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coffearabica · 2 years ago

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Bae, there is this one sentence that stuck with me for some reason but I can't seem to think of any good story to use it in rn. So, maybe u would think of sth?

"Just because you CAN (do it all by yourself), doesn't mean you HAVE TO."

Cue exasperation, lol.

babes i woke up early to work, saw this, and my plans did a rapid 180. wrote it too quickly so pls don’t expect much. and thank you sm for this!! i really need to write but i don’t know what and this helped a ton🫶

—

You didn’t know the extent of it, then again he made sure of that.

Xavier could never hide his emotions. If there was one thing he disliked more than Wednesday herself, it was her ability to do just that. Because she seemed to have no qualms about accusing him of murder while he was left spiraling.

It was easy to pick up on his negative mood. He was unsteady, his knee shaking, his empty fingers shifting as though he had a pen creating unseeable art. You couldn’t ask him about it though, because another thing about Xavier was he didn’t like to burden you.

Especially not with murder.

It’d gone on for days - each new sunrise met with a darker version of your boyfriend. He no loger smiled at you, he seemed to have adopted a permanent frown and canyon between his brows. He didn’t speak to you much either, but his silence spoke volumes. And this was only when you saw him, because he’d also disappeared. Even Ajax was growing concerned.

“Hey.” He approached you just before Botany let out, his hands shoved deep in his pockets and beanie pulled down lower than usual.

“Hi,” you smiled at him.

“Have you seen Xavier lately?”

“Uhm, no not really.”

“Oh,” he visibly deflates, “something’s wrong with him. He hasn’t even been showing up to-” he pauses, wryly looks around and leans in to whisper, “the meetings.”

“Yeah, I know. He’s dealing with some stuff.” You try to keep the bitterness out of your tone, feeling ashamed for not knowing the specifics. He wouldn’t even give you a chance to ask.

“This Hyde stuff as been really messing with him.”

That gets you to pause. You don’t hear anymore of what Ajax is saying, instead determination fills your blood stream and your shouldering your bag just as class is dismissed and pushing out a half-assed apology to him as you rush off.

The woods seemed to get denser anytime you walked through them, especially when Xavier wasn’t around. The sky was gloomier and open spaces smaller but you’d made it through in record time. His art shed stood as it always did, a bit battered, unimportant looking to the plain eye. But you knew his space, and you knew him.

You didn’t do your knock, a specific one to let him know it was you. You twisted the knob and barged right in.

“What the hell.” He scowls, dropping his paintbrush and turning to face you with nothing but malice. It took him a moment to register that it was you, the hard edge to his voice fell away, his shoulders relaxed and he was back to frowning, “What’re you doing here?”

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Xavier. Tell me what has you holing yourself way from everyone.”

He bends down to pick up his brush, “Nothings wrong.”

“Something must be! You wont talk to me, you won’t see me, and now you won’t even look at me! Your friends are worried about you, I’m worried about you, okay?”

His shoulders tense and with his back turned to you you don’t see his lips pursing and eyes welling with tears.

“Is it really that bad? Because if it is and you don’t want to talk to me about it, fine. But at least talk to someone. You can’t keep pushing people away and hiding in your shed as if no one gives a-”

“Just stop.” He says through gritted teeth.

“No, Xavier, no more of that silent torture bullshit. I’m your girlfriend, I’m supposed to be here for you. You’d never let me get away with not telling you so I’m done letting you.”

When he doesn’t respond, or move, you start to think you went too far. That maybe he just wasn’t ready and you’d barged into his space like an asshole demanding answers. But then you hear the shuddering breaths that give way to an almost inaudible sob.

Your bag hits the floor with a thud and Xavier turns just as you reach him. His arms loop around your waist and pulls you plush against him as he hides in the crook of your neck. Drops of tears hit your skin and his shoulders shake beneath your arms. His skin is oddly warm and hair a tangled mess that your fingers barely get through, but you only hold him tighter.

“It’s okay, baby.” You whisper.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. It’s unsteady, much like him. Everything seems to come out in that moment, like the knots holding everything in had loosened just enough and it all came tumbling. It takes a while before he calms down. His shaking shoulders reduce to lengthy breaths and when you’re sure he’s gotten it all out you try to pull back.

Except he doesn’t let you, he anchors you to himself and drops a soft kiss on your shoulder. “I’m sorry.” He says again.

“What’s wrong, Xavier?”

It takes a moment before he tells you, and it takes an even tighter squeeze to quell the anger he feels swelling inside you when he does. “It just got too much. And with the visions - I didn’t want to close my eyes and I knew that if I saw you I’d…” he trails off and it’s your turn to tighten your arms around him,

“I wish you’d come to me sooner.”

“I didn’t want to burden you.”

“You’re never a burden to me, xav.”

“Still, it’s a lot and I didn’t want anyone else to have to deal with it.”

When you pull back this time he lets you, his face blotchy and eyes still shiny with tears. His cheeks redden and he tries to duck his head back to your shoulder but you grab his face and swipe your thumbs under his eyes.

“You shouldn’t deal with it alone. That’s too much.” He tries to open his mouth but you kiss him before he can, its quick - just to keep him quiet so you can speak, “Just because you can, doesn’t mean you have to. Especially not when you have me.”

You look into his eyes, hoping he sees how serious you are. Because it hurt to feel like you lost him.

You pull him in to kiss him again, this time it’s longer, slower, and full of everything unsaid in the past week. With your hands you tilt his head, deepening the kiss and without prompting him to xavier opens his mouth.

His hands begin moving, up and down your back and crushing your chest to his. They skim over your waist, his fingers briefly digging into the skin there. He lowers them, tugging at your hips until you’re gasping for air. He doesn’t relent, he trails kisses along your neck as you gently pull on his hair.

“Thank you.” he whispers between his sloppy kisses.

“Come to me next time.” You say it firmly, even with your eyes closed in bliss. “Promise me.”

He picks his head up, looking down at you with tender eyes. The space between them is no longer creased and the added pink to his face makes him look much brighter than he’d looked all week.

“I promise.” he says.

“Good.” You tug him low, kissing his forehead first, then his nose, under each of his eyes, and his chin. His eyes are closed, anticipating the next spot and when you touch your lips to his again, for a moment, the horrors of his week are forgotten.

#xavier thorpe #xavier x reader #xavier thorpe oneshot #xavier thorpe imagine

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n0bamak1s · 3 years ago

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clueless - maki zenin x reader

request: “I was thinking Maki Zenin x Fem reader where y/n is really intimidated by Maki and has avoided her since they first met each other. Despite that, they both have feelings for each other and after a while Maki gets annoyed with y/n and confronts her to figure out why she keeps avoiding Maki. And then the reader accidentally confesses and says something like “how could I not feel intimidated by someone so hot!?”” - @wh0legrain

summary: it’s difficult for you to read maki’s intent when she tries to become more approachable to you, which throws of your plan of trying to avoid her at all costs. alternatively titled: maki zenin is terrible at flirting (genre: fluff, attempt at humor, idiots to lovers)

warnings: like one or two swear words, mentions of bruises/scrapes from training

word count: 2.6k

a/n: i honestly had so much fun with the dynamic between maki and reader here! i love the idea that maki would have no idea how to flirt lmao

“don’t look now, but she’s looking at you again.” panda, your current sparring partner, peered at her over your shoulder as you got into a fighting position. of course, out of curiosity you immediately turned around, and unluckily for your own ego, you made direct eye contact with maki. she seemed to have no intent of backing down from your impromptu staring contest, intense black eyes remaining on you, and had you not been so focused on trying to figure out what had caused this sudden interest in you, you’d have noticed the amused glint in her eyes.

did she really have no shame in being caught staring at you?

before giving yourself any more time to process her expression, you whipped your head back around to face panda. at least you were able to take note of the amusement on his face.

“i don’t get why she keeps glaring at me.” you huffed annoyedly, still feeling her gaze burn into the back of your head. shouldn’t she be busy sparring with inumaki? “if it’s about that one time i borrowed her uniform skirt because mine was in the wash, she should be more mad about inumaki and gojo taking it every time she’s on a mission to try it on.”

panda had a shocked expression on his face, as if to ask why the hell you knew about the boys prancing around in the girl’s skirts whenever the opportunity arose, but it was quickly wiped off to be replaced by a knowing sort of smile.

“no, i doubt that’s why.” his voice rang with the sing-songy sound of knowing something you didn’t, but you simply chose to raise an annoyed eyebrow at his annoying little game rather than question him.

even as you ran at him, fists raised defensively, you swore you could still feel a pair of sleek eyes trailing your movements. you slid to dodge panda’s swing at you, leaving a layer of dirt on the hem of your shorts. despite succeeding in avoiding sparring with maki, which admittedly sounded absolutely brutal, you felt extremely ungrateful for panda’s strength as he lifted you up by the wrist. somehow he managed to end up with you flipped onto your back, despite your best efforts to sweep his legs out from under him. if losing to a literal panda in a fight wasn’t embarrassing enough, it didn’t help that this was the moment maki had decided to suddenly start paying attention to you, a fact you became acutely aware of as she hovered over you, her figure shadowed by the sun behind you.

“you okay?” she cocked an eyebrow, extending a hand to pull you to your feet, making you suddenly conscious of how her legs were positioned on either side of you, so you laid beneath her. when you were unable to sputter out a response, she sighed softly, leaning down so she knelt with her knees resting on the dirt on either side of your thighs. a hand waves in front of your face, and makis brows furrow slightly. “did you hit your head or something because of that idiot?” she cocked a thumb at your sparring partner.

something about her sudden proximity seemed to shock you out of your distracted daze, making you push yourself up so you held yourself by palms flat on the ground. taking note of how close your face was to hers, the corners of her mouth turned up in a smirk, her lips parting slightly to show her teeth. you weren’t even sure if she was aware of the fact that she was smiling right now, or the effect she was having on your already embarrassed state as she leaned over you, her figure shadowing yours.

why was she so intent on making fun of you?

“i’m fine!” you managed to blurt out, pulling your knees close to you to escape the compromising position she’d put the both of you in.

her eyes remained playfully narrowed and her lips turned up, but as she opened her mouth to say something, you practically sprung up from the ground as if you weren’t bruised and tired from fighting, turning on your heel to go back to panda. you flashed an awkwardly apologetic smile, before shrouding yourself in panda’s shadow.

you found yourself grateful for the shadow panda cast on you, as it shielded your eyes from the sun, and the glare you knew was inevitably resting behind maki’s glasses.

the four of you remained sparring until the first glimpse of heavy gray clouds masqueraded the blistering sun. you helped panda up from where he’d laid on the ground, spotting out of the corner of your eye none other than gojo, who looked almost comical inspecting the state of the sky with his usual dopey smile while still adorning his iconic blindfold. had you not known any better, you’d say he looked like a complete idiot.

on the other hand, maki, who did know better, seemed to have no problem stating that he did, in fact, look like a complete idiot.

“so are you just gonna stand there all day, moron? or do you actually have something important to say for once.” maki crossed her arms over her chest, making her jacket taut over her muscles, catching your attention for the briefest of moments. you quickly averted your eyes back to gojo in hopes of not being caught staring as she had earlier, as if you were a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. though you couldn’t see gojos eyes, you could sense a sort of mischief from him as he smiled at you. was today just some weird holiday where people stared at you for no reason that no one had informed you about?

“you guys seem to have the sky on your side today.” gojo smiled widely as his gaze flickered between the four of you lined up in front of him. “since it seems to be about to rain, you guys can get off a little early today, just go clean up in the bathrooms if you need to.” he waved his hands at you all, in a motion that seemed to be shooing you away.

you begin to feel the beginnings of drizzling rain hitting the tip of your nose, and the top of your head, and take that as your cue to leave. letting out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding in, you unzipped and shrugged off your hoodie, throwing it over your shoulder as you turned towards the heavy doors of the school building. you’d only gotten a couple steps closer than you’d been before you heard the familiar sound of your name, called from the less familiar source that was maki zenin.

“wait up!” she called, taking long strides to catch up to you. “if we’re cleaning up now, i’ll come with you and i can help you if you got scraped or anything.” her hand rubbed the back of her neck, and a soft smile cracked onto her lips, egging you on to respond.

you furrowed your brows slightly. she had never bothered to help you out like this before, so what made it different. “i think i’ll be fine.” you hoped your embarrassment at the idea of the situation didn’t show on your face.

“tch, it’s not like i’m planning to kill you in there or anything.” honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if she had been. “it’ll just be weird if we’re both patching ourselves up in silence when there’s clearly a more efficient way to do it.”

screw her for always being correct.

you nodded your head in agreement in a way that was comically defeated. she motioned for you to follow her, and so you trailed behind her like a lost puppy.

though you had no way to prove it, you could’ve sworn that gojo winked at you from underneath his blindfold as you passed him.

the two of you walked in silence that seemed comfortable for you, but maki seemed clearly impatient.

“i wanted to check on you and ask if you were alright.” she broke the silence, pulling off her rain stained glasses to wipe them on the edge of her shorts. “you seemed really frazzled earlier, so if you hit your head or something we can take you to shoko, i wouldn’t want you to get seriously hurt or something.”

you were somewhat surprised by her words, but feigned indifference as you smiled reassuringly. “i’m fine, was just kinda lost in my thoughts earlier. guess you kinda just caught me off guard.” you were telling the truth, so why did it feel as if you were lying straight through your teeth?

as she swung open the girls bathroom door, she gave you an incredulous look, as if she was trying to recall the events of the day that could have made you so tense. you hoisted yourself up to sit on the sink, leaning back with a sigh of relief from finally relaxing your muscles. maki grabbed the small first aid kit, positioning herself to stand between your legs,a position that was oddly reminiscent of when you’d been on the field earlier. she caught your wrist in your hand, causing you to jump slightly as her eyes scanned your forearm, riddled with some bruises from training, but nothing that really needed cleaning.

“what could i have possibly done to catch you off guard?” her words sounded concerned, but contrasted the teasing smile playing at her lips. under the fluorescent lights, you could make out the flush tinted on her cheeks from being outside all day, as if she’d been kissed by the sun herself.

suddenly you felt very shy, twiddling with your thumbs in your lap, and willing your eyes anywhere but where they’d meet maki’s. to her, your current flustered state was an amusing contrast to how you were when fighting curses, your usual confident and strong willed demeanor had been replaced with the attitude of a bashful school girl. still, you knew you’d have to be confrontational in this moment.

“please stop teasing me, maki.” you looked her dead in the eyes, wiping the amusement from her face, and swapping it with a mixture of shock and worry.

“i’m not making fun of you.” she shook her head, her already pink dusted cheeks turning more red. “what makes you think I am?”

you chucked humourlessly. “well if the glaring at me wasn’t enough, you seem to keep trying to embarrass me. if it’s because of that time i borrowed your skirt without telling you, i really am sorry, but stop trying to make fun of me.”

“when did you borrow my skirt? i always just assume it’s the boys being idiots. you can borrow my skirt anytime you want.” you wished you could be mad at her for her nonchalance. “besides, YOU’RE the one who’s always avoiding me, panda told me i should try to be more approachable, so i thought eye contact might help.” she shrugged exasperatedly, placing her hands flat on sink, resting on either side of your thighs.

“well, you don’t exactly have the most approachable face when you’re making ‘eye contact.’ you had me thinking you were plotting my downfall in your head or something.” she stifled a laugh at your overdramatization. “it was totally intimidating.”

“oh?” her smile was dopey, one that only you would be flustered by. “does that mean i make you nervous?” her voice was hushed as she tilted her head downwards toward you, looking satisfied with herself.

