#been a fuckin weird and rough-ass time lately

[byanyan]

probably gonna be setting my attention on my multi today bc new muse is rattling around in my brain... but i'm gonna try to poke at a couple of drafts here too if i can!!

[hope-to-hell]

The difficulty of taking what you really want. Travis Hackett x Reader. Smut, pegging, implied age gap. It’s never too late to teach an old dog new tricks.

—

When you float the idea he goes all deer in the headlights, blush creeping up from under his collar. He’s not disgusted—poleaxed maybe— spluttering a bit before he gets out a what? I, um. No… no thank you, and so you let it lie. There’s plenty else you can do, after all. And anyway you’re well distracted before long, once he starts peeling off his shirt with that boyish grin that makes him look twenty years younger.

Were you a greaser? I bet you were, leather jacket and jeans, causing trouble down at the drive-in and—

Hey now, how old do you think I am?

Just messing with ya. Still think you’d look fuckin hot in leather.

There’s a span of weeks when he’s turning something over in his mind, now and then making that rumbling hmm over coffee at his desk, or as he’s moving slow and lazy in ya with your back pressed against his chest.

You think too much.

One of us has to.

And so time passes until the question just faintly brushes the back of your mind, until the lights are low and he’s nosing at your neck. I want you to, he says, and you can feel the heat radiating from his cheeks.

Gonna have to be more specific, T. Pulling it out of him carries the risk of Travis simply retreating into himself, but this is part of the dance: the I want that becomes we need, the shyness spiraling out into abandon— because he is shy, no matter what he or anyone else says; he dreams of rain in the pines and not another soul around for miles— but all this hinges on him speaking his need.

I— aw fuck. I want you to fuck me. His words are breathy on the exhale, wispy almost; it’s that little voice whispering I want, I want, peeling back the ingrained layers of good boys don’t do that, laying bare the part of him that dares to take what he wants. This won’t be a grand event; there will be no rose petals or candlelight; he is a skittish thing and so he will try to stay at the very edge of the light where he can let his needs unfurl. But he is the center of your attention here whether he likes it or not; he takes a breath and lets you lay him down.

You don’t have to say I’ll be careful but you do say easy does it when you’re slicking him inside and out til he’s nearly more lube than man; he’s had a finger in him once or twice but the promise of more has him breathing openmouthed, canines catching at his lip. I gotcha. Here, check it out— and you’re closing his big rough hand over the silicone cock, feeling the tug of leather against your skin as he hefts it, pursing his lips such that you can practically hear the gears turning in his mind.

And if he twitches a little at the way you’re petting at his insides, it doesn’t last because at last he’s drifting in the rare pleasure of being cared for, rocked now and again by the uncertainty of this unfamiliar ground. Feels— weird. Exposed? Like I’m more naked than I’ve ever been. He shifts, canting his hips up just a bit; he could be chasing sensation or trying to evade it, and so you have to ask.

Hey. We still good?

Golden.

Okay, then. Lie back and let me blow your mind.

Smartass, I oughta— whatever he meant to say dies in the harsh wet gasp that punches out of him when you steady the toy against his ass and slowly push inside. It’s not from pain but rather from the sheer overwhelming scope of sensation that he has no reference for, and so all he can do is drop his head back among the pillows and feel.

‘Salright? His answer is in the way he reaches for you, threading a hand between all your tangled limbs til he can grip at your hip, catching at the leather strap. His pale arm tenses bowstring-tight with the force of his need; he’s beyond speaking but his body speaks more clearly than he could, his cock twitching and jerking against his belly. Stroke yourself, gorgeous. C’mon, let me see, you look so fucking hot when you let go. And when he does let go— when he sheds the final scrap of oughtn’t, shouldn’t, mustn’t and clothes himself in pure naked pleasure— when he takes himself in hand and his breaths falter out of rhythm, that’s when it happens.

It’s the smallest change in angle, a shift of your hips that rips a startled, wide-eyed oh from him. There, huh?

I— fuck. Fuck. Again, more— and of course you’re gonna give him what he wants, what he needs— unh— he’s been wound so tight for so long, he deserves this mindless pleasure, the wet sound of skin on skin as you push him hard toward the edge— fuckfuckfuck— the stoic in him has combusted and all that’s left is this mad dash to— ah— to—

and he falls.

He’s still twitching but you’re already halfway out of the harness, wrapping yourself around his thigh, and he slots against you so perfectly, slippery with spilled lube and your own need; the hair on his thigh gives just the right amount of friction and it’s no time at all before you’re following him down.

In the loose-limbed aftermath he’s hazy, drifting; his fingertips brush against your cheek as he’s mumbling cmere. Scootch up. He’s so warm, slick with sweat and fluids but you fit so perfectly against his side. It’ll be worth having to peel yourself off him later; for now he’s slipping into sleep with one arm draped across your belly. For now, there is no thought, no worry— only rest.

[pokeheros-drama]

I know we've talked about Goobear's rough takes and I hate beating a dead horse, but I wanna ask: how old is Goobear? They've made comments that are still up on their account saying "@my use of LGB: HAS NOTHING to do with hate. It IS a time reference period. I was fighting for your rights before you were born. That is all that that statement meant." LGBT has been a term popularized since 1988/1990, and honestly I don't think "back in my day" is a reasonable excuse to exclude people anyway but that's beside the point.

My parents were born in the 80s and even they say LGBT, so like, genuinely how fuckin old is this guy? I'll always argue that pokemon can be for anyone, regardless of age, but like... dayum. Dude has to be either old as hell for a pokemon website, or they try to come off as older to excuse some of their ass takes/wording.

P.S. If you're reading this Goob: If you want people to understand you aren't homophobic/transphobic, maybe start by getting with the times and stop using exclusionary wording. Adding one letter to an acronym that's been around for over 30 years isn't going to kill you, and it's kinda weird to argue with children and teens about it on a pokemon fan website.

IIRC, Goober is in either their late 20's or early 30's.

[lunagojo]

Various Anime Boys: Being Told "I love you" For The First Time (Part 2!)

a/n: yeeeeeah i should be working on my essay but here I am

Featured: Sanemi Shinazugawa, Kento Nanami, Keigo Takami / Hawks, Atsuhiro Sako / Mr. Compress

Warnings: Swearing in Sanemi's, stitching up Atsuhiro's boo boos

~ Part 1 ~ ~ Part 3 ~ ~ Part 4 ~ ~ Part 5 ~

Sanemi Shinazugawa:

(was anyone gonna tell me he and Satoru share the same English dub VA??? It's so weird hearing Gojo's voice coming out of Nemi XD)

The other Hashira could not understand it. How did you manage to calm Sanemi down so much? It’s like your presence alone was a soothing balm to his damaged heart. Even he didn’t fully understand why he was so drawn to you, like a moth to a warm, glowing light. You were kind, patient, understanding…all things that he yearned for. And you made him ohagi, which, of course, was a bonus.

You were sitting together outside one evening, simply enjoying the peace and quiet together. Sanemi was unusually quiet, his lips pressed into a thin, firm line. He was getting annoyed with how he felt around you, and how lately you had refused to make eye contact with him.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, his voice rough, “Why the fuck don’t you look at me anymore? It’s like I’m ugly or somethin’ to you.”

You immediately raised your hands and shook your head adamantly, “No, no, it’s…it’s not that at all, Sanemi! I’m sorry.”

“Then what the fuck is it? And don’t tell me it’s that you’re shy or some shit.”

“N—No…it’s not that either.”

“Then just tell me, dammit. You’re starting to irk me.” He huffed, narrowing his eyes at you.

You blushed and swallowed harshly, looking embarrassed. “…I love you, Sanemi.”

He froze in place, his eyes going wide. “What?! You better not be fuckin’ joking or I’ll kick your ass.” It was an empty threat, Sanemi would never hurt you. He’d kill anyone who tried.

“I’m not joking!” You replied quickly, your cheeks darkening. You looked down into your lap, terrified that you had just made some sort of big mistake. Sanemi’s hand found yours and he squeezed it, bringing it to his lips. You looked back at him, surprised.

“I love you too, idiot.”

Kento Nanami

(violently drooling over this man)

It had been several long, toiling days of work at Jujutsu Tech for you. You’d barely had any time to rest, having to wrap up mountains of paperwork that entailed the various curses that had been exorcised in the recent days. It was going to be another late night, everyone else had either gone home or gone to bed in the dorms, and it was just you, awake and working hard to finish up your work.

That is, you thought it was just you.

You didn’t even notice Kento standing in the doorway, watching you as you typed away on your computer. He didn’t know how you could look so stunning even when you were exhausted. He cleared his throat, which ended up startling you.

“I’m sorry,” He said as he entered, “ I didn’t mean to scare you.” In his hand was a paper bag.

You exhaled, relieved it was only Kento. Giving him a tired smile, you gestured for him to sit down in the spare seat. “It’s alright,” You assured him. “I guess I’ve just been way too absorbed in getting this done.”

“I can see that,” He replied, opening the bag. “You’ve been working tremendously hard lately. You need a break.” He took a wrapped sandwich out of the bag and offered it to you. “I know it isn’t much, but you do need to eat.”

You gratefully took the sandwich and didn’t hesitate to start eating it. You were starving.

“It won’t kill you to take a break,” He said. “Working overtime is never healthy.” He folded his hands in his lap, offering you a kind smile. You blushed at the sight. Kento rarely smiled around anyone.

You sighed softly and sat back in your chair. “I know…but I need to get this done.”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t do any harm to get some sleep tonight.” He pressed gently, removing his glasses and loosening his tie. “If you’re adamant about finishing it then I would be more than happy to keep you company.”

Something about his kindness, his smile, the way he was looking at you, it was almost too much for you to handle. He had always been so nice and thoughtful toward you.

God, I love you.

He straightened in his seat suddenly, looking at you with a wide eyed gaze. It took you a moment to realize that you had said it.

Heat creeping up into your cheeks, you stammered out an apology, ears burning hotly. Kento then smiled again, getting up from his chair and rounding your desk, so he was stood in front of you. His hand gently cradled your face, thumb running along your cheek. “You mean that?” He asked quietly, his eyes searching yours.

You nodded. He responded by pressing his lips to your forehead, murmuring back, “I love you, too. Now come to bed.”

(these are getting longer and longer lmfao)

Keigo Takami

(sunshine bby bird boi)

“Haaawwwks~! Haaaawwwwwwkkkksss~!”

You rolled your eyes at the incessant sounds of the girls on the TV. Hawks had just rescued a bunch of people from a burning building and, of course, a fleet of his fangirls had followed him. It made your gut twist in jealousy when you saw footage of him taking selfies with some of them. You turned off the TV after that, flopping back on the couch. You knew you shouldn’t be jealous, after all, Keigo and you were just friends, nothing more. But God damn, did he make it so hard, with his stupid good looks and stupid charm and stupid sweet heart and sense of justice.

You heard the window to your apartment slide open and feet hit the floor. “Heyyyyy, Y/N, I’m baaaaack! Mind if I use your shower?”

“You have your own apartment, Kei.” You retorted, turning your head to look at him. He looked a bit scuffed up but still had that doofy big grin on his face.

“But it’s not as fun as being here with you!” He said in a sing songy voice, “Did ya see my rescue? Pretty nifty, huh?”

“Was alright.” You said back, inciting a snort from him.

“You wound me, Y/N.” He feigned heartbreak by clutching his chest. “’Kay, lemme go get cleaned up.”

He disappeared into your bathroom, leaving you resting alone on the couch again. You heard the shower running and covered your eyes with your arms, sighing heavily. You were in love with him and you felt stupid because of it.

In a few minutes he came back out, dressed in clean clothes, his hair and wings damp still. “Wanna order some takeout or something? I could really go for some yakitori, y’know?”

“No, you go ahead, though.” You said back flatly.

Keigo frowned a bit. “Hey now, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” He flopped down on the couch next to you, giving you a quizzical look. “C’mon, Y/N, talk to meeeeeee…”

“It’s nothing important, Kei.”

“It’s important to me. You’re important to me.” He pressed further, leaning into you so his chin was on your shoulder. “Please tell me?”

You sighed, finally looking at him. “I told you it’s nothing important, Keigo.”

“Noooo, c’mon, you’re torturing me now. Please please pleeeeease tell meeeee?”

“Ugh, God, I love you, stupid! I always have!” You finally blurted, annoyed and now embarrassed.

Silence fell over the apartment as humiliated tears stung your eyes. You were half expecting him to laugh, half expecting him to gently reject you. But he didn’t.

Instead, he tucked his fingers under your chin, turning your head so you’d look at him. His face had an expression on it that you’d never seen before, his eyes were so soft, his smile so warm and comforting. “I didn’t think you felt the same.” He said. ”Wha—” you began, but he cut you off with his lips on yours. Sparks flew from behind your eyelids at the feeling.

When you two broke apart, he rested his forehead against yours, a tender smile on his face. “…You sure you don’t want yakitori, though?”

Atsuhiro Sako

(this man needs so much more appreciation, honestly)

“You really ought to be more careful, Compress.” You said as you stitched up a wound on Atsuhiro’s side. “You’re probably the only sane person in the League, besides Kurogiri. How am I gonna deal with the others if you go and get yourself killed?”

“It almost sounds like you care for me, my dear.” He drawled in response, a small smirk playing across his face. Well, what you could see of it through his balaclava. He gritted his teeth, though, when you pulled the thread through again. “Fear not, I shall not leave you to fend for yourself. It would not be very theatrical of me.” His eyes lingered on your face, his grin widening when you blushed and looked away.

“…I was worried,” You admitted, finishing up with his stitches.

His smile faded then, and he placed a hand on your wrist. “I’m sorry for making you worry,” He replied, his brown eyes softening. “I promise I will be more careful from now on, alright?”

You nodded, setting your materials to the side and retrieving a bandage to wrap around his abdomen. “…Hiro?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Hm? What is it, my dear?”

“…I love you.”

He stiffened for a moment, but then a warm smile grew across his lips. He wrapped an arm around you despite the objection coming from his wounded side. Pulling you close to him, he presses his lips to your forehead, nuzzling your hair. “I know.” He said softly. “I love you, too, my dear. You mean everything to me.”

[prettyboykatsuki]

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

it’s you, always | k. bakugou 

➳ tags ;; fluff, meeting the parents, bkg and mitsuki have a normal relationship

➳ wc ;; 1k

➳ a/n ;; i miss him so much 

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

It’s never not nerve-wracking to meet the parents. 

You were expecting this feeling of anxiety as soon as you got into the car. In a weird way - it helped to hear Bakugou mention his mom being just like him before the ride their. You hear a lot from Izuku about how much they take after each other, and even more about how your relationship with him reminds Izuku of Kacchans parents. 

Either way, you’re nervous to meet them in person for the first time. You’ve spoken over phone calls and all but this was the first face to face dinner. You were dressed in your nicest attire and made the dish you feel most confident in bringing, in your classy little porcelain serving ware. Bakugou has been making fun of you the whole night. 

“You know I don’t give a shit what those crows think, right? They could hate you and I’d still marry ya,” 

You give him a glare through the mirror as you check your appearance for the millionth time. He rubs your shoulder and gives you a kiss. 

“Nervous for fuckin’ nothing,” 

“I know you don’t care but I care. I want them to like me,” 

“And why’s that?” 

You turn to face him, your arms hanging over his shoulders with a soft little sigh. You meet his lips in a kiss that he melts into, your fingers threading through the blonde hairs with a gentle sigh. 

“Cause Kat, if we get married,” 

“When,” he corrects easily. You laugh a little. 

“Right. When we get married, they’ll be family and if we have some brats running around - they’ll be grandparents. And I know what you say but you care about them,” ― you tease, as he rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny ― “So I want them to like me,” 

He buries his face in the crook of his neck, unusually clingy like he knows he won’t be able to get a hand on you all night else. 

“They’ll fuckin’ love you. More than me, probably. That old hag is gonna adore you,” 

“You sound confident,” 

“Cause I never say shit I don’t mean,” 

You give him another quick kiss and then a few more, until it gets salacious and you have to pull away. A redness brushes his cheeks as he steps away like he knows you can’t be late tonight. 

“L-lets go,” 

You throw your head back. 

“Yeah, lets,”

__ 

Dinner at the Bakugou’s is going well. 

You couldn’t predict just how much Bakugou takes after his mom. Even his most basic mannerisms seem to reflect and the sight of them bickering together has had you giggling under your breath. His dad is relaxed and chuckles every time he catches you with your mouth behind your hand. 

“I’ve had Katsuki’s whole life to get used to seeing them argue, but even now.. it’s pretty funny isn’t it?”

He has the kind of smile that makes his eyes crinkle in the corners. You’re surprised by how gentlemanly he is, but maybe that’s where Bakugou gets it. You can tell that they love each other.

Mitsuki gave you one look at the door before deciding she liked you and Bakugou has been threatening her about leaving you alone the whole night. She’s affectionate with you, not failing to tell you embarassing things Bakugou did as a kid. How he used to parade around the house in little All-Might PJ’s and how he cried when he lost fights. You can picture it even now, it still feels like something he’d do. 

It’s nice, has been the whole night. The two of you will be heading home within the hour but Mitsuki thinks it’d be best if you left after having a drink. Bakugou refuses to partake but Mitsuki insists on having some wine with you. 

“Katsuki, go down to cellar and grab something sweet,” 

Bakugou gives her a glare, rolling his eyes. 

“Get it yourself, you old bat,” 

“I should knock you on your ass,” 

He rolls his eyes but stands up and exists the kitchen. Mitsuki gives her a husband a look which he reads and takes his leave, bowing a little and stretching. It leaves the two of you in the kitchen alone. It’s the first time you’ve been alone with her all night. 

“So,” ― she leans a little in her seat, eyes a bit more weary than before ― “Our Katsuki went and found someone as nice as you. I’m glad. I was worried that brat would end up alone,” 

You laugh a little at that but then her voice goes soft, a little serious too. 

“I worry about the way I raised him sometimes. He’s a good kid. I should tell him that more but you know how it is,” 

You see something in her eyes, probably something you don’t understand. You smile a little. 

“Knowing him, he’d be hard pressed on accepting it. He’d appreciate it though,” 

She smiles and it’s longing. 

“...Can I ask you something?” 

You nod

“What do you.. ah jeez, there’s no good way to word it. I guess I’m interested on how you feel about him. He’s a good man but I know it wasn’t easy to get him to let you in,”

You wonder if she’s really talking about him but you let the idea ago as you smile, looking a little at your hands. 

“He’s rough around the edges. Aggressive and argumentative. Immature sometimes too,” ― you say with a laugh, amused ― “He seems mean but really he’s his own worst critic. He sees people for who they are and always accepts them and sees the good in them. No matter what,” 

“It’s hard for him to show love but sometimes he does things for me and loves me and I see him smile and I feel lucky. I see him and I want to make him happy. It’s something like that.. I don’t know if I’m making sense,” you say flushed. Her eyes goes wide and then teary, and suddenly she’s wiping them. 

You panick but she waves you off with her hand. 

“Ah..that’s good. I’m glad.. I’m glad you love him” 

You grin. 

“I’m glad he loves me too,” 

On the other side of the wall, Bakugou rests his head and blinks. The wine bottle feels cool against his chest, warm. The ceilings have windows in them and just above him are the stars. 

He’s glad, too. 

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

[hoe-imaginess]

vanilla | dabi

very alpha!Dabi x fem omega!Reader 

summary: Dabi isn’t aware that the LoV has an omega up for grabs, not until he accidentally comes across you in heat. 

word count: 11.7k

contains: dub-con elements, scent kink, humiliation, masturbation, hella dirty talk, mentions of blood/burns, Dabi being an all around bastard

a/n: commissioned by K to share part of my ABO fic. Most ABO stuff makes me squeamish so I leave out token tropes (aka knots) another private fic that I didn’t plan on posting so it’s kinda uhhhhh bad lmao. will possibly post more but idk. 

DON'T let the title mislead you ok Dabi is anything but vanilla 

⤰

When he found the safehouse, Dabi knocked at the front entrance.

For a long time there was no response, and he tried again, louder this time and with more exasperation.

“Coming,” he heard a shout finally, muffled across the steel door.

Dabi rubbed his eyes to put some pressure behind them, in hopes it might too take that same pressure away from the sting in his nose.

Some heady omega in the area was in heat, and a bad one; the entire neighborhood reeked of the tantalizing aroma.

He groaned, jaw tensing, and with practiced composure put the fire down in his body. He had enough of it running under his skin every second of the day in the form of his quirk. He didn’t need any more. But it was getting worse the longer he waited there with that smell tiding in the air.

He didn’t even know why he was there, doing such a chore, in the first place.

Maybe it was because this League of Villains business was a promising crusade; he’d heard good things and seen for himself some profit in the affiliation, even despite how profusely he disliked the weird hand-guy, or how awkward the black fog in a suit could be. 

The other recruit, Toga—who he found as equally disagreeable as the rest—had all but blindsided him that evening as he exited the dainty bar which they called headquarters.

