#think about the shit you are pulling instead

[steddiehyperfixation]

i think you should try again

written for @steddiebingo prompt: scoops | 2k words | T |

It's the first day of summer vacation and Eddie should be overjoyed. Free. The cage that is school has been opened and he should be a bird in flight, stretching his wings and soaring weightless through the world, unladen with places to be or homework to do. But he isn’t—overjoyed or free or flying or any of it. The cage is open but he still feels just as trapped and heavy as ever, dragging himself sullenly around the trailer until even his uncle feels the need to say something about it. 

Wayne, never usually one to give unsolicited advice and who generally tends to stay out of Eddie’s business, finally looks over at him and tells him, “You gotta quit mopin’ around, Ed. This sulking ain’t doin’ anyone any good, especially not yourself. I reckon you’d feel better if you got outside, go do somethin’.” 

Well, Eddie reckons that’d probably make him feel worse actually, but he gets the part that his uncle’s not saying too, and he doesn’t want his sour mood to bring Wayne down as well. So he gets himself dressed and drags himself sullenly around town instead. 

It’s the new Starcourt Mall’s grand opening today and it’s packed to the brim with high school kids enjoying their break and graduated seniors celebrating their freedom. And it does make Eddie feel worse. He takes it out on a particularly loud, whooping jock in the food court, shoulder-checking him hard and receiving an elbow to the ribs and a “Watch it, freak!” in return. Stupid fucking town. Eddie pulls a devil face, and watching the jock and his friends recoil from him lifts his spirits only marginally. 

What does lift his spirits is wandering to get ice cream and happening across the one and only freshly graduated senior in this place who isn’t free or celebrating. Steve Harrington stands behind the counter of a Scoops Ahoy Ice Cream Parlor in a totally dorky sailor uniform complete with a hat, a sight that makes Eddie fight a smile for the first time all day. 

Eddie approaches the counter with a grin, looking Steve up and down. “You know, I was feeling like shit today, but I think this just cheered me up.” 

Steve huffs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know, I look ridiculous.”

“Nah, it’s kind of cute, actually,” Eddie says, because it is, and because he’s curious how Steve will react. 

Steve blinks, expression split between a flattered smile and skeptically raised eyebrow. “Thanks? Um.” He shakes his head as if shaking off Eddie’s comment, putting his customer service smile back on gesturing towards the selection of ice cream. “So, what can I get for you today?”  

Eddie shrugs. “What do you recommend to cure a shitty mood?” 

“Well, something chocolate usually works,” Steve answers, “but it depends on what's got you down.” 

“I didn't graduate,” Eddie says, which should be common knowledge by now. “Again. So I’m not really feeling the summer excitement like everyone else.” 

“Ah, right.” Steve nods with a slightly awkward, sympathetic smile. “Definitely chocolate then,” he decides, grabbing a scooper and flipping it in his hand as he slides over to the tubs of ice cream. “How do you feel about Rocky Road?” 

Eddie smiles a little. “It's my favorite.” 

Steve gets to scooping, quiet for a minute and then he says, “I didn't get into college.” 

“Oh.” 

“Not a single one. Not even community college. That's why I'm here. So, you know—I get it.” 

“Yeah.” Eddie appreciates the attempt at solidarity, he really does, but, “At least you graduated.” 

“Yeah…” Steve sheepishly breaks eye contact as he sprays whipped cream onto the ice cream he's scooped. “Are you gonna try again?” 

“I’m not sure yet. I have until the end of the month to decide,” Eddie says, and that seems to be the end of the conversation. 

Steve hands him a sundae with three scoops but only charges him for one, a kindness Eddie isn't quite sure how to respond to, so he doesn't—just pays and finds a booth to sit and eat at. 

He picks somewhere where he can keep Steve in his eyeline, still amused by those sailor shorts and intrigued by the odd little conversation they just had. Steve Harrington is nothing like Eddie expected, nothing like he seemed to be in high school, and the more Eddie watches him, the clearer that becomes. 

Steve’s off his game, keeps trying and failing to flirt with girls who come up to the counter. Whatever smooth charm he was once purported to have in those King Steve days of yore is nowhere in sight now and instead he seems to wear an ill-fitting mask of false confidence, blustering to some poor girl about postponing college in favor of getting real life work experience as if it was his own wise choice to scoop ice cream in a sailor outfit, but his eyes betray a look just as trapped and heavy as Eddie’s been feeling lately. Maybe there is solidarity to be found here after all. 

The girl leaves with her ice cream and Steve looks up to catch Eddie watching him, a startling, unintentional moment of direct eye contact. Steve gives a tiny smile and a small shrug—in embarrassment maybe, or just simple acknowledgement—but Eddie doesn’t see it long enough to interpret it, already looking away and snapping his attention back to the slowly melting sundae in front of him. He eats his ice cream and doesn’t look over again, allowing Steve the dignity of striking out with the next girl unwitnessed. It’s cruel to visibly revel in another’s failure, and while there are many people Eddie would love to be cruel to today, Steve isn’t one of them. 

So Eddie watches everyone else instead. As the natural curative powers of chocolate ice cream and marshmallows work their magic on his bad mood, he alleviates his bitterness further and entertains himself by imagining great, fantastical harm befalling anyone he sees whom he finds irritating. Snickering mean girls are cursed by wizards; obnoxious jocks are eaten by dragons; celebrating seniors are torn apart by hoards of goblins. 

“I think you should try again.”

Eddie blinks out of his daydream of a particularly vicious dragon to see Steve pulling up a chair, those stupid shorts riding up his thighs obscenely as he sits. Not that Eddie’s looking—he’s not (he is). He blinks again, pulls his gaze back to Steve’s face. “What?” 

“High school, graduating,” Steve says, “I think you should try again.” 

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Eddie says with a scoff of a laugh, trying to sound light because he’s really not sure why Steve cares. “Going back for a third senior year is a bit pathetic, isn’t it?” 

“Not as pathetic as giving up,” Steve tells him. “And you never struck me as the type.” 

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t realize you took that much notice of me, Harrington.” 

“Kinda hard not to when you were stomping on top of cafeteria tables every other day, Munson,” Steve points out, like duh. 

“Touché,” Eddie mutters. 

“You’ve got grit, man, is what I’m trying to say,” Steve continues. “You know—you’re bold, you’re tough, you don’t back down. You parade on top of lunch tables and rail against the stereotypes put on you, and that doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d let anyone, not even himself, tell him he can’t. So what’s one more senior year? What’s one more try to finally graduate and stick it to everyone who never thought you could? If anyone can do it this time, it’s you.” 

He says all this in what Eddie can only assume to be his best ‘team captain’ voice, an expert tone of firm encouragement and optimistic passion that Eddie can vividly imagine Steve (tiny basketball shorts included) having used in locker room speeches to rally the spirits and self-confidence of his teammates before they took to the field—or court, or whatever. The Hawkins High basketball team never won much in Steve’s time, but Eddie bets they had great morale. 

“Right, yeah,” he says, attempting to remain guardedly nonchalant even as his chest glows warm with Steve’s unexpected praise. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

Steve nods, smiles. “Of course.” And that could’ve been the end of it, but Steve stays seated, taps his fingers against the table, and surprises Eddie again by saying, “And, hey, um, you run that Dungeons and Dragons club at school, right? Hell-something?” 

“Hellfire, yeah,” Eddie confirms, adding Steve Harrington knows what D&D is? to the ever-growing list of things that have bewildered and intrigued him about Steve today. “Why?”

“There’s a couple of kids I kind of babysit, they’re gonna be freshmen next year and they’re really into that nerd stuff—like, total geeks,” Steve says. Easy targets, he means. He shrugs. “So, you know, if you did decide to stick around another year, it’d be nice for them to have someone to look out for ‘em.”

“Ah,” Eddie says. Now this all makes a little more sense. He points his spoon at Steve. “There it is, the ulterior motive.” Steve doesn’t care about him; he hasn’t been trying to talk him into a third senior year for Eddie’s sake, but for the sake of a bunch of nerdy kids he knows. Which, actually, is still kind of sweet. 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Put that accusing spoon down, Munson, there’s no ulterior motive. I meant what I said before, too. I want you to try again for you, because you really are tough and I really do think you can do it. But also because there are some kids who might need you. Both of those things can be true.”

Eddie puts his accusing spoon down and uses it to take another bite of his soupy ice cream instead. “I guess.” 

“And, who knows, maybe I want it for me too,” Steve adds flippantly, and Eddie can’t tell if he’s being serious or if this is just a cheeky hypothetical to further his point. “You know, I drive those kids around a lot, I’ll probably be picking them up from those Hellfire meetings. Maybe I want to see more of you. Maybe all three of those things can be true.” 

Hypothetical or not, Eddie can’t hold back his oddly endeared smile anymore. “Alright,” he concedes, “you’ve made your point.” 

Steve grins back. “I’ve gotta get back to work,” he says, finally standing up. He drops a hand onto Eddie’s shoulder as he passes by, a brief, lingering squeeze. “Just think about it.” 

Eddie glances at his shoulder as if half expecting the touch to have sunk into his skin and left some sort of imprint. It hadn’t, of course. He scrapes up the last of his sundae and quickly stands before Steve can get too far. “Hey, Steve?” 

Steve pauses and turns around. 

“I think you should try again too.” 

“What, with college and stuff? Yeah, I know, I’ll probably reapply next year.” 

“Well, yeah, good, that too,” Eddie says, “but I meant— I saw you strike out with that girl earlier; I think you should try again. You’ve got a lot going for you, really, and I, uh, I think a lot more people would see that if you didn’t put up some weird facade of over-the-top confidence. So- yeah, I think you should try again, but be honest, be yourself, you know, without all that bluster.”

Steve smiles, a slow, bemused sort of smile that borders on a smirk, as his head tilts and his eyes glance Eddie over. “I just did,” he says, and then he’s turning away again. “I’ll see you around, Eddie.” 

It takes a couple seconds of buffering time for Eddie to process exactly what Steve meant by that, and by then Steve’s already gone, back to work and busy. “Yeah, you will,” Eddie mutters in delayed, unnecessary response, grinning to himself as he throws away his empty sundae cup and walks out of there in far better spirits than he’d entered with. 

He still doesn’t know yet if he’ll be going back to Hawkins High for another try at senior year, but he does know that he’ll definitely be coming back here, to Scoops Ahoy, for another try at Steve Harrington.

[ladylaviniya]

Nah nah nah wtaf??!! the BET?? the LAUGHTER??? the way they were just casually talking about manipulating her like she’s not a whole human being with feelings?? no because i felt my soul physically exit my body. I was back in highschool in this moment as the boys who bullied and negged me for years really decided to attempt to pull shit like this.

and then the part that broke me: ‘how does someone like Y/n think you would want her?’ 😭😭 like hello??? this was too relatable and raw for me todayyyy! Cheleah i’m calling the fucking authorities. Bucky, babe, you’re supposed to be better than this. Steve, YOU are the disappointment of the century. and Sam? i’m side-eyeing you so hard my corneas are strained.

but THEN. she didn’t crumble. she didn’t cry in front of them. she walked in with the calm fury of a woman who's about to change the entire weather pattern of the room. steve hit her with that greasy little 'hey baby' like he didn’t just insult her entire existence five seconds ago and expected her to MELT??? boy she melted your ego instead 💅

the 'go to hell and take your friends with you' line?? INJECT IT INTO MY VEINS. she didn’t just walk away, she valued herself. she packed her bag and her dignity, didn’t even LOOK BACK. slay cunt.

i am so emotionally unwell. y/n deserves a new life, a great man, and a vacation. the boys? they can enjoy their group chat in hell."

Hey? I got a request for a Logan Howlett x reader x Ex! Steve Rogers one shot,(or two if you feel like it). Maybe one where Steve makes a bet with his nasty friends to date reader and she finds out and confronts Steve, but he's an asshole about it and then she leaves the tower. Years later she's with Logan Howlett and happily married and Steve is living with a lot of regret. He tried to get her back but Reader tells him what she really thinks about him and it's not good.

hi! I will be doing a part 2 where logan comes into the picture, as for now, I hope you enjoy what I've written. thank you for sending me this!

summary - the reader finds out everything was all a bet, leading her to confront steve and finally leave them behind.

warning - angst, swearing.

the gifs I use aren't mine, divider by @newlips

All fairytales start with a sad beginning.

As I enter the hallway with the biggest smile, I suddenly hear Steve talking loudly with Sam and Bucky. My brows furrow, not meaning to eavesdrop, but it’s hard when they are talking so loud, but I wish I had left.

“So when are you gonna pay up, Wilson?” I lean against the wall as I listen, wondering why Sam would have to pay Steve. Maybe he owed him money? 

“Me? What about Barnes? He was in on the bet too!” The sound of scoffs fills my ears before chuckles follow.

“I can’t believe it was so easy for her to say yes.” My brows furrow, wondering who she was and who she said yes to. Bucky continues to speak, answering the questions I probably never wanted answered. “How does someone like Y/n think you would want her?” The moment the words leave his lips, my heart drops. Finally, understanding everything, the pieces to the puzzle connect rapidly before my eyes.

The smirk on Steve’s face when I agreed to a date, the way he’d snicker with his friends anytime I’d walked into the room. How he’d ignore me anytime I’d try to show affection in public, and he’d check out other women whilst we were together. Everything was starting to make sense, and I couldn’t believe I was fooled. Who else was in on this bet? Was everyone laughing behind my back? Was this entertainment for them? 

“I know, right? You should’ve seen how excited she was when I asked her out.” The words and the cockiness of Steve’s tone cause my hand to cover my mouth as I choke back a sob. Tears brim as I hear them laugh about me for the next few minutes. “Next, I’ll give her some lie about loving her just so I can get into her pants. How much do you guys want to bet how long it’ll take for her to give in?” 

I take a deep breath when his words hit my ears, closing my eyes for a split second before I gather my bearings because I wasn’t raised to take shit from a man. Inhaling and exhaling, I tell myself that I don’t need him, and it’s his loss for losing me. 

My eyes open, nodding to myself before I push away from the wall and enter the room, causing the three horrible men to go silent. As I stare up at Steve, all three pairs of eyes look at me. He holds a cocky smirk as he steps forward, expecting me to jump into them. 

“Hey, baby. Did you miss me?” The smirk drops when I continue to stare, no emotion shown as I hold myself back from punching him in the face. 

“I was just a bet? So everything was a lie?” The sight of them snickering, and looking at each other as they look down at me, makes my blood boil. 

Steve shrugs, “so what if you were? You're lucky you even held my attention. I mean, have you looked at yourself lately?” My brows furrow and my mouth opens and closes, filled with disbelief. “Why are you looking at me like that, baby? Why don’t we just forget this mess and go to my room.” The smirk returns, and he moves forward and goes to wrap his arms around me whilst leaning down for a kiss. 

My hands come up as I push against his chest, looking at him like he’s grown three heads. “Are you fucking serious? I’m not going to have sex with you, you fucking moron. You know what, Steve? Go to fucking hell! And take your friends with you.” I push Steve away and storm out of the room, quickly heading to mine to grab my stuff and go. I couldn’t be here anymore. The thought of everything was too overwhelming.

The moment I have everything packed, I leave and don’t look back. There’s no point in saying goodbye to these people, as they probably were a part of it all. 

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[wildernessworship]

I feel like a lot of viewers didn't necessarily absorb just how fucked up Mari, Akilah, Melissa, and Gen's murder plot in the s3 finale actually was. The episode didn't do the best job of communicating what was actually happening, so I do get why people were confused about who was in on what plan. But once you understand the girls weren't involved in Natalie's transponder efforts and had no idea there was still a chance of rescue, the full degree of horridness becomes clear.

Their plan definitely wasn't a distraction to get everyone rescued. It was essentially a revenge plot to take out their most unstable teammates for ruining their chances of rescue, and just as importantly, for being a heinous bitch to them (Shauna with Mari and Melissa) and convincing them they were special (Lottie with Akilah). It was personal and premeditated, and at least as bad or arguably worse than anything Shauna and Lottie had done up to that point.

They poisoned the animals, their only ethical food source and the one thing that might have gotten them through winter without resorting to cannibalism. They baited Lottie and Shauna into calling for another hunt to serve as a distraction while they carried out their murders, nevermind what might happen to whoever drew the queen. Even if they had successfully pulled it off and only the targets died, it would have done little to improve their overall circumstances.

The reality of their plan was this: they kill and eat two problem teammates, but it only sustains them for so long because the group is still stranded in the middle of nowhere during the brutal winter without food. Removing Shauna and Lottie from the equation solves a few of their immediate problems, creates a temporary illusion of security, but it doesn't prevent further violence. In fact, it's easier, because now they have experience actively killing their friends. As they go hungry, they justify more hunts.

What Lottie says is true, "It's in all of us now." Everyone in the group is responsible for the violence and depravity they've devolved into. They've all permitted, escalated, participated in, and benefited from these horrific acts. They've also been deeply traumatized by them. They are all simultaneously victim and perpetrator. Everyone, including Mari herself, is responsible for Mari's death. They're responsible for Ben and Javi and Jackie's deaths. But that reality is so overwhelming and existentially horrifying, they can't acknowledge it and have to find convenient scapegoats to pin all the bad things on.

