#i mean technically no but if no one catches you who’ to say

[bwat5-blog]

Collected Thoughts On Caitlyn From Last Few Days

**Spoilers From All Of Arcane**

So... as I have said many times in the past my thoughts come in bits and pieces over a day or two when I get locked onto a topic. That leads to the small blurbs all hovering around the same subject more or less. But this one seemed worth sort of putting all in one.

Amanda Overton confirmed the use of "The Grey" was strategic to a pinpoint but left the question to the asker if that made it forgivable or not. That is of course for each person to decide, but I will say this:

A- It isn't fatal. You can harp all you like about what may happen later. Vi may have CTE from getting punched in the head over and over. The shimmer in Jinx's blood may actually be breaking down her body little-by little over time, and same for Sevika. Timeline hopping may have irreparably damaged the cellular structure of Ekko's body and he only has days to live. We can only operate with what we know. There are many, MANY characters who have been openly exposed and appear to be just fine. And before you mention those images from Caitlyn's study when she is learning about the Grey, there is big difference between growing up surrounded by something every day of your life, and being exposed in a single targeted incident. B- The alternative was a full-scale Enforcer "invasion" armed with hex-tech, or. The strike team sans something that cleared innocents out of areas and left enemy soldiers standing and armed, instead of incapacitated and arrested.

2. Zaun is not an independent nation.

A- We know this since ya know.. they were voting on it before Jinx blew them up. B- This means that while Zaun it a separate city. It still falls completely under the jurisdiction of the council. C- When Caitlyn leads the strike team and uses a targeted, non-lethal crowd-dispersal chemical weapon, she is doing so not under any heading of war. But of peace keeping (using the term technically not emotionally. I understand they were not peaceful) and law-enforcement in a place that strictly legally speaking she has every ounce of authority to be in. (I am strictly speaking of legality and technical definition here. They were essentially a swat team sent to a really dangerous area. Not an invading army. Not a justification or excuse. But if we want to talk about this stuff we should do it properly). D- Zaun is under the council's jurisdiction. The council all agreed to martial law and let Caitlyn become the commander. Therefore this is the situation:

Caitlyn is the leader of a very small country with two cities, both under her control.

City A- Where she lives now.

City B- The other one. Where a dangerous terrorist is hiding who has almost killed her repeatedly, just assassinated three of their rulers and blew up a building, killed more than six enforcers and blew up another building, and as far as they know probably orchestrated the full scale attack at the memorial.

So what does Caitlyn actually approve? City B will be placed under lockdown until this woman who is quite clearly a massive threat to everyone's safety is caught.

Yep. there it is folks. "I am placing the city you all have given me complete authority over under control until we catch the person who tried to kill me,and has killed a bunch of us already. We will have patrols and set up checkpoints. People who violate the law will be arrested.

"Arrests require cause"

"Why is peace the justification for violence?"

She doesn't approve or give permission for any of the rest of that shit. the brutality, the experiments, none of it. And don't misunderstand me none of this is to say she didn't do anything wrong. But the dialogue around her is COMPLETELY. INSANE.

"War Crimes!"

"Fascist!"

"Dictator!"

Yall. She is literally getting up early to meet with a trade guild so they can bitch at her over supply issues. Dark Lord Kiramman she is not.

[ffwriting]

Aot Characters - Nicknames

What nicknames the Aot Characters would have for you!

Also, enjoy the new banners. I like using them more than I thought I would :)

cw: canon verse, slightly ooc, Implied female reader in half of Eren's and Jean's, but the rest are gn readers, no y/n, some cringey nicknames with good reason, Fluff <3!

wc: 1.7k

Characters: Eren Yeager, Mikasa Ackerman, Armin Arlert, Jean Kirstein, Connie Springer, Levi Ackerman, Hange Zoe

Eren Yeager - Sweets, My girl

Eren is the type of person to see a couple while out as a kid and overhear them calling each other pet names, and one of them that he heard once was Sweets. He found it cringy at first, but after hearing it a couple more times, he came to like it. a lot. So naturally after finding a partner, or even once he realizes he has a crush on you, he just starts to call you it. He didn't even realize it at first, but when you gave a questioning look his way when he first said it, he explained why he did. Safe to say that even if you didn't like the nickname, you sure as heck like the story behind it and the man calling you it.

Another name Eren would give you would be my girl. He wouldn't say it in a possessive way though, he would just say it as if he was infatuated. If he was able to get you to be his partner, then maybe this life could be a little better, so he was just so happy that you two were actually dating. He would take every chance to remember it too, so he just started calling you his girl. Most of the time you wouldn't even be the one he would be talking you and he would still call you it. "Yeah, did you see how my girl did in training today? It was so cool."

(I just realized that I used the word 'would' 3x in one sentence, but I'm too tired to fix it now)

Mikasa Ackerman - Middle/last name

I do not think that Mikasa would be much for nicknames, it just doesn't seem like her. She would end up just trying to find something she could call you because she probably overthought about how you would want her to give you a cute nickname, and got a little insecure about it. However, she one day overheard someone talking about how they like to go by their middle name, and she got an idea. She decided that she would call you a shortened version of your middle name. But she decided to make some versions of your last name too because she overthought on how you might not like the ones she came up with for your middle name, so she decided she should just be safe. She has so many thoughts and she just can't seem to express them through words.

Armin Arlert - N/n, angel

Okay, Armin is definitely the type of person who is too embarrassed to call you any of the classic pet names, but he does often like to call you by a nickname he thought of one day. He figured that it was the safest option, it showed that he wanted to call you that stuff, but wasn't too much that he would cringe at himself.

Another thing he calls you is an angel. 100%. No doubt in my mind. Especially if you are kind. He would just be listening to you talk and when you would ask for advice on the situation that he was totally not listening to. He would reluctantly say something like, "I'm sorry you are like an angel, could you please repeat that?"

Technically he doesn't really call you it, he just compares you to one so often to the point where he just catches himself calling you angel in normal conversations. It would just become one of the many ways that he showed his affection for you.

Jean Kirstein - Doll, Woman

Doll is a name that Jean would only refer to you as when you two are alone. Whether you two were out training alone together after the rest went to lunch, or chatting when you both could in the Scouts, he would call you it. I don't think he means it in the current way the pet name is romanticized (currently most fics refer to the pet name as something associated with sexual acts, or mean/rude characters ex: Toji from jjk). I think he would mean it in more of a gentle way, like you are so precious to him like some people's dolls. Despite the faux tough guy act, deep down, sometimes deeper than he would like, he cherishes the people closest to him, friends, family, and you. He cherishes you all, and Doll is the easiest way he can tell you that without saying it.

Jean is the type to act entitled and call you 'woman' to seem like he is this big macho type of man. However, in his mind he just likes calling you it because you often become sassy with him. (Also it gives him a small ego boost that he is the only one who could call you that because to him you were his Woman)

Connie Springer - Your Name, joking pet names

Connie, oh Connie. This guy normally just calls you your name like a normal person. He likes your name, that is all he can really say about it.

HOWEVER, this man sometimes feels like being such an annoyance, lovingly of course. If he felt like it, he would randomly start calling you the cringiest pet names possible. Like I'm not talking sweetie or sugar, I'm talking shit like lovebug and cutie patootie. And he would have no shame in doing this either because he knows that you will break from embarrassment first.

Sometimes you would try to get him back by calling him things like sugarlips and baby boy, but it would fail most of the time because you would just end up cringing at yourself. This would often make you wonder what it would take to make the infamous Connie Springer cringe in embarrassment.

Levi Ackerman - Brat, Your Name + Bonus

The first nickname that I think Levi would call you would be brat, classic, I know. He would just call you this out of annoyance, or sometimes if you were doing something a little too reckless. It was just second nature for him to call you a brat, and even after you two got closer, he just kept calling you that. In all honesty though, sometimes he calls you that, and not in an endearing way. It would probably happen when you have a little too much energy for whatever reason, and he just called you that because you were be annoying to him at that point in time. Most of the time though it is meant in a nonserious manner.

Levi loves to call you by your name, he does not show it that much on his face, but he absolutely loves it. It is slightly weird to get called by your full first name by Levi, and the first time definitely startled you. However, you soon got used to it. Levi, on the other hand, somehow got happier every single time he called your name. He didn't know how just saying your name could make him feel that uncomfortable feeling of happiness, but it did. He would say it any chance he could, without making any feeling he had obvious. Soon he was addicted to it like it was a drug to him. He was not a big fan of it. He loved, and hated, how it made him feel.

Bonus (platonic nickname): Kid

Levi would call you kid even if you were just a month older than him. Why you may ask? Because he found it funny to annoy you, and that nickname definitely would. You had been in the Scouts longer than him, you were taller than him, and you had almost the same amount of respect from Erwin, so why was he calling you kid? It irked you so you ended up calling him kid as well.

When you first did this, you were met with a questioning look, and you defended yourself, "You call me a kid all the time, but I'm not the one that is built like one." This may or may not have earned you extra cleaning duties for the day, but the next time you did it he just gave you an annoyed look. Soon enough, you both tried to come up with simple names to call each other to try to piss the other off. Sometimes you could swear you could see a small smile on his face after you both went back and forth with nicknames.

If you ended up dying, he would never call anyone else kid though. He would be too scared of making the same connection of love, and having them die again, again.

Hange Zoe - My love, Darling

Hange 100% will call you 'my love.' Their reasoning? You are. They would even call you this before you two started getting close because Hange already knew they had a crush on you.

'My love' will be used to refer to you more than your actual name. Hange would even refer to you as that to the other Scouts. Like they would be reporting results to Erwin, and just casually say, "Yes, and my love even recommended the idea that….." This would leave Erwin very confused the first time around until after the meeting he asked an annoyed Levi who the 'my love,' Hange was referring to was. When he learned that it was you, it all just clicked for him, and he didn't even blink an eye when you were called by that name the next time he heard it. And he heard it a lot. Hange just loved calling you 'my love.'

Another thing that Hange loves to call you is Darling (Ex: that one scene where a titan almost bit them and they say, "You almost got me there, Darling"). Hear me out.

Hange would call you this anytime you got even slightly snippy, brash, or fed up with something. It would just come out of their mouth like second nature when seeing you upset. You would have said something a little harsher than you meant to, but you were getting really annoyed with someone in the Scouts, so you were put on edge. When you went to say something to apologize for being rude, Hange cut you off with, "You alright, Darling?" with a perfect mix of concern and playfulness in their voice. That line made you entirely forget about being annoyed and made everything in the shitty world feel even just a little bit better. You would just respond with a quick shake of your head, give them a hug, and feel a little happier for the rest of the day because how could you have a bad day with Hange in your life?

Okay random ramble from me-

Okay so I hop from fandom to fandom a lot, right

Recently, the past two years, I have noticed that in every single fandom there are patterns. Like characters will have the same personality trait, and if you are not careful you might confuse a fanfic for being for one character, but it really is for another character in an entirely different series.

You will have the classic main character personality that is either overly sexualized for their own good, or not taken seriously at all, or both. Ex: Izuku in mha, Ittadori in jjk, Tanjiro in demon slayer, Naruto in naruto

Then, you will have the stoic side characters who have more fanfiction than most other characters. Ex: Shoto Todoroki and Aizawa in mha, Choso and Megumi in jjk, Mikasa and Levi in aot

Also, there is the type of character that made me realize this trend, the 'dumb' side characters that are mostly used to make the watcher laugh. Ex: Connie in aot, Denki and Sero in mha, Nishinoya and Tanaka in Haikyuu, Zenitzu and Inoske in Demon Slayer, and maybe some others that I am missing.

Please tell me that I am not alone in noticing this. Like please tell me this is a normal experience and that I am just going through this realization embarrassingly late in my fanfiction life.

Also, I feel like I only noticed this when I was fandom hoping recently and it just clicked in my head that Smau writers tend to write Nishinoya and Denki similarly. Anyway, thanks for coming to my ted talk. Enjoy this small writing while I start to, hopefully, work on some angst works so I can lure in the other half of the aot fandom bc a lot of you love yourselves some good angst. Like the show wasn't angsty enough already

[xxaestheticallypatheticxx]

aaaaaaah

[mollymarymarie]

Listen. I keep seeing this on tiktok. "Don't use hiss as a dialogue tag, it's a human being, we don't hiss" or "If there isn't an S in the word at the end of dialogue, don't use the word hiss" and let me just say I WILL CONTINUE TO USE HISS TO MEAN QUIETLY BUT AGGRESSIVELY SPEAKING AND YOU CANNOT CHANGE MY MIND

[inkskinned]

i got rickrolled today but it didn't work because i have adblocker installed, so youtube just told me i violated the terms of service. yesterday i was trying to edit a picture as a joke for my girlfriend, and google made me check a box to prove i'm human because i wasn't "searching normally".

it isn't just that capitalism is killing fun and whimsy, it is that any element of entertainment or joy is being fed upon by this mosquito body, one that will suck you dry at any vulnerability.

do you want to meet new friends in your city? download this app, visit our website, sign up for our email list. pay for this class on making a terrarium, on candlemaking, on cooking. it will be 90 dollars a session. you can go to group fitness, but only under our specific gym membership. solve the puzzle, sign up for our puzzle-of-the-month-club. what is a club if not just a paid opportunity - you are all paying for the same thing, which makes you a community.

but you're like me, i know it - you're careful, you try the library meetings and the stuff at the local school and all of that. the problem is that you kind of want really specific opportunities that used to exist. you are so grateful for libraries and the publicly-funded things: they are, however, an exception - and everything they have, they've fought tooth-and-nail to protect. you read a headline about how in many other states, libraries have virtually nothing left.

do you want to meet up with your friends afterwards? gift your friends the discord app. you can choose to go to a cafe (buy a coffee, at least), a bar (money, alcohol) or you can all stay in and catch a movie (streaming) or you can all stay in bed (rent. don't get me started) and scream (noise complaint. ticket at least).

you want to read a new book, but the book has to have 124 buzzwords from tiktok readers that are, like, weirdly horny. you can purchase this audiobook on audible! your podcast isn't on spotify, it's on its own server, pay for a different site. fuck, at least you're supporting artists you like. the art museum just raised their ticket price. once, they had a temporary exhibit that acknowledged that ~85% of their permanent art galleries were from cis white men, and that they had thousands of works by women (even famous women, like frida! georgia o'keefe!) just rotting in their basement. that exhibit lasted for 3 months and then they put everything away again.

walmart proudly supports this strip of land by the street! here are some flowers with wilting leaves. its employees have to pay out-of-pocket for their uniforms. my friend once got fined by the city because she organized a community pick-up of the riverfront, which was technically private property.

no, you cannot afford to take that dance class, neither can i. by the way - i'm a teacher. i'm absolutely not saying "educators shouldn't be paid fairly." i'm saying that when i taught classes, renting a studio went from 20 bucks an hour to 180 in the span of 6 months. no significant changes to the studio were made, except they now list the place as updated and friendly. the heat still doesn't work in the building. i have literally never seen the landlord who ignores my emails. recently they've been renting it out at night as an "unusual nightclub; a once-in-a-lifetime close-knit party." they spent some of those 180 dollars on LEDs and called it renovating. the high heels they invite in have been ruining the marley.

do you want to experience the old internet? do you want to play flash games or get back the temporary joy of club penguin? you can, you just need to pay for it. i have a weird, neurodivergent obsession with occasionally checking in to watch the downfall and NFT-ification of neopets. if i'm honest with you all - i never got into webkins, my family didn't have the money to buy me a pointless elephant. people forget that "being poor" can mean literally "if i buy you that toy, i can't afford rent."

you and i don't have time to make good food, and we don't have the budget for it. we are not gonna be able to host dinner parties, we're not made of money, kid. do you want some kind of 3rd space? a space that isn't home or work or school? you could try being online, but - what places actually exist for you? tiktok counts as social media because you see other people on it, not because they actually talk to you.

there was a local winter tradition of sledding down the hill at my school. kids would use pizza boxes and jackets and whatever worked, howling and laughing. back in september, they made a big announcement that this time, rules were changing, and everyone must pay 10 dollars to participate. when im not scared shitless, i kind of appreciate the environmental irony - it hasn't gone below 40. so much for snow & joyriding.

i saw a bulletin for a local dogwalking group and, nervous about making a good first impression, showed up early. the first guy there grimaced at me. "sorry," he said. "there's a 30-dollar buy-in fee." i thought he was joking. wait. for what? the group doesn't offer anything except friendship and people with whom to walk around the city.

he didn't know the answer. just shrugged at me. "you know," he said. "these days, everything costs money."

