#can visibly see them coming back from like a rough one and after cleaning themselves up just finding lucanis and asking for company

[pretty-little-mind33]

Sergei Kravinoff x fem!reader

Summary: After being taken by his father, you find comfort in each other in an unconventional way.

Genre: SMUT (nsfm)

Warnings: rough quickie sex, dom!sergei, sub!reader, unprotected sex, penetration, riding, no foreplay, passionate, degradation, praise, reader cries, pain kink kinda? spanking, scratching, bleeding, blood, violence, insecurities, break down.

~ thank you @princesssunderworld for all the wonderful prompts as always!! hope you like this! ~

SERGEI KRAVINOFF MASTERLIST

His dad had crossed a line this time.

Sergei's dealt with so much bullshit from his dad as a kid and a teenager but this—capturing you? Hurting you? The one thing in his life that actually made sense? It was too much. His dad had crossed a line.

He didn't have any hesitation when he found the van, using all his strength to rip the driver in half. 

Literally. 

He could kill his father for this. He thinks he will. It wasn't helping that with every bullet that grazes his skin, he just becomes angrier. He throws one of the men to the side, snarling like an animal as his shoulders rise and fall rapidly.

That's when he sees you, curled up in the corner of the van, a chain bound to your ankle as you stare at him.  

"Малышка (Babygirl)," he grumbles, his voice husky and thick as he halts his movements. He drops the man he'd had in a chokehold. Sergei's body aches as blood drips down his arms and seeps through his shirt from the multiple bullet grazes and wounds. He stalks closer and when he sees you visibly flinch, his heart shatters. 

Luckily for anyone involved, you aren't hurt in significant any way just shaken up. His father hadn't gotten far with his plan, considering Sergei had found you almost immediately after he learned of your disappearance. 

You don't talk for a few hours as you're simply huddled on one of the armchairs in your shared living room, a warm blanket draped across thighs and a glass of Kissel, your favorite Russian drink Sergei makes so well, sits in your lap.

It isn't until your boyfriend finally walks in from the bathroom, shirtless and still dripping blood, that you snap into reality. He's grunting as he wraps a bandage around his arm, sitting down on the second armchair, and spreading his legs automatically. He sinks down and shuts his eyes, unaware of your disappearing into the bathroom for a moment. 

"You never take care of yourself," you whisper, causing him to open his eyes again and meet your gaze. You've come back and now you're examining the bruises on his hands. He yanks them away from you.

"Sit down, Y/n. You're hurt," he says harshly, shifting and then groaning in pain once more. 

You frown. It almost feels like all those walls you'd broken down over the last year had instantly built themselves back up, even stronger this time. Your heart sinks. You have minimal aches, mostly from the chains, and he's sitting here bleeding from bullet wounds and he insists you're the one who is hurt?

"Sergei," you whisper and lean over him, trying to see the new wounds mixed in with the old scars. "Please let me clean you up. You're hurt, not me," you say and bend over to dip some cotton balls in rubbing alcohol you'd found in the bathroom.

He stares at you, his eyes dark as you lean over and clean the blood from his face and his torso. He keeps grunting, thesounds deep from inside him. He isn't hissing in pain. No, he's grunting in anger, making almost animalistic sounds that cause a burning in your stomach.

You don't know how to help him when he's like this so you do the next best thing you can think of — you fall to your knees in front of him, your hands resting on his thighs.

"Stop," he warns as soon as he sees you do this, shaking his head. "Stand up."

You feel desperate as you run your hands up and down his jeans. 

"Малышка (Babygirl)," another warning, but this time he's leaning closer and grabbing your chin in his rough hand, squeezing. "You think dropping to your knees like a whore is going to make all this okay again? Make this normal? You could have died. I could have lost you," his voice wavers and he shuts his eyes, his chest heaves as he drops your chin and leans back.

"Stand up. Now," he orders again.

"I wanna make you feel better. You saved me," you say, reaching for the thick leather belt of his jeans, and that's when Sergei snaps.

His hand tightens in your hair suddenly, pulling you onto his lap as the dress you'd worn from last night, when his dad's men had taken you, still hugs your frame and the straps fall from your shoulders.

Sergei groans and grips your hips.

"You want me to fill you up? Is that what you want?" he accuses, unzipping his jeans in a frenzy now. He's achingly hard and he knows he shouldn't be but in his defense, all his emotions have had to build up somewhere. Your mind is fuzzy from desperate want and you nod, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands become rougher on your skin.

You moan, feeling his hard cock underneath your ass. 

"You fuckin' slut," he grunts, dipping his hand underneath you, pulling aside your panties as he snaps them. He checks you. He wants to make sure you're wet so he won't hurt you. As much as he needs this and he wants to use you until you're a broken mess, it won't be fun for him if you're crying for all the wrong reasons. 

He grins and nips at your neck. "Your pussy is drenched, шлюха (whore)."

You whimper against his shoulder he sinks into you without any prior warning, his hands rough as he squeezes your ass and spanks you a few times. You bounce on him, your dress riding up your thighs as it bunches up at your hips, panties torn on the floor, as your eyes water.

It's overwhelming in the best way. Your pussy clenches around him, gripping his cock as his groans turn into moans.

"Shit, Sergei, please," you gasp as he fucks into you, his rhythm faster and harder than yours. You try and keep up. You cry out as he uses you, tears fall down your cheeks, and the room around you spins. Your eyes flutter. Your head drops onto his shoulders, your breathing becomes harder as he ruts into you.

"Черт, я люблю тебя. Я чертовски сил��но люблю тебя, детка. (Fuck, I love you. I love you so damn much, baby)" he groans in your ear, chasing his high as his hands tighten on your skin and he presses harsh kisses on your cheeks to keep you staring up at him with that broken look in your eyes. You're making small whines from being unable to understand him when he speaks Russian and because he's making you feel so good. "Always so obedient, so willing to please me."

"Mhm, please," you groan, needing him. "Please, Sergei," you sob his name, clenching around him. "Can I come now? Need to come," you whimper. 

"No," he growls and you sob harder. He's enjoying your pain, relishing in your whines as you lose yourself in him. His movements become harsher, almost bruising as he takes you just the way he wants. 

"Please," your voice sounds weak and your moans have turned more painful. He hears the crying but he's too lost in his haze to stop now as he shakes his head and his nails dig into your skin.

"No." 

You squeal when he thrusts particularly hard and with a small, shit, he's coming inside you, spilling himself to the brim as his body tightens. You're whining, small lines of blood trickling from your arms where he'd scratched you as you follow his orgasm, experiencing yours as well even without his permission.

Sergei is panting now, his eyes bleary as he removes his hand from your skin, his palms tainted in your blood. His eyes widen as some control returns and he pushes away from you much too violently, causing a his of pain as that emptiness overwhelms you and you look at him with tear stained cheeks.  

"Дорогой (Sweetheart)," he whispers and reaches for you after he tucks himself back into his jeans, stumbling back when he sees the mess he'd made of you. He falls to his knees, all these sensations he's feeling finally overwhelm him and he sobs quickly, his head bent to the floor. 

Your heart clenches at the sight. Your legs feel shaky and you wince from your soreness as you walk over to him. You hate seeing him like this; so broken.

You adjust your dress and wipe your tears as you kneel beside him. "Baby," you whisper, "hey."

He flinches as looks up, his eyes red-rimmed and he shakes his head. "Run. Run away from me, love, please," his hoarse voice sounds shaky as his eyes flicker to your arm and he sees the blood again. He clenches his jaw.

"It's only a scratch," you tell him honestly and wipe the blood away, showing him that he didn't leave any permanent scars. You reach for him and take him into your arms. Surprisingly, he lets you, and his arms wrap around your waist, holding you close as his sobs shake your body. 

"I'm sorry. I'm so damn sorry they took you," Sergei says, eyes softer than you've ever seen them. "You're so goddamn precious to me and–and goddamnit, I hurt you too— I'm just as bad as them." He holds you closer and sobs into your shoulder. "I'm a monster."

You shake your head and hold your hand in his hair, sinking further onto your heels as his weight overwhelms you. "No, no, you are not a monster. And you didn't hurt me. I'm okay. I promise. Sergei, I I love you," you say honestly.

He pulls away and cups your cheek so gently his touch is almost non-existent. "I love you too, Малышка (Babygirl), more than I've ever loved anyone." His hand smoothes down to the scratch marks he'd made in the heat of the passion and he bends down to kiss them better.

"My good girl," he breathes, relaxing a little, "even when she comes without permission."    

He looks up and holds your chin in his hand. "I mean what I said. You should run away from me, Y/n. Run so far and never look back. I need that for you, but even more, I want you to stay with me," he swallows thickly and after a pause he says, "Please. Don't leave me." 

Your stomach flutters at his words and you nod. "I won't leave you, Sergei. Never."

He growls that familiar animalistic growl and kisses your lips so gently, holding you in his arms as he vows to himself he'll keep you safe. 

Always.

[ladamedusoif]

grey

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader (should be read as the Reader from my stories Starry Nights and Fuzzy Socks)

Word count: c.1600 words

Rating: Teen

Summary: A hand-knit scarf is all that you have left of him.

Warnings and content notes: Technically canon-compliant; spoilers for TLOU S2E2; primarily set after That Event with some flashbacks; angst; some fluff; unrequited love; unspoken love; Reader is the stargazer and knitter from the previous stories; strong language; discussion of death; grief

Author's note: Written in a strange sort of grief, because I can’t stop thinking about the hand-knit scarf Joel wore on that last patrol.

The knock on your door comes a week or so after the burial. 

None of it seems real, even though you saw it with your own two eyes, and cleaned and dressed the dead with your own two hands. None of it. Not the ruined buildings along Main Street, not the piles of dead infected juxtaposed with the familiar signs and structures of this community, certainly not the loss of so many of your fellow citizens. Guilt gnaws at you every time you think of them, sacrificing themselves while you sheltered.

The shroud, though, is what haunts you. A lifeless body, swaddled like a baby in bloodstained sheets for its final journey. For his final journey. 

It is there every time you close your eyes, and with it the same pain you felt in your chest the first time you saw it. The first time you realised he was gone.

***

“I won’t stay long. I want to get back to her.” 

Dina shakes the snow from her boots as she steps inside your front door, gloved hands holding a brown-paper package. She looks exhausted, dark circles visible under her pretty eyes, and her usually glossy locks stick out, dull and unkempt, from under her striped beanie hat. 

“How - how is she?”

You both know there are no words that can adequately answer that question. Dina shrugs gently. “She’s…well, she is how she is.”

Before you can ask how she is, Dina hands over the package, clearly anxious to get back to Ellie. 

“She thinks you should have it.”

***

It takes you a long time to open the package, though you knew what it contained as soon as you’d felt it.

Your fingertips trace over the garter stitches of the woollen scarf, moving from bands of charcoal grey to purplish wine yarn and back again. Even now, it feels warm and comforting under your touch.

***

A long time ago, and yet it feels like no time at all, you’d bonded with a wide-eyed, scrappy kid called Ellie over a shared love of space and stargazing. You’d watched her become quite the astronomical expert. More than that, you’d seen her find herself, shyly open up about first crushes, and wrestle with inner demons she never quite confessed to you. 

And you had taught her how to knit: a pair of multicoloured woollen socks, the result of many hours of trial and error and more than a few choice curse words, made as a very special holiday gift for Joel. He made sure to thank you at the New Year’s Eve dance that year, quietly sidling over to you and lifting up the leg of his jeans just enough for you to see the mismatched stripes underneath. 

“She did good, didn’t she?”

You nodded enthusiastically. “She did amazingly well for a first-timer. She tell you about her plans for a sweater?”

Joel chuckled and sipped his drink. “She did. Hope you’ve got a decent yarn stash for her, I don’t think she’s gonna stop at one.”

By spring, Ellie was modelling her first creation: a cosy, if somewhat lopsided green sweater made from yarn you’d salvaged from a worn-out men’s cardigan. As Joel predicted, the knitting addiction had taken hold.

“I wanna make him a sweater next. He’s gettin’ old, he needs to keep his fuckin’ body warm out on patrol and on the construction sites.”

It took a while to get enough yarn: a mismatch, as was usual, but the colours worked well together. Ellie held two rough balls alongside each other to assess the pairing: a charcoal grey and a purplish shade the colour of good wine.

“Think he’ll like it?”

You’d nodded. “Honestly, Ellie, it could be lime green and puce and if you made it, Joel would love it.”

***

You knew Ellie kept certain things to herself. You wondered, as you knitted together, if she realised that you had secrets, too.

It had happened very gradually: a smile here, a glance there, and the anticipation of conversation, of even seeing him, became a highlight of your days. You reasoned that any friendliness he showed you was because of Ellie - an acknowledgment of your kindness to her, rather than a reflection of his feelings about you as a person. He could still be gruff, standoffish; it was nothing personal. Just who he was, who he had been forced to become in the twenty-something years since the world ended.

Despite the darkness that still lingered, though, there was a light and a warmth that had endured. It was there in the way he helped build the community, helping others to learn the skills they needed to construct and maintain their homes and businesses. It shone brightest when he was with family.

One night at a community talent show he had watched proudly with his little nephew on his lap as Ellie conquered her nerves to sing and play guitar for the whole town. Leaping spontaneously from your seat in a one-woman standing ovation, you’d glanced over at Joel as you clapped and cheered. He met your gaze, a huge smile on his face, eyes shining with pride and emotion as his girl took her bow.

In the midst of the applause, one thought cut through the noise to register in your mind, plain as day: I think I might be in love with you, Joel Miller .

***

Your secret wasn’t shameful, not really. It had nothing to do with your past, nothing that you’d done to survive all this time. It was just the kind of secret that felt safer to keep to yourself, rather than saying out loud. Kept inside, it was an invisible shield against the risk of disappointment and loss. 

There were times you thought you would confess it: you concocted imaginary scenarios where you admitted your feelings to him, he admitted he felt the same, and you lived happily ever after. Or at least, as happily as you could live in a post-apocalyptic world. On the occasional evenings when he came over with Ellie for her appointments with your telescope, it was a little too easy to look at his broad, strong figure sitting comfortably on your porch and to wonder what it would feel like to reach over and hold his hand. 

It would ruin everything if he turned you down. When he turned you down. Keep it to yourself.

***

It took Ellie almost the rest of the year to finish Joel’s sweater. Solid and cosy, you praised the evenness of her stitches and the obvious development in her skills since the pair of socks she’d made the previous year. She brushed it off - typical Ellie - but she couldn’t hide the proud smile on her face as she bundled the sweater into some brown paper and attached a handmade label.

“I hope you don’t mind that I used up some of the leftover yarn.” You held up a simple scarf made in garter stitch, with bands of the charcoal grey and wine yarns that Ellie had used for the sweater. “Joel helped out a lot with the boards on my porch earlier in the fall; I wanted to say thank you.”

“You mean he’s gonna match ?!” Ellie roared with laughter, still hugging the large, lumpy package to her small frame. “Fuck yeah, that’s awesome. I’m gonna make sure he wears them together.”

He stopped you on Main Street a day or so after the holiday, the scarf wrapped warmly around his neck. 

“I wanted to say thank you. You shouldn’t have.”

“It would have been a pity not to use that yarn,” you shrugged. “Besides, it suits you.”

Joel looked away, and for a moment you could swear he was blushing . You suppressed the urge to reach out and caress his handsome face, to feel the bristle of his greying beard under your fingertips. 

“Haven’t had a scarf this cosy in I don’t know how long. Ellie calls it my patrol scarf, seein’ as it’s perfect for wearin’ outside in this winter weather.”

Before you went your separate ways, he reached into his pocket and produced a little wooden owl, evidently hand-carved and painted. 

“I didn’t have any paper, hope you don’t mind.”

You shook your head, turning the little owl over in your hand as you took in the detail of its decoration. “Joel, this is…it’s wonderful.”

That bashful look again. “Meant to get it to you before the holiday,” he explained. “It’s you. It’s a night owl.”

***

Joel’s patrol scarf is well-worn now. It was there with him on his last day, recovered with his dark winter coat when a small crew had gone back to the lodge to search it. 

Your finger traces the wave of the garter stitches again. Each stitch is a tiny act of love, an unspoken affirmation of affection for him. The scarf said what you never could.

You had watched as his body was carried through the devastated settlement that day - that terrible fucking day, when everything changed. You were there again, desperately trying to hide the extent of your grief, when the simple wooden coffin was laid to rest. 

He must be cold , you thought, looking at the snow and the hard ground. Joel shouldn’t be cold. It was warm, where he was born. He was warm, too. In his own way.

The fabric of the scarf is immediately warm and comforting as you press it to your cheek and inhale its scent, imagining it a proxy for him and for the loving embrace you never dared to share. 

This is still his warmth. 

The tears begin to dampen the knitted fabric.

This is still him.

[katsukisprincess-archive]

need | kiribaku x reader

a/n: jo asked me to reupload this from her birthday last year! for @lady-bakuhoe

summary: kirishima is hit with an aphrodisiac quirk on the job and bakugou knows exactly who can help him out.

pairing: mostly kirishima x reader, slight bakugou insert

word count: 2.3k

warnings: nasty. dubcon, rimming, fisting, implied pegging, dirty talk, squirting, slight threesome

“Shut up, shitty hair, you’re going to wake her.” 

“I can’t help it, dude, look at her.” 

The voices peaked through your consciousness, followed by a cold whisp of air that caused bumps to rise on the exposed skin of your leg. You let out a groggy noise, finally allowing your eyes to blink open to the scene in front of you. You tried to focus in and when the spinning shapes of morning turned into figures, you found it hard to believe that what you were looking at was reality. 

Katsuki Bakugou, your husband, was sitting across the room from you in a chair. His arms were crossed against his chest and he had a classic smirk on his face, already alerting you that something was off. What it was, you discovered, was the grown man in bed with you- one that smelled like battle and sweat and everything you didn’t want against your sheets. 

Eijirou Kirishima was someone you were very familiar with. He had been your friend alongside Katsuki since the Yuuei days and up through the present; he was at nearly every house function and worked in the same agency as Ground Zero. Kirishima was no stranger at all, but you just weren’t used to him in your bed. 

“W-What? Eijirou? Katsuki?” Your voice was so innocent, so meek, that it went straight to his already-stiffening cock. His reaction made your head snap to him, and then to your husband, and back and forth until Katsuki finally stood up at joined you at the side of the bed. 

His hot palm brushed your hair back while the other cascaded your stomach, easing the goosebumps from the open window. His lips came down to your forehead where he pressed a rough kiss before speaking. “Got hit by a quirk on the job today.” He motioned to your friend, who was having a hard time keeping his eyes off of your bare torso.

“And?” 

“Help me.” Eijirou rasped. “We joke about it all the time- fuck- right?” 

He wasn’t wrong. Conversations about your sex life were in no way private and in no sense of it all had Katsuki ever been closed off to the idea of his best friend joining in on the fun. You had just figured that when- if- it had happened, it would have happened on… different terms. 

But how could you say no to Red Riot on his knees for you, thick cock straining through his shorts and leaking through the fabric?

You crawled over to Eijirou as Katsuki sunk back into his chair on the other side of the room. Leaning back and legs spread, he watched as you closed the distance, your grabby hands urging Eijirou’s massive length out of his shorts. It was so large you could barely wrap your fingers around it, truly. He was bigger than Katsuki was, but you were sure that he had much less experience using it compared to his belligerent best friend. As you took in the sight of his meat, Katsuki was pulling his own out of his pants across the room. 

One upward tug on Eijirou was all it took for his first orgasm to hit him- and it hit him hard. Thick ropes of cum shot across the mattress and over your thighs, marking you up for the first time that night. He came with a guttural grunt, but by the time he was finished, you could tell he was in no way even close to being satisfied. 

“Fuck,” Eijirou exclaimed, toppling you onto your back and laying his weight on yours, attacking your neck with his teeth and drawing blood on the first plunge. “This quirk. I’m sorry, shit, I can just smell you from here-” 

Eijirou pulled himself off of you to yank your lacy panties off of your frame. With a yelp your hips landed back on the bed and you watched in shock as he brought them up to his nose and smelled your essence that was dripping against the material. A visible shiver ran down his spine and you caught yourself rubbing your thighs together, strangely turned on by the sight of Red Riot sticking his tongue out just to suck on your panties. 

“Taste her, Eij, it’s like fucking candy.” Katsuki’s voice was strained, and it only fueled your lust further to see him lazily jerking his own girthy cock in his hands. It was one thing to fuck your partner, but it was near etheral to watch them pleasure themselves with an outside perspective. With his hair fanned back and dirt still sticking to his skin, Katsuki looked delicious. 

You didn’t have much time to think on your husband as Eijirou quickly tore your legs open, dipping his head down to lick a clean stripe up your folds. You gasped at the sudden intrusion and your thighs moved down to clamp around his head, but they were immediately slammed back open and shoved back against your chest by two large, hot hands. 

