#then i was like. fuck. where does that all go??

[intromortal]

ꕥ NICE N' FULL ⸝⸝⸝ six different scenarios in which the enhypen members breed the fuck out of you !

⚠︎ smut. mdni. breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, p in v, dirty talking, pet names, more warnings listed for each member. total wc 4k. ⸻ rules ⋆ m.list

✷ NIA — not exactly what bae @vampsol asked for bc i went a little au-ish here :p but it's me so what did we expect. shoutout to my goat @karinasbaby for sharing a braincell with me and helping me w the ideas <3

ꕥ LEE HEESEUNG

arranged marriage, it's okay they're starting to be obsessed with each other, slight somno, oral (f. rec), cum eating

If you were to tell anyone Heeseung didn't as much as look you in the eyes about two months ago, they'd never believe you. Not if the way he's clinging to your lower half before he even opens his eyes fully is anything to go by. Still naked in bed, the wet sheets clinging to your bodies the only thing shielding you from the cool dawn air.

Marriages of convenience are rarely easy, especially for spirits as free as Heeseung, and he's made it clear to you how much he'd rather have married anyone else instead. They also come with burdensome expectations of heirs way too soon for his liking. Yet, something about your devotion to him in your most intimate moments despite your general indifference and coldness towards each other, brought the cold and hard as steel man down to his knees, a puddle of mush at your feet ready to fulfill any request.

"Hee," you mutter softly against your pillow as he parts your legs to make space for himself, and Heeseung's heart soars. A month ago it would've been 'Heeseung' or 'husband' with that venomous tone you seemed to only reserve for him, like his spot in your life was only a joke. It's different now, you're tender with him.

"Shh, pretty. Just lay here for me like this." It's still early, and Heeseung can barely see, but he wants the first thing he looks at in the morning to be your pretty hole, raw and sore from all the previous fucking, still gush his seed out. He parts your folds slowly, careful not to hurt you, and watches as his milky cum greets him, pouring out of you. It's a sight for sore eyes, and one he knows he will never get enough of. Even when he'll manage to put a child in you, he knows this is something he won't be able to let go of.

You shift, now more aware of your surroundings, but Hee is quick to keep you still. Your hand underneath your stomach faintly tingles because of its weird position, but it all fades in the background when Heeseung grabs your ass and spreads it, moving lap at where his cum is gushing out of you.

You're still sensitive from the night you spent together, but his touch is feather light and you don't really know if you want him to stop or you want more. He moans at the mixture of your tastes, pushing his tongue deeper inside your cunt like he's trying to clean you, switching so soft kisses on your lips once he's satisfied.

He makes his way up to your face, littering your bottom and spine in kisses and playful nibbles, relishing in the little sounds you make in response. Your front is still pressed to the mattress, and not seeing him almost makes you believe this is not the Heeseung that was shooting you sharp glares throughout the entire wedding ceremony. His touch is warmer, so much more delicate than the way he held your end that first night. His kisses are slow and deliberate, not empty and forced anymore. It's like soul has find its way back into Heeseung's being, after months of being a cold slate. The change started out slowly, but now you're here, and you genuinely feel like you could really love this man. Maybe a part of you does already.

His voice is the same, but the tone makes him sound like a whole different person, the forever present irritation is gone, only a playful tilt to it left as he finally reaches your ear to whisper in it. "Slipped out while sleeping, all of our hard work gone… such a pity." Heeseung aligns his cock to your weeping cunt, rubbing his head a few times along your folds, then carefully pushes in. "We have to do it all over again."

He's gentle, showering you in soft praises, and his thrusts are even slower. You've never known anything other than fucking, but you think this is what lovemaking feels like.

"So good, baby. You'll be such a good mom, you've been so patient with me even when i didn't deserve it. You'll be wonderful," he whispers in your ear, raising goosebumps all over your skin at just how sweet he sounds. "You are wonderful. You're perfect."

ꕥ PARK JONGSEONG

husband!jay, semi-public, bulge kink, he's insatiable

What better way to spend your honeymoon trip if not by getting filled over and over again by your dear, newlywed husband?

You can't think of any, but maybe that's also because you can't really think about anything that's not the delicious drag of Jay's cock against your walls. So deep inside you, pushing more even when his balls are already flush to your skin. Like he can't get enough, like he could break any barrier and mold into you as one if he really put his mind to it. He needs more, you both do.

But one thing's for sure, he's giving you his all.

"So fucking good, my wife has the best pussy. So perfect for me," he pants hotly in your ear, his large warm hand cupping your breast and separating it from the frigid glass your front is pushed against. The view from your suite is breathtaking, emphasized by the huge transparent wall, right beside the queen sized bed. At the moment though, you're not really focused on it. Nor is Jay, too busy gawking at your beautiful figure caged between his chest and the glass. He could stare at you forever. "I'm gonna stuff you full, baby. Gonna fuck you so good all trip, there's no way you won't be pregnant by the end."

You believe it, because all he's done ever since you undid your luggage in the middle of the room once you arrived to your destination is pump you full of his cum, all day, all night. And then all over again. Only stopping to get you food. You aren't safe from him when showering, even worse when taking a bath, definitely not when you're lounging around the natural pool close to your suite. It's not his fault you look so good in the bathing suits you packed and the ones he picked out for you. Jay has always had good stamina, but ever since the wedding he's been downright feral.

His thrusts are slow, but intense, like he's trying to drag the pleasure out as long as he can, savoring the way his tip nudges just the right stop that has you mewling in his hold every single time. His breath is warm against your neck and so are his grunts of pleasure, your favorite sound in the whole world.

Jay twists your sensitive and sore nipples between his fingers, only smiling into your neck when you reward him with the cutest mewls he's ever heard in his life. "Fuck, baby. I'm the luckiest man alive. I can't believe you're mine forever."

"You too," you whine in response.

"Yes baby, I'm all yours, forever. I love you much."

"Love you too," you sob, throwing your head back into his shoulder, completely overtaken by the pleasure he's giving you, allowing him more access to lick and suck on your sensitive neck.

"I know, baby. I know. You're doing so good, just a little more. My sweet girl, you'll be such a good mom. Can't wait to make you one. We'll have so many, so many cute kids running around. Doesn't that sound like a dream? Fuck, I can't wait."

The hand still playing with your tits slides down to your stomach, pushing down on it until Jay can feel his own cock thrusting into you. "Right here, you're gonna carry our baby here." He keeps fucking into you slowly, deliberately, so different from the speed of the circles he draws on your clit with the fingers that were soothing your hip just moments before. He drags out his own pleasure, but needs to give you so much more. "Come on my cock baby, milk it dry. We have so much more work to do."

ꕥ SIM JAEYUN

fwb!jake but he has feelings, he's down bad and a little subby in this one, dub-con (for jake), slight blood play (just his lip)

This is a series of mistakes. It's all Jake seems to be doing as of lately.

First of all, he's not even supposed to be in your bed again, the fourth time this week. Not when he finally came to terms with the fact that he has developed a raging crush on you and cannot keep his feelings at bay any longer, even when you two agreed this whole arrangement will only be sex and nothing else.

But he can't help it when you're so fucking addicting. You not liking him back is gonna break his heart, but at least he gets to fuck you, at least he gets a little piece of you, even if it's not exactly the one he wants.

Secondly, he should've refused to fuck you raw for the first time the moment you asked, even if the thought alone had his eyes crossing and rolling all the way to the back of his skull. But he's a weak man, for you especially, and he simply couldn't resist the temptation, not when you looked up at him with your big glossy eyes and with such a cute pout on your lip.

So here he is now, fucking you raw like his life is on the line, trying his hardest not to spill inside you too soon because if he does he might just die from embarrassment.

All he does, all he's ever done, is with the purpose of impressing you. It's like you have him chained up to this invisible leash he didn't even notice you put on him, and now it's too late to take it off. Jake means it when he says he would do anything for you.

His thrusts are shallow and quick, he's fucking you mostly with his tip, and you don't think you've ever seen him so worked up. It makes you feel things you didn't even know you needed. You like the feeling.

"You're so cute like this, Jakey," you giggle into the messy open mouthed kiss he's drowning you in, your fingers ghosting on the muscles of his back while his tremble on your waist. "Fuck me deeper, I want to feel all of you."

Jake's hips still for a second as he bites down on his bottom lip so hard he draws blood, but you don't mind at all. You even lick it clean, sighing dreamily at the iron taste overtaking your senses. Jake's eyes screw shut, and he's so close to cumming his eyes start to water. This is simultaneously the best and worst thing that has ever happened to him, and thinking that this might very well be the last time only makes his eyes wetter.

"I—fuck. I can't. I'll cum too soon."

"That's okay, we can go again," you say it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and a little piece of Jake's heart breaks. He doesn't know how much more of this he can take.

You sense his hesitation and wrap your legs around his hips, pushing them closer to your pelvis so his length fully sheaths inside you. It's so warm and big and throbbing to release his cum in you and there's not a single thing you want more. "Fill me up, Jakey. Claim me," you whisper in his ear. "Why don't you show everyone I belong to you?"

Jake resumes his movements, tentatively at first but steadily building a pace that feels good, his thrusts are deeper now, needier, and even if he were to try to pull out, you'd keep him right there. "I want to. I want you fully, fuck— please be mine," he sobs into the valley of your breasts, voice muffled as he licks and nips at your skin.

"Go on. Make me yours then. Show me how bad you want me."

And he does because fuck, he's weak. He's so fucking weak for you and he wouldn't have it any other way.

ꕥ PARK SUNGHOON

coworker!hoon, secret relationship, semi-public, degradation, jealousy, mentions of marriage

Something about the way Sunghoon's thick eyebrows were furrowed from the second he walked into the job that morning, or how his jaw clenched as he gritted his teeth whenever any of your colleagues as much as opened their mouths to say something, should've been your cue to behave for the day.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, he happens to look so damn hot when he's pissed.

And he's so filthy when he's jealous, pushing his buttons becomes your favorite challenge in times like these.

"Eyeing Jake all day like you want to bring him to the back and fuck him, are you not ashamed?" he spits, voice an octave lower than usual and barely slipping through his gritted teeth. "Bending over in front of him, touching him when you know I can see you. Do I have to mark you up for you to fucking behave for once?"

The roughness in his voice makes your eyes wet but your panties wetter, he doesn't bother to undress you, you don't have time for it anyway. You're just a few steps away from the lounge bar where some of your coworkers are surely taking a break right now. Anyone could walk in at any time, and maybe Sunghoon wishes for that to happen.

Instead Sunghoon just flips your skirt up and pushes your panties to the side, immediately rubbing his angry red tip on your folds to coat them in your own juices. He feels so incredibly hard against you, and that's how you know he must've been hiding a boner this entire time. As much as he loves to pretend he doesn't, it's little cues like this that let you know just how much he enjoys putting you back in your place. "Of course you're soaked." He barks a laugh devoid of humor but full of disdain.

"If it's my attention you want," he whispers more softly, and the switch in his attitude sends shivers down your spine, something that doesn't go unnoticed by Sunghoon, his lips curling into a smirk. "I'll give it to you. I'll give you so much of it you won't ever think about disrespecting me again."

He pushes his girth into you fully in one thrust, his rough fingers finding your clit within seconds, not even giving you enough time to savor the pleasurable sting that comes from his cock stretching you out so nicely. He grabs your jaw in his other hand, his smirk not turned into a snarl. "You'll cum, and you'll cum hard enough to milk all of me. You'll keep cumming around my cock no matter how much it hurts, until I fill you up. Is that clear?"

You would nod if you could, but his grip is too strong, so you do what you can: just stand there as he subjects you to anything his heart desires. He doesn't move his hips, doesn't give you that satisfaction, only rubs his fingers on your tiny bundle of nerves so hard it almost hurts, but you'd never ask him to stop it.

"You'll take all of my cum, until your belly is swollen by how much of it I fuck into you. I'll put a baby in you so no one else will ever mistake you for anything other than mine."

You clench around him, time and time again, just like he wants you to. Sunghoon has you under a spell, and the more he talks, the more he flicks your clit, the less you think about what's rational and what's not. You only know what he tells you, and to you that's the only truth you need to hear.

"I'll put a ring on your finger, make you my pretty little wife. Maybe even make you stop coming in, I'll take care of everything. Yeah, keep milking me like that, baby. Let me make you a mommy."

ꕥ KIM SUNOO

ewb, hate sex, degradation, marking, one singular 'slut', condom comes off!

"You're—mhh, such a bad fuck," you say over your shoulder, wanting to see Sunoo's reaction despite the uncomfortable position. You're lying through your teeth, of course. You know how much saying things like this riles Sunoo up, and the only times you feel anything akin to like towards him is when he's rough with you. It's why despite the mutual hatred that makes up the entirety of your relationship, you two keep finding yourselves skin to skin, tangled in bed sheets. You always thought you needed someone to fuck you like they hate you, turns out, what you really craved was someone to fuck you because they hate you. And the right man for the job is right behind you, thrusting into you like he wants to hurt you, his hands leaving bruises on your hips like it's their right to do so.

"Then why are you here, wetting my cock like no one's fucked you in years?" His moves are relentless, and you have to try your best to not collapse on the bed because of the sheer force behind every stroke. Your legs are shaking, but you hang on a thread just to not give him that satisfaction. Instead, you push him further.

"That guy from—mph, yesterday. He'd—" you gasp as he gives you a harsher thrust, so deep you're sure you can feel it in your guts. The angle he starts fucking you in knocks the air out of your lungs in the best way possible, and even if you're trembling under Sunoo's weight and clawing at the cotton fabric next to you, you refuse to back down. "He'd do a better job."

You don't need to see his face, you hear the smirk in his voice, and it's the kind that sends a shiver down your spine each time. "But you're here." Another sharp thrust. "You don't even remember his name."

"At least he las– lasted while fucking me raw." You feel him halt all movement, and you know this is enough to get what you want from him, but you just can't help it. "You could never."

"You're such a little fox, aren't you?" He speaks calmly, but you can feel the storm brewing under the facade. He drags his fingertips across your spine, barely touching you at all. It's embarrassing how that's enough to have you bend under his touch. He reaches the plush of your ass, grabbing a fistful of it so forcefully you can feel his nails break the skin. He doesn't stop when you complain, doesn't care for your pained moans. "You think you're so smart, but you're just a little slut. You want me to fuck you raw?"

You try to shake your head to deny it, but he knows better.

"Yes you do. Say it." His grip on your ass only gets stronger, and tears line your bottom lashes.

"I do," you whine, finally. "Please."

"Good." Sunoo releases the death grip on your skin, soothing over the red spot with his thumb lightly, like it's not him performing the action. The Sunoo you know has no time for care. "Then take the condom off of me."

Your head snaps back at his words, but he makes no sign of moving. So you do what he says, this once. You reach for this length, then carefully slide the rubber off of it. And right when he thinks you're finally behaving, you squeeze his cock so hard his hips stutter forward and you actually manage to steal a surprised yelp out of him.

Sunoo's reaction is immediate. He grabs both of your hands, uncaring for the way your elbows are uncomfortably bent, and brings your wrists together behind your back. He slides into you again in one swift motion, not giving you even a second to savor the feeling of his bare cock pushing into your heat for the first time. All of your nerves feel on fire, and as he sets a breakneck pace while keeping you down and unable to move.

"Do I have to fuck a baby into you for you to finally behave?" He gasps when you squeeze him in response to his words. "You'd like that yeah? You'd love for the man you hate to get you pregnant? Is that gonna make you shut the fuck up for once? Oh, I bet it will."

ꕥ YANG JUNGWON

fiancé!won, they're obsessed your honor, love on the floor

"You can't wait to get me pregnant, but what will you do when you won't be able to suck on my tits for months, mhh?" You giggle on Jungwon's lap, right in the middle of the empty room.

The new house still smells like new houses usually do, dry and woody, like the windows are never open. There's no furniture yet, but it doesn't stop your heart from pounding in your chest as you look around. Your home.

Jungwon's eyes never leave you though, and when you look back at him and find him smiling at you like you hold the world in your palm, you know you would be happy with every house, no matter the size or appearance, as long as he's the one you share it with.

"What makes you think that's gonna stop me?" Your fiance replies, shaking his head to move the bangs out of his eyes. "I'll even get something more out if it."

"Won!" you exclaim, hiding your face in your hands. Your heart melts a bit when you hear that familiar boyish giggle leave him, light as air, and for once in your life you feel like you've found the right spot in the world.

The warmth you feel spreads further as Jungwon starts caressing your bare thighs, until he's gripping your ass, using it as leverage to push you on his crotch.

You gasp at the feeling, and your hands find their rightful place on his broad shoulders so you can keep yourself steady as he starts to roll your hips against his.

"Won… we shouldn't—"

He shuts you up with a soft peck, resting his forehead against yours. "Why not? It's our place. We worked so hard for it, we should celebrate."

You bite your bottom lip as you think about it, but Won doesn't waste a minute and flips both of you over so you're caged between the floor and his chest. He nibbles on your ear, knowing better than anyone else how weak it makes you when he does that. "I'll make you feel so good, doll." It's like he's put a spell on you because you nod before he even manages to finish his sentence. "Just lay back and let me do all the work."

Your clothes are soon discarded everywhere around you, and your legs are wrapped around his hips as he fucks into you like he never has before. You're both a sweaty mess, panting in each other's mouths, exchanging spit any chance you get.

"Your pussy was made for me, doll. You're sucking me in so well." Jungwon moans against your lips, and you watch enamored as his eyes shut close and his eyebrows furrow, a droplet of sweat running down from his hairline. "Can't wait to take you on every surface of this house. Fuck— just leave it to me, baby. I have so many surprises for you."

"I'm so close, please," you whine, sliding a hand down his back to push his hips into you further. It makes Jungwon's pace faster, more desperate to give you exactly what you need.

"Let go, baby. Come all over my dick— yeah, just like that. You're taking me so fucking well. Such a perfect doll for me." His praise goes straight to your cunt, and you squeeze him impossibly hard as wakes of pleasure rack through your body.

"My perfect angel, you're gonna look so good swollen with our baby. Am gonna give you all of my cum, just a little more. We'll have so many kids running around the house we built. Our home forever," Jungwon babbles in your ear, and you're so fucked out you can even barely make out what he's telling you. You just know you need him to fuck you full, over and over.

His hips never stutter, despite how drenched and slippery everything is by now, a puddle of wetness pooling underneath you on the hard floor, getting bigger and bigger the more Jungwon fucks you, and you suspect the floor won't be the only surface you'll wet that day.

[xaviever]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ଓ overstim with him!

including. xavier, zayne, sylus, & caleb.

summary. scenarios where one or both of you are overstimulated during sex. ˃𖥦˂

cw. (afab!reader) 🔞 mdni. softdom!zayne. kinda sub!sylus. patheticdom?caleb. overstimulation, obvi. breeding (xav & caleb), dumbification (zayne), xavier says ily in it. use of baby, sweetheart, princess, & dear.

ᢉ𐭩 xavier!

this is nothing new. xavier is often overwhelmed by his need for you. his impressive stamina and unbridled desire are a wicked combo, leaving you in for long, long nights when his restraint snaps. he’s had you against the door when you first arrived home, on the couch, kitchen counter, in the shower; now, finally, in bed on your side, slowly and deeply kissing each corner of your insides like some lecherous love letter.

“xav- baby, s’too much,” your voice sounds scratchy and foreign from the amount of strain over the last few hours. in response, your thigh is hiked up further, flush against his sweaty chest for a better angle. "fuckfuck, my god, xavier!"

“made to take me…” his lips find their way to your ear, sucking on the lobe as he rambles, unbelievably pussydrunk and obsessed with the repeated slosh your combined releases have created. he keeps his voice as steady and soft as he can while not losing his pace, fucking as deep inside you as your body allows.

“you’re molded to me, baby. mmf, made to be pumped f-full of my cum. you were made for me.”

all of your senses feel on fire, completely overloaded from your evening of being folded into impossible positions again and again. xavier is nothing if not insatiable when it comes to claiming you, his hunger for you, your presence, your attention, your sweet cunt taking him to the hilt like it was destined for his cock.

he's as sensitive as you are now, gasping each thrust, almost whimpering, "just one more, p-please. aah, you can do it. i feel you, mmfuck. i know you're close..."

you nod dopily, consumed by the way your numbness dissipates, body buzzing as you somehow find the will to cum again. your arm moves back to cage his head against yours, and he fucks you both through the haziness, his moans and your broken cries a symphony in the night. he cums hard, and so much, an insane amount after emptying himself inside you all night. the two of you lay entangled in one another, both too sore and thoughtless to even fathom moving.

"i love you so much. so much..." xavier professes into your shoulder, pressing clammy kisses to every part of your neck he can reach in silent worship before drifting off in your aftershocks together.

ᢉ𐭩 zayne!

you can't even speak. zayne’s fingers and tongue have been working you skillfully for so long, too long. he's memorized everything about your body. how you like your clit sucked, when and how to point and flatten his tongue. he knows all your sweet spots, the exact angle, pace, intensity needed for you to cum the hardest, see stars and make you dumb the easiest. of course, he'd never degrade you and call you such, though there's something so riveting about having you brainless under him, entirely overcome by his expertise in your pleasure.

you're cumming all over his hand for nth time with a weak cry, shivering as he holds your hip down to the bed so he can properly fuck you through the waves, not stopping until he feels you've given him every last drop once more. big tears roll down the sides of your cheeks, which he immediately responds to, bringing the hand holding you down up your body to your face and sweetly caressing.

"you've been so good for me. i'm proud of you, my perfect girl."

his pruny fingers slip from you with no resistance. zayne coos at you hearing your tired whines, softly maneuvering you while he shushes and mutters reflexive praises. you’re okay, safe, he’s going to take care of you. he always does. before you can register it your legs are spread widely apart, zayne’s practiced caution evident in how delicately he handles you.

"i believe you can take a bit more for me, no?" he strokes himself unhurriedly, all while thumbing your clit, keeping you stimulated still. he still appears relatively composed above you, one of his only giveaways being the stuttering of his breath, barely controlled lust seeping through him.

zayne enters you steadily, always being gracious enough to let you adjust to his girth. "hah... she's been waiting for me. i can tell." your messy cunt welcomes him warmly, his heavy tip opening you up in a way his fingers could not. it has you reanimating, thighs shooting up to clench around his hips. you spasm, the ghost of an orgasm making you seize around him and ripping the air from both of your lungs.

he sighs out at the feeling of his full length bottomed out inside you, admiring you pliant and glowing under him. “i... ha-have to hear you, dear.” the same fingers that were previously stretching your cunt softly push past your pouty lips. he splays them all over your tongue, forcing the sounds you'd been too delirious to let out escape while he begins fucking into you like a promise.

