His Redemption | 02 | Bakugo X Reader
his redemption | 02 | bakugo x reader
synopsis ⤸
after unknowingly moving in next door to a renown gang-leader, you are thrust into a foreign world tainted by the scars of his past. will you be able to help him redeem his sins before they finally catch up to him?
chapters ⤸
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themes ⤸
fem! reader, 18+, dark fic, gang au, gang-leader! bakugo, doctor! reader, one night stands, friends with benefits, unrequited feelings, mutual pining, smut, graphic depictions of violence, kidnappings, mentions of blood, dubcon
word count ⤸
6.5k
a/n ⤸
so, i had planned to get this chapter out much sooner, but i kinda had a mini hiatus (oops). but! it’s here—finally—n i really hope that it’s worth the wait, bc almost a quarter of this wc is smut, smut, smut. enjoy!
reblogs are appreciated ~
two:
you do not see nor hear any sign of bakugo for over three weeks.
the morning after his disappearance, you’d thrown out the bedsheets—the fabric stained an ugly shade of crimson—cursing between gritted teeth all the way to the outside dumpster. but despite your grievances, the medicinal instinct that festers inside you prevents you from resisting the urge to wonder at just how well his injuries are healing. he’s just a stranger, you try your best to remember, but that doesn’t stop the way that your stare seeks out the chipped green paint that coats the surface of his apartment door when you leave for work each morning.
since the day that you’d moved in, new neighbour denki has taken to inviting you out for drinks, enthusiastic as he insists upon the notion of the two of you getting to know each other better. neighbours should be friends too, he’d gushed. or something along those lines; you hadn’t really been listening, because at that exact moment, you could have sworn that you’d seen a flash of blonde hair out on the balcony. without warning, you’d pelted down the hallway, denki gawking after you, baffled, as you yanked the door open with an unnecessary force.
and much to your annoyance, the balcony had been empty.
after peering over the railing, craning your neck both left and right—just to see if he’d walked off down towards the gardens—you’d heaved an exaggerated sigh before returning to denki, shoulders slumped with disappointment.
the blonde had scratched the back of his neck, sheepish at the look on your face, but still dared to ask, ‘so, uh, drinks? on friday?’
‘friday,’ you had relented, giving confirmation without much thought.
and so, right now, you’re balanced upon your tiptoes to lean closer to the bathroom mirror, applying a clear lipgloss to match the thin coating of mascara that had been hurriedly brushed over your lashes just a few moments before. dressed casually, you’re not all that bothered about putting in too much effort into an outing that you’re not really in the mood for, and yet, thinking of the boyish grin that had brightened denki’s face when you’d agreed has guilt forming somewhere in the depths of your stomach. the blonde is sweet enough, from what you’ve gathered, and you definitely aren’t opposed to befriending him, so, despite your lack of enthusiasm, you check your hair and makeup one last time before shuffling out to the bedroom to slip on your heels. exhaling, you make your way out of the door, locking it shut before you click, clack your way down the hall towards denki’s door.
you barely manage to tap your knuckles against the door once before it flies open to reveal a dark haired woman, with equally as dark eyes that narrow slightly as she greets you.
‘new neighbour, i assume,’ she stretches out a hand towards you and you accept the handshake, forcing a smile. you haven’t a clue as to who she is, and she seems to have guessed your line of thinking, as she then reveals her name, ‘i’m jiro.’
‘nice to meet you,’ you offer, shifting on the spot, tension locking your spine rigid. she’s still staring at you, open with her blatant show of distrust, but you’re soon freed from her scrutiny as denki suddenly appears, beaming brightly as he bounds out into the hallway.
‘hey!’
lips parting to greet him, you’re smiling once more, only to clam up as soon as the blonde bounds forward, wrapping his arms around you into a tight hug that forces a stuttered, surprised laugh that is choked from out of your mouth. bewildered, you catch jiro’s gaze as she watches with a bored expression, ‘he’s had a few already,’ is all she offers.
‘oh,’ you manage to exhale, returning denki’s hug with less vigour, patting his shoulder once, twice, before retreating from the embrace.
‘didn’t think you were gonna come,’ he pouts, before pointing to jiro, his grin widening, ‘have you met jiro yet? she’s my friend—whose a girl. she’s my girlfriend.’
you’re unable to ascertain as to whether he means that literally, but still, jiro’s cheeks appear to redden at this statement and you’re unable to stop the way that your mouth tilts into a gentle smile, ‘i have, yes.’
‘idiot,’ jiro grumbles, shoving a hand against the small of denki’s back, pushing. ‘let’s go, else we’ll be late.’
denki takes off first, dragging you along with him, and on the way out, you blink towards number 34, stare lingering upon the silver-coated numbers nailed into the door’s surface as denki tugs you towards the exit. jiro is close behind, having securely locked the apartment, hands stuffed into the pockets of her hoodie as she walks at a much more leisurely pace.
when the three of you reach the bar that is conveniently situated just down the road from where you now live, after choosing a booth that is furthest away from the entrance, you are, admittedly, grateful when you receive your choice of drink in record timing. sipping at your flavoursome cocktail, you peer around the tropical themed environment, soca music playing in the background. you’re still new to the area, so you’re unfamiliar with this particular establishment, but it doesn’t take too long for you to decide that you appreciate it, despite the crowd of people that seems to grow larger with every passing minute.
‘so,’ denki leans a little closer, so close that you’re actually able to recognise the faint scent of alcohol on his breath, ‘how are things at the clinic?’
nose crinkling, you’d almost forgotten that you’d told him about your line of work. allowing your purse to slip from your shoulder and onto the seat beside you, denki watches as you relax into the plush leather of the back of the booth. ‘it’s been a long week,’ you admit, attempting a smile that you hope will hide your exhaustion. ‘a very long week.’
‘betcha glad to get a drink down ya,’ he grins toothily. upon glancing down at the froth-rimmed glass that’s been abandoned on the table, you see that he’s already finished his first beer, eagerly awaiting his second.
you manage a small laugh, ‘it’s very much needed.’ you notice that jiro has barely touched her drink, not really paying attention to the conversation as she stares off to the side, eyes glazed over. blinking your attention back toward denki, you take another sip of your drink, ‘what about you? how’s work for you?’
denki waves a hand dismissively, ‘still on probation ‘cause of my contract with the agency. i don’t see why they won’t just hire me—the kids love me already and i’m amazing.’
you hadn’t been at all surprised when the blonde had told you that he was aiming to be a teaching assistant in the sports department at the local primary school, during a conversation that the two of you had had when he’d politely offered to help shift the seemingly endless stack of moving boxes into your apartment. it’s just the type of job that suits him, you think, and you don’t doubt that the kids like him—hell, you’re already warming up to him.
‘they have regulations,’ jiro reminds him, suddenly joining the conversation. ‘they can’t just ignore them just because you happen to be good at your job. you’re still learning.’
‘well, i’m way better than the guy they actually have,’ denki protests. ‘he’s, like, seventy and can’t kick a ball at all. what the hell does he know about football?’ you hide your smile as jiro mumbles a comment that doesn’t reach your line of hearing. but denki seems to hear, a devilish grin playing the corner of his mouth. ‘that’s not what you were saying last—’
jiro manages to silence him by aiming a particularly hard jab to the blonde’s ribcage, but denki simply explodes with a loud bark of infectious laughter, only silencing when the waiter passes by to hand out the next round of drinks. you haven’t yet finished your first, choosing to quickly down the rest of it when you see the fresh glass that jiro slides over to you.
and for the next few hours, the three of you consume a lot more alcohol than you had initially planned.
by the time the clock on your mobile phone reads past one am, you’re a little more than tipsy. your temples are throbbing as your cheek presses to the palm of your hand, elbow precariously balanced upon the edge of the table, and you will yourself to remain awake as you watch denki challenge jiro to a game of cards. from where they got the stack from, you don’t know, beyond out of it to bring yourself to care.
it is halfway through their third game when you sense someone watching you. the bar is now a lot busier than it had been when you’d first arrived, now crammed with a body count that is too large to sum up; most dancing, others nursing drinks at the bar. the volume of the music is now louder, so much so that you’re even struggling to hear your companions’ voices as they bicker over their game.
‘you’re cheatin’!’ denki slurs heavily, but you aren’t paying enough attention to ascertain the accuracy of his accusation.
eyes glancing around the bar as thoroughly as you can manage whilst this inebriated, you recognise that you’re searching for a needle in a haystack. it’s dizzying, looking at so many faces at once, and after a just a moment, you’re about to give up, only for your gaze to suddenly land upon a familiar face.
kirishima stares right back at you from his seat at the bar, the stool beside him, empty.
and much to your surprise, his welcome is almost immediate, his head tilting to beckon you forth, inviting you over. you hesitate, unsure. however, you’re also drunk, and so very curious, and so, it takes all of two seconds for you to stand from your seat.
‘where you goin’?’ denki bellows over the music.
‘i just saw a… friend,’ you blurt quickly. ‘i’ll be back in a minute—save my seat!’
denki nods, looking a little hesitant to let you go, but then jiro is distracting him with a touch to his cheek and his gaze is shifting, softening as he looks at her instead. you’re grinning, deciding to take your purse with you, snatching it from the spare seat before weaving through the crowd until you reach kirishima.
he’s still staring, you realise, reluctantly perching upon the stool next to him when he points at it. he’s drinking alone, you note, one hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey as he leans a little closer so that you can hear him speak over the music, ‘what d'you want to drink?’
shifting in your seat, you’re hesitating again. you don’t know this man, and yet, you’re unable to understand why his presence comforts you so. maybe it’s the alcohol that you’ve consumed, or maybe it’s the briefest of smiles that pulls at the corner of his mouth, but without meaning to, you’re already beginning to let down your guard.
‘a woo-woo,’ the apples of your cheeks feel warm, self-conscious of the girlish choice of drink, even more so with kirishima looking at you with an amused quirk of his brow.
‘’m not even surprised,’ he comments, before flagging down the bartender and reciting your order. as you wait, you fish into the depths of your purse for some money, holding it out to kirishima, who immediately rejects it. ‘this one’s on me,’ he insists when you stammer a protest, going as far as pushing the money back into the palm of your hand. dejectedly, you realise that he’s not going to allow you to pay, and so you drop the money back into your purse, zipping it shut with an exaggerated sigh. the bartender returns with your cocktail and kirishima hands over a paper-note that values a lot more than what your drink costs. ‘keep the change,’ he offers, and the bartender nods once before disappearing to tend to another customer.
taking a long sip of your drink, you welcome the familiar rush of alcohol as it warms the back of your throat, looking up to watch kirishima down the remaining dregs of his whiskey, appearing to be much more sober than you are. swallowing down another mouthful, you sit upright, pushing back a loose tendril of baby hair that tickles the nape of your neck. the exhaustion that weighs on your shoulders is heavy, only accentuated by the alcohol that buzzes a fire in your stomach, and your eyelids blink rapidly in an attempt to keep you alert.
‘didn’t know you were pals with jiro,’ you just manage to hear the low drawl of kirishima’s voice, his form towering as he leans closer so that you can hear him better. eyes darting over to where the couple are huddled together—still engaged in their increasingly heated game of solitaire—your head tilts. he doesn’t elaborate as to how he’s acquainted with jiro.
a shoulder raises, ‘denki is my neighbour. he invited me out for drinks.’ your words slur, the syllables dragged along with each lilt of your voice, but that doesn’t stop you from consuming more of your beverage. it was free, after all. kirishima orders another drink—beer, this time—and you are surprised, bewildered, when the bartender doesn’t charge him. they must be more than acquaintances, you conclude, despite the fact that you (wrongly) suspect kirishima as a man with few friends. the two of you drink together in a comfortable silence, and it isn’t until the clock ticks past two am that kirishima offers to walk you home. stumbling as you scramble from your stool, you make to decline, ‘i-it’s okay. i’ll walk with—’
only, when you spin to flag down denki—pretending that the motion doesn’t make your temples throb horribly—to your drunken horror, he’s nowhere in sight. and neither is jiro.
kirishima’s hand dares to touch your elbow, tugging you to his side to prevent you from falling over. ‘i sent them home.’
your neck cranes as you attempt to squint up at him. baffled, you struggle to recall him committing such a feat, but, struggle, you do, because as drunk as you are, you’re certain that you haven’t seen him talking to neither denki or jiro tonight.
a large arm curling around the width of your shoulders, kirishima is already steering you towards the exit, and you are given very little choice in the matter, reluctantly allowing him to accompany you home. there’s no harm, you relent, considering the fact that he already knows where you live, the short walk home quiet, save for the click-clack of your heels upon the pavement. when the two of you come to a halt at your front door, you just remember to offer a quiet thanks, muted around the slur of your tongue.
kirishima leans against the doorframe, suppressing a bemused twitch of his lips as he watches you attempt to push your key into the lock. it takes several tries, your fingers trembling, but eventually, the lock clicks, the door inching open when you push the palm of your hand to it. but before you step inside, you loiter, pupils dilating as they focus onto kirishima once more.
