#and then he says this shit when i give them to him

[mwphisto]

LaDs: You have a High Libido

~ inspired by an anon’s ask!

~ all love interests included

Warning, this post contains: smut, 18+ content, mentions of sex, sweat, cum, bodily fluids, you get the idea.

Xavier

⭐️He is thrilled actually, because so does he

⭐️Don’t let the sleepy tendencies fool you, Xavier is ready to go whenever (and wherever) you are

⭐️You can push him past his limits, even out do him in the horny department, and he’ll still attempt to keep up

“Again?” You’re both breathless, cheeks red and bodies sweaty. The room reeks of sex and sweat, with the comforting mix of your perfume and his cologne. The sheets are damp with your combined fluids, a variety of them for that matter. Sweat, drool, cum… definitely a wash day tomorrow! “Yes, please. I still need you Xavier.” You’ve cum so many times you’ve lost count, poor cunt so puffy that it’s a miracle you can even feel anything down there. Still, it’s aching, throbbing with need, you need him again. “Sure, baby.” And he’s on you, a worn out smile on his lips as he showers your heated skin in wet kisses. You can — and will — go until sunrise

Rafayel

🎨Rafayel’s libido on a normal day is pretty decent, he’s down whenever you are and that’s… often

🎨It takes him some time to build his stamina… unless it’s ebb day. Lemurian heat cycles are something else.

🎨He breaks before you do, but all it takes is the off hand comment of “I’ll finish myself” and he’s ready to go

“You’re tired, Raf. I’ll just go take care of—“ tired be damned, he’s hauling his sweat slicked body up and pushing you down again. “I won’t stop until you’re satisfied.” His cheeks are a permanent crimson, pupils blown wide. Even if he is exhausted, his cock is still twitching at the sight of your ruined cunt. So much cum, arousal, all just leaking down your thighs. You’ve been going at it for two hours at this point, nonstop, barely a break between each round. Even if you didn’t mean too, you’re slowly training your lover to have a libido as high as yours. “It’s okay, re-really I can—shit!” He stops all complaints by shoving himself inside, one easy, slipper go. “I’m. Not. Stopping. Until you are satisfied, cutie.”

Zayne

🩺Zayne doesn’t quite know what to do with himself at first. He’s a tad bit overwhelmed by your high libido.

🩺Give him a little time, he’ll get used to it, and slowly realize his libido is pretty high up there too… just takes a couple weeks of separation and he’s ravenous

🩺Zayne controls the situation by edging you both, keeping the game going until you’re both exhausted

“Can’t cum yet, darling. Gotta hold it in.” It’s been an hour… maybe two? Possibly three. You’re not sure, nor do you care. You have Zayne wrapped around your finger… well maybe he had you wrapped around his finger but still. “P-please, Zayne! You’ve ruined it like…shit I can’t remember… seven times? Probably more…” what’s worse than being completely denied is having your orgasm ruined. He’s brought you to the edge, pushed you over, and then stood back and watched it fizzle out. Completely unsatisfying, your poor cunt twitching for more, a real one at that. “You’re doing so good for me though, the reward will be so good if you just…” a gentle motion with his fingers and you’re jerking into him. “…wait.”

Sylus

🍒He didn’t realize that your… eagerness could rub off on him so easily… or maybe he’s always been this way.

🍒Your high libido is damn near torture, considering you’re in Linkon and he’s in the N109 Zone… you’re always tied up with work, he’s always away for business…

🍒Even then, Sylus does try and make it so your time together isn’t entirely… sex. Doesn’t it always work? No.

“I swear all we do is fuck when we see eachother…” you’re giggling as you say it, laying on top of him, chest to chest. His slowly softening cock is begin to slip out of you, the copious amounts of release following. “Because it is all we do… you’re insatiable.” Sweaty and flushed, but still smug, Sylus is twirling your hair around his fingers. “Hey!” A smack lands on his sweaty shoulder and he’s laughing. “You’re one to talk, mister.” But Sylus isn’t letting you live it down that easily. “You made me this way… nothing but a greedy soul.” And just like that, you can feel him hardening again. He studies your expression, tear stained cheeks and flushed skin. So beautiful, even as your lips part in a little “o” as he fills you up.

Caleb

🪐You thought your libido was high… till Caleb finally stopped holding his feelings back

🪐He is on cloud nine when he finds out you’re just as horny as he is 24/7

🪐He’ll travel to and from Linkon if it means getting that pussy for the night. You have zero complaints either, other than maybe the fact that you wished he didn’t live so far

“You’re going to miss… miss…. Caleb!” His hips pound into you, every time you attempt to remind him about missing his train back to Skyhaven he just thrusts harder. “Such a weird way to say that I’m fucking you so damn good, I think a thank you is in order.” He’s nearly in your stomach and he has the audacity to be sassy. You give up on trying to remind him, as if you wouldn’t call off work the next day just to keep him tied down to your bed, balls deep like you had been so boldly begging him for over text a few hours earlier. You’re going to get a noise complaint, maybe even a notice from the city since you have your windows open. The room reeked of sex after all, you needed something to clear your fogged up heads.

[heavenlybodies333]

Love Bites - S.R

Spencer Reid x Hotch’s daughter!reader

Spencer Reid was many things—profiler, genius, human encyclopedia—but subtle was not one of them. Especially not when it came to hiding the fresh constellation of hickeys scattered down his neck like some kind of prize.

He walked into the bullpen with a file in one hand and his satchel slung awkwardly over the other, already rambling to Morgan about geographical profiling. Which made it all the more entertaining when Derek stopped in his tracks mid-conversation, eyebrows shooting up.

“Hold up.” Morgan squinted, leaning closer, his expression a slow grin of dawning realization.

Spencer froze with his tablet in hand, blinking. "Yeah?"

“Is that—Reid. Are those hickeys?”

"I—uh," Spencer stammered, adjusting his collar like he could somehow will the bruises away. "I didn't—it's not—"

"Oh my god," Penelope gasped. “Did our baby genius finally get laid?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, hard, to keep from laughing. Raising your eyebrows in your best imitation of wide-eyed innocence. Morgan's already circling like a shark. "Damn, kid. Didn’t know you had it in you."

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Reid stammers, tugging his collar up. That only makes it worse. One purplish mark is now clearly visible beneath the edge of his shirt.

Rossi walks by, takes one look, raises an eyebrow, and says nothin—Emily snorts audibly from behind her monitor. Reid sputters. “What—look—I—this is entirely inappropriate workplace behavior!”

“Oh, so you did get laid,” Prentiss grins. You rest your chin on your palm and bite the inside of your cheek to keep your smile from giving everything away.

“I’m not discussing my personal life with you,” Reid says quickly, shifting in his chair and tugging his collar up with a flushed, nervous hand.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t warned him, last night—his hands in your hair, your mouth on his neck, your breath hot and teasing: You’re going to have to explain these, you know. And he’d groaned, hands tightening on your hips, whispering, Worth it.

Guess he wasn’t so sure now.

Morgan wasn’t done. He leaned over Spencer’s desk with a shit-eating grin. “Oh, come on,” He laughs. “Don’t leave us hangin’. Who’s the lucky lady? We didn’t even know you had a lady!”

You slid your gaze toward Morgan, who was watching Reid intently—too intently. His eyes drifted from Spencer’s flushed face to you… and then back to Spencer. And then to you again.

A pause. Then Morgan’s smile stretched wider, far too knowing. “Oh. Oh. No way,” he said under his breath. “No way.”

You raised your brows, feigning innocence. “Something wrong, Agent Morgan?”

“Oh, hell no.” He laughed, backing away with his hands raised in mock surrender. “Hotch is gonna kill you, man.”

Hotch chose that exact moment to walk in, flipping through a file. “Morning,” he muttered. “Briefing in ten.” Everyone straightened. You took another sip of your coffee and shot Reid a knowing smile.

You got up and headed toward the briefing room, but not before leaning in, just enough, as you passed his chair.

Voice soft. Lips close. “Maybe next time,” you whispered,"you’ll wear a higher collar, genius."

“Reid,” comes the sudden, sharp voice from the stairs.

All heads snap toward Hotch, who descends into the bullpen like the Grim Reaper in a suit.

Reid jumps to his feet. “Yes?”

“I need that Georgia file you reviewed yesterday.”

“Uh—yes, yes, right here.” Spencer bolts to grab it from his desk, pushing his chair out with a screech.

Hotch pauses halfway down the stairs. Eyes looking over, your father’s eyes land on you. “You alright?”

You smile. Bright. Innocent. “Peachy, Dad.” He frowns slightly, then keeps walking.

Yeah, there was no way your dad wasn’t finding out.

a/n: spencieeee

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

[seungisms]

thinking about chan and pussy worship. he could spend hours eating you out, hands keeping your thighs spread wide open for him until his fingerprints are indented in the soft flesh and you’re crying that your muscles are sore, until he’s near damn being suffocated by your pussy, until your throat is sore and the only thing you know how to say is his name. he just can’t leave you alone sometimes, especially when your legs look so empty without his head between them! he’s completely pussy whipped, drunk on the mere sight of your cute cunt the second he spreads your thighs open with trembling hands, thumbing your folds apart to get a good view of your sticky centre and he hates the whorish whimper he lets out at the sight.

and he just can’t help himself from being a little impatient sometimes, so eager to get his mouth on your cunt that he doesn’t even bother to get you out of your underwear first - immediately smothering and nuzzling his nose against the drenched fabric of your panties so shamelessly that it has you whimpering and shutting your eyes in embarrassment, pussy closing in around nothing the more he messily groans and slobbers into your clothed cunt. “i know, i’m sorry baby, jus’ smell so good. can’t imagine how you’re gonna taste.” before he’s nudging your panties to the side, tongue finding home between your folds. 

he’s a messy eater, a little pathetic with it - spit and drool and arousal dripping from his chin and it almost pains him everytime he has to abandon your pussy to catch his breath. almost like he’d be happier dying with his mouth on your cunt rather than pulling away. and he doesn’t give you a second to rest other, cursing the most vile shit underneath his breath as his fingers work their way into your pussy, replacing the emptiness his mouth left behind. “god, fuck. pussy so tight, don’t know how i’m gonna fit my cock in there,” while stretching you out around his digits, plush walls immediately eating them up and curling so deep inside of you it has you seeing stars. 

chan can never seem to leave your pussy alone despite  the painful throb of his lonely cock, working his mouth against your cunt until his jaw was sore and the only thing he could feel, taste, see is you. he eats you out like a man starved, spit lubing up your pussy and you little nub relentlessly abused, almost painful with the way the long tip of his nose bumps against your sensitive bud with every long press of his tongue, hot and wet against your sticky heaven. he’ll make himself cum from eating you out, dragging his lips against your nub and dipping his tongue into your cunt until your eyes are rolling into the back of your skull and your pussy is throbbing - the small ruts of his hips against the bed from where he lay between your legs going unnoticed, cock swollen and red and just begging to finally be suffocated by dripping your cunt. 

talks you through it, watching the way your eyes gloss over and jaw goes slack from his torment on your clit, all words being ripped from your throat as he stimulates your tortured cunt again and again. “that’s it baby, tell me who owns this pussy.” and he really does get off on the fact that you can never find it in yourself to respond, body gone limp beneath him and nub raw and pulsing. “my pretty baby, you’ve done so well. let me have a little more fun with you and then i’ll leave you alone for awhile.”

© seungisms - all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated. 

[my-castles-crumbling]

caught - jegulus - cw: implied shit home life for Regulus - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 384

“Professor, you can’t tell his mum.” 

The words spilled out of James’s mouth as soon as he stumbled into McGonagall’s office, harried and rushed. He knew the policy. He’d been caught in out-of-bounds places far too many times not to know. Looking back, they’d been more than stupid to sneak off to the Astronomy Tower. Sure, it was ridiculously romantic, and Regulus had looked at him like he was the actual sun when he’d explained that he’d been learning the more-advanced constellations just for him, but the risk…it was just too great. Because when Walburga Black heard that her favorite son was snogging James Potter in a forbidden area of the castle at two in the morning on a Wednesday night? She’d have Regulus’s head.

“I’ll–I’ll do extra detentions. I’ll give up being Head Boy. Fuck, I’ll give up Quidditch, Professor, just don’t write to his mum, you don’t understand,” James continued to beg, Regulus’s terrified expression at being caught refusing to leave his brain.

McGonagall, who was sitting at her desk wrapped in a thick wool dressing gown, regarded him with a stricken expression. After James’s begging finally ceased, petering off into desperate panting, she spoke. “There’s nothing to tell. The two of you were on rounds, weren’t you? Mister Black is a Prefect, after all.”

James could tell from the Professor’s expression that she knew they were not on rounds. The position she’d caught them in had made that abundantly clear. But he knew better than to say anything to the contrary. “Y-yes,” he nodded, relief flooding through him like a tsunami. “Of course.”

“Well, then the only thing I shall say about Mister Black, if asked, is that he is very dedicated to his position,” McGonagall said lightly. “However, I would advise you both not to get…distracted on your rounds, yes?”

“Yes, Professor. Thank you,” James agreed, nodding some more. 

“Mister Potter?” the older woman asked as he stood, determined to leave before she changed her mind.

“Yes?” he asked breathlessly.