“mmh, say my name. i know you can.”

ᢉ𐭩 sylus!

you just wanted sylus to feel good, like he so often makes you feel. ...and if you maybe got a little power hungry and ended up addicted to the way he falls apart, holding him down, coaxing him into letting you make him cum over and over, on your seventh "one more" of the night... well, that is not a crime.

in all actuality, though, sylus does not need much convincing. he's not one to oppose you, naturally. however, the second you got commanding, a small switch flipped in his brain and he couldn't save face, couldn't stay above his innate call to submit to you. he's unsure why he'd ever fight it now. sylus is enraptured by your hedonism tonight, reduced from his usual weighty presence to something only you can unlock within him. something yours.

"you know you've got such a pretty dick, baby," you purr, flicking your wrist as you jerk him off with a casual pace, one that's become less bearable after multiple releases. "so big, pink and drippy for me. for me, right, sy?"

the prettiest moans fall from his lips when his head lolls against his headboard, barely deciphering what you've said but knowing to agree, anyway. he nods lazily, peering down at you through clouded, low eyes. his brows are knit in the most desperate expression you've ever seen from him, zeroed in on you. sylus gasps in a big breath after you squeeze him at the base, trying to get more of those beautiful sounds from him.

"yes. yes, sweetheart, y-youu, ffuuck-" he drawls, feeling on the precipice of cumming once more with every slight movement of yours. "yours. aagh! haah, fuck, a-all of me. everything."

his words go straight to your pussy, pulsing from your neglect. having him fill you to the brim sounds amazing, hearing him be this submissive under you? you moan a little at your own imagination. sylus continues to whine, grounding you here as you conclude before you satiate your need, you have to hear him cum one more time. just one more. he can take it.

your hand speeds up wordlessly, already knowing how close he is from the way he twitches, so beautiful and sensitive. "kitten, please." he sounds so sultry begging for you, his voice pitching with need, a frequency only for your ears. you're addicted to this side of him. "i want...w-want to cum for you again."

ᢉ𐭩 caleb!

“sh-shit, you- aangh, p-” caleb’s head feels impossibly heavy as he allows it to fall back against the couch cushion. any attempt at a plea falls shorter with each rhythmic bounce of your hips.

you'd jumped him as soon as he settled into your home from his visit, taking initiative and sinking yourself down on him at the first opportunity. he should've known he was in for it with how easily he slipped inside you, like you prepped without him. this was premeditated. the drag of your walls around him, hot and wet and unrelenting, you were fucking him like he owed you something.

“pips! princeeess, ffuck, please. you’re milkin’ me for all i’m worth, haah-” he’s cut off by his own breathy moan. you don’t stop, not even for a second. if caleb really couldn’t take it he’d safeword or lift you with his evol, yet he only has the brainpower to hiccup and whine under you as you use his dick to your heart’s content.

his hands squeeze your hips for relief, kneading your soft skin for any kind of purchase. you lean down, your fucked out moans vibrate against his neck as you nestle your mouth there. you instinctively sink your teeth into him, pulling something lewd, broken from his throat that even he was a little appalled by.

he doesn't think he's ever cum this much in succession. caleb is already very easy, often fighting hard to not cum from the smallest of your intimacies. you can imagine how hard it is to stay lucid when he has no choice but to cum for you over and over again.

the two of you sound like a couple of pornstars, producing some of the most depraved noises you've ever heard come out of each other, and the constant plap! plap! plap! resounding in your living room.

"need you. cum- nghh, cum in me again," you moan a little animalistically as you rise, facing caleb again to speak. you grab his face, smushing it to make him focus, wanting him to hear your words. "want all of you, c-caleb. pleease."

pitiful as he is, caleb whines at your words, the noise jarbled from your grip on his face. he's throbbing painfully at the admission of your need, hands getting rougher, faster, gathering his remaining coherence to make you scream and chase this release as much as you were. your hands fall, gripping his chest for stability, and caleb groans, dipping his forehead down to rest against yours.

"fuck, baby. got me shootin' blanks and you still want 'em. filthy girl."

— authors note. just couldn’t stop thinking abt this one sub!sylus fic i read… all this came from that lolol. rbs are appreciated!

[alchemistc]

everything you want is on the other side

Buck slides a beer Tommy's way and fights the urge to duck his head. "So, I just thought, maybe, if you wanted to, we could -."

"I'm seeing someone," Tommy says, and blinks, and stares at the label of his bottle.

"Oh," Buck says, and shoves the hurt down deep where it won't inconvenience anyone. That's - it's been - been longer than they were ever together, hasn't it? And, yeah, after that comment in the helicopter maybe Buck had had this expectation that Tommy would wait for him, but that wasn't fair to assume, was it? It's - they're - "I... I'm happy for you."

Tommy gives him a strange look.

"We - is friends an option on the table though? Like, is your ex being around going to screw that up for you?"

Tommy snorts, derisively, and Buck thinks - okay then.

He'd avoided Buck plenty well before, so Buck doesn't really know why he'd have agreed to come out for drinks with him if that wasn't in the table. Maybe this is just - a clean break. They never really got there, until now.

There'd been a sunny afternoon, a few months in, where Tommy had taken him out to a stretch of beach and tossed a football back and forth with him for an hour, the both of them getting progressively sweatier and progressively more horny every time they caught the other checking them out, and Buck had thought to himself - I don't do this with any of my friends. Just - out and about enjoying the day and fucking around for the hell of it, and he'd been so caught up in the idea that Tommy could be a friend as well as a lover that he'd - he'd started picturing it.

A life. Shared, in all the ways that mattered. Holding hands on the beach and smiling at each other in the surf. Teasing one another about the silliest things, too many inside jokes to count, making Tommy laugh and laugh and laugh.

He'd never let it go farther than that. Hazy edges of a home filled with filmy curtains and Tommy's insane DVD collection got shoved away, like pulling back the curtain was just asking for disaster.

Being taken care of, when things weren't easy, when one of them was pissed, when everything was perfect other than a flare up in his leg.

He'd always thought they were on the same page and never bothered to ask if they were reading the same book.

Tommy's was a tragedy, in three parts.

Buck's was a fluffy short story, all purple prose and gratuitous overindulgence, with a kick-your-teeth-in surprise unhappy ending.

So. So now someone else gets the Tommy experience.

He's irrationally annoyed they won't appreciate it. He's insanely jealous by the idea of them appreciating it better than he ever did.

"He - do you want to tell me about him?"

Tommy's brows knit. "Well, he has me doing homework, which I don't love."

Buck lets the words work through him, over him. Younger, again? Like Tommy has a type, and that, for some reason, grinds Buck's gears. Or is that some sort of euphemism for -

"And part of the syllabus was talking to the people who scare me about the things that scare me."

And that sounds like -

"Shilling out all this money out of pocket so the Chief doesn't know I'm a basket case and the first thing he has me do is confront fear like that's not the damn foundation keeping me standing."

Buck picks at his coaster.

Tommy clocks the move and stills, glancing up at him, startled. "You thought I meant -."

"Yeah."

Tommy's hand shifts away from his beer, towards Buck's, before he aborts, spreading fingers against the sticky two-top they'd snagged from a couple who barely glanced at them as they threw on their coats, too starry-eyed in lust to notice the two burly men who'd been lingering by the bar waiting for a table to open up. He couldn't blame them. They'd been right there, obsessed with the way it felt to be naked together in all the ways except the ones that mattered, to get lost in the slide of skin and the feel of tongues sliding together, bodies shifting into one another.

Buck does the scariest thing he can think of. He looks up, and rolls a hand away from his own bottle. Palm up, fingers loose, crawling two inches forward.

His heart is somewhere in his throat and he doesn't look away when Tommy blinks at the extended hand. "I scare you?" Buck asks, and Tommy leans forward to knit their fingers together.

"You scare the everliving shit out of me, Evan."

They didn't really talk, the way they should have.

If Buck has to think back on that day at the beach, with the wind turning Tommy's loose curls into a vortex atop his head, with the tide licking at their ankles, with the ridges of the football grooving into Buck's palm - they'd flirted, and had a surface level conversation over the sounds of a pair of five-year-olds screaming their lungs out as they tried to fill a hole they'd dug in the sand with buckets and buckets and buckets of water that was gone each time they made it back from the surf with a new pail-ful of ocean.

The kids hadn't even cared that their hole never held any of that water in. They'd just been thrilled to pour another bucket full of water in, the sand drinking it all up.

"You never scared me," Buck admits, and hates the way something sad flickers behind Tommy's eyes, because he's spent enough time doing postmortem on their relationship to have an idea about why that would hurt Tommy. "That - it meant a lot, to me, that I always felt so solid with you. That I never had to question..."

Tommy's smile pulls at something deep in his gut. It's not a happy smile, it's the kind with broken glass hiding beneath the surface, ready to slice and bleed in an irreparable way.

"And then I ripped the rug out," Tommy says. It's his judgy tone, the one Buck always hated to hear him use on himself. The one he'd used a lot more than Buck had wanted to notice, at the time.

"I didn't exactly make a good case for myself," Buck tells him, and Tommy squeezes his hand.

"Larry says I let the fear take the cyclic nine times out of ten."

Larry's a weird fucking name for a therapist, Buck doesn't say. "That is not the way he said that," Buck actually says, and Tommy glances up from behind his lashes, the skin on one side of his mouth dimpling.

On early mornings in a bunk when he couldn't sleep after a shitty call, he'd sometimes imagined what those devastating smile lines would look like as the skin around the muscle got thinner, less buoyant. What the specks of grey in his high and tight fade would look like as they became more prominent.

"We workshopped a way to paraphrase it without tearing my own hair out."

"Why are you going to therapy, Tommy?"

The hand squeezing his tightens like a vice.

"Because you scare the everliving shit out of me," Tommy says, amusement in his tone even though his eyes are swimming with unshed tears. "And I'm tired of either of us thinking that doesn't mean something."

"You can't use me as an excuse instead of admitting you're a little messed up in the head."

Tommy's laugh sticks in his throat somewhere, Adams apple bobbing. "That's what Larry said, too."

He tries to picture Tommy in a room with soft lighting, vaguely comfortable seating, a stress ball he could flick between his enormous hands because he has to be fiddling with something at all times or he goes a little crazy - toe tapping or knee jumping while he flexes his palms against his thighs. Larry probably has a field day taking notes of all the ways Tommy stims to make himself feel like a person.

"So...what does that mean?"

He looks like he wants to bolt. It's such a stark contrast - the way he always made sure Buck was the most comfortable he could possibly be and the way he always had his muscles braced for flight.

"It means I can't shake you. Means every time I had a foot out the door the other one was digging in on the other side of the frame. Means I..." Tommy shifts, again, pushes the beer off to the side to reach out and wrap his other hand around their clasped hands. "Means I still don't know what the fuck is wrong with me but I'm hoping you have the patience to be there while I figure it out."

"As...as what, exactly?"

He's scared of the answer, he realizes. Scared that Tommy thinks he's too messed up to - to be with someone. Scared that what Tommy needs is something he's screwed up so many times he's barely spoken to his best friend without a fight in months.

He's scared.

Oh.

Oh, he's scared.

Scared of trying to fill a hole in the sand with briney water.

"I'm a terrible friend," Tommy intones, voice soft, lower lip tucked beneath his teeth. "Think I could have been a better boyfriend."

"You were the best boyfriend," Buck says, a little offended on his behalf, but he's not - he's not wrong. They were so caught up in the being together part that they never figured out what they were trying to do with it.

"I was very good at pretending I didn't want more from you than you were giving me."

It looks like it hurts him at least half as much to say as it does for Buck to hear it. He swallows around a suddenly tight throat. "Will you - can you tell me what you wanted?"

Tommy's face goes through a series of expressions. Lands somewhere between terrified and determined. "Fair warning, I still want them."

Something warm and careful curls up and purrs beneath his ribcage. He's scared. They both are.

That means something.

"Don't try to reassure me if it gets scary," Buck says, and Tommy chokes out a phlegmy laugh, takes a stuttering breath, and lets loose.

---

"Evan."

Buck blinks awake, and rolls his eyes blearily until he catches sight of Tommy, kneeling over him on the bed.

The look on his face has Buck scrambling to wakefulness, and Tommy looks guilty, for a moment, before he tamps it down. "Its okay. I'm okay."

It's -Buck darts a look at the trusty alarm clock he's had at his bedside since the first time he slept through five alarms on his phone - three in the morning and when they spoke on the phone earlier tonight Tommy made it clear he had too much going on tomorrow to make the drive to Buck's. So. Not okay.

"Fine, I'm not - I'm in one piece," Tommy admits. He looks wrung out, exhausted. Something must have happened in the six hours Buck's been sleeping, because he was having a killer shift when they left off for the night. He'd been excited about having to execute some slick maneuver during that high rise fire downtown.

Buck goes to work unbuttoning Tommy's jeans. He leaves his shoes by the door, every time he uses the key Buck gave him three months ago (his heart in his throat, nerves making the words more difficult than they should have been) so the pants come off without a struggle, and then Tommy's whisking his shirt over his head, and he's bare and antsy as he stares at Buck, shifting on his heels. "Big spoon or little spoon?" Buck asks, and something in Tommy stills, the frantic energy bleeding out of him like that question debrided the layer of skin over the blister that is his mental state at this moment in time.

Tommy climbs over him to get to his side of the bed. "Little," he murmurs, already turning to show Buck his back, and around the quiet maneuvering of the duvet Buck gathers him up, gathers him in, an arm under the pillow and his hand spread wide across Tommy's chest.

He'll talk about it when he's ready.

Or Buck will have to do the work and force it out of him, later. Larry says Buck needs to push more than he does and fuck anyone who tells him he's making it about himself.

Larry's kind of an asshole. He doesn't join Tommy very often, but when he does he gets why Tommy keeps going back. It's not the right style for Buck, one-on-one. But he sure does know how to get his point across.

Tommy's got more freckles on his shoulders from helping Buck put together a new garden bed out in the yard three days ago, a kink in his neck from taking a dive playing volleyball on the beach last week.

("We won, didn't we?"

"And now Mr. Side Sleeper won't be able to find a comfortable position for a month."

"Next time I'll let Ravi and Lucy crow about beating us for the rest of our lives.").

"I want kids," Tommy says, out of nowhere, swinging his ass back into the cradle of Buck's pelvis, like he doesn't feel quite close enough to Buck, yet. Buck tightens his hold. "I know we haven't talked about it. Figured it was pretty obvious what your opinion on the matter was."

A barbeque, three months into them trying again, Chris trying to get his attention while he had Robert spitting up on his shoulder and Jee throwing a tantrum about not being the center of attention - when Tommy had swooped in with the assist, yanking Jee up onto his knee to distract her and smiling at a grateful looking Christopher. Buck had stared at him for the entirety of Chris's breakdown of the latest exhibit at the MOMA while the want threatened to swallow him whole.

He hadn't bothered to ask how Tommy had managed to turn that tantrum around so quickly.

There's still so much they don't know about each other.

They're getting the hang of asking now. Telling. Listening. Pushing through the terror of an assumption.

"There was a couple, my last flight. Broken ankle and some scrapes and bruises up in Runyon. Pregnant woman married to an idiot of a man."

Buck hums.

"Guy decided three hundred yards up the trail to let his wife know he never wanted kids."

"Sounds like a nightmare."

"Garret had to strap him down and they still managed to argue themselves hoarse before we made it to the hospital. And I just got to thinking - if I don't tell you shit, you can't read my damn mind and ferret it out. I don't want to be a decrepit old man when our kids graduate high school."

Our kids kind of kicks him in the solar plexus, but he lets it bruise over, for the time being. "You're gonna be built like a brick shithouse when you're eighty, shut up."

Tommy chuckles. Sighs, and tips his head back. "I had a panic attack in the truck because I don't want them without you and I never asked."

Buck presses a kiss to his temple. Another to a new spray of freckles on his neck.

"I get to be the bad cop dad."

Tommy snorts, and snuggles in a little bit more. "Like that was ever a question, I'm gonna be the biggest pushover this side of the Mississippi." He's quiet, for a long, long moment. A hand settles over top of Buck's. "Not now. But I want to - talk about it. Figure out the options."

Kam's been bugging him about the viability of her womb in the most graphic way possible since she met Tommy once, six months ago. So that - that's an option. Maybe.

If they decide on something soon.

They don't even live together. Technically.

"Larry's gonna have a field day with this one," Tommy says, and Buck tucks his nose into the hair at the back of Tommy's head.

"You want me to go?"

"No. I'll tell you, after, but. No, this is a Tommy Special."

"Your dad?"

"My father. My mom. Three uncles and twenty shitty captains and - and Bobby."

The sting is the same as always. He just found a place to store the pain.

"Is this a tarp in the hole situation, or do you think you can put the bucket away?"

Tommy groans. "You know I hate it when you and Larry come up with convoluted metaphor."

His breathing is evening out. The hand over Buck's isn't shaking, anymore.

"You're gonna be a stupid good dad," Buck tells him, and doesn't mind so much when Tommy's lifts up his hand to press a kiss to his knuckles and they come back wet with tears.

[inwithrin]

｡𖦹°‧ jealous sevika

imagine sevika getting dangerously possessive when you run into some old friend at the bar. it’s supposed to be your night—her hand on your thigh, drinks on her tab, her eyes tracing the shape of your mouth every time you smile. but then, a girl calls your name—someone she doesn’t know, but pulls you in for a hug that lasts too long.

cw: jealousy (duh heheh), dom!sevika, oral (reader!receiving), fingering (reader!receiving), sev fucks rough... there's aftercare <3

“this is my girlfriend… sevika,” you say, casually—your hand finds hers without thinking. sevika nods, slowly. doesn’t smile. doesn’t offer a hand.

her palm slides up your waist, firm and deliberate, until it’s resting just under your ribs. her fingers dig in—not hard, but enough to make you straighten a little in her lap. 

your friend gives her a once-over and says, almost teasing, “wow. she doesn’t talk much, huh?”

oh, but she’s talking. just not to her.

she’s talking with the way her thighs tighten around yours, the way her breath ghosts the back of your neck when she leans in, low and slow. 

“keep smiling like that and you’ll regret it,” she murmurs, just for you. her voice a low growl, something territorial.

your friend keeps chatting, completely unaware, but sevika’s done pretending to play nice. her hand slides lower, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, rough fingertips dragging across your bare stomach, and you’re squirming now—subtle, nervous, needy as you feel her packing—like she knew she needed her strap tonight. because you love it when she gets like this. when she gets quiet and sharp, eyes on fire, jaw clenched tight.

“you done catching up?” she whispers right against your ear, and you nod slowly. “good. say goodbye.”

you don’t even argue. can’t. not when she stands and pulls you with her, her grip bruising, possessive, all but dragging you out of the bar with a hand on your back.

with teeth grazing your skin as she mutters, “gonna remind you who you fuckin’ belong to.”

she will. again. and again.

by the time she gets you home, her patience is gone. the door barely clicks shut before she’s on you again—grabbing, pulling, stripping you bare like she needs skin. her mouth finds your neck, your chest, your stomach, biting and sucking down pretty marks like she wants everyone to see you tomorrow and know exactly who did this to you.

“on the bed, pretty,” she says, voice low and wrecked with need. 

you go—legs shaky, heart pounding, skin flushed all over. she’s watching you the whole time, arms crossed, tongue running over her bottom lip like she’s trying to decide where to start.

“spread ‘em,” sevika smiles.

you do. you always do. the way she looks at you—hungry, possessive, borderline feral. like you're her prize, her punishment, her obsession—makes you do anything for her. she takes her time peeling your thighs open wider, settling between them, big hands pinning you down like you’d ever dream of running.

“you remember how polite you were to that little friend of yours?” she murmurs, breath ghosting over your pussy. “let’s see how good you sound beggin’ for me.”

then her mouth is on you, hot and relentless, tongue flicking, sucking, devouring—like she’s trying to make you forget every name but hers. her grip on your hips is skin, her groans vibrating through your body every time you moan out something too loud, desperate, and sweet.

“there she is,” she mutters between licks, pulling back just enough to watch you twitch. “my needy girl. nobody makes you come like this. nobody knows you like i do.”

she doesn’t stop at one. not two. not even three. sevika fucks you through it, hand replacing her mouth, fingers deep and curling, dragging another orgasm out of you like it’s easy—because for her, it is. you’re wrecked, babbling her name, grabbing at the sheets and at her arms and at nothing, and all she does is chuckle and press her lips to your temple, whispering, “so good for me….”

but she’s not done.

she flips you over, one hand on your lower back. “not letting you sleep ‘til i’ve fucked that girl’s name outta your head,” she mutters, lining her strap up and pushing in—slow and deep, one solid stroke that makes you whine.

she fucks you hard—hips snapping, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your ass like she wants fingerprints branded into your skin. each thrust is a statement. a punishment. a promise.

“you gonna flirt with anyone else?” she pants.

“n-no—!” you babble.

“if you even look at someone like that again,” sevika groans, snapping her hips harder, “and i’ll fuck you in front of ‘em. let ‘em watch what you look like when you’re mine.”

you come again, legs shaking, face buried in the pillow, completely undone. and sevika? she doesn’t stop ‘til you’re unable to keep up, soaked in sweat, your voice hoarse from moaning her name over and over again.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

when she finally lets you rest, she’s kissing your shoulder, whispering quiet, filthy praise into your skin. “that’s it, baby,” she murmurs. “did so fucking good for me. not letting you forget it.”

and you won’t—you’ll feel her between your legs for days. your body’s spent and ruined, when she finally pulls out and lies back beside you, chest rising and falling. you feel used in the best way—limbs shaky, throat raw, thighs sticky with the mess she made of you.

sevika props herself up on one elbow, watching you with that same unreadable look—dark eyes roaming over your flushed skin, your trembling legs, the dazed little smile still tugging at your lips.

“look at you,” she says softly, brushing sweat-damp hair from your forehead. “all fucked out and pretty. made a mess of you, huh?”

you nod. “yeah, vika,” barely able to speak.

“told you i’d fuck her outta your head,” she murmurs, trailing her fingers down your bare thigh. “don’t even remember what she looked like now, do you?”

you laugh weakly. “don’t even remember my name right now.”

“good,” she says, and kisses your temple.

then she’s moving—grumbling under her breath as she disappears into the bathroom, and when she comes back, she’s got a warm cloth in hand. no teasing now. just gentle, steady movements as she cleans between your legs with care, as if making up for how hard she fucked you.