‘how is he?’
the redhead regards you with an expression that you can no longer read.
you swallow thickly, eventually deciding that he’s not going to answer as several long seconds pass by without a word shared between the two of you.
‘he’s better,’ he breaks his silence, eyes watching as you kick off your heels by the door, exhaling a moan of relief as the pads of your feet mould into the carpeted flooring. ‘told you—he’s had worse,’ he pushes his weight from the wall, making to leave.
absentmindedly, you tug at the blossom shaped keyring that ochaco had gifted you some years ago, the charm catching the light that shines in from the hallway as it dangles from your keys.
‘make sure he takes the tablets i gave you,’ you mumble, brows pinching together because of the headache that is beginning to throb at your temples. you press an index finger to your lips, bile rising to the back of your throat.
kirishima stares at you, hesitant, ‘you good?’
waving a hand, you dismiss his concern, but when he still doesn’t move, you force a smile, assuring him that you’re just fine.
‘hm,’ he hums, eyes narrowing, dubious, as if he doesn’t believe you. but you’re already beginning to close the door on him, barely managing to remember to thank him once again for walking you home. key twisting into the lock once more, you don’t bother to check if he’s actually left, hurrying to the kitchen to pour a large glass of water in the hopes that it’ll quash the nausea that churns at your stomach.
it’s when you’re sat on the settee, downing a third pint when a thundering knock at the door startles you so much so, that you almost spill the remainder of your drink as you rush to place the glass down onto the coffee table. forcing yourself to your feet, you press an index finger to the bridge of your nose, and the ache that throbs there is now muted, but still very much present. marginally sobered by the consumption of water, you’re able to make your way down the hall, unlocking the door with ease this time, allowing it swing open. only, the face that greets you is one that has your brows twitching upwards, surprised.
bakugo leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest as he peers down at you, watching as you stare right back, unsure of how to greet him. kirishima had been right; the blonde looks miles better than he had when you’d last seen him. his eyes are heavily lidded, idle as they drag along the length of your body, pausing upon the stretch of your legs as he takes in your lack of attire, and you think that you can vaguely remember managing to pull your jeans off not long after you’d finished the first pint of water.
clad in just an oversized jumper, you squirm under his stare, thighs pressing together just as your arms raise to cross over your chest.
‘shitty hair said you were drunk,’ bakugo drawls, breaking the silence. the low baritone of his voice travels through your ears and settles right into the pit of your stomach. grimacing, you avoid his gaze, pointedly focusing on the fact that he refers to kirishima as ‘shitty hair’.
licking at your dry lips, your toes buried into the carpet, you fail to notice the flick of bakugo’s eyes focusing on the shape of your mouth, your own trained in on his abdomen, where his t-shirt hides the injury that you’d stitched just a few weeks ago.
‘can i check it?’
his spine is already straightening, making to follow you inside with an eager step forward just as you stumble backwards. quicker than you can process, his hand darts out, the width of his palm curling around your arm, steadying your balance in order to prevent your fall. the heat of his hand is scorching, rivalled only by the warmth that burns beneath the surface of your skin, your cheeks burning. murmuring a thanks, you tug yourself free from his grasp, shifting to the side to allow him to pass. he glides past you easily, already disappearing down the small hallway and toward the bedroom, leaving you to lock the door, where you lean against it as you gather your resolve.
what are you doing?
you try to focus on the fact that he’s a stranger—god damn it—hesitating with your fingers curling around the hem of your jumper. blinking in the direction of the bedroom, you debate on as to whether you should just kick him out and demand that he gets himself checked at the hospital instead. but you’re no fool. even in your drunken state, you have enough wit about you to understand that that stab wound was no accident. someone had hurt him, deliberately, and because he’d been so stubbornly adamant on no hospitals when you had suggested it the first time, it’s hard to not jump to conclusions. still, you can’t stop yourself from suspecting that his lifestyle isn’t entirely on the legal side, especially if his scars are anything to go by.
no, you decide. for a reason that you dare not dwell on, for now, his treatment is your responsibility.
and so, you wobble on the tips of your toes as you reach to grab the first aid kit from the kitchen cupboard, swallowing thickly as you shuffle your way into the bedroom. to your surprise, bakugo is already sat the end of the bed, his shirt scrunched beneath the fingers of his left hand, and you will your gaze away from the expanse of his tanned chest, temples throbbing as you move to switch the bedroom lamp on, shifting to kneel before him.
the heat of his stare is molten, lids heavy as he regards you with an expression that you can’t decipher with your head spinning like this. your hands shake as you reach for the makeshift bandage that either he—or kirishima—has wrapped around the sharp lines of his torso, gently peeling it from his skin with an apprehensive crinkle of your nose. pleased to see that your stitches are still in place, you hum as you lean a tad closer to inspect the wound, the caress of your breath tickling the cut of his muscles. it’s scabbing nicely, you note, using your thumb to gently press around the wound, pausing when his abs constrict, a low grunt huffed out over the top of your head.
‘sorry,’ you mumble, turning your attention to the first aid kit. mind still fuzzy with intoxication, you’re a little slow with opening it, squinting as you busy yourself with cleaning around the wound before applying a fresh bandage—much neater than his own, if not a tad wonky due to your inebriation. ‘’s healing perfectly,’ you tell him, voice quiet.
his next inhale is sharp, twisted around the shape of a soundless snarl as you press against a particularly sore spot, making sure the bandage is fixed in place. ‘great,’ he spits, glaring.
‘if you want,’ you start, clearing your throat when your words begin to slur once again. ‘i can check it again next week… the stitches should have fallen out by then, but, uh, just in case…?’
‘’kay,’ is all he replies with, grabbing at the fabric of his shirt. he’s yet to make a move to put it back on, watching you pack the first aid kit away with sluggish movements.
‘okay?’ you repeat, bleary eyed as you focus your stare upon his face; you hadn’t expected him to actually agree.
the corner of his mouth twitches, and again, you’re subjected to a heat that prickles the back of your neck, the reds of his eyes narrowing as they focus on the nervous bob of your throat. ‘so,’ he grunts, expression morphing into one that is less friendly. ‘i still owe you.’
you frown, ‘don’t want you to owe me.’ it then occurs to you that you’re still knelt before him, and for a moment, it feels as if your headache is worsening, your index finger massaging at your temple. ‘i did it because i wanted to.’
that, and it’s hard to say no to someone who is bleeding all over your bed, you daren’t add.
it is bakugo’s brows that form a frown this time.
‘i don’t like owin’ people,’ he insists. he shifts on the mattress, as if ready to stand, only to stiffen when he also clocks onto the fact that you’re still knelt before him. ‘what’s your price?’
your eyes flicker a little lower, focusing on the shape of his mouth before you blink, vision a tad hazy, your cheeks warm. ‘nothing.’
‘people don’t do anythin’—‘specially not savin’ someone’s life—for free,’ he argues, eyes hard, jaw wound tight. ‘tell me what you want in return.’
you can feel the beginnings of annoyance prickling at your nerves, fists clenching where they rest on your bare thighs. you suddenly feel a lot more sober. ‘i’m a doctor, which you already know—how do you know that, by the way?—saving lives is kinda what i do.’
he dodges your question, nostrils flaring as he demands, ‘tell me what you want.’
again, your gaze is slipping lower, blinking towards his lips once more, before your eyes snap upwards, focusing on his. and much to your surprise, the reds of his irises have darkened to a burning crimson that has the depths of your stomach knotting with something akin to molten lava. or so you think—maybe the alcohol is warping your ability to read expressions?
but apparently not, because now he’s leaning forward, the length of his spine curling as his ribs shift to accommodate his position. stupefied, you watch as he looms over you, the width of his thighs shifting—parting, you note with a dry swallow—and he’s so close that you can hear each inward drag of his breath as he inhales, lungs wheezing with the effort.
intoxication has your pupils dilating, the blackened orbs widening as his fingers twitch, his breath fanning across the slope of your cheek as he repeats, the low drag of his voice catching on the rise of a barely concealed groan, ‘tell me what you want.’
and then, before you can process what you’re actually doing—because, really, what the hell are you doing?—your hands are reaching up, the tips of your fingers brushing against his skin as they dance along the length of his jaw. you’re hesitating, however, hands frozen where they rest upon his cheeks, appalled by the audacity of your own actions. you make to pull away, but before you’re given the chance to regret what you’ve done, his hands come to hold yours in place, the lengths of his fingers calloused and ridiculously hot against the backs of your own. unblinking, his eyes bore into yours as he slowly guides your hands down his face, tracing along the length of his neck, allowing you to feel the thump, thump, thump of his pulse beneath the pads of your fingers.
up close, you dare to trace your thumb over the plush of his bottom lip, ignoring the jump of your heart when the corner of his mouth curls upwards, the stretch of his mouth forming into the shape of a smirk. your fingertips trace the annoyingly perfect ridge of his nose, brushing over his cheekbones until you press against the beauty mark on his chin, so minuscule that you’d’ve missed it if not for the fact that he’s encouraging the exploration of your touch as he leans a little closer.
maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just because he’s stupidly, ridiculously, unfairly beautiful, but your gaze is awed, welcoming the wiggle of his fingers curling into the strands of your hair. he pulls, the length of your neck exposed as it stretches to follow the way that he forces your head back, his own lowering until his mouth hovers just centimetres from yours. his gaze is smouldering as he studies you, licking his bottom lip at the sight of your hair wrapped around his fingers, your eyes heavily lidded—with intoxication or lust, he cannot tell.
‘tell me what you want,’ he murmurs, breath ghosting over your lips. he feels the way that you tremble against him and he shifts closer, trapping you between the broad stretch of his thighs.
your hands are stroking over his collarbones, his eyes closing briefly at the sensation of your skin tickling his. still kneeling, you have to stretch to reach for his shoulders, your arms curling around the back of his neck, fingernails scraping against his scalp as you pull him closer.
