#hm.. lets see.. what else ..

[playing-pauls-mel0dy]

y'know. at least a couple of times now, i've seen the theory that, potentially, Rainer was another victim of Marvin's (whether that be of rebirthing or just abuse in general). and my brain has decided to latch onto it for some reason.

so uh. There's That.

[lala-blahblah]

I will never make this because it would be for an audience of one (me) but ever since reading "If we Were Villains" (story about serious drama kids in college who perform shakespeare and deal with a murder) I have been entertaining the thought of a crack fic crossover with High School Musical The Musical The Series where the staff decides they will no longer put on shakespeare after the tragic accident that happened at Thanksgiving, because Shakespeare plays would only increase the tension and drama. So they hire Ms. Jen who decides their spring play will actually be High School Musical (which exists in the 90s in this universe) and it ruins the vibe so much that everyone gives up on being dark and mysterious because they're universally pissed at Ms Jen for making them learn choreoraphed basketball dancing.

[halfbaked00q]

ngl. I want a Dom Q flavor that is like. a bit of a sadist. like maybe not necessarily a looot of a sadist. but like at least a bit of one. I want him to like. rly bully Bond. and not just in a cute way. like in a genuinely sadistic for his own haha sickos personal, gleeful pleasure kind of way.

this can include for example things like, playing with Bond (handling dick, tweaking his nipples, continuing to finger him or fuck him) after he's come and while he's like still sensitive and like getting into the overstimulated territory about it. also lmao. ...habe to admit. I found many of @/doll-tamer's posts very like. "ooh what if this for a specific flavor of Dom Q & sub Bond 👀👀👀... 👁👅👁." some examples that uhhh yeah I do gotta admit had me thinking... quite a few thots... (some of them are wow that would be gr8 to see... I want all of this but 00q.... and lowkey a couple are me going "....yea this is kind of Bond-core...." or like this is the-flavor-of-Dom-Q-Im-going-for-here-core....)

to be fair to me tho!!!!!!! I know Im not the only one cuz some of these DO in fact bear similarities to things I have seen in fic!!! So yes this is about me and myyy haha sickos personal tastes. But also I Know it also is Our tastes!!!

But also I want this specific flavorr and also.. if I could get like five more of these little blonde bitches dot meme.........

[lanternlightss]

Can you imagine Venti trying to ‘court’ Nameless Bard bird style? Like, offering food, doing bard’s hair (preening), doing little dances and performances just for him?

(Asking cause I see you as the Bard of Ven expert lol-)

oh for SURE he would, especially since he already wanted to gift bard feathers in canon !! <- and THAT is also interesting, because if venti’s wings are able to molt and shed, i wonder if he would give bard the best feathers that fell off, and bard keeps displaying them on his person somewhere because it makes venti very happy seeing bard with His Feathers !!! and bard looks cute in white and teal <3

AND HE 100% WOULD DANCE i imagine he would go around to all the birds he can find and either watch or ask them about because . wispti has probably danced for bard before, either out of happiness or for funsies or something else, but this Has To Be Perfect and he also has two (2) sets of wings instead of one this time …. venti imitating a peacock in front of bard one day and bard’s face twists immediately because he’s trying not to laugh and make venti feel bad but this is the silliest thing he’s seen venti do, and his wings are making his body look so small /lh

(On The Topic of dancing, maybe venti also makes bard some wings…. a personalized wing glider even…. maybe they can dance together with them :])

[echthr0s]

oh my god Black Mirror is still running???

[hsslilly-blog]

sebastian failing a class because he's terrified of hunt is a good bit and this time it's not even that man's fault

[bibiana112]

Kinda weird question- do you have any links to people talking about Mira from ZTD and ableist stereotypes? I mentioned that I was uncomfortable with her portrayal but kinda fumbled it and made some other ND people in chat uncomfortable. I searched for various keyword combinations but most of what I'm finding is like "and not to mention the ableism with Mira" and doesn't elaborate lol.

Not weird at all! And uh, you see, there's a recent post I made where what I complain about is the very fact I've never seen anyone post too in-depth about her at all, I'd love to see posts that do elaborate on that but I do not have any that I know of right now, sorry :/ hopefully someone else who sees this can point to one? Okay!! After some tag searches I have found exactly one post who kind of gets into it I like this take still would love to see. more than just one but hooray

And like though I complain I couldn't elaborate much on it myself I don't think, I believe most of the posts people make about Saito from aitsf would apply since it's a different uchikoshi take on the very same trope of "emotionless characters who cannot function without killing others" I guess he's a worse portrayal though since she's at least not stated to get reward brain chemicals when killing people and I guess her case also has the added layer of "femme fatale" to it? Which either makes it less bad or worse depending on where you approach it from As I said I am not doing a good job of being coherent on this oh and also there's her being "redeemed" and "cured" in the epilogue which in on itself is kinda not great to imply it just goes away like that and honestly I personally don't even buy it I think she'd just be like oh okay Akane over here has like a thousand reasons to hate me after all that oh and what's that she's the leader of a super wealthy underground organization who's organized one of these death traps before yeah no I'm better off going to prison I'll be fine there lmao bye

But I'll say as an autistic person with relatively low empathy I usually see a character who just doesn't understand other people's feelings and wants to feel them too and is just trying to survive despite getting no help and I just kinda go hm. yeah. shout-out to roxas kingdom hearts shout out to mary from ib shout out that's why I started hyperfixating on media art helps me with understanding others a great lot and Mira is just in a story too badly executed for me to care or even begin to wrap my head around tbh like god she's so fucking terribly used as a plot device in every conceivable way that it makes it difficult to see past it and into what she could possibly be if it weren't for the stereotype of equalling low empathy with no compassion what's with her killing off screen in ways that wildly deviate from her stated m.o? why or how was she even in cahoots with Zero why was that a thing? Honestly her dynamic with Sean could have been better fleshed out could have done something interesting about robot child and his aspd big sis but we just kind of don't get any attention brought to the subject of emotions and the authenticity there of except for the "reveal"...

YOU KNOW WHAT that's probably one huge reason it feels so fucked up actually! Like the whole fucking game is written so you could experience it in whatever order you want and therefore Mira being a serial killer at all is something that though not very well hidden it also cannot be a topic of discussion or explored Ever ever because the player may not have seen the fragment where that is revealed yet- problem being the menu design of that game sucks so bad and practically everyone gravitates towards the same few more interesting looking thumbnails first and then the rest is kinda just there, I mean that is part of the reason A Lot of characters feel half-baked I think but also I think it definitely does impact perception of her character specifically probably The Most and then there's just the general not being given nuance not being able to see the minutiae of how that disorder manifests in her character aside from the killings about how she acts aside from being overly flirty trying to lure in Eric but that affects pretty much all of the new cast we don't have last names and in her case we barely have any backstory at all like Saito is a harmful stereotype sure but we get So Much Context for him that people still love talking about him and delving into different aspects of his life since we have that very well telegraphed in the narrative meanwhile for Mira all we can do is fill in the blanks guesswork that only highlights the worst aspects of the surface level portrayal we got and ultimately that people just don't care enough to dissect because there isn't much there character wise once you remove it

