#every time i sit down to draw them properly i black out and something like this happens
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i have little to say about this. just take it.
#had to repost because my laptop screen hates me#also why can i only draw these two in shitposts#every time i sit down to draw them properly i black out and something like this happens#also i will always draw renarin in glasses sorry canon#the stormlight archive#stormlight archive#rlainarin#rlain#rlain stormlight#renarin kholin#my art#my hits and bangers and other such things
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i know you have the reader saying “i love you” first to poly!m, but would you be open to doing one with just sirius? And doesn’t have to be reader saying it first, could be either, but just the first “i love you” with siri?
Thank you for requesting <33
Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 2.2k words
Sirius has been meaning to tell you, he really has. It’s only that feelings weren’t something encouraged in the house where he grew up, and he’s still not very good at them even now that he has the words, and though he’d called James a prat when he said Sirius was bad at vulnerability James is usually right about those things. Every time Sirius tries to say it, the words stick back in his molars like caramel. He wants the moment to be right, but not too heavy with gravitas so he can play it off as casual if he needs to. Also, he thinks that if you don’t say it back he’ll probably have to move countries and change identities. Still. You deserve to know.
Sirius decides all this whilst watching you sleep on a Sunday morning. Time moves like sap as you wake up, slow and sweet. First your face turning to the side, cheek pressed into the pillow. Then your body follows, and you’re laying on your stomach, one leg hiking up so your calf brushes Sirius’ thigh. Your eyes crack into the sunlight, then shut again. Sirius thinks about tracing every slope and curve of your face, starting with your nose and working his way outward. You mumble something, half in a dream. Eventually, you catch him looking, and your eyes flutter open, smile stretching lazily across your cheeks.
The sun rises in Sirius’ chest.
“Hi,” you murmur.
He gives in to one touch, drawing a line from your temple down to your chin. “Hi,” he says back.
He thinks that he has to tell you now. He’s known for weeks already, and when’s better than when he feels it so strongly and has just resolved to have you hear it?
He traces the same path back up your face, letting the words take form on his tongue. Your eyes flare before he opens his mouth.
For a moment, Sirius wonders if you’ve read his mind. But then you gasp out, “What time is it?”
He tells you, and you vault out of bed, suddenly wide awake.
“Oh my god,” you laugh, passing an anxious hand through your hair as you hurry towards the bathroom. “I was supposed to meet Mary for coffee at nine! I can’t believe I forgot to set an alarm.”
Sirius sits up. “She won’t hold it against you. Everyone sleeps in on Sundays, whose idea was it to meet before noon anyway?”
“Hers.” Your voice sounds garbled, and he guesses by the sound of it that you’re brushing your teeth. The sink turns on. “I just hate the idea that she’s been waiting on me all this time.”
He pummels his feelings back into submission, getting out of bed. “I’m sure she hasn’t, doll.” He pads into the bathroom, hugging you from behind whilst you speed-run your skincare routine. “James said he was out with her and Lily last night. I really doubt she remembered to set her alarm either.”
“Really?” You sound hopeful. “I don’t want her to think I ditched her.”
Sirius presses a placating kiss to your shoulder. “She’s probably just waking up herself. Want me to give her a ring?”
“Would you?”
“Sure, baby.”
“Thank you.” You turn around, kissing him properly. Sirius’ lips buzz with the things he can’t say. “You’re the best.”
Well, at least he can be that for you.
~~~
The second time Sirius tries to confess, it’s just as impulsive. What can he say—planning was always more James’ thing, Sirius never had an affinity for it. He does best thinking on his feet.
You’re in a pub, your friends and drinks left at a table in the corner. It’s loud and crowded, one of those electric Friday nights. And this pub, in what Sirius chooses to believe is a happy turn of fate, has a hallway. It’s short and sparsely lit, leading only to an employee bathroom. Through rose-tinted glasses and possibly also beer goggles, it looks to both of you like an opportunity too good to pass up.
Sirius has you pressed between stacks of chairs, your laughter fizzing on his tongue. You taste like cider and the sticky toffee pudding you’d ordered on a whim to split with James, and one of your fingers is hooked through Sirius’ belt loop as if to keep him tethered to you. As if you need to do anything at all to be sure of that.
He pushes his knee between your thighs, and your lips curve against his.
“Cruel,” you say. “You can’t do things like that in public.”
Sirius plays dumb. “Things like what, lovely girl?”
“Tease me.”
“Oh?” He peeks at you through his lashes, and you’re looking at him, too, eyes glittery. “And what is it that you think you’re doing?”
“Kissing you.”
“Right. That’s all?”
He can practically feel the giggle bubbling in your throat. “What else?”
“No, nothing. Nothing at all.”
You press your lips to his, and Sirius thinks it, crystal clear. An obvious truth. He thinks that it might be fun to tell you this way, to let you feel how his lips form the words against your own. Maybe you can roll them around in your mouth and give them a taste.
“I—”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
You’re looking behind him, expression one of shy contrition. You’re smiling just a tiny bit, eager to be laughed off and forgiven, but the pub manager Sirius finds when he turns around appears only weary.
“Just go,” he says.
You don’t need to be told twice, urging Sirius out of your little alcove and pulling him by the hand back towards your table to relay the story embarrassedly to your friends. The moment passes.
~~~
The third time, Sirius actually does plan, but you don’t show up. He considers this a probable sign that he should never plan anything ever again.
If he’s being honest with himself, he’s pretty put out. James got all this stuff into his head about romance and home cooked meals and even though Sirius doesn’t consider himself good at either of those things, he did try. He made the simplest thing he could find that you might like, cleaned off the kitchen table for the first time in forever, lit candles and then blew them out because that felt like too much. Lit them again, because who was he kidding.
It was supposed to be a surprise when you came home from work, only now it’s an hour past when Sirius had been expecting you and you’re not home. Not your fault, obviously. He hadn’t hinted you were doing anything special, and you’re not obligated to keep him abreast of your comings and goings no matter how much Sirius wishes you would right this moment. He’d caved and called your work a few minutes ago, worried about you, but there’d been no answer. Your office is closed for the day.
He nearly jumps out of his chair when you come in, a cold wind coming with you before you shut the door on it.
“Fuck.” You give a shiver, setting two drink containers down on the counter before starting to pull off your coat. Your hair is wind-whipped and your lips look chapped. Sirius has a suspicion that if he pinched the tip of your nose it’d be frozen solid. “It is gusty out there.”
“What happened to you?” Despite his best intentions, there’s a bit of accusation in Sirius’ tone. “Did you go somewhere after work?”
“It’s so—” You laugh, taking off your shoes. “It’s so stupid, honestly. But in my defense, I had no idea how long it would take.”
“How long what would take?”
“Okay, you know how—wait.” You look around, noting the candles and the set table. “Did we have plans?”
Sirius winces. “No. We didn’t. This was…impromptu. It was going to be a surprise.”
“Did you make dinner?”
“Well, it’s cold now.”
Your lips part, crestfallen. “Oh. Sirius, baby,” you breathe, moving towards him, “I’m sorry. I’d have come straight home if I’d known.”
“I know,” he says, fighting his own umbrage at the humiliating blunder. “I didn’t tell you. It’s fine.”
“But you made—”
“Would you just—really, it’s okay.” Sirius uses your hands to pull you down into the chair next to him. “Just tell me what happened.”
You still look miserable—really not what Sirius had hoped for tonight—but you start to explain again. “You know how you were obsessed with those salted caramel hot cocoas that one coffee shop had?”
Sirius feels his eyebrow lift. This feels like an odd place to start. “Yeah. The one that they sold out of after two weeks?”
“Right,” you say weakly. “They said it was because they had troubles with the vendor and ran out of the syrup.”
“Yeah…”
“Well, it turns out there’s more than one of that particular coffee shop. This girl at my work was talking about this salted caramel hot cocoa she’d tried, and she said she got it at another location of the same place. They’re, like, a local chain or something.”
You’re still looking guiltily at the cold plate of food beside you, but you’re picking up steam now, talking more animatedly and fishing a tube of lip balm out of your pocket as you tell the story.
“So, I looked it up and it turned out there was one right close to my work. I figured that had to be the place she got it, so I went down there to snag one after I got off.” You smear lip balm on while you speak, Sirius’ attention captivated by the movement. “I waited in this whole long line, and when I got up there the guy said the same thing they told you at the other place. They hadn’t had it for months.
So I called my friend from work, and apparently there are actually three locations and she’d gotten it from the one near her flat. And her flat was totally across town, but I figured I’d already waited in line, why not just commit? So I took the bus down there and…”
You stand, going to the counter to retrieve the drink containers you’d come in with. Sirius had forgotten about them.
“...got us these.” You pass one to him. “The guy said hardly anyone ever orders them there, for some reason. I got him to sell me a thing of the syrup, too.” You point with your chin to the counter. “It’s in my bag. I thought we could try to make our own, even if they’re not quite as good.”
Sirius is appalled. “You spent over an hour after work running across town…to get me a hot cocoa?”
You smile sheepishly. “I told you it was stupid.”
“Are you kidding me?” He sets his hot cocoa down on the table, taking your face between his hands and kissing you ardently. “I love you.”
He knows your eyes are open without having to open his. When he does, pulling away from you gently, your lips stay parted.
“Sirius,” you say slowly, the way you might talk to a wild animal, “it’s only cocoa.”
He grins, a nervous tic. “I realize that makes the whole sentiment sound rather conditional, but it’s not really.”
“Do you really mean it?” you almost whisper.
Sirius swallows. In his head, blurting it out involved much less explaining. This seems like that vulnerability thing James warned him about.
“Yes,” he says. Forces himself to do it without fanfare. “Of course I meant it. Why wouldn’t I mean it?”
“It just seems like the sort of thing you might say on a whim,” you admit. Later, Sirius thinks, you might laugh about how close to the truth you really were. You look bashful now, shrinking in on yourself and lip dimpling like you’re biting down on a smile. He chooses to interpret this as a good sign.
“It’s not a whim,” he reassures you. “It’s…I’ve been meaning to tell you.” He cracks a smile, grateful when you let yours loose too. “Felt like you ought to know.”
You give a little laugh. “Is that why you made dinner?”
“Not my best plan. We can blame James.”
“James knew?”
“Well, I—” Truthfully, there’s not much that goes through Sirius’ head that James doesn’t hear about. Usually immediately. “He’s got some more practice with this stuff than I do. You know, considering he’s been professing his love to Evans since he was about eleven years old.”
You’re still smiling. A private, amused sort of smile. “So you consulted with him.”
Fuck. Now Sirius feels about eleven years old. “Humiliating, isn’t it?”
“No.” You wrap your fingers in the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer. “Sweet.”
You kiss him much more nicely than he had you, soft, gentle presses of your freshly moisturized lips. Your hand moves to cup his face.
“Oh,” you mumble. “I love you, too, by the way.”
Sirius lets out a relieved bark of laughter, too loud and too sharp. “Good to know,” he says. “Thanks.”
You laugh, too. “Sorry I forgot to say it. Fuck, I really ruined your confession every way imaginable, didn’t I?”
“That’s okay.” Sirius leans back in. “I ruined it first.”
#sirius black#sirius black x reader#sirius black x fem!reader#sirius black x y/n#sirius black x you#sirius black x self insert#sirius black fanfiction#sirius black fanfic#sirius black fic#sirius black fluff#sirius black imagine#sirius black blurb#sirius black scenario#sirius black drabble#sirius black oneshot#sirius black one shot#marauders#marauders fanfiction#marauders fandom#the marauders#hp marauders#marauders era#marauders x reader
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Because I have favorism towards the fae myself (And I'm sorry this is suggestive)
Remember Malleus' voice line about touching his hornes? Now, reader just touches them whenever they can be reached (like when Malleus is using their lap as a pillow) or stroking his tail whenever it's wrapped around Reader. Without realizing it's doing things to him.
Oh my gosh. Don't apologize for suggestive content, I love that shit. Feed me more of it. Heuheuheuheu.
Feeding a Faes hidden desires
Featuring: Malleus Draconia <3
General warnings: Gender neutral reader
18+ / suggestive content minors please don't interact~
It was difficult for Malleus Draconia to open up to people, he had to be the face of pure perfection for the sake of his kingdom. Every action he took, every word he said, would reflect upon Briar Valley and put his position as a prince in either light of greatness, or foolishness. The former was not an option for Malleus Draconia. He was given the best of the best when it came to his studies and academics, except, unfortunately, sex ed.
He understood the bare minimum of course, for reproduction was important for keeping the bloodline of the Draconias strong. What he was not well versed in, however, was the feeling of lust that came with reproduction. He never knew it could feel so... dirty.
When he had agreed to allow you to touch his horns when you insisted, he had no clue what kind of...desires this would stir up in him without realizing.
You had asked the draconic fae to touch his horns and his tail, and he spent a few times urging you otherwise in fear of harming you in some way. Yet it did not take him very long to feel curious and begin to imagine how your hands would feel upon his horns and extremities, starting out purely out of curiosity and the desire to be closer to you.
The first time you touched his horns was in the comfort of the lounge, he bent over for you to touch and feel them freely before being interrupted by Sebeks outraged cries of blasphemy. Since the moment your soft fingertips pressed against the roughness of his obsidian horns, he felt his body shudder at the contact, and something in him he decided to ignore screamed in his mind that it was perhaps a...dangerous endeavor. He had managed to suppress himself from such thoughts and desires, even allowing you to (on occasion) touch his horns and tail at your request. Never for too long, for when the thoughts returned he made a quick excuse to end the session. He wanted to respect you and your soft touch- not sully the romantic gesture with lustful thoughts.
He was often searching for your touch in many different ways, in hugs, cuddles, gentle kisses, holding hands...yet a few months and almost a year, he could feel himself become far more greedier. Malleus would notice the slight changes in himself when you would reach up to grab hold of something on a shelf, the way your shirt rode up your stomach ever so slightly, the way your hands would draw circles around the title page to get a feel for the book, he almost felt himself envious of the piece of literature. He told himself not to lose control, to hold himself together like a proper gentlefae, allowing you to only touch his draconic features on the rare occasion he felt he could keep himself properly composed.
Yet now there you were, in your room in Ramshackle dorm, sitting upon the lap of your lover gently caressing his smooth black horns absentmindedly. It was a comfortable atmosphere for you, being held lovingly by your tall fae significant other in silence while pouring your love and affection into your little pets upon his horns. You muttered a "beautiful..." before leaning up slightly...
and placing a kiss upon his horns.
Malleus let out a sudden high-pitched "urgh!" of surprise, his tail squeezing your waist slightly. Your eyebrows raised in shock, pulling away to look at your now flushed lover, feeling a bit of...excitement from down below. He suddenly removed his tail from your waist and seemed to want to move away from you, until you pushed your body on top of his own, straddling his waist and feeling his arousal between your thighs.
"I-i'm-" He gulped and let out a low moan, his hands shaking hesitantly mid air, not certain where he should place them, "I'm sorry- this is incredibly unbecoming of a king-" You hushed him with a rushed kiss and shook your head, the kiss lasting only a moment prior to you pulling away face as flushed as his and forehead pressed against his own.
"It's natural," You comforted him, "Do you...like it when I touch your horns, Mal...?" You hesitated your inquiry, his response a simple and slow nod giving you confidence to move your hands back to his horns and begin to rub them intimately. You felt his body twitch below you and his tail wrapped itself around your thigh, voice trembling. You hadn't seen the fae prince so shaken up before, so uncertain, so vulnerable. Only in front of you would he allow himself to lose such control.
"Are you...are you certain? I haven't any...experience," He muttered against the crook of your neck, arms wrapping around your body and hugging you tightly as if to console himself.
"It's okay," you murmured, hands removing themselves from his horns much to his whining displeasure of the sudden warmth disappearing from them, before shuddering once more as your attention shifted to his tail. Your finger trailed the scales and you felt him twitch between your thighs through his pants as his excitement stirred with every touch you placed upon his extremities.
"I...want it too," You purred.
Malleus's desire gauge was now at 100%
and you had no idea what you had just gotten yourself into.
~~~~
Masterlist
#Twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#twst#twst x reader#malleus#malleus x reader#Malleus draconia#Malleus draconia x reader#twst smut#twisted wonderland smut#twisted wonderland fanfictions#twst fanfics
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sirius black has pretty hands, especially those long fingers he adorns with rings, one wonders how they would feel like stretching them out with them-
in which sirius catches reader zoning out while staring at his fingers then shows her what other type of magic they can do 🤭🤭
Pretty Hands - Sirius Black x Reader
AN - thank you so much for requesting. I'm SUCH a slut for a man with nice hands lmao.
764 words
warning: smut under the cut
Sirius’s bedroom was basked in a soft glow. He wasn’t one for having the overhead light on, much preferring the intimate warmth of a small lamp and a few candles dotted around. His guitar was cradled in his arms, his back hunched slightly as he leaned over it, fingers moving deftly across the strings. Every couple of minutes, he would glance up, blow his hair out of his eyes and scribble something in the notebook that lay open in front of him.
Just opposite from where he was sat, Y/N was sprawled out on his bed. Though a book rested in her hands, she had long abandoned its pages, instead watching in awe as Sirius plucked at the strings of the guitar.
His hands were slender yet strong, his fingers long and nimble, each movement deliberate and purposeful. The rings that adorned them caught the low light, casting delicate reflections that danced across the wood of the instrument. Y/N sunk her teeth into her bottom lip as she watched.
Sirius’s finger faltered momentarily on the strings as he felt her gaze on him. He glanced up, his eyes meeting hers with a knowing look.
“Enjoying the show?” he quipped, smirk evident in his voice.
“Something like that.”
He set the guitar down on its stand and made his way over to the bed. His armed caged either side of her head as he climbed on top of her, propping himself up.
“Can practically see all those thought whizzing around that pretty head of yours.” he murmured, kissing up her neck, “Care to share them with me?”
“You have pretty hands.” she said softly, leaning upwards to catch his lips with hers.
“Oh yeah?” he smiled cheekily, sitting up straighter, and dragging his fingers down her torso.
“Yeah.” Y/N replied breathlessly, suddenly feeling flustered as Sirius kissed his way down her stomach and settled between her legs. With ease, he slipped her trousers down, dropping them in a pile at the bottom of the bed.
He grabbed Y/N’s hands and put them above her head, removing the rings from his fingers and sliding them onto hers.
“Look after these for me, will you?”
Y/N didn’t get time to respond as Sirius was already buried between her legs, drawing a gasp from her as he slid his fingers inside of her.
“This what you were thinking about, baby?” he asked, cocking his head as he pressed his fingers up inside of her. Y/N nodded frantically, her mouth falling open.
