#i also shouted at my cat lol

[of-time-and-space-itself]

YIPPIE! We Unlocked The Snatcher DLC, LET'S GO!

The best way that I can describe this man in this AU is like.....mostly deadpan, with an occasional snarky quip, he kinda just rolls with the flow at this point. He's very much past his prime, and is now just very calmly sitting in the passenger seat while Hat kid rams her scooter into the nearest cement wall.

He is the only real sane voice of reason in the entire kingdom, Which is why Hat always bothers him with all her problems.

Something I can mention w/o having to be vague is the fact that, - yes, in this universe dad snatcher is a thing. It NEVER comes up in the main story, mostly because I decided I wanted it to be a side thing entirely(backstory for the two kingdoms). Hat kid isn't actually aware of this until post-plot, which is when their relationship really starts to blossom.

In the meantime, he's just her super secret lawyer that nobody really knows about.

[funkle420]

7ish year old me breaking and entering the overgrown backyard of an abandoned house in Florida

[somelazyassartist]

Um. I know like basically nothing about this series other than a few bits and pieces I've seen out of context but I really like this guy. He looks like a gay man who's also a lesbian and I relate to that so like I was bound to doodle him eventually even though I don't know much lmao

(click for better quality, please reblog if you like)

[bugaboooooooooo]

What he didn’t anticipate was for Tomoe Tsurugi to pester him into asking her daughter to dance, or for the red of Kagami's lips and the jewels in her hair to leave him momentarily stunned. Nor did he expect for her to take one look at Félix and say point-blank, “You’re not Adrien.”

Fanart from one of the most Iconic scenes from @wackus-bonkus-maximus' fic One Does Not Love Breathing!! :))))

[killjoy-prince]

AND NOW HIS SECOND BAD RELATIONSHIP END IS MINE AS WELL!!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

[arolesbianism]

Thinking abt spiraling upwards side characters again. Charredpelt my absolute beloved

[stagefoot]

If I wrote a play it simply would not have the word ‘go’ in it at all

[famewolf]

the cool pagan farm neighbors gave us their airfryer and now I'm going to make them pumpkin bread to bring by their house tomorrow while they show me the pumpkins they grew this year

[oooohno]

“With Bakugo, it's different. You want to touch him, hold him, feel him. You've fallen for his eyes, the dangerous way he looks at you, and his hands, how they feel on you, the size of yours in his; the way he speaks to you, calms you, treats you like you're more than a crush. It's now and it's real, and you're exploring it together.”

chapter four: loose ends

of love & lemons | k.bakugo | m.list

▸ ▸ ▸ warnings: 18+! angst, more talking about feelings, fem and male receiving oral, making out, alcohol consumption

▸ ▸ ▸ wc: 6.7k

▸ ▸ ▸ a/n: ahhhhhh omg i love the last scene of this fic so much, i hope you enjoy it too!!

Overthinking has always come easy, but this is just ridiculous.

Thoughts plague you as you wander with the rest of the group through the forest path towards the beach. Chatter flows effortlessly, yet your mind ticks.

Why had Shouto acted like that with you? Did he overhear you in the dorm with the rest of the girls? Did he not like seeing you in your swimsuit? Did Bakugo say something to him? Either way, there was no reason for him to be acting like that towards you.

Your lonely upbringing led to you making friends with most people you came across, but your even matchup with Shouto all those years ago had you gravitating towards each other from the get-go. Your easy, fiery personality melted his cold, icy heart and it wasn’t long before you were study buddies, training partners. 

You graduated high school together, entered university together. It wasn’t only huge milestones like those that you shared and bonded through, but simple things like going to movies with friends, bar-hopping; hell, you even organized a surprise birthday party for him at the beginning of year and invited everyone he’d formed friendships with over the years.

Including Momo, which you were kinda (very) bitter about at the time. 

A shiver runs over your skin and you wrap your arms around yourself, glancing over at a very animated Denki as he explains the importance of nu-metal to Shouto. 

Shouto with his two-toned hair and heterochromic eyes, with his fire and his ice, with his inability to read the room and lack of tact. You’d opened up to him about being an only child and having parents that worked away constantly, and he told you about his mum, why he hated his dad so much. Even so, he’d had his dad design you a suit that could withstand the even hottest flames, despite the fact that he never went out of his way to talk to him.

You were best friends.

It’s not his fault that you were – until yesterday— in love (was it love, really?) with him, and he didn’t feel the same. Not his fault that you felt you needed to distance yourself from him. What was his fault was the accusation that the guy you’d fallen for wasn’t genuine.

And he hadn’t even said anything about it to your face.

Why didn’t he say anything to you?

What you feel for Bakugo isn’t the same as what you felt for Shouto. For him, there was longing; there were schoolgirl fantasies of picket fences and weddings and two spoons for one dessert. Of a family with two kids and a dog and a cheesy adult life together. With Bakugo, it’s different. You want to touch him, hold him, feel him. You’ve fallen for his eyes, the dangerous way he looks at you, and his hands, how they feel on you, the size of yours in his; the way he speaks to you, calms you, treats you like you’re more than a crush. It’s now and it’s real, and you’re exploring it together.

You hold your cold fingers against your burning cheeks as you scan the group for him.

He’s looking at you from where he’s walking, a little bit ahead of you, and you speed up to catch him.

“You okay?” He mumbles, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his boardshorts. You resist the urge to drape yourself against him, the naked skin of his back and chest, swells and dips of his muscled arms. You hum a yes, but your eyes are on the ground. “Right, seems like you’re fucking swell.” His sarcasm is comforting, you knock him with your hip.

“Thinking about you.” Your words leave your lips in a sigh, and he arches a brow at you. It wasn’t a lie, not really. “You’re nice to me.” You smile, holding your forearms behind your back.

“Yeah?” He’s intrigued by your admission, probably more confused than anything. “Why are you thinking about that right now?”

“I told the girls I liked you, and they were confused. Apparently, you’re mean.” You shrug.

“Huh.” He raises his eyebrows, doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t ask why. He’s oddly calm.

“You don’t care that I told them?” You frown.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t say anything.” You grumble childishly, he chuckles.

“What the hell do you want me to say?” He asks softly, drapes an arm over your shoulders, pulls you against him.

You’re sure you stop breathing. You look up at him, but he’s looking ahead— or pointedly avoiding your gaze, you’re not sure. It’s strange how natural it feels, and you smile despite yourself, pull your bottom lip between your teeth and take a breath in through your nose.

The air is cool, but you’re warm, heart beating sporadically in your chest as you walk through the woods, tucked under Bakugo’s arm. It’s peaceful, calm—

“Oi,” Eijiro calls, jogging up to fall into step next to you. “Can’t believe you didn’t tell your best friend that you’ve got a girlfriend.” He complains with a whiny sigh. “Unmanly, Kastuki.”

“Want me to tell you when I take a fucking dump too, dumbass?” Bakugo growls, pulls you closer. “It’s none of your fucking business.” He reiterates.

“I’m your best friend.” He complains, sets his eyes on you. They trail down your neck to your chest where your jacket is unzipped “I like your swimsuit.” He winks, and you flinch as Bakugo holds up a palm, sends off an explosion in his direction.

“Bakugo!” You scold, hide against his chest to shield your eyes.

But Eijiro’s ready for it, used to it, it seems. He simply dodges, flashes you a knowing smile. “Be gentle with him, he’s sensitive.” He winks, again.

“Fuck off, fuckface!” Bakugo yells, and with a laugh, Eijiro jogs back to Kaminari and the group of teens watching the interaction. Kyoka flashes you a thumbs up and you roll your eyes with a grin.

After a few moments, you look up at him. “You didn’t correct him when he called me your girlfriend.”

“You already said you’d be mine.” He shrugs. “If you don’t wanna put a damn label on it, we don’t have to.” His red eyes are looking down at you, ready for a response.

“No, I…” You make it out of the trees and onto the sand, see Aizawa in the distance with a huge bonfire ready to light. Bakugo stops walking, holds you close as your classmates walk past, shouts profanities at anyone who stares too long.

Shouto doesn’t look as he passes.

Your stomach knots up, and you snake an arm around Bakugo’s waist, pull yourself closer to him. He’s warm, and it’s comforting, solid and stable.

The sun is setting oranges and pinks and purples and blues in the sky, reflecting like molasses against the serene waves of the water. Higher in the sky, the moon’s already out, stars twinkling as twilight threatens to take over the sunset.

You don’t want to move, just want to stay under his arm, looking at the sky forever.

“D’ya wanna be my girlfriend?” He asks quietly, and when you look at him, he’s blushing, watching the sun set in the distance. You watch him for a minute, revel in the serenity of the moment; then you stretch up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“If it means you’re gonna be defending my honour, then yes.” You grin. His eyes flash down to your body, the curves of your torso, your bikini top. He bites his lip.

“Among other things.” He says lowly, voice husky as his free hand comes to rest on your shoulder, thumb drawing along your collarbone, nudging the jacket from your shoulder. “Your swimsuit,” His eyes are watching his fingers trace the orange piping of one of the triangles.

You shiver, and you’re sure nipple beads under his touch; your whole face heats up. “H-happy coincidence.” You whisper, the same twisty, fluttering feeling in your stomach returning.

He hums, lips descend to your neck. “Happy indeed.”

“Oi!” Eijiro yells from a distance. “We’re waiting!”

Bakugo huffs a sigh, kisses your neck gently. “To be continued.” He mumbles, nuzzling your ear with his nose, sending another shiver up your spine. He zips up your jacket—all the way to the top—zipper tickling your chin.

“Okay.” You laugh, step away from him and drag your hand down his arm, linking your fingers. A shy smile grows on your face as you lead him over to the group, Aizawa is staring at the pair of you with a raised eyebrow.

“What’s this? A couple? In my camp? I give you all far too much freedom.” He grumbles, and Bakugo squeezes your hand. Kyoka pokes you in the arm, waggles her eyebrows when you look at her. “We’ve been cut short.” He says, sighing. “We’re heading back tomorrow because of reasons out of my control, so I’ve put on a party for you.”

“A party?” Deku gasps, chatter ensues.

“But!” Aizawa calls over the noise. “I have a speech that you have to listen to before I go.” His eyes briefly shift to you and Bakugo, then to some of the other students. “I understand that youth is… exciting.”

“Sensei, please.” Kaminari groans. “Not the birds and the bees.”

He ignores him. “You’re making friends, dating, being young.” He takes a pause, for the drama, probably. “But for you, life after university doesn’t entail boring office jobs or climbing the corporate ladder, does it?” You glance around, everyone looks as confused as you. “You will be heroes. I know about your job offers. Four of you have offers overseas, the rest of you have at least one offer here.”

You see where this is going. The cool wind on the beach picks up, and you pull your hand from Bakugo’s grip to fold your arms.

“You’re bound to get even more offers come graduation.” He continues, takes a deep breath. “It’s going to be exciting and new, and although the bonds you create here will be lasting, they’ll be… interrupted.” He rubs his face, tucks some hair behind his ear. “What I’m trying to drive home is this: don’t let the bonds you have affect your journey. Don’t take an offer with a lesser company because your best friend is close by, or your girlfriend doesn’t want you to leave the country.”

You feel that last one like a slap in the face.

Suddenly the vague tidbit of gossip about Bakugo heading to the U.S after graduation is in the forefront of your brain.

There’s a heavy silence, and your stomach is in your throat. You want to look up at Bakugo, gauge his reaction, but you’re frozen.

“Well, just something to think about, I guess.” His tone lightens, and he picks up some bags. “I got takeout. Cooler is full of drinks, but please—for my sanity—don’t drink too much; All Might’s the one who put the deposit down on the cabin and it wasn’t cheap.” He hands a bag to you, one to Kyoka, two to Iida, and trudges off.

There’s a stunned silence, until Bakugo takes the bag from you, opens it and digs some containers out.

“I’m gonna have this one,” he says, holds it out for you to take. “What do you want?” Kaminari and Eijiro flank Kyoka for food and there’s chatter where Iida’s trying to fairly assign containers.

“Uh, the same?” Your voice is small, and he sends you a pointed glare. You cave, tell him your favourite take out dish, and he fishes it out, hands the bag to Deku.

“Come with me.” He grabs your hand, drags you towards the water’s edge. He sits, and you follow suit.

“Look, if you—”

“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes, pokes you in the forehead.  “I like you, you like me. Don’t fucking listen to him.”

“But—”

“If you don’t wanna do this, we won’t.” He frowns, rests a wrist on a propped-up knee.

“I do!” You argue, pout. He grins, leans over and kisses your lips.

“Then we’re doin’ it.” He takes his container from your hand, replaces it with yours.

You glance down at the food, his hands. “You forgot utensils.” He realises it as you say it, frowns over at you, embarrassed, then bounds up, heads back to the group. You follow him with the food, a little anxious at your classmate’s reactions to the PDA, but mostly everyone is busy, itching to eat something.

Shouto is crouching by the unlit bonfire, left pointer finger pointed at the base as if he wants to light it. He feels your eyes, turns, and you give him a small grin and a wave. He sends you a tight smile and turns away.

“Here,” Bakugo hands you a pair of chopsticks, follows your line of sight.