[hiddenbeks]

hmm. isabeau teaching brynjolf ballroom dances

[classyrbf]

classmate!gojo part 2!

classmate!gojo who has been losing his mind trying to figure out who his mystery girl is. He’d assume it’s someone he knows, someone he hangs around, maybe one of the well known girls in his class. But looking at them, he didn’t really get that vibe. Sure they’d flirt with him, always hang around him, and that would be way too obvious. Despite being a part time investigator along with being a college student, that hasn’t stopped gojo from chatting with you. Still, everyday, you and him are sending pictures and videos back and forth and texting.

gojo: just tell me who you are, baby, promise I won’t bite ;)

you: where’s the fun in that, hm?

you laugh at knowing he’s frustrated. You see it on his face everyday when he walks into class, looking at his phone constantly and his eyes scanning the room. He does it in the cafe area as well when hanging with his friend, looking to see if any girl might fit his description of you. But of course, he never looks your way, completely disregarding your existence until late in the night when you’re both horny for each other. You can’t help but send him a video of you fucking your self with your dildo, your phone set up perfectly where you can’t see your face, but can see everything else. And you fuck yourself until you squirt all over your bedroom floor, legs shaking as you imagine it’s his cock.

poor gojo is just losing his mind behind the screen, listening to your moans and watching you squirt over and over, but all he’s thinking about is your face. Doesn’t stop him from getting off though. Of course he’s jerking his cock. Roughly. All the frustration is really getting to him. “Fuck! You’re really fucking teasing me, baby. You know that?”

the cycle continues for several days, until one day he misses class. What’s the problem in that? It’s the fact he needed the notes from that lecture and of course his friends never write them down. So, who did the professor direct him to? You. He’s walking up to you so casually, a bored look on his face as you’re sitting in your seat, palms sweating and internally freaking out. “Don’t mean to bother you, but do you have the notes from the last lecture?” He sighs in annoyance, adjusting his backpack.

“Oh, um…yeah, let me just…” You reach down into your bag and doing so, gojo noticed the color of your nails, his brows furrowing. They looked familiar.

“Nice nails,” he said. You couldn’t be his mystery girl, could you? No, no it was just a coincidence. You’re just some quiet, shy, and nerdy girl who keeps to herself. No way you fit in the description.

You pause for a moment, handing him your notes. “Thanks,” you mutter, quickly standing from your seat.

“Wait, don’t you want these back?” He asked, curious as to why you were in such a rush.

“Keep em, I have a picture of them on my phone.” You grab your bag and hurriedly walk away from him, your heart pounding against your chest. Gojo watches as you disappear from the lecture hall, immediately pulling out his phone to pull up a saved picture of his mystery girl, endlessly scrolling through pictures and videos to find one with your hands.

He stops at a video of you groping your tits, eyes widening when he notices the same color nails and design. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. No fucking way.” He shoves his phone in his pocket, quickly following after you, wherever you went. But he doesn’t know that you left home for the day, completely avoiding him.

You can’t believe you got so close to him today, so close you could smell his cologne and hear his voice in person. Just thinking about it had you so horny, so wet. And when he complimented your nails? It meant he was actually checking you out! His eyes were on you! “He talked to me!” You squealed, running to your room, locking your bedroom door and slipping your panties off from under your skirt. “He talked to me…he was looking at me…” You sink your fingers into your already soaked cunt, eyes fluttering shut as you move them faster, pressing against your g-spot.

Gojo stared at his phone, debating whether to text you. He needed to really see if you were his mystery girl. He needed to investigate a little more, meaning he needed to watch your every move before confronting you. “Can’t believe you really might be her,” he sighed, biting down on his bottom lip. “Those tits, that ass, that pussy, all belonging to a sweet little thing like you? Can’t be…” Gojo couldn’t help himself, palming his semi-hard cock through his jeans. “Shit, baby,” he moaned, undoing his jeans, pulling out his cock. His eyes shut, remembering the cute look on your face when he walked up to you, and he could smell your perfume too, and that voice…yeah, he could recognize that voice anywhere. You’re definitely her. “I hope you’re thinking about me too. Fuck that. I know you’re thinking about me,” he breathily chuckles, slowly fisting his cock to your pictures.

“You were so close to me today, mmmph—fuck!” You rub your clit in circles, watching a video of him jerking off his pretty cock. “Wish you would’ve bent me over and fucked me right there—ah!” You heavily pant, hips twitching. “I need more!” You reach over into your bedside drawer, pulling out your dildo. “Want your cock inside me, Toru,” you moan. “Please say you’re thinking about me too, please!”

You know he knows. He has to. Why else would he compliment your nails? And why hasn’t he texted you yet? You’ve scared him off. Of course he doesn’t want anything to do with you. But you’ll have your fun while it lasts.

I know I left it on a cliffhanger (I’m super evil 😈 )

part 1 part 3

[iniquitousyearning]

jealousy. | slytherin boy headcanons

author’s note: im completely unhinged, as always. no surprise there. love me some angry snake men🥵 please enjoy.

-your boyfriend sees another guy flirting with you in the hall.

Draco Malfoy.

Sees you from down the hall as he’s walking with his friends.

“You know what, guys, I’ll catch up with you after.”

Would literally ditch his friends to make his way over, collecting himself as saunters up to you and mystery man.

Would instantly grab your ass, no hesitation, grip firm enough to bruise. When you gasp, caught off guard, he’d shift his arm up and around your shoulder, pulling you against him.

“What’re we talking about?” He’d sneer.

His voice would be laced with feign interest, smirking down at you with blaring eyes before shooting daggers at the boy.

He’d simply chuckle at you when you tell him nothing, just school stuff, leaning down to place a possessive kiss on your cheek as he grabbed your hand.

“Wonderful. let’s head to class, yeah?”

He’d pull you away from that dude, shooting him another look meant to kill, a silent warning not to fuck with him.

Finally gets you alone in an empty corridor or bathroom; would waste literally no time at all before pushing you against the wall and grabbing your neck/jaw.

“Who the fuck was that, hm?”, “he was practically eye-fucking you…give me five good reasons why i shouldn’t have him expelled or hexed into bloody Azkaban.”

He’d be furious, but he’d also know that you’d never choose some other guy over him, so he’d soften once he hears the innocence in your tone.

“You’re mine, princess,” he’d loosen his grip, kissing you softly. “Say it.”

Blaise Zabini.

Was listening to music while walking down the hall, instantly rips out his headphones the second he sees you laughing a little too hard with some dude he doesn’t know.

He doesn’t necessarily stop walking, but he’d definitely slow his pace, kind of just watching, not wanting to interfere but also not wanting to look creepy stalking you from a distance.

When the guy doesn’t leave, he’d tired of waiting, saying “fuck it”, before marching over naturally.

This man is so fucking cool calm and collected he’d just saunter right up and join in, making himself at home.

He’d practically take over the conversation because he’s literally just that chill in every situation, seamlessly fitting right in, so fucking charming and loved by everyone.

You’d kind of just end up staring at him, smiling in silent awe, knowing that this was his way of asserting his place, letting the guy know what the fuck was up.