It's easy to understand how they got there, and Shauna's sadism and Lottie's religious zealotry do make them super easy targets for blame. But we, the audience, aren't traumatized teenagers trapped in desperate circumstances, so we don't need to resort to scapegoating. We should be able to recognize the obvious and severe mental health crises driving Shauna and Lottie's behavior. We should be able to understand a huge part of their deterioration is because they were used by the collective, isolated into damaging roles, and then written off as crazy and dangerous once it stopped being convenient to use them.

I just think every single one of these kids, no matter what horrific shit they get up to, is worthy of our empathy and understanding. Fiction is exactly the place where we can exercise this kind of radical acceptance of the darkest parts of humanity. I'd prefer to save the finger pointing for picking out my favorite unhinged cannibal, instead of looking for villains and heroes where they don't exist.

[xoxochb]

— percy and his yummy biceps 💌 ⋆˚࿔

there was a big difference between when you’re staring at something and something is staring at you.

when you were staring at something it usually indicates that you like said thing, that you want said thing desperately. and when something is staring at you it means that it wants you to desire it whether you want to or not.

in this case, that something happened to be percy’s biceps.

they were staring very heavily at you. beginning when they had flexed as they looped around your waist and thrown you on the bed up until now as he fixes around with some legos.

they’re just begging to be wrapped around your head.

no matter how much you told your eyes to stay on the page of your book— to just relax and read your book, they always strayed back to percy’s arms, growing a pool of heat between your thighs. you rub your legs together to sit comfortably.

just read.

just put your eyes on the page and read the lines with your brain. focus on your book. nothing is staring at you. your panties aren’t soaking wet over the thought of arms being wrapped around your head.

breathe. calm down.

you can only sit and hope that you’re jumping heart rate and the scent of your dire arousal aren’t strong enough for percy to sense. or maybe he knows and he’s teasing… waiting for you to say something first.

well fuck it.

slowly, you close your book, letting the bookmark settle between the pages you left off on. you set it down on the nightstand before you turn on your side.

“perce.”

“hmm?” he spares you a smile and a quick glance before placing two green legos together.

“watcha up to?”

percy places his legos down, looking at you. “legos… why?”

you shrug, reaching out one of your index fingers to trace his bicep. it’s pure instinct. “just bored.”

“for an hour?”

well shit.

“no. I was… reading my book. I just got bored now.”

“so it’s not an interesting book?”

your cheeks flush pink. you pull your finger away and drop both your hands into your lap. “it’s plenty enthralling.”

“you weren’t even looking at it.”

“whatever.”

percy takes one of your hands, pulling you back to rest flush against him. with his free hand, he cups your jaw so you can’t look anywhere but his face.

“give me your eyes.”

reluctantly, you comply.

“tell me what you’re thinking.”

if only you had the words.

“I— I’m not thinking about anything.”

“you are. you’re biting the inside of your cheek.” he pokes the outside of your cheek where your teeth had ahold of. “you do that when you’re thinking.”

you inhale shakily. “it’s subconscious.”

“tell me.” his hand holding yours dives down to your thigh, beneath the hem of your nightdress. that’s subconscious.

but when your breath hitches at the action, percy knows exactly what you were thinking. his fingers travel upwards to find the bottom of your panties.

“all for me, sweet girl?” percy smirks.

you scowl and whisper, “perce.”

“my sweet girl.”

you want this. but you wish he’d stop teasing and hurry.

you squirm your hips, trying to get his fingers to reach the top apex of your thighs. “please.”

“last I remember, my arms were more appealing than your book.” his fingers retract, eliciting a whine from your throat.

“percy, please.”

“I’m getting there.”

he takes back his hand that once held your jaw, instead looping his arm around your head, bicep squishing your face just in the way you fantasized. possibly even better.

you close your eyes and soak in the feeling of his arm wrapped around you. and for a second it’s nice before percy speaks,

“open.”

with a sigh, you open your eyes back up. his green eyes flicker with amusement as you’re so willing to comply to his demands.

his free hand dips back under your nightdress, this time to tug your underwear down your thighs. you’re not given any warnings before his thumb begins circling your clit.

your noises are stifled by his bicep. but it’s evident in your body language that you’re asking for him to quit teasing and give you more. as you so politely asked for.

and as your eyes plead, the only form of verbal contact you have, percy obeys your request, plugging one finger first into you. your moan at contact is muffled by his arm.

it’s almost infuriating yet so exciting at the same time. you should do this more often.

— hey siri play false god by taylor swift pretty please ♡

[chaepink]

Private lessons | sub!oikawa toru

wc: 2.8k+ words | masterlist

dom!gn!reader, student x teacher relationship, professor!reader, reader is in mid/late twenties and oikawa is early twenties, college au, dry humping, begging, hair pulling, praising, teasing, choking, slight edging, pet names, a few mentions of "miss" for reader however can be ignored since no body parts are mentioned

note: lets see if i can still write good

"Professor? Can you go back and repeat that?"

You sigh and without turning around to see who asked the question, you begin repeating what you've just said out loud again. After all, you know exactly who asked the stupid question: Oikawa Toru.

Sure you're fresh out of college and new to the job but you're perfectly capable of dealing with all of the situations and problems that come with teaching. Your first year teaching sub-disciplines of biology passed by perfectly normally, with you even becoming one of the favorite teachers among the students.

So you weren't concerned when your second year began and you were prepared for most of the things that you assumed would happen.

But what you weren't prepared for was to deal with Oikawa fucking Toru, a senior who you've heard from your fellow teacher friends tends to be a constant pain in the ass.

He's the typical bad student. He's always bullying kids he deems inferior to him, hangs out with the frat boys, throws parties every week if not every day, and gets into fights. All while having girls surrounding him.

Oh, and he interrupts your teaching every second he gets.

That bastard has been the main problem that has suddenly made your job unenjoyable. He's been pulling all sorts of shit like making you repeat things at least 5 times each class, whispering crude remarks about you to his friend—even though he sits in the front of the room and you can hear each one—, and throwing paper balls and airplanes around randomly just to annoy you. Overall, he's a real nuisance during class.

And you know damn well that he doesn't even need or care for the repeating from the way he smirks at you when you're done and from now he has failed most of the quizzes and tests that you've given to the class yet doesn't go to you for any help.

No matter how annoying he is in your class, you can't be bothered to report him to the head of the school, afraid it would tarnish your new reputation as a teacher. After all, you heard rumors about how he's gotten teachers fired, and knowing his parents are somewhat influential, you'd rather not find out firsthand if they're true or not. All you can do is complain about him to your friends as you wait for the school year to end. At least his class is always the last one of the day, right? Yeah right.

Now back to the present.

As you finish repeating most of the things you already went over, you ignore the gaze burning into your head and quickly post the classwork on your laptop. However, right as you open your mouth to continue teaching, the bell rings and you can't help but let your shoulders slump as you look up to the students with a forced smile.

"I just posted the homework for this lesson that's due next class so don't forget to complete it! The semester is coming to an end so final grades will be put in soon."

As they pack up and begin chatting, a few give you sympathetic smiles as they exit, knowing what you have to go through during this class.

You don't bother to pay attention to the last person in the room as they walk up to your desk, stopping right in front of you.

"Professor? I think I need more help understanding."

You pause your typing on your laptop and focus on sorting the papers on your desk instead, trying to look busy but you're just trying not to look Oikawa in the eyes.

"Yes, Oikawa? What exactly do you need help understanding? If it's something that will take a while to chat with me about then I'm afraid that it'll have to wait until tomorrow because I have a lot of work to grade."

You quickly glance up at him and see the grin on his face. It's one that you've gotten accustomed to as it usually means he has something up his sleeve.

"Well mainly about today's lesson. I don't quite get it. Perhaps I even need a private lesson, don't you think?"

Right, you forgot to mention the rather obvious flirting he does towards you. It's almost as if your first year teaching went too well that your second just had to be the exact opposite.

You hold yourself back from rolling your eyes as you answer back calmly without looking at him.

"If what I notice during class is right, you haven't been paying attention much. But I'm sure if you start doing so, you'll begin understanding the lessons better."

You hear him let out a huff at your lack of attention towards him before seeing two hands being placed on either side of your laptop. You frown as your eyes immediately look up at him.

He's closer now, leaning over your desk and the grin wider now.

"Oh come on professor, a private lesson can't hurt. You'll be able to teach me so much." Teach him how to behave perhaps. "And you can do it however you want, I'm not picky." The way he looks at you as he says the last part has you questioning if he meant it in another way. Knowing him, he most likely did.

You sigh before gathering your papers and you see Oikawa's grin falter slightly.

"Oikawa, I don't think a private lesson is necessary. Nor do I think it would benefit you in any way." You're so focused on the papers that you don't hear him walk around the desk to your side until he's right beside your chair.

"Please, professor?" You jump slightly in surprise before turning your chair to face him and you remember just how tall he is. He's right in front of you now and the way he said the word "please" has you tensing. He knows what he's doing and he knows that you know.

You suddenly realize the tension in the room and clear your throat. "This is inappropriate, Oikawa. I'm your professor."

He raises an eyebrow before stepping closer and smirking.

"Inappropriate? Just what are you assuming? I'm not doing anything inappropriate." He leans down slightly and you frown. Damn him and his good looks. No wonder you see him surrounded by girls on the daily.

You narrow your eyes at him. "You know what you're doing," you say sternly and his smirk widens. Oh, you want to slap that smirk off his face so badly.

You can't help but glance back at your laptop for a second before suddenly feeling a hot breath in your ear and a presence beside you.

"Please, professor?" A shiver runs down your spine. Before you can reply, you notice his tie dangling in front of you—one that's always untucked despite the uniform policy—and you can't help but grab it and pull it down sharply. He gasps at the sudden action as he stumbles and falls to his knees in front of you. His eyes immediately widen and a faint blush appears on his face.

You can't help but be in shock as well. If someone were to walk in at this moment, they would see the infamous Oikawa Toru on his knees, a blush on his face that's growing redder by the second, in front of one of the school's most popular teachers.

Oh, the rumors.

Even on his knees, he's still tall but you swear he looks smaller from the way he looks up at you in surprise.

You're still holding onto his tie and you realize, the way you're staring down at him, tie in hand while he's on his knees staring at you with widened—awaiting?— eyes; Oikawa kinda reminds you of… a dog?

Get your mind out of the gutter, [Name], you tell yourself, yet your grip on his tie only tightens and you notice him swallow hard.

You look at his neck and realize you must've accidentally tightened the tie somehow as well, pressing it right up against his Adam's apple.

"M-Miss?" You snap out of your thoughts, both the title and the stutter catching you by surprise. Looking at Oikawa, you see he's blushing harder, fists clenched on his thighs as he continues to look up at you with that look. Shit.

Then you realize he's not moving, not getting up, not pushing you away, or yelling at you. He's not protesting it. Rather, he's deciding to stay kneeling in front of you.

Does he want this?

You swallow hard as your eyes rake over Oikawa's body and you swear you see his body shiver slightly. You were always a sucker for pretty men anyways.

However, when your eyes finally reach his lower half, you realize why he's blushing so much, or why he's avoiding your gaze suddenly. He's hard, so obviously hard.

Oikawa looks so different from his normal persona that you almost want to laugh. The cocky, annoying senior that has always pestered you in class reduced to a blushing, speechless mess in front of you with a raging boner.

"I bet this is what you wanted, right? During a private lesson?" You see him tense up before lowering his head in front of you, muttering something quietly.

"Use your words properly." You notice him staying silent and wonder if you've misread him before he suddenly speaks- no, suddenly moves.

He slowly leans forward to lay his cheek on your thigh and your breath hitches at the sight.

"I'm sorry, miss." Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Despite how one side of your mind so desperately wants to put him in his place after everything he's done, the more rational part of your mind quickly reminds you that you're his professor and he's your student. Although you're only a few years older than him, this could get you fired or worse.

He must sense your hesitation because he then gently grasps your ankle and presses your shoe against his crotch, letting out a small whimper that makes the heat inside your stomach rise.

You curse under your breath before tugging his tie again and he gasps. Feeling him start to slowly rock against your shoe, you take it back and hear him whine pathetically.

"Was this your plan all along? To rile me up so I would snap and teach you a lesson?" You feel his crotch twitch slightly.

Oikawa swallows hard before lifting his head up and nodding. "Words."

"Yes, miss." You can't help the grin that spreads across your face.

"Well," you start and you see him looking up at you awaitedly. "Perhaps I will teach you a lesson, in my own way of course, since you said you weren't picky." He blushes, remembering his previous words. You have a feeling that although he wanted you to snap, he didn't expect it to go this way.

The pressure against his crotch snaps him out of his thoughts and before his mind can process it, his body already has and you see pre cum seeping through the material of his pants. He lets out a moan at the feeling of your shoe again.

"How about, I'll ask you questions about the class material" —you see his Adam's apple bobbing— "and depending on whether you answer correctly or not, I'll either pull back my shoe or help you cum."

His breath hitches at the idea and almost immediately nods. With his brain already foggy along with the realization that you may pleasure him, he fails to remember that he hasn't been paying the best attention in your class or learned the material well.

You already feel him slightly grinding on your shoe again but you keep it there, wanting to keep on looking down at his flushed face panting near your thighs.

"What is a similarity between transcription and DNA replication?"

His eyes immediately widen in surprise and you know you've stumped him already. Although you know the rest of your classes would be able to answer it easily, his mind is already too clouded with pleasure, it's almost funny.

He stutters out some sort of half-ass response that you know is definitely wrong before you feign a disappointed sigh and pull away your shoe. Immediately he whines out in protest but a stern look from you shuts him right up.

So now he follows your orders.

"What does the shape of a protein determine?" Groaning, he lays his head back on your thigh. His grip on your ankle tightens slightly as he pouts up at you, trying to convince you to do something else. With his hair right in front of you, you suddenly grab it before yanking his head back, emitting a rather loud cry of pain from him.

"Come on, Oikawa"—he lets out a whine at the way you say his name so sternly—"I thought you wanted this? So be a good boy and answer the question. Or perhaps I should just leave you here?"

He widens his eyes before shaking his head hesitantly. "N-No, miss." Oh, the thought of you just leaving him here has his cock throbbing. He's so hard, it hurts.

You stay silent and he realizes you're still awaiting an answer from him. You swear you see the cogwheels turning in his brain, the need to cum fueling it.

"The… function?"

It comes out as more of a question than an answer but you take it anyways. The second you grind your shoe back against his already stained crotch, he humps it like a dog in heat, his groans and whimpers filling the classroom.

You ask him another question and of course, he gets it wrong, mumbling some response that had nothing to do with what you asked. However, taking pity on him, you don't pull away your shoe and he takes it as a sign to speed up. Maybe he thought he actually got it right or maybe he realized that you felt bad for him.

Your hand grips his tie again, tugging it as he lets out a small groan, his eyes rolling back in his head slightly at the pressure against his throat. So he likes getting choked?

"You know, when you're making all sorts of loud noises like that, I wouldn't be surprised if someone were to come check up on his room."

You expected him to slow down, maybe even stop at the realization. But rather he speeds up.

"Maybe you would even like that, getting caught." His cock inside his pants twitches a lot, answering your suspicions so you continue. "Imagine what they would think, seeing a big bad senior like you on his knees for a teacher, rutting against their shoe like a fucking bitch in heat."

Your language catches him off guard, the total opposite of how you act when you teach. He can't help the blush that travels down his neck or the shock of pleasure that runs through his spine or the way his dick leaks more pre-cum, trickling through his pants and onto your shoe because holy shit was that hot.

But the whole situation wouldn't happen anyway. You know for a fact that this part of the college was practically empty, even more so after the last class. But Oikawa doesn't know that and the thought of getting caught turns him on more than he would like to admit.

"M-Miss, I'm close," he murmurs into your thigh, taking no action to slow down. You raise an eyebrow. Assuming that he hooks up with girls weekly, you thought it would take him longer to cum, or perhaps this whole situation is too much for him to process clearly that he just couldn't hold it in. It's cute.

Oikawa is quick to babble out pleas to cum, his voice rising in pitch as his absolutely sinful noises become louder. Some drool escapes from the corner of his mouth and his body feels hot, tears prickling the corners of his eyes from the intensity.

His eyes roll back again and you swear his brain short circuits when you press down on his crotch, his grip on your ankle tightening even more to keep you there. Oikawa can’t even think properly anymore, he just wants to cum. "Pleasepleaseplease-"

"Go on Oikawa, since you've been such a good boy during this lesson." The praise is what gets him. He throws his head back, revealing his neck that you want to grab so badly, and lets out a cry of pleasure. Immediately you feel the wetness on your shoe and you look down to see the wet stain on his pants growing even more.

Oikawa slumps back forward onto your thighs as his humping slows down before coming to a stop. Looking up at you, his eyes are glassy and glazed over and the sight makes your heart race.

He sighs before laying his cheek on your thigh and closing his eyes, murmuring something that you almost fail to hear.