‘you.’
he immediately complies, mouth moulding to yours, hot and wet and feverous. the taste of him is overwhelming, dizzying, the glide of his tongue urgent as it explores the shape of your mouth, your toes curling into the carpet as he does so. the crooks of your fingers gripping his hair, twisting until he’s groaning, the blunts of his teeth dragging over your bottom lip, nipping until you’re gasping along with him.
you know that you’ll probably regret this in the morning, but all second thoughts are thrown out of the window as he reaches for you, hands suddenly grasping at your waist and hoisting you—with an ease that makes your head spin—up, up, up, until you’ve joined him on the bed, legs curling around his waist. kissing you until you’re struggling for breath, his fingers are sneaking beneath the hem of your jumper, a groan rumbling from the back of his throat as one hand grips you with an impressive strength, the other skimming against your stomach, all knuckles and wide palms. his fingertips reach to trace the curve of your breast, and the steady pace of your kiss now falters when you pause to gasp into the sharp jut of his jaw.
you thank the gods for your intuitive decision to forgo a bra this evening, keening as his thumb—wetted by a quick swipe of his tongue—brushes over the peak of your nipple, pinching until you grace him with another breathy sigh that pitches when his teeth drag over the pulse at your throat. you know that it’ll bruise, and still, you encourage him with an experimental roll of your hips, your clothed pussy seeking a friction that can only be sated by the bulge that is rapidly hardening with each brush of your groin to his. grunting, there’s a perspiration that is forming on the nape of his neck, one that is ignored in favour of him rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger, tongue expertly tracing circles down to the length of your collarbone, his hair tickling at your nose. you’re stifling a giggle, abdomen tensing and your tits bouncing as he huffs, feigning annoyance as he grumbles something about you ruining the mood whilst hiding his widening grin with a press to your sternum. his lips seek yours again, his fingers ghosting over the dip of your waist, and your breath catches on a moan when his hips jut, rolling, teasing.
the palms of his hands splay themselves over the curve of your rear, encouraging the slow grind that has your thighs clenching with the effort. beneath you, his breath stutters, a short, strained groan punched from the bottom of his stomach, one that vibrates the bump of his adam’s apple as he tugs you up and down his pulsing length, his cock burning a ferocious heat through the cotton of his sweatpants. the drag of your pussy is one that has his blood humming, one that entices a pitched mewl—which he swallows down greedily, selfishly—his tongue tracing yours, bare chest warming yours as he reaches to tear your woollen jumper up and over your head.
unceremoniously, it’s discarded upon the floor, and he’s fumbling for the tie on his sweatpants, shoving them down just enough so that you now feel the naked inferno of his cock, insistently pressing against the crook of your thigh. stomach coiling with excitement, your lungs expand and contract, struggling to suck in air fast enough, and struggling further so when he’s tonguing at the roof of your mouth like that. there’s a gentle stroke across your hip, his knuckles bumping along your inner thigh as impatience has him roughly tugging your underwear to the side. nerves have you tensing at the first touch, his index and middle fingers slipping between your velvety folds, delving into the pool of sap that drools from the very hole that he seeks. your legs tighten around his waist, aware enough as to not bump against his bandage as you adjust your knees, and that’s when you realise that he’s watching your face closely, your eyelids fluttering when the width of his fingers breach the opening of your pussy, gummy walls contracting around the bump of his knuckles that gently twist inside you.
desperate, you cry out against his mouth, his teeth tugging at your bottom lip once more, your nails biting into the corded muscles of his biceps. it isn’t long until his fingers are withdrawing, your hips chasing after them, a whinge of protest spilling out of your mouth before you can muffle it. he’s chuckling breathily, deeply, breath hot on the shell of your ear.
‘patience.’
and you don’t have to be patient for long. he’s guiding the length of his cock past the tight stretch of your cunt in one long thrust, his eyes screwing shut as he hilts, balls pressed tight to the plump of your rear, a chest-heaving groan expelled down the canal of your eardrum. the tickle of his public hair brushes over your clit, your toes curling just so, and hunger has your hips rolling, seeking friction.
‘f-fuck,’ bakugo grunts, sweat trickling down his jaw as he inhales a stuttered breath. he withdraws slowly, testing the tremble of your thighs, before his hips cant upwards, harder, faster with each stroke.
he sets a brutal pace, his grip bruising as he fucks into your dribbling heat over and over and over, and above him, you moan loudly, able to do very little other than cling on, fingers scrambling to find leverage upon his shoulders. he crushes your mouths together, tongue rapidly seeking yours as you attempt to keep up with his kisses, dizzied with the scent of him; addicted to the taste of him. the two of you are a tangle of limbs upon the bed, the room beginning to ooze with the stench of your alcohol-infused act, his name repeatedly slurred past your lips as your pussy secretes a mess that aids the wet schlick, schlick, schlick of his balls slapping against the round of your behind. your skin is damp—sticky—with the tantalising sap that seeps from the fluttering walls of your cunt, creaming a mess around the width of his slick-coated girth, and this only seems to spear him on, the slick sound of your connection accentuated with each rough drag of his hips as he drills into the pulsing heat of your cunt at such a pace that you struggle to catch your breath.
abruptly, he stills, cock buried within the cushioning of your inner walls, the scratch of his pubic hair grinding over your clit—just right there—encouraging the sudden snapping of the coil in your stomach. nails digging into the meat of his shoulders, your tone pitches, keening on the syllables of bakugo’s name, your toes curling where your legs are crossed behind his back. your legs tremble as he fuck, fuck, fucks you through your climax, groaning as your juices aid the slip-and-slide of his cock drilling in tune to the flutter of your gummy walls that tighten around his base with a cheek-warming squelch. the sensation is addictive, even with the trickle of cream that is pooling a mess all over his balls, and it’s almost with regret when he can feel the tell-tale electric bite that jolts deep in his abdomen, a sharp warning of his fast-approaching peak.
he shifts to lie flat on his back, dragging you along with him with a choked moan when your fingers knot into the tresses of his hair, pulling. the curves of his muscles bulge, biceps tensing as he shifts you higher upon his lap, both of his arms encircling the circumference of your waist in order to hold you in place as his pace becomes sloppier with his yearning need to come undone.
clit thrumming with oversensitivity, you breathe a whimper into the warmth of his neck, suckling at the sweat-dampened skin as his cock repeatedly pistons its way past the aching opening of your cunt, the new angle coaxing a sharp cry against his collarbone. he exclaims something utterly guttural in reply—a groan, or a growl, you can’t decipher—evidence of his own bliss spilling past his lips as he chases his own climax. it doesn’t take much longer, his hips slick with sweat as he comes undone with a bellow, his seed finally claiming home inside the snug curve of your cunny, painting the plush of your cervix white. he’s loud, gasping and choking in between a series of growls that serve to encourage the weak throb that pulses between your legs, thrusting once, twice, thrice, until his hips falter, prick beginning to soften until it finally slips free from the safety of your cunt. there’s a gush, followed by a tacky, drooling web of opalescent that oozes from between your folds, the puffy shape of your pussy now swollen with arousal as it clenches, releasing another seepage of semen that dribbles a path onto the mattress, leaving a sticky, glistening mess in its wake. fighting to catch his breath, his grip tightens, his fingers splayed as his palm strokes over the length of your spine.
spent, his head rests, the apple of his cheek pressed to your shoulder, panting as his fingers rake over your sweat-drenched hair. your weight is slumped atop him, weak-kneed and breathless, and there, the two of you remain, embracing until the tempo of your pulse dwindles into a pace that doesn’t make your head spin. it is you who moves first, detangling your limbs from his and standing upon trembling legs when you rise from the bed. he seems reluctant as he allows you to withdraw, fingertips brushing over the dip of your back before you step out of reach, his eyes narrowing in on the way that the muscles of your thighs protest, aching as you both begin to fix your clothing back in place.
a short while later, you’re guiding him to the door, hyperaware of the weight of his stare that lingers on the blemishes that litter your throat. the door is unlocked with a click! and you’re expecting him to make his escape immediately. however, to your surprise, he’s leaning closer, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth, before moulding his lips to yours, greedily tasting the inside of your cheeks yet again. his thumb soothes a calloused path down the slope of your chin, fiery irises burning into the depths of yours before he tears himself from the comfort of you, sauntering down the hall towards the exit, not looking back. you loiter by the doorway, watching until his head ducks, disappearing from your line of sight, before you retreat into the safety of your apartment, legs quivering as you slowly make your way back to your bed.
you awake the next morning, regretful, his mark tainting your skin.
© obitohno. all rights reserved. do not repost my works.
More Posts from Jupiteralexandra and Others
boss at work and lovers in private w hiromi? He was very strict with the user at work and acts a bit rude/mean sometimes with reader.
But once they got home he fucks her nice and slow in bed as an apology for being mean at work <3
❤︎ ໋𓈒 higuruma who’s strictly mean in the workplace but makes sure to make it up to you at home.
warnings. fem! reader, dirty talk, unprotected, doggystyle, praise.
higuruma was a man who always took work seriously…
a workaholic if you will.
you always found yourself trying to tease him sometimes whenever he’d be working, and he’d just give you a glare. oftentimes, he’d be a bit stern and perhaps rude. although you couldn’t deny the bass in his tone whenever he spoke to you with such seriousness made you feel a bit…tingly.
just the rough rasp in his tone whenever he spoke directly to you, withholding intimate eye contact and telling you to stop fooling around and focus at the job at hand.
nevertheless, he did feel a bit bad, in fear that feasibly he was a bit too mean to his pretty baby. so he promises to make it up to you once the two of you get home. and that’s exactly what he does.
you couldn’t wait and neither could he. higuruma remained with his work clothes on, long black slacks pulled down briefly and the only sounds you could make out was the clanking of his belt. letting off a choked whine, you were willingly taking him from behind, and his touch..
higuruma stretches you out continuously with such ease, he’s got both of your wrists pinned behind your back before muttering, “i’m sorry baby. was i annoying you earlier?”
“y-yeah.” you moaned, feeling his tip brush right against that spot.
amorously, he slides a tongue across his lips while drilling into your cunt—you’re a stuttering mess. with a low chuckle departing from his lips, he hums.
“good,” and you bite your lip, his thrusts fulfilling you entirely. each sloppy hit that went against you time and time again, it left your mind completely dumbfounded. a quite perfect synonym to define your current state after all. “oh, don't whine all cute like that, y’know ‘m just teasing..”
higuruma’s words were so smooth and his tone was wholly soft spoken.
for a second, he dips his hips against you and you whimper, running your restrained fingers against his.
“god, you’re so pretty from behind. you know that, sweetheart?” his words went straight towards your pussy, that never failed to twitch on constant repeat. “such a perfect view. wish you could see for yourself, my love.”
“h-hirooo,” you’d mewl out, the right side of your cheek pressed down against the plump mattress. he knew just where to strike you with his dick, not too rough and not too soft.
just right. immensely, your toes curled each time he’d run his tip against your g-spot for a good two seconds, eliciting a loud moan from you. “fuck, f-fuck.”
“baby, you’ve got quite the mouth on you, huh?” he pokes fun, and you shiver once you feel the cold band of his watch trail against your skin. he presses a hand down your back, making you arch for him just a bit more and your eyes roll back yet again. “you’ve been pestering me at work all day, ‘s this what you wanted hm? wanted some attention—?”
the pleasures that pierced through your body was indefinable.
all you knew was that it felt so good, the way he pivots and smacks his hips softly against your ass, rolling and rotating them to where your head’s spinning like a merri go round.
“no,” you lied, and he huffs out a breath, grinning at you still having some brat left within you. once he deepens his thrusts for a short second, your mind pauses—you’re dumb, cock dumb if that even was a correct term for it, and you moan out. “y-yes.. you’re right, you were just so m-mean.”
he groans, feeling your slick start to stick against him throughout each movement he makes by rutting in and out of your greedy pussy.
“if i make you cum one more time, will that make up for it then, sweetheart?”
“m-mhm,” you’d nod, strings of your own spit falling against the sheets — oh, how much of a mess you were for him. only higuruma could have you like this, in this position. face nearly pushed against the mattress yet he’s presenting you with soft gentle thrusts. “make me cum, please hiromi.”
“pretty girl, you know i will,” he murmurs, and you let off a muffled moan once you bite your teeth into the pillow that remained underneath your chest. it was just the way his thickness dragged so easily against your folds. you could never get enough, his size had you drooling with such lewdness. “relax, don’t wanna strain that cute voice with all that moaning do ya?”
he watches you shake your head, and he chortles.
“sweet thing,” and his hips were so sensual against you, it was unfathomable to how good it made you feel. how good he made you feel. in the pit of your stomach—you felt something stirring, brewing up inside. butterflies perhaps, you pulsed between your thighs before he feels your leg start to jitter in utter anticipation. “ooh. ‘s coming isn’t it? you feel it too, my love?”