After the dude leaves he’d just causally look at you, smirking that charming smirk, wetting his lips as he hooked an arm around your shoulder and pulled you close, leaning down for a kiss.

“Ain’t no one getting you without getting me too, babygirl.” He’d murmur against your lips. “let that be known, right now, forever, always.”

Lorenzo Berkshire.

Would literally stop everything. The second he’d see you laughing and smiling he’d be completely unable to focus on anything else and would completely zone out of any conversations with his friends.

Would get like super anxious and flustered pretty much immediately.

Wouldn’t want to intrude so he’d just kind of hang back, wait for you against the wall and try not to stare too much.

His adorable little cheeks would flush, and he’d know he seemed utterly ridiculous so he’d try to busy himself with his shoelace or something while he waits.

You’d quickly cut off the conversation and move over to him, instantly being able to tell that he’s overthinking.

He’d smile at you, though you could still see the concern on his features.

“Who was that guy, darling?”

You’d tell him he was just a friend from class, no one special at all, pulling him in for a hug and giving him a quick smoochie on the cheek.

“Don’t worry enz, no one could ever take your place.”

He’d blush, trying to play it off. “Sorry love, I know you’re my girl.”

You’d take his hand, squeezing him hard, never wanting him to doubt that for a second. “Only yours baby, forever.”

Mattheo Riddle.

“Who the fuck-“

Would literally whip his bag at Theo, hastily shoving through the crowded hallway with blazing eyes, tunnel visioned as he tried to figure out where the fuck this dude found the audacity.

You wouldn’t even have to turn around to know he’s there, you’d be able to literally feel the anger radiating off of him.

You’d already know exactly where this was heading, but you’d also know there was no attempting to stop him because it’s pointless. Everyone in the school knows that.

Matty does what Matty wants, and right now, he wants to fuck up this guys face for even thinking about flirting with you.

You’d simply look up at him, noting his tensed jaw and his dark eyes as he glances between you and the dude, before fixing back on you, wetting his lips before he says,

“Is this fucker bothering you?”

Unable to help it, you’d smirk, shaking your head as you calmly attempted to talk him down.

“No Matty, he just asked if he could borrow my study notes-“

He’d heard more than enough.

“Study notes? Yeah, I don’t fucking think so,”

Without giving the guy a chance to react, he’d reach for his collar, shoving his back against the wall, teeth barred and face contorted in a snarl as he’d hiss:

“Bother my fucking girlfriend again and the only study notes you’ll need are the ones on how to drink out of a fucking straw, understand?”

Not interested in the response, he’d shove the guy away, eyes softening instantly as he moved back over to you, thrusting a hand through your hair as he kissed you like it’d been a hundred years, right in the middle of the hall for everyone to see.

And judging by the intensity in his grip, you’d already know, later that night, he’d be extra fucking sure to ask you who the fuck you belong to while he’s fucking you.

When he finally pulled back, he’d smirk at you. “Some bloody nerve on that guy, huh?”

You’d just shake your head and laugh, taking his hand as the two of you headed for class.

Theodore Nott.

He’d spot you from down the hall, his eyes instantly narrowing, gaze darting around as though he was missing something, as though this was some sort of sick joke.

Surely, this dude is mentally unwell, right? There’s no fucking way that he’s-

Doesn’t bother to think about it for even another fucking second, instantly shoving through the crowd to make his way over.

Proceeds to wrap his arm around your waist, other hand finding your jaw and pulling your lips to his before you could even process it.

Would proceed to full-on make out with you in front of the dude, and I mean tongue and all, his grip on your jaw so tight you’d know exactly what he was trying to do.

His hand around your waist might even slip lower, grazing over your ass, and then that’s when you’d attempt to gather yourself and push him back, completely embarrassed.

He’d just shrug, smirking down at you before he’d finally acknowledge the guys’ presence with literally nothing more than a glare meant to kill.

“Move along,” he’d say to the guy while pulling you away, grip tighter than ever. “This one’s fucking taken.”

As soon as he got you alone he’d be damn sure to remind you that you’re his, and only his, making you beg and whine his name before he fucked you like you deserved the pain.

Tom Riddle.

“AVADA KEDA-“

Lowkey kidding but not really.

No one would even dare because that man would make it clear as fucking day what would happen if they tried.

[missdynamighttt]

feining for frat boy katsuki…

it was hot. loud. half the girls were already screaming over shirtless frat boys grinding against windshields. your friend dragged you out with a “come on, it’s for charity!” and now you’re standing in the corner with a lukewarm lemonade and zero expectations.

you didn’t even want to come to this stupid fraternity fundraiser.

your roommate dragged you out with the promise of half-naked frat boys, but all you’ve seen so far are drenched freshmen trying to flex their way into a hernia.

but then you see him.

he’s got his back turned at first—lean muscle, golden skin, red swim trunks slung way too low on his hips. sunlight catches the water dripping down his back like it’s staged. and when he turns around?

game over. he’s gorgeous.

sharp jaw, wild blonde hair flattened from water, a cocky little smirk on his face as he wrings a sponge out over his head, totally aware of the stares.

and he sees you. right away. ruby eyes locked with yours and gives the most arrogant little up-nod like, yeah. you’re next.

you try to act unaffected. fail immediately.

he saunters over, sudsy bucket in one hand, water dripping down his abs like it’s a fucking calvin klein ad. stops right in front of you, eyeing your car, then you, then your car again. “you the one drivin’ this piece of shit?”

you blink. “excuse me?!”

he shrugs but you can see a little grin tugging on the corner of his mouth, smug and unbothered. “relax. i’ll make it look brand new.”

he puts the bucket down, saunters over, and damn—he’s even hotter up close. tall. muscles for days. and that little scar on his cheek? unfair.

then, leaning closer, voice low: “the name's katsuki bakugo. what’s yours, sweet girl?”

you tell him. maybe a little breathless.

he repeats it once—slow, like he’s trying it out on his tongue. “hm. yeah. i like that.”

and then he goes to work. but not just on the car.

katsuki bakugo washes that car like he’s auditioning for the dirtiest boy band you’ve ever seen. dropping the sponge just to bend over in front of you, ass on full display. making eye contact when he slides his hand over the hood like he’s caressing it. watering himself down with a hose and shaking his hair out like he’s in a shampoo commercial from hell.

by the time he’s done, your car is sparkling. and so are you—flushed, flustered.

he tosses the sponge into the bucket, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and smirks. “lemme know if you need a private wash sometime.”

and then he walks away, with you watching the water dripping down the curve of his spine, no better than a teenage boy ogling the back of a girl's bikini. you swear you black out for a second too.

it’s only a few hours after the car wash before he slides in your dms, smooth but dirty. you’re in your room, still reeling from whatever the hell that was, when your phone buzzes.

king.explosionmurder has sent you a message.

