#inspiration hit me and i had to write this instead

[glitteredrry]

maneater

summary: Harry feels inspired by the woman who is holding his heart in her hands. Harry’s true feelings come out during a recording session, and his heart is on the line.

warning: angst & fluff

wc: 2.4k

I haven’t written in so long, and I was feeling inspired. Please let me know how you like it. I own no rights to this song (just in case lol). I hope you enjoy!!

Harry looked at his Rolex for the fifth time in an hour. He checked the time, awaiting the arrival of his…well, he was not sure what to call her. His girl? Well, no, that’s not the correct title. His lover? That’s not even close to what he was to her. Harry didn’t know the correct title to give her, but he did know that she wasn’t his, yet he was all hers. Luna Gray was her name, it was her stage name. Her birthname was for him only; regardless, her name was on the tip of everyone’s tongue.

Harry and Luna were signed to Columbia Records, and both were some of the biggest stars in the world. Harry met Luna when she signed to the label in 1981, and the first time they met, Harry was electrified to his core. All she had to do was look at him, and Harry mentally fell to his knees.  To Harry, she was perfection; the only problem was that he wasn’t the only person who thought this. Let’s just say that Luna was loved by many, and for Harry, it started out not being a problem but slowly developed into one a year later. Luna would explain to all the men she got involved with that she is not someone who could be tied down. She had one goal, which was to be a star. No one or nothing could get in the way of that dream. Harry understood this the first time they slept together, yet as their sexual relationship began to grow, it was somewhat difficult for Harry to hear about the endless men she was caught up with. 

Harry could admit he fell in love with her, yet Luna had no idea about Harry’s feelings towards her. Luna continued with her life as normal, while Harry continued to suffer in silence. He knew how Luna was and that her motto was to cut off men once they fell in love. She told the world she enjoyed her life as a single lady in Hollywood. So, as Harry spent the time drowning in his feelings, he caught inspiration to write a song when a picture in the tabloids was released of her with a star athlete. He couldn’t control his jealousy, which was feasting inside him. He was angry, saddened, and felt like an idiot for being in love with someone who told him she wasn’t going to be tied down. Harry continued to pour his emotions on paper, letting go of everything he felt. What he forgot about, though, is that Luna was coming to listen in on his studio session, and this was the only song he was going to record today. This is Luna and Harry’s thing. They were both artists, so it wasn’t out of the norm for them to listen in on their studio sessions and provide notes. 

Harry genuinely didn’t want to record this infront of her, but he couldn’t waste paid studio time either. Instead of consistently checking the time, he decided to leave the studio for a smoke break. With each inhale, he felt the stress leave his body until he watched her sleek red Mercedes Convertible pull into the parking lot. Her curly hair was all over the place as she pulled in; her eyes were on Harry’s immediately as she parked. She stepped out of the car with a smile, hoping Harry would forgive her for running a little late. Harry watched as the Los Angeles sunset dipping below the valley illuminated her skin. Harry kept his eyes on her, continuing to smoke and soak in the sound of her heels hitting the pavement. She looked beautiful as she approached Harry; without a word, she grabbed the cigarette from his hands, taking a hit of it.

“You mad at me?” Luna said, exhaling the smoke as it brushed across Harry’s face. 

He shook his head ‘no’ because he truly wasn’t mad. Even if he were, she would never know it. “You were supposed to be here an hour ago.” He said, eying her up and down. Lust and anxiety coursing through his veins.

“I got caught up in something. Forgive me, sweetheart,” she said with puppy eyes. Her eyes still held this twinkle in them as if she was playing a game with him.

“Something or someone,” Harry said, letting the jealousy slip. He hated when his mouth would speak before his brain could. Luna smiled at his words, throwing the finished cigarette on the ground and crushing it under her heel.

“Are you sure you want to know?” she smirked, moving past him to enter the studio. Harry felt a slight pang in his chest as he followed her inside. As Luna entered, she sat on the couch and said hello to the sound engineer. Harry nervously picked up the paper and headed to the booth. Just before he got in, Luna called out to him.

“I’m excited to hear the song, Harry.” Her eyes were glowing, and Harry could tell that she was being genuine. Harry and Luna shared a deep connection when it came to music. They both had the utmost respect for each other as artists. Harry smiled at her, briefly looking at her before entering the booth. Harry put on his headphones and signaled that he was ready. Once the beat of the song kicked in, Harry watched as Luna bobbed her head to the music and waited for Harry to start singing. Harry felt his throat swell up in trepidation. Instead of focusing on Luna, he closes his eyes and sings from his heart. 

Oh-oh, here she comes

Watch out, boy, she'll chew you up

Oh-oh, here she comes

She's a man-eater

Harry finally opened his eyes when he got to the middle of the song. He looked through the glass as he watched Luna on the couch with an unreadable expression. Her legs were crossed as he watched her hanging leg bounce. As the song faded out, they kept eye contact with each other. The song engineer cleared Harry to remove his headphones, and He watched as Luna stood on her feet, waiting for him to come out. Harry apprehensively stepped out of the booth, feeling the immediate tension filling the room. Harry could see her facial expression had morphed into clear anger, so he decided to have the room for himself for a while. When they were both alone, Harry chose to speak up. 

“How did you like the song,”

“How did I like it?” She asked, irritation coursing through her body. “Let me think of how I feel,” she laughed mockingly. 

“Listen, I know how it sounds, but hear what I have to say first.”

“Why should I listen to you right now? You brought me here to shame me. All because your feelings are a little hurt, suddenly I should come with a warning label. Well, newsflash, Harry, I told you everything upfront from the beginning.” 

“I know that, but trust me when I say none of what you said matters now. Not when I feel like this, not when you know I feel like this about you.”

“Don’t do that. You’ve never told me anything, Harry you-”

“Cut the shit, just because I haven’t verbally mentioned it, I know you know. You know it in the way I kiss you, in the way I touch you, and when I make love to you. That’s on me that I never said anything, and I hate that it had to come out in this way, but don’t act oblivious. I never told you because I know you’ll run away like you have with others.”

“Then why are you telling me now?”

“Because if that’s the risk I must take, then so be it. I can’t live with this inside me anymore. If you decide to run off, that’s on you. Yes, I will admit my feelings were upset seeing you with someone else. I wrote a song about it. That’s what I do. When I can’t speak my feelings, I sing them. This is the only song I was going to record today. I promise it wasn’t to hurt you in any way.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t hurt getting called a maneater.” She rolled her eyes and folded her arms around each other as she turned her back to Harry.

Harry watched her and decided to step closer to her, “I apologize if I hurt you; that’s never what I want. You have to believe me on that. I’m saying it now: I want you to be mine, and I want to be yours,” Harry pleaded with her. Luna soaked in his words, hearing the sincerity in his voice. She couldn’t face him. Yes, Luna believed him and knew that Harry wasn’t lying at all when he said she secretly knew. She did. She enjoyed feeling like Harry would always be there. It was this feeling of security she didn’t have with any of the other men she would casually date. This sense of security was something that she was scared to have pulled away. She didn’t want to commit out of fear of relationships, yet she knew she didn’t want Harry to be gone forever. Even though she knew Harry loved her, she thought she had a longer time to decide whether to commit. It felt like she was now faced with an ultimatum. Instead of answering him, she deflected. “Harry, you’ve seen girls to-.” She was once again cut off with Harry’s words.

“No, don’t do that. You know, every single girl is PR. I stopped doing that altogether once I felt more serious about you. Don’t divert this back to me. Do you want me at all? Or is this where this ends.” Harry said with a deep breath, finally asking the question. He would be lying if he didn’t feel like 100 pounds were sitting on his heart, waiting to be lifted off. All it would take for this anxiety to lift is her uttering the word, ‘Yes, Harry, I want you.’ Yet, what he heard come out of her mouth next left him shocked where he stood. Luna turned to face him with a stone-cold expression, “I can’t do this, Harry.” Luna walked past him to exit the studio, brushing his shoulder as she passed. As her hand touched the cold door handle to leave, Harry muttered what he thought would be his last word to her. 

“This is what you do, Luna. You run away, and I don’t know why I thought it would be any different for me.” Harry said, feeling himself getting more emotional that he wanted to be infront of her. Without another word, Luna slammed the door behind her.

As she walked down the long hallway, her heart and mind raced. ‘What did I do?’ She thought to herself. She knows she has a connection with Harry. Without a doubt, she knows that. Yet, she was still scared to commit. Past relationships had driven her to live this bachelorette lifestyle. Luna stopped in her tracks, leaning against a wall. “Fuck,” she muttered to herself. Luna had a real decision to make right now. She could either run off to her car and avoid Harry forever. Or go back into that studio to be with the only man who has ever treated her right. Luna finally knew she could listen to her heart, saying just to trust. She had spent years listening to her brain and severed many lovers because of her mind. Her heart was saying to her don’t let this one go, Luna turned on her heels and headed back in the same direction she left. Harry was sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, soaking in everything that had just happened. He heard the door open and, without looking, thought it was the sound engineer returning.

“Hey man, I need a few more minutes.”

“I love you, Harry Styles. I’m sorry it took this long for me to admit it.” Harry’s head shot up in shock, looking at the door. He watched Luna close the door behind her as he rose.

“Say it again,” he said breathlessly as she approached him. As she reached him, her hands went on opposite sides of his face, and she looked him in the eyes. 

“I love you, and I want you. I want this. There are no promises for how fast we will go, though. I haven’t been in a relationship in a long time.”

“I don’t care if we take one inch a day. That’s all I needed you to say.” Harry towered over her, pressing his lips on her. Luna leaned in the kiss, soaking up all of Harry’s love. Her heart felt something it hadn't in a while, true peace. It felt as if all the walls she had spent so hard creating came crumbling down all at once. Harry picked her up, sitting on the couch with her in his arms. Harry deepened the kiss, tangling his hands in her hair. Luna relaxed in his lap as her body felt like it was on fire. Harry broke the kiss as they both panted against each other's lips. Both of their mouths curved up into a smile.

“Sloane, I love you. I think I always have. It’s impossible not to be. I promise I want this.” Luna’s cheeks beamed at her real name slipping from his lips. She couldn’t begin to explain this feeling in her body. 

“I’m excited about this, Harry. And you’re doing a real civil duty keeping me from eating more men.” She said, teasing him about the song.

“Baby, If the song upset you, I’ll scrap it.” Her index finger lightly brushed over his lips to shush him. 

“To say it upset me is an understatement. I would be a complete fool if I watched you let go of that song. It’s a great song and can be our little secret that it’s about me.”

“Deal, baby.” Harry smiled at her, happy that she was okay with him putting the song out.

“Now you have to make it up to me, though,” she said seductively. That’s all it took for Harry to feel that similar yearning. 

“I’m going to spend all night making it up to you, I promise.” Luna kissed Harry again, and she let Harry express his love for her. Both of them decided to use the studio for the night so that Harry’s promise could be kept. Luna and Harry couldn’t be more in love than they already felt. It made the wait that Harry had to endure all worth it. 

[theoneandonlysemla]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by: @skyrim-forever @hircines-hunter @dirty-bosmer

Tagging: @did3lphis @tiredela @ladytanithia @thequeenofthewinter @elavoria

Let's go girls! Okay, maybe not so much. I'm damn tired, my brain is goo due to migraines on Sunday, Monday and today so... Hate that for me. I will write some Nevri x Morotar Hurt/Comfort but at the moment that is still all in my head. Instead, I'm going with a snipped from next weekend's new DwD II chapter! Ancano is, as always, an ass (ugh, I love him). Also under the cut because of spoilers.

A knock sounded. Ghash narrowed his eyes and stared unblinking at the door. Nevri sat rooted to her chair. Who wanted anything from her in the evening? Granted, it wasn't too late, so the visit wasn't rude, but it was certainly unusual. Maybe it's Colette, she thought and got up from her chair. Another knock followed. Nevri turned the key in the lock, pressed the handle and took a step backwards and stumbled back another. The Thalmor stood in front of her door, his face expressionless and his hands clasped behind his back. He looked different as he had taken off his long, pitch-black coat with the gold trim. Underneath was a dark purple tunic, as Nevri now realised. He had rolled up his sleeves, exposing sinewy forearms.

“Ah, you’re still awake. May I come in?” he asked, his tone as monotone as his countenance.

“What do you want?” Nevri immediately blurted out. Anxiety pressed on her stomach and made it queasy.  

“I just wanted to enquire about you.” The corners of his mouth lifted into something resembling a smile. But it didn't inspire confidence in Nevri. “Since I was involved in your rescue, it is my duty to look after you.”

“So, you've been looking after me. I'm standing upright. Is that it?” she said. Had he really been there? She did not remember him in the slightest. Only how she had been spewing water from her lungs and that the pale Altmer had been far too close to her.    

“Is that it?” he mimicked and made a step towards her, entering the room. “A little more gratitude might be in order.”

“How I remember it, you weren’t the one to pull me out of the ocean. Nor carry me to Colette,” she spat, but made another step back, the back of her knee hit her bedframe. Ghash sat next to her, his tail whipping.

Ancano closed the door behind him, then inspected her chamber with a look of depreciation. Everything in here seemed to displease him, but so did the whole college. In the one week that Nevri had been here, she had heard his lamenting often enough.         He stopped by her desk, his slender, golden fingers gliding over the two letters, keen eyes scanning them. A barely visible crease formed between his eyebrows as he read the second letter. Nevri bit on the inside of her cheek and thanked herself, that she had only written vague suggestions of the matters. He looked up, fixed his citrine gaze on her, staring her into the ground. Rarely had she encountered such a penetrating glare; only one other pair of eyes had had such a devastating effect on her. But that had been azure.

“To answer your question, yes, I have not been the one to recue you from the sea. My fellow agent had that honour, even though I deemed it hopeless.” His tone had become as sharp as his features, cutting like the keen edge of a blade. “A fall from such height, it's almost a miracle that you're standing in front of me.”

“It was pure luck,” Nevri answered quickly, maybe a little too quickly to not to raise suspicion. “And fast help. I would have drowned without it.”

Ancano took a few more steps towards her, stood right in front of her. He was not much taller than her, but he knew how to make himself look towering. A hint of lemon reached her nose, accompanied with pine needles. Under other circumstances, she would have described it as pleasant, but right now Nevri felt like she was shrinking under his scrutinizing gaze.

“I’ve seen people fall in similar conditions.” He paused, observing every movement in her face. “I have thrown people from comparable heights. It is a death sentence. No matter if there is stone, sand or water beneath them. The impact should have killed you, Dunmer.”

[celestial-toys]

been laying here listening to Lucky by Dermot Kennedy on loop for half an hour while thinking about Everything Stays and crying

[comfortlesshurt]

shhh, I know I talk about my children too much. but you can't stop my love

forgot to include this at first, whoops, but I also added a little daily par tracker so I can see it all in one place! there's a separate sheet where i update my word count every time i think about it, and then this table uses a vlookup to find the most recent word count and show it as a percent and a daily par to finish by the listed due date. (the par column compares between the overall goal and the subgoal and lists whichever par is higher between the two)

[incognit0slut]

was i stupid to love you?

in which a lingering glance at Rossi’s wedding threatens your engagement.

content: angst, 4.8k, takes place right after truth or dare (14x15), a lot of dialogue, mention of prison arc, emotional distress, relationship conflict, not proofread a/n: when was the last time you saw me write angst? exactly. this is inspired by malcolm & marie bc i really like the idea of having an argument while moving around the house (also disclaimer i have nothing against JJ i just like being dramatic)

The lock clicks open. The door swings with a creak. Your heels tap against the hardwood in a hollow rhythm that feels almost too loud. There’s a tightness in your chest, that prickling behind your eyes, and a familiar ache pressing up from the pit of your stomach, churning into a faint nausea that you try to ignore. You’re trying to hold it back.

Not here.

Not now.

Spencer doesn’t even look up. The keys slip from his hand with a soft clink as they hit the side table, and he turns away with a quiet sigh that reverberates deep in your bones.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, tossing a glance toward the kitchen. “Think we could order something?”

You trail after him, the sharp click of your heels echoing as you step onto the kitchen tile. “We just came back from a wedding.”

He’s rifling through the cupboard, his fingers brushing over the mismatched mugs and neatly stacked plates before he pulls down two glasses. “I barely ate anything at the reception.”

You watch him, biting back a response as memories flicker to mind. The slice of cake he’d poked at absentmindedly, washing it down with sips of water instead of real food.

It wasn’t hunger he seemed focused on tonight. No, it was his quiet glances across the room you keep on catching from the corner of your eye, and that conversation he’d had at the bar. The one where his posture softened, his gaze so intent you’d found yourself staring at the back of his head, trying not to read too much into it—and obviously failing.

“Why didn’t you eat?”

He shrugs, his back still to you as he fills the glasses with water. “I don’t know,” he says, sounding almost absent, like it’s something he hasn’t really thought about. “I didn’t get around to it, I guess.”

The muscles in your jaw ticks as you bite the inside of your cheeks.

Spencer turns, offering you a glass. “I was thinking of Chinese, or maybe we can check if that Thai place you like is still open.”

You take the glass from him, barely sparing it a glance before setting it back down on the counter. “Whatever you want is fine.”

A subtle crease appears between his brows. “You sure? You usually have some opinion when it comes to food.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You don’t want to eat anything?”

You suppress a sigh. "No. I'm tired."

The soft amber of his eyes dims slightly as he studies you. There's a flicker of uncertainty passing through them before he nods. “Alright,” he concedes. “We don’t have to order anything.”

A faint, humorless laugh escapes you before you can stop it. It tastes bitter, a little unfair, but it slips out before you can pull it back, “You don’t have to change your plans on my account, Spencer.”

“I’m not changing any plans,” he responds. “I’m just making sure you have something to eat in case you’re hungry.”

Your shoes dig uncomfortably into your feet. You shift your weight, starting to pace a few steps back and forth. "It's dinner, you don't have to check on me for every little thing. Do whatever you like."

He blinks, looking genuinely perplexed. "What are you saying? I was trying to be considerate."

"Right. Considerate.”

There’s an unmistakable bite in your tone.

“Yes, because we like doing these things together," he observes, watching your uneasy pacing. "Am I missing something here?”

You shake your head. “Nope.”

"Honey."

The term of endearment lands softly, slipping from his lips like he believes it has the power to melt whatever tension has suddenly crept between you. But it only tightens the knot building in your stomach. It’s stirring the words you’re trying to hold back, tangling them somewhere between your chest and throat.

He calls your name this time, his eyes narrowing into sharp lines. “You’ve been awfully quiet on our way home, and now you’re… honestly, I don’t know why you're acting this way.” His voice dips with a tinge of exasperation. "What’s this really about?"

The words you’ve been biting back feel like a stack of stones in your throat, rising up, up, up, each one pressed tighter by the gnawing nausea in your stomach. You can feel them gathering, and before you know it, they tumble out messily.

“I’m just saying, don’t let me hold you back from getting what you want. I wouldn’t want to stop you from anything—or, god forbid," you add, letting your gaze drift away as if a little distance might soften the blow, “anyone.”

The soft, almost stifled inhale he takes is audible. You don’t even have to look up to see his expression shifting. You’ve known him long enough to recognize the way his shoulders tense, the way his breathing slows as he processes your words. You know his reaction by heart, yet right now, you wonder if saying this was a mistake, if this is the start of something neither of you can take back.

His fingers twitching at his side slip into your line of sight. He's angry.

Maybe this isn’t the time to start a fight.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Your heels click softly as you turn.

“Forget it. I shouldn't have said anything,” you mutter, already moving toward the bedroom that’s been yours, too, for the past year. Although it feels strange tonight, like a space that belongs to someone else. A life you’re not entirely sure you belong in.

“No." His voice is somewhere behind you. “I think you should explain to me what you mean by that.”

You don’t respond, choosing instead to sink onto the edge of the bed, hands fumbling as you try to undo the straps of your heels. You twist the stubborn leather with more force. His shadow fills the doorway.

“Honey.”

Not again.

You decide to ignore him.

“Is there something you’d like to say to me?”

You tug harder at the strap. “No.”

He doesn’t buy it. “You’re clearly bothered by something.”

You shake your head, fingers still fumbling, the leather cutting against your ankle with each pull. “I’m just tired. Can we leave it at that?”

There’s a flicker of frustration in his gaze now, a crease forming between his brows as he studies you. He moves into the room. You barely have the chance to react before he lowers himself, bending one knee to the floor as he reaches toward the strap you’ve been fighting with. “Here, let me—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, pulling your foot away. “I can do it myself.”

“I know you can. But let me—”

“I can do it myself!”

Your heartbeat thuds loud in your ears, each pulse feeding the frustration that’s wound its way up from your chest. He rises slowly, not a word passing his lips, but the tension radiates off him like heat. He’s close enough that his warmth presses against your skin, although it’s not the kind you usually find comforting. It’s almost suffocating.

You turn your focus back to the stubborn strap, your fingers trembling slightly as you struggle to grip it. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him slipping off his shoes, one after the other, the soft thuds barely audible over the rush of your own heartbeat. He pulls off his suit jacket, carefully smoothing the crumpled fabric before hanging it in the closet. For a moment, it seems like he’s going to let it go… until his gaze drifts back to you.

You can tell his patience is fraying, and you’re proven right when he asks again, “What did you mean by that? When you said you wouldn’t want to stop me from anyone… what was that supposed to mean?”

You finally manage to tug the strap loose. The heel drops to the floor with a muted thump. “It was nothing.”

“I don’t think you’d say something like that if it was nothing.”

Your focus shifts to the other shoe. “Just drop it, Spencer.”

"How am I supposed to drop it when you're implying... whatever it is you're implying?"

You keep your eyes down, wrestling with the strap in silence. He cuts through the quiet before it has a chance to grow.

“Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t brush it off like it’s nothing when it clearly means something. I need to know why you said that.”

You kick off the other heel and meet his gaze for the first time since you walked into the room. “You really want to know?”

He reaches for his bow tie, yanking it loose it with one hard pull. “Do I want to know why you’re giving me this attitude right now? Yes. Yes, I do.”

Oh. So this is going to be that kind of fight.

You hadn’t expected it to go here. Fights with Spencer are very rare, usually more a clash of misunderstandings that you both laugh about with limbs tangled between sheets by the time you’ve made peace. But seeing him standing there with the tie hanging loosely around his neck and his five o’clock shadow casting an even darker line along his jaw, it hits you differently.

This is real. And this time, you don’t know if brushing it off will fix anything.

“Fine, let’s talk about it then.” You rise from the bed, tension carrying you to your feet. “Emily’s speech tonight.”

His brow furrows, not quite a scowl, more a cautious crease as he processes your tone. “Emily’s speech? What about it?”

“What do you remember of it?”

There’s a slight pause, and you can tell he's clearly caught off guard by the question. “She mentioned how Rossi and Krystal are twin flames."

“Right. Two souls that are always meant to be together.”

His face is still marked by confusion, but there’s something else creeping in. A subtle tightening around his eyes tells you he’s starting to piece it together. “I don’t understand what that has to do with—”

“You looked at JJ the second Emily made that speech,” you cut him off. “Spencer, you didn’t even spare a glance at your future wife because you were too busy making eyes at the woman who’s apparently been in love with you all these years.”

There. You said it. The words that have twisted around your insides all evening are finally out. And maybe they taste a little bitter, but at least they're not choking you anymore.

A second passes, then another, and by the time the fifth heartbeat ticks by, he’s standing there with his hand on his hip.

“That’s not what happened."

“Then what was it?” you demand. "I sat beside you the whole day, you didn't even try to hide it."

“That’s not—you’re twisting things.” His hand moves through his hair, fingers digging in as his curls tumble forward onto his forehead. “And you know what happened that night wasn’t real. It was a forced confession. She was under duress, we both were. JJ and I are just friends.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You look at all your friends like that?”

His hand drops to his side. "I don't know what else you want me to say. JJ said what she did because she thought we might die. She has a family, and a husband who she loves. We already went through this, I don't understand why this is suddenly an issue again."

“Maybe I wouldn’t be bringing this up if you didn’t look at her tonight like you were ready to break up that marriage yourself.”

A flash of shock and anger crosses his features.

“That’s not fair,” he snaps, his voice sharper than you’ve heard in a while. “Do you really think I’d disregard everything I have with you because of a look? Because of a history that has never gone anywhere?”

“I don’t know what to think. It's not like it happened just once, I saw you looking at her the same way at the bar." You step forward, accidentally kicking your discarded heel as you move. "What were you two talking about, anyway?”