“well you’re gonna make anyone nervous if you’re sending them death glares one second and offering to clean their wounds the next.”

her only response was a laugh as she buried her face in her hands. it wasn’t a mean laugh, not one directed at you, more so just her laughing at what idiots the both of you were being.

“you really thought i hated you?” her words were spaced apart by involuntary giggles, her mouth was stretched into a wide grin, almost like one from gojo. “man, i thought i was so obvious!” she turned to hoist herself next to you on the sink, leaning her head on your shoulder as her whole body shook from laughter.

you said nothing in response, just processing if this moment was real. you’d hardly seen maki smile before today, let alone laugh.

“you mean to tell me you’ve spent all this time avoiding me because you thought i hated you?” admittedly, when she repeated it back to you after her outburst of laughter, it did sound rather ridiculous. but to be fair, she should’ve considered the possibility before her sorry attempt to be more approachable.

“it’s not my fault you scare the crap out of me, i mean, how could i not be intimidated by someone so hot!” your mouth moves faster than your brain, and she lifts her head from your shoulder, making you hyper aware of both your words and your sudden proximity to her face.

shit.

your eyes are wide as saucers as you stare at her, convinced that, like a dinosaur, if you don’t move, she won’t even notice you’re there. much to your dread, she smiles yet again (seriously, today alone make up a solid 90% of the times you’d ever seen her smile.)

“you’re such a dumbass, you know?” you can hear the laughter threatening to bubble up in her voice. you wish you could come up with a clever comeback, but you just stared back, moth gaping like a fish out of water. “the reason i was asking panda for advice was because i like you. in hindsight, i suppose he’s probably not the most reliable when it comes to relationship advice.”

“all you really got out of following his advice was making a fool out of me.” you looked down at your feet. “but i guess i kind of did that myself anyways.”

“don’t beat yourself up about it. it’s cute.” she leaned forward so she was in your peripheral, willing you to look at her. “plus if you weren’t such an idiot, i’d have to keep sending you ‘death glares’, as you like to call them, to get your attention.” she chuckled, and you lifted your hand to shove her playfully, before she caught your wrist effortlessly, tugging slightly so you could feel her breath fan on your face.

once again, your mouth moved before you had time to think. “maki...can i kiss you?” you’d taken note of how her eyes darted between your eyes and your lips.

it was her turn to be bashful now. she nodded slowly, her eyes half lidded, as she dared to close the small amount of distance between the both of you. without second thought, you press your lips to hers tenderly, letting your arms loop around her neck, hands meeting between her shoulder blades. her eyelashes tickle your face as they flutter closed, with her hands balancing her, palms flat on the sink counter. the pitter pattering sound of rain from outside echoed in you ears.

the kiss is messy and awkward, but in that moment, you felt on top of the world, smiling into it without a care in the world as your fingers played with the ends of her ponytail. you break away reluctantly for air, taking in the dopey smile on her face, and the way her hands reached to grab yours to hold in her own, rubbing small circles in the back of your hand with her calloused thumb. her breathing is soft and steady, clearly still readjusting after your kiss. wordlessly, she leans forward to rest her head on your shoulder, so you can feel her breath hit the crook of your neck, making your breath hitch in your throat.

“thank god you’re such an idiot.”

#maki zenin x reader #maki zenin x you #maki x reader #zenin maki x reader #maki zenin x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk imagines #maki zenin imagine #maki zenin #zenin maki

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pretty-face-breaker · 3 years ago

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So Eager, Little Soldier

My hiatus is over and I am back with my favourite, tragic POW Emir!

CW. Post-televised propaganda interview, captivity, forced to strip, beating, boot-licking, creepy whumper, sadistic abuse of military power, suggestive themes

—

“Put on the uniform, Suleiman.”

Emir could only hear faint ringing. He hadn’t processed the first time, either. Since the blinking camera light had flickered off, he hadn’t heard much at all.

Pavel scoffed, kicking down his legs. “Nobody but us, pretty Airman. Come on, put on a show.”

Right. Nobody but them, again. If he was being honest, there had been a twisted knot of comfort in his stomach when the light had been on, when the eyes of the world had raked him up and down, taking down his condition. If not on paper, then at least in memory.

“I… I don’t-...”

“Be thankful that the camera is off,” General Levkin chimed in with his low, threatening drawl, “for now.”

He could feel his fingernails sinking into his thighs, right over the flight suit. He wished he could suck out some of the olive drab as his stomach began to churn. The Russian uniform’s glare became increasingly malevolent. But one look at the glistening button and Emir’s hands began to move on their own volition.

Pavel watched the motions with a growing leer. “There we go. One arm, then the other. Not too difficult, eh?”

Emir thought his stomach would soon betray him. As soon as the olive fabric touched his bare skin, he shivered but pulled it on, taking his time with the buttons even as Pavel’s wolfish staring encouraged him to panic.

Just what he wants. Calm down.

Top done. Pants. One leg, then the other. Brown belt. Feel the weight of the shoulder pads.

Feel the weight of the stars sewn onto them.

“How pretty,” Pavel crooned, and Emir screwed his eyes shut on cue. Tonight, he would listen for Pavel’s breathing, make sure he was asleep before Emir even considered dozing off. Every time the blond opened his mouth, something uniquely disturbing came out of it.

Emir swallowed, gritting his teeth. “I’d prefer if you beat me, first.”

“Anything for you, beautiful.”

In the time it took for the fibres to sink into his skin, he hadn’t noticed the Minister collecting her things, wrapping up the camera, and whispering a few absent words to the General, who only ever hummed or nodded when responding to officials.

“It was wise of you to stay on script,” she began. “You have done well. Now, your people know all there is to know. As there is little reason to anticipate a rescue, you will be wearing this uniform from now on.”

Emir nodded, eyes out of focus.

When she left, he was still standing tall and Pavel’s smile had lost most of its friendliness. The General didn’t seem too concerned, more relieved that his newest project wasn’t suicidal enough to jeopardize his precious propaganda. After a moment, Emir no longer felt his presence, no more than the Minister’s.

Still, he hadn’t been left alone.

His recognition of that dimmed the lights.

“Officially a soldier?” Pavel asked nonchalantly.

“...As much as one can be,” Emir responded, deliberating for a second. He could feel Pavel’s glare on him, and the bubble of venom in his chest.

“You aren’t deserving of that jacket, you rat. No more than the air you breathe.” His chair scraped back and Pavel stood. “You know, I still wonder how a snivelling rodent like you skipped death for this.”

Emir’s shoulders tensed, the shoulder-pads suddenly feeling much heavier.

“-And instead of eating that bullet, you steal a uniform from someone who would have been worth twenty of you,” Pavel hissed. His right hand contracted into a fist rhythmically, until he stopped and shook it out. Within a few steps, he towered over Emir.

“I’m sorry for taking the opportunity,” Emir numbly mumbled back.

Before he could say more, his vision exploded with white.

Spots decorated the insides of his eyelids as he sank down the wall, gasping at the ceiling. Trying to make sense of the throbbing pain in his jaw before fresh agony in his gut folded him in half. Emir kept his eyes screwed shut for each successive kick, sparing grunts that turned to whimpers.

He shouldn’t beg. He shouldn’t. When had begging Pavel gotten him anything than that fucker’s endless glee?

But the thought only lingered before the next kick savagely blotted out any clarity of mind. As obediently as his first day there, Emir took the beating while clutching Pavel’s free shoe, listening to his whimpers break into those distant cries.

Within the next few hits, he was clawing at his leg.

“Pavel- please-... You’ll kill-”

“Haven’t you learned that I don’t respond to your snivelling?” Pavel panted as he abandoned Emir’s ribcage, stopping the kicks to raise his boot directly over his head.

Emir’s eyes widened. “Wait. Wait, please-”

Before he could register what his arms were doing, he had gripped the offending leg with all his strength before Pavel could bring it down. His shoulders screamed as he let his weight rest on it, stomach churning in agony, ribs hardly there at all.

But he couldn’t have this.

“You’ll give me brain damage-”

“That’s the idea,” Pavel growled. “Let go of my foot, rat, or I’ll break your hands, too.”

“Just-... I’ll do something else, please. Just tell me what to do. I did the fucking interview, I listened to you, I-... Don’t you have a soul in that shit-reeking jacket of yours?!” His voice broke over the question, going raw.

He closed his eyes the second he saw the flames go off in the man’s eyes, never having seen rage engulf a person so quickly. The boot moved again and Emir clutched even harder, mouthing the pleas this time, and focussing on the silent syllables like prayers.

I’ve seen that there’s more to you, before. Please.

Suddenly, Pavel stopped. Though, pity was far from the reason as he grunted and kicked off Emir’s desperate arms and only to break into a laugh.

Emir didn’t care what his reason had been, so long as he had reconsidered stomping in his skull.

Gasping for air, he collapsed, breaths seeping in as the pain in his ribs took over. The cool of the floor and suddenly dissipating adrenaline could have lulled him to sleep if not for the pulsating agony of the beating. Weakly, he began, “Spasi-...”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Pavel spat, as if regretting the decision to let Emir relax. “You said you’d do what I told you?”

A shaky breath. “Y-Yes.”

Pavel’s teeth gleamed whiter than before. A mix of rage and sadistic delight. “Then get on your elbows and lick my fucking boots clean.”

Emir flinched, first in shock, and then residual disgust as he tasted the blood on his tongue. He could smell the polished leather from where he had collapsed, now more pronounced than ever. If he was in less pain, he could have laughed at the obvious choice of taking a dignified beating.

Choice, this time.

The option of being curbstomped was as open as ever.

Emir stilled, barely thinking it over before he had pushed up onto his elbows.

Pavel’s chuckle reverberated off the peeling plaster of the walls, rich like victory had been dribbled onto his tongue. “Keep your eyes open so you do a good job.”

Staring at the task before him, he couldn’t bring himself to start. The shoes were relatively clean, polished so thoroughly that he could faintly see his beaten reflection, and stank of leather. The few drops of blood he had spat onto the surface in his pleading hadn’t muddied it. He already tasted blood, and what sort of combination would it make with the shoes?

Though the longer he stared, Pavel grew impatient, raising the shoe threateningly.

Emir flinched, putting up a defensive hand. “Calm down.”

The first burst of leather on his tongue had a salty, coppery taste. He immediately scrunched his nose, fighting down the gag reflex and shutting his eyes. It wasn’t like he could tell, from that angle. Miserably, he licked a stripe up the shoe and then another, letting the taste of earth and blood mix into one terrible amalgamation.

His tormentor encouraged him in the same tone as before. Emir tried not to listen to it, for the sake of his stomach.

His tongue passed over the leather crevasses, circling them before moving to another area. Every time he thought he might not make another second, the stinging in his gut reminded him why he would have to. Although he couldn’t help but think how many other unlucky subordinates had been forced to flirt with the leather.

Salty copper, blood, and his dignity dribbling away with each strike he licked.

Imagine if this had been your interview, he mocked himself from inside. All of America would know how good you are at staying alive. Hell, you’d get an honourable discharge.

For his first time trading his dignity like this, he did the job thoroughly enough. After a few minutes, the sharpness and taste stopped bothering him and he curled his tongue along the brown curve of the boot, trying not to swallow whatever repulsive coating he had picked up.

“Tsk, so eager, little soldier. Did you want this choice that badly?”

“Fuck you.”

In response, Pavel tipped the boot up into his mouth, delighting as he choked before reminding him that he hadn’t called it quits yet.

Emir didn’t look up once, and that was impressive enough. Not one teary, pleading look.

He simply did what was asked of him and that much, Pavel could appreciate.

The stink of leather had completely permeated his mouth before he finished. Leaning to the side, Emir spat and gasped as Pavel hemmed and hawed at the results.

Hope the finish was worth it he thought, just short of retching.

“Excellent job, Suleiman,” Pavel murmured. “In fact, you got me thinking...I should get you to do this more often. How about you trade me one for every beating I’m going to give you, eh?”

Pavel reached down without hesitation and ruffled his hair, watching Emir gag before turning to leave him dry-heaving on the ground, nothing but a metal table and his flight suit beside him.

—

Tagging: @straight-to-the-pain @heathenville @quirkykayleetam @yet-another-heathen @undertheburrow @lektricfergus @punchhimagain @whumpasaurus101@crystalquartzwhump @suspicious-whumping-egg

#whump #whump writing #whump drabble #captivity #captive whumpee #sadistic whumper #beating #forced to strip #military whump #war whump #soviet union #prisoner of war #creepy whumper #begging #bootlicking

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deluluass · 4 years ago

Text

Then, the dam breaks.

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; dacryphilia; mild infantilization

Kuroo's not a bad person.

Not even by a long shot. "Bad" is willfully stretching out a leg, hidden like a predator among the bushes; hungry for an unknowing soul who's naively secured with their surroundings and the crack that resounds when face finally meets floor.

Or, murder! Murder is bad, he believes.

No, Kuroo isn't capable of any of those things. He might seem like he has a mean streak about him. What, with his sharp tongue and that incorrigible self-satisfied smirk (according to Yaku) and his words that may or may not sting like a backhanded slap sometimes. But that's all in good humor.

Well-deserved, too, when given to the right asshole. And if he does manage to get under the skin of the wrong person, Kuroo's not above offering an apology.

And he means it. (Occasionally.)

There's no pleasure to be had, if anyone would ask. Because, again , he's not a bad guy. He's sly: he knows that much, though he wouldn't taunt someone into visible pain just for the thrill of it.

There's a method to all this. A purpose. Not a profound one, but a reason all the same.

So he has to admit he's feeling kinda lost figuring out why, of all people, it just really had to be you.

There wasn't much of an option to begin with.

Art clubs had already been full. The other ones, you weren't much interested in. And by the time you realized your homeroom teacher would stop at nothing to remind you that this year was your last chance to do something other than study and prepare for exams, for once— well, it had already been too late to reconsider joining those.

Then a flyer was handed out to you.

"V-volley," the boy trailed off.

Try as you might but you couldn't recognize him. A feat, that, considering his blond mohawk that you could spot among a crowd of thousands.

He seemed like he'd caught a nasty spell that prevented him from meeting anyone's eyes, even as you deliberately searched his face for any sign that he'd explain himself to you. Surely, he must have a lot to say after he'd outright ambushed you from entering the cafeteria.

"You...want me to join?"

You were on the verge of asking for more details, focusing on the black cat (though it didn't look like it) drawn on the center of the curiously damp paper, only to find out that you'd been conversing with an empty hallway.

A soft grumble left you.

"Weird," you concluded, barely a whisper. "Weird, weird, weird ."

You were the volleyball team's manager since then.

"She's not much of a talker."

Lev hunched to his knees again, sounding very much like he's running out of breath.

It should've been Kuroo's cue to gently ( gently) tell him off, that Nekoma's ace would handle a minute of catching a ball with their face with much more tenacity than he does, or that Nekoma's ace shouldn't have to catch the ball with their face in the first place, period.

" Zoning out already, Ace? " he'd planned on jeering, but instead he followed the direction of the overgrown 10 year old's gaze.

Someone was talking to you.

Apologizing , was more like it, if the other student's incessant bowing until his torso fell from his body was any indication. You were outside of the gym, clipboard tucked under an arm, so it was impossible to catch a word you were saying.

Not that you were saying much. Or anything at all. You only nodded. And nodded again. And after what seemed like the world's loudest "I'm so sorry, senpai!",you immediately went back inside to refill the water bottles lined atop the bench.

"Hey," Kenma sighed, the ball in his hand aimed for a toss. "Focus."

