#more for the slow burn

[gunstellations]

encounter (2/?)

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[lightseoul]

cw. gn!reader, worker!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (25), pining (again, if you look extra closely), a lot of cussing (are we still surprised)

masterlist | part 1 (although ig this makes sense on its own), part 3 (i didn't plan this), part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

“What.”

It’s less of a question and more of a statement—a statement sputtered in the typically demanding way characteristic of the one and only Bakugou Katsuki.

The Bakugou Katsuki who happens to be your boss for a good (debatable) three and a half years now, who you also have to spend overtime with until who knows what time to discuss what’s become rocky employee relations in the Ground Riot agency.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion or irrational annoyance—both, really—before you quickly school your expression into a neutral one. You riffle through the documents rather absentmindedly, avoiding his gaze before shooting back with: “What do you mean what?”

“I meant,” he leans back on his office chair that you know he singlehandedly picked out for its superior ergonomic design because he’s meticulous like that, “what the fuck is wrong with your face.”

“Excuse me?”

Your retort is laced with more indignant anger than intended, but at this point in the night, you cannot for the life of you bring yourself to care about your tone. It’s been a long day, and you weren’t about to let your stupid boss make fun of your appearance, of all things.

Bakugou probably senses the significant change in your demeanor, because his eyes widen in surprise ever so slightly before he sits up and opens his mouth to explain himself.

“You’ve been looking like you accidentally drank spoiled milk for the past hour and the shit aftertaste isn’t going away.” He haughtily shakes his head, and it takes everything in you not to jump him and choke your boss.

To your disdain, however, he continues.

“It’s either you spit it out or I’m going to have to force you to tell me what’s wrong.”

You gape at him. Whatever you expected him to say, it wasn’t that.

As quickly as you can, however, you attempt to regain your bearings and at least try to seem nonchalant, clearing your throat as unbothered as possible to top it all off. “Well, working overtime to iron out office squabbles isn’t exactly my idea of a relaxing Friday night, thank you very much.”

He scoffs. “Bullshit.”

You almost get whiplash from how quickly you look at him. His brazen rudeness—which, right now, is worse than usual which is saying something, mind you—renders you incapable of saying anything aside from another winded: “Excuse me?”

He rolls his eyes. “Miss me with that bullshit, dumbass.”

You feel yourself heat up in irritation. “I thought I told you to stop calling me dumbass.”

“You’d rather I call you princess?”

At that, you break eye contact despite yourself, choosing to stare at his forehead instead. It’s still unnerving—looking at any part of his body, really—but it’s better than looking at him squarely and witnessing the smirk you know has taken over his unfairly handsome features.

Your voice is small, to your chagrin, when you reply. “That’s actually a lot worse.”

The man dares to bark out a laugh.

You continue to metaphorically choke him in your head.

“Okay then, dumbass,” he emphasizes the nickname and you are about 99% sure a pained expression is dancing across your face because Bakugou is observing you with even more amusement before his features settle into a look of seriousness.

“As I was saying before you missed the point entirely—I highly doubt you’re this bothered because of fucking overtime,” he eyes you cautiously before pressing on. “Something’s wrong.”

You don’t know if it’s the exhaustion of the week filled with workplace conflict, or the crushing news you received this morning in the mail, or the very fact that Bakugou, despite his roughness and the annoyingly persistent way he’s been poking at your mood like it’s an itchy scab, is looking at you with genuine concern—but you end up doing it.

You give in.

You feel the tears welling up in your eyes before you even get the chance to deny them permission to, and at the sight of them Bakugou sits up even straighter in alarm—and you don’t know what comes over you because you start laughing so hard, your hand shoots up to your stomach in an attempt to keep it from cramping.

“Oi.”

The expression on his face is so unbelievably baffled that you only end up cackling to yourself more.

It takes a few more minutes before the sillies are fully flushed out of your system and really, it only took you a glance at Bakugou to realize you probably looked demented just now.

Feeling self-conscious all of a sudden, you quickly wipe away the tears in your eyes and muster enough courage to flash him a genuine smile.

To your delight, he flashes you one right back, albeit tentatively—one that is boyish and charming under the rather dim lights of his corner office.

Although he seemingly reboots to his default state because it’s immediately replaced by a frown and followed by: “You’re so weird, you know that?”

You snort and, before you can stop yourself: “Not as weird as my ex.”