“r-right there,” you’d squeal, and by this particular point, your legs grew limp. his movements were unpredictable. higuruma’s jaw tightens as he’s balls deep, gawking at you clawing your nails down the white silkened sheets before bawling it up into the palms of your hands. “gonna c-cum, hiro. hiro.”
he slides a thumb against the corner of your back, maintaining a gentle tip against your hips before uttering in a husky voice, “yeah you are. c’mon baby. just let go for me. ‘s okay to be a little messy, yeah?”
“okay,” you’d babble, such thick inches that remained inside of you. your knees grew weak, he had such a grip against your waist that the pads of his thumbs pressed lightly down before caressing. higuruma always knew your most tenderest bits, the spots to drive you crazy. “h-hiro, ‘m cumming..”
a gasp exits from your mouth once you felt it, your entire body paused and juddered as a response.
your lips parted and the feeling made you grow quiet for a moment — ears, the very tips of them reaching such warmth of heat before you moan out his name once more. “t-thank you, thank you.”
“don’t thank me yet, gorgeous.” he whispers, leaning in to press a kiss against your back. “we aren’t done,” he says, and your legs still shook, sensitive before he turns you over to face him, pressing a wet kiss against your mouth. “i need more of you, and you need to be reminded of your place,” and his words were filled with such flirtatiousness yet was delivered so sweet. “so, just lie back and let me fond over this body just a little while longer.”
⌗︙・best friend pieck listening to u rant about your crush ⸜⸜・
best friend pieck who listens to you rant about your new crush from between your legs.
"we made eye contact." you say, the end of sentence turning into moan as her tongue slides thru your folds. she slurps at your juices, her tongue teasing at your hole.
"you think he's in love with you?" she giggles,, sending vibrations to your clit. you arch your back, but she presses you back down, throwing your legs over her shoulders. pieck buries her face deep into your cunt, licking and sucking on your juices.
"what else?" she asks. she's been your best friend for a long time and she supports all of your crushes. but she wants you to feel good too. pieck knows that none of those boys would be able to satisfy you as good as she does.
"he borrowed my... im about to cum." you whine, making her laugh. two of her digits press against your hole and she pushes the fingers inside of you. she presses them right into your sweet spot, fucking you with them while continuing to suck on your clit.
"pieck oh my god." you moan, cumming on her fingers and her mouth.
"i think he's the right for you, sweets. as long as he lets me fuck you on the weekends."
Warnings| slight size kink, slight cervix fucking, mirror sex.
“You’ve never had anyone this deep,” Katsuki muses. You assume he must have deduced this from your expression. From what you can make of it through your blurry vision, you look stunned. Disbelieving of how far inside you his cock is lodged.
He shifts his hips and your eyes cross. Katsuki chuckles. “Oh, sweetheart,” he coos. “That’s really fucking sad.” He withdraws from your body, hips sticky with your mixed arousal and slams into you with enough force to jostle you up the bed. Your lips part on a silent scream, your reflection in the mirror above Katsuki’s bed mocking you. His head blocks your view as he drags his tongue across your parted lips, dipping it inside of your mouth to coax you into a kiss.
Katsuki savors every shift in your expression. Gaze trained on the way your lips tremble each time he bumps into your g spot. The way your brows twitch downward when he grinds his cock into the sensitive, gummy walls. “Can’t believe no one has ever reached your g spot,” he laughs. He adjusts you slowly, lifting your thighs from around his waist to perch them on his shoulders. His weight sinks you into the mattress like this his cock reaching somewhere even deeper.
“This—” he smirks near your ear, grasping the fleshy lobe between his teeth as he cups your ass to hold you steady, his cock catches on something inside of you, a place that feels weird and sensitive, that has your legs threatening to kick out “—is your cervix, angel.”
Your lids flutter and Katsuki tuts. “Eyes open, baby,” he warns, words shaky. “Look at yourself,” he reminds you and your eyes immediately rise to the mirror on his ceiling, you can barely focus on anything but the bruising of your pussy under Katsuki’s fucking but your expression becomes burned into your brain. “You look so good getting good dick,” he laughs. “Fucked out and adorable.”
Some sort of your brain registers that you’ve scratched red marks into he pale skin of Katsuki’s back. That you can see the shifting muscles of his back with each of his thrusts. That you have a perfect view of his tight ass and the way those muscles flex. But in the forefront of your mind you can only hear Katsuki’s words.
“Good dick has you glowing,” he gloats. And you have to agree. You look good spread under him, eyes hazy and lips parted to gulp air into your lungs. “My dick has you glowing.”
You can only whine your agreement. You don’t think you’ve ever looked this debauched or felt this sexy getting fucked but once again Katsuki takes a first you don’t even know existed. You’re creaming around his cock before you even notice it and his pace barely even falters. He fucks you right through it words of encouragement whispered into your neck.
You lock eyes with your reflection and you swear it winks back at you. Finally, we’re getting the dick we deserve, echoes in your mind but you’re too cock drunk to decipher whether it’s a conscious thought or not. All you know is you agree.
fantasy - mdni
pairings: dilf!nanami x fem!reader
synopsis: you meet your friend’s dad - not expecting that he turns out to be your favorite porn star
cw: age gap (reader is 21, nanami is 42), college girl reader, mentions of porn and masturbation, dumbification, daddy kink, unprotected intercourse, oral (giving and receiving), fingering, nipple play, cowgirl, mating press, degradation, teasing, nicknames (doll, princess), name calling (slut, whore), one mention of anal
word count: 4.7k pure filth (i’m sorry)
───────── ⋆⋅ ⋆ ⋅⋆ ─────────
The paperwork in front of you made you frown. You groaned internally. The semester had just started but your professor did not plan to go easy on your class. An important assignment was due, making you put in extra effort. Yue, a friend you met in this class, was sitting next to you. She was polite and well-mannered, making you feel comfortable around her even though you had only known her for a short amount of time.
You happily agreed to go to her house since she lived off campus; away from all the stuffy libraries. She told you that her father was a salaryman, often working overtime. He usually came home late which meant you had the house to yourselves to study.
Keep reading
press play.
ଘ pairing: fushiguro toji x female reader ଘ genre: smut, husband!toji, housewife!reader, canon divergence (toji lives) ଘ word count: est. 3.4k ଘ beware: fushiguro toji’s third housewife arc, toji is jealous of inanimate objects, punishment, female masturbation, fingering, usage of sex toys, teasing, degradation, mild spit kink, edging, pussy slapping (briefly), edging, homemade spicy videos, unhealthy relationships, elements of dom!toji, sub!reader, lots of cussing (as usual), not really proofread so expect spelling mistakes here and there
ଘ synopsis: if fushiguro toji wants his rules to be followed, he should really think about being around to enforce them. ଘ request: anonymous asked: HI LOLLYYY! if your asks/reqs are open (and if ure not busy) can i ask for some husband!toji smuttt 😩 so I’m thinking like he caught y/n playing with themselves because he was often away and was so needy SO toji ‘punished’ y/n by either overstimulation or edging OR both 😼🤲 with a hint of teasing and a bit mean toji >:(
ଘ notes: this is apart of my fushiguro toji’s third housewife arc and set in the same verse as rapport (read it here), but you don’t need to read that fic to read this one!!! sorry for literally edging you in this LMAOOO, but i hope this is what you wanted and that you enjoy MUAH <3333 reblogs and comments are much loooved!!
your husband rarely comes home at all, that’s why you do it. why you break, according to him, his most important rule. it’s an unfair one anyway, you think. wicked and terrible and cruel thing to implement in a neglected wife’s brain, especially when the husband’s bouts of absences can stretch weeks into long months without contact, leaving you to follow his “rules” at home because you’re obedient— pleased to see him pleased. after all, it’s your fault he even had to enforce that shit.
but toji’s recent change of heart, being softer on you, sweeter to you, has you spoiled. stubborn and frustrated when you’re aching, when your needs aren’t met.
you blame it on a text message.
safe and sound in the bedroom in your apartment, you’re curled up on toji’s side of the bed with your feet in soft, cozy thigh-high socks. his pillow tucked comfortably under your chin as you tap buttons on the screen of your phone, eyes glued to the otome you’re playing. the handsome love interest is stammering out a proposal to your character, on one knee and everything. the scene is too sugary, full of love and devotion, while your own had been much different. but you click ‘yes’ anyway, the scene switching to a colorful cg of the couple sharing a passionate kiss; you grumble about having to spend 120 diamonds on the choice when your phone cheerfully announces a notification, the little bubble dropping down.
big worm zaddy ♡ now text message unlock for more
the contact name annoys toji so much, but it’s a relic from the early days of your dating and makes you giggle every time you read it so there’s no convincing you to change it. making sure your game is saved, you tap the notification hurriedly to open the chat with your real husband, wondering what he sent.
big worm zaddy ♡ ▸ won’t be home 2nite doll got a good feelin bout this race
of course, of course. when you’re used to not seeing him for months, a night away is a quick trip around the clock. a miniscule amount of time, really, but that doesn’t stop the sinking pit of disappointment that settles heavy in your heart, a sickening pain that you have to press your hand against and rub the spot to soothe it away. it’s different when he’s cities away from you on a contract— somehow, you miss him even more knowing that he’s in the same city and would rather prowl the back streets of tokyo or bet down big like a high roller at a horse race, than be home with you. blame it on the otome for making you crave the touch of your own lover.
you respond immediately with okay, good luck on not losing this time <3 and you’re about to exit out of the thread, return to your little visual novel fantasy, when the black thumbnail of an attachment sent by your husband months ago catches the corner of your curious gaze.
sliding the volume to low, you know exactly what the attachment is.
you press play.
“bet you think you’re real fuckin’ cute, huh?”
Keep reading
Pairing. Gojo, Yuuji, Sukuna, Megumi, Nanami x Fem!Reader (Separately)
Rating. NSFW/ Explicit
WC. 1.3k+
CW/ TW. Single-Parent Reader, Domestic Softness, Breeding Kink, Rough Sex, Pet Names (ex. Dove, Baby), Almost getting caught, All Characters Aged-Up (If I missed anything, please let me know!)
AN. All likes, comments, and reblogs are very much appreciated!
M. List
𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 is a grown child himself sometimes, so he most likely has zero problems getting along with your daughter.
He calls her princess, and one day you walk into the living room to find your daughter putting clips in Satoru's platinum hair and unicorn stickers on his face. It's cute, and you secretly take a picture to make it your lock screen on your phone.
Most days, you have to cook or else those two will eat nothing but sweets all day. But on the days he does try to make dinner, he'll have a chair pushed up to the counter for your daughter to see and help—though your kitchen is often left a total mess afterward.
He probably develops a breeding kink because he wants more little you's running around the house—and you shiver when he tells you this while you're washing dishes, pressing himself along your back so you can feel how hard he is.
Satoru has your wrists pinned above your head, biting at your breasts greedily, his thrusts rough and needy. He's pretty sure you're both going to have carpet burns later, but his head is too gone to care.
He nuzzles the side of your face, hips brushing against your clit every time he presses his cock into you: "You gonna take all my cum in this tight cunt and make it mine, yeah?"
𝐘𝐔𝐔𝐉𝐈 is more shocked by the fact you have twins and less about you actually having kids.
It's no surprise that they're as drawn to his sunny personality as you are, both of them constantly vying for his attention. He takes the twins to the zoo and buys them new plushies for their bed—he even takes care of them when you're sick or stressed from work.
He has no issue considering the twins his and even lights up when someone points out how he makes a good father.
One thing he does lack, however, is subtlety.
You whine about moving to the bedroom when he decides to pull your small sleep shorts to the side and impale you on his achy length. His grip on your hips is gentle compared to the unforgiving pace of his thrusts below you, the couch groaning in protest.
"Shh, it's okay, baby." He presses a messy kiss to your lips. "They're sleeping. Now keep riding my cock."
And it's almost a close call when he cums with an animalistic groan, and you barely miss the sound of a door squeaking open upstairs before you throw the blanket over both of you.
𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 is probably super awkward—the type that's never wanted kids, and yet he knew that you and your daughter were a package deal when he met you.
This doesn't stop him from hating the fact that every time he leaves his room, he always ends up stepping on Legos, or that he can't eat anything without a small hand reaching out for his food.