“If I may say. I’m glad you two are…er…going on rounds together. I feel you will both be positive influences on each other,” Professor McGonagall said with a small smile.

James couldn’t help but beam at the approval. “Thanks. I agree.”

“Just be positive influences in private, yes?”

“Yes, Professor.”

[leclerc-hs]

a lifetime of summers - cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: in which every summer, at the villa your families rent together every year, gives you a version of charles OR you and charles are childhood best friends with a complicated history. warnings: angst, language, childhood friends with complicated history, smut, angst, yearning, etc... idk what I'm missing, NOT PROOFREAD (prob typos or things that might not make sense), lots of back and forth, messy messy messy, also cute, jealousy jealousy, seriously lots of YEARNING, them being stupid also word count: ~8k author's note: this idea came to me a few days ago and i've spent as much time as possible working on it since (in between carlos version). y'know when the creativity just hits right and the words pour out of you?? that was me with this. i hope you guys like it!!!! xoxo ◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

Age 7.

“I’m gonna marry you one day.”

The villa smells of sun lotion and salty air.

Your dad’s playing music through some tiny old speaker he brought. And the adults are laughing too loud over their drinks.

The sun is beginning to sink, but it’s still hot. 

You’re sticky with juice, hair tangled, and bathing suit clinging awkwardly.

Charles is chasing you. A water balloon in his hands.

You shriek, running against the hot stones. Smiling so hard that it hurts.

“Y’already got me twice!” You shout in between giggles. “S’not fair!”

Charles appears closer. Face sunburnt. A smile tugged on his lips. “You cheated at Candy Land!”

“You cheated first!” 

“Because you always win!”

And he raises the balloon over his head.

“If you throw that, I’m telling maman you said a bad word the other day.”

His smile drops. “I did not!”

You cross your arms over your chest. “Uh huh…you said ‘shit’ when you hit your funny bone.”

“It hurt!” He argues.

You stick your tongue out. 

And then he hesitates. Looking at the balloon. Then at you.

Throws the balloon anyway.

It explodes against your stomach. Cold water soaking you.

And you gasp. 

Then lunge for him. Chase him all the way into the back yard, shrieking. Laughing so hard that you both struggle to breathe properly. 

And eventually you both collapse into the grass. Side by side. Near the lemon tree. 

There’s a few moments of silence. Both of you panting from trying to catch your breath. 

“I’m gonna marry you one day.”

You blink. “Why?”

“Because you’re funny. And you like ice pops. And you beat me at Mario Kart once.”

You look at him. And he’s staring at the leaves above your heads. Arms touching.

“I don’t think that’s how marriage works,” your voice soft.

“Don’t care.” He shrugs. 

You roll your eyes. “Okay. But I don’t want to wear a dress.”

“Fine. But you have to split the cake with me.”

“Only if it’s chocolate.”

“Well duh.”

And you both fall asleep like that. In the grass. Smelling like chlorine. Sticky with sugar.

-

Age 12

“Why are you being weird?”

The summer heat is burning.

Heat clings to you like a second skin. And you’re still dripping from the pool. The stone tiles are too hot to stand on for too long, so everyone moves around them quickly. Your hair is wet. Trying to read a book, but can’t focus.

Because Charles won’t stop staring at you.

Well, he’s technically not staring. But he’s in the pool in your direct eyesight. Hands behind his head as he sits on a float. Sunglasses almost too big for his face. Smirking.

And every so often, he splashes water your way.

“Would you stop?” You snap. Wiping the water off your ankles.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. Blinking. Innocent.

You groan, falling back on the lounger. Trying to ignore him.

He floats closer. “You haven’t turned the page in almost twenty minutes.”

“That’s because you’re distracting me.”

And he grins. A full sheepish grin. “You think I’m cute.”

You don’t answer. Keep your eyes on your book.

“Y’gonna tell your friends I have a six pack now?” He calls out.

You raise your eyebrows, “Six pack of what?”

“Muscles.” He says. Dead serious.

And your mouth twitches. “Your voice still cracks.”

Charles slips off the floatie. Swims to the edge and rests his arms on the ledge. Chin on his forearm as he looks at you.

“Yeah? And what does it do to you when I say your name?”

Your breath hitches.

“You’re blushing.”

“It’s the sun.”

He laughs. And you throw your book at him. 

He ducks under the water. And when he resurfaces, grinning…you’re trying so hard to not smile. And he knows it.

“Why are you being so weird?” you ask.

He shrugs. 

“You’re just starting to notice me now.”

And you don’t answer.

And later that night, when you’re brushing your teeth. Still burnt from the sun. You wonder what he meant.

You don’t ask.

But you do start to.

-

Age 15

“That didn’t count.”

“So kiss me again.”

The villa is quiet. 

Your parents and his mom stay up talking. Your siblings long asleep. Arthur passed out on the couch. 

A few candles flicker near the steps, but most of the light is coming from the moonlight.

You’re barefoot. The grass cool and soft beneath your toes as you walk to the lemon tree. The one where you and Charles always meet when its too late and you’re supposed to be asleep.

He’s already there. Leaning against it. 

He looks different this year. Taller. A little bit sharper. More grown into his body.

He glances at you. “Took you long enough.”

“Had to sneak past my sister.”

He grins, holding up a bag of chips. 

And you sit beside him. Your shoulder brushing his. 

Talking about nothing for a while. Catching up on the weeks you aren’t together. How he kissed a girl in Monaco and it was fine but also kind of awkward. And you pretend you don’t hate hearing it.

You tell him about the boy from school who tried to hold your hand during a movie when you went with your group of friends.

Charles almost immediately demands his full name. And address.

And you laugh.

He tosses a lemon up and catches it. Again and again.

“I heard you tell Joris that I was in love with you.” You say.

And he glances at you. “I did not.”

You narrow your eyes. A smile on your lips.

And he shrugs. “I said you were obsessed with me. S’not the same.”

And you laugh. Then scoff. “You wish.”

You shove his arm. And he grabs your wrist before you can pull it back. Fingers wrapping around you. Warm. Familiar. But somehow different.

Neither of you speak for a few moments. Just take in the sound of the cicadas, the faint chatter of the adults on the terrace.

“Y’ever kissed anyone?”

And your stomach twists. Look away. “No.”

He nods. “Me either…at least, not really.”

Silence.

And then he says, “Wanna try?”

You look at him. But he’s already looking at you. And he looks nervous. Hopeful. Like he’s been thinking about this for a long time. Nothing like the boy who used to throw water balloons and stick paint in your hair.

You nod.

And it’s awkward. Your noses bump. One of you breathes too loudly. His hands tremble at your cheek. 

But it’s sweet. Slow.

And his lips are soft.

And when you pull apart, you both stare at each other. Lips a little rosier than before.

“That didn’t count.” You whisper.

And he blinks. “Why not?”

“There was no tongue.”

And he grins. Slowly.

And then pulls you back into him.

And this time….it’s real.

-

Age 17

“This doesn’t have to mean anything.”

The villa’s light glow behind you. Laughter echoing from the kitchen where your parents and his maman are finishing a bottle of wine.

You and Charles are on the terrace. Barefoot. A shared bottle of win between you. Practically empty. And his leg brushes against yours every time he fidgets.

It’s the first summer where you’ve both been allowed to really drink. Not just a stolen sip of a half-empty bottle found on the kitchen counter. Or a watered down spritz. Real drinks. Poured and given to you like adults.

And you’re a little tipsy. Cheeks warm and rosy. Limbs loose. 

“You’re quiet tonight,” you glance at him.

He nods. “Jus’ thinking.”

“You do that?”

And he laughs. “Shut up.”

You smile. Taking a small sip straight from the bottle before placing it back down. “What are you thinking about?”

He hesitates for a little. “Uh…that night last year.”

You don’t have to ask which night. You already know.

The night behind the lemon tree. His mouth on yours. And you think about it often.

“Me too,” You admit. Soft.

And he looks at you. Watch as his gaze dips to your mouth.

And then he’s leaning in.

The kiss is soft. Deeper. Not rushed. And his lips are warm. Tastes of wine and something sweet. Like the fruit you guys were picking at earlier.

When he pulls back, his voice cracks a little bit. “I want you.”

You don’t answer. Just smile soft. Pulling his hand into yours as you drag him into the villa. Into the bedroom. 

Your clothes peel off slowly. Clumsy. And he’s careful. Like he’s afraid if he moves too fast, it’ll ruin the moment. 

“Y’sure about this?” He whispers.

You nod. “Yeah…want it to be you.”

And he closes his eyes for a second. Like his heart is in his throat.

And then it happens.

It’s slow. Messy. You both laugh when your arms bump. And he curses softly when he cant get the condom wrapper open. But then he’s inside you, and your laughter becomes hushed gasps. Fingers digging into each other.

“Y’okay?” He mutters. His forehead pressed to yours.

And your nails dig into his back. “Yeah.”

And then he kisses you again. Harder. Holds you closer.

Later, when you’re both lying tangled in the dark…you feel his fingers tracing your skin. Both of you enjoying the silence.

Then a good few moments later.

“This doesn’t have to mean anything.”

You swallow hard.

“Yeah.”

-

Age 19

“Y’gonna dance with him again?”

“He asked.”

“You let him kiss your cheek.”

“You fingered me in the kitchen pantry last night.”

“That’s different.”

You’re barefoot in the sand. Music loud. And Luca…or maybe it was Leo? You weren’t sure. Had his hands lightly on your hips. Flirty.

You’re laughing at something dumb he said into your ear. And then you feel it.

The heat. The stare.

Glance over your shoulder and…

Charles. Leaning against the beach bar. Beer in hand.

Eyes on you with a glint in his eye like you’ve offended him.

You try not to react. But the next time Luca spins you, you pull away with a smile and a I’ll be right back.

You only make it a few steps before Charles intercepts your path.

“Having fun?” He says. Trying to be casual. But his voice is too tight. Too bitter.

“Yes.” You brush past him. And he falls right into step with you.

“You’ve got weird taste in music.”

“That’s not my music taste. It’s called dancing.”

And he scoffs.

You walk to the side of the bar. An more private are. Grabbing his shoulder to face you.

“Are you okay?” Voice sweet. Gentle. Caring.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re glaring too much.”

And looks at you. “I just think it’s funny.”

“Oh, here we go.”

“I mean, you don’t even like that song.”

You cross your arms against your chest. And he steps closer.

“You let him put his hands on you.”

You raise a brow. “So?”

“So…you let him touch you. Kiss your cheek”

And you laugh. Soft. “You fingered me in the kitchen pantry last night, Charles.”

His jaw clenches. Hands twitch. “That’s different.”

“Is it?”

You take a step closer. Testing him, And he doesn’t budge.

“It’s not the same.”

You stare at him. His cheeks are sunburned. And his eyes are so green it makes your heart rate spike. So handsome.

“So I’m not allowed to dance with a guy I’ll never see again?”

He runs a hand over his face. Grazing the slight stubble on his jaw. “You’re not just dancing.”

“No,” You admit. “But you’re not just fucking me either.”

His eyes widen. Slightly stunned.

And you don’t back down. Step even closer until your chests are touching.. “You don’t wanna talk about what this is? That’s fine. But you don’t get to act jealous then.”

“I’m not jealous.”

And you grin. Snort. Just a tiny bit.

“Okay,” he says. Throwing his hands up. “Maybe I am.”

Your stomach twists.

“I just…I don’t like seeing you with other guys.” His voice is low. 

“Well…it’s not like you don’t talk to other girls, Charles.”

And then you leave him standing there. Alone.

-

“Wanna go out for a bit?” He asks. “Just us?”

And you say yes without even thinking.

You’re on a light blue towel, sunglasses over your face, pretending to read a book. Charles is stretched out next to you. An arm tucked under his head. Throwing grapes in the air and trying to catch them in his mouth.

You glance over just as a grape hits his forehead and falls into the sand.

“Impressive.”

He laughs. “The wind interfered!”

He tosses another grape. Misses again. 

And you burst into laughter.

“I’m warming up.”

He laughs with you. Giving up and rolling onto his side to face you.

He squints his eyes at you. “Do you have sunscreen on?”

“Yes.”

“Are you positive?”

Your brows furrow. “Why?”

“I think that….” His hand reaches for the bottle of sun lotion, flicking it open. “That you missed a spot.”

He squirts some into his hand, a smirk on his lips.

“Back off.”

And he reaches for you, smearing it all over your chest. You shriek, tossing your book into the sand beside you.

And somewhere between this sun lotion assault, you’re both breathless and laughing so hard.

He pins you down, dropping heaps of sun lotion onto your skin.

“Truce,” You laugh. Stomach burning from laughter. 

He nods. Smiling. Rubbing the sunscreen into your skin.

“Don’t want you to burn.”

You throw a pile of sand at him. And he doesn’t even flinch.

-

His cock is already buried inside you. Deep. Thick. Fucking aching.

“God, you’re fuckin soaked.” He groans into your neck. Hand pressed into your stomach. 

You claw at his back. Back arched. Legs spread. Shaking every time he hits that spot in your tummy just right.

He looks down at you like he’s overwhelmed. Like he doesn’t understand how you can feel this fucking good.

“Swear to God,” He grunts. Pulling back slow, then snapping his hips forward. “S’like your pussy jus gets tighter every time.”

Your mouth falls open. Gasping.

His hands slip under your thigh, pushing your knee into your chest. Fucking you deeper.