And the cycle of Lev being an utter disappointment to the blond setter continued.

Kuroo let out a noncommittal hum, eyes never leaving you, trailing like a lost pup as you handed out water bottles to Nobuyuki and the others.

"Not a talker, huh," he muttered to himself.

How long has it been? Two weeks? Three, maybe? Kuroo could scarcely remember for how many days you'd been showing up to this sweaty pit to perform your duties. On the dot. Always. Without fail.

What he does remember was the first day.

Chin up; head held high. You strutted into their lives as if you were leading an entire militia to battle and had no time to waste.

He teased you for it when you'd already busied yourself with clean up duty a few minutes after your (short) ( extremely concise) introduction.

("Slow down there, general," he told you with a wry chuckle. He expected any reaction from you, really.)

(He just didn't expect you to actually slow down on your cleaning and pick up on the Coach's remaining paperwork right then and there, going through it like a forest fire.)

It would take him a few more days to realize that that's just how you are.

Even when you rejected a tongue-tied Yamamoto when he tried to ask you out. For a meal. With the other boys, of course.

Even when you took a hurtling ball to your leg and lost your footing and had the whole team scrambling for a stretcher, only for you to stand on your good leg, tell everyone "I'm okay," and walk to the nurse's office on your own.

(Kuroo doesn't think he's seen someone limp with so much grace before.)

His throat suddenly felt incredibly dry.

Water . Water was what he needed.

Right.

You didn't see him coming from across the court. You were sitting on the bench and your back was turned, scribbling on that clipboard propped on your lap, yet— like clockwork, your idle hand shot out to give him the last bottle to your left before he could even finish asking for one.

He felt his lips curve as he muttered his thanks around the lid.

"Say," Kuroo began.

You were reading the things you wrote back to yourself.

"Mind telling me what was that about?"

You paused. You blinked up at Kuroo.

The attention hits him like a freight train.

That clear as summer sky gaze, unclouded and bright.

It's nuts how unreal it felt. How can something so elusive be now all on him.

(Just for him.)

"Earlier," he added, licking his lips and feeling silly for the way his chest tightened. "Seemed kinda intense."

"He borrowed my notes," you said. Then back to the clipboard again.

Kuroo made himself comfortable next to you, elbow propped on his knee as he rested his chin against an open palm.

"Got a test coming up?"

"Cram school. He's in the same class."

Of course .

"Of course," Kuroo grinned. "What happened? Heard the guy apologize to you like you were about to kill him."

Laughter bubbled out of his chest. Unfortunately, you didn't seem to find it as funny as he did. Pity.

He sighed.

"Nothing too bad, I hope."

The noise of ballpoint pen scratching against paper halted.

From way at the back, Lev was prattling Kenma's ear off again. Kuroo guessed they were about to leave, walking away from the court, away from the gym and to god knows where. The whole team, too, for that matter.

Everyone seemed to have gone, diminished in that second. He couldn't hear them anymore, didn't bother to see if they're still there.

He was looking at you, after all. Really looking at you. Your grip on the pen was a tad severe, he thought; fingers determined to squeeze the ink out of the barrel.

Your face betrayed nothing. Indeed, anyone could spare you a glance and immediately guess that this is just another empty chat between acquainted individuals, conversation just for the sake of it.

Kuroo wasn't just anyone, though.

Chin up and head held high; as you'd always done. But Kuroo's close enough to see it now, unlike before: the gulps you take in between breaths; the falter in those eyes that only ever looked forward.

Chin up and head held high, but Kuroo sees now that the neck he could easily break with one hand is so tense it's essentially a string pulled too tight that's on the brink of snapping.

Oh.

"Oh," Kuroo whispered.

Oh .

"He lost it didn't he?" Kuroo realized. "Your notes."

And it did snap.

"Just..!" You looked down and bunched your pants in your fist. "No. Of course not. It's nothing," you huffed, putting the ball pen's cap back on.

You were leaving.

Kuroo stood up.

"You look upset, manager-san," he said softly, his larger frame blocking your attempts of escape. "It is bothering you, hm?"

"My notebook got-got ruined, sure," you said. "But juice stains aren't bothering me, Captain ."

There it is. You were meeting his gaze again.

" Too late for that ," Kuroo thought. There's a stutter to your words when there had been none.

Your arms are trembling and you look uncomfortable. He should stop. He knows he should stop , but whatever it is he said is chipping away at that impenetrable wall and he doesn't get what's happening now but damn, damn if that tingle running down his spine doesn't feel so fucking good.

"My bad," he chuckled. "Sorry."

He raised both his arms in a show of defeat.

"I'm- it's fine," you said through gritted teeth. "If you would just— excuse me."

Kuroo shrugged a shoulder.

"Sorry about your notes, still," he said. "Must've been important to you. We all know how much you take your studies very, very seriously."

Kuroo smirked. "You shouldn't have let him have it then."

That made you stop in your tracks.

"What do you mean?" you sought, confusion breaking your voice into what sounds like the smallest it's ever been.

Kuroo felt his breath catch in his throat.

"He needed my help, though," you rushed. "I can't just turn people away."

"Really?" Kuroo sniggered, eyebrows lifting in fascination.

"Could've sworn you were good at it," he said; whispered it so lowly, you couldn't have heard it. But you did.

You heard him, all right. Loud and clear.

Because it was just like watching someone take a bullet to the heart.

First, the disbelief.

Skin, muscles, and ligaments weren't made to be broken like that. A person wasn't created to bleed to death. And when it happens, well, all one can ask is: how could someone hurt me like this?

So you stand before him, immobile, disbelief written in those wide eyes, because how could he hurt me like this?

Then—

Then, the dam breaks.

Kuroo doesn't think that you know it; that you're gaping at him with tears streaming down your face; that you're falling apart and stripping yourself bare the more you try to temper those quivering lips with that cute little nibbling you do.

Kuroo doesn't think you know it, too.

That no one has ever been as beautiful as you are, right in that very moment.

You're not a good person.

Not even by a long shot. "Good" is an open hand, warm and soft and prepared to accept anyone in need of it. It's many things, goodness, but it most certainly isn't a dismissive attitude towards a well-meaning person who only wants to get to know you.

You hadn't gone this far in your uneventful life ignorant of what people say behind your back. "Frigid" is one. "Indifferent" on a good day. "Bitch" when someone feels like being mean.

It's not like you're mad or anything; not as if you'd built up some sort of resentment within you that now you've settled for being perpetually friendless. You have plans, is all. You just can't afford to be a constant helping hand when you've got so much to do.

So you take it.

Be a sport about it, was what you've always been told. Stiff upper lip, as they say. You remain silent about it and you endure and maybe you shed a few tears later as you lie in bed and maybe you entertain the possibility that you'll never see the end of this loneliness.

But that's neither here nor there.

The point is, this time shouldn't have been any different.

(But sometimes even the strongest walls can crumble. All it takes is one crack, then the rest would follow.)

It was a bad day.

You woke up late. You messed up the tally in the first set of practice games. You forgot the homework you'd stayed up all night to do.

And the person whom you've lended your notes to for the college entrance exams lost it.

He lost it. Conveniently just a month before the actual thing.

"I- It's nowhere to be found, senpai," he explained. "I tried looking for it everywhere but- but I.." (You don't remember the rest.)

It's fine, you told yourself. You're fine. You can do something about a little inconvenience like this. You always have.

But then Kuroo Tetsurou asked.

He's an amazing captain; even someone like you who only had a rudimentary knowledge at volleyball could understand the level of skill it requires to do what he does on the court while still managing to reign in the polarizing characters in this team together. And like most people, Kuroo Tetsurou has never cared for you.

That's what you'd always thought, concerning him. Even when there had been times when he'd let slip what he thought about you. ("You're so cold, manager-san," he pouted once after you'd refused to eat with Yamamoto and the others.)

So it blindsided you, to say the least.

The way he looked at you, as if he's privy to your darkest secrets, like he's seen you at your lowest and somehow knows you more than you did.

When he'd jabbed and poked at what you'd only later realize was already a festering wound. (" It is bothering you, hm?" he said.) And before you could think about telling him to stop, to please, please let it go, it had already happened.

(" Could've sworn you were good at it ," he said.)

This isn't news to you. Besides, there have obviously been worse digs.

But hearing it from people who think you're not listening and being told about it to your face are two vastly different things.

(Maybe it's because deep inside you'd always hoped that not everyone disliked you. That even though you're not a good person, you're not entirely bad either.)

Right in front of you, swift and without warning, he spoke only the truth.

You just weren't prepared for how deep it could cut.

"I have to go," you murmured.

It took you a few seconds to realize that you'd been crying. And when you did, you immediately wiped your cheek with the back of your hand, turning away from him and the others still engrossed in their drills.

You let your feet do the thinking, allowing it to take you wherever they wished to go ( not here. not here. anywhere but here ), finding it impossible to do so yourself when your vision is clouded with welling tears.

You moved forward, never once looked back, until you ended up inside the stark darkness of the gym's forgotten neighbor.

The shed has long been abandoned and had nothing but dust, a couple of furniture in disrepair, and the occasional bug to keep it company. It was good enough for you. You didn't need much anyway.

Except for silence.

The breaths that you'd desperately tried to control shook like dried leaves hanging onto frail branches, much like your legs, eventually collapsing at the slightest gust of wind.

All you needed was silence.

Crouched down, the feeling of bones reduced to jelly was a lot more palpable. And despite the pins and needles that you know would eventually appear like a vengeful mistress, you stubbornly pressed your knees closer to your damp face.

Stuttering inhales and short-lived exhales soon enough filled the gnawing emptiness of the shed as you count back to the moment you'd started the day to when your classmate told you that he'd lost your notebook to when you'd been told of how much of a shitty person you are and you wonder how you would've changed your decisions and how could it have gotten to this point how could it go wrong like this what did I do what did I do wrong what went —

"There you are."

You clamped your mouth shut, clenched your teeth so hard to stop their chattering. How useless.

The creaking noise of the door being closed— punctuated by the sound of the latch clicking, rendered that effort futile.

Kuroo Tetsurou locked the door.

"C-can you," you panted. "Can you please leave."

"I need some time alone," you said, every beat of your heart like the ticking clock of a time bomb. "Please."

You waited for him to do as you'd told. Maybe what happened earlier was a mistake, a slip of tongue that hurt more than it should've, and he's here to apologize. Of course. That's it, isn't it? Why else would he be here?

"I- If you want to say something, we can- we can— later."

It was as if the entire world had gone still. He said nothing; neither could you hear any hint of movement. You turned around.

"C-captain..!"

He was right there.

Right in front of you, crouched and staring right back at you. His face a hair's breadth away from yours.

Your legs shot upwards.

"What are you- ah !" You hissed, feeling every cell in your body being incessantly pricked. Finding it impossible to stand on your own, your hands scrambled to get a hold of something, anything, maybe the almost dilapidated table behind you— only to be caught in between large, strong arms.

"Careful, now," he murmured against your neck. His scalding breath like frostbite, chilling you down to your bones until you were numbed from the pain.

He slithered a hand around your waist. With blood thundering to your ears, you bit back a shriek and pushed him away with all your might. But have you forgotten? Despite that indolent swagger of his, you've witnessed how this boy pushes himself to exertion for each match and beyond. What made you think you could win against him?

And when you attempted to open your mouth and yell, he effortlessly covered it with a palm while hauling you towards the table. The thing rocked under your weight. It is amusing, what the fear of falling does to you. One moment you're thrashing your way out; the next, you're holding onto your tormentor for dear life.

"No one's gonna come for you." He shushed you like how one would when placating a rabid animal. "You really believe they would bother? With an attitude like that?"

Down, down, his hand sank to your thigh, kneading the aching flesh until all you could do was mewl out a hoarse, "S-stop. I beg y-you."

Because it's all that's left for you. No one's going to save you. Or maybe someone would. But, who? And would they, really?

(Go on, then. Try. See for yourself.)

"Kuroo-san," you whimpered. " S-stop ."

(Would they even believe you? It's your word against his. Him . Their beloved captain.)

"Tetsurou," he only said, dipping his hand lower, wrapping your freezing legs around him. "Say it."

He's everywhere. Lips tracing your chin, teeth grazing your throat; all the while your weak, pathetic arms stayed on his shoulders, thinking he'd regain his senses because he has to. He has to. He's not a bad person. He wouldn't hurt you, not in that way.

Even when rough palms are already caressing the sides of your breasts and you feel a bulge rutting against your stomach, hot and rock hard and large, his hands grabbing your ass to bring your crotch closer to his—

"Cap- Tetsurou!" You cried, trembling hands back on his chest as you sobbed and pleaded please, please, let me go, I won't say anything, I-I'll keep quiet .

He did stop. But he didn't let you go. (You're a stupid girl if you think he would). Instead, with a forefinger under your chin and a thumb on your lower lip, he gently tilted your head to meet his gaze.

And when your murky vision adjusted to the shadows, the heart that wanted to escape from your chest ceased its clamoring, arresting your breath with it.

The afternoon sun peeked through the crevices of the shed's wooden walls. Red-orange light revealed a pair of iris swallowed by blown pupils, only for it to pass and shroud him back into the darkness.

"Say it again," he whispered, deep voice cracking. " Tetsurou . My name."

You tried to speak and protest once again but only a croaked snivel left you, your babbling becoming less coherent when he began planting soft kisses on both tear-streaked cheeks.

"You've been all alone, haven't you? Keeping everything to yourself all this time."

He kissed your forehead and it was so tender you wanted to die.

"My strong, brave girl," he breathed. "I'll take care of you. I'll take care of you. I- I-"

You heard him chuckle as he pressed his forehead to yours, felt it crease on your skin. "I love you."

No. No, no, no . You shook your head and closed your eyes and prayed to anyone who's listening.

"I love you," he repeated, strongly now, as if he only realized it this time around.

And then he kissed you. Just a peck. And then he kissed you again, deepening it to probe a wet tongue into your mouth. And the hand sitting lax on your neck felt like a gun to your temple.

You remained just as you were, like a plaything to do with as he pleased, as you felt calloused fingers creep inside your sweaty shirt.

"Such pretty tits," he grunted as he raised your bra over your breasts to brush your nipples, rolling and pinching and pulling them with his thumbs.

He muffled the noises you made with his own mouth still when he continued fondling you. You soon enough tasted the salt off of his palm when he left your lips to lick and pepper bites on your neck, on the valley and mounds of your breasts, sucking and lapping the stiff peaks until he was satisfied.

You tried counting, one to whatever. And when that did not work, you tried biting your own tongue to rid of the heat you fear would burst in your belly.

All that went to waste when he reached inside your pants.

"Not- not there!" you gasped, breaking your silence and wriggling out of his grasp.

He cooed. "You'll feel good. I promise."

After hooking long fingers over the hem of your panties, he briskly parted the hair and lips underneath to pull the thin cotton over the folds, over the throbbing nub trapped in the middle.

"Your pussy's so wet, sweetheart," he sighed, the tip of his middle finger drawing light circles on your clothed clit.

It was so lewd and dirty and the fact that your panties were soaked with slick was enough to burn you with shame.

"You like it, hm?"

Perhaps you whimpered out a meek "no." You couldn't tell anymore, heaving out while he continued to toy with a sore nipple as he rubbed your slippery cunt, preying on your puffed out, swollen clit.

"Feel what you do to me." He squeezed your wrist and forced your shivering hand on his crotch. "Take out my cock, baby," he whispered, scattering kisses on your neck.

"Tet-Tetsuro…san," you cried. "I can- I can't."