"Thank you for the private lesson, miss."

ty for reading to the end! ❤ - chaepink

╰┈➤ masterlist | rules

[douceurrrr]

“don’t touch me — unless you mean it.”

cw: swearing, sexual tension, explicit kissing, dry humping, emotional betrayal, black!reader, heavy making out, explicit touching, praise, emotional vulnerability

you didn’t cry when he walked back in with someone else.

you didn’t flinch. didn’t move. didn’t even blink.

instead, you sat on the daybed, legs crossed, fingers laced over your bare stomach like you didn’t just feel your world shatter in public. your edges were still laid. your lip gloss still shining. and even though your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach, your face stayed solid. cold. unreadable.

nic looked unsure. that stupid cocky grin half-faded when his eyes met yours. like he didn’t expect you to be the one not folded. like he didn’t expect the same girl he cuddled every night to be sitting there, looking through him like he was furniture.

“you good?” he asked later, after the recoupling, when he pulled you for a chat. like that wasn’t the dumbest question on earth.

you laughed. no humor in it.

“you really gonna ask me that right now?” you tilted your head, one brow raised, medium long black acrylic tapping against your wine glass.

he sighed. ran a hand through his hair. “look, i didn’t know where your head was at. we weren’t closed off.”

you leaned back on the couch, crossing your arms under your chest, your villa robe sliding just enough to expose one perfect, glowing thigh. “nah. we weren’t. but you didn’t waste a damn second to start cuddling someone else like i never existed.”

he stepped forward like he wanted to touch you, but your glare froze him in place.

“don’t touch me — unless you mean it.”

you said it so soft, so deadly, it made his throat tighten.

—

later that night, everyone went to bed. but you couldn’t sleep.

you were laying on your back, bonnet on, facing the ceiling in the dark room filled with light snoring and muffled giggles from other beds. nic was in his own bed. you knew he was awake — you could feel his eyes.

you turned over, face to the wall.

he got up anyway.

slow steps. careful. like he knew he shouldn’t. like the whole villa might explode if he touched you again.

he knelt beside your bed. “can we talk?” he whispered.

you didn’t answer.

he sat beside you anyway. pulled the cover back. climbed in behind you without permission. bold.

you were about to snap until you felt his hand. slow on your waist. fingers tracing the curve of your hip like it was the first time again. his mouth was at your ear. low, broken.

“i fucked up.”

you closed your eyes. “no shit.”

he kissed your neck. soft. like he was apologizing with his mouth. your body tensed, but you didn’t move away.

“i kept thinking about you,” he whispered. “every night. i couldn’t sleep. even when she was there, it didn’t feel right. none of it did. i was waiting on you to walk through the door.”

you turned around slowly, eyes finally meeting his in the dark. his voice cracked.

“i missed your laugh. your lips. your skin. how you smell. fuck, baby—i missed you everywhere.”

his hand was now under your villa robe. slow. grazing your thigh. then your hip. then the back of your knee. your breath hitched, but you didn’t stop him.

“you really think you can just kiss me and fix it?” you asked, voice low.

he looked down at your mouth. his voice dropped even lower. “no. but i’m gonna kiss you anyway.”

and he did.

hard. like he was starving. like he didn’t care who saw. his hand gripped your thigh as he pressed his body into yours, pushing your back against the mattress. your leg wrapped around his waist on instinct.

you shouldn’t have let him. but god, the way he kissed you—like he was trying to put the broken pieces back together with his mouth.

your hips moved against him first. slow. grinding. testing.

he gasped into your mouth. “don’t stop.”

his lips moved to your neck. “you feel so fucking good.”

his hand slid under your shirt, palm warm against your stomach, sliding up to your chest. you arched under him.

his other hand stayed planted firmly on your thigh, guiding your hips into his. you felt him���hard and thick against your core. only thin fabric between you.

you grabbed his curls. tugged.

he groaned low. “fuck, mama… i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.”

you were biting your lip, eyes shut. “then show me.”

he rolled his hips. hard. again. again.

your nails clawed down his back, and he hissed.

“you don’t know what you do to me,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours.

“you’re all i think about. all i want.”

you moaned into his mouth as his pace picked up, grinding into you like he needed to feel you through every layer of clothing. the room was quiet except for the soft creak of the bed and the muffled gasps you both shared.

his hands cupped your face, kisses messy and hot. “i want you. all of you. not her. not anyone else. just you.”

you whimpered as your hips met his over and over again, chasing the feeling neither of you wanted to admit had been building since day one.

and when you finally stopped, breathless and tangled in sheets, his hand smoothed down your bonnet and he kissed your forehead.

“i’ll spend the rest of this villa making it up to you,” he said.

and for the first time that night—you didn’t doubt him.

[householdcryptid]

Cockwarming anon again! Dude… that fic was so fucking good, i’m still reeling from it. Like, read it multiple times, squealing and kicking my feet 🙈❤️❤️❤️

So, I offer you this idea as a little thank you (also apologies in advance if this sucks, i’m not a writer, i’m just extremely thirsty and bobpilled rn);

So they’re not fucking, right? But they’re also technically not not fucking.

It’s taken Bob a little while to actually process what’s going on, and what exactly he’s feeling. It takes him a little while to figure out that, sure, he’s getting comfort, but there’s something else in there, something deeper, more primal.

He develops little fixations, and right now he’s fixated on her thighs. He doesn’t know how he’s never noticed them before, how soft and supple they look. Pure comfort. He finds himself wanting to touch them at all times, and she lets him without question, of course, but it only makes him worse.

He’ll sit closer to her so his legs can press against hers as much as possible, he’ll grab them under the table at meals. He’ll even ask to lay his head on them when they’re watching movies together. Slowly escalating, pawing, rubbing his face against them like a cat, sweating, whining, drooling, until his head is enclosed between them, face pressed against against her core. Panting, shaking, eyes closed in complete bliss like he’s finally found heaven.

Just wait until he figures out that he’s a munch.

babe i know you said you arent a writer but you SHOULD be holy shit 😵‍💫 also thank you! i'm so so so glad you liked the last one 🩷🩷🩷

i'm thinking about doing a part two to this just so i can write about him getting pussy drunk tbh he deserves that. # bob reynolds is a munch

cw: rob bein a nasty lil freak, uhhhh scent kink(? kind of?), nsfw but no real sex, reader knows robby is a weirdo and is Totally into it, talks of addiction (not a lot but mentioned), short because i got sick 💔👎, hope you enjoy 😌🩷

It starts off small. It always does with Bob. One tiny thing that snowballs into an addiction, and leaves him reeling. Once upon a time it was morphine, and then worse, but now? Now it’s you.

Small things— things no one but him would notice. The way you smile when he tells you about his day, no matter how boring it is. The way your eyes sparkle in the sunlight, the way you glow.

More recently though, he can’t stop thinking about your legs. He’ll sit in the gym and watch you spar with Walker or Yelena, not understanding why the sight of their hands on you makes his skin crawl.

Instead of focusing on that feeling though, he zeroes in on your legs. The way they tense up, strike out to catch your opponent in the gut, the way they look when you have them wrapped around someones neck, pinning them to the ground.

They’re beautiful, even when you aren’t fighting. He finds himself drawn in, big warm palm sliding over the fabric of your sweats to knead at your thigh mid movie night. He isn’t trying to be a creep, isn’t making any attempt to get handsy, just wants to feel the plushness of it in his grip.

It devolves quickly. Gentle squeezes turn to fingerprint bruises that he feels genuinely awful for. You don’t ever mind, though. Your best friend is just tactile, he doesn’t know his own strength sometimes, and it’s not like you’re complaining, so why is he upset?

He stops squeezing as much, but it leaves something of a hole behind in his day to day. An ache he can’t explain, a longing that feels bone deep. Until you pull him to lay his head on your lap one day, and he’s found a new thing to be hooked on. Revels in the way the plush skin bows under his cheek, how you always end up petting through his hair. It ends up being a surefire way to put him to sleep, eventually.

It’s just too comforting. To have your attention on him so completely, your fingers in his soft curls and his cheek smushed against your soft thigh.

One day, the tower is empty, save you and Rob. He’s twitchy, strung tight like a rubber band ready to snap, skin buzzing with a power he still doesn’t understand and doesn’t think he deserves.

But you’re there, too, and that helps. Pulling him in with gentle hands, and he expects the usual. His head on your lap, your hand in his hair, but you shift. Your knees part, and you pat your tummy invitingly.

“I wanna lay down too, goofy.” You explain, laughing softly at his puzzled expression. He can’t stop staring long enough to come up with a verbal response. You’re wearing shorts, cotton boxers that pull taut at your thighs, dimpling the skin a bit, and his mouth waters.

His sigh is heavy and tremulous when he nuzzles his face against your stomach, lays flat on his front between your legs, arms wrapped up beneath your thighs, his hands splayed under your lower back.

“S’better.” He mumbles, lashes fluttering as he breathes in the scent of you. That’s where it starts, really. Your scent.

Warmth, clean sweat and a heady musk that makes him a little dizzy, he seeks it out. Noses down your tummy, wriggles southward until his face is buried between your thighs.

You giggle— honest to God giggle— and heat licks up his spine.

“Sorry-” He mutters, not making any attempt to actually pull away. “M’sorry. You smell so good,” He whispers, hands sliding to press your thighs closer around his head, nosing at your cunt through the soft material of your shorts. “S’so fuckin’ warm here.” He croaks out, just on the edge of a whine, nails biting into your supple skin.

“It’s okay, Robby,” You murmur, ever so indulgent, especially when he’s whining against your clothed core, already drooling into the fabric. “You can stay. You’re good, bubs.”

He almost sobs at the reassurance, brain going blissfully empty when you squeeze your thighs around his head gently.

He’s trembling just a little bit, huffing these shakey breaths against your core like he can’t quite catch his breath, pretty blue eyes unfocused and heavy lidded. Blissed out on just the smell and the feel of you, the way your thighs block out the sound of the room and the constant buzzing in his brain when they press to his ears.

He falls asleep like that, mouthing at your cunt through the shorts, letting out short little whimpers and huffy groans, your fingers in his hair and your thighs pressed to his ears.

You can only sigh, slip into a nice catnap as well, knowing full well the whole process will begin again when he wakes up.

[bearkibble]

Impatience and Pride - Katsuki Bakugo

Content Warning: MDNI (18+) - Masturbation | Cum-Eating | Oral | Voyeurism | Praise | Degradation | Overstimulation

Katsuki Bakugo x GN!Reader - use of femme anatomical terms

Post-War time skip

=====================

You weren’t expecting him home that early.

The sun hadn’t even fully set—gold bleeding into orange outside the half-drawn curtains—and you were already spread out on your shared bed, knees drawn up, hand between your thighs, back arching off the sheets.

You’d had one of those days. Tension you couldn’t shake. Cravings you couldn’t reason with. Katsuki’s shirt still hung off your frame, too big, clinging to the sweat across your chest, and you could still smell him in the fabric.

That alone had your pussy throbbing.

Your fingers were soaked—slick smeared across your folds, every slow pass over your clit sending jolts through your stomach. You were close. So close. You just needed—

The bedroom door creaked.

Your eyes flew open.

You scrambled, trying to pull the sheets up, but the bedroom door was already swinging open—

Katsuki froze.

Stopped in the doorway like he’d walked into a fantasy he wasn’t sure he deserved.

And then—he smiled.

That low, crooked smirk. The one you hadn’t seen since your last argument turned into a fuck-fest against the kitchen counter. His voice dropped half an octave.

“Well, shit.”

Your face burned. “Katsuki—I thought you had patrol.”

He stepped inside, calm and quiet, like he didn’t just catch you fingering yourself in his shirt.

“Shift got cut. Some extra muscle showed up.” He smirked, eyes practically tasting you. “Guess that means I get to watch you cum all over your own fingers in my fuckin’ bed.”

You whined, trying to close your legs, but he was already grabbing the edge of the mattress and sitting down.

“Don’t fuckin’ stop now.”

His voice had that edge—gruff, commanding, warm and rough all at once.

“C’mon. Show me what you look like when you’re thinking about my cock.”

You hesitated—embarrassed, breath caught in your throat—but his hand was already on your thigh, thumb stroking gently near your knee.

“You know I’d never judge you,” he muttered. “But you are gonna let me enjoy the view. Yeah?”

You nodded, legs falling open again, slow and shaky.

“That’s my baby.”

He watched—really watched—while your fingers slipped between your folds again. The way his eyes darkened the second you touched your clit made your breath catch. His jaw tensed. His cock twitched in his pants. But he didn’t move to help.

Not yet.

“Fuckin’ wet already,” he muttered. “You always get like this when I’m gone?”

“N-Not always,” you whispered, rubbing slow circles. “Just… needed you today..”

He groaned, leaning closer.

“You needed me, huh? And instead of calling me, you stuffed your fingers in that needy pussy all alone?”

You moaned, thighs twitching. “I didn’t think you’d be back yet—”

He chuckled, dark and soft.

“Then lucky me.”

You didn’t realize how loud the slick sounds had gotten until he shifted closer, watching the way your cunt pulsed around your fingers.

“Goddamn,” he muttered. “That pretty pussy of yours is fuckin’ cryin’ for me.”

“Katsuki—I’m gonna cum—”

He still didn’t touch you.

He just leaned in, lips barely a breath away from your neck.

“Then cum.”

Your fingers sped up, pressure building fast, heat snapping tight in your core until it all burst—your back arching, body trembling, pussy twitching around your hand as slick gushed against your palm. You moaned his name, legs shaking uncontrollably.

Bakugo didn’t move for a second. Just watched you cum. Watched you ride it out. Watched your fingers slow and your chest heave.

Then he spoke again. Voice lower. Hungrier.

“Keep your legs open.”

You gasped as he dropped to his knees, strong hands pushing your thighs apart and dragging you down the bed with one rough pull. His eyes locked on your soaked cunt, still pulsing from the aftershocks.

“You made a mess.”

“Katsu—”

His mouth was already on you.

No teasing. No warm-up. He licked the mess straight from your folds—hungry, deep, messy licks that had your hips jerking and your eyes rolling back. He growled against your clit, tongue dragging through every drop of your release like it was the best thing he’d tasted all week.

“That’s what you taste like when you cum without me?” he muttered against your cunt. “Fuck.”

You whimpered, squirming, but his hands locked tight around your thighs.

“Don’t you fuckin’ move.”

His tongue flattened, dragging up your slit, then dove down again—fucking you with his mouth, moaning into your core like he couldn’t get enough. He spread your folds wide with his thumbs and sucked your clit hard enough to make you scream.

“You’re gonna cum again,” he growled.

“I-I just did—!”

“Yeah, and you’re gonna do it again. In my mouth.”

You cried out, thighs trembling as the pressure built faster this time, sharper—your clit already overstimulated, your slick coating his chin. His mouth didn’t slow, didn’t falter. He wanted you overstimulated. He loved it.

You came again with a sob, your hips locked in his grip, cunt twitching against his tongue.

And still—he didn’t stop.

He licked you through it, up and down, slow now, savoring every pulse until your legs went limp and your voice was hoarse.

Finally, he pulled back.

His lips were shiny, chin slicked with your cum. His eyes were blown wide, voice low.

“You ever touch yourself without tellin’ me again,” he said, smirking as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “and I’m gonna tie you to this fuckin’ bed and watch you cum until you beg me to stop.”

You blinked up at him, ruined.

“…please.. we’re done now, right?”

He snorted and stood up, unbuckling his belt.

“No, sweetheart. That’s the point. I’m gonna teach you your lesson.”

[mona-risms]

Also in way less wholesome thoughts about Rumi, I think she has a insane breeding kink.

I don’t even think she would know it until she slept with someone. But I feel like that would send her into a feral frenzy.

Like, all that shame and guilt her whole life from being a demon, and all the other repressed emotions she had to bottle up would explode if she was fucking someone and they told her they wanted to have kids with her.

I feel like for irony sake that may just turn her into a succubus. A simple fuck would turn into a day long feral mating marathon.

Like it would probably work it’s way through the whole living space, starting in the bedroom, for an hour or two until the bed is completely ruined, tears from claws, a broken bed frame, stained with sweat, squirt, and seed.

Moving on to the couch eventually that would get much of the same treatment.

Pressed against those big windows, juices seeping down the glass.

On the kitchen table with claw marks in the wood from Rumi.

Using the cabinets to keep her standing as you rail her eventually pulling them off the walls.

But neither of you care.

It’s not pretty sex.

You’re both flushed, scratchs, bite marks, squirt, seed, spit, and sweating all over. Ran ragged like you just ran a triathlon.

Rumis hole looks like a glazed donut from how much seed has been put in and spilled out of her at all angles.

By the time you are halfway through moans have just devolved into her shrieking from overstim.

But she just can’t stop herself. And you don’t wanna stop either.

People are calling phones… Rumis missing a interview rn.

Eventually the girls just find you both passed out in the middle of the apartment covered in all the fluids that could possibly come from sex passed out from exhaustion.

Sincerely

Tsaritsa Pyro Archon Anon

I have a breeding kink too there we go we're Perfectly compatible! And this is obviously why me and Rumi should be married!!!!