And then he moans.

“Jesus….fuck.” He chokes out. “Y’feel that?”

You sob out. 

“I’ve been inside you like a hundred times this summer and it still feels like fuckin heaven.”

His forehead drops and presses into yours. Voice rough. 

“M’not gonna last.” He huffs. “You’re too wet. Too fuckin tight.”

You grip his shoulders, nails digging into the skin. “Don’t stop…”

“You’re fuckin milking me.” He cuts you off. “Y’gonna come? Please come on me. C’mon baby…please, yeah? Please let me have it.”

And you fall apart. Gasping. Shaking. Coming so hard around his cock it makes his head fall back.

And he swears. Filthily. French tumbling out go his mouth.

And then he’s spilling inside of you. Chest pressed to yours. Hips jerking.

He buries his face in your beck. Collapsing on you. 

And neither of you speak for a bit.

Just catch your breath. Comfortable silence. Holding each other.

Eventually, he reaches up. Tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

Then whispers into the dark.

“I like it here.”

And he doesn’t elaborate.

You don’t ask him to.

-

Age 21

“He seems tense.”

“He’s fine.”

“He didn’t even blink when I mentioned that guy from Madrid.”

“I told you not to bring it up.”

Your best friend’s been here for five days and already the villa feels different.

She means well. But she talks fast, drinks fast, and has no filter. 

She also loves to talk about your love life.

The one that you’re apparently “thriving in”.

“So wait,” she says over breakfast, digging her fork into her food. “You never texted that guy from Madrid back? Y’know the one with the sexy voice?”

Across the table, Charles is picking at his plate. Fork pausing. Just for a little bit. Enough for you to notice.

You look at her, “No.”

“Why not? He was so hot.”

“Didn’t feel like it.”

“But he was so into you…” She takes a sip of her drink. “What about the Italian one? The one you really liked.”

Charles cuts into his eggs. A little bit harder. Knife scraping the plate.

“He ghosted.”

“Ugh, yeah total loser.” She laughs. “Oh my god, remember…what was his name? From the bar crawl.”

“Liam.” You choke out.

“Yes! Liam!” She snaps her fingers. “Didn’t he pick you up at the bar? Like just threw you over his shoulder?”

You laugh, slightly embarrassed. Nodding.

Charles sets his mug down a little too hard.

And then he stands. Takes his plate to the sink. 

And walks out.

“Was it something I said?” Your best friend asks.

-

You find him in the kitchen later. Your best friend is lounging out by the pool and you slipped inside to grab a water.

He’s rinsing the plates. Back to you. But his jaw is clenched tight.

You lean against the counter by him. “Hey.”

He doesn’t look at you. Just keeps scrubbing the dishes. A little harder than before.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” He says. “Just didn’t realize breakfast started with a running list of every guy you’ve fucked.”

You wince.

And he breathes deeply. Dropping the dish in the sink. “Sorry…that was, uh harsh.”

You give a tiny nod.

“I just…” He turns off the water. Looks at you. “Didn’t know it was like that?”

“Like what?”

He shrugs. 

“Is it a problem?”

He stares at you. Sucks his bottom lip in for a moment. Like he’s deep in thought. Before finally saying…

“No. It’s not my place.”

And there it is. 

You step back. “Right.”

And then you’re turning around, reaching in the cabinet for a glass. “Still going to the bonfire later?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, if you still want to.”

“Cool,” Your voice is light. 

-

Age 22

“You’ve been quiet lately.”

“I’m just tired.”

The long table on the terrace is full.

Extra chairs from inside scattered around it, one of your younger cousins crawling underneath it.

Your dad is asking your mom if there’s more grilled vegetables. Meanwhile your sister insists on telling the story about the jellyfish sting again.

“And she was crying so hard, she had actual snot bubbles on her face,” She says. Laughing.

You lift your hand, “I was six!”

Charles laughs. “You thought you were dying.”

“I thought it was venom!” You laugh. “And no one even helped me.”

“We were too busy laughing at the snot,” He says. Looking at you. That familiar grin pulled on his face, eyes crinkled. Like it was just you two.

And then Alex leans into him. Whispers into his ear. And whatever she says makes him smile wider. Makes him shift toward her without even thinking.

You chug your wine.

“I love that photo,” Alex says softly. And you glance at her to find her already looking at you. “The one of you and everyone in the inflatable pool. You’re the only one not smiling.”

You curl your lips. “We were sinking.”

“It’s so funny though,” She says. “You look so unimpressed by them.”

“She always looks like that,” Charles chimes in. “Probably came out of the womb judging people.”

You narrow your eyes, but the smile pulling on your lips gives you away.

Alex laughs. And your mom’s already popping open the next bottle of wine. 

And it would be perfect.

If it weren’t for Charles sitting across from you, arms wrapped around another person. Like he’s not yours anymore. 

You ask Alex about her job, and you mean it. She answers so soft and kind that it almost makes you hate her. Almost.

But you can’t. Because she’s nice.

“She’s good for him,” Your sister whispers under her breath, leaning toward you. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

You nod. “I’m just tired.”

Eventually, dinner ends. Alex excuses herself to help your mom bring out dessert. And Charles follows.

And when they come back, head thrown back laughing. 

He sets a slice of cake in front of you without a word.

And you thank him like its normal.

-

Someone suggest drinks at the beach bar. Something to do. The one with the bulbs on string down the street. 

You come barefoot, some sweet drink already in hand. Alex walks beside you, her wedges hooked in her fingers, hem of her dress brushing her knees.

She’s pretty in a way that doesn’t feel threatening. Not showy. Just perfect.

Inside the bar, you spot Charles leaned against the bar with a beer, grinning at something Arthur’s saying. And he’s wearing that linen button up that you used to tell him he looks like a recently divorced rich guy in. 

You find yourself smiling.

Alex touches your arm. “Hey…you want a new drink?”

You shake your head. “I’m good for now.”

She nods. A small smile on her lips.

“I was really nervous to meet you.”

You blink. Eyes slightly wider. “Me?”

She nods. “Charles talks about you all the time.”

You freeze for a moment.

“Yeah,” she smiles. “Not like in a weird way. Just like you’re part of the picture. In his life. Almost every story he tells involves you.”

You don’t know how to respond.

“I’m just glad you’re not..uh, like intimidating.” She laughs.

And you laugh back. “I save the intimidation after a few weeks.”

She smiles. “So I’ve still got time?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

And for this moment, you like her. Even if it hurts.

Because she’s kind.

Because she doesn’t know that you and Charles shared a bed when thunderstorms were scary.

Because she wasn’t there the summer he kissed you against the sand and told you he’d never want anyone else.

You chug your drink.

Later, you’re all gathered near the back of the deck, huddled around a wooden table and wobbly stools. Someone ordered a side of fries. Someone else ordered a round of shots no one really wanted but drank anyways.

You’re pressed between Charles and your sister. You’re laughing. Tipsy. Warm.

Charles is teasing your sister about something but you’re not really listening. 

And that’s when another guy slides in.

Not dramatically. Just casual. Confident.

He’s tall. Tanned. Cute. 

He talks to the guy beside him, someone you’ve definitely seen before, and then turns to you. 

“Did I hear something about you getting stung by a jellyfish?”

You smile. “Unfortunately.”

He nods. A grin. “Survival stories always get me.”

“Tragic,” you say.

He laughs. “I’m Nick.”

You take a sip of your drink, tilting your head. “Do you open with tragedy stories for flirting a lot? Or is it just me?”

“Only for girls who look like they bite back.”

You grin. Slow. “You say that like its a challenge.”

“Depends,” He shrugs, gaze dropping to your bare legs, then back to your face.

“On?”

“Depends how hard you bite.”

And you laugh. Like really laugh. Hard. Head falling back. And then you feel it. The way Charles stills beside you. The way his fingers grip his cup just a little bit tighter.

And Nick leans in closer. More private. “So…what other tragedies should I know about you?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“If you want facts or warnings.”

He raises a brow. “Any preference?”

You place your cup down on the table. “I like a little risk.”

And Charles says something to your sister now. A little louder. Like he’s trying to distract you.

You don’t bother to look at him.

Nick grins. “And just how dangerous are you exactly?”

You grin back. “Pretty dangerous.”

He laughs. “Good.”

You both just stare at each other for a little. Grinning.

“You dancing?” He asks, nodding his head in direction of the dance floor.

“Are you asking or telling?”

“I’m hoping.”

You slide off the stool.

“Let’s go tragedy boy.”

And as he takes your hand. Leads you into the crowd. You catch Charles’s eyes.

Watching.

Burning.

-

The music’s slowed a little. Just swaying to the music, instead of the rapid jumping you were doing earlier. 

Nick’s hand rests at your hip. His other is holding your drink while you talk with your hands.

“You can’t seriously think pineapple belongs on pizza,” You yell over the music.

Nick grins. “It’s good.”

“You’re weird.”

“I’ve been told that before.”

And you laugh, bumping your shoulder into his. He leans in, speaking into your ear.

“You know your friend’s been staring at us for like ten minutes, right?”

You blink. “Huh?”

He tips his head. Over your shoulder. And you turn just a little bit. Just enough to see Charles still sitting at the table.

Drink in hand. Not talking. Not even blinking. Just looking.

You breathe out, turning back. “That Charles.”

Nick raises a brow, nodding. “Ahh.”

“Don’t read into it.”

He watches you.

“He has a girlfriend.”

Nick hums, a teasing grin. “He doesn’t look like he remembers that right now.”

“We’re just friends.”

“Cool.”

You shrug. “You don’t believe me?”

He smiles. “Doesn’t matter what I believe. Just means if I kiss you, he might kill me.”

You laugh. “You’re awful.”

“You’re still here.”

And you look at each other. Smiling.

You kiss him. Not because you’re falling for him. But because you’re single. Because Charles brought someone else. Because he gets to have her. Because you’re tired of thinking about him.

So you kiss him to feel good. To forget. To remind yourself that you’re free.

Hands in his shirt. Hands on your waist.

And you let yourself lean into it.

Enjoy the uncomplicated.

And for a few moments…it almost works.

-

Age 23

“You brought him here.”

“Yeah. Remember you said he wouldn’t last.”

You’re late this year.

Flight was delayed. Rental car place was too busy. And by the time your feet hit the familiar stone of the villa’s terrace, the sun is already low in the sky.

Theo’s beside you. Rolling your suitcase like a pure gentleman. He’s good. Kind. Gets along with your parents. Laughs at your sister’s jokes. 

And still, your heart flutters when you hear his voice.

Charles.

Laughing louder than necessary. As if he wants you to hear it.

You follow the sound. Trying not to think about the last time you saw him. A few months ago in Monaco. A hotel room you both swore you wouldn’t end up in. Both seeing other people. Both pretending it didn’t count.

And it wasn’t even the first time.

Since last summer, it’s happened a few times too many. Whenever him and Alex called it off. On and off. On and off. You slipped between the cracks. A quiet fuck in your apartment. A drunken make out at a birthday party. You pressed against the shower tiles. Bent over his kitchen counter.

Always followed by soft smiles and easy goodbyes. A promise to act normal. 

Best friends first.

And the moment you step further into the terrace, you see him.

Charles standing against the bar, shirt unbuttoned. Tanned. Holding a drink with the confidence of someone who knows exactly how hot he looks.

And worse…Alex is next to him.

Beautiful of course. Sundress swaying. Hand on his chest like it belongs there.

He notices you before you can even speak. Smile faltering for a fraction of a second. Just enough for you to really feel it. And then it’s back.

And he lifts his glass in a salute. “You’re late.”

Alex smiles. “We thought you weren’t coming til’ tomorrow!”

You smile back. She was always so nice. “Surprise!”

Theo steps forward. Hand extended with that charm that always made it hard to hate him. “Hey…Charles, right?”

And Charles doesn’t hesitate. Shakes his hand. But its the same one he uses with driver’s he never liked. “Yeah. We’ve met.”

And it hits you like a knife to the ribs.

You remember that night clear as day. Theo was still new. Only a few dates in. And you invited him to a party. 

Charles showed up late. And barely looked at Theo. Offered him a lazy smile before finding you later into the night. Pulling you into his car thirty minutes later and fucking you in the back seat.

And Theo’s smiling. “Nice to see you again.”

Charles smiles. But his eyes stay on you. Never leave your face.

Alex swings her arm into his. “So glad you made it. Saved you the good room too.”

You smile at her. “That’s sweet of you.”

Charles lifts a brow. “Didn’t know you needed a good room to enjoy yourself here.”

And you hum. “Guess I’ve gotten a little pickier.”

He takes a sip of his drink. “Since when?”

And you shrug your shoulders. “Since I started dating someone who doesn’t forget my birthday.”

And it hits him like a bullet. You see the way his jaw shifts. Swallow.

Theo’s hand slips onto your lower back. Whispering softly into your ear. Nothing specific. Just something that makes you smile.

And Charles swear’s he might just vomit.

-

The ocean is calm. Waves hitting the rocks. A few birds chirping. Air cool before the sun is fully up.

You slip out of bed, letting Theo sleep. Making your way down the stony path that you walked hundreds of times. Towel slung over your shoulder. Hair twisted up in a clip.

And you’re halfway across the sand when you see him.

Already waist deep in the water. Back facing you. 

