#“i hate her” then act like it??? damn????

[sometimescharlolette]

JOEL MILLER X F!READER (SARAH’S FRIEND) - PART TWO

PART ONE

Synopsis: Lunch with your best friend's dad takes an unexpected turn, for better or worse.

Word count: 3.7k of pure pornography, and 10% plot

Warnings: +18, sexual content, age gap (reader is in her twenties, Joel in his late forties), dirty talk, cursing, sex (p in v), rough sex, possessive behavior.

A/N: Hello beautiful people, I think this time I got carried away, and ended up writing more sex than the plot itself, but, okay, let's let Joel enjoy these moments of paradise, because soon the chaos will begin... Anyway, I hope you like it, feel free to comment what you think, feedback helps me improve and I'm counting on you for that, bye, kisses💜💜

Sarah frowned, confused by what she assumed was a meaningless outburst. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice laced with curiosity. Not that she wasn’t used to your sharp tongue, but she had expected you to at least try to tone it down in front of her father.

“Uhm, yeah, sorry,” you stammered, forcing a laugh. “I kicked the leg of the table by accident. You know how it is—hurts like hell when your little toe hits furniture.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. You knew that look. It was the one she gave you whenever she sensed you were up to something. Or worse, when she suspected you were letting last night’s alcohol-fueled decisions cloud your judgment. And unfortunately, she wasn’t wrong. Your mind was very clouded, and her father was the reason why.

“Nice to meet you…” Joel’s deep, steady voice broke through your spiraling thoughts. He let the sentence hang in the air, acting like he was meeting you for the first time—like he hadn’t had his hands all over you just hours ago.

You met his gaze sharply, irritation flaring in your chest at his infuriatingly calm demeanor. He was completely unaffected, carrying on as if this was just another casual introduction, not the aftermath of a night that left your legs shaking.

“Y/N, Mr. Miller,” you bit out, your eyes narrowing as you took a slow sip of your coffee, hoping the bitterness would chase away the heat creeping up your neck.

Joel’s lips quirked into something that wasn’t quite a smirk but was smug enough to make your blood simmer. “Pretty name.”

Damn it. The way he said it, the way his voice dipped just slightly, sent an unwelcome warmth through you. You hated how effortlessly he could make you feel like some love-struck teenager. And worse, you hated that he knew it.

Meanwhile, he carried on, effortlessly slipping into conversation with his daughter—asking about her classes, if she was eating properly, if anything in the dorm needed fixing. The perfect father routine. You could barely concentrate, too busy trying to regulate your breathing, while he sat there looking as composed as ever.

“Oh, speaking of which,” Sarah said suddenly, flipping through the menu. “Dad, the foot of Y/N’s bed broke or something. Could you take a look at it?”

You choked on your coffee.

Joel exhaled through his nose, a slow, measured breath. His lips twitched like he was holding back a comment—one that would probably have made you throw your drink in his face. Instead, he just nodded, his voice low and infuriatingly smooth.

“Sure. Always keep a toolbox in the truck for emergencies.”

You shot him a glare, and for the first time since sitting down, he looked directly at you. There was something in his gaze—something knowing, something teasing.

Sarah, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing between you and her father, suggested placing the orders before the restaurant got too busy. She rattled off what each of you would have before walking away to place them, her father’s card in hand.

As soon as she was out of earshot, you leaned forward, lowering your voice. “What the hell, Joel?” you hissed, eyes flashing with irritation. “Why didn’t you tell me you were Sarah’s father?”

Joel barely blinked, completely unbothered by your frustration. “Not my fault, sweetie. You didn’t ask.”

You clenched your jaw, gripping the coffee cup a little too tightly. His calm, easygoing tone made you want to strangle him. How could he be so damn composed when you were internally combusting?

“Oh, right, because obviously, I should have interrogated you before letting you take me home,” you shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Excuse me for not assuming you were my best friend’s father.”

Joel chuckled, the deep, rich sound sending a traitorous shiver down your spine. “Well, you didn’t exactly insist on knowing my last name, either.”

Your mouth fell open. “You didn’t ask for mine at all!”

Joel shrugged, looking far too entertained for your liking. “Didn’t expect we’d see each other again.”

The words stung more than they should have, and judging by the flicker of something unreadable in Joel’s eyes, he hadn’t meant for them to come out so bluntly.

Truth was, neither of you had expected this. You had chosen him at that bar because he wasn’t a student, because you thought it would be easier. No awkward run-ins on campus. No tangled emotions. Just a night of fun before moving on like it never happened.

But now, faced with reality, you couldn’t pretend the ground hadn’t shifted beneath your feet.

You exhaled, running a hand through your hair. “I didn’t expect to see you again either,” you muttered, shaking your head. “I thought you were just someone passing through, not her dad.”

Joel tilted his head slightly, eyes dark with amusement. “Disappointed?”

You wanted to say yes. You wanted to tell him this was a disaster, that you regretted everything. But the words wouldn’t come, not when the memory of his hands on your body was still so fresh, not when the scent of his cologne still lingered faintly in the air between you.

Instead, you scoffed, rolling your eyes behind your sunglasses. “You wish.”

Joel chuckled again, but before he could respond, Sarah returned with the trays of food, placing them on the table.

“That was faster than I expected,” she said cheerfully.

Joel, slipping effortlessly back into father mode, reached for the dishes. “You should’ve called me, Sarah. I would’ve helped.”

She just shrugged, waving him off as she took her seat. Meanwhile, you focused on your lasagna like it was the most interesting thing you’d ever seen. Anything to avoid Joel’s knowing gaze.

You spent the rest of the meal in quiet torment, nodding along to conversations and making half-hearted comments while your mind raced. Your body, traitorous as it was, still buzzed with the tension between you and Joel. The way he looked at you, the way his voice lingered on certain words, the smug curve of his lips—everything about him was infuriating.

And yet, deep down, you knew that if given the chance, you’d make the same mistake all over again.

***

“You really didn’t have to come,” you muttered as you opened the door to the dorm you shared with Sarah, stepping aside to let Joel in. The toolbox in his hand looked almost comically out of place in the small, cluttered room.

Joel’s whiskey-colored eyes swept over the space, taking in the contrast between the two halves. Sarah’s side was neat and predictable—her bed perfectly made, her laptop resting beside a neat stack of textbooks and papers. The bedside table held only an alarm clock and a charger, everything in its place.

Then there was your side—pure chaos. Your bed was an unmade tangle of blankets and pillows, last night’s clothes haphazardly tossed into the mix. Your bedside table was a disaster zone, littered with half-empty disposable coffee cups, a tangle of cords, and your laptop teetering dangerously on the edge.

Joel let out a low chuckle.

“Uhm, I wasn’t expecting visitors,” you defended, hastily gathering up the mess and tossing it onto a chair.

“Clearly,” he deadpanned, setting the toolbox down with a thud.

You shot him a glare, irritated at how amused he looked. He smirked, that signature Joel Miller smirk that made you want to simultaneously strangle him and kiss him senseless.

“Relax, little girl. I’m a mess too.”

Your breath hitched. That damn nickname. You shifted uncomfortably, pretending it didn’t ignite something in the pit of your stomach.

Desperate to change the subject, you gestured toward the bed. “Do you think you can fix it?”

“First, gotta see what’s wrong.” Joel rolled up his sleeves, revealing strong forearms as he lifted the mattress and propped it against the door. He crouched beside the bed frame, examining the splintered wood. “You’re a wild one, huh?” he murmured, his voice dripping with suggestion.

Your face burned. “That’s not how it broke,” you snapped quickly, then immediately regretted your defensiveness. Like hell it’s any of his business if it was.

Joel grinned, clearly entertained by your reaction. “Sure,” he drawled, grabbing a hammer and prying out the broken nails. “Might wanna step back, sweet thing. Hate to elbow that pretty face of yours.”

Your breath caught in your throat. When did the room get so damn hot? You realized, belatedly, how close you’d been standing—nearly pressed up against him, watching him work. Embarrassed, you took a step back and sat down on Sarah’s bed, grabbing your phone to distract yourself.

You tried not to watch him, but there was something hypnotic about the way he moved—how his strong hands handled the tools, how his biceps flexed beneath his flannel. Your stomach tightened, heat creeping up your neck. You shook your head, forcing yourself to focus. You already made that mistake once. You were not going to do it again.

Especially not in the room you shared with his daughter.

“There,” Joel announced smugly, pushing the mattress back into place. “Good as new. Go on, test it out.”

You rolled your eyes. “Idiot.”

He smirked. “No, seriously. See if it’s comfortable. I don’t half-ass my work.”

You stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge if he was being serious or just fucking with you. With a sigh, you walked over and sat on the bed. Joel’s gaze flickered downward, shamelessly watching the sway of your hips before quickly looking away when you caught him.

You ignored the way your pulse quickened. Instead, you shifted on the mattress, nodding. “Yeah, it’s good. Thanks. How much do I owe you?”

Joel scoffed. “As if I’d charge you for hammerin’ a few nails. Besides, you’re Sarah’s friend, so that means you’re in the privileged group that gets my services for free.”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. Damn him. You hated how effortlessly he made you like him.