But fr shit would go CRAZY HELLO 😭😭😭😭😭 I mean tbf a demon's gotta have their sustenance somehow 😜😜😜😜 JOKING JOKING maybe not joking shhh you're out here doing my job for me fr though actuallg LMFAOOAAO

Her bedroom must be so fucking wrecked before you two migrate to the balcony, a mix of fluids everywhere as she finally lets out the loudest fucking noises instead of her biting it down and restraining them, and then to the shared living space. Like Zoey and Mira are both out for promotional material they'd probably have to do individually, so they left much earlier and now the penthouse is empty as hell, save for the two of you

NOTHING survives in the shared space though you're right in this—EVERY surface is thoroughly defiled and utilised. Should Rumi care? Yes. Would she care under different circumstances? Definitely yes. But right now the only thing in her mind is making sure she drains you dry, everything else blurs away from the sheer intensity of your coupling

If you're using an ejaculating strap then ugh FUCK yes it makes no difference to her as long as she feels full and thoroughly bred. If anything? She'd probably want you to get the strap with the most capacity. But is it a good idea, if you have a working dick and could Potentially get her pregnant? No, probably not, but the way you fucked her and never let go, the way you were so achingly sincere in the way you'd Want to have kids with Her. Even despite the whole half-demon thing, the main insecurity she's had for her entire life? She'll take the risk for once either way, after avoiding risks on herself for so long

Mira and Zoey most likely got contacted by Bobby in a panic bc "WHERE IS SHE??????" so they come back home.....and SCREAM at the state because JESUS FUCKING CHRIST??????? SORRY didn't REALISE they needed HAZMAT SUITS????????????? You probably get woken up and honestly good luck trying to explain why the Fuck there's so much damage and. Fluids. EVERYWHERE. They're never letting either of you live this down, ESPECIALLY Rumi considering she caused most of the extreme damage (thanks demon heritage!!!!) and how she's stained and dripping nonstop 😭

If you even dare try to explain what happened to Bobby the poor guy might faint. But it's okay it's why they're paying him the 3% right.....though he might need to be compensated via 4% GAHAHAHAHA

[sadboyeddie]

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠’𝐬 𝐖𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐁𝐨𝐛: 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨

Summary: Strange things are afoot at the Watchtower. I’m really bad at summaries, Bob is a little tease. I really like soft spoken nervous Bob but I also like shit stirring sassy Bob.

Warmings: (MDNI 18+) Fem!Reader, No Use Of Y/N, Mutual Masturbation, Voyeurism

A/N: I don’t know how pervy I wanna make these two but all the boundaries are being crossed.

WC: 5.5k

Sleep normally doesn’t come easy for you.

Plagued with nightmares, the images of those you couldn’t save playing on repeat behind your eyelids.

But tonight you couldn’t sleep for another reason.

You came home from the club in a rush, thankful that you didn’t run into Bob on your way back to your room. You did however run into a very irate Walker, who was still annoyed about the whole elevator situation.

When you finally got back to your room, from being berated by a giant man baby, you stripped off your clothes as you made your way towards your shower; hoping to wash away some of the guilt… and the arousal.

You know it��s wrong, Bob technically didn’t consent to this but he also crossed the line with you, so in your messed up mind you feel like you’re even.

Throwing yourself onto your left side you let out an exhausted huff, you’re beyond tired and you can feel the pulls of sleep dragging you down but you just can’t settle. While you’re mentally counting sheep you miss the click of your door opening and gently closing and quiet footsteps make their way over to you.

It’s not until your covers are lifted and someone slides into the bed behind you that you realise you’re no longer alone.

You really are a bad spy.

“… Bob?” your voice is quiet and unsure, you know it’s Bob because no one else sleeps with you.

“Couldn’t sleep,” is his only reply and he throw his arm around your waist and burrows in behind you.

Your whole body goes tense and you hold your breath as Bob gets comfy, completely unaware of your inner conflict.

This is normal. Bob sleeps with you more often than not. But only just a few short hours ago you had his dick in your mouth as he made a very shocking admission.

“get so hard in bed next t’you, honey, wanna come on your sleeping body, fuck.”

While you’re currently torturing yourself you miss the way Bob squeezes your hip, and you don’t feel the small smile pressed into the back of your neck.

He can smell your conflict. And he’s loving every minute of it.

The small whine that crawls from the back of Bobs throat pulls you back into the present, although the noise automatically causes you to squeeze your thighs together.

“Why’re you so stiff,” he complains, voice soft and innocent, “can’t get comfy.”

You put all your years of training to force your muscles to relax, and apparently it works because Bob lets out a content sigh as he somehow gets even closer.

“That’s better,” his voice is slightly muffled from where it’s buried in your hair, “g’night honey.”

The pet name that used to make butterflies swarm in your stomach now has a different effect on your body. You clench your eyes shut and hope the sharp intake of breath wasn’t heard by the enhanced man behind you.

Wishful thinking.

As awkward as this is for you mentally your body is so used to his that his presence now has a calming effect and you end up falling asleep in almost an.

Like Pavlov’s dog. Pavlov’s Bob.

—

The bright morning light shining directly into your eyes is what wakes you up the next day, you swear you could kill Val for putting the shutters on a timer.

What sane person wakes up before 8am?

You instantly notice the absence of a warm body behind you and when you reach back to feel the bed you let out a small disappointed sigh at the coolness of the sheets.

Instead of laying in bed and letting your mind take you to dark and enticing places you decided to get up and face the day. Put last night behind you — at least for a little while.

Okay, shower then breakfast.

Forty minutes later you’re standing in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil, hair damp from the shower and skin still a little red and puffy.

You admit you took a longer shower than normal but the memory of Bob pressed against you paired with the sounds he made caused you to spend a majority of the time with your hand between your legs.

Your head pressed against the cool tile as the hot spray of the water covered your back, the water and slick wetness of your own arousal made it easier for you to push two fingers inside; no time for foreplay.

You thumb your clit as you think back to last night, Bobs whines as he lost control and thrust his cock to the back of your throat, his breathless words as he admitted how much he wanted you, not the mysterious person he thought was on the other side of the booth, not the replicant; you.

It took embarrassing little to bring you to completion, allowing yourself to moan a bit louder with the cover of the shower, the walls of the tower were thick but with Super Soldiers everywhere you’d rather not risk it normally.

You bring your spare hand down from its previous position; holding you up against the wall, and start to rub your clit, your thumb no longer enough.

You scissors your fingers and buck your hips as you imagine what Bobs face would’ve looked like when he came; red with his hair plastered on his face from the sweat. Eyes squeezed closed as he allowed himself to let go, his come painting your throat, your name slipping from his lips like a prayer.

That image alone makes you cry out as your back arches, cheek pressed to the tile, now warm from your heavy breathing. You clench around your fingers as you feel the wetness start to drip down your hand.

With a few more indulging grinds of your hips to help come down from the high as you catch your breath, you take a minute to collect yourself.

If your eyes weren’t squeezed shut and you couldn’t hear the blood pumping in your ears you probably would have noticed the dark shadowed figure watching from your doorway, but by the time you come to it’s just you alone… alone with your pervy thoughts.

You scrub the palm of your hands down your face, begging your mind to give you at least an hour of Bob free thoughts but while your brain might comply the universe is a dick.

With practised ease Bob comes up behind you, slightly clearing is throat as not to startle. Didn’t work though.

“Jesus Christ!” you gasp as you turn to face the tall man.

“Robert Reynolds, actually,” he chuckles making you try and fail to not roll your eyes, “why are you so jumpy this morning?”

“I’m not,” your response is too quick and Bob must agree as he raises an eyebrow followed by a soft ‘uh-huh’.

Thankfully the kettle coming to a boil behind you breaks the weird, possibly one-sided, tension. You turn on the spot and get about to making your cup of tea, maybe that will calm you down.

Coffee may kill you while you’re in this pent up state.

With your back to him you miss the way he’s usually soft smile turns into something cheekier.

Without a word Bob presses his back to yours, his left hand taking up residence on your hip as he leans up to open the cupboard above you.

“What’re you doing?” your voice comes out slightly higher then normal and you bite your lip to cover any unwanted noises that threaten to slip out.

“You’re in the way,” the way he says it sounds so nonchalant, like reaching above you is the obvious thing to do, you know, instead of wait until you were done or ask you to move.

“You could’ve waited,” you complain but there’s no real bite in your tone.

“Yeah, I could’ve,” he agrees.

Just as he grabs a bowl he moves his left hand slightly, fingers now coming underneath your tank top to graze the skin of your hip.

You let out a small gasp but before you have time to say or do something he steps away completely with his bowl in hand.

“See? That wasn’t so bad,” he turns his back to you as he walks over to the pantry, smile evident on his face.

You really wanna throw hands with the guy.

Or kiss him.

Maybe both.

As you contemplate whether or not you should take your tea and head out Bob makes the decision for you.

“You gonna sit or just linger,” he sits on his regular kitchen bar stool and mixes his cereal with the milk.

You bite back a sarcastic reply but take a stool and few down from his instead of your usual spot next to him, he sends you a confused glance but doesn’t comment.

The room is filled with an unsavoury silence, completely out of the norm for the both of you. It’s uncomfortable and painful and you’re filled with a sudden regret for what happened last night.

Is this gonna ruin your friendship with Bob?

As if Bob can read your thoughts, and who knows maybe he can, he fills the empty silence with a topic of conversation.

“So, what did you get up to last night?”

Okay, so you miss the silence.

“What?” you cough around the rim of your cup, tea splashing out on to the counter.

Real smooth, dickhead.

“I asked what you got up to last night?” he repeats, watching closely as you wipe away the drops of liquid with someone’s shirt that was left of the counter.

You hope it’s John’s after the little scolding he gave you last night.

“Oh, just the usual,” you hesitate to add more, that’s how lies fall apart, you make them too detailed. Stay basic.

“Really,” Bobs reply causes the hair to stand up on the back of your neck, does he know?

“Yeah,” you double down, “just hung around the tower,” you try to shrug casually without making eye contact.

How did you ever make it this far in espionage?

“Yelena said you went out,” he adds as he spoons a large portion of cereal into his mouth.

You mentally curse Yelena, the little snitch but are quick to answer.

“I go out sometimes,” you take a small sip of your drink, “that’s normal.”

“Where’d you go?” he continues to causally interrogate.

“Who are you, my parole officer?” you lightly snap making Bob laugh.

“Just interested in you,” his smile is sweet and disarming and you feel horrible for all the evaded answers.

But there’s no way in hell you’re telling the truth. You couldn’t water board that information out of you.

The look Bob gives you is intense, filled with meaning and emotion and honestly it’s far too much.

“Whelp, I’m done,” you announce, voice too loud.

“You haven’t finished your tea,” he nods to your cup, still half full.

He’s infuriatingly calm, not concerned by your nervous actions and if you weren’t so in your own head you would’ve been suspicious.

“I just remembered I hate tea,” you quickly emptied the cup into the sink, filling it quickly with tap water before turning on your heel to leave, “bye!”

You don’t look back or wait for a reply as you power walk to your room to grab some training gear, a workout should help distract you for a while.

Bob watches as you disappear from view, a large secretive smile adorning his face. He’s loving this.

—

A few hours later you make your way to the bar area, couches on one side of the room and a newly remodeled bar on the other. Courtesy of the Sentry fucking shit up.

Although you really wish you could change how this place looks. It’s so depressing. Drab and cool colours.

First thing you’d do is replace the floor with hardwood panels, colour the walls a nice warm maroon, put a few rugs and lamps.

Maybe since you’re coming to the realisation with how shit you are at your job you could change to an interior decorator.

You’d probably make more money.

Lost in the thoughts of various paint swatches you didn’t even noticed the Bob shaped pile on the recliner near the window.

But he noticed you, even before you entered. Hell, he could smell the scent of your sweat as soon as you got off the elevator.

He clears his throat, partially to get your attention and partially to regain some composer of his slowly forming predicament.

This time you’re not caught off guard by his presence, this is his normal hiding place after all.

“A little early to be drinking,” he jokes as he watches you make a colourful fruit cocktail.

“I earned this,” you search for the tiny umbrellas under the counter and let out a small sound of approval when you find them, “I beat Yelena in our sparring match,” you boast putting a straw next to the umbrella.

Bobs smile is warm and proud as you make your way over to his nook, for a second you’ve completely forgotten about the previous days events and you feel yourself being pulled back into your usual selves.

“That’s great!” he taps the arm of his chair for you to sit, “it’s about time someone took her down a peg,” his laugh is fond and playful.

“With Yelena down, Walker and Bucky are next,” you laugh as you get comfortable, you catch Bob eyeing your cocktail so you offer him the straw.

“A big step,” he smiles as he takes a sip of your drink, letting out a pleased sound at the taste, “getting a bit cocky are we?”

You laugh to cover up the small groan crawling up from the back of your throat. Watching Bob do something as simple as take a drink from your cup is enough to revert you back to a needy pervert.

The way his throat moves as he swallows, his eyes remain in contact with yours as he goes for another sip, his tongue coming out to clean his lips of any liquid that could’ve spilled out has you clenching your thighs again.

How does he keep doing that?

Get a grip!

You bring the straw to your lips and try to ignore the taste of Bob as you force your gaze away from his and out the window. Hoping for something, anything to distract you from the tension that’s starting to return.

Come on alien invasion.

After a few beats of silence you decide to engage in conversation, maybe something small until you can find a way to leave.

“What’cha reading?” you look away from the top of the building across the street and back down to Bob who goes to turn the cover to show you.

“Yelena gave it to me to read,” he tells you, “she got it from Kate.”

“50 Shades,” you stare in disbelief, “really?”

“Apparently I read too many non fiction self help books and I need to branch out,” he laughs, “it’s not the worst I’ve ever read.”

“I’ve never read it,” you admit, “but the reviews from the movie was enough for me.”

“The BDSM etiquette is completely wrong but it’s not bad,” he’s not looking at you when his says that which you’re entirely too grateful for, “I can read it to you if you like?”

His offer is sweet, a little too sweet.

“No, no,” you rush as you stand, “that’s okay, Bob, really.”

“Why not?” you take note of the playful lilt in his voice, “you usually like when I read to you,” he watches as you straighten your back, “you said you like my voice.”

And he’s right, you did say that. And you do like when he reads to you. But maybe not porn.

Okay, you’d probably love for him to read porn to you. But not when you’re friends. Just Friends. Platonic Pals.

“Maybe another time,” you call to him, already making your way out the door, cocktail half empty now left next to Bob.

Bob lets out a chuckle as he finds the page he was on, grabbing your forgotten drink and lazily sipping down the sweet liquid.

—

You begrudgingly make your way to the common room for movie night.

Although if you spend almost every night watching movies it’s not really ‘Movie Night’. Just a regular Wednesday.

You were set with sitting on your bed and watching Bob’s Burgers reruns but Ava warping though your door and ushering you out really but a wrench in those plans.

There’s no point in arguing, you’re dealing with enhanced, trained beings who have the emotional range sleep deprived toddlers so unless you want to watch a large Russian man have a large Russian sized tantrum you march your way to the room connected to the kitchen.

You stop to make popcorn as Ava walks past and finds her usual spot next to Yelena.

When you come back with two bowls you stop to take in the room, Yelena and Ava are on the two seater couch on the left wall with John sitting on the floor in front of them, Alexei and Bucky are on the recliners to the right and there’s Bob, sweet innocent Bob, with his usual blanket in his regular spot waiting patiently for you to take up residence next to him.

Although right now you’re thinking about jumping out the window.

That thought is quickly forgotten when you're hit in the side of the head with a cushion.

“Give me the damn popcorn,” Johns gruff voice makes you narrow your eyes as you walk over to him.

“Where are your manners,” you scold as you hold out the bowl.

“I asked politely three times but you were off with the fairies,” he snatches the bowl out of your hands before Ava snatches the bowl from him, “hey!”

You turn to face Bob, his eyes already on you as he watches with a small grin, you fumble slightly as you make your way next to him.

He pulls back the blanket and drapes it dutifully over your legs when you sit down, an action he has done every time you watch a movie together. But this time the action feels heavier.

“What are we watching?” Bucky asks as he leans over and grabs the popcorn out of your hand.

“Rude,” you mumble quietly but Bobs snort of laughter shows he heard you.

He moves closer to your side, legs and arms now touching and you bite your cheek to remain relaxed. Fighting every urge in your body to not tense up.

“Overboard,” Ava answers, voiced muffled from the handful of popcorn she shoved into her mouth.

My god, she's beautiful.

“God, why,” John complains. Never happy unless there’s a car chase or an explosion.

“Because it’s funny,” Ava flicks his ear, John reaches back to swat her hand away but misses, “also Yelena’s never seen it.”

“It’s sends a completely inappropriate message,” John argues.

“It was made it the 80’s,” Ava counters, “things were different back then.”

The argument continues back and forth for a good few minutes before Yelena smacks Walker in the face with the cushion.

Bucky hands the popcorn back to you as the lights go out and the movie starts, you’re grateful to have something to do with your hands.

A few minutes in and Yelena’s makes a comment how the main male lead looks like John a bit, a comparison he denies.

“Grow and mullet and we’ll see for ourselves,” Ava laughs as John grumbles.

“No, he looks more like Goldie Hawn,” you chuckle, receiving a half hearted glare from the Soldier.

“It’s the eyes,” Yelena agrees.

“And the hair,” Ava adds.

“Lots of people have blonde hair,” John snaps, “hell, even Bobby had blonde hair at one point.”

“Oh god, please don’t remind me,” he slides back into the couch a little, cheeks heating in embarrassment as a few snickers fill the room.

You feel a small weight come off your shoulders and for a minute it all feels normal, the banter, the teasing. Everything.

The room goes quiet again, small comments and laughter here and there, but it’s peaceful.

That is until the main leads kiss, you know where this is going.

