#hit dbs

The city’s alleys swallowed you whole, your heartbeat pounding faster than your feet could carry you. The rhythmic slap of shoes on concrete echoed in your ears, lungs straining with every desperate gasp. You knew running was pointless, but instinct screamed louder than rationality.

Then it happened. Bam! 

A single strike. Your body jerked forward, the wind knocked out of your lungs. Rope cinched tight around your wrists, the burn biting deep. His strength overwhelmed you in an instant. No struggle, no contest. The utter helplessness of your predicament sent a shiver through you that wasn’t entirely fear. 

When you woke again, the room was heavy with shadows. You shifted, disoriented, ropes holding you steadfast, heart hammering even as a strange, sick anticipation curled in your stomach.

The ropes bit into your wrists and ankles with every movement, a constant reminder of your vulnerability. Your eyes darted around, straining to make out shapes in the darkness, but only the outlines of furniture and crates emerged from the gloom. Every small sound: the creak of a floorboard, the rustle of your own clothing, felt amplified, echoing in the quiet. Your pulse raced in your ears, and with it came a heat you couldn’t ignore, a nervous thrill that mingled uneasily with fear. Even in the haze, you were acutely aware of the presence in the room, of someone watching, waiting. The realisation sent a shiver crawling up your spine. 

A gloved hand slid beneath your chin, tilting your face upward. You froze, breath hitching as the dim light finally revealed your assailant. Tall, broad, crimson-eyed– you knew who. The legendary assassin. 

He stared down at you, expression unreadable, gaze cutting through every tremble of your body. His hand lingered against your jaw, the cool leather burning hotter than fire against your skin. Your pulse spiked. Not from terror, but from the sheer weight of his attention.

Your lips parted, breath uneven, but no plea came. Instead, you found yourself leaning fractionally into his touch, every nerve alight at being held in place by someone so beyond you. 

He noticed. Of course he noticed. His eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating, the faintest trace of curiosity threading through his stare.

Then his boot nudged at your thigh, and you gasped softly, unable to mask the spark that shot through you.

“Why are you enjoying this?” he said coolly. 

Your throat went dry. Heat rushed through you, shame and want tangling together until words broke apart on your tongue.

“I…I can’t help it.”

The words slipped out, barely above a whisper. You half-expected him to respond, to scold or tease, but he said nothing.

Silence.

He held your chin in place, his crimson eyes locked on yours, studying. The weight of his stare alone made your breath falter. He didn’t need words, his stillness spoke louder, his presence wrapping around you like a coffin, suffocating and cold. 

Slowly, he shifted his hand, the gusset of his glove sliding along your skin until his palm cupped the side of your face. The touch wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t harsh either: firm and controlled. Your body stiffened, almost unsure of how to feel. The danger of being trapped, bound, utterly at his mercy, with the heat of his presence so close. You were so ashamed of how wet your panties suddenly were.

You leaned into him without thinking. The ropes bit into your wrists, the cold floor pressed against your legs, and yet the threat only heightened your senses. Every touch, every subtle shift of his weight made blood hot, your nerves tingling with arousal. The forbidden thrill that rooted itself in the precariousness of the moment had also taken you captive. 

You strained forward, chasing more remnants of his touch. You could feel the strength in him even when he didn’t move: every muscle held in precise restraint, as if crouched in silence, yet choosing not to strike.

And then something softened. Just. His thumb brushed the curve of your cheek again, slower this time, lingering as though savouring the shape of your face. The faintest, comforting warmth bled through the glove, a contrast to the cold air around you. 

You blinked, startled when he tilted forward. His lips pressed firmly, not against your mouth, but to your forehead. A steady, silent kiss, affectionate and protective. 

The sudden tenderness stole your breath more than the earlier dominance had.

“...You’re shaking,” he murmured softly, the assassin’s mask now gone. “You’re too deep in it.” 

The ropes gave way with a sharp flick of his wrist, falling loose. Before you could even catch your bearings, his arm had circled around you, drawing you against the solid muscles of his chest. The danger dissipated like smoke, leaving only him.

“That’s it. Come back to me.” His deep voice vibrated against the side of your face. 

You sagged into him with relief, forehead still tingling from the kiss. “You never break character,” you whispered, breathless.

His eyes softened at the edges, his silence no longer suffocating, but familiar. “You wanted it real,” Hit replied simply. And though his tone remained calm, the arm he held you with tightened just slightly, “I gave you real.”

You smiled, nuzzling your cheek against his chest. 

For @justme068

For @majinpiccolo

For @amelheth

For @chaosabound

For @monochrome-night

For @thedragonlover95

And for @anonymous-harpy