiccuping as you speak.
“I…I don’t mean to i-intrude, I’m very sorry, Sir.” The man looks around his home before he spots a large bear fur by the messy bed in the corner—he rushes over and grabs it. “I ask forgiveness for w-waking you at such an hour.”
“Jesus, is that what you’re worried about?” Blue eyes crease at you as the heavy fur over your shoulders; your hands snap to catch it, the entire thing swallowing you as gaze up in confusion. The man frowns, staring back as water drips from your nose. “Let’s just focus on gettin’ you dry, yeah? You’ll catch your death like this, Little Lady.”
A wide hand presses to the expanse of your spine, prodding you forward as you squeak at the sudden contact. You’re guided to a small chair in front of the hearth, plopped down and the sides of the fur are hiked up to your neck quickly.
The stranger kneels down in front of you, focused, and his tired eyes alight with worry. He makes sure the fur isn’t going to fall as he blinks over the state of your hands. He pauses, his large grip stalling at the sight of spreading blood.
Your wound—you’d almost forgotten.
“Now what’s this, then?” The brunette's words are quiet, very in-tune with your state as you try to catch your breath and shiver. It was like coaxing a wild animal.
Blinking, you shift your hand farther under the bear's fur, bringing it to your chest.
“I won’t be here long, Sir. I promise,” you try to change the topic, but quickly jerk your nose into the crook of your arm as you sneeze, bending over slightly as mud and blood stain your skin.
Lips tighten along a square face.
“It’s Johnny, Miss.” The world outside rages on, blocked out by the four walls of this nicely sized home of wooden logs and boards. It was well-made with pine and cider, the large hearth in the back wall with inlets near the shuddered windows and various crudely carved pieces of art.
Weapon displays lined the walls, various makes and models hung on pegs. Axes and swords, spears with red-leather shafts set next to halberds of black steel. You blink at them in slight concern, not used to being around weapons.
Johnny, as he calls himself, sees this and quickly explains as he rubs at the back of his head, eyes crinkling.
“Ah, Johnny MacTavish, the blacksmith, that is,” a small, rough chuckle echos out.
You ease at that.
“Mr. MacTavish,” you give your name and offer a kind, yet still anxious, smile. “I give my thanks for allowing me shelter. A-and the fur.”
His gaze slips down to your hidden hand once more, face swirling with an unidentified emotion before studying your torn wedding gown.
“Well, I’m not one to leave a person out on my doorstep in weather like this. Certainly not a Lady.” His brow raises, head tilting. “You going to let me clean that wound a’yours or am I going to have to fish it out myself?”
Your body tenses slowly, bare feet shuffling over the floor. Staring at Johnny, you gaze at the strangely cut hair atop his head and the messy strands that speak to a night of shifting on his bed. His face is honest and open to you, blinking in soft question as his head angles to the side with an easy twitch of his lips.
“It’s really not necessary,” you try to chuckle but it falls flat, eyes red and heart still speeding.
Johnny sighs and glances at the fire, blinking before he shifts to grab another log and toss it in with no concern for the heat of the flame that lap at his fingers. You watch his muscles bunch under his shirt and quickly look at your lap.
“I’m not the greatest doctor out there, Dearie, but I can do good with washin’ out a cut an’ wrapping it.” You study him and nervously tighten your lips. Johnny’s face seems to soften, hands going up and wrists tilting as his knee stays connected to the floor; firelight on his face. A small smile blooms. “C’mon, I’m not that scary of a bastard, am I?”
You spare a tiny chuckle, shoulders jumping as rainwater slips down your chin. Your shivering was still going on, and would until you got a change of clothes, but the warmth from the fire was helping tremendously. Already feeling was returning to your limbs.
“Ah,” the blacksmith huffs a laugh, “there’s a smile. Now, let's have a little look-see shall we?”
Under the fur, your hand lightly shifts, coming back into view, slit palm and all. Johnny’s eyes darken, face going serious behind his stubble. Brown brows turn in.
“Now where in the hell did you get a—” Just as his gigantic hands were about to circle around yours, there was a violent knock at the door.
You shoot up in an instant, jerking away from the blacksmith as he snaps his head to the front, eyes lighting. He stands up slowly as you back up a few paces, eyes frantically darting back and forth. The knocking starts up again and thunder peels from outside.
Your form flinches.
“You can’t let them take me back,” you say quickly, breathing catching up in speed again. Fear burns your lungs and suddenly you’re ten times colder than before. “Mr. MacTavish, please, I can’t go back.”
Another round of knocking shakes the barrier. Blues eyes stare at you blankly, half-turned face pulled in visible confusion as Johnny’s jaw clenches.
A voice echoes from under the door as the blacksmith once more lets his eyes linger down your battered frame; taking in cuts and the limp you carry. Muddy feet and water stained red. His hands twitch at his sides.
“These are the guards of Lord Wilkin, would anyone in this home come to make him or herself known? It is of the utmost urgency!” You grow more fearful, head darting to find any other exit in this home but you land on nothing besides the windows. Your fingers shake with panic.
No, no, no.
Confusion gives way to deep concern.
A hand grasps your upper arm and you’re being hurried to the corner wall by the front door with fast feet and a firm, iron, grip. An accented voice mumbles quietly by your ear, “Keep quiet for me, Dearie. It’s alright, you let me take care of it.”
He stands you there and takes one last look at you, blinking, before grabbing the bear fur and pulling it above your head in a swift motion. There’s a quiet chuckle as you tense and slam a hand up to the brown material instinctually before Johnny darts around the corner and opens the door. You hold your breath and listen.
“Well, steamin’ Jesus, you bastards have any idea what time it is?! And in this damning weather, you show up at my door reamin’ on the wood like you’re the one who has to keep it anchored to the frame.” There’s a fast conversation of apologies and explanations that you can't catch above the yell of the rain.
“Does it look like I give a shite about a lost bride? Not my fuckin’ place to keep ‘er…I’ve seen nothing besides you…anyone out in this storm is as good as lost…” You listen and stay completely still, holding your breath as if it’s a prisoner in your lungs.
You can hardly believe it. Why was this man…lying for you? A wounded stranger that had shown up at his doorstep in nothing but a tattered gown and babbling through tears. Anyone else would have turned you over—especially to your betrothed, Lord Wilkin. He owned these lands and held fiefs by all who lived here. Not a man to mess with, if your slit palm was anything to go by.
“Go on!” Johnny calls loudly, and the door closes a second later, the latch locking. There’s a moment of nothing, before the clearing of a throat and a soft call. “Well, they won’t be back, least.”
He pops around the corner and smiles comfortingly.
“Sorry about the yellin'.” You part your lips in innocent awe and you take a deep breath before speaking slowly.
“Why would you do that?” His expression tightens, crossing his arms over his chest. Under him, his large hips shift.
“Ya asked, didn’t you?” Your blank expression only serves to make him chuckle heartily, head shaking. Johnny hums, “I won’t press you about it all tonight, though I well should. You’re in no shape for it.” Cobalt eyes glance at the food before looking back up. “But I’m guessin’ you have a good enough reason to sneak off as I hear you did.”
The very blood in your body heats with warmth.
You’re waved back over to the chair by the hearth. “Let’s get that injury looked at and I‘ll get you a change of clothes. You can take my place for the night,” eyes twinkle, “there’s no bed bugs in it, Dearie, knight’s honor.”
“What about iron shavings?” You call back softly, lips jerking up momentarily. The man’s actions had given you a large amount of trust in him. Johnny blinks in surprise at your joke, but a large grin grows moments later as you walk over delicately.
“Can’t say for certain, but I promise there’ll be no weapons under the covers. If anyone breaks in they’ll find my fists to be the first iron they get a touch of.”
Your laugh bounces off the walls, hand coming up to cover your mouth in the picture of a cultured upbringing. Johnny chuckles in turn, looking smug. He liked your laugh, it seems.
“That was detestable, Mr. MacTavish.” You sit down, and Johnny kneels where he had been before—his hand outstretched where you carefully place your wounded limb.
Immediately you feel the scrape of old burns and calluses, hands hardened by long hours of labor and intensive demands. You’re certain these are the hardest hands that have ever touched your skin, but it astounds you by how gently you’re being caressed and turned. People with far fairer flesh have never handled you like this. As if you would break apart with the barest of pressures.
Your breath stills as the blacksmith, with all the care of a butterfly, tilts your cut into the light and studies it, thumb absentmindedly brushing up and down your wrist. You hold back a shiver.
“Ah,” he grumbles, still smiling yet more focused on your injury now. “It wasn’t that bad.”
You hum under your breath and try not to flinch when he wipes away a stain of mud near your wound. The blacksmith grunts to himself, gentle pressure at your flesh like the scuff of tree bark. But it wasn’t unpleasant. No, you thought, not at all.
The two of you fall into a hole of soft silence, Johnny leaving for a moment to grab a bucket of water and bandages, saying in a mutter that he had plenty of the former to go around.
“Have a habit of burnin’ myself on my bad days, y’see,” he shimmies past, pausing before pulling back up the bear fur from where it had slightly slipped down your neck. “Comes with the job.”
Your face burns as he grabs what he needs, eyes stuck on your lap. You were astounded by the man’s ability to put away his obvious confusion for your care, how he was content to wait for answers until you were rested. It was honorable of him.
Thinking back to Lord Wilkin’s guards at the door, your thighs shift over the chair. They’d be looking for you until they found you—be that days or months, it didn’t matter. The Lord wasn’t someone to let what he wanted get away from him. Like senseless beasts, your family would undoubtedly help. Your chest is stiff with worry. How would you get away with this?
The scene you’d made at the wedding wasn’t exactly subtle.
Johnny comes back carrying a small bucket of fresh water, ladled from the wash basin, and a bundle of clean white cloth.
“Alright,” he huffs, “let’s get this sorted, eh, Dearie?” The wound was very obviously a slice from a knife, anyone could see it.
Johnny takes your hand once more and holds it in his palm, glancing up at you before dipping one of the cloths into the water and beginning to clean the cut.
“Is it…bad, Mr. MacTavish?” You ask, worried about the likelihood of scarring. That would be the last thing you would want. The blacksmith looks up from where he pats the edges, the fabric already going red.
“Just Johnny, if it pleases you,” he smiles, hulking form seemingly all a facade to hide a cheeky and loyal Scot. “And…no, not bad. If you’re worried about a mark, don’t be—it’s deep but only at the beginning. A slight discoloration, no more.” His brows pull back, teasing, “You’ll not end up like me, at any rate.” Your shoulders ease back, and you let him work with a thankful comment and a giggle.
You watch and take in the way his jaw clenches and loosens as he works, completely focused as if he was fashioning an axe and not helping a complete stranger.
“There’s no harm in scars,” you settle on saying, thinking over his last comment. Blues lock with your eyes, head tilting like a hound. Your face gains a slight heat to it and you stutter, “It’s just this one I’d rather not carry, Johnny.” Smiling warmly, you see the man’s lips part, his motions stalling for a moment as he looks up at you and blinks. “But yours suit you if…I’m allowed to say.”
It’s then that you realize that a slight flush has come to his cheeks, starting from under his stubble and leaking out to his cheeks like a red blaze—his gaze burrows deep with hidden fire that rivals the dancing shadows from the hearth.
Noticing, your own face burns all the hotter as the blacksmith quickly clears his throat, snapping his eyes away. Fingers once more cleaning your cut, he grunts out, neck now shifting to a blush of crimson, “...Thank you, Miss.”
You stay in silence for the rest of the delicate process; the air heated and rolling with something. Electricity sparks when Johnny’s hands rub across yours, large enough to break you in an instant but acting like moss over a stone. You find yourself falling into a sort of comforted state you hadn’t felt in a long time—the fur over your shoulders and the tingle of skin-on-skin contact that expects nothing but offers all.
“There,” Johnny says at last, and a part of you wants to cry when he pulls back, standing slowly. A firm but malleable wrapping is over your palm, a tiny knot tied in the middle to keep it from falling off.
You bring it to your abdomen and blink, the other hand going to run over the material.
“Thank you, Johnny. Truly. If I hadn’t found your homestead, I would have been lost.” The man rubs at the back of his neck, tunic bunched up by his elbows.
“Gah,” after a second of bruising off the comment, he waves a hand while his wide chest puffs with pride. “It’s no trouble, really. Keeps me on my toes.”
Outside the storm continues to beat the walls, and the blacksmith can’t help but feel his eyes drawn to your dwarfed form under the large fur, the dripping water, and the weight of your gown. Based on the information from the guard, he had a decent story already forming in his head.
A runaway bride and an angry Lord. By his own role as the fiefdom’s accomplished blacksmith, he should be turning you over. But your eyes had been flooded with tears when you’d pounded on his door; soaked in rain and mud—blood. No shoes. Freezing.
You had looked so afraid, his heart had hurt for you, a strong need to shelter you stuck like a knife into his ribs. Johnny had seen much in his life, war, and death, but your desperation had stuck a cord in him.
He’d keep you here with no charge, offer food and shelter, and do what he can to understand your situation. If not for simply hospitality sake, then because he had heard your laugh and had found it to be like a bird’s call in the wake of a dew-coated morning. Your soft skin like the wisps of fire from his forges. Your voice like a rippling spring. There was no way to describe the way he wanted to help besides to admit to himself that he was a good man.
And, while cocky, the blacksmith had never once been self-absorbed.
He watches you rub at your damp cheek and starts out of whatever trance he had been sucked into.
“I’ll…” Johnny rubs at his neck again, “I’ll get you that change of clothes, Bonnie. You just wait right here.”
You stare at his back as he strides over, the fatigue washing back over you now that the adrenaline leaves in its stupendous sweep of heavy heartbeats. Anyone else would have given you up. Your face softens, seeing the quick dig of hands into the stack of clothes in the dresser.
“Fuckin’ hell,” the man huffs, looking over his shoulder and shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Dearie, all I’ve got are my tunics and pants.” Black and pale cream linen is held up on display.
“Oh,” you mutter, “I don’t mind,” your chuckle makes his lips twitch with care. “I would just prefer to be out of this…thing.” Your eyes glare down at the tattered gown, breathing softly. “Anything is perfect.”
“Well, then I hope you don’t mind the smell of fire,” Johnny hums. “Here you are.” As much as his insides twist to understand the story, making sure you don’t run a cold was more important.
Your legs push you up and you walk over softly, gliding over the wooden floor to take up the articles and dig your fingers into the warm and easy texture, thin stitching, and cuffed wrists. There was a cut down the neck with a tied cord looped through, making up an ‘x’ pattern.
“I would say thank you again,” you begin, “but I think you’ll be getting annoyed with how many times I’ve already said it.”
Johnny laughs, crossing his arms over his chest and setting his feet.
“Ah, perhaps only a little.” Silence laps into a minute, and you study him with slow puzzlement, tilting your head. For a moment, the man wonders what he’s done. The blacksmith’s dark brows furrow, lips moving back. He looks down at the clothes again and starts with a wild blinking of his lids.
“Oh! Hell’s bells, right,” Johnny walks to the other side of the room and swiftly turns his back to you with respect and a burning neck. He cringes. “Christ.”
You laugh brightly, letting the fur fall to the floor as you undress and shimmy into the borrowed clothes. Your nose takes in the scents of metal and fire—fatty linseed oil used to protect a blade against corrosion. With the crackling fire, you slip the large tunic above your head and find that it falls heavily over you; far thicker than it seemed and very comfortable, ending at your lower thigh.
But those scents make your head spin, rolling up the cuffs as you bring your nose to the collar and once more take it in with a slow breath. You hum and move, throwing the bear fur back atop your shoulders and grabbing your ruined garments from the floor before calling out to the rod-straight figure.
“Johnny?” His arms lightly jerk, as if he’d been unfocused, but he doesn’t turn around. “Where would you like me to throw these?”
The blacksmith delicately tilts his head to the side and utters with his eyes stuck to the side wall. “Bin by the door is just fine.” You look to the container holding scraps and other garbage to be taken out and drop the gown in before rubbing your cheek.
Wide cobalt eyes stare at the clothes you wear heavily, jaw loose before he re-set it and averts his gaze. Johnny chuckles to ease himself and loops his thumbs into his waistband, embarrassed.
“Do you need anything else, then?” Your eyes blink with fatigue.
“No, I…I don’t think so.” Gazing at the home, your lips thin. Your family would have a heart attack if you even mentioned that you were staying the night at a complete stranger’s homestead. No protection, no way to beat off a blacksmith beyond a well-placed punch, and running from your betrothed. To say that you’d cause anything less than a heart attack would be generous. But Johnny felt different. Firmer in his emotions and intentions. Far more than the Lord.
That was really all that matted.
“Are you really sure this is okay,” you still ask hesitantly, gargantuan clothes atop your frame. Johnny is already nodding firmly.
“It’s my pleasure. I won’t be turnin’ you back out to the woods in a storm like this.” For whatever reason, the next words fall from his lips like an oath. “There’ll be no harm comin’ to ya as long as you stay under my roof.”
Your hand burns with the memory of his gentle grip and your heart skips beats. You feel as if a great weight is lifted, even if only for a night.
“Alright,” your words barely make it to air, and you grip the bear fur harder to stop yourself from kissing this man’s cheek, wanting to take him into a tight hug.
Johnny takes a blanket from the bottom of his bed and shuffles over to the inlet below the shuddered window, sitting down while you slowly walk forward.
“But, Little Lady,” you rest on the edge of the bed and look up to find him watching you intently, leaning back with a hand behind his head and the other on his stomach. The fire still crackles, the storm still dances outside, and the room is still tight with something you can’t put a name to. Like you’re caught in a trap of soft pillows and the scent of metal, you listen to the blacksmith with bated breath. “I’ll be needin’ answers…you hear?”
Licking your lips, you nod tersely. “Tomorrow,” you agree.
Johnny gazes off into your eyes, the runaway bride that had shown up on his doorstep and captured his attention like a bird made of a white wedding gown and panicked breath. He sneaks a peek down at your wrapped hand as you settle on his bed, burrowing into his furs and his covers—wearing his clothes.
For some unknown reason, the smallest of blood stains makes his chest roll with bright anger.
“Tomorrow,” he grunts through a tight jaw before he fights to turn his head away from you. It’s a long while before he sees any type of sleep, listening to the sound of your soft breath and the crackle of the fire.
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a little fashion show
kinktober, day four
a/n: bro, the amount of time this idea has been in the notes app on my phone....
warnings: stiles stilinski x reader, smut, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, trying on lingerie, teasing, flashing, kissing
word count: 990
∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽
masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2023
“Who was at the door?” Stiles asked as your giddy form appeared in the doorway to your room once more.
“The mailman,” you giggled, unable to contain your excitement, “and look!”
“You got a package!” not getting as revved up in the excitement as you were, he nonchalantly pointed out the parcel in your palms, “oh, cool!”
“Not just any package, only the one I’ve been waiting about a billion years to arrive,” you shut the door behind you, gazing down at the bundle in your hands with heart-shaped eyes, “you don’t mind if I just try this stuff on right now, do you? I just don’t know if I can wait till you leave.”
Discretely readjusting in his comfortable seat on your mattress, he waved a hand, “no, no, it’s fine.”
“Really? Great!” you squealed, digging your fingers into the opening of the package, “you can help me see if any of it doesn’t suit me or fit right, give you a little fashion show and everything.”
“Alright, sure,” he agreed with a soft chuckle as you disappeared behind the wide bookcase that acted as a divider in the middle of your room.
After changing into the first item, you couldn’t stop yourself from springing back out, arms raised high above your head as you sang, “tada! What do you think?”
“Wow, oh, wow,” you watched Stiles eyes grow wide as they landed on the extremely short nightgown hanging around your form, “that’s-, that’s-…”
“It’s cute, isn’t it?” you turned your back to your stunned friend to glance at yourself in the mirror, “the floral pattern especially.”
Gaze tracing your hands as they played with the tiny skirt, “y-yeah, it is,” you just barely managed to catch sight of his reflection discreetly move one of your pink pillows over his lap, “it’s good, you should definitely keep that one.”
You hadn’t thought that his blush could have gotten any worse, but evidently, as you soon pranced out clad in the next thing, it very much could.
“What about this one?” you innocently observed the lingerie set in the long mirror, turning a bit to see how the high-waisted, black underwear hugged your bottom, “do you think it fits alright?”
Looking like a broken PlayStation 2 game you’d have to pull out and blow on, Stiles simply hummed, “huh?”
“I just feel like if I jump around or bend over in this, the girls are just gonna spill out,” your nose crinkled as your fingertips ghosted over the cups of the matching bra.
“I mean,” he blinked hazily, “you could test it out, if you want.”
Obliging twice, jumping gently in place, the squint to your eye didn’t fade away as not only you observed how your boobs jiggled in the cups, “hm, I don’t know, maybe one of the ones that has a different cut then this one…”
Peeping through the shy slivers of the bookcase, you bit down on your smirk as you watched the trouble you’d stirred up on the other side. As you slid off the black number, daringly arching your back and purposefully sticking your butt out far enough for him to catch a glimpse, you spotted how a string of your want clung to the panties as you dragged the down your legs.
If this last one wasn’t gonna do the trick, make the guy you’d had a crush on forever fess up and make a move, then you didn’t know what would.
Pink, skimpy and sheer, your pebbly nipples weren’t the only thing on full display as the see-through thong also made your puffy pussylips no secret to anyone.
Your pace as you returned to the mirror was purposefully slow, not looking to Stiles even once as you felt your desperation for him soak the pretty garments.
“T-that-, yeah,” his fluttering eyes were trained on your bare bottom, “that’s nice.”
“Yeah?” you still didn’t dare to look at him, “you think so?”
“Mhm,” he nearly groaned.
Grazing your touch ever so lightly over the elastic edges, you uttered, “you really think it’s pretty?”
“Y-yeah…”
“Stiles,” you sucked in a deep breath and gathered up the courage through the pumping adrenalin of being so exposed before your crush, “can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” flowed from his lips nearly instantly.
“Would you have sex with me?”
The room was dead silent a moment before Stiles choked, “what?”
“Would you fuck me?” you rephrased, still not looking back at him in the refection.
“Would I-… I’m sorry, what?”
“Would you fuck me?” gnawing at your bottom lips, you finally turned to face him, “because I kinda really like you, like a lot,” your feet slowly carried you closer to where he sat, “and I don’t know, I’m sorry, am I being too forward? Is this too much? Do you not like me in that way? Because I totally get it if you do, I’m really sorry for everything. I thought you’d picked up on the hints I’ve been dropping for a while now and that you-”
“I do like you!” he rushed to cut off your concern, “I-I-, yes,” seizing your hand in his as he emphasized, “yes.”
“Yes or yes?” you asked, eyes flickering to the pillow hiding his own excitement.
“Yes,” he nodded, swiftly tugging you down in his lap before you could withdraw your proposal.
An airy whimper escaped your lips as he then kissed you, your whole body feeling like puddy in his grasp. Drawing back a moment from his long-awaited pecks, you found yourself offering bashfully, “you know, I could also just give you a handjob or blow you or something if you’re not-”
Using his leverage, he suddenly flung you down against the mattress, effectively cutting your suggestion off as he scurried to hover above you, an earnest grin adorning his lips as he then exclaimed “oh my god, just shut up and let me screw my best friend.”
© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble
#lea’s writing#kinktober 2023#stiles stilinski smut#stiles stilinksi x reader#stiles stilinksi imagine#teen wolf smut#teen wolf imagine#dylan o'brian x reader#dylan o'brian imagine#stiles x reader#stiles x y/n#stiles smut#dylan obrien fanfic#dylan o'brien smut#dylan o’brien fanfiction#dylan o’brien smut#dylan o’brien imagine#dylan o'brien imagine#stiles stilinksi fanfiction
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pervy!carmechanic!stepdad!eddie munson x innocent!stepdaughter!reader where her daddy's been coming into her room at night n her rubbing her until she squeals with delight, coming on his fingers, her stuffies, etc.
she feels those familiar butterflies flutter in her tummy when she sits on the lawn chair, watching eddie fix her cherry red car, his tattooed knuckles slowly becoming more dirty with grease as she sucks on her watermelon lollipop, biting her lower lip as she watches her stepdaddy roll out from under the car. she pushes her heart-shaped sunglasses on the top of her head.
eddie looks at her. god, he thinks, she was so beautiful he wanted to cry.
"baby," he watches her eyes light up, "can u grab me the wrench next to u behind the bench?"
she nods, biting her lower lip as she tries to tame those naughty butterflies.
she stands up, walking to the work bench before bending over to display her pink cotton panties, eddie's mouth practically watering as he pushes down on the tent forming quickly in his pants.
"i-i don't see it, daddy.." she bends down further, and eddie watches her swollen folds press against the thin material of her underwear, biting his lower lip.
"jus-just down more, sweet girl--think it might be under the tool box.." his words are airy and soft as she bends over further, and he catches small wet patch spreading on her panties. "good girl."
suddenly, she pops up, "found it, daddy!" she skips over to where eddie is sitting on the garage floor, handing him the wrench.
"t-thank you, baby."
she beams, her cunt aching as she bites her lower lip, suppressing a whimper as she sits back down on the lawn chair, spreading her legs n not thinking much of it as eddie forces himself to get back to work, the bulge in his pants throbbing.
--
about fifteen minutes later, she decides to go inside as she was getting warm all over--yes, from the heat of summer but also from her body pricking with arousal.
inside, she tries everything to satiate the hunger that burns between her thighs, but nothing seems to work. she spends five minutes rubbing her fat button on her bear stuffie, wetness soaking the fur but alas, no help. she pulls her panties up all of the way until her swollen folds envelope the material, her hips rutting. (eddie did this to her once before as he sucks on her pebbled nipples n she came almost immediately, but it didnt work this time). her lust clouded her mind so incredibly much that she tried rutting her bare cunt against the corner of her bed, but that didnt even work!
she huffed, grabbing her emotional support teddy as she walked back outside to the garage, the butterflies practically fluttering a tornado in her belly.
eddie was busy wiping the grease off of his hands with a ratty washcloth. his messy hair tied back in a loose bun, his facial hair making her heart pound.
"daddy?" her voice came out small n squeaky, and eddie recognized this.
"princess?"
she smiled softly and timidly, twiddling with the fur on her stuffie.
"i got butterflies in my belly,"she pouted softly, tears forming in her doe eyes with frustration as she looked up at her stepfather. "hurts."
eddie's breath hitched in his throat before he cleared it multiple times, running his index finger n thumb over the hairs above his upper lip. "yeah? what kinda butterflies u got,sweet girl?"
she only bit her lower lip nervously. talking about sexual things still made her incredibly shy.
eddie continued , his tone soft and sweet. "the normal ones or the ones where u want daddy to come into ur room in the middle of the night to fix em?"
lets just say her daddy spent three hours fixing her dilemma.
FJSDKFJKFD OKAY THATS ALL I GOT hehe
#eddie munson smut#tw: dark content#eddie munson x reader smut#stepdad x reader#innocent!reader#st season 4#eddie munson x innocent!reader#stepdad!eddie munson#stepdad!eddie munson x reader#stepdad!eddie munson x innocent!reader#perv!eddie munson#car mechanic!eddie munson#spoiled!reader#smut#tw: stepcest
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starvin'
pairing: established daryl x f!reader
wc: 3.2k
warnings: 18+ content, oral (fem. receiving), nipple play?, fingering
summary: daryl is STARVING
A/N: my apology for not uploading chapter two of a rugged muse. def not proofread sorry!
masterlist
Who knew babysitting would take it out on you? You fought walkers to survive and yet a 4 month old baby made you feel 6 times tired. Your feet dragged on the hardwood floor of your home, your fluffy socks making it sound soft.
Your eyes were halfway closed as you walked up the stairs, rubbing your eyes to make sure you didn't pass out and fall down the stairs. It’d be a shame to die like that. Your shoulders drooped once you got to the top of the staircase, panting a little despite the short distance of stairs you travelled up.
Your bedroom door opened with a squeak, surely you’d ask Daryl to fix that for you. You were quite pleased finding your boyfriend already in bed waiting for you, his eyes immediately finding yours.
“Yer home,” he mumbled. You practically melted at the sight of him, quickly trudging over with heavy feet and mustering up the rest of your energy to jump onto him. Your face landed on his chest and he jolted, grunting a bit as he shifted underneath you trying to find a comfortable position. “Ya tired?” He asked, running his fingers through your hair soothingly. You hummed in response, closing your eyes while your arms came up to rest by your face, his own moving to wrap around your back.
“I knew babies were high maintenance but shit, they really fuckin’ are.” You grumbled, nuzzling your face into his neck. He let out a raspy chuckle, kissing the top of your head.
