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joelsmochi · 1 year

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Joel Miller — You Poor Thing

i saw his fingers in this gif and diED so enjoy this

**gif not mine

Part 2 to There You Go [can be read as a standalone, p1 is not crucial to this!]

a/n: this is dirtyyy bc i love you smut sluts & i want to feed into ur dirty desires hehehe. also there’s more spacing than normal between paragraphs bc i’m not editing on my computer, so i hope it’s not an issue!! ok i’ll let you read now ♡ enjoy :)

warnings: smut (minors dni), rough + light fingering, fluffy!joel, squirting (sorry guys it's just so fun to write about hehe), dirty talk, praise, slight (?) degradation, overstimulation, male ejaculation, cursing duh, multiple orgasms, narrator slightly objectifying herself :)))) lots of pet names & quite a bit of “good girls”

wc: 3k

My eyes flutter open when I feel fingers tracing the side of my face and though my first instinct is to move away from the body beneath me I smell the familiar scent of Joel and calm down. I look up at him and watch a smile spread across his face.

“Mornin’, pretty girl,” he gruffly says while still tracing my skin. “How’d you sleep?”

I plant a soft kiss on his clothed shoulder and sit up a little bit. His eyes are wider than usual and his normally flat cheekbones are poking high and bright, a sheer layer of red coating them.

“I slept fine. Why didn’t you wake me up for second watch, asshole?” I poke his arm and reach behind his head to take a drink of his water.

“Well, I shook you a couple of times, but you just pushed my face away and held me tighter,” he laughs.

“Mmm, you didn’t shake me hard enough then because I wake up easy as a lemon squeeze.”

“No, I didn’t try that hard to wake you up… You looked like you could use the sleep the way I wore you out yesterday,” he teases with a smug grin, his eyes still wide like he is in awe of me.

“Fuck off,” I chuckle. “Your ass woulda been wore out had you not been so damn stubborn, not letting me do any of the work.”

“Don’t act like it upset you… Being cared for.”

“It didn’t upset me… Just means I have to outdo you now.”

Joel lets out a belly laugh and I sit up completely. I stare at his salt and pepper beard while his eyes trail down to my blue tank top, and he looks up at me as if to ask permission but without waiting for an answer his hand rests on my ribcage and his thumb flattens over my perky nipple. I sharply inhale and my lips part wide enough to let his cock in if he wanted, Lord knows I do.

“This okay?” He asks softly.

I only nod, afraid that if I speak my voice will crack from how tense my body is getting.

“Yeah?” He whispers, kissing my shoulder before moving from the side of me to sit up behind me. “Come sit between my legs, baby.” I listen to his instructions and press my back to his chest, earning a kiss on my cheek from his supple lips. “You know… You really shouldn’t sleep half naked…“

“Because of danger?” I sarcastically tease.

“That too… But if I were to wake you up last night it wouldn’t have been for watch.” His hands roam around my chest and stomach roughly and his cock begins pressing against the small of my back. I try to reach for it but his grip remains firm on me as he whispers, “Let me take care of you again, baby girl.”

I choose not to argue out of being mentally drained from how much sleep I got. I figure I’d need the mental stamina later on.

“Can you take your panties off for me?” Joel coos against the lining of my ear, softly nibbling on it as I obey him. “Mmkay, now spread your legs for me. Good girl.”

He loops his legs through my open ones to ensure I can’t close them and his feverish hand spreads across the peak of my tummy, inching towards my throbbing vulva which is definitely soaking the blanket beneath us. He sucks hard on the curve of my neck making me ache to turn around and ride him then and there, but his “good girl” keeps replaying in my head and I’d do anything to hear him say it again. Even if it means depriving myself of pleasure for just a little longer.

“Soft or hard?” He asks gently, almost as if he were afraid his words would break me.

I hum and throw my head back to his broad shoulder. “Why not both?” I flirt.

His eyelashes tickle my jaw from his blinking and he skips his hand past my clit to curl over inside of me. I cry out his name instantaneously, feeling his smooth fingertips press against my swollen g-spot every few seconds. With my nails digging into his hairy thighs and my legs squeezing around his calves, I look at him. I don’t know what I’m looking for but when I find his eyes narrow and lustful I can’t resist turning my head and slipping my tongue into his wet mouth.

His thick digits slip out of me to spread my soaked lips; he drags the buds of his fingers up and down the inside of my folds, shoving his tongue deeper into my mouth and drinking every moan I let out. His fingers spread to either side of my clit giving me goosebumps and his other hand snakes its way to fondle one of my breasts over my top. I lean my back into his hard cock to give him some tension release and he pulls his head up from mine to watch me as he begins his work.

He watches my eyebrows furrow when he starts to rub little circles over my swollen clit. He watches my eyes squeeze shut and open wide. He watches my throat swallow at how good he’s making me feel. He watches my heaving body fight the grip he has on mine.

He watches me like I’m his favorite movie.

He couldn’t have been rubbing my clit any longer than five minutes when my knees tighten against his legs when my climax swims through my stomach and swallows me whole. Neither of us had words, I just paw at his arms and trust his body to hold all of my weight. His breaths pour over my neck and he chooses to be gentle and slowly ease up on me so that I can have a full orgasm without the overstimulation.

Joel takes a few moments while I catch my breath to rub his calloused palms around my thighs and belly, sharing a few more kisses with me.

I open my eyes softly to smile as I give him a butterfly kiss which he took as an invitation to shove his fingers inside of me again; I focus on how it feels to have his fingers reach as far as the angle would let him, noting how it stung a bit being stretched out by just two of his fingers but feels so sweet at the same time. I let out a high-pitched moan when he rubs tiny circles on my g-spot, occasionally pushing it up.

His free arm wraps itself above my chest and squeezes me in closer to his big frame before asking, “That feel good?”

“Mm-hmm,” is all my body would let me say.

He pulls his fingers out, lands a firm smack on my clit, and then inserts his fingers inside of me again. My eyes screw shut at the mix of pain and pleasure and my chest heaves from my deep gasps. He grunts and starts to finger me so fast I could barely process when his fingers were actually moving. I watch him drill in and out of my sore pussy, grimacing at how overwhelmingly hard he’s fucking me with his perfect hands.

“You like that?” He whispers against the back of my head. “You’re such a good girl. You get so wet for me. You want daddy a’take care a’you? Hmm?” My thighs tremble at his filthy words, more so at his repetition of good girl. I dig my nails into his skin, waiting for ecstasy to engulf me again. “My pretty girl giving all of her sweet cum to me? That’s my girl.” There’s something about the way he talks to me that sounds…different. He speaks with certainty, but his tone is still asking for permission from my body.

The cocky son of a bitch knows the effect he has on me and could use my obedience to only please himself, but instead, he just gives me that sappy little look with his heavy eyes like he doesn’t suspect a thing about the way I feel for him.

He likes to pay attention to me and every muscle I move, hoping to read me like a book. Somehow he can tell that my leg is locking up from another orgasm rising as opposed to being uncomfortable. That’s what I love about Joel: how even on his darkest days he still managed to find enough light for me. He never forgets about me, and how to tend to my needs, and I’m noticing the same applies especially during sex.

“J—oh, fuck… Joel,” I stutter.

“What is it, doll? Talk to me.”

“I’m gonn—oh! I’m gonna cum f—for you.”

Joel nods against my damp head, somehow keeping the speed of his arm up. “Show me how pretty that cum is,” he grunts. “Fuck. You take it so good, sweetheart.”

While squeezing his thighs my back painfully arches off of him and I am just waiting, craving that final rub that sends me to the calmest parts of my mind.

Suddenly all of the tension that mounted inside of me explodes. I cry out his name as if it was my dying breath and his fingers keep reaching into me for more of my juices. He slides his digits as far up as they could go before curling them against my sweet spot, trying to gain as much depth as my body would allow.

“I can’t! I c-an’t, Jo—Joel!” I beg. My arms and legs fight him, but he remains as still as a mountain against me. “Please, Joel, I can’t take anymore!” The passion and pleasure turn into just aching, but he doesn’t give up despite my pleas. I close my eyes just when he speaks up again.

“Just a little longer, it’ll feel good again, I promise.” He pecks my cheek and rubs my chest to calm my breath. “I know you got it in you, doll, just need you to relax.”

“It’s too much,” I breathe out tiredly. The pain inside of me subsides, but from where his fingers are curving there is this wave of shocks rising to the surface of my clit. Pressure increases in my pelvis as his pace slows but his force strengthens. I wipe some of the sweat off of my forehead and slightly adjust my body against his; I wonder how he knows exactly what to do and how to do it. I couldn’t even begin to know how to make myself feel this on edge to where the pain was worth it, but Joel did it effortlessly. He knows the inside of me better than myself and knows how to make me crave the pain because with him I know it’ll always be worth it.

“I want you to cum for me again, baby,” he desperately begs while taking his other hand to rub large circles on my clit, “give me that pretty pussy. I need you to cum for me again. Don’t hold back. Just give it all to me, mmm, fuck, give it all. To. Me.”

I fold, caving my body to him and shuddering at the love taps he gives inside of me. His movements send shivers up my spine and then back down like a seesaw.

I hear my pussy squelch around his thick fingers and a gush of water makes my eyes pop open to see what it was, but I felt it before I saw it; his pads looping around my clit paired with his fingers inside of me had built up so much more than just cum.

Once he sees me squirting himself he lays all four of his fingers flat and taut, rubbing side to side over the bud to get my stream to splash everywhere — and I mean everywhere. I managed enough squirt to cover both of our legs and the blanket beneath us. I can’t even feel his fingers anymore as my body slowly numbs itself, but my orgasm wouldn’t stop which made me sink further into the bed and I ended up squirting all over my chest and face. I flinch and close my eyes, repeatedly smacking his arm to tell him I tap out once tears leave my eyes from the overwhelming state my body is currently in. I scream at an embarrassingly high volume but he doesn’t seem to mind. No, he loves it.

He laughs loudly and removes his fingers from inside of me, but not the ones on top of me. His rubbing slows down as does my gushing, but a little bit still comes out in short intervals. My hair is glued to my forehead and cheeks and my eyelids are stuck halfway down my pupils.

After a few more seconds he completely lets my core breathe, using his stocky hands to carefully push my hair from my face so that he could admire his work. I take a few seconds to breathe and twist my face to look up at him, and my goodness does he look happy to see me like this. He beams down at me before placing a smooch on my upper lip.

“You did so good, baby doll.”

“You got me all wet,” I pout wiping my lips dry.

Nodding shamelessly his hand finds its way back to my clit. “Lemme get one more outta you, just look at me, baby girl, mmkay?”

I suck on my bottom lip nervously and wrap my arm around his neck. “Mhm, anything you say,” I hum. To be honest I’m too tired to argue with him, and I love how he has his way with me. “I’ll do anything for you, Joel.”

He presses his fingers to my swollen clit, dragging them down to my opening and slowly pushing inside of me. He rigs his fingers to explore the forgotten parts of me craving to memorize every ridge along my walls. I gasp when his middle fingers reach past my sweet spot, clenching tight enough around him to hear more of my cum squish out of me.

“Such a pretty girl,” he moans, gasping with me when he slides against a curve inside of me.

His bushy eyebrows pinch together tightly at the sight of me curling up in his arms. I manage to move one of my outstretched legs back to the center of his legs, opting to hold it up by my head for comfort. He continues exploring my peaks and valleys, calling me all sorts of pretty names.

“Your fingers feel so good,” I coo, maintaining eye contact with him.

He tilts his head up in admiration and rewards me by touching me where I needed him the most. “You look so pretty when you cum, mnh,” he grunts. I feel his cock pressing against my back again, throbbing hard against his zipper. “I love feeling you squeeze around my fingers, you do so well for me, you love it don’t you?”

I give him a desperate nod, pushing myself harder against his warm strain. “I fucking love the way you fuck me, Joel.”

“Yeah?”

“I love the way you take care of me.”

He watches my needy body spasm for him, practically drooling over me. “You came all over yourself just for me?” I nod at his question. “Look at you… All wet and soaked for me,” he says before pausing to remove his fingers and squeeze my cheeks in his cum-covered hand. “You crying from how hard I made you cum?” He says like he was pretending to feel bad for me. “Awe you crying for me? …You poor thing.”

The way he shook my head a little when he said that—you poor thing—I can’t even compare this feeling to anything in this entire fucking world. My chest rises and falls harder than ever at his borderline degradation, and again I obnoxiously whine at his fingers entering me again. With another climax rising, his raspy voice whispering in my ear, and his throbbing cock aching beneath me, I couldn’t help but let the feeling consume me again.

“Mnh-mnh, look at me, baby,” he tells me; I open my eyes back up and watch the muscles in his face relax and then tense up again. “Look at me when you cum. I need you to cum for me again.”

I hiss when his pace quickens, leaving me feeling so stuffed with his fingers I couldn’t even make a single noise from how good it feels. I feel my orgasm finally explode and he does me a favor by continuing to talk.

His wet lips press to my cum-soaked face and he whimpers again my skin. “You poor little thing. You’re so fucking helpless right now, look at’cha.” His lips form an ‘o’ when a moan finally escapes my mouth. “You look so pretty… Cumming ‘round my fingers like that. Mm, I feel you cumming, princess, just give it all to me. Give it all to me.”

My walls push against his fingers as my discharge pours out of me. I feel so lightheaded from all the orgasms he’s given me back to back and my vision is hazy. I feel him smile against me, moaning when he spread my slit open before rubbing a few gentle circles on my clit.

I hear him whisper a few curse words as though he were troubled, so I peer my eyes open and look at him. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just…”

I feel his cock throb harder than before against my back and I smile once I realize what happened.

“Don’t—“

“You came in your pants?!” I tease, laughing boastfully.

“Yeah, well you pissed on yourself,” he mumbles begrudgingly.

“Only a little.”

He watches me blow some dripping liquid off of my face, smirking as it continues dripping down my chin. “Mhm.” He gives me a sweet kiss and helps me stand up. I stretch my legs out and let him peel off my shirt before handing me a rag to wipe myself clean. “You look beautiful today.”

I scoff. “You’re just saying that.”

“No… I’m not.” He gives me one of his shirts and lays me back down, kneeling in front of my tired face.

I snicker and giggle like a child. “Can’t believe I made you cum without even touching you.”

“Shut up.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fic #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff

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nativestarwrites · 1 month

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”We need to get you into a hospital.” 👀👀

Thanks for the prompt! I hope you enjoy this little ficlet,

Jamie calls in sick for morning training with an upset stomach, but Roy has a hunch that something more serious is wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The new key scrapes in the lock, stiff and awkward, mimicking how Roy feels. He shouldn’t be here, using the spare key Jamie gave him only last week. But something hadn’t been right with that phone call. Something in Jamie’s voice said this was more than an upset stomach, more than the minor inconvenience Jamie had waved off with I’ll be fine, coach.

And now, Jamie hadn’t answered the door.

“Jamie?” Roy calls out as he steps into the dark and quiet house. “It’s me, where are you?”

There’s a muffled curse from upstairs and Roy follows it to find Jamie curled up in bed, feverish, shivering and pale.

“The fuck you doing here, Roy? I called to cancel, didn’t I?” Jamie doesn’t sound sure of himself at all and Roy’s worry cranks up another gear.

“Came anyway. Wanted to make sure you weren’t faking,” Roy lies.

“Oh. Thanks.”

Jamie’s voice is flat, void of emotion and Roy’s not sure if he’s seen straight through Roy’s excuse or it’s simply exhausted sarcasm. There’s no bravado here, Jamie’s not even trying to pretend he’s feeling anything other than awful.

“This doesn’t look like food poisoning.”

“Mmm,” Jamie sluggishly answers and Roy’s hand is on Jamie’s forehead before he remembers that this isn’t Phoebe, this is a fully gown man who is--

Shit.

Burning up like a hot furnace.

“Did you take anything?” Roy asks.

“Some painkillers, just waiting for them to kick in.”

“When did you take them?”

“A while ago,” Jamie replies miserably.

They clearly haven’t helped much, Jamie’s wrapped protectively around his stomach, and Roy recognises the careful breathing of someone trying to control pain. It sparks a distant memory for Roy. Of being curled up around pain, of his mum’s hand brushing through his hair before he was bundled up in blankets and rushed to the doctor.

“Show me where it hurts?”

Jamie groans, but Roy can’t remember the last time he didn’t do what his coach asked of him and the duvet is reluctantly pulled down. Jamie waves at the area Roy was afraid of. Telegraphing his movements slowly, Roy waits until he gets a confused nod from Jamie before he presses down on his lower abdomen, careful but firm. Jamie moans in pain, swiping ineffectively at Roy’s hands. But when Roy lets go--

Jamie shouts in pain.

“Fucking hell, Roy. The fuck you do that for?” Jamie eventually gets out, his voice shaking as much as his body and he rides out the waves of agony.

Fuck.

“We need to get you to a hospital.”

“What?” Jamie whispers, confused, as if Roy’s just told him he’s dying. “Why?”

“I’m not a doctor, but my sister is and I also had appendicitis when I was ten,”

Jamie’s eyes turn wide but he doesn’t move.

“Look, if I’m wrong you can have a pass on burpees for the month,” Roy offers, not adding that if he’s right then Jamie will still be getting that pass on burpees, for a lot longer than a month. “But you need to get this checked out.”

“Fucking hate burpees,” Jamie mutters but he’s moving, cautiously getting himself upright with Roy’s hand steadying him.

An hour later, Jamie’s off to emergency surgery.

And Roy sits in the waiting room, really fucking glad he didn’t ignore that feeling in his gut.

#Ask game #Jamie Tartt #Roy Kent #Ted Lasso

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voxofthevoid · 7 months

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Welcome to Time Travel Fuck-It Wednesday #2. We'll be here a while!

...I keep saying that, huh?

The fic is ~16k now, and while I have no earthly idea how long it will be, I've tentatively outlined seven chapters. There isn't much of a plot, except some background fix-it elements. The main story is a mixture of vibes and feels and, eventually, porn.

Spoilers for Ch 236 below. CWs for referenced MCD and underage.

“What about you, Yuuji?” Satoru asks. “Have you thought much about it? Beyond your type. I remember that—a tall woman with a big butt, hm? Good taste.”

Yuuji makes a low, throaty noise. It’s not quite embarrassment, even if his skin has grown warmer under Satoru’s fingers.

“I don’t know,” Yuuji answers after a few seconds. “I’ve never really… I mean, everyone has something about them. Pretty things, good things. I don’t know.”

“Everyone? That’s a dangerously generous way to love.”

“It’s not love.” Yuuji squirms a little, the mattress and the covers shifting with his movements, and when he resettles, his whole body is closer to Satoru’s. He’s not even sure Yuuji has noticed, brows furrowed in deep thought. “I’ve never been in love.”

“You’re only fifteen,” Satoru tells him.

Yuuji’s eyes snap to his face. He doesn’t say, I might only ever be fifteen.

But it’s there in the air between them, lending it a new weight.

Satoru shouldn’t, but—

“Do you wonder about it?”

“About—” Yuuji’s voice gives out. He clears his throat and tries again. “About being in love?”

“Yes. And everything else. The journey and the end.”

“…Not really.”

“Liar,” Satoru says, not unkindly, and Yuuji’s mouth curls into a puffy pout that’s quivering at the edges. “You’re a teenage boy. You can’t tell me you haven’t ever wanted someone.”

“I—that’s—it doesn’t really—”

“Or just thought of it,” Satoru continues, putting Yuuji out of his misery. “Kissing, touching. Sex. I remember that age, you know. Nothing wrong with wanting.”

“Even if it’s you?”

“Oh, I’ve wanted plenty in my life.”

“No,” Yuuji says, uncharacteristically solemn. “Me wanting you. Is that okay too?”

Satoru’s breath stills deep inside his lungs, long enough to become a feverish pulse. He lets it out, slow and controlled, and Yuuji’s eyes flutter shut for an instant.

There’s no surprise in him. He knew from the beginning how this would end.

“But is it me you want?” he asks. “Or am I all you have?”

Inexplicably, Yuuji laughs. It’s quiet and not mocking at all, but it’s still the one reaction Satoru wasn’t expecting.

Ducking his head, eyes heavy-lidded and hidden, Yuuji says, “I knew you’d say that. Somehow, I just knew.”

This boy, he—

“I’m not rejecting you,” Satoru hears himself say, tasting those words like they belong to a stranger. “But I’m your only real company aside from your grandfather. I’m not family, and I’m very handsome. I understand why, Yuuji. I just want to make sure you do as well.”

“Very handsome,” Yuuji repeats, and it’s louder and brighter now, the laughter in his voice. “And so humble too.”

“Humility is for the weak.”

Yuuji hums, more amused than skeptical. He looks and sounds like he couldn’t care less about the precise size of Satoru’s ego.

He looks—

“You’re also my death, Satoru-san,” he says, calm and steady and unspeakably devastating. “I want you anyway. Is that sure enough?”

