#I JUST GET TOSSED WITH THE WIND

[rexscanonwife]

idk if someone's made this kind of post before, but draw your angstiest ships like this ☝️☝️☝️

[akkivee]

so lol, i kinda and finally listened to the jyushi and hitoya drama track that came with noctiluna (i am working lol) and it was adorable lol, jyushi and hitoya rode their bikes out to the sea and had a lovely time 🤗

and so i’m sure hearing that the jyushi hitoya drama track was them going to the ocean immediately set off a lot of alarm bells, ik it did for me LOL but the track also went out of its way to explain that jyushi had wanted to go with kuukou as well, but he was mysteriously unavailable, much to jyushi slight frustration, and y’all gotta understand that the second round of manga drama tracks have hinted at developments that happened in this current track drop i’m so terrified the bat drama track might have something to do with the ocean bro 😭😭😭

[trainingdummyrabbit]

gmoooorning ! woo woo

[waywardsalt]

they shouldve put bellum in ssbu as a spirit. come on

[precipitin]

think i am just going to start posting

[braveburned]

not to continue to post ooc and be annoying buuuut what if this were an inbox call ——.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

an approach of "everyone inherently deserving to have autonomous choices" as juxtaposed with, fundamentally opposed to even, "a select few entitled to limit others' ability to do so, making themselves more able to choose what happens to other people, enforced through power"

also the way "direct interpersonal exposure to an abusive party is sure like how other interactions in relation to power differentials / no principled approach that everything isn't a hierarchical competition actually, like taking up space, communicating; ft. double standards in favor of the winners" wherein it's like, it's not even just like "being in the haunted house of living with an abuser is like a Metaphor for existing amongst broader power disparities / w/selectively applied (by others) increased vulnerability / at the whims of w/e authority" like, more like a Model. it's the same principle and the same system and the same bullshit, just more confined / a smaller isolated unit of [nuclear household] or [romantic partnership] or w/e interpersonal specific social grouping. been training to recognize "wow just like [a reality of such experiences]" all my life actually

the difference of the possibilities of You Can Choose This versus limitations of arguing to the existing power structure to possibly acknowledge that you Have to [pursue certain option] b/c it's the only way, Objectively, so if only they can be shown this they would allow it....despite this situation not requiring "or you could've just been able to choose to do that freely in the first place" & by extension not requiring [threat to that power structure]

the pressure to [hey. don't unionize] like, the numbers always being against the few at the top, so it's required to have these iterations where other people can prop up this world of Gotta Have Power At Others' Expense by supporting people playing by the rules and keeping others in line; being someone who helps / supports the overall system of oppressive power structure and can enjoy wielding the granted power / being supported/insulated at others' expense / having a sense of entitled authority themselves. while people can be mad at those who are in the same boat / aren't actually wielding that structural power and scapegoat anyone like, well this is why we'll never get treated better by [group / individual in power], you're ruining it / responsible for those choices/actions of those in power....which doesn't challenge that empowered party's ability to choose those actions that are affecting everyone

versus support in the face of vulnerability to that, being what allows people to make choices for themselves / exist more freely. rejecting the idea of "well [person] fucked up so now i won't deign to reward / Not punish everyone after all" as being [person]'s fault; like "well if we all only acted perfectly Deservingly / in just the right way, those in power would have to go 'oh okay everyone can be treated as inherently deserving now :)'" is the answer, when even then, b/c of the power structure putting them In Charge anyways, at most, they simply Could do that and Could graciously rescind that power. and if they don't, oh well, you didn't all do it right after all, assign blame amongst yourselves to stay in continual competition and avoid recognizing that actual improvement requires a different approach where you have to support each other instead of criticizing / blaming / competiting and just hoping there's always someone else to get the brunt of the most negative attention / harmful treatment

thinking of queerness as an expanse of possibility and autonomous choices. versus the limitations of "patriarchal society atomized into nuclear family units" concept of sexuality & gender, Cishet Ideals. existing outside those ideals as being a matter of what people Can do. versus what they Have to do. arguing that the guiding light, the defining principle here should be recognition of people who Have to be gay, for example, as what doesn't really challenge the power structure that requires & reinforces homophobia. while "what if it doesn't matter if people are objectively proven & universally recognized as Having to be gay. what if people Can all choose to do some gay shit regardless, without these choices being limited by their vulnerability to harm, such that Everyone is pushed into [patriarchal nuclear family unit ideals] life." even if you argued everyone ever is straight, actually, the problem is in whether you can define what that means and enforce it on everyone. people who Are straight are harmed and made more vulnerable by patriarchy & the imposition of [your only source of social support is within the isolated nuclear family unit]; Cishet Ideals are also an impossible standard that can also be used to blame anyone, including people who could would consider themselves cishet, for their inevitable failure to live up to them as the reason that [isolation & domination sucks actually] is hurting them. like how cis people also never live up to supposed Cis Gender ideals and are subject to trying to better earn, & objectively prove, their quality as a member of their gender, thus worth, & be under constant scrutiny re: gender & able to be blamed for failing to live up to the ideals. while, of course, the fractalized iterations of power structures means cis people still get to be gender cops at the expense of anyone more vulnerable

language as an art & science, necessarily always evolving & in flux, rather than prescriptive & static. the way that Static Prescriptive approach may be marginally associated with "well this helps Coordinate; streamline; reduce confusion" but Uncertainty is also possibility. Allistic Social Ideals seeming to be about [minimize confusion, streamline, coordinate] in the best light, but also being affected by ableism, and this approach being used to Other people, as enemy &/or lower on the social hierarchy, to be diminished/harmed either way. this being able to be used against any individuals or groups that can thusly be [othered]; ableism also affects everyone: the logic that we don't think we should all support each other / respect autonomy, we're instead all subject to an eternal Meritous test to prove who has the Capacity to Deserve to have more power than some others. ableism also needing to be understood in juxtaposition with / the context of racism; vice versa. the "you Can't" in applied authoritative power being not just [i won't allow it] but [i won't allow it b/c you are literally incapable anyways]....in every power disparity, the empowered supposedly deserve it on a merit that grants them Superior Abilities. e.g. patriarchy requires ableism, women Cannot do the things that men get to do, in their bones & minds & souls they must be shopping; the same logics play out like they do in ableism, patriarchy is only bolstered by "oh well you're good at Other things that I'm not good at :)" which conveniently means in ways still exploited to support those who already have more power while you stay more disposable; acknowledgment of those who "overcome" being disabled, or a woman, to do the thing abled people or men can do, which just means All of you should try harder and then you'd all be equal to us, it's your own fault :) and/or simply taking ideas, recognition, credit from them. even "gotta colonize & subjugate the world, which is good actually b/c it's for jesus" is like, legitimately oh you're welcome for now having The Capacity to go to heaven: but also to justify violence & oppression based on who's Inherently more evil from this christian evangelist perspective, which happens to deserve death or exploitation (work & suffering good for your inner christianness. you're welcome)

white man's burden, how Easy women have it, can't believe 5 cents of my taxpayer money might've gone to a disabled person somewhere to barely live on b/c "see how even Institutionally Recognized As Legitimately(tm) 'Disabled' people are treated?" has to be a threat for all / not display what it could be like to actually support anyone's genuine wellbeing, including their having the support to have more expansive choices in their life, vs just barely hovering over the constant threat of dangerous increased vulnerability....

that those in power will very readily consider themselves Constantly Besieged, Wronged, Threatened By Any & Everyone; versus those actually negatively affected by being low enough on some hierarchy to be harmed & denied autonomy by others with more power being the ones who have to struggle to even stop blaming themselves or at least people who Aren't the ones with that power, who are more likely to cling to "well, it's my fault, and i Can earn my way out of this" narratives....which actually would be a situation in which one theoretically Does have more autonomy; thus more palatable than believing that anything's truly out of your hands / there isn't so simple a solution here / [other person; people] are/were never going to actually start affording you respect as a person

back to the expanse of possibility of language, subjective & in flux & developed by the mutual Effort to (more) successfully communicate....thinking about being autistic and someone talking about how the demands in Trying to be understood verbally means innovating and developing Language thusly. an art and a science. creative and experimentally backed. (also math/science as approaches are also creative / Not the antithesis of art, thanks). thinking of how sure nt (another socially constructed Ideal that doesn't exist to describe reality but to demand everyone just try to stop failing to have earned better / congrats on bringing it upon yourself, you're responsible for my feelings & actions) people might generally approach communication like "??? idk i don't have to regularly have a conscious approach, so i don't. i just Am Normal" versus when your communicative approach, for any various reasons, is Not considered normal, thus not considered ideal, so you Do have to interact with people consciously, Translate for their benefit as best you can. thinking of the idea of Poetry as a work understood to require a third space between two parties: it's not colloquial, the poet is using language in this noncolloquial context to communicate a concept, perchance create a link to an effect they can't invoke with a preexisting word for it, while the reader/listener is understood to likewise have an active role, be consciously trying to not just "correctly" receive the meaning, but explore the possibilities of various, even ongoing, interpretation, in conversation with the poet's efforts and the reality of them as being another person, and also perhaps allowing for the spontaneous mutual discovery of possible meaning for the third space / conversation between speaking and interpretating. (versus artist as authorititative vanguard, communicating something static & definitive that others can only Fail to interpret correctly, which is just like them. lol) like, what's not Poetic, in that sense, about two people bringing mutual conscious effort, flexible interpretation / room for possibility, interest in getting it right not to bolster ego but to have had a more successfully constructive interaction. which could even include the ability to interpret someone's lack of communication in expected ways; their choice not to engage thusly; as anything other than a threat or slight to your supposed entitlement to just that. like i deserve phonecalls over emails or speaking over nonspeaking or even the Guaranteed opportunity to communicate w/anyone when & how i want to, i'm simply being so good faith curious i swear........anyways, i'm not that into reading poems, absolutely not into making them, not in this "literal" sense anyways, but again what's not poetic about just trying to communicate via this Translation all the time. the way i can latch on to phrasings from prose written by people who also write poems, and/or just sure appreciate like the entirety of some essay of theirs, the approach, its execution. anger is a type of geography. when something is ignored, it can do what it likes, sometimes.