“Yeah they are, ya still wan’ one?” He teased to which you squirmed in retaliation. He sighed softly, his fingertips moving up and down your back. The gesture made you shiver, those rough hands touched you so softly, so gently. “I’d give ya one if ya asked y’know,” he murmured, squeezing your waist with one hand. You knew he would.
You didn't respond, falling drowsy as your breathing turned softer. His hands continued to caress you, slipping under your shirt and tracing shapes into the small of your back. His nails tickling little hearts onto your skin, your own heart fluttering at his tenderness. He lowered his head to press a hard, but gentle kiss to your cheekbone. Your body lay still on top of him, letting him do whatever he wanted to you.
His hand travelled up your sides, leaving a small tickling sensation and you struggled to stifle a giggle.
“Ya like tha’?” He whispered into your ear, his breath hot and had the slightest tinge of lust in his tone. You swallowed, eyes still closed as you pretended to not notice. He hummed, rubbing the curve of your breast with his thumb before bringing his hand closer to your front. His hand rested on the neckline of your shirt, tapping lightly at the protruding fabric where your collarbones were. “Can I?”
You knew where this was going, so you nodded. He slipped his hand into your shirt from the neck, cupping your breast over your bra. You breathed a little heavier, the exhale coming out a little shaky as you moved a little. His thumb rubbed a little back and forth before his fingers slipped under the cup and onto your breast. He squeezed gently, rubbing his index over your nipple. Your breath hitched, shoving your face into his neck. He deemed your reaction not good enough and pinched the pebbled nipple, eliciting a small noise of a whimper from your mouth.
“Daryl.” You muttered, your face heating up immediately. He said nothing, continuing his attack on your breasts. His hand groped at you, squeezing your breast while simultaneously bringing his other hand into your shirt. The feeling of both his hands teasing your nipples send a wave of heat into your lower region, he could even hear you gulp in anticipation. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, looking into his eyes. He helped you pull off your shirt and toss it onto the bed, kissing along your collarbones before slipping your bra straps off your shoulders. You let out a quiet moan once he unclipped the bra, licking his lips as he saw the two perfect mounds of soft flesh. He had that stupid cocky smirk on his face, tilting his head taunting as he squeezed your breasts.
“Wha’? Ya don’ like wha’ ‘m doin’?” He flicked his tongue against the inside of his cheek, watching your eyelids flutter when he gently brushed over the sensitive nub. You bit your lip hard, tasting the metallic tang of your blood as you closed your eyes and hung your head forwards. Daryl huffed at the strands of your hair falling onto his face and obscuring his vision. One hand left your breast, the warmth replacing with cold air as he held your hair back. He grumbled something before pulling you down and kissing you softly, and then shoving you off of him.
“Hey— What are you doing?” You pouted, laying on your side and watched him get up.
“’m hungry,” he muttered while rolling up his sleeves.
“Right now…?” You questioned, looking down at your half naked body. Daryl didn't respond so you sighed, sitting up and grabbing your shirt before he suddenly pushed you back down. You let out a small sound of protest when he pulled your pants and panties down, throwing them over his shoulder to where they discarded on the floor of your bedroom floor. Your eyes widened once you realized what was happening. “Wait babe, I didn't shower yet.”
“I dun’ care,” he grunted, his palms flat against your knees while he pushed them apart. “I said I was hungry, ‘m practically starvin’.” You watched his tongue dart out to wet his lips, his eyes set on your pussy. You let the sole of your feet lay flat on the bed, your legs held up. Daryl smirked down at you, tracing a calloused fingertip along the inside of your thigh, relishing in the way you squirmed under his touch. He waddled around on the bed on his knees until he was in front of you, placing his palms flat on the bed on either side of your hips, lowering himself closer.
He let out a soft grunt as he maneuvered himself so he was laying on his stomach, his hands curving from the sides of your thighs to the tops of them. The backs of your thighs rested on his shoulders while he held you in place, and kissed along your stomach. You let out a quiet whine when you felt his stubble tickle you, sliding your fingers into his hair and tugging at the dark strands. Though his eyes were closed, he knew every spot that made you squirm. His lips moved with practiced skill, gliding along your soft skin, his fingers tracing up and down your thighs. Your breath hitched when he pulled back and blew on your soft cunt, watching as his eyes dilate after seeing your pussy pulse at the gesture.
Just when you thought he was gonna dive in, he hesitated. Instead, Daryl decided he wanted to tease you more, turning his head to kiss your inner thighs. Your legs closed around his head instinctively to which he bit your flesh gently, his eyes darted to the side to look up at you. His large hands encased around your soft thighs and pulled them apart once again, continuing to pepper kissed along the inner parts on your thighs, using his tongue to lick swirls into them. A whiney sigh escaped your mouth, dragging your fingers through his hair which made him groan and look up at you through his lashes. The sight made you close your legs around his head again, but this time he allowed it. His eyes were narrowed from the angle, his hair messy around his face and covered part of his eyes while his lips remained parted. You bit your lip, brushing his hair out of his face. Your thumb rubbed against his cheek, and his eyes fluttered shut.
“Daryl…” you whispered, “I love you.”
“Mmh, love ya too.” He muttered before tilting his head down and placing a kiss onto your wet folds. A small gasp left your mouth while your fingers harshly pulled at his hair. He growled against your pussy, pressing his lips dangerously close to your clit but purposefully avoiding it. You whined as he surrounded the area around your clit with kisses, his fingers pinching the outsides of your thighs. You twisted his hair in your fingers once more, his eyes glaring up at you which didn’t help the aching heat between your legs. He kept his eyes locked with yours as he pulled your thighs away from his head, spreading you open for him. He didn’t look away as his tongue darted out, dipping his head to lick a stripe up from your entrance to your clit, swirling around the bundle of nerves before pulling back. You whimpered, wanting to close your legs but he held you open while the corner of his lips curled a little at your reaction.
“Ya so taste good, beautiful.” He murmured before finally looking down at your pussy, breathing in before lowering his head once again. You sharply inhaled when his tongue made contact with your clit, his stubble pleasantly scratching at your pussy. A moan ripped itself from your throat when he sucked around the sensitive nerves, making you pull his locks. His eyes were closed while he devoured you, his tongue flattening and sinking into your folds. Your back arched as you moaned, feeling him smirk as he plunged his tongue deeper into your folds. The wet muscle circled around your entrance, dipping in a little to tease you before finally moving into you.
His eyes looked up at you again, but you were far gone in pleasure to even notice. Your head was back against the pillows, eyes rolled back, and lips parted to let out those pretty noises of pleasure Daryl strived to make you do. He pulled back to flick his tongue hastily around your clit, feeling his dick throb at the sounds of your wails. A hand left your thigh so he could adjust himself in his pants, groaning against your pussy which sent vibrations of pleasure up your body. He pressed his face into your pussy, his tongue moved rapidly through your folds, his nose rubbing against your clit.
“Oh fuck! Daryl!” You cried, curling your fingers into his already tangled hair. He growled against your weeping pussy, rubbing his face into you. The feeling of his warm breath against you made your toes curl, your thighs shaking as you tried to close them in around his head. His hands moved under your knees, pushing your thighs up to your chest while he continued to devour you. Your whines and cries of pleasure didn’t go unnoticed by him, his tongue lapping at your clit. Your legs shook in painful bliss from the overstimulation of your clit, his grip on your thighs tight as he held them against your body. You tried thrashing around, the buildup of your orgasm rapidly approaching.
His lips wrapped around your clit while his hand dragged down to dip into your wetness, pumping two fingers into you. Now that, drove you crazy. The feeling of his fingers driving in and out of you, coupled by his lips sucking on your sensitive nub made you close to coming on his face. Then his other hand left your legs, giving you the freedom to wrap them around his head while you pulled his hair.
Then you felt it, his free hand tickled up your body and over to your breast. So now there were three components contributing to your pleasure, his mouth around your clit, two fingers in your pussy, and now a hand playing and teasing your breasts. You felt your vision go blurry, and then black. Seeing the stars while you let out a loud cry of ecstasy, coming right there. His fingers pulled out of you but eventually joined his other hand up at your tits.
The vision of you was something Daryl loved to see every time he got you like this. Your head was thrown back against the pillow while your hair framed your head perfectly, eyes rolled back and eventually shut, your skin flushed a light hue of pink with little droplets of sweat, and finally your lips parted. The little unintentional sighs and whines from those lips that he had to strain to hear were his favourite thing to hear. He knew just how much power he held over you.
You came back to your senses, lifting your head off the pillow to look down at him. Shivering to see he was already looking at you, his pupils blown wide with lust as he slurped up all the remnants of your pleasure. You gently pushed his hair out of his face, and whimpered when he pressed one last kiss to your clit and took his hands away from your body before sitting up on his knees. He watched your blissed out expression with a lustful expression of his own, licking his lips and then wiping the rest of your nectar with his arm.
“That good fer ya baby?” He whispered, leaning over you to press a sweet, gentle kiss against your lips. You practically sobbed against his lips, feeling him chuckle against yours before pulling back to kiss your jaw. “I’ll take tha’ as a yes. You were delicious,” he growled against your ear before biting your earlobe. You bit your lip to spare yourself any embarrassment from any noise that threatened to leave your mouth at that moment, closing your eyes as you lay there in your post-coital bliss.
You felt him move away from over you, the weight in the bed shifting to next to you. You heard the sound of his belt unbuckle before the sound of his pants shuffled down. Once you finally opened your eyes, you turned to your right to see him hovering next to you. His cock rock-hard in his hand as he guided it to your lips, the tip of his cock pressing against your lips.
“Hungry?”
#daryl dixon#the walking dead#daryl x reader#twd daryl#norman reedus#daryl x y/n#mrdixonposts#daryl dixon smut#daryl dixon twd#daryl smut
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ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴏɴ ᴀʟʟ ғᴏᴜʀs. werewolf kiri au.
you wake up under a mountain of furs.
light comes flickering from the hearth and, warm and welcoming as it is—you've no idea where you are.
you don't recognize the inside of the cabin; it's certainly not yours, nor is its layout that of any you’ve seen in the village. it's rather plain, with a singular window and table and chair and small fireplace, empty enough that you wonder how anyone could live comfortably with so little.
outside, the winter storm rages on, and there's a howl that cuts through the air that strikes bone-deep.
all at once your memories come back to you: dragged through town with bound hands and ankles, in only a thin night dress, screaming with all your might as the physician that delivered you into this world tied you to an old pine, along with the priest and the man that sold you blueberries in the spring.
people you knew and loved. had trusted.
the memories become hazy after a while, darkening with the night that crept in. you remember your body losing its feeling, but not its fear. you remember the violence of the storm, breaking trees and branches and uprooting the forest floor. you remember the horrible and hulking shape of something rising in the moonlight.
the door shoves open then, with enough force to send you scurrying back into the corner of the room. the blizzard tries to rush inside, but a man stands in its way, leaning back against the wood to keep the wind and snow out where it belongs. he's—big, as tall as the frame and just as wide, with thick hair that he's tied back, messy and low.
he's rosy in his cheeks and on the tip of his nose, as bright as the eyes that snap to you the moment you dare to breathe.
he doesn't say anything, at first. the bag of firewood he sets at his feet settles as he turns to you in interest, eyebrows raised. the clothes he's wearing look—old and worn, certainly not suitable for the storm roaring outside, with the holes and tears in the fabric. the boots he has on, however, seem heavy, have his steps echoing when he moves further into the room.
you pull your knees up to your chest and try to shrink away; beneath your thin dress, your skin has pebbled up, reminding you of just how vulnerable you still are.
your fear translates; the man stops on the other side of the little table, breathing in deeply before raising his hands up in what reads as surrender.
"hello," he finally says, and when you don't respond, he places a thick hand to his dark-haired chest and introduces himself as, "eijirou."
he nods emphatically and then repeats himself, as if to reinforce the name. you only grant him a small nod in return—and he smiles. it's wide, stretching across his face, and friendly, authentic enough that you question whether you're as damned as you thought, or perhaps saved.
how did you even get here? the question finally thaws out from the recesses of your brain and you take another look around the room as if the answer lies between the wood or nestled into the furs. this place looks too hand-crafted, you realize, all of it—and the man before you looks like he could move mountains, if he wanted to.
the chains that had bound you were iron-strong and didn't once budge in all your thrashing, before things went dark—but now you are inside by a well-maintained fire, warm and free, and all that remains of your ill fate are the indentions worn into your wrists.
he's still staring at you, the man. eijirou. he's not moved any closer, either, and when you meet his curious gaze, his lips twist and his eyes narrow. a thoughtful noise comes out of his mouth, like he's thinking of what to say or how to say it, and you're reminded that you don't recognize where you are, nor do you recognize him in the slightest.
big as he is, you don't think he could have carried you too far in a snowstorm such as the one still raging outside; are you still somewhere deep in the forest? in a cabin at the heart of the wood? saved by a man that somehow survives with so little out in the middle of nowhere?
"eijirou," you test the name on your lips and he perks up at the sound, attention snapping back to you instantly. you don't know if it's winter seeping through the floor, or if it's in the way that he watches you, that makes you shiver.
finally, he asks, "cold?" and when you nod, he slowly makes his way over to you, carefully, as if approaching a deer ready to run.
—and then he sheds his shirt with a quick shrug and holds it out to you.
you should want to look away, for decency sake, but you're—stunned by it, by him. there's a litany of scars that paint him in odd and worrisome places, but he stands tall and strong before you, unbothered by his own state. unbothered by the eyes that run over the expanse of his bare shoulders, the dark, thick trail of hair running down from his belly button, the ripples of muscle his loose shirt did well to hide.
you take it from him carefully and it's so warm, almost hot, that you press it to your face immediately to chase away the chatter of your jaw. the material itself, however ragged, is big enough to drape over your curled form like a blanket, and so you do just that. it carries the earthy smell of the woods, deeply woven into the fabric; pine and musk and something smoky.
with your cheek still pressed to his shirt, you look up to thank him, at last, but the words still in your throat at the minute changes of his face: still smiling, though sharper now, somehow, and his eyes are still wide with that keen, rapt interest—but the crimson to them has set like the sun and they've grown just as dark as the night outside.
#i wrote this like a madman pls excuse the first draft quality hehe#PLEASEEEE he's so akfhahfkah isn't socialized LOL#doesn't talk to anyone really 🥺has no reason to 🥺#he's new to all this 🥺#doesn't mean to put you in his lil nest and cover you in the smell of him 👀#okay well he DOES but he didn't know it would AFFECT HIM THAT WAY PLEASE#ugh this has been living in my head for so long i'll write more of this when it isn't 1 am LOL#✿ thoughts: kirishima#✿ willow writes#song is wolf like me by tv on the radio !!!
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A heart shaped pebble
Where can I find such a pebble?
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IF TIDES COULD SPEAK (THEY’D CALL YOU HOME) ┊ BAKUGO KATSUKI
synopsis: an unlikely hero comes in the form of a barbarian. your stolen pelt is returned by his hand— but for a selkie that is more than simple kindness. it is a proposal.
tags: AFAB reader (referred to as a 'wife' once + 'baby' a few times), fantasy au, barbarian bakugo (+ the squad), selkie reader, brief non graphic suicide attempt, minor injuries, previous forced marriage + captivity, strangers to friends to lovers, accidental marriage + bond, magic elements, bathing together, sharing a bed, miscommunication, love as a choice, getting together, shapeshifters, angst + fluff, eventual smut, bakugo carries reader (he’s strong!!), oral + fingering (reader receiving), unprotected vaginal sex
wc: 25K+
↳ for the mermay collab hosted by the teahouse server ↰
The battle rages on behind as your bare feet carry you frantically toward the cliff side, incognisant to the uneven earth and jagged rocks cutting under your heels.
A magnificent orange glow is cast across the land. Blistering heat radiates at your back and seeps through the thin robes pulled across your shoulders. Fire eats away at the canopy above, at the dry grass in the gardens, at the place you deign to call home.
It is a sight you wish you had more time to savour. A draconic clan hailing from the north had descended upon the land and sought to reap the riches for themselves. The anguished screams of your once wretched husband still echo in your heart, dancing through its chambers like wind through chimes.
You fled with only one destination in mind.
Many, many moons ago, you had been stolen away by greed. A man that called himself king yet acted anything but kingly. Lord only in name. He speared your pod mate and took you, dirty calloused fingers sinking into your flesh, violently tearing the pelt from your back. Nausea churns in your stomach as you recall his grin, eyeing you greedily, desiring servitude that was not his to have.
“You are to be my wife,” he said, drunk on tales of rare creatures who would keep a hearth burning and bear his children if only he stole their hide. “Now you belong to me”.
Your pelt remained locked away in an armoured vault along with his other opulent treasures— goods that would now be burning, turned to ash. He had finally taken from the wrong people and must reap the consequences.
You are so relieved to be free of his clutches that there is no time to grieve the loss. This is your chance. With or without your pelt you are a selkie, and the ocean always welcomes her children home.
Guided by the tides' tumultuous song you sprint through the woods, treeline funnelling out on a plateau to reveal the edge of the cliff. You take a staggered breath, wincing at the pain in your chest. Now your momentum has slowed to a stop, the fatigue catches up with you. An ache seeps through your legs and your knees threaten to buckle as you shiver.
This is it, you think. You watch the waves below roll like dark ribbon. Steeling your resolve you spread your arms as far as they go, until the sinew holding your back pulls taut. Something acrid sinks in your gut and you feel distinctly ill. It takes all of your willpower to deny the fear pounding in your body as you step forward.
The wind billowed around you, swaying your human form towards the edge. Faux wings spread and a roar pushed to the limits of your small voice, sound whipped from your mouth and cast far asea. Eyes squeezed shut, you tip into the oncoming depths trusting your mother will catch you.
The sound is cacophonous. Not even your pulse can be heard over the waves; elemental fingers apply sharp pressure to the north and south of your body, shaping flesh until you're nothing but a pebble caught in gravity's path.
If you should concentrate you’d hear a frantic shout through the white noise. And between the milliseconds left before bone collides with the tide, a large clawed foot encircles your forearm. A rush of air swells in your lungs as you try to scream, the abrupt disruption of your freefall forcing your shoulder from its socket, talons tearing through capillaries as if your skin were wet paper.
Suddenly, you’re a sail without a mast, rippling over the open ocean. Dark and cloudless, not a speck on the surface. The spray is icy against your ankles, a million papercut kisses. In the mirage, you can see fleeting reflections. The silhouette of a dragon mid-flight.
You’ve no memory of hitting the sand or being carried along the shoreline. Your consciousness dips and peaks. The few times you come to are when your body is being jostled, a blurred figure looming above and unrecognisable. In one breath they are washing your wounds with water poured from a wineskin, the next you are flinching away from salve covered fingers as they poke and prod to stem the bleeding.
Warmth is the first thing on your mind as you wake. With a sudden gasp for air, all the exhilaration and adrenaline hits you as if your soul had been caught, suspended in that moment. Phantom touches skim the length of your spine and all at once you are overwhelmingly aware of your body.
The sharp noise startles a figure in your periphery.
“Back in the land of the living, huh?”
A broad, bare chested man sits at your bedside with his arms crossed tight and pillowed in his lap. There’s a single delicate braid by his ear, longer than his short-spiked hair and dangled loosely beneath his jaw. You’d find him beautiful if not for the searing glare.
“That was a fucking stupid thing you did back there,” he snarls. Brusque and overfamiliar. When you don’t respond he continues, “What’ve you got to say for yourself?”
You shrink back.
There’s an awful pinch in his brow. Concern seems to be superseding what was a show of honest anger. Dimly lit by a few oil lamps, from what you can ascertain there is no one else in the room but you two. Inhaling the residuals of healing magic you find that your throat is unbearably dry, tongue stuck to the back of your teeth. How long have you been asleep?
You couldn’t find a voice to ask, exhaling a pathetic whine. The silence provides a window of opportunity for him to further scold you yet he doesn’t take it, fuming as he recedes into his chair. “Don’t need to act so fucking skittish. M’not here to hurt you,” he exhales hard through his nose, reaches out and leaves his hand upturned on the edge of the bed. “Alright?”
Something draws you to this stranger. Inexorable, like the pull of the tide. You accept his proffered palm and it feels unsettlingly familiar. The skin is rough, battle worn and hot. Slowly, your fingers intertwine, and you see fair hair on the back of his knuckles.
Disorientation, loss and anxiety err on the edge of your consciousness. The lamp above his head gives him a warm hued crown, highlighting strands of gold. You can feel sleep weighing on your eyelids but you don’t yet want to look away. “Whatever,” his mouth sets into a frown. “Get some more rest or I’ll knock you out myself”.
When you come to the sun has risen and filters into the room in thin streams of light. Dust fairies dance around the bed. You squint as your vision sharpens, a dull throb reverberating through your skull.
You look at your body first, arm well bandaged and the rest of you bruised tender like an old peach. The wounds throb in time with your pulse when you shift, reminding you that they’re there as your thin clothing brushes against them with little movement. All you can remember is falling. How the waves had careened up the cliff side to catch you, only to have you snatched out of reach once again.
Wherever you are now it is obviously far from your Lord’s grasp. He has never bothered to take you to a healer. You are in a private office, tucked into a bed with soft blue sheets. The shelves are stocked with various medicines, salves, and analgesics. Herbs and chopped petals are stuffed in glass jars labelled with messy penmanship you can’t decipher. A metronome sits on the nearby wooden desk, ticking back and forth, filling the silence until the door is pushed open.
Whoever enters is trying to be careful. You can tell by how slowly they turn the handle and pause at every little complaint the hinges give. Their hair is green, richer than the later weeks in spring, with loose waves that bounce as they move. You watch wearily while they move through the space, humming under their breath and picking up a notebook from one of the desk drawers.
The healer, you presume, pinches the end ball on the metronome and brings it to a stand still. He hushes it as though it were an unruly child before turning on his heels toward you—
And immediately screeching as your eyes meet.
Loud enough for the entire country to hear, his abrupt shout seems to alert others in the building, causing a gaggle of people to burst their way into the room. A metallic tang fills your senses; magic ready, the man that sat brutish yet kind at your bedside wields explosive sparks in the palm of his hands, adorning chains with carved talons and beads and asymmetrical armour strapped to his left bicep beneath a red fur lined cloak.
“What is it, Deku?!”
You offer wordless gratitude to the final dregs of sedatives in your system. You barely flinch at the hostility in his voice, time seemingly slowed as your gaze drags to the companions at his back. First a woman doused in pink. And like the sun, her face glows the rich ochre of dawn, framed by silky salmon toned curls. There are horns protruding from the top of her head, bending like the junction of a tree branch.
Beside her is a large man. Red, red, red. Bright eyes split with a reptilian slitted pupil. Crimson hair styled into sharp spikes. He’s built like a warrior, tall enough to swallow most of the doorway, yet you feel no true fear when you look at him. Something innate in your gut tells you this is a kindred spirit. Energies aligned, you think he must be a shifter of some kind too. He locks onto you first, his alarmed expression smoothing into a wide toothed grin.
Last are two men who have managed to tumble to the floor amidst their rush to get into the room. Distinct gold bangs with a symbol of lightning, pale faced, an undercurrent of electricity thrumming below his skin. Dark shoulder length hair, white spools of rope wrapped around the crook of his elbow, grappling hook in hand and ready to strike.
“Sorry, Kacchan!” the healer, Deku, spluttered. He holds his hands up in surrender, shaking them in a placating motion. “Nothing, it’s nothing! All of you please calm down!”
Deku is quite the unfortunate name, you think. At his insistence the group lower their defenses and slump forward, relieved. All but ‘Kacchan’, who only raises his hackles further.
“Don’t fuckin’ scream like that if it’s nothing,” his upper lip curls to bear his teeth, moving fluidly as his group slinks past him to stand by your bed. “I damn near blew up the building”.
Distantly, “I couldn’t help it…!”
The frame jostles, mattress dipping as it takes on the weight of another. Head turned into the pillow you blink dazedly at the sharp toothed shifter. Propping his chin in his hand, his elbows are braced next to your thigh. “Hi. I’m Kirishima,” he chirped, unmoving as his friends wrapped themselves around him to get a look at you, all repeating his jovial greeting with introductions of their own.
“…Hello,” you rasp. The word grates the inside of your throat and tears well in your eyes as you fight the urge to cough. “Where am…?”
“Back up, losers,” ‘Kacchan’ forces his way to your bedside, shoving the group aside. There’s that odd sensation again as you stare up at him. Strong jaw clenched with eyes narrowed and blazing; sliding to where you lay, waning briefly. “Have some manners”.
“Since when have you cared about manners,” the pink woman, Mina, bemoans.
“Shut it!”
Deku’s nervous disposition dissipates quickly and he ambles to the opposite side of your bed, his notebook flipped open to a page covered in incomprehensible scrawl. While the others squabble he leans forward and flashes a trembly smile.
“Hi! I’m Midoriya Izuku, the one that fixed you up,” Midoriya—not Deku—lowers his voice into a more soothing tone. “It’s good to see you awake. Do you think you could tell me your name?”
You remember your name. Yours. The one given to you before human hands stole your hide. Midroiya’s pen scratches at the parchment as you recite it, his lips silently repeating it. “Great! Thank you. Now can I ask, how are you feeling?” he asks, eyes darting across your face, your body, scanning the bandages wrapped around your arm. “Any pain? Nausea? Loss of vision? Numbness in your limbs? Hallucinations?”
“Slow down, nerd,” Bakugo grunts.
Midoriya immediately appears sheepish, “I’m sorry”.
“It’s okay,” you say. “My mouth is dry and my arm hurts but I’m— okay, I think”.
“That’s my bad,” Kirishima speaks up from his place next to Bakugo, lifting a hand. Despite their difference in stature it was clear who led the charge and who fell in line. “I was rushing so I wasn’t very careful when I caught you”.
Your first thought is that he must have been the dragon. Your second thought is, ah, right. You had tried to fling yourself off the cliff.
As though he’d read your mind, Bakugo scoffs. “Not much choice when you’re saving someone that’s trying to kill themselves”.
Overlapping objections ring loud in your ears. “Bro, not cool,” Kirishima groans, similar sentiments sent loud and fast from the rest of his group.
“I wasn’t trying to—” your half lie is halted by the seething look Bakugo turns to you. Same as before, beneath it all is worry and confusion, unblinking as though you might disappear between the seconds. “I just wanted to go home,” you confess weakly, tethered by the restless twisting of your fingers into the linen.
“Home?” the electric blonde, Kaminari, murmurs.
Tension returns to your limbs, instinctively bracing for the greed you have learned to expect. You may get away with evading questions now, but the healer—if he’s worth his salt—would already know what you are.
“I’m a selkie,” hesitance bleeds into your tone, the confession coming quiet and small. Your chin dips as you swallow, canines sinking into your inner cheek. “The Lord whose castle you raided stole my pelt and kept me hostage for months. I figured it was long gone, so as soon as the attack gave me an opening I ran”.
The atmosphere is stifling. Silence befalls the group, equally stunned. Midoriya is the only one that does not react, kind eyes closely observing you.
A litany of emotions weave through Bakugo’s face as you speak. Disbelief, anger, regret. “Sick bastards,” he mutters heatedly from behind gritted teeth.
A head of pink hair rests by your knee. You’re taken aback by how informally they all behave towards you. “You still would have died though,” she says, bottom lip jutted, sadness colouring her features.
“I would have become seafoam,” you rectify passively. “It doesn’t mean death, not to my kind. It’s a sort of rebirth. My pelt is with the ashes now. I thought… it was my only option”.
“Wait. It got burned up in the fire?!” Kirishima straightens worriedly, eyes wide and apologetic. His fingers twitch as though he wanted to reach for you but thinks the better of it.
“Surely. I mean, I assume it was,” your mouth thins into a strained, rueful smile. “He kept it in the vault with all his other treasures. I watched his quarters go up in flames”.
Recognition passes over Bakugo’s expression but Midoriya is already stepping forward with his outstretched hands waving dismissively. “Okay, guys! No more stressing my, uh… patient,” he says, allowing some strength into his instruction. “Give us some space. You can ask more questions later. Please?”
Your new guests surrender with a chorus of groans. Bakugo squints pointedly at you over his shoulder as Sero ushers him out into the hallway. You feel rooted by its significance somehow. An unspoken instruction that you can’t decipher.
“Are you really feeling okay? No wooziness?”
Drawn to the gentle cadence your gaze meets Midoriya’s. He has set the notebook back onto his desk and rolled up his cuffs. “I’m okay,” you reply after a moment of consideration. “Thank you. You fixed me up, right?”
Rubbing at his nape, Midoriya shoots you a sheepish grin. “To the best of my ability, yeah,” he says. “I’m just a researcher and I don’t have an affinity for healing magic, but Kacchan insisted that I help”.