[euthymiya]

“Did you know—”

“I don’t care,” Sukuna interrupts, wholly disinterested. It’s half past three—(which is, of course, his fault, but that doesn’t mean he’s any less tired).

But you, wholly uncaring, promptly ignore him. “—That some female spiders eat the male ones after mating?”

“What do you want me to do with this information?” He looks at you irritably, glaring at you from the corner of his eyes. You flash him a grin—it’s a mischievous little thing, your lips curled in a cheeky, flirty way that warns him silently that he’s about to risk popping another vein. He seems to do that around you quite often, and it certainly feels like it’s underway once more.

(And, as it always is, his intuition would be right).

“It’s a warning,” you hum.

He snorts, raising a clearly disbelieving brow as he hums, “oh yeah? For what? Are you gonna—wha-hey!”

Not a lot catches Sukuna off guard. You giggle as he barks out a surprised yelp of your name, harshly shoving you away from his chest. There’s a nice, fresh, very crystal and very clear outline of your teeth marked right on the flesh surrounding his nipple.

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He asks incredulously.

You let out a soft, amused little giggle that sounds through the room before he feels your weight shift and fall onto him, making him grunt as his arms steady you and his eyes stare up at your hovering face with an agitated purse of his lips.

“I’m eating you,” you say cheekily, “see?” For emphasis, you leave an equally as shocking bite to his bicep, your head leaning down to get a mouthful of his bare arm. He lets out a low, startled grunt before one large and very firm hand grabs the back of your neck and yanks you off.

“Have you completely lost it?” He hisses.

“We just mated—”

“Who on Earth talks about sex like that? We are not animals who—”

“—And now I’m going to eat you after mating. Like a female spider.”

“If you’re going to be weird, just go the fuck to sleep,” he grumbles lowly.

Sukuna is tired.

(And yes, the reason is partly because he’s a bit inexhaustible once he’s felt the velvet heat of your walls, and yes, it’s technically his own greediness that’s worn him out so physically for the night. But that’s all been the cost for something of greater benefit to him. Something he doesn’t exactly mind draining his energy for.

Bur your odd, unsettling, abnormal and very plainly weird schemes are not a part of the list of things he’s willing to sacrifice his energy for. There isn’t much pleasure in entertaining your nonsense most of the time.

If anything, there’s pain—the stinging bite marks on his skin can attest to that.)

“I’m not tired,” you hum.

“Then let me make you tired,” he offers smugly, lips tugging into a cocky grin as he looks up at you.

“If you didn’t manage that the first time, what makes you think that’ll work the second?” You tease.

He doesn’t seem to like that very much, because with a growl, he pushes the back of your neck until your face falls into the crook of his neck, a strong, bulky arm wrapping around your waist and keeping you in place against his body.

It’d be awfully intimate, and awfully sweet if he didn’t mumble, “I love when you sleep because it’s the only few hours of the day I get to hear you shut the fuck up.”

“Maybe if you’d just appreciated my fun fact—”

“You bit my fucking nipple.”

“I could bite the other one, too, if you want,” you pipe up with an excited grin. He can feel it pressed against his skin as your face buries deeper into the space between his neck and shoulder.

Sukuna is tired. Most of the time, it’s because of you. All of the time, he chooses to allow it because he likes having you around for a good fuck.

(And, of course, there’s all that bullshit about love and affection, too. But that’s just that odd stuff you like to babble about—that odd, unsettling, abnormal and very plainly weird emotional part of you that somehow ropes him into being the same way every once in a while.

He doesn’t like it.)

“You need a lobotomy,” he mutters, wincing when you bite the skin of his neck in response. Not in a manner he likes, either—very much in a manner that makes sure he feels the sharpness of your incisors.

“Don’t be rude,” you scold, “I’m biologically meant to be your predator.”

“You biologically give me fuckin’ migraines.”

You grin—it’s a smile that’s easy. Smooth. Maybe a little giddy, too. It comes out only around Sukuna. Him and his gruff, rugged way of accepting your affection, and his double as rough and crude way of giving it back. His callused hands and toughened knuckles that brush along your cheeks carefully. His crass and undignified words that are carefully thought out enough to never cross the line. His downturned lips and narrowed eyes that only ever soften at the sharp corners around you.

“Next time, I’ll eat you for sure,” you murmur, settling against his chest and getting comfortable. He wraps both arms around you, warm and tight enough that you almost think you can forgo the blanket altogether. “Assert my dominance.”

“You can’t even open the pickle jar.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s only a matter of time until natural selection gets you,” he snickers quietly. You huff, biting back a smile as he yawns.

Gently, with a kiss over the bite mark you left against his neck, you say softly, “goodnight. Love you.”

“Night.”

“I love you.”

“For the love of—love you too, holy fuck. Go to sleep.”

[matchingbatbites]

Eddie doesn't like sports.

Well, okay, that's not technically true. Growing up in the deep south left him with an ingrained interest in college football that he's not sure he'll ever be able to shake, but at least he can understand that game. He doesn't know a single fucking thing about hockey.

The rest of the guys had been excited when Chrissy said the band had been offered tickets to see the local NHL team. He was upset by how quickly he'd been outnumbered, but the boys had plied him with the promise of violence on ice, and that was enough to sooth the betrayal, at least a little.

Which is how he finds himself here, smushed between Chrissy and Gareth and not really as engaged as he should be, watching a bunch of men run around on the ice - sometimes literally, which is crazy. There has been a little violence though, so that's something at least.

Eddie blinks when Chrissy hands him a small dry erase board and a couple of markers that she pull from her bag. "What's this for?"

"You're famous, Eddie. The arena staff knows we're here, which means we're probably going to be on camera. I figured you could entertain yourself with some appropriate messages. Appropriate," she reiterates, and Eddie grabs at his chest like he's been shot.

"You wound me! As if I would ever deign to flash the cameras with a message that's anything less than the pinnacle of wholesome!"

Chrissy rolls her eyes but smiles - ever used to his dramatics by now - and just turns back to the game. Right, sometimes it's easy to forget that Chrissy is actually a sports person.

Eddie gets to work on his first message, not entirely sure when they're going to be the focus of the large screen above them. Chrissy glances over to see what he's writing and just sighs, and Eddie can't bite back his grin.

It's actually not too long before the announcer mentions something that isn't related to the game, and then-

"With nearly twelve million monthly listeners on Spotify, please welcome local metal band, Corroded Coffin!"

Eddie looks up to see their faces on the screen and grins as he turns his board around, showing off the LOOKIN 4 HUSBAND he's written in block letters. There's a mix of cheers and laughter from the crowd, and Eddie can't help but give a joking wink to the camera before he's laughing as well.

Chrissy smacks him on the arm and says "I can't believe you," but she's smiling as well. Eddie just shrugs and cleans the message from the whiteboard, freeing up space for him to doodle in between catching glances at the game.

It's a little bit later when a big fight breaks out, and a few players from each team are sent to the- box? The box. Eddie watches the big screen as the camera follows one of the players, tracking the man as he steps inside the little booth and rips his helmet off in frustration and- holy shit.

The guy is fucking stunning; his jaw, his nose, his sweat-damp hair and the beauty marks scattered across his skin like stars. Eddie wants to get closer, wants to know the color of his eyes and smooth the crease between his brows, wants to shove his fingers into that pretty, pink mouth-

And then the camera changes, going back to the players on the ice, and Eddie blinks like he's been released from a spell. He turns to Chrissy, one hand grabbing at her arm as he says "Who the fuck was that guy?"

Chrissy glances at him but keeps most of her attention on the game. "Harrington? He's literally the captain of our team, Eddie. I know you're not super into this, but that's kind of a hard thing to miss."

The man huffs a little as he releases Chrissy's arm. "I know literally jack-shit about this game, Chrissy, nothing is hard to miss."

Eddie takes the chance to re-write his white board before turning it to face outward, hoping that some cameraman will take pity on him and put him back on screen. He's not sure how long Harrington has in what is essentially timeout, but Eddie keeps his eyes on him all the same, glad that they're actually not too far away from the box.

It's a couple of minutes later when the announcer says "Looks like our friends Corroded Coffin have another message, this time for team captain Steve Harrington," and Eddie doesn't need to look to know that the screen is showing his new sign: #14 U R PRETTY. DATE?

He sees Harrington - Steve - look up, and watches as the frustration melts from his face, only for the prettiest pink blush to spread across his cheeks and ears. The guy laughs - and christ, Eddie didn't think he could get any more beautiful, but here he is - and doesn't hesitate to nod, even makes a little call me motion like he knows Eddie's watching him.

Eddie beams and nods back, laughs when the other player in the box shoves Steve playfully and makes a comment that deepens the blush on his face. He gets a couple of shoves and smacks from his own friends and a bewildered "I can't believe you just did that!" from Gareth.

Chrissy leans into him as he cleans the board again. "Hockey's not so boring now, is it?" she says, and Eddie can't help but agree, his eyes never leaving the ice - leaving Steve - for the rest of the game.

[kaijuposting]

"Saw traps for people with moral OCD" is a phrase that has embedded myself into my brain because, well, Saw traps for people with moral OCD are everywhere.

Stuff that basically amounts to...

"You have to listen to my opinions on [issue], or else you don't care about [issue]. (Constantly talks about how people like you are the absolute worst.)"

Anything that's functionally like, "you have to let me tear you down over things you can't control or you're a bad person."

Anything that's functionally like, "you have to let me vent to you whenever and however I want or else you're a bad person."

"If you enjoy X media/trope, you just hate Y people."

"Everyone knows that X thing is harmful/hateful; if you engaged in it, it's just because you were fine with perpetuating hate/harm."

"You should have just known better/should know this already!"

This thread over here talks about the inherent issues of putting this kind of stuff out there. The TL;DR is that it really only works on people who are mentally unwell and have poor boundaries, while just pissing off everyone else. It really doesn't matter if you're technically correct; you're still attacking people, and that means they're not wrong to block you.

I think that many of these Saw traps are created when people effectively write posts directed toward people who don't want to help, rather than the ones who do. Like, if you catch yourself writing an angry, shame-laden post, ask yourself: who are you writing it for and what are the odds you're going to change their minds? If your mental image is some smug fuck or angry reactionary, you're writing for the wrong person. Write for the person who's curious, who's willing to learn.

Also? Work on figuring out how to transmute negative feelings into positive, encouraging rhetoric. EG:

"Why is there no X positivity?" -> "Let's hear it for X!"

"No one cares about Y problem!" -> "Hey, we need more recognition of Y problem" or "I haven't seen many people talking about Y problem, so here's some info on what's up."

"If you don't reblog this, you don't care about [group]" -> "Please reblog this, it would mean a lot for us [group]."

And if you're really super duper frustrated and want to vent with a lot of nasty words and sentiments? Consider taking it to a private vent channel or a journal or somewhere that a stranger with moral OCD/scrupulosity isn't likely to run across it.

Remember, most people don't want to hurt anyone. More people are ignorant than malicious. People naturally want to do the right thing, so if you feel like you have to guilt them or shame them into it, there's probably a fundamental communication issue somewhere, or they simply lack the context to understand why what you're saying is so important.

[majinbangus]

happy birthday little simon

"You're inviting me to the lad's birthday?"

At this point in time, he kind of expects to get a knock on his door more times in a week than he ever did during the entire duration he's lived in this flat. Most weekdays- when you leave for work and drop off your lad at school- the boy likes to make a quick stop to say good morning. It's become somewhat of a routine. Sometimes it's a sleepy greeting, but little Simon is a cheerful child who has taken an odd liking to him, and vice versa.

"If you can make it."

Then there's you. The sunny child's mother. An easy presence to be in. Refreshing like the ocean breeze during a calm day. Something addictive he can't get enough of.

"When is it?"

This is new. You switched up the routine by coming a second time at midday after he returned from the gym, freshly showered. You faired better when he opened the door compared to that one time. Granted, he was fully dressed, but it was a little disappointing; however, you did have a reason for visiting.

He could tell by the tension surrounding your eyes. Focused like you were on a mission. He supposes you technically are on one. Inviting Simon to your boy's birthday.

"Saturday."

He furrows his brows. "This Saturday?"

"Yes."

"That's tomorrow."

"I know it's a bit last minute, but..." You sigh, running a frustrated hand over your face, frowning at the ground. "No one RSVP'd."

"No one?" Simon nearly growls, offended on the lad's behalf. "What about his friends? The little fuckers don't want to come?

You purse your lips, crossing your arms. "We sent out invites to all his classmates, but ever since we moved, Simon's been having trouble making friends."

"He has trouble?"

"It's not his fault!" You snap before grimacing, lowering your voice, "Sorry, it's just... Simon tries to make friends, but kids are mean, you know? They're young, but they already have their established friend groups and exclude him because he's new."

New. Different. Any reason along those lines. It doesn't matter to kids. Or it does, and that's why they're unjustly cruel to their peers. He understands. Simon grew up with many of his schoolmates avoiding him for being 'weird', not knowing his home life. Tommy had 'friends' but they weren't exactly a good crowd.

"So you want me to come?" Simon asks, and he's met with a tired expression he's never seen on you before—not even when you were sick and weak and needed to be looked after. You look as if you hold the weight of the world on your shoulders, about to collapse.

"He tries not to let it get him down, but if no one shows up..." You bite your lip, a flash of pain in your eyes at the thought of your son hurting. "Please? He likes you, and even if you're the only one who shows up, it'll mean a lot to him."