Satoru swallows a noise. It wounds his throat, blood dripping acid-hot all the way down to the bones in his chest.

He says, “Yes.”

Yuuji kisses him.

Satoru sees it coming and lets it happen, and then it’s gone, the scant space between their bodies, as Yuuji presses close enough to burn them both down.

It’s a hot, needy press, all want and no finesse, and Satoru allows it without complaint until the frenzy drains out of Yuuji’s muscles and the line of his mouth gentles, pulling back a mere millimeter from Satoru’s lips before returning to him, a little more tentative and a hell of a lot sweeter, and Satoru can’t not smile into it, something hot and helium-light ripped right out of his guts, and Yuuji smiles too, letting out a long-held exhale that warms every inch of Satoru.

He curls a careful hand around the back of Yuuji’s head, palm sliding along the bristly undercut and the softer hairs above, and slots their mouths at a better angle. The newfound ease shivers down the length of their bodies, Yuuji’s smaller frame melting into Satoru’s.

Satoru parts his lips, and Yuuji, ever the eager learner, follows suit.

Warm mint floods his mouth, the familiar taste of his own toothpaste turned into sacred sacrilege on Yuuji’s tongue. Satoru sucks it clean, chasing the simple heat of flesh buried underneath.

Fingers dig into his shoulder, almost hard enough to bruise.

Yuuji’s panting into the kiss, harsh and ragged like he can’t quite breathe right.

But when Satoru pulls away, he chases his mouth, and Satoru chases him right back, holding Yuuji close as their mouths meet and part and breathe and burn. Pretty noises color the air, wet and sweet.

Nothing washes off the taste of blood in Satoru’s throat, but he wasn’t expecting that; he doesn’t deserve that.

He stops before they can go too far. Once, he’d have let Yuuji immolate his youth in a blaze of glory, not unlike and yet nothing like how Satoru had at an age no less tender. There was power in the choice, even if there would never be peace.

And he’ll still let Yuuji burn, but…not tonight, not yet.

Yuuji’s still breathing hard and staring at Satoru with stars in his eyes.

“Satoru-san,” he says, “that was…”

“Good?” Satoru fills in when Yuuji seems content to stare in stunned silence.

“Yes,” Yuuji rasps, shockingly vehement. “Yes, Satoru-san, I want—”

“Everything,” Satoru cuts in, “is yours. Tomorrow, the day after, every day until the end—everything is yours, if you want it. I promise. But for now, sleep on it.”

For a moment, it looks Yuuji will protest. It’s easy to tell why. Satoru can feel him, all that heat. And he wonders what he’ll do if Yuuji pushes. The wise thing, the right thing, the good thing—well, those are all past. But the best thing to do now would be to not indulge him.

Satoru’s not entirely sure that’s the choice he’ll make.

But in the end, he doesn’t have to choose at all. Yuuji nods once, making a visible attempt to calm down. Their entwined bodies don’t make it easy, and Satoru lets him extract his legs and angle his hips away without comment, but that’s as far as Yuuji goes, his torso still plastered against Satoru and his face still close enough that Satoru can feel his breath and his heat, all the way to the back of his throat.

“This is fine, right?” Yuuji asks. “You’re still staying.”

It’s not quite a question, but Satoru answers anyway. “As long as you want me to.”

“Good,” Yuuji breathes, another layer of tension draining from his body. “Thank you, Satoru-san.”

“Good night, Yuuji.”

It takes a while, Yuuji’s mind and body both clearly too awake, but he’s a very well-behaved boy through the torment, only breathing into Satoru’s shoulder and throat, deep and shallow in turn, until the call of sleep grows stronger than the bite of desire.

Satoru holds him through it, arms around Yuuji’s chest and face buried in his hair. It’s sinfully soft, the fruity scent of his shampoo not quite overpowering the smell of his sweat. It’s not familiar, but it’s not unfamiliar either. Satoru never held the old Yuuji like this, but he touched him and was touched by him plenty.

And Satoru never kissed that sunshine boy, but there’s a story he will never tell this Yuuji:

You kissed me once. I was dead. You closed my eyes and kissed my mouth and told me to rest, and when you died, it was still my blood there on your mouth

#goyuu #jjk #jjk snippets #wip wednesday #jujutsu kaisen #my fic #fic: everything burned

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rays-of-fire-and-ice · 11 days

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Previews!

I'm 3/4 of the way through my latest fic, winner of this poll. I'm happy with how it's turning out so far, but I'm also keen to see what you all think and I wanted to share some previews. I hope you like them!

Momo falls to her knees and winces at the pain that radiates up her legs. She manages to crawl under the shelter. Looking around her not recognising anything in her environment, she decides this is far enough.

There’s water running next to her. A brook turned into a stream from the rain. She watches it, half wishing she could drift as it does. Far, far away. For a moment she closes her eyes and raises her head, feeling the rivulets of rain running down her face. She imagines being a part of the stream, letting it take her thoughts, sweeping them down to a bigger body of water, where they can be lost and vanish forever.

But the image is shattered by a single thought.

What am I doing here?

Her eyes flutter open, and her head slowly bows. She doesn’t know the answer, until she remembers how she’d been before. That feverish need to run away, to be away for a while.

It had been a silly thing, really. Because now all she can do is sit and think about everything that has happened.

_____________________________

“Captain Hitsugaya! Lieutenant Matsumoto!”

Toshiro and Rangiku stop. Both of their eyes had widened at the distressed call. They both turn, and find Genji sprinting towards them.

“Isawa,” Toshiro murmurs. Then, louder. “What’s wrong?”

The Fifth’s Division Third Seat comes to a jarring stop in front of them, doubled over and panting. “C-Captain Hitsugaya! L-Lieutenant…” He can’t continue, so out of breath.

Rangiku rests a hand on his hunched shoulder. “Take your time,” she says, measured. “Just breathe.”

He doesn’t take her advice, throwing his face up to meeting Toshiro’s gaze. The paleness of the Third Seat’s face alarms Toshiro enough for his eyes to widen further. There can only eb one reason Genji looks like this.

“What’s happened to Hinamori?” he asks.

Rangiku gives a surprised grunt as Genji abruptly rises. “She’s gone, Captain! She’s not in the Fifth Division barracks!”

For a moment, all sound ceases. Gone is the pattering of rain, and Genji’s panting, and Rangiku’s alarmed questioning to Genji. The world around him briefly shifts. Was it happening again? Why is she gone?

________________________

Rangiku follows behind. “Is that wise, sir?”

“Likely not,” he says, but doesn't look away from the zanpakuto.

He kneels down in front of Tobiume. This fury, burning so bright he can almost feel the tips of his fingers dry, did Momo feel it right now as well?

Over his shoulder, Hyrouinamu’s hilt gleams in the dull light. His weapon's cold permeates Toshiro’s back, and a small curl of it slides down to floor and swirls out near Tobiume. She doesn’t react, continuing her furious, invisible lashings around the room.

“We’re searching for her," Toshiro says. “I don’t know where she’s gone. You may know, but you can’t tell me.��

There’s a flicker, a pause in the fury.

“We’re not going to stop until she’s found. We’re going to return her to you, to her room.”

To his surprise, Tobiume flares. He leans back in the wake of the wave of arid heat that hits him. Hyourinmaru’s hackles have been raised, but he doesn’t otherwise react. Had he made her more angry?

__________________________________

When he looks to the clouds, an idea crosses his mind. It makes him wince and his brows furrow deeper. It’d an interference with the natural way of the world, and would be an abuse of his powers in his mind. He shouldn’t, had nearly sworn to himself he would never use his powers in such ways beyond combat.

Sensing Momo scoot up behind him, watching him curiously, sodden from head to toe, he feels the scale tip in favour of the idea even more.

He reasons that it will make the journey back easier, and that this would be the only time he does this.

#hitsuhina #momo hinamori #toshiro hitsugaya #fanfiction #angst

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adzeisval · 1 year

Text

The Decision

Last part of the story! Previous chapters here, here, here and here.

Izzy tried to sleep, his body hurt and he was exhausted and he didn’t know what was going to happen once he was healed. He didn’t know what he wanted to do. Part of him really wanted to stay with Edward, to go with him no matter where he went, but there was also a significant part of him that wanted to just leave.

Who knew what crazy shit Ed would come up with. That was less of a problem than the fact that people were going to come after him. People would love to be the one to deal the death blow to the great Blackbeard, even if Ed threw off the mantle not everyone would accept that and it would get him killed. Izzy would likely be a casualty in that too.

Izzy had been protecting Edward for decades now and he didn’t think he could stop even if he thought Edward was going to get him killed. What would he think if he went away and Edward ended up getting killed? Izzy knew he’d feel regret for the rest of his life leaving Edward to his fate, abandoning him. He would feel grateful or lucky. He would feel horrible.

Izzy slept in fits and starts dreams filled with sharks and the Kraken and pain. He woke with chills at one point during the night and hoped his wounds wouldn’t get badly infected it was a fucking miracle that his toe hadn’t.

Every time Izzy woke he had a new idea of what he was going to do. Stay with Edward because he was loyal to a fault. Stay with Edward because he was safe. Leave because Edward was dangerous. Leave to figure out who he was without Edward. Why the fuck did he stay with Edward? What was making it so hard to leave, because it wasn’t just the fear of change, the danger, there was something else there.

Edward came in with tea and breakfast just after dawn.

“How are you feeling Izzy?”

“Horrible. Feverish.”

“I’m sorry Iz,” Edward said.

Izzy didn’t really want to talk but he supposed he would have to eventually, “Edward? When we first took this ship I wanted to leave. Why did you want me to stay?”

“Because I didn’t want you to leave,” Edward said.

“And then the next time you thought I might leave you took my toe,” Izzy said, “If I want to leave will you really let me?”

“Yes. I’ll let you go if that’s what you decide to do. I…don’t want you to and I’ll miss you terribly but I don’t want you to be miserable Izzy.”

“What am I to you Edward?”

Edward hesitated and Izzy regretted asking the question. He probably didn’t want to know the answer.

“A friend,” Edward said at last, “A colleague. My first mate. You’re Izzy and you’ve been with me a long time.”

Izzy nodded, “If I were a sane man I would leave. Now. Turn my back on this whole madness and start over. I’ve been trying to figure out why I can’t seem to make the sane choice and leave. I love you Edward. That’s why I don’t leave.”

Izzy couldn’t bring himself to look at Edward and Edward wasn’t saying anything. Edward didn’t feel the same, not now, maybe not ever. He was probably going to tell Izzy to leave. Fuck. He shouldn’t have admitted it.

“I’m sorry,” Izzy said, “I.know you don’t feel the same and I don’t expect you to. Just…that’s where I’m coming from.”

Still Edward didn’t speak and Izzy started to cry, great he was a pathetic fucking loser wasn’t he?

“I’m sorry Izzy,” Edward said which only made Izzy cry harder. All that thinking about what choice he was going to make was useless, Edward was going to get rid of him.

“I…” Izzy started then stopped when Ed moved and wrapped his arms around Izzy.

“I’m sorry Izzy,” he repeated, “I didn’t know mate. Fuck. I love you too Izzy.”

Izzy nodded against Edward enjoying the feel of being in the man’s arms for at least a little while. Ed felt some sort of love for Izzy, even after such a long rough patch. That was a start. When Ed pulled back he was smiling.

“Are you going to stay Izzy? Give me a little time to figure out what we’re doing?”

“Only if I’m truly able to leave if it’s something I can’t do.”

“That’s fair,” Ed said, “If this doesn’t end up working out for you, you can leave Izzy. I’m hopeful we’ll figure it out.”

Izzy looked at the hopeful man before him, no longer the Kraken, moving away from Blackbeard. Edward.

Izzy nodded, “I hope so too Edward.”

#ofmd #izzy hands #edward teach

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ghostwise · 2 years

Text

30 microfic challenge pt 2

Prompts taken from this post, but instead of doing a 30-day challenge I’m doing microfics for all of the prompts. Here’s prompts 7-12. ✨

Romance.

“Love?” Refugio laughs. “Of course I’ve been in love.”

“Oh?”

The man leans against the counter and looks at him. His eyes are wide and assessing, his body language open. He has been trying to draw Refugio’s attention all night; it makes Aeran a bit uncomfortable for reasons he isn’t ready to untangle, so he focuses on his meal and pretends he isn’t listening.

“When?” the man asks. “With who?” His eyes flick towards Aeran, who looks away resolutely.

“Years ago,” Refugio says with a smile. “My baby’s very far away now, though.”

“That’s a shame,” he says. “You must miss them terribly.”

Smile turning wistful, Refugio leans back in his chair.

“Gods above. I do.”

Friendship.

“Why weren’t we friends in the Spire?”

“We’re going there?” Aeran asks. “Really?”

Refugio laughs into his shoulder. He’s just on the right side of buzzed, which tends to make him cuddly and nostalgic. One or two more drinks, though, and the nostalgia will take on a somber tone; he’ll grow quiet and start thinking sad thoughts. Aeran knows this well enough that he’s already whisked away Refugio’s ale and replaced it with water.

“You were obnoxious!” Aeran tells him.

“Were?” Refugio asks, indignant, his voice hiking up.

“My mistake,” Aeran says. “Are.”

“No!” Refugio counters.

“Were. Are. Will be.”

Aeran smiles as Refugio draws himself to full height. After a moment of struggle his friend declares with a resolute shake of his fist: “At least I’m… consistent!”

Sickness.

They’re between places when he gets sick.

The Gairlock Mountains are impressive enough on a map—a dark swath that cuts across the parchment—but in person they’re downright daunting. The uphill walk makes him shake, feverish and weak. It’s awful timing, like most everything in his life; had he caught this flu just a week earlier he would’ve had a bed to lie down in and a roof over his head.

“I’m slowing us down,” he says, the third time Refugio has to stop beside him.

“You shouldn’t be on your feet,” Refugio hums. “We should make camp until you feel better.”

Aeran is about to answer to the contrary when a wave of vertigo overtakes him. He drops to his knees, hanging onto the grass. “Fuck,” he says quietly.

“We’ll have to rough it for a while,” Refugio says, spinning in his peripheral vision. “Nothing we haven’t done before. It’s not ideal but…”

“Understatement of the century.” He musters up more ire. “Fuck my life.”

“Yep.”

Extremely unhelpful, the man. Aeran is about to say so when a length of black fabric settles around him, stunning him into silence.

Refugio wraps him in his black rebozo, tucking a sweat-soaked curl under the fringe.

“You lay down. I’ll start a fire.”

Hurt.

Aeran is mean like a child is. He lashes out, hurling cheap shots and self-centered barbs because he can’t really find it in himself to be genuinely mean. He has to make an effort.

You want to trade places, Aeran? Why not give it a try? Me at the Spire and you in the war.

But Refugio can. If he doesn’t censor his thoughts, if he doesn’t regularly weed the garden and remove all the nasty ideas that grow there, he can be mean in a sharp way. He can bite down and not let go.

Let’s try it. I’ll watch the tower burn while you watch the whole country burn. Me in a massacre and you in a mass grave.

That’s the problem, though. He knows he is capable of being hurtful. Gods, he knows, he knows.

You’re just bitter, Aeran, that’s what it is. You took what happened to all of us and claimed it. Because, like usual, it’s all about you. You just hate to bleed alone.

So he stews in silence, biting his tongue, not uttering the hurtful words he wants to say.

Travel.

“Where do you go when you’re not performing?”

It feels like the hazy sort of question you ask a close friend during a sleepover, which isn’t too far off the mark. Refugio is drowsy and content. It’s late enough that the night air has a chill to it, but with the blanket beneath him and Mel’s warm presence beside him the effect is utterly pleasant.

“Why, the next performance,” Mel says easily. “The next stage. People seek stories and connection everywhere; that doesn’t change. We have an itinerary through next year—”

Refugio waves a hand, interrupting him. “Before that,” he elaborates. “Or after that. I mean, you, personally.”

“Me?” Mel laughs.

“You said you don’t perform anymore. Where do you go?”

Mel hums thoughtfully at the question, taking his time.

“I have been everywhere many times over. After this is done… well, who can say?” He graces him with a wink.

He really is charming. It’s nearly enough to mask how little he’s actually been sharing. But then he roll his shoulders and stretches up against him. Breaks character, for a moment, and says in a purely fond voice, “Ah! But I always come back to Velantis.”

The bits of honesty are refreshing and unexpected. They shine like stars in a dark sky as Melchior turns his golden eyes towards the moon.

Shoes.

The spur of his heel catches him in the shin and Aeran comes to an abrupt standstill, buckling in pain. The sharp bit of metal on Refugio’s boot will most definitely leave a bruise; why does he even have those?

“Shit!” Refugio hurries to his side, helping him up. “You okay?”

“I’ll live, if that’s what you’re asking,” Aeran snaps. “You use to ride horses or something? What’s with the spurs?”

“Mules,” Refugio says. Aeran is so taken aback, his anger fizzles out in an instant. He peers at his friend, wondering if he’s joking, but Refugio just claps him on the back and smiles. “There you are. Up and at ‘em.”

#rinnywrites #oc: refugio #wayfarer if #aeran kellis #melchior larkspur #whew these were challenging #the busier work gets the less creative energy i have so these didn't come easy #and i'm not as pleased with them as i was the first six #but we continue on!

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kunigamiis · 3 years

Text

𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐘

contains kurokawa izana ft. hitto kakuchou

tw noncon, incest/pseudocest, degradation, he's a lil agressive

It was always hard to understand the logistics of being your big brother’s servant, big brother in quotation marks; servant not so much. Definitely when you were so much younger, it all sounded a bit like magic. He assured you it’s what you were— down to your bones, blood and muscles, but you couldn’t really understand why.

Maybe because he was the oldest, and the eldest sibling was the one to take care of the others, a king and his peasantly class, but then again; Izana wasn’t really the openly vulnerable type. You never much fought it, just like Kuchou nii didn’t blink twice about his role either.

And from a young age— as young as you have collective memories to remember— you did as you were told, hands behind your back and with his hands trapped over your wet eyes. It didn’t matter who you were kicking, as long as it was what Izana asked of you. It didn’t matter if you cried, as long as you remembered it was all for your own good. While you were that little, Izana nii wasn’t an easy guy to follow. But as you grew, you know you weren’t the only one noticing how quickly it changed.

You’re quiet as you press a rag to the cut right above niichan’s eyebrow, a painful proof of some brass knuckles that shouldn’t belong in any fight, let alone a fair one. Kakuchou is less fussy as he tries to get your stubborn, small hands off the rag and into his own soiled, sweaty palms. “Jus’ hand it over, I told ya I got it,” he groans along with another hiss when you give up and basically throw the thing at his forehead, staring at the way you drop back on your butt at the edge of his bed. “Get going, I’ll handle,” he mumbles after a few seconds, and you can’t help the slight tick in your brow.

“I’m not allowed in the same room as you now?” You know how it is. You know that— however infuriatingly stubborn— this is his way of abiding by the rules, and therefore protecting you. You know that it’s better than the alternative. But you can’t stop yourself from pouting at the strong line of his shoulder, right past it to the door. “S’not fair, we’re not even doing anything,” your soft protest is only paired with a nervous shuffle of his butt on the fabric and a tiny breath that must be a laugh.

“What the hell would we be doing anyway?” your big brother grimaces, catching your eyes briefly. They don’t stay on your face, instead trail the linings of the curtains like it’d be a crime to look at you too long. Before you can open your mouth, he cuts in. “Don’t answer that. I don’t wanna know.”

You know he doesn’t. He doesn’t ask, not even when you know he probably should. Even though the walls are thin, and you’re sure he can hear you when he strains. The most you’ve ever gotten was a knowing, slightly apologetic smile and a squeeze of your shoulder when you came into his room crying your eyes out and sweating through your shirt, feverish almost.

He didn’t know why you got so sick days after Izana nii pressed a knife into the soft, smooth skin below your belly to write his name there, but you’re sure it wasn’t just because he doesn’t ask. He’s willfully ignorant, and that’s the thing you find hardest to get around. Even if you wanted to ask for help-

The keys at the door have you shooting up out of the bed and rushing to the hall, sending Kuchou nii a pleading look before leaning the door against it’s frame and rushing back to your room. The guilty pat, pat, pat of your bare feet on the floor rings too loud for your liking as the door down the hall is swung open and Izana drags himself inside, filling the house with a tenseness that aches under your skin. You sit down in front of the mirror and start fiddling with your top as he mumbles a soft ‘I’m home’.

Doesn’t really matter what you’re doing, as long as you give the impression that you’re doing something you’re allowed to. Niichan likes it when you look pretty, it’s a safe bet. This one usually doesn’t get you in trouble.

The set of feet following yours come too quick to entirely wipe the caught look off your face, as your big brother pokes his head past the door, off-white hair falling in front of his eyes with the movement. “M’ home,” he offers again, and this time you manage a small greeting and a smile. Izana looks around the room, eyes lingering a few seconds too long on the exposed skin of your neck and shoulders, before jutting out his lips.