“You’re not a healer?” it’s then that you notice how untraditional his dress is for a doctor. A bishop sleeved shirt, six buttoned green waistcoat and dark pants. There’s a belt strapped tight around his hips, small satchels hooked into the leather, and an empty waist sheath clearly meant for a sword. “Ah. You really aren’t a healer,” you repeat blithely.
Midoriya giggles, nervous. “No— I mean, this is my office! And I guess I am an apothecary of sorts, but that’s only a small part of what I do,” he explains, gesturing to his various shelves and cabinets. “Kacchan could’ve taken you to the next town over on Kirishima’s back but I think he was panicking— oh, please don’t tell him I said that. He just doesn’t trust other people much. So you got shafted with me”.
When he leans down to untuck your bedsheets you bend your unharmed arm, propping your upper body onto your elbow and working in sync with him as he fluffs the pillows behind your back. Sat upright you hold your bandages out to him. “Thank you,” he mumbles, delicate as he slides his hand around your forearm, patting around his belt and satchels with the other.
Finding a small pair of scissors he tucks it beneath the top of the bandage and carefully cuts down the length of your arm. Your chest constricts as the inflamed skin is slowly revealed to the tepid air. There are ribbons of sutures running from your inner elbow to your wrist, puckered but thin and largely healed, sinew clumsily fused together.
“Sorry about my poor suturing,” Midoriya says as he overturns your arm in his palm, checking from root to stem. “Everything looks good, though. No infection or fever,” he continues muttering, thumb pressed to the shadow beneath his lip. “Your immune response was pretty quick. I wonder if it has something to do with your selkie blood…”
You barely register his apology, stuck on the jagged scar tissue decorating his own hand. The cautious call of your name breaks your reverie. Midoriya’s brow is furrowed, eyes wide in genuine concern that wanes when you try to smile at him. “Got lost in my head there, sorry”.
“I get it,” he breathes, glancing over to the largest cabinet in the room. Reaching the ceiling, stained dark wood, and looks slightly out of place alongside his other furniture. Misaligned, you realise. It is on four small wheels and placed an inch away from the wall. Odd.
You watch Midoriya stroll over with a bounce in his step. His biceps strain under the pale sleeve fabric as he grabs either side of his cabinet and pulls. The wheels squeak and it rolls away with some exertion to uncover a hidden door. Dust cascades through the air; he coughs into his shoulder, shaking out his hair.
“I’ve got a private washroom through here if you’d like to use it,” he explains after catching your questioning frown. The room is barely bigger than a closet. There’s a toilet, a tiny sink, and a tub that, given the width and depth, would require you to sit with your knees beneath your chin. A mere speck compared to home. If you closed your eyes and concentrated, maybe you could pretend you were resting in a tide pool along the shallows of a beach.
You stand for the first time in who knows how long. An uncomfortable prickling sensation crawls the length of your legs as the phantom turns solid and blood rushes to your toes. You grip at your bare thighs where the hem of your robe falls, flesh bursting through the gaps between your fingers, and you gasp through the pain. It’s as if you’re growing a new limb all together.
“Careful,” Midoriya murmurs kindly, hovering at your side in case you need assistance. You hobble over to the washroom, each step like treading on seaglass. He moves away once he is happy with your progress.
“It’ll take a while to warm up,” he warns. “But there are various medicinal soaps and salts under the sink that I’ve made, so you’re free to use them”.
The door is closed behind you.
Left to your own devices the first thing you do is fill the tub with water. You find that the bathroom has no lamp, illuminated only by the cool light flooding in from the main room. His warning had not been exaggeration — fingertips touching the bottom of the basin, the water comes slowly and remains cold up until your second knuckle. Then it warms, warmer than the sea, and with no salt at all.
Bare knees against the floor and skin pimpling under the thin robes, your breaths come quick, stumbling over the erratic jumping of your diaphragm. Indentations between each tile press uncomfortably into your skin, the initial pain dulling into numbness as you sit back on your heels. Beneath the sink behind you are the medicinal soaps and salts. You delicately take a small pot, squinting to decipher the handwritten labels in the dark.
Pulling back one of the lids you’re overwhelmed by an unfamiliar floral aroma. Inside are rocks— tiny, tiny pink rocks, with dried white petals. You pinch some with your already damp fingers, feeling as they immediately dissolve in the moisture, and sprinkle them into your bathwater.
Once full enough, you strip yourself of the robe and fold it neatly, left by the closed doorway. The cold air prickles, your nipples pebbling and the soft hair across your body standing on end, but the water is hot.
You dip your foot in and breathe a sigh of relief as the temperature suffused through your skin, swaddling you in warmth. You submerge yourself completely. As suspected the space is remarkably cramped. Your legs are bent, tucked against your chest with knees below your chin, arms folded around your shins to keep yourself together.
Enclosed in four walls again, shrouded in little to no light, you feel lonely. The type of quiet that makes you whisper. Your mind drifts to the stranger that had saved you, wondering where you might’ve met him before. You smile ruefully, cupping the scented water between your hands. He’s strong for a human. Imposing, you muse, staring back at the reflection held in your palms. Not only in his stature, but even his presence is difficult to ignore.
You bathe, scrub away the blood and grime until you’re a flesh wound. The temperature is cold by the time you’ve turned focus to your fingernails, neurotically picking away the flecks of blood dried beneath them. Drain the murky water, refill, repeat. No matter how harshly you pinch and pull, the feeling of being dirty does not go away, but you stay in the water at least until you feel like yourself again.
The towel you find is coarse to the touch. Sitting in the heated water has tended well to the knots in your muscles. Ungainly as you re-enter Midoriya’s empty office, you flop back onto the freshly made sheets with little guilt. You sit there for a while and let the air dry your body.
There is a pile of spare clothes on the end of the bed; neatly folded shirts, tunics, skirts and pants. You throw on a sleeved shirt and come across a simple beige kirtle as you parse through, the skirt falling just above the ankle, delicately sewn buttons lining the back. The fabric is very soft, though fitting and naturally cutting at the waist.
After putting on some thick knitted socks and a pair of hardy brown boots left by the desk you run both hands down your sides and spin on your heel, causing the free flowing skirt to plume. Satisfied, you slip out the door and creep toward the gathering voices at the far end of the hall. Phantom fingertips walk the length of your spine. Odd, but you put it down to the apprehension churning in your stomach. Gradually you are able to make out what they’re saying.
“Get your filthy hands off it,” Bakugo growls venomously.
“I just wanna feel,” another whines. You recognise it to be Kaminari. “Why is Kacchan the only one allowed to touch it?”
“Stop calling me that, fucker!”
You round the corner and the bickering halts with a harsh shushing sound. They’re all in the centre of a cramped lobby, few chairs lining the walls, woven tapestry hung from the ceilings. Kirishima stands in front of you wearing a pleased grin, comically large. The armoured plates on his naked shoulders clink as he moves. “Hey! You clean up nice,” he tells you. “Feeling better?”
“Much better,” you affirm, perking up at his sincerity. “I’m grateful to you all for watching over me”.
“Our Bakugo did most of the work, really. Got a little protective,” Mina, the one kissed by dusk, leans into your space with her plump mouth curled into a smile. The thin gold jewellery hung from her lobe to ear cuff glints in the late afternoon light. “Barely let us in the room”.
“Cause you idiots are too loud,” Bakugo grumbles, stepping forward holding a shiny garb. The fond undertones belied his annoyance, and everyone heard it loud and clear. Your skin prickled as he drags his eyes over your clothed body, evoking a sense of insecurity that is foreign to you. You aren’t sure what, but you wanted him to see something in you worth coveting.
Then your gaze falls to the fabrics folded over his forearm. Your heartbeat ricochets through your ribcage. A tide of emotion wells at the base of your throat. He handles the pelt with purposeful care. Shivers break out across your skin as he smooths a hand over it. Holding it out, he says your name as if it was the simplest thing in the world.
“Here,” he thrusts the pelt into your arms. You scramble and clutch it to your front. Something deep inside you shifts. “This is yours, right? We took it during the raid”.
You’re frozen to the spot, mouth gaping around words that won’t come. Bakugo frowns, the group members behind him glancing at each other and shrugging when they find no answer to your silence.
“Well?” he demands, embarrassment staining his ears pink.
“Yes,” you choke, bringing the hide up to your face and rubbing your cheek against it. So warm and alive. Brine fills your senses, overwhelmed by the smell of home. The relief is short lived. “Thank you for returning it, but…”
Losing strength, you try to convince yourself that he needn’t know— that the old ritual would not be binding if done with a human. If the Gods were merciful there would be no condition that tied you together for the rest of your lives. Yet you felt it the moment your pelt was handed back to you. You’ve been feeling his touch all this time, even before the bond had solidified. Heat rose to your cheeks at the realisation; such an intimate act, and it had been accidental.
From one prison to another. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad. Bakugo seemed good, in his own rugged way, and he was handsome even by faerie standards.
You wet your lips, breath shaken. “Bakugo. Do you understand the significance of what you just did?”
Bakugo’s expression darkens and he becomes rigid. You get the impression he hates being left in the dark. “What is it?”
“To…” your nails sink into the short velvety fur. “To a selkie their pelt is like an extension of their soul. In our culture, to find and return it is viewed as a…marriage proposal”.
Sero catches Kaminari and Mina as they grapple one another in a dramatic fashion, swaying on their feet. Kirishima puts a hesitant hand on his friend’s shoulder, eyes flickering between the barbarian and your slouched form. “Bro… don’t do anything hasty,” he faltered.
“Bakugo is married now?” Mina shrilled, promptly shut up by the hand covering her mouth. Sero sends you an apologetic grimace.
“Like hell I am”.
Hackles raised, voice sharp and commanding, Bakugo is staring you down like an enemy. Your knees threaten to buckle but you stand your ground, shielding your body with your thick hide. His hands remain by his hips, sparking as the tang of magic bleeds into the air. Despite making no move to attack you still feel his rejection strike you.
“Break whatever vow I just made,” he demanded. “Now”.
“I can’t,” you admit helplessly. “It’s more than a legal contract or a declaration of love. We’ve— it binds us together”.
The barbarian starts forward, upper lip curled into a beastly snarl, held back by the dragon shifter’s grip. Stumbling as you dodge, two familiar scarred arms catch you before your fall. “Kacchan, what are you—?!” Bakugo darts out to grab you and Midoriya immediately pushes you behind his back, shielding you with his body. “Stop it!”
“Midoriya,” Kaminari wheezes, tears beading along his lash line. “Kacchan accidentally got married. Can you believe it?”
Midoriya observes their exchange with a look of confusion. In the seconds that follow you see his eyes fall to the pelt folded against your chest, eyes brightening in understanding. Incognisant to this, Bakugo continues his verbal barrage. “Oi, Deku. You’ve got brain cells. Figure out a way to fix this”.
Mouth gaping like a fish out of water, Midoriya pins Bakugo with a pleading look. “Kacchan. Please tell me you didn’t personally give back the selkie pelt”.
“You knew and didn’t think to say anything?!”
“Why would I?” Midoriya returns, equally irritated. You press your face into the space between his shoulder blades, feeling the vibrations of his voice as they argue. “It’s common folklore!”
“You know I don’t listen to fucking fairytales, Izuku”.
Midoriya reaches back to brush your wrist and offer a comforting touch. You knock your knuckles to his own, grateful for his consideration but unneeding of it. While Bakugo’s furious refusal hurts, and his volume is harsh on the ears, you aren’t truly scared of him. More than anything your body remembers those warm palms— how he had held your hand, even as a stranger, and how he meticulously groomed your hide only knowing that it was of importance to you.
“There’s nothing I can do to fix this,” lowering his tone into something more apologetic, Midoriya’s shoulders slump in defeat. You step to the side, coming into view. Head bowed, weight shifting between each foot. You refuse to be subservient any longer but cannot ignore the guilt that churns in your stomach.
Bakugo sees you. Something flickers in his features; a brief glance, a rough exhale, it flies across his face like the shadow of an albatross and disappears, equally fleeting. Never taking his vermilion eyes off you he argued, “What about cheeks?”
The golden hour spreads her hands all over the room, air cooling when his spitting frustration dwindles to uncertainty.
“Uraraka?” Midoriya mused aloud. His softer countenance tempers your anxiety. “It’s possible she could do something… Let me go see if I have her recent coordinates written somewhere…”
Midoriya scurries back down the hallway, leaving you defenseless. Without thinking you ask the group, “Uh. Who’s Uraraka?”
Everyone’s attention falls to you and you resist the reflexive urge to cower. “She’s a witch,” Kaminari supplies happily, arms wrapped around Sero’s neck like a scarf. “An old friend of ours, but she’s pretty hard to find now. I heard her place is always moving”.
A building that could move with magic. The human world never ceased to be fascinating.
Mina nudges her elbow into his side and a shock of electricity sparks from his crown. “That’s outdated, dummy! You’re supposed to say occultist”.
Kaminari whines, rubbing at his ribs. “To-may-toe, to-mah-toe,” he enunciated, pouting. “Same thing”.
Bakugo growls, ignoring their exchange in favour of pacing the room. Your pelt is a comforting weight as you follow the back and forth motions, taking the chance to really look at him. The fur lined cloak across his shoulders billows obnoxiously as he turns, jewels and talons strung around his neck knocking against his clavicle. Doused in sunlight, the markings painted across his bare chest are highlighted, and you notice the uneven skin beneath them— more scars.
He combs his fingers aggressively through his hair and his arm bulges beneath the armour strapped to his bicep. Kirishima tires of watching and cuts into his path, hands open in surrender.
“Stressing won’t do you any good, man,” the shifter reasoned. “We’ve all got your back. I’m sure Uraraka will know what to do”.
Bakugo huffs. You think there should be steam coming out of his nose. “I know, shithead. I just,” he takes a quick look at where you are awkwardly standing. “I don’t like this”.
There’s an abrupt yelp in the distance. Midoriya’s cry is followed by a crash, the sound of books tumbling from shelves onto the wooden floor. He stumbles out into the hallway slightly dishevelled, patting off the dust on his waistcoat and proffering a sheet of paper. Tucked under his arm is a rolled up map.
“Kacchan,” comes his breathless chime. “Here’s where she was last. But I remembered that she was planning on taking a short trip to the valleys near the coast to find more idiran leaves since they’re in season now. I mapped out all the areas where they usually grow, in case you—”
Bakugo snatches the coordinates and the map without ceremony. “Thanks,” he grunts, turning on his heel and making for the exit. “Come on, losers. We only got a few hours until it’s too dark to fly”.
The group works in perfect synchrony. Sero reaches under one of the nearby chairs and drags out a large bag, hoisting it over his shoulder. Mina does the same, pulling back the draping tapestry by the doorway and taking back a concealed sack. You watch as they walk leisurely behind Bakugo, in no real rush despite his demands, Kaminari lamenting how little they trusted him with their cargo.
Kirishima lingers behind, clapping Midoriya soundly on the back. “Thanks for everything as usual, man. We appreciate it,” he emphasised his gratitude with a strong squeeze.
“I’m always happy to see you,” you’re impressed by Midoriya’s reaction; a smile from ear to ear, sturdy and unaffected by Kirishima’s obvious force, his smaller frame belying his strength. “Just promise not to shift too close to the building. I don’t have time to re-thatch my roof”.
“I promise!” Kirishima traces a cross over his heart with his fingers. Their focus turns to you. You tense, feeling entirely out of place. “Sure you’re feeling alright? Have you ever flown before?”
“No,” you admit, needlessly smoothing the fabric of your kirtle down. “I’ve probably never been this far inland, nevermind flying”.
Midoriya’s eyes widened, though not unkindly. They’re sparkling, as if he were excited on your behalf. “Then you’re in for a real treat,” he beams, the intensity dimming within the next breath, sadness hemming his smile. “Just know you’re in good hands. Kacchan is a little abrasive but he means well”.
“And I swear I’ll fly carefully,” Kirishima interjects. It’s funny, a man so large exuding such gentility. “I’m a dragon shifter, if you hadn’t already guessed”.
You had sensed it immediately. Shifter energies were palpable and animated things. They hung in the air like a humid fog. Despite your similarities you are still so uniquely different. While you were tied to the pelt in your arms, Kirishima had no such restriction. You envied his freedom.
“You caught me…?” you say. He nods at your words. “Thank you, then. Again”.
“That was all Bakubro. He saw you before anyone else did,” as though on cue, Bakugo’s voice penetrated impatiently through the walls, demanding that you both get outside. Kirishima’s lips uptick affectionately.
“If I don’t get to see you again, well…” Midoriya begins to corral the pair of you to the door as he speaks. “I hope you make it home. And I’m really happy I could meet you”.
Surrounding Midoriya’s residence is a dense forest. The trees are tall, older than any you’ve seen, their branches reaching out and intertwining with one another to conceal your group under a canopy shrouded in gold. Further ahead it thins out onto a winding road. Built on a steep hill it dips in the distance, opening up to the many plots of land below.
The earth is soft under your boots. There are wildflowers at your feet. You try to step around each one carefully while Kirishima advances forward to the group with vigour.
Bakugo is saying something but you barely hear it, lost in your thoughts, besotted by the vast canvas around you; a sense of harmony as the pigments blend together. It is like a dream in which you can’t tell one side of the veil from the other, and nothing like the dreary castle you were once stowed away in.
Your moment in lucidity is soon interrupted. You instinctively pull the pelt closer to your chest before realising who had approached. “You listening or what?” Bakugo calls quietly, an attempt at being reposeful. Amidst your daydreaming Kirishima has disappeared into the overgrowth and the others are watching your interaction with poorly veiled interest.
“Uh, sure,” you blurt uselessly. He raises a brow and you feel ridiculous.
“Kirishima said it’s your first time,” he pauses and you nod in affirmation. A hand comes to rest on your back, breath caught in your throat, pressure pulling you close to his side. “Then you’ll sit up front with me”.
Your head bobs again, unrolling the pelt and knotting it tight to your waist, skin prickling under his close scrutiny. Bakugo brings his fingers to his lips and whistles, “Red!”
‘Red’ answered the call with a low room and a rustle of wings. The dragon’s head lifts, towering above the treeline, his body following as he steps out into the open. Amber eyes gleamed in the early evening light as he bobbed his head on a serpentine neck. His deep red scales shimmered with a faint golden sheen as he flashed his teeth in greeting.
You err on the side of reticence while Mina and Kaminari sprint toward the dragon whooping excitedly. Various lines of thick rope trails behind them and Sero picks up the slack, looping it thrice through their bags. He spins the cut end, undulating as the momentum builds, and throws it over Kirishima’s back to be caught by Kaminari and pulled taut.
“C’mon,” Bakugo leads you forward. He is surprisingly patient with you now. You’ve faced young whales and sharks yet still you feel dwarfed by the sheer size of the dragon, heart all pitter patter behind your ribs. It is the prey animal in you.
Kirishima snorts, lowering to the ground. The earth trembles, a gust of wind dancing through the grass. Another rope is flung around his neck, threaded through the horns protruding from his skull like a set of reins, dropping in front of you.
The hand by your hip slides further at your abrupt flinch, arm securing around your waist. “On three I want you to climb,” he commands, giving you no time to think. “One… two…”
Bakugo takes the weight like it’s nothing, lifting you higher so you can grab the rope. Molten heat. You pull yourself up, scrambling to straddle Kirishima’s upper back. The others are further down his spine, playing around at the base of his tail without a care in the world, as though they were not about to be thousands of feet in the air. Kirishima’s lungs expand for breath and you cling to a spike protruding from the dragon’s nape, grip flexing at the warmth that settles behind you.
Bakugo frames your body with his thighs, thick by the skirt bunching above your knees, and pulls the rest of the rope up to wrap it around your pelt. In an instant you are all too conscious of him as a man, the proximity plucking at your centre of gravity, a cold sensation spreading throughout your chest. “Sorry,” he mutters unprompted, so quiet you aren’t sure you were meant to hear it. You get the impression he doesn’t say it often. “For dragging you into more shit”.
You mull the words over as you relax into his hold. With that one sentence you think you understand him a little more than before.
Sero’s voice travels through the silence, “Good to go!”
Fastening his arm across your middle, solid and steady, Bakugo brings his boot hard down onto Kirishima’s shoulder. “Get moving, Red!” he roars.
The dragon’s movements are heavy, slow. Aligned with the winding road, he builds up speed. As though he’d shaken off his own mass Kirishima is suddenly quick on his feet and breaking into a run; forced back in the momentum your stomach swoops, upheld by inertia as your body follows the broad bounding movements.
Leathery wings snap open into the clearing. Your hands clutch at Bakugo’s forearm and he digs his fingers in harder, his lips warm against your temple. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, but all you can hear is the thundering wind and the blood rushing in your ears. You watch the steep edge approach and take a reflexive breath as it abruptly disappears.
Air pours into your lungs and then out again in a ragged, exhilarated gasp. The ground falls—and then you are gliding.
The cool air whips against your cheeks. Smooth and steady as a horse’s canter, Kirishima soars through the open skies, his magnificent wingspan bearing the weight of five riders. Below, the fields coalesce into one land. Towns and villages become an inscrutable speck. Incredulous laughter bursts from your throat, nerves evolving into excitement in the climb towards the clouds.
Bakugo mellows by the second, tension ironed down by gravity. There’s a particular satisfaction to his expression, contentment you’ve only ever experienced in the ocean’s depths, and yet, as he squeezes around you intermittently to remind you he is there, you can feel it too.
“You with me?” he shouts. “Not scared?”
You lock eyes and try to show him a tremulous smile, answering at the top of your lungs, “I’m good”.
Then he bares his teeth, grinning proudly. Over you comes the sense of being praised. Your smile widens.
Time moves differently in the skies. Closer to the sun, you thought perhaps things naturally moved slower. Change is always less apparent when you are walking alongside it. Instead, you measure the hour by the shadows cast chasing Kirishima’s tail, and eventually the skies darken.
Lowering his head, tilting a wing to swing out in a broad arc, Kirishima angles toward the earth. Bakugo raises up a battle worn hand, the lineaments of his face irradiated by streams of dim light threading through his fingers. He makes a specific gesture, signalling to the others of the incoming descent. Like the sun, you can’t look away from his raw brilliance.
Kirishima lands at the base of a mountain valley. It sends a gust of wind across the clearing. Through the dark you make out a familiar reflection of light in the distance. The lake is hardly an ocean, but you’re extremely comforted to be by a body of water.
Chest pressed flat to your back Bakugo’s natural heat spreads through your shirt. Helped down much in the same way you were boosted up, he seems determined to keep you near. You can’t say you mind it— a quiet attraction comes and goes as he steadies you on your feet. He clicks his tongue, muttering clipped insults that he doesn’t mean.
It’s decided you’ll remain there for the night. “You can bet your ass we’re having an early start,” Bakugo says, pointing at each of you with stubborn intent, squinted glare lingering on the less than enthusiastic members. Kaminari slumps forward dramatically and you worry his knees might buckle.
Kirishima leaves again, briefly, to circle the area in his full form while Bakugo starts on the pit. It’s lit by a whisper of fire from the returning dragon’s mouth, setting the tinder ablaze over the nest of branches; the dry, withered pine slowly releases years of energy soaked up from the sun, the air, and the ground, keeping the camp brightly lit.
Smoke swirls above and dissipates into the atmosphere. You are far enough from any large human settlement that you see the night sky in all its clarity. Around you now are the soft voices of acquaintances filtered between conversations; none you could hear properly, but the sounds were still soothing, coming in hushed tones that add to the intimate atmosphere.
Flames dance on their cheeks, illuminating the prominent parts of their faces. You’re sitting beside the water’s edge with your pelt strewn across your lap, close enough to feel the warmth as it crackles and spits, watching the way they love each other.
Kaminari has fished out a big bottle from his bag, dramatically popping the cork, and is steadily passing it around. Alcohol, you guessed. Sero took a heavy swig without flinching. Mina had tried to do the same and now has her head pillowed by Kirishima’s thigh, thick and sturdy as a human, and his fingers stroked through the curly by her temple aimlessly as he lost himself in discussion. Sensing your gaze, she meets your eyes and smiles dazedly, lids fluttering.
You look away, take a breath and notice the air tastes like sake and smoke. Darkness covers the lake. Under the waxing moon your face stares back at you, swimming among minnows and echoes of stars. It ripples where you dip your fingertips, mind empty, anaesthetised by the chill.
“You idiots never pace yourselves,” Bakugo’s voice rumbled over the flames and rolled over your skin. He is sitting closest to you, legs loosely crossed in the dirt . “If you throw up on Red tomorrow I’m not cleaning it up”.
Kaminari shakes the bottle in his direction. The bubbles fizz upward, some spilling out. “Such a stick in the mud, Kacchan. We gotta celebrate your marriage somehow!”
Sero cackles as the other two chime in agreement. You stroke your pelt, restless at the mention of your union, and it soaks up the water from your fingers. Surprisingly, Bakugo lets it slide, though not before scooping the loose earth into his hand and throwing it at an oncoming Kaminari.
Eyes of amber briefly flicker over your form in his approach. Kaminari drops into the empty space beside you and pulls the bottle from his mouth with a resounding pop, leaving behind a wet sheen, and tilts it forward. “You too,” he grinned. “Congrats. Our boy is quite the catch, y’know”.
“So I can see,” you smile, letting the gloom be pulled right out of you, your fingers wrapping around the bottle's neck. They grazing his own and spark static. Neither of you comment on it, his squinted stare fixed curiously on your expression as you bring the finish to your lips.
The aroma is rich, sweet like overly ripe bananas. You tip back, feeling it dry and bitter on your tongue. There are hints of vanilla and brown sugar, a sting to your throat that begs you to cough. You hear a quiet laugh.
“Too strong?” Sero teases lightheartedly from across the campfire.
Your expression twists, “It’s good. But it burns. Is that normal?”
“That’s why it’s good,” Kaminari snickers. You clear your throat, handing the bottle back, attention drawn back to the lake in a beat of comfortable silence. “Oh, hey. I did want to say— you can swim if you need to, y’know”.
“Hm?”
“Kiri has all sorts of weird urges if he doesn’t shift for a while. Gets all restless and snappy,” Kaminari gives a knowing look to the man in question. Kirishima nods at you, his features taut with sincerity. “So if you want to swim for a while or something we totally get it”.
You’re flustered by their earnestness, gripping at your pelt, all too aware of it. Slipping into your other form feels far too personal; well meaning as they are, they’re still strangers to you. “That’s— I’m alright,” you politely decline, “my needs as a seal aren’t really felt while I’m like this”.
A surprised noise resonates from Kirishima, Mina unmoving from her place in his lap but watching with rapt curiosity. “You’re practically human right now, then?” he asks.
“Practically,” you give a self conscious shrug. Somehow admitting it felt like stripping yourself. Confessing to a weakness. Unsettled, you deflect the subject back. “Do you keep your dragon traits as a human?”
“Nah, not while I’m in this form. I don’t even have my hydrogen glands— look,” Kirishima hooks his fingers into his cheeks to spread them wider. You lean in for a closer look. The glow from the campfire illuminates the back of his throat— barely, and ironically. His tongue wiggles as he tries to lay it flat. You’re not sure what he’s trying to show you. You’ve never seen a dragon’s maw before, but aside from the shark-like teeth his mouth really does seem the same as any other man’s.
“Pretty boring, right?” his words come garbled around his fingers and so he pulls them out, wiping the spit on his pants. “But even though I can’t breathe fire right now, I can do this!”
You stare in surprise as the skin along his forearm hardens into tough scales. He holds it out to you in permission to touch; they feel jagged under your fingertips, tough like the bark of an ancient tree. “That’s amazing. You have your own shield,” you breathe, awed.
“Damn right,” Bakugo interjects. There’s that unfettered pride again. Kirishima’s cheeks redden and you sympathise with him. In your short time with them you knew receiving praise from Bakugo felt like standing under the sun. “Should‘ve seen him as a kid,” he continues, eyes alight and mirthful. “Had scales like wet paper. Even cried when he first shifted”.
“D’you have to bring that up,” Kirishima groans, though not upset by it. He shares in the amusement, uplifted by the sound of his friends' laughter, and pouts playfully in your direction. “It was scary!”
Mina giggles. Her movements are sluggish and dopey as she waves her arm in Kaminari’s direction, who then stretches around the pit to Sero, who then passes it off to her. She takes a quick sip, free hand pinching Kirishima’s cheek. “Wasn't your first time an accident, too? That’s so cute”.
“He sneezed actually,” Sero supplies, smirk crooked, foot tapping Kirishima’s ankle in a preemptive apology. “Destroyed half his house”.
Kaminari slaps his knee, “Man, you were stumbling around like a newborn foal. It was hilarious”.