“Hm?” he pressed, “Answer me properly.”
“Y-yeah.” she let out a ragged breath, “Was thinking about having them inside of me.”
Sirius smiled cockily, withdrawing his fingers momentarily causing the girl to whine and buck her hips up at him.
“Needy girl.” he tutted, tapping his fingers against her clit, “Been waiting all night for this, haven’t you?”
He slipped back inside and she groaned, grinding down onto his fingers. His thumb circled her clit as he slipped another in, stretching her open.
“Take me so well, don’t you?”
Sirius enjoyed teasing her, he loved making her breathless and needy and then asking her questions knowing full well that she couldn’t form the words to respond. He found joy in the way that she would stumble over her words as she would try to reply to him, her voice becoming whiny and frustrated as he would increase the pace of his fingers every time she spoke, her words being rendered useless every time.
“Are you getting close, gorgeous?” he taunted, once again, removing his fingers. They were slick with her wetness and he slipped on into his mouth, “Why don’t you ask me nicely if you can come?”
“Please, Sirius.” she whispered, “Please can I-”
A moan fell from her lips as he thrust back inside of her, smiling at the way her face screwed up in pleasure.
“Try again, you can do it.”
“Please, Sirius, please let me-”
Another firm press of his fingers had cut her off again as she threw her head back against the pillow, her eyes squeezed shut.
“Aw, you were so close that time, baby.” his voice was laced with condescension, “C’mon, ask me again.”
“Please can I come?” she panted. Her brows were furrowed, her lips red and bitten as she looked down at him with glassy eyes.
Sirius nodded and she clenched around his fingers, finally coming undone. Her hips jutted upwards frantically, her mouth hanging open as she let out a shaky breath.
“Atta girl.” he grinned, “Wasn’t so hard after all, was it?”
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good kitty
pairing: minho x fem!reader genre: smut, established relationship. content: 18+ minors dni. warnings below cut. word count: 2.5k
summary: you join minho for a session in your home gym.
afab!reader. pet names. frequent profanity. possessiveness. unprotected intercourse [grinding, spit kink, messy.]
“Keep your wrist straight,” he says again, demonstrating a firm punch into the boxing bag. “If it’s bent you could hurt yourself.”
“I know, I know. It’s hard,” you whine. He turns to you, holding his palms up in front of him.
“Go on,” he urges, encouraging you to try hitting him. You look down at your fist, checking if your thumb is positioned properly, then you hit him. He smiles. “Harder.” You hit him again. “Don’t hold back,” he says. You reposition your legs, preparing to put your weight into it this time. “Good,” he says. “Turn your body as you swing and don’t pull your arm back behind you.”
You swing, the sound of your skin contacting his palm much louder this time. He drops his hand, shaking it out a little—a big grin revealing his teeth. “That’s it,” he says, taking a quick step towards you and lifting you into his arms. You giggle as your feet lift off the ground, totally at his mercy as he carries you across the small makeshift gym he’d set up in the spare room. He presses your back against the floor length mirror, hands moving to hold you up by your thighs—his chest against yours.
“Is your hand okay?” you whisper, brushing a little of his hair behind his ear.
He smiles, nose scrunching a little. “I’ll live. Thank you for asking,” he says, squeezing your thigh a little. “Would you like to help me? Need to get in a few sit ups before we quit.”
You nod, unable to resist pecking the tip of his nose quickly as he lowers you to the ground. You follow him to the thick mat on the floor, pressing your hands to his slippers to ground him as he begins. He starts with a small smile on his face each time he sits up, every 5 or so he’d even press a kiss to your lips. When he stops smiling all together, brows furrowed in concentration, you know he’s wearing out. He’d always end his workout by doing something like sit ups to exhaustion. He liked feeling like he’d done his absolute best. Your eyes drop to his thighs as he grunts, starting to struggle. His bent knees cause his black shorts to fall closer to his crotch, more of his thick thighs exposed.
When he falls back against the mat, totally spent, you lift your hands from his slippers and lower your head between his legs—pressing a firm kiss to his inner thigh. His panting breaths are the only sounds in the room for the next few minutes as you continue your task, his skin a little salty from sweat.
His hand brushing against your hair finally pulls your attention to his face. “C’mere,” he mumbles, dropping his head back to the mat. You push his knees apart a little further so you can crawl up his body, laying yourself down against him.
He hums then pushes his thighs against your sides, holding you tightly. You know you’re trapped now, happily so. “What are you so sweet for? Hm?” he murmurs, lifting your head from his chest and pushing the hair from your face. “Makes me want to ruin you.”
You laugh, tracing your finger over his brow bone. “So tough… how are you going to ruin me after wearing yourself out, kitty cat?” you tease, the nickname always successfully stirring him up. He frowns, then lifts his legs off the mat completely, wrapping them around you.
“I could do a three hour workout and still throw you around,” he says, voice raised slightly. You grin, successful at drawing out a hint of his dramatics. You peck his lips, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth hinting at a withheld smile.
“Really, kitty? I think you’re exhausted,” you tease. “It doesn’t matter though. I can still use you.”
You watch him struggle to keep his curiosity at bay, mouth opening and closing a few times as he resists asking the question he eventually can’t hold back. “Use me?”
“Mm… use your pretty body to make myself feel good. You could just lie there under me,” you say, running your fingers down his nose and over his plush lips. His adam's apple bobs in his throat as he swallows, thighs loosening their grip around you. You lower your lips to his, halting just before they touch—ghosting over his mouth as you drop your voice to a whisper. “Can I use you, kitty?”
He lifts his head off the mat, pressing his mouth firmly to yours before you can pull back. His thighs tighten around you when you attempt to pull away, arms joining them in trapping you against him. You indulge him for a moment, letting him take what he needs from you, pulling your bottom lip between his. When he attempts to roll you over, you stop him. “Answer me,” you say, reminding him of your request. His eyes are fixed on your lips as he nods. Satisfied, you attempt to sit up. He doesn’t loosen the grip his thighs have on you. “Min,” you sigh, “Let go.”
He pouts, legs dropping flat against the mat as he releases you. He props himself up on his elbows as you stand, watching you. “Do you know what I’m going to do first?” you ask, pulling your t-shirt up over your head. He doesn’t answer, eyes fixed on the mirror behind you as you bend to lower your shorts. You want to laugh, but his expression as he watches your ass in the mirror isn’t something you want to lose just yet. His lips are slightly parted, teeth peaking through as his hand absentmindedly moves to adjust himself in his shorts.
His eyes snap back to yours when you call his name. “Hm?” he asks, as if he’s just been asked a question in class and been caught completely zoned out. You smile, lowering yourself over one of his thighs—your underwear the only thing separating your skin. His eyes drop to your chest.
“Take it off,” he says.
“Why?” you ask, acting dumb. It was fun to make him work for it.
He attempts to sit up properly and you push him back down. A gentle press to his chest is all it takes. “So I can see your tits, obviously,” he mumbles. You cup your breasts in your palms, the thin lacy thing covering them something you’d had to settle for after failing to find your sports bra.
“Why do you want to see them?”
He rolls his eyes, dropping his head back to the mat—a low groan rumbling from his throat. “Tell me or you can’t see them,” you say, smiling to yourself while his eyes are closed.
He lifts himself back onto his elbows. “Because they’re fucking mine,” he grumbles.
“Oh, are they?”
“You know they are. Mine to fuck, mine to suck on whenever I fucking want.”
“You’re right, kitty, that was our deal.” You smile, taking one of his hands and pulling him up—placing his palm over one of your breasts. “These are yours,” you confirm. When he squeezes you in his palm, a satisfied expression on his face, you roll your hips—your clothed cunt sliding up his bare thigh. “and these thighs are mine,” you continue. You place your hand at the back of his neck, giving you the leverage you need to move your hips against him. “Mine to kiss…. Mine to fuck,” you finish before pulling his mouth to yours. One of his hands moves to your lower back, helping you rock against him as he kisses you.
He reaches behind you to unhook your bra, pulling it off you as you’re distracted by his lips. You don’t stop rolling your hips, the friction of the cotton adding to the stimulation—working you up embarrassingly fast. You have to drop your face to his shoulder as your high approaches and his hands move to your hips so he can grind you against his thigh himself.
“Come on, baby. Let go,” he encourages sweetly. “Get yourself all wet for me, hm? Cream on my fucking thigh.”
When you come you instinctively attempt to lift your sensitive cunt off him, your muscles seizing as you grab handfuls of his t-shirt. He doesn’t let you, holding you down against him firmly—drawing out your high until your limp against him, one final twitch signalling your end. He pulls your hair over your shoulder, pressing a kiss to your neck and then lowering you onto the mat. You’re completely limp as he pulls your underwear down your legs. His finger swiping through your sensitive folds draws a whine from your throat.
“You done already?” he taunts, playing with you. “You’re all slippery, baby.”
You suck in a deep breath, gathering your strength before pulling yourself up onto your elbows. He’s kneeling between your legs and you look up just in time to see him slip his index finger between his lips, cleaning you off him.
“Min?”
He looks down at you, then smiles—pushing himself up his feet. You watch as he undresses, your heart racing as he reveals a little more of himself. When the silver band on his ring finger is the only thing remaining on his body, he drops down onto the mat.
“There,” he says, “now you can use me properly.” He smiles, pulling you up towards him and turning you so he can take your place—lowering himself back onto the mat. You hover over him, one of your knees on either side of his thick thigh. You’re almost scared to lower yourself onto him again, a steady throbbing between your legs hinting at your sensitivity. He’s quiet as you gather yourself, one of his thumbs stroking slowly over your skin where he holds your hand.
You hold your breath as you lower yourself, closing your eyes tightly as your wet cunt presses to his thigh. “Fuck,” he mutters, hand tightening in yours. “Hot little cunt.”
You roll your hips tentatively, eyes dropping to where he strokes his cock slowly—thumb brushing over his tip occasionally to spread his precum down the head. It was your second favourite part of his body, if you had to pick. Thick and curved up just a little, the perfect tool to fuck you with—his thighs allowing him to drill it into you wherever you wanted him. This room was one of your favourites. He’d taken you up against the mirror the day before, thighs flexing as he fucked up into you.
You halt your movements against him, your thoughts pushing you dangerously close to the edge. Not yet, you tell yourself—sucking in a deep breath. He attempts to keep his thighs flexed as you use him, warm and firm for you to grind against. It’s not just the feeling of him under you that gets you so worked up, it’s the thoughts that flash through your mind. It’s the previous time’s he’s fucked you, but it’s also the time’s he’s sickly sweet. The contrast of him under you like this, grinding your dripping cunt against him, compared to the times where he’d sweetly whispered how much he loved you—ears tinged red. It’s the thought of him shy and sweet that makes you nearly lose control.
He looks up at you with hooded eyes, plush upper lip swollen from your kisses. “God, kitty…” you breathe out, hips rolling again. “You’re so pretty.” His brows pull together, hips rising off the mat a little as his hand pauses around his cock. You can’t help laughing at the pained expression on his face.
You lift off his thigh, take his hand from his cock and move it to your bare breast. His tongue comes out to trace over his lip as you adjust yourself over his torso, reaching down to press his cock against his stomach so you can give it the same treatment you gave his thighs. “Bab—” he starts, cutting himself off as your dripping cunt presses to his cock. His hand moves from your breast to tangle in his hair, fingers closing to grasp a handful. You watch him tug at his own scalp as you move slowly up to his tip, the length of him gliding easily through your slippery folds.
“You said I could use you, kitty,” you remind him, voice breathy. “Want to use your fat cock. Please?” you ask sweetly.
He pulls his hand from his hair, gripping your hips at either side. “Yeah, baby,” he breathes. “Use my cock. Grind your little pussy on it.”
You lift one of his hands to your lips, kissing his knuckles softly. “Good, kitty,” you whisper, dropping him again so you can plant your palms on his chest.
His eyes make a path between where your cunt rocks against him and your eyes, trailing up and down your body as he sucks in shallow breaths. You’re trying to decide whether you want to let go, cum against him once more, when he catches you off guard—sitting up and flipping you onto your back. You don’t fight him, letting him take his turn.
“Gotta have you,” he mutters, rubbing his tip through your folds.
When he lowers himself over you, thick cock stretching you open, you roll your head to the side—catching the way his thighs flex as he pushes into you. You whine, reaching up to take ahold of him—keeping him against you. That’s all the energy you expend, letting the rest of your body lie relaxed under him as he uses you.
“Filthy little thing,” he mutters, “rubbing your little pussy all over me, huh?” He grunts with each thrust, turning your head so he can hover his mouth over yours. You know what’s coming. You knew every part of him, could read the signs. Sometimes he fucked you slowly, whispering declarations of love in your ear, and sometimes he fucked you like this: messy and filthy.
He doesn’t last as long as he normally did, his thighs slapping against you as he thrusts turn frantic. His lips press to yours, tongue slipping into your mouth. When he pulls back a little you’re prepared for what he says next. His fingers press across your lips, pulling them apart messily. “Open.”
You part them, letting your tongue slip out over your bottom lip—ready to receive him. He spits, thumb brushing over your lips when you close your mouth and swallow. “Fucking mine,” he groans, his hips stuttering into you as he floods your cunt. You keep your eyes fixed on his face as he draws it out, taking in the sight of him.
“Good kitty,” you purr, brushing a few sweaty strands of hair off his forehead.
please reblog and share your thoughts. caption, tags, replies, or ask box, i read it all. feedback is what motivates me to write more!
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#lee know smut#lee know x reader#lee know fanfic#kpop smut#stray kids smut#kpop imagines#skz smut#stray kids imagines#stray kids imagine#kpop scenarios#stray kids scenarios#stray kids x reader#skz x reader#minho smut#minho x reader#skz imagines#stray kids fanfic#skz scenarios#x reader#my writing#*
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・。dream of me 💭
"i know it sounds super cliché, but you make me feel some type of way"
paul atreides x fem! freman! reader | word count: 1,166 words
summary: paul's been having rather...vivid dreams about you 💭
warnings: MDNI (everything's pretty mild, but i still want to put a warning just in case) mild spice, mild sexual themes, feminine terms used. let me know if i left anything out!
note: again, sorry if this sucks, i'm not the best at writing intimate scenes like this (even if it's vague) T-T also, this was not proofread-
you.
you were the reason why paul atreides hadn't gotten an adequate night's sleep in the past few weeks. every time he'd close his eyes, instead of seeing pitch black darkness or some other vision, he'd see you. he'd see your beautiful smile, your soft hair, your perfect body. the crazy part was he didn't even know you. paul swore he'd never met you in his life, that these dreams were the first time he'd seen someone like you, your bright blue eyes staring into his soul.
when he'd voiced his concerns about the dreams to his mother, lady jessica assured him that it was just that, a dream. but she knew deep down that sooner or later, you'd meet her son. and it seemed it would be sooner rather than later. with the sudden fall of house atreides, paul and his mother had to evacuate out to the desert, nothing with them except for the ring of house atreides that sat in paul's pocket.
that night, paul dreamt of you again. each dream would start off different: you two meeting in the desert, you two watching the sand dunes together, you teaching him to sandwalk properly, etc. but, every dream always had the same ending.
your lips pressed to his in a kiss so passionate, he could practically taste the spice on your tongue. you'd be sitting in the comfort of a tent, the smell of spice and overwhelming passion intensely pungent. your fingers would tangle into his curly brown hair, paul's hands moving from your waist to the hem of the shirt of your sleepwear. he'd pull away and mumble an ask of permission, the word "yes" leaving your lips before he'd even finished.
he'd see himself slowly peeling your sleepwear off of your body, his heart thudding in his chest. he'd practically feel you undressing him as well, your bodies molding together as one. he'd see everything after that in blurbs: the sound of your heavy breathing, the smell of your skin, the feeling of your fingertips caressing his back as he'd make love to you. then, just as things were getting to their peak, he'd wake up, covered in sweat, his heart going a mile a minute. just who was this girl that occupied his dreams every night?
when paul first saw you in person, he couldn't even speak. his mouth went dry and his hands got super sweaty as his heart thudded in his chest. you looked exactly like he'd dreamed: warm, sun-kissed skin, the prettiest hair, eyes as blue as the ocean, and that smile....the smile he'd see every night before he got an almost otherworldly taste of your lips.
you'd only spoken on a few occasions, your attraction to one another growing as the days and weeks passed. but then, he'd changed. he'd started avoiding you, making you think that he just didn't like you. each time you'd try to strike up conversation with him, he'd give you a one word answer and just walk off. after that, you started avoiding him too, walking right past him when he'd ask you something or completely ignoring him during sandworm rides.
enough was enough. one night, you wandered around the tents, finding that paul wasn't in his. lady jessica told you he'd gone to sit up on the dunes, something he'd been doing often since coming to live with the freman. you slowly made your way up the sand dune, sitting a few feet away from him as to not make him uncomfortable. "did i do something to offend you?" you asked, drawing in the sand with your finger. paul didn't answer at first, and just as you were about to get up and leave, you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you back down next to him. he was so close, too close. you could smell the faint spice on him, your heart skipping a beat. "no....you...didn't do anything." "then why-" "i've met you before," he blurted out, a look of confusion crossing your features. he'd met you before? "not literally. i've...had dreams, as you know. but recently," paul took a breath, glancing up to meet your crystal blue eyes. "recently, they've all been about you....actually, that's a lie. i've been seeing you in my dreams since before we landed on arrakis."
your eyes widened a little, your body relaxing a bit. he'd been dreaming about you all this time. "what do you see in these...dreams?" you asked. it was evident that your question had an interesting answer by the way paul glanced away from you for a second. "i see you, laid out in front of me in all your glory. your eyes, it's as if they're...pulling me in. you lean in, then i lean in...then-" he trailed off, the pale skin of his cheeks turning a shade of red. then it clicked, and you were blushing too.
