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#hero name PULSE
madasacrow · 6 months
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Shook Canon!Benji around in my brain too much and now he's actually part robin/sparrow/bird oh no
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kingkatsuki · 2 months
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Thinking about Bakugou fucking you with one of those lovense vibes inside you and he can’t handle the vibrations and cums instantly😩
This has been in my drafts for so long I don’t even remember writing it.
Warnings: 18+, toys.
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“Aww, you poor baby,” Bakugou practically sneers as his thumb glides against his phone screen, “Is it too much?”
Even without the intense vibrations humming inside you, the sight in front of you may have been enough to have you wondering whether you’d reached the pearly gates. His heavy cock hangs low, the tip tinted a violent crimson as it leaks glistening beads of pre. Sat back on his haunches between your thighs for the perfect view of the new tiny pink vibrator that sat nestled against your g-spot.
“Fuck,” Your voice echoes much like the vibrations that pulse inside you while Bakugou controls the power, a conniving grin spread across his cheeks as he presses a calloused thumb against your puffy clit. The sudden movement has you jolting as your thighs try to clamp shut, the hulking wall of muscle you call your boyfriend is enough to prevent it as he begins pressing taut circles against the sensitive bud, “Katsuki, I can’t.”
“That’s not what you were sayin’ earlier when you were begging me to try it,” He scoffs, ignoring your pleas as he drops the phone to focus on you, “Textin’ me at work about how desperate you were to be fucked— Please, Daddy I wanna cum.”
“I did not say that, don’t lie.” You flush at the pet name.
“Yeah, ya did,” Bakugou presses, “Thinkin’ about me bending you over while I’m out on patrol.”
The debauched rasp to his voice has your cunt clenching around the small bullet as your toes began to curl, the harsh vibrations paired with the constant attention against your clit has you woozy. It doesn’t help that he’s still got black charcoal around his eyes from where his hero mask once sat, the cloth now pushed up over his forehead to push the messy blond spikes away from his face. Barely enough time to change before you’d cornered him.
“You still with me, sweets?” Bakugou hums, squeezing the plush of your thigh with his palm.
But you can’t bring yourself to respond, the euphoria consumes you whole. Teary eyes rolling back into your skull as you succumb to the pleasure, hips bucking wildly as Bakugou’s hand follows your motions. The other moves to push against your hip to pin your body to the bed as he helps you through your climax.
“That’s it— fuck, baby. You look so hot like this.” He groans, the leaky tip of his cock streaking against your inner thigh as he hovers over you, “Didn’t even last five fuckin’ minutes.”
“Yes I did,” You huff, your palms reach down between your bodies to tug his wrist away from your cunt as the sensation becomes too overwhelming, too intense.
“Nah, you didn’t.” He scoffs, giving a playful swat to your messy folds as you mewl in response.
“You try it then, it’s a-ahh, it’s a lot.” You try to steady your breathing but it’s difficult with the consistent vibrations, enough to slur your words as Bakugou shakes his head.
“Don’t even think about it, sweetheart. You ain’t stickin’ that in my ass.” He circles his cock in a fist as he begins to jerk it languidly, his other hand stroking the soft skin of your inner thigh.
“I didn’t mean that,” You began, although the idea was now firmly planted in your head for later, “I meant fuck me—“
“What?” Bakugou’s cock twitched in his palm, “Of course I’m gonna fuck ya, baby.”
“No, I mean with the toy— inside.”
“You think I’ll fit.” He glowers, pressing the fat tip of his cock through your messy folds as he coats himself in your slick.
“It’s not that big,” You sigh, your walls pulsing around it, hungry for more, “If you think you can handle it.”
“Course I can fuckin’ handle it,” Bakugou snorts indignantly as he lines himself up with your fluttering hole, “I’ve fucked you with that wand pressed against your clit enough times—“
But you could tell from the deep, guttural whine that left his throat as his jaw went lax that this was certainly not the same. Bakugou hadn’t expected you to be so tight with a tiny bullet inside you, the vibrations strong and constant, pressing against the side of his cock. Sending a pleasurable pulse all the way down to his balls as he tries to steady himself, holding his breath which just seems to make everything worse. The sensation was intense, borderline numbing as he tried to focus on anything other than the rumble of the little pink toy against his cock.
You buck your hips, desperate for some kind of relief as you felt incredibly full, biting down on your bottom lip as you watched your boyfriend statuesque in front of you.
“Katsuki, move—” You whine, but it was too late.
“Fuckin’ shit,” The sound slips from between clenched teeth as he finally exhales, letting go of the breath he was holding as his entire body convulses. The pulsing enough to have his heavy balls emptying inside your tight cunt as he grunts in satisfaction. The lack of oxygen to his brain clouds his vision, making the orgasm even more intense as he gives a few sloppy thrusts into your tight heat as he coats your walls with his spunk. Pulling out to try and escape the powerful sensation as a few more globs of cum land on your cunt and pelvis, his messy cock still twitching from pleasure.
“I thought you said you could handle it?” You smile as you look up at the blissed out expression on Bakugou’s face, stunned that a toy had made him cum like a randy teenager, “What was that? Thirty seconds?”
Bakugou’s chest heaves as he glares down at you with furrowed brows, giving the side of your thigh a playful swat as he reaches for his cell phone. His thumb glides across the screen as he turns the vibrations to the max setting, “Let’s see how you like it huh, ya little brat.”
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blackleatherjacketz · 10 months
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Mouthy
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Miguel O'Hara x Female Reader
Summary: Miguel has been watching you, and is willing to do anything it takes to get you to join his team.
Warnings: 18+ Only!, NSFW, Explicit Smut, Teasing, Flirting, Kissing, Biting, Blood Drinking, Licking, Thigh Riding, Undressing, Voyeurism, Female Masturbation, Finger Sucking, Hair Pulling, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Sex
Word Count: 2.6k+
Read more of my MIGUEL stories!
You had been toying with Miguel all night, sparring with him until your sweaty session had resulted in swinging from rooftop to rooftop, leading his tour of your world to an end at the top of your apartment building. Three separate visits to your universe in the span of two months had led you to believe that he was getting desperate for help, or for something else. The first time he showed up was to help you battle one of the more formidable foes of your crime-fighting career, the second to ask you to join his group of heroes to fight off even bigger threats, and the third, well… you’re still trying to pin down.
If Miguel is anything, it’s persistent.
“Give up already?” He chides, denting the metal of the AC unit with his landing as you finally stop swinging.
“Who’s giving up?” You pull the mask off your sweaty face as his head piece disappears without a trace, revealing his gorgeous features and flowing raven locks.
“It’s only midnight,” he points to his watch as he walks toward you, those hips of his sauntering in a way that nearly hypnotizes you on the spot. “Plenty of other threats around the city to be squashed.”
“Then go squash them.” You challenge, tilting your head to look at him from another angle. Why can’t men in my universe look like him?
“You’d like that, huh?” He keeps advancing until he stops just short of you, his broad shoulders towering over you as a light breeze blows the smoky scent of his cologne into your nostrils. As if you hadn’t already committed it to memory. “If I did all the work?”
“Well, you can’t blame a lady for wanting to know if something’s worth her while.” You tease as he closes the space between you, backing you up against the rusted metal door of the stairwell. “Because if we’re being honest, Miguel, I’ve thought long and hard about it, and I’m perfectly fine here on my own.”
“I can see that.” His irises glow a fiery red against the white sclera of his eyes, searching your face for any hint of doubt or deceit. Your senses had been telling you that he wanted much more from you than just a teammate, the sound of his pulse quickening whenever he looked at you barely louder than the silence of his stilled breath. He wanted you… needed you almost as carnally as you needed him, and it was getting to be more difficult for either of you to ignore it.
“But don’t you want to be more than ‘just fine’?” He plants his palms against the brick structure behind you, his direct proximity tying a knot into your stomach as the night sky behind him somehow bleeds a passionate crimson hue. You can visibly see his intentions, actually feel the desire as it emanates out of his pores and into the hot summer air, drawing you in with its magnetic pull. “Don’t you want to be amazing?”
“I can tell that you do.” You smirk, prolonging your trance as you trace the bright red outline of the spider on his chest, watching it rise and fall faster with each word you speak. “Not everybody wants what you want, Miguel.”
“Is that so?” He leans in close, his full lips brushing against your ear as the hair on the back of your neck stands on end. “Is that why you moan my name at night every time I leave your world?” He slides his knee swiftly between your legs, gently lifting it up the crevice of your thighs until it rubs that sensitive spot between them.
“You’ve been watching me?” You knew that he’d been keeping tabs on you from whatever little hideout he had beyond your known universe, but you didn’t realize that he was paying that close attention to you. How much of your behavior had he actually witnessed? Was he speculating, hopeful, or had he actually watched while you slid your fingers beneath your underwear to satisfy that sudden urge his presence always seemed to evoke?
“You’re surprised?” He jeers confidently, his breath hot on your neck as he draws out a groan from your chest with another brush of his thigh, tapping into your natural moisture.
“That doesn’t really seem fair,” you start, eyes fluttering to catch glimpses of that scarlet sky phasing in and out of black and magenta as he continues to stimulate you. “You get to see all of me, but I don’t get to see any of you.”
You wonder just how far he took his viewings of you late at night; how many times he tuned into his recurring guest appearances in your imagination before you pleasured yourself into a dull, blissful slumber. Had he joined you in your handiwork, stroking himself in tandem, worlds apart, just in time to mutter your name with his release before the connection was lost? Or had he stayed tuned way past your loss of consciousness, hoping to hear some verbal confirmation of his presence even in your dreams?
“We can change that, you know.” He closes his eyes as you run your fingers through his hair, his thick lashes feathering over the shell of your ear as he presses a kiss into your neck.
“You’re gonna let me spy on you when you jerk off, too?” Your breath halts as he tastes the skin behind your ear and underneath your jawline, his teeth nipping at your pulse to make you pay for your quippy retort.
“Aye, cariño, are you always this mouthy?” He grabs onto your chin in a failed attempt to reign you in, the tips of his protracted claws nearly breaking your skin as he thrusts himself against you.
“You have no idea.”
—————————————
Miguel manages to stumble into your apartment with your legs wrapped around his waist, his clawed hands grasping at your thighs as they desperately cling to his hips. He pulls you up into him as he rounds the corner past your couch, his erection stretching the navy blue fabric of his suit as it grows harder against the drenched mound between your legs.
“You fucking taste like heaven, you know that?” He whispers through a dozen hungry kisses, the sharp sting to your skin and the iron of your blood flooding your senses as he bites down onto your bottom lip, wantonly sucking it into his mouth. That twinge of pain that would have hurt before you got your powers is nothing more than a scratch, a mere tickle as the warmth of his tongue soon counters it. He tugs and pulls every bit of flavor he can out of it, savoring each hint of salt and remnant of coffee on your tastebuds as he nearly gnaws your lip right off in the process, running into every wall along the way until he eventually reaches your bedroom.
“I thought you said those things were venomous.” You worry aloud, just now noticing their size and severity as he tosses you onto your bed with a lick of his lips.
“Only when I need them to be.” He grins and helps you peel your suit off your arms and torso, tugging it down past your hips and thighs before stepping out of his own spider suit with unmatchable ease. Eyes ravenous with lust, he watches you pull the last bit of stretchy cloth off your calves and feet, licking the tips of his fangs again as you toss your costume onto the floor.
“Well that’s lucky for me, then.” You sit up and press your knees into the mattress in order to get closer to him.
“Lucky for both of us.” He slides his thumbs beneath his boxer briefs and exposes what he’s working with, stealing the very breath from your lungs. Before you can comment on how big he is, before you can make a joke about how you won’t be able to walk tomorrow, he steps toward you and places his hand in the middle of your chest, pushing you flat onto your back.
“Touch yourself,” he instructs sternly.
“What?” Your brow furrows. Hasn’t he gotten enough of that through his viewfinder? Wasn’t that the whole point of him coming here in person? To actually touch you with his own hands and taste you with his own mouth? So that he didn’t have to just watch?
“I want you to touch yourself like you do when you think I’m not watching,” he reiterates, standing his ground as he resists the temptation to stroke himself, a single droplet of precum leaking from the tip of his cock.
“Oh. Okay.” You nod, his demanding tone of flattery quickly fueling your actions as it overpowers that inherent sense of stage fright nagging in the back of your head. “I can do that.”
You watch him hold his breath as you slide two fingers into your mouth, sucking on them as gratuitously as you can before pulling them out with a long trail of spit leading down your chin. His eyes follow your digits with rapt attention as you bring them down your body, their deep ruby hues darkening to burgundy as his pupils begin to dilate. You hear his breath hitch as you graze over your hardened nipples, snake your way down your navel and finally smooth them in between your soaking wet folds, exciting the sensitive neurons that have been begging for attention since the moment he arrived.
Doing as you’re told, you spread your juices up and down the length of your lips, catching a glimpse of his cock twitching against his stomach in anticipation, throbbing as you slowly pull upward on your clit. You can’t help but wonder how amazing he’s going to feel once he’s inside of you, your fingers barely able to do his length and girth any justice as you slide them inside your walls.
“That’s it, baby, just like that,” he finally exhales with a hint of a moan. He retracts his claws with a bite of his lip, cautiously touching your bare feet with the palms of his hands before slowly spreading your legs apart as he continues to watch you work. “Who knew your pussy’d be just as pretty as your face, huh?”
You huff in exasperation, too stunned to speak as his grin mimics your smile from the edge of the bed.
“You look even better from this angle, you know that?” Another lick of his lips spurns a trail of kisses onto the balls of your feet as he crawls between your legs, sucking little bruises into your calves and behind your knees; mementos for you to remember him by once he inevitably returns to his own world. You keep rubbing your bud up and down as he advances along your body; his lips, teeth and tongue massaging the skin of your inner thigh as waves of pleasure start building up into your core from both of your tantalizing efforts.
It isn’t long before he lifts your leg up over his shoulder, biting into your thigh once more before looking up at you with completely blackened eyes, your blood now staining his lips as it smears across his cheek. You moan as he takes his time lapping up the scarlet fluid as it mixes with his saliva, dripping down between your crevices as his mouth gets that much closer to your needy center.
Without a word of warning, he grabs onto your wrist and carefully pulls your fingers out of your swollen heat before encircling them with his lips. Those charcoal eyes of his roll back into his head, a deep guttural groan vibrating around your fingers as his tongue surrounds them, the savory flavor of your blood now blending in with the sweet tanginess of your sex. You push them in even further past his blood-stained lips, shivering in arousal as he sucks all the way down to your knuckles, making a sloppy show of licking them clean before finally drawing them out.
“Not so mouthy anymore, huh?” He asks, kissing the palm of your hand before lifting it up and placing your wet fingers into his hair.
“Uh-uh,” you whisper, the heat from his breath sending phantom pulses of bliss up through your spine, leaving you practically speechless.
“Then let’s see if I can get you to make some noise.” He licks a stripe up the length of your folds, choosing not to use his fangs on your most sensitive area as he focuses solely on tasting your raw flesh. He groans into your skin as he licks you up and down, inhaling your pheromonal scent as if your very essence is the only thing capable of sustaining him any further.
Your eyelids fall shut as you allow a few breathy moans to escape your lips, his tongue saturating every receptor you have with such an intense euphoria that it forces your hips to buck up into his mouth. Your grip on his onyx locks tightens as he continues to suck on your clit, pulling it taut into his mouth just like he had with your bottom lip, persistently eating you out like a man starved for days.
“See how good you are at following my orders?” He stops licking you just as you’re on the brink of ecstasy, a thin ring of red now glowing around the rims of his irises. “I just need you to do one more thing for me.”
“Oh yeah, and what’s that?” You barely have the capacity to ask, your muscles vibrating beneath him with the promise of release that he so quickly took away from you.
His full lips curl into a smirk as he licks your bud one last time, kissing his way up your belly and breasts before reaching your neck, his cock needily bobbing between your legs until it slides inside you without ceremony. You gasp as his girth fills you up with impeccable ease, your slick walls welcoming his thick throbbing member, clenching down around him as he gently thrusts up into you.
“Miguel!” You shout in a stifled whisper, stars shining in your eyes as the tip of his cock hits that bundle of nerves he’s been teasing all night.
“Come for me,” he growls against your throat, all traces of that controlled man fading away as he pins your wrists to the mattress before bottoming out completely, rutting into you repeatedly like a wild animal.
“Mmm hmm!” Your moans echo off the walls in your bedroom as he drives himself further inside your heat, ricocheting off your nightstand and ceiling fan until they dissipate into the air above you, falling down like raindrops as they cover you both. His hips only quicken their steady pace the deeper he gets, sending hit after hit of white hot bliss up into your core until your body can no longer take it.
That wave of pleasure you’re so used to delivering yourself nearly takes you out completely as it washes over every inch of you from the inside out. It paints every cell in your skin, muscles and bones all the colors of the rainbow under Miguel’s hypnotic thrusts, his sweat dripping down onto you in tiny translucent beads before melting into your skin. Both of you phase in and out a variety of shades and patterns as you wrap your legs around his hips, drawing him in to make sure he feels the heightened state of nirvana he’s finally brought you to.
“I can feel you falling apart around me, cariño,” he whispers into your shoulder, thrusting one last time as hard as he can as he twitches and spasms inside you. Lavender paisleys, red and white stripes, olive and orange checkers all slowly fade away to a calm light blue before he pulls out and eventually lets go of your wrists. “You sure you don’t want to join my team?”
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dark-and-kawaii · 26 days
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You can pick who but I'm begging for more smut from you. Zevlor Rolan Haarlep Raphael whoever I just need it. Call me thirsty I don't care.
Shameless Smut
Haarlep x f!Tav/Reader - Zevlor x f!Tav/Reader - Raphael xf!Tav/Reader - Rolan x f!Tav/Reader - Dammon x f!Tav/Reader
⋆˙⟡♡ Notes: I- I picked everyone and added Dammon because i'm horny and unhinged like that... AND BE THIRSTY WE LOVE A THIRSTY HOOMAN!!!
⋆˙⟡♡ NSFW | Haarlep Is The Best | Big Dick Zevy | Creampie | Dirty Talk | Breeding | Pregnancy | Choking | Tail Play | Public Sex | Lorroakan Is A Perv | Dammon Chokes You With His Tail | I Missed Stuff But Oh Well
Enjoy xoxo
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Haarlep
“What would the city think, their precious little hero-“ Haarlep thrusted the rest of their cock inside you, “filled with an incubus’s seed.” They continue to ravish your cunt, stretching and filling you so well, you could only pant as you clenched the sheets.
“How would they react-“ Haarlep bent down, their teeth grazing against the back of your neck, their hand caressing your still flat tummy, “seeing their savior swollen with a demon’s child~” The incubus bit down gently, but enough to mark you, a dark red hickey blooming where their lips met your skin. You groaned, tightening up on their cock, the thought of bearing an incubus’s child, bearing a demon child, was strangely arousing.
Haarlep growled at the feeling of you squeezing down on them, and continued pounding into you, their hand tangling in your hair to press your face against the mattress, your ass high in the air. You let out a muffled moan as Haarlep ravished you, the head of their cock hitting that spongy spot inside you every time, and their tail rubbing your clit with a speed and skill that rivaled your own hand. You felt the knot in your stomach tighten and coil, your moans turning into desperate mewls.
“s’too- too much! I-I can’t- AH~!!”
Haarlep’s hand wraps around your throat as they slam into your sopping pussy, the bed creaking, “So pretty with my hand around your delicate little neck-“ headboard slamming into the wall and you just have to hang onto the sheets like your life depends on it.
"Do I scare you?" The incubus purred, letting the hand squishing your neck tighten around it, "Do I terrify you? You know what I am and what I can do." Their voice was low and their breathing harsh.
Haarlep’s breathing picked back up when you nodded- their hip knocking against you painfully when your hand came up and sealed around their wrist, pressing down. Wanting them to do it, to press harder, to push you around more and more, shamed in how good the feel of their hand squeezing your throat made you feel."Y-Yes! Y-you- nngh- a-ah~!” you gasped, "B-but you- f’m-make me f-feel- n-nngh- s’good- AH~!"
You were a mess beneath them, panting and moaning like a bitch in heat, the feeling of them filling you up making you see stars, “gu-gunna fill m-me~” you babbled, eyes rolling back. Haarlep chuckled darkly, their thrusts becoming sloppy.
"Pump you full- fill your womb with my seed- fill you till you're leaking-" Haarlep grinned against your flesh, "-until the hero’s stomach swells with my child- I'll make you a mother, a breeder for my little demons." They mutter, the tip of their tail flicking your clit just right, your thighs trembling and your vision whiting out.
"F-Fuck! Haarlep~!!" Your orgasm slammed into you, making you scream.
“Good! Cum- cum with me, little mortal-!"
"S'gonna- I-I-!! G-Gods, please!~" You sobbed your body going numb. Haarlep always teeters on losing themself at this part, always brought back though to reality by your nails digging into their wrist, and how sweetly you whimper their name.
"H-Haarlep~” you sob, wanting, needing their cum, "I-I want- I w-wanna b-be a m-mother, w-want you t-to f-fill me- g-give me a c-child~" You were crying now, the way your walls just clamp down around them, pulsing and gushing.
"I'll take such good care of you~" they coo, kissing your tears away as they paint your insides white. Their seed warm and thick, Haarlep pressed themself deeper inside you to push their cum even further. Their tip rubbing against your cervix, the incubus wanting to be sure their sperm finds a home in your womb.
Their goal to make sure the shape of their cock is imprinted into your gummy walls, wanting to ruin you for anyone else. 
Rolan
Rolan grabbed your arms, his face deepening in color as soon as his back hits the scroll shelf. He looked down at you, his lips parted in a slight snarl, his nostrils flaring, "Th-Thish is highly inappropriate-." He tries to protest, but you push forward, your lips meeting his. He stiffens for a moment before he relaxes- almost. Pushing you off of him, Rolan glares at you, his lips firm. "You're insufferable-." He groans, “You need to leave before Lorroakan retur-“.
You stare at the cut on his eyebrow, your eyes trailing to find the bruise on his cheek. The marks his mentor left behind… Your eyes darkened, and you press up against him, your chest rubbing against his.
"I'm not leaving until I know you're alright." You hiss, your eyes softening when you find his stare, your lips pursed, “besides~” You tiptoe your fingers up his chest, tracing over his heart, before finding his neck, then his chin. You lean in, gently pulling him forward. His breath hitching. "I want him to catch us~” You glide your nail against his throat, causing Rolan to swallow thickly, his adam's apple bobbing as his eyes flutter close and he sighs.
"You are… insufferable," he says, his voice a mere whisper. Your lips curl into a smirk as you pull him in for a kiss, pressing your body closer.
“Want him~” you trace his bottom lip with your tongue, nipping him gently, "to catch me~" you whisper, his breath deepening, before his hands find their way around your waist, gripping the fabric of your shirt, “to watch me take you~".
Rolan inhales sharply, his lips parting just enough for your tongue to slip through, the heat of his mouth causing your eyes to flutter closed. He groans, his hand cupping the back of your neck, his tongue brushing against yours. You pull back, a string of saliva connecting the both of you. His mouth following yours before you push him back again, “I want Lorroakan to hear my sweet Rolan’s moans~"
You tug up on his robe, "Want him to hear me cry your name~.” You bite your lip, “To watch you fill my dripping pussy with your delicious cum~" You glance up at Rolan, whose face is completely flushed, his lips parted, and eyes dark, “Wanna bruise his ego~”
"You are going to be the death of me," He spins the two of you, your back to the shelf now. His hips roll forward and you can feel the evidence of his arousal.
"I'll be your death." you whisper, pressing up against him.
Rolan groans, his lips ghosting against your neck, "And what a way to go," he mumbles, his breath hot. He kisses along your neck, his teeth grazing over your pulse. He reaches his hand out, and grabs the shelf above you, knocking a scroll onto the ground, "Lorroakan is going to find us." He warns, “ The man knows everything that happens in this tower."
You moan as he bites your neck, his fingers digging into your skin before pushing you down to the ground. Rolan’s hand forcefully flips your dress up, bunching it at your hips, his other hand reaching to rub the wet spot of your panties, "So wet already."
He pulls down your undergarments, his hand slipping between your slick folds, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in slow circles, his middle finger sliding into you, his index finger teasing the edge of your ass, "Such a degenerate," he purrs, his tail flicking behind him.
You moan, rocking your hips, feeling his fingers slide in and out, “Rolan~," you mewl, spreading your legs, your chest pressed into the wooden floor.
"Look at you, getting so wet, so loud." His fingers move faster, the lewd, wet noises filling the tower. You moan, reaching a hand back, grasping his arm. Rolan grunts, "Do you want Lorroakan to find us? Hear me make you a sloppy mess?" He growls, adding another finger, "Do you want him to see how good you're taking my fingers? Hear the noises you make?"
You nod, "Yes!" you mewl, "P-please~, rut into me, Rolan~."
He scoffs, his fingers leaving you, the wetness trickling down your thighs. You feel his cock slide between your slick folds, a low groan leaving his throat, "Such a needy thing," he mumbles, his lips trailing soft kisses along your back, "My needy thing." he growls, his hands wrapping around your waist, his tail coiling around your leg.
He pushes in, a small groan leaving his throat, his hips flush against your ass, his head pressed into your back, "So tight," he groans, his nails digging into your sides, "My beautiful girl."
He starts to move, pulling out until only the tip is left, and then roughly thrusting in. You gasp, pushing back against him, feeling his hips slap against your ass, "R-Rolan~" you moan, clawing the wood beneath you, "M-More~" you whine.
Rolan moves his hands to your breasts, groping and pinching throat the thin fabric of your dress, his thumbs rolling over your nipples, "How lewd of you, getting turned on by the thought of being caught." He teases while he rocks his hips, his tail tightening around your leg. He grunts, his thrusts growing erratic, his nails digging into the tender flesh of your breasts.
Rolan is too focused on you, his rough snaps causing scrolls to fall from the shelf beside you, but as you tilt your head you notice a pair of eyes staring at you, their cock in their hand.
You lock eyes with Lorroakan, who watches silently. The sight of him causes a chill to run up your spine, your back arching as Rolan pulls you up giving Looroakan a perfect view of his cock thrusting into you, your juices coating his cock making a mess on the floor. Rolan doesn't stop, his nails digging into the soft flesh of your breasts, his head buried in the crook of your neck. "Cum for me," He whispers in your ear, his hot breath fanning against your neck, his pace unrelenting, his cock hitting all the right places.
"M' s'so close~," You whine, your eyes never leaving Lorroakan’s, "C-Cumming~" you mewl, closing your eyes. Your body tenses, and the knot in your stomach snaps, your legs twitching as Rolan keeps thrusting, your walls clenching around his cock. Rolan's hips stutter, his thrusts growing sloppy, and a low groan leaves his throat, "D-Damn," he grunts, his cum spilling out, the warmth causing a shudder to run through your body.
You hear Lorroakan groan, his own cum covering his hands. His eyes meet yours, and you bite your lip, your hand reaching behind your to pull Rolan's face to yours. "Kiss me~," and he obliges, his hand slipping between your legs, rubbing your overstimulated clit, "Again?" He chuckles, "Such a dirty girl."
You would keep at it until Lorroakan had to come pull you off Rolan…
Raphael
"Sweet little mouse." Raphael whispers, taking in how fucked out you are beneath him, wheezing out how good he feels. 
"Do you like being pinned down like this, hm?" it's an almost teasing lilt. You think he’s laughing at your stupefied state, but in reality he’s marveling, basking in how good you are to him, greedily accepting his cock.
You nod your head, whimpering. The motion is a pathetic, weak jerk. A few strands of hair fall across your forehead. He takes note of how flushed your cheeks are, how glossy your eyes look.
The sight makes him groan. You feel so good, clenching and spasming around him with each thrust, making him throb and swell.
He has you trapped, completely. Raphael has broken you to the point where all you can do is take his cock, whimpering and crying as he drives it deeper into you, stretching your insides so that they fit his shape and no one else's ever again. Eradicating the memories of those who had been with you prior.
You think to yourself, there’s nothing more delicious than being pressed, pinned down onto his bed, bred like livestock, and barely able to suck in a shaky breath of air between each rough thrust.
The feeling of his cock plunging deep inside, filling you up, stretching you, is addicting. You don't know how many times he’s made you cum, only that it doesn't seem to stop. Unable to focus on anything else besides the cock splitting you open and the pleasure wracking through your body.
"M-more~!!" you wail against the sound of your squelching cunt, feeling his thick cock tug at your walls as he leaves. It’s a frenzy entanglement- you provoke him, spur him on to drive into you faster and harder, the way you wiggle and clench down onto his thick cock, creaming so hard that with each impact you can not only hear it- you feel it splatter down in between the folds of your stretched cunt, drip down the seam of your ass. 
The cambion more than willing to provide. He’ll keep you forever, a beautiful ornament for his bed, his own personal toy to fuck whenever he desires, a perfect suitor to give him children, an army of his own blood, a pretty little thing to keep by his side. 
Zevlor
“Mm~ Zevlor-” warm hands made their way up your thighs. You gasped at the feeling of your underwear being pulled to the side. The cool air nipped at your hot skin. 
"I- I missed you so much, Zevy.”
The tiefling let out a soft hum, "I’ve been quite busy, haven’t I?" his tail brushed against your folds, and your breath hitched.
He chuckled and pressed his thumb on your clit. He began rubbing it in circles and you mewled in delight.
"I apologize," he whispered in your ear.
His lips trailed hot kisses down your arm, his hands wondering over your entire body, pausing at your swollen belly and looking up at you.
You met his gaze with half lidded eyes and smiled, caressing his cheek. His eyes softened and a smile grew on his lips as he continued kissing lower and lower. Situating himself in between your thighs, he hooked your legs over his shoulders, as he buried his face in your pussy.
The heat of his tongue sent a shiver through your spine and a groan escaped your lips. You arched your back off the bed and grabbed his horns.
"Z-Zev~" his thick fingers held your cunt lip apart, his tongue making small circles around your clit before a finger probed at your dripping hole.
"S's~ hahhh~" Zevlor curled his fingers, feeling for the spongy spot that made you arch your back for him, careful not to scape your insides with his nails. Your hips bucked into his face but his other arm held you down and prevented you from moving, “I~ please~ please~! Zevlor! I-“ You blushed, holding your swollen belly, “N-need you~”
Zevlor pulled away from you and you whined at the loss. He looked at you and licked his lips. His horns glistened from the sweat on your hands, his lips and chin shiny from your juices.
He crawled on top of you and kissed your forehead, then your nose, then finally, his lips met yours. You sighed into the kiss, tasting yourself on him, his tongue exploring every corner of your mouth, your tongues dancing. His hand finding the swoll of your stomach where his child grows…
His child.
Zevlor still can’t get over it. The thought of it turns him on and he can feel his own cheek flush with embarrassment. He constantly thinks about how he filled you up so full of his cum it had gotten you pregnant, the sounds of you begging him to impregnate you still lingering. You were so beautiful like this, so plump and soft. He’d never admit it, but if he could, he’d put another child in you this second. 
“Fu~ S’so tigh-tight~~” you squirmed beneath him as he pushed into your sopping cunt. Despite bedding with him countless of times it was always such a stretch. Your toes curled and a long drawn out moan escaped your lips as your hole greedily took in his thick girth.
He let out a guttural groan as he felt your velvety walls envelop him. It had been a few days since the last time you two had sex and your insides hugged him so tightly, so nicely.
He slowly thrusted his hips, relishing in the wet heat of your cunt.
Dammon
"D-Dammon! I-I'm so sorry! I‘ll be a good girl, I swear!" Lying in the hay you struggle against the rope wrung around your wrists, but Dammon easily presses his foot over the both of your bound arms, forcing you to stay still. He kneels down beside you, his lip lower down to your ear, nose inhaling your scent as he talks down to you calmly and quietly, "Keep count.”
You take in a shaky breath before nodding in agreement, fingers balling up into tight fists as you brace yourself for impact. The first strike of his hand comes down hard, stinging the delicate flesh of your exposed bottom. A small yelp leaves your mouth and you instinctively move forward, “Ah~ O-One! Another strike and you cry out louder this time, tears welling up in your eyes, "fu’-Two!"
The next six strikes come in quickly, and by the end of it your tears and mascara paint your face, your lip tint smeared from burying your face against rough hay inside the barn… Your ass marked with his handprints, and Dammon finds himself running a fingertip over the sore flesh, smirking lightly to himself. "So desperate from my cock that you couldn't even control yourself in front of her, could you?"
"Y-Yes-!."
It was true, you always grew envious when Karlach was around, desperate to show her that Dammon belonged to you.
He pulls you up so that you're resting on your knees, your face now level with his crotch. Dammon’s calloused hand grips your jaw tight, forcing his thumb past your lips.
"Are you going to be good for me," he says darkly, and you can't help the whimper that rises when his coarse thumb and nail presses down on your tongue, saliva pooling. He takes his thumb from your mouth with a pop. His hand fishing his cock out of his slacks, "Go on, wrap those pretty lips of yours around me." and you open your mouth wide, tongue lolling out to lap at his cock.
Dammon's cock is impressive in size, thick and veiny with a bulbous head, and the sight of you kneeling before him, tied up, lips stained and eyes puffy from crying has him leaking pre cum.