Eventually, he warms up to the idea, and affectionately calls your daughter brat—he'll even go as far as begrudgingly making her chocolate pancakes and watching cheesy cartoons to appease the little tyrant.
Although you try to stifle your smile when you come home from work to find him and your daughter curled up next to him, equally invested in whatever cartoon is playing on the TV.
He most likely still gets annoyed that he has to be more cautious about when and where he fucks you. He'll hold you down against the mattress if you're too loud, pushing your face into the comforter to cover up your little moans.
"If you make any more noise, you'll wake the brat," he hisses into your ear, though, smirking when you barely contain a sob each time his cock slides deeper.
𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈 most likely doesn't know what to do. After all, he didn't exactly have the best role model growing up.
He doesn't know what four-year-olds are interested in and probably bores your kid to sleep whenever he starts talking about mundane adult topics. You call it a gift because your son never takes naps for you—but really, he knows you're only saying that to make him feel better.
His first win is when he takes your son to the beach, and after a long day, the little boy cuddles up in his lap on the couch with soft snores muffled against his shoulder.
Megumi looks up at you in shock, and you can't help the little giggle that escapes your lips at the cute picture they make.
However, he gets super embarrassed when your son nearly walks in on him railing you into the mattress, and he practically knocks you off the bed in his haste to cover up.
𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 is definitely made to be a dad and adjusts pretty easily when you and your son move in with him.
He lets the little boy sit on his lap while drinking coffee and reading the paper in the morning. During the week, he picks him up and drops him off at daycare and packs lunches for the three of you.
You would have never expected the silent and very intimidating man to be so good with kids.
Your son also seems to be just as smitten with him that he often asks for Nanami when he thinks there are monsters in his closet—rubbing his wet eyes while standing near Nanami's side of the bed in his shark pajamas, sans one sock.
He lets the boy sleep between you most nights because he's usually too tired to get up. But on the nights when he tucks the boy back into his bed, you can't stop yourself from straddling his lap and pawing at his stiff cock through his boxers.
"Want you," you whine, freeing him from his underwear.
He grunts when you slide his heavy cock through your messy folds, and you whimper—teary-eyed.
"Dove, you're going to wake the baby." Though he hardly follows his own warning when he releases a feral groan as you slowly sink down until you feel like there's no more room in your swollen pussy for him to go.
His hands come up to dig into your hips, helping you grind back and forth. "My good girl," he mutters, watching your folds split around him. "You're gonna take the whole thing, aren't you?"
Then he thrusts up until the last inch is nestled in your tight, wet cunt.
Tagging. @weebaboobs @jordyn-degas @izukusfreckle @pulchritxde @sailorstrawberi @delirious-donna
anyways this is what this blog is ABOUT !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Being zeke’s best friend and you used to babysit young eren when he was 7-12, now he’s 25 and wants you to get that kid image you have of him out of your head. He wants you to see him as a man.
But you’re 32 and know you shouldn’t even get anything started with your best friend’s younger brother who you babysat for years.
And now he’s humping your thighs and sucking your tits in his mouth and calling you mommy begging to put just the tip inside of you
surrender to the sea, hange zoë
pairing: pirate captain!hange x noble!reader, they/them pronouns used for hange with afab anatomy for both
summary: your father’s shady business deals with a pirate crew lead to collateral damage.
warnings: kidnapping, pwp, explicit sexual content 18+, minors dni (consensual no dubcon here), poc friendly!! hange is a freak, r is SO down bad (same), r is dissatisfied w her life, tension, acc insane executions of gay panic, theres so much exposition before the smut im so sorry bear with me, cunnilingus, fingering, general filthiness — enjoy.
wc: 8.8k, sorry i cant stop yapping.
a.n : listen i tried to stop myself but im weak to my own devil thoughts ok hange worshippers wya
—
Jolting, you sat up in your bed, awakened from slumber by a whipping crash, followed by splintered glass cracking on the hardwood floors of your quarters.
Heart thumping in your ears from the shock, your head instinctively turned towards the shattered window, where the translucent fabric of the curtains were being dragged out with the cool night’s wind. Brows furrowing, your gaze turned to a small, thick object on the floor, illuminated by hints of moonlight, presumably the very cause of the shattering.
You felt an odd feeling, something in the wind warning you that you weren’t alone, you looked over your room, checking for anything out of order. There was nothing out of place, it wasn’t until your second skim over the room that you saw it. A shadow in the darkest corner, the corner where light barely hit it, something to do with the measurements of the architecture, you’d been told. It was there though, undeniably.
“Who are you?” You spoke, shakily, loud against the otherwise still atmosphere, your voice caused a small laugh to come from the unknown shadow.
“That’s your first question?” They spoke, an air of condescension about them.
“I should like to know the identity of the person who has broken into my quarters,” You steeled your voice, trying to portray an image of fearlessness though you were betrayed by the slight tremor in your hands as they clutched onto the bedsheets for any hope of comfort, “May you at least come out from the shadows?” Your fear was definitely betrayed then, as the person stepped forward, the light now casting shadows over their features.
You looked them over, noticing a slight reflection from the glass in their spectacles, a black band covering one quarter of their face, obscuring the right eye. You shook, this was no person from court, maybe not even from this city. Their hardened features, accessories and strange attire placing them from somewhere else entirely. Who is this stranger? What business have they with you?
You find yourself lacking words, having been woken up in such a way was causing a lack of signals to be sent to and from the brain. You were just staring at them, stunned to silence.
“No more questions, huh?”
“I-I just, am confused,” You responded, blinking away tears that formed as you truly grasped the situation you were in, and anything that could happen from here.
“Well, let me explain then,” they shrugged, “You’re coming with me,”
You ogled, “Coming with you, where exactly?”
“As it turns out, daughters are the best way to get a man to pay up,” They chuckled, you didn’t like the implications of this, at all. What did this have to do with your father? Last you had spoken to him, he was furious at you, having been ‘disrespectful’ to one of the countless suitors he had tried arranging for you. You don’t know why he still bothered; every time each one of the suitors had travelled and began any attempts at courting you, you’d reject them.
“I hope you know I’m not going to marry you,” you’d said to one of them, once. You could almost laugh at the gears turning inside their heads as they looked at you as if you were an entity. You’d add in a couple of comments here and there about how their attempts were foolish and in vain, how they coat their dark intentions behind sweet words and promises. You could always see through them. Plus, it was hard to deny the entertainment you’d get from seeing their flustered faces, set on denying all accusations whilst having no actual defence, before huffing and wandering away, not before having words with your father about how they would never marry such a disobedient and insolent woman. Was this your father trying to teach you a lesson? No. That doesn’t feel right, they emphasised paying up. Pay for what? You wondered, had your father been up to something?
“Unfortunately, that makes you collateral,” they paused, looking down as they adjusted the sword that was clinging onto their side, sheathed away, for now. You hadn’t even noticed it before, shuddering as you realised you were completely defenceless. Not a weapon nearby you could use, even if there was, you wouldn’t be able to formulate an attack, regardless. “So, you’d better listen to what I say, and come with me,”
After a beat, with no response, they continued, “I will only ask nicely once, princess,” Sighing as one hand moved to their hip, the other remained on the hilt of their sword, “I’d prefer to do this cordially, if you wanna make it ugly, that’s your choice.”
You blinked, truly at a loss, what the fuck was happening?
“If I go with you, will you tell me what’s going on?” You hated the way that sounded on your tongue, so helpless and lost— a feeling you resented, pride dissipating and crumbling into a tiny speck.
“You have to come with me to find out,”
—
Wood creaked beneath your feet, steps hesitant as the stranger escorted you along the way, your vision totally blinded as they had wrapped a cloth around your eyes. Closing your senses from the rest of the world, all you could do was rely on the sounds of hectic chatter and sea waves, a salty scent around you.
You’d been walking for what felt like miles, but your manor wasn’t too far away from the sea, that stretched out to meet a vast ocean, the only connection between your country and any others. You knew you had been taken to the coast, based on the cries of seagulls and the humming water.
The stranger’s hand was placed on the lower of your back, guiding you, as well as deterring you from any sudden moves. You probably would’ve tried to run away from them, were it not for the clang of metal that was attached to the stranger’s hip.
“Can you at least tell me your name?”
“I think you’re confused on our roles here, sweetheart,” They chuckled, “You don’t get to order me around,” They added a slight push at your back, emphasising the fact that they hold all the cards, whilst you’re just leverage. That was the only part of this you understood.
Sighing, you sneered your lip. You were starting to get pissed off, this stranger completely disrupted your sleep, blindfolded you, is kidnapping you, and you still have no clue as to why. You needed answers.
Your steps came to a halt, when you felt the stranger press you forward to nudge you, you hardened your legs to the ground.
“I’m not continuing,” A pause, “You said you wanted to do this cordially, then tell me your name,”
The stranger sighed, you could almost hear the roll in their eyes, “Look, we’re almost here, okay?”
“Just a few more steps and then I’ll tell you,”
Another nudge at your back, along with a hand meeting yours, “Watch ya step,” They spoke, guiding you up what felt like a ramp, their hand leading you.
A door slammed behind you, the stranger removed their hands and disappeared for a short time before you felt them behind you again, fingers untying the knotted cloth. You let out a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. Were they going to kill you?
Your eyes felt slightly raw after being covered so tightly for that long, after you adjusted to the air and light around you, you could take in your surroundings.
The room was slightly dimmed, lighted only by a few oil lamps that burned away in their designated corners, you noticed countless jars on the shelves, preserving different sea creatures and other things you could not recognise. Notes and maps were scattered all over the floor and the desks, piles of books, rustic and handmade, but neat and organised— in its own way. This was the room of someone who studied and researched, you could recognise the frantic illustrations immediately, could feel the passion that lingered in the room.
The stranger moved in front of you, “You just gonna stare?” Your eyes took them in now, fully in vision this time, with no more shadows to hide behind, no more cloth. Their eyes were a soft, dark brown, layers of hair falling over the sides of their face, the tips rimmed with leftover structure from saltwater. Strong jawline and a strong nose, their glasses sat atop the bridge, leaning down slightly, the black band you noticed before still covering their eye. Their attire consisted of a loose black, long-sleeved shirt, a large slit down the chest area, not tied with the laces, allowing you to see the vast black strings with pendants that made up the necklaces wrapped around their neck. You recognised it as a shirt that was traditionally stitched for men, though they certainly looked much better in it than any man could. Loose black pants which emphasised their slender waist, with dark long boots, you could see scuffing on the edges of them from wear, the laces splitting from frequent tying. You let out a sigh, before speaking.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Hange,”
“You’re not from this land,” You say, “You’re a person of the sea,”
Hange hummed, their hand meeting their hip once again.
“Are you going to kill me?”
They let out a laugh, one so inappropriate it almost made you feel stupid, “Sweetheart, if I was going to kill you, d’you think I’d have taken you here?”
“Well, it would’ve been foolish to kill me in my quarters,”
“Leverage needs to be alive to be worthwhile, that’s the whole point,” The way they spoke unnerved you, with their charismatic words and smug voice. Hints of a smirk tugging at their lips.
“Where is ‘here’, anyway?” You didn’t feel stable, the floor rocked up and down slightly, your stomach turning a little as you adjusted to the slight weightlessness of the structure. “We’re on water, I can hear the waves,”
“Don’t worry, we haven’t set sail yet,” They walked over to their desk, moving around some papers, studying its contents, “There’s still business to tend to before we do,” In other words, your father.
You watched them, the way their sword clung and clanked against the hardwood of the desk, their tall stature almost reaching the short ceiling of the cabin, hand splayed on the desk for stability. Hair tied up at the back, with strands spilling out of their tie.
“What’s my purpose here?” Your arms crossed over your stomach, fingers grabbing at the sleeves of loose fabric of your nightdress, feeling vulnerable.
“Your father’s in some trouble,” They chuckled, your heart sank, “He owes me,”
“For what?”
“You sure ask a lot of questions, princess.”
