#this is just BARELY within the time limit
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Note
oh no..i’m dying of starvation…it seems i need more re-animator headcanons to survive…
(love your blog btw, you’re absolutely fabulous)
Aw, thank you so much! For a movie I randomly decided to watch two years ago, I never would have thought it would have such a profound effect on my life!
As for Re-Animator headcanons, don’t worry about starving—I definitely went overboard with Herbert's headcanons alone! Later, I’ll try to post some about Dan separately, or mix them in with Meg's, or.... maybe more of Herbert's!
Herbert's birthday is September 9th. (Yup! He shares his birthday with Jeffrey; the same can apply to Dan and Meg.) More specifically, his birthday is September 9th, 1961.
Growing up in Switzerland, Herbert is fluent in both English and German. Additionally, he's trying to learn as many languages as possible.
Herbert was miniscule growing up. Even the smallest size of clothes would drape over his body, swallowing him whole. Whenever he wanted to look threatening or present himself as respectable, it was impossible. Suits would appear awkwardly bunched up, baby hairs sticking up in every direction due to static, and his glasses, which magnified his eyes, only drew more attention to his small stature.
Similar to Dan, Herbert's a gigantic Star Trek nerd. With Star Trek premiering a little while after his 5th birthday, it's one thing he considered a miracle, especially given his disdain for television and its mindless programming. While he doesn't let anyone know he enjoys the show, he's quick to correct any inaccuracies about Star Trek that come up in conversation.
While Herbert was responsible for starting the chemical fire that killed his parents at the age of seven, he never meant it to happen on purpose. He was just a bright-eyed, curious, naïve child who wanted to push the limits of current scientific discovery. Herbert yearned for his name and works to be published in prestigious scientific journals, not in some weekly kids' science magazines. While he did resent his parents, as they provided him with the bare minimum and were relatively disengaged, he couldn't deny the fond moments he shared as well, like bonding with his mother over Star Trek.
Herbert's aviator glasses weren't always his—they used to belong to Gruber. As evident in old photos, Hans would wear them while attending his studies at Zürich. However, he decided to retire soon after graduating in favor of contacts or a different frame entirely. When Herbert entered his life, Hans gifted the young boy his aviators, updating the lenses to match his prescription and engraving a small, heartfelt message on the inside of the arm. In a way, Gruber had always seen a bit of himself in Herbert, and now Herbert carries a piece of Gruber with him.
Alongside glasses, Gruber also gifted Herbert a Zürich sweatshirt. While it was a tad too big, he wore it a couple of times, and currently, it's neatly folded within a suitcase stowed under his bed. The suitcase also holds yellowing handwritten notes from Gruber regarding his work and Herbert, a package of his favorite chalk, and other miscellaneous keepsakes. (It may look like a horde of stationary to the ordinary eye, but to Herbert, it's much, MUCH more.)
Herbert has a soft spot and guilty pleasure for pop music. When he's sure that he's alone, within the confines of the basement's walls, he taps his foot and gradually sings the lyrics to the newest pop earworm.
While Dan specializes in cooking, Herbert specializes in baking. From a perspective, baking is similar to the scientific experiments he performed throughout his life. Herbert can be precise and deliberate, carefully measuring each ingredient and following each step with the same attention to detail he applies to his projects. A few desserts he bakes are German chocolate cake, bündner nusstorte, macaroons, and chocolate croissants.
Herbert has a massive sweet tooth, which only Dan and some stray doctors or nurses know about. Whenever he and Dan grab coffee before a shift, Herbert dumps his sugar-filled frappe into an unsuspecting paper cup, hoping that it conceals his sickly sweet indulgence behind the guise of a regular coffee. West would also make constant pit stops at his wing's hallway vending machine. Depending on how stressful his day is and which coworkers he's dealing with, he's known to stock up on candy bars, gummies, and snack cakes to get him through the day.
Herbert has two sleeping positions, the first one being the fetal position. The second? The "completely-sprawled-out-across-his bed"....position.
One of the prime reasons why West can survive such outlandish events is his intake of Re-Agent. In addition to fending off hunger pangs and completely eradicating the human body's need for sleep, the Re-Agent also boosts his immune system tenfold and allows the body to heal faster than an average person. That's why he's able to survive the Miskatonic Massacre and the mausoleum's collapse with minor bruises and scratches. (Any broken bones or internal organ damage would automatically regenerate themselves in a matter of seconds.)
When Dan eventually weans Herbert off the Re-Agent, his body collapses on itself like a stack of cards. He'd find himself plagued by hunger, but he'd be too nauseated to eat anything. He'd constantly feel lethargic, barely mustering up the strength to keep himself standing upright and conscious. His once pristine, sturdy immune system comes crumbling down, leaving him vulnerable to minor alignments and flare-ups that he can no longer easily fight. (Oh! Can't forget about those damnable migraines that come like clockwork!) Thankfully, through time, Herbert recovers, gaining back his strength and vigor…with Dan's help of course!
He sneezes like a kitten.
Herbert's handwriting might resemble chicken scratch, but he's surprisingly good at drawing. He always carries a small leather-bound sketchbook filled to the brim with anatomical studies. (What do you mean some resemble Dan?)
West knows that claw machines are rigged and are usually pay-to-win garbage, but he refuses to let his ego take a hit if he loses in front of Dan. He'll be damned if he doesn't win that cheap plushie, no matter how much he spends.
#Hopefully these suffice! :)#Also! Some Additional information; I base my HCs on a mixture of the comic/novelization/ and the films!#herbert west#reanimator#re animator#dan cain#danbert#reanimator 1985#re-animator#headcanons#text post#long post
27 notes
·
View notes
Text
a bird's wings
warnings: gun violence (it's jason. what did you expect)
Dick doesn't fall.
It's become somewhat of an ongoing bit within the family. He's trained for such a long time ("too long," Tim complains, immediately after falling off a set of bars) that it's become almost second nature. He moves with the ease of decades of practice. His body had been trained almost from birth to be more flexible, to move his weight at the strangest angles, to keep stretching beyond his limits - all with a smile on his face.
It doesn't matter what League-inspired traps Damian leaves on the stairs, silently watching and analyzing the way in which Dick barely spares razor a passing glance as he simply bends out of the way. It doesn't matter if Cass tries for a well-timed shove down the stairs when his body is positioned just the wrong way, not when Dick simply vaults over the bannister, balancing on the rail with one hand for just long enough that Cass knows it's intentional, the cocky bastard. It doesn't matter how many of them team up against him - and they have tried.
Even when he does fall - as he tells his family constantly, he does fall - it's an elegant thing. If his hand slips, it's quickly replaced by another, redirecting him through the air, moving with a wind that only exists for him. When his feet don't meet the ground quite like he expected, his momentum carries him into a roll that looks just as intentional as his original movement. His mistakes are erased in the space between heartbeats, expression unwavering, a true performer.
In fact, Dick is so agile that Duke, when they first met, had wholeheartedly believed that he had to be a meta-human. Sure, there are plenty of flexible and agile people out there, but it's unnerving how he moves. His joints bend too far; his ligaments stretch beyond Duke's comfort. In a moment of curiosity, Duke asked Jason and Tim. Jason's expression didn't change (dying internally), and Tim made an odd choking noise (swallowing his own laughter). Duke interpreted these as (Jason) he was correct in his belief, which was no laughing matter, and (Tim) Duke should not know about Dick's meta-human status. It took years (and a blood test in the Batcave) for Duke to believe that Dick was actually a very unusual human.
Bruce, in his quietest moments, thinks it's magic. Years ago, lives ago, Jason had described being Robin as magic. And, of course, the role does hold its own power, but Dick's magic has always been his own. He was magic before he was Robin, and he was Bruce's son - a title that carried its own kind of magic.
That magic extended to his nights out on patrol, particularly when he was with Red Hood and Robin. Of course, he often found himself Batman's patrol route - Nightwing, Red Hood, and Robin tagging along just for shits. Hell, Nightwing wasn't even supposed to be out - not when he'd had so many consecutive night patrols - but with so many of them, what could go wrong?
That night, the four of them cornered a criminal on a rooftop. Even after clambering up a fire escape, Nightwing's breathing had barely changed, Batman's was easily concealed, Robin had tested a new grappling hook, and no one is quite sure how breathing works for Red Hood after some oddities in the Lazarus Pit.
Instead of surrendering, the desperate, stupid man had sprinted directly at them, firing a gun wildly with one hand and screaming at the top of his lungs. Nightwing sidestepped easily, having seen similar idiocy in Bludhaven. What he wasn't expecting was to step into Robin. He adjusted, angling his body to the side to plant his other foot--
--which landed on Batman's cape, right as the older man was turning to watch the criminal run. The material pulled out from under him just in time for the criminal to impact Nightwing directly. On its own, it would barely be enough to move him, and even still, Nightwing watches as the man bounces off him directly into Red Hood's grasp.
But in this moment, in the perfect cascade of errors, Nightwing stumbles backwards off the roof.
Nightwing doesn't panic immediately. He twists his body, turning his stumble into a somersault without a second thought. He looks down, trying to find something, but there are no windows. No ledges. He is too far away from the fire escape. It is a solid, brick wall, and there is nothing for him to grab onto.
And Dick falls.
It's never the fall that hurts, he knows. Falling is so close to flying, and he spreads his arms like a bird about to take flight. For a heartbeat, he's a child being tossed in the air, he's a teenager slipping off a trapeze bar, and he knows there is something below him. Strong arms and laughter, a net that will bend with his inertia.
The only thing beneath him is concrete.
When his body hits the ground, it makes far too loud of a sound for a man who had always seemed lighter than air.
Out of everyone, that night, Oracle hears the impact the most clearly. Through his earpiece, she hears the clean snap of small bones, she hears the dull thud of a now-limp body, she hears a sharp gasp of air being forced out of lungs - all compressed into one, horrific heartbeat. She listens to rattling breaths get quieter and quieter until she can't hear them at all.
Bruce feels the impact in his throat, caught somewhere between his head and his heart. That's his boy, on the ground, but his other children are still up, still staring down the now-damned soul that had grounded their Nightwing. It takes him a moment to react, barking to Oracle to send medics to their location as he stalks towards the criminal.
Jason takes a more direct approach: a bullet through the man's skull. He doesn't have the same hold-ups as Bruce about killing, not when this man is responsible for hurting his brother. It is violence, simple and honest. It is protection, raw and vulgar.
Damian is the first to make it to Dick's side, practically leaping off the rooftop. He has learned enough, between volunteering at a hospital and what one learns when trained by Ra's al Ghul. He checks for a pulse, checks for breathing. He stabilizes Dick's neck, holding in place. His hands are small, but they do not shake, even when his muscles begin aching. He does not let them shake. Damian looks almost feral, teeth gritted and bared, silhouetted above Dick's body in off-putting streetlamp fluorescents. "No one touches him," he hisses. He only relinquishes his hold when the medics arrive. His hands curl into fists, fingernails biting into his palms
It is a quiet night in the Wayne manor that night. All of the siblings sit vigil around Dick. They all refuse to leave his side, barely moving, even when Alfred delivers pillows and blankets. Dick's face is slack and expressionless, and the sight feels like a blade to the chest. No one knows if he knows they are there.
Oracle clings to the sound of his laugh, pulling up old files. The last thing she hears from Dick will not be the sound of blood in his lungs. Jason fidgets with the shell of the bullet he put through the criminal's skull. Damian holds a medical textbook open in front of him, but he does not turn a page. His gaze is stuck on Dick's eyelids, waiting for them to move.
Here, surrounded by his family, Dick has never seemed more painfully, awfully human.
#batfam#bat family#batfamily#dick grayson#richard grayson#jason todd#bruce wayne#nightwing#batman#damian wayne#dc robin#tim drake#duke thomas#batsiblings#batman family#dc comics#nightwing angst#batfam angst
28 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hey babe. I have been rereading your fic In Song Fish Amid the Stars. And ofcource I love Eclipse our little soft baby. But I have to say I love your world building. What I enjoyed especially was Y/n's relationship with Gregory. Not only I wholly loved his character and interpretation (how he grew up to be this kinda loner mechanic that had to have surfer cut) but also his dynamic with the main character! The fact that they were practically like siblings to each other always having each other's back. Even a small mention of their domestic moments (lending books, having meals togehter) melted my heart. And whenever I read this fic and come to the part of Y/n's disappearance from the boat, like damn. I can't imagine the despair Gregory felt, the desperate search that has no limits and ending in sight. After all the ocean is endless. The same goes for the relief when he found put y/ns home. So i have a question. Can we have insight into his point of view? His thoughts, his actions, what did he tell Freddy? How did he feel sailing back home without them? Was he falling apart thinking that his sibling is dead? Killed by the very thing they always feared? The thing he made them scared of (at least in his eyes).
Sorry for rant haha
I just live family fluff and their relationship is perfect.
Kisses
Ahhh, I'm rattling you! Thank you so much! I'm really glad you enjoy Gregory in SFATS!! He was very fun to write <3
Gregory was the one to discover Y/N's empty room on the ship, and his gut told him something was wrong. Not only were you not in bed, but you weren't sick in the bathroom or even hiding out somewhere to stop feeling the stormy waves. It didn't take long for him to confirm from a shiphand that you were missing—overboard.
And you've never swam in the ocean before.
All he could do at that moment was beg Freddy to start searching the sea. There wasn't time for guilt that first day. Once the big ship returned to the island, Gregory threw himself onto his boat and darted out to join the search with the leviathan.
He kept telling himself over and over that if anyone could find Y/N, it would be Freddy. The leviathan mer is magical, powerful, and big. Freddy can fix this. Gregory lost the parents he never knew, and now he was going to lose the only real human family he had, and he knew you. He has to give you back your old book he borrowed from you. You have to take it back.
But as the hours wanned on and Gregory tirelessly tread deeper and deeper waters, dread and fear began sinking their teeth into him. Freddy was very calm but concerned, the anchor to Gregory's storm. The fatherly mer kept Gregory going with hope despite the infinitely terrible chances.
Gregory was aware of Sun and Moon out in the sea due to a combination of Freddy spying the two colossal fish once or twice in the depths, and your own suspicious behavior, but they never once crossed his mind until he finally returned and caught news of your miraculous survival.
You're alive. He thought you looked like a wet, sopping cat who just barely survived drowning. You kind of were.
That's when the guilt returned to him in full force, and it almost bowled him over. He had to confess right then and there that he never should have forced you onto that boat. He thought he was helping. He thought he could make you less afraid but all he did was nearly get you killed.
You and Freddy told him in the same breath that it wasn't your fault.
But then you kept talking. Or rather, you kept avoiding an answer to his question: how you got back to the island in one piece. Freddy suggested so quietly within Gregory's mind that perhaps your mers are to be thanked for the rescue. Your mers.
And he thought you were a big ol' scared cat. You have a giant mer, well, two, just like him.
28 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fleebay Beepo playlist! [youtube link] [zip link]
it's been foreverrr since i finished a character playlist--i missed doing this! tracklist and director's commentary under the cut teehee :)
if you disagree with any of my choices, just remember: 1) this is my playlist for me to listen to made of songs I like for me 2) you just don't see my vision 3) you don't know him like i do 4) make your own so i can disagree with yours too.
WDKYWMYAK -- Rabbit junk
This is a Killing Game After All -- Gadgetor
chance bought this cd from the comic store. i think the album is Doom-inspired? pretty cool! check it out! anyway this first section is pretty obviously all violence killing and maiming etc
3. All Futures -- The Armed
4. Bears -- Mass of the Fermenting Dregs
5. You Know What You Are -- Ministry
6. 1969 -- Boards of Canada
we're coming down out of the chaotic songs into some confusion for the amnesia arc, starting with ministry and boards of canada. 7 references an unwilling change of the self, and just fits the vibe right now. 8... should be obvious lol.
7. Long Road Home -- Oneohtrix Point Never
8. I Don't Remember -- Peter Gabriel
9. Come Back June -- Pussy
sorry i heard a psychedelic rock song that starts with a big cat meow and blacked out. EBONY MOMENT!!! this and the next couple songs are again more about contributing to the Feeling of the groovy train than a direct relation to the lyrics. though 10 can be justified by the fact he's british.
10. Hey, Mister Sun -- Bobby Sherman
11. Baby All the Time -- Julien Love (NOTE: NOT IN YT PLAYLIST)
12. Handlebars -- Flobots
i didn't think i would end up keeping this song when i threw it on here but it just... works really well structurally. sigh... okay well it kind of works thematically. we're moving into some merger au territory at this point, which is my way as a fan to give fleet more of a self-actualization arc. establish his own identity, make friends, accept his existence a bit more. 13 is again more focused on the caring environment of groovy train (and the idea that this won't last forever) but we'll come back around to merger in a second.
13. Cursis Melodías -- Natalia Lafourcade
14. Flagiolletes -- Billy Mahonie
15. Wake Up To Be You -- The Aesthetics
i'm so obsessed with this as a song from fleet to sonic. esp focused on the idea of fleet being the trauma dump that everyone wants dead and sonic being the one who gets to keep their friends. another lucky cd find--this time thrifted. this band still has their old website up--you can contact them if you'd like to get ahold of your own copy!
16. Every Home a Prison ft. Jello Biafra -- DJ Coldcut (Inevitable Alien Nation mix)
i'm in love with this song. we're back in merger au btw. fleet is now a goddamn hooligan in the street (teenager socializing outside with his friends).
17. Default -- Django Django
we're getting to the end of his life! canon, not au. once again on the idea of fleet (dying, cringe) being a comparative failure. the next two songs are our big explosive end! 18 is another band i found from a thrifted cd. lucky!
18. Werewolf -- Progger
19. light speed drift ft Kasane Teto + Adachi Rei -- frog96
the end! thanks for listening! ^_^ as a treat, YOU get to see the special bonus track: The Adventures of Little White Baby -- No Soap, Radio.
#if you r able to recreate this in spotify and want to then be my guest. i dont use that.#full mix is in the zip. youtube dmca's track 11 :(#fleetway super sonic#stc#sonic the comic#sonic the hedgehog#sth#id in alt text#fanart#character playlist#<- idk if thats a tag ppl use#music draws#<- thats a tag *I* use#anyway it's only 19 songs + a separate bonus bc i make playlists to burn to cd#this is just BARELY within the time limit#it gives a nice creative restriction :) and also thats how i listen to music in my car lol#what else did i want to say?#oh i had to upload flagiolletes to youtube myself bc i couldnt find it there? i say in the upload but the cd i got it from was weird#um and im happy with how the cover turned out :) and also i forgoooot to name the playlist </3#and im glad i did directors commentary this time bc 1) i love sharing my thought process on playlists#and 2) so i can figure out wtf i was thinking when i come back to this later#okay bye!#beepo#merger au
88 notes
·
View notes
Text
ive been a little upset about it all night so i need to write out all the things that happened at work today and are bugging me so i can TRY to get it out of my head and actually RELAX bc i just keep pacing in circles around it instead of just accepting it and moving on
#for context i was working frying chicken today. ok so i arrive and literally all the chicken out expires within ten minutes of each other#meanwhile to remake everything takes about an hour 20#tried my best to get everything out and replaced and make sure i have enough of everything and then take my break bc with chicken there are#few narrow windows to take your break in you have very little control over when it is#get back and while im getting ready for my next fry one of the assistant leaders comes back and passive aggressively asks 'everything ok?'#and when i say yeah shes starts saying how shes 'just checking' because apparently i didnt have enough chicken out for her liking and went#on about how we're in a chicken drive (I KNOW. I WORK CHICKEN SHE NEVER HAS.)#etc etc. i just say ok and she leaves#like 20 minutes later she comes fucking back to rag on me again about how i need to choose my break times better and i need to have more#chicken out there as back up (extremely difficult bc there is literally only so much room in the fryers. the batches i usually make already#nearly completely fill them up) blah blah and then when i try to explain how i WAS making pretty big batches people are just snatching them#up fast she keeps trying to walk out the door right away and keeps stopping and looking over her shoulder to just stare at me while i try t#finish my sentence#and she just. doesnt say anything in response when i do finish she just leaves#so clearly she didnt want a conversation she just wanted to rag on me#then later for cleanup the timing of everything just kept lining up inconveniently so i kept having to get in and out of raw cleaning gear#and slowing myself down and i end up having to stay almost 15 minutes late to finish cleaning#during cleaning i have to go grab a key to the back door to take out my trash and this one coworker i have was standing in the way of the#door. i say excuse me and she just stares at me and goes huh?#and i say i need a key and she barely moves out of the way without responding and she has a look like im bothering her#why are you acting like im being douchey. i just need a key. thats something she does a lot she acts like im inconveniencing her by asking#basic favors . ive stopped asking her to help me open the back door (sometimes needed if i also have raw garbage to take out and therefore#cant touch the key myself) for some reason she takes it upon herself to almost completely close the door after i walk out so when i come#back i have to awkwardly use my foot to reach around and pull the door open#ive asked her before not to do it and she just ignored me#GRAH GRAH. and then like i said in my last rb i realized while i was drivign home i forgot to wash a damn pan#im mostly worried about it because ive forgotten a couple times in the past too . in my defense its a pan i personally dont use but it just#gets left behind from first shift sometimes and then second shifters end up having to make sure its clean#im just irritateddd and im mad im worried about it all. its all little things piling up on each other#LOL I WROTE A LOT MORE BUT THE REST GOT CUT OUT IG I HIT A TAG LIMIT. tumblr voice ok dude quit your bitching !!