“Can I at least offer you a drink?”

Now that made him smile. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

You pulled two beers from the mini-fridge, handing him one before sitting on the edge of your now-fixed bed. The air between you felt different, heavier. The brush of his thigh against yours was subtle, yet searing.

A beat passed before you sighed, bringing the bottle to your lips. “You know… if all of this wasn’t so fucked up, I think I’d actually enjoy spending time with you.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking. “You sayin’ you don’t?”

You glanced at him, your gaze steady. “I’m saying it shouldn’t be like this.”

He hummed, taking a slow sip of his beer. “I’m still a lot older than you,” he reminded you.

“Age is just a number,” you murmured.

“And jail is just a place,” he shot back, making you roll your eyes.

“I’m twenty, Joel,” you deadpanned. “I’m a fucking adult.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “That don’t make it any better, little girl.”

“What kind of bullshit moral high ground is this?” you snapped. “Did you forget that you fucked my brains out yesterday?”

Joel ran a hand down his face, sighing. “I’m tryin’ not to let that happen again, little girl. But you’re makin’ it real damn hard.”

Your breath hitched.

His words hung in the air, thick with unspoken want. Your eyes locked onto his, and something shifted. Neither of you moved at first, but it was inevitable—the slow, magnetic pull drawing you together.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, your lips crashed onto his.

Joel groaned against your mouth, his large hands gripping your waist, pulling you onto his lap. The kiss was desperate, fueled by the tension that had been simmering between you all damn day. His fingers dug into your hips, guiding you closer, until you could feel the heat of him through his jeans. Your hands tangled in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp, making him growl into your mouth.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours, devouring you like he was starving for you. You gasped as he tilted his head, biting down on your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured against your mouth, voice rough and thick with need. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”

His words sent a jolt of heat straight to your core. Your fingers fisted in his flannel, tugging him impossibly closer. You didn’t answer, you didn’t want to think, you didn’t want to admit that you were giving yourself to him again, but fuck, how could you resist when your whole body was buzzing with need for his? 

When all you wanted was to drown in the feel of his body against yours, the way his calloused hands caressed your soft skin like they knew every little nook and cranny. You rocked your hips against his groin, Joel’s rough jeans rubbing against your cotton panties, your dress bunching at your waist, the feeling was deliciously wrong. But if you were honest, you were begging to fail again if he fell too.

Joel's hands slid down to grip your ass, squeezing the firm globes as he ground his denim-clad erection against your aching core. He swallowed your moan with another burning kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth to claim you thoroughly. You could taste the beer on his breath, feel the scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, and you found yourself getting lost in the sensation of being wanted, being desired, being consumed by him.

"Fuck, little girl," he growled, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down the column of your throat. "You taste even sweeter than I remembered." His teeth grazed your pulse point before he sucked hard, no doubt leaving a mark. You both knew it was stupid, it was a way of digging your own graves, but your minds were too consumed with lust to reason about the risk.

Your head fell back, giving him more access to the column of your throat as your fingers tangled in his brown hair. You could feel the weight of his cock throbbing against you, separated only by the barrier of his jeans and your soaked panties. The friction was maddening, delicious, and you found yourself rocking against him wantonly, chasing more of that pleasure.

"Joel," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. "We shouldn't... not here..." Even as you said it, you knew it was a lie. You wanted him, wanted this, wanted to feel alive and unburdened and whole in his arms. You wanted him to fuck you until you forgot your own name, until you forgot that it was your best friend's father who was fucking you.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against your own. "Shouldn't we?" he countered, nipping at your earlobe before soothing the sting with his tongue. "Baby girl, I've wanted to bend you over this table and fuck you senseless since the moment we walked through that door. Gonna ruin this tight little cunt until you're beggin' for my cock, beggin’ to my cock split you open”

His words made you clenched around nothing, your core aching and empty and hollow. You needed him, needed to feel him inside you, filling you, completing you. You were already addicted to the way he touched you, the way he fucked you, the way he made you come undone. And god help you, but you wanted to do it all over again. You wanted to drown in him, in the pleasure and the pain and the all-consuming hunger that only he seemed to ignite in you.

"Please," you whimpered, not even sure what you were begging for anymore. "Please fuck me, please make me yours"

Joel seemed to understand, seemed to sense the desperation radiating off of you in waves. He hoisted you up onto your bed, the soft mattress pressed against the backs of your thighs as he stepped between them, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

"Wrap your legs around me, baby," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "Gonna fuck this sweet cunt so hard, you'll forget your own goddamn name. Gonna make you scream so loud, the whole fuckin' college will know who this pussy belongs to."

You knew that if anyone found out, it would ruin you both, but you were so lost in the moment, that you did as you were told, wrapping your legs around his waist as he leaned down to capture your mouth in another bruising kiss. His tongue delved deep, tangling with yours as he ground his cloth-covered cock against your dripping entrance. You could feel the heat of him, the thick length of him, and you knew you were already ruined for anyone else. Only Joel could make you feel this way, could set your body on fire with a single touch.

"Fuck, I need you," you gasped against his mouth, your nails raking down his back as you tried to pull him closer. "Please, Joel... please fuck me. I can't... we don't have time to waste"

He groaned, the sound muffled against your lips as he fumbled with the button of his jeans. He shoved them down just enough to free his thick, hard cock, the swollen head already luscious with the pearly drops of pre-cum. You licked your lips at the sight, imagining what the taste of him would be like on your tongue, the weight of him in your mouth.

"Greedy girl," he taunted, rubbing the tip of his cock against your clothed slit. "So fuckin' wet for me already. Tell me how bad you want it, little girl"

You were already panting, already desperate, already hoping for him. You knew this was wrong, knew you shouldn't be doing this, that if Sarah found out she might hate you forever, and yet, you couldn't stop yourself. You needed him too much.

"Please, Joel," you whimpered, looking up at him with eyes clouded with appetite. "Please fuck me. I want your cock so fucking bad. Please, just... please fuck me. I'm begging you."

He seemed to like that, seemed to like the way you begged so sweetly for his cock. He rewarded you by shoving your panties to the side and notching the thick head of his cock against your soaking entrance. Then with one hard thrust, he buried himself inside you, splitting you open on his cock.

"Fuck!" you cried out, your head threw back as he stretched you wide around him. "Oh god, Joel... so fucking good..."

"Take it, baby," he growled, starting to move. "Take my fuckin' cock. This is what you wanted, isn't it? To be fucked so hard you won't be able to walk straight?"

You could only moan in response, your pussy clenching and fluttering around him as he started to move faster, harder, his hips slapping against yours with each brutal thrust. The bed creaked beneath you, the wood groaning in protest as he fucked into you with wild abandon.

"Yes," you hissed, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you held on for dear life. "Yes, fuck... just like that. Please, Joel. Fuck me harder!"

He obliged, gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks of his fingers on your skin as he slammed into you with enough force to make the bed shake. You could feel every thick inch of him, stretching you wide and filling you up until you swore you could feel him in your womb.

"Gonna... fuck... I'm so close, Joel," you panted, your body already starting to tighten. "Gonna... fuck... come on your fucking cock..."

"Then fuckin' do it," he snarled, his voice strained with his own impending release. "Come on my cock like the desperate little girl, you are. Wanna feel this pretty pussy squeeze the fuckin' cum outta me."

His words, his filthy, vulgar words, sent you over the edge. You came with a scream, your cunt clamping down around him like a warm embrace as your orgasm crashed through you. Your vision went white, your body convulsing as pleasure exploded behind your eyelids.

Joel followed soon after, with a guttural groan that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul. He slammed into you one last time before stilling, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he emptied himself inside you. You could feel the heat of his release flooding your insides, painting your walls with his seeds.

He collapsed against you then, his sweat-slicked skin pressing against yours as he tried to catch his breath. You knew you should feel guilty, knew this was wrong, that you should feel ashamed of the things your best friend's father made you feel, but all you could feel was the aftershocks of your release, the way your body still fluttered and clenched around his softening cock.

"Fuck, baby," he murmured, his voice rough and low. "That was... fuck, that was incredible."

You could only nod, too tired and sated to form words. You knew this was a mistake, knew you should never have let this happen, but God help you, you wanted it to happen again. And again. And again.

Joel seemed to sense your thoughts, sense the way your body was already craving more of his touch, more of his cock. He lifted his head to look at you, his dark eyes filled with a hunger that made your stomach flip.

"Don't you worry, little girl," he said, his voice a low rumble. "We're gonna do this again. Gonna fuck until we can't fuck anymore. Gonna make you forget everythin' but the feel of my cock inside this sweet little pussy."

You knew you should protest, push him away and run as far as you could. But you couldn't. You were already addicted, already ruined for anyone else. And god help you, but you wanted to let him ruin you over and over again.

So you simply nodded, a small smile playing on your lips as you looked up at him. "Okay," you whispered. "Okay, Joel. I'm yours for now."

At least until his daughter found out, but you didn't want to think about Sarah right now, not with his cock still buried deep inside you. That was a problem for your future self, you just need to rest.

