#spicy angst

[violettduchess]

Happy Equinox Violet! May I shamelessly request Gilbert + 14 + autumn angst please?

A/N: Here you go! A masquerade ball. A moonlit garden. You got the works!

Gilbert x f!reader

Spicy Angst

Word Count: 2538

Now or never.

A breath escapes your body as you smooth your hands down the embellished bodice of your ballgown. The beads of iridescent white feel like smooth pebbles under your trembling fingertips. You reach up, nerves electric, adjusting the half-mask of freshwater pearls and soft, snow-colored feathers. The band tied behind your head is the softest of silk, the same moon-white as your gown. 

Before you, the heavy double doors stand like stalwart guardians of a paradise just within your grasp, if you are willing to take that step and enter. You see the soft, warm glow from underneath, tempting, cloying. 

Swan princess, indeed, you think as you steel yourself. A swan is graceful, elegant, poised. You feel anything but as you reach forward, your gloved fingers curving over the golden handle of the ballroom door.

Now or never, you tell yourself again over the thunder of your heartbeat.

You pull down the handle.

Now or never.

And step inside.

Now.

*

Breathless. Weightless. Free.

You spin around the polished wooden floor, lighter than air, brighter than starshine. All your fears vanished the moment you entered and saw the wonder that the ballroom held within its ornate walls. Sparkling champagne in long, crystal flutes. A dazzling chandelier, larger than any you have ever seen, ever read about, throwing beads of rainbow-colored light across the expanse of the room. And the people! Men in silk waistcoats, rich velvet brocade, golden buttons, shiny shoes. Women in gowns of all colors and shapes. A sea of jeweled purples and pinks and blues. Pastels that shimmer like the inside of oyster shells. And everywhere, masks. Some as simple as a strip of silk, some towering headpieces, dripping with gems and feathers and other extravagant accessories. The crowning glory: an entire wall of gilded mirrors reflecting back the grandiose glamor of it all.

As you twirl from partner to partner, song to song, you truly feel like the swan your costume represents. Beautiful, nimble, charming. You can feel the caress of eyes on you, the weight of them through their masks as you dance by. Never before have you felt so desirable.

The music comes to an end and you bow deeply to your current partner, a tall gentleman with a waistcoat of the deepest forest green and an ornate mask with brown velveteen antlers jutting out from the top. His golden eyes shine with appreciation as he glances back to where the orchestra is readying to play the next song.

Maybe he is going to ask you for a second dance. You would say yes without hesitation. But before he gets the chance, you feel a hand on your shoulder. A chill runs through you just at that touch, like a cold wind bursting through a day of autumn sunshine.

You turn slowly. All the light in the room becomes a luminous blur with the motion. You stop when you reach a wall of darkness. The man in front of you wears black, from the shine of his boots to the soft, silken band of his mask, an unusual mask that covers one eye completely, leaving the other one, a startling, deep crimson, free. He is not a large man, but you are immediately struck breathless by the sight of him.

He holds out his hand, head cocked to one side. It doesn’t feel like a request. It isn’t quite a command. And yet you find yourself unable to reply with the quick smile, the flirtatious downward tilt of chin you have been employing all night. You simply step toward him, the tide being pulled by the moon’s insistence. Black leather meets white satin as he takes your hand in his, holding it firmly. The other slides over the stiff corseting of your waist, only stopping when he reaches the small of your back. You have danced with many men tonight. None have held you quite this close.

You steady yourself with a hand on his shoulder, noting that the material of his clothing isn’t pure black. Threads of subtle silver, like tendrils of moonlight, shoot through the fabric, giving him an almost ethereal sheen. Even through his clothing, through the supple leather of his glove, you feel a whisper of cold. In the beat before the music begins, you wonder if his smooth, white skin would feel like the cool marble it resembles. 

And then the first notes float over the ballroom floor and in perfect synchronization, you begin to dance. He moves the way dusk paints the sky in soft hues of midnight blue and deep violet. Effortlessly. Smoothly. Beautifully. In a sea of bright gowns and sparkling glasses, of painted smiles and colorful masks, he draws you in. A black hole of inescapable force and power. You cannot resist, but that doesn’t matter because now, as you spin like twin moons across a galaxy of glittering stars, you could not imagine ever wanting to.

He does not need two eyes to hold your gaze. One rubine eye is more than enough. It is your focal point as you dance, as the lights blur and music fades, as you lose yourself in the feel of his hand gripping yours, the press of his fingers against your back. You could spin wildly, become a cyclone in the middle of the ballroom, but that gaze would hold you steady even then. All that power controlled by a single, vivid, red point.

It takes you a moment to realize that around you, the dancers are bowing and nodding and breaking apart, like waves dissolving into white foam as they hit the sandy shore. Neither you nor the man in black have let go. Neither wants to. 

"I….need some air…" Your voice sounds oddly tight, a music box wound almost too far. He releases you from his grasp and your stomach lurches, as if trying to propel the rest of your body forward and back into his arms.

"May I escort you outside, to the gardens?" You are not prepared for the sound of his voice. Soft, decadent velvet with the slightest whisper of a foreign accent. Alluring the way moonlight is when it adorns water with a sheen of silver. The words melt into you like the cool kiss of snowflakes on warm skin. You feel the way something inside you coils, tightening, even as a shiver cascades down your spine.

He offers you his arm and you take it. Painted eyelids blink behind their masks, watching as the woman in white and the man in black disappear through the terrace doors to be swallowed whole by the night.

*

The royal gardens of Rhodolite are stunningly beautiful in daylight. By day, they preen and show off their beauty and their lavish displays of fragrant blossoms and tall, bright green hedges. But at night, they are wrapped in shadow, a sensual mix of soft black and argent moonlight. They whisper of privacy, spinning promises to anyone who dares enter under the cloak of night that all that is said and done here will stay only here. Hushed secrets will remain sheltered in the depths of the hedges, the soft, protected centers of the roses. 

You walk the myriad stone pathways of the gardens, arm in arm. The music from the masquerade still dances through the air. You aren’t sure where you are even going until you arrive: a smaller, narrower path, earthen and unpaved, that disappears behind a trellis of wild, overgrown ivy. So this is where your steps have been leading, your heart the wild drummer, its beat urging you forward this whole time.

He allows you to guide him, his hand now in yours, as you step off the stone path and onto the dirt, ducking beneath the growth. Dark leaves reach out, caressing your gown, the bare skin of your shoulders. You soldier onwards, until you come to the small clearing in a near-forgotten, far corner of the garden.

Here the hedges have been allowed to reach towering heights, their branches interwoven with small white flowers that seem to glow like tiny dewdrops of pearlescent light. Below you, soft grass. Above you, a black sky stained with starlight. You can still hear the music faintly within this hidden, overgrown alcove.

You turn to him again, freed from the shackles of observation, from the prison of everyone's gaze. A moment of silence stretches between you, diaphanous, delicate. He speaks first, breaking it.

"Another dance?"

He watches you, the visible part of his beautiful face bathed in pale shadows. Slowly he holds out one hand, an echo of his earlier gesture. You reach for him, thinking he will take your hand and raise it to shoulder-height, the way you danced in the ballroom but you are wrong. His leather-clad fingers don’t stop at your hand but travel up the length of your glove, right to where it ends at the crook of your elbow. Black leather brushes against soft skin as he slowly pushes down the soft white material, taking extra care when he pulls at each fingertip. Your arm is now bare but it feels as if he might as well have stripped you of your gown. His eye roams the expanse of skin he exposed, his tongue licks his lips. 

Your other glove is removed in much the same manner. Rolled down your arm with delicate hunger. He lays it next to the other, an oddly neat gesture. Turning to you, he holds out his arms in invitation, ready for that second dance, but you shake your head.

"My turn."

You hold your hand out. He tilts his head, curiosity flicking in his eye like a red flame, before he places his hand in yours, allows you to curl your fingers under the soft leather of his glove. Your thumb slowly, deliberately traces the thin straps that cross the top of his hand. You learn two things at that moment. First, his skin really is cool as marble and just as smooth. Second, he is not used to touch. An involuntary quiver exposes his secret and something inside you burns with satisfaction that you are the one to do this to him. 

You peel black leather away from white skin, first the one hand, then the other. You slide your fingers over his wrists, his palms, up to where his own fingers curl inwards in response, holding you still, two statues clutching hands as the shadows watch in knowing silence.

You hear as the music shifts to something slower, giving the shimmering ballroom a chance to catch its breath.

The change in tempo breaks the moment, scattering it like strands of silvery cobweb. He is moved to action. Swift as a nighthawk leaping into the ink-black sky, he has you in his arms again. This time there is no distance. He pulls you against him, your body fitting to his perfectly, immaculate design in practice. Your bare hands slide over his clothing, over his shoulders, wrap around his neck. One hand dares venture upwards into the soft, lustrous dream of his hair. 

Your bodies sway to the music, pressed as close as your costumes will allow, your blood rushing through your veins like a river of sparks. This mystery man in black, beloved of shadows, has captivated you wholly. He is Nyx, made of flesh and blood. Hauntingly beautiful, quietly powerful. 

He drops his head, his forehead resting against the bare skin of your shoulder. The river of sparks inside you swells, spills over. Your heart is swept up in the flood as you stroke the nape of his neck, bodies still swaying like willows in the wind. 

You feel when he stops moving, his warm breath coming harder against your skin. You both grow still, arms wrapped around each other as you find yourselves standing on the precipice of something, something that feels as wild as the verdant growth that surrounds you.

And then he turns his head, pressing his lips into the soft place where neck meets shoulder. 

Your hand on his nape stiffens, gentle fingers suddenly gripping him like a lifeline as he parts his lips, your taste burning itself into his memory with every stroke of his tongue. A gasp, that breathy admission of desire, escapes you.

Together you tumble over the edge, into the dark beyond.

His mouth moves like quicksilver over your skin, leaving a trail of burning embers in its wake. You feel consumed by a heat so dangerous, so bright, you wonder if you'll ever be able to look at yourself again without feeling the blaze of his lips on your shoulders, your neck.

His teeth bite into your soft flesh and now you understand how the line between pleasure and pain can blur, one bleeding into the other. He soothes every sting with an almost tender kiss. How you manage to remain standing is a mystery for the ages.

You reach for his face, unable to stand it any longer. You need to taste him. 

Once again, it is your turn.

Your fingertips touch the soft silk of his mask. 

Your lips touch his lips.

You feel as if you're spinning again, like in the ballroom earlier. Only this time you aren't floating, you're sinking, spiraling down into a churning black sea of longing. 

His bare hands come up, gripping your face the same way you are holding his, a mirrored gesture of undeniable craving. His fingers press against your mask as his mouth moves against yours. He angles his head and parts his lips, submitting, letting your tongue in to take whatever it wants. He is yours to ravage.

He tastes like the cold, sweet shine of starlight, like the first kiss of winter on a late autumn night. You plunder every corner of his mouth, holding him still as you take and take all he is offering. You cannot get enough. You cannot drink of him fast enough. You are on fire and his lips and tongue are the only chance you have at extinguishing the roiling heat inside you. 

You stand in the moonlight, under the soft strains of music, holding each other's masked faces as wave after wave of hunger slams into you, leaving you both desperate for air and yet unable to part.

"Ich muss dich sehen," his voice, rough with need, rasps against your kiss-bruised lips. You don't understand the words but his intent is clear when his hands move to the back of your head, to the elegant white bow of your mask.

A decision has to be made, right now, in the haze of the headiest lust you have ever experienced. Do you expose your face to this masked stranger, this dark man of want and shadow, and give in fully, risking the consequences and all that could come with them?

Or do you rescue that rational part of your mind, the one slowly, continuously sinking to the bottom of the ocean, before it is too late?

You feel the bow loosening, his fingers pulling, your mask beginning to slide…

And as instantaneous and certain as a matchhead bursting into flame, a decision is made.

🌙

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @atelieredux @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesroseforclavis @somekidnamedkai @bellerose-arcana @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @thewitchofbooks @ikehoe @redheadkittys @themysticalbeing @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @leotoru @queen-dahlia @moonstruck-writing @scorchieart @gilbertvonobsidian

[nidbaesenpai]

Dare you say this love could just save you

[reidsdimples]

Can you do an angst Spencer and reader where they have an argument about their friends with benefits situation just before he goes to play baseball with Morgan and he is devastated when you don’t show but at the last minute he sees you in the crowd with a ‘Reid’ jersey on 😭😭

Situationship

My response to this request <3

"Because, maybe I'm not ready for that step in this... situationship," you frown as you hold Spencer's face between your hands.

You're straddling him, only wearing his shirt which is open after the two of you essentially attacked each other for the last few hours. You were sore between your legs but still so turned on as you tugged on the ends of his hair. He looked up at you through thick eyelashes and doe eyes.