Could you do me a favor, Dabi? she’d entreated with an attempt at innocent, girl-like charm: a tactic which, as it usually did, failed. The manic grin on her face had only made him want to be away from her company all the sooner.

No, he’d said, and pushed past her.

But she’d skipped after him, steadfast. 

Tomura had asked her to run an errand in one of the more dangerous parts of the city, she’d said, but she wasn’t sure what to do. She was just a girl, after all. Couldn’t Dabi do her this one favor and take the responsibility off her hands? She was too nervous to take a trip like that, and so late in the night.

Bullshit, he’d said, but instead of protesting in defense of herself, she’d just giggled like a lunatic, dropping her pretense.

Still, when she said it was a delivery which needed to be made to you, the only member of the League he had yet to officially meet, curiosity pinched him.

Indifferent as he was to comradery, he was undeniably interested in unearthing the particulars of this would-be villainous syndicate, which included being at least somewhat familiar with his allies. He knew you had been an original member even before he and the psycho schoolgirl came into the fold; but little else. 

You needed a delivery to be made to one of the League’s safehouses? Well, maybe he could oblige, if only to snoop around. Shigaraki was particularly fastidious with the information he willfully shared, and Dabi would take any opportunity to filch information under the boss’s nose in stride.

After all, if Toga, a new—and undoubtedly incompetent—recruit was being tasked with these deliveries, why not Dabi? Why not Kurogiri, who could make the shipment with ease given his quirk?

What was going on behind the scenes that Dabi wasn’t seeing?

Underwhelming as his first task as a newcomer would be, he saw it as an opportunity. He could be a good and useful asset to the League just for the night, he’d decided, when he told Toga he would do it. He was headed to that side of town anyways, he’d said. 

So there he found himself, his foot tapping impatiently on the ground as he waited outside the safehouse. 

That goddamn scent that wafted around the building... Why did he feel as though he’d smelled it before? And why did it smell so… sickeningly sweet?

He tried to distract himself by musing over what might have solicited these late-night deliveries, for example: what was in this suitcase he was meant to give you. 

Toga had handed it to him with such a twisted, giddy smile on her face that he was half-convinced it was a bomb ready to blow and scatter him into pieces for her sick delight. Once he’d found it locked, he’d given up on guessing the contents after he shook the thing and the rattling inside gave no indication of the secrets it held.

More distraction, he entreated himself. 

He thought of the itch of his staples, the uncomfortable tingle on his ridged skin when the air brought heavy wind against it. He thought of anything that might take away from the smell of raw heat in the area, but it was an instinctual pull that left him fidgeting where he stood.

He was about ready to leave the suitcase at the door and hit the road, when there was a commotion from across the threshold.

The aroma that burst from the opening door completely smothered him, made every bone in his body feel like smoldering steel; made lightning shoot down his veins and a low breath catch in his lungs.

You blanked when you saw him there, your pupils blowing wide with shock, then, if he read it correctly, fear.

He sniffed hard, his body scrambling for a source to the scent that begged his alpha inclinations to go wild. The inhalation sent pinpricks of warmth down to his feet. The smell was overwhelming now, almost dizzying.

And it was coming from you.

“Fuck,” he spat, and covered his nose with his arm, backing away from the door.

You slammed it shut, your heart racing.

“What are you doing here?!” you demanded.

“Came to give you this goddamn shit,” he snapped, throwing the suitcase at the door. It landed with a violent thud. His limbs jerked with frayed nerves, like the sun was heating his skin and crawling down to his center. “Are you an idiot!? You know I’m an—”

“I do that’s why I wanted Toga to bring it—”

“She had me do it,” he shouted, and backed himself against the opposite alley wall, a hand clenching and unclenching against his clothed thigh.

Goddamn your smell. Goddamn it. Like vanilla. Horribly sweet. So fucking potent.

He threw his head back against the wall, ignoring the throbbing pain it kneaded into his skull, and breathed hard.

He wanted to bust down the door. His legs twitched at the impulse; fingers tensed and flames licked their tips.

It would be easy. Kick it down. Burn it down. Burn the whole goddamn place down if need be. He wanted to force his way in, wanted to claw at your clothes and shove himself inside you—

Instead he took another deep breath, and loosed it on a shaky sigh.

He’d handled omega heats before, why was he like this now? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This was too much.

“You need to leave,” you muttered from the other side of the door, so resolute and aggrieved that he would have never guessed you were keeled over on the floor, legs shut tight and body shivering. His alpha smell was nauseating you; it was strong and dominating and demanding that you open yourself to him. “Now.”

“Yeah I’m goin',” he snapped angrily, storming off down the alley once his legs restored their loyalty to his head, and not what was between his legs. “Fuck."

⤰

Dabi stroked himself hard and fast and rough, nose pressed into his sleeve, breathing in the sweet tang of vanilla that lingered between the fibers.

He growled out his next breath, and it sputtered off into a wobbly sigh as he closed his eyes and thought of you: those perfect tits he was sure you were hiding under your clothes; your ass, which would look like nice, he knew, with his handprints burned onto the skin; and then your cunt—fuck, he could almost imagine how tight it was, how hotly it would grip him and milk every last fucking drop of his cum—the mere vision of it pink and twitching and spread out for him was like an explosive punch to his gut.

He came in thick, hot spurts, some rolling over his knuckles as he quickly twisted his fist over the cockhead, others staining the brick wall in front of him with ropey, white streaks.

“Fuck,” he panted, chest heaving, limbs trembling. A hand shot to the wall and braced himself there for balance, kept him upright while his quivering knees threatened to fail him.

When was the last time he’d even had to rub one out like this? In a dirty fucking alley? And least of all because of some stupid omega?

Goddamn you, he thought.

⤰

“Dabi!” Toga squealed when he returned to the bar later in the morning. She sniffed the air, breathed in his smokey scent, and flashed a hungry smile, tongue dipping out to wet her eager lips. “You smell so strong. Are you worked up?” Then her eyes were bright and thrilled. “Oh? Oh?! Did you see _____-chan? Did you?"

“Yeah, you crazy idiot.” Dabi slammed the bar door shut behind him. "You just forget to mention that she was in heat?”

Shigaraki, who’d been previously uninterested in the debacle, now looked up from his game. “What?”

Toga giggled. “Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Did you smell her? Oh, it’s so nice, isn’t it?” The girl’s eyes twitched and rolled back loftily in ravenous remembrance. “_____-chan smells so sweet. So sweet—”

“You caught her in heat?” Shigaraki asked, accusative but curious. “Are you stupid?"

Scowling, Dabi jerked a thumb at Toga. “Dipshit over here had me take some stuff over to that safehouse you got. I didn’t fuckin’ know."

“You dumb girl,” Shigaraki snapped, turning on her now. “Are you brain dead? Or do you really not get why omegas hide from alphas during heats? Why do you think we have a beta like you go do deliveries now?”

“I know what happens!” she contended. “I thought she could use some company. She smells so delicious. Was it fun, Dabi? Was it fun and romantic and—”

“Try infuriating,” Dabi spat, then set his anger on Shigaraki. “You’re no better. Either of you.” He nodded his head at Kurogiri behind the bar. “Would’ve been nice to know you had an unmated omega in your group.”

“Thought you’d noticed by now,” Shigaraki replied, now somewhat subdued, and tending to his game again. “What, your nose doesn’t work?”

“It works fuckin’ fine. Just didn’t realize that scent you got around here all the time was hers.”

In recollection, he put his sleeve over his nose. The sweet smell had vanished, but the memory of it still haunted his senses, made every nerve in his body flutter with excitement. It was driving him fucking insane.

“How the hell do you two work with an omega?” Dabi asked. “That gets heats like that, no less.”

“We’re not animals,” the leader replied. “Some of us can handle it.”

“My ass. Guessin’ that’s the reason she’s never around, huh? You don’t seem very disciplined. Bet you catch one whiff of that slick and go completely ape shit.”

Shigaraki scowled, affronted.

“It was our mistake not warning you,” Kurogiri conciliated the blame, clearly nervous, and possibly displeased by the crass talk. “We were under the impression that you knew. We’ve taken steps to lessen the risk in our years together. We are somewhat… desensitized.”

“Good for you,” Dabi muttered. “I ain’t. A heads up would’ve been nice.”

“Now you know,” Shigaraki said, scratching peevishly at his neck. “Stop complaining. You’ll get used to it.”

Dabi tsked. “Yeah, you better hope I do.” Then he stalked off.

“Did you do that on purpose?” Shigaraki asked Toga once the other alpha had departed.

Toga keened happily, still enamored with Dabi’s untamed scent. Alphas were so delicious when worked up.

“I forgot,” she insisted dreamily. “Honest, I did.”

“That was a very risky mistake,” Kurogiri was saying, black vapors flitting nervously about his frame. “As a beta, you may not be aware of the risks that both alphas and omegas face when it comes to positions of power–”

Toga pouted and whined, like a child whose gleeful imagination had been thwarted. “I don’t get it. I was just doing them both a favor. Alphas are supposed to take of omegas in heat, aren’t they? What’s the big deal?” She had a stupid smile on her face again, rapt with thoughts of desire. “It must be so nice as an alpha, getting to take any little omega you want… they’re so needy.”

“The big deal, you damn idiot,” Shigaraki started, “is that a guy like that is too selfish to put our objectives before his prick. There’s a reason we don’t mess with that heat and rutting crap here. Complicates things. Makes everyone go crazy. Like you.”

She tittered like a lunatic, proud of her indignity. “She smells so good, Tomura. It’s not fair. Not fair at all.”

⤰

After your heat, once you’d returned to the bar, you ignored Dabi to the best of your ability.

At first, he seemed content enough to reciprocate the caution. You both treaded carefully: any eye-contact made would be swiftly curtailed with averted gazes; you cleared a room whenever he entered, and vice versa, he acted as though you were invisible to him.

It would be fine, you’d told yourself. You’d dealt with the ugly dynamics your omega lifestyle wrought countless times. You could do it again. Dabi was a new recruit, after all. Promising—albeit coarse—according to Tomura. His contribution to the team far outweighed the plights of your personal struggles. You would be fine. It would be fine.

But those lofty self-reassurances were short-lived.

You were sitting in one of the bar’s empty rooms when he sought you out. You smelled him before he rounded the corner, and fear gripped you when the alpha bouquet invaded your senses. But then something else came to seek your submission: an instinctual calling on the wisps of his scent, bringing an anxious and conflicting nostalgia back to you.

God his smell had followed you for days: a smokey aroma, but something so fresh underneath it, like cold mint. You’d never been so enthralled by a scent before, never been so tempted to give in to carnal desire and offer yourself to a being nature had designated as your superior: an alpha.

He stood in the doorway of the room, just looking at you; you stared back, frozen, and made yourself small in hopes that you might avoid whatever confrontation was to come.

“Your heats always that stupidly strong?” he asked.

You blanched and took a deep breath to quell your unease. You wished to anything that the world would swallow you and take you away from what was undoubtedly going to be one of the worst, most uncomfortable confrontations of your life.

“Yes,” you said. “That’s why I have to go away.”

“Why? I mean, most omegas do it. Usually to work it out themselves, right? Bet that little delivery I made was a bunch of toys, wasn’t it?” 

“No,” you said, feeling embarrassed by the mere speculation. “It was a suppressant. They don’t usually work on me... I’m trying to find the right one.”

The broad smirk that shifted his scarring tissue made you shift uncomfortably. “Suppressants are useless if your heat is too strong. That shit was bad. The smell is ridiculous. You clearly ain't doing somethin' right if it’s always that potent.”

You shivered at the mention of your scent. It was always what they mentioned—the alphas. They always raved about your scent: like sweet candy, some said. Most often, vanilla. The sniff of it on your very nose was nauseating after so long: an inescapable quality that put you in the crosshairs of nearly every alpha you’d met, made you frightfully easy prey to their predator.

“I’ve...” Shit, should you be sharing this with him? Normally you did, with most alphas you were acquainted with. Especially those you trusted. But you didn’t trust him. You barely knew him. “I’ve never... been rutted properly. So, they’re stronger. The heats.”

“Never been rutted through a heat?” he asked, scoffing. “Sounds miserable. You’re all backed up, aren’t ya? That’s why you struggle with your scent so much.”

You were quiet. You met his interrogation more confidently than you previously thought possible, given how successfully he’d intimidated you up until now. But your fear was draining away slowly, giving way to some sense of adeptness.

Memories of his scent had haunted your every bodily cell since the moment you’d first experienced it. Although facing it again now was overwhelming, you’d steeled yourself since then.

It would be okay, you reminded yourself. Conferring with allied alphas was only a necessary tack if you were going to keep the peace.

“I have, obviously,” you answered. “I’ve been rutted through a heat. But, it’s not the same if it’s not with… well—”

“An alpha?” he finished, and couldn’t help the surprise on his face. “You’ve never been with an alpha in your heat?”

You shook your head. And then there it was, the returning frailty so thick that it seized the room. Why were you so humiliated to speak your truths? They were truths, after all, under his harsh gaze or not.

“…I’ve never been with an alpha at all.”

He actually laughed. “Nah. You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Never even fooled around a bit?”

“No."

A wry, callous grin stretched his staples. He tilted his head and hummed curiously. “You afraid? Of alphas?”

“No.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“I’m not.”

“Omegas are normally dyin’ to get laid when they’re in heat. Especially when they’re surrounded by alphas they actually know, like you are. Would be one thing if you were locking yourself up to hide from strangers, but you’re not. Gross as that hand-guy is, he seems like he’d rut for ya."

“I just don’t... want it.”

“Nah. You’re scared. I can tell. Should’ve seen that look on your face the other day, damn near terrified—like I was gonna jump on you any second.”

You bristled with agitation, frustration invited back in full bloom now that your confidence was weakened. “Sorry if I don’t trust you,” you returned with grim sarcasm. “You’re not very… decent, to put it plainly.”

“Decent? Nah, I’m not. Alphas aren’t supposed to be. But that’s why you’re all nervous, right?”

“I don’t…” You shook your head, thoughts tripping over one another. “My quirk makes it difficult,” you admitted, and bit your tongue shortly afterwards.

”Your quirk?”

You swore it was his pheromones making you talk, clouding your judgment and wringing admissions from you. “Alphas and omegas dealing with ruts or heats… it compromises their quirks sometimes, I’m sure you know. Makes them uncontrollable and disorderly. I don’t want that to happen to me. Heats are bad enough on their own. Actually getting rutted through one…” You shrugged, vulnerable to be sharing your fears. “I don’t know. I heard it can go wrong. It would be too much.”

“Oh.” He snickered. “Afraid you’re gonna get too horny and flip out or something?”

Heat primed your cheeks in a blush. “No. I mean… In a way. But, thats not what I really meant–”

“So you just run away whenever you’re in heat? ‘Cause you don’t know how to handle it? That’s sad. Bet you wouldn’t be such a stuck up mess if you just let someone rut you through it, at least once. That’s what you’re supposed to do. Forget suppressants. Not just that,” he snickered, and smirked slyly, “it’s awfully unfair of you to be such a prude when you’ve got a bunch of alphas around."

You shivered, not simply noticing, but feeling his eyes pore over you. “They’re not interested.”

“Fuck that. Don’t know if you heard sweetheart, but omegas are made for us to fuck and breed.”

“No,” you said, almost indignantly, “they aren’t.” To be reduced to something so primitive and incidental put anger in your veins. It was a sore, but inevitable topic you were unfortunate to suffer so often.

“Yeah. They are. Don’t know how that hand-creep hasn’t tried to jump your bones yet. I sure as shit would have, by now.”

Then, considering his words, he made a curious frown. “Unless you hide to keep away from that guy.” As he thought of these depraved illustrations in his head, put pieces of his own mused puzzle together, the grim smile returned. “Yeah. I can see that. Putting your own sanity on the line because you don’t wanna provoke your boss. You’d rather scurry off than deal with that guy. You really are scared of alphas, huh?”

“No,” you spat. “Tomura is…“ God, you hated this, hated how his smell was driving you crazy, making you pliant. “Tomura doesn’t need distractions. He’s not very… well-equipped to handle these sort of things.”

You wouldn’t mention how the visual of Tomura’s hands gripping you with alpha-driven need, unwittingly cursing your skin with his quirk, obliging your flesh to break away under his clutches and slowly split you open was a terror that kept you awake some nights.

“I stay out of the way for both our sakes,” you said, shaking the fearsome thoughts away. “Everything works out fine the way it is. We want it this way. We know how to focus on our mission and that only."

He shrugged, unconvinced. “Sure, gotta keep the peace or whatever. Don’t wanna turn the League into a rut fest. Puttin’ the greater good over their alpha needs, over what’s in their pants."

You frowned at him, displeased with the vulgarity.

He snickered to see it. “Commendable of them and all that. But…” He pushed from the wall he’d leaned against and came towards you. You inched away, heart beating fast at the sudden approach. “I’m a little more radical about this stuff, I guess you could say. I think you’d be much more useful if you weren’t so pent up.”

When he crouched down in front of you, you backed into the wall that you sat against, but there was no room for escape. He wasn’t smiling now, only perusing you with expressionless intensity. You tried to suppress a shiver when his eyes rolled down your body.

“Never really been all that concerned with this sort of stuff, not gonna lie. I’ll rut when I need to. Otherwise shit starts getting complicated and I can’t think straight.” He shrugged. “But in case you haven’t noticed, my body ain’t all that suited for frantic ruts. I try to take it easy, if possible. But… I always thought it was a little dumb that we’re engineered to think with what’s between our legs, most of the time.”

And so saying, his warm had slid between your partially opened thighs, which shivered at his touch and clamped together quickly to deny him.

But he wasn’t deterred, and shoved against the resistance, slipping the invading hand under your skirt.

“Stop,” you demanded, breath automating into nervous pants. In sudden fear of being happened upon by the others, you glanced around feverishly, your feet shuffling on the ground to push you back against the wall.

“Stop, now.” Your hands were on his arm, trying to push him away. “Dabi,” you insisted, trying to sound firm. But it did little to deter him.

“See? Bet if you weren’t so damn skittish you’d be putting up a real fight.” His hand finally broke through the tight resistance of your thighs, and his fingers pressed against your underwear. They were damp to the touch.

He laughed, and stroked over the wetness with his knuckle, making you keen and try to pull away.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered, looking down between your trembling thighs. “Unless you were playing with yourself before I got here, I’m guessin’ this is because of me?”

He took the wet fabric between his two fingers and rubbed together. “And what’d I do for you to get like this? You’re not even in heat. And I’ve barely got a scent on me right now. We’re just talking, ______. You really that hot for me, sweetheart?”

At the sound of your name coming from his mouth, gravelly and low, you shuddered, and put an arm over your mouth to keep in a stammering moan. But his other hand came and pulled the limb away.

“Please,” you stuttered out. “Stop.”

“Am I the first alpha who’s touched you like this?” he asked, ignoring your plea.

Your thighs tightened around him again, and one of your hands went to his collar, squeezing into it in meager resistance.

That too he ignored, and looked at you with plain impatience. “Am I?”

You whimpered and nodded, unable to form words when your lips were stuck harshly bitten between your teeth.

“Yeah, thought so.”

Then his thumb worked its cruel intentions and circled your clit. The pathetic gasp he received in turn made him chuckle.

“Nah. See, this isn’t supposed to happen.” His thumb pressed harder and your head knocked back against the wall. “I’ve seen some pretty slutty omegas, but this is plain stupid.”

“I’m—” You practically hiccuped through a whine, and squeezed your eyes shut, your quirk threatening to reveal itself, answering the calls of your panic and ready to defend against his assault. “I’m not a slut—”

He brushed up on your clit hard and you whimpered, defense all but surmounted.

“Okay, fine. You’re not a slut. You’re just damn sensitive because you’ve never given your body what it needs.” He grinned his wicked grin. “An alpha.”

You shook your head. “No—”

“Yes.”

You shook it vigorously now, and your hands came back to life, pushing at him. “No.”

“Yes, _____,” he breathed, laughing. “I thought you were supposed to be smart. Alpha, omega, whatever—those instincts make your brain all mushy if you don’t get it under control. You’ve got some dissonance going on in your head. You’re really letting yourself go because of it. You wanna be a good ally for your boss, but you can’t, because you’re too scared to—"

“I’m not,” you insisted, eyes wrenching themselves open to look at him. He was amused, depravedly amused, but still remarkably composed for how ruthlessly he was teasing you. “I just don’t want it–”

He snorted loudly, and you were sure the sound would echo and bring someone upon the spectacle. “You don’t want it? Seriously? Now you’re just in denial.”

His fingers coiled around your panties and shoved against your bare skin; your pussy was wet and warm to the touch.

“I can smell your slick, holy fuck,” he muttered. For the first time, though everything up until this point had been cruelly entertaining but not entirely stimulating, he felt his cock twitch, and his mouth water. He hummed. “Bet you taste like vanilla, too, don’t you?”

“St-stop,” you stuttered, face going hot with embarrassment, hiding it against your shoulder as if it would help mitigate the fluster.