He lets out a tight breath. “She was checking in on me. She… we haven’t talked much since then.”

The corners of your mouth pull down. “Mhm. Another round of truth or dare?”

“I can’t believe you’re using that against me." His hair flops forward as he shakes his head, falling messily over his brow. "If there were anything unresolved with JJ, I would’ve said something. But I didn’t, because there’s nothing there."

“And yet, she’s always been an important part of your life, hasn't she?"

He tilts his head. "What are trying to say now?"

Your tongue darts out, briefly brushing your lips. You're not sure you should say it, but it feels like a door has swung open—a door to words that have been waiting for their moment.

You take a slow, deep breath, filling your lungs with as much air as you can.

“When you were in prison, you put her on your visiting list ahead of almost everyone else. Doesn’t that say something about where she stands with you?”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand over the back of his neck.

“She’s part of the team,” he says, as if he’s trying to spell out something he’s already explained a dozen times. "There were strict rules, I already told you that only a handful of people were allowed to visit. It wasn’t like I could just put anyone on the list.”

“But you could’ve put me on there!”

The familiar burn of tears prickles at the edges of your eyes, but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall. An explanation or protest is poised on his lips, but you’re already moving, closing the distance with a single, decisive step. A finger lands on his chest.

“I was your girlfriend, Spencer. Were you that determined to keep me out? Was the thought of seeing me really so unbearable? Do you even understand how hard it was to sit at home, knowing you were locked up, feeling completely helpless? Do you have any idea how much I hated myself day after day because I couldn’t do anything to help you?”

Your lips quiver. You feel like your heart is about to leap out of your throat.

“I was out here, just… waiting. Wondering if you were okay, if they were treating you alright, if you even had someone to talk to. And meanwhile, she’s there, with you. Every single time, she’s the one who gets to be by your side.”

Your nail digs into the fabric of his shirt.

“So forgive me if I can’t just let that go. Because when it mattered, it felt like you didn’t want me to be there for you. And now… now I don’t even know if you need me the way you seem to need her.”

Your breathing turns shallow, each inhale catching in your chest. The tears you’ve been holding back are dangerously blurring your vision. You swallow the knot lodged in your throat.

“I need a minute.”

Without another word, you turn and walk out of the room, leaving him standing there in stunned silence. You slip back into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you finally reach for the glass of water that’s been sitting there untouched. You take a sip, barely feeling the cool water on your lips, when you hear his footsteps behind you.

“You think I don’t want you in my life?” he demands. “You think I somehow need her more than I need you?”

You set the glass down. “What part of ‘I need a minute’ do you not understand?”

“You really expect me to wait quietly after you unloaded every doubt you’ve ever had about us?”

You life your chin up. “Yes, I do. I need space to think right now.”

“What more do you want to think about when you’ve already convinced yourself that I’m always going to fall short? Is it so hard to believe that you’re the one I want?”

“You want to know why it’s so damn hard to believe?” You turn towards him. “Because every time I try to let this go, there’s always something. A confession. That—that not-so-subtle look. And when those things happen, it reminds me that I’m not as close to you as she is. I’m fucking tired of feeling like I’m fighting for space in your life.”

“Do you think I want you to feel like that? Do you think I’d go through everything we’ve been through if you didn’t matter to me?”

“Then explain to me why I wasn’t on that list!” you cry out. “Explain to me why, in one of the hardest times of your life, you couldn’t make space for me?”

“Because I was trying to protect you!”

A heavy, dreadful silence falls between you. He takes a step back, his eyelids fluttering shut briefly, and when he opens them again, there’s a softness in his gaze that mirrors the gentleness now threading through his voice.

“I know it probably doesn’t make sense to you, and maybe it never will, but I couldn’t stand the idea of you seeing me like that. Living through it was hard enough, but having you there, seeing me so helpless… It would have crushed me. I didn’t want that to be your memory of me.”

His Adam’s apple dips as he swallows, a quick, almost anxious movement you’ve witnessed countless times.

“And when JJ came to see me,” he continues, “the way the inmates looked at her, the things they said after she left… it was disgusting. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that happen to you. I couldn’t live with thought of you being subjected to that because of me.”

You lower your head with a sigh. “I don’t care if they looked. I don’t care what they would’ve thought.”

“But I care,” he fires back, taking a step forward. “Because you mean more to me than anyone. All I wanted was to keep you safe, and maybe I didn't handle it right, maybe I made the wrong call... but it was only because I—" His voice drops into an even more gentle note. "Because I love you."

Your heart stumbles, an uneven beat that feels almost bruised, pounding hard against your ribs.

"I-I love you so much. More than I know how to put into words." The ache in your chest sharpens as his hands come up to cup your cheeks. "I don't like fighting with you. I hate it, actually. I hate seeing you look at me like this."

You also hate the way he’s looking at you. There’s a depth to his annoyingly pretty eyes that makes it impossible to hold up your defenses without feeling them crumble. You let your eyes flutter closed.

“Why don’t we… call it a night?” He suggests. “Let’s lie down. We don’t have to talk about this now.”

The blackness behind your eyelids does little to quiet your mind. Nor does his voice. Or his touch. Instead of offering peace, his presence throws every glance, every moment of tension from tonight into sharper relief.

You draw in a breath, trying to find some comfort in his palms against your cheeks. Yet, even this can’t smooth away the doubt that’s settled in. With a resigned sigh, you release the breath you’ve been holding along with the words that have been pressing at the back of your throat.

“You haven’t explained it to me.”

The shadows in his gaze seem to deepen when you open your eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve been going in circles, but you haven’t explained to me what happened tonight,” you say quietly. “Why did you look at her, Spencer?”

His thumb absently strokes your cheek in a way that feels more hesitant than reassuring.

“Be honest with me,” you press. “Was there a part of you, even the tiniest part, that still wanted something with her? Some small part of you that… wondered what it might be like?”

The silence between you presses in from all sides, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant, muffled ticking of a clock on the wall. It’s the kind of quiet that sharpens even the smallest sounds, yet his lack of response feels like the loudest thing of all.

You pull back from him with an incredulous laugh.

“Unbelievable.” The word barely makes it past your lips, then louder as you start to move, pacing the length of the apartment. “Unbelievable.”

“Wait,” he says, trailing after you, “I didn’t even say anything.”

You stop short by the couch and whip around to face him.

“You didn’t need to! You—you hesitated," you stammer, searching his face for any flicker of denial, but it’s there, plain as day, that split-second of doubt you caught. “That was already an answer.”

He inches closer. A hand closes in on you. “Please—”

You flinch, pulling back, and every muscle in your body tightens. “Don’t. Don’t touch me right now.”

His hand falls to his side. “Please… let me explain."

You watch his hand drop, fingers twitching like they’re not sure if they should retreat or reach out again, but he keeps them there, hovering in some invisible line you’ve drawn. He looks at you with those big, pleading eyes, and for a split second, you almost feel bad for him.

Almost.

A bitter sort of smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. "So now you want to explain?"

He takes that as permission, and his voice comes in low, almost cautious. "When I first started at the BAU, I had… maybe a crush. A passing thing, barely anything, really. But that was fourteen years ago.” His hand scrubs through his hair in a frustrated sweep. “Fourteen years."

Your brows pull into a frown. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”

“Because it was nothing,” he says, almost too quickly. “I was young, it didn’t matter. I didn’t think it was worth bringing up.”

“Oh, I get it now. All those old feelings came rushing back the night she confessed, didn’t they?”

He mirrors your frown, a visible line of tension etching itself between his brows as he protests, “It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?” you press. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks a whole lot like you’re caught between us because some part of you is still hung up on what might’ve been with her."

He shifts uncomfortably, and you notice the muscles in his jaw clenching the moment his gaze falters, dipping away for just a heartbeat before he looks back at you.

“It’s not that I don’t know what I want,” he starts to explain. “I didn’t expect her to say those things, and, yes, it threw me off for a moment. But that doesn’t mean I’m looking back, or that I want her. I want you.”

You shake your head, feeling a tired sort of frustration settle over you, and walk over to the couch. The soft cushions give slightly beneath you as you sink down.

“If you really wanted me, this wouldn’t be happening. You wouldn’t have let her get into your head like that. And now, you expect to believe that none of it meant anything?”

He’s quick to follow, closing the distance in a few tense steps. “It’s not—” His hands flex open and close at his sides. “You’re acting like one single look tonight is enough to decide I’m not committed to you. Do you really think I’d let some confession I didn’t even ask for get in the way of what we have?”

“It’s not just about that single look. It’s the way she could say something and suddenly, you’re pulled back to something you swore you’d put behind you. How am I supposed to feel secure when she still has that power over you?”

“And what am I supposed to do, then? Apologize for things I don’t even feel anymore?”

You flinch at the sharpness in his voice. A low, frustrated noise rumbles in his chest when you don’t respond.

“You’re always going to question me no matter what I say, aren’t you?"

You glance over at him, catching the disheveled strands of hair falling over his forehead, and it pulls you back to that night he came home after that dreadful night. He’d walked in looking worn in a way you’d never seen before, his whole posture weighted down as if he was carrying more than just the fear of being held hostage.

You remember sitting with him on this same couch, fingers brushing his, and asking what was bothering him.

JJ said she loved me.

Your heart lurched, a quick, quiet ache that you tried to swallow down. Really?

Don’t worry. It’s not true.

But with that same haunted look in his eyes right now, you can’t help but wonder if it really was just a well-intentioned lie.

“One glance and you’re accusing me of things that are never going to happen,” he starts again. “Do you really think so little of me? After everything we’ve shared, you really think I’d betray you like that?”

In true honesty, you don’t believe he would ever cross that line. But the doubts still linger, fed by those small hesitations, the moments when his eyes seem somewhere else. It’s not that you think he’d betray you. It’s that a part of him might still be holding onto something he won’t let you see.

“It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

Now those words you might actually believe.

“Maybe I don’t,” you say quietly, eyes drifting to the ring on your finger. You twist it absently, remembering the night he proposed. How he’d stumbled over his words, his cheeks flushing as he tried to make the moment perfect but ended up rambling in that endearing, nervous way of his. You’d laughed, reassured him that it was exactly right, that you didn’t need grand gestures. All you needed was him.

And yet, you don’t think he needs you as much you need him.

A hollow ache settles around your hand as you slip the ring off.

“What are you doing?”

You stare down at the gold band in your palm, blinking back the sting of tears.

“Tell me what you’re doing.”

Panic. Desperation. There’s a sudden rush of melancholy in his voice, a heaviness that wasn’t there a moment ago.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I don’t know,” you whisper. “I—I don’t know anything right now.”

His face crumples, and in a sudden, almost instinctive movement, he drops down to his knees.

“No, no, you do know me. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. Isn’t this—” he stops, then dips his head, trying to catch your gaze. “Isn’t that what couples do? They argue, they mess things up… but they work through it, right? Right?”

You look down, feeling the cool weight of the ring pressing into your skin.

“Spencer…” you begin. “I trust you. I do, and I’m sorry if I made it seem like I didn’t. But… I need to feel secure. I… I need to know that I don’t have to wonder or worry about where I stand. I never thought you’d be the one to make me doubt that.”

There’s a sharp ache in your chest.

“I didn’t think it could hurt this much. Not from you.”

Your pulse ring in your ear.

“I can’t—” The words catch in your throat, a stinging burn rising as you force them out. “I can’t be your wife when I’m constantly questioning if I have all of you. When I feel like… there’s always a part of you that isn’t mine.”

“I’m yours, honey. I’m always yours.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

There’s a slight falter in his voice. “Don’t—please don’t do this—”

“I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

He falls silent, and for a moment, the only sound is the rough, uneven rhythm of both your breaths filling the space between you. Then, like something inside him finally cracks open, he sinks down, pressing his forehead against your lap. The sudden weight of him forces a broken sob from your throat.

“Please,” he begs, fingers clutching at your sides. His chin presses deep into your thigh. “Tell me how to fix this. I can’t— I can’t lose you.”

“Spence…”

“I love you,” he blurts out, the words tumbling from him in a rush. “I love you.”

But what is love, really? Is it just a word people reach for when they’ve run out of things to say, a way to patch over bruised hearts and broken promises? Or should it feel like something more solid, something that doesn’t leave you questioning or aching? You can’t even tell anymore.

You wonder, too, if maybe you’ve been wrong all along. If this feeling in your chest isn’t love but something dressed up as it, something that fills the gaps while slowly hollowing you out. Because here you are, clinging to a love that somehow makes you feel like you’re both needed and unseen. Everything and nothing all at once.

You feel like a fool.

“I want to go to bed.”

His head lifts from your lap, a flash of surprise darting across his face, as though he hadn’t expected you to say anything at all, let alone that. “Yeah, okay, let’s go to bed. We’ll… we’ll figure this out in the morning.”

“I’d rather be alone.”

The words hit him visibly. His mouth opens, an argument forming there, but he catches himself, letting the silence stretch before he nods slowly.

“Then… I’ll stay out here. On the couch,” he offers softly. “Just… in case you need anything.”

A pang cuts through you at the thought of him stretched out on the couch, his legs too long, his shoulders folded in to fit the cramped space. But the idea of sharing a bed right now feels impossible.

You reach down, holding out the ring towards him.

“No,” he says firmly, gently pushing your hand away. “Don’t do that. This… it doesn’t mean we’re giving up. It just means we need time. That’s all.”

You’re not sure if your mind will change in the morning. The ring presses into your skin, but finally, you close your hand around it, nodding faintly before you peel away from him.

The tears start the moment the bedroom door clicks shut behind you. It spills over in a jagged, helpless cry that sounds nothing like you imagined heartbreak might sound. It’s messy, a kind of aching grief that feels too big for your chest, clawing its way out with no grace at all. You can practically hear how pathetic you sound, and yet you can’t seem to stop.

Even when the hem of your dress trails across the floor. Even when you finally collapse onto his side of the bed. There’s no stopping you. With the ring sitting cold in your hand, your tears keep coming, soaking into the pillow as you cling to the last trace of him woven into the sheets.

[foone]

I visited the world where Gerard Way was visiting family in Minneapolis on 9/11 so he kept his Cartoon Network job instead of becoming a musician.

It's pretty similar to ours. He didn't go into cartoons as you might expect, but he is way more famous in the comic book world.

As for butterfly effects, MCR doesn't exist, so Twilight doesn't exist, which means 50 Shades of Grey doesn't exist. I couldn't find any references to Stephenie Meyer or E. L. James, so either they didn't go into writing or they didn't use those same pen names.

Robert Pattinson was in Harry P*tter and then mainly independent stuff from then on out.

Kristen Stewart is somehow a bigger star than in this world? She was in Red Revenge, 2012 Soviet film about WW3 happening in the 60s and then in the 80s the survivors come over to the US to find out of anything survives of the cowardly US leadership that started the war. (yes, they shoot Reagan. He's out of his mind and it's shot like Old Yeller). She's been in a lot of USSR films since then, as this greatly raised her profile.

Taylor Lautner seems to have become a writer instead of an actor. He wrote one of the later seasons of Firefly, after it went all season-long-arcs. He technically cameo'd in season 6 but it was just as a guy who ran a casino station. He had like three lines, two of which were "get off my station!" and "guards!"

I didn't see any real differences in the music world. Sometimes you take out a band or form a super-group with interdimensional exploration, and it changes the whole field. Like if you take out Nirvana the 90s look very different, or if you help the Back Road Boys form then the 2010s are all about the retro-country revival. Anyway: MCR, as good a band as they are, don't appear to be one of those "linchpin" bands that affect the whole musical landscape.

BTW, the weirdest one of those? Michael Fucking Jackson. He's a super influential musician, inspired so many others, the king of pop, right? NOPE! If his music career is skipped, then it only affects his siblings and the one hit wonder "Somebody's Watching Me" by Rockwell.

Strange, right? There's more downstream time effects on the music industry from taking out David Hasselhoff!

[etfrin]

❝ ִִִִִִִִִִִִִֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶָָָָָָָָָָָָָ higher with my lover — coriolanus snow ִִִִִִִִִִִִִֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶֶָָָָָָָָָָָָָ ❞

☆　Warning: NSFW | Snow is his own warning, pinv sex, creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it dumbfucks), riding, handjob, mentions of blood & blood sucking, Capitol! Reader, reader is mentioned to be a virgin, mentions of poison and death, district+lucy gray slander (necessary to the plot), mention of Sejanus, degradation & praise kink if you squint, dry humping | lmk if I missed anything!

☆　Pairing: fem! Reader x young! peacekeeper! Coriolanus Snow

☆　Summary: Lucy Gray left but you find him in the forest instead and shit goes down

☆　A/N: this fic is inspired by the fact that i imagined myself to be the one sucking the 'poisoned bite' and be like now we both die and i like you lmao, i hope you guys like it!

Ps. This is the official canon ending :D

Ps². Listened to this song mainly to write the smut, so i am just gonna leave it here. . .

| masterlist | taglist | bc: @cafekitsune |

“Lucy Gray! Are you trying to kill me!?”

Coriolanus Snow yelled as he kept pointing the gun in random directions. It wasn't long after that he began shooting in the sky causing the murder of numerous mockingjays up in the air.

He had found the necklace, he had found the scarf. She left. She was a loose end. She needs to die, fucking die so Snow could have the life he deserved. The life he worked for, the life he was entitled to since birth. The life of a Snow.

“Lucy Gray! We can talk about this!” He yells out, “Just come out!” But Lucy Gray was nowhere to be found, as if she was a ghost. As if she was the Lucy Gray from the song, a mystery to never be found.

He pointed his gun in the direction where he heard the sound of a twig snapping. It wasn't Lucy Gray but you. Your eyes were wide, chest heaving as you slowly walked towards him with your hands raised. “Coryo,” you whispered, scared, your feet walking towards him with hesitation but never flattering.

He had no idea how you had found him. He wasn't sure why you were either here. It was already too much for him that Sejanus came (and now he is dead, dead, dead. The third person he had killed). And you followed him too, pulling in favors, deciding to be a medic along with Sejanus, serving time with your best friends (not his, he never considered you or Sej as his friend).

“Where's Lucy Gray!?” He yelled, walking towards you, gun still pointed. It makes you walk backward until your back hits the hard bark of a tree. The rough texture of the bark is uncomfortable due to your thin shirt. You scrunch your nose at the mention of her. You never liked her much. He didn't know why but perhaps it was all a ruse just for this very moment. This very betrayal from her.

“How would I know?” You scoffed, the haughty attitude of a Capitol citizen coming through despite having a gun pointed at you. He pressed the end of the gun at your chest. “Tell me the truth,” he growled. “That girl tried to poison me. Tell me where she is!”

“I don't know,” you hiss back, your eyes ablaze. “And get the gun out of my face. You should be heading to a fucking medic right now. Are you sure she poisoned you?” Your voice was now laced with concern, eyes softening as you looked at him, his t-shirt clinging to him with sweat, his cheeks flushed, eyes so wide that the blues were hidden with black instead.

Coryo gets the gun away from you to put his arm forward. Showing you his snake bite, the puncture wound oozing out beads of red blood on his snow-like skin. “It's probably non-poisonous,” you said, trying to sound optimistic.

“No, it's not!” He growls, and anger fills in every movement and word of his. “She's trying to kill me. She's district! I shouldn't have- shouldn't have-” You hold his arm, your fingers around his wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

“It's fine,” you whispered, trying your best that the tone you use with him is soft and gentle. You want to shake him out of the mental breakdown that was happening. He shakes his head and you press your fingertips into the wound.

“It's fine,” you whispered, “let's get you back. Come on.” You try to urge him forward, only for him to pull himself out of your grasp. “No! I need to find her. She's a loose end. She will tell. She's a snake, not a songbird,” he rambles.

Despite the confusion you felt with his words, you grit your teeth. “Come on, Coryo! We need to head back,” you said, your hand on his wrist, trying to drag him out of the middle of the green forest.

“No! We need to find her out before the poison works” he yells, pulling you back and pushing you. Pinning you effectively between him and a tree.

You glare at him before a moment of impulsivity takes over you. You take his arm, your mouth around the bleeding wound and you suck letting whatever ‘poisoned blood’ onto your tongue. His eyes widen as he sees the redness of his blood now painting your lips. “Now can we go back?” You said as you licked the blood clean. “Because if it's poison, we will both die.”

“Why would-” he visibly freezes. He doesn't want your blood on his hands. No- it would be on Lucy's hands. It's her fault. Everything is her fault. “Why would you do that?” He whispered, leaning closer to you, his face now mere inches away from yours. It was like he was seeing you for the first time. Like he never saw you for you until now. Someone like him. Unhinged (not that he's willing to admit it).

He hooks his fingers under your chin, holding your jaw and tilting your lips towards his. His eyes were searching for sanity but seemed to have found none as a smile (filled with insanity) spread on his face. “You're crazy,��� he whispered, “Are you that desperate?”

“Desperate for your well-being, Coryo,” you whispered, hating the fact that your gaze fell on his soft-looking lips. “I don't know what's wrong, Coriolanus. But come with me, let's go back. Lucy Gray isn't worth anything.”

“Lucy Gray is worth everything!” He yelled, pressing his body with yours, pain in your bones flaring as he without noticing crushed you.

“I am sure she will have poison for you too. I am sure she will come back then,” you spit out. You felt outrageous at his behavior. “She ran, didn't she? To the North. You gonna go there too, Coryo?” you questioned, your eyes now meeting his. You try to find an answer but find something deeply tangled instead, neither a yes or a no.

You never felt such pity for Coriolanus Snow before as you did now. You put your palm on his cheek. “Come with me,” you said, softening your voice. “Back to the peacekeepers, the general told me about District 2 and I can put in favors so we can be back in the Capitol in no time.”

“You didn't choose Sejanus,” you whispered, the mention of Sej causing him to freeze. “Choose me,” you plead, feeling pathetic for being reduced to this. But it was for your Coryo so it was worth it. Wasn't it?

A chip from the bird makes him look away but you use your hand to make him face you again. Tears begin to pool in your eyes. You find your heart preparing itself for a rejection. “Choose me,” you choke out, a sob in your throat ready to come out when he says no, no, no Lucy Gray it is, never you.

You wait and wait for the rejection, your eyelids closing themselves so he doesn't see himself (or the way you looked at him with love) in the reflective tears. “Look at me,” he whispered, feeling his hot breath on your lips now. And you didn't want to listen but your eyes opened back up, light coming in and he's in your sight.

All glorious as you always thought of Snow.

Snow lands on top.

Haven't every Capitol child learned that from history? You were no exception. And you never planned to be. Even after finding out the truth about his situation, you never thought less of him, if anything everything you felt about him increased tenfold without your consent. Oh, how you should hate him. Oh, but how much you love him.

He leaned in and you didn't move. He stops for a mere second as if reconsidering his decision. But then decided to fuck it because the next thing you know his lips against yours.

He tasted like cheap alcohol, he tasted like ruin and danger. You ate it all up by parting your lips so his tongue could slip in. You let out a moan as his teeth bite into your lips. For a moment you think he's a snake and that he's the one poisoning you. His poison is more potent than an actual snake’s ever could be.

You were simple prey, that's it. Instead of a bullet, he was shooting your heart with a kiss. And it was working because in the future he will be the end of you. A slow, slow poison, he controlled the kiss despite the way his tongue slid against yours was clumsy but so perfect.

You kissed him back to the best of your abilities, wondering briefly if you tasted like the pastry you had in the morning. You let him take your bottom lip between his teeth to suck and bite however he wants. Your hands find his buzz cut instead of his golden curls and a whine leaves your lips from the frustration of the loss.

Your hand is on his nape and another is still on his cheek as neither of you breaks the kiss. It didn't matter that you were getting lightheaded. It didn't matter that you could feel your heartbeat increasing due to lack of oxygen. He was everything, you would be damned if you broke the kiss.

You gasp as the kiss is broken. You stare into his eyes, searching for something, anything. But you find nothing but ice blue. It sent chills down your spine but at least he had calmed down now. “Feeling better?” You asked and you got a rough nod as a reply.

“Come on, we have work to do,” he whispered as he pulled back. His dog tag dangles as he begins to walk towards the cabin again, navigating the path with his father's compass.