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
i don't think we do luv i don't think we do
#i do agree (obviously!) that for a series you need to get people to care about your characters so they want to keep watching it#comedy barely holds up without a story.. if you don't take time to work on storytelling or you want inexhaustible archetypes for characters#that you can use to churn out jokes‚ whether that's pointless random skits like family guy does it or something based on the relationships#like relationships within a certain status quo (s1 rick garbage man abuses his family. except it wasn't that simple back then either)#the problem with the sitcom where nothing changes so someone can just write gag after gag without changing the foundations is that it#becomes tiring. people stop caring because you've made it impossible to care for the characters by not allowing any meaningful changes#so in that sense i do agree it is 'becoming an actual series'. but it was on its way from the beginning‚ just needed some refinement#a whole lot maybe#but with setting limits for your writing and keeping your characters consistent and engaging emotionally you limit the#wacky hijinks as well. like don't tell me we got a banger like the vat of acid episode from season 6 or even 5 lol it's no longer explosive#i think rick and morty has always been inconsistent and that bred both great episodes and khm bad ones#there's definitely gonna be less bad ones from now on but the potential of the r&m dynamic has also been.... i would say curbed#that's okay this needed to happen like this. and i think they're going in the right direction and i think the stars will align and they'll#write bangers again#a lot of great things could happen following this. like in these actual arcs that they're developing there's still potential for comedy and#drama and they'll find their way back imo. to the sweet spot between chaos (wacky random funny) and order (meaningful and consistent)#ok that's all. if one hates rick being a miserable pathetic piece of shit one should mayhaps fuck off#✌️💗#kata.txt#rnm
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
size kink
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Pairing | Jason Todd x reader
Summary | He as a size kink. That’s it lol.
Warnings | Smut, size kink, manhandling, praise, creampie, gaping, cockwarming.
Words | 1k
Notes | 😵💫 that fucking comic panel tho
Ao3 link | <3
Masterlist
Kinktober | day 6: manhandling + size kink
Can y’all help me come up with a title😭 I’m literally so exhausted and I just want to pass out but I have to post it within two hours for it to still be day 6 skfhsk
Jason Todd has a huge size kink… He’s so massive that it’s honestly hard not to because there are barely any female body types that aren’t smaller than him. Tall, big, buff— all smaller than him, usually by a lot too.
Especially you. You’re pretty much the same size as the average woman, but standing next to Jason— he practically dwarfs you. Whenever he holds your hand, you usually end up just holding two of his fingers because it’s more comfortable that way. Even when he places his hand on your thigh, he can completely cover the entire width of it.
Even though he loves the way it feels to hold you, how easy it is to lift you and manhandle you however he wants… one of his most favorite things is how small your cunt is too. It wasn’t abnormally small— it was proportionate to your body— but compared to his abnormally large cock? Even just compared to his fingers, you could barely take it.
He always tried to do as much foreplay as possible because, even though he thinks it’s hot when your face scrunches up in pain as you do your best to take him, he doesn’t actually want to hurt you or make it not good for you. So he usually eats you out, slowly working you open on his fingers. He almost always gives you at least one orgasm before even attempting to fit his cock inside you, but even after the time he made you come over and over again for two hours straight, you were still so fucking tight.
You let out these soft whimpers and sounds of pain that make his cock throb. Sometimes you gasp out and desperately cling to him, trying to ground yourself. He always eases his cock in slowly, holding your hand or cupping your cheek and whispering soft praises into your ear.
“So good at taking my cock, baby. I’m almost halfway.” You whined and squeezed your eyes shut, focusing on taking deep breaths and relaxing your muscles. Jason couldn’t help but look down between your bodies, watching his cock slowly disappear into your tight heat. “Almost there, princess.” His voice was low and thick with poorly restrained arousal. When he finally bottomed out, you let out a pained whimper and he closed his eyes, trying not to bust his load right then and there.
“Such a good girl. You’re doing so good, baby.” He murmured tenderly, leaning down to kiss over your neck as his hand snaked down to rub your clit. You usually signaled whenever you were ready for him to start moving and he’d slowly draw his hips back, then push in again at the same pace.
Sometimes though, he’d stand and hold you in the air, lifting you up and down on his cock, limiting your squirming significantly. Or if you were riding him, he’d grab your hips and move you however fast and hard he wanted— even if you put all your strength into staying seated or moving away, he was always stronger than you. It took practically no effort for him to lift you up and down, fucking you like you were his own personal sex doll.
While he usually liked being able to kiss you and watch your expression contort in pain as your walls were forced to accommodate his cock, he also liked putting you on your stomach. Sometimes he’d put you on your knees and push your face into the bed, but he liked laying on top of you even more. With his large legs caging in your much smaller ones, it made you even tighter. He loved being able to completely lay on top of you and wrap his arms around you, forcing you to feel every inch of his thick cock going in and out of your pussy. That position always made you feel trapped, but more in an exciting way rather than an anxious way because you knew he’d get off of you in a heartbeat if you told him to.
“That’s it… Be a good girl and just take it, baby.” He whispered breathily, lips brushing your ear. You let out a choked moan and he moved his hand to squeeze your neck. “You just lay there and let me use my favorite little fleshlight.” Every single time— without fail— your cunt would get impossibly tighter when he talked to you like that.
Something else he loved; the amount of come he released was proportional to his body as well… Sometimes he liked to paint your pretty face, completely drench you in his seed, but usually he liked filling you up. He liked dragging his hips back until his cock finally dislodged from your tight pussy that was practically trying to suck him in, and watching his come dribble out of your gaping hole, down your puffy folds.
“Oh, look at you, baby…” He cooed, voice raspy and thick. You whined and squirmed, enjoying the feeling of him filling you up and his seed leaking out of your abused cunt almost as much as he did.
“Squeeze that little cunt, princess. Try to keep my come inside.” He ordered softly, grabbing your ass and pulling you open to get a perfect view of your holes. He watched them flutter, but even when you tried your hardest, his cock had stretched you out too much for your hole to be able to tighten up again so soon.
“Poor thing… can’t keep my come in that needy little pussy.” He chuckled, collecting the leaking come on his fingers and pushing it back into your hole. “But that’s okay, baby. I’ll help you…” you let out a choked moan when he forced his cock back in, stretching you once again, “keep you nice and plugged up, huh?” He laid down over you again, but turned so you were both on your sides in a spooning position with his cock still deep in your pussy— It would usually stay there until you fell asleep, but sometimes only until he got worked up enough for round two.
(I’m still bad at ending one shots lol)
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
Rough Sex w/ MW2
Warnings: 18+, Heavy Smut, Rough Sex, Restraining, Stomach Bulging, Unprotected Sex, Sexual Punishment, Use of a Strap-On, Implied Blow Job, Possessive Sex, Dehumanisation, Slut Shaming, Reader Blaming, Hair Pulling, Slight Dumbification, Blood, Dirty Talk, Profanity, Pet Names, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.
Ghost
“Just a stupid little whore, aren’t ya,” Simon growled as he pounded you from behind, fingers gripping your hips so tightly that phantom bruises descended upon your skin. The slickness of your abused hole did little to numb the pain of Simon’s rapid, unrelenting pace, of his engorged tip slipping deeper and deeper inside you, plugging you, making any form of escape from your impending unravelment impossible.
You could feel his cock, hot, heavy and ravenous, pulsating inside you, bringing you to the edge of electric euphoria with every thrust.
“Good for nothin’ except takin’ my cock.” He spat, his hand sliding up your spine and rooting itself in your hair. He gripped at the base and pulled your head back, hissing in your ear.
“Isn’t that right, Darlin’?”
You wanted to speak. Wanted to tell him you were his, only his, but the words wouldn’t come out quick enough.
When you didn’t answer in time, he stopped. Pulled out, only the swollen tip remaining lodged inside.
Without warning, he pushed. Hard.
You’d felt full before, but this sudden influx of skin and muscle and heat was too much. It knocked the air out of you, made you cry out as Simon sank balls-deep inside you, impaling your shuttering, wanting body on his dick. He grunted, his grip on your hair tightening.
“That’s it,” he said as you whimpered, cried out. “Take it — take it like the slag you are.”
König
“You wanted this – you wanted me to take you. Fucking attention whore,”
König’s voice reached depths you didn’t think possible as he bounced you on his cock, his stomach coated in your juices as he lay beneath you, thrusting up to plant as much of his member in the tight cavern of your hole as possible.
Even from where he lay, he could see the outline of himself within you. He twitched. Tried to stave off from painting your insides white for just a little longer.
You had no choice but to take it – your wrists bound behind your back with König’s belt – to take every inch of König’s cock.
He stretched you out to lengths you didn’t think possible as he pulled you down onto the base of his member, causing tears to stream down your face as he hit a sliver of you you didn’t think existed.
“God, you’re nothing without me,” he asserted, teeth gritted and restraint pushed to the very limit. “Nothing but a rag doll on the end of my dick – only made for me to use as I please.”
You knew it was true, especially with the coil within you verging on snapping, sending you over the precipice of ruin. König gave you a sly, thin grin.
“Nobody else can fuck you like this, can make you cry like this.” His grip on your waist proved he wasn’t lying, shortened nails leaving crescent indents in your skin.
“I’ll make sure of it.”
Soap
“Don’t tell me you’re cryin’ on me now, Darlin’,” Johnny said, not an ounce of sympathy or empathy in his voice. If anything, the realisation that you were just about holding on as he railed you from behind seemed to make him go faster, push harder, knocking his thick, meaty cock into you at a pace that could only be savage.
“C’mon, show me you can take it. I know you can,” he goaded — or perhaps encouraged. You couldn’t be so sure, especially as you could barely string a thought together, never mind the inclination to ask. He watched you, made dead eye contact with you through the mirror that put your undoing on display for him, his eyes piercing and ice.
At your silence, Johnny slapped your backside. Harsh. You yelped at the sting and jolted forwards, only for Johnny to wrap a hand around your throat and pull him back. His balls were flush against your backside, the tightness of your bodies together making him grunt.
“C’mon, mo ghaol — tell me how much you need this dick — show me how much you deserve it.” He squeezed your throat.
Valeria
“You were begging to be used by me — wearing those tight shorts like I wouldn’t notice.” Valeria punctuated her point with a harsh thrust, sending you banging against her desk, ribs aching, pressed against sleek wood. Everything hurt.
The strap-on she’d chosen was one she reserved only for correcting your most egregious behaviour. Apparently, this extended to your fashion choices, too.
“Trying to make my men lose focus, huh? Is that it?” The sound and sensation of your body welcoming the cruel length of her weapon made your cheeks flush and your hole clench, trying to pull it deeper, begging for punishment.
“Have I not given you enough attention? Or are you just hungry for anyone who lays eyes on you,”
You whimpered, trying to keep your head level as your girlfriend battered your insides with nothing less than animalistic fervour and rage.
“You wanna dress like a cheap whore,” she said, voice deep and husking as she lowered her lips to your ear. “Then I get to fuck you like one — my whore.”
Price
“I love you,” he panted. “I love you, I love you, I love you–”
He couldn’t stop – these last few hours with you would be all he had before he had to go on deployment again. And he was determined to make them count.
He’d stuffed himself into you, made light work of grinding your sanity down to its bare foundations as your body shook with the onset of another orgasm.
You were already so sensitive, every knock of his tip against your sensitive spot sending equal euphoria and pain through you.
“Gonna cum in you again,” he said, voice lethargic, words slurred like the blurring edges of watercolours. “Gonna get it as deep as possible. Want it still in you by the time I reach Base.”
The many loads of cum he’d already pumped into you weighed heavy in your belly, almost creating its own centre of gravity as you fought to keep your swollen stomach off the mattress. Anytime you failed, the sensitivity of your skin, the feeling of his load stagnant inside you, made you wince.
You could feel John’s cum leaking out of you as he plunged deep, deeper still, forcing his seed out of the small spaces which weren’t suffocated by his almost impossible girth.
Horangi
“Been stretching you out for hours and you’re still- ngh— fuckin’ tight.” Hong-Jin said, almost as if chiding you. He grunted, balls-deep yet nowhere near satisfied, his resolve being milked from him.
“Gonna need to–” he grunted, “break you in,”
Without warning, he pulled out – only halfway – and plunged back inside you with an almighty push. One that, despite not having the power of his whole length behind it, forced a strangled moan from you.
His breath caught as he felt himself slip into a deeper, darker part of you, one which seemed to try and reject him as your hole pulsed uselessly around him, as if to push him out.
He persisted. Hissing.
When he pulled out, he spotted something.
A small streak of blood along his shaft.
“Doing so well for me, Love,” he groaned, slipping back in and re-establishing a rhythm. You mewled beneath him.
“God, you’re so good — just lying down and taking it – like my own personal fleshlight.”
Alejandro
“So this is why you’ve been acting so strange recently, hm?” Alejandro spoke between pants, arms at either side of your head, blocking off everything that wasn’t him. He gritted his teeth, grunted at the feeling of you tightening around him as he brutalised you with his savage pace, stretching you out and making your hole spasm around his cock.
“Just needed a good fuck, didn’t you?”
You were all but drooling as Alejandro quite literally fucked you dumb, no thoughts in your head save for the desperate electricity between your legs.
When you didn’t answer — or rather couldn’t, for your mind was scarcely able to keep itself intact for the feeling of ruin rapidly descending upon you — Alejandro took your chin between his fingers and forced you to focus on him.
“Didn’t you.” He repeated. To that, the fire in his eyes, you managed a sloppy ‘yes’. Alejandro hummed, pressed himself closer, chest-to-chest.
“Don’t worry, Cariño — we’ve got all night to fuck that pretty little mouth back into working order.”
Rudy
Years of toil, training and discipline have shaped Rudy into the unsuspecting behemoth he is today; as was evident in the way you cried out when his dick skewered you, stretching you out and making your back arch against the mattress. He felt himself pressed to the wall of your abdomen as your stomach met his. He shivered.
“He can’t fuck you like this,” he said, voice low and seething, the intonation of a snake. His usual puppy-eyes were sharp, as if of a feline disposition. He watched you as your eyes, almost having rolled back into your skull, refused to meet his.
“Nobody can have you. You’re mine — only mine.” He slammed into you faster, giving you no preparation and only using the wetness already dripping from between your thighs there to slip in.
“Now, tell me who you belong to.”
Your mouth, agape with silent pain, released nothing. Rudy raised his hand, slapped you. You yelped, the sting sending a shock between your legs. You clenched around him. He growled, head dipping to your collarbone, where you could feel his breath, scorching and unrelenting.
“Let’s try this one more time,” he rasped. When he looked up, his eyes were black. Gone was the man you loved.
“Or I won’t be so forgiving.”
Graves
“You like bein’ used by me, don’t ya,” Graves panted, struggling to keep up with the pace of his own euphoria. He could tell you were close, too, from the way tears streamed down your cheeks and how you suctioned around him, pulling him deeper, pleading with him for more.
“Love bein’ my favourite little cum dump — so well-behaved, just for me.”
Nothing could be truer as you felt him thrusting into you at a speed that suggested anger.
“Never be good for anything except taking my cock like a good slut.”
Your tongue lolled out from the corner of your mouth, drool dripping onto the sheets as Phillip allowed you your silence, especially considering how you’d earned it. Your obedience, your willingness to take everything he gave you. You scratched just the right part of Graves’ ego that had sustained him for this long.
His eyes glinted as he looked down at you.
“Ain’t that right, Doll.”
Gaz
Gaz’s change in personality, admittedly, frightened you. Especially as he stood over you now, having bound your hands together tied them over your head to the bed frame.
You’d tried encouraging him to just touch you already, to take you now as you were bound and helpless. Hell, you’d even ground yourself against his boot, working yourself up into a frenzy all in an effort to make him crack.
He didn’t.
“Oh no,” he said, wagging a finger at you. “You don’t get my dick yet.”
Already having used his belt to immobilise you, he unzipped his jeans and pulled them down to his thighs along with his boxers. Half-hard and beading at the tip, he eyed you, a cruel smile at his lips.
“I’m gonna fuck your face so hard,” he continued, taking you by the hair and forcing your lips to his pulsing member, watching your eyes widen. “That you’ll be eating through a tube for the rest of the week.”
Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)
Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist
AO3 Wattpad Tumblr Backup Account
#cod x reader#cod smut#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley#simon riley x reader#konig x reader#könig x reader#konig smut#könig smut#simon riley smut#ghost cod#soap mactavish#soap cod#soap x reader#john price#captain john price#kyle gaz garrick#gaz x reader#horangi#horangi x reader#alejandro vargas#valeria garza#valeria garza x reader#phillip graves
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
(𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃)𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄 ♡︎
🎀 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ having the body of a cyborg came with it’s perks, including turning boothill into your own personal porn bot a plug away! ~ ♡︎
·˚ ◌༘͙[featuring] ! ˊ 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐗 𝐆𝐍!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑
cw — afab!reader. mean dom!boothill. improper use of usb ports. pornography. manhandling. overstimulation. edging. pussy drunk boothill. no pronouns for reader.
◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ author’s note! : saw someone on tt mention inappropriate use of boothill’s usb ports, and i couldn’t help myself. <33 as usual, enjoy!
“..and i’m supposed to plug this in?”
Boothill spun the harddrive around his fingers, staring at it with both curiosity yet suspicion. it was a hot pink color with a heart sticker sloppily slapped onto the front. you handed it to him without saying a word, leaving him beyond dumbfounded.
you simply nodded, trying hard not to burst out laughing. despite the glaringly obvious USB ports that were carved into his waist, he swore to have never actually stuck anything in them. by anything, of course, were any harddrives that could’ve been packed with whatever info or footage that would’ve automatically made it’s way into his memory. he didn’t want anyone’s weird porno or stupid memes to burn into his motherboard and live with it.
yet he had a hard time saying no to you. hell, he’d never say no to you unless it’d kill you. then again, it was probably a random assortment of cat videos you came across on your feed. it wouldn’t hurt to take a peek. right?
holding up a reluctant thumbs up, you plugged the harddrive in and awaited his reaction with anticipation. boothill never looked away from your reaction, quickly noticing something was rather…off about your face. your lips curled into a seductive grin, biting down on your lower lip while hearts practically carved your pupils. your cheeks and nose were flushed a slight pink that faded to a hot red color.
yet, it was already too late for him.
his vision suddenly became a hot pink blur, the gears within his body had began to spun widely while the mini fans tried to cool down his heating body. the blood red target in his eye morphed into a pink heart while he spaced out at what was being shown in front of him.
nothing but pure pornography, some of the most explicit, flooding his memory and infecting his circuits with the love virus. boothill felt his head spin from the lewd imagery, bouncing from clip to clip of multiple sex acts all at once. from simple missionary to subs being bent in half by their ridiculously larger doms, there was even one where they were in full nelson. legs high up with thier sopping cunt in full view. it was all too much.
“so this..is what y’want me to do to ya…”
the cyborg chuckled, overwhelmed with his sudden libedo. he looks over at you with hungry eyes, flashing his shark toothed grin the moment you nodded.
“why didn’t ya say so, dollface..?”
“a-ah! m’sorry! m’sorry boothill..! i-i was only p-playing..ngh!”
your clothes were torn clean off without a damn given, leaving you bare and vulnerable as the cyborg pumped his cock in and out of your sopping pussy. just like how you wanted it, bent in half in full nelson with your legs held high as only boothill’s arms kept you from falling. his pace was unforgiving, hungrily stuffing you full like your his last meal on death row. despite your body already stiffening from the position, boothill showed no sign of stopping. his eyes, bright pink with hearts dialating for pupils, full of burning desire and a greedy lust that clouded his judgement till his mind went blank.
it was as if the cyborg was built for fucking, his only goal being to push you beyind your human limit.
“zip it, sugar. you're gonna take m’dick even when i’m done with ya, you hear?”
boothill hissed in your ear with a mean rasp, shark-like teeth nibbling away at your earlobe. the ticklish feeling only added to the intense overstimulation that turned your brain into mush. you felt the familiar knot in your stomach close to snapping for what seems like the tenth time tonight, until a sudden emptiness snapped you back into reality. looking down, you noticed how boothill pulled himself out, leaving you hanging. a whine came out of your throat almost instinctively at the neglect.
“boothilll..! i was so clo!—“
you’re words were rudely cut off as the ranger threw you onto the bed with you laying on your back. he wasted no time crawling on top of you and pressing his heavy body against yours. trapped, you couldn’t even move an inch as you squirmed under his touch. he practically caged you.
“keep whinin’ like that and I'll leave ya empty. got that?”
as difficult as it was, you pressed your lips together and screwed your eyes shut in a desperate attempt to keep quite. your cunny spasmed around his length as he kept going with his violent pace. even with the harddrive, you could never imagine boothill going this far. you truely underestimated the strength of the virus that infected his mechanical body with such libido, yet you don’t regret it. you continued to cry out as your limbs grew numb, your senses going blank in an orgasmic euphoria. you were teetering towards the fuckin’ edge.
you sobbed out babbles of “‘m gonna cum!~” over and over again like it was automatic. finally, the knot snapped in two as stars filled your vision. if he wasn’t made of metal, you would’ve left some nasty scratch marks.
on the other hand, the ranger watched in pure awe as his pretty baby fell apart on his dick. your fucked out expression, teary eyes and pouty lips covered in spit, only fuled him for more. you couldn’t even get a breath in as you were picked up and flipped onto your stomach, ass high up in the air.