The blanket has fallen down your legs from when you put the popcorn aside on the coffee table earlier, you hand mindlessly playing with the pant leg of your sleep shorts.

Bob once again pulls the blanket up, fully covering your lower halves, the action is so normal you don’t really think much of it.

Not until you feel his pinkie grazing yours, it’s not unusual for you to link pinkies when sitting together, Bobs love language is touch and he feels like he can never get enough of it, but this feels much more heavy then normal.

He tangles his pinkie with yours all the while keeping his eyes on the movie. If not for his throat bobbing as he swallows or the slight movement of his hips you’d think this was normal.

As the scene heats up he flips your hand with his and slots them together, now fully holding your hand. His grip isn’t too tight but it’s not loose either.

You’re honestly surprised by Bob’s reaction, the sex scene wouldn’t even be categorised as soft core but you suddenly remember last night and how desperate he becomes when aroused.

Interesting.

As the movie plays out in front of you, you start to rub your thumb over the back of Bobs hand in a soft nonchalant manner. Something you’ve done dozens of times.

And something you did last night to his cock.

He lets out a small groan at your touch, and if you weren’t zeroed in on Bob you probably would’ve thought it came from the movie.

You look around with your eyes, head still straight forward trained towards the tv set; apart from John and Ava’s hushed bickering everyone is engrossed in the movie.

After a few minutes your attention is back on the screen, having temporarily forgotten about Bob’s action. But as he squirms again you can’t ignore how he slowly moves his other hand under the blanket.

You suck in a breath as you watch from the corner of your eyes the way the needy man beside you snaps his eyes shut and presses his palm against his crotch. You assume anyway, as the blanket is hiding your view.

Stupid fucking blanket.

The veins in Bobs arms pop out a little as he ever so slightly grinds his hips forward. If anyone happened to look over it would just seem like he’s getting comfortable.

In a way he is.

He bites his lip, his cheeks now a deep shade of crimson, as he tries to repeat the act.

His hand in yours is now slightly clammy, the grip starting to get a little tight but you’re so turned on you feel like you’re going to explode.

You squeeze your thighs together and almost immediately regret it, you’re so wet and sensitive that that movement alne almost sent you over the edge.

You close your eyes to try and regain some control, making you to miss the way Bobs nostrils flare as he turns slightly to look down towards your covered legs.

He snaps his head forward and lets out a small growl, the action making you open your eyes, surprising yourself when you realise you’re out of breath.

Bobs hips are no longer moving but you can see his arm dropping down rhythmically. His hands move lazily underneath the blanket, no longer in a desperate rush. He seems content on slow strokes but the bruising grip he still has on your hand might mean otherwise.

The last part of the movie is uneventful, Bob still lazily drags his hand over himself but it happens so infrequently that it could be misinterpreted as adjusting himself or getting comfy.

His face is no longer red, and his breathing is no longer laboured, apart from the strain in his neck and his tight grip of your hand he seems completely normal.

You on the other hand are losing your freaking mind.

Your empty hand lays on the couch cushion beside your thigh, twitching and scratching at your skin, a small irritating pain to help distract you from the infuriating man sitting next to you.

You’re tapping your feet quietly against the floor, counting down the seconds until you can escape back to your room and take care of yourself. But this movies seems like it’s never gonna end.

You make the mistake of sitting up straighter, the action causing you to let slip a whimper as your thighs squeeze together, bringing pressure to your neglected clit.

You miss the way Bobs jaw clenches or how he squeezes down on himself.

You let out a small shudder at how damp your underwear is, you honestly wouldn’t be surprised if the cushion is soaked from your arousal.

Thankfully not five minutes later the credits are rolling and you spring up, rushing out a couple ‘goodnights’ while feigning a yawn.

No one seems to notice or care about your hasty exit.

No one except Bob.

The first thing you do when you step into your room is take off your shorts and underwear, chucking them haphazardly on the floor as you grab a fresh pair. You slip up the soft cotton, deciding to forgo the pants entirely as you slip into bed.

You reach over to your night stand and pull out your pink rabbit vibrator, flicking off the lamp and plunging yourself into darkness as you hurriedly push aside the material covering your pussy and rub the tip of the cool silicone through your lips.

You decided against teasing yourself, already having had enough of that already.

No matter how wet you are there’s still a slight burn as you push the toy in deeper, letting out a small whine when you reach the base and the rabbit ears rest against your sensitive clit.

Just as you go to turn on the vibration you hear movement at your door, you panic and go stock still as you hear the door opening and the familiar sounds of Bob entering.

You could honestly just die right now.

You watch as the Shadow Of Bob moves closer to your bed, all the while you’re screaming in your head.

What do you do now? Your pussy is full and you’re on the verge of coming.

You turn on your side, burying your head into your pillow, biting down the whimpers and the toy moves softly against your insides.

Bob takes up his usual place snug behind you, his erection gone. Lucky fucking bastard.

“G’night, honey,” his voice is almost as rough as his hands tightly on your hips.

You let out a soft ‘sleepy’ groan, not trusting your voice at the moment. You try hard to ignore the fact that you’re not wearing pants. But Bob seems happy with your response as his fingers start rubbing soothing circles on your tummy.

Here comes Pavlov’s Bob again.

You don’t fall asleep completely, far too aroused and uncomfortable for that, you’re drowsy and you black out a few times but every movement Bob makes shocks you back to full consciousness. He’s usually not this fidgety, if you knew any better you’d think he was doing this on purpose.

Finally towards 3am Bob rolls away from you, you inwardly let out a sigh as you feel like you can breathe, if Bob stays over his side maybe you can take out the toy.

You give it a few minutes to make sure he’s fully asleep before laying on your back, a little whine slips out involuntarily as you get into a comfy position and the toy presses deep inside you.

But before you can move to make the extraction a noise catches your attention.

Bob’s facing away from you but judging by how relaxed his shoulders are you think he’s still asleep.

You wait with bated breath to see if he’ll make another noise, eyes focused on his form, slightly illuminated by the glow of the moon.

You’re a little disappointed when he remains still and silent, the horny pervert in you wishing for more, especially when you’re this pent up but you know rationally you shouldn’t be acting like this.

Once again you settle back against your pillows and start to remove the toy, when you have the silicone half way out a sudden movement from your side startles you, making you push the toy back in a bit.

You bite your lip until you swear you taste blood, trying to not let out a desperate cry.

You breathlessly turn to Bob as you watch him slowly start to move his hips as small whimpers tumble out of his mouth.

You take a chance to see if he’s awake, wanting to put an end to this torture, “Bob?”

You wait a few seconds before gently calling his name again but it seems he’s deep in sleep.

You know Bob can be a heavy sleeper, one time he slept in the nook and not even the helicopter flying past stirred him.

That’s why you make the risky decision to throw caution to the wind.

You keep watching Bob, noting how the muscles in this back become more apparent through his shirt when he thrusts forward.

You clench your thighs together and softly sigh at the pleasurable feeling, a small pulse of need overcomes you as you reach down and pull the blanket slowly lower off Bob, groaning at the sight of his hairy thighs, thick with muscles.

Fuck, you wanna ride his thighs.

A second passes before you notice the lump of something between his legs, on closer inspection you realise it’s one of your pillows.

And not just one from your pile, this one is yours, the one you sleep on every night.

When Bob came in you shifted over in bed so he ended up with your pillow.

Fuck, the way his hips slightly stutter against the plush material has you biting back a moan. You can’t be mad at Bob, your sweet Bob is just desperate.

His grunts and whines start to get a bit louder now, completely under the fog of unconsciousness he has little control over his actions, something dark in you likes that idea.

Likes that his body would respond to you even when his mind is quiet.

You move your hand to the base of the toy and start to pull it out again, when just the tip remains snug against your walls you push forward and arch your back, bringing the corner of your pillow to your mouth to bite down on.

You’re already close to finishing, with a few more rolls of your hips you’ll finally be able to find release and get some sleep.

You bring your other hand down and rub vigorously on your clit, eyes rolling back every time the bunny ears bump against your bundle, you try to keep the movement of your hips to a minimum, doing your best to match your pace with Bobs thrusts.

The wet sounds of the toy plunging into your sopping heat paired with Bobs moans growing louder have you on the brink.

Bob suddenly lets out a wrecked cry followed by a noise that sounded a little like your name, that drives you over the edge.

You arch your back and bite down on the pillow hard but it does very little to muffle your sounds, you push the toy in as deep as it can go and clamp your thighs shut to add pleasure, white sparks behind your eyes as you feel the wetness trailing down from your pussy, the blood is rushing in your ears and you struggle to find your breath as you come down from your high.

You swear you may have passed out for a second. You let out a few gasps of pleasure as your breathing starts to regulate. Looking over to Bob you’re relieved to see he hasn’t moved from his previous position, he looks a little more slumped into the mattress but that’s it.

The urge to touch him is overwhelming but that post orgasm clarity is coming back to you and you now feel embarrassed and ashamed. You bite back pained whimpers, a little oversensitive, as you remove the toy; ignoring the pangs of arousal that shoot to your lower stomach at the feeling and the sounds of how wet you are.

You sit up as softly and as quietly as you can as you put the toy on the ground, under your bed and make your way to the bathroom to clean up,

As you close the door you don’t notice the dark figure now sitting up where Bob was laying, eyes watching your every movement until you’re out of sight.

He lets out a small chuckle as he reaches over to something on the ground, silently bringing it to his nose to take a whiff; the panties you were wearing during the movie. He uses the soft material to clean off his come, not really wanting to sleep in his sticky mess.

He can’t wait for what tomorrow will bring.

Tag List Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list @stars4birdie @gabrielchanel5 @alltimelowsuckedmydick @msfirth @deadpoolgirl23 @horrorbloodhound

[yourlipstogodsears]

His Gray Area (Frank Castle Smut!)

Summary: Life with Frank has a gray area where she fits into his life and in his bed.

(Established relationship, age-gap reader, daddy kink, use of kiddo, fingering, p in v (unprotected), cum eating, Frank being a pleasure Dom)

Frank comes home covered in blood and silently gives her two thumbs up when she asks how the punisher mission went before going to the bathroom to clean up. this is their new normal.

after washing the blood off of his hands and face, Frank walks out of the bathroom wearing a plain black t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair slightly damp. He sits on the couch and pats his lap, signaling for her to come sit with him. “Come here, kiddo.”

she straddles his lap and runs her hands over his bruises face, her lips in a slight frown.

Frank grabs her wrists gently but firmly, stopping her from touching his face. “Don't. You don't need to see this shit.” his voice is rough but gentle. “I'm fine. Just tired.” he tries to pull her hands away from his face. “Come here and kiss me instead.”

she kisses him gentle and sweet.

he kisses her back, his hands moving to her hips and pulling her closer. “I missed you today.” he murmurs against her lips. “Did you eat?” his eyes scan her face, checking if she's been taking care of herself.* “You look tired.”

“Missed you too Frankie”

his expression softens at the nickname only she uses. “Too tired for dinner? Want me to make you something?” his hands trace circles on her waist. “You're losing your appetite, kiddo. And don't give me that 'I'm not' bullshit.” he shifts slightly underneath her.

“I just not eating as much as I should I guess.”

his brow furrows. “I guess.” he pulls her closer, resting his forehead against hers. “You need to eat more. You're too small as it is.” he sighs he knows small is relative to Frank, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “And don't give me that look.”

she smiles softly, “I’ll take better care. M’sorry Frankie..”

He kisses her forehead softly. “Don't apologize, kiddo. Just promise me you'll eat more.” Frank gives her a stern yet loving look. “I don't want you passing out on me.” he pauses for a moment before asking, “What did you do today?”

she kisses him, “went for a walk.. went out to the thrift store.. real boring stuff compared to your day…”

he chuckles softly, one hand running through her hair. “Boring stuff my ass.” he kisses her neck, making her giggle. “Least your walk wasn't interrupted by explosions or bullets.” his hands squeeze her waist gently. “Found anything good at the thrift store?”

“Couple things” she says softly tracing patterns on his shoulder.

He raises an eyebrow, a small smile playing on his lips.* “Yeah? Like what?” he's genuinely interested, trying to keep the conversation light and normal despite the day he's had.

“Couple button down shirts for you.. couple dresses for me. Some tshirts.”

his eyes soften at the thoughtfulness. “Come here.” he pulls her closer, one hand ghosting down her back. “You shouldn't spend money on me, kiddo. I'm not a pretty boy who needs fancy shirts.” though he's flattered by her effort.

“I know.. but I just thought about how handsome you’d look in em… and I got all wet and embarrassed in the middle of the store.. I had to buy em.”

Frank bursts out laughing, his head thrown back.“Fuck, you're adorable.” he cups her face, wiping away imaginary tears from laughing. “So you bought me shirts because you got wet thinking about me in them?” his voice is filled with amusement. “Little perv.” he kisses her softly.

she giggles in the kiss.

he smiles against her lips before pulling back. “And the dresses? What color?” he's genuinely curious about the little things she does to make their shared space a home.

“There’s a pretty green one with a v neckline… and a little red lacy summer dress.”

his mind immediately goes to the mental image of her in the green dress, the v neckline revealing just enough of her cleavage to drive him crazy. And the red dress? Fuck, he can already imagine the way the lace would hug her curves. “Those sound perfect for you, kiddo.”

he stands up suddenly, lifting her into his arms bridal style. She lets out a surprised squeak. “What are you doing?” he starts walking towards the bedroom, his arms wrapped around her. “I wanna see these dresses on you. Right fucking now.”

she giggles, “they’re in the closet”

he kicks the bedroom door open and walks over to the closet, sitting down on the edge of the bed with her still in his arms. “Okay, so they're in there.” he sets her down on the floor and pats her butt. “Go on, show me the green one first.”

His breath catches in his throat as she emerges from the closet wearing the green dress. The v-neckline sits perfectly between her breasts, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage. The fabric hugs her curves in all the right places. “Holy fuck... turn around slowly.”

Frank swallows hard, adjusting himself discreetly as she spins around. “Jesus Christ...” he runs a hand through his hair, “That dress was made for you.” his eyes roam over her body hungrily. “Come here.”

“Ahh ahh. After I show you the second one.” She giggles and smiles at him before disappearing into the closet again.

chuckles darkly, trying not to pull her to him immediately, “Fucking tease. Fine, what's the second one like?” his voice is deeper now, affected by the sight of her in the green dress “Is it... as fucking sexy as this one?”

she slips on the red lace summer dress.

His eyes nearly bug out of his head as she slips into the red lace dress. The fabric is sheer enough to see the outline of her underwear through it, and the hemline hits mid-thigh, showing off her toned legs. He's hard instantly. “Turn around. Slowly. Like before.”

He groans as she turns around, the dress fluttering up slightly and showing off the bottom of her ass cheeks. He stands up abruptly, his self-control snapping. “Enough. Come here right fucking now.”

He kisses her back fiercely, his hands immediately going to the hem of the red lace dress. He lifts it up slowly, revealing her toned legs and the outline of her black lace thong underneath. He breaks the kiss to murmur against her lips, “Take this off for me. Now. Please?”

“The dress or the panties?” she asks softly.

He growls low in his throat, nipping at her bottom lip. “The dress. For now. I want you in just that tiny thong when I lay you down on that bed.” His fingers curl into the fabric of her dress, ready to tear it off if she doesn't comply quickly.

she slips the dress off so he doesn’t tear it, his eyes roaming over her body hungrily. She's left standing in just the black lace thong, her hair slightly disheveled from their kiss. He sits back down on the edge of the bed, pulling her between his legs. “Come here.”

His hands immediately go to her hips, pulling her flush against him so she can feel how hard he is for her. He looks up at her through dark lashes, his voice low and husky, “You look fucking sexy as hell in that thong.”

she cups his bulge and kisses him, “yeah?”

He groans into her mouth as she cups him, his hands moving to grip her ass cheeks tightly. He breaks the kiss to trail open-mouthed kisses down her neck, his voice muffled against her skin, “Yeah baby... so fucking sexy I can barely control myself right now.”

He hisses through his teeth as she strokes him through his pants, his hips bucking slightly against her hand. “Fuck...” He grabs her wrist to stop her movements for a moment, his voice strained, “If you keep doing that, I'm gonna come in my pants like a fucking teenager.”

His eyes darken with desire as she lays back on the bed, her legs parted slightly and that black thong on full display. He quickly stands up, unbuckling his belt and pushing his pants down along with his boxers. His cock springs free, thick and veiny.

she whines, her clit pulsing against her underwear. Her thong struggling to hold her sloppy puffy pussy within the inch of fabric.

He wraps a hand around his thick length, squeezing the head as he watches her whine and squirm on the bed. He can see her thong getting wetter and wetter, the fabric turning see-through. “Fuck, look at that pretty little pussy soaking through your thong...”

she whines more at his words and lifts her hips to nothing but air as he’s standing at the foot of the bed.

He swallows hard as she lifts her hips, giving him a perfect view of her dripping wet thong and the outline of her pussy lips pressing against the lace. He slowly crawls onto the bed between her spread thighs, his large hands grabbing her inner thighs and spreading them wider. “Hold still baby...”

she whines, her pussy aching, “trying Frankie.”