You find the cabin and the guns. Coriolanus looks at you waiting for a protest, disgust, expecting you to run away just like Lucy Gray. You didn't do anything except sigh, your shoulder wearing down as you realized the truth of it all. You didn't say a word but your hand finds his. He doesn't say anything either but squeezes your hand back. An unspoken promise. He had chosen you. You had chosen him. You were in this together now.

There's no going back.

Both of you row the boat and let the guns sink into the river, never to be found again. You find your way back to the cabin, the rain pouring down again. You sit beside Snow- no, no, still Coryo. Always Coryo. Your head on his shoulder, your knees pressed to your chest as you hear the tip tap of rain outside.

Not a single sound is made. But as time passes and the rain doesn't stop, you begin to crave his lips again. As if that one kiss was morphine, and you needed more to heal the ache of your soul. “Coriolanus,” you whispered.

“Coryo,” he reprimanded softly, his tone enticing as if he was trying to bewitch. You feel your palms sweat as embarrassment begins to nag your mind. You blurt it out before you can think about how pathetic you sound.

“Can I have another kiss, Coryo?”

The next few moments were a blur. Lips on lips. Clumsily tongues meeting each other and whining into each other's mouths. You were shamelessly grinding on Coryo's lap as your lips continued to stay locked with his. “I want you so bad,” you admit as you feel his cock harden underneath you.

“Since the academy,” you whispered against his lips, a moan escaping your lips when he held your hips and began to guide them to grind on his completely hard bulge.

“Oh, yeah?” He mocks, “It's pretty fucking obvious.” He choked off a groan coming out of his mouth, “You're willing to let go of the fact that I am a murderer, huh?” You let out a whimper as he mentioned that. But both of you knew the answer to that, a part of you knew what kind of predator he was. Ever since you knew about how he killed a tribute, you just called it. It never mattered to you how horrible he could be or in this case, is.

“Yes, yes,” you moan into his mouth. Was it an answer or a mere whine about how perfect the friction felt against your pantie-soaked pussy? You didn't know but Coriolanus thought of it as the former. “You gonna be my girl, then? A capitol princess being a peacekeepers’ doll to fuck,” he whispered, his tongue licking a strip of skin on your neck.

You moan as his teeth begin to harshly assault your skin, covering your neck with marks. “Yes,” you gasp, “as long as it's you.” God, how much more pathetic could you be? But it didn't matter, it got him higher and fed his ego after everything that had happened. He loved it and perhaps, he could grow to love you.

Not in the way, Coryo loved Lucy Gray but in the way Snow would love his First Lady.

Your hands tug off his wet t-shirt and throw it on the floor. His hands do the same with your peacekeeper's uniform. He grabs your hips, squeezing the plump of flesh there, his mouth panting into you and he looks at you with dilated eyes.

Time seems to have slowed down as you touch his dog tag, your fingers tracing the name carved into the metal. “I want this. You, right now, right here,” you whispered like it was the biggest secret of your life. “Do you?” You ask as your hands go lower to fiddle with the zipper of his pants.

He doesn't give you a verbal answer, only pulling you into another kiss with his fingers woven into your hair in a fist as his free hand goes down below to free his cock from the confines of his trousers.

You grip his length, stroking it and squeezing out pearly pre-cum from the tip. You savor the deep groan that leaves his lips. “Fuck… just like that, doll,” he instructed and you obey. Your strokes get faster and his pre becomes natural lube as you continue. He lets out a hiss when you twist your wrist and his hand snares around your wrist. “Wanna cum in your cunt first,” he said, breathless from the ecstasy of having your hands on him.

Within moments the remaining clothes on both of you were scattered around the cabin. You moan into his mouth, your fingers desperately clawing at his shoulders as you begin to grind your soaking wet pussy against his hard cock. You gasp, elated by how your folds pressed against his length, his cockhead being teased by your slit but unable to breach the threshold.

The kisses you shared with him were sloppy. Saliva coating his chin as neither of you was willing to separate your lips for a single unnecessary moment. You knew your lips would hurt by the end of this, that they were swollen and the inside of it bleeding because of how insistently his teeth loved to bite your lower lip. He was no better either. You tasted more blood from the kisses now than anything, and it didn't matter to you because somehow the salty, rusty taste felt like just him.

You let out a sound unfitting of a Capitol-raised woman when his cockhead slips inside your gummy walls. His tip now profusely leaks pre-cum inside your gummy walls. You pulled back, biting your lower lip to stop the whimper as you feel his cockhead stretching out your virgin walls.

“That's it, dove,” he lets out, all needy and heated. His hands squeeze your hips to be encouraging as you let yourself down on his cock slowly. “Take it all in. You can do it, doll,” he whispered, as his eyes were down looking at his length entering you, being surrounded by the wicked, addicting warmth of your tight cunt.

“I can?” You let out a whine, as the pain bleeds into the pleasure, the ratio of it throwing you off the dizzy full lust. He hums in encouragement as you finally fill yourself with his dick to the hilt. Your slick walls pulsate around his length.

“Atta girl,” he smiles at you, his eyes brightening up from how well you took him and without any complaints whatsoever. “That's a good slut,” he whispered and smirked when he felt your walls clench around him deliciously.

You tried to move your hips but gave up when the burn made your eyes water. He coos at you encouragingly, telling you to adjust to his girth first. He wasn't going to rut into you like a dog, you're a Capitol girl, not a district whore. He wasn't going to disrespect you like that, no matter how much he wanted you to begin rolling your hips.

So your lips latch onto his neck, while your arms are around him and your legs around his waist. You were clinging to him, as if afraid that if you ease up in your grip he will fade away from your life, from this moment and your reality together. The smell of sex and sweat begins to become stronger than the smell of gunpowder as you continue to give him hickeys in various places on his skin.

Coriolanus doesn't complain that you're marking him like this, not when he's doing the same task with his tongue tracing the love bites his teeth left. And you suspect he rather enjoys when you bite, as his cock twitches whenever your teeth dig into his flesh as if you're eating and your wet tongue licks over the bite as if you're tasting the flavor of his skin.

When you're finally comfortable with his cock being inside the most intimate part of you. You slowly but surely begin to make small, shallow thrusts that have you gasping, your eyes rolling back with how good it feels already because he was fucking into your g-spot with every roll of your hips. The thrusts were teasing, it had him groaning praises of you being a good girl and his hold tightening over your hips, surely leaving bruises.

You begin to relish the feeling of being stuffed, his cockhead kissing your cervix when you get the angle just right. Your folds coat him with your creamy juices, a ring of white forming on his base with how wet you were. Slowly but surely the pleasure begins to build up, your nails digging into his shoulders as you start to put up force with the way you rock back and forth on his cock.

You pant into his mouth, your lips letting out sharp moans when his dick strokes your walls just right. He lets you control the pace, his mouth busy latching onto your nipple to suck. His tongue swirls around the bud, hardening it inside his mouth and he nips your nipple just to have you jolt from the bite and squeeze down on his cock.

One of his hands now kneads the other breast he wasn't giving much attention to, his fingers rolling the nipple, pinching the bud, and playing with it. His other hand goes between your bodies and finds your clit. You soon realize he was working with a pattern that was driving you insane, turning your cunt into a hotter slicker mess.

When he swirled his tongue around your nipple, his fingers did roll the other bud. Meanwhile, his thumb would drive small, rapid circles onto your swollen bundle of nerves. When he bit into your nipple, his fingers pinched your clit making you gasp with thunderous pleasure filling your veins.

He continues at this and tension begins to build up in your tummy. You close your eyes as animalistic instincts begin to take over your body. The need to cum overrides everything else as you begin to roll your hips faster and harder. Desperate to cum around his cock for the first time of many times in your life. He feels the same way because he encourages you with his hips bucking into you, thrusting perfectly inside of your slick walls.

“So close, Coryo!” You moan, your nails leaving red lines in their path on his shoulders. He latches off your breasts to whisper, “Cum then, my slut. Let me feel you milk my cock like a good cockwhore would.” You let out a louder moan at his words. His condescending tone snaps the tension that had formed in your tummy, you begin to cum.

Your pussy spasming around his cock, triggering his orgasm. He empties his balls inside of you without any hesitation, filling you up with his thick, hot cum. “That's a good girl. Look how well you took me. Look at the cum leaking out, dove,” his tone teasing, like many times he has teased in classes but the context of this was entirely different.

You look down, your pussy clenching around his cock again when you see his seed ooze out of you. Your body slumps into him, tired from all of this. Both mentally and physically. The storm was still going on. You lay in his arms, his cum now coating the insides of your thighs.

“You're smarter than Lucy Gray,” he said, “I pray you know better than to run. I won't miss the next time.”

You shake your head, trying to hide the smile forming on your face. Others would have run from his words, anyone sane would. Lucy Gray did after all. But you were just you.

“If I wanted to run, I wouldn't have found you in the first place,” you whispered, sealing your words with a soft kiss on his lips.

Current tag list: @stelleduarte @nowitsmissing @lifeonawhim @le-lena @dollfacedalls @motley-baby @champomiel @slytherinholland @randomstuff2040 @justacaliforniandreamer @emmalinemalfoy @hyuk4s @theamuz @watercolorskyy @littlebiwitchsworld @eir964

@skywalker1dream @darkangelkathiecookiesmith @ben-has-arrived @bucksdonkey @xyzstar @ellie-luvsfics @sunny-deary @daughter1of2anita3dearly @eir964 @nowsyhozey @ayaya-aa @serving-targaryen-realness @hansbasement @louweasleymalfoy @lettersandwhiteroses @arzua10 @wotcherpeak @ever8ea @daughter-of-the-stars11 @blippys-blog @iguanagwen @moonlight-by-the-sea @snowlandstop @badbleep88 @hobireasns @floswife @weeeoosworld @ludasgf

@sushirolliee @poppyflower-22 @dilucpegg3r @sleepysongbirdsings @cupids-scream-queen @fyhhuu

[allywthsr]

WRONG PERSON | (l.norris)

summary: you send a sexy video to some tinder guy, until you realize you tapped Lando‘s contact instead, you both help the other to finish what you started

wordcount: 2.4k words

pairing: landonorris x fem!reader

warnings: smut!, talking about toys, details about masturbation, phone sex, dirtytalk

notes: inspired by this!!! Tell me what you think, I‘m still scared to write smut, hope you all like this🫣

You were working for Quadrant, it wasn’t like you were some important boss or something, you mostly dealt with customers and sometimes got to plan a video, but Lando still took the time and got to know you. When the whole team went out for dinner, Lando talked to everyone for at least twenty minutes, he wanted to know who was working for him and his brand.

There was no denying you found him handsome, everybody thought he was pretty, but you needed to hide your excitement in your panties whenever he was near you. Not only did he make eye contact every time you two talked, but he also smelled delicious, you wanted to rip his clothes off, the whole time he was near you.

But back to where you were now, laying in bed naked, at almost one am, with your phone in your hand. You were single and desperate, texting with guys from Tinder, who were not worth more than a quick fuck, but you were young and had your needs.

With your phone in one hand, and your left boob in the other, you recorded a small video, where you were squeezing your boob and moaned slightly. You‘ve been snapchatting with a guy you met on Tinder, both of you were horny and needed a release, so why not help each other? You quickly wrote a text to the video, to make it more seducing, ’ You make me so wet…‘ and taped on the slot on Snapchat where he was for the last few snaps, before you could double check that you selected him, you hit sent and threw the phone next to you.

While you waited for his answer, your hand slowly made its way to your pussy, circling your wet clit. With a moan, you teased yourself and kept stopping the sensation in your most private area. When you heard the Snapchat notification tone, you took your phone in your hand and only saw that Lando send you a snap, it wasn’t unusual that he would snap you, you two were streaking after all, but at that time was a little odd, because you were kinda bored and waiting for your guy to reply, you withdraw your fingers from your wet cunt and opened Lando’s snap.

With a gasp, you threw away your phone, the first photo was a normal snap, a picture of his bedroom with some series on Netflix playing, but when you tapped on the screen to exit the snap, a new picture popped up. You could see his hand holding his boxershorts clothed dick, he was hard and big, long and thick. He also wrote a little text, you had to read it twice, making sure your mind wasn’t playing tricks on you, ’was this meant for me, babygirl?‘

You didn’t know what to do, so you did nothing for a few seconds, you didn’t feel horny anymore, suddenly aware of the cold air hitting your still-hot pussy. Should you reply and apologize, saying how you accidentally sent your boss a nude, and look him in the eye at the next dinner? Impossible.

You thought about leaving the country and starting all over again, where no one knew Lando, but that wasn’t a solution either, you had to face him and say that it wasn’t meant for him. But how can you get rid of the image in your head of his dick, the only thing that was roaming through your brain right now was how lucky his future wife would be. With a dick like that, she sure would be happy for the rest of her life.

You excited the snap and took a deep breath, what were you going to say, sorry I send you a nude, but your dick looks nice? No. It took you at least two minutes to think about it and when you took a picture of half your face and started writing a paragraph of apologies, your phone showed you an incoming call.

Lando Norris.

Shit. Your whole body tensed, you couldn’t answer, you just had to pack your things and go, leave London and Lando behind, but something in you didn’t want that, and after what seemed like hours, you did answer the call.

”Hey Lando, look uhm, I‘m sorry I sent you that video, it wasn’t meant for you, obviously. B…But thank you for responding, I mean that picture was nice, but I don’t think that this uhm professionalism between us should be broken. If.. if you want me to leave Quadrant, I‘ll do that.. uhm I’m sorry for sending you that, and I-���

”Y/N, will you stop rambling?“, his voice sounded like he was out of breath, you started shaking when you heard him speak.

”I‘m sorry, for rambling and sending you the video.“

He chuckled, ”Don’t be, maybe you could’ve seen by my response, that I wasn’t mad about it. Sure having your employee suddenly sending you a video where she squeezes her boob and moans, isn’t something I‘d expect, but you have beautiful boobs.“

You didn’t know what to say, so the only thing that came out of your mouth was a: ”Thank you?“, you could hear your heartbeat in your chest, the silence on the other line panicked you.

”But, maybe this is unprofessional of me now, but you left me in a kind of hard situation, Y/N. I bet you’re still wet if your fingers would slide between your legs, aren’t you?“

Your breath hitched, was this for real? Was Lando Norris, your boss, dirty talking to you?

”I..I don’t know, it was a pretty big shock to see you replying, I‘m not as horny as I was ten minutes ago.“

”Then I want you to glide your hand over your boobs and stomach, down to your pussy, I bet it’s pretty, and then tell me how wet you are.“

With a small sigh, you did what he told you, gliding over your boobs and stomach to your pussy, you touched your entrance slightly and felt yourself pulsating, you may not be as horny anymore, but your wetness said otherwise, maybe a part of you already found it hot that Lando actually replied to you.

”Fuck, I‘m so wet Lando.“

You heard a moan from the other line and some sheet rustling, ”Baby, I want you to touch yourself like you would do without me. Finger yourself, rub your clit, do whatever satisfies you. I‘m hard as a rock baby, I need to touch myself too, I wish you were here to do it for me.“

You did as Lando told you, rubbing your clit in circles and feeling yourself come closer to the edge, this whole situation was so hot, it turned you on so badly.

”Please touch yourself, Lando, I wish I was there to help you.“

”I could eat you out until you’re crying and begging me to stop because you would be overstimulated.“

Another moan escaped your mouth and slowly you let your fingers slip into you, which was no problem due to your wetness, but it wasn’t enough, you needed more, thankfully Lando seemed to know what you were thinking when he heard your unsatisfied moans.

”Do you need more baby? Are your fingers not enough, you need my dick to stretch you out?“

You let out whiny and breathy ’yes‘, this situation was so bizarre but hot at the same time.

”Do you have any toys, Y/N? I want you to use a toy on yourself.“

”I..I do.“

”Show me.“

”Can we switch to FaceTime? It’s easier, and I want to see you.“

Lando hummed and muttered a quick goodbye before the screen with the call disappeared, the only thing you could see on your phone now was the picture you took a few minutes ago, and before you could do anything else, the FaceTime call from Lando came in. You answered without thinking about it and you were greeted with a big and girthy dick, and your mouth watered a little. You held the phone up, so he could see your face and your boobs, which he commented with a quiet ’fuck‘.

”Show me your toys, baby.“

You quickly got up and propped the phone against your lamp that stood on the nightstand, while you looked under your bed to fish out the box with your toys. It wasn’t like you were some pornstar and had thousands of toys, but over the years you had collected a fair amount of little helpers.

By now Lando had switched back to his face, so you could see his little beard and his eyes, he kept biting his lower lip, while watching you.

You opened your box and grabbed the first toy you saw, a standard dildo, it was skin-colored and a bit longer and thicker than the normal ones. You showed it to Lando and he groaned, tilting his head back, ”Is that your favorite?“, he asked.

You shook your head and pulled out a pink satisfyer, it was a mixture of a vibrator and dildo, but it also had a clit sucking element. That one was your favorite, you had spent hours with this beauty, and it never left you hanging. ”This is my favorite, you don’t know how good this feels.“

”Tell me about it.“

”It’s so fucking good, Lando. This clit sucking thing? It feels like heaven, it gets me there within a few minutes, the fastest I‘ve ever had an orgasm.“

”I bet I could get you there faster.“

That statement left you with a smirk, only the thought of Lando going down on you, made your head spin, you needed that.

”I can see that you’re imagining it right now, I bet you taste amazing, I would finger you, while lapping at your clit, you would be so full.“

You shut your eyes, and whined, your pussy clenching around nothing.

”What else do you have in there?“

”I have a wand“, you lifted the typical wand and dropped it on the bed, ”I also have a rabbit vibrator, and this“, you lifted another pink vibrator, but this one was smaller.

”You know what this is for, Lando?“

”I‘ve seen it in porn“, he smirked, ”have you ever let someone control it while being somewhere public?“

You nodded, it was a vibrator that you would insert into your pussy and it could be controlled with an app, you‘ve only used it once with someone.

”I was on a date with someone from Tinder, and we‘d been sexting for days and I gave him the app and he controlled it over dinner, it was an experience and I loved it.“

”I want to control it in our next meeting, seeing you tremble over some video ideas is going to be fucking hot.“

Another wave of pleasure rushed through your body, you couldn’t believe you were talking that way with your boss, unbelievable.

”I want you to use that rabbit on you.“

You chuckled, and held the rabbit vibrator into the camera, ”This one?“

Lando nodded eagerly, with a smirk you opened your mouth, dared your tongue out, and licked a long stripe over the part that goes inside of you. After a few licks, you put it fully in your mouth and started sucking it.

You could see how Lando started touching himself again, his eyes closed every now and then and he let out small whimpers. This was your sign that you needed to touch yourself too, so you laid on the bed and flipped the camera to your lower part, where the vibrator was circling your clit. Lando also flipped the camera and you saw his dick that was already leaking pre cum, he moved his thumb over his tip every now and then while moving his cock through his fist, collecting the white fluid. Due to your wetness, the vibrator slipped inside of you with ease, you turned it on and gasped when you felt the vibrations.

”Do you like that? Having your pussy stuffed.“

”Yes, Lando, yes. I need you here next to me.“

”I need you too, wrapped around my cock, you would be screaming and keeping up the neighbors all night.“

With a loud moan, you could feel yourself getting closer to a release, the tip edging your clit made you almost scream and the way you moved the vibrator in and out of you, made you see stars. Lando also was about to cum, he saw that your pussy got wetter and wetter, your fluids squeezing out of your cunt every time the vibrator left it.

”I’m about to cum, Y/N. Show me your face, are you cumming soon?“

You moaned loudly again and flipped the camera, just like Lando did, “Yes, Lando, I wish it was you filling me so well.“

With a loud moan and a lot of curses, Lando spilled his cum all over his hand and stomach, he quickly flipped the camera again, now showing you the mess he created, “That’s all for you, baby, I wish it was inside of you instead on the stomach. Cum for me Y/N, let go.“

While he said those words to you, you felt yourself falling over the edge, with moans and grunts. Lando was sure he never heard something so sexy, those sounds alone made him horny again, he needed to feel you close.

When both of you came down from your highs, you two let out a laugh, realizing what you just did, you had phone sex with your boss, but it felt right and good, and the way his cum sat on his stomach, made you horny again, you needed him.

“You feeling better now?“

“Lando, you’ve no idea, so much better than the weird Tinder guy the video actually was for.“

“I bet, but I still need you, Y/N.“

“Are you in London?“

He hummed.

“Well, my bed is cold without you in it, if you want, my pussy is ready for you, Lando.“

“Send me your address, I’ll be over in ten minutes, you better not start without me, or you’ll get punished.“

Part two

taglist: @millinorrizz @jamieeboulos @loxbbg

[fartcloudfartcloud]

Logan Howlett x Squirter!Reader

oneshot (4.5k words) - You know how to make yourself squirt, but its no easy process. You just accepted your reality of it only happening once in a blue moon and only when you were alone. Maybe Logan can prove you wrong. pairing - logan howlett (xmen) x f!reader tags -first time sex, oral/fingering f recieving, lots of princess, baby, sweetheart, lots of logans filthy (and whiny) mouth, one swift bite, reader has boobs and a vagina and pullable hair, nondescript body other then a few thigh/hip descriptions, squirting obvi, lots of wet everywhere, lots of praise and begging from both parties, logan will not shut up

SEND ME REQUESTS AND SHIT!!!! I WANNA KEEP WRITING!!! GIVE ME IDEAS IM THIRSTY IM HUNGRY RAAAHHHG

this is self indulgent as shit and I havent written a fic and actually posted it since i was like 15 but that fic by @silverskyeline had me inspired because I may or may not be a squirter and i needed to write it for myself. i feel like this is kinda ass butt but i tried my best and i hope its bearable :)

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・..

The first time it happened, it caught you off guard. 

 Finding yourself alone in your home with some down time, you'd sat in your office chair, legs propped up on either side of the wood and headphones slipped over your ears as you scrolled through your options, clicking the first link that piqued your interest. It was how you preferred to masturbate these days, a deep voiced man slowly working you through it, your hands a mirror image of how the man describes his methods of pleasure through your headphones.  

It doesn’t take long before you’re lost in it, 13 minutes into the 24-minute audio and you've got one hand plowing your favorite dildo in and out in long, deep thrusts, angled exactly how you need it. the tip catches against your cervix and thumps up against your g spot in one fluid movement, your head thrown back in breathless euphoria. The voice switches between each ear, alternating as it groans praise and direction between its moans of pleasure. You’re choking on the feeling of it all, moans coming out in hiccups and cries as you desperately try to maintain some dignity. The voice slips into a gravely come on baby, rub that clit while I fuck you, cum on this cock sweetheart and suddenly your other hand joins the mix, sloppily rubbing circles into your drenched bud. The combo of the two motions, drilling yourself in mind numbing strokes with your one hand while your other sneaks down and rubs your clit, isn’t one you explore often.  

But God is it fucking good. 

In a flash your vision is white, it all hits you just as the voice in your ear instructs you. It’s all too much and good lord he starts counting down from 3, and somehow just as he’s growling one, baby cum for me, cum on this fucking dick, your back is arching, and your legs are shaking. Even with your head back and eyes rolled you could feel how sloppy you had gotten, drenched all the way up to you palm and wrist now. The sound was *filthy*, the audible noise of the floor beneath you getting drenched, your desperate gasps and attempts to stay quiet through the torment, and the sloppy plap… plap… of the toy inside you slowly coming to a halt.

That day your eyes were opened to a whole new world. It wasn’t easy, though, and it didn’t happen like it did in porn. Instead of a stream shooting out of you like a hose, it was more of a spray that splashed out with each thrust, and it only happened when you were splayed on your back like that pleasuring yourself exactly in that matter. You never considered yourself a squirter, per say. But it was a fun thing to brag about every now and then.  

it stayed something that happened between you and your toy, though. the one or two flings you'd had since the discovery never getting anywhere near the space or level of relaxation, you’d need to be in to make it happen, and you just accepted it to be something only you could only do on rare occasions alone in your bedroom. 

That was until Logan came along.  

The last thing you'd choose to describe Logan as a man was patient. He was short tempered and snippy, his first day in the mansion it seemed like his mission to piss everyone he saw off. But when he met you, he suddenly softened. When he told you were lucky you were pretty the first time you spoke, he meant it, not only suddenly capable of holding his tongue but speaking with a slowed assurance as he watched you. It wasn't a surprise to anyone when he quickly weaseled his way into your bed.  

Although maybe you'd bragged to a friend or two once it happened, you never thought to alert Logan of your talent. As stated, patience wasn’t exactly any term to describe Logan with, and you knew it wasn’t easy in the first place, so the thought never even crossed your mind. 