"It's not like that for me. I'm serious about you. I would never do what he did," he eases you off of him gently and stands. His dark jeans are open and your eyes follow his happy trail down until it disappears behind the waistband of his black boxers.

"I'm not saying you will..." you start. Your last friends with benefits situation ended in disaster.

"You can't keep comparing me to him. I think I've more than proven that my feelings for you go beyond superficial or sexual," he shakes his head and sighs.

"Spencer," you reach for him. He pulls away from your grip and enters his walk in closet.

You and Spencer had been friends for two years before one night, three months ago, things changed and... well it seemed the two of you had wanted each other for a while.

But before... you were friends with Finn for five years, a year of that was spent as a friend with benefits. Except he only led you to believe he wanted more in order to keep you in his bed. Things went south when he got some other girl pregnant. The friendship couldn't be saved after that. And in his own words, he didn't see you as worth anything more than sex.

You had to keep this line drawn with Spencer, you couldn't hope for more because what if he doesn't actually want you that way? What if he just thinks he does? Truthfully you didn't want your heart broken again and you didn't want to lose another friend.

He emerged from his closet with a lilac button up hanging over his brown jeans as his nimble fingers worked the buttons.

"You don't want more with me, I promise you," you plead with him. You pull your leggings on.

"How do you know?" Pain spread across his features in the form of furrowed eyes and puppy dog eyes that clenched your heart.

You didn't want to say you thought he was too good to be true. You didn't want to say he deserved better, because he did.

"That's what I thought," he sassed. "I know where your boundaries lie. I won't invite you to things with my team moving forward."

You could tell that the words were painful for him to say. His team was his family. You hadn't hung out with them before- for this reason.

"I want to support you, I just can't..." you knew your fear was controlling you.

"It's fine. Lock the door when you leave," he pulled on his FBI baseball cap and exited his apartment.

His words and abrupt exit felt like more of a goodbye than just him going to the game. You swallowed hard.

--

Spencer wiped sweat from his forehead. The game had been rough and he couldn't stop questioning why he agreed to participate. You weighed heavy on his mind.

He wrapped his hands around the bat, practicing his swing as he scanned the crowd. JJ and Garcia wave at him and he smiles. Suddenly his eyes spot a familiar head of hair, hair that had been curled in his hands hours before as you moaned beneath him.

You came.

You were sitting two bleachers behind his team with a big iced coffee and what appeared to be a baseball jersey. His baseball jersey. He hadn't worn it obviously as it was a gag gift from Derek.

But you wore it over your signature leggings and were smiling at him like you had resolved yourself to the reality of him affections.

Derek ushered him to the home plate where evidently the team depended on him to win the game. Wonderful.

He remembered his form that Derek taught him and squinted against the sun as he heard you cheering him on. His heart seized when he heard you cheering for him. the ball flew towards him and... miss.

"This guy's got nothing," one of the other team mates taunted.

"Come on baby!" You cheer, unyielding in claiming him. He took a deep breath and focused on the next pitch.

This time he swung just in time, sending the ball through the air with such force it took him a moment to remember what to do next.

"Run!" The team yelled.

"To first base baby!" Your voice broke through the noise. He dropped the bat and took off.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He couldn't believe he was still running between the bases, the thought of scooping you into his arms spurning him forward. His eyes locked on the opposing teammate who was about to hurl the ball to first base as he picked up speed.

Derek ushered him in and there was nothing else to do but what he saw on TV- jump. So he did, a sliding jump sent him to home base before the catcher caught that ball.

Cheers erupted and he knew that he got the winning home run. Derek pulled him off the ground and hugged him as adrenaline pumped to his head. He was laughing and smiling as he met your eyes over Derek's shoulder.

You gave him a small wave and a bright smile.

"Come on, there's someone I want you to meet," he told his team and gestured towards you.

A sense of resolve settled within you as you moved to meet the people he called family. Maybe Spencer really was different. He pulled you under his arm and held you close as you all spoke amongst yourselves.

You knew when he left that apartment it was time to call the sexual stuff quits or take a chance and dive head first into him. You were glad you took a chance as he lazily circled his thumb over your hand while your fingers were interlocked.

[hairmetal666]

Steve has a problem. Not a big problem--not an Upside Down-sized problem--but still. A problem. In the form of Eddie Munson. And not the person Eddie Munson, who is second only to Robin in the hierarchy of Steve's heart, but his feelings in regard to one Eddie Munson. Namely, his enormous, devastating, gay crush on the guy.

And he knows, okay, he knows Eddie is gay, but that doesn't mean he wants Steve. Eddie is probably into other metalheads or dnd nerds. What could Steve, with his sports and his polo shirts, possibly have to offer?

He's coping, though. Or, at least, he thought he was until the Family Video phone rings and Jonathan invites them to the New Year's Eve party he and Argyle are throwing at their new apartment.

"We have to make a no-date pact." He tells Robin as soon as the phone is back in the cradle.

"Or you could just ask Eddie."

"You could just ask Nancy." He raises an eyebrow.

She lets out a slow breath. "Yeah, okay. No-date pact. I'm down."

It's just as easy to get Nancy and Eddie on board. Nancy just laughs and says "yeah, like I'd bring a date to the party my ex-boyfriend is hosting with his new boyfriend. How you do you even start to explain that dynamic?"

And Eddie snorts right in Steve's face (it's not cute, it's not), says, "Right, cause my dating pool in Hawkins, Indiana is just ripe with guys who want to ring in the New Year with me."

Steve wants to say that he would be that guy, happily, giddily, but he can't risk blowing up his second most important friendship like that, not when Eddie's never given a fraction of a hint that he wants Steve too.

But that's his problem solved, right? The four of them aren't bringing dates. Easy-peasy.

Unfortunately, Steve's life hasn't ever worked out like that, and the party turns out to not be only their little end of the world crew and a handful of people Jon knows from his grocery store job, but an actual motherfucking party.

It takes almost ten minutes for him and Robin to navigate through the sea of strangers to find Jon and Argyle handing out solo cups in the kitchen.

"Who are all these people?" He shouts over the pounding music, nothing like Steve's ever heard.

"Argyle got a job at the record store down the street," Jon yells.

"Co-workers." Argyle nods. "And a few of their friends."

"A few, right."

"The more the merrier. Right, my dude?"

"Sure." Steve takes a cup. "You seen Eddie around?"

"Living room, last time I looked." Jonathan answers.

"See you around?" Robin asks.

"At least meet up for the ball drop," Argyle answers.

They push their way into the cramped living room, and Steve searches for that familiar cloud of hair, the ripped black jeans. It takes a minute just for the sheer amount of bodies pressed into the small space, and when he sees him Eddie's--

He's standing against a wall, next to the stereo (of course), but there's someone with him. Someone who is tall and leanly muscled in a way that Steve isn't. Someone with long hair pushed back from his forehead. Someone with facial piercings in places Steve didn't even know you could pierce and tattoos and a chain hanging from his worn blue jeans and a bandana in his back pocket, just like Eddie.

And Eddie he's--he's gazing up at this dude with clear stars in his brown doe eyes, body angling towards the other man like he can't help but push more into his orbit.

Steve turns hard, Robin colliding with his side. "Steve, what the--oh."

"I hate New Year's Eve," Steve sighs, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach. It's always been the kind of holiday that is high on expectation and low on follow-through.

"C'mon, I think I spotted Nance over by the bedroom."

He lets Robin guide him across the room, steadfastly not looking back at where Eddie is very obviously finding himself a date. It's okay, Steve reasons. It's okay because that was obviously the kind of guy Eddie would be into it. He knew he had, like, no chance. He shouldn't be disappointed. He shouldn't.

The evening slips away in the shove of people, in the solo cup that manages to always be full in his hand, and he tries as hard as he can to ignore the way Robin and Nancy start sharing the same space.

So much for the no-date pact. He would laugh if a sort of deep loneliness wasn't seeping into his bones.

There's a girl, though, across the room. She's in a short dress and glances at Steve from under hooded eyelids. He could make a move; could have someone to kiss at midnight; have someone just for the night. But then--his heart makes a pathetic patter--Eddie.

Eddie who is practically in that stranger's lap.

He goes out for a cigarette.

When he comes back inside, it's five minutes til midnight and Nancy and Robin are dancing slow and sweet to a song that is neither.

He's happy for them, almost incandescent with it, but the loneliness sinks deeper, reaches marrow, especially after he fails to find Eddie in the crowd.

Steve thinks it might be time to give the whole failed endeavor up for good, but Jonathan and Argyle, both in tiny 1987 novelty top hats, appear at his side.

"Stevie-boy!" Argyle bellows. He lifts Steve at the waist, twirling him, and Steve laughs despite himself.

"Keeping busy?" He asks.

Jonathan pounds him on the back, just a little too hard.

A guest yells from deep in the apartment, "one minute to midnight!" and the music turns off, the TV tuned to Dick Clark and turned up.

Nancy and Robin find their way over, Robin mouthing "sorry," on her way. He pulls her into a side-hug; he'll never begrudge her any happiness, even on his worst day.

From across the room, there's a crash, a short yelp, and then a familiar head of fuzzy brown curls makes its way to them.

"Sorry, sorry." Eddie apologizes as he shoves through the other guests.

"Hi, guys!" He beams at them, cheeks flushed. Steve looks away so he doesn't have to think about how beautiful Eddie is; about how he's not the one who made him blush so pretty.

The countdown on the screen reaches 30 seconds, and the party goers start chanting.

"What happened to--?" Steve can't help but asking.

"Psh, that dude? He's a punk. Plus, I couldn't imagine ringing in 1987 without you guys by my side."

Steve blushes and rolls his eyes. "Sap." He knocks his hip into Eddie's.

"You love it," Eddie wraps him in a loose hold.

The count is down to 10, the ball almost dropped, Jonathan and Argyle and Nancy and Robin making soft eyes at each other.

"What's going on in that head of yours, sweetheart?" Eddie knocks his head gently against Steve's.

"It's nothing."

"You're pouting." Eddie mimics him with a poked out lip.

The count is down to 5.

"Fuck, I just--I wanted to have someone to kiss at midnight, you know?"

The ball drops, the year changes over, the room cheers. His coupled up friends cling to each other in soft, joyous kisses.

Eddie's eyes flick to their friends, to the guests, all kissing and embracing and celebrating, then back to Steve.

With two careful fingers, Eddie lifts Steve's chin, makes it so he can't look away.

"Fuck it," Eddie says. He leans forward, kisses Steve with soft authority.

And Steve just--he just fucking--crumbles into it. He makes a soft noise, curls his fists into Eddie's t-shirt.

Eddie's hands work their way into his hair, pulling him closer. Steve goes eagerly, crushes their bodies together.

They kiss and they kiss, and it's already so far from a friendly New Year's kiss, but then Eddie's tongue swipes into Steve's mouth, and the kiss breaks.

"Um," Eddie says.

Steve can't respond because all his focus is on not giving into the weakness in his knees and collapsing to the floor.

"I've wanted you to do that all night," Steve says.

"Oh." Eddie's face blossoms into a slow smile. "Me too. A lot longer than that, actually."

It's Steve's turn to smile, and he does, so hard it hurts his cheeks. "Me too."

Eddie presses their foreheads together. "Happy New Year, Stevie."

Someone starts singing Auld Lang Syne loudly and off-key, but they're quickly drowned out by a chorus of accompanying voices.

"Happy New Year, Ed."

Steve pulls him in for another kiss. 1987 is already shaping up to be the best year of his life.

[spac-e-b0y]

and an angst prompt. can you see the reference?

bonus

[yellowbrokenblue]

The Club - Part Two

Maya returns to the club to see Harry, unaware that his friend would also be waiting there for her…

Harry x Niall x OC

read part one here

cw: smut, oral, degrading, threesome, idek all u need to know is this is the filthiest thing i’ve ever written thank me later

Harry didn’t stop watching the club entrance. His eyes were glued to the door all night, and since he’d been here, he had asked the bouncer at least three different times if she had arrived yet.

But it wasn’t until 11pm he noticed her, the same blonde bouncy curls shining under the dim lights. He couldn’t wait to have her again.

“That’s her?”

Harry turned to his left, where his friend was sat in a booth, with a glass of whiskey clutched in his hand.

“Yeah. Maya, her name is.”

“She’s hot.” 

“Uh, huh.”

He stood up and weaved his way through the crowd of people towards her, his hand grabbing her waist from behind as soon as he reached her.

“You told me you’d be here an hour ago.” Harry said into her ear, startling her with his presence. “You’re late.”

“Harry.” She breathed, turning around to face him.

“Maya.” He replied.