(yeah. that’s his actual handle. because of course it is.) then, you open it.

king.explosionmurder:

can't stop thinking about the girl with the shittiest car and the cutest fuckin’ face.

you stare. then another message pops up.

king.explosionmurder:

u free tonight?

or maybe you're too busy being adorable somewhere else?

your heart does a thing. you type out a reply—something just barely cocky enough to match him:

you:

depends

you always this forward?

king.explosionmurder:

only for girls with shitty taste in cars

so, only you

let me buy you a drink, sweet girl?

you:

fine

you can buy me a drink, frat boy

but for the record?

my taste in cars is not that shitty

king.explosionmurder:

whatever you say beautiful

8 pm, sunset bar down 5th ave

don't be late

katsuki shows up five minutes early, in a black tee that clings to his chest and jeans that should be illegal. hair still messy from his post-car-wash shower. when you walk in, his eyes track you like you’re the only person in the room.

“tch. thought you were gonna flake.”

you roll your eyes. “you’d cry if i did.”

his mouth twitches. “like a damn baby.”

then the date just... hits different. it wasn't what you expected. sure, it’s packed with college students and frat bros, but in the back corner booth? with him?

it’s quiet. comfortable. almost… intimate.

he’s not much of a talker, but with you? he tries. you ask about his major—he’s an aspiring pro-hero, of course—and he asks about yours, grumbling when you light up talking about it, because “fuck, that smile’s gonna kill me.”

and even though he’d die before saying it out loud, the minute you take a sip of your drink and laugh at something dumb he says? he’s gone. head over heels.

he walks you back to your dorm with his hand on the small of your back, even though it’s barely a ten-minute walk. says “text me when you’re in” even though he literally watched you unlock your door. stands there, gruff and gorgeous, waiting.

“gonna invite me?” he asks, tone teasing.

you shake your head, grinning. “not on the first date, i'm not.”

he groans dramatically. “damn. fuckin’ killin’ me here.”

you grin. “goodnight, frat boy.”

but he doesn’t move right away.

just stands there under the warm porch light, one hand stuffed in his pocket, the other rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to work off the ache of not touching you again. his shirt clings to him in the summer heat, his jaw sharp in the glow, but it’s his eyes that freeze you in place.

not hard. not sharp. not the glare he usually levels at the world.

but soft. heavy. like you’ve stolen the breath from his lungs and he doesn’t even want it back.

he looks at you like you hung the damn moon.

he takes one small step closer, close enough that you can feel the heat coming off his chest, close enough that if either of you moved just an inch, you’d be kissing.

“goodnight, sweet girl,” he says, voice low and rough, like gravel laced with honey.

it hits you somewhere deep. like he’s branding the words into you.

and then—he actually smiles. a real one. lopsided, shy, the kind of smile you’d never expect from someone who threatens to body slam people over couch cushions.

then he turns and walks away, hands shoved deep in his pockets, head down, like if he looks back even once, he’ll do something stupid like run back and kiss you senseless.

you close the door behind you, heart thudding so hard you swear your roommate can hear it.

you’re screwed. so screwed.

because things after that? they move fast.

to everyone else, he was the guy who'd scream if you left dishes in the sink, throw a beer can at you if you sat on his side of the couch, and threaten to body slam you if you so much as breathe near him.

but the entire frat house knew that their loud, grumpy, terrifyingly efficient frat dad—had a soft spot the size of a planet. and that soft spot? was for you.

you’re the only person allowed in his room during his grumpy post-practice naps. the only one who can touch his hair without him flinching. he’d grumble when you flick his forehead when he was being dramatic but he'd let you.

he might curse under his breath, but when you’d slide onto his lap during movie night, he'd wrap an arm around you like it was instinct. like protecting you came as naturally as breathing.

he had snacks stocked in the mini fridge (not for him, you liked them). he hands you your favorite snack and grumbles, “was on sale. don’t get used to it,” even though it’s never on sale but he bought six of them anyway.

and when finals week hits? he’s a damn soldier for you.

caffeine runs. your favorite takeout. quiet growls at anyone who tries to talk to you in the library. he reads your flashcards like they’re enemy coordinates and quizzing you becomes his personal mission.

but the best part? the tiny, quiet moments in between.

like when he’s losing at mario kart and you’d sit in his lap while he played, steal his fries, kiss his cheek mid-rant just to shut him up.

or when you were too tired to walk back to your place, you just curl up in his bed. not only does he let you, he tucks the blanket around you and kisses your forehead so soft it makes your chest ache.

and somehow, all of that was like magic.

sure, he might’ve acted like the world’s most chaotic, aggressive frat president, but when it came to you? he was all bark, all bite… and all heart.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

[jackass-jones]

Rebecca gales has bpd she told me herself

[luveline]

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐬

You’re in love with Spencer from the minute he gets you in his bed. [4k]

c: fem/afab. smut mdni, p in v sex, oral, fluff, aftercare, early intense feelings, spencer in sweetheart mode, flirting.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

It’s a cold day in November when you see him across the bar. He’s sitting at a table of friends drinking from a tall glass of coke. He’s normal. Non-imposing, undeniably cute, laughing with a smile that shows his teeth. His tie is to his belt and his suit jacket’s been thrown over the back of the chair. 

He looks like he might have fun with you, if you can catch his attention. Something about him seems… eager to please. 

You watch him, and you watch his friend. He seems more your usual type, muscled, confident. He’s the key. You let your gaze linger on the curly-haired boy until the friend glances your way. You give him a look. Hey, who’s your friend?

You look away once you see an arm rise. There’s elbowing, arguing. You sit relaxed at the bar and twists your straw through cherry spritz, ice cubes tinkling. After a minute you think, Oh, come on. After two you worry you aren’t his type. 

Then comes salvation. The curly haired boy slots between your seat and the next, beckoning the bartender forward with a nearly perfect, “Excuse me?” 

“Right there with you.”

You wait. He seems cute, but you’re not trying to take him home if he doesn’t have the chops for it. And not because you see yourself as some deadly thing to be pleased, but you can’t spend another night fluffing someone else’s feathers. 

“Hey,” he says finally, surprisingly without the nerves you’d read before. He must’ve breathed through them. “How’s it going?” 

You lift your gaze from the dark purple of your spritz. The first thing you notice are the beauty marks you couldn’t see before, along his cheeks and hiding among a light shadow of stubble. “Hi, handsome,” you say softly. You can’t imagine him liking a firm touch, but that might become more apparent later on. “Nothing’s going on, I suppose I was just waiting for you.” 

“Yeah?” he asks. 

“Mm-hm.” 

He puts one arm on the bar. You let your eyes dawdle on his hand. “Are you here alone?” 

“I was with a friend,” you confess, lifting your gaze to his, making steady eye contact for as long as he’ll allow you to. His gaze flits to your mouth as you continue. “But she met somebody. I was told not to wait up.” 

“So you’re in need of company?” 

You tip your head to give him the best glance at you, all eyes and gentle smiles as you nod. “Would that be you?” 

“What are you drinking?” 

“Cherry spritzer.” 

“Can I buy you another one?” 

“Just one, please.” You believe in the overarching reach of sexuality, of being with someone, but you don’t believe in drinking and sex, nor allowing a man to pave the way. “This is my first. If I have more than that I’ll be too tipsy to do what I want tonight.” 

“What’s that?” he asks. 

You tap your nose. The boy —the man— to your delight, seems to like the gesture very much. 