"Yes. Yes, you can ," he said, not halting the ministrations between your legs. "You're a big girl."

As if held by a string, he guided you, wrapped his hand around yours as he— as you stroked him, scorching and thick, up and down, just like that .

"Good girl. My good little girl," he groaned, parting your panties to the side to tease your dripping hole.

You wept harder, the inevitable only a few seconds away from you. A single finger, at first. And when he added a second one, you realized you preferred having a hand on your mouth than his lips on yours.

(Because then you wouldn't have to think of an excuse why you're suddenly swirling and brushing your tongue in time with his.)

For a while there had been nothing but the sound of two wet lips pursing against each other (along with those embarrassing squelching noises).

He treated you as if you were made of porcelain, your plush walls stroked oh so gently as he circled the sensitive bundle of nerves. Even when he ended the kiss and removed your hand from his cock, spit and pre-cum connecting you to him, he still handled you as if you would break at the drop of a hat.

That's why it snuck up on you, what happened, after he brought his mouth to your ear.

"Don't scream," he whispered.

Then, he rammed his fingers in your mouth.

You tasted yourself as he forced you on your back, slamming you down on the dirty table yet still carrying your weight all throughout, never letting go.

The bitter acceptance of it— that what began earlier can only conclude to this , did not prepare you for the feeling when he finally thrust himself into you.

They say it shouldn't hurt at first. If it does then he's doing it wrong.

You hardly know if it's relief or horror that dawns on you when you realize how he stretched you out so easily, despite his size. Because, by all means, this should be wrong. This is wrong.

"Gonna ruin you," he panted. "Gonna ruin you and— fuck put you back together myself."

He grinded his cock inside you deep and slow and when he hit that spot you couldn't control yourself from jackknifing so hard he had to hold you down. He does this mercilessly, pace growing more delirious until you're nothing but a choked and sputtering fool around his fingers.

"I won't ever leave you. I’m here," he cooed, stroking your hair and kissing your face as you bawled and shattered in his embrace. "I’m here ."

"So cry all you want."

#tw noncon #tw non con haikyuu #yandere kuroo #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #dark content haikyuu

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i-need-air · 4 years ago

Text

Hybrid!AU Wolf!Bakugou HCs: NSFW.

Summary: By the title you can already tell what's going on. The long awaited NSFW part of Hybrid!Bakugou. [ 3k words ]

Warnings: NSFW; dom!bakugou, impregnation kink, praise kink, filthy mouthed Baku; also some sub!Bakugou because why not;

Notes: It's important to point put this is a F!Reader. The first 2 parts of the series [sfw] + any ask involving hybrid!bakugou were as gender neutral as possible though. [ Part 1 and Part 2 here, Masterlist here for more ]

× believe it or not, he's a respectful guy

× shy with physical contact at the beginning

× learns incredibly fast though

× feels, listens, smells you, notes what you enjoyed, what you didn't

× you would have to take the first few steps

× lead his hands, put a peace, encourage him and he will surely get the drill

× Bakugou will be eager and curious, and trust me, your moans will drive him insane

× naturally, as you share a bed, one thing will lead to another, soft kisses will turn into a full blown make-out session and his hands will be everywhere on you;

He grunted, grindind his body into you, lips capturing your own in a heated kiss. It just started with a peck after he caressed your features gingerly, catching him in one of those tender moments you oh so loved. He returned it harder, moaning into your mouth. Breath fanned your face when he retreated, his somewhat cloudy eyes made you squirm under his frame and you had to pull him by the shoulders back into you.

From there you lost yourselves into each other. Your touches drove him to the edge and slowly clothes started coming off until you found yourself under an Adonis of a man. He looked mesmerized for a second, drinking you in with a hungry gaze.

Lips clashed, the tension between you, specially in the past few weeks built up and none could take it longer. His calloused hands touched your neck, your shoulders, going further down and making you shiver. He was a little bit rough but you could feel his excitement, both on his face and poking your tights.

Katsuki waited though, slowing down his movements until you whispered "Are you sure about this?" into his ear. A shiver took over him as he lifted his face to yours, lips feathered over your own yet again.

"*Are you?*" his voice just as soft.

"I want you, Katsuki." He had to close his eyes for a second and take a deep breath in at your confession.

"You're fucking perfect." He growled back, the intensity of his words formed a bolt of energy that ran through your whole body. "I just— I've never—"

"We'll take it slow."

× again, he is a fast learner, but needs instructions

× can be a bit selfish at first, this new feeling, this heat driving him insane

× but once he smelled your arousal he almost lost all strength in his body, his mouth watering

× and I bet you almost lost all strength in your body when you saw what he's packing

× big, thick and veiny, curved just enough to know he'd reach the best spots for you

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—" he'd growl out into your ear as you moaned under him, nails clenching his shoulders as he held into the bed-frame. He was going insane, he thought. The feeling of your cunt clenching around his dick erased anything else in his brain and your moans— Delicious. Your smell was intoxicating, addictive.

He'd rail you eagerly, getting drunk in the feeling when he noted you move your hand to rub yourself under him, moans increasing. He'd guide his hand towards yours, breathing heavy, anticipating.

"Show me." He'd order.

× clit, you say, huh?

× the moment he understood you could become undone under him because of that little button, you're a goner

× which takes me to my next point

× he's a giver

× once he does his homework and finds out ways to drive you crazy, he'll demand to go down on you

× will dominate in bed, it's natural in him

× so when he tells you to spread your legs and to be a good girl, mischief in his eyes, heat filled your guts

× to which he almost rolled his eyes into the back of his head because holy shit your scent

× loves having his tongue lapping into your sex; he'd suck, he'd lick and thrive because of your reactions

× just having your tights trembling by his ears as he gripped them to keep you in place made his cock hard

× but what he really loved was knowing he could get you off just with his tongue; he'd even smile into your cunt as you'd moan louder and louder, the only thing left in your vocabulary being his name;

"Katsu—" you'd say, out of breath, back arched as you couldn't focus your vision. You struggled to keep your composture as he licked over your clit brutally, two digits inside of you.

"Look at me when I fuck you with my tongue." He said, stopping and earning a groan from you. With a deep breath you settled back, opening your legs a little bit more, not even realizing you were almost choking him with your tights, not that he really cared. He gave you a grin as you locked eyes and proceeded, slowing his peace and pumping his fingers inside of you.

"Good girl." He growled, not breaking eye contact. He felt it too, the shiver running through your body as you knew you got even wetter, and he got to work, proud of his accomplishment.

And as he sucked slowly and made you see stars, he resumed his brutal rhythm until you were a blabbering mess.

× doesn't mean he does not like to receive

× seeing you between his legs sucking him off is a treat to his eyes

× very much into power-play and dominating; he'd tell you how good you look with his cock in your mouth, very vulgar, loving your reactions;

× he grunts, but isn't very vocal so don't expect loud moans for him unless;;

× spread his legs slightly, suck on the tip, pump his cock, milk it into your mouth and with another hand play with his balls

× his leg will start shaking as he'd throw his head back, and if you suck on them while pumping him he'll let out such sinful growls that will reach your core

× that is when you can amp it up by scratching his tights and he'll cum like a fountain under you

You hollowed your cheeks, tongue running on the tip of his hard dick, watching him try to maintain his self-control. He was stubborn, gritting his teeth and acting tough yet he fisted the sheets, that giving him away.

It was always a pleasure to see him like this but it was never enough for you.

"Look at you, hmm?" He said between his teeth. "Such a good little slut for me." You moaned, taking him deeper in your mouth as you rubbed your legs together. "You love my dick in your mouth, hah?"

Little did he expect for you to start playing with his balls gently, your orbs sparkling while watching him almost choke on his own spit.

"Fuck, baby—" he'd growl, tensing up, almost moving his hips forward to fuck your mouth. You took as much of his hardness as you could and sucked, attentive of his balls and whatever you couldn't take in your mouth you pumped slowly, your cunt getting soaked just by hearing him swear to no end.

"Shit, [Y/N], so fucking good—"

With a last good suck, you kissed his tip them smirked at him, getting a confused and desperate look, begging you to continue, but you just lowered yourself and started licking his balls, his head fell back and the most lewd groan left his mouth.

"God, fuck me—" he said breathless as he started moving his hips upwards, fucking into the hand that still had his cock in a grip. It was a little hard to do so, but you licked in circular motions as he stumbled on his words until you felt them tighten and throb, cue for you to put the tip back in your mouth and await your treat, one last choked moan before he came everywhere.

× fucks you hard, will drill into your body, and you'd think fucking hard means fucking fast but he can still fuck you slowly and shake you to the core

× skin slapping skin can be heard all around the apartment and the dude has stamina

× bioengineered as he is, he will make you cum a few times before he comes too

× when you both have enough experience with each other that's when he realizes making you cum beforehand is the best way to fuck you, so yes, you will cum and you will cum hard

× favorite place to cum into? your mouth, so if you don't really dig it, he's okay with you spitting it out or cumming over your body

× his favorite position is doggy [ no duh ], with your ass up and face down, but don't get me wrong, it doesn't matter as long as he fucks you good and long

× he's also more into longer sessions, quickies are fine but not enough for him;

× might also be into praise-kink yet still with his dominant side on

× of course he has to tell you how good you look stuffed up with his cock, from any position

× marking

× oh, yes, he loves marking you

× before you got this intimate he liked to scent you but now that you're lovers expect to have marks all over you and you better not hide them

× definitely bites, sorry, absolutely not sorry, babe;;

× but nothing, nothing compares to his ruts

× just as wolves, it happens between

× hear me out and prepare yourself

× mating season happens between January and March;;;;; 💀

× it has different stages, yet the most fascinating one to you has to be the first weeks because it shifts his behaviour so much

× he goes from cocky, confident, dominant and territorial to whiny, needy, easily made jealous and kinda submissive

Katsuki started acting weird, something that at first you linked to the time you were apart. Maybe he missed you, who knows? The blond started touching you more, asking you to pet him, giving you blushing side glances and seeking your approval even more than normally. You caught on quickly as you once praised him for his amazing cooking, his chest puffed and cheeks burned without shame, contrary to normality, where he'd try to adorably hide it. He started to be really honest through his body.

The biggest difference was, without doubt in mind, when you got intimate. He'd whine for your touch so much, actual whines, gutural, deep from within would even shock you whenever you decided to tease him.

"Please, baby, please..." he'd beg but wait patiently for you to get on top of him and ride his cock until he couldn't take it any longer. You'd test the waters, of course, starting to praise him for being so good for you and he'd melt in your arms.

"You feel so good inside of me, baby." You'd say, slowly raising and falling over him repeatedly, a much calmer rhythm compared to your normal sessions. His hands would be gentler, just feeling you up and enjoying being taken care of, absolutely enamored with the sight of you.

Even if he was on top, he'd go gentler, whispering how incredible he feels, calling you all sorts of praises.

× when the actual rut finally hits, he turns territorial yet again, and the roughness comes with it

× now you're marked with hickeys and bruises from being manhandled by him

× of course he'd still be careful not to hurt you and if ever crosses any line with you and you'd tell him, he'd whine like a wounded animal

× because he would never want to hurt his mate

× but again, doubt it would ever happen

× although be prepared to have sex everywhere inside the house

× he'd pound on you unexpectedly, knowing to perfection how to touch and where to touch to get you in the perfect mood for him

× sometimes he watches, a filthy promise in his eyes to break you so good, just the way only he knows how

× he is hyper-aware of everything about you, the way you breathe, the way your heart pounds in your chest, the way your pupils dilate, how you clench your tights together, every single thing

× one thing that doesn't change from his pre-rut attitude is the honesty, now more verbal

× his first rut is where he learns just how much his words affect you

You were on the edge, just as the past few weeks. He told you a few nights ago that his mating season came to a high this week, so you suggested taking a week off work to help, and he eagerly agreed but not without teasing you about how much you loved being railed by him.

Sure, he teased, but it was so true and both of you knew. Katsuki was watching you silently from the couch. He spent all morning just watching you, walking without making any sound around you, sizing you up while licking his lips. These past weeks you were all over each other every night and now that you finally took a whole week off, he didn't touch you the first day at all? Strange. You definitely felt something was coming though. You were excited, nervous, you felt his eyes all over your body that left a trail of warm in your body. Acting occupied, as if you really had something to do even if the house was impecable, just so you could calm yourself to no avail.

He felt you and he liked seeing you nervous, anticipating his next move. How fucking amazing you looked, how delicious you smelled, his hunger grew and grew for you, excitement to have you for a full week to pleasure each other...

A growl froze you in place making you drop whatever you had in your hands. You turned slowly towards him only to almost collide with his chest.

A rough hand pulled you into him as he burried his nose in your hair.

"Mine." He grinded into you, hand on your ass. "My fucking mate." He breathed you in. "Mine."

He lifted you up without any struggle, just moving a little to press your back against the wall.

"So fucking perfect." He grinned at you then leaned to kiss your neck. "Fuck, you smell ready for me already..." he'd whine, spreading more your legs to adjust himself between them, tights gripped hard. "My sweet little mate..." he'd bite down the same spot he kissed. "I'm gonna fuck you so good you won't remember your own name." He promised and be sure to not wear many clothes because he'd rip them off you.

× impregnation kink; if you don't want pups right away [ ye, he calls em pups ] it's no problem, but you should definitely consider any sort of birth control, condoms...

× beg him to fill you up and he's done, he'll lose himself into you completely

× praise kink would hit again but this time telling you how sexy you'd look with his pups inside of you

× if you did find a method of birth control early on and you're safe, he's gonna fill you up and then finger you while you still had his cum inside, keeping it there while you rode through another orgasm

× mother-fucking filthy about it too

You were exhausted, your bones felt like jelly as you stood in place in bed, legs now opened for him as he admired his hard work. His cock stood proud as he jerked it off to the sight of you, cunt in his face stuffed with his semen, his fingers pushing any drop that dared to come out back inside.

"You took me so good, baby, look at you stuffed like the slut you are." He said after licking his lips. Precum ran over his hand as he pumped himself, head red and needy and both of you knew it wasn't over. "You're gonna take me one last time, understood?" He moved to your face, placing the fingers that were inside of you on your lips for you to lick, and did not need verbal confirmation since you took them in your mouth and sucked hard. He swore silently then grabbed you by the neck, getting close to your face. "So I've fucked you stupid, hah? Can't even say a word back? Can't fucking tell me how much you want me to break that cunt of yours until you see the stars, baby?" He mocked through a grin.

Even as exhausted as you were, you knew he'd take care of you, so when you finally regained the strength to touch his cheek, just the way you learned he liked, tenderly even when he fucked you like a pornstar, you threw him over the edge again... with a few simple words.

"Fill me up, daddy, give me your pups..." you begged in a whisper, curving your body to meet his, rubbing yourself into him.

The maniacal way his face contorted made you regain all your energy back in an instant.

He'd lift your lower part up and trust into you like a mad beast after opening your pussy up and spreading his cum over it to lube you up.

"I'm— gonna— fill— you— up—" he'd say between hard trusts, watching with lust as your tits bounced and you threw your head back.

The bed was a mess, cum leaked from inside of you, you were covered in hickeys and bite-marks, you begged his name like a broken record. He'd lose himself in the moment, falling into your body, hugging you tightly while rutting into you, reaching both of your releases.

× after the rut he's more laid back, both of you would need some time to just rest

× but he'd be very attentive, much like a prolonged aftercare

× he'd take care of you, do everything for you and even feel bad thinking he might've hurt you, even if it wasn't the case

× will hold you close in silence, enjoying your presence, will kiss your temple and just havung you in his arms

× has considered you as his mate from very early, even before you actually got together as a couple officially but after this, you're bonded together, since mating is very important for his species and as I clarified in the sfw version, wolves [ and wolves hybrids ] mate for life;

× will whisper how much he loves you into your neck as he holds you.