“He hates me.” You sigh, glance up at him. “Not that you care.”

“I care. I just don’t want the fucker getting between us.” He sends Shouto’s back a glare of his own, and nods towards Deku and Kaminari, who are sitting on a log with Kirishima and Sero; Kyoka’s on a towel in front of them. “Wanna sit with your friends?”

“They’re your friends, too.” You roll your eyes, lead the way over to them.

“Eh, I put up with Eiji for reasons unknown.” He shrugs, but you gasp at the nickname.

“Eiji?”

“Shut up.” He glares, but you just laugh, fall down onto Kyoka’s towel next to her.

“Hey.” You chirp, conversation stops. You get the feeling that if Bakugo wasn’t sitting down on the log next to Kaminari, that you’d be met with a thousand questions.

“Hey?” Kyoka scoffs, eyeing you with a raised brow.

“Yeah, can’t come over here holding hands and expect us not to ask questions.” Eijiro gets up, slides between Kaminari and Bakugo, nudges Bakugo, almost knocks him off the log.

“Fuckin’ shitty—” He grumbles, but you cut him off.

“Ask away.” You shrug, opening your takeaway box and hiding a smile behind it. They jump on you.

“How?” Kirishima.

“Why?” Sero.

“When?” Deku.

“What exactly is it about this guy that you like?” Kirishima asks again, and you feel all eyes on you. All questions directed at you.

“Ah, well,” you did offer for them to ask you. Bakugo’s eating, but you can tell he’s just as interested in your answers as everyone else. “Look at him.” You shrug.

There’s a burst of laughter and Denki and Sero are complaining.

“You can’t do that! You can’t just fall back on looks! He’s looked like that for years.” Denki complains, annoyed.

“Yeah, we wanna know what he did to finally bag you.” Sero grins, and Bakugo bristles.

Finally?

The boys on the log all see your confusion, and they glance at Bakugo, who is busying himself with his food.

“You didn’t tell her?” Eijiro asks, but Bakugo says nothing, shoves a lump of chicken into his mouth and looks out at the water.

“Tell me what?” You’re suspicious now, but it doesn’t outweigh your hunger. You hoe down another mouthful of food.

“He’s liked you since high school, that’s what.” The red head laughs. But it can’t be right, because the whole reason this thing with him started was because—

“I told you I didn’t like her like that.” He says, reading your thoughts as he waves his chopsticks in your direction. “Your imagination is fuckin’ wild.”

Eijiro ignores the interaction between the two of you. “Yeah, remember in our final year’s sport’s festival when you turned into a human torch and your clothes—” Disintegrated. 

“Okay, okay, yeah, I don’t want to remember that.” You laugh, whole body heating up in embarrassment.

“You’re making me sound like a fucking pervert, it wasn’t because she was naked that I fucking—you know what? I don’t need—” Bakugo’s getting flustered, and you’re enjoying every second. “Just fucking drop it, or I’ll kill you.”

“Technically, Cementoss cubed her in before anyone could see anything anyway.” Kyoka adds, thumbing in your direction. “But you’re telling me that you knew, and you didn’t tell me?” She glares at Denki then, who jumps in shock at her accusation.

“He said he’d kill me!” He defends dramatically.

Your attention creeps back to your boyfriend—you’ll need to get used to calling him that—and you watch him as he eats, looks out to the ocean, steals a glance at you. You grin at him, and he blushes, rolls his eyes.

The rest of the class find their way to the adjoining logs, towels are laid down for the students that were too slow, as everyone sits down to enjoy the food. When the food’s gone—Iida, Izuku and Bakugo eat thirds—Denki rushes back to the house with Kyoka to get her hero boots—for music, of course—and chatter ensues.

Mostly about you and Bakugo.

Go figure.

“Come for a walk.” Bakugo holds his hand out for you to take, and you grab it. Then you’re slipping off your sandals and walking along the edge of the water, bathed by the last light of the barely there sun.

You chuckle, he glances down at you, brow arched in a silent ‘what?’. “You really like me.” You laugh, poking him in the stomach. “How embarrassing!”

“Wow.” He rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide the ghost of a smirk on his face. “Really mature.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” You ask, watching as the water runs up to cover your feet, sand tickling the tops of them.

“Doesn’t fucking matter.” He grumbles, looks up at the stars.

“Katsuki,” You smile, testing his name on your lips as you turn to him, cover your joined hands with your free one. “Kiss me.” You demand gently, propping up on your tippy toes, and licking your lips.

He doesn’t reply, just covers your mouth with his, presses a hand to the back of your neck. You drop his hands and run your fingers through his hair, hum against his lips as his other hand dips under your jacket and runs up your back.

With a surprising push, you tumble the both of you down onto the sand, laughing. You’re straddling him, running your hands down his torso, lips on his throat as he reaches for the lip of your zipper, runs it all the way down until your jacket’s open.

He breathes your name and you stop, push back to meet his eyes. “I, uh,” he starts, staring up at you; he pushes some hair from your face and runs his thumb along your wet bottom lip. “I’m not just… second best, right?” He says it so softly, you’re not sure it’d even come out of his mouth.

“No.” You frown. What? “No way.” You’re torn between being sad for him—it’d take a lot for him to ask—and being offended that he felt you’re ingenuine.

“Fuck, it’s just,” he breathes, drags his hand down his face. “I’m not used to this, and I’ve wanted you for a really fucking long time, so…”

“It’s okay,” You mumble, lean down to kiss his forehead. “I’m here.” His nose. “Touch me.” His lips. You look into his eyes for a brief moment, then his kissing you hungrily, hands in your hair, leaving you breathless.

+

“Okay you two, that’s enough!” Mina yells. You take your lips from Bakugo’s neck and sit up, send her a glare that she probably can’t see. The sun’s completely gone now, moon high up in the sky surrounded by the kind of stars you can only see out by the countryside. It’s nothing like being in the deep smog of the city.

Bakugo gropes your butt over your swimmers. “I’m not done.” He grumbles lowly. You laugh down at him, pinch one of his pretty pink nipples. “Oi—”

“Come on!” She yells, closer. “Geez, I can’t believe I’ve gotta find out about you two from Denki. Denki! I thought we were friends.” She rants, closer. You hop off of Bakugo, dust the sand from your knees and calves.

“I’m sorry, it’s kind of a sudden thing—”

“Why the fuck are you screaming at us to come back?” Bakugo snaps, turning his back to Mina, adjusting his… oh. You laugh and link arms with her, hold your hand out for him to take when he’s ready—which he does. It’s nice to hold his hand. Good to just be touching him.

“We’re about to light the bonfire, and y’know, who better to do it?” Mina sighs, leaning her head against your shoulder.

“Uh, Shouto?” You snort.

“Don’t know where he is. He took off with Momo and they’re not on the beach; Tsu said not to bother with looking for them.” She shrugs as the three of you trudge up the beach, through the soft, dry sand.

“Couldn’t have pretended you couldn’t see us, though? Fucking figures.” Bakugo mumbles, and you squeeze his hand, send him a smile over your shoulder.

“Shut up, stop being such an asshole.” Mina grumbles. A few of your friends cheer upon your arrival.

“Fire time!” Denki announces, bouncing up from the log he was perched by Kyoka on. “Okay, Fire Princess, light us up!” He does a jiggy dance, points dramatically at the fire. Mina jogs over to sit next to Toru, and Bakugo rests his chin on your shoulder.

“C’mon, Fire Princess, we’ve got things to do.” He whispers in your ear.

“Are you ‘things’?” You laugh, raise an eyebrow at him.

“Maybe.” He shrugs. You laugh and shake him off, move closer to the huge mound of logs and sticks and kindling, crouch at the base. Generally, you’d use your hands to shoot the fire, but you’d been training on something you called ‘dragon technique’ lately, and—if it didn’t get out of control—it’d look really fucking sick.

You pick a spot right at the centre of the base, between the logs and sticks, and—like blowing out a candle—you purse your lips and blow, the flames hitting their target with ease. Your friends cheer, and you shoot a look back at Bakugo as you tuck some hair behind your ear.

Like any normal fire without petrol, it takes a while to grow in size, but it doesn’t matter. Bakugo lays his towel out and you drape yourself between his legs, both of you watching the fire grow —and Ochako and Mina dancing in front of it—as Kyoka plays some pop/rock song that she’s been ‘totally obsessed with lately’ from her boots.

“Here!” Kirishima grins, throws you both a drink. You sit up to catch yours, the other one whooshes past your head and into Bakugo’s hand.

It’s beer. 

“I don’t know if you drinking is the best idea.” Bakugo says lowly in your ear, reaching over to pluck it out of your hands. “Remember last time?”

“Last time?” Eijiro butts in, looking at you quizzically.

“Ah, don’t worry about it, boring story.” You laugh, toss a look over your shoulder at Bakugo, who’s drinking your beer, Adam’s apple bobbing.

You glance around and find Momo sitting with Mineta and Tokoyami, beers in their hands, no Shouto in sight, which is strange until,

“Can I have a word?” You look up and see Shouto, standing over you and Bakugo. God, he’s so fucking quiet, like a ninja. You feel Bakugo tense behind you, so you pinch his thigh.

“Yeah, of course.” You smile, moving to get up. Before you’re at full height, Bakugo grabs your jacket, pulls you down by the collar to plant a kiss on your lips.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can see the pleading look in his eyes; it shoots into your heart like an arrow.

“Be right back.” You smile, trying to reassure him, then you ruffle his hair and follow after Shouto, who must have walked off the moment Bakugo kissed you.

It’s quiet, besides the music thumping in the background. Serene.

“I’m sorry.” He says quietly, looking up at the moon. You follow his line of sight, take in the glowing orb, shadowy craters scattering its surface. When you don’t say anything, he elaborates. “I didn’t think of your feelings, or Momo’s. I can…” He takes a breath, huffs a sigh. “I can tell you like him, and he can’t keep his hands off of you, so—”

“Alright, alright, that’s enough, you’re making it weird.” You laugh, the weight of the past few days falling off of your shoulders. It's embarrassing how a few simple words could completely diffuse the situation.

“Bakugo seems to really like you, but if he ever hurts you, I’ll kill him.” He says seriously, stopping in his tracks, looking down at you.

“I think I’ll be okay, Shouto.” You smile. You hold out your arms for a hug, but when he steps closer, there’s a loud whistle.

You both look to see Bakugo watching, arms crossed over his chest. “TWO FUCKING FEET APART!” He yells, Kirishima chuckles into a fist next to him.

Shouto retracts his step, shakes his head with a smile. “As long as you don’t hate me.” He rests a hand on top of your head, smiles and takes it off.

“I don’t think I could, to be honest.” You beam up at him.  And it’s the truth, he’d always hold a special place in your heart: the first love, the best friend. “C’mon, you need to go thank your girlfriend for making you a better person.” You nod towards the group, see Bakugo sit back on the towel in the distance.

“True, true.” He runs a hand through his hair, turns and begins walking you back to the group. “So, you’ll keep training with me?” He asks, almost a mumble.

“I… I hadn’t thought about stopping that, Shouto.” You say, brows furrowed. You usually spend holidays with the Todoroki’s, with your parents generally gone during them. Gone almost always.

Last year, you even spent Christmas with them.

Endeavour even called you the morning of your birthday.

“Good. Endeavour would be… disappointed.” He says slowly, flicking his hair out of his eyes with a shake of his head.

You snort. “You mean, I wouldn’t be the buffer?” Endeavour treats you well to impress his youngest son; you know this, he knows this, his siblings know this. You elbow him. “I’m not stupid, Shouto.”

“Sorry.” He chuckles nervously, mildly ashamed. “I mean… thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Okay.” He smiles as you walk back up to Bakugo and Kirishima. “Have a good night.” He calls, gives you one last smile, then scans the group for Momo, heads to her.

The sand crushes beneath your feet, gets between your toes. “Hey,” you call with a smile. Bakugo downs the rest of his beer and smashes the can, tosses it beside another one—also reduced to a misshapen tin ball. “Whoa, slow down, sexy; the night is still young.” You laugh, plant yourself in his lap.

“What, you’re not running off into the sunset with the man of your dreams?” He asks gruffly, signature scowl on his face.

You know he means Shouto, but you wrap your arms around Bakugo’s neck regardless. “No, I’m sitting on his lap while he makes listless accusations.”

“Ooh, big words.” His eyebrows disappear into his hairline, hands grab at your naked thighs.

“Big words for a big girl.” You grin back proudly, leaning up to press your lips to his. “Your girl, Mr I-Need-Constant-Validation.” Your hands sprawl over his chest, feeling the hard muscle, as his face flushes pink and he pouts.

“That’s not true.” He scoffs. You laugh and kiss him again, and Kirishima clears his throat. You pull away, embarrassed, and look over to him.

“Just want you to know that I’m still here.” He chuckles bashfully, flashing his razor-sharp teeth at you in a grin.

“Sorry—”

“Maybe you should leave then, idiot.” Bakugo snaps at him, eyes still on you.

“Mean.” You pout. “He’s your bestie.”

“I don’t see yours hovering around.” He says against your lips.