“Where’s your brother?” It’s soft, almost too much so. Too understanding, too gentle to be Izana nii. Not the same Izana nii that grips your arm so tight it bruises or the one who picks you up from the floor by your collar when you disbehave. It’s a test, you know, as he shuffles around with enough noise to make you feel on edge. He always does this- it’s exhausting.

With a quick tuck of your shirt into your skirt again, you let an answer fall from your tongue. “Resting in his room I think, he got punched in the face earlier,” you dutifully get up to follow behind him when he plops down onto your bed, messing up the white and pink pillows he got you by chucking some of them on the floor.

Izana nods, tucking his lip between his teeth as he glances over at you. “And you didn’t go help him?” His smug, accomplished smile flashes when you pause, as if you not rushing to Kakuchou’s aid is something to be proud of, a victory over him. It isn’t, but you don’t correct him. Instead you just stare as he zips down his top and lets it pool at his elbows when he lifts his weight onto them, muscular, lanky body still a little shiny with sweat.

“What are you doing?” There’s a few seconds of amused silence, before he sits back up fully and reaches out for your arm to pull you down onto him, wrapping his lanky arms around your body.

“Getting comfortable,” he breathes into your hair, then smiling. “Always so damn tense, hm.” There’s a pout in his voice that you can see when you tilt your head to meet his eyes, not daring to move until he looks away first. “Stop acting like I’m gonna hurt you, you’re the only blood related family I have. You should know that by now, hm? Say ‘Niisan loves me,’ quick,” he gloats, shuffling around under you until your body is flat with his and he’s able to swallow you up entirely in his hug.

“N-niichan,” you breathe back, not unaware of the way his hands slide down your body to cup your ass, push you down more against him. Always so invasive, always— “Niichan loves me,” you finish when he pinches harder, letting his hands work around the curve of your ass down to your thighs, dragging long fingers up the inside.

They trace the edge of your panties before dipping under, making your breathing stutter against his pulse as he drags you further up his warm body and ruts his hips against you a few times. “Stupid girl. Don’t act like you’re better off without me. I own you.” He grins when you shiver, pushing yourself up from him to glare at the warmest spot between your bodies, shuffling back down as much as his hard grip on your ass. The bulge being slowly rubbed against you like it’s no big deal, it makes your stomach flip.

When you get up more, his amusement turns a little more narrowed, rubbing two fingers harder between your legs. “Stop doing that, niinii is still here.” You push off of him and stumble out of the bed with heat flaring your cheeks, making you feel entirely lightheaded too. But Izana nii doesn’t care, and he’s just as quick to lock his foot around your ankle to trip you up. Something you do too easily, already off balance from the pounding in your head.

“Where are you running off too?” his lips quirk up too easily at the corners, looking eerily peaceful, pretty even. It doesn’t have to be this way, you angrily think. But it always is, because Izana is and always will remain a menace to you.

“Somewhere where you aren’t!” you bite back, glaring at him where he comes to stand proud above you now. You always knew he loved proving his worth with brute strength, but you had since long grown past letting him walk all over you. Or that’s what you’ll tell your other brother when he inevitably has to ask about bruises from losing another fight you didn’t start. “Don’t touch me, niichan, I’m serious.”

“Or what?” He says it with a gleam so bright that you almost back down entirely, because you know. You know that expression on him, know he’ll make you regret it if you dare speak another word. He kneels beside you, before pushing you against the floor again by your shoulders. He lays his entire body weight onto the arm you try to sneak between your bodies, only grinning when you huff out uncomfortably. He’s a lot heavier than he looks, a lot bigger than you too. “What are you gonna do, huh, brat?”

“Big brother,” you drag the word out into a sad, pitiful whine, but you’re shut up by his lips against yours and his tongue stuffed into your warm mouth. So you shove at his arm with your free hand, turning your head away from him with your eyebrows pulling together even tighter. “Please just get off me, you’re heavy. Pervert!” you cry out, secretly hoping Kakuchou or even anyone else will hear to come and rescue you. You know he won’t though, he’s probably too busy pretending that everything is good, and it’s not like he’ll ever actually disobey the eldest. You know that just as well.

Izana snickers at your half-hearted attempt to swing at him, grabbing your wrist and pushing it back against the carpeted floor too. “Yeah, I am a pervert, little sister. But you’re even worse, because you’re always the one taking it, hm? Just a useless little slut.” As soon as he removes his body from yours to unzip his jeans, you get out from under him and scramble upright, only to be leveled with the ground again as his hand snatches your ankle and drags you right back. Your head almost hits the wall, you can only bring up your hands fast enough to keep from hitting it too hard.

“No, no, niichan stop! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it,” your voice grows too squeaky too quickly when his hand wraps around your throat, tight enough to make your entire body tingle. His pretty, wide eyes narrow in on yours, watching tears well up at the corners. It doesn’t call for pity.

Izana crawls back over you easily and tugs up your hips to level with his, before groaning softly at the warmth of your covered pussy against his cock. “Stop being fussy, you know you want to. If you stop struggling and take it like a good girl, I’ll make you cum.” He’s good at that, you have to admit. Sadly. So you fall quiet, ignoring the goosebumps when his rough fingertips pull your pants and panties over the curve of your ass and bare you to the room.

Wet, little pussy exposed to him, he grunts out a swear, and leans in to mimic the affection a big brother is supposed to give— only to ruin it by licking a stripe up your cheek to pick up a tear. He laughs when you cry harder, swallowing back sobs at the way his hand is still around your neck, the other down your body. “That’s right. Take your big brother’s cock like the stupid little girl you are.” He rubs his thumb over your slit a few times, before spitting on it and pulling his own clothes down his thighs.

#tokyo revengers #izana #tokrev smut #izana smut #tokyo revengers smut #tw.noncon #tw.darcyphilia #tw.incest #tw.pseudocest

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raspberryranpo · 3 years

Text

how they tell you that they love you

obey me! shall we date?: obey me brothers

i’m too scared to write for the other fandoms so i’ll open requests after this lmao

LUCIFER

it would take lucifer an entire decade to even tell you that he appreciates you holding the door open for him, let alone telling you that he likes you

but you’d have to be incredibly special for him to say something like that. he’s very stubborn with his emotions, so he won’t say that to just anyone

he would only tell you if he knows that there’s not much chance you’ll say no, for his pride’s sake

he’d tell you quietly in the music room while you’re both listening to some schubert or debussy

he’d put his arm around your shoulders, push your hair behind your ears, and then just whisper it gently

wont try to kiss you since that’s moving far too fast for this slow old fart

MAMMON

he never plans romantic things out. it’s always spur-of-the-moment confessions that can barely be heard over music being blasted

he tells you when you’re speeding down some road while running away from something or another and all you can hear is the wind blowing past your ears

you’re both laughing at how much mammon’s eyes are watering from the wind & he just screams “I LOVE YOU” at the top of his lungs

you’re like “WHAT?” and he says it five times before you can actually hear him properly

but when you say it back he goes completely quiet, however there’s a big blush on his face that tells you everything you need to know

he turns to you with the biggest smile and reaches over to put his hand on yours, and then decides to obey the law & slow down

LEVIATHAN

he’s so nervous & shy that the poor boy actually makes satan do it for him

he knows that asmo and mammon are more experienced with irl romance, but he cannot trust them as far as he can throw them (and trust me, he’s tried to throw mammon many a time)

satan just walks up to you one day and he says, “levi says he really likes you.” and it’s just a game of back and forth for like an hour

“mc says thank you” “levi says do you accept his feelings” “mc says yes” “levi says he really appreciates it”

satan would normally be really annoyed but the whole thing is just so funny for him

once satan leaves, levi comes running into your arms with tears in his eyes, thanking you over and over again

SATAN

literally recites the entirety of pride and prejudice

not really, but that was his original plan

he tells you that he loves you when you’re both walking home from a cafe, while it’s raining and you’re both under an umbrella holding hands

it’s very cheesy and romantic, but satan always pulls that sort of thing off so well that you don’t even realise how cheesy it actually is

just before you reach the house of lamentation, he throws the umbrella out and takes your hands, guiding you into a waltz because that definitely won’t lead to you both having a cold

and he just whispers it into your ear, enjoying the flustered expression on your face

ASMODEUS

asmo would tell you his feelings while you’re both sat quietly in his room, with awkwardly bulky skin masks on

they’re the ones where you aren’t allowed to move your face - asmo said they worked well, so of course you had to join him

you’re both sat in silence, enjoying the feeling of the mask cleansing your skin, when asmo suddenly blurts out that he loves you more than anything else

except it doesn’t come out like that at all. he physically cannot move his jaw or his mouth to form the words, so it just sounds like a bunch of gibberish

you both start laughing at how ridiculous he sounded and end up breaking the masks. asmo’s disappointed that the masks broke but he doesn’t let that show

he instead takes your hands & kisses you gently, hoping the message gets across

BEELZEBUB

beel is the type to say things, know what they mean, but not know when you should and shouldn’t say them

you’re both talking about lilith or belphie, and you’re both sharing your feelings when he just says

“you know what? i am seriously in love with you.”

and it’s SO awkward but neither of you say anything. you just look at each other

but then you lean in & kiss him and his entire face and neck flushes bright red

will kiss you back with just as much feverishness because he very desperately needs to get his feelings out

BELPHEGOR

i’d say that belphie is a bit of a hopeless romantic - he enjoys the romance books that satan talks about, but he can’t be bothered to do any of that himself

but he likes to think about it & daydream about doing those things with you

so when you’re both cuddling one night, as good friends do, he starts sleep talking

he’s one to have an entire conversation in his sleep without waking up, so you can ask him all sorts of questions and he’ll either give you an honest answer or a really ridiculous one

he just whispers “i really love you, you know” into your ear as he cuddles closer to your chest, completely clueless as to how fast your heart is beating

if you tell him that his feelings are returned in the morning he’ll be very confused, but very happy at the same time

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sentinelpri · 3 years

Text

Feverish

You were surprised to have been called to the med bay a little bit past nine in the evening, woken up by your phone ringing and Ratchet on the other end. You clutched your robe close to your body as you raced through the hallway, sleep in your eyes and worries in your head.

The lead medic had given you no explanation, only telling you to come meet him outside of the med bay as soon as you could before he hung up on you.

You wondered if it was an emergency, if someone was injured or dying, if something had happened during patrol- Wait, no. Their night patrols didn’t start for another hour or so, and if it had been an emergency, someone like Bumblebee or Optimus would’ve called you in a panic.

Still, the whole situation was weird, and you were worried, so when you saw Ratchet outside of the med bay leaning against one of the walls, you immediately approached him with your concern etched in your features.

Upon seeing you, Ratchet stood up straight, then put a strong servo on your shoulder in a reassuring manner before looking down at you. His pale blue optics burned into your (e/c) eyes, and though you tried your best, you couldn’t read his expression.

Finally, after what felt like forever, the medic spoke.

“Optimus Prime has fallen ill.”

“What?” You immediately sputtered, and your eyes flew to the door of the med bay; closed, you couldn’t even see Optimus. You just prayed that he was okay. In the time that you’d known the Prime and his team, you’d seen him injured or sick plenty, though the former was much more common. He never prioritized his own health and tried to push himself to do things, even when he was unwell, so he took forever to recover... Hopefully it wasn’t something severe. “How bad is it? Is he awake? Have you told the team yet?”

“Hey, hey, slow down. It’s nothing crazy, (y/n), so don’t worry,” Ratchet’s words, said in an uncharacteristically gentle tone, soothed you, if only a little. If it were serious or ‘crazy’ as he put it, he would’ve told you directly instead of lying, so you believed him. “This morning, I was the first to wake and go into the kitchen to make myself an energy booster when I saw him stumble in... As in, he was literally stumbling over himself and I could see steam rolling off of him from overheat. He insisted he was fine, but something was off, so I dragged him to the medbay for testing. He’s low on energon and coolant, he was overheating, and there was a minor glitch in his vents from some battle damage that I had to fix. He’s recovering fine, but my main concern is that his chassis seems to be overheating to kill an infection. I think it’s just your run-of-the-mill space bug based on the labs I did, so I gave him some antibiotics.”

“You didn’t answer some of my questions-” You started, now concerned with whether you could actually go and see Optimus or not.

It wasn’t uncommon for the red and blue bot to ignore his own needs, but for him to have ignored symptoms that could’ve turned into something much worse had Ratchet not caught them... You wondered if there was something bothering Optimus that was making him neglect himself, more than he usually would.

“So demanding, you youngin’s,” Ratchet huffed and rolled his optics at you. “It’s not that bad, he’s awake, and no, I haven’t told the others yet. Our nightly patrol is soon and I have to break the news to them somehow, which is why I called you here. You can’t go with us anyway and they need me since we’re down one bot, so I want you to stay with Prime. He responds the best to you...” You blinked and then blushed at that, (s/c) cheeks burning bright. It was true that you and Optimus were close, but for Ratchet to acknowledge it like that... Well, you were flattered. You’d loved Optimus for as long as you could remember, and even though Ratchet surely meant that in a platonic way, it was nice to know that the effort you put into your relationship with the bot meant something. “His condition isn’t from a decline in his physical health- I had to pry like hell to find out what it was, but Prime finally broke and told me that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten an energon cube or ran a self-evaluation to make sure he was functioning properly, which is why he’s energy-depleted and why the damage to his vents went unchecked. He’s so stressed from the leadership that this team needs that he isn’t taking care of himself anymore, and now, it’s led to him falling sick again. I think there’s something else going on in that processor of his, too, but he wouldn’t tell me anything else... I just know it’s more mental than anything.”

You stopped, frowning. What else could Optimus be hiding from everyone? Was he doing something dangerous? Had something happened? Was he breaking down from stress?

“O-Oh.. Okay,” You mumbled and leaned into the servo of Ratchet’s that was on your shoulder, sighing when he ran his thumb over a sore spot on the groove between said shoulder and your collar. The two of you had developed a close bond over the past couple years since they’d been on earth, with you, Sari’s tutor and caretaker, also acting as a second medic for the team with Ratchet’s training. While he’d trained you in how to care for the Autobots, you’d given him the basics of human anatomy and medical care, so with that time spent together, you were close- whether the old grump admitted it or not. “What about his medicine? How often does he take it? Is there anything else I need to do?”

“One pill every six human hours, they’re the white gel capsules that are rationed out on the table by Prime’s med-berth. I just gave him a dose, so don’t get him another one until three in the morning. He also needs to drink plenty of energon, coolant, and lubricant to get better, so make him do it, even if he gets pissy with you- shove it down his throat if you have to... But those are all things that I already told him, and he’s fully capable of taking care of himself. I don’t need you in there to take care of him so much as I need you to stay in there to make sure he doesn’t get up and do anything stupid. You know how he gets when he’s sick.”

“Unfortunately, I do...” You let out a long sigh and crossed your arms over your chest. It was going to be hard dealing with Optimus- hell, you could already imagine how he would be trying to sneak out of the med bay to go on patrol or trying to make you bring paperwork for him to do. You wouldn’t allow either, but considering how much larger he was than you, you’d have to convince him to relax instead of just being able to hold his aft down like Ratchet or Bulkhead could. “I’ll make sure he stays put. I’m assuming you’re taking over leadership until he recovers, Ratchet?”

“As the team medic, I’m second in command, so yeah... I have to. I’d let Prowl do it, but Primus knows he doesn’t want to, and I wouldn’t let Bumblebee or Bulkhead within a ten mile radius of any form of responsibility like this. I’m really the only option.”

“Right...” You imagined what a patrol without Optimus, led by a stressed and grouchy Ratchet would be like, and then cringed. “Good luck.”

“Thanks. I’ll need it.”

With that, Ratchet withdrew his servo from your shoulder and waved at you before turning around and walking down the hallway. You figured that Optimus shouldn’t be left alone for too long, so you quickly entered the med bay and shut the door behind you.

It was dark, with a small night light plugged into the walls that illuminated the room just a bit. You could see Optimus, who looked uncharacteristically pathetic, weakly laying on a med berth with a small side table on the ground next to him. On the table were some energon sticks, a cup of coolant, and the white pills that Ratchet had mentioned.

“(y/n), is that you?” Optimus asked, trying to sit up, but immediately groaning in what you assumed was pain and flopping back down. His eyes squeezed shut, a strained grimace taking over his face-plates. You pulled one of the stools by a wall-counter to the side of the room where Optimus’s berth was and put it right by his side table so you could sit by him. You were close to his face, so you leaned down to look at it as his optics slowly opened back.

He was sick, and it would take at least a few days if not a week to recover; you could tell just by looking at him. His ocean-hued optics were abnormally dark and foggy, his powder blue faceplates were stained dark with heat, and though he wasn’t steaming like Ratchet had described this morning, there was definitely still heat radiating from his frame.

“Yes, Optimus, it’s me... I’m here to watch over you,” You leaned in to kiss the top of his helm, able to feel just how hot the metal felt against you. When you pulled back, you frowned at the absurd amount of heat- almost hot enough to make your lips sting, while Optimus’s normal temperature was a bit cooler than that of an average human’s by a degree or two. “Ratchet called me down here and told me what’s going on a bit ago. The team’s on patrol right now.”

“Slag, I can’t believe Ratchet told you,” Optimus groaned again, this time in annoyance instead of pain. “I told him not to earlier when he was fixing my vents... He’s probably going to tell the rest of the team, too. I have to get up and go supervise the patrol-” He forced himself to sit up this time, forced back a wince, forced his optics to open fully, but the second you pressed a rushed hand to his chest plates and attempted to push him back, he froze.

“Oh, no you don’t!” You argued, eyebrows furrowing in frustration as a pout formed on your face.

“Oh, yes I do!” The Autobot argued back without hesitation, but didn’t actually move to push your hand away or leave even though he was fully capable of doing so, only resting one of his servos on the one of yours that was on his chest- stumbling and overheating or not, he was much larger and much stronger than you. Then again, he probably knew that Ratchet would beat him to a pulp the second he recovered if he dared lay a single digit on you to escape the med bay. “As much as I appreciate the concern, I don’t want it nor do I need it, and I certainly don’t want it from my team. It’s bad enough that you know. I know they’ll start asking questions when I don’t go on patrol with them, and if they hear that I got sick from overexerting myself and not getting enough rest and energon, they’ll never let me hear the end of it-”

“Well, maybe that’s what you need, so lay your stubborn ass down! I did not come here with my hair all fucked up and in this stupid robe in the middle of the night when I could’ve been sleeping just to have you run away from me when I’m trying to take care of you! You getting up right now just drives home how bad you are about prioritizing yourself,” Optimus’s plump and normally soft lips, now chapped from dehydration, pulled together into a tight frown- it was the face he made when he knew he was in the wrong. “You’re getting out of your bed when you’re supposed to be resting so you can go lie to your team and tell them you’re fine when you’re not, and for what? Your pride?”

“No, I just don’t want them to worry for me. I’m already stressed out enough and the last thing I need is for that to contribute to their struggles. They’re all dealing with so many of their own problems, and I’m sick of being a burden to everyone around me...”

Optimus huffed, but gave up and laid back down, much to your relief. He still held your hand, though, and you let him- even if he was sick, you didn’t want him to let go.

“You’re not a burden, and just like how they’re dealing with their problems, you’re dealing with yours. You don’t have to be perfect to be loved and respected, and not to insult your acting skills, but... They won’t believe you if you walk out there overheating and struggling to stay standing to tell them that you’re perfectly fine. Ratchet told me how you were stumbling around this morning.”

“I hate that you’re right,” He mumbled, and you wondered why he always had to be so childish when he was sick.

Then again, as much as you hated Optimus’s stubborn personality, it was a major component of who you’d gone and fallen in love with all that time ago. It was crazy, you thought; just the extent that you loved Optimus Prime to, and how terribly unaware he was of it. You thought it best to keep the fact hidden, as you didn’t know what his feelings were, and he had so much on his plate already... It hurt to think that he didn’t know how loved he was- not just by you, but by everyone around him, who he was always bending over backwards for, completely unaware that they’d do the exact same for him.

“And I hate that you treat yourself like this. Plus, as much as Ratchet threatens us all with consequences for our actions, he’s not going to tell them what’s going on in depth; just that you have a fever and that you’re resting, you know he respects patient confidentiality. He’ll probably even downplay it because he knows that’s what’ll make you happy.”

“No, you’re just trying to reassure me, but...” Optimus paused and let go of your hand, fully settling back into the berth. You took your hand back and looked off to the side, already missing his touch. “I know you want to, and that Ratchet probably told you to spend the night here and take care of me, but I’m alright now. I’ll stay and rest, I promise. You can go to your room to sleep, I know you’re usually not up this late, and I’d hate to keep you up with my problems.”

You didn’t really want to leave him, but you were tired, and you believed his words. His tone was genuine enough.