 A mere 24 hours ago they were stood in the same place on the same dancefloor while he fucked her with his fingers, and as much as he’d love to repeat last night’s event, Harry had other plans for her tonight. 

He took a step closer to her, his lips brushing over her ear.

“You look so good, Maya.” He said, “This little bralette and your short skirt.”

He smirked, hearing a small whimper escape her lips.

“Did you get dressed up for me?” He asked, “All for me?”

“All for you, Harry.”

Harry breathed her in, closing his eyes as he inhaled the scent of her and her perfume. He couldn’t wait to have her again; he didn’t plan on wasting any time.

“We’re doing things a little different tonight.” Harry said, “I don’t do this with everyone.”

“What is it?”

Harry smirked.

“There’s someone I need you to meet before we can get started.”

He led her over to the booth, adjusting his pants as he walked. The anticipation had reached his dick.

They reached the table, where Harry’s friend was sat waiting for them, his eyes following Maya as she walked. Harry gestured for her to sit in the booth first, and he slid in next to her.

“Maya, this is my good friend Niall.” He said, placing a hand on her bare thigh. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Maya. Harry has told me about you.” He said, in a thick irish accent, “He’s told me what a good girl you are.”

“Oh,” Harry said, squeezing her thigh, “A real good girl.”

Maya looked between the two men sat with her. They were probably the two most attractive men she’d ever seen in her life, and they were both staring her down like they wanted to completely devour her.

Her lips parted, with another small whimper.

“D’you mind if I share you with Niall tonight, gorgeous? I can’t always keep a pretty little thing like you to myself all the time.”

“Share?” She questioned, “You both…?”

“We both want you, Maya.” Niall said, “Do you want us?”

Her panties were soaked just from looking at both of them. She wanted to moan just from their words.

She nodded in reply to them.

“I wanna hear you say it, baby.” Harry said, “Tell us you want us.”

“I want you.” She said to Harry, before turning to Niall, “Both of you.”

“’Atta girl.” Harry grinned. 

Mayas attention turned to Niall as he began to speak.

“Now, Harry got you last night, but I haven’t had you at all.” He said, smirking, “So I’d like some proof that you want me, Maya. Show me how much you want us.”

Confusion spread over her face, but she wanted them both so badly she was willing to do pretty much anything.

“Do you want me to…” She gestured towards his pants.

Niall chuckled, “No, honey.”

“Niall likes his girls to work for it.” Harry interrupted.

“Work for it?”

“Yes.” Niall said, “We’re gonna stay here, at this booth, until you make yourself cum, and then Harry and I will give you whatever you want.”

“Have you made yourself cum before?” Harry asked. “You’ve touched yourself before?”

She nodded, “I haven’t made myself cum before…”

“You can do it,” Niall said, “And then we’re all yours.”

Maya reached for her skirt, hiking it up as far up her hips as they could go, before sliding her panties all the way down her legs, taking them off completely.

Feeling brave, she lifted the panties off the floor and placed them on the table. Both of their jaws clenched.

Maya felt their eyes on her as her hand slowly crept towards her dripping wet pussy. She was soaking for them, and Niall and Harry both knew it from the state of the panties she had placed on the table.

The let out a soft moan as she ran a finger through her folds, before reaching her clit. The fact she was in a club with hundreds of other people didn’t even bother her in this moment, all she wanted was to please the two guys next to her.

“Look at her, Niall. Moaning already.” Harry said, “She’s so desperate for us she’s gonna jerk herself off just cause we asked her too.”

“So compliant.” Niall said, “So needy.”

Two of her fingers slowly circled her clit, applying the right amount of pressure for her to moan at her own touch.

“That’s it, Maya.” Harry said, “Keep going.”

“Oh!” Maya groaned, her fingers speeding up.

“Do you feel good, Maya?” Niall asked, “Do you feel good touching yourself? Do you feel good with your fingers in your cunt?”

“Uh, huh.” She moaned, her hips bucking against her own fingers.

She wasn’t close yet, and if she wanted these men to fuck her then she was going to have to make herself cum. In another attempt, she took her other hand and tried to mimic Harry’s actions yesterday, pushing two of her own fingers into her entrance, and pumping them in and out as fast as she could.

“Oh, she’s desperate, Ni, you gotta see this.” Harry said, gesturing for Niall to move next to Maya. “She got two hands going now.”

Niall sat next to her, his dick rock hard as he watched her touch herself.

“Are you imagining Harry’s cock inside ya right now, imagine him filling you up?”

She nodded, desperately throwing her head back as she cried out.

“I’m close.” She said, “I’m so close.”

“Keep going.” Harry said, “Cum for us, baby.”

“I can’t.” She cried, “Not without you, Harry.”

“Yes you can, Maya. Just keep those fingers moving in your pretty little pussy. Niall and I are right here for whatever you want when you finish.”

“Oh!” She moaned, her clit pulsing with the pressure.

“How ‘bout I have a little taste of that pussy of yours later,” Niall said into her ear, his voice sending a shiver down your spine, “And maybe you can suck Harry off while I’m doing it.”

“Does that sound good, Maya?” Harry asked, “You ready to be a dirty little whore for us?”

Harry’s words seemingly were all she needed to tip her over the edge. Her orgasm came crashing down on her, and she cried out both of her names as she came. She rested her head against Nialls shoulder, regaining her breath.

“Oh, you’re as good a girl as Harry told me.” Niall said, “Can’t wait to try you out.”

Harry grinned, wrapping his arm around her waist and shuffling closer, his mouth moving to her neck. Niall smirked at his actions, and done the same, both men attacking either side of her neck.

Her cunt was aching for them, all she wanted was for them to wreck her. She didn’t care what the done to her she just wanted them so bad that it hurt.

She moaned as they sucked on her skin, and Harry grabbed her hand, pressing it against his crotch.

“Need you get you upstairs, baby. I need you to sort this out for me.” He said.

“Take off your skirt though.” Niall said, “It’s dark, no one’s gonna pay attention. But I wanna see that cute little naked ass climb the stairs.”

“That’s barely a skirt, Niall.” Harry said, “Our dirty little slut dressed in barely anything because she wants to fuck us so bad.”

“What’s upstairs?” She asked, as Harry slipped his fingers under the waistband of her skirt, pulling it down off of her legs.

“I got a room up there. Nothin’ special, just where Niall and I like to fuck pretty girls.”

The three of them left the booth, and Mayas legs were shaking so much with anticipation that she barely made it to the staircase. Harry took her by the hand, leading her upstairs, and Niall pinched her ass, grinning as they approached the bedroom.

“Get your shirt off.” Harry said, “Bra too. There’s too much we want to do to you, we’re not wasting any time.”

“C’mon, c’mon, Harry.” Niall teased, “Take it slow, take it slow. I haven’t even kissed the girl yet.”

Without warning, Nialls lips were on Mayas. He tasted of the whiskey he’d been drinking, but smelled of expensive cologne. His fingers were tangled in her hair when she felt Harry come from behind, sliding his hands around her waist, kissing down the back of her neck.

Her aching cunt was screaming to be fucked, and her hips absentmindedly bucked against Nialls, grinding against his erection.

He pulled back, smirking.

“Someone’s eager, hm?” He questioned, in which Maya responded with a nod, “Get on the bed then, on your hands and knees.”

“Thought you were gonna eat her sweet little pussy out?” Harry questioned.

“I change my mind. I need my cock in her.”

“I’m gonna fill you up with my cum, baby girl, and you’re gonna suck Harry’s fat cock while I watch it drip out of you.”

She swallowed, her big eyes looking up at the two men.

“You heard him,” Harry said, “On the bed, Maya.”

She climbed up onto the bed, crawling on her hands and knees.

“Aw, look at her, Niall.” Harry said, “Her pussy is fuckin’ dripping for us.”

Harry pulled his pants off, along with his briefs, letting his erection spring free before kneeling in front of Maya on the bed.

“You think you can take it?” Harry asked, “Daddy’s big cock in your mouth?”

She nodded, eagerly.

“Let me make you feel good,” She begged, reaching for his dick.

“Not yet, baby. Not till I watch the look on your face when Niall shoves his dick all the way up your pretty little body. Wanna watch you.”

Taken by surprise, Niall was already positioned behind her. He quickly lined his cock up with her entrance, and pushed himself all the way in.

She screamed with ecstasy, the feeling of his dick all the way inside her making her feel pleasure she’d never felt before.

“So fuckin’ tight.” Niall said, “Your pussy feels so good on my dick, Maya. Taking it like a good little whore.”

She moaned as he pulled almost all the way out of her, before quickly thrusting inside of her again.

“Can’t wait to fill you up with my cum.” He moaned.

Maya groaned, her head looking upwards to look at Harry. Their eyes met and she moaned.

Niall’s thrusts became faster, Mayas mouth wide open as she took him.

“Get Harry’s dick in your mouth, Maya.” Niall said through a moan, “I want him to cum in your mouth the same time I cum in your cunt.”

Maya wasted no time listening to Nialls demands, and reached for Harry’s dick, taking the tip in her mouth.

“All the way, Maya. You can’t take me.” Harry said.

Harry came closer to her, forcing his cock further down her throat. She moaned as it hit the back of her throat, holding back a gag.

“Oh, Maya. Your mouth feels so fuckin’ good.” Harry moaned.

With hollow cheeks, her lips pressed tightly on his dick, his hips bucking forwards as she sucked him off.

Maya was ridiculously close to an orgasm, struggling to concentrate on anything, but she knew Harry was close to finishing. Niall fucked rough, and she wasn’t going to be able to hold on for much longer.

“Don’t worry, Maya.” Harry said, “I got it from here, you done such a good job, baby. Now let me watch as you cum all over Nialls cock.”

She dropped Harry’s dick from her mouth, and allowed herself to be ruthlessly fucked by Niall. She screamed their names over and over until she snapped.

The most mind-blowing, insane orgasm of her life washed over her, soaking Nialls cock with her cum.

“Look at me when you’re cumming, Maya. I want to see you.” Harry said in front of her.

Their eyes met, Mayas mouth hanging open as cum dripped from her pussy.

She moaned, her body falling limp and her head crashing into the bed as she rode out the last of her high.

Niall continued to thrust into her, his hips bucking against her until he came inside of her, moaning as his cum filled up her pussy.

The three lay on the bed, catching their breath, for a few minutes.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, baby.” Harry said. “We can’t have a pretty thing like you looking all messed up like this.”

“But Harry,” Maya said with big eyes, “I haven’t had your cock yet.”

Harry swallowed. Her smudged eyeliner, her swollen lips… He was down bad.

“I want you to fuck me up.”

masterlist kofi

[lovekendri]

capitol lights | peeta mellark

peeta mellark x fem!reader

summary: two nights before the 74th hunger games, you enter peeta's room, both annoyed and scared at what lies ahead of you. in a moment, you realize that peeta can't lose you, and you can't lose him.

cw: mention of thg deaths, spicy angst, slight dom peeta, fem!reader

wc: 1.6k

type: ✶ | ✧

"Peeta?" you knock at his door of the large penthouse, and a faint voice comes from inside.

"Come in," he says.

"Hi, Peeta," you say, your satin nightgown loose against your body and the darkness of the room hiding the tangled mess of hair on your head.

The large screened wall of his room was set to the night sky of the city, the people of the Capitol celebrating loudly outside as he sits on his bed, the blankets rumpled underneath him. His posture slumped and knees spread out from his chest, his head turned to the loudness of the world outside.

"They're pretty happy to watch us die in two days," you state bluntly, crossing your arms and staring in the same way Peeta stared out the window, feeling the fire of hatred grow larger inside you.

You felt his gaze switch to you, and you turned your head to meet his darkly outlined face, the bright white lights outside showing off his barely visible features.

"Of course," he chuckled a light laugh, shaking his head and hanging it between his knees. "Isn't that what we are? Just part of the fun?"

You walked lightly over to the side of his bed, sitting gently on the edge and sinking into the heavy mattress, the rich comfort prying to take over your sleep deprived body.

"Come closer," he says quietly, his head now tilted toward you and arm reaching around your shoulder to pull you closer.

You allow his arm to pull you closer, taking a deep breath as his fingers dig into your side.

"It's not just for the cameras," he whispers quietly, his eyes searching your face for some sort of agreement. "I don't want to be part of this stupid game anymore."

His eyes have become sad in the dark room, the weak light of his eyes you saw moments before has come and gone and you now sit next to the boy from District 12 that will soon become a victim to a cruel game.

"Peeta, I won't let you die, come on now," you say, lifting your hand to caress his warm cheek.

You feel the hurt in your heart, watching the boy in front of you crumble in your hands.

You realize then that losing him would be like losing yourself, though you wish you didn't feel that way. He sees you as prey, but someone that could save his life in the arena.

Nothing more.