“I’m still here.” He groans, and you kiss again. “Alright, consider me gone.” He shakes his head with a slight laugh, springs up from his spot on the sand, mutters something as he walks away.

Bakugo actually laughs, and it’s so smooth and reassuring that you lean in for another kiss, drape yourself all over him. “I think… we need to ditch this party.” He whispers. 

You agree, but deep down you know bonding with the group is important, especially now with graduation looming overhead. “The party just started! And Aizawa got us beer.”

“And vodka.” Kyoka announces her arrival, Bakugo groans. “Hey to you too, asshat.” She smiles, joins you on the towel, hands you a can.

“Thanks.” You smile. 

Bakugo lifts you from his lap, places you easily next to Kyoka. “I’ll go get my own drink.” He says, sends your friend a glare, and trudges off.

“I know Denki’s an idiot, but that guy? Hard work.” She laughs, takes a sip. “Probably cranky because he’s up past his bedtime.”

You laugh, watch him as he approaches Momo and Shouto. “Ah, he puts up a front. Once you get past his hard exterior, he’s a softie.” You smile, turning back to her. She snorts. “He is!”

“Oh god, you really like him. Like, a lot.” She accuses, whacking your shoulder.

Yeah. Yeah, you do. It’s kinda scary, and Aizawa’s words ring back through your mind.

“Do you and Denki know what you’re doing after UA?” You ask, changing the subject, curious about what they’d discussed. As a couple.

“Hm? Ah, every time I bring it up, he gets upset.” She sighs, shakes her head.

“Really?” You take your first sip of the vodka, cringe at the sweetness as it hits your tongue.

“Mm.” She nods, lays down and rests her head on your lap. “We had another argument about it when we went back to camp to get my boots.” You smile sympathetically down at her, dust her bangs from her forehead with your fingers. “I actually have a lot of offers, mostly spy work, but still. He… he’s upset about it. Doesn’t want me to go too far.”

“That’s sweet, isn’t it? You sound annoyed.”

“I am annoyed.” She frowns, tries to drink from her can laying down, but it dribbles from the side of her mouth, down your thigh, and you squeak, jolt at the cold.

“Shit!” You yelp, and she chokes on her drink as she laughs, and more splutters over your lap and your jacket as she struggles to sit up. “Kyoka!”

 “I’m sorry!” She laughs, wipes tears from her eyes and vodka from her mouth.

“Get up, we’re going in the water.” You say, standing up, wiping at the rivulets running down your legs.

“Oh, no I’m not. It’s cold as fuck.” She frowns, swats your hands away as you try to grab her.

“Yes, you are! Come on, we’re at a beach!” You argue, stand to unzip your jacket, shrug it from your shoulders and let it fall to the towel. “Get up, Kyoka.” You’re pleading, now, hell-bent on getting in the water.

A low whistle travels through the air, just loud enough for you to hear over the music. You look around and see Mineta sitting on a towel not too far away, staring at you. He winks at you, and you bristle, your eye twitches in annoyance. But before you can chew him out, the menacing presence of your new boyfriend fills the air, and his hands are splaying over your stomach, his red eyes glaring at your pervy classmate.

“You like your eyes in their sockets, asshat?” He asks, just loud enough for Mineta to hear. He pales, swallows, and nods. “Then keep them off my girlfriend.”

It’s in that moment that you decide Bakugo’s scarier when he doesn’t swear. Its menacing, bone-chilling.

He reaches down for your jacket, kisses your lips on his way back up to standing. “Let’s get outta here.”

“But—”

“Gotta clean you up, don’t we?” He asks huskily, and there’s a glint in his eye that makes your heart stammer, sends your brain into overdrive.

“Y-yeah, we do.”

“Okay, goodbye, have fun getting freaky.” Kyoka says quickly, and you poke your tongue at her, before you’re walking away under his arm, heading towards the forest.

“Hot spring?” You ask, glancing up at him.

“If we make it there.” He grins.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You narrow your eyes playfully, and he shrugs innocently as he takes you away from the forest path. “Bakugo,” you laugh. “Where are you taking me?”

“Just here, against this tree.” He grunts, swinging you around until you’re—laughing— backed up against the trunk of a thick redwood.

“What’s that even mean—” you ask, but he drops to his knees in front of you, and your whole body goes hot. The moon shines brightly through the canopy of the trees, bathing Bakugo in a kind of angelic glow, so incredibly unlike him. How ironic. He licks his lips as his hands reach for the backs of your knees, edges his mouth closer to your sticky thighs. “N—Baku—”

“Shh,” he coos softly, dark eyes staring up at you as you dig your fingers into the bark of the tree, suck your bottom lip between your teeth. His lips ghost over one of your knees and he trails slow—painfully slow—wet kisses up your thigh, licking over the sticky residue left over from Kyoka’s drink.

You manage to keep it relatively together, until a hand goes to your hip, and he licks up so close to the apex of your thighs that you moan, and he growls, hands gripping you tighter.

“Gonna make you feel good.” He promises, voice rough and gravelly as he looks up at you, nose running up your clothed slit.

“Bakugo!” You jolt, but he doesn’t stop, replaces his nose with his lips, tongue. He pulls your hips closer to his face, tongue running along the nylon, drenching it, making it stick to your lips. Then a hand is gone from your hip, and your swimmers are pulled to the side, and his lips kiss your pussy, tongue licks a stripe up your folds, and your fingernails are digging into his scalp as your head thunks against the tree, eyes screwed shut because, “Fuck,” you breathe, gasping.

You can hear him growl, feel the vibration against your clit as he wraps his lips around the bud and sucks.

You barely muffle your cry, as pleasure runs hot through your bones and you go spineless, collapsing into his arms. He doesn’t give you much time to recover, kissing you hard, slippery tongue between your teeth coaxing more moans from you, revving you back up again.

His fingers rub you gently between your thighs, toying with the wetness. “I think we made a bigger mess.”

“Ugh, shut up.” You groan, embarrassed, and he licks his lips before capturing yours again in another hungry kiss. You’re pulled onto his lap, straddling him, and rubs you more surely, teases you with a finger. “Do it,” you urge him, breathless yet again, and he wastes no time

“So wet, baby.” He moans, jerking his hips up with his finger’s thrusts, kissing your cheek, then your neck. Your head falls back, the now familiar pleasure building as he adds another finger.

“Let me… I’ll do you, too.” You breathe heavily, grabbing at the strings of his board shorts, ripping the Velcro open.

When you finally have him in your hands, he groans against your mouth, and you pull away from him to spit on your hand, before giving him a few wet pumps and kissing him again.

“You…” you breathe, and he looks at you, slows his fingers. “Do you want to pu—”

“No,” he chuckles, uses his free hand to push the hair from your face. “Not here.”

“Are you sure, because I—” he kisses you quiet, pushes a third finger into you, and your head falls to his shoulder, whole body on edge again. “Ahh, f—feels good, Katsuki.” You breathe, and he bucks up into your hand, reminding you to do him, too.

“Say it again.” He growls, licks a stripe up your neck, nips at your ear. “My name,” he breathes.

You moan, his fingers hitting that spot again, and again, and again—“Katsu—” and you’re coming again, back arching, whole body going tight, stars spinning behind your eyes as his face nuzzles your chest.

He pulls himself out of your hand, ready to finish himself off, but you’re hungry for him already, pushing him back, taking him between your lips for the second time that day.

He’s groaning—a salty, musky mess—and it makes your head spin, gives you a power you never even dreamed you’d have. You look up at him through your lashes, see his dark eyes drinking you in. He reaches down and pulls your bikini up—breasts springing free—and gropes at your tits, closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the grass in bliss.

You grip a thigh, hold him down with a splayed hand over his chiselled abs, and take him deep once, twice, three times, before coming up for air, eyes watering. He grunts, pushes back up into you, and you do it again. His hands are in your hair, holding you down as he calls your name, and he cums hot and heavy down your throat, cock pulsating between your lips.

You swallow all of him.

“Ah, s-sorry,” he breathes heavily, sitting up to check on you, pushing your hair from your face, and holding you like you’re made of glass.

“Mmm… Hold me,” you smile blissfully, fall against his chest as he chuckles, kisses your hair. “This’d be better in a bed. We could just… fall asleep.” He hums in response, traces patterns on your back, tickling the skin.

“Do you wanna go back to the party?”

“Won't that be… suspicious?” You smile up at him. He kisses you, holds your face with both of his hands, rubs his thumbs along your cheeks.

He’s stirring it back up within you, conditioning you to want him after every deep, sensual kiss. He pulls back, breathless.

“You think I give a fuck what those extras think?” He says, tone betraying the almost grin on his face. You roll our eyes, push away from him and stand up.

“Come on, then.” You whine, fix your bikini top, then the bottoms.

“Babe, you look so good; come back down here.” He bites his bottom lip, and it’s so sexy that your eyes go wide, face blazing as you take him in: half-naked, cock out, sweaty, flushed.

“If I come back down there to you, I’m making you fuck me, so let’s just go.” You cross your arms, pick up your jacket, and turn, heading towards the fire.

“Oi, I said come back here!” He calls, fixing himself up, and following. You break into a run, and you’re laughing as he chases you, dodging trees until you’re on the beach. He’s hot on your heels, so you drop your jacket, make a sprint for the water. “Come here!” He’s yelling, but you’re still laughing as you enter the freezing water, fall against a wave.

When you come back up, he grabs you, pulls you onto his lap and kisses you gently. His hair is wet, flat against his head, and he shakes it out, attempts to fluff it back up.

“Gotcha.” He grins, and you kiss him again, bathed by moonlight, your fingernails in his hair, his hands on your back.

[guiltyasdave]

help me hold onto you

pairing: Logan Howlett/Wolverine x mutant! f!reader

word count: ~3.5k

summary: Logan deals with feeling guilty after he's accidentally cut you with his claws in his sleep.

warnings/tags: explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), able-bodied reader, reader has hair that can be pulled, no use of y/n, Logan lifts reader up but he's superhumanly strong, so-, graphic description of an injury, graphic description of violence, angst, nightmares, Logan's pov, fighting as foreplay, unprotected p in v, rough sex, biting, praise kink, a lot of animalistic behavior due to their mutations, like they're just a little... primal, it's cute i swear, also reader looks like a human being it's just the mannerisms, fluff

a/n: guess i'm a multi fandom writer now? this literally came to me in a fever dream, very much like the logan brainrot itself lol. this is my first time writing for the man, after watching the movies - also for the first time - last week, so please be gentle with me <3 something very similar happens in the origins movie and i wanted them to explore that more, but alas, i had to do it myself.

massive thanks to @kiwisbell for assuring me that this idea isn't terrible and for freaking out about logan with me in general, to @catchallfangirl for coming up with the whole cat theme and for being so supportive, to @sizzlingcloudmentality for matching my freak and taking the cat theme to the next level, for helping me plot and for being an amazing beta reader, and to @javier-pena for listening to me rant about this idea and being so lovely and supportive <3

dividers by @saradika-graphics who is a queen <3

notifications blog -> @guiltyasdavenotifs & full masterlist -> here

Most nights, Logan sleeps easier when you’re in bed with him. Your body pressed against his, your skin soft and warm against his bare chest. One of his thighs between your legs where you’ve wrapped yourself around him, your touch moving over his torso aimlessly, fingers curling into his chest hair, your hands kneading his flesh in your sleep. The soothing little purrs that emit from your chest when you’re sound asleep. None of it bothers him, no matter how many times it disturbs his own rest. 

It keeps him grounded, feeling you next to him. He’d rather spend the whole night somewhere in that haze between waking and sleeping, listening to your sounds, your breath fanning against his skin, than being pulled under into the depths of his subconsciousness. 

He’d rather open his eyes to see you disentangling your limbs from his, stretching your whole body, arching against him as you yawn. 

He’d rather greet you with a smiling “Good morning, kitten,” waiting for that adorable little crease to appear between your brows when you pout up at him. 

���Did I do it again?” 

He doesn’t hide his grin as he nods, growing wider when you flop back against the cushions with a groan. 

“What exactly?”

“All of it.” 

Your sorry comes out muffled as you hide your face behind your hands. 

“It’s okay,” he says, leaning over you to pull your hands away and kiss the pout off your lips. Caressing that spot under your chin with two fingers, watching you go all soft, baring your throat to him. “I like it.” 

He would much rather wake up like this. 

But it’s been a long week and he’s exhausted. Exhausted enough to get lulled into a deep sleep, encased in the safe cloud of your warm body against his and your touch on his skin. Exhausted enough to dream. And his dreams are not a safe place. 

His eyes fly open with a shout, his whole body jolting upwards, every muscle pulled taut. He doesn’t even register the claws shooting out between his knuckles, all of his instincts screaming at him to fight. 

He’s only faintly aware of the sudden yelp of pain from beside him, the movement of something jerking away from him. 

“Logan,” your voice rings through the buzzing in his ears. Smaller hands landing on his shoulders, fighting to hold him steady. 

It takes a few disoriented blinks before he recognizes the familiar bedroom, a few more deep breaths to stop his body from shaking. To clear the fog in his head enough to understand what you’re saying.

“It’s me, Logan. You’re safe, everyone’s safe, it’s okay.” 