"....you know...i'd be lying if i said i didn't develop feelings for you the first few weeks you were here..." you admitted, feeling a strange tinge in your chest. paul let go of your wrist, his hand slowly moving up to cup your cheek. "do you want me to kiss you?" the question was so simple yet held so much weight. your heart was beating in your ears, a shiver running down your spine as his breath hit your cheek. "...yes....yes, i do. do you...want to kiss me?" you questioned, the look in his eyes making your knees go weak. good thing you were sitting. "more than anything." he whispered before closing the gap between the two of you. the kiss started out soft and slow, soon taking a passionate turn. it wasn't long before you were dragging paul through the sand dunes, back to the privacy of your tent. once the two of you were inside, paul was on you in an instant, pressing you against the makeshift mattress as he kissed you with newfound fervor. your fingers tangled into his hair, just like he'd dreamed of. but this was better than his dreams, by a thousandfold. passionate, breathy whispers, heavy breathing, and words of love and affection filled the air of the tent as the two of you melded together.
by the time it was all over, paul held you close, his face buried into your neck as he caught his breath. you breathed deeply, your free hand gently stroking his hair as he shifted to look up at you. "you're definitely the girl of my dreams" he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the skin of your shoulder. you felt your heart warm from his words, pressing a kiss to his forehead and letting your lips linger there for a moment. "i love you, [y/n]~" paul said as his eyelids started to grow heavy. you smiled softly, moving to nuzzle up to his chest. at that moment, you knew you'd forever love this caladanian for as long as you lived. "i love you too, paul atreides~" 💭
© m00nkissedlover, 2024
#dune#dune part two#dune part 2#dune movie#paul atreides#paul atredies x reader#x reader#x yn#freman#freman reader#reader insert#timothée chalamet#timmy chalamet
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Once a thief, always a thief
Pairing: Levi Ackerman x reader
Warnings: Angst, fluff, there's a lot going on, it's very bittersweet.
A/N: I wrote this while doing my essay today, the idea seemed too good to just let it go, let me know if I should do a part 2! :))
Taglist: @the-milk-anon @youre-ackermine @levisbrat25 @yakaaamoz @levisgreyeyes @notgoodforlife @ackermendick @laraackerman If you want to be tagged just let me know!
Levi's eyes followed as the scouts trained, every single one trying to impress him more than the other. Next to him, Miche is doing the same, hawk-like eyes watching their every move.
"Levi." He hears Erwins voice behind him, already on alert by the sound of it. Levi turns around to face the blond man, arms crossed against his chest. "We have a problem I'd like to discuss with you."
Without a word Levi follows Erwin to his office, something is telling him that it's about you, again. As they enter his office, he sees Nile sitting in one of the chairs visibly upset.
Levi sits down opposite Nole, his face stoic. Once everyone has settled, Erwin turns to Nile, already annoyed with the man. "So Nile, please repeat to captain Levi what the issue seems to be."
"Name has stolen from us again, this is the fifth time in three months. She needs to be put behind bars for good." There isn't any mercy in Nile's words, you had been a pain in his ass for a while now.
"Why are you telling me this?" Levi almost scoffs the words out, he would lie for you again however this time, he really doesn't know where you are.
"You have lied for her before, I have no reason to see why you wouldn't do it again." It was about a year ago when you had stolen a pretty expensive necklace from one of the nobles, when shown a drawing of you, Levi lied that he didn't know you. Too bad for him, Nile had already caught on by then.
"I have nothing to do with her anymore and I don't fucking care that she stole from you. Train your dumbass soldiers better and maybe they would be able to stop one woman from stealing." But you're a tough cookie, always have been since Levi met you all those years ago.
You used to be kids in the underground, Kenny had thought Levi many things but not how to properly steal, Levi got that from you. Somehow, be it luck or skill, you always got away with it. He remembers when you stole a whole bag of fruits from smugglers without being seen, that was the day he was introduced to apples.
The two of you grew up together and he watched you grow into a woman. When you were taken by the scouts you took it well, even got praised by the commanding officers for your impressive stealth, until Furlan's and Isabelle's deaths.
That was where you snapped and the next day you vanished. Levi lost it all in a span of two days but he grew from it, learned to adapt to the scouts, and became humanities strongest soldier.
As soon as he heard that there was a mysterious robbery in a dress store, he knew it was you. He knows you like the back of his hand.
Arrogance was always your big problem, how many times has Levi had to save your ass because you were too stubborn to quit? He could count on his finger just how many times he lied not only to the military police but to Erwin as well, all to keep you out of trouble. Yet you always manage to get yourself into bullshit and Levi is getting tired of it.
"How about we set up a trap? What does she like Levi?" Erwin turns his attention to Levi, noticeably curious about what his answer will be. "I don't know, anything that can make her a bit of money."
A lie. He lied again. You loved diamonds and different stones, you kept a shelf in your old room full of them.
"Something from the king, perhaps his robe, that would be worth a bunch on the black market." Of course, all of these suggestions by Erwin are for the benefit of the scouts again. If his plan works, he will be awarded by the government.
"The king? What makes you think he would want to help?" Nile's body is now tense, even though he wouldn't want the king involved in all of this.
"A skilled thief is on the loose, she got past your security what makes you think that she can't get through to the king?"
"The king doesn't interest her, trust me. She is skilled but she never bites off more than she can chew." Of course, you hated royals and their selfishness for normal people, while they starved, the king and his men ate like pigs.
"So what do you propose Levi?" Erwin's eyebrow slightly raises, he is interested in hearing what Levi has in store.
"We wait. She will strike again I'm sure."
Levi doesn't want to complicate things, he simply doesn't want you to get caught by the government. If it means that he has to come up with a plan alone, then so be it.
__________________________________
And so it was, Levi waited for three hours to see if you would be interested in the new jewelry shop that opened not far away from the capital of Mitras. It was dark, only moonlight illuminating the empty streets, the smell of after rain was present, creating an unusual atmosphere.
No matter how many times he has told himself to hate you, to forget you, he couldn't do it. You were his first everything after all. How many times has he hoped that he would see you somewhere happy possibly married and even with a baby in your hands. Levi would hate that man with his whole being but he would know that you are safe.
All of that is far from reality, Levi knew that you never even thought about marriage let alone a child. You weren't mature enough for those things no matter how quickly you had to grow up and fight for survival.
Finally, he sees a hooded figure climbing down from one of the buildings onto the roof of the jewelry shop. Every one of your steps is calculated, at the moment when you concentrated the most is where Levi had caught you off guard.
Suddenly you weren't walking anymore, instead grunting in pain as you felt your arms being pinned behind your back. You tried to wiggle yourself out of the grip but to no avail.
"Name stop." You stop moving, eyes going wide. Levi. When he sees that you have relaxed under his touch, he slowly lets you go making you know that he can catch you should you try to run.
You get up from the ground, taking your hood off. "Heh, I should've known you would be tracking me. I felt eyes on me for a while now."
"I wasn't tracking shit, I just happen to know you." As blunt as ever I see. "Good for you then. Now please excuse me I have a store to rob."
Just as you were about to walk past him, Levi grips your arm halting you in place. "Are you an idiot? Can't you see that it's a trap?" Damn it. He wasn't supposed to tell you that. It was what Nile came up with after he had left Erwin's office.
"No kidding." You smile sarcastically, breaking your hand away from his grip. "You knew."
"Of course I did. A new shop opens out of the blue in the middle of Mitras, do you think that I'm stupid?" Your voice is raised and you don't even notice it. For all that you thought would happen in the future between you and Levi, this wasn't one of them.
You have always thought that he would be your partner in crime for life, it seemed so before anyway. But things have changed, he has changed.
"So why the hell are you here? Do you want to get caught?" The answer was no and yes, no you didn't want to get caught, yes because you wanted to see if the military police have learned from their past mistakes.
"Even if I do, what about it? I'm just a thief aren't I?" Levi scoffs at you, after so long of not seeing each other, he thought you would at least be more responsible.
"Don't test me name." He says eyes searching yours. it's clear that whatever happens on this roof tonight, you two are far from over.
"Or what? You're gonna scold me?
"I'm trying to protect you. You brainless idiot." Levi almost spits out those words, how can't you see that he has been doing it the whole time?
"How nice. Somehow everyone you tried to protect is now six feet under." Those words make Levi's eyes shoot open, you don't seem to realize what you just said until you see Levi grow mad.
Before you can move, your back is already harshly pinned against the stone wall, breath is almost knocked out of you. Levi's hand is gripping your shirt, pulling it up until your noses are almost touching.
"How childish do you have to be not to understand that I have saved your ass so many times? Do you even know how close they were to locking you up? Do you know what it means to be behind bars as someone who is from the underground!?" His voice is harsh but he isn't yelling, it's a mixture of hurt and worry.
"And why do you even do it? I didn't ask that from you! You just joined the scouts, you didn't even try looking for me after I left! Do you know how hard it is to see you after all this time?" Levi softens his grip when he sees that your eyes have been filled with tears.
"Let me go Levi!" A tear rolls down your face, Levi is frozen, stuck between his heart and mind.
"Levi! I said let me g-" Lips suddenly crush to your own and you blink. Without much hesitation, your hands are in his hair and you are kissing him back.
Neither of you are thinking, the only thing you're focused on is Levi. You have missed him so much. His hands run down to your waist, pulling you closer to him.
And you let him, let him savor this moment while it lasts. Your hands wander from his hair to his neck, tongue entering his mouth. Levi moans softly, kissing you passionately.
You're teenagers again, the same ones that clumsily had their first kiss, the same ones that used to cause trouble.
Levis hands move down to your hips, squeezing them, a moan escapes your mouth when Levi pulls away and starts kissing your neck.
"Levi...." You take his face into your hands, kissing him once more before pulling away. "Not here and not now..." He nods, aware of his surroundings again. Pulling away from you, his cheeks grow red.
"You should go. The military police could be here any minute." You nod taking the opportunity to kiss him again and he doesn't budge, fully accepting your kiss.
"Here is my address." You slip a piece of paper into his belt before putting your hood on and running in the opposite direction.
Levi is left on the roof, mouth agape, still trying to process what just happened. Only when he hears footsteps is he brought back to reality.
He will make sure to see you again, he takes the paper from is belt but notices that one of his knives is gone, Levi smiles slightly.
Once a thief, always a thief
#levi#levi ackerman#aot levi#captain levi#attack on titan#levi x reader#levi attack on titan#levi x you#levi ackerman x female reader#levi ackerman x reader#levi angst#snk levi#shingeki no kyoujin levi#levi fluff#levi aot#levi ackerman fluff
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Give me your headcanons about Kenma please?
here they are !!!! :3
Songs on his iPod: i think kenma really, really likes OST's mixed in with some mindless pop that can go on repeat in the background when he games alone.
Pokemon Sword and Shield OST - Gym Leader Battle All Time Low - Jon Bellion Amusement Park - Nier:Automata OST
The one place they fall asleep – where they’re not supposed to: ooooh kenma definitely has a terrible habit of doing this as a general quirk of his. IF and only IF there are people he is safe and comfortable around (you, his team, family, hinata) he won't have ANY qualms about snoozing for a second if there's a moment that calls for it. most chaotic moment was during his own hospital visit. he'd hosted a 48-hour livestream and passed the hell out because of course he also didnt eat properly during. the doctor popped out for a moment to check something from a chart, and when he came back, kenma was asleep. it worried the doctor to no end for a second, before he realized the cat-like barely-adult-adult was simply snoozing. you and kuroo apologizes profusely, but the doctor chalks it down to the weird thing he was doing online before he came. assigns rest as medication.
The game they’d destroy everyone else at: there's no doubt that kenma's a class A gamer in every game to exist. the most infuriating one - the one that kuroo HATES that he always wins - is ludo. its a game that runs on pure chance half the time, yet kenma's never lost a single game, not to you or anyone else. hinata's little sister came close one time, though. that made kenma's brow sweat a little.
The emoticon they’d use most often: 👍. its easy during streams, its easy if hes sleepy, its easy if hes busy. it confirms whatever people want from him in a second.
What they act like when they haven’t had enough sleep: practically non-verbal. eyes squinted and barely able to do things required of him. he gropes and grabs at random stuff in his cabinet or fridge to find something edible and his phone is all up in his face. you mostly talk aloud to yourself during those times.
Their preferred hot beverage on really cold nights or mornings: kenma doesn't advertise it a lot, but he loves a good, warm bubble tea with tapioca. it has to be a black tea or he isn't having it.
How they like to comfort/care for themselves in a slump: kenma calls kuroo. slumps are his arch nemesis, the boss battle he cannot handle alone. so back up and support characters are needed.
What they wanted to be when they grew up: im pretty sure kenma achieved exactly what he dreamt of: freedom to play his beloved video games in the capacity that he does.
Their favorite kind of weather: overcast, but not humid or rainy. it's a perfectly acceptable day to stay indoors.
Thoughts on their singing voice: i think kenma is a very nice tenor, but he doesnt have the confidence or skills to really sing from his stomach, so it comes out shallow and off.
How/what they like to draw or doodle: he likes to doodle weapons from his games. the master sword from legend of zelda, cloud's buster sword, and the keyblades from kingdom hearts. it's all a cute, non-detailed chibi style tho, only marking what makes the sword stand out. mostly, hes the only one who can name them all if hes sitting thru a long enough meeting to draw multiple.
send me a character and ill fill out these headcanons
#thank u for sending in dira !!!!!! <3333#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu headcanons#kozume kenma headcanons#kozume kenma fluff#on another note i just realized i have to go to the doctor tomorrow morning LMAAAAAO so ill fill a few more out and then the rest tomorrow#nohr.headcanons#nohr.writing#nohr.talks#lovenote: dira 🥰✨
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Hello chronic conditions side of Tumblr.
I've been experiencing many symptoms for a very long while (technically all my life but obviously I didn't start paying attention until I was like 12-13) and I don't want to self diagnose but I do know it might be a key part of getting a formal diagnosis, I'm going to list the main symptoms and tell you what I through my research and various legit symptom checkers have concluded I might have.
I am hyper mobile, the orthopaedic told me that when I was like 5 but I never got a formal diagnosis because my parents didn't think it was relevant, however to this day my hip does something weird sometimes when I walk and then hurts afterwards and I have to overstretch it so it stops hurting as much, all of my articulations pop, I've had chronic low back pain since I was like 9 and back pain in general since I was 11, my injuries have a thought time scarring and they scar badly, my hands and feet are generally cold and peripheral blood circulation is kind of a mess, my skin is sensitive and reactive and I get cuts on the less damaging things ever, I have a propensity for bruising and they take a long time to reabsorbe, my pinky and ring finger get numb and tingly when I hold certain stuff (carpal tunnel is on the other 3 fingers I checked), my legs go numb often, sometimes my muscles just feel weak and I'm scared to pick up stuff in case they stop responding. I have a propensity for all kinds of headaches, my gums are also sensitive, I tend to be constipated no matter how much fiber I eat (and yes even if I eat lactose being lactose intolerant I'm still constipated, I just bloat), I have a heat intolerance (I even get rashes if it's too hot out).
I forgot but my ribs feel like they shift when I lay on my side and a couple of times I've had people horrified at something a joint of mine could do (generally my shoulder) and I quite frankly think I almost popped my shoulder out in one of those.
I'm also hypotensive and have a propensity to tachycardia and dizzy spells (or that thing where your vision gets black around the edges) when I stand up and when I do exercise (it doesn't happen when I walk, no matter how fast I do it) and when I exercise I have to stop even if my body doesn't feel tired because I feel like my heart rate is too high but I get cold sweat and shaky hands like it happens when I'm going to pass out. Which I might add I get those symptoms even just sitting sometimes and I have to lay down on the floor or sit with my head between my knees.
I live in a constant state of fatigue no matter how happy I feel, how well I eat or how much I sleep, which I also struggle with sleeping. And the brain fog makes it hard to concentrate.
That fatigue includes my body feeling heavy for no reason at all and being like a zombie all day struggling to even do stuff I want or hang out with friends most days.
The research I first did was regarding the whole hypotension, tachycardia, sport/rest/standing up dizziness fainting thing and honestly every conclusion lead me to POTS as the most likely condition.
That sent me into a rabbit hole of trying to find where the other symptoms where coming from, my search on hypermobility lead me to EDS, particularly H-EDS and honestly I must say a lot of things would make sense but I don't want to self diagnose so what do you guys who suffer any of this conditions have to say? Should I see a professional and just ramble all if my symptoms and see if that gets me somewhere?, or do I have enough of a valid basis to go to a doctor and tell them I suspect I might be suffering from POTS and maybe H-EDS?
Keep in mind I'm from Spain and I can tell you most if not all of the primary care doctors I've gone to have shrugged off all of my symptoms once they checked my heart worked properly in general, they don't even care that I have passed out from low blood pressure during blood draws and have even had convulsions twice after fainting, that and my sensitivity to anesthetics, fuckers just said "you're probably just tired because you're a high school/college/master's degree student", I've gone a fair amount of times since I was 16 and they never check it's always a "maybe it's your period", "maybe you're anemic" (I'm not, my reserves are a bit low but not enough to be considered a deficiency to treat), my blood tests come back well so they couldn't care less, my body weight sits in it's normal range (thankfully, because otherwise I know a good chunk of them would just point to my weight and my period).
Thing is, because I keep overworking myself due to my family situation and I was gifted and I guess that kind of transferred a bit to college, I've finished a degree and I'm on my way to my 3rd master's degree this academic year, and honestly I probably don't complain about the level of pain and tiredness I'm in enough because a) my mother would try to instantly blame it on weight or Physical activity or even just food itself (she's one of those everything you eat is bad, white carbs are the devil incarnate types of person) and I already had an ed for years due to her
b)when I complain about the fatigue my mother tries to one up me and everyone else just advices me to do more sports, spend time with family (no thanks), blame my sleep pattern even though the fatigue is purely physical, tell me I'm over exaggerating or over complaining and that I used to handle pain better as a child (she yelled at me when I complained and told me I couldn't be that tired because I was too young)
I'm going to tell you some more things about me as a child I just now remember my mother complained about: every school day I came complaining that the soles of my feet hurt and my palms too (particularly the right one since I'm right handed) and they'd turn out to be distended. My skin was even more reactive, I was so tired and borderline translucent even when they made me spend all summers at the beach that they took me to the cardiologist several times to check if I had a heart condition and It was working just fine, I experienced headaches almost daily, my immune system was an absolute disgrace, I refused to grip the pencil (scissors and other tools) right because it hurt my fingers, I was always coming home with bruises and injuries that were too extreme for what they would've been for my brother and to reiterate I started complaining about back ache at around 9 years old and of fatigue at 11, and even then me being seemingly constantly tired granted me a couple visits to a doctor to check for leukemia or heart conditions.
I need opinions and people to tell me if there are other conditions I should be researching or if I should just go ahead with the ones I have.
#chronic illness#chronic condition#pots syndrome#hypermobility#hypermobile ehlers danlos#ehlers danlos syndrome#health care
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Volume 1 - Post #9: The Interrogation
Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic
Genre: Mandalorian x Fem Reader
Total word count: 3.2K (of 25K total in Volume 1)
Rating: Explicit - smut, language, +18 *NSFW*
______________________________________________
IX. “Nito,” you emerge at the top of the ladder, holding the kid aloft, and call into the cockpit with the sweetest voice imaginable. “Will you keep an eye on the kiddo for me?”