That was until he hovered over you, hands expertly holding your face and neck as he passionately locked his lips with yours.  

The way Logan kissed was suffocating, his big hands holding you in place as he mapped every inch of your mouth, huffing to himself every time a string of saliva or a well-timed lick would make you whimper. He hadn't done anything but sit down and kiss you and you were already overwhelmed by him.

He pulled away to stare at you intensely, memorizing every bit of the filthy frame in front of him. He had you laid out underneath him, your pretty eyes blown out and wide, looking up at him as if he was your world, your hands needily grabbing at his tank top.  

"Please Logan," you whimper, leaky eyes never leaving his for even a moment.  

"I haven't even done anything yet, and you're already begging," he teased as he lifted your chin up to start gently laying kisses down it. You keep a hold of his forearms as he leaves wet pink spots all the way down to where your top lies, grounding yourself in his warmth as he sends shivers down your spine. He stops, grumbling at the article of clothing stopping him from devouring you. 

"Use your big boy words," you tease with a smirk, pushing your chest towards him and sensually touching his chest and collarbone. Instead of using said big boy words, he growled a deep "Off." as he flicked at the silky bow nestled against your breasts.

You sigh, your efforts for null.

"I'd ask you to just rip it off, but this is vintage," you pout as you make a show of lifting off the fabric. He raised an eyebrow, half his mind shocked at the way you tease him so effortlessly, the other half wrecked by your suggestion, an image of him pouncing on you and ripping the beautiful lac top off with his claws like an animal.

It started a fire in his stomach, one that was quickly ignited by the view of your breast's falling from the tops confines as you pulled it over your head. In his eyes, they fall in slow motion, each ripple sending shockwaves down his back as he watching them sway with your movement. 

Maybe the idea of ripping that pretty top off with his claws hit a little too close to home, because in a flash he's on you. He's pushing you back with a firm hand to the sternum, using it to hold you in place against the mattress as he desperately kisses down the side of your neck and to your sternum.

"Smell so fucking good," he huffs out as he kisses down your clavicle before latching his lips around your slowly hardening nipple. The feeling makes your back arch and your breath hitch, a combo that had Logan popping a sly grin between his kitten licks to your now stiff bud.  

"You say that all the time," you moan out breathlessly as he flicks his tongue. He pulls away with a pop, inching up to your ear and whispering into it.

"Sorry, let me correct myself," he leans down, sultry gaze inches from your face as he growls,

"She smells so fucking good," into your ear as he cups your mound through your shorts. You should've known in that moment you were cooked, stomach aching with how badly you needed him and hips instantly trying to buck into his wrist. He laughs at your attempt and pulls away his palm, much to your dismay. 

"Don't talk about what my vagina smells like," you giggle, hiding your red face from him,

"Why not? s' like peaches, sweetheart. wanna just split you open and-" he finishes his statement but tugging your head back and exposing the column of your throat, licking a long stripe from between your breast's all the way up and under your ear, his warm hand back cupping your mound and massaging the fat through your shorts.

Your breath is robbed as his mouth leaves a wet trail that cools in the air and send a shiver down your spine. Logans mouth latches back onto your erect nipples, this time your skin tingling and buzzing with sensitivity,

"shit- I need more baby, please," you plead helplessly as your hands roam over Logans shoulders and forearms, his mouth slowly working down your body with kisses and licks. 

"Need what, darling," he replies, his eyes flitting up to yours deviously. You don't respond, instead opting to roll your hips up against his, hoping he'd show mercy upon seeing your desperation. You should've known better. He pins your hips down, gripping the fat of your waist with a rough palm and letting out a displeased grunt as he teases you. 

 "Use your big girl words," he says with a smile, using your own words against you.

You desperately try to retaliate, your palms playfully smacking against his chest and legs kicking while you giggle and yelp,

"You can't- you fucker!" You pleade, before your limbs are quickly pinned down at your sides, your legs now pinned under his as his mouth is back at your ear, stopping you dead in your tracks as he growls. I takes a shaky deep breath, regaining his composure and savoring your smell before he speaks.   

"Just tell me what I want to hear so I can taste this fucking pussy, eh sweetheart? you're killing me here," his voice becoming almost whiny at the end as he grips at your hips and grinds his visibly strained bulge against your thigh. His words shoot a shiver to your core, his brazenness too much for your foggy mind,

"Please just fucking- eat me out Logan!" you whine, hips chasing his in a desperate chase for contact. He grips your face, palm rough and big holding you in place and making you gooey and submissive as he talks, 

"See? Was that so hard, bub?" he quirked with teasing grin before kissing your cheek and diving down to your hips. His arms wormed their way under your thighs, head popping up to admire the way your athletic shorts squeeze the fat of your thighs around his head. The tight shorts accentuated your curves, settling into the creases in your thighs and hips and sending a shiver down his spine as he traces his finger along the seam. 

Suddenly, Logan is biting you. If you asked him why, he's not sure he could tell you, but the spot just under your stomach where your thigh meets your hip looked too appetizing not to sink his teeth into. It's gentle and playful, he growls and shakes his head like a dog with a bone and it makes you squeal and swat at his back again. You tie your hands into his hair and pull him up, a big goofy grin on his face as he peers up at you through his thick lashes, clearly having no remorse for his actions as he licks his lips and teeth.

Jesus Christ hes so hot.

He swats your hands out of his hair, desperate and feral for the taste of you in his mouth. The man wastes no time sinking his face back down and into your thigh, hands gripping you firmer now, pinning you down as he growled and nestled your inner thigh with his stubble. He looks like a little kitty cat, headbutting you to coat you in his scent, fingers kneading and savoring the thick of your hips. 

"Just let me play with you how I want to baby," he whines, the lilt to his voice a little surprising. It feels like the longer you tease him, the whinier he gets. Interesting. 

You pat his hair in apology and scratch his scalp, his head now laying on your thigh as he strokes your stomach. “You can't bite me, Lo!” You giggle as you scold him. He props his chin up on your stomach and pays no mind to your scolding. "Shhh baby, just take these off," the man lazily orders from his spot on your tummy, just barely lifting his head enough to give you space to pull your shorts off. You wiggle out of them with no help from Logan. He’s much too busy taking in every inch of the scene in front of him, eyes glued to your hands as they reveal your lacy pink underwear barely an inch from his face. 

 He could drool with how bad he needs to taste you.  

You don't even get your shorts all the way off your ankle before he's pinning your hips down and raking your pretty pink panties to the side, latching his mouth over your mound and licking a thick firm stripe from the bottom of your slit all the way through to the tip of your clit. You gasp and grab at his shoulders, a slow “fuuuuck,” falling from your lips as he slowly tastes you. 

He’s completely enamored by you, your smell, your taste, the way your look, the way each muscle in your thighs flexes with just the one lick. You look so fucking good like this it makes him angry. 

"So fucking pretty," he spits, overwhelmed by his own rush of feelings settling in his stomach. He opts to ignore it by digging his face into you pussy, using his tongue to tease your clit slowly in circles before sliding over your glistening hole, savoring the way your slick tastes on his lips and tongue as he teases your entrance.  

"Shit-" it comes out desperate and whiny from your lips as you roll your hips into his face, his nose clipping your clit as he explores your slit. The sensation makes your heels dig into the bed and your eyes flutter back with a gasp, your hands pulling on strands of the man's hair. He teases you like this, switching between circling your clit and pushing softly through your slit till you've thoroughly soaked his face with a mixture of his spit and your slick.

He raises his head with a feral growl, looking as if he's pulling away from his feast as he spits on your clit and spreads it around with his fingers. He chuckles while you squirm, kissing your thigh where his pink bite mark stains it.  

"You ready, princess?" He asks, the nickname makes you shiver. You ignore his question and the implications of it, more focused on desperately trying to roll your pinned hips into his mouth, huffing with defeat as neither his hands nor your hips budge. He chuckles at your little tantrum, sitting up and peeling your damp panties away from your core. A soft kiss is delivered to your ankle before settling back into position between your legs. 

A chuckle and a shake of his head is all the warning you get before hes sealing his mouth around your clit and sucking, swirling and swiping his tongue around the bud while pinning you in place. It's different.

This time he's got the whole bud suctioned into his mouth, lips and tongue and pressured sucks all swirling it in an abusing pattern. The only sound heard in the room is his wet mouth on you, any attempts at making sound robbed from you as he lathes his filthy attack on you.

You gasp and squirm to no avail, his name dying on your tongue when you manage to catch a gulp of air, your head thrown back in a silent plea. His pace doesn't falter, he doesn't unstick himself from your clit for even a moment, doesn't switch between his tongue or fingers or where he uses them, just one consistent attack as he focuses every ounce of his attention on pleasuring you. it's precise, masterful, dare you say practiced even, in the way has drawing you up. You'd have half the mind to call him a name, call him some sort of whore for knowing the ins and outs of a woman's body so meticulously. Unfortunately for you, your mind is blank as he pulls away to swap his hold on you, instead using one arm to hold you across the stomach while his other ventures down to your opening. 

"Logan!" You gasp as he pulls off of you for the first time in what feels like ages, giving you a second to breathe and relax. Well, not relax per say, as Logan is underneath you giggling and gently caressing you from bottom to top.

"Gotta make sure it's all wet baby," he slurs, already pussydrunk as he spits onto your slit and rubs it all over. At this point you were dripping, probably all the way down your seam and onto to the bed if you had to guess, especially you combined with Logans sloppy mouth. The action was redundant, yet filthy none the less, and disgustingly sexy. You fall onto your back and cover your face, groaning and rolling your hips again as you catch your breath,  

"You're driving me fucking crazy, Logan," you whimper into the pillow. He’s laughing at you again, kissing just above your clit as he peeps out a tender, "I know baby." He uses his firm hands to massage your thighs, your hips, even using his knuckles down your arms until you've relaxed deep into the bed.

One last kiss is placed onto your thigh before he latches his mouth back over your slit, groaning and relaxing into you like he just took a big draw from a fresh cigar.

He had played you like a damn fiddle, his little break had your muscles relaxing and allowed some air back into your lungs, and now suddenly every movement feels 10x better.

You're hyper aware of every touch, the way his tongue circles your nub before roughly grinding down out it, milking moans from your lips with expertise. He hadn't even brought his fingers back down to your opening yet, still bare and leaking from moments ago when he left you high and dry, yet you were already past the point of no return. Your stomach was tightening, your hands desperately grabbing whatever they could find before deciding on hiding your face in the pillow, successfully concealing your moans and savoring your dignity.

Logan pulled away from your core with a pop, looking to see what had caused the noises he was savoring so sincerely to suddenly stop. He was not happy to see your face covered, not only blocking those pretty sounds but covering your orgasmic expressions too. 

“Uh-uh princess. Need to hear it all, and I wanna see those pretty eyes too,” He pleads, big hands coming up to pull your hands to the side and away from the pillows. He places both your wrists on your stomach, his one hand big enough to pin them both with little issue. 

He grumbles something about interruptin’ me as he dives back into your core. You can practically see his ears perk back up as he hears your beautiful noises again, his tongue going straight back to its mind-numbing circles. He finally gives you mercy and brings his free hand down, two thick fingers running up and down your slit, making sure they're thoroughly soaked in slick before he's pressing them in. The ridges of his thick fingers massage your walls as they're gently worked in and out in slow strokes, the sound and feeling of Logans mouth and hands combined serving to be absolutely pornographic, and your desperate moans doing little to help.

“Logan~” you gasp in delight as the pairing of the two sensations start to settle back into your core, every sensation elevated 20-fold. He’s so unrelenting with the motions of it all, hooking his fingers and pushing them up until it feels like he's stimulating your clit from both sides. You could practically see stars, languid moans turning into breathless gasps again, your hands flexing and twitching against their spot against your stomach, desperate to grab onto him or his hair or the sheets or anything.  

A filthy, “mph- hah! Just a- little more Logan!” eeks past your tense throat, your whole body overwhelmed with the feeling of him taking over every one of your senses.

“Come on princess, wanna see you cum for me,” He growls. it's so deep and attractive, and when he halts the stimulation to your clit to speak, he makes up for it by absolutely slamming his fingers into the soft spot on the roof of your pussy. You were lost, mind completely succumb to him, completely lost in the pleasure his giving you.

“Getting so tight around my fingers, baby. Just let it wash over you, don't think ‘bout nothing but how good im makin' you feel.” He moans breathlessly, having no clue what his words are doing to you. It's all too much, and before you realize it there's a familiar burn in your core, the sounds of his fingers getting louder and sloppier as more of your slick coats his fingers in an all too familiar feeling. You try to alert the man between your legs, try to tell him if he keeps fucking doing that with his fingers you're going to fucking ruin his sheets, but your pleas only serve to fuel him. 

 Your gasps and calls of his name do nothing to slow his motions, his biceps rippling as he doubles his efforts,

“Lo- fuck- im-!” your pleas come out in unintelligible gasps, not enough air in your lungs to beg anymore, the sounds of your arousal getting filthier and filthier. The crest up to your peak has you crying and squeezing Logans sideburns into the inner skin of your thighs, your whole body shaking as he works you to your breaking point, hands pulling and scratching just a little too hard as it all comes crumbling down. All you can hear is sloshing and wet sounds as your vision goes white.  

Your orgasm bulldozes you, your throat parched from how hard you're gasping for air, your limbs sore and twitching as his fingers and tongue work you through the aftershocks. It's all gentle touches and deep gasps of air as you slowly let the stars behind your eyes fade. 

You let out a long groan as you steadily come to, body paralyzed flat against the mattress, mustering up enough energy to lift your head and look down at the man of the hour. He’s removed himself from you and is sat up on his knees, the sight paired with the biggest shit eating grin you've ever seen spread across his face. His hair is tousled and falling over his forehead, his chin still dripping with evidence of your climax. His chin and his hands. And down his neck. And all over his T-shirt, the white neckline of his tank now completely transparent. 

“Shit-” is all you can say as you see what's happened, hand coming up to cover your face, apologizing to Logan as you scramble up.

“Fuck, let me get a towel logan I'm sor-” “woah woah woah where do you think you're going?” he interrogates as he lays a hand against your chest, stopping you in your tracks and looking at you softly, 

 “Your soaked Logan, I- I didn't- should've told you, I need to get a towel,” you scramble from underneath him, legs shaking and sensitive as they carry you to the bathroom. He shakes his head as he follows behind, unable to stop you as you scatter away from him and into the next room, a woman on a mission to scrub the world of the evidence of your debauchery. He watches from the doorway, his arm over his head as he leans against the door frame with a cocky smirk as you frantically grab a towel and dampen a washcloth. You turn to leave, looking up at him with a scowl as he blocks your path. 

“Ya know I'm supposed to be the one doing all this, princess?” He teases, face still coated in you and glistening in the light. You bring the damp wash cloth up to his jaw and start whipping him down, at least tackling one part of the cleaning process if he wasn't going to let you pass into the bedroom.

“I’m the one who made the mess, Logan,” you remind him, patting the wetness from his stubble. He chuckles, grabbing the towel from your other hand and halting the hand scrubbing his face with a firm hand around your wrist.

"Yeah, but I made it happen. Wheres my credit, bub?" You watch shamefully as he turns and places the towel over the wet spot on the bed, hanging the damp cloth over the bed frame and looking back at you expectantly. You hang your shoulders lower,  

“Logan that's not- we need to change the sheets, and you need new clothes and-” “shhh, just come here and lay down with me princess,” he coos, his naivety and dismissal of your feelings starting to frustrate you.

He approaches you with outstretched arms, coming over to loop them around your shoulders and walk you towards the mattress. You stop short of the bed, turning towards him to continue your arguing before he grabs your face with his palm, gently squeezing your cheeks into a pout and effectively stopping any defiance you had. His other hand wraps around your waist as he leans into your ears and speaks lowly,  

“I don't know what kind of nonsense you've got in this pretty head of yours,”

he taps your forehead with his forefinger before placing it in your hair, soaking in your gasp as he gently yanks your head back,

“but you're not leaving until I see that,” he refers to the wet spot causing you grief, “at least one more time.”

He possessively grabs your ass, pulling you firmly against him, your breath taken as he speaks into your ear. His teasing eases your worries, and his hands on you definitely help as well.

“So, I think we forget about the sheets,” you both chuckle, your cheeks flushed as he grabs you and growls.

“And you let me play with this pretty pussy till I figure out exactly how she ticks . Sound good to you, baby?” he asks, pulling back with his eyebrows quirked and lips pulled up into a dangerous leer.

You look small in his arms, the roller coaster of emotions leaving you feeling vulnerable and submissive as you softly shake your head up and down, core heating all the way back up for him.

He smiles and brings you into a tender kiss, hands roaming your body and down your arms, grabbing your wrists and placing your palms on his chest. He praises you with gentle whispers of so beautiful, my girl, need you, as he walks you backwards to sit on the edge of the bed.

The kiss turns more heated with every passing moment, his tongue working any shame out of your mind and replacing it with that beautiful heat of pleasure only he can have given you. He pulls away from you, a string of saliva connecting your lips as he pulls that same lopsided grin you've been slowly falling in love with.  

“Think I could make you squirt like that on my dick, princess?” He asks bodely, making you snort as your face gets hot, “um, I don't know usually... it's pretty hard.” He chuckles and runs his hands over your thighs.

“Didn't seem too hard to me,” he teases slyly, making you hide your face in his chest with a giggle. He kisses the crown of your head, muttering a soft, “I'll go get some more towels,” before wandering back into the bathroom, your eyes glued on his somehow still fully clothed from. You flush red again as he walks out with 2 more towels, laying them across the mattress and crawling towards you with a hungry glare. You were in for a long night. 

[knife-eared-jan]

Ok, as much as I have been hyping and playing 12 hours a day since it got out (still in Act 1 though, bc I'm a slowass player and completionist), I feel like I have to say something that is getting hard to ignore at this point... and I wanna preface this by saying that I am loving a lot of aspects of the game and I adore the writing when it comes to the companions, who I am obsessed with.

And maybe this will get better yet, as I generally heard the writing picks up once the story progresses beyond picking up all companions..

But I'm starting to get quite upset at the way the writing just does NOT care about the established lore and the politics of Thedas like at all, when to me - and many others - that richness, nuance and depth of the world is what makes the games so special.

(Spoilers below)

I looked past the way the elves in Arlathan just seemed to know that their gods are evil and Solas is "kind of a dick" but was right about that. When, you know, that made him basically the Satan of their pantheon up to now.. It was after all the tutorial stage of the game and I understand that you wanna ease newcomers into the lore. I could also handwave it in-universe with Morrigan being there - she could have filled the Veiljumpers in on the discoveries of the Inquisition or even what the Well told her.

It felt a bit weird that our contacts in every other faction just accepted this huge revelation without a blink, but again it was the early stages and I also get that having a discussion about it 6 times with different faction leaders would have been incredibly tedious. So I ignored that. And yeah, at least the First Warden found it hard to swallow.

The fact that they brushed aside the gods finding elven subjects - many of whom after all still worship them - with one sentence from Solas was disappointing though. Instead they chose to ally them with the Venatori and the Antaam who are the pure evil factions with no nuance or motive to side with them besides a comic book level of hunger for power. They didn't even throw in a sentence about the gods maybe speaking to the Venatori through the Archdemons to get them on their side or how it's very ironic that the Venatori, who want to make Tevinter great again, stoop to working with the pantheon of the people they oppress because they see them as lesser and other. No political exploration of the massive lore implications at all.

It really hit me when I picked up Davrin and he commented how Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain blighting the world would really endear us (elves) to the rest of Thedas - this was the first time anyone actually mentioned the political impact of the elven gods being real, freed, evil and blighted on modern day elves at all, when this should be HUGE. It should be ugly. It should be complex. It should be explored in as many examples as bloodmagic and the oppression of mages was in DA2. It should be a central point of Act 1. (This btw made me love Davrin so much in that moment because this was the first time in the game for me when I actually felt like talking to a Dragon Age elf and even just that one line felt like home.)

And now I just did Taash's first companion quest and it seems Qunari lore is also being ignored (except for the gender aspect of it, which I look forward to). Taash's mum was a scholar and had a baby and the only problem about that was that it could breathe fire and was special but otherwise all would have been dandy? Like she would have just been allowed to keep Taash long enough to find that out about her baby if she was living under the Qun? That directly contradicts everything we know about how the Qunari's culture around reproduction and childcare works.

Sorry to be negative and talking myself into a rage - I know it's not something people want to see rn. But like, I realise you have to brush over some lore intricacies for brevity and to make it digestible for new players. But this is a world initially inspired by Wheel of Time and ASOIAF, both of which are interesting because of the depth of ficitional cultures, lore and politics, and hence it's also what gives Dragon Age its appeal. And now they take us to the most politcally interesting areas on the world map and just get rid of all of political depth?

That's really disappointing. Imagine if Winds of Winter dropped all political themes just because there's several previous books and it's been some a lot of years.

Also, I managed to play DA2 before I ever played Origins and they could introduce me to a vast established background of lore just fine back then.

Sorry. Rant over. But I had to get that out of my system.

[morning-star-joy]

half asleep, half awake

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader, ASHWAH Universe

Summary: Every time Joel Miller realizes he loves you. Every time he wants to tell you, and the time he does.

Warnings: Brief smut (unprotected p in v, possessiveness, creampie), brief reference to canon-typical violence, longing, Joel can’t communicate his feelings until he can, lots and lots of love. Multiple specific references to the main series. Joel's POV.

A/N: I’ve gotten asked a few times when Joel realizes he loves Reader in this series, and the inspiration hit me the other day to write out my answer to it. Because it could be one scene, but so many before, and so many after when he wants to say it. I miss these two and I love these two and I hope that this little companion piece to the fic makes somebody as happy as I was to write them again!

Wordcount: 1.8k

gorgeous dividers by @saradika

Important: Please read this post and how to help Palestine.

The first time Joel feels it—really feels it, settled into his bones with an undeniable weight, tugging at his heart with an unimaginable lightness—is the night of his 57th birthday.

Months of staying out of his bedroom, of keeping you off his bed, dissolve into a forgotten time the moment you tug the glass of whiskey from his hand.

Move over, you’d said, making room for yourself amongst the place where he laid his head every night. You finish off the drink, take the rest of the poison he’d been diluting his veins with to drown out the pain of all he’d lost, and settle next to him.

He thinks he wants to see you there every night.

You ask him things like his favorite fucking color, things that don’t matter. Not to him, not to you—but you ask anyway. You meet his eyes readily, open and honest and searching his soul for the same old breaks in your own, and he feels it.

You hold his hand, and it fits there. You would fit into his side too, he muses, if he pulled you in.

He wants to pull you in. He wants you in ways nobody’s ever had you—he knows they haven’t, can feel the trepidation in your soul when he looks at you for too long, or lets his touches linger.

You’ll fuck him like there’s no tomorrow, because maybe there isn’t, but you won’t let him hold you tender. Not that he’s tried, but he knows you. Not everything about you, but enough.

And that night, there’s more. More to you, wounds open and pain spilling out, and it looks like his own. It is his own.

I should probably go, you say when it’s become too much, and he feels the urge to ask you to stay.

Joel asks if you want a drink instead, because he’s an idiot, and you say he’s had too much, because you’re right.

He watches from his window as you walk home under the streetlights for once instead of sticking to the darkness, and though he won’t call it what it is, he knows it’s love.

Joel’s loved you longer than that, though. Somehow he knows it, but he can’t place when.

In front of his fireplace, maybe. You’re shivering from god knows how long you had spent in the rain, in the graveyard, in your own mourning. Broken, and he wants to find each piece of you that you’ve lost and put you back together.

Or at least hold you tight enough that you feel okay again. He just knows that he misses your damn smirk, your fucking laugh, and maybe that was love too.

Or maybe it’s when he wants you to be his, his, his only. When he wants to erase the image of that man’s hand on your back with his own on your skin, fingertips digging into your hips and pulling them back to slap against his.

Maybe it’s the skirt of a temptress bunched up around your waist, each desperate thrust of his cock into your needy cunt, dripping and squeezing as you say, moan, scream his name, his, his.

Maybe it’s when you’re half-naked after, admitting you don’t know what the fuck this is, don’t understand what it’s become, and he doesn’t know either. But it’s something delicate. Maybe it’s love then.