His eyes find yours in the semi-darkness. Wide with worry, but firmly trained on his face, repeating that everything’s okay. He finally registers the familiar weight of you straddling him, understands that it’s your fingers digging into his shoulders. 

He’s still panting, not daring to look away from your face again. The one tether that keeps him from getting lost in his mind again. 

“Are you with me?” you ask, your voice softer now. 

He manages a nod, tries to smile, to wipe the deep worry of your face, but he’s not sure if his mouth even twitches. 

As the feeling slowly returns to his body, he notices something else. A kind of wetness, warm and sticky where your right hand is connected to his skin. The unmistakable tang of iron in the air. He stretches to turn on a bedside lamp, jostling you along with his movement. A quiet whimper hits his ears, so low that he’s sure you tried to suppress it. 

With a new kind of panic surging through him, he grabs hold of your arm, bringing it to his eye level. 

Three scratches ooze in deep red, just beneath your wrist. It forces a gasp from him, eyes dancing frantically between the wounds on your arm and your face. How much blood did you lose already while you were busy helping him? As if he deserved it. 

“Fuck, I’m— I’m so sorry baby, we gotta—” He stumbles over his own words, grasping at you almost blindly, panicked tears blurring his vision. He did this. 

“Logan,” you say, still so inexplicably calm. “It’s fine. Look. It’s fine.” 

You gently pry his fingers off your arm and bring your wrist up to your mouth. Your tongue darts out, drawing long licks against your marred skin, collecting the blood and gliding over the cuts in your flesh. 

It pains him to watch, but it’s the least he can do. The least he owes you. He watches you clean the blood off, watches as the wounds start shrinking at the touch of your saliva, as the skin smoothes over before his very eyes until there’s only three thin marks left, a shade lighter than the rest of your skin. 

“Look,” you tell him again, extending your arm towards him. “I told you it’s okay.” 

He knows you can do this, of course he does. Has watched you multiple times, his fascination with your powers never wavering. How fluidly you move, how quick you attack, how skilled you are at surviving. You just never had to survive him. 

You lean down on top of him until your whole torso rests on his, your thighs still on either side of him, burrowing your head into his chest. “Which war did you dream about?” you ask quietly.

Most of the time, the dreams don’t grant him the mercy to zero in on one single memory. It’s a constant stream, one fight after the other, until all he knows is shouting, fighting, blood and death.

“All of them.” 

You sigh deeply, your breath cool against his sweat-dampened skin. Raising your head a little, you start placing kisses on his chest, pressing your lips into his skin where you can feel the faint beating of his heart.

“I wish I could kiss this better, too,” you mumble. 

He chuckles humorlessly, one hand reaching into your hair to scratch at your scalp. You shudder at the touch, an approving little purr traveling up your throat. 

“It’s okay now,” he mutters, leaning in to inhale the scent of your hair. “Just— I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be.” 

It sounds so simple, falling from your lips like this. But it’s no match for the aching guilt that’s already eating at him, the questions of what if that start swirling through his mind. 

Your body is growing heavier on top of him as you relax, your breaths evening out and your eyelids fluttering shut. It soothes him, has his own breathing slowing down, but he can’t risk falling asleep again. Not like this, not with your body so close to his.

“What are you— Logan?” comes your instant protest when he moves you to your side of the mattress, your eyes flying back open, wide and mildly confused.

“I could’ve killed you,” he mutters. It could have happened so easily. Just a little deeper, just a slightly different spot. 

“No, you couldn’t,” you quip, arching an eyebrow at him. “Cats have nine lives, remember?” You sneak another quick kiss on his chest before finding his gaze again, a teasing smile on your lips. “Even kittens.” 

It’s an attempt to lighten the mood, to make him laugh. He knows that. You hate the pet name he’s given you. 

“And you’re not gonna waste one on me,” he grits out. 

Hurt flashes over your face, more pain in your eyes than when there was an actual wound on your arm. 

“It wouldn’t be—”

“Don’t you dare say it wouldn’t be a waste.” 

The words come out as a low growl, aggressive enough to send most anyone running. You don’t run. 

Your animal doesn’t like it when he growls at you. He can feel the tension rolling off of you, your hair probably standing on end. Gritting your teeth, you take a deep breath, release your fingers’ grip from digging into the sheets.

“Let’s talk about it in the morning,” you tell him, resignation in your voice. 

Your eyes fall shut again, your head for once resting on your own pillow instead of his chest. He misses the weight of it instantly. You doze off quickly, your hands still pawing weakly at his side, like your body can’t help it. He almost pulls you closer himself. 

While you sleep, Logan forces his own eyes to stay wide open, staring unseeingly into the darkness. 

It’s a quiet day. You had tried talking to him, tried to convince him that it’s okay, that it’s fine. He can’t keep listening to you insisting that him almost killing you is no big deal. He should have known, should have been more aware of the risk instead of letting himself get lost in the blissful sensation of your body curled around his every night. You’ve trusted him so completely, only for him to let you down. 

Just like he always does, the voice in his head whispers.

No matter how many times you swear that you can take care of yourself, he should still be protecting you, not actively putting you in danger while you’re fucking asleep. It’s happened once now, so it can happen again, and he knows that he could never forgive himself. 

He knows that he’s hurting your feelings. Sees how your brows knit together when he barely kisses you back throughout the day. How you bite your lip when the way you’re butting your head against his doesn’t make him chuckle like it usually does. 

He should be angry at himself. He is. But you shouldn’t be the one to catch the brunt of it, and it makes him feel even worse. You always say that he should talk about his feelings more, that it would help to let them out. He suspects that you’re right. He just doesn’t know how.

By evening, you’ve grown uncharacteristically quiet, but he keeps catching your burning glares at him when you think he isn’t looking. Finally, after you’ve stared at him for what felt like an eternity and he’s pointedly ignored you, you seem to snap.

“Can you stop it?!” It leaves your mouth in a hiss, triggering his instincts before the words even register in his brain. 

“Stop what?” he growls back. 

Your fingers curl as a low snarl escapes you. Normally, neither of you lets your animalistic side take over like that. Normally, you’re good at soothing each other. 

But tonight, he can feel the energy crackle between you, the tension begging to be released. 

“You know what! This fucking— sulking or whatever it is you think you’re doing!” 

He rises to his feet, pulling up to his full height. One of your hands twitches. 

“I’m not—” 

You charge at him with an angry shout before another word can leave his mouth. You’re on him in a flash, grabbing onto his arm and letting your momentum carry you until you’re behind him, your nails digging into his shoulders until you’re perched on his backside. 

Whipping his head around, he bares his teeth at you, growls rumbling in his chest. You angrily hiss in his face and swing a hand at him in return, leaving angry red scratches down his cheek. They heal and fade as quickly as they came, but a triumphant grin flashes over your features regardless. 

“Come on, Logan,” you breathe into his ear. The edge in your voice sends fire straight through him. “Fight. You’re not gonna break me.” Your canines nip at his earlobe, somewhere between affectionate and challenging.

He tries shaking you off, but your grip on him only tightens. He collects a fist of your hair instead, pulling harshly to keep your teeth away from his throat. 

“Enough,” he grits, trying desperately to regain control, to become more human again, to smother the primal need to match your aggression. 

He finally grabs hold of one of your hands as well and manages to rip you off his back and in front of him, holding on tight to your upper arms to keep you in place. You’re snarling and twisting in his hold, but he doesn’t let up. 

“Enough,” he repeats, searching your wild eyes. Your movements slow down a fraction, giving him a moment of hope, before you surge forward and bury your teeth in his lower lip. It hurts like hell and he can taste blood on his tongue instantly. 

“Fight me,” you demand again, baring your teeth at him.

He pulls you back by your hair with a roar, gathers both your wrists in one large hand and holds you steady. You could still break free if you wanted to, he thinks. He might be stronger than you, but your movements turn almost liquid when you want to escape, he’s watched it more than once. 

The pain in his lip has already subsided, but his blood is still coating your mouth, a stark contrast against the white shimmer of your teeth. 

“Are you done?” His voice is harsh, his jaw clenched, carefully keeping the desire to strike back at bay. 

You deflate a little, some of the wildness draining from you before his eyes. 

“I just— I’m not fragile, I don’t want you to be scared of— of touching me.” Your voice grows small at the end and he’s horrified to see wetness glistening in your eyes. 

The fight mode leaves him as fast as it came, replaced with the overwhelming urge to care, to protect what’s his. His pack, in a way.  

He gathers you into his arms, curling himself around you. It feels good to hold you close again. Breathing you in deeply, he smells the adrenaline still oozing from you, hears the rapid beating of your heart. But mostly, it’s your unique scent, one that he thinks he could recognize anywhere. His tether to this world. 

“I’m sorry, kitten. I’m not scared of touching you,” he mumbles into your hair. 

You sniffle against his chest, but when you finally raise your head to look at him, new determination is glinting in your eyes. 

“Prove it,” you coo, tracing the shape of his lips with one fingertip. “Please.” 

That he can do. He nips at your finger playfully, your responding giggle the best sound he’s heard all day, before he shoves it out of the way to connect his lips with yours. It’s rough, a clashing of teeth and tongues, the tension that has been building and warping all day finally finding a release. 

You gasp into his mouth when his tongue moves against yours, your hands pulling at his hair, needing him closer and closer still, never close enough. His groan at the taste of you travels through you both as he’s grasping at your clothes. 

He longs for your warm skin under his palms, longs for how you lean into his touch so needy all the damn time. You pull away with a moan, helping him to pull your sweater over your head and stepping out of your jeans as he sheds his flannel. 

You bring both hands up to cup his face, to search his eyes. “Don’t be gentle,” you plead, “please, I need—” 

You don’t have to keep talking for him to understand what you need. I’m not scared of touching you. 

With a growl, his hands find your hips, holding you tight as he’s walking you backwards until your ass connects with the backside of the couch. He crowds you in, paws at every inch of bare skin he can reach, his cock already hard and aching at your soft warmth and the sweet mewls that tumble from your lips. 

Hitching one of your legs up to open you for him, he grinds himself against your barely covered center. A keening sound escapes you at the friction from his jeans against your sensitive flesh and he allows himself a grin. 

“Feels good, kitten?” 

You nod mindlessly, holding onto him and rocking your hips against his while you’re letting him move you however he sees fit. 

“Do you want more?”

“Please, Logan.”

You sound so sweet when you’re like this, when you put your body into his hands. I’m not scared of touching you.

Setting your leg back down, he watches with hunger as you hastily take off your underwear while he pulls the white tank top over his head and opens his belt buckle. He could swear that your pupils dilate a fraction at the sound of it, filling him with a possessive sense of pride. 

As soon as his jeans hit the floor, he’s all over you again, palming the weight of your breasts, tugging and pinching at your nipples as he swallows down your mewls. You’re soaking wet already, covering his cock in your slick as he nudges against your folds. He’s impatient to feel you all around him, to sink into you, to stake his claim again and again and again. 

He normally works you open longer, gives you more time to prepare, but your impatience is just as apparent as his own, with the way you whine and plead for him, your fingers digging into his flesh, trying to pull him nearer. 

He follows your pull, pressing your backside into the couch once more as he crowds your space. Leaning in, he kisses you deeply, licking into your mouth, one hand buried in your hair and holding you close. 

“I love you,” he breathes against your lips as he lets go of you. I’m not scared of touching you.

You smile softly, echoing the sentiment back at him. 

A surprised squeak escapes you when he turns you around suddenly, bending you over the back of the couch. He lines himself up at your dripping entrance, desperate to fill you up, to give you what you’re craving. 

“Not gentle?” he rasps once more, one hand curling around your neck from behind, both in reassurance and dominance. 

“Not gentle,” comes your breathy answer. It breaks off into a shriek of a moan when he slams into you with one long thrust, stretching your tight walls around his length. The sting of his sudden intrusion has to hurt at least a little, but you push back against him eagerly, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. 

Logan holds himself still for a moment, mesmerized by the sight of your squirming body and your needy little sounds, before he pulls out almost entirely, only to push back in forcefully. Your toes barely reach the floor with how far he’s bent you over, lifting you into the air with every harsh thrust, but he’s holding you steady with ease, both hands possessively spanning over your waist, positioning you exactly where he wants you. 

“Taking me so fucking well, like you were made for me,” he growls, gently scratching over your back with his nails. You arch up to chase his touch, tightening around him, almost purring with pleasure. Wetness pours out of you, coating his cock. I’m not scared of touching you. Not when it feels this good. 

“M–more, please,” you whine, blindly reaching backwards to him. 

He leans over you, cages you in, his arms on either side of you, his breath hot against your skin. His teeth sink into the back of your neck, not so deep as to draw blood, but enough that he knows the indents will stay there for quite some time. 

Your whole body goes limp at the sensation, a surprised mewl escaping you as you clench around him wildly. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, his own hips stuttering, “give it to me kitten, come on—” 

He reaches around your hip, fingers teasing through your slick folds and up to your clit, rubbing with slight pressure as he keeps pistoning into your heat. 

