#Elevation of privilege

[dykethang]

can we stop platforming the sanctimonious and vaguely condescending well-off british white women in disability information and content creation spaces. if i see one more of these sanctimonious british women fingerwag me as they explain some facet of disability i will explode

[undermine-the-instinct]

Imma say it right now---I think young Xie Lian is annoying

[lesbiananya]

had to stop myself from she/hering another man in mouthwashing in my next fic update...

[adhd3m0n91]

...What am I even doing?

Inspo under cut

[mirchloe]

memory vaults can have discrepancies like how loboto views pitror, or how oleander basically creates a slideshow of falsehoods to stick inside as memories, but while gristol has been shown to fabricate the truth with his biased perspective, i believe 1000% he sat down a bunch of ultra rich royals and discussed elaborately how to increase caviar production for himself.

[lonely-moons]

⁀✶the bomb | bucky barnes x reader

title: the bomb

pairing: thunderbolts!bucky x avenger!reader (who is also a thunderbolt now yayy trauma bonding family)

warnings: established relationship tension ooOoOOo but then fluff, suggestive language

summary: things have been tense recently with your boyfriend bucky. but now it reaches a new high... when he blows up the limo that you're riding in.

wc: 1,811

notes: wrote this to try and suppress the urge to see the movie a 5th time. didn't work i still wanna go but my god the cinema is expensive

masterlist

you want to scream so badly that your throat hurts with the restraint of keeping it in. your entire body feels ablaze with anger, irritation pounding faster than your heart and infecting your blood so that all you can see is red.

or maybe it's just that you've been staring at the red guardian for the past five minutes.

it's a glare, really, but even though it's firmly set on him right now, he's not your end target. you think he probably knows this, since the two of you had taken a small liking to one another in the past hour. he had come to save you, after all, and even made you laugh with his crude humour. but he's the closest to you, and you're sure that if you let go of this restraint, you might just knock one of the walls down. which would crush all of your tied-up... teammates? acquaintances? you aren't quite sure yet.

what you are sure of is that you can't quite look at the man standing beside you. your boyfriend, but that's a little too endearing of a term for you right now.

you'd woken up in this dilapidated gas station the only one not tied up, other than bucky. the sharp ache in your head and pain in your limbs had demanded all of your attention at first, making you forget what had happened before blacking out. but then bucky entered your vision, all concerned and apologetic in your face before you remembered the events. you'd shoved him away, refusing to even glance in his direction, and thankfully his attention was directed elsewhere when the others began to stir.

you let them do the explaining, fully aware of the glances bucky keeps throwing you. you don't pitch in, not about following your friend yelena since you've been worried about her recently, not about the incinerator, not about the elevator shaft - not even about bob. but eventually everyone's caught up, and you can't be left to scowl in peace for any longer.

bucky says your name now, soft in a way you haven't heard in a while. it reminds you of sleepy mornings, of late nights tangled in sheets and whispers so light they could just be breaths. it used to melt you, but this time it burns.

"look, can we talk? please?"

you try not to react but can't help the scoff that breaks free. so now he has time to talk to you? figures. apparently blowing up a limo with you in it shouldn't deny him the privilege of talking.

"i think i'm good, barnes," you say.

your first words since waking up are accompanied by your first steps towards the others. you head for yelena since she's the only one you're really sure about, but before you can reach her, bucky's arm grabs your wrist. it's not painfully tight, but it is a warning, and you can't help but notice he's used his flesh arm, despite the fact the metal one is closer to you.

it had taken a while, even in your friendship, before bucky became comfortable enough to touch you with it. that almost started anew when you got together. he'd said that it was a symbol tainted with blood and destruction, that he hated the thought of any of that reaching you. you'd taken ahold of his metal fingers, bringing them to cup your face and shifting your head to place a kiss to his palm, effectively beginning your process of wearing him down.

he always refused to let it near you if either of you were angry at the other. said that he would never hurt you, but he didn't want to risk even the slightest possibility of a too-tightly-clenched fist or exasperated hand movement.

it'd been a while since he'd intentionally kept it away. now you feel a sting in your chest but try not to let it move your features.

"oh-ho," alexei laughs, looking between the two of you. "it is lover's quarrel, yes? i had fight once with one of my loves, too. she was beautiful, beautiful woman... the teeth, the hair, the thighs... but she always telling me, 'alexei, you can't keep coming in shower with me if you are going to go toilet -'"

everyone erupts into noises of protest, yelena the loudest of all. alexei looks around, mouth open slightly as if shocked his story is not being met with enthusiasm.

ava, who sits beside him, drops her head. "throw me back in the incinerator."

"what?" alexei asks, offended. "it is lovely story about -"

"i'd even take falling down the elevator shaft," says john, shaking his head slightly.

"we don't have the time for any of this," yelena protests. she looks around the group, but her eyes land on you.

"agreed," you say forcefully, ripping your arm out of bucky's grasp, but you don't make to untie the others again either. you hold eye contact with him when you add, "i think getting blown up knocked us off our schedule a little."

"you know i never would've done it if i knew you were in there," he says immediately.

his eyes are soft, but there's that crease between his eyebrows that deepens the more worried he is. you nearly hate that you have so many times to compare it to, because with a quick glance you can easily tell that this is the most worried he's been in a while. more than the night before any congress meeting, more than waking up sweating from any nightmare. this time he knows that it's not just a job or a few hours of sleep that he could lose. it's you on the line, and the panic bubbles so forcefully that it has his blood pounding in his ears.

it manages to evaporate a little of your rage.

"oh, thank you," says ava, sending a sarcastic nod to bucky. "it's good to know that you have no problem with blasting other people into the sky, very nice."

bucky sighs, running a hand down his face. "please," he says to you again, "just... hear me out. one minute."

your eyes still blaze as you stare him down. while that doesn't crack, something in your heart does, and you find yourself giving a stiff nod. "fine. one minute."

his lips twitch, eased a little by hope, and he guides you to another section of the abandoned gas station, much to the protest of the other four. you give yelena a quick apology, promising to get her out after this, but then hurry up your steps as you hear alexei begin another story about young love. they become background noise by the time you reach the door at the far end.

"i'm sorry," bucky says after you turn to him expectantly. "no, that doesn't cover it, you don't even know how sorry i am, i -" as if sensing that he's about to ramble, he cuts himself off with a sigh. "i never would've done anything to that car if i'd known you were in it. i was always planning on getting the others, but you didn't answer your phone all day, and i thought they might've -"

"shot at me?" you supply pointedly.

"well, i was gonna say known where you were, but... yeah. that too." his smile is small, sincerity preventing it from tipping fully into hesitant. "but i'm not just sorry for all that, i... i miss you. i miss us. and maybe that's not fair since i've been the one not making enough of an effort, but i just..." his arm moves, like he's about to reach out to touch you before he thinks better of it. "i just miss you."

it's as though the tight ball in your chest gets unravelled with each word. you knew, of course, that bucky would never hurt you, would never have blown up the limo if he'd known you were inside. but you've been missing him too, for a while now. with his job in congress and your job as a kinda-avenger, there'd been a lot less time together and a lot more time working. neither of you had managed to quite figure out the work-life balance of the relationship, and the tension of that had finally snapped when you saw bucky coming to save you, only to end up pointing his gun in your direction and shooting.

"i miss you too." you look up at him, into the blue eyes that look different now. they're still tired, evident by the dark circles beneath them, but they have some of that warmth back. you smile, then one side tips higher into a smirk as you say, "but, you know... i think talking about it is a much healthier way than trying to blow up your girlfriend. maybe we should get dr. raynor back, go over some old notes about healthy coping mechanisms..."

he huffs out a laugh. "well, i am planning on making amends."

"oh, are you?" you raise an eyebrow. "and what does that entail?"

"i have a few ideas." he grins at you in a suggestive way, widening when you laugh. knowing he's now in safe territory, he steps forward to cup your face with both of his hands. when you lean slightly more into the metal one, he receives your unspoken message, thumb stroking your cheek. a moment of contemplation soothes his expression into something more tender, and he rests his forehead against yours. "but mostly i'm putting you first. i need you. and i need you to understand how important you are to me."

your hand comes up to his wrist, finger skimming over his pulse. "i do know. we're both just shitty at time management."

he snorts. "yeah, can't argue with that. but i mean it. maybe it had to take throwing a bomb at you..." you smile and, as if it's an automatic trigger, so does he, "but this is a wake-up call."

and then his lips are on yours, slow but strong, like an assurance all on their own. you return it immediately, trying to convey the same unspoken promises.

"i love you," you say when you part, and the words are so familiar on your tongue even though they haven't been used in a while. neither of you part too far, so your lips brush his as you say it.

"i love you, too." then a soft smile graces his face. "hey, on the bright side... i'm definitely getting fired."

you can't help but laugh. "oh, that's a bright side now?"

bucky shrugs, like the answer is obvious. "means i get to spend more time with you."

you're about to reply when alexei's laugh booms from the other room, followed by a shout that finally manages to reach you:

"bucky, we'll give you whatever you want, just please make it stop!"

[drdemonprince]

I worry that today’s generation of kids on the internet have never gotten to develop much digital agency or form safe, empowering relationships with older people. More broadly, I think our current culture of isolating children from all unrelated adults, supposedly in the name of their “protection” only causes them to become more ignorant, lonesome, and vulnerable to exploitation.

There are many ways in which restricting youth access to information technology and training adults to avoid all contact with children makes kids even more powerless and dependent.

If a child cannot post their sexual health questions on Ask Alice or go searching around online, then they have to believe whatever they hear from their parent or priest. If a young person longs to taste the freedoms of adulthood but aren’t given any room to explore, then the grown-up in their DMs telling them that they are so mature becomes a hell of a lot more seductive.

And if a kid never gets to search for sexual content online, learn about adult sexual experiences, or touch themselves and find pleasure in the privacy of their own minds, they may never fully learn that their body is them, for them to enjoy and express themselves however they see fit.

For queer youth, the dangers of isolation are amplified. A study published in the journal Child Protection and Practice in April of last year found that LGBTQI+ children face an elevated risk of grooming and sexual abuse because they are discriminated against by peers, preached against within their religious communities, and mistreated or kicked out of the house by their families — and also, because an adult with no respect for boundaries might be the only person offering to talk with them about queerness or sex.

It’s very difficult to know the difference between a healthy relationship and exploitation when a predatory adult is the first queer person a kid ever knows. If a relationship with an abuser is the only way that a teen ever gets to live out their queerness or explore their budding sexuality, then it becomes immensely difficult for them to walk away — leaving the groomer is like tearing off a crucial part of themselves that never gets expressed otherwise, or even seen.

This is also true of children who have the early rumblings of kinky sexualities, too — when you long to be controlled or tied up, you need a safe outlet to learn and fantasize about doing such things consensually one day. If you do not know that such options exist, you’ll settle instead for abuse. The more options that a child has to learn about sexual practices, to meet other queer people of ages, and to form appropriate relationships with unrelated adults, the harder they become to manipulate, and the more power they have to walk away.

...

Being a minor is a position created by legal oppression, but most people consider a minor’s lack of freedom to be so natural and morally correct they don’t even recognize it as oppression. Instead, they see it as protection, a healthy separation between the world of the human and the not-quite-human yet. Though they would never admit it, a minor is not the same thing as a person to them, for a minor can be thrown out of public spaces, locked away, silenced, disregarded, and left to rot in the ways full persons are not.

I believe that we queer adults are failing our younger siblings by refusing to play a part in raising and looking after them. We have chosen to privilege our individual safety from accusations of ‘inappropriate’ conduct over the need for queer youth to see their own sexualities and identities normalized, envision a diversity of possible futures for themselves, and seek aid and understanding when they are mistreated.

For those of us who’ve had the liberty to escape our ignorant hometowns, get on HRT, have joyous gay sex in dark rooms, or even just dance tenderly with a sexy androgynous stranger’s cheek pressed against our own, we have a responsibility to pour from our filled cups, and to remember what it was like to have no such access. As terrified as we are of losing our documentation, our access to medicine, and our legal rights, we must remember those queer people who presently have none of those things, and do all that we can to extend our aid to them.

I wrote about the troubling culture of the "MINORS DNI" bio, and how it contributes to the mass isolation of young queer people. You can read the full piece or have it narrated to you by the substack app for free here.

[forsaken-sedai]

reblog for sample size, I want to see what the rest of this website thinks of our vroom vroom car sport

I will post full explanations of each point and give the answer when the poll is over, ask to be tagged when I do if you want <3

[apas-95]

How do I reconcile my intense sympathy and support for Palestine while also living in the ancestral lands of Native Americans? As a black man, where exactly could I migrate to and be accepted by the local populace? I am lost on this point.