“you think ‘m done yet sugar? hehe, that’s cute.”
you could only sigh in response, unable to do anything about your own mess. lesson learned, never fuck with a machine you know so little about.
© porcalinecunt 💌 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ do not steal, translate, or use my work and claim as your own.
#𓆩♱𓆪 — porcelaincunt !#gn!reader#x gn reader#boothill hsr#boothill honkai star rail#boothill#boothill smut#boothill x reader#boothill x you#boothill x y/n#honkai star rail x gender neutral reader#honkai star rail smut#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail#hsr x you#hsr smut#hsr x reader#hsr boothill
6K notes
·
View notes
Note
can you do hybrid! Wolf toji claiming you during his rut?
THE HOWL OF DESIRE
Hybrid! Wolf toji x f!reader
Warnings- 18+, dark, slight non/con (Toji does not intend to harm you), size kink (both are adults), cave sex, multiple orgasms, nipple biting & play, fingering (Toji has black big nails), raw sex (cumming inside many times), breeding, pussy eating
wc - 2.6k
ART NOT MINE !
As you traverse through the dense woods, you find yourself getting increasingly disoriented, unsure of which way leads back to civilization. The sun's rays barely penetrating the thick canopy above, casting eerie shadows on the forest floor. You begin to worry, knowing that spending the night here could lead to dangerous consequences.
Suddenly, your senses pick up on the sound of rustling leaves nearby. You freeze, trying to discern whether it is an animal or something more sinister.
A figure emerges from behind a tree, and you gasp involuntarily. It is a creature of height 6'1ft, he appears as a magnificent wolf-human hybrid. He is slender but muscular and athletic, and his wolfish aura makes him look intimidating. As he closes on your position you notice his ears flattened on his head and his tail is pointed upright, his body has chiseled muscles and trademark scars, his green sword-like eyes looking through your soul. His mouth bore fang-like teeth that you swear are more vicious than natural canine teeth of humans.
His eyes lock onto yours, a mixture of hunger and desire burning within their depths.
"Hello, human," he growls softly, his voice tinged with an animalistic quality. "Lost, are we? Well, I don't normally go for humans, but you seem intriguing enough."
As you stand frozen in fear and confusion, Toji takes a step closer, his form shifting slightly, the wolf aspects becoming more pronounced. His eyes gleam with lust, and you can faintly smell his pheromones in the air – a testament to his overwhelming need to mate. "Ah finally," he says, taking another step toward you. "It's just my rut, and I need a mate to breed with. Normally, I wouldn't ask a human, but I cannot wait anymore."
His voice is calm, almost soothing despite the terrifying situation. Your heart races as you contemplate your options, but you realize that running might only agitate him further. Nonetheless your legs unconsciously start to move. There is only one way to get out of this- by running.
"So," he continues, his back facing you but when he turns to you, he sees you running, " What's a prey if they don't try running".
With a grin spreading across his face, Toji starts running after you, muscles rippling as he leaps after you. His movements are fluid and quick, darting through the trees with ease. You feel your adrenaline surge, pushing your speed to its limit as you navigate the unfamiliar terrain. However, he seems to know these woods intimately, and your panic increases as you realize you're unable to shake him off.
"Caught you little bunny" he exclaims, grabbing your neck. Despite his triumphant words, there's a hint of concern in his eyes. He pauses, contemplating his next move. "Running isn't going to solve anything, and believe me, you don't want to get hurt.. Or do you?"
"P-please let me go.. I have to get back home."
Toji weighs your plea, his gaze lingering on you thoughtfully. His need for release is urgent, but he doesn't wish to harm you unnecessarily. "I can let you go, but I'm afraid you won't find your way back alone." His voice holds a note of genuine concern, his eyes softening momentarily.
Then, his expression shifts, the wolfish hunger returning. "But," he adds, "If you agree to stay and help alleviate my… condition, I promise to guide you safely back to where you belong. You won't regret it, trust me." He leans close, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, "I'll make sure you enjoy it too."
You stand there, contemplating your options. The thought of being alone in these woods, possibly lost for another night, is daunting. On the other hand, submitting to Toji's demands is equally terrifying, but there's a strange allure to it as well. His promise of safety and pleasure seems almost too good to be true.
As you weigh the pros and cons, Toji watches you intently, his eyes never leaving yours. He can sense your hesitation, and it fuels his desire even more. "I understand if you're scared," he says softly, reaching out to gently cup your cheek. "But I promise, I won't hurt you. I just need someone to share this with, and you seem like the perfect one."
His touch is warm and comforting, despite the situation. You can't help but feel a strange sense of comfort in his presence, as if he truly means what he says. "So, what do you say?" he asks, his voice low and seductive. "Will you help me, and let me help you in return?"
"O-only if you promise to be gentle..", you reply, your voice shaking from his intimidating aura.
Toji's eyes crinkle at the corners, a rare smile gracing his features. "Gentle it is," he assures you, his grip on your cheek gentle but firm. "I can't promise but I will try since you are my first human mate.. Come, let's find a suitable spot. We don't want to draw attention, do we?" His voice is smooth, radiating confidence and control. You hesitate, but there's a sense of safety in his presence that you can't deny.
With a deep breath, you take his hand, allowing him to lead you deeper into the woods. The fear is still there, but it's tempered by a growing curiosity. You're stepping into unknown territory, but for some reason, you don't feel threatened. Instead, there's a strange excitement coursing through you, making your heart beat faster.
As you follow Toji deeper into the woods, you begin to notice subtle changes in the landscape. Brambles part before you, revealing a hidden trail leading to a small clearing. In the center of the clearing lies a cave, half-hidden by the surrounding foliage. This is where Toji leads you, guiding you inside with a gentle push.
The cave is surprisingly cozy, lit by the dim light seeping through the entrance. There's a palpable sense of warmth and security, and you can't help but feel a sense of relief wash over you. Toji observes your reaction, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"This is my den," he explains, gesturing around. "Now, shall we proceed?" He tilts his head, his eyes holding a mix of anticipation and expectation. You can tell that his rut is still strong, but he's patiently waiting for your lead.
Your nod sends a wave of excitement through Toji, his eyes glinting with eagerness.. He quickly steps closer, nearly ripping your pants and panties off. He hovers over you, his eyes locked on yours as he positions himself between your thighs.
Surprised by his sudden movement, you struggle in his grip, "W-wait you need to loosen me up"
Toji pauses, confusion clouding his features for a brief moment. "Loosen you up?" he repeats, his voice heavy with confusion. Then, understanding dawns on his face, and he chuckles softly. "Tsk, I can wait no more but fine since you beg me so obediently", moving between your legs. He gently parts you with his fingers, feeling your dampness.
"You're already prepared," he murmurs, a note of approval in his voice.
"Ah~", your back arches at his finger movements, your back hitting the ground of the cave.
At your response, Toji's eyes darken with lust. He thrusts his fingers into you roughly. "Are ya loose yet?" His eyes remain locked on yours, his expression a mix of impatience and excitement.
"n-no not yet.. a-ah", your voice cracks up in pleasure.
Toji's eyes narrow, his brows furrowing in concentration. He inserts a third finger, thrusting harder this time, stretching you wider. You cry out, a mixture of pleasure and pain washing over you as you near your edge.
"Humans are so responsive..." he mutters, his voice thick with desire as he continues to fuck you with his fingers. His eyes never leave yours, the intensity between you and him building, is only heightened by the dim light of the cave.
Finally, after several more thrusts, you reach your orgasm and he withdraws his fingers, a satisfied smirk gracing his lips. "Ready?" He asks, his gaze locked on your face, waiting for your answer.
"mghh.. n-not now.. I need sometime.. I am sensitive right now", you protest.
Toji's eyes squint in annoyance "Shut up, I have been patient enough. I can't wait any longer."
With that, he positions himself between your legs again .With a sudden powerful surge, Toji thrusts into you, his giant cock stretching your poor hole wide. You gasp, your nails digging into the cave floor as you struggle to adjust to the intense sensation.
"Please.. A-ah .. be gentle"
"Shush..I am trying .. You humans are so fragile.. But", he grunts in pleasure, "ya feel so good. I never thought humans feel this good"
Though he is trying to be gentle, but your insides feel so good that he can't help but move relentlessly, his hips pumping in a primal rhythm. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure and pain through you, your body responding to his dominance.
Despite your initial protest, you can't help but moan loudly, writhing beneath him. His roughness sets you ablaze, and you find yourself meeting his thrusts eagerly. His scent, his strength - everything about this experience overwhelms you. Your body cries out for release, and you know you won't last long.
"That's it, take it!" Toji growls, his eyes locked on yours. His primal nature is on full display, and it's intoxicating.
Your toes curl up as Toji's thrusts intensify, his eyes widening at your reaction. "Fuck, you're tight," he groans, his voice thick with lust. "You feel incredible." His pace quickens, his hips slamming into you with brutal efficiency. You cry out, the cave echoing with your sounds of pleasure and pain.
His rut is nearing its peak, his body trembling with suppressed energy. With one last powerful lunge, he buries himself deep within you, filling you with his seed. "Take it all," he rasps, his breath hot against your neck.
In that moment, you surrender to the sensations, your own climax washing over you. Together, you collapse onto the cave floor, feeling spent but incredibly fulfilled. Your legs wrap around him instinctively, holding him close.
As he recovers, Toji nuzzles your neck, his breathing ragged. "I hope I was gentle enough," he murmurs, his voice filled with satisfaction.
"No .. you are so mean..", you reply panting.
Toji laughs, his chest rumbling against your throat. "Mean? Maybe, but effective, wouldn't you agree?" He teases, his grip on you tightening. "Besides, don't lie, you enjoyed it too."
He's right, you did enjoy it - despite the roughness. The intensity of the encounter left you shaken yet exhilarated. He turns you on your stomach "don't think it's over yet.. It's just a starting"
"w-what?", your pupil dilates at the though.
Toji pushes you on your stomach and he enters from behind. You moan, feeling him stretch you once again. With a smirk, he begins to thrust relentlessly, his body slamming against yours. His large hands grip your sides, holding you steady as he takes you from behind.
"We are going to do it whole night" he growls, each word punctuated by his thrusts.
You cry out, your body responding eagerly to his advances. You can't deny the pleasure surging through you. His dominance excites you, the raw intensity of his actions sending you spiraling towards another climax.
"God, you're so good," he praises, his voice thick with lust. "I could spend hours with you, sweet human."
"P-please can't no more", you plead.
Toji stills, pulling his cock out, your body shaking from oversensitiveness. "Already?" then he thrusts into you again. "I know you can handle this."
You cry out, feeling him entering you again.
Time skips, and you and he are still at it, you don't know what time it is, you don't know how many orgasms coursed through you.. The only thing you know is the pleasure you are getting from this.
Toji's eyes shine with lust, his hands firmly grasping your hips as he bounces you on his lap. Your hair falls in disarray around your face, your skin flushed from exertion. Each thrust elicits a soft moan from you, your body responding to his every command.
"Feel good?" he asks, his voice low and sultry. His eyes hold a mixture of satisfaction and hunger, his gaze never leaving your face. You nod, breathless, your nails scratching lightly at his shoulders.
"Good," he growls, increasing his pace. "I knew you'd love this." His hips buck, driving into you harder, faster. You cry out, your body reacting to his every touch.
"p-please play with my nipples too.. mhmm", your face flush with shame as you beg him to pleasure you. Unknowingly removing your hands remove your top and push up your bra, revealing your breasts with stiffening nipples.
Toji's eyes light up at your request, his hands immediately moving to your breasts. He pinches your nipples gently, then harder, eliciting a mix of pleasure and pain from you. You cry out, your body arching in response.
"You like that?" he asks, his voice thick with lust. "Is this what you wanted?"
You nod, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He leans to catch one of your bouncing tits in his mouth, licking and sucking. His fangs brush your nipples, nibbling on them gently
"f-fuck .. dont bite them.. ahhh."
Toji pulls back, releasing your nipple with a wet pop. He looks at you, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. "My apologies," he says, feigning innocence. "It seemed to please you though."
He resumes his thrusts, his movements fierce and unrestrained. His hands pinch and twist your nipples, his tongue lashing over them in turn. Each touch sends waves of pleasure-pain coursing through you, your body responding eagerly.
"I'm close," you whisper, your voice hoarse.
"Not yet," he growls, his eyes darkening. "I'm not done with you."
His words send a fresh wave of arousal coursing through you, pushing you closer to the edge. You cry out, your body writhing beneath him as he plays with your nipples, fucking you relentlessly.
"R-really can't anymore.. please let me .. let me cum", you beg him, tears falling from your cheeks.
Toji's eyes meet your teary eyes, his breath ragged.
"Don't cry little human", he licks your cheek wiping off your tears. "Then cum," he growls, his voice rough with pleasure. "Let go."
With a final, hard thrust, he drives into you, the motion perfectly synchronized with your climax. You cry out, your body shaking as you crest over the edge. He follows suit, his cock pulsing within you as he finds his own release. He growls which sounds more like a howl, as he fills your womb with his thick seed.
Exhausted, you slump against him, your breathing ragged. He holds you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively.
Soon you pass out. Toji catches you easily, his grip firm yet tender. "Awww. I wanted more though," he whispers, his voice softening, "but fine.. I have had enough fun.. I will help ya return tomorrow"
He gazes at your sleeping form, a hint of tenderness in his eyes. Despite his rough exterior, he cares for you. He wraps his big arms around you covering your fragile body, ensuring you stay warm throughout the night.
You awaken slowly, feeling warm, wet warmth between your legs. Your eyes flutter open, landing on Toji's face, his eyes gleaming with desire as he licks your cunt. The sight is both erotic and overwhelming.
"Morning," he greets, his voice thick with lust. "How are you feeling?"
You swallow hard, your heart racing. "W-what are you doing?"
"What does it look like?" he responds, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Cleaning you up after last night's fun."
You blush, your body reacting to his touch whether you want it to or not. Your eyes squeeze shut as he licks and kisses your most intimate places.
"Mmm, you taste delicious," he murmurs, his voice vibrating against your skin. "Like sweet honey."
"H-hey you said.. you will help me return back home.."
Toji raises his head, his eyes locked on yours. "Go home?" he repeats, surprise clear in his voice. "Oh yes.. But I want to fuck you before I leave you alone for good"
Your skin is already sensitive from his licks and touches, your body ready for more. You bite your lower lip before nodding.
He grins, his eyes filled with lust. "What we waiting for then?" He quickly moves, positioning himself between your legs.
He chuckles as your walls devour his huge girth. "I love how good your taking me.. Fuck.. I'll always find you during my rut, my little bunny."
#jjk#jjk smut#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujustu kaisen#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen toji#jujutsu toji#jjk toji#toji zenin#toji x you#toji fushigro x reader#toji fushiguro#fushiguro toji x reader#toji#jjk fushiguro#fushiguro toji#jujutsu kaisen toji fushiguro#jjk toji fushiguro#jjk toji smut#jjk toji x reader#jjk toji zenin#toji x reader#wolf hybrid#toji smut#hybrid jjk
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
— within uncertainty
sunday reflects on his limited time thus far on the express, only to find himself distracted by a face he has unknowingly become fond of.
CONTAINS : 1.2k wc, gn!reader, astral express member!sunday, fluff
A/N : chat have we seen the lc and gameplay leaks…? throwing up.
When Sunday first arrived on the Astral Express, a miniature gold and crimson ticket attached to his apparel, he wasn’t sure what to expect.
A new start; that much he was sure of. But with these people who instilled a newfound hope and courage to face the future, there was no shadow of a doubt within his heart and soul that he would encounter the unexpected more times than he can keep track of.
Sure enough, the unexpected came in many ways.
For one, March 7th’s uncanny ability to look at the bright side of things appeared so natural to her, so easy and simple. In recent times, he has found himself thinking about situations in a more positive light, no doubt a side effect of having spent time with her bubbly self.
He discovered Dan Heng’s aloof demeanour barely concealed his great care and affection for the crew— the Astral Express family. Even with what seems to be passive quips and dead-eyed stares, Sunday has begun to note the differentiations in his tone and body language, and all the subtleties he only shows with them.
He discovered the Trailblazer was every bit of a jokester as they are courageous, often finding himself staring blankly at some of their… seamlessly timed quips, to put it lightly. Even so, he’s oftentimes caught himself mid-admiration when they take charge in what they believe is right, wondering if he, too, could be like them in that aspect.
He found that Welt, while still retaining the righteous and strong spirit he displayed while in penacony, had a rather unprecedented charm. Sitting down for hours on end listening to the elder ramble passionately about animating, the arts, and endless theories about this universe wasn’t something he had ever planned for, but his heart warmed all the same at the burst of energy.
He came to realise the Express’ Navigator, Himeko, was certainly a… character. Brave, wise and humble were what he would use to describe her, even more so after her warmly welcoming him into the family. However, Sunday realised he could do without that… concoction she dubs a coffee.
He also never realised such a creature existed until he met Pom-Pom, much less one being a sentient conductor. Their nags are backed with overflowing affection for the members of the Express, often displayed through the meticulous care taken in the tailored meals and rooms and experience. There is so much love of the Astral Express, and Sunday wouldn’t be surprised if he were told most of it came from the Conductor.
(Though he does recall being warned by Dan Heng in particular to not anger the Conductor, an experience he is both curious about but also content in not knowing what exactly would transpire.)
And then there is you.
Sunday only caught a glimpse of you during the final moments of the conflict, much like with Himeko, so he didn’t have too much to go off of other than the fact you, just as it seemed to come with being a part of the Astral Express, were brave and fought for what you believed in.
(With you in particular, he found himself unable to forget your gaze — how it held a sparkling resolution and commanded his full attention, completely and utterly drawn in.)
Of course, that’s not to say you don’t embody those aspects now that he’s gotten to know you. Rather, you are so much more than what he could have ever imagined.
“Wow… they’re way softer than they look!”
…In more ways than one.
Sunday doesn’t really know how this situation came to be. He was merely idling around the Express in search of something to pass the time until you took note of his predicament, swooping in like the graceful saviour you are (self-proclaimed by you).
Somehow, in some way, that brought you both to his room.
It’s times like these where Sunday wholeheartedly believes the most forward member of the Astral Express isn’t that racoon-like Trailblazer, but rather you instead.
Seriously. How are you not embarrassed by this… this compromising position you’re both in?! He can practically feel the radius in which the heat from his face permeates!
“Do you, like, have a care routine for them or something?” you ask while gently thumbing individual feathers, because obviously this is only affecting him and him alone. “I refuse to believe your wings are like this naturally.”
He knows he gave you permission to touch them, but it doesn’t change the fact his wings are still sensitive. Aeon knows what you would do with that information; well, assuming you haven’t already picked up on his reactions towards your… ministrations.
“I do have a routine. I go to great lengths pruning and trimming my feathers. More than that…” he trails off, opting to ignore your mumbled comment of “Wow… you’re just like a bird then…”. He coughs, averting his eyes from your intensely gentle gaze, raising a fist to cover his lips. “Are you this forward with everyone?”
You blink. Once, twice, thrice. Somehow, the action makes Sunday fluster even further.
A hum leaves you as your lips purse and your head tilts in thought. “Well, I wouldn’t say everyone, exactly. Just those I consider to be very close to me. Oh,” you begin, as though realising something, “does it bother you? I’m so sorry!”
No— wait— why are you apologising?
“I didn’t realise I was making you uncomfortable! Oh gosh, I did it again…!”
You make a move to scramble away from him. Is it your frantic and unfocused eyes, or perhaps this uncharacteristic side of your usual confident and unabashed self which makes his heart lurch?
“I’m so, so sorry! I’ll keep my distance from now on and—!”
He acts before he can think.
“No!”
There’s a surge of panic which shoots into him. It makes itself known in the raw strain of his voice, in the shaky wide-eyed stare at the thought of you leaving, in the trembling grip he has your arm in.
Really, Sunday doesn’t know what he’s panicking about. He just knows a part of himself would never forgive him for unintentionally pushing you away like this.
A gasp escapes him after a few tense seconds which felt much more like an eternity. With haste, Sunday tears his hand away from your arm. Despite that, he remains in close proximity to you, mustering the courage to look at you once more.
“I… I mean, no, you’re not making me uncomfortable.” Sunday prays you didn’t hear the stammer in his words. And, if you did, then he hopes you don’t bring it up. “If I were feeling as such, I would have told you outright.”
The silence is absolutely suffocating. Even so, Sunday doesn’t dare look away from your stunned expression, not even when he’s almost positive his face is about to melt off from the sheer heat radiating from him.
“Oh.” You blink, expression falling into that of neutrality. A nod of understanding is your next action; understanding of what? Sunday has no clue — he’s not sure he even wants to know. “So you’re that type, huh. I see now.”
Nevermind. Maybe he does.
“…What does that mean? Wait— [Name], come back here! Explain what ‘that type’ means! Are you listening?!”