“Logan—” you gasp, getting almost impossibly tight, before you shatter around him. He keeps thrusting into you, keeps up his ministrations on your clit, until the pulsing of your cunt around him sends him over the edge as well. He spills his release deep inside of you, the thought of leaving a part of him with you always filling him with a primal satisfaction. 

Pulling you up instantly, he gathers you in his arms, your body soft and pliant against his chest. Walking around the couch and sinking into the cushions to lie down, he gently moves you until your weight is resting on top of him, his embrace wrapping around you.

You stir a little, needing a moment to take in your position. The look of uncertainty that you give him damn near breaks his heart. “Is this okay?” You sound uncertain, too.

God, he’s such an idiot. 

“Yeah, kitten. It’s— fuck, of course it’s okay.”

thank you so so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed, and if you did, a comment or a reblog would absolutely make my day :)

-> part 2!

[impyssadobsessions]

DPXDC Prompt: Supersons + 1

What if Jack became friends with Clark and Bruce. And Danny accidentally becomes apart of the Supersons.

Jack takes Danny with him on a trip to visit his friends- just for it to turn into a playdate. But it isn't long for the cat to come out the bag especially since Danny's rogues can sniff him out.

So now all three are trapped in the ghost zone and this is way more than Danny wanted to reveal with day one "friends" . (maybe its walker)

And their dads having to come find them. Jack leading the charge because he has no idea Clark and Bruce are superheroes LOL But he knows ghosts when he sees them >:U

Could also be a good moment to have good dad Jack- one that once he knows Danny's phantom is immediately wait.. that's my son… MY SON? IM COMING DANNO!

Imagine just very heartfelt. Jack learns to reconnect with his son- Danny has more connections and now protection. Jon is happy to have a flying friend. And Damian still appalled Danny's bad at his identity. "It works because most people wouldn't think I'm dead." "Except for other ghosts?" "I told you that's not something I can avoid >:T." And be even funnier if Clark and Bruce had to go along with Jack WITHOUT being super. Even Jack doesn't find out about them. Which Danny is fine with keeping secret. So they have to work off of limited unsettling tech and still pretend they're a good shot because of other reasons.. or hits. Imagine Jack is like sensitive to Bruce's parents death like OH WAIT- sorry Clark you take these. Brucie, I got the boo-merang and the anti-ghost staff somewhere. That's my wife's favorite. uwu Jack also the reason they couldn't slip away into hereos because he dragged them along shouting FLITHY SPOOK! GIVE ME BACK OUR SONS!... in the Fenton RV... so imagine they had... Quite a ride.

[paradlselost]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐅 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒

Black Noir II x female!reader

⎨ 𝐀𝐍 ⎬ spent way too long on this; but I kept picturing him in the piledriver position and omfgggg. also I drank so sorry if the ending sounds strange, this isn’t beta-read at all lol

⎨ 𝐂𝐖⎬ 2.9k words , second person point of view , noir II , s4 spoilers , smut : fantasies of sex , oral ( m receiving ) , p in v , piledriver position , mentioned size difference , stomach bulge , cream pie , aftercare .

A few heavy breaths came from behind the mask, his lips outlined by the black balaclava he wore. A few punches here, dodging and rolling there; just like a real hero would. Did he mind the sweat that rolled down his top lip? Tasting the salt from his overexertion?

His gloved hands reached out, one grabbing the wrists that fought against him to pin them, the other grabbing at the exposed neck as he pinned the black clad body against the glass jewelry container.

“Get off me-! Motherfucker!”

Kicking and shouting wasn’t the best tactic now was it? Not when you were attempting to rob the jewelry store. It was so cliche, a cat burglar going after overpriced diamonds and gems. You’d think the stars themselves had been crafted into the finest necklaces by the way you had been shoving them into your bag.

How were you to know he was on patrol when you happened into the closed jewelers? Maybe it was fate, past misdeeds finally catching up to you in the form of this armored reaper. It certainly felt like a dance with death, the knowledge of his super strength in the back of your mind as you managed to wiggle out of the hold he had on you.

Slipping down against the cracked glass case and through the room left to crawl out from under his legs in a last ditch effort to escape. You were graceful, smooth like a cat slinking away with the pickings it had gotten from a dead bird. But his hands caught your legs like a mouse in a trap and your heart dropped in your chest.

A gloved hand grabbed at your hair, pulling you up enough to get you on your knees in front of him, craning your neck to look at his soulless mask as a peasant would look at a god; and maybe in a way you were, was this being that could kill you in a second really a man anymore? What power did a worldly being have in snuffing out a life so fast?

So you sat at his mercy, begging for forgiveness and looking like a sinner at an altar. How small you looked below him, what penance did a lowly criminal like you get? So you waited for the hand that would tear your heart out or the sirens that would wail… but nothing. He simply looked blankly down at you.

“Fucking-… Cut!!” The bell sounded somewhere in the studio, sighs falling from the directing team under the knowledge that this was the best shot they were going to get, and the ‘mute supe’ had forgotten his next line. One job, really.

“Damn it, I’m sorry. You did great, though.” His hand his outstretched for you to take, helping you get to your feet. He’s kind, behind the mask he wore, would you ever get to see his face? Probably not, being just an actor; but it was cool being able to work with a Supe, especially one in the seven.

“It’s no problem, honestly. They’ll probably just go from the shot of me on my knees, anyways.” You watched as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, gloved hands creating an odd sound against his balaclava. His job was on the line; Homelander had told him they could always find a replacement for Noir just as they had with him - but he couldn’t help it.

Had his cup always been so strained against? He shifted ever so slightly, trying not to make his discomfort obvious as an assistant stepped over and handed you both a water bottle. Silently, he was happy his face was obscured as his eyes didn’t leave your lips, watching them part to welcome a swig of much needed cold water.

Was it his fault he had stuttered and broken the immersion? In his heart, he knew it was; but how could he not have? He could feel your warmth radiating through his armor and seep into his skin, how those pretty eyes looked back and then up at him, how your lips had parted ever so slightly. He was being an idiot.

This was your job; you’re an actress so why did he think those looks you gave him were exclusive? He was probably an idiot in thinking your on screen chemistry could mingle behind the scenes. He jumped every so slightly when the bell rang out again.

“That’s a wrap for now. We’ll pick up again tomorrow. Noir, make sure you fucking practice.”

A pointed look from the director was quickly overshadowed by your soft touch to one of his shoulder pads as you walked past him. A shiver running down his spine as his eyes followed you, watching you. Your delicate fingers had not done him any favors as his heart pounded in his chest. Secretly, he was glad shooting was done for the day.

The door to his trailer shut quickly, the lock turning as he leaned back against it. The curtains had already been drawn shut from this morning; is it in Noirs character to like his privacy? It certainly isn’t to sprawl out on the couch and fist his cock to thoughts of his co-star. And yet.

His head tilted back against the couch, helmet taken off but the balaclava had stayed on; he enjoyed the way it made everything a little harder to breathe, how he could feel the fabric against his lips. Besides; he wouldn’t take off his mask to fuck you the first couple of times, anyways, that’s a kind of trust that’s earned.

His hand traveled up and down his cock, slow at first as he traced the veins that pump blood to his darkening head; imagining that this is what it would be like with you the first time. Certainly, you’d take your time in getting to know every intimate part of him. His thumb swiped over his tip like your tongue would.

A groan fell from his lips, wetting them after a moment. He could imagine how warm your mouth would be around him, how you would look up at him as he pushed the head of his cock to the back of your mouth, how your hot breath would feel coming out of your nose against his groin.

He felt himself throb against his hand, desperately needing a release when there was a knock on the door, shaking him out of his private moment. How unlucky he was, thinking he had more time than he actually did. Noir grumbled as he fixed his cup back over himself, his dick uncomfortably straining against the cool metal.

He fixed his helmet over himself and stepped over to the door, ready to snap at whoever was interrupting him like a supe should do. He should be allowed to have a power trip every once in a while; should he? A god against a mortal.

“Hey! Sorry I hope I’m not bothering you, I was just wondering if you wanted to practice? I got a bit of free time.” How could he yell at you when you looked so pretty standing on the steps to his trailer? Head tilted to the side, rubbing the back of your neck.

“Oh uh.” Part of him wanted to say no, to shut the door and hide himself away against his silk sheets and pump his hand over his aching cock, but he couldn’t shut you out. Not when you were the object of his fantasies. “Yeah, sure. We don’t need a lot of space, we can practice in here.”

Noir nodded, moving out of the way to allow you to enter his abode, to get a glimpse of what little the man below the mask could add to a trailer belonging to a dead man. Not that you knew, of course; finding it strange that he could talk but not prying further. It wasn’t your place to ask silly questions like that.

Still, you took in what you could. A picture frame with people you couldn’t quite make out from a distance, a few books and magazines he hadn’t bothered to clean up. The kitchen was tidy, though everything had a black color scheme and it felt a little… draining. Was that really all there was to him?

You snapped out of your thoughts at the sound of him moving the table out of the way to allow more space to practice your scenes together. He bunched up the carpet, just kind of tossing it against the couch before he looked over at you. A soulless mask, but the way he tapped his fingers against his armor was endearing.

“So- do you want to go from the fight?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

God against man, a mortal who had incurred the wrath of a far more powerful deity; you find yourself on your knees once again. No cameras stuck close to your face this time, no lights to make you sweat, just you and the being who could crush your windpipe below his gloved fingers.

The fabric against his hands is audible as it squeezes a bit, your own moving up to grasp onto his wrist; silent pleas for your pathetic life falling from your lips. This is where he messed up before, the sight of you below him being too much to handle. His cock throbbed uncomfortably against his cup.

“You have to handcuff me now.” You look up at him, a different kind of gaze from being terrified for your life. You’re a good actor, he’ll give you that, but he prefers this moment - how you look vaguely confused as to how he could mess up a second time. His dick hurts now, he can feel pre-cum leaking against his armor and god does he need a release.

“Can I fuck you?”

“Huh?”

“I’ve been… thinking about you. I like you like this.”

“Oh.”

You’re quiet for a moment and he fears he’s blown his shot with you. His hand still rests against your neck albeit loosely, and your eyes travel from his crotch up to his mask, obscuring any kind of expression you might be able to make out. Is he messing with you? Why would someone as strong as him decide you’re the one he wants?

“Okay, yeah. Yeah I’d like that.”

A nod is just what he needs, his hand leaving your neck and moving to tangle into your hair, firmly placed on the back of your head while the other moves to quickly undo his crotch armor and throw it somewhere on the couch.

He leaks pre-cum from his weeping slit, far too dark of a color to be comfortable for him. The groan that falls from his lips as you move to place yours against his head is almost heavenly. Like you’re a godsend, the only one who can make him feel like this. His gloved fingers tighten in your hair, an encouragement.

Noir is proved right in his theory of you; that your tongue dances over his head and flattens against his slit, your pretty eyes flutter shut and your hand rubbing the base of his cock. You must think he’s a poor baby the way you hum as you squeeze him slightly, hard and dripping against your tastebuds.

He reaches a hand against the back of the couch you two were beside, gripping it till his knuckles ached below his gloves. He’s swift in his movements, calculated and for the first time he feels closer to the old Noir. Would this be how he would act? Grabbing ahold of a woman like this - like you’re something to be manhandled? He’s usually shy, anxious when with women but you don’t seem to mind so he doesn’t lighten his grip.

Pushing you back against the ground, head resting on the discarded carpet like some sort of pillow below you. You’re an actress; doing your own stunts against him so he’s seen the way your body curves and flexes. He knows you can handle him, even if it takes a few tears.

He grabs your hips harder, shimming sweatpants you had changed into earlier, running his fingers over the growing wet spot in your underwear before he too removed them like they were a barrier to something most precious. His lips press against your thighs through his balaclava, breath hot and fast in anticipation for what is to come.

The angle is awkward and strenuous, but he seems to take great joy in seeing you like this. Not quite missionary, your body is arched below him and your silently grateful for the makeshift pillow because you’re sure your neck would be even more sore tomorrow had it not been for the carpet bunched up. Your legs are pushed back as he moves around you, hand gripping his cock to line up.

Noir inches himself in, letting you take deep, shallow breaths in your position as he tries his best to stay patient and not bottom out. The stretch hurts a bit; you can’t remember the last time you’ve been with a supe in such an intimate display and he’s thicker than most you’ve been with.

His breath his hard and hot against his balaclava; hands resting to keep both your legs out as he finally bottoms out inside of you. You can hear the groan that leaves his lips at the feeling of your walls constricting against him - in such a position they pulse and push around his still aching cock. Your warmth is welcome to him, driving him crazy.

His thrusts are as rough as he is with you on the set; barely giving you time to catch your breath between pumps as the air leaving and entering your lungs is sharp and almost painful. Wanton moans fall from your lips, hands reaching to grasp the underside of the couch in order to keep from moving below him.

“Fuck- Noir…”

“Is that good? You’re such a good girl, staying in this position f’me.”

You barely have the strength to respond, neurons firing in your brain in an attempt to string together words but all that comes out is a few unintelligible babbles. He pushes impossibly deep inside of you; he had reached a certain bundle of nerves quite a few thrusts ago, now he was abusing that spot. It seemed he was trying to get these reactions out of you.