“Are you sure?” You asked and received a nod in return. So, you stood up and collected yourself. “Okay, if you’re sure... I’ll leave and go get some rest, then come back at three to give you your antibiotics and make sure you’ve got something on your stomach.”

Silence.

The second you turned around to leave, though, Optimus was grabbing the back of your robe and holding the cloth between his digits, tone low as he spoke again.

“Actually, (y/n), wait... Don’t leave me. I need you.”

You turned back around and looked at him, confused. Hadn’t he just told you seconds before that he was fine and that you should leave to go get some rest so that he could fall into recharge as well? What was with the sudden change of heart? Was there something going on with his physical condition, or was it something else?

“Huh? But Optimus, you said you needed to rest...” You muttered, which earned you a shake of his head in return.

“I will,” Optimus promised. “Please, just stay and don’t question it. I lied to you, I don’t know why, but I can’t be alone right now. Don’t leave me.”

The plead from him was unexpectedly vulnerable, honest, open. You appreciated it, but at the same time, you were concerned about what exactly was going on with him- you felt like there was more to the story than stress and leadership and lack of self-care. While all of that was definitely in character for Optimus Prime, there was something else that he wasn’t telling you about, too. With how close you were to him, it wasn’t abnormal for you to have deeper discussions, but for him to admit that he wanted- no, needed you there with him and couldn’t be alone was something you’d never thought you’d hear in your lifetime.

“Okay, I’ll stay until you tell me to go, then. Thank you for being honest with me.”

With that, you sat back down on the stool and looked at him. A little bit of that light had returned to his optics, but he still seemed like he was in rough shape.

“Thank you.”

Silence again.

Instead of adjusting to get comfortable and slip into recharge, Optimus just sat there with his back against the board of the berth, optics trained on you. It had taken a while to get used to when you’d first met him, but nowadays, you were used to the Prime’s intensity, especially when it came to eye/optic-contact. Still, though, the way he was staring at you now... You couldn’t quite interpret it. Then again, could you usually? Optimus was hard to read sometimes.

“You’re not resting,” You teased, but received a serious response in return.

“I’m thinking, and then I’ll rest.”

“You’re sick, the last thing you need to be doing is overthinking like you always do,” You reached out to him, rested your palm on the side of his face and tenderly ran a thumb over the apex of his cheek. Surprisingly, he leaned into your touch with a smile.

“What if it pertains to you? It’s either I tell you and get my closure, which is daunting, or I sit here overthinking it like I always do.”

You felt your heart drop to the bottom of your stomach and flinched. It had been obvious that something was on his processor, but it had to do with you? What was it? Did it have to do with your feelings? Tense, you talked again.

“...Have I done something? I’d rather you tell me.”

“You’ve made me fall in love with you.”

The words were whispered but still felt so loud, filling the room with their impact in a way that made your cheeks hot and your heart beat hard against your chest.

“Your illness must be making you delusional,” You laughed nervously, but Optimus only gave you a sloppy grin and laughed. You moved your hand to the top of his helm to check his temperature, but it hadn’t changed- as much as you wanted to believe it, you were sure he was being serious and not having feverous hallucinations like you’d initially suspected. Still, you thought it proper to ask. “Do you feel hot? Are you overheating again?”

“No, (y/n), I’m just in love with you,” Optimus peered at you, smile falling a bit. “I mean, yes, I am sick, and I’m still overheating, but I’ve been in love with you for- Ah, I’m actually not sure how long it’s been... I just know it’s been too long.”

There was a pause, in which the two of you seemed to be processing what important things were said; in the span of just a minute or two, Optimus had boldly laid his feelings out for you on the table, unabashed and proud, the tension that came with two years worth of pining that you’d been doing solved so... Quickly. You were surprised you hadn’t felt your jaw hit the floor.

Had he really loved you the whole time? Or was this a recent development? Why was he only telling you now? Had his stress over his feelings for you also contributed to his sickness?

“I’m not sure I can talk about this in good conscience when you’re so vulnerable,” You smiled back at him, (e/c) eyes meeting his ocean-hued optics as you removed your hand from his head. Shyly, he reached out to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. “It feels selfish, but... I love you, too, and that’s why I want you to rest and get better, maybe not stress out so much.”

You kissed the back of his servo as he pulled it away, earning what you hoped was a blush and not more symptoms of overheating.

“I’d kiss you if I weren’t afraid of getting you sick,” Optimus sighed. You were sure that you probably couldn’t catch whatever he had going on since he was a Cybertronian and you were human, but you didn’t want to test that theory, so you left it alone.

“It’s okay,” You reached out to hold one of his servos in both of your hands, squeezing reassuringly. “I can feel the sentiment. Just focus on getting better, okay? We have all the time in the world.”

“Sometimes I fear we don’t- Have all the time, I mean, and I suppose that’s why I finally broke down and did this- I like to believe I’m impervious to everything around me, but I’ve already died once, and every time I get sick, I always think about what will happen if I go offline without telling everyone around me just how much they mean. I didn’t want to be scared anymore, not when it came to you.”

“I...” You stood and got on top of the berth so you could sit next to Optimus, curling into his side. “Me, too.”

“Will you be here when I wake up?” The Prime asked and wrapped an arm around you. Gentle. Strong. Warm.

“Would you like me to be?” You asked in return with a tilt of your head.

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll be here,” Optimus looked at you, clearly somewhat doubtful, but you only shook your head with a smile. “I promise, I won’t leave you. Just get some rest, okay?”

“...Okay.”

So, you stayed, and when Ratchet walked in the next morning to see you curled up by Optimus’s side on the berth with your (lip/chap)stick smeared on his servos, both of you sleeping peacefully for once, he couldn’t help but think that Optimus getting sick once in a while wasn’t so bad after all.

#tfa #transformers animated #transformers #optimus prime #tfa optimus prime #optimus prime x reader #tfa optimus prime x reader #tfa ratchet #ratchet #fanfiction #request #requests

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hoe-imaginess · 4 years

Text

a helping hand (or two) | dabi

Dabi x fem!Reader

summary: Dabi is suffering from an aphrodisiac quirk. Now he’s got a dick that just won’t quit, and you have to take care of it.

word count: 10.4k

contains: almost dub-con, handies, bjs, dick riding, dirty talk, slight violence, a very stubborn Dabi who has to be restrained

a/n: self-indulgent & vaguely crack-ish. my idea of an aphrodisiac includes an overload of the five senses bc...idk I wanted to play w/ descriptive prose. my kink is describing Dabi’s horniness in paragraphs ok. meaty intro before the smut, hang in there

⤰⤰⤰

Dabi entertained the alley-dweller’s angry outbursts with sadistic patience. The man yelled at him, threatened him, boasted of all the ways in which he was going to make Dabi suffer for attacking and underestimating him—

Then, finally having decided that the fodder was no longer amusing him, the flame-user extended a glowing palm in preparation to finish the job.

When you read the intention in Dabi’s movement, you fidgeted where you stood and calculated the risk of opposing him.

“You can’t just keep burning everyone you don’t like,” you said, calculations made, deciding that you might as well attempt to be a voice of reason while you were paired up with him on this job.

It was a voice he happily ignored. The white-hot glare of his palm smoldered into the bursting blue of his flames as they lit up his fingers.

“Says who?”

Trash was trash. If you couldn’t see that, then oh well. Folly on your part for thinking the tedious task of recruiting didn’t require this sort of disposal; what better to do with underwhelming candidates than permanently remove them from the talent pool? You shouldn’t have tagged along if you weren’t prepared for his methods.

When the alley-villain realized that Dabi’s patience for his empty, arrogant threats had been spent, his dirt-stained face colored with fear, and his wild eyes darted in every direction of the alley to seek refuge from the imminent flames. He started to plead—which Dabi found grimly amusing given that the man had been spouting insults about his patchwork skin just moments before—then he shrank back against the alley wall, sinking to the ground in fear.

“The more bodies you leave the easier it will be for the police to track us.” You’d taken to your persuasions again, fruitless though you knew it was.

“And?”

“And you’ll be compromising the entire League.”

“If all you’re gonna do is complain then you don’t have to tag along, ya know.” He spared a glance your way, with that drolly exasperated look on his face he always gave when he felt you were speaking out of turn.

But his diverted attention proved costly: the alley-dweller suddenly went berserk, and was rushing at him with a final, rogue desperation to escape.

The charge, surprisingly swift as it was, was also uncalculated, and Dabi narrowly side-stepped to avoid a blow. With an indignant sneer, he rounded his hand and kindled his flames anew: no more games, it was time to kill. But before he could retaliate, the lunatic was on him again, barreling toward him.

Though fatally seared by the sudden discharge of flame that Dabi released, the derelict’s bulk was still sufficient to topple into Dabi and throw him off balance. He might have fallen from the impact if not for the way the man gave a wailing, pained shriek and threw himself away from the flames.

Torched and agonized as the man was, his mounted attack hadn’t been a complete failure: though Dabi’s flames had mostly protected him, there was an unmistakable sensation of damage in him which left him suddenly rigid with alarm.

Had he been wounded?

He looked down at himself, saw no injuries from which the bodily distress might have been roused. After a few moments the distress was gone, and he decided it was just adrenaline. Then, there returned the enervated frustration.

“Trash,” he muttered indignantly, glaring at the steaming heap of the man, who’d stumbled over a litter of aluminum trash bins and capsized with them onto the ground. He wasn’t moving. But he was still whole, and not the pile of burning ash he could have been, should have been, now, after that little effrontery—

Your arm was on him before he could pursue the murderous thoughts.

“Are you alright?” you asked, inspecting him carefully.

Instantly and fiercely, he shrugged away from your touch.

“Fine,” he grunted out, straightening and stiffening his limbs to convince himself of it. But that odd feeling was still there, burgeoning slowly at the sight of the man’s body fuming on the ground, at your own body standing so close to him. “If you hadn’t been running your damn mouth—”

“Sorry,” you conceded, more concerned with his demeanor than with defending yourself. In all likelihood he didn’t even realize how ruffled he looked. “Did he… are you hurt?”

“I said I’m fine,” he insisted firmly.

While you stared at him in doubtful concern, an energetic heat crept up his spine. Slow, like an insect bite bringing its stinging warmth to a crawl over his skin, skin both scarred and unscarred alike.

There was a smell, then, when he took his shallow breaths: something sweet, like lingering perfume, or fragrant incense—

Fairly quickly he realized the smell was coming from you, and glared at you in puzzled indignation, like the fact that this scent was yours and that he could smell it now—why could he smell it so profusely now, when he hadn’t before? What the hell?—was somehow offensive. Worst of all it smelled damn good. Had you always smelled that good?

“...What is it?” you asked carefully, not quite able to place the look on his face, but considerably unnerved by it, nonetheless. “Dabi…?”

Your voice—it held such particular tones that he hadn’t before noticed until now, as though he’d been deaf to what you really sounded like; how sleek and enticing your words were when they came out of your pretty mouth.

Oh, and your mouth: lips parted fretfully in preparation for another concerned inquiry on his well-being, objectively innocent but suddenly, and infuriatingly, looking very much like they were tempting him for a kiss.

Then when your pink tongue came to wet your lips in anxious trepidation, that too he saw as a maddeningly teasing gesture that made his hands feel hot. Then it was his feet; then his whole body.

He began to fidget where he stood.

Then, at the sudden onset of warmth in his head, he slid over to the alley wall, a splayed hand against the brick keeping his balance while he hung his dizzy head low.

“What the hell,” he muttered to himself woozily.

“Dabi?” You went to inspect him cautiously. You couldn’t see his expression through the curtain of black that had fallen over his face, but you knew something was amiss. “Are you okay?” you asked again.

“I’m fine,” he huffed out, and you’d been oblivious to his hoarse breathing up until the moment you stopped in front of him.

“Dabi,” you begged his attention now that his eyes had closed shut, his features pinched. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes, dizzied by the heat, began to play tricks on him. Even behind the closed lids he saw sparks flying, and swirls of white-hot passion dancing.

When the heat in him turned to a near-burning sensation, he opened his eyes and stared down at his body. Was his quirk activated? he thought confusedly. Or was the heat that licked his skin just a hallucination: flames that failed to consume him wholly? What the hell was happening? What was this—

The heat finally centered—mortifyingly—between his legs, and what had been confusion before was now full-blown bafflement.

“Dabi,” you were saying again.

The sound of your voice inflamed him not in aggravation, but something else.

“You don’t look good,” you said. The way his breath had thinned to long, rough pants put anxiety in you. “...I’ll call Kurogiri.” You fished your phone from your pocket with the intention of doing so.

A grunt was his response; he couldn’t coherently pick his words. Then, the anticipation of your voice again, on the phone, speaking in those tones and that sweet melody, made him shudder.

“No,” he muttered.

You looked at him, the phone to your ear, the line ringing. “What?”

“Don’t,” was all he could say, lower this time, almost in a growl.

“But Dabi, you—”

Suddenly, at the thought of hearing your voice for even another second, the fire overtook him.

First he slapped the phone from your grip. Its screen broke against the pavement and the voice that answered the call—too late, you thought fleetingly—stuttered on the line. Then he slammed you against the wall.

Winded and bewildered, it took you several seconds to find your bearings. In that time he’d pressed against you, his breath so hot and so angry that it flushed perspiration over your skin.

Gaping, your lips trembled. “Dabi, what—”

“Shut up,” he seethed quietly, teeth baring.

You recognized the wild look of violence on his face, but the lust in his hazy eyes wasn’t anticipated. Nor was the erection you felt pressing against your leg. You stared wide-eyed as the sinking realization came over you.

In desperation you pushed at him; he pushed back, corralling you against the wall even harder.

The air was knocked out of your lungs, and with it, a dying protest, “Wait—”

He clamped a too-warm hand over your mouth, and pressed his face against yours. His forehead on your own felt feverish and sweaty; his eyes, like blue-burned coals, pierced into yours. You could smell the heat smoldering off of him.

He loosed a shaky, unhinged breath. “Shut. Up.”

Unthinking, your hand tugged at the one on your mouth, inadvertently digging into his staples. But his wild passion lent him a worrisome insensitivity to the hurt, and his other hand was going for your waist, squeezing into your shirt and wrenching you impossibly closer against him.

The pain which erupted from his compromised staples only fanned the flames of his arousal. He didn’t know why. Of course he fucking didn’t. He didn’t even know why his body was moving the way it was: rutting against you, seeking friction for his aching dick.

His mouth went to your neck but applied no kisses or intimate caresses; he just pressed against the skin and breathed in pants. He put his free hand to your breast, the movement not a calculated one, more like he was seeking leverage to his imbalance. The stuttering beat of your heart was palpable under his palm.

"Fuck,” he sputtered out angrily, disoriented, and dug his fingers into your chest. You moaned behind his palm, both in shock and pleasure.

All he needed to hear was the latter.

The sound made him hiss a low and dangerous curse, and when he peeked his head back up, his pulsing eyes shone with something beyond just lust now: pure hunger.

Just as he moved his hand away from your mouth with the intent of crashing his own against you in a bruising kiss, there was a sound behind him.

In the back of his mind he recognized it: Warp Gate.

Kurogiri, and possibly someone else, had answered your call for aid.

Dabi utterly ignored it.

It had nothing to do with him.

He was only concerned with the heat. All he felt was the heat; all he saw was your lips: parted in dumbfoundment, dry, and begging to be wetted by his tongue–

There was a commotion, and then an angry voice that Dabi distantly recognized as Shigaraki’s.

Then a blow to the back of his head took everything away.

⤰

A subtle transformation had overtaken his body by the time he woke.

No longer was the heat excruciating, but it was still there, nevertheless: a curling medium beneath his skin which he felt the instant consciousness came back to him. With it, the dizzy ache in his head and the haze in his eyes. Then, finally: his limbs refusing to move when he tried to stretch them.

At once he realized he was back in the bar, confined in a chair, with people gawking at him from all sides.

He blinked his vision back to clarity, then scowled. “The hell?”

“Do you remember anything, Dabi?” That was Kurogiri somewhere to his left. Looking, Dabi confirmed his usual station behind the bar.

Delaying an answer, the flame-user glanced around. Not all of the League was there, he saw. Besides Kurogiri, only Shigaraki and you were audience to the spectacle.

You tried to avoid his harsh eyes when they landed on you, when they flitted across your features as if in an elaborate struggle to put pieces of a disoriented puzzle together. Solved, apparently, as his memory came back, his confused scowl worked into a realizing frown.

“Shit,” he muttered in annoyance.

Shuffling uncomfortably in the chair, he surmised it was rope binding his wrists behind his back, and his ankles to the chair legs. But the movement also brought attention to the hot pressure in his gut.

Or at the least, he thought that’s where it was—until he glanced down and realized that despite the abatement of the wild heat, his erection still peeked proudly underneath his jeans.

Now he was scowling again.

“What the hell,” he spat out, and suddenly, with his frustration flourishing, the heat was returning in slow order.

He cursed under his breath. He looked up and glared at the first onlooker he set his eyes upon: Kurogiri.

“Get me out of this shit.”

“I can’t do that,” the man replied regrettably. “When I came to retrieve you from the scene we had no choice except to put you down when you refused to listen. Given the nature of the quirk that you’ve been struck with, we have to take precautions until we know it’s out of your system.”

Dabi listened with steely suspicion. “What quirk?”

“An aphrodisiac—” You almost bit your tongue once you’d started, because the quick and fierce glance he gave you suggested he wasn’t entirely happy with you, and even less happy to hear your voice.

“It’s an aphrodisiac quirk,” you stated, more calmly now.

Dabi blinked, brows knotting in concentration. Spoken plainly that way, it seemed absurd, stupid.

He scoffed dryly. “You’re joking.”

“Really fucked up this time, didn’t you?” came Shigaraki from a spot at the bar, his arms crossed. “Serves you right, searching the alleys for trash. I told you to stop doing that shit.”

“Fuck off,” Dabi spat. “How was I supposed to know the guy’d have such a stupid fuckin’…”

Dabi tsked and shuffled uncomfortably in his chair again. The bitterness he felt for his confinement was quickly gaining, and so was the returning arousal. A sweltering, uncomfortable warmth on his skin made him hyperaware of his flushed face, and he could practically feel the sweat teeming on his unscarred flesh.

“I’m serious,” he muttered, glaring at Shigaraki. “Get me out of this.”

“So you can go ape shit again? No. It’s disgusting.”

“I’m not gonna do shit, relax.”

Dabi was aware then that focus was being pulled in the room, pulled directly to you: the victim of his unbidden arousal.

With a roll of his eyes, he huffed a frustrated breath and gave you what might have passed for an apology, if he’d even bothered looking at you. “My bad, and all that.”

Shigaraki’s arrogant snort derailed whatever amendment you might have transpired to make.

“You’re lucky the guy was still alive when we got there—barely,” your leader went on. “Told us a bit about what to expect from you in the next few hours though, once we promised we’d let him go.”

Dabi gave him a flat look of doubt.

Shigaraki scoffed. “Didn’t keep that promise, obviously.” Then he was scowling behind Father. “I don’t like having to clean up your messes. Shouldn’t have to finish off your fodder for you. You can’t even do that right, can you?”

Dabi’s frustration was in full bloom now, despite reason persuading him against it; he’d gathered enough at this point—at the expense of his own body—to know that agitation of any kind would feed the quirk’s effects.

Heat pooled low in his stomach when he demanded again, “Let me out of this shit right now or I’m gonna get mad.”

“Supposed to be a 24-hour thing unless you take care of it, to put it plainly,” Shigaraki responded.

“I assumed as much. So get me outta this shit and I’ll fuck off for a while.”

“Nah. Don’t need you going and causing a scene somewhere because you don’t know how to keep your pants on.”

You could feel the conflagration of tension in the room. Maybe it was Dabi’s quirk, maybe it was the alley-dweller’s mixing with it, making it dangerously palpable. Regardless, Shigaraki’s snark seemed to bring Dabi’s attention back to his body, to the insufferable bulge between his legs that demanded relief.

“This is stupid,” he declared bitterly, and tugged on the knots tied at his wrists, the throbbing heat in his lower-half lending itself to his quirk as it activated in licking flames along his arms. He was tired of this shit. He lost his temper all at once. “You’re damn crazy if you think I’m just gonna sit here—”

Then there was blue flame torching the back of the chair, blackening the rope which bound him and making the tethers frail enough to tear apart under a strong tug. He was freeing himself.

From there, it all happened relatively swiftly.

As he went to work on the binds at his feet with newly liberated arms, Shigaraki was in a conniption of angry protests, and Kurogiri fluttered nervously between taking action or remaining an onlooker.

Then there was you, probably the least equipped to do much of anything to alleviate the situation, but nevertheless skipping to your feet the moment the chaos ensued. There was arguing, cursing, insults—then your voice, attempting to wedge some conciliatory reason into the room.

It did the exact opposite.