While the question of black nationhood is a complicated one, I think there's a deeper misconception, conveyed by the idea of migration, that should be addressed, here - decolonisation does not mean physically removing non-indigenous people from the land.

Decolonisation means the destruction of the colonial state, and the return to sovereignty and self-governance of the colonised nation. Decolonisation of Palestine does not mean that 'israelis' living in Palestine must be removed - but that they must no longer be occupiers, they must no longer be beneficiaries of a state that opresses the indigenous population. In the case of Palestine, many of them will likely leave of their own accord anyway - they do not want to be residents of Palestine, but occupiers of it - but in more entrenched settler colonies, there's no reason to expect everyone who isn't indigenous to up and leave. Rather, recognising the occupied nation they actually live in, accepting its governance and authority, and renouncing any illicit gains the occupation granted them (like stolen homes and land) is much more in line with what decolonisation looks like.

The issue is not, and never was 'foreigners living on our land', it has always been the military occupation, repression of indigenous nations and nationhood, and elevation of settlers to a privileged class on the back of exploitation and base robbery of occupied nations.

[voidpvllman]

scary boyfriend privilege |

bob reynolds

summary: after what was supposed to be a very simple and very quick mission goes completely sideways, bob’s powers resurface

Bob was stretched out on the couch, a book propped open in his lap. He was half asleep, muttering to himself as wrapped himself into a tight ball. Usually he couldn’t fall asleep when the team was out on a mission- especially when you were involved. Muffled voices coming through the elevator roused him only slightly.

“–going to freak out–“

“–she’s fine, Yelena-“

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open, scaring Bob out of his sleep, and right off the couch. He muttered something as he stumbled to his feet, embarrassed smile greeting his team. His smile dropped almost immediately when his eyes found Bucky and the unconscious form in his arms.

Bob nearly tripped over the coffee table as he made his way across the room. His usual awkwardness and clumsiness had vanished as his fingers found your cheek. “What happened-What- How-“ Bucky exhaled as he gently set you on the couch. Yelena was talking, but Bob saw the blood trickling from your nose and the rest of the world vanished. “Who- I don’t-“ he was beginning to spiral, and Bucky swore he watched his irises change color. Walker, stupidly, was the first to try explaining.

“The good news is, she wasn’t shot.”

Bucky sent him a glare and Yelena smacked his shoulder. John shrank back slightly, realizing that this probably wasn’t the time to be making jokes. “Is she- Is she okay?- I thought- I thought this was a simple mission, I-“

“Well it wasn’t.” Bucky’s bluntness cut off Bob’s increasing spiral, “Apparently these people aren’t afraid of two trained assassins or two super soldiers.” Bob was ignoring him as he looked down at your pale face. He was squeezing your hand, waiting for the slightest tick from your fingers to tell him you were okay. “It was supposed to be simple. You promised it would be simple-“ A twitch against his palm pulled his attention back to you. Your fingers tightened against his and your eyes fluttered open. Bob felt himself breathe again, “Hey-“ He tripped slightly as he stood, bringing himself even closer to you, “Hey… Hi.” You met Bob with a smile, but closed your eyes again as the pain hit your full force. You winced, trying to change to a position with less pain, but any slight movement made your head throb. “Ow- Who hit me this time?” There was nervous and relieved laughter around you- clearly you hadn’t lost your ability to make inappropriately timed jokes. Bob was stroking your hair away from your face, eyeing you with an intensity that made you feel smaller. He stared you as if blinking might make you disappear or suddenly get worse. “Dude. You’re look like you’re trying to burn her with laser eyes or something.” Bob flinched slightly, as if he forgot that it was more than just you and him in the room. “Sorry,” his voice was quiet as he reminded himself to blink. “I’m fine…” you winced as you brought your knees up to your chest. “Just..sore. And a little more humble.” The others had dispersed to their rooms or to get cleaned up and Bob noticed that Yelena was limping, and John walked a little less proud than usual. You tapped your finger against Bob’s wrist, pulling him back from whatever thoughts he was battling.

“I’m okay.”

Bob nodded once, trying to give you a convincing smile. You didn’t miss the way his hand slightly shook, or the way his eyes shifted colors just slightly. He kept his fingers laced through yours as you rested your head on his arm. You didn’t at all look comfortable, but the content smile on your face assured he wasn’t going to move you. “Do you need anything? I- Uh, tea? Or- or ice, or…” You hummed slightly, debating if ice or tylenol was worth losing your comfortable pillow. “I’m okay. Just sit with me…” Bob opened his mouth to argue as you shifted position to make more room. He eyed you disapprovingly, but he couldn’t argue when you patted the empty spot beside you. Bob pulled you against his chest as you settled between his legs comfortably. His kissed your hair gently, scared that even his lips may hurt you. You closed your eyes with a content smile as he held you. His arms were tight around you, as if keeping you in his arms would protect you from the pain you felt, and maybe even the whole world.

“I’m sorry you were hurt.”

He closed his eyes and buried his face in your hair. “I’ve been thrown around before… It’s just a concussion.” Bob tensed slightly at the word concussion and you regretted saying it instantly. “I’m fine.” You heard his sigh against your ear, felt his chest rise slowly, “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Just as you felt yourself start to drift off, voices filled the room again. Yelena still had wet hair when she sat across from you and Bob. She eyed you anxiously, letting out a breath as you nodded encouragingly. John was raiding the fridge, still arguing with Bucky, who wasn’t even in the room.

“We need a new plan.”

Yelena and Bucky both looked at John skeptically.

“You mean besides being underprepared, underpowered and unsuccessful?”

“And getting our asses kicked.”

Bucky nodded, crossing his arms, “And that, too.”

“Can’t you just wait for Ava and Alexei to get back, so you have more backup?” Bob finally spoke up, irritated that the peaceful, quiet moment was long gone. Bucky shook his head, looking exhausted, “They’re still off the grid until next week. If we wait that long, they might move the tech- and maybe leave the country.”

“We’ll recon. Figure of a new plan. Try going back tonight.” John scoffed, “So we can get our asses beat twice in one day?” Bob’s arms wrapped around you tighter, “You’re not going.”

You sat up, turning to look at him so quickly your head throbbed. “We need her. There’s no way this works without her, she’s our thief.” “She isn’t going back in there alone. Look what happened.” You opened your mouth to argue, but Bucky and John started arguing again. Yelena rolled her eyes, her head falling back against the couch with a groan.

“Yelena hacks into the security system, you and I take out the guards, she has to go in and do her sticky finger thing.”

“That’s what I just said.”

“No, you didn’t! Your plan was stupid-“

“Oh, shut up!” Yelena threw her arms up in exasperation, “We all know the plan. The plan didn’t work.”

Bob watched the group argue, feeling his anxiety and stress rise further every moment. “She isn’t going in alone.”

You looked at him in surprise, ready to argue that you had to finish the job, and that a slight concussion wouldn’t stop you from getting it done. John turned away from Bucky and stared at Bob dumbly, “She has to go in alone. She and Yelena are the smallest and quietest for sneaking in, and Yelena needs to be in the control room.”

“She isn’t going in alone. I’ll go with her.”

The room went silent; anxious glances spreading throughout the group. “Bob, I don’t think that’s-“ “I’m going.” You grunted slightly as Bob climbed ungracefully over you and stood to his feet. “For protection…” Bob smiled proudly, standing up straighter. “I don’t…” This entire situation was making you nervous; your mind went back to the horrors of the void and Bob losing control. “I can do it. I promise…” You held your breath, avoiding the questioning glances from the others. They would leave it up to you. You knew Bob the best. You knew what he could handle. And you knew how to pull him out of it if he got too lost. Bob was looking at you shyly, expectantly. “He can do it. He’ll be with me.”

Bucky grabbed your arm as you moved to follow Bob to his room, “Are you sure about this?” You swallowed hard, forcing down the creeping doubts deep down. “He’ll be fine. I’ve got him…” Bucky eyed you harshly, not quite believing you, but knowing nothing would happen to you with Bob there. “He isn’t the one I’m worried about. You and I both know that he is the one people need protection from.” Your heart rate jumped as you met Bucky’s eyes coolly, “He won’t hurt anyone. I won’t let him lose control…”

The Sentry powers had only come back once since the Void incident. Bob hadn’t lost control then, but this would be a higher stress situation, and you would be involved and possibly in danger. Bucky had a right to be nervous, but the plan would work. They would never expect a second break in on the same day, and now you would have backup. You were confident. Mostly…

Bob returned from his room in his team suit- which had only been worn once, when he tried it on, right after they were issued. He was pulling at it awkwardly, walking like it was pinching, clearly not used to tight clothing. You suppressed a laugh as you watched your boyfriend’s struggle. Bob caught your eyes on him and turned red, “It’s uh-“ he stopped fidgeting and straightened, “How does it look?” John grabbed his shield, eyeing the awkward pair with disgust, “Tight.” You sent him a glare, “Fine. It looks good on you.” You pulled your bag back over your shoulder as you stepped closer to him. You tugged on his jacket slightly, straightening it.

“It’s good to have you finally join us.”

Bob smiled shyly, so obviously over the moon every time you gave him a compliment.

————————

Bucky tapped his ear piece, watching John from the roof of the building. The unconscious gunman at his feet moaned and Bucky gave him a swift kick to knock him out again. “All good up here. Yelena, how are those cameras?”

“Working on it.”

“All good from where I’m at, too, not that you asked.”

“Shut up, John.”

Lights flickered above her head and Yelena paused, “Easy, Bob…” It was a silent prayer, knowing there had been no electrical problems earlier. A few more keyboard clicks and the monitors blinked off, “Cameras are dead. Go.”

You grabbed Bob’s wrist, tugging him against you before he stumbled over a crate. “All good?”

You squeezed his hand, not loving the way he was shaking slightly, and not feeling too confident about the flickering lights. “Stay behind me.”

“But-“

“No, Bob. Stay behind me.”

Until you were positive his powers would surface, he needed to stay out of the way and out of trouble. Air ducts were easy for you. Even with your short legs, you could slither through the tighter spaces without being heard, or getting stuck. Behind you, however, your sweet boyfriend- who you loved greatly- was trying his hardest to stay silent as he kicked his legs out awkwardly to shimmy around a corner. You bit your lip, flipping to your back and craning your neck to watch him. He waved a hand at you with a wince, silently apologizing for the minor delay. You nodded once, giving him your best encouraging smile. Bob caught up with you slightly later, crouched beside you, peering down the vent over your shoulder. The lights had stopped flickering, total darkness now enveloping you. Bob was holding himself together just fine. You felt his hand against yours, pulse slightly fast; from adrenaline, or nerves, you weren’t sure.

“Stay.” You whispered it, “Only if I need you.”

You unclipped the rope from Bob’s backpack and attached it to the front of your belt. You gave it a quick jerk to assure it was still attached to the roof you had scaled and then descended into.

Yes, you had attached your boyfriend to a harness while you slid your way down a chimney, but stealth and climbing were not his strengths.

You dug through his backpack and fished out your night vision goggles. After securing them over your eyes you peeled the vent’s grates away in one silent motion.

Yes, you also used your boyfriend to carry all your stuff… Next question.

You saw Bob watching anxiously as you held tightly to the rope and slowly lowered yourself down. Your feet left the safety of the metal duct’s bottom as you descended upside down. Nothing had been moved in the few hours since you had been here. The rope slid against your hands slowly, scanning your surroundings as you reached the ground. Guns loaded and the lights flashed on. The rope fell from your hand as you scrambled to pull off the goggles so you weren’t blind. You landed with a slight crash, arms lifted above your head as you scrambled to your feet.

“What’s going on?”

“What happened?”

“Why did the lights turn on?”

Being sure to not move much, you disconnected your earpiece. You were sure to get a lecture from Bucky later for this. “Hey.” You kept your arms raised, wiggling your fingers slightly in playful greeting. There were twenty guns trained on you. You didn’t have to look down and see the red dots on your chest to know.

“You again. I didn’t think anyone was stupid enough to come back. Especially the same day?”

You smiled sweetly, shrugging, “I don’t like leaving empty handed.” “Well, this time you can leave with a few bullet holes. In a bag.” The lights flickered again, and the sudden change in light gave you just enough time to dive behind a stack of sheet metal. It didn’t look bulletproof, but it certainly had more of a chance than you did against bullets. The firing started as soon as the lights came back on. You ducked as you heard bullets fly over your head. The firing stopped and you dropped to your belly. Twenty-odd men with guns; against you, were not good odds. Had they been expecting you again? “You’d think they would at least be smart enough not to send you in alone.” A few more rounds went off, holes appearing above your head. Okay, really not bulletproof. The firing continued and you were stuck.

“She isn’t alone.”

The voice filled up the entire room, and while you knew who it belonged to, it didn’t quite sound like Bob.