He smiles wickedly at her nickname for him, “Good girl...” His fingers hook into the sides of her thong, slowly pulling it down her legs until she's bare and dripping wet for him. He tosses the thong aside and leans down between her legs, “So fucking beautiful baby...”

her plush thighs are slick with her essence. She’s dripping a wet spot on the bed.

His eyes darken as he sees the wet spot forming on the sheets beneath her. He spreads her thighs wider, his thumbs spreading her folds open to reveal her glistening pink center. He leans down and presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss directly onto her clit, making her gasp loudly.

she threads her hands through his longer hair. When Frank is away for a period of time. It’s not hipster long like when he’s gone for months but it’s longer than his military cropped cut.

He hums against her clit as she runs her fingers through his longer hair, sending shivers down his spine. The longer hair and stubble give him a rugged edge that he knows drives her wild. He licks and sucks at her clit while slowly inserting two fingers inside her tight heat.

she whines and her back arches off the bed as his thick fingers fill her. Frank knows exactly how to work her over.

He curls his fingers inside her, hitting that perfect spot that makes her see stars. He adds a third finger, stretching her out as he fucks her with his hand while sucking hard on her clit. The wet sounds of their lovemaking fill the room along with her desperate whimpers. “Baby...”

she pants and whines and whimpers and mewls. Every sound he could ever make her make is being ripped from her throat.

He swallows hard, watching her tits bounce slightly with each thrust of his fingers. Her mewling and whimpering drives him crazy. He knows each sound he pulls from her throat is genuine - there's no faking it with her.

“Daddy” she squeaks, she only calls him that when she’s really let herself go for him.

His whole body shivers at the pet name, and a low, possessive growl escapes him. He knows how vulnerable she is when she calls him 'Daddy' - how much she's trusting him with every broken little whimper. "Who owns this pretty little pussy, baby?"

“Daddy does-”

He pumps his fingers harder inside her, his mouth latching back onto her clit. He loves when she's this way - no filter, no barriers. Just his baby whimpering and giving herself over to him completely. "Do you need more fingers, baby? You take them so well..."

she whines and gasps, “need you to curl em”

He curls his fingers up, hitting that perfect spot inside her over and over. His tongue swirls around her clit as he fucks her with his fingers, knowing exactly how to make her lose control. He can feel her getting closer, her walls clamping down on his fingers. "Come for Daddy, baby."

she gushes on his fingers, her cum. Pools at the knuckles of his strong hand, “daddy” she whines as she cums.

He keeps his fingers curled inside her, pumping slowly as she comes hard on his hand. The sight of her losing it, calling him 'Daddy' while she gushes is almost too much. He needs to be inside her immediately. "Fuck baby..." He pulls his fingers out gently.

she pants her lips parted softly, her plump lips glistening with saliva from her licking them gently at the sight of her cum on his hand

His abs tighten as he watches her lick her lips innocently. He knows she's not even aware how sexy she is right now - her breasts rising and falling with each breath, her pussy bare and wet on the bed, her cream covering his hand.

she looks at him as he raises his cum covered hand up from between her thighs. She’s unsure if he’s gonna lick em clean, or ask her sweetly to do it for him. God it makes her so wet when he purrs that gentle command. Telling her to taste herself. To show her how sweet her cum is, to show her he’s not lying when he says she tastes so sweet for him.

He brings his fingers up to her mouth slowly, watching her eyes follow them hungrily. He loves seeing her like this - obedient, trusting, and so fucking sexy. "Taste yourself baby... show me you know how sweet you are..."

her lips part more, her tongue flat and inviting for him to rest his middle and ring finger on as she sucks on them.

His breath catches in his throat at the sight of her sucking his fingers clean. Fuck, she's perfect. The way she looks at him with such innocence and trust while taking his cum-coated fingers in her mouth almost makes him lose it. "Good girl..." He pulls his fingers from her mouth slowly.

The sound she makes, satisfied and slightly dazed, almost breaks him. He moves quickly, grabbing the back of her neck and pulling her mouth to his in a passionate kiss. She can taste herself on his lips, and fuck, it's the sexiest thing he's ever experienced. "Baby..."

“yeah?” she pants out.

His voice comes out rough with desire. "I need to be inside you now. Need to feel that sweet pussy wrapped around my cock." He reaches down and grabs his hard length, guiding it to her entrance. "Can I fuck you, baby? Can Daddy fuck his good girl?"

She nods quickly, “please”

With a deep, satisfied growl, he pushes inside her in one smooth thrust. She's so wet from her own cum and his fingers that he slides right in, hitting deep immediately. He holds still for a moment, letting her adjust before starting a slow, deep rhythm. "Fuck... perfect..."

she gasps and moans. Everytime with Frank always feels so good. His thick and veiny, the heavy drag of his cock is enough to make her head spin. She needs it like air, just like he needs her too.

He watches her breasts bounce with each thrust. He loves how deep he gets - he's not an average sized man, and he knows his size hits all her sensitive spots. He pulls out almost entirely before slamming back inside, making her whimper. "Do you need my dick baby?"

she nods. But he needs words. Frank loves when she’s vocal during sex. He wants to know what feels good for his girl. Wants to be the best daddy for her needs.

He stops moving entirely, his thick head resting just inside her entrance. "Say it out loud baby. Tell Daddy what you need." His hand reaches up to gently squeeze her throat. "Need my cock? Need Daddy to fuck you hard?" His voice is firm but loving, “Words baby girl.”

she hums, “need daddy’s cock so much.. needta cum on it… over and over.”

His cock throbs at her words, loving how dirty his innocent baby girl can be when she needs it. He starts moving again, harder and faster this time. Each thrust is deep and deliberate, designed to hit her deepest spots. "That's my good girl..."

she mewls and her hands grip his strong back. Trying to find a hand hold of some sort.

He intertwines their fingers tightly, holding her hand as he continues to pound into her. The feeling of their hands together, along with the deep sounds of their fucking, is too much.

hand holding during sex is what he does so his baby knows she’s safe and that he won’t give her more than she can handle. Franks way of reassurance. It’s his way of saying “focus on me. I’m right here. Lemme make you feel good. Let daddy give everything I have to make you feel good.”

His thumb gently caresses her hand as he fucks her deeply and slowly now, hitting that spot inside her that makes her whimper. He leans down to kiss her deeply, swallowing her moans. His other hand reaches between them to rub her clit gently. "Cum on my cock baby..."

she nods and pants, she squeezes her eyes shut and Frank kisses her neck trying to coax her eyes back open. He wants to see her eyes on him when she cums.

He kisses along her jawline and whispers, "Open your eyes baby. Look at Daddy while you cum on his cock." His fingers press firmly on her clit and he thrusts deep and slow, "That's it... cum for me..." His voice is gentle but commanding.

she cums harder than she ever has with Frank. She’s not sure what it was about tonight that was just so hot but it was. her eyes flutter and fight to stay open and keep hold of his brown eyed gaze

He watches her face contort with pleasure, loving how she fights to keep her eyes open for him. Seeing her cum so hard on his cock is the most beautiful sight he's ever seen. He keeps thrusting slowly through her orgasm, drawing out every last second of pleasure for her. "Good girl..."

He pulls out slowly, watching his cock glisten with her juices. He loves seeing her like this - completely spent and satisfied. He lays down beside her, pulling her into his arms. "Did Daddy make his baby feel good?" He kisses her forehead gently.

“Mhmm”

He smiles to himself, happy to know he did a good job taking care of his girl. He holds her close, running his fingers through her hair gently. "You did so well, baby. So fucking perfect." He nuzzles into her neck, inhaling her scent.

He chuckles softly as she nuzzles into his sweaty neck, loving her affection. He knows she's exhausted and satisfied, but he can't help but feel a sense of pride and contentment. He gently rubs her back, feeling her relax even more against him. "Such a good girl f’me." He kisses her shoulder gently.

He stays like that for a while, just holding her and enjoying the intimacy of the moment. Eventually, he feels her breathing even out as she drifts off to sleep in his arms. He smiles softly, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. He's never felt this way about anyone before.

[puckinghischier]

boo!! surprise everyone 🫣

thinking about how nico’s back in switzerland for the summer, but you’re stuck here in the states, working. yeah, you’ll get to go visit him for a bit towards the end of the summer, but until then, you’re here. and he’s there. and you’re miserable.

coming home from work is not longer filled with cuddles and laughter and nights spent going to his games. dinners are lonely and unfulfilling. your favorites shows aren’t as funny. your favorite sweatshirt not as cozy. nothing is quite right when nico’s not here.

and you know it’s dramatic, because it happens every year, at the end of every season. but it’s still just so….grey. he’s your best friend, your person. of course you’re going to be downbeat when he’s not around. and he hates it.

he hates he can see the sadness in your eyes when you video chat. he hates he can hear the lifeless tone in your voice. he hates he can tell you’re not sleeping well. hates that you can’t be with him for the entire summer. he’s thought about trying to find a way around it each year. he’s offered to only go for a few weeks, but you refuse, insisting he go see his family while he can. he’s offered a schedule where he comes home every other week, but you refuse, saying that’s a waste of money and his body would be all kinds of off rhythm because of time zones. he’s offered for you to quit your job, let him support you fully, but he knows how much you love your work.

the truth is, there no middle ground. and it sucks. both of you dread it every year, despite pretending it doesn’t affect your routines so drastically.

but, this year, nico couldn’t take it anymore. he needed to see you. so, he booked a flight back to jersey a week before you were set to come see him, so you could make the journey back together. he had it all set up before he ever left, keeping it to himself. he arranged for a car to pick him up at the airport and drop him off at your shared apartment. he worried, because of course he flight was delayed, and he wanted to be home and settled before you got off of work. had this big plan to cook dinner and have it waiting on you when you got home, knowing you don’t eat properly when he’s not there, your argument of ‘girl dinner’ being a real dinner in the back of his mind.

instead, he had to settle for take out and cheap wine due to the unplanned time crunch. what he didn’t know, though, was that was exactly what you were planning for yourself, anyways. you had the day of all days at work, everything that could go wrong, went wrong. people were rude, computers were glitchy, and the clocked ticked slower every time you looked. all you wanted was to go home, put on a big t-shirt of nico’s—since you couldn’t get one of his soul lifting hugs—and chug a bottle of bad wine while eating greasy pizza and watching trashy tv.

you had the number to the closest pizzeria pulled up on your phone when you walked in the apartment, not looking up or paying attention to anything as you dropped your belongings on the large island in the open kitchen, trying to decide if you wanted extra cheese or not.

nico was stood in the connecting living room, smirking at your obliviousness.

“y’know, you really should be more aware of your surroundings. you never know what could be waiting on you, even in your own home.”

the deep voice makes you jump, dropping your phone with a loud yelp. your head starts swiveling, looking for the intruder before settling on nico’s amused figure. still wearing his airport sweats and loose tshirt, backwards hat containing his un-styled hair, he looks at you with his arms crossed in a relaxed pose and a humorous shine to his eyes.

you open your mouth to scold him, then promptly shut it, brain catching up to reality and realizing: holy shit, nico is here. he’s in jersey, in your home, skin a little more golden than you last remember.

“you…? here…..? switzerland….? how?”

nico chuckles at your choppy sentence, walking towards you since you seem to be rooted to your spot. “there’s actually this really cool invention, have you heard of it? it’s called an airplane, and it lets you get from one end of the world to the other just like that,” he snaps his fingers, stopping to stand barely a foot from you. he reaches out to touch your face, not having felt your skin is what seemed like years.

you lean into his touch, but still huff out a “you’re such a smartass, you dick” while taking a step forward to squish your face against his chest. you can feel the rumble of laughter as he squeezes you to him, taking in the feeling of you in his arms.

“missed you,” he mumbles into your hair, his cheek pressed to the top of your head.

you let yourself bask in is presence for a little bit before making any moves, enjoying the bubble you two always create with each other.

“not that i’m not thankful, but…what are you doing here? i’m supposed to fly out next week, but you’re here. why?” you question, leaning back just enough you can look up at him but not so far you’re out of his hold.

he shrugs. “told you, i missed you. had this planned before i ever even left. wanted to surprise you,” he brushes a strand of loose hair away from your face, loving the way you have to crane your neck to look up at him all the time. he leans down to press a soft kiss to your nose, wanting to see the little scrunch you do each time.

“well, very mean of you to keep me in the dark this whole time. i’ve been out here, suffering, when i could be been looking forward to it and making plans this whole time,” you respond, jutting your lip out in a half assed pout.

nico reaches his fingers up to capture your bottom lip between his thumb and pointer finger, tugging it slightly to meet his in a sweet, slow kiss. he savors the taste of your lips before pulling back, still holding your chin between his two fingers, biting back with a “looks like you survived. figured you’d like the surprise,” in a soft tone.

you pretend to mull it over in your head, a content smile having taken over your features. “yeah, guess this is a pretty good surprise. better than the shitty wine, greasy pizza, and bad tv i had planned for the evening.

nico steps back, too, turning sideways and gesturing to the small coffee table across the room in front of the couch. “hate to tell ya, schatz, but looks like your plans are still waiting for you.”

you take in the two pizza boxes, two wine glasses, and bottle of red wine all set up and ready to be consumed. you break out in cackle laughter. of course you two had the same plans, even though you were on opposite ends of the world just this morning.

“planned on making you a nice dinner, since i can tell by the state of the pantry you haven’t been eating real meals since i’ve been gone,” he playfully scolds with a pointed look, “but flight got delayed, so pizza and wine it was.”

shaking your head you walk back over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist, chin resting on his chest as you look up at him. “s’perfect. wouldn’t have it any other way, really.”

he leans down to give you a small peck, your content smile warming him down to his toes.

“c’mon, this pizza isn’t going to eat itself,” he nods towards the couch, gesturing for you to walk in front of him.

“can we watch love island? please please please? there’s a new season out and all the girls at work have been talking about it. i really wanna watch it,” you beg, a little more pep to your step when nico playfully smacks at your ass, not caring what plays on the tv as long as his hot new bombshell enters his villa later.

…..okay, bye again!! 👋🏼👋🏼

[itneverendshere]

little miss perfect - r.c - (+18) - exes & oh's!

pairing: siren!reader x rafe warnings: suggestive; nudity.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It’s too fucking hot, even with the ocean breeze cutting through the dunes. Sweat slicks the back of Rafe’s neck, and the bonfire dancing twenty feet away only makes it worse. Music’s blaring, someone’s shirtless and backflipping off the pier into the dark water.

Rafe's got a beer in his hand and his eyes on a nuisance.

Correction: you.

When Topper said, "bring her or don't come," he should’ve stayed the fuck home.

Now you’re sitting in a faded Tommy Bahama beach chair, drink untouched in the sand, wearing some sheer little cover-up that doesn’t cover shit and is not the bikini Rafe told you to not wear around his friends.

Your thighs are crossed, mouth glossed, and attitude lethal. People stare when you walk past, you turned this into a fucking catwalk instead of a party. 

You also haven’t looked at him once since you got here.Which he’s sorta happy about, it means you’re staying away.

He watches you now, body angled enough to show off without it looking obvious. You’re listening to some asshole go on about a story, biting your thumbnail, pretending to laugh.

Rafe downs the rest of his drink.

"You're pissed," Kelce says, catching up beside him.

"No shit."

"Look at her. What’d you expect?”

“I didn’t think she’d—” he breaks off, eyes narrowing as you lean in and say something into the guy’s ear, "—flirt all night."

Kelce shrugs. “That’s just her face.” 

His friend is already drifting off—free beer tends to scatter friends like pigeons—but Rafe stays rooted, eyes fixed on you. He assures himself he’s only checking in case you do something reckless.

He should’ve known. 

You were annoying the whole car ride up, feet on the dash, sunglasses sliding down your nose, whining about how his playlist was “a frat house funeral,” and trying to change the song with your toes.

He told you to stop, told you to be normal.

“Can you behave…tonight?” It took him every bone in his body to ask, “Don’t start with the drama, okay?”

"I’m not doing anything," you’d argued. “God forbid I show up and breathe like a normal girl.”

He reminded you to stay away from him when you got there, to blend in. He told you all of it while you looked him dead in the eye and said, “Fine. I’ll behave.”

Now you’re across the fire, bare legs crossed, arms shimmering with whatever oil you slathered on earlier, laughing at a joke that's not funny. It’s petty, but Rafe knows it lacks any humor because that guy you’re laughing with can’t be smart enough to pull that sound out of you. None of them are.

Topper strolls up with two beers in hand, one already almost gone, the other he tries to hand to Rafe, who doesn’t bother to look at it.

Instead, he stands stiff, breathing hard through his nose, watching you like you offended his entire bloodline. Which, funnily enough, you have on numerous occasions.

Topper follows his gaze.

“Damn,” he says, impressed. “Still can’t believe you get to live with that every summer.”

Rafe finally drags his eyes off you long enough to scowl at him. 

“Yeah. Fuckin’ nightmare.”

Topper almost chokes on his beer. “Nightmare?”

He’s already mid-eye roll, muttering, “She’s awful, man.”

Topper whips his head around so fast his neck pops, looking between you and Rafe “Awful?!”

Rafe gestures vaguely in your direction, like that proves everything. “Look at her. Look what she’s doing.”

“She’s sitting?”

“Flirting her way around.”

Topper throws his hands up. “She’s insanely hot. That’s not a crime.”

Rafe scrunches up his nose.

“She’s not.”

Topper starts laughing so hard he nearly drops his drink.