A weak smile raises on his lips, the corners of his mouth turned just right.

"Your soul is beautiful," his eyes are now boring into yours, a sudden change of mood has constricted your throat and the noise of the Capitol has gotten louder in your ears, your heartbeat beginning to race.

"Peeta," you say, exasperated, the shock of the moment rising a small smile on your face.

"I won't let you leave me."

As he finishes his sentence, he snakes a rough hand around your waist and pulls you tight to his side.

You're almost on his lap.

You feel the sudden butterflies in your stomach, his gaze is darker, no sign of sadness he had seconds before. You feel the sadness as being a lie, something to get you closer to him, and it suddenly makes you cautious of the way you're feeling.

But, the way he's looking at you brings you into the moment, taking away the critical thoughts and survival instincts screaming at you to pull away. His eyes staring into yours feels like glue, it feels like nothing matters in this world but him, his touch, and the look of total hunger and want written across his face.

Your face is beet red, you know it. You could be the next sun with the heat radiating off your face, the eye contact driving you crazy.

You feel the urge to kiss him, to press your lips so hard against his that you can't let go, to hold your body against his muscular one.

The silence of the room, the Capitol screaming with life outside and the steamy ambiance of the room became overwhelming, the grin on his mouth growing to a sinister smirk.

The nightgown covering your body felt like nothing but a light piece of fabric holding you from him, too vulnerable.

But it feels so right.

It feels so good.

He lifts a light hand to your face and strokes your lip with his thumb, pulling it down and bringing his face to yours, his lips planting so softly on yours.

Though so light, it sends an electrifying shiver through your body, your hands desperately reaching for his shirt to pull yourself on top of his lap.

His leg slides so smoothly under you, sitting you perfectly perched on his lap as he drags away from the light kiss.

He knows what he's done to you.

"I would've kissed you like this sooner if I knew it would've put you in such a good mood, Haymitch would be delighted if you were like this all the time."

His signature smile appears, his perfectly white teeth showing through his lips, a small uplift on one side of his mouth.

"Peeta Mellark," you say, his smile raising one to your face. "You will be the death of me."

"Not literally," he says quietly.

His gaze turns down to your chest, studying the nightgown, then back up to your face.

His large hands slap on to your thighs, making a large clap in the otherwise quiet room, and you damn near strangle him.

You don't even think about the sting on your legs, and the possible handprints on your legs that might appear tomorrow morning. You don't think Haymitch or Effie would be pleased that their tributes are about to eye fuck each other two nights before the games.

You grab for his shirt, feeling the muscle right under it ever so slightly.

You bring your face down to kiss him, and he kisses you with such intensity that your face grows impossibly hotter.

Your body is burning, the feel of his lips so amazing against yours that you almost believe you're dreaming.

The passion of the kiss burns bright in your stomach, and Peeta finally pulls away from you when you're struggling to catch a breath.

The way he stares you down with his eyes darkened, watching over you like a hawk and seeing how you react to his lips and touch shows you a side you've never seen of him.

You can feel his fingers gently probing your thighs, and you watch as he licks a small string of saliva off his lips with his tongue.

He lifts a hand from your body, bringing it to your chin and pulling you closer.

You can't help but let his hand take control of you, and he brings you so close to his face that you can see the wetness of his lips in the dark room.

He kisses you with the lightest touch yet again, to the point where if your eyes were closed, you would barely be able to tell he was so close.

He lays back slowly, the hand on your chin strategically moving down to your hip and dragging all the way around your ribcage to your back, pushing you on top of him.

The spark that his skillful fingers send throughout your body is indescribable.

He presses hard against your lips, taking almost all of the control as you feel your body explode with feelings of lust, love, want, and desperation.

Just as your hand starts to grab at his hip for anything like what he's doing to you, he pulls away from your lips.

His lips are plumper than before, and in the small light of the city outside you can see the light red tint on his cheeks.

Both of his arms go around to the small of your back, resting gently above your hips.

His breathing is heavier now, gaze still boring into yours.

"You suck at kissing," he says, a light chuckle escaping his lips.

"Then teach me," you say, trying to hide the fact you're out of breath.

At this, he places a yet another light kiss on your lips, and you fall to his side and curl into his arms, bringing your knee up to rest on his legs.

You rest your hand on his chest, still catching your breath from the kisses, and start to feel the sleepiness catch up with you.

As your eyes are closing, you finally hear him speak.

"Maybe another night, sweetheart."

୨୧ ---------- ୨୧

As you sit down for breakfast, Haymitch staggers out of his room, and you're unsure if it's from alcohol or no sleep, but you'd rather it be drinking, otherwise he would've heard the time of your life last night.

Peeta was sitting next to you, indulging in bread with butter, he's not phased by what he did to you.

But you definitely remember it, as you fell asleep on his chest and woke up the morning after, sort of forgetting you'd just fallen asleep in Peeta's room, but in the comfort of his muscular arms.

Haymitch sits down with a large skid of the chair, pushing it slightly backwards.

"Time of your life there, sweetheart?" Haymitch says, the smile on his lips growing wide immediately.

You feel your face heat up like it did last night, turning your head to Peeta.

His eyes were on you, the same sinister, cheeky smirk he had written on his face the night before.

"Of course."

The smart-ass reply from Peeta was all Haymitch needed to sit down and enjoy his luscious breakfast.

main masterlist | my profile | thg masterlist | request | proof-read: ✓

[mrsriddles-blog]

Reads of the Week: Jan 7-Jan 13

* indicates smut

best game* by @bettymylove

Lovebites and potions by @caramelcal

Date not so ruined by @bettymylove

One cup of coffee by @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns

Fools by @luv4freddie

what are friends for. by @s1ater

Just “Friends”* by @demieyesore

a moment. by @s1ater

butting heads. by @s1ater

church* by @jayybugg

Wipping his kisses by @vipwinnie

best game* by @bettymylove

Sleeping after an argument by @vipwinnie

Mascara* by @coryosbaby

my soul is too well entangled with you by @darkmagic-s

Silence treatment by @vipwinnie

missed you* by @eloravaleria

jumper* by @sapphicwhxre

strawberry kisses by @sapphicwhxre

[dollfacedsl1ut]

anal and/or oral with older g!p nayeon

I like this gif.. ଘ(੭˃ᴗ˂)੭ (if you enjoyed you can tip me here)

content : anal, crying, slight mommy kink

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡

Her cold hands gripped your hips as she rutted in your wet hole repeatedly the squelching sound made your pussy flutter. Nayeon moved upwards as she gripped the headboard angling her cock in a deeper part of your body, you moaned loudly as you gripped her shoulders tightly, her dark eyes peered down at you as a smile plastered on her face, she lifted her leg higher on your waist quickening her pace. You could hardly breathe cause you were to busy choking on your tears “mommy s-slower ple-“ you were silenced as a hand was placed on your neck she squeezed tightly nearly cutting off all oxygen. “m-mommy plea-“ her vice grip on your neck caused your eyes to roll back as a familiar tightening in your belly formed. Nayeon rubbed your lips with her thumb as she prodded it in your mouth, you sucked on her finger as her other hand left the headboard and rubbed circles on your pussy before inserting two of her fingers. “You’re still such a tight little girl aren’t you” you nodded as nayeons fingers brushed against her cock that was pounding ferociously in you. Your wetness coated her fingers, glancing down you watched the outline of her digits stretch your pretty pussy. You couldn’t help but drool as you sucked on nayeons pretty fingers faster as you subconsciously rolled your hips along with her as your body threatened to snap. “m-mommy m’gonna cum please-“ you didn’t know if you wanted her to go faster or slower you but you just pled for a release “mommy…can I cum…please” your voice was barely audible from your tears. “you wanna cum for mommy y/n?” Her voiced teased the right side of you as you came around her fingers, your holes tightened around her as your neck arched off the bed, your visions blurred as nayeon kept fucking herself into you she was close her wet hands slapped and groped your soft tits “m’gonna cum in your tight little hole…and your gonna take it and keep my cum inside” her words sounded so good in your ears, you nodded not wanting to disappoint her. You felt a spread in your hips as she rutted in your few more times releasing her thick load of cum “mommy s’good” the warmness of her cum made your body relax as nayeon smiled down at you “you’re gonna keep mommy’s cum inside right” she poked your nose “yes mommy I-I’ll keep your cum inside” she pulled out slowly as she raising a brow, you felt her cum begin to run out of your gaping rim, your head was still fuzzy as you plunged your fingers in your rim moving them around slowly. Nayeon giggled as she leaned over you removing your hand then licking your fingers clean “you’re such a good girl” she moved a hair from your sweaty forehead as she placed a kiss on your face “my perfect little girl”

[kikis-writing-service]

Spicy Curry (Bakugou Katsuki x F!Reader) Chapter 5

Summary: Pro-hero Dynamight hides his developing hearing loss from the public. He doesn’t want them or the villains to know about what he considers his only weakness. His family knows. His best friends know. And now you, the owner of his favorite little curry shop, know. You want to live a quiet life & to protect your son. The last thing you want is to draw attention to yourself. You hide your identity, you hide your scars, and you hide your quirk. And then Bakugou, Katsuki walks in one day with dried blood on his ears, and you can’t help but help him.

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 ? ? ? ? ?

🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤

Content Warning: This fic will contain mentions of past abuse from a “partner”, including sexual assault.

🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤

In the golden glow of the late afternoon sun, Kouichi and Katsuki walk side by side. Their steps sync as they stroll side by side, your silhouette casting a gentle glow ahead, like a beacon guiding their path. Kouichi’s hands dance through the air with a graceful flurry of gestures—palms closing, then flinging open with a snap, his eyes aglow with endless curiosity. Meanwhile, Katsuki’s larger hands fumble, struggling to keep pace with the boy’s animated movements.

“Ever accidentally blown someone up?” Kouichi’s question hangs in the air, his hands brushing against his chest in a hesitant mimic of a heartbeat, fingers trembling before folding back. His gaze dips, then rises to meet Katsuki’s again.

“Yeah, happens sometimes,” Katsuki signs, hands rising a few inches, palms open. Echoes of singed collars, the acrid scent of burnt fabric, and a childhood friend’s laughter play behind his eyes. “Gotta be careful and have control.” His hands flutter gently, settling back down.

“How?” Kouichi’s brows shoot up, hands tracing a graceful arc in the air, fingers lingering. “Your quirk is so strong, so dangerous!” Awe flickers in his eyes as he tilts his head. Katsuki’s chest swells with a hint of pride, swiftly subdued by a wry smile. Kouichi’s innocence mirrors a younger version of himself, full of bravado and reckless curiosity.

“Training, kid,” Katsuki signs, tapping his forehead repeatedly. His hands spread open, facing forward, then push against an invisible force, arms slightly bent. Each motion conveys the sheer practice it took to control his quirk.

Katsuki tilts his head, brows raised in a silent question. “You? Got a strong quirk too?” His fingers splay briefly, then draw back, mirroring Kouichi’s earlier gesture.

Kouichi nods, his answer unspoken, hanging heavily in the air between them.

In the rhythmic hum of the laundromat, Katsuki’s imposing figure stands out against the serenity of the nearly empty space. Like a silent guardian, Kouichi claims his post before the churning waters, watching over your laundry. A playful sign from you directs him to keep an eye on the clothes as you drift toward a weathered bench, Katsuki following like a wolf shadowing a rabbit. The bench groans beneath his weight, his silent presence a reassuring anchor beside you.

His sharp, assessing gaze softens as it meets yours. “Didn’t expect you to have a kid,” his fingers sign, tapping his forehead twice, a hint of surprise lingering in the air. Even as he leans back, the tension in his shoulders refuses to fully unravel.

Your lips curve into a knowing smile. “Life’s full of surprises,” you chuckle, the vibration sending a comforting warmth through him. For a fleeting moment, he wishes to be even closer. A playful gleam enters your eyes. “How old do you think I am?” Your thumb and index finger meet, gliding straight down towards your stomach, a playful challenge dancing on your fingers.

Katsuki falters, caught between the unexpected jest and the truth shimmering in your smile. “Twenty-four,” he finally signs, hands forming the numbers, his gaze searching yours for the punchline.

The laugh that bubbles up from you seems to dance across his chest, a soft vibration against his skin. “Twenty-nine,” you confess, fingers shaping the numbers, your gaze meeting his with a playful tilt of your head. “A few years your senior, it seems,” you sign, a mischievous grin playing on your lips. Your fingers playfully count, then tap your forehead with a single finger, a silent challenge in your eyes.

The admission hangs in the air, a tangible presence filling the space between you. The washing machine’s steady thrumming echoes the beat of his suddenly racing heart. A few years? He chews on the words, surprised by the unexpected twist. It isn’t a vast difference, not to most, but in the whirlwind of emotions you provoke, it feels like a chasm.