You freeze. Debating if you should turn around. 

But it’s too late. He see’s you. And his face shifts into something. Longing? Guilt? You’re not sure.

“You’re always here early,” He calls out.

You drop your towel, walking into the water without glancing at him.  “Not always.”

He watches you. You can feel the burn of his eyes on your skin. “You do when you’re avoiding me.”

You glance up. The water cool against your skin. “Who said I’m avoiding you?”

He shrugs. “History.”

You reach him in the water. You both stand there, not touching. Not moving.

Eventually…he speaks.

“He’s staying the entire time?”

You raise a brow. “Are you asking as my best friend or something else?”

He doesn’t answer. 

You move a little closer. “You said he wouldn’t last.”

“I was wrong.” His voice is low. “Clearly.”

He swallows. Looks away from you. “Does he know?”

And your stomach twists. “Know what?”

He doesn’t say anything. Lets the silence tell you.

You feel your throat tightening. “He know’s we’re close.”

“Close.” He repeats. Half snort, half laugh.

“Best friends.”

He turns to fully face you now. Jaw clenched. 

“Right. Just best friends.”

You don’t respond. Because what else are you supposed to say? That you still feel his fingers dig into your skin. That no matter how many nights pass, you still wonder what this could’ve been if you both spoke up all those years ago.

He steps closer. Too close now.

“Y’still taste like that shitty rosé we used to drink.”

And you blink. Trying not to smile. “You’re not funny.”

“Not trying to be.”

His fingers brush against your shoulder. 

“You have a girlfriend.”

And his eyes look sad. He breathes loudly. “And you have him.”

-

The villa is loud tonight. Music is blasting. Too many drinks are being poured. Bowls of snacks turning stale.

All of you are packed into the living room. Sunburn. Sprawled into chairs or the floor. Hoodies thrown on. 

Your families are here. Everyone laughing and shouting. Bickering. Like its still 15 years ago.

Theo sits behind you on the rug, legs wrapped around you. Hand resting on your hip. And he’s been sweet all evening. He fits.

Yet every time you crack a joke. Or win a game. It’s Charles who looks at you first. Like he’s your person.

His leg bounces restlessly. 

“Alright,” Arthur announces. “We’re playing that game again. The one with the acting.” He holds up a deck of cards.

“Y’mean charades?” Alex asks. Soft.

“No.” Charles says. “The one I always win.”

And it’s you rolling your eyes now. “Y’mean the one you always cheat during?”

He leans forward. “I win.”

Theo laughs behind you.

Your sister tries to act out like Snow White. Falling over and laughing when Arthur misreads a motion. Theo keeps guessing too many times. And Alex’s impressions are almost too good.

And later…when the game’s over. You find yourself in the kitchen, stacking freshly cleaned glass and bowls onto the drying towel.

Humming to yourself.

And Charles leans against the doorway, arms crossed. Watching you with a lazy grin. 

“You two are cute,” He says.

You roll your eyes. “Don’t be weird.”

“M’not.” He shrugs. Pushing off the archway and stepping closer. “It’s just…uh.” He scratches the back of his neck. “You let him touch you a lot.”

You pause with a glass in your hand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

And he smiles. Tight. Not genuine. “Nothing.”

“You’re being weird.”

He raises his hands. Says something mocking of Theo.

And it has you gasp lightly. “You’re such an asshole.” You try not to smile.

He steps even closer.

“Yeah.” He whispers. “But I’m still your favorite.”

And then he’s stepping beside you, taking the glass from your hand and dries it.

Finishes washing the dishes with you in silence.

-

“You’re staring again.”

“Yeah. Looks like you’re having fun.”

“Jealous?”

“Of him? Never.”

Silence.

“But of you? Maybe.”

The bar is tucked into the cliffs. A grand view of the sea. Well lit by bulbs on strings.

Everyone’s dressed for the night. Sun-kissed. Hair soft and flows. Laughter echoing. 

You’re on your second drink. Lightly buzzed. Your dress clinging to you just right. And you feel good. Happy.

Theo’s spinning you around. His hands warm on your waist as you move slowly in the corner of the makeshift dance floor. He’s not much of a dancer. But he’s trying. And in the end…that’s all that really matters.

He leans in close. “Y’look so beautiful.”

You smile. “Yeah?”

“I mean…y’always do.” He grins. “But-“

You don’t let him finish. Kiss him. Easy. Soft.

And when you pull back, you catch him in the corner of your eye.

Charles. At the bar.

Sitting with Arthur and Alex. Drink in front of him. Head tilted.

And he’s watching you. Not listening to either of them.

And when you’re eyes meet, he lifts his drink.

A challenge.

And later when you slip away from the loud music. He’s there. Leaning casually against the table. Shirt undone just enough to make your throat dry. 

“You’re having fun.” He says. A statement. Not a question.

“Isn’t that the point?”

He nods. “Theo’s a big fan of spinning you around like you’re some prize.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s called dancing.”

“More like claiming.” He huffs under his breath.

And you look at him.

Hard. 

Trying to read him. 

“What’s your problem?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Eyes dropping to the floor. Then to his half empty drink. 

“You kissed him.” He still isn’t looking at you.

You squint your eyes a little. “Yeah. I did.”

He swallows. Harsh. “Cool.”

You laugh. Dry. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m the ridiculous one?” He finally looks at you. “You’re out here making heart eyes at a guy you know won’t last more than another year.”

Your mouth falls open. “You don’t even know him.”

“I don’t need to know him. I know you.”

And he steps forward. Voice dropping.

“And I know that’s the same dress you wore the night I…”

“Charles.”

You both go quiet. 

Alex’s frame flickers by. Laughter erupts. People keep dancing.

“Whatever. You’re right. Have fun with your fling.”

You narrow your eyes. “Jealous?”

He smiles. Sad. “Of him? Never.”

A moment of silence. And his gaze drops to your mouth. Stays there.

“But you? Maybe.”

-

The trip is winding down. Bags are beginning to be packed. Towels still damp. Nights slower. Everyone pretending that they’re not ready to be home.

The sky’s dark. Everyone’s inside finishing up packing. Winding down.

You slipped out.

Without thinking, ended up here. The lemon tree.

The same as always. 

You hear footsteps. Uneven. Dragging.

And you turn. Charles.

He’s drunk. Swearing under his breath as he loses his footing. A bottle dangling from his hand. Shirtless. Barefoot.

His eyes meet yours and there’s something bitter in them. “Of course you’re here.”

You breathe. “You’re drunk.”

“A lil’ bit,” His words slur. “Celebrating your last night as someone else’s girl.”

You cross your arms. “We’re not doing this.”

But he’s already walking closer. 

“Y’know….s’kinda funny.”

You don’t speak.

“How he holds your hand like its somethin’ delicate. Like you’re some untouchable thing.” He takes another step closer. Voice shaking.

“I’ve had you on your knees on the kitchen floor.” He says, bitter.

Your heart pounds. “Stop.”

“In the pool too,” He slurs. “Begged me to not pull out. Said you wanted to feel it. Feel me.”

He doesn’t even let you speak. Just rambles on. Slurring. Drunk. Angry.

“Had you in every room in that house,” He grunts. “Fingers shoved in you while our parents set the dinner table. Bent you over the bathroom sink. Panties still halfway up your thighs because you were too desperate to wait.”

“Charles…”

“The pantry…remember that one?” His voice drops lower. “You were so wet it dripped onto the floor. Had to stuff my fingers in your mouth so no one would hear you cryin while you came.”

“Don’t do this.”

“I fucking have to.” He snaps. “Because I can’t fucking sleep this entire trip knowing he gets to touch you.”

You swallow. “I’m not some prize.”

“No. You’re worse.” He spits. Stepping close enough that his chest is close enough and you have to crane your neck to look at him. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and you handed it to someone else like I never fucking existed.”

“Stop it.”

“He doesn’t know what its like to hear you lose control. How you cry when you come. Shaking and begging.”

And your breathing hard now.

He leans in. Bending down to be eye to eye.

“He gets to hold you in public.” His eyes are glaring. “And I got your thighs shaking around my face while you said my name like a fuckin’ prayer.”

You don’t speak. Can’t.

Silence for a few moments.

And then…

“Tell me.” He slurs, small grin tugged on the corner of his lips. “Tell me which of us you think about when you touch yourself.”

You slap him.

Hard.

And his face whips to the side. He breathes heavily. Like he’s trying not to cry. Or scream. Or grab your face and kiss you.

He swallows.

“He gets you in the daylight.”

You don’t speak.

“He gets the sunlight.” 

And you whisper back. Soft. Heart breaking. “You only met me in the dark.”

You walk away barefoot. Tears forming in your eyes.

And Charles?

He stays at the lemon tree until sunrise. Alone.

-

You don’t talk for three months.

Which is considered a lifetime for you and Charles.

And then on a random weekday at nearly three in the morning, he sends a photo of the lemon tree in the winter.

No message beneath it.

You don’t answer.

Not for a day. Not even for three.

But then, on a random day the following week, you send a photo back.

A shot of your bedroom wall. A blurry photo of your hand holding a book in the corner.

Can’t sleep.

And the three dots appear before you can overthink it.

Me either.

And that’s how it begins.

You don’t FaceTime each other. At least, not at first. 

You fall back into a rhythm neither of you thought would come back. Almost normal. The funny kind of banter you guys always had.

Charles broke up with Alex. You broke it off with Theo.

Neither of you really said why.

-

Age 25

“Don’t sit in my chair.”

“This isn’t your chair?”

“I licked it.”

“You haven’t changed.”

“You haven’t either.”

The sun is long gone. You’re curled up in one of the cushioned chairs on the front patio. A half finished glass of wine on the stone table beside you.

The front door swings open.

“Don’t sit in my chair”

He doesn’t even hesitate. Charles drops into the cushion next to you. Barefoot. Hoodie swallowing him.

“This isn’t your chair?”

“I licked it.”

He makes a funny face. “You haven’t changed.”

And you smile. “You haven’t either.”

And its easy. The way he stretches out, folding his arms behind his head. Like nothing ever happened. 

You sip your wine.

His knee bumps into yours. Gaze on you.

“Thought it’d feel weird.”

“It did…for like,” You pause. Whisper. “For like a day.”

He holds your gaze. Doesnt look away. Smiles.

You break the tension first. “Maman said you still haven’t unpacked.”

He shrugs. “I’ll get there.”

“It’s been almost a whole week. That’s psychotic.”

“You’re just mad I haven’t asked to borrow your good smelling shampoo yet.”

“You are so not borrowing that.”

“I already did.”

You elbow him in the side. Laughing. Body shaking. He laughs with you. Head falling back.

He clears his throat. “I missed this.”

And you bump your knee back into his. “Rematch tomorrow?”

“Candy Land?”

“Don’t cheat.”

“I didn’t cheat.”

You narrow your eyes, smiling so hard. “You’re the worst.”

-

Monaco, Age 26

Your back hits the wall of his apartment. 

Urgent. Focused. 

Like he’s waited for forever to get you alone again. And doesn’t want to waste a single second of it.

His mouth is hot on yours. Hands at your hips. Your thighs. Slipped under your dress. And you’re clinging onto him like he’s a lifeline.

You can still taste the champagne on his skin. Skin warm from the race. But his mouth is desperate against you. 

He groans against your lips. “Thought about this almost every night.”

You gasp when his fingers curl around your thigh. “Stop thinking.”

And he’s about to take you right there. Dress bunched at your waist. Pants halfway down. But then you press your hand to his chest.

He stills. Panting. Flushed.

“I need to say something first,” You breathe.

He waits. Hands still gripping you.

And you look up at him. The man who just won Monaco. The boy you’ve known who’s been chasing that dream since you can remember. The one you loved. Hated. Missed.

“Your dad would be so proud of you.” You whisper.

And you feel his chest rise. Jaw clench. Fingers curl harder into your skin.

“I’m serious.” Your voice is soft. “Not just because you won. But because of how you’ve carried him with you.”

And his eyes are glassy.

He swallows hard. “I heard him.” His voice soft. “Right after I saw that checkered flag.”

You bring your hand to his check, pressing your palm. And he leans into you.

And then he’s kissing you again. But its different.

Still hungry. But more grateful. More claiming.

He whispers I love you into your mouth. Again and again. 

He whispers it when you tug his shirt over his head. When you lift your hips to pull your panties off.

Whispers it into your skin when he touches your bare skin. Like he’s seeing it all for the first time again.

And when he sinks in, he groans. Leaning over you, gripping you like you might just slip through his fingers.

“Y’feel like fuckin heaven.” He mutters against your lips. ��You are heaven.”

And then he starts moving. Not fast.

Slow. Deep.

“Squeezing me like you missed it,” He huffs. “Did you, hm? Did you miss me?”

“Yes…” You pant. “Fuck…yes.”

He kisses your throat. Hot open mouthed kisses at the corner of your jaw. Hips rolling into you. Each thrust making you cry out.

“I love you.” 

He thrusts.

“I love you.”

Another.

“Not just tonight. Not just now. Always.” He cries out.

And you clench around him. Yelling out as your orgasm builds too fast.

“C’mon that’s it..” He breathes. “Come for me. Let me feel it, yeah? Let me have it…please baby.”

“I love you,” You gasp. “I love you…I love you..”

And then you’re coming. Body shaking, mouth falling slack as he fucks you through it.