“While you tend to our dear captain?” The Ardennian asks over his shoulder. “Tell him I’m not taking orders until I get paid.”
“It’s not an order, Nito,” you groan impatiently. “I’m asking you for help.”
He leaps into the vestibule like the swing of a pendulum and snatches up the child between his lower limbs. “Ok, little man. You wanna learn how to install an R3 processor?”
“Can there at least be a truce until everyone’s properly rested?” You mutter into your palms. There is, frankly, an excess of testosterone on this ship. The kids included.
“Fine. But come back up here when you’re done, ok?” Nito whines. “I’m gonna have to sit here the whole flight to make sure we don’t die of radiation poisoning.”
“Of course! I will happily support you in that endeavor.”
“Radiation is the silent killer, Thuli,” he says, deadpan. “Bring some cards with you.”
Climbing down the ladder, you head back for the sleeping compartment. “Oh shit! Sorry, Mando.”
Your cheeks flush spectacularly when you step through a gap in the drop cloth curtain and walk in on him, releasing the clasp of his belt. Unconcerned, he tugs the leather from his waist, drawing the bandolier over his helmet and tossing it onto your bed.
“Oh. I, um, need to–”
No longer capable of formulating complete sentences, you merely point to the first aid cabinet mounted to the wall behind him.
Stepping around his immense form, you climb into the compartment on your hands and knees, rooting around to gather some surgical supplies. Where the fuck are your tweezers? Brilliant. If Nito took them...
You close the cabinet door and see something looming into your peripheral vision. Mando leans forward into the compartment, both elbows propped against the door frame. Resting his weight on his good leg, his hips tilt, stretching his already lengthy torso.
How is it possible to exude this much sex appeal without an inch of him uncovered?
Poised on your knees, you’re eye to eye now. Or rather, helmet to visor. The sleeping compartment is barely wider than the expanse of his shoulders, trapping you inside. Your heartbeat quickens, breath catching in your throat as you stare into that jet-black void, hoping there’s a chance he might abandon self-control and force you back onto the bed roll.
“Why do you always do that?” he asks, oblivious as always.
“Hmmm?” You’re still fantasizing about him crawling into the compartment on top of you and wrapping your thighs around his waist.
“Touch your visor every time your hand passes your face.”
“Oh,” you say, a little dumbstruck, doing your best to ignore him while stuffing some extra gauze under your arm. “Fidgety, I guess.”
In all honesty, you’re checking the tint settings for the millionth time to make sure he can’t see you leering at him. Which, thank the Gods! Because after sitting down on your heels to step out of the compartment, Mando reaches in to help you back on your feet. You misjudge the momentum, landing with about a hair’s breadth between you, and he would otherwise definitely notice that your pupils have dilated to the size of druggats.
“Thanks,” you hear yourself whisper as the Mandalorian slowly releases his grip on your arms. His helmet tilts down, watching your face intently. Somehow, you always forget how tall he is.
“You’re bleeding.” He says, brushing his thumb lightly over your cheek.
“Am I?” reaching a hand up to your face.
Probably from fighting off that Cathar. You hadn’t noticed the pain during your scuffle over the rifle. Taking off a glove, you drag your knuckle across the cut to wipe away the blood and grit. There’s a brief throb of heat when the skin fuses back together under your fingertips.
“Just like that.” He sounds astonished, watching until all that remained was a slightly raised scar on your cheek where the tear in flesh had been. That, too, would fade and, by tomorrow, be gone.
“Just like that,” you repeat, bemused. It’s odd. He always seemed so in awe of your abilities for someone who didn’t want you to use them. “Well…I’ll, uh…let you get undressed.”
Nodding, Mando kneels down to remove his boot. When he hesitates, you realize he’s looking up at you, staring at him.
“Right!” Cheeks achieving an even deeper shade of red, you awkwardly yank the curtain closed around him.
Compelled to do something with your hands, you start clearing up the mess from Nito’s dismembered astromech project. You really should work on manifesting some of that dark cosmic energy because here you are, picking up after the kids like you are some kind of fucking nursemaid.
Debating what Dathomiri robes you would wear in your new life as a Nightsister, you straighten up and nearly jump out of your skin when you sense the Mandalorian standing right behind you.
“Erenada, Mando! You scared me.” And it is genuinely frightening that he can move that stealthily.
“It’s a small ship.”
His gruff reply is rough through the modulator, causing the hairs along your scalp to tingle. Gods help you, but his voice is sexy, too!
While it doesn't count as much of an apology, he’s right about the Crest. As a patrol craft, the ship is basically a cockpit attached to a cargo hold. Thankfully, the carbonite rack has been moved, so you’re no longer confronted with a gallery of faces frozen in terror whenever you need to use the privy.
Collecting your wits for the task ahead, you take a deep breath, turning around to face him. And instantly let out another burst of laughter, placing a hand over your mouth to smother the sound.
“What?” he asks, perplexed.
“It's just...always interesting to see what you decide to take off versus leave on.”
It was hard to tell if the choice had more or less to do with modesty than the hassle of getting his leg out of that flight suit. It only started with the chest plate. Under that was the leather studded vest. Then there was another layer under that, with armored sleeves to attach his pauldrons.
All this had to be removed before he actually reached the zipper. At one point, you made a count and guessed that he wore at least three or four layers over every part of his body.
Well, except for…there.
With most of the armor removed, he stood, left leg bare from waist to foot, a latticework of scars glimmering against his golden skin. He holds one of the blankets from your bed, cinched tight around his waist. Shamelessly, you bury your face into the wool that night, hoping to catch a whiff of Mando’s junk now that you know he doesn’t wear anything under his flight suit.
Yup, just slutty, slutty, slut, slut.
This might be the first time you’ve ever seen his toes. Wonder what that’s about? How does he decide what parts of him are too particular to reveal—or, was it only his face?
“Got to be careful. I'll run out of pants if you keep tearing them off.”
Whaaaaa—? Any hint of innuendo just hangs there between you, and you have to wonder how much of his meaning goes unseen from behind that Beskar.
“Um, fair enough,” you say stupidly, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. “I guess—let’s get started.”
Requisitioning Nito’s workbench as an exam table, you position it against the side of the hull and pat the cold metal surface to beckon him over. “Hopefully, I won’t have to amputate.”
The Mandalorian rolls his fingers into a leather fist before cracking each knuckle in turn. Striding across the cargo bay in strained silence, he crouches down astride the bench, the view plate squarely focused on your face.
“My favorite patient,” and you wink at him jovially. Eventually, he’s going to break under your relentless onslaught of charisma.
Alright! Time to focus. Because this next part is where all your respectful professionalism gets tested.
“I’ll start with the bandages.”
Unwrapping the blanket from his waist, you ease it back, eyes passing over the dark pubic hair that you somehow, always inadvertently reveal. It trailed down past his navel, growing thick and coarse as it spread to his groin. His cock is only just concealed beneath the inseam of his flight suit.
Focus, focus, focus…
You concentrate on the cold snipping sound of the scissors. Carefully tugging away the old bandages, you expose the weeping, mangled stitches. “Pffft. Next time, I should order you to bed rest,” you say with a frustrated sigh.
“Order me?” Fortunately, he sounds more amused than insulted.
“New Republic Workplace Safety Standards for Interstellar Travel state that a medical officer may supersede the chain of command whenever the captain’s health is at stake.”
That serene confidence you exude when slipping into ‘competent medical professional’ still comes as a shock, given what a fuck-up you are most of the time.
“Told you this–nnngh,” he growls through clenched teeth. You can’t be sure whether it’s a reaction to your coy defiance or the sting from the antiseptic spray. “This is not a crew. And I don’t remember giving you a rank, officer.”
“Universal law of the galaxy,” you reply, washing clotted blood from the dark hairs along his thick, ropey thigh. “Saving the captain’s life earns you a promotion.”
For the second time that night, the Mandalorian lets out a huff of laughter. One of these days, you'll elicit a hearty chuckle from this man, and he won’t know himself.
Before long, a comfortable silence sets in while he watches you clean the wound. The stiffness you used to feel under his gaze is softening. Amazing, how much has changed in the last few days.
“Could you force me to follow orders?” he asks suddenly.
The challenge in his words, spoken in that low baritone, catches you by surprise, stirring something deep in your belly. The sensation drags lower, an ache building between your thighs.
“Confined you to bed with my dark powers?" You arch an eyebrow. "Why go to all that trouble, when—”
You have to shake your head to clear out the smut. There is no way he intended that as a come-on. “I…um, suppose I could have put you into a coma until you healed. But, no. I can’t compel you to do anything against your will, Mandalorian.”
Like, convince you to fuck me! Nope. Stop that. It takes a moment to recover from the surging thrill of arousal.
“Don’t worry,” you say brightly. “We’ll do this the old-fashioned way. It turns out that a city devoted to gladiatorial combat is a thriving market for medical supplies. I’ll remove the stitches, slap on some Synthskin, and in a day or so, you should fully recover.” Despite the torn sutures, the gash remained clean, and the Bacta prevented infection. “Assuming you can avoid any more brawling.”
“Brawling?” he huffs again. It wasn’t quite a laugh, but very nearly.
Ugh. Why did one, not quite a laugh from Mando, feel worth a thousand coming from anyone else?
You tell yourself it'll be a relief to end these intimate check-ins and changing bandages. It's far past time to reestablish some distance and tone down the flirting with your boss.
Sure, it excites you to think you might be the only person in the galaxy who knows that the Mandalorian has an outie belly button. But that’s exactly the problem, isn't it? Winking at him from across a bar table is one thing. The unspoken status quo starts to feel a little too fragile when you’re in this kind of proximity to his abs.
“I’ve applied some topical analgesic, but this will still pinch.” You flash him your most dazzling smile while holding up your second-best pair of tweezers in one hand, surgical scissors in the other.
“So, what’s going to be our topic of distraction? Shall I have you list all the planets in the Otechi system?”
“Hmmm,” his satisfied humming makes the modulator crackle. “Erenada...”
“What did you say?” Your fingers, usually so adept at pulling loose the silk threading, suddenly become clumsy.
“Erenada,” he repeats. “Every man–or woman–swears in their native tongue. Erenada is Hapan. It means—”
“Obviously, I know what it means.” Blessed Mother. She who has no equal. It was the honorific for the Empress of Hapes, revered as a living goddess. Though coming out of your mouth, it's usually intended as blasphemy. “You’re very proud of yourself for figuring that out.”
“Imagine my confusion since everyone on Dorumaa told me you’re Miraluka.”
You raise both eyebrows and smirk, reminding yourself to breathe slowly through your nose so he won’t catch you panicking. “Are you referring to the first time I saved your life, Mando? Honestly, I should be a lieutenant by now. You almost bled out in my kitchen.”
“That’s what Ingtar told me—that you're a Miralukan healer.” His tone is not accusatory, and you don’t feel threatened, but the shift in conversation doesn’t feel like simple, friendly curiosity, either. “So, did you lie to Ingtar? Or did he lie to me?”
“Are those the only options?” You laugh nervously and shrug in what you hope is a convincingly innocent gesture. “Ingtar made an assumption. Guess that explains why he was always so protective. Did you know he once shot a man defending my honor?”
You're avoiding the subject, and Mando knows it.
“I mean, okay, I do have great tits. Didn't change the fact there was no way to reattach that tentacle afterward—”
Mando raises a hand to stop your babbling. You have this unfortunate habit of talking too much when you panic. Because, at this point, you are definitely panicking.
“Miralukan healer is a good cover for why you never take off the visor,” he continues.
Damnit. He's too observant.
“Mando, I’m sorry if that’s why you hired me—thinking I was Miraluka.” Have you seen something you shouldn’t? Violated his Creed? He never takes off so much as a glove in front of anyone else.
But, why would he be sitting here like this, with so much of his body exposed beneath you, if it was forbidden?
“Hmm, though I can see how Mandalorian and Miralukan would make a perfect match.”
Did you say that out loud?
“In a patient—um—medical context,” you add in desperate clarification. “Look, Mando, Black Sun needed someone to operate off the books, no questions asked. Forgive me if I didn’t volunteer information about my heritage to a criminal cartel.”
“That I can understand,” he says roughly. “What I want to know is why you’ve been hiding it from me?”
Breathe through your nose. Steady, shallow breaths.
“I’ve been on this ship for months, Mando. Just because you weren't interested in hearing my backstory doesn’t mean I hid it from you.” And the bounty hunter can’t argue with you there—he’s never bothered to ask.
“I’ve taken an interest,” he says, and his tone made clear that he had no intention of letting this go.
“Then join us for cards later, and this will feel like a conversation rather than an interrogation.”
He didn’t skip a beat. “So Nito knows you’re from Hapes?”
“Nito’s never heard of Hapes,” you say coolly, despite the flush of your skin. “I’m surprised you have since we’re about as rare in this part of the galaxy as Mandalorians.”
Then, a thought occurs to you. “Although, the stories about us veer a little more toward the...pornographic?”
He’d doubtless heard the tales of women captured from across the galaxy by pirates to be bred on Hapes as bed slaves and concubines.
“Have you been visiting the brothels on Keyorin, Mando?” you tug your brows teasingly. Every pleasure house across the Outer Rim claimed to have a Hapan in their menagerie. It was a favorite topic of discussion around fringer bars and gambling tables.
It’s a stupid ploy to rattle him since you’re pretty sure celibacy is a Creed tenet. Or maybe he did visit brothels? Who's to say what the bounty hunter got up to when he was out on a job? Still, you’ve watched plenty of women proposition the Mandalorian. And he never humored them. He just waited until their hands dropped away, their gazes fell and shifted.
“Is that where you learned Hapan, Mando? Whispers in the dark?”
If you thought you could throw him off balance with some lewd sarcasm, he remained dauntless as ever. With one hand, he grabs your arm by the elbow. Hard.
“Mando, what the—”
“You’re clever, but not consistent. When I returned to the ship after the job on Naboo, you’d fallen asleep in the cockpit watching the sunrise. Miraluka can ‘see’ without eyes, but I don’t think that includes horizons. And you sure wink a lot for someone without eyelids.”
Shit! A wave of anxiety surges in your stomach, bile scoring your throat like it might drown you. He’s been chewing on these suspicions for quite some time.
“And speaking of your eyes–”
His other hand moves up towards your face. Reflexively, you grab hold of the visor, nearly stabbing him with the scissors in your haste.
Letting go of his grip on your arm, he calmly raises both hands in a sign of truce.
“Okay,” Mando nods, taking your reaction as confirmation. “Always thought your tattoo must be Black Sun. Didn’t recognize the markings before. Never got a good look until a few days ago…”
Trailing off, his helmet turns toward the weapons locker behind you, where he’d spent hours holding you in his arms like a cherished treasure, your bodies tangled together on the cargo bay floor.
Guess he does remember that part.
Kriffing hell! You are such an idiot for thinking the Bacta haze would just erase the whole thing from his memory.
What had Tigran said? That life on the run required constant vigilance. It was like something out of a folktale. The moment you forgo caution to be close to him, the Mandalorian catches you out immediately.
“Where would you have seen—?” You begin before it all slides into place. “Oh, right. Tigran.”
You hadn’t meant to say that name out loud. Instinctively, you look over your shoulder, terrified that you might actually conjure the mercenary from across the quadrant to emerge from one of the shadows behind you.
“He’s in the Guild, too, right? I bet all you hunters must know each other.” You force yourself to sound casual, as though saying that name didn’t just turn your blood cold. If Mando knew Tigran Vildar…well, that explained why he was wary of coming under your influence.
“I know him.”
When it’s clear you’re anxious for more details, he continues impatiently, “We met working a job together. On Telkur Station. They had us clearing out some separatists occupying the hyperlane.”
“The Dark Cloud Uprising was—you were there?”
Hapes was only one planet amidst dozens of systems hidden beyond the Transitory Mists, but they ruled the Cluster with brutal efficiency. The Hapes Consortium quickly thwarted any insurrectionist ambitions—no matter how futile—by annihilating them completely.
“I see. They brought in a bounty hunter to rescue the hostages, so they could just...massacre everyone else?”
“Something like that,” is Mando's only response.
“Well, I guess as long as the Consortium can rely on Tigran for some extra-judicial killing, he’s welcome to spend the rest of his time freelancing with the Guild.”
“How do you know Vildar?”
Then you realize, “Wait! Is Tigran your connection to Black Sun? Is that why you were working for Ingtar?”
“Other way around," he snaps. "I asked, how you know Vildar?”
“Like I said, there’s not many Hapans living beyond the Cluster.”
“And that doesn’t answer my question.”
“The question game, Mando, is intended to keep you distracted while I take out your stitches,” you say, gesturing towards his mangled thigh. “Did you really take off all that armor just to sit here and gossip?”
Shaking his head in irritation, he nonetheless readjusts his seat on the bench and allows you to continue working.
“So,” repositioning the tweezers. “You want to talk about Hapes? Regale me with the propaganda Tigran fed you while you were on the Consortium’s payroll. I’m very interested to hear how they justify our isolation from the rest of the galaxy.”
“Clients don't owe me an explanation," he says firmly, shifting his back against the hull. "Just payment.”
Yikes! How many people looked over their shoulder when the Mandalorian came to mind?
Finally, he relents. “What I know is mostly legend. They say that the Hapes Cluster was colonized by Lorell pirates who prized...beautiful women, captured to populate their settlements hidden beyond the Transitory Mists.”
It takes a minute for you to notice that Mando is a little uncomfortable. After all, here you are, a descendant of those women stolen from across the galaxy to be bred by ruthless profiteers. Was he thinking about how he’d grabbed you moments ago? Ashamed by his own rough entitlement?
“After expelling the raiders, Hapans sealed off their borders. The gravity wells and ion storms surrounding the Cluster are impossible to navigate without a Consortium pathfinder. Even after their treaty with the New Republic–nnngh!”
“Just a few more left,” you lie, feigning concentration.
“That’s all I know,” Mando says. “Never saw anything beyond the station.”
At first, you tease. “It might have jeopardized some plausible deniability if they had issued you a tourist visa afterward." Then you sigh, looking up from your work to be sure he understands. “They claim the enforced isolation is necessary to preserve our utopian society. But their real concern is that you might discover pathways through the Mists. That you could sell that information to smugglers and break their monopoly.”
“Exactly,” Mando's sudden shift in voice seemed to announce that he had finally arrived at his point. “That's why Hapans aren’t allowed to leave the Cluster. If you know Vildar, then you know he works for the Consortium, hunting down those who do.”
Stay calm. Focus on the task in front of you.