The bartender approaches. Your unknown, lovely looking man asks for a coke and a cherry spritzer, extra cherries, though you didn’t tell him too. He nods to your little plate of cherry stems and asks, “Can you tie a knot?” But before you can answer, he adds, “I’m good at it.” 

Spencer proves to be good at a few things. Kissing, touching, his face in sweet places and his spit-wet thumb to a nerve. One moment you’re sitting at the bar wondering if he’ll take you home and the next you’re taking a taxi, you’re lying in his bed being stripped of your stockings, being laid on top of. You didn’t know he had it in him, this sweaty, adoring kissing in the dark; there’s a difference between kissing for hunger’s sake and kissing with love, and for some strange reason Spencer doesn’t seem to know the difference. 

“Have we met before?” you ask, the ache between your legs sharper than ever as his hand flirts with the boundary of your stomach and the apex of you, begging to go back there and prolong what he’d started. 

“No.” His lips are on your neck, kissing as he slips a finger behind your ear. “I’d remember.”

His chest pushes into yours again, triggering a breathy gasp as the button of your nipple takes the brunt of him. He turns your face, that flirting hand abandoning your wanting cunt to squeeze at your sides, your ribs, the soft hill of your breast. 

“Do you wanna cum again?” he asks softly. The best part is that he’s earnest, not a second of bravado in it as he lays his lips against your cheek. 

You could. He’d done stuff with his mouth you’ve never experienced before, fingertips teasing your wetness as he told you something about tantrics and pleasure, his hand under your knee, holding you open. You’d felt so suddenly out of control and —and honestly, you’d thought yourself half in love with him for the way he was kissing you alone. No shyness, but softness. No rushing, no annoyance when it took you time to tip into pleasure. He’d been delighted when you seized, had sat up to draw the climax out with circles, matching pace to your rising chest. 

You slip a hand into his curls and treat him with the same sweetness he’d given you, kissing him like you love him: for whatever time this is, you really do. He’s the prettiest boy you’ve ever fucked. All it took to meet was a snowstorm and a need to escape the rigid cold. 

“I think you should fuck me now,” you say, scratching his scalp lightly, not so frantic, no more pulling. “Please.”

He kisses you, kisses your jaw, and doesn’t pretend he isn’t eager as he snatches the condom from the dresser. For a while things are giggly and breathless, nervous for a pause, then achingly tight. You stay and Spencer wraps his arms behind you, kissing your neck as you let your leg fall to the side. 

“When did you tell me your name?” you ask, breathless again as his kiss matches his rhythm, slow grinds of his hips, flirting as his hand had been, just a few inches from filling you completely. 

“I don’t remember,” he says through a kiss.

“Spencer.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I just thought I’d try it,” you say, covering your eyes with your hand as his hips flex and he touches that worst part of you over, and over, and over. 

Spencer turns your face to take your hand, slowing to a crawl. He checks your gaze, and sinks into you again. Slow fucking, long kisses, his hands rubbing up the juncture of your neck and down again, then stroking your arms, comfort for a pain you don’t feel. 

“What do you want me to do?” he asks quietly. 

“Just this.” 

“No, but what do you want?” he asks, lips pulled into a smile that didn’t quite make it into a laugh. “What feels best? I can get you there again.” 

So you end up more on your side than your back. He helps you lift a leg over his hip and then he’s back to kissing you senseless. You can’t think of anything but being kissed, being fucked, it doesn’t just feel like an okay pastime with a vaguely handsome guy heightened by a drink, it’s fucking with intent. He curls an arm behind your back to hold you against him and he lets you have everything. 

Something must give you away, a shaking leg, the way you breathe; he knows you’re ready before you do, kissing down your chest as his hand sinks between your hot thighs. Slick or not, he finds where he wants to touch, your eyes filling with heat as he slows. 

He draws it out. The second his lips find your chest you trip into cumming for the second time. You hadn’t realised he was close but you cum and he quickly follows, his nose at your collar. He sounds insane. Beggy, breathy moans, a shade from laughter.

“Can I keep going?” he asks just under your ear. 

You can’t say yes fast enough. He’s kind, ignoring your desperate tone. 

You don’t count the number of times you fuck that night. It’s not clear, really. They aren’t separate occasions. You come down and he’s stroking the skin of your neck as you catch your breath, drawing lines down your arm, murmuring, “You okay?” as you nod and slip a hand behind his back. 

He hugs you like he’s known you for years. When you kiss his blushing chest, kiss downward, he turns breathless. It goes on like that for a while. Afterwards, he situates himself between your legs and lets his weight force your thighs into your abdomen, just enough to feel the pressure, searching kisses pressed to your knee. 

It’s not that you fuck all night, it’s just different than before. And when he encourages you under his sheets to lay behind you, there’s a part of you that wants his hand to stray between your legs again, no matter how tired you are. 

“I’d say sorry for keeping you up, but you sounded like you liked it,” he murmurs in the dark, wrapping a solid arm around your stomach and pulling you tightly to him.

You have no regrets. For perhaps the first time ever, it feels as though all your gasps and teary sighs were adored, and not just smugly kept. “You didn’t notice me falling asleep?” 

He laughs at your teasing, his breath kissing the back of your neck. “When did that happen?” 

“…I don’t want to fall asleep, now.” 

“You don’t have to… I can make you a cup of tea, or…” He draws another line down your arm, ending in a swirl before your elbow. “You could shower.” 

Both sound nice, but no. Your legs are still weak from being held, the ache of a good fuck taking home in your stomach. Truthfully, nothing could make you wanna leave whatever it is he’s doing to you now. The shape of his lips warms your shoulder. 

“That was amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” he says, wrapping you up all over again. He can’t decide how to hold you. You grab his hand and keep it there under your breasts, letting your eyes flutter closed. 

How can he say that? He has this strange way of touching that’s making you feel yards prettier than you usually do, and he’d just fucked you like a dream. You couldn’t manage that sort of pleasure alone. 

“Where have you been hiding?” you whisper, toying with his fingers. Might as well do everything you can while you can. 

“Nowhere.” 

“So where have you been?” 

He takes a breath. “Turn around?”

You begin turning and he takes you like a dance, leaning in slowly to kiss you, until his smoothness gives way to a smile. He pulls back. In the barest lick of light from the window, you can see a blush spreading across his nose. 

“Sorry. I should ask, I shouldn’t just kiss you,” he says, cupping your cheek. 

How might you go about marrying this boy? You decide to play it cool, kissing him until you fall asleep in his arms, your lips still parted for another lazy press of his as he pulls the sheets over your shoulders. 

—

You wake to something new. There isn’t a man against you hinting for a morning tryst, nor an empty bed, a note to let yourself out when you’re ready. There’s a real, gentle hand on your neck. It slides to your shoulder and rubs. 

“You okay?” a voice asks. 

You force your eyes open, blurry vision further occluded by a face. 

His hair is damp. Like he showered a while ago. Spencer’s hand travels to the back of your neck and touches accordingly. “I wouldn’t have bothered you, but it’s almost one. I was worried you might be sick.” 

You close your eyes, smiling, better when he scratches the back of your neck with short nails. “I was up late.” 