At that, Bakugou’s entire countenance changes—he visibly stiffens in his seat and his eyebrows furrow in what you believe is confusion at the sudden mention of your past lover.

Bakugou says nothing, however, and so you take that as a sign to continue.

“Remember that meeting we had last March with Chef Asahi about our collaboration with his restaurant where I was late and you gave me shit for it? And when you asked I told you it was because I just got dumped over the phone?”

He gives you a curt nod, lips tight.

“Well,” you chuckle nervously, feeling embarrassed at your upcoming revelation, “I just found out that that ex is getting married in two months, and I’m invited.”

Neither of you says anything for the next—what feels like—hour.

Until Bakugou takes a sharp inhale, leans forward on his desk, and stares you down straight in the eyes: “I’ll do it.”

“What?”

He scowls at you like you’ve got a pea for a brain. “Don’t make me say it twice, dumbass.”

You frown at his hostility, your own bewilderment chipping away at your already thinning patience. “You’re not saying anything.”

Bakugou sighs, and he looks like what he is about to say next physically pains him.

“I’ll be your fucking date to the wedding.”

tagging. @kitthepurplepotato @chelbyisbord @lovra974 @katsukis1wife @brunnetteiwik

special shoutout to @he3v4n for reading the prequel to this and following thereafter--inadvertently making me check out past writing and get inspired to write this <3

[laylakeating]

HIGH POTENTIAL 1.02: Dancers in the Dark

[yakichoufd]

fanart of The Bars, The Parks, The Mansion by Ffrindyddraig <3

[elliethefroggy]

What if Eddie had been a little less oblivious and had invited to Buck to trivia-karaoke night.

They’re all three going to hang out at the karaoke bar, and at first Buck’s nervous because Tommy is super cool, but once the trivia quiz actually starts, all the nerves go away, and Buck’s sponge of a brain has a chance to shine.

He gets question after question right, barely having to consult the two others. Eddie’s probably used to this side of Buck, but Tommy gets to sit there, mesmerised because not only is Buck exceedingly attractive but he also has brains (does Tommy have a competency kink? Who’s to say).

By the end of the night, Tommy’s probably forgotten all about trying to answer the questions, too busy watching Buck’s eyes light up every time he knows an answer (and those eyes light up an awful lot). Overall, the night goes well, and Buck’s amazing brain probably wins them a pitcher of free beer or something.

Because that night went so well, all three of them start hanging out more and more. Maybe Tommy somewhat discreetly suggests to Eddie that they invite Buck along, just so he has the opportunity to stare in Buck’s eyes some more.

But Tommy doesn’t do anything at about his developing crush, at least not right away.

Firstly it’s because Tommy’s trying to figure out just what the deal is between Eddie and Buck. Are they dating? Are they the most healthy divorced couple of LA? BFFs? Platonic soulmates? Not-so-platonic soulmates?

Maybe it doesn’t take him that long to figure out that those two are not together, but then he still needs to make sure that there isn’t some unrequited or very-requited-but-they’re-both-oblivious crushing going on between Eddie and Buck.

My guess it takes him a while to finally decide that they’re some flavour of queerplatonic life partners (he decides on this after a lot of subtle and not so subtle questions; Christopher is probably his most helpful informant).

(Realistically, Tommy would have probably just straight up asked one of them if they were together because Tommy seems pretty good at communication, but that’s no fun for me.)

But then, once he’s figured out that Eddie and Buck are definitely not a thing, he still needs to figure out what exactly Buck’s sexuality is.

Because, sure Buck’s only ever dated women and is such an ‘ally’. But Buck spends way too long looking at other men’s asses. Tommy notices this because he’s probably caught Buck staring at the same asses Tommy himself was just looking at (remember the hanger scene when Tommy very blatantly checks out Buck’s ass).

So now Tommy’s having to figure out just what Buck’s sexuality is. Is Buck gay? Is he closeted? Is he as straight as he claims to be? Is he repressed? Also what’s with all the flirting (because of course Buck’s going to be unknowingly flirting with Tommy; Buck just can’t help himself).

Eventually, Tommy and Buck are going to have some one-on-one bonding time without Eddie.

Buck takes him up on those flying lessons which means Tommy gets trapped in a confined space with Buck on a regular basis, having to deal with his growing feelings towards what can only be a golden retriever in human form. Buck is kind and sincere and so so earnest, Tommy has no choice but to fall for him.