Dammon's hand that had been gripping your jaw moved to grip a handful of your hair, his tail coiling around the base of your throat, choking you in a way that leaves you moaning around him.
The head of his cock hits the back of your throat, and you choke, eyes welling up with tears as you look up at Dammon who looks back down at you, smirking, "Can't have you forgetting that you’re the only one that belongs to me."
Dammon thrusts his hips forward, pushing his cock further down your throat, "This is mine." He struggles to keep his eyes open, heavy, breathy moans escaping him as you take more of his length, bobbing your head as you twist and slide your tongue around and under his cock, tracing every vein and ridge. 
Each time you take him deeper and farther you ignore the tight pressure on your throat. You're his to use right now, and despite the pain, you'll be his good little throat hole. His hips twitch a little, making your eyes water and throat tighten. Your breathing is heavy, the taste of him on your tongue the only thing you can focus on. Dammon’s tail squeezes your throat, and your moans vibrate around his cock and appendage.
He groans, voice heavy and strained, "So obedient when my cock stretches your throat.” 
It isn’t long until he begins fucking your mouth, pulling out and pushing back in deep, a loud groan escaping him when your nose bumps against his pelvis. The sounds of you choking and gasping for air has him lost in the moment. He can feel the way your throat bulges against his tail every time he thrusts forward.
You gag, saliva dripping down the corners of your mouth, tears and mascara running down your face. And yet you look so beautiful like this. You take everything he gives, your eyes fluttering closed in bliss as you feel your mind begin to cloud.
“Going to fill your stomach with my cum, make sure you never forget what we have, princess." His words come out in a strained growl, the pace of his thrusts growing erratic.
You whine around him and dig your nails into his thigh when he keeps fucking your face, your vision swaying and darkening. “Going t-to.” You can barely hear, trying to push him away by instinct. His hold on your neck and hair is too tight though, his hot cum shooting down your gullet and forcing you to swallow every drop.
Dammon releases you, watching you slump down on the ground while cum and drool leaks from the corners of your mouth, his tail wiping up some of the excess. He kneels down, pulling your limp form against him, holding you tightly against his chest as you take in large gulps of air.
"You are the only one for me, I promise." He swipes a stray hair from your face, “My one and only girl.”
You look up at him with a dazed expression, a smile on your lips as you rest your head on his shoulder. Dammon’s tail curling around you as he plants a soft kiss on the top of your head, a gentle purr emitting from his chest
705 notes · View notes
natalievoncatte · 1 month
Text
Lena didn’t have time for traffic. She looked up from her phone and glared at the back of her driver’s head.
“Frank, why is it taking so long?”
“I’m not Frank, Ma’am. He called out this morning.”
Lena sighed. “And your name?”
“Vincent, ma’am.”
“Vincent, why is this taking so long?”
He signed. “Traffic, ma’am. Sounds like there’s a few blocks downtown closed. Supergirl is fighting some monster or alien or something.”
Lena stopped herself from smiling softly. “Ah, well then. Anyway, might as well see if you can find us a way around. I just don’t like to stand still.”
The driver nodded.
“What do you think about Supergirl, ma’am?”
Lena sighed. “Forgive me, Vincent, but I do have some work to concentrate on, here. I’m not usually one for chitchat. I hope you don’t mind.”
She sank back into her seat and flicked to the next email. There were a lot of fires to put out. Upcoming product launches, grant applications, university partnerships, charity events, plus her own work. She was becoming so strained lately that she was seriously considering stepping down from the direct CEO role so she could spend more time in the lab, where her real passion was.
Sometimes she almost sympathized with Lex; the life of a CEO could easily drive someone insane. Lena would rather spend her days in a labcoat or doing charity work than listening to another entitled silver spoon-
“You’re going the wrong way,” Lena said, sharply.
“I’m finding a way around,” said the driver. “You know, you never answered my question, before. What do you think of Supergirl?”
Lena stuffed her phone in her pocket and thrust her hand in her jacket, freeing the concealed revolver she carried in a shoulder holster under her left arm. The partition was already going up, sealing her in.
“What are you doing?”
“Answer my question,” the driver said, through a speaker.
Lena swallowed hard. “I think she’s a hero but I don’t fully trust her. I work with her when I feel it will help people. That’s all.”
“That’s not what your mother thinks.”
“Isn’t it?” said Lena. “What does she think?”
“Are you fucking her?”
Lena barked out a laugh. “Are you serious? That’s her question?”
“Are you fucking her like you debased yourself with that little tart in boarding school?”
There was silent beat.
“She told me to say that. She made me practice saying ‘tart’.”
He sounded almost bored.
“Fuck you,” Lena snapped. “Whatever you’re going to do, do it.”
“Nothing personal,” said the driver.
Lena sighed, almost annoyed at the hiss as a thin, chemical smelling gas hissed into the car, rising around her. She forced herself to stay calm, stoic, even her pulse raced.
“I’m not afraid of you, or her,” said Lena.
She coughed twice as the world irises shut around her, dragging her down into a cold, dreamless sleep.
When she snapped awake, she was alone. The partition was open, but the gun was gone from her holster. She felt around for it, then decided to clamber into the front seat, rolling over the seats facing her. The driver was gone, of course. Heavy chains were padlocked around the car, pinning the front doors shut.
There was a tape recorder sitting on the front seat. Lena ignored it as she looked around. The car was surrounded by metal walls, and a creep sense of dread rose up Lena’s spine. She fought the panic down, dropping into the driver’s seat.
Placing the tape deck on the dash, she pushed the okay button.
“Hello, Lena,” Lilian said, in her smooth, posh tones. Lena could hear that smarmy smirk forming around her words.
“You’re probably expecting an ultimatum or an offer. There will be none. I’m through trying to bring my husband’s wayward bastard back into the fold. When you betrayed Lex again, you burned your last chance. It’s time to take out the trash, Lena. I wish I could have throttled you in the cradle, but I didn’t know about you and your mother until it was too late. It’s time to correct that. It’s too bad we won’t be there to watch.”
Watch what?
Lena sat and waited. Whoever was sent to murder her had no sense of dramatic timing. She began rifling through the car, trying to take stock of what she had, what she could use to effect an escape. Breaking the-
A sharp shriek of metal cut through her thoughts. The side walls inched forward with a screech of metal, and Lena froze, terror piercing through her like an icy spike.
Oh.
Oh God.
The walls moved slightly more, and the rear view mirrors on both sides of the car exploded. The mechanism pushing the walls strained and groaned, and that was the only mercy she had.
She was in a car crusher. In the car.
The armored structure of her town car was too heavy for the machine to simply crush, but she had minutes at most. Metal groaned in protest, shrieking around her, and the glass quivered in the doors.
Oh God. Oh God.
She wasn’t going to panic. She wasn’t going to panic. She ripped open every single compartment and cubby she could find, but found only monogrammed glassware and a bottle of champagne. There was nothing.
A random, forgotten Lexosuit would be really useful right about now.
With a sudden shriek, the car began to collapse. The bulletproof glass buckled and shattered, pelting the front seat as she rolled into the back, and the doors buckled in, tearing loose from their hinges as the floor and roof began to fold.
A sudden, ringing, frankly stupid thought came into her head, but it was her best play.
Lena Luthor filled her lungs. She took in the biggest, deepest breath of her life, a breath worthy of a championship deep diver, and screamed at the top of her lungs, until it hurt.
“SUPERGIRL!”
She had to scramble into the back seat as the engine began pushing through the dashboard, ripping apart plastic and leather, splintering buried wood. Lena ducked as the roof crumpled and dove in, like the roof of a dragon’s mouth crushing down to pulp her. She closed her eyes and curled in on herself, hoping it would at least be over fast.
A single ringing thought bit through the fear.
Oh God. Kara’s waiting for me at the restaurant.
Around her metal shrieked, and she heard the vast clang of rending machinery. The inexorable crushing stopped, the bucking limousine going still. Lena opened her eyes, peering through her fingers like a terrified child, and watched in awe as one of the crushed plates tore loose from its moorings and went flying off into the afternoon air.
Hands, strangely delicate, punched through armor plating as if it were cobwebs and ripped the broken shell of Lena’s limo apart, spreading it in every direction.
Lena had never seen Supergirl so panicked. Her eyes were too wide with abject terror, and she seized Lena in her arms, winding her cape around her, and rocketed loose from the car.
Lena’s words were lost to the wind. Supergirl was blasting into the air, flying incredibly fast- too fast. Helpless, she clung to the hero for dear life, feeling woozy as the blood drained from her skull.
She thought, oh, come on, as she passed out again.
When her eyes drifted open, Lena was lying on the ground. Groaning, she sat up slowly, feeling every movement, and realized she’d been lying on a spread red blanket with her suit jacket piled up under her head for a pillow, and she was in the woods. The sun had yielded to the sky, and someone had started a roaring fire a few feet away.
Grateful for the warmth, Lena edged closer. As she did, she realized that she was sitting not on a blanket but on Supergirl’s cape.
Blinking, she looked around.
Supergirl had her back to a tree, curled up on herself with her head hanging between her knees, arms wrapped around to cover her face, and she was sobbing quietly. Lena stared, open-mouthed.
“Supergirl?” she breathed.
Supergirl didn’t respond. Lena rose to her feet, wobbling, and discarded her heels before walking across a bed of soft leaves. She crouched in front of the weeping Kryptonian, stunned when the other woman flinched.
“Supergirl?”
“Lena?”
Her voice was small and soft, all the bravado and righteous authority gone. She sounded strangely human.
“Are you okay?” she whispered.
“I think I am,” said Lena. “What about you? Are you hurt?”
“No,” she sniffed. “A Tauraxian hit me in the head with a greyhound bus. Tuesday afternoon at the office.”
Lena laughed softly, and sat down. “I’m sure. What just happened?”
Supergirl swallowed hard as she looked up. “I panicked. I saw what was happening and I lost control. I’m lucky I didn’t hurt you.”
Lena put a tentative hand in on her shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“More than you realize,” Supergirl sighed.
“I’m here,” said Lena.
She sat down. Supergirl looked away from her, staring I to the fire a few feet away. In starlight, with the firelight caressing her delicate features and sparkling in her blue eyes, it was impossible to miss how hauntingly beautiful she was… and how haunted herself. Supergirl looked older than her years, a deep sorrow in her eyes that Lena had never seen before.
“I’m claustrophobic,” Supergirl explained. “Not the kind of thing that you advertise.”
“We all have our fears. I have some of my own.”
Lena pushed down thoughts of a pale hand sliding beneath churning black water and shuddered.
With teary eyes, Supergirl looked at her.
“I can’t. I can’t have fears. I’m Supergirl. I have to be perfect, set an example, all that crap. I’m the perfect woman who came from the sky to do only good.”
The perfect woman, Lena thought, consuming the firelit beauty before her. No one would debate that.
Well, Lena would, maybe. There was someone more perfect, someone soft and kind with a devastating smile and laughing eyes tinged with strange sorrow. She hoped Kara wasn’t worrying about her.
It was funny how Lena always thought of Kara when Supergirl was around. Guilt, maybe. Foolish guilt; Kara was a far shore that Lena would never reach, even if she’d gladly sink in the attempt.
“Before I came to Earth, I drifted in the phantom zone in my pod. There were things outside. The pod was the size of a coffin, a tiny space to spend all that time. The phantoms would claw and slash at the canopy and the walls. I was awake for days hearing them trying to get in. Sometimes there were bigger things out there, wrapping arms around it and trying to crush their way in.”
Lena nodded. “That sounds beyond terrible. It’s okay for you to be scared after that.”
Supergirl nodded. “I can barely handle elevators sometimes.”
A jolt went through Lena, something familiar, like a word on the tip of her brain.
“I get scared when other people are enclosed, too,” said Supergirl. “When I saw something trying to crush you, I just lost it. It’s different when it’s you.”
Lena swallowed hard, trying to suppress the shiver that coursed through her body and made the small hairs on her arms stand on end.
“Back in high school, the other girls used to bully me,” said Supergirl. Once, they locked me in a closet in the locker room. I screamed and screamed until until someone let me out. Alex was furious, she…”
Supergirl went quiet, trailing off. Her eyes went wide and she jolted back.
Lena sat there for a second, unsure why…
Wait.
Alex?
High school? Supergirl went to high school?
With Alex? Alex Danvers?
Lena choked down a gasp, the wheels whirling in her head. She looked over and met Supergirl’s eyes, studying them. Her. The way the light played across her soft features, her honey hair, the little scar above her eye.
“Hi, Lena.”
“Hi, Kara,” Lena whispered.
Neither of them moved. Lena wondered briefly if Kara had ever planned to tell her, how she might have planned it. Probably not like this. Her throat bobbed.
Lena shifted closer, until they were hip to hip in a seated hug, Kara crying softly on Lena’s shoulder, powerful arms wrapped around her.
“I was scared,” said Lena. “I was afraid I was going to die and you’d be sitting at the table at the restaurant waiting for me.”
“Never,” said Kara. “I’ll always protect you.”
“And I’ll always protect you. Nobody is ever going to shove my Kara in a closet ever again.”
Kara let out a little gasp.
“Can we stay here for a while? Talk? Just you and me?”
Kara nodded. She stood and gathered up her cape as Lena moved close to the fire, and sat down, wrapping it around them both. Lena let her head fall on Kara’s shoulder.
“This makes a nice blanket.”
“It is a blanket. My cousin was swaddled in it when he came to Earth. Don’t worry, I washed it.”
Lena laughed softly, awkwardly trying to decide where to put her hands. She settled on being bold, and put her arm around Kara’s waist. Kara slipped her arms around her shoulder and pulled her in, and Lena hugged her back, tucking herself into Kara’s shoulder.
They sat for a while as the fire burned down low. It was full dark and the fire was nothing but coals.
“I was going to tell you. I wanted to.”
“I’m not mad.”
“Okay,” Kara sighed.
Lena swallowed hard, trying not to feel her blood rushing in her ears.
“You know,” she said. “You could kiss me right now, if you wanted. That seems like the kind of thing the hero does after saving the girl.”
“I could?” said Kara.
“You could.”
“Like this?”
Kara was trying to be smooth, and it made it hard for Lena not to giggle. She tipped Lena’s chin up with soft fingers and guided herself in, bringing their lips together. Kara kissed her softly, tentatively. Lena kissed her back just as softly, afraid this moment would shatter if she pressed too hard.
It was easy to shift herself into Kara’s lap, even before Kara lifted her there. Lena knew she was strong but not Kryptonian strong, and it it sent a thrill through her. She liked it.
She liked touching Kara, too. Liked feeling the bunching muscles flex under under hands, the softness of her hair, the way she gasped when she felt Lena’s lips on her throat.
“Never have I wished so badly for a tent and sleeping bags,” said Lena.
“And marshmallows to toast!” said Kara.
“Do you ever stop thinking about food?” Lena giggled.
Kara looked at her intently, and Lena shivered, not from the cold. She’d longed for Kara to see her like that, look at her like that.
“Sometimes,” Kara whispered. “Sometimes I think about other things.”
“We should probably go back,” said Lena. “We have people who are probably looking for us.”
Kara nodded.
“Do you want this to be… do you want us to be?”
“Kara,” said Lena, “I would have asked you out a year ago if I thought I had a chance. I thought you just wanted to be friends.”
Kara swallowed. “Are you saying you want to be my girlfriend?”
Lena smiled softly. “Yes.”
Kara rose and clasped her cape to her shoulders, then gently brought Lena to her feet and lifted her from the ground, holding her close.
“Not so fast this time, okay?”
“Okay,” said Kara, lifting them back into the sky.
795 notes · View notes
zanarkandskylines · 13 days
Text
₊✩‧₊◜ can’t stop thinking about the possibility of getting caught with Bakugo in public on a patrol shift.
꒰ tags & content ꒱ 18+ MDNI! Voyeurism, dirty talk, some praise/pet names, biting/scratching, unprotected sex, overstimulation, cream pie
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“Mmph, mm!”
“Shh, baby, ya gotta keep it down,” Bakugo coos, tenderly stroking your hips before driving his cock into you full force again, pressing your back up against the brick wall of the alleyway. “Someone’ll hear how good your gettin’ fucked.”
It was a slow patrol day, no emergency calls or distress signals for the last hour or so. By some miracle, the two of you were stationed to neighboring sectors for the second time this week. Your schedules were opposite as of late, only getting to see each other in passing or on a day off, so you took advantage of the time you were given.
Bakugo bounced you off his hips with his thrusts, holding you effortlessly as he drilled away at your drenched pussy, slick frothing up between you two. The way your walls clenched around him and massaged every inch of his thick cock has his head spinning. You had one hand over your mouth and one on his shoulder, desperately trying to cover up your ascending moans.
“Ahh Dynamight!” you whine as your hand slips from your face, biting your bottom lip - hard enough to leave it pulsing and flushed. You’re too delirious and fucked out to keep your volume hushed, every single nerve in your body on fire with each buck of his hips.
“That’s-mmph-right, ba-fuck-by, only the number two hero can...fuck you this fuckin’ good,” Bakugo growls, pulling you by the waist to plunge deeper into your tight cunt, hot breath tickling your neck. The angle makes your eyes roll back, swearing he's piercing your cervix as drool threatens to drip from the corners of your mouth. You claw at his chest, viciously groping his pecs and twisting his clothed nipples beneath your fingers. An animalistic groan erupts from his throat as his pacing becomes brutal, the pleasure becoming unbearable in your belly. Your slurring words as they're spilling from your lips, garbled by the moans bubbling up from deep within you.
The communicator in both your ears beeps simultaneously and the general alert of "Assistance Requested in Sector...," signaling any nearby heroes for help. Bakugo kisses your jaw repeatedly, nipping at the skin in-between each peck of his lips.
"Go'head princess, cum all over my cock for me."
The thread inside you snaps violently, the pressure of your orgasm wracking your body so hard that you're close to passing out from the rush. You're vibrating and clamping down on him with newfound strength that he's gasping for breath when he feels the flood of slick coat his dick, dripping from your folds, down his length and onto the ground between thrusts. There's an audible sloshing as Bakugo's tempo becomes uneven, chasing his own release.
"Fuck! Y've never...squeezed me like this...you're so fuckin'-mm-tight!"
His words are strained as he latches onto your collarbone, canines sinking through your hero suit and piercing your skin. A breathless scream escapes you as you feel the explosive release against your walls, hot spurts of seed flowing into you and combining with your own spend. Bakugo's knees buckle and threaten to let him collapse as he catches you - steadying himself to hold you and use the wall as support. His crimson gaze meets yours, darting between your parted lips and lidded eyes.
"Ch-christ baby, that was insane," he rasps through harsh breathing. His follow up kiss is rough, a silent thank you between clashing tongues and bruised lips. He breaks the kiss to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, sweat collecting on your suit from his forehead.
"I'll take th' call, your shift's up anyways. I'll swing by your place after, 'kay?" Bakugo whispers as he's putting you down slowly, pulling out of you as he keeps you upright on jelly legs. All you can do is nod and smile, readjusting your hero suit to its natural state. He's fixing his own clothes and notices you're shaking like a leaf, struggling to stand up straight.
"Y'okay to get home? I can take ya if you can't walk. 's my fault anyways."
"Y-yeah, I think so. I'll just sit here for a few minutes," you say, sliding down the wall and plopping to the ground. "I legitimately think you fucked me into another dimension for a hot second."
Bakugo snickers, kneeling down to cradle your cheek and kiss you again, but this time, it's featherlight.
"Glad to have ya back in this one."
You say goodbye, waving to him as he leaves the alley to answer the earlier distress call. His voice travels through your intercom as he responds and heads to the neighboring sector, a few explosions ringing through the air. The pulsing in your center calms to a flutter within the next few minutes and allows you to finally get to your feet. Good thing you're next scheduled patrol isn't for a few days - you're gonna need some recovery time after a fucking like that.
799 notes · View notes
marvelfilth · 7 months
Text
Off the deep end 4 (18+)
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
Pairing: ghostface!Sam Carpenter x f!reader
Warnings: smut, fingering, strap on sex, praise, r gets tied up, pet names, spanking (like once), canon typical violence, blood, stabbing
Summary: "Take off my mask"
A/n: ...I'm sorry
Masterlist
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Ghostface sits on the loveseat, her legs crossed and her posture entirely relaxed as she playfully taps her knife against the glass of your coffee table.
You take a second to gather your courage and lunge.
She's too gobsmacked to react, and in less than a second you have her pinned against the back of the loveseat, a knife pressing against her neck.
"The bodega. Was it you? Because if it was, I'll gut you myself," you growl.
You feel her shaky exhale before she drops her knife to the floor, turning you around in a split second and pinning you down with her weight. Your knife is still dangerously close to her neck, but you don't think she cares, with the way she grabs your waist possessively.
"Fuck," she breathes out, caressing your waist.
"Let me go," you hiss, pushing against her chest with your other hand.
She uses this moment to push your hand away from her throat, clutching it in her strong grip, your knife dangling uselessly between your fingertips.
"There's no way I'm letting you go, baby. No fucking way." She's breathless, her chest heaving heavily as she pushes you deeper into the cushions.
"I'm not your baby," you growl, trying to push her away. "You think you can just show up here after almost killing my friends? I don't care what kind of vigilante bullshit you've got going on, they're off limits." You buckle against her, growing red in the face when she doesn't move an inch.
She tilts her head, seemingly taking you in. She stays silent way too long for your liking, just breathing heavily and observing you, shifting her grip on your wrist. The action reminds you that your other hand is still around her shoulder, clutching it hard enough to leave half moons on her skin even through multiple layers of fabric.
"Go ahead," she whispers, "try."
You wonder how the fuck does she know what you're about to do.
Still, your hand moves slowly, and you don't dare look away from the black hollow eyes of the mask, swallowing when you finally come in contact with the heated skin of her neck. You don't waste another moment and grip, cutting off her airway. She expected it, clearly, but she still lets you send both of you tumbling to the floor. She lands with a huff, your thighs straddling her hips, and now that your roles are reversed you feel a sense of power over her, no matter how fleeting it might be.
Her pulse is erratic against your fingers, but she stays still, not moving an inch, and speaks up, "I came here to punish you, you know? I told you to stay home. Our home." You freeze, gaping at her. "I thought you learned your lesson that first time, but no, you decide to play hero and go off on your own in the middle of the fucking night," she growls, easily throwing you off her body. You sit on the floor, not daring to move as she removes her voice changer.
There's no need for that - you already know who's behind the mask.
"Take off my mask," Sam orders and you tremble at the commanding tone, hesitantly reaching up to remove the plastic.
There's no color in her eyes, only black of her pupils. She's panting, her expression pure lust. She looks you up and down slowly, gaze lingering on the knife between your fingers. You let it fall on the floor with a dull thump and she smiles dangerously, lifting her eyes. "Now take off your clothes."
You whimper, clumsily following the order as she drinks you up with her eyes, kneeled on the floor. When you're left naked she rummages in the pockets off her robe, pulling something out before carelessly shrugging it off and throwing it to the side.
"Come here," she pats her lap, leaning back against the foot of the couch. You do so quickly, stifling a whimper when your core brushes against her leg. She pulls you into a bruising kiss, all teeth and bite as your hips start rocking on her thigh, chasing pleasure. You grip the cushions behind her back, arching in her hold before you feel her push your hands away and lead them behind your back. She tries them up with something silky and smooth, probably a scarf, tugging to check if it's tight enough.
"So you don't jump me again," she chuckles and you grow embarrassingly wet, stifling a whimper at her degrading tone. "I only wanted to scare you that night when I visited you for the first time. Wanted to make sure you listen to me next time, but there you were, in a fucking towel. I wanted you for so long and you were right there, ready for me to take." She pushes on your hips, and you throw your head back, letting out a loud moan when you feel a bulge in her pants. "But this time… you pinned me down, put a knife to my throat. Remember what you said?" She husks, cupping the back of your head and forcing you to look at her. You nod dazedly, nails dig into your palms, trying to keep in your pathetic whimpers. She plants her hands on your cheeks. "Say it again."
You close your eyes and arch into her body, your breasts practically in her face. "I said I'd gut you- not you, I- I'd kill the person who tried to hurt you and Tara."
She lets out a deep breath that sounds like a moan and reaches behind you. "You'd kill for me?" She pants.
You nod against her lips. "Yes."
She growls, a sound so deep and primal it makes you shudder, and shows you the mask. "Then I think you should put this on, don't you?" You don't dare move an inch, watching as she puts the mask on your face with hunger in her eyes. Her thigh pushes between your legs, making you whimper. "Sam- please…"
"Perfect." She chuckles, trailing a hand trailing over your breasts, slowly, teasingly. "You love it, don't you? That's why you never said anything. I killed everyone who tried to hurt you and you fucking love it."
"Yes. Fuck, yes, Sam," you gasp grinding on her thigh. You can't take your eyes off her. Sweat drips down the valleys between her breasts, disappearing behind her thin tank top, pulling your attention to her perky nipples. You'd kill for a chance to taste them.
"My dirty girl, fucking perfect for me." She leans down and places long kisses down your neck, savoring the taste of your skin. Your breasts brush and you arch into her, chasing the feeling, but she merely chuckles before forcing your legs open and plunging two fingers inside with no warning. Your hands jerk and you hiss when the movement makes the scarf tighten, hurting your wrists. Sam chuckles into your neck before biting down, leaving a deep purple mark as you struggle to hold back a moan. "Don't," she hisses, "don't you dare hold back." She thrusts into you mercilessly, tugging your nipple between her teeth.
You want to throw your arms around her shoulders and hide your face in her hair, pulling her incredibly close, but your hands lay limp behind your back and the mask on your face makes it impossible to feel the softness of her hair. You look at her through the dark hollows, gasping for breath when she adds a third finger, almost falling back on the floor, trying to ride her, moving your hips up and down.
You feel pressure building in your lower belly and you tell Sam you're close, moaning her name as she fastens her pace before she abruptly pulls out, leaving you to whine uselessly.
She gets up from the floor with you in her arms and throws you over her shoulder, heading to your bedroom. Her palm settles on your ass, squeezing possessively as she shoulders your door before carelessly throwing you on the bed, making you bounce on the mattress. There's shuffling of fabric before she quickly unties your wrists. You sigh, flexing the strained muscles, and then you're rolled on your back, moaning when you see her fully naked. You let out a heavy breath, looking at Sam towering over you, her abs clenched as her fingers wrap around her strap. You unconsciously spread your legs, shuffling higher to settle on the pillows.
"Hands on the headboard," she orders, picking up the scarf from the floor. You put your hands over your head and she makes quick work of tying them up again, giving your nipple a painful squeeze as her hand slides down your torso to your dripping pussy.
"Please, Sam," you plead, grinding on her palm.
She hums and straddles your thigh, her sex flush against the muscle, smearing wetness. She grinds on you messily, losing herself in pleasure, and you're left to marvel at the sight. Her abs clench each time her pussy slides over your flesh, chest rising rapidly. She closes her eyes and throws her head back, moaning loudly. You whimper, trying to find friction against her thigh. She looks down at you in ecstasy, breathing through her open mouth as she messily humps your leg.
"Fuck, you look so good," you whimper, thinking you could come just from watching her. She chuckles lowly, coating you in her arousal and her strap bumps against your clit, making your hips jerk.
"You want it?" She taunts, halting her movements and positioning herself between your parted thighs. Your legs wrap around her waist, pulling her flush against you before you answer. "I want you," you whimper, feeling the tip of her cock nudge against your entrance.
"You have me, baby," she says, before snapping her hips forward, burying the thick length in your wet heat. "How does that feel, hm?"
You moan, hips buckling in her hold. "So good, Sam, you feel so good."
She hums and starts thrusting slowly, placing fleeting kisses over your chest before she leans back, her fingers wrapping around your ankles to throw them over her shoulders. "Keep them open for me," she says and returns her hands to your hips, pressing you into the bed, picking up the pace.
She mercilessly pounds into your pussy, the wet slapping sound echoing through your room. You moan, throwing your head back, making the mask skew a little before it's ripped off your face. "Want to see your pretty face when you come," she breathes, pressing on the bulge on your lower belly. "You're taking my cock so well, princess. Such a good girl." Her praises reach your ears, but you barely make them out amidst mind-blowing pleasure.
"S-sam! Fuck, I'm close," you moan, helplessly tugging on the restraints. Sam starts rubbing your clit and you feel your orgasm build up, making you arch your back off the bed.
"You're gonna scream for me, baby," she pants, fastening her pace, her strap burying in your tight cunt to the hilt, her thumb playing with your swollen nub of nerves.
You come with a loud cry of her name, your walls clenching around the silicone cock as she continues pounding into you at an animalistic pace, drilling you into the bed. Your bed shakes, the headboard steadily smashing against the wall as she makes it her mission to lead you to another orgasm. Your tears roll down your cheeks, blurring the sight of her lust filled eyes, looking down at you like she's about to consume you whole.
"Such a good pussy, all mine to use," she purrs, throwing your legs off her shoulders and rolling you onto your side, the changing of the angle making her strap reach deeper into you. Her hand settles over your thigh, gripping possessively before she lets go to land a slap on your ass, her other hand pressing down on the side of your head.
"Yours, a-all yours ah-," you cry out, feeling your climax approach, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge.
She leans over your body to whisper in your ear. "You're mine. Say it."
Your eyes roll to the back of your head as she buries her strap in you again and again, hitting your sensitive spot. "Yours, I'm yours."
She bites down on the curve of your shoulder to hide her moan as she reaches her high, taking you over the edge with her. Your vision goes white, your cunt clenching around her cock, your wetness coating the sheets under you.
She slumps beside you, lazily untying the scarf and massaging your arms before slowly pulling out and pushing you to lay on top of her. "We're not done yet, baby," she whispers into your hair and pulls you into a deep kiss.
×××
A piercing ringing sound wakes you up, making you roll out of Sam's warm embrace and fall on the floor in a heap of sheets with a dull thump. You groan, sending her a finger when she snorts and finally picks up her phone. Your carpeted floor feels too fluffy to get up and move back to bed, your eyes falling shut as Sam speaks with her sister. You slowly drift off, teetering on the edge of consciousness when Sam picks you up and gently lowers you back on the bed, pressing a chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth before disappearing behind the bathroom door. You burrow into her pillow, the sound of running water lulling you back to sleep.
Next time you wake up to gentle caresses, smiling, not fully awake yet, but not asleep either. You feel her lips stretch in a smile when she starts kissing the side of your neck, her breath tickling, making you giggle.
You finally open your eyes when she calls out your name, coaxing you to get up. You pout and try to tug her back to bed, but she narrowly escapes your grip, chuckling when you frown.
"It's past noon, time to get up. Tara's been worried out of her mind," she says and checks her phone when it dings, groaning as she reads the text. "They're all waiting back home. I hate these kids sometimes."
You snort, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. "I bet Mindy made everyone come cause she has some theory to share."
She laughs quietly as she types a response, and looks back at you. "Breakfast is almost ready and you better be dressed when I come back. And don't even try covering these up." She gestures to your neck with her forefinger and you instinctively reach up to touch your sore skin.
She's out of the door before you could complain, leaving you to stew in now cold sheets. You don't test your luck though, and rush to take a shower and dress when you hear her in the kitchen.
You get ready in record time, walking into the kitchen right when she starts putting plates on the table. Your mouth waters when a delicious smell hits your nose, and when she pulls out a chair for you, you rush to her side to press a kiss on her cheek. "Thank you," you whisper.
She hums, pushing your hair to one side when you sit and presses a kiss to your neck. "My girlfriend deserves the best," she breathes, making you shudder.
You find the strength to object. "You didn't even ask if I want to be your girlfriend."
She pauses, frowning. "You don't?"
You bite back a smile at her confused expression, pulling her down for a proper kiss. "It doesn't hurt to ask."
She huffs, and walks around the table to take a seat, looking you right in the eye as she replies. "Do you want to be my girlfriend?"
"Yes," you mumble, growing embarrassingly red, and dive in the food, biting back a moan at the taste. She hums in approval, swiping some sauce for the corner of your mouth. "Good girl."
×××
You ask the question that's been nagging at your mind for the past few days when you're getting ready to leave. "So… there are at least two, right?"
"Hm?"
"Ghostface. One called and the other one attacked you at the bodega."
She shrugs, "I guess."
You frown, noting her lack of reaction. "When I got the call they said they knew your secret."
She walks up to you and puts her hands around your waist. "It doesn't matter. They still haven't told anyone and that means they want to deal with me themselves."
You nod. It makes sense, but you're still worried. The possibility of her dying or going behind bars makes your skin crawl.
"Hey," she caresses your cheek, "it'll be okay, I promise, just… you're with me, right?"
Your lips press against her palm. "Always."
You enter the building an hour later, darting inside quickly, Sam checking every corner before she lets you pass. You walk quietly, heading for the elevators when a man stops in your way, smiling at Sam. You expect her to ignore him or maybe even push him out of the way, but she rolls her eyes good-naturally and greets him with a hug, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.
"Who's this?" You ask, eyes darting between Sam and the man, and you decide you don't like him at all.
He looks… adequate, tall and obviously muscular, his eyes bright blue. He also looks dangerous, like a guy you'd avoid at parties. But then again Sam looks dangerous too, so you probably shouldn't judge him too quickly.
"Danny. Our neighbor," she introduces you and he smiles, extending his hand.
You take it, his fingers wrapping around yours with gentle, but firm squeeze. You mutter your name, looking him up and down. You've never seen him before and you've spent weeks at Sam's place by now.