While unexperienced, Eijirou was passionate. He was moving so quickly and so harshly against your sensitive skin that you couldn’t keep up, instead deciding to crane your neck to watch him suck and slurp. His eyes would come up to meet yours occasionally, shooting you a desperate look from under lidded eyes. Mewls and whimpers fell from your lips like a song, and you were unable to stop yourself from bucking up against his face and forcing your juices to coat his cheeks and chin. 

“Get her ass, too. She’s a dirty little slut, aren’t you, princess? You want Eij to rim you?” 

Both of you on the bed groaned instantaneously at Katsuki’s lewd notion. Since Eijirou’s hands were planted flat on your thighs, it was easy for him to push you up and use his thumbs to spread your cheeks apart, your back arched into the air and your ass leveled with his mouth. His tongue moved to prod at your tight hole before he began running circles around it. One hand moved to rub at your clit at the same time, and before you could react, you were cumming. Eijirou groaned as your asshole flexed against his tongue and waited for you to settle down before dropping your back onto the bed once more. 

“You felt so good Eijirou, let me feel your cock~”

Before you could continue, he had slipped three fingers at once into your cunt. It was tight, and it hurt, but he looked absolutely desperate above you, holding his weight on one arm and pummeling his hand into your heat to chase you along. 

“You’re so fucking tight.” He muttered, his cock twitching as he watched his fingers disappear inside of you. A fourth finger was slipped in and you cried out loudly, your hands flying down to grab at his wrist. Pain soon fell into pleasure and Eijirou climbed up on the bed, resting his forehead on yours and fucking you until he was sure you were warmed up enough for his thumb as well.

“Gotta stretch you out, babe.” He was so deliriously lost in lust that he was unable to form full sentences, but you got the gist of what he was saying. Under him, his cock looked dauntingly thick, and you wondered how it would feel inside of you compared to what was now his entire fist inside of you. 

Tears broke the surface and cascaded down your face as Eijirou’s pace picked up, burying himself wrist deep inside of you. Katsuki couldn’t keep his eyes off of the scene- it was so fucking dirty and something he had been dreaming about for so long. Watching his best friend wreck his little princess was a fantasy buried deep in his brain that was finally breaking the surface. 

“Please, please, please, Eijirou, please-” Your begging turned into sobs, unable to hold back when he was stretching you further than you had ever been before. “Please give me your cock, Red Riot. Ple~”

The use of Eijirou’s hero name snapped something inside of him. 

You had never felt an orgasm hit you harder than your third of the night, almost immediately after you began swiping at your clit in time with his thrusting. Eijirou didn’t slow his pace as you began to gush over the sheets, squirting all over his torso. “That’s a good girl, fuck, babe. Fuck.” 

The feeling of his fist pulling out from you left you feeling empty. His hand was covered in slick and your stomach churned as he brought it up to his mouth and sucked off as much as he could before bringing it to your mouth and making you taste yourself. Dizzy and overstimulated, your eyes drifted to Katsuki, who was covered in his own cum and panting heavily. 

Eijirou was reaching a breaking point. He wanted- no- he needed to cum again, and while the idea of him shoving his length down your hot throat sounded like a dream, he couldn’t pass up the way your gaping cunt was currently clenching around nothing.

“Fuck her, Eijirou, or I’m going to do it for you.” Katsuki hissed from the other side of the bedroom, already growing hard again at the thought of either option. There was something so fucking sexy to him about watching you get thrown around and used like a fuck doll, not being able to say anything to complain with his friend’s massive frame towering over yours. 

“I haven’t done this much.” Eijirou muttered as he positioned his cock to your entrance and adjusted himself accordingly. When you gave him a questioning look, he continued. “Haven’t been able to fit it in.” 

His words partly made your stomach flip while also sending you into desire overdrive, causing you to help pull your legs apart to give a better view. You wanted to watch his girth stretch you once again, this time helping his current problem and getting your husband off at the same time. He already knew you’d be getting him back for this all at some point, especially when your eyes drifted over to see that it was just past three in the morning, but you were going to enjoy it while it happened.

Eijirou pushed the tip in slowly, watching your face for any signs to stop. You only dropped your jaw and whined, pulling your legs closer to you and trying to get a better view of it. His cock was fucking insane, truly, and it was an thought in your mind that was finally being satisfied. “You are huge, Red Riot.” 

With a grunt, he thrusted himself all the way in. You should have known that your games were misplaced, especially during a time where Eijirou was in a completely different state of mind. He didn’t really know that his dick was so fucking thick that is was going to split you in half, and when he crawled forward and slammed you into a mating press, you knew he really was completely oblivious. 

“Tight fucking pussy.” His words were sloppy, but the force in his thrusts made up for it. His thighs felt enormous on either side of yours and you wondered how much cock he couldn’t stuff inside of you as you felt nearly overwhelmed with the sheer weight of it. “Gonna fucking tear you apart.” 

Animalistic was an understatement. His thrusts were so loud that it rang through the room and between his noises and yours, you were sure you could be heard down the street. Katsuki had moved over to you, watching and jerking his cock. He slipped his fingers into your mouth, watching you suck down on him as his hand moved frantically. 

“Fuck her harder, Eij, she’s not crying.” 

You would be crying if you could breathe. He was so close to you, radiating so much heat and so much force that you were lost for movements. You laid limp as he took you, his cock dragging against your walls and stuffing you beyond repair. His mouth found your nipple and soon his hand found your other tit, giving both so much attention and bruising while still tearing away with his thrusts. 

Katsuki pressed his hand down onto your forehead, giving him access to see your tear-stained cheeks and watch as your face morphed into one of serious pleasure. He was bearing his teeth as he came closer to you, signaling that he was about to cum and it was going to be all over your fucked out expression. 

Eijirou pulled out at the same time, crawling up your body to angle his swollen cock at your face and join Katsuki in covering it completely. You stuck your tongue out to catch both of them as white strings coated you, both of their scents mixing and both cumming enough to leave you overwhelmed. 

After he was finished, Eijirou fell back on his heels before crawling off the bed and over to your dresser. You watched in curiosity, still covered in cum but realizing that Katsuki must have mentioned that was where your toys were kept. You didn’t know what you were expecting him to pull out of there, but it definitely wasn’t a strap-on. 

“It’s our turned to be fucked, don’t you think, babe?”

[dorimena]

Hi, I love your work and if your requests are open would you consider the following?

Monoma is on patrol with y/n and Monoma being well....Monoma, he was horny and was teasing y/n. Not having any of this shit, she proceeds to dom the fuck out of him during patrol. She takes him into an alleyway and fucks him with a strap that she had on her already (she was already planning on something but didn’t go through with it because work is work and she’s aware that Monoma and her could take their time when they got home). She pushes him into the wall and fucks him silly. Monoma is loving it and keeps begging “Mommy fuck me more, please!”. She gives him what he wants but she tells him to be quiet or else the bystanders would fine their great Phantom Thief in a puddle of his own cum while getting fucked by his mommy. At some point two civilians hear Monoma panting and hiccuping and get concerned. Y/n keeps fucking him and reassures them that Phantom Thief is fine. He cums then and there and she tells him to reassure the civilians that he’s ok. Monoma whimpers out that he’s fine and y/n cleans him up and cuddles him in the alleyway telling him how much of a good boy he was.

(I’ve been thinking about this ever since I read your shower blowjob story. This man makes the dom in me go crazy. He’s already a whining bitch, having him be like that in the bedroom just- 😫)

Let me say that I’ve had a scene in my head almost the same as this one you sent me and I am absolutely thrilled because yessss more attention to bratty baby Monoma ٩(♡ε♡)۶

And honestly, this man is just asking for it. Bet he wants to fucked anywhere, anytime, as long as he's put back into his place. That's his kink-

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯; Monoma Neito

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱; 3.5k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰; fem!reader, pegging, mommy kink, slight exhibitionism, public sex, mentioned sex toy (butt plug), implied overstimulation, multiple orgasms, implied after care, domme!reader, sub!character

𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔰; begging, humiliation, Monoma being a little shit, because he wanted your attention, and to rile the fuck out of you, aged-up character: Monoma is 20+

𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢; I unknowingly kind of changed a few things from the ask, like the conversation between Monoma and the bystanders, but I hope you like it anon! The ending is kind of rushed, sorry about that!

𝕭𝖊𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆 𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖈𝖍 𝖎𝖘 𝖒𝖞 𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖐

“Now, now, y/n, you know ignoring someone, specifically the love of your life, is a crime? How else are you to beg for my love if you go on and ignore my graceful presence? Are you listening to me? At least lend me your attention.”

He’s been like this for the past couple of hours since you’ve both been assigned together for patrol. You thought it’d be a good idea, and Monoma was also excited when your boss told you both to get ready and head to the neighborhood you’re meant to keep a watch over.

The neighborhood turned out not as empty or quiet as you expected, rather close to a busy street. Some stores and restaurants seem to align themselves around this area.

You thought things would go smoothly, go even better and much quicker now that you and your boyfriend are finally patrolling together, months since you’ve transferred to this agency from your old one.

But Monoma’s been leaving any and every snide remark since you two stepped foot into the area, teasing you for any small mistake he believes should be (loudly) called out for or simply trying to mess up your way of doing things.

You don’t even want to count how many times he’s criticized the way your hero outfit currently looks on you. And no, you’re not getting insecure, but rather more… cautious.

There’s a reason why the uniform seems a bit odd around your crotch, but he doesn’t need to know that, not here, not now. Maybe until you both get home-

You trip, almost falling flat on your face if it weren’t for your boyfriend quickly grabbing you, pulling you up to your feet as he looks at you with panic before it quickly dissipates to his stupid mockery.

“See? You cannot do anything right, not without me at least. You, my dear, cannot live without me yet you still ignored me. This is what I mean when you should listen to me. Anyone would truly be grateful for having me, Phantom Thief, as their beloved lover.”

That’s it. You usually can take so much of his weird comments, but right now he’s pulling anything out of his ass at this point. (Soon you’ll see what actually comes out.)

You don’t answer, just look around to make sure no one is watching as you grab him by his stupid tie, dragging him to the nearest alleyway you remember passing by, glad it’s still pretty empty and dark enough to hide your bodies in the shadows.

He isn’t even struggling, just letting you walk him as if he’s a dog, quietly following you. If you were to turn around, you’d see the way his eyes are wide yet full of lust, his pupils dilated as he mentally cheers, thanking the gods for listening to his horny prayers of being sucked in an alleyway.

Do you know how hard it was for him to not jump you and beg you to help him? All because of how sexy you look in your hero outfit, how the small fixes and modifications bring out more of your body, the body he loves, yearns, desires, every day and night. Hopefully you don’t find his surprise before he can debut it once you guys are back home. (But unintentionally came prepared.)

He’s a complete fool for you, but you can’t know that, or else it’ll be the end of-

“Monoma Neito. You have 5 seconds to tell me why the fuck you’re being a piece of shit tonight.”

He didn’t realize his back is against a cold wall or how you’ve trapped him between your arms, the way you’re glaring at him while counting down in such a low tone, it makes his legs feel weak and threaten to buckle..

“Horny.” He barely whispers, crazed eyes never leaving your face as he stays still, trying to control his breathing and heartbeat as you scan him from head to toe, eyes finally staying in place where his boner is visible, even with how poor the lighting is.

You grin, but not your usual friendly grin or familiar flirty grin, but the ‘I’m gonna fuck you till you die’ kind of grin.

And Monoma’s both terrified yet super, duper much more hornier than before. But, with what are you going to fuck him with?

In a flash, he’s suddenly turned around, his clothed-covered chest pressing against the wall as he feels your hands make quick work on his belt, on his pants, pulling them down to rest on his thighs. He hisses and shivers when the cold air hits every exposed part of him, yet makes his dick twitch in interest.

You also free your bottom half to finally let out the strap on you’ve luckily managed to hide until now, searching your pockets for the small tube of lube you brought with you, just in case.

But when you spread his butt cheeks, you gasp in surprise with the butt plug he’s wearing, going to grab the toy as you slowly pull it out in disbelief.

Did he know?

“I-I want you to know you’re not the, um, only one to be prepared for what they want.” Monoma speaks, but in such a soft tone that it has you wondering if he’s the same person who had pestered you since the beginning of the patrol, the same boyfriend you love who has a talent for being loved and hated simultaneously by various people.

But at least he didn’t know. He simply decided to take this extra mile.

Cute. No wonder he’s such a good boy for mommy… sometimes.

“Then I guess I shouldn’t prepare you, right?”

You don’t wait for his response, not when you dispose of the toy away from you both, and you make quick work to lube up your silicone cock.

Monoma doesn’t get to ask you about the wet sounds behind him, or ask where you threw his butt plug before you’re entering him. You felt how his body jolted, his back arching enough to push his ass back more towards you.

You land a smack against the smooth skin, listening how the impact echoes in the empty alleyway and the way he whimpers in pain.

“You’re such a slut for mommy, aren’t you Monoma?”

“Yes!”

No hesitation.

Monoma usually sounds hesitant whenever you two do something new, as if he evaluates the pros and cons from anything and everything, figuring out if he’ll come out benefitted or you.

But he sounds desperate, shameless. He sounds like he’s ready to cry.

New, but not too surprising. When he wants to, he’ll always be a good boy for his mommy.

“Want to tell mommy again why you were being a little bitch tonight?”

Never mind, his hesitation came back, his mouth pressed shut as you peek at him, trying to catch a glimpse at his periwinkle eyes, wondering what’s taking him so long to answer. He answered you so easily, so quickly a few minutes ago.

You hear a soft mumble, see his lips move but no sound gets to your ears. So you spank him once more, hearing his cute squeak and the way he fucks back.

“Louder.”

“I wanted mommy to fuck me! Fuck me until I can’t walk! Fuck me until I’m just your stupid little hole! Please? I’ll-I’ll be good now, I promise!”

If anyone were to ask you just how stupid Monoma gets when he’s completely horny and turned on, this is a prime example. His usual eloquent vocabulary? Gone. It doesn’t exist once mommy’s pleasing him.

But he’s also promising about being good? Let’s see how good he’ll be then.

No more words are exchanged, just the soft desperate pants of the pretty blond and some small airy whines that leave his mouth in anticipation for what you’ll do next.

You don’t even start slow, you go absolutely feral.

He barely gets to inhale one last deep breath until you’re fucking that out of his lungs, his head turning to look back at you as best he could as his body begins hitting the wall in front of him, his clothes rubbing against the roughness of the bricked exterior of the unknown building. He lifts head enough to not get itself hit against the wall and his hands are clawing at the bricks desperately, trying to find leverage to hold on tightly, his brain struggling to catch up with how vicious yet delicious you’re fucking him.

When he does remember he’s a human who can speak words, he cries out “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” in such high pitches, it sounds like he’s singing, probably trying to continue seducing you into such a horny haze. His pent-up sexual frustration must have been infectious, with how you find yourself being merciless with him and his ass, your hips slamming into the back of his in such a brutal pace you wonder if the skin will bruise, if he’ll be able to sit or walk properly.

Probably not, but that’s the point, isn’t it?

Your baby boy wanted you to fuck the living shit out of him, so that’s what you’ll do, it’s what you’re best at doing.

Fuck the annoyance out of him so that when you guys get home, he passes out.

You momentarily forget you guys are very much still in public and even if it’s night, civilians are very much still awake and walking, either going back home or going to work, maybe hang out with their friends or find themselves a sub to fuck.

Monoma doesn’t even warn you that he’s cumming, not even his loud, prolonged whine of your name gets your attention. But with how he’s spasming around your toy, how his hips are twitching quickly in between your hands, his eyes that never left from looking at you crossing…

Yeah, since you missed that orgasm and you’re not in the mood to exactly punish him, why not fuck him some more until he can’t remember his name and only yours?

You briefly pause, the tip of the toy the only thing still inside of him as one of your hands rubs circles on his lower back and the other remains on his hip.

Through the panting, Monoma lets out a whine, one that sounds almost disappointed. Probably because he came far quicker than what either of you two expected, or because it feels like you’re pulling out already and calling it a night.

No words are exchanged as you watch him catch his breath for a bit more, memorizing how rosy his cheeks and nose look, how the blush looks like it’s on his neck while his white pupils are fully dilated, oozing his adoration for you.

When you hear him suck in a breath, whether he’s preparing a sentence or to finish pulling himself off the toy, you slam back into him, grinning like a maniac upon feeling how his whole body jumped, going back into action and having blood pump everywhere in him, mostly towards his reawakening dick.

And you slam, slam, slam, slamming into him at such a steady pace, making sure to roll your hips the way you know will make him start squealing in such a girly tone, or like a dirty pig he sometimes becomes.

And once you feel him begin to push back on you and one of his hands leave the wall, you lean forward, pushing his body more up on the wall. He’s bent too much, it’s obvious you’re fucking him doggy style. What if people decide to go through this alley?

He obeys but whines in complaint, not wanting you to stop your ministrations as he pulls himself together, standing up as much as he could as to leave his lower back still bent for you.

“Keep your hands on the wall or else I’ll leave you here like this.”

He loves it when you speak to him in such a low voice, in such a way that you know makes him want to suck your cock for days until his jaw hurts. He puts his hands back on the wall, both placed where his face is at, acting as support as he rests his forehead there. His neck hurts a bit from how long he’s been straining to look at you.

You go back to fucking him, going back to what you were doing, moaning his name repeatedly to keep riling him up, arouse him and make him start begging for you to go faster, harder, deeper, make him dirty.

And he does with loud wails, ones that have you freezing and stopping all together, slapping a hand on his mouth and whispering how he should quiet down, unless he wants to be whored to other people.

“Be mommy’s good boy and keep quiet. Unless you want someone else’s cock.”

“No! No muh-mommy! Only y-yours~ Please!” He moans, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he impatiently grinds against you, feeling how sticky his thighs are getting with sweat and some of his cum and precum, somehow.

“Mommy, fuck me more, please!” He whimpers so cutely, so pathetically, so melodically you’re sure he somehow copied someone’s siren quirk, because your head feels dizzy, your heart is beating erratically and your hips sync with the pulse, forgetting about being consistent with speed, with roughness, with how deep you reach inside of him.

Fucking him silly until he’s trying his best to muffle his screams and cries into the back of his hands pressed on the wall, his fingers trying so hard to find solace on them, to grasp the reality of him being defiled in an empty, dirty alleyway, pressed so ruthlessly against a wall he doesn’t know how exactly dirty it could be.

Monoma’s hiccuping your name until you spank him, growling softly how that’s not who you are, making him wail out “Mommy! Cumming!” in such an erotic way, you wonder if you’re fucking your boyfriend or a girl with how he’s managed to reach such an incredible pitch.

You keep going, and even when he’s done cumming, you don’t stop impaling him, and a hand goes to wrap itself around his dick, trying your best to match this chaotic fucking, hearing how he’s struggling to breath, to comprehend this painful yet electrifying pleasure.

His toes are curling in his shoes, his knees don’t stop buckling, his hips never stop trying to meet with yours, the burn of overstimulation flowing through his veins yet motivating his dick to keep going, to keep obeying, to not disappoint mommy.

Monoma’s speaking gibberish, babbling whatever nonsense and begging he could think of or come to make up, the tips of his fingers turning white with how hard they’re pressing against the bricks as he tries to not fall. He’s not sure how or why he’d fall, but with how you’re touching him, squeezing him, stroking him, playing with him, he’s ready to give into the inquiry of whether being a househusband would have you fucking him like this everyday.

It’s a weird thought, one he’s never had before, one that’s still early to even care about-

Oh my god you’re abusing his prostate!

He’s seeing stars, planets, flashing strobe lights and envisioning his uproaring third orgasm, mouth hung open stupidly as whiny sobs and strangled cries escape him, trying his best to keep quiet like you said but he can’t!

“Feels s’ good!” He slurs, once again turning his head to look at you, eyes completely wet as tears fall in graceful droplets, hair messed up and drool staining a bit of his chin.

And just as you were going to respond, you heard footsteps.

You both freeze: you’re halfway out of him while Monoma’s struggling to not let his coughing fit be heard, having swallowed his saliva far too quickly with the scare.

The sounds stop, but now you both can hear a female voice.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

Monoma whimpers, embarrassed.

So this is how he’ll get caught and shamed.

This is the end of his career.

But you’re not having it, not with how his dick has stopped twitching and is starting to soften.

You’re not done yet, and neither is he.

“Answer, Monoma.” You harshly whisper, wiping your thumb over his hypersensitive tip, making him hiccup loudly before composing himself as best he could.

“Y-yes? It-It is I, Phantom Thief- ooh~”

Another voice pitches in.

“Phantom Thief? The Phantom Thief?!”

“Y-Yes!” Monoma squeaks out, trying to cover up his gasp as you begin to slowly fuck him, making sure to keep hitting him straight to the prostate, amused how he’s gripping his jaw, muffling his hiccups while frantically shaking his head, begging you with his eyes to no, no, please!