Tags: @bakugous-mamas @tspice283 so sorry to a couple of people that reblogged and asked to be tagged too, I've been searchin but I can't find you 😭😭

#boku no hero academia #bnha #bakugou katsuki x reader #mha #bakugou x reader #hybrid!au #hybrid!bakugou #noire writes

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capsironunderoos · 4 years ago

Text

I Told You So

Sergeant Hunter X Female!Reader

Request: @mandos-crest Sergeant Hunter is absolute putty around the reader. He denies it to his brothers, but it’s totally obvious. He’s over protective and whipped for them, and the reader is completely oblivious too! The Bad Batch think Hunter is being super nice.

Word Count: 1,413

Warnings: None! But there is a suggestive scene with a bad dude in a bar...

Author’s Note: Hey hey! Sorry this took me so long to crank out, I really wanted it to meet your request! I hope you like it!

Also, italics mean past tense, and some of this is in Omega’s POV!

Here’s a link to my masterlist: capsironunderoos masterlist

“There it is, that look I was telling you about,” Hunter hears mumbled behind him, but he doesn’t acknowledge it.

He’s too busy watching you play with Omega. You’re sitting cross-legged on the ground, nodding along with Omega as she tells you a story. You idly hold her stormtrooper doll as she holds Lula, both of you fully engrossed in the story Omega is telling.

“He looks like he’s about to burst into song,” he hears someone else mumble, and he rolls his eyes as he casts one last glance your way before turning to see Echo and Tech standing behind him, arms crossed in front of their chest as they stand in identical positions.

“What is this, an intervention?” Hunter asks, missing the way your gaze now shifts to watch him speaking with Echo and Tech.

“Of sorts,” Tech starts, and Hunter huffs.

“I told you we’d leave as soon as we gathered some more supplies and made a few minor repairs to the ship,” he starts, referring to the dreadfully hot planet the crew had to make a last-minute landing on.

“As good as that would be, we’re actually referring to… something else,” Echo clears his throat at Tech’s wording, and he sighs before correcting it. “Someone else,” he amends.

“Oh no, no. We’re not talking about this again,” Hunter counters, and you continue to watch him as his arms swing as he speaks, his hands emphasizing his words.

A smile plays on your lips and Omega looks up from Lula when she notices you’ve fallen quiet. Her eyebrows furrow as her mind begins to work.

“I think we need to,” Echo responds, and Hunter’s shoulders drop. “You can’t go five minutes without asking where she is, without being near her. She even took a nap in your quarters last hyperspace jump!” Tech adds rather factually, and Hunter sends a pointed look his way.

“Omega…” he mutters and shakes his head. “Listen, I see where you’re coming from, but I worry about all of you. And yes maybe I worry about her a little bit more, but it’s because of what she means to Omega.”

“And to you,” Wrecker adds from behind him, and he sighs again.

“Not you too,” he responds, turning to send a somewhat disappointed look to Wrecker.

Omega has pieced it together.

You like Hunter!

She’s not entirely sure what that means, but she knows that you don’t look at the others the same way you look at him. She knows that he looks at you the same way, and that it means something... important. The two of you take care of everyone that’s true, but the care you share for each other is… different. It’s sweeter, softer, and she’s noticed it.

She’s not the only one.

“Okay that was one time!” Hunter argues, hands thrown up in aggravation and growing defeat.

“It definitely was not! I can point to three different scuffs on your armor right now that are from you jumping in-between her and a blaster bolt, and those are just the ones I witnessed.” Echo counters.

“I would take a blaster bolt for any of you, although that sentiment weakens each time we have this conversation,” Hunter retorts.

“Fine, what about our last job for Sid hmm?” Hunter knows what Tech is referencing.

You had volunteered to go undercover at a seedy bar, and Hunter was adamantly against it. He’d pulled you aside just before the mission, hand gripping your arm as he pulled you into a shadowed alley, eyes searching yours for even a hint of doubt. Any inkling that it wasn’t what you wanted and he would call it, no questions asked and credits be damned.

“Hunter,” you whispered, hand coming to rest on his armor-covered chest, “I’ll be fine. I made my way through the galaxy before I met you. I can handle one womp rat in a bar, okay? And if not, you’ll only be one comm call away.”

He still searches your eyes as he begins to speak, “What if you can’t get to your comms hmm? What if I’m too late? What if something happens and I can’t get to you?” He whispers, a strain in his voice.

You smile softly and shake your head.

“That would never happen. You always keep me safe.”

“That creep had it comin’,” Hunter counters, albeit weakly.

“He was walking right into our trap, you know, that we set up as a group, that we all agreed on? You definitely cost us those credits, and you know why.” Tech adds, still upset about the loss of credits from that particular mission.

Hunter watches from a booth across the bar, eyes never leaving your back as he watches you flirt with the Twi’Lek saddled beside you. His body is turned to face yours, legs braced on either side of your stool so that you’re somewhat trapped with him. His left arm rests against your lower back, and his right is braced on the countertop of the bar. He leans over every so often to whisper in your ear and your shoulders shake with giggles.

It’s enough to make Hunter want to punch him into the Outer Rim, but he stays seated. He watches for a few more minutes, telling himself to trust you, to trust the plan.

The Twi’Lek moves again, this time his left hand moves from your lower back to brush your hair off of your shoulder before leaning in and beginning to press kisses to your bare shoulder.

Hunter swears under his breath.

He watches as the Twi’Lek’s right hand grabs your chin, his left resting once more on your lower back. He’s pulling you into him, and Hunter is grinding his teeth so hard that his jaw will be sore for the next few weeks. He notices your hands bracing against his chest, slipping against the material of his shirt as you try and push him off of you. He pulls harder, suddenly showing enough strength to pull you completely into his lap. His left hand wraps around your stomach, pressing you into him, as his right hand begins to trail up your thigh.

Hunter sees you struggling and is out of his seat so fast that he briefly registers the sound of his chair hitting the floor. He sees red as he knocks people out of his path, not hesitating to grab the shoulder of the Twi’Lek.

“When a lady says no, she means no,” Hunter growls, pulling you behind him before throwing the Twi’Lek onto the floor of the bar.

“I had him,” he hears you yell over the sound of his fist connecting with the Twi’Lek’s jaw.

“I know you did,” he sighs as he lands another punch.

“Okay,” Hunter agrees, nodding slowly, “that was my fault. But none of you saw what I did.”

“Fine. What about your last few rations?” Wrecker brings up, and Hunter’s stomach decides to growl on cue. “We’re running low on food, but she always gets a full portion. And I don’t know the last time I saw you eat!” Wrecker yelps, and Hunter shushes him.

“Let’s circle back to the nap, shall we?” Tech starts. “You let her sleep in your room, Hunter. In your room. The room that you specifically picked because it’s the farthest away from everyone on the ship. I don’t even know how to get to your room, if I’m being quite frank with you.”

Hunter stands rigidly still as Tech talks to him, and Omega continues to watch you watch him. She smiles as she stands, handing Lula to you.

“Here, I’ll be back,” she says, and you nod, still watching Hunter, mind not fully focused on the current conversation. Omega almost laughs at you as she begins to walk towards Hunter. The closer she gets the more their conversation becomes audible.

“You like her, Hunter. You look at her differently, and you protect her in ways I’ve never seen you protect anything, or anyone for that matter. Yes, you look out for us, but not in the same way, and you know it.” Echo is finishing softly as Omega walks up, the conversation falling silent as they notice her appearance.

They all look at her for a moment before she lays a hand on Hunter's arm, patting it reassuringly.

“It’s okay Hunter, she likes you too!” Omega says, a large smile on her face. Hunter's eyes widen as Wrecker laughs.

“Told you so!”

#hunter x reader #the bad batch #the bad batch x reader #sergeant hunter x reader #sergeant hunter #star wars x reader #star wars #tbb #em writes

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hotwings0203 · 4 years ago

Text

Gilded Cage

A/N: It’s embarrassing how long this took but oh well, happy new year to everyone and I hope you enjoy scummy yandere hawks!

Warnings: dubcon, kidnapping, abuse, toxic relationships, degradation, yandere themes

************

At first she welcomed the bright flashing lights like a breath of fresh air, but in due time it made her throat close up like the rest of the situation.

He had agreed to let her out if she behaved, and that meant no biting, scratching, screaming, flinching, temper tantrums, and worst of all, no silent treatment.

And she would take it like a champ if it meant seeing any other person in 6 months.

He had kept her here like a flightless bird in this cage of theirs, and oh how ironic it was that she was succumbed to be the prey of this ruthless hawk, with him able to soar amongst the people and buildings while Y/n stayed perched in the house, her ever-growing wings mentally becoming too much for her to control and stay silent about.

She needed space, she wanted to leave, but she didn’t dare voicing any of her wants, especially when Keigo made it so clear how her meager wants were of no match for his needs.

And his needs, as he’s made so clear thus far, include her being a pliant, quiet, yet loving little birdie who cooks, cleans, and lays with him day and night without complaint.

God forbid she speaks up about her...living conditions, as he liked to so generously supply to her the first and last time she ever had this conversation with him. She tried telling him how she originally had loved their relationship of a couple of months, and sure it might have been weird for him to push her into moving in with him only after 3 months, but it was because of how much he loved her or so he said at least, when he bashed her head repeatedly on the ground when she told him it “wasn’t normal to rush into things so fast”.

Sure, he had a big spacious penthouse lent to him by the Hero Commission so being physically cramped was never a problem, and yes okay he showered her with gifts and little trinkets, just like birds did with their mates even more so after a big fight that usually left her black and blue, with swollen lips, ripped up knees and big red welts on her wrists while the hero himself was left with not even a feather out of place.

But there were days where their movie nights and cuddling sessions didn’t cut it for her anymore. There were nights when she couldn’t take his suffocating arms around her a second longer, only to be replaced by an even heavier and darker presence when she tried turning on her side away from him.

Sometimes it would be a chain reaction caused by the smallest of catalysts, however. It would be on a day where he left the restraints on a little too tightly, and Y/n was forced to use toothpaste on her wrists instead of the salve Keigo always kept in the medicine closet. Other times it would happen when he would keep feeling up her sides and pressing into her after a long day of her cooking in hopes that the plentiful food would be enough to keep him occupied away from her, even if it was for an hour or two.

It never was, though. He always wanted her, whether it was her scent, her presence, or her clothes that he kept in his pockets on his missions.

On those days, the days where she felt too much Keigo, too many feathers and too much Hawks was when she snapped.

Down would go the plates, the expensive wine glasses, the vases filled with flowers sent by hundreds of fangirls who knew nothing about the monster that he actually was. She’d tear out her mussed hair, red-faced with tears that ruined her makeup the makeup that she liked to wear on these types of days just to piss him off, knowing that he thought “excess makeup is for whores and catfishes. I already know you’re a whore, well, my whore, but you’re not even good enough at applying makeup to be deemed a catfish so don’t even try it hummingbird” while screaming in his face to let go, for the love of god Hawks PLEASE let me go I want to go home I don’t want this anymore I don’t want YOU anymore this isn’t working out I don’t love you-

And crack would be the sound of his palm across her face, knocking her to the floor. On these types of days he wouldn’t even think she deserved a change in facial expression, staring down at her pathetic trembling body while his lips were set in a subtle casual smile, his hands stuffed in his pockets as if he never raised an arm a second ago, and his eyes remained golden and neutral, the only indication of him processing her tantrum was the black glint in his pupils that dilated every time she gasped and sobbed on the floor.

To ensure that his precious, oh-so fragile lovebird wouldn’t hurt herself any further with her stupidity, he’d crouch down inches away from her face and cock his head slightly as a real bird would do. He’d reach out and lift her chin to face him while his other hand would snake up her thigh to try and console her which only succeeded in making her shake and breath unevenly.

Leaning forward to ghost his lips over the shell of her ear, he’d relish in the way her mouth would part in terror as he would lovingly whisper every threat of what he’d do to her the next time she wanted to be like a brat, because god help her if she thought he couldn’t tame a brat after dealing with a lifetime of villains.

It was almost laughable, how easy she was to silence. He didn’t even need to use feathers to pull her to her feet when he would tell her to go to the bed and get on all fours like the bitch she was.

She had to earn her way back into being his good, obedient little dove, on days like these.

But after these days would pass and she would indeed realign with his expectations, he would reward her greatly.

Never like this, though.

Y/n is brought to the present again as another flash of light from the paparazzi snaps her out of her daze. As the spots begin to fade from her vision, she sees Keigo in front of her adorning his trademark “for the fans-only” grin, although Y/n would call it a sleazy smile, the same smile he would give her before he signaled his feathers to cut deep into her feet so she’d stop kicking at him as he dragged her on the floor and feels him squeeze her hand a little too tightly to be dubbed as endearing.

“Stop zoning out on me, you look like a ditz”, he hisses through his teeth, his grin now resembling more of a bared-teeth look.

She tries to try to fix her face and pull the corners of her mouth up, attempting to also brighten her eyes and looking interested at the blond interviewer who was now conversing with Hawks about his recent team-up with Endeavor. It takes every ounce of self-restraint to not shove past the phony smiles and flashy attire enveloping her and waltz down the red carpet to the doors of the gala. She thinks if she hears him utter another word about how he’s so incredibly blessed to have the love and support of my fans, family, and most importantly, my girlfriend who has stuck by my side through thick and thin, she’ll puke on the bedazzled yellow dress the interviewer has on.

As if. He’d probably whisk her off to the nearest bathroom and pummel her on the floor right then and there just for being distracted, but not before fucking her as well.

She feels Hawks nudge her side, and on cue she darts her head up and really plasters on a blinding smile as she focuses on the question that was just asked to her.

“Sorry, what was that? I think I got distracted by your outfit, you look lovely tonight, an absolute catch.” She winks for good measure, just to salvage the damage of ignoring the conversation and Keigo’s tight-lipped smile, which was beginning to soften.

Bingo.

“Oh you’re so sweet! I can see why Mr. Number Two here swooped in to take such a cutie like yourself.” The interviewer giggled, twirling a golden lock around her finger. “But no worries, I was just saying you should come make a public appearance more often! I mean, the media barely gets to see you with Hawks intimately, it would be a great excuse to get all glammed-up as well...I mean, if Hawks here hasn’t got his talons sunk too deep into you.” She laughs shrilly and doesn’t notice how both Y/n and Keigo tense up at her insinuation.

Yeah lady, you’re not too far from the truth. The last time I tried to look nice and go outside, I was bedridden for a week and a half while nursing frozen peas over 7 different parts of my body, inside and out.

But if Keigo can bullshit more than he can tell the truth, then so could she.

She laughs warmly and places her hand on his shoulder lightly, just to sell the “supportive girlfriend” look.

“Well, I really would love to come out and show my support for him more often, but we’ve both agreed that with all the publicity anyways, it’s just too much pressure for me to deal with. I’d rather just stick with what I know and keep it hush between him and I.” She turns her gaze to Keigo now, superficially giving him a puppy-in-love look but discreetly seeking his approval if what she said was the correct thing or not.

He merely gave her an amused smile, as if to say damn, wasn’t expecting that answer but I guess it’s fine. Yeah. Two can play at that game.

Pleased with her answer, the blond bimbo turns on her heel and sashays away, leaving the couple by themselves.