"I don't think I've ever seen you before."
He chuckles and rubs the back of his head. "I'm not surprised. I work at night, sleep through the day."
You nod, feeling Sam's eyes on you. "Yeah, that must be it," you mumble.
She nudges you to the elevators, bidding Danny goodbye. You follow her, chewing on your lip.
No, you decide, you definitely don't like him.
"What was that?" Sam asks with a teasing glint in her eyes. "Jealous?"
You scoff. "You wish."
She hums in agreement, but sports a smug smile all the way to her front door. Tara greets you both with a hug the second you step inside the apartment, eyeing you worriedly. Sam shrugs her off with a calming smile, urging her into the kitchen. You bite back a smile when Tara begrudgingly follows, muttering something about Sam and her stress cooking.
Mindy and Anika are cuddled up on the couch, too busy gossiping about their new professor to notice you. Chad gives you a small wave, scooting to give you space to sit. The hug he gives you is warm and reassuring and you place a chaste kiss on his cheek, noting the absence of Quinn and Ethan.
"Quinn's in her room and Ethan has Econ," he mumbles, noticing your questioning look. You nod, and relax against his shoulder, allowing yourself to bask in the moment.
Sam and Tara chatter as they cook something, judging by the smell it's Sam's famous grilled cheese. Your mouth waters even though you ate not that long ago, remembering the taste. You sneak a glance in their direction and see them laughing. The shorter girl shoves Sam hard, but your girlfriend doesn't budge, eyes rolling at the sisters' antics.
You wish you could stay like this forever.
Mindy finally looks away from her girlfriend, eyebrows jumping up when she sees you. "Where have you been?"
You groan, feeling the way Chad's shoulders shake with laughter. "She won't let it go, just roll with it," he whispers.
"She was with me, Mindy, don't even start," Sam shouts from the kitchen, twirling a knife between her fingers. The sight makes something inside of you catch on fire.
"Gross," Mindy grumbles and whines when Anika leaves her, choosing to sit on your other side.
You share a laugh, your friend molding against your side. They put on a movie, not a slasher, thank god, and you settle deeper into the cushions as you watch, putting your hand around Anika's shoulders and sending Mindy a smug look. She rolls her eyes, huffing, and crosses her arms, turning to look at the screen with her lips jutted out. Sam and Tara join you when they're finally done, your girlfriend sending Chad and Anika a glare before she settles on the floor with a pout, a mirror image of Mindy. You bite on your lower lip, suppressing a smile. Screen flashes brightly and you dive into the story unfolding, forgetting about the real world for a few hours.
You nod off when you're almost halfway through the sequel, now flat against Sam's front as you both sit on some cushions on the floor, Mindy having thrown you away from her girlfriend when she came back with more snacks. Sam's arms find home around your waist, keeping you trapped between her legs as she presses soft kisses all over the side of your face. She shushes everyone and lowers the volume once she finally notices you've fallen asleep, snatching Mindy's blanket to cover your feet.
When you open your eyes some time later, expecting to see credits rolling or another movie playing, you see a murder report, sirens in the background wailing loudly, a likely cause of your abrupt awakening. You frown, struggling to make out words with your mind still half asleep, but when you hear your girlfriend's name your focus becomes laser like. Everyone in the room listens with rapt attention to every word falling from the reporter's mouth, Sam nudging you away and stomping to the kitchen once murder acquisitions are made known.
You swallow, looking at Sam's hunched figure, your throat suddenly dry. Tara elbows you and throws her chin in Sam's direction, eyes widening in an attempt at silent communication. You nod and follow her, both of you taking a seat on either side of the dejected woman.
"Sam?" Tara hesitantly speaks up. "None of what they said matters. We'll get that motherfucker and people will know the truth. They'll see you how we see you." She places her hand on top of Sam's, squeezing.
You bite on your lower lip when Sam's face crumbles at her sister's words, a single tear sliding down her cheek. "And what if they're right?" She croaks, turning to look at her sister. "What if they see me for what I really am and you're the one who's wrong?"
Tara opens her mouth, fire in her eyes, but you beat her to it. "She's right," you state, Sam snapping back to look at you. "You did what you had to do before. They'll never understand it, but we do. You're good, Sam, everyone in this room knows it."
Mindy and Chad take a seat across the table, worriedly eyeing your girlfriend, but her eyes are on you, latching onto every word that leaves your lips.
"Do you really think so?" She whispers and you can see the hidden insecurity behind her irises. This feels like a conversation you should be having in private, away from Mindy's piercing eyes and Tara's attentiveness.
Your lips press against hers before you whisper quietly, only for her to hear. "I know so. You saved me, remember?"
Tension seeps away as she pulls you into another kiss, lips moving gently against your own, tongue sliding across your bottom lip before Mindy forces you apart by fake gagging.
Tara pulls her into a hug, somehow fitting her older sister in the slope of her neck. "Shut it, Mindy." She glares at the girl.
Mindy throws her arms up in mock surrender and Chad takes this moment to say, "That's right. We're the core four, we've been through worse."
Sam loudly snorts into Tara's shoulder, making the girl grimace. "The core what?" Mindy's side eye burns through him.
"The core four. You know, cause we've been through a lot. Plus, it sounds cool."
"It really doesn't," you chuckle.
"And there's five of us, dingus, six if we count Anika," the twin sister points out.
"Yeah, but Y/n isn't Woodsboro and neither is Anika..." he trails off, looking to the side. "Core four and a half? Core four and plus ones?"
Mindy rolls her eyes so hard you're afraid they might stick to the back of her head. "Just shut up."
You get up to get a glass of water for Sam after making sure she's fine, dropping your phone on the table and heading to the kitchen. Your eyes roll to the back of your head when you hear Quinn and her latest boy toy going at it again, and open the fridge, scanning for a bottle of water.
Suddenly, the apartment grows quiet before chaos takes over.
"Y/n!" Sam shouts loudly, and you run back, her fingers immediately latching onto your wrist with a tight grip. She shows you a message on her phone, a photo of Ghostface holding Quinn by the throat in her room.
You freeze with a baited breath, eyes pinned to the door. Pained wails from behind the wall make you dart to the door, throwing Sam's hand away from yours. You open the door before she pushes you behind her back, obscuring the view, but you still catch a glimpse of Quinn's limp body being thrown at Anika.
Your friends scream and scutter around the apartment, Ghostface hot on your heels. Sam's hand finds yours again, pulling you behind Chad and Tara, Mindy and Anika following close by, but Ghostface is faster, rounding you up, Sam's hand slipping from your grasp as he shuts the front door right in your face, cutting you away from Sam, Tara and Chad. The door starts shaking from the force of Sam's efforts, but you know it's useless - she made sure nothing could get through that door when they moved in. You duck when the robed figure slashes at you, nipping your shoulder. Mindy shouts something about knives from the kitchen and runs up to clock Ghostface with a knife holder, throwing him off his feet. Anika tugs you back into Quinn's room and you stumble on her body, almost falling into a puddle of blood, but Mindy is right there on your other side, shoving you behind the door and quickly locking it.
The three of you lean on the door, feet planted firmly on the floor as Ghostface tries to knock it down. The hinges squeak from the force, dust falling on your shoulders as you pant heavily, thinking of a way out. You look around the room, trying to find some sort of weapon, but the only thing somewhat fitting your requirements is a bedside lamp, glowing mockingly with a pinkish hue. The rattling stops, and your panic increases tenfold. Your eyes land on Mindy's, her face growing pale as she looks at something over your shoulder before she forces you back and throws herself at the bathroom door with a scream.
The dark figure easily throws the door open, slicing her bicep to the bone. The girl falls to the floor, clutching the deep cut, unaware of the hand raised over her head, ready to land the final blow. Anika launches herself at the killer, kicking and screaming, as you dart for the fucking lamp, clutching it in your sweaty palm, ready to knock the hooded person unconscious. You turn around just in time to see your friend's stomach being sliced open, a guttural scream ripping from her throat.
She falls to the ground and you swing the lamp as hard as you can, sending Ghostface back to the bathroom and snapping the door shut right in his face. You sit, propped against the door, frantically looking around for something to block it with. Mindy presses down on Anika's stomach, there's so much blood it's going to make you sick.
You turn away, blinking back tears, your eyes landing on the dresser.
"Mindy," you croak, "Mindy we need to prop it against the door." She looks at you, then at the dresser and back to Anika, who nods, schooling her features.
You move in tandem, you still holding the door, with Ghostface now trying to knock it down, and her pushing the dresser firmly against the door. You sag once it's in place, picking up on distant shouts.
"Y/n!" Sam calls from the window across, a leader clutched between her and Danny. You let out a relieved laugh, securing the ladder on the windowsill. "That's it, baby, now come here," she urges, a desperate look in her eyes.
You shake your head, looking back at Mindy and Anika, and at the shaking door. "They're injured, Sam. They'll go first." She looks like she wants to protest, but relents once she sees the look in your eyes.
"Just one at a time," Danny speaks up.
You nod before turning back and taking a place on the floor, gently pressing down on Anika's wound, your hands turning red mere seconds later. You fight the urge to gag, looking at your friends through the tears. "You first, Mindy."
Mindy looks up, scandalized. "I'm not leaving her," she gritts.
"M-Mindy," Anika whimpers, clutching your wrists.
"No."
"You'll get there quick and I'll be right behind you, o-okay?" The girl stutters, pleading with her eyes.
"Then you go first," Mindy sniffles, "I'll hold it steady and wait till you get across."
You close your eyes, your whole body jostling from the force of Ghostfaces efforts. Your friend is losing more and more blood, coating the floor and your clothes, making you shudder. Sam starts shouting again, screaming for one of you to finally go. You look at Mindy, whispering, "You have to go."
"I'll just s-slow you down. Just go, please, just g-go." Anika begs, tears rolling down her face. Mindy nods resolutely and you look away, giving them some resemblance of privacy as they share a heartfelt kiss.
Mindy grabs your collar, forcing you to look at her when they're done. "You get her out, understand?"
You nod, watching as she looks at her girlfriend one last time and hurries to the ladder, hesitantly climbing on.
"You'll go next," Anika whispers, closing her eyes.
Your head whips back, eyes wide as you look at your friend's pale face. "I'm not fucking leaving you, An. We stick together, remember?"
She chuckles humorlessly, the sound turning into a wheeze. "I don't want you d-dying with me."
You swallow back a sob, knowing that the open wound is looking worse with each passing second, her fingers so weak she can barely hold onto your hand, let alone a ladder.
She looks like she knows what you're thinking about, smiling gently. "I'll h-hold him off. I still have some fight in me."
You shake your head, blinking back tears, and look out the window to see Mindy's almost halfway to the other side. You think and think and think, because there has to be something, there must be a way. There's probably some sort of weapon in Sam's room, but you're not sure if you'll make it back in time or if you'll be able to fight off Ghostface. You can feel the door almost give out, crossing out the options of just staying there and waiting for the police to arrive.
Anika pushes your hands away and you blink back at her. "Go," she whispers, fighting back tears. "We b-both know I won't make it across that ladder."
You shake your head, realization dawning on you. "The front door," you mutter, "An, it's locked from the inside! And that fucker won't even hear you through all that noise. You can make it to the elevators. You can!"
She freezes, eyes darting between the door and the window, you can see a glimpse of hope appear. "I can," she nods, "but what about you?"
You swallow. "I'll hold him off and go for the ladder when he breaks down the door. I promise, I'll get out."
She looks like she wants to argue, but Mindy's triumphant shout as she finally lands on the floor makes her nod quietly. You don't have time to argue, you both know it.
"Anika!" Mindy urges and you can hear Sam cursing loudly.
The wounded girl nods solemnly and pads to the door that leads to the hallway, unlocking it quietly.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Mindy yells.
Sam doesn't say anything and shoves Mindy out of the way, ready to climb the goddamn ladder, Danny holding her back by her shoulders.
"No!" You shout, looking back to see Anika already in the hallway. "Anika's going and I'm next. Trust me, please."
Sam looks at you, a silent question in her eyes, you shake your head, hoping she'll listen. She sags. "Okay."
You exhale in relief, turning to watch Anika as she trudges through the living room, back aching from continuing shoves.
Minutes tickle by, Mindy disappears from view to go to the living room, watching her girlfriend through the window. You hold on, heels of your feet firmly on the floor, but you can already feel your strength starting to slip.
Anika is nowhere to see, so you turn to Sam, a question on your tongue.
"You can go now," she nods. "C'mon, babe, hurry." She stretches one arm out, the other holding the ladder tightly. Danny is by her side, pushing all of his weight to their end of the ladder.
You get up and run for the window, the dresser now pushed against the wall, the door wide open. Your foot slips on the windowsill, but you manage to hold on, all of your body now on the ladder, looking down at the street below. You start trembling violently, now understanding why Mindy took so long to get across. Sam's eyes are on you the whole time and when you finally look up she offers an encouraging nod, jaw clenched in concentration as she watches your every move.
Her eyes land on something behind you and you freeze, hair on the back of your neck standing up. You don't have to look back to know Ghostface is standing there, but you still do, ignoring Sam's yelling and the tremble in your arms. He stands there, motionless, head tilted in silent curiosity. The ladder squeaks, and your sweaty palms make your grip slip, but you hold on, looking at the killer.
There's a dull sound just outside the apartment that makes him look back at the door and then at you again. His head tilts to the other side as he puts on a show of counting each of you, five fingers up, curling them one by one after he points at you, then Sam, Danny and finally Mindy. He looks at the only finger left, his pinky, and shakes his head in mock disappointment.
"No," you breath out, already climbing back.
He raises a hand, waving you goodbye playfully, gloved fingers wiggling around the sharp knife.
"Get here right now!" Sam shouts, halfway out of the window, but you're out of her grasp. "What the fuck are you doing?!"
You shake your head again, stumbling back inside Quinn's room as the ladder falls down to the street below, Sam's screams filling your ears as you run after Ghostface.
"Anika!" You shout when the elevator is finally in sight, Anika holding on to the railing and Ghostface slipping inside.
You run at full speed, but you still don't make it in time, doors sliding closed as he buries the knife deep into her chest, making you run flat into the metal, Anika's screams echoing through the apartment building. You wipe away your tears and turn for the stairs, jumping five at a time as you make it down to the first floor. You see the back door fall shut after a figure runs out, panic overtaking as you finally face the elevator.
You've never seen that much blood in your life. The walls are covered in splashes of red, the floor just a puddle of dark liquid. Anika wheezes, choking on her blood. You fall to your knees beside her, afraid to touch her fragile body, cuts and stabs littering her torso. Your vision blurs. You don't even know which wound to press on, all of them gushing with blood. In the end you press your palms to the deep cut on her chest, sobbing when more blood starts spilling from other gashes.
She gathers the last of her strength and grips the hem of your shirt. "T-thank you," she wheezes, more blood trailing down her chin.
"What?" You breathe out, choking. "It's my fault. I should've made you climb that fucking ladder."
"I- I would've f-fell." She takes a shallow breath. "Brains a-all over the s-street." She grimaces, gripping you tighter. "This way I get to be with my f-friend for the… for the last time." She smiles, eyes growing hazy and unfocused before they fall shut, her chest no longer rising with ragged breaths.
You wail, desperately shaking her body, begging her to open her eyes. You center your hands on her chest and start pressing to the beat of fucking Stayin' Alive. You follow the steps that have been drilled into your brain on one of the courses you took, pinching Anika's nose and breathing into her mouth, waiting to see the rise of her chest. You repeat it again and again and again, hitting her chest with full force in a hopeless attempt at bringing her back to life.
Arms circle around your shoulders, your body immobilized by a person behind you. You try to throw them off, pushing with your elbows, Anika's unmoving chest the only thing you see.
"Stop," Sam croaks, pulling you against her chest.
"Get off me!" You scream. "I need to- I need-" you sob, uselessly falling back into her arms. She drags you away from the elevator, EMTs immediately rushing in. You turn in her hold, staining her with Anika's blood as she holds you close, blinking back her tears and whispering reassurances into your ear.
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bfbkg · 1 year
Note
hii luna, how r u?!?!?! ☺️☺️
i really wanted to know what are your thoughts w bakugo and sex polen or just something like a lust quirk
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PERMANENT FIX! (3.9k)
pro hero!bakugou katsuki x pro hero!reader
SYNOPSIS: after being hit with a sex pollen quirk, the only person bakugou has in mind to ask for help is his frenemy with benefits coworker.
WARNINGS: minors dni, sex pollen, i cannot write without making it a lil soppy in love lmao, begging, they both come three times lol, oral both ways, cute themes :), loads of pet names from bkg because who am i, unprotected bc i forget about condoms lol don’t do that irl kids but also don’t take sex advice from me but take that okay
LUNA SAYS: hello!!! first fic of the year! hope everyone enjoys lol tell me what you think :) haven’t been writing much because i’ve been READING!!! last year i met my goal of 55 books and this year i wanna try 100 hehe ALSO YES thank you one direction for the title inspo
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bakugou swears the gods love you, this whole situation was punishment for that stupid argument he had in your office two days ago. he liked arguing with you, getting under your skin but because he hasn’t seen you since that day, there’s been no reconciliation. so that argument is still in the air, now punishing him because he knows how you’re going to react when he tells you about his little problem. he needs you and he’s sure you’re either going to slam your door in his face or slap him for being so… vulgar. 
right now, bakugou is so horny it’s painful. he can feel it in his veins in his temples, his pulse in his neck and the twitch of his cock. apparently, it was a thing for people with sex pollen quirks to let it off on pro heroes because they’d think it would be funny. their put together heroes desperate to get off in public but this one was a slow burn. from when he got back to the agency, his car ride home and now outside your apartment, he’s about to explode.
a trickle of sweat slides from his eyebrow when he knocks on your door so he lifts his t-shirt to wipe it off. when he lets go of the fabric, he catches your eyes flick from his chest with an appreciative glance but hardening when they reach his pupils. yep, you’re still mad at him.
“if you’re trying to seduce me it won’t work,” you say, crossing your arms across your chest. you’re always so quick with him, ready to test him and put him in place. he’s always had a crush on you, who wouldn’t with how insanely beautiful you are? fuck his life.
bakugou’s eyes drop to your breasts, hidden under your t-shirt and he hopes he’s not salivating. he’s so lost in his head, in the tight grip of horniness his reflexes are almost too slow to catch your front door slamming in his face. almost. his foot slides between the wood.
“what the fuck, bakugou?” you snap, still trying to push the door shut despite his massive boot in the way, “instead of an apology, i just get you staring at my tits? fuck off!”
bakugou sighs deep from his stomach, keeping his foot in place but making no move to push the door open. “i need to talk to you. i really need to talk to you, sweetheart.”
you pause for a moment, peeking behind your door to look at him. you were, at base level, coworkers but along the way of working together for half a year, you’ve become something more. arguments are inevitable with the stubborn hero but now they turn into a weird type of tension you can’t put your finger on. sometimes your snappy remarks turn unintentionally sexual, one time leaning bakugou to push you into a closet to confront you, nose brushing up your neck and thigh between your legs. he might have got you off that day. also sometimes you intentionally give him that stare during hero galas, big eyes, pouty lips and a very revealing, shiny, figure-hugging dress leading him to making out with you in another random closet. you both were coworkers, sorta friends and sorta enemies. you definitely on the road to become fuck buddies with these closet meetings that keep going on but not enough for him to randomly ask for this favour though.
but you were the only person he could think of. 
“please.”
something about his tone, the pained breathlessness has you opening the door wider, able to get a better look at him.
“what’s wrong with you? are you sick?” you ask, fighting the urge to touch him. but you give in, reaching to press the back of your hand to his sweaty forehead. a moan erupts from him and you yank your hand back. “baku—,”
“earlier on patrol, someone hit me with their quirk,” he says almost slurred, leaning against the door frame with droopy eyes.
you gasp, even when arguing with the man you never want to hear about him getting attacked. you gesture him into your apartment and bakugou melts into your sofa, his arms spreading across the top. he looks out of place in your home, mismatched among everything normal to you. 
he’s ripping off his t-shirt when you ask, “what was the quirk? should i call an ambulance? what do you need?”
“you.”
bakugou katsuki is all man. he’s sin, pleasure and devotion, all mixed in one and you feel bad thinking so when he’s in pain. sweat coats his golden skin, a pink flush to his built chest and cheeks. he slouches deep into your old sofa, his head leaning back on it to reveal his thick neck you love to bruise and his whole body moves with every breath. your eyes trail against the length of his arms across the back of your sofa, his wingspan is so impressive you wouldn’t mind latching on a bicep with your teeth. his trousers are loose, the crotch gaping with his spread legs but still, you make out his dick. hard against his thigh and showing through the fabric. 
you blink at him, spluttering, “what?”
he’s the definition of hot and bothered, “it was a fuckin’ sex pollen quirk. that’s why my cock feels like a weight in my pants.” 
there are a million things to say to him. asking if he only came over to have sex or if he was ever thinking of apologising. saying that you’re sure there’s a cure somewhere so you didn’t have to do this. or even sending him out because that’s his problem. the main question was why you? why you? but none of these words came out because look at him. bakugou sits desperate for you, a paw rubbing at his lower stomach like he’s dying to touch himself but not without your permission. he’s so large he dwarfs your sofa and you know you’re just a girl standing in front of an annoyingly sexy man.
“ask me properly,” suddenly you’re breathless, biting down on your lip and staring at the length of his body. you’ve seen him shirtless a couple of times since you get your hero suits made by the same company and you run into him during a fitting. but never like this, like he’s already been fucked more than once. 
it takes all of bakugou’s energy to lift his head to look at you. you’re going to punish him for that stupid argument you had and he doesn’t even care because he wants it. he wants you so bad.
“needa fuck you, baby. lemme fuck you. feel your sweet pussy around me and your tits against my chest.” he grumbles, voice so deep it vibrates through the air. you’re about to agree, ready to go into any position, “i will fuckin’ beg for you, yn. my cock is achin’.”
you gasp, moving like an invisible string is dragging you to him. maybe you have thought about this scene before, at night with your phone in your hand and a vibrator in your other one. your whole body is shaking as you stand between his legs, pulling off your oversized cosy t-shirt to stand in just your leggings. bakugou presses his face into your stomach, mouth open as he inhales you desperately. his hands circle your thighs to hold you tight and he grunts, teeth clenched. you feel like relief and salvation.
“beg, katsuki,” you say nonchalantly, fingers brushing through his messy locks but the feel of his hot breath on your stomach is making your core tighten.
“please, baby. please. i need you so bad, fuck. only you,” he weeps, laying kisses over any part of bare skin he can reach. you’re sighing softly, hugging his head closer to you and you jump when he pinches your thigh, “you need to say yes ‘cause i won’t be goin’ slow on you.”
“yes, yes katsuki,” you barely finish the last syllable of his name when he yanks you to the sofa and kneels on the floor. your cheek is pressed into the back cushion, ass up in his face. 
“gonna take these off you baby, need to feel you on my fuckin’ tongue,” he mutters behind you, thick fingers coming to pull your leggings off. he can’t stop talking and you can’t fight the urge to roll your pussy over his face, “gonna soften you out, prep you for my dick, yeah?”
you’re humming, naked on your sofa and back arched in the air so he gets a good view. two palms are at your ass cheeks, pulling them apart then brushing against your lips, grunting at the shine coating them and your sweet nub at the top. bakugou’s head is a scramble, his body is raging hot for touch, for anything and then he’s got you spread for him. everything is on an overload. “holy fuck, i’ve fuckin’ dreamt about this since i had you in the closet that day rubbin’ against my thigh. knew you’d look good, smell good—,”
he stuffs his face between your legs, his lips brushing against your clit and his nose rubbing against your hole. you moan at the roughness, him so close to you and another moan breaks in your throat when his tongue, wide and wet swipes up from your clit to your ass. “fuckin’ taste good too, baby.”
bakugou gets to work from then, thumb pressing at your asshole while he licks, sucks and presses hard kisses against your clit. his hand rubs over your ass, up your back and even gropes a tit. you can barely talk, incoherent sentences as he runs his tongue over every part of you. you’re radiating warmth, rocking into him for more. he’s still skilled in desperation, two fingers easily sliding into you and tickling your spot.
when you clench around him he grunts, “so beautiful baby, i’ll give you anythin’.” 
high pitched breaths leave your throat as his lips latch on your clit and he sucks, fingers pushing in and out like he would his dick. 
“i’m gonna come, i’m—,” you start and you finish over his face, gushes of white circling his fingers with a loud squelch as your body trembles. you’re almost falling off the sofa, about to slide off into his lap on the ground when he swoops you up.
bakugou’s never been in your apartment but he makes his way to where he thinks your bedroom is. you’re jelly in his arms, still catching your breath, “i liked that, t-that was good.”
he lays you softly on your bed and your legs spread for him, evidence of what he made you do burning in his retinas. you’re so beautiful, you shouldn’t be letting him have you like this. 
“another time i promise i’ll fuck you slow, baby,” he mumbles, lost in the sight of you. your rising chest, your pretty tits. how your eyes are sleepy but full of mischief. the taste of you is still on his tongue and he can’t help but start yanking off his trousers to finally, finally fist at his cock.
your thighs squeeze together at the sight of him, bulging red tip coated in pre and the length of him almost purple for being hard for so long. he’s so big it makes his hand look oddly small and for a second you wonder how he’ll even fit. you feel yourself dribble down your ass.
“can i have a taste?” you whisper, so drawn to him. the unbelievable sight of his strong thighs and sharp chest. how he’s biting down so hard on his bottom lip and how you can tell his hand isn’t giving him much relief. you sit up, hands palming at his thighs and his cock is so close to your face.
bakugou katsuki whines. you’ve never imagined him whining for you and it’s better than you could have ever thought. “d-don’t put me in your mouth. i’ll fuckin’ come—,” you brush your lips against his tip and he flings his head back, “fuck, fuck, more please.” he feels like he’s insane, one second begging you to not and then begging you to touch him. he doesn’t know exactly what he needs, just that he needs you.
“i’ll be quick, promise,” you say, going cross-eyed at the sight of him. you only put your lips around his tip, coating him in your spit. bakugou is an animal, his grunt loud for not doing much to him. your tongue flicks around his most sensitive. through his slit, around his head and he feels like he’s died and gone to heaven. 
“more angel, more,” and finally just a tiny bit of release. you take as much as you can of him, which leaves two inches to spare so you wrap your fingers around him. “i knew you’d be good at this, angel. a fuckin angel.” he murmurs, eyes squeezed shut as it takes all his restraint not to start thrusting into your mouth. you start all on your own, bobbing your head up and down, your tongue laying flat against the underside of his dick, feeling for his veins and revelling in the heavy throb. 
you moan around him, vibrating down to his balls and everything happens too fast for him to catch up, “fu—,”
with no warning, he splutters down your throat and you drink up all you can. his hips shake and you keep your fist moving, flicking your eyes up to see him already watching you. when he’s finally done, you take him out your mouth and you gasp when he slaps against his stomach. still hard, raging and ready to go again. your mind is cloudy when he tips your head up and kisses you softly, “thank you, yn.”
he’s about to pull away but you circle your arms around his neck pulling him into your body back onto the bed. your kiss goes on forever, his naked body rubbing against yours, tongues brushing against each other and sucking like you’ve done this millions of times before. when you finally need a breath, he’s still full of energy licking a stripe up your neck and pressing wet kisses across your jaw.
“next time i’ll have more restraint, i’ll worship you next time, angel,” he says so full of emotion and regret you wrap your legs around his waist to feel him rocking against your clit. if this wasn’t bakugou worshipping your body, what is? 
you buzz at the thought, “next time? you’re sure there will be a next time?”
bakugou laughs deep and masculinely, thrusting his hips against your clit and biting just above your breast. “i know once we have each other, we’ll need it again. same way when we argue we need it again, when i kiss you i need it again, when i fuckin’ see you i’m plannin’ when i’ll be seeing you next.”
“you’re crazy.”
“fuckin’ crazy for you, angel.”
he punctuates his comment with a smirk and then a kiss on your lips. he’s about to kiss you again when you say, “fuck me katsuki. however, you want.”
he blinks at you for a second before stuffing his head in the crook of your neck. he groans, arousal at the tip of his tone, “you cannot fuckin’ say that to me. you dunno how long i’ve wanted this. my head is about to blow.”
you laugh, fingers combing through his hair as he lies on your body. his dick is poking your stomach, a little wet from your spit and twitching with a life of its own. how can you sound so good? feel so good? no fucking way he is going back to a life without you after this. 
“fuck me then, use me katsuki.” your body rumbles under him when he speaks, the only reason bakugou has to prove that what you said was real and not in his head. 
“fuck angel,” and when bakugou sits up on his knees above you, it looks like he’s moving in slow motion, akin to a king sitting down on his throne and waiting for devoted attention. he fists himself again, eyeing you with want so strong you get the urge to cover your chest.
“don’t be gettin’ shy on me woman, you’re unreal,” he murmurs, one large hand covering the expanse of your stomach. he dips his hand between your legs, “open up for me, lemme see you sweetheart.”
bakugou grunts when you spread for him again, just enough for him to fit comfortably between your legs. he can’t help it when he moves his dick between your folds, drowning in your mewls at every nudge at your clit. you’re already warm and wet without being inside, and he thinks he’s close to passing out. finally fucking you might be the nail in the coffin. he’s holding onto his cock, about to push into your hole when your hand finds his hip, “ask me, katsuki.” 
your voice is honey and silk, defiance and a brat all rolled into one. your touch is light, the opposite of how he’s about to touch you, yet with a few words you’re in control. letting him know he should be lucky you’re letting him fuck you. he knows.
“can i fuck you, angel? gonna treat you so good, promise,” he slurs and when your eyebrows raise like you’re also not on the edge of breaking, he whimpers, “please.”
you smile slow and seductive, jolting your hips up for a better angle, “make it hard, katsuki.”
the smile doesn’t drop once he slides into you, smooth from how soaked you already are. “oh kats—,” “fuck baby—,” tumbling out you both. the first thrust and you’re full to the brim of him. your arms circle around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace and bakugou’s never felt such bliss.
then he starts moving, slowly at first to measure your reaction. every brush against your walls is delicious, harmony through your body though it’s not what you want. “katsuki,” you warn and he knows.
a weak grin falls on his face as he lifts up on his forearms, “didn’t think you’d be so bossy, angel.”
“what did i say about you calling me that?” 
“it’s not my fault you are.”
“if i was, which i’m not, it would definitely be your fault,” you bite but instead of replying with words bakugou snaps his hips sharply, your body jolting and you inhale with a gasp.
then he goes again and again and you’re both lost in the sensation. he feels rabid, once he’s got a taste he wants more, needs more and he feels his heart beating out his chest when your hands grab his chest. 
“this is what you wanted, sweetheart?” he grits through his teeth and you manage a nod, your head jumping back and forth with all the pet names he’s managed this evening. “speak. use your words.”
“i wanted this s-so much,” you tremble, legs locking behind his back and you don’t have it in you to cringe at the mess you’re making, the slick sounds of friction loud and only turning you on more, “oh my god.”
your bed frame knocks against the wall with every thrust, tits bobbing across your chest and you feel a drop of katsuki’s sweat fall on your forehead. “you’re gonna be mine after this,” he mumbles before slamming his lips to yours. your teeth hit but it doesn’t put you off, your arm hugging his head as his tongue forces its way into your mouth. you moan into him, exchanging air in this very messy kiss. his hips keep going, cock brushing so deep into you, against your spot that you know you’re about to come soon and fast.
your orgasm is hard and disorienting, waves of pleasure drifting through you at a speed that you have to push his lips off yours to let out a high-pitched whine. “f-fuck,” is all you hear when bakugou comes too, shaking violently with no space to get his thoughts in order. he spills everything into you, making everything even more wet and smooth. 
he rides out his orgasm, lips against your jaw as you catch your breath. when he’s finally finished he rolls beside you on his back. you’re both heaving, coated in sweat and your hair a mess. it’s only a couple of seconds before he yanks you into his arms.
“got bad news baby,” he whispers in your ear, so low and deep you think you could come with just the sound till you realise what he said.
you look up at him lethargically and he’s the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. dark long eyelashes and his ruby pupils are darker than usual, “what?”
he takes your hand and brushes it over his lower half, “still so fuckin’ hard.” 
he’s wet and sticky, hot and stiff like a pole. “wow, they really did a number on you didn’t they?” you smirk, circling your fingers around him.
“and you’re in luck ‘cause i’m about to do one on you. again and again, until you pass out on me,” he laughs, eyes shutting as you jerk him off.
“brave to assume you’ve got more stamina on me. i see you passing out, dick still hard.”
bakugou opens his eyes to see you shifting over to sit on his thighs, glossy and beautiful with a sheen all between your legs. he even feels some of his come from you on his skin.
he shrugs with a grin like sunshine, and your heart melts at the sight. He’s so cocky, literally, and he can't stop feeling you. squeezing and rubbing across your legs and thighs. the words are out before he finishes the thought, said with a confident crook of his head. 
“wanna be my girl?”
your eyes widen before composing yourself. you try to distract him (and you) by holding his dick and sinking onto it. another set of incoherent swears with the first touch and bakugou’s hands grip your ass. he bites down on his lip and you sigh in pleasure.