everyone always on twitter trying to outrun some [every other day's qrt trend of "what opinion has everyone hate you" tangled meme that is sure like "and apparently you're about to acquiesce" in context but also that everyone Loves to air, actually, hence it being in constant, inescapable distribution] (i don't see it b/c successful curation ig lol). everyone trying to feel like they're more worthy vanguard authoritative Radically Non Cishet than others constantly just going off of vibes, which is to say, probably just going like "but have we considered being more biphobic" or some more tried & true similar [this is the same old shit & the Cishet Ideals are supported by it] takes that are like, "any Unleashed Edgy Freethinking standup comedian man saying shit you'd hear in a mall food court from some rando's uncle" like, we have heard of this actually, but sure you're so brave for suggesting maybe the transgenders have gotten a bit too powerful, except you're saying it in a [but this is totally queer analysis] way....queer analysis Linguistics being like, undoubtedly the favorite [i am become flynn rider swords tangled twitter meme] avenue. this like language revanchism like "this word must be returned to this specific usage" but a) it's never returning it to a way that it actually existed and b) is the prescriptive ossification of our limited preexisting language to discuss queerness, guided by the idea that it'd be bad if it was Too Inclusive, actually the principle we want to operate on here. is indulging in the level of power trip feeling of like tormenting a peer in middle school really your most serious focus and genuine efforts in supporting people's ability to exist as they are

how did the "asexuals can't be queer" stint work out for everyone? the fact that all the arguments also backed every other form of bigotry and abusive logic aside: what were the results, exactly? stuart cishet was thwarted from nefariously entering a queer space & ruining it for all, b/c he no longer had the option to cross the drawbridge by saying he was asexual, right, that was a close one. anyone amused by being like "they hate to see a meboss winning" just limited to not even arguing about "uhh but you're As Good As straight" (a crucial, supportive tool in our history, right) but rather just like....deciding it's about asexuals being cringe or something, and who could easily move on not by actually operating on better principles than "cishet ideals of controlling people's sexuality is: Don't Have Sex, right? which is also the whole of what asexuality describes or entails?" or "what's gained by focusing on making this as exclusive as possible anyways. nonrhetorically. what do you gain or facilitate. what do you lose or preclude." but just like "haha well i've moved on anyways"

your choices re: your sexuality and gender as ones you Can make. with expansive possibility borne of the support as a person that you should get merely by virtue of existing. versus "but i Have to exist like this" as an appeal to the established power structure to perhaps elect to allow Some truly legitimate gays to suffer a little less effects of homophobia. who can in turn be like "ugh, bisexuals CAN seem straight to everyone. so they're ruining it for us truer more legitimately gay people." see: it's still homophobia's fault. see: your sameness is in Wanting something else, being able to Choose something else without fear of the violent enforcement of the demands & requirements of Cishet Ideals. someone who's never had sex / dating deemed Gay Enough isn't "as good as straight." see: it's not that everyone thinks you Can't do gay shit, it's that everyone Knows you can, and that's exactly the problem, violence is required to try to force otherwise, to limit the only option for any support in life to the happy nuclear family existence (for those who deserve even that, versus mere support to someone else's nuclear household). it's not a Problem when people center transness on what you want to do, that you are able to choose to do it, support, a better life than you would have otherwise. or even to say it should be so easy that, yes, someone can Just Say that they're trans. versus the idea that the only legitimate trans people are miserable, wish they were cis, and are going through processes legitimized & controlled by "but are you really trans. do you really deserve it" roadblocks & resistance & required cis approval, and their difficulties & unnecessary infliced pain & vulnerability in doing so? is really the fault of some theoretical teen who wants to say they aren't cis b/c they just feel like it. damn them.

queerness (see: logic of ableism in all these matters) being Suffering, what you're Limited to being by demands outside your control so please recognize this, what you Have to do (you just might be more cishet otherwise, like surely all the bisexuals or transgenders want to be. damn them), a difficult and exclusive experience that is the fault of those in the group themselves: does not challenge the [cishet ideals] including [enforcers of cishet ideals get to choose which gays to begrudgingly recognize, perhaps conditionally / temporarily, to prove to everyone else they might be Worthy too, if they tried harder to deserve it / scrutinized more people in their group for not playing by the rules and appeasing those in power enough]

while, of course, people can think they're the bravest smartest ones / the most suffering more than jesus hated ones for this. biphobia / transphobia being evergreen, while asserting that it's actually being cis gold star gays that's the most oppressed life. accepting the limits of [what Externalized Activities, like defined sexual interactions or gender presentation, are encoded into legal arguments for policing queer people] as indeed what should thus be the boundaries of defining existence outside cishet ideals, and what supports that. the hot trends over the years, i remember circa 2010 "the transes On Here are way out of line expecting way too much. they have to remember they're weird and it's sooo hard (and weird) for us." the blog i unfollowed for accepting a submission about "can't stand trans guys who hate to be misgendered but won't try to seem less feminine." the twitter i unfollowed for rt'ing a take about "can't stand bi ppl who hate to experience biphobia but won't try to seem less straight." the epic trend of "Really respecting trans people means talking over them to tell them they're now equivalent to cis people so stop talking about your experiences otherwise," i can't even trust that nobody ever Didn't take that to its logical conclusion of "straight trans people are as good as cishet." the asexuality exclusion bullshit. eternal "the most legitimate nonbinary people seem androgynous" points that would, in fact, require nonbinary to be defined by, and limit themselves according to, the gender binary & its ideals. trying to cut off the LG from the BT, as has always gone on, including just with the linguistic making shit up like evergreen Flynn Rider Edgy Meme argument about how everyone's trying to steal the word Lesbian from you to just be used Illegitimately, with bonus fallback on the fact of patriarchy. less common but i've sure also seen arguing about Gay being used too willynilly as well and arguing The Rules / pretending that there's never been an overlap with gay men, (cis or trans) women, bisexuals; apparently believing that it also would likewise be Better trying to narrow definitions into something more exclusive when all our language is to create possibilities out of what was logistically unspeakable before. when we've Perfectly Stratified all the vocab and are just standing around, what's the next step that's now more possible because of those efforts? having the LG doesn't enforce the gender binary, unless you're trying to recreate your own version of it, as people in fact always are. "um it's simple. people who are the Truest members get to decide who else are the Gay Women and Gay Men." who gets to draw these lines for everyone else, and why do they get to do it. what would be achieved by embracing Purity concretely, eternally affixed in place; versus fuzziness & expecting flux & future possibilities, where even seeming contradictions just mean there's even more here than you thought. do you Want to be queer and Get to make those choices, or not. what if You are the only True Gay in the world, everyone else is cishet and just pretending and saying they're also gay? you'd still only gain everything by that being possible. if you were the only Real Person and can't know anyone else's interiority is only an illusion: you can only lose everything by acting like you're the only real person. that's how some people already operate as individuals vs everyone else, or a member of the Truest People group vs those beneath them who are ruining paradise. you operate on those principles of being entitled to dehumanize others, you have the power to exploit that

[you can't define Woman in a way that doesn't exclude some women / include things/people that decidedly aren't women] applies for us too b/c The Gender Binary Isn't Real. it's also of course used to serve patriarchy, ableism, racism, all of it. like how we can understand / analyze Everything as political. white supremacy everywhere, all the time. ableism in all of it. every interaction or behavior existing in a medium of Power Relations. how do you define woman. why would your definition get to be imposed on anyone else. would you demand there be a "take the racist ableist misogynist gender binary, but give it a lil Gay spin" situation. is being a woman in required physical traits. in required presentation. required experiences. what's served by being mad at "i'm not a woman but i'm in community with them b/c i have [xyz] traits; [abc] presentation; &/or [qrs] experiences" and using language applied to a group considered Women b/c language tends to assume a strictly defined, Real gender binary. what's served by going "hmm, that's a problem. make this More strictly defined and binary" in response instead of focusing on the connections there and solidarity through [this is all iterations / fractalized areas of the same shit, who has the power to exploit & compound others' vulnerability] [power control abuse]. are you a woman b/c that's how you want to identify? b/c [reasons you don't have to explain, b/c on principle your choices for yourself are respected, no one has the authority to thwart this]? are you a lesbian likewise b/c of your wants & choices? great. the idea our language has ever actually supported clear lines even between gender, a binary that requires Cishet Ideals & all that that demands....? inaccurate, aligned w/bigotry, nonconstructive, unserious.

the twitter i follow of a group who supports incarcerated lgtbq+ people, and how the other year they voted to include cishet ppl w/hiv or aids. the goofs & gags like "queering our marriage b/c i have more flexibility" like yknow, i agree with the least measures that increase support / choices for any women as in fact legitimately contributing to The Queer Agenda more than people trying to make the terms masc & femme into [thee gender binary. but gayer] remix, or complaining about fellow queers who are totally ruining it for everyone else, The Establishment totally would've graciously & benevolently deigned to allow our autonomy (with a "but you're on thin ice" and ability to revoke that at any time, but whatever) until This jerk who's totally as good as cishet Made them choose otherwise for the 9000 zillionth time!!! well i'm going to go laugh at language people are developing to better describe their experiences, realities, wants, & values, b/c i'm obviously more Normal & Deserving than those weirdos. and to keep stuart cishet at bay, this is a huge threat actually so you're welcome that i focus on going "but COULD a cishet person just PRETEND to identify thus" like, yes. yes, they always could. what of it, if everyone could?

tl;dr idk things like "accepting the limitations that you might possibly only be Allowed anything if you can prove you Haaaave to / prove that nobody could possibly miserably force themself through otherwise (you can't)." "accepting the limitations of: wielded authority would always be benevolent & supportive, or even not wielded at all, if not for those among you ruining it for everyone else." that of course it's like "being queer is supposedly miserable so who would choose it? but also we have to prevent people from even having the choice" b/c they Know people would & do make those choices, and you have to enforce [marriage & patriarchy & nuclear family] life even w/cishet people, the power disparity requires constant maintaining & deflection of scrutiny / responsibility focused back on those in power. what would happen if every straight person in the world could just say they're gay. or every cis person could just say they're nonbinary now. great. say tomorrow they miraculously all do: great. the cishet ideals gender binary aren't Real. it's supposed to be so conflated with reality & unquestionable that the term "cishet" isn't supposed to exist; "stop Forcing Labels on me. hypocritical much" / "i don't know what a cisgender is but i know it shouldn't be allowed around children" style. what would happen if everyone could "claim" to be queer. epic. if everyone said they're nonbinary & now the gender binary doesn't exist. hell yes.

"everyone can just say some shit" is always true, you can always question their intentions / meaning, but when you can't prove the interiority of another person, making things Contingent on that only serves to make it impossible: like someone having to prove they're Meritously Good Enough as a person, inherently, and what's withheld / prevented by those in power b/c of it, rather than what we think everyone inherently deserves As a person, and what's provided / made possible by other people as peers b/c of it. what do people Actually Do. what do they Get to do. actions manifest externally, and affect others outside of the self. how have the possibilities & autonomy in our lives, anyone's lives at all, been supported / improved by unserious stances focused on arguing relative authority by people going "watch this. the haters" and getting up on the cross or in the middle of the swords with some linguistic arguing that doesn't think about what supports anyone or challenges existing norms & ideals or reflects reality rather than going "this is my idea of the vibe and some people agree or could be convinced." we've existed before modern terms that classify groups, and we'll have more, different terms to describe experiences and ideas going forward, which is: good. the divisions are already Not Real, how interested are you exactly in your language being like "but i think we could just have different divisions. a different Gender Binary. cishet people Have to be cishet? i'm sure that's real & fine, so: we Have to be Not cishet"

anyways april being autism acceptance month And national poetry month (u.s.)

[imwritesometimes]

god gives his biggest, honkin-est shoes [only caring abt old blorbos from, by today's standards, badly flawed media] to his silliest clowns [me 🤡]

[novemberthecatadmirer]

Nobody:

Me: Being emotional over fictional characters doomed by the narrative written by dead authors from last century

Me: The dead authors lived in a period of time with pathetical limited understanding of basic human psychology and religion was probably the major duct tape for every broken water tank.

Me: The authors believed love fixes everything. They tried to believe it so hard because that was what they were told and what they wanted to believe. When they see something that cannot be fixed by love they got confused and thought maybe there is something very WRONG with this thing because why it just refused to be fixed by love?

Me: But sometimes there is nothing to be fixed. The thing should not be fixed to begin with and it cannot be fixed because it is not something wrong it is just something different and needs to learn coping methods or get therapies or get medicines

Me: And LOVE FIXES NOTHING. Love is good but people need actual respect and understanding and they need to be listened to instead of talked to

Me: Love hurts without respect. Love KILLS without respect.