[writeriguess]

Hey hun! Welcome back 😘

So, i have a kind of slow burn idea for a Bakugo x fem!reader fic. They both like each other and when she tries to ask him out or talk to him about it, he's kind of an ass 😅

He thinks she'll be in the way or a distraction to his goal, so he pushes her away. He can't get her out of his head though and their friends tell him he's being an idiot. Eventually, he cracks and tells her (in his very 'katsuki' way) that he does want to be with her.

Angst ending with lots of fluff, confessions, and a kiss please!

author's note: Thank you so much! <3 I just wanted to say that your idea was incredible, and I had such a great time writing it. It turned out to be much longer than I expected, but it was definitely worth it!

Heart of Dynamite

It started with stolen glances. You weren’t sure when you first noticed, but something about the way Bakugo Katsuki acted around you was different. He wasn’t nice, not by any stretch of the imagination, but there was something else buried beneath the rough edges and sharp remarks. A fleeting glance when he thought you weren’t looking. The way he always seemed to hover nearby during group exercises, subtly ensuring you didn’t get caught off guard.

You weren’t blind. You saw the way his crimson eyes would flick to you during lunch, only for him to look away just as quickly if you caught him. You noticed how his explosions during sparring would seem almost… controlled when directed your way—less destructive, more calculated. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make you wonder. Enough to make you hope.

The problem was, Bakugo being Bakugo, he’d never admit to something as human as feelings. If he did like you, he was keeping it buried under a mountain of anger, pride, and whatever complicated emotions made up Katsuki Bakugo.

But still, the moments added up. And with each passing day, your crush grew stronger. You hated the way your heart fluttered when he called you by name instead of his usual nicknames for everyone else. You hated how you’d secretly look forward to his biting remarks because, in some twisted way, it was his version of paying attention to you.

And most of all, you hated how much courage it took to even consider confessing to him.

After weeks of agonizing over it, you finally decided you couldn’t live with the "what if." No matter what, you needed to know.

The opportunity came on a rare quiet evening at the dorms. Everyone else had gone out for karaoke, leaving you and Bakugo alone. He was sprawled on the couch in the common area, his arms crossed, staring at some mindless action movie playing on the TV.

You hovered at the doorway, your heart racing. You almost turned back, but then his gruff voice interrupted your thoughts.

"What the hell are you standing there for? You look like a damn idiot."

You flinched, but quickly steeled yourself. "I just… needed to ask you something."

His gaze flicked to you, crimson eyes narrowing slightly. "Then spit it out already. Don’t waste my time."

Your hands were clammy as you stepped closer, each word feeling heavier than the last. "Do you… want to go out with me? Like, on a date?"

For a moment, Bakugo just stared at you. His usual scowl didn’t shift, but you could see the flicker of surprise in his eyes—so quick you almost missed it. His jaw tensed, his hands clenching into fists on his lap.

Then, he scoffed. Loudly.

"You serious?" he said, leaning back against the couch like your question was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. "Why the hell would I want to go out with you?"

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your throat tightened, and your chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself.

"I mean, come on," he continued, his tone sharp and cutting. "What makes you think I’d waste my time on something dumb like that?"

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but not from embarrassment—from the sting of his rejection. You struggled to keep your voice steady. "I just thought… maybe—"

"Well, you thought wrong," he cut you off, his voice cold and unrelenting. "So stop acting like some lovesick idiot and get over it."

The silence that followed was unbearable. You felt like the floor had been ripped out from under you, like you were standing on the edge of a cliff with no way to step back.

"Got it," you said finally, your voice small and strained. You turned on your heel before he could see the tears pooling in your eyes.

Bakugo didn’t move. He stayed on the couch, staring at the TV that he wasn’t really watching. His nails dug into his palms, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

"Idiot," he muttered under his breath, though he wasn’t sure if he was talking about you—or himself.

Hours passed, but Bakugo didn’t leave the couch. He replayed the scene over and over in his mind: the look on your face, the way your voice had cracked when he tore you down.

He hated himself for it. Hated the way he’d lashed out, even though he knew it was because he was terrified. Of what? He didn’t know. Maybe of admitting to himself that he cared. Maybe of the fact that you could make him feel so out of control with just one stupid question.

But now it was too late. He’d pushed you away.

You, on the other hand, locked yourself in your room, curled up on your bed, and let the tears flow. You couldn’t believe you’d been so stupid, so naive. Of course Bakugo didn’t like you. Of course he didn’t care. You’d just been projecting your feelings onto him, imagining things that weren’t really there.

Still, the hurt lingered. You tried to convince yourself it didn’t matter, that you’d move on, but the ache in your chest said otherwise.

Little did you know, Bakugo was sitting downstairs, fists clenched, consumed by his own turmoil. Because for all his bluster, he’d never wanted to hurt you. He just didn’t know how to deal with the truth: that he did like you, more than he was willing to admit.

Bakugo tried to convince himself that what he’d said to you was necessary. He had goals—real, tangible goals—and nothing, no one, was going to distract him. Becoming the Number One Hero wasn’t just a dream for him; it was a mission, an obligation, a destiny he was determined to carve out with his own blood, sweat, and tears. He didn’t need complications. He didn’t need feelings. He didn’t need you. That’s what he told himself over and over as he sat alone in his dorm room, glaring at the wall like it had personally offended him. His fists were clenched tightly in his lap, the tendons in his hands straining from the pressure.

But no matter how hard he tried to justify it, he couldn’t shake the image of your face from his mind. The way your expression had crumbled when he snapped at you, the hurt in your eyes as you turned and walked away—it all replayed in his head on an endless, agonizing loop. He could still hear your voice trembling when you’d asked him out, soft and vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to hearing from you. You weren’t the kind of person who let your guard down easily, and he’d taken that rare moment of courage and crushed it underfoot.

“Tch,” he growled under his breath, running a hand through his hair and gripping the strands in frustration. “Stupid.”

He thought that pushing you away would make things easier, but it didn’t. If anything, it made everything worse. You were everywhere. Every time he walked into a room, his eyes automatically searched for you, even when he told himself they wouldn’t. When you laughed with your friends, the sound sent an irritating warmth through his chest, only to be followed by a sharp pang of regret when he remembered the look on your face that night. During training, he found himself tracking your every move without even meaning to, his instincts on high alert every time you dodged an attack or threw a punch. He hated it. Hated how you’d wormed your way into his head and refused to leave. Hated how much he wanted to be near you, even after he’d made it clear that he didn’t want anything to do with you.

It didn’t help that everyone else seemed to notice his turmoil. His friends had started giving him strange looks during meals, their eyes darting between him and you as if they were waiting for something to happen. Kirishima, in particular, had been annoyingly persistent, watching him with that infuriatingly knowing expression he always wore when he thought Bakugo was being an idiot. Bakugo did his best to ignore it, but the tension was impossible to escape.

One evening, when the others were hanging out in the common area, Kirishima finally confronted him. Bakugo had been sitting on the couch, staring at his phone without really looking at it, when Kirishima plopped down beside him with a heavy sigh. Mina and Kaminari weren’t far behind, hovering nearby like vultures waiting for a meal.

“Alright, spill it,” Kirishima said, his voice casual but firm. Bakugo barely spared him a glance.

“Spill what?” he snapped, his tone as sharp as ever.

“Don’t play dumb,” Mina chimed in, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at him. “You’ve been acting weird for days, and we all know why.”

“I’m not in the mood for this crap,” Bakugo growled, standing up to leave, but Kirishima quickly stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Bakugo glared at him, his crimson eyes blazing. “Move.”

“Not until you admit what’s going on,” Kirishima said, his voice steady despite the obvious tension in the air. “You pushed her away, didn’t you?”

Bakugo froze, his scowl deepening. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Kirishima said, his tone unusually serious. “Come on, man. It’s so obvious you like her. Everyone can see it.”

“I don’t—”

“Save it,” Mina interrupted, stepping closer with a look that could cut through steel. “We’ve seen the way you look at her. And don’t even get me started on the way you lose your mind whenever she partners up with someone else during training. You care about her, and instead of doing something about it, you’re being a total dumbass.”

Bakugo’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “I don’t have time for this crap,” he muttered, shoving past Kirishima and heading for the door. But before he could leave, Kirishima’s voice rang out behind him, stopping him in his tracks.

“You think pushing her away will make you stronger,” Kirishima said, his voice softer now, almost sad. “But all you’re doing is proving how scared you are.”

Bakugo’s shoulders tensed, his hand gripping the doorknob so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“You’re scared because you like her so much it freaks you out,” Kirishima continued, his tone unwavering. “But running from it won’t make it go away.”

For a moment, Bakugo didn’t move. The room was silent, the air heavy with unspoken tension. Finally, he yanked the door open and walked out, slamming it shut behind him without another word.

That night, Bakugo lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling with an intensity that could have set it on fire. Kirishima’s words echoed in his head, mingling with the memory of your voice and the image of your face. He hated how much it all got to him, how much he couldn’t stop thinking about you no matter how hard he tried. He hated the way his chest ached every time he thought about the hurt in your eyes and the way you’d walked away from him, your shoulders slumped in defeat. But most of all, he hated how much he wanted to see you again, to fix things, to say something—anything—that could make up for what he’d done.