Keigo gives Y/n a side eye and cautiously holds out his elbow for her to take. A peace offering for the meantime, just to reward her for the quick save.

Don’t fuck this up for me, or you’ll regret it tenfold when we get back home.

“Shall we?” He waits for her to oblige, and of course she does.

Arm-in arm, they gracefully walk down the red carpet towards the gold plated doors. Upon entering, Y/n’s breath is taken away at the grand hall, with red banners hanging from the balconies that had navy blue and gold words of praise for the heroes engraved in the silk. Hundreds of pro heroes filled the room, much more than what she was used to from only interacting with her captor for months.

Guiding her over to the long granite bar, Keigo squeezes her arm before lightly dropping it. Before she can move, he stands directly in front of her and his vermillion wings unfurl and slightly surround the two of them, creating their own little space. To others, it might’ve just looked like two lovers embracing each other and having their own little moment. Y/N knew better, however, and suspected he had ulterior motives.

She was right.

“I’m gonna leave you here for a few minutes, ‘kay? I don’t want you moving from here,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and she had to suppress a shudder at his unwanted proximity. “The feather stays on, and I better not see or hear anything funny while I’m away.”

She nodded and touched her necklace that was indeed laced with one of his feathers, remembering the deal he made when he agreed to let you out for the day.

Ah yes, the dreaded feather.

When she had approached him on shaking legs two days prior, Hawks was brushing his hair in the bathroom, keen on meticulously keeping it styled and ruffed up in the morning. It was one of the things that Y/N would begrudgingly say was one of his finest features, along with his natural eyeliner-shaped markings and rugged yet handsome facial features.

On good days, she liked to lightly trace her fingers and across his sharp jawline and feel the stubble growing on his blushed face. She’d try to stop immediately however, when he’d open his eyes and catch her hand, moving it across his body much to her chagrin and down to his-

She had stood outside the door, fumbling with the hem of her thin nightie and desperately trying to pull the short material past her bare thighs as she mustered up the courage to bring up her proposition.

Keigo slowly ceased his brushing when he saw the meek little thing quivering outside his door, and he quirked up an amused eyebrow. He braced both arms on either side of the sink, and let out a light exhale, before addressing her.

“Something wrong hummingbird?”

She dragged her eyes from the floor up to his dilated golden irises, and blurted out what she had been rehearsing in her head for the past couple of days:

“DoyouthinkIcouldcomewithyoutothegala?”

“Huh?” he snickered, thoroughly bewildered by what incomprehensible nonsense she had stuttered out.

Y/N bit her lip and took in a shaky breath, strike one, she fumbled her first try.

“Haw- uh, Keigo,” she corrected quickly. He preferred her using his first name, his real name. He claimed it made things more intimate between them as if carving his name on her back hadn't been enough to seal their “intimacy’-she didn’t need to be told twice what to call him by after that day “I was wondering...if I’m good and I don’t give you a hard time, can I come with you to the hero's gala?”

Keigo’s brow furrowed slightly, and he cocked his head to the side like a real bird. He seemed to be contemplating it.

“Alright,” he conceded after a couple seconds. “If, and I mean if you listen to me and don’t try any funny business while we’re there I’ll let you tag along.”

Y/N darted her eyes up to him, hope swimming in her heart.

“But you have to wear the feather.”

She immediately blanched.

A major inconvenience that she had come to terms with in the duration of her stay with him had been his stupid fucking feathers that layed oh-so-casually around the floor where she walked and coincidentally clinging to her clothes wherever she went out of Keigo’s eyesight, even though she was trapped on the same floor with him.

They had special properties; they could detect any movement, sense any vibration whenever he called for it. This made for a perfect tracker for Y/N in terms of whenever he wanted an update on her heartbeat, her mood, her whereabouts, and anything in between.

Yes, it was suffocating. But she would much rather it only be a suffocating feeling rather than him actually directing hundreds of feathers to surround her and hold her down on the bed or floor to do whatever he wanted with her in any position he pleased.

She didn’t dare complain to his face, however. She’d grit her teeth, grin and bear it, listen to every whim he demanded of her if it meant one night of superficial normalcy.

And so she put on her best behavior on the days leading up to the main event. She made dozens of dishes that circulated around chicken (his favorite binge food), she let them have “cuddle time”, with no complaints whatsoever when he insisted on bathing her and dressing her up in stupid pink frilly skirts, and she even gave him little subtle looks with a batting of her eyelashes when he looked down fondly at her good mannerisms and praised her for being such a sweet little birdie.

Eventually, her acting paid off and on the morning of the gala she was merited with a silk red dress that stopped at her upper thigh, ornamented with gold earrings and a 12K necklace to really sell off the look-which was of course wrapped around one of his feathers. Hawks had even hired a makeup artist who was instructed to not ask or say anything to Y/N save for questions about the products, much to her pleasant surprise.

She was still reminded of how much she had to grovel for him every time he rewarded her that afternoon.

“You look stunning, chickadee,” Keigo leaned against the dresser with his arms crossed, and smiled warmly at Y/N. “You’re making her look like a real model, maybe she should take over my job instead. Or, actually, maybe you could stop by my agency and make me all pretty for my next photoshoot.” He directed this last tease at the makeup artist and winked, causing the oblivious employee to giggle and blush.

Ugh, barf. He’s even a sleaze when I’m right here.

Y/N feigned a roll of her eyes, which didn’t go unnoticed by the hero. She could feel his dilated eyes boring into her the rest of the 15 minutes of touch-ups. Eventually everything was done, and Hawks left praise after shameless praise fall from his lips and onto the poor fangirl’s heart as he guided her out the door, a hand on her lower back as he did so.

She took the opportunity to get up and walk to the full-length mirror, admiring how she looked for the first time in ages. Gone were the multi-colored marks that decorated her body as if she were nothing more than a mere canvas for her painter to use. Her eyes seemed a little brighter too, and it wasn’t just the makeup that caused it. She stood a little straighter and squared her shoulders, her chin tilted up more than before while she stared at her reflection. She didn’t recognize the woman in the mirror, and she liked it for once.

It was ridiculous, she knew it was to feel so vain but she couldn’t help but bask in her potential freedom for just one night. She looked gorgeous, she felt confident, and she had earned it all on her own.

Cocking her head to the side, she tried to practice a couple smiles to be camera-ready for when the time came. She turned the corners of her lips up, then showed her teeth, and even tried fluffing her hair up sensually. Biting her lip slightly, she threw her head back, causing her curled locks to bounce and lowered her eyelids to look sexy. She giggled at her own stupidity and poses, completely unaware that a certain winged-man had entered the room and leaned against the door for the past couple of minutes, simply watching the little show she put on.

“That's quite a look you’ve got there hun, why don’t you make those faces more often with me?”

She immediately froze, her breath hitching. She didn’t dare look at him in the eye from the mirror.

“I mean, I’m the only one who should be seeing such a slutty expression anyways, right?” He said ever-so casually, hands in his pockets as he slowly strolled up behind her, and she couldn’t help but think as her eyes darted up to meet him in the mirror that the sadistic shit-eating grin on his face didn’t suit so well with his god-like features.

She visibly wilted, her shoulders hunched and head down in contrast to the tall, powerful woman she had felt like mere seconds ago. Her breath quickened as he leaned over her shoulder, grazing his teeth over the sensitive part under her ear, and she bit her lip harshly to stop the squeak that threatened to escape her trembling lips.

“If I had known that a pretty dress and some makeup would make you act like a wanton little whore, I would’ve done this wayyy sooner. I guess you really are just another dumb bimbo bitch who does anything she’s told if she gets to feel important for a night.” He whispered in her ear, resting his head on her shoulder and looking up at her with innocent eyes, ones that imitated the mocking tone of voice he used.

It seemed like he wanted her to feel disgusting, to wilt under his cruel words that he used like knives-knives that were sharpened with his tone and body language, knives that were so intimately and carefully chosen. They worded so that they were used to their full extent to cut and carve through her heart.

“Is that what you are my little songbird, hmm? You wanna be a pretty baby and have everyone’s attention on you? I’m hurt, here I was thinking I was enough for you.” He pouted, and with every word he spoke the grip his hands had around her waist tightened.

She tried to protest but he plowed through her pitiful attempts.

“Hell, if you want some attention so bad and whore yourself out, I should call over some friends! Yeah, we can skip tonight’s gala, would you like that songbird? For me to share you with my friends so they can satiate your whorish needs?” And at his he shook her lightly, his grip around her middle choking her and cutting off her circulation. “N-no, Hawks,” she wheezed out. “I just... liked my makeup, that’s it. I only want you, I promise. I won’t cause any trouble tonight, please don’t call any friends over.”

She looked up at him in the mirror with eyes the size of saucers, blinking away tears and trying her best to show how apologetic she was at her audacity to feel good about herself.

He loosened his arms and straightened up, peering down at her disgustedly. He had absolutely no regrets about the way she sucked in air immediately when he relented, or about the way she frantically brushed the tears from her eyes, trying to preserve her mascara from running. (not that he would’ve minded). She needed to learn her lesson; he controlled her highs and lows. Only he had the permission of holding her fragile emotions in the palm of his hand, and if she didn't want that palm turning into a fist and breaking her, she would do well not to piss him off and treading carefully about flaunting what was meant for his eyes only.

She wanted to lock herself in the bathroom and cry out to her heart's content from being embarrassed and degraded like this. She kept absolutely still however, when she felt his hands lightly tracing the feather on her collarbones. It was an unspoken threat, and when their eyes met once again in the mirror, the way he sized her up confirmed it.

The feather stayed on.

Which brought her back to the present.

Y/N had already downed 3 glasses of champagne while reminiscing about earlier today, something Hawks would’ve surely tutted at. Finding herself bored, she meandered around the bar, keeping close to where he left her.

She scanned the room for her ‘lover’ and found him laughing with a group of his friends, his head thrown back and the charming sound of his deep yet lilted voice carrying through the hall, entrapping anyone who was around.

He certainly had presence, no sense in denying it.

Any girl would’ve been crazy to deny him, and Y/N wished that Hawks had fallen for a girl that didn’t want to deny him out of his hundreds of fangirls a point that was set in stone in Y/N’s mind when she saw a tall brunette clinging to his arm while she shrieked with laughter at whatever stupid story Hawks was telling.

Said fangirl seemed to also have been put under his contagious spell, from the way she so obviously threw herself on his arm and pushed her chest against his side under the pretense of shaking with laughter. Various other parts of her body seemed to be shaking against him too, but he didn’t seem to mind based on the smirk he quickly looked down at her with.

For the second time that night, Y/N wanted to throw up.

Was it jealousy? Negative. Rather, it was frustration that he literally had girls throwing themselves at him, tits hanging out and all but yet he wanted what he knew he couldn’t have. She assumed that it was this mentality of his that landed him at being Number 2, chasing after the seemingly impossible until it was tangible.

It was easier on some days to try to understand his point of view. It was much better than getting lost in the hours pondering what kind of bad karma she inherited from a past life to go through this hell. But on some mornings when she felt stone-cold sober, she remembered that she was a person, not some objective or conquest that he had rightfully won. Deciding to try and take her mind off from the trainwreck that was unfolding in front of her, Y/N aimlessly wandered to the side of the bar and down a grand hallway that was less crowded and had less Hawks.

On either side of the hall, giant bronze frames held the portraits of past heroes and had little scriptures of their accomplishments. Hawks had always talked about how he wanted his name up there, and how one day he was going to do something incredible to have his own face up on the hall of fame. His idol, Endeavor, already has taken place on the wall right next to All Might’s frame, and Y/N looks up and ponders at both of their pictures.

And how befitting is it, that Hawk’s idol is also accused of a sinister and tumultuous family past.

Maybe he doesn’t need to work too hard to follow in the footsteps of the number one hero.

“Quite the hero, Endeavor is. Even though there is controversy about the nature of his past and his redemption efforts, he set many precedents as to how a true hero should act.” Y/N’s head snaps to the right where Edgeshot had just joined her. He wore a navy blue tux with red seams, his trademark mask covering the lower half of his face.

“Yeah, you’d think his admirers would try to follow in the footsteps of changing themselves too,” she muttered bitterly. “I’ve noticed his biggest fans seem to take after his more...old brutish traits rather than the better person he’s trying to be now.”

The masked hero laughed softly, and Y/N looked at him suspiciously.

“What, you don’t think heroes have their own fair share of flaws?�� She challenged.

“No no, don’t get me wrong of course. I would be on an inappropriate level of naivety to assume that, considering I’m a part of the whole corrupt system itself. I think, however, that change within a person comes after an extended time of self-reflection. You have to look within yourself and accept that you were wrong in the first place, if you want to change.”

Y/N was quiet for a moment.

“Do you think the villains are ever right? About society brushing the flipside of heroism under the carpet, I mean. It doesn’t matter if the heroes are trying to save people because it's expected of them, if they aren’t actually compassionate about their cause then is there really a point?” She asked desperately, hoping he could understand her.

Edgeshot hesitated for a moment before answering.

“In my years of experience,” he said quietly, still looking up at Endeavor’s painting, “the ones who have at heart a solid reason for acting the way they do are most always justified. It may not always be a good reason, but a foundation always gives way to a justification that can be argued for.”

All of a sudden, Y/N gasped as white hot pain sliced through her sternum. She looked down and saw the red feather on her necklace quivering as a fine line of red sprouted from the cut it made.

“Are you alright?” Edgeshot asked, looking fairly alarmed, his hand reaching for her shoulder.

“Yes, of course! My necklace is just a little sharp, a little edge just nicked me that's all.” She said shrilly, already backing away from the concerned hero. Turning on her heel, she picked up the hem of her dress and tottered out of the hall, not paying any mind to the vermillion plumage that drifted down her chest, past her waist and eventually clinging onto her leg, making little nips and stabs here and there.

Blood was pounding through her head as she navigated the way back to where Hawks had left her to be. Her palms were sweaty and she was sure her hair was becoming messy as she whipped her head around, attempting to look past tall heads and bodies that blocked her way to the bar.

Shitshitshitshit god please don’t let him be there already please please please-

But it seemed as though god wasn’t in a merciful mood, because lo and behold, the raptor was leaning against the long granite island with a glass in his hand.

He seemed to be casually grinning, swirling a maroon substance in his cup and choking it down leisurely, but as Y/N drew closer she knew-as expected- he seemed off.

The smell of alcohol was nauseating around him, he must have been drinking something strong. His wings, although lightly flapping behind him, were pointed at the edges and shaking lightly. His eyes were completely dilated, and were shifting around the room until they settled on her meek figure rushing up to him.

“Hey there birdy, long time no see. Did you have a good chat with Edgeshot? I’m sure you both enjoyed talking shit about me behind my back.” Y/N winced at how charismatic and booming his laugh was after his ominous remark. It was too carefree, a complete cover-up of how she knew he was actually feeling, and that scared her the most.

“Hawks I-”

“Keigo, sweetheart, did you forget my name already after talking with just one person? Damn, I’m hurt, guess keeping you locked up at home was the right decision after all if you’re acting like such a stone-cold bitch now.”

She stared up at him, openmouthed and thoroughly panicked now. He was talking too much, he was going to expose himself and her-

Wait. Why is she covering for him? Wouldn’t it be better if he blabbed everything else so people could realize what he’s doing? Maybe someone would intervene and save her!

But it seemed like he was three steps ahead of her and had already figured that out, because his face flushed slightly and his eyes darkened and narrowed, with lips set in a flat line. When Y/N saw this change, she tried to back away but he quickly grabbed her hand and yanked her out the room and through the exit doors. It was all happening so fast, she could hear various people call out to Hawks but he plowed through them so fast that she didn’t have time to even process that they were out of the building and in the air.