“Really?” he manages, too shocked to use sign language, the word coming out a touch sharper than intended. The self-consciousness, that familiar foe, creeps up his neck, burning his cheeks. Is that disappointment he sees in your eyes or just a mirrored echo of his own surprise?

You lean in, a single strand of hair brushing the edge of his shoulder. His body shivers involuntarily at the warm breath against his ear and neck. “Not a bad thing, is it?” Your voice, a soft whisper against the machine’s hum, carries a hint of amusement. The warmth of your presence radiates against him, a comforting counterpoint to the cool bench.

“Not bad,” he echoes, his voice husky. “Just… unexpected.” The unspoken truth hangs heavy, a storm brewing behind his eyes. He’s not sure he’s ready to face it, let alone navigate the currents of attraction pulling him closer.

You pull back, creating a deliberate but gentle distance between you. The warmth that had enveloped him now dissipates, leaving a void filled with unspoken tension. In the quiet embrace of the laundromat’s hum, Katsuki allows the tide of his emotions to carry him, a question lingering on his tongue like an elusive catch. Curiosity and concern weave within him, creating a knot impossible to untangle.

“What about his dad?” he signs, fist-bumping his forehead twice before opening it in a silent query.

Your smile wavers, a fleeting tremor before steadying back into place. Katsuki’s gut tightens, sensing he has touched a delicate chord. “He’s not in the picture,” you respond, fist clutched near your chest, palm facing away. A swift flick sends it outward, like a discarded portrait beyond reach. Your brows furrow, a subtle head shake carrying the weight of unspoken words.

Katsuki swallows the apology forming on his tongue, aware of the pain swirling within you. He yearns to delve deeper, to inquire about Kouichi and you, but the storm cloud of your hurt lingers. Instead, he opts for silence, finding solace in the warmth pressed against his side. It seeps into the cracks of his unease, offering a shared refuge in the hushed ambiance of the laundromat.

His fingers itch with the desire to ask, the question a barbed hook caught in his throat. Torn between respecting your privacy and the burning need to understand, his hands finally articulate the words: “How did he lose his hearing?” he signs, fingers intertwining like vines seeking solace. His earnest gaze searches yours for an answer.

You pause, a flicker of something—guilt?—passing through your eyes. “He was born that way,” you sign, tracing a path from stomach to heart. “It was…hard.”

Katsuki’s gaze steadies on your hands, a familiar pang in his chest twisting in a different way. He comprehends the feeling of being outside the box, constantly challenging a world that demands conformity. In your eyes, he glimpses a rawness, a vulnerability that tugs at his rough exterior.

Aching to offer comfort, to utter a soothing word, he finds his tongue feeling clumsy, the words caught between pride and the newfound awareness of your fragility. Softness has never been his forte; he’s a bull in a China shop, built for explosions, not delicacy. Yet, an unfamiliar urge to shield someone from the world’s rough edges envelops him. Fumbling with it, he settles for a subtle shift closer, his presence a silent, rumbling reassurance. No words needed, just the weight of his frame, a shield against the world’s harsh edges.

“Kouichi seems… secretive about his quirk,” Katsuki signs, hands forming the familiar shape near his chest, brow furrowed in a mix of curiosity and concern. His gaze flickers to yours, a hint of protectiveness glinting beneath the usual fiery intensity. “What’s up with that?”

You sigh, a flicker of worry flitting across your face. “He’s had… difficulties,” you sign, your brows mirroring his furrow. One of your hands forms a fist, resting heavily on your chest. “There was an incident at his school.”

Katsuki felt the irritation bubble in his throat when he saw the look of frustration flit across your face. His brow furrowed, mirroring yours. The sharp edge of his posture softened as he leaned back, elbows finding purchase on the worn wood. “Incident?” he signed, the question still holding its edge, but his gaze holding a curious glint.

The air thickens with unspoken memories, a tangible presence you can almost taste. You take a deep breath, the scent of fabric softener doing little to mask the phantom smell of burnt flesh clinging to the edges of your mind. “His quirk…it just manifested,” you signed, hands mimicking the familiar shape for power near your chest. You lingered a beat longer than usual, the weight of the event hanging heavy in the air. A grimace played across your face, your gaze hardening for a fleeting moment before softening. “He can raise his body temperature. Like a furnace.” Your hands wrap around an invisible heat source near your chest, then your fingers spread outwards rapidly.

A jolt of realization struck Katsuki. The singed hand you’d tried to hide–it all clicked into place. “That’s why your hand…,” he began, his voice rough with concern, lines etching themselves into his face.

Your fingertips caress Katsuki’s lips, silencing him mid-sentence. The warmth of his breath dances across your skin, sending a tingling sensation down your spine. You hesitate, your hand hovering near his face, captured by the intensity of his gaze. Your heart races as you gulp and slowly withdraw your hand, allowing it to rest on your lap. His piercing eyes follow the movement, lingering on the bandage adorning your palm. The one he’d wrapped clumsily but carefully just a few nights ago, the one you haven’t bothered to change. It’s a mess, wrinkled, and slightly stained from the spices you’ve been handling.

His brow furrowed, and his jaw tightened, a storm brewing in his gaze. He reached out, his rough, calloused fingers hesitantly brushing against yours before firmly taking hold of your hand.

“What the hell,” he mutters, his voice rough but laced with something that feels like…care? He grabs your hand, his grip firm but gentle. “You still haven’t changed this?”

Your body instinctively recoils, muscles tensing and heart racing at the slightest indication of danger. A memory flashes before your eyes: rough hands gripping you tightly, a frigid gaze piercing into your very soul, a menacing voice whispering threats that still echo in your ears. It all disappears in an instant, but the fear lingers on like a heavy fog. Your throat tightens, stifling a scream that never escapes. Instead, a meek apology slips out of your trembling lips.

Katsuki’s body tenses, his fists clenching tightly as he feels his frustration melt away like wisps of smoke. His eyebrows knit together in a mixture of concern and confusion, the two emotions warring for dominance in his stormy gaze. As a hero, he knows this reaction all too well. It’s the response of someone who longs to flee but is paralyzed by fear. The response of a person who has tried to escape before and learned the harsh lesson that it’s safer to stay put.

He reels you back in, his voice softening. “Hey,” he murmurs, his thumb gently tracing the lines of the bandage, his gaze lingering on the tremor in your hand. “’Sokay, alright? Just…take care of yourself, yeah?” You feel a prickle of warmth, a mixture of guilt, and the unfamiliar comfort of his protectiveness.

His words wash over you, each syllable a soothing balm. It doesn’t erase the memory but pushes it back, a tide receding from a battered shore. His touch, gentle yet firm, feels like a grounding anchor, tethering you to the present where the air is warm and the hum of the washing machines a steady beat. You take a deep breath and force yourself to meet his gaze, the intensity of it almost overwhelming. The fear that had threatened to consume you recedes, replaced by a wave of relief so potent it makes your head spin. It’s like stepping out of a suffocating darkness into the unexpected glow of a red sun.

“Yeah. I’ll change it,” you promise, your voice soft but determined. It’s been so long since anyone has shown any concern for your well-being. So long since someone has offered their help expecting nothing in return. You can’t help but wonder why Katsuki is being so kind to you. Sure, he may have a rough exterior and a sharp tongue, but there’s something about him that makes your heart ache with an unexplainable longing. Katsuki’s concern feels like a forbidden oasis, a shimmering pool of hope beckoning you closer.

And just like that, his warmth suddenly feels reminiscent of a ghost—like a brand against your skin. Your fingers twitch against his grip, the urge to flee as strong as the fear that had consumed you moments ago. The cruel joke of the universe hangs heavy in your mind, a bitter taste on your tongue. Why him? Why now? Why offer you this unexpected kindness, only to remind you of what you can never have? You inch your hand back, drawing a thin line of space between you and him. The worn bandage scrapes against his calloused thumb.

Katsuki senses the shift, his sharp gaze darting from your retreating hand to your now-averted face. A quiet tension hangs in the air between you, a palpable unease that he can almost taste on his tongue. A silent conversation plays out in the furrow of his brow, his hero instincts battling with the unspoken fragility he sees in your posture. He knows prying wouldn’t help, not yet. A sense of powerlessness grips his heart as he imagines you bearing this unseen weight all on your own. His hero instincts scream at him to protect you from the unknown source of your panic. He huffs quietly, frustrated at his own inability. That seems to be the trend these days, he thinks bitterly. Unable to hear, unable to be a hero, unable to help anyone around him. He’s become so damn useless, and it eats away at him like a festering wound.

His eyes trace the delicate curve of your profile, taking in the subtle changes—your eyes now lighter, fixed on Kouichi as he leans against the porthole of the washing machine. Your words from a few days ago echo in his head: “You’re Dynamight, the goddamn explosion hero. I’ve seen you blast through villains on TV. And no matter how bad things look, you always pull through, right?” His cheeks warm. He huffs again, but this time, it’s a defiant puff. A consequence of the determination bubbling up his gut. He squares his shoulders, the frustration morphing into a quiet resolve. He knows pushing you won’t help. He needs to find another way.

“Maybe I can help.” The words tumble out of Katsuki’s mouth before he has time to process it. He hadn’t meant to say it, not yet. The impulse, fueled by a potent mix of hero instincts and a strange, unfamiliar warmth towards you, simply overrides his usual caution. You turn your head, a sliver of surprise cracking through your curious expression.

Katsuki’s heart catches in his throat for a second. He’s not used to this—not used to the way you look at him with bright expectant eyes like you truly believe he could level mountains and tame storms if he sets his mind to it. He wasn’t used to the way his breath hitches when your eyes meet his, igniting a flicker of something dangerous and unfamiliar in his chest. He wasn’t used to feeling this vulnerable, so desperately in need of proving his worth, this damn human.

He signs, his fingers tracing the familiar symbols against his chest, a desperate attempt to ground himself. “I know our quirks are different,” he gestures between Kouichi and himself. “But I’ve wrestled with a powerhouse quirk myself for a while now,” he continues, his voice gruffer than usual.

You blink repeatedly, shock clear across your face. His confident gaze holds yours in place. “Besides, I’m kinda free for the foreseeable future.” With a relaxed shrug, his hands open and brush downwards. “Got nothing better to do.”

Hope blooms on your face, a delicate flower unfurling in the sun that makes Katsuki’s insides light on fire. “Really? Are you sure?” your hands sign, trembling slightly with disbelief. Your brows shoot up, mirroring the question mark your fingers form near your chin. Your hands repeat the sign for power, mimicking Katsuki’s, lingering on it a beat longer than necessary.

“I couldn’t possibly repay you,” you sign, hands open and palms up near your chest, fingers spread.

Katsuki scoffs, dismissing the notion with a careless wave. “You still owe me some curry,” he signs, a mischievous glint in his eyes. His fingers tap the palm of his hand twice, a smirk dancing on his lips.

A blush creeps up your cheeks at the unintentional implication given the sign name he gave you. “Curry on the house, forever, if you can help Kouichi,” you sign, fingers shoveling imaginary food into your mouth before tapping your chest twice. A radiant smile blossoms on your face, catching Katsuki off guard. He’s sure his face is on fire now.

Standing up as the machines finish their cycle, Katsuki feels a phantom warmth press against his side, a lingering reminder of your absence. He glances towards the washers, a flicker of loneliness crossing his face before you return, your smile radiating excitement that crackles through the air.

“Guess what?” you sign, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Kouichi wants you to come see something.” Your hands mime holding an unseen object and thrust it playfully towards him, an unspoken invitation to share in Kouichi’s secret discovery.

Katsuki joins Kouichi, who bursts into an enthusiastic explanation of his love for the laundromat. “I like the way the machines vibrate!” he signs, forming the sign for a “washing machine” and mimicking a gentle shaking motion. His eyes sparkle with wonder, the hum of the machines his personal symphony.

Katsuki, though unfamiliar with the sign, easily catches his drift. He can hear the low rumble, but a pang of nostalgia tugs at him. He used to hear the water sloshing inside, too, a memory from a life that feels like a lifetime ago.

Kouichi glances at you, then back at Katsuki, urgency flashing in his eyes. He signs rapidly, shielding his movements from your sight. “Please don’t tell Mom what I’m going to ask.” His right palm pressed flat against closed lips, then quickly flicked down and away, fingers snapping open. Katsuki, sharp as ever, sees the cleverness in his plea.

“Sure,” Katsuki signs, a relaxed confidence in his posture. “Ask away.”

The hum of the machines fills the silence, a comfortable rhythm that underscores their budding understanding. Katsuki looks at Kouichi, his powerful quirk a hidden force within, then at you, offering a soft smile as you watch them from the bench. He takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts.