[medicinemane]

There are so many songs I like where, and it's important to note that I enjoy them as they are, where they have these really killer lines or sections and... the rest of the song doesn't quite... back it up the way I need it to

Like I legitimately enjoy the song, and I like this version of the song as it is... but hmm... just... I have to take that line in isolation and can't really work with the rest of it for what I want that line for

[unma]

Don't think I've mentioned it here before, but I had Wind Catura for a good while and tried her out again after her recent update and god. Wind Kengo is so goddamn fun with her. I love her 10+mil nukes every couple of turns. And with wind Charlotta, once turn 10 rolls around the team starts throwing out ougis like girl scout cookies. It's so fun to have guaranteed 8 chains every 4 turns. so funny. I love ougis.

I remember when I first tried her in the past. I saw her high gear and thought it'd be useful for a gw otk. Only issue being that fa didn't work for 0-turn skills at the time, which made it impossible to use. I wonder if it'd be worth it now (if I didn't already have better, faster otk teams). The skill still sucks even now and kinda makes no sense with the rest of her kit, but whatever. I'm going to enjoy tossing out damage numbers that my dark ougi team struggles to keep up with.

[wolviensabes]

NSFW Alphabet: Wolverine

a/n: I was excited to write a nsfw version of this because his character was surprisingly fun and easy to write for this. I like Logan because you can really be flexible with how he is in bed. It all depends on preference and writer ofc, but still it was fun to write. Wrote mostly gender neutral, on parts where body is described, I wrote for afab and amab. Not edited please ignore mistakes ty <3

18+ under the cut. MDNI.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex):

Aftercare king.

He knows just what to do, especially since sex with him is normally pretty rough and crazy. He leaves you a mess under him and you're barely able to walk. "Atta girl/boy, princess/prince, up you come." he grabs hold of you and lifts you up, carrying you to the bathroom to get you all clean.

He's a messy partner so you need a shower to get all the sex off you. He leaves you alone to do anything you need privately, but otherwise he's helping you maintain your balance in the shower and drying off.

You're in such a dazed state, you feel dizzy and lightheaded, still a little loopy. He will get you back to bed and lay you down, feeling pride and satisfaction within himself at how he could bring you to such a state. Only he could do that to you.

He will hold you close to him, you feel cold now, his body will warm you up. He likes skin to skin, so unless you want a shirt, he won't dress you so he can feel your softer skin against his own.

The praise he gives you makes you feel so special and worth so much, it helps when you come down from your high, knowing he was satisfied and loved every moment of the act.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s):

I don't think he really has a favorite part of his partner, but I will die on the hill that he likes his partners a little chunky. He loves to grab onto you, he likes how he can manhandle you without worry of hurting you.

Those plush hips and belly drive him insane. If you are afab, your ass draws his hand in every single time and he loves to smack and grab it. If you are amab, he will grab onto your thighs or soft, relaxed chest muscles and squeeze them. Both afab and amab, his hands come around from behind and gently knead your belly.

Logan is a dude so on himself...he holds his manhood very high, and for good reason.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically):

Filthy.

He gets that shit all over the place and he loves it.

He loves marking you inside and out. He loves shooting his spunk on your body just as much but something about releasing inside you makes him somehow cum harder and with more.

He's not that bad taste wise, I mean cum doesn't taste great, but he's not bad. Not too bitter, not too salty, but his cum is thick. And when he does climax, he cums a LOT.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs):

Logan, being a primal mutant, loves scents. It's one of the things that he relies on a lot, and your scent is intoxicating. He steals some of your clothes and smells them, or sometimes he will dive into your crotch and inhale you.

Not exactly dirty, but Logan secretly likes when you scratch his head or mess with his hair after sex. He likes to keep himself up as a tough guy most of the time but when you wind down, even if he's the one holding you, he sometimes scoots down enough to let you play with his hair.

He will move his head where he wants your hand to scratch and leans into it when you reach that sweet spot.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?):

He's over 200 years old, he's got experience.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying):

Literally anything where he can watch you mewl and moan for him.

He also likes from behind or positions where he can watch his cock sink into you with each thrust.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.):

Logan isn't goofy but he also isn't serious. He's open to messing around and with tossing, turning, all sorts of play, it's not going to be serious 100% of the time.

He will chuckle and tease, sometimes funny noises are made, that's just how it is, and you both will laugh a little...but then you get back to it because who can resist?

Sometimes he will play fight you, wrestle you down to the bed and hold you there, with ease, and he smirks down at you trying to overpower him. It's a fun way to rile him up for sex and he enjoys it quite a bit.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.):

Logan is hairy, but not insanely so. I think below he is pretty crazy but he trims it down enough once you two get more intimate. Though he thought it was funny watching you spit out his pubes.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect):

He can be romantic but he is more passionate than anything. He likes to make sure you feel good, and he loves doing it. Once he gets you feeling good, he gets a little more rough and tells you what he likes without shame.

He's very forward, and his communication in the bedroom is immaculate. You wished he were like that outside of the bedroom sometimes, because there's no hesitation, no secrets, he's fully confident and tells you exactly what he wants.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon):

Sometimes he masturbates, sometimes he doesn't. It all depends on how horny he is in the moment.

He'll fist his cock to the thought of you, or since he likes your scent a lot, he will practically inhale your underwear and jerk himself until he cums all over his hand.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks):

Logan...he's kinky as hell.

Dom/sub dynamics drive him up the wall. He loves being in control, manhandling you, having you listen to what he says without fail.

Slight primal play would be up his alley. The playful wrestling and fighting gets him going and he likes to bite and mark you up during sex. Almost looking like an animal attacked you, but no, it was just Logan marking you as his.

Dirty talk king. He is so brazen with his language, whispering it into your ear as he pounds your poor, swollen hole full of another load.

Praise, praise, praise! He loves to praise you and how good you take his thick cock inside you.

Overstimulation/denial, he loves the control. He often makes you cum multiple times before even penetrating you just to hear you cry and whimper for him.

Maybe a slight breeding kink, since he loves the idea of filling you up to the brim with his thick cum, (this goes regardless of afab or amab), he's going to fill you up regardless if it's biologically possible to impregnate you or not. It's just for fantasy anyway.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do):

He will do it anywhere he feels like. He doesn't care who sees. You're his and he likes everyone around you to know it.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going):

I love that most everyone agrees that wearing his clothes makes him fucking feral. He would lose it seeing you in a shirt of his...or maybe even naked and only wearing a flannel. Slowly unclasping each button to make him growl and almost rip the damn thing off you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs):

He'd never want to hurt you. There are things he likes that might harm you but he doesn't actually want to cause you harm.

He can be rough and he doesn't want to actually hurt you. A spank or choking just enough to get you dizzy is about as far as he would go. Logan would never intentionally try to harm you, especially during something as intimate as sex.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.):

He has a hard time picking what he likes better. He loves diving between your legs and lapping you. But he also loves to see you choke around his thick cock.

Logan loves the dirtiness of it, his dick in your throat and watching you try your best to please him. He loves seeing you choke and gag on him, your face gets so sloppy with spit and cum, it makes him more crazy in bed when he's fucking you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.):

With Logan it can be 50/50. He can be rough and hard, or slower and passionate. Most of the time he is ensuring you cum multiple times, and then he fucks you into the bed while you cry around his cock. Then, he gives you another orgasm, he cums, and the cycle repeats until you literally can't take it anymore.

Then he cleans you up and makes sure you know how good you were for him. You'll have trouble walking for a few days.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.):

He's down for a quickie, he can make you cum fast when he wants to. However he does prefer to make you whine and beg instead of giving you a solid, quick orgasm unless you really need it.

Sometimes he needs a quick one too, so a fast blowjob helps. But again, he likes to take his time rather than rush it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.):

He takes plenty of risks. He loves to test the waters with you and experiment with all sorts of things. He's down to try almost anything.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?):

His mutation allows him to have enhanced stamina so be prepared for that.

He can go for literal hours and not be tired at all. His mutation also allows his refectory period to be very short. So...you will be filled to the brim.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?):

I don't think he would have any for himself, but he would start to grow a collection if you had any or showed interest in some. He'd keep them under his bed in his room whenever you wanted to spice things up.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease):

Logan is the king of teasing you. He loves to tease until you can't take it and tears are rolling down your cheeks.

He always gives you what you want in the end, but not without that asshole making you beg.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.):

He doesn't give two shits who hears him, or you, he is loud. He grunts, groans, snarls. Not to mention the insane level of dirty talk he does, and he loves to make you scream out his name.

By the time you're done, you swear half the mansion heard you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character):

He dirty talks like crazy.

Sometimes he will fuck you when you're wearing his clothes, or when he comes back from a mission, he doesn't bother cleaning up before he storms up to your shared room and he fucks you.

Angry sexxx

He lets out his frustrations from missions as he pounds into you.

"Goddamn slim, stupid fuckin' self-designated leader thinks he can boss me around like I'm nothin' but a loyal scout to 'em." he grunts and snarls with each plap of his hips into you, his cock driving against you. You have no idea what happened on the mission but can you complain? No.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes):

Logan's dick is huge let's get that out of the way.

He's thick, it feels like he rips you open each time he penetrates you and it feels fucking incredible. That also means lots of foreplay~

He's veiny, his cock throbs as he stands erect, and his balls are heavy.

He's a good 8 to 8.5 inches fully erect, the damn thing leaks precum constantly when he's horny.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?):

Insanely high. He will fuck you every single day if he could.

He is down to fuck all the time, anytime. You just have to say the word and he's on top of you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards):

Logan makes sure you're comfortable before he even attempts to sleep. He stays awake, letting you curl into him and he watches you, making sure nothing he did was too much or causing pain.

Once you seem okay and have fallen asleep, he will allow himself to relax and fall asleep beside you.

Thanks for reading.

*SNIKT*

Tag list: @strawberryshortcake20

Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list by leaving a 🧡.

dividers by @/strangergraphics

[devil-in-hiding]

On The Run Part 1

The Barn

mdni

cw: violent behavior, suggestive themes, i will get better at this i swear

It’s a downpour tonight. The roof overhead rattles with the force of the winds outside, keeping you awake. Your eyes drift towards the window periodically, watching the lightening illuminate the night sky, thunder rolling closer and closer as the wind hails. Your four loyal, massive Tibetan Mastiffs lay around your bed, dead to the storm raging outside. You’d normally have them out in the barn, but with how terrible it’s coming down you would have felt terrible.

But now you lie awake, worry in the pit of your stomach. Some of the goats had just given birth, and with this storm you knew the kids had to be distressed, and their bleats often agitated the horses.

You absentmindedly reach down to run a hand through Dixon’s fur, who lets out a pleased huff, nuzzling your palm. You try to let the beat of rain lure you to sleep, eyes finally feeling heavy as your breathing evens out.

But then you hear it, over the raging of the storm you can still hear your stallion, Sebastian, neighing, and then the pound of his hoofs against his stalls, and you're flying out of your bed.

Nothing spooks your stallion, absolutely nothing.

You race down the stairs in just your nightgown, rushing to pull on your boots, no socks, as Dixon, Grimes, Judy and Maggie come bounding after you. You throw open the door, the screen slamming against the house from the wind but you pay no mind, running towards the barn, barely catching yourself from slipping in the mud.

The closer you get, the louder you can hear all your herd. Your hearts pounding harder than the rain when you reach the barn doors, and you can hear the dogs barking behind you as you reach to yank open the double doors

Locked.

Your barn is never locked.