He let go of the arm he’d been restraining, put a hand on your knee, and tried to push your legs open. He was surprised when met with resistance; you kept your thighs locked together like a vice, making it substantially more difficult to move his fingers on your clit the way he wanted.

He scoffed.

“Open your legs,” he demanded of you, and felt your body twitch at the command.

He looked at you, and was pleased to find you staring back, wide-eyed and jolted. His blue eyes narrowed autocratically.

He spoke his command slower, but with more authority, “Open them. Now."

And when you did, he let out a breathy laugh of satisfaction, and admired the mess of wetness between your thighs. “See? See how easy that was?”

One hand gripped the soft flesh of your thigh—shit, the skin was practically begging for his teeth to sink in, to make you bleed, to mark you—while the occupied continued its ministrations, fingers jerking quickly over your pink clit.

"What if I were some enemy tryin’ to get some information out of you, huh? You’d probably spill everything about the League to another alpha the second he gave your pussy any attention. Shit,” he laughed, head cocking curiously as he played with the folds of your cunt, “I’m just teasin' you a little and you’re already dripping, for one. For two, following my every command like a good little whore.”

You shook your head, wordless in your denial. You thought you could taste blood in your mouth from your own lips, teeth digging in harshly to give your body any sensation to distract from the burgeoning pleasure. Your nerves were trampling over one another, all of them somehow alight with fire, but numb all the same.

“Imagine what I, or any other alpha, really, could get you to do with a cock inside you. Ever think of that? And if you were in heat?” He scoffed. “Forget it. You’re pretty much a liability at this point. Don’t know why the hell your boss keeps you around. It’s pathetic.”

Bracing both hands on his shoulders, you loosed a strangled moan of frustration, fingers biting into his clothes, pressing against the lean muscle beneath. He didn’t seem to care, too focused on the pink, twitching flesh now turning red from his fingers' abuse. He swiped his pointer and middle across your clit in a dizzying pace, until the tendons in his wrists burned and his knuckles ached. But your scent… fuck, the fucking scent—

He prided himself on his practiced fortitude against alpha instincts; his body, wracked by the toll of his quirk, was vulnerable as it was. Willpower was necessary to stave off the feral hunger that often made him forget his own fragility and indulge the fierceness of ruts and heats. It always ended with loose staples and bloody rivulets along his skin. Self-aware as he was of his own limitations, he so rarely let himself indulge his body’s desires.

But fuck if you weren’t testing him.

You were close, you knew, your body spasming and breath catching in every interval. You panicked, tried to fight it, but it was as though his fingers had caged your volition somewhere in the back of your mind, and instead propagated all senses to pleasure.

“Fucking tease,” he muttered under his breath, but you barely heard him above the frenzied din in your brain.

Just as you felt something in you stirring irrevocably, both his hands left you, and he stood to his feet.

You nearly toppled over, and spilt over yourself awkwardly to try and catch yourself on the ground. The wet slide between your thighs was horribly palpable, and horribly embarrassing.

You panted as you gathered yourself, looking up at him in flustered awe as you shut your thighs and protectively shoved your skirt back into place.

He was admiring his fingers, the wetness coating them, and when he noticed your gaze, waved them at you teasingly. “See this?”

So wet, you thought, humiliated, as a sticky strand started to spill from his finger. You shivered, your face sweltering and flushed.

“This is your body’s way of telling you that it’s beggin’ to be filled.”

You shuddered, and held yourself miserably, trying to fight the unsatisfied heat in your veins with calming breaths. “You’re horrible,” you whispered, your mouth dry.

“Nah. I’m being a nice guy. The only smart one around here, too, looks like.”

He licked at his fingers, a shudder going down his spine when he tasted the sweetness. It was unreal. “This is ridiculous. You wouldn’t have to worry so much about scurrying away from alphas if your smell wasn’t so strong. If you’re heat wasn’t so strong. And none of it would be, if you just did what you were made to do. You’re repressed. Backed up as hell—”

“I wasn’t made to do anything,” you argued, frustration returning.

“You can keep sayin’ it, but it doesn’t make it any less true. You’re more trouble than you’re worth, honestly. Got everyone jumpin’ through hoops for you because you’re so damn sensitive. I ain’t gonna do that.”

You sat there in a heap, fidgeting uncomfortably and fighting for any sense of self-determination you could. He’d said his scent was scant, but you swore it was filling the room, pulping your thoughts and dizzying your nauseous head.

“Clearly you’ve been stuck with some pretty underwhelming alphas until now,” he said. “So I’m gonna do you a favor. Next time you’re in heat, find me, and I’ll do something about it.”

He wiped his dirtied fingers on his shirt, then left you there.

⤰

A month later, Dabi got a call.

“What?” he answered curtly, thinking it was Shigaraki from a burner number. The boss did that sometimes, despite there being little need for throwaways. It was theatrical and annoying.

“It’s me.”

After a pause of non-recognition, you sighed, “It’s ______.”

“Oh?” You could hear the smile in his voice.

In the alley, Dabi admired the burning body he’d just finished off, the corpse kindling his blue flames nicely as it crumbled to ash.

He laughed lowly. “Yeah. Been about a month, hasn’t it. You had some time to think sweetheart?”

From the other end, you bit your lip. “I have rules.”

Something seeped into his blood and swelled within him. Like a breeze carried from somewhere far off, he got a whiff of your sweet scent, just a ghost of it, and licked his lips.

“Seems a little over the top,” he said. “But I’m listening.”

There was a sound in the alley behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder.

You took a deep breath on the other end, nervously playing with the hem of your shirt. “I’ll be at a different place tonight. Another safehouse, down by the docks. The first rule is that when you get here, you have to—”

Dabi heard the cocking of a gun. The disdainful comrade of the dead, scorched man had the weapon raised and trained on him, spouting some threatening nonsense of vengeance. The flame-wielder huffed in annoyance.

“Can’t really talk right now,” he spoke into the receiver, his hands brightening with his quirk. “I’ll find the place. Better not get cold feet.”

“Dabi—”

But he hung up before you could say more.

⤰

You waited for the better half of the evening shot to pieces with doubt.

You’d gone over the situation a dozen times, and twice that number decided the uncontrollable confusions weren’t worth second-guessing; dictating right and wrong left you light-headed when your body was already a frenzied playground of sensation thanks to your heat.

You started to text him the address when midnight rolled around, just in case he’d gotten lost—then thought better of it. The uncertain doublet came again: You couldn’t do this. It was dangerous. You hadn’t witnessed Dabi’s brutality firsthand, but the hearsay was worrisome enough. He would break you. It would end horribly. Your quirk, or even his, would lash out—

Then the other half of the fretful analysis: Yes. You could do this. It was natural. It was true what he’d said, about you neglecting your body’s desires, and in turn leaving room only for self-sabotage. The thought of him drove you wild with uncertainty, but so did the notion of not doing this; your body was raging at the absence of touch. One which he was apparently willing to give.

Finally you called him, nerves scattered and patience thinned, deciding that whatever he had to say to you on the other line would determine whether or not you should carry on with your plans.

Almost as soon as you heard the ringing from the other line, so too did a chirpy noise come from right outside the safehouse door: a phone.

You blanched. Before you could make toward the door, the metal lever twisted with a creak and opened. He was there on the other side with his phone in hand, and lifted it teasingly when his eyes found you in the dim room.

“If you’re callin’ to give me directions, waste of time,” he said as he slunk inside. “I can smell you across the damn street.”

You shivered, smelling him, too: he radiated a warm scent, then that icy undertone which always perplexed you in the most enticing way.

He shut the door behind him, locked it, and inspected you. He huffed in amusement to see how nervous you were.

“You said you had some rules,” he started, coming towards you. Your heart started skipping. “Sounds like a lot of bullshit, so I wasn’t gonna remind you. But I guess if it’ll stop you from chickening out halfway…”

His hands were on you in an instant, at your sides, squeezing and kneading the flesh underneath your shirt. You froze. The dumbfounded look on your face had him smirking.

“Not that you’ll be able to once I get started,” he went on. “Or even want to. Probably gonna forget you even had rules once I stick it in you.”

The hands went down, gripped your ass, and brought your bodies together. You braced yourself against his forearms, stuttering when he wasted no time and pressed his face into your jaw, licking, kissing, teasing you with teeth.

Your eyes fluttered closed, mouth hanging open as he traveled down. At his touch, your mind slowed to blind submission. The excitement was stroking a fire in you that you hadn’t even known was there.

Fuck, it was too much. Already, too much.

“You gonna tell me?” he asked between kisses. "Or you already forgot?”

As he moved to your neck, he inhaled sharply through his nose. The sweet scent stirred a frenzy in his gut.

“Fuck.” The hands at your ass squeezed so hard that you gasped. “Goddamn girl,” he laughed breathily, grinding against you. “That shit’s good.”

“I—" You choked on your next words when he spread your thighs apart from behind, fingers curling under your skirt to feel for your panties. “The rules, I—”

“You better spit it out,” he warned, coming up to look at you, eyes fixed with hunger. “I’m not a patient guy. I’m really gonna pounce on you in a second if you don’t get on with it.”

It struck apprehension into you. You breathed out the words hurriedly, “Don’t mate me. Don’t give me a mating mark—”

He laughed in your face, making you blush, then went back to kissing at your neck.

“Didn’t plan on it. Don’t want a mate. Probably never will.” He kissed hard at your neck, breathed in your scent again with a hum. “Besides, even if I did, you’re not bad looking and I know your cunt’s gonna be nice and tight, but you’re not worth mating. You’re high-strung. It’s annoying.”

You bristled with anger, but his warmth was making every other sense dull to you. When his teeth teased the skin at your shoulder, you were wrangled back to focus.

“No marks,” you warned, just as his teeth sank in, and nudged away gently to dissuade him. “Don’t leave any. Kurogiri and Tomura can’t see–”

“I don’t give a fuck who sees,” he replied harshly, coming up to look at you. “Who cares? They were dumb enough to leave you unmated and practically dyin’ for a fuck, so forget them. I’m doing you a favor here, remember that. You can have some rules, but I’m doing whatever the hell I need to do.”

His fingers rubbed hard at your panties; they were wet to the touch. "Not like you’re gonna run out now. You’re fucking soaked.” With a pleased growl he went to your neck again, biting hard.

You squealed, but before he could start sucking at the skin, you reeled back and moved away from him. You pushed at his forehead with a hand, and he smacked it away.

“Then no,” you sighed out shakily once you’d gotten his attention. "We’re done here.”

You spoke it with such confidence that it actually earned you his consideration. He stared at you, half-impressed, but mostly, furious.

“If you can’t listen to me,” you muttered, braving his piercing eyes willingly, "then… then fuck off.”

He was scowling at you now, and without warning his fingers pinched your clit.

You gasped sharply and raggedly at the feeling, melting into his touch with weak legs. He had to hold you upright to prevent you from collapsing, and against your ear, he huffed angrily.

“That’s what I fucking thought, stupid slut.”

He shoved you down onto the mattress at your feet.

You were too dizzy to make a protest when he climbed over you, and had no voice on which to loose it when he ripped—literally ripped—your shirt apart and attacked your chest with harsh bites and licks. Your nipples got the worst of it: he went for them with a growl in his throat, claiming the peaks between his teeth, biting down so hard you squealed and kicked.

“You really don’t have a goddamn clue how this works, do you?” he was breathing out harshly. “What an alpha does to an omega?” He looked up at you. Your eyes were watery and trembling as they gawked down at him. “What I can do to you?”

His lips went down, and he shoved your skirt off of your legs, the panties going too. You had enough sense in you to shut your thighs, which made him scoff, and yank them apart painfully.

“Don’t you fuckin’ try it. This is mine right now. You and your little cunt, mine. Like it’s supposed to be.”

He knew even as the words came from his mouth like venom, that your scent, coupled with his long-unreleased pheromones, were pushing him to a point of brutality. He’d never been so prone to complete and utter dominance like this. And now looking between your thighs at the pink, swollen, shaven pussy twitching for him, he knew there was no chance you’d be getting any mercy.

“Look at this shit,” he muttered, dropping to his knees, and as a protest died on your lips, his own pressed against your wetness, breathing in your scent as he did, growling loud and wildly in his throat.

His hands went to your thighs and pulled, bringing you closer against him, ignoring the fingers in his hair that feebly tugged. A shaky whimper came on every one of your breaths, your mouth sputtering through frail pleas he didn’t understand and didn’t bother trying to.

He indulged one harsh, long, angry suck on your clit, and released with a wet smack. You cried, actually cried when he went back in and dug his tongue harshly against you.

“Dabi, Dabi—no, please–”

Your scent made him light-headed, made him forget for a split second where he was, made him forget the constant and residual pain from his quirk, the itch of his staples—made him forget it all.

You came on his tongue without warning, a loud screech dying in your throat as you arched off the mattress. He was too shocked to lick up the sweet cum that received him. His eyes shot open and he looked up at you; you were an absolute wreck: flushed, sweating, shaking, and seized with pleasure.

He tried to count in his head. How long had it been? A minute? Barely? Fucking ridiculous.

He sucked and sucked until you were writhing. He wanted to punish you, wanted you to see how fucking weak you were, how badly you needed this.

“Dabi—” you sobbed out, tears itching your eyes and rushing down your face.

He pulled off finally with a loud breath, smacking his lips, then went back down to lick up your pussy one more time to clean you with his tongue. You jerked and twisted miserably. Then he was climbing over you again, forcing you to face him.

“You see?” he panted. "See what I just did to you? See how fuckin’ quick you were to cum for me? That’s what you’ve been missing. You’re not in the position to be making demands or rules here, _____. This is what you deserve. This is what you need. You need an alpha, you need me, you need this—”

He took your hand and forced it to rub between his legs. You stuttered a pitiful breath when you felt the bulge there, so hot, so inhumanly hot, waiting for you. Under your touch it twitched, greedy to be inside you.

You shook your head, unable to keep your eyes open; the blinding pleasure made a transit to numbing warmth, and your lids were heavy with drowsiness.

Your lip trembled. “Please, I need a minute, please—"

“No. Fuck no.”

He shred his clothes quickly, pulling his jacket off, kicking his shoes off, clawing at his belt and throwing that off too—but getting no further than shoving his pants down his hips so his eager cock could spring free. He didn’t have the time for anything else. He didn’t have the fucking time.

“I was gonna go easy on you,” he muttered. "Just a little."

Manhandling you to a spread position beneath him, he was almost ready to shove into you—then he had an exhilarating idea, and flipped you over, slapping your ass hard and making you yell in surprise. He wanted to take you like this: dominating, and utterly primal.

He forced your hips up, ass out, pussy spreading for him. He took his cock, flicked the head mercilessly against your clit until you were keening. A firm hand on your hip prevented you from squirming away.

“Please,” you sobbed again, gasping, body trembling. The heat. The heat. It was too much. Your skin crawled with euphoric pinpricks of fire. You needed it. You needed it. “Please, Dabi—”

“Please what?” he snapped, fire in his veins, vanilla flooding his head. “There’s no way in hell you want me to stop, so you’re beggin’ me for more. Use your words then. Say it.”

Your shook your head, mouth dry and gaping. “I can’t—”

He smacked your ass again and you jolted, unable to stop from curling into yourself as you orgasmed; the scent of your slick invaded his nose and he realized what you’d done. A dangerous, slow, ragged laugh bubbled from his throat.

“My god you’re so fucking pathetic. Look at that.” He kneaded his hand hard into your ass, pulling and stretching the skin, keeping your pussy fleshed out for him. “Look at this shit. It’s dripping. I want you to admit how pathetic you are.” He started to jerk himself hard, precum spilling over his fingers in messy streams. “Say it.”

You shook your head, pressing it hard into the mattress below. His hand went for your hair, yanked it backwards, and a tight yell tore out of your throat.

“Say it right now or you’re not getting my dick. I can shove it in your throat and get off just fine.” Oh, but how fucking badly he needed to put it in your cunt... “Say it. Say you’re pathetic, and that you need an alpha cock. Say it.”

“Dabi, please—“ Your hips arched upwards, begging, completely overrun with need. He shoved you back down, dismantling your sanity with every second went without feeling him inside of you.

“Say it now or I swear I’m gonna leave you here, _____.” He yanked your hair tighter, his hand flying on his cock. Everything felt so good. Too good. Too fucking hazy. “I’m gonna use your mouth or these tits to get off, and then I’m gonna leave you here, dripping and fucking pathetic and alone. Alone in your heat like you always are, you stupid whore.”

The thought made you whimper despairingly; in turn, he groaned loudly as he worked precum out in rapid strokes.

“Say it. Now. Now.”

“I’m—” Needy sobs wracked your voice, your hands clutching the mattress. “I’m a—I’m pathetic, I’m pathetic—”

“Fuck,“ he moaned loud and heavy, pinching the base of his cock to hold off release, then going back to stroking again, unable to go without stimulus. “What else? What else, _____?”

“I’m pathetic and I need your cock!” you cried out, too desperate for pride, too desperate for anything else. “I need an alpha cock, I need it—Dabi, damn it, please!—”

You practically screamed when he rammed into you, a loud shout tensing out of him as he let go of your hair. He put both hands at your hips to hold you in place for his violent thrusts.

Your mouth was open in vacant stupor, eyes rolling, feeling another orgasm ripping through you almost instantaneously.

“Fuck… fuck,” he breathed, feeling you tighten around him. He growled angrily, biting his lip until the burnt, abused skin swelled and bled. “You fucking—fuck—” Your slickness was in such abundance that little specks flew with every one of his thrusts, making his cock spear in and out perfectly and without restraint.

Every muscle in his body screamed for release, so soon, so quickly. His balls ached for it, spittle flew from his mouth with every ragged breath he took. Your back arched so nicely underneath him. You were such a perfect fucking omega he almost couldn’t stand it.

He shut his eyes tight, hand going to fist back into your hair and wrench upwards. You didn’t protest, didn’t even let a sound leave your throat despite the pain it brought. It didn’t take away the pleasure; nothing could. Nothing could ever take this away: the stretch of his thick, long cock pounding into you, hitting that spot over and over again until you came once more, then twice, then a third time.

He was breathing so raggedly that it branched pain into his lungs; his fingers dug into your hip so harshly that blood spilled from beneath his nails.

“Fuck,” he breathed, almost like a whisper: an angry, desperate, hissing whisper. “Oh fuck, _____...”

Everything was too much: your scent, the sight of you, your perfect cunt gripping mercilessly with every thrust. He bent forward, stuttering his hips into you as his orgasm approached. Copper met his tongue when he bit harshly into your back.

Beyond his control, his quirk joined the fray of pleasure, blue flame flickering faintly along his palms and burning you. But fuck, it didn’t matter. Nothing fucking mattered but the wet slap of his hips ramming into you, the painful bite of his belt at your thighs, his teeth at your back, sharp alpha canines digging in.

He felt the flames on his face rising; along his jaw, in his hair, they had a mind of their own. He had the sense, just a sliver of it, to back away from you, saving you from the heat that licked parts of his face, even as his hand burned char into your hip.

His rhythm was going; he was close. It hurt. It fucking hurt. He needed to let go. Needed to give you his cum. Needed to pump it in your eager little omega cunt.

“I’m—shit,” he choked, swallowing the dryness in his mouth and moaning long and low. “Tell me you want it baby girl,” he panted. “Tell me you want this cum. Tell me.”

“I—” You coughed miserably, body beyond your muscles’ command. “I want it—”

“What? What do you want? Say it, sweetheart—fuck, tell me—Tell me you want my cum and I’ll fucking give it to you—” You squeezed him tight, too tight, and he keeled over with a grunt. "You feel so damn good. Fuck I’m gonna give it to you, gonna fill this tight pussy come on, come on—”

“I want your cum!” you sobbed, tightening around him as if on instinct. He grabbed your hips with both hands, fucked into you primally now, an angry, seething growl in his throat that was far from human.

Flames on his back, on his arms, on his neck. The skin where his hands held you steamed and you moaned in agony, or maybe pleasure—maybe both. He didn’t care. Neither did you.

“Fuck!” he shouted, just as his hips stuttered and fire shot up his spine. He threw his head back, tendons on his neck flaring, arms and legs shaking as he came inside. “Fucking shit—”

He panted for air, felt staples pulling in places all over him, felt his balls burning with pleasure and heard your mangled cry as he gave you what your body needed, what it had always fucking needed.

He didn’t stop fucking into you until his body couldn’t physically answer his brutal needs, and he bent over you, one last and hard thrust sending you flat against the mattress. His searing body pressed flush against you, met your nipped skin in an overwhelming contrast and forced a whimper from your throat.

He bit into you wherever his mouth could reach, claimed you in any way he could without irrevocably mating you. Lost in the heat of it all, in the pleasure that burned up his spine and gave him vertigo, he wanted nothing else but you: to dominate you, make you submissive, fucking own you until you knew nothing else but him and his cock and his seed inside you—but he couldn’t mate you. Wouldn’t. 

Maybe not yet. 

His flames subsided on their own, leaving smoke to rise all over his skin like overworked geysers; a steaming form on top of yours. The pungency of the expelled fumes would have surely made you nauseous any other time, but your senses were dulled to discomforts and pains alike.