“I’ve helped Vildar catch a few,” Mando presses on. “Bounties are always high.”
“A bounty is a fixed cost compared to all those unpaid tariffs and docking fees,” you grin, heartbeat pounding against your eardrums.
“Hapes was neutral during the war against the Empire. I’m surprised they let you leave to join the—farrik!”
“Sorry! Last one.” You pulled out that final stitch with more vigor than was strictly necessary, eager to steer the conversation away from how exactly you ended up on this ship, a million parsecs from the Cluster.
“All done!” you chime in a hollow voice, tugging off the latex gloves. “I’ll prepare the Synthskin, which you can apply yourself if you'd like.”
You lean back onto your heels to stand up when the Mandalorian wordlessly grips the edge of the bench. He swings his legs around and shifts himself forward, trapping you inside the space between his thighs. They frame the edges of your vision—one clad in gray, the other bare golden skin—as you stare, paralyzed by your own terrified reflection in the black surface of his view plate.
That dull ache between your legs throbs again. You should be scared. Instead, you're so wet it's slicking your thighs.
Despite the surging panic, you rearrange your face to appear merely surprised rather than frightened while the Mandalorian holds himself over you.
“For someone who isn’t hiding anything, you're very good at dodging my questions.”
Alarm and desire course through you in equal measure, waiting for what comes next. He might pull you into his arms, extend some comfort toward a fellow lost soul crossing the galaxy—or he could throw you roughly to the ground for deceiving him.
And you can’t be sure which you want more.
“You’re a hunter, Mando. What could I possibly hope to hide from you?”
“Exactly. I’m impressed you’ve kept up the disguise for so long.”
“I wasn’t–”
“Then take off the visor,” he says in a clipped tone. “Vildar doesn’t wear one.”
“When you look like Tigran, I guess you don’t worry about flaunting it.”
Mando tilts his head suspiciously, “How do you know Vildar?”
Did you imagine that flicker of jealousy in Mando’s modulated voice? Good. Better he thought sex was the only thing between you and the mercenary, Tigran Vildar.
“I just meant…he’s like you. Intimidating. Neither of you is worried about being snatched off the streets to be sold to some flesh-peddler or warlord. Though I’m sure a Mandalorian would make good coin at one of those Keyorin broth—”
“That would never happen." His fierce sincerity cuts through your sarcasm like a blade, leaving you defenseless. "I would never let that happen to you.”
“O-okay, Mando. I’ll take it off.” There isn’t much point in refusing since he’s already seen you without it. So you reach a hand up to your temple. “I just hope the irony of this situation isn’t lost on–”
You gasp when he grabs hold of your chin, pulling you closer inside the circle of his thighs so forcefully that you have to brace a palm against his knee to stop yourself from falling forward.
His grip is firm, but the tension in his hand is delicate, as though holding something precious. The tip of his forefinger rests just under your jaw. He tilts your head up, then side to side, to catch the ambient light glimmering across the reflective layer of your eyes.
Could he see their color through the helmet’s view plate? A deep violet sheen, covering both the iris and sclera. Two glowing orbs, their luminescent gleam distinctively marking you as a true Hapan from the Cluster, one raised under the dim light of the nebula.
You’re doing your best not to fidget under his fixed attention, wishing you could shake off this awkwardness and confidently gaze up at him to embody the vision of Hapan beauty the entire galaxy is so fond of mythologizing. But the longer his silence stretches, the deeper your insecurity grows…
“Have you considered that I wear the visor as a courtesy?” You shift tact, trying to sound offended. Maybe you could shame him into backing off the subject. “Glowing eyes tend to make people uncomfortable. Especially humans.”
You knew that much about him, at least—that he was human. This wasn’t intended as a threat but a reminder that you've been observing him, too.
“If you actually worried about making me uncomfortable, you wouldn’t walk around my ship in your underwear.”
The air in your lungs evaporates as though the wind’s been knocked out of you. Your head snaps back out of reach, suddenly very conscious of his fingers on your face. For a second, you wonder if you’ve heard him right.
“Are you–?!” you scoff. But, of course, he's always serious.
Impressive, how quickly he’s turned the tables on you. Now, you’re the one who’s worried about being offensive. Your robe feels too short, the fabric thin and threadbare. Okay, so sometimes you duck out of the sleeping compartment without putting pants on, and some of those times, he has seen you.
Which is maybe–might be–inappropriate.
“You’re right,” clearing your throat, absolutely mortified. “It’s unprofessional. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it bothered you.”
“Did you hear me say that?”
Is he fucking with you? Gods, he is impossible to get a read on. You can’t be sure it’s his intent, but the rising sexual tension is very problematic for your composure. Don’t forget that interrogation is part of his profession.
“Go naked,” he says, taking your chin in his hand again, a bit more forcefully this time. “Just don’t lie to me.”
“What is it you’re–?”
“Look at me.” The Mandalorian speaks in the same gruff tone he used to intimidate his quarry—a threat of biting steel and cold fury.
It’s hard to maintain control, kneeling on the floor between his thighs, thinking about the strength in his grip, the crushing force of his arms. How hard he could pin you to the ground and fuck you.
You look straight into the opening of his view plate, knowing that he’s glaring right back at you, scrutinizing every flutter, watching each blink and twitch of muscle.
“What do you want from me, Mandalorian?”
“Are you on Vildar’s list, Thulani?”
Mando hardly ever says your name. It sounded so smooth on his lips despite the distortion of the modulator. How many times have you wondered what it might sound like to hear him gasping it in the dark?
“No,” you reply, summoning as much poise as you can muster.
“I told you not to lie to me.” His fingers squeeze tighter around your jaw, the heel of his hand pressing into your throat. You’re not…not scared of him, exactly. But you’ve never been on the receiving end of his threats before.
“No, Mando, I…” you stammer, feeling your larynx slide against his rigid grip.
“You really think I would hand you over to that monster? Is that why you–”
Your heart clenches, hearing the hurt in his voice. “Is that why I what?”
He doesn’t bother answering.
“Yes. I am wanted by the Consortium, Mando. But I’m not one of Tigran’s targets. We have an…understanding.”
For once, you’re grateful that you can’t see his face. You might not withstand the look of disgust—or worse, pity—while the Mandalorian imagined all the ways you debased yourself to escape Tigran Vildar.
Let him think you earned your freedom on your back. It was preferable to the truth.
“Are you worried I’ll give him the kid?” You ask, instantly horrified. “Is that what this is about?”
“What?! No,” he replies immediately, his gloved hand falling from your face. He draws back onto the bench, and suddenly, you feel cold without the heat of his body surrounding you. “I know you would never endanger the Child. But to keep you safe, I need to know what’s coming.”
“You mean apart from every other mercenary in the galaxy?” A nervous bout of laughter bubbles in your throat. Dammit, Thuli, must you turn everything into a joke... “Mando, I–”
“Does he have some means of tracking you?”
“Tigran? No. Why would he? I mean…they must think I died in the explosion.”
“And he’s not coming for revenge?”
Now, that does deserve a laugh. “Wow! Um, no. Trust me, believing I’m dead makes Tigran’s life much easier. He’s not—” you glance up at the cockpit overhead, “He’s not coming for me.”
It hadn’t occurred to you that amongst the abstracted threat of mercenaries hunting for the kid, there might be a face you’d recognize.
“Some monsters are worse than others, Mando. I think he would spare the Child. If it came to that.”
He pauses. Another agonizing moment spent in breathless silence.
“Is Vildar why you were on Dorumaa?”
“Yes,” you say immediately, eager to show him how cooperative you can be.
“How does a Hapan royal, turned Alliance rebel, end up working for Black Sun?”
“Ha! I am no royal,” but there’s a bitterness in your voice the laughter can’t quite hide. “That tattoo? Tigran and I are not part of the Court, Mando. We belong to them.”
If he wanted to see some honest emotion from you, he need only look at the hatred written all over your face.
“Doesn’t look that way to me,” he says wryly.
“It’s a long story,” you sigh.
“I’m sure it is.” Mando tucks his arms across his chest, indomitable.
“The Rebellion was desperate enough to send a half-trained refugee into the field. Getting a government job with the New Republic wasn’t quite as easy once they realized I'm technically a fugitive. Bureaucracies require a lot of paperwork, Mando. Criminal cartels do not.”
“And they recruited you?”
“I was in some trouble…and Tigran took me to Dorumaa. The Miralukan disguise, the visor, was for my protection. He asked Ingtar to set me up with a job. Things were going pretty well until you burned down my apartment.”
“You saved us that day,” he says. “And now I know what it cost you.”
There’s the barest hint of apology in his voice—which is about all you get from the Mandalorian.
“I would do it again.” Despite your best efforts, you choke up a little, saying, “Please believe I would never betray you, Mando.”
“I know. That’s not what this is about, Thulani.” Then he snorts, “Is that even your real name?”
“Thulandahra,” you say in a small voice. When was the last time someone called you that?
“Thulani ?—not a great disguise.”
“Because I wasn’t hiding it from you,” fighting the tears pressing against your eyes, “I swear I would have told you everything–I will–but what…what is this about, Mando? Why are you asking me all this now?”
“You said you were in some kind of trouble.”
Now, who's dodging questions?
“Do you need my entire life’s story this very minute?”
“Fugitive.” And you can hear him doing the calculus. “So you found a path through the Transitory Mists to escape?”
Okay, deep breath in. “Yes.”
“Because you stole a pathfinder from the Consortium?”
Aaand, let it out. “Yes.”
What more would he ask? If you know how much it’s worth? If you’d already sold it?
“Not by yourself,” he muses. “So, the Consortium wants you for stealing a Pathfinder—tech that you can’t even use since you don’t know how to operate a starship.” It wasn’t a question. “Don’t worry, the irony isn’t lost on me.”
And for once, without the visor on, he can truly appreciate the rich theatricality of your eyes rolling up towards the heavens.
****************************
Read the last post of Volume 1 - Post #10: We'll do it your Way
Go Back to Volume 1 - All posts
#mandalorian x reader#mandalorian x you#mando smut#sexy mando#sexymando#mando x reader#mando x you#mandalorian smut#the mandalorian smut#star wars smut#mando fanfiction#mandalorian fanfic#the mandalorian#din djarin#din djarin smut#din djarin x you#din djarin x reader
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Random death note head cannons if you were dating them:
Light yagami:
He would be very busy but still give you attention. If you wanted attention you would have to do things he wanted
“ Lightt” you say as you draw out his name as you speak “What is it y/n?” he says as he turns his chair. “ you should stop working for a little bit” you say as you get off of his bed and walk over to him, and place yourself on his lap. “ go ahead and write some names down for me, i wanna see you do my work” he says as he places his hands on your thighs.
if you also had a death note he would cherish it, he would have a safe place for yours and his death note so that you and him wouldn’t get caught
“see right here… this is where our death notes will be. they have this trap where if it is set off wrong then it will blow up the death notes and our names will be cleared” he says as he points to the trap where both of our death notes lays. He instructs you on how to properly remove the death notes from the trap when you need them.
he would buy you things if you hit a certain number of people who you wrote down, the more you wrote and the more deserving of your punishment the higher the price of the reward is.
“Aww i’m so proud of you. as a reward i got you another gift.” He says as he places a bag in-front of you, the bag is jet black with blue paper spilling out the top covering the contents of inside. you open the bag to reveal something special for you and him later 😏😏
if someone tried to hit on you or if someone tried to make a move on you with you saying no, he would pull out a move to find out their name and write it down in the paper he has hidden in his watch.
“i’m sorry no i’m not interested in you” Y/n says as she removes the strangers hand from her wrist. Light opens his watch and writes his name down quickly as he pulls you away from the situation swiftly.
L Lawliet:
when he’s working really hard on a case you would bake him sweets, he need the sugar to work and you knew how to get him to eat. your cooking.
as you were whipping the batter together you feel arms wrap around you, cold hands at your sides as you see a white long shirt on his arms. “are you wanting more sweets my love?” you say to him, placing your hand on his. you hear a muffled mhm on your back as he has burried his face into your hoodie. “i made coconut macrons if you would like one?” you say as you set the bowl down, grabbing one and turning around to give it to him.
he would love you playing with his hair or sitting next to him on the couch looking at case files, he knows that the files are confidential but he loves your presence with him. he finds it comforting and warm.
as your head lays on his shoulder, your eyes closed as he reads files on files about a case, trying not to move you so that you can rest with a blanket wrapped around both of you comfortably. you two sit there for hours, watari bring you both hot chocolate with whipped cream placed on top with a straw. your arms wrapped around his shoulders, one hand in his hair, your fingers wrapped in his dark hair while rubbing his head slowly moving your fingers while your other arm is sitting around him.
Misa amane:
you two would do movies and videos together, but with this means you two would have to get ready together in her room, she would have everything for you so that you can look the part. She has everything, from the fishnets to the gothic thigh highs and corsets, plus the lace black dresses and long gloves, the big black heeled combat boots she would have and the studded bracelets she would get you ready, you didn’t have to bring anything but eyeliner, she couldn’t do it. you would have to sit on her lap and do her eyeliner for her, she would get very very flustered when you had to do this but she would love the cat eyeliner you did on her every time
“Y/nnnnn~” you hear your girlfriend whine your name as she has the pillow wrapped around her, wanting for you to come into her embrace.
she always makes time for you, she will genuinely cancel photo shoots just to spend quality time with you, plus you have to share phones from time to time because yknow she has some form of trust issues (light )
“Misa!” you yell as you see her walk through her apartment doors “i thought you had to work?” you say concerned, worrying if they canceled on her. “I left early to see you! i missed you so muchhh!!~” she says as she falls into your arms dramatically. “It’s been so busy i just needed some you time” she says, shoving her head into your neck, wrapping her arms around your body
#death note#light yagami#light death note#light dn#l death note#l dn#misa amane#misa death note#misa dn#mello death note#mello dn#anime gif#headcanon#death note headcanons#misa misa#misa
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i was tagged by @you-are-so-much-better-than-that and @mikhailoisbaby to do this fic writer/artist tag! ive never seen an artist version of this so this is exciting :D
1. Do you post on Ao3? If so, how many works do you have on AO3? If not, where do you post?
i dont post art on ao3 but i post fics there,,,,not gonna say my username though
2. What is your total art count?
we gotta be like 500+ by now
3. What are your top 5 pieces by likes/kudos?
they’re all dan and phil surprise surprise i was surprised that the first one has 12k notes for some reason. im just going to link them
spooky week sketches amazingphil shop spon PHIL QUIFF DEBUT!!! black ‘n’ white dan phil is not on fire collection
4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?
i try to but sometimes i forget and i also dont have notifcations on any social media turned on so i miss a lot of things
5. What is your current fandom, and what was the first fandom you drew for?
currently drawing for umbrella academy, shameless and stranger things. first fandom i properly drew for was one direction but i was drawing stuff for like panic at the disco and powerpuff girls and my little pony and my chemical romance when i was like 7
6. Have you ever received hate on any art?
tonnes lol, i’d say every 2-3 pieces i draw gets some kind of negative attention. recently there’s been an asshole in my asks accusing me of fetishising ian and mickey so thats something to look forward to every time i pose
7. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t drawn for yet but want to?
i want to go back to shows i watched as a kid like total drama island and draw the characters in my art style, i did it with the winx club earlier this year and it was fun. i want to draw harringrove but im not mentally prepared to be like,,,sent death threats atm
8. What’s your all-time favorite ship?
i dont know tbh ian and mickey are up there i guess
9. Do you draw outside of fandom?
yeah im a graphic designer so i draw a lot of shit
10. What’s the an art piece you’ve drawn that came out completely differently than you expected?
this one actually
11. Do you draw smut?
sometimes
12. Have you ever had any of your art stolen or copied?
yeah of course, someone sells my shit on redbubble and i have to keep reporting them
13. Have you ever collaborated on a piece?
yes! @mishervellous and i did that amazing comic together for gallacrafts and im so proud of that! also collaborated with a lot of dan and phil artists to make a calendar, a phil is not on fire poster and some general collabs for fun (if anyone wants to collab hmu bc im down)
14. What’s an idea you have that you have yet to draw?
i really want to draw drummer mickey for some reason
15. What are your drawing strengths?
people i guess, maybe like details on clothes and stuff?
16. What are your drawing weaknesses?
hands and feet lol
17. What’s your favorite art piece you’ve drawn?
im so proud of this drawing even though no one really liked it, like looking at it makes me so happy
18. What is one thing you’d like to tell people about your art that they might not know?
like harvey said haha i also use the same colour palette especially skin tones and hair colours also i sketch a lot of the drawings traditionally and then trace over it on photoshop
19. What inspires or motivates you to create for fandom?
myself. i would still be drawing even if no one notices it. heck i draw so much stranger things stuff only for a top of 10 people across instagram, twitter and tumblr to interact with it.
20. And finally, can you describe your process a little? Do you have a favourite place to draw? Do you play something in the background? Do you do research or just go for it? Give us a little insight
i sit at my desk and use a wacom tablet and my laptop. I have my other laptop open and im normally listening to a tv show that ive seen so i dont have to pay attention or a play through of a game or some creepy stories. sometimes i listen to music on my record player. i always spend ages looking at pose references and rage quitting when i dont draw it right the first time before coming back to it a few hours later. i draw mostly in the evenings, after dinner. sometimes i drink a hot chocolate if its late enough lol.
im gonna tag @mishervellous @doodlevich @heymrspatel @adakechi
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KATE BISHOP headcanons.
RATED E FOR EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT — 18+ — MINORS DNI.
a/n: the first of a few things i wrote in rehab. lil fluff, lil smut (but mostly smut). forgive me if it reads a bit messy, i'm a little out of practice. enjoy!
kate bishop x reader ; congrats! you're dating a sort-of avenger!
warnings: nsfw, explicit smut, daddy kink, humiliation, big big straps, light anal play, cnc, no aftercare ; reader is biologically female but no pronouns are used so could be read as ftm, nb, cis, or whatever tf else you want.
i am not currently fulfilling requests, but any made will be consdiered for future writing things...?
For your first date she takes you to an archery range. Mostly to show off but also to put a bow in your hands and touch you a little bit while she shows you how to draw properly.
The second is a Central Park picnic with pizza and champagne. “Say what you will about my mother,” Kate says as she frees a slice for the golden retriever at her side, “but her wine cellar slaps.” After a look at the label and quick web search: “Kate,” you tell her, “this is a forty-five-hundred dollar bottle of champagne from nineteen-eighty-one, and—“ “And we’re eating it with fifteen dollar pizza from nineteen minutes ago,” she says. “But. To be fair, that’s basically what she makes in an hour.” A beat. “She’s gonna cut me off again.”