But Tommy still doesn’t know where Buck’s sexuality lies, and he’s getting to the point where’s pulling his hair out in frustration, trying to figure it out. Because no way can a heterosexual man stare at Tommy’s lips that often. There is no straight reason for that, right?

He then makes the mistake of also offering Buck Muay Thai lessons.

He doesn’t realise his mistake until they’re both sweaty and shirtless. Buck looks very good sweaty and shirtless. But it’s fine, Tommy manages to cope, he just avoids looking at the large expanse of wet skin right in front of him. He’s not distracted by all that skin. He’s fine.

(Luckily, Buck doesn’t know enough about Muay Thai to notice how badly Tommy is fighting.)

Somehow they both get tangled up and they fall to the ground (I don’t know shit about Muay Thai). Buck lands flat on his back and Tommy ends up on top of him. Tommy goes to get off Buck immediately because Tommy’s not exactly light, but then he makes another mistake: just as he places his hands on either side of Buck to push off the ground, he looks at Buck’s face

Buck’s cheeks are nice and red (because of exertion? Because of Tommy’s close proximity? Both?), Buck’s breathing heavily, his breaths getting faster and faster the longer Tommy stays where he is. Buck’s eyes are near black, his pupils leaving only the thinnest band of colour.

Buck’s staring at Tommy, and Tommy’s staring at Buck. Then Buck once again glances down at Tommy’s lips as Tommy is lying over him, their sweaty chests pressing against one another.

And Tommy cracks.

He throws himself off Buck, getting to his feet, and crosses over to the other side of the mat to put some distance between himself and Buck.

When he turns back to look at Buck, Buck is still lying on the ground, now leaning back on his forearms, looking up at Tommy. Which is a sight Tommy would love nothing more than to see again.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Tommy says, “but are you really straight?” Which is definitely not how Tommy wanted this conversation to start, but sue him, he’s having a breakdown. “Sorry,” he repeats, “It’s just there’s been a lot of flirting and a lot of starring at my various attributes,” he tries again, poorly, “Not that I’m complaining; I would love nothing more than to have you stare at my lips and flirt with me for as long as you want. But I need to know where we stand before I lose my mind trying to figure you out.”

And the thing is, Tommy’s not the only one who’s been struggling these past few weeks.

Buck’s been dealing with these weird feelings towards Tommy since day 1. At first he just figured it was because Tommy was so cool (which he is), and then he thought it was because he was jealous that Tommy was spending so much time with Eddie, thinking maybe Tommy was trying to steal his spot in the Diaz household. But is wasn’t either of those things. Buck’s been wracking his brain for weeks, trying to figure out just what he was feeling towards Tommy.

And here’s Tommy, all sweaty and shirtless, so much glistening skin on display, and Tommy’s offering Buck a possible answer to all these feelings he’s been unable to name.

And what Tommy’s implying makes some sense. Buck thinks over all the instances he’s hung out with Tommy, compares his behaviour to the times he’s had crushes on women, and thinks maybe Tommy’s onto something.

Buck, who is a big believer of the scientific method of experimentation, figures there’s an easy way to test Tommy’s theory.

Buck slowly gets up from the mat as his brain goes into hyper-drive, processing the fastest sexuality crisis known to humanity.

Maybe Buck flexes a bit as he gets up because Tommy’s watching him and he’s always liked attention.

By the time he straightens up, the sexuality crisis has been dealt with and he’s ready to act on these newly revealed feelings.

He likes Tommy’s theory a lot.

“I have been staring at your lips a lot, haven’t I?” He says, purposeful flirty.

(Once again they have both been (knowingly or not) starring at each other longingly for weeks, they are both shirtless and covered in sweat, and had their naked chests pressed up together just moments ago; neither of them are thinking very rationally.)

And Buck (flirty Buck who made picking woman up into an art-form) walks/stalks over to Tommy, leaving enough room for Tommy to back away if he wants to.

“Maybe you should do something about that?” Buck suggests, and very deliberately stares down at Tommy’s lips.

Tommy knows they should have a more thorough discussion about where both of them stand, but he’s only one man.

Tommy closes the gap between them, places two fingers underneath Buck’s chin, and slowly leans in to finally kiss Buck.

The kiss lasts no more than a moment, not nearly long enough for either of their tastes, but Tommy needs to be sure that Evan’s sure.