Shit.

You couldn’t see him, but the firing had moved to a different target. Bullets flew, then a few guns flew. A few men screamed; the sound getting more distant as they flew across the room. The firing had tripled as more men came running in. You couldn’t risk seeing what was going on and getting shot. Only one of you was bulletproof. Shouts came from the other side of the door, a few slams, the unmistakable sound of a metal arm joint moving. “You turned off your earpiece!”

Bucky ducked in beside you, looking unamused and filled with adrenaline. “Now isn’t the time!” You dodged a punch from an unarmed guard, wincing slightly as he was met instead with Bucky. John was throwing his shield into a line of armed men, but with the taco shaped shield, the physics weren’t quite the same. He missed half of them and had to throw himself to the ground to avoid the bullets. “Shitty shield.” Bucky mumbled to himself as he threw a stray piece of scrap metal into the nearest guard. You spun and was met two guns against your head. Bucky froze, arm lifted ready for a punch. The bullets clicked into place, and your heart dropped. As suddenly as they had appeared, the guns were away from your head and the men had landed across the room. Bob landed in front of you, hovering slightly, body shaking, fighting for control. Yelena was out of breath, clutching the cursed briefcase you had come for against her chest.

“I figured I could forget the cameras.”

“We need to get out of here!”

Guns were being reloaded, the men that hadn’t been knocked out, or worse, were regrouping. Firing started again and Bucky lifted his arm to shield himself. Bob jumped in front of you, unbothered completely by the rain of bullets against him. The men were yelling, finally scared by the bulletproof, hovering person. Yelena was crouched behind John’s shield, the two of them heading for the exit. Bucky had begun firing his own gun, tired of shielding himself with his arm. Men were dropping rapidly, the numbers quickly growing in our favor.

“This was supposed to be non lethal!”

You shouted over the blast of gun fire, but Bucky was too busy shooting at whoever got back up.

“Enough.”

The dark voice that almost belonged to Bob had returned. Your heart fell to your stomach as you watched the black shadow slowly creep up Bob’s outstretched arm. He waved his hand slightly, and every man dropped. The guns fell from their reach, as they struggled against the floor. Slowly, they began sinking. The floor cracked around them, gently swallowing them into the basement.

Bucky looked at you in horror, knowing he was close to going too far. “That’s enough- Bob-“ You grabbed at his waist, trying to pull him from himself, “We have to go.” You nodded to Bucky and he headed for the door after the others, “Bob, let’s go. I’m safe. We did it.” Your raised voice cut through the darkness and Bob dropped back to the floor. He was shaking slightly, eyes discolored and darting around anxiously. His hand found your face and he breathed. “You’re okay?”

You nodded, hand coming to rest over the top of his. Bob exhaled. He closed his eyes, fists tightening as his hands shook. He was muttering to himself, taking deep even breaths. “Hey.”

“Are you okay?” Bucky’s fist clenched slightly, taking a slight step in front of you. “I’m okay. I’m- I-“ Bob nodded, finally opening his eyes. He looked at you finally, the gold light still present in his eyes, but growing dimmer. “Hi.” he squeezed your hand, expression softening. “You did great.”

“Turns out he is useful.”

Bucky sent a glare to John, as did you and Yelena. “John, you need to be nicer to Bob.” Yelena monotoned, looking at him with a dull expression. “Hey,” John grabbed your wrist, “While he’s still….” he made a motion like bird wings. You stared at him blankly, not at all surprised by his request after that comment. You held your hand out impatiently as John passed you his shield with a giddy expression. You passed it to Bob, holding back an amused expression. Bob eyed you, glanced to John, then back at you. His posture softened as he straightened John’s shield again. The taco shield was no more. John was giddy, not even hiding his excitement and enthusiasm. You cleared your throat, glaring once again.

John took his attention from his shield and sighed. He tucked his shield back against his back, “Thank your scary boyfriend for me.”

[badjokesbyjeff]

What Pets Write in their diaries 

Excerpt from a Dog's Diary.........8:00 am - Dog food! My favorite thing!

9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing!

9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!

10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!

12:00 PM - Lunch! My favorite thing!

1:00 PM - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!

3:00 PM - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!

5:00 PM - Milk Bones! My favorite thing!

7:00 PM - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!

8:00 PM - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!

11:00 PM - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!

Excerpt from a Cat's Diary...Day 983 of my captivity....My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape.

In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet. Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of.. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a 'good little hunter' I am. Bastards. There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event.. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of 'allergies.'I must learn what this means and how to use it to my advantage. Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow - but at the top of the stairs. I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released - and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously stupid. The bird has got to be an informant.I observe him communicating with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe...for now.

[serpentface]

High ranking Crown Cynozepali kingslek concubine displaying regalia. Motifs here include multiple solar crosses (standard depiction of the sun, evoking rays), lunar eggs, a bellowing male camala on the headdress, and a member of the stellar lek (the stars, the thousand wives of the solar dragon, represented as a caelin with a bird's wings and tail) on the wattle plates.

Body piercings in general are regarded as beautifying, and piercing and stretching of the cheek wattles is common across class lines, used as decoration and as an indicator of female sexual maturity (drakes mostly stretch the base of the throat wattle instead). In most cases, these plates are small and carved out of lightweight wood so they do not have to be removed in flight.

The act of flight in of itself bears connotations of class in Crown Cynozepali culture. The majority of serfs will have to fly extensively to perform their labor and meet their daily needs, and serf housing is built high up cliffs. Other members of the lower classes may not have to fly as frequently or as far, but will still need to take to the air on a regular basis. The lifestyles of nobility requires no flight whatsoever, and having the option to wear jewelry and/or body modifications that temporarily or permanently renders one flightless is an indicator of class status. Very large metal plates decorated with precious stones such as these demonstrate material wealth, elevated beauty, and the wearer's class-based relation to labor.

Wearing wing plates is forbidden to all but royalty, a privilege that is framed as indicating the wearer's semidivinity, likened to the appearance of stars. They also render the wearer permanently flightless, stretching large gaps in the wing membranes. While high ranking, this hen is only a concubine- the wing plates of kingslek wives will be nearly twice this size.

[zerocoded]

summary: your estranged grandmother left you exactly one thing in her will: a sprawling luxury apartment in the heart of seoul — the kind of place that could singlehandedly cover your entire college tuition if you ever decided to sell it. now you had a penthouse all to yourself, a pink-tiled kitchen you weirdly adored, and a hopeless, slow-burning crush on the absurdly attractive neighbor who barely looked your way.

authors note: banner credits to the talented rockwsesx on pinterest, i loved this. this is very self indulgent and not your typical vamp!au. pls read the tags before starting this one. this is the prologue, just to set the vibe. this story is seen better in dark mode!

warnings and tags: soulmates concept • mentions of sex • dark themes such as depression, melancholy, killing • enhypen live together and are mentioned all the time • vampire!enhypen • vampire!sunghoon x collegestudent!reader • HEAVY ANGST • poor attempt at comedy • fluff if you squint • bad writing • sunghoon is 633-years-old and reader is 23 LMAO.

word count: 5.8k

previous chapters: series masterlist.

it had been theirs for so long. the whole floor. silent, still, untouched by anything that could interrupt the quiet sunghoon’d learned to rely on.

he’d forgotten what it felt like to have someone this close. and being the creature that he was, with the privileges he’d earned long before this city was ever built, sunghoon couldn’t help but be curious. tired, but curious — about the human life brought so suddenly, so carelessly, within reach.

about you.

sometimes he thought curiosity was the only thing left in him that hadn’t turned to stone. when you are six hundred and thirty-three years old, at some point, the news, the wars, the seasons — all of it stops meaning anything. life ends up being nothing but a blur.

some of his mates still lived like there was a tomorrow they didn’t know, like there were things left to feel surprised about.

but he had seen everything. the wars, the loves, the taste of absinthe in 1880s paris, watching jazz get born in a basement in harlem, affairs with queens, duels at dawn, crimes.

niki would joke that it was because he was the oldest — the supposedly strongest vampire among them and the most experienced. even though heeseung, jake and jay had lived longer human lives, it was sunghoon who carried the weight of stronger suits and deeper stories to tell.

he didn’t care for that, along with the many other things he didn’t care on his vampiric life, each of them filled their days differently.

jay still walked through the city like it belonged to him — expensive coats, sharp shoes, always returning just before dawn with the smell of cigarette smoke clinging to him, though he never smoked.

heeseung worked in a gallery in gangnam, all clean lines and polished marble floors, standing quietly among paintings that cost more than most people’s lives. he said it passed the time.

niki was always moving — fixing the things no one else cared to fix. the old elevators that still shuddered on their way up, the tangled network of wires behind the walls. sometimes he disappeared for days, slipping into parts of seoul sunghoon no longer bothered to map.

they had found ways to pass the time.

sunghoon, on the other hand, had stopped trying.

the seonghyeon building remained the same. the long hallways, the locked doors, the windows that watched over a city none of them had been born in.

and now there was you across the hall. a girl. young, human, carrying with her the soft, fragile scent of something that had not yet been broken by time.

your first encounter was an accident. your mail had been delivered to their door by mistake, and sunghoon was the one chosen to return it. why? because his brothers were rarely seen at home during the nights.

he rang the doorbell five times before you opened it, a towel wrapped loosely around your body, hair still wet and clinging to your skin. he felt a little bad. you were visibly uncomfortable with the unexpected visitor, shifting your weight, one hand gripping the towel tighter — but he was just doing a favor. 

“oh you must be the neighbor next door”, you thanked him with shy eyes and pink cheeks. “i kept hearing noise during nights but never seen anyone at the corridors”.

“we’re noisy sometimes, i apologize”. sunghoon said and left, clearly unbothered by the way you eyed him and seemed interested in starting a conversation. he delivered your package and went back to the coven.

he didn’t pay much attention to the way you eyed him, the way your gaze lingered longer than it should have, tracing the sharp lines of his face with something close to disbelief.

he didn’t notice that, for you, it was the first time you had been struck silent by beauty. not admiration, not attraction — but something closer to awe.

you wanted to ask his name, ask what did he mean by saying “we”, but he left before you could ask that.

sunghoon was used to the curious eyes following him. he was a vampire, after all — people tended to have that reaction around them. they looked at them as something too ethereal for humanity, even though, over the years, some humans had begun to approach that same untouchable beauty.

the human world was getting bigger, louder, messier — while the covens quietly disappeared. aesthetic procedures had become more common, more seamless, blurring the line between natural beauty and something manufactured.

it made recognizing a vampire — one truly blessed with longevity — harder than it used to be.

their history was reduced to bullet points in textbooks and museum exhibits. he didn’t blame you for the curiosity, most humans lived entire lives without ever meeting one.

the politics, the power, the endless cycle of protecting what was theirs — it didn’t feel urgent for sunghoon anymore. it just felt old.

and you — you seemed like the kind of person who knew about their kind in the same way everyone did now.

you’d learned about vampires in school, probably. seen the documentaries, skimmed the news articles, maybe overheard a story once about someone who claimed to have met one.

but you didn’t really bother looking up, thinking you’d never meet one in real life.

that was exactly what sunghoon had in mind the second time he saw you — when you appeared at their door, shivering, apologizing, not realizing what you were walking into.

your dried hair was long, the color pretty enough to draw sunghoon’s attention. your voice was the same he remembered from two nights ago, shy and jovial.

sunoo jumped from the couch at the sound of your voice, nearly spilling his glass of hibiki — the rare whiskey he kept for nights when his favorite mexican telenovela reprise was on. his mouth turned into an “o” before his features contorted into a frown, the fact that they never had visitors making him scared.

sunghoon watched from where he always did, leaning just out of the light, letting the others fill the space first.

you explained — almost freezing in your apartment, standing there in your blue pajamas, shivering, no idea how to work the thermostat.

niki was the one who helped, eager, slipping on his sneakers before anyone could stop him. he seemed more than willing to visit your apartment, bright-eyed at the sight of your silky hair, your warm skin, the way you smiled in gratitude.

he left their sight and heeseung tsked at him, knowing he was in for a ride if he decided to get involved with their neighbor, of all people. niki was young and naive, just turned into a vampire 65 years ago, but none of them could pinpoint exactly what was wrong with that, not really.

they all had their phases, after all.

jake had a partner now — a human girl he swore was his soulmate, like that made it any less predictable.

heeseung used to have one, too, years ago, but now he mostly kept to himself, reading philosophy books and drinking overpriced wine like he wasn’t still haunted by it.

sunoo was practically celibate at this point — voluntarily, or so he claimed, though they all suspected it was just laziness.

jungwon had chosen power over companionship. he had made peace with the sharp, necessary parts of what they were. he didn’t look for softness, didn’t ask for it. he carried the weight of all of them — their violence, their survival — like it was just another tailored coat he’d thrown over his shoulders before stepping out for the night.

and then there was jay.

jay burned through life like he thought he could outpace the centuries by moving fast enough, killing often enough, fucking hard enough. he liked the blood. liked the ritual of it, the power, the intimacy. that was why jungwon kept him close — a weapon that knew how to wield itself, but only just.

sunghoon was the opposite of it, wanting to keep it calm after years of forcing his strength on mankind. he liked things peaceful, that was his trait for being the most experienced and unbothered. 

sunghoon was still thinking about that — about their lives, their loves, and how it always went with their kind — when niki’s voice cut through the apartment, bright and human in a way none of them really were anymore.

he came back from your apartment, shrugging off his shoes and grinning like he’d just come back from a field trip.

he dropped onto the couch next to sunoo, who was still nursing his glass of hibiki, eyes fixed on the muted telenovela playing across the screen.

for a second, niki just sat there, catching his breath, hands drumming against his knees like he wasn’t sure what to do with all his leftover energy.

then, finally:

“her kitchen tiles are all pink,” he said, like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

sunghoon didn’t look up, not really interested in the younger one’s shenanigans.

niki kept talking — about your apartment, your kitchen tiles, your laugh — until sunoo finally complained that he wanted to watch his novela in peace.

the youngest rolled his eyes, muttered something under his breath, and left the room, already talking about some party he needed to get ready for.

sunghoon stayed where he was, silent, still, as the bright sounds of the television filled the space, too loud for how late it was — but no one told sunoo to turn it down.

your shivering figure kept replaying on his head, curious of how a young soul like you could end up in a place like seonghyeon.