Tilting his head back slightly, he groaned as you tightened around him; one hand falling from your legs to press against your stomach. He took pride in feeling himself inside of you - a large ego boost that his cock was thick enough to create a faint outline inside you. He would certainly have to fuck you more after this, see what other angles could excentuate that bulge in your pretty flesh.

“Gonna-“ Your gasp is harsh, though you don’t need to speak; he can feel it. The way your walls spasm around him as he pulls out and pushes back inside of you. He draws it out, slowing down a bit and cocking his head to the side - blacked out mask taunting you in your state.

“What? Are you gonna cum?”

A nod, breathless ‘yes’s falling from your lips as your hand not grasping the couch for dear life reaches up to grab onto his armor. Tears prick at your eyes, proof of how good he was making you feel. Your head lulls back against the carpet; white toying at the corners of your eyes.

Bliss washed over you quite quickly after that, gushing around him. He can’t help but chuckle at the sight, though it’s marred with a soft moan at how you squeeze. His hips continue to move, stuttering and the trailer fills with the unmistakable sound of sex. Wet, sloppy now as he nears his own climax.

Another thrust, then another before he buries himself to the hilt inside of you and spills his seed against your walls. He could die at the feeling of you milking him, drawing spurt after spurt of hot cum from his throbbing cock. He feels lucky, in his euphoria, that he could have this experience. A god with a mortal, how funny it was.

He pants as he withdraws himself, letting your legs lay back down as he colapses beside you. Head spinning, body aching from the position and the ceiling of his trailer suddenly looks as beautiful as the starry night outside. You two share the air, share your breathing and as you lay there for a moment longer; you can feel him get up.

He’s as silent as a ninja, but you know his presence is no longer beside you and honestly? After the position you had just kept? You were far too tired to move to see where he happened to go. Besides, the sound of the faucet running is enough of an indicator that he’s just moved the kitchen.

He returns after a moment, crouching in front of you as you finally move your head to look at him. He hasn’t taken his top helmet off; not allowing you a peek at the face he was hiding behind the balaclava, but the gentle kisses he places to your trembling legs are more than enough to take your mind off whatever he might look like.

“ ‘m surprised you don’t wanna watch your cum drip out of me.” You earn a chuckle from him as he moves the now wet and soapy washcloth he had gotten in the kitchen over your thighs and, gently, over your sensitive core. Cleaning you up as gentlemanly as possible.

“I’d rather see you tangled in my bed sheets, if we're being honest.”

“Sounds nice - even though I should be heading home after this. Guess you’ll have to fuck me again to be able to see that.”

“I was planning on fucking you again regardless.”

[tonyspank]

ALL MINE

Warnings: G!P Reader, jealous jenna + smut (oral r receiving) and bad writing

Summary: It should’ve been clear you were all hers.

A/N: published this late bc i didn’t have my computer lol

Flashing lights, clicking, shouting, and smiling, are what's seen and heard during this event. The Met Gala, of course. Considered one of the most prestigious fashion events in the world, the Met Gala brings together celebrities, designers, and influential figures from various industries.

You fit into one of those roles, including that of your girlfriend, Jenna Ortega. Attending the Met Gala would not only be a thrilling experience for you, but it would also be a testament to Jenna Ortega's rising status in the entertainment industry. You both walk the red carpet, cameras flash, and journalists clamor to capture your stylish outfits and get a glimpse of your relationship, solidifying your place among the elite attendees of this iconic event.

Jenna's elegant gown turns heads, while your dapper suit perfectly complements her style. The excitement in the air is palpable as you step onto the red carpet, ready to immerse yourselves in an evening filled with glamour and unforgettable moments.

You smile at your girlfriend, admiring her confidence as she gracefully poses for the cameras. She was so damn beautiful. From her sparkling eyes to her radiant smile, Jenna exudes a magnetic charm that captivates everyone around her. As you walk hand in hand, you can't help but feel a sense of pride and gratitude for having such an incredible partner by your side. The night is young, and together, you're ready to create memories that will last a lifetime.

You both enter the grand ballroom, greeted by the sound of music and the sight of dazzling decorations. The atmosphere is electric, filled with a buzz of excitement and anticipation. As you make your way through the crowd, you can't help but notice the admiring glances directed towards Jenna. She effortlessly commands attention, her presence lighting up the room. With every step, you feel like you're living in a dream, surrounded by glamour and unforgettable moments.

"I'll be back, baby. I'm going to go say hi to Olivia and Conan," Jenna says, leaning into your ear so you can hear her over the music. You lean down, catching a whiff of her intoxicating perfume, and nod in agreement.

Is that...a cat suit? You think to yourself, watching as it walks past you. As they do so, they take off the top of it, revealing it to be Jared Lato. You can't help but do a double-take, your eyes widening in shock. "What is going on, man?" You mutter to yourself, trying to make sense of the unexpected sight.

Jenna is back, greeting you with a smile before placing her hand on your chest. "I wanna kiss you so badly," she admits, her gaze staring deep into your eyes. You feel your heartbeat increase along with your smile. "Really?"

She hums, moving her hand to the right side of your cheek, and leaning in closer, her lips just inches away from yours. "Then kiss me." You whisper.

You both jump away at the sudden voice, "Y/N!"

You turn around to see your co-star, Sarah, standing there with an apologetic smile on her face. "Sorry to interrupt your moment," she says, "but everyone is looking for you for a photo." You can't help but laugh at the timing of her arrival, though Jenna finds this situation unhumorous.

Jenna's face tightens with frustration as she glances at Sarah, clearly annoyed by the interruption. You quickly compose yourself and assure Sarah that you'll be right there for the photo. "I'll be back, babe. Promise." You press a kiss on her cheek before walking away with Sarah. You can't help but feel a pang of guilt for leaving Jenna behind. You make a mental note to make it up to her later and hope that she understands the demands of the industry.

Sarah was your love interest in your new movie, and the two of you had been spending a lot of time together on set. Despite the "chemistry"between you and Sarah, you would always be loyal to Jenna, your long-time girlfriend. She was truly the love of your life, and you didn't want anyone but her.

Given that you'd have to remind Sarah at times that the romance was just through your character, not in real life, she didn't like to take hints, always trying to blur the lines between fiction and reality. It became increasingly challenging to maintain a professional boundary with Sarah, as she constantly sought opportunities to deepen your connection off-screen.

She'd enjoy the fact that your fans would ship her more than you and Jenna, always mentioning your "chemistry off set" in an interview when it couldn't be further from the truth. Regardless of your efforts to maintain a platonic relationship, Sarah's persistent attempts to intertwine fiction and reality made it difficult to navigate the boundaries of professionalism.

You didn't want to freak out on her due to the fact that you have seven more long months of working together on this project. So, you tried your best to put on fake smiles and ignore her delusions.

"We look so cute!" Sarah says, pointing at the two of you in the cast photo. Well, all the cast members that were invited to the Met Gala. You chuckle awkwardly, trying to downplay the comment. "Yeah, it's a nice picture," you respond nonchalantly, hoping to divert the conversation away from her fantasies.

"I should get back to my girlfriend," you say, subtly hinting that you have other commitments and responsibilities outside of work. Sarah nods understandingly, but you can tell she's disappointed. "Okay...will you be at the afterparty?"

You hesitate for a moment, considering your options. "I'm not sure yet," you reply, keeping your plans vague. "I'll have to see how the night goes." Sarah's face lights up with anticipation, but you quickly walk away, not wanting to give her false hope.

Jenna was upset. That much was obvious. But what did you do exactly? You rack your brain, trying to pinpoint the exact moment that may have caused Jenna's upset. You replay the events of the evening in your mind, searching for any potential missteps or misunderstandings.

You shake your head, leaving the booth of the club where the Met Gala was hosting the afterparty. You walk to the bar, ordering a stiff drink to help clear your thoughts. You don't notice Jenna is sipping on her own drink, watching you at the bar from the booth.

"Hey, stranger." Sarah says. She places a hand on your bicep, squeezing it. You were about to yell at the girl, but you realize she's obviously drunk. Her words slur together as she tries to maintain her balance. You take a deep breath, deciding to give her the benefit of the doubt and offer her a helping hand instead. "Where's Sadie?"

"Ion know?" Sarah laughs, placing her drink down on the bar. "She was...I don't know." You let out a sigh, placing a hand on Sarah's waist to stop her from fumbling over herself. As you steady Sarah, you can't help but wonder if Sadie is also somewhere in the same state.

"I like you, Y/N...so much. What does Jenna have that I don't?" You look into Sarah's eyes, appreciating her honesty but feeling a twitch of sadness for the girl. "Sarah, it's not about what Jenna has or doesn't have. It's about the connection we share and the moments we've built together." As you speak, you can't help but hope that Sarah understands the depth of your feelings for her.

"Please, just one...one time." Her hand reaches for your cheek, but a sharp voice halts her movements. "Y/N, we're leaving. Now." Jenna. Jenna clenches her jaw, trying her best to stay professional and calm in front of everyone.

"Jenna—" You were about to explain Sarah's state, but the sharp look she sends you makes you shut up immediately. Jenna's stern expression leaves you no choice but to comply with her demand. You walk out of the afterparty, following behind Jenna and Enrique like a lost puppy.

As the three of you sit in the black SUV, you take out your phone to send a quick text to Sadie, asking her to find Sarah before anything bad happens. You also text Sarah, letting her know that you had to leave abruptly and apologizing for not being able to explain the situation. You hope that when she wakes up she'll appreciate it, forgetting the embarrassing moment that happened not too long ago.

Jenna watches your fingers type out a message with her eyes like a hawk. She leans in closer, curiosity evident on her face. Enrique continues to talk about the outfits he saw at the Met Gala, not noticing Jenna's growing interest in your conversation with Sarah.

Jenna finally interrupts Enrique, "Who are you texting?" she asks, her voice laced with suspicion. You hesitate for a moment, debating whether or not to share the details with Jenna. "Uh, just... a friend," you reply vaguely, not wanting to delve into the specifics.

Jenna's eyebrows furrow, sensing your evasiveness. "Just a friend? Why are you being so secretive?" she presses, her suspicion growing stronger. You offer a reassuring smile, hoping to alleviate her concerns. "It's nothing serious, just a personal matter that I need to handle privately," you explain gently, hoping she understands and respects your boundaries.

You watch her eyebrows twitch up. As if her name is Barry Allen, she quickly snatches your phone from your hand, eager to uncover any hidden messages or clues. Her actions catch you off guard, and you feel a surprised and frustrated.

"Jenna, please respect my privacy," you say firmly, trying to retrieve your phone from her grasp. However, she seems determined to find answers and continues scrolling through your messages, making you realize the need for a more assertive approach to setting boundaries with her.

You take a deep breath, realizing that Jenna's curiosity has crossed a line. With a stern voice, you firmly declare, "Jenna, I understand your curiosity, but invading my privacy is not acceptable." Jenna looks up, and you can see a hint of regret in her eyes as she hands back your phone.

You turn your phone face down, looking out the window, not bothering to talk to her or her stylist. Enrique's eyes widen, sensing the tension between the two of you. He decides it's best if he stays silent, distracting himself with his phone.

When you arrive at your hotel room, you take a deep breath, not wanting anything more than to shower and go straight to bed. The long day has taken a toll on you, along with the tense atmosphere between you and your girlfriend.

You start taking off your belt buckle, struggling to undo the stubborn clasp. Frustration builds as you realize how exhausted you truly are, causing your hands to tremble slightly. You decide to move to your blazer instead, hoping that removing a layer of clothing will provide some relief.

As you unbutton the blazer, Jenna begins to speak. "Baby, I'm sorry, okay?" Her voice is filled with sincerity, but you can still sense the lingering tension. You pause for a moment, contemplating her words, before responding with a tired sigh, "I appreciate your apology, Jenna. We can talk about it tomorrow when we're both less exhausted."

She frowns while walking toward you, "Please. I got jealous, okay? It's annoying to see everyone else flirting with you all the time. I know it's not your fault, but it still gets to me sometimes." You nod understandingly, realizing that her jealousy stems from her own insecurities. "I understand where you're coming from, Jenna. But you know more than anyone that I am committed to you and our relationship."

You begin unbuttoning your black button-up, revealing your black tank to. The sight of your exposed tank top brings a small smile to Jenna's face. "I appreciate that , and I trust you completely," she says softly. "Sometimes, I just need a reminder that we're in this together."

Your hands go back to your belt, still unable to take it off. "Let me make it up to you, Y/N." You hum in response, your attention on your belt. Jenna's hands replace yours, undoing your belt with ease. As she removes your belt, her touch sends a shiver down your spine. "I want to show you how much you mean to me," she whispers, her voice filled with genuine love.

Before you can ask how, her fingers tug at your zipper, slowly pulling it down. The anticipation builds as she leans in closer, her warm breath grazing your ear. "But I also want you to remember you're all mine, okay, love?," she murmurs, pressing a kiss on your ear.

You feel a rush of desire as her words sink in, and your pants feel tighter against your skin. The intensity of her touch and the passion in her voice leave you craving more. With each moment that passes, you become more aware of the depth of her love for you and the power she holds over your heart.