Kouichi leans in, his next question breaking the quiet. “Mom said not to ask about your hearing, but…” He signs, fingers brushing across his lips, then miming zipping a zipper shut across his chest. “Can I still be a strong hero like you, even though I’m deaf?” His hopeful eyes plead for validation, his vulnerability raw and exposed.

The question strikes a chord deep within Katsuki, stirring memories of his own struggles with insecurity. He nods slowly, the gesture heavy with meaning. “A badass hero doesn’t let something like that stop him from kicking ass.” His dominant hand forms a fist, then explodes open, fingers spread wide, mimicking his signature explosive power. He repeats the movement, each strike a testament to his conviction.

Kouichi’s face explodes with joy, his eyes mirroring the admiration Katsuki usually sees directed at heroes like Deku. Only this time, it’s for him.

The intensity in his eyes holds Katsuki’s attention. Surprise flickers across his face, genuine and unexpected. He sees a reflection of himself in Kouichi’s unwavering determination, a boy bursting with the same youthful fire that once burned within him.

A playful glint sparks in Katsuki’s eyes as he signs, “Like me, huh?” His eyebrows rise, curiosity mirrored in his hands that rise in unison, palm to palm. “Then you better train hard.” He throws a fist forward, fingers snapping open like a detonation.

“Dynamight,” Kouichi signs, his eyes blazing with ambition, “I’m gonna be even better than you!” His hands explode outwards, mimicking blasts even greater than Katsuki’s, a silent promise carried in the air.

A surprised laugh bursts from Katsuki, echoing through the laundromat. The audacity takes him off guard, reminiscent of his own brash younger self. But beneath Kouichi’s confidence, he sees a quiet strength, a determination that resonates even in the silence.

[cherryxblossxms]

🔞 i guess it's because there's an event happening and that's why he's on my mind, but i've been thinking about sexual tension and some angst with Lucifer

[NSFW, minors DNI. GN reader, unrequited feelings(?), casual sex, getting caught. Maybe alluding to some angry/jealous sex, possible dubcon at the end?? This is....wayyyy longer than intended/accidental ficlet]

Like just imagining really coming to be attracted to him. Emotionally attracted because he's responsible and serious and intelligent, and then has his sweet and romantic moments that seem like they're only for you. And physically, he has every reason to be the Avatar of Pride. He's probably one of, if not the most, gorgeous men you've ever laid eyes on. Those intense ruby red eyes, broad shoulders, skilled hands that produced both gorgeous handwriting as well as wonderful piano music.

It comes to the point that you can't make eye contact with him or you know you'll get flustered. Starting to get distracted by thinking about what he'd be like as a lover, as a boyfriend. Slight touches are enough to send your daydreams on a journey. But knowing he likely doesn't like you that way, that the feelings aren't returned. And anyway, the plan is to eventually return to the human world, right? Is it worth getting into a relationship now, just to separate so soon down the road? But rather than deal with the rejection and heartache, just swallowing those feelings down and trying to move on with your life.

Of course, amidst the inner turmoil going on in your heart, you didn't expect to get involved with Lord Diavolo instead, the prince approaching you with the most unexpected offer that you decided to accept, perhaps against your better judgment.

It wasn't anything serious, definitely just a fling, simply responding to mutual attraction and a mutual desire for some stress relief. Honestly, it happened rather suddenly, a curious kiss after a meeting quickly evolving into more, but once it started, it was easy to just go with the flow, taking your moments alone to indulge and just release that tension. You reasoned it was both a good way to forget your feelings and still enjoy some kind of attention, and thankfully he was an excellent lover.

However, you had to admit to yourself that, as gorgeous and skilled as the devil prince was, you'd be lying if your mind didn't seem to wander off more often than not to a certain red-eyed devil. Even as Diavolo worked to rearrange your guts over his office desk, risking any documents he decidedly abandoned in pursuit of... greater pleasures, even as his golden eyes burned into you and he devoted himself to learning your favorite spots, your mind still went back to Lucifer.

If Diavolo knew that your heart was elsewhere, he didn't mention it. You were an adult and you weren't dating each other, he had no right to question it regardless. And as the heir to the throne, he had other things to focus on anyway. The whole point of the fling was something simple, pleasurable, and the less you two thought about feelings and regrets, the better.

Of course, assumptions can often be your undoing.

During one such beneficial "meeting" between you and the prince, your hands were grasping— broad shoulders, the desk, his hair, whatever was closest— as you tried to hold on for dear life. Something had seemed to really get under his skin lately, so he was working on releasing all his stress into you instead, his desk at risk of breaking, based on the amount of creaking that could be heard. His large cock bullying its way into your body repeatedly and pressing up against a particularly sensitive spot inside was driving you close to climax, and the overwhelming pleasure was driving any coherent thoughts from your mind.

The volume of the room was loud and only getting louder by the second, a sinful symphony of pants and grunts, rhythmic wood creaking, and the wet slap of Diavolo's balls against your ass. Thus, it was no wonder neither of you heard the approaching footsteps, or at least, couldn't be bothered to pay it any mind. Diavolo adjusted his grip on your hips at the last second, really driving his cock home inside you, and you could feel the band about to snap.

Just before you could go over that delicious precipice, the door to Diavolo's office opened, and your head whipped around to see the intruder. Of all the people it could have been, you should have known there was equal chances of being walked in by Lucifer as there was Barbatos. And yet, seeing him there still froze you to the spot as his eyes met yours.

Or rather, it would have. But Diavolo made one more thrust, the thick head of his dick pressing the sweetest little spot inside, and it was enough for the band to finally snap. In what felt like ages but was all within the span of a second, everything came crashing down. Your body tightened before releasing all at once, spasming in Diavolo's hold as you couldn't help but release a cry. The feel of your hole tightening around him dragged him into climax with you, and he seated himself deep inside before filling you with his cum.

What would have been an otherwise heavenly, earth-shattering orgasm was short-lived, as the horror of what happened quickly dissolved any remaining pleasure. You pushed against Diavolo's chest, trying to get him to move, to at least pull out of you, so you could pull yourself together and try to explain-- explain what, exactly? You weren't even sure, and it wasn't like Lucifer didn't just see you cum on his boss' dick just a minute ago, and in fact were still stuffed with it atop his desk.

You couldn't read the expression on his face, and didn't get much chance to explain anything before Lucifer apologized for interrupting and left.

It's days before you can speak to Lucifer again, practically cornering him in his office despite how hard your heart is pounding and how much you want to run away. You're expecting many different reactions: disappointment, shaming, anger, perhaps even indifference. But when Lucifer finally snaps, what initially seems like anger seems to morph into what is instead... jealousy? Questioning you on when your relationship with Diavolo started, how long you two have been fucking, if there's anyone else you're riding like a whore besides the prince.

You can't help the way your face burns when he spits out that word, "whore", but there's no time to attempt a defense before Lucifer is pushing you over his desk, a hand grasping your hip so hard you might bruise, the other yanking your hair to look back at him. The look in his eyes then blows you away, equal parts desire and anger swirling in those bloody depths. You'd ask him what he's going to do, but the solid length pressing against your backside is answer enough. Despite the shame hanging over you, you can't help the part of you that's thrilled that he wants you like that, even if it was happening for all the wrong reasons. But as the sound of a belt unbuckling caught your ears, you accepted your punishment and just hoped there'd be time later to truly confront each other.

[reidsdimples]

Can i Request again?🥺🥹.. Spencer reid x Bau! reader. In one of the cases, the reader becomes the bait to catch the serial killer, however she was injected with a mystery Aprosidiac. Spencer is the one to find her first. So you know. Sex or dead. Spencer keeps it a secret. Then she left the Bau because she couldn't fathom what happened. The reader got pregnant, and she saw Spencer reid resemblance on her Toddler. So she confronted him.👉🏻👈🏻

Accidental Baby Genius | Part 1

This idea was too good to squeeze into just one part 😮‍💨

18+❤️‍🔥 MNDI ‼️

Tw: mentions of drugs, Maeve, pregnancy

Part 2

Unsub on his way to me you inform the team via text as Vincent Croll stalks over to you.

They’re not outside and this isn’t going to be a sting operation. You’re intended to get close to him, to influence him to “take you home” as per his usual MO. You needed to know where his home was, where he kept the others.

Vincent has a thing for playing a very specific game with his victims. But you needed him to come out of hiding and play. You baited him, went undercover, made sure he was watching you, and now you’re here at this illustrious night club, sure that he’s going to ask you to come home with him.

“You are… wow,” the gruff looking bearded man spreads his arms. He hugs you and he smells musty.

You make small talk with him, occasionally checking your phone. You told the team to stay away. Let you get into his house to help those girls. Then they can track your phone to find you.

The two of you get to talking for a while about this thing or the next happening on the news. Finally he asks you to step out back with him for a smoke. You don’t smoke but you agree. You check your phone and it’s Spencer.

“I’m out front in case you need to back out of this,” his text reads. Your partner has always been so concerned over your safety. Especially when it came to being undercover. He thought there was a better way to deal with this unsub and didn’t like using you as bait.

“Thanks,” you smile at Vincent and take the cigarette.

What happens next, happens much too quickly. He’s figured you out, and he’s not going to let you know where he’s keeping the girls. He brings you into his game in an instant with a needle straight to your neck, he pushes the plunger and warm fluid swims into you.

Fuck.

“Good try,” he growls and takes off.

You steady yourself against the brick wall. Your vision swims and you’re sure this bastard poisoned you.

This game in particular- you’ve seen from recent victims- is one where he either injects you with poison or an aphrodisiac.

Help, out back. you text Spencer.

Whatever he gave you, the dose was high. You’re hoping the swimming in your vision is the Oxy he infuses with the aphrodisiacs and not just straight up poison.

“Y/N, what happened?”

“Syringe, the syringe,” you point to it on the ground and hold your neck.

“Shit,” he scoops it up and hurries you back to his car where he breaks something out of his trunk.

He swabs the inside of the syringe and runs some kind of tests with his kit. Of course Spencer Reid had a drug testing kit just on hand.

Meanwhile you become very aware of your nipples against your bra, your legs pressing together to place pressure on your pussy. You’re sucking on your bottom lip and Spencer standing there, frantically using those hands to work his text equipment is the hottest thing in the world. You have your answer for what he injected you with.

“MDMA, OXY, but not poison,” he slumps his shoulders. You giggle.

“Spencer take me home,” you grin get comfy in his front seat. You try to remember what was so scary about what just occurred but you can’t.

You’re not going to do anything to or with Spencer, that would be crazy. You’ll just go home, use your little rose toy, and sleep it off.

You’re staring at Spencer, your mouth watering at the sight of his soft lips, you want to run your tongue up the side of his long neck, you want to run your fingers through his wavy locks and press his face into your pussy…

Somehow a small moan escapes you and he snaps his head over towards you as you adjust in your seat.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

“Good, so good,” you purr.

Ew stop, you chastise yourself but you can’t help it. You’re going to mount your work crush right here right now.

He pulls into your driveway ten agonizing minutes later and offers you a hand to help you out of the car. You take it a tug him closer to you, you sloppily wrap your arms around his neck and smile into his chest. You inhale his scent greedily.

“Okay,” he peels you off of him slowly and guides you towards the door.

You purposely stumble which forces him to walk behind you with his hands on your hips. You’re aware of the thin material of your short dress and just how easy it would be to bend over…

“What are you doing?” He asks and evidently that thought didn’t stay in your head.

You had flung yourself forward on the brick steps to your house and arched your ass up in the air towards him. You can’t help but laugh at the way he throws his hands up, red spread across his cheeks as though he’s unsure what to do.

“Shh,” you shush him and scamper up the stairs.

You grab his hand and drag him in with you. He doesn’t protest, he doesn’t seem the least bit adverse to following you into the house in this state.

“Do you need anything?” He rubs the back of his head awkwardly.

“Mhmmm,” you drawl out the sound and eye him up and down while biting your lip.

“I don’t think we should… you’ve been drugged,” he reasons.

“Are you saying you don’t want to?” You pout and bite at his neck. “Because I’ve been wanting you to bend me over your desk for months.” You nip at his earlobe and you can’t believe you just admitted that.

“I’m not saying that I’m just saying that-“ he swallows hard.

“Fine, I’ll be upstairs pleasuring myself. You’re free to leave or join me,” you offer.

You prop yourself in your bed in the silk sheets feel incredible on your too hot skin, your rose sex toy comes to life with a buzz and you smirk.

Your heels are still on but you’ve kicked your thong into god knows what direction, and pulled your dress up. Just the sensation of your favorite toy buzzing in your hand has you whimpering. Every nerve is alive, it feels too fucking good.