——

being the owner of a luxury apartment complex had its perks. one of them was that the rules didn’t apply to them. no noise complaints, no curfews, no awkward meetings with building management about renovations or guest policies.

they just did what they wanted.

sunghoon supposed that was part of why they’d stayed in seonghyeon so long — not just the history, not just the privacy, but the simple fact that here, no one told them what they could or couldn’t be. they owned it. the whole floor. the garden. the elevators. the library. the sauna.

it meant sunghoon could spend hours tending to the greenhouse on the rooftop without anyone asking questions — without anyone asking why a creature who didn’t need air or light or warmth would care about something as fragile as plants. but he did. he always had.

the garden had been his for decades now, shaped slowly by his hands and his moods, a place that had nothing to do with survival and everything to do with the quiet practice of control. rows of white camellias stood in perfect symmetry along the inner walls, their waxy petals always immaculate, while midnight violets sprawled low in the corners where the light softened in the late afternoon. a line of blood-red amaryllis stretched defiantly across the back wall, always blooming too early, too violently, as if they’d learned impatience from him. climbing wisteria looped lazily over the old wrought-iron trellises, hanging in pale lavender sheets that dripped scent and memory. 

watering them wasn’t about necessity. it was about the fact that they could still die if he wasn’t careful. about knowing there was still something in this place — in this life — that required attention, precision, presence. he liked that. maybe more than he should have.

and maybe that was why, on your second week in the apartment, he noticed you standing there in the garden, just beyond the misting system he had just adjusted, your figure soft and unexpected against the geometric order of the plants. he hadn’t heard you come in. one minute, he was watching the fine spray bead on the thick green leaves of the orchids, admiring the slow accumulation of moisture, and the next — you were there. you stood in that tentative way humans always did when they weren’t sure if they were trespassing, your gaze moving from the camellias to the violets to the amaryllis like you didn’t quite know where to settle.

the doors to the rooftop were usually supposed to be locked, but being the owner of the building made sunghoon never lock anything. he hadn’t thought anyone would find their way in — no one had for years — but here you were, standing in the one space he’d kept mostly to himself, looking around like you didn’t quite know if you were allowed to stay, but too curious to leave.

you wore a grey puff jacket, zipped up carelessly like you’d just come in from outside — and you probably had — with a pair of clear-washed jeans that shaped your body in the kind of effortless way sunghoon knew wasn’t really effortless, but still looked like it was. your hair was tied back, loose strands falling against your cheek, and your phone was in your hand, its pink case bright and stupidly soft-looking, practically begging for attention even as your eyes stayed elsewhere, lost somewhere in the rows of flowers you didn’t yet understand. 

you noticed sunghoons presence seconds after you almost tripped over a ceramic vase tucked near the base of the trellis, your body pausing mid-step, that quick human flicker of embarrassment crossing your face before you steadied yourself. sunghoon didn’t move. he waited, curious in that quiet, distant way he always was, just to see if you would stay when you saw him or if you’d do what most did — apologize quickly and rush off, pretending you hadn’t intruded.

sunghoon didn’t mean this in a bad way, but you didn’t look like you belonged in seonghyeon, not in the way the others did. the residents here wore discreet wealth and predictable detachment. he wondered, absently, how you’d ended up in a luxury complex like this, being so young and, from the look of it, so alone. you didn’t wear your money, if you had any. your clothes were simple, practical, none of the curated casual that most of the residents draped themselves in.

they knew the old owner of your apartment, of course. everyone did. a grey-haired woman with a sharp tongue and a perpetual scowl who’d refused to rent the place out, even when she could’ve made a small fortune doing so. stubborn as hell, but private, always private.

sunghoon hadn’t seen her in years, not since the last time she’d walked through the hallway, muttering about the elevators being too slow. she must’ve sold it to a distant relative, or maybe she’d passed, and her family sold it off to make their clean exit. he didn’t know, hadn’t asked.

either way, now you were here. standing there, looking nothing like the old woman he knew was the previous owner, staring right back at the man dressed in all black and with dirt in his hands.

the awe in your face made sunghoon suppress what might’ve been an annoyed frown, barely, keeping his expression as blank as it always was, waiting — with the same tired patience he carried everywhere — for your voice to make its debut in the quiet space he hadn’t intended to share.

“are those… hydrangeas?”

your voice broke the silence, flat but curious, as you stared at the pale clusters blooming stubbornly near the base of the trellis, their soft petals full and heavy in a season where nothing should be.

you frowned, shifting your weight like the flower itself was personally offending you.

“what the hell are they doing alive right now?” you muttered, then glanced at him, squinting. “pretty sure these things are supposed to give up by, like… october.” you paused, then, after a second, added, quieter, “wish i had that kind of energy.”

sunghoon’s eyes drifted to the small crease at the edge of your jacket sleeve, the way your fingers kept fidgeting against the fabric, tightening and releasing like you couldn’t quite decide whether to stay or go. your voice, too, had that persistent edge — soft but insistent, pushing through the silence he offered like you refused to be ignored, even though most people would’ve walked away by now.

he could’ve told you the hydrangeas weren’t real — not in the way you meant — but he didn’t.

he just stood there, perfectly still, expression unreadable, like he hadn’t even heard you at all.

“you know, the pink ones don’t even look real,” you said, crossing your arms, staring at the hydrangeas like they’d personally wronged you. “like someone’s out here spray-painting flowers at midnight for instagram.”

you kept talking, which was… annoying, probably. but also maybe kind of charming, depending on the angle. “do you, like… spray-paint them?” you asked, glancing at him. “because honestly, that would be some next-level dedication to aesthetic.”

still nothing.

sunghoon crouched down beside the nearest planter, adjusting the soil with careful, practiced hands — like you weren’t even there. like you were part of the wind or the background noise. he could see you clear your throat, trying again.

“so… are you a florist or just a very intense hobbyist?”

again, silence. you were now officially having a one-woman conversation in a secret garden with the hot neighbor who either hated you or literally couldn’t hear you.

you hadn’t even decided what your next brilliant line was going to be when his voice finally cut through the stillness, low and even, almost like it wasn’t meant for you at all but just the space between you.

“you’re the new neighbor.”

simple. detached. obviously not what you were expecting.

“you remember me,” you said, grinning a little too wide, like an idiot, but whatever — small victories.

he didn’t say anything to that, didn’t confirm or deny it, just stood there like he always did, still as the damn hydrangeas.

“i’m sorry — i don’t want to sound ridiculous,” you said quickly, even though, at this point, you already absolutely did. “it’s just… i saw movement around here these days and kind of wondered what this place was. i mean— this building’s so big, i get lost sometimes…” you trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the flowers, like they might somehow back you up.

sunghoon didn’t say anything.

just kept standing there, quiet and still, watching you with that same unreadable expression that somehow made the whole thing feel even more absurd.

sunghoon was quietly enjoying your suffering, your ridiculousness — the way you stood there, talking about plants you didn’t even know the name of, trying so hard to say something that would make you sound interesting, or smart, or at least not completely unhinged.

hell, he might even start to feel bad for you at some point.

but right now, all he felt was… entertained.

and that, in itself, was surprising, considering the fact he always won the nonchalant competition among his brothers.

sunghoon watched you for another long, weighted second, letting the awkwardness sit there just a little longer — not because he wanted to make you uncomfortable, but because he didn’t feel any particular need to make you comfortable either. you’d come into his space, after all. 

“you’re not from here,” he said, not a question, just an observation, as flat and certain as everything else he said.

if you’d been expecting something softer — comfort, maybe, or even mild curiosity — that wasn’t what you got. your expression shifted, barely perceptible, a micro-flicker he wouldn’t have caught if he weren’t so instinctively attuned to such things. disappointment, perhaps, but he didn’t bother parsing it further.

especially because you kept talking — as you always seemed to do.

“no… i’m not,” you said, shifting your weight, your fingers tightening reflexively around your phone, the pink case creaking softly under the strain. “it was… my grandmother’s place. she passed it down to me. not really her place, i guess, because she didn’t even live here, but… she was the owner. or something like that.” you let out a small breath, frowning at your own explanation. “i don’t really know. we weren’t… on talking terms. like… ever.

and then, as if suddenly realizing how that sounded, you rushed to clarify, gesturing vaguely in his direction — even though it made zero sense to be over-explaining your family drama to a stranger, here, now, at this hour.

“not that she was a bad person!” you blurted out, your hands lifting automatically like they could somehow catch the words before they fell. “we just didn’t have much contact. she… kind of didn’t like my father. and then made my mom divorce him and…”

you trailed off, finally hearing yourself, finally realizing how absurd it was to be standing here, next to a man you didn’t even know, unloading all this like he’d asked.

“i just moved in. i’m starting college this semester.” and then, because you couldn’t help yourself, because silence around him felt too heavy, too final, you added with a small, awkward laugh, “so… yeah. this place is huge.  i get lost. a lot.”

sunghoon didn’t smile, but there was something almost like recognition in his eyes, some small flicker of understanding that passed before he looked away again, toward the hydrangeas, as if they were suddenly more interesting than your confession.

“it’s a big building,” he said simply, like that explained everything, like that was all the conversation you’d need — like you hadn’t just overshared half of your family trauma in a single breathless sentence.

you wanted to hide your face in the fucking dirt right then and there, to disappear between the neatly arranged hydrangeas and never be seen again, because congratulations — you’d just made a complete fool of yourself in front of the cute neighbor.

“yes, it’s big,” you blurted out, immediately wanting to die all over again, because what the fuck kind of recovery was that.

but sunghoon just stood there, silent as ever, his eyes flicking briefly to the hydrangeas, then back to you.

he wasn’t particularly interested, not really. not in your family — he’d gotten what he was curious about; you were Miss Han’s granddaughter and that was… fine, that was enough. not in your college status, not in your awkward over-explanations or your objectively terrible flirting attempts.

he just found you… weird. and, honestly, kind of a perfect match for naïve little niki, but he wasn’t about to get deeper on that.

but still, as he watched you standing there, fumbling through your stupid, nervous words about plants and getting lost and college, sunghoon felt it — that sudden, unfamiliar pull right in the center of his chest. not curiosity, not concern, but something quieter, something older, maybe even something he’d almost forgotten how to recognize.

the urge to not leave you alone with your own awkwardness, sunghoon felt the pull right as his eyes came in contact with your neck.

the ridiculousness of it — of you, of his weird and sudden fixation on that part of your skin — should have made it easy to let the conversation die, to turn away, to retreat back into the silence he’d always preferred.

but instead of leaving, he exhaled softly — almost imperceptibly — and shrugged out of his outer coat in one smooth, practiced motion, folding it over the back of the wrought-iron chair beside him like he wasn’t even thinking about it. then, without a word, he crouched down beside the neat row of haworthia at his feet — their dark green, ridged leaves fanning out in perfect, geometric spirals, small and sharp and quietly alive — and started tending to them, his long fingers moving methodically through the soil, checking the roots, adjusting the placement of a few stones that had shifted.

it was just past eight in the evening, the kind of quiet, transitional hour where the last traces of the day’s heat had already bled out of the air and the garden slipped into something softer, colder, more his.

sunghoon ignored your boots, even though they were tracking faint streaks of dirt across the polished stone floor, ruining the clean lines he’d so carefully maintained.

he ignored the fact that you were still standing there, hesitating like you weren’t sure whether you were meant to stay or leave. 

he ignored the way he could distinctly hear your pulse from across the winter garden, could track the subtle rise and fall of your chest, and almost taste the scent of your plasma in the cold air.

why was it so distracting?

you shifted slightly, as if sensing his hyperfixation on your breathing, your boot scraping softly against the stone, the sound sharp in the otherwise muted space.