From the inside.

“Hello?!” You yell, slamming your palms against the wood, guilt wracking your body when you hear something scurry away on the other side.

“What are you doing in there?” You scream, shaking the handles with all your might, but they hold strong, and after a harsh yank, your hand slips, sending you flying into the mud.

You can hear what can only be described as chaos in the barn, and tears prick your eyes as you crawl forward, banging your fists against the doors.

“PLEASE! Please don’t hurt my animals! They’re already scared! Please- AH!” You scream as the door flies open, sending you face first into the barn floor.

You barely register the blood dripping from your hands as you scramble to stand up, taking in the scene.

The mares were going wild, bucking and kicking the doors of their stalls while Sebastian raged, having busted his door down, prancing infront of his ladies protectively.

Your goats were huddled in a group on the corner, the kids tucked between their bodies and the sheep standing in front of them, shaking so badly their wool was trembling. The rest of the stock is scattered, hiding in various corners of the barn.

You whistle, which immediately catches Sebastian’s attention, huffing and puffing.

“I’m here! It’s okay, ma is here!” You hush them, slowly walking towards the stallion with your hand out, palm up.

He neighs, tossing his head, leaning down to sniff your hand, when he stops, and suddenly a new sound reaches your ears.

Dixon and Grimes are growling out a warning.

Before you can even blink, there’s a hand over your mouth. Your gasp is muffled at the pressure of cold steel at your neck, an arm wrapping around your chest pulling you into a firm, solid figure.

“Not. A. Sound.” A gruff voice barks in your ear, and your blood runs cold.

“Lock the doors back.” The man orders, and a sinking feeling overcomes you when you hear a new set of footsteps. You stumble as you’re jerked back, Dixon barking as you start to thrash, kicking your feet, but the grip around you tightens.

“Fuckin- Knock it off!” He growls, pressing what you can only guess is your carving knife painfully against your throat and Grimes lets out a guttural sounding bark before lunging, only to yelp when a foot shoves him back, and you thrash harder, attempting to nip at this man’s hand.

“Stop you little fuckin-SHIT!” He bellows as your teeth sink into his palm, not releasing until you taste his blood splash over your teeth, and then you’re on the ground.

“Little bitch!”

“Don’t touch my fucking animals.” You spit, turning to stare up at the intruder, just to be met with a ski mask and cold eyes. You can’t help but freeze, the carving knife glinting in the low light of the barn.

He’s quick, and you try to stumble to your feet, but you're once more in his grasp. You go for a punch, but he catches your wrist easily, pinning your arm behind your back with one hand and yanking your forward with the other, pinning you against him, and the knife is at your throat again.

“Let’s try this again.” He says between clenched teeth, tightening his grip till you whimper.

“Ghost. Lighten up.” A voice pipes up, raspy and stern with a commanding tone. The masked man, Ghost, rolls his eyes, but loosens the hold he has on your wrist.

“Who else lives here?” He questions, and it feels as though a bucket of cold water has been dumped over you.

“No one…” You whisper, squeezing your eyes shut when his grip tightens once more. “Don’t bullshit us. Who else lives on this land with you?!” He’s in your face, making you open your eyes, tears blurring your vision.

“It’s just me I swear!” You sob, feeling the tip of the knife digging into your skin. “I swear to god it’s just me, you can go check the house-“

The pressure of the knife is gone, and the shock of your bare knees hitting the barn floors barely phases you as Dixon and Grimes dart to your side, whining softly as they nudge your hands with their heads.

“Think she’s telling the truth?” A new voice speaks up, a thick Scottish accent ringing in your ears as you try to put distance between you and the four, you are finally able to count, men standing in the middle of your barn.

“Explains the massive mutts.” Ghost grunts, glancing at the four mastiffs, who you push behind you, shielding them, trying not to let your fear show more than it already has.

“They aren’t mutts.” You hiss, Judy nuzzling her giant head into your back as you shuffle them back, away from these men.

You hold your head high, but your lip can’t help but tremble when all their eyes turn to you.

“You sure there’s no one else in that great big house?” The older man with scruffy facial hair asks with a tilt of his head, and a spark of agitation flares in your chest. Why did they want to know so badly? if they were going to…

If they were going to kill you, surely they would have done it by now, right?

“I swear on my life.” You plead, voice cracking. You’re horrified when you realize your nightgown has been soaked through this whole time, noticing the way the one with the mohawk, the Scot, keeps eyeing your bosom. You look away, cheeks burning as fresh tears prick your eyes.

“Soap, Gaz. You two go check the house. Report back to me, I want a moment with her.” The unnamed man ordered.

Mohawk and a dark skinned man nodded, heading out of the barn. Ghost passes one of them the carving knife, and your fist curl in your lap.

“What do I do Price?” Ghost asks, and the man, Price, waves a hand, eyes trained on you. “Search the surrounding area, look for anyone hiding on the property.”

“Understood.”

And then you were alone. The barn has settled, most of your animals having made their way to the farthest wall behind you. He approaches you slowly, cautiously eyeing Dixon who raises up, baring his teeth, but you click your tongue, and he steps back immediately, sitting at your side like a statue as the others guard the flock.

You feel a puff of air breath against your head, and you can’t help the wet laugh that bubbles out when you realize Sebastian is standing guard over you.

“Seems you’ve got yourself quite the protection.”

He muses, eyes bouncing between the animals.

“They were abandoned when I found this place.” You confess, a slight tremble to your voice as you watch Price crouch in front of you. He’s quiet for a moment, eyes flickering over your form and you wrap your arms around your middle.

“If my men are walking into a trap, whoever is there will be killed.” He says simply, tone almost bored and you feel your face pale.

“They’re not! This is my land! Mine!” You insist, frustrated tears falling freely as you flex your fingers, muscles tense.

“Tiny little bird like you, all by herself?” Ghost scoffs as he returns, and you feel your ears burn.

“What did you find?” Price asks him over his shoulders.

“Can hardly see shit in this rain but I found no one. There’s a truck around back but the engine seems shot.” He shrugs, eyes peering at you through that ski mask and you avert your gaze.

The doors open against, the other two rushing in, soaked to the bone.

“The house is clear sir. Only one room looks lived in, two guest rooms down the hall on the upper level and a small library on the ground level. Gaz found a shotgun by the front door.” The Scot, Soap, you gather, reports back to Price.

“I told you. It’s just me out here.” You mutter, and this time Ghost is crouching in front of you, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him.

“You hiding from something little bird?” He asks, cocking his head to the side

“You’re the ones breaking into my barn and scaring my animals!” You snap, trying to get out of his grip, but he only holds tighter.

“You’re a little fighter aren’t you?” You see his eyes crinkle, and you're shocked this man even knows how to smile under that mask.

He releases you, standing up and stepping back to stand with the other three men, who still loom over you. You feel like a lamb being sent to the slaughter house, and you bury one of your hands in Dixon’s thick fur to ground yourself.

“Please-“ You start, voice shaking, and you feel a tear slip down your cheek.

“I don’t have much, there’s maybe three thousand dollars in the safe in my closet. I’ll give you the code just…” Your voice trails off, a sob slipping past your lips and Dixon whines, low and sad as he places his giant head in your lap.

“Please don’t hurt us. D-don’t hurt my animals- I won’t even call the cops, it would take the nearest deputy three hours to even reach my house.” You beg, exhaustion and nerves taking over as your shoulders slump, trembling with your quiet sobs.

You see Price’s boots approach you, and he tilts your chin up, and you flinch when he brushes a tear away with his thumb.

“Stop all these tears pretty. We don’t want to hurt you or your little farm.” He coos down at you. Confusion swirls in your head, making you dizzy as another sob can’t help but slip out, Price cupping your cheeks, shushing you softly as he wipes your cheeks.

“I don’t understand…” You whisper, searching this strange, terrifying man’s face for any sign of deceit, but he just grins at you.

“You told us the truth. Very good.” It sounds almost like praise the way he whispers it to you, and you whimper, shame filling your stomach. You look away from him, taking a shuddering breath as you struggle to compose yourself.

“Let’s get you back inside hm? Can’t have you catching a cold.” He tsks, and before you can argue, you’re being lifted into his arms, tucked against his chest. You try to struggle, but the adrenaline has worn off, confusion left in its wake as these strange men usher the herd into their correct pens, Soap barley escaping one of the Roosters pecking at him in defiance, before pausing.

“I don’t think I want to mess with this guy.” Gaz mutters, the three of them staring at Sebastian, who stares back, as though daring them to try and corral him.

“He.. He’ll go back in his stall once it’s quiet… You scared them…” You mutter, tired as you give in, resting your head against the strong chest you’re pressed against, and you feel Price’s grip tighten.

“You’re freezing sweetheart, let’s get you out of these wet clothes.” He murmers, and your heart skips.

“I can do that myself.” You hiss, staring up at him with narrowed eyes, despite the fact you can feel your cheeks burning.

He just laughs.

[sunlightmurdock]

ain’t afraid of a little thunder | tyler owens

“now, sweetheart… I know you didn’t come crawling in here in the middle of the night,” his gaze flickers between your shadowed, sullen face and the way your sleep shirt ends at the middle of your thighs. “just because of a little thunder?”

warnings: minors dni, 18+. smut. unprotected pinv. oral (m+f). no physical descriptions of reader except some hair pulling mentioned.

…

Blinding white light flashes, spilling through and under the gaps in the curtains. The furniture is, at once, illuminated a ghastly white. The room remains still, aside from where you lay in your bed, tangled in sheets and breathing softly. 

What comes next isn’t the rolling kind of thunder that usually spills across these parts, there’s nothing slow or melodic about it. It comes as an almighty clap, shaking the old farmhouse down to its foundations. 

Seemingly spurred on by the sound, the wind joins the symphony by crashing into the window, slamming at the shutters and making the two panels swing wide open.

The storm howls now, spilling through these old walls and waking you with a start. You shoot upright in bed, eyes wide and heart thundering in your ears. Rain splatters on the worn floorboards as you look frantically around your childhood bedroom.

“Shit.” You huff out, hurling yourself out of the creaky, old metal-framed bed you had spent your teenage years in. You stumble towards the whirling wind and wrestle the window shut, snapping the latch shut once again.

You had been jolted so violently from your dreams that you aren’t even sure your eyes are open until you’re staring at streaks of lightning painting the dark sky. With a trembling hand, you reach for the edge of the curtain and pull it back across the window.

Even with your view gone, as you slip back into bed it’s impossible to pretend that the storm isn’t happening. It whips at the house, making the foundations creak and groan. Every few seconds, the sky will streak bright white and will roar with another clap of thunder. 

Eyes squeezed shut and the sheets pulled high isn’t cutting it. The weather rages just beyond these four walls, refusing to be ignored. Your heart thunders along with the bellowing horizon.

You toss onto your left side. Then your right. A frustrated sound slips your lips as you thrash onto your back. It’s like the storm is just getting worse. Closer. 

Each flash of lightning feels brighter. Each clap of thunder feels louder. You tremble under the confines of your comforter, lips pursed. You shoot a quick look toward the little digital alarm clock on your night stand. 1:55. 

Panic flares in your chest. You remember being small in this room, terrified of these same storms. The nights where you would tear out of bed and race down the hall to the safety of your parents’ bed.

You’re a little old for that now, and they chose this week of all to be vacationing at Niagara Falls. 

You pull the blankets tighter around yourself, momentarily blinded by the prospect of being alone in this big, rickety house all by yourself in the path of a storm — you’re miles away from help reaching you.