You spread your legs wide in the dark of the room, and spread your pussy open just enough to place the vibrating bud on it. It’s so intense, oh fuck, it’s never been so intense. You lull your head back and you don’t know if Spencer left but you don’t care. You need an orgasm. Or ten. You’ve never been so turned on.

It’s completely inappropriate but you arch into your toy and moan loudly as it vibrates against you with disgusting suctioning sounds from your wet cunt. It’s glorious.

All kinds of whimpers and moans are escaping you when suddenly Spencer appears in your doorway.

He hadn’t left.

He clearly had been warring with himself though. He watches you, his face cast in shadows from the dark room. But you can see him lick his lips as you run the rose toy over your dripping cunt. You up the game.

“Spencer I’m about to cum,” you mewl. And it’s not a lie because his eyes on you send you over the edge. You throw your head back and twitch as your legs squeeze closed around your wrist. You pant for a moment.

“How many times have you called my name when using this?” He crawls onto the bed, towards you. He’s a mess of wavy hair, his tie undone.

“Too many,” you whimper the truth.

He places his large hands on your knees and pushes them apart. You open your hand and let the small toy go.

“You should have told me,” he whispers and pushes his hands up your thighs, he squeezes gently. “How are you feeling?”

“I want you, I feel good, I want you to make me feel good,” you stammer because you can’t focus with those hands on you.

You’re surprised when he adjusts the speed of your rose to vibrate harder. He presses at against your over sensitive clit and you writhe beneath him. He lets out a pleased moan and you feel his long middle finger poking at your entrance.

“Please,” you beg him.

He obliges and slides it in swiftly, he pumps you slowly while pressing the toy against your clit.

“So pretty,” he coos and withdraws his finger to rub it between your folds.

You frown when he removes the rose but are blindsided when his mouth latches roughly onto your throbbing pussy.

“Fuck,” you grip his hair hard, pulling it so that he’s deeper in your cunt. He groans against you but tongue fucks you properly.

Your body comes alive as though it’s been set ablaze and you cum on his face quickly, too quickly.

You’re whining when he moves up your body.

“Need more?” He whispers against your ear. You nod. “Greedy girl,” he bites down on your neck.

You frantically rip his shirt open, needing to feel his body, god you loved his body. You run your hands over the planes of his chest and abdomen, moaning your arousal as you reach his belt buckle.

“Do you want my cock?” He tilts his head and looks at you.

“Please,” you beg. He leans down to whisper in your ear while he pulls his cock free of his pants. “Do you want me to fuck your tight little cunt?” You whimper at his dirty words and you can feel the head of his cock against your heat. “Do you want to cum on my cock? How many times have you fantasized about this?” He continues and then he moves down and flicks your nipple with his tongue.

“Reid, please,” you pant.

“Mmm,” he moves back up your body and finally, finally lines up his throbbing cock to your drenched hole. “No one can find out about this,” he whispers assertively.

“No one,” you agree and claw at his hips to encourage him.

When she pushes into you, you can feel every inch of him and he moves slowly. He allows you to stretch to fit him.

“Fuck, tight little cunt,” he groans as he focuses to push in.

“It feels so good,” you cry out and watch him push himself deeper. “Please Spencer just fuck me hard, give it all to me.”

“Yeah?” He asks. You nod and wrap your legs around him.

He abandons the gentle routine and slams the last four ish inches into you, you scream like a lunatic because you’ve never felt so good. You’ve never felt so alive and he’s rutting into you as hard as he can.

Your headboard slams violently into the wall as the sounds of his balls slapping against you fill the air. He pounds relentlessly in your pussy, arching up to hit that spot inside of you until all you can do is hold onto him for dear life.

He’s fucking you like an animal which is fitting because you currently feel like a fucking cat in heat. You’re rolling your hips to meet him thrust for thrust and he’s breathing loudly, groaning here and there.

“Spencer,” you cry out as you reach your climax again.

“Cum on it,” he bites out and fucks you faster.

“Yes sir,” you don’t know where the ‘sir’ came from but you both let it slide.

Your pussy clenches around him and drags a whimper of his own from his throat as your entire body shakes.

“Fuck baby,” he gasps.

You’ve brought him to the edge too, he isn’t thinking and you aren’t thinking because he explodes into your throbbing cunt. His cum fills you completely as his thrusting slows.

You moan and whisper some kind of praises for him fucking you so well.

-

You hardly remember him moving out of you before you pass old cold. Sleep takes you more violently than ever and you wake up hours later on your face. The room spins and a horrid groan escapes you.

“You okay?” Comes Reid’s voice as he moves from the armchair in your room to your bedside.

“Mmm,” you shove him away because you were going to throw up. And that you did, your poor rug. Ugh.

Spencer rushes to the restroom to get you a hot wash rag and a small cup of water. He’s clothed now, though his black button up is untucked and his slacks ride on his hips lower due to his belt being undone.

“Thank you,” you sigh and sit up. He blushes and looks away from you, only then do you realize you’re naked and pull the blanket up to your chin. “How long did I sleep?”

“About five hours,” he informs. Sure enough it’s six am.

“Did you sleep?” You ask nervously.

“No, I was watching you,” his mouth presses into that awkward smile of his.

“I’m sorry that I kind of jumped you like that,” you clear your throat.

“No, no I’m sorry. I feel like I took advantage..”

“No-“ you cut him off. “I would have done that sober. Perhaps I would have been less brazen about it but… yeah.” You smile awkwardly.

“Really?” He tilts his head and raises his eyebrows.

“Come on Reid, I’m no actress. You didn’t have any idea I was attracted to you?” You ask.

“I guess I just never assume people are attracted to me,” he shrugs.

“Well. Nonetheless, I should tell Hotch what happened,�� you inform.

“I told him that Vincent drugged you and I was watching you for the night, they’re organizing a sting on him tonight,” he says.

“Oh, thank you,” you nod.

“We can’t tell anybody about this…” he speaks lower.

“I agree,” you nod and a hint of guilt invades your gut.

“Besides you’ve got your…” he pauses. “Gavin.”

Gavin wasn’t her boyfriend, more of a casual hookup friends with benefits guy that you’ve mentioned.

“Right,” you glance around the room awkwardly. “And you’re talking to your Maeve,” you give him a small smile.

“That’s true,” he relaxes a bit. “I think I should go,” he stands.

“Thanks, for everything,” you say.

-

In weeks that follow, your life changes drastically. You’re all over the place, you’re having trouble focusing, you’ve developed PTSD from being drugged, you’re emotional. It’s a lot. You fight with Gavin constantly, you and Reid hardly talk.

It all comes to a head when you’re shot in the shoulder about two months after the drugging.

“You did great, the bullets gone,” the doctor tells you.

“Thanks,” you sigh in relief. “Can I see the team?”

“Actually there’s another matter to discuss,” the kind eyes older woman pulls her rolling chair up. Your heart hammers. What could it be?

You eye her Valentine’s Day scrubs, taking note of the smiling hearts.

“You stated upon triage that you weren’t pregnant or breast feeding. The MRI picked up on this…” she hands you a xray looking scan.

Your mouth drops open. “You’re pregnant, honey,” she points to a small sack looking thing in your uterus.

You don’t speak, you say nothing for an impossibly long time. So long in fact that she informs you she’s ordered ultrasounds and that she won’t say anything to your team. You barely hear her and she wonders out of the room.

You’re still not present, still in a dream like trance when they give you an internal and external scan.

Everything okay? They said we can’t see you. Spencer texts you.

All good, just some tests. You send back.

“Alright everything looks and sounds good,” the lady tells you. “You’re measuring about eight weeks. I’m going to write down your due date and give you a list of OBGYNs in your zip code,” she smiles.

The doctor returns with said paperwork and is prepared to discuss things further.

“Alright, it would appear as though you are due on Halloween,” she hands you the paper. “The surgery didn’t impact the baby. It’s perfectly healthy.” You swallow hard and nod. “Is there anyone you would like to speak to?”

“My boss, Agent Hotchner,” you squeak. She nods and squeezes your shoulder sympathetically.

While you wait you’re working out the time frame- it could easily be Spencer’s or Gavin’s. You slept with them within days of one another. You lean over and vomit in the bin they gave you. You’re shaking.

“Y/N, everything okay?” Hotch’s eyebrows are arched in concern.

“I need this conversation to stay between us,” you say first and he sits.

“Okay,” he nods.

You hand him the ultrasound pictures.

“I think interested in that transfer to North Carolina.”

The transfer to said FBI department involved a desk job, perfect.

“I-“ he’s speechless. “Congratulations.” He glances at the pictures. “October huh?”

“Apparently,” you sigh and drop your face into your hands. You adore the BAU but you can’t stay.

“Can I ask why you want to transfer? We can put you on desk duty here…” he says.

“My family is only an hour from the FBI office there, it just makes sense,” you glance at the ultrasound again.

“Did you know you were pregnant before this?” He gestures at your shoulder.

“No, she just told me,” you half scoff, half laugh. He smiles.

“Well, okay. I can get started on that transfer Monday,” he stands.

“The team can’t know,” this takes him by surprise. You refuse to ruin Spence’s life, it had only been a month since Maeve’s death and he wasn’t coping well. “Please.”

“Of course,” he gives you that troubled glance but doesn’t push it.

You’ll operate as if it’s Gavin’s and move on from there. You know Gavin will run the other way anyway.

You’re doing Spencer a favor, if it isn’t his he won’t have to worry about it. If it is… well maybe it’s better he doesn’t know at all.

[ray-is-they]

A SpicyNoodles Angst created by me :)

(Lol I like angst lmao I'm not sorry making this HAHAHAHAHAH stay mad)

Such a pretty house...

And such a pretty garden...

No alarms and no surprises

(GET ME OUT OF HERE)

Its almost been like 6 months now after I created this au- it still touches my heart still-

Context images:

1st Photo

Mk and Redson: this is before the serious experience happened. Takes place in season 4 where after Mk and Macaque saved Swk from the scroll, the two had a bond over conversations and well- coming to make Redson feel like Mk makes him very important because he's literally Mk.

Mk compliments Redson's look even tho he didnt asked him for any- this made redson feel attached to him.

2nd Photo

Xiaotian... and RedSon...

It's been around 8 months after Mk's recent death and Redson couldn't help but think about Mk every moment of his life... he just couldn't move it all away- he couldn't- just couldn't...

And he's been in denial Mk won't return again or ever at all... just by holding something from his hand. They could feel his presence in some other way that- it makes him feel stronger....

3rd Photo

He was actually holding the bandana Mk wore and this bandana that Mk had been worn for years now makes Redson feel his presence- feeling that he's locked up and some other spiritual world- but he doesn't know that-

The only thing he knows is that... He could feel him...

URGHHHHHHHH AAAAAAAAAAAAAA

(Whoever made this gif- mad respect)

[aster-draws]

so... very important question. In Better Halves, are Danny and Tim kisses going to become a lot more common now that they've had their first real one? Please, for the love of god, don't make them wait 10 more chapters.

lovingly, an anon that needs to see them fuck nasty

Okay fair question! Yes, kisses will be (relatively) more common now, but I don't count this as their first 'real' kiss- although arguably it should be- the first real kiss is somewhere in chapter 34? Ish. More or less around there.

Look. I said slow burn and I goddamn MEANT it. it's gonna be nearly 200k before they Approach the idea of it not being fake anymore (despite the fact that it never really was to begin with). they're. complete unmitigated disasters.

and as for them fucking nasty (with understanding that was likely meant to be somewhat sarcastic). Currently the plan is to keep it at a teen rating. But. obviously aspects of this have gotten away from me in the past. Keep an eye on the rating because. Idk there are gonna be moments and that's all I'll say. (if i write them, i'll change the rating as I do, so hopefully with a good few chapters before hand. or maybe I'll post an alt version with the ma content? idk we shall cross the bridge when we arrive to it)

For your reference though, here's how many kisses are in each chapter i have completely written (this may depress you) (also below a read more for the spoilers aspect of it all.)

chapter 20- 1 kiss (on cheek)

21- 0 kisses

22- 0 kisses

23- 0 kisses

24- 0 kisses (somehow oh my GOD)

25- 1 kiss (on lips)

26- 1 kiss (on lips) (also the first Proper kiss since chapter 19. imo)

27- 2 kisses (1 on forehead, 1 on lips)

28- 0 kisses

29- 0 kisses

30- 0 kisses

do not let the amount of 0's grieve you, for most of those the boys aren't even in the same state (or country) so. not chapter 24 tho that's fucking miserable yearning i won't lie

[mrsriddles-blog]

Reads of the Week: Mar 31-Apr 6

*indicates smut

green font represents multiple characters (poly, rh, etc.)

A/N: So sorry this is late! Let me know if there is any errors, the links don’t work or aren’t taking you to the right place or if the @ is wrong! I tried to check it, but I’ve been really busy with school.