Meanwhile, you were doing your best to move on. You’d been avoiding Bakugo as much as possible, throwing yourself into training and schoolwork to keep your mind occupied. It wasn’t easy, though. Every time you saw him, whether it was in class or during meals, you felt a sharp pang of hurt that refused to go away. You hated how much he still affected you, even after he’d made it painfully clear that he didn’t feel the same way.

But no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that it didn’t matter, that you’d be fine without him, the ache in your chest lingered. You couldn’t help but wonder if you’d been wrong to hope, if you’d been foolish to believe that he might have cared about you even a little.

Little did you know, Bakugo was sitting in his room, wrestling with his own feelings and cursing himself for the way he’d handled things. Because for all his bravado and pride, the truth was unavoidable: he couldn’t stop thinking about you. And the more he tried to push you out of his mind, the more you consumed his every thought.

The days following your rejection from Bakugo had been a haze of hurt and confusion. You tried to keep yourself busy—extra training, study sessions, anything to keep your mind from replaying the harsh way he’d dismissed you. But no matter how much you told yourself to let it go, it lingered. You still felt the sting of his words, the way he’d looked at you like you were an obstacle instead of someone he cared about. That wound didn’t heal easily.

You avoided him as much as you could. You’d shift to a different group during training, sit at the far end of the cafeteria during meals, and leave the common area whenever he showed up. It wasn’t as subtle as you hoped; your friends noticed, and you were pretty sure Bakugo did too. Still, you couldn’t face him—not after everything he’d said.

What you didn’t know was that your absence weighed on him far more than he let on.

Bakugo was not a man who easily admitted to mistakes. Pride had been ingrained in him from an early age, and he carried it like armor. But lately, that armor felt suffocating, like it was pressing in on him from all sides. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, couldn’t stop replaying the hurt in your eyes when he’d lashed out. Every time he saw you purposely turning away from him or laughing with someone else, he felt a sharp pang of regret that he didn’t know how to fix.

Kirishima’s words lingered too. “You’re scared because you like her so much it freaks you out. But running from it won’t make it go away.” As much as Bakugo wanted to punch him for saying it, he knew it was true. He’d been running from his feelings because they terrified him. You terrified him—not because you were weak, but because of how much power you had over him without even realizing it. And that was what scared him most of all.

Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore. Watching you avoid him, knowing he’d been the one to hurt you—it was eating him alive. If he didn’t do something soon, he was going to explode.

That’s what led him here, standing awkwardly a few feet away from where you sat on the bench outside. You hadn’t noticed him yet, too focused on the notebook in your lap. For a moment, he hesitated, his chest tightening with something unfamiliar. Was this… nerves? He growled under his breath, frustrated with himself. He was Bakugo Katsuki, for crying out loud. He didn’t get nervous.

“Oi.” His voice came out rougher than he intended, and you jumped slightly, startled by his sudden presence.

You looked up, your eyes widening for a split second before your expression hardened. “What do you want?”

Bakugo flinched at the coldness in your tone, though he tried to hide it. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” you asked, already sounding exasperated. “If this is about training or some stupid lecture—”

“It’s not about training,” he cut in, stepping closer. His jaw tightened as he tried to find the right words. He wasn’t good at this, but he had to try. “It’s about what I said to you before.”

Your eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping into your expression. “Why are you bringing that up now? You already made your feelings perfectly clear, Bakugo. I don’t need to hear it again.”

He winced at the way you said his name—so formal, so distant. You used to call him Katsuki, back when things were simpler. Back when he hadn’t ruined everything.

“Just shut up and listen for a second, will you?” he snapped, though there was no real heat in his voice. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. “I… I screwed up, alright? I said some shit I didn’t mean, and I hurt you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Your expression softened slightly, but your arms remained crossed, a barrier he knew he’d have to break through. “Then why did you do it? Why push me away if you didn’t mean it?”

“Because I’m a goddamn idiot,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. His gaze dropped to the ground, his fists clenched at his sides. “I thought… I thought if I let myself like you, I’d lose focus. That you’d get in the way of my goals.”

“And now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Now I know that’s total bullshit,” he said, finally looking up to meet your eyes. “You don’t make me weaker. You make me want to be better. And no matter how much I tried to ignore it, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You’re in my head all the damn time, and it’s driving me insane.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession, but you still hesitated. “You really hurt me, Katsuki,” you said softly, the pain evident in your voice. “I don’t know if I can just forget that.”

He stepped closer, his gaze intense and unwavering. “I’m not asking you to forget it. I’m asking for a chance to fix it. I was a dumbass, and I don’t deserve it, but… I want to try. With you.”

The vulnerability in his voice was so raw, so uncharacteristic, that it left you speechless. You searched his face for any sign of insincerity, but all you saw was regret and determination.

“Katsuki…” you began, your voice trembling slightly.

“Look, I know I’m not good at this,” he interrupted, his hands twitching at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with them. “I’m not some smooth-talking idiot like Kaminari, and I’m probably gonna screw up a hundred more times. But I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I’m not gonna hurt you again.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as his words sank in. This was Bakugo Katsuki—the same boy who never admitted when he was wrong, who bulldozed his way through life without looking back. And here he was, laying his pride at your feet, just for a chance to make things right.

“You’re really bad at this, you know,” you said finally, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

He huffed, his cheeks turning pink. “Yeah, well, it’s not exactly my strong suit.”

You laughed softly, the sound making his chest tighten in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. For the first time in weeks, you felt the tension between you start to dissolve.

“So, what now?” you asked, taking a tentative step closer.

“Now I do this,” he said, his voice low as he reached out to cup your face in his hands. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he leaned in. His crimson eyes searched yours for a moment, and when you didn’t pull away, he closed the distance and kissed you.

The kiss was tentative at first, almost shy, but it quickly deepened as you responded, your hands reaching up to grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer. He kissed you like he was trying to make up for every moment he’d wasted, pouring all the unspoken feelings he couldn’t put into words into that one act.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads resting together, you were both breathless. He smirked, his usual cocky confidence creeping back in. “Told you I’d make it up to you.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “You’ve got a long way to go, Katsuki.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but the warmth in his gaze betrayed the gruffness of his tone. “Guess I’ll just have to stick around and prove it.”

And for the first time in weeks, everything felt right.

Feel free to request <3

[opal-owl-flight]

“…I thought…youd be happy to see me again.”

"|You promised me that you will stay away from here. Why would I be happy?|"

But its clear from the screen behind them that theyve been dreaming of her, much like she has of them.

So 3s perspective on 4s return!!

A bit of context: Part of why 3 returns to being cold on duty (and during times of stress, which Ive explained before somewhere is bc of their clan teaching them these values and "snapping back to bad habits" is just smth that happens bc of said stress) is bc they keep believing that they have to keep everything together.

They learned this in (my rewrite of) RotM. They were the only person who was diplomatic enough to make all involved teams work together.

They learned during theur first big mission as the new captain that they can only ever rely on *themself.*

Neo3 was an asshole, Neo4 can work well but is a bit of a wet towel when it comes to confrontations, Callie and Marie are actively arguing with Octavio, Deep Cut are following NO orders from anyone and also keep arguing with the Squisters,

Its madness.

3 had to multiple times fire a weapon to get everyone to shut the fuck up. Or hiss, or bark orders.

Putting on this intimidating aura of command to pull off a management save of the CENTURY to save the world.

Ever since that time, theyve stuck to the same "show no emotion. Be cold. Ruthless" Principles. Bc this is what damn worked. This is what kept everyone alive.

-------------

What Rain experienced upon her return was Tanara at the end of their rope.

They were strict with themself before, yes. But they were generally more warm and supportive to everyone else back then (Rain remembers this well). They wanted everyone to grow into their best selves. They use their team captain experience for the betterment of the platoon (even before they were promoted). A nudge here, a word of advice there. Like a cool upperclassman. A good, observant teammate.

Come promotion they...

...well, even shortly before, theyve become significantly less expressive. They continued to nod their approval, but its clear that Rain's absence is affecting them.

And then rotm happened. Their usual strategies for keeping teams together wasnt working. So they became...someone else. And then everyone fell in line.

They didnt want to become like the monsters that were their military relatives. But they were pushed to become that, for a time.

They hated it, such ruthlessness is something they knew would start doing damage if they push it for too long. but its what will keep everyone safe. As long as theyre safe, the means dont matter.

And then they hurt the one they wanted to keep safe the most, and this entire act falls apart.

------------

They became cold to 4 partially because of this mask theyve put on as a captain, but also as a means to drive her away again. The only way to keep her safe from their hands forever stained in blood is to make sure she stays away from this place. From them.

They believe so hard that they destroy everything they touch. They dont want Rain to be the next thing they destroy.

But it happened anyway.

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: 5 Times Marshall Made You Jealous (+1 Time You Made Him Jealous)

1. The Time with the Interviewer

Marshall had always been charming in interviews, but this one? This one was testing your patience.

The interviewer—a stunning woman with legs for days—was laughing a little too hard at his jokes, touching his arm a little too often. And Marshall? He wasn’t exactly pushing her away.

You sat off to the side, arms crossed, tapping your foot. When he finally wrapped up and walked over, grinning like he hadn’t just been flirting on live TV, you gave him a pointed look.