You start sleeping with Kate on date six. She has tickets to an exhibit at the Museum of Natural History but she turns up in a gray plaid pantsuit and Docs and the two of you don’t even make it out the door (so, yeah, okay, you sleeping with Kate is date six).
Kate has trouble focusing when there’s no underlying adventure, no chaos, no bad guys chasing her down the street in vans and tracksuits. She’s gotten used to the hero's life, the kind of life where danger lurks around every corner and life or death decisions are plentiful. Kate thrives on the mayhem and gets lost in the mundanity. Clint calls it adrenaline addiction. Yelena says Kate’s got Avenger blood (“She’s not an Avenger,” Clint says. “Too dangerous.”). Sometimes, even when she’s happy, even when she wouldn’t rather be anywhere else, it still happens. Her eyes will gloss over and she’ll retreat into herself and, “Where’d you go?” and “Earth to Kate,” are two things you catch yourself saying a lot during downtime.
“Kate.” “…Yes?” “Why is your bag moving?” The bag barks. “No reason,” Kate says, stepping in front of the wriggling duffel bag as a little black nose pushes through the open zipper, followed by a furry golden head. “Hear me out,” she says, crouching down to pull the wiggling golden retriever into her arms. “His name is Pepperoni.” The other dog, the big dog—Pizza Dog—bounds into the room and sniffs at the puppy in Kate’s arms. He yips once and sits on his haunches and the moment Kate puts the little dog down in front of him you know there’s not a chance in hell she’s letting that puppy go.
Kate thinks she’s the best thing since sliced bread. And in bed? Yeah, she probably is. She’s eager, adaptive, and curious no matter how many times she’s explored every last inch of your body. She spends a lot of time on your tits—squeezing and biting and licking and sucking—and when she isn’t too distracted, when she remembers that she has hands and can use them for something other than digging her dull nails into your skin, she’ll reach up and push her fingers past your lips while she closes her mouth over your skin and sucks until you choke on her fingers and push her head away and beg for a moment to catch your breath.
It took a month to get her anywhere near macaroni and cheese after Yelena rolled into town. That they’re constantly attached at the hip nowadays still blows your mind, but you can’t deny that something magical happens when they’re in the same room. It’s a lot like the little girls in the schoolyard at recess who mix potions in puddles with twigs and run cackling away when anyone asks what they’re doing.
She doesn’t like when you’re quiet. She’ll get vocal enough for the both of you if you’re really not up for it (or if you can’t, which has been happening a lot since she saw that one clip of a girl getting panty-gagged), but she doesn’t like to do anything in silence. It’s not tinnitus, and she's not going the way of Barton, you know, because you’ve asked, and she says she can exist in silence, says the quiet isn’t debilitating or anything, it’s just that she doesn’t like it. She blames it on the city, says no one in Manhattan knows how to operate without twenty-four-hour background noise, which is probably true, but you think she might just like the sound of her own voice. Yours will do when she can’t listen to herself, sure, but sometimes you like to keep quiet just so she’ll push you further and fuck you harder and tell you she needs to hear you. The one time you called it begging she got all huffy and red in the face and insisted that she’s never once begged in her entire life.
Kate likes you on your belly. She likes watching your thighs shake, likes watching the muscles in your back tense and relax as you prop your hips up and offer yourself to her. She likes palming your ass and pulling your cheeks apart and the little sighs of anticipation and excitement you make when she spreads you wide and holds you open just to look, just to keep you on edge. “Are you nervous?” she’ll ask, and you can always hear the cocky grin in her voice, because she knows you are and knows it makes you bubble up with shame when she points it out. “Don’t be nervous,” she’ll say, “we’ve done this before,” which doesn’t help, and she’ll rub her thumb over the pucker of your asshole until you shudder and your hips cant forward. Then she’ll sigh and yank you back by your thighs until your muscles are pulled taut and your cunt practically spreads open on its own. “Move and I’ll shoot,” she likes to say, and she won’t, not really, because she’d step in front of a subway train before she actually hurt you, but she likes to throw that threat around when she hasn’t had a good fight in a while.
“It’s new,” she says when you come home and find her strapped up and looking at herself in the mirror. When your eyes go wide and you swallow hard and tell her, “That’s…big,” she just grins and turns her focus back to the mirror. “I know, right?” she says, considering for a moment before she drops her hand and fists the silicone cock. She can’t even wrap her hand all the way around it. “And purple,” you say, dumbly, because you aren’t sure what else you’re supposed to do or say. “Impressive observations,” Kate says, catching your eye in the mirror and tossing you a smirk. “Think you can take it?” You honestly have no idea.
Once she gets that first strap she just—will not stop. Cannot be stopped. She’ll wake you up in the morning with her mouth on your chest and her hand sneaking down the front of your panties. She’ll tell you to hush and claim your mouth with her own while she nudges your legs open and drags the tip of her big purple cock between the slick lips of your cunt, mumbling, “Just relax, baby, I know you can take it,” even though you just woke up and you’re barely coherent and she hasn’t fucked you in days int he name of building blissful anticipation and wanting it to feel new again. You’re not sure that logic tracks but you’re absolutely certain you don’t ever want anyone else to touch you like this and when she pushes into you—fucks into you—you forget the sweet embrace of sleep and slip into the role she wants you to play.
Kate likes to walk around the apartment in boxers and a sports bra. More comfy that way, she says, even though you have a hard time keeping it together when she does. It’s worse when she abandons the bra altogether. She says it’s freeing. You think it’s maddening. Like when she parks herself on the couch all laid back with her legs propped open and an arm over the back of the couch. She’ll tilt her head and ask you why you’ve gone all red while you just look at her and do your best not to drool. It’s just, shit, that her tits are perfect—even handfuls, pert, rosy nipples, and soft all over—and you swear you could lose yourself in them for days. “Problem?” she’ll ask when you get all tripped up on your words, blushing so hard it creeps down your neck. Then she’ll just grin.
The worst of it is when she starts calling herself daddy. At first you think it’s stupid, self-indulgent, like she’s pandering to herself, but it gets intense. Fast. Like when she cozies up behind you while you’re cooking dinner, slipping her arms around your middle and sneaking her hands beneath your shirt, saying, “You take care of me so well,” and, “daddy’s gonna repay the favor,” and you’re not sure what you’re supposed to say to that but you can feel her pressing up against your ass and her hands are creeping closer and closer to your chest and you know good and well that the moment she palms your tits and ruts against you that it’s all over. Dinner burns on the stove while she strips your bottoms off and lays you out on the kitchen table and pushes your legs open and slaps your cunt just to remind you that she’s needy and she needs you to indulge her every whim because sometimes she doesn’t know what to do when you aren’t actively falling to pieces beneath her. You don’t know when you stopped finding it stupid, self-indulgent, like she needs another reason to think she’s hot shit, but it happened. And you’ve changed your mind: the worst of it is when she realized how much you drip with want when she calls herself daddy.
Nope, that's a lie, the worst of it is the moment she figures out you like it a lot more when she isn’t so nice
Kate strokes the length of her thick strap with one hand and drags the other down the length of your spine, curling her fingers to let her nails catch against your sweat-slicked skin. She nudges your legs apart with her knee and drags the tip of her cock through the lips of your cunt and laughs as you start to squirm. She curses under her breath and notches the tip of the massive fucking thing against your needy hole. “Relax, little angel,” she says, words dripping with condescension. “It’s gonna hurt a hell of a lot more if you don’t calm down and let me in, and isn’t that what you want? If it isn’t, you’d better tell me, ’cause I thought you wanted daddy to fuck your stupid little pussy ’til it’s all gaping and sloppy.” That does it. You’re helpless and your moan doesn’t help, and as the noise rips from your throat Kate fucks into your slippery hole in one rough thrust, and, “Oh—my god—shit—Kate, please—it hurts,” you gasp out between breaths. “I don’t care,” she says, tucking an arm around your middle to keep you from wriggling away. “Please.” You clench helplessly around her massive, heavy cock. “What, you don’t like this?” she asks, false hurt lining her voice. She leans in close again, lips parted against your ear as she stills herself inside of you. “You don’t want this? You want me to stop?” she asks, just to tease, and stifles a laugh as you nod. She doesn’t move. It’s big, too big, stretching your cunt as wide as you think it’ll ever be. Fear of her splitting you open keeps you still. And then she draws her hips back, nice and slow, and for a moment you flood with relief. She pulls out of your leaking hole until all that’s left inside is the tip. And then she eases back in, watching as best as she can in the dim light as her purple cock disappears into your needy pussy. “Pathetic,” she mumbles, and you can hear the smirk in her voice. “Lie to me all you like, but I know a dumb fucking slut when I see one.” “Kate—” “Unless you’re going to tell me you’ve changed your mind—that you’ve had a change of heart and you want this—don’t open your fucking mouth until I ask for another place to put my cock.”
#kate bishop headcanons#kate bishop x reader#kate bishop imagine#kate bishop imagines#hawkeye imagines#kate headcanons#marvel fanfiction#avengers fanfiction#hawkeye headcanons#rated: e#kate#headcanons#hcs
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The Whispering Room: James’ POV
Here it is finally — James’ POV of the Whispering Room scene from Chain of Gold. I wanted to wait until Chain of Iron was released to give more people a chance to read the book, and also because what we learn in COI does inform the scene. I hope you enjoy!
*art by Cassandra Jean
Cortana wove with her words, underlining each one with steel. She turned as her sword turned, and her body curved and moved like water or fire, like a river under an infinity of stars. It was beautiful—she was beautiful, but it was not a distant beauty. It was a beauty that lived and breathed and reached out with its hands to crush James’s chest and make him breathless. — Chain of Gold
James had felt a strange emotion when Daisy first took the stage at the Hell Ruelle. It was a mix of several feelings...
worry on her behalf, annoyance at Kellington, curiosity, and admiration for her bravery and poise. It was unfair of these Bohemians to force her to caper for them, and, he thought, a bit insulting to Shadowhunters in general. He supposed that Matthew had given them a rather unusual view of what the Nephilim were like in such circumstances.
And then she had begun to dance. And suddenly she was not Daisy, his old friend. She was Cordelia, whose name meant heart, whose every gesture was fire. Every earthly worry he’d had had been swept out of his mind. He was conscious only of Cordelia, whirling back and forth across the small stage. Cortana danced around her, shedding light like embers. The dull glow of the lamps illuminated her body, describing her every movement, her every curve as she danced. Her scarlet hair whipped around her in time to the music, and the golden light of the lamps in the Ruelle slipped across her skin, slow and hot, like beads of honey. The cadences of her voice, rising and falling, seemed to weave a cage of silken thread about her audience, and James was no exception.
Later, James would think it was odd that he had not compared her to Grace. Grace had never entered his mind at all. Cordelia danced, and by the end of her performance, James’s entire life had been disassembled and put back together in a new and different shape. He was conscious of Matthew, beside him, also staring as the crowd cheered, his sharp cheekbones flushed. He looked dazed; James couldn’t blame him.
Cordelia descended the stage and slipped through the crowd to come back to them, blushing at the looks and murmured comments she was drawing from the audience now. James could see the desire in the eyes that followed her. Everyone wanted her. He felt a dull fury. They had no right. They did not know Cordelia. She was more than just that dance.
When she reached them she let out a long breath of relief and smiled. She glowed with the exercise of dancing. Sweat beaded along her collarbones, shimmered between her breasts. Her eyes were bright as Cortana’s blade, strapped to her back.
“Bloody hell,” Matthew exclaimed. “What was that?”
A look of uncertainty crossed Cordelia’s face. James said, “It was a fairy tale, Math,” and Matthew nodded. His dark green eyes searched Cordelia’s face, as if looking for the key to a locked room he had only just discovered.
Cordelia looked uncertain. James couldn’t bear that. She’d been magnificent; she should know it. But he couldn’t say that, of course. It would only make her self-conscious.
“Well done, Cordelia,” James said instead; when he unfolded his arms; his wrist hurt and he wondered if he’d been clenching his hands.
Cordelia. He hadn’t called her Daisy, and she looked a little surprised. It seemed inappropriate, somehow. Daisy was Lucie’s friend, the Merry Thieves’ compatriot; he found it a smaller name than she deserved. Cordelia, though—she had been a queen, hadn’t she? Queen Cordelia, daughter of Leir, ruler of Britain before the Romans had ever landed on those shores. Like Boadicea, a legendary warrior queen. A blazing white fire behind fathomless black eyes.
“Anna has disappeared with Hypatia,” James said, noting the empty settee, “so I would call your distraction a success.”
Cordelia’s lips twitched into a smile. “How long does a seduction usually last?”
“Depends if you do it properly,” Matthew said, with a wink. James felt it as a spark of relief, a bit of lightness amid the feeling that something heavy was sitting on his chest.
“Well, I hope for Hypatia’s sake Anna does it properly,” James said. He registered, with the reflexes of a parabatai, that Matthew had gone still next to him, and wondered what was wrong. “Yet for our sake, I hope she hurries it up.”
All hint of Matthew’s jocular tone from before was gone. “Both of you,” he said urgently. “Listen.”
Did he mean all the muttering about Shadowhunters? Was he only noticing it now? It had followed them since they came into the place. But when James followed Matthew’s gaze, he found Kellington staring with an expression of vexation, not at them but at the door. All questions were answered as through the door came Charles Fairchild, looking around him with a haughty expression. He looked like was about to raid the place; so much for whatever work Matthew and Anna had done for Downworlder-Shadowhunter relations here.
Matthew narrowed his eyes. “Charles,” he sighed. “By the Angel, what is he doing here?”
Charles was, James thought, probably looking for them. He was making his way through the crowd and gazing around him. Luckily for them, the crowd was not interested in letting him through, and he was moving very slowly.
“We should go,” James said. “But we can’t leave Anna.”
In one way, at least, Charles’s arrival was helpful; it threw a bucket of cold water on the roiling heat that had gripped James’s heart since Cordelia had begun her dance. Back to the matter at hand: a demon, a Pyxis, a plan.
“You two run and hide yourselves,” Matthew said, still keeping his eyes on his brother. “Charles will go off his head if he sees you here.”
“But what about you?” said Cordelia.
Matthew shrugged, but James could see the tension in his jaw and his shoulders. “He’s used to this kind of thing from me. I’ll deal with Charles.”
Not for the first time, James wished that his parabatai wasn’t in such a hurry to sacrifice his own reputation. He exchanged a long look with Matthew, but Matthew was sure, and determined, and his desire to rush into his own humiliation was an issue that would have to wait. Nodding, he turned and caught Cordelia’s hand with his own. “This way,” he said, and she nodded back in acknowledgement. As he pulled them into the crowd he heard Matthew’s voice calling, “Charles!” in a hearty tone of pleasant, if entirely false, welcome.
James didn’t know his way around the place, and the crowd made orientating himself even more difficult, but after some trial and error he and Cordelia managed to get behind Kellington and slip into a corridor leading away. This wasn’t safe in itself, since from the main chamber one would have a clear view down the entire corridor. In fact, they were temporarily more exposed than before, and James’s hope for the hallway to take a quick turn or to contain large statuary to hide behind was quickly dashed. He continued to hold onto Cordelia’s hand, not that he needed to; she seemed to know her way better than he did.
Partway down the corridor, James caught sight of an open door — its silver plaque labeling it the entrance to THE WHISPERING ROOM. Swiftly he drew Cordelia inside, out of sight. He slammed the door behind them, causing a loud noise, but he thought it couldn’t possibly be heard over the crowd in the main chamber. Only then did he release Cordelia’s hand and take stock of their surroundings.
The room was dimly lit, but not cold: a scented fire burned in the grate, filling the space with the smell of sandalwood and roses. It was a study, he guessed, based on the gigantic walnut desk against the wall and the bookshelves opposite, but it was too richly decorated to be solely a place for studious contemplation. Phoenix feathers and dragon scales danced across the gilded wallpaper; there were no windows, but the walls were hung with patterned tapestries, the floor covered with a rug so thick James felt his boots sink into it as he moved further into the room.
Cordelia had leaned her back against the wall next to the door. Her eyes were closed and she was taking deep, full breaths, calming herself down. Cortana gleamed gold over her shoulder; the firelight gleamed a deeper gold on her skin, which seemed to take and hold its warmth. James curled his fingers in against his palm.
He wanted to touch her. He half-turned away, pretending to study the books on the wall. Any other time, he would have been fascinated by the titles. Now they seemed distant, neither immediate nor imporant. He could have sworn he heard his own heart hammering. He said, “Where did you learn to dance like that?” surprising himself with the roughness of his own voice.
His gaze snapped back to Cordelia as she opened her eyes and gave a little shrug. There was something magical about the dress she wore: it followed the shape of her own body rather than the shape of corsetry or whalebone petticoats. It slid softly against her skin as she moved, just as her dark red hair tickled the bare skin of her throat, her shoulders. “I had a dance instructor in Paris. My mother believed that learning to dance aided in learning grace in battle.”
The word grace pierced James like an icicle. He could not quite picture Grace at the moment, it was true; could not quite envision her face. He had given Grace his heart — that was an immutable fact, something he knew as he knew that two plus two equaled four. But he had to admit that at the moment his heart did not feel given. It felt like a thrumming machine inside his chest, pumping blood and heat.
“That dance,” Cordelia added with a quirk of her soft mouth that struck James like a blow to the stomach, “was forbidden to be taught to unmarried ladies. But my dance instructor did not care.”
“Well,” James said, keeping his voice steady with practiced control, “thank the Angel you were there. Matthew and I could certainly not have pulled off that dance on our own.”
Cordelia turned away from him, the smile still on her face, as though she were keeping it secret from him. She trailed her hand along the top of Hypatia’s desk. At one end was a stack of papers held down by a large copper bowl of fruit, and she brought her hand up to trace its rim.
James may have been distracted beyond the capacity for distraction he’d known before, but he was still a Shadowhunter. “Be careful,” he said warningly. “I suspect that is faerie fruit. It has no effect on warlocks—no magical effect, at least. But on humans…”
Cordelia pulled her hand back as though stung. “Surely it does not harm you if you do not eat it.”
“Oh, it does not. But I have met those who have tasted it. The say the more you have of it, the more you want, and the more you ache when you can…have no more.”
Cordelia was looking at him now, and though it took a great summoning of courage, he returned her gaze. In her dark eyes the silver and blue flames of the fireplace danced. James could not catch his breath. He had never felt this before, this breathlessness. It was like pain, but with a sweet, sharp edge. Like licking honey from a knife. He said, in a low voice, “And yet. I have always thought…is not knowing what it tastes like just another form of torture? The torture of wondering?”