“do you… live here?” you asked, your voice careful, like you weren’t sure if it was a stupid question or not, but you had to say something, anything, to puncture the silence.

he didn’t look up right away, his focus still on the plants at his feet, his fingers moving absently through the soil as if your presence hadn’t already disturbed everything.

“yeah.”

simple. flat. like the answer wasn’t even worth more than that.

you nodded, swallowing a breath, your grip on your phone tightening again.

“alone?” you asked, like an idiot, like there was anything cool about standing in a winter garden awkwardly interviewing your neighbor. “i just… moved in,” you tried again, your voice a little too high, a little too eager to fill the space he left open. “across the hall.”

he knew that, obviously.

but he didn’t say it.

just made this quiet, non-committal sound — something between acknowledgment and indifference — before brushing a bit of soil off his palm and shifting the smallest succulent in the arrangement by half an inch, like that was somehow more important than responding to you.

you were just standing there, shifting your weight, fidgeting with your stupid pink phone case, breathing too fast, smelling like soap and cold air and something he couldn’t quite name but could almost taste in the back of his throat.

god, he could literally taste you. why was that?

that quiet, metallic sweetness of human blood — not sharp, not urgent, but there, unmistakable, teasing the edge of his senses in a way he hadn’t let it in years.

and it wasn’t just that.

it was the way you smelled different.

not perfume, not anything artificial. just warm skin, faint nerves, the clean press of cotton from your jacket, and underneath all of it, that subtle, unavoidable pulse — your body doing what human bodies always did, announcing itself in ways it didn’t even know how to hide.

it was distracting.

unnecessary.

sunghoon couldn’t remember the last time his body reacted like this to anyone, let alone someone so… ordinary.

you weren’t doing anything special — just standing there, awkward, fidgeting, your breath fogging faintly in the cold air.

and yet, something in him was already responding, already tuning itself to the rhythm of your pulse, already marking the way your warmth cut through the sharp edge of the winter air like you belonged here, like you’d always been part of this place.

he didn’t like that.

he didn’t like that his focus was slipping — that this old, instinctive part of him, the part that was supposed to be dormant, was sharpening, waking up, paying attention.

he hadn’t let it in for years.

he hadn’t needed to.

he could hear every beat, every shift in your breath, every flicker of hesitation as you started moving, walking slowly, carelessly, past the rows of carefully arranged plants, getting closer to him like you thought maybe he wouldn’t notice.

you stopped just beside him, close enough that he could feel the faint change in temperature, the heat radiating from your body cutting through the cold air that clung to the winter garden.

you tilted your head, curious, peering down at what he was doing, your hands tucked awkwardly into the sleeves of your jacket.

“are you deaf?”

your voice broke the quiet again, small and casual, like this was just another normal interaction, like you hadn’t just crossed some invisible boundary neither of you knew how to name.

sunghoon didn’t answer right away, finding your question hilarious.

he didn’t move, didn’t even look up, didn’t give you anything to read.

but inside —

his hands had gone still, fingers curling slightly into the cold edge of the pot he’d been tending, anchoring himself in the familiar texture of the soil because the simple fact of your proximity — the smell of your skin, the sound of your breathing — was enough to send a low, sharp pulse through his body that he hadn’t felt in decades.

sunghoon adjusted the last pot in the arrangement, brushing a trace of soil from his fingers with a practiced efficiency, then finally straightened up to his full height, his eyes flicking to you — not with interest, not even with annoyance, but with that same quiet, unreadable detachment he wore like armor.

“you shouldn’t be in here.”

his voice was calm, even — not accusatory, just factual, like you’d accidentally wandered into an employees-only section at a museum.

then, without waiting for your response, he stepped past you, moving down the narrow path between the plants with the kind of smooth, controlled grace that only made you feel even more awkward for still standing there.

you hesitated for half a second, then — stupidly, impulsively — followed.

he didn’t acknowledge it, didn’t turn, just kept moving, stopping at the old stone basin tucked into the corner, turning on the cold water with a smooth twist of the brass tap and rinsing the soil from his fingers like this was just another routine moment, like you weren’t trailing quietly behind him.

“why shouldn’t i?” you asked finally, your voice lighter than you felt, more curious than confrontational. you glanced around, gesturing vaguely at the space. “isn’t this a… common area of the building?”

he dried his hands on the edge of his coat, not looking at you, not offering anything more than a simple, quiet:

“not really.”

“what do you mean?” you asked, frowning slightly, still trailing after him as he dried his hands. “are you… the owner or something? i thought this was a common area, and, as a resident, shouldn’t this be ok?”

sunghoon didn’t pause, didn’t even look at you when he answered, just kept walking toward the exit, his voice calm and detached, like he was reading from some impersonal list of facts.

“i’m the owner.”

then, after a beat, almost as an afterthought, he added:

“the seven of us live in the penthouse. this is our building. we have our rules.” another pause as he pushed open the door, the cold air slipping through. “one of them is to not circle around after nine p.m. without previous notice.” and then, with the same offhand finality, like it didn’t even matter: “and yes. this area is privately mine. i bought it. it’s my part of the deal.”

your breath caught for half a second — not because of what he said exactly, but how casually he said it, like it wasn’t the most intimidating thing in the world.

you blinked, following him out the door like some stubborn ghost of your own embarrassment, still trying to catch up with everything he’d just revealed.

“oh,” you said, brilliantly. then, after a beat: “oh my god, i didn’t know… i thought you were just— i don’t know— some guy who lived with his roommates or something. i mean— there is seven of you?”

sunghoon finally glanced at you then, and for the first time, really looked.

his gaze wasn’t unkind — sharp, yes, unreadable, yes, but something in it softened just slightly at your flustered panic. the corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but close enough to pass for one if you weren’t being too picky.

“we are strangers, so it’s not a surprise you don’t know,” he said simply, like that settled it. “what happened to your grandma?” he asked right after, almost flatly, but the question hung heavier than he meant it to. that was the only curiosity left in him.

you shifted, hesitating.

“she died,” you said, voice quieter now, not sure about his sudden interest about your family after ignoring you for the last ten minutes. still, stupidly, you answered. “a few months ago. no one told me until after the funeral. i think… i think she left the apartment to me just to spite my mom. she never mentioned seven guys living in this area, she actually rarely was here or so i thought...”

you tried to laugh, but it came out too small, too hollow to be anything but a ghost of amusement.

sunghoon didn’t press further. he just nodded, slow and deliberate.

he didn’t stop walking. didn’t turn. just kept moving toward the last exit with that same smooth, unbothered rhythm, like you hadn’t just trespassed on his private space and asked him a string of questions he had no intention of answering properly.

and maybe it was that — the sheer fact that he was just going to leave, that he hadn’t even given you the basic politeness of his name — that made you blurt the next thing without thinking, desperate to catch at least one thread before it all slipped through your fingers completely.

“what’s your name?” you called after him, your voice softer now, but still stretched tight with nerves — like the words had to fight their way out of your chest. and then, as if some part of you panicked at the silence he left in his wake, you added the kind of thing people say when they’re trying too hard to seem casual, even though it only made you feel more ridiculous the second it left your mouth:

“i’m sorry. i don’t really know anyone in seoul yet. i thought maybe… i could make friends here.”

you winced internally as soon as it was out there, like hearing it aloud confirmed how pitiful it sounded. but it was also the truth — raw and a little embarrassing, hanging between the two of you like a thin thread waiting to snap.

sunghoon paused at the door, his hand still resting lightly against the iron handle, fingers curled like he was weighing whether to just keep going, to let you stand there with your awkward apology and your too-late question hanging uselessly in the cold air.

but then, without any particular urgency, he turned.

for the first time, really turned — not that distant, impersonal glance he’d given you earlier, but a full, deliberate look, his dark eyes cutting through the space between you like he was finally seeing you, not just another tenant or a passing distraction, but something else entirely.

and then —

he smiled.

small, barely there, more reflex than intention, like his body had decided to acknowledge you even if his mind hadn’t fully signed off on it yet.

“sunghoon,” he said simply, his voice quieter now, stripped of the earlier indifference, just… plain.

and for a second — just one — his eyes stayed on yours, steady, almost curious, like he was letting you take the name, hold it, decide what to do with it.

then, just as easily, he turned back, pushed the door open, and stepped out into the hall without another word, the sound of his boots fading smooth and even against the marble floor until it was like he’d never been there at all.

author's note: this wasn’t proofread yet, so i’m sorry if the mood is a little weird. i still don’t know where this is going, but already started the first chapter. if you read this, pls tell me what you think of it. i'm sorry if this is trash, just give it a shot pls. nonchalant sunghoon until he is obsessed with reader hehe. send me a request • my masterpost

[7ndipity]

Every Little Thing

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: When you overhear Yoongi talking about how clingy you’ve been lately, you decide to take a step back from your friendship to give him space. But your sudden absence goes far from unnoticed by him.

Word Count: 2k(wtf?!)

Warnings: angst, swearing, only partially proofread

A/N: Thanks so much to the lovely anon who requested this! This story, I... I don’t know what happened, I went from struggling to get it to work at all to getting waayy too carried away. I kinda had to stop myself at the end before it shifted into something else, but maybe if y’all want a part two, we can pick up from there?

Masterlist

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As you got off the elevator, you couldn’t help the faint bounce in your step as you made your way to Yoongi’s studio, your bag slung over one shoulder, a grocery bag of snacks and drinks for the two of you to share.

Ever since you and Yoongi(and in turn, the rest of the members) had become friends, The Genius Lab had become a hideaway of sorts for you. Whenever you were feeling stressed or overwhelmed, you knew you could call Yoongi, and he would tell you to come over, letting you camp out on his couch while he worked, occasionally asking for your thoughts or opinions on a specific song or line.

As you neared his studio door, you noticed it was slightly ajar, allowing the voices from inside to slip out into the hall, quickly recognizing them as Yoongi’s and Namjoon’s.

“You wanna come to lunch with me and Hoseok?” Namjoon asked.

“Agh, I can’t, I told Y/n’s we could hang out today.” You heard Yoongi’s chair creak as he stretched, letting out a groan.

“Again? That’s like the third time this week, people are gonna start thinking you’re a couple or something at this rate.” Joon joked, making your cheeks flush lightly.

“Nah, it’s nothing like that,” Yoongi replied, sounding tired. “They’re just being clingier than usual, you know what they’re like.”

You frowned at his words. What did he mean by that?

“I know it’s just cause they’ve been stressed lately,” Yoongi continued. “But honestly, it’s gotten to the point where it’s weirder for them to not be here.”

Joon chuckled. “I’m surprised you don’t find that annoying.”

“I didn’t say that I don’t,” Yoongi said. “But it’s Y/n, so I let it slide. Anyway, on that track you showed me-”

You stepped back from the door, the sudden tightness in your chest making it slightly difficult to breathe as you quietly made your back down the hall to the elevators. As the metal doors closed, you replayed what you had overheard in your head.

Yoongi had always told you that he didn’t mind you hanging around, but maybe you had started to abuse that privilege, grown too dependent on him. Was that how he really felt about you? Had you become a nuisance? And if so, why hadn’t he said anything?

Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you quickly found his number and hit the call icon, trying to swallow down the lump in your throat before he picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, are you almost here?” He answered, sounding much brighter than a few minutes ago.

“Uh, actually, I don’t think I can make it today.” You said, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Is everything okay?” He asked, concerned.

No, one of my best friends hates me. “Yeah, everything’s fine, something just came up, sorry.” You bit your lip, managing to slip out of the building without running into any of the other members and making your way down the street to the bus stop.

“Okay.” He sounded unconvinced. “Is it anything I can help with, or-?”

“No, no it’s-, it’s a work thing.” You said, the words falling flat on your own ears. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Alright.” He said reluctantly. “Bye.”

“Bye.” You hung up, letting out a deep breath.

You could tell he hadn’t believed you, but you didn’t really care at the moment. If he wasn’t going to be honest with you, why should you be any different?

Suddenly presented with the afternoon to yourself, you decided to head to the park, wandering along the river as you thought over everything.