Simon looks at you. Really looks at you and takes in the desperation in your eyes. You look as if you'd do anything to convince him to come. Even fight him. Tie him up. Anything to drag him to your son's party. You'd probably do it, mother bear that you are.

But you don't need to do that. You won't ever have to fight another battle. Not if he can help it. Simon will fight your battles for you from now on.

"I'll come."

You have his devotion. You and your boy.

"Really?" You brighten up, the hopeless look in your eyes washing away.

He nods. "I'll bring a mate with some brats around your lad's age. They're friendly. They'll like him."

"Will they? Are you sure your friend will be okay with it?"

"They will, and the bastard owes me one, anyway."

No, he doesn't, but Johnny will pull through. Him and his seemingly endless amount of nieces and nephews, although he'll only need to bring a few.

A wide smile breaks out on your face, bright like the sun, and oh- that's where your boy got his grin. Without warning, you leap into his arms, forceful enough to make him grunt. You hug him, burying your face into his shoulder with Simon's hands hovering at your waist, fingers twitching.

It's rare to catch him off guard. So many new sensations fill his senses. Your warmth, surrounding him like a blanket; your scent, sweet and calming with a freshness to it that makes him want to bury his face into your neck and inhale. Or maybe he would bite into your soft skin to see if you taste as pleasant as you smell. If he wasn't so controlled, he probably would sate his curiosity right now.

You stiffen, your body tensing as if you're aware of what you've done, and move to back away, but Simon stops you, resting his hands on your hips. You gently melt your body against his again.

"Thank you, Simon," You softly murmur into his shoulder. It's a quiet sound, but he hears it and lets his arms wrap you in a full hug. You melt against his body, sighing. He doesn't think he's ever felt so warm before. "And just so you know... it means a lot to me, too, that you're coming."

-

Simon: > Johnny

Johnny: > Yeah, lt?

Simon: > You busy tomorrow?

Johnny: > Yes? > I have a date with that bonnie piano teacher I told you about > ... why

Simon: > Cancel it > Have something I need you to do

Johnny: > Work related?

Simon: > No

Johnny: > Then why can't you do it?

Simon: > I'm already on it > Cancel your date

Johnny: > Then why do you need me? > I'm not gonna cancel my date you dobber

-

"Cannae believe ye made us come all the way to fuckin' Manchester. Do y'know how many fuckin' hours ye made us drive, Ghost? The wee ones didnae like gettin' up so arse fuckin' early, either-"

"Shut up, Johnny. You owed me one."

"I didnae?!"

A giggle from Soap's bonnie piano teacher. "You're accent thickens when you're upset, John."

"Today was supposed to be our date!"

"It's not so bad. I still get to spend time with you."

"... Guess not, but I'll take you out proper tomorrow, promise."

"See, Johnny? Everyone wins."

"Awa’ an bile yer heid, Ghost."

-

Despite all his complaining, Johnny is a good guest and keeps the children entertained, playing the part of the fun uncle by letting the kids wrestle or play tag with him, not minding the grass stains as they roughhouse in the park. Currently, he's playing an informal football game with them—six vs. one. He's mostly blocking the ball from entering the goal, but it's still fun for all of them.

Little Simon is extra happy with his new friends. He's been smiling nonstop since they all introduced themselves, grin extra proud when he revealed his name.

("Like Uncle Simon's?"

"Yeah, he says it's a fine name!")

You also haven't stopped smiling ever since they arrived. Not quite as big as your boy's grin, but it still hasn't left. You and Soap's date get along swimmingly, too. He can already tell you'll be good friends with the teacher.

"Not gonna join them?"

Simon looks to see you standing next to him under the tree, watching the children as Soap 'misses' a shot from one of his nephews.

"Where's your friend?" He asks instead.

"Went looking for a bathroom." You gesture vaguely in the direction Soap's date disappeared off to. "So, not gonna play?"

He shakes his head. "Johnny's got it."

"Oh?" The suspiciously innocuous tone makes his eyes narrow. "Is it because he's the better footballer between you two?"

Simon slowly turns towards you, glaring with no real heat, but it still doesn't stop your panicked giggle when he takes a half step in your direction, making you back up against the tree. He gets closer and leans into your space, nearly brushing his front against yours. You audibly gulp, and Simon places a palm on the tree, hand right next to your head. He gets close to your face, watching your eyes widen then dart down to look at somewhere on the bottom half of his face before meeting his eyes again. You bite your lip.

"Repeat that for me, sweetheart." Simon growls softly, and you give a sharp, little inhale.

"U-um. I'd rather... not." Your voice comes out breathy, and you place a hand on his chest as if to stabilize yourself.

"I wasn't asking." He doesn't give you a chance to breathe, leaning in closer, and your fingers dig a little into his pec, making his muscles flex under your touch. "I'll say again: repeat that for me."

With nowhere to run, pinned to a tree, you tremble against his body, breathing heavily and barely able to meet his eyes, licking your lips. It takes you a moment to build up the nerve to speak with Simon surrounding your senses.

"I um... I um-"

"Simon, Uncle Johnny said to come play with us!"

Instantly, he backs away from you and turns around to see your boy running over. Behind him, he hears you exhale a quiet, little, "Fuck..."

Fuck, indeed.

He turns his attention to the lad once he comes to a stop in front of him. "Is that what he said?"

"Uh-huh! He said we're giving him trouble, and it'll make it more fair so he's not the only one guarding."

Simon looks over to where Johnny stands with the football held casually to the side between his arm and waist. The man smirks knowingly, glancing between you and Simon before giving a cheeky wave. He glares back. "I'll show him trouble."

"What did you say, Simon?"

He looks back at your boy. "Nothing. I'll come play."

The lad's eyes brighten with a celebratory cheer, grabbing his wrist and leading the way to the field. Simon looks back to see you better composed, if a little disheveled, but smiling nonetheless at the two like they're the only ones who matter.

-

After cake and presents, the children return to playing football with the new football that Soap gave as a present for little Simon, along with your boy wearing a jersey from the Scot's favorite team. A petty move from Soap, in Simon's opinion, but he'll let him have this one. He'll get your boy cheering for Man United soon enough.

The adults hang back in their own pairs. Soap and his date finally getting a moment to themselves, nibbling on cake and talking about whatever it is they talk about at the picnic table, and you and Simon are back under the tree, keeping a respectable distance between each other.

"Kid seems happy," Simon idly notes, watching your boy laugh and play with the younger MacTavish's. "You did good."

"Me?" You glance at him. "You were the one to bring a tiny tribe to Simon's birthday. Look at him. That smile is because of you."

"That smile is because you're a good mum," Simon states in a way that leaves no room for questions. "You were the one who made today happen. You gave your lad the birthday he deserved. He'll remember this."

Like how Simon remembers his mum doing her best to give him and Tommy the birthdays they deserved, no matter how small the celebration was.

You're looking at him as if you can't quite believe he's real, a cute, astonished look adorning your face. He's tempted to make a comment about it until you give a quiet, amazed laugh, reaching for his hand to give it a grateful squeeze. You don't pull away, and he doesn't let go.

"Even so, Simon had a great seventh birthday, and a lot of it is because of you. You did more than you had to- more than his father ever did! Bastard didn't even send a happy birthday text, son of a bitch." You exhale a heavy, calming breath. "But never mind that... What I'm trying to say is thank you. You didn't have to do what you did, and ever since we met, you've been really good to him."

You shoot him a teasing look. "What's your secret? Have a hidden family out there or something?"

A darker part of Simon is tempted to laugh. You're kind of right, in a messed up way, but he doesn't hold it against you. He hums, contemplating. "I had a nephew."

"Had?" The information takes another second to process. "Oh! I mean..."

"Don't have to say anything." Simon stares out to where the kids are playing. He imagines another boy running among them. Both younger and older than the children out in the field. Taken too young with no opportunity to grow. To live. He squeezes your hand. "He reminds me of him. Joseph. Would have been a couple years older than your lad by now, but I think they would have gotten along."

"Think so?" You send him a soft smile, stepping closer to hug his arm. "Tell me more about him?"

Simon looks at you, the warmth of your body pressed against him, and it suddenly feels like there's no one else in the world. There's just you and him under this tree, with your boy's laughter ringing like bells in the air, and that's when it hits.

Settle down... He's finally starting to get it, Tommy.

-

soap's piano teacher is something i want to write out, but idk if i'll get to it

[astonmartingf]

YOU'RE SO REAL FOR THAT! ; F1 GRID

f1 grid x driver!reader . . . gen z f1 driver ranks previous crushes in f1 in a new tiktok video that sends fans in a coma /real

amgf well well well, guess who's back (hopefully) uhm i'm enrolled and officially an intern 😀👍 we love to see that, i made this before hungary i think? but yeah, i have too many drafts and no will to write, i'm blaming the new season in wild rift 😋 and because i've been busy with the internship thingy... a lot of seminars and preparations to do sooooo i hope you enjoy this like always

yourusername uploaded a new video

. . . view 736,937 comments

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→ yourusername you're right @/yukitsunoda0511 i had a crush on you before 😌☝️

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jensonbutton reading your message at 2am asking for permission is not something i expected, my question though is... am i p1?

→ yourusername technically you're p-last atm but considering you're my first f1 crush i guess you're p1

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mickshumacher what is this? this is not what you sent me?

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[lvndrfucks]

don’t leave me hanging omg, write the concept. miguel brain rot is on 24/7 — 🧠

You were surprised none of Miguel’s neighbors had complained yet. There were teenagers scattered all around the inside of Johnny’s apartment and the outside, loud music blasting and a fair share of drinks being passed around. At least everyone was getting along after the long overdue karate feud.

You were nursing a red solo cup while standing in the corner of the room, taking small sips. The taste of alcohol didn’t really appeal to you. Your friends engaged in chatter that you chimed in once in awhile, but you were a bit distracted.

“Are you going to talk to him or keep eye-fucking?”

“What?” Your eyes moved away from Miguel’s. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You guys have been staring at each other all night,” your friend pointed out. “He’s single, you’re single.” She made gestures with her hands for emphasis.

You shook your head while looking down to hide how red your face had gotten. “He doesn’t like me like that. We’re friends.”

“Lame,” your other friend bursted. “Go talk to him! Congratulate him on winning karate again or something.”

You rolled your eyes while taking a drink to avoid the conversation.

Her friend smirked suddenly with an idea. “Hey, can I borrow your jacket? I’m a little cold.”

You were feeling hot from the crowded room, so you were a little confused on how she was the opposite, but you did so nevertheless. You removed the cropped denim jacket to expose more of the little black dress you had on. You smiled while handing it to her.

Miguel felt his mouth go dry. His eyes scanned up and down your body from afar, the silk perfectly hugging your body and exposing valleys of skin he had never seen before.

A pat on his shoulder made him jump as he was forced to look away.

“Hey, man,” Hawk greeted. He noticed you and looked back at Miguel with a smirk. “You gonna make a move tonight, or what?”

Miguel chuckled nervously and shook his head. “I don’t think she likes me like that. I mean, we’ve been friends since we were both in Cobra Kai. Isn’t that a bit weird?”

Hawk scoffed. “No. That just builds up more chemistry. And pent up frustration.” Miguel looked at him curiously as he clarified. “Sexual frustration.”

“Dude.”

“It’s true! Remember that time you went out with Sam and she nearly broke some kid’s arm. Or when she got asked out and you broke the practice dummy.”

Even though Hawk’s statements were technically true, Miguel still had his doubts. What would a girl like you want with a guy like him?

“You just gotta go for it, man. Before someone else does,” Hawk advised and motioned his head towards Chris and Mitch who had started talking to you. You immediately started smiling and laughing at what they were saying.

Miguel held back a glare as he handed his cup to Hawk. He cheered, “That’s my boy!”

Your laughter died down as Miguel approached the three of you. You smiled at him in greeting that he returned before looking at Chris and Mitch.

“Robby wants you guys to refill the cooler outside,” he told them.

“But I just did five minutes ago,” Mitch said.

“Well, he wants you to do it. Again.”

Miguel was grateful Chris was the smarter one between the two as he was beginning to catch on.

“Yeah, it’s no problem.” There was almost a smug smile on Chris’ face. “Come on, man.” He began dragging Mitch away, the boy complaining that he already did once again.

That just left you and Miguel.

You glanced behind you to see your friends had ran off somewhere, of course. There was a small beat of silence between you two.

“How are you?”

“This is a great party.”

You two spoke at the same time. You both laughed.

“Sorry. You go first,” Miguel insisted.

“I said this is a great party,” you repeated. “I’m surprised your mom was okay with it.”

“Well, Johnny told her that it was just Miyagi-Do and Eagle Fang ‘hanging out.’”

When you were about to respond, someone knocked into you. As you tripped forward slightly, Miguel had his arms out to catch you. You sheepishly apologized while standing straight.

“Um, did you wanna go somewhere less crowded,” he proposed.

You nodded and started following him out. People from school were still showing up and it seemed the outside was becoming just as packed. You maneuvered around while still trying to keep up with Miguel. He turned to face you and offered his hand out so you wouldn’t lose each other. You took it, trying to hide your growing smile.

He guided you across towards his apartment. He opened the door and let you inside first. You were still able to hear the music and chatter of people, but it reduced slightly. Plus, you guys were completely alone now.

“Sorry. I thought it would be better here to talk and stuff. Unless you wanted to go back to the party. I’m fine with either, I just assumed—“

“It’s fine, Miguel,” you cut him off with a light chuckle. “It was getting a little overwhelming out there.” You set your empty cup on the dining table and moved to lean on the edge of the couch.

“C-can I tell you something,” he asked, standing in front of you.

“You can tell me anything.”

Your smile made him weak in the knees. His hands suddenly felt clammy as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

“I…I really like you.”

“I like you too.”

Miguel gulped. “No. I mean I like-like you. Like more than friends type of way.”

“Oh.”

Oh?

“If you don’t feel the same way, it’s fine. I get it. We’ve been friends for a long time and I understand not wanting to ruin that. It’s just that when I’m around you, I feel different. Different like you’re the one person in my life I’d hate to lose or I wouldn’t mind kissing. You know, that was probably a really weird thing to say. I’m sorry—“

“Miguel.” You laughed a bit. “It’s okay. I like-like you too.”

“Really,” he breathed out in disbelief.

You nodded. “And you’re the person I wouldn’t mind kissing either.”

Your hands reached forward to grasp his flannel and pull him closer towards you. The heels gave you an advantage to be nearly face to face with him. The close proximity made you both nervous, but someone had to make the first move.

Meeting halfway, Miguel’s lips pressed against yours in a savory kiss. His hands rested on his either side of your neck, his thumbs on the underside of your jaw and pulling you in even closer. You pulled away briefly, seeing his heart-shaped pupils and puffed lips parted. He pulled you back in with urgency.

There was only the heat of the moment, the electricity between you two, and the pure, unbridled passion of your kiss. It was a moment you would remember forever, a moment that would stay with you long after the kiss had ended.