Following seconds later, spilling into you.

He collapses over you. “Fuck. You’re it for me.”

You hold him close.

-

“You still take it with milk?” He asks, voice soft. 

You nod.

He hands you a mug. His fingers brushing against yours.

You sit on the couch together. Close.

“I keep thinking about the lemon tree,” You say. Cradling the mug in your hands.

He looks at you. “Yeah?”

You nod. “How many summers we sat there pretending everything was normal.”

He huffs a soft laugh. “We were idiots.”

You smile. “Still are.”

“I’ve loved you since we were kids.” He says quietly. “Since you made me sleep outside by the lemon tree because you said it wasn’t fair that only the birds got to live outside.”

You laugh, heart clenching.

“I’ve loved every version of you.” He continues. “The snot version. The barefoot version. The one who laughs too loud after a few drinks. The one who tried to date other people. The one who…the one who kissed other people in front of me because I waited too fucking long.”

You pause. Placing the mug down on the side table.

“I was scared that loving you would ruin everything.”

He pushes you hair behind your ear. 

“I love you too.” You whisper. “You idiot.”

He laughs.

Leans in.

Kisses you.

-

Age 28

“This is where I almost lost you.”

“And now it’s where you’re asking to keep me?”

“No. Not asking.”

“Oh.”

Its late. 

You’ve changed into one of Charles’s old shirts. Barefoot. As usual. 

He finds you standing at the edge of the yard. 

Where the broken stone path curves. Where the grass bends. Where the lemon tree leans.

You hear him before you see him. His footsteps always so loud.

Neither of you speak. He wraps his arms over your shoulders from behind. Your back to his chest as he nudges his head into the space between your shoulder and neck.

You hold his arms. Swaying to the light breeze. Staring at the lemon tree together.

“This is where I almost lost you.” He says.

And you glance at your side to him. 

“And now it’s where you’re gonna ask to keep me?” You say, laughing. Teasing. Soft.

He smiles. Small. Shaky.

“No.” He says. Unwrapping his arms from you. “Not asking.”

And then you’re turning towards him. 

And he drops to one knee.

Just like that.

Just him in the grass. Kneeling by the lemon tree. Choosing it to be the place where he does the most important thing he’ll ever do.

Your breath catches. And his hands tremble as he pulls a ring from his pocket.

“I wanted to do this right.” He says. “I want to choose you the way I should’ve all those years ago. Not just when it’s easy..or when we’re alone. But in front of every version of us we used to be.”

Your throat burns.

“I want every summer.” He whispers. Eyes glued to you. “Every winter. Every fight. Every make up. I want to kiss you goodnight when we’re tired. Want to raise mini versions of us.”

You laugh. You cry. And you’re nodding before he even finishes.

“I want you forever.”

And then finally, “Will you marry me?”

You fall to your knees right there in the grass. In front of the lemon tree. And kiss him hard enough that you both fall into it. Laughing. Like little kids again.

“Yes.” You whisper against his lips. “Always. In every lifetime…yes.”

taglist: @softtdaisy @zicosbitch @esmeextraa @evie-119 @teamnovalak @leclercmylove @skylyn-vais @tabisswag @annaswrites00 @chaconadine @sassy-persona @im-an-overthinker @ptrickbateman @angelique-rose-valentine @agmoon03 @whistlef0rthechoir @bvbyacid-666 @jenxjar @crazynyctophilia @theoriginalsfan124 xoxo love u all :)

[i-smoke-chapstick]

"Mmm. Keep cryin' darlin', makes you tighter." He grits out through his teeth. "You- hah, you like it, yeah?" He shakes his head at himself loosing his own composure. "Told you I'd fuck the god out of you. We ain't done yet."

Remmick huffs above you, claws digging into your throat, hips pistoning into yours. The half-smirk he wears has been dipping all night, sweat dampening his brow. He's been switching between babbling incoherently and mouthing off the whole night.

He watched you like he was starved. And maybe he was- but not for food. Not for blood. For the one thing your daddy always said was sacred. Private.

Daddy told you men like him were the devil. All they wanted- the sweet little preachers daughter. Remmick's fingers hook around the lace on your church dress. Cock pumping deliciously inside you. Your daddy was right. The devil was awfully pretty.

The devil was also awfully persistent. He'd want to consume you- not just your soul, but something deeper. From the root inside you. Not just your womanhood. Your love.

"Shit," He murmurs, pleased, struggling between breaths. "This what you wear to your...ah-...Sunday service? Thought good little girls covered up. You wore this for m-me, yeah?" He toys with the straps, before diving down to your neck. Licking. Sucking. Before biting gently.

When you squeal, he chuckles breathlessly, before groaning when you clench around him. He makes a noise that's borderline animalistic- and you briefly wonder if your daddy ever taught you if even the devil could lose his composure.

Effectively, he can. Because even as he presses you against the wall, caged, trapped like a flightless bird- all you have to do is reach up and tug on his hair. And he hisses in raw pleasure, body tensing up, fangs protruding so far he has to bare them so it doesn't hurt him.

"Fu-fuck-, lo-love you-" He stutters out, claws clenching tighter around the base of your throat.

But daddy never told you the devil would whisper those three little words. Daddy never told you he'd kiss you so gently you'd cry. Daddy never told you the devil would knock on your window every night, beggin' to be let in, just to recite Irish poems and prayers while you sleep in his arms.

"Say it- please darlin', say it back," He tries to demand, but it sounds more desperate than anything. He's close. He's so close, holding on tight. He's pleading with you. You feel the heat building up inside you. The way his fangs struggle against your pulse point, drool slipping down, holding back. Forcing his mouth to pucker into kisses instead of biting.

"I love you." You whisper. If this is how the devil loves, you think you'd rather burn forever then ever let him go.

And when you cum, it’s violent. Blinding. You scream his name- not God’s. And Remmick whispers yours all the same, pawing at you, eyebrows scrunched together as he finishes deep inside. He doesn't let go. He never let's go.

His voice his hoarse when he just barely pulls away to look you in the eye. His chest rises and falls with each heavy breath.

"Let me- let me stay like this- inside you, lovin’ you, bein’ yours- please. Just a little longer. Just a little longer, okay?” He strings together, giving you those eyes. His clawed finger lifting to your lip, tracing the contours, gaze flitting down to watch your mouth part as you speak.

When you give him the go ahead, nodding, body exasperated, he inhales with a shaky smile. He presses a light, chaste kiss to your temple, breathing you in.

You close your eyes, feel him throb sweetly inside you, and think maybe Heaven isn’t up above. Maybe it’s bloody, needy, and whispering your name in the dark.

[asce-of-hearts]

husband toji yet again!?!?!?!?

"Go get changed."

Those words sting for some reason. Much more coming from him. They don't even feel real. Toji had always been... laid off in that sense. He didn't mind you doing your thing as long as you were faithful and respectful to him. So to hear him say that is... hurtful.

"What?" You practically hiss, making him raise his eyebrows just a bit. Still, he doesn't relent.

"Go get changed." He almost seems uneasy, looking around the house to avoid looking into your eyes. "Wha— Am I like... speaking martian or something?"

"Why?" You ask. The pair of pants you had chosen seemed sensitive enough.

"What do you mean why? It's hot as shit outside, ___. You'll be boilin' in that shit." Finally both of your expressions relax, understanding his attitude all of the sudden. "Put on a pair of shorts, or a skirt. Whatever. I don't want you complaining about having a sweaty ass while on a date."

"Toji!" You gasp, and he grins, shrugging at the comment.

"It's the truth..." He says, giving you a lazy grin as he leans over the sofa. "I'll wait. Go and get changed."

"I don't want to get cat-called on our date though. I'll be fine." You try and protest, but he grabs you by the shoulders; firm, stern, but not unkind. Looking at you in the eye.

"___, if anyone even thinks of whistling your way while we're outside, I'll cut off their balls, personally, and offer them to you as tribute." He promises, his green irises shining under the dim light that enters through the curtains. "Now go get changed, ma. We won't be leaving until I can see those pretty legs." His scar expands when he smiles. and once he does that, you can't resist.

EXTRA!!!!

A whistle comes your way once you walk down the stairs. Toji eyeing you up and down. And you can't help but fluster, pulling down the back of the shorts to attempt to cover a bit more of yourself.

"Lookin' good, princess." He pulls you closer by grabbing your waist, his hot breath fanning over your lips.

"You said no man would whistle at me while on your watch." You try and sound playful, mask the fact that he makes you really nervous even after a life time of marriage.

"Well, I'm no regular man. I'm the husband of the most beautiful woman alive." He presses a soft peck to the corner of your lips, allowing you to cling to his neck as he lifts you up just a little.

Safe to say. You lost the reservation for your little lunch date.

TAG LIST

TOJI M.LIST

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[alchemistc]

"Hey, so, if you could tell your roommate to stop sending me incomprehensible Millennial memes every time I ask him a question, I'd appreciate it," Ravi says, and Buck stares at the prongs of his fork to prevent himself from jamming them into Ravi's hand just long enough for Ravi to notice the way the table has gone silent. There's no way they didn't notice the emphasis, right?

"I'll, uh... make a note," Buck says, and dives back in to his spaghetti. It's been a long day. He's reheated his lunch-dinner three times already. And now he sort of desperately wants the klaxons to go because...

Because it's weird that he never told them where he was living now.

Weird that they never asked.

"You have a roommate?"

Buck is 34 years old. Buck broke his own lease to help a friend only to be ceremoniously kicked out just months later, no notice, more interaction with Chris than Eddie as he furiously repacked boxes and stuffed them in his Jeep like a madman. Buck has terrible credit and a desire to set down roots that no one seems to give a shit about, except -

Roommates lasted for a month and a half at best. If he doesn't count the lingering glances, or the lingering touches, or the lingering feelings that blew up in their faces the harder they tried to tamp them down.

Ravi just thinks it's funny to keep calling them roommates.

("Like the Vine, you know?"

"Doesn't know a single 3OH3 song but he knows Vine," Tommy had said, three and a half beers deep and kicking at Ravi's leg from his lounger on the patio of their backyard.

"Oh, my cousin sends me TikTok compilations of them."

"I don't understand half the words you two are saying," Buck had chimed in, and gotten Tommy's lazy half-smile, a hand curled around his ear, and Ravi's "If you guys are gonna do more of that I'm calling an Uber.")

"Not exactly," Buck says, and tries to send Ravi a death glare. Ravi's too busy staring at the ceiling with his chair tipped back like he's daring Buck to kick his foot out enough to catch on a leg.

They're all surprised by the news, like they've done a damn thing to find out anything about his life in the months since they shut down any attempt he'd made to reach out.

He's glad he's found a way to let himself be mad at them for that.

He's glad his entire life no longer hinges on making sure they know every intimate detail of that life.

Still. The longer they stare at him, waiting for more, the more he realizes this was...maybe an oversight.

Probably should have told them before he and Tommy stuck a For Sale sign on his bedframe at the curb and been rewarded for their manipulation when someone stole the thing within like, three hours. They'd been too lazy to take it to the dump. Too lazy to sell it on Marketplace. Too caught up in the bubble of 'stay as long as you need' turning into 'do you want to be on the mortgage I need to know by Friday'.

Ravi's slept in the guest room more than Buck ever stayed at Tommy's, before.

He's made friends with Goose, too, which Buck thinks is a little unfair because Tommy's half blind cat still sticks her tail in the air to walk away any time Buck enters a room.

"Whoops," Ravi says like this was anything but intentional.

("Are you hiding the fact that you're in a happy relationship with a dude who loves you like, a weird amount for any particular reason?"

"It's not weird. It's a normal amount!"

"If I called him right now with a Buck related emergency how long until he had a bird in the air for you?"

"...he's at work right now so like, seven minutes tops.")

When the silence just keeps stretching, he barely manages to dodge the garlic bread Buck tosses at his face before the table erupts into chaos.

[kxsagi]

OK LISTEN!! WHO ARE THE BLLK CHARACTERS WHO WILL SET THE WORLD ON BURN FOR YOU? BY THE WAY, I ADMIRE YOUR WORK❤️‍🔥🫶

“𝐢’𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮”

a/n: THANK YOU SO MUCH MWAH MWAH

btw this prompt reminded me of the song LET THE WORLD BURN by chris grey so ofc i had to use it as the title

and i interpret “i would set the world on fire for you” as extremely down bad and possessive energy… so that’s what i wrote the headcanons about

ft. kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, mikage reo, karasu tabito, kunigami rensuke

kaiser michael

kaiser is deranged in love. like “touch her and you die in 4K” deranged. 

you so much as sigh in a sad tone and he’s like “name. address. blood type.” 

would burn down an entire stadium if someone catcalled you. he won’t even blink. 

wraps an arm around your waist and stares down anyone who looks at you too long. smug as hell. 