You and Yoongi had come here together not long after you had moved to the city, the last few blooms of the cherry blossom season clinging on stubbornly to their branches. He’d promised to bring you back the next year, so you could see them in their full glory at peak bloom.

Of course, life and work had gotten in the way, as they often did, and before either of you had realized, the season had nearly passed again before he could keep his word. You’d told him at the time that it didn’t matter, you’d just been happy to spend time with him, a recurring theme for you apparently…

Had you been a bother to him back then as well? You didn’t believe so, but the earlier sting of his words had left you questioning everything, even if you knew it might be an over-reaction.

It was dark by the time you made it home, flopping down on the sofa with a tired sigh as you contemplated your options.

So you’d been bugging him lately, that was an easily fixable problem, right? Just leave him alone for a bit, it was as simple as that, wasn’t it?

You weren’t so sure as your phone suddenly buzzed on the cushion next to you, drawing your attention to Yoongi’s name illuminated on the screen. You’d forgotten you said you’d call him.

‘Hadn’t heard from you, just wanted to make sure you’re okay?’ The text read.

Now who’s the clingy one? Was your immediate first thought.

‘I’m fine, just tired. Talk to you tomorrow.’ You typed shortly before turning off your phone and going to bed, with no intention of texting him the next day unless he did so first.

For the next week, you tried to keep up with your new normal; you didn’t go by the studio, you avoided texting him unless he did first, and generally avoided his invites to hangout with vague excuses.

One place you couldn’t avoid him though was dinner with the other members. It was a monthly tradition that you usually looked forward to, but as you stepped through the door of the restaurant, you only felt a wave of nervousness, for what though exactly you didn’t know.

“Y/n!” Tae quickly hopped to his feet to give you a hug, the others all greeting you enthusiastically. You noticed Yoongi didn’t speak, only nodding to you politely, but his eyes never left you for a second, seeming to study your every move.

“Y/n, do you want my seat? I know you usually prefer to sit by Yoongi-hyung.” Jungkook asked, starting to get to his feet, but you quickly waved him to sit.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to move for me, I’m fine over here.” You said, settling in the free seat next to Jimin, which happened to be directly across the table from Yoongi.

Everyone quickly settled into their usual routines and conversations, the mix of voices blurring into an almost comforting buzz, allowing you to zone out for a moment and relax, but a single low voice managed to snap you back to attention.

“I haven’t seen you all week.” Yoongi said quietly, a noticeable heaviness in his voice.

“Yeah, things have just been kinda busy.” You tried to say convincingly, but it was hard to pull off under his gaze. Luckily, Jin asked you about something from the show you’d been watching and gave you an easy out of the conversation.

You managed to get through the evening well enough, talking with the others, even making plans with Jimin for him to help you pick out some new furniture for your apartment. You’d felt Yoongi’s eyes on you all evening, but hadn’t said anything.

It was later that night when you were pulled from sleep by the sound of someone knocking persistently on your front door.

Cautiously, you climbed out of bed and padded to the door.

Who’s there?” You called anxiously, trying to remember where you’d put your old baseball bat, in case you needed to defend yourself.

“It’s Yoongi.”

You froze, staring at the door in surprise for a second before going over and peering out the peephole.

Sure enough, he was standing on your doorstep, causing a brief sense of relief that was quickly replaced with confusion and the same nervousness from earlier.

Not quite knowing what else to do, you cracked the door open slowly, taking in his slightly disheveled state; hair mussed and faint bags under his eyes. He looked the same way as when he would pull all-nighters at the studio.

“What are you doing here?” You asked.

“Why’ve you been avoiding me?” He responded with his own question, staring you down.

“I-, I haven’t-”

“Don’t lie.” He stopped you.

Glancing around quickly, you pulled him inside, not wanting to have this discussion in the hall.

“You’ve been dodging my texts and calls, you wouldn’t sit with me at dinner, you asked Jimin for help with furniture shopping, which you know he’s terrible at.” He continued as you closed the door. “So, tell me please, what has happened to make you start ditching me?”

“Why didn’t you tell me that I was annoying you?” You snapped.

He stopped, staring at you in confusion. “What?”

“I heard you and Joon talking last week,” You said, his face falling as the memory came flooding back. “About how clingy I’ve been, and how I’ve been annoying you by hanging around so much.”

“You haven’t been-”

“Don’t.” It was your turn to cut him off. “Don’t try to tell me that it’s not true or you didn’t mean it. What I want to know is why you weren’t just honest with me?” You hated the way your voice started to shake as you spoke. “Why didn’t you just tell me to fuck off or something? Why do you put up with me if I'm such an annoyance?!”

“Because I fucking love you!” He blurted out.

You froze, staring at him in shock. “What?!”

“I-, I love you.” He said quietly.

“You love me?” You repeated, hurt and frustration still churning in your stomach, not letting you take his words to heart. “You love me, but you think I’m annoying?”

“I think everyone’s annoying!” He tossed his hands up in frustration. “The difference is that I like your annoyance!

“I like that you’re loud and weird and make terrible jokes, I like that you nag me to take better care of myself.” He said. “I like that you’re happy holed up in my studio with me. I like that you sing along to every song that you recognize, even without realizing that you’re doing it.”

He took a cautious step closer, pleading with his eyes as he spoke.

“I like every little annoying thing that you do, because they’re what make you you. I’m so sorry that I made you think anything otherwise.”

You hadn’t moved as he spoke, fighting the tremble in your lip as your eyes had misted over with tears.

“Y/n?” He asked anxiously.

You didn’t speak, choosing instead to lunge forward, wrapping your arms tightly around him in a bruising hug. He staggering back slightly at the force of the collision, arms immediately coming up to hold you in an equally tight embrace.

“I missed you.” You sniffled, burying your face in his chest.

“I missed you too.” He replied, holding you tighter, pressing a soft kiss to your head. “I’m also sorry for telling you I loved you in a shitty way.”

“Eh, it’s kinda on brand for us, honestly.” You teased, making him let out a huff of laughter.

“I guess you’re right, fuck.” He shook his head.

“You wanna try again?” You offered.

He pulled back to look at you. “Really?”

You nodded. “If you want to.”

He nodded, pulling away enough to take your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles as he pressed his lips together nervously, eyes shaking slightly as he met your gaze.

“I love you, Y/n.”

He’d barely gotten the last word out before your lips were on his, effectively shutting you both up for the next several minutes.

When you finally pulled back, his eyes were blown wide, lips swollen and red from your assault, his breaths coming out in shaky puffs.

“I love you too, by the way.” You said, grinning at his slightly dazed expression.

“Cool, c’mere.” He said, pulling you back in, making you giggle as he eagerly reconnected your mouths.

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

[doumadono]

Bakugo being a porn streamer (for Sinful Sunday)

Warnings: smut with plot, rough smut, pussy fingering and eating, cunnilingus, missionary, creampie, fem!reader, male masturbation, squirting, public sex, only fans & pornhub mentions, porn stream, Bakugo has OnlyFans account

A/N: this request got the second highest number of votes during the Sinful Sunday poll I held over a week ago. Thank you to everyone who voted!

SINFUL SUNDAY MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

The cityscape glowed like a thousand gems scattered across a dark velvet blanket, each light a testament to the life teeming below. 

Katsuki Bakugo strode through the bustling streets, the remnants of his patrol echoing in the satisfied murmurs of bystanders he had saved earlier. His fiery eyes scanned the horizon, mind already drifting to the solace awaiting him at home.

Reaching the sleek, modern building that housed his penthouse, Bakugo nodded curtly to the doorman and made his way to the private elevator. As the doors closed, he allowed a small, rare smile to touch his lips. 

It had been a good day — no major catastrophes, no near-death experiences. Just another day of being the best hero the world had ever seen.

The elevator chimed softly as it reached the top floor. 

Bakugo stepped into his luxurious apartment, the space a perfect blend of modernity and comfort. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the city, and plush furnishings invited him to relax. He shed his hero gear with practiced efficiency, revealing the chiseled body beneath — one that had become almost as famous as his explosive quirk.

Padding barefoot across the cool hardwood floors, Bakugo headed to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. He took a long drink, his thoughts wandering to his evening plans. 

It had started as a joke, really — a whim born from boredom and pure curiosity. One night, he had filmed himself getting off, his muscular body glistening with sweat, his deep, guttural moans echoing in the silent room. On a lark, he had uploaded the video to his old Pornhub, expecting nothing in particular.

To his surprise, the video had gone viral. Within days, he had amassed thousands of fans, all clamoring for more. At first, Bakugo was amused. Then intrigued. And finally, he saw an opportunity. He was a hot man — he knew that. And if people wanted to watch him, if it made them happy and he enjoyed it too, then why not?

With the success of his initial video, Bakugo had created an OnlyFans account, eager to capitalize on his newfound popularity. It had been an instant hit. Fans flocked to his page, eager to pay for the privilege of seeing him in more intimate, exclusive settings. The subscriptions rolled in, and Bakugo found himself enjoying the attention, the adoration. It was a different kind of thrill, but a thrill nonetheless.

Bakugo set the water bottle down and made his way to his bedroom. The room was dominated by a large, king-sized bed draped in dark, luxurious linens. A camera was set up on a tripod in one corner, pointed directly at the bed. He moved with confidence, stripping off his clothes and tossing them aside. Naked, he admired his reflection in the full-length mirror. His body was a testament to years of rigorous training — every muscle defined, every inch a work of art.

With practiced ease, Bakugo positioned himself on the bed, adjusting the camera angle until he was satisfied. He grabbed a small remote from the nightstand and turned on the camera. The red light blinked to life, and he took a deep breath, letting the anticipation build. This was his stage, his audience waiting eagerly on the other side of the screen.

He opened his laptop, navigating to his OnlyFans account. With a few clicks, he started a live stream, watching as the viewer count began to climb rapidly. The chat box exploded with messages, fans greeting him eagerly, their excitement palpable even through the screen.

"Hey, fucking perverts," he greeted, his voice low and rough, tinged with the cocky confidence that had made him a hero. "It's your favorite pro hero, back for another round."

He ran a hand down his chest, fingers tracing the hard lines of his abs. He knew exactly what his fans wanted, what they craved. And he was more than happy to give it to them. His hand continued its descent, skimming over the taut skin until it reached his cock. Already semi-hard, it twitched in his grasp, responding to his touch.

Bakugo leaned back against the pillows, spreading his legs slightly to give the camera a better view. He stroked himself slowly at first, his grip firm but teasing. He knew how to build the anticipation, how to draw it out until he was practically vibrating with need. "You like what you see?" he growled, eyes locked on the camera as if he could see his fans watching. "Bet you wish you could touch me, huh? Feel how hard I am for you, little perverts?"

The chat box lit up with eager responses, fans egging him on, praising his body, his performance.

God, you're so hot!

I've been waiting all day for this.

Take it slow, Dynamight, make it last!

His eyes scanned the comments, searching for one particular username: sweet_daisyxxx. Amid the flood of adoring messages, he spotted it.

sweet_daisyxxx: You look amazing tonight, Katsuki

A rush of heat surged through him at the sight of your comment. He smirked, a new surge of energy coursing through him. His hand moved faster, strokes becoming more insistent. Pleasure coiled in his belly, hot and demanding. He was stroking his cock from base to tip, picturing you moaning his name. 

For Bakugo, starting an OnlyFans account had been a natural progression from his initial success on Pornhub. He'd always had a hard time settling down, despite his status as a pro hero and his undeniable attractiveness. His standards were high — too high, perhaps — and no woman had ever met all his requirements. His relationships invariably ended in one-night stands, fleeting and unsatisfying.

He had begun to find solace in the digital realm, exploring the myriad of content creators on OnlyFans. He followed the accounts of the girls he found hot, drawn to their beauty and charisma. It was a distraction, an addiction of sorts, but one he didn't mind. It filled a void that real-life encounters couldn't, offering a tantalizing escape from the pressures of heroism.

Then he came across your account. It was different from the rest. Yes, you were a camgirl yourself, you had a beautiful body, a captivating presence, but what set you apart was your approach. You didn't reveal everything, always touching yourself through the thin material of your lacy panties, always keeping your face off the camera, maintaining an air of mystery and intrigue while you played with yourself. Your streams were a mix of sensuality and intellect as you were trying to engage your small but dedicated follower count in discussions about literature, history, fashion, and the changing world. You were a tease, undoubtedly, but it was your depth that held him captive. Bakugo lingered on your page longer than he intended, entranced by your intelligence and charm. Your body was a work of art, but it was your mind that ensnared him. Not to mention you happened to be his biggest fan.

sweet_daisyxxx: Those muscles look even better up close. You're incredible, Katsuki

His eyes flicked back to the chat, watching as your other comments rolled in. 

sweet_daisyxxx: That growl you made just now? So hoooot, oh Gosh... Don't stop

Bakugo was incredibly turned on, imagining the taste and feel of licking your cunny. Even though he had never truly seen your pussy, the lingerie you wore on your streams left little to the imagination, perfectly outlining the curves of your folds. He couldn't help but think your pussy must be the prettiest one. What sounds would you make riding his tongue? Where would you want him to cum? On your face? Mouth? Tits? Maybe you would want him to save it for your pussy?

sweet_daisyxxx: Wish I could be there to touch you, feel every inch of you

His breath hitched, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through his body. He could feel himself getting close, the familiar tension building with every stroke. His fans loved it when he talked dirty, loved the way he lost control on camera. And tonight, he was more than willing to give them a show. "Shit, I'm so close," he groaned, head falling back against the pillows. "You want to see me come undone, don't you? You want to watch me lose it for you?" His hips thrust faster into his rough palm.