“don’t fuckin’ ignore me, say yes or no,” he says, eyes alert on your face and he notices you trying to roll your hips on him. he stops you quickly, holding you still.
“katsuki! let me move!” 
he holds you as he thrusts upwards and you fall forward on his chest, “answer me, angel or i’ll jerk off in the shower.”
“we both know my pussy is better.”
“i’ve been beggin’ for you all night, sure, but if you wanna ignore me then i’ll fuck off,” he thrusts up again and you whine, “still got some self respect.”
you manage to sit up, pressing a kiss to his lips, “you can be mine.” bakugou rolls his eyes, grinning like a fool, “but i would have preferred you didn’t ask me like this, so you better ask me again later.”
“then you can be mine too?”
you brush your thumb over his flushed cheek, with a cute shrug, “i’ll be yours, you’ll be mine. you know how it is.”
“good, i’ll keep that in mind,” bakugou loosens his grip on your ass, brushing his hand up your sides, “do what you want with me, sweetheart.”
that’s all you needed to lead you both to another completion. then another, and another.
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3K notes · View notes
dancingbirdie · 5 months
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Hello there! I adore your fics and how you wrote Astarion! I was hoping you could write something around the succubus scene? I know you get comforted by Astarion later on in the game regarding it, but due to his own trauma and backstory I would have liked to see him stand up for Tav and protect them during that scene itself, instead of just standing by while Tav is being manipulated 🙈
If you could do something around that, it would heal me! 😂🙏
Hi, anon! I hope you enjoy. I really liked your prompt, but I'll admit it did get a bit darker than I had originally thought I'd write it.
Please take note of the content warnings before you read! As always, comments and reacts are appreciated.
No Self-Sacrifices
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Astarion x gn!Reader/Tav
Word Count: 1.7K
Warnings/Tags: Discussion/description of dissociation, implied sexual assault, mentions of Astarion's past, descriptions of violence, blood, mild gore, death, angst.
*****
“Why don’t we play a game?” the Raphael-look-alike called to you seductively from the ridiculously lavish bed. “You win, I give you everything you desire. But you’ll enjoy yourself more if you lose.”
Astarion began to sense that all too familiar, uneasy feeling coiling itself tight inside his chest. The premonition that something was about to go utterly, horribly wrong. He risked a glance toward your allies, Lae’zel and Halsin, but they appeared just as woefully confused as you did. As if you all weren’t aware of the trap you’d just walked into. 
“What’s the game?” he heard you ask. He could feel the hairs standing up on the back of his neck.
“It’s a surprise! Off with your clothes,” the devil commanded.
There could be no doubt as to what would take place. Surely, Astarion thought, none of his companions could be so blind as to not see what was about to happen. 
Astarion watched as you bit your lip, hesitating. How you looked wildly about the room, as if you were searching for any last-minute way to avoid this. With his preternatural senses, he couldn’t help but be aware of how your heart rate spiked to a frenzied pulsing as you stood there, terrified of what was to come. 
He watched in horror as your shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. Defeated. Resolving to go through with this. And as you began removing your clothes, his vision turned nearly as red as the fiend on the mattress before you. 
“Good, little thief, good,” the monster crooned, totally unaware of Astarion’s brewing rage. “Keep going like this, and you’ll get to live. You’ll be crying out my name soon, you’d better know it. I am Haarlep, Raphael’s personal incubus…” 
The incubus - Haarlep - prattled on while Astarion continued to seethe with barely-contained fury. His fingers twitched, itching – almost of their own accord – to reach for the crossbow strapped to his back. He began shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet, restless. He caught the glare Lae’zel was leveling at him from his periphery and turned his head slightly to meet it. 
She gave a slight, but obvious, shake of the head. A silent command to stand down. Then he felt the tadpole squirm in his brain, while a voice that was distinctly Lae’zel’s echoed in his mind. 
Don’t act rashly, vampire. We need to gather more information before we strike.
Astarion nearly laughed aloud. The audacity of this Githyanki, willing to let her comrade be violated in such a way. After all they had done for her. For this party. And yet, part of him knew he shouldn’t be so surprised. After all, he had known plenty of “heroes” who had let equally horrible fates befall others without so much as lifting a finger to help them. 
“It matters not to me.” Your deadened reply to Haarlep brought Astarion back to the present moment. He recognized that tone of voice. Knew when someone was trying to dissociate. To disconnect their mind from their body. He knew all too well what that feeling was like. And it was nearly as horrible to watch as it was to experience it for himself.
“Very well, I will be Raphael himself,” Haarlep continued. “All of him. Now, on the bed. Lie back.” 
Astarion made his decision when he saw you begin to take stilted steps toward the bed. Covering yourself with your hands, trying to maintain some modicum of modesty as you climbed up. 
With Haarlep’s attention solely on you, he reached behind him for the crossbow. His index finger felt for the trigger as he pulled it around before him. One swift flick, and an arrow was suddenly lodged in the incubus’ left pectoral.
Chaos erupted as imps suddenly appeared throughout the room, responding to Haarlep’s distressed cry. You toppled off the bed, head knocking onto the floor, as the fiend raged above you, trying to right themselves and extract the arrow from their chest. 
“Tsk’va,” Lae’zel cursed in Gith, hefting her sword over her shoulder and barreling toward the first enemy in sight. “To battle it is, then!” 
Halsin shifted quickly into his bear shape and let loose a formidable roar, charging for another group of imps across the room. 
But Astarion only had eyes for Haarlep. He stalked slowly toward the bed, unsheathing the twin blades from his back as he did so. 
You watched as he gave one brief, wicked smile before utter carnage ensued.
*****
“Kainyak! Your foolishness nearly cost us all our lives,” Lae’zel spat venomously toward Astarion while she wiped her blade free of the fetid black imp blood. “I should strike you down now for acting with such stupidity.”
To his credit, Astarion barely seemed to acknowledge the Githyanki’s formidable censuring. You watched as he slipped his daggers back into the sheaths at the small of his back and readjusted his armor. He picked up his crossbow and shook it free of blood before strapping it back between his shoulder blades.
“You still have all your limbs intact, Lae’zel,” he replied airly. It was a stark contrast to the way he was standing, body as taut as a bowstring. “And wasn’t that bloodshed so much more satisfying than watching the incubus violate our dear party leader?” 
Lae’zel’s mouth snapped shut, but she continued to glare. The vampire had a point, though she was loath to admit it. 
“I, for one, prefer this outcome to the alternative that was before us,” Halsin agreed, rising from where he had been crouched after dismissing his ursine form. He glanced your way but averted his eyes quickly, to your confusion. 
“Best get dressed, darling,” Astarion drawled, coming over to where you still lay prone on the floor. “As delicious as I find your birthday suit to be, I’d wager you’ll fare better in this wretched place with a little more clothing on.” 
He held out a hand to help you rise to your feet. You observed him cautiously, trying to discern the emotion behind his carefully schooled expression. 
“Why?” you whispered. 
He squinted at you, one brow quirked. “Are you seriously asking me why armor is prudent to have on, in a place like this?” He chuckled before adding, “gods, you must’ve smacked your head harder than I thought.”
“No,” you retorted, refusing to be deterred by his cheeky banter. “I mean, why did you attack Haarlep? You’re never one to be spoiling for a fight.”
Astarion scoffed, pressing a hand to his chest as if insulted. “Careful, darling. You’re almost making me out to be a pacifist.”
“You know what I meant, Astarion,” you grumbled as you began donning your leather breeches and jerkin. 
“And would you have preferred to be fucked by that incubus instead?” Astarion bit out derisively. 
Your head whipped up to meet his gaze, hearing the sudden change in his tone. 
“Of course not,” you scowled. “But you could sense how powerful they were. It seemed like the only way to ensure your all’s safety.”
Astarion grimaced. “So you would have just laid down and taken it? For us?”
“I’m not saying I would have enjoyed it,” you hissed. “But to keep you safe? Keep them safe?” you gestured to Lae’zel and Halsin across the room, polishing and re-polishing their weapons as they attempted not to overhear your barely-whispered argument. 
“Of course,” you concluded, voice resolute. 
“Don’t be a fucking martyr. Not for me. Not for them. Not for anyone,” Astarion growled. 
Your brows shot toward your hairline in surprise. 
“We know what we signed up for when we joined this rag-tag group,” he continued, tone icy. “I’d rather fight a hundred fiends than watch you debase yourself to save anyone, including myself.” 
You let loose a mirthless laugh, feeling angry, embarrassed and too completely exposed. Before you could think better of it, your retort was flying past your lips. 
“You know, Astarion, you have a fucking funny way of showing appreciation for your partner who was willing to be violated in order to keep you safe.” 
It was the wrong thing to say. You immediately knew it, and so did the rest of the party. Suddenly it was like the air had been sucked from the room. 
Crimson eyes bored into your own as Astarion took a step forward to meet you, chest to chest. You glared up at him, refusing to back down. Refusing to be chastised for your willingness to protect him. 
The shared air between you was charged. You could almost feel the electricity surging. 
“Need I remind you? I’ve been violated enough times over the past 200 years to know how unequivocally monstrous it is,” he intoned, his voice pitched dangerously low. “I will promise you this. I am finished with having it happen to me, in front of me, or for me.”
Words escaped you. It was all you could do to maintain eye contact with him, feeling the conviction in his tone. The anger that had sustained you up until this point had all but disappeared. In its place was something far more demure. 
“So yes, I fired the first shot that pierced that devil’s skin. Then I eviscerated their neck with my teeth,” he crooned, reverently tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. You shivered at his touch, at his dulcet tone that was describing such violence. 
“And I slit his throat with glee,” he continued, cupping your cheek in his palm. “I would do it again. And again. And again. Because I will never witness abuse like what was about to happen, ever again.”
He swept the pad of his thumb over the hollow under your eye, his gaze flicking rapidly over your face. As though he were subconsciously checking you over for any nicks, cuts, or bruises. 
“Do you understand?” he whispered softly. His voice was still laced with rage, but you could tell it was not directed toward you. Really, it never had been. 
The entire situation had obviously touched the most sensitive pressure point within him. Had triggered his urge to fight, to protect, to resist. You couldn’t be angry with him for that. Never. Not one bit. 
You gulped before nodding slightly. “I understand now. I’m sorry.”
You lifted your hand to cover his where it was still cupping your face. Turning slightly, you planted a kiss against his palm. 
“No self-sacrificing on my watch, darling, agreed?” he murmured, wrapping his other arm around your waist in a solid embrace. 
“Agreed,” you confirmed, returning his embrace before venturing on through the House of Hope.
799 notes · View notes
lightseoul · 9 months
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you're losing me
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synopsis. bakugou proposes to you. you give him an unexpected response.
cw. gn!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged up (28 yrs old), some cussing
word count. 2.5k words
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“Where is everybody?”
You ask as you look around the barren restaurant, which, on most days, is jampacked with high-profile customers. How Bakugou was able to get you both a table is beyond you.
“Don’t mind ‘em,” he says before dipping down to finish the rest of his soup. “They’re just a bunch of extras anyway.”
You merely hum in response.
A moment passes with the both of you finishing your appetizers when a question dawns on you.
“By the way,” you start, “what’s the occasion, Kats?”
At that, he frowns. “What, you’re saying I can’t treat my partner whenever I feel like it?”
You snort. “I don’t mean it like that. It’s just that we don’t usually opt for extremely overpriced restaurants.”
You gesture to your evening gown and his suit. “We don’t usually dress up either.”
“Yeah, well. Just go with it, okay?”
You stare at him for a beat before deciding to let it go.
“Okay.”
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You’re down to the last bite of your dessert when Bakugou clears his throat. You look up, only to be met with the familiar expression of nervousness decorating his features.
It’s how he looked at you back when he first asked you out three years ago.
“You alright?” you ask.
He nods, “Peachy. Just need to tell you something.”
Almost instantaneously, your heart picks up its pace. You brace yourself for bad news.
“What is it?”
At your query, Bakugou suddenly stands up and circles your table, stopping right in front of you.
And before you could even comprehend what’s happening, he’s already on one knee, holding a small velvet box.
“Y/N.”
At the mention of your name, your heart doubles up its pace.
He continues, but your head is pulsing and your ears throbbing so loudly that you can barely make out the speech he’s currently giving you. You feel lightheaded, as well as the tears welling up in your eyes, clouding your vision.
He sounds uncharacteristically shy when he finally says, “Will you marry me?”
That’s the last thing you hear before you black out.
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You’re met with a blinding white light when you come to.
You strain to sit up in order to look around, the movement causing Bakugou, who is on a stool beside your bed, to stir awake.
“Hey,” he says gently. “Take it easy.”
Robbed of all words, you nod, taking heed and slowly lifting yourself up into a seated position.
“Where am I?” you ask.
“The nearest hospital from the restaurant,” he explains. “You fainted.”
“Seriously?”
He nods, face stern. “Thankfully I was able to catch you before your head could hit the ground. We just need to run a few more tests before you get cleared for discharge.”
And with that, the elephant in the room remains as evident as ever.
“Look, Kats,” you start, “about earlier—”
“Let’s not talk about it right now,” he cuts you off. “Come on, let’s get you ready for discharge.”
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You barely catch him before he goes to work the next day.
Bakugou’s not a morning person—you found out about that a week into dating him when you noticed how curt his messages were in the mornings—yet he’s now up at 6:24 AM, darting in and out of the rooms in your shared apartment, getting ready for the day.
If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s rushing to leave.
“You’re awake,” you say lamely as you enter the living room.
He grunts in response, attention directed to the duffel bag he always brings to the office on patrol days.
You want to ask him why he’s up this early, but ultimately decide against it. Instead, you say: “Did you pack your lunch already?”
“Yeah,” he gestures to his bag, “It’s in here.”
“Okay.”
You stand awkwardly by the door as you watch him zip his bag and adjust his civilian clothes that would be swapped in for his winter costume later.
He then walks up to you and presses a kiss on your forehead—so tentatively it makes you ache.
Since when did he get so hesitant with you?
“I’ll go then,” he announces.
And before you know it, the front door shuts, his perfume leaving a nostalgic fragrance in its trail.
Only then do you realize that I love you’s were not exchanged.
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The days after are unremarkably the same.
He’s been getting up extra early so that by the time you wake up, he’s already on his way to the agency.
On top of that, he’s starting to work overtime now, too.
Lately, he’s been arriving home as late as almost midnight.
You try to wait up for him—you really do—but with your own work to get to the following mornings, you just couldn’t sustain that arrangement.
And so you rarely see him.
But to your relief, despite everything that’s gone wrong with Bakugou since the night he proposed, you still fall on the same bed at the end of the day.
Albeit his back is turned against you. Still, you’re grateful. There’s a certain comfort that blankets you whenever you’re near Bakugou, and that hasn’t changed one bit.
Not wanting to make him uncomfortable, you mirror him, your back now facing his.
Which is why you don’t notice it until you hear a gasp.
Propping yourself up on your elbow, you look at Bakugou, who’s now sitting upright, chest heaving.
Quickly, you rouse yourself, facing him. “What’s wrong?”
He inhales deeply as his eyes dart towards you, beads of sweat now decorating his forehead.
“Nightmare,” he croaks.
At that, you grab his ice-cold hands, squeezing them in yours. “Do you want to talk about it?”
A beat passes before he reluctantly shakes his head. “It’s just the usual.”
The usual. Being held hostage by that monster, getting kidnapped, being responsible for All Might’s—
“It doesn’t matter if it’s new or not,” you retort, squeezing his hands again in an attempt to anchor him to reality. “I’m here to listen, alright?”
Bakugou hesitates for a second before nodding, a pained expression written across his face.
He starts to lean in closer, probably to drop his head at the crook of your neck like he usually does when plagued with nightmares, before hesitating and leaning back.
“Okay.”
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The next morning, you wake up not only to an empty bed, but an empty house.
Still half asleep, you trudge your way toward the kitchen, where a bento box is sitting on the island. On top of it is a sticky note that reads:
Going out w the guys after shift. Don’t wait up.
Your heart sinks at the thought of not being able to see Bakugou for the day.
Still, maybe he needs this night out.
You wouldn’t want to spend time with the person who rejected you either.
With a heavy heart, you get ready for the day yourself.
Work is the least of your concerns this morning, but you figure you have to go. You could use some distraction to take your mind off your crumbling relationship.
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You’re in your bed reading that non-fiction you’ve been putting off for a while now when your phone rings.
You reach for your phone, eyebrows furrowing at the sight of Kirishima’s caller ID.
Huh.
You press the green button after a few seconds of letting it ring. “Hello?”
“Hey, Y/N!” a cheery voice greets you. “This is Kirishima.”
“Hey, Ei,” you start, weirdly nervous. “How are you and the rest of the squad?”
“Actually, that’s why I called you. Can you pick Bakugou up? He’s so drunk.”
Your Katsuki? Drunk?
For some reason, the idea of talking to a drunk Bakugou, who also happens to be the bluntest version of himself, elicits an unpleasant feeling in your gut.
“Really?” you ask, voice small. “How much did he drink?”
“Not a lot, but the alcohol percentage of the ones he downed are pretty high.”
When you don’t respond for a while, he pipes up with: “Y/N?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
Kirishima sounds unsure when he asks, “Is everything okay with you guys?”
“Yes, Ei.” No, Ei. I inadvertently rejected his marriage proposal.
“Okay, that’s good to hear,” he starts. “It’s just that he barely mentioned you when he was still sober—which is a rare occurrence, if you only knew. He only started calling for you when he was three glasses in.”
Despite yourself, your stomach flips in delight. He’s still thinking about me, you think to yourself.
“Anyway, as I was saying, are you good to fetch him?”
“Yes,” you stand up and grab for your keys. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”
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You’re situating the car in your designated parking space when Bakugou finally stirs awake.
Once you’re parked, you turn off the engine before you reach over the console to unfasten his seatbelt. Yours follows shortly after.
You look at him, whose eyes are still closed.
“We’re here, Kats.”
At the sound of your voice, his eyes shoot open and he examines his environment, alarmed. Once he catches sight of you, though, he visibly relaxes.
Only to straighten up in his seat, stiff and unable to look you in the eye.
“You didn’t have to, uh,” he stammers, struggling to formulate coherent sentences. “Get me. You didn’t have to get me.”
You shoot him a small smile. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
He doesn’t say anything after that, eyes trained on your car’s windshield.
A moment passes before he speaks again.
“My mom made me do it, you know.”
You stare at his side profile. “Made you do what?”
“Propose to you.”
“Oh.”
He shakes his head, almost in disagreement. “The old hag really wants me to get married. I told her we didn’t have to get married because we’re happy the way things are and that shit is just for formality. Told me I’d be missing out on you wearing a wedding dress.”
You snort, “That’s what convinced you to ask me?”
He grins. “Nah. I just realized I wanted to get married if it was to you.”
Before you can even react, Bakugou shifts in his seat, breaking eye contact.
“It was stupid of me, though.”
Your stomach drops in anticipatory dread. “Stupid of you to what?”
He chuckles, although he seems anything but happy. “Was stupid of me to think someone like you would say yes to someone like me.
“I—” he stutters, “I wouldn’t marry me either.”
Your eyebrows furrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He sighs, “Just…who the fuck do I think am, proposing to you? I was a horrible person who fucked things up so many times growing up. Maybe this is karma biting me back in the ass.”
“Katsuki.”
“You can do way be—”
“Katsuki!”
He jerks his head to face you, bewildered and eyes glassy.
You reach over the console to hold his scarred hand, staring him down.
“Look at me.”
He does so.
“You’re not that person anymore, alright?” You squeeze his hand, “Please don’t do this to yourself.”
Under the intensity of your gaze, Bakugou can only nod in affirmation before you engulf him in your first hug in what feels like weeks.
“Come on,” you say when you finally part, “Let’s get you ready for bed.”
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Bakugou sleeps like a baby by your side that night. Meanwhile, you stay up until the wee hours of the morning, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep.
He thinks you don’t want to marry him.
Your heart aches at the very thought of him grappling with the most false of all statements.
You want to marry him, you really do, but all your fears suddenly rose to the surface and enveloped you the second he went on one knee.
And that’s what you’re planning to confess to him tonight.
You wait, wrapped in the thickest jacket you own, seated on the bench for Bakugou to come. You left him a note alongside his bento box earlier this morning—a note that says to meet you at the indicated address.
Lost in your thoughts and in your internal monologue, you startle when somebody sits next to you.
You look to your right, only to see Bakugou in his thickest jacket, a gray beanie covering his ash blonde locks, cheeks pink from the cold.
“Do you remember this place?” you ask, voice quiet.
He scoffs, “Of course I do, dumbass.”
At that, you chuckle. “This is where we had our first date.”
He grunts in agreement. He doesn’t say anything after that.
A few seconds pass before he finally pipes up with: “So why did you bring me here?”
Your heart’s pace quickens at the query.
You gulp, although your voice still ends up shaky. “I wanted to apologize.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
You shake your head, “You don’t understand.”
He chuckles, that same one that translates to anything but happiness. “I think I do. You don’t want to marry me, I get it.”
“No,” you say, voice louder. “I want to marry you.”
At your admission, Bakugou turns to look you in the eye. The hopeful expression on his face is staggering, you want to curl up into a ball and cry. “What?”
“I said,” you repeat, “I want to marry you.”
His eyebrows furrow. “Then why have you been acting like you don’t?”
At his question, you can’t help but clench your eyes closed. This is too much, you think to yourself, but you owe Bakugou the truth.
“I’m just scared, Kats. Truly. I—” you stammer, “I just can’t shake off the fear of losing you one day. And I know your capabilities and I know how hard you work. Just that—I don’t know. The fear of seeing you killed one day is paralyzing.”
Bakugou reaches out to you, and you let him wipe away the tears that are now falling down your cheeks.
“I’m scared, too,” he offers. “But I don’t know.”
He shakes his head, “I’m more scared of not being with you.”
At his confession, you can’t help but smile. “I think that’s how I feel, too.”
You rest your head on Bakugou’s shoulder, your hand in his. You stay like that for a few minutes before you pull away and turn to regard him again.
“Can we start over?” you ask, “I want to propose to you soon.”
Bakugou smirks, nothing but elation on his face. He takes your other hand and squeezes it.
“Not if I propose to you first.”
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tagging. @katsukis1wife @rinalou @loverboyrin @brunnetteiwik @beabe19
as always, reblogs, comments, and tags are appreciated <3
2K notes · View notes
madasacrow · 9 months
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♟. ┊    uuhhhmm I think I have another para oops
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shibaraki · 11 months
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IF TIDES COULD SPEAK (THEY’D CALL YOU HOME) ┊ BAKUGO KATSUKI
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synopsis: an unlikely hero comes in the form of a barbarian. your stolen pelt is returned by his hand— but for a selkie that is more than simple kindness. it is a proposal.
tags: AFAB reader (referred to as 'wife' + 'baby' a few times), fantasy au, barbarian bakugo (+ the squad), selkie reader, brief non graphic suicide attempt, minor injuries, previous forced marriage + captivity, strangers to friends to lovers, accidental marriage + bond, magic elements, bathing together, sharing a bed, miscommunication, love as a choice, getting together, shapeshifters, angst + fluff, eventual smut, bakugo carries reader (he’s strong!!), oral + fingering (reader receiving), unprotected vaginal sex
wc: 25K+
↳ for the mermay collab hosted by the teahouse server ↰
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The battle rages on behind as your bare feet carry you frantically toward the cliff side, incognisant to the uneven earth and jagged rocks cutting under your heels. 
A magnificent orange glow is cast across the land. Blistering heat radiates at your back and seeps through the thin robes pulled across your shoulders. Fire eats away at the canopy above, at the dry grass in the gardens, at the place you deign to call home. 
It is a sight you wish you had more time to savour. A draconic clan hailing from the north had descended upon the land and sought to reap the riches for themselves. The anguished screams of your once wretched husband still echo in your heart, dancing through its chambers like wind through chimes. 
You fled with only one destination in mind. 
Many, many moons ago, you had been stolen away by greed. A man that called himself king yet acted anything but kingly. Lord only in name. He speared your pod mate and took you, dirty calloused fingers sinking into your flesh, violently tearing the pelt from your back. Nausea churns in your stomach as you recall his grin, eyeing you greedily, desiring servitude that was not his to have. 
“You are to be my wife,” he said, drunk on tales of rare creatures who would keep a hearth burning and bear his children if only he stole their hide. “Now you belong to me”. 
Your pelt remained locked away in an armoured vault along with his other opulent treasures— goods that would now be burning, turned to ash. He had finally taken from the wrong people and must reap the consequences. 
You are so relieved to be free of his clutches that there is no time to grieve the loss. This is your chance. With or without your pelt you are a selkie, and the ocean always welcomes her children home. 
Guided by the tides' tumultuous song you sprint through the woods, treeline funnelling out on a plateau to reveal the edge of the cliff. You take a staggered breath, wincing at the pain in your chest. Now your momentum has slowed to a stop, the fatigue catches up with you. An ache seeps through your legs and your knees threaten to buckle as you shiver. 
This is it, you think. You watch the waves below roll like dark ribbon. Steeling your resolve you spread your arms as far as they go, until the sinew holding your back pulls taut. Something acrid sinks in your gut and you feel distinctly ill. It takes all of your willpower to deny the fear pounding in your body as you step forward. 
The wind billowed around you, swaying your human form towards the edge. Faux wings spread and a roar pushed to the limits of your small voice, sound whipped from your mouth and cast far asea. Eyes squeezed shut, you tip into the oncoming depths trusting your mother will catch you. 
The sound is cacophonous. Not even your pulse can be heard over the waves; elemental fingers apply sharp pressure to the north and south of your body, shaping flesh until you're nothing but a pebble caught in gravity's path.
If you should concentrate you’d hear a frantic shout through the white noise. And between the milliseconds left before bone collides with the tide, a large clawed foot encircles your forearm. A rush of air swells in your lungs as you try to scream, the abrupt disruption of your freefall forcing your shoulder from its socket, talons tearing through capillaries as if your skin were wet paper. 
Suddenly, you’re a sail without a mast, rippling over the open ocean. Dark and cloudless, not a speck on the surface. The spray is icy against your ankles, a million papercut kisses. In the mirage, you can see fleeting reflections. The silhouette of a dragon mid-flight. 
You’ve no memory of hitting the sand or being carried along the shoreline. Your consciousness dips and peaks. The few times you come to are when your body is being jostled, a blurred figure looming above and unrecognisable. In one breath they are washing your wounds with water poured from a wineskin, the next you are flinching away from salve covered fingers as they poke and prod to stem the bleeding.
Warmth is the first thing on your mind as you wake. With a sudden gasp for air, all the exhilaration and adrenaline hits you as if your soul had been caught, suspended in that moment. Phantom touches skim the length of your spine and all at once you are overwhelmingly aware of your body. 
The sharp noise startles a figure in your periphery. 
“Back in the land of the living, huh?” 
A broad, bare chested man sits at your bedside with his arms crossed tight and pillowed in his lap. There’s a single delicate braid by his ear, longer than his short-spiked hair and dangled loosely beneath his jaw. You’d find him beautiful if not for the searing glare. 
“That was a fucking stupid thing you did back there,” he snarls. Brusque and overfamiliar. When you don’t respond he continues, “What’ve you got to say for yourself?”
You shrink back. 
There’s an awful pinch in his brow. Concern seems to be superseding what was a show of honest anger. Dimly lit by a few oil lamps, from what you can ascertain there is no one else in the room but you two. Inhaling the residuals of healing magic you find that your throat is unbearably dry, tongue stuck to the back of your teeth. How long have you been asleep?
You couldn’t find a voice to ask, exhaling a pathetic whine. The silence provides a window of opportunity for him to further scold you yet he doesn’t take it, fuming as he recedes into his chair. “Don’t need to act so fucking skittish. M’not here to hurt you,” he exhales hard through his nose, reaches out and leaves his hand upturned on the edge of the bed. “Alright?” 
Something draws you to this stranger. Inexorable, like the pull of the tide. You accept his proffered palm and it feels unsettlingly familiar. The skin is rough, battle worn and hot. Slowly, your fingers intertwine, and you see fair hair on the back of his knuckles. 
Disorientation, loss and anxiety err on the edge of your consciousness. The lamp above his head gives him a warm hued crown, highlighting strands of gold. You can feel sleep weighing on your eyelids but you don’t yet want to look away. “Whatever,” his mouth sets into a frown. “Get some more rest or I’ll knock you out myself”.
When you come to the sun has risen and filters into the room in thin streams of light. Dust fairies dance around the bed. You squint as your vision sharpens, a dull throb reverberating through your skull. 
You look at your body first, arm well bandaged and the rest of you bruised tender like an old peach. The wounds throb in time with your pulse when you shift, reminding you that they’re there as your thin clothing brushes against them with little movement. All you can remember is falling. How the waves had careened up the cliff side to catch you, only to have you snatched out of reach once again. 
Wherever you are now it is obviously far from your Lord’s grasp. He has never bothered to take you to a healer. You are in a private office, tucked into a bed with soft blue sheets. The shelves are stocked with various medicines, salves, and analgesics. Herbs and chopped petals are stuffed in glass jars labelled with messy penmanship you can’t decipher. A metronome sits on the nearby wooden desk, ticking back and forth, filling the silence until the door is pushed open. 
Whoever enters is trying to be careful. You can tell by how slowly they turn the handle and pause at every little complaint the hinges give. Their hair is green, richer than the later weeks in spring, with loose waves that bounce as they move. You watch wearily while they move through the space, humming under their breath and picking up a notebook from one of the desk drawers. 
The healer, you presume, pinches the end ball on the metronome and brings it to a stand still. He hushes it as though it were an unruly child before turning on his heels toward you—
And immediately screeching as your eyes meet. 
Loud enough for the entire country to hear, his abrupt shout seems to alert others in the building, causing a gaggle of people to burst their way into the room. A metallic tang fills your senses; magic ready, the man that sat brutish yet kind at your bedside wields explosive sparks in the palm of his hands, adorning chains with carved talons and beads and asymmetrical armour strapped to his left bicep beneath a red fur lined cloak. 
“What is it, Deku?!” 
You offer wordless gratitude to the final dregs of sedatives in your system. You barely flinch at the hostility in his voice, time seemingly slowed as your gaze drags to the companions at his back. First a woman doused in pink. And like the sun, her face glows the rich ochre of dawn, framed by silky salmon toned curls. There are horns protruding from the top of her head, bending like the junction of a tree branch. 
Beside her is a large man. Red, red, red. Bright eyes split with a reptilian slitted pupil. Crimson hair styled into sharp spikes. He’s built like a warrior, tall enough to swallow most of the doorway, yet you feel no true fear when you look at him. Something innate in your gut tells you this is a kindred spirit. Energies aligned, you think he must be a shifter of some kind too. He locks onto you first, his alarmed expression smoothing into a wide toothed grin. 
Last are two men who have managed to tumble to the floor amidst their rush to get into the room. Distinct gold bangs with a symbol of lightning, pale faced, an undercurrent of electricity thrumming below his skin. Dark shoulder length hair, white spools of rope wrapped around the crook of his elbow, grappling hook in hand and ready to strike. 
“Sorry, Kacchan!” the healer, Deku, spluttered. He holds his hands up in surrender, shaking them in a placating motion. “Nothing, it’s nothing! All of you please calm down!” 
Deku is quite the unfortunate name, you think. At his insistence the group lower their defenses and slump forward, relieved. All but ‘Kacchan’, who only raises his hackles further. 
“Don’t fuckin’ scream like that if it’s nothing,” his upper lip curls to bear his teeth, moving fluidly as his group slinks past him to stand by your bed. “I damn near blew up the building”. 
Distantly, “I couldn’t help it…!”
The frame jostles, mattress dipping as it takes on the weight of another. Head turned into the pillow you blink dazedly at the sharp toothed shifter. Propping his chin in his hand, his elbows are braced next to your thigh. “Hi. I’m Kirishima,” he chirped, unmoving as his friends wrapped themselves around him to get a look at you, all repeating his jovial greeting with introductions of their own. 
“…Hello,” you rasp. The word grates the inside of your throat and tears well in your eyes as you fight the urge to cough. “Where am…?”
“Back up, losers,” ‘Kacchan’ forces his way to your bedside, shoving the group aside. There’s that odd sensation again as you stare up at him. Strong jaw clenched with eyes narrowed and blazing; sliding to where you lay, waning briefly. “Have some manners”. 
“Since when have you cared about manners,” the pink woman, Mina, bemoans. 
“Shut it!” 
Deku’s nervous disposition dissipates quickly and he ambles to the opposite side of your bed, his notebook flipped open to a page covered in incomprehensible scrawl. While the others squabble he leans forward and flashes a trembly smile. 
“Hi! I’m Midoriya Izuku, the one that fixed you up,” Midoriya—not Deku—lowers his voice into a more soothing tone. “It’s good to see you awake. Do you think you could tell me your name?”
You remember your name. Yours. The one given to you before human hands stole your hide. Midroiya’s pen scratches at the parchment as you recite it, his lips silently repeating it. “Great! Thank you. Now can I ask, how are you feeling?” he asks, eyes darting across your face, your body, scanning the bandages wrapped around your arm. “Any pain? Nausea? Loss of vision? Numbness in your limbs? Hallucinations?”
“Slow down, nerd,” Bakugo grunts. 
Midoriya immediately appears sheepish, “I’m sorry”. 
“It’s okay,” you say. “My mouth is dry and my arm hurts but I’m— okay, I think”. 