“you see someone else? cute. they’ll be ashes by morning.” 

kisses you possessively, like he’s marking territory. dramatic. always wants an audience. 

buys you stuff just so people know someone can afford to worship you. 

jealous of inanimate objects. “that blanket gets to be around you all night? unfair.” 

will 100% tattoo your name somewhere stupid like over his heart or on his ring finger. “it’s not obsession, it’s devotion.” 

shidou ryusei

no thoughts, just “who hurt my baby???” as he sprints into battle. 

does not care about consequences. you told him that person was rude? BANG their tires are gone. 

kisses you like he’s on the verge of losing his mind. tongue, teeth, desperation. he needs you. 

death-grip on your thigh in public. leans into your neck and breathes, “mine.” 

insane levels of down bad. if you look cute, he’s on his knees barking. literally. 

you say “i want this,” and now the whole mall is yours. “baby wants? baby gets.” 

gets upset if you're too polite to people. “what’s with that smile, huh? you wanna die for them or what?” 

your name is his phone password, tattoo idea, safe word, AND ringtone. 

itoshi rin

silently simmering with rage when someone even slightly inconveniences you. 

doesn’t talk shit. just handles it. and by “handles it,” i mean permanent erasure from society. 

down bad in the scariest way. he won’t say “i need you,” but if you even joke about leaving, he freezes. 

pulls you close by the collar and whispers “don’t test me.” you’re the only softness in his life. 

his world is just you, football, and the pile of people he’s ready to fight for looking at you wrong. 

if you cry, he goes silent and leaves the room. not because he’s heartless. because he’s planning someone’s downfall. 

possessive in public. hand on your waist. glares that say “touch her and you'll lose a limb.” 

doesn’t believe in second chances for your enemies OR for anyone who flirts with you. 

“they don’t get to see you smile. not like that. that’s mine.” 

itoshi sae

dangerously calm when jealous. but you know it’s bad when he goes quiet quiet. 

his version of setting the world on fire? controlling every outcome so your life is perfect and your enemies fail publicly. 

you think he’s chill? he’s not. he’s been watching your ex’s linkedin profile for weeks. “just waiting for the right moment.” 

pulls you in by the chin when someone looks your way and gives you a long kiss on purpose so they get the message. 

“no one else touches you. you get that, right?” 

wants your lipstick on his collar and your scent on his hoodie. it’s a warning. 

he will show up to your haters' events, uninvited, just to watch their life crumble from the front row. 

low-key manipulative. makes you feel so special you’ll never want to leave. ever. 

“you’re all i have. so no one else gets to have you. period.” 

mikage reo

most unhinged part? he looks polite and composed doing it. he smiles while planning war. 

"they hurt your feelings? alright. new mission: emotionally ruin them and buy the company they work for." 

will ruin someone's financial life because they looked at you wrong. “whoops. guess they’re bankrupt now.” 

literally has a “spoiling you” budget larger than most countries’ GDP. 

possessive in a delicate way. he’s not clingy, he’s just always there. pulling you into his lap. whispering in your ear. slipping his card into your pocket like “go wild, baby.” 

kisses your hand, your temple, your shoulder – subtle marks of ownership. especially in public. 

gets jealous of people breathing near you, but keeps it cool… until he doesn’t. 

“oh, you think you can take her from me? that’s cute. security, escort him out.” 

buys the rights to your favorite book/movie/show so he can cast himself as your love interest. dead serious. 

makes everything about you. “why start wars when i can end them with your smile?” 

and god forbid you call him your “boyfriend” in public. “no, no. say ‘future husband.’ say it right.” 

karasu tabito

smart, manipulative, and terrifyingly efficient when someone wrongs you. 

smiles in public. burns people in private. 

down bad in a playful way until someone makes you cry. then it’s scorched earth. 

“you deserve better. so i became better. for you. but they? they get hell.” 

lowkey wants you dependent on him. not in a creepy way, just in a “nobody else will love you like this” way. 

hand on your thigh while he’s whispering in your ear at parties: “they’re staring. should i say something, baby?” 

makes it his business to know everyone you hate. because now he hates them too. 

will absolutely send you a selfie with your enemy crying in the background. “justice served.” 

kunigami rensuke (post-wild card)

he tries to be reasonable, he really does, but the minute you get hurt? his whole moral compass shatters. 

the definition of controlled rage. he holds it in until he’s alone, then starts punching walls and pillows. 

when he’s possessive, it’s like protective dog energy. he’s literally hovering over you. 

doesn’t even let people near you in crowds. hand always on your back, guiding you like a damn bodyguard. 

stares down people who flirt with you. doesn’t say a word, just stares. 

kisses you slow, deep, possessive, because he needs you to know he means it. 

if someone cheats or lies to you? “i’ll make them regret ever existing.” and he does. mercilessly. 

looks at you like you're the only good thing in the world. “you’re mine. and i don’t share.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[ordinary-barbie]

warm enough for you outside, baby (tell me if it's warm enough here for you)

summary: Rafe is sick of watching you hopelessly pine for another guy, so he decides to take matters into his own hands.

word count: 2.2k

tags: mean!rafe, rafe is lowkey jealous, unrequited love, enemies (sort of) to lovers, pet names (princess, baby, sweetheart), au where jj is a kook, jj x kiara mentions, everyone is about 21 here, unprotected p in v, oral (fem receiving), fingering, mention of reader having periods, insecure!reader, creampie

note: title comes from Drew Barrymore by SZA!

Smut incoming under the cut—18+ only! Minors DNI!

You honestly made Rafe sick.

Every party, it was the same shit: you'd follow Jackson Generette like a puppy, lapping up any crumbs of attention he gave you. Rafe thought things would be different once JJ started dating Kiara Carrera, but somehow, you got even worse. You'd show up to parties with friends but send him longing looks the entire time, as if Generette could read your mind and run into your arms.

Rafe clenched his jaw as he watched you watching JJ and Kiara. The two of them were cuddled on the couch, Kiara's head thrown back in laughter as JJ whispered something into her ear. Did you seriously not see how pathetic it was to pine over someone interested in somebody else?

Rafe got up, ignoring the eager looks other Kook girls were sending him, and sidled up to you. You had absconded to an abandoned living room corner, gripping a cup of punch in your hand as you stared longingly at your crush and his girlfriend.

"You know he's never gonna look at you like that, right?" Rafe blurted, startling you. You turned to Rafe, frowning.

"You don't know what you're talking about," you muttered, trying to keep your composure.

Rafe snorted. "Princess, come on. You've been giving him the same 'fuck me' puppy dog eyes since high school. Just face it—he's not into you."

You huffed, scowling at Rafe. "You're such an asshole."

"So I've been told," Rafe replied, smirking at you.

"I honestly don't know why I can't get over him," you admitted, your lip wobbling. "He's just so...nice. And funny. It hurts that he only sees me as a friend."

Rafe couldn't help but feel a little bad for you, but a bigger part of him was so done with the moping over fucking Generette of all people. Not like he was doing the same towards you, yearning from afar. That was totally different, obviously.

"Well, you know what they say—the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else," Rafe casually replied, his grin turning downright lecherous. You gulped, that smile sending a bolt of lightning straight to your core.

You rolled your eyes. "What are you even talking about, Cameron?"

Rafe chuckled. "I mean, why waste your time simping over Generette when you have other options?"

You froze, not knowing what to say. Was Rafe Cameron, of all people, offering to hook up with you?

"If this is some weird pity fuck, you can forget it," you snapped. "I don't need you feeling sorry for me."

Rafe's smile grew lopsided. "Is it really that unbelievable that I would want to hook up with you, princess?"

You shrugged, fixing Rafe with a deadpan stare. "A little bit, yeah."

Rafe tsked at you, shaking his head. "You've been spending so much time making goo-goo eyes at him that you can't even see what's right in front of you, huh?"

He moved closer to you, brushing his lips against your ear. "Let me make you feel good," he murmured.

Your heart was racing. You got a whiff of his scent—an earthy, musky scent that made you want to bury your head in the side of his neck and inhale. You thought Rafe was cute—he may be a bit of a prick, but you had eyes, after all—but never would've imagined talking to him, let alone being with him in that way.

Fuck it. The boy you'd been crushing on since ninth grade would never return your affections, and at least Rafe was showing you some interest. You quickly downed your punch, letting the red solo cup drop to the ground with a thud.

"Make me feel good then," you said breathily, staring deeply into Rafe's eyes.

Rafe let out a low groan. "You're fuckin' killing me, sweetheart," he mumbled, before grabbing your hand and quickly leading you up the stairs of whatever Kook's house this was.

-

Rafe found a random room and kicked the door open before quickly locking it behind you. You wanted to look at the decor, but Rafe's lips were on yours before you could scope out the place. You supposed it didn't matter anyway, since Rafe would have you buried into the mattress soon enough.

You looped your arms around Rafe's neck, timidly kissing him back. You hadn't had much kissing experience besides the odd game of Truth or Dare or Seven Minutes in Heaven at a party, so you were a tad nervous. But then Rafe lightly bit your lip, enjoying your soft moan before sliding his tongue inside, and you found yourself passionately kissing him back.

"Take this off. Now," Rafe commanded, tugging at the hem of your blue sundress. You readily obliged, stripping down to just your underwear.

Rafe looked at you hungrily, eyeing your chest. "Fuckin perfect," he rasped. "Can't believe you've been hiding these tits from me."

He easily picked you up and threw you on the bed, shedding himself of his clothes save for his Calvin Klein boxers. Rafe climbed on top of you, burying his face in your chest and nipping at your breasts. You whimpered, which seemed to spur him on more as he soothed the bites with kisses.

He continued leaving a trail of kisses down your body until he reached your thighs. "Open up for me, princess," he murmured, running his fingers down your legs.

You tried to protest. "Rafe, I haven't shaved—"

"I don't give a shit. Lemme eat you out," Rafe demanded, his pupils blown out with lust.

You complied, spreading your legs open for Rafe. He pushed your panties to the side easily settled into his new position between your thighs, diving into your cunt like a starved man. He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking it with a fervor that made you loudly gasp, bucking your hips.

"You're not going anywhere, sweetheart—you taste too fuckin good," Rafe mumbled, pinning your hips down with both hands. He flattened his tongue, lapping at your folds before lazily licking your clit. You whined, feeling a white-hot pressure down in your gut.

You felt Rafe's smirk against your inner thighs. "Gonna cum for me already?"

"Uh huh," you mumbled, too caught up in your pleasure to form a coherent response.

Rafe slid one of his hands down to your clit, pressing down on it and rubbing circles on it with your thumb. You moaned, arching your back off the bed and clenching your thighs around Rafe's head as you came undone for him.

Rafe removed himself from your cunt and sat back, licking his lips. "Goddamn, baby. Generette is a fucking moron to miss out on this."

You looked up at Rafe, your eyes instantly drawn to the straining erection in his black briefs. "See something you like?" he asked cockily.

Your cheeks grew warm. "I mean—I guess so," you bashfully replied

Rafe chuckled lowly. "You're so shy, princess. It's adorable."

You rolled your eyes. "Just—are you gonna fuck me or what?" you grumbled, your core throbbing with pent-up frustration.

Rafe's grin was devilish. "All you had to do was ask, baby."

He tossed his briefs to the side, revealing his thick, throbbing cock, its tip flushed an angry red. Your mouth went dry as you gaped at Rafe, just in awe of how a dick could be so...pretty.

"Fuck, I gotta see where Chase keeps the condoms," Rafe said, dragging a hand over his face.

"No need—I'm on the pill," you said, smiling shyly.

"Oh shit, are you actually getting some? Maybe you're more of a freak than I thought," Rafe teased, his dick twitching at your confession.

"It's to help regulate my periods, you perv," you said sharply. "Unfortunately, I'm still a sad little virgin."

Rafe's cheeks turned pink. "'m sorry, I didn't mean to come off like an asshole," he mumbled, sounding contrite.

"I just always imagined he'd be my first. That's pathetic, I know," you admitted, laughing bitterly. "When we were, like, fifteen, he and I made this dumb pact that if we were both still virgins by the time we graduated, then we'd sleep together. Obviously, that didn't happen."

Rafe's jaw ticked. He'd never been Generette's biggest fan, but you'd given him even more reasons to dislike the guy. You were sweet and sarcastic and beautiful—how could he not see this? How could he casually offer to take your virginity, not realizing that you'd given your entire heart to him?

"Gonna fuck you so good, you forget his name," Rafe growled, pushing himself inside of you. You moaned, enjoying the feeling of his cock inside you, stretching you out.

Rafe began thrusting into you, brushing up against your clit with his tip and setting every nerve in your body alight. "Fuck, Rafe—feels so good," you gasped.

Rafe lifted up one of your legs and put it atop his shoulder, allowing himself to plow even deeper into you. You mewled, feeling his tip all the way in your cervix. Your body tingled, legs trembling, and you came apart for Rafe again, creaming all over his cock.

Rafe pulled out, panting, his eyes fiery with desire. "Turn around for me and show me that ass," he ordered. You rolled over on your stomach and he hummed appreciatively, smacking your butt. "Fuck. You're like a work of art."

Your cheeks grew warm again; you were still unused to being desired like this. In the past, JJ had told you you looked nice, and you'd held on to those casual comments like they were love letters. But Rafe? He gazed at you as if you were Aphrodite, ready and willing to worship at the goddess's altar. You knew you didn't need a guy's validation, but damn if Rafe didn't make you feel beautiful right now.

Rafe slid back into you, fucking you faster, and grunted when your pussy tightened around him. "You're so fuckin tight and wet for me, princess. i love this sweet little pussy."

Rafe gripped your hips, his cock throbbing inside of you. "Gonna cum," he warned. "You ready for me to fill you up, baby?"

You clenched around him again, and Rafe chuckled. "Oh, you like that, yeah? Such a good girl for me."