“I’m not a princess,” you replied, voice tensing. “Do not address me as such,” Hange’s lips tilted, noticing your misgivings, the tense shoulders and a quip in your upper lip. Distaste. Interesting.
“Your father’s trying to make you one. Queen Consort, as I’ve heard,” Your brows furrowed.
“I do not follow,”
Hange looked up from their pages, gazing right at you. You tried swallowing, throat dry, as they hoisted themselves off the desk and stepped closer.
“He commissioned us, my crew,” Hange spoke, “To track and retrieve the Marleyan jewel.”
“I thought that was legend, an ancient myth of a mystical jewel, passed down from stories.”
“Oh, it’s very real, my lady.” You sighed, at least they were addressing you properly this time.
“And a very dangerous job, at that.” You stared at Hange, looking for any hints that this was just an elaborate joke. None were found, though. They were serious.
“I lost two good men, almost the rest of my crew for that buffoon,” They sighed, a flash of anger in their eyes, rubbing the skin of their jaw, “We retrieved this jewel, and your father tried to rob me blind, I want compensation.”
“Why would he go to those lengths? I do not understand,”
“For you, princess.”
When you did not answer, Hange continued, “Apparently this was his golden opportunity, get the long-desired jewel to gift the King an offering for your hand to the prince. Establish power and riches, and a good suitor for his daughter.”
Your stomach churned, you knew your father was adamant on marrying you off, but this? This was something different, sinister. You knew Hange was telling the truth, the intricacies of the story fell into place too well to be a lie.
Your father was truly a despicable man, hungry for power, and uncaring of those he stepped on to get to his station. Now you were paying for his greed. You think back to your mother, wishing she had outlived him, maybe you would be different, now.
“He cost me two men, our stock and supplies,” Hange pressed, shaking their head, “I can’t have that.”
“So you take me for ransom?”
“If he is not willing to pay up, I’m taking it upon myself to make him. One way or another, he will pay.”
Tears rimmed the ducts of your eyes, you blinked them away, a futile attempt to not show weakness. You know what that meant, either in physical currency or emotional currency, even if he cared little for you, he’d be paying with the loss of a guaranteed seat. To a man like that, that’s punishment enough. You chewed the corner of your lip, nerves eating you up.
“I can’t believe he’d do this,” You could actually, it was more the disbelief of how quickly your situation had changed, “All to marry me off to a disgusting man, be done with me whilst he sits comfortably,”
“You don’t wish to marry a handsome prince? Live a life of wealth and comfort?” Hange looked amused, almost perplexed that this was against your wishes.
“I wish for nothing of the sort,” You sneered, “I crave a life of my own choosing.”
Hange’s features softened, feeling a tug of pity before shutting the feeling down. They almost related to you, almost. Before reiterating to themselves that you were the same as all the other rich nobles. Wealthy and comfortable in your ostentatious manors, with even more ostentatious dresses, whilst the rest of the population suffered, starved and fought for dregs of burnt bread and half pints of spoiled milk. You were no different. No different.
“Careful, my lady, or I’ll sail this ship with you in it,”
You let out a saddened laugh, “Better than what he was planning for me,” You snuck a glance at the circular port window, watching as people were busying themselves with tasks. Filling up crates of fruits, dried fish, barrels of wine and weapons. You mulled for a second, it could be worse, Hange could’ve killed you at the first meet, or even worse, your father successfully got his hands on the jewel, and shipped you off to live a life with a prince who couldn’t even fold his own clothes, or bathe himself. You could visualise your father sitting back, smug and content as he finally got what he always wanted. Abundant wealth and power.
“I do not wish to stay here.” You said, voice more confident than it had been the entire time. Hange looked up at you, surprise taking over their features, “You may demand whatever compensation you require from my father, but…”
“When you set sail, I wish to come with.”
—
Hange had left the captain’s cabin for quite some time, leaving you inside alone as you couldn’t be allowed on the deck yet, not trusted to not do anything stupid yet. They had to check on a few of the crewmates first. You were an interesting character to say the least, Hange could tell you were stubborn, though that’s normal for a high-born, accustomed to making demands and having them realised. It was easy to imagine you not mixing well at court, with your disregard for hierarchy and noble customs. They almost laughed at your conviction when you said you wished to board the ship, of your own accord. The most determined glaze over your features. That was an unexpected oversight, Hange didn’t expect you to go so willingly. A part of them was relieved, content they didn’t need to make it bloodier than it had to be. They have morals, after all. Hurting an innocent woman would provide no respect amongst their crew, not when the real fish was the father.
The crew’s respect and admiration for the captain of the ship was of utmost importance, they need a leader they could trust and admire, it was easy enough to have mutiny on your hands. The ship was passed down to Hange from their father, but the trust and good dynamic of a solid crew, you have to earn yourself. Hange had established that respect from one of their first expeditions, under their confident lead the ordeal had been speedy and efficient. Hange ordered the rewards to be split and distributed as was deemed fair. With multiple feats over harsh waters and perilous expeditions, Hange had consistently proved themselves as a strong leader, they ran a tight ship and their crew meant everything to them.
*
You sat there in your silly nightdress, ennui eating at your brain as you sat, wishing you could change into something else. Arms wrapped around your legs, looking around as you waited. Deciding to get up, you looked around the room, it was rather nice, for what it was.
You walked up to the shelves, sea oddities neatly placed preserved in jars, with linen labels pinned underneath. You noticed various species, octopi, starfish, eels, crabs and lobsters, and other creatures you had never seen before in your books. There were also drawn illustrations of the anatomy, their organs and bone structure— did Hange do all this?
Your eyes trailed around, landing on the maps and compasses discarded around the tables and floor, with coded markings and notes around certain landmarks, sketches of what you assumed to be distant lands. Looking in awe, wandering at all the things you had never heard of, let alone seen before. Hange must be so knowledgeable, so well-travelled, so.. free. All the things you wished you could be.
Running your fingers over the maps, you jumped back into propriety as the cabin door swung open, Hange’s footsteps filling the room. They looked at you, having noticed your sudden switch in demeanour.
“You inspecting my collection, my lady?” Their back was to you, hanging their outer coat on one of the nail pegs that had been hammered into the wall.
“I’m sorry, I..” You looked down, “I was just curious,”
“It’s alright, I’m quite fond of it myself,” They joined you, standing to your side and looking at where you had been caught touching the delicate papers.
“You did all of this?”
“Is that so surprising?” They chuckled, crossing their arms over their chest. “No,” You paused, “I have just never seen anything quite like this,”
“There are many wonders out in the world, I like to keep note of them,” “For plundering?” You joked, too late to bite it back before it slipped out.
They laughed, “Not everything is to be plundered, sometimes it’s enough to just take it in and observe,”
You looked up at them, there was something you couldn’t quite place about them, yet. They were unlike the pirates you had read about or heard bedtime stories of as a child.
“The world has many corners of beauty, they’re deserving of respect and admiration." Agreeing, you pointed at the display of jars, thinking back to your own research on botany, categorized and illustrated, frowning as you realised it was all left behind. All those hours spent bending your neck under candlelight wasted. “I have a similar collection, pressings of flowers and plants- a little like yours, illustrations and marked under their specifications: edible, toxic, healing,"
Hange looked at you, "Sounds wonderful," unexpecting to have anything in common with someone of your stature, and yet, here they were. "It's all in my quarters, so I doubt I shall see it again," You breathed out, trying to not make it seem like a loss. Hange's gaze turned towards the floor, feeling slightly culpable that they had taken that away from you.
Straightening their back up, they moved back to their satchel, opening it wide and grabbing some folded clothing, jars with some clear liquid, slightly cloudy. Moonshine, you noted. Easier to distil your own rather than paying double for liquor.
“This is for you,” They hummed, holding out their hand waiting for you to walk over and grab them.
“What is it?”
“Provisions,” They shrugged, “And some clothes, we don’t have a lot aboard, but you can have my cast-offs, they were going to be left at the port anyway.”
You looked at them like they had grown seven heads, not expecting sudden kindness from someone who kidnapped you only a few hours ago.
“This where you say ‘thank you, Hange’.” There was the smugness again, an impish look on their features, you rolled your eyes you stepped closer.
Grabbing the items from them, “Thank you, Hange,” You felt meek, under their heavy gaze as you said their name for the first time. It felt strange hearing it from your own mouth, “Any longer in that nightdress and I probably would’ve thrown myself overboard,”
They laughed, “Don’t think you’ll prefer my clothes any more, truthfully, but if you’re going to stay here for now, might as well blend in.”
“Anything is better than this,” You ran your fingers over the fabric.
“Get dressed, it’s mealtime soon,” “You’re letting me eat?”
They looked at you strangely, “I’m not letting a person on my ship starve, I’m not barbaric,” They stated as if it was obvious, it might’ve been, but not to you.
“Thank you,”
Nodding, Hange left you to get changed. Giving you privacy as they shut the door behind them, you waited a few seconds before undressing. You weren’t accustomed to wearing pants, nobility requiring you to wear frilly dresses that cut off your circulation and itched at your neck and wrists, you were rather excited to adorn some comfortable cloth, for once.
As you manoeuvred the loose shirt over your limbs, you noticed a lingering musk of salt and sandalwood? It was rather pleasant, you would normally make your own scented oils and perfumes from boiled flower petals, lavender and honeysuckle, plants native to your country. This scent was uncommon, usually gifted to you at court from wealthy travellers. You lifted the fabric closer to you, inhaling, it truly was divine. Is this what Hange smells like? You couldn't honestly say you hated it.
Slipping your legs through the pants, they were a bit over your standard size, you tucked the wide bottoms into your own boots. You were glad you opted for your hunting boots rather than your daily shoes. Not quite sure that you had put everything on properly, as the fit felt odd. Looking down, everything felt slightly too big and made you feel like a child in adult’s clothing. Frowning you tried tucking in the shirt, though that didn’t really seem to help either.
There was a knock at the cabin door, “Are ya decent?”
The concept made you chuckle, Hange treated you with a lot more respect and propriety than some of the men at court.
“Yes.”
“Never had to knock on my own door before,” Hange joked, letting themselves in, gazing over at you in your fresh clothes. Their smile dropped ever so slightly as their eyes travelled over your new attire. Hange's poet blouse hanging on you, you had, of course, actually tied the laces at the chest, you were a Lady after all. Kinda suits you, they thought, before shrugging it away to hidden corners.
"Does it look alright? It's a little big," "You complaining?" You flustered, not wanting to come across as ungrateful, "Not at all, I-" "I'm messing with you, may I?"
When you nodded, they walked up closer to you, eyes unreadable. You stiffened up, back a little straighter when they brought their hands to the bottom of the blouse. Watching their movements hesitantly, Hange did not make contact with your eyes, they were so close to you. Catching that hint of sandalwood again, almost intoxicating as you honed your vision onto their hands. Looking for anything else to concentrate on, it didn’t help much as Hange focused on undoing the bottom three catches, revealing your uncovered abdomen. They grabbed at the two, now separate hangs of the shirt, your breath hitching when their fingers delicately grazed your bare skin, a minute jerk of your stomach as Hange began tying the fabric together so it fit tighter around your waist. So that was the trick to it, then? You must admit, it was an improvement.
You let out a heavy breath when they were done, and finally stepped away. It was harder to breathe when Hange was that close, you will not let that happen again. Feeling far too clouded upon their proximity, perhaps you were allergic to the fragrance, you reasoned.
“Better?” Their voice lowered, awaiting your judgment,
“Much, thank you.”
—
Mealtime came quickly after, you hadn't expected it to be so busy, or so populated. How many people does it take to effectively run a vessel of this size? Hange led you to the upper deck, evidently the largest space aboard, where mealtimes commonly occurred. A large pot of warm meat stew was being led out by a small woman from the galley, placed upon the floor as the crew grabbed portions as they pleased. Hange passed you a ceramic dish, before ladling a couple spoonfuls into your plate.