She screamed as he soared to an even higher altitude, clinging onto his neck for dear life. The wind whipped past her face, stinging her cheeks with the frigid cold and water particles that embedded on her lashes. Hawks was laughing hysterically the entire time he gained height, his talons ripping through her dress and piercing her skin, even overlapping the previous cuts his feather had made earlier.

“S-stop, what’re you doing, are you fucking crazy?” She shrieked, her words losing volume as the air was ripped out of her lungs.

“KEIGO, its KEIGO you stupid fucking cunt!” he screamed in her face. His arms loosened around her waist, and suddenly Y/N was falling, falling, falling straight for the asphalt.

She couldn’t even turn her head as her limp body plummeted down for imminent death. Her lungs begged for oxygen, fear settling like lead in her stomach, but the second she closed her eyes for what she thought was the last time, (Hawks) Keigo swooped down and yanked her back into his sinister embrace by her hair.

Ignoring the ripping strands she felt in her skull, she flailed around in midair trying to grab onto something-she reached up to grab his foot but he noticed and kicked her square in the face. Y/N had never before felt such terror and pain, mentally or physically.

Damn her pride, she wants to live for god's sake.

“Keigo,” she sobbed, remembering just in time to use his real name lest he smash her teeth in again, “please put me down, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I talked to Edgeshot but I swear it wasn’t anything bad or about you.” The warm blood streaming down her nose began to harden on her upper lip from the chilly altitude they had reached.

Abruptly, he shifted his grip and pulled her up by her hair (she winced at that painful adjustment) so that he could hold her around her waist now.

They had to have been at least 200 or so feet in the air. The pair had cleared their way through some clouds and could clearly see the full moon right in front of them. It was deathly quiet except for Y/N’s labored breathing through her fractured nose, and her fear racked even further as she looked up at Hawks and realized that he was simply staring down at her with completely dilated eyes that narrowed and gleamed at her expression. He truly looked like a bird of prey right now, a predator that was forcing her to play the part of his prey, a point that solidified when he suddenly wrapped one hand around her throat to feel her heartbeat that thumped like a rabbits’.

The light from the moon reflected off his back, causing his front to be completely shadowed so that the contours of his sharp face seemed ever more looming and dangerous. Both of them stayed suspended in the air for a minute or two like that, Y/N not daring to speak unless he granted her a sign to repent.

After a long, painstakingly suspenseful minute of studying her face, he finally growled “We’re going home.”

It seemed to take only a mere couple of minutes for the Number Two hero to travel halfway across the city. Y/N barely had time to try and drink in the beautiful colors that accented the winding streets and buildings below her, knowing that it would most probably be a long time before she saw anything else that resembled freedom again.

He finally began to descend rapidly, forcing her to cling onto his jacket and shove her face into the crook of his neck to avoid getting whiplash. Peeking through her lashes, she recognized the balcony floor of his penthouse rushing underneath their feet. Dread and anxiety surged through her veins as he finally landed and postiviley threw her off of him and onto the wooden floor. She slid a good couple of feet and skinned her legs in the process, unable to stop her momentum as she slammed back into a lamp.

Dazed, she saw stars as she rubbed her aching head. Unfortunately she didn’t see him, rushing over to her the second she landed.

He grabbed her jaw tight and wrenched her bleary eyes to look up at him.

What he saw was beautiful.

A trembling mess beneath him, makeup runny and complemented with blood that flowed from her nose like an eternal stream. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the way she kept flinching any time he shifted; it made his pants tighten and caused his teeth to grit in what he measured to be the absolute last bits of self restraint he had for the night. He had truly ruined her, and he internally patted himself on the back at his work.

Was he mad? Yes, wholly and completely at her betrayal of his orders.

Did he regret losing his temper? Absolutely not. In fact, if you ask him, he should get mad at her more often like this. If it merited her pliant and vulnerable being, then who was he to deny such pleasure? Fuck he should’ve done this from the start- blowing up at mild disobediance instead of acting like a doting, patient boyfriend.

“You alive?” he roughly shook her head and her teeth chattered inside her skull while he did so.

“Yes,” she whispered, mouth popped open by his gloved fingers as he shoved a digit inside her warm and wet cavern. It was embarrassing how drool seeped through her lips and dribbled down her chin, but humility was the least concerning factor in her environment at the moment.

“Good. After acting like such a tramp you better fucking be. I told you one thing,” and he slapped her for added emphasis to his frustration, “can you repeat what I told you? Or are you so braindead that you can’t remember the one order I gave you when I trusted you to sit still and look pretty like a good little bitch?”

“Nnngh, no I rem-I remember.” Y/N panted out, attempting to talk through puckered lips and drool. “You told me to stay at the bar and not to move.”

“Exactly. So what part of that was so hard to understand, huh?” He hissed through his teeth, looking deranged.

“I just got bored, that’s all. I wanted to talk to another person…” Even though she didn’t finish her sentence, Hawks understood her perfectly.

I wanted to talk to another person apart from you.

He let out a mocking laugh, stretching his arms over his head to hide his shaking fists. Rage swept through his body like wildfire, licking up his throat and cheeks. His face was flushed and unreadable to Y/N as he sauntered around the couch and plopped down on it, spreading his legs to seem as uncouth as possible.

She sat shivering on the floor, unsure of if he wanted her to follow him or wither away on the floor like a mutt.

As he sighed loudly however, her body immediately tensed as though bracing for another painful impact. She daringly peeked over her shoulder and saw the back of his head protruding from the black and red leather couch. Lazily flicking his wrist up to a height where she could see, he vaguely beckoned her over without saying a word.

Immediately she scampered over to him and situated herself at his feet (where she belonged). Her eyes were downcast, and he begrudgingly accepted it as a form of submission on her part. No sense in beating the disobedience out of her now if she already knows what she did wrong.

Hawks heaved out another heavy sigh and let his head fall backwards. On one hand, he was slightly drunk and his head was killing him-he just wanted to go to sleep and forget today ever happened. However, there was a problem that was contributing to his growing migraine, and that problem was sitting right in front of him, practically kneeling at his feet for mercy. More than sleep, he wanted to take care of said issue and call it a night, so he decided to skip the sweet talk and warm up.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, kid. I’m gonna close my eyes and by the time I open them you better have already thought of a way to make tonight up to me, and you better have already put that plan in action. Then, we’re going to bed and when you wake up you’ll regret the day you even thought of talking to anyone apart from me, since you seem to have forgotten who’s been coddling your ass all this time.” He sneered, relishing at the way Y/N’s face went pale.

True to his word, he closed his eyes, glad to see his last view as the pathetic bitch who was about to service him. The feel of slight fumbling on his zipper made him feel even more drunk and giddy as it was pulled down. Maybe the entire evening wasn’t a complete wash after all.

Yeah, he should take her out a lot more.

#yandere hawks #yandere x y/n #bnha yandere #mha x reader #bnha #hawks x reader #hawks smut #hawks x y/n #bnha hawks #mha hawks #kidnapping #tw dubcon #mha #yandere #yandere hawks x reader

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missycolorful · 2 years ago

Text

This path we carved for ourselves, we do not have to travel it alone

(So... in my current canon-complaint story, there’s a large csandduo scene, that I wanted to get done before Wilbur's stream but didn't. Not that I'm bothered just adding "canon-divergence," more so that I want my work to fit the characters as best as possible. And if csandduo interaction… doesn't go the way I'd like, I'd feel disheartened to go too different a route? idk, brain be weird.

Anyway, this is a very rough draft of that scene I cobbled together, so people can enjoy one interpretation of how the stream might go. I’ll likely still keep it in the story, though knowing me it'll be vastly different from the final project. Again, very rough.

ALL THIS TO SAY. Here’s a 4k c!sandduo drabble about apologies long left unsaid and a father and son trying to fix what is broken, and if everything I wrote about these two is wrong, I will cry but at least I got this out there)

With a slow, eerie creak, the door opened. Phil’s hands stilled from their stitch up work on Tubbo’s winter pants. Something about Tubbo and Tommy fighting over the last batch of cookies they had between them. Said goat hybrid sat on the chair adjacent the couch in a pair of shorts, tapping his knees and rambling about Michael. The spark in his eyes seemed to reignite now that Ranboo was back, their family reunited if not entirely as it was.

With the noise at the door, though, Tubbo’s mouth snapped shut. Phil wondered if Technoblade had returned. He came back from another journey the other day, but left once more shortly after, busy as ever. Phil glanced toward the door and—

Guilt stumbled into his chest when Wilbur tilted his head to walk through the doorway. Of course. Even though Wilbur’s presence in the cabin had been scarce, Phil still offered the cabin as a proper home for him. Yet Wilbur stood stiffly at the corner like a stranger. A tense expression wrinkled his face.

Philza straightened his posture, sitting taller on the couch. Concern etched his brow. “Hey, Wil,” he said. “D’you want something to drink? I-I should have extra snacks lying around if you need—“

“Uh, no, no, I don’t need anything right now. Well,” Wilbur interrupted. His shoulders drew rigid, the posture of a man with business to attend to. “I was sort of hoping to talk to you.”

Phil froze, fingers twitching with the needle and thread.

“Alright, that’s my cue, I’ll be taking that, thank you, Philza!” Tubbo exclaimed all in what felt like one breath, shattering the tension that was thick as steel. He stood up, yanked the cloth from Phil’s grasp, and began to exit the house.

“I, fuckin—Tubbo, I didn’t even finish—“

“And if I get frostbite on my ass, that’ll be the consequences of my actions. Bye!” With a single, curt wave, Tubbo was out the door in seconds, slamming it shut with more force than necessary. Even Wilbur cringed slightly from the sound.

Philza tried to show off his best poker face. Wilbur continued to stand close to the corner, and nothing was being said, so naturally, Philza’s mind liked to wander and assume the worst of this future conversation.

His mind was scattered, but the unsettling feeling was not unfounded. Not after the last time Wilbur and he spoke, though that was more akin to a one-sided shouting match on Wilbur’s part.

“How could you do that?” Wilbur shouted, right in his face, a snarl curling his lips and revealing gritted teeth. “After all he’s done, you just let him out!”

Philza forced himself to keep still, to not recoil at the sudden rise of anger bursting from Wilbur like a prodded balloon. Things had been going swell until Tommy walked in to join the two. The conversation, some way or another, led to Wilbur discovering Phil helped Dream escape prison and forced a frazzled Tommy to deal with his abuser all over again. Phil dragged a calloused hand over his eyes,

“It was... it was just business, like I told Tommy. Technoblade had his own thing to do, and I was just... making sure nothing went wrong.”

“Business? You just let out a criminal ‘cause it’s business?” Wilbur continued, and Tommy stood beside him, awkwardly at that. He never once spoke up. He eyed Wilbur every time his voice rose or he mentioned his name, but otherwise, the boy held no courage to discuss his struggles. “Since when were you buddy buddy with the guy, Philza?”

“We’re not friends,” Phil spat with no hesitation, offended by the notion. “Not like I ever gave a shit ‘bout him.”

“But you still let him out, don’t you understand? You’re responsible for making Tommy afraid for his own life again. You can’t just say you feel bad now, it’s too late. Not after what Dream put Tommy through.”

“Okay, ‘cept I barely know what he's ever done to Tommy,” Phil said, irritation riling like a volcano ready to erupt, but he had to keep it under the surface. He wasn't going to fight against his son; he couldn't. He threw his arms out. "Fuck’s sake, I still barely know shit 'bout a lot of things."

Wilbur shook his head in disbelief, a sickly grin on his face. “Wh-you can't be serious."

"I can't know everything going on in this server, Wil," Phil pressed, shoulders sagging as if to emphasize his exhaustion.

"But I know," Wilbur replied, his voice low. "I've been back a lot less than you have. I know plenty, and I know you made a mistake." He gestured with a finger close to Phil's heart.

"Okay, I'm aware of that now," Phil bit back, voice rising as it inched somewhere between anger and desperation. Because it wasn't fair it wasn't fair...

"But that's the problem. After all this time, you didn't know? Do you really care so little? Or are you playing ignorant, old man?” he asked in a honey-suckle voice that had an acidic exterior. And hearing Wilbur speak to him like that hurt worse than any punch or sting.

“No, it’s that no one fucking tells me anything!” Philza snapped back against his viciously pounding heart. Blood pumped in his ears drums, a cacophony of noise, noise, noise. “How can I help if I’m kept in the dark all the time? What good can I do when I don’t know fuck all about you?!” He clamped his mouth shut before the tides came crashing in, but the damage was done, the sand swallowed by sea. His chest heaved.

The fire in Wilbur's eyes was more like an ember, as opposed to the billowing inferno from a minute ago. He took a moment to respond. “You never asked,” he whispered, the change in his tone threatening to cause whiplash.

Something lodged in Phil’s throat. A million thoughts surged through his brain like lightning striking flat land.

I wanted you to come to me.

I was afraid to.

I didn’t think you’d want me to.

Phil released a long and painful breath. “Y-yeah, you’re right... I-I couldn’t... I didn’t.”

No one said a word. Phil wondered if the world would shatter if a floorboard creaked, or one of the crows made a sound. Wilbur looked down, eyebrows furrowed. Phil was afraid to decipher his expression, so he gripped his chair and stared at the ground.

“I-I-I need to go,” Wilbur hastily said, turning on his heel and throwing the door open. “C’mon, Tommy.”

Tommy didn’t even look back at Philza before following Wilbur through the door, which was slammed shut. The picture above shuddered before going still. Phil collapsed into his chair, burying his face in his hands.

It had been over a week since then. Phil didn’t know where his son had gone off to in that time, or who he talked to. Wilbur had been in the midst of seeking redemption and forgiveness when he had thrown open Philza’s door with Tommy lagging behind him. Now he was back, he was alone, and he looked tired.

Did Wilbur learn about Phil’s hand in New L’manberg’s destruction? Or anything else that would break the camel’s back?

It was all coming together, Philza realized. For all he knew, Wilbur was here to rescind his forgiveness toward his father, because it was Phil’s fault, after all. He was here to tell Phil he never wanted to hear from him again. The thoughts crept through his mind for months and never relented, but now Frankenstein's monster was coming alive, but there was no kindness here, only cruelty and truth. Philza would not be okay with it for a long time, but at least the worry about what if's would no longer plague his mind like an illness as to whether his son even wanted him around or not—

“Phil?”

A voice spurred him from his spiraling. Phil flinched, and he sunk back into his body. He grabbed his cane to help himself to his feet. Blue eyes returned to Wilbur. “If you need to talk, we can. You don’t need to stand there the whole time,” he said, whirling around to step into the kitchen. “Go ‘head and sit down, I can grab some wate--“

“I’m leaving.”

Phil’s hand had been on the doorway when he stopped. His grip tightened, hiding the trembling of his fingers. Don’t turn back, don’t look back.

“What’s that?”

“I’m leaving the server. And I'm not really coming back.”

Fuck. Phil glanced over his shoulder. Wilbur’s hands were shoved into his pockets, and he stared directly at Philza with weary eyes. He had the face of a man who had seen several lifetimes.

Did something happen?

Is everything okay?

I just got you back.

Let me help you.

“O-oh,” Phil struggled, leaning heavily onto his cane. “Okay. That’s... you know, maybe it’ll be good for you to... to get away from all this." Phil gestured vaguely into the air before slapping his hand back at his side. "If you think that's best, go out and explore, mate. Has, uh, everything be going good? Wi-with everyone you’re talking to?”