The two bystanders gasp, seemingly walking more towards where you and Monoma are, making you press him more into the wall, hoping the angle you’re both in and the small hiding spot is enough to keep you hidden.

“We’re huge fans of yours! But, um, are you alright? We heard someone crying.”

“Fuck!” Monoma whimpers, struggling to keep his breathing in check as you continue to move, even rolling your palm all over his tip, your other hand going to pull at one of his nipples.

“What was that?”

“N-nothing! I’m fin- ugh~”

“You… sure?”

“YES!”

Monoma yells, back arching as his head touches your shoulder, eyes rolling up this head as he’s torn between pushing back or bucking forwards, feeling his body submerged in such an intense heat, in such shame, in such pathetic desperation to cum, he’s begging you in quick hushed moans to please, pretty please, make him cum, he wants to cum, needs to cum again.

“And your fans?” You whisper teasingly, feeling how he shivers with how close your breath is near his ear.

“Fu-uck my fans-”

“Now now, that’s something you never said before. Did I fuck Monoma Neito out of you?”

And you go back with the brutal pace, not caring if the other two bystanders can hear what’s going on, not caring if they come out traumatized or probably aroused with how obvious it is that their dear Phantom Thief is getting fucked in a shady place, in a nasty place, yet he’s silently wailing and convulsing with everything you’re giving him.

Your hand soon enough gets sticky with what little cum his poor, weak body produced, his hole clenching tightly around your strap-on while his hands fly back to grasp any part of you that he could reach, which ended up being your head.

The bystanders speak again while Monoma’s busy wheezing his gratitude.

“Are you sure you’re alright? We could call the police-”

“I’m alright! ‘m fine~” He managed to sing-song, but if you heard a bit of his whimper seep from the last word, you don’t say anything, simply slow down your stroking before pausing.

You hear their footsteps slowly go back towards where they probably came from, making Monoma let out shaky exhales of relief and satisfaction, small giggles slipping from time to time as you kiss his neck, his cheek, his jawline.

And once you are certain you’re both alone again, you slowly pull out of him, helping him to turn around so that his back presses against the wall.

Until he grimaces.

“My essence is, from my deduction, splattered on this disgusting wall.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you point down to where his pants are, laughing harder when you see how his grimace turns into a face of disgust, horror, shame, surprise, arousal- wait what?

You don’t question the last one, simply letting out the last of your giggles while you search for the disinfectant wipes you tend to carry with you in your utility belt. And once they’ve been found, you make him lick your cum-covered hand first before properly passing a wipe. You hand Monoma one so that he cleans his face if needed, disinfect his hands, his thighs, anywhere he thought he needed to clean.

No, that's a lie. You took care of his thighs and pelvis, trying your best to clean the spots where his cum reached his pants before peppering a few gentle kisses around his exposed skin.

Pulling his briefs and pants up, buttoning, zipping, fasting his belts. You let out a happy sigh, fixing his hair and tie.

You then fix yourself.

“Who’s mommy’s good boy, Monoma?”

He somehow managed to chirp. “I am, mommy.”

“Then, you’ll stop being a bitch tonight, right? Mommy made sure to fuck it out of you.”

“Oh, um,” aw, he’s blushing. “I suppose…”

When you both walk away from the much-more defiled wall, you hold back an amused snort with how Monoma seems too unstable with his feet, how his legs seem to shake with every step he tries to take and how frustrated he looks with how uncooperative his body is.

You decide that chilling and cuddling in that corner wouldn’t be so bad, and considering how your shift ended minutes ago, you doubt either you or Monoma will get into trouble.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

hmmm can vampires get sick? maybe sick vampire chris thinking Jake is gonna pull out or file down his fangs? or just thinking Jake’s gonna hurt him?

CW: Sick whumpee, vampire whumpee, blood drinking, vague implications of past sadistic/creepy whumper, dehumanization, vague tooth/mouth whump (nothing direct, but aftermath)

Sort of a sequel to this piece, part of the Vampire Chris AU

"What hurts?" He keeps his voice low, and carefully doesn't hesitate before he lays a hand over the vampire's forehead. Of course it feels lukewarm, room temperature, but he still goes through the motions of feeling for a fever. It's muscle-memory, instinct, and he keeps forgetting Chris is dead.

He has been dead for a long time, if his occasional comments on what sounds like Prohibition are true.

"Bones," Chris whimpers, twisting where he lays in Jake's bed. There's a bright flush in his cheeks from the blood he'd drained from the two men who broke into the house. Those odd eyes glitter, overbright. "My... m'bones hurt, Jake."

His mouth opens, pulling air in over his tongue and down his throat in soft pants, and Jake is reminded that vampires don't sweat. Not the same way, anyway, although with enough blood they can, in thin sheens of pink-tinged liquid that are even more alarming than their tears.

His fangs are visible this way, razor-sharp canines that come down further than the rest of his teeth, a brighter white than all the others from being pulled and regrowing so many times.

Jake swallows against his nervousness, brushing hair away from the vampire's forehead. His slit pupils are dilated, taking up too much of the iris, and he tells himself that Chris is as scared as he is of the instincts that drive him, barely understands them.

Vampires aren't animals - but when they don't understand themselves, they act like it sometimes.

"Do you think maybe those guys were on something? Like, a drug maybe?" He pets through Chris's hair, fingercombing his hair, and watches Chris's eyes flutter closed.

It's hard not to feel more than a little reassured not having to look at them any longer. Which makes him feel guilty, considering this not-a-kid kid just beat up people for hurting him.

Killed them, his brain whispers. Killed them like he could kill you.

"May, maybe," Chris mumbles, and pants again.

His gums seem oddly dark, where normally they're pale, and Jake frowns. He wishes now he knew more about vampire physiology, that he'd paid more attention in class when they took the safety courses on how to avoid them.

There's not exactly a class on caring for one - not unless you can afford to purchase them outright.

"Well, when you were-... uh, before you found us... did you ever feel like this?"

Chris's eyes blink slowly back open and he nods. "Sometimes. My, my, my, my-... someone would, um, take something before, before the party, and I'd..." He groans and shudders. Jake can see the pain move through his body as he trembles nearly violently. "I'd feel like, like, like this after... for hours..."

"Okay. So... probably you just have to let this get worked out of your system, right? Or... is there a medicine?"

"No... just... just drink more." Chris looks up at him, eyes so wide and sad and scared and hurting, and grabs onto his wrist with one hand. Those cool fingers are never not a little startling, colder than the air around them, than the rest of his body.

Vampires have poor circulation, Jake knows, even when they're filled up on a fresh meal. He's seen Chris heal his own wounds before with his tongue, had him explain that they don't heal on their own with time if they're on hands or feet.

"Chris-"

"You, you, you, you-... can, um, you can take my teeth after. You can. I'll hold still. I'll, I'll be good." Chris's plea is barely a whisper.

His nails, which must have been a little too long when he was killed and turned, dig painfully into Jake's wrist in his desperation.

"I'll be so, so, so so so so good, Jake. So good for you, and then, you can, you you you can take my teeth-... Sir always liked it, it makes me me me cry, we we cry blood, Sir liked to take photos of it-"

"Sssshhhh. Hush, Chris." Jake's mind races. There are others in the house, but-... he can't ask them to give up blood to Chris. They've already taken over cleaning the blood up from the hardwood floor. Nat's already dealt with talking to the cops and the EMTs and the coroner before the bodies were taken away. They already handled hiding Chris in a false-backed closet while Jake was interviewed by police officers who looked interested and excited,, not disturbed.

It's not every day you see a vampire attack, after all.

Mostly they're under control, kept on leashes and muzzled like dangerous dogs, the property of rich celebrities looking for novelty in a world where they already have everything. The few ferals are killed pretty fast.

Or so everyone says.

Jake is starting to wonder if there are more vampires out there than he knows about.

The cops had even insisted on checking the attic, as if Chris was a bat they might find hanging upside down. That had been ridiculous, but it's not like Jake could say he knew better without being asked how he knew so much about them in the first place.

Oh, because we keep one like a stray fucking puppy. That wouldn't go over well.

He feels a little woozy from the adrenaline crash, and still aches from the bruised ribs where he was kicked around. His mouth aches from the duct tape they'd put over it, and he'd got a hell of a rash starting around his wrists. He's so exhausted he might collapse.

But... Chris really did show up right on time, and maybe saved his life.

Chris pulls Jake's wrist to his face, nuzzles into the inside of it against the pale blue veins that show through the thin skin. Jake shudders at the feeling, swallowing back a low-level disgust.

He wonders how old the teenager really is - he wonders that all the time.

"You c-can have my teeth, after," Chris whispers, lips moving against Jake's skin. "You can keep them. Sir used to, to, to keep them in a box and show m-me. Just, please, please help me feel better, Jake, please... It won't hurt."

Jake closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "If it'll help... fine. But I'm not taking your teeth. They're yours."

"Thank you," Chris breathes out. "That's, that's, that's okay. I can still fix it for you. Thank you, Jake." His fangs slip back into Jake's skin as easily as a heated knife through warm butter.

The venom hits his bloodstream before the pain hits his nerves, and Jake feels himself slump over, head falling onto Chris's shoulder as all his limbs go dead.

It almost feels good, as his ribs stop aching, and the bruises stop throbbing on his skin. He can see why rich people love it as a party drug. You could drift in this place of perfect no-pain for a long, long time.

He feels only the wet movement of Chris's tongue, the shift of his fangs, the soft pressure of the other teeth pushing down. Chris purrs softly, drinking his blood like a kitten lapping milk.

It goes on and on, and for one terrifying second Jake thinks he's not going to stop until he's dead.

"Ch-... Chris-"

Those fangs slip suddenly out of his skin, the wet cool tongue licks rough over his wounds - closing them instantly.

The venom slowly fades, the aches and pains settling back into his body. Jake groans, feeling weak and exhausted.

Chris has to push him up off his shoulder, with unnatural strength moving him to lay on his side on the bed. Jake can barely keep his eyes open.

Chris, leaning over him, could rip his throat out and he couldn't even raise a hand to try and defend himself right now. Jake sees the body of the first dead robber behind his eyelids, the expression of horror written in eternal rictus in his expression, the blood down his shirt and puddled beneath him on the floor. The other man, fighting until he stopped, slumping until Chris had drained him to death.

"I feel better," Chris whispers, kneading at Jake's shirt briefly. "I, I, I feel so much better. Go to, um, go to sleep, Jake. I'll fix it so you're safe."

Jake can't even begin to understand what that means before he's already slid into something more like unconsciousness than actual sleep. The world around him simply goes black, and the last thing he feels is Chris pulling a blanket up to his chin.

The last thing he hears is those soft padding footsteps leaving the room.

When he wakes, he finds two fangs, pristine white with bloodied roots, sitting in a washcloth next to where his head lays on the pillow. he finds a pair of small pliers on the bathroom sink, with droplets of red around them.

The sun is shining outside the window, a bird singing loud enough to drive a drillbit into his head, and Chris is curled up asleep in the dark at the back of a closet, mouth slightly open.

Jake stares down at the empty spots where his fangs should be, and wonders if he's grateful, or horrified.

-

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband

[midearthwritings]

The Beauty behind the Beast

You think it is a shame to neglect such beautiful hair.

Words Count : 1,745

Pairing : Kíli & Reader

Warning : Nudity? Blink and you'll miss it really.

Author's Note : A little Kíli one shot because who wouldn't want to sit and care for his hair? Also I labelled this as platonic but there are a few romantic undertones. I don't know. Hope you like it.

What evil creatures were hiding in the dark, stalking and waiting to attack? You did not know. Perhaps none for the night was quiet, beautiful even. The sky was clear, filled with stars. And the moon looked stunning, even as only half of it was visible.

The snoring of your companions sounded like a lullaby. They could have made you fall asleep if you had been willing to surrender. Thankfully, you were in good company.

As he was quietly rambling to you about whatever subject, you studied him. The way he worked on that little piece of wood. The way his eyes would lit up when he got to an interesting part. And the disaster that was his hair.

Absentmindedly, you raised your hand to touch them. They were soft, but very thick due to their current state. You even tried to brush them a little with your hand, your fingertips getting stucked immediately.

"I thought hair were important to dwarves." You said, letting the strand slip from your fingers to fall back on his shoulder. Your eyes travelled up his mane, spotting every knot tangling them.

"Aye, they are." The agressive sound of his knife on the piece of wood he was carving was regular, almost soothing. His brows were furrowed, and all his focus was on his task. You smiled. It was a rare thing to see the prince this serious. It almost felt like an honor.

Scooting closer, you reached out again to tuck his hair behind his ear. "Why is it that you do not care for them, then?"

The words seemed to pique his interest as he turned his face to you. The object he was crafting now forgotten, dangling from his hand. And you were sure that it would fall to the ground at any given moment. Slightly, he tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. The gentle night wind blew, making his bangs wiggle a little. Perhaps the only part of his mane that was not a complete mess.

"I care for them." With that, he faced away from you so you were able to see the back of his head. He reached out and tapped on the clasp stuck in there, his blade too close to the area for your liking. "See, this is proof of what I say."

Shaking your head, you batted his hand away. "You can put a dress on an Orc if you desire so, but it will remain an Orc. This, is a bird's nest." You explained, gently grabbing a fistful of hair to prove your point. "And I am being very polite here because I have seen nests that looked way much better."

The shrug he gave you was very unusual, you thought. You had been expecting a comment, a snarl in the very least. But surely not silence as he went back to work, the dark locks freeing themselves from your grip.

The case was not lost. Really, all he needed was to comb his hair, and perhaps shorten it a little to get rid of the tougher knots. After that, they would look perfect, very flattering around his pretty face. Maybe he would even be able to wear braids too, like the others.

"I could help, you know." You offered with a smile. "Get them nice again."

"No, you cannot."

The words were sharp, almost as sharp as the knife he was holding. They could have upset you, had you been a few weeks back. Thankfully, you knew better than to get yourself worked up because of a simple no. Before you could question his negative response, he carried on. "Dwarves do not let anyone touch their hair besides their family, or their One. Anyone else is not allowed."

Dwarven customs. You had heard of those before. Not in details, and you would not be able to write a book on the matter. They were very different from those of humans and this was something new. For a moment, you thought to a few minutes back, of the offense you might have done to him. But you brushed the idea away. He would have told you if he had been offended in any way.

Biting your bottom lip, a grin curved your mouth upwards.

"But we are family. You are my brother in arms, aren't you? And a brother means family, doesn't it? Besides, if you keep neglecting them, you will have to chop all of it to get rid of the knots. You should accept my help."

Quiet, you watched as his brows furrowed again as he considered your words. You noticed how the gesture was slightly different from when he was focused.

When he looked back up at you, you were certain he was going to say no again. If he did so, you would drop the subject, for now. Yet, his nod surprised you.

"Aye, I accept. Only because if it is not you who does it, it will be Fíli. And he is not gentle with me when he combs my hair. Always hurts me and tells me to stop being a whiny dwarfling. This little piece of-"

With an exasperated sigh, you brought your palm to his mouth, silencing the curse that was to come.

Siblings.

It had been agreed that you would get to it when the company would stop to bathe and rest. It took you all a few days to find a nice place to allow yourselves such luxury. The camp was set in no time, as it was now a habit, and you watched as the dwarves, and your burglar friend, departed to get into the water.

Kíli, like the child he was, began to follow them nonchalantly, in an almost too innocent way. Quickly grabbing what you needed, for your own cleaning and his hair's, you caught up to him and hooked your arm with his.

"Now, do not run away from me. We are going to find a spot and get to work."

A long groan escaped his lips, making you chuckle. It reminded you of home, of your younger siblings, and for a short moment, you allowed yourself to miss it. To miss the comfort of your bed, and the play times with the children. You missed your mother greatly as well, and you wondered if, perhaps, you would be lucky enough to see her ever again.

You shook your head, chasing the pain away before it could reach your heart. Looking around, you noticed you had walked far enough from the others.

"Alright, this will do. Undress and get into the water. It will be easier." You commanded, getting rid of your own garments.

"Oy, you could at least offer me a nice meal first!" His laugh echoed around you, and despite the glare you shot him, you found yourself laughing as well.

The water felt nice against your skin. It was a bit cold at first but very pleasant once your body was used to it. You turned around and moved to get behind the prince.

"I am going to wash them first, all right?" You warned. When he nodded, you opened the small bottle that you were holding securely in your hand and poured some of the sweet scented oil into his hair. Now that they were wet, the knots felt rough under your fingers as you rubbed the entirety of his mane with the oil. You started from the top of his head, massaging a scalp with your fingers. The satisfied moan coming from him indicating that the experience was not that painful so far. You went to rub the hair behind his ears, and under them at the base of his neck. And finally, you spread the liquid on the rest of it.

"Get under the surface to rinse it." You ordered. While he did so, you swapped the tiny, and now half empty, bottle with a fancy looking comb.

"Why did you pack such things to travel?"

"I did not." You answered, getting back behind him. He was fairly tall for a dwarf, you thought, but it was not a bad thing. Not to you. You had heard the mockeries and teasing of others regarding his height and lack of beard. He was not fitting dwarves standards, that was a fact. But he was not unattractive. Fools were those who rejected the prince, in your opinion.

Stirring out of your reveries, you added "I took them before we left Rivendell. They had many of those. They will not miss the ones I kept." You brought the comb up, starting with the end of his hair. Carefully, not to hurt him, you worked on the knots.

"That is theft." He pointed out. While you were busy in his back, Kíli was rubbing his forearms with a bar of soap. You raised your eyebrow.

"And where do you think that thing you are using comes from?" You asked, working your way up with the comb. "Besides, Bilbo is a burglar and no one says a thing about it."

The dwarf reached behind him to tap your hip gently and you stepped back a little, allowing him to go under the water again to rinse the soap from his body. Soon enough, you were both back into place.

"It is not the same." He started again. "Bilbo is going to help us regain Erebor with his burglarities."

"Kíli, burglarities is not a word.". You had been right. With his hair being wet, it was easier to get them untangled. The comb was now sliding freely in his strands. Only the top remained and you would be done with the task.

"Aye, but it could be."

Shaking your head, you did not reply, focusing rather on not tugging too hard rather than his nonsense.

The last knot was a tough one and it took you a bit longer to win your fight against it. But you managed, and in the end, the finished result was stunning. His hair looked darker, glistening with water, and they looked even longer now.

"Here, I'm done."

With a soft smile, you watched your friend as he ran he fingers into his now really soft locks. He turned to face you, a smile similar to yours painted on his lips. When he held his hand out, you tilted your head, questioningly. The request that followed was soft, and innocent, yet, you felt your heart swelling.

"Now, may I take care of yours?"

[moralesispunk]

Din Djarin NSFW Alphabet

This is the first of my NSFW/SFW Alphabet series! Content will be under continue reading as NSFW content (this is from comments by @ginger-swag-rapunzel and @academiacrypt)

A = Aftercare (What are they like after sex)

The fact that there was so much pining and yearning after one another before you and Din do have sex, aftercare is something that is in his second nature. He has never been big on it before - him and any previous partners just taking care of themselves - but he will care about you. 

He will like to clean you up with his mouth and if its after a rough quickie he will tell you to keep your eyes closed for a moment longer to give you a soft kiss. If its after a time where you are in no rush, he will hold you close to his chest and love the feeling of you falling asleep in his arms after, placing gentle kisses to your head.

B = Body Part (Their favourite body part on themselves / on their partner)

He never really thought of his favourite part of his body but if he had to answer he would probably say his arms or his hands. They make his job easy. Also, when his hands are on your body his size kink really comes into play when he notices just how small you look underneath his hands as they take over the whole length of your side.

His favourite part of you, if he really had to choose, would be your thighs. He loves spending hours between them, gripping them tight and moving to bite and suck on them. He loves letting his hand rest on them when you are outside of the Crest or the way they hang over his own when you sit on his lap in the Crest. In a close second are your hands. They are small and soft and gentle and no one has ever held him as carefully as you do with your hands.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum - I am a disgusting person)

It is no secret that this man has a breeding kink (whether that is actually wanting you to have his warriors or just the thought of it) so cum-play will be something he is in to. He will like to watch it come out of you before pushing it back inside and when he is feeling especially dirty (after the two of you have a quickie outside the cantina) he will tell you to stay like that for the rest of the day.

D = Dirty Secret (What do they secretly want)

He never really thought he had any particular dirty secrets until he realised two fantasies that he wants to try with you. The first is hunter/prey and he realised this that time he was teaching you how to fight and you looked to perfect trapped under his arms. The second is pretending you are inexperienced and he has to show you what to do and this is relating to that size kink we spoke about a moment before.

He will be quite nervous to bring these up to you and he will most likely mumble it to you while he babbles away during sex. When you bring it up after he will shy away from it a little but he if you’re comfortable with it then it’s definitely something he will think about making a move on.

E = Experience (Do they know what they are doing?)