You panted heavily beneath him, quivering under his weight. He lay his head against your back and breathed.

Wanting to push himself upright he twisted a hand into the cushion next to your head, tried to work himself up, but unable to with the debility of his worn muscles.

“Goddamnit,” he rasped, then, forcing strength into his limp limbs, pushed up on a shaky arm and righted himself dizzily. He had to close his eyes, reclaim his vision from the black spots encompassing it, then blinked the room back into focus.

You made some mousy noise beneath him. Then you squirmed, tightening around his oversensitive dick and making him grunt.

He pulled out of you carefully, slowly, every inch dissuaded by the tight squeeze. Wetness made a sleek mess of it all, slick streaks down to your knees, on his own skin, too; splattered against his pelvis, dripping down his balls and his thighs. He shivered. All of this, all of this mess for him, because of him.

His seed spilled out of you when his cockhead, red and twitching, released itself. His cum was hotter than what should have been normal. As it dripped down your thighs it felt like a simmering stream.

The mess, primal though flattering as it was, was quickly something of an agitation on his sweltering skin, and he wanted to be rid of it. A hand was at your back to steady himself, and he pushed at it again to keep his balance—that was when he noticed the full scope of the burns he’d left on you. The burns, the bruises, the blood. He looked upon the violence he’d done with careful regard. He knew from a simple glance, and from experience, that the burns were so severe they would be beyond full healing. You’d have them there forever. A token of his brutality, of his lust.

He closed his eyes and breathed out a sigh to steady himself.

“Oi.”

He pushed at you, and your limp body moved jointlessly beneath him. He wet his mouth to alleviate some of the dryness. His heart raced and his ears felt stuffed by warmth.

“Oi, you bring a towel? Something to wipe this mess up?” Your cum on his skin was cooling uncomfortably. “Oi.” He shook you a little harder when you kept to your silence, and a quiet whine answered him. “C'mon.”

There was a tiny movement: you attempting to push on your arms. But they were utterly useless to the command of your body. A raspy sound came from your throat, like you were trying to speak in murmurs.

He leaned in. “What?”

You tried again, to little betterment. He tsked, impatience entering his body again despite how languid it felt, and smacked your ass lightly, making you jump.

“I can’t hear you dummy, speak up."

You gave up, and trying to muster what little forte you could, moved a shaking arm and pointed to a bag off to your left. He understood, reached for it, his muscles screaming at him in ache, and set about cleaning himself with a towel he found inside.

He thought better of doing the same for you, but was again drawn to the wounds he’d left on you. Provoking an alpha-like possessiveness in him as they did, they were unsightly, and some far away part of him regretted what he’d done. He cleaned you carefully, in the smallest form of apology he was capable of evoking.

When the rough towel wiped over your sensitive clit you shivered miserably, and he huffed a quiet, weak laugh, his eyes heavy-lidded.

“Such an omega.”

He tugged his pants back up his waist and sunk down into the mattress at your side. He’d mastered his breathing again, though there was a heat in his lungs, like smoke, which made every breath feel powerful and choking. The smoke had all but gone from his skin, however, extinguished by his mind returning to lucidness.

But there was still a trace of the ferocious alpha in him there, his legs and depleted cock twitching when he breathed in and smelled you, a warmer vanilla now: something changed and unpure now that you’d been rutted. And he knew, possessively, with a shot of primal instinct going down his spine and making fire roll through him, that he’d forever changed you.

He looked over at you, realizing for the first time that you’d been completely inanimate. You barely looked to be breathing; your inhales came in irregular, heavy intervals, as if each breath taken succeeded a reminder that you were still alive, awake.

He knew it was the adrenaline still rushing in his veins that made him do it, but he reached out, pushed at your head gently so you would look his way, and brushed the matted hair from your face.

Your skin was flushed with sweat. A damp spot in the mattress must have been tears, and probably drool. It wasn’t particularly nice to look at, but it stirred something in him nevertheless. You were a mess. An utter mess. His mess.

Your eyes were closed, pupils fluttering beneath the lids like shaking leaves.

“Open your eyes,” he said, for no particular reason.

But they shut tight at the command, and your breathing picked up, as if you were debating between obeying or not.

“Open them,” he told you again, no firmer, but apparently, it was persuasive all the same. Tears slipped from your ducts when you complied, eyes shining and trembling.

He ignored the part of him that ached to fall into his greedy impulses again. It was alluring. Not just because you were an omega, but because you were you. And he’d fucked you. He’d taken you. He was your first alpha.

Without further instruction to do otherwise, your eyes started to close again, and the hand that still held your hair from your forehead tugged lightly, entreating your eyes to stay trained on him.

“Nuh uh, wake up. Talk to me a little, before you pass out.”

You hummed groggily in response, your mouth open but too dry to form around words. You sealed your lips together, swallowed the dryness.

“Can’t move,” you managed raspily, staring at him, looking exhaustedly vulnerable and knowing you did, too.

He watched you, debating leniency, and decided he’d give you some, just for good measure.

You made an uncomfortable whine when he took your forearm and dragged you to him. He didn’t try to hold you, or keep you against him. Instead when you curled into your little ball against his side, moaning as you did at having to stretch your body’s abused muscles, he let you. What he didn’t deny of intimacy, however, was the arm he draped over you leisurely, just to feel you as he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling.

His thumb brushed over the flesh of your hip, and felt the corrugated, slowly cooling flesh there. The sensation made him grimace. It was so like the gnarly, repulsive texture of his own skin. Not as severe by a long shot, but nevertheless, unpleasant to the touch.

“Hurt?” he asked.

You blinked lazily, his voice sounding like a waning echo to your numb ears. “What...?”

“Your hips. Look at them.”

You forced your eyes open; they rolled themselves into nausea when you shifted to look. When you noticed the pinkish, creased wound on your burned skin, you froze, then started to shiver in your dismay.

“You… I…” Your unsteady hand moved, a finger traced over the rough, still raw skin. Clearly, the pain was lost on you, lust granted. But the sight had your stomach twisting, its emptiness sloshing uncomfortably at the sight of your own damaged flesh; you could even smell it, strong and sickening like cooking meat.

“You’re lucky that’s all I did,” he muttered, selfishly flippant. “And you’re lucky I did it there.”

You took a shaky breath, and shut your eyes, resigned to your body’s lethargy. “Asshole.”

He humphed. “It’ll heal,” he lied. “I’ve had worse, clearly. Done worse, too. It won't get infected.”

You were quiet afterwards, volitionally so, barely keeping your hostility in check. He was more than aware of your chagrin, and didn’t particularly care. If you started feeling it later, he’d go get you meds for the pain. But he’d known omegas to be particularly resilient in their heats. There was very little that registered above the natural pleasure of being filled by an alpha.

“I’m…”

He glanced down at you, saw your mouth opening and closing in determined hesitation.

“I’m not a whore,” you managed croakily, and irritably.

He started laughing. “You gonna hold that against me?”

“I’m not a whore.” You scowled, resentful of his carefree ribbing. “And I’m not”—you sputtered, breathing hard through a phlegm-choked cough–“a slut.”

His laugh subsided into a low chuckle in his chest. You didn’t see the wry grin on his face, but heard it.

He shrugged. “I say shit when I’m high on fucking. Don’t take it so personally.” But he couldn’t stop now that the warmth of craftiness was twisting in him. “Besides…” The arm draped over you shifted, found your ass, and gave a generous squeeze. You whimpered in objection. “You basically are my whore, now.”

You shivered with frustration. Despite the wild—incredibly wild and earth-shattering sex, you were conceiving a poorer and poorer image of him the more he gloated. With renewed strength, you rose on your arm and pushed his hand off.

“I’m not,” you insisted testily.

“I get you don’t know how this shit works,” he started, “so guess I’ll explain it to you.”

There it was again: the possessive, ravenous wildfire in his veins that coaxed his arm to reclaim its spot at your back, bring you closer to him. Adjusting his position, he let your head rest on his stomach; your legs curled comfortably around his own for comfort. He watched your head rise and fall as he breathed steadily.

“May not have mated you,” he went on, anticipating your griping, "but I’m your alpha now.”

You tensed at the declaration, he noticed, but no more than that.

“And it’s gonna stay that way unless you let some other one take you in a heat, which I don’t see you doing. Unless you’re just so dick hungry after this that you let any guy fuck you.”

One of your feet dug opposedly into his calf and he snickered. “Didn’t think so. To the last part, I mean. Trust me…” His hand smoothed over your ass again, and he smirked when you moaned quietly. “You’re gonna be hungry for it.”

“I can’t handle anymore,” you muttered, breath puffing against his stomach. Even those giddy times you’d imagined your first alpha taking you, envisioned a night of passion that would end in ardent nurturing, wrapped under your dominant’s embrace, protected and warm and wanted—you now balked the indulgent, cherished ideal of it. This was not what you had expected. Dabi was not what you had expected.

“I can’t,” you started, lacking the confident breath to loose your doubts on. “I don’t even… feel it. It’s gone.”

“You’re still in heat. It’ll pop back up when your body’s ready. I’m hoping you don’t need a biology lesson for this shit, but point of a heat is to get you knocked up. You get that, right?”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he mocked. “And obviously since I’m not tryin’ to make you a mother, I didn’t do that. Your body’s gonna keep beggin’ for it until I give it to you, and I won’t. So you’ll get your heat back once your junk down there realizes it’s empty and wants to try again, except it’s gonna be a lot crazier this time, since you’ve finally had a taste. Told you that you were only hurting yourself by holding out this long."

You started to follow the logic. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t heard before. But to hear it fleshed out like this, by the alpha who had taken you, felt somewhat like a hazardous warning.

“I just… “ You shook your head against him. “We did it. You said that would be enough. That it wouldn’t be so bad, now…”

“You thought one fuck would fix it?” he asked, condescension taking an amusing slope in his tone.

You didn’t answer, and he grinned.

“You got a lot to learn, sweetheart. Gotta get you through the whole heat, first. Life would be easy for you omegas if one fuck could take care of your problems.” He hummed. “No, you’re gonna be dyin’ to get bred up until your heat is over. I’m not gonna do that, but I’ll fill you up for a little relief.” Something about his own words made him twitch in anticipation, and he put a hand on your head, pinched a handful of hair gently in his fist. “Until you need it again. And again.”

You heart was beating fast. He felt it against his side. “We don’t have to,” you said.

“Don’t have to what?”

“I’m too tired,” you insisted, feeling your body lag into the mattress. “I won’t want it anymore. I’m done. This will be fine. I don’t need you.”

He laughed with such smugness that your cheeks went hot.

“Now you’re just being dumb… But fine. Think what you want. Give it a couple hours. You’ll be clawing at my dick before morning.” He picked idly at the drying blood under his nails, frowning to see it, but too amused by the prospect of your ignorance to regret his violence anymore. “And now, I’m gonna make you work for it.”

“I won’t. You got what you wanted. And I… you made your point.” You shoved off of his body, pushed away from him scornfully on limbs that were seconds from giving out, and sat yourself upright.

Your spine curled and straightened enticingly as you arched up; he watched with covetous appreciation, then saw the red blood drying on your back. He tried not to put out a spiteful laugh.

Let you find the mess he’d made later, he decided. For now, a more urgent matter was making sure his dick didn’t get too hard before you were ready to go again. But you stretched so nicely like that, reminding him of how your body had dipped so obediently for him when he’d bent you over and fucked you cross-eyed.

“You need to leave,” you said.

Snorting, he went back to picking at his nails. “I’m stayin’ right here. Even if I didn’t still have a job to do, this is a nice bed. Better than the couches at the bar, ya know. Nice little nest you’ve made for yourself."

“Then… I’m leaving.” You tried to stand, and failed, legs sliding out from under you and giving your body back to the mattress beneath.

“No you ain’t,” he snickered. “Even if you could find another place to wait off the heat before it came back again, you’re gonna run back to me.”

“I don’t need you,” you insisted decisively, angrier now.

“Yeah, you do. I’m your alpha now, remember?” He saw your shoulders rise with a heavy, angry breath. “You said it yourself. You’re pathetic, and you need an alpha cock. And right now, that’s mine."

“…Fuck you.”

He cackled patronizingly, like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, giving no stock to your anger at all.

Indignation compelled you to your feet, wobbling, a hand going between your thighs to feel the hot throbbing there.

That was when you noticed the blood, and some of the bruises. You shook your head, infuriated with yourself, and with him.

“You’re… sick,” you muttered. “I can’t believe I let you… You’re a sick bastard."

He chuckled dismissively, and stopped himself from reaching out to grab you like he wanted to—that attitude of yours made you really fuckable.

Instead he rested back into the mattress, forcing his hands to keep busy on his nails, on his staples.

“Keep it up sweetheart,” he muttered. "When you’re wet for me again in a few hours, I’m gonna remember you said that."

“Fuck you,” you said again, too disillusioned to think carefully on the foreboding, and found your clothes.

Then, forgetting he’d torn them, you threw the tattered garb at him.

He ignored you, unfazed, flicking the ineffectual shirt off his chest as you rummaged through your bag for a new one.

You pulled it over your head, then, with a final glare of indignant reproval, walked off.

He didn’t bother asking where you were going. He knew you would be back.

[blessedboo]

Home | Angel Reyes.

Angel Reyes x Reader

GIF CREDIT: @thedevilsmoonshine

Summary:  Angel has come back from his run feeling extra needy & lost puppy-like. 

Requested: No.

Warnings: None, just that cute, fluffy shet. 

Word Count: 1.4K; Sorry for the weird format, it was easier to write in bullet points, so it’s like a lengthy headcanon thing, kinda? But not? IDK LMAO.

A/N: Would you look at that? She’s back-ish. Finding the time to write has been a real struggle lately, but I’m trying my best to get into it again, sOoOo this is what I came up with (please go easy on me, ah). I love y’all, aaand I hope you enjoy reading - mwah! <3

Being away from Angel was always a struggle.

The only entities to keep you company were your irrational thoughts and constant worries. 

To help ease your mind, you would wipe the bar down and absentmindedly clean away while you waited for the men to come back from their run. 

Soon enough, there he was in all of his gentle giant glory and your world was complete once again. 

Angel stumbled in through the clubhouse door with his head hanging low.

He carried the weight of the world on a slouched back and heavy feet that dragged across the wooden floorboard. 

As if things weren’t bad enough already, he tripped over the threshold.The soft giggle that came from you was not appreciated.

You shook your head and continued to wipe the insides of glasses, biting your lip as you stifled the rest of your laugh. 

Angel’s jaw slacked as he scoffed, throwing you the funniest little nod and a tilt of his head. 

“You got something to say, huh?” Angel prodded with an exaggerated display of machismo, his lips pursing into an unamused expression. “You think that’s funny?”

You inhaled deeply as his towering figure invaded your personal space.The intoxicating aroma of Angel’s cologne, cigarettes and motor oil diffused within the close proximity.

His leather-clad palms slammed onto the tabletop, his face hanging inches above yours from where he stood on the other side of it.

You playfully rolled your eyes while your fingers lightly trailed up and down his tattooed arms. 

Angel gave you a small, sad smile after he felt you visibly relax in his presence, and your heart warmed. 

Tilting your head upwards, you studied his hardened features. As beautiful as they were, his eyes told you everything you needed to know. They were dark, lackluster. 

You helped him slip his gloves off, and he tucked them into the pockets of his kutte. 

Angel sighed loudly as he slowly dropped his forehead to meet yours before cupping your face in his rough hands. 

He placed the lightest kiss on your nose, and whispered,  “I missed you, querida.”

Angel’s thumb skimmed the top of your cheek, back and forth … back and forth, almost as if he was being reacquainted with the feel of you, the natural warmth you emanated. 

Angel was sweaty, his beard was rugged, his voice was gruff, there were patches of blood, soot and dirt on his skin.

And yet, you held onto his wrist, closed your eyes, and let yourself fall into his love, into the arms of an angel that kept himself alive to make it back home to you. 

Angel’s eyes were no longer on yours, but instead focused entirely on the way his fingers glided across your delicate features, and how yours lovingly danced across the back of his hand. 

Taking a hold of your chin, he gently pulled your face closer to capture your lips with his.

His velvet tongue traced the seam of your mouth, coaxing you to let him in, and he groaned lowly when you did. 

Angel’s large, calloused hands clasped around the back of your neck to deepen the kiss.

Without caring for the others around, he moaned against you. He drank up and savored your tenderness, your sweet taste. 

He was so lost in you, your heavenly touch and the yearning you reciprocated.

“Oh, baby … fuck. I really fuckin’—” Angel’s eyes fluttered closed, his head tipping backwards as he gulped. “I really needed that” he choked out breathlessly.

Even after pulling away, his outstretched arms held you, which made him realize that there was still a barrier in between. 

“Stupid ass bar won’t even let me make out with you,” he grumbled with a pout. “Stupid ass design too, and stupid ass wood, and … and dumb fuckin’ … fuckin’ architectural, interior design shit, and wh—”

“Angel! Calm down, just walk around it, baby.” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his frustration. You knew he was moody right now, but mans was really about to fight the bar for you.  

He sucked his teeth and furrowed his brows, even flipped his middle finger at it. 

After his temper tantrum, he hopped onto the countertop before swinging his long legs over and landing in front of you. 

“There we go,” he wrapped himself around you, engulfing your body into his strong frame. 

A boyish grin took over his face as he immediately became less tense.

He rested the side of his face on the top of your head while hugging you tight. 

“That was a little dramatic, Angel,” you whispered. He could hear the humor in your tone. 

Angel humphed, “So fuckin’ what?” 

“Baby, I need you to take the attitude down a good couple of notches, yeah?”

“Sorry, mama,” he kissed your hair. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

You rubbed his back soothingly, still caught in the embrace he didn’t want to part away from. 

Every time he felt you wriggle, even slightly, his grip on you got tighter and he would annoyedly murmur in your hair.

“I know, my love. That’s okay. Look, I just have to clean a few more glasses and I’ll be all yours. Wait for me on the couch?” 

Finally releasing you, he nodded. 

You turned around to finish up the chores, but with every step you took, the sound of boots stomping followed right behind you.Turning around, you smirked and cocked an eyebrow at a puppy-eyed Angel.

“Angel … do you need something before you head over there?”

“Mm, nope,” Angel shook his head cluelessly. You paused, squinting your eyes at him.

The look on his tired face was so innocent. His fingers toyed with the waistband of your jeans, simply for the sake of being attached to you, desperate to be close to your body after the run he had. God, he missed you, and he needed you badly. 

You kissed his cheek before going about your business once more, only to have Angel shadowing you from behind. Except now, he was significantly closer - his crotch on your lower back type of close. 

Angel was breathing down your neck and left barely any room for you to move. 

You took a step to the right? Angel took a step to the right.

You stepped back? Angel gripped your hips, wrapped an arm around your waist and shifted you in the direction you wanted to go in. 

Angel’s head dipped down to rest on your shoulder while his hands wandered up and down your sides, or lingered on your belly, or squeezed your thighs. 

He did not want to leave you alone; all he wanted was to be with you and bask in your presence. 

“Angel, babe,” you sighed. “I promise you’ll have me soon, you just gotta let me finish first.”

He nibbled on your ears, his lips brushed the skin of your neck, and then he started sucking there. He enchanted your skin with open-mouthed licking and smooching.  

“Okay, mi dulce,” Angel pressed his cheek against yours, his smushed face rubbing all up on you, and his beard lightly scratching you. “I understand completely.”

“Great, love to hear it. Now, when do you plan on sitting down?” You laughed. 

“Oh, we can sit down if you want,” Angel took your hand in his as the cheekiest smile flourished onto his lips. 

At this point, you realized that finishing up was just not going to happen. Everything you told him went in one ear and out the other. 

As he grabbed onto your ass, you held his face in your palms, “Angel.”

“Heeey,” he winked, flashing a lopsided grin. 

“You’re my everything, you know that?”

He hummed and looked down, not knowing how to react. “You’re mine,” he mumbled. 

You lead him over to the couches in the corner. He pulled you onto his lap, and you snaked your arms around his neck. 

You both settled into each other’s comfort. And for Angel, that also meant stuffing his face into your chest. 

He left kisses all over your tits, his hands groped the swell of your breasts. 

Your fingers slowly ran through his hair, manicured nails moving along his scalp

“Home sweet home,” he let out a muffled groan.

The rest of the night was spent cuddling Angel’s needy self while he praised you, rambled and vented, or napped on your titties.

__________________________________________

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@keithhoward

​“..You’re a weird guy, you know that?” For a moment, Keith considered just taking the puzzle to get rid of himself, but bit back the thought. He didn’t like all this risky business surrounding it- and if the ghost was gone anyway what was even the point of keeping it?- but he didn’t need to be three-for-three on antagonizing this kid every time they ran into each other. He just hoped the puzzle wasn’t as unlucky as Yugi seemed to think. If he needed any more convincing not to do something stupid though, Yugi’s next words did the trick. “Really fuckin’ weird,” he mused again, “You didn’t know what I’d do after. I coulda come in here just to kick your ass. What good would the right thing’ve been then?” He snorted at the “glad you’re not dead” comment though, remarking, “Too late for that. But thanks.” It didn’t seem like Yugi was going anywhere soon, so Keith sighed and slid back down into a squat. “Yeah, shit, you got it kind of rough with the whole social media thing,” he shrugged in agreement, “But hey, least everyone’s got attention spans the size of an ant these days. You’ll be outta the news cycle in a day tops, and those vultures will have some other sucker to pick apart in your place.”