Suffice to say, Sunday never received a verbal response from you. Only your cheeky grin before you left and a plethora of butterflies fluttering amok within his stomach are all that remains.
Yeah. Sunday didn’t know what to expect when joining the Astral Express; in fact, he still doesn’t know what to expect. Despite being thrown into the unknown, he finds himself thinking this situation to not be so bad after all.
if you enjoyed this, reblogs and/or comments are greatly appreciated <33
#sunday x reader#honkai star rail x reader#hsr x reader#sunday x you#honkai star rail x you#hsr x you#honkai star rail imagines#hsr imagines
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
My concepts for the development progress of an Iterators Puppet
-my ideas below
-Feasibility Study
[1]: First autonomous control module, any instruction to be given must be done manually through physical means (the keys), outputs were shown through the screen. A very primitive system, however, did its job proving the greater machine concept was achievable. While it does look like a lens above the monitor, this was a simple status gauge for benchmarking.
-Prototyping and Development
[2]: Now with the capability to wirelessly and audibly communicate to receive instructions and inputs. The system was no longer directly integrated into the facility, and resided on the first instance of an iterator's arm. This was considered a feat due to the complications with isolating the control module from the rest of the iterators components, while keeping processing power. A permanent connection/umbilical was needed to sustain life and function though.
To “talk” back, they were crafted with multidimensional projectors, the mobile arm allowing the angles and variance for this projection. Only later into development were advanced speakers installed for optimized understanding, however the extra computing power required to synthesize proper speech was found to strain the contained module, so this function had rare use in the end.
[3]: At this point there was a change in perspective in the project. What once were machines to simply compute and simulate, were now planned to be the home, caregiver, and providers. The further the project came to fruition the more religious importance was placed upon these “random gods”. From this stance not only did the puppets have to manage and control their facilities, they had to communicate with the people and priests. To represent benevolent beings who will bring their end and salvation. In this process iterators began to take a more humanoid shape, to better reflect their parents. Development was focused on compacting the puppet closer to the size of an ancient for this purpose. This stage was the first to incorporate a cloak/clothing into their design considerations, to further akin themselves in looks. The cloak would hide the iterators' engineered bodies and give a body to their silhouette.
[4]: As bioengineering and mechanics were rapidly progressing due to the void fluid revolution, this allowed plenty of margin for developing the outer design of the iterator puppets. This prototype was the first to incorporate limbs for the purpose of body language. This was another step in the drive to give a body to their random gods.
-Final Iterations
[5]: First generation iterators had the final redesign of puppet bodies. Far different from their first designs, they are fully humanoid. Their bodies are shaped to be organic and as full of life as they could at the time. Their center of sapience has fully settled within their body, as can be seen as their unconscious use of limbs without the direct intention for communication. This can also see how they manage their work, where many of the functions (which can be done with just an internal request) are operated through physical gestures of their limbs. Their puppet chambers also allow for full comprehensive projection, where many of their working monitors are displayed. It is seen how iterators prefer to utilize their traversal arm to transfer between the current working projection window.
These designs were hardy and nearly self-sufficient, only requiring minimal power from their umbilical to charge. (However was still limited in the terms of internal power production, for this first generation extensive batteries sufficed)
[6]: Later generation not only incorporated advanced bioengineering internally, but externally. While still a hardened shell, their body plates have been incorporated into the organics of the puppet, maintaining the protective requirements while barely leaving a trace of hinges or plates. This “soft” skin had drawbacks, such as reduced durability to the first generations, this was offset by the greatly enhanced repair speeds and capability this type of skin allowed.
Internal power generation was implemented into these late generation models. If the case arose, the Puppet could be disconnected from their umbilical and still be conscious from an undefined period of time. (However this would limit the operating capacity of the puppet when running self sufficiently) This greatly eased maintenance works, as the Puppet could still run the greater facility wirelessly while work was done on the chamber, arm or whatever as needed.
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
Okay okay hear me out cuz I haven't stopped thinking about this. Sitting on boyfriend heeseung's lap and playing with his neck chain, giggling to yourself, telling him that you really like when he wears it. When he asks why, you shyly tell him that you imagine it dangling on your face while he's on top of you. And he loses his goddamn mind. ARGH
It’s kinda my dream for this to happen to me. bye
***
Neither you nor Heeseung are paying attention to the shitty movie playing on Netflix. You’re too preoccupied with chasing his lips and he’s too busy squeezing your hips to care that the film is halfway over.
It’s been like this for the past few minutes or so with your boyfriend, who you had been crushing on since the beginning of the year and him just a few months shy of that. It’s new, maybe only a week or so into this new relationship, but the newfound romance sparks curiosity within you.
His silver necklace has a small pendant in the middle and the chain against his skin makes him look like walking sex. Heeseung is far more experienced than you are, having gone through a phase in college where all he wanted to do was get his dick wet and make as many girls cum on his mouth, fingers, and cock before finally realizing all he wanted to do was settle down with one person.
His kisses are always so deliberate and calculated like he’s trying to prove something to you. His hands don’t wander for the fear of making you uncomfortable because he knows you aren’t as forward with your romantic past. Sex positivity and all of that; neither of you really care about how many or how little people you’ve collectively hooked up with because none of that matters when you have each other.
Still, thinking about how you paint yourself as some kind of saint makes Heeseung want to test your limits and it makes his dick jump every time he thinks about it.
The farthest you’ve gone was dry humping in his dorm room when his roommate was gone for the weekend. Again, this whole relationship is new and neither of you care to rush yourselves into it because you were friends before you became a couple. But even so, he has needs and so do you. It’s just a matter of pursuing sex when it feels right.
Heeseung feels your fingertips playing with the chain against the back of his neck. He smiles into the kiss and soothes your skin with his thumb, pulling back only slightly until his lips rest against yours.
“You like my necklace, baby?” he asks in a soft whisper, enjoying your plump lips against his. A giggle bubbles out of you and you can’t stop it. The sound reverberates against his mouth and Heeseung smiles wider, pushing his lips against yours. “What’s so funny?”
You shake your head and peck him once. “Nothing. You look pretty with it on.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.” Your fingers caress the metal and his skin at the same time. “I really like it when you wear it.”
“Why’s that, baby?”
“I dunno.” You lean back and look at him, shrugging your shoulders like you want to say something more but don’t. “I just do.”
“C’mon. There must be a reason.” Heeseung squeezes your hips and smiles at you lazily. He watches you bite your lip and avert his eyes. So fucking cute.
“I’m too shy to say it.”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” Heeseung promises, leaning forward to kiss your cheek tenderly. He waits for you to look at him and encourages you to talk to him by nodding. That heat creeps up your neck.
“I-I imagine it dangling over me sometimes.”
Heeseung’s hands freeze and grip your hips. “What do you mean?” You look behind him before he beckons you to look at him again.
“I…think about you on top of me with your necklace in my face.”
He gulps. “What are we doing?”
“Having sex.”
You say it so quietly. It’s barely a whisper but the way you say it makes you sound like being fucked is something you think about often. The gears in his head turn and he’s thinking about all of the mental images he’s conjured up in his head when he touches himself to avoid putting you on the spot whenever he gets horny.
But now it’s as if the gates are open. His mind is flooded with different scenarios but he can’t stop picturing what you’d look like underneath him, specifically with his necklace dangling over your tits as he pushes his cock into you for the first time.
“Heeseung?” you ask tentatively, afraid that you might’ve taken things too far.
Your boyfriend catches you by surprise. He bucks his already semi-hard dick up into your clothed lap and a groan emits from the back of his throat.
“Fuck.”
He scoops you up in his arms and ignores your yelp in favor of carrying you to the bedroom with your legs wrapped securely around him. Neither of you care that the TV is still on. Heeseung can only think about what you’d look like with his pendant right next to your mouth.
“I need to fuck you right now,” Heeseung moans when he places you onto the mattress and pushes his clothed dick against your core. “Need to see that right now.”
You don’t complain.
***
comments and reblogs are appreciated! x
#enhypen smut#enha smut#heeseung smut#lee heeseung smut#enhypen x reader#enha hard thoughts#enhypen hard thoughts#enha hard hours#enhypen hard hours#enha x reader#heeseung x reader#my writing*#hard thought*#heeseung
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
I want older bf!simon so bad Jesus CHRIST!!!
Cuddling with him and showing him funny tiktoks (having to explain the context of each one in painstaking detail) before he fucks me within an inch of my life
it’s beyond a joke at this point, i actually NEED him 🫶🏼
the end of the day is the best with older bf!simon when you’re both in bed. he’s sat back against the headboard and you’re cuddled into his chest.
his hand is against your back, rubbing gently along your spine. your hand is against his stomach, resting on the bare skin as your scroll through your phone.
tiktok time, simon’s limited exposure to social media.
“so he’s singing in chinese because he doesn’t want to apologise to his girlfriend-“
“is that actually him singing?”
“well no, he’s lip syncing it’s just-“
“so he can’t actually sing in chinese? needs’ta ‘pologise to his-“
“ok next one, si”
it goes on like this, you explaining every single trend and every single meme to this man that views the internet like he was born yesterday.
“so it’s framing it like a competition about being cheated on-“
“terrible competition”
“yeah i know but it’s a joke, and khloe kardashian is there-“
“who’s that? the blue guy?”
“no, my love, thats squidward-“
and in the end you naturally end up on the nighttime side of tiktok and you’re getting one that says something stupid like “ladies try flashing your man when he’s had a long day” or whatever.
suddenly he understands tiktok like he might as well have invented it.
“y’dont do that for me”
your looking up at him under a quirked brow as you shrug, “let me know the next time you have a long day and i will”
you can feel his hand start creeping around under your shirt and you’re trying to hide the smile thats forming on your face as you lock your phone.
“had a long day, sweet’art”
#need to reach domestic bliss with him#need to waste my whole weekend in bed with him fr#older bf!simon#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley smut#simon riley x reader#simon riley blurb#simon riley drabble#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley blurb#simon ghost riley drabble
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
As Selfish as Love: Merman!Bakugou Katsuki x Reader
genre: merfolk au, fantasy au, merman!bakugou x witch!reader, strangers to lovers, bakugou x f!reader, smut and angst and fluff
summary: in a world infested with purgers of magic, neither a clandestine witch nor a lone merman can remain safe for long.
tw: 18+, smut (afab reader, p in v, bkg has a merman cock, marking + biting, oral f receiving, fingering, crying during sex but not like you think, unprotected sex, creampie), violence, blood, death, vivid gore, grief, reader treated as a tool by evil ppl, random worldbuilding, questionable medical knowledge, kinda plot heavy, other stuff i don't remember
wc: 19.8k
For years, all you’ve known is darkness.
Chained by the wrist to a ring in the wall, swaddled and asphyxiating in the blackness of the brig - it is there where your closest companion has become the dark. It is the absence of light: not only because they do not deem you human enough to spare lamp oil on you, but because the kiss of the sun has been reduced to a foreign concept, a distant, syrupy memory.
Every morning when that door opens, letting light leak in and crawl painfully between the cracks of the roughly hewn floorboards like an intruder, you repeat your name back to yourself, remind yourself who you are - a witch, a survivor, a person at the end of their tether but that all the same does what they can to keep the shadows at bay.
For the darkness is not just the absence of light: it is the absence of hope, and if you let it take you, your very substance will dissolve and you will sink beneath obsidian waves and melt away without a sound. They will have won.
This is something you will not allow.
White knuckled, you hold onto memories of the past the way a drowning man clings to driftwood. They swirl in the currents of your mind, fickle things. Sometimes they are so tangible you can feel the grass beneath your feet and the bracing wind of the highlands on your face even in the still, humid air of the brig, sometimes they eddy away before you can catch a glimpse.
You were barely a woman when they caught you, when they tore you out from where you’d been rooted to the earth, ripping through the stitches that held your life together. You were young, and you were naive and ignorant. This would not have happened if I had been as I am now, you think, but as you are now is shackled in the belly of a ship built for the single purpose of hunting merfolk.
They hunt to purge. Their so-called divine has commanded the eradication of magic, and so that is what each and every child is trained for from birth. The land has been rife with their conquest for centuries, making witches such as your kind unheard of, yet the sea for all its worth has lain mostly untouched until recently.
You are jealous of the merfolk. The magic must come easily to them, because they have not had to suppress it out of fear - it seethes in their blood, potent as an ocean storm, imbued within their essences as salt is in seawater. For this, they are feared, and for this, the hunters are more so hellbent on their extermination.
Over your years spent in the hull’s constant night you’ve learnt that your captors are the most celebrated hunters of their time, held above everything but their leader and their divine. They are revered among their people, and that is why they are allowed to chain a witch in their brig and force her to heal wounds sustained from hunting the undeserving - because they are strong enough and honourable enough to not be corrupted by your magic.
There is nothing honourable about the way they treat you.
Though you are human as they are, you are lower than an animal to them. They have no care for your limits - oftentimes, you are pushed to heal and heal and heal until you are exhausted, and yet you refuse to succumb when the darkness calls, because each time you meet their eyes, without fail, you see, buried deep within, is fear.
They fear what is unknown, what is not under their control, and every time you refuse to break when they beat you just for entertainment, every time they push you almost to death yet you survive, you wrest back an inch of control. You are needed, and that is something you will use one day, when the time is right. For now, you collect those sparks of fear in their eyes and let it feed the fire nestled within your soul that fends off the growing dark.
It is a day like any of the other days. Stirring in your fraying blankets, you wake up to the sound of the crew’s strident voices, and as it is sometimes, you almost forget that they are cruel and stained by their own wrong doings because for now, there is no talk of blood shed, just breakfast. You hate that they can seem so normal with so many innocent lives on their hands.
The day very quickly progresses into the type you have come to dread.
They neglect to bring you your daily portion of bread and water, nor the echinacea you had asked for more of, and it can only mean one thing - a hunt is on. Already, you can feel the unruly lurch of the ship as it skims over the waves, picking up speed. The crew’s voices become louder, crowing and eager, and you despise them so deeply your heart twists and becomes an ugly thing in your chest.
Almost imperceptible, you can hear the rattle and hiss of ropes as they ready their harpoons. This part is the worst, where the darkness closes in so near that you can feel its cold touch brush up your arms and its breath ghosting over your face. Sometimes you hear the anguished cries of the merfolk, sometimes the whoops and victory cries of the crew are loud enough to drown it out. You don’t know which is worse.
After will come the wounded, grinning still and soaked in blood of two kinds - theirs and their victims. You are always numb to it by then, turning a blind eye to the crimson dipped trophies they grip in dirty hands: lopped off fins and strips of scales, sometimes small enough to be a child’s.
How they can butcher beings as beautiful as the merfolk and think it the right thing to do, you do not know.
It makes you sick to your stomach, that somehow you have become their accomplice, stitching their wounds with your magic, saving their lives so they can kill again. You vow that one day, you will strike back, but what good can you do now, trapped in the bowels of a boat that was designed as a vessel for murder?
You have to try. You have to survive, if just to try. You are yet to come up with a method for escaping past what you have already attempted, but if you do not, more lives will be lost, more bloodshed that you had inadvertently aided. Right now, on deck, the patterns for it to happen all over again are falling into place.
You’re sure that this time will be no different.
And so you wait for the injured to come, almost defeated if not for the hard, bright little ball of hate settled in your throat. You wait, and you wait, listening to the strange thumping above that you can’t decipher, and still they don’t bring you their wounded. Neither comes their usual sickening shouts of triumph - you wonder if the merfolk managed to escape. You hope desperately that they did.
Listless, you turn your head as footsteps approach. There are more than normal. You can’t count exactly - five, maybe six, and they all walk with a strange irregular gait as they approach the brig.
I hope the merfolk put up a magnificent fight, you think as the key scrapes in the lock. I hope that taught them; you know it never does. The more damage the merfolk do while they fight for the lives of their mates and children, the more they are damned as unnatural and beastly and deserving of the fates that are doled out to them by men.
With a rusty squeal, the door swings wide, and with it comes the same influx of light that always spills greedily through, stinging your eyes and making them ache - the doing of a tiny, wayward star moulded from precious lamp oil. You blink away the tears that well up at your lash line, testament to your accustomation to the dark, and then blink again.
Back when you took the warmth of the sun on your face for granted, you lived too far inland to ever see one in the flesh. You were still a witch under the disguise of a healer, though. You’d heard tales, seen artists’ renderings and gorey body parts wrenched off as sick memorabilia.
None of those could have ever come close to preparing you for the sight before your eyes.
A merman.
Deep in enemy territory - so deep, in fact, that all those surrounding him, bar you, have murdered more than dozens of his kind each. He is on a galleon rammed bow to stern with killers. And yet, despite it, he has not fallen victim to the purge. Yes, there is a splintered harpoon sunken into his side, yes, he is limp and broken, but even so, shallowly, his chest rises and falls.
He breathes. He breathes, and even that is beautiful. The lamp’s light reflects off his scales; he is mainly jet black, but broad swathes of orange run across the length of his powerful tail like they were drawn with the loving stroke of a painter’s brush. In parts, they darken into a ruby red that glitters and winks as the lamp light dances.
Or maybe that’s just blood.
There’s a lot of it. It soaks into the sheet they strain to carry between them, pools in the dip his weight makes, streaks in smears down his chest and face, coats his hands and is embedded under his sharp nails. You hope that all of it is not his, that he made them regret whatever they must have done to get a merman vulnerable enough and far enough from his pod to capture him.
Deep lacerations cut all along his chest and tail, and one of the spines that extend from his sail-like dorsal fin is bent in a way that must mean it is broken. A smattering of scales reach wide across his shoulders and back and down his arms, some of them twisted and bent out of shape. Your eyes fall to the harpoon buried just below his hip, and you feel the bite of your nails digging into your palms.
“Heal it,” commands the man holding the corner of the sheet closest to you. “We’ve been ordered to bring back a merfolk to be studied. It must be in peak condition.”
You frown as they begin to manoeuvre all three metres of merman into the brig. Studied? They must be looking for a weakness to exploit. After all, merfolk succumb less easily to flesh wounds than humans - the magic of the sea resides in their very bones.
A hand fists the front of your shirt and you’re jerked forward. You can feel the hunter’s foul breath on your cheek, feel the violence roiling just below the surface of his skin, and yet you cannot tear your eyes from the merman until you’re struck across the face. Reeling back, you raise your head to look at him, a hand flying up to cradle your jaw where it has begun to swell.
“Are you deaf? What are you waiting for?” he spits.
Your brain is still stuck on the fact that there is a merman before you, alive on a ship full of specialised mermen killers, but your body has gone through these motions many times before and brings you to kneel by your patient so fast your chain jingles crassly in the relative quiet, your hands already working to gather herbs for a poultice that will slow the bleeding.
Glancing over your shoulder, you see your captors filing out of the door, the last of them grumbling and wiping his hands on his trousers as if being near enough to hit you had sullied him. Realisation dawns abruptly on you.
They’re leaving you alone with the merman.
“Wait,” you call.
Disquiet grows in your stomach. As much as you hate the life forced upon you, serving as a tool for men who would not hesitate to kill you if you ran out of worth, you have gotten used to it, and this merman at your feet has disrupted your delicate equilibrium, tripping you as you balance on a knife’s blade.
You have never had problems with thinking fast in a pinch. You are a healer, you are accustomed to endless wells of blood and snapped bones sticking through skin. Conversely, you are not accustomed to the sight of a half conscious merman taking up the majority of your floor space, a single fingernail on his hand no doubt potent with more magic than is contained in your whole body.
Your tongue is slow, your mind slower, but you force the words out, emboldened because whether he likes it or not, this merman is leverage for you. There is no one else on board that could save him.
“I will need a lamp indefinitely, while I’m in the process of healing.”
You realise how important the health of this merman is to their study because the hunter holding the lamp brings it over with no words of criticism, just the curl of his lip when you draw near enough to take it from him.
Its metal is warm in your hands, and you cup it in your palms - a little sun that clears the clinging shadows from the brig like they’re cobwebs. Carefully, you set it on the floor next to you, just outside the border of the canvas the merman lies upon, sitting back on your heels as the door slams shut.
You stare at the merman for a weighty moment. If it did, there’s no telling what organ the harpoon may have punctured - do his intestines extend all the way down his tail? Or are they in the same place as a human’s, and his tail is just muscles, like legs would be?
Never in your life did you think merfolk anatomy would have any significance to you. Even if you’d thought it did, there wouldn’t be any books for you to study on it. A hysterical, jittery laugh builds in your throat, wringing itself from you when you spot the strange slit - for lack of better words - that sits just below where his skin turns to obsidian scales.
The nervous sound breaks the silence, jolting you into action. Never mind his anatomy, he’s still bleeding out. Somehow, you need to get that harpoon out of him: the hunters don’t clean them off once they’ve used them, and if you’re not vigilant, infection will get him before whatever they’ve got in store will.
Determinedly, you scoot closer to his lower half, stretching out a hand to test the area around the wound. In preparation, you will your healing magic to rise to the surface, and it fizzles at the surface of your palms, warming them.
Your fingertips have barely brushed over his scales when pain slashes across your cheek.
The merman jerks away from you so hard that he cries out, and you wince as you see the wound pull wide, blood oozing out from where it gapes. Gingerly, you touch a hand to your cheek - one of his spines had glanced off your face as he’d moved away, its tip sharp enough to shed blood.