Bakugo grinned as the others bickered, a fond, radiant thing that lit up his whole face. He’s softer like this, drenched in warmth. Cloak tucked behind his shoulders you are given the view of his broad chest. And when he finally looks at you, his half lidded gaze has been softened by his third swig; though he remained considerably sober compared to his companions.
“What’re you starin’ at?” he mutters.
“Nothing,” you answer quickly, then, quieter, “It’s just nice that you’ve all been together for so long”.
“Since we were snot-nosed brats. We hail from the same clan. Deku too,” he replies, elbow propped on his knee, chin cupped in his palm. “Getting sick of seeing their faces at every turn”.
“Liar,” you hum amusedly. “What do humans call it…? Emotionally constipated”.
His eyes slide over you, brow quirked. With his friends distracted he is more emboldened giving you attention. “Got some liquor down your neck and suddenly you’re givin’ me cheek?”
“Guess so,” you feel yourself endeared by your not-husband. The pleasant honeyed sensation shrouding your body must’ve loosened your tongue. “Anyone can see they’re like family to you”.
The barbarian kisses his teeth and shifts himself toward you, an ugly look on his face. You catch his peek at your pelt. “What about you?”
“Me?”
Bakugo grunts. “Yeah. You got family?”
If not for the alcohol that question might’ve sucked all the joy from the air. You settle on a sad smile, dragging your fingertip through the dirt to draw a vague seal shape. “That’s hard to answer,” you intoned gently, barely audible over the crackling fire. “My memories of them are vague. The longer I stay human the more I forget”. He frowns, but you continue, unperturbed, “Usually it would be the same thing in reverse, if we weren’t bonded I would likely forget all of this”.
“And you’re okay with that?” he says, some edge to his tone. “You’re okay with being stuck here?”
The ‘with me’ goes unspoken but you hear it, and you fall silent. Because you have no answer. You’d had months to reconcile a pallid future— at one point you thought you would never again see the ocean, least of all your family. It was probable that they’d already moved on without you.
“I don’t feel stuck,” you admit. His actions and his words, albeit harsh, proved that to be true. Aside from the obvious differences from your previous capture, the biggest is that you are equally in possession of Bakugo’s individual liberty— you’re married, you mentally amend, not in possession. While it is true you wouldn’t be able to stray far from him with the bond established, you held your pelt, independence, control.
A near imperceptible tension seeps from him at your answer. “What about you?”
He scoffs, stretching out his legs. The soles of his boots drag in the dirt. “Do I look fuckin’ stuck?”
“No,” you murmur with amusement, turning to gaze at the flickering pyre. “A man that can fly hundreds of miles on dragonback in a single day certainly isn’t stuck”.
“Now you’re getting it”.
The other conversation has worn into soft murmurings. Kirishima drunkenly hands off the last of the alcohol to Bakugo, gesturing to the three who’ve surrounded him and fallen asleep. As the dragon shifter repositions himself to join them, curled together like a pack of seal pups, Bakugo takes a sip.
There’s probably only a mouthful left and you accept it when he offers. “You should sleep, too”.
You heed his instruction and lie down on your side, your pelt pillowed under your head. The smell of home swaddles you. “Early rise, right?” he nods, leaning back onto his arms. “How long do you think it’ll take to find the—uh, occultist?”
“A week if she’s where she’s supposed to be,” he scowls. You’re not sure what draws the heat to your face; the drink or his voice, now gravelly with fatigue. “Three at most”.
“Okay,” you exhale, eyes fluttering closed. “Thank you, Bakugo”.
A soft breeze dances through the brush. Your skin pebbles, shivers slipping down your spine. Something heavy drapes over you and encases you in a warm cocoon. Fluff tickles at your nose. Your fingers curl into the familiar red fabric of Bakugo’s cloak. He has pointedly angled away from you, ready to ignore any attempt at interrogation. The gruff act of kindness makes your heartbeat faster. Fondness settles in your chest, so big that it aches. His natural scent mixes with yours and it’s like being laid on the shoreline, stitching sea and land together.
“Don’t fuckin’ thank me yet,” the muscles in his back ripple as he tends to the dwindling fire, declaring with conviction, “Just follow me. I’ll fix this and get you home”.
You lick your lips, mouth dry from the alcohol. In that very moment you want to tell him that the ocean and the sky are like a two way mirror; that when you were up there with him, strangely, your body thought it was at home.
Instead, you close your eyes and watch the embers paint yellow and orange kaleidoscopes behind your eyelids.
Instead, you sleep.
The weeks that follow are arduous. Uraraka is nowhere to be found, and your group resorted to searching the areas of iridian growth Midoriya circled.
You weren’t used to hiking up mountainous lands, navigating forests or scaling dragons, not in the beginning. Rising with the sun, enduring unpredictable changes in weather, wincing through the ache that grew in your weaker human muscles, Bakugo found your crankiness amusing and irritating all at once; never missing an opportunity to comment on your lack of stamina, then using it as an excuse to assist where assistance is not truly needed.
But you saw through him, and let him. You did not need help climbing, yet your hands weaved together so he could pull you up. You’re soon practiced in saddling Kirishima, yet you always wait for Bakugo to put his arm around your lower back every ride. Your inner voice sings whenever he brings you food— begrudgingly, he throws it into your lap and grunts like the barbarian he is— or hangs his cloak over your head without a word as though you were a rack. It’s a little more charged every time you interact, and you found you liked being taken care of in those subtle ways that did not undermine your independence.
The others noticed and teased accordingly. They call him a dutiful husband and his aggravated explosions saw you driven out of two small settlements for startling livestock. You become closer to each of them. Their patchwork family makes room for you quicker than you know what to do with. And you enjoy it; learning about the people around you, peeling back the rind of their lives piece by piece with mundane questions, seeing what they’re made up of.
You learn Kaminari enjoys literature, dramatically reciting love tales in the night, referencing poems you’ve never heard. He’s charming but never with actual intention. It is somehow more endearing that he doesn’t know his own allure, finding comfort in the role of a jester. Mina is pure joy wrapped in flesh. Apologetically overbearing and well meaning. Like an older sister she showed you how to securely fashion your pelt—over one shoulder, a belt fastened around the waist, keeping it in place— and let you use her combs. She speaks fast when she’s happy, hits hard when she laughs and gossips avidly, picking up new information wherever she goes.
Kirishima looked at you with kindness and iron surety in his eyes from the start. Good natured and feeling— he has a heart so big that he apologises to a flower bed after he steps on it. There’s a natural fraternal air about him that sets you at ease and the group’s clear affection and appreciation for him diminished any worry about your own treatment as a shifter.
But of everyone else in the group you found Sero the most easygoing. Conversation came fluidly and your initial diffidence was thrown by how naturally you were able to fall into place with him. He lends an ear to any questions you have, practised in the art of human interaction; a man capable of adapting to any one person he comes into contact with. As such, he is the member sent to negotiate, collect information, and make arrangements.
When you make it to the last destination on the map you are drenched in a time-steeped sunset. Sero trudges back through the brush, returning from the nearby port town. Landing at such a late hour Sero had been tasked with finding the local tavern to buy a few rooms for the night, and the lazy thumbs up he waves from a distance is proof he accomplished his goal.
“They don’t get too many travellers passing through here so I swiped up three rooms,” he huffs, coming to a stop and brushing the dirt off his pants. “They’ve got a bathhouse, too”.
Bakugo makes a noise of approval, lifting a bag over his shoulder while Kirishima carries the rest under his arms and flashes a toothy smile. “Glad it went smoothly, man”.
“Thank the Gods,” Kaminari cheers, clapping his friend on the back. “You’re a lifesaver. I can’t wait to sleep on an actual bed again”.
“Uh huh. Two twin rooms for us lowly minions,” Sero continues, his grin curling into something more sly. You get a sense of foreboding. “And of course, a double room for the newlyweds”.
Mina whistles, slipping her hand into yours and tugging. You freeze, heart in your throat, and force yourself to relax, not yet used to how tactile they can be. She’s too invested in Bakugo’s response to notice. Your eyes flicker over to find him red faced and incensed, knuckles white with the pressure he has around the drawstrings of his bag.
Sharing a room with Bakugo. Alone. Thus far you’d all been together. Either under the stars or in caves, or packed into cramped quarters stuffed with wattle and daub if a villager felt kind enough.
“You've got exactly five seconds to explain why you thought that was a good idea”.
Sero quickly put his palms up in surrender. “You gave me a budget, Bakugo. They offered to lower the price as a wedding gift. I figured it would be okay for one night”.
Bakugo jerks his head in your direction, his steely glare unmoving. The tips of his ears are pink, too, frustration unfolding across his skin. “You don’t get to decide that,” he chided, tone harsh like a hiss.
Suddenly, Sero looks rather ashamed of himself. “Shit, I’m sorry. Should’ve asked,” he says to you, rubbing at his neck as his head lowers. It’s unlike him to be so wilted— and all because of your potential discomfort.
You meet Bakugo’s eyes, gleaming intensely, already trying to scrutinise your reaction. Mina hums quietly. She tightens grip on your hand again in reassurance, the other running along your bicep. “If you want I can swap with you”.
Bakugo snorts at that, as if the idea was ridiculous, but he doesn’t shoot it down despite his clear aversion to sharing with Mina. You understood his disbelief. They behaved much like siblings, squabbling and poking at one another. It’d rouse suspicion and you didn’t fancy being chased out of town for swindling the keepers for a discount.
“Thank you guys. But it’s alright,” you reassured, mouth lifting into a small smile and reciprocating Mina‘s gentle squeeze. “I don’t mind sleeping with Bakugo”.
A few beats of silence. You see Bakugo’s expression slip, jaw loose and eyes wide for a brief moment before it twists. He turns away from the group as a chorus of suggestive crowing erupts.
Understanding your mistake almost immediately hot mortification comes over you, stifling beneath the pelt on your shoulder. “Shut up, you useless fuckin’ perverts,” Bakugo snaps, flustered and wild, swatting at the nearest victim. Kirishima feigns a wounded noise.
“Hey, I didn’t do anything!”
“Just get moving,” the barbarian marches onward, tearing his way through the overgrowth and heading for the tavern. “And walk behind me!”
His choleric mutters continue, heard even at a distance. Tucking your chin to your chest, you hide your laughter in your silken pelt as you follow after him, mouth filling with a comforting briney scent. You think Bakugo undeniably cute when he’s embarrassed; a sight you’ve had the pleasure of seeing more than once on account of his pod. That feeling from the campfire returns, fills your chest, pulsing through to your fingertips, tempting you to reach out, to touch him.
More and more you’re inundated with the need to be close. You quell the urge and tighten your grip on Mina, her cheek squished to your shoulder, loose curls the colour of blossom tickling your throat. “Don’t worry. He’s not really mad,” she tells you furtively, as if it were a big secret.
“I know,” gaze lingering on Bakugo’s back, covered by that thick red cloak, you wonder if your scent still clings to it. Contentedly, “I’m getting used to it”.
The town is beautiful. Bursting with flora and fauna, accentuated by the dusk, ocean curling around the village in a way that reminds you of mother. Nature's cradle. You cling protectively to your pelt, scenting the salt in the air and hovering closer to Bakugo. If anybody could identify a selkie skin it would be fishermen. Stray drunken locals stumble by, arm in arm with boisterous cheer. You’re greeted like a long lost friend, neither person recognising your true identity. Humans really can be hearty and genuine at their core. Life before had been so desolate in comparison, so lacking in love and colour.
“Oi,” Bakugo beckons you to his side. When you don’t fall in line he grabs your wrist, pulling you close. His natural body heat lingers like a brand. “Make sure you call me Katsuki from now on,” he instructs under his breath.
You blink at the unexpected request. The muscles in his face are tight, twitching, and his nose flares the longer you stare. Given names are important to humans in this region. Sharing them is an intimate thing, a sign of your close relationship. “Are you sure?”
“Wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t sure,” he punishes your questioning with the fleeting tightening of his grip. You can’t help it. He’s pink again and you like it. “I’m your husband, yeah? So call me by my fuckin’ name”.
The keeper waits surreptitiously by a sheltered stairwell leading to the inn above her tavern. A small Elven woman, uncloaked, the lantern overhead creating a halo of light to circle her ginger crown. She perks up when Sero hands over a small velvet sack, the drawstrings pulled tight. “For the rooms,” he emphasises, coins chiming dully against one another as he shakes it. The woman takes it and cradles the payment to her breast, exchanging the gold for three keys.
You’re guided up the stairwell and into the building, presented with a narrow corridor. There are numerous doors, decorative runes carved into the frames, a coloured piece of string hung from each handle corresponding to the colour of the keys. “It’s good to see some youngins pass through. We only ever get the same old geezers around here,” she says, “Makes for a mundane life”.
The crows' feet wrinkle by her eyes when she smiles, laughter lines framing her mouth. She hands out the keys to your pod who all rush in childish excitement to see their rooms. At last she turns to where you stand stiffly beside Katsuki.
You’re handed a key. The stem is long and thin and made with copper, the key wards in the bit uniquely shaped to your door. Threaded through the bow is a lavender string. “It isn’t much but I hope you will be comfortable for the night,” with a wink, she adds, “Congratulations to you both”.
“Thank you. We will be in your care,” your reply is tremulous, undecided whether to be pleased with the sincere acknowledgement of your marriage or nervous to be seen through. At your side, the large barbarian grunts.
It is uncharacteristic of him; always very respectful of his elders. You lean against him, just a nudge. His attention snaps to you and you smile innocently. “Be polite, Katsuki”.
Like it was meant to be spoken only by you, Katsuki’s name sits right in your mouth, lips shaping around the characters softened by warm intonation. The reaction is instantaneous. His jaw ticks. His faint blush returns. His stoic expression wanes as he looks to the keeper, who is observing the interaction with mirthful eyes. Lowering his head he mutters, “We appreciate your hospitality, ma’am”.
“You’re quite darlin’ together, aren’t you,” she comments heartily, mostly to herself, as if airing her thoughts. “We got good food and drinks downstairs, do come if you’re hungry! Blessings be upon you”.
On her departure you enter the room. Spangles of light dusted the air. While it clearly isn’t lived in, it is homely. You canvas the space. Two square-headed windows facing the street are covered by thin cloth. There is an old, tattered tapestry strung across the wall to cover up a fist sized hole, a patterned glass vase and various other unique tchotchke adorning the shelves. You drag your fingers across the brick fireplace opposite a wide double bed, mattress made of wool but compensated by the many feather pillows and blankets.
“This is good,” you say, “homely”. Though there is an animal hide on the floor, which you find rather… untoward. A soothing musky smell with overtones of caramel and vanilla rising through the cracks in the floorboards from the tavern below. You breathe it in deeply.
“It’ll do,” Katsuki voices his agreement and drops his bag with a conclusive thud. “Let me hide our stuff and we can meet with the others for food downstairs. You haven’t eaten in hours”.
The small consideration makes your heart flutter. “Ah. I’ll be there soon,” you tell him. He squints at you, attempting to mentally pry the answers out of you. “I’m okay, Katsuki. I just need a minute”.
Pausing in the centre of the room, Katsuki scrutinises you. You fidget under his intense appraisal, undecided whether it pleases you or not. It is strange to want something that often leaves you feeling excruciatingly… exposed.
You wait apprehensively and wonder if he’ll comment on your use of his name— needless, this time. After all there are no ears or eyes in these walls. You’re not sure what you’ll do if he asks you to stop.
“Are you sure?” you nod, mouth strained in a thin smile. Bakugo frowns but ultimately gives you your space. “Make sure you catch up. If you’re not down in ten minutes I’m coming back”.
“I will,” you land heavily on the edge of the bed, wrinkling the sheets as you unclip your pelt. The collar of your ill-fitted shirt slips forward with the motion to reveal cleavage, and Bakugo immediately averts his gaze.
“Whatever,” he rasps, unexpectedly shy. The door slams as he leaves. You right the collar, tugging it back up, lips pressed thin to repress the laughter that bubbles in your chest. Aimless and left to your own devices you take a solitary moment to groom the pelt in your lap, marbled and downy-soft. Brushing through the coat, fingertips trace the rings of black and brown.
Things are so different. Being a person is more overwhelming than you imagined. Being locked away had kept you in a state of inertia, suffocating in numb misery, but now you were left to grapple with the immense spectrum of human emotion. Urges and wants that you had never experienced before meeting Katsuki.
You swallow, staring at the spaces between your fingers. Spaces filled with short tan fur. Selkie marriages were simultaneously complicated and simple. Rather, they were so simple that they bore unnecessary complications.
A stolen pelt creates a one sided bond but upon return it is consummated. Between two selkies in courting pelts were exchanged, solidifying their promise to one another, deeply unified by their magic. Elder podmates said that it meant they belonged to only one another. Abandoning the tides, in a way.
Since being a pup the voice of the sea was a ceaseless whisper you were always aware of. Yet since Katsuki held your seal skin, unknowingly cradled your very being and returned it to you with only sincere intention, that voice had gradually been ebbing away.
Would there come a day that you no longer recalled your identity as a selkie—? No. You quickly smother the thought. The immaterial, chimerical magic that made up your very being could never be forgotten. And deep down, you knew Katsuki would not let you. Indeed, you can only picture his surly retaliation if you ever woke up and could not recall your lineage.
With that you get to your feet. Ten minutes would soon pass and his probable wrath was enough motivation. You consider the pelt in your grasp and give a surreptitious glance around the room for somewhere to hide it. Taking it into a tavern full of drunken strangers and mariners seemed like a much worse idea.
After rolling it up tight you stuff it behind the pillows at the head of the bed, further pulling over the coverlets. The hallway is quiet when you step out. You lock the door, tensing at the loud click. You can hear muffled laughter rising through the floors.
It grows in volume when you step out into the evening air. Slurred conversation and bickering pour through the tavern windows. At front is a large, arched door, overshadowed by a dark blue awning. The wood panels are weatherworn and rustic, covered in rivets. You reach for the brass handle. It’s heavy in your palm as you turn it, using your full strength to push forward.
First, you are met with a crescendo of boisterous cheers. Stepping inside, your eyes are drawn to the green dyed sailcloths hung from the rafters above the bar. The establishment is modestly sized, enough that there is a longtable set up in the centre of the room and a fair few smaller roundtables dotted with stools.
Across the far end of the tavern is a line of small booths, separated by wooden screens decorated with mosaic carvings. Oil lamps are hooked on the walls, casting a warm sepia hue that seems to cohesively bring everything together. It felt welcoming, and intimate, like approaching a friend by the fire.
You try to seek out a familiar head of blonde hair. The place is busy but nobody bats an eyelid at your entrance, lively enough that you cannot hear clearly above the overlapping voices around you, intermingling with the low playing of music.
“Lost, stranger?”
You startle.
She finds you easily, like she’d been waiting. Mina curls an arm around your back, pressure light as if she was suddenly worried about being too familiar. It tightens when you lean into her and she smiles with more vigour.
“C’mon. Let’s get you something to eat”.
The distance between you and them is barely that of a crevice, but it is daunting, yawning like a trench. Over in the far left booth, both secluded and closest to the bar, is a group of friends. Directly beneath a lantern strung onto a hook, Katsuki is bathed in orange and nursing a drink. The others are tucked away in the booth, cups and plates lining the table top. Their laughter slows as you approach and you battle the urge to recoil from everyone’s eye. Mina, sensing the discomfort, begins to rub her hand along your back.
“All of you scoot up,” she asserted, wiggling her pointer finger. “Make some space for us!”
They move around on the long, curved seat to make space. You end up on Katsuki’s right, sandwiched in by Sero who smiles, though awkward, earlier remorse persisting as you take your place beside him. “What’s the verdict, are you happy with your room? Best I got from Bakugo is a grunt”.
“Yeah, I like it. You did good picking this place. It’s cosy,” you glance over toward Katsuki. “Beats a cave. The fireplace is nice. I wonder if it works…”
Mina tucks into Kirishima’s side where he sits across from you. Most of the plates are piled up in front of him, food aplenty to sate his dragon-sized appetite. His chin dimples as his bottom lip juts forward, “You guys get a fireplace? That’s so unfair”.
“C’mon, Kiri. The fireplace is there for…”—Kaminari leans in, suggestively lowering his voice and nudging Katsuki’s left arm—“…ambiance”.
You feel a gentle nudge. Katsuki, ignoring his friend's harmless influx of innuendos, slides a glass across the table toward you. “What is it?” you ask, bringing it to your lips. The liquid is dark, red like fresh blood, but it smells fruity. Before he can tell you, you’ve taken a sip.
It is weighty on your tongue, unlike anything you’ve tasted before. Cherries and jam and oddly well paired notes of spicy tobacco. The corner of his mouth curls into a barely there smile, pleased at the immediate delighted sound. He brings forward a large opened bottle and presents it to you.
“Barmaid gave us this to share,” Katsuki taps at the calligraphy on the label. “It’s wine. Expensive too, usually”.
“Guess marriage does have benefits,” Sero gibed, raising a glass of amber liquid you assume to be beer. Expression open in sincere merriment, he declares, “To the happy couple!”
Six glasses come together, toasting to your accidental bond, alcohol spilling over your hands. Katsuki’s cup is there too, his monotonous voice blending into their hurrahs. A hand slides from the back of the booth to rest upon your shoulders and you lean into it, heat prickling over your skull at the feel of his bare skin. Blood thinning, belly full, inhibitions lost to bliss.
Mina brings her hands together in a succinct clap, weaving her fingers. “Another round!” she beams, and the enthusiasm stirs once more.
The evening crawls on. Your modest group barely puts a dent into the chaotic din but it sure can eat. You’re made to swallow your fill under Katsuki’s direction—watching you closer than he did anyone else—and savour the dishes, heady and complimented by your flavoursome wine.
Stories pass through loosened lips, new and old. You don’t mention it when Kaminari repeats himself twice over— nobody else does, either. You all sink into the balmy atmosphere, sharing food and conversation, relaxing entirely for what felt like the first time in months.
Sero chokes on his drink as Kirishima recounts the story of when he and Katsuki first became friends. How the tiny blonde barbarian would sneak up on him through the bushes, throw rocks at his tender head, and challenge him to battle all in pursuit of friendship.
Your shoulders shake, burrowing into Katsuki’s side to sap his warmth. Bare skin pebbles as your fingertips skim his ribs, poking near his armpit. “Would it kill you to communicate like a normal person?”
Trembling mouth pressed firmly together, Katsuki refuses to give anyone the satisfaction of making him laugh. You see through it plain as day. “Shut up,” he grumbles.
“Didn’t even flinch when ma threatened to eat him if I came home with any more teeth missing,” Kirishima continued, sighing happily. “My bro is so manly”.
Steadily the energy begins to dwindle into a pleasant hum. You’re together, drunk on wine and laughter and a sense of harmony. Being with them is startlingly effortless. It feels like family.
In the recesses of your mind you think, I don’t want to let go.
“Hey,” Katsuki says, sharper when nobody hears him. “Hey, shitheads”. You lift your head from where it had come to rest on his shoulder, cheek slightly numb. “Think I’m going to head up”.
You hear a chorus of sluggish objections with no real heat behind them. While he’s fighting off their interrogation you simply watch him, awkwardly angled and ignoring the twinge in your neck. The bead in his braid glints in the low light.
Sensing your stare, Katsuki looks down at you, dappled by lamp light. The flames dance in his irises, gaze unbearably soft, as it had been that first night by the campfire. You hold your breath when he sets his thumb with his tongue and uses it to wipe a crumb from your cheek. The touch is like a spark to flint. A fleeting sort of hope stirs in your chest, like this is all you’d been waiting for, that the universe was finally making things right for you.
Then he snatches his hand back, as though waking up to what he was doing.
“I’m going to bed. You idiots better behave,” he groused, returning his focus to the group. You mourn his attention. “If we get kicked out early I’ll kill you”.
“You love us too much,” Mina tucks her drunken smirk into the cradle of her palm, arm almost slipping with the weight. Cloudy eyes follow Katsuki as he forces his way out of the booth like a bull. “Admit it!”
Bending at the waist he meets her stare head on and deadpans, “Die”. Mina merely laughs and plants a kiss on his forehead that he aggressively rubs away as he leaves.
You stay a little longer but find your mood dampening. Katsuki’s absence makes known an ache usually quelled by the weight of your pelt, almost as though his presence had placated that innate yearning for home. The thought leaves you dizzy.
“I think I’m going to go, too,” you announce out of the blue.
Expressions fall, concerned. Kaminari tilts into your space. You barely even blink at the proximity now. “Everything alright? Y’dont feel sick or anything, do you?”
“No, not at all—“ he frowns at you, unconvinced, “—I just feel like going for a soak before bed. Sero, you said there was a bathhouse?”
Sero perks up at his name and nods loosely, head barely held by his neck. “Yeah! They’re around the back, apparently. Just walk beyond the stairwell,” he shoots you a thumbs up. “They’re mixed but only guests can use ‘em, so don’t worry about it being crowded”.
That’s comforting to know. If luck was on your side it would be empty. You duck out of the tavern with a final wave and a promise to see them in the morning. Thankfully the boisterous chatter grows dull as you step into the night air, stopping to look up the stairwell. You hope Katsuki can sleep through it.
Heeding Sero’s instructions you follow the beaten path around the back of the tavern. There you discover another building, smaller, but with a steeped tile roof and shuttered windows. Curious, you gently lift the green dyed curtain hung in the doorway and enter the earthen-floored threshold.
You are led to what you guess is a small changing area. Cabinets left open, again each handle corresponding the key colours. You find a lavender ribbon and peer around the empty space, contemplating getting undressed.
Gathering courage you pull the strings in your shirt slack, slipping your arms from the sleeves and pulling it over your head. Tepid air breathes over your skin as you push down your pants, stepping out of them where they pool at your feet. Your clothes are folded and left on the shelf, boots lined neatly by the doorway.
Further in is an open space covered in tiles of smooth green. There are low stools and basins with natural running water, washcloths and soaps. While unpracticed you are at least somewhat familiar with bathhouse etiquette. Sitting hesitantly, hissing as your bare thighs meet the cool wood, you dip one of the cloths to soak and begin to scrub at your body.
The knots in your muscles become undone with the repetitive motions, again and again until you’re lathered in bubbles. You breathe in, feeling the humidity cling to your lungs, and rinse away the soaps.
Eventually you dub yourself clean enough to enter the baths. The seafoam tiles soon taper to stone that borders the baths. You take in the tall ceiling with beautiful carvings along the walls and high placed glass windows allowing the moon to shine in easily. The patterns are comfortingly familiar. Shells, waves, gulls, rock formations and arches. Though the bathhouse is much warmer, hot tendrils of steam rising from the bubbling water.
Penumbral light glinted on the water's surface. It held a distinct earthy scent, rolling in from the nearby springs. Again, you are reminded of a tide pool, but deeper. Clear and clean and natural. What immediately seizes your attention is the familiar man sitting close by, a head of wet golden hair still somehow holding its shape, the loose strands that typically make up his braid now tucked behind his ear.
Katsuki tips back to rest on the bath's edge. A thin white towel is laid across his face. Your gaze follows the slope of his shoulders, roving over his defined chest, skin pink with the heat. Rivulets run between his pecs to his sternum, lower body distorted below the water but patently bare, same as you. You exhale a breath you hadn’t known you were holding and quickly look away from his lap.
Time spent with Katsuki taught you that he hated being treated delicately. Tip toeing around this was not an option. You would join him in the baths and behave as normal. But—
Humans were fickle about nakedness. Where should you sit? What is an appropriate distance? Straying too far could make him defensive, yet getting too close might—
“Are you going to stand there all night?”
Startled, the soles of your feet almost slip on the smoothed stone. “You knew it was me?”
Katsuki scoffs. The towel remains over his eyes, obstructing his view, that which you were grateful for. Your previous indifference had so abruptly burgeoned into apprehension. Just the thought that he might see you this glaringly bare and skinless, a body without boundaries, made your stomach swoop. It is a peculiar sensation; you wanted him to look and you didn’t.
“Nobody else thinks that loud. Unless you’re Deku,” you can imagine his eyes rolling, the exasperation clear in his voice, though not unkind. The corded muscles in his shoulders shift beautifully as his arm stretches across the bath’s edge, wrist limp to allow his fingertips to breach the surface. He flicks the water in your direction, creating capillary waves. “Just— fuckin’ get in already”.
“Right,” you laugh quietly under your breath, descending the steps into the baths. The heated water is soothing, climbing the length of your lengths, eventually coming to rest above your hips.
You sink near to him and pointedly keep your eyes above his collar. Katsuki neither twitches nor acknowledges your approach. In fact, you aren’t sure he is even breathing. It occurs to you that he too could be nervous, tempted to look but refraining. The possibility of being wanted by him brings a sudden sharp sort of awareness that slides through you and heightens your senses.