“I know, I’m  sorry.” 

You wait for him to tell you why you have to leave, any manner of excuse, but nothing comes. 

“So are you? Okay?” he asks gently. 

“I’ll leave soon.” 

“That’s not what I’m trying to say. If you’re not sick, you can go back to sleep.” 

“And just lay in your bed all day,” you murmur, disbelieving. 

“If you wanted to. Or… you can shower, and I can make you something to eat.” His thumb takes to your cheek. One night stand sex can’t be something he does often, or there’s a real possibility that he’s the first man to ever do it right.

His eyes are so much bigger than you realised. “Do you wear glasses?” 

He stammers, embarrassed, “How would you guess that?” 

You raise a hand to his face and draw a short line against his nose. “You have the marks here. Were you reading?” 

“Just while I was waiting for you.” 

“What do you do?” 

“What?” 

“I didn’t ask what you do, I don’t think we managed to ask each other much of anything,” you say, rewarded for your vulnerability with a chest-aching smile, his canine teeth peeking from under his lips. He still looks kissed, lips a shade of sore you’re sure you’d see on yourself in the mirror. 

“I work for the government,” he says, catching your hand to cradle your wrist, “for something called the behavioural analysis unit.” 

“Like, statistics?” 

He lets your hand fall against his chest, a thin grey t-shirt under your knuckles failing to hide the shapes of him, of which you’d explored at length last night. You kissed as much of his chest as you could and it hadn’t felt like enough, Spencer leaner than you’d realised with a stomach on the soft side, easy to kiss relentlessly. 

Your mouth is drying thinking about it. Spencer watches you wordlessly, before saying, “I guess it is like statistics, especially for me. We try to think about serial criminals in terms of their motives. It’s an attempt at math for something not usually quantitative.” 

“And you’re good at it.” 

“I’m good at math, yeah.” 

“Probability of a,” —your breath betrays you, slightly too hopeful as it catches— “morning kiss if I brush my teeth first?” 

His eyes light up. He leans down carefully, and gives you a chaste, firm kiss. 

You forget that you’re naked, not worried about being shy. The sheets fall away from you as you lift up to meet him. He holds them to your naked waist, the other hand skirting just below your breast. You wish he’d touch you like he did last night, but he isn’t so forward. His kiss is kind. You frown as he pulls away. 

“I had a really great time, last night,” he says, tip of his thumb setting your nerves aflame as it drifts over your skin. “Really great.” 

“Me too.” 

“And you’re okay?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Nothing hurts?” he asks. 

“No, of course not.” Your confusion clears. “No, you weren’t like that. I think my legs might be aching but that’ll go away in the shower.” 

“I can run you a bath, if you want. It’s a half bath so you might not be able to stretch out, but it’ll help.” He gives you a smile. The familiarity between you doesn’t want to ebb. 

“Shouldn’t have showered without me,” you say, soft, lest playful be something he doesn’t want on a new day. 

“My hair was greasy. Someone kept touching it.” 

You sit up. Spencer’s hands fall to yours.

It’s hard not to play with someone’s hair when it’s in their face, and when they’re trailing kisses in warm places. He doesn’t blame you really, you can see it in his eyes. 

For a pause, you just sit. 

This is nice. Not being thrown out, left with that aching gap in your chest like you gave something you hadn’t intended when it started. Sex will never be easy again, you realise, not when you know it can be good. 

“You’re not working today, are you?” you ask. 

“No, why?” he asks in turn, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. 

“Maybe we…” He waits. He’s pretty enough to force your hand. “We could get to know each other,” you say, gaze taking refuge on his hands. “If you want to.” 

”Really?” 

“I’ve never had that with someone. Maybe we’re, I don’t know, compatible in more ways than one.” You remember yourself, lifting your head, startled by the sheer want in his expression as he holds your fingers. “You’re handsome, and you seem kind. We could have fun.” 

“We could have so much fun,” he says, that flushed blush already spreading across his nose again. 

You draw a line up his chest. “I might need help getting my back, in the shower. That’s not a tight squeeze, is it?” 

“We might have to stand very close.” 

You giggle wildly as he pulls you up, worse when he drapes a sheet over you worrying about the cold. It’s treatment you could grow used to. 

— 

Spencer’s trying to figure out how he got here. You, across the bar sending him looks —Derek swore you were— and the second he got to your chair he realised you were out of his league, but he had nothing to lose beside his pride. 

Then there was you, in bed, pulling on his tie murmuring sweet somethings, sweet pleadings, really, taking another kiss as he moved as you asked. 

Then you, the morning after. You’d slept for long enough to scare him, but when you woke you were exactly the girl you’d been the night before, only slower. Ever so slightly bashful. We could get to know each other. 

Spencer’s not sure how he managed it, but you don’t go home. And on Monday you go to work and come back. On Tuesday he meets you outside of your building to take you for dinner, and you come back with him again, another night up in his arms, tangling his hair with enthusiastic fingers. The sex is good, it is, not just ‘cos his past catalogue of lays were with women who wanted casual experiences solely, or those few times with Ethan where it ended too fast and left him useless. You fuck him like you love him. It’s crazy, except he’s acting the same way. 

When you’re not fucking you’re in his lap, or sitting at the coffee table with your face on his thigh driving him crazy, or you’re laying with your feet tucked under him telling him something about you. He is desperate for the details. 

Like, this is it. You’ve pulled your chair as close to his as humanly possible and thrown both legs over his, basically sharing his seat as you laugh around a messy mouthful of Thai noodles. 

“Don’t look, I’m being disgusting–”

“You’re never disgusting, let me–”

He’s heard you pee. He’s kissed you all over. The human aspects of you don’t bother him. 

“Spence, can you–”

“It’s going up your nose–”

“–stop, holy s–”

He pinches your nose clean. “Tada. Kiss now?” 

“You wanna share?” 

“Yes!” 

“No.” You press your hand to your mouth before he can lean in.

He lets you swallow your mouthful. Your ankle is cool in his hand. When people talk about love, it’s about meeting someone, the dates and the phone calls, the big questions. Spencer didn’t know you could do it like this. Every time you go home, you’re asking if you can come back or pestering him to come your way. 

“Can I kiss you now?” he asks imploringly. 

“No, we’re done kissing for a bit. I want another one of those massages.” 

He can’t joke about it or he’ll turn crimson. You enjoyed a polite leg massage, until he got to your thighs, and things got out of hand. 

“No massages.” He taps you under the chin, letting his hand travel wherever it wants over the side of your face. 

“Fine, no massages. Unless you want one?” 

“No, we agreed tonight we’d just– sleep. My boss is onto me.” 

You wink involuntarily as he cups your cheek, his fingers pushed lightly over your eyes.

You aren’t fiends, but finding someone who matches as you do makes it hard to abstain from the fun. Last night was tame, though; he’d made sure you were happy and fallen asleep to grateful neck kisses. Tonight, he won’t say no, but these all-hours affairs have to stop. Derek’s suspicious of him, Hotch has the situation entirely sussed, he's sure, and Spencer’s sixty percent sure Rossi saw you both outside of Quantico tonight kissing against a toll booth.  