Jenna sinks to her knees, her eyes locked with yours, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. She slowly trails her fingers up your thighs, sending waves down your spine. You can't help but give in to the alluring spell she has cast over you as the lust grows.

She pulls your pants down along with your boxers, revealing your desire, eager and ready for her touch. Her hands wrap around your cock, her touch firm yet gentle, as she begins to stroke you with expert precision. The intensity of her gaze never wavers, fueling the fire of desire that courses through your veins.

You bite your lip, your knees buckling as she adds her tongue to the mix, sending waves of pleasure cascading through your body. Every touch, every stroke, and every flick of her tongue only intensifies the desire that consumes you, making it impossible to resist her seductive power.

"Do you think I'll be able to fit it all in my mouth this time?" Her voice drips with a tantalizing mixture of confidence and mischief, heightening the anticipation that hangs heavy in the air. As she teasingly locks eyes with you, a mischievous smile dances across her lips, leaving you breathless with anticipation for what is to come.

The room feels charged with electricity as you watch her slowly take you in, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips. Your heart races, your breath becomes shallow, and you can feel the pulsating ache of desire growing within you. Her head begins to bop, trying her best to take in every inch, her eyes never leaving yours.

Your hand flies to her hair, gripping it gently as you guide her movements, the sensation of her warm mouth sending waves of pleasure through your body. "Fuck, Jenna...take it."

The heat of the moment builds, and you find yourself lost in the raw connection between you, unable to tear your gaze away from her captivating eyes. As her lips continue to glide up and down your length, you feel the tension building within you, the pleasure mounting with every gentle suck and flick of her tongue.

The feeling of her soft lips against your skin is electric, each stroke of her mouth pushing you closer to the edge. In that moment, nothing else matters but the two of you, lost in an intimate dance of desire and passion.

"I'm so close, Jen. Shiiit..." You rasp out, throwing your head back, before quickly locking eyes with your girlfriend. She increases her pace, matching your intensity as she continues to pleasure you. All that's heard in the room are the sounds of your combined moans, heightening the intensity of the moment.

As the pleasure intensifies, you feel your body trembling, teetering on the brink of release. You start moving your hips, fucking her throat, lost in the overwhelming pleasure that courses through your veins. "I'm cumming!" you groan, exploding in your girlfriend's mouth. She eagerly swallows every drop, her eyes locked with yours as she savors the taste.

"Do you forgive me for tonight?" You tiredly nod at her words. "You're forgiven," you manage to whisper, still catching your breath. She gently wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, a satisfied smile playing on her lips.

[rosenclaws]

Hi again lol 👋

Here's the leopold idea I had:

The reader is a shy baker who lives next door to Stuart. Her and Stuart are friends, and sometimes she'll bring meals/baked goods over to make sure he's eating (she's soft like that). She also has a cat, Appa, who likes to visit Stuart. When Stuart takes Leo home, they get introduced to each other due to her cat coming over and finding Leo instead.

Leo and the reader build a friendship, and she introduces him to all the different cuisines/baked goods the 21st century has to offer. Over time, they start to develop feelings for each other but won't say anything to the other because they don't think the other likes them in that way. Stuart, our awkward wing man, informs Leo that the reader definitely likes them due to how much time they spent with them and may have overheard a conversation that the reader has with a friend about him.

They admit their feelings in a fluffy way and throw in a kiss and maybe like a timeskip into the future where they're married, and they're telling their kids how they met and all that fluffy goodness.

I'll leave the ending up to you. I was running out of creative juice on how to end it, lol.

Made With Love || Leopold Mountbatten x Reader

warnings: fem!reader, fluff, a little messing with the Kate & Leopold canon, me making shit up about Leopolds past, leopold is a girl dad

a/n: I love this request and it actually ended up being longer than I thought haha. I have also crafted this total backstory to Leopold's childhood and parents in my head so now that's gonna be a running theme in my leo fics i think. Anyways I hope you like it!! Also i made some little divider in canva in like 3 seconds im sorry its not very original sdfalkj

wc: 2.9k

The sun shines through your balcony windows as another day begins, well for you the day had began at 4am. Preparing dough for the large order of baked goods you had to deliver today. It's a very small business, one that you run from your apartment but you love it.

"Good morning Appa, finally decided to wake up huh?" You wipe your hands on your apron and scratch his head softly. He stretches happily before heading towards the window. Appa is a very spoiled cat so you have no worries of him running off. He often travels to your neighbors, seeing if they're free to give him even more attention.

"Okay pretty simple order today." You check your list over before giving yourself a little time to rest.

A loud yowl makes you jump as you hurry towards the window. That's definitely Appa and you've never heard him make a sound like that. Peeking out the window you see him standing outside of Stuarts window, back arched and ears flat as he hisses.

"Appa what has gotten into you!" You climb over and pick him up.

"Sorry Stuart I have no..." When you look into the window it's not Stuart you see. A strange man is on the couch looking disheveled and confused and wearing really strange clothing.

"You're not Stuart." You hold your cat closer, debating if you should run and call the cops or not.

"I'm afraid not, he'll be back in just a moment." You slowly inch back towards your apartment.

"Um, okay. Who are you? Exactly?"

"Leopold. Do you know the man that lives here?" He gets up and walks towards you making you take a step back. Appa jumps out of your arms and scampers back to your apartment. The door opens and you spot Stuart and Bart.

"Stuart! What the hell did you do!?" You shout. Leopold stops in his tracks when he notices the nervousness in your voice.

"Dammit!" Stuart hurries over to the window.

"Now is not a good time, I'll explain later." He abruptly slams the window in your face.

You slam your fist against the window but the blinds go down, locking you out. You knew Stuart has had some, interesting ideas before. He's shown you but you never believed they could actually do anything. Just a work of science fiction.

Climbing back into your apartment you check on your baked goods. Taking a few sheets of cookies out of the oven you decide to grab a few and put them on a plate. Stuart could never resist your homemade chocolate chip cookies.

"Stuart! Let me in! I have cookies." You hear shuffling behind the door before it swings open.

"Not fair." He opens the door to let you in and you smile happily.

"So, who is he?" Stuart explains as much as he can. That he traveled back in time to 1876 and accidently brought back his great great great grandfather Leopold and now he has to get him back or else he'll disappear.

"You're kidding right? This is some elaborate prank?" Stuart shakes his head as he takes a bit of a cookie.

"I swear on my life." Your eyes drift to Leopold who was currently looking through some magazine.

A look of utter bewilderment on his face. He throws the magazine down and lets his head fall into his hands. To him this must be a nightmare. Not that you fully believed Stuart but you were willing to entertain the idea. You take the plate of cookies and place them in front of him.

"You want one?" He lifts his head to see you standing there. You actually start to feel bad. He looked stressed, upset, and genuinely lost.

"What is this?" He reaches out and turns it around in his hands.

"Have you never seen a chocolate chip cookie?" You ask with a laugh, though it quickly dies down as you realize he hasn't.

"Try it, it's good." He hesitates but takes a bite.

"This is marvelous. Did you make these?" He stands up abruptly, startling you just a bit.

"Yeah, have you really never had this before?' You ask in disbelief. Leopold finishes the cookie quickly, savoring every bite as the flavor takes over his taste buds.

"Never, I've had shortbread before but never something this rich and delicious." He compliments. You're slightly taken back, yes people like your baked goods but they aren't usually this forward about it. Or this charming

"Oh it's nothing, I make these all the time."

"Nonsense, the work of a baker is like art. Crafting such succulent breads and goods with your own hands is no easy task." The way he speaks is enchanting, maybe it's the accent but you've never met a man so well spoken before. Maybe he really was from the past.

"I can show you how I make them, if you want." You offer.

"It would be my honor."

“Hey wait a second,” Stuart interrupts.

“You said the next chance to get him home is Monday right? Well thats a week away so we have time. Bye Stuart!” You grab Leopold’s wrist and take him back to your apartment. He’s met with the smell of fresh bread as he steps foot into your place. It’s comforting, reminds him of his childhood.

“I have a couple orders that are getting picked up today, so can you help me roll out some dough?” You don’t hesitate to put him to work as you prepare the pie filling for your order. Leopold takes off his coat and rolls up his sleeves. You hand him five separate balls of dough for the five pies.

“You mentioned orders, do you run a bakery?” He questions as he watches you weigh ingredients.

“Not quite, I wouldn’t really call this a bakery. More of a small business.”

“A businesswoman?” You raise an eyebrow and stop mixing.

“What? Hard to believe?” You tease.

“Not at all. I find it very fitting.” You hum in response, finishing up the filling for the order. You turn on some music to fill the air and time goes by quickly. Leopold is a great help, the pies getting into the oven ahead of schedule.

"Now we wait." You say with a sigh as you stretch your arms above your head.

Appa jumps onto the counter and rubs his head against your side. He stares at Leopold for a moment before cautiously sniffing his hand. Leopold reaches and pets Appa's head, scratching his chin and smiling when Appa starts to purr happily.

"So, tell me Leopold, how did you get here from the past?" He sighs and leans against the counter.

"I haven't the faintest idea. One moment I'm about to announce my engagement and the next I'm falling off a bridge and waking up here." He looks around, staring out the window to look at what is supposedly New York.

"Engagement?" You say shocked, I mean he's a good looking guy so it's not too shocking but that's quite the information to dump. His face shifts to a look of annoyance.

"My uncle had decided that it was time to get married. We were running out of money and marrying a wealthy American was..."

"A means to an end?" You finish for him.

He nods, he smiles but there's sadness in his eyes. You couldn't imagine what it must be like for him. Having to marry for money instead of real love. Without think you start to play with your necklace.

"That's a beautiful necklace. May I?" He reaches out but waits for your okay. You nod silently and he gently holds the stone in his hands.

"It was my grandmothers, real diamond so she claimed." You joke, real diamond or not it belonged to her and you loved it.

"My mother had a ring like this. A beautiful ruby at the center." He gently places it back down against your skin. You suddenly become incredibly aware of how close he is. Your timer rings out through the apartment making you take a step back. You clear your throat and move to check on your pies.

"Tell me more, about your life before you came here." You ask, wanting to know everything about this man. He's like a magnet that you can't help but move towards.

"It's a long story." He says gently. You glance at the clock and shrug your shoulders.

"We've got time."

The week passes by too fast. Way too fast. Leopold was over almost every day. Helping you with your orders and telling you wonderful stories.

He was a natural in the kitchen with you. For that he gave credit to his mother. His mother wasn't born royal, working in an orchard for her family. She was a wonderful cook according to Leopold. His father was the one with royal blood, like Leopold he was meant to marry for power, for status but he didn't. He fell in love with Leopold's mother, love at first sight. Soulmates that were destined to be together. Their love story is what made love so hard for Leopold. Love is a leap, that's what he said. Yet there has been no one worth jumping for.

You understood, there hasn't been anyone like that for you either. Well, not until Leopold showed up. You used to scoff at the idea of love. It feels impossible to find love these days, no matter what you tried there never was this spark. So you stopped caring for now, focusing on your business instead.

Then Leopold fell into your life and ruined it all. You want to tell him, to kiss him, to save him from a loveless marriage but the deadline looms over you like a cloud and the fact that he's told you he's never been in love suppress any real chance of you saying something. So you decide to enjoy your time with him now, hoping its enough to last you a life time.

Sunday night comes too quickly. He has to leave tomorrow. Leopold stares out at the city he's gotten to know. The lights are on in your apartment but he can't bring himself to go over. He has to say goodbye but he doesn't know how. He hears the window open behind him.

"She's home. I can hear her through the walls." Stuart nudges Leopold's shoulder. He glances over but stays put.

"I...If go now, I don't think I would leave. I love her." He looks down at his hands.

"She loves you too. I know it. I've never seen her light up around someone like she does with you." Stuart rests a hand on his shoulder in an attempt at comfort him.

"I'm sorry, I wish things were different." The light in your apartment goes out and he feels his heart clench.

It's too late. He sighs and heads back inside, laying on Stuarts couch as he stares at the celling. At least he's gotten the chance to know what love is.

Even if it's a fleeting moment, he knows.

You knock on the door, a plate of fresh cookies in your hand. You want Leopold to have them one last time. You wait and wait but no one comes.

A pit forms in your stomach as you leave the cookies at the doorstep. You hurry through your apartment to the window. Your heart stops as you see a letter with your name on it sitting on your window sill.

Hello my love,

I apologize for not seeing you in person before I have to leave. The truth is I am a coward. I knew that if I had said goodbye, if I had seen your face that I would not have had the strength to leave. Though I return to my time, I must tell you that my heart is yours. It will always be yours. I love you.

Yours truly,

Leopold.

You wipe the tears that are forming in your eyes with the back of your hand. He can't be gone. He can't just leave like that. You love him. You love him so much. You fold the letter and tuck it in your back pocket.

"Appa!" You grab your cat and run out the door.

This is stupid, this is so stupid. You race down the street towards the Brooklyn bridge as fast as your legs could carry you. Appa clings to your shoulder as you weave through the people.

"Stuart!" You shout as you spot him across the street. He looks at you confused as you run through traffic, dodging cars to get to him.

"Is he gone? Is it too late?" You ask desperately.