Rafe let out another grunt as he released inside of you, ropes of his hot cum filling your pussy. Rafe pulled out slowly, admiring the way his creampie was leaking out of you.

You and Rafe lay next to each other, your chests heaving as you recovered. "Hey—thanks," you shyly said to him.

"For what?" Rafe asked, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you to his chest.

"For the sex, of course," you joked, causing Rafe to snort. "But also for breaking that spell over me. I wasted so much time pining over someone who never saw me as more than someone to play Mario Kart with."

Rafe kissed your collarbone. "He's an idiot," he mumbled. "But I'm actually glad. Because it meant I finally got to do this."

You laughed, beaming at Rafe. "Rafe Cameron. Do you have a crush on me?"

Rafe lifted his head up, his ears flushing bright red. "Shut up. Maybe I do, alright? It's not a big deal."

You looked at Rafe fondly. "You're kinda cute. I guess I'll keep you around."

Rafe lazily smirked at you. "I'm all yours, baby."

You got up to clean yourself, but Rafe grabbed you by the waist. "Where d'ya think you're going, huh?"

"Gonna clean off all this cum, thanks to you," you quipped.

Rafe’s mouth curled into a smug grin. “Nah, put on your panties and keep it inside of you for the rest of the night. Want you to remember who you belong to.”

You shivered, weirdly loving his possessiveness right now. You got off the bed and pulled your underwear back on, moaning a little at his sticky cum in your panties. The thought of walking around all night, still stuffed with his load, made your pussy throb.

“Now, cmon,” Rafe said, jumping to his feet and putting his clothes back on. “Get dressed—there’s a whole party out there that we’re missing.”

[thirteenheavens]

can you do ready ovulating and scoups is playing dumb to tease her? 🤭

What’s cooking?|| Choi Seungcheol

Notes: whatttt change of photos hehe enjoy guys will put more later :)

Seungcheol walks into the kitchen, where you're trying to make dinner while suppressing the cramps and heightened desire of your ovulation. He wraps his arms around your waist from behind, his chest pressed against your back. "What's cooking, beautiful?" he asks innocently, nuzzling your neck. "Smells amazing."

You try to focus on the stove, but the proximity of his body and the way he's teasing you is making it difficult. "It's just pasta," you manage to say, though your voice comes out slightly breathless. Seungcheol notices your reaction and smirks against your skin. "Are you okay?" he asks with faux concern. "You seem a bit... tense." His hands slide down to rest on your hips, pulling you closer.

"I'm fine," you say, trying to keep your composure. "Just a little uncomfortable." Seungcheol chuckles, knowing exactly what's going on. "Uncomfortable? Maybe I can help with that." His hands start to wander lower, slipping under your shirt to trace circles on your bare skin.

"Come on," he whispers seductively in your ear. "You know what happens when you're ovulating. Don't pretend like you don't want me right now." You whimper as his fingers find your sensitive spots, your body betraying how much you're affected by his touch. "Cheol..." you gasp, struggling to maintain your focus on the food. Seungcheol presses himself against you from behind, his growing erection pressing into your lower back. "What's wrong, baby? Can't concentrate?" he teases, his lips moving to your neck.

"I'm not the one making dinner go cold," he adds with a playful nip at your skin. "Maybe I should take care of you instead." Seungcheol's fingers slide down further, and he lets out a low groan when he feels how wet you are. "Holy shit," he breathes, pressing himself closer to you. "You're soaked."

His teasing demeanor shifts to one of desire as he realizes just how badly you need him. "I didn't think you'd be this bad," he says, his voice rough with need. He spins you around to face him, pressing your back against the counter. "Maybe I should take you right here, since you can't seem to focus on anything else."

"Please," you whimper, looking up at him with desperate eyes. "I need you so badly, Cheol." Seungcheol's gaze darkens with lust as he watches you unravel before him. "Need me to what?" he asks, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "Use your words, princess." Seungcheol smirks as he watches you struggle to form words. "Come on, you can do better than that," he says, his fingers trailing lightly up your thigh.

"I want to hear you say it," he continues, his voice low and commanding. "Tell me exactly what you need from me." His thumb brushes against your clit through your clothes, making you whimper and squirm against him. "Tell me how much you need my cock inside you right now."

"I need you to fill me up," you gasp, your hands gripping his shirt desperately. "Need to feel you stretch me open, need you to breed me." Seungcheol's eyes flash with primal hunger at your words. "That's my good girl," he growls, finally giving in to his own desires. He lifts you up onto the counter, spreading your legs wide as he positions himself between them. "You want my babies that badly?" he asks, his cock pressing against your entrance through his pants.

"Yes, yes I do," you moan, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Please, Cheol, I need you to give them to me." Seungcheol's control snaps at your words, and he yanks his pants down just enough to free his cock. "You're so needy for me," he groans, rubbing the tip against your slick entrance.

"And I'm going to give you exactly what you want," he promises, thrusting into you with one hard stroke. "I'm going to breed you right here, right now." Seungcheol sets a punishing pace, his hips snapping against yours as he fills you completely. "You're so tight, even when you're this desperate," he grunts, one hand gripping your thigh while the other plays with your nipples through your clothes.

"Can feel your body trying to milk me already," he continues, his thrusts becoming deeper and more erratic. "You want me to pump you full of my cum that badly?" You dig your nails into Seungcheol's shoulders as he drives into you, the countertop creaking beneath you with the force of his movements. "I'm going to cum soon," he warns through gritted teeth.

"And when I do, you're going to take every last drop," he growls, his lips finding your neck again. "You're going to take it all and pray that you get pregnant from it."

"Please don't stop," you cry out, your walls clenching tightly around him as your orgasm builds. "Need to feel you come inside me." Seungcheol grunts in response, his movements becoming more erratic as he nears his own release. "You're going to make me lose control completely," he pants, his cock throbbing inside you.

"Here it comes, princess," he warns, before thrusting deep and releasing with a primal groan. "Take it all. Take every single drop of my cum." You feel Seungcheol's hot cum flooding your insides, his body shuddering against yours as he empties himself completely. "Fuck," he groans, burying his face in your neck.

"You feel so good like this," he murmurs, his hips still twitching with aftershocks. "So full and marked by me." He stays buried inside you for a moment, catching his breath and savoring the feeling of your body still gripping him tightly. "We're definitely not leaving this kitchen until you're leaking with my cum," he adds with a satisfied smirk.

[masterkirby]

This sure brings back memories (bad ones). I was older than 13, straight out of high school, and was approached at university, and some time later started a romantic and (bad memories bad memories) sexual relationship with a six years older guy (not to be an ageist but kinda sus given I was freshly 18 at the time), who called himself an Objectivist. So of course his objective became to groom me into an Objectivist.

How to say this, hmm. Before university I was a normie, and there isn't much care for teaching philosophy to kids where I live. I think people still believed the bible is moral education enough when I was growing up. Honestly, now it's hard to go back and understand what I did with my days living in such a void, no inspiration, no brilliant ideas to make me giddy... I was depressed and empty, honestly.

Anyway, socialism, leftism, was always condemned in school as the evil that oppressed our region, and I'm not sure I've heard of feminism before uni, and only read a few "good", meaning actually well-written and sits-with-me-for-life books in late highschool. So I started reading about this Objectivism and I liked how the idea was to bring common ethics out of the fact that all humans, regardless of culture, stem from the human body and how we all have bodies... You know, "objectively" (idk, it was Rand's essays I think, just "On Objectivism"). And then a kind of aggrandisement of being self aware, of believing in your capabilities, making use of them; and a lot about freedom. I needed that as a lost kid/young adult. There was also an idea of, hmm, spontaneous order out of chaos that also sat well with me (too bad it was used to back the "free" market)

But anyway, then the Objectivist guy, happy that I read the essay and reacted enthusiastically, thought I was ready for the novels. Oh boy, oh boy. And oh damn, he was dedicated to that shit and, from what I heard recently, still is, almost ten years later.

So he looked absolutely devastated/pissed when I started critiquing the book. I was studying English studies, so I read a fair share of well-written stuff by the second year of studies and Atlas Shrugged just didn't compare, and the characters were just so one dimensional... Or did he give me Fountainhead to read earlier? Anyway, this made me further confused, as to why even criticizing the writing is bad, I wasn't even criticizing the core ideas. Which I soon started criticizing. Long story short, I finally wrote him off as a fanatic (and sexual abuser, though that got through to me years later) and arrived at Contrapoints and Chomsky, and feminism, for aftercare.

Alright. So. I have a confession to share with you. In middle school, I strongly identified as a libertarian. In my defense, I was 13 and I had autism. Against my defense, I was literate, and capable of using common sense. I confessed this to you willingly, so go easy on me.

One thing about this that I can share with you is that I, as a 13 year old boy, read Atlas Shrugged. I read it as someone very committed to the ideology, who wanted to believe it, who wanted to like it, and there are two things I can share with you about that book from that time period.

The writing is terrible. It has the slowest, most boring, most pretentious prose you could possibly imagine. Calling it glacial would be a compliment. It makes glaciers look like Formula 1. There is no description for the pacing outside of hellish torments. It is like being condemned to watch a dog with an itchy ass wear the Himmalayas away only by scooching. It is like counting the grains of sand on a beach while Alexa reads off random phone numbers. It is like dipping saltines into lukewarm tapwater while listening to white noise in a beige room with no doors. It is like wearing a blindfold and being told to guess what a man is painting by sound alone, but there is no man, there is only a dog licking cold vaseline off a window. Forever. It is all of those things and more.

There is a multipage rant about how affairs are Good and Rational that is so insanely desparate that even middle-school-autist me thought she must have been having an affair while she wrote this. And then I googled it, and the answer was yes, she was. She called her philosophy Objectivism, because she believed, like everyone else in the world, that her ideas and motivations were Pure and Rational and Ojectively Correct, but I still find the name accurate, because it was really written with one Objective in mind, and that was finding a way to never admit that Ayn Rand had ever made a mistake in her life.

I was going to rant more about this but I kind of lost my train of thought. The book fucking sucks. It was propaganda of such remarkably low caliber that it actually helped me move out of those circles. Every time someone talked about liking the book, I'd reply with something along the lines of "Yeah, I especially loved the part where she destroyed the post modernists by unequivocally condemning affairs", and if they agreed with me, they would have lost my respect forever, and if they looked very embarrassed, I could at least acknowledge that they had a soul, albeit small and malformed. I had dozens of people claim that they read the book, and only three or four actually passed the test.

And now, goodnight.

[lovetommyactually]

Buck is not staying homeless. I'm giving him this, whatever.. 8.18 spoilers ig

The knock isn’t loud—it’s just persistent.

Tommy opens the door, and Buck’s standing there, pale and drawn, like he hasn’t slept in days. Like grief is stitched into the shadows under his eyes.

“I can’t do it,” Buck mutters. No hello. No warning. “I’ve looked at sixteen places. Every one of them feels like someone else’s life. Cold. Pretend. Or just… empty.”

Tommy doesn’t say anything. Buck pushes in without being asked, and Tommy steps aside, too concerned to argue as buck drops his duffle on the floor like it weighs more than it should.

“I don’t want stainless steel everything and white walls. I don’t want a backyard for barbecues I’ll never have.” His voice is quieter now, thinner. “And I sure as hell don’t want to live with Eddie... A-and Maddie’s got enough going on with the baby. And—”

“Congrats, by the way."

“Y-Yeah,” Buck nods, like he forgot. “uh sorry, yeah T-Thanks.”

Then his eyes lift, slow and tired, landing on Tommy

“And you have a spare room.”

Tommy echoes it back—almost breathless. “I... I have a spare room.”

“I’ll take it,” Buck says almost too quickly. “J-just until I figure my shit out. I can’t keep living out of my car, and I—” his voice catches, raw and desperate, “—I just need somewhere that doesn’t feel like a waiting room.”

Tommy's walking toward him now, slow and quiet. Their breath mingles in the narrow hallway, warm and too close.

“You can take the spare room,” he says gently, watching Buck’s face.

Buck doesn’t back away. “Y-yeah…”

Tommy’s voice drops “Do you really want the spare room, Evan?”

No—not the spare room. The warmth. The safety. The quiet chaos of a place actually lived in. The creak in the hallway floor.

Tommy...

He doesn't want a room. He wants this. Wants someone who won't flinch when he falls apart. Someone who won't try to fix the silence—just stay in it with him. For him.

For him...

He wants to say all that... He should say all that.

maybe someday he will.

But not tonight.

And fuck it—Buck doesn't even realize he's moved until his lips are on Tommy's. It's slow at first, almost reverent—then something inside him snaps, and it deepens, raw and breathless, like he has been waiting for a permission he finally stopped needing.

[toxicanonymity]

Big Papa, 18+

PAIRING: Tommy Miller x f!reader | 1.3k words

SUMMARY: Tommy unbuckles his belt at the bar, and reader takes it as an invitation.

WARNINGS: 18+ mutual groping in public, dirty talk, daddy kink, belly kink, fingering, grinding, coming in pants.

NOTES: Tommy is single and thicc. Buckle up!

Tommy Miller Masterlist

Tommy's had a couple beers, and his huge belt buckle is digging into his gut so bad he has to take it off.

He slides the tips of his fingers into his strained jeans, tugs the denim down a little more, dangerously close to pube territory, and rubs the underside of his belly.