“What?” he asked, smirking.

You rolled your eyes. “Nothing.”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist. “You jealous?”

“No,” you lied.

“You so are,” he teased, kissing your temple. And, damn it, you let him win.

2. The Time He Took a Fan Pic a Little Too Close

You loved how much he appreciated his fans. But when a gorgeous woman wrapped her arms around him, leaning into him like she belonged there while he smiled like he wasn’t even thinking about it? Yeah, that stung a little.

The worst part? You saw the picture on Twitter before he even mentioned it.

“So, anything you wanna tell me?” you asked later, holding up your phone.

He glanced at the screen, then at you, before sighing. “It was just a picture.”

“She was all over you, Marshall.”

He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around you. “I didn’t even notice. The only person I care about is you.”

Damn it. He always knew exactly what to say.

3. The Time with Rihanna

You trusted Marshall. You did. But watching him perform with Rihanna? Watching them vibe on stage, their chemistry so effortless? That messed with your head a little.

You didn’t say anything at first. But later that night, he caught you staring at your drink, jaw tight.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

He raised a brow. “This isn’t about the performance, is it?”

You scoffed. “No.”

He grinned. “You sure?”

“…Shut up.”

Marshall just laughed, pulling you into him. “You’re the only one I want, you know that?”

You did. But it still felt good to hear.

4. The Time His Ex Called

Marshall rarely talked about his exes, which was fine by you. But when one of them called out of nowhere, your stomach twisted.

He answered, his voice neutral, but you couldn’t help but listen in. She was laughing, reminiscing, and while he wasn’t exactly feeding into it, he wasn’t shutting it down either.

When he hung up, you raised an eyebrow. “So, we’re taking calls from exes now?”

He sighed, running a hand over his face. “It was nothing.”

“Didn’t sound like nothing.”

He stepped closer, tilting your chin up. “You seriously think I’d ever go back to that?”

You sighed. “No.”

“Then c’mere,” he murmured, pulling you into a slow, lingering kiss.

Fine. You’d let it slide. This time.

5. The Time He Got a Little Too Cozy with a Music Video Model

Marshall had warned you about the video shoot. Said it was all acting, that you had nothing to worry about. But watching him with his hands on some model’s waist, his lips way too close to hers? Yeah, that was pushing it.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just went quiet.

He noticed.

“You mad?” he asked later, sliding onto the couch beside you.

“No.”

“Liar.”

You shot him a glare. “I know it’s just work, but did you have to look at her like that?”

He smirked. “What, like this?” He gave you the same sultry look from the video, and you groaned, shoving his face away.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, kissing your cheek. “C’mon, baby. You know it’s only you.”

Damn it. He was way too good at this.

+1. The Time You Made Him Jealous

It happened completely by accident.

You were out with some mutual friends, and one of the guys—a friend of a friend—was making you laugh. You weren’t even flirting, but Marshall? He was glowering from across the room, his jaw tight, his grip on his drink almost painful.

When you caught his stare, you smirked.

He narrowed his eyes. Two could play this game.

Later, as soon as you were alone, he caged you against the wall, his hands gripping your waist. “You think that’s funny?”

You bit your lip. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His eyes darkened. “Oh, you know.”

Then he kissed you—hard, possessive, like he had something to prove.

Not that you were complaining.

[keepingitformyself]

good men die too (so i’d rather be with you)

A/N: first natalie fic. needed to get this off my chest. crush by ethel cain on repeat as i wrote this.

SYNOPSIS: natalie scatorccio isn’t the kind of girl you bring home to your parents. and she’s not the kind of girl you’d think to spend forever with. she’s reckless, dangerous, and rough. but that doesn’t stop you from wanting her all the same.

pairings: natalie scatorccio x reader

genre: no crash AU

warnings: suggestive themes, blood, bruises

MASTERLIST

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

it’s no surprise to anyone when natalie scatorccio comes strolling into soccer practice twenty minutes late. long after coach martinez has just finished a speech on the importance of time management.

her leather jacket slung over her jersey clad body gives you just the faintest scent of marlboro reds clinging to her clothes. she wears a smirk as she approaches the rest of the girls on the field.

coach martinez merely rolls his eyes at her presence. he decides to barely batt an eye anymore. what was the point? natalie was good. maybe not the best, but good enough to get away with her shit.

you weren’t really close to her like the others were. not like misty, who hung on her every word, or shauna, who tried (and failed) to keep her in check. you weren’t even like lottie, who seemed to understand her in a way that made no sense. no, you and natalie were something different.

you didn’t talk much, but when you did, it was charged. every snarky comment or off-hand joke felt like it was said to imply something neither of you wanted to admit. like a game neither of you were willing to lose.

the first time you really noticed it was after a game. the team was celebrating a win at some rundown diner. cramming into booths that barely fit you all. natalie sat across from you, her fingers wrapped around a coke bottle, condensation dripping from the glass.

her eyes met yours, and she smirked like she knew something you didn’t.

“you’re staring.” she drawled, bringing the bottle to her lips.

“you wish.”

she laughed, low and throaty, before leaning in. “i know.”

that was how it always went. a flicker of something in a hallway, a touch too long passing water bottles at practice, her voice too close to your ear when she made some off-hand comment that sent heat pooling in your stomach. and every time, you refused to acknowledge it.

because natalie scatorccio was trouble. and you didn’t do trouble.

but damn if you weren’t drawn to her anyway.

it was easier to act like she didn’t get under your skin. to roll your eyes, to scoff, to push her buttons just to see if she’d push back. you’d rather drive her crazy, make her hate you, than admit what you actually wanted. becuase if you admitted it, it would be real. and real meant dangerous.

real meant natalie had the power to ruin you.

so you kept playing the game. kept up the act. and natalie…she played right into it.

even with the others around, you found ways to test the limits.

at parties, when she was sprawled on a couch with some guy draping an arm over her shoulder, you’d pass by and let your fingers brush against hers for half a second too long. just long enough to make her glance up at you through her lashes, lips quirking like she knew exactly what you were doing.

in the locker room, when the team was too busy talking about the next game, you’d let your knee knock into hers while tying your sneakers. she never moved away.

one night, the team had gathered at jackie’s house for a movie night, a tangled mess of limbs and blankets on the floor.

you ended up beside natalie, bodies pressed together in the dark. her hand rested on her stomach, dangerously close to yours.

you could feel the warmth radiating from her skin, but neither of you moved. not when she exhaled slowly, not when her pinky brushed yours so lightly it could’ve been an accident. you weren’t sure if you imagined it, but you swore you felt her shift just a little closer.

then there was the time in the school hallway. the team was heading to the cafeteria together, but natalie had stopped by her locker. you weren’t supposed to wait for her, weren’t supposed to lean against the metal beside her as she rummaged through her bag, weren’t supposed to mutter,

“hurry up, scatorccio,” in a tone only she would catch. she smirked at you then, slow and knowing, before tucking a pack of cigarettes into her jacket.

“gotta problem with me taking my time?” she murmured, just quiet enough that no one else heard.

you scoffed. “i’ve got a problem with you wasting mine.”

she grinned. “right.”

one friday night, after practice, you found her in the parking lot, perched on the hood of her dad’s beat-up mercury, cigarette balanced between her fingers. the night was cool, and the parking lot was empty save for the two of you.

“you need a ride?” she asked, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“i’m good.”

“you sure? wouldn’t want you walking home all alone. bad things happen to good girls.”

“i never said i was good.”

her smirk widened, something dark flashing behind her eyes. “no, i guess you didn’t.”

you should’ve walked away. should’ve ignored the way her gaze lingered, how the glow of her cigarette lit up her face in a way that made your breath hitch. but instead, you stepped closer. just a fraction. just enough.

natalie tapped her cigarette, ashes scattering to the pavement. “you ever gonna admit you want me?”

you scoffed, crossing your arms. “your window’s already passed.”

she laughed, full and unbothered. “bullshit.”

you didn’t answer. you didn’t need to. she could read your mind just fine.

and that pissed you off.

because you hated it. the way she could see right through you. the way she knew you wanted her even when you wouldn’t admit it to yourself.

it made you want to punch her, just to get rid of the feeling clawing up your throat. you wanted to see her lip split open, watch her wipe the blood away with that smug little smirk because then at least you wouldn’t have to think about how badly you wanted to kiss her instead.

then, one night, she cornered you outside a party, the bass from inside thrumming through your ribs. her lip was split, a bruise already blooming high on her cheekbone, and she looked at you like she had all the answers.

“i owe you a black eye and two kisses,” she murmured, voice laced with amusement. “tell me when you wanna come get ‘em.”

your stomach tightened, heat crawling up your spine. natalie licked at the blood on her lip, watching you like she was waiting for you to call her bluff.

but this time, you didn’t want to call it.

you swallowed hard, fists clenching at your sides. “you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

natalie tilted her head, stepping into your space, forcing you to meet her gaze. “i know exactly what I’m asking for. and so do you.”

the words settled between you, heavy and inescapable. you wanted to fight her. you wanted to push her away. but more than that, you wanted her to keep going. to ruin you the way you knew only she could.