Thanking them, you looked around, spotting barely any dining tables or chairs, mainly stools or planks of wood nailed together to form a bench, most taken up by the sailors, as others sat themselves in the grooves on the ship deck, some on the rim of the ship itself. You shall not risk that, you thought, still adjusting to the feeling of a rocking vessel.
“You’re probably used to something more polished, but this is how we eat here,” Hange shrugged, “Try to enjoy the stew, Sasha truly works wonders with very little,”
“Landing at port was a godsend, I used fresh meat this time,” The brunette who brought out the food spoke, overhearing the conversation, who you assumed was Sasha. You stilled, this time? What about every other time, you thought, shuddering. Well, no time to adjust like the present. Sticking the spoon into the stew, you took a mouthful, before looking up at Hange in wonder, eyes wide, “This is delicious,”.
“Thank Sasha, she keeps us all standing,” Hange joked, placing a hand upon Sasha’s shoulder.
“What do you normally eat?” You asked, directing your question over to Sasha,
“Usually what we can grab and preserve for a long time, dried meats, beans, your city has a lovely selection of fruits so we’ve stocked some of those, too!” She smiled at you, and you found that she had quite a comforting presence, feeling at ease, you hoped you could form a friendship with her.
Hange excused themselves, as they had something to attend to with someone called Levi. You watched them as they walked away, interacting with their crewmates, laughing with them over something you couldn’t hear. They definitely knew how to command attention, their entire being was self-assured, and confident in themselves and their abilities. Dragging your eyes away, back to Sasha, who watched you with a smile on her face.
“You’re not what I expected when Hange told us the plan,”
“I hope I haven’t disappointed,” you retorted, not really knowing how else one could respond to that. Sasha simply laughed, “It’s a great deal different, but not disappointing,”.
—
You had remained on the deck, the crew wanting to have a little friendly spar for morale. If this was the only entertainment you could get, you’d gladly take it. Having finally secured a spot on one of the benches, you watched as different spars played themselves out.
After a few, though, it was all starting to become a bit monotonous. Feeling your eyes glaze over, you were suddenly conscious of the fact that you hadn’t had a good nights rest since Hange took you, where would you even sleep tonight?
Your attention was redirected when a crewmember called out Hange’s name, challenging them to a spar. The newly formed crowd cheered as Hange made their way into the sparring space. A smirk on their lips as they vaunted, hand clasping their sword as it was unsheathed. Finally take a good look at it, it was a fine piece of metal, sleek and thin. The handle was adorned with intricate patterned etchings.
You took notice of how Hange handled the blade, slender fingers wrapped around the hilt as they pointed it towards the opponent. No shaking, no hesitation. A sturdy, stable grasp, with an arrogant side smile that captivated you, eyes glued on their movements as the opponent tried to disarm them, unsuccessfully. Hange was slightly more agile, their body flowed like liquid, vivacious as they fought. It seemed like they could almost foresee the man’s footing and which way he’d direct an attack. They must’ve sparred together many times. A few more attempts and Hange trapped his blade, lifting his own up and twisting their arm. His sword fell to the floor with a clang, reverberating against the wooden deck.
“Damn it, Captain!” The opponent yelled out, frustration in his voice as he thought he’d actually win this time, Hange only hung their head back and laughed, the strands of hair that edged down their face slipped back, exposing their jaw and neck. A gentle smile escaped your lips as you watched, they looked so liberated, so strong. Hange truly was an enigmatic figure, they carried themselves with authority that you can’t say you’d ever seen elsewhere. They were charismatic, magnetic, you could see that they truly had the admiration of their crew.
“You’ll have to try harder to beat me,” Hange teased, sheathing their sword, a mischievous glaze in their eyes as they landed on you. Your heart picked up, unable to pull your own gaze away from theirs, almost enchanted when you noticed the corner of their lips tilt up.
Breaking away from the contact, you felt your ears grow warm. Deciding to find the wooden deck the most interesting thing around you, until scuffed boots appeared in your line of vision. Looking up, Hange had stepped closer to you, placing their hand into a pocket of their pants.
“Time to retire, my lady?”
Fumbling, you flustered, “Where am I to sleep?” Members of the crew were scattered, some sleeping on the floor of the deck, some had set up rustic hammocks, whilst others continued to wander the floor.
“In my quarters,” Hange stated as if it was obvious, “Unless you’d prefer to sleep next to that lot,” They pointed at the others, crewmates who slept on their stools with their heads resting on their arms placed on the brim of the ship. The expression on Hange’s face made it clear that they were mocking you, perfectly aware of how you would not prefer that option.
“I fear my spine would crumble,” You jested, your lie blatant.
“Come,” They nudged their head towards the stern of the ship, where the Captain’s private quarters were. Hange’s comfortable room with all the fascinating oddities. You’d much prefer sleeping there, you thought.
Following, Hange led you back to their space, all things considered, you felt rather guarded there. Strangely safe and sound. Something tugged at your mind that Hange wouldn’t stand for anything to happen to you, not even for you specifically— Hange’s crew appeared quite companionable, you attributed that to their leader. You wondered how far those pleasantries extended, what acts of horror were allowed and which were not.
Closing the door behind them, Hange hung up their outer coat on its peg, rolling their shoulders as a minor stretch. Bringing their hands up to the back of their neck, rubbing the tender muscle atop their skin.
You stood, clutching your elbows under crossed arms. The silence in the cabin contrasted the raucous crew outside, some still sparring.
“Was that moonshine?” Your voice broke through the quiet, looking towards the jar of liquid Hange had brought you as 'provisions'. "No, it's grog," "Grog?" "Rum and water," Pulling a face, you continued.
"Is it good?" "Not really, but we don't drink it for its taste." Nodding, you picked up the jar, inspecting. "Did you make it?" Hange scoffed, smirking to themselves, their arms coming to cross over their chest, "It's far easier to steal from merchant ships, they're always overloaded with stock," "I see."
"I think I would like to try it," Hange raised their eyebrows at you, a playful look struck their features. "Oh?" They continued, "I brought it for you, thought you might need a little pick-me-up, have at it."
Uncorking the jar, the aroma of the liquor invaded your senses. "It smells strong," Hange nodded, watching with a devilish face as you brought the rim to your lips. After a gulp, you couldn't hold back a cough as the force of the harsh drink burned through your throat, your lips twisting and your eyebrows squeezing together. "That's revolting," "Yeah, it's pretty bad," Hange laughed, grabbing the jar from you and taking a bigger gulp for themselves, passing it back to you. Truly, you don't know what possessed you to take another sip, but it became easier to tolerate.
A few half hours passed, and you had placed yourself on Hange's wicker couch, your bed for the foreseeable. Arms wrapped around your legs which pressed to your chest. You were definitely feeling the effects of the liquor, tolerance much lower than Hange's, who sat on the floor beside the couch. Feeling far more relaxed, your tongue was a tad looser, speaking to and asking Hange questions you would've otherwise probably not asked. Truthfully, you were curious, there was a lot you wished to learn about them. When you first met Hange, you expected a lot of things, you didn't anticipate them being quite as respectful and honourable towards you as they were. There was more to them than what was seen on the surface, you wanted to see what lay deeper.
"But why? Why do you choose to live a life of piracy? Wouldn't it be far safer to live on land?" "Not everyone is lucky enough to be born atop riches, that's an irregular gift given only to a few," Hange spoke, their words thoughtful despite having drank even more than you, "Life at sea is more forgiving than the hardships on land." "Yes, but... there must be something else, even with the hardships at land?
"No offence, my lady," Pausing, "What would you know of hardship on land? My father worked his hardest, damn near broke his back, just to be cheated and stripped of his dignity by the greed of others." Looking down at your knees, a pull of guilt struck, knowing that it was because of people like you, and your father.
"This was his way of ensuring his own future, on his own terms and not under the boot of the wealthy who build their livelihoods on the backs of others." Hange sighed, taking another sip of grog, "At least on the sea, what you see is what you get, fight for what you want and share the rewards. It's not the most honest work, yes, but it's far more honest than those sitting in ivory towers clicking their fingers for anything they desire."
You watched as Hange spoke, their words were true, honest reflections of everything they stood for. Pirate or not, Hange had more substance than you'd ever encountered in anyone else in your life. More than those who coat their words with sugar, kissing up to their higher-ups all for a sliver of what they had.
Hange passed you the jar, and you swallowed another sip, barely tasting the alcohol by this point. This was the first you had heard of Hange's family. "I understand that," you hummed, "I've always thought it unfair, why others are seen as less based on menial things such as money. I suppose my father was my introduction to that, a part of me has always despised him."
"I wondered why you came with me so willingly, though if I had your father I would probably have been similar." Laughing, you nodded, "Truthfully, I have felt disillusioned from my life, perhaps I wanted something refreshing, a different way of being."
"Besides, you intrigued me, I find you fascinating," Your words slipped out, the grog having seriously impacted your inhibitions. Hange's eyes met yours, impish and deviant. The edge of their lip quipped up, delightfully amused. "Is that right, my lady?" They leaned their weight on their right hand that was pressed against the cabin floor, as their left remained hanging off the leg they had propped up. Your skin burned underneath their gaze, and you found that your tongue shattered. Unable to respond, all you could do was meet their half-lidded stare, thunder in your chest, as it lifted up and down. Shit. "I think that's enough grog for you, princess,"
Breaking contact, you pointed at Hange's shelves, to where their collection lay, clearing your throat before speaking. "Like your collection, it-it's fascinating, I wish I could've grabbed mine," You deflected, altering the matter, anything to stop the thunder in your chest and remember yourself. Anything to stop the blaze before it spread far beyond control.
"When we set sail, you can start a new collection." They softened, "One with all the new plants you'll see,"
—
You felt like shit the following morning. Head thumping with each movement, you could only sit on one of the benches with your hands holding up the weight. "Grog fever?" Sasha's teasing voice rang out through your ears, "Been there."
"This is awful," "First time?" "Obviously," You rubbed your eyes, as Sasha lightly patted you on the back, "You'll survive,"
Two presences joined you and Sasha at your bench, one was shorter with black hair, and the other stood upright, with scraggly blonde hair. "This is Levi, he's the First Mate, pretty much Hange's second in command," Sasha spoke, introducing you, "Don't mind him, he's a bit of an ass." "The other is Reiner, also a bit of an ass," She giggled, finding entertainment within herself.
Levi nodded at you, a silent greeting which you didn't mind as listening and speaking were already hard enough with the thumping in your head. Reiner looked at you, before pulling his hand out to meet yours. "Lovely to meet such a beautiful lady," He declared, eyes scouring down your body, "I'm looking forward to having you aboard," His words reeked with flirtation, his cold eyes geeking you out, discomfiting, not like the handsome brown ones you melted into yesterday.
Almost as if reading your mind, Hange appeared, they had left the ship this morning, as apparently, they had some errands to run. Hange set their hands on Reiner's shoulders, carrying an indistinct countenance. "Reiner, I have matters to discuss, come," They spoke, before walking a few steps ahead, waiting for him near the stern, arms crossed.
"Coming, captain," Reiner followed their lead, you kept glancing over to them as Sasha picked up chatter with Levi. You were straining your ears to catch snippets of their conversation, a little difficult over Sasha's voice in front of you, the little you could make out came from Hange: Not this one.
As you switched your attention back to the table, wondering what the hell that was about, you had just bypassed Sasha's looking towards you, her brows crinkling and face pulling into a look of recognition. Huh, she thought, how about that?
—
As the day passed, the time to set sail was nearing, planned for sometime within the next two days depending on supplies and readiness. Apprehension was harder to ignore, you thought about what your father was currently doing, and his reaction upon discovering you had not been in your chambers the following morning. Mulling, you cackled to yourself, clasping your hand over your mouth to mask the giggles as the gravity of what you had done struck you. Never did you imagine your life to end up in this way.