Outstretched fingertips brush featherlight between your shoulder blades where you lean back against the wall. You sit with your knees close to your breast, relieved to be covered. “I thought you were heading to bed,” you comment quietly.
“Saw the path and followed it,” he replies, stiff shoulder jerking as he shrugs. “Wanted some quiet”.
A deep pink flush is spreading across his collarbones, clawing up the column of his throat. Your rational mind knows it is caused by the steam, yet the greedy part of you, the part so distinctly human, wants to know if you affect him as much as he affects you.
These feelings had gradually been accumulating since the very beginning. You’ve no idea where to put them. The voice in your hindbrain all but panics at the idea of leaving. You’ve spent a lifetime listening to your instincts and they’re telling you to keep your place at his side.
You inhale until the pressure in your chest is smothered by your lungs and your heart beat slows. Exhale. The water shifts in sync with your subtle movement. Emboldened by the wine in your veins you slide closer. The soft hair on your legs prickles, everything in you gravitating toward him. Katsuki doesn’t acknowledge it.
“Always staring,” a flustered growl snaps you back to reality. “You got something to say to me?”
“No,” you answer too quickly.
“Good,” his upper body sinking lower. After a length of silence it must get to him. Voice pitched low, as though afraid to disturb the atmosphere, he mutters, “Ever had a bath this big, back at that shitty castle?”
You snort. He turns at the sound and the surface ripples as you quickly smother it with your wet palm. It’s easy to picture the searing glare beneath the face towel. “Sorry. It’s just,” your mouth pulls into a tipsy grin. “All things considered, this place is pretty small to me”.
“Dumbass. You know what I meant,” he huffs, not bothering to hide his fond exasperation. “The sea doesn’t count”.
Humans are cute, you concluded. Trying to emulate the ocean in their warm wooden structures. “It counts,” you insist, moving closer still. You’re giddy in the water, with him. Like you’re sharing some special part of yourself in a strange way. “Have you been?”
A rough hum, “Where?”
“The sea”.
“Which one?”
The steam must be making you light headed. You’re tucked to his side again. Thigh to thigh. Skin against skin. You are acutely aware of your shared nakedness. His arm has slipped over the bath's edge to drape around your shoulders. “The closest, obviously. Or any of them,” you knock your knees together. “It’s not like you to be purposefully obtuse”.
“Big attitude for a little fish,” he mutters, free hand reaching for the towel, sliding it up to his hairline and revealing a crooked grin. Your heart squeezes. “Course I’ve been in the ocean. Flown over it on Red a few times too”.
You want to do that, too. To bear witness to the wind driving the currents from above, feel the sea salt spray sharp on your cheeks, touch the unreachable seam where your two worlds become indistinguishable.
“Never bathed in it, though?”
“No,” he drawled, an impatient edge to his tone. “I don’t plan on giving the finfolk an eyeful of my dick anytime soon”.
You laugh, “Like you are now, you mean?”
Katsuki tears off the face towel before you’ve any time to process it. The water thrashes. You daren’t look away. His stare has a certain ferality, pupils dilated, fair lashes damp from the steam and clumped into little spikes; it pins you in place like prey.
The blush across his chest is matched in his cheeks. A droplet slides down the delicate slope of his nose. You feel the surface of the water calm and settle just above your breast. You watch his gaze flicker reflexively to them, then to the ceiling, then clamping shut with a growl. Apprehension pulses through you and your thighs clench.
“You—” he inhales sharply, gathering his thoughts. You track the movement of his tongue as it swipes across his lips. Thickly, Katsuki asks, “What are you trying to do here, exactly?”
A sense of dejection comes over you and your immediate response is to feign innocence. “Soak with you,” which is no more than a half truth. You attempt to create some distance and his arm coils around your waist. Any effort to twist away from him proves futile; a snake that constricts the more you struggle. He doesn’t allow you to slip away, hand hot at your hip.
“Yeah?” but there’s no real bite, no vitriol as he drags you closer. “Soaking, s’that what you call this? Rubbing up against me, practically climbing into my lap?”
You might feel demeaned if not for the lust hemming his words. His grip is bruising, fingers kneading soft flesh. You can see this for what it is— a choice, a question. He’s confused, and wanting. Presenting an opportunity for you to change your mind in the face of his callousness. Katsuki is kind, in his own way.
Your palms come to rest over his sternum, pushing with no real effort, an accomplice in whatever cat and mouse game he was trying to play. His breathing picks up, abdomen clenching. You stare where bodies meet, low light reflecting off the wet sheen. Beneath your touch his heartbeat ricochets around his ribs.
Katsuki calls you. Your name is barely above a whisper. Peering up through your lashes as his hand comes to cup your nape, the other massages simple shapes into your hip, his fingers splayed across your navel. You exhale shakily as his pinky fits into the crease of your thigh.
He cradles your nape, guides you into his magnetism, and then you’re tilting— your world with it— into a careful kiss. Static blankets your thoughts. Katsuki’s lips slot over your own, a gentle press that quickly grows feverish as your tongue traces the seam of his mouth.
Exhaling harshly through his nose he drags you over his lap, the bath water splashing onto the stone tiles, holding you to his front in a way that makes it difficult to discern where you end and he begins. You have all of him now. Half hard under you and tense like he was exerting effort not to do anything about it. Hands wandering, mapping out the topography of your body, clutching greedily at your thighs. Smoke fills your throat, a tang of explosive magic lingering in the grooves of your teeth.
Minutes passed imperceptibly. You leave it feeling as though all the sinew in your body had unravelled, undone in his embrace like loose skeins of yarn. Katsuki doesn’t appear any more composed than you are; staring at you, slack with hunger, jaw relaxed the way a beast would do to taste the air. Palms cupping his cheeks, thumbs moving in idle back and forth motions under his eyes, you smile—
“Katsuki,” you murmur reverently. For reasons you can’t understand, it wakes him up. Snaps him out of his stupor. Panic flits over his features and you’re being pushed away, deposited back into the water. It rocks with the abrupt movement, waves breaking against your chest as he brusquely wades toward the steps with the small towel barely covering his modesty.
Echoing louder now, “Katsuki?”
And he was gone.
You stare at the entrance to the baths for a long time, willing him to return. You stare until your eyes sting and you’re forced to blink. All that’s left is the soft sound of the running springs, your shallow breath, and the muffled chanting of a few drunken men.
An emptiness makes home in your chest. Bereft, you follow in his steps, exiting the baths and heading to the changing room. You pat yourself down, rough towel absorbing the moisture, and pull on your clothes.
A hopeful spark catches when a figure ducks in under the curtain. Snuffed out, then, when Mina greets you cheerily. She seems to have sobered up for the most part, more coherent than you’d last seen her.
“You took a dip too?” she bounces on the balls of her feet as she undoes her shirt buttons, oblivious to your somber disposition. “I saw Bakugo come from this way too. Looked a little constipated if you ask me. I thought hot baths were supposed to relax you, not—”
Finally, she looks at you. Her voice stops as her brows pinch into a frown. You offer a brittle smile and endure the scrutiny. “Did something happen?” she asks worriedly.
Your throat closes up. Your teeth sink into your cheek and lower your gaze to the tiled floor, cracks overlapping as your vision blurs. Mina reaches for you. She halts in your periphery, thoughts and actions misaligned. A flash of hesitance, and then determination. She strides across the threshold to pull you into an embrace. Her arms slip around your shoulders, crossing over one another at your nape, tightening.
The tension begins to soften. Your body slumps, sinking into her kindhearted warmth as the rigidity weakens with your resolve. Bowing into the crook of her neck, you inhale her gentle scent. A soliflore smell, a flower you don’t know the name of, earthy undertones and hints of saké.
Your eyes are wet. Tears cling to your lashes as you blink. The moths dancing in the lamp light blurs, small specks of white stretching and flickering like pallid butterflies. Breathing shuttered, there’s a thickness in your throat that squeezes your voice into a frail whisper.
“Thank you”.
She hums, rubbing a comforting hand along the top of your spine. Her natural heat seeps through the thin fabric of your shirt. Though her arms are muscled they are also supple, like her chest, like her waist. You haven’t been held like this since you last saw your podmates.
After a few beats she asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”
You shake your head, grasping your bearings, “No”. It’s best left between you and Katsuki.
“If you’re sure,” Mina gives a final crushing hug before releasing you. “I’m bunking with Sero tonight. Knock if you need anything”.
“I will,” you say on the end of a shuddering exhale. “I’ll see you in the morning”.
She hums, watching apprehensively as you make your way through the changing rooms. The retention of her heat clings to your clothing when you step into the cold night air. Your boots rub at the sore skin around your ankles, fitting loose, having foregone tying the laces. They encumber your steps, obtrusively loud and ungainly on your journey up the stairwell.
A closed door should not be so daunting. Your hand hovers over the handle, steadily turning it, flinching as the locks click open. Low light floods in from the hallway and your eyes adjust to the darkness between blinks, the shape of a figure under the covers sharpening into view. Katsuki is laid on his back, hand disappearing under the pillow beneath his head where your bunched up pelt resides.
Hesitant, you shut the door and kick off your dirty shoes. You tiptoe around the frame and climb into bed. You try to alleviate your weight, balanced between your hands and knees so the mattress won’t dip, yet it is futile. “I’m sorry, Katsuki,” you whisper, feeling fragile as you lower into the linens. He’s awake, you can tell despite his efforts to appear otherwise, because you feel him stroking your sealskin between his thumb and forefinger.
“…Shouldn’t have done that,” his cadence is unsettlingly calm; gently sheathing the sharp words. “We’ve been getting too comfortable, letting shit influence us. It was just the magic talking”.
What?
“It’s not—”
“Go to sleep,” the volume raises in momentary frustration, but as quick as it came, anger dissipating. Dropping his head into the pillows he looks as defeated as you feel. He closes his eyes. “I won’t fuckin’ do anything to you so just. Sleep”.
You try, fitfully. The atmosphere is unbearable, keeping you glued to the far side of the bed lest you accidentally touch one another. Pressing your fingertips to your lips, you remember. You ache. You stare into the shadows and wonder at what point did the intentions become so crossed.
Katsuki valued the right to choose above all else. You liked that about him. He respected and surrounded himself with people who steered their own destiny, marching to the beat of his own drum; a rhythm you had fortuitously interrupted. In his mind he’d given into a temptation, and that act of indulgence was somehow the same as losing in battle.
Katsuki viewed your relationship as an infliction he needed to fight against.
That knowledge hurts you in ways you hadn’t expected. The words “we’re getting too comfortable” reverberated around your skull. Perhaps he was right. Somewhere along the lines you forgot that these truly were temporary circumstances, childishly wishing that maybe he’d come to love you, that you could simply accept this reality and grow into each other like a child into new shoes.
You blink. Linens rise and fall with his shallow breath. Katsuki’s mouth is open, the corner of his mouth wet with drool. His lips smack together as he bundles you closer. Unconscious, yet still seeking you out. He’s devastating even when he’s not trying to be.
Sleep feels impossible.
Then you wake.
Morning spills her dewy light throughout the room. Katsuki’s side of the bed is empty— made up and tucked at the corners. Cold. You are suddenly a distance apart and scrambling to make it all better again.
You push up into a sitting position. The bedsheets shift and pool around your hips, creasing the perfect slate Katsuki left. You rummage for the pelt hidden behind the pillows, dragging it out and around your shoulders, ducking your nose into the dark fur for comfort before tying it to your midriff.
Judging by the sun’s position you would guess it is still quite early. Sluggish movement can be heard through the thin walls, indicating that others are awake. Knowing Katsuki he would want to set off early to find Uraraka, especially after last night.
Another figure joins you in the hallway. Kaminari remains unaware of your presence as he fiddles clumsily with the key, squawking when it almost slips between his fingers. He’s dishevelled, shirt half tucked into his belt, cuffs undone and hung off his wrists; there’s still an impression of his pillow printed on his left cheek.
Having finally turned the lock, Kaminari spins on his heel with a happy hum. The tune escalates into a shriek as he notices you standing a few feet away. “Holy—! Warn a guy, would ya?” he clutches at his chest, exhaling harshly. “I think my heart just stopped”.
“Sorry Kaminari,” amused by his shrill intonation and melodramatics, you smile for the first time that morning. It exaggerates the bags under your eyes. “Did you sleep well?”
“Like a baby,” he falls into step with you, knocking your elbows together on your way out into the stairwell. “I don’t think you can say the same, though,” his mouth twists into a smirk, “did Kacchan keep you up all night?”
Normally the teasing wouldn’t bother you. In many ways you saw it as a sign of acceptance into the group. Now you wince like somebody had carelessly pressed a bruise on your body. Kaminari, for all his obliviousness, knows when to drop the masquerade.
Your smile tightens uncomfortably as his fingers circle your wrist. In daylight you are left feeling exposed, unable to temper the regret written so plainly across your face. His mouth opens and shuts, searching fruitlessly for the right words, only to be interrupted by a callous shout from below.
Katsuki’s voice is incredibly distinct. He’s yelling, which is nothing new, but now it is with genuine frustration. Kirishima, Mina and Sero are there alongside him, speaking in low tones as you would to an untamed animal.
Kaminari tugs at your sleeve and gives you a meaningful glance, gently coaxing you to the bottom of the stairs. He must’ve at least connected Katsuki’s poor mood with your own. “Kacchan, my man. It is too early for all this shouting,” he implored, settling back into his jovial self.
You collect yourself, trying to retain shape and rationality as Kaminari draws Katsuki’s ire. Those vermillion eyes rove over you, head to toe, before flickering to the man on your right. Fast, like he’s afraid to look too long. Nostrils flare. The warm puff of air from his nose is visible in the cool air.
“It’s late enough. What took you so long?” Katsuki snarled, poking a finger harshly between Kaminari’s eyebrows. “The keep told me cheeks is planning on leaving today, so all of you get moving”.
Kaminari pouts, rubbing at the spot. The pale skin turns slightly pink. Unheeding of the wary scrutiny he is receiving, Katsuki charges onwards in expectation that everyone will follow. Kirishima raises a brow at his shape verbiage but doesn’t comment. He takes you under his arm in a half hug, sharing a look of understanding with Mina and the others.
Sero recounts their findings. According to the townspeople, Uraraka, the occultist, landed her abode miles outside of their bounds and set up wards in the valley to confuse strangers. It steered them in opposing directions and sent them in circles, practically making her impossible to find. You’re worried clear up until your group crests the precipice of a steep hill several hours later.
You take in the gentle undulations of earth and fauna. Grass tall enough to brush your shoulders, wildflowers and weeds hugging the barely worn path, sparingly tended nature left to flourish. The magic becomes apparent with proximity. It hangs in the air like humidity, an unnatural sheen muddying your vision. Katsuki continued with brass-bound determination; weaving skilfully through the runes, barrier fracturing under the pressure of his explosive palms.
There’s a quaint cottage in the middle of the glen, done up with a sweet ivy on the walls, latticed strips of wood around the windows, and a cobbled chimney towering from the pink tiled roof. Each windowsill appeared to have a different unidentifiable herb growing on it. A small, circular stained glass window in the door refracted the afternoon light, a knocker below it. Hanging by the door frame is a wind chime, shells tied to strings producing delicate crisp sounds in the breeze; in the effort to knock, Katsuki shoulders it carelessly, and the tune turns sour.
His fist comes down with hard momentum, stopped midway by another. “Be careful,” Kirishima gently chides. Katsuki shoves his hand off, sparing him an incredulous glare, which the shifter subjugates with a pointed reminder: “She won't help you if you bust her door down, bro. Play nice”.
Katsuki grunted his understanding, jaw clenched. He raps his knuckles on the wood. The sound is dull, and you stare down at your scuffed boots as an unpleasant pang of anxiety knocks around your chest. A voice shouts from inside, somebody scurrying around, then the door is pulled open.
“Can I—Bakugo?!”
“Uraraka,” Katsuki greets bluntly, giving a short nod. It is the first time you’ve ever heard him say her name. His hands flex at his sides, restless. Through gritted teeth he adds, “Deku sent me. I need your help with something”.
“Oh,” Uraraka exhales in disbelief. She steps back, pink slippered feet in your periphery. “Come in, then. I haven’t seen you guys in forever…”
Their voices fade into the background. All at once subconscious acts like breathing and blinking become tiresome. Hearing him let go of his pride felt so final. You fall away, stuck in a cold fog. Your gait is uneven as you remind yourself to put one foot in front of the other, incognisant to the worried looks thrown your way.
You remember being seated on a plush feather-pillowed sofa. Hands running over your shoulders, grounding you. You reach for your pelt, sinking fingers into the downy fur, and find no comfort in it. Now you’re here it feels more like a husk, leaden and hollow, ready for you to be stuffed into.
“You married a selkie by accident?” Uraraka blanched, her volume rousing you from your haze. “You know, Bakugo, for someone so smart your ignorance is truly astounding”.
“Can you fucking reverse it or not?”
“Reverse it. Are you kidding? You’re not. Gods, Bakugo—breaking a soul bond isn’t common,” Uraraka snaps, rubbing roughly at her eyelids as she loses patience. You feel a pang of guilt, that which worsens as it unearths the hope that perhaps she wouldn’t be able to separate you from him. “Most of the methods are based on myth. You realise it will be incredibly painful, and possibly for nothing?”
You take in the surroundings while they continue to bicker. The cottage is modest. A small foyer leads to the living space, rugs of various shapes and colours laid to insulate a path through the house, runes and scrawls carved into the hardwood walls. Logs presumably for fuelling the hearth monopolise much of the space, spilling out from the nook in which they’re stacked. There is nothing particularly otherworldly, at least not where you can see it. Uraraka obviously lives within her means, a humble and frugal person despite wielding magic of her calibre.
“I do have something I can try, ” she sighs with a sidelong glance. The skin on her lip breaks between her teeth. Your prolonged silence has likely done nothing to reassure her. You try to feign interest, to smile and express gratitude, but she grimaces.
“What do we have to do?”
“Essentially I can sever the bond at the stem but not the root,” the group is quiet, tense as they listen. Mina’s grip is bruising, as though making sure you were still there. “The dissolution of your marriage will only be complete when the selkie returns to the sea. Within a day or two they’ll… forget you”.
You sense the atmosphere darken. Katsuki shifts his weight in your periphery. Neither one of you can look at the other. Whether he’s threatened by your feelings or ashamed of them you can’t be sure, but what you know is that they are real, sown and tended in the weeks you spent together.
Kirishima exhales a shuddered breath. His big body crouches before you, warm hand resting on your knee. Kaminari and Sero linger on either side, watching over the scene, wearing grief plainly on their faces. A broken part of you wants to laugh. They are acting as if this is your wake.
“Are you sure about this?” he implores, discreet and unintentionally cruel. If you were to say no, what of you then? Nothing to do but follow them on their journey, dragging along like the hide of some shorn animal. Stuck waiting for Katsuki to resent you over an incredibly frustrating and misplaced presumption that he played a part in fabricating your thoughts and feelings.
Uraraka’s method may well cleave the ties created in your accidental matrimony. You trust in her capabilities because Katsuki clearly respects them. You’ll say yes. And after it all, when your soul has been excavated, when you’ve gone home crying to your mother, rocked to sleep in her gentle undertow, you will still stubbornly want him.
The thought comes unbidden, a sudden clarity that overcomes you. At that point he would have no room to question your will. “I’m sure,” you say, still breathless with the realisation. “You can go ahead with it, Uraraka”.
Hesitating in her movement, Uraraka considers you for a moment longer before disappearing down the hall. When she returns she pulls seven tear shaped crystals from a velvet satchel. Dread churns in your stomach, sensing the energy emanating from them.
She begins to recite machinations beyond your comprehension. Opalescent rays of light burst from within her enclosed fist where it pressed against her mouth, dappling sentient shadows across her face, now taut with concentration. Her features ripple and distort, not unlike a reflection on the ocean's surface, then fades into obscurity as the spell settles into its conduit.
Uraraka hands the lustre of the stone to you, knuckles pale as she squeezes the magic out into your cupped palms. As a pup you would try to drink sunlight, specks chased across the seabed as the clouds shifted, caught like a cat to a mouse only to remain empty handed. Light was not made up of solid matter— it was intangible. To be felt, seen, but not touched.
Yet it is swirling in your hands like that lovely warm wine from the night before, slipping through the thin cracks in your fingers. “Drink it,” she coaxes gently.
You look at Katsuki. His eyes flicker up to meet your own. There’s an awful urgency coursing through your body, frozen like a fawn, something inside willing you to stop. Begging him to speak up. He lowers his gaze, expression pinched and inwardly furious.
Heel to chin, you tip your head back as if drinking from a cup. Her magic is entirely flavourless, waning with your own imagination as if it were allowing you to choose the taste yourself. The consistency is like steam; inhaled rather than swallowed, and hot on the roof of your mouth.
Elemental magic was external in the way it bursts forth from the user, often causing flesh wounds or dramatic change in the terrain. You think of Katsuki, the calamity at his fingertips, juxtaposed by the tender manner in which he would always touch you, cauterising your fear. Uraraka’s magic is unforgiving and uniquely invasive. It is so much worse than being burned.
It spreads through your sinuses like searing wildfire, pressure balloons behind your eye sockets, undoing the seams that make up the very fabric of your being. Waves of nausea engulf you, throat tight and constricted. Breathing laboured and irregular, you fight against the urge to retch it all up.
It’s too much. The incorporeal spell pierces through your mind, tearing at the bond, more overwhelming than anything you’ve ever been dealt. Knife-like pain persists after her chanting stops. You wince and cradle your head, weeping as it passes. Left in its wake is a muted soreness throbbing across your brain.
“Hi,” Uraraka is before you, ducking to examine for any injury. Careful, her fingers encircle your wrists and pry your hands away. “You’re okay. Can you look at me?”
You squint, reluctant to blink and irritate the soreness around your eyes. “How’s your vision?” she asked, sotto voce. Her touch is deliberate and gentle, slightly pulling down your bottom eyelids, petting over your jaw and down the nape of your neck, feeling for something. “Does anything feel wrong, or out of place?”
Wrong? your mind echoes. Out of place? Cold is creeping into your muscles, gritty and dense like wet sand. You’re unnerved by the veil of apathy that settles around you. “I don’t think I’m injured. The light is more intense. Hurts,” you admit, voice breaking.
Everything that remains the same yet is somehow more drab, lacking colour and difficult to look at. Your friends, clinging to each other. Your Katsuki, staring back at you. “But I can still see everything”.
“Good,” she breathes, relief entirely palpable. If this is success then you wonder what the worst outcome might’ve been. “That’s good. If you reach for the bond, is it there?”
You’re not sure what she means. Seeking connection you clutch your sealskin to your front, kneading at the familiar fur. It’s minor but it’s back— the voice belonging to the tide, beckoning you to shift again. “I don’t think so,” you reply.
“Then there’s only one thing left to do,” Uraraka smiles and covers your hands with her own. You sense the tips of her fingers ever so slightly across your collar where they brush the pelt bunched in your fists. “You’re free now. You can go back home”.
Her soothing countenance might as well be dry grass to your precipitous anger. “Right,” you deadpan, voice entirely devoid of emotion. Best kept that way, lest you release all your bubbling frustrations onto a woman that only wanted to help you; in her eyes—and the rest—you were just another trapped, useless selkie.
That anger carries you to your feet. You want to cry but the tears don’t come. When you exit the cottage with a curt bow and a ‘thank you’ you find yourself in the lead for once, marching ahead of the group. They remain a few feet behind, muttering amongst each other. Without the view of Katsuki’s back you feel lonely. Even so you keep your hurried pace, too afraid to turn around and be inundated with questions.
The journey back passes in a blur. Hours, surely, because you’re ready to pass out from the exertion. Loose dirt and geosmin clings to your clothes. Shadows stretch across the emptying streets as dark cloud cover canopies the town, sparse instances of light rainfall that stick to your skin. There's a chill in the air now, a bite to it that rattles your bones and quickens your breath. It’s damp, imbued with the scent of sea salt.
You don’t stop, not when the desperate calls of your name begin. Further up the dock is lit golden, lanterns lining cobbled roads and emitting a warm orange glow. You trudge through the quieting bustle, workers scurrying to shelter, while enduring a pervasive sense of wrongness.
You don’t know what to do with this freedom, this precipice, so joyless and empty. Slowing to descend weather-worn steps onto the beach there’s a presence at your heel. “Shit. Would you slow—!” Katsuki moves to stop you. His fingers flex, start to close around your wrist. Then they hesitate and fall away, clenching at his side until all the blood recedes from his knuckles. “You don’t need to immediately run off into the damn water”.
“It’s easier this way,” and quicker, you think.
“What?”
Listening to the sea sings an ancient litany, you let your anger wash away with the oncoming tide. The whiplash is intense. Your lips tremble, pulling into a tearful smile, laughter bubbling up through your chest, choked by the swell in your throat. “I think I understand why you’re always yelling now,” cumulus clouds pass overhead and bring with them a curtain of rain. “Being human is very melodramatic”.
Katsuki clearly hadn’t expected that, of all things. His expression softens in his surprise. The short hairs by his temples are laid flat, braid swinging in the breeze, the fur around his cloak dark and saturated. “That’s what this is? Baby’s first tantrum?” his tone is mean, and your hackles would rise if he were not visibly deflating. Katsuki reacts to vulnerability like a wounded dog. He laughs despite himself and scratches at his neck, “Fuck. I thought you’d be happy, or something close to it”.
Standing a few feet behind him, Kirishima, Sero, Mina and Kaminari are linked together, waiting to approach. They remain in your line of sight as you consider the barbarian in front of you. A cold shock billows through his cloak, a wave crashing onto the shore. He shivers, but remains stubbornly rooted to the steps.
“I’m not happy,” you lamented. “I’m going to miss you. You are an impossible man, Katsuki. Impossible to forget. I wish you’d believe that”.
Katsuki’s mouth opens and shuts. Silence falls once again, and he can’t find the words to fill it. Your fingers work at the belt keeping your hide secure, tugging it loose and letting the sealskin unfurl, blanketing the length of your body.
Mina takes this as an indication that you are leaving. She rushes ahead, stumbling past a stunned Katsuki, gathering you into her arms. The pelt is trapped between your bodies as you curl into the embrace. You feel yourself warm up, the wet winds rolling off the sea obstructed by three larger figures trailing right behind her, encasing you in a group hug.
Constricted from all sides, the arms around your waist tighten. Mina’s nails dig in, and she shakes you gently in an attempt to scold you, “Don’t go leaving us without a proper goodbye”.
Kirishima is at your back. He must be. The height, the rough skin, the hard spikes in his hair poking at your nape where he inhales deeply, memorising your scent. Sero flanks your left, resting his head on the shifter's shoulder as dark eyes watch you. Kaminari bears down his weight, slumping against your right, a sour metallic taste at the back of your throat as the grip on his magic loosens with emotion.
It feels wrong without Katsuki. You crane your neck and look for him. The sight of him dithering off to the side, alone and wearing a visage of muted guilt, makes your insides twist. Your hand bursts through a crevice in the huddle, coaxing him over.
He comes. Mina drags him into the middle without fanfare, and enclose around you in a last ditch effort to keep you together. “This is the worst,” Kaminari snivelled. “It’s like my parents are divorcing all over again”.
Katsuki weakens to it. Gives a quiet, choked laugh and it blows warm across your temple. You’d know his hands anywhere. Hesitant, they rest on your hips. You close your eyes and centre yourself in the present, tilting your head to rest on his collar. The motion drags your lips up to his jugular and you kiss the words against the damp skin, thicker than intended, “I’m—really, so happy I met you all”.
The briny air greets you when they finally step away. Mina rubs harshly at her eyes as your feet sink into the sand. There are stragglers by the port but nobody along the beach, so they trail after you to the shore, equal parts unwilling to leave and curious about your selkie form.
You’re pointedly aware of their presence as you shake out your fur. You hold it to your face for a moment, blocking out the wind, the light and the rain with how insulated it is, before setting it on the sand. Kaminari coughs, the group spinning on their heels when you begin to undress. Katsuki does not.
Kicking off your boots as you fiddle with your shirt strings, you consider the barbarian, impressing his appearance behind your eyes for a final time. “What will you do after this?”
Broad shoulders rise and fall as he sighs. Looks up to the sky, frowning, a blush on his cheeks. “Go further inland to one of the bigger cities to find something to pay back Deku, I guess. Circle around, head back, and then home”.
Shirt discarded, you unbutton your pants, letting them fall down your thighs, and step out of them. “How long will you be in the city?”
Shrugging, he grunts, “A week at most”.