Maybe it’s love on the bathroom floor when he realizes you’re the first friend he’s made in years.

Maybe it’s love when he wants to kill every single bastard raider who took you from him, wants to tear them apart with his bare hands and make them bleed and bleed for how much blood they’d taken from you. Precious blood, blood that kept you alive, kept you snarky and angry and wrapped around him each time he took as much pleasure from you as he gave back.

Or it’s Halloween, the bright lights, loud music, and clothes of a bygone era. None of it real until Maria shoves the truth of the matter into his face. She tells him he’s an idiot and just what it all means, what you mean to everyone, and to him, and he finally accepts it.

That’s the first night he has you in his bed. The first night he sees all of you, feels all of you, skin against skin, and you come again, and again, and again. It’s not enough, he needs to keep feeling it, needs you to fall apart in his hands so he can put you back together. A single thread he weaves through you and tugs with each ripple of pleasure, pulling you apart again with each clench of your cunt around his cock, until you pull it from him too.

You fall asleep in a matter of minutes after. Lips parted, and he wished he could watch them swell after a kiss, but you were still holding back.

So he settles for his palm on your cheek, stroking the scar that he still doesn’t know how you got, and feels so much longing, so much love when you sink into his sheets, wrapped up in his favorite color that you knew because you cared to ask. Settled by just the touch of him.

Joel thinks you tried to say something that night, but he’ll never know what. He does know what he wants to say, but he holds back. He’d wait for you, even if you never wanted this too. He’d be whatever you did want him to be.

Time passes in a blur after that, as you tangle yourselves together in ways he never would’ve once thought possible. He doesn’t move, and you lean into him. He doesn’t move, just lets you come to him, too scared you’ll run away again if he holds you too tight, or at all.

Then that night. A meal shared with the family you’d found. He tries to go home alone after, and you chase after him, hold him tight, and he knows. He knows what he feels, and he knows you feel it too.

He doesn’t have to say it, but he wants to. Night after night he wants to, the more that you settle and the more that you’re his. The more that he is yours.

You kiss him, finally—or he kisses you, he can’t remember which. And it says it all.

Still, the words are trapped in his throat as his home truly becomes yours.

His body had already been your home for a year.

His heart, for longer than he would ever know.

But his house. Four walls that didn’t mean anything, not really, not until you lived within them and your sister’s art was on the mantle, your photograph of your parents was in your room that was his room, all your mugs in the kitchen and his coffee was your coffee—he needs to tell you.

He tries to every morning, in his kitchen with your cups of coffee—or tea, with complaints falling from both his mouth and yours if you were out of your preferred beverage. He doesn’t, but he knows you can taste it in the drink he brews for you, perfected to your liking.

He tries to before every patrol, in case somebody takes you from him again. He doesn’t, but he knows you can see it when his eyes seek yours, when he gives you a nod and a lingering gaze before you’re out of the gates and on your way. He knows you can feel it when you both get home, his arms wrapped around you tight and the tension seeping from his body when you’re pressed to him.

He tries to every night, but it’s lost on his tongue every time it slides into your mouth. He knows you know with every kiss, every thrust of his hips from where he’d found a home nestled between your thighs, spilling himself into you as you welcomed him in and made the most beautiful music every time.

You’re comfortable in bed months after the holidays, after that first kiss. Winter is warming into spring, the air feels like starting again, and he tries to tell you.

You’d been reading when he crawled into bed behind you after a shower. His face buried into your neck, each drop of water onto your skin so cold it makes you shiver. But your nails dig into his forearm when it wraps around your waist, the book tumbling from your fingers as you grasp at the nightstand with each drag of his pulsing cock inside your tight heat.

The lamp on the nightstand rattles with each thrust, sending waves of warm light flashing across the room. He’s mesmerized each time it washes across your face, pinched in the familiar climb for pleasure you trusted him to guide you through. He mouths at the scar on your cheek, caressing with lips and tongue as you gasp his name.

You’re so beautiful. His moon, his heart, his home, his everything.

Joel wants to tell you when you come, your eyes fluttering open and seeking his. Seeking that connection between you, as hungry as you are reverent, and he doesn’t deserve it, that undying loyalty. But you think the same for yourself, so what did either of you know, besides what this was.

Love, and he wants to say it. Wants to say he loves you when each flutter of your pussy around him sends him spiraling into an orgasm, a blissful moment of release he now only ever associated with you.

Half asleep after, you’re content, the warm light of the steadied lamp caressing your skin as he cleans it. You know what he wants to say, he thinks. Your eyes are heavy and lazily watching as he kisses the inside of your thigh, peppers his love up your body to your lips.

Half awake, Joel watches you reach for him, pulling him down into a soft caress of your lips against his, with more tenderness either of you ever thought you were capable of.

He won’t say it. You know he won’t.

But you know he will. Someday.

And that one morning amongst many that belong to just you and him, when you ask about other lives, when he realizes you’d want him in more than just this one—in every one—he says it.

You say it back, and everything is right.

When you ask him when he first felt it, he tells you the truth; that he hadn’t felt it just yet on that snowy street a year ago, but a part of him always knew he would love you.

And now, Joel knew he always would.

[auggieblogs]

nsfw | mdni | lando norris x fem! driver reader | smut with a bit of plot.

Author’s note: Hiiii, everyone!!! I hope you all are doing good. I am sorry for being mia, I actually started university recently (it’s insane). Needless to say I have a lot on my plate right now, and writing isn’t the first thing on my agenda but I felt weirdly inspired yesterday (i am clearly ovulating). Anyways I hope you like it, happy reading<3

ALSO AGAIN, MDNI!!!! THIS CONTENT IS NOT SUITABLE FOR ALL AUDIENCES.

―୨୧⋆ ˚masterlist

You marched down the paddock, ignoring the piercing stares and whispers. Your heart was still racing, not just from the adrenaline of the crash but from the rage boiling inside you. The Baku Grand Prix had gone sideways fast, quite literally, and it was all Lando Norris's fault. Or, at least that's what you convinced yourself to believe.

Two laps in, you collided with him in one of the most reckless incidents of your career, sending both cars spinning out of the race. It wasn't just the crash that infuriated you-it was that smug, arrogant look you knew he'd wear afterward, refusing to accept his share of the blame.

As you stormed up to his driver’s room, you didn't even bother knocking, shoving the door open, fully prepared to let loose. But whatever words you had prepared immediately got stuck in your throat.

Lando was standing there, almost completely naked, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. His chest glistened with sweat from the heat of the race, and his hair, a little longer now with a baby mullet sticking out, was damp and tousled. Your eyes raked over him, heart pounding. His body was lean, muscles tense and glistening under the fluorescent lights. His face was a mix of amusement and heat as he noticed your reaction.

Lando raised an eyebrow, a slow smirk forming on his lips as he noticed your staring. "Like what you see?" His voice was smug, teasing.

You blinked, quickly snapping yourself back to reality. No way you were letting him get to you like this, not when you were still so pissed.

"That was a shitty move, Norris," you spat, trying to focus on your anger instead of the fact that he was practically naked in front of you.

Lando's eyes flicked down your body, scanning you slowly, deliberately, making you feel hot under his gaze. He leaned back against the wall casually, arms crossed, his expression smug. "You rammed into me,” he said, not even trying to hide his amusement.

Your fists clenched, and you took a step closer, your rage bubbling over again. "That was you! You cut me off and ruined my race!" you nearly shouted, your voice rising with each word.

Lando shrugged, utterly nonchalant. "Or maybe you just couldn't handle the pressure." He sat down casually on the couch, his legs spread wide as he leaned back, watching you with that infuriatingly smug look on his face. "Maybe you just hate that you'll never beat me."

His words hit you like a slap to the face, but you didn't back down. You stepped closer, fists clenched at your sides.

"You're a prick, Norris. You think you're better than everyone else—"

Before you could finish your sentence, Lando grabbed your wrist and yanked you down, pulling you onto his lap so you were straddling him. The sudden movement made your breath hitch, your hands instinctively going to his shoulders for balance as you sat on top of him, your faces now inches apart.

"You keep running your mouth,” he murmured, his voice a low, “and I swear to God, I'll fuck you so hard you'll forget how to speak."

Your pulse spiked, your entire body buzzing with a mix of shock and arousal. The heat of him against you, the feel of his hands on your hips, sent a thrill through you that had you struggling to catch your breath. But you weren't backing down. Not with Lando. Never.

"Is that a threat or a promise?" you shot back, though your voice came out breathless, betraying how badly you wanted him.

Lando's eyes flashed with something dark and before you could react, his lips crashed into yours. The kiss was rough, desperate, all teeth and tongue. His hands were everywhere- gripping your waist, sliding up your back, pulling at the zipper of your race suit until it fell away, exposing your bare skin to the cool air of the room.

He groaned as he peeled the suit off your shoulders, his eyes devouring the sight of your breasts as they spilled free. Without hesitation, his hands cupped them, squeezing roughly as his mouth moved down to your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin.

"Fuck, you've got perfect tits," Lando muttered, his voice thick with lust. He leaned forward, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking hard as his other hand kneaded the soft flesh of your other breast.

You gasped, your back arching as waves of pleasure shot through you. His tongue swirled around your nipple, teasing it until it hardened in his mouth, sending shivers down your spine. His free hand pinched and rolled your other nipple between his fingers, drawing moans from your lips that you couldn't suppress.

"You always walk around in that tight suit,” he growled against your skin, his breath hot as he moved from one breast to the other, giving it the same attention. “Do you know how hard it is to focus when I know these are underneath?"

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the moans threatening to escape as his hands and mouth drove you wild. But you couldn't resist anymore. The heat between your legs was unbearable, and you needed him-now.

"Lando, please,” you whimpered, grinding down against him, feeling his erection straining against his boxers. The friction sent sparks of pleasure through you, but it wasn't enough. You needed more.

He smirked up at you, his hands sliding down to your hips, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing slow, torturous circles that made your breath hitch in your throat. You moaned, your head falling back against the couch as your body trembled under his touch.

"Fuck, you're soaked for me," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "Is this what you wanted? All that fighting, all that tension—was it just an excuse to get fucked?"

You didn't answer, too lost in the overwhelming sensation of his fingers moving inside you, curling just right, hitting all the spots that made you see stars.

"I asked you a question,” Lando growled, his other hand coming up to grip your throat lightly, forcing your eyes to meet his. “Is this what you wanted?"

You nodded, barely able to form words. "Yes," you breathed. “God, yes."

A smug smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and without a warning her tore your panties down. He plunged into you. Filling you completely.

You cried out, your hands gripping his back as he set a punishing pace, each thrust deeper than the last. The room filled with the sound of your moans and the slap of skin against skin as he fucked you relentlessly.

His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as he drove into you over and over again. “You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, his voice rough as he leaned down, capturing your nipple in his mouth again, sucking and biting as he pounded into you.

The sensation was overwhelming, pleasure building inside you with every thrust, every touch. You were close-so close-and Lando could feel it. His hand slipped between your legs, his fingers rubbing tight circles on your clit, pushing you closer to the edge.

"Come for me," he growled against your skin, his pace never faltering. "I want to feel you come all over my cock."

That was all it took. With a loud moan, your body tensed, and the orgasm crashed over you like a wave. Your walls clenched around him, and Lando groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic as he followed you over the edge, spilling inside you with one final, deep thrust.

For a moment, neither of you moved, both of you catching your breath as you lay tangled together on the couch, bodies still trembling from the intensity of it all.

Lando shifted, rolling onto his back beside you, his chest heaving as he looked over at you with a satisfied smirk. “Still think it was my fault?" he asked, his voice teasing.

You gave him a tired smile, your body still buzzing with aftershocks of pleasure. "Maybe we both lost this one,” you muttered, your hand lazily tracing patterns on his chest.

He chuckled, pulling you close. "Guess we'll just have to settle it off the track more often."

[lulunothulu]

“Not the leash”

Tyler Owens x Boone x Reader

Inspired by this post bc it was hilarious and I had to write it 😂 so thank you @gibbysoup 💗

Also for the sake of this fic, what happened between him and Kate happened to you instead.

Contents: fluff, silliness

You were sitting in the back of Tyler’s truck, waiting for him and the rest of the Tornado Wranglers to come out of the gas station where they were grabbing breakfast. To your left, Javi and Kate were arguing about whether or not they should go to the east or west and you couldn’t help but smile.

It’s been about a week since Tyler invited you all to go storm chasing with him and the rest of his crew and you’d finally agreed but only of Kate were to choose the tornado.

The shouts and laughter coming from behind you told you that the Tornado Wranglers were done paying for their food so you turned around to greet them.

Only, you were met with a frowning Boone and a laughing crew behind him.

“What’s wrong Boonie?” You ask.

“Look at what these assholes got me,” he starts, turning around with a huff.

You have to slap your hand over your mouth to keep from laughing because on his back sits a cute little brown monkey backpack.

“But it’s so cute,” you try cheering him up.

“Just wait,” he tells you, waving Tyler over.

Tyler flashes a smile up at you before reaching into the monkey backpack and pulling out a leash.

“Oh my god,” you laugh. “Not the leash.”

“THEY’VE CHAINED ME, Y/N!” Boone cries out. “They don’t want to see me thrive!”

“Boone, we’ve lost you four times in a crowd in the span of an hour yesterday!” Lilly tries to reason.

“This was the best way to keep you close,” Dexter adds.

“No,” Boone says, shaking his head dramatically. “You did it to keep me on the ground. I was meant to soar in the air!”

“You don’t have wings, Boone,” Tyler interrupts.

“I was meant to socialize with our fans, to live!” Boone goes on. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Stay close?” You suggest.

Boone whirls around to face you, hurt painted all over his face. “HOW DARE YOU, Y/N! LET ME ROAM FREE!”

Tyler only shakes his head and passes the leash to Lilly who smiles and pulls Boone to the other truck. “C’mon, bird boy. Let’s get in the truck.”

Tyler walks up to where you’re now standing, waiting for him to help you off the truck bed. He grabs your waist before helping you off the truck.

“Did you have to leash him?” You ask when your feet hit the ground.

“He was getting lost! And after I left to go get you, he felt…abandoned.” He tells you. “Besides, now I have a reason to use the backpack.”

“You’re terrible Tyler Owens,” you laugh.

“You love me.”

[felinecyan]

Trust Issues

[Katsuki Bakugo x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Some friendly advice: don’t ever go to the rival of your spar partner for help.

WC: 4893

Category: Fluff, Slight Angst,

This blog is a MHA fan page at this point HAHAHA

But since you guys REALLY liked the first oneshot of him, I felt inclined to write another one. So, here you go! 💞

『••✎••』

You didn’t think it would come to this.

In all honesty, you had never intended to hurt your friend.

All you had wanted was a fair fight. After all, that was why you were training, wasn't it?

So you could become a hero?

Now, granted, it was not a secret that Izuku Midoriya had always been on the… opposing end of Katsuki Bakugo's wrath ever since childhood. The boy was a spitfire; you had known that from the moment he had first stepped into class.

The Sports Festival only proved it. He was strong, powerful, and unafraid to let anyone who stood in his way know. It was that sort of determination that you had hoped to one day achieve, the will to succeed and not allow anything to hold you back.

It wasn't that you were star-struck or even jealous when he had been crowned first place at the festival. It was just inspiring, in a sense. He had fought tooth and nail to win, and in the end, he had come out on top.

However, his victory did not mean he could rest easy.

After the Sports Festival, Bakugo had taken a sort of… interest in you. You supposed he liked the way he fought against you, or maybe it was because he saw potential in you as a rival, but when class was over the next day, and the blonde had approached you, telling you to meet him out back, you were overjoyed.

Until he started to beat the ever-living crap out of you, that is.

And he still was, even now.

Every time you believe to be gaining more and more strength, he only proves to have become stronger. It was quite disheartening, actually.

Still, you did your best to keep up with him. It was no surprise to you, though, that he was better at you in almost everything.

That's why it seemed like a great idea for you to start sparring with Deku, right? Maybe the green-haired could teach you a few things and help you gain a bit of an advantage over the hothead.

But, as pure intentions would have it, the choice you made that day had landed you here.

You were at your locker, picking up books for Aizawa’s lesson when a hand rested atop the door of your locker. He didn’t close it, only using it as a resting place for his arm, so you didn't immediately look up to see him, instead pretending that you hadn't noticed him.

"Hey,"

Not a voice you were familiar with. You glanced around the area before looking over at the source—a tall boy with short black hair and dark brown eyes.

You blinked a couple of times. "Hi…?"

He flashed a grin and leaned a bit closer to you, his voice dropping low. "Nice weather we're having, don't you think?"

"Uhm… sure, I guess." The confusion was obvious on your face, and he laughed at your expression. "It's nice, yeah."

"Well, the weather seems a lot nicer on the roof, I think." His words were slow, and his smile was growing a bit too much for you to be comfortable with. "I could take you there, show you the view. What do you—"

He was caught off by the large hand that suddenly slammed down on the top of your locker, shutting it. You were about to tell the person that the door had hit your head when you looked up at those glaring crimson eyes and felt your stomach drop.

Katsuki Bakugo.

"Hey, what the hell?!" The boy exclaimed. "What's the big deal?!"

Bakugo didn't seem to acknowledge the other, simply glaring down at you only. You were frozen in place. You had never seen the boy this angry, not even at the USJ attack.

"You." His voice was quiet, unnervingly calm, but the undertone was filled with enough venom to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. "You lied."

"Uh—" You began but were cut off.

"You told me you had to bail yesterday. That you had homework to do." He was staring right through you, and you felt a cold shiver run down your spine.

You swallowed, and his eyes flickered to your throat for a split second. "I did, though."

"You didn't," He hissed, teeth gritting together. "You were with him."

"With who—"

You had no chance to react before he slammed his fist against the lockers again, right beside your face, and the boy who had been trying to talk to you only watched as you were cornered.

"Don't lie to me, damnit!" He was snarling, eyes alight with fury. His hand moved from the lockers and back to his side. "You were with that shitty nerd. Don't you fucking deny it."

"I—" You tried, but your voice was shaking, and he interrupted you before you could say anything.

"Do you think I'm a fucking idiot?" He leaned down to your level, his red eyes burning into yours. "Do you really think I wouldn't find out about your little play date with Deku?"

"Play date?" Your eyebrows furrowed. "I was just training, Bakugo. It's not that big a deal."

He scoffed, pulling his hands into his pockets. The rage was still in his eyes, but he didn't appear to want to act on it, instead turning his head to the side.

And despite it not being a good time, the dude beside you was still here, and he had a comment.

"Hey, I was here first, dude." He said, stepping forward. "It’s clear you two have a problem, but this chick isn’t yours. Beat it."

You were honestly expecting Bakugo to explode on him, maybe even punch the guy. He was always so aggressive.

Instead, he simply stared at him for a long moment, blinking at his audacity, only to roll his eyes and turn back to you.

"If you think Deku can help you, then go ahead." He shrugged, taking a step back. "We’ll see how good his teaching is if it can get you to stand a chance against me."

"You think—"

He interrupted you, not even giving you the chance to finish.

"Five o’clock, gymnasium." He smirked, but his eyes were hard. "Don't make me wait."

"But, you said—"

He had already turned his back and began to walk away, the other boy watching him with a dumbfounded expression.

Bakugo only nudged him aside with his shoulder, not giving him a glance as he left the hallway. He might’ve called over his shoulder, calling the kid an extra.

You weren't sure, and frankly, you didn't care. The only thing you cared about at that moment was what just happened, what was going to happen, and kicking the ever-loving shit out of the tattletale who just ruined everything.

The guy was still staring at the hallway Bakugo had disappeared in, his eyebrows scrunched together.

"Did he just—"

"Don’t." You held up a hand, and his mouth shut immediately. "Just don't."

The boy didn't say anything after that. You left him as he was, not caring if he was confused or not. He shouldn't have interrupted in the first place.

You walked to the classroom, immediately hunting down the other blonde, who happened to be your betrayer. He was sitting down, talking to Sero and Kirishima, but you didn't hesitate to grab him by the ear and drag him away.

"Hey!" He cried out, struggling to escape. "What the hell?! Lemme go!"

"Why'd you do that?!" You demanded, turning to him and letting him go. "You ratted me out!"

He blinked, not understanding. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb, Denks!" You pointed at him accusingly, glaring at him. "You told Bakugo that I was training with Midoriya."

"I… was under a lot of pressure, okay?" He raised his hands defensively, leaning back. "Bakugo came to me after school and demanded where you were. He threatened to blow my face off!"

"Oh, yeah, real mature." You rolled your eyes. "Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?! He’s going to actually blow my face off."

"He didn't seem that mad," He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Maybe it'll be okay."

"He talked like a regular person," You crossed your arms. "He was terrifyingly calm, Kaminari! And now he wants to meet me in the gym at five o'clock."

"Dude,” Sero extended the vowel, sitting forward in his seat as he had heard the conversation. "You’re so screwed."

You couldn’t help the glare you threw at him.

"You're not helping."

Kirishima also turned, frowning. "No, dude, he's right. You are screwed. I mean, you were sparring with Midobro behind his back." He shook his head. "He probably wouldn’t have cared much if it was me or anyone else, but—"

"You picked his mortal enemy." Sero finished, raising an eyebrow. "Like, seriously, dude. What did you expect?"

"Kaminari not to snitch on me?" You threw a look at the yellow-haired boy. "So much for being friends, huh?"

"Hey, I warned you," Kaminari huffed, crossing his arms. "But no, you wanted to hang out with his rival. If I didn’t tell him, I'm pretty sure he would've killed me. Like, literally, he would've killed me. No doubt."

"But you're fine with me dying?" You asked, a teasing smile pulling at your lips. "I see how it is."

"I thought I would have until after lunch to warn you," He defended himself, shrugging. "Guess he warned you instead, huh?"

You sighed, shaking your head.

"You guys aren't helping," You turned, running a hand through your hair. "I'm dead. So dead. Oh my god."

"Alright, who pissed off the chihuahua?"

You spun around at the sound of Mina's voice, seeing her, Jiro, and Hagakure all standing together.

How wonderful. The gang's all here.

"What are you talking about, Ashido?" Kirishima questioned, tilting his head.

"Bakugo's pissed," Jiro explained, pointing a thumb in his direction. "He’s storming through the hallways like someone just took a dump in his cereal."

"And it's not like he was in a good mood this morning, either," Hagakure added, bouncing on her toes. "Did something happen?"

You groaned and flopped down into a chair, hiding your face in your hands.

"Idiocy happened," Sero answered, shrugging. "That's what happened."

"Shut it, Tape Boy."

"You should probably tell us," Mina advised, sitting down next to you. She pulled you into a side hug, patting your shoulder. "What's up? Talk to me."

"Bakugo found out that I've been training with Midoriya," You mumbled, and the three girls nodded. "I’m dead. Aizawa can’t even save me."

"Aw, c'mon, it's not that bad." Jiro rolled her eyes, walking over to join the group. "Bakugo's all bark and no bite."

"He's not… all bark." You muttered, not meeting her eyes.

"I can vouch for that." Kaminari grinned, but the glare you shot him made him falter. "But uh, no, yeah, he's definitely more bite than bark."

"Oh, you poor baby." Hagakure cooed, leaning forward to ruffle your hair. You couldn't see her face, obviously, but you had a feeling she was smiling. "You can do it, though. It can't be that bad."

"You know what you should do?" Kirishima suggested a bright smile on his face. "Talk to him."

"I think that would make things worse, dude." You rubbed your eyes, sighing.

"I mean, tell him why you were doing it." He shrugged. "He’s feeling all types of betrayed right now, I bet. If you just explain your reasoning, he might let it slide."

"Doubtful."

"But it's worth a shot, isn't it?" He raised an eyebrow, his smile still intact. "Plus, you’d be showing him that you aren't afraid to take the initiative. Maybe he'll be a bit nicer."

"Do it at lunch so that if he tries to kill you, there'll be teachers nearby." Sero grinned.

"You're really not helping." You glared at him, but the group just laughed, leaving you to your sulking.

Mina was about to say something when the door to the classroom opened, and the very loved and grumpy Aizawa walked in. He didn't say a word; instead, he just shot a look at the group before sitting down to wait for the last few minutes before class started.

As much as you wanted to believe it, the only thing the group's conversation managed to do was make you more worried. You spent the entire class staring off into space, staring at the blonde boy who sat two seats in front of you.