Any human patient would have lost consciousness moments after being hit by the harpoon that’s buried in his tail, and if by a miracle they hadn’t yet, the pain caused by what he just did surely would have knocked them out. Inexplicably, he’s still conscious, blood red eyes glaring at you with blatant distrust.
You hadn’t gotten a chance to look closely at his face before - you’d been too busy ogling his tail. Spikey, sandy hair casts a shadow over his eyes. They glow, carmine and half crazed, no doubt with the same agony that pinches at his face and curls his lip, revealing sharp canines that he bares at you, twin ivory warnings.
A rattling, hissing sound emanates from deep in his chest when you attempt to move closer again, his dorsal fin undulating in an obvious threat display. You can tell it hurts him; the spine you’d noticed before is definitely broken, the parts of the fin around it drooping and limp. He growls when he catches you looking.
You really, really don't know what to do.
Your skin prickles, the hairs on the back of your neck rising. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you were left alone with him. Aside from the obvious hostility, his face is effectively blank; there’s nothing in his gaze except the primal instinct to survive, and the unspeakable, offensive terror of a wounded animal backed into a corner and trapped there.
There’s no getting through to him with words. You remember the night you were ripped from your cottage by the hunters, the way you clawed and screamed until your voice was gone and your nails were torn and bleeding. You know what it’s like to have the adrenaline coursing through your veins so fast it burns, you know what it’s like to feel the anger and fear blend together in your chest until it strips away your humanity and you’re reduced to nothing more than a feral, wild eyed animal.
Slowly, you get to your feet, your chains rattling. He growls, making that hissing sound again, and despite his size, despite the muscles straining in his chest and the magic you can sense in his form, he looks small. You grit your teeth. The shock is beginning to wear off, burnt to ashes by a roaring fury that licks up your throat and fills your lungs.
You wonder if he had a pod. You wonder if they got massacred before his eyes.
Ignoring the trembling of your hands, you scoop up the piece of dried fish that remains from yesterday’s meal. It’s the only food you have, so you turn and offer it to him - when he doesn’t hiss immediately, you slide it over to him on the dented tin plate it had been on.
Tentatively, the merman picks up the fish, his nose very obviously wrinkling. As he examines your peace offering, you notice his hands are webbed up to the lowest knuckle and are a little larger than a human man’s, the fingers longer and the nails considerably sharper.
Relief fills you as he begins to chew at the fish, and you retreat to your pile of blankets, sitting down and half facing away to give him as much privacy as is possible in as small a space as the brig. You begin to make a poultice for him, crushing the herbs between your fingers because you’re not allowed a mortar and pestle and depositing them on one of the dishes you have lying around.
Once you’re done, you turn back to him. The edge in his eyes has softened a touch, and when you scoot over to settle closer to him, he doesn’t make a sound, instead just leaning away a little, watching you warily. Warningly, he hisses when you lift your hand, his red eyes flashing.
“I’m going to have to touch you to put this poultice on,” you tell him. “It will reduce the bleeding and might alleviate the pain.”
He twitches but remains silent. You wonder briefly if he even understands - people don’t talk to merfolk these days. They either run or they kill. For all you know, he might speak some ancient language of the sea that you have no hope in understanding.
You scoop the poultice up in your fingers and lean forward, aiming to ease him in by angling first for a smaller wound situated just over a hip bone on a human would be (you’re not even sure if his equivalent qualifies as a hip seeing as he lacks legs).
“Don’t,” he snarls, his voice guttural and rasping, like he hasn’t uttered a word in years.
Fumbling, you almost drop the dish. You guess that answers one of your many questions - he can speak your language, although you presume one word doesn’t really express fluency. For a moment, you consider telling him that they’ll no doubt beat you for not healing him, but it seems rather insignificant since it’s nothing they haven’t inflicted on you before.
Sighing, you sit back on your heels and look at him, defeated. He regards you with those same crimson eyes as before, but they’ve cooled considerably and hold traces of scathing criticism you find you aren’t the fondest of.
You begin to realise that he’s not going to give you any explanation as to why he doesn’t want you to treat him. He doesn’t trust you, most likely - you haven’t given him any reason to think otherwise of you, rather, you’d gawped openly at him. You’re not surprised he hasn’t taken a liking to you. You wouldn’t either.
So you retreat back to what has now become your corner of the brig, since the other three are taken up by the length of his tail and the doorway. On a whim, you prepare yourself a turmeric tea; it’s anti-inflammatory and you know you’ll be needing it sooner or later.
It takes a day, but one of the hunters barges in, light sneaking in past the outline of his silhouette. You don’t know any of them by name, nor would you want to, but you do know that this particular one is the first mate.
The merman hasn’t let you near him still, and although at points his eyes are closed, you’re worried that if you try to sneak up on him, he’ll move away again and tear open the parts of the wound around the harpoon that have partially closed up. The perimeter of blood soaked canvas beneath him has slowed its expansion but still grows.
It’s amazing that he’s survived this long while still losing blood. You presume merfolk must be rather resilient, unsurprisingly - the sea is no easy place to live in, nor is it made any easier by its recent infestation of merfolk hunters.
“Did you not hear your orders yesterday, you useless bitch?”
Passively, you look up at him as he looms closer. “I did.”
“So you don’t want to cooperate, then,” he snaps. “Do I have to encourage you?”
You don’t get to answer. A fist full of scarred knuckles collides with your nose, and your head snaps back, white exploding across your vision as the hunter shoves you backwards. Your back hits the ground and before you can even think of scrambling away, you’re kicked hard in the ribs.
You don’t try to resist it. You’ve learnt it’s better to take it than to fight and make him hit harder.
Red hot pain shoots through you when the tip of his boot catches your chin, clacking your teeth together. You cry out as your blood fills your mouth, streams from your nose, stains his knuckle bones. Hands up in a pitiful attempt at protecting your face, you curl up on the floor, as small as you can. Your ribs throb, your chain trapped awkwardly beneath your body.
You’re still balled up with your arms over your head long after he slams the door behind him. You ache all over, and your lower lip is trembling treacherously. Tears press at the backs of your eyes so you squeeze them shut: you’re not going to cry.
You need to get up.
You need to down that damned turmeric tea you made, just to feel the ginger burn as it slips down your throat.
When you open your eyes, the merman is staring. You grimace as you heave yourself to sit upright, the metallic taste of blood still coating your tongue and curdling until it’s sour. His face is unreadable, shuttered and devoid of any emotion. He doesn’t speak, although that isn’t exactly atypical.
“Well, now you’re not the only one bleeding all over the floor,” you mutter, unable to keep the resentment from your tone.
You turn your back to him as you set your nose with a grunt, letting your magic flow through your fingers and knit your flesh back together. Running a hand over your ribs, you check if any are broken, but when none are, you don’t heal them up; you’ll need to save your energy. The hunter didn’t bring food for you, and you doubt he’ll be bringing you any more until you treat the merman. That could take anything from an hour to a week.
Falteringly, you glance over your shoulder. He stares off to a place far away, a place you cannot see. A scowl furrows his brow, and you sigh, wondering if he thinks of the sea and the freedom that was torn away from him the way it was for you.
Curling up on your blankets, you pull one over yourself, rolling to face the wall and shutting your eyes. Loud in the darkness, your stomach growls, and you twitch but ignore the urge to look over your shoulder and stare accusingly at the merman - you too would not trust a human if all their kind had brought him was pain.
Your ribs hurt. It is alright, though. You’ve fallen asleep through worse.
When you wake, the first thing you do is crouch down beside the merman to check his wounds. The rattle of your chains makes him open his eyes, and you see that his face has paled, the alertness in his gaze dimmer now the adrenaline has worn off. As is becoming clear, he’s more resistant to injury than humans are, but there’s a worrying amount of blood saturating the canvas sheet beneath him, and you doubt he’ll make it much longer without help.
If he lets you near, what you’re going to have to do is far from ideal. The hunters’ harpoons are barbed and vicious, but you can’t exactly keep it in, and you can’t exactly cut it out without risking more blood loss. You’re just going to have to yank on it and hope it doesn’t destroy anything too vital on its way out.
“I’m going to have to take the harpoon out,” you tell him measuredly, gauging his facial expression.
He simply stares at you, his face blank but for the slight pinch of his brow. Shadows bathe half of his face; there is barely any lamp oil left to burn. The little flame flickers and sputters, letting darkness dance up the close walls of the brig, and if you do not hurry, you may have to treat him in the dark.
Slowly, you lift your hand, letting it hover over the splintered end of the harpoon. Tension bleeds into his body, the set of his jaw tight and his hands fisting as if he’s bracing himself, but he doesn’t growl or flinch away. Expectancy and resignation lurk in his gaze.
You don’t like that he won’t say anything in response even though he’s proven he can talk. You can feel his eyes boring into the back of your head as you gather your materials: the poultice from yesterday, a roll of bandages, a thick strip of worn leather. The latter you give to him, sighing when he turns it over in his hands, quizzical,
“Bite down on it,” you instruct him as you roll up your sleeves. “Either that or it’ll be your tongue.”
He frowns, but does as you say. You glance up at him to check if he’s ready. The hard lines of his body stand out, taut as a bowstring. He looks brittle, as if he might break and crumble into dust the moment you touch him.
Years ago, when you healed children’s scraped knees and the broken bones of men who had fallen from their ladders while fixing leaks in roofs, you had the words to comfort your patients. These you lost to the eternal darkness of the merfolk hunters’ ship, and these you wish to find again but cannot.
Instead, you murmur a quiet warning as you kneel by his tail, wiping your sweaty palms off on your trousers before getting a strong two handed grip on the end of the harpoon. Under your breath, you count down: three, two, one. Pull.
It makes a squelching, sucking noise as it comes out. You cringe but keep on tugging - if you stop now, it’ll be worse for both of you. He cries out, voice ragged and spilling over with agony, his tail arcing off the floor, and you feel the movement in the way the harpoon jerks in your hands with the bunching of his muscles.
All of a sudden, the resistance disappears. His tail fin slaps against the floor as he goes limp, both his and your heavy panting filling the room. You’re left with the splintered harpoon in your hands, a chunk of flesh and a twisted scale still clinging to one of the bloodied, rusted spokes. He spits the strip of leather out and it lands near your knee.
Carefully, you set down the harpoon and begin applying the poultice straight onto the weeping gash in his side, spreading the rest over the bandages which you bind tightly around his tail. Leaking from your fingertips, your magic suffuses across his skin as you work; you can’t heal him accurately without knowing much about his inner workings, but it should help to stave off any infection.
He shelters his face in the crook of his elbow, and though he tucks his other hand tightly to his chest, you can see the way he trembles.
You give him his space by swiftly moving on, busying yourself with his other injuries. You splint the spine in his dorsal fin, ignoring the way his hands shake and gently placing the arm crossed over his torso by his side so you can use your magic to clean and close up the various cuts and slashes littering his scar flecked body.
His scales seem to be damp, even though it’s almost been a full twenty four hours since he was brought in. It must be seawater somehow, you decide, or a sweat-like substance that keeps his tail wet enough when he hasn’t been in water for a while. He doesn’t look the most comfortable: he’s probably not used to having to support his own weight without the buoyancy of the waves.
There are little scars all over him, his skin a map of cicatrices, but the one that catches your attention is raised and jagged, spanning from the middle of his sternum to his navel. You touch your index finger to the centre of it, and he inhales sharply, flinching away.
“Sorry,” you mutter, pulling back, half expecting him not to hear you.
He’s silent for a while, ignoring your apology, but then comes a begrudging: “Thank you.”
Though he won’t see it - he’s still hiding his face from you - you shrug. “You should never have been hurt in the first place.”
He’s quiet again, lying still enough for you to imagine him dead if not for the rise and fall of his broad chest. You slouch, the energy having leaked from your body in order to mend his. The lamp finally gutters and winks out, leaving in its absence a tiny pinprick of light, a vanishing ember at the wick’s tip, buried in ashes.
When you tear your gaze away from your expired little sun, you’re confronted with a pair of blazing eyes. Pinned on you, they glow in the darkness like two pools of blood, but you find their luminosity strangely comforting, like Arcturus and Betelgeuse to a sailor: stars to lead you on your course.
“You are a witch, are you not?”
You jump at the sound of his voice, rough around the syllables but measured, as if he rolled them around on his tongue before he spoke. The scarlet light from his eyes dims a little as they narrow (you’re not sure if that’s meant to convey amusement or distaste) and you become aware that maybe he can see a lot more in the dark than you can.
“I am,” you confirm, still squinting at him - to no avail.
“Why do you not fight them, then?” He demands, his tone darkening. “Surely you cannot like it here.”
You scoff. “Of course I don’t like it here. You think I like the way they beat me?”
He’s silent, and though you still cannot see his face, you sense his scowl.
Sighing, you reign yourself in. This merman comes the closest to being an ally than all the others that have entered the brig, and you cannot squander this. He may not trust you, and you may be ignorant and ill informed of his kind, but you both have a common enemy, and though he may not like the thought, you are similar enough: the raw energy that flows through him is the same that you harness to perform your magic.
“I could fight, but there is nowhere for me to go if I escape the ship - there is just the sea,” you explain. “In the end, they are scared of all those associated with magic, even the witch they keep chained in the dark. The moment they deem that the risk I pose outweighs the use I have to them, they’ll kill me.”
He’s quiet again while he processes what you’ve said. “And what of me, witch? Why have they not killed me yet?”
“They want to study you,” you reply, wincing at how harsh your voice comes out. “I think we’re quite far from their lands - a few months’ travel, maybe - but it’s hard to tell.”
“What - ”
“Enough questions,” you cut him off. “My turn.”
A plethora of questions crowd your mind, but as you think of the merman in front of you, you find that they can wait, because although he must have stories of the sea that you’d only dreamed of hearing, and although magic you could learn endlessly from is threaded through his being, he is primarily, before anything, a soul. He is a soul: a soul with eyes that make the permanent night you are lost within just a little more manageable.
You will have to find out whether the kraken is real or not later; you will ask him about selkie skins afterwards.
Instead, you ask him his name, and tell him your own.
Bakugou, he grunts in response before turning his head to face the wall, clearly ending the conversation. Frowning, you stare at his back - or where you presume his back is, in the darkness - and mull over the name he provided you with; you are certain he has given you the one he gives to strangers. You suppose that is what you are.
Pulling absently at your chain, you sit with your back to the wall, your knees to your chest, and think about the merman, about Bakugou. For a moment, you are seized by the absurd belief that his most grave injury is a bleeding heart, but that cannot be true, for he has not said anything that indicates it. Questions find their way to your tongue, but you let them stick there, stifling them before they deign to interrupt the silence.
Neither of you move from your positions until the door opens, revealing the first mate. Squinting, you rise to your feet, a muscle feathering in your jaw as he purposefully kicks Bakugou in the shoulder, lifting his lamp high so he can see the bandages you’d applied.
“I’ll need a top up on lamp oil if I’m to continue the healing process,” you announce. “And we’ll need food and water. He’ll have - ”
You hesitate, glancing over at Bakugou, but he just lifts a shoulder and makes a face of disgust that you know isn’t conscious. Deliberating for a moment, you wrack your brain for any clues about merfolk diets.
“Fresh fish,” you decide. “And crabs. The bigger the better. Also, he’ll need a tub big enough for him, filled with seawater.”
“Watch the way you address me,” the first mate snaps, taking a step forward.
You shrug. “You wanted him healed, didn’t you?”
Your first two requests come within the next few hours, appeasing the increasing hollowness that had resided in your stomach and sending the shadows inhabiting the brig retreating up the walls and into the corners of the room, but the tub doesn’t come until two days after. It is barely watertight, plugged with tar and made from rough sawn wood.
You haven’t exchanged words with Bakugou since you asked his name and he gave you one, though you find yourself on the receiving end of his red eyes more often than not. He’s silent as the hunters bring the tub in, as they fill it with pails of seawater, as they leave and slam the brig’s door behind them. He’s silent, even as he slips into the tub and into a thin slice of his home.
And then, after a moment, he turns to you, and there’s something painful and cutting and cynical in his eyes.
“You know, the water doesn’t speed up the healing.”
You nod. “I know it doesn’t. You were uncomfortable.”
His eyes blaze. “What do you want?”
You regard him, regard the intensity of the fire in his gaze and the way his chest heaves. His tail fin hangs out of the tub, but even so, water swills over the side and splashes onto the floor like it can sense his agitation. Loudly, the links of your chain clank against each other as you cross your arms.
“I do not want anything, Bakugou.”
He narrows his eyes. “All humans I have known but one are cruel, witch. You wish for me to owe you something.”
“I don’t,” you reply, noticing the strange look that creeps onto his face. “Who is this human you hold in such high esteem?”
A distant look erases the furrow in his brow, and you get the sense he is no longer talking to you when he speaks again: he is lost in some place far away, a place coated in the golden sheen that tints all good memories. His voice turns soft as he brushes his fingers over the scar on his chest.
“His name was Izuku,” he murmurs. “But I called him Deku.”
“Deku?” You echo, your voice crudely loud all of a sudden.
A flash of grief slashes across his features like lightning on the high seas, there and gone so fast you almost don’t catch it. It’s like a switch flips, and suddenly shutters slam down behind his eyes and his expression melts away until his face is blank and cold. Regret sinks heavy in your stomach.
You wince. “I’m sorr - ”
“He’s dead,” Bakugou growls.
He doesn’t speak to you for three days. There is a certain rawness in his blood red eyes that makes you gentler as you change his dressings and reapply your poultices. He looks at you as if he hates that you are healing him instead of leaving him to die, so you avoid his gaze, staring instead at the scars that cover him like warpaint.
You get the sense that he is mourning this human he told you of all over again, and you cannot help but see the weight of it in the tension of his body and wonder if you could alleviate the pain.
On the fourth day, he shuts the vulnerability away somewhere deep inside of him, buried far enough beneath other things that he can pretend it never even existed. Yet you remember it, still vivid and fresh in your mind as you lie curled up on your side, watching the lamp’s flame until your eyes burn. He breaks the silence by clearing his throat, his gaze fixed on you.
“Witch,” Bakugou says softly. “How did they catch you?”
You glance over at him. “I was young and foolish and alone. It’s easy to snatch a girl from her home under those circumstances.”
“You have been here for years, then.”
“I have,” you sigh. “I tried to escape once. That’s why I’m chained down.”
“A weaker soul would not have survived this darkness,” he remarks solemnly. “You are strong, witch.”
You look down at your hands, watching your fingers fidget to and fro in your lap. Your tongue is frozen in your mouth - you had not spoken properly to someone in years before he was captured, and his behaviour confuses you. No words come to mind that express how grateful you are for his acknowledgement.
“Thank you,” you settle with in the end.
He hums but other than that remains silent.
Later you discuss with him the possible logistics of an escape. He explains to you that he cannot channel the magic the way you can, but that he is soaked in the magic of the sea; he is unable to use it for spells because it is innately part of him, enhancing him beyond human capabilities. Together, you come to the conclusion that you must get off the ship before you arrive at the hunters’ lands, or your chances of freedom will have narrowed to almost nothing.
An actual method of subduing or injuring the hunters enough to allow an exit route evades you, though. After all, you are chained to the wall, and there’s no easy way of moving Bakugou - he is, evidently, far too heavy for you to drag around all by yourself.
Uneasy silence falls over the brig. You stare at the lamp again: with it, your ability to see has been restored, along with a piece of your humanity, but now its light seems to illuminate how small a space you are contained in, how strong the chain binding you to the wall is.
As you drift off to sleep that night, you find yourself gripped by the fear that Bakugou will never return to the sea, and instead, they will inflict unspeakable torments upon him.
You will be the one who kept him alive for them. You will be the one who he grows to hate, because you had the chance to let future pain pass him by, but you saved him, and by doing so, you failed to spare him from their torture. And while they cut him open and study his insides, you will be somewhere far away, still risking yourself to heal their most elite, almost as if they are beloved to you.
The thought gnaws at you as the weeks pass. Blood no longer soaks the bandages wrapped around his tail; his dorsal fin is almost healed. He is gaining strength, more rapidly through your magic, and it is clear he has shaken off death many times before if his scars are testament to anything. In particular, the one on his chest draws you: though it is long healed, you can tell it was deep.
He almost died back then, too - the scar tissue around its edges is strange, lumpy and malformed as if he was kneaded back together by a child who saw his flesh as nothing more than clay harvested gleefully from a river bank. Even so, the shape of it is familiar. You know you shouldn’t pry. You remember the way he flinched away when you first touched it, but you ask, anyway.
“Bakugou,” you ask him once you’ve finished changing his bandages. “What did you do to get a merfolk’s blade stuck in your chest?”
He snarls. “All you do is fucking dig, you shitty witch.”
“I - ”
Hissing, he swipes at you half heartedly, and you stumble backwards, dodging his fist and almost tripping on your chain, caught off guard by the agitation in his eyes. Stunned, you gape at him. The fury is vehement on his face, evident in the grit of his teeth and the tremor in his hands as he grips the side of the tub; you can tell he despises how he is trapped in here with you, fending you off with the sting of his words.