That’s good. Long enough to wait out the final stages and prove his place in your memory. You nod, spine straightening with determination. “When you circle back I want you to stop here again. Just for a day”.
That half lidded gaze slides over to you, squinting. Pointedly kept above the shoulders. Searching. “Why?”
The tide crawls further ashore. A wave breaks around your ankles. Your toes wiggle in the sand, sinking as it is displaced, a small smile curling at your lips. You bend to grab the pelt and slide it around your shoulders like a coat. It’s comforting, familiar. Energy thrums at the surface of your skin, ready to pull. But you wait.
“In a week. Promise me?” you say without explanation.
Katsuki swallows. Eyes boring into yours. His jaw shifts. Then he nods, tersely. Reassured by this you hold the coat tighter, chin tucked as you steady your breathing. Consciously, you reach inward, drawing upon the pelt.
And you change. Falling to your knees, cold water biting at your thighs, you crumple in the sand, body shrinking as flesh and fur meld together. It’s painful after so long, unsettling to be snapped back abruptly into your hindbrain, but the discomfort eases quickly, like stretching a muscle.
You lift your upper body, nose flat and wide and twitching, scenting the air. The sand sifts under bootstrapped feet. A human approaches, beautiful and familiar, lowering into a crouch as you freeze. Forearms resting on his knees, he holds out his fingers. Faintly smoky, a mix of spice and earth.
The way in which this man appraises your form is uncomfortably solemn. Vacuous expression betrayed by the gentle light in his eyes. He smiles ruefully and readies himself to speak. Alight with a bitterness that is vaguely accusatory in the oncoming darkness he says, “Already forgot us, didn’t you?”
It steals the breath right from your lungs. Recognition strikes through you. Bakugo Katsuki. The thought is alarmingly fleeting, almost evading your grasp. Nostrils flaring, you drag your body forward to wipe the look of self-deprecation from his face. You nudge your snout into his hand, not shying away from the fierce elemental energy radiating from his palms. You unhinge your jaw, canines gently indenting the heel, as if to scold him.
He laughs, disbelief bleeding into the sound. It beckons his pod, more humans— one not so human. “Don’t fuckin’ scare them,” Katsuki calls over his shoulder. Not once do his eyes stray from you.
A thick tang of draconic magic overwhelms your senses as the largest in the group mirrors Katsuki, making himself impossibly small, aware of his magnitude and the imbalance between your species. “Wow…” the shifter, Kirishima, breathes in awe, genuine rather than tainted with greed. “So cute”.
More people come closer. Their faces filter through your memories in bits and pieces, stitching together into a patchwork timeline. “Yeah…” Mina echoes the sentiment. She gets on her knees, doesn’t care when the waves drench her skirt. “You’re beautiful like this too,” holding her hand an inch away from your skin, she asks, “Can we pet you?”
Five fingers to your scruff, one hard pull and you could be torn from your rudimentary shell. Human hands are dangerous but not these ones. You give a short tonal whine and hope she interprets it as permission. They do, taking turns tracing the marbled fur and clawed flippers, murmuring awe filled words.
The tides are high, wrapping around and coaxing you into their arms. You look toward the horizon and the itch grows. A seamless vista of clouded sky. Warm mouths litter the top of your head with kisses, their blunt human teeth behind soft lips, juxtaposed by rough, barely decipherable mutterings of something that sounds mournful.
Mina sniffles as Kirishima helps her to her feet and they wade backwards toward the port. Katsuki cups your muzzle in his palms, searing where his thumbs swoop beneath your cheekbones, brushing over the whiskers by your nose. “Stay safe out there, yeah? Don’t get eaten by a shark or whatever,” he bends, bringing your foreheads together as if to impress his thoughts onto you. “I won't wait around for a weakling”.
You can only hope he saw the promise held in your eyes as you stare at his retreating back. The swelling waves pull you into the current, submerged until only your head is above the surface. In the distance your pod breaks into cheers. They line up on the beach, jumping high as their legs will allow, waving their long arms in the air.
A descending chorus of trills build in your own throat, mellifluous and loud enough to cut through the wind and the waves. Noise becomes muffled as you’re submerged into the dense water. Wrapped up in brine the ambience fills your head. It pushes out rational thought, drawing only instinct to the forefront.
Your vision adjusts quickly to the dark the further you swim. Stretch your flippers and sweep them down like a dragon's wing, flying through the depths until you tire. Coming to an ocean shelf, there you rest. Cradled by a moving, ever evolving element. Creatures big and small pass by. Fish with vermillion scales haloing wide faces dart in and out of your dreams, shimmering under weak streams of sunlight.
The shifting tide keeps you cognisant. You linger close to the surface to monitor the sun. Days pass and you are unbearably alone. It is harrowing; this unending, sombre ache. You think of Katsuki. Repeat his name until it sounds foreign. You recall his handsome face, the way his eyes always seemed brighter in the early dawn, how his nose would wrinkle if you stared too long, like he’d tasted something bitter. You miss him.
Come the week’s end you’ve become something else, something new. Irrevocably changed by love’s hand. You recognise that you exist in two worlds: as a selkie, tethered to the seabed and embraced by buoyancy, and as a human, struggling against the currents, compelled back to land—
To Katsuki.
You glide through the waves, riding them as they swell and break onto the shore. Undulating your body, the hitching motion pulls you forward, wriggling up into a cluster of rock pools, safe from any onlookers. You wait there, chin propped on the shoulder of a jagged stone to observe the beach.
He finds you there beneath an almost oppressive dusk. The approaching footfalls command attention, announcing his arrival. You slink into the shadows for a moment, detailing the subtleties in Katsuki’s expression on his march along the sand, pinching more and more as he casts he searches the beach. The breeze ripples through the notorious red cloak, fur collar tickling his cheeks. Shirtless, wearing his scars proudly. His pants sit low on his hips, adorning various belts and jewels. Warmth curls up in your chest at the sight of him. Giddy. You remember him.
You lift your head. His focus immediately latches onto the movement. A croon rumbles in your throat as he approaches. He climbs up onto the rock, towering over you, his body obstructing the evening sun. It halos around his golden hair. The braid by his ear falls forward as his head tilts, squinting to get a good look at you.
The laughter lines by his eyes deepen, brow creasing. Almost slipping as he climbs down, Katsuki frowns at the lack of traction on the surface. You laugh and it comes out like a rough snort. The shallow pools splash loudly under his boots upon landing. He curls his upper lip at you, “Laugh at me and I’ll kill you”.
You do so again, more deliberate this time. He senses your sarcasm and flicks water at you. Your whiskers twitch, subtly tasting the air. He slumps hard on one of the flatter ridges and clicks his tongue. “This better be you and not some random fuckin’ seal I’m talking to,” he mutters, embarrassed.
Unwilling to prolong your reunion any longer, you shed your pelt. Joints slot into place, the sealskin receding, your human form unearthing as it loosens and pools around your naked lap. Katsuki watches the air bite at your skin, nipples pebbling as you shiver.
“Katsuki,” you rest your cheek on his thigh, knelt between his legs. You let him take it all in. Satisfied with his assessment of you his fiery eyes meet yours.
“Almost didn’t come. Figured you wouldn’t be here,” he intoned gruffly, chin dimpling as he juts his bottom lip. “You were supposed to forget about everything”.
You nod, mouth curling into a helpless smile. Your fingers flex and you feel the muscles jump underneath, “I know”.
Katsuki exhales a long breath, fists clenched tight in his lap with obvious restraint. “Why didn’t you?” his eyes track the movements of your hands. “It worked, I know it did. Cheeks doesn’t do shit halfway. I felt when… So what the hell are you doing back here?”
You pause when his words register, suddenly off kilter. There it is again, the displeased wrinkle on the bridge of his nose. You had never considered that he, too, would’ve experienced the connection. Admittedly a naive oversight on your part—but he never mentioned it. You figured it was just a selkie thing. Perhaps, all that time, he had been contending with his own feelings as well as yours. Wondering if he could trust himself, if they were true.
Vows dissolved, he still chose to come back for you. To bet on that slim chance. Just as you did.
The knowledge compels you to touch him more, to reassure, to lean further into the clutch of his thighs. The intrusion forces his legs wider and when you reach to cradle either side of his taut jaw he lowers to close the distance.
“I felt it, you know. Before you offered me my pelt I felt you touching it,” you begin, watching how his expression splits open as your eyes meet. “I knew it was safe with you”.
“That’s stupid,” he utters, though you can hear that he doesn’t mean it. Embarrassment slowly stains his cheeks pink. You can feel him twitch, smothering the instinctive urge to snap at whatever made him feel so intensely.
“Maybe,” you pull back a hair's breadth to lightly knock your heads together. “My point is, I was drawn to you before all that, in such a short window. I think… I didn’t forget you because those feelings grew naturally”.
The more you speak he progressively gets pinker, flustered and mad about it. It births an odd, primal urge to sink your teeth into something. To bite his cheek white, watch the blood retreat under the skin. Instead, you slide your hand lower to rest on his neck and his own cuff your wrists.
“That first day, you apologised to me because I never had a choice,” there’s a soft grunt in acknowledgment. His pulse dances under your palm. “I’m making one now of my free will. And you—can say no, if you want,” you stutter, then, suddenly realising the real possibility of him rejecting your request altogether. “But I want to be here with you”.
The last rays of sun stretch across the land, cosseted behind soft clouds as it sheaths. Katsuki considers you quietly. There’s a soft sort of intent in his eyes, wearing the revelry of dusk. You kneel in the rock pool, literally and figuratively bare, heart pounding in your throat as he readies himself to respond.
“Back at the bathhouse…” he hesitates, promptly clears his throat and struggles to look at you.
“Nothing was influencing me that night. Except maybe the wine,” you admit timidly, abashed at his sudden demurity. “I’m sorry”.
That garners a reaction from him. In true Katsuki fashion his tongue clicks behind gritted teeth and applies pressure to your wrists, pulling you up. “Come here,” he tells you. You uncurl your legs and begin to stand moving with all the grace of a newborn fawn. “Oi, don’t—!” jerking his head to the side, he averts his gaze from your naked lower half, glaring at the shoreline. The sea-scented air prickles your skin, heat gathering where he has you held. “Expose yourself to everyone in the fuckin’ country, won’t you? Come here,” and then he’s hooking behind your knees, making them bend, gathering you into his lap in bridal fashion.
“What’s the problem?” you mutter. Heat creeps up your neck, feeling defensive and distinctly embarrassed by his behaviour. “I don’t see how my nakedness is any different here than it is in the public bathhouse”.
He holds you closer, voice vibrating through his chest as he roughly insists, “It’s different”.
Your pout softens into a small pleased smile, letting him manhandle you until he’s satisfied with his grip. He bends, incidentally baring his throat stretching for the pelt discarded by the rocks. Tucking your nose to the underside of his jaw you revel in how his arm tightens around your lower back.
Katsuki draws the pelt into your lap, covering your modesty. You laugh at how sweet and boyish it seems. “Laughin’ at me again, huh?” two fingers pinch at your cheek, pulling until you whine. “Got a death wish?”
Kneading at the sealskin coat your affections roar into existence once more with an intensity. “You wouldn’t hurt me,” you grin, and he abandons the pinch to stretch his big hand across your face. Thumb on your left cheek, fingers on your right, he squeezes together until your mouth is misshapen and pursed.
“Sure about that?” he warns, tone steeped in fondness. It is exhilarating to have him touch you again, more freely than he ever had before; it is as close to ‘I believe you’ as you think you’ll get.
You smile with your eyes, locked with his. Close enough to count every fine eyelash. Your words come garbled as you say, “You still haven’t given me an answer”.
Katsuki exhales shallowly through his nose. His throat contracts as he swallows. The pressure releases. His hand cups your face, flexing with uncertainty. You shudder when he dips to press your lips together. You’re kissed without hurry, besotted by his firm but cautious movements. He relaxes as you lean into the rhythm, humming proudly. The soft, wet sounds of your mouths meeting again and again echo over the crawling waves.
Katsuki pulls away first, eyes still closed but smiling to himself. He licks his lips and rasps, “I guess you can come along with us,” as though that was all the answer he needed to give.
Alight with excitement you squirm in his lap, earning a quick slap to your hip. Katsuki ignored your grumbling and set to covering your body entirely. “Hold onto the corners,” he says, draping the hide over your shoulders, comforting warmth enveloping you as you obediently take the corners. “Put your arms around my neck. Do not drop it”.
You do, curtaining both of your bodies with the pelt in the process, fingers interlocking at Katsuki’s nape. Your faces remain a whisper away. It feeds a skin hunger that plagued you for days. Satisfied, he then unties his cloak to slide it over-top, layering the two to keep you covered.
Your stomach swoops as Katsuki pushes to his feet, carrying you in his arms with no sign of exertion and much better balance than before. His bicep bulges, fingers flexing under your thighs. “Where are we going?”
Sand and broken shells crunch under his boots, gait leaden like wading through mud. Mariners whistle suggestively in your direction as he climbs the steps to the dock, making his teeth grind. “Taking you back to our room,” he grunts.
You flush with heat at the implication. “You still have the key…?”
Without disrupting his pace, Katsuki’s nose nudges along your temple to press a kiss there. “Said my shitty wife left something behind,” you feel his mouth pull into a smirk, “so they gave me it to go take a look”.
A pleasant sensation erupts in your stomach. Fluttering like butterflies. “And the others?”
Darkness covers you when he ducks into a narrow alley. Katsuki meanders along the winding path with unfettered confidence. “I sent them on ahead. Said I’d catch up on foot,” he explains, eyes darting over the surroundings, striding back out into a familiar road leading to the tavern. “Wanted to be alone”.
You’re carried up the stairwell despite the stern assertion that you would be just fine on your feet. In that same vein, Katsuki is clearly just fine taking all of your weight— proud of it, you think. Unwilling to put you down.
He shoulders into the room and kicks the door shut. It is as you remember. Dim and homely, accented by a lamp that casts a soft yellow glow over the bed. Heavy footsteps take you forward, and you are swiftly deposited on the mattress. You bounce a fraction, losing purchase on the pelt and cloak. Both layers peel away, rumpled under your back, leaving you splayed out and bare.
Katsuki stands next to the bed, watching the rise and fall of your chest. His features are tender in the light, smoothing his hard edges. It flickers in his irises. Gaze hungry, restless.
Your body can’t help but react to Katsuki’s silent observation. The ardent stroke of his eyes across every part of you like it were his hands themselves. Heat races through you and coils between your legs. Feeling exposed, you try to close your thighs.
There’s a hand on your knee, stopping the movement, firm but gentle as he pries them back open. Katsuki moves closer and kicks off his boots. The mattress dips under his weight. One knee on the bed, your legs part further to make space for the intrusion, wrapping around his waist without second thought.
“This okay?” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. You exhale shakily, hands roving along the thick of his arms to clutch at his shoulders. The buckles on his pants bite into the back of your thighs. You can feel his arousal swelling through the fabric.
Rocking your hips, your feet cross at his lower back. “Yeah. I want…” his eyes flutter, almost rolling up into his skull, pupils dilated. You chase the phantom feeling of his lips with your tongue and he tracks the movement. “Kiss me again”.
“Thank fuck,” Katsuki groaned, the sound dwindling into a low chuckle. His forearms settle either side of your head, pressing all his weight down, pinning you to the bed. Taking up your vision until only he is in your orbit. The braid by his ear hangs loosely, the bead cold where it brushes your jaw. You tremble, fingers threading into his hair to scratch gently at his scalp.
Your mouths slot together and he kisses you full, nibbling your lips until they part. Pushing deeper, tongues sliding over teeth, stealing the breath from your lungs. He handles you with indecision. Careful kisses followed by rough ones; grabbing at the soft parts of your body a little too hard, smoothing the flesh with his thumb in apology.
It’s overwhelming how much he wants you. And you try to return the fervour, arms sliding around his back to keep him close, undulating your hips to feel the tremors wrack through him.
The talons strung around his neck graze over your chest as he descends. Kisses left on the corner of your mouth, cheek, jugular. He takes your pulse between his jaws and you whine, clenching at his waist. Katsuki moves away, laving his tongue along your throat.
“Wanna touch you,” he says. Goosebumps break out across your skin as he blows cool air over the wet stripe left behind. “S’all I could think about. You’re fucking distracting”.
“Yes. Please,” your eyelids flutter, leaning back to hear your throat. “Please”.
“Needy,” he mumbles, a satisfied lilt to his tone. His hand slides down to your ass, grabbing one cheek and filling his palm with it as he spreads you open. “Bein’ too quiet. I like it when you say my name,” he rasps. “Gonna let me hear it?”
Fingertips brush against your sex. Heat flushes under your skin, anticipation and understanding unfurled within you. “Katsuki,” you sigh into his mouth.
Katsuki flashes a predatory grin. Pleased, and pink all the way to his ears. Breath puffing over your lips he says, “Again”.
“Katsuk—ah,” his thumb circles over your swollen clit, sparks zipping up your spine. Your breath hitches. You chase the touch, his four fingers splayed low on your navel; the other cups the back of your knee to keep you spread as he descends from throat to chest, forging a path of wet kisses, stopping intermittently to softly suck at the flesh and coax blood to the surface.
You’re wet. Wet enough, warm enough, that the still air feels cold on your skin. His lips wrap around your nipple and you arch up into the sensation as he slowly sinks a finger inside of you. You take him to the knuckle, and he waits, gradually pulling out until you’re clenching around a fingertip.
Again and again he fucks you on his fingers, adding another, curling them up mid stroke to brush the most sensitive part of you, spreading them to work you open. You mewl, steeped in pleasure as it diffuses through your belly, pooling between your thighs.
Katsuki watches you, peering up through heavy eyes, mouth full of your breast. He flicks his tongue over the pert nipple, coming up and switching to the other, lavishing you in attention. You exhale, tremors wracking your body. Cradle the back of his head, grip tightening reflexively when he hits that sweet spot, and the groan rumbling in his throat prickles under your skin.
Satisfied, he continues lower. Throws your legs over his broad shoulders, laid flat along the bed. The mattress jerks when he ruts into the sheets, still confined in his pants. You hold his gaze as his cheeks hollow. Saliva pools into his mouth and he tucks his chin, spitting it on your clit, massaging it over with his thumb.
You shudder, hips canting. “Shit, look at you,” he pants, voice so thick and supple you want to wrap yourself in it. “Keep your eyes on me, yeah?” he litters kisses across your inner thigh, pressing praise into the sensitive skin there. Your heels dig into the thick muscle at his back when he dips to kiss your clit, licking in and around his fingers. “I wanna see your face when you cum”.
You’re pulsing around him, frantically chasing the feeling. It’s— overwhelming, like you can’t breathe through it, and every string in your body has been pulled taut, wavering on the precipice. You reach to grasp his forearm. The muscles flex under your palms, pave unrelenting, and tears begin to sting behind your eyes.
“Fuck, Katsuki,” you gasp, breathlessness abated by the sudden rush of air to your lungs. “Feels so good, I can’t… Katsuki I can’t—”
A broken sound reverberates throughout the room the moment he stops, pulling back and leaving you empty. You can barely believe that it came from you, squeezing your eyes shut in shame. But then he’s right there, crowding into your space, caging your body with his own. “Oi,” he softly takes your jaw, “What did I say? Look at me”.
You squint up at him. You take in his swollen lips, lidded stare, the sheen of sweat on his brow, hair matted to his forehead, arousal and spit coating his chin. For the first time you think you might understand, just a fraction, the greed of those who kept you. Because now you desire to be the one to take. To keep. To stow away his shamelessness and be the only one to see it.
“You hurt?”
“No,” you whisper, blinking away the haze. Katsuki tucks his knees up higher against your middle, tops of his thighs shelving your splayed legs. You feel yourself clenching around nothing, empty. “I’m sorry”.
“Don’t fuckin’ apologise,” he tucks his nose against your temple, indifferent to the sheen of sweat. You inhale his musky scent and slide your arms around his shoulders. “Got too in your head, huh?”
His cock twitches in his pants, still hard and pressed to your thigh. Gathering your bearings you subtly rock your hips into his lap. You shiver at the sharp hiss by your ear, the drag of his soft lips over the shell. He nips at it in warning.
“You want to keep going?”
You nod, playing with the thin hair at his nape. He rumbles and it feels like a purr, pushing up only to pull at the belt buckles around his waist. Impatient, you reach to help, pulling the leather out from the loops, fingers trembling.
Katsuki frees his hands and lets you work at the buttons. He wears a small, crooked smile on his face as he watches, chest rising and falling with every anticipatory breath. You pull them down his hips, a trail of light hair leading from his bellybutton to his cock. He shifts, hooking into the waistband and pushing them down his legs, kicking them off the bed.
In your impatience your fingers wrap around his length, playing with the soft skin. You circle the blushing tip, smearing pre with your thumb. He throbs, abdomen clenching with a guttural moan that shoots straight to your own.
“So impatient,” he cups your jaw and forcing you to meet his eyes. “Get me nice and wet?”
“Yeah,” you rasp, detailing how his pupils expand as you slide his cock through your folds. The corner of his mouth twitches. He grins as he dips to kiss you. It is more chaste than the last, a kiss for the sake of kissing.
Then the grip on your jaw tightens. Firm and unyielding. Katsuki’s big hand engulfs yours, squeezing his dick, teasing the tip at your entrance. “Gonna make you cum on my cock. But you’ve got to listen to me and relax. Okay?”
You desperately want to dig your heels into his lower back, to drag him inside and fill up that awful emptiness, to take him to the hilt and keep him there. Instead you acquiesce, forcing yourself pliant; rewarded with a soft kiss, he presses his forehead to yours.
“Take a deep breath for me,” he tells you. You inhale, ribs expanding as your lungs bloat. Slowly, Katsuki pushes his tip past your entrance, and begins to sink his cock into you. His expression shutters, eyes rolling shut as his face scrunches up. Strained, he says, “Breathe out, baby. Slow”.
You exhale, ending on a long moan as skin meets skin. He settles in the cradle of your hips. “Good,” his voice is gravelly, strained. His nails bite at your waist, “And in”.
Repeating the motions your muscles clench around him as he pulls out, as though your body couldn’t be without him. He huffs through his nose and you feel it hot on your cheek. It continues like that. He fucks you slow and deliberate, pinned to the bed like a butterfly, guiding your breathing. You cannot look away from him. He’s devastating. He’s yours. Wild spikes are tousled around a flushed face, mouth kiss-bitten and slack with awe. “Katsuki,” you whisper, each more frantic than the last.
The earlier intensity does not return, rather, it accumulates inside of you with every inhale, suffusing through you like a warm, pleasant fog. The pressure has you bursting at the seams, undone by the indelible drag of his cock, how his pelvis pressed so perfectly against your clit, little incantations of your name murmured into your hair.
“Ah, fuck. Katsuki, I’m—” your thighs seize either side of his waist, toes curling as the words catch in your throat. “M’gonna…”
“I’ve got you,” he fucks you a little deeper, gritting his teeth. The muscles in his neck flex with exertion. “In and out, baby. I’ve got you”.
Those practised breaths quickly stagger into uneven whines as you’re tipped over the edge. Ley lines erupt behind your eyelids. You arch back into the sheets—pelt and cloak rumpled beneath—as the pleasure quakes through you.
Katsuki fucks you into your orgasm and then beyond it. You cradle him to your chest when his rhythm stutters, releasing a long groan as he spills into you.
Together you collapse back on the mattress, rolling onto your sides. He slides his arm beneath your head and hooks your knee over his hip, keeping himself nestled inside you for a while longer. You lie there until the fog recedes, leaving a sated contentment in its wake.
In that instance you can no longer tell where the line of your own body ends and where Katsuki’s begins. You feel warm, comfortable against him. All the fears and hypotheticals that sought to fill the hole in your chest have faded. You realise in those intimate few minutes that home is what you choose it to be. A place, a concept, a person. Home is the ocean, said to cover more than half of the earth, fissuring inland and stretching further than the eye can see; it is a current that will always run in your veins. But humans, too, are made of the sea. Water, minerals and tissue. Home is in the blood that rushes to Katsuki’s cheeks when you kiss him.
This is where you belong.
Eventually Katsuki decides he needs to get up. Your objections go ignored, silenced when he returns dressed with a damp cloth to wipe you down. Once he's done he pulls up the bed covers and manhandles you under them, declaring that he needs to go downstairs and pay ‘that woman’ for the room.
“Won’t be long. Don’t even think about getting up. I’ll need to buy you some clothes tomorrow…”
Grin hidden under the blankets, you call out to him before he goes. He stops in the doorway, softened by the lamp light. Feigning innocence, you jokingly ask, “Before you go, could you pass me my pelt?”
Your heart races when he reflexively goes to do so, only for him to halt halfway. His eyes narrow, lips thinning into a smirk:
“Real fuckin’ funny”.
#bnha x reader#mha x reader#bakugo x reader#bakugo katsuki x reader#bakugou x reader#bakugou katsuki x reader
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music to my ears | finnick o’dair ♆
cw ; smut, with a hint of sadness at the start
note ; annie doesn’t exsist in this & you are saying what katniss said in the beginning instead of her saying it ( i’m sry if it’s confusing )
the cannon goes off 3 times. finnick snickers, “well i guess we’re not holding hands anymore.” you snap, “you think that’s funny?” he responds without a care, “every time that cannon goes off, it’s music to my ears. i dont care about any of them.” you cock an eyebrow, “good to hear.” you know finnick could care less about you, he only cares about mags and winning because he doesn’t want to be in this arena again, who does? you pick up your sword and start to walk to the beach to find something to eat.
you yell for finnick to come here, and he does, shockingly. he groans and says, “are you dying?” and you respond with annoyance, “no, i’m not. sadly.” he starts to walk away as you throw a pebble at him, “i got us food, come eat.” he sluggishly walks back over and sits down with his knees to his chest seeing that you got fish and oysters. you hand him one of each. he takes it thanking you. “y’know i could’ve gotten food..” you sigh, “it’s fine i needed something to do anyways. i’m bored out of my mind.” he laughs with sarcasm, “how could you be bored? you’re having so much fun aren’t you? fighting for your life for a second time?” you chuckle back and shake your head, “i’m living the dream.”
he smiles and eats the food you have presented him with. he questions, “why are you always so.. i don’t know uhm- what’s the word for it..” you respond, “rude? cocky? abrasive?” he shakes his head with concern, “no.. not at all. i was going to say benevolent.. thoughtful and considerate.” you blink a few times quickly looking at him like he’s insane. “what?” you’re flabbergasted at his kind words. “you’re always so nice to me, like getting me food when i’m kind of the opposite towards you. and i’m sorry for that..” he has a heart? finnick o’dair has a heart? especially towards you? “i didn’t know you thought about me like that, thank you finnick, that’s very kind of you.” you smile, fiddling with the necklace tightly tucked into your wetsuit.
he questions, “what is that?” you reply, “it’s a necklace my father gave me, before he had passed. it’s a picture of him and i. if i ever lost it i don’t know what i would do.” you open the circle shaped locket and show finnick. “that’s sweet, i’m sorry for your loss.” a calloused yet gentle hand is on your shoulder with a thumb moving back and forth to soothe it. “thank you.. he’s the reason why i volunteered, why i’m still pushing through.” a tear wells up in your eye eventually rolling down your cheek. he stays silent as his hand is now missing from your shoulder. he does care about you, he just doesn’t know how to show it. he doesn’t know who he can trust either.
time passes and dusk arrives. the crew, you, finnick, johanna, peeta, mags, and katniss are all exhausted from today. ranging from the monkeys, the fog, the blood rain, and the cornucopia spinning around as you hung on for dear life, you all need rest, but you can’t risk all sleeping at once, so you take shifts. the first to take shift is johanna. she keeps guard of everyone and their supplies with an axe in her hand. next up on the list is you. you absolutely do not want to keep guard, but you have no choice, and finnick notices this. his hand goes for your wrist as you groggily stand up and rub your eyes. “i can cover for you, it’s alright.” you look at him with protesting eyes, “no finnick, you need rest.” “and so do you, you’ve barely been sleeping.” he bickers back. you tug your hand away from his grip and take hold of your sword and you push him back so he’s back to sitting down.
he scoffs at this and grabs his trident and gives it a quick spin before pulling you close by the waist, “i swear if you don’t sit down.” you giggle while bolting to the water throwing down your sword. he follows by throwing his trident and diving in after you. he asks, “a few minutes ago you were “sooooo tired” but now you’re full of energy? where is this coming from?” he laughs with the moonlight reflecting onto him, making his skin glow. you take his perfection in for once and realize how beautiful he is. from his toned arms to his captivating smile. how could you ever hate him? you don’t know how it was even possible. at this point he’s snapping in your face, “hellooooooo? are you there?” you snap back into reality and shake your head, “sorry, i zoned out.” “yeah right on my lips.” he says furrowing his eyebrows with a smirk. you protest, “no, what are you talking about?” you smile looking into the water with a shade of rose coloring your cheeks.
his pointer finger and thumb hook onto your chin, “i’m not dumb i hope you know that.” you can’t look away now and you feel the heat growing on your face. “maybe i was looking, who knows?” you smirk knowing what you’re getting yourself into. he grins, “i know. i know what you’re thinking and i know how you feel.” he scoops you up into his arms and you squeal as the your wet hair sticks to your neck and some spots on your face as he walks out of the water with you. he places you down gently into the sand and he sits down with his back pressed up against a tree as he pats his damp thigh signaling for you to come sit down. you nervously straddle him and he holds your hips firmly in place and his lips move towards your ear, “this is what you wanted right? for me to fuck you? for me to put you in your place?” his whisper sends shivers down your spine and goosebumps up your arms. his hands move up and down your sides slowly as his kisses go up and down your neck. you use his hair to direct his lips to yours and the first kiss from him is absolute heaven. your tongue creeps it’s way into his mouth and you both moan at the sweet sensation.
you feel the tent in his tight outfit growing and pushing up against your sensitive cunt. you move upwards at the electric feeling and he pulls you right back down and you whimper at this. his grip tightens on your hips at your sounds, “the way you whimper and moan is music to my ears.” you love the way he dirty talks to you, the way he praises you. but you want even more. “finnick.. please.” “please what? what do you want hm?” you moan out, “to touch me. please.” his hands wander your body, “but where hun? where do you want me to touch you? here?” a finger glides over your bud and you lightly shake at his sensitive yet powerful touch. you nod profusely when he circles your clothed cunt. his hand reaches for your back searching for the zipper of your outfit. he finds it and yanks it downwards like there’s no tomorrow.
you’re now all on display for him. your chest out and all. a hand glides over each of your breasts and he massages them gently. you moan out, “oh god- finnick you -fuck..- know how to make me feel so good.” his smirk grows larger at your words. but just a few seconds later, he stops. you look at him with lust in your eyes, begging him to continue. he then slowly removes his outfit, now putting his perfect body on display. before you know it he’s lining himself up with your entrance. you slowly sink down onto him and you screw your eyes shut in pure pleasure. finnicks head dips back as you take him in. “oh- god.. you’re so - mfgh - tight..” his hands have a tight grip on your waist as your bouncing up and down on him. your walls engulf his thick length, just perfectly. “it’s like your pussy was made for my cock. i fill you up so perfectly don’t i?” he’s whispering this right into your ear and your head falls onto his shoulder and you moan into his ear, “yes.. i need more finnick.. please.” his tongue pokes at his cheek, “greedy girls don’t get what they want, and you want this right?” his hand has a tight grip on your jaw forcing you to look at him. “yes please. i need you so bad.”
the only sounds filling your ears is the salty waves crashing on the shore, your skin slapping against his, and his occasional moans and grunts. “you take me so well, you’re such a good girl.” the feeling in your stomach is growing bigger and bigger by the second from his praises and him hitting your sweet spot over and over. “m’ so close finnick.. please don’t stop.” his hand moves down to your bud and rubs it in circles that drive you insane. at the sensation of his touch, you hit your peak and finally orgasm. your pace slows down as this happens, because if you went any faster you would be crazy overstimulated. with a few more thrusts, he’s coating your walls and moaning, “ah- fuck! -oh my god.” he eventually slows down too and you slowly pull off of him. he’s giving you the sweetest kisses while stroking your hair and holding you close. “m’ so proud of you.. you did so good.” you hold him tight and your fingers run through his sweat dampened hair. “thank you, you did good too finnick.” you smile at him knowing this wont be the last time you do this.