Wilbur nodded. “Yeah, it’s been...” He carded through his hair, and lowered himself onto the couch. The fire cackled right beside him, casting orange shade to the side of his face. “It’s been hard, not gonna lie. But reaching out to everyone was for the best. It helped a lot. I learned a lot, too.”

Phil nodded, hurrying to grab a pair of glasses. He returned and placed two cups of water onto the coffee table. As Phil rounded the table, Wilbur spoke up.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

Wilbur brought one leg to his chest, leaning his cheek against his arms as they rested on his knee. “Why did you do it? Blow up L’manberg, I mean?”

There was nothing accusatory to his voice, no anger, no disappointment. It sounded like a simply, curious question, like asking someone how they wanted to spend the day. Not asking why someone would commit terrorism.

It didn’t calm the worry seeping into Phil's skin. “Who told you?” he asked, a genuine question as opposed to anything blunt or demanding.

“A few people, actually. Tommy, for example, but th-that’s not what’s important here,” Wilbur made vague gestures with his hands as he spoke. He scratched at his hairline. “I’m asking why you did it.”

He tried so hard to read his son’s tone, but the boy seemed to do well in concealing what lied in his heart. Like he wanted to throw a sucker punch only when it would hit the hardest. But Phil would never be ready for the sudden blow. He sat in the chair closest to Wilbur, his hands clasped in his lap.

“Mate, I… fuck, whatever version of L’manberg you made was not the one I saw. You weren’t there to see th-the…” He gestured weakly with a hand. “How fucked the government was. All these people getting corrupted by greed and shit and-and…” His voice petered off, and he whispered, “And seeing that that country... i-it destroyed you. And I didn’t want that to happen again. That's... that's why, really.”

“I see,” Wilbur muttered, straightening his posture. His eyes drifted toward his hands, buried in the fabric of his worn pants.

“You know, I helped start building it back up. I wanted to help,” Phil continued, thinking back to his first days in the server. The air still tasted like ash, but among the ruins, there was beauty to be found underneath, he just knew. And Phil wanted to seek it, only to later discover the ugly in the cracks and corners. He sighed, a tragic smile playing on his lips. “It just all fell apart. I dunno what happened, but... would you believe me if I told you I did it ‘cause I care?”

“Even if it destroyed the homes of the people who say you care about? Tubbo and Tommy were quite upset by it--”

“Lot of people were hurt by that place. Niki and Ranboo told me themselves. Just… I swear, if you were there, you’d understand,” Phil emphasized, leaning forward, his fingers twitching from how close they were to his son’s hands. How he desperately sought to hold them and never let go. He shook his head. “I’m trying, I really am.”

“Somehow, I understand,” Wilbur said, his voice a touch far away. “Seeing as that was, well, part of my reasons.”

"Is... really?” Phil tried desperately to hold back how desperate he sounded, because that split moment of connection meant more to him than anything else in that moment.

“You see, Phil,” Wilbur’s curls bounced over his eyes when he tilted his head toward his father. He stapled his fingers together. “You destroyed it out of regard for others--perhaps yourself, as well, I can assume. Pretty drastic actions for it, but who am I to critique that? ‘Cause I, too, saw my own country fall into the hands of a tyrant. Just-just the mere existence of that country, the one I built, created tyranny. So I destroyed what had to be destroyed, but…”

“But?” Phil pushed, leaning forward to place a hand on Wilbur’s knee. I’m here I’m right here.

Wilbur leaned back, his guarded expression on full display. A smile tugged at his lips, one that did not meet the exhaustion that sunk his eyes. “Except your wrong. Well, at least about the old L’manberg. The new one, my memories are... faint, happy, but all of Ghostbur’s memories are, so they’re not that helpful. But the thing is, Philza, is that L’manberg didn’t destroy me.” He kicked his leg up to cross it over his other knee, prompting Phil to retract his palm. “I was the bad guy, it was all me, the system I created. I started my own downfall because I was a terrible person who did terrible things. I hurt all those people, and... you were right, when we last spoke. Y-you have no idea how much I’ve done.” And through it all, he smiled, though it wavered the longer he spoke.

“I...” Word abandoned Phil. What was he supposed to say, what could he say he had to say something!!

“I’ve done so much wrong, and I died because that’s how it was supposed to happen. Yet here I am,” Wilbur shook his head, eyes misting over, “sitting across my father, who just… accepted me in his house without question, and all these people I’ve hurt are forgiving me way too easily, and I don’t get it. You all should be afraid of me, fuckin’ hate me, so… why not?” he asked, looking Phil directly in the eye, practically pleading for some semblance of understanding. The walls were tumbling down, his expression completely open, utterly heartbreaking.

And Philza’s face crumbled. He turned away to fight back against another tsunami of emotions that assaulted him. And Wilbur was waiting for him to say something, but now, now he had an idea as to what to say.

Because Wilbur truly was his son, because he had been staring at a version of himself, one still forging his path.

“You know that, uh, I have done some bad things too,” he began, trying to keep everything under control. For now. “I’m a fucked up guy, I’m not perfect--well, none of us are, but… god, you don’t even know the extent of all the shit I’ve done…” His smile faded. “Though you know plenty about what I’ve done here.”

“Like you guys breaking Dream out of jail--god, Phil, that was so fuckin’ stupid--”

“I didn't know," Phil again argued, in vain, so he added, "It’s why I’ve been trying to help Tommy, as a way to apologize. But all that? Would you say I’m a bad guy?”

Wilbur didn’t respond right away, the gears in his head turning. “In someone’s story, perhaps," he said.

“Alright, fair, that’s fair,” Phil conceded, nodding. "I know what it looks like to others, the things I did. I’m not stupid. I must look like the biggest dick.” He pressed a hand against the wrinkled folds of his pants, smoothing the fabric. “But that’s… the world isn’t that simple, never was. Villains, heroes, it’s all in stories, nothing more. At worst, we just do bad things, even if we think we have good reasons.” He glanced out the window, thinking back to the afternoon when he had returneded to this cabin on a day where smoke from what was once L’manberg could still be seen, even from afar.

How there was no feeling of satisfaction or joy or even anger or resentment. There was no catharsis. That would imply Doomsday was to make him feel good, when he wanted to bury everything that trembled inside of him in debris and ash.

“But after everything I’ve done," said Wilbur, again dragging Phil from deeply hidden memories, "my friends forgave me. Shouldn’t they hate me?”

Phil thought about his conversation with Kristin, about cavorting death and about second chances, and he shook his head. “I think it’s why you were given a second chance--”

“But Phil, Dream was just using me against Tommy. That’s the reason he brought me back.”

Philza sneered. Great, another piece to add to the pile that made it really hard to just not find and kill Dream on the spot. “I--well, I’m… I’m talking in the more whole, like, universal way. Fuck Dream, doesn’t matter why he did that. But you came back, and you’re given a chance to work things out with everyone you hurt, because you do care about them. That’s what’s important.

“Wilbur.” Phil stepped forward on weak knees and placed both his hands on Wilbur’s shoulders. Wilbur glanced up at him, looking small and younger. “You shouldn’t have died that day. I don’t care if Kristin even says it was supposed to happen. It fucking--I think every day about it, it was so fucked up. You deserved to come back and be alive.”

Wilbur’s jaw dropped, the wrinkles around his eyes emphasizing a deep sadness that twisted Phil’s heart. “But what do I do now, Phil?” he nearly begged. “I’ve gone to almost everyone I want to give forgiveness to, but after that… where does my story go from here?”

"Stories, that's..." Phil’s fingers tightened on his son’s dirty, dirty coat. He needed to give that a good wash later. He sighed. “You just live, mate.”

“But what does that mean?”

Phil’s mouth fell open, but no words came out. Maybe years and years ago, he’d be upfront and tell him that he wanted to give a good answer but couldn’t, and that was that. Because he had been lost and confused and had let eons of survival consume everything about him.

“I don’t know any legit answer, if there’s even one. F-fuck if I know, but...” But the years had made him soft. So his face, too, softened, as he said, his smile pained but honest, “Just... do better than me.” He squeezed Wilbur’s shoulders. “Be better than me, Wilbur. I think you can do that much.”

Wilbur’s lip quivered, and for a brief second, Phil thought oh god, that didn’t help at all.

Until Wilbur rose to his feet and threw his arms around his back, dragging Phil into a strong embrace. With his heart hammering in his chest, Phil scrambled to wrap his arms around his son. Against his shoulder, Wilbur took in a shuddering breath. Philza fell silent, at a loss for words. All he knew what to do was refuse to let go of his son, never again. Then...

“I’m sorry, Phil,” Wilbur muttered into Phil’s shoulder.

Phil adjusted himself to pull Wilbur back, as he assessed what was going on. Confusion swamped his mind. After all, Wilbur said he had asked for forgiveness from almost everyone he wanted, but… no, that didn’t make sense. Heavy stones sat in Phil’s gut.

“Mate, I...” He scoffed. “Sorry, but what’re you apologizing to me for?”

Wilbur’s eyes furrowed. “Huh?”

“I’m just, that's not how..." Phil shook his head. "I-I killed you. That literally gives you a free pass in-in not needing to apologize. I…” He tried to pass off a laugh, but it was weak. “I don’t even know why you’d apologize.”

Wilbur considered for a moment, arms crossed. “Y’know, for a bit there, in limbo… there was a time where I wasn’t… happy with what happened. What you did. I… I think I hated you.” Blue eyes met brown, and honesty carved every feature of his face.

Phil nodded, gulping back the bile in his throat. “And you have every right to--”

“But now, Phil?” Wilbur straightened his posture and stared down at his hands, like they were stained with uncleansed blood of the past. “Being brought back and seeing what I had done to everyone, including you--”

“Wilbur, I hurt you,” Phil emphasized hurriedly, and he didn’t want to fight his son on this, but if Wilbur truly wanted to insist on it, then he’d gladly rage into war. It was better than this! “I should be the one apologizing, not you." His body sagged, and he clasped his hands onto Wilbur's wrists. "Because I am sorry. I carried that grief with me every fuckin’ day, because I promised I’d do anything to get you back. C-couldn’t even do that, though… I fucked up, and my mistake fucked you over, too.” He brushed a hand over his face, feeling the burn of tears against his eyes,. “And I-I’m sorry for that, but I’m not letting you apologize for dying.”

Wilbur blew air through his nostrils. “That’s not fair, Phil!” he exclaimed, stepping back and throwing his arms out. “You tell me to go out and apologize to people, and everyone knows I’ve done terrible things and treated them horribly. And now you’re telling me what I can’t apologize abo-“

“That’s not...That’s not the point.” Phil sighed, digging his fingers between his eyes. The heavy weight of the conversation dragged over his back, threatening to pull him under. He reached over for his cane before his legs betrayed him. "What reason could--"

Once he gathered himself, his eyes locked on Wilbur, whose attention was directed at something beside Phil. More specifically, to his right, where his tattered wing twitched against the floorboard. The distance in deep brown eyes reflected how far into the past Wilbur was drifting as his focus sharpened on matted feathers.

“Wilbur,” Phil said, voice stern but not cruel. Determined. Wilbur's eyes were glazed over when his gaze returned to his father. “I’d do it again if I had to.”

Wilbur’s eyes fell shut, and he took a long and steady breath. He dragged both hands through messy brown curls, locking his hands together atop his head. When he opened his eyes, they were stone cold. “Did you know after my talk with Fundy he threw himself off a cliff?”

“What?” Horror washed over Phil like a freezing tidal wave.

“Yup.” Wilbur slapped his palms over his legs. “Jumped right off. He’s still around, but… did it right in front of me. He was just that sick of me.” He smiled, though the tears in his eyes said enough.

“Christ, Wil--“

“But that’s when I realized,” Wilbur's voice fell so quiet, Phil just barely managed to catch it. He folded his arms across his chest again. "That… there is nothing worse than watching your son kill himself. And he didn’t even put a sword in my hand; he just… jumped. B-but I forced you into this position, asked you to kill me. Isn’t that horrible?” He blinked at his father with eyes that were staring far away, where the memories were firmly stored, never to be forgotten.

Phil thought about that moment, and how in that moment, when Wilbur shoved the sword into his shaking hands, the world felt small and condensed, a tragic thing for someone who didn’t do well with tight spaces. How his throat tightened, because he had no idea how to handle that kind of situation, he didn’t know the right thing to say. How mind was spinning, his back was horrifically numb, and the world was screeching and loud against his eardrums...

And he killed his son.

A particularly hard breath caught in Phil's throat. “Well, isn’t it horrible that I listened? I--why the fuck--” His hands clenched, tense before he dragged them across his face. He coughed out a bitter sigh. “I can’t answer that, Wil.”

Wilbur deliberated, then looked back down at his hands, at the grime in his fingernails and the dust in the carves of his palms. “I’ve come to understand that forgiveness isn’t just about me, it’s about... the person I’m asking to forgive me. Gives them closure, o-or at least it can. Might not always, but… they can heal and move on, rather than sit in the damage I’ve done.” His head tilted back up, hands still splayed right by his chest. “You said you want me to live, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“We both hurt each other, and we both did stupid shit, but… if you forgive me, if I’m allowed to live,” he said, pointing to himself, and when he spoke again, he poked Phil gingerly in the chest, “so are you.”

“... You know I’d forgive you in a heartbeat. For anything, no holds bar.” The weight of the words, their honesty and depth and love, threatened to crush the world and kill all in its wake. His eyes felt damp, and he hurried to brush the tears away. His hands were shaking. How long had they been like this?

“And I forgive you, Phil, I really do,” Wilbur said, unaware of how Phil’s heart leapt against his chest because this was too good to be true. He ducked his head, curls hiding the top half of his face. “You know, someone told me that, after he gave me his forgiveness, I had one other person--besides you, mind you--I had to forgive. That being myself. And I’m still not…" He sighed, his body dragging with the rhythm of his exhale. "I have no idea how to do that, but... I’m gonna get there.”

Phil began to hesitate, ready to sit back on the sidelines, but realized he didn’t need to. “Can I join you?”

Wilbur peeked over, side eyeing Philza with a small smile. “I’d rather you did.”

“Gods,” Phil let out an awkward laugh, more out of feeling the stress roll of his back than anything else, “when did you get so smart?”

“Don’t give me any credit, someone else smacked me with a load of truth earlier. Really made me open my eyes.” Wil's focus fell toward the window, where a bunch of blond curls suddenly disappeared from view. “And talking to everyone else, too. It really helped, actually. Thank you, Phil.”

That broke the dam, and the tears were thick as they overwhelmed him.

Wilbur reached out into a drawer in one of the chests and retrieved a box of tissues. He offered it to Philza, a playful smile on his lips. “Never seen you cry this hard, Philza. Gone soft on me since I was gone?”

Phil snickered, wiping the tears off his face. “Oh, I’ve been a fuckin’ softie for a while now; you just never noticed. Have been since you came around, to be honest.”

“Oh,” Wilbur muttered, his face calming. He grinned, his hands tugging into his coat pockets once more. “Guess everything’s my fault then. Sorry about that, too,” he added, though Phil had trouble distinguishing whether the apology was genuine or a mere tease.

“Ah, shut up,” Phil said regardless, tossing aside the tissue box. “‘S a good thing. You can’t help that you made me feel human. For the first time, like, ever.” He shrugged.

“R-really?”

“Oh, ‘course.”

“And I’m assuming that’s a good thing?”

“I’m still working on it, but it’s pretty good if I do say so myself.”

#philza #wilbur soot #c!sandduo #dsmp fanfic #dream smp fanfiction #c!wilbur #sand duo #missy writes

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