Yugi glanced back up at the American and gave a little chuckle as he said, “Yeah. I can hope that they just move on pretty quick. But the internet is forever and I am sure that my crying face will haunt me for years to come.”

He tilted his head and said, “Sorry for trauma dumping on you, Keith. I mean, I appreciate you coming to check on me. It was a really kind thing to do, but you definitely didn’t sign up for my life story. For what it is worth, I really appreciate it though.”

The smaller man pushed himself up from the floor with a groan and brought his hands up to try to wipe away some of the makeup that was giving him a distinctly racoon look after his freak out. Cleaning it up didn’t work very well despite the valiant effort. In fact, he probably messed it up worse. But he let out a deep breath and shrugged as he asked, “Do you drink? Because I think I very much need one. If you wanted to join me, I wouldn’t say no to your company.”

[dreamifics]

Immature

Oneshot

Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Talk of sexual activities and stuff but no smut

Y/N joined the Avengers shortly after the big fight between Tony and Steve. Stark recruited her due to Fury's orders, she used to be under control of Hydra, like Barnes.. All of the Avengers had no problem with her, only one..

''Stupid Rogers!" Y/N shriek as she stares into her bathroom mirror..

Once again, Rogers benched her, because and she quote

'She used to be just like them!'

They were supposed to raid a Hydra facility, and something snapped at Steve's brain when he saw that Y/N was going too.

Y/N sighs, she just gripped the porcelain sink and steadied herself, she was ready to kill Steve, she was so angry.. Y/N just washed her face with the cold water from the faucet, hoping that it'll help ease the anger in her blood.

She exits the bathroom and was greeted by Bucky, he was sitting in her bed.

"Hello Tinman.." Y/N gave Bucky a smile.

"I want to apologize for--"

"You don't need to apologize in behalf of Steve.. I'm cool.."

"Are you really?"

"Yepp!No word of Captain Ass can get to me.."

Bucky crossed his arms, he knew she was lying.. Y/N just awkwardly smiled at him, she walks to her bed and dived in her bed..

"You can leave now, your boyfriend's might be missing you now.."

And in queue Sam and Steve popped up in her door, Steve was furious.. His eyes were fixed to Bucky, while Sam was just smiling slyly..

"Speak of the devils.." Y/N mutters as she gave Steve a deadly glare.

Bucky stood up from her bed and gave the two men a small nod.. Steve was still looking at Bucky but it soon averted to Y/N, she just raised her eyebrow at him.

"Have a fun mission, you two.."

"Will do, Y/N" Sam answered and gave Y/N a smile which she gladly gave back.

"Oh, Bucky!Pouvez-vous s'il vous plaît pousser le capitaine hors de l'avion pour moi?" Y/N spoke in french knowing that Bucky will understand.

Can you please push Captain out of the plane for me?

Bucky just laughs and shakes his head as Sam grabs him and drag him out of Y/N's sight. However, someone still hasn't left and it made her anger bubbled up even more.

"I swear to God if you don't leave, I'll squeeze your kneecaps.." Y/N said jokingly? She was not sure, she might just do that if Steve won't stop his douche ways..

"Cut it out, Y/N.." Steve ordered..

Y/N rolled her eyes, she sashay her way to Steve and move her face closer to his.

"You're not my Captain, you don't get to order me around.."

Y/N was supposed to walk away but was stopped by Rogers hand in her arms.. However, his hands didn't hurt her, his touch was soft and gentle.. Typical Steve..

Always a gentleman..

"I'm the Captain, you'll obliged to me.."

Y/N scoffs as she takes her arm away from him, she looked him deeply in his and saw that there were anger filling his blue eyes.. This guy really hates her..

"And what if I don't?What would you do?Fire me?Spank me?" She sassed but Steve eyes soften and his eyes wander to her body..

Y/N brows furrowed, what was Steve doing? He just stared at her and his cheeks suddenly got flushed.. Di-Did he just imagine what Y/N has said??

"What?" Y/N was weirded out, she hated the eerie silence between them and to top that up he might be imagining sexual things or so she thought..

"Capsicle, let's go!" Stark voice boomed out through the whole tower, it made Steve snap back to reality and he just walks away.

This made Y/N flabbergasted, he walked away just like that.. After the awkward silence and him being flustered, he just walked away with no explanation or whatsoever. Y/N just huffed in annoyance and flops back down to her comfortable messy bed..

What is wrong with Steve?

Days passed and it seems that Y/N is finally at peace, there were no longer eyes watching her.. Yes, Steve has given up.. How does she know? Simple, Steve is now avoiding and pretending she doesn't exist.. Which is fine by her, but there's this small pain in her heart.. She missed Steve acting like a douche..

Y/N mentally slaps herself, she used to complain about Steve always criticizing and annoying her but why is she missing it now? Y/N sighs as she slams her head in the table infront of her. A piercing pain welcomed her as her head hit the table but she ignored it.

"Umm, can I go on with my briefing?" Tony was standing in the middle of the big briefing room..

Y/N put her hands up and gestures an 'okay', she completely forgot that she was sitting with the Avengers in the middle of a meeting..

"Are you okay, Y/N?" Wanda was the first to ask her that, Y/N just let out a groan.. All of them just shared knowing looks and Tony fakes a cough.

"If you want to rest, you can go.." Tony chided..

"Alright.."

Y/N stood up and was almost to the door when Steve's phone suddenly rang, he answered it..

"Sharon?"

This name made Y/N stop, are they together? They look nice together, she hope that they'll break up soon.

"I'll be there.." Steve endes his call and stands up..

"Sorry everyone, I have a date with someone.." He push passed Y/N leaving her heart on the floor..

He has a date? Why is she even concerned about that? She doesn't care, Steve's stupid anyway!

"Wow, Capsicle is going on a date, I'll be damned.."

"And with Sharon?She's nice.." Wanda chirps in..

Meanwhile, Natasha notices Y/N who was dumbfounded and hurt by all the recent events..

"Aren't you gonna go, Y/N?" Nat asked with mischievous eyes wandering to her face..

Y/N put out a fake smile and left, how is she feeling this way? Does she like Steve? She groans as those thoughts eat her alive, maybe she just need a fresh air..

Yes, fresh air..

That's exactly what Y/N needs, she has been cooped up in the tower for weeks now.. She sped up to her room and grab her keys, jackets and Tony's credit card.. He won't mind it, that man is richer than the whole US goverment..

Y/N jogs to the elevator, turns out she's not going to be waiting for the elevator alone.. Steve is right there, also waiting for an elevator so he can go to his fancy date with someone else..

"Fuck.."

Y/N was deep in her thoughts that she didn't realize that Steve was looking at her.. She cleared her throat and walked up to the elevator doors..

"Up or down?" Steve asks making Y/N look at his stupid handsome face.

"Can't you figure it out Sherlock?" She's grumpy and she doesn't care.

"What?" Steve questioned.

"Down!"

"Could've just said that.."

"We're on the fuckin--"

"Language!" The infamous 'language', he's being dramatic as hell.

"Fine!We're on the freaking top floor and your asking me if I'm going up or down?"

"I didn't notice."

"You're just stupid.."

The elevator was taking forever, normally it would be up in a minute but she's been standing her for almost five minutes and the elevator is still a no show.

"This is taking forever, I'm going to take the stairs.." She was going to the staircase when the elevator doors opened..

"You're impatient.." Steve mumbles.

"Asshole.." Y/N mumbles back..

And before she knew it, she's pinned to the floor.. It happend so fast, Steve has pinned her down to the floor.. Their face were only inches apart, it made Y/N blush but she somehow hid it..

"Let me go, Steve.."

"Not until you beg for forgiveness.."

"Beg?Didn't know you had a kinky side, old man.."

Steve got flustered by her words, still he didn't let Y/N go.. She started to fight back by getting the upper hand and overpowering Steve.. Now she's on top, she smirks and inch her face closer to Steve's face.

"Dominant, I like that Cap.."

"Although, next time ask for a girls permission before you go and pin her to the floor.."

Without thinking Steve kissed Y/N, her eyes widen but soon she melted to the kiss. It started out soft but it became rough within seconds.. All of the unsaid feelings were mashed into the kiss.. She was out of breath but she didn't want it to stop.. Steve pulled back and smiled sweetly at Y/N, she was confused but she smiled back..

"You like me back?"

"No shit, Sherlock.." Y/N smiled but instead of Steve saying language he smiles back..

"You're so immature.."

They both laugh as Y/N got up and offered her hand to Steve, he gladly accepted..

"Go, you'll be late for your date..Wouldn't want to keep her waiting.." Y/N shooed Steve away but he just stands there..

"You are my date.."

"Well powder me in sugar and call me a donut.. Was all this planned?" Steve nods and Y/N just shakes her head in disappointment, she interlock her arm to Steve's arm.

"Let's go eat some ribs and steaks, Cap.."

On the briefing room with all the remaining Avengers,  they were cheering and celebrating as they watch the two from a surveillance camera.

"Not bad, Cap.." Natasha mumbles as she eats popcorn with Wanda and Bucky.

By commenting, or reblogging this post, you’ll be telling me that you’re interested in being on my tag list! You’re also welcome to DM me or send me an ask if you’re more comfortable with that :)

If you guys have any request for a oneshot about ( marvel characters, DC characters, stranger things, game of thrones, brooklyn 99, friends, basically anything! I accept everything!)

[gyllenhaalstories]

KINKMAS DAY 9: PUBLIC SEX WITH (rapper!)JAKE GYLLENHAAL.

request:  Heyyy!!! So... how about day 9 with Raper Jake?! I feel like that would be soo hot!! 🔥😩🤤

warnings: mentions of food and alcohol, curse words, public sex, angry sex, bathroom sex, rough fucking, spitting kink.

word count: 1350

@jakes-little-slut thank you for this request and for suggesting the setting!!!!! rapper!jake is mentioned, but it’s very vague! so everyone can read without paying too much attention to the character (he does call her his bitch, but that’s normal for the character, i promise!) <3

“Thank you for being here with me, Jake.” You reached out to connect your wine glasses together. Jake looked tired, but he looked content.

He had been working so hard lately, there was a situation with copyrights or something like that. For the past couple of weeks, he was pulled from one side to the other, running to a meeting after being done with one and he had been neglecting you. He was too focused on his work to realize it.

So you tried to help him open his eyes. You suggested you both went on a date at your favourite restaurant, just to change his mind, and yours.

He accepted, it took quite some convincing and pushing around things in his schedule. You still could not believe he struggled so hard to free himself on a Tuesday night at 9 pm, like it was office hours in the traffic.

You respected him and his work, but sometimes you just wished you had more of a normal existence. “Do you remember what we ordered on our last date?” You questioned, scanning through the menu.

“Mmm...” Jake shrugged it off. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He ignored it. “I believe it was the vodka pasta or some shit. Order it, we could share.”

You nodded at his suggestion and waited for a waiter to come by, telling him all of the order and asking for a refill of water.

Another vibration against his thigh. Jake pulled out his phone, just to check who it was from. It was his producer.

“I thought we agreed to leave our phones in the car.” You sighed. It would not be that big of a deal if there was no build up, but it seemed to be the last straw. “All I want is to have a good time with my man, no to wonder if you’re fucking producer is gonna kidnap you for the next three days again.” You rumbed your temples, trying to keep your voice low. “I’m serious, Jake. I just want one good evening with you. If you pick up the phone, I’m...” You hated to threaten him, but it felt like the only way to show him just how much you missed him and valued this precious date.

“Babe...”

You did not even let him finish his sentence, you threw the napkin down on the table and kicked the chair away from you. You headed straight to the bathroom, and hid in one of the private stalls.

*~*~*

You sighed loudly, pacing around the luxurious washroom. You felt bad for putting on a show, for putting the spotlight on the two of you while all you cared about was to be normal people having a normal time sharing food and smiling and catching up. Your hand went to grab the door knob, when the door was actually smalled open.

You were ready to scream for help, but instead you gasped. Jake was standing in front of you, looking down at you like you were two feet tall. “You wanna fucking embarass me in front of everyone, huh? Thought I broke you, thought I fucked the whiny little needy bitch out of you.”

“Jake, let’s take that home, okay?” You tried to calm him, pressing your hands on his chest in protest. You heard the lock of the door click. It just hit you that you forgot to do that when you stormed in.

His other hand grabbed both of your wrists so firmly his knuckles were white. “Now you wanna play it nice? How cute.” He chuckled low in his throat, loving just how much your eyes widened. “Is that what you wanted all along? You wanted me to put you back in your place? I’ve been working my ass off to clear everything for the summer, so we can have a nice little trip together, but that’s not enough for you, is it? Always want my attention...” He went to cup your pussy from other your dress. His fingers dipped into your wetness. “And my cock.”

You swallowed thickly. You had decided not to wear panties so that he...

“Gonna fuck you so hard you will be dripping on the floor. That’s all you want? Don’t care about the food or the exquisite wine. All you want is to get fucked in a bathroom like the dirty slut you are.” His hand moved up your body and forced your mouth open, so you could taste your own juices on his fingers. “Say it, say that’s what you want.”

“Mmfh’ yes! I want you to fuck me, please.”

He smiled at your answer. His smile was so... Soft. It turned you on even more. “Open.”

You opened your mouth, and he spit on your tongue. You swallowed instantly.

“Somebody’s desperate to be a good girl.” He turned you around and pressed you on the marble counter. He unbuckled in tuxedo pants at the speed of lightning and leaned down, his feet parting your legs open. He spat again, this time on your pussy.

“I need you.” You whispered, looking at him from the mirror.

He did make you wait any longer. He had one hand on your shoulder, the other one stroking his shaft a few times and then guiding it to your wet hole. He bottomed out in the first thrust, his balls slapping against your neglected clit. “You want it?”

You nodded eagerly, leaning on the counter so you could hold yourself up.

That was all he needed to begin thrusting into you. It was fast, deep, and rough. It was merciless. He wanted it it to hurt, and it did hurt so fucking good. Neither of you had had this kind of pleasure for a long time, everything felt more intense; even for him.

“Fuck!” You cried out, he slammed his now free hand against your mouth to shut you up.

“So fucking dirty. Want everybody to hear you, huh? Wanna put on a show for them?” Jake kept fucking you, getting impossibly faster. “You missed that, Princess, didn’t you?”

You nodded again, unable to speak or say anything coherent. You missed all of it, all of him, but especially the way he looked at you. His eyes were glued to your reflection, there was so much love in his dark blue irises. The duality of him fucking you like a rag doll and looking at you like you were a national treasure made you clench around him.

“Cum for me. Cum all over my fuckin’ cock.” He barked. He didn’t care just how loud he was, he could not countrol himself.

And you did, you released yourself around him. Your legs were shaking, your eyes were rolling inwards and your lipstick was ruined on your cheek and chin.

“Good girl.” He whispered at your ear and let you calm down. You stayed inside of you for a few moments, making sure you gained enough strength to clench his cum inside of you. “Aww, look at you. You look so pathetic.” He laughed and tried to fix your makeup by wiping the remaining lipstick with his thumb, which he had wet under the faucet. “And so fucking gorgeous too.”

*~*~*

You both sat back at the table, not without a myriad of weird looks. You both looked terrible. Jake had trouble adjusting his pants to his softening  dick and you looked... Like something else.

Jake laughed when the waiter came back with all of the plates, setting them down in front of the two of you. He could not believe he did all of this before the food was ready. He grabbed his fork and twirled spaghetti around his fork, presenting it to your lips so you had the first bite. He wiped a drop of sauce off your chin.

“So... What did you have in mind for the summer?

“Nothing much...” Jake shook his head lightly, swallowing a bite of food. “Just a trip to Santorini and renting a private yacht so I could fuck you on the deck at sunset.”

[pumpkinov]

Where the Dust Settles

This chapter is a little weird, but there's lots of things I need to set up. Bear with me, I promise, we're heading somewhere with this!

You can read Chapter 1 here

Portia Collins, the sole survivor of Vault 111 has lost more than most. With the Institute defeated, she sets her sights to the next big jobs - unification of the Commonwealth wastelands and the large warship docked at the Boston Airport. More work for the General of the Minutemen, who is finding herself increasingly alone as her companions move on with their lives. John Hancock, the Ghoul Mayor of Goodneighbour is struggling to find his footing in the new political climate of the Commonwealth, and is finding a surprisingly vocal supporter in his local Minuteman General.

Chapter 2. I can hold a grudge like nobody’s business

There is an important meeting, Piper chain-smokes and Hancock climbs a heavy set of stairs.

He fucking showed.

“Well, fuck me.” Portia exhaled in surprise, as the red figure approaching her across the quiet square held his arms out wide. There was an interesting leap in her chest as he grinned. Fuck he was smug. But it was hard not to smile back, despite the almost constant urge to hit him.

Mayor Hancock was an anomaly.

“Good morning, General.” He whipped his tricorn hat off his head and held it to his chest as he dropped into an exaggerated bow.

“Good morning, Mayor.” Portia offered him a cigarette, which he accepted. They stood in silence for a moment, their breath fogging between them. It was still in the square, it had snowed overnight and the ground beneath their feet was covered in a soft powder that would no doubt turn to a dirty, watery sludge by midday. The air was crisp, and Portia’s nose and cheeks were already turning red. The sun lay in bars across the ground as it rose through the buildings.

Hancock exhaled smoke. “You’re surprised to see me, aren’t you?”

Portia raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t pick you for an early riser.”

He shrugged, flicking the ash off the tip of his cigarette. “I don’t sleep much.” He paused, then grinned wickedly, “Bed serves a different purpose these days.”

Portia opened her mouth to scold him, but was interrupted.

“General?” She turned to see Preston walking down the steps of the Rexford. He was in better shape than she expected, honestly. He had a dark hickey on the side of his neck, but his eyes weren’t bloodshot and he wasn’t swaying.

“Good night, Preston?” Portia asked, reaching to adjust his scarf. He grinned broadly, and batted her hand away.

Hancock snickered, and pitched his cigarette butt into the gutter. “Should we get this freakshow on the road?”

Preston hummed in agreement, slinging his laser musket across his shoulder.

Portia’s rifle was strapped to her back, her pistol strapped to one leg, and her combat knife strapped to the other. She eyed Hancock, who appeared weaponless. He waved an arm towards the entrance of Goodneighbour. “After you!”

The streets of Boston were quiet this early in the morning. The regular patrols of Minutemen and traders helped keep the path between Diamond City and Goodneighbour relatively safe, though all three kept their heads on a swivel as they made their way through the shell of the city.

Hancock moved slightly ahead of them, and Preston fell into step next to her.

“How did you convince him to come?” He asked, quietly. Preston had spent a good hour trying to convince the mayor to accompany them to the council meeting the day before.

Portia shrugged. “I appealed to his better nature.”

Preston hummed a little, “You wore him down.” Portia knocked her shoulder against him, causing him to sway a little. He grinned back at her, before adjusting his hat. “I’m glad he’s here. I know he’s a pain in the ass, but-”

“He’s a wildcard.” Portia muttered. “I’m not sure if he’s going to dazzle them all, or stab them all.”

Preston shrugged. “It’s the Commonwealth, General. That’s a risk we’re always taking.”

Hancock stopped, spinning on his boot heel. A shotgun had appeared in his hands, and his face was serious. “If you two are done gossiping, we have company.” A bullet whistled past Portia’s side, and she heard the garbled cry of the supermutant who had shot it. The angry green face attached to the cry peered out from the side of a building just up ahead. Portia whipped her rifle off her back, as Preston cranked his laser musket. She aimed and fired off a shot, clipping the mutant in the shoulder. He cried and stumbled, before letting another bullet fly, at Hancock this time. The mutant’s aim was off, and Preston dispatched him with ease.

Another mutant appeared in the doorway of the building, running headlong at Hancock. She heard his rough laugh, before he unloaded a shell into the green creature’s face. He disappeared from her view in an explosion of blood and gore, both Portia and Preston breaking into a run to reach him. He was standing over the headless body of the mutant, his face pulled into a snarl that made him almost unrecognizable. Portia reached for him, her fingers brushing his coat.

“Hancock, are you-” She faltered a little, his eyes were wide and wild. There was a flash of memory, Portia; fresh out of the deep freeze and entering Goodneighbour, Hancock sliding a knife between the ribs of a man who had threatened her. The face was the same. Hancock took a breath, and adjusted his hat. The fierce look started to melt out of his eyes as he looked at her, his breath rising hot in front of his face in the crisp air.

“I’m fine, sister. And you two?”