Dabi had apparently forgotten of the trigger in your voice that sent his body into a frenzy. When you spoke up, your voice just loud enough to cut above the rest of the uproar, his aspiration to free himself tapered off as his sharp eyes honed in on you.

His arousal came back with a vengeance; in his pants, his dick twitched angrily for relief, and that frenzy took over his thought process again.

His flames burned the rope at his feet and he came at you, so close, so very close, not knowing why he was doing it but only that he needed to touch you—

You were frozen on the spot. But Shigaraki was reaching for something along the bar, and Dabi’s world went black again soon after.

⤰

When he woke this time, his rope bonds had been replaced for something cold and metallic, something stronger to withstand the vehemence of his flames. Even the chair to which he was bound had been swapped for something sturdier than wood.

“You fuckin’ serious?” he spat out, even before his vision had centered. He knew where he was, and why he was there. No need for context clues.

“You gave us no other choice,” Kurogiri amended carefully, the black vapors that composed him flitting about anxiously.

“Told you that you’d lose it,” Shigaraki said, anger having replaced all his snarky tones of condescension from before. “You’re like a damn animal.”

Dabi hissed and put his head back, feeling the soreness at his nape from consecutive blows. If he weren’t so presently occupied with the curl of heat welcoming him afresh, he might have simmered on the idea of burning his relatively recent—but entirely disagreeable—boss to a crisp when this was over.

Then for the first time Dabi realized you were absent, and glanced around as if in search of you. Good, he thought, when he confirmed that you were missing. You just... complicated things.

“I’m fine now,” he insisted, as placidly as possible as if to give stock to his lie. The respite had done nothing for the arousal harassing him; the longer it having gone unsatiated, even in unconsciousness, making it all the more demanding.

Mellowing his urgency to a non-existent degree was almost impossible, however. Dabi knew the way the soles of his shoes twisted and flattened restlessly into the ground below was anything but inconspicuous.

“Just warp me outta here, Kurogiri,” he implored.

“No,” Shigaraki answered. “Shut up. Consider this a lesson. No more rummaging for allies in shithole parts of town. This is what happens when you go dumpster-diving for recruits.”

“You want me to burn this place down?” Dabi threatened, testing the strength of his bonds. A flicker of blue teased along his jawline. “‘Cause I got no problem doing that.”

Shigaraki shrugged. “Sure. You’ll just burn up with it, since you’ve got no way out of that chair.”

He knew it was true, and worked his jaw. “For all you know the damn guy was lyin’,” he said as a final act of contempt, and gave his leader a leery, side-long glare. “And this shit might not go away on its own.”

“Guess we’ll have to see, won’t we?”

Dabi sneered. Foiled, but regardlessly frustrated by the truth of it, he put his head back with an angry sigh and resigned himself to an attempted calm.

⤰

You’d lingered in the bar’s back rooms for the better part of an hour before emerging.

Shigaraki had instructed you to make yourself scarce, but you were drafted to stay by some guilty—and admittedly curious—sentiment.

It was awfully unfair, you agreed, to keep Dabi chained up like he was—even in spite of the danger he posed under the quirk’s influence. But you must have overlooked that danger when you decided to slip into the main room where he was being held, long after you had been assured that Kurogiri and Shigaraki were gone.

His back to the door, Dabi didn’t glance over his shoulder at the sound of your footsteps. It seemed he was sour enough not to offer greeting, and preferred to be left alone in his turmoil.

He especially didn’t want your company, which he made clear by way of a harsh frown when you came into his peripheral.

He tsked and readjusted uncomfortably in his seat at your arrival. “The hell do you want?”

“How are you feeling?”

“Never been better,” he muttered.

You were aware of how he avoided your gaze, and couldn’t know whether it was in an effort to stave off the arousal your presence had so viciously wrought before, or because he simply didn’t appreciate your company. The latter seemed just as likely as the first, though neither stopped you from taking a seat in one of the room’s couches so you could sit across at him.

Your eyes were trained on his face, on the agitation creased into his expression. It was almost indecipherable under his otherwise cold demeanor. Clearly, the quirk was still in effect. If his tried composure wasn’t enough, there was a subtle tent in his pants that hadn’t gone away, not since its first appearance hours ago, you imagined.

You didn’t realize you were ogling until he noticed. He tsked.

“Take a picture,” he offered spitefully, immediately dissuading your eyes away from him.

“Sorry,” you let slip, embarrassment flushing your cheeks, and in response he only lulled his head back again and shut his eyes.

All was silent for a while, and might have remained thereby, if not for the way that the curt apology brought back the weight of guilt you’d felt to see his sorry state.

“And I’m sorry for bringing you back here,” you spoke up. “Or at least, sorry that I called the others. I didn’t realize you’d be held up like this–”

“Stop talking,” he muttered.

Mouth opening, then closing again, you almost swallowed down your next words. But again, they refused to stay unspoken.

“I wouldn’t have called them,” you insisted, “if you didn’t—if you didn’t come after me like that. I was confused.”

No response. Only another uncomfortable shuffle in the chair while his eyes remained shut and his mouth a thin line.

They’d put his hands in a sort of metallic sleeve since you last saw him, to discourage any more pyromania, you guessed. Though they weren’t visible, you could see how his arms shifted, how his tendons worked, and could imagine his fingers flitting anxiously inside the restraints.

“Is… me being here making it worse?” you chanced to ask.

He scoffed, and finally gave you his attention. “What?” Then, fully understanding your train of thought, rolled his eyes, and resigned them shut again while he relaxed into the chair. “Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but that dumb look you got on your face all the time isn’t exactly alluring.”

You frowned, and it was almost with cross touchiness that you argued, “But you came after me—”

“I’m guessin’ the point of the quirk is to make anything look fuckable. So don’t flatter yourself.”

Despite all your caution, you couldn’t help but give the man a sour look. “You’re rude.”

He shrugged, the movement impeded considerably by his restraints. “Whatever. Anyways, you just gonna sit there and watch me? I’m not exactly in the mood for company.” He moved in his seat again, fighting the heat between his legs the best he could. “Unless you’re gettin’ off on my suffering and what not. Kinda twisted of you, if you ask me. Didn’t peg you as the type.”

“That’s not it,” you insisted quickly. “I just wanted to…well—”

“To what? Check in on me? Nice of you. But you can fuck off now.”

A sudden twitch in his legs took the tension from the repartee. You looked down at the limb as he did.

The burning heat in his veins took away practically all control he had of his extremities, rallied them into unconscious servants of the damn quirk until they were twitching, then relaxing, then twitching again.

You noticed this, too, and though his efforts to conceal the struggle were commendable, they left you in a state of shame, as if it were you bound in the chair with your arousal on display. Seeing someone so normally composed as he was in such a state was distressing, and admittedly, absorbing.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and let your rampant thoughts form to words. “Will it go away if you…”

“If I what?” Then once understanding, the smallest of smirks twisted his scarred lips. “Rub one out? How the hell am I supposed to know?”

You ignored the heat that dropped down your spine to hear him say it so unabashedly. “I don’t have the key to your locks,” you explained. “So I couldn’t let you out even if I wanted to.”

He gave no response, just looked away from you again.

And here now was the adrenaline pulsing nonsense out of you, making you think crazy and debauched thoughts that would in any other situation be put down immediately by rationale.

“But…”

He glanced at you when you tapered off. “But?”

Your silence annoyed him, now that he was interested. Before he could hound you to continue, you sputtered out your proposal:

“Do you want me to do something about it?”

He looked at you, an eyebrow raised, as if demanding clarification. But you had a resolute feeling that he was toying with you by choosing silence.

“You know what I mean,” you asserted.

The blank, cold stare you received in kind made you wonder if he actually did know what you meant. Maybe he didn’t understand—

“No,” he then said.

The defeat you felt was utterly uncalled for, you knew. But you felt it anyways: a wash of humiliation plummeting down your body and swelling up again in frustration.

But you let it be, knowing anything more you had to say would probably earn you tenfold embarrassment.

Twenty minutes must have passed—though he wasn’t counting, and he wasn’t so sure that the affliction in his body wasn’t twisting his sense of time—each entailing another dredge of painful heat in his groin that worsened the longer his arousal went unattended to.

All the fail safes he’d practiced in his adolescence to ward off unwanted arousals were utterly useless now. He might as well have been on cloud nine when he filled his head with repulsive concepts: the smell of antiseptic, the smell of fish—fucking disgusting fish—even images of roadkill and dead bodies, putrefying and blackened.

The thoughts themselves were off-putting, as promised, but it wasn’t thoughts at all that fueled his libido: it was a completely physical and natural arousal.

Even shuffling his legs around, as meager of friction as it gave, made his hips inch forward in search of more when the fabric of his jeans teased his hard cock. It was fucking humiliating.

He looked at you. You were too occupied searching the floor for an answer to your anxieties to notice the way he studied you.

You weren’t bad looking, he decided. Not that he’d ever really thought of you that way before. Not thoroughly, anyways. In this little group of delinquents he’d surrounded himself with—a grand mistake on his part, he thought, especially during times like these—you were the only fuel he had for his imagination on nights he needed to let off some steam.

There was no intimacy behind it, no real passion for you that extended beyond the time from when he shoved a hand into his jeans, to when he was cleaning thick ropes of cum from his knuckles afterwards.

You were only ever given credence in his brain then, when he was giving his cock hard and angry tugs to the thought of you on your knees for him, or against a wall with his hand curled around your throat, and sometimes bent over his knee while he spanked your ass raw (a more recent daydream now, ever since that time a few weeks ago when you’d bent down in front of him to pick something up off the floor).

Suddenly aware of an alarming change in his body, he paused his thoughts to immerse himself back into his too-hot skin again.

He felt a wetness against his swollen cock, and after squirming covertly, frowned, realizing with loathing that the stickiness chafing his briefs was pre-cum.

He stubbornly decided that it was just an inevitable response to his body’s raging war with arousal, and not—not at all—because he’d been thinking of you.

Letting his body endure until his pants were dampened with pre-cum was an unwanted solution. Or even worse, until the sensitivity in his cock went haywire and even the tiniest of movements might make him cream his pants.

A frustrated breath whistled out from his nose and he grit his teeth. Goddamnit. This was fucking stupid.

“Fuck,” he said aloud, shaking his head as if to condemn the words he was about to say, knowing how they would haunt his ego later, “Fine. Come here.”

You glanced up, and, unable to fulfill the request with your mind suddenly racing, simply stared.

That insipid look of failed registry on your face irritated him, and he scowled. “Are you deaf?”

“You want me to—” A sweep of your eyes down to his crotch elucidated what you were too hesitant to say.

“You offered,” he reminded you, and decided that in order to make this even a fraction less humiliating, he’d need to emphasize your culpability. “Kinda been thinking it’s your fault, anyways. If you hadn’t been such a dumbass back there I would’ve finished the guy off like I wanted to. But you were too busy spouting your nitpicky bullshit.”

There was a guilty look on your face now, like you’d been considering the accusation in your own time. Now having it confirmed, you were more susceptible to the reasoning, and even more willing to rectify yourself.

Still, you struggled to swallow down hesitation. “You’re sure that you want me to—”

“You’re gonna start pissin’ me off if you get all shy,” he said, trying as hard as his dancing nerves would allow to keep the desperation out of his voice.

Since yielding to the ludicrous idea, his body had apparently taken up a premature celebration at the thought of your hands on him. His balls were tight and his dick was throbbing hard enough to make his legs tense with each pulse.

“I just want to make sure,” you insisted. “I mean, if you really–”

“I’ll make it easy for you then. Either get over here, or piss off.”

He was relieved, pleased, and somewhat amused when the hesitation left you and you obeyed. When you came to stand idly in front of him, he glanced up, watching your confusion.

Your eyes flicked from his face to his crotch, where the dim light of the room caught the curve of his hard dick pressing against his jeans.

“You gonna stare at it all day?” he asked.

You looked at him. “What do you want me to do?”

“When you offered to do something about it I assumed you already had some ideas. You need me to give you an instruction manual?”

Your silence frustrated him again, and he tsked, glancing away from you as the reality of what you two were doing finally set in.

“Take it out,” he muttered.

So you did, reaching numbly down and carefully undoing his pants. The bulge that awaited underneath his jeans gave you pause. You stared at it, and a shot of adrenaline pumped through you when it twitched in his briefs, as if feeling your eyes ogling it and begging you to give it attention.

You tried to clear your conscience. This was Dabi, Dabi who treated you with such disregard that you sometimes wondered if he even knew your name; Dabi, who was letting you even breathe next to him without trying to scorch you.

A trickling, somewhat fatally comedic thought entered your mind: was he going to light you ablaze the second you touched him? Or maybe after, once you’d relieved him, as a way to permanently silence you against ever speaking a word of this to anyone?

Shivering at the morbidity of your own creation, you reached for his briefs and pulled them down carefully until his cockhead showed itself, pink-hued and shiny with an excess amount of pre-cum.

You worked a hand underneath the briefs instead of exposing him completely, thinking he might want some semblance of modesty during this. Your convictions were rattled from their mounts when your fingers wrapped gently around the tip of his cock and gave a firm squeeze.

In response: silence.

You’d thought with how viciously his arousal had seemed to harangue him that he might give a stronger reaction: a moan, a sigh, a grunt, maybe even an audible breath.

He just stared at you, looking as utterly bored as he usually did.

Then your fingers decided to retreat, and the sound you’d been displeased to be robbed of came finally as a frustrated grunt when your grip left him.

“Seriously?” he huffed, staring at you. The irritation left its first but considerable split in his composure. The rest was quickly chipping away. He couldn’t pretend to be aloof about this for much longer. “You got cold feet now?”

“That’s not it.”

“What then? Never seen one before?”

“I don't know… how you want it,” you explained.

“The hell does that mean?”

“Do you want me to use my hands?” you clarified hesitantly. “Or…”

The little huff of derisive laughter that fell from his open lips made an eerie picture of his otherwise blank face.

“Or what?” he taunted. “You got something else in mind? You been dyin’ for a taste of it or something–”

“No,” you finished, and that flustered look of anger on your face was pissing him off again, instead of amusing him like it might have under another context.

“So then cut the shit and do whatever.”

With a frown you went to your knees, unwilling to get further embroiled.

When you started to stroke him, more pre-cum squeezed from the tip in generous pumps. You didn’t bother asking him how hard or fast he wanted it—you started hastily, hand gliding quickly over his cock, urgently enough that pre-cum eased the motion and made wet, sharp sounds with every stroke.

His knee twitched like he’d been checked for reflex, which you took as encouragement to keep going despite his loyalty to silence.

The veins along his dick pulsed needily and you swore you could feel the throb under your palm. The throb became more palpable as time went on. You thought you were doing well. But apparently not.

“Harder,” he muttered, not a minute after you’d started.

You glanced up at him. He wasn’t looking at you, but instead had shut his eyes in concentration. It looked to you as though he was trying to find the pleasure in your pace—which was apparently too soft for his likings.

You did as instructed, nevertheless: you tightened your grip a fraction, fingers curling and making your strokes face slightly more resistance as they worked more pre-cum from the red tip.

Another twitch in his leg, then a deep exhale that ended in a shiver; you saw his toned stomach shudder with the motion beneath his clothes, and fleetingly considered inching his shirt up a bit more out curiosity: how far did the burnt skin go down his body?

But then he was grunting, and breathing more stiffly than before. You thought that was another sign of a job well done, when his eyes peeled open and looked down upon you with such emphasized frustration that you realized you were not, in fact, meeting his standards.

“Harder,” he demanded again, more rigidly this time. Despite the command, your hand slowed. For that, he frowned at you. “Can barely feel that shit. You gotta do better than that. I like it rough.”

A flush of humiliation put purpose back into your rigid fingers, and you were moving your hand again, albeit slowly as you tested the new grip, this time with such purposeful pressure that you were tugging his dick now more than stroking it.

“I thought it might hurt,” you started meekly.

“It doesn’t. Keep going.”

You did, picking up speed again. The adrenaline put some more initiative into you, and you made a purposeful attempt to drag your thumb down hard on his swollen cock with every jerk of your hand.

A croaky hum from his throat brought your attention to his face; his eyes watched your hand stroking him with fuzzy scrutiny.

“Yeah,” he breathed thinly, his eyes fluttering closed again, finally satisfied. “Just like that.”

That made your chest tight with excitement and your legs fidget beneath you. Your own arousal was wetting the inside of your thighs by now, but you were able to ignore it momentarily in favor of serving his.

At some point his hips stuttered up to start meeting your hand, but in a much slower rhythm than you were stroking; lazy pumps up into your grip. Every synchronic motion when you jerked up and his hips rolled down, there was an amazing tightness on the head of his cock that made his breath catch every time.

You decided on using both hands (he was big, unexpectedly big, so much so that it was staggering and you decided you would think about that later when he wasn’t filling your palms so generously) and started twisting your grip in time with your strokes. It was then he finally loosed a low and breathy groan.

Then his hips were pumping into your hands roughly, fucking himself in slow but hard thrusts—so hard that you had to steel yourself and tighten your grip to keep from getting bucked off.

Another low moan from his throat. “Shit…” Then, when a surge of confidence urged you to quickly run your tongue along the head of his dick, his breath caught in a hard grunt.

“Shit,” he hissed out, and spread his thighs wider, pushing them up eagerly in demand that you give him more.

To the best of your ability you tried, spreading your tongue underneath the head and rapidly swiping it back and forth. That got his hips stuttering, and his body jolting in its confines.

“Fuck,” he bit out. “Yes, fuck.... Just like that.”

Without prompting your lips came into the fold, closing tightly around the tip and sucking in time with the hands that fisted his cock until you were lavishing every inch of him in some way.

The feeling alone was ridiculously good, but watching you made his jaw go slack and mouth open as he panted. Maybe it was just the stupid quirk making him delirious, but you looked a hell of a lot hotter doing this than what his fantasies had led him to believe. Fuck. You weren’t half bad.

A particularly hard thrust into your mouth had one of your hands slipping loose, and his next thrust, unimpeded by the length of one your fists around him, shoved his dick to the tight heat at the back of your throat.

He grunted hard, “Fucking shit—” Then arched up quickly, jumping at the opportunity to sink his cock deeper.

Without a pause to steady yourself you had little choice but to oblige, and his cockhead shoved in, cramming itself against your hot tongue, pumping farther back inch by inch.

The hand still jerking him off covered what your throat was too inexperienced to swallow down, and the rhythm of your tight mouth and vice-like hand made him moan deeply.

But it might have been too much, and a strength lent to him by the quirk’s desperation made his hips lift off the chair forcibly, driving his cockhead to the very back of your throat until you were sputtering and choking.

“Fuck.” It made him dizzy with pleasure, and he shut his eyes to keep them from rolling as he frantically pumped his hips upwards to get you gagging on him again. “Yeah, fuck, fuck, fuck–”

But then you were pulling off completely with a gasping breath.

His eyes opened, wild with exasperation. “The hell–”

You coughed wetly and started to plead, “Don’t choke me–”

“Fine—fine. Hurry the hell up.” His hips jutted up impatiently in search of your mouth again, his swelling cock bouncing and twitching urgently. “Put that fuckin’ mouth back on it right now—”

You obeyed, and his hips shuddered down into the chair, following the motion of your lips as they tightened over his length—only to start thrusting up into the hot and wet cavern again once his cockhead hit the roof of your mouth.

It was like a fire had been kindled underneath him and was rapidly boiling all his thoughts to a vapor. It was stupidly good, so damn hot and tight and wet he couldn’t remember a mouth on his cock ever feeling this amazing. He wished his hands were free so he could fist them into your hair, so he could push you down more, get you gagging and sputtering on his cock.

His eyes squeezed shut, face flexing with occasional twitches. His lips pulled back into a desperate grimace and long, shaky breaths whistled out through his clenched teeth.

With his vision released of the sight of you on your knees, his mind was free to give the hot wetness on his cock another name, and he instead imagined that it was your pussy he was shoving into, gripping him nice and tight.

He felt his quirk stirring underneath the pleasure; every vein in his body warmed at the mere thought of shoving into you raw, and until that very moment he hadn’t itched to break through his constraints like he did now, hadn’t wanted to be free of them so he could wrestle you to the floor and fuck you like he needed to.

You were doing something particularly creative with your tongue on the underside of his cock, and a full body shudder brought him back to present. He watched you in your task: your eyes were shut tight in concentration, your brows furrowed as you struggled to accept his dick while it rammed against the back of your throat. Even your hand’s grip on his cock was a little tighter, he noticed appreciatively.

It would have been fucking fantastic: a real goddamn sight to see that he might have honestly applauded you for later—if he wasn’t suddenly so absurdly enraptured with his fantasies.

Dabi wanted more. Something deeper and hotter, something to bury his cock into and relish the velvety grip, something he could ravage and fuck away the ache in his body—

The thought of pounding his dick inside of you suddenly encompassed all other thought; it wasn’t a notion his frenzied mind would let remain as a fantasy. He wanted nothing else. Your mouth on his cock, your throat curdling around him, choking on him in a way that made his legs shake...