“say it,” she pressed, voice low, eyes dark. “say you want me.”

your breath hitched. “i—”

“i want you,” she said first, cutting you off. the game, finally over.

and just like that, the bottom dropped out from under you.

you would’ve walked away. but every inch of your body screamed for you to stay. you could feel the weight of her presence as if she was a magnet, pulling you closer, her eyes locked on you like she was reading your every thought.

“i’m not the type of girl who plays by the rules,” she said quietly, voice dripping with something between challenge and promise.

“and i'm not the type who gets caught up in trouble,” you shot back, but it sounded like a lie. you both knew it.

her lips curled into a knowing smile, eyes glinting with mischief. “yeah? that’s funny, because every time i look at you, you seem like you're trying to talk yourself out of something.”

you crossed your arms, shifting your weight to one foot, trying to steady your pulse, but her words hit you harder than you expected. you could feel her eyes on you, following every move, reading the way your body tightened when she came closer.

“trying to act all tough, but you’re standing here, aren't you?” she continued, her tone light but pointed. “guess that makes you just as bad as me.”

your heart skipped, the sting of her words digging into you. “don’t flatter yourself. i’m not playing your game.”

she took a step forward, and you couldn’t help but move back a fraction, but only because you didn’t want her to see how badly she was getting to you. “you’re already in it,” she said, voice dropping lower. "you think i don’t notice the way you look at me?"

your breath hitched, and you scoffed, doing everything you could to keep the distance. "i don't look at you."

natalie cocked her head, eyes narrowing in playful challenge. “really? ‘cause i could’ve sworn i saw you staring when i walked into practice today. or maybe it was when i grabbed that water bottle from you after the scrimage. funny how you can't keep your eyes off me, huh?”

you swallowed, fighting the flush rising in your chest. “you’re imagining things.”

“i’m not,” she said, voice dripping with confidence as she moved even closer. her scent, a mix of smoke and something sharp, intoxicating, wrapped around you. "i know you want to fight it. but you’re not fooling anyone. least of all me.”

“i’m not some fucking game,” you muttered, voice sharp, but shaky. you couldn’t keep the edge from your tone, couldn’t keep the uncertainty out of your voice.

“you’re already in it,” she repeated, her tone quiet but unwavering. “so why don’t you stop pretending? stop pretending you’re not already caught up in me. you don’t get to walk away anymore.”

her voice was so close now, you could feel the heat from her breath brushing against your skin, and every nerve in your body screamed for you to back away, but your feet stayed rooted. your heart thudded, each beat pulling you closer to her than you wanted to be.

“i’m not some... i’m not the type of girl who...” you started, but your words were getting tangled in the mess of thoughts she was creating in your head. you were losing control, and the worst part? you didn’t want it back.

“not the type of girl who what?” she murmured, leaning in just enough to make you feel every word. “who gets what she wants?”

you opened your mouth to say something, anything, but you couldn’t. the words were gone, smothered by the feeling of her closeness, the way she was looking at you, waiting for you to break.

“you’re just a little scared,” she whispered, a teasing lilt in her voice. “scared of what’s underneath all this. scared of what’ll happen if you let yourself want it.”

Your pulse spiked. “stop it.”

“no,” she said, her smile widening. “you start it.”

you could feel the air around you both thickening, charged, and the space between you two felt like it was closing in, getting tighter, until you could barely breathe.

you could taste the words you weren’t saying, hanging in the air, unbearable. and in that moment, you hated her, hated how she could do this to you—make you feel like this.

but you couldn’t pull away. you couldn’t fight it.

and she knew it.

“tell me,” she pressed, voice low, dangerous. “what do you want, huh?”

it wasn’t a question anymore. it was a command. and in the space between, you realized she wasn’t asking for an answer.

she already had the one she wanted.

[stxrsniolo]

┈̸̷┅ ̤ this changes nothing ━̸̷︭

╁ ⠀aegan is typing . . . ⠀⠀ࡆ⠀⠀listen up, because this one's for the grown-ups. if you're here for some steamy, pulse-racing action, you've hit the jackpot. this isn't your grandma's bedtime story; it's spicy, it's hot, and it's gonna keep you up at night for all the right reasons. keep the lights low and the inhibitions lower. enjoy, you naughty thing.

and yeah, i narrated this from matt's pov.

the vibe at jake's party bash in los angeles was electric, but for me, it was like walking into a minefield. there she was, y/n, the one who'd turned our love into a shitshow. our breakup was messy, full of screaming matches and slammed doors, leaving scars that wouldn't heal.

i clocked her from across the room, laughing like she didn't give a fuck, but i knew she was still hung up on us. she was trying too damn hard to act like she was over it, but i could see the cracks, i always did.

"i might've been too perfect, y'know, put up with your crap for way too long," i muttered, accent thick as i cut through the crowd to confront her.

she caught sight of me coming, her eyes narrowing, her fake-ass smile dropping. "well, well, look who decided to show up," she snapped, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"of course you're trying and failing to move on now," i shot back, my tone sharp, not letting her see how much it still hurt.

she scoffed, her drink in hand, looking like she was about to chuck it at me. "oh, like you've done any better, mr. perfect."

"i hope you find some dude to fill the emptiness... because we both know you can't survive without a plaything," i said, my voice carrying, the insult clear as day.

her face went red with fury, her hand tightening around her drink. "fuck off, matt. you think you're so damn superior?"

"i'm sure you'll find some sucker to overlook all your bullshit," i kept going, not backing down, the words like poison.

that did it: her arm swung, her drink flying, splashing all over my face, the glass just missing me as it shattered somewhere behind. the crowd gasped, the music seemed to stop, but all i could focus on was her, anger and hurt in her eyes.

"you're such a dick!" she screamed, her voice cracking, the rage real.

i wiped the drink off my face, the cold liquid chilling compared to the heat of our fight. "you always knew how to make an exit, huh?" i said, my voice low and dangerous, barely holding back my own anger.

she was panting, the shock of what she did hitting her. "i fucking hate you," she hissed, but there was something else there, a hint of the love we used to have, now all twisted up.

"and i should've hated you a long time ago," i shot back, the words slicing through any remaining ties.

the tension was unbearable, the air thick with our past and without another word, i grabbed her wrist, pulling her towards a quieter, secluded room off the main party area, the door slamming shut behind us.

"you think you can just come back into my life and fuck it up again?" she spat, her eyes blazing with defiance and something else... desire.

i didn't answer with words, instead, i pushed her against the wall, my body pressed against hers, our breathing heavy, the anger morphing into a raw, primal need. our mouths clashed in a kiss that was more battle than affection, teeth clashing, lips bruising.

"you're such a fucking mess," i growled against her lips, my hands already working on her clothes, the urgency in my movements speaking volumes. i ripped her top up, exposing her breasts, my mouth finding her nipples, sucking hard, making her moan against her will.

"and you're an asshole," she shot back, her hands equally as desperate, pulling at my shirt, her nails digging into my skin as she undid my jeans, freeing my hard cock.

we were a tangle of limbs, the hate fueling our actions, turning our anger into something dark, something passionate. i lifted her, her legs wrapping around me, her skirt hiked up, her panties torn aside in my urgency.

i was inside her with a roughness that spoke of all the pent-up frustration, the hurt, the longing, her pussy tight and wet around me, a testament to her own arousal despite the hate.

"this what you wanted?" i grunted, each thrust a mix of punishment and pleasure, our bodies remembering each other too well. i fucked her hard against the wall, her back hitting it with each deep drive, her moans a mix of pain and pleasure.

"shut up," she moaned, her voice a mix of defiance and ecstasy, her nails raking down my back, urging me on. i adjusted my angle, hitting that spot inside her that made her cry out, her legs tightening around me, her body trembling with the force of her pleasure.

i moved us to the small table in the room, laying her down, the surface cold under her bare skin, her legs spread for me. i watched her face as i thrust into her again, her eyes half-lidded, lips parted, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

i pulled her hips towards me, my movements becoming more erratic, more desperate, my thumb finding her clit, circling, pressing, driving her closer to the edge.

"you like this, don't you? being fucked like this, by someone you hate?" i taunted, my voice rough, my own climax building as i felt her tighten around me, her orgasm hitting her like a wave, her cries filling the room.

i didn't stop, the sight of her coming undone pushing me over the edge, my release following hers, my thrusts slowing as i filled her, our breaths mingling, the room silent except for our heavy breathing.

when it was over and the cold reality settled in, we didn't look at each other, the silence heavy with what we'd just done. i stepped back, zipping up, and she adjusted her clothes, our eyes avoiding each other's.

"this changes nothing," she said, her voice cold, the moment of vulnerability gone.

"never said it did," i replied, my tone matching hers, both of us knowing we'd just added another layer to our fucked-up history.