“We’re fine.” Portia realised she was still holding onto his sleeve, and released it. Preston clapped Hancock on the shoulder.

“Excellent spotting, sorry we were late on the draw.”

Hancock smirked a little, looking more like himself. “Lucky I have my cat-like reflexes, Garvey.” Preston grinned ruefully, “Look I’ll take that. I’ll spot the next ones.”

“Good man.” Hancock gripped Preston’s wrist tightly, eyes shining.

The rest of the way to Diamond City was uneventful.

There were two familiar figures standing at the gates to the city. Piper was smoking furiously, pacing back and forward. Nick Valentine stood straight and still, watching for their arrival. Portia’s chest warmed at the sight of the pair. Preston raised a hand in greeting, and when they were in earshoot Piper pitched her cigarette and broke out into a jog, colliding with Portia and smacking a loud kiss on the side of her head. “Blue!” Portia laughed and wrapped her arms around Piper, lifting her feet a little off the ground. Piper reached for her battered red hat to stop it sliding off her head, “Put me down!” she shrieked. Portia released her as they moved forward, keeping a hand on Piper’s arm as she staggered a little.

They reached Nick, who shook Preston’s hand warmly before enfolding Portia in a hug. His metal hand pushed briefly between her shoulder blades before he released her. His yellow eyes landed on Hancock, who stood slightly aside from them.

“It’s good to see you, John.”

“Likewise, Nicky.” Hancock rasped, his eyes crinkling again at the corners. Piper pursed her lips, another cigarette already clamped between them. Portia squeezed her hand, before turning her attention to Preston.

“Are we ready for this, Garvey?”

Preston met her gaze. He looked nervous, but resolute. He nodded. “Yes General, I think we are.”

Portia smiled a little, trepidation twisting through her stomach. “Right, let’s get this over with.”

Hancock hesitated at the steps. He watched the welcome party climb the stairs ahead of him, talking excitedly. He took a deep breath - the place looked almost unchanged. His sense of smell wasn’t the strongest these days, but he could still make out the smell of Takashi’s noodles, the scent of paint and dirt. Diamond fuckin’ City. He never thought he’d come back here. He took a deep breath, and stepped onto the first step. The rest were easier to take.

McDonough’s old office had been stripped bare. There were chairs gathered in a semicircle, with Piper set up at the desk in the corner. There were settlers clumped in groups around the room, Hancock stood to the side, leaning against the wall, observing. Trying not to notice the bloodstain in the corner where the synth (his brother?) had died a few months previously. The floor was wet from the melting snow off everyone’s shoes. His eyes followed Portia as she moved around the room, greeting people. She was smiling, touching people, remembering names and faces. He didn’t really recognise any of the people in this room, except for Wiseman, who ran The Slog. Their eyes met, but there was no flicker of recognition in the old ghoul’s eyes. Wiseman remembered a different John, in a different lifetime. Eventually Portia arrived at the front of the room, and it fell quiet. She cleared her throat, and glanced up. Her eyes met Hancock’s for a moment. He felt a smile stretch the corner of his mouth up, and she bit down on her bottom lip, smiling in response. There was warmth in those eyes, despite how cold she could be. Lady will be the absolute death of me he thought idly, his eyes drifting down her frame as she started speaking.

“Welcome, everyone. This is the first time in a long time we’ve had a meeting like this. The people in this room represent the settlements of the Commonwealth, and for anyone in this room who may not know me, I am General Collins, leader of the Commonwealth Minutemen. This is my second in command, Preston Garvey, and I’ve bought you all here today to discuss the future of Diamond City, and the future of the Commonwealth as a whole.”

Portia had been right all along, Hancock mused to himself, this meeting had been important. And deeply, deathly boring. They discussed trade routes, infrastructure, and people brought up grievances both imagined and real. He tried to listen, he really did, but similar to his brief foray into education he found his mind drifting. He slid a box out of his pocket, and placed a mentat on his tongue. As he was trying to surreptitiously close the box again, he glanced up and caught Piper’s eye. She frowned at him disapprovingly, and he fought against the childish urge to poke his tongue out at her. He glanced out the window and saw that the sun was already heading back down again in the sky, how the fuck was it late afternoon already? His gaze fell down to the market below them, watching the small smudges that were the citizens of Diamond City go about their business. It looked the same from when he was younger. Except it wasn’t the same. Not anymore.

Portia was still standing in the front of the semicircle of chairs. She had tied her long brown hair back off her face while Hancock had been staring out the window, and he realised he’d never seen her with her hair up. The back and sides of her head were shaved. He wondered idly how those shaved parts would feel against the palms of his hands and grinned quietly to himself. He felt the mentat starting to work as it melted in his mouth, he was finding the words coming from the General a lot easier to follow. She was discussing the upcoming election for the new mayor of Diamond City.

“I think we’ve probably covered enough for one day,” she smiled, rubbing the back of her hand across her eyes briefly. “We’ll meet up again tomorrow, to discuss the Diamond City election a little more before this meeting is completely adjourned. Are there any questions before we call it a day?”

There were murmurs as a negative response to her question from the rest of the settlers, but Hancock found himself pushing his upper body off against the wall and stepping forward.

“I have a question, actually.”

Portia’s eyes met his from across the room. Her eyes were no longer warm, they were tired and guarded, but she still inclined her head.

“The floor recognises Mayor Hancock, of Goodneighbour.”

Heads turned to stare at him, and he found himself smiling, not in a particularly pleasant way. He fixed his stare on Geneva, sitting in one the chairs closest to Portia, his idiot brother’s old assistant.

“I’d like to know what plans are in place to remove the Anti Ghoul Decree of 2282?” He swirled the mentat around his mouth languidly, feeling it spike in the back of his skull. “Since both myself and Wiseman here are standing in the former mayor’s office, I would assume it has been retired at least in a non official capacity?”

Geneva looked at Portia, then Preston, then met his gaze. “Diamond City currently has only a small council, no changes to policy can be made at this time.”

Hancock raised a bony ridge where an eyebrow would be. “And is there discussion to remove it once there is a new mayor?”

“I - uh -” Geneva trailed off, looking back at Portia for assistance. Portia sighed, and stepped forward.

“That’s an excellent question Mayor, let’s table it and add it to the agenda to discuss tomorrow?” Her eyes met his again, this time pleading.

“I’d really like an answer now.” He smiled. She took another step forward.

“Mayor I don’t believe anyone has the capacity to answer this -”

“It’s a simple question,” he stepped backwards, opening his arms wide and looking around the room. “I just want to know if there’s any plans to allow the ghoul’s who used to live here to come home? The ones who survived, of course.”

The silence was heavy in the room. No one would look at him except Wiseman, whose face was emotionless.

“Good to know.” Hancock returned his gaze to Portia, and smiled. “Good to know. That’s all I had General, thank you.”

[misora-msby]

night drive

rating : mature

word count : 1.9k

themes : fluff, fwb, mutual pining, implied sex, drug use (alcohol and marijuana)

notes : originally from my ao3, thought i might post it here as well :) // you can kinda imagine this is an au where atsumu’s not doing volleyball in college because this dude would definitely take care of his body better than this as an athlete lmfao

miya 🤢 : “im driving over rn. be ready in 10?”

You grimaced slightly. Atsumu always did this; he’d text late at night, insisting to meet up without giving you much of a choice.

“bitch it’s so late and i literally just finished my assignment gimme a break”

Your reply was read and within a few seconds you received a reply;

miya 🤢 : “Sorry! I’m driving right now and will reply later.”

An annoyed groan escaped you at the use of the automatic reply function. You knew he definitely read the message. It was just like Tsumu to do this.

Throwing on a light cardigan and applying a bit of lip gloss, you grabbed your phone and a little tin box you always brought along on your drives with Atsumu. After stuffing them into the pockets of your sweatpants, you double checked your appearance in the full length mirror by the door. A spray of perfume was used and you slipped on a comfy pair of sneakers before exiting the flat to wait at the entrance of the building.

As promised, Atsumu arrived and you got into the passenger seat of the car. It was a little messy and you had to dust off some crumbs on the seat but it smelt just of him and the cologne he loved to use.

“You gotta stop doing this. Especially the impromptu texting.” you muttered, leaning back in the seat as he began driving.

“But ya always agree to it anyways. And as promised, I never do it on a Tuesday, Friday, or Sunday night, just like ya asked.” he hummed while giving the smirk you hated but loved. And as much as you hated to agree, he was right.

Six months ago, you two had been set up on a blind date with each other by some friends. Miya Atsumu, known as a notorious flirt all his life, and you, a regular student just looking for a change in life. The date itself didn’t go too well but the sex that followed was incredible and so you two had continued with this agreement for the past half year.

And here you were now; on a drive to someplace out of town, a packet of cigarettes to share in the cupholder while the little tin in your pocket contained something a little stronger to smoke. And not to forget the cooler in the backseat which most likely contained at least two bottles of beer.

“Fine… you’re right.” you sighed, crossing your arms as you kept your eyes on the road to try and guess where you two were driving.

“Hey, doll. Light me a cig, would ya?” Atsumu asked. As always, you pulled out the stick of tobacco from the packet and lit it before passing it to him. He took a long draw on it before rolling down the window to breathe it out.

“I don’t get how you’re still so fuckin’ handsome after all the ciggies and drinks you take.” you muttered while taking the cigarette from his hand to have your own draw of it.

“Same goes to you, doll.”

“... T-Thanks.” you muttered while reaching back to grab a beer from his cooler.

Neither of you saw it but there may have been the slightest flush on both of your cheeks.

After that, the drive was silent for half an hour, save for the soft R&B that played and the occasional humming from Atsumu. It was always like this, and somehow the two of you had grown to like it. As much as you complained over and over about it, you enjoyed it. Enjoyed the thrill, the sex, the debauchery, and strangely, the company.

“This place looks good.” his smooth voice hummed while turning into a forest. It was dark and a little scary with how cramped it felt with the towering trees, but your pride refused to let him know that. Plus, you knew you wouldn’t be thinking about it for much longer. He parked his car in a decent spot and unfastened his seatbelt before turning to face you who was just a little drowsy from the beer you had. “There’s a real pretty place I wanna go in there. But first…” Atsumu’s eyes looked darker than ever as he placed a hand on your thigh.

No words had to be said before lips were locked and soft moans were pulled from your lips. It only took a few more seconds before you were both scrambling into the backseat, with him pushing you down onto your back as he grinded his strong hips into your more delicate self. The kiss ensued, though at this point it was hard to call it a kiss as it seemed more like a battle between lips. He groaned softly as he felt your fingers entangle themselves in his blond locks.

The two of you pulled away for a second to gaze into each other’s eyes, dark with lust and passion.

“You taste like beer,” he chuckled while wiping off a little bit of saliva from the corner of your lips with his thumb. His touch was strangely soft, contrasting the way he had kissed you just seconds before.

“Yeah? You taste like nicotine.” you replied with a slight grin on your face. He replicated that smile, a rare sight from him, before resuming your kiss.

* ･ ゜ﾟ ･ * : . ｡ . . ｡ . : * • * : . ｡ . . ｡ . : * ･ ゜ﾟ ･ *

“Think you can walk over to that place I was talkin’ ‘bout?” Atsumu asked while pulling his sweatpants back up.

“Hmm… I don’t know, you were pretty rough tonight. You might have to carry me,” you laughed while putting your own clothes back on.

The man rolled his eyes, though there was the slightest hint of endearing in them as he took the blunt you had half finished smoking earlier and lit it himself, leaning back in the seat a bit. 

As he did so, he glanced over at you - hair messy and strands stuck to your brow from the sweat, your clothes were in a disarray, and marks he had left on your skin covered your neck and collarbones. It gave him a weird feeling to look upon you, like a sort of strange pride. Whether it was because he had given you that messy look, or because he was just proud of you in general, he didn’t know.

“No way, I’m tired too,” Atsumu scoffed and redirected his gaze out of the open window for a second before looking at you. His eyes softened slightly at the pout on your lips before he sighed, “Fine, I’ll do it. Help carry the drinks.”

He opened the door and carefully carried you out in a princess carry before kicking the door shut and beginning to walk. His steps were a little uneven and shaky as he was just slightly intoxicated.

As he carried you, you looked up at him, eyes tracing his sharp jawline and his blond hair. There were bags under his eyes and the scent of sex and everything you two were consuming today mixed into the cologne he wore with his natural scent. Somehow, it was still attractive.

“You’re hot.” The words left you in a whisper without you even realising it. Atsumu looked down and nearly stopped walking for a moment before laughing as he continued to walk.

“You’ve got the weirdest fuckin’ timing. But yeah, I know that.” he replied before setting you down a little later.

“Where are we?” you raised a brow at him, still holding onto his arm.

“Just take a look, would ya?”

Tearing away your gaze from his handsome self to look at the sight before you, you gasped softly.

You stood near the edge of a cliff, just beyond the fence-like barrier, there were paddy fields and the occasional farmhouse providing a small source of light. It was a pretty normal sight, but upon closer inspection, you could see the reflection of the night’s stars in the water of the fields. The twinkling stars shone in pitch blackness, undeterred by the city lights you were used to. The moon looked brighter than ever too. A cool wind blew past your face, refreshing it after the stuffy feeling of having sex in Atsumu’s backseat, carrying the faint scent of spring on it.

“You know, I think being here would feel so much better if I didn’t have your cum in me.”

“Shut the fuck up and enjoy it. You asked for it anyways.”

Atsumu flicked your forehead lightly before pulling you closer to the edge and sitting down on a log, looking out over the fields and up at the sparkling sky.

“Happy 6 months.”

“Tsumu, I don’t think anyone celebrates a fuckbuddy anniversary.”

“Eh, whatever. Fuck and drink buddy.”

“...well uh, happy anniversary!”

“Happy anniversary, doll.”

The two of you looked at each other in silence for a few seconds, slightly dazed expressions on your faces before breaking out into giggles.

“Oh! Right!” you passed him a bottle of beer and opened your own with a spare coin in your pocket. “Cheers!” you clinked your bottle against his before drinking about a third of it.

“Cheers.” Atsumu replied and took his own large gulp of the drink.

You leaned against him the moment he moved the bottle away from his lips. His muscular arm, strengthened by years of playing volleyball made him rather comfortable to lean against. You hummed an unfamiliar tune before sighing in content.

Atsumu looked down at you resting against him. He could get used to this. He realised that lately he had been opting to stay the night after the fun you had together. Whether the time contained pillowtalk or it was just falling asleep in silence, he enjoyed it. Atsumu enjoyed being around you.

You enjoyed it too. People often claimed the blond was an ass but you knew better. There were nights when after you two had sex, the worries of the day or week would catch up to you and you’d end up crying to him. It was awkward at first but he slowly got used to it and eventually would comfort you with food he ordered or a few words of encouragement. (“Yeah it’s that bitch’s fault, go fuck her up.” was probably the most commonly said thing). As the nights passed, you found yourself wanting to spend more and more time with him.

“Hey… the sun’s coming up.” Atsumu said, making you finally look up from your silence. You hadn’t even realised you had fallen asleep on him for a bit. 

As you narrowed your eyes and looked over the fields and fields of crops, you noticed he was right. The first rays of sunlight could be seen peeking over the landscape, bringing light to the sky.

“Woah… it’s pretty.” you whispered in awe.

Atsumu looked over and studied your features for a few seconds. The way your eyes sparkled and was lit by the early morning sunshine, the way your hair bounced just a little as the wind blew, and the way your feet tapped quietly on the dirt in tired excitement. He didn’t want to admit it but he realised he might’ve been falling for you for a while now.

“Thanks for bringing me here. I love it.” you grinned up at him. At the man who you hadn’t realised you had fallen for weeks ago.

“Yeah,” he replied, and in a voice just barely audible to the two of you, he whispered, “and I love you.”

This moment seemed like a perfect time to properly ask you to be his, but he figured he would just let you two enjoy it in silence for a little longer.

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Peter Parker’s Younger Sibling

Peter Parker x sibling!reader

warnings: bullying mention, blood mention

a/n: a fuckin reach, its been a WHILE since ive seen tasm

prompt: y/n is peter’s sibling

peter and you were playful kids

you were just a year and some months younger than him, so you had a harder time remembering your parents than him

but he always told you stories about them that made you miss them a little more

peter was a genius, we all know it

he was the one helping you with your homework most nights

“peter i cant do it!”

“that’s okay, y/n. look, start with two times four, that’s eight, then four times six, twenty-four, right?”

“can i say a cuss word?”

“sure”

“math is shit”

you would cry during homework a lot

you’d also pass out on his floor after talking for hours

and you’d either wake up facedown on the floor or in your room since uncle ben would pick you up and put you to bed

peter took it upon himself to take you back to your room, but he usually dragged you by the arm, sooooo

you’d play action figures together

he was batman, you were robin always

“can i be batman?”

“oldest gets to be batman so im batman”

“but i wanna be batman!”

peter walked you to your school before taking off on his skateboard

and he’d pick you up on his way home

on half-days your brother taught you how to skate

you fell a lot

aunt may had to patch you up

“how many times do i have to tell you those skateboards are dangerous?!”

peter got you your own skateboard so that you could practice without him

you would text him after you did a trick and he’d always say hell yes! show me when i get home!

being his photography assistant

really you were his assistant constantly

science fair was the most boring day of the year

“y/n, stand right here, i need to get something from my locker”

*judges walk up while youre left unattended and in a state of PANIC*

you were bullied in middle school, same as peter, he’d always stick up for you and get beat up instead

it made you very mad but it was scary, too

“how’d you get into this fight, peter?”

“oh, you know, just happened”

“peter was sticking up for me, uncle ben”

“was he now? you’re a good brother, peter”

lonely when he moved onto high school :/

but you got there soon enough

you guys were kind of loners, just ate lunch together, lugged around your skateboards, you were an artist, he was a photographer

just spectating the chaos of high school, rolling your eyes at the drama

“i have two bucks, do you want anything from the vending machine?”

“uhh, a coke?”

you saw peter get bullied by flash and lost your shitttt

you actually started a food fight after throwing mashed potatoes in his eyes

“what the hell, parker?!”

“sit down and eat your goddamn food, flash, or next time it wont be potatoes”

peter was half-proud, half-embarrassed

trying to see how long you could skate through the halls before any authority figures stopped you

sometimes......you guys got sent to the office together :)

*phone ringing* “hello, is this ben parker?”

“which one of them is it this time?”

the principal’s office was a trip sometimes

you and peter exchange your glances and wait to get scolded

“ah, the parkers, come in, lets have a chat...why do you two always feel the need to get in trouble together?”

“we just happen to get along really well for siblings”

no you fuckin dont lmaoooo

it was always something with you two

like always

*banging on peter’s door* “I KNOW YOU HAVE MY BROWNIES, PETER, GIVE THEM BACK”

*peter through a mouthful of brownies* “I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOURE TALKING ABOUT, YOURE CRAZY”

“is that my jacket?” -peter

“you mean my jacket?”

“y/n, i swear to god if you steal any more of my clothes it’s over for you”

“well, aunt may keeps giving me your clothes, so take it up with her”

and then there was just the little annoying things

“peter, can you stop clicking your pen?”

*clicks pen faster*

“you’re the worst”

and my personal favorite

“peter, open the door”

“why?”

“emergency”

*opens bedroom door* “what?”

“aunt may is making meatloaf”

“shit, uh...get your board, we’ll skate to mcdonalds and tell her we already ate”

peter and you RARELY ever brought your parents up until he found your dad’s briefcase, you didn’t have much to say

soon he was flooding his room with conspiracies and pulling you in to explain them

he began acting REALLY weird, but he was pretty open with you, he told you he went to oscorp

“YOU SNUCK IN??”

“your standards for me are way too high, y/n”

soon you started to feel not-so-good and weird things started to happen

“peter??”

“yeah? whats up?”

“this is gonna sound really weird...my hand is stuck to the door”

“it happened to you, too??”

“happening, pete. wait—this happened to you?? what is this???????”

yall done fucked up and got bit by spiders peter had so carelessly brought back into the house

it was an adjustment to say the least

and this adjustment got a whole lot harder that one night...you can remember peter just...so upset

you tried to chase him out to make sure he was okay, but uncle ben told you to stay with your aunt

maybe if you’d have been there...it would’ve been different, but when the cops got to your house you were at a loss for words

peter was covered in his blood still

“hey, hey, just breathe, okay? it’s not your fault, peter. just hop in the shower, yeah? i’ll take care of your clothes”

when peter took your advice and you were left alone, you just cried, you cried until he finally found you curled up in a ball in your room

then he cried, you just hugged each other sobbing your eyes out

peter got distant for a while, which was rough since the two of your were mourning for your uncle and dealing with these newfound powers

sooner or later he came around and helped you out, designing webshooters and a suit for you

“we match?”

*sigh* “yeah...yeah, we match”

ah yes, spider-team

you really tripped out new york at first, they thought spider-man was a teleporter

peter was still talking about your dad, but you really didn’t care, uncle ben was always going to be who raised you

you and peter would be covered in bruises after going out

“uh—peter punched me”

“y/n???!!!”