Not that it matters. Spencer has a good feeling you’re not a fling. 

“I got you some stuff earlier,” he says. 

You pull his hand from your face and ask, “What stuff?” 

“Like, stuff you need here. I don’t know what you like, but there’s a cleansing balm– are you allergic to chamomile?” You shake your head. “Um, it might be weird, I got you underwear, just ‘cos of the situation yesterday–”

“I liked wearing boxers, they were snug in a certain region is all–”

“–and some shampoo. That sort of stuff. Just so you can stop suffering with mine.” 

“You know what shampoo I use?” 

“I deduced it.” 

“Ah, yes, mister profiler,” you mumble, bending into your knees to hold his face. “If I hadn’t looked you up online I’d think you were a stalker. How can you guess my favourite ice cream flavour when I never told you?”

He smiles shyly. “I just can.”

“Is there anything else you’ve guessed about me?” 

“Every meal with you takes a half hour. You’re easily distracted.”

He laughs as you protest, “You’re distracting! You don’t need to guess that.” 

“You distract me, too.” 

You gather yourself up and stand over him to kiss his nose. “Spencer,” you whisper, your fingers sliding into his hair, “thank you. You don’t have to buy me stuff, I could’ve just gone home.”

“I don’t really want you to.” 

You raise your head to see him eye to eye. “I don't want to either. This is… I like you.” 

He hums, wrapping his arms around you. The hugs are rarer than kisses, but only because you’ve shared so many of the latter in the dark. He’s been thinking of kisses as the extension to fucking, that they’re okay as long as it’s done in bed, but the more time you stay, the more kisses you’ve shared for no reason at all. You kissed his cheek on the train earlier and he felt it like a shock, tipping his chin down to peck you on the lips, your arm curled behind his back as the traincar rattled over a bend. 

“I like you too,” he laughs. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, of course I do.” 

“Not just…” 

“It’s not just the sex,” he says, waving his hand behind your shoulder as you curl into him all over again. It feels amazing. 

“Should we go out, then?” 

“We do.” 

“No, should we date? We could be partners, officially.” 

Spencer can’t take it, scooping you into his lap, though you do sit obligingly on his thigh. He shifts to take the weight. 

“Please, let’s be partners,” he says softly. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t, it’s still soon.” 

“Five days and counting. That’s longer than some marriages, you know.” 

“Maybe we can be, like, tentative boyfriend and girlfriend. If you change your mind, no hard feelings.” 

“And if I don’t?” he asks. 

“Then we get married in Vegas.” 

“You could meet my mom.” 

“I’d love to meet your mom.”

“Do you really wanna be my girlfriend?” he asks. 

“I mean… there’s not such a big difference in dating and what we’re doing, right? This is relationship stuff, we just sort of skipped the awkward first dates.” 

“We did,” he says, failing to hide his grin. 

You stroke his cheek with your nose.

Your attempt at abstinence doesn’t last, but neither party is to blame. You have to celebrate somehow. So you finish your takeout dinner and wash dishes bumping hips. He locks the door for the night and you, giggling, struggle to change his A/C. When he drags you by the sleeve to the bedroom, he doesn’t intend on jumping right into it, and for a while he doesn’t. You lay on top of him between his parted legs and he spends a sluggish hour stroking your hairline, listening to you talk. But his devotion turns to your ear, and he’s kissing behind it, and you’re hitching yourself up his chest soon enough. 

“That cherry spritzer was worth it, huh?” you ask lowly, scratching his jaw as you sit over him.

You really are pretty, amplified by your syrupy smile. 

“I guess that depends what you think. Was I as good at making knots as I promised?” he asks. 

“I can’t remember.” 

“I can remind you?”

“That might be prudent, Dr. Reid.” 

“I never should’ve told you about that,” he murmurs, your lips atop his, ready to be parted. 

“I would’ve found out eventually. I’m gonna find out everything about you, honey.” 

Spencer lets his eyes shutter closed. Me first, he thinks, giving in to another endless kiss. He has the advantage, after all. 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

thank you for reading!! if you enjoyed please consider liking reblogging or leaving a comment/reply it makes my day and I am so grateful<3 

[cremeful]

dry humping with smoke! dry humping with smoke! dry humping with smoke! dry humping with smoke!

a littl modern reference! but the interpretation is up to u :3 + dumbifiaction, puppy!reader & daddy kink if u squint IDK.. 🙈

he has no business being in your room, he has no business fooling around with you but yet here you are on top of him letting out sweet sounds. "yeah, ma? that feels good doesn't it?" he says so sweetly with a hand pressed up against your cheek.

this man is twice your age and how you two got like this is between the four walls of your bedroom, moonshine and the devil but if you want the simpler version, you had your eyes on smoke since you caught wind him and his brother returned back to town.

with smoke you'd always steal little glances, sweeten your words a little more and flutter your eyelashes, do anything to make him see you and that he did.

your clad cotton underwear clinging to your cunt so tightly that smoke can see the wet patch forming and the sight makes his cock twitch in his pants.

your whines are divine, soft little shutters of breath and pants. his hand finds the back of your neck and pulls you down, slipping your tongue into his mouth causing him to land his palm against your ass so hard that the action cause you to jump forward a little. “be good, take what’s given to you.” stern, like a father scolding his child for misbehaving.

“yes, sir” you break away from the kiss, sitting up ontop his lap. your a sight for sore eyes, curls disheveled some pieces pulled loose from the puff you had in. your lips, swollen; glistening with spit. his prefect little angel.

you run your hands against his arms, reaching his biceps. you can feel his strength underneath him, how he can just put you into in position he pleased whenever but he didn’t need too. not when he already has control over you.

“whichu thinkin bout, hm?” his voice makes you rut your hips up. its so easy to get you like this. “you thinkin bout where my dick is gonna reach inside you?” you beg this time, leaning down and kissing the nape of his neck “please daddy, i will be good, u wont even have to do the work!” desperate as one can be.

so smoke nods, unzipping his pants, kicking them and his underwear off, he slips your underwear to the side seeing your cunt glistening under the warm ambient lighting, “fuck girl. your tryna kill me huh?” he takes his finger and guides it through your folds, a line of precum presents itself. he smears it on the base and tip of his cock.

he guides your hips over his length, slotting it in between you. “you ready baby?” he says it softly, you nod your head while looking at him with big doe eyes. you start moving your hip and down, his mushroom tip bumping your clit. you can hear the sounds you two make when you slide back and forth, its flithy.

“wann kiss, gimmie kiss” you pant, already worked up from amateur movements. “so fucking bossy, can never ask daddy nicely. always, want, want.” he mocks you while speeding your hips up. you lean back down, chest no pressed against his, your mouth sloppyly connects with his. you feel your toes tingling, you start fucking drooling, spit seeping out from the sides of your mouth, smoke pulls away “nasty fucking, bitch.” your head drops to his shoulder, your crying. “it feels soso good sir, daddy pslease” your slurring your words, and thats when smoke knows your far gone.