But you aren’t all alone. 

After a tough few days of field work, you had opened your doors — well, your parents’ doors — to a… colleague, of sorts. If that’s what you could call Tyler. You had a common goal, and he needed a place to stay while the two of you got some work done, that was all. It was easier than sending him to the motel an hour away.

He’s down the hall, probably sleeping like a baby, in the guest room.

You couldn’t possibly wake him. He would hold it over your head for the rest of your life. You would never live it down. Being a meteorologist who can’t sleep through a little—

Storm.

It’s that last, tremendous crash of thunder that sends you flying, once again, out of your childhood bed as it rattles the house. You’re cursing yourself under your breath already as you pad, barefoot down the hallway. 

Past pictures of yourself missing teeth and grinning, sporting pigtails and wearing overalls — all images of yourself that you would rather the famed ‘Tornado Wrangler’ himself hadn’t seen. 

The only thing that stops you is a brief moment in front of the door to the guest room, where you stand debating whether it would be better to knock or to just slip in and hope that he doesn’t even notice you.

You should knock. He could be naked. Shit. 

Swallowing both your pride and the lump of solid anxiety in your throat, you close your eyes and rap your knuckles softly against the door. Maybe he doesn’t hear you over the storm, or maybe he’s just a deep sleeper, but he doesn’t answer.

You should leave him alone.

But you can’t stand the thought of being by yourself through this. What if it’s something big? — You should have checked the radar.

You’re already twisting the doorknob, as slow as you can. It complies silently, the door slipping open without a peep. You would have gotten away with it, if you had thought about the light in the hall.

You get a glimpse of him while he’s still asleep. Sprawled out across the bed, laying on his back on the side closest to the door, his hair mussed and his face turned away from you. Curtains wide open, still. His clothes are thrown on the chair in the corner. The sheets are slung low on his waist. A flash of lightning illuminates the ridges through the golden skin of his abdomen. 

Then, that darned light from the hallway casts across his face and wakes him. He stirs, groaning in soft complaint as he lifts his head from the pillow and blinks angrily in your direction.

He says your name, his voice deep and growly from sleep. His tone vaguely suggests that he’s checking if it’s really you, but you’re too distracted to answer him.

Tyler twists his neck and looks around for a clock, pushing himself up just a little and letting the sheets fall to reveal the waistband of his navy boxers. “What time is it?”

“Late. Sorry,” You mumble out, still standing in his wide-open doorway like an idiot. “You should go back to sleep.”

His brows knit together as he turns his head to look at you again. Grumpy looks good on him. Especially when he’s laying in bed, his hair disheveled and his clothes on the floor. 

He presses the base of his palm into his eye socket, every bit as disgruntled as he looks as he rubs the sleep away with his big hands. 

“You gonna stand there and watch me all night if I do?” 

Your immediate reaction is to put your hackles up and get defensive at the accusation, like that’s not kind of exactly how the situation would appear to him.

“No, I just… I couldn’t sleep.” Your answer isn’t really an answer at all. Tyler reminds you of this by simply raising his eyebrows, as if to say ‘and what might that have to do with me?’. You shrug your shoulders. “I was just coming to see if— if you were up.”

“I am now.” Tyler offers. “What did you want?”

Desperately to go back to sleep. You’re exhausted. These past few days have been some of the hardest of your life — and here you are, unable to sleep, trying to find a bed to sleep in, like a child.

You stand there, debating for a moment if you’re going to come clean. It would be easy enough to just admit your irrational little fear and crawl into bed, and deal with the constant teasing from then on. 

Unfortunately, your body makes the decision for you. Thunder and lightning crash together, shaking the house once again. The rain whipping at the shutters does nothing to conceal the gasp-bordering-shriek that slips your lips as you jump and rush into the room.

Tyler’s eyes widen through the dark. His gaze is quizzical as he studies the abject panic on your face, then looks to his window. Then, he looks slowly back to you. 

His mouth twitches. Excitement flashes across his face with a burst of lightning as a grin twists at his mouth.

“Now, sweetheart… I know you didn’t come crawling in here in the middle of the night,” His gaze flickers between your shadowed, sullen face and the way your sleep shirt ends at the tops of your thighs. “Just because of a little thunder?”

“Don’t be a dick about it — I know it’s ridiculous, I just can’t sleep.” You rush out, folding your arms across your chest. As you do so, your shirt bunches and rides up just enough to prove that you are, in fact, not wearing any shorts. He’d been wondering about that.

As he studies your face for the next few moments, you can see that he considers being a dick — and decides against it.

He holds his palms up in surrender, and shrugs his shoulders as he peels back the other side of the covers. Amusement coats his words as he drawls a playful, “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

Closing the door to the hallway, the room is plunged into darkness once again. You trudge around to the other side of the bed, begrudging every moment of this ridiculous night. You should have had him sleep in the barn like you had threatened to. But then you really would be all alone in this big old house.

His eyes follow your silhouette around the foot of the bed, as the sky flashes white once more he takes note of the way your cute graphic tee sits a little higher in the back, giving him just the smallest glimpse of where your thighs meet the swell of your ass.

He waits for you to reach the bed and set one knee on before he goes back to trying to rest. He lays down on his back and closes his eyes as the bed shifts slightly with your weight and the covers wriggle around with your movement.

Then, things settle.

The bed goes still, and so do the both of you as you lay side by side in it. It’s not an especially large double, but the two of you both seem to be choosing to ignore the way his warm shoulder is pressed right up against yours.

It’s just his shoulder. His bare shoulder, sure, but it’s not like you could ask him to put some clothes on — you’re the one who came crawling into his bed in your underwear. You’re just grateful that there’s just about enough room for the rest of you to not graze him at all.

You close your eyes, and inhale deeply. This whole house usually smells like lavender and vanilla, but not now. This room smells like spiced oak and pine, and the familiar smell of his cologne lingers on his clothes, his belongings— his bare skin.

His voice cuts through the dark. “So, you’re not like a bedwetter or anything, right? — D’your parents usually like give you a stuffed animal to get through this kind of thing, or—“

You reach out and smack him hard in his stomach. His hard, taught stomach. “Shut it, Owens.”

The bed rattles with his soft laughter.

“I just— I’m blindsided,” He admits, still laughing. He tucks an arm behind his head, meaning your shoulder now sits in the curve of his underarm. “You’re afraid of thunder.”

You throw yourself onto your side, turning swiftly away from him and tugging away his share of covers just out of spite. “No one will ever believe you. I’ll tell them you’re crazy.” 

He grins in the dark.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m not gonna tattle on you — you have no idea how much I’m enjoying being the only person who knows that Little Miss ‘Do As I Say’ gets this rattled over a little rain.”

You roll your eyes, then close them. “Goodnight, Tyler.”

The bed shakes again with another bout of his quiet laughter. “Yeah, g’night, honey.”

The pet names are going to be put to an abrupt end first thing tomorrow morning. You’re going to give him hell before he even gets a chance to open his stupid, pretty mouth. Until then, you have to keep yourself from doing anything that might have you exiled back to your own room.

Once again, the room settles. The rain whips at the windows, soaking the soil outside. Thunder rumbles closer again, but the lightning flashes don’t seem quite so bright. 

You focus on the sound of him breathing. Deep, slow inhales. He’s calm as could be, his weight pressing into the mattress and his body heat radiating under the shared covers. Uncomfortable on your right side but not wanting to be facing him, you roll onto your back.

Unconsciously a few moments later, you roll back onto your right side. Maybe then your left side. After that, your back again. Then your front.  

As you sigh and twist, Tyler sucks in a sharp breath from beside you.

“God damn, will you sit still? — You’re gonna spin yourself out of this bed.” It’s not until he’s done complaining that you realize he’s now holding you. His arm is secured tight enough around your middle that you couldn’t roll over again, even if you wanted to. Facing away from him, your eyes stare at the painted wall.

He huffs, closing his eyes and flexing his arm around you as he drags you closer.

“Go to sleep.” He mumbles groggily, his breath tickling at the nape of your neck. 

Well, if you were struggling before, then the sentiment is entirely hopeless now. 

You lie awake, watching the sky crackle and glow with flashes of colour. Tyler lies with you, feeling you flinch at every boom that follows.

He shifts suddenly behind you, feeling you go rigid.

“This thing really has you spooked, doesn’t it?” His fingers sprawl across your covered stomach, his voice coated with a softness you weren’t expecting. You feel him lift his head and peer over your shoulder, trying to get a look at your face.

“No.” You bite back, trying to tug yourself free from his hold and shift closer to the edge of the bed. You’ll be hanging off of the side if you keep this up.

“Here, c’mere,” Tyler murmurs, catching your bicep and turning you back around. Your brows furrow and your face grows stormy, and he can just tell that you’re batting up to argue with him. 

He opens both of his arms and wraps them around you at once, giving you no choice but to squish against his chest. Your eyes squeeze open as he presses his lips to your hairline. “It’s alright, you’re alright.”

You stare at the freckle on his neck up close as his fingers stroke at the length of your trembling spine, frozen.

“Listen,” He mumbles against your hair as another clap of thunder tears across the sky. “Two, three, four, five — it’s already getting further away. Was just passing us by.”

“I know that.” You mumble begrudgingly against his chest, hating the way your fingers instinctively splay across his bare ribs.

Quiet falls between the two of you. You get it, he’s just trying to help — and frankly you are being a little ridiculous. He gets it, sometimes there’s no explaining fear. It’s just there.

His fingers stop at the base of your spine, disrupting the soft pattern he had going. Just for a moment, before he skims them all the way to the nape of your neck and curls them around the curve of your shoulder.

Once again, his mouth grazes your temple. Barely a kiss. Maybe even something platonic. He’s just trying to settle you. But then, there doesn’t feel like there’s much platonic about the way you’re wrapped together.

“It’s alright,” He murmurs. You can feel the rumble of his voice in your chest as he gives your nape a soft squeeze. “Breathe with me.”

Tyler takes long, deep breaths. Slow, and steady, but not patronizing. The kind that make you feel a dizzy kind of sleepy. You could fall asleep just like this, wrapped in his arms and copying his breaths, but you won’t let yourself. 

You dip your head forwards just a fraction, and press your lips to his bare shoulder. It’s small, and again barely a kiss, maybe even something platonic. Just like his was. He doesn’t say anything about it, and the quiet continues for a little longer.

His thumb strokes at the column of your throat as he leans in, turning his nose towards your hair. “That’s it.” 

You turn your head too, closing your lips softly around his collarbone. This one’s an inch less polite than the others, just a bit more daring, but still easy to misunderstand.

Opening up your palm, you trail your nails along his side, brushing softly from his ribs to his hips. Then, you stretch your neck and reach higher.

His fingers squeeze at your nape as your lips close against his throat. His free hand comes from its resting place against the sheets to curl around your thigh.

The tip of your nose bumps his chin in passing, he looks down while you look up until your eyes are locked together through the dark.

You would never live this down. Your work is too important to risk it all by— he’s kissing you before you’re done arguing with yourself, and your mind is made up.

His stubble scrubs at your cheek as he presses against you, capturing your mouth with his, kneading at his hold on your thigh. 

Your palm presses into the muscle of his back, firm and pulling him against you. You’re the one who hikes your thigh around his hip. He’s the one who twists the two of you and plants you firmly on your back between the pillows.

And then, you’re looking at each other again.

Lightning flashes across the sky, making his green eyes glow emerald for a moment. They search across your face while his hands take hold of your hips.