“I PANICKED”

just being dumb scared teens that cant function to save their lives until they get a little bit lucky

seriously like, every big villain you guys fought was just the worst

peter didn’t help all the time, he was good at provoking them sometimes

“hey, spider-man, you mind shutting up for a minute? for my sake?”

“sorry, sorry, just couldn’t help myself!”

he gushed to you about gwen stacy, he actually dragged you to her apartment to be patched up by her SEVERAL TIMES

yadda yadda yadda peter graduated high school! how cool is that? but he was late (what a surprise) even though you put off spidering today just for this

but he made it and you clapped the loudest for him

“thats my brotherrrr!!!”

cute family picture! (aunt may printed a bunch of them and gave them to you two and peter pinned them to his wall)

you and peter actually have a lot of pictures of the two of you just goofing off

he has one of you stuck in a trash can that cracks him up every time

seeing harry osborn again after YEARS

“wow, y/n, last time i saw you i just thought you were peter’s annoying little sibling”

“aww, it’s good to see you, too”

electrooooo

this guy really worried you bc like, bzzzz shock

you and peter weren’t equipped for that

it took a while, but you were finally able to deal with that

and several other problems

including peter’s breakup, which was a whole ordeal of its own

*peter laying upside down on your bed* “i dont know, y/n, you know? i wanna be with her so bad, i love her...but her dad is haunting me”

*you, drawing on your notepad with your legs propped up on his* “yeah, makes sense”

you actually had to tap out during the end of electro, you were hurt pretty bad

“y/n, hey? yeah, you’re okay. stay here, just stay right there, i’m gonna be back for you”

*thumbs up to show youre still alive*

but when peter came back for you there was bad news, he’d lost gwen

he ripped his mask off and fell to his knees, you could barely move but you powered through it, giving him a hug while he cried

“we...we better get home before aunt may starts to worry”

she was at work, so you two had the place to yourselves to clean up and mourn before the official news was revealed

“i should have listened to her dad, y/n, this is all my fault”

he was a mess, you couldn’t bare seeing him like this. it’s been so long since you’d seen him like this

the funeral was rough, peter was grasping onto your shoulder the whole time

he insisted that he was going to stick behind and stay with gwen for a while

“okay, i’ll see you at home...love you”

“love you too”

you gave him a hug and left him to his business, the next few months you were the only spider-person operating in new york...until rhino popped up

“im coming with you”

“you’re sure?”

“yeah, im sure”

(these are kinda ass but anyways im tagging my marvel ppl even tho ik this isnt mcu so just ignore this post if you dont care, sorry!!)

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @rorybutnotgilmore // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @natasha-danvers // @allthecreativeonesaretaken // @frostedgiant // @praellee // @emygirl // @lotsoffandomrecs //

[kayluh1915]

I Miss You

Pairing(s): Francisco "Catfish" Morales/Female Reader

Words: 1,645

Warnings: Implied PTSD, mentioned former drug addiction, 18+ ONLY!

You and Frankie have a much-needed chat... and some unanticipated (but welcomed) alone time.

(Gif credit: @uuuhshiny )

I have no excuse for this. I'm fuckin' weak for Frankie and this is just my proof. 👀

I would apologize for my filth, but I'm not really that sorry. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

As always, comments are welcomed and encouraged.

You can also follow me on Twitter if you'd like. My life is boring, but I try.

Enjoy, my fellow whores!

My Masterlist

Read on AO3

Frankie had been in his shed all afternoon.

Extra warnings: Oral sex (F receiving), rough (protected) sex, hair pulling, light sub/dom, and creampie.

____________________

He hadn’t quite been the same since returning from his spontaneous trip down to South America, burying himself in a multitude of projects ranging from small builds all the way up to fixing something on the car that really didn’t need to be fixed.

You didn’t complain. You’d rather him cope with that then his previous methods, but he’d still end up isolating himself for long periods of time, missing meals and countless hours of sleep.

He was laying under the car again when you took him his dinner that evening, only able to see his legs sticking out of the side as you heard him drop one of his wrenches.

“Fuck!” He exclaimed, both sudden noises slightly startling you enough to emit a quiet yelp of surprise. Frankie heard you and rolled out from underneath the car, his eyes wide with concern. “Shit, baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay.” You sat his dinner down on his workbench and propped your back up against it, crossing your arms as you watched him stand up and start cleaning his hands with an old wash cloth. “What’s wrong with the car this time?” Frankie turned towards the battered sedan before answering.

“The oil needed changed and something was up with the axel. Was making some kind of weird noise.” You knew that the oil didn’t need to be changed and that the axel’s whirring was extremely mild, but tinkering helped him cope so you didn’t say anything. “What’d you make for dinner?”

“Chicken casserole. Didn’t really turn out the way I wanted it.”

“Anything you make is delicious, baby.” He commented, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you.” This is when you’d usually go back inside and let him have his space, but tonight you couldn’t find the strength to move. Frankie would always come in afterwards with his clean plate and help you with whatever you needed in the house, but you missed him.

You missed the evenings where you would sit and chat about whatever was on your mind, the nonsense you’d speak together and the laughter you shared. You missed cuddling up with him on the couch, letting him play with your hair as one of you complained about the “horrible” movie the other had picked. You missed going to bed at the same time, Frankie’s arms snaking around your waist as he kissed you sweetly.

Most of all, you missed him .

The nights when his innocent kisses would turn passionate, your tongues swirling around one another as his strong hands touched you exactly where you liked.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Frankie asked while chewing his food, bringing you back to the present with a light jolt.

“Yeah, honey. I’m fine… just thinking.” He swallowed the bite he had in his mouth, holding another forkful up.

“About what?” He asked before taking another bite. Your heart spoke before your brain could.

“How much I miss you…” Frankie stopped chewing, his dark eyes quickly glancing over to look at you. You wanted to scold yourself for what you had said. You understood that Frankie was going through a lot mentally and have tried to be supportive, but it was taking its toll.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until a choked sob tore it’s way past your trembling lips.

“Oh, sweetheart…” Frankie cooed, setting his fork down and pulling you into his arms. You laid your head on his shoulder, gripping the back of his shirt tightly as you cried into his neck. Frankie began to gently sway you, kissing the top of your head every now and again.

“I-I’m sorry, Frankie. I know you need me… to be strong and support you but-” You paused for a moment when you sobbed again. “Going to bed without you is so ha-ard.” You began to cry heavier at the confession, Frankie gently brushing your hair out of your eyes.

“Shhh… I know baby, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Please do-don’t feel guilty. I know yo-you’re trying to cope, bu-”

“Shhh.” He interrupted you. “Don’t you apologize for anything, baby. I know I’ve been distant lately after what happened, but you have been wonderful. Cooking me dinner every night and letting me have my space to recoup after all of that? Not a lot of women would do that.”

You didn’t say anything else, allowing his soothing voice to comfort you.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been spending a lot of time with you recently. I’ve been thinking about things a lot and didn’t realize how much I was hurting you. I promise, from today on, I’ll start coming in earlier, start eating dinner with you like we used to and even help you cook if you want.”

You wiped your nose with your sleeve, nodding eagerly on his chest. Frankie pulled away from you and held your face in his warm palms, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. “I love you, my little dolphin.” He whispered, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. You smiled at the pet name, the inside joke you haven’t shared in months bringing some joy back.

“There’s that smile.” He giggled, leaning back down to kiss you properly. At first it had only been a peck, but you were so hungry for him that you pulled him right back in. You threw your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss, Frankie not denying you even for a second.

His hands left your face and moved down to your waist, pulling you close with a low hum of approval. Your hands raked through his curls, knocking his cap off so you could grip his dark locks to hear those delicious groans fall from his throat.

“Please…” You whined, barley pulling yourself away from him. “Touch me… plea-.” Frankie’s hands flew to your hips, lifting you up to sit you atop his work bench. He instantly yanked your leggings off, taking your underwear with them and leaving you naked from the waist down… minus your strawberry socks.

He knelt down to his knees without another word, spreading your legs open and instantly pressing his face into your cunt. He had moved so fast that it took you a moment to process what was going on, tingles erupting from your clit, down your legs and all the way to your toes.

It hadn’t been that long since you’d been touched, but they always say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. The same must be true for your pussy as well.

“Ohhh…” You breathed, his tongue making you lightheaded. “F-Fuck…”

Frankie hummed, the vibrations only increasing your pleasure as he looked up at you. You were already so incredibly close, the tingling in your clit rapidly growing in intensity until… he pulled away. You whined quietly, your pussy aching with need.

“Down.” He said simply as he undid his pants. You jumped down from the workbench, completely unprepared for him to spin you around and roughly bend you over the table. He pinned you down with his left hand on your lower back, his right hand rubbing his cock along your drenched folds before pushing in completely in one thrust.

You felt like you had been sat on fire, the heat spreading over your body as he fucked you rough. You heard a few things fall to the floor as the table began hitting the side of his shed with his thrusts, but both of you were already too far gone to care about his tools.

“Fuck, baby girl.” He growled, his hands tightly gripping your hips. “So fucking’ wet for me.” You felt like you couldn’t breathe, his cock hitting the perfect spot every time. You placed your hands on the table and rose up slightly, one of Frankie’s hands instantly leaving your hip to push you back down to the table.

“Don’t fucking move.” You moaned at how rough he was being, your pussy throbbing with an incoming orgasm. Keeping you pinned to the table, he tangled his fingers into your hair and pulled it, the painful pleasure and one last perfect thrust of his cock doing the job and sending you over the edge.

Your cunt fluttered around his cock, the waves of absolute pleasure feeling more intense than they had in a while. Frankie never slowed down.

“Y-Yeah… take it.” He growled. “Being such a good girl for me, baby… cumming all over my cock. You think- fuck - you think you deserve your reward?”

“Yes, please! Give it to me! I’ve been such a good girl! I deserve it! Ple-” He tugged harder on your hair, a whine interrupting your pleas.

“Good girl, begging for your reward. M’gonna fill you up so good.”

“Yes! Frankie, please! Give it to me! Give me your cu-uhhh… uhhh… ahhhhhh!” You exclaimed, cumming on his cock for a second time without warning. It was also the end for Frankie.

“Fuck, baby!” He halted his thrusts, growling low and loud and he shot his cum into your pulsing cunt. The warmth expanding in your abdomen prolonged your orgasm, your legs shaking and buckling out from under you. Frankie held onto you tight, pulling you up to stand as he placed kisses to the back of your neck and shoulder, his breathing still coming out in heavy puffs over your skin.

"Did I hurt you, sweetheart?" He asks, gently easing the grip in your hair.

"God no." You replied, still trying to catch your breath. "You-you have no idea how much I've missed that." Frankie eased himself out of you, a mixture of his and your own cum dripping out of your pussy. Frankie hummed at the sight, lightly gripping your ass cheek to spread you open to get a better view.

"I think I got a pretty good idea."

[thiswasinevitableid]

93. I hire your matchmaking services but all the people you set me up with are horrible and I’m demanding a refund and you’re asking me for one more chance??? what are you going to do? be my date?

Indruck, nsfw, please!

Here you go! I was inspired by @kriskukko's incredible art for the orc designs in this, and I highly recommend checking them out!

“Indrid? Some from Kepler House is here to speak with you.” Ned pokes his head into Indrid’s rooms.

“Drat” Indrid hisses, dressing gown whipping about him as he scrambles to put the apartment in order while also dragging his notes on the man in question to the forefront, “I didn’t forsee anyone coming by today, goodness, he had his first engagement with Lady Austens daughter last night, what on earth could they need to see me for?” He tosses his spare pens aside, landing them in his second set of house slippers.

“Well, dear boy, given the luck you’ve had with them lately-”

“It’s not luck, it’s simply very unlikely futures. Please just, just stall whoever it is a moment, Leo is usually patient and-”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that my friend.”

“Why not? I watched you once talk an entire flock of constables away from your door. Praytell, why can Ned “Silver Tongue” Chicane not get rid of a single attendant?”

“Because the attendant ain’t here this time.”

Indrid slams the drawer of his desk, looking up as an orc in a deep brown suit steps into the room, tossing his hat onto the table. He’s shorter than Indrid and Ned (stout and strong, according to the notes Indrid received), wavy black hair streaked with grey at the front. One eye is blue, the other brown, and both regard the harried matchmaker with casual annoyance.

“Mr. Newton, I, ah, I was not expecting you to visit me.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect to be on a date where she found me so damn dull she hailed a cab as soon as dinner was done. I was already in town on some business for Minerva, so I decided to come tell you I ain’t in need of your services anymore.”

“I beg your pardon? Your benefactor employed me to find you a suitable match and I intend to do just that. I know there have been missteps, but such things are to be expected when searching for one’s lifelong partner.”

“Uh huh. And the fact I’m Lady Minerva’s chosen heir, which means there are a bunch of folks waitin to mimic my style and choices, has got nothin to do with it.”

“I, ah, I can’t say that I’m ignorant of the potential repercussions of being the one assigned to locate a spouse for you.”

“Which is the long way of sayin you know damn well that if I decide to stop askin you for help, no one with money is ever gonna come to you again.”

There’s a determined set to his rounded jaw, and a glimpse at the future suggests Indrid will have better luck with a different tactic

“....were they really so awful?”

“Yes. They were rude, or thought I was rude, or thought I was dull, or we just had fuck-all in common.”

“Have you considered you might just be a tad more demanding than average?”

“It ain’t demandin to want the person I spend the rest of my life with to actually like me.” He sighs, “I’m sorry, Mr. Cold, but unless you got a real winner up your sleeve, I’m done.”

All responses, all timelines show Duck ending his time as Indrid’s client and walking out the door.

“You could try me!”

“Really?” Duck looks deeply unconvinced.

“I will admit it’s unorthodox, but I, I foresee us having a perfectly nice time together. It will let me prove that I am capable of choosing companions for you.”

The shorter orc looks him up and down more deliberately and Indrid fights not to draw his dressing gown tighter. He will not be intimidated by some newcomer from across the sea.

“Okay, I’ll make you a deal. I got to go to this concert tomorrow; someone from Kepler house is expected to show and Minerva is busy. You’re comin with me.” He holds Indrid’s gaze, daring him to renege on his offer.

Indrid summons his best, professional grin, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

---------------------------------------

Indrid smooths his waistcoat and jacket as he steps from the cab, tucks a strand of his silver hair behind his ear. It’s his only concession to the nerves skittering up and down his spine.

Gatherings such as these are nothing new to him; he goes to them to gather new information and new clients, to remind the well-to-do families of London and beyond that he is the matchmaker extraordinaire. But there is always the moment between when they see him and when they recognize him, when every face in the room wonders why someone like him dares to enter their space.

Somewhere in Indrid’s ancestry is a love story between an orc and a goblin. His silver hair, very angular features, and complete lack of tusks or fangs is the proof. The red eyes don’t help--they unsettle everyone who sees them--but his mother insists they’re evidence of other orcs gifted with rare magic on her side of the family. He wears red spectacles over them just to be safe; he rather likes how the color stands out against his skin, and his glasses let him avoid prying questions.

Duck is waiting for him under the awning outside the music hall; he’s in a grey day suit this time, looking just as understatedly handsome as he did yesterday morning. Indrid must admit his desire to save his reputation is not the only reason he agreed to this; he cannot understand why Duck is having such trouble meeting his match. He’s good looking, moneyed, American--an exotic background in the eyes of the average, sheltered upper-class orc--but still has family history here in England. All Indrid’s matches showed a high probability of success. The point of failure must lie with the orc himself.

“Afternoon, Mr. Cold.” Duck smiles with everything but his eyes.

“Indrid is fine, given the reason for our meeting.”

Duck nods. Indrid wishes the ground would swallow one of them up. When the pavement fails to oblige, he offers his arm. The shorter orc takes it, both of them doffing their hats as they step inside.

“I, uh, like the earring.” Duck indicates the moth cuff on Indrid’s left ear, a stark contrast to the single gold hoop in his own.

“Thank you. A friend gave it to me. I, ah, I rather enjoy working moths into my wardrobe; I find them fascinating.”

“Y’know, back home we got moths that look like hummingbirds.”

“Really?” Indrid’s ear twitches, “how big?”

Duck holds up his hands to indicate the size. Indrid is about to demand details when they’re waylaid by their hostess and pulled into a cluster of families. Indrid breathes deep, feeling crowded in, and notices Duck routinely being cut off in conversation or given disapproving looks behind his back. Yes, Indrid supposes his manners are a bit rough, but there’s no harm in that. Too, everyone seems far more interested in the goings on at Kepler House and with Lady Minerva than with Duck himself. By the time they’re seated, their arms feel locked together from shared tension.

The violinists are quite good; Indrid enjoys strings, his recordings of them being his favorite music to listen to while drawing. But his mind is so consumed by futures and by thoughts about the orc beside him that he struggles to focus on the music. Duck is having a similar issue, though he hides it well; were they not side by side, Indrid would miss the way he fidgets with the knee of his trousers.

“Are you alright?” He whispers under the applause.

“N-ye-uh. Fuck. I, the musics real nice but I gotta say I’m gettin kinda bored. But I got no fuckin clue if leavin will piss everyone here off.”

“Intermission is soon. When it comes, keep quiet and follow my lead.”

When the guests rise to stretch their legs and fetch refreshments, Indrid guides Duck to their hostess.

“I’m so very sorry, but I’m afraid my stomach is rather angry with me and it’s best if I go home. Duck has agreed to accompany me so I do not pass out in the street. I’m sure you understand.”

She nods, and in a matter of moments they’re out on the street, each breathing deeply.

“Thanks for that.”

“My pleasure.”

“Guess I oughta just head back to the hotel.” Duck sighs.

“You could. But, ah, we’re not far from Kew Gardens and the weather isn’t miserably cold for once. If you’d like-”

“Hell yeah. Wait, fuck, sorry, tryin to swear less in public.”

“I don’t really mind.” Indrid starts them down the street.

“Lots of them do” Duck tips his head back towards the concert hall, “I mean, at least that rule is easier to figure out. It’s not that there aren’t weird rules and class stuff back home, but I grew up learnin them. Here I always feel like I’m one move away from makin an ass of myself. No one’ll say anything because of Minerva, but I know if it weren’t for her, none of ‘em would give me the time of day. It makes every interaction so goddamn stressful.”

Indrid twinges with sympathy, “When I first started in these circles, I wrote myself notecards and had Ned test me on them.”

Duck giggles, so absurd and loud it draws stares from passersby, “why? You seem to know your stuff.”

“I didn’t come from money, and I don’t always read social situations the way others expect. It was learn or live as a penniless artist for all my days.” As the gardens come into view he adds, “I know the basics of your life in America but if you weren’t here, what would you be doing there?”

“Workin in the Yosemite valley. I was a ranger there for a few years before Minerva called me here.”

“What was that like?”

Duck tells him as they wander the first stretches of the gardens. He’s midway through a tangent about bears when he stops.

“Holy fuck, you’re really still listenin.”

“Of course I am, this is fascinating.”

His companion smiles, “Glad you think so. But it ain’t polite for me to dominate the conversation like this. Now you gotta tell me what you do when you’re not gettin fancy folks together.”

“...You promise you will finish the story about the bear and the tent later.”

“You know it.”

Indrid knows that time passes more quickly with good company, but he’s still startled when the sun sets. The Savoy, where Duck is staying, is closer than his home, so their cab stops there first.

Duck pauses halfway out the door, “Meet me here for dinner tomorrow?”

Indrid grins, “I’d like nothing more.”

--------------------------------

“I didn’t know the line even went this far.” Indrid watches the moors race by them out the window of the train.

“You and me both.” Duck rotates his map, glances at the letter he received a week ago, “okay, once we get off at Amnesty, we need someone to take us down Greenbank road. The house is at the end of it, somewhere around here.” He taps a patch of moor miles from anything else. Indrid studies his fingers and is glad that, of his more rugged habits, one he elected to keep was letting his nails stay claws rather than filing them down.

“My visions suggest that as long as we don’t ask anyone to drive us out after dark, we should have no trouble reaching it.”

Indrid tries not to be too giddy at the prospect of spending weeks and weeks more or less alone in the countryside with Duck. They’re going because an anonymous note informed him that he did indeed have a family estate and--once they determined that the house near Dartmoor did indeed legally belong to him--it was decided he would go to see how the old place was doing and perhaps take up residence.

He asked Indrid to come without even glancing up from the telegram from the solicitor. Indrid agreed without looking away from his drawing. If two months of semi-courtship in a crowded city got them close enough for that, Indrid dares to hope that being out here together will bring them closer still.

Amnesty is small, as they both expected, the air chilly and fog threatening to swallow whole buildings as they make their way to the Lodge where they’ve been told they can find a driver. When Duck asks the young woman working the counter for help getting to Greenbank Hall, she quirks her lips in a frown.

“I’m not sure there’s even a place called that around here….OH! Do you mean Beacon House?”

“Maybe?” Duck looks at Indrid, who quickly looks at the futures.

“Yes, it seems we do.”

“Okay. Since it's still light, I should be able to find someone to get you out there. If it comes down to it, I can, like, drive you out myself.”

