the first time virgin endo feels you squeeze around his fingers he cums in his pants.
he has you sat between his legs and has been playing with your clit for what feels like an hour. an arm wrapped around your waist, one dipped between your legs, nose nestled into the side of your neck to bite and kiss and listen to all the sweet sounds you make.
when you tell him you canât take it anymore, need him inside, he coos and teases like heâs hot shit, but you canât see the way his eyes roll back into his skull with the press of his middle finger inside of you. youâre so warm and fluttering around the digit and youâre a bit too caught up in the relief of it to notice his cock twitching against your back.
he huffs and puffs against the column of your neck as your cunt clenches around his finger when he curls it up against that one spot, and you canât ignore the warm feeling of his cum shooting out in spurts through the thin fabric of his sweatpants.
Dragon King Bakugou speaks to your tummy the night he comes back from battle. He lies naked on the plush soft fur of your shared bed. His ear is pressed to the tight skin stretched over the swell of your belly.
He hums deep and growly in his chest, an ancient melody, one his father sung to him when he was young. The archaic psalm details a powerful king, one blessed by fire itself and the son he gave birth to.
Your husband places a red tinted hand over your belly and sings in high draconian the story of the Dragon King and the Morning Star.
His voice fills the intimate space of your bedroom, the fire seems to sway lazily with his voice. The shadows dance gracefully along the walls. As the tale ends, he kisses your belly and mutters something more familiar to your ears despite the ancient lost language.
My Son.
He lowers his voice as if telling him a secret.
âI poured all that is good in me into your motherâs womb to make you. You will burn bright like your parents before you. Fire, Sun, and Star.â
non-quirk/small town!au where pierced/tatted Dabi comes home from prison and is forced to work in Reiâs cute, quaint mom and pop shop off the side of endeavorâs farmđ„șselling tea towels, perfume and fresh flowers !!
(warning: I donât name him but this is dabi, rest assured!!! suicidal ideation, slight regurgitation, not much but you know, etc.)
-
Thereâs someone new manning the register where you pick up your weekly bouquet of flowers.
The guyâs got this grown out, half black hair that sticks up every which way, the white roots underneath curling up much softer where heâs chopped it short for bangs. Heâs got tattoos, over most of the skin you can seeâhis hands, under the sleeves of his cotton shirt, neck creeping all the way up to his ears and jaw, and even his feet, where otherwise, his toenails are painted black, sticking out of the oldest pair of Jerusalem B.C. 11âs youâve ever seen. Heâs got all these piercings, also: through his chin, cheeks, nose and ears, probably elsewhere, too, if you were to think of it; all silver, all shiny, all new, like the jewelry is fresh from a shop.
And by the way heâs staring at you (pointedly, petulantly, with a snarl on his lips like a dog bracing for some sort of attack), you must not have said what he was expecting you to say when you first walked up to pay.
Itâs true that you wouldnâtâve expected someone of his type to be running the shop where itâs usually beautiful, silver haired Rei Todoroki or one of her children at the counterâŠbut itâs not like you actually care some punk got the job instead of some other well off teenager from this town. Itâs honestly hardly any of your business what the Todoroki wife does when everyone already loathes the fact she stays with her husband; you wouldnât be surprised if this were another thing the kids did just to piss the guy off: hire a delinquent to sell his flowers and his homemade, elegantly boxed up soap.
You set the flowers down on the counter, petals in reds, yellows, and lilacs. He raises an eyebrow.
âJust these, please.â
He moves to plug the numbers manually into the old till, and the total pops up in green. Then he stares you down.
â1500 yen.â
You stare right back at him.
âThatâs 300 yen too much. A bouquet this size should be 1200.â
He sneers.
âYou telling me my own prices?â
âReiâs prices.â
His thin eyebrows shoot up, then come back down in a bitter annoyance. He bears his teeth.
âShe changed them.â
Youâve been coming here nearly twice a week for what could only be the past two years. Every Saturday for flowers to decorate your apartment with, and every Wednesday for your boss at the motel, to pick up hand soap refills and candles by the only company in your town that has any relevance to the world, Ranch Endeavor. By this point, you know Rei and her kids as well as you know any and every friend you have here in this town. Youâve run errands for her and dropped off pie for the youngest son more times than you can count.
âShe wouldnât.â
You both leave it at that for the better half of the next minute, just staring one another down, until finally, begrudgingly, he clears the register and reenters the correct balance, 1200 yen, still in green, which you pay with an exaggerated frown and then a huff, when he (sloppily, might you add) starts to wrap the stems in navy blue paper instead of white.
-
You see the man from the shop again when you find yourself returning to consciousness at the feeling of him slapping the hell out of your back.
You barely process itâs him at first: youâre too busy coughing up a lung to register who exactlyâs got your swimsuit by the straps, your throat stinging with the salty combination of icy seawater and warm, thin mucus that floods your mouth, threatening to spill over your lips and onto⊠everywhere.
Youâre on your back, clearly having been dragged like a sack of potatoes from the water to the sand, and are barely able to take one giant heave of a breath beforeâ
âYou fuckinâ dumb or what?â a man spits in a voice you only barely recognize but donât a name to place.
(You only remember his hair, the smear of his tattoos, and the twist of his lips when turned to walk out of the store. You can still smell Reiâs perfume, the salty musk that lingers in the decorative tapestries and calligraphy ink that she sells, hinted with smoke.)
You do your best to shrug despite the lag the wet sand clinging to you causes, trying to gulp in as much oxygen as you possibly can, as if youâd been starved of it before, as if it were something that you wanted, or missed, even.
âGetting sucked into a rip?â he sucks his teeth. âYou cannot be serious.â
You donât open your eyes to check his expression.
âWhyâd you save me?â
Again, you must not have said what he was expecting you to say, because thereâs a longer pause than you think is necessary for the type of man he most likely is and the type of question you definitely asked.
He barks out a laugh.
âYouâre joking?â
You shake your head, finally trying to look at him at least so you can glareâŠeven if it doesnât look like much given your eyes are already swollen out of your head and stinging in the setting sunlight.
âMomâs been worried about you.â
Youâre not sure what he meansâmom? Whose mom?Your familyâs all the way back home, and you donât think you know this guy beyond how far one interaction gets you. Maybe in your attempt toâŠget swept away by the current, you somehow woke up in another body on another planet, and thereâs a whole new life waiting for you once youâre able to walk off this shore.
Itâs a nice idea, almost as nice as the thought of not actually being awake at all, and instead being somewhere like heaven. Unfortunately, however, you have a feeling you recognize your chipping toenail polish.
You donât think your confusion is all that obvious, though, until heâs clarifying.
âRei. Mom. From the shop. You havenât been in all month.â
Thatâs right, you think. I stopped buying flowers. I quit my job.
âOh,â you say dumbly. Because thatâs all you can say in your post-failed-suicide attempt. He must be another one of her kids. You didnât know there was a fourth. âI guess you can tell her you found me.â
âI wasnât looking,â he responds.
âYou pulled me up.â
âI had to.â
âYou didnât.â
âI did,â he says. Then, as he moves to stand up, stumbling to find footing on the wet dunes, âactually? Screw this. Iâm leaving, ungrateful pest.â
And he leaves you there on the sand. Breathless and alone, lungs still full of salt, but alive.