#finnick odair x reader#finnick odair imagine#finnick odair smut#finnick x reader#thg finnick#thg#the hunger games#catching fire#finnick x you#i love him#the baby#the little guy
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i neeeeedddd more wrio <///3 i don’t wanna wait so so long for him to come out <///3 and i wanna read more filthy filthy smuts and suuuper long angsty smutty fics :((( i need him in a way that would get me lobotomized in the 1900’s </3
dnt u hate how genshin is just stringing us along and taking 4ever to give us more wrio stuff ! ! I want him in a very gross way nd I dunno if this little fic is at all filthy, but i wrote smthn while I was having my breakfast earlier ^_^ I also probably misspelled his name so many times bc my grammar check wasn’t working nd i got lazy ! but just know nonnie, ur icky thoughts are welcomed here !
pairing ꒱ྀི wriothesley x fem reader — warnings ꒱ he calls you little girl once ! ! + slight exhibitionism + finger sucking + size kink + blowjob mention / wc ꒱ 1.3k / 18+
you’d like to say that you were good at being discreet. it’s not that you’re intentionally trying to be, but when faced with several trials and tribulations, you believed the gods themselves were testing you.
after all this time, you thought you were inured to wriothesley’s effortless charm. it bothers you that he doesn’t even try— that your boyfriend with broad shoulders, a big chest, and big hands could stand there, and you were already thinking of all the sloppy, messy ways you could end your night.
you spend far too much time staring at veiny thick fingers that dwarf your tinier ones. especially when he holds your pink phone, hello kitty, and heart-shaped charms and all, and his big thumbs end up pressing a button he never meant to. how such a simple and mindless mistake makes you wonder about putting his big fingers somewhere else.
It was a newfound desperation you didn’t know you had in you and it just didn’t stop there. it’s the casual dominance in his behavior that makes butterflies erupt, fluttering their delicate wings in your belly.
when the brown sugar you needed to make a fresh batch of cookies rested on the tippiest top of the shelf you were irked to say the least.
it sat there mocking you because it knows you can’t reach it, and it’s none other than wrio himself who barely extends his hand above his head that brings it down with ease.
and then you see it.
it’s only a slither of skin, only a thick patch of untamed hair leading to his groin.
that’s all it is and that’s all you saw and yet you feel . . . bothered
“i didn’t need your help,” you mutter while pouring the contents into a pink porcelain bowl, careful not to make a mess.
you got snappy because of all things, it’s his height and taut stomach that make you flustered. you cut your eyes and upturn your nose busying yourself with the mixing and measuring, but wriothesley is no fool. your attempt to appear unfazed — not aroused was meaningless. he didn’t bother to question the veracity of you words when the soft cotton flush of embarrassment coats your cheeks like a paintbrush and he was the painter.
he excites you.
you know it and he knows it.
“sure you don’t.”
he’s smug and you don’t like it. you hate it, even. why is he always quick and sharp-tongued, and so astute?
it was one of your earlier dates together. things were still new and you wanted to make a bit more effort and maybe you went slightly overboard. you cursed yourself for wearing heels that day. they were a tad bit too high— but they were pink, and glittery, and a butterfly charm dangled by the strap of your ankle.
you couldn’t not wear them, your outfit depended on them. they just had the unfortunate luck of succumbing to the little pebble that laid in the middle of the sidewalk.
before you could even register your heart-dropping, warm, big, bulging arms enclose your waist, keeping you from colliding with the ground. when you instinctively reach out to grip them you felt the muscle beneath your fingers. you were sure your silk panties were ruined .
and to your dismay, the twitch of your legs trying to smother that burning heat between your thighs didn’t go unnoticed.
so observant wriothesley is, and you hate how easily he could read you, but the desire was mutual.
he constantly had to fight every signal in his body that yearned for you — that yearned to separate those plump thighs and perfectly ruin, and stretch that seeping little hole with his fingers. the thought plagues his mind the entire time.
you both go out for another outing and it was just meant to be an innocent dinner, but god — would you stop looking at him like that?
just stop pouting, stop doing that little furrow with your eyebrows, and stop putting on that sparkly lipgloss.
it’s moments like this where he’s thankful for his status. he’s quiet, and big enough to deter people from peering over his shoulder. a booth far away enough in a corner, makes it easier for the duke to get away with acting out in public— stuffing your mouth with his fingers.
even when sitting he towers over you. the dip of your clavicle kisses by the ends of your hair. so put together even in the process of ruin.
two of his wriothesley’s daft and ring-clad fingers stroke your tongue, spit coating the appendages. he could’ve busied them separating your puffy lower lips, but why would he when he can make you gag instead?
soft moans escape in the form of gurgled cries, you suck his fingers like a lollipop that was just too big for your tiny mouth. he’s rubs the insides of the orifice as if it were your pussy, with expert strokes that send your eyes reeling backward.
you pucker around them, lips tight, and you just croon like a good puppy.
“you like it when I stretch your little mouth? yeah, you do.” as if the arch in your back and the clench of your legs weren’t enough it would be your eyes blinking up at him submissively.
“you can open up a little wider— just like that, baby.”
and he’s knuckle deep by now and maybe he should stop, and not encourage you to be so obscene but he wasn’t thinking straight. it’s been a long enough week, [its tuesday ] but wriothesley works hard and some trouble once in a while can’t be that bad. neuvillette shouldn’t mind. he’s sure if he could see you now he’d be at your mercy. drooling around his rings, tits pushed up and makeup smeared— could anyone actually resist you?
“that’s my good girl, perfect little throat.” and he can’t wait to fuck it. If your mouth looked so delicate stretched around his burly fingers, what would it look like around his much bigger cock. that excites him — to think about the tip of his length poking the side of your cheek and thickening in the expanse of your throat. to be gifted with your drunken expression because he’s just too big and your brain can’t compute.
“you can pretend it doesn’t bother you, but I know you like when it when I get rough with little girls like you,” he drawls, in a deep and husky tone, low enough to fall on your ears alone.
there’s a fire that it ignites within and he controls the flame. you want to tell him no, to defy him, but it would be so unconvincing. you’re nearly falling apart, bursting at the seams with wanton hunger and thirst and it’s written all over your face.
it gives wriothesley a rush the more he fixates on your mouth. he talks big, knowing you're teetering on the edge of a mind break. he whispers how filthy you are for letting him fuck your mouth with his fingers. he teases you breathlessly that spit looks better on your lips then the lipgloss and that you can’t seem to stop re-applying.
things were fairly new, only soft gropes, intense kisses, and humping between leather and lacy frills were exchanged . this was the most erotic he’s seen you as of yet and its the closest you both have ever been. it made him eager for so much more.
“ you like how big I am thats why you’re letting me stuff your mouth."
and he dreams bout filling it some more— to the brink with his milky white, breeding your throat like it was your cunt until rivulets spill from the sides. Its right then and there that he wishes for no one else to be in the room so he can finally have you . he’s broken you down, and all you can do is listen.
"when i take you home, you'll be a sweet girl for me, right? no back talk and no more attitude ?”
you nod and even with a mouthful, you obediently open to speak.
“y-yes sir.”
such dangerous words.
#૮꒰ ๑´ତ `๑ ꒱ྀིა#wriothesley x reader#wriothesley x y/n#wriothesley x reader smut#genshin impact smut#wriothesley x you#wriothesley smut
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MODERN DAY LOVER BOY
April Fools Day Special with the JJK Men in Alternate universes!
Tattoo artist! Geto Suguru who casually tells you he'll give you a free temporary tattoo for "today's promotion for pretty girls", but when you get home and peel off the bandage he's written his number there
Tattoo artist! Geto Suguru who, once you've made it official, makes you both matching couple tattoos - not necessarily a heart and your initials, but rather the logo of the cafe you guys had your first date at stylized to become the both of you
Tattoo artist! Geto Suguru whose customers ask him who the woman in his latest art selections are and it's you (he's not afraid to flex about it)
Tattoo artist! Geto Suguru who rarely had off days because that parlour was his life, but you breathed a new meaning to it and now he closes the store with the money he carefully stored over the months for a quick vacation with you
Tattoo artist! Geto Suguru who just has to look at all the photos or selfies or whatever it was that had caught your eye you constantly bombard his phone with to get inspiration for his next art. He's been called a king at what he does but you were a goddess of art itself.
***
Guitarist! Gojo Satoru who spots you in the crowd as he drums, a surprised look in your eyes and upon your once irritated face at how your best friend had dragged you here as he stuns you with his skills
Guitarist! Gojo Satoru who secretly hopes you would show up after the show for an autograph, who's over the moon when he discovers the person you're with has backstage passes, if only to meet his bandmate Geto
Guitarist! Gojo Satoru who adds in smaller writing his number to the poster you ask him to sign, and in fact gives you an autographed Polaroid of himself for free and with a sly smile while the rest of his fan girls groaned in jealousy
Guitarist! Gojo Satoru whose first date with you is to a karaoke and teaches you drums, showering you with whatever you want with his money - that premium gelato? Sure! VIP room? Why not! Nothing but the best for the true idol in his eyes.
Guitarist! Gojo Satoru who from then on always dedicates his songs to a "my pretty muse" that no one knows, except he always engages in eye contact with you
***
Piercer! Yuta Okkutsu who smoothly, kindly comforts you when you start having doubts about your piercings, assuring you it would only hurt for a moment and he'd never dare to cause suffering to such an angel
Piercer! Yuta Okkutsu who claims it's a free gift but hands you a box of heart shaped earrings with his number scribbled inside and a nervous ask out to coffee sometime
Piercer! Yuta Okkutsu who's now the reason you somehow ended up with two more piercings at the top of your ears, him hopefully suggesting you could match with him
Piercer! Yuta Okkutsu who can't stop blabbering about his beautiful girl to his other customers, leaving them forgetting about the uncomfortable stings and wondering who such a beauty would be
Piercer! Yuta Okkutsu who gifts you the engagement present in the form of custom designed earrings with both your initials in it, be decked wth your favourite colored gem
***
Graffiti artist! Inumaki Toge who, in his pining stage for you, started spaying a hell lot of red and hearts and Cupid's arrows into his artwork
Graffiti artist! Inumaki Toge who had no idea you were a fan of his work...and was extremely flustered to find out you discovered his not so secret crush on you when you saw the love song quotes spray painted under a painting of someone who looked suspiciously too similar to you
Graffiti artist! Inumaki Toge who helps you sneak out of your bedroom at night after throwing pebbles at your window and both of you run off on skateboards to colour the streets the same bright shades of your teenage love
Graffiti artist! Inumaki Toge who wasn't good at apologising after fights or misunderstandings, so he borrowed others' words to quote and paint somewhere he knew you'd see, with a bouquet of wildflowers left there if you did happen to actually see it in the flesh
Graffiti artist! Inumaki Toge whose biggest artwork was not the bridge he had covered with slogans last month but in fact, the gigantic canvas of you and him racing into the night with streaks of spray paint exploding behind you
***
Ghost Hunter! Yuuji Itadori, the self acclaimed "Myth Buster", who went around to various most haunted places in his hometown to explore and prove that in fact, ghosts DO NOT EXIST, which he kept trying to convince you, his skeptical one-man camera crew, of, although your ongoing bet was that if he could you'd give him a kiss
Ghost Hunter! Yuuji Itadori who was often requested to do rituals or demon summons to provide evidence for his theories that "ghosts" were just people's imaginations being sparked up by even the most mundane of things by fear, but one of the reasons he really refused was because he didn't want anyone else butting on you and his time - besides, ain't no way was he using you as a sacrifice
Ghost Hunter! Yuuji Itadori who finally works up the courage to confess that he wanted to take this friendship to higher levels ironically on Halloween...even more ironically after he grabbed your hand and dragged you out of the haunted house screaming.
Ghost Hunter! Yuuji Itadori who declared himself your lucky charm against the supernatural and promises that he'll protect you from whatever came from beyond the grave (he didn't believe it ghosts but sure did in protecting you) and used the excuse to stay over at your house at night
Ghost Hunter! Yuuji Itadori who tells you in the spookiest way possible to meet him at the latest haunted expedition, but when you get there it's all set up with fairy lights, a movie and a picnic to celebrate your one year anniversary as a couple
#sanzuyaps#jjk#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen#x reader#jjk x reader#jjk x gender neutral reader#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#geto x reader#geto suguru x reader#yuuji x reader#yuuji itadori x reader#yuta x reader#yuta Okkutsu x reader#toge inumaki x reader#inumaki x reader#april fool's day#april fool's special
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Heat Me Up || Shuri Udaku x Black!Reader
Summary: After Shuri becomes the queen, she needs some love from her lover and you need heat from her.
Warnings: !!!Wakanda Forever Spoilers!!!, black!reader, avenger!reader, power play, top!shuri, smut, oral sex, thigh riding, fluff
Word Count: 2.7k
A/n: I got this fantastic idea from @kram6496 , I edited it a bit so that it would fit a black reader but the inspiration for it came from them <3 Also the picture is from @dirtyduane
Phrases: Inbazana-girl || Sthandwa-my love || Le intombazana izoba kukufa kwam-This girl will be the death of me || gugu’lami-my treasure || ubungangamsha bakho - Your Majesty || Nkosazana-princess || Ndingubani igama lam - what's my name
|*|
You were covered in blankets, animal pelts, and anything else that might bring you some warmth. Life in the Jabari mountains was harsh, you weren’t used to this kind of blistering cold. Even in America, winters were not like this. As a liaison for the Avengers and as princess Shuri’s lover, you had no choice but to stay after Namor’s attack. You wanted nothing more than to remain by the princess’s side, offering your support and love. However, all you could do right now was wait for Shuri, Nakia, and Riri to return to the mountains.
Shuri had begged you to remain in the mountains as a form of protection for her people, reassuring you that if anything were to happen you’d be the first to know. You felt your heart clench at the idea of the synthetic heart-shaped herb doing damage to your lover. There were so many things that could go wrong.
Internal Bleeding, chemical poisoning, blindness, heart failure, the list goes on. And you wouldn’t be there to care for her.
You took a deep breath trying to calm your racing nerves, you relaxed your fist and as the lion’s pelt fell from your shoulders you were met with a bone-chilling breeze that made your teeth chatter and your nipples pebble against your shirt. You found yourself missing the warm bed that you and Shuri shared, although the Jabari tribe did everything to make sure you were comfortable the bed lacked Shuri’s smell of jasmine and cacao butter.
“Damn you M’baku,” you muttered under your breath racing to grab the pelt. “Who in their right mind would stay here willingly.”
“Aww is my little American cold,” a voice giggled.
“Shuri,” you gasped running to her, forgetting the teeth-chattering temperature. “You’re okay! Thank god.”
“Yes, I told you. You should have more faith in me, my love.”
As you clashed with her, you failed to notice the black suit. You were hit with small knife-like, icy pains as your skin came into contact with her.
“What the-”
You finally noticed what she was wearing: a skin-tight vibranium suit outlining her thin, muscular frame. You also took in what was paining you, her suit was littered with metal, metal that was cold to the touch.
“Can you take that thing off so I can hug you properly,” you huffed.
She smirked, licking her lips, “I would think that you would enjoy feeling me in this.”
Her hands found your waist and her newfound strength didn’t miss you. Her grip was, not painful, but stronger. You doubt she even noticed. You moved your hands from her chest to her neck, placing a small peck on her cheek, one that she leaned into, unconsciously seeking you.
“My love, in any other situation I would pounce on you but I’m freezing. Do you see how ashy I am? No matter how much lotion I put on this cold fights against,” you complained. “On top of that-”
“So your cold,” she deadpanned lovingly with a raised eyebrow.
“I’m fucking freezing,” you whined, jumping up and down.
She sighed and in the blink of an eye, her suit disappeared, leaving her in skin-tight, black performance gear. She could now feel your pebbled nipples against her body, she could feel the goosebumps littering your skin, and she could also properly feel your ass.
“My poor little princess,” she pouted sarcastically, groping and kneading you, before placing a kiss on your forehead and trailing down to kiss your neck, her hands coming up to hold your upper back.
“Perhaps there’s a way we can heat each other up,” she smirked before walking toward the bed.
Her hips swayed in a newfound grace and the skin-tight clothing allowed you to follow her frame perfectly. You followed behind dutifully, taking off your shirt and bonnet as you approached her. Your chest began to rise and fall quicker following the increased speed of your heart and, despite the frigid temperatures, you felt a familiar heat enter your abdomen.
“Come on my princess,” the new queen commanded as she sat on the bed with her back against the wall.
Her eyes never left you and as you crawled to her, placing yourself on her lap, you couldn’t help but shiver. Before, you were stronger, physically at least. Now, with the strength of the Black Panther, Shuri matched you, possibly even beat you, in pure strength and that made the tingles spread from your spine to your core faster than ever.
You felt her hands run through your hair, forcing you to kiss her. Your tongues clashed and you could practically taste the coffee she drinks every day. You could feel her curls against your forehead, tickling your skin and comforting you, reminding you that this was yours. She was yours. Her tongue continued to twirl around yours, hungrily searching for something. While the heat rose and the breaths quickened, the warmth from your mouths created small clouds of condensation that made Shuri’s heart quicken in anticipation. The smell of cocoa butter and jasmine filled your nose and as saliva dribbled down your chin, your hands reached down in between you, trying to find the hem of her shirt.
“Shit,” you whimpered, as her left hand gripped your braids and pulled.
“What do you think you’re doing,” she panted, catching her breath. “Hmm?”
Her left hand stayed in your hair while the right one caressed your waist. Holding you close, breathing in your scent, while feeling your chest rise and fall against her was one of the queen’s favorite things.
“I want to see you,” you groaned, your hands still on her waist, too scared to move them.
“Mmm,” she groaned, kissing your neck. “You know what I want, sthandwa?”
“What,” you gasped, as you felt her flick your nipples.
“I want to see you fall apart on my thigh.”
Sealing her request, she placed you on her thigh and leaned against the wall, relaxing. When you stayed still in bewilderment the new Black Panther grew impatient, smacking your ass. As it jiggled against her thigh Shuri felt a wave of pleasure shoot through her.
“Fuck,” you whined, feeling the slick, expensive polyester against your silk shorts as you moved.
“Come on,” Shuri groaned. “You know how I like it, baby.”
She gripped your hips, clawing at your thin pants.
“Bast help me. Dressing like a whore and wondering why you’re so fucking cold,” she gritted out before allowing her mouth to grab ahold of one of your nipples.
“Shuri,” you gasped, hips stilling to arch your back.
“What’s my name,” she growled, pulling your hair once more. “Move your hips baby.”
Your slick seeped through your pants as the coil in your stomach began building. Your hips whined into her thigh and your hands dug into her shoulders, searching for support. You felt her hands rubbing up and down your sides as she whispered Xhosa into your ear. Fire began to spread through your fingertips and your toes, slowly creeping up toward your spine. Your palms dug into Shuri’s shoulders before your nails curled and began digging too.
"Ndingubani igama lam," she whispered, her grip on your braids tightening even more.
“My queen,” you whimpered, feeling your eyes roll back.
Shuri relished in watching you get off. She loved how your nipples stuck out when you arched your back, she loved how breathy your whines got when you were about to cum, and she loved how frustrated and pouty you became when she decided to be mean. Most importantly she loved that all this came from her, every sensation you relished couldn’t be felt without her being there, without her holding you. She gazed at your erotic figure and felt her stomach tighten in bliss.
“I want you. I want to taste you. Fuck,” you begged, the feeling of her body making you high. “Please. Please let me taste it.”
Shuri hissed at your words. With her hands on your waist, she could feel your muscles contracting and relaxing, trying to get a release. Your gasps and moans went straight from her ears to her core. She watched, arms holding you close, as your head tipped back, your stomach quivering, breath leaving your lips in small puffs of steam. She listened while your moans got louder, hearing her name get whinier, her breathing becoming faster as if syncing with your body. She felt you as your muscles moved, as your delightful juices seeped through her pants, watching while your breasts jiggled in front of her.
“Come on baby,” she pushed, wrapping her hands around your neck, bringing you closer so she could whisper in your ear. “Give me one, I know you can do that for me. You want to taste me, don’t you? You want my pussy in your mouth? Then cum all pretty for me, intombazana.”
Red hot explosions entered your bloodstream and coursed throughout your body at her words. Shuri always knew how to get you over the edge, her beautiful accent winding you up and breaking you down in the most pleasurable ways.
“That’s it,” she whimpered. “Fuck.”
Your hips stilled finally and you felt a thankfulness enter your chest as Shuri allowed you to catch your breath. Time slowed as she looked at you, fucked out and pleasured by her. You didn’t realize she was staring until you felt her lips on yours.
Your tongues were locked once again, sucking and twirling around each other. Your fingers worked quickly, finding the hem of her shirt and pulling up, careful not to let it catch on her earrings. As you pulled up, your knuckles grazed her silky smooth skin, luxuriously cared for with body butters and oils only royalty could buy. You wasted no time in attaching yourself to one of her nipples causing her to arch her back into you. Your tongue flicked and swirled around her perky bud while teasing the other one with your fingers.
“Le intombazana izoba kukufa kwam,” she breathed out repeatedly as her hips rolled, trying to find some friction.
She gripped your waist once again and pushed herself down, laying against the pillows. As she moved, her thigh grazed your core once more making your abdomen clench at the sudden overstimulation.
“Pleasure your queen, gugu’lami” Shuri groaned, watching you with hooded eyes.
Your heart fluttered at her command, wanting nothing more than to see her relaxed. You moved in between her legs, gripping her pants and placing a kiss above her belly button before quickly stripping her.
“I would want nothing more, ubungangamsha bakho,” you grinned, kissing her right ankle.
As you looked down at her you could see her hazy eyes, gazing up at you through her beautiful curly hair. A simple, silver anklet you had gotten her lay loose around her ankle, shocking your lips with the coolness of it.
Coming down and kissing her through her underwear, you licked and nipped at the flesh hiding underneath the fabric, smiling when you felt her legs on your shoulders.
“I want to hear you speak Xhosa more often, my love,” the young queen preened as she arched her back. “You coul- fuck!”
You pushed her underwear to the side and made direct contact with her core, placing an open mouth kiss on her slit.
“I could what, baby,” you smirked softly before licking her clit, feeling yourself salivate at the taste, before you wrapped your hand around her right thigh.
Shuri jumped at the cold rings on your finger, the thin bands providing a small shock to her system. She could feel the promise ring she had given you dig into her flesh, making her see stars. Her Majesty couldn’t finish her sentence even if she tried, the words lost in her brain. No matter how brilliant or smart she is, you had a way of making her go dumb.
She could feel the pleasure building up at the base of her spine and, as you looked up, you could see the steam leaving her mouth, her chest rising then falling in short bursts. Her head was tipped back and her hands gripped the pillows beside her while her toes curled against your back. Her juices and your saliva began to run down your chin and onto the bed, creating a vulgar wet spot between her legs.
“What would people think,” you started. “If they saw that I could taste the glorious Black Panther. How lucky would they think I am.”
You got high off of the thought. That you: a young black-American woman, got to see the Queen of Wakanda at her most vulnerable. That you got to have her cum dripping from your mouth. That you had her heart.
You could feel Shuri’s legs begin to flex, her newfound strength allowing her to truly suffocate you. Small whines left her lips as you continued to lap at her clit, fingers gripping your braids in an attempt to force you closer to her.
“Don’t be a brat today, Nkosazana. I swear, my love if you stop right now,” she paused to whine when you finally pushed your fingers into her. “I won’t let you cum till your fucking American holiday about - hah.”
Your fingers dug into her g-spot with laser precision, the idea of being a brat and edging her had crossed your mind but, the idea of her falling apart after so much stress had you biting your lip and crossing your legs.
Her hips began to roll into your tongue, legs spreading farther, her hands buried in your hair, trying to get her release faster.
The feeling of her using you like this had your clit throbbing and your heart beating.
Use me. Use me! USE ME!
It was all you could think as she rode your face to completion.
Shuri’s pleasure increased tenfold when she saw your face. She knew what you were thinking the moment your eyes rolled back, the moment you gripped her thighs to pull her closer to your face. The pleasure in her abdomen burned and simmered as she watched you, before boiling over into her arteries. Heat shot to her brain and made her legs close around your face. She came without warning. Your hands tightened around her thighs as you watched her face. Mouth open and eyes closed, hair draped on her forehead, mixing with her eyelashes. Drool began to leave the corners of her mouth before she closed it and swallowed. Hard.
Your eyes followed her throat before returning to look at her face.
“Get up here, gugu’lami,” Shuri smiled, before it quickly become a frown. “Wai-ah!”
Your mouth returned to her slit, lapping up the juices that leaked, evidence of her orgasm. You licked until you were sure that it was all gone and none was wasted, before coming up for air.
“You brat,” she glared at you, still between her legs, arms now resting on her stomach.
The small, cool-toned light that made it into the room, hit Shuri’s skin beautifully, giving it a shine like silver. Her lips, slightly parted, were lustfully swollen, proof of your lips on hers. You were so busy drinking in her beauty that you didn’t notice the way she was looking at you. Love shone in her eyes as she found comfort in your warmth.