"I...what?" Stuart asks in disbelief.

"Is it too late to go back?" Are you really going to do this? Go back in time to be with him? This is crazy, absolutely crazy. But Leopold told you that love was a leap and for once you want to jump.

"Are you sure about this?" Stuart asks as you both race towards the bridge.

"Yes, for once in my life I am sure." You stop on the edge of the bridge.

"I just have to jump right?" You hold Appa tightly as you peer over the side.

"Don't look down, it's going to be okay." You take one last look back.

"Thank you Stuart, Thank you." You give him a hug before take a deep breath and jumping off the side.

You feel the wind rushing past your face, you're falling and falling. Until you're not. Everything seems to stop. As you open your eyes you see cobblestone streets and people dressed in old clothing.

"We made it!" You look around for any sign of where to find Leopold.

Racing down the streets towards his home, he told you about it once. Pointed it out, he was shocked it was still there. You sneak your way past some people dressed in fancy clothes. Head's turning your direction as you stick out amongst the crowd. Your breath stops as you see him steps above the crowd.

"Sorry, excuse me." You push past a crowd of people to get his attention.

"Leopold!" His eyes dart around the room, searching for your voice. Perhaps it's a trick of the mind.

"Leo!" You push to the front, not caring that everyone is staring at you.

You're here, you found him. A look of pure shock on his face as he steps down. For a moment he doesn't think you're real. How could you be? You set Appa down and walk towards him.

"How could you leave me without saying goodbye?" You take the letter and shove it against his chest. He stands there, still stunned by your presence.

"I love you Leopold, I love you." He leans in and kisses you passionately.

One hand cupping your head and the other resting at your waist as he pulls you as close as he can get you. Your arms wrap around his neck, his nose brushes against your cheek.

"I love you." He says breathlessly. Without hesitating he gets down on one knee, taking his mothers ring from his pocket.

"Will you marry me?" You don't wait a second before saying yes. He slips the ring on and pulls you into another kiss. Nothing else mattered as you held Leopold in your arms.

You were home.

"Tell it again!" Your oldest daughter pleads. She puts on her best puppy dog eyes. You laugh and brush the hair out of her face.

"Yes please!" The younger one joins in the begging.

"You've already heard it a million times." You say but they don't care.

"But it's such a good story. You're like a princess!"

"Actually, she's a duchess." Leopold says as he walks through the door. Your girls jump from your lap straight into Leopold's arms.

"How are my darling girls today?" They start to babble on about their day and you watch happily. Appa sits on the window sill, lazily sleeping in the sun.

"Alright go wash up for dinner." He gently sets them down and watches as they go running. You stand up and kiss him gently.

"How was the bakery today?" You ask as Leopold wraps you in a warm hug. He smells like bread.

"Busy as usual." When you got married it's safe to say his uncle was not amused.

So the two of you left and much to Leopold's dismay you sold your necklace. He tried to get you to keep it but you were set on it. With the money you opened up a small bakery. You tried not to mess too much with the past but somethings slipped through as your bakery became the biggest hit in New York. Now you live a nice life. Two kids and a loving husband. What more could you ask for?

"The girls say we're soulmates," You hum happily. Leopold kisses you again, and again, and once more for good measure.

"We are my love,"

"Through space and time." You add.

Looking back maybe it was crazy that you left everything behind so quickly. To leave everything you knew to be with him. But you loved him. It felt like there was this string pulling the two of you closer and closer, through all of time. You built a life with him. There's no regrets, no worries. Just Leopold.

He was yours and nothing else mattered.

[isadollie]

Hello! I saw your headcanon requests are open, could I request headcanons for husband! and dad!Kenma (with fem wife reader). Kenma is such a sweetheart, I feel like family life with him would be so cute. If possible, I'd like the baby to be a little boy that looks so much like Kenma, but I'd be happy with whatever you write. I hope that is ok. Tysm <3

husband! and dad! Kenma [headcanons]

fem!reader, post-timsekip ofc, just pure fluff i guess lol

★ he never really imagined to have kids of his own but.. here he is

★ when he first found out you're pregnant was like super scared lol

★ "how am i supposed to take care of a baby when i barely manage to take care of myself"

★ ...ouch.

★ anyway..

★ first thing he did was to call Kuroo and ask what he should do

★ was just so clueless

★ kept on repeating he's gonna mess it up

★ but he didn't!

★ a few months into your pregnancy, he was already a pro at taking care of you lol

★ he became soo excited, but like.. internally. he's not really the type to jump around and shout in happiness yk

★ decided to keep it a secret from his fans, cause he wanted to ensure that both of you are safe

★ first thing he bought for the baby was a tiny cat onesie with like little ears you know

★ also bought some family friendly video games...

★ ...and tiny headphones with a mic (where did he get that tho--)

★ but then his baby is born and he's like:

★ kinda have a feeling like it was his first time seeing a baby this small in general

★ is definitely too nervous to hold his son at first

★ super anxioussss

★ but then with time he learns

★ he's a good dad!!

★ i can defo picture him napping with his son lol

★ also he learned to cook when you were pregnant so that you could rest more

★ now uses this knowledge to feed the two of you

★ my boy had to get a whole bookshelf for cooking books and how-to-take-care-of-a-baby books

★ nah jk he looked it all up online

★ i think he'll be very protective too

★ like when your son grows up a bit, there is absolutely no way that Kenma will let him cross the road unless he holds his hand 😤

★ also you have to stop him a bit cause he would buy this kid everything he asked just like that

★ "daddy look! *points to the car toy he sees in the shopwindow* it's so cool!"

★ and then next day you see a whole ass car in front of your house... not a toy.

★ it's both funny and annoying to be honest

★ in the end you did keep the car though

★ whenever someone mentions that his son looks just like him he would be SO PROUD

★ his whole phone gallery is now basically photos of the three of you and your pets

★ would scoff at Kuroo anytime he calls himself an "uncle" or even worse "the coolest uncle"

★ to sum it all up, Kenma never thought of becoming a father but now that it actually happened... he's thinking of having another kiddo :P

this was actually so much fun to write!!! thanks for the request :3

[f0point5]

As if you couldn't turn Max watching her breathe into a masterpiece, don't lie🙄 idk maybe they're driving around in her new car and they coincidentally see Elliot😂 would be a nice reprieve from *clenched teeth* freddie

Sooo.

I tried to incorporate a bit of Max watching her just breathe because it’s funny. But also Elliot. But also the car.

But also mostly I was just freaking out because the male perspective is so alien to me. This might suck. We’re going to be KIND if it sucks because I’m just a girl okay men don’t make sense to me.

Anyway, I’m deciding to name this one because this is what I was listening to when I wrote it.

✨set during winter break✨

Call It What You Want To

“How do you take this long to get ready?” Max groans in frustration, dragging his hand over his face.

He’s been waiting 45 minutes. Not the longest he’s ever waited for you, but he’s been looking forward to this night out for two whole days. After everything that’s gone on in the last couple of weeks, and how none of that is likely to be resolved before Testing next week, he could really use a drink or twelve.

“I’m almost done,” he hears you call back, your tone telling him you’re unbothered by leaving him waiting. “Do you want everyone to think you have an ugly girlfriend?”

Max opens his mouth to reply but closes it just as quickly. What is he supposed to say to that? That no one on earth has ever thought his girlfriend is anything less than breathtakingly beautiful, so much so that it stopped him for thinking you could ever be his girlfriend more than once? That sometimes during a race he looks at the tv screens on the track in case you’re on camera? That whenever he passes the picture of you in his hallway he thinks he’d have hung it up even if he didn’t know you, because you’d still be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen? No. He’s not saying any of that. Three months is way too soon to let you know that you could use his balls as earrings. It’s not like you need a bigger head.

“I want my girlfriend to get to the club before it closes,” he shouts, stifling a smile. It’s been three months, but he still likes saying girlfriend.

“You’re such a drama queen,” he hears you say, your voice getting closer as you make your way to the living room. “We can’t all just put on a t-shirt with a funny saying on it and-“

You stop when you round the couch and finally notice him staring at your slinky black satin dress. Actually, he’s staring at the parts of you not covered by the dress, which gives him a lot to stare at. He might just give everyone what they want and quit driving if they could promise him he’d only have to lol at you in this dress for the rest of his life.

“What?” You ask him, which has him blinking furiously, trying to focus. You’re holding out a pair of heels to him, the ones you bought with the gift card his dad’s wife had given you for your birthday.

“Nothing,” he says, taking the shoes from you. He shifts off the couch to kneel in front you, lifting your leg to put the shoes on your foot and do up the buckle. “You look good,”

Above him, he hears you chuckle, and then your fingers run through his hair. You’re petting him like a cat, and he’ll be damned if he ever admits how close he feels to purring.

“Why does that still sound like it’s painful for you to admit?” You tease, using a bit more of your nails on the final run through of his hair.

“It’s not painful,” he tells you winding the glittering strap around your ankle.

It’s not painful. Sometimes it’s a lump in his throat, or a tightening in his chest. Sometimes, when he’s on one knee in front of you like he is now, it’s an urge to say something he can’t yet find the words for. But no, it’s not painful.

He finishes with your other shoe, squeezing your calf gently before placing a kiss on the inside of your knee.

“You’re just painfully gorgeous,” he says as he gets to his feet. “Can we go?”

You roll your eyes at him with with a smile. “Your car or mine?”

********************

He chooses to take your car. Every time he gets in your Ferrari, he thinks about Vegas. He drives it often.

He weaves through the streets of Monaco with one hand on your thigh, and he can’t remember where the fuck he was putting that hand before you.

“The thing is, unless the contract gets sorted next week, he’s totally fucked,” you’re saying as Max turns onto Avenue Princesse Grace. There’s a gaggle of people outside with their phones out. Simply fucking lovely. “You’re not listening to me are you?”

Max turns to you, squeezing your thigh as the car slows. “Of course I am, Engel. Do me a favour? Just say fuck again, a bit slower,”

“You’re twelve,”

“You would not have gone out with me at twelve,” Max jokes, slowing to a stop in front of Twiga as a valet comes towards the car.

“You were cute at twelve,” you say, “fourteen is where it started to go haywire,”

Before he can respond, you’re getting out of the car, and immediately the camera phones are focused on you. Max follows you out, handing the keys to the valet as he tries to ignore the feeling of being hunted. He wonders if they know he can hear every word they’re saying. He wonders if they’d like him to take their picture and post it all over the internet. He watches you slink through the crowd towards him, not even bothering to pretend you’re not being watched.

It’s ironic, he thinks, he brings the spotlight, but you’re the one who shines in it.

Inside the lobby, you head straight for the elevator while he talks to the woman at the front desk- it’s a well rehearsed routine. Lando isn’t here yet, typical. He asks if they can send over some St. Tropez cocktails and some gin tonics, and texts Lando to hurry up, before turning to join you at the lifts.

Except, he notices, you’re not alone. You’re standing by the lifts, with a big smile on your face, explaining something to a guy with a familiarly large head.

Max has seen Elliot around a couple of times. Monaco is stupidly small, especially in the winter when it’s nearly empty. The two men always studiously ignore each other, because what is there to say? Max doesn’t know if Elliot knows that you’re together now, and he knows it shouldn’t matter, but it does.

He didn’t hate Elliot in Austin, even though he’d planned to. But then they’d met and Max found he really couldn’t hate someone who was as smitten with you as he was, as he’d always been.

He finds that he kind of hates Elliot now, though, as he gets close enough to hear you giggle at something.

“No. It was actually okay, just cold, you know?“ you stop when Max places a hand on the small of your back, where you dress is low enough that he’s touching your skin. You turn to him. “Oh, hey. Is Lando here?”

Max shakes his head.

“Typical.” You sigh. “Max, you remember Elliot, right?”

“Yeah.” He says, and they shake hands. How are you?”

“Can’t complain,” Elliot says with a shrug. His shirt matches your dress. Fuck him.

“Well, you can if you want,” Max jokes, except it’s not a joke because he hates those Britishisms. If you want to say something just say it. And if things are fine and you have nothing to complain about why make it sound- he just doesn’t like the guy. And he doesn’t like that you liked the guy.

Mercifully, the lift arrives, and when it does, Max steps aside.

“You take this one,” he says, gesturing to the open lift. Elliot looks like he wants to refuse out of politeness in the way only English people do, so Max forces himself to put everyone out of their misery. “It’s the least I can do,”

It’s such a dickhead thing to say, but he can’t help but smirk, and it does the trick. Elliot gives both of you a tight lipped smile and steps into the lift, pulling out his phone as the door closes.

You turn to face him, his hand falling away from your back as you fix him with a quizzical look. He waits for you to chastise him for his comment, then wonders fleetingly if you’re comparing him, in his silly t-shirt and tight jeans, to Elliot in his perfectly crisp chinos. Then he finds himself staring at your lips.

“Oh, right,” you say suddenly, tapping his shoulder. “That’s what I was saying. So this builder says he’s ordered all the materials, but he has to no contract. And my dad…”

Max listens to you talk, winding his arms around your waist in a way he’s still getting used to, and you smile at him in a way he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to. He promises himself then never to get angry with you when you’re getting ready. You’re worth the wait.