It was all insufficient now. He needed to be inside of you. As soon as fucking possible.

“Shit,” he spat out. It was a curse different from the others, not breathed on arousal, but frustration.

You looked up at him, and read him to be just as disgruntled as he sounded.

“This ain’t doin’ it,” he said, and slowed his thrusting hips, which was a more hard-fought task to complete than he imagined; he may have been getting greedy with his fantasies, but his cock was still more than happy to use your mouth as a warm sleeve.

When you slipped off, you must have been giving him one of those dumb looks he hated, because he frowned.

“You hear me?”

You nodded, licking the wetness from your lips as you caught your breath. You were lightheaded. The taste of him lingered on your tongue, and you swore you would smell the smoky salt of his skin on you for days. But now there was more?

The heat pooling in your thighs demanded your attention again, and you fidgeted on your sore knees. “Well... what do you want me to do–”

“Sit on it.”

You gawked at him. “Sit on it?”

That got him smirking just a little, his tongue peeking out to wet dried lips as he slowly panted. He cocked his head.

“Worried it won’t fit?”

Your body surged with wild ambition. “That’s not it, but—”

“Bet you’re nice and tight, but you can work it in. I’d offer to stretch you open a little, but my hands are tied.” He flexed his fingers and arms in his binds for show, then grinned to see how flustered his words made you. “Besides, looked like you were enjoyin’ yourself. I’m sure you’re wet enough.”

God why couldn’t he shut up and let you think for a second? The teasing was horribly nauseating; his voice even worse, spoken with his smirk seeped into it. You realized the very sound of it would probably make you shiver now in all the wrong ways after this, even in casual conversation.

“I… don’t have condoms,” you said by way of reply.

He shrugged, the gesture lacking his usual languor now that he’d been worked up without release. “Me neither. They’re annoying.”

He noticed you were frowning at him, and scoffed. “What, not on the pill?” He didn’t wait for a response; maybe that was the heat making him forgo on better judgment. “Well, guess it’s a good thing they got me pinned down, then. You’re free to pull off when I’m about to bust.”

The way in which he spoke it made your stomach queasy, and the first true lick of doubt ruined your mood as you stood up. “Fine. Just… tell me before you’re about to.”

He grunted in response, inwardly absorbed with impatience.

You took off your bottoms and pushed your panties—yes, very wet, you confirmed—down, then hiked a leg over and climbed somewhat clumsily onto the chair.

Only when you’d awkwardly positioned yourself over him did you notice that his eyes were fixated down below, where your hands steadily worked his dick against you. A raspy sigh passed his lips, and it was then you noticed his body teeming with eager spasms.

Awkwardly, you sank down onto him, staring between you two the whole time and watching his thick length press tightly inside.

The binds on his feet jabbed sharply against his ankles as they shuffled for leverage, desperate to rut up into the tight heat that welcomed him—but your legs resting on his thighs kept the movement to nothing but shallow thrusts.

Whatever this fucking quirk was had a ridiculous effect on his sensitivity. You felt good—fucking amazing, even—though he couldn’t decide if that was just the quirk deluding him into thinking your cunt was the best he’d ever had, or if it really was: if you really were just that fucking incredible.

Normally he would have managed that with stilled hips and practiced control; just sat back and enjoyed the ride. But shit it took a monumental effort not to fuck up into you, especially with how damn... slow you were going.

Your pussy was gripping him so nicely, and that tight look on your face as you seated yourself onto his lap, accepting him fully and staggering from the size of him, was thrilling. But when you finally started to move your hips, you were going about it so cautiously, so boringly, that his patience all but thinned in a matter of seconds.

“Could you go any slower?” he muttered.

The words guilted you. “I thought it might… hurt?” you explained.

“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not in pain, dumbass. I need to cum. Which ain’t gonna happen if you keep this up.” He shuffled his legs, widening them so he could better press up into you. The pressure made him grunt, and you shiver. “C’mon, you were putting on a real good show before. Ride me like you mean it. I know you can.”

And there it was again, the words and the voice that threw repose out the window and made you all the more eager to see this through.

With arms linked around his neck you started to roll your hips. He didn’t seem to mind the contact, helpful as it was in balancing yourself on his lap.

You weren’t entirely surprised when the first sighs and grunts came from your own lips. Every time you thought a new angle of your hips or a quick thrust of his own had finally hit that one pleasurable spot inside, you would sink down harder on his cock and gasp when his thickness dragged over another.

It made you go faster, turned the fluid rolling of your hips into quick grinding, then finally when you’d adjusted to his size, a steady bouncing on his cock.

“Fuck yes...” he muttered, then moaned low, licking his lips; that was what he needed, feeling you sink down over and over, lifting yourself a little higher each time then dropping so hastily that his hips started jutting up to meet you.

“Shit.” Lolling his head back he breathed heavily, deeply. “Ah shit...”

It encouraged you to circle your hips with every motion, which garnered a throaty growl in response. A string of curses under his breath accompanied it, and you pressed your face into his shoulder, keeping careful of his staples, and moaned along with him.

Only when you started getting noisier did you think of anything except what you two were doing: what if Shigaraki or Kurogiri were to come back now? What if any of the others decided to waltz in?

You bit your lip to keep your next few moans low, but you swore Dabi must have had a sixth sense for your timidity, and didn’t at all appreciate the way you were holding back.

He shifted his hips on the chair in a precise motion, and suddenly his cockhead shoved against the right spot over and over again as you bounced on top of him. All your logical thoughts were fucked into the back burner immediately.

All you could hear was your own panting and the slap of your thighs against his. He would give his heedy approval in an occasional growl or moan, rasping it against your ear. It made you shiver uncontrollably.

You lost rhythm soon enough and took to grinding again, the chair scraping along the floor beneath you. His thick cock drove you crazy, until you were panting and moaning and whining. If that wasn’t enough to signal an orgasm, he could feel it, could feel your pussy gripping him in a desperate flutter.

“Oi,” he got your attention, turning his head, his breath thin at your cheek, “You serious? Are you actually gonna–”

And you did, legs stretching and contracting, tightening around his thighs as you came hard. He cursed and dipped his head low when you squeezed around him, panting through the ridiculously good pressure on his cock.

Your body jerked and shivered in any way it could, anything to expel the white-hot pleasure that shot up your spine and then back down again. You couldn’t breathe, shaking on top of him so violently he was sure you were going to keel over at any second and start convulsing on the floor.

“Hey shithead,” he snapped after he’d let your shivers die down. Using what little leverage his tied legs allowed him, he pushed his shoes off the floor, bouncing you impatiently in his lap and jarring you back to awareness. You gasped in hypersensitivity, his cock digging against you.

“I’m flattered you like my dick that much,” he went on, your body languid and slouched against him. The heat was nearing again; his cock twitched miserably inside of you, desperate for release and so damn close to getting it. “But you’re not the one in need of attention here, in case you forgot. Keep it up. I’m close.”

With a moan you pushed yourself up, sucking in breaths of renewal through parted lips. Legs tensing and aching, you tried your best to grind on him again, but the task left you oversensitive.

He needed to finish, you reminded yourself. He needed to cum, like he’d said. You were sure, so blissfully sure you might be rewarded with more of his unhinged reactions that you forced your muscles to be ignorant to their ache, and started to ride him in earnest.

That was when you noticed it: the heat wracking you wasn’t just your own, it was his. His skin too hot, too hot to be normal, furnace-warm to the touch.

You lifted your head from his shoulder and peered over at him. His eyes were screwed shut, his lips pulled back into a tense snarl. Perspiration dewed on the portions of his untainted skin, dampened his brows and fell in droplets along his temple.

You felt his body heating rapidly against yours—the clothes keeping your skin apart might as well have been paper-thin. His chest, rising desperately with heavy pants, was concerningly feverish. He felt it too.

Fuck, he thought. Not fucking now.

“Damn it—” he sputtered out, body going suddenly rigid, craning his neck away from you. “Move,” he warned you.

“What—”

“Move your damn head—”

Just as you did, your eyes stretched in shock as flames broke out from his jawline. Their angry blue reflected threateningly in your eyes, made you come to a shivering slow on his cock as the dry heat blistered out over your skin.

The fire was out in a second, forcefully extinguished with his frustrated grunt; smoke puttered out from beneath his staples instead. He breathed out an angry sigh from the effort of combating his own quirk.

You hesitated to put your hand out and touch him, hovering over his face. “Dabi, your skin—”

“Shut up it’s fine,” he breathed raggedly, turning his head away from you. When was the last time that had happened? Fuck. He made himself believe it was just the quirk. Just the quirk. And not you. Not because you felt so fucking good.

His legs jolted up in desperation to make you move on top of him. “Don’t you fuckin’ stop—shit—I’m almost there—”

You didn’t know whether to be frightened or exhilarated by the display of fire, but you were moving again regardless, bouncing on his lap for all you were worth until your legs were begging for mercy and your lungs ached.

He sucked in tight breaths through his teeth, then exhaled them as gravelly moans. You pressed against him, arms wrapped about his frame, ignoring his sweltering skin and abandoning any fear that his quirk might disobey his control again. You bit your lip and whined excitedly when you felt him bow his head against your shoulder and pant heavily against the clothed skin there.

The heat was fucking blinding now. And it was loud: a numbing and seductive beat in his chest that made his heart stutter to keep up. Every slam of your hips down onto him, and every one of his thrusts up into you in turn, made the heat louder, ache more, and burn.

“Now,” he grit out against your ear, body seizing in warning. In his enclosed binds, his fingers clenched into fists, so hard that the joints popped in protest.

A whine in your throat was the response. You were ignorant to much else except the wetness making a mess of your thighs, of his searing skin against you and his belt buckle digging harshly into your legs.

“Right now,” he sputtered hurriedly, hips rising from the seat. All he could do was shove up into you once, violent and hard, digging his way as deep as he could as his balls went tight and fiery pleasure raced up his body. “Right fuckin’ now move, I’m gonna—goddamnit… fuck!”

He wasn’t prepared for the way you slammed your hips down as you came again with a cry. He stiffened hard, body bowing down into yours as much as the restraints allowed, shoving his face into your neck.

“Holy fuck,” he gasped out, “fuck—” You shivered wildly around him and in an instant he was cumming hard, legs jolting in their restraints, shaking under your thighs.

“Fuck!” he shouted again, the exclamation muffled against your skin. “Motherfucker—fuck—” His voice puttered off into a series of strained, frantic groans. Unthinking and delirious on pleasure, he closed his mouth around the soft flesh of your neck and bit hard.

You gasped, tried to wriggle free, but his hips were desperately snapping up into you, effectively throwing off your balance.

Your hips hadn’t stopped their determination either. They had a mind of their own, rutting fast to squeeze him dry. All the while, he growled hotly against your skin, teeth leaving deep marks, sucking blemishes into the flesh despite all restraint that told him otherwise.

After the last, hard spurts inside of you, he sank back into the chair, utterly wasted. Little spasms harassed his body and made him shiver weakly. Only his mouth persevered, teeth still digging into the soft flesh of your shoulder.

The pleasure ebbed into raw sensation, and you could feel the marks his incisors left in you, the heated metal of his staples singeing you.

“Dabi,” you stuttered out, a shaky hand coming to push at his forehead in protest.

It shook him back to reality. He brought his dizzy head back to look at you through hooded eyes, then down at the wound he’d left on your neck.

Shit, he thought fleetingly, but not very regrettably. That was gonna bruise.

He put his head back against the chair and heaved, shutting his eyes to dispel the lightheadedness.

“Told you... to get off,” he muttered.

You knew it was a mistake you would dwell on later, but you could barely move now, let alone think.

When you shifted your legs, wanting to move and put some blood back into your limbs, it set off a chain reaction of oversensitive-pleasure; dwindling sparks went off inside you and you shuddered, making him jerk and grunt in tandem.

“Don’t move,” he chided, his head still bent to the ceiling. “Just gimme a minute... Fuck...” he breathed. “You fuckin’...” He shook his head, in disbelief of the pleasure, even more so that you’d been the one to give it to him.

Then he thought: he wouldn’t need to conjure up fantasies of you anymore when he was getting himself off. He could go by memory now.

Once he’d regained partial composure, he shifted, glad to find his dick was going limp—fucking finally—inside of you.

“You got a way to take care of that?” he asked, leaning back and looking down at the wet mess between both your thighs.

You blinked, hazy. “What?”

“I’m not tryna knock you up just ‘cause you’re too horny to listen,” he said disdainfully. “You on the pill? Gotta get one of those morning-afters otherwise–”

“It’s fine.” You nodded. “Don’t worry.”

It was easier said than done, he thought to himself sourly. But he was having trouble thinking of much else besides how fucking fantastic it was to feel the arousal leaving him in blissful waves.

He took a heavy breath. “Now get off and get me outta this shit.”

“But you might still be…” You wriggled a little on top of him, felt him soft inside of you. It was uncomfortable, but even if you’d wanted to move, your muscles were spent. “What if you’re still… ”

“Still what? Still horny? Bet you’d like that, wouldn't you?”

You wouldn’t let the comment fluster you, and obeyed as a way to prove him wrong, slowly lifting yourself off of him. The ache of your insides as he slipped out was raw and hot and wet, but unmistakably satisfying.

“Let me out,” he demanded again. “Now.”

“I told you I don’t have the key.”

He sighed in frustration, blinking sweat from his eyes. “Then go get Kurogiri. Go get someone. And at least be nice enough to cover me up. Don’t want my dick hanging out.”

It was shiny, wet, and red from stimulation. When you went to tuck it back in his pants, it twitched.

“Oi, clean it first,” he snapped.

You glanced around. “With?”

“Whatever the hell’s lying around. Shirt, rag, your mouth.” He scoffed when you put on a frown. “Don’t give me that look. This is your mess on my dick, ya know.”

With barely contained insolence you went down shakily on your knees, ready to go about the particularly humiliating task, when he laughed dryly under his breath.

“You’re a real slut,” he muttered, looking down on you with a cheeky smirk, “aren’t you?”

That guaranteed your spite, and you stood up just as quickly as you’d gone down, then nudged his still-messy dick into his pants and zipped them closed.

“Oi, oi—” The wetness squished uncomfortably underneath the fabric and he shifted awkwardly, glaring at you. “You fuckin’ serious?”

“You’ll be fine,” you muttered, turning away from him in search of your clothes, hiding an indulgent smile.

As you redressed, he sneered and pulled at his bindings. “Don’t get smart with me.”

“Or what?”

You were too exhausted to wrangle with his temper, or your own self-preservation; you knew it was a dangerous game to tease him. But you couldn’t help it. Your mind was foggy, your body teeming with giddy pleasure. Not to mention, you were free. He wasn’t. And that was remarkably funny.

Now he was scowling. “You little shit. Letting it all go to your head now, huh?” When you didn’t answer, when he caught a flash of your teasing smile, his frustration started to run rampant. “Not gonna be so funny when I’m out of this shit—”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

In response, he just glowered, and despite the front you were trying to put up, it threw an excited shiver down your spine. You were perilously tempted to egg him on, but decided against it.

You pulled your shoes back on and breathed, looking at him with something that resembled soft smugness. “I’ll go find Kurogiri.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ better,” he muttered under his breath, keeping his critical eye-contact with you up until the very moment you disappeared out of his line of vision.

When he heard your footsteps finally dwindle down an adjacent hall, he let out a long-suffering sigh and tilted his head back. “Fuck.”

The quirk had gone, the heat and arousal with it.

But what hadn’t gone were the thoughts of you.

Angry thoughts, confusing thoughts, and most of all, intriguing thoughts.

#dabi x reader #dabi imagines #bnha x reader #dabi

3K notes · View notes

tainted-wine · 4 years

Text

The Spring Bird Survival Guide

Hawks x Reader (NSFW)

(So many of you have asked for a part two of my rutting Hawks fic. I gave in! I have no idea how this holds up compared to the first, but I hope you enjoy!)

Read Part 1 if you haven’t! This takes place directly after those events!

Words: 10k (WHOOPS)

Warnings: None, except for an absurd amount of scene transitions that hopefully don’t get too confusing.

-----------------------------------------------

Tuesday

The chorus of songbirds can be heard right outside of Hawks’s window, their small shapes dashing past and making the peeking sunlight flicker across the bedroom. It sounds like it’s gonna be a beautiful day. He’d be elated, if he wasn’t feeling so ill already.

The fever and itch were coming back, like a hot rash that he couldn’t scratch because it was inside of him. He was really hoping to never feel such a hellish sensation ever again.

He slowly peeled the thick sheets off, making sure not to disturb his bedmate as he sat up. There’s no way the quirk’s effects were returning, is there? Last night, the feeling had only gotten weaker with every passing hour. Now it has returned, not in full force, but once again difficult to ignore. He peered over his shoulder to check on his guest.

You were still sound asleep, worn body supported by pillows all over as if you were in danger of falling apart. While Hawks was healing that night, your aches had only gotten worse. He at least managed to convince you that you were in no condition to drive back home and the safer choice was to stay at his place. You were still wearing the clothes he gave you, while he himself donned only a cozy pair of pants. Such a shame that you didn’t take kindly to his request to sleep nude together. Seriously, what was even the issue? He’s already seen every inch of your body, and in every angle possible.

Every hot, sweaty, mouthwatering angle possible.

The internal fire suddenly rushed to his groin, making him slap a hand over his mouth to muffle a groan. He shouldn’t be around you in this state; might as well get up early and prepare for work.

The moment he was on his feet and stretching, a buzz was heard on the nightstand. Your phone vibrated against the smooth wood as it lit up and revealed the caller’s name.

Ah, the good ol’ deputy.

What that nagging old man wanted was between him and you. It wasn’t Hawks’s right to force himself between whatever matters the two of you had to discuss.

Those facts aren’t going to stop his nosy ass, however.

The phone was snatched from the stand without a second thought, the hero walking out of the room as quickly and quietly as possible before answering. “Mornin’, sir,” Hawks greeted. You were the only ‘superior’ he could toy with; any unruly behavior around the actual important people came with a high risk of punishment. Taking his frustrations out on you has been a blast, but after the bind you freed him from yesterday…

“Hawks? May I ask what you’re doing with your handler’s phone?” The deputy questioned.

‘I completely wrecked her last night. The poor lady didn’t survive.’ He considered the joke for a second, but decided that the stuffy bastard wouldn’t appreciate it. “She’s still snoozing. Yesterday was pretty rough on her. I think she deserves a little slack.”

“That’s not for you to decide,” he said sternly, like he was offended that Hawks dared to make a suggestion. Hell, he probably was. “Well, since you’re here, I suppose I can ask you directly. How are you feeling? Has the quirk worn off?”

His wings flapped and fanned himself. “Oh, so much better, sir! You guys have the best solutions to everything, don’t you? Never doubted you for a second.” Truthfully, if his moral compass was more stable, he’d say that offering an unsuspecting woman to him like some maiden sacrifice was just a little twisted. He can’t help but wonder if he would have refused if he was thinking straight at the time.

“Very good. So you are not feeling any lingering effects? Do your usual rutting symptoms feel stronger at all?”

“Eh…” Hawks hesitated. Should he bother trying to hide it? If there’s anything he’s learned from his mentally taxing undercover work, it’s that half-truths are often the best answer. “Feels like it’s still floating around in me, but nothing to worry about. It won’t be getting in the way of my work.”

“That’s great to hear. We don’t want you hurting your image with any more of your brutish displays in public. Please keep those special traits to yourself.”

That made his lip twitch. It really shouldn’t bother him. The Commission has always expressed their distaste for his more animalistic habits, but fuck, would it kill them to at least show some pity when it’s his very own instincts that are causing his suffering? “You got it, sir.” His calm response didn’t betray his irritation.

“And if you do start having issues, then I recommend that you turn to your handler again. In fact, I was calling to inform her that we have found a more competent individual to replace her.”

Oh. That’s…ouch.

“Really? I kinda like her,” Hawks admitted. It’s pretty awkward to be discussing your possible termination on your phone during a call that was meant for you.

The deputy gave a dry laugh. “Of course you do. She has absolute zero control over you. I was hoping you were mature and disciplined enough to not take advantage of her inexperience, but I suppose I was expecting too much of you.”

Yeah, he kinda was, honestly. No argument there. “So sorry, sir. I won’t let it happen again.” Maybe.

“You better make sure of it. As I was saying, we’ll keep her around in case you are in need of more relief. Once your hormones have stabilized, I will give her the news and you will be rid of her.”

Hawks actually snorted from just how fucked up that plan was.

The cruel man ignored the sound and went on. “Can I trust you to stay quiet about this? I’d rather not have to deal with any constant badgering for however long this goes on.”

‘Totally! There’s no need for her to know that she’s only being kept around to be my fucktoy and then get fired immediately afterwards.’ Man, what an organization that he works for. Too bad they have him whipped and incapable of defying them. “Your secret’s safe with me, sir.”