He has experience in the sense that in his younger years he had quickies when the need came but he is not experienced with the more intimate side. He wants to spend hours between your legs learning what works for you and learning how your body reacts to his touch. With Din its about something new for him - intimacy - and it will be something new for you too. 

F = Favourite Position (Self explanatory)

Din will love taking you from behind, especially doggy. It does make it easier because you do not have to struggle with keeping your eyes closed the whole time but he loves watching himself push into you while he grips tightly at your thighs. He also loves the obscene moans that leave your mouth as he does so.

When he wants to see you fall apart he will have you underneath him as he sits back on his heels, your legs bent to your chest. Your eyes will be closed but he will love to watch the way your eyebrows furrow the closer you get before your mouth hangs open when you finally reach your peak.

Once he shows his face to you he will still love this but will enjoy missionary, resting his forehead against yours so he can look deep in your eyes. The first time he can do this there will be tears in his eyes from you looking into one another’s eyes for the first time.

G = Goofy (Are they serious during sex or goofy?)

All in all, Din will be serious. He can be sarcastic, like he is most of the time and sometimes funny things happen during sex - bumping heads or funny noises - but Din will quickly move on for that, stopping your giggle with a moans when he thrusts that wee bit deeper.

H = Hair (Are they well groomed?)

It wasn’t really something he thought much of until he met you. He didn’t know why he was taking time to comb his hair a little more or trim in the shower (he is hidden under layers of armour) but he is thankful for it the first time you have sex. There is hair there and it is definitely on the natural side but its tidy.

He doesn’t mind what you are like as look as you’re happy.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment?)

Very. Maybe not in a way you think intimacy shows itself. Its not all roses on bed sheets and candles but its the closeness. He physically cannot hold you any closer to his body and at some points you’re not even sure where you end and he begins. Din will also admit most of his feelings in this moment when his mind is cloudy with thoughts of only you. He will kiss into your skin how much he loves and cares for you and what lengths he would go to to protect you from the world.

J = Jack Off (Do they masturbate?)

Din has needs, so yes. Not as much now you are staying on the Crest with him and he would much rather have your hand or mouth around him than his hand. When the need hits and you’re not there then yes, he will but he will be thinking about you and how pretty you would look on your knees in front of him in the refresher right now.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Din has a lot and they come into play most of the time (if you’re okay with it). Size kink and innocence - because you look so small and sweet underneath him. Cum play - because the thought of you carrying his child sends him absolutely feral. Hunter/prey - because of what I said earlier he would love to know your heart is racing as he follows you through a forest. He is also a bit of an exhibitionist - making you cum under the table in the cantina as he tells you to be quiet.

L = Location (Favourite place to do it)

Anywhere to be honest. You and Din have had sex everywhere on the Crest. In the pilots seat. In the bunk. Against the wall of the Crest when you first walk in before the door has even shut completely. The cantina. A back alley. Anywhere and everywhere.

M = Motivation (What turns them on or gets them going?)

You. You doing anything. He loves watching you as you play with the Kid, thinking about how great a mother to his children you would be. He loves watching you walk around the Crest with short shorts so he can see your thighs and the marks he has left all over them. When you are out of the Crest he loves how close you stay to his side as you walk through the busy streets and how the mark he intentionally left on a visible part of your neck has stopped anyone from making any rude comments to you. Any time he looks at you, thoughts of what he wants to do to you are there in his mind.

N = No (Something they will not do. Turn offs.)

Din will be up for most things but he wont want to hurt you. He does enjoy biting or sucking on your skin but anything that will cause actual pain is a no go. He is also not a massive fan of being tied up. He will try it if you ask but will find it almost too frustrating.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skills, etc.)

Din is a giver. He loves to watch you squirm under him as he coaxes another orgasm from you while he holds your thighs open with his shoulders and your body down with an arm slung over your tummy. He will hold your hand while rubbing circles on your side, telling you how good you are being for him.

But he also loves watching you on your knees for him, especially when he gets to hear you gag against his cock with tears pulling at the corner of your eyes. He will definitely be sarcastic as shit and maybe even a little patronising but he will hold your face gently in his hand as he does so.

P = Pace (Are they fast or rough? Or slow and sensual?)

It depends on the situation. Din can do both and he does them well. When he needs to take his frustrations out it will be fast and rough (but he wont hurt you). When he wants to show how much he loves you but can’t find the words it will be slow and loving.

Q = Quickies (Their opinions on quickies rather than regular sex)

When he needs to but there isn’t a lot of time then quickies are the answer but he would rather spend hours between your legs first if he had the chance. He will never leave you unsatisfied UNLESS he is teasing you and will make sure to make up for it by making you cum more times than you can count when you’re back on the Crest.

R = Risk (Are they open to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He is open to experiment and loves how much you trust him. He wants to look into those kinks he has thought about with you - Hunter/prey, choking, cockwarming, etc. and you will try them all but he doesn't want to do anything that would hurt you too much. Choking, light biting, sucking he is all for but nothing further than that.

Unless we are talking about a dark! Mando AU and he will be open to even more risk...

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go? How long do they last?)

This depends on the situation. A post-bounty stress relief will be short but rough. Not unsatisfyingly short but not as long as the hours he can go when you are both flying in hyperspace. 

He can go around 2 rounds in a row but he can drag them out till you don't know anything other than him and forget your own name.

T = Toys (Do they own or use toys on themselves or partners?)

He had heard of them being used but never before tried them himself. At first, he isn't sure about them when you bring them up as he would much rather watch you fall apart under his own touch. However, when you let him watch you use a toy on yourself his interest will be peaked. When he does use them on you though expect his mouth and fingers to be involved too.

U = Unfair (How much do they like to tease?)

Din would tease you 24 hours of the day 7 days a week if he could. Sometimes, when he comes back from a bounty and just wants a release, there won't be any teasing because he can't control himself. But I'm hyperspace with nothing else to do? He will have you on edge for hours. He does not like to be teased though. If you tease him even a little expect to be flipped over and ruined.

V = Volume (How loud are they? What sounds do they make?)

Din isn't loud but he is constant. He will moan quietly in your ear just for you to hear but he will babble non-stop, telling you how good you are being for him and that this is for walking around the Crest all day in nothing but your tiny shorts and shirts and he just wants to make you feel good. While he isn't that loud he wants you to be. He will ask you to use your words and will want to hear every moan and groan to leave your mouth. When he first hears you moan Din rather than Mando prepare for him to absolutely lose it.

W = Wildcard (Random headcannon for your character)

The first time Din tells you he wants you to be his riddur will be during sex. He will be looking down at you and see you so perfect laid out below him and he knows he never wants to live a life without you. The words fall out his mouth before he can even stop them and it will be a while before he brings it up properly again.

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

Listen, we all know Din is packing and he knows it. A good 8/9 inches and thick as well. When you are on your knees and he can see you struggling to take him that will get him going. Expect to hear him smugly ask if you're okay and tell you you're doing so good for him.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Very high. Din has to be away for days at a time for bounties so when he is back to the safety of the Crest he wants nothing other than your two bodies to be tangled together. He isn’t as young as he used to be so while he can’t go as many rounds he can make them last long enough to make sure both your needs are satisfied and then some.

Z = ZZZ (How quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?)

Din is not big on the sleeping thing. He has naps to keep him going but rarely a full nights sleep. After sex however, with you asleep in his arms he wont be long behind you and he will have a longer and deeper sleep than he has ever had before.

//

Permanent tag // @phoenixhalliwell @asta-lily @hb8301 @princess76179

[sabababa]

Hey! Can you do the 2 part to "They get hit by a quirk that makes them live their greatest fear headcanons" but with hawks, dabi and todoroki, please? Thank you!

Hawks get hits by a quirk that makes him live his greatest fear

Hawks x GenderNeutral!Reader

Author’s note: I know you noticed that I don’t write for these guys, but I have been debating on writing for Hawks anyway (Dabi and Shoto have never caught my eye) and I only watch the anime, so can no one please give me manga spoilers, I already got spoiled about the latest chapter lmao Bro, this got so dark and sad and HAWKS BB I’M SORRY-

Part 1: Izuku, Katsuki, Mirio, and Aizawa

Warnings: Angst (Fluff ending), domestic abuse, mental abuse, some suggestive themes, cursing, body mutilation (feather pulling)

Hawks

You abuse him

Hawks had just apprehended some low-level thug when, what he assumed was, a pedestrian bumped into him

The world went dark before he regained his sight again

Since he was still on edge from earlier he whipped around to find the person but saw no one there

Come to think of it, no one was around and it was night already

His feathers twitched out of instinct at feeling something wasn’t right

And his first thought was to go check on you

He flew back to your shared apartment and landed on the balcony before sliding the door open

His eyes darted around the room and saw you sitting on the couch

Wearing one of his shirts

And some racy panties

His wings released the tension they held and instead puffed themselves up to appear bigger

Some old bird instinct to attract you

You leaned against the arm of the couch and did a ‘come here’ motion with your finger

He had a seductive look on his face as he stalked towards you

“Whatcha’ wearin’, lovebird?” He cooed

“Come find out, birdy,” You purred

He climbed on top of you and trapped your lips in a deep kiss as your hands snaked their way up his chest, it sent a shiver up his spine and to his wings

Then, he felt you flip them off the couch, to where he was on the bottom

He let out a yelp from the sudden force as he fell awkwardly onto his wings

“B-be careful, lovebird,” he groaned out, but tried to keep the mood going

Maybe you were wanting it to be a little rough and he could oblige to that

And then he felt a sharp bite at the spot where his neck and shoulder met, just above the collarbone

“AH! L-lovebird!” He winced, but smirked. “Gettin’ a little rough are we- OW!”

You broke skin and he could feel some blood trickle down his flesh and onto his wings

He had to admit, even though the bite hurt like hell, he was kinda turned on that you were marking him so aggressively

“Lovebird, as hot as that was, could you be a little gentl-AAHH!” He was cut off by his own scream as you ripped some feathers out. “NO, that’s it! I’ve had enou-AH!” He tried to push you off, but you pulled more feathers out

“Quit being a baby,” you grunted, looking annoyed

“Get off me!” His voice felt weak as he yelled. It wasn’t filled with anger, but with fear

He managed to crawl out from under you and stand up above you, his wings fanned out to intimidate you, but you weren’t some stupid bird who would fall for an act like that

You sighed and stood up too. “Jeez, you’re so sensitive! I’m just having a little fun!” You kicked him between the legs at the end

As he was doubling over, you brought your knee up to connect with his face and he fell backward instead. His visor had cracked upon the impact

He curled into a ball as he felt blood leave his nose, it felt broken too

Different types of pain were appearing all over his body as he curled tighter into himself, using his wings as a shield

“You’re so weak! I thought you were a hero!” You growled as you pulled more feathers out

He screamed in pain and scrabbled away from you, ending up hitting a wall

“Fight back if you’re so strong!” You yelled down at him as you loomed over threateningly

But he couldn’t fight back, he didn’t want to use his feathers against you. They were meant to protect you, not harm you

Maybe I deserve this? He thought

“You’re not a hero! You’re just some stupid kid who thought he could make a difference!” You couched in front of him and yanked his hair back

He whimpered and felt tears in his eyes as a sob threatened to escape his throat, but he swallowed it back down as he spoke out. “Y-you’re right,  I’m sorry!” He sniveled

I’m just a stupid kid

You tugged his hair down so his face would connect with the hardwood floor, breaking part of the visor

Pain from his broken nose surged through him as he finally let out a sob

“Sorry won’t do shit!” You yelled. “You’re so fucking pathetic! Sniveling and crying all bloodied on a floor!” You ground his face harder to the ground. He let out a wail. “What would you do if I were a villain?! You’d just take it and give up, wouldn’t you?!”

I’m so pathetic

“Tch,” you finally released him from your hold and the pressure on his nose went away. “You’re not a hero and you’re not worth my time.”

His eyes closed as he sobbed into the floor

I’m not worthy, I’m not worthy, “I’m not worthy, I’m not worthy,”

“Hawks?” Your voice was gentler this time as you spoke, it cracked even

He squinted an eye open as he stared up at you

The aura was different, the world was different

He stared at you through the yellow tint of his visor, which was somehow repaired

Your clothes were different. You were in your work clothes, the house keys still in your hand like you had just gotten home. You had a tearful look in your eyes as you stared down at him

“Hawks?” You squeaked out again and dropped to his level

He pushed himself up to sit on his knees and noticed all the pain was gone. His nose wasn’t broken, his feathers were still in place, and the bite was gone

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw your hand reach out to him and he flinched back harshly, his back hitting the wall as he gave you a fearful and questioning look, his breathing picked up as he was too afraid to speak

Your hand immediately pulled back from his sudden movements

You hated how scared he looked

“Hawks, what’s wrong?” You pleaded with him

His breathing slowed slightly when the changes were starting to set in

He guessed it was some villain quirk that got used on him, or something

But he couldn’t stop the fear he still felt as he stared at you

You reached your hand out again, seeing that he calmed down slightly

“DON’T-” He yelped at first and held a hand out to stop you. He swallowed thickly when he noticed that you pulled back again. “Just- Just don’t touch me,” his voice wavered as he pulled his knees to his chest. “I need a minute.”

“Okay,” you whispered and left him alone in the living room and went to the bedroom

You changed out of your work clothes and slipped into one of the shirts he had given you to use. You sat on your side of the bed as you worried about what Hawks went through. Did he have a bad villain attack? Maybe it was some PTSD you didn’t know about? Whatever it was, he looked so frightened

You heard his boots trudge down the hallway and saw his form was slouched against the doorway

He looked up at you and his droopy eyes widened at seeing you

What did you do now? 

“Hawks? What is it?”

He let a shiver visibly pass through him as his body shook and puffed his wings up, before flattening the feathers again

He slowly made his way over to his side of the bed, taking off his headset, visor, and boots, before leaning back against the headboard with a sigh. He stared at the ceiling for a while in silence and you decided it would be best for him to speak when he was ready

You heard him sigh and you looked over at him, he hadn’t moved

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” he turned his head to look at you, “right?”

“Of course I wouldn’t, I love you!” You inched closer to him, just wanting to be in his arms or to at least hold him

He stared at you for what felt like forever before a sob escaped his lips and tears fell from his eyes, he brought a hand up to cover his mouth and hunched over on the bed as he continued to cry

You gingerly placed a hand on his shoulder and he stiffened as his crying stopped

But then he flung himself at your lap and wrapped his arms around your waist as he bawled

You clung to him as you rubbed a soothing line between his wings along his back

Eventually, his sobs stopped and he turned his body to face you fully

You brushed back a strand of his hair from his eyes and gently wiped away the tear stains against his cheek

He sniffled as you cleaned his face and brought a hand up to press your palm against his cheek, making you look at him

“Am I worthy?” He asked

“Of what?” You asked confused

“Of you.”

You leaned back slightly from the question, wondering what could have caused him to act like this, but you leaned forward again to place a kiss on his lips

When you pulled away he tried to chase after your lips with his own, but got too far

You laughed lightly and ran your fingers through his hair

“Of course, birdy, you’re worth so much more than you know,” you leaned down to give him another kiss. “Will you tell me what happened?” Your lips hovered over his

“I will in the morning, but right now” he placed a hand behind your head, “I just want you to love me.” He pressed your lips together in a passionate kiss

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Masterlist

[rainydaydream-gal18]

(Clone Wars) ARC Trooper Echo x Reader: Sightseeing PART 2

(Requested by the amazing @nahoney22

I hope you likez!!!!

Warnings: some kissy kissy

Word Count: 2,146)

Link to Part 1

   You wrenched the final bolt in, teeth clenched with the effort.  Despite the quick thrum of your heart at the set of boots that were visible from beneath the ship, you kept your focus on the work in front of you.  Finally, the bolt would not screw in any father, and you set the wrench down with a loud clang.

   Swiping the back of your hand across your forehead, you sighed and began to climb out from under the vehicle.  The bright lights of the hangar made you squint, though a silhouette stepped into view.  Those boots you saw before were a few feet from your head.

   The man knelt down, extending his gloved hand in your direction.  You smiled as you took it, and he hauled you to your feet in an effortless motion.  Suddenly, you felt a little self-conscious in your dirtied jumpsuit with grease smeared on your skin.  You avoided his gaze as you brushed off what you could from your jumpsuit.

   “All done?” Echo finally spoke, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

   You finally met his eyes.  It was hard to feel self-conscious when he was looking at you with tender adoration.  One would think you were wearing the most elegant gown with the way his eyes glinted.

   “All done,” you said.  “Thank you for waiting.  You didn’t have to, you know.  You could’ve gone ahead to see the town.”

   Echo shrugged his armored shoulders.  It was so casual, like it was no big deal that he stood in the hangar for forty-five minutes waiting for your shift to end.  He didn’t have a whole lot of time off as an ARC trooper, and you didn’t want him to miss out because of you.  “It wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

   A smile crept onto your features.  There were times when he couldn’t formulate a sentence in front of you, and other times when he could be so smooth and so sweet.  You knew it came from a genuine place and not from someone looking to score a date.  Besides, it had been several months since your meeting, and he still hadn’t officially asked you out.  It became a tradition for the two of you to go sightseeing on the planets you came across, but nothing had been said about them being dates.

   Fives complained about it often enough.

   “I need about ten minutes to shower,” you said.

   Echo nodded.  “I’ll be waiting...if you still want to go with me.”

   “Of course I do.  I just feel bad you’ve been waiting so long.”

   “Like I said, it just wouldn’t be the same without you.”

   “Alright, well I’ll be back in a few.”

   Fifteen or so minutes later, you found Echo waiting patiently as ever near the exit.  You caught up with him, feeling much better about your appearance.  He simply smiled when he saw you.

   “Ready?”

   “As I’ll ever be,” you said.  The two of you were able to take a military transport into town.  It was a short ride, and the transport was filled with your chatter as you shared information about the planet.  Echo had used his waiting time wisely to read up on some of the cuisine.  He listed off some interesting restaurant ideas, making both of your mouths water. Apparently a festival was going on, so there would be lots of things to see,

   When you stepped off the transport, Echo extended his arm slightly towards you so that you could loop your arm through it.  No doubt the two of you looked like a couple, which was why you waited until getting into town to make such contact.

   Your faced warmed as you observed his profile for a moment.  His eyes were wide and fascinated as he glanced around the ongoing festival.  Citizens wore colorful outfits and masks, bustling here and there.  Cheerful music played by musicians with stringed instruments filled the air.  Many delicious smells teased your senses.  A loud growl from your stomach made Echo’s gaze snap back to you.

   “Hungry?” he asked, amused.

   “I haven’t eaten since before my shift,” you admitted with a bashful smile.

   “Well, we’ll be sure to get something right away then.”  He nodded in the direction of the nearest stand.  “Let’s go.”

   Several happy citizens were leaving the stand with food in hand, smiling and talking amongst themselves.  You caught a whiff of one of the dishes.  “Ooh, we should get that,” you told Echo.  He followed your gaze and nodded.

   “Mm, that does look good.”

   Suddenly, you felt a rough hand grab your shoulder and give you a little shake.  Your heart quickened at the potential danger, but as you turned your head, you saw a gloved hand on Echo’s shoulder too.

   “There you are!” Fives exclaimed, giving you and Echo another affectionate shake.   You exhaled at the realization it was just your friend.  “I was wondering when you two lovebirds would venture out!”

   Your poor companion’s words caught in his throat.  “We’re not-  I mean…”  Echo stole a glance at you, flustered.  Finally, he seemed to gather some resolve as he raised a brow.  “No offense, but it’s none of your business.”

   “Oh-ho-ho.”  Fives chuckled, giving his brother a playful nudge.  “I’m just teasing.  No harm done.”

   Echo rolled his eyes, nudging him back.  “I’m sure.”

   You smiled at the brothers’ banter.  It was almost always like that when they hung out, which was all the time.  Fives had also become a good friend of yours as you got to know Echo better.  The three of you would often eat together at the mess hall or cause trouble at whatever places you found yourselves at on these new planets.  

   “Next!”  the lady at the stand called.  She wore a bright red costume with the sleeves rolled up as she put away the money from previous customers and closed the box.  Only her smiling eyes could be seen behind the matching mask.  “Troops!  We appreciate the protection the Republic has provided our planet.  What can I get you?”

   “We’d like two of those,” Echo ordered, pointing at the menu item that you had mentioned earlier.

   “Make that three,” Fives interjected.

   “Okay, three of those.  And could we also get two cups of tea.  Fives, you want one too?”

   “Count me in.”

   Echo nodded and turned back to the lady.  “Sorry, three cups of tea.  And that’ll do it.”

   She nodded and began adding up the cost.  Echo handed over the credits, and you pitched in to tip the woman.  She uttered her thanks, and the cook behind her started serving up the order.

   “These are our special desserts that are only made during this festival,” she said, packaging up three little cakes.  “You must try some!”

   Echo reached back into his pouch for more credits.  “How much?” 

   “On the house!” she said.  “I insist!  Enjoy the festival!”