⨥⠀ ⠀⠀aegan is typing ᅟᅟ:ᅟ⠀heads up, copycats and wannabe adaptors: my work is mine, period. no copies, no mashups, and definitely no translations getting thrown up here or anywhere else without my say-so.

keep your hands off unless i give you the green light, got it?

tags: @courta13 @chrislilcumslvt @marrykisskilled @chrislova @sturnshood @inspiredangel @strnilolover @emely9274 @sturns-mermaid @blushsturns

[knecht4lover]

I love angel Reese but her cocky attitude is making her very unlikeable for me and I really try my best to defend her but damn girl you’re making me regret my words. You say Sabrina can’t guard while you were on camera mind you sab just won an gold medal and a wnba championship all in one year, then the constant subtle hate on Caitlin Clark is crazy, and now she’s getting ejected for being rude and cocky on the court. Angel girl I like you but you can’t act like this while you airball 3’s and miss rebounds constantly.

[spartancommander-2874]

The banter between these men sounded all too familiar and damned amusing to be sure. If she wasn’t hearing it within her own squad, there were plenty of others around them. The ODSTs got especially wicked with each other some days. It was very obvious in the way they all addressed one another that they were a pretty close knit group.

Auri wished once more they’d all met under better, less tense, circumstances but she was here now and still alive.

“You can stop staring at me like I’ve sprouted a second head,” she said, depolarizing her visor to return Baird’s look. “As much as I hate to admit it, it honestly looks like it was a massive fluke that I landed here. I could’ve just as easily been dumped into the planet’s core. Thank god I didn’t. Hopefully we can get this all figured out when we reach your base. Assuming your superiors don’t try locking me up when we get there.” Or shooting me, she silently added.

“I’ll feel better soon as I can figure where exactly this star system is and then bounce out if not tonight then tomorrow. Last thing I want to do is overstay my welcome. It still blows me away that the Covenant hasn’t reached this sector of space. I know there’d been a few planets here and there they overlooked but to have not even heard of them… I’d almost say you all are lucky but, then again, you’ve got your own host of issues here with the Locust and whatever other crap they bring with them.”

A quick glance out the front of their transport revealed a set of guard posts growing larger with each passing moment. At least they were finally nearing whatever acted as this team’s FOB. Hopefully, they’d all be getting their answers very soon.

As they were waved onward past the gate, the Spartan took stock of the men and women traversing the base’s grounds. There were quite a few stationed here. Auri fully expected such a thing but it still gave her a bit of a pause. She hoped like hell whoever was in charge wouldn’t attempt to detain her. If they did and a fight broke out, the Four wasn’t too sure she’d make it out in one piece.

@bigmouthgenius

This was supposed to be a simple smash and grab. Get the blueprints of the place, locate the objective, nab it and run.

In and out.

Easy enough, right?

Nope.

There was a security program that had been running passively in the background that not even the team’s AI had detected while pilfering the system and she had Forerunner code built directly into her matrix. Alarms began to blare loudly, alerting the Prometheans of offending intruders, once the data left its protective, holographic casing. Their fireteam leader quickly placed a hand on the terminal and green pixels flowed up her gauntleted arm and into a slot on the back of her helmet indicating their AI had come home. Without another word, the trio of Spartan IVs took off, wanting to be as far away from this place as physically possible.

Red blips began pinging off their motion trackers during their flight through the ancient complex and the digitized roars of anger echoed off down the halls. Their AI, Noesis, was still tapped into the local network and began to shut down the massive gray-white doors to cut off their pursuers or at the very least slow them down.

Evac was well on the other side of the facility in the form of a D79-TC Pelican dropship. Their pilot, Spartan Kent, had already activated the autopilot, calling the dropship in closer as the LZ was going to be hot by the time they got to it. A pair of beam turrets popped up in front of bulkhead doors at the end of one hall and began firing white-hot lasers at the fleeing super soldiers, forcing them off their current path and to take a hard right down another hallway to avoid being melted down to slag.

A Promethean Knight had sprung forward seemingly out of nowhere toward the Spartans as they attempted to dodge the turret fire and had nearly pinned their XO to the wall with its gun when it received a shotgun shell to the side of its head. With the creature down, they continued onward with their flight.

“Finally! We’re almost out of here!” came the Spartan to their XO’s left. Her IFF transponder marked her as Cordova, Caterina A.

“About time. I think we’ve really riled up the locals. Kent,” their fireteam leader replied then glanced to the right at their other squad mate. “Kent, once we get out, get that pelican ready for transport. We need to get the hell out of here ASAP before they call in for more reinforcements. Last thing we need is for the Storm Covies clogging up the air.”

“Way ahead of you, ma’am!” came her companion’s reply.

Just as they reached the last stretch, however, a Promethean had teleported meters away from the exit and brought an Incineration Cannon up to bear. The weapon began to charge, red light glowing like death. Right as the thing fired, their commander cried out, “Move it!”, before diving out of the way herself. The creature must’ve been in the local network as well as it was fighting for control over the doorways and cut the commander off from the other two. She rolled up onto her feet just in time to jerk to the side to avoid another blast.

“Commander?! Auri-?”

“Hey, you still-?”

“Get outside! I’ll meet you at the LZ. This place is going to be crawling with Knights shortly. I don’t want them bringing down our bird before we even get out of here,” she called back over their COMMs.

Spartan Kent paused briefly before responding so his counterpart took over. “Yes ma’am! Noesis is still feeding us a map of the area and there’s another exit out here. We’ll see you outside.”

“Copy!”

The Knight attempted to fire on the Spartan once more and just before it released the trigger, a well thrown grenade took it out of its misery. Reloading her weapons and taking a quick stock of what was leftover, Noesis, the team’s AI, wormed her way past the defenses the Knight had thrown up and unlocked one doorway, placing a waypoint that led to the exit on the Spartan’s HUD. The commander took off and was forced to double back twice due to an influx of hostiles. Out of nowhere, a brilliant flash of blue and black lit up a doorway to the Four’s left. Hovering there, of its own volition apparently, was a portal. She was really backed into a corner right now, with Prometheans encroaching on her location. The construct hiding within her helmet was already following her line of thought before the woman even voiced her plan.

“Commander, as much as I’d like to be out of here, we don’t know where that portal leads,” Noesis protested.

“Anywhere’s better than here. They’re already starting to wrest control from you and you’ve already transferred over the data to Roland, right?” Auri had already started to back up toward the swirling vortex. Sure enough, another entrance on the far side of the room had opened up, revealing a mass of very angry Promethean Knights who thought they had the human cornered.

“Yes but…” the AI said, her sentence petering off. Oh hell. Her Spartan had already made up her mind and there was no changing it. “I’m notifying the others and I don’t think these Knights are going to wait much longer!” Moments before the Forerunner constructs could pounce, the Spartan dove into the portal’s center and her world went black and the machine shut off.

---

She could feel her body being spun this way and that. Her skin being tugged hard off her bones as she fell end over end. Or so it seemed.

Auri’s shields flared up as an unknown source drained the batteries until they cracked and died for a few seconds, the annoying alarm blaring right in her ear. Her equilibrium was way off and it felt as though she remained within the portal network for far longer than before although she couldn’t tell how much time had passed since she had taken the plunge.

Without warning, a hole suddenly opened up and spat her out into the dirt rather unceremoniously. The Spartan rolled to a stop, head spinning violently and she swallowed down the urge to throw up. Any attempt at getting to her feet were met with major protest as her vision swam sickeningly. Shutting her eyes tightly against the light filtering through her faceplate, the commander took in a few slow, deep breaths before rising up to her knees carefully. Her stomach was still her throat and her head throbbed something awful but she was alive and surprisingly in one piece. A few meters away from her, the portal floated and seemed to shudder. Had the Spartan not been paying attention, she wouldn’t have caught that slight waver that indicated something was off.

“Okay, good. You’re alright,” came her AI’s soft voice. “We may have a tail. Prometheans may have followed us and… I don’t think that portal is going to last much longer. We need to get clear of the blast radius and into cover.” Noesis sounded almost distracted and for a second, the Four couldn’t pin down what had caught her attention.

“Great… You don’t have to tell me twice,” Auri replied, turned around to get moving and stopped.

Oh.

That’s why.

They weren’t on Requiem anymore.

[guiiay]

yeah... yeah

[suja-janee]

I love Lucy Maclean, she’s such a sweetheart

[ccbatman]

what if i said hal's mom called him "hally" specifically as a play on halley's comet, huh. what if i said she did that because she knew no matter how far he went, he'd always come back to her, hm. what then.