He looks at you in a way he never has before, all those days working together, his eyes hungry with lust. The intensity in those pretty, green eyes sends shocks of electricity up your spine.

“Just for tonight, and we never speak of this again.” You breathe, eyes wide as you stare up at him. Tyler’s lips twitch.

“You’re gonna regret those terms.” He promises, letting that cocky grin of his twist across his mouth, raising his brows in challenge. You swallow, narrowing your eyes back at him. “But, sure. Whatever you say.”

Right as you’re starting to think that maybe this isn’t worth its risk, he leans forwards and turns your head to the side, closing his mouth around your pulse point. 

His teeth graze against the spot, just sharp enough of a sting to make you gasp before he’s pressing against you harder, kissing harder, soothing his mark with his tongue. 

The tip of his angled nose bumps the curve of your jaw, his stubble scratching at your sensitive skin. You hike your leg higher around his waist, pressing your foot into his thigh. His tongue dips from between his lips, flicking across your jugular before he captures the spot with his mouth.

Your fingers curl around his neck, squeezing at his nape, holding his mouth against your throat. A moan slips your lips as his teeth graze over your skin. He sucks a firm kiss into the spot below your ear.

He hums as your fingers slide up into his hair, rewarding you with another open-mouthed kiss in a spot that makes you squirm. Your eyes close contentedly as his mouth works against the smooth skin there.

When the next crash of thunder shakes the foundations, you almost forget to flinch. 

Tyler twists his head sharply and with a sudden, mutual urgency, you crash together. He pulls you flush against him, sliding his tongue into your mouth and caressing it expertly against yours.

Then, his attention turns to the large, old local team jersey you had worn to bed. It was the first thing you had found in your closet. He doesn’t seem to care, bunching it around your middle and tugging you forwards to lift it over your head.

Lightning strikes as the jersey hits the floor. As his knees sit between your thighs, Tyler studies your body. He has thought about this before, what you might look like under all that office-wear. His imagination doesn’t compare.

He sits back on his knees, cupping his palm over the tent straining against his boxer-briefs. Your gaze flickers downward, eye-lids drooping with want as you watch him palm a hand over his cock.

“Don’t move.” He mumbles, reaching out to settle his other hand against the soft curve of your bare waist. It’s clear that he has a plan in his head, you can practically hear the gears turning as his darkened eyes study your body.

Stroking himself carelessly, he drops his hand to the inside of your thigh and pushes it back just a bit. Then, Tyler groans as he lowers his mouth to your chest. One of his warm, weathered hands comes up to caress your breast while his mouth cares for the other.

He kisses softly over the swell of skin, more gentle than you would have expected someone like him to be. He glances up at you as he purses his lips and blows softly, fanning cool air against your already half-hardened nipple.

Then, that talented tongue dips from his lips again, and traces the colour of your nipple, flicking back and forth across the bud before he finally closes his mouth around it. 

Your head sinks into the pillows as your chest arches eagerly toward his kisses. Moans spill from your lips, and you just know that you’ll be soaked by the time he finally touches you.

He doesn’t keep you waiting long. Amidst his parade of kisses, as he’s approaching your navel, his hand dips between your legs. You almost flinch at the contact, keening into his touch instead. 

His fingertips are featherlight, trailing the seams of your underwear where they sit between your thighs. His thumb presses firmer, experimentally sliding between your folds. 

Taking your bottom lip between your teeth, you glance down as he looks up at you. His mouth twists as your excitement spills through the lace against the pad of his thumb.

This is most definitely territory that neither one of you have business venturing into. It’s certainly going to make your next venture a little bit more tense than usual. The irony of it being your common venture that had led you here isn’t lost on either of you either.

Tyler makes it known that he has every intention of bringing his usual cockiness to this encounter, smirking as he presses his mouth to your hipbone, circling his thumb softly over your clit.

Bright, white lightning streaks again outside the window. It bathes the farm you grew up on in sudden, harsh light. The rumble of thunder doesn’t come until Tyler’s sucking a mark into the inside of your thigh— he was right, it is getting further away.

And he’s getting closer.

You gasp sharply as he opens his lips and dives forwards, mouthing at your soaked core through the flimsy constraints of your lace underwear. 

The next streak of lightning catches all of the shadows in the muscles of his back, working and flexing as he peels your underwear down your thighs. He kisses the length of your legs, nipping and biting as he goes, tossing the lace to some far corner of the room as soon as he’s done.

Your fingers shoot into his hair, squeezing firmly as he buries his face between your legs. Eager and animalistic, he sucks and licks, holding your thighs over his strong shoulders. You shudder. He groans as you tug at his sandy roots.

As you have found with everything else he does, Tyler’s ginormous ego seems to be well-founded. He has every bit the right to be so confident. 

Though, you’ll never admit that outside of these four walls.

He doesn’t need you to. The way your body thrashes and arches against his mouth tells him all he needs to know. 

You hum softly like you haven’t been moaning openly into the chilled room, tugging at his short locks once again. He groans into your excitement. At once, ring finger slides into you alongside his middle. He curls them both into you.

The sharp gasp it draws from you goes straight to his cock, eliciting another deep groan from his chest as he grinds himself against the patterned sheets.

All you can do is breathe, heels pressing into the mattress as you chase his mouth. Unhindered whimpers spilling from your lips as he works his fingers into you. It feels better than good. Incredible, even.

For the sake of your dignity, you’re grateful to lack the ability to tell him how good this feels. 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Tyler takes a break to nip at your thighs and coax you towards the finish line you’re already desperate to cross. He looks up at you from between your legs. Your head is thrown back into the pillows, your muscles tensed and trembling. You’re fucking yourself on his fingers. “Take what you need. You gonna get yourself there?”

Then, he leans down and licks one stripe along your core, making you cry out. “Or you need me to do it for you?”

“God, you’re an asshole,” You rush out, brows furrowing in concentration as you desperately chase that high. He chuckles softly, leaving you hanging as he waits for your answer. “Yes! Alright? — I need you.”

Tyler takes that answer with delight, pinning your thigh back against your middle with sudden strength as his fingers twist into you. You shiver as his mouth takes charge once again.

It doesn’t take him long to blind you with your orgasm, your eyes balled shut so tight that you’re seeing stars. You’re trembling as he’s kissing across your stomach

He licks his lips, still grinning as you drag his glistening mouth back to yours. Meeting you with exactly the same fervor, rolling his hips into yours. You groan at the gentle scratch of his stubble, holding him close.

“Fuck me.” You mumble against his lips, trying to reach between your bodies to push down his boxer-briefs. Your fingertips graze his straining cock, stilling immediately. You glance down, eyes wide as you take note of his size.

“I don’t have a condom.” He mumbles back, kissing you hard before you have enough time to comment on what he’s been packing beneath that stupid, huge buckle this whole time.

“You— You don’t?” You pant, trailing your nails down his back as he sucks at your throat.

“Didn’t think I’d be needing one.” His hands skim up your middle and grab at your tits together, kneading them in his capable hands. He drops his head to suck at the tops of them, his stubbled cheeks scratching at the sensitive skin in the best way.

You almost growl in frustration, thighs trying to clamp together around his hips. You don’t want the night to end here.

“I’m on birth control. If you’re—“

“I’m responsible, we’re good.” Tyler swears, flicking his tongue across your pebbled nipple. “If that’s what you want, baby. You want me bare?”

Your core throbs at his deep voice, so close and so filthy.

“Yes.” You whisper, arching your chest into his mouth as he turns his head to pay equal attention to your other breast. “Fuck, yes.” 

He finally pays himself some attention, sitting back on his knees and dipping his hand into his boxers. Your lips part, watching through lust-hooded eyes as he fists at his cock from between your legs.

“Take them off.” You demand, more urgently than you’ve been before. Tyler’s lips twitch, but you’re not letting him have this one without playing first. “You’re not shy, are you?”

He rolls his shoulders back, giving a slow and certain shake of his head. No, of course he isn’t shy. Why would he be? 

Your mouth goes dry as he pushes the boxers down his thighs and kicks them off of the bed. His cock springs free, standing to attention against the trail of sandy brown hair that trails Tyler’s navel.

It’s impressive, and pink at the tip. Annoyingly as pretty as the rest of him is.

He looks carved from stone, kneeling between your legs with broad shoulders and a chiseled chest. Hair sprawling across his pecs neatly, and just down his sternum. The same kind of pretty light brown as his hair. Angled hipbones. He’s defined all over, with strong thighs to match.

“You have no fuckin’ clue how long I’ve been wanting to do this.” Tyler’s admission catches you by surprise, and the shock of it is just registering in your system as he leans down and covers your body with his. 

His weight leaning against you feels better than you’d like to admit, caging you in. The storm feels far, far away. 

The tip of his cock notches at your entrance and you forget all of the doubts you just had about what he had said.

“So, do it. Please,” You breathe out, turning your face towards his neck, kissing the vein that trails there. “I want it.”

Tyler revels in the desperate sound you make as he drags his cock between your folds, his lip between his teeth as he watches the tip sink into you. He really has been waiting a long time for this.

He had made the effort in the beginning, tested your boundaries and swung by your motel rooms every now and again. Every interaction you’ve had has been strictly professional, and he wasn’t going to keep chasing someone who didn’t want to be chased.

As your walls squeeze him tight and your mouth sucks at the column of his throat— fuck, he wishes he had chased a little harder.

You roll your hips into his eagerly, gasping as he pulls almost all the way out and drives back in. You trail your nails along his shoulders, squeezing your thighs around his hips. Thunder rumbles somewhere far away, deep and low like the sounds of Tyler’s groans.

“You feel like you’re fucking made for me.” He mutters, pressing his fingertips into the supple flesh of your ass as he hugs you as close as he possibly can. Buried in you as deeply as he possibly can be, he stills for a moment and pants hard.

You make an incoherent sound of vague agreement, nipping at the curve of his jaw as you rake your nails along his shoulder. He groans at the feeling, his hips stuttering.

Pulling out slowly one last time, Tyler glances down at where the two of you are joined. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he buries himself into you once again, hard this time. Then, he’s relentless, dragging against your walls as he bottoms out again and again.

The old bed creaks in complaint under the two of you, but it’s the furthest thing from your mind as your moans threaten to muffle the sound all together.

The sky rumbles again, another loud clap of thunder making your eyes snap open. Breathless, your head whips towards the window. You watch the streaks of lightning paint the sky shades of electric blue and white. 

Again, that irrational feeling starts to gnaw at you. 

Tyler’s fingers curl around your chin, turning you back to face him.

“Look at me,” He orders, giving a sharp snap of his hips and revelling in the way it makes your mouth fall open. “I’ve got you. Just keep looking at me.” 

Dumbly, you nod your head. Your fingertips skim the ridges of muscle in his arms. Warm and strong under your touch, his body surrounds yours. His green eyes are focused and unwavering, his hands anchoring your hips to the bed.

There’s no room left for that stupid, irrational feeling. It’s all him. Fucking into you, and staring down at you, weighing you down into the creaky mattress. 

You arch your back, pushing your chest up against his as he fills you up. Tyler’s hand abandons your hip to hook around the back of your shoulders, grabbing a firm fistful of your hair. 

His other hand shoves hard at the back of your thigh, bending it up and out of his way. Your ankle rests against his shoulder, your mind going blank as this new position allows him to angle himself deeper.

“Fuck— Tyler.” You whimper, eyes wide as you look up at him. 