“I had to make sure it was all gone, would you have left any,” you glared back playfully, placing a kiss on her torso.
Shuri’s fingers wandered into your hair as she continued to gaze at you lovingly. Watching how content you looked with just being with her. It was in these moments when Shuri was reminded how much you meant to her, how much she loves you.
“When this is all done,” Shuri swallowed. “I’m gonna marry you.”
|*|
A/n: Please leave me feedback, I really want to improve so tell me something you liked or something that could be worked on <3
#shuri smut#shuri x reader#shuri x black!reader#shuri#wlw#shuri udaku#shuri udaku x reader#shuri udaku x black!reader#black panther x reader#black panther x black!reader#black!reader#mcu x reader#black panther wakanda forever#letitia wright#mcu smut#marvel smut#shuri fluff#marvel fluff#black panther smut#black panther fluff
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pieces of you and me |dad!rockstar!eddie munson x nepo baby!reader|
prompt: your six daughters with eddie are named after the places they're conceived. fluffy little piece I had about nepo baby!reader and rockstar!eddie and their lives as parents, more specifically how they named each of their girls.
contains: mature, sexual themes not graphic but still 18+, minors dni. mom!nepo baby!reader x dad!rockstar!eddie throughout the years.
June 1993 - Corfu Beach, Greece
Your wedding ring dazzled in the Greek sunshine, bright and clear, almost as reflective as the waters in front of you. Corfu Beach was the first stop on your honeymoon trips, after three wedding ceremonies.
The tabloids had gone rabid when you'd announced that your weddings- plural- would be spread out from May to June. Three ceremonies, extravagant but intimate. The first in Palm Springs, an estate near the San Jacinto mountains with just your family. You and Eddie were both only children, the ceremony was sweet and short, an officiant, your parents and grandparents, Wayne and his girlfriend, and the two of you. A silk, slip white dress, custom made by Donatella herself just for you. Eddie wore a tux, the sweetheart, choking back sobs when he read you his vows, promises for your life together. You'd danced under the strung lights, Forever by the Beach Boys, his hand on your back, holding you sweetly. Your private photographer, a family friend, made sure to capture all the intimate sweet moments for you, and it was secluded with no worries of paparazzi.
Then you'd jetted off to Las Vegas, sin city as a couple. Eddie had taken the liberty of renting out Elvis' Little Chapel just for the two of you, hiring the best Elvis and photographer. You'd wore a tiny, leather white dress, garter showing on your thigh. Eddie in an Elvis suit, white just for you. Your friends dressed their part, his band mates, friends from Hawkins, and yours from Beverly Hills and others joined. You didn't remember most of the night, giggling when the Elvis impersonator read you your vows in the mimicking voice. It was a blur, champagne, liquor, and drugs in a penthouse suite at the Palms. You'd woken up a little sick, veil still in your hair and aching between your thighs, ass covered in welts from the night before. Eddie had managed to find a heart shaped paddle on the strip, using it on you when you got back from the 'reception' that was in the other room, where your friends were scattered still.
Lastly, you finished in Paris. Eddie wanted it just to be the two of you, an officiant, and the city of love. He'd gone all out, his vows seemed to triple in size from the first ceremony. Tucked away in a Parisian Chateau that had a stunning view of the Eiffel Tower in the backdrop, Eddie poured his heart out to you, vulnerable and raw. You both sobbed through your vows, heavy with emotion that pored out with each word, kissing each other before the officiant ever gave you the signal.
Now you were here, Greece. The beaches were beautiful, the wine delicious, and the waters stunning. Eddie had rented a small boat for the two of you, drifting off the coast of the secluded resort you were staying at. You were thankful for the intimacy, relaxing in the warm sun, topless, the true European experience.
"I think we should do this more often," Eddie grinned, blocking the sun from your view, standing tall over you.
You shielded your eyes, looking up at him. The sun haloed around his curls, his inked skin a little pinkish from the rays. He looked angelic.
"I think you just like to see me topless." You smirked.
"I think you'd be right." Eddie scoffed, kneeling down between your legs on the towel. "Can you blame me? Look at them." He squeezed your boobs lightly. "My girls. All mine, forever."
You let out a soft laugh, his lips ghosting over yours, fingers rubbing your pebbled nipples between the two of you. He kissed you slow, sweet, taking his time to truly taste you, feel you.
He was between your legs before you knew it, his cock splitting you open, harsh thrusts that left the small boat rocking and shifting with the waves. You'd gotten on top, hips swiveling and rocking with every rise and fall, his hands gripping your hips harsh.
You two spent the day like that, him filling you up raw, pumping his release deep inside of you, leaving you dripping him for the rest of the day on shaky legs.
The thrill of the ceremonies, of the honeymoons, of being hopelessly, completely in love with Eddie had your head spinning. You were still on the high of the first two ceremonies when you'd left for Paris, forgetting your birth control on the counter of the Hills home.
It wasn't until nearly a month later, when you finally returned, still in bliss and the rush of that newly wed feeling, that you realized. Staring at the silver packet that mocked you. You hoped that maybe you'd be lucky, maybe your body was just adjusting from jet lag and the different time zones. You were dehydrated from your time in Europe, maybe that was it.
A month later, you sat in the gynecologist office, the wand pressed over your belly, showing the small blip on the screen, Eddie's ringed hand tight in yours. "Looks like you're about seven weeks along, Mrs. Munson." The doctor said, looking over at you.
Eddie's eyes shined at you, teary and wide. You were both scared, overwhelmed. "Greece." He muttered. "It must've been our honeymoon, shit- well, that makes sense."
Persephone June Munson was born February 17th, 1994.
November 1994 - London, England
"Christ, fuck, it's cold." Eddie grumbled, hands buried deep in his leather jacket, air fogging around him.
You snorted, rolling your eyes. "That's why I told you to bring a jacket." You hummed, Burberry plaid scarf whipping in the harsh winds. You held Persephone closer to your chest, she was bundled up in her hat and scarf under your own heavy jacket, but you still worried she'd still be cold.
At ten months old, she was the spitting image of her daddy. Eddie's twin through and through, shining brown eyes that were so expressive and little chocolate curls that were starting to spiral on the ends of the tufts of downy, baby hair. She was your kryptonite, your little angel, for both of you.
Parenthood fit you both very well, to the surprise of nearly all the media. You and Eddie navigated being parents like you did anything else, head first and a little stubborn. After many sleepless nights, parenting books, and the help of your own parents, you'd finally felt accomplished. Eddie didn't want to miss a second of being a dad, and you couldn't blame him, not when the most precious creation on the Earth was looking back at you.
The tour and Corroded Coffin's album had been pushed, finally releasing in September. Eddie knew he'd have to tour soon, the two of you were still working out if you'd stay or go, but when he'd been asked to play at a concert in Wembley Stadiums, headlining with Metallica and Ozzy and all the legends he'd looked up to, he couldn't turn it down.
Now, the three of you were walking down South Kensington in London, heading towards the Natural History Museum with your baby- oh, how times had changed. Eddie smirked, stepping closer to you, looking down your jacket.
"Can she breathe in there? Is she alright?" Eddie asked, eyes scanning the two of you. All he could see of little Persephone was the little pink poof that sat on top of her hat, bobbing and hitting your chin with every step.
"She's fine, aren't you Sephy?" You cooed down at her, pulling your jacket back. Eddie looked down, melting at the brown eyes that stared back at him, chubby cheeks a little red from the warmth of your jacket. "Say, quit worrying daddy, mama's got me." You mimicked a high pitched baby voice that had her giggling.
Eddie grinned, pulling you close to him, his lips pressing a sloppy, wet kiss to your cheek. The security in front of you and behind you followed closely, one holding the door while you climbed into the room. The guide waited cheerily at the front, excited to take the infamous rockstar on a private tour.
You held Persephone, still in her little hat but your own jacket shedded. Eddie watched you, how you'd coo sweetly at her, pressing kisses into her little cheeks, swaying with her when the guide would explain the areas.
Eddie felt his heart swell, boasting and filling with love and pride, and something else. Something primal and deep and lustful. It was different from before. Usually the type of thrill that came with drugs, performing for thousands, then having groupies throw themselves at his feet. Now, he felt it deep in his chest, the protectiveness he had over you, over Sephy, his little family.
"You think she'd stay down for a nap if we take her back to the hotel?" Eddie growled low in your ear, teeth nipping at your lobe playfully.
You swatted him away, rolling your eyes. "I doubt it." You gave him a pointed look. "She has like a sixth sense for when were about to fuck." You snorted playfully, looking down at your little baby.
Eddie gave a soft smile, taking Persephone from your arms, snuggling her tight in his arms. She giggled, reaching to grab onto his curls. You grinned when she did, yanking them down hard, pulling at the scalp. Eddie hissed, moving his head with her to alleviate some of the pull. "Easy, easy, sweetheart," He muttered, opening her little fists.
You told him a million times to put his hair up around her. She was going through a grabbing stage. Anything and everything. The two of you had to re-baby proof the house when she'd started crawling, her tiny hands grabbing onto anything and everything she could.
"She's got a fucking iron grip." Eddie grunted, pulling his scalp back, tossing his hair over his shoulders. He knitted his brows, looking down at Persephone playfully. "Don't you? You're just a strong lil thing aren't ya?" He cooed, excitedly, bouncing her in his arms.
You smiled at her little giggles, the faintest crease in her chubby cheeks, hinting that she'd inherit dimples like her daddy. You shouldn't be surprised at this point, she was Eddie's twin, but it still made you a little jealous every time a new feature came in and it was a carbon copy of him.
"The next one will look just like ya, babe." Eddie would wink when you'd huff to him about it. "If not, we can just keep trying and trying and trying 'til one looks like ya." He always said it like he was joking, but the way his eyes darkened, you wondered if he truly was.
Persephone had gone down easily for her nap, and you were thankful. You figured she was still exhausted from the flight. You'd flown private with the band, your parents insisted on it, which benefited the two of you more than anyone else. Her little ears hurt from the pressure, whimpering and sobbing in the little bedroom on the back of the plane while you and Eddie tried to soothe her.
Eddie had gone for a soundcheck with the band, leaving you at the hotel with Sephy, unwinding in the cool linens of the hotel. You ran your hand down the bed, gnawing at your bottom lip. The last time you'd been at this hotel in London, it was with Eddie, but very differently. The two of you had just begun... whatever you wanted to call the relationship. You'd flown out on a red eye to London when he started his European tour, letting him fuck you hard and mean, tying you up to the headboard and having his way with you.
Now, you had a baby, you were married, and life was so different.
The door clicked shut, locking gently. Eddie could hear the sound machine, white noise that washed out the busy streets below next to the crib. You held your finger to your lips, nodding towards Persephone, who napped in her little portable crib.
Eddie smiled lovingly, looking over the edge of her crib. He climbed into the bed with you, gently laying down beside you. "She been asleep long?" He whispered.
You shook your head, your nose touching his. "Just a few minutes. I fed her and she was exhausted." You smiled, hands running over his shirt, down his arms. He perked up at the movement. "I think we have some time if you want to..." You bit your lip suggestively.
Eddie's eyes flicked from you back to the crib. "Here?" He whispered, ringed finger pressing into the bed.
You rolled your eyes. "We can go in the bathroom." You nodded to the spacious bathroom on the other side of the room. "Just be quiet."
Eddie grinned wide, letting you pull him by his hand towards the bathroom. "You be quiet," He whispered, pressing the door closed softly. "You're always the one screaming."
You rolled your eyes, wiggling your pants off. "Just hurry up." You huffed, tossing your discarded clothes to the ground, bending over the counter.
Eddie grinned, dropping to his knees. He pulled the lacy little thong off, smirking at your choice of panties. "Let me taste you first," Eddie rasped, ringed hands pulling your cheeks apart, revealing your slick puffy lips. He nearly drooled. "'S been too long, baby, let me have a taste."
You bit down on the back of your hand hard, smacking the faucet on, hoping the steady water stream would muffle your whimpers that escaped while Eddie devoured you over the counter. Miraculously, Sephy stayed asleep while Eddie pounded you hard, hips snapping against yours, holding you up to look at you through the mirror, hand around your neck.
He had more adrenaline after that, seeing his cum drip and spill out of your sopping hole. He pushed it back in with his pointer finger, smirking when you whimpered, collapsed over the vanity, cheek pressed to the marble countertop of the bathroom.
Four weeks later, you were sure you'd caught a virus. Stomach lurching and exhausted beyond belief.
Eight months later, that 'virus' was crowning, pushing out of you while you swore and threatened Eddie.
Kensington Klein Munson was born on August 3rd, 1995.
February 1998 - Milan, Italy
You'd been reluctant to go. You knew getting invited to Fashion Week in Milan was a big deal, especially since your long time friend was showcasing his line there, fresh new styles curated for the runway.
"Button, just go," Your mother sighed. "Daddy and I have it covered. We've raised a baby before, and look at you, you turned out just divine."
Still, you were hesitant to leave. You never left your babies often, hating the feeling- it was one you knew all too well. It was only a few days after Persephone's birthday, it felt too soon. And Kensington was going through a particularly nasty clinging stage with you, wailing and sobbing herself to near hyperventilation when you weren't in her sight.
Eddie had coaxed you sweetly, reminding you it's only be for a few days. He knew you didn't want to travel alone, and he too had been invited, so he offered to come with you, leaving your babies with your mom and dad.
You could hardly sit through the plane ride, guilt and nerves making you tight and irritable the entire time.
Eddie pressed sweet kisses into your skin, muttering that it would be ok. You were tense with every passing second. Tense during the pre-show dinner the night before, tight lipped smile and clutching your cell phone tightly. You'd given your hotel number to your parents, and instructed the concierge to forward it to the restaurant immediately if they called.
Even the wine, your favorite from Tuscany, didn't help soothe your nerves. Pouty the whole night, ignoring Eddie's sweet touches. You'd scurried to the phone when they said there was a call for you, nearly knocking over a waitress in the process.
It was your parents calling with the girls, ready to say goodnight. "Oh, Kensie, I know, sweet girl," You cooed sweetly, and Eddie could see your own heart breaking through the phone. "Mama and Daddy will be back so soon, baby angel, I promise."
Eddie rubbed your back soothingly. He could hear Kensie's wails and blubbering over the phone, through the noise of the restaurant. "You're with sissy, and Glammy," You sucked in a breath, fighting an eye roll at your mother's outrageous name she'd chosen for her grand babies to call her. You pulled the phone away, another heart wrenching wail, making your face crumble.
Eddie wrenched the phone out of your grasp lightly, pressing it to his ear. "Is that my sweet Kensie crying?" He cooed lowly into the phone. You pressed closer to hear. Her cries stuttered, shushing temporarily at her father's voice. "That can't be my sweet Kensie crying, is it?"
"It is, dad." Persephone's grumbled voice came from the background. "She hasn't stopped crying." Even at four, she was all attitude. She might have gotten Eddie's look, but he swore she got all your sass.
Eddie bit back a grin. "Sephy, can you hear me too?" He asked. She confirmed. "I need you to be extra sweet to your sister, ok? Mommy and Daddy will be back soon."
"And we'll bring you gifts back if you're good!" You added, yelling into the phone.
Eddie glared at you lightly, rolling his eyes. Persephone seemed excited at the promise. "Kens, Seph, can you both be good for Glammy and Pop-Pop?" His younger self would be raging at the nicknames.
"We'll be good, Daddy, prowmise." Persephone said sweetly through the phone. Eddie's heart swelled.
"Good." He grinned back. "You have good dreams, ok? Call us in the morning." You reached for the phone, pulling it away from his ear.
"Have sweet dreams, my angel babies." You cooed. "Daddy and Mommy love you so much. We miss you so much."
Your mother took the phone, chatting with you for a moment before you hung up, hesitantly, shoulder's deflating in defeat. You looked tired, dull, so unlike yourself. Eddie frowned, his hand circling your waist, pulling you close.
"C'mon," He nodded, pulling you towards the door. "Let's go back to the hotel."
"But-"
"-Tell them I got sick." Eddie shrugged. "I wanna spend some time with you. It's the first night alone we've had in a while."
You smiled gently, wrapping your arms around his torso. He shielded you from the paparazzi, ringed hand shoving cameras when they crowded outside your hotel, shouting at them all the way to the elevator.
When he got you back into the hotel, his hands on your back, smoothing over the fabric of your dress. "You know what we haven't done in a while?" Eddie grinned lightly. You hummed. "You haven't let me tie you up and have my way with you in a while."
Your thighs twitched, pressing together under the dress. "Ed," You let out a breathy sigh, squealing when he pinched the fat of your ass. "Kinda hard to do that when the kids are around."
"Well, the kids aren't around now." Eddie smirked, squeezing and kneading your cheeks. "No one to bother us all week. C'mon..." He was already moving towards you, lips slotting over yours to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, tongue sliding easily into your mouth.
You melted into the kiss, relaxing for the first time since you stepped off the plane. Eddie pulled you closer, fingers splayed out on the small of your back, pressing you farther into him. His lips pulled apart from yours, soft lips pressing into your cheek gently. "C'mon, baby," He rasped into your ear. "Be my good girl."
You perked, eyes meeting his, dark, hungry eyes shining back down at you. You rolled your lips like you were really thinking it over, but your hand was already reaching for your zipper.
"Fine, but only your hand if you spank me." You warned, pointing at him sternly. "We have to sit like all day tomorrow, and I better be able to sit." You glared at him, letting the slinky dress fall to your ankles.
Eddie's grin widened, eyes lighting up with excitement. You smirked, rolling your eyes, climbing on the bed. He fumbled through his bag, pulling out the leather cuffs. You lifted a brow. "So you were planning this?"
Eddie shrugged. "Maybe. Knew we'd be alone. Figured I might as well take advantage of my opportunity." He grinned.
You snorted, rolling on your stomach and letting him cuff you behind your back. Eddie hauled you into his lap, spanking you until your ass blossomed with red splotches and you were crying out. He fucked you hard into the mattress, skin burning and nails raked down his back and shoulder.
You were limping to the show next week, only sitting through your friend's show before disappearing back to the hotel, judgmental looks be damned. Eddie had his way with you the rest of the trip, the two of you refusing to leave the hotel room, fucking hard and nasty like you used to before; before the kids and before the marriage, before you two even liked each other.
You squirmed the entire plane ride home, finding refuge in Eddie's lap while he let you curl up into his chest. You ached between your legs, ass burning, chest littered in hickies you hoped the girls wouldn't see.
Nine months later, you were back in a familiar position, screaming in pain while you pushed out not one, but two babies; twin girls. Eddie nearly fainted at the ultrasound.
Sicily Giselle and Sienna Noelle Munson were born December 1st, 1998.
June 1999 - Sharm El Sheikh, Egypt
It was an anniversary gift, celebrating your wedding date from Farrah. You loved to travel, you and Eddie both, and since you saw the feature on Egypt, you'd wanted to go.
Farrah offered to watch the kids while you and Eddie had a get away, a romantic trip to the beautiful El Fanar Beach. "Just bring me back something nice, ok?" She winked playfully.
Eddie was in paradise, literally. You, him, and a private resort a haven for just the two of you. He'd taken you shopping to the local vendors, and you knew you had to pick up a bottle of perfume. Everyone raved about the fragrance, how decadent and strong it was- one of a kind. You'd fallen in love with one, dousing yourself in it during the trip.
Eddie seemed to like it too, burying his face in your neck, wrists, chest wherever you sprayed it, nuzzling need and sweet into you, inhaling you deeply like he might lose the scent if he didn't. You giggled when he nipped at your neck, loose, flowing linen dress flying around you in the breeze of the balcony.
The water was a gorgeous turquoise, but you hadn't managed to get in it yet. Every time you changed into your swimsuit, Eddie had you crowded around whatever was nearest, bending you over or pushing you against the surface, fucking you deep and slow.
"Ed, please," You whined, his crotch digging mercilessly into you, lips sucking and nipping at the skin of your neck, still raw from earlier. "Please, I-I wanna go to the beach."
"We'll go," Eddie hummed, lips ghosting down your collarbones. "We'll go after, I promise."
"You said that yesterday." You whined, huffing when he toyed with your clit through your swimsuit. "Ed, please-"
"-You just look too good, baby, fuck." Eddie groaned. "Smell too good. They put crack in that perfume. Made you irresistible." He growled, nipping at your ear.
You giggled, relenting when he dropped to his knees, licking you slowly until you were a puddle, sliding down the wall and further onto his tongue, hands gripping his curls.
Eddie went out and bought every bottle they had of that perfume, packing it back over on the plane, his nose still buried deep in your neck.
You blamed the perfume on why you were ringing in the millennium heavily pregnant, sipping soda water instead of champagne with your friends. That damn perfume, but it had a beautiful name, one you passed on to your daughter a month later, saving the original bottle in your safe just for her one day.
Zahra Wayne Munson was born on January 19th, 2000.
March 2007- Las Vegas, Nevada
You felt a little tipsy, stumbling in your stilettos across the marbled floors backstage. It was easier these days to get drunk. Younger you would never believe that you lose your tolerance when you get older, yet here you were thirty-seven, stumbling through The Colosseum at Caesar's Palace.
Corroded Coffin had been retired for years now, since the twins, really. Eddie had agreed to do a few shows, but hung up his guitar, trading it over to be a family man instead. He still dabbled in projects, produced, and some other things to occupy his time, but he wanted to be present with the girls, with you. It shocked the world that the both of you were as dedicated parents as you were.
Now, your oldest was thirteen, your youngest seven. Your little family complete and perfect. You were still reluctant leaving them, even if they were older, but it was a special event. Corroded Coffin live in concert at Caesar's, Eddie couldn't turn it down. And the two of you would never turn down Vegas, no matter how mature you were.
"Hey there, sexy mama." Eddie slurred, drunk and flirty. You giggled, gripping onto this leather clad arm. The show had ended hours ago, the after party raging on into the early morning.
"What're you doin'?" You giggled, watching him grab at your ass, hand ducking under your dress to squeeze your cheeks harsh.
"You just look so fuckin' good baby, goddam," Eddie grinned, swaying with you in his arms. "You're so pretty. So pretty."
You snorted. "You're horny." You grinned, feeling his half hard dick against you.
Eddie rolled his tongue over his cheek. "You're right. Can you blame me? With how good you look?"
You blushed, arms circling around his neck, pulling him closer to you. "I think-I think you look really pretty too." You smiled, nuzzling your nose against the scruff of his cheeks.
He pulled you in closer at the waist, hands still firm on your ass. You knew you were too old to be acting like this, you were parents and adults, you should behave. But you couldn't get enough of him. A little over fifteen years together, five babies, and you still couldn't get enough; that might be why you had the five babies.
"I think," Eddie whispered into your ear. "I think we should go to the bathroom." His eyes lit up suggestively.
"The bathroom?" You asked, giggling.
He was already waltzing you through the crowd, towards the private restrooms in the back. He'd had you already in the dressing room, you dropped to your knees when he came in, sucking him off until he fucked you hard over the table. Just like when you were younger, when everything was new and exciting.
He was insatiable then and still now, that never changed.
The bathroom door clicked with a lock, spacious and extravagant like the rest of the room was. Eddie hoisted you up on the bathroom counter, hands roaming every square inch of your body, needy and slipping under the fabric of your dress. You giggled, throwing your head back on the mirror, letting his fingers work you open.
He pulled your thong down, black lace with 'CC' crocheted on the front; a true artifact, made in 1992 when you went to your first Corroded Coffin concert. He fucked you back stage, and you surprised him with it. Somehow, your panties made their way into the lyric pages of their next CD.
Eddie laughed, holding them up by the band, eyes widening back at you. You blushed, shrugging gently. "Surprise, baby." You giggled. "I thought you'd see them earlier."
Eddie groaned loudly, tying his hair up with the thong before plunging head first between your legs. You squealed and gasped and writhed on the counter, his hands gripping your waist hard holding you into place.
He fucked you in the bathroom, trapping you against the wall, hips snapping into yours while you grabbed at his ass. There was no need for birth control, condoms, or having him pull out. He'd gotten a vasectomy after Zahra, you were done having babies, giving up on having your boy and accepting having all beautiful girls.
Or so you thought.
You returned to Los Angeles with more than just a hangover. The Las Vegas night was truly one you'd never forget, even if you didn't exactly remember everything, because- to both of your surprises, your urine test came back positive.
Vega Jo Munson was born October 29th, 2007.
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fun-sized | leon k.
summary: somehow, musing about being short lead to an obsession with leon’s boobs.
genres: romance, humor
cw: suggestive themes, reader is short, leon is a cheeky little sh!t, stream of consciousness, not proofread
music inspo: if - r5
Being short isn’t all bad. Sometimes, it has its perks.
Strangers pity you in the supermarket, for example. Watch with fond smiles and swelling hearts while you struggle to fetch a box of Froot Loops from the topmost shelf—it would be the last box with marshmallows, too.
As your poor little calves sting and your fingers strain and you whimper pitifully for added effect, a leggy gentleman often swoops in to save the day.
You don’t have to duck beneath low tree branches when jogging through the park, either. Not at all fazed when your taller coworkers play limbo to avoid a splinter to the face.
Being fun-sized also comes in handy when dodging chainsaws and blades on a mission. Helps that you’re an agile little spider monkey, but you don’t have to do some fancy footwork to avoid having your head lopped off. You can simply duck.
Sure, you have to climb onto your countertops to reach the spice rack. Need a step ladder to retrieve plates from the cupboard. And maybe you have to put a little more oomph into your jumps to reach the pullup bar at the precinct. But the best part of being petite is, well...
Having the best view in the house.
That view being Leon S. Kennedy’s bodacious tits.
They flex invitingly in your peripheral whilst he reaches overhead to fetch a coffee mug. Doesn’t help that his shoulder rigs cup his bosom just right. And, of course, his dress shirt is tapered, accentuating the shape of his Adonis-like pecs.
Yeah, you could be a little more subtle with your ogling. Nearly scorch yourself with piping coffee, too preoccupied with Leon’s nipples that pebble in the cool air conditioning. But, he’s warm-bodied and virile beside you. Exudes the heady aroma of gun oil and cashmere. Stubble dapples his chin, and the golden slither of collarbone playing peek-a-boo with your vision beneath his button-up, well…
It takes every bit of you not to bite your lip, grateful the break-room’s free of any other occupants. It’s embarrassing enough eying your superior like a piece of prime rib.
Leon’s Adam’s apple bobs, causing you to instinctively swallow. Don’t even know when you stopped breathing, static filling the space between your ears. The definitive click of the cupboard being shut brings you back to the present. And you would nearly leap out of your skin, caught like the proverbial child rifling through the cookie jar.
His chuckle tinges the air, warm milk and honey to your ears. Tingles in the tips of your toes. Sparkles in the crown of your head whilst your cheeks flood with heat.
“Think you dropped something,” Leon drawls on the edge of your ear. Incredibly close, the heat radiating off his torso, branding your arm as he reaches around to pluck the coffee pot from your shaky fingers.
“W-what’d I drop?” you sputter, scanning the floor like a fool. Your gaze settles on Leon’s chest when another chuckle cascades from his lips. When a battle-worn finger creeps beneath your chin, angling your head back. His eyes swim with mischief, glittering like sea glass.
“Your jaw, sweetheart,” he croons as if taking part in a naughty secret.
You glimpse Leon’s crow’s feet before he draws away. Miss the warmth he emits, your voice corked in your throat. You watch pathetically, rooted to the floor whilst he ambles towards the break-room’s entrance, a hand stuffed in his pocket.
Before he crosses the threshold, Leon jests over his shoulder, “Gonna watch me like that; you should buy me dinner first.”
It’s out before you can think, hopefulness prickling your limbs. “W-what do you like to eat?”
It serves its purpose, stopping him in his tracks. The smirk he dons when he faces you again siphons your breath.
He stalks towards you before you can process things, soundless as a feline. Places his mug on the counter, spilling over you like liquid fire. Your back collides with the wall; didn’t even notice how close you were to it. Shiver as he sweeps an errant lock of hair behind your ear, suddenly caging you in with brawny arms on either side of your head.
You shrink beneath his power whilst he leans in. Jerk when he gathers your cheek into his palm, leaning down to whisper obscenities against the pulse point behind your ear.
Your knees buckle, and your lashes shutter from the absurdity of it all. From the sodden promises murmured against your skin, causing your tongue to loll about in your mouth.
Leon departs after whittling you down. Leaves you boneless, every egotistical ounce of him filtering from the room alongside him.
“So, dinner at seven?” you quip to his retreating back in the hallway, battling the thundering of your heart in your rib cage.
#leon x reader#leon kennedy x y/n#leon x you#leon s kennedy x reader#re4 x reader#re4 leon x reader#resident evil 4 x reader#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x you
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