“sorry ‘bout the bruises,” she says, even though she isn’t sorry. you can hear the smirk in her voice.

“you’re not sorry,” you say.

“nah. not even a little.” she presses the warm cloth against your skin again, slow and soothing. “but i’ll kiss every one if you want me to.”

she does, too—trailing soft kisses down your inner thighs, murmuring quiet things against the bruises she left like she’s worshipping the damage. she wraps you in one of her oversized shirts, pulls you into her lap, and lights a cigarette.

“next time you get all giggly with someone else,” she says casually, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling, “just remember how fast i’ll ruin you for it.”

and the worst part? you will.

and you’ll do it again.

on purpose.

[b1mbodoll]

pairings: lee heeseung x f! reader

warnings: hybrids + oral + somnophilia + biting + anal mention + hee cums in his pants

💌: lion hybrid! heeseung and somnophilia <3 probably repetitive but ‘m too shy to have someone fully proofread this before i post, so deal with it! /lh

lions are typically more active at night so it’s no surpise your hybrid stays up late, watching you as you sleep, your chest rising falling steadily.

it’s become part of heeseung’s nightly routine since you adopted him to “protect” you; stalking around your living room whenever a car passes by, his tail flicking in irritation because he’s always convinced that someone’s out to get his sweet, defenseless owner.

however, rather than pace around and wait for an intruder that’ll never come, tonight’s one of those nights where heeseung has to be near you; he’s lying in your bed as you sleep soundly, lazily dragging the tuft of fur at the end of his tail along your exposed leg, deep purr-like rumbles filling the quiet of your room.

little does your big catboy know of the filthy fantasies that your sleepy brain comes up with, causing you to let out breathy whines and squirm, thighs clenching together to relieve your needy cunt.

heeseung’s rounded ears twitch at the first sound you let out, grumbling appreciatively when the scent of your arousal hits his nose, the sweetness coming from your slick pussy so strong he swears he can fucking taste it, poking his tongue out as if to test that.

he wastes no time in slotting himself between your legs, his furry ears tickling the skin of your inner thighs as he shreds your sleep shorts and panties, rough tongue swiping from your cunt to your clit before delving into your tight heat, juices already collecting on his chin.

your lion’s a possessive one, fucking his textured tongue into you like he’s trying to ensure your cunt remembers that you’re his.

sure you technically own him, at least on paper; but in this moment, he owns you.

owns your cunt, your clit, hell, even your tight asshole that he’s never once touched, but dreams of ruining.

maybe one day he will; just not tonight.

no, tonight is for your pleasure, not his, despite how fucking hard his barbed cock is beneath his sweatpants, pearlescent beads of precum already causing a wet patch to form where his length lays.

the obscene sound of slurping and heeseung’s deep groans against your leaking pussy should be enough to wake you, but there you lay, unknowingly grinding into hee’s face because of your dream and the pleasure that feels all too real.

you let out another moan, from the pleasure heeseung offers or the erotic dream playing in your subconscious is up for debate, but it causes him to lose his mind a little more, spreading your thighs further and pulling away for a moment, just to press his nose against your cunt, letting his mind go a little foggy as he takes in the scent of your arousal.

meanwhile in your pretty little head, dream hee’s pounding away at your pussy, the tip of his cock pressing a kiss to your cervix with each harsh thrust he delivers, tail wrapped around your leg as his sharp teeth tease the soft skin of your neck, causing you to beg for him to do it; bite me, you whisper, please.

your mumbled plea makes heeseung freeze.

are you awake? sleeptalking? do you mean it?

who knows? he surely doesn’t, and he doesn’t want you awake.. not yet, at least. but who is he to deny his beloved owner’s request?

so he begrudgingly parts from your pussy altogether, nuzzling his face against one of your thighs, squeezing it with his large hand before opening his mouth, deadly canines used to bite, rip, tear, are instead being used to graze your delicate skin, afraid to draw blood.

god, does heeseung want to rip into your flesh.

not because he wants to harm you, no; but simply because he wants his mark on you; his teeth imprinted on your exposed skin, punctures specifically from his canines.

it’d be so easy to break through the skin, he thinks. his hybrid features would make sure of that; there’d be no resistance.

well.. maybe from you.

he knows it’d probably hurt you, yet the thought of you squirming and scrambing to escape the pain make his soaked cock twitch.

heeseung opts for marking you with hickeys. just for now, he reminds himself. he’ll claim you soon enough, he just has to be a little patient. you are a human, after all.

a soft, delicate, dumb human; oblivious to the apex predator that’s using all his restraint to keep from wrecking you as you sleep.

he lets out a whine. it’s unlike him to let out such a… pathetic noise. you should be the one whining.

it’s desperate, laced with need, and it drags on as he laves his tongue along your inner thigh, leaving a trail of thick saliva in its wake until he’s finally reached your empty hole again.

your juices dribble between the crack of your ass and heeseung doesn’t think twice; his tongue is already following the trail, collecting the slick before the pink muscle is poking and licking at your pussy, tail flicking behind him contently.

his movements are sloppy now, face flushed red and his hair sticking to his forehead from the sweat, ears perked and alert, ready to catch any noise that he draws from you.

meanwhile, your fantasy has shifted to dream heeseung eating you out while you’re sat on his face and it’s intense. your mind is either really fucking good at making these feel real, or you’re just so infatuated with your hybrid that you’re able to dream up a perfect replica of his moans and grunts of pleasure.

okay your dreams are normally good but this.. is different. the vibrations against your center feel too real to just be in your head… and his sounds of pleasure are too accurate… and fuck, you’re going to cum.

your climax builds, knot in your stomach tightening, and your mouth falls open in a groan, thighs clenching tight but not..touching?

is that a pillow between your legs? no.. it’s not soft enough.. are those ears? what the fuck?

your orgasm begins to wash over you in your sleep, but then you wake yourself with a squeal due to his tongue, the feeling too much to ignore and your eyes drop between yourself to see heeseung there. he looks breathtakingly beautiful; almost innocent. were it not for his nose and chin wet with your cream, doe eyes peering up at you and it’s disarming.

how does such a dangerous hybrid look so inviting?

however, that’s a thought for another day. at the moment, you’re too lost in pleasure to deny yourself from reaching down and tangling your fingers in his hair, making contact with his sensitive ears and the sensation has heeseung’s eyes rolling back in pleasure, his moan is absolutely sinful, vibrations once again felt directly on your pussy making you keen.

heeseung is cumming, spilling his hot load in his pants all while you roll your hips against his face, chasing yet another orgasm.

the second one hits harder because it’s real.

it’s really heeseung, not just in your head.

he wants you just as badly and it makes your brain shortcircuit, painting his face in your essence again.

the two of you take a moment to collect yourselves, panting and coming down from your highs, but heeseung brings you back to reality instantly by dragging the furry end of his tail along your inner thigh, grinning up at you dumbly.

he’s just getting started.

[astrasng]

marlboro reds💋ྀིྀི

sucking off cheol is everything and beyond the definition of attractive. he’s thick and hung, hitting all the right spots inside you whether it’s rough or soft, he knows your body just too well. you have nothing against him pounding into you like he’s starving (he probably is) and panting into your ear from behind as he grabs the back of your neck harshly to feel his length buried inside you.

but when it comes to sucking him off? it’s like you’re even beyond on cloud nine.

all you see when you blink up at him is his buff chest falling up and down, his head thrown slightly back on the couch as he bites his bottom lip down to contain his pathetic moans. he’s shaking, his mind totally shut off as you swirl your tongue around him, rewarding you with rough groans when he snakes one of his hand into your hair, gathering it into a ponytail. it makes you rub your thighs together, saliva dripping from the corner of your mouth around his length. it rolls all the way down on your throat and cheol takes of notice of this, immediately taking a finger and smudging the saliva where he feels himself in your throat. it makes both of you moan, how strangely you can feel his finger like it’s nothing separating the two.

fuck sweetheart, you’re taking me so well

he groans out when you swallow around his thick size, wanting to cough so bad at the burning sensation but he steadily pushes your head further down. the moment you gag around him, he lets out a satisfied sigh like he’s been waiting for this, an almost sick-like smirk painting his face as he looks down at you amusingly.

too much? but i know you can do much better than that.

at that, cheol suddenly pulls you off of him and hisses at the cold air, locking eyes with you as you look up at him with tears in your eyes. he nearly comes from the sight when you lick your lips and swallow all the saliva and precum gathered on your lips, seeing the way your throat moves pushes him to the edge.

cheol pinches your chin between his fingers, directing his tip on your plush, wet lips and smears it against them. you can hear the satisfactory sigh leaving him when you part your lips slightly, the tip movements away from sliding right back in. your tongue loll back out against his cock and just when you are ready to take him again he groans in frustration and janks you up into his lap.

you can’t contain yourself huh? he hisses harshly as he moves your body to be right on his erect cock, feeling it poking against your panties from under.

a small moan leaves you, grinding down on to his member but he stops you by your waist. you want to whine and scream at him out of frustration but his instense gaze stops you, looking at him all doe-eyed.

you have somethin' to say princess? he growls, his hand sliding further under your skirt to pull you onto him, his hips teasingly moving against you so the tip of his cock is rubbing against your entrance. a soft sigh leaves your lips, wanting to grind down harder on him, to feel his girth stretching you out like you deserve. but cheol has other plans.

with the tip of his finger, he pulls your panties enough to the side so his tip slides against your arousal coated lips, snapping the elastic right back on his cock making both of you hiss. you're gonna sit here prettily just as i say, he murmurs and kisses the side of your neck -

and you're going to feel me rutting against you until you come undone and all i can hear are your cries, how about that baby?

a/n: HE LOOKS LIKE HE WORKS W HIS HANDS AND SMELLS LIKE MARLBORO REDSSS scups is so crush by ethel cain for me that it's insane so LISTEN TO IT WHILE READING X

important!: this is pure fiction, the act in this story is by my imagination and not based off true events. please do not copy the work.

@ astrasng 2025

⋮ do not copy, translate, steal, or modify without permission! ⋮

[robinminustherichard]

Just a little bucktommy/Buck does what's best for him/Tommy is the #1 Evan Buckley defender drabble for you on this Wednesday

[HOWIE HAN]: 1 New Message

Hey Tommy, sorry to bother you with this but any chance you've heard from Buck?

[HOWIE HAN]: 1 New Message

He told us he was still transferring and also taking a week off and now no one has heard from him in days.

Tommy looks at the text messages, coming in quick succession, and snorts harshly.

[TOMMY KINARD]

That sounds like a lot. Did you check his house?

Tommy knows they didn't check his house, because they have absolutely no clue what had been going on in Evan's life for at least a few weeks, probably closer to a month.

[HOWIE HAN]: 1 New Message

Uh. Well.

[HOWIE HAN]: 1 New Message

We kind of don't know where he moved to.

Tommy rolls his eyes, mutters "Jesus Christ, Chimney," under his breath.

[TOMMY KINARD]

You don't know where your own brother-in-law lives? Dude.

[HOWIE HAN]: 1 New Message

Come on man I just had a baby

[TOMMY KINARD]

I thought your wife had the baby

[HOWIE HAN]: 1 New Message

You're a comedian.

[TOMMY KINARD]

I'd say I'm here all week, but I'm actually on vacation.

[HOWIE HAN]: 1 New Message

Yeah, yeah, I'll take the hint and stop bothering you. Even though you have no sympathy for the fact that my wife is going to be very disappointed with me when she finds out I lost her brother and she's going to look at me in the way that makes me feel very sad and also guilty.

[TOMMY KINARD]

Well, if I see him I'll let you know. Good luck with all of that I guess.

Tommy chuckles again, the face pushed into his stomach bouncing a bit with it. Evan rolls, sleep-bright eyes blinking up at Tommy in confusion.

"Whatsit?" Evan mumbles, a hand coming up to wipe away at what is definitely drool in the corner of his mouth.

Evan had been napping with his head on Tommy's lap, spread out across the couch in the cabin they're borrowing from a friend of Tommy's for a weekend getaway. They'd spent the last three hours hiking (and maybe some of it making out against a tree) and Evan was still in a bit of a sleep deficit from trying to quickly get all of his stuff moved out of Eddie's house two days ago.

"Nothing, sweetheart," Tommy tells him warmly, his torso curling down towards Evan as he runs a hand through slightly sweaty but impossibly soft curls. "Just texting Chimney."

"Mmmok," Evan says, rolling back into Tommy's stomach and kicking a knee out to stretch farther down the couch. It accentuates his long, long legs which are currently wrapped in hiking shorts that are honestly just sinfully short and leggings; and Tommy is also maybe drooling a little. He's going to let Evan sleep for a little longer, knowing if he lets it go on too long Evan's sleep schedule will be ruined.

But also beacuase Tommy is more than happy to pick up where they left off against the tree; this time in the plush bed waiting for them, with enough time and sunlight leftover to then grill the steaks they had bought for dinner.

Tommy shakes himself out of the daydream that's going to end up disturbing the man impersonating sleeping beauty right over something that will give away exactly what's going through his head and looks at the text conversation again. He sighs. He doesn't think that Howie and the rest of the 118 deserve much right now, but he does sympathize with a woman who just had a baby and who has access to another woman who won't hesitate to launch a manhunt for his boyfriend.

He sighs and pulls up Maddie's phone number, but then thinks of something much funnier.

[TOMMY KINARD]

Image

[TOMMY KINARD]

Oh shit man you'll never guess what I found

[HOWIE HAN]:

Tommy what the FUCK

[victusinveritas]

Some of the replies to this got a bit out of hand, but I think I've ended the discussion. However, if you don't, please feel free to join in. I might not reply right away, because this is the internet and nothing we do on here matters much. I thought about screenshotting and posting a chain of pretty picture replies, but then realized how damn long my response was...and didn't want to do that.

santa-ana-winds

2d

Russia is going to nuke themselves and all of you are going to become pro-israel and believe in Jesus amen Hide replies

themarospeaker

The moon will come crashing down onto the earth, but it's made of cheese, and everyone will eat cheddar cheese and convert to Islam. Amen.Reply

[there's some more comments here but to cut down on space I've removed them, go read them though, they're good stuff]

hootenannyskeleton

21h

jesus is a puppy girl who humped the 24 legs of the 12 apostles while moaning 'puppy loves you'Reply

dae-15

15h

Get my Lord's name out of your mouth Jesus stood for the oppressed and those rejected by society he will not stand for your bsReply

victusinveritas

now

Original Poster

@dae-15 I try not to step into comments, because I generally have better things to do. On the one hand, I get where you are coming from, and agree entirely that Jesus stood for the oppressed and those rejected by society. I think Liberation Theology is like the absolute tits (to quote the Blessed Oscar Romero loosely) and that without the preferential option for the poor, Christianity is kind of...worthless as a spiritual path since all it does is gladhand folks that believe for their own eternal sake. However, I also think the Big J-Man would have a bit of a sense of humor, because he hung out with whores and lepers and social outcasts and their humor was probably pretty coarse. Once you explained to him what a puppy girl was (if he didn't already know because of his seat at the Right Hand of the Father and all that in Heaven), he'd be like, yeah, no, I wouldn't do that because that's not my thing, not to kinkshame though, whatever fills your net with fish I say verily unto you, but Judas Iscariot absolutely would do that, right boyyyyz? And the Apostles would all just nod and grunt and high five except for Judas who would look up from Hell and say "Yeah, that's why I betrayed you because of jokes like that, it's not ok, guys." And Judas would kinda be right there. Jesus, as fully human and fully divine, both told dirty jokes as patter before his parables, and forgave those who only remembered the dirty joke from before the important part of the parable.

[Plus, I add in this post rather than the reply because I just thought of it, the Man's middle name was Fucking, of course he had a sense of humor. Here endeth the office chair theology.]

Anyway, I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream and because genocide is wrong no matter who does it. Unilever, Ben and Jerry's parent company, is also a sack of shit, but it's nice that Ben Cohen spoke out. Also, Ben and Jerry's is pro-union. Which is good. There's no ethical consumption under capitalism, but you could do worse. I haven't been keeping track of any issues they've had since supporting their workers when they formed a union, so if it turns out they've since tossed the main agitators into a a special blend of Phish Food for the band themselves, well, then that sucks.

Made by @mattxiv on Instagram.

[strawberry-nugget]

notion | k. bakugo | 3

M.list | prev

Summary: Katsuki drove all the way to Tokyo just for you to comfort him. But will you? Even when you learn that the fight with his mother ended up being about you?

Warnings: smut, 18+ minors do not interact, oral (f&mreceiving), throat fucking, cunnilingus, facesitting, spitting, fingering, fwb, part , jealousy, slight angst, looooooads of comfort, endless mutual pining, p in v sex, creampies, cumflation, extreme sex marathons, mating press, missionarry, Scissors position (m&f), multiple orgasms, bakugo fucks the feminism out of us-really, slight somno???(they fall asleep during sex), cockwarming, rough sex, sloppy kissing, hair pulling, biting, reader is absolutely cockdrunk / bakugo is pussydurnk, overstimulation. All characters are 20+

Paring: Bakugo Katsuki x reader

Katsuki arrives at 5.22am. Just a bit before you come bursting out of a cab, trying to hide your stumbling as you close the car door carefully. You’re startled by him, clearly not expecting him at this hour tonight, or even at all. 

You freeze for half a second, debating whether to acknowledge him or pretend you didn’t see him. But it’s pointless—his red eyes are already locked on you, scanning, assessing, narrowing slightly as he takes in the state you’re in. The wrinkled clothes, the faint smell of alcohol clinging to your jacket, the unsteady way you shift your weight.

“Tch,” he clicks his tongue, pushing off the wall. “The hell is this?”

You exhale with a sigh, steadying yourself. “What are you doing here, Katsuki?”

“Waiting for your dumbass, apparently.” He jerks his chin toward you. “You’re late.”

Late for what? You don’t remember agreeing to meet him at the crack of dawn. You don’t even remember texting to meet him in the first place. The night is a blur of drinks and conversation. You’d ended up getting another drink, then another, then somehow ended up in a cab back home without fully processing how.

You rub at your temple. “Did I… say I’d meet you?”

He’s leaning against the entrance of your building, arms crossed, looking irritated. But there’s something else there, too, beneath the usual scowl. Something that makes your already-clouded mind sharpen just a little.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you ask, voice low, like you’re afraid of showing him a sign that you’re fed up with such schemes.

He scoffs. “What, I need a reason?”

You let out a slow breath, trying to steady yourself again as you wobble on your heels. Your head is still buzzing from the drinks, your limbs heavy with exhaustion, but Katsuki standing here—at this hour, in this place—demands your full attention.

“You came all the way to Tokyo in the middle of the night, so yeah a reasoning would be good”

He hasn’t seen you in two months. Not since you started skipping your usual weekend trips back to Musutafu. Not since you started making excuses, too tired, too busy, too something to go home. But he knows the truth. He's so fed up with feelings and excuses—And now he’s here.

You look at him more closely, and it clicks. He’s not in his hero gear. He’s in sweatpants and a hoodie, hands shoved into the pockets. He came here like this—just got up and left, like he didn’t care where he was going, just that he had to go.

“Did you fight with your mom?” you ask, the answer already obvious.

His jaw tightens. “Tch. Who gives a shit?”

You do.

But you don’t say that. You just nod, glancing toward your building. “You wanna come up?”

He exhales sharply, like he wants to argue, like this isn’t exactly what he came for—but he follows you inside anyway.

The elevator ride is quiet, except for the hum of the machinery. You don’t say anything, and neither does he. It’s been four years since you stopped being more than this—whatever “this” is—but somehow, the silence between you still feels the same.

When you reach your apartment, you kick off your shoes and toss your jacket onto the nearest chair. Katsuki lingers near the door for a second before sighing and dropping onto the edge of your bed, elbows on his knees, face finding awkward comfort between his palms.

“You been avoiding me?” he asks.

You hesitate. Not because you don’t know the answer, but because you don’t know if you want to tell him the truth.

Instead, you deflect. “You drove all the way to Tokyo in the middle of the night to ask me that?”

Katsuki exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face before glaring at you like you’re the problem here. “Obviously.”

You stare. “That’s like three hours.”

“An hour and a half.”

You blink. “You were speeding?”

“Not the point,” he snaps, leaning back against your bed frame, eyes flickering away. He’s tense in a way that has nothing to do with you. His fingers flex where they rest against his thighs, and there’s something off in his posture—something you only recognize because you used to know him better than anyone.

You sigh, crossing your arms. “What happened?”

He doesn’t answer at first. Just tugs at the hem of his hoodie, like he’s considering whether he even wants to say it. Finally, he mutters, “Dumbass fight.”

“With your mom?”

A scoff. “Who else?”

You don’t press, letting the quiet sit between you. He’s always been like this—reluctant with his words, like saying them out loud makes them harder to handle. But you’ve also always been good at waiting.

After a moment, he exhales, tilting his head back against the wall. “She said I work too much,” he mumbles, voice gruff. “Said I never communicate, never come home unless she drags me back.” He clicks his tongue, eyes flickering toward you. “Sound familiar?”

You shift under his gaze, but he doesn’t let you deflect this time. He doesn’t let you ask about the bruise on his face, when you notice it, when you open your mouth with your gaze burning on it. And you decide to keep the thought to your head. Ask him some other time. Bruises and wounds and scars are on the cv when you’re applying to be a hero anyway.

“Told her” he continues, after a long pause “I didn’t have time for stupid shit like that. She said I was just making excuses. That I didn’t wanna be around her, or my friends” He scoffs again, quieter this time. “Like I don’t already know that.”

Your chest tightens. Mitsuki Bakugo has never been a quiet woman. You can imagine the fight easily—her sharp words, his explosive temper, both of them too stubborn to back down. He probably stormed out the second the shouting turned personal, slamming the door so hard the windows rattled. But instead of going to Kirishima’s or driving around Musutafu to clear his head, he came here.

To you.

To fucking To-ky-o.

You don’t know what to do with that.

“So you drove all the way to Tokyo,” you murmur, shaking your head. “For what, exactly?”

Katsuki doesn’t answer right away. He’s deliberately skipped the part of the fight that included you, not wanting to put that weight on your shoulders. 

He doesn’t think it’s your fault, no, he could never blame you for a thing, despite anything you should be taking accountability for, he thinks that everything that has happened and shattered between the two of you is just him.

So, his initial response would be something like ‘so no one sets you up with Izuku’

Instead, he shifts, pulling his hood up, tagging at the strings until only his nose is visible, like he’s trying to disappear inside it. Then, barely above a grumble, he mutters, “Dunno. Just didn’t wanna be alone.”

And—Oh.

Oh.