The buzz of Miguel’s phone brought you back to Earth. He seemed to have no intention of stopping, though.

You pulled away, his lips immediately attaching to the side of your neck. “Do you wanna get that,” you asked, slightly breathless.

“Not really,” Miguel answered and kissed you again.

His phone eventually stopped until whoever was calling decided to call again. You laughed slightly at Miguel’s annoyance when he pulled away.

“It’s okay,” you reassured, one of your hands combing through his hair.

Miguel begrudgingly answered the phone with a haughty, “What?”

“Dude, where are you,” Hawk asked from the other line.

“I’m a little busy right now.” Miguel pinched your hip lightly in warning as you continued sucking on the skin of his neck.

“Well, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I need a beer pong partner.”

“Ask Robby.” Your hand began to trail down his body.

“I’m going against him, dumbass.”

He held back a groan when you squeezed his hard on over his jeans. “I gotta go.”

“But—“

Miguel hung up and tossed his phone on the couch. You yelped in surprise when he lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist in response.

Once in his room, he had shut the door swiftly with his foot. Next thing you knew, you were lying back on the bed with Miguel hovering over you, leaving wet kisses and sucking on your exposed chest. One of your hands was threaded in his hair as the other tightly gripped the comforter. His hand slowly trailed up your thigh, giving a soft squeeze and earning a low moan from you.

Miguel pushed the bottom of your dress up to your stomach, exposing the black shorts underneath. He looked at you as you were panting already from the build up.

"You okay," he whispered.

"Of course."

He pecked your lips before going down on his knees at the edge of the bed. He ran his hands over your thighs, placing light kisses ever so often. Eventually, he hooked his fingers onto the waistband of your shorts and pulled them off, leaving just your underwear.

Miguel was hesitant at first as he ran his thumb over the wet patch, but you moaned softly from above as you tried closing your legs if he wasn't in the way. He repeated the motion with more pressure, causing you to jolt. He enjoyed the reactions.

He gently guided your underwear over your hips and slid them out from under you. A soft gasp emitted as you felt Miguel slip his tongue between your lips. Your mind went blank as he licked, his tongue spreading over your clit in smooth strokes. His open mouth panted heavy, moist breaths over your cunt, absorbing every drop of essence as it pooled on his tongue.

Your fingers tugged on his hair, your back arching off the bed slightly. You could feel a growing sensation low in your stomach, your orgasm twisting and winding into a tight knot.

A sudden gasp fell from your lips as he slowly pushed a finger inside of you. You inhaled sharply, eyes rolling back as he pushed his pointer finger in knuckle by knuckle until he rubbed the tip of his finger against that tougher spot inside of you.

His finger slipped in and out a few times until he added a second. It made you choke, walls clamping down and tightening painfully, tears pricking your eyes in a mix of pain and pleasure. Miguel kept them still as he leaned forward to press soft kisses on your clit.

“You're doing so good, baby. I just need to relax, okay?"

You nodded, even though you were sure he couldn't see it. You exhaled loudly, gasping just as loud before groaning and bucking your hips unconsciously. He resumed pushing in and out, his fingers shined with arousal.

You could feel every inch of his fingers inside as his mouth continued to stay hot and slick against your cunt, letting his spit collect all around. Your eyes rolled back when your stomach began twisting, feeling as though something was on your chest. You whimpered, followed by a groan of his name as your body relaxed once the knot snapped, and your vision blurred.

Miguel lapped up the mess and licked his fingers clean, watching the way your chest rose and fell rapidly. You looked utterly fucked the way your hair was sprawled out and little breaths leaving your plump lips, your head tilted to the side and eyes still shut.

He moved beside you and kissed your temple, combing your hair back. “You still got one more left for me?”

With shining eyes, you looked up at him and nodded.

Miguel grinned as he started to remove his flannel and shirt. Your thighs rubbed together while staring at him undo his jeans. You shakily stood on your knees and shuffled closer to him.

He gave you a tender, slow kiss, but you weren’t ready for such gentleness at this point in time. Instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer to you. A low groan released from his throat as his hands moved from your hips to the zipper of your dress. You pulled away to disregard the rest of your clothing before pulling Miguel onto the bed.

He sat back as you straddled him, lips moving together once more. Reaching between the two of you, you grabbed his leaking cock so you could set him up at your entrance. As you lowered yourself, you inhaled slowly through your nose since the preparation and care he had given you had made the stretch easy to endure. As a result, all you felt was the full sensation he had given you.

You performed an exploratory hip roll once you were seated completely. You let out a groan at the feeling, every little motion causing electricity to tingle through your body.

Miguel sat up, you two now chest to chest while he held you firmly. “Fuck, you feel fucking amazing.” He placed wet kisses along your chest.

The noises of the party drowned out his moans as you began to ride him in earnest. His hands settled on your hips, causing the soft flesh to crease as he started responding to your thrusts with his own. You could feel him moving deeper with every motion, until eventually you could almost feel him in your stomach.

“Miguel,” you gasped out, meeting his gaze.

“I’ve got you, amor.” His mouth attached to one of your breasts, making you whimper.

His actions left your limbs feeling like rubber while he proceeded to fuck into you harder. Your tongue grazed his flushed skin, your head tucked into his neck.

“Making me feel so good,” you told him gently in his ear. “Want you to finish in me. Want all of you.”

Your babbling was cut off by a higher pitched moan at Miguel’s hard thrusts, your words egging him on more.

“Think you can take it all, baby?” His forehead pressed against yours as you nodded with a pleading look. “I’ll give you everything. Again. Again. And again.” He punctuated with each thrust, your grip on his shoulders tightening. “You gonna cum? Can feel it.”

“Please.”

Your loud moans echoed throughout the room as your legs tightened around his, your body moving faster to keep you on your high. You could feel Miguel spilling out of you, the warm feeling comforting the both of you. His arms wrapped around your waist to cease your shudders as he placed light kisses upon your shoulder.

Miguel, though he didn’t want to, slowly removed himself from you, a small whimper slipping past your lips. He laid you down on his bed and told he’d be right back. When he returned, he had a damp washcloth in one hand and a water bottle in the other. He carefully cleaned you up, knowing your legs must be sore, and sat you up to take a few sips of water.

He smiled gently at you and kissed your forehead, making your face flush in admiration. He grabbed an extra t-shirt for you and changed into a pair of new boxers for himself. Once settled beside you, Miguel draped the comforter over both of your bodies.

You both stared at each other, a grin on your lips as you leaned forward for one last kiss in the night.

hera speaks!

sorry for the long wait. i honestly get embarrassed writing smut, but this has been on my mind for a long time

[joonieskinks]

au where you were married to Cpt John MacTavish, but wake up to find yourself married to Sergeant Johnny MacTavish (original vs remake Soap)

“No,” you state coldly. The shock was still sinking in.

“No, Price. That’s not my husband.”

Price’s gaze puzzles. “You asked for Johnny MacTavish, this is Johnny. Our Johnny.” He gestures to your supposed husband, who is taking this all in himself, but he sits just staring at you.

Johnny, who couldn’t stop admiring your face, your body, your ring on your fourth finger. He gave you that. Well, sort of.

Johnny, who was your husband. You, his wife. He had a wife in another life. Gods, what a catch you are, how did he manage to bag you? he thinks.

Wait. Gods, does that mean he gets you too?

“I asked for my John, my John MacTavish, my husband. He-“ You state and finally look, really look at the man before you, this Johnny.

“He’s too young, it’s not the same. It’s- it’s off.” You look back down to the floor, you’re utterly confused. One moment you’re in bed at home, the next you’re on base in a room that’s designated for “MacTavish”. At first you thought it was a dream, so of course you went asking for your husband just to see his face again.

You didn’t expect to actually see him, well- a younger version of your husband, much less an alive one. You had to pinch yourself, you really were here. This was real.

Maybe it was a second chance, maybe it was a cruel trick of fate. You couldn’t tell just yet. You were hesitant, scared.

But Johnny on the other hand, he was having a hard time keeping still and his hands to himself with the likes of you in front of him.

“Cap’, can ye give us a moment?” Johnny asked his superior, who happily obliged. Price eyed you as if to warn you not to do anything stupid, but still be backed out of the room.

You could still barely look at Johnny. He’s your husband, but so much younger, he’s still just as handsome, he’s technically yours but- it was all too weird. Would he even want you? What if he had someone else already?

“Bonnie? Will ya look at me?” Johnny comes straight up to you, holding your hands in his. His fingers playing with your wedding ring, he already loves the idea of it, of you as his. That ring to call you his and his alone. Never did he think he’d have anything remotely close to this, so he considers you a blessing if anything.

You reluctantly keep your head down so Johnny brings one hand to cup your chin, forcing your gaze up to his face.

The sight of his concerned face nearly breaks your heart. It hurts to see him yet it’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of since his passing. To have him before you again. It’s all so overwhelming you can’t help but tear up.

“No need for that, bonnie.” He smiles as he cups your cheeks. It feels so good to have his skin on yours again, you close your eyes at the feeling.

“If you’ll have me, I’ll certainly have you. Even if ye are a cougar now.” He jokes and your eyes shoot open at his words. You hit him lightly out of annoyance, but he just smiles. You can’t help but begrudgingly smile back, rolling your eyes.

Same sense of humour. Maybe he is your husband after all.

“I missed you so much, Johnny.” You admit, bringing your fingers to graze across his face. To actually feel him again, it really feels like you’re getting your second chance at love.

“‘Ts nice to finally meet my missus.” He says softly as he brings his forehead to rest against yours, but it’s you who brings your lips to meet his, losing yourself in his touch after all these years alone…

Then it hits you that this younger version of your husband might have even more stamina and strength- so naturally you waste no time getting him back into his quarters and testing that theory.

At first you feel a little nervous that Johnny might not like what he sees. After all, you are a couple years older than he is now, but he’s utterly entranced as you stand bare before him. His hands all over your body, exploring every crevice, kissing you up and down. He can’t get enough.

“My wife’s so beautiful”, “my wife’s all mine”, “gonna make ya feel so good, show ya what a good husband I’ll make for ya.”

[nhlclover]

3, 2, 1! LUKE HUGHES

— event masterlist !

pairing: bratt!sister!reader x luke hughes

summary: amidst the glittering chaos of a new year's eve party, you attempt to find closure with the boy you've been crushing on since you came to new jersey.

warnings: bratt!sister, jespers younger sister, brief mentions of drinking, a big ol' kiss

wc: 1.31k

notes: 11 of 12 in my xmas celebration! not technically christmas but i love new years first kiss plots!!

The evening begins in a blur of anticipation, a mingling of nerves and excitement that coils in your stomach like a restless storm. New Jersey isn’t where you thought you’d find yourself spending the holidays, but with Jesper’s insistence and the comfort of your brother’s familiar presence, you had stayed. And now, you’re en route to the Devils’ New Year’s party, clad in a deep navy sequined mini dress that glitters like the night sky, trying to pretend your heart isn’t racing for reasons that have nothing to do with the party.

Jesper’s hands rest casually on the steering wheel, but his eyes flick towards you every so often, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re nervous,” he says, breaking the silence.

“Am not,” you reply too quickly, fiddling with the rings that adorn your fingers.

Jesper huffs a laugh. “Right. So, who’s the lucky guy you’re hoping to kiss at midnight?”

You roll your eyes, fighting the flush creeping up your neck. “No one. I’m just going to celebrate and have fun, okay?”

He hums thoughtfully. “Not even Luke?”

The name hits you like a slap, your head snapping towards him. “Why would you bring up Luke?”

Jesper grins now, openly amused. “Oh, come on. Just because I didn’t go to fancy, smart people school like you doesn’t mean I’m stupid. You should see the way you two look at each other. It’s… gross.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you cross your arms, leaning back into the car seat as you glare at Jesper. Moving to New Jersey for hockey, and heading to Princeton to play D1, had been a whirlwind in itself. You hadn’t anticipated the move would also bring a perfectly sweet and charming boy into your life as well.

Every interaction with Luke had an undercurrent of something that felt almost electric. His teasing remarks always carried a hint of sincerity, and his soft smiles lingered just a second too long. You weren’t blind to the way his gaze would find you across a room, or the way your pulse quickened whenever he was near. But neither of you had crossed the invisible line between harmless flirtation and something more, leaving you in this frustrating limbo of uncertainty.

Your throat tightens as you fumble for a rebuttal, but nothing comes. He notices.

“Exactly,” Jesper says, his voice laced with triumph. You open your mouth to retort, but Jesper cuts you off. “Look, all I’m saying is that you’ve got an opportunity tonight. New Year’s Eve, champagne, fireworks—literally the most romantic setup possible. If you like him, just… do something about it. It’s not that hard.”

You bite your lip, Jesper’s words rattling around in your brain. Could you? Could you really make the first move? Or, more terrifyingly, what if you were wrong? What if Luke didn’t feel the same way, and you ruined everything?

As the car pulls up to the party, Jesper glances at you, his usual grin softened into something gentler. “Trust me,” he says as if he could read the little thoughts of uncertainty running through your mind. “He likes you.”

The party is already in full swing when you walk in, the hum of music and the buzz of conversation creating an atmosphere thick with celebration. The room is a wash of twinkling lights, champagne flutes, and laughter. You smooth your hands over your dress, the sequins catching the light with every movement, and try to swallow the lump in your throat.

Jesper winks at you before disappearing into the crowd, leaving you to navigate the throng of people on your own. And then, almost as if drawn by some magnetic force, your eyes find him.

He’s leaning casually against the bar, dressed in dark jeans and a Ralph Lauren sweater that fits just right—effortlessly polished yet entirely approachable. His brown curls are longer than when you last saw them, sitting in a boyish heap on top of his head, and his expression is easygoing as he laughs at something one of his teammates says. But the moment he catches sight of you, his face changes. His posture straightens, and a flicker of something — relief? Awe? — crosses his face. His gaze sweeps over you, lingering a beat too long on your dress, and you feel heat rising to your cheeks.

But before either of you can act, someone claps a hand on Luke’s shoulder, pulling his attention away, and a cluster of teammates intercepts you. The moment is gone.

The night becomes a frustrating dance, a game of cat and mouse where you’re always just out of reach. You catch glimpses of Luke across the room, his head turning as if searching for you, but something — or someone — always gets in the way. One time, you enter the lounge area and spot him on the other side, his eyes lighting up when they meet yours. But just as you step forward, someone grabs your arm, pulling you into a conversation about your studies at Princeton. By the time you politely excuse yourself, Luke is gone. Again.

You find yourself checking the clock more often than you care to admit. Time feels like sand slipping through your fingers. The minutes tick closer to midnight, the air buzzing with anticipation as people gather their champagne flutes and prepare for the countdown. Your heart sinks with every passing second you don’t see him. You resign yourself to the fact that this night might end like so many others — with a lingering sense of what could have been.

The final countdown begins at thirty seconds. The room erupts in excitement, voices growing louder with each passing number. You lean against a high-top table, frustration seeping into your bones as you watch couples and friends gather in anticipation. Your chest feels tight, disappointment creeping in as the seconds tick closer to the new year.