He worked on his dick energetically, holding his balls tight in his free hand, squeezing them from time to time. He moaned from the pleasure radiating from his throbbing dick. He could almost hear his fans' reactions, the collective intake of breath, the eager anticipation. And that thought pushed him over the edge. With a final, desperate thrust, he came, his seed hot and sticky over his hand and stomach. It gushed and bubbled through the wet tip of his throbbing dick, leaving a slick trail on his toned abs as he continued to thrust into his clenched fist. Spurt, spurt. The sensation seemed endless. Katsuki's breath hitched with relief, and his hips finally began to slow. Though his balls were drained, they kept clenching, desperate to empty every last drop of his cum. His head rolled back, mouth hanging open as he panted through the final throes of one of the strongest orgasms of his life.

sweet_daisyxxx: Yes, Katsuki, just like that. So hot. You're perfect

Bakugo lay there for a moment, chest heaving, heart pounding. He let the camera capture every second, every twitch of aftershock. When he finally moved, it was with a lazy, satisfied grin. He reached for a towel and cleaned himself up, his eyes never leaving the camera.

But even in the haze of post-orgasmic bliss, Bakugo’s crimson eyes returned to the chat, seeking your username again.

sweet_daisyxxx: That was incredible, Mr Pro Hero. Can't wait for next time ♥

He smirked, feeling a sense of satisfaction beyond the physical release. You were more than just another fan. And you intrigued him.

"Hope you enjoyed the show," he said, voice still husky with the remnants of pleasure, his words directed toward you from all of his fans. "I'll see you next time."

He ended the live stream and lay back against the pillows, a sense of contentment settling over him. This was his life — a hero by day, a star of OnlyFans by night. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

Bakugo lay back against the pillows, his body still thrumming with the afterglow of release. The chat window on his laptop blinked out, and he reached over to close it, his thoughts already drifting to the next interaction he craved. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, his fingers moving with practiced ease as he navigated to his messages.

He found your name quickly — sweet_daisyxxx. 

Your conversations had become a regular part of his routine, an escape from the relentless demands of hero work and the empty satisfaction of countless one-night stands. With you, it was different. You talked about things that mattered, things that challenged his mind and made him feel alive in ways he hadn't expected.

Horny_Dynamight: Wanna FaceTime?

There was a brief pause before your response came in.

sweet_daisyxxx: m’kay, give me a min

He waited, the seconds ticking by with a tense anticipation. Finally, his phone buzzed with the incoming call. He accepted, and your face filled the screen, your eyes bright with excitement.

You were seated in your gamer chair, the fitted black tank top you wore accentuating your curves. Your earbuds were in, and as you settled into the call, Bakugo couldn't stop his eyes from drifting downward, where the neckline of your top revealed the top of your beautiful breasts. The soft swell of your cleavage was tantalizing, and he felt a familiar heat stir within him.

"Hey, handsome," you greeted, your voice steady despite the underlying tension.

"Hey, hottie," he replied, his voice a low rumble. "So, how'd you really like the stream?"

You bit your lip, a teasing smile playing at the corners of your mouth. "It was amazing, Katsuki. You looked incredible. And the way you touched yourself… It was so hot."

His smirk widened. "Glad you think so." He paused, studying your face, the way your eyes sparkled with curiosity. "I was thinking, would ya like to join my next stream?"

You blinked, taken aback. "Join? How?"

He didn't hesitate, his response blunt and to the point. "For some nice fucking."

Your eyes widened, shock and excitement warring for dominance on your face. "Are you serious, Kats? I think I’m far outta your league…"

"Dead serious," he confirmed, his gaze never wavering. "We've been dancing around this for way too long. I want you on my stream. With me. In every way, Y/N. I can’t stop thinking about ya, for fuck’s sake."

You stared at him, the silence stretching out as you processed his proposition. 

He wondered if he had pushed too far, if maybe he had read the situation wrong. 

But then, your expression shifted, a slow smile spreading across your face. "Okay," you said softly. "When?"

His heart leaped, a fierce grin spreading across his face. He hadn't expected you to agree so quickly, but then again, you had always surprised him. "Tomorrow night. Same time. My place."

"Ok, but you’ll have to pick me up," you replied with a slight shrug of your shoulders.

When you finally hung up, Bakugo felt a sense of satisfaction settle over him. Tomorrow night would be a game-changer, a step into new territory that he was eager to explore. With you.

The next day, Bakugo's routine went by in a haze of expectation. His patrols were efficient but mechanical, his thoughts constantly returning to the evening ahead. He had spent the day thinking about it, every spare moment filled with thoughts of you, of finally meeting the person who had occupied his thoughts for so long. Katsuki pushed himself harder in the gym, needing the physical exertion to keep his mind from spiraling into endless scenarios of what might happen. 

When the day finally drew to a close, he found himself back in his apartment, preparing for what felt like both a stream and a date. He made sure everything was perfect — the camera angles, the lighting, the room itself. And then, he drove to pick you up from the mall you set up as a meeting place.

Bakugo's heart pounded with a mix of excitement and nerves as he drove to the mall. This was the first time he was going to see you in real life, and the anticipation was almost too much to bear. 

He pulled into the parking lot, finding a spot near the entrance. As he stepped out of the car, he adjusted his black, leather jacket, trying to look as casual as possible despite the literal butterflies in his stomach. He scanned the crowd, looking for you, knowing you would stand out even among the bustling shoppers.

And there you were, waiting near the fountain in the center of the plaza. You wore a girly white summer dress with a delicate floral motif, the fabric swaying gently with the breeze. Your white sneakers added a touch of casual charm to your appearance. As you spotted him, your face lit up with a bright smile, and your cheeks turned slightly pink with a blush.

Bakugo made his way over to you, his heart pounding harder with each step. When he finally stood in front of you, he could hardly believe it. You were even more beautiful in person. "Hey," he said after clearing his throat, his voice coming out rougher than he intended.

"Hey, Katsuki," you replied, your voice soft and filled with excitement. "It's so good to finally see you in person, Mr Dynamight.”

He nodded, his eyes taking in every detail of you, from the way your dress clung to your figure to the sparkle in your eyes. "Yeah, it is."

There was a moment of silence as the two of you took each other in, the reality of the moment sinking in. Then, with a smirk, Bakugo extended his hand. "Ready to get out of here?"

"Absolutely,” you replied, taking his palm as if you two were a real couple.

He led you to his car, opening the door for you before getting in himself. 

As he drove, the conversation flowed easily, just like it did during your calls. You talked about everything and nothing, the comfort between you growing with each passing mile.

Bakugo couldn't help but steal glances at you as he drove. The way your dress highlighted all of your curves, the way the sun caught your hair, the way your laughter filled the car with warmth — it was all purely intoxicating. He reached over, his rough, large hand resting on your thigh. 

You glanced at him, a playful smile on your lips. "Can't keep your hands to yourself, huh?"

He smirked, his grip tightening slightly. "Nope. And I don't plan to, sweet doll."

His touch was firm, possessive, his fingers occasionally squeezing gently and brushing your soft skin as he navigated the streets. Every time his hand moved, it sent a shiver of anticipation through you, the promise of what was to come making your heart race.

Finally, you arrived at his apartment. Bakugo parked and turned to you, his expression serious. "You sure you're okay with this?"

You smiled, reaching out to take his hand. "More than okay, Katsuki. I've been looking forward to this, actually. I just… It’s been a while since…”

“Hush, no worries, I’ll be gentle,” he whispered softly, reaching his hand out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing slightly against your lower lip as he gazed into your eyes. With a nod, he led you inside the apartment. 

The moment the door closed behind you, the atmosphere shifted. The tension that had been building all day exploded into action. 

Bakugo reached for you, his hands cupping your face as he kissed you fiercely, all the pent-up desire pouring into that single moment.

You responded immediately, your arms wrapping around his neck as you kissed him back with equal fervor. 

Your bodies pressed tightly together. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the raw need in his touch.

Bakugo's hands roamed down your sides, pulling you even closer until there was no space between you. 

You could feel the hardness growing in his pants, pressing insistently against your lower abdomen as he pushed you on the nearest wall. 

"Fuck," he muttered against your lips, his breath hot and heavy. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this." His hands moved to your waist, lifting you effortlessly as he walked towards the bedroom with you in his arms.

You wrapped your legs around him, the movement causing the bulge in his pants to press even more firmly against your clothed pussy. The friction made you moan, the sound driving him wild.

Bakugo kicked the bedroom door open, setting you down on the edge of the bed. He stepped back for a moment, his eyes raking over you with a look of pure hunger. "You look so fucking good," he said, his voice low and rough.

You blushed, but there was a playful glint in your eyes as you whispered teasingly, "Why don't you come over here and show me just how good?"

With a growl of satisfaction, Bakugo was on you in an instant, his mouth capturing yours once more. His hands moved with purpose, slipping under your dress to caress your soft skin. He paused, taking in the sight of you in your underwear. "Beautiful," he murmured, his hands tracing the curves of your body.

You got up and reached for him, pulling his leather jacket off and tossing it aside before working on the buttons of his shirt. His skin was warm and firm under your touch, the muscles rippling as you pushed the fabric off his shoulders. He helped you, impatient to feel your hands on him.

Once his shirt was off, you traced your fingers over his chest, marveling at the hard lines and defined muscles. "You're incredible, Katsuki," you said softly, your eyes meeting his.

He grinned, his hands moving to unbutton his pants. "You haven't seen anything yet."

As his pants hit the floor, your eyes were drawn to the impressive bulge pressing against his underwear. He moved closer, his lips locking with yours in a searing kiss while his body pressed tightly against yours. The feel of his firmness against you, combined with the fervor of his kiss, left your head reeling.

Bakugo murmured, "You know what I want to show on the stream?"

You shivered at the rough timbre of his voice. "What?"

"Mostly eating you out," he growled, his hand moving to caress your inner thigh, "and fucking you until you can't think straight."

Your breath hitched, the bluntness of his words sending a jolt of arousal straight to your core. “Are… Are you sure?" you asked, your voice trembling with anticipation.

"Yeah," he said, his eyes dark with desire. "I want everyone to see how good you can make me feel. How much we both want it."

You swallowed hard, the intensity of his gaze making you feel like you were burning from the inside out. "Katsuki..."

He kissed you again, hard and possessive. "So, what do you say?" he murmured against your lips. "You in?"

You nodded, your mind a whirl of desire and anticipation. "I'm in. Just…”

"Oh, quit being shy, doll. Just because you haven't shown yourself on cam yet doesn't mean you're a saint. We both know you're not. I still remember you moaning on the phone, telling me how you'd suck my dick during one of our calls."

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your racing heart. "Katsuki, I... I don't want my face shown on the stream."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "Why not? Are you ashamed of my idea?"

You shook your head quickly, cupping his face in your hands. "No, it's not that. I just... I don't think you want to be associated with an OnlyFans girl later. It could cause trouble for you. You’re a hero after all..."

His expression softened, and he cupped your cheeks in his rough hands. "I don't care about your fucking profession, doll," he said firmly. "I've developed feelings for you. You're more than a one-night stand for me."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the sincerity in his eyes making your breath catch. "Katsuki..."

He kissed you deeply, his lips conveying everything he couldn't put into words. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. "We'll do it your way. No face. I want this to be good for both of us."

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection. "Thank you, Katsuki. This means a lot to me."

He grinned, his hands sliding down to your waist. "Now, let's make this the best stream anyone's ever seen."

Bakugo adjusted the camera one last time, ensuring it was angled just right. He made sure only a slight part of your neck would be visible, keeping your identity safe while still capturing the raw passion of the moment. The red light blinked on, indicating the stream was live. He turned to the camera, his usual smirk in place. "Hey, fuckers," he greeted, his voice low and confident. "Got a special stream for you tonight."

Immediately, the chat exploded with messages, the viewers' excitement palpable even through the screen.

Bakugo! Who's the girl?