Oh—The realization hits like a punch to the gut. You’ve seen him tired before, frustrated, even overwhelmed—but this is something else. Something softer that is buried under all his usual rough edges. He’s exhausted, and angry, and maybe just a little lost.

And for some reason, he came to you.

You, who’s stupid enough to not think Katsuki could ever fall in love with you. You, who is scared of doing something wrong because you don’t want to lose him only to end up pushing him away.

You're stupid, insane. It should have been over. A year ago. He shouldn’t be driving to see you in the monsoon. You should have gotten over it by now, but my god it’s been ten years already that you’re in love with this fucking guy.

You exhale, dragging a hand down your face before moving toward the bed. Without thinking too hard about it, you sit beside him, close enough that your legs brush. He doesn’t flinch away, but you don’t push further either. Solemnly, you notice the sweats he’s wearing were your gift from two years ago and something in your heart softens. Your eyebrows don’t hurt from thinking anymore.

“You could’ve called” you say, nudging him lightly.

He huffs. “Yeah pffft, right. And you would’ve answered?”

You wouldn’t. 

You don’t have an excuse for that.

Silence settles between you again, heavier this time. He’s tense, his shoulders wound tight like he’s waiting for you to tell him to leave. Bark at him like he’s a stray dog invading your house. Instead, you sigh and shift, leaning back against the bedframe before tilting your head onto his shoulder.

His breath catches.

He doesn’t move right away, but you feel it—the way his muscles lose some of their tension, the way his hands clench, then relax. Slowly, cautiously, he leans into you, just enough that you can tell he needs it.

Needs this. Needs you. Whatever. The lines are so blurred.

You should say something. Should probably ask him if this is a bad idea, if he’s sure. But you don’t. You just let your head rest against his shoulder, letting the quiet say everything neither of you know how to.

In this tranquility he smells divine. Like your own detergent that you know his mother uses too, mixed with the sweet scent of his skin and Argan oil shampoo.

His fingers brush against yours, hesitantly and slow, like he’s waiting for permission and you don’t pull away.

It’s been four years since you stopped being more than this. More than friends. That one year ago doesn’t even matter. Because right now, at 5:30 in the morning, after a fight that drove him across prefectures just to see you; You can’t run from this anymore.

Not with the way he’s looking at you—eyes dark, jaw clenched, fingers flexing at his sides like he’s physically holding himself back. Feeling like he’s the softest thing to graze this earth, smelling like absolute heaven.

Your pulse is a drumbeat in your throat, and fuck if this isn’t just how safety should feel. This is why he’s a hero. This is what people feel when they’re around him and you’re glad. Glad he’s fixed his temper, glad he’s worked on his attitude, you're glad he’s still himself but a part of you had always just wanted that just for yourself. 

It’s all you wanna have from him. That quiet little notion that even if whatever he’s making you feel has your heart begging to burst out of its seams, he’s not going to let it happen.

“Katsuki—”

“Why?” he cuts you off, leaning in closer.

The shift he’s making is intentional, heavy and straddling and it’s almost enough to push your legs to open so he can fill out the space between them like a perfect puzzle piece.

You shift back instinctively, but there’s nowhere to go. The bed frame is against your spine, and Katsuki is in front of you, blocking out everything else.

“I—” Your breath stumbles. “I got busy.”

“Bullshit.”

His voice is low, rough. Not loud, just firm. Accusing.Your fingers grip the blanket beneath you. 

“You don’t get to ask me that.”

“The hell I don’t.”

Another push.

Your knees nearly brush.

You should push him away. Should remind him that whatever you were to each other—it ended. Should tell him to leave, because this is dangerous, because your head is still foggy from the drinks, because if you let him any closer, you won’t be able to stop.

But you don’t. Not because you pity that he has nowhere to go. Because the truth is—You don’t want to stop him. And he knows it all too well.

“Say it,” he murmurs, voice low, demanding. “Say you didn’t wanna see me. Because I tried to kiss you”

“That’s not the truth”

“Then it was the old hag, trying to set you up with—” he cuts his words, growling at his own self

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Because you can’t say it. You can’t just casually say that you’re in love with him and everything that isn't him, hurts. Not when he’s right here, looking at you like this, like the space you desperately tried to put between you means nothing at all. Like he could burn straight through it if he wanted to.

The truth is, you wanted to protect his friendship with Izuku, you wanted to be nice, not mingle between them. And you were tired, oh so very tired when everyone, even his own mother would pester you about what they thought was best for you, like they knew better. Like you’d choose Izuku, or anyone to treat you right.

All you’ve ever wanted was to have Katsuki to yourself. Not stolen nights and neediness for sexual humanity. You want him to treat you right. You're so tired of pretending. You want him to want to fight for you. Grab you by your shoulders and smooch your lips like he’s trying to make you crazy. 

And then, like he can hear your inner thoughts he—

“Fuck this.”

Katsuki moves.

It’s not gentle. It’s not slow. It’s everything pent-up between you, everything unsaid, everything ignored for years too long. His hands are on you before you can process it—gripping your jaw, tilting your face up, his fingers rough and warm, holding you there like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

His breath fans across your lips. And he stops. Just for a second too long, he’s giving you a chance to pull away. Like he’s actually waiting, expecting for you to stop him.

You don’t stop him, you just utter “we shouldn’t” subconsciously hoping he’s going to deny your words.

“Says who? Us?”

You can’t even form a response to counter attack him. He's right. So when his lips finally crash into yours again, you meet him halfway.

It’s desperate. It’s unsteady. It’s Katsuki, and it’s you, and it’s four active years of history unraveling all at once.

His grip tightens, fingers sliding into your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp. He groans into your mouth, like he’s starving, like he’s been holding this back for too damn long and he’s finally letting himself have it.

You fist your hands into his hoodie, dragging him closer, and he follows without hesitation, pressing against you, against the bed, against everything.

It’s overwhelming. It’s intoxicating. It’s everything you shouldn’t want—everything you tried to leave behind—And it’s him. Your entire being aches for him.

Katsuki breaks away just enough to breathe, forehead pressing against yours, eyes half-lidded and burning vermillion.

“You’re a fuckin’ liar,” he rasps, voice wrecked, breath uneven. “‘We should be friends’ my ass”

You swallow hard, chest heaving.

“I know.”

And when you pull him back in, you're lost in him.

Lost in the heat, the weight, the impossible pull that’s been dragging you back to him thats been coiling in your belly since the moment he showed up at your door.

But even as you drown in the intensity of his kiss, a flash of thought, an assumption, cuts through the haze.

Katsuki’s fight with his mother wasn’t just about work. It was about you. About Izuku. And god, it hits you like a cold wave crashing over fire. And fuck, you’ve been wanting to avoid this.

You pull back slightly, breathless, eyes searching his. “Katsuki—”

He doesn’t let you go far. His hands grip your waist tighter, pulling you back in, but you manage to keep enough distance to meet his gaze. “What?” he asks, voice low, but there’s just an edge of impatience threading through it.

“Why you’re really here,” you say, voice trembling just a little. “It’s about Izuku, isn’t it?”

His expression hardens instantly, the fire in his eyes flickering dangerously. “What the hell does he have to do with this?”

Your heart races, the air between you now thick with so, so much tension. 

“You’re jealous” you blurt out, your pulse hammering in your ears.

Katsuki’s grip goes rigid, his expression darkening further, further, further until his eyes are the same dark color as his bruised cheekbone.

“Yes!!” You can’t help the edge of desperation in your voice. “Katsuki we’ve talked about this. We’re friends, you don’t get to claim me because Izuku—”

“Stop.” His voice is sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife and he kisses you then, because he doesn’t even fucking need to claim you, because you’ve been his. “We’re not friends” and a kiss is planted on your lips with the loudest smooching sound, as if he’s proving a point here “You don’t get to say his name right now.”

You stare at him, pulling back, only ever to land his forehead to yours, confusion mixing with frustration. “But Katsuki, you can’t just ignore it! You can’t pretend it doesn’t matter.”

“Pretend?” He pulls back, running a hand through his hair, frustration, unlike yours, etched on his face. “I’m not pretending. I’m fucking furious!”

“Why?” you challenge, heart racing. “Because you’re jealous?”

He flinches at the use of the word again, eyes flashing with something too raw and fierce to name “You don’t get it!” he growls, taking a step closer, invading your space again. “It’s not just that! It’s everything!”

“Then tell me!” you demand, feeling the heat rise between you, like the air is electrified. This time it’s you who traps his lips into your mouth “Tell me why you’re here, why you care so much.”

He hesitates, breathing heavily, and for a moment, you think he’s going to pull away again. But instead, he leans in, forehead pressing against yours, voice dropping to a whisper.

“Because I don’t want you to be with him.” Your lips… they brush “I can’t stand the thought of it.”

The admission hangs in the air, heavy and charged. Your heart races, and suddenly everything shifts in the snap of a second. You can see the truth behind his anger—the jealousy, the frustration, the need. It’s written all over your face too. Has been written all over your face for years.

“Then why did you fight with your mom?” you whisper. “Because she was trying to set us up?”

“Because she thinks I don’t care!” He pulls back again, hands tightening into fists. “And it’s bullshit! I came here for you, not him!”

The truth of his words washes over you, filling the cracks of doubt that had formed between you, like liquid gold on broken china. He’s here. He’s always been here, despite everything—despite the distance, the silence, the walls you put up.

“God, Katsuki,” you breathe, feeling the weight of it all crashing down on you now. It’s one thing to know he fought with his mother again and another to be explicitly told your name was involved in this fight “You didn’t have to come all the way to Tokyo. I’m not worth this fight.”

He takes another leap forward, and suddenly, he’s right in front of you, even when you don’t realise when he ever broke apart from your lips, chest heaving, eyes ablaze with emotion. “You’re wrong,” he murmurs, voice fierce. “You’re worth every damn fight. I want us to be together, normally. Not this fuck shit we’ve been doing”

And then, without warning, he crushes his lips to yours again, and this time it’s more than desperation. It’s raw and unfiltered—like he’s pouring everything he’s been holding back into this single moment that forms this kiss.

You melt against him, feeling the heat flare back to life, your body arching toward him instinctively. His hands roam over you, pulling you in, wrapping around you like he’s trying to keep you tethered to him.

It’s too much, too intense, and you know there’s no going back. Not now. Not when he’s fighting for you like this. With split lips and teeth.

When he pulls away this time, his eyes are dark and wild, breathless, and you can see the flicker of vulnerability beneath his anger. 

“I thought you didn’t want any commitment?” You accuse

“No babe, you didn’t want any commitment” he states, like it’s the truth.

“And when did I ever say that?”

“Back when I ate the fuck out of you on your couch. You said it’s weird”

You shake your head in disbelief, and even though you’re shocked by the lewdness you can feel your core clench ever so subtly by the remembrance of that night. 

“Weren’t you the one who wanted to be taught to do it to someone else? I had a big fat crush on you since high school. How was I supposed to trust that you wanted me and not my body after that?”

Katsuki stills.

His expression shifts—slightly, but enough for you to catch it. Like he’s just now realizing the weight of what you said. Like all the bravado, the jealousy, the impulsive drive across prefectures was a smokescreen to avoid this very conversation.

“That’s what you thought?” he says after a moment, voice quieter now, hoarse.

You swallow, suddenly unsure of what to make for what he said “You said you wanted practice. What was I supposed to think?”

He runs both hands through his hair, dragging them down his face like the weight of the past is finally pressing down hard on him. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuckin’ idiot.”

“Thanks,” you snap “Real comforting.”

“No—not you,” he growls, standing too, closing the gap between you in one long push. “Me.”

You stop breathing. He never, ever puts blame on you. Never.

And yet— He’s so close again, eyes burning, but this time not with anger; it’s regret. Fucking. Regret. Frustration that wants to claw out of his stomach. Something fragile that's breaking open behind his stare.

“You think I would ask anyone else for that?” he says. Voice low, deliberate. “You think I’d let anyone else teach me somethin’ that…intimate? You think I’ve ever had sex with anyone else other than you?”

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

“I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing back then,” he says. “I didn’t know how to ask for what I wanted. Didn’t even know I was already wantin’ you that bad until I had you like that. But you said it was weird and then we just—fucked off like it didn’t happen. Kept fucking too.”

“Katsuki…”

“I thought it meant nothin’ to you,” he says, and now his voice really does waver. “So I shut up. Pretended it meant nothin’ to me too. But it wasn’t just your body I wanted. I wanted all of you, and I didn’t know how to say it without screwin’ it up, because I’m an asshole and instead of speaking up I kept demanding you give me your body, when I just wanted the after. But I never stayed after. You never stayed after. You didn’t even talk about it with our friends or…anyone.”

Your heart stutters, a pulse of heat and ache tightening in your chest.

“I didn’t want anyone else. I still don’t. I want you.”

You don’t know who moves first this time—maybe it’s both of you—but suddenly you’re wrapped around each other like the world is tilting and this is the only steady thing left. His mouth finds yours again, slower now, like he’s asking instead of just fiercely taking. Like this kiss is a promise and not a question.

You break away only long enough to whisper against his lips, “Say it again.”

He presses his forehead to yours, breath shaky. “I want you.”

Your hands tremble where they rest against his chest, just softly keeping a distance between you. “Not just tonight? Or Fridays when I come to Musutafu? Or—”

Your words are taken out of your lungs with a kiss that feels like a punch to the gut. 

It’s a Delaware smash, the full press of his body on yours that you can’t help shake off. He kisses you like he’s starved, like he hasn’t been kissing you since you landed onto the bed to talk and you’re kissing him back like you haven’t kissed anyone before.

His teeth are clashing with yours, drool is everywhere on both your cheeks and you’re not even sure if it’s his, yours— you just want him to shove his tongue down your throat like it’s even humanly possible and fuck fuck fuck you could gargle him right now. Your hands are clawing his face onto yours like you can only breathe for air against his mouth and it’s only his lungs that make him pull away for air.

Panting. He’s panting like a dog and you can’t even think.

“No.” He says, kissing the corner of your mouth, hips grinding against yours, too desperate for friction. Something, anything to slow down the fire that's consuming both of you right now.

His eyes meet yours, full of fire and something that looks such an awful, painful lot like devotion. 

“I want” he kisses your chin, then the base of your ear. It seems like an eternity away from your mouth and still, your hero manages to save your lonely mouth in time “All” kiss “the fucking” kiss “nights.”

You don’t know who moves first—maybe it’s him, maybe it’s you—but there’s a blur of movement, and suddenly you’re underneath him, wrapped around him, mouths colliding like something violent and utterly holy. There’s nothing slow about it now. No build-up. Just heat, frantic and immediate.

He kisses you like you’re air and he’s drowning. Like this is survival, and nothing else matters. His mouth crushes yours, open and messy, tongue sliding over your teeth, sucking your bottom lip between his like he’s trying to bruise it there—brand you. You gasp into him, and it only eggs him on. He groans low in his throat, grinding his hips against yours like he can’t fucking help it and shoves his tongue in your mouth, the same time you try to do it to him yourself.

Your fingers claw into his hair, yanking, anchoring him to your mouth like if you pull hard enough, you can fuse your mouths together. He answers with his own hands—rough, searching, greedy. Palming your hips, tugging the hem of your dress up halfway before abandoning the fabric altogether to shove a hand under it, scorching skin and all.

His fingers dig into your thighs like they want to draw blood and your back arches, hips digging into the mattress but he just won’t allow that. One big palm scoops under your ass and bucks you upwards. You clench as he furiously shoves the skirt of your dress out of the way and grinds into you with absolutely zero grace.

You don’t even want to look at how his sweatpants look after being in contact with what you know are your wet, ruined panties.

You can’t tell whose breath is whose, whose spit, whose moan. It’s a mess—wet, frantic, teeth bumping and lips bruising but clothes shift, slide and disappear, discarded onto the floor of your apartment in a pile, exposing skin you never meant to expose just yet but you don’t care. Couldn’t care less if anyone asks you.

And that’s about how you end up in your underwear. Katsuki’s tongue licks into your mouth like he’s trying to carve space for himself there and there’s no time to think of a next move anymore. There’s no name being called out— no words. You’re clawing at his shoulders, his jaw, his neck, like maybe if you hold him tight enough you’ll convince yourself that you’re not just dreaming of this right now.

He kisses you hard enough to make your lip sting, and when he pulls back just a fraction to breathe, his pupils are blown wide, eyes glazed over with something that borders on animalistic. His forehead drops to yours, but he doesn’t slow down—his hand cups your jaw, guiding your mouth back to his like he’s addicted to your sweet taste.

Your legs wrap around his waist without thinking, because you're so desperate for more. Core aching and your clit is fucking twitching like if he doesn’t touch it immediately you’ll drop dead. So you buck into him, into his furiously throbbing cock and he twitches, flinches into your mouth.

And then he bites. Not hard enough to break skin—but it’s not gentle either. He sinks his teeth into the curve of your jaw, then your shoulder, lips trailing open-mouthed, feverish kisses in between each graze of teeth. You cry out—more shock than pain—and he smirks against your neck, lips curling before he goes back in and sucks hard, dragging the edge of his teeth over your collarbone until your whole body shudders.

You bite him back. Shoulder. Neck. Jaw. Ears. Whatever you can reach.

Then, finally, you push him back, using all the hero strength that's still left in you that's just enough to climb over him, so that you can free him from the prison that his boxers are.

His dick springs free, bouncing on his abdomen with a loud thud, boxers still hanging over his thighs as you glide onto him once. Your panties are so wet that they might as well not exist. He can feel every bit of your folds onto his tip as you grind onto him again.

“F-fuck”

He groans, low in his throat, like the sound’s been buried in him for years. He grabs your chin as if you're some villain he wants to take completely off the map and kisses you again—deeper this time, tongue stroking against yours, hands sliding down your sides, gripping your hips with just enough pressure to make your knees go soft. 

Katsuki’s hands slide over your breasts, squeezing impossibly hard, to the point it hurts so good that you have to cling onto him for leverage.

He makes a move to unclasp your bra, but he pulls down the straps first, too desperate even for that little part of skin that they hide and then he pops it open from your back. Like a maniac, he tosses it in a corner far, far away and manages to cup your breasts before they even manage to bounce. One hand slides down your back and you groan, for a second, before he latches onto your collarbone, your chest; biting, sucking, bleeding your skin. 

You have to grasp his head and pop your nipple into his mouth and he follows you ferally, one hand gnawing the plush skin of your ass through your panties, rushing you, bucking you onto him feverishly.

You kiss the top of his head once, twice, but he doesn’t seem to want to let go and so you force him, pushing him back with brute force until his back collides with the bed and you’re kissing all over his chest. All over the scar on his heart, the one on his stomach, over and over until there’s no place on his abdomen you haven’t put your mouth on, before you even dare reach for his cock.

Drool catches at the side of your lip at the sight of his dick, red and puffy at the tip, twitching in your fist as you hammer it twice in an up and down motion. 

Katsuki’s hands tangle in the bangs of your hair and his breathing catches—it pauses for a second and his heart skips a beat and dips when you take him into your mouth, giving him one hard and slow long suck till his tip smacks the back of your throat. 

“Love y’r cock” you slur, mouth still placing hot, smooching, kisses all over his tip.

He squirms when you pull back, eyes slant, with determination as you look at him, grind down on his leg and spit on his cock, shaking the base just enough for the glob of saliva to start dripping down his length. You aim for his balls next, sucking them into your mouth, licking them too, while you’re pumping him in a hammering motion, until your spit drips into the crooks of your fingers—so wet, that when you go to flip the slit of his tip with your thumb he slips right off your grip and his cock slaps over your face.

Katsuki watches you ferally, eyes blown out staring into yours, hips bucking in the air as his dick stays glued to your face, precum running in rivers, mixing with your spit. It’s impossible to hold still, or hold back from cumming just yet. You work him like you want him to cry for it. Hammering strokes beneath your lips, your tongue drawing lewd patterns around the base, then up—up—until you’re choking again, wet sounds echoing in the room like sin.

But you push forward, parting from his balls, you grab his cock again and smear the tip over your glossed out lips like it’s fucking lips gloss, before popping him into your mouth again. 

He screams. Screams, when your tongue runs over the veins of his dick, over his slit, even the crevices of and under his foreskin while occasionally giving him the meanest suck, just so he reaches the top of your throat. 

You hammer one hand in swirling motions right under your mouth and you don’t even know if you’re sucking, licking, you just know that he’s squirming and muttering prayers that no god wants to hear. Grabbing the covers, then your head; his legs are twitching, holding you in place like this is a fight, like you can’t just do all that and not expect him to grab you by the top of your hair and kiss you.

You don’t even breathe, you’ve forgotten how to by now, and even if you're kissing him there’s still a sticky string of precum that runs from his cock to your lips that he tastes and it does wonders to make him go absolutely feral.

He pulls you back, just so you can catch your breath as he runs his hands over your nipples and pulls, until he shoves you down again, smearing your face over his face, his abs, and pops his cock sleazily into your mouth until he’s bottoming out.

Your eyes tear up and you choke momentarily. Your roots hurt from how rough he’s gripping you. And you are sleazy too, when you grab his balls, fiddling your thumb to press on the spot right under them.

Just when you think you’re winning this battle, with the rhythm of his thrusts in your throat and your licking on the underside of his cock, he pulls you away and brings you to his lips again.

Everything on the skin of his abdomen is ruined by your spit and drool and it’s just so so hot at the sight that you moan about it.

When you kiss, Katsuki groans at his taste, at the loss of your mouth on him, and the air in the room makes his wet cock hurt from how hard it is.

You don’t even manage to realise when he has you sat on his chest, panties ripped and torn off completely, thrown carelessly across the room, but he’s trying to slide you towards his face. With the buck of his hips, his knees and then finally, his hands grab your hips and sprawls you right onto his collarbones.

Katsuki’s fingers itch across your thighs, thumbs massaging the plum skin as he glides them—both of them— over your folds. Opening you right up, to shove a finger inside you, twisting it as you hiss and pulling it out, sleeky gooey string attached and all, and into his mouth, moaning around his finger, slurping it, swirling it around his tongue.

Your pussy is drooling even more at the action, your clit twitching again as he moans at your taste. You don’t dare to move, just back your ass further up, until your whole pussy is spread open in his face. 

You’ve got no shame, not a single shameful bone in you as you try to shove his head onto you. And the worst part is, he’s not even pretending to be patient. With his big hands around your thighs, he pulls you forward until your pussy is hovering over his mouth, thighs trembling, folds spread and dripping onto his chin before he’s even touched you.

Your hands spread across him; on on his cock to pump it lazily—keep him hard for you, while the other tries to fight for leverage onto the bed.