10… 9… 8…

You scan the room one last time, half-hoping, half-defeated—until you see him. Luke bursts into the room, his expression frantic as his eyes search the crowd. When they finally meet yours, a visible wave of relief washes over him.

7… 6… 5…

He’s moving toward you now, weaving through the throng of people with long, purposeful strides. Your breath catches as the crowd seems to part for him, every other noise and movement fading into nothing.

4… 3… 2... 1...

He reaches you just as the final seconds vanish, his hands finding your hips, pulling you flush against him. The room erupts in cheers, a cacophony of “Happy New Year!” echoing around you, but all you feel is Luke. His lips crash against yours with a fervor that takes your breath away, his hands anchoring you to him as though he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You kiss back without hesitation, your arms winding around his shoulders to pull him closer, your fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sweater. It’s a kiss that’s been building for months, maybe longer, and it’s everything—soft and urgent, sweet and electric.

When you finally break apart, the world feels fuzzy around the edges, the noise of the party and the faint sound of Auld Lang Syne fading into a distant hum. Luke’s forehead rests lightly against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he searches your face.

“We’ve waited too long for that,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

You don’t trust your voice to respond, so you nod, your fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater.

The corners of Luke’s mouth lift into a soft smile. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” you manage to whisper back, your lips brushing his once more as the words leave your mouth.

Around you, the party rages on, but in this moment, it’s just the two of you — finally on the same page, finally saying all the things your hearts had been trying to tell each other for months.

[ddejavvu]

can I request one with Spencer Reid based on the season 4 club scene??? He's there with Morgan and stares at the reader and Morgan shows him how to approach her but the reader doesn't fall for Morgan's approach, then Reid gives it a try and she turns into a giggly blushing mess at how cute he is and his weird facts!! Idk something fluffy??

reader is slightly mean to morgan in this one and i'm so sorry to have dissed the love of my life </333

--

"Don't bother," Morgan catches Spencer's shoulder when the man looks like he's about to give you their 'have you seen this man?' spiel. "I tried to tell her about the unsub, but she's not very impressed by men cornering her in the club. We don't have to worry about her, she won't fall for his bullshit."

"She should know, though." Spencer frowns, watching as you stare lazily at your drink, watching condensation drip down the glass, "I'll tell her."

"Reid, I'm telling you, she's not a potential victim," Morgan squeezes his shoulder, "Listen, if I couldn't get her to talk to me, there's no way the creep we're looking for could win her over. And he's not gonna waste his time on someone who says no to him."

The expression on your face changes from a dark scowl when a man stands a few inches too close to you while ordering a drink, to a soft, disinterested pout when he leaves again and you're able to relax. You don't look resistant, you look hesitant. You don't look like you're refusing to talk to anyone, you look like you're waiting for the right person to talk to you, and Derek Morgan was wrong.

"I'll just be a minute," Spencer slips out from beneath Derek's heavy hand and ignores the agent's groan as he approaches you. He knows Morgan's eyes are heavy on his back while he steps up to your barstool, but he pushes away the pressure of an audience to smile kindly at you.

"Hello," He offers, his voice barely audible over the music. His fingers latch tight around the strap of his messenger bag and the flyer he's holding wrinkles in his firm grip, "I'm Doctor Spencer Reid, with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit, I'm here to warn you about a potential threat."

Maybe it's not the strongest way to start off a conversation with a pretty girl at a bar, but it's the information you need to know. Stuttered flirting and watered-down drinks can come later, if they happen at all; Spencer's priority is your safety.

Your brows raise and you look past Spencer's shoulder hesitantly, "Is it him? He tried trapping me earlier."

Spencer's chest relaxes slightly where it had been tensed, and he lets out a mild laugh, "Well, he's not the main threat I'm worried about. Did he- did he do the thing where he called you sugar?"

"Mm-mm," You shake your head, taking a sip of the sad remains of your drink and speaking after you swallow, "Sweet cheeks."

Even Spencer winces. Where Morgan's strategy is charm first, then the ugly stuff, Spencer thinks it's only fair to let you know why he's there before letting himself get distracted.

"He thinks that's some sort of magic spell," He laments, "Uh- I'm sorry if he made you uncomfortable. Technically, he was just trying to warn you about the same guy I'm warning you about, but we have a very different way of going about business."

"I can tell," You nod, eyes widening slightly for emphasis. Then you glance at the stool beside your own, "Sit down, Doctor. Tell me about this creep. Well- the one on the flyer."

Morgan watches with something ugly rearing in his chest as Spencer takes the seat you've offered him, but he wrestles it down to replace it with pride. Perhaps he'll have to reevaluate his strategy when it comes to disinterested patrons, but as he watches Spencer magically find his business card behind your ear, he's not sure he'll ever have what the young doctor does.

[sincerelyneo]

igloo | h.rj

“i make him lose his cool, yeah i make him go…”

💿now playing: igloo by kiss of life

❯ summary: No Nut November is stupid—so why is your boyfriend making a bet with Hyuck that he can last the longest? Surely he doesn’t want to actually deprive himself from sex with you for a month? Surely he’s not serious…? Oh, he is. That won’t do.

❯ pairings: renjun x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, smut

❯ words: 4.1k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, swearing, petty stupid argument, slight angst, female masturbation, voyeurism, premature ejaculation, begging, slight sub!renjun, lots of teasing, reader uses she/her pronouns, basically just renjun agreeing to a stupid bet and y/n making him regret it

“Personally,” Hyuck says, throwing his hands up confidently, “I think I’d last the longest. Strong willpower and all that, you know?”

Renjun rolls his eyes, swatting him with a light smack on the back of the head. “No, you wouldn’t. You can’t go five minutes without emptying your balls, slut.”

Hyuck growls, winding up to smack him on the back, but he stops short as you stroll into the living room, a few cans of beer balanced in your hands. You drop them onto the coffee table with a loud thud, raising an eyebrow at the two of them.

“What are you idiots arguing about now?”

This was how every Friday night hangout went with your boyfriend and his friends. Laughter, drinks, and memories in the making—until Hyuck and Renjun would start bickering. Hyuck started it every time on purpose, and without fail, your boyfriend would take the bait, falling right into his trap.

And when you say fall right in, you mean it. They’re so wrapped up in each other’s throats that neither even acknowledge your question. You turn to Jisung, who shrugs and mutters something about No Nut November. Your mouth drops open in an “oh.”

“I’m just saying, I’d last the longest out of all you boys,” Hyuck insists, crossing his arms lazily.

“Bullshit!”

Hyuck’s brows knit together. “Oh, so you think you could last longer, Junnie?”

“Without question,” Renjun scoffs. “I’d last longer than you in every single way.”

Hyuck scowls. And perhaps it’s the double meaning in Renjun’s words that has him snapping, or just his overall general competitive streak, but all of a sudden he has no interest in dropping this argument or backing down. 

“Are you challenging me, Huang Renjun?”

Renjun grins, leaning forward. “I mean, if you’re asking…”

You can’t believe Renjun is even entertaining the idea. No Nut November is stupid on a good day, let alone when someone has a girlfriend, you think. But it’s downright laughable when that someone happens to be your boyfriend—and the two of you go at it like rabbits.

Hyuck smirks, his gaze flickering from you to your boyfriend with a glint of mischief. “Oh, I’m definitely asking. Let’s see,” he drawls, leaning back with an exaggerated grin. “Which one of us can last the longest this month, loser owes the other $1000?”

“Done.”

You stare at Renjun, your mouth slightly ajar. “Done?” you echo, your tone fuming. He doesn’t even flinch, too busy locking eyes with Hyuck like it’s some weird standoff: men and their egos. 

“Renjun,” you say, sharper now, catching his attention. His eyes flicker over to you, and for a split second, you think he might come to his senses. “You’re my boyfriend. My boyfriend,” you emphasise. “You just basically agreed to not have sex with me for an entire month.”

“Well technically, you can have sex but he just can’t cum—”

“Not now, Jisung!” You snap. 

Hyuck bursts out laughing, clapping his hands like this is the funniest thing he’s heard all year. “Oh, I sooo have this in the bag,” he cackles. “And Renjun, you can’t take it back now. We shook on it—well, metaphorically. I have witnesses.” 

Renjun pales slightly, glancing between you and Hyuck. “I—uh—” he stammers, but Hyuck cuts him off, wagging a finger mockingly. 

“Nope! Rules are rules, Junnie. You’re in this now…unless you wanna forfeit—”

“No!”

You cross your arms, fixing Renjun with a glare. “So, let me get this straight. You’re really going to prioritise this over your girlfriend?”

“It’s not like that!” Renjun says quickly, looking genuinely panicked now. “It’s just—Hyuck started it!”

“Hyuck started it?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “That’s your excuse? Are we in middle school?”

“No–baby–I–” Renjun stutters. “I just—You know what he’s like. He’d never let me hear the end of it if I said no.”

“Oh, I still won’t,” Hyuck chimes in, grinning ear to ear. “Because there’s no way you’re making it through this, Junnie. Not when your girl looks like that.” Hyuck gestures toward you with a smirk, clearly enjoying every second of this.

Renjun glares at him, a growl of anger leaving his lips, but you’re quick to interject. “So you’re risking $1,000 and pausing our entire sex life for a month—because you can’t handle Hyuck’s teasing?”

Renjun winces. “When you say it like that, it sounds bad.”

“That’s because it is bad,” you shoot back. “What are you even trying to prove? That you have more self-control than Hyuck? Congratulations, Renjun. Everyone already knows that.”

Hyuck gasps, feigning offence by clutching his fists to his chest. “Wow, Y/N. You wound me.”

“I’m sure you’ll live,” you retort dryly because he’s pissed you off just as much.

Renjun sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, it’s just a month. It’s not a big deal—”

“Not a big deal?” you cut him off. “You do realise this affects me too, right?” You throw your hands up, standing to your feet. “Fine. You know what? Do whatever you want. But if you even think about caving, just remember—you’ll owe Hyuck $1,000 and me an apology.”

With that, you grab your beer and stomp out of the living room, leaving Renjun to stew. Hyuck leans back, grinning smugly before turning to Jisung. “I give him three days.”

Jisung nods thoughtfully. “I’m thinking two.”

Renjun manages to last two weeks without cumming—a new record since the two of you started dating, though it’s hardly an accomplishment. When your girlfriend is mad at you, it’s easy not to cum—mainly because you weren’t offering.

You weren’t outright ignoring him, but your usual affection had taken a sharp nosedive. No lingering kisses, no teasing touches, no late-night “accidental” brushes under the covers. It was like you’d put him on lockdown—and, annoyingly, he was thankful for it.

That pissed you off even more.

Here you were, trying to make a point, and Renjun was treating it like some kind of twisted blessing. He wasn’t sulking, wasn’t apologising profusely like he usually would. Instead, he seemed…relieved, like your passive-aggressive cold shoulder was doing him a favour.

It especially pissed you off one night when Renjun came back from dance practice, his shirt clinging to his torso, sweat beading on his forehead, and his eyes glazed over in exhaustion. Usually, when he came home like that—when it wasn’t No Nut November—you’d order takeout, settle on the sofa, and have lazy couch sex, no effort, no stress.

But not tonight.

No, because it is No Nut November and he agreed to it. So instead of collapsing into your arms, he takes himself upstairs, barely sparing you a glance, getting straight in the shower and tossing on a pair of grey sweatpants—torture, you think—and sits himself down in front of his PC, clicking at the keyboard as he logs online

He. Pisses. You. Off.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you snap, arms crossed, eyes fixed on him as he spins his chair around to face you on the bed.

He raises an eyebrow, pulling his headphones off and letting them hang loosely around his neck. “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t miss me touching you, do you?” 

“Baby,” he starts, his voice low and soft, “That’s not true—”

“Really?” You tilt your head. “Because it sure feels true.”

Renjun runs a hand through his hair. “I do miss you. I miss you a lot, okay? But you’re mad at me, and I know I deserve it...so I wanted to give you space.”

You shake your head, “That feels oddly convenient.”

“I promise you it’s not,” he sighs, cautiously sliding closer. “How about this… is there anything I can do to at least try and make it up to you?”

You arched an eyebrow. “That depends. Are you planning on sticking to this ridiculous bet?”

He hesitates, and you can practically see the war waging in his head. “...Hyuck will never let me live it down if I back out,” he admits sheepishly.

You groan, sinking back against the headboard. “You’re actually unbelievable.”

Renjun doesn’t make a move to comfort you, doesn’t try to touch or reach for you. He knows you’re pissed, but for some reason, he can’t bring himself to drop this stupid fucking bet. His eyes flicker to you for a split second, and even though you're giving him nothing but cold, angry silence, he can’t help but think how fucking cute you look when you're this worked up.

You’re absolutely right to be mad. He’s an idiot. He misses you so much, misses your lips, your touch, your smile. 

Fuck, he feels his resolve starting to crack, and so he spins around in his chair, putting all his attention back on his game and not on your pretty little pout. His fingers hit the keyboard aggressively. And although his eyes stay glued to the screen, he can feel the heat of your stare drilling into the back of his head.

Unbelievable, you think.

He’s really doing this. Pretending like he doesn’t care that you're right there, seething and beautiful and willing. You can see the tension in his shoulders, how his jaw tightens whenever he thinks you’re not looking. He needs this, needs you but he won’t let himself because he’s been in a dick swinging competition with Lee Donghyuck since he met him. 

It pisses you off—at first. But then the anger twists into something darker, bolder. Maybe it’s the frustration of going a week without him, or maybe it’s just the pure, unfiltered horniness. Either way, your patience snaps. 

You didn’t agree to this no-orgasms-for-a-month bullshit. You had nothing to lose. You didn’t need to punish yourself. 

If Renjun won’t help you, fine. You’ll just have to take care of it yourself.

The thought is intoxicating, and once it’s in your head, there’s no shaking it. You shift against the headboard, eyes locked on his back. He’s been insufferable, sure, but the memory of him coming home sweaty and dishevelled—so fucking hot—has you pent up.

Your fingers brush your lips, and you can almost feel his again. Wet. Hungry. God, you’ve missed stumbling into bed together, tugging at his clothes and fighting for breath. You’ve missed the warmth of his body, and Renjun was always warm; the way he feels against you—scorching, consuming, addictive. He’s practically a fire hazard for your senses.

Your hand trails down, teasing over your chest, your fingers clutching at the fabric as you imagine it’s his touch. He could be doing this—should be doing this—but he won’t. Because you both know it wouldn’t stop there.

You let out a slow breath, the ache between your thighs growing more unbearable with every passing second. It’s the closest you’ve been to sex for the past two weeks and still, Renjun hasn’t looked at you once, his focus stubbornly locked on his stupid game. 

The memory of him murmuring “Look, it’s just a month,” as he ran a hand through his hair flashes through your mind, and it makes you want to scream. He had no idea how badly you’d need him, how badly you’d miss him, and how much it would hurt when he started pulling away. Or maybe he did and perhaps he was being selfish. 