“That’s my bad,” Kirishima speaks up from his place next to Bakugo, lifting a hand. Despite their difference in stature it was clear who led the charge and who fell in line. “I was rushing so I wasn’t very careful when I caught you”. 
Your first thought is that he must have been the dragon. Your second thought is, ah, right. You had tried to fling yourself off the cliff. 
As though he’d read your mind, Bakugo scoffs. “Not much choice when you’re saving someone that’s trying to kill themselves”. 
Overlapping objections ring loud in your ears. “Bro, not cool,” Kirishima groans, similar sentiments sent loud and fast from the rest of his group. 
“I wasn’t trying to—” your half lie is halted by the seething look Bakugo turns to you. Same as before, beneath it all is worry and confusion, unblinking as though you might disappear between the seconds. “I just wanted to go home,” you confess weakly, tethered by the restless twisting of your fingers into the linen. 
“Home?” the electric blonde, Kaminari, murmurs. 
Tension returns to your limbs, instinctively bracing for the greed you have learned to expect. You may get away with evading questions now, but the healer—if he’s worth his salt—would already know what you are. 
“I’m a selkie,” hesitance bleeds into your tone, the confession coming quiet and small. Your chin dips as you swallow, canines sinking into your inner cheek. “The Lord whose castle you raided stole my pelt and kept me hostage for months. I figured it was long gone, so as soon as the attack gave me an opening I ran”.
The atmosphere is stifling. Silence befalls the group, equally stunned. Midoriya is the only one that does not react, kind eyes closely observing you.
A litany of emotions weave through Bakugo’s face as you speak. Disbelief, anger, regret. “Sick bastards,” he mutters heatedly from behind gritted teeth. 
A head of pink hair rests by your knee. You’re taken aback by how informally they all behave towards you. “You still would have died though,” she says, bottom lip jutted, sadness colouring her features. 
“I would have become seafoam,” you rectify passively. “It doesn’t mean death, not to my kind. It’s a sort of rebirth. My pelt is with the ashes now. I thought… it was my only option”. 
“Wait. It got burned up in the fire?!” Kirishima straightens worriedly, eyes wide and apologetic. His fingers twitch as though he wanted to reach for you but thinks the better of it. 
“Surely. I mean, I assume it was,” your mouth thins into a strained, rueful smile. “He kept it in the vault with all his other treasures. I watched his quarters go up in flames”. 
Recognition passes over Bakugo’s expression but Midoriya is already stepping forward with his outstretched hands waving dismissively. “Okay, guys! No more stressing my, uh… patient,” he says, allowing some strength into his instruction. “Give us some space. You can ask more questions later. Please?”
Your new guests surrender with a chorus of groans. Bakugo squints pointedly at you over his shoulder as Sero ushers him out into the hallway. You feel rooted by its significance somehow. An unspoken instruction that you can’t decipher. 
“Are you really feeling okay? No wooziness?”
Drawn to the gentle cadence your gaze meets Midoriya’s. He has set the notebook back onto his desk and rolled up his cuffs. “I’m okay,” you reply after a moment of consideration. “Thank you. You fixed me up, right?” 
Rubbing at his nape, Midoriya shoots you a sheepish grin. “To the best of my ability, yeah,” he says. “I’m just a researcher and I don’t have an affinity for healing magic, but Kacchan insisted that I help”. 
“You’re not a healer?” it’s then that you notice how untraditional his dress is for a doctor. A bishop sleeved shirt, six buttoned green waistcoat and dark pants. There’s a belt strapped tight around his hips, small satchels hooked into the leather, and an empty waist sheath clearly meant for a sword. “Ah. You really aren’t a healer,” you repeat blithely. 
Midoriya giggles, nervous. “No— I mean, this is my office! And I guess I am an apothecary of sorts, but that’s only a small part of what I do,” he explains, gesturing to his various  shelves and cabinets. “Kacchan could’ve taken you to the next town over on Kirishima’s back but I think he was panicking— oh, please don’t tell him I said that. He just doesn’t trust other people much. So you got shafted with me”. 
When he leans down to untuck your bedsheets you bend your unharmed arm, propping your upper body onto your elbow and working in sync with him as he fluffs the pillows behind your back. Sat upright you hold your bandages out to him. “Thank you,” he mumbles, delicate as he slides his hand around your forearm, patting around his belt and satchels with the other. 
Finding a small pair of scissors he tucks it beneath the top of the bandage and carefully cuts down the length of your arm. Your chest constricts as the inflamed skin is slowly revealed to the tepid air. There are ribbons of sutures running from your inner elbow to your wrist, puckered but thin and largely healed, sinew clumsily fused together. 
“Sorry about my poor suturing,” Midoriya says as he overturns your arm in his palm, checking from root to stem. “Everything looks good, though. No infection or fever,” he continues muttering, thumb pressed to the shadow beneath his lip. “Your immune response was pretty quick. I wonder if it has something to do with your selkie blood…”
You barely register his apology, stuck on the jagged scar tissue decorating his own hand. The cautious call of your name breaks your reverie. Midoriya’s brow is furrowed, eyes wide in genuine concern that wanes when you try to smile at him. “Got lost in my head there, sorry”. 
“I get it,” he breathes, glancing over to the largest cabinet in the room. Reaching the ceiling, stained dark wood, and looks slightly out of place alongside his other furniture. Misaligned, you realise. It is on four small wheels and placed an inch away from the wall. Odd. 
You watch Midoriya stroll over with a bounce in his step. His biceps strain under the pale sleeve fabric as he grabs either side of his cabinet and pulls. The wheels squeak and it rolls away with some exertion to uncover a hidden door. Dust cascades through the air; he coughs into his shoulder, shaking out his hair. 
“I’ve got a private washroom through here if you’d like to use it,” he explains after catching your questioning frown. The room is barely bigger than a closet. There’s a toilet, a tiny sink, and a tub that, given the width and depth, would require you to sit with your knees beneath your chin. A mere speck compared to home. If you closed your eyes and concentrated, maybe you could pretend you were resting in a tide pool along the shallows of a beach. 
You stand for the first time in who knows how long. An uncomfortable prickling sensation crawls the length of your legs as the phantom turns solid and blood rushes to your toes. You grip at your bare thighs where the hem of your robe falls, flesh bursting through the gaps between your fingers, and you gasp through the pain. It’s as if you’re growing a new limb all together. 
“Careful,” Midoriya murmurs kindly, hovering at your side in case you need assistance. You hobble over to the washroom, each step like treading on seaglass. He moves away once he is happy with your progress. 
“It’ll take a while to warm up,” he warns. “But there are various medicinal soaps and salts under the sink that I’ve made, so you’re free to use them”. 
The door is closed behind you. 
Left to your own devices the first thing you do is fill the tub with water. You find that the bathroom has no lamp, illuminated only by the cool light flooding in from the main room. His warning had not been exaggeration — fingertips touching the bottom of the basin, the water comes slowly and remains cold up until your second knuckle. Then it warms, warmer than the sea, and with no salt at all. 
Bare knees against the floor and skin pimpling under the thin robes, your breaths come quick, stumbling over the erratic jumping of your diaphragm. Indentations between each tile press uncomfortably into your skin, the initial pain dulling into numbness as you sit back on your heels. Beneath the sink behind you are the medicinal soaps and salts. You delicately take a small pot, squinting to decipher the handwritten labels in the dark. 
Pulling back one of the lids you’re overwhelmed by an unfamiliar floral aroma. Inside are rocks— tiny, tiny pink rocks, with dried white petals. You pinch some with your already damp fingers, feeling as they immediately dissolve in the moisture, and sprinkle them into your bathwater. 
Once full enough, you strip yourself of the robe and fold it neatly, left by the closed doorway. The cold air prickles, your nipples pebbling and the soft hair across your body standing on end, but the water is hot. 
You dip your foot in and breathe a sigh of relief as the temperature suffused through your skin, swaddling you in warmth. You submerge yourself completely. As suspected the space is remarkably cramped. Your legs are bent, tucked against your chest with knees below your chin, arms folded around your shins to keep yourself together. 
Enclosed in four walls again, shrouded in little to no light, you feel lonely. The type of quiet that makes you whisper. Your mind drifts to the stranger that had saved you, wondering where you might’ve met him before. You smile ruefully, cupping the scented water between your hands. He’s strong for a human. Imposing, you muse, staring back at the reflection held in your palms. Not only in his stature, but even his presence is difficult to ignore. 
You bathe, scrub away the blood and grime until you’re a flesh wound. The temperature is cold by the time you’ve turned focus to your fingernails, neurotically picking away the flecks of blood dried beneath them. Drain the murky water, refill, repeat. No matter how harshly you pinch and pull, the feeling of being dirty does not go away, but you stay in the water at least until you feel like yourself again.
The towel you find is coarse to the touch. Sitting in the heated water has tended well to the knots in your muscles. Ungainly as you re-enter Midoriya’s empty office, you flop back onto the freshly made sheets with little guilt. You sit there for a while and let the air dry your body. 
There is a pile of spare clothes on the end of the bed; neatly folded shirts, tunics, skirts and pants. You throw on a sleeved shirt and come across a simple beige kirtle as you parse through, the skirt falling just above the ankle, delicately sewn buttons lining the back. The fabric is very soft, though fitting and naturally cutting at the waist. 
After putting on some thick knitted socks and a pair of hardy brown boots left by the desk you run both hands down your sides and spin on your heel, causing the free flowing skirt to plume. Satisfied, you slip out the door and creep toward the gathering voices at the far end of the hall. Phantom fingertips walk the length of your spine. Odd, but you put it down to the apprehension churning in your stomach. Gradually you are able to make out what they’re saying. 
“Get your filthy hands off it,” Bakugo growls venomously. 
“I just wanna feel,” another whines. You recognise it to be Kaminari. “Why is Kacchan the only one allowed to touch it?”
“Stop calling me that, fucker!”
You round the corner and the bickering halts with a harsh shushing sound. They’re all in the centre of a cramped lobby, few chairs lining the walls, woven tapestry hung from the ceilings. Kirishima stands in front of you wearing a pleased grin, comically large. The armoured plates on his naked shoulders clink as he moves. “Hey! You clean up nice,” he tells you. “Feeling better?” 
“Much better,” you affirm, perking up at his sincerity. “I’m grateful to you all for watching over me”. 
“Our Bakugo did most of the work, really. Got a little protective,” Mina, the one kissed by dusk, leans into your space with her plump mouth curled into a smile. The thin gold jewellery hung from her lobe to ear cuff glints in the late afternoon light. “Barely let us in the room”. 
“Cause you idiots are too loud,” Bakugo grumbles, stepping forward holding a shiny garb. The fond undertones belied his annoyance, and everyone heard it loud and clear. Your skin prickled as he drags his eyes over your clothed body, evoking a sense of insecurity that is foreign to you. You aren’t sure what, but you wanted him to see something in you worth coveting. 
Then your gaze falls to the fabrics folded over his forearm. Your heartbeat ricochets through your ribcage. A tide of emotion wells at the base of your throat. He handles the pelt with purposeful care. Shivers break out across your skin as he smooths a hand over it. Holding it out, he says your name as if it was the simplest thing in the world. 
“Here,” he thrusts the pelt into your arms. You scramble and clutch it to your front. Something deep inside you shifts. “This is yours, right? We took it during the raid”. 
You’re frozen to the spot, mouth gaping around words that won’t come. Bakugo frowns, the group members behind him glancing at each other and shrugging when they find no answer to your silence. 
“Well?” he demands, embarrassment staining his ears pink. 
“Yes,” you choke, bringing the hide up to your face and rubbing your cheek against it. So warm and alive. Brine fills your senses, overwhelmed by the smell of home. The relief is short lived. “Thank you for returning it, but…”
Losing strength, you try to convince yourself that he needn’t know— that the old ritual would not be binding if done with a human. If the Gods were merciful there would be no condition that tied you together for the rest of your lives. Yet you felt it the moment your pelt was handed back to you. You’ve been feeling his touch all this time, even before the bond had solidified. Heat rose to your cheeks at the realisation; such an intimate act, and it had been accidental. 
From one prison to another. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad. Bakugo seemed good, in his own rugged way, and he was handsome even by faerie standards. 
You wet your lips, breath shaken. “Bakugo. Do you understand the significance of what you just did?” 
Bakugo’s expression darkens and he becomes rigid. You get the impression he hates being left in the dark. “What is it?” 
“To…” your nails sink into the short velvety fur. “To a selkie their pelt is like an extension of their soul. In our culture, to find and return it is viewed as a…marriage proposal”. 
Sero catches Kaminari and Mina as they grapple one another in a dramatic fashion, swaying on their feet. Kirishima puts a hesitant hand on his friend’s shoulder, eyes flickering between the barbarian and your slouched form. “Bro… don’t do anything hasty,” he faltered. 
“Bakugo is married now?” Mina shrilled, promptly shut up by the hand covering her mouth. Sero sends you an apologetic grimace. 
“Like hell I am”. 
Hackles raised, voice sharp and commanding, Bakugo is staring you down like an enemy. Your knees threaten to buckle but you stand your ground, shielding your body with your thick hide. His hands remain by his hips, sparking as the tang of magic bleeds into the air. Despite making no move to attack you still feel his rejection strike you. 
“Break whatever vow I just made,” he demanded. “Now”. 
“I can’t,” you admit helplessly. “It’s more than a legal contract or a declaration of love. We’ve— it binds us together”.
The barbarian starts forward, upper lip curled into a beastly snarl, held back by the dragon shifter’s grip. Stumbling as you dodge, two familiar scarred arms catch you before your fall. “Kacchan, what are you—?!” Bakugo darts out to grab you and Midoriya immediately pushes you behind his back, shielding you with his body. “Stop it!” 
“Midoriya,” Kaminari wheezes, tears beading along his lash line. “Kacchan accidentally got married. Can you believe it?” 
Midoriya observes their exchange with a look of confusion. In the seconds that follow you see his eyes fall to the pelt folded against your chest, eyes brightening in understanding. Incognisant to this, Bakugo continues his verbal barrage. “Oi, Deku. You’ve got brain cells. Figure out a way to fix this”. 
Mouth gaping like a fish out of water, Midoriya pins Bakugo with a pleading look. “Kacchan. Please tell me you didn’t personally give back the selkie pelt”. 
“You knew and didn’t think to say anything?!”
“Why would I?” Midoriya returns, equally irritated. You press your face into the space between his shoulder blades, feeling the vibrations of his voice as they argue. “It’s common folklore!”
“You know I don’t listen to fucking fairytales, Izuku”. 
Midoriya reaches back to brush your wrist and offer a comforting touch. You knock your knuckles to his own, grateful for his consideration but unneeding of it. While Bakugo’s furious refusal hurts, and his volume is harsh on the ears, you aren’t truly scared of him. More than anything your body remembers those warm palms— how he had held your hand, even as a stranger, and how he meticulously groomed your hide only knowing that it was of importance to you. 
“There’s nothing I can do to fix this,” lowering his tone into something more apologetic, Midoriya’s shoulders slump in defeat. You step to the side, coming into view. Head bowed, weight shifting between each foot. You refuse to be subservient any longer but cannot ignore the guilt that churns in your stomach. 
Bakugo sees you. Something flickers in his features; a brief glance, a rough exhale, it flies across his face like the shadow of an albatross and disappears, equally fleeting. Never taking his vermilion eyes off you he argued, “What about cheeks?” 
The golden hour spreads her hands all over the room, air cooling when his spitting frustration dwindles to uncertainty. 
“Uraraka?” Midoriya mused aloud. His softer countenance tempers your anxiety. “It’s possible she could do something… Let me go see if I have her recent coordinates written somewhere…”
Midoriya scurries back down the hallway, leaving you defenseless. Without thinking you ask the group, “Uh. Who’s Uraraka?” 
Everyone’s attention falls to you and you resist the reflexive urge to cower. “She’s a witch,” Kaminari supplies happily, arms wrapped around Sero’s neck like a scarf. “An old friend of ours, but she’s pretty hard to find now. I heard her place is always moving”. 
A building that could move with magic. The human world never ceased to be fascinating. 
Mina nudges her elbow into his side and a shock of electricity sparks from his crown. “That’s outdated, dummy! You’re supposed to say occultist”. 
Kaminari whines, rubbing at his ribs. “To-may-toe, to-mah-toe,” he enunciated, pouting. “Same thing”. 
Bakugo growls, ignoring their exchange in favour of pacing the room. Your pelt is a comforting weight as you follow the back and forth motions, taking the chance to really look at him. The fur lined cloak across his shoulders billows obnoxiously as he turns, jewels and talons strung around his neck knocking against his clavicle. Doused in sunlight, the markings painted across his bare chest are highlighted, and you notice the uneven skin beneath them— more scars. 
He combs his fingers aggressively through his hair and his arm bulges beneath the armour strapped to his bicep. Kirishima tires of watching and cuts into his path, hands open in surrender. 
“Stressing won’t do you any good, man,” the shifter reasoned. “We’ve all got your back. I’m sure Uraraka will know what to do”. 
Bakugo huffs. You think there should be steam coming out of his nose. “I know, shithead. I just,” he takes a quick look at where you are awkwardly standing. “I don’t like this”. 
There’s an abrupt yelp in the distance. Midoriya’s cry is followed by a crash, the sound of books tumbling from shelves onto the wooden floor. He stumbles out into the hallway slightly dishevelled, patting off the dust on his waistcoat and proffering a sheet of paper. Tucked under his arm is a rolled up map. 
“Kacchan,” comes his breathless chime. “Here’s where she was last. But I remembered that she was planning on taking a short trip to the valleys near the coast to find more idiran leaves since they’re in season now. I mapped out all the areas where they usually grow, in case you—”
Bakugo snatches the coordinates and the map without ceremony. “Thanks,” he grunts, turning on his heel and making for the exit. “Come on, losers. We only got a few hours until it’s too dark to fly”. 
The group works in perfect synchrony. Sero reaches under one of the nearby chairs and drags out a large bag, hoisting it over his shoulder. Mina does the same, pulling back the draping tapestry by the doorway and taking back a concealed sack. You watch as they walk leisurely behind Bakugo, in no real rush despite his demands, Kaminari lamenting how little they trusted him with their cargo. 
Kirishima lingers behind, clapping Midoriya soundly on the back. “Thanks for everything as usual, man. We appreciate it,” he emphasised his gratitude with a strong squeeze. 
“I’m always happy to see you,” you’re impressed by Midoriya’s reaction; a smile from ear to ear, sturdy and unaffected by Kirishima’s obvious force, his smaller frame belying his strength. “Just promise not to shift too close to the building. I don’t have time to re-thatch my roof”. 
“I promise!” Kirishima traces a cross over his heart with his fingers. Their focus turns to you. You tense, feeling entirely out of place. “Sure you’re feeling alright? Have you ever flown before?”
“No,” you admit, needlessly smoothing the fabric of your kirtle down. “I’ve probably never been this far inland, nevermind flying”. 
Midoriya’s eyes widened, though not unkindly. They’re sparkling, as if he were excited on your behalf. “Then you’re in for a real treat,” he beams, the intensity dimming within the next breath, sadness hemming his smile. “Just know you’re in good hands. Kacchan is a little abrasive but he means well”. 
“And I swear I’ll fly carefully,” Kirishima interjects. It’s funny, a man so large exuding such gentility. “I’m a dragon shifter, if you hadn’t already guessed”. 
You had sensed it immediately. Shifter energies were palpable and animated things. They hung in the air like a humid fog. Despite your similarities you are still so uniquely different. While you were tied to the pelt in your arms, Kirishima had no such restriction. You envied his freedom. 
“You caught me…?” you say. He nods at your words. “Thank you, then. Again”. 
“That was all Bakubro. He saw you before anyone else did,” as though on cue, Bakugo’s voice penetrated impatiently through the walls, demanding that you both get outside. Kirishima’s lips uptick affectionately. 
“If I don’t get to see you again, well…” Midoriya begins to corral the pair of you to the door as he speaks. “I hope you make it home. And I’m really happy I could meet you”. 
Surrounding Midoriya’s residence is a dense forest. The trees are tall, older than any you’ve seen, their branches reaching out and intertwining with one another to conceal your group under a canopy shrouded in gold. Further ahead it thins out onto a winding road. Built on a steep hill it dips in the distance, opening up to the many plots of land below. 
The earth is soft under your boots. There are wildflowers at your feet. You try to step around each one carefully while Kirishima advances forward to the group with vigour. 
Bakugo is saying something but you barely hear it, lost in your thoughts, besotted by the vast canvas around you; a sense of harmony as the pigments blend together. It is like a dream in which you can’t tell one side of the veil from the other, and nothing like the dreary castle you were once stowed away in. 
Your moment in lucidity is soon interrupted. You instinctively pull the pelt closer to your chest before realising who had approached. “You listening or what?” Bakugo calls quietly, an attempt at being reposeful. Amidst your daydreaming Kirishima has disappeared into the overgrowth and the others are watching your interaction with poorly veiled interest. 
“Uh, sure,” you blurt uselessly. He raises a brow and you feel ridiculous. 
“Kirishima said it’s your first time,” he pauses and you nod in affirmation. A hand comes to rest on your back, breath caught in your throat, pressure pulling you close to his side. “Then you’ll sit up front with me”. 
Your head bobs again, unrolling the pelt and knotting it tight to your waist, skin prickling under his close scrutiny. Bakugo brings his fingers to his lips and whistles, “Red!”
‘Red’ answered the call with a low room and a rustle of wings. The dragon’s head lifts, towering above the treeline, his body following as he steps out into the open. Amber eyes gleamed in the early evening light as he bobbed his head on a serpentine neck. His deep red scales shimmered with a faint golden sheen as he flashed his teeth in greeting. 
You err on the side of reticence while Mina and Kaminari sprint toward the dragon whooping excitedly. Various lines of thick rope trails behind them and Sero picks up the slack, looping it thrice through their bags. He spins the cut end, undulating as the momentum builds, and throws it over Kirishima’s back to be caught by Kaminari and pulled taut. 
“C’mon,” Bakugo leads you forward. He is surprisingly patient with you now. You’ve faced young whales and sharks yet still you feel dwarfed by the sheer size of the dragon, heart all pitter patter behind your ribs. It is the prey animal in you. 
Kirishima snorts, lowering to the ground. The earth trembles, a gust of wind dancing through the grass. Another rope is flung around his neck, threaded through the horns protruding from his skull like a set of reins, dropping in front of you. 
The hand by your hip slides further at your abrupt flinch, arm securing around your waist. “On three I want you to climb,” he commands, giving you no time to think. “One… two…”
Bakugo takes the weight like it’s nothing, lifting you higher so you can grab the rope. Molten heat. You pull yourself up, scrambling to straddle Kirishima’s upper back. The others are further down his spine, playing around at the base of his tail without a care in the world, as though they were not about to be thousands of feet in the air. Kirishima’s lungs expand for breath and you cling to a spike protruding from the dragon’s nape, grip flexing at the warmth that settles behind you. 
Bakugo frames your body with his thighs, thick by the skirt bunching above your knees, and pulls the rest of the rope up to wrap it around your pelt. In an instant you are all too conscious of him as a man, the proximity plucking at your centre of gravity, a cold sensation spreading throughout your chest. “Sorry,” he mutters unprompted, so quiet you aren’t sure you were meant to hear it. You get the impression he doesn’t say it often. “For dragging you into more shit”. 
You mull the words over as you relax into his hold. With that one sentence you think you understand him a little more than before.
Sero’s voice travels through the silence, “Good to go!”
Fastening his arm across your middle, solid and steady, Bakugo brings his boot hard down onto Kirishima’s shoulder. “Get moving, Red!” he roars. 
The dragon’s movements are heavy, slow. Aligned with the winding road, he builds up speed. As though he’d shaken off his own mass Kirishima is suddenly quick on his feet and breaking into a run; forced back in the momentum your stomach swoops, upheld by inertia as your body follows the broad bounding movements. 
Leathery wings snap open into the clearing. Your hands clutch at Bakugo’s forearm and he digs his fingers in harder, his lips warm against your temple. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, but all you can hear is the thundering wind and the blood rushing in your ears. You watch the steep edge approach and take a reflexive breath as it abruptly disappears. 
Air pours into your lungs and then out again in a ragged, exhilarated gasp. The ground falls—and then you are gliding.  
The cool air whips against your cheeks. Smooth and steady as a horse’s canter, Kirishima soars through the open skies, his magnificent wingspan bearing the weight of five riders. Below, the fields coalesce into one land. Towns and villages become an inscrutable speck. Incredulous laughter bursts from your throat, nerves evolving into excitement in the climb towards the clouds. 
Bakugo mellows by the second, tension ironed down by gravity. There’s a particular satisfaction to his expression, contentment you’ve only ever experienced in the ocean’s depths, and yet, as he squeezes around you intermittently to remind you he is there, you can feel it too. 
“You with me?” he shouts. “Not scared?”
You lock eyes and try to show him a tremulous smile, answering at the top of your lungs, “I’m good”. 
Then he bares his teeth, grinning proudly. Over you comes the sense of being praised. Your smile widens.
Time moves differently in the skies. Closer to the sun, you thought perhaps things naturally moved slower. Change is always less apparent when you are walking alongside it. Instead, you measure the hour by the shadows cast chasing Kirishima’s tail, and eventually the skies darken. 
Lowering his head, tilting a wing to swing out in a broad arc, Kirishima angles toward the earth. Bakugo raises up a battle worn hand, the lineaments of his face irradiated by streams of dim light threading through his fingers. He makes a specific gesture, signalling to the others of the incoming descent. Like the sun, you can’t look away from his raw brilliance. 
Kirishima lands at the base of a mountain valley. It sends a gust of wind across the clearing. Through the dark you make out a familiar reflection of light in the distance. The lake is hardly an ocean, but you’re extremely comforted to be by a body of water. 
Chest pressed flat to your back Bakugo’s natural heat spreads through your shirt. Helped down much in the same way you were boosted up, he seems determined to keep you near. You can’t say you mind it— a quiet attraction comes and goes as he steadies you on your feet. He clicks his tongue, muttering clipped insults that he doesn’t mean. 
It’s decided you’ll remain there for the night. “You can bet your ass we’re having an early start,” Bakugo says, pointing at each of you with stubborn intent, squinted glare lingering on the less than enthusiastic members. Kaminari slumps forward dramatically and you worry his knees might buckle. 
Kirishima leaves again, briefly, to circle the area in his full form while Bakugo starts on the pit. It’s lit by a whisper of fire from the returning dragon’s mouth, setting the tinder ablaze over the nest of branches; the dry, withered pine slowly releases years of energy soaked up from the sun, the air, and the ground, keeping the camp brightly lit. 
Smoke swirls above and dissipates into the atmosphere. You are far enough from any large human settlement that you see the night sky in all its clarity. Around you now are the soft voices of acquaintances filtered between conversations; none you could hear properly, but the sounds were still soothing, coming in hushed tones that add to the intimate atmosphere. 
Flames dance on their cheeks, illuminating the prominent parts of their faces. You’re sitting beside the water’s edge with your pelt strewn across your lap, close enough to feel the warmth as it crackles and spits, watching the way they love each other. 
Kaminari has fished out a big bottle from his bag, dramatically popping the cork, and is steadily passing it around. Alcohol, you guessed. Sero took a heavy swig without flinching. Mina had tried to do the same and now has her head pillowed by Kirishima’s thigh, thick and sturdy as a human, and his fingers stroked through the curly by her temple aimlessly as he lost himself in discussion. Sensing your gaze, she meets your eyes and smiles dazedly, lids fluttering. 
You look away, take a breath and notice the air tastes like sake and smoke. Darkness covers the lake. Under the waxing moon your face stares back at you, swimming among minnows and echoes of stars. It ripples where you dip your fingertips, mind empty, anaesthetised by the chill.  
“You idiots never pace yourselves,” Bakugo’s voice rumbled over the flames and rolled over your skin. He is sitting closest to you, legs loosely crossed in the dirt . “If you throw up on Red tomorrow I’m not cleaning it up”. 
Kaminari shakes the bottle in his direction. The bubbles fizz upward, some spilling out. “Such a stick in the mud, Kacchan. We gotta celebrate your marriage somehow!” 
Sero cackles as the other two chime in agreement.  You stroke your pelt, restless at the mention of your union, and it soaks up the water from your fingers. Surprisingly, Bakugo lets it slide, though not before scooping the loose earth into his hand and throwing it at an oncoming Kaminari. 
Eyes of amber briefly flicker over your form in his approach. Kaminari drops into the empty space beside you and pulls the bottle from his mouth with a resounding pop, leaving behind a wet sheen, and tilts it forward. “You too,” he grinned. “Congrats. Our boy is quite the catch, y’know”. 
“So I can see,” you smile, letting the gloom be pulled right out of you, your fingers wrapping around the bottle's neck. They grazing his own and spark static. Neither of you comment on it, his squinted stare fixed curiously on your expression as you bring the finish to your lips. 
The aroma is rich, sweet like overly ripe bananas. You tip back, feeling it dry and bitter on your tongue. There are hints of vanilla and brown sugar, a sting to your throat that begs you to cough. You hear a quiet laugh. 
“Too strong?” Sero teases lightheartedly from across the campfire. 
Your expression twists, “It’s good. But it burns. Is that normal?”
“That’s why it’s good,” Kaminari snickers. You clear your throat, handing the bottle back, attention drawn back to the lake in a beat of comfortable silence. “Oh, hey. I did want to say— you can swim if you need to, y’know”. 
“Hm?”
“Kiri has all sorts of weird urges if he doesn’t shift for a while. Gets all restless and snappy,” Kaminari gives a knowing look to the man in question. Kirishima nods at you, his features taut with sincerity. “So if you want to swim for a while or something we totally get it”. 
You’re flustered by their earnestness, gripping at your pelt, all too aware of it. Slipping into your other form feels far too personal; well meaning as they are, they’re still strangers to you. “That’s— I’m alright,” you politely decline, “my needs as a seal aren’t really felt while I’m like this”. 
A surprised noise resonates from Kirishima, Mina unmoving from her place in his lap but watching with rapt curiosity. “You’re practically human right now, then?” he asks. 
“Practically,” you give a self conscious shrug. Somehow admitting it felt like stripping yourself. Confessing to a weakness. Unsettled, you deflect the subject back. “Do you keep your dragon traits as a human?”
“Nah, not while I’m in this form. I don’t even have my hydrogen glands— look,” Kirishima hooks his fingers into his cheeks to spread them wider. You lean in for a closer look. The glow from the campfire illuminates the back of his throat— barely, and ironically. His tongue wiggles as he tries to lay it flat. You’re not sure what he’s trying to show you. You’ve  never seen a dragon’s maw before, but aside from the shark-like teeth his mouth really does seem the same as any other man’s. 
“Pretty boring, right?” his words come garbled around his fingers and so he pulls them out, wiping the spit on his pants. “But even though I can’t breathe fire right now, I can do this!”
You stare in surprise as the skin along his forearm hardens into tough scales. He holds it out to you in permission to touch; they feel jagged under your fingertips, tough like the bark of an ancient tree. “That’s amazing. You have your own shield,” you breathe, awed. 
“Damn right,” Bakugo interjects. There’s that unfettered pride again. Kirishima’s cheeks redden and you sympathise with him. In your short time with them you knew receiving praise from Bakugo felt like standing under the sun. “Should‘ve seen him as a kid,” he continues, eyes alight and mirthful. “Had scales like wet paper. Even cried when he first shifted”. 
“D’you have to bring that up,” Kirishima groans, though not upset by it. He shares in the amusement, uplifted by the sound of his friends' laughter, and pouts playfully in your direction. “It was scary!” 
Mina giggles. Her movements are sluggish and dopey as she waves her arm in Kaminari’s direction, who then stretches around the pit to Sero, who then passes it off to her. She takes a quick sip, free hand pinching Kirishima’s cheek. “Wasn't your first time an accident, too? That’s so cute”. 
“He sneezed actually,” Sero supplies, smirk crooked, foot tapping Kirishima’s ankle in a preemptive apology. “Destroyed half his house”. 
Kaminari slaps his knee, “Man, you were stumbling around like a newborn foal. It was hilarious”. 
Bakugo grinned as the others bickered, a fond, radiant thing that lit up his whole face. He’s softer like this, drenched in warmth. Cloak tucked behind his shoulders you are given the view of his broad chest. And when he finally looks at you, his half lidded gaze has been softened by his third swig; though he remained considerably sober compared to his companions. 
“What’re you starin’ at?” he mutters.
“Nothing,” you answer quickly, then, quieter, “It’s just nice that you’ve all been together for so long”. 
“Since we were snot-nosed brats. We hail from the same clan. Deku too,” he replies, elbow propped on his knee, chin cupped in his palm. “Getting sick of seeing their faces at every turn”. 
“Liar,” you hum amusedly. “What do humans call it…? Emotionally constipated”. 
His eyes slide over you, brow quirked. With his friends distracted he is more emboldened giving you attention. “Got some liquor down your neck and suddenly you’re givin’ me cheek?” 
“Guess so,” you feel yourself endeared by your not-husband. The pleasant honeyed sensation shrouding your body must’ve loosened your tongue. “Anyone can see they’re like family to you”. 
The barbarian kisses his teeth and shifts himself toward you, an ugly look on his face. You catch his peek at your pelt. “What about you?”