For a moment, only one phrase escapes him. “Your pussy’s so fucking wet f’me baby”

And then, another “friends, my ass” right before he dives in you.

He sticks his tongue out, licking from your poor drooling hole to your clit then swirling around it, drawing soft eights with every little swirl.

You moan all the indecent ‘fucks’ in the whole world when he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks—swirls his hot tongue around again now that he’s got you trapped like this.

You can’t move your body on command, just buck your hips into his mouth in desperation as his thumb comes to push the hood of your clit back, tapping it towards his tongue as he licks and licks away, alternating between kitten licks and soft tongue movements like you’ve taught him.

Katsuki flips the top of his tongue relentlessly on your clit and you’re pouring sinful wetness onto his lips, his face, down his neck. It’s like you’ve never been this wet in your entire life.

And his face, oh his face, sweet and hazy, eyes staring right into yours as he’s devouring your honey tasting pussy. His upper lip twitches, setting comfortably over the hood of your clit, over your puffy folds and you make a sound that’s similar to screeching, being drunk, sunk into how he can look so hellishly pretty while eating you out.

You tell him your piece of mind— only because there’s no fucking point in keeping it in “I love how y’r upper lip is bigger, fffuck”

Fuck, you want to be the one to get to fuck his face like this forever.

His tongue moves with the kind of precision that comes from obsession, from memorization. He knows your body, every twitch, every gasp. He maps it again and again with his mouth like he hasn’t eaten you out since that December night four years ago.

The way he moans into you sounds like he’s starving. The way his hands, his thick fingers dig into your thighs to keep you spread wide, trembling above him. It’s messy, it’s obscene, it’s exactly what’s why you are so drunk on him.

You rock your hips forward again, his nose pressing against your clit just right. His eyes flutter, lashes wet, lips swollen, and the sound he makes; needy, helpless is enough to send a fresh wave of slick rolling down his chin.

And just when you get frenzied about it he pulls back to breathe. 

You whine— you want his tongue on you until he chokes. Yet, you settle for two of his fingers running up the sides of your swollen folds, the tips giving you a soft rub.

His cheek softly grazes your thigh, his lips parted ever so slightly before diving back in ever so sweetly. He doesn’t suck this time. He just licks, short kitten flicks of his tongue across your clit and moans, face contorting into an almost painful expression when your thighs start trembling. Like he’s trying to tell you that he knows. Knows how good he’s making you feel.

But when he tries to tease your entrance with a finger again, you groan animalistically. All the pent up fuel in the depths of your tummy bursts and yet you have no control of it. You're only encouraged to ride it out, by Katsuki’s hands slapping and grabbing your ass, making you ride his face until you’re breathless, twitching and he’s making lewd slurping and moaning sounds at your taste.

Your whole body convulses in spasms, back bowed, voice raw as you scream his name.

He holds you through it, gentle now. Reverent. He kisses your thighs, your trembling hips, the skin just above your clit like he’s giving thanks.

It takes one look into his eyes for him to grab you, flip you, tousle you into the mattress. His lips find your own desperately, wet with your juices and you spend so agonisingly long kissing him, tasting yourself, grinding your chin to his.

It’s a mess. Sloppy and slow. Lips sliding, tongues tangling, your taste smeared between his jaw and yours. You moan into it, overwhelmed from the unbearable tenderness in the way he holds your face like he can’t believe you’re real.

You don’t even know where his hands go first. It’s all a blur—your hair, your neck, your chest, like he needs to touch every inch of you to remind himself you’re his. His body slots over yours, big and bruised and burning, hips cradled between your thighs like they were made for him.

And when his oozing tip lines up with your fluttering entrance, sliding twice across your slit to catch some more wetness, your hands run down his back, fingernails crawl into his skin.

But oh, oh when he bullies his fat tip into you and he hisses, when his jaw goes slack and you suck and bite down his chin, everything in both your bodies goes absolutely numb.

It’s such a blur what he does after he bottoms out completely. One moment he’s sinking his teeth into your chin too, hard enough to draw blood, he pants, his hips stutter into yours. Your palm goes to shove his face into the space where your shoulder meets your neck, away from your face because it fucking hurts to be bitten down like that. And yet it does nothing to calm him or you down. He just turns his head and bites your palm, your fingers.

It looks like a physical fight. Like those sick and twisted sex orientated hipster films that you can’t get through without cringing. You’ve never thought you’d have this type of sex in your entire life.

And fuck it, you can’t stay stil.

The position isn't going to work if you don’t stay still but you can’t– you can’t just do that and fuck—he ducks down, licks a strip across your whole chest before wrapping his lips around one of your nipples and bites. How can you ever stay still after this?

His hand comes to wrap around your throat to keep you down, keep you in place so he can continue kissing you. His tongue fights inside every crevice of your mouth so hard that you could just choke on his own drool.

Katsuki picks up his pace and the sound of skin slapping on wet skin is so loud, louder than your screams as his tip kisses all the way to your cervix. And at the feeling he chokes—fucks into you even rougher than before.

Your voice has officially died in your throat amidst being violently thrusted in. You’re in the most delirious state as you cling onto Katsuki for dear life, legs securely trapping him against you, coaxing him to keep thrusting and never stop.

His cock feels delicious inside you; every thrust, every catch of his veins on your stupidly tight cunt as it flutters around him and sucks him feels like pure torture. You try to buck into him too, with a broken rhythm and a stutter of your own hips as your back arches and your hips lift off the bed.

It’s then that Katsuki decides that this body to body battle can be no more. He needs to win.

Rough calloused hands grip on your prone bone with the intention to fucking bruise, slamming you into the bed with brute force, then pressing your stomach down. Down, down, down and in, till his thumb catches your twitching clit and flicks.

He’s fast, rough; hands prying your legs open, grabbing you by the calves and pushing them over his head. Your knees almost touch your ears.

You don’t break eye contact, not even for a second, you don't whine, don’t beg, you just sit there and take it. The impossibly rough rhythm of his hips as his cock completely dives into your pussy.

And you throb, fucking hell you throb around him, so insanely tight for his cock, milking him of any precum that dares spill out of his slit. His chest bumps into yours, making him groan.

You feel so, so good around him that he gets careless with his thrusting, one second he's pistoning inside you and the next he’s slamming you down on the creaking bed so hard that you’re sure you are going to break it in two.

But oh holy fuck, this mating press has you delusional, delirious, your brain is fucked by your own lust and at this breaking point, your words slur out of you, like you can’t keep them inside anymore.

“I’ll quit my job for you” you scream, voice so broken “I’ll be a housewife, in the fucking kitchen Kats-Katsuki”

“The fuck ya-ah saying?”

“‘ll be in the kitchen, cleaning, anything, anything, i’ll quit my fucking job, ill quit it, i swear. fah- for- you.”

“You don’t mean that,” he grits out, voice wrecked, like he’s dragging the sentence through gravel. His hips stutter, grind deeper. “Sayin’ that shit when I got you like this—fuck—you don’t mean it.”

But you do.

You do, and that’s the worst part. Your voice is ugly with honesty, cracked and too loud, tears mixing with sweat and spit. “I’ll do anything. I don’t want anyone else looking at me—I don’t want you looking at anyone else—I’ll be yours, forever, Katsuki.”

His name breaks in your throat like a sob, and he snarls something unintelligible, grabbing your thigh so hard you swear it bruises. He slams back into you, like he can fuck the insanity out of you—or worse, like he’s trying to carve his name so deep into you that you never say anything like that to anyone else.

Not Izuku, not fucking Shindou from all those years ago, but him.

Him. Him. Him

“You’re not thinkin’ straight,” he spits, but his voice is ragged, strained—like maybe he’s the one who’s delirious, like his belly is even more white and hot with lust than yours. “You say that again—I’ll fuckin’ take you up on it. I swear to god. Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”

But you’re gone. Your body’s shaking, your fingers clawing at his big, strong arms like you’ll float away if you don’t anchor yourself to him.

“I m-mean it. ‘Be in the k-kitchen cooking and shit–shit, just d-don’t leave me.”

“M fucking you out of your brain—shit”

You kiss him, whining your hips against him as he hammers inside you.

Katsuki growls into your mouth like you’ve just punched him in the ribs—like your kiss stole the last of his breath. He doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t even hesitate.

He kisses you back like a man possessed.

Teeth and tongue and heat—like he’s trying to shove everything he’s never said down your throat, until your lungs burn with it. Like if he keeps kissing you, he won’t have to say anything at all.

But your words won’t stop echoing. ‘Just don’t leave me’

And something in him cracks.

“Fuck,” he mutters against your lips, over and over again. “Fuck—fuck, baby—fuck.”

His rhythm turns punishing, relentless, like he’s trying to prove something to both of you. Like he’s desperate to make you understand what he can’t put into words—how long he’s wanted this. Wanted you. Not just under him. Not just screaming his name.

But yours.

“Don’t say that if you don’t fuckin’ mean it,” he says again, but softer this time, like the words are slipping out from under a rib cracked open. “I’ll ruin you. You get that?”

You nod, tears slipping down your cheeks, open and honest and raw. “I love you. I’d—ah do anything for you”

Katsuki freezes. His hand slides up your body—calloused fingers around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, like he’s anchoring himself to your heartbeat. Like the feeling of your heartbeat catching through his chest is enough to ruin him.

A growl rips out of him—real, animalistic, guttural. His whole weight crashes into you, and you don’t know if you’re being worshiped or punished by the mean drilling of his cock inside you, but either way, you’re not walking tomorrow.

Maybe that’s exactly what you want. Maybe this is how you end up spent, bent in literal two chasing friction on your clit by bumping it into his pelvis until your legs go numb and the voice is fucking finally back in your throat.

“I love you too” he whines and that’s probably it. You could die so happy right now.

Your heart skips several beats. You cum so hard there’s an echo ringing in your ears.

And then, without a single voice of warning Katsuki cums too, deep inside you, yelping a broken yearning scream of your name and his lips find your mouth and catch your lips in a sloppy, lazy kiss as he paints your walls white with sticky cum. And you take it upon you to not have him pull out.

He ruts into you so slowly, riding down his and your orgasm into overstimulation but even more he doesn’t want to pull out yet—cock still throbbing and angry, eyes not even catching the cracks of sunlight that peak through the cracks of your windows.

You moan from the depths of your throat, pussy twitching around him, only ever making an effort to wrap your hands around his neck and pull him in for a kiss. But your faces are so wet with spit you slip against his face, catching his nose.

Without a care in the whole world, you kiss there and pull back slightly when he cups your chin, softly.

He shoots you a look of desperation. No smile, no teeth showing.

There’s sweat dripping down his hair onto his face and he’s flushed and red, like he got a rash. One hand keeps him steady on the bed as the other comes to wipe his face then your own.

His palm is huge, engulfing your whole face and shaking it left and right; you peak with the cracks of his fingers how he sucks his lips into his mouth and scrunches his nose in a fucked out pleasured expression. One finger slips in slow motion after another tracing your lips, taking a swirl inside your mouth.

The next shift in positions is insane. Slow and deliberate. You're still both trying to catch a breath as his right leg comes over your hips—one hand sliding under your back to press you impossibly closer, like he could slip into your skin if you’d just let him and your right leg crosses over his left one.

His hands work you onto him, marking new bruises over your hips.

And by now, his heart might as well not exist anymore. It’s beating so loud, so incredibly loud that he can’t even hear it in his ears anymore.

Your pussy clenches around him again—soaked, raw, dripping with both of you—and it makes him twitch, makes him groan from somewhere in his chest like the sound’s been buried there for years. Katsuki’s cock is still hard. Not as wild and frenzied as before, but still heavy, throbbing, stubborn.

Still deep inside you. Still not done.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, voice shot, like gravel soaked in whiskey. “You’re still squeezin’ me like that—what the fuck, baby…”

You can’t speak. You just whimper, a hot, wrecked sound from your throat as your hips hitch up against him, begging without words. It’s obscene, the squelch of him sliding just barely out and back in. Every inch still drags, still catches on that swollen, desperate spot inside you that screams for more.

“Don’t want you in the f-fucking kitchen” he slurs “want you in the fucking bed, like this”

His hand tightens on your hip, the other sliding between you again, like he can’t stand not having you come apart. Like one orgasm wasn’t enough. Like the words you both said—I love you—weren’t enough.

And maybe they weren’t. Maybe he needs to carve it into you with every thrust, every drag of his thumb over your clit, every bite of his teeth against your jaw that makes your skin and muscles fuzzy and numb.

“Gonna make you come again,” he growls, low and brutal, grinding into you now with short, controlled thrusts. Purposeful. Focused. His eyes are locked on yours, and he’s breathing hard through his nose like he’s holding himself back from going feral all over again. “Not stoppin’ till you’re fuckin’ ruined.”

You nod frantically, mouth parted, spit-slick and needy. “Please,” you gasp, pleading with him from the depths of your chest. “Katsuki, please, just—keep going, don’t stop, don’t stop—”

He doesn’t. Acting purely out of command.

He fucks you slow, deliberate, deep enough that your legs tremble with every stroke. The kind of fucking that hurts because it means something. Because he’s not just chasing a high anymore.

With the way one of his hands comes to brush some hair away from your face, you know—He’s staking a claim.

Every time he presses in, your bodies meet in a mess of sweat and slick, skin slapping wet and rough, his name slipping out of your mouth in shattered moans. His fingers work your clit in tight, fast circles, and the pressure builds again like a scream that tries to claw under your skin.

You sob, arching into him like your body’s trying to climb him, even the underside of your ass claps on his skin in this interlinked position “I c-can’t—it’s too—Katsuki, I’m—”

“I know, baby,” he pants, pressing his forehead to yours. “S too much. Can’t fucking stop”

You come again, harder than the preview ones, body locking around him like a venus trap. Your pussy pulses around his cock, gushing, making a filthy, sticky mess between your thighs that he can feel and hear. His whole body jerks and then—

“Shit—fuck, fuck—you’re fucking mine,” he snarls, voice breaking, and then he’s coming again. For the second time. It’s almost too much—his cock twitching, spilling hot and thick rivers of sticky cum deep inside you again, his face buried in your neck as he growls out your name like it’s the only word he’s ever known.

You both stay there, locked together, shaking. Cum oozing from your entrance down your ass and to the bed.

You don’t even know how long it’s been. Minutes. Hours. Maybe days. Time doesn’t exist in this bed. In this room. In this reality. 

In this body, Katsuki is feeling his heart pulse and palp in shapes of your name that are unknown to man and he wants to fade into you.

In this body you’re ruined and claimed and filled over and over again and your head has turned into a juice that imitates the color of Katsuki’s eyes and tastes like the scar on his shoulder.

Katsuki’s cock is still inside you. Hard, twitching, moving just enough to make you so crazy that you come to your senses. His hips have slowed to these small, deep thrusts—so slow that it’s torture. Not enough friction but too much stretch. Every inch of you aches, your clit swollen and slick, your poor, glistening pussy so wet and fucked-through it makes the filthiest squelching sounds with every little roll of his hips.

But you can’t stop.

Neither of you can stop.

You’re not even kissing anymore—just breathing into each other’s mouths. Lips brushing, open and parted, exhaling into shared heat. His forehead rests against yours, heavy and damp, and his hand never left your thigh. It’s still holding you open, forcing you to take him deeper than deep.

You can feel everything. Every vein, every twitch, every beat of his heart in his cock as he pulses inside you like he belongs there.

“Still f-fuckin’ wet,” he mutters, voice hoarse and dazed like he’s been punched in the throat. “Still suckin’ me in. Baby, you’re—fuck—you’re–”

You’re ruined. Fucked open. Body raw and strung out and still begging for more. You can feel his cum leaking out around his cock, sticky and hot, smeared across your thighs and drying on your sheets. It’s everywhere. He’s everywhere.

You sob his name, voice soft and fucked-out, and it makes him moan—deep and wrecked.

He kisses you, finally. Sloppy and wet. Tongue barely moving, just licking into your mouth like he’s tasting how far gone you are. He’s addicted to it.

“Gonna come again,” you whisper, almost shocked. “Katsuki, I—fuck—I c-can’t—”

“You can,” he breathes against your lips. “You’re g-gonna.” he struggles “Just keep takin’ it, baby. Just—fuck—keep lettin’ me feel you.”

You bite your lip even though you’re trembling. Every nerve ending is fried. You are so fucking cock drunk. Your body is all sensation and no thought. He was right. He literally fucked your brain out of you.

He presses his palm to your lower stomach, right where his cock is, and you wail—a helpless, broken sound as your pussy clamps around him so tight he almost chokes on a moan.

“That’s it,” he groans, like he’s in pain. “Feel me right here? I’m in so fuckin’ deep, baby. Gonna make you cum just from this. Don’t even need to touch you.”

You don’t. You really, really don’t.

Your body is curling in on itself, trembling as heat coils deep inside you again, sharp and unbearable. Your legs kick, your hands scrabble weakly at his back. You’re so close it feels like dying.

“Katsuki,” you sob. “Katsuki, I’m—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“Cum?” he whispers, and it’s not a command. It’s a plea. A desperate beg. “Please…. Cum for me, baby. Do it. I need it—need to feel you lose it on my cock again. Pleasepleaseplease.”

That breaks you like a stick. You fall apart around him with a scream muffled against his throat, your cunt spasming so hard it forces a choked cry out of him. His name—your name—it all blurs together in the wet heat between you as you tremble and clench and throb.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t dare stop, not even for a second.

He keeps fucking you through it, fucking you into it, and your body jerks with every aftershock as you sob and shake and whimper his name like a prayer.

And then—like his body was just waiting for yours, he groans. Deep, guttural whining, teeth bared as his hips slam into you one last time before he spills.

He cums so hard his eyes go blind for a moment and his head is dizzy. His whole body locks, muscles taut as a bowstring, and he makes this noise—half growl, half gasp, some more of a cracked whine—as he paints your walls milky white again, cock pulsing deep inside your soaking cunt.

You can feel every spurt. Every thick, hot rope. It’s too much. It’s perfect. You are so perfectly full.

He slumps over you, shuddering, burying his face in your neck as he moans through the overstimulation. And still, he doesn’t pull out.

Katsuki just stays there. Wrapped around you. Still twitching. Still inside. Still trying to catch his breath against the sweat-slick skin of your throat.

You’re both wrecked. Sticky and sore and trembling. But neither of you speak. Not yet. Not while your bodies are still knotted together, still connected, still pulsing with afterglow.

His hand finds yours, fingers lacing. He brings them to his mouth and kisses them, slow and reverent. Katsuki exhales something soft against your collarbone—maybe your name, maybe just a broken breath—and his body finally gives out.

He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t clean up. Doesn’t even bat an eyelid.

He just presses his forehead to yours, eyes shut tight, lashes tickling your skin, chest rising and falling against your tits as he holds your hips and fucks you through it—one slow, filthy stroke at a time. The wet sounds between your bodies are soft, slick and eternally endless.

You’re crying again. Maybe? You even don’t know when you first cried. But he kisses every salty tear away like it’s holy. And even as your thighs start to shake and your breath starts to hitch and the wave builds again, neither of you speak.

The two of you are fucking against each other in an almost commatose state, drool spilling from your mouth and into the bed, eyes rolled to the back of your head and your back slack and arched. Katsuki doesn’t even have enough strength to hold you anymore. He just fucks his dick inside you in slow ruts even if his tip is twitching in anger by his sleepiness.

Drool is starting to drop to the corner of his mouth too, his eyes are beginning to lose color, his eyelids are so heavy with sleep, tiredness. Fuck its too much.

Katsuki collapses on top of you, heavy and warm and still buried so deep inside you it feels like he might stay there forever. And you’ll just let him.

Your arms circle his shoulders, fingertips barely twitching with the last flickers of energy left in your limbs. Your legs are still hooked over his hips, limp and useless. You’re leaking his cum, sore everywhere, and there’s a wet sound when he shifts slightly—but it doesn’t matter.

He’s still here. He’s still inside. Still yours. And you, still his. Neither of you say it, but the silence is a language all on its own.

Your eyes fall closed. His breathing slows against your throat. And mingled together, like animals too worn out to do anything but cling to warmth— you both pass out.

There’s no real moment where you wake up.

You just drift—lifted from one depth to another, from heat to haze. The sky outside the window glows a soft slate blue, bleeding into pale grey, barely beginning to kiss the edges of the room, but it’s violent against your eyes. Your tiny apartment—It’s still, warm with yours and Katsuki’s shared body heat, and quiet.

Katsuki’s chest rises and falls against yours, a soft rhythm. His hand’s still on your hip, where it must’ve landed in the mess of sleep. Your legs are tangled. Your sheets are crumpled and damp and clinging. The air smells like sex, sweat, and skin.

You shift just slightly, groaning low under your breath, thighs slick, sticky and sore. You feel Katsuki immediately. Still half-hard where he rests inside you, not fully softened even in sleep, kept in place by the swollen aftermath of everything you gave each other a while ago.

You can’t help it. You tighten. It’s that kind of soft little squeeze. A twitch. Reflexive and curious. Not quite conscious. And it earns you a sleepy sound from him that makes you go still.

A low, throaty grunt from the depths of his chest.

He stirs. His hand tightens around your hip. And then, slowly, he rolls into you. A lazy, wet grind that drags his cock deeper and makes your eyes flutter shut, heavy with sleep still.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice so wrecked it’s hardly a word. His breath fans against your cheek. How the fuck did he even wake up by just you clenching around him? “You’re still fuckin’ warm.”

You can’t answer. You can barely think. All you can do is exhale his name like a secret. He honestly doesn’t even need more.

Because then he starts moving—no urgency, no rhythm. Just slow, shallow thrusts once in a while. Rolling his hips with a low growl every time your body flutters around him. He kisses your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. Not with heat this time. With that shallow laziness of sleep or lack thereof.

Katsuki is so sleepy, his face is pouty with tiredness, making that silly expression where jaw nunches and his lower lip pokes out. His eyes are so heavy, everything weighs down on him.

The late night villain, the fight with his mother, the drive to Tokyo in half the time of what he should have done it. The way he just can't stop acting with his dick.

His knees hurt so bad by his lack of sleep and his eyes are so so heavy, maybe he could sleep for a second right now, juuuust rest his eyes.

Through your sleepy eyes and lips, you moan softly into his mouth, your body opening to him all over again. He licks into you, tongue warm and slow. One of his hands slides down to your thigh, hooking it up and over his waist, and then he’s rutting into you just a little harder. Still sleepy. Still extremely slow. But so deep you feel him in your ribs.

Your fingers curl into his hair. Nails scratching through his scalp soothingly and a little snore comes out his softly parted lips. You feel so soft, so cuddly, so, so, so nice.