Hange entered their quarters, hanging up their coat, "What's so funny?" " "I just can't believe what I'm doing," your laughter settled down, breathing returning to standard as Hange placed themselves next to you on the wicker couch. "Yeah? You 'n me, both," They chuckled, pausing, "Hey, uh- I wanted to give you this,"
You studied them, catching a modest element of hesitation on Hange that you weren't familiar with seeing. Hange handed you a book, of beautifully bound brown leather, the spine stitching exposed with light-coloured thread. "What is this for?" "You left your notes behind, so this is for your new collection," You gaped at them, prompting Hange to continue, "For all the new plants you'll see and learn about,"
Wordless, you looked between Hange and the book in your hands, feeling the skin at your cheeks heating up. "Hange, this is- thank you, so much," Nodding, Hange steeled, standing themselves up, nearing the door before speaking, "The shantyman is going to play for a while, the crew loves him, so you don't wanna miss it," It was customary for ships to bring musicians. They'd sing songs and play tunes to boost morale amongst the crew, to carry them through the harrowing nights, and oftentimes even spread their hopes for some romance. You definitely wanted to witness it, Hange held the cabin door open for you as you both made your way to the deck.
The musician was doing his thing, leading the crew in song, banging a drum as melodies rang through the vessel. You noticed Sasha dancing with the crewmembers. It was a little overwhelming, the events you had attended at court were much milder and reserved than this, uppity, really. People would rarely dance, it was almost taboo. This was far distant from that, it was fun, delightful even—almost hedonistic in style.
You weren’t quite sure how to join yourself with them, the dances varying from person to person made it hard to fall into a step. Hange noticed your hesitance, before clasping your hand and pulling you towards them. Their hand resting upon your waist, drawing you tighter as they moved into a dance. The air in your lungs tripped over itself, shortening your breath. Stomach pressed against stomach.
Looking up at them, Hange donned a smug smile, higher up on one side of their mouth as it hung from their lips.
“Dance with me, princess,” Hange hummed, their voice lowered. There came the thunder in your chest again, the blaze was spreading.
“I’ve told you to not address me like that,” You whispered, the contention you planned on executing in your voice was nowhere near where you had planned. Instead, it was mild, for fear that would fumble over your own words, as your tongue shattered once again.
“I can’t help it,” They grinned, skimming over your flustered appearance. You don’t know what kind of sorcery Hange held, what alluring magnetism in their blood drew you to them. You felt yourself begin to melt into their tempting gaze, as you blinked.
“Careful, don’t look at me like that or I might begin to get the wrong idea,” Hange’s head sank towards your neck, your breath hitched. Their proximity was intoxicating, you found you couldn’t bear the weight of it. Pulling yourself away from Hange, you rushed to the cabin, pushing open the door and letting yourself inside.
Letting out a bulky breath, your face was burning up, body temperature way over standard as you rested your hands on Hange’s desk. Clamouring to compose yourself. Hange knocked at the door, before entering. Shutting your eyes, you remained still.
“You okay?” Ignoring them, you relented in your stance. The tension in the room increased, heart pulsing as you heard their footsteps reach close.
“I think I have fever,” You mumbled, Hange was right behind you now. You could feel their warmth reaching your back.
“Stand and face me, dear,” An assertive hand maintained at your waist, turning your body toward them Hange held down your gaze, keeping their hand in its place, squeezing. “This is no fever,”
Their free hand came to meet your jaw, thumb ghosting over the soft skin. Hange lowered their head towards you, their face so near, your sanity was in a thick haze, heavy and clouded. "I can see the dark in your eyes, my lady," Hange hummed, relishing in the glaze in your eyes, at the darkness pooling in your pupils as you glimmered up at them, eyes doe and lips plump from biting. The heat from their voice raised your skin, touring down your spine as an ache between your thighs pulsed.
Hange's lips brushed against the velvety flesh at the base of your neck, tentative. You shivered as you felt their lips leave delicate kisses, hand tightening around your waist. You shut your eyes, reeling in the sensation as Hange's igniting touch drew shaky breaths. Thighs clenched together as their lips reached the base of your ear, teeth tugging at the skin. You whimpered, as Hange's hands grabbed at the top of your thighs, just underneath the curve of your ass as they directed you to the top of the desk. Placing themselves between your thighs, before whispering, "Will you indulge me, dear?" With another kiss on your ear, you crumbled, arms wrapping around Hange's neck as your legs folded around their waist.
"Please, Hange, I can't bear it," You panted, core clenching around nothing, as desperation took over. Hange sighed, hearing their name fall from your lips as your body trembled was a sight to behold. Their lips finally landed on yours, tongue pushing into your mouth. Quivering hands grabbed at the back of their head, tightening around Hange's hair, trying to release the buildup of tension in your bones.
Lips broke apart, "Do you know what it does me seeing you wear my clothes?" Voice impassioned, almost hoarse. The hand at your hip moved to the catches at your shirt, reminiscent of the way they grazed your skin that day. Undoing the catches, your abdomen and breasts exposed, goosebumps forming from the sudden coolness of the air. Hange observed as your stomach jerked, smirking as they watched how your body responded. Hand slipping in between the open fabric, meeting the bare skin as you gasped before the shirt slid off your shoulders and onto the cabin floor.
Hange whined at your revealed skin and dishevelled state, the most disordered they had seen you. Their hand cupped your breast, watching as your lips parted and the sweetest cries escaped. Fingers stroking at your hardened nipples, as your pants were slowly being dragged down your legs. Your hips squirmed as Hange went on their knees, head just at the top of your shins. One hand still massaged your nipple whilst the other was around your ankle, holding your leg in place as they lapped their tongue up the skin, retaining steady eye contact. As their tongue reached your inner thigh, your head hung back, and you bit back choked whimpers, hips jolting with anticipation.
"Hange," you rasped, squeezing your thighs around their head, your nails coming to meet the top of the back, "Yes, my dear?" "Please," you pleaded, you had already come this far, you needed to feel it through, you could barely sit up, losing strength in your back. "Patience, sweetheart,"
Fingers left your breasts and made their way to the hem of your underwear. Hange bit their lip at the line of the dampness that had seeped through the thin fabric. "Fuck," they mumbled, tugging the material down where it remained hanging at your ankles, so dishevelled, so messy.
The tips of Hange’s slender fingers reached your dripping heat, arousal covering your thighs as they ghosted sensual touches over your warm slit, puffed and leaking. Thighs tensing as the feeling released itself as strangled whines. Hange was obsessed, exhilarated by the sweet sounds that left your dear lips.
“Fuck, Hange,” Hips rolling into their fingers, pressing closer for more touch, chasing the sensation as it came, "That feels fucking good," "Such rotten language," Hange taunted, the tip of their finger burying into your soaking entrance, stretching the silky walls, “Looks like I’ve been a bad influence,”
Leaving a few more kisses on your thigh, Hange stood back up to reconnect your lips, teeth nibbling at your bottom lip. The kiss successfully distracted you, as more fingers entered, slowly rocking into your flesh, as bliss overtook the initial sting. Hips began to tilt, grinding against the pressure. The sounds leaving you were indecent, vulgar, as Hange augmented the pace, rocking their fingers into you. Suddenly you were glad for the singing out in the deck, obscuring the noise within the cabin. Your head fell into their neck, whining as you could only sit there and take it. Fingers stuffing your swollen centre, pressing against the squishy barriers.
The muscles in your abdomen tensed, clenching around Hange's fingers as your hips buckled. "That's it, dear, you're taking it so, so well," Your eyebrows pinched together, voice escaping you, "Taking me like such a good girl,". Hange spoke, voice purring. That was the nail in the coffin; the honey in their words, the strain in their voice as you felt your release shattering through you. Hips convulsed as your arousal spilled all over Hange's fingers, grabbing their shoulders for support. A few more pumps and Hange removed their fingers, looking down at your clenching hole at the trickling cum, their hand completely drenched.
Hange kissed you, before you broke away and uttered words that led Hange to understand they could never have their fill, "More, please," you begged, voice breathy and whiny as you tightened your legs around their waist. Chuckling, endeared Hange responded, "My, my, dear, you're truly filthy."
Hange moved themselves down to your pussy, still swollen despite its release. With a quick glance back towards you, cheeks flustered and eyes black. Desire tensed your features as your chest heaved up and down, breasts exposed and legs spread, quaking. Such a heavenly sight.
A touch over your slit, Hange spat on your folds, the sight eliciting languid moans from you. It truly was filthy. Pussy clenching with desperation as it grazed you, spreading down your slit with the weight of gravity. Hange pressed their tongue against it, carelessly lapping up the cum that had been leaking out of you. Frenzied guttural groans liberated into your centre as they sucked, the vibrations left you reeling as your hand came to clasp your breast, kneading. Trailing over your own nipple, Hange was not about to accept that, slapping your hand away and rolling their fingers over the bud.
Overstimulation left you choking, tears spilling from your lids as Hange worked their warm tongue over your sensitive folds, drinking in the saltiness as one hand played with your nipple and the other ghosted over your opening. Thighs tightened around their head, cutting off Hange's air supply as you rutted your hips over their face, pushing yourself closer against their tongue. Nose nudging over your clit as their head bounced against you.
“Hange, fuck— I’m, mhm- I’m gonna cum, please let me come,” You babbled, stammering. Needy. You took them in, nose, chin and cheeks wet from your arousal, saliva running down; their eyebrows pulled together with determination and eyes rolling with indulgence, as if you were the tastiest meal they ever had. The taught restraint you had carried your entire life totally dissipated as you surrendered to Hange’s command over your body. Fingers filling into you, knuckles deep, rubbing over the squishy flesh. The added penetration forced out the second catharsis, sucking Hange in as you released over their face, tainting their glasses.
Resting your back on the desk, breaths heavy as you came down from whatever entity had possessed you. Panting. You covered your face with your hands, as your clandestine actions struck you. The drunken, indecent impropriety you fell into and enjoyed.
“No use being bashful now, my lady,” They teased, dragging away the hands that obscured your face. Grabbing your face, reconnecting your lips with gentle touches. Kisses so tender you couldn’t find it within yourself to see anything wrong.
How could something so honeyed be perverse?
—
um yeah, this is my application to hell…
OCTOBER 1ST. VENOM
“eyes. lungs. pancreas. so many snacks, so little time.”
♱ — katsuki bakugou + monsterfucking.
♱ — synopsis; katsuki’s been a bad fiancé recently, he tries to tell himself that it’s all in his head ( literally ) and when his neglectful behaviour nearly ruins your engagement dinner — he has no choice but to make it up to you, with the help of a little symbiotic friend.
♱ — length; 5K
♱ — warnings; please read for your own safety! mdni, smut 18+, heavy smut, characters aged up to 20s, mentions of eating people, monsterfucking, dry humping, tentacles, overstimulation, pussy jobs, public sex, clothed sex, oral sex ( f!receiving ), pegging ( m!receiving ), fem!reader, venom!bakugou. not beta read !
♱ — notes; waaa!! hello everyone, welcome back to kinktober!! im so happy to be participating again, i hope you all enjoy whats in store for this year. starting with this baddie !! - m.list ₊ kinktober m.list ₊ taglist 𓆩♡𓆪
“just eat her…katsuki…”
“no, you can fuck right off.”
“why not? she is unpleasant…katsuki…its not like we like her anyways…”
for the first time that night, katsuki indulges the mangled voice in his head— listening to the symbiotic alien that sludges through his voice and his body. venom is right. he hates his mother in law, soon to be mother in law, but the practicalities of it all aren’t what matter. red eyes drift to the devil’s incarnation of a woman, traditional yet rude and deserving of a beat down— katsuki thinks. if he could just take a bite, crunch down on the woman’s skull and swallow her whole, all of his problems would be solved.
“goodness, bakugou,” the woman leers with a nasty curl of her sweaty upper lip. “i’m paying for the wedding not for you to be dressed like a complete slob— you look awful, and at my only daughter’s engagement party!” she drones on and if venom were to murder this woman right now, she really would deserve it.
“see? you are a loser, bakugou.”
he wasn’t dressed that bad, sure, it wasn’t the burgundy blazer and pressed white shirt you’d told him to pick up from the dry cleaners on the way home from work but— it was smart casual, a nice pair of jeans and a smart jacket. you liked that. that’s all that mattered.
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