His shoulders were tense, and his pencil was practically snapping in half as he scribbled notes on the paper. Every once in a while, his eyes would flicker back and forth, his teeth gritted, and his pencil would move a bit faster.

You couldn’t focus on what Aizawa was saying, too distracted by the blonde's behavior.

The class seemed to go on forever, but eventually, the bell rang, and the class began to shuffle out, chatting and laughing with their friends.

"Hey, Bakubro!" Kirishima walked over to the hothead, who had stayed behind to pack up his things. "You okay, man?"

He was a real one, that Kirishima.

"Peachy." He replied, throwing his bag over his shoulder. His tone was dry, and his eyes were tired, but there was a hint of anger in them.

"You sure? You seem a bit—"

"I'm fine, Shitty Hair." He hissed, his patience wearing thin. "Back off."

The redhead only nodded and backed away, holding his hands up. "Alright, man. Whatever you say."

He looked over at you, his eyes flickering between you and Bakugo.

He didn't need to say a word. You understood. You slowly approached the blonde, your heart in your throat.

"Uhm," You started, your voice cracking. You cleared your throat, trying to seem as unthreatening as possible. "Can we talk? I'll buy lunch."

He glanced at you, his jaw clenching. His eyes flickered down to the floor before meeting yours again.

"What makes you think I need you to buy me lunch?" He huffed, his grip on his bag tightening.

"It's an offer, dude," You shrugged, trying to sound more casual than you felt. It didn’t work. "I just want to talk, okay?"

He stared at you for a long moment, the gears in his head working. He looked over at Kirishima and Kaminari, who had been watching, before rolling his eyes and huffing.

"Fine. Whatever."

He pushed past you and made his way to the door, not bothering to check if you were following. You gave the other two a small, awkward smile and hurried after him, following close behind as he stomped his way through the hall.

You kept a bit of distance but stayed close enough so that he knew you were still there. He didn't speak, didn't even look at you, and his shoulders were still tense.

This was not going to end well.

But he hadn’t said no, so maybe there was a chance.

"So," You began, breaking the silence. "I—"

"Why?" He cut you off, not slowing his pace. His eyes were forward. "I already know your damn reasoning, so don't give me some bullshit excuse. Just tell me the truth."

He had stopped walking, now turning to face you. There were students milling about the hallway, and a couple were giving the two of you strange looks. You tried to ignore them.

You focused on the blonde's gaze.

"You're strong," You confessed, your voice wavering. "I want to be stronger."

His eyes narrowed at that.

"You could've asked," He growled. "You didn't have to sneak around and hide shit."

"Asked to… what? To kick my ass harder during our spars?" You huffed. "Because, as much as I hate to say it, I'm not winning in those."

He paused, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Is that what this is about?" He asked. "You wanted me to go easier on you? Are you kidding me?"

"No, that's not—"

"If you think villains are gonna hold back," He cut you off again, and the volume of his voice was getting higher. "You're out of your damn mind. You can't always depend on some shitty extra to bail your ass out."

"That's not—"

"Then what the fuck do you want from me, huh?!" He demanded, throwing his hands up. "You want me to hold your hand through heroics?! Is that what it is?!"

"I'm not asking you to do anything," You defended yourself, glaring. "All I wanted was a different perspective, damn."

"Yeah, what a nice perspective you got." He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Get perspective off the kid who can’t even use his quirk without breaking his fucking body. What a brilliant idea."

"Oh, come on!" You crossed your arms. "There is no reason for you to be so petty. I did this for you, and for me. What's the problem?"

"For me? " He echoed, his eyes widening. "The hell do you mean, 'for me'? Going behind my back and training with the nerd is not doing something for me."

"I did it to be a better opponent to you!" You raised your voice, ignoring the stares of your classmates. "I'm tired of losing all the time! You're my friend, and I don't want to constantly have my ass handed to me!"

"We're not friends," He hissed. "Friends don't do this kind of shit."

You faltered, taken aback.

"I'm— You're—"

"Save it," He snapped, not meeting your gaze. "I'm done. Fuck this. Fuck you. Go find someone else to train with."

He pushed past you, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stomped away. You stood there, gaping, unable to understand what just happened.

"Bakugo," You tried, your voice cracking. You didn't turn, too busy staring at the tile floor.

"Fuck off, idiot." He spat, not bothering to look back. "You can forget about the sparring later."

He didn't wait for you to respond. Instead, he shoved his way past the crowd, disappearing from sight.

You were still frozen, and you couldn't tell if the tears welling up in your eyes were from frustration or sadness.

The students rushing around you began to slow, staring at you with pity, confusion, or both.

But you didn’t have time to care because, at that moment, you couldn’t think of anything else.

Your stomach twisted. Your head throbbed. Your heart broke.

And you felt like you were going to throw up.

"Dude," Kaminari said, appearing next to you. "That was rough."

You didn't reply. You couldn't.

"Shut up, man," Kirishima said, placing a hand on your shoulder. He was frowning, his eyes full of worry. "She doesn't need that right now."

"This is some B-lister movie shit right here," Sero commented, shaking his head. "Seriously, what a drama queen."

Bakugo… he was… hurt. You could see it in his eyes. He was angry, obviously, but there was something else. Something that you had never seen before.

"He’s…"

"An idiot?" Sero guessed.

"A jerk?" Kaminari added.

"Emotionally constipated?"

At that, Kirishima punched Sero in the shoulder, causing him to groan and rub the spot.

"Ow, what was that for?!"

"He's just mad," Kirishima ignored the question, turning to face you. "Just give him some space. He'll come around."

"This is different," You argued, your throat burning. "I've never seen him like that. Never. It’s like he’s— I don't know."

"He's an asshole," Kaminari muttered, glaring down the hallway. "Don't waste your time on him."

"You didn't see the look in his eyes," You shook your head. "It was so different. He was almost… dejected."

"Hurt?" Sero repeated, raising an eyebrow. "The guy didn't look like he was in pain. He looked pissed."

"I… did this," You said, and the three boys frowned. "He said we weren't friends because I went behind his back. I didn’t realize he saw us as friends, and I— I ruined it."

"Hey, man, you didn't ruin anything." Kirishima shook his head, his voice firm. "He’ll realize the things he said and—"

You needed to apologize. You needed to go to him, and apologize, and explain in a way that doesn’t leave room for questions.

"I'm sorry," You spoke, interrupting the redhead. "I just— I gotta— I'm gonna go."

"Wait, I wouldn’t—"

But it was too late. You were already pushing your way through the crowd, not caring about the future consequences.

You were on a mission, and you were going to get shit done.

It was easy enough to find him. The Pomeranian hair was a dead giveaway. He never made it to the cafeteria and was instead standing off to the side, staring out the window.

He didn’t look up when you approached him, but you could see the tension in his shoulders.

"I'm sorry."

You didn’t beat around the bush or try to ease him into the conversation. You just came out and said it because there was no point in hiding it.

"Just…" He sighed, not bothering to look at you. "Just leave me alone, alright? We're done."

"Look, I didn’t—"

"Why can't you just listen?!" He yelled, whipping around to glare at you. Despite his angry expression, though, you could see the hesitation.

He wasn't as confident as usual.

"You're not listening to me," You argued. "I'm apologizing. Why can't you—"

"Because I don't need you to apologize," He snarled, his eyes narrowing. "I don't want your fucking apologies. You did what you did, and I'm over it."

"It's obvious that you aren't over it."

"What, and you are?"

"No, not at all," You shrugged, trying not to flinch. "I’m trying to fix the problem."

"Well, don't." He huffed, turning back towards the window. "There is no problem."

"You were going to take your anger out on me," You said, not daring to step any closer. "How the hell is there no problem?"

"I told you," He turned to face you. "I don't care. I don't give a shit anymore. I'm not going to spar with you. Not anymore."

"You can't—"

"I can't, or I won't?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Neither," You said. "I didn't— I didn't train with Midoriya because I didn't trust you."

He laughed. Actually, genuinely laughed, his eyes crinkling in amusement. You thought the most terrifying moment of his was when he spoke calmly, but that?

That, right there?

That was the scariest moment of your life.

"Are you joking?" He snorted, the smile disappearing just as fast as it had come. "You think that’s why I'm pissed?"

"It's— it's part of it, right?"

"Oh, no," He shook his head. "No, you don't get it, do you? Do I have to spell it out for you, dumbass? Do you want me to fucking say it?"

You hesitated, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up.

"Say what?"

He sighed, rubbing his face with his hands.

"I was fine with the spars," He explained, his voice quiet. "I was fine with the competition. It was fun. You were a good match, and it made me a better fighter. I liked it."

He stopped, taking a deep breath.

"But when you went behind my back," He continued, his voice tight. "And when you didn't bother to tell me and instead told Dunce Face? Of all people?! That's where I had a problem."

"What does—"

"It means you're a coward."

You felt as if you'd been punched in the stomach, the air being knocked out of your lungs.

"You couldn't even look me in the eye and tell me, so instead, you went behind my back." He continued, and the volume of his voice was increasing. "You were too scared to face me, and you ran off and hid like a child."

"That's not true—"

"It is," He growled. "You know it, I know it, and the rest of the class knows it."

"So, you're telling me you're pissed because I'm a coward?" You asked, trying to keep the quiver from your voice.

"Partly," He replied, and the look in his eyes made you flinch.

"Partly," You repeated, your eyebrows furrowing. "So, what's the other part?"

"That I trusted you."

The words stung. They burned through your skin and pierced through your heart, making you feel as if you were the one with the explosion quirk.

He didn’t let you respond and instead walked up to you, his eyes dark.

"I trusted you," He repeated, his voice low. "I trusted you to come to me if you needed something, and I trusted that you would be honest with me. I thought we were at least close enough for that, but it turns out I was wrong."

"You— you weren't wrong—"

"If I was wrong, then why the hell did I go to Deku?! Why not me?! Why did you not trust me?!"

"I did trust you!" You cried, your eyes stinging.

"You went to the one person who could break his body with every punch," He snapped, his hands curling into fists. "You went to the kid who can’t control his damn quirk, and you went to the one person that I—"

He stopped himself, his face twisting in anger.

"What?" You pressed, taking a small step forward. "What were you going to say?"

"Nothing." He spat, turning his head. "Forget it. It's none of your damn business."

"Tell me."

"No."

"Bakugo," You pressed, trying to sound more demanding.

"Fuck off."

"Bakugo!"

He didn't answer and, instead, began to walk away.

"Damn it," You hissed, running up and grabbing his arm.

"Let go." He warned, not meeting your gaze.

"I'm sorry." You pleaded. "Okay? I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you already said that."

"I do trust you," You said. "You're an ass, and you're annoying, and you can be a bit too hardheaded, but I still trust you."

He paused, not looking at you.

"Then why didn't you go to me first?" He asked, his voice wavering. "You were my damn partner, and yet you—"

"I didn’t want you to make me feel bad," You answered. "I wanted to surprise you and prove myself. I know I can do it. I'm strong, and I'm fast, and I can be better than what I am now, and I wanted to show you that."

He was silent, but he still didn’t pull his arm from your grasp.

"I couldn’t ask for your help," You continued. "Because I didn’t want you to treat me any differently. I wanted you to see what I could do without any outside influence."

"What a stupid reason."

"You don't have to agree," You muttered. "But it was my reasoning, nonetheless."

He didn't say anything, and you sighed, letting go of his arm.

"I'm sorry," You apologized again, trying not to cringe. "I should have told you sooner, and I should have come to you. I should have trusted the way you'd react and not predicted how you would act. I was being selfish, and I should have considered you."

He turned his head, his eyes still narrowed. But it wasn't angry. No, it wasn't anger at all anymore. It was pure curiosity.

"What were you trying to prove?"

"Huh?"

"To me," He said, his eyebrows furrowing. "If you were training with me, then what were you trying to prove?"

You bit the inside of your cheek.

"I'm not sure." You answered, not daring to meet his gaze. "I guess I just wanted to impress you."

"Impress me?" He scoffed again, rolling his eyes. "You really are an idiot."

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"It means I don't need to be impressed," He explained, his voice softer than before. "I don't give a shit about being impressed. I just want you to be stronger."

"So you can still kick my ass? But be more proud of it?" You guessed, smiling.

"Something like that," He shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I want to be able to fight you without holding back."

"Oh, come on," You complained, rolling your eyes. "That's a load of crap, and you know it. You wouldn't have to hold back against me."

"Oh, yeah?" He asked, his voice lowering. "An hour with the nerd, and you think you're on my level now? You're delusional."

"You underestimate me."

"I'm not underestimating shit." He scoffed, leaning down slightly. "I can tell you, right here, right now, two minutes. I'd give it two minutes, tops, and then your ass would be on the floor."

"Really?"

"Really," He nodded, smirking. "Two minutes. That's it."

"Five o'clock?"

"Tch, fine," He agreed, taking a step back. "Don't be late, idiot."

"I won't." You assured, turning to leave. "I'll see you then, Bakugo."

"You'll see my foot up your ass."

And, just like that, the two of you were back to normal.

Did you win? Hell no. But your plan with Deku did come in handy, and you were able to put up a pretty good fight.

He did still beat you, of course, and the time was 4:57 when he finally got you on the floor.

But, it wasn't as humiliating as the previous spars, and you weren't nearly as embarrassed.

Instead, he just grinned, pulling you up by your hand and offering some tips.

And, honestly, they were better than the ones Midoriya had given you.

So, maybe going to the firecracker wasn't a terrible idea after all.

[g0dlyunsub]

could you perhaps do a spencer x fem reader based on the song ‘i miss you, i’m sorry’ by gracie abrams? 🤍🤍

back to you.

upon your return after a year of working outside the bau, everyone welcomes you back with open arms – everyone except for one agent.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: angst, drinking, reader gets drunk, confessions and lots of apologizing

word count :: 2.9k

author’s note :: such a lovely request! this stretched out to be a lot longer than i had initially planned for, but what can i say, the song lyrics kept inspiring me to write more 

accompanying song :: i miss you, i’m sorry by gracie abrams

do you remember happy together?

can we start over?

those were the four words you wanted to say, but you chose to remain silent instead. 

the guilt piled and eventually torched your heart when it became too much to bear. you preserved whatever was left of your sanity by flooding your bloodstream with three cups’ worth of caffeine, deciding to pay the price with jittery fingers. 

you had just spent the past eight months working a leadership position at the doj, and out of all of the decisions you’ve ever made in your life, this was your most regrettable one by far. sure, there were a lot of benefits that came with your elevated status – your bank balance certainly thanked you for it – but you missed out on too much.

you missed out on all of your coffee outings with the girls. you missed out on dinners with the entire team, where you would’ve brought your charcuterie board and downed your stress with red wine and endless rounds of poker. you missed out on everything that you would’ve marked your calendar for – trips to the mall, the fishing pier, the fancy dinner place a few blocks away from the office.

but nothing pained you more than your missed days with spencer. the thought bugged you every day, and you could do nothing to ignore it.

because how could you not regret it, the weekly strolls to the library with a cup of coffee in hand and his scarf wrapped tightly around you, his scent nuzzling against you? 

memories of that day haunt you like it’s yesterday.

—

“spence, i don’t need the scarf. the coffee’s keeping me warm just fine.”

your brown-haired coworker scoffed and stuffed his hands in his pockets while his gaze fell onto the pavement. 

walking side-by-side with him always felt surreal. his voice blew past your hair and drifted into your eardrums as your feet hit the soft grass, your boots slightly wet from the sprinklers tending the green.

“do i need to remind you that you were sick four days ago?”

you couldn’t help the faint blush from creeping up your cheeks when he turned to meet your gaze with his rounded eyes. you wanted to call him out because his ears were tinged with bright red from the cold air, but you stayed put. your flushed cheeks grew even hotter when his shaky hands dragged up your shoulders and cinched the scarf tighter around your neck.

“besides, natural fibers work wonders at keeping moisture away from the body.” 

his slight rasp sent shivers down your skin, and scratched the back of your mind just right.

the urge to grab him and kiss him tugged at your fingers like an itchy scab, but you chose not to scratch it.

thought you'd hate me

maybe he was the reason you decided to come back. 

you couldn’t bear the same routine any longer, cramped up inside an office with no place to go besides the dimly lit room of your bare apartment still filled with unpacked moving boxes.

you didn’t have much luck making friends at your new workplace, and you threw the idea of finding a potential date out the window. 

and even after eight months, you couldn’t shake his crestfallen face from your mind.

—

“you’re leaving?”

spencer’s eyes immediately tore away from his book and landed on you, his lips slightly parted.

“in- in a week. yes, i’m leaving.”

you looked down at the ground and tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ears several times. an uncomfortable silence filled the air.

“how long has it been since you… accepted the offer?”

you paused before glancing up. the twinkle that always sits in his eyes seemed to gain an extra edge in that moment, and it was almost scary, how he stared at you so inscrutably.

“two weeks,” you said truthfully and looked down again, because you didn’t have it in yourself to hold his gaze. 

from your peripheral vision, you noticed how his knuckles were almost white from the sheer force with which he was gripping his book. you bit down on the insides of your cheek, hard.

“i didn’t know you were thinking of other options,” he muttered lowly, and your heart instantly dropped.

“it was a good offer, spence. a really good one. i-”

“yeah, i hope it was a good offer. i mean, i don’t know how much of a role we played in your decision, but i’m happy for you. congrats.”

you blinked a few times while his words echoed in your mind. his quick-witted response heavy with bitter undertones flooded you with the most intense feelings of remorse and guilt.

“this wasn’t an easy decision, if that’s what you’re talking about. spence, you’re like family to me, and leaving this all behind… i thought about this day and night.”

“you know, it’s kind of funny how you say that we’re like family, because a family would do everything to stay together. but then again, maybe i’m the exception.”

you really didn’t have anything to say after that.

he completely annihilated and swept through you, and still finished you off by walking past you to snatch his bag and leave the office.

you should’ve told him before.

but then he would’ve convinced you, and you knew that it wouldn’t take much to be coaxed into staying, especially when it was spencer. you consulted your parents and emily instead, and they all urged you not to overthink.

but that day, you were convinced you had it all wrong. 

i still love you, i promise

you could feel the tears surface almost immediately when you wrap your hands around emily’s back in a heartfelt embrace.

“how do you feel?” she pulls back and reaches into her pocket to hand you your id. 

you take it from her slowly, tracing your fingers over the edges while staring at the words ‘special agent’ next to your signature.

“i feel-” you shake your head in disbelief, “so happy to be back.” 

you don’t know if you sound as excited as you’re claiming yourself to be, but emily doesn’t pry into it.

“seems like you’re stuck with us no matter what,” she chuckles, and then clasps her hand around your wrist. “come on, everyone’s waiting for you.”

you heard them before you saw their faces.

the garish papers and sparkling trails of glitter land at your feet the moment the elevator doors open, and a striking pop sounds before a flurry of celebratory squeals and claps echo left and right.

“oh you, come over here!” penelope scurries over to you and sweeps you in a tight hug, and the others join in to clobber you with pats and playful pushes.

emily leads you into the office while everyone trails behind you excitedly, and stops to gesture towards a table decorated with your nameplate. you step back in awe.

“the table’s perfect.”

you smile and set your bag down to brandish your nameplate at the others. 

“i know! and guess who’s across from you.” jj laughs and moves her brows up and down, causing you to shift your glance at the surrounding desks.

and right across from you, you see it. the table, lined with books at every edge; the empty coffee mug; the nameplate.

as if right on cue, the office doors swing open, and the subject of your thoughts walks in.

you instantly feel the pang of guilt when his excited gaze turns into a vacant stare, when he realizes the source of rapture coming from inside the office is you. 

his eyes flicker up and down and his stare almost feels chilling. you need him to break the cold and say something. anything.

your team somehow makes it even worse by reading your silence as a desire to be left alone. they nod and point to the roundtable upstairs before whizzing up the stairs and disappearing behind the blinds, leaving you to face the man you haven’t seen in eight months alone.

“you’re back.” 

spencer says it with a voice so quiet, with a pace so swift, with a tone so flat, you don’t know if you’d be able to catch that it’s him if it isn’t for his face.

you don’t want his impassive tone to dictate the mood for the conversation when you’ve just hauled your feet all the way back, so you clear your throat and open your mouth to speak.

“i am. it’s nice to see you again.”

he stiffens. his reaction is a bitter pill to swallow.

“spencer,” you start, eyeing the vein marking the side of his forehead, “you- i’m probably the last person you want to see right now. i’m really sorry about last time.”

the unwavering expression on his face is unsparing, but you aren’t going to look away abashed.

“i just wanted to say that you were right. i should’ve never left in the first place. i hated every second of work there, and believe me when i say that i didn’t hesitate when emily asked if i wanted to come back.”

he could pierce your heart with his silent stare.

“i’m sorry i couldn’t tell you earlier. but i knew, i knew that if i consulted you i would’ve turned it down.”

you take a deep breath.

“i missed you so much, but i just didn’t have it in me to tell you that because i thought you’d still be mad, and you’re probably still really mad at me right now so it’s okay if you don’t say anything because i understand, i know that i’d be mad if i were in your place, but i just wanted to make it clear that i’m not going to leave again-”

“stop.”

he cuts you off, but the rattles of your apologies continue to drift in the back of your mind.

he tears his gaze away from you and shakes his head.

“i need some time… to think about this.”

without waiting for a response, he turns and walks off, up the stairs and away to regroup with the rest of the team. he doesn’t see the tears that cascade down your flushed face.

think i’ll make it worse

“great work today.” 

hotch nods at you with a warm smile before he steps out, leaving you to be the last one in the office.

walking over to your desk, you carefully pull out a large bottle of wine from a bag that rossi left earlier as a welcome-back gift. 

you make your way to the shared kitchen, and sigh happily when you find the corkscrew in the same drawer as before – a subtle reminder that some things haven’t changed. inserting the lever arm into the cork, you twist and pull until it lifts from the bottle with a satisfying pop.

without pouring the wine into a spare glass, you shuffle your feet until you reach the stairs, and plop down on the raised steps.

you take a small sip of the wine, savoring the taste as the liquid sloshes around in your mouth, and recall the events of earlier.

stop.

you take another sip.

i need some time.

you attach your lips to the mouth of the bottle and take a large gulp.

i need some time… to think about this.

you guzzle the wine without a single care, without considering the fact that your car’s still parked outside and that you need to get home somehow.

you drink until your lips stain with the color of dark purple, until you can smell the alcohol rubbed deep in your skin, and until you collapse to your hands and knees.

—

spencer hadn’t initially planned to go back to the office that night.

but when he rang your cell five times and each call sent him straight to voicemail, he knew something wasn’t right.

he was never good at verbalizing apologies, so he was just going to leave a letter on your desk to find in the morning. the two of you would address everything then.

because the truth was that he could never stay mad at you. he just needed to prepare himself, to be able to see your face again without feeling the heavy crash of emotions.

but when he turned up to the office and noticed the lights were still on, suspicious thoughts clouded his brain. 

hesitantly, he curled his fingers around the handles of the door and opened it.

he saw the empty wine bottle first, which had rolled its way to the entrance of the office and stopped at his feet.

crouching, he took the bottle in his palm and examined it before confusedly clicking his tongue and setting it on top of the kitchen table. 

but then he saw you, slumped over the stairs, your face sinking into your dress shirt stained with drops of purple.

he dropped everything and ran, ran as fast as he could, to your side.

i miss you, i'm sorry

you hear the soft swearing and realize you’re not alone, but you’re too drunk – too tired – to match the face to the fuzzy figure crouched beside you.

“have you been drinking this entire time?”

is that spencer? it’s surely his voice.

“spencer? oh my god, what- why are you here?”

he waves the bottle you had just downed in your face, and your hands instinctively move to reach for it. he pulls it away from you.

“did you just finish all of this?”

you give a lopsided smile and blink slowly. “oh, i swear it was just one sip.” 

that’s the only confirmation he needs. 

spencer tuts and sighs. he’s about to murmur a few words of disapproval when your head falls and you lurch forward, but he catches you just in time. with his palms cupping the sides of your face, he gently lowers you onto his lap.

“how were you going to get home?”

his voice brushes against you like feathers. damn it, he sounds intoxicating.

you smile sleepily. “what are you talking about? i am home.”

spencer frowns.

“no, your home is twenty minutes away from here. you’re still at the office.”

the office lights are too bright for you to handle, you move your hand to shield your eyes. spencer takes note of this, and moves his head over to cast his shadows onto your face. 