“Good. Well, this call didn’t go as planned, but it was satisfying enough. I’m expecting you to remain in top condition during your duties. Do not disappoint us.” He hung up without waiting for Hawks’s response.

The winged man didn’t even notice the perspiration quickly coating his body until the phone nearly slipped out of his slick hands. As he returned to his room and placed your device back where it was, he couldn’t help but watch your sleeping form.

You were always cute, he’s not gonna lie about that. Finding new ways to embarrass you on the job became a new type of thrill for him. Your blushful glares never got old.

But he never thought that he’d see you like this, or the state that you were in yesterday. His mind was barely there as he was shrouded in that prankster of a villain’s quirk, but he could still feel you all over his extra sensitive feathers. He was practically drowning in you at the time.

The smell of your arousal. The taste of the glaze on your pussy. The sweet songs of pleasure. The look of overwhelming bliss on your face.

Your soft skin, and your hot wet opening that he wanted to invade over and over again…

“Keigo?”

He doesn’t know when you woke up, or when the hell he crawled into the bed with his face so close to yours that he could feel your breath. “Uh…”

“Are you alright? You’re looking feverish again. And…” You looked down in concern, and Hawks followed your gaze to see the full erection that totally snuck up on him.

“Whoa! Sorry about that! Little guy doesn’t know when to quit.” Hawks scooted away, trying and failing to hide the tent in his pants.

You attempted to sit up, only to wince and settle back down. “Dammit, I can’t believe how much I’m hurting from yesterday. This is embarrassing.” You groaned and snuggled up to the many pillows.

He couldn’t resist planting a kiss on your forehead, ignoring how the brief contact made his hardness twitch. “Sorry, angel. Really wish I wasn’t such an animal back there. Just stay still; I’ll get you some fresh water for your painkillers.”

You look like you wanted to say something, but decided on closing your eyes and trying to relax instead. “Thanks.”

He was already rushing out of the room, heading into the kitchen to fill the empty glass while considering dowsing himself in the cold tap water.

Why, why the fuck was it coming back? Just looking at you was making his vision foggy again. It can’t be his rut; it never made him this excited before. He didn’t have the courage to return to the bed, alternatively placing the cup onto a hardened feather and floating it back to you. He stayed where he was, leaning against the sink and wiping at his face. The heat remained at a manageable level as long as he kept his distance from you, but he wanted to stay close. He had to stay close and protect the woman he was now mated to.

Wait, what?

“Keigo?” He heard you call out and was pulled from his confusing thoughts. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Hawks gave a laugh that didn’t sound all that convincing to his own ears. “Bad news, babe. I think I’m still a horny bird,” he confessed.

There was a pause. Maybe you had taken a sip. “I don’t know if they told you, but when the deputy explained your…situation, he said that the symptoms of your rut will probably be amplified until it’s over.”

Ah, the old man did mention that over the phone. He only had about a week of his yearly phase left, but if this all means intensified aggression and arousal, not to mention the attachment to the lady he just banged for several hours…

This was going to be a very difficult week.

“Babe?” He said just loud enough for you to hear.

“Yes?”

“…I really fucked up by not taking my meds, didn’t I?”

He didn’t exactly hear your sigh, but it was still felt through his wings. “I’m afraid you did.”

Yeah, this was all his fault. This bullshit would only be half as painful if he was still taking his stupid hormone medication like he has been for years. Not only do these unrestrained imbalances feel foreign to his body, but Libido’s quirk practically put them on steroids.

The medicine’s side effects don’t sound all that bad anymore.

—————

Hawks had already eaten a slice of leftover pizza by the time you finally mustered up the strength to get up. The feel of your entire lower body cramping made you whimper and stumble.

He was already scrambling back in to catch you and hold you up, his high body temperature startling you. “Thank you,” you said wearily.

He froze for a second before jumping back, the sudden loss of support almost making you fall anyway. He wordlessly strutted over to his wardrobe, withdrawing a fresh pair of underwear.

You looked away when the pants were pulled down and his hardness sprang free. He’s not just going to ignore that, is he?

“Keigo, do you need to…do this…again?” You asked, tuning out the throb of your muscles.

He chuckled as he began to dress himself . “You are not up for more sex, baby. Don’t even act like it when you can barely stand.”

You huffed. “You’re getting really hot again and you shouldn’t go out feeling like th—”

“Nope.” His boner is covered again, somewhat. He stares at the obvious protrusion before shrugging and retrieving his hero outfit.

Even with your aches, you had the grit to push on. “As long as you go slow, I can probably handle it.”

“Mmmm, can’t promise that,” he murmured while momentarily detaching his wings in order to squeeze into his tight black shirt. “The second I’m inside you, I might lose control and shatter your pelvis.”

That’s horrifying, but… “I trust you.”

“I don’t trust me.”

“Keigo…”

“And don’t get too attached to that name, dove. Can’t have it slipping out in public.”

“I wouldn’t do that. I’m not stupid.”

“Could’ve fooled me, since you’ve offered me your tender pussy twice already. Do you want me to pound you into mush?”

“Language, Hawks!” You strictly reminded him, undeterred by your wobbly legs as you tried to remind him who was in charge.

Hawks shot you a look, his face crinkled into furrowed eyebrows and a crooked grin, a look that screamed ‘Seriously?’

“Listen, ma’am, wood happens. I’ve dealt with it plenty of times like any other guy, so I’m telling you that I don’t need to bang to get rid of this.” He pulled up his tan loose pants, the bulge not as obvious, but still visible. “But if you really insist on ordering me to fuck you silly, be my guest.”

You weren’t exactly going to do that, it’s just that Hawks was acting so unfazed by his strong arousal, but his body was very clearly telling a different story. His breathing was heavier than necessary, and every time after he made eye contact with you, it’s like he had to spend a minute to compose himself. However, if he’s confident that he can endure…

“Fine,” you sighed, watching him suit up with more interest than you cared to admit. You hobbled on out and into the kitchen.

“Need help, granny?” You heard him offer. “I can fly you to your place if your legs still aren’t working.”

“I’m fine,” you grumbled in annoyance at both him and your uncooperative limbs. The fridge was yanked open and you frowned at its contents. The pizza and chicken wings were the only real food he had, the rest being sugary snacks or microwave meals. Looks like ‘keeping a healthy diet’ will have to be added to your Hawks Maintenance list.

The flaps of wings were heard behind you as Hawks headed for the door, fully geared up and ready for hero work. “Welp, you’re a big girl that can handle yourself. Drive safely, babe. Can’t wait to hear what you have to nag me about at the office.”

“Hmph,” you gave a smirk of your own when you turned away from the humming microwave. “Probably about the next mistake you make for all of the internet to see.”

He waved dismissively and opened the door, the morning sun illuminating him with an enchanting glow. “Come on, have some faith in me. I’ll be careful.”

Crimson wings spread as he steps outside, but the door closes before you can watch him take off.

—————

Buzzfood.com

HAWKS SPORTS STIFFY ON THE JOB

Written by Yuki Burushito

Now, I know that I’ve been posting enough Hawks-related articles to last a year, but can you blame me with all the weird behavior he’s been exhibiting this month? You probably think that I have a boner for the guy, but let me tell you this: one of us has a boner, and it isn’t me.

Everyone’s favorite hawk was hiding a woodpecker in his pants today. The best part is that it apparently lasted hours, given that it was mentioned in several incidents throughout the day, but the clearest example was when he subdued a mugger at noon, which was filmed by a bystander and is already making the rounds across the web.

Yet another extreme apprehension from Hawks—though it doesn’t top the beating he gave to that frisky peacock—I sure didn’t expect the fast-working hero to swoop down on a fleeing thief and slam him into the ground. I’m certain that a few feathers would have done the job just fine. When the pinned mugger felt Hawks Jr. poking at his back, he lifted his busted face off the ground and screamed, “Is this shit turning you on?!”

While everyone is currently having a field day with that meme-able clip, the answer is most likely no. Hawks was hard before the mugging occurred. Since I’ll probably be writing about him again by...I don’t know, tomorrow, I’ll cut to the chase. You have probably heard the theories that Hawks is experiencing some sort of rut.

Well, it’s time for me to come out and say that I fully support those theories. “But Mr. Burushito!” I hear you say. “If this is something as regular as a rut, how come he’s never acted this wild before?” My answer to that is: I have no idea. He’s still a rather young man; maybe whatever sexual cycles his body possesses have only started appearing recently.

Honestly, you can never be sure with mutant types. Their bodies never make any damn sense.

“I take offense to that last sentence.”

You didn’t react to Hawks’s comment as you both read the article on your phones. After seeing multiple images of ‘Hard Hawks’, as he’s been nicknamed, taken by several random civilians and shared on their social media accounts, you knew it was only a matter of time before these petty news sites decided to take a bite out of the fresh meat.

Maybe this was your fault for trusting the hormonal bird that was currently seated in front of you while you stood across his desk. The only reason you aren’t scolding him right now is because he already looks so damn miserable. He had removed his protective headphones and visor right after finishing his patrols. A desk fan was turned to its highest setting, blowing directly into the hero’s sweaty face as he tried his hardest to focus on the small screen in his hands. He hasn’t looked at you since you’ve entered the office, but distressed or not, there was a certain matter you had to discuss.

“The deputy apparently called me this morning,” you started, ready to see how he reacts.

You notice him tense for just a second as he continues to scroll through whatever it is he’s looking at.

“It says that I had taken the call, but I sure don’t remember that. What I do remember is that you were awake before me.” Your hands were on your hips, waiting for Hawks to answer to your unspoken accusation. “Well?”

He still stared down at his phone, but it didn’t seem like he was actually looking at anything, his mind elsewhere. “Yeah yeah, I talked to him,” he admitted groggily.

You’re more angered by the fact that the deputy never bothered to call you back, leaving you in the dark from whatever he and Hawks had discussed. “So, what did you two talk about? You know, during my call that was meant for me?”

Hawks finally laid his glassy eyes on you. The energy surrounding him was drastically different from this morning and it made you just a tad anxious. Your body truly didn’t feel up to it when you offered him more sex this morning, but you knew it would be better than him reverting to another delirious state. “In a nutshell, he wants us to keep fucking until I’m better.”

Your eyes widened in shock. “What? He didn’t think it was important to tell me about this?”

He leaned far back into his chair and smiled, beads of sweat trickling down his neck. “Guess not. But hey, you’re doing your job anyway, already serving yourself to me the minute you see a hard-on.”

You glared, considering storming out of the room and calling that asshole immediately. “I don’t appreciate him expecting me to be your personal whore.”

“I know, I know. He’s a real douche, isn’t he? How about we both blow off some steam?” He was already scooting out of his chair and making his way around the desk. “I’m just making one mistake after another. Shoulda just said yes to you this morning. Never pays to be a nice guy, does it?” His voice was sounding rougher with each word, like his throat was changing into a sandpaper tube as he stopped right in front of you.

You trembled, making the mistake of looking down and spotting the erection that was very much still present.

For the sake of your still-burning body, you might need some time to mentally prepare for this. “Alright…but before we leave, just let me—”

“Leave?” Two hands clasped onto your shoulders hard, holding you in place. The raptorial eyes held yours captive, stirring up a heat within you despite your unease. “We’re doing this right here, right now.”

“Wha-I-but-” Your stutters were ignored as he turned you to the desk and bent you over, your back muscles screaming in protest. All of his weight was pressing into you, his deprived cock pushing against your ass.

“And everyone’s already left for tonight, so it’s just you and me.” He’s eagerly yanking your pants down then does the same for his own.

His fingers wasted no time in groping your sex, the swipes against your folds triggering a steady flow of slick arousal. There should be no one else in the building at this time, but your paranoia still makes you clap a hand over your mouth as you gasp from his sinful touches.

“Mmm, already getting wet for me?” He cooed behind you, his breath feeling like heat emanating from an open flame. “My brave little hen, willing to take as many poundings as she can.”

That’s a pet name you haven’t heard before. Teeth scrape across the space between your neck and shoulder while the head of his cock lubricates itself along your fleshy petals. When he pierces you with a strong jab of his hips, the light nips on your skin become a full-on bite, muffling his own cry. For you, however, the sharp sensation of being filled so suddenly combined with the pain of his teeth pinching into the crook of your neck had you wailing through your hand.

He was already setting a quick pace, giving your bitten area a few apologetic licks before leaning back to properly grip your hips and plow you. Your entire body was rocked forward with each impact, the harsh stroking of your inner walls bringing forth a raw pleasure that you admittedly missed.

But that wasn’t enough to ignore the resurging aches all over you. Your sensitive ass cheeks have become very familiar with slapping against his abdomen, every pleasurable collision also shooting pain up your lower back, and his probing dick was showing no mercy to your delicate insides.

“Haw—ah, Hawks! You need…you need to slow down!” You quavered.

The only response was a series of savage pants and growls as his violent movements continued, informing you that all of his sense and reasoning has disappeared once again. You remember the warning he gave you this morning, and fear that his quip about breaking your pelvis may have been more than just a joke.

You try to twist yourself just enough to see his face and speak to him more directly, but a hand on your back shoves you hard onto the desk, leaving your breasts and belly to scrape against the wooden surface. At least you weren’t fully stripped for this.

How the hell did this happen so fast? He was speaking just a minute ago! Do the after-effects of Libido’s quirk ruin Hawks’s mind that quickly the second his dick touches a pussy?

A moan was being ripped from your throat with every thrust as he upped the speed and force. He was showing no signs of stopping, and your thighs were beginning to cramp. The mixture of colorful pleasure and throbbing pains was making every inch of you shake. His fierce sounds were becoming distant—even with your legs on the verge of giving out and your back muscles crying, you welcomed the fog of bliss that was ready to carry you away.

Your poor legs finally crumpled like frail sticks, only for the frustrated animal behind you to lift your hips up until your entire body was on the desk, arms now dangling over the edge. There was only enough time to reposition your numbed limbs into a low doggy position before Hawks was climbing onto the desk himself, crouching over you and wasting no time in continuing his pummeling.

“Haw…ah…nngh…” Your feeble attempt to speak was quickly squandered. The new angle allowed him to easily strike your more sensitive spots, making your moans even louder. The desk jolted with each powerful jerk of his hips, the feral hero’s wings extending and flapping in sync with his thrusts, papers flying off the desk from the gusts of wind. Through all of the soreness and delightful trembles, you wondered what the current scene looked like to a spectator—the sight of this delirious bird beast, sounding a loud lustful tune of primal urges and carnal desires as he hysterically claimed you.

Your eyes roll back as the hot ripples in your core grow into pulsating waves, Hawks’s unwavering strokes prolonging the intoxicating climax as you quiver under him. You thought you heard a sound from the staggering desk—a snap—but your mind was too far gone at the moment to care.

Hawks tried desperately to keep pumping through your tightening walls, but your delicious grasp on him was draining his stamina. You were gripping the edge of his workspace for dear life, the orgasmic throbs still wracking your body as he rabbit fucked you, ready to fill your womb with the load that has been prepared since morning…

It all happened in slow motion...the sound of wood and metal breaking, the weightless feeling of falling...you had registered it all just a second too late. Your abused body dropped with the collapsing desk, Hawks’s weight crashing down on top of you while papers slowly floated toward the floor. Both of you laid there in agony, the chair somehow falling over and onto Hawks for added insult. A few groaned words revealed that the winged man was fully aware again.

“Augh, fuck…my balls.”

—————

Wednesday

“Here’s all of the completed paperwork, Hawks sir!”

Hawks beamed at the intern entering his office with a stack of papers. “Ah, thanks, Springer! You’re a real lifesaver, ya know that?”

The aspiring ‘Bouncing Hero’ hopped excitedly on his peculiar coiled legs as he handed over the documents. “Thank you, sir! I’m always here whenever I am needed.” He bowed respectfully. “Although, I just…forgive me for feeling the need to remind you, but please do not forget that I took this internship to do hero work, not to sort and fill papers.”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t forget,” Hawks assured him, taking the cursed heap of papers. You were usually the one that he shoves all of his office-related tasks on, but whenever you were preoccupied, he would pass the burden onto a trainee that was too starry-eyed to acknowledge that they were being used. Yes, he feels a little bad, but his hatred of reading endless forms was too strong for him to care much. “I gotta test your patience and comprehension first, then I’ll be taking you out into the field with me. You’re doing great!” He bullshitted with a smile.

Springer perked up at the words. “Of course! I’ll keep doing my best!” His eyes kept drifting to the large empty space in the room. “Sir, what happened to your desk?”

Hawks looked over at the open spot, feigning surprise as if noticing it for the first time. “Oh, right. I banged my handler on it ’til it broke.”

“…”

The teen searched the man’s eyes for several long seconds, looking for something, before bursting into boisterous laughter. Hawks joined in with his own chuckles.

“You’re very funny, sir! But I don’t think she would appreciate such a joke. Whatever happened, I hope you get a replacement soon!” He bowed again before walking—well, more like skipping out of the room.

Hawks’s smile didn’t fade when he was alone again, wondering where to place the heavy stack in his hands.

Sometimes the truth makes for the best lie.

—————

Pleasing Hawks when he was a drooling horndog was a challenging test of endurance, but at least it was simple and straightforward. All you gotta do is let him mount you and brace yourself.

But that option was currently out of the question. Your entire body was just too damn stiff and sore, every single movement feeling like the impaired motions of an unoiled tinman. Nevertheless, you still needed to get rid of Hawks’s brand new boner.

So here you were, back at his bed and kneeling on the floor, shyly licking at the swollen rod in your hands. You weren’t the most experienced at this, paying close attention to his noises and responses that came with every action from your fingers and tongue. Hawks was watching your performance with an agitated glare, which was just a tad troubling and added extra pressure.

You licked the prominent vein on the underside of his dick, tracing it up to his bulging head before taking him into the hot cavern of your mouth. He groaned through painfully clenched teeth; he seemed to be enjoying it, yet it looked like his frustration was only growing.

Not yet deterred, you began to suck at him, head bobbing up and down while your hand jerked the extra inches that you couldn’t take in. Your other hand gently held and caressed his enlarged sack, heavy and full of cum that refused to be freed into your mouth. His cock was twitching wildly in your throat, so he has to be close, right? Ignoring the burning in your back and….everything else, honestly, you placed all of your focus on engulfing as much of him as you could, tongue swirling all around him until he inevitably gives in.

But a hand grabs your head and yanks you off of him with a wet surprised gasp.

“Stop…stop…it’s just getting worse.” He choked in a broken voice, staring down at the impossibly hard and red erection.

You wiped off the saliva that had run down your chin. “Why won’t you cum?”

His thighs trembled from all of the unreleased tension; you rubbed them to hopefully calm him just a bit. “Fuck, I…it’s like I can’t do it unless I’m…dammit!” The sudden beat of his angry wings spooked you.

You drew a deep breath. You really weren’t up for this, but leaving him in this state would be too cruel. Not to mention it was putting him in a very sour mood. Hoisting yourself onto the bed (with a few pained whimpers), you faced away from him and lowered your upper body to rest your arms, your ass raised and ready for him.

“You know, Keigo,” you started casually, as if you weren’t laid out in such a compromising position. “When I took this job, I imagined the countless situations I could possibly end up in. I was afraid I’d get caught in the middle of some villainous scheme, like a hostage situation. My silly fangirl side imagined going on dates with my favorite hero. The list of scenarios went on and on.”

The man behind you didn’t say anything, so you kept going. “And yet, ‘presenting myself to Hawks so that he can hump me senseless’ was not on that never-ending list.

He gave an awkward laugh, still sounding as if his throat was constricted. “You don’t have to, babe. I can…I dunno…”

“Just fuck me already.”

Hawks said no more and took hold of your rear. “I’ll try to take it slow. I’ll try.”

He tried and failed. Once he penetrated you, he completely lost himself again. By the time he was satisfied, every fiber of your being was dimmed and immobilized. He helped you get tucked into bed that night.

—————

Thursday

“Please, sir. I’m quite concerned for my health. This would be easier if he was away from the excitement of his work.”

After mulling it over, you had decided to be the one to reach out to the deputy, since he didn’t seem interested in calling you again anytime soon. Your original plan was to brave through the fury of Hawks’s dick until this damn rut ended, just like the deputy intended without your say in the matter.

But when you had to visit the doctor for your pains today, and you walked out with a fucking crutch under your arm, you realized this was all a bit much.

At the moment, you were trying to negotiate for letting Hawks take at least a day or two away from work. The deputy didn’t seem convinced. “Hawks once managed to keep working for an entire day with a broken wing and no visits to the hospital, and you mean to tell me that he should rest just because he has the hormonal urges of a teenager?” His snobbish ass questioned.

“This is—!” You inhaled sharply through your nose, catching yourself and lowering your voice. “This is much stronger than that, sir. Without getting into detail, I have withstood some back-breaking nights.” You consider telling him about your recent hospital visit, but the remaining shreds of your pride wouldn’t allow you to share that. Even you didn’t want to believe that Hawks has literally fucked you until you couldn’t walk.