“Bro.”

Rafe turns on him, insulted. “What?”

Topper’s wheezing now.

“Do you wanna switch places or something? Seriously, say the word. I’ll house swap; she can scream at me and wear tiny bikinis and ignore me in public—please.”

Rafe bristles at the comment.

“She’s not all that. I don’t know what the fuck you mean.”

“Be serious.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am!” Rafe insists. “There’s plenty of other hot girls here.”

His best friend tilts his head, lips stretching wide like he’s about to pounce.

“Okay. Name one hotter.”

Rafe’s eyes dart around the party, he spots a girl in a red bikini laughing near the pier. One of the older kook girls flips her hair, flashing a white smile. A blonde walks past, bikini strings swinging.

“...That girl over there,” He eventually offers, motioning vaguely toward someone in the dark.

Topper squints. “The one eating corn?”

“She’s not eating corn.”

“She’s absolutely eating corn.”

“I didn’t mean her.”

“Okay. Then who?”

He doesn’t answer because he can’t; none of them come close.

Most of them are pretty. One has long legs, another has a tiny waist, and a designer bikini she bought just for tonight. There's tan skin, glossy hair, white teeth, and shiny things everywhere.

But they all look the same in his head. 

They don’t glow like you do. None of them are smirking with secrets tucked under their tongue. None of them roll their eyes like they’re doing him a favor just by showing up.

That’s what pisses him off most.

He needs them to come close, prays for the distraction.

But they’re not you.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Shut the fuck up, Top.”

Rafe shoves the empty into a trash bag and digs for a fresh bottle. Ice water burns his knuckles. He hears Sarah laughing with Kie by the volleyball net and someone’s screwing around with a Bluetooth speaker.

Stay busy. 

That’s the plan, if he’s busy, you won’t have a second to mess with his head.

He pops the cap, tips the beer back. He shoulders through a knot of kooks, lifting the mini–kegerator so they can slide a crate underneath. Easy grunt work, no mental load, no you.

He lingers while Topper lights the tiny mortar shells and pretends the metallic whine and powdery after-smell are interesting. But when a red bloom explodes overhead, he reflexively glances across the sand, searching for your silhouette backlit in crimson sparks.

He's only doing a headcount for field sober rides, starting a mental note list, a flimsy excuse to pace the shoreline, scanning for you.

Half an hour later, he’s wedged between the dunes with a handful of guys from Coastal. Somebody passes a pack. Rafe doesn’t usually smoke, but a spark feels good between his fingers right now. 

Nicotine scalds his lungs, settles meanly in his chest. He thinks about you swiping one of Ward’s cigars when you were fifteen, grinning around the fat thing like a cartoon villain.

Rafe had been furious; he is now, at the fact that memory tastes sweeter than the cigarette.

“Yo, Cameron,” one of the Coastal dudes says, “Your girl’s—”

“Not my girl,” Rafe clips.

“Whatever, bro. She’s down by the water, about to drown some chick.”

“Fuck’s sake."

 Rafe’s flicking the half-smoked cigarette into the sand. 

Not his girl, no his fucking problem. Except it is.

The sand is hot beneath his feet, damp against the rubber soles of his shoes as he jogs toward the water. His beer sloshes warm in his stomach, the bass from the speaker fades the further he gets, replaced by the rush of waves and the unmistakable tone of your voice.

He knows that tone.

You’re standing close to someone, body rigid, chin lifted, and then he sees her, familiar highlights, the baby voice.

His ex. Gemma, was it? Great.

He slows, trying to catch the tail end of whatever’s being said. You’re pointing now, nails flashing under moonlight, voice raised.

“—you think I don’t know what you’re doing? You’ve been staring since I walked in.”

“You walked in wearing nothing, sweetheart,” Gemma replies. “Don’t get mad at me just because he still doesn’t want you.”

Rafe has a second to register it before you're lunging forward, all teeth and fury and swinging limbs, not drunk-girl flailing. 

“Hey—” He surges forward and wraps an arm around your waist from behind, hauling you back as your fingers swipe air, inches from hair you were aiming to yank out. “Fucking chill—fuck, hey!”

You’re struggling in his grip, kicking sand, barking over your shoulder.

“I’m gonna talk to her—”

“Talk to her? With your fists?”

“She started it—"

He’s got you locked to his chest now, arms around your middle like a seatbelt, trying not to laugh.

“Yeah?” he huffs, lips brushing your ear. “Then how come I’m the one holdin’ you back right now?”

You stop squirming for him to think you’re done, then you kick backward and catch his shin with your heel.

"Fuckin' psycho.”

“Let go of me.”

“In a sec,” he mutters. “Soon as you stop channeling Mike Tyson.”

“You didn’t hear what she said.”

“I heard, alright.” He’s still laughing, with adrenaline. “Believe me, baby, the whole fucking beach heard.”

You wriggle harder at that, hissing something murderous, but he’s grinning against your neck now, too proud for a guy who claims to despise you on a good day.

You’re impulsive, you never do what he tells you. 

“Stop it,” he tuts, turning you toward him as your chest heaves. “What the hell got into you?”

“She was talking shit,” you snap, brushing sand off your thighs with a sharp flick of your hand.

“Me? You were the one hitting on him while we were together!”

Gemma’s not lying.

You lurch forward but Rafe catches you in time as you growl, glaring over his shoulder. 

“If I’d wanted him, I’d have had him.”

Unfortunately, that’s true. 

Rafe knows it like he knows his name; knows it in the worst, most inconvenient way. If you wanted him back then—even now—he wouldn’t stand a fucking chance. It makes him wonder what it would be like if you ever stopped playing and smiled at him genuinely. 

His arms tighten, effectively confining you. 

“Okay. Okay, nope. That’s enough.”

His ex laughs ugly. “Sweetheart, he hates you.”

You tilt your head, “Yeah?”

Yeah, he’s said that.

He said it to your face more times than he can count, and he meant it, too, mostly. But hearing it from his ex, delivered with venom, sounds ugly and brutal.

You’re not looking at him, you’re still smiling, but your posture has changed: shoulders slightly higher.

Rafe recalls the way he used to rant about you to his ex. He’d make it sound like you were this mosquito in his ear, a pest, only a problem.

But he never told her about the nights he’d spend re-reading your texts, never told her how his stomach twists in that specific way when you show up at his house every June.

He does hate you, but not the way she thinks.

“That’s enough,” he says again, directed at both of you.

Gemma shrugs, flippant. “Didn’t know you went for sluts now—”

Rafe’s head snaps toward her. “Shut the fuck up.”

“She tried to assault me!"

“Yeah,” Rafe says dryly, arms still wrapped around you, a rabid animal in a sequined bikini. “That’s why I grabbed her.”

She blinks. “So…?”

“So what?”

“So aren’t you gonna say something?”

He’s got one arm keeping you from tackling her and the other braced, in case he needs to start breaking up round two. 

His ex scoffs as you twist around to look at him, smirking even though you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar, but also bit the other kid who tried to take the last one.

Gemma all but cries out, “She threatened me, Rafe!”

“You kinda asked for it.”

You suck in a pleased little breath and lean into him.

“Aw, look at you defending me.”

“You’re taking her side? Rafe—Rafe—this is me. She’s just—”

“I’m not your boyfriend.”

Your head turns sharply to meet his eyes over your shoulder.

“I mean—fuck,” he mutters. “Not her boyfriend either.”

“Yikes,” you whisper, clearly delighted. “Say it with a little more venom next time, Romeo.”

“Shut up,” he hisses, releasing you like you’re radioactive.

You spin on your toes, unbothered, brushing imaginary dust off your chest.

“The fuck did I just say?” Rafe snaps, stepping between you fully now, body blocking like a shield. “Go.”

Gemma scoffs again, but there’s a wobble in it; she’s never seen this version of him.

“Unreal,” she mutters, backing off with that bitter, glossy pout.

He turns to you then, you’re still fuming, cheeks flushed, lip gloss smudged at the corner, hair wild from whatever scuffle nearly happened. You look insane. Gorgeous.

Rafe considers turning around and walking into the goddamn ocean.

You’re vibrating with leftover rage, a lit fuse with nowhere to burn. He knows you wanted the fight, and he’s never seen anything hotter in his entire life.

He should be pissed. 

Instead, he’s standing here with your voice still ringing in his ear and his palms tingling from where they touched you for so long.

He hadn’t meant to hold you that tight, to lean in close enough to smell your shampoo.

“You didn’t need to—”

“Yeah, I did,” he cuts in, hating that you get to him. “You’re deranged.”

“You’re easy to rile up,” you hum, but it sounds like you’re complimenting him. “She thought you were going to play white knight for her. How embarrassing.”

“You think I forgot how she keyed my truck?”

“She said it was her cousin,” you reply, batting your lashes.

You both know it wasn’t. Rafe had to park backwards for three weeks so no one would see the dick and balls etched into his door.

He scrubs a hand down his face, trying to wipe the glee off it. 

“You’re so—fuck me, you’re so annoying.”

You step back before he can say anything else, turning on your heel and sashaying up the beach like nothing happened, like you didn’t almost throw hands with a girl you hardly know while he was trying to be a good fucking person.

He follows you.

You’re like poison in his bloodstream, something he can’t sweat out or sober up from. And maybe it’s the fight in you, or the chaos, or the way you never let him forget he’s still got a pulse, but fuck, he likes it.

“What did she say anyway?”

He won’t tell you he’s dying to get the gossip.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Rafey.”

You’re covering up half your body in that sheer little thing, and shit, if that isn’t distraction enough. It's clingier than a second skin, and the way it hugs your hip...Rafe’s trying to hide the gawking, but you got him slipping up like a rookie.

You’re already halfway to the chairs, tossing him a glance over your shoulder. He follows—obviously —dragging his gaze up from the curve of your ass because, goddammit, he’s better than this.

Supposed to be. But you make it impossible.

Then you stop, turn, and look at your face, and he knows you’re about to do something stupid.

You start untying your bikini top.

He chokes on air. 

“Okay. What the fuck?!"

You’re peeling it off like it’s nothing, teasing, playful, like the whole beach isn’t ten feet away. His head snaps side to side, checking if anyone’s watching, but you're too fast, shrugging it off your shoulders.

Rafe lunges. 

Instinct overrides logic, and he pounces on you, arms around your bare back, shielding your chest with his body like a human barricade. He’s cursing under his breath, tugging the damn cover-up closed around you like he’s saving a life.

"What are you doing?!”

You smile up at him, “What?”

His eyes are up, must stay up, and his whole body’s screaming.

You’re topless now, he can feel it. You lean in again, brushing your mouth near his ear like a dare. 

“I’m gonna skinny-dip.”

Rafe jerks back. “The fuck you are.”

“Why not?”

“Why—” He splutters, “Because I’m telling you not to, that’s why. Get dressed.”

You whine, long and drawn out, five seconds from throwing a tantrum. “Nooooooo.”

Rafe’s eyebrows lift so high they could fly off. “No?”

If he lets go, you’ll sprint naked into the waves and make him chase you.

“You’re not doing this,” he asserts, trying to be the adult, the voice of reason, while your bare skin is brushing his chest and he’s a second away from exploding.

You tilt your head. “You gonna stop me, big boy?”

He stares at you, glaring more like, but his fingers are twitching, his ears are red and his swim trunks are doing nothing to hide how much you’re getting to him.

You giggle, spinning out of his grip and sprinting toward the water, sheer cover-up fluttering behind you like a flag of war. He curses under his breath, watching the ridiculous bounce of your hips as you hit the surf, laughing like you haven’t just ruined his night, his plans, his fucking life.

“Get back here!” he shouts.

“Join me, you uptight asshole.” 

He’s already chasing you.

The water’s cold, or maybe it’s the shock of what he’s doing, running full speed into the ocean after a half-naked girl with no regard for public decency or his very fragile sense of self-control.

He should’ve left you back there, flashed the entire beach and dealt with the consequences. But no, he ran to you.

He splashes into the surf after you, muttering curses, saltwater hitting his chest as you twirl like a drunk mermaid just out of reach.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” he growls, wading closer.

You turn to face him, water just shy of your collarbone, yeah, he’s looking. Hair slicked back, eyes glittering with trouble, skin glistening in the moonlight—it’s cruel.

Your silhouette is bare and ethereal and not what his brain is equipped to handle right now.

“You didn’t have to follow me.”

“You’re naked.” His voice is strangled.

“So?”

“So—what if someone sees you?”

You swim closer, “Then maybe they’ll get a better look than you.”

.The ocean is dead quiet and his thoughts are just static and "fuck, she’s trying to end me."

He looks up, he has to, or he’s not gonna survive this. Your lips are quirked, that wicked smile that confesses you know what you’re doing to him.

 “You’re blushing.”

“I’m going to drown you.”

You laugh.

He closes his eyes like that’ll help. It doesn’t. When he opens them, you’re floating backward, arms splayed like you own the whole fucking ocean.

He follows and wonders, not for the first time, what the fuck he’s going to do if you ever stop letting him chase you.

He finally catches up, not because you slow down but because your laughter trips you up. A wave hits your back, you sputter, and he grabs your waist before you can go under.

You blink up at him, water streaming down your cheeks, eyelashes stuck together, looking like trouble wrapped in moonlight.

"Who was that guy earlier?"

The words come out clipped.

“What guy?”

“The one you were talking to.” His tone is flat, but his hands are gripping you harder now, afraid you’ll leave with the tide.

You stare at him, chest rising and falling with the ocean.

“My ex.”

He lets go of you, not all the way, enough to make the space feel colder than the water.

“You’re joking.”

You shake your head slowly.

He breathes out, long and bitter.

“You let that dumb motherfucker put his hands on you?”

You tilt your head, mock-thoughtful. 

“I mean…” You drag it out, “He is dumb.”

Rafe’s nostrils flare.

“But,” you add, features stretching wickedly, “He’s great in bed. Or in the back of his car, more like.”

Rafe blacks out for a second.

“You—” he chokes, about to throw a punch at a wave.

Your words play on a loop, over and over, some sick little horror movie with you as the star. The backseat. Of a car.

You, your laugh, your thighs, those sweet, breathy sounds you probably make when you’re teasing, when you're close—you gave that to him.

Rafe can’t stop it, his mind painting it out in vivid fucking detail: you gasping, legs draped over some busted seat, eyes fluttered shut, whispering someone else’s name while that idiot touched what he shouldn’t have even been allowed to look at.

He turns his face away from you. 

 “Don’t worry,” You confide in mercy, lips so lethal he swears the moon flinches. “I was thinking about you every single time.”

Then, you float backward, arms spread like a siren, meant to leave that wreckage in your wake. 

He’s still burning when you disappear into the water.

[solarstranger]

CHAPTER 1 | I HOPE YOU SEE (RIGHT THROUGH ME)

w.c. 1.2k

tags. minors dni. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (23), some cussing (it's not bakugou's internal monologue if there aren't any), suicide-related deaths (see series synopsis for more details), discussions of suicide, canon-typical descriptions of violence

a/n. welcome to another series by yours truly!!!! i know i still have that body swap one in the queue, and while i am planning on working on that, this series' premise just spoke to me and i was emboldened to write it as soon as i could. i'm writing this as i go, though, so the posting schedule is likely gonna be erratic, but i promise i'll try to write this consistently. anyway, i'd absolutely love to hear what you think throughout the process, so please don't be a stranger and talk to me!

links. masterlist, ao3

Somehow, he’s wound up in the emergency room of Musutafu’s highly renowned Central Hospital.

Which, if he had the energy left to really think about it, is not particularly an unusual occurrence. He’s been here—and other similar hospitals—enough to have a general blueprint of the corridors etched in his mind, as well as the basic rules they shared and protocols that were strictly followed. Stuff like how phone calls are prohibited, fatigued doctors specializing in emergency medicine are perpetually present, and how—for a place supposedly and rightfully dubbed with the ‘emergency’ title—the staff sure don’t seem to have a whole lot of sense of urgency.

Although he supposes he’d rather have that than be in a room teeming with frantic energy. Maybe they’re doing it on purpose, actually, for the sake of the patients who get rolled in.

Except right now, he was not a patient.

He was technically not a guardian, either, though the disheveled-looking middle-aged man blatantly staring at him from a few rows up front is most definitely thinking otherwise.

Well, then.

Acutely aware of the unwanted attention, Bakugou shifts uncomfortably in his seat, wincing ever so slightly when the connected metal chairs to his right creak loudly with the motion. It doesn’t help that he’s still in his hero clothes—although he’s aware there’s no point in mulling over it now; after all, he didn’t exactly have the time to do a costume change with all the shit that went down.

Not that he’s exactly sure what that ‘shit’ even was.

It all happened too fast.

One minute, he was walking down his regular patrol route down Shizuoka’s famous tallest bridge—cursing the unbearable summer heat and the dehydration-induced headaches that it brought with it; the next, he was jumping off of it.

He even boosted himself with his quirk to aid gravity in his free fall, but to no avail.

Your body had already collided with the ground by the time he could grab your wrist.

The moments that passed after that are even more of a blur now. He doesn’t know how he did it, but after what seemed like an eternity of merely staring at your limp, bloody body, Bakugou was able to pull out his phone and call 119. The medics arrived shortly after, maybe in a span of five minutes, but to him it felt like more.