“no,” you breathe, “i’m right where i belong. with you.”

that’s not the answer he’s expected at all. his throat constricts and for a second, he’s glad you’re too drunk to notice the blush spreading across his face.

“did you mean it?”

you furrow your brows in confusion. “what?”

“did you mean it when you said you missed me?”

you let out a hushed laugh. “did you want me to say something else?”

spencer shakes his head. “i just want to know if you really meant-”

“god, spence, you look so kissable right now.”

he gulps.

he never thought the word kissable would ever tumble from your pretty lips, let alone be directed towards him. never, not in a million years.

“stop,” is all he can come up with.

“do you know who i missed the most when i left?”

he knows where this is going, and he needs to stop you before you spill too much. for your own good.

“let’s get you up.”

“you. it’s always been you.” 

he doesn’t want to give in to your bubbly laughs, your soft tugs at his shirt, your face nuzzling into his lap.

“after i left,” you continue to drawl your words with clarity only slightly greater than that of a burble, “i came to realize something.”

he doesn’t need to ask. he doesn’t need to know more.

“what?” 

he wants to know more.

“i can’t love anyone else.” you blink. “it has to be you. loving you is just that easy.”

you’re persistent. you flip onto your stomach and plant a kiss on his lap before slowly sitting up and staring intently into his eyes.

you’re drunk.

this isn't right.

spencer shakes his head as if to warn you, to give you your last chance to back down. 

you have to thank the alcohol for stripping you of all your nerves. “did you miss me?”

that, he can answer. spencer nods.

“say it back,” you whisper, gently tugging the collar of his shirt. 

a blush heats his cheeks. “i missed you.”

you move closer, until your lips are less than an inch from his left ear. “how much?”

seeing this side of you, so bold and carefree, has spencer practically gripping the carpet floor for support.

he's miraculously saved when you pull back and raise a hand.

“i’m gonna-”

you don’t get to finish because you collapse onto the floor, completely wiped out by the alcohol.

he releases all of the air he’s been keeping inside of his lungs with a heavy sigh.

he watches your chest rise and fall slowly, your lips upturned and drawing in deep breaths.

“too much,” he replies, knowing you can’t hear him. he thinks he hears you mumble something back, but it's too incoherent for him to understand.

with a soft smile, spencer leans in and carefully crosses your arms over his shoulders, before hoisting you on his back to carry you out of the office.

“let’s get you home.”

[shotoh]

all mine

SYNOPSIS: Bakugou decides to put his delusional secretary in their place.

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

word count: 9.6k+

genre: fluff, SMUT, maybe a smidgen of angst

tags/warnings: 18+! minors dni! reader is not the secretary, basically this other lady is trying to seduce your man but katsuki isn’t falling for it! marking, exhibitionism, oral (f!receiving), riding, soft!bakugou but also mean!bakugou, humiliation (not really at reader), a couple spanks, office sex, praise, degradation, pet names (baby, princess, angel), crude language

author’s notes: this is very overdue, like incredibly overdue LOL i started this wip last year but could only continue writing during random bouts of inspiration. so i apologize if the smut is a little half-assed and if the characterization is questionable. but enjoy my late kinktober 2022 present to y’all 

The sound of Dynamight’s heavy boots hitting the floor resonate throughout the wide hallways of his agency, drowning out the heels clicking behind him. A woman quickens her pace in an attempt to catch up to the impatient blond hero, rushing into his peripheral vision.

“Sir? Oh Bakugou sir~” The dulcet chime calling him is sickly sweet, enough to make him grimace. “I need you to look over these reports before I file them away.” She whips out one of the thick packets of papers clutch to her chest, bringing his steps to a halt which makes the hero point a glare at her.

“How many times do I have to fucking tell you that you’re suppose to call me by my hero name.” Malice coats his words, dripping off his tongue as he swipes the reports from her fingers. The woman, to the hero’s annoyance, indulges in his feisty attitude.

“Aw, but ‘Bakugou’ is more fitting given how closely we work together!” She waves off his displeasure, hoping her excessively cheerful personality can tone him down. “I am your secretary, after all.” She leans into his space, too damn close for his liking by how he could get a whiff of her pungent perfume. The overbearing scent has him side-stepping to create more distance between them.

The blond rolls his eyes before giving the papers in his hand a once-over, not even granting her the satisfaction of eye contact. “You work at a Pro-Hero agency, not some ordinary office job.”

Normally, he isn’t one to admonish any of his employees unless they’re his sidekicks. He’s always out and about on missions, never dawdling around the office long enough to find anything to scold them about. So long as they were competent at their job, he never had to give them any earfuls. But this woman here has been testing that resolve.

A month into her new position, his secretary has been greeting him every morning with far more energy than should be considered possible at such an hour. Her regular tasks shouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary. She was mostly tasked with filing villain reports and contacting other Pro-Hero agencies, but her enthusiasm warrants him to think otherwise.

She deliberately shares elevator rides with him, droning on and on about god knows what before getting off at her floor, ending their dull conversations with winks and wide-eyed smiles that make him want to gag. It’s one thing to be genuinely excited about your job, but it’s another thing to be attached to your boss at the hip. She’s at his beck and call when he doesn’t even ask for her.

One can chalk this up to her simply gunning for a promotion, buttering up her boss to garner his favor. However, Bakugou isn’t an idiot. He can read the air, deciphering the meaning behind her words and advances. Her deceptive guise of a hardworking secretary beneath those batting eyelashes is easily uncovered by him.

If she was really trying so hard for a promotion she’d approach him with more important topics in mind. Statistics, analysis, updates on villain activity and hero work. Y’know, discussions that would actually benefit his agency rather than waste his time.

Instead, Bakugou stands there listening to… this.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” her voice drifts off as she taps a finger against her bottom lip pensively, “we should consider holding a party to get to know all our co-workers better!” she proposes. The blond narrows his brows incredulously at her suggestion.

Oblivious to his lack of interest, she moves closer to him, caressing a hand along his hard bicep. She tip-toes her fingers up his arm before flattening her digits next to his ear to whisper, “Company members only, of course. But I’m sure we’d still have a fun time even if it was just the two of us, right?”

Recognizing the suggestive lilt in her tone, he shoves her off of him without even touching her, abruptly tossing his shoulder back. The secretary freezes and comes across the peeved expression on the explosion hero’s rough features.

“We’re here to beat villains and protect civilians, not throw dumb parties.”

“But–”

“Shut it,” he retorts harshly, not letting the bewildered look on the secretary’s face demur him. He shoves the reports back in her arms. “Just do your damn job.” With his brows taut behind his mask, the blond glares hard at her, watching her fumble with the papers before he resumes the rhythm of his combat boots stepping down the hallway. The hero gives her one last glance over his shoulder.

“And remember, it’s Dynamight to you.”

.

.

Man, what an annoying woman.

Is the thought that plagues Bakugou’s mind as he stands beneath the running water in his shower, washing away the sweat and grime accumulated from another busy day of heroics. Yet he still can’t get the irritating thoughts in his head to do the same.

His fingers weave the shampoo through his spikey locks, the pads of his digits massaging his scalp. Glancing at his reflection in the foggy, glass screen door, he meets his scowling mug.

“Tryna get in my pants and shit… Worry about keeping your damn job,” he grumbles to himself exasperatedly. What he finds especially annoying is knowing his secretary will start the day again tomorrow as if nothing happened. Even with Bakugou’s firm stance at wanting to keep things strictly professional, she’s going to continue getting up in his space, trying to caress her nails up his arm, and stink up the place with what he swore was five different kinds of perfume sprayed on her clothes.

But Bakugou’s not some oblivious fool. He can recognize from a mile away what her goal is and he absolutely wants no part in it.

Besides...

“Katsuki! Dinner will be ready when you’re done showering!”

His head swivels toward the door of the bathroom. “Yeah I heard ya!”

He’s already got someone deserving of his time and affection.

You.

“’Kay!” you reply, voice gradually growing louder. Bakugou hears your feet plodding toward the bathroom door just as the door creaks open slightly. “I’ll leave you a new towel to use after you’re done showering, too.” Even through the steam, he can recognize your silhouette peeking inside to drop the towel off. Unbeknownst to you, behind the cloudy glass door of the shower there’s a smile that finds his lips.

After washing the lather off his hair and body, he shuts the water. The last streams falling from the showerhead glide down his skin, joining the suds on the floor before they all disappear down the drain. As the thick steam surrounding him dissipates, he covers his toned body in the towel you left for him.

While patting down the excess droplets cascading his blond locks, Bakugou puts on some sweatpants, but forgoes his t-shirt for now, leaving it hanging over his shoulder. He continues rubbing the towel around his torso as he exits the bathroom.

The savory aroma of thick cheeses and tomato sauces hits Bakugou’s nose the moment he enters the kitchen. He stops in his tracks to take in the pleasant smells, along with the sight in front of his eyes that effortlessly forms a grin on his face.

Your soft hums accompany the harmonious atmosphere of the kitchen. Bakugou’s ruby eyes rove over you shimmying your way around an array of pans and plates like you own the place (which you essentially do), watching you finish piecing your dinner together with a generous sprinkle of garnish and spices.

Eyes never leaving you, an expression of admiration and fondness paints his usually hardened face. With arms crossed over his chest, he could just stand there, admire you, and be more than wholly content. You could do the most mundane things and still have him wrapped around your finger—not that he’d ever mention that to you out loud of course. Occasionally, Bakugou wonders how he ever got so lucky with you in the first place.

You’re so blissfully unaware of your hotheaded boyfriend lurking nearby. It’s all the more apparent by how you abruptly pause as soon as you discover him idling in the kitchen doorway in all of his half-naked glory.

The blond doesn’t let the fact that you’re practically ogling his hard muscle slip past him, and definitely doesn’t miss your moment of hesitation before you avert your gaze, your cheeks growing hot. It brings a smirk to his face and his ego through the roof.

Bakugou tosses his towel and t-shirt somewhere off the side before coming to you. “What? Getting flustered or something, babe?” he taunts. His deep tone hovers next to your ear as his chest touches your back. His hands are on either side of you, trapping you against the counter.

“That fuckin’ hot that I got you this speechless?” His breath is so close to you, he just knows you have goosebumps trailing down your spine. He can tell by the heat swirling in your cheeks just how much he has an effect on you and he absolutely loves how easily he can get you flustered.

Though he can’t say he’s all but immune to your charms, either. He trails a calloused hand up your bare thigh and hips, giving your ass a firm squeeze through your booty shorts which causes a yelp to flee your lips.

Fuckin’ hell.

The way you were dancing around in these things, tip-toeing to reach high cabinets that caused the shorts to ride up slightly and give him a glimpse of the plushness peeking past the fabric already had Bakugou half-hard simply standing behind you. But being able to touch what was essentially his started to make the material of his sweatpants absolutely suffocating.

In a single motion, he spins you around. Your back is pinned against the counter as you’re forced to face him. The cocky grin plastered on his lips greets you.

Finally grasping your composure, you raise an eyebrow at him. “For someone who wanted to take a shower as soon as their stinky-self got home, you sure are eager to get dirty again,” you retort, tracing your hands up his arms to place them on his broad shoulders. “Work didn’t get you sweaty enough?”

The blond chuckles lowly at your cheekiness. His face inches closer, mere centimeters away from your lips. “I could go for an extra workout,” he says huskily, voice dissipating with the shortening distance between you.

His eyes are lidded as he targets your lips, hands leaving the edge of the counter in favor of wrapping his arms around your waist. To his surprise, when he darts forward he meets nothing but air.

Hearing your giggles beside him breaks the tension between you. He opens his eyes and discovers that you’ve tilted your head out of the way. Before he can open his mouth to spit a retort, you rest your head against his shoulder, arms winding at his neck.

“Food’s gonna get cold, big boy,” you hum.

The noise that leaves his gritted teeth is practically a growl. “Dun care about the food–” His hands at your sides play with the waistband of your shorts. “Would rather eat you out on this counter.”

He watches you gulp down the lump in your throat, finding the idea tempting as a dull throb aches between your legs. But to his dismay, you don’t want to let him indulge in you just yet.

You lean forward to kiss his cheek to prepare him for your next words, “First and foremost, dinner. And then I'll let you do whatever you want with me. How’s that?” You tiptoe to peck his nose one more time for good measure before wriggling free from his clutches. You shuffle away to the steaming hot food you left on the other end of the counter.

Pink swathes his cheeks as Bakugou stands there dumbfounded. He rubs the back of his head, his brows furrowing in frustration.

“You’re killing me here, dammit.”

You let out another dulcet giggle. The urge to sneak up on you again to try to get you all hot and bothered lingers until it’s interrupted by a piece of fabric thrown in his face. “Also, shirt on we please.” You turn back at him with two plates of stuffed ravioli perched on each hand. “No shirt, no service.”

He yanks the white t-shirt off his face, grimacing as he begrudgingly pulls it over his head. “Yeah, yeah. You love it though.” Nonetheless, he follows behind you while the savory aroma of your food creates a path toward the dining table. The scent alone makes his stomach growl, the effects of a long day at work making themselves apparent.

Despite the antics he has to put up with, he can’t help but soften around you. It’s as if you possess an innate ability to effortlessly get him to shed his notoriously rough exterior.

He takes a seat on his side of the table, his stomach now growling loud enough for you to hear. You tease a wry grin before placing the ravioli dishes on the table, letting the delicious aromas waft around him, his mouth watering.

“I know it’s been a long day for you so you better eat up, hero.”

The blond’s eyes flicker for a second, chest enveloped with pride as he meets the look on your face that awaits for him in anticipation to dig in. “Yeah… Thanks for the meal,” he murmurs, mild gratitude woven in his words as he picks up the fork and finally chows down.

Again, what did he ever do to deserve you? He knows how hard you work each and every day. The fact that you’re still willing to love and take care of him is enough for him to want to cherish you for an eternity. Coming home to the person he loves and sharing meals with them is a blessing to him as it is and he absolutely wouldn’t trade this for anything else.

Which just makes the matter of his secretary all the more annoying to him.

The damn woman has walked in his office plenty of times to see the framed picture of you two on his desk, even occasionally interrupting his phone calls with you that would end with him mouthing low “love yous” before he’d have to turn around to acknowledge the petty expression resting on her face. He’d watch as her demeanor quickly shifted into a full 180—from a bitter frown to a forced grin to keep up her facade. She definitely knows he’s in a happy, committed relationship. The real question is whether or not she cares enough to acknowledge the fact.

He could just fire her for unprofessionalism. That seems like an obvious solution, but knowing her, she’d probably feed the media some false rumors about alleged abuse towards his employees. Of course, that wouldn’t at all be true. Far from it, but the news loved to twist the truth so long as it got them clicks. Given Bakugou’s naturally rugged demeanor, it wouldn’t be hard for the public to buy their shit and for his ranking on the hero chart to plummet. Which Bakugou could not afford right now considering how close he was to the top.

“’Tsuki, stop playing with your food.” He hears you chide, tugging him from his contemplation.

Bakugou huffs, jamming his fork onto the plate. “I’m not a damn kid.”

“Right, tell that to the ravioli you’re mangling with your fork.” You raise your brow and point at his stabbed and defeated pasta, the filling oozing out from the punctured holes. He keeps his gaze suspiciously fixed on the ravioli.

Does it taste bad? You wonder warily. “If you don’t like it then you don’t have to eat it, y’know.”

“What? No– The food’s fine.” He stuffs three pastas in his mouth one after the other. “Fucking delicious,” he mutters through ungracious chewing, cheeks puffed profusely, bringing a grin to your face.

“What’s wrong then? Bad day at work?”

He swallows his food. “Could say that,” he answers, resting his head against his propped arm. “Just some employee causing trouble.”

“Hopefully it’s not one of your sidekicks,” you pick at the raviolis while stuck in your musing, “I remember your first batch of recruits when you just started your own agency. You nearly scared half of them away by the end of the week.”

“How else was I supposed to whip those newbies into shape?” He lounges in his seat. “If they can’t take some yelling from a Pro, then they’re definitely not ready for the real hero world. Besides, they were the ones that came to my agency knowing that I’m the best,” he boasts with confidence, shoving more pasta in his mouth, and munching at his leisure.

“Also, it’s not a sidekick. Just some lady who can’t do her fuckin’ job.”

“Aw, cut her some slack, I’m sure she’s trying her best.”

Bakugou almost scoffs. If you knew the real reason for her lack of work ethic, you’d be on the same page as him.

Either way, he really needs to get this secretary off his back before shit blows out of proportion. If pictures, phone calls—hell—even lunch dates can’t get her to wake up, then what?

To his surprise, the idea actually comes to him quicker than he anticipated, red eyes perking up at a scheme forming in his head.

Of course. Heh, why didn’t I think of that sooner?

This is how he’s going to do it, he thinks. His lips barely resist the urge to quiver into a smirk that will no doubt have you questioning whatever was riling him up. Swallowing his final piece of pasta, Bakugou pushes his plate away but aims his fork in your direction.

“You free tomorrow?”

“I just have to drop off some papers at work in the morning. Why?”

“Good. Come by the agency for lunch.”

Your brows furrow at how sudden the request is, however, you go along with it. “Okay, should I make lunch for us?”

“Nah, don’t. I’ll order something,” he assures, but in his head he’s sure lunch would be the last thing on your mind tomorrow afternoon with what he has planned for you, him, and his secretary.

Bakugou scoots his seat back, leaning over on your side of the table. “Now, I remember a certain brat made a promise to me after dinner was done.”

“Hold it, I still have a piece–”

“Nuh-uh, c’mere–” He lightly pushes your hand away, and with effortless strength, pulls you out of your chair and over his shoulder. “Already waited too damn long.”

“Whoa..!” Your last piece of pasta falls back on the plate, forgotten. You watch as the distance between you and the dining table diminishes, the impatient blond leading you two into the hallway. At your fidgeting, he swats your thigh, warning you to stay fucking still unless you want to accidentally fall on your face.

With a squeal escaping your lips, you comply. As a reward, he presses his lips against the side of your ass as you’re still hanging over him, nipping at your curves. Your yelps are replaced by laughter. The ticklish sensation nearly makes you squirm again if not for Bakugou dropping you unceremoniously onto your bed.

“You better make it up to me for having to make me wait, Princess.” His emphasis on what is supposed to be your endearing little pet name comes out as a snarl as you’re cornered against the sheets. Expecting this kind of intense reaction from him after your meal, you grin slyly.

“I mean the ravioli was good, wasn’t it?”

Well that he can’t deny. Still, the blond smirks, showing his pearly canines. “Yeah, but,” he moves away from you, kneeling while grabbing at the hem of his shirt to pull it off,

“I’m still fuckin’ hungry.”

.

.

There is no doubt that the next day, you woke up incredibly sore. Sore yet also just as happy.

The tension in your muscles had dissipated as a result of being repeatedly fucked into your own mattress last night, allowing you to sleep soundly. So soundly that you don’t even notice your boyfriend leaving for work that morning. But it can’t be helped given how ungodly early his hero work starts every day.

Some hours after Bakugou has already left, your alarm goes off to remind you that it’s about time to begin your day. Even after a spent night, you can’t bear the thought of lying in bed anymore, especially with how cold the sheets had become, devoid of the blond’s natural warmth. Plus you had something to look forward to this afternoon—your lunch date.

Once you get washed and dressed, you grab your business files from your desk and dash out the door to drop off your papers at work.

Before you know it, it’s noon and you’re standing in front of the receptionist’s desk at Dynamight’s agency.

While you wait for the receptionist to finish their business call, you think back on the employee Bakugou mentioned yesterday. You note in the foreground how busy the entire place looks, which doesn't surprise you. The agency runs like a well-oiled machine. With all the hustle and bustle going on, it seems like everyone is doing their job with peak efficiency. Honestly, you can’t imagine anyone wanting to test the wrath of the explosive Number Two Hero, but you assume such people existed.

“Thank you for waiting! Here to see Mister Dynamight?” The receptionist greets you after hanging up their call, immediately recognizing you from your prior visits.

“Yeah, just coming by for lunch.”

“He’s in his office right now so I’ll let him know you’re here then.”

You mouth a thank you, followed by a farewell wave as you make your way to the elevator.

“’Suki’s office should be on… this floor…” you murmur, pressing the corresponding button on the panel. While you wait for the doors to close, you spot a figure approaching from a distance. You can see the person’s wrinkled professional attire, disheveled hair, and slightly smeared makeup as she approaches the elevator clumsily.

“H… Hold the door!” she pants.

Hearing her frantic request, your mind catches up with you. You jam your index finger on another button on the panel, keeping the doors open just long enough for the woman to slip inside and catch her breath.

You watch her ungraciously drop to the floor, lungs gasping for air. “That was a close one.” You bend down to extend a helping hand.

She sputters as she reaches out to you, “Yeah, thanks, I– Wait, you’re...” When she looks up, her eyes squint to get a better look at your face, brows knitting together as she recognizes your features. Dismissing your help, she abruptly retracts her hand before getting up on her own. You cock your head suspiciously when you notice her change in demeanor.

“Oh, I’m just stopping by to have lunch with my boyfriend. He’s your, uh,” you piece your words as eloquently as you can, “boss.”

It’s always difficult for you to tell any of Bakugou’s staff that you’re his girlfriend. You’d done it before in front of his group of sidekicks while waiting outside his office and as a result they all flipped, bombarding you with questions about your relationship before falling dead silent when his door suddenly swung open.

You’re expecting the same, if not, a similar reaction here, but you’re surprised to see a deadpan look in the woman’s eyes. She averts her gaze. You glance over at her, taking note of her fists shaking at her sides and how she bites the inside of her cheek which forms a pout on her lips.

You’re beginning to wonder if you shouldn’t have disclosed that information. “Are you okay?” you inquire, your voice filled with genuine concern. She eventually turns to look at you straight on, her expression teetering between a smile and a scowl. In any case, she tries to steer you away from the elephant in the room.

“Yep! Just peachy!” she assures through a strained grin that makes you all the more suspicious of her. Even if you want to question it, she has no intention of continuing the conversation. Her lips press together in an effort to maintain her smile, or else risk blurting something that should’ve stayed in her mouth. You keep to yourself in the elevator so as not to bother her, but the prolonged silence, combined with the elevator’s incessant dinging throughout each ascending floor, creates a suffocating atmosphere.

With every floor you pass you soon realize that despite keeping your distance, she’s still looking in your general direction. You notice her sneaking glances at you and your neck grows hot as you follow where her eyes wander. You press your palm against your jugular, the spot you recall Bakugou laying his teeth on last night.

I thought I covered that…

You want to chastise yourself for not spending enough time this  morning to conceal the blemishes on your neck. Your coworker had even commented on them before you left for Dynamight’s agency, to your embarrassment.

You settle for letting out an uneasy chuckle while adjusting the collar of your shirt. Though the majority of Bakugou’s staff are already aware of your relationship, you’d rather hide any detail of your sex life if possible. You’d prefer not being the hot talk amongst the whole faculty.

You expect to be the brunt of the woman’s teasing next, anticipating her wiggling her brows or whistling, but she keeps her mouth shut and her expression even appears offended.

Fortunately, the elevator saves both of you from any more uncomfortable silences. Right on cue, the doors slide open for the woman to exit on her floor. She doesn’t spare you a glance on her way out, but you overhear her mutter under her breath, “Enjoy your lunch or whatever.”

She stomps in the opposite direction until her figure disappears behind closing doors. Your face scrunches. “What’s her deal?”

You’ve gotten used to the bitter reactions some people would give over the fact you and Bakugou are in a relationship. You kind of have to, considering who Bakugou is and the hoards of fans he’s accumulated over the years as a Pro-Hero. But any of the backlash you receive is mostly posted online by petty netizens. No one has the guts to confront you in person. Mostly because if they do, Bakugou has no qualms about retaliating with equal venom and more. This lady, on the other hand, works for Bakugou. When it comes to greeting her boss’s girlfriend, she should be professional, right?

You brush those thoughts away, recalling that no one should ever have to suck up to you simply because you're a Pro’s significant other. “She’s probably on the PR team.” You laugh off, remembering how much trouble it is to manage Bakugou’s public image and how she must be tired from working overtime.

The elevator dings one last time to indicate that you’ve arrived at your destination. When the doors part, the entrance to Dynamight’s office is directly across from you, passing a short corridor. Normally, sidekicks and employees had to press the button on the side of the door, or page him ahead of time before entering. However, you have the luxury of just swinging those doors open whenever you like.