So warm, so–

His head falls slack to the crook of your neck again. You hold him close. Let the ache build again, dulled by sleep and softened by something much more gentler now.

“I love you,” he slurs against your neck, trying to suck in some of the drool that slides from his lips. Like it’s a confession made to the dark, to your skin, to your pulse. “Shit, baby—I love you so fuckin’ much.”

“Love yah too” you snort, nuzzling into his hair, cheek pressed to his wet tufts of blond hair.

And when you come again, wrung out and trembling only slightly, he follows seconds later, shooting blanks inside of you. Buried deep. Held tight. Eyes shut. Falling in and out of sleep. Chest pressed to yours like he’d die if he let you go.

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work.

Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated equally

Taglist: @littlebignoona @cielito--lindo @hopingforgoodblogs @sexylexy12 @bestyouveevermet @dreamingoftomorrow @2elusional @meeeepsworld @psicotropicwanderlust @katsucookies @xxkay15xx @drabby-abby @ryuucollapse @jennatollsthings @ihatethis222 @katsukiswifeyy @gethexxed @leaario

pssssst, there will be a bonus small part 4, let me know if you want to be tagged but please make sure your age is stated in your bio or pinned post! thnak you so much for reading!

Let me know your thoughts on this- you can even ask in universe questions for clarification!

byeeeee <3

[aingeal98]

AU where instead of going back to Gotham after the end of her og Batgirl series Cass instead vanishes on a quest to revive Steph from the dead. Because she's died twice and been revived, which means everyone else in the world deserves at least two do overs as well.

Bruce panicks and represses, Babs openly panicks and freaks out, Tim is... Not fine but doing better than the other two, because Cass texted him about it before dropping off the face of the earth, basically letting him know she was going to try and bring Steph back from the dead and asking him if he could look after her rose in the manor. A second text came in ten minutes after that informing him that the rose's name is Bob.

So Cass, like in canon, ends up taking over the League for a bit. Only this time she's doing it to learn more about resurrection. She doesn't kill Nyssa, but she does fake her death in front of Talia, because she can clearly see that something isn't right. Cue Nyssa being locked up, Cass trying to figure out how to unbrainwash Talia, and Damian meeting his future sister absolutely disgusted that someone is daring to usurp his birthright.

Cass: Oh I don't actually want this job, no worries. But uh... You're Batman's son, yes? I will be taking that job later. Sorry.

So Cass uses the League's resources to find out ways to bring Steph back, while also turning the organisation into an entirely nonlethal operation. They do some good work, she's not willing to throw them all out. They're wounded damaged assassins, of course she's going to look at them and go "I can fix them."

She eventually tracks down a device that can warp reality, (personally I'm thinking a Kheran Dream Engine, because Cass would listen to the warnings of it possessing you and the only way to get free being torture and death and be like nice. Let's give it a shot) and uses it to rewrite the universe so that Steph was just recovering with Leslie, undoes Talia's brainwashing fully, and also makes it so that Bludhaven never got nuked. She tells no one that she's planning this of course, so it ends up being a very emotional and confusing day for Leslie and Dick.

She then buries the device in the middle of nowhere. Because wayyyy too much power. Heads back to the League where she gets Talia to torture her to death and then drop her in the Pit so that she's free from the influence of the reality warping device. This is not a pleasant experience for either of them. Damian tries to watch and Talia uses her mom voice for the first time ever to tell him absolutely fucking not.

It works in the end. Talia offers to take the League back from Cass but Cass can tell her heart's not in it and is like nah. You go do your own antihero espionage stuff, you deserve it. And Talia's like that sounds wonderful but what about Damian?

And that's how exactly a year and a half after cutting all contact, Cassandra Wayne, The One Who Is All, head of the League of Assassins, comes strolling into a Wayne gala with Stephanie Brown on her left, Talia Al Ghul on her right and Bruce's unknown biological son in front of her.

Bruce shatters his champagne glass. Babs drops hers on the ground. Tim passes out and Dick is in too much shock to catch him.

"Hi." Cass grins. "I'm home."

[whambamsami]

private show pt.2

summary: what happens in the private showroom, stays in the private showroom...stripper!bucky pt.2

pt. 1

warnings: 18+ language, alcohol, almost smut! i promise theyre gonna fuck like bunnies in the next part of this lmao

note: if this doesnt flow super well im sorry, i didnt proofread and i did rush it a bit! i also dont totally understand how tag lists work so forgive me if i messed that up too haha, small chance i delete this and try to make it a bit cleaner!

taglist!: @sebastians-love @marianastudiesart @bowscale @staley83 @opheliabbarnes @hhyukasworld @unicornqueen05 @defn0tonyourleft <3

If the bouncer noticed your nerves, he didn’t let on. He just pulled back the plush red curtain and waved you in. 

You stepped inside before you could decide against it. 

The door shuts with a soft click.

The room smells like leather and cologne. Dim lights flicker warm over plush velvet seating. Your heart’s pounding in your chest. And you’re frozen where you stand.

Because in the center of the room, the man you’d seen on the stage was leaning against a pole, shirtless now, glistening faintly in the warm, low light. One silver chain resting against his collarbone, made of the same metal that made up his left arm. Tattoos dotted his chest and abs, thin black ink delicately drawing your eyes lower. A dangerous smirk on his lips. 

Bucky, they had said his name was.

Wonder if that was his real name.

“Oh.” You breathed.

His smirk turned wolfish. 

“So you’re the girlfriend,” he said, voice low and deep as he stepped closer. “Didn’t expect you to say yes.”

“...And if I had said no?” 

“Then I guess I would have had to come out there and ask in person,” he said, eyes raking over you. “And that could’ve gotten messy.”

You sputter just for a second before catching yourself.

“I- yeah. Thanks for the rescue. I really appreciate it.”

He tilted his head. “The rescue?” 

“Yeah. Saved me from my asshole boyfriend and his gross friends. I owe you.”

That made him pause for a beat. Considering. Calculating. 

Then he’s back in control like nothing happened.

“Is that what you think this is?” he smiled gently, stepping even closer.

You blink. “Um. Yeah? You got me away from Nick and made him look like a jackass. Not exactly a hard thing to do, but still-credit where credit’s due.”

Bucky laughed-low and rough, like gravel wrapped in velvet. He had a nice laugh, you thought. 

“Sweetheart”- and you do a great job of showing how that nickname doesn’t affect you one bit, you’re sure of it- “I didn’t save you. I picked you.”

Your stomach did something traitorous as he popped the champagne, and you didn’t miss the evil glint in his eyes when the head of the bottle was swallowed by frothy foam before he could capture it with the flutes. 

He handed you a glass. 

You needed it. 

“What does that mean?” 

He leaned in, his voice dropping to something that wrapped around your spine like silk.

“It means I saw you sitting out there, looking like you were five seconds from either crying or setting the place on fire, and I figured you could use a reminder that not everyone in the room is a complete asshole.” 

Great. More pity. Just what you needed.

But then he continued.

“And I could see your thighs squeezing together when you saw me. All the way from up on the stage.”

You let out a soft breath, surprised at how much that hit you.

But he wasn’t done. 

“It also means,” he added, reaching out to brush a lock of hair behind your ear, “I wasn’t gonna let some sweaty, insecure little prick keep looking at you like you were an object. Not when I know exactly how a woman should be treated, how you deserve to be treated.”

“Wow,” you breathe, almost to yourself, “you’re like… dangerously good at this.”

He grins. Like he had you right where he wanted you.

And suddenly the room around you felt like it was shrinking. You instinctively go to tug your dress down a bit, feeling overexposed. But he’s quicker, catching your hand in his own. 

“Don’t,” he murmurs, “you’re perfect like this.”

You should laugh it off. You should roll your eyes.

But you don’t.

Because the way he says it- like he means it-makes something deep inside you clench.

“I liked your show.” and it feels like a confession, like something you weren’t allowed to say out loud. 

“I know.” and you roll your eyes playfully before he cuts you off with, “So did your thighs.” 

You choke on your laugh.

“Confident, aren’t we?”

Bucky tilts his head a bit, and you can’t tell if he’s getting a better look at you or analyzing exactly where he needs to touch to make you weak.

“Don’t act shocked. You started it. Squeezing your thighs together while I was on stage? That’s flirting.”

“That’s called crossing my legs.”

“Cross them around my head next time, and we’ll call it even.”

You blink.

“Are you always this subtle?”

“Sweetheart,” he grins, “subtle gets you half the fun. You want subtle, go back to your boyfriend.”

You roll your eyes. “Ex-boyfriend.”

He takes another step forward. Then another. Gently leads you to sit on the red couch, so soft it felt like you were being sucked into it. God, you didn’t even want to think about what this room would look like if you turned on a blacklight- 

He straddles your lap.

And you forget how to breathe.

His knees bracket your legs, not quite touching you. His hands rest on his own thighs, muscles flexing just slightly, forearms thick and inked. 

He’s shirtless. You were clever enough to have noticed that when you first entered, but now, up close, it was all-consuming.

The glow of the lights dances across his chest, down his stomach, and whatever oil he must have used on himself amplifies every divot of his toned body. He must have spent years eating clean and hitting the gym to get this kind of figure. Every inch of him screams control.

He looks like a god. 

“You ever had a dance like this?” he asks softly. 

You shake your head, sure that it’s the last move you’ll make before you become paralyzed forever. 

“Good,” his voice is raspy, like he’s almost whispering, “I want to be your first.”

He leans forward, lips grazing the shell of your ear. 

“And your favorite.”

Then he moves.

His hips roll slow and deep, grinding just above your center, close enough to feel the heat of him through your clothes. His hands rest on the couch on either side of your shoulders, caging you in.

“How do you want this to go, doll?” he murmured, voice low and sinful “You want me slow? Gentle?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. He was close-too close. You could smell him. Feel the heat coming off his skin.

“Or…” His metal hand gripped the back of the couch behind your head. “You want me to show you what your asshole boyfriend never could?”

He doesn’t touch you. Not yet.

But he doesn’t need to.

Because the way he watches your reaction-how your lips part in a silent gasp-it’s like he’s memorizing you.

You exhaled shakily.

“That one.” you say before your brain can catch up to your mouth, “That one sounds- sounds good.”

“Good,” he coos, “let’s make your boyfriend nice and jealous. Show him how a woman like you deserves to be treated.”

“God, can we please not talk about my boyfriend right now?” you mutter, doing your best to keep your hands rooted at your sides like you’re cuffed there.

Not a bad idea. 

He chuckles wickedly above you.

“You’re right, pretty girl. Sweet little thing like you, and he’s taking you to a dirty place like this? Doesn’t he know what happens when you don’t take care of your things?” he coos, rolling his hips once more, closer this time, “Someone might take them away. Take better care of them. Someone like me.”

You hear a soft, pathetic whine pass your lips before you can stop yourself.

His mouth curls. 

“That’s my girl, let me hear it. Let me hear how much you want this.”

He’s licking up your neck, biting gently at your shoulder, sucking the sensitive spot where your neck and collarbone meet, nibbling at your earlobe.

“Bet he’s never touched you like this, doll. Never had you whining, begging for him, not like I do. And I haven’t even shown you my best moves.”

“What, the ones that require me to buy two drinks minimum?”

“Mmm. The ones I really want to try on you. The ones that might get me fired.”

Then he moved-really moved.

His hips were flush against yours. His abs brushed your chest as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your cheek. And then he finally brought his hips to yours.

Slow. Deep. Grinding down like he already knew exactly where you needed him most.

You gasped.

Your hands shot out on instinct, landing on his thighs, hard muscle under your palms. Just as quickly as you touched him, you pull away, internally cringing at your lack of control. 

“Sorry, I-”

“What are you sorry for, doll? Touch me all you want.” and he’s grabbing your hand in his, the vibranium arm still rooted behind your head. He brings your shaking fingers to his lips, his eyes never leaving yours as he gives your fingers a soft kiss, and then he’s dragging your hand down his chest, letting you feel every smooth valley and crevice of his delicious body, still rolling his hips into yours. 

Your fingers curled around his legs as he rocked into you again-slower, rougher, the friction making the growing heat between your legs grow more intense, drawing a gasp from you. 

“God, the sounds you’re making,” he growled, pressing his forehead to yours. “You ever been this wet with your clothes still on?”

“Jesus, Bucky-” and he’s back to his attack on your neck.

You’re gonna think about this later, aren’t you?” he said against your skin. “Gonna lie in bed and replay this in your head…fingers between your thighs… wishing it was me.”

“Fuck,” you whimpered, rocking your hips up to meet his.

“There she is.”

You’re not even sure when it happens.

One second, Bucky’s hips are rolling slow and smooth against yours, his hands slipping beneath your dress in ways that definitely broke some rules, his voice wrecking you in your ear.

“You feel that, baby?”, he rasps, “That’s all me. For you.”

You’re just about to cave, to beg for him to just take you right there.

Then the door slams open.

“What the fuck?”

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae! I humbly request poly!Steddie with the cuddle prompt - “oh god, did i fall asleep?”

Thank you for requesting my love!

poly!Steddie x fem!reader ♡ 737 words

There’s something simultaneously soft and hard pillowing your cheek. It’s warm. And your neck hurts. You peel your eyes open to a blue-lit room. 

It takes you a handful of seconds to realize you’re not in your bed. The room is so familiar that it almost seems like you could be, Steve’s basement the backdrop for enough of your memories to make you feel lazy and safe. But it’s not your bedroom, and you’re not lying down, you’re upright. Mostly. You’re slumped against someone’s side with a blanket over your lap and your head on their shoulder. Eddie’s, if the feel of ringed fingers wrapped around your thigh is any indication. 

You look up, and there he is: turning his head to look back at you, eyebrows raised amusedly. 

“Oh god,” you croak, “did I fall asleep?” 

There’s a smile playing on the ends of your boyfriend’s lips. “Take a wild guess.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah, you better be.” Eddie leans down the short distance to kiss your nose, his own all scrunched up in faux upset. “It wasn’t just you, either.” 

His gaze slips downward, and you follow it to find Steve asleep in your lap. He’s taking up more than half the couch, one leg stretched out to dangle off the armrest and the other bent at an angle. The blanket across your lap is strewn half over his shoulders. 

“Figured you guys wouldn’t mind if I started the second movie without you,” Eddie says wryly, affection coating his tone. “You didn’t seem super invested.” 

“Sorry,” you say again, yawning. “What time is it?” 

Eddie softens. “Pretty late. You wanna go home?” 

“I feel like I probably should. I’m just so…” Another massive yawn takes you. Your eyes water. “...tired, all of a sudden.” 

“You don’t say.” There’s laughter in Eddie’s voice, quieted due to the late hour. You think he has to be tired, too. “Alright, I’ll take you home, but you have to wake up sleeping beauty first.” 

Steve is already rousing at the sounds of your voices. You put a hand in his hair, and he mumbles, “M’watching. It’s good.” 

Eddie chokes out a laugh. “Fuck you. You two have no appreciation for art.” 

“Steve.” You smile, scratching gently at his scalp. “We have to go, baby.” 

“Hm?” Your boyfriend’s eyes crack open as he rolls over in your lap, looking between you and Eddie with bunched brows. “Where are we going?” 

“Eddie and I have to go,” you correct yourself, “home.” 

“Oh.” Steve doesn’t look pleased about this. His cheek squishes closer to your thigh. “Already?” 

“Guess you’re probably wishing you hadn’t slept through all our time together,” Eddie hums. 

You scoff and bat the back of your hand lightly against his chest. “Mean.” 

“Yeah, I know.” He pats Steve’s back, impenitent. “Get off her, babe.” 

Steve groans but does, sitting up to watch in petulant silence as you and Eddie put your shoes on and get ready to go. It’s the sort of needy he only ever owns when he’s tired, and it makes you genuinely sorry you can’t stay. 

“Have a good night.” You kiss him, smoothing a piece of hair from his face as you do. Steve squeezes your waist. 

“Stop pouting,” Eddie teases when it’s his turn. He cups your boyfriend by the back of the neck and gives him the sort of kiss sure to wake him up. “We’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll make sure to put on another cinematic masterpiece you two can both sleep through.” 

Steve makes some muttery comment about Eddie’s idea of a cinematic masterpiece when you’re too far up the stairs to really hear him. You think that’s probably by design, but Eddie calls back that he’d better watch his pretty mouth anyway. Steve can’t see the fondness in his expression, but you do. It’s only then, as you’re emerging from the basement into the lit hallway, that you see the dark splotch on the sleeve of Eddie’s t-shirt. 

“Oh my god.” You stare at it, horrified. “Did I drool on you?” 

“Oh, yeah.” Eddie doesn’t even have to look to know what you’re talking about. He holds the front door open for you to go outside. “Big time. It was pretty impressive considering you weren’t asleep for that long, honestly.” 

You cover your face with your hands. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Baby, are you kidding me? I’m never washing this shirt again.” 

[kurokawaia]

HICKEY, PLEASE? 彡 Bakugou, Shoto, Deku

| MDNI - 18+ | WARNINGS :: innocent female reader and Pro Hero versions of Izuku, Bakugou, and Shoto. soft D/s dynamics, praise kink, possessive behavior, emotionally intense intimacy, first-time, mention of blood, and power imbalance due to experience and age. Reader is shy, inexperienced, and emotionally submissive.+ more? MINI ONESHOTS. total wc :: 2.8k+

SYNOPSIS. Asking bakugou, shoto, deku and shinsou to give you a hickey >.< | part 1 (aizawa, dabi, hawks)

BAKUGOU

After a long day patrolling and keeping the community safe, when Bakugou got home, what he didn't expect to see was you acting all weird. And it didn't stop for hours. If you were anything right now, it had to be jumpy, that would be the only way to describe it. He noticed instantly, it's hard not to notice when you are usually so sweet and easy going around him, so the sudden change had his mind reeling, not knowing if he's done something wrong. 

You two went through eating dinner, relaxing on the couch, snuggling up with eachother and if there was one thing Bakugou noticed was how jumpy you were whenever he touched you. Now you sat across him on his bed, knees tucked up to your chest, stealing glances at him while he was taking his hoodie off. He does run on the hotter side. 

Bakugou was on his phone briefly, most likely replying or looking at the group chat, or having a quick check of his emails, but it wasn't too long before he caught you staring. He was confused because you looked away like you had something to hide and got caught. He wondered if it was because he had taken his hoodie off, but that couldn't be the case because you've seen him shirtless many times. 

"The hell's wrong with you?" he finally grunted, tossing his phone to the side, making a dull clank agasint the bedside table.

Your cheeks heat up, and you mentally curse. He was your boyfriend, and you can't even ask him something so simple, something that he has, in fact, even done before. You are weak when it comes to Katsuki, though. "Nothing! Don't worry about it, Kats', really," you replied, a gentle smile rising on your lips while you shook your head.

"You're a shit liar," he says with a small scoff before a smirk raised on his lips. 

You let out an annoyed groan. You can't get anything past him. Your throat felt dry. You wanted to ask for it, but you couldn't even manage to form the words. How would you even ask Katsuki to give you a hickey? What if he thought the idea was stupid? Which isn't the case at all, as he has given you multiple before, but that was in the heat of the moment type of behaviour, asking for one specifically is a different thing in its entirety. 

Bakugou slumps down onto the bed in front of you, specifically. He lies over your legs, propping his chin on a balanced elbow. How can you not confess when he's looking up at you like that? You can't even move either. You thread your arms over his shoulder, one of your hands playing with the hair at the base of his neck.

"C'mon, what you' hiding, princess?" Bakugou hummed, watching you carefully. "Entertain me."

"Well, I just wanted to ask for something," you start in an unbothered tone, looking away from him briefly, shrugging your shoulders. "But it doesn't matter anymore, it's dumb."

"Nothing you want is dumb, baby," he said, giving your bare thigh a little pinch, causing you to pout at him from the sudden action. 

"What about the time I asked you to get me a duck?" I retort, removing my arms from around his shoulder, folding them below my chest. "You said that was dumb."

He rolls his eyes. "That was a dumb question. Where would we put it? We live in an apartment right now, baby. You were having duck fever because you saw a lady feed them pea water or whatever the fuck it was. "

"Yeah, but still," you mumble. A few moments passed, and you swore he could hear your heart beating. In a quieter voice, you continued, "I kinda wanted you to give me a hickey."

There was a heavy pause while Bakugou's eyes widened before he let out a laugh. "You embarrassed now? That's fucking hilarious."

Your cheeks heated up as your jaw dropped in shock, "I knew you would act like that!

"Just joking, baby," he replied, his laugh dying out as he reached for your palm, placing a slow kiss before pulling away. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood, or I would be fucking you deep right now. You want me to show everyone who you belong to?"

His words struck nothing but pure heat and butterflies within your body. "I do," you replied, your heart beating faster as Bakugou raised himself off your body.

Your heart was in your throat when he hooked a finger under your chin and forced you to look up at him. "Yeah, I thought so." His hands were already sliding around your waist, hauling you onto his lap roughly. You squeaked as he shoved your hair back, baring your neck.

"Hold still, baby," he muttered right against your skin, breath hot. "Gonna make it real fuckin' obvious."

"I wouldn't want anything else, Kats'," you replied in a teasing tone, causing him to smirk in response before he slowly went in for your neck. You let out a shaky sigh at the contact, your reaction only made him more desperate to mark you. He thought you were stupid for being so hesitant to ask him for something like this. 

Once he had you straddling his lap, Bakugou didn't waste time. His big hands gripped your hips possessively, keeping you pinned as he leaned in, his mouth ghosting over your neck without touching yet.

"Tch," Bakugou muttered. "Listen to you. Gettin' worked up over nothin'..."

But you weren't imagining the way his breathing was getting heavier, too. Slowly, torturously slow, he let his lips brush the sensitive spot just below your ear, just barely touching you, sending a shiver skittering down your spine. You gasped softly, hands clutching at his shoulders.

"That good already? Shit, baby," he mumbled before a groan slipped past his lips at the feeling of your arousal soaking his sweats and your cunt subtly pressing hard against his hardening cock. Without much warning, he couldn't take it any longer with moving slow, that's not how he does things, not at all, and you know it better than anyone. 

His lips make full contact with your neck, sucking deep and slow, teeth grazing your skin enough to make you whimper. His tongue soothed the spot after, only to suck again, rougher this time. You buried your face in his shoulder, overwhelmed. Fuck, this is exactly what you wanted, to have Bakugou worship you with his touch and kisses. Exactly what you want.

"Don't hide," he growled, tugging you back by the hair so you had to bare your throat to him again, a moan falling past your lips at the sudden action, your core getting more heated by the second. "I wanna hear you."