They end up being driven by a friendly young man named Jake, who deposits them and their bags on the steps of the massive house with a friendly wave farewell.

“Agh” Indrid shivers as they step through the newly unlocked doors, “I think it’s actually warmer outside.”

“No kiddin. Damn fog means it’s already gettin too dark to see too. I’ll go get some kind of fire started, you see if you can find some lanterns or candles so we ain’t trippin all over ourselves.”

Indrid begins his search, comes to the kitchen and finds some matches and a candle. The solicitor arranged for food and other supplies to be brought in ahead of time, so in theory lanterns should be somewhere nearby. He’s just glad that the paltry light shows no signs of rodents getting into their food.

When he gets upstairs, he discovers two things; one, all the lamps are gas, so he’s able to light them easily. And two, a mother tortoiseshell cat is nesting with her kittens on a guest bed.

“Well, that explains the lack of mice.”

Footsteps behind him, “Got a fire goin in the sittin room, if you wanna pick a room for yourself I can light one th--awwwww” Duck moves past him towards the cat, who hisses at him, “now, there ain’t any need for that, missy. I ain’t gonna hurt you or your babies. But we oughta bring you somethin more’n mice to eat.”

“I saw some tinned food in the pantry.”

“Perfect, lemme go find a bowl.”

----------------------------------

Beacon House has seen better days, but Indrid discovers the houses loss is his gain. Duck decides they can do many of the repairs themselves, and sets about ordering supplies from London or bringing them in from Amnesty. The few times they need help, the cook and several others from the Lodge come to assist in the project. These gatherings are far more pleasant than any Indrid had to attend for work (well, except for the ones where he was with Duck). And they always end before dusk.

Indrid occupies himself with figuring out why. There was no mention of this house when he first researched Duck, and even using the local name turns up very little. It’s not until he finds a diary belonging to one H. Newton in the library that he understands.

October the 15th, 1805

I fear the worst is upon me. I cannot leave the house, dare not even peer out the windows for fear of what I shall see. Lucy says it is my health, that we should travel to warmer regions so it will improve. But I know it is not so simple. Were we to flee, it would merely wait for our return. It may even waylay us before we reached town. I am cursed. We are cursed. We always will be.

Beneath the words is a hastily sketched image; yellow eyes and sharp fangs peering from between the bars of the front gate.

There are no more entries.

Indrid is unsure whether to raise the matter with Duck. On the one hand, he wishes him to know of any possible dangers. On the other, his friend is so very content these days, coming in from some project or other with grime on his skin and a smile on his face. Indrid’s own desire to stay with him here, in a house he can pretend is theirs, threatens to drown out all other reasons.

Eventually, his conscience shouts it down while he and Duck are on their evening walk.

“Oh yeah, Barclay told me about that a few days ago. Some ghost apparently wanders around the moor at night; got somethin to do with a murderous ancestor.”

“That does not alarm you.”

“You know I don’t believe in curses and destiny or anythin like that. People make up all kinds of stories when they’re alone in wild places.”

Indrid’s foresight guides his arm, gripping Duck and keeping him from moving forward.

“Does that look like a story?”

Directly ahead of them, a tor rises like a spike. Atop it, revealed by the rising moon, is a gigantic, fur-covered shape.

“See” Duck whispers, “were we back home, I’d say that was a bear.”

“And now?”

“Given there ain’t been bears in this part of the world in decades, I say we get the hell outta here.”

They take off back down the slope, the hall a collection of yellow squares of light in the darkening distance. A howl splits the air behind them and Indrid quickens his pace, keeps his eyes on the future in hopes of protecting them both.

This means he doesn’t see the burrow in the path until his ankle goes sideways in it.

“‘Drid!”

“Under no circumstances are you to try and help meAH!” He yelps as Duck swings him over his shoulder and continues his flight towards the house. As he’s bounced about, Indrid watches a glowing shape bounding closer.

“Thank fuck.” Duck crosses the gate, slams them closed, and lowers Indrid to his feet. Nothing glares at them from the path. But a growl creeps from the shadows and follows them until they shut the door.

------------------------------------------

“How’s the ankle?” Duck drops his coat on the chair opposite Indrid before tending to the fire.

“Better than yesterday. I should be up and moving tomorrow, if the futures are to be believed.”

“You know you don’t gotta rush. I’m happy to take care of you.”

Indrid picks at the ends of the blanket in his lap, “but I miss being able to aid you with work.”

“There’ll be lots of time for that. We got plenty to do to get the house to where we can live in it full time.”

“We?”

Duck goes completely still, then fails to put the fire poker back in place three separate times. When he finally meets Indrid’s eyes, he looks worried.

“‘Drid? What’s your endgame? With, uh, with me?”

“I…” Indrid grabs his teacup, intending to drink it to buy time and finds it empty, ‘I...I don’t know. I, I wanted to prove to you that I could find you a companion who made you happy, hoping you would give me another chance to locate your perfect match. But lately I, ah, I struggle to see that plan working. As I do not wish you to have any match but me.”

Duck moves across the rug, shadows on his face making it hard to read.

“I know that shows great selfishness on my part. If that is not something you wish to have in your life I, I…” he shrinks back as Duck leans down, certain this is the timeline where he accuses him of being a conniving monster.

“Funny you should say you’re bein selfish” Duck braces his arms on either side of the chair, “because I’ve been beatin myself thinkin’ I was selfish for keepin you out here so long.”

“Keep me here forever.” Indrid whispers. Duck smiles, closes the remaining space between them. His lips are still a bit chilly from working outside; Indrid does everything he can to warm them with his own.

The shorter orc straddles him and he whines so needily that Duck snickers in reply.

“What’s wrong darlin? Kissin too much for you?’

“On the contrary; it is far too little, but my injury means my ability to drag you to my bed and beg for more is greatly impeded.”

“Good thing we live alone.” Duck pulls the blanket from Indrid’s lap, nibbles his ear as the seer catches on and begins frantically undoing the buttons of Duck’s workshirt and shoving his suspenders. When at last he pushes it open he loses himself a moment, tipping forward to tongue at the golden ring in Duck’s left nipple.

“AHheh, gettin right to it. Good” Duck unbuttons his pants, “because I’ve been wantin to fuck you since before we even came out here.”

“Oh I see” Indrid purrs, “you lured me into the countryside to sully my virtue.”

Duck laughs, full throated, as his tusks catch in the firelight, “You forgettin the time we got drunk instead of goin to the opera and you told me you convinced two sailors to take you home?”

“Only if you’ve forgotten telling me about the young ranch-hand you gave several rides to” Indrid nibbles along his neck, his twitching oddly in their quest to grind against him without jostling his ankle.

“Not a chance. But I don’t care about reminiscin right now; right now, I got the best lookin fella in the world beggin for my dick.”

“I’m not begging.” Indrid tilts his head back to help Duck get his shirt open some.

“Not yet.” Duck grins, then shoves his hand down his trousers.

“Ohhhhhyes” Indrid reaches for him.

“Keep your hands on the armrests until I say you can move ‘em.”

“But, but” it’s hard to argue when he’s trying to stare a hole through Duck’s remaining clothes. His partner notices and makes a show of moaning louder.

“Only good boys get to watch the show. You gonna be good for me?”

“The best.”

Duck kisses the tip of his nose, then wiggles and kicks his pants and underwear off. Indrid can only watch, growing more envious by the moment, as he fucks himself open and rubs a thumb along his cock. Indrid tries bucking his hips, only to discover Duck is keeping himself out of reach.

“Cruel creature.” Indrid groans.

“Cruel? I’m giving you a seat to the best show in town.”

“I’d rather you take the best seat in town.”

Duck laughs, is still doing so when he bends to kiss him. Indrid whimpers, nails digging into the upholstery to keep his promise of good behavior. Duck notices.

“Good boy.”

“AHHHnnnthankyou, thankyouthankyouthankyou” Indrid moans as Duck drops his weight into his lap, grinding on his clothed cock with abandon. He flings Indrids hands up to his shoulders. The seer glides them up to his hair, burying them there where he’s now certain they’ve always belonged. Duck mirrors him, lips only leaving his to bite the tip of his ear.

“Fuck, Indrid, that’s it darlin, lemme ride you like the sleek little beast you are.”

He whines, loses his thoughts as Ducks hips quicken.

“I know ‘Drid, you like bein mine, like that I’ll bounce on this fuckin perfect dick as often as you want as long as you’re my good, sweet, ohsweetfuck, fuck, darlin’” Duck drops his forehead to Indrid’s shoulder with a groan as he cums, soaking the fabric of his pants. Before Indrid can think about stopping, Duck picks up again with as much force as before, growling in his ear to be a good little social climber and cum for his lord.

Indrid cums at that with a chirping sound he thought he’d stopped making long ago, legs spasming from the force of his climax. Unfortunately, this means his pleasure is chased by a burst of pain. He whimpers, flinches, and Duck spots the problem.

“Oh, oh darlin I’m sorry” He drops to the floor, rubbing Indrid’s thighs, “thought the position would keep you from hurtin.”

“Apparently not. I, I want you to know I don’t regret it in the slightest.”

Duck smiles, relieved, and rests his head on Indrid’s stomach, “Guess you did find me a match, huh?”

Indrid bends slowly, nuzzling his hair with a hum, “Yes, I believe so.”

[heartofsnark]

Rent-Free (Johnny Silverhand/OC Female V)

Notes; IVE BEEN ENABLED AGAIN!!!!!! AHHHHH BLAME @rosyibby, but uh, yeah basically given how much we talk about Johnny living rent free in V’s head, it made me think of paying rent through other means...*cue the cheesy porn music* Additionally, this does technically go along with my previous Johnny Silverhand fic, but like they’re not so intertwined that you won’t get it. It’s porn, you’ll catch on. Thanks for all the love on my previous nasty Johnny porn. 

Word Count: 2334

Warnings: Oral, Cunnilingus, Unprotected Sex (hologram fucking has perks), Vaginal Sex, Kissing, Johnny being gross, Dirty Talk, I’m lowkey still insecure on writing dirty talk, so hopefully this isn’t bad, also yeah game still isn’t out so he’s prob ooc to some degree

Hot water rushes from the shower head, relaxing Aidan’s aching muscles. Silence around her as she works shampoo into her hair, a welcomed moment of peace in her life, something that’s been so absent since this mess has begun. It’s late, around four in the morning, she just finished a smuggling run with Jackie. Things went south as they often do, her entire body aches from the shootout, but they got out alive and that’s all that matters.  

She works and lather soap into her skin, feeling the roughness of scars gathered contrasting against the soft give of her body. Aidan squeezes her own breast, feeling the heat and tingle of pleasure from her own groping fingers. She starts to move her other hand further down between her thighs, wanting to take advantage of the moment of calm. 

“You pent up again?” 

“God damn it!” She yells out when Johnny’s voice rings through her head, nearly slipping in her own shower. And he laughs at her as he always does, she quickly finishes washing, before stepping out. 

Johnny is leaning against the bathroom wall, arms crossed in front of him as he watched Aidan walk past, no shame in the way his dark brown eyes drag across her naked frame. Weeks have passed since their little…interaction when she tried to find a hookup. The encounter wasn’t brought up again, Aidan refusing to acknowledge it. 

And she still doesn’t acknowledge it, the weird sexual tension that’s been created between her and the ghost in her head. 

“Don’t rush on my account,” Johnny says as she quickly dries off and throws on an overside shirt along with a pair of shorts. She’ll just get to sleep as soon as possible, ignore the dampening heat in her core. 

“You’re the actual worst, you know that?” She grumbles as she leaves the bathroom, making a beeline for her bedroom. Hopefully, none of Johnny’s memories or brain weirdness will come through her dreams, she needs some peace. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve told me a billion times, well, that is when you weren’t screaming my name or thinking about riding my-“ 

“Shut the fuck up!” She yells out, her neighbors must think she’s crazy, but she can’t help but scream at him as she flops back on her bed. 

Aidan can feel his gaze on her, looking up to see Johnny standing at the foot of her bed, looking down at her. The position reminds her of that night, him watching her getting fucked, the heat in her core rises again. There’s a lazy calmness in the way he looks her over , no hurry or fervor, just taking her in. His eyes hovering around the plush of her thighs, moving up to where her shirt has ridden up, revealing an expanse of her soft stomach. 

“Seriously,” she starts to speak again, hoping her words can cool the heat gathering between her thighs, “you’re like the worlds shittiest roommate.” 

“Am I?” 

“Yes, you really fucking are. You have no boundaries, you do nothing but annoy me, I can’t rid of you, hell, at least a roommate might pay rent.” 

“Oh, you need me to pay rent? Sure, just let me get my wallet,” Johnny says, reaching into his pocket just to pull out his middle finger.

“Cute.” She rolls her eyes, of course he’s going to be a shit about it. 

“Cute enough for you to throw your panties at.” 

“Shut up! Just shut up!” 

He lets out a low chuckle, resonating deep in his chest, the sound stoke the flames in her center just that much more. Why is he so fucking attractive? Then she feels it, a hand grabbing at her shin, the rough callouses of his right hand. 

“You really want me to start contributing something?” There’s a teasing tone to his voice. 

“I mean, I know you can’t, but you could at least stop irritating me.” 

“Eh, don’t think I can, but I can think of something I can do that might make you a little less tense,” he says, hand skimming further up her leg. 

“Seriously, offering sex in place of rent, you watch that much porn?” 

“C’mon, Samurai, we’re way past the point of you pretending you don’t wanna fuck me, don’t you think?” 

And he’s probably right. 

“I’m definitely right.” 

“You know reading my mind is not attractive, right?” 

“Yet, you still find me attractive, funny how that works.” 

“Fine, fine,” she covers her face with her arm, cheeks burning red, “I wanna fuck you, happy?” 

“I mean, wasn’t exactly a secret, but it’s nice hearing you admit it.” 

“Shut up and touch me.” 

And then he’s over her, knees on her mattress on either side of her hips, hands grabbing the bottom of her shirt. He’s quick and rough as he yanks it off over her head, throwing it across the room. She barely has a moment to take in the cool air from her chest being exposed before he’s groping and touching her, the contrast between the smooth cold metal of his left hand and the warm calloused fingers on his right makes her whimper, arching her back to meet his touch.  The feeling of his thumbs rubbing over her nipples draws another gasp from her throat and then the heat of his mouth connects to her chest. 

“Fuck,” she curses as he works harsh kisses down her body, his touch is hungry and passionate, but most importantly of all completely unpredictable. 

There’s no patterns to where he kisses; whether it’s her collarbones, the plush of her breasts, her ribs, or her stomach. No way for Aidan to know if it’ll be the press of his lips, the laving of his tongue, or the bite of his teeth. The only constant is the scratch of his beard, rubbing her tender skin raw under his touch. She tries to wrap her fingers in his hair, to wrap the dark strands around her fingers but he moves too quickly, and she only gets a brief touch of them. 

A sharp nip just above the waistband of her shorts is her only warning before he’s yanking them off of her. Rough fingers run through her slit, just a fleeting touch as Johnny gathers her slick on his fingers. 

“You’re soaked.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be keeping my mouth busy,” he tells her before sucking his fingers into his mouth, licking her wet from his own skin. 

Then he’s practically bending her in half, pressing her thighs back to her chest, the force lifting her hips and ass off the bed. The position completely opens her up to him, no way to hide her cunt from his view. Before she can squirm or get embarrassed, his mouth is on her. His tongue licking through her folds, lapping up every drop of slick. He eats her out like he’s desperate for it, like he needs to drink up every gush of wet to survive, licking deep inside of her. His tongue finding every spot that will make her wetter. 

His beard rubs the lips of her sex raw, but she can’t find it in her to mind the edge of pain, when his tongue runs up to her clit. No true pattern, no way to predict how long he’ll go between sucking harshly on the bundle of the nerves to licking around it; back and forth between too much and not enough. The heat inside of her is reaching a boiling point, nearly crashing over the precipice of pleasure, but he pulls back before she can meet her end every time. She buries her fingers in his hair, finally feeling the softness of the locks, but she despite her pressing she can’t control his pace. 

And he stops. 

She whines at the loss of pleasure as he pulls away from her. Slick coats his lips and chin, shining in the moonlight that drifts into her bedroom. His looks are grossly unfair for someone who’s both dead and technically in his eighties. Oh god, she’s fucking an eighty something year old digital ghost-

He presses his lips to her and she can’t help gasp, tasting herself on his tongue. Johnny presses down on her body, so his body weight presses her thighs down against her chest, erection grinding into her pussy and her ankles practically on his shoulders. Her slick on his chin presses wetly against her, as his tongue pushes deeply into her mouth. She meets his lips and the passion of it, trying to taste Johnny through her own wet, taking in where he tastes like cigarettes.  

“Stop thinking,” he tells her as he pulls away, realizing the lip lock was to stop her train of thoughts about all the reasons this is wrong. 

“I really wish I could, sorry, but I mean…can you honestly say this isn’t fuckin’ weird?” 

“Who gives a shit?” 

“Wow, that fixed all my anxiety, thank you for you endless wealth of wisdom.” Aidan rolls her eyes. 

“So, the goal is now to fuck you hard enough your brain shuts off, got it.” 

“I wi-” she pauses when she feels his cock pressing against her thigh, smearing pre-cum on her skin, “when did you get naked?” 

“I’m a hologram, I can just do that.” 

“Wha-so when you only had your dick out last time, that was purely for effect?”  Aidan is grinning and already on the verge of laughing at the idea of Johnny being that committed to pretending he has to undo his pants. 

“I mean, kinda…” 

And she bursts out laughing, it’s just too silly and ridiculous, he’s so fucking dramatic. How could one man be so dramatic? What the fuck? Her stomach hurts with the force of her laughter. 

“Don’t laugh at me when I’m trying to fuck you.” 

She tries to stifle her laughter , biting her lip as she looks up at Johnny, he’s smiling. Not a smirk or some smug expression, just a soft little smile, as he looks down at her. The anxiety and tension that has started to creep back up have mostly subsided, humor settling her nerves. 

He grinds his cock down against her slick cunt, reminding her of what they’ve been building up too. 

“This is like…safe, right?” 

“Don’t worry, can’t knock you up or anything. I’ll just fuck you like I’m trying to.” 

Her face flushes red at his words and then he thrust his hips, sliding into her. She screams out his name, between the position and her own slick, he hits deep inside of her, no resistance as her body takes him in. He doesn’t tease or hold back, his entire length pressing into her, filling her completely. 

“Fuck, I knew you’d be tight, but god damn, feel like I’m break you open.” 

“Ah, uhhh, don’t say weird shit.” 

Johnny’s thrusts are punishing and harsh, brutal in the snap of his hips and she wishes she could hear the wet slap of their bodies connecting over and over again. 

“What, don’t wanna hear about how your cunt is choking my dick.” 

“Mnnnn….” All she can respond with is a whine. 

“Don’t wanna hear about how I’m gonna fill you up, how I’m gonna make you leak my cum.” 

“Johnny…” 

He’s pounding into her, each thrust and stroke of his cock inside of her building up the heat inside of her, tightening the tension in her core. The head of his dick hits deeply, harshly fucking against the sensitive spot deep inside of her. Slick keeps her able to take it all, despite the roughness and the size of him, each slam of him into her making more gush out. She can feel her own wet dripping down her the curve of her ass.

“Gonna rearrange your fuckin’ guts, make sure you fit me and no one else.” His voice is tight with a slight growl, movements speeding up. 

And while a part of her knows it’s dramatic, just bedroom talk if his dick was in her organs, they’d have some issues. But, she swears he’s doing exactly that. Carving out his place inside of her, a place only meant for him, so deep inside of her she can feel it in her throat. Stroking the embers of a fire that only he can turn into an inferno.

When that inferno of pleasure builds too high, the tension within her snaps, the bubble burst, and she’s crying out incomprehensibly as she cums on his cock. Everything whites out, mind empty as her body is overridden with pleasure, cunt clenching around him and body squirming as he keeps fucking her through her orgasm. 

“Holy fuck, you’re gonna milk me dry, fuck!” 

And he cums inside of her, hot and warm, flooding her with it. Heavy thick spurts of white coating her insides until it’s too much for her body to hold in, dripping out where the two connect. Her body is still twitching and squirming as she works through her aftershocks, once she’s a little more in touch with reality, she wonders whether his cum on her sheets will need cleaning. 

He pulls out of her and even more of it spills out, Aidan whimpers between the loss of him inside of her and the mess on her thighs. Johnny rolls over to lay next to her, it still astounds her just how real he feels, his body heat next to her own. 

She wants to lay on him, she realizes, a desire to lay her head on his chest. Aidan isn’t seriously considering cuddling with him, is she losing her mind? 

“Just ask for what you want, dumbass.” 

He wraps an arm around her sweaty shoulder and tugs her in against him, her cheeks reddening as she hides her face in his chest. There’s a lot she could mull over, a lot to think about, but with her eyelids growing heavier…it’s best to leave it alone for the night, to take Johnny’s advice for once and stop thinking so much.