Thigh-ly Adored* by @thatdammchickennugget

Reading Between The Lines by @thatdammchickennugget

Butterbeer And Comfort by @thatdammchickennugget

The Stages of Grief by @obsessedwithceleste

Lost Cause by @thatdammchickennugget

Vacation by @mattsturnioloswifey

Overbearing by @amsznn

Motive* by @recklessmatt

Five Love Languages by @thugpugs4lrh

Rather Be With You by @amsznn

three is not a crowd* by @junovrsmp4

Rated R | pt.1 by @6ix9inewiturmom

Rated R | pt.2* by @6ix9inewiturmom

Cramps by @sturniolo-fall-enthusiast

Complicated by @incendiobrock

Voice by @hollandsangel

dad!matt x mom!reader by @stvrniclo

daydream by @chrissturnsgirlll222

Treat you like a lady* by @letstrip-teamblue

Rumors by @sugrhigh

Cool Spider* by @gamermattsgf

Well, I Read Somewhere* by @rizzsturniolo

Bonfire* by @evie-sturns

three is not a crowd* by @junovrsmp4

Bench Press* by @evieolo

[kikis-writing-service]

Spicy Curry (Bakugou Katsuki x F!Reader) Chapter 4

Summary: Pro-hero Dynamight hides his developing hearing loss from the public. He doesn’t want them or the villains to know about what he considers his only weakness. His family knows. His best friends know. And now you, the owner of his favorite little curry shop, know. You want to live a quiet life & to protect your son. The last thing you want is to draw attention to yourself. You hide your identity, you hide your scars, and you hide your quirk. And then Bakugou, Katsuki walks in one day with dried blood on his ears, and you can’t help but help him.

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 ? ? ? ? ?

🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤

Content Warning: This fic will contain mentions of past abuse from a “partner”, including sexual assault.

🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤

Silence claws at Katsuki like smoke. His usually buzzing apartment, filled with pre-patrol jitters, now amplifies frustration. Benched from hero work is a new kind of hell – not the fiery adrenaline blast he’s used to, but a simmering resentment that chokes him dry. The sleek case for his new hearing aids mocks him from the table, tiny plastic soldiers against his towering rage.

Water sloshing in his throat does little to quench the fire within, leaving only bitter embers on his tongue. A sharp, insistent rap at the door pierces the suffocating silence. He groans, bracing for his well-meaning mother's lecture. He flings the door open, ready to bite back, but the words die on his tongue. Mina grins, a playful hurricane shoving past him. He shuts the door with a sigh.

Mina talks. He knows that much. Her voice, muffled like a radio stuck on low, washes over him. He wishes he could take back that bitter "nothing to do" that scorched his tongue. Being alone with his despair is preferable to this clumsy charade.

Mina's head tilts, a frown blooming on her face. Katsuki scowls back, irritation prickling his skin. Did she ask a question? Was he missing something? She marches closer, stopping right in front of him, tilting her head up to meet his gaze.

"Hearing aids?" she asks, her voice pushing through the muffled haze. Katsuki's ears strain, catching snippets, just enough to understand.

He grunts, the sound like sandpaper against silence. Dealing with this is the last thing he needs, but Mina's stubbornness is legendary.

Scoffing, the sound hollow even to him, he mutters, "Doc's orders. Needs to... heal." He gestures vaguely at the aids nestled in their velvet cradle.

"But you haven't been wearing them all day, have you?" Mina's voice cuts through his fog. "So put them on. Let's hear the world whine with you." Her golden eyes, usually sparkling like fireworks, hold him captive, a silent challenge in their depths.

Katsuki scowls, jaw muscles clenching. Mina, sensing his resistance, pouts. "Why not?" she presses, her voice a nudge.

He grumbles, staring at the hearing aids, delicate birds in their velvet nest. "Not like the others," he mutters. "Don't sit all the way in. Not as..."

"Discreet?" Mina offers, a knowing glint in her eyes.

"Yeah," Katsuki grunts, the sound rough in his throat.

Mina's sigh is a rumble of understanding. "Come on, Kat," she says, tiptoeing to touch his face, but he swats her hands away. Mina puffs up, simmering with anger. "Stop worrying about what people think."

"It's not about them," Katsuki growls. "It's about me. And I—," He stops, choking the rest back, running a hand through his hair. "You wouldn't get it."

"Not if you don't tell me!" Mina fires back. "This is exactly why we broke up!"

Katsuki rolls his eyes, ready to retort, but the words snag in his throat. He pauses, sighs, and looks away. In a quiet motion, he pulls out the hearing aids, one by one. Placing them over his ears, the world snaps into focus, a cacophony of welcome and unwanted sounds. He catches sight of himself in the window, the tiny tube snaking into his ear a jarring clash against his usual stoic image. He hates it, the vulnerability it forces upon him.

"Tiny! Barely see it," Mina's voice, amplified and clearer now, pricks at him. He knows she's lying. The tube, the wire, stares back at him accusingly. He hates them. Needs them. More than ever after this recent slide. No choice, the suffocating reality presses down on him, and he pushes the frustration back down.

He turns to face Mina. "You came to drag me out, didn't you?"

Mina laughs, a bright spark. "Yup! Sulking butt and all, you're coming to lunch with me!"

"M' not sulking," Katsuki mumbles, but Mina ignores the comment, already grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the door.

Mina's words tumble against the cafe walls, bouncing off like pebbles on cobblestones. Fragments snag on Katsuki's silence – a new flame, a promotion, a weekend trip – but vanish before taking root in his thoughts. Every clink of cutlery, every muffled murmur, feels like a needle jab. The world hums like a faulty hive, every buzz amplifying the inadequacy gnawing at him.

He craves the silence, the haven you offered just nights ago, where the symphony of the world couldn't reach him. Water cools his throat, a fleeting respite from the sensory overload. "Hey, you still with me?" Mina's voice slices through the fog.

He scowls. "Don't care about whoever your fling is now."

Mina's laugh, like wind chimes, jars with cheer. "Aww, still hung up on me, Kat?"

Water sputters down his throat as he glares. "Shut up!"

Her laughter fades, replaced by a familiar, reassuring smile. Food arrives, a welcome distraction, but a blur. Katsuki eats on autopilot, flavors dulled, the restaurant's din a muffled roar he can't escape. Every amplified breath, every distant giggle, grates on him.

Sensing his withdrawal, Mina's chatter tapers off. Unspoken understanding hangs heavy, a familiar blanket she offers without pretense. He knows she cares. They're battle-scarred comrades, memories woven into hero training days. Yet, a chasm gapes between them, their languages disparate, his silence a fortress she can't crack.

His hearing loss isn't just muffling the world – it's a vine twisting through his life, draining energy, leaving thorns of frustration. Garbled conversations like whispers behind a wall, the exhaustion of piecing it together, the phantom echoes of missed words – the fear of being left behind gnaws at him.

He builds walls, fortresses of silence that keep others out and himself in. But translating his world, bearing the weight of their understanding, ignites a spark of fury.

His thoughts drift towards your shop, where silence isn't a chasm but a shared melody. With you, anxieties and frustrations exist in unspoken spaces, your empathy a bridge spanning the gap, allowing him to breathe, unburdened by explanation.

Mina's voice breaks through his reverie. "Hey, Katsuki," her eyes dim with concern. "We care, but you gotta let us in. Remember what we always said? Communication is key."

He knows she's right, but dissecting his experience, making deafness the story's center, feels like ripping open a wound. He's Katsuki Bakugou, a damn supernova, and reducing him

 to this struggle feels like a cosmic injustice.

The nervous waitress hovers, her gaze darting between them. He sighs, recognizing Dynamight's face, Mina's fame. This isn't hero worship – it's tiptoeing, a hesitant question hanging in the air. "Anything… uh… else you need?" Her voice, loud and slow, grates.

Confusion mixes with something sharp and hot in his gut. The hearing aids, not-so-discreet, click into place. Assumptions made, lines drawn, a new script written in the blink of an eye.

"Need air," he rasps, the simmering rage bubbling over. He shoots out of his chair, the world a muted hum as he rips off the hearing aids and shoves them into his pocket. Mina's confused call is lost in his wake.

He slams through the door, the cool air a slap against his burning chest. Pavement pounds under his feet, each step a beat against the thrumming anger. No destination, just the blind urge to outrun the sting of pity in that waitress's eyes.

His feet, on autopilot, lead him to the familiar alley, the comforting scent of spices a beacon. He hesitates at the shop's entrance. He craves you, the quiet haven you offer, the understanding that blooms between you without needing words. But seeking solace after his outburst feels… desperate and childish. He's about to turn away, to retreat into the city's anonymity, when the door swings open. You emerge, laundry slung over your shoulder.

You meet his eyes and the world stills. A sunrise smile chases away his shadows. Butterflies erupt in his stomach, fluttering against the bars of his self-consciousness. He feels stupid, a schoolboy caught loitering outside a forbidden playground.

Your head tilts, brows furrowed in unspoken concern. Then, with a gentle smile, your hands bloom, signing hello and his sign name – five fingers unfurl like a budding supernova, echoing the embers in his heart. Warmth floods his cheeks. He mirrors the gesture, fingers stiff yet fierce, signing your sign name back.

You scan the shop, searching for something. Not finding it, your brow creases.

"Doctor?" your hands inquire, urgent whispers in the air.

He nods, explaining his mother's intervention. "Ruptured eardrum. Should heal in a few weeks."

Your apology hangs in the air, a feather against his annoyance. "What for?" he asks, voice gravelly.

"My quirk couldn't help you more," your hands explain, a downcast gesture mirroring his chest.

He scoffs, exasperation mixed with gratitude.

"You've done enough," he mumbles, dismissing your worry.

He watches you wrestle with the laundry bag, a familiar knot twisting in his gut. Without thinking, he steps forward, effortlessly hoisting the bag onto his shoulder. You freeze, surprise etching your features.

"What are you doing?" your hands inquire, confusion flickering in your eyes.

"Heroes help those weaker than them," he muttered, the words gruff but the sentiment clear. "Got nothin' else to do on leave, might as well lend a hand."

Your surprise melts into a grateful smile, a blossom under his unexpected kindness. Just then, a shriek shatters the peace. Kouichi, a miniature hurricane of excitement, bounds down the stairs. Katsuki's gaze shifts toward him, the resemblance to you not lost.

"Dynamight?" he shouts, eyes wide with hero-worship. You step in front of him, your hands weaving a tapestry of sign language, too swift for him to decipher, but he catches "calm" and "quirk."

Kouichi, initially frowning, complies, closing his eyes and taking breaths.

"Sorry," you sign, turning back to Katsuki. "He's, uh, your biggest fan."

Katsuki scrutinizes Kouichi, curiosity igniting. Kids liked his quirk, sure, but favorite hero? That was usually Deku with his infuriatingly sunny smile. "Really? Not usually anyone's favorite," he says, surprise lacing his voice.

Your eyes widen, disbelief flickering. "What? But you're so cool!" The unfiltered admiration floods his cheeks, a blush he can't control. He can't help but be disarmed by your genuine awe.

"Think I'm cool, huh?" he teases, a sly grin tugging at his lips.

Your cheeks warm, and you bite your lip, a nervous but genuine smile playing on your lips. "The coolest."

"Mom!" Kouichi's shout cuts through the moment, drawing their attention. Katsuki's eyes widen. The laundry bag settled onto his shoulder, a familiar weight that suddenly felt heavier, tinged with a new awareness. Katsuki's gaze flickered to the boy, a knot of something akin to recognition twisting in his gut.

You rise, your gaze meeting his, an unspoken inquiry in your eyes. "Can I introduce you two?" your hands sign, pleading and hopeful. Kouichi stands beside you, eyes alight with unspoken questions. Katsuki, drawn by the twin flames of curiosity and a strange sense of responsibility, can only nod. Your smile brightens with an infectious joy that amplifies because it involves your son and his curiosity. Katsuki thinks it's the smile of a good mother.

"This is my son, Kouichi," you sign, your voice barely a whisper against the roar in Katsuki's ears. "Five years old and a ball of sunshine." You ruffle his hair playfully, eliciting a wide, gap-toothed grin. "He's deaf, so he'll use signs to talk to you. Unlike you, he's been at it since before he could walk, so watch out. He can zip through those signs like nobody's business.”

Katsuki blinks, surprise flickering across his face. His gaze shifts between you and Kouichi, a new lens settling over his perception. Understanding dawns, re-framing your connection.

“Don't worry,” you sign. “I told him to keep it slow for you." Katsuki gives you an appreciative look.

Kouichi walks beside Katsuki as you lead the way to the laundromat. They trail behind, silent questions dancing in the air.