The wet sounds of him marking you filled the room, your soft little noises only spurring him on. When he finally pulled back, he stared at the dark bruise blooming on your neck and smirked.

"Look at that shit," he rasped with a smirk. "Perfect."

Then he kissed the bruise sweetly, making you melt into him all over again. Bakugou stared at the bruise he'd left on your neck like he was proud of it, his lips glistening and his eyes filled with need, need to consume you whole. 

"Tch. You're lucky I've got control, baby," he muttered, brushing his thumb under your chin to tilt your face back up. "You don't even know what you're asking for... But you want it anyway, don't you? Want me to ruin you a little?"

You nodded shyly, face burning. That broke something in him. "Fuck. Alright, c'mere." He kissed you hard, devouring you, tugging you fully into his lap with a grunt. His hands slid under your thighs, up your shirt, tracing over soft skin. You gasped into his mouth, squirming.

"You gonna be good f'me?" he growled against your lips, tugging your lower one between his teeth. "Let me take my time with you?"

You nodded, dazed. "Words."

"Yes," you whispered. "I'll be good, Katsuki."

"Yeah? Let's test that."

SHOTO

Shoto didn't miss a thing about you, especially when you acted a little strange. He may be dense, but he isn't that dense. Tonight, you hovered close, so close he could feel the warmth of your body without you actually touching him. 

You weren't as talkative, which was odd because usually you would be yapping his ear off, not that he minded, he loves hearing your voice. Every time he turned his head, you seemed to be watching him and then darting your gaze away, guilty.

He tilted his head slightly. "Is something wrong?" he asked softly.

You jumped a little, startled. "No, no! Nothing's wrong!" you squeaked.

He watched you in silence for a moment longer before setting down his tea and patting the empty spot beside him on the bed. You hesitated, then shyly sat down, your hands bunching nervously in your lap. Why are you even nervous, what of? Shoto never judges you, in fact you're probably the one who judges him in that silly teasing way.

Shoto didn't push you to answer right away, he knew it was something that was bothering you, so he isn't going to force it out of you. After what felt like an eternity, you managed to finally get out, "Can I ask you something...? It's kinda dumb, though."

He tilts his head slightly, confused. He thought he had made it clear time and time again that it didn't matter what you asked him, or what you say, he isn't going to make fun of you (that badly). He turned toward you fully, giving you his complete attention. "You can ask me anything."

"I was wondering if you could... um... Fuck, this is embarrassing," you swallowed, it's really hard to say this out loud. Shoto was intrigued by what you had to say, what could you possibly be embarrassed about? "Could you... Give me a hickey?"

Shoto blinked once, then twice, a soft laugh fell past his lips before they made a gentle smile. "Embarrassed about that? You don't have to be, you just need to ask, you know that I'll give you anything," he murmurs. "Is that what you really want?"

"Yeah," you replied slowly, despite Shoto telling you you shouldn't be embarrassed, you couldn't help but be so. Your usual confidence has gone right out the window. His hand came up, cupping the side of your neck so gently you shivered under his touch. His palm was cold, his left hand,  and it made you gasp softly.

"You trust me to do that?" he questions, slowly leaning in closer. Shoto's thumb traced the sensitive skin where he planned to leave his mark.

"Yes," you breathed. "You've done it before, and it feels really good."

"Good," he whispered. Then his lips pressed to your neck, soft at first, almost reverent, before slowly, slowly he applied more pressure, teasing the skin until you whimpered softly in his arms. This is exactly what you wanted. Not harshly, but deep enough that you felt it all the way down to your toes. His warm tongue soothed between sucks, coaxing the blood to the surface.

"You’re mine," he whispered against your throat, and you melted completely into him.

You clung to his sleeves, overwhelmed by how good it felt, not just the physical sensation but the intimacy of it, the way Shoto held you, touched you, wanted you. You love him so much that it makes your brain go into shambles, he causes you not to think straight. 

"You look so pretty, sweetheart," he whispered against your neck. You whimpered, melting into his arms as he left a perfect mark right where your collarbone dipped. When he finally pulled away, his cheeks were pink, and his breathing was slightly uneven. "You’re beautiful," he whispered again, kissing the new bruise.

Shoto pulled back from your throat, breathing heavily, and you don't miss the unmistaklabe flush coating his cheeks, he's so beautiful. You blinked up at him, flustered, and covered the spot he’d marked with your hand instinctively.

He gently pulled it away. “Don’t hide it,” he said. “It's what you wanted, isn't it?"

Your heart skipped. His hand found your waist, signalling you to stand, and he guided you back until your spine met the mattress. “I want you to feel good,” he murmured, kneeling over you. “But I want to go slow… I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“You already do,” you admitted breathlessly. “But I like it…”

His lips parted, and he gave a shaky laugh. “You're going to destroy me.” His hands, warm now, slid up your thighs under your skirt.

“Tell me if anything feels too much,” he whispered. “And I’ll stop. But I need to… I need to see all of you.”

MIDORIYA

Midoriya came home from patrol past midnight, his hero suit rumpled and his hair damp from a light rain. You’d waited up for him, wrapped in one of his hoodies and sitting on the couch, trying to pretend you hadn’t been imagining his hands on your skin for hours.

You and the girls caught up today, Momo, Jirou, Mina, Ochako, and Tsuyu, and during that catch up, Mina was pestering Jirou about how her and Denki are going and that lead to her revealing some... stuff about them two, intimate stuff and it made your heart pound for hours because all you could think about what Midoriya doing that stuff to you. 

He saw you and smiled instantly, though his eyes were heavy with exhaustion.

“You waited up?” he said, slipping off his boots. “You didn’t have to, baby. I would’ve crawled in quietly.”

“I know,” you said, fidgeting. "I wanted to wait for you... I missed you.”

His expression softened even more. “Come here. You’re the sweetest,” he murmured. “I missed you too... So much.”

You padded into his arms, letting him fold you into his chest. “Long day?” you mumbled into his shirt.

“The longest,” His voice was hoarse. “But this makes it worth it.”

You hesitated. Your fingers curled into the front of his uniform. There was something you wanted, but you couldn’t get the words out. Not directly, at least, you were too nervous. So you just tilted your head against his chest… and quietly, you unconsciously were playing the the collar of your shirt, your fingers grazing agasint the skin beneath it, baring just a sliver of your collarbone.

It took him a second. But then you felt it, the way he froze, just slightly. His hand splayed against your back. He pulled away enough to see your face. He looked concerned. “Uh… is everything okay?” he asked quietly.

You swallowed. “I just…” Your hands gripped his shirt, nervous. “I wanted to… ask something. But it’s dumb. You don’t have to.”

“Nothing you want from me is dumb,” he said. “Promise.”

You glanced away. “I… I’ve never had a hickey before. And I was kinda wondering if maybe you could, give me one? I mean, only if you want to! I just... thought about it. A lot. Today. For a while actually.”

You were mortified. But when you glanced back up at him, he was red. Flushed from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

“I-” he laughed breathlessly, hand flying to the back of his neck. “Wow, um. Yeah. Yeah, I can. I mean, I’d love to. If you want me to. Only if you’re sure. Because I’ve thought about it too. A lot, actually. More than I should, probably-”

He cut himself off, clearing his throat.

“Come here.” He led you to the couch again, gently coaxing you into his lap like you were the most fragile thing in the world. One arm wrapped around your waist, the other cradled the side of your face. “You’re sure?” he asked again. “Because I-I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. You can say no at any time.”

He cupped your cheek, kissed your lips tenderly, and then gently lowered you onto the couch, hovering over you with so much care, it made your heart flutter.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Please.”

He smiled at your sweetness. Then he bent down and kissed the side of your neck. Once. Twice. You gasped as his tongue traced your skin, warm and wet, and then, you felt it and it made your lower abdomen curl in pleasure. “Izuku-”

His teeth sank in just enough to sting. Not painful, but enough to make your thighs clench around nothing. You whimpered, thighs instinctively pressing together. He froze. Pulled back. “Did I hurt you? Oh God-”

“No,” you gasped. “It- felt really good.”

His breath hitched, shit he was about to loose himself. “Okay. Good. That’s.. really good," he swallowed. He leaned back in. This time, his lips trailed lower, hands beginning to roam, carefully, not wanting to overwhelm you. “I know you’re shy,” he whispered, voice barely above a breath, “but you don’t even realise what you do to me, do you?”

“Izuku…”

“You’re so soft,” he murmured. “So sweet. I think about you when I’m supposed to be focused. I want to take care of you so bad it hurts sometimes.”

You shivered as his fingers ghosted up under your hoodie, the sensation causing you to clasp your hands tighter against his shirt as he continued to leave a mark along your neck. "Izuku, please..." you begged in a breathy exhale, causing him to momentarily slow down. "I need you to take care of me, please."

How is he supposed to control himself around you now?

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

[rcjackie]

fun fic idea if anyone wants to read whatever this is!!! It kind of got away from me ngl

!!!!tw for swearing!!!!

okay so soulmates bagginshield au where the name of your soulmate is written on your wrist

except Bilbo’s soulmark is written in Khuzdul, so he had no idea what it says and only knows it’s dwarvish bc of his mother’s books/stories (or maybe he doesn’t know. there are no laws)

So Bilbo at the ripe age of 50 decides to leave the shire to look for his soulmate bc he’s not getting any younger and they have to be out there SOMEWHERE.

on the road he meets Gandalf, and bc that wizard is a grade A Meddler (TM) and knows exactly whose name is on Bilbo’s wrist, he sends Bilbo in the direction of Erebor

now I know what you’re thinking: how is Bilbo, a hobbit, going to get into a dwarf kingdom? well, Gandalf sends him there as his ‘emissary’ bc all good wizards need hobbit secretaries to deal with politics on their behalf, yes this is completely normal.

and that’s how Bilbo ends up as a diplomatic negotiator in a dwarf kingdom while secretly looking for his soulmate. and you best believe he does not know what the hell he’s doing for the first few days, but he’s a baggins AND a took so he bullshits his way through without problem.

and bc of his fake position as Gandalf’s envoy he eventually ends up meeting Thorin, the eldest prince of Erebor, who happens to be deeply suspicious of him and thinks he has ulterior motives besides regular politics

and Bilbo is like yes you’re right I do have ulterior motives but how dare you ASSUME—

cue the beginning of the enemies to friends to lovers pipeline

on the other hand, the first friend he makes in Erebor is Ori, who is the kingdom’s librarian. Bilbo asks him to read the name on his wrist and Ori nearly has a heart attack on the spot before running away bc he found the prince’s soulmate and he HAS TO TELL SOMEONE (that someone being dori)

and, of course, Bilbo misinterprets that as meaning his soulmate is evil. so then Bilbos only thought is FUCK I must have someone absolutely horrible as a soulmate. like how is their reputation THAT bad

so he spends most of his days sulking around Erebor, too scared to ask anyone about the name on his wrist, when he notices some shady figures doing shady figure things

being the naturally nosy hobbit that he is, he listens in, trying to uncover a bit of juicy gossip to entertain himself with.

except that Bilbo uncovers a plot to assassinate the entire royal family and indirectly saves the lives of almost the entire line of Durin. so now he’s being welcomed by open arms by the entire kingdom bc he accidentally speed ran becoming a national hero

this does away with most of Thorin’s distrust, and the two gradually get closer as Bilbo’s place in Erebor becomes more and more permanent.

and just. for plot purposes, Bilbo has been going under a pseudonym this whole time bc it’s a big world and he’s gotta keep himself safe yk, so no one knows his actual name

but now Bilbo’s like we’re friends now and I kind of saved your life, so I feel like I should probably stop lying to you ;)

Bilbo, holding out his hand: Bilbo Baggins, at your service

Thorin, about to keel over: What.

bc Thorin knows that name, as he has in fact been repeating it over and over again for literal decades. it’s the one inscribed on his wrist in a neat cursive, and suddenly everything falls into place.

Thorin, now ripping his own hair out: I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOUR NAME WAS BEEBO TWINDLEWIRE???

Bilbo: I lied :D

unfortunately Thorin’s been having grand delusions of meeting his soulmate since childhood, already planning to woo them by acting like the perfect gentleman and by being on his best behavior—just to find out that it’s the guy that he’s been actively hating on (and also guiltily crushing on) for months

knowing this, Thorin begins pulling out all the stops to make Bilbo like him. he’s sending him handmade gifts, giving him rocks of great value and meaning, showing off his craft, and making sure to train where he knows Bilbo can see. Bilbo may not be in love with him yet but it’s only a matter of time, once he realizes that Thorin is such a skilled provider

Bilbo, however, is just…deeply confused as to why Thorin suddenly seems to go from tolerating his existence to sending him longing looks from across the room, along with many, many shiny rocks and various pretty things. not to say that he doesn’t like the attention, as he’s grown very fond of Thorin over his time spent in the mountain

Bilbo eventually just chalks it up to misplaced gratitude for saving Thorin’s life and moves on. so all of the courting rituals being thrown at him continue to go over his head

meanwhile Thorin is in the midst of planning their wedding bc Bilbo is responding to all of his offerings positively, and he wants to marry his One as soon as possible

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

cowboy like me | r. reynolds

a/n: guess who's back. haha. sorry i said i was on hiatus and then wrote this. i saw thunderbolts and made it everyone else's problem so here is a fuck of a long fic. i dont know i just wanted to put all my ideas in one so there is a lot going on in this one but yeah. uhm. no real smut because i didn't wanna write because they fuck a lottt also the entire concept is based off this one screenshot i have and i do not know where i got it (it was from some sort of meme) but yeah! warnings: SELF HARM!! no really super serious descriptions but the reader is mentally ill and so is bob and reader does hurt herself at some point and bob wraps them. lots of talks of addiction and alcoholism and sobriety. lots of kissing and allusions to sex and teasing and everyone (bob and reader) is mentally ill and, yeah. sentry and void have a conversation with bob in his brain. also book club. word count: 9.4k summary: you get a text from an old friend and think.. you could do worse than a book club.. with some benefits. pairing: bob reynolds x sober!reader now playing: cowboy like me - taylor swift "now you hang from my lips/like the gardens of babylon/with your boots beneath my bed/forever is the sweetest con."

The first text comes at 5:43 on a Tuesday.

‘do you wanna start fucking again like maybe once a week?’

You must’ve sat, staring at your phone for twenty minutes. Who the fuck..?

The second text comes at 6:32.

‘it can be like a little book club, we can read the same book and discuss’

Book club..?

You ask yourself if this is some sort of joke, and another text shows up three minutes later--

‘i also have a real bed now.’

And then you remember this meth head you used to sleep with, some Florida guy who was always taking odd jobs to fuel his addiction—Cashier, house sitter, alligator hunter, amusement park mascot.. until he got fired, which always seemed inevitable.

You suppose you have no room to judge. You had only been in Jacksonville after your last friend in New York told you no more, that they wouldn’t watch you destroy yourself. But you didn’t need them to, you never needed an audience to fuel the urge to rip every little bit of your soul apart.

You had taken a job working at a Dunkin Donuts that was right next to a liquor store. It seemed as if the universe had given you a sign. You could retire here. Nothing but part time shifts, a bottle of vodka, and a shitty room for rent from the kinkiest 72-year-old lesbian you had ever met.. You had a little bit of respect for her, a sort of ‘good for her’ attitude.

And then, you met Bob.

You met Bob at a dealer’s house.

Romantic, right?

Bob was about to take his first hit in six or seven hours, and you sat uncomfortably scrunched against the couch, trying not to think about how many fucked up things had happened there.

And he sat on the other side of the couch, Bob sat, flicking his lighter on and off while he waited.

..The girl you were with was currently.. paying for the coke she wanted. You were never a fan of drugs, alcohol was your one and only, your soulmate—you could never cheat on her. But this girl promised to buy shots at the next bar. And now you had to listen to her ‘pay’ her dealer—and you presumed Bob’s dealer in the other room.

“Hey.” He speaks first.

You give him a side glance.

“Hey.”

“Waiting for.. stuff?”

“Just waiting for my friend.”

“Oh. Cool.”

A beat.

“What’s your—“

“Alcohol.”

“Oh. Cool. Mine’s meth.”

“Great.”

A beat.

“I need a fuckin’ hit man, I don’t know what’s taking her so long to fucking pay—”

God, you wanted a drink in that moment.

“So, he’s your dealer?”

“Yeah. And my roommate. My rooms the one down the hall.”

“Cool.”

Another beat.

You began tapping your foot against the carpet.

“Oh my god, it doesn’t take that long to—”

“It fucking takes a minute, relax,” You scoffed.

“Not this long.” You caught the unspoken words.

And then, almost in sync, you looked at each other, fully turning your heads to really see what one another looks like. Your eyes flickered up and down his features. Drunk as you were, you knew you could do much worse than this guy.

But before you could say anything, he spoke again,

“Wanna see my room?”

Your ‘friend’ didn’t really seem to be finishing up her transaction anytime soon. Plus, it.. had been a while.

“Sure.” You said, and you followed Bob two steps behind on the way down to his bedroom. When he opened the door, you know deep down sober you would be mortified—well, only if the sex was bad.

His room was small, clothes laid about in various piles across the room—a few lighters, a coin or two next to the odd chip bag.. and in the corner of his room, a twin sized mattress laid on the floor, black sheets and a red blanket, one that had been clearly loved.. and a very old pillow.

You just stared until Bob grabbed your wrist, pulling you along to the bed. He sat on the bed first, tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, and gently prompted you to ‘c’mere.’ As you sat on his lap, you realized that this guy was cute enough for this to become a regular thing.

Your lips locked with his, slowly pulling him in with slow, gentle kisses as if the two of you weren’t giving plenty of time for the moment to be interrupted by the end of the transaction in the other room.

And then, your hands traced up from his shoulders, past his neck and ears, curls wrapping around your fingers.

As if you couldn’t help yourself, you found yourself gently tugging at his hair, listening as he let out this soft moan, and you couldn’t deny—you could totally get used to this. 

And after, when you laid back on his stupid twin sized mattress without a bedframe, your finger stayed twirled in his curls. Then, when he heard the other bedroom door open, he pulled on his boxers and got up, grabbing a sweatshirt as he headed to the door. He glanced back to you to ask,

“’m going to take a hit, want anything?”

“Something to drink?”

“I’ll get you a beer.” He had offered, and you found yourself smiling.

So, you came back. Again. And again. And again. And again. And then you got sober. Or at least, that’s the version you’d give your therapist when you next spoke.

When you got sober, you had gone from a smartphone to a flip phone, deleting and blocking many of the numbers from your party days.. until you had gotten to Bob. All you did was delete his contact from your phone—he still had your number if he wanted to reach out.

But he hadn’t. Not for the past nineteen months, and you’ll be honest—Month eight was such a big month for you (being able to babysit your niece by yourself for the first time, saving up for your own apartment, no roommates or family, and enrolling in a night class or two), so you had forgotten the meth head who purred when you played with his hair.

And yet..

You felt this.. tug. At something.

You found yourself responding—

“hey, i’ve been sober for nineteen months. not interested if ur still using.”

Your texting habits reflected your archaic tech.

But you meant it—Bob was.. well, you didn’t like to think about the things you felt for him, but it was enough to make you bury it as deep down as you could.

“me too”

And then, seven minutes later,

“therapy too lol.”

You glance at the time. You think about your favorite bar’s bottomless margaritas on Tuesdays, and you realize it has been a while.. it was typical for people not to date within a year of sobriety. But it had been nineteen months..

And this wasn’t a date.

It was book club..

“what do u want to read?”

You toss the flip phone on your bed and walk over to the shelf in the corner of your room. You inspect the spines of the few books you have and realize they’re not book club material.

You pick your phone back up to read the text—

“great gatsby? i never read it in school”

Neither had you. Maybe you had been assigned it once upon a time.

“okay. next thursday enough time?”

You were serious about the book club aspect of this. You know two things—

One, no mater how he answers, you’ll have to talk this over with your therapist. Maybe even your sister. You barely ever take risks, not since getting sober, and this risk scares the shit out of you..

Two—You are almost giddy at the idea of tugging at Bob’s hair. You’ve been alone for too long, but you can’t seem to trust yourself enough to download a dating app and hook up with strangers (you theorize you could become as addicted to hookups as you were to alcohol) and the idea of getting into a serious relationship makes you feel sick.. so maybe this is a good compromise.

You glance at the phone in your hand and see one more text--

“sure :)”

So, you send him an address to a coffee shop near your apartment. He asks you if three works. You say yes.

When you tell your therapist about it the next day, this huge smile grows on her face as you tell her about your dilemma—to be or not to be, to go or not to go, to fuck Bob or not to fuck Bob.

You debate this back and forth, and your therapist eventually tells you—

“As your therapist, I shouldn’t and couldn’t push you to do this. Read the book. Go to coffee. At the very least, you’ll get some closure. Or.. you could have an outlet. Remember your boundaries, and don’t pursue anything you aren’t comfortable doing. Ask him questions about his sobriety if it’s important for you to know to feel comfortable. Think about it, and we can talk about it next week before you go.”

And that was pretty good advice. You contemplated it, back and forth, bouncing a mental tennis ball off a mental wall in an imaginary room. Sometimes, there are bottles of booze in the imaginary room, and other times, Bob sits in the corner. Quietly watching you ‘throw the ball.” Somedays it’s just you and the tennis ball.

You’re very normal.

When you told your sister, she just laughed.

“So, at what point did you start seriously considering this?”

“..When I realized he had an actual bed now.”

And that’s all you can respond, because you can’t explain how curious you are. He was a meth head named Bob who had no bed frame, and yet.. you want him. After nineteen months, you think about the way he focused his attention to you in between sips, in between hits, in between fucks.

How his hand rested on your side, how those stormy eyes studied yours as you talked, asking questions about your delusional rambles—

“Right, but what does that mean?” He had asked one night.

“What does what mean?”

“What the fuck does it mean that I ‘am’ the.. hanging gardens of Babylon?” You had rolled your eyes, and the pads of your fingertips against his lips.

“They were a uh,” Your eyes flicker up and down his face. “These.. gardens. City of Babylon, a long long time ago-- They were supposed to so beautiful but there’s no archeological proof they ever existed, except they’re mentioned in poetry, so.. They may or may not be real and we’ll never know. You remind me of them.”

Bob just stared at you for a long time. He didn’t say anything but the way his eyes fixated on you made you alive.. And maybe more alive than the booze, and that thought petrified you because up until that point, drinking was your life. So, you ignored it. What else were you supposed to do?