“So?” he asks simply, fingers still under Evan’s chin.

“Yeah, definitely not straight.” And Evan leans in to kiss Tommy again. Tommy does not mind at all.

(They then spend the rest of their Muay Thai lesson making out.)

[owlsie-hoot]

"And sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself because I could find no language to describe them in." // 5.7

[flum3n]

the universal experience of beginning 'pride and prejudice' (2005) with the opinion that matthew macfadyen as mr darcy is perfectly tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt you and ending it bewitched, body and soul.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Embrace the truth

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[voidshrub]

None of you can convince me that Spy didn't come clean to Scout at some point about being his dad and them having a rollercoaster of rough patches and relationship fixing thoughout the years until they ended up happy with each other doing father-son activities to catch up with stolen time and the only reason Spy didn't tell Tanya that he's her grandpa is because he's still WORKING as a SPY he still had his BALACLAVA ON entering Jeremy's house and he wants to keep his grandchildren SAFE YOU CAN'T TELL ME JEREMY DOESN'T KNOW YOU CAN'T YOU CANNOT I WILL CRY A THOUSAND THOUSAND TEARS FOREVER AND EVER LET ME HAVE THIS ON MY KNEES SHAKING AND PLEADING

[front-facing-pokemon]

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

(more of this, which has become a "trapped together" story because Why Not.)

“T-That’s not fair, Tommy,” Buck said, pulling off a glove to wipe furiously at his eyes.  “Look, I-I’m sorry, that the people you trusted with that, that “real you” didn’t honor your trust.  But if you won’t even let me see him, how can you know I won’t love him?  I—” Buck cut off that thought before it could escape his stupid head.  Telling Tommy that he’d been pretty sure he was in love when he asked Tommy to move in was true, but Tommy would twist it into proving his terrible point somehow.  “I might.  You don’t know.”

Tommy’s face crumbled.  “I was trying,” he said, voice watery.  “I spent so long not telling people anything real about myself that after I came out I was scared of… overcorrecting, I guess.  Being too much.  So, instead, I decided to mirror people.  To give back as much as I was given.”

That… Buck nodded, swallowing around a lump in his throat.  That made sense.  Buck was jealous of Tommy and Eddie?  Well, Tommy was jealous of the 118.  Buck had a mediocre father and a much better surrogate dad?  Tommy never really had a good example of either.  And on and on, in small bursts.  Reciprocal, but… limited.  And Buck had no closet stories to share, no ex-boyfriends to discuss, no sexual epiphanies that Tommy hadn’t been the direct cause of.  No wonder they hadn't talked about this stuff before.  “So we didn’t discuss heavy topics unless I brought them up.”

Tommy huffed a laugh, which quickly turned into a hoarse cough.  Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he said, “I thought I was being honest, upfront, without being overwhelming.  But… the way you described me that last night, the carnival mirror way you said you saw me… were you not listening to what I was saying?”

“Of course I was,” Buck protested, a sinking feeling pooling in his gut.  “But it wasn't true!  Like I told you, that first night—you were part of the 118, remember?  Fake mouth static?”

Tommy choked out a laugh.  “Then why did all of them stop talking to me after we broke up?”

Buck blinked.  “What?”

“Not that I was surprised.  Your best friend, your surrogate father, your brother-in-law… and Hen and I were never that close.  Work friends at best, and we don’t work together anymore.  Of course they would take sides, and take your side.”  Tommy turned, squinting into the setting sun to look at Buck.  His face was blotchy, a streak of rusty brown dust smeared across one cheek, and alarmingly pale where he wasn’t red with dirt or tearstains.  “Why are you surprised?”

[ai-no-kokuhaku]

if you had to get something off your chest, surely a demon isn't a bad option to vent to

[purposechef]

boiling point

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Transferrable Skills Part 3

Transferrable Skills Masterlist

CW: POV depiction of dissociation, medication administered without explicit consent, mineral water, slightly altered state of consciousness (debatable), Simon Riley's Canonically Large Body

You lose time. There’s nothing for it. Everything gets flat and distant. Every now and again, you gain lucidity and catch details. The thick pile of the carpet beneath your bare feet. The belt loop you have two fingers looped into, and the fact that there are so many loops and pockets for you to choose from. Being carried for a bit until you can be deposited into a vehicle. Someone gives you pills, maybe four of them, and it takes you two gulps of water to swallow them.