But that’s okay, because you were about to do your own version of self-indulgence. 

Your hands drift to your thighs, nails raking lightly against your skin as you glare at his back. He hasn’t even flinched, acting like he can’t feel the fire you’re staring into his hair. 

You start slow—fingers brushing against the fabric of your panties, the warmth pooling low in your stomach making you shiver. You bite your lip as you press down harder, a sharp pang of pleasure hitting you as you add a small amount of pressure. The thought of him watching, of him finally snapping and turning around, sends a thrill straight through you. But he doesn’t move. 

You want him to move. 

You try parting your lips with a quiet sigh to get his attention—hands still teasing yourself, slipping under the waistband of your underwear. You know exactly how to touch yourself, how to work your body into a frenzy. But it’s not enough—it’s never enough—not when you know how much better it feels when it’s him.

When he still doesn’t look, your last ounce of patience snaps. Fine, if he wants to ignore you, you’ll make damn sure he can’t.

Your hand moves to the nightstand, yanking open the drawer with just enough force to make it rattle. You grab the vibrator—the vibrator, the one he’d bought you for your birthday with that smug little grin, saying he wanted to “make things interesting.” Well, you plan on making tonight very interesting.

This isn’t for fun. This is revenge, pure and simple.

You lean back against the headboard, spreading your legs just enough to get comfortable, the cool air hitting your heated skin. Your thumb presses the button, and the low buzz fills the room, cutting through the quiet. It’s barely louder than a whisper, but it’s enough to make Renjun’s fingers pause mid-keystroke, his entire body going still.

Good.

You don’t even look at him. Not yet. Instead, you drag the toy against your inner thigh, a soft moan slipping past your lips, breathy and deliberate, as you let your head fall back, eyes fluttering shut.

And then, just like you planned, he turns. And when he sees you—legs spread, vibrator in hand—his eyes go impossibly wide.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he stammers, his voice cracking slightly at the end.

You hum softly, dragging the toy up your thigh with evil slowness. Your lips part with a quiet gasp, and his breath hitches audibly. “I’m watering the plants. What does it look like I’m doing!?”

“Y/N,” he tries again, this time more forceful, his eyes shooting to the ceiling as he takes a long deep breath. His hand clenches the edge of the desk like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “I’m serious. Turn that off.”

You finally meet his gaze, expression dripping with mock innocence as you scoff. “Why? I never agreed to No Nut November. I can entertain myself all I like.”

His mouth opens, but no words come out. You can see the panic flickering in his eyes, the video game in the background long abandoned flashing with the ‘respawn’ screen as a flush creeps up his neck. You can tell he is desperately trying to hold onto whatever self-control he has left. So far, No Nut November had been surprisingly easy for him—mostly because you’d been at each other’s throats all week. But now? With you looking like this? He’s fucked.

“Y/N, I mean it,” he warns, his voice shaky. His gaze darts to the vibrator in your hand, then to the way your legs are spread, and then back to your face. You can tell he’s trying not to look, but his resolve is cracking with every passing second.

You shake your head, biting your lip as you trace the toy over your clothed clit. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. You don’t miss the way his hand twitches like he’s fighting the urge to reach for you as you whimper. 

“You know…you could always just look away,” you say with a shrug, your tone light, teasing. “Unless, of course, you like watching.”

His eyes snap to yours, panic flashing behind them, but there’s no hiding the way his chest is rising and falling faster now. The blush staining his cheeks deepens as he shifts again, and your eyes drop—just for a second—to the bulge straining against his pants.

Like you said, those grey sweatpants are torture and you can see everything. It only spurs you on to pull your panties to the side and run the buzzing toy between your slick wet folds. The first real contact has you gasping, your back arching slightly against the headboard, and Renjun visibly twitches in his chair.

“Y/N, I’m warning you,” he tries again, but his voice is shaky, almost pleading.

“Warning me?” You echo. “What are you gonna do, huh? It’s not like you can do anything. You’re just gonna sit there and play your game while I get myself off because of a stupid dumb bet.”

His hand flexes against the armrest, his breathing ragged now, and you know you’ve got him exactly where you want him.

“Go on,” you taunt, your voice dropping lower, dripping with mockery. “Prove how much self-control you have. Or…” You trail off, letting another soft moan spill from your lips, your eyes locked on his. “You can always give up that stupid bet and come help me.”

Renjun moves before he can stop himself, the chair scraping loudly against the floor as he stands. His body betrays his mind, the bulge in his sweats unmistakable as he strides toward you, breath shallow with desperation. 

Fuck the bet. Fuck Hyuck. He just wants to fuck you. 

“Alright, fine,” he growls, “You’ve made your point. Just—just stop, let me—”

But before he can close the distance, before he can even get a touch of what he’s been missing, you press your foot firmly against his chest, halting him mid-step. His eyes widen, lips parting as he gasps, completely caught off guard by the sudden force of it. For a long moment, he stands frozen, confused.

“Hmmm, I’ve changed my mind,” you say in a low voice. “You don’t get to make the rules and then break them the second you get hard. Sit. Back. Down.”

“Y/N,” he whines, the sound ragged and desperate. His hands hover around you like he doesn’t know whether to push forward or pull back. “I thought—”

You simply smirk, leaning back into the headboard with an air of defiance, your leg still pressed against his chest, keeping him in place and giving him a perfect view of your open-spread legs. The vibrator hums between your thighs, and you can feel his gaze searing into you, his eyes flicking down to where it rests beneath your wet soaked panties.

Fucking torture.

You drag the vibrator over yourself with steady, careful motions, breath hitching as you lean into the sensation (slightly making a show of it to tease him further). “You wanted to prove you could last, didn’t you? Prove it. Watch me.” You purr. 

He groans, his head tilting back as his hands curl into tight fists, helpless and frustrated. “You’re fucking cruel,” he mutters, his voice strained, barely keeping it together.

“Am I?” you tease, your words laced with finger-licking venom. “You’ve been avoiding me for days, Renjun. Ignoring me, turning your back, all for a stupid bet with Hyuck? Now you get to feel exactly how I’ve felt.”

His jaw clenches as his hips shift, the fabric of his sweats doing nothing to hide his need. His eyes lock on yours, pleading, his chest rising and falling with erratic breaths. “Y/N, please.”

“Please what?” you taunt. “Please stop? Please let you touch me?” You press the vibrator harder against yourself, letting out a loud, shaky moan, and his knees nearly buckle as you continue, your smirk growing as you watch him unravel. 

His body trembles, a curse escaping him as he sinks back into the chair, defeated and desperate, fighting the urge to touch you, to do something, anything. Renjun’s never felt a tightness in his body like this before. His muscles are tense, every inch of him on fire, but it’s not the good kind of heat—it’s raw and painful, like his body’s been caught in a vice that won’t let go. His breath comes in sharp, ragged gasps, every shift only intensifying the ache. The throb is relentless. 

"Y/N, please," he whines desperately, the plea barely a whisper, but you hear it. He looks so broken, so beautiful, eyes fluttering closed as he tries to regain some shred of control. 

You smirk at his desperate pleas, the sound making your heart race faster. You’ve never seen him this far gone for you, and knowing you've been the one to drive him to the edge like this—it’s a rush.

You spread your legs even wider, the cool air of the room hitting you and you moan as you pull your panties down and toss them aside. He stares at you—eyes wide, face flushed, lips parted—as you slide your fingers between your slick folds. You’re so wet already, so hot, and all it takes is the combination of cool air and the vibrator on your clit to have you soaring. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, eyes fluttering as you arch against the toy in your hand. “God, I’m so close.”

He groans in response, hips shifting against the chair as he fights the urge to move, his body desperate for friction, for any kind of touch.

“Y/N, please,” he tries again, voice so thick with need. “Let me help. Please. Let me—”

You press harder, your entire body starting to tingle as you drive yourself closer to the edge. His own hips roll desperately, and you wonder how close he is too. He doesn’t even need a hand, it seems. His body’s already learning to react without stimulation—and it would be his own fault for blue balling himself for two weeks. The thought of it almost sends you over the edge, but you want to draw this out a bit longer.

“Nope,” you grunt, breathy moans escaping you as your hand speeds up. “No touching.”

His breath hitches. “Fuck, you’re so fucking cruel,” he pants, his body writhing in the chair. His face is flushed, eyes wild, and you can tell he's not far from losing it completely.

You smirk. “And you’re so fucking desperate,” you reply. “So close, aren’t you? And I haven’t even touched you.”

He nods, his hips rolling desperately as he clutches the edge of the chair, knuckles going white with tension. You can almost feel the ache in his body as he strains against himself, fighting against his own needs.

Your eyes flick to where his sweats are straining and you let out a small whimper at the sight. God, he’s so big, and you can practically imagine him thrusting against you, his cock sliding in deep with a rough, possessive motion. Fuck you’ve missed that. You gasp, your body clenching around nothing, and you swear you can feel his touch on you, all over, everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

“God,” you whisper, your hand moving the toy faster against your clit. “God, fuck—Renjun,” your voice breaks on his name, “Fuck, I’m close.”

His hips snap forward, his back bowing against the chair. “Oh fuck,” he moans, his eyes wide as they stare straight into yours. “Fuck, baby. So pretty—”

You cum with a sharp cry, your hand spasming against yourself as your body trembles through the orgasm. Renjun watches—desperate and hungry—for every second of it, just the sound of your orgasm sending his own body to the edge.

“God, yes,” he groans, eyes closing with a harsh curse. “Fuck, yes. Y/N, fuck, yes.”

You open your eyes to see him bucking in the chair, his body shaking as he stares at you—wide-eyed and panting. You watch his cum spill into his sweatpants, creating a dark, damp stain that makes your chest swell with satisfaction.

Your gaze stays locked on him—your body still twitching as your own orgasm fades—and a slow smile spreads across your face as you realise he came untouched, from just watching.

Your boyfriend sits frozen, completely caught off guard, his eyes staring blankly at his lap, cum stain splattered over his sweats. He blinks rapidly as he struggles to form coherent thoughts, his mind a mess. A long, long moment passes, and then he lets out an awkward cough, eyes darting around the room in search of an escape. There’s none. He’s just cum all over himself and can’t even blame it on someone else.

He looks mortified.

You bite your lip, a mischievous smile tugging on your face. “I’m sure Hyuck’s gonna love this.”

“Hyuck isn’t finding out,” he groans. 

You raise an eyebrow, teasing. “Oh, he will. You made a bet about not cumming for a month, and well…”

Renjun growls low in his throat, rising up and crawling onto the bed. “Exactly. I made a bet with him, and if I’m gonna lose $1,000, I might as well fuck my girlfriend properly, and cum inside her, and tell him that’s how I lost, since you wanna be such a fucking tease.”

You smile as he hovers over you, a challenging gleam in your eyes. “Oh yeah? Is that a threat?”

“No,” he murmurs. “It’s a promise.”

[mintmatcha]

Inevitable Things : chapter eleven

aizawa x reader fic

cw: aizawa x reader, cisfem reader, office AU, no quirks. CONSULT AO3 FOR FULL TAGGED CONTENT WARNINGS

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Your mom used to tell you that love was a choice that she made every day. She woke up and chose to love your father, chose to put in the effort that a relationship needed, chose to stay by his side through the good and the bad. It was a point of pride to endure at all, a smile slapped on her face. She told you that until he left one night, bags in hand and another woman’s name on his lips. 

After that, love was no longer a choice. It was nights of tears and screaming matches, begging and pleading, obligatory phone calls and visitations out of state. Love was no longer a choice, but a shackle, something that you say at the end of a conversation because you must. Love is a pain you bear because you are human, and someone must hold these feelings you have.

Your mother still wants your father to call her. 

You wait for Touya to come home.

It haunts you all morning, as you twiddle away time before the convention floor opens again. You end up calling your boss with an update, only to chat with him over coffee. His niece is over again - she screams hi into the receiver- and his sister says hello as well. You try to end the call there, but he stays on, asking questions about who you’ve seen and how they've been. The conversation drags, but neither of you seem to mind.

“You aren’t watching Shouta.” It’s an observation, posed as a question. He’s speaking better today- you aren’t sure why. Death ebbs and flows.

“He asked me not to.” The truth feels right at this moment. It doesn’t betray anything changing between you two; Toshinori is probably aware of the tense air between you too. Now, it’s just tense in a different way, a way that makes your toes curl to think about.

“Don’t take it personally,” he says, “Shouta is a very private man.”

More so than you know, Yagi, you think. Aizawa is very different behind closed doors, behind that wall he’s so carefully crafted. You fear you’ve only cracked one layer of him only to uncover a different veneer.

At the end of the call with Toshinori, you let slip a little “Love you.” and he laughs, surprisingly boisterous for his frail lungs. 

“I didn’t mean it,” you try to say.

“It’s okay,” he says once he catches his breath. “I understand.”

 You don’t.

The rest of the morning is spent in your room, pouring over your emails. Technically, the company is on crunch time; your newer model hits the market within two months and panic has set across the office. Everything is ready, technically, but also nothing is; every day is a new little fire, begging to be put out. Being away on a friday was actually a gift, you realize now that you’re scrolling through what you’ve missed. Your inbox is filled with random issues and scheduled meetings for the upcoming weeks. Your DMs are alight with notifications too-- these, less urgent. 

Izuku Midoriya -> are you alive? or did Mr. Aizawa murder you?

Oh, if only he knew how quickly things change.

we're both alive and well somehow <-

Another message comes through, this one in a different tab.

Hizashi Yamada -> I see you online!

Trying to sneak some work in before I get out of bed. <-

Hizashi Yamada -> Send me your room number.

He arrives in less than five minutes. As usual, Hizashi is put together in a respectfully ostentatious way. His all black outfit might be velvet because of how it eats the light, equally matte and shiny all at once. It’s the type of clothing you wish you could pull off-- or afford --but he wears it so easily, with a confidence you could never have. No, you could never so gracefully enter a room and throw off a jacket like some supermodel.

“How was the presentation?” he asks as he flops into bed beside you. It's a different feeling than being next to Aizawa; he’s perched like a girl gossiping during a slumber party, hair tosselled on your silk pillow. You close your laptop and carefully place it aside. There’s no way you’ll be working with Hizashi around.  That was probably his plan all along.

“I didn’t go-- you didn’t go either?” You playfully shove him.  “You're a bad friend!”

“I woke up late.” He shrugs, feigning sympathy with a content smirk. “And had other things to do this morning, if you catch my drift.”

He throws in an unnecessary wink. Your cringe is a reflex- you don’t really mind hearing about Hizashi’s conquests, but it does make you think about last night again. All you did was kiss, but your skin prickles as if you did more, as if you want more. 

And maybe you do. You’ve been tossing the idea around all morning, trying to figure out exactly what you want, not only from the man, but from yourself, but every time you think about it too hard, the image of Touya flashes in your mind, and your thoughts are tumbling once again.

You think of your mother. It used to be your worst fear to become her, but each day that passes, you see more of her in your eyes, in the thinness in  your skin.