   “Oh, thank you!” you accepted the packages, and Fives and Echo grabbed the food and teas.  The three of you headed over to one of the empty picnic tables and claimed your meals.  You sipped the cold cup of tea, smiling at the mildly sweet flavor and how refreshing it was.

   Fives had already dug into his food.  “This is great!” he mumbled through a mouthful.

   “Yeah?”  Echo took a bite of his own.  “Wow, you’re right.”

   Another loud growl sounded in your stomach, making Fives laugh and earning him an elbow in the side from Echo, as you finally tried your portion of the meal.  It did taste good, and it was very filling, though you had just enough room to have the dessert after.

   When you were done, you started cleaning up the picnic table and dropped the garbage into a nearby trash can.  On your way over, you overheard a conversation between the two ARC troopers.  They were trying to speak over the volume of the festival and remain out of earshot of you- to no avail.

   “So, Echo,” Fives said.  “You know you don’t have to do the whole ‘secret relationship’ thing in front of me, right?  Of all people, I’m not gonna’ say anything.”

   “There is no secret relationship,” Echo muttered.  “I was serious before.  We’re not together.”

   “Oh my gosh.”  Fives shook his head.  “Well, you’d better hurry up and claim her.  Or someone else will.  I’m telling you, she likes you.”

   “Shh, she’s coming back.

   You smiled, pretending you didn’t hear a word over your shoulder.  “What is next on the agenda?”

   “I’m actually going to go off on my own again,” Fives answered.  “You two have fun.”  Before either of you could even say “goodbye” for now, he left.  You looked to Echo, shrugging, and looped your arm with his again.

   The two of you did an initial sweep of the festival, checking out the games and activities as well as taking notes on any that you’d like to try as the evening went on.  There was something different about this outing.  You’d been to many places with Echo before, but this time, it seemed he was being a little more forward.  In a good way, of course.  You figured it was because of his conversation with Fives, but even so, you had not expected him to be as confident as he was.  At one point, he removed his arm from yours and took your hand instead, shooting you an inquisitive look.

   You nodded in silent approval of the gesture, giving his gloved hand a squeeze.  The smile on his face was so handsome.  It was nearly impossible to look away.  Pretty soon, the two of you were stopped in the middle of the festival with folks going around you.  He gazed back into your eyes, the smile slowly fading into an expression you’d never seen on him before.  Excitement coursed through your veins as he suddenly gave your hand a tug, leading you through the swarm of people until the two of you were in a small alley between two of the town’s shops.  It gave you a nice view of the festival from where you stood without being crowded out by other people.

   “What’s this about?” you asked, though you had a feeling you already knew.  Echo leaned his shoulder against the wall, glancing down at your intertwined fingers.

   “I wanted to play it cool,” he said.  “But I’m afraid I’ve been playing it too cool.”  His eyes met yours again, and you didn’t miss the way his chest rose and fell with a deep breath, as if he was preparing himself for something daring.  “The truth is... I really like you.  I have since the moment I first saw you.”

   “Nothing wrong with taking your time,” you replied.  “I’ve enjoyed getting to know you.”

   “I’ve enjoyed getting to know you too,” he agreed, your response visibly putting him at ease.  The smile returned to his face.  “I don’t consider any of the time we’ve spent wasted.  And if you’d rather we stay friends, I can do that.  I just...wanted you to know.  I care about you.”

   Your insides were practically melting at his words, though your heart was thudding fast and strong.  From the start, it was like gravity had been bringing you closer together.  You revolved around each other; not quite touching, but never too far.

   Suddenly, gravity brought you even closer.  You took a step forward.  He pushed off the wall slightly to meet you halfway, releasing your hand only to wrap his arms around you in a firm embrace.

   “I care about you too,” you told him softly.  He regarded your misty gaze with another one of his smiles before his eyes fell on your lips with intent.  Echo, ever the chivalrous, shifted so that his back was to the crowd.  Once you were concealed from any curious stares of those passing the alley, his lips caught yours. 

   The kiss was planet-shattering.  It held all the tenderness you would’ve expected at first, and then slowly built up with tension the two of you had been keeping tucked away for some time.  Something snapped, then.  Your lips were meeting his faster, needier; and he was happy to oblige.  

   Both of you were unwilling to part, but the sounds of the festival brought you back.  Echo was still tilting your chin as he pulled away to see your loving gaze.

   “Beautiful,” he murmured.

   “You sure are,” you said with a chuckle.

   He chuckled too with the slightest shake of his head in amusement.  “And she has a sense of humor.  How’d I get so lucky?”

   You pretended to consider his question for a moment, your face scrunching up in thought.  “It sure is a mystery,” you joked lightly, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek.  He caught your lips one more time before you pulled away completely, and you nearly swooned.

[shurelyasreverie]

Sett x Reader: Love is the Best Medicine

You've been patching up Sett every since he joined the underground fight scene but you fear for the day he pushes himself too far.

Word Count: 1447

The sound of the front door opening and closing followed by sluggish footsteps woke you up from your light slumber on the couch. Stretching, you yawned as you regarded the time. It was an ungodly hour in the morning but you were used to it. Today was another day Sett was off fighting in the pits, and it was your job to make sure he survived them. Fortunately he usually knew how to look after himself.

“Y’really need to learn to lock the door,” Sett's familiar yet strained voice chided and you chuckled as you stood up, rubbing your eyes.

“Why bother? I know you're going to come-” Once you took in Sett's appearance you immediately looked away. You frantically cleared the couch and ushered his hulking form onto it. You didn't dare touch his bleeding and bruised arms, you couldn't bring yourself to look into his bloodshot eyes. His laboured breathing was painful to hear.

“(Y/N)-”

“Shush,” you scolded as you left to get your first aid kit and medication. Such wounds weren't going to kill him but every moment away from him still filled you with anxiety. You rushed back by his side and started to clean his wounds. The only sound in your home was Setts' grunts and groans as he writhed under the sting of anaesthetic.

“You've never been beaten up this bad before,” you whispered. With his wounds cleaned up, Sett looked visibly better and it helped you relax ever so slightly. You tossed the dirtied rags of blood – whose blood it was, you didn't know – to the ground.

“This didn't happen in the ring,” Sett muttered. “I must've pissed off some goons who placed bets on someone else. They jumped me when I was headin' out.”

You nodded silently as you bound his arm with bandages. You feared this day would come, where the violence Sett experienced was no longer bound to the pits. He now had a target on his back all day, every day. The underground pits weren't the concern anymore, it was now a question if he could just survive day to day life. Although you technically lived alone, having Sett – sometimes joined by his mother – frequently visit meant you almost always had company. If something happened and Sett wasn't around to visit-

“That face doesn't suit ya, y'know,” Sett grumbled and you shook your head.

“What face?”

“That sad one.” When you finished bandaging his arm, he brought it up. His large, calloused hand caressed the side of your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. “I can look after myself. Don't worry.”

“You'll need to rest from these injuries,” you stated and you felt his thumb hesitate before continuing its soothing motions as if everything was okay.

“Y'know I can't do that.”

“A week's rest.”

“People placed bets on me for tomorrow.”

“You can't,” you snapped, pulling your head away from his hand. “You can't fight in this state!”

“The fight's at night, I got all day to rest,” Sett reasoned.

“Not good enough,” you scolded.

“Listen (Y/N), it's either I fight at the pit or I fight for scraps on the street. Which one do you think's better?”

“I can accommodate for you and your mum,” you responded and Sett shot you a doubtful look. Even he knew that you weren't living the life of Noxian aristocracy. “... temporarily.”

“That ain't happenin', you've already done enough.”

Sett shifted as he pulled out a small leather pouch from behind. He placed it in your palm and you heard the unmistakable chink of coins. You tilted your head at him.

“That's thanks for lookin' after me,” Sett explained, further proving a point as he lifted his freshly bandaged arms. “At the rate I'm winnin' that bag'll be doublin' in size next time.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you regarded the pouch that sat comfortably in your palm that grew heavier with his words. Tears started to prick at the back of your eyes and you lowered your head, holding the bag back to him.

“I can't possibly take this.”

“Ma's got her fair share.”

“This is your money that you earned.”

“Damn right. It's my money and I choose what to do with it. I choose to give it to you.”

The fire in Sett's eyes was unmistakable. Knowing you couldn't argue with Sett when he made up his mind, you pulled your arm back and placed the pouch on the table.

“Just having you return is enough for me,” you admitted in a whisper.

“It ain't enough for me, though,” Sett replied, waiting until you turned to face him and look athim dead in the eyes. “I ain't just fightin' for money or glory. I'm fightin' for ma and I'm fightin' for you.”

“Me?” you frowned. “I'm fine-”

“I know why you live alone.”

“I told you, I just wanted to move out away from my family-”

“Your family kicked you out for bein' pals with the local 'half beast',” Sett corrected and your heart dropped. “Overheard 'em trash talkin' ya in the street a few days back. I know the truth. Don't worry, I made 'em shut up the only way I know how.”

“Sett...” you were lost for words. “I...”

“I'm sorry for makin' your life hell. Your family were doin' pretty damn well for themselves but they didn't spare shit for ya,” he growled. “All because of little ol' me.”

“I... I don't regret what happened,” you said, determined. “If they're not going to respect you then I'd rather have nothing to do with them.”

It was now Sett's turn to be lost for words, looking stunned as he blinked a couple of times. Solidifying your point, you gently wrapped your arms around his torso as not to aggravate his wounds. Pressing your head against his bare chest, you could hear his erratic heartbeat as it pounded in your ear. His arms made their way around your back, his face nuzzling into your hair. After a few moments of silence, Sett pulled his head back and so did you, but his hold on you didn't loosen.

“I'll make 'em respect me. And I'll make 'em respect you. Everyone who knows who I am will know you too. And they'll know to treat ya like royalty. I ain't havin' it any other way.”

“... thank you, Sett. I... if there's anything I can do for you, just let me know.”

Fingers gently nudged your chin up to look at him properly. As he leaned down, noses almost touching, you could see the details in his eyes as they burned with passion.

“Never leave my side,” he whispered.

“As long as you never leave mine.”

“Y'drive a hard bargain,” he chuckled quietly. “Deal.”

Both you and Set moved forward simultaneously, lips pressing together softly. Sett's hand that rested on your chin moved back, lacing his fingers through your hair. His other arm sat comfortably around your waist as he gently pulled you closer, closing any possible gaps between you as the kiss deepened. You felt warm as you were held in his embrace. How such a rough and brutal fighter be so gentle was beyond you but you loved it nonetheless.

You loved him.

The kiss ended as you gasped for air. Pressing your forehead against his, your breaths mingled together.

“I love you,” you confessed and Sett smiled, pressing a quick kiss to your lips again.

“I've waited too long to hear that,” he admitted and you giggled as you noticed his flushed face. “I love you too. I, uh... is it alright if I stay here for the night?”

“You should head back to your mum, she's probably worried for you.”

“Nah, ma would understand,” Sett cleared his throat as he looked away, embarrassed. “She's been waitin' for this to happen.”

You pulled back as you burst out laughing. Setts' ears flattened as he grumbled something non-coherent. But before he could get too grumpy, you took his hand with a soft smile, guiding him to the bedroom. “Come on, you need to be well rested and healed before you get back in the ring.”

[wkemeup]

Heal Me, Baby

summary: Bucky Barnes can’t seem to keep away from your med tent no matter how many times you fix him up. // challenge prompt: bed sharing  pairing: 1940s bucky x reader word count: 5k warnings: a very charming bucky 😉 a/n: This was written for @cake-writes​ 1940s challenge! Congrats on the 3.5 milestone!! The title of this fic comes from the song Heal Me by Snow Patrol 

There was blood on the white of your dress; slow and steady seeping into the fabric and staining the cotton blend fibers. Red and as deep and bold as the cross sewn into the chest of your uniform, the blood became part of the design because no matter how many times you scrubbed it clean, more would find its way back to the hip of your skirt, the sleeve of your shoulder, the hem of your apron by morning’s end. Sometimes you wondered why they’d bothered dressing you in white at all. Might as well make it red with the number of wounded soldiers they dragged through your tent; most halfway towards the shiny bright light and others inches away from their last breath.

The chaos was constant, a given, and despite the noise and clutter, it was where you felt most at home. It was better than the lull, the calm before the inevitable storm, where you’d be swarmed with men on stretchers, bleeding out onto the dirt and tossed into overcrowded beds. The steady stream was easier than the rapids, easier than assigning ten men to a single nurse where injuries could be missed, vital tears overlooked.

You were at the end of your shift for the night, dirt on your forehead, sweat damping the carefully curled ringlets at your neck. A file in your hand of the man at the end of the room, thicker than most, and you kept your eyes down as you pushed your way through the crowd of nurses and visiting soldiers, heels sinking slightly into the grass with every step.

When you came upon him, you finally noticed the name etched into the top right corner of the folder; the cheesy grin as he propped himself up on his elbows, blood and dirt coating most of his face, though still as annoying handsome as ever.

“Hiya, doll.”

“Oh, not you again.”

Bucky chuckled to himself as he plopped back down against the pillow, hands clasping behind his neck as he watched you work around his bedside. You huffed the hairs from your eyes, brushed the sweat from your hands as you slipped on a pair of gloves, careful to avoid the urge to smile at the way Bucky was so obviously studying your every move.

You’d seen him about a dozen times since you’d been transferred to the Italian warfront along with the 107th. He’d found a habit of stumbling into the medical tent after a night in the trenches, covered head to toe in what looked to be a dried mixture of mud and blood that didn’t always turn out to be his own. 

He’d flash that smile of his like he couldn’t smell the retch of sweat and grim on his skin, sweet talk you like he wasn’t thrown head first to the middle of a war he didn’t sign up for, and get your stomach twisted all up in knots, hands fumbling with the IV bag, a nervous flutter in your chest – though you’d never let him see that.

Sergeant Bucky Barnes was the kind of man the nurses talked about when he walked by. A tip of his cap, a slight salute in their direction, and they’d giggle themselves into a mess, clinging onto one another as they waved at him. 

But then, across the courtyard, his eyes would catch yours, a softer tone about him and he’d simply wink, something subtle and barely noticeable, but enough for it to be personal, almost intimate, because it wasn’t for others to see.

“Not happy to see me, huh?” Bucky drawled, crossing his ankles as he stretched back on the worn-down cot like he was sitting at home on the couch, waiting on a beer as he read the evening paper.

You pursed your lips, shooting him a narrowed look as you glanced over the intake file. “I’m never happy to see men in this tent, Sergeant Barnes. Did you forget where you are?”

You gestured down to the series of beds filled with men, some waiting as they hung off the edge of crutches or slumped over in chairs, with bandages wrapped around exposed chests, blood seeping through, broken limbs exposed, the quiet whimpers of pain muffled by forearms and pillows.

“Oh, come on, doll. You know I’m just teasing ya,” Bucky smirked, sitting up in the bed because he knew the routine well enough by this point. 

You held a single finger pointed up in front of his eyes and he followed it without instruction as you moved it across his line of sight. No sign of abnormal dilation. Ruled out a concussion, at least.  

“You should be more careful out there,” you warned, gathering the first aid kit from the bedside table. “You’re in here almost every day, you know.”

“Maybe I like the company,” he shrugged, blue eyes piercing straight through you and you tried to ignore the way your heart skipped a full beat.

Your hands trembled slightly as you cleaned the wound on his forehead, a hit from a fall by the looks of it, though it wasn’t deep enough to require stitches. He winced a little, a slight hiss in his tongue as you applied the alcohol.

“You shouldn’t be taking the bed from someone who needs it.”

“Hell, I do need it, doll,” Bucky whined, a little dramatically. “Look at me. I’m in pieces. I’m fallin’ apart at the seams and you’re the only one that can save me, sweetheart. I need ya.”

You paused with a tight pout of your lips, sitting back on the cot beside him long enough to roll your eyes. “You need a band-aid and stern warning, Sergeant Barnes. You’re fine.”

“Oh, call me Bucky, won’t you?”

You pressed the bandage to his forehead, a little firmer that you would have for most any other patient and he grunted under his breath, trying to steady himself against the thin mattress.

“Time for you to go, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky grinned, nodding to himself as he stood. “Been a pleasure, doll, as always. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“You better not!” you called back, arms folded over your chest as he snickered to himself, walking through the mess of chaos to the exit on the other end. He glanced back over his shoulder as he pulled up a flap of canvas and winked at you.

You clenched your jaw and got back to work.

***

Sure enough as the tides rolled in, so did Bucky Barnes to your med tent a few nights later.

You found him waiting for you on the last bed in the aisle, one leg tucked under him, the other hung over the side of the cot as he nursed his right hand in his lap. He was humming to himself through pursed lips, a tune that you recognized from the radio station your father often played back home; head bouncing a bit to the rhythm, massaging gently at the palm of his hand, completely unfazed by the chaos around him.

Stepping up to the edge of the bed, you supposed he caught sight of your shoes because he started to smile before he so much as lifted his head.

Slowly, like he was taking his time, he glanced up at you with that sheepish smile of his, a light chuckle under his breath, and he ran his left hand through the mess of hair atop his head.

“Hiya, doll.”

“What is it this time?”

Your arms were folded, toe tapping against the ground, but there was something in the way he couldn’t stop smiling at you, even as you scolded him, that tugged a bit on the tight strains in your chest. It pushed at the walls you’d built, poked at the cement layers between bricks until they started to fall one by one and you fought against the urge to smile back at him.

He was too sweet on you, too handsome and charming, and you were almost certain it was an act, so you clenched your jaw and forced a frown.

Bucky held up his hand and for you, showing off a rather nasty burn in the underside of his palm, just along his thumb; red and seared, bubbling a bit on the edges. Your resolve took a bit of a hit because he winced a little in the motion, like the chill of the air was enough to cause him pain.

“How did you manage to do that?” you asked, tone still a little tense, though you took a seat on the side of his mattress, the lumps of the worn-down cot pressing against your thighs.

You reached for the medical cart near the bedside table, though it was just an inch from reach, and Bucky took the liberty of wheeling it over for you. You paused, watching him as he casually slid the cart in front of you, careful of your shoes and the dips in the ground.

“It was my shift in the kitchens,” he shrugged.

His hand slipped into yours as you gestured for it; rough and calloused though still untouched in places, soft and tender. You wondered what he did before he was drafted, if he worked in factories or in a garage, if his hands had seen hard labor before he was handled a weapon and a battalion, or if they were a blank page, yet to be filled by the scars and abrasive markings of a man at war.

You turned it over gently, easing the back of his hand to sit cradled in your palm as you examined the burn. It looked like he’d singed it on the side of the stove. The ring of the plate visible on the edge of his palm.

“Didn’t think you were required take shifts in the kitchens, Sergeant,” you commented, raising an eyebrow, though you kept your focus on his hand.

“Helps with morale,” Bucky replied simply. “Doing the same grunt work together does something for when we’re out in the trenches, you know? I’m not any better than them because the higher-ups threw some title in front of my name. We’re all stuck here, aren’t we?”

There was a chuckle in his voice, a lightness, and it surprised you as you looked up to see that it didn’t quite touch his eyes. How often did that happen and you didn’t notice because you were so caught up in holding up walls to keep from his games? How often had it not been a game at all and rather a mask he wore, to protect the most vulnerable parts of himself from giving into the horrors he saw on the front lines?

He took a deep breath, focused on the grip of your hand around his as you slowly started to apply aloe along the burn. Cautious eyes glancing up to him, you watched as his shoulders slumped a little, a weight lifting from the tension he carried as the cooling of the gel started to take effect. The hardened lines on his face softened, his breaths coming in a bit steadier, the sigh that left his lips light and sweet.

“I’m sure they appreciate what you do for them,” you said, softer this time, in hopes of distracting yourself from the way his lips parted ever so slightly in relief the longer you soothed the gel along his hand.

“Eh, keeps me busy,” he said, brushing it off, almost like the praise was uncomfortable for him, like it didn’t feel warranted or necessary. He smiled to himself, pulling his lower lip between his teeth as you started to wrap his hand, gentle touches delicately easing the bandage around the burn. “Brought me back to you, didn’t it? I call that a win.”

You laughed a bit at that despite yourself as you clipped the edges of the bandages and secured it properly. “I’m sure you would have found an excuse to come bother me all on your own, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Bucky,” he reminded you again, grinning so wide it must have hurt.

“I don’t want to see you in this tent for at least a week,” you warned, placing his hand back into his own lap. You stood, brushing the wrinkles from the edges of your dress. Though you were stern with him, you were smiling. He certainly took notice of it.

“That’s a lot to ask of me, sweetheart. I’m a clumsy guy.”

“You’re the best sharpshooter we have!”

“I’m a mess, honey. Look at me! You’re my only hope.”

“Oh, get out of here!” you laughed, pushing on his shoulders though you were met with significant resistance; a playful game of cat and mouse, and damn if you weren’t completely falling for it.