An indeterminate amount of time later, you start coming back to yourself in fits and starts. It’s not a surprise when your teeth start chattering, but it does suck. All at once, every single one of your muscles file a complaint about locking up for hours and then sleeping on the floor. The room around you goes from fuzzy to nothing but sharp and loud edges in a split second. And, of course, the dehydration headache. You squeeze your eyes shut.

Something cold and wet is pressed into your hand and then guided to your mouth - a bottle of water. Your nose scrunches. Why do Europeans like mineral water? It barely tastes like water. But you drink it because you’re so thirsty it hurts.

“Slowly,” a deep voice rumbles above you.

You almost choke when you look up. The man standing over you is Simon, not the skull-faced Ghost, except that he’s neither and both. Even having had video sessions with him before, you’d assumed that most of his bulk you had seen today had been gear. Like an owl. But no, he’s really just that tall and broad. The shape of his jaw is familiar, though, just like his heavy brows and the bump in the bridge of his nose.

Without thinking, you reach out and touch his left arm. You almost expect the faded tattoos to twist away from your fingertips. Instead, Simon turns his arm so you end up caressing the inside of his elbow, skin soft and delicate and warm.

“Eyes up, Bambi,” Simon rumbles.

When you try to snatch your hand back, he catches your wrist. His hand is large and hot, and you realize all of a sudden that you’ve touched each other for the first time. His fingers are thick and blunt, and his nails are unkempt. He has a hangnail on his middle finger and scars across his knuckles.

“Eyes up,” he rumbles, again, sounding amused.

Your heart races as your eyes follow the line of his arm, the way his shirt barely fits around his bicep. The curve of his pectoral and the way his chest expands as he breathes. Your gaze gets caught on hollow of his throat and again on the thickness of his neck and the shape of his jaw. But finally, you meet his eyes.

You’ve seen a man before, you’ve seen Simon before. With his shirt off, even! There’s no reason that just meeting his eyes should make you breathless. But you can’t help it, you stop breathing as he holds your gaze.

“’Ello, beautiful,” he purrs, his other hand coming up to envelop yours around the bottle of water. You’re not a small woman, but wow, your hand feels small in his grip. “C’n you sip slowly for me?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. He’s fucking huge. Maybe it’s the shock, but he’s all you can see in that moment. (Is it subspace? No, but it damn sure feels like it.) And he’s touching you, finally. Finally. That’s insane. He’s supposed to be across an entire ocean, but he’s here and he saved you and he’s touching you. You’d do anything he wants.

“Drink,” he reminds you, and his hand stops you from pouring the whole bottle over yourself in your haste to follow his command. “Slowly, Bambi, there’s a good girl. Slow sips, two at a time. C’n you do that?”

Yeah, you think, holding eye contact as you bring the bottle back to your mouth. The mineral taste shocks you back into your body, again. Again. You drank some of this before. Someone gave you pills. Your body should hurt a lot more than it does, shouldn’t it? A knot of worry starts between your shoulder blades. And then Simon’s hand slides up your arm, coming to rest against the side of your neck. His finger tips brush over the bumps of your spine and you realize. Oh. He wouldn’t let anything happen to me.

“Ibuprofen?” you ask, lowering the bottle.

He hums an affirming note. “Said your back was hurtin’, so I had the paramedics give you some.”

I love you, you think, not for the first time, but you’re sipping again so you can’t embarrass yourself by saying it.

Another voice makes you jump and almost spit your water. “Bambi, aye? Where'd'ye find this bonnie girl, LT?”

You’re clinging to Simon before you know you’re moving. One arm around his lower back, the other clinging to one of his tree-trunk thighs. You’d be more embarrassed about burying your face into his side if Simon hadn’t pivoted to put himself more between you and the rest of the room. The hand on the back of your neck gives you a gentle squeeze.

“’S not really your business, is it?” Simon answers. “Fuckin’ ‘ell, Soap.”

“’M just curious,” the man called Soap says. When you peek at him, he’s is at the table of what looks like a mid sized hotel suite. You recognize the mohawk, but now that you’re not as imminently panicked, you realize how blue Soap’s eyes are. He’s casually dressed, jeans and a brown tee shirt. Very different from when you last saw him.

“Aw,” he coos when he sees you looking. “There she is.”