It took everything within him not to just haul your body and propel you to the nearest hospital.

Because if someone died under his watch…

“Mr. Dynamight?”

Bakugou startles, looking up from where he was blankly staring at his intertwined, scarred hands. At the sight of a white coat-clad woman, the pro-hero immediately stands up, nodding, turning to face the brunette with his full attention.

“Hi,” the doctor greets, “It’s come to my understanding that you’re the one who called in regarding Patient—” she trails off, looking down at her clipboard to double-check, before saying your name in a question. “Is that right?”

“Yes,” Bakugou rasps roughly, before clearing his throat and trying again. “Uh, yes, doc.”

The doctor nods. “Were you on patrol when you found her?”

Close, the voice in Bakugou’s head retorts without missing a beat. I saw her fucking jump.

Instead of saying all that out loud, however, the ash-blonde only nods wordlessly.

The woman hums. “Okay, then. Well, her parents are still on the way here, and normally we’d let them know first, but given the nature of your involvement and your occupation, I might as well inform you.”

Instantly, Bakugou finds himself bracing for what’s next.

The doctor presses her lips in a thin line.

“I’m sorry,” she starts, shaking her head solemnly. “She didn’t make it.”

Dead on arrival.

You were dead on arrival.

At least, that’s what the doctors told him when he pressed them for more. He couldn’t tell if they were hesitant about divulging further information about you aside from the basics or just simply in the dark themselves, seeing as how they only had your wallet that they found on your person to go from. Either way, Bakugou decided it didn’t matter as soon as an older couple burst through the doors of the emergency room—a good half hour later—whom he immediately identified as your parents.

Needless to say, he hightailed it out of there.

The last thing he needed was to be the unfortunate bearer of bad news, or worse, be recognized as the reason why their daughter is currently lying lifeless in one of the hospital’s private rooms.

After that, he couldn’t remember much of his actions, only that he somehow decided to head to the agency. The entire flight down to his office, he stuck his good ear out for any signs of ringing from his phone, which surprisingly—or unsurprisingly—didn’t come.

Which makes sense.

He’s heard stories before. Exchanged in hushed whispers back in the UA dormitory, and uttered in low voices in the agencies he worked at as a sidekick. About how suicide cases in the country are criminally underreported—not just because of the stigma surrounding the act, but because the police allegedly make it a point to conceal such cases, away from the media’s prying eyes and before it gets blown out of proportion by the public.

Hakamada told him it was most likely to prevent the occurrence of suicide clusters, to which Bakugou scoffed instinctively, granting him a reprimanding look from his mentor.

But really, could anyone blame him?

The idea seemed stupid then.

If he killed himself for whatever reason, he sure didn’t want his death to be treated as some sort of curse, talked about only when people think no one’s watching.

There’s nothing more pitiful than fading away without leaving a single trace, after all.

But now, as he sits in the quiet dark of his agency’s office—the building silent if not for the gentle whirring of his air conditioner—Bakugou finds himself oddly grateful.

Because…

Because.

He wouldn’t know what he’d do if he had to face the press about what just happened.

He’s not sure how long he sat spaced out in his office, but by the time he’s inserting his lone copy of his key into the door knob, it’s already two hours past midnight, and the exhaustion from the day’s events has finally made itself known in the form of muscle aches and a throbbing migraine.

Bakugou doesn’t try to fight the sigh of relief that wracks his body the second he hears the lock click, his movements automatic as he pushes the door open with his side, left hand reaching out in the dark until it lands on and presses against the switch.

As if on cue, light floods the living room slash kitchen of Bakugou’s apartment unit, a sight so mundanely familiar that he doesn’t even blink at first.

Just—drags his aching feet towards the foyer where he toes off his sneakers and drops his duffel bag, which he swears he’ll collect the first thing tomorrow morning.

But then that’s when it happens.

Bakugou barely catches it—the movement at the corner of his eye—but he does.

And when he does—glance to look at it—he blanches.

Because sitting on his sofa is no other than a ghost.

˗ˏˋ while likes are appreciated, they don’t do much on tumblr! if you want to support me and writers in general, reblogs, replies, and tags are the way to go. feel free to drop an ask, too—i’d love to chat. have a nice day! ´ˎ

[kaidoslastbraincell]

Abby takes a liking to a girl he often sees at the gym...only his attempts at flirting fall flatter than oikawa's ass and you are not impressed (to start with)

Pairings: abby x reader

The first time Abby saw you, he thought you were hot. Clad in the black, long sleeved compression shirt and grey sweats you always seemed to wear to the gym, along with your hair in a messy ponytail. He introduced himself immediately, and he half expected you to fawn over him like all the other Saja Boy fans...except...you weren't a fan.

The more he saw you, the more you ignored him, the more he thought you were beautiful instead...enticing. Your soul was bright, with a hint of darkness he wanted to unravel, and he could taste it every time he was within your vicinity. But he wouldn't let your soul fall victim to Gwi Ma. No. He wanted you all for himself.

"Looking gorgeous as always, y/n," he winked as he walked past you towards the free weights.

"Fuck off, pretty boy," you sighed, turning up the volume of your headphones before continuing your jog on the treadmill.

"Aw, you think I'm pretty?"

But of course, you didn't hear him. He growled lowly. You weren't like the other girls he encountered from this era. He couldn't win you over with his muscles or acting slick and charming. What could get you to see him? Maybe it was time to consult Romance...or even Jinu? He seemed to be doing well with that hunter idol they'd been tasked with destroying...

He removed his tshirt after gathering the weights he needed. And when he looked in the mirror he was facing, he caught your eye in the reflection. He smirked. You rolled your eyes. Oh... Maybe you did like his muscles. Even just a little bit? After his set, he decided to approach you again.

"See something you like?" he drawled.

Unfortunately for you, you'd heard him. Voice smooth as silk. You huffed as you brought the treadmill to a slow walk.

"Of course not. Just judging your shitty posture. You'll pull a muscle lifting like that."

You were lying out of your ass. But he didn't need to know that. He flashed you a sharp-toothed smile, and your eyes immediately fell to his lips. Damn.

"Why don't you show me how it's done then?"

You scoffed. "So you can look at my ass the entire time? I think the fuck not."

"You've got a foul mouth for such a pretty face," he grinned.

After that, you did show him how it's done. And you were right...he did look at your ass the entire time. But he actually took your advice into consideration - something that not many guys did at the gym. The majority brushed off anything you said because you were a woman. But you were also studying to be a personal trainer. You knew your shit. And it seemed Abby knew this too. When he thanked you for your help, you genuinely smiled. He swore something in his fucked-up demon heart softened. God, you hated how quickly he was growing on you.

"Say...you wanna go grab a smoothie or something?"

He could have sworn those words came out of his mouth, but to his surprise, it was you who asked. He grinned.

"Sure. Lead the way, beautiful."

On the way to the smoothie bar you recommended, you bumped into Jinu and Romance. He saw the way Romance's eyes roamed over every inch of you, and he wasn't stupid. His arm instinctively slid around your shoulders, eyes flashing as he subtly bared his fangs. Jinu regarded him with a raised brow. Romance simply smirked.

"Hey, Abs," Jinu nodded.

"Who's this?" Romance grinned, leaning into your bubble and staring right into your eyes.

You kept your stare blank, stepping back just slightly, muttering something about personal space.

"This is y/n," Abby almost snarled, "we work out together."

"Oh, I'm sure you do."

[saturntosatoru]

a not-so-cute meet cute || nanami kento x corporate slave!reader

summary: Nanami Kento just wanted a coffee break. God forbid capitalism gives him a break; your company refuses to pay for elevator maintenance and upkeep, and he has to deal with the consequences. Good thing misery loves company!

warnings: f!reader, elevators

a/n: finished my degrees 30 minutes ago and am now trying to romanticize the 9-5 suffering i'll be subjected to daily. also, i know the summaries have sucked Ass lately but believe me when i say i sometimes spend more time on them than the piece 😭

masterlist

Nanami Kento throws his head back in exhaustion, pushing his hair up and out of his face. Another day, another passive aggressive email exchange—this time with a random girl from the Risk Analysis department.

(It’s the first time he’s hearing about this branch, so can anyone blame him for marking the first four emails you sent as phishing attempts? He paid attention during the HR trainings; he knows how to recognize the signs. Plus, you sign your emails off with a Microsoft Teams smiley face.)

That said, if he’s forced use corporate jargon in one more email when he’d rather say “I have a finance degree and have been on this case for six months. Give me your credentials and then fuck off”, he might lose his mind.

Sweeping his blazer from the back of his chair, he takes off to the elevator, hoping to get some coffee from the complimentary café downstairs. One of the perks of selling your soul to capitalism, he supposes.

The elevators are blissfully empty until the 6th floor, where Nanami notes a smaller, worse-for-wear figure enter the elevator. You slump against the wall, weary eyes flickering over Nanami’s figure.

“Rough day, huh?” You note, obviously a victim of small-talk culture.

His crossed arms must not be indication enough that he doesn’t want to talk. He resorts to his best ‘fed-up voice’. (At least, that’s what Nanami’s deskmate, Tanaka, calls the tone whenever Nanami employs it on the phone.) “Could be better. Could be worse.”

Floor 5.

Silence.

Floor 4.

A high-pitched whining—the squeal of metal scrapping metal—and the elevator lurches to a stop.

Fantastic. And Nanami was so close to clocking out. Now he’s stuck in an elevator with Little Miss Sunshine.

Oh, and you’ve begun running your mouth.

“Oh, shoot. Was that the elevator?” Your hands fiddle with your left sleeve, wide doe eyes looking at the screen as if willing the elevator to fix itself.

The elevator does not move. Nanami thinks that’s answer enough to your question. He does pull his phone out to call for help, only to see an SOS instead of signal.

Yeah, no shit. SOS, indeed.

Nanami sighs, eyes scanning around for other options. The elevator doesn’t have an emergency phone—both a safety violation and a way for the company to save money—so the only option is to wait for someone to notice the stalled elevator and call for repairs.

You do not seem to be processing information at the rate Nanami is. You are still staring at the display.

“We’ll have to wait for someone to call the repairman and fire brigade,” he says, hoping to speed up the stages of grief you’re going through.

You turn to him, same panicked expression as before, but now with furrowed brows. (Puppy dog eyes, Nanami thinks to himself in the back of his mind.) “Are you sure? Can’t we pry the door open or something? Call for help?”

“There’s no service, and I don’t care enough about this job to fix the elevator myself.”

“But this is the fourth floor!!” You wail, dropping to the floor in anguish. “We’re going to die! I knew it! I don’t even have a life insurance plan! I don’t even have a legacyyyyy...”

The rest of your breakdown is muffled by your hands, punctuated with a short scream. Nanami watches you take a deep breath, push your hair away from your face, and get comfortable squatting on the floor.

You look up at him. (Nanami decides he has a personal hatred for your eyes. They’re gooey and warm, and they make you look oh so gorgeous under these godawful LED lights.) “Well, aren’t you going to take a seat?” You pat the spot next to you. “If we’re gonna be here for a while, we may as well get comfortable.”

Nanami squints at the spot as if it personally affronted him. He does, however, compromise and lean against the wall.

A beat. Two. Nanami starts counting the seconds in his head. He makes it to 31 before you break. “So,” you start again. “Nice weather today, huh?”

“I wouldn’t know.” A startled noise on your end that you try to disguise as a cough. It doesn’t work, so Nanami continues. “Been busy. End of the quarter is soon.”

Those 11 words are enough for you to latch onto, and Nanami observes how your posture lights up—back straightening and lips curling (and fuck are they pretty, too. Is everything about you slightly breathtaking? Maybe each feature apart could be weird, but altogether, the completed picture is mesmerizing. Maybe it’s these sent-from-Hell LED lights playing tricks on his mind.)—as you finally have tinder to strike up a conversation.

“Tell me about it!” You throw your head back, wincing as you ding it against the metal wall. “I would kill for some sun and fresh air. I thought I could treat myself to some outdoor time, but I guess life had other plans.”

A chuckle forces itself (much against his will, he’d like to note) from his throat, and the glee on your face makes the minor humiliation of finding you entertaining worth it. “Ambitious. And here I thought a coffee break was living on the edge.”

Your head rolls to the side to meet his gaze, lips curling at their edges. “A coffee break? Kettle meet pot; that’s a bit bold, too, if you ask me. Though, getting trapped in an elevator at work? This is everything I dreamt of as a child and more, all wrapped up in endless meetings and bureaucratic red tape.” Sarcasm drips from each word, but they hit a little too close to home for Nanami.

“Is that so? And what did you dream of as a child?”

You pause, visibly taken aback that the stranger before you took your lighthearted quips seriously. “Oh,” a gentle smile softens your face, eyes nostalgic and dreamy as they trace the tile lines on the floor. They snap up to meet Nanami’s when you exclaim, “I wanted to be a pilot! I dreamt of traveling and see the world.” A beat. Two. Not as awkward this time. “What did you want to be?”

Nanami thinks of gruesome curses, screams during missions gone wrong, friends walking away or dying, but never leaving peacefully. Nanami thinks to his earliest memories; was there ever a moment without a nightmare-shaped curse hovering around the edges?

“I’m not sure,” he fibs, knowing fully well he only dreamt of a life of peace. “But I think I wanted a normal life. I would see superheroes on tv—” Gojo slaving day in and day out in a thankless job, Geto changing irreversibly and never finding peace before leaving, Haibara. “—and all I could think of was how exhausting it was. I think I just wanted to make the world easier to live in.”

Your eyebrows are raised, dissecting his answer. “Wow…what a…profound…kindergartener you must’ve been.”

“My parents were called into many parent-teacher meetings.”

Your laugh is bright, unrestrained, and Kento feels a lick of satisfaction weaving through his chest.

“Oh, I would’ve paid to be a fly on the wall for those.” A giggle, two. “I used to work as a kiddie tutor during high school—we had so many conferences, but I don’t think we ever had a conversation like that!”

“Mm, their suggestion to my parents was to monitor the content I was exposed to. My parents only allowed cartoons until I reached puberty.” Really, it was until the curse conversation (which was followed by the birds-and-the-bees conversation), but you don’t need to know that. Not when your liberal smiles reward Nanami so easily.

“Really? That was it?” Your arms are crossed on top of your knees, content with just listening to him. “For the sake of science, I must know: did that actually help?” You’ve got a hand fisted, pointed in his general direction like a microphone.

(When was the last time someone looked at him like that?)

“Well, they did the same for my younger sister—” It’s been weeks since Nanami reached out. He should call her. “—and she turned out perfect—” No cursed technique powerful enough for her to contribute to the jujutsu world. A window, at worst. Normal, at best. “—my parents were quite pleased with the outcome.”

Again, your laugh echoes through the elevator. “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind for the future: Spongebob keeps kids on the straight and narrow of—”

 You cut yourself off with a sharp yelp as the elevator starts creaking downwards. You bolt up, suddenly remember the situation you were in.

“Holy shit, is this it? Are we going to die?”

“No, I think they’ve got the system working again.” A quick glance at his watch reveals it’s only been about 10 minutes. “Good timing on their part, though. I can still go home like normal.”

“Oh, perfect! I don’t think I can stand another minute in here—not ‘here’ as in with you! I just mean here as in this building.” Your hands start flapping in a damage control attempt.

Nanami laughs, deep and rich stemming from his chest. It feels good. It’s been a long time since he’s laughed, huh? “Don’t worry, I understand what you mean.”

The elevator is moving at a snail’s pace, but you both sense your confinement is coming to a close. “Well, I don’t think I ever got your name, coworker.”

Nanami reaches out a hand. “Nanami Kento. Finance.”

You, however, don’t shake his hand, brows furrowed as if you didn’t quite him hear correctly. “Sorry, Nanami Kento? From the finance department?” Your voice gets louder, a controlled edge creeping in. “You wouldn’t happen to sign your emails with ‘N.K.’ would you?”

He lifts an eyebrow, intrigued at where this might be going. “Yes, I do. Do we know each other?”

You’ve taken his agreement as permission to continue, again. “So you’re the asshole who keeps ignoring my emails and then tells me to recheck basic formulas I’ve known since high school?”

Oh no.

Taking his silence as an answer, you spit out, “Yeah, I’m Y/n. From the Risk Analysis department.”

A beat. Two.

“Oh, that’s unfortunate.”

“But now that I have you here: my formulas aren’t wrong! You need to check your spreadsheets, because my code has been vetted by at least two different levels of management.”

The doors slide open, granting Nanami freedom. He looks at you, mid-tirade and too passionate past 5 PM. “Well, that’s my cue.”

He walks out. (A solution HR would approve of, according to their trainings.)

notes:

You and Nanami are heading in the same direction, so while he’d planned a suave exit in his brain, in reality it’s you chasing him for two minutes before his abnormally long legs finally give him the lead. You send him eight emails the next day, all of which get marked as spam the moment they hit his inbox.

Both of you lied out of your asses in the elevator. While you may not be a sorcerer, you had wanted to be a pilot because you thought curses were a Japan-exclusive problem. Unfortunately, you did not pay enough attention in class growing up to get the grades for a full-ride university scholarship abroad.

You start panicking when the elevator stops on the fourth floor because 4 sounds like the word for death. (You really should stop binge-watching horror movies at night, but it’s better than soppy romcoms that remind you of how single you are.)

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