“You okay, babygirl?”

He points directly at the space between your eyes, where you’ll one day have the same worried creases your mother has.. “You’ve got a face on your face.”

You try to wipe away whatever he’s seeing, but it clearly doesn’t work. Hizashi looks at you harder, expression especially soft. 

“Oh, yeah, I’m just-” you shrug. Is there a word for what you're feeling? Ennui? Horror? Somewhere in between? “Shaking off a weird feeling.”

“Weird feeling-” Hizashi throws you a wink. “I think we call it a hangover.”

“I’m not hungover--”

Before you can protest, your friend gasps, so violently that you nearly jump out of your skin. He backs up, hand over his heart and jaw dropped to the floor. “Oh my god. Oh my goooooooodddd.”

“What? What? Am I dying?”

“Your neck!” Now he points to you with a fully straight arm, like he’s accusing you of being a witch. You slap a hand over the spot instinctively. “Hello, that’s a hickey!”

Oh. Oh no. You had been too distracted this morning to notice, but apparently Aizawa’s lips have left a mark on you. Heat flushes across your face; a hickey? Who do you think you are? Kaminari? You’ve had a secret for less than 24 hours and it’s already threatening to come out.

“You got laid last night? With who? Where? When? Tell me everything!” Hizashi pushes down in the mattress to bounce himself, jimmying you up and down in the process.

“Well, uh--” You can’t even begin to make something up. The irrational fears start to take over- what if he figures out exactly who’s mouth left that mark? Hizashi’s a whore-- he might know some sort of mouth forensics or something! Or, you don’t know, maybe you still smell like Aizawa, even 

“You dirty dog, is that why you didn’t see Aizawa’s thing?” Your stomach somehow sinks lower. “Because you and Tensei fucked?”

Tensei?

“Tensei?”

“Oh my god, you totally did. You’re all flustered!”

You had completely forgotten the man even existed. Beautiful Tensei Iida, the ‘sexy’ doctor Hizashi wanted you to have… it’s funny how things never work out the way you think they will.

“It wasn’t Tensei!” You scooch away. “And it’s not a hickey!” 

Hizashi sees through that lie. He crawls on his hands and knees after you. “You gotta tell me, please-”

Crap. He’s not going to let this go. Sex and all that comes with it is Hizashi’s catnip; once he’s gotten a taste of it, he’s deranged. 

Telling the truth certainly isn’t an option. You and Aizawa? The absolute nuclear fallout that would hit the office if that came out would be catastrophic. Hizashi can’t keep his mouth shut, so even hinting at what happened last night could be the end of whatever weird thing you and Shouta have, killing it before you can even name what it is. 

And being so close to launch? It could potentially hinder Aizawa’s image--

And your and Touya’s relationship.

“It was someone I met at the restaurant after you left-” Not completely a lie. “We just-- kissed, I guess. I didn’t want to, you know, do more.”

Hizashi kicks his feet in excitement. His shoes are on your bed- gross.

“Good for you, setting boundaries!” he says. “That’s growth!”

He goofs around for just a moment longer before settling.

“Why do you look so sad about it?” He’s quick to say.  “Did they do something?”

“No! No, it was nice, but-” you start. The truth feels heavy, yet silly at the same time. You know the reaction you’re about it get, and yet you say it anyway-  “I don't know, I started to think about Touya this morning and-”

Hizashi’s face falls so hard that you swear you can hear it. His hatred of Touya has never been a secret, but before Touya made his disappearing act, he at least kept his comments to a minimum. With no Touya, there’s no limit to Hizashi’s public loathing.

“I love you. So much.” He takes your hand in his. He’s still on his knees, hunched over you awkwardly, those damn shoes still on the bed. “But thought you were over this shitbag.”

You want to protest. He’s not a shitbag, he’s just having a hard time. He’s not a bad guy, the drugs just make him that way. He’s a good boy underneath all of the troubles, you know it’s true.

But you’ve run out of excuses years ago. All you can say is the truth: “I think I still love him.” 

Compassion contorts your friend’s face. “Oh, girl. Girl. You don’t.”

“Hizashi-” You try to slide away, but he doesn’t let you. 

“He treated you like garbage for years. Years!” The blonde squeezes your hand. “And he wasn’t loyal, he wasn’t safe, he wasn’t kind or sober or-” 

“It's not like he abused me or something.” You say it so quickly that it feels tinny on your lips. Both of you go quiet for a second and Hizashi throws his hands up in surrender. He ducks his head low, not in defeat, but in a humble act, like a dog that’s pushed it’s boundaries a bit too far.  With a sigh, he sits back on his knees, allowing there to be space between you.

“I didn't say that,” he says carefully.  “It doesn't have to be abuse, that doesn't mean it's healthy.”  

There’s a hesitation, then he reaches out his hand again. You don’t take it, but he keeps it there, in the air, waiting for you.

“I just care about you. I know ‘muri and I get a bit too pushy and wild sometimes, but it’s because we want you to have fun for once. We-- we want you to be with someone that makes you feel good-- who thinks you’re the best thing in the world,” Hizashi says. “We want you to get what you deserve and Touya isn’t that.”

A different type of warm runs over you- a watery one, one that stings at your eyes. You aren’t sure where the well of emotion has come from, but it’s there, bubbling just under the surface. You try to sniffle without giving yourself away. 

“Would it be so bad to let yourself move on and try something new?” Hizashi smiles.  “Let yourself have a little fun for once?”

Reluctantly, you take his hand. He squeezes and coos, pulling your hand into an awkward faux-hug, right about his heart.

 “Let yourself have fun, let yourself live.”

“I’m gonna try to try.”

--

The convention itself goes smoothly. More people ask about Yagi, but the word seems to be spreading: he’s not here. He’ll never be here. The air is bittersweet, but Hizashi always recovers it for you. He keeps the conversation flowing back to work and the bed, with much more ease than you’ll ever have.

The only time you see Aizawa  is when he’s in your periphery. He’s in the corner, caught in some conversation with people whose names you’ve already forgotten. Tensei’s by his side, basking in the probable praise, while Aizawa just nods along. The presentation must have gone well, you gather from the attention they’re both getting. That’s both good and bad; the work deserves credit, but Aizawa…

What a heavy secret to carry. What a prominent shame. He didn’t want you to see, but he was okay with all of these strangers ogling him like a science experiment. 

Does that make you more important than those strangers? Or less?

You try to look for an opening to leave, but one never seems to come.

Only once do you catch him staring back at you, his expression too far away to be read. The thump of your heart steps out of rhythm for a moment before you get yourself together.

“I see you eyeing up Tensei,” Hizashi teases. “Are you sure he isn’t your mystery man?”

You deny it, but Hizashi is unconvinced.

----

The three of you finally reunite over dinner. This time, Hizashi swears he will stay the whole time.

This time, you don’t want him to.

You’ve settled into a different booth than you were in last night. Again, the chip basket is empty before Aizawa can arrive. He’s always running late for these things, either through lack of effort or lack or lack of time management. If he didn’t have a presentation tomorrow, you’d be annoyed, but you decide to give the man a break.

Though, you do wonder if you’ll be allowed to see this one. You’ll have to go, right? It’s about your company.

“I still can’t believe you managed to pick up Tensei with Aizawa right there.”  Hizashi leans back into the booth.

“It wasn’t Tensei,” you insist. “And he was distracted.”

“By what?”

You aren’t a quick liar. 

“Some girl.” Or a good one. “They went off together.”

You know you’ve fucked up by the look on Hizashi’s face. He sits up, staring at you from over his glasses with a slack jawed amazement.

“You're lying.” He sits up even more. “You're lying straight to my face right now.”

Fear thrums you so hard that your stomach almost revolts on impact. 

“I’ve never seen Shouta pick up a stranger, ever.” Hizashi throws his hands up in the air for effect. “Never, ever. Not even in college! ”

Looking back, you should have said he was struck by lightning. That would have been more believable. From what you remember, Aizawa doesn’t date very often - or at all. You can’t remember if he’s ever brought someone to a work event or even mentioned a partner.  (Which makes you feel equally bad and… special. Are you an exception to his rule? Are you different? 

…Or, more likely, he’s just a private guy. But you can pretend.)

“Well, uh, I dunno what to say.” You still haven’t come up with a better lie. “Ask him yourself.”

“I will!”

Good. That gives you time to text Shouta and warn him about that shit storm he’s about to enter. The two of you can come up with a lie that makes sense and won’t send Hizashi screaming. Suddenly, you’re grateful that Aizawa can’t show up on time for-

“Again with the chips?”

Fuck!!

As if summoned, Aizawa is behind you, shrugging off his jacket. He’s in the same suit as he was earlier, but a lot more disheveled after making it through the day. The social interaction really took it out of him; no wonder he’s so quiet at the office. You pat the seat next to you and he practically slumps into it.

“Please tell me you aren’t escaping again tonight,” he says to Hizashi.

“Oh, no, I’m not going anywhere, trust me.” That smile sets the whole table on guard. “I have too many questions.”

“If you had questions, you should have shown up to the talk,” Aizawa says. “Which went well, by the way. Thank you for asking.”

“You didn’t give me a chance to ask, asshole.”

“Should have been the first words out of your mouth.”

“Well, sorry, Mr. Sensitive. I didn’t think I needed to stroke your ego today! Should I start singing your praises now, or after we verbally jack you off for a bit?”

“We are in public, Mic, stop talking about jacking off.”

“How was your presentation, oh smart one?”

“It was--”  Aizawa stops himself mid sentence, brow furrowed as he turns directly towards you. “You’re being quiet.”

“Me?” you point to yourself as if you don’t know the answer. The accusation makes your heart race- or maybe it’s those sharp eyes, boring down into you. 

“Why are you being quiet?” he says with an accusatory glare. “What did you do?”

Hizashi erupts into a giggle and the attention is finally turned away from you. 

“I heard that you went home with someone-”

Aizawa’s gaze snaps to you.  It takes effort to press your lips down and keep a neutral expression; anxiety is trilling inside you, high and frail and wild, like a little flute in a marching band finale. The man tilts his head just a bit, eyes sharp and questioning, clearly trying to interrogate you while completely silent.

“Where did you hear that, Yamada?” Aizawa’s tone isn’t flat now. No, it’s pressed, stressed; he thinks you’ve told him everything. You try to gesture with just your eyes -- three normal blinks and wide eyes, like a makeshift morse code. This obviously fails.

“Little miss girl here-” Hizashi waggles his eyebrows and Aizawa’s pupils dilate with fear-  “told you you went home with a stranger from the restaurant.” 

Realization hits Aizawa’s expression, then, relaxation. His whole body turns to you with a belabored sigh. “You little snitch.”  

The smile you’ve been trying to fight erupts across your face.  You burst into a nervous giggle, one that you have to silence with your own hand. This is a dangerous line you’re walking; Hizashi isn’t a stupid guy- he’s going to figure out something’s wrong if either of you slip up.

“It’s true?” Hizashi gasps. “What? You? You?”

“Is it really so weird that I had sex with someone?” Aizawa says.  “You do it all the time.”

“You aren’t a hook up guy!” Hizashi peers from over his glasses.  “You’re a ‘third date and a bottle of wine’ guy!”

“When have I ever had a bottle of wine?”

“Okay, ‘third date and an air of desperation.’ How's that?”

Aizawa  wrinkles his nose and bares his teeth, barking out a canned laugh. “Ha. Ha. Ha. Fuck off.” 

The shorter man sits back in his seat and uses his drink to gesture to you. “Why don’t you harass Miss Hickey over there instead?”

The attention shifts to you for only a moment before Hizashi waves you away with the back of his hand. He shifts forward on to his elbows, directly towards his friend..“She just made out with a guy, I don’t care about that-”

“-Hey!” you object. As if Aizawa isn’t the reason you’re bruised in the first place! The dark haired man is purposefully looking down his nose at you, expression taut. 

“Sorry, but I need every nitty gritty detail of Shouta’s night ASAP. “ Hizashi grinds you back on track.

The two of them have been friends since college, you remember. You’d never really been able to see the connection before; they’re both so different that they almost seem like they’d never mesh, but today they are huddled together like boys, mirroring each other’s movements. You wonder if there were lots of nights like these, gossiping over girls and wild nights.

Did Hizashi know him before the car accident?

“I’ll tell you later, Mic,” Aizawa says.  “After she’s gone.”

It’d be best to stay quiet, but you can’t bring yourself to be purposefully excluded.

“You don’t want to get dirty in front of me, huh?” you tease. Besides, you’d like to see what he comes up with. “I can handle it.”

He doesn’t take the bait. “I’m not a sharer.”

You turn away with a little shrug. “Hm.”

Aizawa almost doesn’t respond. The gears turn behind his eyes, slowly grinding away at his patience until he grits out a little: “What?” 

His knee bumps into yours under the table. It’s fleeting, but there. 

“I was just thinking-” you start. “Maybe you’re a bit of a coward.”

“Coward?” he replies.

“Afraid to gossip-” 

It’s Aizawa’s turn to huff. “Gentlemen don’t gossip.”

“Since when are you a gentleman?” Hizashi barks out a laugh.

With another exhale, Aizawa closes his eyes. A moment, then another passes, before he opens them again, one brow raised. It’s the same expression a teacher would give to the class after too much clownery. No wonder the interns are terrified of the man, you’d be scared too if you weren’t so excited to see where this is going. 

“You really want me to tell you what I did last night?” He’s deadpan. “Really?”

Both of you nod. 

“Fine.” He throws his hands up in defeat.  “I met this woman at the bar. Bought her a cocktail-”

“What kind of cocktail?” you interject.

“What?” Aizawa stares at you, lip curled in frustration. You’re making lying harder and you know that, but excitement is driving you forward. The risk doesn’t outweigh the reward quite yet. “I don’t know- something sweet.”

“Hm.”

“Margarita. The spicy kind. She tasted like it all night.”

Aizawa is alarmingly good at lying. He does it with a straight face, minus the telltale curl of his lip, but Hizashi doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy sitting on the edge of his seat. You’re still trying to reconcile all of the versions of him inside your head: the work version, the ‘lover’ you met, and this lackadaisical liar. 

“Keep going.” Hizashi urges.

“Then we went back to her room. Didn’t even make it to the bed.”

The way he lays down each word is slow, meticulous, purposeful; the narrative he builds is crafted especially for you, but you aren’t quite sure of his goal. 

“ Is that enough detail?”

“Boo-” Hizashi’s fanning the flame now too. “Not the fade to black storytelling!”

Aizawa ducks in close, resting on his forearms as he talks. His gaze flicks between you and Hizashi, but lingers much longer on you, flickering down to your lips every now and again. His timbre drops lower, gritty, rolling as he whispers. 

“We went back to her room-”

You’re watching his mouth a bit too intensely. 

“- I got on my hands and knees-”

He enunciates it slowly, so neither of you miss a moment. A shiver goes up your spine. There’s a weight to his breath, a genuine enjoyment. Would he get on his knees for you?