You open your mouth. You’re not certain what you’re supposed to say, other than an apology that he will shake off easily, but you hope that words will form on your tongue. He levels his gaze on you, and this time, within it dwells an overwhelming sorrow that stops you short.
“Don’t try,” he whispers. “You cannot change the past.”
Brow furrowed, you stare at him. You take in the pain carved all over him, and this, you realise, not his scars, is his warpaint - he holds it close to him, like a cloak of inwardly turned, savage blades, reminding him to keep his distance. It is present in the bow of his head, the slump of his shoulders, a weight so heavy it threatens to rend his flesh from his bones.
You get to your feet, and in the lamp light, the single tear that rolls down his face is turned to solid gold.
Balefully, he looks at you, yet he holds still as you reach out and smooth it away with your thumb. A rawness resides in his eyes that you wish you could soothe as you catch the next tear that spills over, gently as if he is made of porcelain.
“You need not bear the weight of your world on your shoulders, Bakugou.”
Your words wrench a sob from him. His fingers curl tight around your wrist, tearing your hand away from his face, silently weeping as he grips you so hard you begin to lose feeling in your palm. You watch as the anguish in his eyes evolves into anger, harsh and brittle and bleak.
“Get away from me,” he spits, voice strangled, and yet he does not release you, so you perch on the side of the tub and make a show of not looking at him so he is not alone in his privacy.
It’s then that you realise that whether or not he likes it, you have gotten through to him. In the month that goes by, sometimes he is cold and aloof, keeping to himself, and sometimes he allows you close enough that you can feel his warmth. You find you savour his company when it’s there.
His wound is fully healed, a pink scar bordered by healing scales, and his dorsal fin spine is back in working order. You check up on him still, every other day or so, careful to monitor them in case you have somehow healed him wrong, careful to keep your regular intersections with him, because although you would never admit it to him, he is amusing, and he keeps the darkness at bay.
You are unsure what he thinks of you. Sometimes, he smacks you upside the head with no real force, and you dare to label it as affectionate. He gives you the name which he gives to those that mean more to him than strangers, too - well, you wring it out of him.
(“Bakugou, what’s your name?”
A scoff. “Witch, have you hit your head?”
“We both know you’re not obliged to answer, so if you’re not going to tell me, spare me the insults.”
Pause. “Katsuki. It’s Katsuki.”)
There are times when he has nightmares, too. You surmise that most of them are about Deku, and that the scar branding his chest, the one made by a merfolk forged weapon, is linked somehow to this dead human. Incomprehensibly, he mutters in his sleep, snarling about krakens and storms and sometimes even witches, but it always leads back to Deku.
Sometimes he protests against him, speaking a language you do not fully understand, cursing and thrashing so hard you fear the tub will splinter, while sometimes he proclaims his love, his voice slurred as he slumbers, but each time, without fail, he begs: forgive me, Izuku, forgive me, Deku, I’m sorry.
Katsuki is unaware of what he gives away in his sleep. Often, he settles down quickly after raising his voice, but sometimes you look over to see him stiff and terrified and shake him awake; he then jolts upright, the water sloshing out of the tub as he reaches for you, his stricken eyes searching yours for something you do not know the identity of, but he always finds.
He does not let you go, not ever. At these times, you lean or sit by the tub and let him crush your fingers in his grip.
He never speaks of it in the morning.
You would not hide from him what you have learnt, nor the feelings that grow treacherously in your heart, but you are too cowardly to tell him of either. It is certain that he loved Deku, and that maybe Deku loved him too. What was it like, you often wonder, to have loved Katsuki?
When he holds onto you, still half lost in the dark lands of his nightmares, you think about it. He would have been less guarded, a young merman not yet covered in scars; he would have given Deku his name immediately, for he would not have learnt that he needed to be wary of humans. Still, he would have fought for him until the end with the same ferocity he would fight for his own heart - because Deku was his own heart.
And Deku, you imagine Deku saw people as they really were. You imagine Deku with bright eyes and a brighter smile, with a face that all his emotions could be read off as easily as a book. He must have been good, persistent, if Katsuki had fallen for him. Soft, even, but tough when he needed to be.
They fit each other, no doubt.
You feel guilty, as if your speculations are invasive, rummaging around within Bakugou’s heart where he has not let you set foot. Mercifully, he can pin his red eyes on you as much as he likes, which he often does, but he will not hear your mind.
Now that he is healed, that is how you pass your days, exchanging words with him when either of you wish to, while you wrestle with the unspoken in your head and while god knows what happens behind his eyes. It is normal for silence to fall after a conversation - it is not awkward, but not comfortable either. It is pensive, it is familiar.
And today, it is shattered by screams up on deck.
Katsuki perks up, his keen ears picking up things your dull ones cannot, and he tilts his head, listening intently. You do not have to hear what he does to know what is happening: there is the sound of clashing steel above you, the all too familiar war cries of the hunters. It is not often that the merfolk are prepared for the hunters as they pass by, but neither is it impossible.
The ship lurches, harshly enough that some of the water in Katsuki’s tub overflows. You wager it must be a whole pod, then, maybe two, and you glance over at him, wondering if he knows who they are, wondering if -
“Are they yours?” You blurt.
“Huh?”
“Your pod,” you clarify.
Bitterly, he scoffs. “If the merfolk wanted to rescue me, they wouldn’t have waited months.”
You freeze. The detachment in his voice does nothing to hide the betrayal beneath, and ice begins to crawl up your spine, for he addresses them as the merfolk, not as his kind, his people. Harshly, you swallow as you start to understand that the hunters would never have been able to capture a merman if he wasn’t alone.
“You don’t have a…” You trail off, feeling far too inadequate and stupid to continue.
“My pod renounced me the moment they learnt about Deku and I.”
A picture forms in your mind, of a Katsuki who lost his family because he gave away his heart to a human - of a Katsuki to which the sea was no longer home, but a huge expanse of alone. Horror closes over your head like cold water as your eyes slide down to the scar on his chest.
His pod didn’t stop at just renouncing him.
You had always hoped that beings whose very essence was rooted in magic would be fair and just as the tales said. Your hope had always been that the merfolk would see that humanity was not united in the purging of them, that they would spare you if your path ever crossed theirs. Never did you think they would be so blind as to turn on one of their own for something as reliant on fate as love. You are a fool.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and it comes out almost like a sob.
“We are no better than you are,” he replies.
His voice is so devoid of hope that it cuts you to the quick. You open your mouth so say more, to try and fill that emptiness inside him if you can, but your words are stuck in your throat and before you can force them out the door flies open, banging loudly against the wall and almost extinguishing the lamp’s flame.
Three gravely wounded are deposited in front of you and then the door slams. Silently, you get to work, sealing the deep slashes to their flesh more carelessly than you should be - but with Katsuki watching, you feel sullied, a betrayer who works for the purgers of magic. Their blood coats your tingling palms, and yet not in the way you wish it could be.
You have just finished the last when four more are dragged in, and you’re hit hard across the face and ordered to work faster, which signifies only one thing: more are coming. As blood wells up in your mouth, you hope that the merfolk are victorious, even if it means sinking the ship and letting you drown within.
Hate rises within you again, searing and acrid like smoke clogging your lungs, but this time it is different. You hate them for what they have made you; a tool, a means to an end. The determination you nurse in your heart is unimportant as long as you do what they say, and yet you cannot defy them, and this is what you hate yourself for.
Prickling sensations begin to claw up your arms as you heal. You are lost in it, the blood and the battle and the patients, and you swear you see the same faces twice: hunters who you healed once coming back more injured than last time. Your energy dwindles like a dying flame and you dip into your reserves when you recognise the violent light in the hunters’ eyes.
You cannot ask for a break. They already bay for blood and death; what more is yours but just another magic using bitch’s?
You are being bled dry. You are no longer aware of your surroundings, just the halting of the flow of blood beneath your hands and the wheezing gasp of your breath and the rattle of the chain locked around your wrist.
They have not been attacked like this in a long time. You almost forgot how fast the darkness closes in when you send out your energy through your palms to knit flesh and skin back together again. Spots cloud your vision, and futilely, you swat them away. Muffled, Katsuki’s voice hums in your right ear, but you do not understand the words he utters.
Your hands tremble. You pitch forward, slumping over your newest patient.
A hand fists in your hair. Knuckles press into your jaw, far harder than a lover’s touch and yet it feels like it in the way your head lolls slowly to the side. It takes time, but pain radiates through your skull, vibrating your teeth and sharpening your focus, and then you can hear yelling, yelling for you to wake up, yelling for you to carry on or they’ll kill you -
There are so many of them. So many hunters with frenzied eyes and blades that shine where they are not coated in innocent blood, and they are hurt and they want to return back to the battle and you must abide by their demands. The air is too thin as it whistles in and out of your lungs. You cannot think.
You press your palms to the blood slick abdomen of the next man placed down before you and do as they say. Your mouth is dry, your head pounds, your eyes won’t focus, and yet, you do as they say, you always do what they say.
What a fucking coward you are.
Letting them push you farther than you ever would let yourself go. You’re right on the edge, right over the edge, clinging onto the side of the perilously vertical cliff face even as the mossy stone crumbles beneath your fingers and threatens to make you fall down down down. But still, you heal. Your body performs numbly what your mind cannot take any more.
All of a sudden, there is not an open wound for you to heal or guts to force back inside a torso, there are just crimson soaked planks and a raised voice. Loud. An incensed, raised voice, cursing and roaring. Can’t you see she’s almost gone? They shout, earsplitting enough to make your head pound. She can’t heal you fucking bastards if she’s dead!
Bakugou. No, not that name. It’s… Katsuki. Katsuki making all that racket. You don’t know when it happened, but now your cheek is pressed to the rough planks that make up the floor. There’s blood everywhere. Some more splatters to the ground and you notice that the din isn’t being made by Katsuki any more. Your eyes are hazy as you lift them upwards and see a hunter raise his fist again.
“Kats,” you slur. “Watch… watch out…”
The lamp goes out, which is strange, since the oil got topped up this morning. You pay it no mind, though.
You’re too tired.
You wake surrounded by water. For a moment, you wonder if the merfolk won, and if somehow you managed to get tossed off the boat and into the sea, but then you move your leg and it hits something hard and vertical which must be wood. Peeling your eyes open, you find you’re in… the tub? Katsuki’s tub?
Lifting your head, you’re met with a pair of concerned red eyes. One is almost swollen shut, and blood has crusted down the side of his face from a wound in his temple, yet he smooths his hand soothingly over your upper back, watching attentively as you come to.
“You’ve been out for just under two days,” Katsuki says. “You need to eat, get your strength back up.”
Your memory begins to trickle back, and with it floods a torrent of shame: you always told yourself that you survived out of spite, out of the belief and conviction that one day you would hurt them enough to negate all the healing they made you to do, but it was all a pretence. You were scared and so you took the easier road of complacency, and it has caused the deaths of hundreds of merfolk.
It is without a doubt that if you had healed even just a papercut more, that if Katsuki had not stopped them, the life force within you would have winked out, and you would have died. Death had loomed right over you, brushing boney fingers over your face, and even now, it lingers.
You are burnt out, exhaustion weighing on you as if a whole mountain rests on your back. Worse is the fear, revealed in the blinding light, shackling you, for you are its slave, and you cannot shake its hold off you.
Your face crumples. “I am spineless, for letting them use me so. I am a coward, a - ”
“They give you no choice, witch,” Katsuki remarks. “Do not put it on yourself.”
You shake your head. “You cannot ask that of me. How many lives have been lost because I obeyed when the hunters told me to save them?”
Bowing your head, you sob. Fatigue envelops you, the chain around your wrist unspeakably heavy, and you lean heavily against Katsuki; he holds you like you are precious, handling you with care so that the pieces you have shattered into do not fall apart and scatter onto the floor. He tips up your chin, forcing you to look him in those eyes of his as he wipes away your tears.
“What was that you told me, as I wept like you do now?” He asks. “You need not bear the weight of your world on your shoulders. That was what you said to me.”
Nodding, you feel more tears leak out when you squeeze your eyes closed. He strokes your hair, and you hide your face in his chest and wish you could do forever, for he is warm and he is far gentler than you ever imagined he could be. You are tempted, but he nudges you and chides you, reminding you that you will feel much better once you have eaten.
Wobbly as a newborn fawn, you climb out of the tub, Katsuki steadying you with a hand on your arm. Wrapping one of your blankets around you like a shawl, you retrieve a hunk of bread to gnaw on before planting yourself on the tub’s rim, loath to be any farther away from him than you have to be.
Though hunger worries insistently at your insides, sending tremors through your hands and weakness in your legs, you force yourself to eat slowly; you cannot risk wasting any of the food by throwing up. Katsuki rests his forearms on the sides of the tub, watching you with a keen gaze that you cannot read. You become more aware of the purpling bruising across his face and reach out without thinking.
He catches your hand before you can tap into the slowly replenishing well of magic inside of you, his fingers circling your wrist before he lets them slip down and lace with yours. Something ignites behind his eyes, and you find you are mesmerised - you lean closer to see how the spark dances.
“Katsuki,” you breathe, and then your lips are on his.
He tips his chin up to lean into you, his fingers threading into your hair as he pulls you closer to him, so tender that it makes your chest ache. You could stay like this for eternity, simply doing nothing but tasting the salt of him on your tongue and savouring the sweet, sweet scrape of his canines over your lower lip; he is all that matters, all that is.
Slowly, his hands come round to cup your shoulders, pressing you closer to him, and so you feel the moment his grip falters and he stiffens, feel the way he recoils from you as if you have burnt him, and you can do nothing to prevent it. You’re propelled backwards with the force he jolts away. Though it is only a few steps, you feel the gap between you yawn wide, stretching into an uncrossable chasm.
“No,” he chokes out, shaking his head. “No, not - not like - ”
Abruptly, he falls terribly, terribly silent. Stunned, you touch a hand to your mouth; your legs buckle, and you throw out a hand to steady yourself against the wall before sinking to the floor. It feels as if you are drowning.
Katsuki does not love you - how can he, when he fits with Deku like they were made for each other? You were wrong to hope for anything else, wrong to give in to what you wanted, because you have torn open old wounds that never properly healed. It is no longer significant that he does not love you, for you should have seen that already; what matters is that in your blindness, you have ripped him open.
You’re beginning to realise that it was not the lamp that kept the shadows back, but him. It is only natural that you are drawn to him like a moth to a flame, only natural that you were too weak to resist flying straight into the fire. This time, it is not only the moth who gets hurt.
You are left alone with your thoughts. Time passes, as it always does, but you pay it no mind. However hard you try, you cannot bring yourself to meet his eyes. You are numb, numb to the slow rock of the ship as it cuts through the waves, numb to the sounds of the crew at their battle stations again, numb to it all now that it is undeniable: you love him.
He cannot love you.
Wearily, warily, you raise your head when the door opens, revealing the first mate, soaked in blood. Crossing the room in a few strides, he stands before you, chest heaving, a frantic sort of desperation contorting his face as he tightens his hand around the hilt of his sword and glares at you.
“The captain is near death. We drop anchor home in a fortnight. I will be put in command if he does not survive, and if this happens, I will make certain that you come upon a death slower and far more painful than his.”
You do not answer, nor do you pay any mind to his threats. You can sense Katsuki staring in your direction, the feeling of his red eyes on your skin unmistakable: no doubt, he has heard what you have. We drop anchor home in a fortnight - a fortnight until Katsuki is delivered into hands who seek to study him, to slit him open while he still lives and examine his insides and the way his heart beats, ensnared in the cage of his ribs.
Just like that, you know what to do.
You wait silently until they bring the captain to you. The first mate did not lie when he said the captain is near death. Sweat creates a sheen on his brow, and though his eyes are open, he is barely conscious, for he has been sliced open from gullet to navel by a merfolk blade. Briefly, you touch a fingertip to the lip of the gash, ignoring the pained moan it causes and the disquieted mutters of the other hunters.
If you were superstitious, you would deem the wound too similar to Katsuki’s to be anything but fate, but you do not believe in such things. Instead, you put your trust in the strength of good steel and the sharpness of a tongue. Yes, you know what to do, and you will do it.
The chain fixed around your wrist is not broken, but it does not have to be. You are free to do what you wish, because before you is the captain, and he is leverage. There is no fear left in you, no shame to hold you back as you look up at the first mate; he opens his mouth, about to ask why you do not jump to heal his captain, but he pauses when he takes in your cold smile.
“Free the merman, and then I will heal him.”
A silence falls. They are left with no other choice but to do as you say, and they know it. The first mate’s hands ball into fists, a reminder to you of what will come once Katsuki is let go and you heal their captain, but it does not concern you any more. None of it is of concern to you, only his freedom.
“What the fuck did you just say, witch?” Katsuki spits.
His voice jolts the first mate into action. He heaves you to your feet by the front of your shirt, seething, and punches you squarely in the nose. Something cracks. Your head snaps back, the air knocked from your lungs when he drives his knee into your stomach and lets you crumple to the floor by his feet. Gritting your teeth, you glower up at him.
“Come at me all you like,” you hiss as blood pours down your face. “It will not save your captain.”
He crouches down before you. You do not listen as he shouts at you, because you see it in his eyes. He knows you have them all backed into a corner, he knows you’re aware he will not risk the captain’s life. Over his shoulder, Katsuki urgently mouths something to you: do you know what they will do to you because of this? They will do worse than just kill you!
“Let them,” you reply, and as you gaze at him, you smile again. To the first mate, you say: “Bring me up on deck. I want to see.”
The first mate hurls you away from him, barking orders at the other hunters, but all you hear is the crash of the waves outside and all you taste is the nectar of victory on your tongue. You watch, still smiling, as they grab Katsuki and drag him from the tub. He fights, of course he does, screaming your name and slashing at the hunters, but there is but one of him, and he is unarmed.
Cursing, the first mate unfastens your chain from the ring in the wall, wrapping the length of it around his hand and jerking you forward with it, pulling you to follow him through the ship. There is murder written on his face and in the curl of his lip, and you let it slide it off you like water from a sea bird's feathers.
He throws open the hatch, and for the first time in years, you see the sun. Slowly, you step into the light, and the salty breeze tugs playfully at your clothes and hair, fresh and briney and strong, pulling tears from your eyes. All around you is empty space, just blue sea and blue sky and the wind that dances gloriously between them as far as you can see.
The air is invigorating and crisp in your lungs. Hesitantly, you take a step forward, then another and another, seeing the way the sun plays on the water’s surface, scintillating as it warms your cold skin. It is as resplendent as you remember it.
“Witch!” Katsuki cries, shaking the hunters’ hands off him. “Why? Why would you do this to yourself?”
There are countless ways you could answer him. Instead, you take him in one last time, his spiky ash blonde hair and his crimson eyes and the way his scales glitter under the sunlight. You do this for love: if you can’t give him your heart, you will give him his freedom.
“Go,” is all you say, and though tears stream down your face, you smile.
“I will not forget you, witch,” he replies, voice thick. “I swear it.”
Running to the side of the ship, you cling to the taffrail and lean forwards to watch as he dives overboard. He slices through the water, the amber of his tail bright as he goes, further from you with each passing second, and your breath catches in your throat - he is more beautiful than you imagined he would be in the light.
As he crests a wave, he looks back at you, and you see the shimmer of his scales and the graceful arc of his dorsal fin one last time before he twirls in the surf and dives. With that, he is gone, and you are alone again, yet you do not fear what is to come.
A hand grips your shoulder, nails digging sharply into your skin. “Enjoy your peace, you thankless bitch, because once you heal the captain, all you’re going to know is pain.”
You turn to the first mate and laugh in his face.
He loves you.
Bakugou Katsuki fucking loves you.
He loves your deft hands, careful despite their calluses and nimble despite the chain around your wrist. He loves the smell of you, herby and laced with petrichor. He loves the brightness dancing in your eyes when you laugh. Most of all, he loves your sweet soul: the fierceness woven into it like second nature, the blaze of your heart when you stand up for what you believe in.
He was stupid for pulling away from that kiss. You had fit your lips to his, and suddenly panic rose in his chest, and he jerked backwards as if ignoring his heart would silence it; he was scared to love another human, scared because last time it led to pain. His fear had hurt you, and this is his regret - that he was the one to cause the slow dimming of the light in your eyes.
There are countless other things he regrets. He should have trusted more easily, he should have fought harder as they yanked him out of that silly tub and away from you, and he should never have left you by yourself on that ship with those despicable hunters.
He didn’t tell you he loved you, and now he is scared he will never get the chance.
He has left you in a den of beasts. Deku would never have let this happen if it was Katsuki in danger. Deku would have found a way to get him out. In fact, Deku did, he saved him instead of himself, and now Deku is gone, and he fears his heart is not strong enough to lose another. He does not want to lose another.
That serene little smile on your face as you watched him go - it haunts him, fucking burns itself into his retinas, because you knew. You knew precisely what you were doing, when you bargained with that hunter’s life, and you knew exactly what they were going to do to you for making them let him go.
You must be hurting right now. You must have been beaten within an inch of your life. You, who broke down the walls he rebuilt, brick by brick, after Deku was gone - the same walls that Deku himself tore down too. Katsuki is beginning to think that their foundation has always been flawed, or maybe they crumbled like Jericho simply because you shine brighter than the sun on the waves, and he could not look away if he wanted to.