“Me?”
Bakugo grunts. “Yeah. You got family?” 
If not for the alcohol that question might’ve sucked all the joy from the air. You settle on a sad smile, dragging your fingertip through the dirt to draw a vague seal shape. “That’s hard to answer,” you intoned gently, barely audible over the crackling fire. “My memories of them are vague. The longer I stay human the more I forget”. He frowns, but you continue, unperturbed, “Usually it would be the same thing in reverse, if we weren’t bonded I would likely forget all of this”. 
“And you’re okay with that?” he says, some edge to his tone. “You’re okay with being stuck here?” 
The ‘with me’ goes unspoken but you hear it, and you fall silent. Because you have no answer. You’d had months to reconcile a pallid future— at one point you thought you would never again see the ocean, least of all your family. It was probable that they’d already moved on without you. 
“I don’t feel stuck,” you admit. His actions and his words, albeit harsh, proved that to be true. Aside from the obvious differences from your previous capture, the biggest is that you are equally in possession of Bakugo’s individual liberty— you’re married, you mentally amend, not in possession. While it is true you wouldn’t be able to stray far from him with the bond established, you held your pelt, independence, control. 
A near imperceptible tension seeps from him at your answer. “What about you?”
He scoffs, stretching out his legs. The soles of his boots drag in the dirt. “Do I look fuckin’ stuck?” 
“No,” you murmur with amusement, turning to gaze at the flickering pyre. “A man that can fly hundreds of miles on dragonback in a single day certainly isn’t stuck”. 
“Now you’re getting it”.
The other conversation has worn into soft murmurings. Kirishima drunkenly hands off the last of the alcohol to Bakugo, gesturing to the three who’ve surrounded him and fallen asleep. As the dragon shifter repositions himself to join them, curled together like a pack of seal pups, Bakugo takes a sip. 
There’s probably only a mouthful left and you accept it when he offers. “You should sleep, too”. 
You heed his instruction and lie down on your side, your pelt pillowed under your head. The smell of home swaddles you. “Early rise, right?” he nods, leaning back onto his arms. “How long do you think it’ll take to find the—uh, occultist?” 
“A week if she’s where she’s supposed to be,” he scowls. You’re not sure what draws the heat to your face; the drink or his voice, now gravelly with fatigue. “Three at most”. 
“Okay,” you exhale, eyes fluttering closed. “Thank you, Bakugo”. 
A soft breeze dances through the brush. Your skin pebbles, shivers slipping down your spine. Something heavy drapes over you and encases you in a warm cocoon. Fluff tickles at your nose. Your fingers curl into the familiar red fabric of Bakugo’s cloak. He has pointedly angled away from you, ready to ignore any attempt at interrogation. The gruff act of kindness makes your heartbeat faster. Fondness settles in your chest, so big that it aches. His natural scent mixes with yours and it’s like being laid on the shoreline, stitching sea and land together. 
“Don’t fuckin’ thank me yet,” the muscles in his back ripple as he tends to the dwindling fire, declaring with conviction, “Just follow me. I’ll fix this and get you home”. 
You lick your lips, mouth dry from the alcohol. In that very moment you want to tell him that the ocean and the sky are like a two way mirror; that when you were up there with him, strangely, your body thought it was at home. 
Instead, you close your eyes and watch the embers paint yellow and orange kaleidoscopes behind your eyelids. 
Instead, you sleep. 
The weeks that follow are arduous. Uraraka is nowhere to be found, and your group resorted to searching the areas of iridian growth Midoriya circled. 
You weren’t used to hiking up mountainous lands, navigating forests or scaling dragons, not in the beginning. Rising with the sun, enduring unpredictable changes in weather, wincing through the ache that grew in your weaker human muscles, Bakugo found your crankiness amusing and irritating all at once; never missing an opportunity to comment on your lack of stamina, then using it as an excuse to assist where assistance is not truly needed. 
But you saw through him, and let him. You did not need help climbing, yet your hands weaved together so he could pull you up. You’re soon practiced in saddling Kirishima, yet you always wait for Bakugo to put his arm around your lower back every ride. Your inner voice sings whenever he brings you food— begrudgingly, he throws it into your lap and grunts like the barbarian he is— or hangs his cloak over your head without a word as though you were a rack. It’s a little more charged every time you interact, and you found you liked being taken care of in those subtle ways that did not undermine your independence. 
The others noticed and teased accordingly. They call him a dutiful husband and his aggravated explosions saw you driven out of two small settlements for startling livestock. You become closer to each of them. Their patchwork family makes room for you quicker than you know what to do with. And you enjoy it; learning about the people around you, peeling back the rind of their lives piece by piece with mundane questions, seeing what they’re made up of.
You learn Kaminari enjoys literature, dramatically reciting love tales in the night, referencing poems you’ve never heard. He’s charming but never with actual intention. It is somehow more endearing that he doesn’t know his own allure, finding comfort in the role of a jester. Mina is pure joy wrapped in flesh. Apologetically overbearing and well meaning. Like an older sister she showed you how to securely fashion your pelt—over one shoulder, a belt fastened around the waist, keeping it in place— and let you use her combs. She speaks fast when she’s happy, hits hard when she laughs and gossips avidly, picking up new information wherever she goes. 
Kirishima looked at you with kindness and iron surety in his eyes from the start. Good natured and feeling— he has a heart so big that he apologises to a flower bed after he steps on it. There’s a natural fraternal air about him that sets you at ease and the group’s clear affection and appreciation for him diminished any worry about your own treatment as a shifter.
But of everyone else in the group you found Sero the most easygoing. Conversation came fluidly and your initial diffidence was thrown by how naturally you were able to fall into place with him. He lends an ear to any questions you have, practised in the art of human interaction; a man capable of adapting to any one person he comes into contact with. As such, he is the member sent to negotiate, collect information, and make arrangements. 
When you make it to the last destination on the map you are drenched in a time-steeped sunset. Sero trudges back through the brush, returning from the nearby port town. Landing at such a late hour Sero had been tasked with finding the local tavern to buy a few rooms for the night, and the lazy thumbs up he waves from a distance is proof he accomplished his goal.
“They don’t get too many travellers passing through here so I swiped up three rooms,” he huffs, coming to a stop and brushing the dirt off his pants. “They’ve got a bathhouse, too”. 
Bakugo makes a noise of approval, lifting a bag over his shoulder while Kirishima carries the rest under his arms and  flashes a toothy smile. “Glad it went smoothly, man”. 
“Thank the Gods,” Kaminari cheers, clapping his friend on the back. “You’re a lifesaver. I can’t wait to sleep on an actual bed again”. 
“Uh huh. Two twin rooms for us lowly minions,” Sero continues, his grin curling into something more sly. You get a sense of foreboding. “And of course, a double room for the newlyweds”. 
Mina whistles, slipping her hand into yours and tugging. You freeze, heart in your throat, and force yourself to relax, not yet used to how tactile they can be. She’s too invested in Bakugo’s response to notice. Your eyes flicker over to find him red faced and incensed, knuckles white with the pressure he has around the drawstrings of his bag. 
Sharing a room with Bakugo. Alone. Thus far you’d all been together. Either under the stars or in caves, or packed into cramped quarters stuffed with wattle and daub if a villager felt kind enough. 
“You've got exactly five seconds to explain why you thought that was a good idea”.
Sero quickly put his palms up in surrender. “You gave me a budget, Bakugo. They offered to lower the price as a wedding gift. I figured it would be okay for one night”. 
Bakugo jerks his head in your direction, his steely glare unmoving. The tips of his ears are pink, too, frustration unfolding across his skin. “You don’t get to decide that,” he chided, tone harsh like a hiss. 
Suddenly, Sero looks rather ashamed of himself. “Shit, I’m sorry. Should’ve asked,” he says to you, rubbing at his neck as his head lowers. It’s unlike him to be so wilted— and all because of your potential discomfort. 
You meet Bakugo’s eyes, gleaming intensely, already trying to scrutinise your reaction. Mina hums quietly. She tightens grip on your hand again in reassurance, the other running along your bicep. “If you want I can swap with you”. 
Bakugo snorts at that, as if the idea was ridiculous, but he doesn’t shoot it down despite his clear aversion to sharing with Mina. You understood his disbelief. They behaved much like siblings, squabbling and poking at one another. It’d rouse suspicion and you didn’t fancy being chased out of town for swindling the keepers for a discount. 
“Thank you guys. But it’s alright,” you reassured, mouth lifting into a small smile and reciprocating Mina‘s gentle squeeze. “I don’t mind sleeping with Bakugo”. 
A few beats of silence. You see Bakugo’s expression slip, jaw loose and eyes wide for a brief moment before it twists. He turns away from the group as a chorus of suggestive crowing erupts. 
Understanding your mistake almost immediately hot mortification comes over you, stifling beneath the pelt on your shoulder. “Shut up, you useless fuckin’ perverts,” Bakugo snaps, flustered and wild, swatting at the nearest victim. Kirishima feigns a wounded noise. 
“Hey, I didn’t do anything!”
“Just get moving,” the barbarian marches onward, tearing his way through the overgrowth and heading for the tavern. “And walk behind me!”
His choleric mutters continue, heard even at a distance. Tucking your chin to your chest, you hide your laughter in your silken pelt as you follow after him, mouth filling with a comforting briney scent. You think Bakugo undeniably cute when he’s embarrassed; a sight you’ve had the pleasure of seeing more than once on account of his pod. That feeling from the campfire returns, fills your chest, pulsing through to your fingertips, tempting you to reach out, to touch him. 
More and more you’re inundated with the need to be close. You quell the urge and tighten your grip on Mina, her cheek squished to your shoulder, loose curls the colour of blossom tickling your throat. “Don’t worry. He’s not really mad,” she tells you furtively, as if it were a big secret. 
“I know,” gaze lingering on Bakugo’s back, covered by that thick red cloak, you wonder if your scent still clings to it. Contentedly, “I’m getting used to it”. 
The town is beautiful. Bursting with flora and fauna, accentuated by the dusk, ocean curling around the village in a way that reminds you of mother. Nature's cradle. You cling protectively to your pelt, scenting the salt in the air and hovering closer to Bakugo. If anybody could identify a selkie skin it would be fishermen. Stray drunken locals stumble by, arm in arm with boisterous cheer. You’re greeted like a long lost friend, neither person recognising your true identity. Humans really can be hearty and genuine at their core. Life before had been so desolate in comparison, so lacking in love and colour. 
“Oi,” Bakugo beckons you to his side. When you don’t fall in line he grabs your wrist, pulling you close. His natural body heat lingers like a brand. “Make sure you call me Katsuki from now on,” he instructs under his breath. 
You blink at the unexpected request. The muscles in his face are tight, twitching, and his nose flares the longer you stare. Given names are important to humans in this region. Sharing them is an intimate thing, a sign of your close relationship. “Are you sure?” 
“Wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t sure,” he punishes your questioning with the fleeting tightening of his grip. You can’t help it. He’s pink again and you like it. “I’m your husband, yeah? So call me by my fuckin’ name”. 
The keeper waits surreptitiously by a sheltered stairwell leading to the inn above her tavern. A small Elven woman, uncloaked, the lantern overhead creating a halo of light to circle her ginger crown. She perks up when Sero hands over a small velvet sack, the drawstrings pulled tight. “For the rooms,” he emphasises, coins chiming dully against one another as he shakes it. The woman takes it and cradles the payment to her breast, exchanging the gold for three keys. 
You’re guided up the stairwell and into the building, presented with a narrow corridor. There are numerous doors, decorative runes carved into the frames, a coloured piece of string hung from each handle corresponding to the colour of the keys.  “It’s good to see some youngins pass through. We only ever get the same old geezers around here,” she says, “Makes for a mundane life”. 
The crows' feet wrinkle by her eyes when she smiles, laughter lines framing her mouth. She hands out the keys to your pod who all rush in childish excitement to see their rooms. At last she turns to where you stand stiffly beside Katsuki. 
You’re handed a key. The stem is long and thin and made with copper, the key wards in the bit uniquely shaped to your door. Threaded through the bow is a lavender string. “It isn’t much but I hope you will be comfortable for the night,” with a wink, she adds, “Congratulations to you both”. 
“Thank you. We will be in your care,” your reply is tremulous, undecided whether to be pleased with the sincere acknowledgement of your marriage or nervous to be seen through. At your side, the large barbarian grunts. 
It is uncharacteristic of him; always very respectful of his elders. You lean against him, just a nudge. His attention snaps to you and you smile innocently. “Be polite, Katsuki”. 
Like it was meant to be spoken only by you, Katsuki’s name sits right in your mouth, lips shaping around the characters softened by warm intonation. The reaction is instantaneous. His jaw ticks. His faint blush returns. His stoic expression wanes as he looks to the keeper, who is observing the interaction with mirthful eyes. Lowering his head he mutters, “We appreciate your hospitality, ma’am”. 
“You’re quite darlin’ together, aren’t you,” she comments heartily, mostly to herself, as if airing her thoughts. “We got good food and drinks downstairs, do come if you’re hungry! Blessings be upon you”. 
On her departure you enter the room. Spangles of light dusted the air. While it clearly isn’t lived in, it is homely. You canvas the space. Two square-headed windows facing the street are covered by thin cloth. There is an old, tattered tapestry strung across the wall to cover up a fist sized hole, a patterned glass vase and various other unique tchotchke adorning the shelves. You drag your fingers across the brick fireplace opposite a wide double bed, mattress made of wool but compensated by the many feather pillows and blankets. 
“This is good,” you say, “homely”. Though there is an animal hide on the floor, which you find rather… untoward. A soothing musky smell with overtones of caramel and vanilla rising through the cracks in the floorboards from the tavern below. You breathe it in deeply. 
“It’ll do,” Katsuki voices his agreement and drops his bag with a conclusive thud. “Let me hide our stuff and we can meet with the others for food downstairs. You haven’t eaten in hours”. 
The small consideration makes your heart flutter. “Ah. I’ll be there soon,” you tell him. He squints at you, attempting to mentally pry the answers out of you. “I’m okay, Katsuki. I just need a minute”. 
Pausing in the centre of the room, Katsuki scrutinises you. You fidget under his intense appraisal, undecided whether it pleases you or not. It is strange to want something that often leaves you feeling excruciatingly… exposed. 
You wait apprehensively and wonder if he’ll comment on your use of his name— needless, this time. After all there are no ears or eyes in these walls. You’re not sure what you’ll do if he asks you to stop. 
“Are you sure?” you nod, mouth strained in a thin smile. Bakugo frowns but ultimately gives you your space. “Make sure you catch up. If you’re not down in ten minutes I’m coming back”. 
“I will,” you land heavily on the edge of the bed, wrinkling the sheets as you unclip your pelt. The collar of your ill-fitted shirt slips forward with the motion to reveal cleavage, and Bakugo immediately averts his gaze. 
“Whatever,” he rasps, unexpectedly shy. The door slams as he leaves. You right the collar, tugging it back up, lips pressed thin to repress the laughter that bubbles in your chest. Aimless and left to your own devices you take a solitary moment to groom the pelt in your lap, marbled and downy-soft. Brushing through the coat, fingertips trace the rings of black and brown.
Things are so different. Being a person is more overwhelming than you imagined. Being locked away had kept you in a state of inertia, suffocating in numb misery, but now you were left to grapple with the immense spectrum of human emotion. Urges and wants that you had never experienced before meeting Katsuki. 
You swallow, staring at the spaces between your fingers. Spaces filled with short tan fur. Selkie marriages were simultaneously complicated and simple. Rather, they were so simple that they bore unnecessary complications. 
A stolen pelt creates a one sided bond but upon return it is consummated. Between two selkies in courting pelts were exchanged, solidifying their promise to one another, deeply unified by their magic. Elder podmates said that it meant they belonged to only one another. Abandoning the tides, in a way. 
Since being a pup the voice of the sea was a ceaseless whisper you were always aware of. Yet since Katsuki held your seal skin, unknowingly cradled your very being and returned it to you with only sincere intention, that voice had gradually been ebbing away. 
Would there come a day that you no longer recalled your identity as a selkie—? No. You quickly smother the thought. The immaterial, chimerical magic that made up your very being could never be forgotten. And deep down, you knew Katsuki would not let you. Indeed, you can only picture his surly retaliation if you ever woke up and could not recall your lineage. 
With that you get to your feet. Ten minutes would soon pass and his probable wrath was enough motivation. You consider the pelt in your grasp and give a surreptitious glance around the room for somewhere to hide it. Taking it into a tavern full of drunken strangers and mariners seemed like a much worse idea. 
After rolling it up tight you stuff it behind the pillows at the head of the bed, further pulling over the coverlets. The hallway is quiet when you step out. You lock the door, tensing at the loud click. You can hear muffled laughter rising through the floors. 
It grows in volume when you step out into the evening air. Slurred conversation and bickering pour through the tavern windows. At front is a large, arched door, overshadowed by a dark blue awning. The wood panels are weatherworn and rustic, covered in rivets. You reach for the brass handle. It’s heavy in your palm as you turn it, using your full strength to push forward. 
First, you are met with a crescendo of boisterous cheers. Stepping inside, your eyes are drawn to the green dyed sailcloths hung from the rafters above the bar. The establishment is modestly sized, enough that there is a longtable set up in the centre of the room and a fair few smaller roundtables dotted with stools. 
Across the far end of the tavern is a line of small booths, separated by wooden screens decorated with mosaic carvings. Oil lamps are hooked on the walls, casting a warm sepia hue that seems to cohesively bring everything together. It felt welcoming, and intimate, like approaching a friend by the fire. 
You try to seek out a familiar head of blonde hair. The place is busy but nobody bats an eyelid at your entrance, lively enough that you cannot hear clearly above the overlapping voices around you, intermingling with the low playing of music. 
“Lost, stranger?”
You startle. 
She finds you easily, like she’d been waiting. Mina curls an arm around your back, pressure light as if she was suddenly worried about being too familiar. It tightens when you lean into her and she smiles with more vigour. 
“C’mon. Let’s get you something to eat”. 
The distance between you and them is barely that of a crevice, but it is daunting, yawning like a trench. Over in the far left booth, both secluded and closest to the bar, is a group of friends. Directly beneath a lantern strung onto a hook, Katsuki is bathed in orange and nursing a drink. The others are tucked away in the booth, cups and plates lining the table top. Their laughter slows as you approach and you battle the urge to recoil from everyone’s eye. Mina, sensing the discomfort, begins to rub her hand along your back. 
“All of you scoot up,” she asserted, wiggling her pointer finger. “Make some space for us!”
They move around on the long, curved seat to make space. You end up on Katsuki’s right, sandwiched in by Sero who smiles, though awkward, earlier remorse persisting as you take your place beside him. “What’s the verdict, are you happy with your room? Best I got from Bakugo is a grunt”. 
“Yeah, I like it. You did good picking this place. It’s cosy,” you glance over toward Katsuki. “Beats a cave. The fireplace is nice. I wonder if it works…”
Mina tucks into Kirishima’s side where he sits across from you. Most of the plates are piled up in front of him, food aplenty to sate his dragon-sized appetite. His chin dimples as his bottom lip juts forward, “You guys get a fireplace? That’s so unfair”. 
“C’mon, Kiri. The fireplace is there for…”—Kaminari leans in, suggestively lowering his voice and nudging Katsuki’s left arm—“…ambiance”. 
You feel a gentle nudge. Katsuki, ignoring his friend's harmless influx of innuendos, slides a glass across the table toward you. “What is it?” you ask, bringing it to your lips. The liquid is dark, red like fresh blood, but it smells fruity. Before he can tell you, you’ve taken a sip. 
It is weighty on your tongue, unlike anything you’ve tasted before. Cherries and jam and oddly well paired notes of spicy tobacco. The corner of his mouth curls into a barely there smile, pleased at the immediate delighted sound. He brings forward a large opened bottle and presents it to you. 
“Barmaid gave us this to share,” Katsuki taps at the calligraphy on the label. “It’s wine. Expensive too, usually”. 
“Guess marriage does have benefits,” Sero gibed, raising a glass of amber liquid you assume to be beer. Expression open in sincere merriment, he declares, “To the happy couple!” 
Six glasses come together, toasting to your accidental bond, alcohol spilling over your hands. Katsuki’s cup is there too, his monotonous voice blending into their hurrahs. A hand slides from the back of the booth to rest upon your shoulders and you lean into it, heat prickling over your skull at the feel of his bare skin. Blood thinning, belly full, inhibitions lost to bliss. 
Mina brings her hands together in a succinct clap, weaving her fingers. “Another round!” she beams, and the enthusiasm stirs once more. 
The evening crawls on. Your modest group barely puts a dent into the chaotic din but it sure can eat. You’re made to swallow your fill under Katsuki’s direction—watching you closer than he did anyone else—and savour the dishes, heady and complimented by your flavoursome wine. 
Stories pass through loosened lips, new and old. You don’t mention it when Kaminari repeats himself twice over— nobody else does, either. You all sink into the balmy atmosphere, sharing food and conversation, relaxing entirely for what felt like the first time in months. 
Sero chokes on his drink as Kirishima recounts the story of when he and Katsuki first became friends. How the tiny blonde barbarian would sneak up on him through the bushes, throw rocks at his tender head, and challenge him to battle all in pursuit of friendship. 
Your shoulders shake, burrowing into Katsuki’s side to sap his warmth. Bare skin pebbles as your fingertips skim his ribs, poking near his armpit. “Would it kill you to communicate like a normal person?”
Trembling mouth pressed firmly together, Katsuki refuses to give anyone the satisfaction of making him laugh. You see through it plain as day. “Shut up,” he grumbles.  
“Didn’t even flinch when ma threatened to eat him if I came home with any more teeth missing,” Kirishima continued, sighing happily. “My bro is so manly”. 
Steadily the energy begins to dwindle into a pleasant hum. You’re together, drunk on wine and laughter and a sense of harmony. Being with them is startlingly effortless. It feels like family. 
In the recesses of your mind you think, I don’t want to let go. 
“Hey,” Katsuki says, sharper when nobody hears him. “Hey, shitheads”. You lift your head from where it had come to rest on his shoulder, cheek slightly numb. “Think I’m going to head up”.
You hear a chorus of sluggish objections with no real heat behind them. While he’s fighting off their interrogation you simply watch him, awkwardly angled and ignoring the twinge in your neck. The bead in his braid glints in the low light. 
Sensing your stare, Katsuki looks down at you, dappled by lamp light. The flames dance in his irises, gaze unbearably soft, as it had been that first night by the campfire. You hold your breath when he sets his thumb with his tongue and uses it to wipe a crumb from your cheek. The touch is like a spark to flint. A fleeting sort of hope stirs in your chest, like this is all you’d been waiting for, that the universe was finally making things right for you. 
Then he snatches his hand back, as though waking up to what he was doing. 
“I’m going to bed. You idiots better behave,” he groused, returning his focus to the group. You mourn his attention. “If we get kicked out early I’ll kill you”. 
“You love us too much,” Mina tucks her drunken smirk into the cradle of her palm, arm almost slipping with the weight. Cloudy eyes follow Katsuki as he forces his way out of the booth like a bull. “Admit it!” 
Bending at the waist he meets her stare head on and deadpans, “Die”. Mina merely laughs and plants a kiss on his forehead that he aggressively rubs away as he leaves. 
You stay a little longer but find your mood dampening. Katsuki’s absence makes known an ache usually quelled by the weight of your pelt, almost as though his presence had placated that innate yearning for home. The thought leaves you dizzy. 
“I think I’m going to go, too,” you announce out of the blue. 
Expressions fall, concerned. Kaminari tilts into your space. You barely even blink at the proximity now. “Everything alright? Y’dont feel sick or anything, do you?” 
“No, not at all—“ he frowns at you, unconvinced, “—I just feel like going for a soak before bed. Sero, you said there was a bathhouse?” 
Sero perks up at his name and nods loosely, head barely held by his neck. “Yeah! They’re around the back, apparently. Just walk beyond the stairwell,” he shoots you a thumbs up. “They’re mixed but only guests can use ‘em, so don’t worry about it being crowded”. 
That’s comforting to know. If luck was on your side it would be empty. You duck out of the tavern with a final wave and a promise to see them in the morning. Thankfully the boisterous chatter grows dull as you step into the night air, stopping to look up the stairwell. You hope Katsuki can sleep through it. 
Heeding Sero’s instructions you follow the beaten path around the back of the tavern. There you discover another building, smaller, but with a steeped tile roof and shuttered windows. Curious, you gently lift the green dyed curtain hung in the doorway and enter the earthen-floored threshold. 
You are led to what you guess is a small changing area. Cabinets left open, again each handle corresponding the key colours. You find a lavender ribbon and peer around the empty space, contemplating getting undressed. 
Gathering courage you pull the strings in your shirt slack, slipping your arms from the sleeves and pulling it over your head. Tepid air breathes over your skin as you push down your pants, stepping out of them where they pool at your feet. Your clothes are folded and left on the shelf, boots lined neatly by the doorway. 
Further in is an open space covered in tiles of smooth green. There are low stools and basins with natural running water, washcloths and soaps. While unpracticed you are at least somewhat familiar with bathhouse etiquette. Sitting hesitantly, hissing as your bare thighs meet the cool wood, you dip one of the cloths to soak and begin to scrub at your body. 
The knots in your muscles become undone with the repetitive motions, again and again until you’re lathered in bubbles. You breathe in, feeling the humidity cling to your lungs, and rinse away the soaps. 
Eventually you dub yourself clean enough to enter the baths. The seafoam tiles soon taper to stone that borders the baths. You take in the tall ceiling with beautiful carvings along the walls and high placed glass windows allowing the moon to shine in easily. The patterns are comfortingly familiar. Shells, waves, gulls, rock formations and arches. Though the bathhouse is much warmer, hot tendrils of steam rising from the bubbling water. 
Penumbral light glinted on the water's surface. It held a distinct earthy scent, rolling in from the nearby springs. Again, you are reminded of a tide pool, but deeper. Clear and clean and natural. What immediately seizes your attention is the familiar man sitting close by, a head of wet golden hair still somehow holding its shape, the loose strands that typically make up his braid now tucked behind his ear. 
Katsuki tips back to rest on the bath's edge. A thin white towel is laid across his face. Your gaze follows the slope of his shoulders, roving over his defined chest, skin pink with the heat. Rivulets run between his pecs to his sternum, lower body distorted below the water but patently bare, same as you. You exhale a breath you hadn’t known you were holding and quickly look away from his lap. 
Time spent with Katsuki taught you that he hated being treated delicately. Tip toeing around this was not an option. You would join him in the baths and behave as normal. But—
Humans were fickle about nakedness. Where should you sit? What is an appropriate distance? Straying too far could make him defensive, yet getting too close might—
“Are you going to stand there all night?” 
Startled, the soles of your feet almost slip on the smoothed stone. “You knew it was me?” 
Katsuki scoffs. The towel remains over his eyes, obstructing his view, that which you were grateful for. Your previous indifference had so abruptly burgeoned into apprehension. Just the thought that he might see you this glaringly bare and skinless, a body without boundaries, made your stomach swoop. It is a peculiar sensation; you wanted him to look and you didn’t. 
“Nobody else thinks that loud. Unless you’re Deku,” you can imagine his eyes rolling, the exasperation clear in his voice, though not unkind. The corded muscles in his shoulders shift beautifully as his arm stretches across the bath’s edge, wrist limp to allow his fingertips to breach the surface. He flicks the water in your direction, creating capillary waves. “Just— fuckin’ get in already”.  
“Right,” you laugh quietly under your breath, descending the steps into the baths. The heated water is soothing, climbing the length of your lengths, eventually coming to rest above your hips. 
You sink near to him and pointedly keep your eyes above his collar. Katsuki neither twitches nor acknowledges your approach. In fact, you aren’t sure he is even breathing. It occurs to you that he too could be nervous, tempted to look but refraining. The possibility of being wanted by him brings a sudden sharp sort of awareness that slides through you and heightens your senses. 
Outstretched fingertips brush featherlight between your shoulder blades where you lean back against the wall. You sit with your knees close to your breast, relieved to be covered. “I thought you were heading to bed,” you comment quietly. 
“Saw the path and followed it,” he replies, stiff shoulder jerking as he shrugs. “Wanted some quiet”. 
A deep pink flush is spreading across his collarbones, clawing up the column of his throat. Your rational mind knows it is caused by the steam, yet the greedy part of you, the part so distinctly human, wants to know if you affect him as much as he affects you. 
These feelings had gradually been accumulating since the very beginning. You’ve no idea where to put them. The voice in your hindbrain all but panics at the idea of leaving. You’ve spent a lifetime listening to your instincts and they’re telling you to keep your place at his side. 
You inhale until the pressure in your chest is smothered by your lungs and your heart beat slows. Exhale. The water shifts in sync with your subtle movement. Emboldened by the wine in your veins you slide closer. The soft hair on your legs prickles, everything in you gravitating toward him. Katsuki doesn’t acknowledge it. 
“Always staring,” a flustered growl snaps you back to reality. “You got something to say to me?” 
“No,” you answer too quickly. 
“Good,” his upper body sinking lower. After a length of silence it must get to him. Voice pitched low, as though afraid to disturb the atmosphere, he mutters, “Ever had a bath this big, back at that shitty castle?” 
You snort. He turns at the sound and the surface ripples as you quickly smother it with your wet palm. It’s easy to picture the searing glare beneath the face towel. “Sorry. It’s just,” your mouth pulls into a tipsy grin. “All things considered, this place is pretty small to me”. 
“Dumbass. You know what I meant,” he huffs, not bothering to hide his fond exasperation. “The sea doesn’t count”. 
Humans are cute, you concluded. Trying to emulate the ocean in their warm wooden structures. “It counts,” you insist, moving closer still. You’re giddy in the water, with him. Like you’re sharing some special part of yourself in a strange way. “Have you been?”
A rough hum, “Where?” 
“The sea”. 
“Which one?” 
The steam must be making you light headed. You’re tucked to his side again. Thigh to thigh. Skin against skin. You are acutely aware of your shared nakedness. His arm has slipped over the bath's edge to drape around your shoulders. “The closest, obviously. Or any of them,” you knock your knees together. “It’s not like you to be purposefully obtuse”. 
“Big attitude for a little fish,” he mutters, free hand reaching for the towel, sliding it up to his hairline and revealing a crooked grin. Your heart squeezes. “Course I’ve been in the ocean. Flown over it on Red a few times too”. 
You want to do that, too. To bear witness to the wind driving the currents from above, feel the sea salt spray sharp on your cheeks, touch the unreachable seam where your two worlds become indistinguishable.
“Never bathed in it, though?” 
“No,” he drawled, an impatient edge to his tone. “I don’t plan on giving the finfolk an eyeful of my dick anytime soon”. 
You laugh, “Like you are now, you mean?”
Katsuki tears off the face towel before you’ve any time to process it. The water thrashes. You daren’t look away. His stare has a certain ferality, pupils dilated, fair lashes damp from the steam and clumped into little spikes; it pins you in place like prey. 
The blush across his chest is matched in his cheeks. A droplet slides down the delicate slope of his nose. You feel the surface of the water calm and settle just above your breast. You watch his gaze flicker reflexively to them, then to the ceiling, then clamping shut with a growl. Apprehension pulses through you and your thighs clench. 
“You—” he inhales sharply, gathering his thoughts. You track the movement of his tongue as it swipes across his lips. Thickly, Katsuki asks, “What are you trying to do here, exactly?” 
A sense of dejection comes over you and your immediate response is to feign innocence. “Soak with you,” which is no more than a half truth. You attempt to create some distance and his arm coils around your waist. Any effort to twist away from him proves futile; a snake that constricts the more you struggle. He doesn’t allow you to slip away, hand hot at your hip. 
“Yeah?” but there’s no real bite, no vitriol as he drags you closer. “Soaking, s’that what you call this? Rubbing up against me, practically climbing into my lap?”
You might feel demeaned if not for the lust hemming his words. His grip is bruising, fingers kneading soft flesh. You can see this for what it is— a choice, a question. He’s confused, and wanting. Presenting an opportunity for you to change your mind in the face of his callousness. Katsuki is kind, in his own way. 
Your palms come to rest over his sternum, pushing with no real effort, an accomplice in whatever cat and mouse game he was trying to play. His breathing picks up, abdomen clenching. You stare where bodies meet, low light reflecting off the wet sheen. Beneath your touch his heartbeat ricochets around his ribs. 
Katsuki calls you. Your name is barely above a whisper. Peering up through your lashes as his hand comes to cup your nape, the other massages simple shapes into your hip, his fingers splayed across your navel. You exhale shakily as his pinky fits into the crease of your thigh. 
He cradles your nape, guides you into his magnetism, and then you’re tilting— your world with it— into a careful kiss. Static blankets your thoughts. Katsuki’s lips slot over your own, a gentle press that quickly grows feverish as your tongue traces the seam of his mouth. 
Exhaling harshly through his nose he drags you over his lap, the bath water splashing onto the stone tiles, holding you to his front in a way that makes it difficult to discern where you end and he begins. You have all of him now. Half hard under you and tense like he was exerting effort not to do anything about it. Hands wandering, mapping out the topography of your body, clutching greedily at your thighs. Smoke fills your throat, a tang of explosive magic lingering in the grooves of your teeth. 