“yeah, baby? daddys got you, don’t worry about nothing else. just let daddy take care of his pretty puppy”

[botanicsoul]

Eyes Up Here

Aged up | Possessive!Bakugou Katsuki x (fem) Reader

-> This one’s for my bigger chested babes🍈🍈

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.��𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

It’s sunny, warm, and perfect for walking hand in hand down the street with your boyfriend. You’re dressed for the heat—light denim shorts that hug your hips and a yellow low-cut tank top that gives just the right amount of bounce and peek.

You’d noticed his mood shift about three blocks ago.

He was quiet, more than usual, walking half a step behind you. But you knew Bakugou, and you could practically feel the heat of his glare every time someone else’s eyes lingered on you too long. His grip would tighten around your hip whenever that happened, thumb pressing into the waistband of your shorts.

So naturally, you played it up. A little extra sway in your hips, a stretch when you reached for your drink, a smug little smirk when you heard him grumble under his breath.

“Katsuki,” you sing-songed as you reached a patch of flowers blooming by a café wall. “We need a picture. The light is perfect.”

He snorted, lips curled. “Seriously?”

“Come on, plus you look hot today.” You dragged him in beside you and held your phone up. “Smile, babe. Just once. For me.”

You flipped to selfie mode, adjusting the angle. Your tank dipped low with the way your arm was lifted, giving the camera an unobstructed view of your cleavage. You looked damn good, and you knew it.

But before you could snap the picture—

A warm hand slapped over your chest. Then, in one swift, unapologetic tug, Bakugou yanked the hem of your tank up, covering the curve of your breasts with a grunt of pure annoyance.

“Katsuki!”

“You’re not fuckin’ posting that,” he growled into your ear, hand still fisted in your shirt, keeping it high.

You twisted to glare at him. “It wasn’t even that bad!”

“The hell it wasn’t,” he muttered, eyes scanning your face—then your chest—then the street, as if daring anyone to be looking. “You think I didn’t see that guy over there just now? Mouth open like he was starin’ at a damn dessert menu.”

You burst out laughing. “So what? I am dessert.”

He grumbled low in his throat. “Yeah, but you’re my fuckin’ dessert.”

“Oh my god, Katsuki—”

He leaned in, crowding close, hand still gripping your tank. “You’re walkin’ around with your tits half out like you want people lookin’. You tryin’ to start somethin’? Hm?”

“You’re so dramatic, it’s not my fault their big—”

“I’m serious.” His voice dropped lower, hotter, lips brushing your ear. “You don’t wanna know what I’d do if you actually posted that. let people see what’s mine.”

Your thighs pressed together instinctively at the tone, at the way his fingers lingered at the top of your shorts like he was one second away from slipping them in, right there on the sidewalk.

“You’re so possessive,” you whispered.

“You fuckin’ love it,” he replied, smirking when your breath hitched.

And the worst part? He was right.

He let go of your tank only when it stayed put, satisfied with the new, more “modest” arrangement. You snapped a photo anyway, catching the moment: your lips parted in shock, his hand mid-grab, his eyes narrowed like he’d just claimed territory—and dared anyone else to try.

“You’re insane,” you murmured, grinning as you looked down at the photo.

“Keep testin’ me,” he muttered, brushing a possessive kiss to your temple. “Next time I’m makin’ you take the picture with my hand down your shorts so they really know who the fuck you belong to.”

Your breath caught. “Katsuki—”

He shot you a wicked smirk. “Go on, post that, sweetheart.”

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

-> here is one for my smaller chested babes 🍒

[ficmenrhot]

Minors DNI

Late night thoughts but…

Imagine Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley who was instantly enchanted by you the second you walked onto base wearing an innocent smile and a short skirt barely doing anything to hide your soft, plush thighs. You looked so out of place with your baby pink colours as you flounced amongst the tall, strong soldiers and pecked your dad, his Captain, on the cheek with a small grin that flashed your dimples. He groaned quietly, thankful for his balaclava to mask his slipped-up noise though the print of his hardened erection straining against the materials of his pants was undeniably prominent. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Later when his Captain, Price, called him over for a proper introduction, he played the facade of a restrained gentleman and even reached out his hand for you to shake (which he would’ve never offered to anyone else). Secretly, he just wanted to see the difference of your smaller palm swallowed beneath his larger, calloused hand, already mentally picturing the image of what your manicured nails would look wrapped around his cock.

“Princess, this is one of my best man. Meet Ghost,” introduced Price. Simon swore he saw your lashes flutter as you gazed up at him, tinted cheeks with pretty plump lips pulled into a small shy smile he couldn’t wait to corrupt.

“Call me Simon, luvie,” he drawled, his voice a deep yet velvety timbre which made an odd flutter erupt in your stomach.

Who could’ve blamed you when you ended up pinned against the wall in Simon’s room, your legs wrapped around his thick waist, his large hands cupping your bared ass as he rutted into you like a bitch in heat. He just seemed so nice….and if your dad had trusted him to bring you safely to your temporal stay after dinner, then why couldn’t you?

How convenient was it that his room was right besides yours? It wasn’t that he forced another soldier to swap with him for the night by abusing his authority.

A goodnight kiss grew heated when his gentle hold on your cheek turned into a grip around your neck, pulling your smaller frame against his toned muscles, letting you feel how much he’d been craving you the entire time since your arrival.

“You feel this, luvie? Can you feel how hard you make me, little tease?”

“Gonna be a good doll for me and help me feel better hm?”

His face buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling in your sweet scent and wishing he could engrave the sound of your soft whimpers, desperate moans and pleas into his mind as he stretched you out so good…pounding roughly into your tight heat with long, hard strokes that made your eyes roll to the back of your skull, digging faint crescents into his broad shoulders.

Sure, your cervix may have been bruised for the next few days, but the ache was worth it for the most life-changing marathon of blissed orgasm he gifted you. Lengthy fingers thrusting and curling against your sweet spot, his balaclava lifted high enough to attach his lips to your swollen clit, sucking and licking so expertly and tongue-fucking you into oblivion. Lapping at you to taste your sweet nectar after he brought waves of pleasure to wash over you again and again, then again.

“Little pussy so fucking warm and tight, mhm,” he groaned almost gutturally, “made to be fucked…made to be mine.”

“Know what this means, luvie? You’re tied to me now…forever mine to use and spoil and love…”

Simon delivered a small, firm squeeze to your neck when you responded with an incoherent mewl and not words.

“Say it.”

“…ah..nghm…” you were a whimpering mess, mind completely hazed with pleasure at this point, legs shaking, “…yours to use…and spoil and…love”

“That’s right, that’s my good luvie.”

With one final thrust of his hips and a low grunt, he released, filling you to the brim with warm, spurts of his cum and ensuring you were stuffed full with his sticky seed.

Now that Simon had a taste, he would be crazy to let you go. He was a man of many things but never a liar, and indeed, he’d intended to keep his promise of making you forever his.

Much to his satisfaction, the next time you returned to base after a few months, you were more than just a visitor for his Captain but his girl…

And when you ran up to kiss his cheek, he noticed, the slight curve of a bump forming beneath your soft pink sundress.

——————

A/N: Has it been a year? I don’t know, but I’m back and I’m in my COD era! Hope you enjoyed reading this. All likes, reblogs, and follows are appreciated, so are comments!