Is this for real? Bakugo's got someone with him?

Holy shit, this is gonna be epic!

Introduce her! What's her name?!!

Is she your girlfriend?!! omg Dynamight has a gf? I’m heartbroken!!!

We need details, Dynamight!

Bakugo glanced at the comments, his smirk widening as he saw the flood of questions about you. He enjoyed the attention. "Calm down, fucking idiots," he said, his voice a growl that only seemed to stoke the fire in the chat. "You'll get what you came for. That’s all. My girlfriend’s face stays out of the frame. Got it?"

You gasped as you realized he called you his girlfriend.

The chat buzzed even more, curiosity and excitement mingling in the rapid-fire messages.

Why hide her face?

Is she that shy?

Come on, Bakugo, just a glimpse!

Gosh, he said she is his gf, rip to my feelings :(

Damn, this is hot already

Just fuck that cunt already man

Ignoring the more insistent demands, Bakugo turned to you, his crimson eyes dark with desire. He leaned in, his rough, large hand resting on your thigh as he whispered in your ear. "Ready to give them a show?"

You nodded, your heart racing. "More than ready...."

With a growl of satisfaction, Bakugo's lips crashed onto yours, the kiss fierce and demanding. His hands moved with purpose, slipping under the hem of your dress and slowly lifting it over your head. “Lay down and relax,” he commanded in a whisper.

The cool air hit your skin, sending a shiver down your spine, but his touch quickly warmed you up. You obliged and lay down on his bed.

He broke the kiss just long enough to pull the dress off completely, tossing it aside before capturing your lips again. His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve with a desperate need. 

You could feel the heat of his touch through the thin fabric of your underwear, his fingers tracing the lines of your body with an intensity that made your head spin.

Bakugo's hands moved to your back, deftly unclasping your bra and tossing it to the floor. He pulled back slightly, his eyes raking over you with a look of pure hunger. "So fucking beautiful," he murmured, his hands moving to cup your breasts.

You gasped as his rough palms squeezed them gently, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your back arching slightly in response. He leaned down, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of your neck as he continued to fondle your breasts, his touch both firm and gentle.

"Katsuki," you moaned quietly, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. The heat between your legs was almost unbearable, the anticipation of what was to come making your body ache with need.

His mouth moved lower, his lips and tongue tracing a path down your neck to your collarbone. "I want to make you feel so good," he growled against your skin, his breath hot and heavy. "I want everyone to see how much you need this."

You whimpered in response, your body trembling with desire. 

His hands continued to explore, one moving to your waist while the other remained on your breast, squeezing and teasing your nipple. Bakugo's mouth soon found your nipple, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak before sucking it into his mouth. 

You cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, the pleasure almost too much to bear. 

He switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention, his hands and mouth working together to drive you to the edge.

The camera captured every moment, the slight part of your neck and the intensity of Bakugo's actions visible to his eager audience. The thought of being watched only heightened your arousal, the exhibitionism adding a new layer of excitement to the experience.

The chat was a blur of comments, the viewers enraptured by the display.

Damn, she's loving it!

Bakugo, you're a beast!

This is insane! More, more!

I can't take my eyes off this

Lucky girl, getting all of Dynamight’s attention

Bakugo pulled back, his eyes meeting yours with a look of pure desire. "I can't wait any longer," he growled, his hands moving to the waistband of your panties. He leaned forward, caught the waistband with his teeth and slid them down your legs, the fabric pooling on the bed as he knelt between your legs. He kissed his way up your thigh, his hands gripping your hips to hold you steady. "I'm going to make you come so hard on my fucking mouth," he promised, his breath hot against your skin. "And everyone is going to see how much you love it."

He pushed your legs further apart, exposing your glistening folds to the camera. The sight was mesmerizing, your arousal clear and inviting. Bakugo's eyes darkened with hunger as he took in the view, his fingers gently parting your folds to give the viewers a better look. "Look at that," he murmured, his voice filled with admiration. "So fucking pretty, and all fucking mine."

The chat went wild, the viewers unable to contain their excitement.

OMG, her pussy is beautiful ♥♥♥

Bakugo, you're a lucky bastard! I’m so gay for that bitch

This is the hottest thing I've ever seen

Look at those curves!

I can't believe this is happening live!

Ignoring the comments, Bakugo leaned in, his breath hot against your sensitive folds. 

Your pussy was tight and firm. It was flushed with your desire, and its lips were damp with your slickness. 

Your scent filled his nostrils and Bakugo growled as his cock twitched in his boxers, aching to be freed.

The first touch of his tongue sent a shockwave of pleasure through you, your back arching as you cried out his name. His mouth worked expertly, his tongue and lips finding every sensitive spot as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

His tongue reached out and gently licked from the bottom of one side up to the top. He flicked the pearl of your clit and then licked back up the other side of your lips before flicking it again. Bakugo placed his tongue at the base of your slit and slid it up between your puffy lips. He tasted and felt your juices pool on his flexed tongue as it slid up. 

You tasted so good, so sweet. 

His lips closed over your clitoris and he sucked on it, drawing a gasp from you and a buck of your hips. Bakugo pulled your pussy lips into his mouth and sucked hard on them. His warm tongue went as far inside you as he could reach.

Your juices coated his chin. 

He slid his mouth back up to your clit and eased a finger inside you. He growled against you, the vibrations making your legs shake.

Your lips parted slightly as his thick, rough middle finger slid in between the folds of your pussy. 

It reached in and he curled it up till he hit the top of your pussy. He yet again sucked your clit into his lips hard. 

Suddenly, your legs squeezed together, trembling. “Katsuki,” you whined, arching your back.

Katsuki sucked hard on your clit, his teeth teased it and he flicked it with the tip of his tongue as he slipped two more fingers into your pussy. Soon, they were coated with your translucent slickness.

He kissed your pussy lips and sucked up all of your juices. The nectar from your climax covered his face and hand. It was delicious and he smiled as he looked up from between your legs. 

"Katsuki…" you moaned, your fingers tangling in his ash-blonde hair as you pulled him closer, the need for release almost unbearable as you ground your pussy against his face. Your body tensed, your back arching as the pleasure crashed over you in waves, your cries filling the room. 

Bakugo didn't stop, his tongue continuing to work you through your orgasm, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were left trembling and breathless; your juices spilling on his tongue, overlaying his mouth and chin as he drank all of your essence.

The chat was in a frenzy, the viewers unable to contain their excitement.

OMG, that was intense!

Bakugo, you're a god

I need a cold shower after this

More, more, more!

This is the best stream ever Shhiiit her moans are hot

Fuck, she super hot, you’re lucky, man

Bakugo pulled back, his lips glistening with your juices as he looked up at you with a satisfied smirk. Bakugo stood up, his hands moving to the waistband of his black Calvin Klein boxers as he undressed quickly, his eyes never leaving yours. He stepped out of his underwear, his hard length springing free. 

You licked your lips, the sight of him making your mouth water with anticipation.

He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs as he looked down at you with a possessive hunger. "I'm going to fuck you so hard," he promised, his voice a low growl. Ever so slowly he pressed the leaking tip of his cock to the opening of your pussy.

"Ohhh fuck," you whimpered as Bakugo gradually penetrated your entrance. You sucked in a breath and opened your legs wider to grant him better access. 

So slowly he pushed his cock further in until he was fully sheathed inside of you. Bakugo left his other hand at your throat as he began a slow pace, sliding almost completely away from you before plunging back in. 

You moaned deeply, relishing the searing hardness of his arousal. Your velvety walls clenched tightly around him, drawing a slight widening of his eyes in response to your movements. His arousal felt like forged steel as he continued to thrust vigorously in and out of you. Your desire had escalated to the point where it now glistened on the insides of your thighs and his toned abdomen, the soft, wet sounds filling the air each time he withdrew and then thrust back into your cunny.

Bakugo's lips captured yours passionately, his kiss fervent and insistent. He nipped at your tongue and the corners of your mouth, each bite sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you, melding the physical intensity with a deep, consuming heat.

A sharp yank on his blonde strands pulled his mouth from yours, and you looked into his crimson eyes. “Harder,” you begged.

Bakugo’s face transformed from an expression of animalistic need to one of desperate pleasure. He set a relentless pace, his hips driving into you with a fierce intensity. 

Sweat began to slide in droplets between his shoulder blades and broke out over his forehead. A single drop fell from the tip of his nose and splashed onto your soft belly and you gasped. 

Your bodies moved together in perfect harmony, the pleasure building with each thrust.

Withdrawing, Balugo moved back into your tight pussy with full force again, and again. He sunk his teeth into the red mark he had made earlier where your neck met your shoulder and moved his body roughly against yours.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, somehow pulling him deeper into your pussy, causing small moans to fall from your lips uncontrollably.

"Katsuki, I'm going to come again," you whined, your body trembling with the intensity of the pleasure.

"Do it," he growled, his hips pistoning into you even harder. "Come for me. Let everyone see how much you need this."

With a final, powerful thrust, you shattered, the pleasure crashing over you in waves as your orgasm ripped through your entire being. You were trembling and quivering as Bakugo rubbed your slick clit faster and faster, making you squirm as you orgasmed. Your toes curled and uncurled with each movement, your pussy dripping wet as his massive cock hit your cervix with every thrust. Your breathing grew heavy, moans escalating in volume until you were screaming his name. Your entire body shook, legs trembling, hips bucking up to meet his thrusts. Your pussy dripped, juices spraying the bed and Katsuki's abdomen, the bed squeaking loudly, rocking with the force of his thrusts as you squirted. “Fuck!”

Bakugo thrust madly, groaning as he felt the tightness of your pussy around his cock begin to ripple. He cried out a string of curses as his cock spurted in a mighty gush. He thrust thrice more, cumming with each push until he was absolutely spent, milking your velvety walls with his creamy, thick semen.

As the aftershocks of your orgasms subsided, Bakugo leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. "You're incredible," he murmured against your lips, his hands cupping your face gently.

"So are you," you replied, your heart swelling with affection as you ran your hands though his messy hair.

Bakugo gradually withdrew, his movements deliberate and slow, savoring the last vestiges of intimacy. He watched with a mixture of pride and amusement as his thick cum began to dribble out from your spent pussy, staining his bedsheets. His gaze was intense, capturing every moment with a fierce satisfaction. Ensuring that every second was visible to his viewers, he turned slightly. "How'd you like that, fucking perverts?" he asked his viewers, his voice rough with satisfaction.

The screen was flooded with emojis, exclamations, and messages that scrolled past almost too fast to read. Fans were expressing their thrill and approval, many praising Bakugo's intensity and the raw, unfiltered passion of the display. Some commented on the sheer boldness. It was clear that Bakugo's actions had struck a chord, igniting a fervent buzz among the viewers.

Wow, Bakugo you never disappoint! Absolute legend! 🔥🔥🔥

What a beautiful squirt! That was INTENSE! Way to go, Katsuki!! 💥💥 😱 Can't believe what I just saw! This is why Bakugo's the best! Dude, that was wild!! 🌋 Loved every second of it!

Loved that, absolutely killed it Bakugo! Can’t wait for more! Ur girl is fucking lucky

Bakugo glanced back at you, and asked simply, "So? Ready for another round?"

[seat-safety-switch]

The news gets all upset about "leftism." All the editorialists are mad about it, because the people who buy them gifts and make them feel important told them to be mad about it. I'm not much of a politics guy, but I do know that I'm right-handed. Even though I benefit from this privilege, I think it's terrible that we discriminate against the sinister-handed folks in this way.

To understand the leftist movement in my country, I joined a commune. These folks have been so oppressed by right-makes-right civilization that they've fled to the desert, where they set up an equitable, people-powered organization dedicated to meeting one anothers' needs. Pretty cool thing, honestly. I wish there was a name for it. Anyway, I asked them how being left-handed was an obstacle in our society, and a bunch of them looked at me with confusion. One guy, though, one guy got me the line I needed for my big piece.

His name was Roderick (not his real name,) and he was a left-handed elevator repairman. This skill is not in great demand at the leftist commune, where there are no elevators and even the hierarchy is flat. Even though he could not ply his trade, he said, life was better here. In the outside world, he was discriminated against, refused work because of his way of life. And it didn't stop there. All of his wrenches had to be bent into funny shapes so he could use them. Tightened nuts backward, I think. I didn't really pay too much attention to that part when he was showing me: his story was amazing, and also his husband brought over some delicious madeleines, the recipe of which I stole and then submitted to the newspaper as my article.

The world will continue to stand in the way of leftist progress, but they must never give up. I myself am travelling to a large city outside my hometown, because I've heard there are centrists there. It must be very hard for them to live with an arm growing right out of the middle of their chests, and my editor really wants a picture of the freakshow.