His hand flexes around your roots, tugging hard and making you cry out. You muffle yourself in the crook of his neck, kissing at his salty skin. 

“I’m gonna come.” You breathe out. 

“Yeah?” He murmurs, lips grazing your ear as his thrusts grow deep and fast. “Go ahead, pretty girl. Make yourself come on me.”

You don’t need to be told twice, grabbing onto his shoulder for leverage with one hand as the other dips between your colliding bodies. 

His mouth is hot against your throat as you circle your clit, his deep and desperate groans filling your ears, the smell of his sweat and faint cologne making you want to bury closer to him.

It isn’t long before you’re spilling over that edge. You bite at his throat, moaning at the way he keens desperately into the feeling. Your thighs squeeze around him, trembling through the feeling. Your fingers scramble for purchase against his bicep. 

Tyler grunts hard as your body tenses all over, your walls squeezing him tight. His pace stutters just briefly, then picks up. Your brain feels like mush, your eyes rolling back as he fucks you hard.

His head falls forwards, resting against your collarbone as he cums hard. His fingers flex around both your thigh, and the nape of your next, his voice strained as he groans. His chest heaves with his next few breaths.

You sigh, contented as you turn your face towards his neck and close your eyes. He lingers there for a moment, covering you like a blanket, gently stroking the spots he had grabbed so tightly moments before.

Then, he pulls out of you with a sigh and turns to flop onto his back. You’re surprised as he drags you with him, eyes wide at the prospect of the famed ‘Tornado Wrangler’ being a cuddler of all things.

He turns your head toward him, wasting no time in capturing your mouth with his. “How are you feeling?”

You smile hazily, turning your face towards his bare shoulder for a moment. “Tired.”

He chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. The two of you lie there for a few moments, catching your breath and enjoying the comfortable silence. His fingers trail the length of your spine, swirling soft patterns into your skin.

You almost let yourself fall asleep like that. He makes room for you to get up and watches you walk away as you excuse yourself to the bathroom.

He’s silent, but there’s a smile on his face when you slide back into his bed instead of your own. 

When the sun-rises and pours through the window, it wakes you first. You would complain about the curtains being wide open and the lack of sleep you had managed to get through the night, but it’s hard to when you turn and admire your view.

Tyler is asleep on his back, one arm outstretched toward you. You had been sleeping on top of it. The sheets are strewn messily around his middle and there’s a distinct purple mark at the base of his throat, a reminder of where your mouth had been.

His chest rises and falls steadily, his face calm. His hair is still disheveled, another reminder from last night. He looks even more beautiful in the daylight. 

Then, you remember what you said. Never again. How he had promised you would regret those terms— and you already do, thinking of how you’d like to wake him and repeat last night.

Unprompted, Tyler stirs in his sleep. In doing so, he shifts his hips and announces his morning wood as it stands against the sheets. 

Given that you’re still in the same room, and it’s still technically the same day, this surely doesn’t count as a separate encounter. Your terms could still stand, you reason with yourself as you lean down and kiss his shoulder. 

He doesn’t flinch. In fact, he doesn’t stir at all as you kiss your way down his muscled chest. 

His brows knit together as he starts to come to. He blinks through the abrupt morning light, squinting at the brightness as he remembers where he is. He jolts at the feeling of you mouthing along the length of his cock, eyes going wide.

He takes note, then, of the shape under the covers that sits between his legs. He peels them back slowly, meeting your gaze as you kiss his tip.

“Good morning.” You greet him cheekily. 

Tyler quirks a brow, but smiles. He shifts his hips and tucks a flexing bicep behind his head, settling back down against the pillows.

“It is now.”

[itgetzweird08]

“You shouldn’t be up this late”

Bakugo’s voice whispered, filling the silence in the dorm kitchen. He was right, and usually you weren’t. You valued your sleep, often being one of the first in the class to call it a night. But tonight was different. Your thoughts, your heart, were restless. Despite following your nighttime routine, which was curated specifically to help you wind down and rest, you still found yourself tossing and turning. Not even your ocean sounds could help you drift to sleep. Thats why when Bakugo spoke, you sighed heavily and let your shoulders droop.

“Yeah. I know.”

He took a few steps toward you, leaning against the countertop. “So what’s got you awake?” You shrugged at him, watching the water in the electric kettle begin to form small bubbles. “Dunno…just can’t sleep I guess.” You looked over to him, taking soft note of his tired eyes and disheveled hair. “And you? You aren’t usually awake at this time either.” He shrugged right back at you. “Dunno…can’t sleep I guess” he echoed your words, and it made you smile just a bit.

You both knew why the other was awake, or at least you both had some inkling. Between how the ambush attack played out and Midoriya running away, neither of you have had time to really process all of what has gone on. You haven’t had time to think about how your lives had been flipped one eighty. But since Midoriya was back safe and sound, and there was no real information on the League or their next move, everything was at a standstill. That meant your brain was finally coming up to speed on what had gone on recently…and it was overwhelming. It felt like your mind was in over drive, thinking so many thoughts at once that it was causing you to lose sleep.

“…There’s a lot of water in this kettle. Would you like some tea?” Bakugo didn’t answer, just walked over to the mug cabinet and grabbed both of your designated mugs. Yours had your hero insignia, and he had his. It was Nezu’s Christmas gift for all of the hero course students. Bakugo opened the tea drawer, grabbing you each a packet of sleepytime zen tea before walking back over to you. You worked in silence then, enjoying each other’s company as you made your own cups.

Your relationship with Bakugo was unique. You admired him, even when he was a bit of an asshole at the beginning of the school year. You’ve enjoyed watching him grow and working beside him as a teammate. You were inspired by his tenacity and drive. You liked how smart and witty he was, and how he could be funny even when he didn’t realize it. It also didn’t hurt that he was actually pretty cute. And all of the same things went for you in his eyes. He admired your kindness and your courage. He was inspired by the way you had such a big heart but you were no push over, standing up to him when he got too rough with his words or during training. In his eyes, it was like you were one of the only people to give him a chance, getting to know him past his rough exterior. You two had gotten closer during the year, training and studying together sometimes. You began to sit next to him for lunch, stealing small pieces of chicken from his plate while he stole beef from yours. You were the only one with that privilege. Eventually, you became this unlabeled, unspoken thing. You didn’t have to confess your feelings because he knew, and you knew how he felt about you even if he’s never admitted it.

You softly sipped your tea, allowing the warm liquid to run down your throat and causing you to sigh. He stirred his own cup, watching the spoon go around and around. Technically, there was nothing else for you two to do in the kitchen. Technically, you could’ve parted ways right here and drank your own cups in your rooms. But you couldn’t bear to leave him. Deep down, you both didn’t want to be alone tonight.

“Bakugo?” He looked up as you said his name. “Could I sleep over in your room tonight? I don’t think I want to be alone”

All he did was scoff, pick up his mug and began walking towards the staircase. When he realized you weren’t following, he scowled and turned to look at you.

“Let’s go brat. I’m missing out on my beauty sleep”

Part two

—————

Ps: im starting to do requests! So if you have an idea for me, go ahead and put it in my asks <3

[shotmrmiller]

johnny dates your friend and then asks her if she's got any friends (you) for his friend (simon). but simon freaks you out. he can't hold a conversation— or won't, you're not sure; you're lucky if you get monosyllabic grunts out of him as if he were a neanderthal. the only times you've seriously heard him talk is to bark out words at either johnny or the bartender.

he walks around with a poorly concealed weapon on his hip, almost like he is expecting trouble. he wears all black, which is completely fine, but then a skull balaclava that he refuses to take off, even to drink his liquor. you don't try to hide the grimace on your face when you watch him sip through the thick fabric. he's got skeleton gloves on his hands too, like some sort of shit cosplay to match his mask.

and he fucking stares, unashamedly so. it is unblinking, scrutinizing, intense— his dark eyes, pools of midnight, keen. he stares at the people walking in through the door, stares at johnny when he takes your friend to the dance floor, and when you tell him out of courtesy that you're going to go get another drink, you can feel him boring holes into the back of your head as you walk away, piercing flesh and bone.

the phantom fingers of his gaze trace icy paths along your spine, erupting your skin in goosebumps. you find him immensely creepy, and you thank the fucking stars you're only here as a favor for your friend. you don't think you want to do this again. he's either a wanted serial killer or just a goddamn freak.

a heavy arm wraps around your shoulders once you're at the bar, and with a sneer on your lips, you turn to the owner of said offending limb, only to come face to face with johnny. he leans into you, close enough to where you can feel his stubble grazing the shell of your ear. (back up, brother.)

"listen, bonnie!" you wince; it's really not that loud in here for him to be yelling like that. "ah ken, ghos— er, simon, might no' be yer average man. he can be a little off-puttin'—" a little? if he doesn't follow you home and skin you alive, you'd be incredibly fortunate— "but ah promise ye, while he may no' be boyfriend material, he's an incredible fuck."

excuse me? he's got to be positively pissed. "maybe you should slow down, yeah? you might already be three sheets to the wind if you're gassing up your unsettling friend's cock. no offense."

"naw! ah'm tellin' ye. long ago, we had a mission tha' ran everyone tight, 'n so we relieved tension the only way we could— big, strong guy like him had me limpin' for a few days after."

you're about to ask for an angel shot because there is no way in hell that your friend's boyfriend is making casual conversation about him getting absolutely railed by—

"give 'em a try. jus' the once, i swear he don't bite," johnny pauses-- the rosy flush on his nose and cheeks vibrant, "unless ye ask nicely. yer friend said ye needed to get laid, anyways." oh, you're gonna fucking kill her, that long-tongued cretin.

"right!" you drink the remainder of your cocktail in one big gulp, liquid warmth trailing down your throat, before not-so-kindly shrugging him off. "i'm gonna go, you, uh— we didn't have this conversation, for the sake of my friend." you gesture at the bartender. "one more, please. i'm gonna need it."

-

damn. now johnny's got you thinking about getting your back broken by simon. maybe you really are just down horrendously, or maybe it's the alcohol in your system that has decided to toss all self-preservation out the metaphorical window because now you can't stop noticing him.

he's real tall— enough to have him slightly tipping his head to walk through a doorway. his shoulders are mountainous, his hands the size of a bear's paw. his physicality is undoubtedly impressive and well, you've always been weak to burly, commanding men.

you make eye contact with johnny from across the room, his bright blue eyes alive under the dim light of the dingy bar, and the bastard shifts his gaze from simon to you, giving a cheeky wink.

lifting your glass, you drink the last of your liquid courage— the taste of it bittersweet. it has been a long time since you've gotten laid.

double damn.

"hey." you lean slightly toward simon, cupping your hand around your mouth. "you and i both know why we're here. take me home?" the way he looks at you has you shifting restlessly in your seat. did you perhaps make a mistake? oh, fuck. did you just throw yourself cunt-first at someone who is not interested? your face burns with embarrassment, heat licking up your cheeks. maybe the earth will split open, right here ri—

"let's go then." oh thank fucking god. you don't know what you would've done if he'd said no. shrivel up and die, probably. "uber'll be here in 4."

when it arrives, he places his leather jacket around your shoulders, cocooning you in its warmth— the heady scent of nicotine clings to the garment— and leads you outside with a hand on the small of your back.