You take in the room so that you don’t have to see him looking at you. You’re on a little armchair between a couch and a desk. There’s a hall to the right, which you assume leads to the entrance to the suite. Another door opens into a bedroom, where you can see white sheets.

“Leave ‘er, Soap,” another voice says, and then another man, Price, the Captain, comes through that doorway with his own bottle of water. You almost don’t recognize him without his hat. Did he have all of that facial hair before? He gives you a nod and half smile before addressing Simon. “Laswell says things’ve calmed down. We have to go confirm the report. Bambi’s free to go back to the hotel if she wants.”

“Not likely,” Simon scoffs before you can protest. “She can stay ‘ere.”

“She’ll need her stuff,” Price points out. “Want to send the boys to collect it?”

Three fingers tap the back of your neck. You’d always wondered if that signal that he’s taking a moment to think was just for kink scenes. It’s comforting to realize that maybe it isn’t. Simon is a man who stops to think, and maybe so is this Ghost.

“’Ll go get ‘em,” Simon says, after a minute. “Got some other things to grab while ‘m out.”

Out? “Out?”

He looks down at you with another squeeze to the back of your neck. “Out. Cap and I got to check in, ‘n I’ll get y’r stuff. Figured you’d prefer not to go back.”

“Don’t leave me.” The words are out before you can bite it back. You blanch and pull away from him. Well, you try, wrapping your arms around yourself instead of him, but he still has a hand cupping the base of your skull. “I mean- That’s- I know it’s your job. I can- I’ll be okay going back to my hotel. Or staying here? God, you probably have a lot to do, I should-”

“Drink,” Simon interrupts, putting the water bottle you’d lost track of back into your hand. “Finish this. Slow sips, two at a time. Acknowledge.”

“Acknowledged,” you answer, automatically, as you lift the bottle to your lips. “Slow, two sips at a time. All of it.”

“Good girl.” He folds down into a crouch in front of you. You take an extra sip in self defense, because wow that’s a lot of man. There’s a whole other, third person that you hadn’t been able to see around him, sitting at the table with Soap. But Simon’s staring into your eyes, so you can’t get more than an impression of the room around you before you’re caught in his orbit again. “Y’r staying here with me. ’M not takin’ you back to the other hotel. ‘M gonna get your stuff. You unpacked, yeah?”

You nod, looking down at your hands so you can concentrate on what he’s saying instead of the urge to kiss the the scars on his cheek.

“Don’t want anyone else going through your things,” he says. “So ‘m gonna get all ‘f it. ‘Nd then I’ll come back with food. Y’re gonna give me your keycard, finish the water, ‘n watch somethin’ easy on the TV while you do your stretches. Acknowledge.”

“Key card, water, TV and yoga,” you say, chancing a glance back at his face. Bad idea. You fumble the key card from your pocket, surprised you still have it, and hand it over. The way his eyes crinkle with his smile makes you want to slide down into the space between his thighs to hide from the rest of the world. “Acknowledged. But-” You chew your lip. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Soap ‘n Gaz’ll stay with you. You don’t have to talk to them if you don’t want to. Hold up four fingers and they’ll leave you alone. Show me.” His big hand rubs your knee when you comply. “This is the last thing ‘ve got to do for work. When I come back, it’s just me ‘n you. Green?”

“Super green.” Someone snorts a laugh, but you ignore it. “You’ll come back?”

“’M comin’ back. Don’t want to leave.” His hand slides up the outside of your thigh, until he’s gripping your hip. You’re dizzy with a sudden flush of warmth when he leans in to whisper. “The next time I have you in my arms, ‘m not letting go for a long time.”

Yep, you need the water. “TV and stretches,” you squeak. “Acknowledged.”

“That’s my girl,” he rumbles. He stands, glancing his lips against your forehead as he does. “Gonna give you a reward for bein’ so good today. Tell one of the boys what you want to eat, ‘ll bring it on the way back.”

[bulbabutt]

this has been on my computer collecting dust since 2021 why not just post it its not that bad

[nose-nippin-fun]

Ya’ll, I still cannot get over how careful Husk is when touching Angel. With the exception of holding hands and giving boundary-setting shoves, the only time Husk ever lays a hand on Angel’s body is when he’s putting a protective barrier between him and Valentino. And it’s Angel’s UPPER back.

I CAN’T WITH THIS GENTLEMAN.