The door shook on his hinges suddenly, making a clatter that made both he and Cordelia jerk their heads around to look at it. The knob was starting to turn.
Cordelia paled. “We’re not meant to be in here —“
James’s world closed down to just this: Cordelia was here, she was with him, and she looked frightened. He would do anything to stop that look on her face. He caught her in his arms, and the relief was incredible — he had not realized how much he wanted to be touching her until he was. Until he was holding her, and her strength and warmth and softness were all pressed against him, and her face was so beautiful it hurt, and her lips were parted in surprise and without another thought he kissed them.
He could feel her sharp intake of breath with his hands, clasped together at her lower back. She gasped, but did not draw back, or away — he thought he would have died if she had — she leaned into him, her full lips opening under his. She was kissing him back. He tasted honey, smelled jasmine and smoke. His hand slid up her warm cheek and into the soft fall of her hair.
Time stopped.
Cordelia’s arms were around his neck. Her lush mouth opened a little against his, and the kiss deepened. He moved his hand to the back of her neck to bring her closer. Her teeth grazed his lower lip, and he couldn’t help it; he moaned, and felt her tremble against him.
Very far away, a voice chuckled and the door closed with a soft click. This whole thing had been intended as a ruse, he knew, for the benefit of whomever was trying to get into the Whispering Room. Probably some Ruelle attendees, Downworlders most likely, who had snuck off for a rendez-vous.
Ruse accomplished, then. With intense regret, James drew back from Cordelia. Her hand, warm and soft and wonderful, was against his neck; her fingers stroked his pale white scar. Her eyes were fixed at the level of his shoulder. He could hear himself say her name — Daisy, my Daisy — instead of responding, she whispered, “I think more people are coming.”
He knew it wasn’t true. He didn’t care. He knew what she was saying: that she was asking and giving permission at once. All James’ life, he had struggled for control: control over his sudden falls into shadow, control over the dark world he could see, that was invisible to everyone else. He had worked and fought and trained for control every day, and for the first time in as long as he could remember it deserted him.
The walls he had put up burned to the ground in an instant as he caught Cordelia to him. He groaned against her mouth, his hands slipping over the silk of her dress, the hot satin of her skin. He undid the strap that held Cortana, got rid of it somehow — carefully, he hoped — and let himself fall back into delirium.
He did not ask himself why he had never felt desire like this before. He could not. He was lost in the feel of her, the incline of her waist, the flare of her hips, the rise and fall of her chest as she gasped. They were kissing wildly, uncontrolled; they fetched up against the desk, Cordelia’s back to it.
Her body bent backward in an impossible arch, her hands going behind her to brace herself. Her eyes half-closed, her head fell back, revealing the bare column of her throat. He pressed his lips there, eliciting a gasp of surprised pleasure.
His hands trailed up the sleek material of her dress — he could feel the heat of her skin through it — from her waist to the neckline of her gown. His palms followed her curves until the tips of his fingers were pressing into the bare bronze skin just above the neckline of her dress. She was sleek and soft and hot all at the same time, like nothing else he’d ever touched. He heard her whimper; she was saying his name, and his heart beat in time with her words: James, James, Jamie please.
The please undid him; shrugging off his frock coat, he caught hold of her around the waist, lifting her until she was perched on the edge of the desk. The material of her dress bunched around her knees, her thighs, as she took hold of his shirt by the starched front and kissed him. His mouth drove against hers, hot and demanding, even as he clambered onto the desk after her. She reached up her arms for him and he sank down on top of her, bracing his weight with a hand above her head.
He paused, just for a moment, looking down at her. Her scarlet hair fanned out across the desk, her eyes glazed, her full lips red from kissing. He was cradled by her body, her legs on either side of his hips, her skirt rucked up nearly to her waist. She wrapped her long, bare legs around him and he shuddered. What was in him, what he wanted, was inchoate but insistant, a force he’d never known. A yearning like hot wires in his blood, the pain-pleasurable ache of unbearable wanting that drove him to kiss her again, kiss her harder. She tangled her hands in his hair, pulling at it as he kissed her breasts, flicking his tongue over the sensitive skin until she gave a low scream and clutched at him with desperate hands.
He sank down against her and kissed her, hot and deep and hard. She arched into the kiss, her breath coming in gasps. He felt her through the thinner material of his shirt: the heat of her, the swell of her breasts against his chest, her hands smoothing over his chest, his sides.
His hands aching to touch her in kind, to find out what she liked, what made her gasp, and do it again and again . . . Nothing had ever felt like this, nothing. He’d known desire before; so he remembered, so he had believed. It turned out he had stepped into a puddle and thought it was the sea. As Cordelia moved in his arms, as her lips, he realized there was a depth to desire he hadn’t even guessed at: that it was more than just desperation, but joy and need and wanting and being wanted back. It was a fever dream, his hands sliding up under the heavy satin of her skirts, the salt-sweet taste of her skin, the soft sounds of her pleasure as she urged him closer, urged him onward, the desk seeming to spin beneath them.
He heard, as if at a great distance, the sound of the door opening. He lifted his head, saw the slim fair-hared figure in the doorway. Ice washed through his veins. Cordelia stiffened, began to scramble to sit up. No, he thought, but he couldn’t stop her, couldn’t blame her. It — whatever it had been — was over.
He slid off the desk. Already the fever was vanishing, that feeling —the glorious freedom from the burden of his own will — receding. Grasping at his control, he drew it around himself, reaching for his coat, turning to calmly meet the gaze of his parabatai.
“James?” Matthew said.
#the whispering room#james herondale#cordelia carstairs#the last hours#cassandra clare#cassandra jean#chain of gold
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had it | k.bakugou.
♡ pairing: katsuki bakugou x fem!reader.
♡ word count: 4.5K
♡ rating: everyone.
♡ genre: pro hero!au, married!au, fluff, comfort.
♡ summary: your pro hero husband is a show off, always has and always will be... but when his big ego gets in the way of you doing your job, you give him little piece of your mind..
♡ warning(s): please read ! mentions of violence, i gave reader a quirk?? bakugou with a daughter ok literally nothing. oh and angst if you squint.
♡ author’s note(s): hi besties!! happy birthday to meee!! today i’m dropping a fic that’s been a long time coming, its a short and fluffy little piece with domestic baku bc i love him with babies n kids ok ok!! i hope you all have a lovely day <3
♡ masterlist | requests | kofi
some say that working for a pro hero is an honour, no matter what the position is. some may work behind the scenes— creating gear and suits that support the pros protecting their cities or livelihoods. others are in charge of things like reports, PR and even physical health. everyone plays an important role in a hero's career. there’s never a dull moment working in a team supporting the pros, especially if that pro was dynamight.
the offices for katsuki bakugou’s hero agency were always buzzing; usually because the clean up team were rushing through with stacks upon stacks of receipts and paperwork from the damage done during bakugou’s patrols— other times it would be his secretaries gossiping about how good he looks in his winter costume because damn did that tight black shirt do his arms justice but usually it was just because of the PR team contacting media outlets with excuses for bakugou’s potty mouth.
working for the hot headed blonde was more laid back than it seemed however, the man himself was rarely ever in the office as the number two hero but out on missions instead, the pay was pretty decent and no one ever really faced his angry wrath nor his sailor like mouth unless they had royally fucked up on their job. katsuki bakugou was someone to admire, he never gave a damn about what people had to say about him— he only cared about getting the job done and maybe that’s why most people enjoyed their time under the dynamight agency.
particularly this time, right around noon.
the doors to the floor of the secretary offices fly open, crashing loudly against the walls and drawing the staff from their daily work. this office space is around ten floors up and somehow you’ve made it in record time today. “where is he?” your voice crawls through the entrance of the room, settling over the workers like a thick fog— commanding, menacing and soft all at the same time. newbies cower in their boots, confused at what’s going on and it’s safe to presume those who have been working here for years have yet to give them the run down. “don’t make me ask again.” you add, eyes darkening as you cast your gaze across the room.
an intern approaches you, visibly shaking with fear which makes you loosen your stance and raise an eyebrow toward them. “he-uh... he just went for his lunch break—“ the stutter, gulping under the stare of another highly ranked pro hero. “in his...office— ma’am!” they stumble through their words, hiding behind the ungodly amount of paperwork that's been dumped into their hands. you make a mental note to chew bakugou out on the load his interns have been getting as well as your prior reasons for coming to his agency.
nonetheless you shake your head and drop the frown, a sweet smile quickly replacing the look that could put anyone six feet under if you really tried. with a tap to the side of your head, the visor to your hero costume rises above your eyes— allowing you to give the poor little intern a cheeky wink as thanks. “‘ppreciate it darling, have a good one!” you thank them properly with a ruffle to their hair, resuming your previous stance as you march the rest of the way through the office and kick open the door at the end of the room.
the intern sags, a whimper of relief passing from tired lips while they wipe at the sweat forming on their brow. they’d not even encountered their boss yet and they’d already come face to face with a top pro hero. “w-what’s her deal?”
a chuckle to the left of the poor kid startles them out of their mind; but they relax upon realising it’s just another one of dynamight’s secretaries— haruto, who’d apparently been working at the agency since it started up. “that’s nightsky, her quirk is lullaby, which allows her to control certain people if she hits the right note. she can also put them to sleep, if she really wants to,” the intern now perks up, remembering you from countless interviews on tv. you ranked pretty highly too, managing to the reach the top five this year along with others like shoto and deku. “she owns the hero agency across the street, herself and dynamight have been going at it ever since. it’s like they’re elderly lovers or somethin‘.”
“d-do you think they are? lovers like you say?” the intern asks a little too excitedly, touching at their messy hair from where you’d ruffled it. a crimson blush warms their cheeks, the idea of two pros playing enemies to the public eye but being lovers in secret seemed like something right out of a romance novel. how romantic.
haruto only chuckles at the newbie, standing to ruffle their hair as well before heading over to the coffee stand to fix himself a cup. “beats me,” he mumbles cheerily as he walks away, arms crossed behind his head. “but with the way yn bursts in here at the same time everyday to scold bakugou, and leaves with a huge smile on her face— i wouldn’t put it past them. they probably have a whole life together.” he taps his nose once as if he’s given away too much information, turning away without a word.
the intern hums, seemingly happy with their superior’s answer and easily heads back to work from there.
katsuki bakugou was bored out of his mind.
being a successful pro hero was all he’d ever wanted— being the number two pro hero just came with that. bakugou wanted to get to the top and show everyone he was the best of the best and with him being blessed with a powerful quirk there was no way he couldn’t be where he was today. yet, now that he’d finally achieved his dream all he wanted was a fucking break. the blonde stares down at his microwaveable bowl of home cooked stew, a frown cutting deep into his cheeks. it was his lunch break for crying out loud, but instead of scarfing down the delicious meal before him, the hero was forced to watch it cool as some dumb fuck reporter asked him questions over the phone.
the telephone interview ( or a waste of his fucking time, as katsuki had called it ) , had been set up by his PR team right after he’d taken down a couple low level villains downtown earlier this morning. katsuki had called it nothing but apparently the whole world and their mother had been on his ass, watching as he took the criminals down with ease and raving about how glorious dynamight was during that fight. the reporter drones on about said event, asking the same old questions and it takes everything within the hot headed pro not to blow a casket— he’d been promised a few extra days off from his manager if he could finish the interview without blowing something up and only god knew how much katsuki needed a break from dumb paps and some overly obsessive fans.
‘so, final question, how does it feel to be the number two?’
bakugou grunts, buying himself time to formulate an answer. what he really wants to do is kindly tell the reporter to fuck off and ask more original questions; but with the prize of a longer weekend hanging in the balance he bites his tongue for the sake of freedom. “well i—“
“katsuki bakugou.” your voice cuts through his sentence before he can finish, vermillion eyes land on your hero costume clad form as you burst into his office. a lazy smirk now decorates the hero’s lips, brow quirked with piqued interest. “i have a bone to pick with you, you motherfucker.”
the reporter on the other end falls silent as katsuki watches you, leaning back in his plush leather chair. you look slightly disheveled, costume torn in a few places, scrapes littering your skin as you pant heavily from exertion— chest rising and falling with every breath, it seems ragged and bakugou makes a mental note to remind you to get your ribs checked out later. “you’re late, shitty woman.” the number two sits up a little straighter as you enter the room, leaning up to look at you while you slam your hands down on the smooth marble desk— the force rattling the items he has neatly placed on it.
‘uh-? mister...dynamight-? sir?’
your eyes sweep the room while the pro before you deals with the reporter, mentioning to her that they’ll have to continue their call later. in the meantime, you note that katsuki’s office is meticulously clean, not a single book, folder or pen out of place— it’s high up with a perfect view of the city and the large windows allow golden beams of the sun to light up the room. the sound of a phone being placed back on its hook brings you from your thoughts; annoyance settling deep in your veins as you turn to face bakugou again.
“i had it,” you growl lowly, jumping the gun before he can even register what you’ve said. “i’m a grown woman, katsuki, i can handle a couple of criminals myself, you know.”
the blasting hero does nothing but smirk even wider at the irked tone that litters your voice, standing up as well to tower over you. bakugou still wears his own hero costume, considerably in less damage than yours— not a single tear had formed in his suit, mind the small scratches on his face no doubt from his stupid explosions creating some debris. leaning over the desk between you, bakugou uses a forefinger and thumb to tilt your head up, bringing you even closer than before. “clearly y’didn’t sweetheart, or otherwise that icyhot bastard wouldn’t have needed to back you up ‘fore i got there...” his timbre voice sends sparks of electricity through the air in the room, it’s low and gravelly which is enough to send shivers down your spine but you’re not about to let katsuki bakugou know that he makes you flustered— it’d go straight to his head, the cocky bastard.
nonetheless; you roll your eyes at the mention of your old classmate and fellow pro hero— shoto todoroki. yourself and shoto got along fairly well, even back in high school, so it was normal for you to work together from time to time; you both made a great team and your skill set complimented each other’s well. katsuki was just jealous. he never really got along with todoroki like that. “he didn’t back me up, we were working together,” you snap back at the blonde, shaking yourself from bakugou’s grasp and flicking him right between those alluring vermillion eyes. “something you might not be familiar with, mister number two.” bakugou backs away from you completely ( only wincing slightly ), making you smirk in victory. you’ve struck a nerve. deciding to leave the conversation at that, you turn to make your exit as he collapses back into his seat with a deathly scowl and a quiet ‘tch’. “like i said, i had it, dynamight. next time, don’t jump in uninvited.”
happy that you got the last laugh, you open the door to leave his office but pause when a wave of heat hits your back. you should have known, katsuki bakugou was never one to back down from a challenge and you certainly weren’t an exception. well shit. when you turn around to face the blonde, small explosions spark from his right hand and he has some what of a look of a feral pomeranian, blood red eyes full of rage.
you visibly gulp and katsuki growls out his next words with the upmost venom, designed to hurt and cut at your feelings. “well maybe y’sudda let the actual pros handle shit like this,” bakugou begins, voice rising in volume with every syllable that passes his lips. “we both know you’re no good at short distance attacks with your quirk, shitty woman, you couldn’t have taken those villains down without me.” the blonde finishes with a short ‘tsk’, settling the explosions that spark in his palms. now it’s your turn to be pissed. you could handle katsuki’s jealousy, his petty reasoning for joining you on your patrol and taking the credit but bashing you and your quirk? no way in hell would he get away with that.
“bakugou?”
“what? the fuck y’still here for?”
you roll your shoulders, gracing the blonde with a devilish smile as your eyes light up mischievously. “why are you hitting yourself, bakugou?” you sing, hitting just the right notes that will have him under your spell, the tone in your voice as smooth as chocolate. katsuki’s eyes widen in horror and before he can stop himself, his free hand comes up to slap him across the face. that was your quirk, lullaby. you had the ability to sing your way out of any situation— adjusting the tune of your song to control the actions of certain individuals or groups of people. it was near impossible to resist but the more people you used your quirk on, the weaker your control over them was. that doesn’t mean you weren’t going to use it on bakugou from time to time. the blonde tries to fight it, he really does, but he’s no use up against your ability— losing all control of his own body. he grunts on impact, looking bewildered for a moment as he moves to grab his own wrist to stop any impending blows. “not so cocky now, are we dynamight?”
“h-hey!” he stammers, refusing to accept defeat against you. “shitty woman, no fuckin’ fair. you know i can’t use my quirk against you in here.” he was right, while your quirk was poor against short distance attacks ( meaning you had to result to hand to hand combat ), bakugou couldn’t use his own in enclosed spaces without hurting anyone he didn’t want to. especially you, he would never hurt you intentionally unless you were sparring.
“shoulda thought about that before you decided to taunt me, you know better than to piss off your wife, katsu.” you chide, still smiling just as brightly as you were earlier, before taking a seat on his desk and folding one leg over the other. it was quite amusing to watch your husband of four years fight against himself— everyone knew katsuki had an unbelievable amount of strength even without his quirk so he was definitely beating himself up ( literally and figuratively ).
bakugou looks up at you through gritted teeth while he struggles to keep the wrist you have control of down and you almost feel bad for the guy. “turn it off, dammit!” he curses at you, said hand rising above his free one to tug at his own sun kissed locks.
feigning interest in the objects on your lover's desk, you ignore his pleas for you to release him from the holds of your quirk and hum “apologise.”
“f-fuck... fuck y-you.”
you sigh knowingly, picking up a hand crafted paperweight, covered in glitter and sequin stars, inspecting it carefully. bakugou could hardly ever say the word ‘sorry’, it was just in his nature and he’d been that way since you were young. part of you knows it’s because of how he was treated as a child where people praised him for his quirk. that meant he became prideful yes, thought highly of himself too and struggled to admit when others were right...but he had his own way of apologising— through actions instead of words.
like when you first moved in together and he had broken your favourite mug, instead of saying he was sorry, he spent all night super glueing it back together for you to use in the morning. to him, actions were louder than words but you right now; you were being mean and just wanted to hear him say it.
“fuck fuck, fine. alright. ‘m sorry.” bakugou lets out a strained growl as the hand you control gives a particularly hard yank to his hair. “i’m sorry for lying about your quirk. it’s not shitty…’n ‘m sorry for... barging in on your patrol. again.” you grin, satisfied with his answer and grab the hand he keeps down with his wrist. you press a simple kiss to the skin, making your husband blush as you release your hold over the limb. katsuki shyly yanks it from your grip, rubbing over the area that you’d kissed, shooting his gaze to the side in the process. “jesus shitty woman, if i don’t die from being a hero or of old fucking age, i know for a fact you’ll be the one to kill me first.” he mutters harshly under his breath, but you know he’s only kidding from the way his hands now fall to your thighs and his fingers rub small circles into the exposed skin.