Minutes passed imperceptibly. You leave it feeling as though all the sinew in your body had unravelled, undone in his embrace like loose skeins of yarn. Katsuki doesn’t appear any more composed than you are; staring at you, slack with hunger, jaw relaxed the way a beast would do to taste the air. Palms cupping his cheeks, thumbs moving in idle back and forth motions under his eyes, you smile—
“Katsuki,” you murmur reverently. For reasons you can’t understand, it wakes him up. Snaps him out of his stupor. Panic flits over his features and you’re being pushed away, deposited back into the water. It rocks with the abrupt movement, waves breaking against your chest as he brusquely wades toward the steps with the small towel barely covering his modesty. 
Echoing louder now, “Katsuki?” 
And he was gone. 
You stare at the entrance to the baths for a long time, willing him to return. You stare until your eyes sting and you’re forced to blink. All that’s left is the soft sound of the running springs, your shallow breath, and the muffled chanting of a few drunken men. 
An emptiness makes home in your chest. Bereft, you follow in his steps, exiting the baths and heading to the changing room. You pat yourself down, rough towel absorbing the moisture, and pull on your clothes. 
A hopeful spark catches when a figure ducks in under the curtain. Snuffed out, then, when Mina greets you cheerily. She seems to have sobered up for the most part, more coherent than you’d last seen her. 
“You took a dip too?” she bounces on the balls of her feet as she undoes her shirt buttons, oblivious to your somber disposition. “I saw Bakugo come from this way too. Looked a little constipated if you ask me. I thought hot baths were supposed to relax you, not—”
Finally, she looks at you. Her voice stops as her brows pinch into a frown. You offer a brittle smile and endure the scrutiny. “Did something happen?” she asks worriedly. 
Your throat closes up. Your teeth sink into your cheek and lower your gaze to the tiled floor, cracks overlapping as your vision blurs. Mina reaches for you. She halts in your periphery, thoughts and actions misaligned. A flash of hesitance, and then determination. She strides across the threshold to pull you into an embrace. Her arms slip around your shoulders, crossing over one another at your nape, tightening. 
The tension begins to soften. Your body slumps, sinking into her kindhearted warmth as the rigidity weakens with your resolve. Bowing into the crook of her neck, you inhale her gentle scent. A soliflore smell, a flower you don’t know the name of, earthy undertones and hints of saké. 
Your eyes are wet. Tears cling to your lashes as you blink. The moths dancing in the lamp light blurs, small specks of white stretching and flickering like pallid butterflies. Breathing shuttered, there’s a thickness in your throat that squeezes your voice into a frail whisper. 
“Thank you”. 
She hums, rubbing a comforting hand along the top of your spine. Her natural heat seeps through the thin fabric of your shirt. Though her arms are muscled they are also supple, like her chest, like her waist. You haven’t been held like this since you last saw your podmates. 
After a few beats she asks, “Do you want to talk about it?” 
You shake your head, grasping your bearings, “No”. It’s best left between you and Katsuki. 
“If you’re sure,” Mina gives a final crushing hug before releasing you. “I’m bunking with Sero tonight. Knock if you need anything”. 
“I will,” you say on the end of a shuddering exhale. “I’ll see you in the morning”. 
She hums, watching apprehensively as you make your way through the changing rooms. The retention of her heat clings to your clothing when you step into the cold night air. Your boots rub at the sore skin around your ankles, fitting loose, having foregone tying the laces. They encumber your steps, obtrusively loud and ungainly on your journey up the stairwell. 
A closed door should not be so daunting. Your hand hovers over the handle, steadily turning it, flinching as the locks click open. Low light floods in from the hallway and your eyes adjust to the darkness between blinks, the shape of a figure under the covers sharpening into view. Katsuki is laid on his back, hand disappearing under the pillow beneath his head where your bunched up pelt resides. 
Hesitant, you shut the door and kick off your dirty shoes. You tiptoe around the frame and climb into bed. You try to alleviate your weight, balanced between your hands and knees so the mattress won’t dip, yet it is futile. “I’m sorry, Katsuki,” you whisper, feeling fragile as you lower into the linens. He’s awake, you can tell despite his efforts to appear otherwise, because you feel him stroking your sealskin between his thumb and forefinger. 
“…Shouldn’t have done that,” his cadence is unsettlingly calm; gently sheathing the sharp words. “We’ve been getting too comfortable, letting shit influence us. It was just the magic talking”. 
What? 
“It’s not—”
“Go to sleep,” the volume raises in momentary frustration, but as quick as it came, anger dissipating. Dropping his head into the pillows he looks as defeated as you feel. He closes his eyes. “I won’t fuckin’ do anything to you so just. Sleep”. 
You try, fitfully. The atmosphere is unbearable, keeping you glued to the far side of the bed lest you accidentally touch one another. Pressing your fingertips to your lips, you remember. You ache. You stare into the shadows and wonder at what point did the intentions become so crossed. 
Katsuki valued the right to choose above all else. You liked that about him. He respected and surrounded himself with people who steered their own destiny, marching to the beat of his own drum; a rhythm you had fortuitously interrupted. In his mind he’d given into a temptation, and that act of indulgence was somehow the same as losing in battle. 
Katsuki viewed your relationship as an infliction he needed to fight against. 
That knowledge hurts you in ways you hadn’t expected. The words “we’re getting too comfortable” reverberated around your skull. Perhaps he was right. Somewhere along the lines you forgot that these truly were temporary circumstances, childishly wishing that maybe he’d come to love you, that you could simply accept this reality and grow into each other like a child into new shoes. 
You blink. Linens rise and fall with his shallow breath. Katsuki’s mouth is open, the corner of his mouth wet with drool. His lips smack together as he bundles you closer. Unconscious, yet still seeking you out. He’s devastating even when he’s not trying to be. 
Sleep feels impossible. 
Then you wake. 
Morning spills her dewy light throughout the room. Katsuki’s side of the bed is empty— made up and tucked at the corners. Cold. You are suddenly a distance apart and scrambling to make it all better again.
You push up into a sitting position. The bedsheets shift and pool around your hips, creasing the perfect slate Katsuki left. You rummage for the pelt hidden behind the pillows, dragging it out and around your shoulders, ducking your nose into the dark fur for comfort before tying it to your midriff. 
Judging by the sun’s position you would guess it is still quite early. Sluggish movement can be heard through the thin walls, indicating that others are awake. Knowing Katsuki he would want to set off early to find Uraraka, especially after last night.
Another figure joins you in the hallway. Kaminari remains unaware of your presence as he fiddles clumsily with the key, squawking when it almost slips between his fingers. He’s dishevelled, shirt half tucked into his belt, cuffs undone and hung off his wrists; there’s still an impression of his pillow printed on his left cheek. 
Having finally turned the lock, Kaminari spins on his heel with a happy hum. The tune escalates into a shriek as he notices you standing a few feet away. “Holy—! Warn a guy, would ya?” he clutches at his chest, exhaling harshly. “I think my heart just stopped”. 
“Sorry Kaminari,” amused by his shrill intonation and melodramatics, you smile for the first time that morning. It exaggerates the bags under your eyes. “Did you sleep well?”
“Like a baby,” he falls into step with you, knocking your elbows together on your way out into the stairwell. “I don’t think you can say the same, though,” his mouth twists into a smirk, “did Kacchan keep you up all night?” 
Normally the teasing wouldn’t bother you. In many ways you saw it as a sign of acceptance into the group. Now you wince like somebody had carelessly pressed a bruise on your body. Kaminari, for all his obliviousness, knows when to drop the masquerade. 
Your smile tightens uncomfortably as his fingers circle your wrist. In daylight you are left feeling exposed, unable to temper the regret written so plainly across your face. His mouth opens and shuts, searching fruitlessly for the right words, only to be interrupted by a callous shout from below. 
Katsuki’s voice is incredibly distinct. He’s yelling, which is nothing new, but now it is with genuine frustration. Kirishima, Mina and Sero are there alongside him, speaking in low tones as you would to an untamed animal. 
Kaminari tugs at your sleeve and gives you a meaningful glance, gently coaxing you to the bottom of the stairs. He must’ve at least connected Katsuki’s poor mood with your own.  “Kacchan, my man. It is too early for all this shouting,” he implored, settling back into his jovial self. 
You collect yourself, trying to retain shape and rationality as Kaminari draws Katsuki’s ire. Those vermillion eyes rove over you, head to toe, before flickering to the man on your right. Fast, like he’s afraid to look too long. Nostrils flare. The warm puff of air from his nose is visible in the cool air. 
“It’s late enough. What took you so long?” Katsuki snarled, poking a finger harshly between Kaminari’s eyebrows. “The keep told me cheeks is planning on leaving today, so all of you get moving”. 
Kaminari pouts, rubbing at the spot. The pale skin turns slightly pink. Unheeding of the wary scrutiny he is receiving, Katsuki charges onwards in expectation that everyone will follow. Kirishima raises a brow at his shape verbiage but doesn’t comment. He takes you under his arm in a half hug, sharing a look of understanding with Mina and the others. 
Sero recounts their findings. According to the townspeople, Uraraka, the occultist, landed her abode miles outside of their bounds and set up wards in the valley to confuse strangers. It steered them in opposing directions and sent them in circles, practically making her impossible to find. You’re worried clear up until your group crests the precipice of a steep hill several hours later.
You take in the gentle undulations of earth and fauna. Grass tall enough to brush your shoulders, wildflowers and weeds hugging the barely worn path, sparingly tended nature left to flourish. The magic becomes apparent with proximity. It hangs in the air like humidity, an unnatural sheen muddying your vision. Katsuki continued with brass-bound determination; weaving skilfully through the runes, barrier fracturing under the pressure of his explosive palms. 
There’s a quaint cottage in the middle of the glen, done up with a sweet ivy on the walls, latticed strips of wood around the windows, and a cobbled chimney towering from the pink tiled roof. Each windowsill appeared to have a different unidentifiable herb growing on it. A small, circular stained glass window in the door refracted the afternoon light, a knocker below it. Hanging by the door frame is a wind chime, shells tied to strings producing delicate crisp sounds in the breeze; in the effort to knock, Katsuki shoulders it carelessly, and the tune turns sour. 
His fist comes down with hard momentum, stopped midway by another. “Be careful,” Kirishima gently chides. Katsuki shoves his hand off, sparing him an incredulous glare, which the shifter subjugates with a pointed reminder: “She won't help you if you bust her door down, bro. Play nice”. 
Katsuki grunted his understanding, jaw clenched. He raps his knuckles on the wood. The sound is dull, and you stare down at your scuffed boots as an unpleasant pang of anxiety knocks around your chest. A voice shouts from inside, somebody scurrying around, then the door is pulled open. 
“Can I—Bakugo?!”
“Uraraka,” Katsuki greets bluntly, giving a short nod. It is the first time you’ve ever heard him say her name. His hands flex at his sides, restless. Through gritted teeth he adds, “Deku sent me. I need your help with something”. 
“Oh,” Uraraka exhales in disbelief. She steps back, pink slippered feet in your periphery. “Come in, then. I haven’t seen you guys in forever…”
Their voices fade into the background. All at once subconscious acts like breathing and blinking become tiresome. Hearing him let go of his pride felt so final. You fall away, stuck in a cold fog. Your gait is uneven as you remind yourself to put one foot in front of the other, incognisant to the worried looks thrown your way. 
You remember being seated on a plush feather-pillowed sofa. Hands running over your shoulders, grounding you. You reach for your pelt, sinking fingers into the downy fur, and find no comfort in it. Now you’re here it feels more like a husk, leaden and hollow, ready for you to be stuffed into. 
“You married a selkie by accident?” Uraraka blanched, her volume rousing you from your haze. “You know, Bakugo, for someone so smart your ignorance is truly astounding”. 
“Can you fucking reverse it or not?” 
“Reverse it. Are you kidding? You’re not. Gods, Bakugo—breaking a soul bond isn’t common,” Uraraka snaps, rubbing roughly at her eyelids as she loses patience. You feel a pang of guilt, that which worsens as it unearths the hope that perhaps she wouldn’t be able to separate you from him. “Most of the methods are based on myth. You realise it will be incredibly painful, and possibly for nothing?”
You take in the surroundings while they continue to bicker. The cottage is modest. A small foyer leads to the living space, rugs of various shapes and colours laid to insulate a path through the house, runes and scrawls carved into the hardwood walls. Logs presumably for fuelling the hearth monopolise much of the space, spilling out from the nook in which they’re stacked. There is nothing particularly otherworldly, at least not where you can see it. Uraraka obviously lives within her means, a humble and frugal person despite wielding magic of her calibre. 
“I do have something I can try, ” she sighs with a sidelong glance. The skin on her lip breaks between her teeth. Your prolonged silence has likely done nothing to reassure her. You try to feign interest, to smile and express gratitude, but she grimaces. 
“What do we have to do?”
“Essentially I can sever the bond at the stem but not the root,” the group is quiet, tense as they listen. Mina’s grip is bruising, as though making sure you were still there. “The dissolution of your marriage will only be complete when the selkie returns to the sea. Within a day or two they’ll… forget you”.  
You sense the atmosphere darken. Katsuki shifts his weight in your periphery. Neither one of you can look at the other. Whether he’s threatened by your feelings or ashamed of them you can’t be sure, but what you know is that they are real, sown and tended in the weeks you spent together. 
Kirishima exhales a shuddered breath. His big body crouches before you, warm hand resting on your knee. Kaminari and Sero linger on either side, watching over the scene, wearing grief plainly on their faces. A broken part of you wants to laugh. They are acting as if this is your wake. 
“Are you sure about this?” he implores, discreet and unintentionally cruel. If you were to say no, what of you then? Nothing to do but follow them on their journey, dragging along like the hide of some shorn animal. Stuck waiting for Katsuki to resent you over an incredibly frustrating and misplaced presumption that he played a part in fabricating your thoughts and feelings.  
Uraraka’s method may well cleave the ties created in your accidental matrimony. You trust in her capabilities because Katsuki clearly respects them. You’ll say yes. And after it all, when your soul has been excavated, when you’ve gone home crying to your mother, rocked to sleep in her gentle undertow, you will still stubbornly want him. 
The thought comes unbidden, a sudden clarity that overcomes you. At that point he would have no room to question your will. “I’m sure,” you say, still breathless with the realisation. “You can go ahead with it, Uraraka”. 
Hesitating in her movement, Uraraka considers you for a moment longer before disappearing down the hall. When she returns she pulls seven tear shaped crystals from a velvet satchel. Dread churns in your stomach, sensing the energy emanating from them. 
She begins to recite machinations beyond your comprehension. Opalescent rays of light burst from within her enclosed fist where it pressed against her mouth, dappling sentient shadows across her face, now taut with concentration. Her features ripple and distort, not unlike a reflection on the ocean's surface, then fades into obscurity as the spell settles into its conduit. 
Uraraka hands the lustre of the stone to you, knuckles pale as she squeezes the magic out into your cupped palms. As a pup you would try to drink sunlight, specks chased across the seabed as the clouds shifted, caught like a cat to a mouse only to remain empty handed. Light was not made up of solid matter— it was intangible. To be felt, seen, but not touched. 
Yet it is swirling in your hands like that lovely warm wine from the night before, slipping through the thin cracks in your fingers. “Drink it,” she coaxes gently. 
You look at Katsuki. His eyes flicker up to meet your own. There’s an awful urgency coursing through your body, frozen like a fawn, something inside willing you to stop. Begging him to speak up. He lowers his gaze, expression pinched and inwardly furious. 
Heel to chin, you tip your head back as if drinking from a cup. Her magic is entirely flavourless, waning with your own imagination as if it were allowing you to choose the taste yourself. The consistency is like steam; inhaled rather than swallowed, and hot on the roof of your mouth. 
Elemental magic was external in the way it bursts forth from the user, often causing flesh wounds or dramatic change in the terrain. You think of Katsuki, the calamity at his fingertips, juxtaposed by the tender manner in which he would always touch you, cauterising your fear. Uraraka’s magic is unforgiving and uniquely invasive. It is so much worse than being burned. 
It spreads through your sinuses like searing wildfire, pressure balloons behind your eye sockets, undoing the seams that make up the very fabric of your being. Waves of nausea engulf you, throat tight and constricted. Breathing laboured and irregular, you fight against the urge to retch it all up. 
It’s too much. The incorporeal spell pierces through your mind, tearing at the bond, more overwhelming than anything you’ve ever been dealt. Knife-like pain persists after her chanting stops. You wince and cradle your head, weeping as it passes. Left in its wake is a muted soreness throbbing across your brain. 
“Hi,” Uraraka is before you, ducking to examine for any injury. Careful, her fingers encircle your wrists and pry your hands away. “You’re okay. Can you look at me?”
You squint, reluctant to blink and irritate the soreness around your eyes. “How’s your vision?” she asked, sotto voce. Her touch is deliberate and gentle, slightly pulling down your bottom eyelids, petting over your jaw and down the nape of your neck, feeling for something. “Does anything feel wrong, or out of place?”
Wrong? your mind echoes. Out of place? Cold is creeping into your muscles, gritty and dense like wet sand. You’re unnerved by the veil of apathy that settles around you. “I don’t think I’m injured. The light is more intense. Hurts,” you admit, voice breaking. 
Everything that remains the same yet is somehow more drab, lacking colour and difficult to look at. Your friends, clinging to each other. Your Katsuki, staring back at you. “But I can still see everything”. 
“Good,” she breathes, relief entirely palpable. If this is success then you wonder what the worst outcome might’ve been. “That’s good. If you reach for the bond, is it there?” 
You’re not sure what she means. Seeking connection you clutch your sealskin to your front, kneading at the familiar fur. It’s minor but it’s back— the voice belonging to the tide, beckoning you to shift again. “I don’t think so,” you reply. 
“Then there’s only one thing left to do,” Uraraka smiles and covers your hands with her own. You sense the tips of her fingers ever so slightly across your collar where they brush the pelt bunched in your fists. “You’re free now. You can go back home”. 
Her soothing countenance might as well be dry grass to your precipitous anger. “Right,” you deadpan, voice entirely devoid of emotion. Best kept that way, lest you release all your bubbling frustrations onto a woman that only wanted to help you; in her eyes—and the rest—you were just another trapped, useless selkie. 
That anger carries you to your feet. You want to cry but the tears don’t come. When you exit the cottage with a curt bow and a ‘thank you’ you find yourself in the lead for once, marching ahead of the group. They remain a few feet behind, muttering amongst each other. Without the view of Katsuki’s back you feel lonely. Even so you keep your hurried pace, too afraid to turn around and be inundated with questions. 
The journey back passes in a blur. Hours, surely, because you’re ready to pass out from the exertion. Loose dirt and geosmin clings to your clothes.  Shadows stretch across the emptying streets as dark cloud cover canopies the town, sparse instances of light rainfall that stick to your skin. There's a chill in the air now, a bite to it that rattles your bones and quickens your breath. It’s damp, imbued with the scent of sea salt. 
You don’t stop, not when the desperate calls of your name begin. Further up the dock is lit golden, lanterns lining cobbled roads and emitting a warm orange glow. You trudge through the quieting bustle, workers scurrying to shelter, while enduring a pervasive sense of wrongness. 
You don’t know what to do with this freedom, this precipice, so joyless and empty. Slowing to descend weather-worn steps onto the beach there’s a presence at your heel. “Shit. Would you slow—!” Katsuki moves to stop you. His fingers flex, start to close around your wrist. Then they hesitate and fall away, clenching at his side until all the blood recedes from his knuckles. “You don’t need to immediately run off into the damn water”. 
“It’s easier this way,” and quicker, you think. 
“What?”
Listening to the sea sings an ancient litany, you let your anger wash away with the oncoming tide. The whiplash is intense. Your lips tremble, pulling into a tearful smile, laughter bubbling up through your chest, choked by the swell in your throat. “I think I understand why you’re always yelling now,” cumulus clouds pass overhead and bring with them a curtain of rain.  “Being human is very melodramatic”. 
Katsuki clearly hadn’t expected that, of all things. His expression softens in his surprise. The short hairs by his temples are laid flat, braid swinging in the breeze, the fur around his cloak dark and saturated. “That’s what this is? Baby’s first tantrum?” his tone is mean, and your hackles would rise if he were not visibly deflating. Katsuki reacts to vulnerability like a wounded dog. He laughs despite himself and scratches at his neck, “Fuck. I thought you’d be happy, or something close to it”. 
Standing a few feet behind him, Kirishima, Sero, Mina and Kaminari are linked together, waiting to approach. They remain in your line of sight as you consider the barbarian in front of you. A cold shock billows through his cloak, a wave crashing onto the shore. He shivers, but remains stubbornly rooted to the steps. 
“I’m not happy,” you lamented. “I’m going to miss you. You are an impossible man, Katsuki. Impossible to forget. I wish you’d believe that”. 
Katsuki’s mouth opens and shuts. Silence falls once again, and he can’t find the words to fill it. Your fingers work at the belt keeping your hide secure, tugging it loose and letting the sealskin unfurl, blanketing the length of your body. 
Mina takes this as an indication that you are leaving. She rushes ahead, stumbling past a stunned Katsuki, gathering you into her arms. The pelt is trapped between your bodies as you curl into the embrace. You feel yourself warm up, the wet winds rolling off the sea obstructed by three larger figures trailing right behind her, encasing you in a group hug. 
Constricted from all sides, the arms around your waist tighten. Mina’s nails dig in, and she shakes you gently in an attempt to scold you, “Don’t go leaving us without a proper goodbye”. 
Kirishima is at your back. He must be. The height, the rough skin, the hard spikes in his hair poking at your nape where he inhales deeply, memorising your scent. Sero flanks your left, resting his head on the shifter's shoulder as dark eyes watch you. Kaminari bears down his weight, slumping against your right, a sour metallic taste at the back of your throat as the grip on his magic loosens with emotion. 
It feels wrong without Katsuki. You crane your neck and look for him. The sight of him dithering off to the side, alone and wearing a visage of muted guilt, makes your insides twist. Your hand bursts through a crevice in the huddle, coaxing him over. 
He comes. Mina drags him into the middle without fanfare, and enclose around you in a last ditch effort to keep you together. “This is the worst,” Kaminari snivelled. “It’s like my parents are divorcing all over again”. 
Katsuki weakens to it. Gives a quiet, choked laugh and it blows warm across your temple. You’d know his hands anywhere. Hesitant, they rest on your hips. You close your eyes and centre yourself in the present, tilting your head to rest on his collar. The motion drags your lips up to his jugular and you kiss the words against the damp skin, thicker than intended, “I’m—really, so happy I met you all”. 
The briny air greets you when they finally step away. Mina rubs harshly at her eyes as your feet sink into the sand. There are stragglers by the port but nobody along the beach, so they trail after you to the shore, equal parts unwilling to leave and curious about your selkie form.  
You’re pointedly aware of their presence as you shake out your fur. You hold it to your face for a moment, blocking out the wind, the light and the rain with how insulated it is, before setting it on the sand. Kaminari coughs, the group spinning on their heels when you begin to undress. Katsuki does not. 
Kicking off your boots as you fiddle with your shirt strings, you consider the barbarian, impressing his appearance behind your eyes for a final time. “What will you do after this?” 
Broad shoulders rise and fall as he sighs. Looks up to the sky, frowning, a blush on his cheeks. “Go further inland to one of the bigger cities to find something to pay back Deku, I guess. Circle around, head back, and then home”. 
Shirt discarded, you unbutton your pants, letting them fall down your thighs, and step out of them. “How long will you be in the city?”
Shrugging, he grunts, “A week at most”. 
That’s good. Long enough to wait out the final stages and prove his place in your memory. You nod, spine straightening with determination. “When you circle back I want you to stop here again. Just for a day”. 
That half lidded gaze slides over to you, squinting. Pointedly kept above the shoulders. Searching. “Why?” 
The tide crawls further ashore. A wave breaks around your ankles. Your toes wiggle in the sand, sinking as it is displaced, a small smile curling at your lips. You bend to grab the pelt and slide it around your shoulders like a coat. It’s comforting, familiar. Energy thrums at the surface of your skin, ready to pull. But you wait. 
“In a week. Promise me?” you say without explanation. 
Katsuki swallows. Eyes boring into yours. His jaw shifts. Then he nods, tersely. Reassured by this you hold the coat tighter, chin tucked as you steady your breathing. Consciously, you reach inward, drawing upon the pelt.
And you change. Falling to your knees, cold water biting at your thighs, you crumple in the sand, body shrinking as flesh and fur meld together. It’s painful after so long, unsettling to be snapped back abruptly into your hindbrain, but the discomfort eases quickly, like stretching a muscle. 
You lift your upper body, nose flat and wide and twitching, scenting the air. The sand sifts under bootstrapped feet. A human approaches, beautiful and familiar, lowering into a crouch as you freeze. Forearms resting on his knees, he holds out his fingers. Faintly smoky, a mix of spice and earth. 
The way in which this man appraises your form is uncomfortably solemn. Vacuous expression betrayed by the gentle light in his eyes. He smiles ruefully and readies himself to speak. Alight with a bitterness that is vaguely accusatory in the oncoming darkness he says, “Already forgot us, didn’t you?”
It steals the breath right from your lungs. Recognition strikes through you. Bakugo Katsuki. The thought is alarmingly fleeting, almost evading your grasp. Nostrils flaring, you drag your body forward to wipe the look of self-deprecation from his face. You nudge your snout into his hand, not shying away from the fierce elemental energy radiating from his palms. You unhinge your jaw, canines gently indenting the heel, as if to scold him. 
He laughs, disbelief bleeding into the sound. It beckons his pod, more humans— one not so human. “Don’t fuckin’ scare them,” Katsuki calls over his shoulder. Not once do his eyes stray from you. 
A thick tang of draconic magic overwhelms your senses as the largest in the group mirrors Katsuki, making himself impossibly small, aware of his magnitude and the imbalance between your species. “Wow…” the shifter, Kirishima, breathes in awe, genuine rather than tainted with greed. “So cute”. 
More people come closer. Their faces filter through your memories in bits and pieces, stitching together into a patchwork timeline. “Yeah…” Mina echoes the sentiment. She gets on her knees, doesn’t care when the waves drench her skirt. “You’re beautiful like this too,” holding her hand an inch away from your skin, she asks, “Can we pet you?” 
Five fingers to your scruff, one hard pull and you could be torn from your rudimentary shell. Human hands are dangerous but not these ones. You give a short tonal whine and hope she interprets it as permission. They do, taking turns tracing the marbled fur and clawed flippers, murmuring awe filled words. 
The tides are high, wrapping around and coaxing you into their arms. You look toward the horizon and the itch grows. A seamless vista of clouded sky. Warm mouths litter the top of your head with kisses, their blunt human teeth behind soft lips, juxtaposed by rough, barely decipherable mutterings of something that sounds mournful. 
Mina sniffles as Kirishima helps her to her feet and they wade backwards toward the port. Katsuki cups your muzzle in his palms, searing where his thumbs swoop beneath your cheekbones, brushing over the whiskers by your nose. “Stay safe out there, yeah? Don’t get eaten by a shark or whatever,” he bends, bringing your foreheads together as if to impress his thoughts onto you. “I won't wait around for a weakling”. 
You can only hope he saw the promise held in your eyes as you stare at his retreating back. The swelling waves pull you into the current, submerged until only your head is above the surface. In the distance your pod breaks into cheers. They line up on the beach, jumping high as their legs will allow, waving their long arms in the air. 
A descending chorus of trills build in your own throat, mellifluous and loud enough to cut through the wind and the waves. Noise becomes muffled as you’re submerged into the dense water. Wrapped up in brine the ambience fills your head. It pushes out rational thought, drawing only instinct to the forefront. 
Your vision adjusts quickly to the dark the further you swim. Stretch your flippers and sweep them down like a dragon's wing, flying through the depths until you tire. Coming to an ocean shelf, there you rest. Cradled by a moving, ever evolving element. Creatures big and small pass by. Fish with vermillion scales haloing wide faces dart in and out of your dreams, shimmering under weak streams of sunlight. 
The shifting tide keeps you cognisant. You linger close to the surface to monitor the sun. Days pass and you are unbearably alone. It is harrowing; this unending, sombre ache. You think of Katsuki. Repeat his name until it sounds foreign. You recall his handsome face, the way his eyes always seemed brighter in the early dawn, how his nose would wrinkle if you stared too long, like he’d tasted something bitter. You miss him. 
Come the week’s end you’ve become something else, something new. Irrevocably changed by love’s hand. You recognise that you exist in two worlds: as a  selkie, tethered to the seabed and embraced by buoyancy, and as a human, struggling against the currents, compelled back to land—
To Katsuki. 
You glide through the waves, riding them as they swell and break onto the shore. Undulating your body, the hitching motion pulls you forward, wriggling up into a cluster of rock pools, safe from any onlookers. You wait there, chin propped on the shoulder of a jagged stone to observe the beach. 
He finds you there beneath an almost oppressive dusk. The approaching footfalls command attention, announcing his arrival. You slink into the shadows for a moment, detailing the subtleties in Katsuki’s expression on his march along the sand, pinching more and more as he casts he searches the beach. The breeze ripples through the notorious red cloak, fur collar tickling his cheeks. Shirtless, wearing his scars proudly. His pants sit low on his hips, adorning various belts and jewels. Warmth curls up in your chest at the sight of him. Giddy. You remember him. 
You lift your head. His focus immediately latches onto the movement. A croon rumbles in your throat as he approaches. He climbs up onto the rock, towering over you, his body obstructing the evening sun. It halos around his golden hair. The braid by his ear falls forward as his head tilts, squinting to get a good look at you. 
The laughter lines by his eyes deepen, brow creasing. Almost slipping as he climbs down, Katsuki frowns at the lack of traction on the surface. You laugh and it comes out like a rough snort. The shallow pools splash loudly under his boots upon landing. He curls his upper lip at you, “Laugh at me and I’ll kill you”. 
You do so again, more deliberate this time. He senses your sarcasm and flicks water at you. Your whiskers twitch, subtly tasting the air. He slumps hard on one of the flatter ridges and clicks his tongue. “This better be you and not some random fuckin’ seal I’m talking to,” he mutters, embarrassed. 
Unwilling to prolong your reunion any longer, you shed your pelt. Joints slot into place, the sealskin receding, your human form unearthing as it loosens and pools around your naked lap. Katsuki watches the air bite at your skin, nipples pebbling as you shiver. 
“Katsuki,” you rest your cheek on his thigh, knelt between his legs. You let him take it all in. Satisfied with his assessment of you his fiery eyes meet yours. 
“Almost didn’t come. Figured you wouldn’t be here,” he intoned gruffly, chin dimpling as he juts his bottom lip. “You were supposed to forget about everything”. 
You nod, mouth curling into a helpless smile. Your fingers flex and you feel the muscles jump underneath, “I know”.
Katsuki exhales a long breath, fists clenched tight in his lap with obvious restraint. “Why didn’t you?” his eyes track the movements of your hands. “It worked, I know it did. Cheeks doesn’t do shit halfway. I felt when… So what the hell are you doing back here?”
You pause when his words register, suddenly off kilter. There it is again, the displeased wrinkle on the bridge of his nose. You had never considered that he, too, would’ve experienced the connection. Admittedly a naive oversight on your part—but he never mentioned it. You figured it was just a selkie thing. Perhaps, all that time, he had been contending with his own feelings as well as yours. Wondering if he could trust himself, if they were true. 
Vows dissolved, he still chose to come back for you. To bet on that slim chance. Just as you did. 
The knowledge compels you to touch him more, to reassure, to lean further into the clutch of his thighs. The intrusion forces his legs wider and when you reach to cradle either side of his taut jaw he lowers to close the distance. 
“I felt it, you know. Before you offered me my pelt I felt you touching it,” you begin, watching how his expression splits open as your eyes meet. “I knew it was safe with you”. 
“That’s stupid,” he utters, though you can hear that he doesn’t mean it. Embarrassment slowly stains his cheeks pink. You can feel him twitch, smothering the instinctive urge to snap at whatever made him feel so intensely. 
“Maybe,” you pull back a hair's breadth to lightly knock your heads together. “My point is, I was drawn to you before all that, in such a short window. I think… I didn’t forget you because those feelings grew naturally”. 
The more you speak he progressively gets pinker, flustered and mad about it. It births an odd, primal urge to sink your teeth into something. To bite his cheek white, watch the blood retreat under the skin. Instead, you slide your hand lower to rest on his neck and his own cuff your wrists. 
“That first day, you apologised to me because I never had a choice,” there’s a soft grunt in acknowledgment. His pulse dances under your palm. “I’m making one now of my free will. And you—can say no, if you want,” you stutter, then, suddenly realising the real possibility of him rejecting your request altogether. “But I want to be here with you”. 
The last rays of sun stretch across the land, cosseted behind soft clouds as it sheaths. Katsuki considers you quietly. There’s a soft sort of intent in his eyes, wearing the revelry of dusk. You kneel in the rock pool, literally and figuratively bare, heart pounding in your throat as he readies himself to respond. 
“Back at the bathhouse…” he hesitates, promptly clears his throat and struggles to look at you. 
“Nothing was influencing me that night. Except maybe the wine,” you admit timidly, abashed at his sudden demurity. “I’m sorry”. 