He has been tailing the ship for little over a day. Keeping out of sight and in the shadows is easy; he has felt the sting of their harpoons enough and he will not risk an injury when getting you away from them is the priority, yet he can’t help but resent the way he must hide. There is no other way, though. Currently, he has no plan, and he must bide his time.
Katsuki was never the most patient, but he has no choice but to be patient since he has no sword and no allies. It is plausible that he could scuttle the ship by himself, but he can’t risk it with you chained inside and possibly unconscious.
But then he sees it - a shape in the distance.
It is an isle, small enough that it could sustain maybe one hamlet of people, and rather plain, with rocks that make up a small cliff on one side and a sandy beach dotted with rock pools on the other, a thicket of trees spanning the distance between. One could call it nondescript, but there is nothing nondescript about it to Katsuki.
He has bled out on that golden beach. He has fought to protect his own life and the life of another in the waters near that isle, and he has failed. He has wept on that shore, wept enough to cleanse the blood soaked sand beneath his newly fixed body that held his newly broken heart.
That isle is where Deku washed up, half dead, a decade ago. It is where he watched from afar as this green eyed, freckled human nursed himself back to health, and where he watched from a little closer as he learnt that humans were more than what they are portrayed as in the tales of his pod.
He understood many things on that isle: what love was - the touch of his lips to a man with unruly green curls and an infectious smile, and what betrayal was - when his pod found out and the waters were tinted red because of it.
Just like that, he knows what to do.
Hidden in the underwater caves below the isle is a monster that slumbers until a soul dares to wake it. The humans call it a kraken, but the merfolk leave it unnamed, for it is too great to be reduced to a simple moniker. He has seen it once before, through the haze that descends over one close to death, and felt as its power stymied the lifeblood that poured hot from a wound spanning from the middle of his sternum to his navel.
Both he and Deku had lain on the beach after his pod ambushed, both bleeding from fatal wounds. He had been too fucking weak to get to the kraken first, and so Deku had been the one to sacrifice himself and give himself to the monster so Katsuki could live, when it should have been the other way round.
This time, though, he is strong enough.
He remembers slipping back into the ocean with his freshly healed wound so the saltwater of his tears mixed with the sea, unable to understand why Deku would leave him. Now, he understands all too well, and he will not fail to protect the one he loves again.
Summoning the kraken means no going back. After waking it, the summoner is transported into the kraken’s form, and they have a limited time within it before the kraken reaps its payment - the summoner’s soul. It will shatter their spirit and ensure they cannot return to their body.
Katsuki dives down deep, breaking away from the ship and swimming ahead of it to find the gaping mouth of the cave that the kraken slumbers within. He is far down enough that the water is murky, frigid as it weighs heavily on him, the sun a weak pinprick of light suspended somewhere above him that does nothing to pierce the gloom.
The entrance is curtained with seaweed, the cold fronds caressing his skin as he slips past them. Nestled in the darkness, it lies there, slumbering: a behemoth shadow, looming as high as the cavern’s ceiling and filling its width like the berth of a warship docked in a seaside hamlet’s harbour.
As he swims towards it, he realises he has already had his last glimpse of you through his own eyes. The last time he will see you, he will be fighting to keep hold of himself before he loses his soul to the kraken, and then it will just be bottomless darkness until it is summoned again. You might not even know it is him inside the monster.
It doesn’t matter - a lot has ceased to matter to Katsuki. He can no longer deny that he loves you, and with that epiphany comes another: you knew what the hunters would do to you when you bargained for his freedom, and yet you did it anyway, with no fear of the consequences. Now, it is his turn to put his life on the line for you, and though he may lose it, you will be free.
He will never feel the sweet touch of lips again, but that’s alright. He hopes that you will find another to make you happy, another who will make your heart soar and help you forget him. They will be to you what you were to him: a light to scare away the shadows, a star in the night sky to guide you, even if at times, just like him, you believe you do not wish to be guided.
Katsuki pictures your face as he draws near to the kraken.
Its flesh is odd beneath his palm - slippery and uncomfortably cold. Pressing his palm to its skin, he wills it awake, and it obeys him alarmingly fast, an eye as big as his head snapping open and rolling around until it fixates on him. An abyss of a pupil sucks him in, beckoning him forward to a place that will be the last he ever visits.
Though he knows his body remains still, he feels himself fall forward, sucked towards the magnetic emptiness within the kraken as if it aches to be occupied. For a moment, he resists, pure instincts making him struggle against it, but he forces himself to let go. Sensation briefly forsakes him.
When his vision is restored, he finds that he is looking at his body, limp and vacant. Already he can feel a difference in the water, the sharp tang of fear drifting toward him on currents that hadn’t been there before as creatures begin to flee, aware that something ancient has been roused from its sleep.
A tempest is brewing.
Katsuki - or a version of him that no longer is really Katsuki, but instead a wrathful monster caller - cannot see the dark clouds amassing above, but he knows they are scudding across the blue skies to taint the high midday sun, and it is his doing. Cruel winds accumulate in the shadows cast by his thunderhead, and he can hear the sharp snap of canvas and the raised voices of a crew readying their ship for a storm.
Unfurling a tentacle, he curls it around his old body, careful not to crush it, and reaches up high enough to deposit it on the beach. He begins to move the kraken out of the cave, dislodging pebbles that would have been boulders as the bulk of its body manoeuvres through the exit.
In a way, he is disconnected from the body that is his now; there is empty space that he is not large enough to occupy, like he has donned a garment made for a merman the size of a mountain. It is strangely silent inside this huge vessel, although he is not alone. Shadow wreathed souls lurk in the corners of his mind, and he knows they are disgusted by him.
He is not surprised. Historically, the kraken have been summoned only in the utmost peril. To the merfolk, the kraken are as sacred and as old as the sea, called upon in the wars of old, when the magic beings of the sky were eradicated. Despite being only scattered shards of themselves, the past summoners look down on him, because he does not summon to seek the solution to mighty matters.
For the second time in a lifetime, the kraken is being summoned for a cause as selfish as love.
There’s an awful symmetry to it, really. He imagines the way they must have abhorred Deku, a dying human who did not use the kraken’s power to destroy, but to knit together the wound of a simple, unnoteworthy merman.
Faces contorted beyond recognition flash before his eyes and hands claw at his sides with nails as vicious as knives. They want blood, they want a whole fleet to rip through and ruin. He tells them that they will have to settle with one ship, and they cry their discontent in his ears, their voices rough and rasping, like rusting metal on stone.
He has not broken the surface of the water yet. His body prowls many leagues down, but still, he spots the shadow cast by the ship, and the moment he does, his vision narrows, blurs, and he sees winking lights on board: the lives of the crew, twinkling and tantalising and begging to be snuffed out.
The kraken jets upwards and breaches, spraying up a wall of water, and though he does not command it, he bellows a war cry, the sound so bloodthirsty and wild it almost sweeps him up and incapacitates him. The shadow souls close in, fragments of vengeful souls garbed in shadow, greedy and eager to see him torn apart, and he shakes them off, wrenching himself from their grasp with all his strength.
A twinge pinches at his side, and he glances down to see a volley of harpoons glance off his hide, leaving shallow gashes in their wake. The crew swarm on the deck, their terror sour as he breathes it in and savours it. They are but ants, small and irritating with their measly weapons and made to be crushed and devoured -
He seizes the mast and uses it to rock the ship from side to side, fighting to keep the visions of blood staining the water red away from him. Too fast, his control is slipping, and he feels the souls swarm around him, filling his field of view with darkness until all he can see is those tiny flames that he must put out. There is something he wanted to do, something he needs to do -
Selfish, the souls hiss in his ears, trying to sink their hateful claws into him again, and he agrees with them.
He loves, and therefore he is selfish.
It is no bad thing.
The storm clouds gather over the ship, roiling and rumbling with thunder. Lightning strikes, a bolt of white fury that splinters the deck and extinguishes one of the little lives on board, producing a delighted cackle from the souls at his back, but he ignores them. He knows what he must do.
“Bring me the witch,” he roars.
His voice comes out warped and foreign, the words of men coming out strange and misshapen on his tongue, but the crew understand enough, scuttling to obey, desperate to believe he may spare them if they give you to him. The grip of the souls tightens, squeezing at his throat - he has spent too long in their presence already, and they nip at the edges of his mind, stealing away parts of him when he isn’t looking.
He realises with a jolt that he does not remember his name any more.
It is fine, though. He will join the souls in their namelessness soon. They are a cacophony in his head, and he can no longer hear anything but them, the burn of their claws threatening to tear him apart and shred him the way they are already torn apart, but he barely cares.
The little gnats bring another up and present it to him. This one shines brighter, suffused with a magic the souls cannot wait to devour, and they encourage him forward - surely he too will enjoy the honeyed taste of this offering? Plucking it off the ship’s deck, he brings it to his eye level, and his shadow companions clamour for him to crush it, but he hesitates.
It looks at him like it knows him. In its weak, tiny voice, it yells something that gets lost in the howl of the winds, but even so, it makes the souls shrink back, receding enough for him to remember that this little thing he holds is important. Important for what, he can’t recall, but it is important all the same.
Kicking its legs, the small being beats its fist on his tentacle, still shouting. He leans closer, wincing as the shadows scratch and tear at his back, trying to draw him away again.
“Katsuki!” You scream.
He jolts. It is you, his little, beloved witch - you are why he is being so selfish, summoning the kraken just to save one life. Peering closer, he notices that you are bruised all over, and suddenly the storm worsens overhead, crackling as bolts of lightning stab down like vindictive knives and the wind tears at the ship full of aghast hunters, tossing it violently among the waves.
Carefully, he places you on the beach, next to a body that used to be his. You scramble towards it, limping, and he turns away, looking back towards the ship and the lights it is infested with that still need to be destroyed. Anger comes easily to him, because these are the ones that have marred you with bruises.
The shadows close in again.
Roaring, he tears at the ship, rending it in two and crushing those that leap overboard, yet the souls are never appeased, never satiated. It feels as if power leaks out the seams of his spirit and if he does not let it go it will destroy him from the inside, but he knows he cannot let go. He needs to hold on, to hold himself together, for something that drifts further and further out of reach -
It is as if he has been tied to the bottom of a sea trench for so long, drowning in darkness, that the surface is just a fanciful thought. He does not remember the sun’s sweet face, nor the sound of your voice as you called out the name he has lost again. They sink their teeth into him, ready to tear him apart.
He struggles. He will not go without a fucking fight, he will not let them have him before he has tried valiantly to swim upwards to the sun, where the shadows will not survive.
But the light is so far from him. It floats away every time he strives to be closer, or maybe there are hands holding him back, ripping him open and tethering him to the blackness. They cling to him, shrieking in his ears, sinking curved claws into him and refusing to let go, ready to reap the kraken’s payment.
He is losing himself.
And then - a hand, gentle, touching his face. Emerald eyes fill his vision, wide and lovely, and suddenly he is able to ignore the souls and their blaring dissonance, the pain in his side fading away into nothing. There is a soul that still remains named here, mixed in with those who have been rent apart by hate.
“Kacchan,” the soul says earnestly. “You must fight it, Kacchan.”
“Deku,” he sobs, leaning into the soul’s warm palms as he wipes his tears away. “I’m sorry.”
Deku smiles, and Katsuki weeps, because he looks so proud of him, as if he is worth an eternity spent trapped within a kraken alongside shattered souls that only wish for chaos and destruction. He weeps, because here are Deku and Kacchan, back together again, but they cannot stay this way forever.
“I understand,” Deku whispers, and his touch heals Kacchan once more. “I understand you love her. You need to fight, you need to return to her and love her like you want to. I died so you could live, Kacchan. Let go.”
He looks down and sees the way he clutches onto Deku so hard he is white knuckled, while Deku cradles his hands in his scarred ones, softly as if Kacchan is fragile. Trembling, he loosens his grip, and he feels the light draw closer, the sun’s rays warming his face. Something tightens in his chest when he finally allows himself to release Deku, but it hurts in the manner of stitches pulling taut inside him and binding him together again.
One last time, he looks over his shoulder, to where Deku watches as he goes, smiling brightly, shining like he is a star plucked from the night sky. His brilliance holds the shadows back, rendering them powerless. He pays them no mind, though - his viridescent eyes are lit up and fixed only on his Kacchan.
Deku says something, but the sound of his voice is drowned out by the crashing of the waves and the winds of a dying down of a storm. Still, Katsuki knows what he said by the shape of his lips: I love you. Smiling, he takes a final look at him, at those unruly green curls and those sweet eyes and bright smile, and then he turns and is bathed in light.
The kraken sinks again beneath the waves, but Katsuki does not sink with it.
You know it’s impossible, but you sense the moment Katsuki is back in his body. You’ve heard the tales of the kraken, and you know he should have been taken from you, but there he is, present in the weak pulse of his heart beneath your palm and the steady rise and fall of his chest. Shallow cuts have appeared all over his body, remnants of the damage of the hunter’s harpoons.
His eyes are open, but barely, and he blinks slowly, fighting to keep them fixed on you, giving you only glimpses of familiar crimson. There is a strange looseness to his awareness that must come with the recency of doing the impossible, but still he grips your hand desperately, struggling to stay awake long enough to force words out.
“I - I lo - ”
Before he can finish, his voice cracks and he coughs. His eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to start again, but you smile, tears blurring your vision as you press a finger to his lips and hush him, and thankfully he relaxes under your touch, curling closer to you and seeking shelter in your embrace. Once he is rested, he will have all the time in the world to tell you whatever he likes.
What matters is that he is here. That in itself is beyond even a miracle.
Almost disbelieving, you cradle him to you, pressing your forehead to his as tears you cannot stop spill down your face and mingle with his blood. You are bone tired after repeatedly healing your own cracked ribs and fractured wrists, but you are whole enough for now - you won’t waste your energy on your own bruises while he still hurts.
So you hold him against your chest, sweeping your fingers delicately over the deeper of his cuts to seal them. The sky has cleared, the storm clouds departing as fast as they arrived, and the sea is dipped in ruby by the bleeding sunset. It lacquers the wet sand with the glow of dying embers as the incoming tide smooths over where the storm had churned it up, erasing the mark left on the island as if this afternoon had never happened.
If it were not for Katsuki in your arms, it would be like the kraken never came.
You glance down at him. He seems at peace, though worn and battered, as if he has reconciled something deep within his heart; he has closed his eyes, simply leaning against you with his face pressed into your side, his warm hands tucked just beneath the hem of your shirt.
You cannot help but smile. Because of him, you are free. No chains bind your wrists, no threats limit you in what you decide to do next. You are not sure where you will end up later, but for now you intend to fall asleep beneath the open sky, beside the one you love infinitely more than any life you might have had and even this new life he has fought and bled to give you.
When you drift out of your dreams - just simple, golden things full of a contentment that lingers past waking - the tide is high, the ocean lapping at the sand at your feet. The moon is almost at its highest point in the sky, depositing a residue of silver on everything around you.
Katsuki stirs in your arms, and when you glance down, you are met with the twin beacons of his eyes, luminous in the dark and full, brimming and spilling over with unspoken things that leave a deep ache in your heart. Trembling, he grips your hands, and you lace your fingers with his, brushing your lips over his knuckles and stroking his face as the tears begin to flow.
He cries like he is mourning. You wonder what he saw while his soul donned the kraken’s skin, how poignant it must have been to wrench these fitful sobs from him. Cupping his face in your palms, you wipe his tears away, and he clings to you to keep you close while he bares his newly healing heart to you; it is wrapped in the past’s scars. He shows you the rawest parts of him, and you soothe them as best you can with your healing hands.
There is no magic to this cure, though. It is just the love that burns within you, consuming you so entirely it makes you shake. You did not know it was possible to love like this, but the proof weeps in your arms, a merman who summoned the kraken and somehow conquered it so he could make it back to you.
“Tell me,” you whisper, tracing the strong lines of his face with your fingertips.
Curling his arms around you, he hides his face in your neck. “Deku stood with me against the dark inside the kraken,” he replies softly. “He held them back so I could come back to you. I - I thought I had lost him forever, when he summoned the kraken to save me.”
Carefully, he brings your hand to touch the scar stretching down his chest, and you outline its edges, comforted by the warmth of his body and the steadiness of his breathing beneath your fingers. You would be happy to stay like that forever, linked to him by your skin on his and the synchronised beat of your hearts.
“He told me to fight so I could return to you,” Katsuki murmurs. “So I could love you.”
Your breath catches, your voice sticking before any words come out. He is blunt and honest as always, but this time, he is without his walls, without his guard up, open and vulnerable for you to lash out at him if you wished to, but he trusts you will not. Still, you hesitate, your throat constricting.
“I… I didn’t know him, or what he was like, but I know I can’t be him to you,” you falter. “I cannot be Deku, Katsuki.”
You do not expect your voice to come out so small, so timid. Neither do you expect the overwhelming tenderness that fills his eyes - no one has ever looked at you like that, as if they really see the whole of you, the blemishes and shadows on your soul and they love those too.
“I don’t ask you to be like him,” he replies. “No one will ever be like him. No one will ever be like you, either. I love you because you are you, not because you are him.”
“Katsuki,” you breathe, unable to swallow down the tears welling in your eyes.
“You know I can’t give you the life you deserve, either,” he continues, voice thick. “If you tie yourself to me, you tie yourself to the sea too, regardless of if you like it or not.”
Searchingly, you look at him, and it feels for a second that as you meet his eyes, you know the whole ocean, down to its unexplorable depths, down to every grain of sand and every critter it shelters and sustains. In that moment, there is a total, utter understanding within you - you would love him whatever the condition.
“I would tie myself to the most pitiful of the things on this earth if it meant I could love you, Katsuki.”
“I too, witch,” he replies, and a fond little smile pulls at his lips. “I would summon that kraken a thousand times if it meant I could win your heart.”
You laugh, out of pure joy more than anything else, and he laughs too, rolling in the sand so he can prop himself up on his elbows. Flopping over, you adjust yourself so you can rest your head against his stomach, lifting your eyes to watch as he tips his face up to the sky, letting the stars reflect in his gaze, as if he holds the galaxies of the universe in each pupil.
Your fingers find his as you stare up at the moon where it hangs highest in the sky now, full and silver as the stars. A new moon: symbolising fresh starts and new beginnings, or maybe even the waxing of a love that was planted in the darkness of the brig of a ship soaked in blood, nourished by nothing but the weak flame of a lamp and swift hands knitting flesh back together.
A familiar prickle trails coyly down the side of your neck, and the sound of sand whispering against itself reaches your ears as Katsuki shifts beneath you, lightly skimming the high tide’s surf with his tail. You are not ready to leave the easy silence you’ve made yet, so you bask in his presence and his warmth a little longer.
The moon has just begun its descent when you turn to face him. He’s just looking at you, looking and looking and looking as if he can’t get enough. You smile, aware of the fresh edge in his gaze that was not there before, the string binding your soul to his pulling delightfully taut.
“You’re as beautiful as the ocean,” he mumbles, fiddling with a lock of your hair. “More beautiful than the ocean. But in a different way, you’re…”
You grin. “Worse?”
“Worse,” he agrees, smirking, but he looks at you as if you breathed life into his seas. “Much worse.”
Time stops for a moment, and you sit up, bringing your face close to his until your breaths mingle - you cannot help but let his crimson eyes consume you, heart and soul. You linger there for a moment, the air crackling between you, both of you waiting as if to see who will give in and pounce first.
Bringing his hand up, Katsuki lets his fingers slide under your jaw, lifting your chin so you are merely a hair’s breadth away. He fills your senses; you can feel the warmth of his body, the roughness of the calluses on his fingers, the feather-like brush of his breath against your cheek, smell his briney sea scent, hear the swish of sand as he shifts infinitesimally closer. A lethal spark gleams in his eyes, tying you in helpless knots.
You lean forward and claim his lips.
It draws a quiet groan from him, and suddenly you are beneath him in the sand and his hands are all over you, grabbing handfuls of you and shucking the damp material of your shirt up and over your head so he can touch your skin. The way he looks at you, with those stirring embers that tug at something low in your stomach, reduces you to a sailor under the influence of a siren’s song - he is irresistible, he is magnificent.
Tangling your fingers in his hair, you pull him ever closer, licking into his mouth as if you might find the god’s nectar hiding beneath his tongue. He nips at your lower lip with those keen canines of his, and you cannot help but buck your hips as the tide swirls around the both of you.
Chuckling, he skims a palm over your thigh, pulling your leg up to hook over his hip. It brings your clothed core right against the length of his hardening cock that has emerged from the slit in his tail; you stifle a moan at the feel of him, grinding agonisingly slowly down on him and sighing as he trails wet kisses and purpling bites down your throat.
Katsuki licks at the spot under your jaw, and this time, at the second graze of his teeth against your skin, your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling at it and squeezing another sweet noise from him. You keep your hands threaded through his ash blonde locks as he licks at the valley between your breasts. Meticulously, he marks your plush flesh with the imprints of his teeth, laying his claim on you.
When he reaches your stomach, he mouths at your skin, nipping playfully just over your hip bone before he raises his eyes to meet yours. They are heavy lidded and sultry, and they stir the fire building in your core as he toys lazily with the waistband of your trousers. His fingers are casual as they curl beneath the fabric.