You heard him snort in your ear. Ugh. “Doesn’t sound like anything a steady dose of painkillers can’t fix,” he dismissed.

You gave up making him understand your suffering and tried something else. “Sir, Hawks has faithfully served the Commission since he was a child. He has become one of the most accomplished heroes this generation has ever seen. His skills and dedication have done nothing but help the Commission become a more positive icon all over Japan. Don’t you think such a loyal and hard-working hero deserves at least one day off?”

“No.”

Well, shit. “…Alright, um, thank you for taking the time to hear me. I’ll get back to my duties.”

“Yes, that would be great,” he said listlessly before hanging up.

What an asshole.

—————

“What happened?”

Hawks’s words carry a dangerous tone when he sees you enter his office with the help of your walking aid. It makes you pause.

Going by the sharp yet troubled look in his eyes, you could tell that the tone wasn’t directed at you. ‘Did someone hurt you?’ That’s what he was really asking. His concern always warmed you. “Nothing, I just…” You hate reminding yourself that this even happened. “The pains were getting really bad.”

It takes a minute for those words to sink in, then his eyes widen in some sort of amazement. “Oh.” A flurry of feathers fly off of his wings and form a small floating cushion in front of you. “There, have a seat. Don’t want you hurting anymore than you already do.”

You eye the levitating seat before approaching and lowering yourself onto it. It was like a soft yet firm pillow, and you didn’t miss how the feathers seemed to all shiver, red barbs shaking rapidly as you adjusted your rump.

“Thank you,” you said while resting the crutch onto your lap. Once you were comfortable, you looked at the hero and the brand new furniture between the both of you. “I like your new desk.”

“Thanks. This one is pure steel, much more durable.” He winked.

You return it with a roll of your eyes. “Wonderful. Anyhow, I want to discuss a local hero event coming in two weeks. Your presence would do well to—” you noticed that he was snickering, lips pursed in a strained effort not to fully laugh. “Did I say something funny?”

He shook his head while short amused breaths still escaped him. “I’m sorry, I know you’re hurting and all, but…” He was cackling now, hunching over the desk as he struggled to explain. “I can’t believe I put you in crutches!”

Your face burned with both embarrassment and anger at how hilarious he found the situation. “Hawks…”

He coughed and noisily cleared his throat. “Sorry, I promise to keep it in my pants from now on.” A mischievous grin was plastered on his face. “I mean, I don’t wanna put you in a wheelchair next!”

With a wheeze and happily flailing wings, Hawks keeled over onto the desk with his face buried in his arms, the laughs muffled but still going strong. You just watch with a frown, listening to his mumbled joke about how ‘once you go hawk, you won’t be able to walk’.

What an asshole.

—————

Saturday

Hawks was definitely getting better. You could tell with each passing day, taking mental notes on how he was having an easier time holding your gaze, or how he was able to stay close to you without growing in his pants. Thank god, because your body was still recovering. Another round of wild sex will only cripple you further.

That’s why the incident currently being reviewed on television was filling you with dread. You sat in the main room of Hawks’s house, the house that you practically lived in for nearly a week, watching coverage of the recent attack at the Fukuoka City Mall. The footage of various species of birds flying into the shopping center and swarming the unsuspecting civilians was almost comical, the colorful animals squawking loudly as they snatched every shiny valuable in sight.

A man with the head of a macaw, apparently going by the villain name of Parakill, stood at the center of the chaos, chirping excitedly as his fowl goons showered him in jewels and baubles. His robbery was cut short when small red blurs whizzed into the scene, pinning the criminal onto the floor and chasing around the army of birds until they surrendered their stolen goods. You weren’t prepared for the deafening chorus of tweets and shrieks when the winged hero stepped into the camera’s line of sight.

The restrained villain was cawing and screeching angrily, most likely commanding his birds. You couldn’t see Hawks’s face clearly due to the distance and quality, but you could still make out the intimidating glare as his wings slowly spread out into their full span, each individual feather looking slightly sharpened. Any bird that made a move was quickly poked with a red quill, each and every one of them eventually staying in place while uttering quiet submissive peeps. Parakill’s look of rage slowly morphed into one of fear. Once the danger was surely dealt with, Hawks called for any lingering citizens to leave the area while he retrieved the villain.

You were still in awe as the news switched to another story. Some sort of dominance was asserted there. You weren’t sure how, but it definitely happened. The worrying part was that tapping into his primal instincts like that has probably riled him up. Christ, he’s probably rushing over right now to fuck you into the mattress again.

Only about thirty minutes had passed when you hear the twist of the doorknob and the front door opening. You stand in anxious anticipation. How disheveled and hungry is he going to look? Is he going to jump you on sight?

But the Hawks that walks in is…composed, his face free of tension and layers of sweat as he spots you and offers a friendly smile. “Sup.”

You’re too stunned to give anything more than a “Hey” as he walks past you and heads for his room.

It’s a miracle. No sexual excitement after such a tense encounter with not only a villain, but another male bird mutant? Was he truly getting that much better? There wasn’t enough certainty to approach him while he was changing, so you stayed on the couch and stared at the large screen until he chose to come out on his own.

You were still channel surfing by the time he was strutting over in his loose and comfy clothes, plopping down onto the couch with a wing outstretched and tucking itself behind your back. You gulped—not sure what he had planned for you.

“Relax. You’re acting like I’m gonna eat you,” he teased, watching you flip through the TV’s guide.

“You’re not? I can’t be too sure after what happened today.” You turned to him, watching his keen golden eyes shift and meet yours. The gaze wasn’t glassy. It wasn’t predatory. “You really feel alright?”

“Haven’t felt this good in the past two weeks. It’s nice to be a civil human again.”

You relaxed a bit and shuffled in your seat, fully aware of how his wing was wrapped around your shoulder like an affectionate arm. “About the attack at the mall…” You began. “What exactly was happening there?”

“What, you mean what I did to the birds? Parakill was trying to sic them on me.” He straightened up with a grinning face that radiated pride. “So I rearranged the pecking order. His birds don’t answer to him anymore.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “You didn’t. You can do that?”

“Sure can! It’s not that hard. I mean, don’t think that I have a bunch of attack birds at my command now. Animal control took them in to be relocated, not to mention some of them were illegal exotics.”

“Ah, that’s…impressive.”

“Heh, remember this, babe,” he leaned in until his lips were grazing your ear, his lowered voice and hot breath making you shudder. “I’m always the top bird.”

You shake off his flirting and try to keep your composure. “Right, of course. I’m just really glad that you’re getting better.”

His wing pulled you in for a tight hug that made you squeak. “All thanks to my sweet hen of a handler. Couldn’t have gotten through this without you.” He heard your pained grunts and instantly released you. “Whoops, sorry.”

You rolled your stiff shoulders and sighed. “It’s fine. You’re not the only one who’s getting better. Just do me a favor and try to forget that I was ever this sore from sex.”

Hawks laughed softly as he took your hands in his. The gesture surprised you after experiencing days of rough and impatient touches. “Hey,” he was almost whispering, forcing you to lean in closer to hear him. “It’s been a wild week. My mind’s been all over the place and I’ve put you through a lot. And…” He looked away with his brows pinched in a pained expression, troubled over something you didn’t know about. Before you could ask, his face drew closer, until your foreheads were pressed together. “Mind if I do one more thing with you?”

You were completely lost. You didn’t understand the sudden tenderness, his somber mood, or why he was talking with some sort of finality to his words.

“Let me take you to bed.”

The fuck?

“Keigo,” you leaned away from him, paying no mind to how you already missed his warm closeness. “I said I was getting better, but I’m not that much better.”

He shook his head, bringing your hands closer to his chest. “No, not like that. Just…I wanna do this properly with you for once. Some nice, regular sex. Hell, doesn’t even have to be full-on sex, I just want to…feel you.”

Your eyebrows raised. “Feel me?” You repeated.

He nodded eagerly with a big-ass smile. The normally cheeky young man was acting so genuine right now.

It was hard to say no to that.

“Alright.”

Hawks said no more, pulling you up on your feet and taking you to the room you both have shared for several nights. He was quick in removing your clothes, peeling each article off smoothly before doing the same to his own. The mood felt so different from your other intimate meetups that you couldn’t help but feel modest all over again.

Calloused hands were gently pushing you down onto your back, and you watch as the handsome man above opens up his wings, his eyes closed as if entering a trance.

“Whenever we fucked, I never felt like I was really there,” he recalled out loud, looking more relaxed than you’ve ever seen. “I could feel you, see you, hear you, but it’s like my body was moving on its own. I was in the backseat of my own head.”

With a deep inhale and exhale, he stared down at you with a look of desire, but not the savage kind. You’re not quite sure what it was…maybe the look of a lover.

Fingers traced your face, trailing down your cheek, brushing your lips, and skimming over your well-marked neck. “Now I finally get to feel you however I want.”

Your breath caught in your throat when his lips made contact with the flesh right over your pulse, planting a few light kisses before mouthing at your neck, the random swipe of a tongue making you gasp.

His open wings twitched in response at the small sound. He was trying to savor every single one of your reactions. That’s intense.

He was in no rush, mouth moving down slowly and stopping to observe the bruise near your shoulder. “Damn, I bit you hard. That’s…when we were in the office, right?” he asked.

You hummed and nodded. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t as painful as a fully grown man falling on top of me after ramming me through a desk.”

Hawks chuckled at the memory while rolling your breast around in his hands. “Man, that really crushed my nuts. I swear my voice was a pitch higher for the rest of the night.” He laughed into your tits, licking at the squishy mounds as he took in each of your shivers and moans.

“Maybe, but that was probably just from you crying about how you could no longer give me chicks.” Yeah, that was a weird time.

“Shh, that didn’t happen,” he denied.

“Yes, it did. I had to hold you as you sobbed.”

“Lies.”

“You were worse than I’ve ever been on my perio—ah!” A bite on your nipple silenced you.

Hawks shot you a playful glare, daring you to say more. When your mouth stayed shut, he gave a satisfied purr and sucked at the same perky bud, soothing the sting before moving on to the other.

You felt relaxed; this was all so much calmer than what you have gotten used to. While you won’t deny that his feral side was as pleasurable as it was tiring, at least you can finally take the time to breathe and soak up what he’s doing. Judging from his vibrating feathers, he probably felt the same.

He licked down your stomach while his hands ran down your sides until they reached the purple finger-shaped blemishes on your hips. He winced at the sight. “Ouch.”

“Yeah, ouch.”

He nurtured the marks with his mouth, careful not to apply too much pressure and cause any pain.

“You don’t have to be so delicate,” you hesitantly tell him. “The day you were under the quirk’s influence, you uh, you were doing the same to the bruises on my back…felt kind of good.”

His lips curved into a devilish smile. “Oh, so you like a little pain? My innocent little hen?”

“Shut up,” you said with a blush. “It’s your fault that I’ve felt everything but innocent lately.”

“True, true. I didn’t mean to open you up to the wonderful world of rough play.” His mouth closes around a bruise and sucks hard, shooting a sharp pleasurable burn that traveled straight down to your core. “Ooooh, I felt that.”

You can only whimper as he laps at the sensitive area, but part of you wants him to bring that scary jolt of pain again.

“I wanna know,” he says between licks. “Just how much did you enjoy me letting loose on you? How many times did we do it the first day?”

A few more kisses are laid on your hips before he continues his descent. Your breath quickens in nervous excitement when he nestles his head between your legs, face dangerously close to your hot sex.

“Come on, hen. At least give me a guess.” He turns to your thighs and showers them with timid pecks.

The sheets beneath you crinkle under your death grip. “Don’t know…lost count after the seventh time,” you admit through gritted teeth.

“Aww, what a shame,” his mouth wanders further inside your thigh. “Do you know how many times you came?”

“I don’t know. A lot.”

He bit into you and enjoyed the resulting yelp. “Mmmm, definitely a lot. Enough to knock you out. So sad that neither of us remember just how thoroughly I wrecked you.”

His naughty lips are just an inch away from your nether ones, your breath quickening in anticipation. Hawks looks up at you, most likely enjoying the view of your heaving chest. But he does well in reminding you how much of a bastard he is by switching to your other thigh, subjecting you to another round of kisses.

“Keigooo,” you whine pathetically, feeling your aches as your muscles tense from the teasing.

“Hold on, I’ve got more questions. What was your favorite position?”

“What?”

“Come on, you’ve got plenty to choose from,” he licks the sweat that was beginning to coat your skin.

Both your embarrassment and his tongue were making it very difficult to answer. You stammer over your words while his mouth moves inward, but once again, he stops at your mound.

“You really can’t think of one?” He gives you a ridiculously sad face—large puppy eyes and a puckered bottom lip—it would have looked more innocent if he wasn’t so close to your most private area.

You realize that he wasn’t going to take any further action until you gave him an answer. “I…when I’m on my hands and knees…” You swallow despite the dryness of your throat. “…and you’re on top of me…”

“Ah,” he sighs, and you feel his thumbs part your outer lips like a damp pair of curtains. He stares down at the pussy that he has battered more times than either of you can count, and yet it drips for him even now. The feel of a single finger running down your wetness makes your entire body jerk. “You like it when I mount you like a dog?”

“Yes,” you choke.

He blows on your quivering cunt. “What do you like about it so much?”

“I…you…I don’t…”

“Do you just love feeling like an animal too? Love it when a crazed horny guy humps you into the floor?” He finally indulges you with a long lick from your hole to your clit, and the hot muscle already has you moaning. “Is that it?”

“Ah…maybe…” You answer, and he rewards you with another lick. Listening to his questions was becoming a challenge.

“Hmm, would you love it if I fucked you until my bed gives out? You’re a pretty expensive girl to mess around with,” he jokes. He then dives in, sloppily making out with your folds that have been begging for more gentle attention for days.

Your head thrashes against the pillow. His licks and sucks were both pleasurable and soothing against your beaten pussy. You were finally freed from his powerful stare when he closed his eyes and fully concentrated on eating you out. He alternated between sucking loudly on your velvety folds and lapping at your opening, sometimes dipping his tongue inside so that he can feel your walls attempt to grab him.

The building pressure in your belly has become an old friend at this point, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t excited whenever it arrived and begged it to explode and bring you back to that lovely state of euphoria. Hawks’s mouth was moving more fervently as he drank in more of your juices, as if your nectar was intoxicating him. His deep moans rattled your insides while he smacked his wet lips against every inch of your womanhood, giving your swollen clit a smooch before sucking hard.

“Mm…oh god…Keigo, please…”

He growled with your bud still in his mouth, blinding you with the electrifying pleasure that was only enhanced by the sudden intrusion of two fingers in your throbbing cavern. The slow inner massage guided you to the top where stars burst in your vision, each orgasmic throb bringing forth a shameless moan. The stimulated wings fluttered from the overwhelming pleasure surrounding them, Hawks giving light licks and kisses until you were back down to earth.

“Fuck, that was good,” he said breathlessly, as if he was the one that just got sent to heaven. “You felt amazing, so nice and clear.” His wings finally folded behind his back as he straightened himself and wiped his glistening face.

You were ready to drift away into a happy slumber until you saw Hawks move to get off the bed and spotted the very familiar hardness that was bobbing with his movements. “Wait! You’re…” Your eyes dart from his face to his erection.

“Don’t worry about that; fapping works again!” he told you cheerfully before changing to a devious smirk. “What, did you wanna watch or something?”

“No,” you snapped a bit more loudly than intended. “I…want you inside of me.”

He froze.

“You sure?”

“Very.”

He crawled back between your legs—clearly trying not to look too eager—and was already aiming his cock at your opening. Your nod of approval was all he needed to push inside and damn, that was one hell of a face and moan he made.

You reflexively braced yourself for an immediate pounding, but the throbbing length just stayed there, twitching in response to every pulse from your surrounding walls. Hawks appeared absolutely fascinated by the sight of him sheathed inside of you before looking up to your face, eyes filled with a warm lust, not the unfocused kind that you have gotten used to.

He pulled out slowly and pushed back in at the same speed. “Ooooh, fuck, baby. So hot…so tight…” He murmured with a broken groan. The lazy thrusts allowed you to feel every inch of him stretch you, his veins rubbing against you for added texture and stimulation. Your hypersensitive pussy appreciated the easy pace, and even better, it was also working for the hero above you.

His hips gradually sped up overtime, but never into something rough and aggressive. It was more like a grind, his abs rippling with every deep push. His flushed face has gotten dangerously close to yours, allowing you to watch the pulsating pupils of his avian eyes.

The only time he ‘kissed’ you was on the first day, though a more appropriate description would be that he simply smashed his mouth against yours. Now, as you stared at his parted lips while hot breaths blew onto your face, you had a strong desire to finally give him a proper one.

Good thing Hawks was a damn mind reader, because he brought his lips down to yours right after you finished the thought. They were soft, softer than you expected from a guy that flew at high speeds all day. Then again, he was also a sex symbol that needed to take care of himself.

His mouth was clearly more skilled than yours, so you let him take the lead, lips molding perfectly against yours with playful licks. The added intimacy sped up his hips and raised his volume, his entire mouth engulfing yours as he moaned into you. Your tongue found his and engaged in a frantic dance. He’s tensing up; you give him some encouragement by wrapping your arms and legs around his sweaty form, giving the base of his wings a few rubs. Your mouths part to catch your breaths, a strand of saliva linking your tongues together

“Cum inside me, Keigo.”

“Oh fuck.” Your words have him pumping erratically into you, but you’ve dealt with worse. He buries his head into the crook of your neck, whimpering at your legs that keep him locked in place and urging him to release his creamy essence as deep inside you as possible.

His trembles are powerful, but even better were the cracked whines vibrating against your neck as he emptied himself into your womb. You never get tired of watching his wings lifelessly drop whenever he wears himself out. You cradle his spent body—it’s all so similar to the first time he took you, except this time he moves just a little to the side to relieve you of some of his weight. He doesn’t move you for another round, he just relaxes into your cuddles.

“Thanks,” he says softly, already close to dozing off.

You’re not sure what exactly he’s thanking you for, but it makes you smile anyway. “You’re welcome.”

A wing stretches over you as a blanket, the warm soft feathers doing well to pull you into dreamland as well. Hawks’s heavy breaths tell you that he was already out.

You close your eyes. It looks like you both managed to survive the worst rut of Hawks’s life. This sure as hell wasn’t what you signed up for, but looking back, it wasn’t that bad. Except for the crutch. The crutch never happened.

As sleep claimed you, you wondered what the future had in store for you and the winged hero.

—————

Monday

“I just got fired.”

Hawks flinched at the news, scratching at his back awkwardly. “Aww man, that’s…oof, what a shocker.”

For some reason, his surprise didn’t sound very real. But you were way too upset at the moment to question it further. “Well, I guess it’s more like a demotion. They’re still allowing me into a position I have more experience in. It’s probably back to desk work for me,” You sighed, pacing back and forth across the office in a desperate attempt to expel some of your anger. “But I can’t believe this. I can’t believe that he basically kept me around to be your fucking fleshlight, and then threw me away after you were satisfied!”

Hawks shrugged with an apologetic look. “It really sucks, babe. You can’t forget: the real studs are the Commission. No one fucks more people than them. A lot of us are a one-time use to those guys. I’m just lucky enough to have a longer expiration date than most. Or unlucky. I dunno.”

You didn’t either, honestly. Hawks deserved better. “They’re such assholes, yet here I am ready to keep working for them. I so badly want to say ‘fuck you’ and leave, but…” You trailed off.

Hawks finished your sentence with a smirk. “They pay too well?”

Your head lowers in shame. “Yeah.”

A wing pats you on the back as he laughs. “I’m not judging, angel. That’s probably what keeps most of the guys around.” He steps closer to you, gently taking your chin to tilt your head back up. “I’m gonna miss you though. Whoever they send to watch my ass next isn’t going to be half as fun as you.”

The comment warms you. You take his hand and pull it further up to your face, letting him cup your cheek. “Thanks, but I was pretty bad at the job. They would have kicked me down sooner or later.”

He came in closer. “True, you sucked. But you’re the first handler I got to know so well. Inside and outside.” His chuckle is hot against you before he locks his lips to yours. The kiss becomes more heated than expected—he’s tugging at your lip and thrusting his tongue in and out of your mouth in a way that makes your thighs press together. You tear yourself away from his face, breathless.

“Hawks…?”

His tongue slowly runs over his upper lip. Goddamn. “Sorry, little hen. I was just hoping you’d like a nice goodbye gift. I can give you more, if you want.”

You’re so pissed off at yourself for throbbing in response to his offer.

He pulls you back in and takes hold of the waistband of your pants. “How about it? Wanna get to know my new desk a little better?”

The sounds resonating from the office that morning scarred Springer.

#bnha #smut #hawks #keigo takami #hawks x reader #keigo x reader #keigo takami x reader

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