He finally gave in when your laughter started to draw the attention of the nurses gathered around the bedsides of injured soldiers, and you swatted him on the shoulder, heat flushing to your cheeks in embarrassment, though you were unsuccessfully biting back a smile.

As he made his way to the exit, he turned back for a final look, surprised to find you still watching him, and he winked; cool and collected, confident. You shook your head at him, arms folded over your chest, but he saw the way the corners of your lips pushed up high into your cheeks, the brightness in your eyes, the whisper of a laugh still in your breath.

If this was all a game, he was certainly winning.

***

A few weeks later and the nurses had resorted to reserving a spot for Bucky in the back of the tent; the same cot in your assigned row because he all out refused to be seen by anyone else. He’d duck through the canvas flaps at the entrance, smile politely at the nurses and wait patiently for you to notice him.

His injuries varied anywhere from a paper cut along his palm to a splitting headache to simple heartburn. He knew better than to take your attention away from soldiers who really needed it, but he’d come to consume the moments in between, whether you liked it or not.

But a funny thing started to happen.

You started to look forward to the days when he’d peep his head into the tent, checking to make sure you were on shift before he’d saunter his way inside and take his seat on his favorite cot. You’d find disappointment burning like jealousy in your chest on the days he didn’t, and your mind would wonder where he was or if he was alright.

He’d once waited hours before you were able to step away from the gunshot wounds of a soldier two beds down and though the scrape on his knee had all but scabbed over by then, he stuck around until the kid stabilized. 

You were exhausted by the time you made it over to Bucky, losing hope that you’d be able to keep the injured soldier alive through the night and trying to mask the utter helplessness you felt.

But Bucky made his light-hearted jokes, he teased you for the dirt on your forehead, whined and complained dramatically about his knee though you both knew he’d sleep it off my morning, and it brought back a smile to your face before you realized it. He managed to push through even the darkest parts of your days.  

***

Bucky’s regiment was out on assignment for over a week and you would have been lying to yourself if you said you didn’t miss him. You found yourself glancing down at the entrance every few minutes, feeling like something was missing when you finished your checklist, stabilized your patients, and finally had a free moment for yourself. There was something else you would have been attending to.

It wasn’t until you realized it was Bucky you were searching for, waiting to see his smile light up at he caught your eye, that it hit you just how easily you’d fallen for him.

At the end of a very long week, he stumbled into the med tent on a rolled ankle, leaning off the shoulder of Captain America himself, complaining of a pain in his left arm. You were relieved to see him, like a weight lifted from your chest that was holding you underwater for days, but you couldn’t let him see that.

“Been a while, honey,” he smirked. “Miss me?”

“Watch yourself, Barnes,” you warned, though it was light and airy. You eased his arm over your shoulders and excused Steve as he was still supporting his weight. You tried not to focus on how nice it felt to have Bucky this close, his arm draped over your shoulders, his side pressed up tight to yours as he hobbled in support of his injured ankle.

“Got real lonely out there on the front without you,” Bucky teased as you helped him down to the cot. “Stevie had to fix me up. Wasn’t pretty.”

“I can see that,” you laughed, gesturing to the mess of bandages circling around his arm. “What did you do? Bump into the corner of the tank?”

“Not exactly,” he chuckled awkwardly, pulling his arm from what remained of his sleeve to give you better coverage. He curled his shirt up in his hands, shivering as the cold touched exposed skin and you tried to ignore the taunt lines of his muscles and the placement of freckles down his back, the shadows over his abdomen.

Slowly, you pulled back the bandages, wrapped about a dozen times over, until red started to appear in the white of the cloth, soaking through the layers thicker and darker until you found the source. Your smile had long fallen by the time you saw the wound on his arm, a bullet grazing on the outer stretch of muscle; ripped and raw on the edges, a piece of your heart torn along with it.

“You were shot?”

“Oh, come on, doll, it ain’t so bad,” Bucky chuckled. “It’s just a little graze.”

You shook your head, quickly tending to the open wound with alcohol swipes that left him hissing from the sting of it. Your hands were shaking slightly, but you held your breath in hopes he wouldn’t notice.

“Why is it that you feel the need to come in here with senseless injuries and waste my time but when you're actually hurt, you brush it off like it’s nothing?” 

You weren’t angry despite the tone of your voice. No, it was fear that took over, marred through the tension of your words and the frantic thumping inside your chest. The idea of him never walking into your tent again ripped the heart straight from you. 

“We’re at war, honey,” Bucky replied gently and though he still wore that beautiful smile on his face, it was softer. “This kind of stuff happens all the time.”

“Not to you,” you whispered, voice low and heavy.

Your fingers were trembling as you attempted to thread the needle for the third time, though it was no use. It kept missing the eye, your hand was shaking too much for a steady grip. You couldn’t protect him when he was out in the trenches, couldn’t heal his wounds and tend to his injuries. You couldn’t save him if something happened out there, leaving him stranded. 

A few inches to the right and the bullet could have torn through a major artery and maybe Steve Rogers would have showed up in your tent with his helmet held at his chest and a solemn look in his eye when he told you that Bucky fought valiantly until his last breath.

The thread missed the needle again and you let out a groan, a wave of frustration and anger and fear and suddenly Bucky’s hands were on yours, slowly lowering them back to your lap. He smiled sweetly at you as he gently took the needle and thread from your hands and slipped it through the eye. He knotted it at the end and handed it back to you, adjusting his position on the cot to give you better leverage.

“I should get someone else to do this,” you said quietly.

“No deal, honey. You’re the only one for me.”

“Bucky, my hands are shaking. I should ask one of the girls to--”

“It’s you or I walk.” 

Bucky smirked, winking at you over his shoulder before he settled in again. Determined and stubborn as you’d ever seen him. 

You sighed, pushing out a deep breath as you steadied your hand. “Okay, well, no complaining if you end up with a scar.”

“Me? Never.”

***

Bucky wasn’t the only soldier in the tent that night and you were worn thin; running on startling lack of caffeine and frequent cold bursts of air outside, you hadn’t slept in nearly two days as you attended to the influx of injured men.

Half of your girls were out sick from the bug that was floating around camp, though you were almost certain it wasn’t airborne as they insisted and they’d contracted it by getting cozy with the soldiers. You couldn’t blame them for seeking comfort amongst the harsh conditions of the war, but being down two girls in an overcrowded, busy tent full of men in terrible pain wasn’t easy to manage on your own.

Bucky’s presence seemed to help, though. He’d smile at you whenever you looked in his direction and you started to wonder if he was watching you as you worked, as opposed to the book in his lap. He always seemed to be looking at you when you turned over your shoulder to check in on him, anyway. The pages of the book sitting in his hand remained unturned for too long, even as he fought against the heaviness of his lids, sleeping threatening to pull him under though he resisted.

He gave in after you’d swiped the book from his hands and ordered him to close his eyes.

“Anything for you, doll,” he said, yawning through every syllable.

You watched as he settled into the sheets, bare chest exposed and the heavy bandage wrapped around his arm. His eyes fluttered shut, nose scrunching as he sniffled in a tight breath, and his whole body seemed to relax, finding sleep rather quickly.

It was nearly two in the morning by the time the med tent quieted down.

Most of the men were asleep, the others too doped up on pain medications to notice much of anything going on around them, their eyes softly gazing out ahead of them, heavy eyelids falling shut. You let the remaining girls go back to their own tents until dawn, given that the worst of it all had subsided.

With a tired yawn, you dragged your feet down to Bucky’s bed. He was snoring softly in his sleep, lips parted just slightly, and you realized gazing down at him, that he looked years younger like this; the innocence he often masked amongst the perils of war rising fresh to the surface, unobstructed.

With a cautious hand, you reached out and grazed your fingertips along his arm; his whole body sighing in response, a slight curve of his lips, his head lulling to the side closest to the touch.

But you couldn’t stand there and watch him sleep all night. The bandage had started to bleed through and it needed a rewrapping.

You pulled up a chair next to his cot, carefully beginning to unwrap the cloth from around the tight muscle of his arm. Smooth skin under pebbled goosebumps from the chill outside, you gently released the bandage to the mattress. The wound didn’t look so bad underneath, but you cleaned it up a bit to be safe. With a quick dab to his arm with the disinfectant, you glanced up at his face in search of a hitch in his breath or a hiss on his tongue, but he remained fast asleep.

Even men like Bucky Barnes needed a break. He looked so sweet sleeping like that, the slight pout on his lips as you cleaned the wound, the sniffle through the beginnings of a head cold. 

You yawned, struggling to keep your eyes open and quickly rebandaged his arm. There were more men in this tent that needed your attention.

A few beds down and an hour later, you began to switch out the IV drip of a man with a severed leg; a young, baby faced kid who didn’t look old enough to graduate school, let alone be given a gun in the middle of wartime. He scrunched his nose in his sleep, his thigh twitching like he might still think something was there. There was sweat beading on his face, dripping damp into the pillow. You didn’t know how much longer he had.

Your legs wobbled slightly under you and you gripped onto the bedside table. The exhaustion was starting to reel you in, pull you under to the warm embrace of sleep, but you had a job to do, men to care for. Pressing the heel of your palms to your eyes, you tried to push the tiredness from you, though a yawn broke through again anyway.

“Looking like you might need some rest, doll.”

You froze at the sound of his voice, like ice and fire, relief and panic.

A heavy sigh sat in your chest before you turned around, only to find Bucky brushing at his eyes, sleepily smiling up at you from his cot. He propped himself him on his elbows, as you quickly made yourself busy, simply watching as you continued about your work.

“Someone has to attend to these men, Bucky,” you replied, a little tenser than you usually were with him, but the exhaustion had taken hold of you and it took effort just to keep your eyes open.

“Doll,” he called, softer this time, “you’re going to pass out. Where'd everyone go?”

“Sent them off. No need for a crowd to watch over sleeping men.” You checked the vitals of a man across the aisle from Bucky; steady rhythm, even pulse. He’d make it until morning, at least.

“When’s the last time you slept?” he asked slowly and you could feel his eyes following you around the tent, watching intently as you tended to each of the men, assuring yourself that they were as restful as they appeared. There was a concern in his voice, a sincerity, and it tensed in your shoulders.

You released a heavy breath, keeping focused on replenishing the infusion bag of a soldier who was hanging on by a thread. One quick glance back at Bucky proved to be a mistake as he was still watching you, though it was under kind, worried eyes. He was still waiting on an answer.

“You don’t need to be worrying about how much I’m sleeping,” you said, turning your back to him because your eyes were falling heavy and it was near impossible to keep them open. You leaned onto the frame of another soldier’s bed for support, pretending to be busy for Bucky’s sake.

“No?” Bucky questioned with an embellished sigh. “Someone has to, don't you think?”

“Bucky, I’m fine,” you yawned, covering your mouth with your wrist as you turned back to face him. 

He chuckled a bit under his breath, chin falling to his chest, before he smiled up at you like you’d missed out on some kind of inside joke.

“Oh, ‘course you are, doll. Must have been someone else who put the same bloody bandage back on my arm after cleaning it then, huh?” he shrugged teasingly, gesturing to his arm where a dark red bandage circled around his bicep.

Your eyes blew wide, a gasp in your throat and you rushed over to him. Hands fumbling for the chair, missing several times and resorting to falling at your knees, you made quick work of trying to peel away the red bindings.

“Shit! Shit, I’m-- shit,” you panted, shaking, “that’s never happened before and I—oh God, I’m so sorry, Bucky—I’ll fix it, just—just give me a second and—”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, honey,” Bucky cooed sweetly, helping to unfasten the bandage because your hands were fumbling too long with the clasps. His right hand encased your shaking fingers, holding them tightly long enough to pull your attention away from his arm. “It happens, okay? No harm done. I’m aces, alright?”

“No, no, it’s wildly...” you sucked in a sharp breath, tingling in the back of your jaw, stretching at your cheeks, “...unacceptable and I...” another yawn broke through, “...should report myself because...” and a third.

“Jesus, doll, listen to you. You’re exhausted,” Bucky eased, reaching for the clean bandages on the bedside table. He grabbed a fresh one and put one end between his teeth for leverage as he began to wrap his own arm.

You sat back on your heels, kneeling next to his bed and certainly getting dirt along the end of your dress. You watched as he wove the clean cloth in and around his arm, concentration etched into his facial features to mask the slight wince of pain as the fabric touched the wound.

Guilt was fresh in your chest as Bucky wrapped his arm himself, pulled it tight and gestured for you to fasten it. He could have done it himself, you were sure. There was a smile on his face as he looked at you, like he was trying to make you feel better.

“I’m sorry, Bucky. It won’t happen again,” you mumbled, defeated and you rose to your feet, beginning to walk away.

“Wait, honey, don’t go--”

You froze, surprised by a sudden grip at your hand before you could take a step away from his bedside, and when your eyes shot back to his, he let go immediately, his cheeks flushing red as he began to laugh nervously. It was a kind of embarrassment you never expected to see in him.

“You don’t gotta apologize to me, doll,” he started, scratching at the back of his head.

“I can’t afford to make mistakes,” you retorted, voice a little more somber. “You can’t afford it either.”

“Then, make it up to me.”

You narrowed your eyes, fighting off the urge to yawn again. “What would you have me do?”

“Get some rest?” he asked sheepishly, scooting to the far edge of the tiny, twin size cot. He took up most of the space himself and you swore you may have seen him swallow nervously as he pulled down the covers, gesturing to the open space.

“No, I... I can’t,” you said flatly, though your heart was racing.

“You’re going to pass out where you stand and you said yourself you can’t afford to make more mistakes,” he argued gently. “Just a few hours. Then you’ll be good as new. No more dirty bandages.”

“Bucky, I...” you shook your head, stepping back and folding your arms over your chest. “I-- I have to look after these men. I can’t fall asleep. What if something happens?”

“I’ll wake you up,” he responded with a shrug. “I got my hours in. Anyone starts throwing a coughing fit, monitors start going haywire, I’ll let you know. I promise.”

“People will talk,” you whispered, excuses lined up but Bucky didn’t let them break his smile for even a moment.

“No one's around, sweetheart.”

“It’s inappropriate.”

“So is half my guys sleeping with your girls and yet...”

You laughed a bit at that, chewing on the edge of your lip, the rouge long faded of color. A heavy silence passed, a slight sway in your stance as your body fought tirelessly against the urge to close your eyes. Glancing down the rows of cots, it seemed quiet. Not a peep for hours and everyone was stable.

You turned back to Bucky. He was waiting patiently.

“You’ll wake me?”

You didn’t think it was possible for him to smile wider, but – God – it was blinding.

“Cross my heart.”

Stepping out of your shoes, you slowly made your way to the edge of his bed. You stared down at the open space and the slim line of mattress available to you. You must have taken too long because he started shifted a bit more to the edge, to the point where he was nearly falling off.

“Promise I’ll be a complete gentleman,” he chuckled lightly, cheeks pink and rosy. It was damn near impossible to say no to him when he looked at you like that, with a sincerity you hadn’t known since you left the States, draped under ocean blue.

“One hour,” you warned him as you slowly lowered yourself into the cot beside him. It squeaked as you let your weight fall to its uneven springs, the lumps evident against your back, the frame prominent through the thin cushion.

“One hour,” he agreed, giving you space as you rested your head against the pillow if you wanted it, though you heard his breath hitch as you tugged his arm down a little to lean against his shoulder, his right arm curling around your back to keep you steady on the bed.

Laying on your side, curled up next to him, you rested your left arm against his chest, tracing your fingers along the exposed lines of his stomach, the dip at his sternum, the scars littering smooth stretches of beautifully tanned skin. He shivered under your touch, his breath slightly uneven, though he didn’t say anything. His hold on you tightened as he suppressed a gasp under the bite of his teeth, like a reflex, pulling you tighter as his toes curled and his spine lightened.

“This okay?” you asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper and you watched as your breath touched his chest, goosebumps in its wake.

“Perfect, honey,” Bucky replied sweetly, his fingers drawing patterns along your back, tracing along the zipper of your dress and the seams in the shoulders. “Close your eyes, will you?”

A sleep heavy laugh pulled up at your cheeks, resting on his chest, as you let your hand fall flat against his stomach. You nodded, curling up as close against him as you could manage, losing yourself in the gentle waves of his touch along your spine.

“Thank you,” you whispered as your eyes began fluttering shut. You could hear the pulse of his heart beating gently under your ear, the steady rhythm lulling you a warm embrace. The slip of consciousness tugging you kindly to the ease of temporary darkness.

There was a slight touch on your forehead, something warm and sweet, lingering as your breaths became longer, steadier, drawn out and even; the heat of breath to your skin, the slight hum of a content sigh. A kiss as gentle and kind and tender as the man behind it.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[mingiswow]

Genre: smut, fluf at the end

Pair: sub!Chan x dom!reader (female)

Word count: +1,9k

Warnings: smut, sub!chan, dom!femreader, mistress kink, pegging, oral (f receiving), facesitting, slightly degradation, anal fingering (male receiving)

A/N: Hi! I don’t know exactly but I was talking to my friend the other day about Chan and OH GOD my mind went places... and ended up in here. So I hope you enjoy me being a filthy h**e about dominating this man. Also, I’m a bit rusty with English so pardon me if there’s anything wrong. I missed writing so much too, so yeah... here it is

You looked at your smiling boyfriend on the screen of your phone, his weekly live playing as you did your assignments. His bright smile was something you admired. As well as his loving persona towards his fans.

“I really love this song” he said as one of your favorites stopped playing. He always played one of your songs just to show you he remembers every song you claim as yours and his. “It’s very romantic” you laughed, knowing damn well that it was a very sensual song.

He scrolled through the comments, answering stays questions, thanking the compliments over the comeback. “I missed you... daddy” he read the comment, lowering his voice to say the word, but it was still possible to listen to his whisper “I missed you too baby stays” you chuckled to yourself, knowing his demeanor too damn well.

In a matter of seconds the internet was filled with videos, gifs and print screens of the phrase. Twitter going wild over it, thousands and thousands of girls commenting about being dominated by him.

You looked over your computer screen, it was past midnight and his live was still going strong, so you decided to let your assignments aside and prepare the bed for when your boyfriend decided it was time to come home.

It was around 2 PM when Chris opened the front door, his steps careful not to wake you up. He dropped his bag on the table and slowly walked to your room, finding the low light still on. “B-“ the words got stuck on his throat when he saw you sitting on the bed, still awake. Very much awake.

“Hi, sugar. I thought you wouldn’t come home today” the smirk on your face - and the toy in your hand - warned he was in for a long night. “Especially after your little show” you slowly walked over the man, his ears, neck and face getting red - and probably the tip of his cock too. “Why did you call yourself today, baby?”

“D-daddy” his voice just above a whisper, the stuttering getting the best of his confidence. Everytime you appeared near him dressed the way you were and with the whip in your hands he knew he did something wrong and was going to be punished. And he hated to admit that he loved.

“Interesting” Chan felt the familiar sting in his thigh, the muscle tensing underneath. “You think you’re daddy?” another sting, this time a soft whimper barely leaving his mouth.

“N-no” he felt your warmth close to his body and all he wanted was to hug you, to hold you close and apologize. But he couldn’t.

“No who?”

“No, mistress” the whip hit his butt this time, a soft moan escaping his lips and he could feel his dick throbbing underneath his sweats.

“Such a good boy, aren’t we? So obedient, so eager to please your mistress” your hands softly touched his toned abs, lowering to his bulge already very visible in his pants. He hissed as soon as he felt your touch, head thrown back in pleasure. “Always so sensitive. I love how my baby gets hard so fast. Who are you hard for?” this time your fingers wrapped around the volume and his lips left the most obscene moan.

“You, mistress. I’m so hard for you. Please let me give you pleasure” you wanted to just throw him in your bed and ride him until there was no tomorrow, but you had to punish him.

“Baby boy wants to give me pleasure?” he nodded eagerly, his lower lip stuck in between his teeth. “So why don’t you show me what those pretty lips of yours can do huh? Take your clothes off and lay in bed”.

Chan rushed his clothes out of his body, his dick springing free and hitting his stomach, a sigh leaving his lips. He laid his body in bed and you could see his chest that you loved so much rise up and down with his heavy breathing. You slowly walked your way to the bed, losing your lacy panties on the way.

You straddled his lap, grinding ever so slightly on his hard cock before moving upwards. “Be a good boy and put your tongue out” Chand gladly did, leaving the wet muscle on display. You gently sat on his face, your weight being held by your legs that almost gave out as soon as the boy gave your core the first lick. He placed his hands on your thighs, pulling you even more towards his face, a moan dying in your throat when he assaulted you needy clit. “Hm baby… that’s it… you’re doing so good for mistress”.

He quickly stopped his ministrations “I want you to cum on my mouth, mistress. Can I please taste you?” 

“Do you think you deserve it? Do you think I should give you what you want after being such a brat?” he moaned when you pulled his head closer to your pussy by his hair, the vibrations almost sending you to the edge.