“Let me taste you, witch,” he implores.
“I cannot argue when you look at me like that,” you reply, breathless. “Nor would I, anyways.”
That is all the consent he needs before he is helping you out of your remaining clothes, almost ripping them in his hurry to have you on his tongue. His hands slip beneath you, gripping your ass and guiding your legs over his shoulders, and there he pauses. Yearning blazes in his crimson eyes, and then he dips his head and puts his mouth on you.
You gasp his name. Your hands scramble for purchase before you bury them in his hair again, yanking to encourage him further, and he responds by sucking harshly on your clit, making your hips jump and buck into his face. He groans into your heat, and the vibrations of it make you see stars.
Slowly, he pulls back, glancing up at you, and the sight of him is enough to make you moan: his eyes are glazed, fervent, worshipful, and your slick drips down his chin, the moonlight making it seem like liquid diamond. Bewitched by him, you choke out his name, and he smirks and slips two fingers inside you. Your legs begin to shake when he pumps them slowly in and out of you, bending them at the knuckle so he can hit that spot inside you.
The friction enraptures you, mounting in the pit of your stomach and winding up tight, and your thighs close around his head, clenching as Katsuki pushes you closer and closer to the edge. Turning his head, he sucks at your skin, marking you there, too.
You balance on a knife blade’s edge.
Abruptly, he slides his fingers out and your pussy clamps down a second too late; already, you open your mouth to lament it when he bends his head and replaces them with his tongue. Your words dissolve into wretched moans; you grind your hips against his face and lightning spears through you when his nose nudges at your clit.
Pleasure rises within you, a gradual, swelling thing that sneaks up on you in the unhurried nature of his movements. You can feel his smile against your cunt. You can feel the light burn as he grips your flesh, anchoring you to him so you could not pull away and part him from the taste of you even if you wished to.
You cry out his name as you come.
Katsuki nestles you close to his chest as you come down from your high, kissing your face as the aftershocks send shivers down your spine. Tenderness resides in his eyes, right beside a longing that makes you melt into him, weak with ardour as you slip your hand between your sea damp bodies to curl your fingers slyly around his cock.
His lips part as you jerk him, and you cross the small distance between you to bite at his lower lip, sucking it into your mouth and swiping your tongue over it as you feel him grow impossibly harder in your palm. Ridges swell down his length, flushed a coruscant orange that blurs down into obsidian at his base.
Tipping your head back, you look him in the eye. “I - I need you inside me, Katsuki.”
The words are clumsy on your tongue. You do not know how to articulate the pressing need to feel him, to not know where you end and he begins, to collide with him right there on the beach of this island that houses a kraken, to get lost in the salt on his skin and the eddy of the sea at your joined hips.
Lowly, he curses, treating you as if you are holy as he spreads your legs and settles between them, gripping the curve of your hip with one hand as he lines himself up. You press your lips against the warm bronze skin of his shoulder, sighing against him, urging him forward, urging him closer, a blissed out sound slipping from you as the ridges of his cock push past your entrance, the stretch nothing short of divine.
At last, he is sheathed fully within you. His hips kiss yours, and he remains there, pulsing hotly within you, the pleasure on his face bordering on pain as your cunt bears down on him, yet still, he will not move. Jaw clenching, he squeezes his eyes shut, and a hoarse groan tears itself from deep in his chest.
Panting, he bows his head, and when he looks up, tears rim his lash line, glittering like individual crystals dipped in the light of the stars. One rolls down his cheek and plops down onto yours, and you raise a hand to caress his face, raking your fingers through his hair to push it back from his forehead; he leans into your touch, turning his head to kiss your palm.
Slipping your hand round to cup the nape of his neck, you bring your mouth to his. Delicately, Katsuki kisses you before pulling back to press his lips feather-light to your eyelids - he lingers there, his breath fluttering warmly against your skin, his thumb drawing circles on your cheekbone.
Again, he kisses you, and it is only then that you taste the salt of your own tears on his tongue.
Your soft, raw sob echoes across the beach, and you dig your nails into his wide shoulders, urging him to move. With a gasp, he begins to rock his hips into you, and it breaks you apart. You keen, pushing back into his fluid, achingly unhurried strokes, scrabbling at his back in an attempt to bring him closer, to let him consume your very being.
Right there on the sand, under the moonlight with the seafoam lapping at your sides, he fucks into you, slow and deep, trembling and crying above you, and tenderly, you kiss him again. The roll of his thumb over your clit sends thrills chasing down your spine. He dips his head, burying his face in your neck, and fiercely, you hold him to you.
“Mine,” Katsuki whispers, and his teeth sink into your skin.
Something snaps inside you, and the fire in your gut blazes. Your cunt clenches hard around him, vice like around his cock, and you feel him twitch when your velvety walls clamp down on him, feel his soft exhale and know that he too knows the burn of the inferno in your core.
“Please, Katsuki,” you whine. “Harder.”
“Fuck,” he growls, his voice rasping in your ear, and suddenly you are empty.
Before you can protest, he flips you over, pressing your back into his chest and you reel, momentarily blinded by the night sky stretching high and wide above you. He is solid beneath you, and he knocks the breath from your lungs when he surges up into you.
You can feel all of him. Ruthlessly, Katsuki pounds up into you, as if he is desperate to taste the sea salt on your skin and inhale your scent and never let you go. Your body jerks with each thrust, your voice cracking as you cry out his name, the new heady angle of his cock inside you leaving you writhing, lost in the bliss he wrings from you.
His tail thrashes in the surf as he fucks up into you. You are limp in his arms, trembling all over as your back arches - he squeezes your breasts in one hand while the other settles between your legs, his skilled fingers working over your clit to kindle a mind shattering type of euphoria within you that renders you boneless and speechless, your jaw slack.
Your head falls back on his shoulder, your eyes falling shut as you moan, your pussy constricting tight around him. A hand circles your throat, squeezing lightly, and you mewl, your cunt unashamedly spasming at the feel of his calloused fingers about your neck.
“Let the moon and stars witness how I pleasure you, my love,” he snarls.
Your eyes roll, your toes curl. Somehow, he fucks up into you faster, harder, and his cock hits places that cause your vision to white out, the relentless friction of his ridges on your walls enough to make you sob and claw at the arm he uses to keep you in place. Distantly, you can hear yourself begging him, pleading for him to go harder, deeper, to not stop, to ruin you.
You scream Katsuki’s name as you come for the second time tonight. Uncontrollably, your thighs shake, and your cunt convulses around his cock; you can feel him slowing his thrusts, letting you ride out your high, but despite the overstimulation building in the tautness inside your stomach, you grind against him.
“Don’t stop,” you gasp. “Want - want you to come inside me.”
Your words elicit a groan from him. “Fucking filthy, aren’t you?”
Helplessly, you whimper in response, your pussy fluttering as he hammers up into you. He swears as he comes, spilling hot inside you, the sweet sound he makes muffled when he bites down on your shoulder. Both of you lie there for a moment, catching your breath, before gently, he manoeuvres the two of you so you lie on your sides, careful to keep himself deep in your heat; he is warm against your back.
Katsuki splays a palm over your stomach, holding you close, and you lace your fingers with his, sighing happily as he begins to pepper kisses over your back. You can feel the upwards curve of his lips as he smiles against your skin.
“Are you alright?” He asks, nuzzling the nape of your neck.
“Better than alright,” you confirm.
You remain silent for a while longer, happy just to lie there cocooned in his arms and the quiet wash of the ocean; you can feel the pulse of his heart against your back, steady and comforting. A hushed, steady noise comes from him, a satisfied noise, almost a purr. His cock is beginning to soften inside you, its ridges coming down - you both groan as he slips out, moving so his length is tucked against the curve of your ass.
“How did you know it was me?” He asks suddenly. “When I summoned the kraken.”
You squeeze his hand. “I saw you in its eyes. You know, I couldn’t have missed it if I tried, especially not when you yelled for the hunters to bring me to you. I heard it all the way from below deck.”
He laughs, and you shuffle closer to him, feeling his arms tighten around you.
“I didn’t even know the kraken was a real thing,” you tell him. “I wasn’t scared, though. I knew I’d be safe when I saw it was you.”
Katsuki scoffs. “You’re horrendously sappy, witch.”
You laugh, pushing your ass back against him. “I think you like it, merman.”
Laughing, you roll to and fro in the sand, with you grinding on him as he grips your hips and tries to wrestle you into submission. Eventually, he manages to incapacitate you by holding you tightly against his chest, dipping his head so he can whisper hotly in your ear.
“Keep that up and I’ll have to fuck you again,” he grits out.
“You’ll have to catch me first,” you challenge.
Giggling, you wriggle out of his grip and plunge further into the shallows, just catching him muttering something about insatiable and damn witch before he dives in and streaks after you, his dorsal fin cutting through the water. A hand closes around your ankle, and you squeal, flailing as you shake him off.
Clumsily, you take off towards the rock pools, wading through the sea water as fast as you can. You know Katsuki will catch you (you’re not exactly opposed to it - you’re running into the sea rather than out of it, after all). Again, he makes another grab at you, and you romp with him in the waves, grinning as you fend him off by splashing water at him, squirming out of his arms again.
In the end, he grabs you around the waist and traps you against one of the tide pools, the rock rough against your back as he smirks down at you. The sight of him above you is enthralling: droplets run down his chest in rivulets, rolling down the grooves his muscles make, and the moon hangs the sky behind him, crowning him with a halo made of silver. Your mouth waters.
Taking your chin in between his thumb and forefinger, he brings his face close to yours. A shiver runs down your spine. His red eyes fill your vision, glowing in the night, hypnotic and burning with craving so devout it borders on veneration.
He smiles. “Caught you.”
Katsuki takes you again, against the rock at your back. Afterwards, you lie there, spent and tangled together in the waning moonlight until you grow hungry again and you straddle him, mesmerised by the sight of him staring up at you, pleasure twisting his features as you ride him. You fuck and make love until the sun begins to rise, and it is only then that the two of you are finally sated.
So there you lie, held in his arms and the sea’s embrace - and inexplicably, you find that you do not regret all the pain you suffered at the hands of the hunters, because if it was not for them, you would never have been in that brig to heal him. Inside you, something blossoms within your soul, young and fresh and beautiful as the new moon, and it spills forth from your lips, a whispered confession pressed to his skin like a kiss.
“I love you, Bakugou Katsuki.”
Cupping your jaw, he brings his forehead to yours and murmurs your name. “I love you too.”
Katsuki glances down at you, where you are curled into the curve of his side like you were made to fit him, and he feels his failing, tired heart bloom once again. You have healed him in ways that run deeper than just his flesh.
He looks in your eyes, and when he does, the sea looks back.
You are his home.
A/N: by the way guys, afterwards they travel somewhere cool and the reader sets up a lil witchy abode by the sea and the villagers come to her for cures and half of them are lowkey a bit terrified of her mermaid husband but it doesn’t matter because she still gives really good remedies and he hasn’t eaten anyone yet and sometimes she and bakugou go out in their boat and attack hunter ships for funsies
also here's a picture i found off pinterest which i kind of imagine his tail being like except it's a bit more rigid and the dorsal fins are more spiney and longer, also there's more black and less red
taglist: @freakingsparkydreamer @d1orhaz3 @msjaeger @mellasimp14 @eyesforbkg @cottagedumpling @silkdolli @teeesthings @raksstuff
#mha#bakugou#bakugou katsuki#mha bakugou#katsuki#bakugou smut#bakugou katsuki smut#bakugou angst#mha angst#mha fluff#bnha#bakugou x reader#katsuki x reader#bakugou katuski x reader#bnha bakugou#bakudeku#bakugou x y/n#bakugou x you#katsuki x y/n#katsuki x you#bakugou katsuki x you#bakugou katsuki x y/n#bakugo#mermaid au#merman au#fantasy mha au#mha x reader#my hero academia#boku no hero academia#writeblr
731 notes
·
View notes
Text
Off limits - Remus Lupin
summary: remus can't help but liking the one person who's off limits, but it seems like they him too. idk what my problem is with remus and any marauder sibling reader but it seems to be a recurring theme on this blog. wc: 1.8k+
The soft click of your heels on the ground is drowned by your laughs. You and Narcissa walk down the hallway, arms linked together, neither of you in any rush to make it to your next class in time. Remus can’t help but stare at you from where he and the marauders are jammed in a corner, plotting their next prank on Professor Binns in an attempt to make his lessons a little more interesting. Sirius follows his line of vision and says “Oh they think they’re so much better than the rest of us, these two.” He huffs, adding in a mocking, and slightly envious tone “The perfect Black cousins. Married by twenty and successful without working a day in their lives.”
Right. There was the fact that you were Sirius’s sister that always managed to slightly influence his opinions of you. Similarly to Sirius, you had an inexplicable elegance to you, with your head held high and an ego that was excused by your intelligence.
Remus sighed, watching as you disappeared behind the corner of the hallway, a last flash of your smile catching his eye before he lost sight of you. “Right.” He scoffed, turning his gaze towards Sirius. He internally cringed. There was nothing Remus could say or do that would ever make Sirius forgive him for liking his ever-praised sister, so he kept his thought to himself. Call it the halo effect, but Remus was convinced that you were a good person, despite being a Slytherin who seemed to get along with her evil parents. James clapped Remus on the shoulder as he got up, a sign of the boys leaving to their classes.
When Remus slipped through the door to the potions classroom, his eyes instantly landed on you and the empty seat beside you. His seat. Wordlessly, he sat by you, just in time for Slughorn to enter the room. Your posture made Remus insecure of his own, instantly straightening his back and catching view of your legs swinging slowly underneath the tall stool. Slughorn’s boring drawl nearly lulled him to sleep, and he was ecstatic to find that you shared the same opinion, opening your notebook and quill to begin scrawling words over a blank page. Remus looked over your shoulder, watching as you took your time to write neat letters that formed the phrase 'Could not care less what sluggy has to say.' Remus didn’t care that anyone could tell he was reading your note to Narcissa, an amused smile forming on his face.
Narcissa returned your notebook with a short new sentence added to it. 'Sameee. Hogsmeade after?' Shutting your notebook, you nodded curtly at your cousin, sighing silently. He understood where Sirius was coming from. You and Narcissa didn’t only share your perfect reputation within the pureblood community, but around Hogwarts too. When Slughorn passed around your graded papers, he even smiled at you, and Remus couldn’t even be angry at the favouritism because he knew he felt the same. The ‘Outstanding!’ on your paper shone in red ink that could be seen from the other side of the room. Remus wasn’t surprised when he saw the matching grade his paper held, but it seemed impressive when you did it.
You glanced at your neighbour’s paper, angling your head slightly and shooting Remus a smile in congratulations. Remus gulped, feeling his heart beat particularly hard in his chest, and he was barely able to return a grimace before you turned away. Shit, Sirius would hate him right now.
At Hogsmeade, you and Narcissa giggled over a butterbeer about your crush on the forbidden boy, your cheeks gaining heat with every passing thought about him. “He’s Sirius’s best friend, he's off limits.” Narcissa shrugged her shoulders at you, mumbling something incoherent into the rim of her butterbeer. “And even so!” You started again, “Salazar knows Sirius has probably spoken so badly about me to him that he wouldn’t be able to look at me that way.” Narcissa’s eyes widened in front of you, and you spun in your seat to see what she was staring at. There he was, in full glory, walking into the Three Broomsticks on a Wednesday afternoon, Remus Lupin. “Coincidence? I think not.” Your cousin whispered to you, watching in amusement at the way you fixed your posture and hair in a quick second before shooting Remus a smile from where you sat.
Sirius squinted at you from the entryway of the pub, facing his best friend and asking “Why the hell is my sister smiling at you?” Remus made a noise, shrugging his shoulders in mock cluelessness. “What is she up to?” Sirius added, glaring at you when you waved at him with a smile. Whether it was genuine or not, it didn’t matter; Sirius would forever hate you for abiding by your parents’ rules.
You faced Narcissa once more, muttering “Did they look away yet?” And waiting for the nod of her head, eyes trained on Sirius as he walked to the bar, returning his unforgiving stare. You slumped against the table with a groan. “See what I mean?” The unsure hum from in front of you had your head snapping up once more, raising your eyebrows at the blonde woman. “What does that mean?” Narcissa cocked her head to the side, a grin forming on her face. “You think tall Mr. Lupin can’t see what you’re writing down in class? He’s definitely the one who suggested coming here.” When you shot Narcissa an unimpressed look, she added in a sing-song voice “Because he likes you!” You rolled your eyes, leaning on your arms again. “Don’t feed into my delusions.”
You and Narcissa stood up in unison, making a beeline for the pub’s exit when you came face to face with your brother. He and his friends were all carrying a bottle of the famous drink. A quick in and out of the cozy pub. Sirius didn’t tear his gaze off you for a single second as you scanned the group of people he was with, and finally, you said “What, are you stalking me or something?”
Your brother sneered at you, and the expression on his face instantly sent a painful pang to your chest. “Don’t flatter yourself. We wouldn’t be here if Remus didn’t suggest a trip down here.” Narcissa’s pleasantly surprised giggle communicated all the emotions you felt in that moment, and you let a smile creep up your face at the revelation, glancing at the boy stood next to your brother. His cheeks had turned rosy: he knew that you knew what he did. Your brother didn’t seem happy with the look on your face, and especially not with the next sentence that came out of your mouth. “Yeah? Well, I’ll see you around Lupin.” You winked at the chestnut haired boy before spinning on the balls of your feet and walking out into the fresh air with Narcissa on your heels. There was no need to witness the interaction that took place behind you to know that Sirius was angry, pointing an accusatory finger at Remus as he questioned him about your relationship, or lack thereof. “Don’t fall for her tricks Remus, she’s just trying to get to me!” Sirius had stressed after Remus had assured him that he had no idea what you meant. What Sirius didn’t notice was the way Remus’s face had fell at his comment, all hope of your potential feelings towards him falling apart.
‘Well, I’ll see you around Lupin’ Your melodic voice echoed through Remus’s mind as he followed Sirius and James, a few steps behind the pair whilst thinking of the smile you had shot him. The same sentence resonated in Remus’s mind as he laid in bed that same night, causing him to toss and turn within the confines of his four-poster bed, tightly shutting his eyes in a weak attempt to eliminate your siren song from restlessly repeated itself. Remus groaned, sitting up in bed and shoving the curtain of his bed open, sliding his feet into warm slippers at the bottom of his bed, letting his legs guide him down the the staircase and out of the common room, into the darkness of the deserted hallways oh Hogwarts. It wasn’t long until Remus found himself in uncharted territory, that of which he only visited when attending his potions lessons. Remus cursed himself out, spinning around in the vast hallways. He barely recognised this side of Hogwarts in the dead of night.
An amused hum had Remus reeling around towards the sound, a scared expression on his face. He should have just tried harder to sleep, tried harder to ignore your captivating song, dragging him to an unknown side of the castle. Your laugh resonated in the hallway, and Remus turned once more, this time stopping to find himself face to face with you. Remus gulped harshly, eyes locked with yours from where you hunted him like a prey from the other end of the hallway. “Remus Lupin. In the land of the enemy.” Remus’s mouth dropped open with an inaudible gasp as he took in your nighttime attire. Your joggers and tank top paired with your bare face and animal themed slippers contrasted widely with your regular appearance, though you didn’t seem to care what you looked like in front of your brother’s best friend. Your hands were crossed over your chest, a genuine smile on your face at the sight of the tired boy. Silently, the boy walked towards you, stopping only when he was a couple of feet from you.
“Mr. Lupin. Or should I call you my secret admirer?” Remus blinked slowly, and for a moment you feared that he would fall asleep on the spot, but with a slow rub of his fists against his eyes, Remus mumbled shyly “I didn’t know it was that obvious.” You stepped forward, reaching out to grasp Remus’s jumper, the soft fabric lacing between your fingers, and you tugged softly, pulling him closer to you until your chests touched. “Kiss me Remus.” You begged, hand closing into a fist on his jumper. With his hands trailing to your hips, Remus fulfilled your request, leaning down to press his chapped lips against your soft ones. With a quiet moan of satisfaction, you brought your second hand up to grip his jumper, trying to use your grip to pull him closer to you. Remus broke the kiss with a sigh, leaning his forehead against yours with his eyes shut, a mix of his joy and sleepiness.
You brought your hands to the nape of Remus’s neck, playing with his short hair and sending a shiver down his spine.
“Remus?” You asked, and Remus replied with a noise of acknowledgment. “Remus?” Remus furrowed his eyebrows, eyes shooting open just as he heard a last call of his name. “Remus!” The boy gasped, sitting up straight only to find himself in his bed, a frustrated Sirius standing on the side of his bed, mumbling something about being late to class. The sun shot beautiful golden rays into the room, a reminder of the new day that had come. Tiredly, Remus thought ‘Why did it have to be this sibling I woke up next to?’
#rainydayathogwarts#harry potter#hogwarts#gryffindor#marauders era#the marauders#marauders fluff#marauders x reader#the marauders era#hp marauders#marauders#remus lupin#marauders fandom#remus lupin imagine#remus lupin fanfiction#remus lupin x reader#remus angst#remus lupin x you#remus lupin angst#black!reader#brother!sirius black#sirius#sirius black
746 notes
·
View notes