-

the world outside the car blurs into a hazy painting as the driver navigates the streets. colors blend together, once sharp outlines now dissolved. the rain gently taps on the window, a soothing sound that could easily lull you to sleep until you start when a roughened palm suddenly glides along your thigh— fingers slowly tracing intimate patterns on your skin.

simon's hand is hot, and it only burns hotter the closer it gets to your center under your least favorite skirt. he cannot be serious right now. you place your hand over his, short nails biting into him because there is no way you're about to be fingered in an uber—

his voice is deep, a deliciously thick rumble, right by your ear. "nice kitty." you've never been one for pet names or anything else for that matter, but the pulse of arousal that shoots up your spine has a shaky exhale leaving your lips, a ghostly breath fogging up the window.

the tips of his fingers tease the seam of your knickers, a generic cotton fabric that clings to your dampening cunt like a second skin— desire trickling onto the gusset. your whimper is drowned out by the terrible music the driver is currently playing when his small finger grazes over your slit, featherlight.

"so wet already? i've barely even touched ya, love." again with the cunt-clenching nicknames. he has no business purring them out like that. "i can smell your sweet pussy from here. you really must be achin' for it." of course the time he chooses to be vocal, it's to spew filth. "don't worry, i'll treat ya good."

somehow, you actually manage to choke out a response. "i'm sure. johnny-" you hiss through clenched teeth when he slips under your knickers, a finger brushing along your slick entrance, "said you had him walking side to side once." you buck your hips, seeking the friction you need, but it only makes him pull away a bit; how unsurprisingly cruel.

"only because he was bein' a brat. you're not a brat though, are ya? gonna be good f'me?" your tongue is heavy in your mouth, words lodged in your throat— all you can give him is a slight nod. "i expect verbal answers. i'd hate to spank your arse raw. how would ya sit down after?"

the idea of being bent over his strong thighs, face pressed into his couch as his firm hand takes you into the needy subspace you crave is too much, or maybe not enough because you're tucking your face into the side of his neck in an instant. "please," you warble, unsure of what you're even begging for.

he curls his finger, slipping between your lips, and when he finally brushes your clit— a fleeting, tantalizing touch— your eyes threaten to roll into the back of your head. "needy little thing. i bet there's a damp spot right where you're sittin'. drippin' all over my fingers—" your breath is ripped from your lungs when he abruptly pulls his hand out and away, the sodden material of your knickers snapping against your heated skin. you're about to snarl out a vicious what the fuck, but the once-blurred scenery outside sharpens into focus.

the driver parks and looks at you from the rearview mirror. "we're here." you mumble a muted thank you, stepping out with quivering legs and a drenched cunt. a crisp breeze dances across your skin, a refreshing contrast to the stifling heat from inside the car.

as soon as the car drives off, you're hoisted onto a broad shoulder. the world tilts, and you fist the back of simon's shirt for stability. "highly unnecessary. i can wa—" you let out a squeak when he slaps the back of your thigh, the sharp bite of it sending a jolt straight to your throbbing center.

"hush."

you sputter indignantly as you hold on tighter, breaths coming out in short gasps, syncing with each step. "i beg your pardon?"

you yelp when he gives you another slap, this time closer to your cunt. "then beg." you're rendered speechless.

wow. maybe you've actually bitten off more than you can chew.

the wet cement under you is a blur, the texture lost in the rush of his movements until he comes to a stop, and you hear a familiar jingle of keys. he bursts through the door, the hinges groaning in protest, and you're staggeringly planted on both feet.

"nice place." a lie. it looks unlived in— brand spanking new. you vaguely hear the lock behind you as you take in your surroundings. a perfect, leather couch, not a crease in sight. the rug under it is pristine and bland, a cream color that matches the rest of his flat. impersonal. not an ounce of real personality anywhere. you begin shrugging off his jacket when you're suddenly pressed against the cold door, simon bent at the knees in front of you, his dark eyes— sharp as blades— lock onto yours.

"gonna beg?"

the fire in your lower belly reignites at the sight of his unmasked face. ash-brown hair in a simple crew cut, thick brows with the right one bisected by a pink, gnarled scar. slightly crooked nose, broken one too many times, and thin, pale lips. a countenance to match his rugged personality.

you're pulled out of your thoughts when he licks a hot stripe over your covered slit and you mewl at the sensation. "i asked you a question."

the words rush out of your mouth before you can even think of stopping them. "yes, yes! please, god, i don't- just- please let me come! i-" his thumbs hook into the waistband of your knickers and tug them down slowly, strings of arousal sticking to the gusset, smearing on your inner thighs.

"alrigh', since ya begged so prettily." your vision goes white when he throws one leg over his shoulder, and his slick tongue slides through your folds, the tip flicking your clit lightly. he laps at your cunt like it drips milk and honey— nourishing and sweet. simon groans into you, the sound crawling up your vertebrae and into the base of your skull.

he begins to draw lazy circles around your pearl, every swirl of his tongue has your back bowing as if winding it, inching you closer to the precipice. your toes curl in your shoes, hands finding purchase in his coarse hair, knuckles staining white as you start the feel the familiar tightening in your lower belly.

and then he pushes one thick finger into you, down to the scarred knuckle, and crooks it. the squelching noise your dripping pussy makes when he presses on the tiny patch of rough skin inside is loud and obscene; practically echoing off the dull, ivory walls of his flat.

"gonna come f'me? make a mess all over my hand?" simon adds another finger, a slight burn nipping at the heels of the pleasure coiling under your navel.

"c'mon. give it to me, pet." his lips encircle your clit, giving it a light suckle and it's—

the coil snaps, a sudden release of tension. it is violent and oh, so exquisite. white noise in your head, your ears, coursing through your veins. it prickles, it stings; it's pleasure and pain. your soul sinks back into your body— like a feather returning to its nest— and you blink, momentarily unbalanced.

"ya with me?"

you breathe deep— the taste of salt in the air, the scent of sweat-slick skin, your heart pulsing with life. "yes. i'm here." the man took you to the stars and laid you on them. jesus.

"good." the room spins, and you're weightless, nestled in his arms. it'd seem innocent if it wasn't for the stickiness in between your thighs, or the prominent bulge in his jeans occasionally pressing into your arse.

simon kicks a door open, knob bouncing off the wall with a crack, and quickly places you on the bed before tugging his shirt off. the belt and jeans come off next, and—

"you don't wear pants." why would he let that monstrosity just hang like that?

"good observation. is water still wet?" he asks, tonelessly. you narrow your eyes at him, pushing your tongue against the back of your teeth.

"fuck me for having eyes and using them as intended, i guess," you mumble under your breath. he grabs you by the ankle and tugs the skirt off, then your shoes, "ouch, i like my feet where they are, thank you," and literally rips your shirt in half. "you'll be giving me on of yours before i leave as recompense."

he holds himself up with his arms over you, your thighs burning as they cradle his hips.

his cock is a heavy, hot weight on your stomach— ruddy, leaking tip right under your navel. you're not small by any means, but he's going to tear you in half. there's no surviving such an onslaught. he's not just leaving you with a limp, he's going to turn your two smaller holes into one big one.

he tears into a golden wrapper with his teeth, and expertly rolls the condom on. simon lowers down to his elbows and nudges your jaw with his nose. "i'll stop the moment ya call it. tap on me if you're feelin' overwhelmed."

that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to you, and the fact that it comes from a massive creep who stares at people like they owe him money has you a bit dumbstruck.

his stubble grazes the side of your neck as he glides his cock along your slick folds; once, thrice, until the head catches on your swollen entrance. simon pushes in slow, agonizingly slow— you don't know if it's better or worse because you feel every devastating inch of his length as it forcibly wrenches your walls apart.

your senses are solely focused on him: his body enveloping yours completely. his breath, sweetened like malt, wafts gently across your skin. his thick waist that you can't fully wrap your legs around. everything about him is big— his physicality, his presence, his cock.

"take a deep breath for me, pet. feel everythin' i'm givin' you."

your lungs expand as you do, and when you exhale, your muscles slacken. rapturous pleasure begins to bleed through the delicate membrane that separates it from the bite of pain, until boundaries are blurred and—

and he sinks into you like a rock breaking the surface tension of still water, bottoming out in one, smooth stroke. you can't help the mewl that falls from your lips nor the way your walls clamp down around him.

"fuck, there it is. so bloody tight, this greedy cunt is takin' my cock like it was made for me."

there isn't a single coherent thought in your head and you're glad for it. finally, someone to fuck you stupid.

simon gives you an experimental thrust, dragging his length along every single one of your nerves, and then another— desire overflowing from where he stuffs you to the very brim. "good. ready?"

he takes your tiny nod as an answer this time and begins to fuck you in earnest. it takes everything in you to not black out from how perfect it felt.

simon puts his weight behind every thrust, a steady pull out, and a spine-jarring push in. you can feel him deep in your stomach, a delicious pinch of discomfort each time he presses against the plug of your womb.

"so fuckin' wet, your cunt's droolin' all over me." he hooks an arm under your left leg and lifts, the angle he's put you in tittering dangerously on the tightrope of rapture and ache.

it's so good, so fucking good, your slick walls fluttering as he carves himself into you, your soul, your cunt when you feel a tight snap inside.

simon pulls out in an instant, taking your breath with him as he does. you look down at his cock and notice that—

"the condom broke. i've got another in the drawer, gimme a sec."

there is some weird thing that lodges in place somewhere deep in your sternum when you realize that he's been nothing but considerate and attentive to you since he brought you home and hasn't fussed over anything once. it's an extremely low bar, you are aware. rewarding what should be the bare fucking minimum is sad, but you're not completely altruistic in your motives anyway. you want to feel his bare cock inside as he rearranges your insides.

"no!" he quickly turns to look at you, "no. it's okay. i'm clean and i'm also on the pill. if that's okay with you, of course."

a man his stature should not move as fast as he just did, blinking from one side of the room to the other. he quickly throws both of your legs over his shoulders, heels resting on his back when he sinks back in, this time letting out a guttural groan as he does.

you can feel the ridge of his flared head, the warmth of his cock seeping into your tender walls— a new level of intimacy. he fucks you with fervor now, a precise snap of his hips that has your teeth clacking with every thrust.

your climax takes you by complete surprise, crashing into you like waves on a rocky, jagged shore. burst after burst of blinding pleasure threatens to consume you whole, and when your limbs are loose and syrupy— body limp— only then do you realize that he came just as fast. thick white ropes of viscous spend cover your stomach and trail down to your abused cunt.

your hamstrings already hurt with delayed onset muscle soreness. you might actually need a wheelchair to go back home.

(thank god your hips held out, and no, you don't care that it's essentially sacrilegious of you to even think that.)

his breathing comes out in ragged bursts, beads of sweat dripping onto the valley of your breasts.

and he's back to the fucking staring. "simon."

"pet."

"please stop looking at me like that."

he huffs and dips his head to flick your hardened nipple with his tongue, making you hiss with over sensitivity.

"make me."

-

as dawn breaks, the world begins to stir awake. hues of pale pink stain the sky, the first blush of morning. light and shadow begin to blend in the bedroom.

your phone vibrates under the pillow, simon's arm tightening around your soft waist at the buzzing sound. his lips press a light kiss on the sensitive skin by your ear, and his large hand begins to weave its way downward, pads of his fingers gathering the evidence of last night (or early morning) and gently parts your folds, brushing light strokes on your clit.

when he places your leg around his hip and sinks into you from behind, your phone buzzes again-- alone and forgotten.

good morning!!! i expect a full, detailed report by lunch or so help you god.

sent 5:30 am

about time you got laid, you're not you when you're horny.

sent 5:49 am