That garners a reaction from him. In true Katsuki fashion his tongue clicks behind gritted teeth and applies pressure to your wrists, pulling you up. “Come here,” he tells you. You uncurl your legs and begin to stand moving with all the grace of a newborn fawn. “Oi, don’t—!” jerking his head to the side, he averts his gaze from your naked lower half, glaring at the shoreline. The sea-scented air prickles your skin, heat gathering where he has you held. “Expose yourself to everyone in the fuckin’ country, won’t you? Come here,” and then he’s hooking behind your knees, making them bend, gathering you into his lap in bridal fashion. 
“What’s the problem?” you mutter. Heat creeps up your neck, feeling defensive and distinctly embarrassed by his behaviour. “I don’t see how my nakedness is any different here than it is in the public bathhouse”. 
He holds you closer, voice vibrating through his chest as he roughly insists, “It’s different”. 
Your pout softens into a small pleased smile, letting him manhandle you until he’s satisfied with his grip. He bends, incidentally baring his throat stretching for the pelt discarded by the rocks. Tucking your nose to the underside of his jaw you revel in how his arm tightens around your lower back. 
Katsuki draws the pelt into your lap, covering your modesty. You laugh at how sweet and boyish it seems. “Laughin’ at me again, huh?” two fingers pinch at your cheek, pulling until you whine. “Got a death wish?”
Kneading at the sealskin coat your affections roar into existence once more with an intensity. “You wouldn’t hurt me,” you grin, and he abandons the pinch to stretch his big hand across your face. Thumb on your left cheek, fingers on your right, he squeezes together until your mouth is misshapen and pursed. 
“Sure about that?” he warns, tone steeped in fondness. It is exhilarating to have him touch you again, more freely than he ever had before; it is as close to ‘I believe you’ as you think you’ll get. 
You smile with your eyes, locked with his. Close enough to count every fine eyelash. Your words come garbled as you say, “You still haven’t given me an answer”. 
Katsuki exhales shallowly through his nose. His throat contracts as he swallows. The pressure releases. His hand cups your face, flexing with uncertainty. You shudder when he dips to press your lips together. You’re kissed without hurry, besotted by his firm but cautious movements. He relaxes as you lean into the rhythm, humming proudly. The soft, wet sounds of your mouths meeting again and again echo over the crawling waves. 
Katsuki pulls away first, eyes still closed but smiling to himself. He licks his lips and rasps, “I guess you can come along with us,” as though that was all the answer he needed to give. 
Alight with excitement you squirm in his lap, earning a quick slap to your hip. Katsuki ignored your grumbling and set to covering your body entirely. “Hold onto the corners,” he says, draping the hide over your shoulders, comforting warmth enveloping you as you obediently take the corners. “Put your arms around my neck. Do not drop it”. 
You do, curtaining both of your bodies with the pelt in the process, fingers interlocking at Katsuki’s nape. Your faces remain a whisper away. It feeds a skin hunger that plagued you for days. Satisfied, he then unties his cloak to slide it over-top, layering the two to keep you covered. 
Your stomach swoops as Katsuki pushes to his feet, carrying you in his arms with no sign of exertion and much better balance than before. His bicep bulges, fingers flexing under your thighs. “Where are we going?” 
Sand and broken shells crunch under his boots, gait leaden like wading through mud. Mariners whistle suggestively in your direction as he climbs the steps to the dock, making his teeth grind. “Taking you back to our room,” he grunts.  
You flush with heat at the implication. “You still have the key…?” 
Without disrupting his pace, Katsuki’s nose nudges along your temple to press a kiss there. “Said my shitty wife left something behind,” you feel his mouth pull into a smirk, “so they gave me it to go take a look”. 
A pleasant sensation erupts in your stomach. Fluttering like butterflies. “And the others?”
Darkness covers you when he ducks into a narrow alley. Katsuki meanders along the winding path with unfettered confidence. “I sent them on ahead. Said I’d catch up on foot,” he explains, eyes darting over the surroundings, striding back out into a familiar road leading to the tavern. “Wanted to be alone”. 
You’re carried up the stairwell despite the stern assertion that you would be just fine on your feet. In that same vein, Katsuki is clearly just fine taking all of your weight— proud of it, you think. Unwilling to put you down.  
He shoulders into the room and kicks the door shut. It is as you remember. Dim and homely, accented by a lamp that casts a soft yellow glow over the bed. Heavy footsteps take you forward, and you are swiftly deposited on the mattress. You bounce a fraction, losing purchase on the pelt and cloak. Both layers peel away, rumpled under your back, leaving you splayed out and bare. 
Katsuki stands next to the bed, watching the rise and fall of your chest. His features are tender in the light, smoothing his hard edges. It flickers in his irises. Gaze hungry, restless. 
Your body can’t help but react to Katsuki’s silent observation. The ardent stroke of his eyes across every part of you like it were his hands themselves. Heat races through you and coils between your legs. Feeling exposed, you try to close your thighs. 
There’s a hand on your knee, stopping the movement, firm but gentle as he pries them back open. Katsuki moves closer and kicks off his boots. The mattress dips under his weight. One knee on the bed, your legs part further to make space for the intrusion, wrapping around his waist without second thought. 
“This okay?” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. You exhale shakily, hands roving along the thick of his arms to clutch at his shoulders. The buckles on his pants bite into the back of your thighs. You can feel his arousal swelling through the fabric. 
Rocking your hips, your feet cross at his lower back. “Yeah. I want…” his eyes flutter, almost rolling up into his skull, pupils dilated. You chase the phantom feeling of his lips with your tongue and he tracks the movement. “Kiss me again”. 
“Thank fuck,” Katsuki groaned, the sound dwindling into a low chuckle. His forearms settle either side of your head, pressing all his weight down, pinning you to the bed. Taking up your vision until only he is in your orbit. The braid by his ear hangs loosely, the bead cold where it brushes your jaw. You tremble, fingers threading into his hair to scratch gently at his scalp. 
Your mouths slot together and he kisses you full, nibbling your lips until they part. Pushing deeper, tongues sliding over teeth, stealing the breath from your lungs. He handles you with indecision. Careful kisses followed by rough ones; grabbing at the soft parts of your body a little too hard, smoothing the flesh with his thumb in apology. 
It’s overwhelming how much he wants you. And you try to return the fervour, arms sliding around his back to keep him close, undulating your hips to feel the tremors wrack through him. 
The talons strung around his neck graze over your chest as he descends. Kisses left on the corner of your mouth, cheek, jugular. He takes your pulse between his jaws and you whine, clenching at his waist. Katsuki moves away, laving his tongue along your throat. 
“Wanna touch you,” he says. Goosebumps break out across your skin as he blows cool air over the wet stripe left behind. “S’all I could think about. You’re fucking distracting”. 
“Yes. Please,” your eyelids flutter, leaning back to hear your throat. “Please”. 
“Needy,” he mumbles, a satisfied lilt to his tone. His hand slides down to your ass, grabbing one cheek and filling his palm with it as he spreads you open. “Bein’ too quiet. I like it when you say my name,” he rasps. “Gonna let me hear it?” 
Fingertips brush against your sex. Heat flushes under your skin, anticipation and understanding unfurled within you. “Katsuki,” you sigh into his mouth. 
Katsuki flashes a predatory grin. Pleased, and pink all the way to his ears. Breath puffing over your lips he says, “Again”. 
“Katsuk—ah,” his thumb circles over your swollen clit, sparks zipping up your spine. Your breath hitches. You chase the touch, his four fingers splayed low on your navel; the other cups the back of your knee to keep you spread as he descends from throat to chest, forging a path of wet kisses, stopping intermittently to softly suck at the flesh and coax blood to the surface. 
You’re wet. Wet enough, warm enough, that the still air feels cold on your skin. His lips wrap around your nipple and you arch up into the sensation as he slowly sinks a finger inside of you. You take him to the knuckle, and he waits, gradually pulling out until you’re clenching around a fingertip. 
Again and again he fucks you on his fingers, adding another, curling them up mid stroke to brush the most sensitive part of you, spreading them to work you open. You mewl, steeped in pleasure as it diffuses through your belly, pooling between your thighs. 
Katsuki watches you, peering up through heavy eyes, mouth full of your breast. He flicks his tongue over the pert nipple, coming up and switching to the other, lavishing you in attention. You exhale, tremors wracking your body. Cradle the back of his head, grip tightening reflexively when he hits that sweet spot, and the groan rumbling in his throat prickles under your skin. 
Satisfied, he continues lower. Throws your legs over his broad shoulders, laid flat along the bed. The mattress jerks when he ruts into the sheets, still confined in his pants. You hold his gaze as his cheeks hollow. Saliva pools into his mouth and he tucks his chin, spitting it on your clit, massaging it over with his thumb. 
You shudder, hips canting. “Shit, look at you,” he pants, voice so thick and supple you want to wrap yourself in it. “Keep your eyes on me, yeah?” he litters kisses across your inner thigh, pressing praise into the sensitive skin there. Your heels dig into the thick muscle at his back when he dips to kiss your clit, licking in and around his fingers. “I wanna see your face when you cum”.
You’re pulsing around him, frantically chasing the feeling. It’s— overwhelming, like you can’t breathe through it, and every string in your body has been pulled taut, wavering on the precipice. You reach to grasp his forearm. The muscles flex under your palms, pave unrelenting, and tears begin to sting behind your eyes. 
“Fuck, Katsuki,” you gasp, breathlessness abated by the sudden rush of air to your lungs. “Feels so good, I can’t… Katsuki I can’t—”
A broken sound reverberates throughout the room the moment he stops, pulling back and leaving you empty. You can barely believe that it came from you, squeezing your eyes shut in shame. But then he’s right there, crowding into your space, caging your body with his own. “Oi,” he softly takes your jaw, “What did I say? Look at me”. 
You squint up at him. You take in his swollen lips, lidded stare, the sheen of sweat on his brow, hair matted to his forehead, arousal and spit coating his chin. For the first time you think you might understand, just a fraction, the greed of those who kept you. Because now you desire to be the one to take. To keep. To stow away his shamelessness and be the only one to see it. 
“You hurt?” 
“No,” you whisper, blinking away the haze. Katsuki tucks his knees up higher against your middle, tops of his thighs shelving your splayed legs. You feel yourself clenching around nothing, empty. “I’m sorry”. 
“Don’t fuckin’ apologise,” he tucks his nose against your temple, indifferent to the sheen of sweat. You inhale his musky scent and slide your arms around his shoulders. “Got too in your head, huh?”
His cock twitches in his pants, still hard and pressed to your thigh. Gathering your bearings you subtly rock your hips into his lap. You shiver at the sharp hiss by your ear, the drag of his soft lips over the shell. He nips at it in warning. 
“You want to keep going?” 
You nod, playing with the thin hair at his nape. He rumbles and it feels like a purr, pushing up only to pull at the belt buckles around his waist. Impatient, you reach to help, pulling the leather out from the loops, fingers trembling. 
Katsuki frees his hands and lets you work at the buttons. He wears a small, crooked smile on his face as he watches, chest rising and falling with every anticipatory breath. You pull them down his hips, a trail of light hair leading from his bellybutton to his cock. He shifts, hooking into the waistband and pushing them down his legs, kicking them off the bed. 
In your impatience your fingers wrap around his length, playing with the soft skin. You circle the blushing tip, smearing pre with your thumb. He throbs, abdomen clenching with a guttural moan that shoots straight to your own. 
“So impatient,” he cups your jaw and forcing you to meet his eyes. “Get me nice and wet?”
“Yeah,” you rasp, detailing how his pupils expand as you slide his cock through your folds. The corner of his mouth twitches. He grins as he dips to kiss you. It is more chaste than the last, a kiss for the sake of kissing. 
Then the grip on your jaw tightens. Firm and unyielding. Katsuki’s big hand engulfs yours, squeezing his dick, teasing the tip at your entrance. “Gonna make you cum on my cock. But you’ve got to listen to me and relax. Okay?” 
You desperately want to dig your heels into his lower back, to drag him inside and fill up that awful emptiness, to take him to the hilt and keep him there. Instead you acquiesce, forcing yourself pliant; rewarded with a soft kiss, he presses his forehead to yours. 
“Take a deep breath for me,” he tells you. You inhale, ribs expanding as your lungs bloat. Slowly, Katsuki pushes his tip past your entrance, and begins to sink his cock into you. His expression shutters, eyes rolling shut as his face scrunches up. Strained, he says, “Breathe out, baby. Slow”. 
You exhale, ending on a long moan as skin meets skin. He settles in the cradle of your hips. “Good,” his voice is gravelly, strained. His nails bite at your waist, “And in”. 
Repeating the motions your muscles clench around him as he pulls out, as though your body couldn’t be without him. He huffs through his nose and you feel it hot on your cheek. It continues like that. He fucks you slow and deliberate, pinned to the bed like a butterfly, guiding your breathing. You cannot look away from him. He’s devastating. He’s yours. Wild spikes are tousled around a flushed face, mouth kiss-bitten and slack with awe. “Katsuki,” you whisper, each more frantic than the last. 
The earlier intensity does not return, rather, it accumulates inside of you with every inhale, suffusing through you like a warm, pleasant fog. The pressure has you bursting at the seams, undone by the indelible drag of his cock, how his pelvis pressed so perfectly against your clit, little incantations of your name murmured into your hair. 
“Ah, fuck. Katsuki, I’m—” your thighs seize either side of his waist, toes curling as the words catch in your throat. “M’gonna…”
“I’ve got you,” he fucks you a little deeper, gritting his teeth. The muscles in his neck flex with exertion. “In and out, baby. I’ve got you”. 
Those practised breaths quickly stagger into uneven whines as you’re tipped over the edge. Ley lines erupt behind your eyelids. You arch back into the sheets—pelt and cloak rumpled beneath—as the pleasure quakes through you. 
Katsuki fucks you into your orgasm and then beyond it. You cradle him to your chest when his rhythm stutters, releasing a long groan as he spills into you. 
Together you collapse back on the mattress, rolling onto your sides. He slides his arm beneath your head and hooks your knee over his hip, keeping himself nestled inside you for a while longer. You lie there until the fog recedes, leaving a sated contentment in its wake. 
In that instance you can no longer tell where the line of your own body ends and where Katsuki’s begins. You feel warm, comfortable against him. All the fears and hypotheticals that sought to fill the hole in your chest have faded. You realise in those intimate few minutes that home is what you choose it to be. A place, a concept, a person. Home is the ocean, said to cover more than half of the earth, fissuring inland and stretching further than the eye can see; it is a current that will always run in your veins. But humans, too, are made of the sea. Water, minerals and tissue. Home is in the blood that rushes to Katsuki’s cheeks when you kiss him. 
This is where you belong. 
Eventually Katsuki decides he needs to get up. Your objections go ignored, silenced when he returns dressed with a damp cloth to wipe you down. Once he's done he pulls up the bed covers and manhandles you under them, declaring that he needs to go downstairs and pay ‘that woman’ for the room. 
“Won’t be long. Don’t even think about getting up. I’ll need to buy you some clothes tomorrow…”
Grin hidden under the blankets, you call out to him before he goes. He stops in the doorway, softened by the lamp light. Feigning innocence, you jokingly ask, “Before you go, could you pass me my pelt?” 
Your heart races when he reflexively goes to do so, only for him to halt halfway. His eyes narrow, lips thinning into a smirk:
“Real fuckin’ funny”. 
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Vampire hero x flirty villain but it’s HEAT SEASON *disappears*
“Shit, you’re a mess.” The villain crossed their arms in front of their chest and tilted their head, clearly amused.
“Yeah, listen…” The hero took in a deep breath. It was worse when they spent time with the villain, it always got worse too. Usually, they would hook up with a stranger but that simply didn’t satisfy them anymore.
The hero didn’t know what was wrong with them, they’d been “alive” for long enough now, they had dealt with this several times and had never had any problems. However, that had changed. And the hero hated change.
“You’re not sick, are you?” The villain took a step towards them. Slowly, they came closer and closer.
“No…no, I’m fine, I…hey, let’s just fight, okay?”
“You seem a little distracted.”
“I’m not.”
“Honey, you’re looking at everything I have to offer except for my pretty face.” The villain was in front of them now and the hero tried to keep their eyes on the villain’s. “I’ve done a little bit of research on vampires. Either you’re starving or…”
The hero grabbed their hand.
“Don’t say it.”
The villain’s smirk widened.
“Why not?”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” the villain said. Their fingers traced the hero’s jawline. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, darling. It’s only natural, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but…” the hero began. They couldn’t control their thoughts, couldn’t control the daydreams about what they’d do with the villain.
They used to think this was a good thing, a pleasurable thing. But it had turned into a curse, had turned into a bottomless pit.
Deep down, the hero feared they had fallen for the villain. They feared they couldn’t be satisfied without them.
“Honey…” the villain said. They were everything the hero wanted in a partner. Intelligent, protective, flirty. They’d known each other for a while now. “You can’t fight in a state like this. I’ll end up on top of you and we’d reach the same outcome.”
The hero squeezed their eyes shut, trying to ignore their criminal libido. They hadn’t even thought about their actions. It was as if their body had carried them through the streets and to the villain’s apartment.
“I can’t ask that of you, it’s not right.” The hero grabbed the villain’s shoulder in search for something to stabilise them. They could feel their pulse banging in their ears.
“But I was the one suggesting it.” The villain caught the shell of the hero’s ear with their teeth softly. They bit down but released them just as quickly when the hero let out a quiet moan. “And you came to me…”
The hero was quiet. They touched the villain’s neck and caressed it, losing themselves to the feeling of someone actually caring about them.
“I can’t always control myself,” the hero whispered. “The biting or sometimes scratching, I can’t—”
“Hmmm,” the villain hummed and the hero was surprised to see a satisfied smile glued to their face. “I’m into that. So, don’t hold back, got it?”
“Are you sure you—?”
“If you’re really desperate we can do it on my desk, right here,” the villain suggested. They pressed the hero’s hips against the table and the hero could only attempt to whisper the villain’s name when they pressed their knee between the hero’s thighs. “What do you think?”
The hero didn’t know if they wanted to bite or devour the villain. Probably both.
“Y-yes, here is totally fine.”
“What a good vampire you are, hm?” the villain whispered against their ear. Their hand crawled up the hero’s thigh, slowly, agonisingly. “Three taps if it’s too much for you. You choose a safe word.”
The hero nodded.
“What do you want in return? Money? Information?”
“In return,” the villain said, their fingers playing with the hero’s underwear, “I want you to beg for it.”
Thus their affair began.
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saturnsorbits · 11 days
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Benefits Denied
Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Smut, Audio Voyeurism, Sero is a Whore with a jacob's ladder. Word Count: 1.8k.
Summary: Sero has fucked everyone, everyone except you.
A/N: Another thing I started, but I'll never finish...
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You’re not curious.
You’re not.
Not even a little bit.
‘I’ll call you.’
Hanta's voice drifts into the living room from the hallway. It's low, gravelling in the back of his throat in the way it does when he hasn't had enough sleep. He's barely had a handful of hours, from what you can guess – the soft mewls and harsh grunts that seeped in through your wall only dying down around three in the morning. Humming low, you hear the tell-tale wetness of a kiss; the squeakiness of a parting giggle and then, the door closes.
When Hanta reappears, he's shirtless and sleepy. He scratches at his stomach, flaking black nails itching at the thick trail of black hair that slinks teasingly below the waistband of his loose sweatpants. He cocks an eyebrow while stifling a yawn with the back of his hand as he notices your staring.
No. You're definitely not curious.
Not at all...
You chew your lip, eyes dropping into your lap as you squirm under his gaze. After almost a year living together, you'd have thought you'd be used to it now: Used to him. And, yet, with every passing day there's less hope denying the way your stomach begins to burn when you catch him fresh out of the shower, or straight from his work outs. How something nestled deep inside of you seems to flutter whenever you lie awake listening to him rail the living daylights out of his chosen fancy for the night. ‘Hanta…’
‘Hmm.’ He hums, twisting at the waist to look at you.
'I...' You thought you'd be used to it, be over the butterflies by now; but you know what they say about curiosity.
His eyebrows scrunch as he crosses to the sofa, perching on its edge beside your feet. ‘What’s up…’
'Are you… Are you going to see her again?’ The words feel odd as they fall off your tongue, a thinly vailed question that disguises what you really want to ask.
Sero's eyebrows scrunch on his forehead as he processes your words. ‘Who? Mina?'
You widen your eyes and you shrug, pretending not to have learned her name from Hanta's own curled tongue. He's loud, something you've learned over the past year as his list of conquests has grown, unafraid of his own pleasure as it rolls from his mouth in a series of groans and graveled, whispered commands.
'Nah - she just needed to scratch an itch, y’know.’
Your stomach clenches. An itch. You could laugh. Living with Hanta has you feeling like you've got hives. ‘Oh.’
‘Why?' Flicking up his eyebrows, he twists more fully, laying his back against the arm of the sofa. Kicking one leg up, he wriggles it down between you and the back of the sofa and sinks deeper into the cushion.
‘Just asking…’ You swallow, trying not to focus on the way his hips jut out just enough for you to catch sight of a soft bulge below the grey of his sweatpants – or the way that, should you want to, you'd be able to crawl between those legs and nestle into his lap. 'Jirou hasn’t been around in a while either.’
Sero shrugs. ‘Started seeing some girl.’
‘And Kaminari?’
‘Going steady with Shinso.’
Your eyebrows furrow. Kaminari had been one of your favourites to listen to. His voice was low and sweet, a beautiful contrast to the ragged sounds he managed to pull from Hanta. You've never cum harder than when you've listened to Kaminari make Hanta beg for his cock. ‘Shinso?’
‘Yeah' He laughs, reaching up behind his head to grip the back of his own neck. The gesture makes the muscle of his bicep stretch, highlighting the purpling veins that pulse along its underside. 'That’s the face I pulled, but - they’re happy, y’know.' He pauses, debating. 'It's nice.’
Sinking deeper into the couch, you tilt your head and bite the inside of your cheek. ‘Yeah. Bet Monoma’s thrown a fit -.’
‘Nah. He’s doing alright.’ His tongue flicks out over his lips, doing a poor job of disguising the smirk that follows after.
‘You’re fucking Monoma?’
The muscle in his jaw ticks.
Something flares in your stomach, your mouth dropping open as you huff. This is the ugly bit. The rise of jealousy and insecurity that burns like a match in your chest, stealing your oxygen to fuel itself. ‘Is there anyone you aren’t fucking?’
Sero smirks, his eyebrows arching up on his forehead. ‘You?’
'Fuck off.’ Your glad your mouth manages to summon the insult instead of the filth playing out in your head. It's hard not to, imagine it, you mean. Sometimes you indulge, allow yourself to think of what it would be like...
How would his hands feel? His fingers, long and lithe – would he press gently inside you, or curl his fingers against the sponginess inside of you until you clenched around him and cried? Would he get lost between your thighs? His nose bumping against your clit as he licked inside of you, tongue twisting and flicking until you shook. You wonder if his cock is as big as you've heard. If the stretch would steal your breath, or have you feeling him for days afterwards.
You shift, trying to quell the heat burning between your thighs.
'Oh?' There's smoke in Sero's voice. It curls in the air and lingers, growing thicker by the second as he hitches himself a little more upright on the sofa.
'What?'
He licks his lips, wriggles until he's almost tipped over, his knees pulling up towards his chest. 'Oh...' Tilting his head, he smiles. It's large, still too large for his face despite that growth spurt back in his late teens. He wears it well now, uses it, much like he's doing now.
You try and push yourself further back into the arm of the sofa, arms crossing your chest even though you know it'll do nothing to disguise the beating of your hummingbird heart.
‘Are you -.'
'Fuck off, Hanta.' You stand, almost knocking yourself over in the process. You can't take his teasing, not now, not about this. There's only one person Sero Hanta hasn't fucked, and that speaks more volumes than you care to think about.
Storming into the kitchenette, you tip-toe to reach the tallest cupboard and pull down a cup. Your hands are shaking, a bubble swelling in your chest as you bite back the emotion threatening to swallow you whole.
'Hey...' Padding on bare feet, Hanta gives you until the kettle boils to approach. He's stooping, head tilted as he digs his hands into his pockets, pushing down until he can ball his fists against his thighs. He swallows. 'I didn't mean -.'
'It's alright.'
'It's not, I've upset you.'
You snort. 'No you haven't.'
Stepping closer, he leans against the counter besides you. 'I have...' He smiles, soft and real, the light glistening in his eyes. 'C'mon, I've known you long enough to know when I've fucked up. I didn't mean to tease, it was just banter - y'know.'
You clench your jaw. 'I know.'
Sero chews at his lip. 'Why do I feel like I'm not quite getting something?'
You shrug, but the string of your patience is already pulled taut and fraying, liable to snap at a moments notice.
'Hey...' Reaching out, he lets the pads of his fingers brush against the bone of your wrist. 'Talk to me.'
His softness hurts, causing you to flinch away. You huff, turning to face him as you let the question you've kept locked in your chest surface. 'Why haven't you fucked me?'
'What?'
'You've fucked all of our friends, you bring a new person home every week, but -.'
Sero steps back. 'Hold on, hold on... You want to -'
'Is there something wrong with me? Is it because we live together, or am I just not your type?' Now that you're talking you won't stop, it spills out of you, pooling in the air between you. 'What is it, because you haven't even made a pass at me Hanta and I'm starting to take it personally.'
Biting his tongue, he rolls his lip until he can catch hold of the black ring wrapping the plush bump. There's a spark in his eyes, one that vanquishes the slither of deep chocolate brown that is often dismissed by those less observant.
He's about to laugh, you can see it.
His eyes crinkle, mouth twisting, tongue darts out from behind his lips. He cocks his head.
You think you might slap him.
When his voice finally slips from his mouth, it's like liquid sin. 'I fucking knew it..'
Narrowing your eyes, you cross your arms across your chest; hackles risen. 'I already feel stupid there's no need to...'
Sero stalks closer. His shoulders roll, the muscles there tensing as a flash of vein glows from beneath his tanned skin. He doesn't stop until he has you boxed in against the kitchen counter, his arms bracketing you at either side even as the edge begins to dig into the middle of your back.
'Han -.'
'I knew I could hear you last night...' He smiles wicked and wide. 'How many times, huh? How many times have you fucked yourself listening to me? That is what you're doing, right?'
A shiver races up your spine forcing your straighter. There's a flood of embarrassment in your stomach, one that burns hot like bile forcing your to swallow to keep it down.
'Dirty bitch...'
You choke...
'Oh, c'mon. No point in being so shy now...' He chuckles. Lifting one hand, he strokes his knuckles down your arm and across your hip, until he can rest his hand just above your pubic bone. 'Not when I can see how wet you are for it.'
You want to deny it, but you can't. Your arousal drips from you, soaking into the old cotton underwear you wish you'd exchanged for something sexier this morning. You inhale, swallowing the shaky breath. Yeah, you'd spent the last three months listening to him rail everyone in the city, but seeing him like this first hand is enough to make your head spin.
'You know the only reason I've not had you tucked up under me is because I didn't think you wanted it, right?'
'What?'
He nods, some of his softness returning to him.
It makes your nerves settle, seeing the fracture in his persona as he returns, slowly, back to the goofy, laid back man you share an apartment with.
'Everyone I've ever slept with has chased me...' There's a blush colouring his cheeks. 'Never really done the asking out before.'
Summoning what little nerve you have left in your body, you straighten your spine and raise your eyes to meet his. You stretch, looping your arms around his neck and pulling him close until you can feel the thrum of his heartbreak through your chest. 'Hanta...'
'Mmm.' He hums, canting his hips back a touch to prevent the hardness of his cock from pressing into your stomach.
'... I'm asking.'
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-> Masterlist
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bonkwrites · 1 year
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a blessing, not a curse
Here’s a little Shoto blurb i wrote this morning hehe: 
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Shoto always thought his quirk was a curse. He had never considered the uses for it other than using it as a hero. Sure, he's warmed up a coffee or cooled down a room in the heat of summer, but he never considered the uses until you. 
To be fair, very fair, which he often isn't to himself, he was a virgin before he met you. He had never considered making himself colder or hotter while he was inside you, or making his fingers colder or warmer. But he found out you love it and now he'll never stop. 
"Sh-Shoto-" you whimper his name, hands tugging at his hair, "Ah-!" 
"Shhh, my love," he leans back and nips at your thigh, "they'll hear.." 
"H-How am I supposed to stay quiet when you're… you're.." your hands fly away from his hair and grip at the sides of the couch. You're in Momo's basement, the reunion party she planned is still going strong a floor above you. 
"When I'm..?" Shoto asks. You clench down around his fingers with a gasp when he makes them colder. It sends a thrill right through him. 
"Th-that! Oh god, Shoto, oh god," your thighs shake as you start to cum and Shoto presses them open roughly to put his mouth back on your clit. 
You pulse around his fingers and you slap your hand over your mouth to muffle your cries. 
"Oh, my love," Shoto moans, watching you shake as he pulls his fingers free. He presses a kiss to your thigh as you try to catch your breath. 
“Let’s go,” you mumble, gripping at his shirt to pull him towards you, wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in to kiss him. You break apart panting, grinding against him. “Take me home.” 
“Yeah- Yes, I will. Let’s go home.” Shoto breaks away from you, slowly, and you stand on slightly shaking legs to fix your skirt. 
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ofmermaidstories · 22 days
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Katsuki’s been dreaming about you.
At first, it’s in fragments. Stuff he doesn’t remember after waking up, or can otherwise shrug off as a product of his brain, cartwheeling around with the day’s information. It’s your face, frowning in concentration, or you saying something disjointed from the rest of the conversation (No, you tell him, faintly annoyed. Of course I bought it.). It’s you squinting into the sun, the broad daylight. It’s your leg, hot and wet and sparkling with pool water, as Katsuki palms your calf. A dozen tiny moments of you, slipped between Izuku grinning with All Might’s face, his eyes glowing green, or Iida clopping through the landscape, half horse.
It’s—whatever, Katsuki thinks. Maybe he just saw your dumbass face somewhere—wide-eyed, moony, watching him warily—and his brain latched on to it, desperate for some normalcy among Best Jeanist with long golden hair like a cape, or Katsuki’s mother, crying over him, his heart in a box.
But most of the shitty extras in his dreams don’t repeat. Not like you. Katsuki wakes up in the coolness of the twilight world before dawn, breathing hard as his heart thumps in fear, the last thing he can remember from his dream being you, whispering his name and prickling his skin like he can feel your breath on his shoulder and—
It’s just him, in his wide bed. Him in the blue world before his alarm.
Katsuki shudders, eyes squeezed tight, and has to admit to himself: maybe shit was weirder than he thought.
For a while, things don’t change. The heat of his nightmares (the smoke, the ground underneath his feet tilting as UA poises precariously in the air, over the country) stays the same. His stupider dreams stay the same. The ones that feed his guilt (Izuku, four years old, chubby hand held out; Edgeshot, his eyes crinkling above his mask as he balanced his tea against his leg, the group being debriefed before battle) stay the same. You slip in like a comma, a pause, the back of your head haloed by the latelight as you’re passing by a civilian begging for Dynamight to save them. You, your lips parted around the words you can’t say before Kirishima is there, throwing his arm around Katsuki’s shoulder and talking about how they’ll be late for a school dance that never happened.
Maybe it’s a fucking Quirk, Katsuki thinks, gritting his teeth at the idea of some bastard getting a hit in, unchecked. But when the doctor shrugs at him, Katsuki slouching in the stiff chair, and says, “you’re all clear, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, sir. There’s nothing in your system—”
Well, the blond thinks, mouth tightening. Then there was a fucking problem.
Maybe he’s been givin’ it too much damn attention. Katsuki resolves to ignore it, throwing himself into the investigation at hand—some bastard, turning people into living mannequins—and for a while, it works. His dreams are filled with nonsense from work, from patrol, from the insecurities he left behind at seventeen—and then you return, the breath between words, the hyphen between thoughts.
You’re walking ahead of him, Katsuki too aware of his hands balled into his pockets, your jacket long and bright against the city night, the glitter of Tokyo Tower ahead of you both. You’re laughing at something Denki is saying, ugly and breathless and on the verge of tears, Katsuki’s chest tight with it. You’re hesitating, your legs curling against his sheets as you stare up at him, his heart thumping with the pulse he sees jump in your throat.
It’s making him more vicious. He spars with Denki and nearly burns a idiot-shaped hole into the concrete floor of the training room. Out on the scene with Deku, Katsuki jumps into the fight first, causing the nerd to shout after him, startled at the deviation of the plan.
“You’re scaring everyone,” Shouto tells him, breaking the silence as they strip from their Hero gear. Katsuki stills, coiled and deadly but Shouto is unperturbed, buttoning his shirt. “Izuku’s worried. Denki’s been threatening to make a formal request to Support for a panic button. What’s happened?”
“Nothin’s fucking happened, Icyhot,” Katsuki says, scowling. But his hand tightens on his hoodie as he says it, and for all the moron’s obliviousness, Shouto is eagle-eyed when it comes to the tremor in his friends.
“What’s happened?” He repeats, the faint steel of insistence in his voice and Katsuki tsks, before conceding.
“Been having shit dreams is all,” he says, frowning unhappily.
Shouto frowns in answer, pulling a sweatshirt over his head. “Nightmares?” He asks, reasonably.
Nightmares. Katsuki’s jaw tightens, thinking of the latest dream—you, damp and flushed underneath him, gasping against his mouth as you share the same hot breath, his hand curling against your neck, so, so afraid.
“Yeah,” he says, quieter. “Something like that.”
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