“Heya, Katsu–”

“For the last fuckin’ time, there’s no way I’m going on that mission as his fucking standby.” The voice booming at the other end of the room behind a wide, wooden desk drowns out your voice. “Tell Grand that if he can’t find another B-rate hero agency like his to do his damn dirty work, then he can just fuck himself,” he spits into the receiver. He slams the phone down and hangs up the call without a second thought.

You announce your presence once more with a low whistle. Another one for the PR team. “Vulgar as usual,” you joke.

He sighs loudly, “The only way to get the message across their thick skulls is to beat it into their heads at this point,” he says, leaning against the large glass windows behind him. “That Shindou needs to get off my back. I thought I told everyone I wasn’t taking anymore calls from that asswipe.”

“I’m sure Grand will finally get the idea after he receives your message from his manager.” Slipping in next to him, you wrap your arms around his neck. Your fingers delicately crawl up to his chin, tilting his head to face your smile. Bakugou reciprocates the gesture, his gloved hands gripping your waist and pulling you in as your lips briefly meet. When you part, you rest your forehead against his.

“How was patrol this morning, hero?” you whisper, playing with the tufts of hair above his neck.

“Same old shit,” he tells you quietly as you hum at his response, an amused grin tugging at the seam of your lips. Just as you’re about to separate, his hold at your sides tightens, locking your body against his.

“Bet you missed me, didn’t you, princess?” He leans in to nibble your jawline, causing laughter to tumble from your lips. “Bed got cold without me?”

Your answer is interrupted by a hand brushing up against the waistband of your pants, ruffling your tucked-in blouse. The man growls in the crook of your neck. “Didn’t have my cock to keep you nice and warm?”

Your nose scrunches at his unfiltered tongue. “Katsuki, I came here for lunch, remember?” You push at his chest, attempting to get him off you, but his teeth lock onto your clavicle.

“Food’s on the way,” he assures. Fingers play with the loops of your pants, dragging your shirt out slowly. “Might as well kill time–” His lips suddenly collide with yours, stealing your breath and drowning out any protests. He scuffs his teeth against your bottom lip, looking for a way in. You whimper in response at his persistence, stumbling backwards against the edge of his desk as he finally pries through your lips.

After an intense moment of kissing, his attention shifts to your jugular, nipping at the tender skin again. Every time his canines make contact with the broken skin, you wince. “Still got my marks all over ya,” he boasts, but the more skin he tries to unveil, the more he has to pull at your shirt’s collar which quickly annoys him. “Though I don’t understand what the hell you’re covering them up for.”

“D-Don’t want people to see…” you fumble with your excuses yet tilt your head to grant him better access. He scoffs at how your actions betray your words.

“Why does it matter when I want them to see? Let those fuckers look and know we’re together.” He licks one of the patches of broken skin. His harsh words make you shiver in his hold, but beneath his rough exterior, you sense a tender possessiveness in the amount of attention he pays to your body.

Your fingers brush through his hair, gently pulling him off of you so you can look him in the eyes, “You’re so damn insufferable, you know that?”

“Heh, you like it though,” Bakugou counters. You click your tongue, feigning ignorance. With his hand wrapped at the nape of your neck, he thumbs at your blemishes. His ruby eyes take their time to admire every inch of his claim on you. “You were clenching whenever I marked you. Screaming nice and loud too.”

“I bet the neighbors hate us now…” You sigh quietly.

“Took them that long?” He grins, almost proud of being a menace to those extras next door despite being a heroic figure. “Besides, not my fault you let me do whatever I wanted to you.” You pout, but accept it’s a fact you very well can’t deny.

As his deft hands unfasten each button of your blouse, he switches your positions. He yanks your shirt, dragging the fabric down your shoulders to reveal your skin and the bra hugging your chest. Licking his lips, he removes his thick gloves before hoisting you up to sit on the desk with him, making you straddle his thighs. Another pause of appreciation for the blossoms adorning your chest makes him blurt out, “Maybe I should let you mark me up just as much.”

You look at him precariously. He doesn’t take back the grin on his face. Seeing your wide-eyed expression, he cups your jaw, pulling you toward him. “What’s the look for? I know you’ve thought about it, princess.” Bakugou reads you like a book. He revels in your flustered face, telling him how right he is.

The image of his scarred, toned skin covered in hickeys has crossed your mind more times than you can count, but you’ve always been too engrossed in the intoxicating sensation of his teeth grazing every stretch of your skin to ever have an opportunity to bring the thought to light. Bakugou never gives you an inch when it comes to taking the reins in the bedroom. But now he’s practically granting you the opportunity on a silver platter.

You point a dubious look at him. “Are you serious, or did you bump your head somewhere earlier on patrol?” Anticipating your skeptical response, a chuckle rumbles low in his throat. He scoots back to remove his tank top, letting your hands lay over his chiseled physique. Your fingers immediately trace the scars and cuts lining his muscles, each one standing as a testament to every one of his battles. The idea of your own marks joining his adonis of a canvas has your eyes fluttering.

“’s no joke, babe,” he clarifies, a wicked grin plastered on his face. He then remembers why he made this whole arrangement in the first place. “Aren’t you tired of those fuckin’ extras always ogling me—looking at me up and down like they even have a damn chance to touch all of this?” He grabs your wrist and guides your hands above his chest, your fingertips brushing his collarbones.

You bite your lower lip. “Well…”

Hearing your voice linger, he snarls, “Are you seriously hesitating?”

It’s not like you hadn’t ever clenched your fists in front of the TV whenever your boyfriend was being interviewed by some mischievous news reporter or journalist. They never make it subtle when casting one too many glances at the Pro’s sweaty, skintight attire, staring into his red eyes for so long that they started looking dumb. Though as much as dark green jealousy occasionally takes root in your subconsciousness, you never act on your displeasure.

In the back of your mind, you always saw it as a sign of clinginess. But Bakugou sees it differently. To him, he’d want nothing more than his girl staking their claim on him. For you to get needy, jealous, possessive. Let the entire world know that you both belong to each other and no one else.

You fix your gaze at his cynical expression that eggs you on. Before you know it, you lunge forward. Your mouth latches onto his neck, arms curling around his shoulders. Bakugou draws you skin-to-skin, his low chuckle reverberating in the depths of his chest.

“Ooh, that’s it,” he encourages, rubbing your back. His other hand palms your ass, rocking you both back and forth, grinding his bulge against the crotch of your jeans. Your teeth cling to him, sinking into his skin. Your lips vibrate against his collarbones while you whimper at the delicious friction on your clit.

“Harder. I wanna see nice ol’ purple marks here,” he orders, relentlessly rolling his hips. You want to slap him on the wrist, your concentration waning as heat quickly pools in your abdomen. As if the grinding isn’t enough, Bakugou effortlessly undos the button of your jeans. He pulls down the zipper before reaching inside and touching you through your underwear.

“Fuck, already this wet from a little grinding? Nasty girl,” he hisses, running his index and middle finger across the ruined crotch of your panties. “Or maybe marking me is getting you all riled up?”

“Shut up–” you mutter half-heartedly. With a pop, your lips leave him. You lean back to evaluate your work. They’re not as noticeable as the marks Bakugou usually gives you, but they’re visible, and they’re purple as requested.

A small trail of violet hickeys adorns the crook of the blond’s neck and collarbones. Your finger traces the path, eyes capturing the sheen of your saliva over the marks. His skin gleams in the sunlight streaming in through the windows.

Reaching inside the pocket of his baggy pants, Bakugou pulls out his phone to turn on the front-facing camera. He gets a clear view of your work on the screen, and his smirk appears on the display. “My girl did that, huh?” He cranes his neck to examine the blemishes from different angles. Soon after, you hear his camera’s shutter release, capturing the image and adding it to his gallery. He should really consider making an album out of these.

Tossing his phone to the side, those piercing red eyes return to you, and your assertiveness fades. He grabs your wrists and leans in to kiss your temple.

“You did well, princess.”

His hushed voice makes your cunt clench and your ears warm. “I'll be sure to show these off later,” he promises, his tone dripping with smugness.

God, you realize how little his hero costume does to hide any of those hickeys. Given that he has to go on patrol again soon, you can expect his neck to be a hot topic in the media. Regardless, you can’t deny the satisfaction that wells up in your chest at the thought.

Katsuki was right. You really are possessive over him. And of course, it goes both ways.

While you’re distracted by your epiphany, he uses this opportunity to unhook your bra, happily discarding the garment. You exhale as he roughly cups the underside of your breast. His breath tickles your perky nipple, strong arm hooking you into him.

The pattern of his breaths are erratic, excitement coursing through his veins. His carmine eyes are lidded as he flattens a tongue against the hardened nub. As Bakugou fully wraps his lips around the stiffening bud, sucking and biting to his heart’s content, mewls part your mouth.

“Your tits still taste fucking amazing,” he mutters, mouth caught between sucking and spewing obscenities. “These tits gonna give me some milk too, princess?”

“Don’t push your luck, mister,” you quip before biting your bottom lip. You concentrate on moving your hips back and forth against his thigh, trying to find the right angle that provides you with the delicious jolt of pleasure you craved between your thighs. With a smack, his lips leave your nipple.

“Guess I didn’t give you enough attention down here since you keep rutting against me like a needy slut.” He swats your ass before gripping the plushness harshly. The mild sting has your pussy clenching. “My baby doesn’t feel satisfied unless she’s getting stretched open by my cock, huh?”

Just a little bit of dirty talk from him is enough to make you whimper pathetically, “Please, ‘suki…”

“Please, what? Gotta tell me more than that, princess.” He tugs the waistband of your pants, teasing you. Never breaking eye contact, Bakugou’s hand sneaks under the edge of his desk. “Use your words, I want to know what I’m doing to you. Don’t skimp on the details.”

A light click goes off, but if you hear it you don’t make it apparent, too focused on the hot blond in front of you that was making your head spin.

“Fuck… ‘Suki, I feel so hot… Need you right now…” You grab his hand showing him your ruined panties by letting the pads of his fingers trail your wet pussy. “See? Look what you did, I’m soaked.”

Bakugou mutters curses under his breath, applying more pressure to your panties to thoroughly inspect the slick saturating the fabric. He couldn’t have asked for a better reaction, finding your pleading to be incredibly sinful and all-too-tempting. He considers it a waste that he isn’t recording anything. Well, maybe it isn’t an entire waste.

“Damn, how are you this messy? This pussy’s fucking sobbing for me.” You nod, sloppily gyrating on top of his hand. For once, Bakugou is considerate to your needs and slides your panties to the side to slip his digits across your bare folds. You both moan in unison, you at the extra relief and him at the slippery honey dripping down his knuckles.

In his eyes he was being generous, granting you his thick fingers prodding your silky walls rather than reduce you to pitifully grinding against him. But, being greedy, you thought he wasn’t being generous enough.

Bakugou’s fingers leave your cunt to sample you, wet digits laying flat on his tongue. “Fuck, I need to lick you clean right now.”

“N-No, ‘suki, jus’ want your cock in me already,” you whine with a pout. However, Bakugou is insistent on stealing more than just a little taste from your sweet cunt.

“Not gonna even let me indulge a little? Must have spoiled you with too much dick last night.” He scoffs, but doesn’t move to discard his uniform to free his hard cock. Instead, he motions you to step down and stand in front of him while he remains perched atop his desk.

He eyes you up and down. “What are you waiting for, princess? I want it all off already.”

Your fingers start moving toward your disheveled blouse. As fabrics pile the floor, you catch the blond licking his lips, lewdly eyeing your panties that slip down your legs to reveal your juices coating your inner thighs.

“Turn around and kneel on top of my chair.”

At his blunt tone, you obey. Dynamight’s luxurious office chair cushions your knees as you carefully lift your body onto it.

“Bend over.”

Without question, you use the arms of the chair as leverage to safely lean forward, spreading your pussy in front of him. As half of your face presses into the cushion of the head rest, you steal a glimpse of his reaction from your peripheral vision.

With a guttural hiss between his teeth, he gets off the desk, pulling the chair closer for an even better look at your glistening center. He palms your ass, rolling the globes in his hands before spreading them, exposing your slick folds.

“You seriously trying to deny me this angel cunt?” His words are emphasized with a quick smack before his tongue dives between your folds. You whine at the contact, his lips fluttering around your clit as it works its way up your slobbering hole.

Knees shaking, you subconsciously muffle your sounds as you press your face into the headrest of the office chair. Not satisfied with your muted cries, Bakugou reaches one hand toward your head. He cups your jaw, turning you more to the side so you aren’t hiding in the cushion. When his tongue swivels around your sensitive bud, your moans resonate across his office with euphoria.

“‘suki! I’m gonna–!”

“Gonna cum? Do it then you slut.”

At your warning, he works his mouth vigorously against your pussy, even adding two fingers into your walls. Your toes curl behind you as your grip on the arms of the chair tighten.

“Fuck, you’re dripping all over my damn office chair.”

Maybe you would’ve issued a half-hearted apology, if not for his tongue and its unrelenting intensity across your sensitive bundle of nerves. You only offer a string of moans that Bakugou happily accepts, smiling into your pussy as he feels you tense up against him.

“Ka..tsuki!!” You practically scream, electricity coursing through your skin as your orgasm shakes your entire body.

“That’s it, princess. Want your taste all over my tongue… So fucking good,” he drones against your folds, not letting a drop go to waste as you slowly come down from your post-orgasmic bliss.

“Ah! ‘Suki, I’m already too sensitive…” You gasp, still feeling him drunkenly licking up and down your slit despite you just coming. Reaching behind you, you weave your fingers through his ash blond hair, nudging at his scalp to try to push him away, but Bakugou’s strength clearly outweighs yours. He grips your wrist, lifting his face off your sloppy pussy of his own volition.

“That sensitive just from my tongue? Oh, sweetheart, I plan on ruining you in my office chair alone.” Keeping his word, he replaces your pliant body with his own, planting himself right on the cushioned seat with his legs spread thoughtlessly. He dashes for the hem of his pants, unfastening the zipper, and pulling down enough articles of clothing for his cock to spring out, stiff and glistening with his arousal.

Lust blown eyes admire the thickness of Bakugou’s shaft, rightdown to the veins on the ridges of his cock. A smirk and chuckle follow in the wake of your heady gawking, swearing that you look like you were about to pounce and give him the best head of his life. Sadly, as he glances at the digital clock perched behind you, he realizes there’s no time.

“Sorry, babe, food’s gonna be here any minute and I need you on my cock right fucking now.” He rolls the office chair closer to get a firm grasp of your hips, motioning you on top of him with rousing urgency. Thighs on either side of his own, you reach over your body to level his cock over your dripping folds.

The blond’s lips curl into a sneer beneath you, hands fondling your breast and ass—the latter spreading your cheek to help you accommodate his size. “Besides, this what you wanted, right? To be–” As you begin sinking down his length, your mouth opens in a soundless mewl. “–split open on me, even after I fucked you into the mattress last night?”

Your teeth tug at your bottom lip while you do your best to bottom out. Katsuki isn’t amused by your muted reaction, pinching your nipple as punishment and spurring his desired noises from you. “What did I say? Answer me, slut, you wanted to get fucked dumb again, didn’tcha?” His words are harsher this time, demanding your attention.

“Yes, yes! Wan’ you to make me your little cockwhore, ‘Suki…” you confess, moaning when you feel his dick fully impale you. At the same time, Bakugou hisses at how your walls mercilessly hug his shaft.

“Yeah princess, I’m going to give you exactly what you need– Fuck! How are you so damn tight?!” It hasn’t even been ten hours since he had sex with you, stretching you into his shape last night until the sun shined, and yet you still had the innate ability to squeeze every ounce of pleasure out of him and then some. At this rate, he’s not going to last. “Need you to move, baby. Ride me already.”

Hearing the urgency in his tone, your hips begin moving on their own, dragging yourself on and off his cock. Hands on his shoulders, you leverage yourself to maintain a steady rhythm that had you both delirious and panting in pleasure. The blond’s thick fingers dig into your soft flesh, growls leaving his lips as fire flares in his veins, threatening to ignite his last ounce of willpower to allow you to keep this sustained tempo.

“F-Feeling good, ‘suki?” you question, looking down at him with a sinful expression painted on your gorgeous face—pretty eyes half-lidded and needy just for him.

“Yeah… God you make me act up all the damn time I–” His cock twitches between your tight folds, eyeing you from below and watching you clasp his hand that’s pawing your breast to gesture to him to play with you some more. The sensual yet genuine smile you give him ultimately breaks his resolve.

Oh, fuck it.

As if chains have snapped around him, Bakugou suddenly shoots up, carrying your body against him. He lays you across his desk quickly but carefully, with little regard for whatever else tumbles and falls off of it except for you.

You squeal in surprise, your arms and legs attempting to find purchase around him before you’re reduced to jelly by the new quickening pace of his cock pounding your insides.

“Oh my god… Katsuki!” The obscene slapping of skin on skin accompanies your desperate cries throughout his office. Arms that were wound around his neck lose their hold on him, pathetically dropping to your sides to clasp Katsuki’s wrists, where he’s pulling your thighs apart to spread you open for his unrelenting thrusts.

“Sorry, princess… you looked so damn hot I couldn’t hold back anymore. Needed to feel you deeper and make you cream already.” His tepid apologies don’t reach your ears as you’re overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of his movements, followed by a searing knot welling up in your abdomen.

By the looks of it, you have no objections to the turn of events, gazing dreamily at him as his hardened body hovers over you. From your point of view, you get glimpses of the sweat dotting his forehead, his nose scrunched in concentration, and narrowed ruby eyes glimmering with feral desire.

With stars in your eyes and features all flushed with warmth and lust, you sing a euphony of I love you’s between whimpers. Your voice catches in your throat when his cock repeatedly hits that sweet spot inside your gummy walls.

Bakugou can’t get enough of you, heart swelling with his affections that he can’t help but flick his wrist to intertwine his hand in yours. Despite his progressively carnal thrusts, he possesses contrasting tender devotions in his voice.

“I love you, princess. It’s been you and no one else. No other bitch can compare,” he repeats over and over like a mantra, a declaration of his loyalty to you and only you. You swear there’s an extra weight behind his words, but you’re too engrossed in the feeling of utter euphoria this man gives you in mind, body, and soul to give it a second thought. It’s as if you’re walking on Cloud 9 as your pussy clenches around him, back arching in the moment that’s pushing Bakugou to the breaking point

“So damn perfect, you were fucking made for me, baby. Give it to me, cum on my cock,” he pleads, “I know you’re almost there, princess.”

“Yea, ‘suki… Wanna cum for you, you make me feel so good,” you murmur brokenly, voice splintering into an incoherent babble that he finds so endearing, caressing your cheek while deepening his brutal pace. That knot in your tummy tightens and when the cord eventually snaps, you cry out, clutching onto his hand.

Katsuki insists he’s never seen a prettier sight than you finally losing yourself all because of him. It urges him to reach his own high and claim you in the only way he knows how—coming in your pretty cunt and dedicating himself wholly to you.

“Pretty angel, you’re making me crazy over here. Fuck! ‘Bout to blow my whole load inside you. That what you want?”

“Mhm! Please..!” You manage a few urgent pleas before Bakugou finally reaches his limit, groans resonating in the wake of his cock stuttering between your silky folds. His growls reverberate from the depths of his chest, thick with rapture as his body is bathed in the sweet sensation that is your entire being swallowing him whole. Ribbons of his cum paint your insides. You feel so full, both physically and spiritually, your heart bursting with love for the man that was spilling his adoration for you merely seconds ago.

Bodies spent and chests heaving, you lay on the desk with Katsuki on top of you. You don’t notice his hand sneaking under the desk, a click going off that goes equally overlooked, enveloped by your collective pants echoing in the stillness that is his hero office.

After a moment, the sensations catch up to you and the weight of his sweaty, heavy torso makes you squirm.

“Feel sticky…”

“There’s a shower and bath right there.” Bakugou grunts, but there’s playfulness behind his deceptively gruff mannerisms.

Your hands trail over his back at his response. “I know, but can you carry me?”

“Fine. Such a princess…”

“I’m your princess though.” You giggle, a teasing lilt in your carefree tone.

The blond can’t help the grin that finds his features. “Hell yeah you are.”

Bakugou pulls on his uniformed cargo pants to scrounge together some semblance of decency as he cradles you against him. Your body is like jelly in the Pro Hero’s strong arms, barely exercising the strength to hold onto him properly as he moves you to the unnecessarily luxurious bathroom built in his office. While setting you down on the counter next to the sink, the pager in his pocket rings.

“Food’s finally here.” He reaches for a hanger on the door, finding a bathrobe to blanket you in. “I’ll be back.”

You raise a brow. “Going out like that?”

“Relax, I’m putting a shirt on obviously.”

“A shirt, huh?” Not at all convinced, you cross your legs. You and him both know he absolutely reeks of sex. The marks you gave him are also an obvious giveaway. No doubt he’ll be an eye-turner to anyone he crosses paths with at the agency.

“Fine, I’ll have someone bring it up.” He meets you in the middle and you happily oblige, shoo-ing him to go about his business once again. The blond rolls his eyes, exiting the bathroom and out the large double doors of his office to wait at the elevator for his delivery.

And when those doors open with a ding, he’s greeted by the very last person he wishes to see. Swathed in the overbearing odor of her pungent perfume, his secretary stands heel-to-heel in the elevator, eyes crossed and a furious blush penetrating the matte layer of her foundation. Her steps traverse the threshold between the lift and hallway. With hands balled into small fists, she jabs the plastic bag of take-out food into the hero’s chest before wagging her finger at his disinterested demeanor.

“You..! You! How dare you?! Why, I should charge you for sexual harassment for what you did! So uncouth! Barbaric even!” She lectures vehemently, voice dripping with malice akin to the insults she practically spits at his face. The benevolent facade she dons everyday to garner his favor crumbles to pieces before his eyes and Bakugou can’t contain his laughter at the pathetic display.

“What’s so funny?!”

“Oh man, you’re a riot aren’t ya? You coulda very well just turn off your speaker if it bothered you so damn much,” he suggests, but the glint in his expression tells the woman he can see right through her. “But you didn’t, did you? You listened in on the whole thing like a fuckin’ pervert.”

At his deduction, the secretary blushes even harder. The fists at her sides shake with an anger that boils under her skin, melting her composure like the wicked witch of the west.

“Why you..! You’re the pervert here! Don’t think you can turn the situation on me when you’re the one who instigated this!” She points an accusing finger in his direction, an empty threat to the indifferent blond.

The hero barely offers her a scoff. “Me? The instigator? You got some fucking nerve saying that when all month you’ve been coming onto me practically on all fours despite knowing I’m a taken man.” Now it’s his turn to retort with equal venom and then some. His sudden switch in demeanor quickly overwhelms the woman as with every step he takes forward, she grows smaller and smaller.

“What’re you going to do? Tell the media? Report me to the authorities? Make a bunch of baseless rumors on your online blog? Well news flash—unlike you I’m irreplaceable. There won’t ever be another hero that has left as big of a mark on this country as I have, and you know it.” He holds his chest proudly after every word. In his presence, the secretary shrinks, gradually cowering back toward the elevator. Any semblance of nerve she held vanishes in front of her.

“Now start packing your things. If I don’t see your station left spotless by tomorrow morning I’ll make sure your days working for the hero industry are numbered.” It’s a threat she doesn’t dare challenge, wordlessly pressing a button on the panel to descend the floors and flee with her tail between her legs. The flabbergasted expression on her face is the last he sees of her.

And just like that, Katsuki feels a weight evaporate from his shoulders, releasing a deep sigh he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He bounds back to his office with your lunch in tow.

When he returns, he overhears the water running in the bathroom before it’s soon shut off.

“Ah, ‘Suki, you’re back! I just filled the tub with water for our bath.” Your sincere smile meets his eyes which soften at the mere glimpse of you kneeling next to the tub, patiently awaiting his arrival.

“Fuck, babe, you weren’t suppose to move. Should be too sore after what I did t’ya.” He hoists you off the floor and into welcoming arms.

You pout cutely. “C’mon now, I’m not helpless you know.”

“‘Course not. But you’re my princess, remember? All mine.” He settles you both into the depths of the soothing, warm tub, nestling your body against his chest as he presses kisses in every area of tender skin he laid his claim on.

“And I plan to treat you like one for the rest of our lives.”

.

.

The very next morning, he finds a letter of resignation on his desk—the very place the two of you had fucked.

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