“I’ll be a good boy, please. I promise I won't do it anymore. I’ll be mistress’ good baby” his voice was muffled by your skin and his needy tone was music to your ears. You loved when he begged. “So show me what you can do, make me cum” you could feel his smile in between your legs as he pulled you even closer to his, holding your legs like his life depended on it. His tongue was fast and skillful, almost rough against your pussy, alternating the pleasure between your entrance and your clit.

You could feel your orgasm building quickly as he kept playing with your clit, sucking the bud a few times. The moan that left your lips when you finally orgasmed sounded more like a groan and Chan licked your cum like you were his last meal, moaning with the taste of it. “Thank you, mistress” he thanked when you left his face, your juices dripping from his chin. The most beautiful sight you’ve seen.

“You made me cum but I still have to punish you, baby” Chan bit his lower lip when he saw you grab the strap and lube from your toys’ drawer. “Turn around sweetie” you came closer, lowering to his ear “I still wanna fuck your ass until you beg me to stop” you could see his dick twitch by your words.

The boy lifted himself, getting back to the bed, this time getting on fours. The soft and pale skin of his ass in display for you, the patch where you hit him with the whip earlier was still shining a pretty shade of pink, making you smirk to yourself.

You prepared yourself, putting the strap around your legs, the smaller dildo that was placed inside entering your pussy deliciously, making you enjoy the fun as much as the boy in front of you. Your hands caressed his ass cheeks, massaging and squeezing the skin, feeling him move his bottom towards you. “You have no idea how hot you are, baby boy” you landed a slap on his ass, a soft whine leaving his lips. “How delicious your body is” another slap. “How everytime I see you I want to grab you and fuck you senseless, make you whimper and scream my name like the little slut you are” his hips rolled themselves against your strap, his head hanging low. “You’d like that, don’t you?” Chan could only moan and whimper underneath you, his fists balled on the bed sheets. 

He hated to admit, but he loved the power you had on him, the way you made him feel every single time you guys had sex, either it was loving, caring and slow or it was dirty, rough and got him seeing stars. “I couldn’t hear you, princess” you added when you heard a mumble, his words barely forming properly with the anticipation. The tip of the dildo touching ever so gently his rim. “Yes, mistress. I’d love that. Please, fuck me, please” his whines where the cutest and he knew you were weak for them.

You smiled and lubed the dildo and your fingers as well. His breath got stuck on his throat when he felt you gently invade his hole with one of your fingers, stretching him little by little, soon adding a second one. Chan’s moans were music to your ears, getting louder by the time you started pumping your fingers in and out of him, his body coming back to meet with your fingers. “M-more… please… I need your cock so bad… I will be a good boy, please, mistress” you cooed at the way he was begging you. “So needy my princess” you took your fingers out and he hissed at the sudden emptiness but soon being filled by the toy, his body jolting forward but soon coming back to meet your hips, the dildo completely buried inside him. The sight before you making your own walls clench around the dildo inside you. 

Your hips slowly started to move, letting Chan get used to the feeling but soon enough your hips were pistoning inside him, his hips meeting yours halfway, your moans mixing deliciously together and you were sure your neighbours could hear everything perfectly but neither of you cared. “Mi-mistress…. agh…. I’m so close” the boy moaned underneath you, his torso already thrown in the bed, his head pressed on the pillow. “You can cum, baby. Come for your mistress, show me how of a dirty baby slut you are for me” your words combined with the fast motions of your hips made Chan come all over the sheets without even having his dick being touched. The sweet whimpers and moans leaving his lips taking you close too, the scene of him shaking underneath you with the tip of the dildo hitting his prostate over and over again, overstimulating him was a sight to behold and soon enough you came too, slowing your thrusts as you rolled your hips against the dildo inside you. Your hands holding yourself on his hips as you rode your orgasm.

Chan hissed when you left his ass empty, suddenly feeling strange with not having you deep inside him. You went to the bathroom, taking off your strap and leaving inside the sink to be cleaned later and cleaning yourself. You grabbed a wet warm towel and cleaned the wasted boy on the bed, soft giggles leaving him as you rubbed over some extra ticklish parts. You left the towel with the strap on the sink and joined your boyfriend on the bed, hugging him and pulling his body next to yours, his head laying on your naked chest while he mindlessly drew circles on the skin of your tummy. “I love you, Y/N” his voice was low and hoarse from the previous actions. “I love how comfortable you make me feel with my own desires. Thank you for being my girlfriend” he kissed the muscle of your breast and you could feel your heart swell at the sweetness. 

“I love you too, Channie” your lips left a kiss on the top of his head, hugging him closer. “And I’ll give everything you wish as long as you behave and be a good boy” he nodded giggling and kissed your lips. “Now go to sleep, princess, you must be tired” he snuggled against your body and soon he was fast asleep.

You played with his hair, a smile on your own lips as you fell asleep with the love of your life in your arms.

[tothemeadow]

For day 6, may I request Tengen 👀?

Hello! May I please ask for day 6 w tengen? Particularly the biting 👀 thank you!!!

Day 6: angry/hate fucking / hair pulling / biting

warnings: NSFW, slight degradation, spanking

words: 2,061

(a/n): art is not mine, female reader

What Tengen wants, Tengen gets.

There’s no room for argument. It’s pointless, really, since he can either chuck the person or scream in their face. There’s only two people that don’t fit into this category: Oyakata-sama, and you. Granted, he respects his leader with all of his being. But you, on the other hand, are as stubborn as it gets.

Frankly, you piss him off and vice versa. The two of butt heads on a regular basis; typically, when at a Pillar meeting, Gyomei or Kyojuro have to sit between you two. Sure, you get along with everyone else, but Tengen? Fat fucking chance.

He teases you relentlessly, trying at every chance he can to get a rise out of you. He finds it absolutely hilarious when your face scrunches into an angry expression. However, knowing that he finds enjoyment in this, you keep a stoic expression around him constantly. Every little jab gets turned away, every innuendo gets scoffed at. The stick up your ass needs to be pulled out, in his opinion. If he wanted to hang out with someone who’s a wet blanket, he’d stick around Giyuu.

So, how the two of you were put on a mission together, he has no fucking clue.

Traveling together is a big no-no. The two of you argued the entire time about every single thing: where to go, how to deal with the demon, what’s the game plan, etc. Which, in itself, yeah, a lot of people would argue over that. But, as it’s always the same case with you two, nothing can go smoothly.

“For the gods’ sakes, Uzui, let’s just find a hotel for the night,” you sigh, rolling your eyes. The lack of a proper formality with his surname makes his blood boil.

“And do what? Share a room with you? No thanks. I’ll pass.”

You click your tongue in irritation. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize your pussy ass wanted to stay outside all night. Suit yourself, meathead. I’m going to stay somewhere nice and dry.”

Tengen glances around at the surrounding buildings of the small town. It’s said that a demon is lurking outside its perimeters, settling in the woods between this town and the next. There’s still quite a bit of distance to travel, but you’re set on finding a place to stay for the night. Tengen mutters to himself, saying how positively infuriating you are, but he follows you nonetheless.

The hotel you find is a clean, one story building. Multiple lanterns fill up the lobby, cast a warm, welcoming glow on the little old lady sitting at the front table. Tengen watches as you step up to her, a pleasant smile on your face. For a split second, Tengen wonders if he could ever get you to smile at him like that. It’s a loss cause, but the hope is still there.

“Oh, is this your husband?” the elderly woman asks.

Tengen snaps to attention, his whole body going rigid.

You chuckle awkwardly. “Well, uh…”

Quickly stepping forward, Tengen relaxes and throws an arm over your shoulders. “I sure am, miss,” Tengen says, a charming smile spreading across his face. The elderly woman visibly swoons. “In fact, we’re on our honeymoon right now.” The elderly woman gasps in delight while you merely gawk up at him. Tengen turns to you with a mischievous smirk.

“Oh, my!” the elderly woman chirps. “Congratulations! What a fine groom you have, dear,” she says to you. “You two certainly make for an attractive couple.”

Tengen layers on the charm. “You think so? I must say thank you, miss. I truly am blessed to have such a beautiful woman in my life.”

You stiffen under his beefy arm. “That’s right,” you say awkwardly. “We just wed a few nights ago. We’re traveling somewhat before settling down.”

The elderly woman waves her small hands dismissively. “No need to explain, dear! I get it, you two want time alone.” She flashes you a sly smile. “Would you be interested in the honeymoon suite? It comes with a private hot spring.”

“We’ll take it,” Tengen quickly interjects before you can say anything. You send him a deathly stare.

Soon enough, the elderly woman guides you to the proper room and waves you off with a sweet goodnight. As soon as she disappears, you reel around, your fist slamming into Tengen’s arm.

“What the fuck was that?”

The pleasant smile Tengen wore (for the hostess, of course) rapidly fell. “You wanted to stay in a hotel, remember? Might as well get a room where we can sleep further apart.”

“Oh. My. Gods, Uzui! Are you blind? There’s only one futon!” you screech. “I am not sleeping with you!”

Tengen scoffs, a neatly groomed eyebrow cocking itself. “I’m sorry; didn’t you call me a pussy ass earlier for not wanting to do anything with you? Did I not just score us the best room in this entire hotel? And at a discount, if I may add.” He crosses his thick arms over his chest. “I’d be saying thank you, sweetheart. Sleep outside for all I care.”

You bristle at him. “You’re such an arrogant bastard. Gods, I could choke you right now.”

“I dare you.”

“Bite me, Uzui,” you snip. Turning away, you shrug your haori off and remove your blade from your hip. You set them off to the side, careful with how you handle them. Glancing over your shoulder, you notice how Tengen hasn’t moved. He hasn’t said anything in return, either. Oh well. You prefer him being silent any day.

“Stop calling me that,” Tengen murmurs.

You turn to him fully and raise your brows. “I’m sorry?”

“Stop calling me Uzui,” Tengen snarls.

“Oh, did I hurt your feelings?” you taunt. “Get over it, Uzui.”

Everything happens in a flash; one moment, you’re standing away from him; the next, you’re on the floor beneath him, your hands and knees digging into the tatami. Tengen’s thick fingers and tangled in your hair, forcibly yanking your head back. You blink frantically, wondering how the actual hell you ended up in this position.

“You wanna say that again, sweetheart?” Tengen growls. Leaning over your smaller frame, he presses his back into you, his crotch meeting your ass.

“Let me go,” you snap. “I’m not in the mood for this crap.” You yelp as Tengen pulls tighter on your hair.

“Apologize.”

“For what?” you spit. “It’s not my fault that you’re sensitive.”

“And it’s not my fault that you’re a raging bitch.”

You scoff underneath him. “Just- Fuck, just let me go, okay?” Although your mind is clearly wanting him to get off of you, your body is saying other things. You involuntarily shiver as Tengen brushes his lips against your ear.

“Call me crazy… But I think you like me being on you this way,” Tengen taunts. He quickly nips at your earlobe, eliciting a sharp inhale from you. “You want me, don’t you?” Tengen huffs a laugh. “At least your body does, anyway.”

You don’t have the heart to tell him no. And, if you’re being brutally honest, it’d be a lie. You cannot pretend that your back isn’t arching, your ass pushing against his crotch, the heavy pants coming from your mouth. It’s obvious to the two of you that you clearly want him. It’s only a matter of admitting it.

You bite your lip as Tengen pulls away. You force your nerves to steel themselves as a large hand caresses your ass through your hakama, the fingers drumming against the plump flesh. You should’ve have seen it coming, really – the sharp smack as his hand meets your asscheek harshly. You jolt with the movement, your palms brushing against the rough surface of the tatami.

“Count to ten,” Tengen says. His voice is icy, his usual playfulness completely gone. Your breath hitches in your throat as he spanks you again. “I said to count.”

“Fuck, okay,” you squeak. “O-one.”

He spanks you again. You jolt.

“Two…”

You try to keep your sounds to a minimum as he continues to bring a hand down on your ass. You force yourself to stay upright, no matter how bad the friction is burning your hands. You count along with each spank, your voice growing more and more hoarse with each number you speak.

“These damn things- Take them off,” Tengen spits. He frantically undoes your belt and pulls your hakama off, your tabi following straight after. He practically tears your undergarments into pieces as he rips them off, leaving you completely bare from the waist down. His hand caresses the same asscheek he spanked, his fingers kneading at the stinging flesh. “You ready to say my name yet, sweetheart?”

You keen as he grips on your hair once more; heat floods your lower belly, coils around your insides. A gasp leaves your lips as he presses your face and chest against the floor, your ass hanging in the air. Slick coats the insides of your thighs, and you know for a fact that Tengen’s staring straight at your pussy. A finger scoops up the slick covering your inner thigh and promptly pushes it back inside.

“You’re fucking soaking wet,” Tengen purrs. “Why won’t you look at that.”

He’s not a single ounce gentle as he thrusts his finger into you. Your cunt easily sucks him all the way to the second knuckle, causing the both of you to groan simultaneously. A second finger joins the first, then a third. His fingers fuck into you relentlessly, curling against your velvety walls and seeking out your most sensitive spot.

“Tengen,” you mewl, your hips shifting backwards. “That feels good.”

Tengen scoffs. “Funny how you only comply when your cunt’s stuffed with something.” You hear the shuffling of clothing, then something hard press against your slit. “Pathetic. You only want me for my cock, huh? Dirty whore. You should see yourself – your cunt is begging for me to fuck it.”

Gritting your teeth, you grind back against him. The head of his cock slips inside, replacing where his fingers used to be. A high-pitched whine fills the room; Tengen yanks on your hair even harder, pulling you off your hands and solely onto your knees. His cock drives in deeper, leaves you gasping and keening.

“Fuck, sweetheart, your dirty little pussy is so tight,” Tengen growls into your ear. “I’ll fuck it straight into your mind, you got it? My name is Tengen. It’s Tengen’s cock that’s stuffing you. Call me Uzui again and you won’t cum.”

“Oh gods, Tengen,” you moan, frantically reaching behind and grabbing onto any part of him you can find. You cry out as his teeth sinks into you neck; he fucks into you with a fast, merciless pace. Squeezing your eyes shut, you lose yourself in the feeling.

Your scalp burns, along with your neck. Tengen leaves marks up and down your neck, the imprint of his teeth feeling especially raw. The hand in your hair keeps you in place while the other slips between your legs, finding your clit and pinching it. Animalistic sounds erupt from your throat as he plays with you, fucks you with vigor, treats you like a personal chew toy. His name leaves your lips in a mantra. Everything is so hot and good and fuck his cock is pressing up against your cervix and you’re reaching cloud nine-

The knot inside your belly snaps. You cry out as you cum around his cock, your breath getting stuck in your throat. Tengen continues to fuck you through your orgasm, his own moans intermingling with yours. Soon enough, his thrusts turn erratic; he fucks into you messily, his pants reaching your ears. A sexy grunt of your name graces the air as he cums. A mixture of slick and cum spews out around his cock as he rides his orgasm out.

“Fuck,” he says as he finally pulls out. Sitting himself on the floor, he tugs you along so that you’re on his lap. He flicks damp strands of silvery hair from his forehead. “You good, sweetheart?”

Looking to him, you bite your lip. “You’re such an asshole, Tengen.” You loop your arms around his neck. “Take me to the hot spring.”

The corners of his mouth twitch into a smile. “Your wish is my command, sweetheart.”

[one-boring-person]

Okay so request~~~~

So at the end of last blood, he never stays at his ranch. He tells the aunt “Idk. I’ll move around, like always.” And then proceeds to destroy his home and land beyond repair, you know that story i wrote about picking up first blood rambo?? Well, change that to old man rambo!

What about him having rhat random chance meeting with someone like SR(from the one i wrote) and staying with them. How they take care of him without even knowing him, and how he has a chance to try out a new life away from war and what he was with someone who’s young and starting out on their own ambitions.

I could totally see him being introduced to SR’s friends as “oh, my new roommate!” And him telling SR all about vague war stories, they teach him to cook and cook him breakfast. Honestly just rambo being taken somewhere far away and nice and staying with someone who definitely has their own problems, but takes on the therapy by helping him instead.

Basically, SR is very very damaged and rambo can tell- but they’re so sweet and responsible, mature, and loyal. They take out emotions and pain through spreading love instead of war, he can’t let that go. Not now

(Hopefully that gives you ideas!!!)

I'm sorry this took so damn long for me to write, and I'm sorry that it's so bad, too, but I hope you like it in any case!😓😅

Life Goes On.

John Rambo (Rambo: Last Blood) x Named!OC (not mine)

Warnings: injury detail, death, blood

Masterlist

John's eyes are barely open as he sluggishly guides the horse beneath him further on, their surfaces dry and sore even as he blinks them. By now it's useless, the dust in the air having gotten into his corneas within the first hour of his long ride, irritating his scleras very quickly. Exhaustion has long since numbed out any pain he still feels, his eyes becoming the least of his worries as he gradually loses the sensation in his lower abdomen, where his more serious wound is bleeding profusely onto his shirt, still oozing even after fifteen hours of being left alone. He knows the blood flow isn't too bad anymore, as his hasty attempts to patch himself up have left him with a better chance of surviving, but his other wounds are slowly driving him to a comatose state. The veteran can't move his fingers properly, the digits clunky and uncoordinated as he tries to grip onto the reins, the blisters from the tough leather split and leaking as he struggles to do so. Nausea has settled into his head, his vision blurred as his strength slowly fails him - he's too old to have survived as he used to. Without his medication, John finds himself plagued constantly by flashes of past grief and sorrow, images of his dead team back in 'Nam flooding his conscience, accompanied by the beaten and bruised face of Gabrielle. 

Beneath him, the horse walks slowly, his thighs aching from the hours of riding, chafing sores lining them under the fabric of his trousers, his body slouched forwards in the saddle. Pity for the animal also gnaws at his mind, and he feels a pang of guilt as he realises that it's unlikely it will be able to carry him much further without any respite. It's head is drooped, steps slow and unsteady, panting breaths rushing from its throat in haggard bursts. If he had any energy, John would remove the tack from the horse and let it go, but he knows this isn't a plausible idea for him if he wants to survive. He owes it to Maria to survive.

His conscience starts to slip, just as the sun comes to its highest point in the sky, heat and dry air lulling him into a false sense of security as he feels his control leaving him. Unable to keep a grip on it, he succumbs to the darkness rising up in his vision, falling into it gratefully, needing the reprieve.

Vaguely, John seems to recall a car pulling up beside him, the door slamming closed as someone shouts to him, hands taking the reins from his. Gravity seems to take control, and John falls from the horse, landing heavily in the dirt, but he doesn't lie there long. Whoever has taken hold of the horse is swift to come to his aid, pulling him into their arms as they try to drag him back to their car. They're struggling, and he wants to fight back, to tell whoever it is to get lost, but he finds he can't, his throat too raw to even force a sound past, so he can only stay limp as they manhandle him into their vehicle, murmuring gently to him the entire time. 

It's at that point that he finally loses consciousness.

*

Agony floods John's body as he comes to again, drawing a hoarse groan from his scratchy throat as he jerks upwards, his instincts still ready for action even after all these years. Blearily, he blinks, hands scrambling to identify his surroundings, dull surprise dripping into his conscience as he finds a soft duvet and pillows on top of a comfortable mattress, warmth encompassing him. Frowning, the veteran pushes himself upright, ignoring the pain in his body as he does so, his hand going up to cup his wound instinctively. Shocked to find a clean dressing plastered over the ragged injury, John blinks again and takes a look around.

He's in a small room, laying on a bed in the centre, the domicile unfamiliar to him. Idly he wonders if maybe he's died and found some kind of afterlife, but a sharp stab of agony from his side eliminates this idea from his head in seconds. The room is quite comfortably decorated, designed to be cosy and close, whilst remaining roomy enough to allow for decent living space. A few photographs line the wall, accompanied by posters of movies he's never bothered to go see, having never really managed to overcome the triggers they often set off when he's not expecting them. 

Just as he goes to climb out of the bed, the door swings open, and an unfamiliar figure steps in, a first aid kit held in one hand as they juggle a bowl of water in the other. Instantly, John's on his feet, instincts taking over as he ignores the flare of agony that springs up in him as he swiftly moves over to the newcomer. In seconds, they find themselves pinned to the wall, a hand wrapped around their throat. Yelping in fear, they let go of the bowl and first aid kit, smaller hands coming up to grip his larger arm, eyes wide as they stare at him in shock, wincing as warm water splashes the two of them. 

It takes all John has not to crush their windpipe, his rational mind taking over the militant instinct as he keeps them in a threatening hold, the youth unable to move at all. A wave of nausea washes over him, and he falters, vision spinning wildly as he drops back a step, losing his grip on the newcomer as quickly as he secured it, the sudden disorientation throwing him off as he falls to the floor again. Grunting in pain, he lands heavily, the impact jarring his bones and muscles roughly. Recovering quickly, the newcomer drops down beside him, eyes widened in concern now, rather than fear.