“And I  begged to eat her out.” 

He’s proud of it. Oh, he would get down for you. He’d plead for the privilege. His leg brushes against yours again, this time with pressure and purpose, and your skin crawls with excitement. It’s just a story. You know it’s not true. 

But the glint in his eye says that he wishes it wasn’t.

“And?” your voice shakes a bit. That’s his goal, isn’t it? To get you riled up? To make you regret forcing him into this situation?

Aizawa rubs the spot where his jaw connects with a slow, purposeful circle, like he’s trying to rub out a kinked muscle. It’s borderline boastful. “And that’s how I spent the night.”

Hizashi tips his head back and laughs so loudly that the table next to you stares. “Good for you!”

“Good for her,” Aizawa replies.

Hizashi rolls his eyes. “I almost forgot you’re a munch. It’s been so long since you’ve gotten any, so-”

“Watch it, Hizashi.”

You regret the question before you ask it. “Uh, what’s a munch?”

Both of them look at you.

“Well, it’s clearly not Touya,” Hizashi mumbles, and you shoot him a glare. 

“It’s a slang term for someone who really enjoys…” Aizawa trails off, cocking his head expectantly. 

“Eating pussy,” Hizashi finishes for him. 

Another thrill of excitement goes up your spine. Enjoys it? Is that even possible? The idea has you woozy. 

“Yeah, that’s totally not Touya,” you manage to say.

Hizashi makes another comment, but you can’t force yourself to focus on that. No, not when your heart is beating like this. It’s just words, a fake story, but there’s a silent promise to it as well. You wonder what would have happened last night if you said yes. Would he have spent the night between your legs, eating simply for your pleasure?

Want trembles in your hands as you pretend to check your phone. Is it pathetic? To be worked up over a silly little story, made up to cover your tracks? The waiter comes, you all order. Aizawa’s knee pumps against yours- once accidentally, once on purpose. You hope he doesn’t notice how you’re squirming in your seat, trying to ignore the way your body is craving pressure and attention. You think, maybe, if you move right, you could get the seam of your pants to hit just right-

What are you doing? This is pathetic. 

“I’m going to go to the bathroom.” You don’t wait for a response. Pushing up from the table, you turn down the back of the restaurant. The signs lead you into a little back hallway, tucked by the kitchen, where the lighting is respectfully dim. You have to wait a moment because the door is locked, but you don’t mind. It gives you time to mull over everything.

Maybe Hizashi is right; maybe it’s okay to try something new. It’s been years since you’ve felt this alive with someone, this excited to get something more. With Touya, sex became more of an obligation. Maybe it could be different with someone else. Maybe it could be something fun, something-

A hand catches you by the back of your shirt, not hard enough to yank you backwards, but firm enough to stop you in your tracks.  A gasp squeaks out of you as you stagger back into the chest of the man behind you. You crank around to see- only to relax when you realize it’s just Aizawa.

“You scared me,” you mumble out a lament. 

“You little sneak.” With a thumb, he tilts your chin up, so far that you’re looking back at him. His other fingers press ever so nicely into the length of your neck, drawing you back into his chest. There’s nothing constricting your breath, but suddenly your lungs are empty, breathless, and your parted lips pull nothing in. Aizawa’s dark eyes are narrowed, boring straight down into yours.

Oh, he’s pissed. 

And, for the first time, that excites you.

“You like making me sweat, don’t you?” His free hand is looped around your waist, holding you much tighter than the other. “Almost getting us caught-- You make me so mad sometimes.” 

The kitchen is full of mumbled orders and the clang of dishware. It echoes through the dark hall you’ve trapped yourselves in, you aren’t alone, no matter how badly you wish it to be true.  

“Thought you liked me,” you whisper.

You swear there’s a subtle dilation to his eyes, involuntary. Real. “I do.”

He leans over and dots a simple kiss on to your forehead, right where your hair meets skin. It’s simple, soft, but, god, it sets everything inside you into this wet, wobbly, needy heat, something soft and harsh all at once.

“Even when you piss me off.” The hand around your neck twitches playfully, with no real constriction. 

It’s cliche, you think, how you just sort of watch each other, breathless, patient. Neither of you tries to make a move, locked together. He smells good. Not like anything you can name, just… good.  It’s the same good you feel in your chest and an equal good to how your hands feel when you reach backwards and grab his hips. 

“I’m starting to think you like making me mad.”

“Shouta-” you say his name because he likes it, because it makes him lean in closer to you-

The bathroom door flies open and you both pull away like you’ve touched a hot stove. The woman who exists definitely knows something’s up; she rolls her eyes and sends a text on her phone as she passes. The two of you share a look; you, relieved, Aizawa amused. It’s as if you're sixteen again, with this fluttering feeling in your stomach you can’t quite swallow down. It’s too bright to be anxiety.

Aizawa steps back a bit with a nod. Oh, right, the bathroom. You don’t actually have to go, but it would be silly to not go in now. Maybe you can just try to go-

You look back at your Aizawa.

Or maybe.

Or maybe you can have some fun.

With uncharacteristic confidence, you hook a finger under a button of his shirt and tug. Aizawa’s face goes bright with realization. He falls into following as you guide him forward into the bathroom, step by awkward step, backwards until the door opens against your weight. Aizawa glances around before the door closes after him, making sure to remain unspotted, then turns to you with a wicked, narrowed, glowering look. 

The bathroom is simple, but nice. The lighting is sharp and bright, the floor is white and clean. A decorative table is wedged into the corner, topped with extra towels and real flowers in water. Your brain can’t process more than that- not with a dark haired man wrapped around your finger. He has the forethought to lock the door behind him.

“What are you doing-?” he grumbles wickedly, ducking down to catch you in a kiss, but you don’t let him make contact. You dip away, drawing him further and further in, until you’re backed against the little decorative table. With his weight, he shifts you back until your ass is seated properly on that wiggly table, one hand back to brace yourself. Finally, he traps you, stubble rough against your cheek, lips soft against yours.

“I thought we were going slow,” he says into your lips. You don’t respond-- you can’t. Your breath is stolen from your lungs, the need to breathe replaced with the need for him, the need for touch-

You hook a leg over his waist and his hand flies to it, folding it higher, pulling it tighter. 

“Oh, you can’t help it, can you?” he mumbles. “One little story about eating pussy has you desperate for it, huh?”

“Y-you-” You hate that you can’t dirty talk smoothly like he can.

“Yeah?” He’s almost condescending. “Yeah? What does my girl want?”

Embarrassment floods your cheeks with heat. Aizawa waits for it, hovering above you. Oh, he won’t give it to you until you really ask, will he? You have to physically brace yourself to say it.

“Will you kiss it?” you ask, much meeker than intended. 

“Kiss ‘it’?” You expect him to keep picking at you, but instead his hands are busy unbuttoning your pants, guiding them down. “Do you mean-”

His lips find your hickey and the spot aches under the connection. “Here?”

Creeping lower, he hunches over your chest. This time, he pecks at the hem of your shirt. “Here?”

Down he goes, on to his knees. This kiss lands in your stomach, right where the tightness of want sits-

“Here?”

“Shouta-” You’re mad and annoyed and you’d frankly settle for him kissing you anywhere at this point-

Hands slip your pants down past your knees. When the air hits your skin, you suddenly realize just how wet you are, how it’s bled through your panties and smeared across your thigh. Before you can process anything, his mouth is over your clothed cunt, wide mouthed and kissing. The drag of his tongue is a lot, even though the fabric; the contact has your spine flexing all on its own.

“Here?”

“There, there,” You’re clinging on to handfuls of his hair already. “Right there.”

But Aizawa doesn’t kiss you again. 

“In a public bathroom?” He’s watching you from the floor. Your leg is looped over his back. He’s surprisingly wide and thick under you; your legs have to spread so far to fit him. God, your body is plaint enough that it just gives to his pushing hands and demands.

 “You like it nasty.”

You can’t bring yourself to respond. Your brain is fried with a deadly combination of horny and embarrassed. Is this really what you want? 

“No, you don’t like it dirty, do you?” It feels like he’s reading your mind, hands kneading your thighs with a growing hunger. He plants a kiss where your legs meets your underwear and your cunt pulses in response. “My girl just needs it so bad, doesn’t she?”

Teeth sink into your inner thigh and you kick in response: another fucking hickey. The thing that got you into this mess-

“That’s right, my girl.” He’s talking to himself now, mumbling just under his breath. A finger loops under your panties, the same way your finger looped under his button, and there’s no time to feel shame before he exposes your pussy.  “You went home with me.” 

You expect him to go straight for your clit, to devour you with the fucking need that’s been building between you all goddamn night-

But, instead, he touches his lips to the crest of your mons and breathes. It’s hot, molten, pours down you like molten lava. It’s the faintest, tickling touch, but it’s enough, it’s more than enough. A moan rips out of you, so unexpected that you jump at your own voice. 

Usually, when you have sex, you’re worried about the small things. Whether or not you’ve shaved, whether you look thin enough or pretty enough, but now, the only thing you can think about is being touched, needing touch, desiring touch.

And the time.

“We-” He hasn’t even started and you’re quivering for it. “We gotta hurry before Mic-”

“I promised you-” Aizawa says, firmly. “That we’d go slow.”

Finally, gloriously, you feel the hot press of his tongue, dragging up through your excitement. Every inch he takes is painstakingly slow until he hits the nub of your clit. That contact is fast, fleeting, but it still sends you keening and gasping. Every important muscle inside you is bunched and coiled, filled with enough potential energy to set the whole fucking restaurant on fire. You’re going to cum. You’re going to cum from practically nothing.

The vase of flowers on the table is overturned. You don’t even remember knocking it over. Water pools under your ass and everything is wet, from you, to the mess, to his drool across your inner thigh. His mouth closed over you the same way someone would eat a peach, sucking with this absurdly lewd sound as if he’s afraid to let any of your excitement escape. His jaw moves slow - just like he fucking promised- and doesn’t miss an inch of skin as he closes his mouth, lips coming closed around your clit. The pressure feels heavenly against the already puffy parts of your pussy and your hands clasp his dark locks tighter. You aren’t sure if you’re trying to pull him away or pull him closer; your body is just reacting, like neurons are firing all on their own.

Fingers clamp around your thighs. Aizawa is groaning, voice so low it vibrates against you, as if he’s the one receiving it, not you. Enjoys eating pussy… the memory rings through your skull. Fuck, what an understatement; he eats pussy like he needs it to live. His eyes are lidded heavy with pleasure. Every lick and suck and touch along the tapestry of your cunt is wet and wild, but aggravatingly skilled. The heat of his mouth against your clit - firm, but not hard- is enough to steal your breath away.

Then, he pulls away, and your pleasure begins to unravel-- unfairly fast. You hadn’t realized how close to the precipice you had been until you started falling away. The feeling is disastrous. 

He speaks with a heady exhale, warm and not nearly enough. “You taste-”

“Shut up,” Now you’re definitely pulling his face back towards you this time. “Shut up, shut up, shut up-”

He silences himself with your cunt. 

This time, there’s no savoring. His lips and tongue are on your clit, sucking in mouthfuls of your folds, bouncing against the involuntary roll of your hips. Everything inside you is hot and sticky, thick like honey. You’re saying something, maybe, but it’s all high pitched and garbled. The rub from Aizawa's stubble sends a chill up your spine and the hot and cold inside you melts into something smooth-

You can feel your orgasm coming long before it hits, everything inside you pulling high and tight, like the ocean rolling before a wave. The crest hasn't hit, but it's going to come, you're going to cum-

And then you look down, and Aizawa's staring back at you, with those dark, hooded eyes, and you unravel. It’s not my other orgasms you've had: a full body feeling, like the flush to warmth you get when alcohol hits your stomach. It rolls, through you, away from you, against you- in every fucking direction until every ounce of tension is smoothed from your muscles. Boneless had always sounded silly, but now you understand exactly what it means; you slump back and try to catch your breath.

Aizawa’s movements slow, but never stop. He runs the flat face of his tongue against you until you gather the energy you shove him back. For a split second, a string of your cum ties between you and his mouth.

“Shit,” you breathe. Your surroundings feel more tangible suddenly. The sink drips, the walls echo the restaurant’s soft muzak, Aizawa’s cheeks glimmer with your wetness: it’s all suddenly real.

“I cannot believe-” He wipes his face on his sleeve.

“Shit,” you repeat. That was insane. You were insane! Your friend is waiting at the table, probably wondering what happened to you two-

“-that you let me do that. You came so--”

“Shit.” This is exactly what you needed. “I’ve never-”

Aizawa sits back on his knees with a stiff grunt. “Don’t tell me you’ve never orgasmed before.”

“No! I’ve totally-” You awkwardly shimmy up your pants and instantly regret it. It’s wet. It’s cold. “No one’s ever gone down on me before.”

Aizawa gives you the slowest, longest blink you’ve ever seen. Then, he shakes his head and stands up, brushing his pants off. You debate asking if his leg hurts, but decide against it. “How do you continuously say things that make me want to go insane?” 

He huffs about it, but you’re starting to unravel the strings of affection he weaves into his sentences. You shrug, biting back your smile.

“I’m just special, I guess.”

Eyes closed, he gives you a nod, tempering himself.

“Go back to the table before we’re caught.”

Fuck-- that’s right. You two have been gone for long enough that it's starting to get suspicious. Besides, there’s going to be a line outside the door if you don’t get moving soon- if there isn’t a line already. You quickly check your outfit and adjust your hair in the mirror; your skin looks brighter than usual. The power of an orgasm, you guess.

“Don’t  you want me to…?” You give a little jerk off motion and Aizawa rolls his eyes at the behavior-- as if he didn’t just eat your pussy in a fucking bathroom.

“I don’t want you to do anything to me,” he insists. He helps you off of the table with a hand, then ushers you towards the locked door. “I want to lay you down and eat you out until your brain factory resets like a cheap Macbook.”

He’s already done that, but okay, you could be down for more-

“But we are in a bathroom.” He gestures around him.  “In a restaurant.”

You add: “With Hizashi waiting.”

“With Mic waiting. He’s smart- he’ll figure us out if we aren’t careful,” he agrees. “Now, get out there and cover me.”

Suddenly, Aizawa leans over and kisses you. It’s not deep, but you can taste your musk on his lips and that makes your spine thrill with excitement.  It’s illicit in a way that makes you feel young and happy and, and, and-

And all those weird, indescribable highs you get when your brain is drowned in dopamine and oxytocin. For a fleeting moment, you reach out and grab his hands, holding on for only a squeeze.

“Your room tonight?” you ask when he pulls away. Your head is still racing, head still swimming-

He grimaces. “Yours has better pillows.”

“I brought them from home.” He was in your bed last night, in your pussy moments ago, but the fact he knows your pillow feels so strangely intimate. “I like silk pillowcases.”

The expression in his face softens, just at the crowed corner of his eyes. “Of course you do.” He jerks his chin towards the door.  “Get going.”

“Sho-”

“Get.”

And you walk out with wobbly knees.