“Hey, Tommy. This ain't that kinda place. Get your hand out your pants," a fellow bar patron teases.

Having just arrived, you look over to see Tommy holding up both hands with a good natured smile. He walks to the bar with his belt unbuckled and orders another round.

You invite yourself to join him for a drink, sitting next to him at a booth near the back. The longer you're talking, the more you settle in and feel at ease, and the more turned on you are by Tommy's state of partial undress.

After you glance at his pants one too many times, he follows your gaze with a raise of his eyebrows. You respond, “Belt's wide open as church doors on a Sunday. Is that an invitation to get on my knees?”

His stomach shakes with a chuckle. “still thinkin’ ‘bout big papa’s cock? That's sweet, darlin’. Shit, i'll pack that pussy in the girl's room if you'll let me.”

He glances down and adjusts himself.

You lower your volume and say, “I wanna feel you right here.”

Starting with your hand on the swell of his thigh, you rub the denim nice and slow without looking, feeling your way closer, making him twitch as you close in on the prize. When your palm reaches the warm lump near his inseam, he takes a deep breath through his nose.

You massage him, hardening his cock as you carry on the semblance of a casual conversation about perimeter wall reinforcements they're working on. The harder he gets, the less he keeps up the conversation, instead interrupting himself to tell you how pretty you are and what a good girl. His eyes become tired, entranced, fixating on your mouth. “Look at those lips. Mmm.” With two fingers under your chin, he lifts your face to his. You share a sweet kiss, and at the same time, the heel of your palm rubs along the hard shape of his cock in his jeans. You give his lip a little nibble as your mouths separate.

He watches your face and rests his massive paw on your bare thigh, with your hand still moving in his lap at a slow and steady rhythm. His palm slowly slides up your thigh, pushing your dress with it, and when you flinch, he murmurs, “Why do I get the feelin’ you ain’t wearin’ panties, hmm?” His eyes shine with a friendly glint of suspicion. You close your legs, trapping his fingers between them with a giggle.

“Bet you aint,” he smiles, pushing further.

“Don’t,” you laugh quietly.

“Why not?” he asks. “Don’t want the whole bar seein’ how wet ya get for Big Tommy?”

You gasp in playful objection and give his tummy a little squeeze before sliding your fingers down the curve of his belly and wedging your hand under the denim.

The button comes unfastened on its own, and Tommmy sighs as his jeans loosen and your hand slides down his happy trail. Your hand plunges through his warm, humid bush to find his hard package.

But you reach further and cup his balls first, squeezing a severed sound out of his throat.

“Shit, darlin’,” he exhales. “Bathroom's right there if ya wanna…”

“No…” you muse and press your palm against his stiff, fat cock. “I wanna take you right here.”

“Oh, you’re trouble, sugar,” he murmurs.

His hips rock up to meet your grip and the heat of his arousal seems to flow right up your arm to your chest, where it spreads and makes you weak with want.

You work your hand just enough to move the skin of his shaft over his throbbing erection. Your lips part, and so do your thighs. When his pinky finger reaches the wet mess between your legs, he cups your dripping pussy and a growl escapes his chest.

“You wanna take me right here?” He confirms

Nodding, you look down at his lap, cunt throbbing with your hand shoved down his pants. The sight of your wrist and forearm pressing into his belly remind you there's limited space between him and the table. He slides one finger, then another, into your cunt.

Yeah, you wanna take him right there. But what are you gonna do, straddle him backwards and plant your hands on the dirty floor?

“Fuck,” you whisper, stroking him harder, pressing your forearm harder against his belly. “I dunno, daddy. Can I fit in your lap?”

His cheeks puff out with an exhale. He looks down af himself, and your hand in his pants, and says, “How ‘bout papa takes care of ya right here?”

He slides his fingers out of you and up your clit to get it real wet. Then he rubs just the right spot in smooth, practiced strokes, at just the right speed. You moan out loud and your hand squeezes his girth, making him grunt.

“That's it, baby,” he encourages you. You whimper with the tension and hold your breath. “Nope, gotta breathe, sugar.”

You take a ragged breath in, more of a gasp, really, and he turns up the heat. “Yeah,” he breathes, watching your face with a smile in his eyes. Your brows knit, and you bite your lip. “Yeah, come for papa,” he coos, and the tension bursts, making you shudder and push your upper back into the seatrest, spine arching. “Good girl.” He stuffs his fingers back in your cunt and firmly cups your front as you come on his hand. “Fuck yeah, look at that,” he says.

Meanwhile, your palm in his pants is getting slippery with precum. God, you want that dick in you.

“Just lemme try it,” you plead, and whisper, “Let’s just see, removing your hand from his pants. You leave his fly as-is, half-unzipped, exposing some of his pubes. For now, the massive bulge you've aroused remains in his jeans.

You push the table forward a little bit and check to make sure no one's staring, then you squeeze yourself onto his thighs, leaning over the table as you do it. He spreads his legs to make room for you to try to settle in. “I dunno, sugar,” he chuckles. Your ass bumps into his belly and he grunts, “oof.”

Adjusting your position, you find his clothed hard-on with your cunt, and his hips jerk against you. “FUCK,” he whispers, and holds your hips. He thrusts against your cunt, “Oh, shit,” he pants, and warmth spreads through the denim, warming the thin cotton of your dress. “Alright, alright,” he hurries you out of his lap, holding his hand over his crotch, pressing down on the throbbing cock in his jeans, like that'll stop it. His hips jerk again and you watch his wrecked face as it seems to bloom pink under his freckles. “God damnit, sugar,” he curses with a sheepish smile.

You're both a mess. He tries to dry his jeans with a napkin, then maneuvers and leans back in the seat to try to button and zip them. “well that’s one way to find out, I gotta size up.” He chuckles and palms his belly, then gives you a look. “Yep, no more easy access. Ya can't handle it, can ya?”

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Thank you for reading 🖤 please lmk if you like it!

[jackalopc]

i forgot to mention that, with the comparison to like say spider-man; i think there is a way for it to work. yes, batman has a no kill policy similar to spider-man (or any others), while dealing with the absolute worst rogues ever. but if anything, if written well (and like op says not by writers who clearly want him to kill); i think it only strengthens batman's character.

it's easy to have a no-kill stance, when the worst your average rogue does is rob banks, or participate in capitalism like its an extreme sport. because at no point would these supers just look at someone causing the worst traffic jam seen on a specific bridge in ten years and go 'yeah, they should die'. it's easy, to have a no-kill stance, when you're rarely (if ever) going to have it pushed back...

it's also potentially easier when you straight up have literal superpowers. if you can just disabled someone with webbing or pick them up like they weigh a feather after they've been shooting at you and they just bounce off your chest... yeah, you probably have an insanely high tolerance for fear of your own safety.

but batman? this bitch is tested every damn night!!! like almost all of his rogues are doing shit like driving people insane, killing people, et cetera just for fun half of the damn time. it would be easier, to have a kill-stance. of course it would, it would be easier for him to not give a shit and just end lives if he thought it would better serve the "greater good". but thats the thing, he knows that perpetuating violence wont solve the ultimate problems. just throwing more people into prison without solving the reasons that people are resorting to crime; doesn't prevent future crimes. it's not easy to a no-kill stance in gotham. batman is tested on it every night; and every night, he still chooses not to give into that.

I think Bruce's anti-murder philosophy would translate better if it wasn't portrayed by writers who obviously want him to kill someone lol

[writeriguess]

Could you please make a fanfic about the reader and katsuki having a baby, like they visit Masaru and mitsuki when the reader was pregnant and that was the last time they saw her and some weeks later katsuki and reader visits them with their baby.

A Welcome Home Like No Other

The first time they visited, the air smelled of home-cooked food and fresh laundry, the warmth of the Bakugo household wrapping around them like a familiar embrace. Masaru had been the first to greet them, his gentle smile making up for the lack of one on Mitsuki’s face—though her sharp eyes softened when they landed on the growing bump beneath your shirt.

"You sure you're eating enough?" Mitsuki’s voice cut through the air as soon as she stepped into the doorway, arms crossed over her chest.

You barely had time to say hello before she grabbed your wrist and pulled you inside. Katsuki let out an irritated grunt but followed without protest, rolling his eyes.

"She eats just fine," he grumbled, slipping his hand into yours as if to reassure you that his mother’s scrutiny was just her way of showing she cared.

Masaru chuckled as he shut the door behind you. "It's good to see you both." He turned to you specifically, his expression warm. "How are you feeling? Katsuki told us you're about seven months along now, right?"

You nodded, resting a hand on your belly. "Yeah, almost eight. It’s been… exhausting, but we’re excited."

"Excited?" Mitsuki scoffed, gesturing for everyone to sit in the living room. "You look like you're ready to pop! You better not be letting this idiot stress you out, or I’ll beat him myself."

Katsuki groaned and flopped down onto the couch beside you. "Yeah, yeah, I get it, old hag. I’m takin’ care of her."

Masaru sighed. "Katsuki, language."

You just laughed, squeezing his knee. "He’s been really good, actually. I know he doesn’t look it, but he’s been patient. Even when I wake him up five times a night just to help me roll over."

Katsuki huffed, arms crossed, but you caught the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Not my fault you keep gettin’ stuck like a damn turtle on its back."

Mitsuki barked out a laugh. "Hah! That’s what happens when you knock someone up, dumbass. Your problem now!"

You shook your head with a smile, enjoying the familiar, chaotic energy of their home. It had been a while since you both visited, but despite the teasing, you could see it in their faces—Mitsuki and Masaru were thrilled. This was the first grandchild in the family, and even if Mitsuki would never admit it outright, she was eager to meet them.

"You picked out a name yet?" Masaru asked, leaning forward slightly.

You exchanged a glance with Katsuki before shaking your head. "We have a few ideas, but we want to wait until we see them."

"Good," Mitsuki said firmly. "Don't let this idiot name them something dumb like 'Explosion' or some shit."

Katsuki immediately shot upright. "Oi! I wasn’t gonna do that!"

Masaru smiled knowingly. "You were definitely considering it."

Katsuki muttered under his breath but didn’t argue. You leaned into him with a giggle, resting your head on his shoulder. The conversation carried on, Mitsuki giving unsolicited parenting advice while Masaru made sure you had everything you needed. It was the last time they saw you before the birth.

And then, weeks later, you returned—with your baby in your arms.

The door swung open before Katsuki could even knock properly, Mitsuki standing there with narrowed eyes.

"Took you damn long enough," she muttered, but the moment her gaze fell on the small bundle in your arms, something in her face softened.

Masaru appeared behind her, his usual calm expression lighting up with quiet joy. "Oh," he breathed, stepping forward. "So this is…"

"Our brat, yeah," Katsuki said gruffly, but the way he glanced down at the baby—his baby—betrayed just how smitten he was.

You smiled, shifting the tiny, blanket-wrapped form so they could see better. "Come on, don’t just stand there. Meet your grandchild."

Mitsuki clicked her tongue but held out her arms. "Give ‘em here, then. Before this idiot drops ‘em."

"I ain’t droppin’ my damn kid!"

"You dropped your phone in the sink this morning."

Katsuki scowled, but before he could retort, you gently handed the baby to Mitsuki, who took them with surprising tenderness. She stared down at the tiny face peeking out from the blanket, her thumb brushing over their soft cheek.

"...Well," she muttered, voice suspiciously quiet. "Guess you did something right for once, huh?"

Masaru chuckled, peering over her shoulder. "They’re beautiful."

Katsuki scoffed but had the faintest dusting of pink on his ears. "Course they are. Got the best genes."

Mitsuki rolled her eyes but didn’t let go of the baby. Instead, she rocked them slightly, her movements practiced despite how long it had been since she’d last held a newborn. You swore you saw her eyes glisten for a moment before she cleared her throat.

"So, you pick a name yet?"

You and Katsuki exchanged a glance before you nodded. "Yeah. We named them—"

Katsuki cut in, voice quieter than usual. "—Eiji."

Mitsuki’s lips parted slightly. "Eiji, huh?"

Masaru smiled. "That's a strong name."

Katsuki smirked, pride in his eyes. "Damn right."

The baby stirred slightly, letting out a soft whimper, and before anyone could blink, Katsuki was reaching over, his large, calloused hand cradling their tiny head. The way his fingers trembled just slightly didn’t go unnoticed.

"...Oi, don’t cry now, brat," he murmured, voice softer than you’d ever heard it. "You’re already the strongest in the damn room."

Mitsuki clicked her tongue, but there was no bite to it. "They get that from their mother."

Katsuki scowled, but you just laughed, leaning into him. He grumbled under his breath, but his arm instinctively came around your waist, pulling you close.

Masaru, watching all of this, sighed contentedly. "You know, when you two first started dating, I wasn’t sure what to expect."

Mitsuki snorted. "Yeah, I thought you'd break up in a week."

Katsuki bristled. "Oi—"

"But," Masaru continued, smiling at you both, "watching you two now… I think you're going to be just fine."

Katsuki huffed but didn’t pull away from you. Instead, his gaze lingered on the baby in Mitsuki’s arms—his baby, his whole world.

"Tch," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "...Yeah. We will."

And in that moment, with laughter in the air, love in their eyes, and Eiji safe in their arms, the Bakugo family had never felt more complete.