“pro hero nightsky murders number two pro hero dynamight in cold blood!” you joke as if you’re reading a headline in a news article, katsuki only glares up at you— making no effort to curse you out because of your shitty joke, which causes you to frown while leaning forward to brush some of his hair away from his face. “you know i’m only kidding right? is something wrong? did i come at a bad time?”
it’s only now that you notice the exhausted expression that paints your lover’s face. he’s always up to playing this game with you, at the same time every day— you come to bother him about some trivial matter, tease him a bit and leave with a kiss. but today, you can tell he’s trying to hide something from you. something that bothers him.
bakugou shakes his head, leaning into your touch as you play with his hair— a habit he’d picked up from even before you started dating back in high school, although he’d never admit that to you if you’d asked. “nothin’, just this stupid fuckin’ interview the PR team want me to do about the fight today. the one i took from you,” your husband smirks slightly at the thought and you roll your eyes for what seems like the nine hundredth time that afternoon. “didn’t get to finish my fuckin’ lunch but they promised me a couple days off if i got the interview done.”
“better the number two than me, eh? but don’t worry, i’ll order us some take out tonight,” your suggest, voice coming out as soft and mingling with your slight giggle— a quiet melody to katsuki’s ears. your only reply from him is a grunt, so you stop your fingers in his hair and watch as he scowls up at you. you quickly press a kiss to the explosive hero’s lips, pulling away to reveal his blushing face. you smile, knowing that you’re the only one who can make him flush red like that. “there’s something else bothering you, isn’t there?”
if there’s one thing katsuki bakugou hates, it’s how you read him like an open book. one look at him and it’s like you know exactly how he’s feeling. he can never hide anything from you— sometimes that both pisses him off and reminds him of how much he is loved by you. he hesitates with his words at first but decides to confide in you anyway, knowing that you’ll get it out of him in one way or another. “‘m worried about you, dumbass.” he mumbles, nudging your hand with his head as if to ask you to continue your earlier actions. “i know you had it, yer fuckin’ powerful but you looked so tired in that fight today ‘n i thought something bad was gonna happen to you, y’fuckin’ shitty woman.”
he toys with the tears in your costume now, smoothing over scars from your bumps and scratches as a result of combat. “oh lovebug,” you mumble, cupping his cheeks to make him look up at you. “you know i can handle my own, they just took a lot out of me today. i promise i’ll—“
“that’s not it, fuck,” katsuki cuts you off, brows furrowing deeply as he grabs your wrists— pulling your from his desk and into his lap. he holds you close, burying his nose into your neck as if you’re going to disappear. you sit still, a little shocked by his actions and his quick change of mood, but wrap your arms around him anyway and slowly fall silent. “it's just that...we’re both pros now and at the top of our ranks ‘n we both have a lot to lose.” you instinctively cling tighter to katsuki, mind flickering to the homemade paperweight you’d spotted on his desk earlier... causing your heart clench.
your daughter had made that for him during her time at preschool for fathers day; something your husband cherished with his whole heart, even if the thing was still sticky with glue when he’d gotten it.
katsuki loved taiga more than anything in the world and if something had happened to her because of your line of work, you don’t know what either of you would do. “what if something were to happen to you? or to me? or shit...both of us? who would look after taiga? you know what happens to kids who end up in the fucking system.” bakugou pauses, the same tired expression from earlier now sitting heavily on his face. “i just want you to be careful, stop pushing yourself so much, y’fuckin’ dumbasss. we have a family take care of. it’s not just you and i anymore.”
you nod, grasping onto your lover’s clothes tightly. the air is flooded with a comfortable silence, the pair of you holding one another right the way through it. you treasure moments like this, where the world stops and katsuki shows you another, more vulnerable side to him.
he would never admit or show this to anyone; but he cares , more than he lets on... especially for you and especially for your daughter. he was attentive, paid attention to you and your weaknesses and helped you overcome them. it was something you couldn’t stop loving about him. “i promise to be more careful, for you and for taiga,” you say quietly after he’s done scolding you, brushing your lips against the side of his head in a soft peck. “that must’ve been why jumped in earlier, you were worried about me?”
“somethin’ like that, you crazy woman,,” bakugou whispers, there’s a tinge of fondness to his ruby eyes as you pull away to look at him, his hands settling on your hips while he moves up to press a soft kiss to your awaiting lips. “didn’t want you getting yourself killed.”
you stay with katsuki in the office for a little longer than usual, laying on his chest as he prattles away about everything and anything even though he should be working. you make sure he eats his lunch, despite how cold it is and promise him a boat load of take out when he comes home later— your sweet cuddling session only being cut short by a call from your assistant to tell you that your daughter is ready to be picked up from school. “better finish that interview katsu, taiga’ll be happy to know her daddy’s getting some time off to spend with her soon,” you remind him as you gather yourself together, your husband pouting ( he swears on his life he wasn’t ) from the loss of your warmth in his lap. “she has a lot to tell you.”
the blonde quirks a brow, watching you as you head for the door. “yeah? like what?” a hand comes up to cover your mouth as you giggle at his curious face. sometimes, when you look at katsuki, you could see how much your daughter resembles him, right down to his mannerisms. she had somehow inherited the shape of your nose and the brightness of your smile ( the only reason barely anyone realised bakugou had a kid, he never fucking smiled. ) but the bakugou genes were incredibly strong so there was no way she’d miss out on those crimson eyes and uncontrollable, untameable messy blonde hair.
she even acted like him. a very brazen little girl who knew what she wanted and how to get it, so she had her daddy wrapped around her stubby little fingers.
you grin, eyes sparkling with the same mischief as before. “oh y’know, just her little crush on midoriya’s boy.”
“yer fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”
“i would never joke about such a thing, just make sure you’re home in time for dinner, number two!” you squeal, dashing out of the office before your husband has time to demand more answers from you. slamming the door shut, you chuckle at the melody of curses that leave your husbands mouth before heading off to pick up your daughter.
on your way, you admit to yourself , that maybe you didn’t have this fight in the bag. but what you did have; was a loving husband, a beautiful daughter and the best life you could have ever imagined.
extended ending:
“so, taiga... daddy hears you have a little... crush on someone.”
you’re in the kitchen, washing the dishes from tonight’s dinner as bakugou wipes tentatively at your little girl’s messy face— she was a poor eater but it’s something you didn’t mind, not when your husband was so soft with cleaning her up. you can see them from where you stand, watching katsuki knowingly.
taiga looks up from the colouring you’d set out for her when she finished up her meal, crimson eyes shining brightly as she fixes her gaze on her father. “mhm mhm!! he’s mister deku’s son! and i’m gonna marry him!”
“no yer not.” bakugou answers simply, looking close to popping a vein.
“why not?”
your husband scoffs, throwing away the tissue he’d used to clean his little girl up before joining her in her colouring. “‘cause daddy says so ‘n boys are gross, especially ones who’s dad’s look like broccoli.” the older ash blonde seems satisfied with his answer, grinning to himself as you dry the dishes with an amused smile.
but taiga isn’t finished, swapping her green crayon for a red one to finish up her drawing. “but you’re a boy...and mommy still married you!”
bakugou pauses, lost for words as taiga continues to colour— humming the theme song from a commercial for some of deku’s merch. you can tell it’s taking everything katsuki’s got not to combust right there on the spot, but he can’t stay mad at taiga for too long, not when she’s describing her wedding and how her daddy is going to walk her down the isle.
setting the dishes to dry and towelling your hands; you smile to yourself as you admire your family. some would say you had it all, and looking at the pair of bakugou’s now, who were you to deny the truth.
#tteokdoroki#mha#bnha#bakugou#bnha x you#bnha x reader#bnha imagines#bnha fanfic#bnha fluff#mha x reader#mha x you#mha imagines#mha fluff#bakugou x reader#bakugou x you#bakugou fic#bakugou fanfic#bakugou imagines#bakugou fluff#bakugou smut#bakugou headcanons#bakugou scenarios#katsuki bakugou x reader#katsuki bakugou x you#bakugou katsuki x you#bakugou katsuki x reader#katsuki bakugou fluff#bakugou katsuki fluff#bnhacity#[ 🎞 ] — anihaven
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voyeur | m. izuku
➳ tags ;; sub!izuku, dom!reader, watching hentai together?, reader is mean and nice </3, quirkless college au!izuku, corruption kink/religious guilt, unprotected sex/creampies, established relationship, afab reader
➳ wc ;; 2.1k
➳ a /n ;; @/sems-diarie made a post abt this a while ago n my brain wouldn’t let it be so. here we are </3
➳ plot ;; izuku didn’t sneak you into your dorm to watch.. this with you. but he has a habit of letting you do what you like.
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This is embarassing.
He knows this is embarassing - more embarassing than he really cares to admit to. He should really know better by now then to let you do as you please. You’re always stringing him along with your schemes and plans and he loses sight of his morals. His standards.
Then again, he doesn’t have any at this point. The point of him paying for this single dorm was so that he could have space to focus. It wasn’t to sneak you in when his R.A. wasnt looking. Even more then that, it wasn’t to do.. whatever this was.
It’d be one thing if he was having sex. That’s a normal thing to do in college, to sneak your partner in and smash. But you’re you, and all you ever seem to have planned for him are hair-brained schemes. It’s what this feels like - when you sit on his twin size bed and pat the empty space next to you. The distrust in his expression makes you laugh.. He sighs and does what you’ve asked.
“What’re you doing?”
He sounds exasperated. You laugh - too pleasantly for him to be comfortable. You type something into the search bar. Green eyes widen, skin warm and blushing.
“Wh-what’re you doing?”
You laugh as you prop the computer on the bed. You grin at him, tucking yourself under his arm. The website mocks him, all black background and animated women with huge tits covering the screen edge to edge.
“You know something, after you’re done using incognito mode - you’re supposed to switch out to regular search, you know,” you explain. Your hand rests on his thigh. Deku freezes.
The sound of your voice has always been something of a vice. It gets a little raspy like this - sultry in a way that has him squirming. He doesn’t know what to do. He can feel the heat of your body.
“Would you know my surprise when I borrow your phone to look up when the convience store closes,” you inch closer, press further “only to see..”
He knows what you saw before you announce it. His skin feels like it’s on fire, tuning out whatever description you’ve been giving of what he chose to watch.
Maybe it was the way he was raised - but he always had such a specific sort of guilt towards pornography. Always told himself he shouldn’t watch things like that, shouldn’t touch himself. Izuku had always been a good, well-behaved boy. Done the right thing even when it was hard.
Meeting you had changed that, changed him. He found his body craving you when he couldn’t control it and he ended up here - watching porn and jerking off with his shirt in his mouth. It’s all come back to haunt him, really.
“I’m not mad, y’know,” ― and your tone goes soft - it’s assuring enough that Izuku can whimper out an okay, but you’re not done ― “I’m just curious. Can’t we watch it together?,”
“That’s ― !”
You flutter your lashes him.
“That’s?”
He has a million words that he can say. That he should say. Bad, wrong, immoral. Words that belong at the end of the sentence to describe what he’s doing with you and what he’s considering.
None of that comes out.
“That’s.. too much”
You grin at him.
“Do you not want too?”
“..I didn’t say that, it’s just -”
Your hand squeezes his thigh until your stiletto's dig into them. Your mouth trails his jaw with hot, open mouth kisses until your turning his head to face you. A hand splayed on his face, tongue deep in his mouth. French kissing makes him pant - hands twitching eagerly to touch you. He watches, dazed - the spit trail of saliva that stretches between you two.
He’s so easy, it’s cute. You press forward with a chaste kiss.
“Show me what you were watching, Izuku,”
His hand trembles as he leans forward. He remembers the title - doesn’t know if that’s good or bad. Within seconds, it shows up and he clicks. You lean forward too, observing the tags with a small smile on your face.
“Milf, NTR, Gangbang,”
“S-stop reading them!”
You giggle.
Without warning - you press play. Izuku finds himself frantic. Worried about the sound, the time, all of it - but you don’t seem to care. The AD comes on and you skip that too. It’s on. A familiar arousal blooms in his chest, the memory of what he’d seen appearing. You settle between his legs, your back pressed to his chest. You bring his hands around your waist.
“Let’s watch ~”
Izuku face twists with displeasure. The plot nothing to ride home about - a lonely housewife goes out to a club and finds someone to take care of her needs. At first it’s just one stranger at the club - then two, then she’s surrounded and its too much.
Izuku assumes you’re gonna find him disgusting, but when he looks at your face - you’re smiling, heart-beating in your chest. His eyes blow wide when you take his hand between your legs. You’re wet and you’re letting him touch you and he’s trying his hardest not to show how much he’s shaking.
A little sigh of pleasure leaves your mouth when Izuku very carefully rubs your clit. It throbs under the pressure of big fingers - you hold his wrist and moan. He can hear the porn in the background but it doesn’t serve to distract him from you.
“You want me to go n’ get fucked by a bunch of strangers, ‘zuku?”
He shakes his head furiously.
“Then you just like watching depraved shit, huh?”
Unable to argue with you or with the the way his cock twitches and jumps in his jeans, he opts to whine. You can feel his it against your lower-back, the little wet-spot that presses to your thin tshirt. He’s too turned onto think properly - watching the way your body jerks and twitches.
The woman on screen is stuffed to the brim with cock - it’s all over exaggerated he knows, but he thinks that’s why he likes it. Maybe he just likes the idea of fucking someone that stuffed fulled of cum, how it leaks and pours onto every surface and the way her cunt just seems to take it. And Izuku is such a good, well behaved boy - it’s never crossed his mind to think about doing it to you.
And no, he doesn’t really want to see you get fucked by so many men but if there were more than one of him he’d be more than inclined to let you. His chest feels tight forgetting to breath.
He thinks maybe you’re some kind of witch because you always seem to know what he wants before he does. The right way to push all of his buttons.
“Oh, I see’ ― and he’s afraid of whatever words come out of your mouth next ― “you wanna fuck me full of your cum, Izuku? Wanna know how it feels raw?”
He moans - loud and shameless and needy against your ear. A breathless laugh leaves your mouth because that’s exactly what he wants. He wants to fuck you full of cum, just picturing how good it might feel.
You sit up on your knees and bend over a little - pulling short-shorts beneath the curve of your ass and thickest parts of your thigh. Your panties are drenched, clinging to your folds. He inhales sharply, frozen till as you lean forward - pulling them to one side.
“Take your cock out ‘n fuck me then, baby” ― you challenge, dark and dangerous. Everything about you is so sinful and too tempting for him to ignore. His cock aches ― “Do your best”
His body moves before he has a proper chance to feel shame. Whatever devils been whispering in his ear (read: you) has won whatever leftover dignity he has left. Without a proper word, his cock stands to attention. His hands are fidgety but they mange to settle on your waist. He guides you down on his dick, bottom lipped pulled between his teeth hard enough to draw blood.
“Oh, fuck”
He’s going to cum right away if he doesn’t take a breather. This is the first time he’s feeling you, and it feels so much better than he could understand. The lingering thoughts of the dangerous act silence by how tight and how wet and how willing your pussy is for him. The way your walls twitch - ache shamelessly around his cock. He’s fucking sliding in and out of you - it feels like a special privilege he’s done nothing to earn.
He’s shivering, over and over. When he looks down, he’s not all the way in. He’s not sure if he’s praying to god for the right reason - for forgiveness. All he can think about is how good it feels to be inside and how he absolutely doesn’t want to do anything else.
“How’s it feel, Izuku?”
He groans at the sound of your voice, the way you clench down on him and stretch so tightly around his shaft. He’s too wrapped up in the feeling of your cunt - like heaven and silk.
“F-feels so, so good”
Part of you thinks you should ride him, but another part of you is more interested in seeing how he fucks you. You snap the laptop closed and push it to the other side of the bed, before flipping around and laying on your back. His cock slips out and he snaps into reality - the way you have your legs in the air and your arms out.
“I’ll let you fuck me as many times as you want today,” ― your legs reach and wrap around his waist, easily forcing his cock back inside ― “go on,”
Izuku is a mess, really. His pants are only half-way pulled down and he’s wearing a nerdy graphic t-shirt. He’s borderline in hysterics over how good your pussy feels and can’t do anything other than thank you repeatedly and fuck you with an animalistic need. It’s clumsy like you’d expect, but he makes up for it with sheer enthusiasm.
His cock is long and pretty - hits every spot you need it too. Izuku fucks you with shallow, sloppy thrusts - so needy and chasing his orgasm. Selfish and inexperienced. Every time he pushes forward, you can feel he’s throbbing. Aching to cum inside and unload.
You reach a hand between the two of you to finish on your own time - planning on cumming before him. He doesn’t seem to care.
“Ngh, ohh my god, feel’s’good”
“Yeah? Gonna cum inside me, handsome? Makin’ such a pretty face for me”
His stomach churns at the way you call him pretty. It sounds so sweet and adoring - but he knows that you’re a bully. He knows that about but fucks you with all his strength anyways - overly frustrated and fucked out of his mind by the feeling. Like a drug. He likes you so much he feels stupid over it.
“Yeah, yeah ‘m gonna”
Your own orgasm washes over you in a pleasant wave, squeezing his cock with force. He gasp and goes faster - all the thoughts washed away from his head. He needs to finish more than he needs anything. More than he needs to sleep for his 6am work-out and 8am class. More than he needs to be quiet because the walls of his dorm are paper thin. More than he needs to exercise self-control, he needs to cum so fuckin bad.
“Look at me,”
He follows your command, like always - and you look amused and fucked out just like he is. And Izuku has really never been this into anyone before so seeing you evokes feelings he can’t understand.
“Oh, fuuck“
Briefly he understands that he really just came by looking at you, but nothing really makes sense to him. His eyes are heavy and he’s drooling onto your shoulder, spasming and clinging to your body with the most needy little whimpers. It’s so lewd, how he can feel his cum spurt out and coat your insides and his cock. It’s all so sinful but it feels so good, he can’t bring himself to care.
“So,” ― you smile, full of mischief ― “if you want to be like that, we’ve got a few rounds to go”
Izuku splutters at your comment and you laugh. He knows you’re not joking and he whines. You really are a bad influence on him. But with the way his cock is twitching to life again..
He might not be any better.
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#deku x reader#bnha x reader#bnha x you#bnha x y/n#deku x y/n#deku x you#gonna post first w/o tags then add them in#knk ;; [ unprotected ]#sub!bnha#sub!izuku#knk ;; [ corruption ]
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