[midniightspecial]

                   it's as though there's a hook in her gut, a feeling that something is pulling mina by the naval towards a woman more infuriating than she can find a single word for in a vocabulary as broad as her own. her temper flares, though it doesn't take much effort to do so, sabine need only blink those doe like eyes in her direction and she feels it boiling swiftly over. giving into her, to the heat of resentment — she is powerless to this thing between them.                mina's eyes linger on the smirk tugging on her lips, so beautiful she hates her. "i'm over it." she snaps, as though it hasn't followed her through every encounter with sabine, as though she doesn't see the silken lengths of her hair and want to set herself on fire. "you're still a prick." she breathes, as she finds herself confronted with the hateful truth of it, that mina cannot move past it. she holds a grudge better than she does anything else — furious with sabine for being awful to her upon their first meeting, at her parents for lying her down on a doctor's table when they should have held her to their chests, at her sister for daring to die and leave her here all alone. she doesn't have it in her to let go.                closer and closer, mina's pale gaze trails slowly over sabine's face. "you're so..." the words a hot breath upon her lips, an unfinished sentence as mina leans into whatever it is that tugs her closer. a wish to touch her hair, the sharp line of her jaw so inviting she could sink her teeth in. the thin skin of her eyelids flicker closed, until the alert snaps them open once more and she clears her throat as she returns to the present. she frowns, reading the message and feeling her heartbeat increase — if it were possible. "shit... get your stuff. we'll go together." her fingers brush briskly over sabine's arm before a portal opens to the other woman's home, one last look in her direction before she runs to pack her own bag.

               wrath  boils,  boils,  boils  inside  of  her,  she’s  an  active  volcano  ready  to  erupt.  she  can’t  stand  the  sight  in  front  of  her,  yet  she’s  unable  to  tear  her  eyes  away.  mina  is  like  a  magnet  to  her  core  engulfed  in  iron,  and  no  matter  how  much  sabine  tries  to  resist  it,  she’s  there  nonetheless,  feet  glued  to  the  ground  that  still  spins  after  their  journey.  she  can  see  her  rage  mirrored  and  a  smirk  paints  her  features,  satisfied,  heartbeat  galloping  madly  between  her  lungs  as  she  approaches,  as  she  counters  back  and  her  smirk  is  replaced  by  a  scowl  and  a  scoff.                “  god,  mina,  get  the  fuck  over  it,  ”     it’s  on  her,  she  knows,  the  way  things  had  developed,  but  she  wasn’t  the  one  that  kept  them  that  way,  her  fury  is  nothing  but  an  answer  to  mina’s  hatred,  to  her  irritating  presence.     “  i  was  having  a  bad  day,  you  paid  for  it,  end  of  the  story.  will  you  ever  learn  to  fuckin  cope ?  ”     sabine  fists  her  hands,  clenching  and  unclenching,  knuckles  white  and  jaw  tense.  she  closes  the  distance,  almost  breathing  upon  mina’s  lips,  because  there  is  something  unexplainable  that  beckons  her  to  the  silver - haired  woman.  she’s  so  close  mina’s  perfume  invades  her,  making  her  mouth  water,  and  she  doesn’t  know  what  would’ve  happened  next  because  whatever  it  was,  it  gets  interrupted  by  the  alert  that  wakes  her  up  from  her  enraged  state,  snapping  her  out  of  it  with  a  slap  of  reality.     “  what  the  hell ?  ”     she  whispers,  and  looks  at  mina  with  worry  hidden  under  a  layer  of  bewilderment. 

[kublakola]

Seeing what Jinx could have been like if she'd just had the space and support to properly grieve and process her guilt, rather than being shaped into a weapon... Silco when I catch you

[jennrypan]

It'd kind of weird how..Persephone has a closer relationship to Hera than her own mother like 🤨

Demeter literally gave you everything you could ever want, she just didn't want your dumbass running around with the Olympians FOR GOOD REASON?? (And low and behold as soon as she left the Mortal Realm everything went shitty and bad things immediately happened to her 😶)

Like..you wanted MALE god friends so bad?? Cuz ig Hermes wasn't enough?? All the nymphs, Athena, Hestia and Artemis weren't enough?? Fucking weird.

Like I'd get it if it was about hee wanting to go to school but she only did that for like one WEEK or less, before she pussied out and got distracted by Hades and all his riches.

Demeter should be disappointed that she put so much effort into Persephone only for her to become this ungrateful, spoiled, tantrum throwing, sugar baby. Like holy shit--

She was raised around nymphs but she takes every chance to terrorize them, but let a God actually insult her and she just grumbles and pouts and let's Hades deal with it. (Unless it's Zeus for some reason?? She has no issue getting bold with the literal king.)

Like her act of Wrath was because of her two nymph friends dying and yet..she clearly doesn't care about nymphs. Or anyone in the Mortal Realm for that matter.

(Also.. she doesn't seem to like Hermes or Artemis for that matter either, easily replacing them with Eros and Hades, despite Hermes being her first male friend and Artemis LETTING HER STAY IN HER HOUSE. Also..Eros got to ealk her down the isle.and not of her nymph friends were there except for Daphne?? What the hell.

[britneyshakespeare]

Had the extremely upsetting experience of a mutual of like 6 years going off on me for occasionally making posts about supporting Harris because apparently that makes me a g n cide denier who refuses to learn and grow, with all of my views just being assumed not even from what I've told them I believe or what I've posted before, but just because I DON'T post particularly the kind of things they THINK I should be. When I pointed out how much they were just completely assuming about stuff I'd never talked to them about, I was told it doesn't matter what I do in real life or "care" about if I simply disagree with their conclusion and vote for her anyway. Like they were absolutely not sorry for the level of maliciousness they not just assumed of my character, but for some reason thought appropriate to bring directly to me before unfollowing me. No apology whatsoever for how discomforting or upsetting that might be and certainly no acknowledgment that I could disagree with them and still be a good person. I just got another even longer rant about how they fundamentally can't fuck with me because of this one thing, no matter WHAT else I do in my real life (which I pointed out that they do not know), and how I'm directly supporting fascism.

Like seriously what is it about Tumblr that makes people think they know someone based off of occasional posts? There were just such DEEP assumptions they were making of me and going off of very little or absolutely nothing. Around the time I first became mutuals with that person I used to express my personality and beliefs and talk about what was going on in my life a lot more openly, but I've significantly scaled back on doing that in many ways for many reasons. One of my major ones is privacy and the way I've had strangers outside my followers and following circles just find random things I say and dogpile me for it. I was fundamentally changed after some T Fs did that to me like 3 years ago. I also just didn't have many conversations w that person anymore (I message people in general on here like 10x less than I did circa 2018-2019, which I'm somewhat sorry about!). My point is to say I think this person felt comfortable assuming that they knew me, especially who I am in 2024 at the age of 25, much better than they actually did.

One of the specific things they accused me of was being afraid of learning and growing (because I don't perform social media activism on here like they think I should). Like AFRAID to take criticism. When again I've never received criticism from them or had to respond to any criticism on here before as pertaining to my views on... well, absolutely any of the issues they accused me of not caring about. They essentially treated it as if the only thing in the world I cared about was the US election and characterized me as the most out-of-touch liberal they could possibly imagine, because I'm not "pushing" Kamala Harris to be better (Oh?? Should I do that on here?? Does she read my blog??).

And most hypocritically what they said was that I only *sometimes* *vaguely* post pro-Harris things (I often post like 5 or fewer things in a day though?). But here's the kicker. "Because I know I'll get shit for it. And rightfully so."

Really????? Not a single person, anon or not, in my messages or in a tagged post or anything, has ever given me shit before for saying who I'm voting for. I'm actually NOT afraid of "getting shit" for that opinion, I just don't start fights with people who are anti-voting. And why should I??? I genuinely don't believe in trying to change the minds of strangers on the internet about that sort of thing. I'm just not confrontational about it; that is so not the same thing as being "afraid of getting shit." I'm not posting ENOUGH about my support for Harris, therefore I'm afraid. But therefore they can also make all these assumptions about me being their strawman for an ignorant Harris supporter.

I'm afraid of getting shit but I still post anyway? But if I weren't afraid of getting shit I'd be posting a lot more?? This is ALL based on their assumptions of what my blog *should* look like, based on what I really and truly believe. My level of posting every now and then is an accurate gauge of my feelings on complex, sensitive, global issues. Because I'm voting for the Democratic presidential candidate and I'm ok sharing pretty much just that little glimpse of myself.

I really don't think that person knows just how inappropriate and insulting that is to just say all of that to me. Like they really know what's going on in my head. Their first message began and ended with like "I'm sorry I love you I just can't take it anymore" but they clearly weren't sorry enough to try and be more respectful to me, and they didn't love me enough not to default to extremely ungenerous assumptions and attacking me based off of those instead of any actual words I've said that they take issue with.

Online radicalization is real and it's not necessarily bad because your political views can start to fall well out of the contemporary Overton window. The way you find it appropriate to treat people whose views, however common, seem to fundamentally misalign with yours... that does matter. You can't just assume the worst of everyone and then act on that in how you approach them as individuals. And then be shocked that you don't stay friends with them. You can't be confrontational with someone about an issue you've never had an honest conversation about, and then expect them to take your bad faith in them as reasonable well-meaning criticism.

I'm afraid of criticism??? I'm afraid of criticism. No I'm not. This person and I have never had an issue before where they criticized me and I got harshly defensive. It was ALL projection. The entire tone of their messages was as if all their anti-voting posts recently were somehow in communication with the occasional go-vote-for-Harris posts that I make. That's not a conversation. I don't post for your satisfaction. I don't post in "response" to my mutuals I disagree with. I just post what's on my mind, sometimes, about some things. I really again can't stress enough how baffled I am by this

[meatycatastrophe]

Good day, this is the lawyer of the owner of this account. In line with the recent episode of Jeongnyeon: The Star is Born, she refuses to speak in posts rather she’ll voice out her opinion in hashtags to filter what she’s going to say and prevent herself from damaging her 100-follower platform that she built for 87 years.

We appreciate your understanding regarding this matter. Thank you.