"Are you alright?" They ask him, voice soft with worry, searching his face for any serious problem.

It takes him a moment, but eventually, John manages a response, his usually rough voice coarse and gravelly now.

"'M fine." 

They just scoff, hesitantly reaching out to help him back up again, heaving his heavy body onto the bed again. 

"You are far from fine." They point out, "What happened, you fight a war or something?"

He almost laughs.

"Something like that." John murmurs bitterly, leaning his head back against the headboard.

Shooting him an odd look, the newcomer goes and fetches the spilt bowl of water, sighing at the mess before they hold it up for him to see.

"I'm just gonna get some more water, then I'll patch you up again, that alright?" They ask him, looking somewhat cautious.

Suspicious, John watches them for a sign of deception. Finding none, he simply nods, knowing he can easily take them out if he needs to. They smile, going to leave the room, only to stop in the doorway and turn around.

"My name is SR, by the way." They introduce themself.

"John." He grunts in way of reply, watching as they nod and leave the room.

*

Two months have passed and he's no longer bedridden, the veteran able to move freely around the house, even though there's still a little residual pain, and the mental horrors he faces every night leave him drained with no reprieve. With no medication to help him, it's no surprise that John has relapsed into a familiar state of sullen silence and brooding, finding himself reminded of the things he'd rather forget every day, in everything he does and everything he sees.

SR is no exception to this: he has warmed up to them, and he somewhat trusts them, the youth having shown him more kindness than he has experienced since Maria and Gabrielle. Their only downfall is that they remind him a lot of his murdered niece, the two having very similar traits that very quickly sussed out. Childhood trauma has led them to becoming very determinedly driven and friendly, ambitious and confident in some aspects of life, whilst also noticeably damaged in other aspects, that he realises very quickly. Somehow, however, they always keep themselves afloat, and choose not to show any of the weight bearing down on their mind, as he knows it is, though he is also very swift to realise that their way of dealing with this pain is very simple; they work to make life better for others. It's visible in everything they do: cooking for him every day, caring for him in any way they can, doing their best to let him know he can trust them. 

At first, he had been somewhat cold and closed off to them, but they swiftly worked to help warm him up again, reawakening the more personable version of himself he managed to cultivate in his time on the ranch. It was nice to become a little lighter again, but his guard stayed up, and still is, though not as much as it was before. Vividly, he can remember the time he found himself trusting them further: when their friends had come over to catch up. 

Naturally, they'd all been surprised to find some nearly hostile ex-soldier residing in their friend's home, living his life out with them. As soon as they'd said something, however, SR had leapt in to defend him, and had inadvertently shown their care for him on a much greater scale than before, reminding John of what his life was like with Maria and Gabrielle. When their friends had then left, an hour or so later, he had stepped up to them and told them how thankful he was, feeling more cared for than he ever thought he would. 

Now, after weeks of being taught how to cook, and being cooked for, plus hours and hours of talking with each other as they helped each other to overcome past grief, he can very honestly say he is immensely grateful to be with them. They know more about him than he told himself he'd ever tell anyone, SR often listening with rapt attention to his war stories, eyes wide as they hear all of the harrowing details. He feels comfortable telling these tales, and they seem content to listen, so he appreciates them in whole new ways. 

And when he finally opens himself back up to physical contact, the embrace he receives from his excitable carer is only too worth it, the first smile in months gracing his lips as he does so. Life feels like it's turning on its axis again - for the better this time.

[peachyteabuck]

remember what you love like

summary: is a lunch date still a lunch date after you leave the restaurant?

a commission for @buckysbunny

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

words: 2,014

trigger warnings: allusions to compulsory heterosexuality, fingering, fluff, mentions of sexting

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Natasha’s hands are tangled in your forest green cardigan, one hand on the small of your back while the other is pressed into the back of your neck.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmurs when you pull away to gasp for breath, head spinning as a trail of spit connects your mouths in a sight you wish you could see in one of those giant oil paintings that draw large crowds to art museums. “My beautiful little Bunny.”

You preen under her praise, your own hands shaky as they find purchase in her hair, the beltloop of her jeans, anything you can grab as she pushes you into your apartment, pressing you against each and every surface she deems fit. Somewhere between your front door and the wall directly opposite said entrance you lose your cardigan and your shoes, clothes falling to the floor as you’re pushes down the hallway and, finally, onto your bed. You’d made it that morning hoping your lunch date wouldn’t end after you’d left the restaurant just as you had cleaned the rest of your apartment. In truth you’re not sure whether the frantic scrubbing and organization of your kitchen was to impress her or distract yourself for how nervous you were, considering you and Natasha have been dating for about three months now and hadn’t done more than cuddle and today, today of all days felt like the right to rectify that. The two of you had spent all night sexting after you’d sent her a picture of you in your new bra – a pale pink one that made your tits look exquisite. Things had only escalated, you shoving your hands down your pajama shorts to get yourself off at her direction.

So yeah, given all of that, you were decently confident that you would end up with her tongue down your throat and her hands groping at your tits – a thought that left you some weird mixture of overjoyed and frightened.

As your back hits your girly, patterned comforter your heart beats against your ribcage, each chamber trying to rip itself from the rest of the muscle just so that it can travel to each of your limbs and make them shake. Something – someone – is screaming in your ears, the high-pitched sound nearly loud enough to drown out the woman who’s crawled on top of you.  

Nearly.

“Hey,” Natasha coos, peppering small kisses along your face and jaw and neck as her center presses into yours. “Hey, Bunny-“

You finally meet her eyes when that pet name – her pet name for you - falls from her lips. Only then does she notice how terrified you look.

“You good, Bunny?” she asks, her own heart now picking up not because her fingertips are on fire and your skin feels just as hot. “Is everything okay?”

“I, uh-“ you struggle to find the words, wishing you kept your blanket-like cardigan on so you could hide in it. “I haven’t done this with uh,” you trying to swallow despite your dry mouth. “With women.”

Natasha exhales deeply, face visibly softening. It doesn’t feel like pity, though, which suppresses a tiny bit of your nervousness; the last thing you want is for the woman responsible for the menagerie in your stomach each time she texts you or says your name or worms her way into every passing thought to think of you as some sort of charity case.

“Oh, babes,” she places each hand flat on either side of your jaw, both thumbs rubbing soothingly into your heated cheeks. “You know I’m okay with that – right? I don’t want you any less just because you haven’t done with women before.”

You sniffle, trying to keep the tears that prick the corners of your eyes in their spot. “A-are you sure?”

Natasha nods, leaving a small kiss on the center of your forehead. “Of course I am, Bunny. I don’t care how many women you’ve had sex with.”

“E-even though I’ve had sex with guys?” your eyes are big and scared, petrified of rejection.

Natasha just smiles, pulling you closer to her. “Yes, Bunny. Your sexual history certainly doesn’t define you as a person and doesn’t change how I feel about you. Okay?”

You smile back, leaning into her arms as you sniffle once more. “O-okay.”

“Now,” she smiles as she pulls back, readjusting herself onto her side as you stay on your back.  “Where were we?”

And just like that – with fear quelled and uncomfortable twisting in your stomach now loose and simmering below your skin – she returns to her original mission, one that involves ghosting her fingers over your clothed chest before thumbing at the hem of your denim skirt. “You’re so cute, Bunny,” she murmurs. “Such an adorable little Bunny all for me…”

Natasha then pushes your skirt up to your stomach, keeping it in place with her forearm as she begins rubbing the two middle fingers of her right hand along your clothed slit. Your chest heaves as she grins down at your scrunched eyes, furrowed brow, and kiss-swollen lips.

“So beautiful,” she murmurs into your neck, teeth barely pressing into the bruises that deepen with each passing moment. “So good for me, Bunny…”

Lewd moans fall from your mouth as circles your clit, the adorable pink cotton panties you had specifically chosen that morning hoping and praying this would happen now completely soaked through. They’re rough against your sensitive, desperate clit – pussy pulsing around nothing as you buck your hips frantically.

“P-please,” you moan, voice nearly unrecognizable now. “P-please N-Nat!”

She presses a firm kiss to your lips, smiling as she moves her hands to rub at your pussy under your panties. The feeling of her hand there without anything between her skin and your is intoxicating – her fingers easily finding your clit once more. “Call me Mommy,” she murmurs, free hand pushing the sweaty hairs from your forehead. “Call me Mommy, sweet Bunny.”

“Mommy, oh fuck-“ you gasp, the feeling of her hands and the mention of that title you’d been discussing the night before shooting another bolt of lightning through your nervous system, hands bunch the sheets in your palms – your fingers nearly numb as all of your blood rushes to your core. “Oh fucking shit!”

For the first time in what feels like hours you find the courage to open your eyes – another moan deep in your chest filling the hot, thick air. You always wondered why people described being fucked as being consumed, as being the main course in a large meal presented to some rich, old-timey monarch after they return from visiting the more desolate parts of the territory they rule over.

Now, though, under Natasha’s heated gaze with three of her fingers stuffed inside of you while the other hand presses into your stomach – you feel like some prized pig slathered in glaze and placed onto an obnoxious silver platter with a whole apple placed into your waiting mouth as fruits and vegetables circle your flesh. If you had ever felt desired, it certainly didn’t match up to the fire in Natasha’s eyes as she devours each time you twitch, moan, beg for more.

“You sure you want more?” she purrs, fingers stroking that spot inside of you that makes your legs shake and eyes tear up once more. “Does my greedy little Bunny want her Mommy to give her more?”

You nod furiously, mouth barely able to keep up with your racing thoughts. “Yes, fuck Mommy please please please I want-“ you moan as she fucks into you harder, reveling in watching you fall apart. “Please I’ll take anything you want to give me Mommy please!”

Without further delay Natasha moves between your legs, maneuvering you so that one of her hands fucked in and out of you while the other circles your clit in hot, tight circles. Your eyes don’t know where to focus – on the sight on Natasha’s hands working you into some kind of putty or the woman herself, whose smug grin and furrowed brow are almost intimidating in their determination.

“M-mommy,” you gasp out, legs trying to shut themselves involuntarily, stopped only by the woman between your legs. Your toes curl, spine bending forward as the white-hot pleasure in your stomach curls itself tighter and tighter around itself. “Mommy, Mommy, I’m gonna, I’m gonna-!”

You come with a guttural moan you almost don’t recognize as yours – a sound so animalistic you wonder if Natasha had rewired your brain into some pre-human thing incapable of speech. It’s hot, so hot, and in your post-orgasmic bliss you wonder if life could get any better.

“How you feeling, Bunny?” Natasha asks, trying to find some signs of life behind your glazed-over eyes.

“So fucking good! I feel so good, Mommy!” you gasp out, mouth dry and lunges seemingly devoid of oxygen.

The woman above you just laughs, though, throws her beautiful head back and laughs and oh God – oh God you need to find it in you to tell her to stop doing that because you’ve only been dating for a few months and her beauty radiates with the power of the sun and you weren’t born with UV-protection in your retinas and if her light doesn’t burn you to a crisp first you think you’re going to fucking explode.

“I’m glad,” she tells you, running her now-wrinkled fingertips over the inside of your trembling thighs. Silence settles of you both as you feel your bones…vibrate? Or maybe that’s chest your heart again – the stupid thing incapable of handling this much joy and pleasure at the same time. It takes a long while for Natasha to speak again, not wanting to spook you in your fragile state. “Hey Bunny?” she asks, watching to make sure you’d heard her. “I’m gonna get you some water, okay?”

You give her a small “okay,” body still as she climbs off your bed.

You’re boneless – inert as you lay there with your arms flat at your sides and your legs in the same bent position Natasha had left them in before she had oh-so meanly abandoned you. Just as before, your chest rises and falls as if a forty-pound weight was pressing into it – each inhale painful and a struggle with the exhales happening all too quickly. It’s unfamiliar, being so satiated. Being with men had left you feeling fine, maybe a little out of breath, but with Natasha? God, you wouldn’t be able to move if the fire alarms went off; you’d just lay here, vision fuzzy around the edges as the smell of smoke came through the air vents. (Then again, given the state of Natasha’s arms, you think she’d be able to carry you out of your apartment building just fine.)

She returns – just as she said she would – with a mug of cold water that she holds as if it was priceless and not something you thrifted for less than a dollar when you had moved from your last apartment.  

“Thanks,” you croak as she hands it to you, watching as you sit up and wince ever so slightly as your sensitive pussy presses into the sheets. You’ll need to change them – and soon – but somehow that feels like an impossible task as you gulp down what, in your state, tastes closer to ambrosia than the shit in your Brita. When you’re finished Natasha takes the now empty mug from you, placing it on your nightstand before hugging you to her chest and pushing you back until you hit the sheets once more, lying down next to you and throwing her arm around your waist.

“You good, Bunny?” she asks again, a part of her always worried about you no matter how much euphoria pooled in your veins.

You nod as you curl into her side, leaving a kiss on her collarbone as you listen to her heartrate slow as it returns its resting pace. It’s calming, that combined with the feeling of her fingers twirling in your mused hair lulling you into the deepest sleep you’ve had in weeks.  

[hotchseyebrows]

now i scan the sky for snow

a penelope garcia x emily prentiss fic

a/n: my very first fic!! woooooooooooo!! thank you for giving it a read and heres to many more :)))

written to fill the prompt "31 (quiet) + seeing your breath, a ship of your choice" from @derekmorqan (better late than never, eh jay?)

read it here on ao3!!

It's January in Boise and Penelope doesn't have any gloves. But her nails definitely match the monochrome purple look of the day, so can you really blame her?

word count: 1561

“Prentiss, when did Hotch go get the car?” Penelope’s voice is muffled from where she’s blowing hot air into her ungloved hands. 

 

Emily glances at her phone. “It’s only been 2 minutes.” In a practiced dad move, Hotch decided to make the trek through the flurries of snow to the SUV alone, citing Penelope’s tall heels and the potential for black ice in the parking garage, leaving Emily and Penelope standing outside of their Boise hotel. Earlier, Emily and Hotch stayed behind with Penelope to help her pack up stray gear and cords from her set up in the local precinct while the others got a head start on cleaning up their hotel rooms. By the time the trio got back to the hotel themselves, Rossi had already started the drive to the airport with Reid, Morgan, and JJ, all of them happy to be heading home after a rough case. 

Penelope makes a small huff before wrapping both of her arms around her stomach. The puff of air floats upward, creating a small cloud in between them before dissipating. “Why don’t you have gloves anyway, Garcia? It’s January and we’re in the middle of Idaho.”

 

Penelope crinkles her nose a little as she sticks her tongue out at Emily. “But my nails are so cute and gloves would cover them!” She’s right, her nails are a sparkly purple that coordinates well with the sparkly purple beanie on her head and the deep purple lipstick that Emily can’t stop staring at when she talks. 

 

“You forgot them in your bat cave before we got on the jet, huh?”

 

The pink flush on Penelope’s cheeks from the cold turns much more scarlet. “I’m not used to winter prep for a go-bag, let alone maintaining a go-bag at all!”

 

Emily chuckles, privately memorizing the contrast of the rosy flush and her purple lips and how shiny her eyes are behind the large purple hexagon glasses. “Do you want to wait in the lobby?” Surprisingly, Penelope shakes her head even as she visibly shivers underneath her puffy coat.

 

“The snow is so pretty out here. And it’s so quiet, like there’s no one else in the world.” She tilts her head up, eyes closed for a moment as she sticks her tongue to catch some flurries. After a beat, her eyes open and she looks at Emily with joy dancing in her gaze. “Come on Emily, have fun with me.”

 

“I always have fun with you, Penelope,” she says too honestly. Penelope sees something in her face that makes her pause and they stand in silence. The snow falls gently and the puffs of their breath mingle in the space between them.

 

Emily tells herself she’s watching their breath and the snow simultaneously but her eyes remain fixed only on Penelope. Without giving it too much thought, she pulls off her gloves and hands them to her. “Your hands are still shaking,” she says in answer to the silent question in the tilt of Penelope’s head.

 

“But now you’ll be cold.”

 

Emily shrugs. But that isn’t good enough for Penelope, who hands back the left glove before pulling the right one on herself. “Penelope, I don’t need-”

 

“Oh no, I won’t hear it, we can share or you can have them both back.” It’s moments like this that make Emily’s heart skip a few beats. Penelope’s effortless kindness is currently a stubborn glint in her eyes and Emily knows better than to argue. She makes a small production out of acquiescing, pulling the glove on with a dramatic sigh. Penelope laughs, the sound bright and warm as it bounces through the cold quiet air. It’s the best sound in the world.

 

Emily can’t help but smile in response. Snow is lightly covering the puffy sleeves of Penelope’s coat and creating its own set of sparkles on the purple beanie. She uses the gloved hand to brush the shoulders clean. Penelope’s gaze on her face is a warm and tangible thing somehow, and suddenly her face feels incredibly hot. Her hand comes to a rest, lightly gripping her upper arm. “Um. Is your- is your other hand still cold?”

 

Penelope nods. Emily nods back, flexing her own ungloved hand. She extends it palm up towards Penelope. “For warmth,” Emily says, voice not as shaky as she feels all of a sudden.

 

Penelope blinks twice, before slipping her hand into Emily’s without a word. They both stare at their joined hands until Penelope twists her hand, interlocking their fingers. Emily’s whole arm crackles with a low flame, warmth billowing up the limb and spreading through her torso. In pursuit of that warmth, Emily takes a step closer. The only sound she can hear is the mixed sounds of their breathing. She glances down to watch the breath leave Penelope’s purple lips into the cold air and can’t tear her eyes away. Penelope’s fingers twitch and then tighten in Emily’s grip. Glancing up to take in her whole face, Emily is sucked in by the openness of her expression- the way the cold has made her glow, the way her eyes are gazing back into Emily’s with softness and hesitation all at once, the way the warmth of her exhales slightly fog up her glasses, the way snowflakes land on her eyelashes and her nose and her hair and the swell of her cheeks and slowly become beads of water- and opens her own mouth because she has to say something, right?

 

“Penelope, I-”

 

Just then, Hotch pulls up next to them. The hum of the engine is like a crack in the perfect stillness of the moment and Emily jumps back slightly from the surprise. Their hands, still entangled, drop out of his line of sight. Penelope circles her thumb on Emily’s skin once, twice, and then a third time before letting go. Emily shivers, but she knows this time it isn’t from the cold.

 

Hotch gets out of the car to help with the bags, and Emily manages to fully tear her attention away from Penelope. Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she sees it has been a little longer than she would have expected, even accounting for the car being on the 4th floor of the parking garage and the elevator being completely out of order.

 

“What took you so long, Hotch?” She’s half joking, mostly looking to listen to something over her own pounding heart. But he blushes in response, a similar color to Penelope’s pretty flush from slight embarrassment just minutes earlier. It makes her stop and really look at him. He’s limping the tiniest bit, and the back of his coat looks slightly damp. Emily bites her lip, debating if she should say something more. Penelope, however, has no such debate.

 

“Oh! Bossman! Did you fall?” She waddles over on her heels, careful not to slip herself. “Are you ok?”

 

He clears his throat before leaning down and picking up the two largest of their bags. “I’m fine.” The signature Hotch glare is back in full force, but she knows he’s a little embarrassed. His cheeks haven’t lost all of the red flush yet and he won’t quite meet their eyes. Instead, he stows the suitcases in the back of the SUV before grabbing two more. 

 

They glance at each other, attempting to hide a smile. He notices, because of course he does, but that just sends them both into actual laughter. After a moment, he starts to laugh too. They all climb into the car, Emily holding the passenger seat door open for Penelope and offering a hand (that is very enthusiastically taken) to help her into the car. As he puts the car in drive and the laughter fully dies out, he says “I told you I was worried about black ice.”

 

It makes Penelope laugh all over again, but Emily just watches her from her seat behind Hotch. Her beanie is still firmly on her head and the remaining bits of snow all over her are melting in the heat from the car. Emily flexes her ungloved hand again, arm still feeling tingly. Penelope sees her do it in the rearview mirror, and blushes again. Their eyes meet, and they share soft secretive smiles. If Derek hasn’t saved Penelope a seat and if Spencer isn’t taking up the whole couch again, maybe I’ll try to discreetly sit next to her on the couch. Just in case her hands are still cold. 

 

Penelope only breaks their stare when Hotch asks her something about some budget maneuvering for new computer nonsense. She responds to him with her signature enthusiasm, and Emily settles back into her seat, knowing this conversation will probably last until they get to the airport. She’s content to only half listen and instead enjoy watching Penelope be incredibly smart and passionate. She keeps glancing back at her in the rearview mirror, but Emily doesn’t mind that Penelope knows she’s staring. Her mind drifts off as she watches Penelope’s mouth move as she speaks. She thinks about how close she was doing something reckless. She’s still close to doing something reckless if she’s being completely honest. Somehow though, she doesn’t think she’s the only one. The snow is still falling, and it’s still the middle of winter in Idaho. Yet, Emily Prentiss has never felt so warm.