When you’re done with therapy for the day, you go to the closest bookstore. You pick up the cheapest paperback you can find of Gatsby and then, your eye wanders, as it always done in a bookstore. You spot a book on The Seven Ancient Wonders of the world.. And you decide to buy it when you see the large chapter on The Hanging Gardens of Babylon.

///

The week passes quickly because you find yourself filling any free time you have with reading, underlining and circling quotes and words that F Scott Fitzgerald decided were good enough to convey his themes.

You barely register that it’s Thursday morning when it comes because all you want to do is reread your favorite parts over and over again while you get ready for the day. Before you know it, it’s.. time for book club.

You decide to get there ten minutes before three, hoping you’ll be able to grab a drink and relax before Bob shows up. The bell on the door of the café rings when you walk in, and there are a couple of patrons..

But you find yourself stopping in your tracks when you see a familiar face in the corner, a book on the table, as his finger traces a pattern on the cover.. absently. Like he’s somewhere else.

And then his head picks up, and he notices you. Neither of you say anything, neither of you smile.

In an instant, you’re not sure if you can do this, if—

“Decaf red velvet latte with whipped cream and cinnamon for Bob?” The barista calls, and he stands and approaches the counter, mumbling a thanks to the barista. When he glances down and notices your name scribbled on the side of a cup marked ‘half n half’ and ‘two splenda’, he picks it up and turns, handing you the cup.

“Hi.” He says, and you find yourself reaching out to take the cup, as if you just saw Bob yesterday.

“Hey.” You exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Wordlessly, the two of you sit at the table.

And there is quiet.

Until, Bob asks,

“So.. how have you been?”

“..Fine.”

“..Cool.” You remember this awkward feeling. Like right before the first time, you slept together. “Thanks for meeting with me.” He breathes after a moment, and you nod.

“Yeah.” You breathe, and then he asks,

“You’ve been sober since the last time we—”

“What did you think about the book?” You ask, reaching to take a sip of your coffee. Bob nods, taking the hint.

“I.. liked it.” He says, “It was a good first book for this. I liked that.. that Nick reflects on his life through these other characters and realizes what he does, or doesn’t, want.. How about you?” He asks.

“I liked it too,” and you find yourself wanting to just ramble about your analysis but you bite your tongue. “I think Daisy is a fascinating character too, especially in the way she seems so trapped in her situation. Like being with Gatsby is the only way she can feel alive or free or something.”

Bob considers this for a second.

“Yeah,” He starts, “But she’s.. a rich woman. She’s inherently part of the system that you claim traps her and is actively benefiting from her wealth.”

Wait.. was your awkward meth head situationship kinda.. smart?

You adjust from your rigid position and lean into the conversation a bit.

“Well, Why can’t it be both?” You wonder, “She can benefit from these systems and be miserable in them—she’s miserable, maybe because she’s benefiting from it, and her wealth doesn’t negate the abuse and strain on her marriage.” You say and go to take another sip of your coffee.

Bob is quiet.

Then, he says—

“Yeah. I think you’re right.”  He smiles a little, and you feel your heart in your throat. “So do you think the green light was actually supposed to be as important as pop culture makes it seem, or was that just..”

“I think it is as important as we’re led to believe, because it’s a symbol of what things could be.” And then, before Bob can say something that would lead you to change your mind, you say, “Yeah, I stayed sober since the last time we talked.. When did you quit?”

He inhales and then closes his mouth, and you watch as he holds his breath, noting that his mouth is sort of puffed like a chipmunk. When he exhales, he responds,

“Right after that, I guess. I joined this.. medical.. study and quit to do that.. Then, I guess I just.. stayed sober.” He says, and you laugh, so with a bit of a smile, he asks, “What’s so funny?”

“You make it sound so easy.”

Then, Bob starts to laugh too.

“Do I?” He leans forward like he’s about to tell you a secret, and he says softly, “Because some days I feel like I’m drowning and maybe meth would be the key to being able to breath again..”

“So, what do you do when you feel like that?” You ask softly, not because you’re looking for an answer but because you need to know if sobriety is as big for him as it is for you.

Bob gestures to the table.

“This. Sugar, reading—” He cuts himself off like there’s something else when he meets your eyeline. “Do you want to go to your place or mine?”

And there’s no hesitation when you answer,

“Mine.”

///

Bob spends a long time studying the details on your shelves. He notices the pictures of a seven-year-old he doesn’t recognize and you, the small lego structures in between them, and he finds a small jar next to your TV with little chips in them.

“Do you want anything to drink?” He hears you ask.

“No, thanks.” He calls back, and you appear in the doorway.

“Too much sugar in that latte you had?” You tease, and in that way you love, he just stares at you for a long time, in that way that makes your heartbeat too fast.

“Can’t help it,” he says, “No meth means lots and lots of sugar.”

“Right,” You nod.

Your fingers itch by your side, and you decide—Fuck it. You’re not getting any younger, any more sober. So you go over to him. Like a scared deer, Bob just stares at you, while you try to not scare him off. Your hand ever so gently reaches up to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear.

Then, he shakes his head a bit.

“I haven’t done anything with anyone in a while.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Then, because you think you’ll tell him to leave and never come back if you don’t, you lean forward and kiss him, and as if that is how he gets air when he feels like he’s drowning, his hands are on your side, slowly stepping so that you’re backing up towards your bedroom.

Then, you pull away,

“Bob,” You start, “I’m not really looking for a serious relationship right now,” You start, and his lips begin to leave sloppy kisses, first along your cheek, then your jaw, then your neck.

“Mhm,” is all he responds with.

“I’m being serious,” You sigh as he continues to step forward, pushing you back towards the bedroom, his mouth hot on your skin. “I’m still working on getting my shit together,” You continue.

“I get it,” he says, his voice gentle.

“Do you?” You ask, but he can hear the smile in your voice. “Because it seems like you’re trying to sleep with me—”

“No, No,” He shakes his head a bit, “I’m not going to sleep with you, silly girl,” He hums, and you never want this moment ends, “I’m going to fuck you.” He says gently. It makes you laugh, and he chuckles too.

You decide to take the initiative and slip your shirt off-- Then, he takes off the sweater he’s wearing, and you have to take a second. You really look at him and begin to smile.

His stomach is rounder than it was nineteen months ago when you last met. He’s.. thicker. His rips aren’t poking out of his stomach. No, thicker isn’t the right word.. He looks.. healthier.

And that is hot.

“What?” he asks, “What is it?” he wonders, and you just shake your head.

“Nothing. You were saying something about fucking me?” You wonder, and he nods.

“Right, right.” He says softly, grabbing your face and bringing you in for another kiss. Your hands trail up his neck and find his hair as he slowly sinks down, so he’s kneeling between your legs.

Your hands find his hair, and in between kisses, you gently tug on his hair, and just completely melt when you hear a soft moan leave his lips..

And old habits die hard.

So, you do it again.

///

You lay on your stomach, your face smooshed against the pillow you have your arms around. Bob is sitting up in bed, and you find yourself looking at him for a long while.

“So, What are you doing for work now that you’re sober and in New York?” You ask.

Bob plays with your sheets.

“Uh,” He lets out a soft half chuckle. “..You know the uh.. New Avengers?”

“Vaguely.” You shrug. You don’t really have the time to keep up with that sort of thing, between your job, between babysitting your niece, between being sober.. And it’s not like you have social media, so.. yeah. Vaguely.

“..That.”

“That what?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows.

“That’s what I’m doing now.”

“Bob, I’m not following.”

His finger begins to run down your arm.

“I guess I.. sort of count.. as a.. New Avenger.”

“…What?”

“I need you to stop asking me that,” He sighed. “Do you remember the uhm.. medical study thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Something they did.. it changed me.. A serum.”

“So you’re like, some sort of superhero or something?” You wonder, and you say it like it’s funny. Bob looks uncomfortable—much more than he usually does.

“..No. I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.” He says. “I’m dangerous, I.. Do you remember last year when the.. the Void attacked New York? Right around the time that the New Avengers got announced?” He asks.

You pause.

“I mean, yeah, but I was in Jersey at the time, at a wedding.” Your first since getting sober. It was a rough weekend.

“Yeah, that was me.”

“..What was you?”

Bob wishes he could sink into your mattress and never show his face again.

“The void.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I’m not allowed to go on missions or.. get into any emotionally challenging situations..” he sighs. “Because I.. I can barely keep him.. or even the.. Sentry at bay.. I’m working on it.” He finally looks at you. “Which is why I don’t want a serious relationship either.” He says. “We.. we could just be friends.”

“Friends who fuck.”

“Book club with Benefits?”

You smile.

“Friends who discuss literature and also fuck.”

Bob rolls his eyes a bit, his lips pursing into a reluctant smile.

“Book club with benefits.” His pointer finger starts at the top of your back and travels down your spine, “Lots.. and lots.. of benefits.”

And if you could focus on anything other than how good that felt, you might’ve noticed the flicker of gold in his eyes.

///

“Decaf Caramel Frappuccino with extra caramel and whipped cream, and a medium hot coffee with half n half and two Splenda for Bob?” The barista calls, and you step forward to grab your drinks.

You hand Bob his glorified milkshake and sit at the same table you sat at last week.

“So,” You start, “Lord of the flies.”

“Yeah,” He breathes, “I.. I didn’t really like this one.” He shrugs.

“I think the concept is interesting enough.” You respond, “And it’s interesting that the group is only made up of privileged little British white boys. The horrors they put each other through might never have happened if they had been a group of schoolgirls, or if they had faced any hardship before this.” You shrug back, taking a sip of your coffee.

Bob nods as he studies the atmosphere of the café.

“Hey, do you wanna split a slice of cake or pie or something?” He asks, and you find yourself giggling.

“You’re ridiculous.” You scoff. Bob huffs.

“You’re boring.” He accuses and you just laugh more.

“I am not boring, I’m consistent.” It makes Bob shake his head.

“Coconut cream pie?” And the way he makes those puppy eyes makes you sigh.

“Fine. But you’re one piece of pie away from me accusing you of being addicted to that in place of Meth.”

“You wouldn’t.” He smirks, like he knows you better than you know yourself.

“Sure I would.” You shrug, “I’m just a concerned friend, Robby.” You smile, and then you watch as Bob gets up to get a slice of pie, ruffling your hair as he passes you.

///

“And then I said to him, I say, ‘If you want to hire spider-man to try and do your bidding, be my guess, but I—”

Bob is biting his tongue as he listens to everyone talk. He’s sitting on a chair at the kitchen island, watching as John moved around the kitchen, preparing dinner. He’s been staring at the same page of The Outsiders for ten minutes, just thinking.

Bucky is complaining about Sam, and before anyone can respond with anything, Bob clears his throat and puts his book down.

“Can I ask you guys something?” he wonders, and everyone’s head immediately turns to him. He barely talks in these group settings, so Yelena, who sits by his side, nods.

“Sure, what’s up?” She asks.

“..I need.. advice. I need to get a birthday gift for.. a friend of mine.” is how he starts.

“Not anyone in this room, right?” John asks, and everyone, including Bob, just looks at him.

“No. I know you think I’m socially inept, but I know not to ask what I should get someone while they’re in the room.” He huffs.

“Alright, who’s the gift for?” Bucky asks.

Bob wants to tell them all about you—your quirks, your laugh, the way your brain works, the way you feel wrapped around his—

But he hesitates.

“Just.. a friend.” He breathes. “From.. Book club.”

“Book club?” Ava answers, and already it feels like a mistake to have asked them but they’re his only friends besides you.

“Yeah, we.. choose a book to read every week and we meet up for coffee every week to talk about it.”

Yelena glances down to the book on the counter.

“Book club..” She nods, “And how long have you known this friend?”

“…It’s complicated.” He breathes.

“And do you hangout outside of book club?” John asks.

Bob’s cheeks flush.

“Sort of.”

“What does that even mean?” Ava asks, and he shrugs.

“We.. do some other stuff. I don’t know, she—”

“Oh, she?” Alexei finally pipes up, letting out a gruff laugh. “So you like her?”

“It’s just difficult to explain!” He snaps, and everyone pauses when the lights flicker. For a moment, no one says anything.

Then, Bucky huffs,

“So just try.” He gently prods. Bob hesitates.

“She’s.. I do like her. We started book club last month, but.. We met before.. Y’know.” He gestures around, “We..” his cheeks are red as tomatoes now. “When we’re done with coffee and talking about books, we.. we go back to her place, and we..”

Immediately everyone either groans or laughs. Bob feels like he might die on the spot.

“That is so weird,” Yelena laughs, and Bob groans as he covers his face with his hands, shaking his head.

“Never should’ve told you guys.”

“Okay, okay,” Bucky says after a moment. “You knew this girl before the Sentry project?”

“Yeah. We both were.. were addicts in Florida. We started hooking up, and I knew from before I went to Malaysia that she was moving back to New York, so I looked her up and—and you all said I needed to get a hobby!” He offered.

“We meant like,” Ava shrugs, “Knitting or—”

“Book club?” Yelena smiles. Bob bites the inside of his cheek.

“So, what should I get her for her birthday?"

“Well, what kind of message do you want to send?” John asks. “That you want to be more than.. whatever it is that—”

“..Book club with benefits.”

Everyone looks at him.

“What?”

“..That’s what we call it.”

“Oh, my god,” Yelena and Ava are giggling now.

“Okay. What kind of message do you want to send?” John asks again, and Bob hesitates.

“..That I care about her, that..” he shakes his head, “that.. I’m sorry for..” he picks his head up and notices everyone staring at him. He can hear the Void laughing at him in the back of his head.

“For..?” Bucky offers gently and Bob shakes his head. And then, he begins to tell his teammates about the last time he saw you.

///

Nineteen Months Ago

You and Bob had been sleeping together for months. Hanging out in between fucks and hits—or drinks. He had burrowed his way into your heart and taken up this big chunk of it, replacing booze in your late-night fantasies.

When he wasn’t extremely high, and you weren’t extremely drunk, you found yourself falling for him. The attention he showed you had been it’s own high, and you had let yourself become addicted to someone who you would never have a normal life with.

But he was there, waiting for you with a shot after every shift. You often helped him light up. The two of you encouraged each other’s destructive behaviors. Became each other’s self-destructive behaviors. Like the mentally ill addicts you were.

Your sister had flown down to Florida to see you.

You hadn’t asked her to. You knew she wouldn’t approve of this.. lifestyle. And at first, you wished she had never come to see you, because you did not want to stop drinking.. and then she wore you down. Your big sister always knew how to get you to do whatever she wanted.

So, the night before she was scheduled to fly back to New York, you went to see Bob. His roommate let you in, and you found him high and on his bed.

“Robby,” you said as you walk in. He smiled twenty seconds later when he registered your presence.

“I love it when you call me that.” He spoke.

You smiled weakly. You took a seat on his mattress.

“I have to talk to you.” You had said. He sat up, leaning forwards.

“Mm, All you do is talk to me,” he said slowly, and his hand grabbing yours. “Come kiss me instead—” His lips catch yours, in a soft, sweet kiss. He pulled away, and you whispered,

“Robby, please.”

And only then had he registered an important detail.

“You don’t taste like booze.”

You always tasted like booze.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “that’s why I wanted to talk to you—”

“No,” he said softly, “No, don’t—”

“Tomorrow, I’m flying to New York with my sister. I’m going to rehab.”

He shook his head, sighing.

“What.. what changed your mind?” He asked, and you shrug.

“My niece. My sister told me that.. she’s sick of having to talk about me like I’m dead. That she wants to know me. She’s six. Her names Ella.” A smile tugged at your lips. “She does dance. And she.. she loves to read, my sister said.. It reminded her of me.” Then, you shook your head, tears brimming your eyes. “I want to be in her life. I want to taste my mom’s cooking again. I.. I want to get better.” You cleared your throat.

“I’m going to Malaysia tomorrow.” Bob said, and your eyebrows furrowed.

“What?”

“I got fired from my job, so they gave me my last paycheck.. So I spent it on a plane ticket. I’m going to Malaysia with.. thirty bucks in my pocket. Maybe I’ll find the answers. Or, at least more drugs..” He shrugged. “Come with me.” He had offered.

You just shook your head.

“No.”

“No?” He scoffed, “What do you mean no?”

“No. I won’t go to Malaysia. I’m going torehab..” You started, and you inhaled before you asked, “And you should come with me.” You offered.

Bob let out a humorless chuckle.

“You..” He shook his head. “You’re just like everyone else.” He sighed, and you shook your head.

“Robby,” You whispered. “Please come with me. Get clean. Be.. be with me.” You said quietly, and when you leaned in to kiss him, he tilts his head away from you.

Oh.

“You should go.” He huffs. “I need to pack.”

You nod.

“You’re right. I should go.”

You stand, and make your way to the door, wiping your tears as you go.

Bob doesn’t say anything.

You stopped in the doorway, turning around to look at your sweet boy with no bed frame one last time.

“I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

And then, as if you weren’t soul crushingly and devastatingly in love with him, you left. And you hadn’t seen him again. Not until you started book club.

///

“Decaf vanilla bean macchiato with whipped cream and cinnamon and a medium hot coffee with half n half and two Splenda for Bob?” Bob grabs the drinks today, and when he sits across from you, you start—

“So. Frankenstein?”

Bob sighs.

“I liked that it’s the first ever sci-fi novel, and it was written by a young woman. It’s interesting.” He shrugs.

“Yeah.” You nod, and you open your mouth to say something but Bob beats you to it,

“I mean, I don’t.. I don’t know. Victor is just.. so stupid but also so.. self-centered. He’s— He’s the one who created the monster, why can’t he take accountability for it? Why is the monster doomed to always.. be a product of his creator?” He sounds frustrated, so you gently shrug.

“It is bullshit. But I think the person aspect of him, the human aspects of the monster are all him.  The best parts of him comes from the work he does on himself.” You shrug, and Bob knows this conversation has strayed from Frankenstein. Kind of.

“Yeah.” He sighs softly.

A beat.

“And I agree.” You shrug, “Victor is a fucking idiot.”

Bob just smiles, and then asks,

“Wanna split a chocolate chip muffin with me?”

///

Bob calls you on a Saturday afternoon between book club meetups.

“Hey,” You say into the phone, “Everything okay?” You usually don’t talk except for your weekly meetups.

“Yeah,” He says into the phone.

“Okay.” You smile. “Do you.. need so—”

“Come over.” He gently requests, “I- I mean, You don’t.. you don’t have to, I was just wondering if you wanted to—I guess..” He breathes.

“Robby, it’s not even Thursday.” You tease.

“I don’t.. care,” He breathes.

“I..” You start, “Would.. really love to, but I gotta do laundry.”

“Do your laundry here.” He offers.

“Bob.”

“What?” he whines, “I..I just need.. to see you.”

You bite your tongue, but it would be nice to see him. To see his new, full bed. And you know that if he has a washer and dryer, it would make laundry a lot less frustrating than doing it in the laundry mat down the road from your apartment.

“Okay,” You sigh. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” You promise.

Bob meets you in the lobby of New Avengers tower, watching as you walk in, holding a bag of laundry as you make your way to him.

“This place is crazy,” You tell him, and Bob just smiles awkwardly.

“It’s.. just a tower.”

“Yeah, but like.. It’s definitely not just—” You cut yourself off when you realize how out of his element Bob looks. “Where’s this awesome new bed I hear so much about?” You ask, and it seems like it’s enough for him to relax.

“Come on, I’ll show you upstairs.” You follow him into the elevator, and when the doors close, he says, “So.. You’ll.. probably meet the team, or at least some of them.”

“Oh, I get to meet—” You clear your throat and wipe the smirk off your face. “That’ll be nice.”

Bob just looks at you for a moment.

“They’re.. kind of.. intense.” He breathes.

“Bob, we were addicts in Jacksonville, I can handle a couple of.. teammates.” You shrug.

Bob gives you an awkward smile.

“Yeah, sure.” He sighs. The doors open, and you follow Bob out, looking around the apartment. Like he’s looking around for trouble.

“Bob, seriously I—”

“Heads up!”

You and Bob duck at the same time when a football comes flying towards your head.

“Sorry,” a voice says, and you see.. The US Agent and The Red Guardian, coming to retrieve their ball.

“Ah, Bob,” The Red Guardian says, “Who is your girlfriend?” He smiles. Your cheeks flush.

“Uh, She’s.. just my friend. Who happens to be a girl.” He says.

“Right, right.” He nods.

“We’re in a book club together,” you start and both men start laughing while Bob looks intensely embarrassed.

“Oh,” One laughs, “You’re the book club girl.. I’m John. This is Alexei, are you staying for dinner?” He asks.

You glance to Bob, who looks back to you.

“Uh,” He shrugs, “I don’t.. maybe.” He breathes.

“Maybe isn’t—”

“Too late, we’re doing laundry, Bye!” Bob says, grabbing your hand and pulling you along. You just smile and bite back a comment about how jealous he seems.

“They seem nice.”

“They aren’t.” He grumbled, and you just laugh.

When you’re done putting on your laundry, Bob takes you to his room, and you can’t help the smile that stretches across your room. It’s a little messy, but there are books here and there, cozy blankets, warm lighting, and.. no meth. No booze.

You jump onto Bob’s bed, stretching out with a soft laugh, this stupidly large grin on your face.

“Oh, My Robby situationship has a real bed now, how divine,” You hum, and Bob just stands in the doorway with a soft smile on his face.

“I missed you.” he says softly, and you shake your head.

“Well, I’m here now,” You offer. He scoffs and walks over to the bed, finding his place on top of you as you lay back.

“Not really good enough for me,” He confesses.

“Needy Robby.” You jest, but before you can tease him further, he kisses you.

Your fingers find his hair in familiar movements, and Bob deepens the kiss further, his tongue slipping past your lips. His fingers dip under the shirt you’re wearing, and a soft shiver runs down your spine as he scratches up your sides, and when you moan in response, it seems to make him more confident in his movements.

Your fingers curl around his hair, tugging just barely on his hair. In between kisses, you mumble,

“Need you,” And he just catches your lip in his teeth, tugs a bit, and goes back to kissing you. And kissing you, and kissing you—

Until you hear the shatter of a glass on the nightstand. Both you and Bob pull away and your heads turn to look at the pile of glass and the water dripping off the nightstand.

“Did you..”

Bob’s face flushes.

“I-I didn’t mean to, I just—”

There’s a brief knock on the door, and then it opens, and a short blonde woman walks in.

“Bob, is everything okay, because—Woah,” She stops, noticing the compromising position the two of you are in, just as Bob takes his hand out of your shirt. “Oh, this is what happens at book club, huh—”

“Yelena!” Bob snaps, his cheeks red with embarrassment. Your eyebrows furrow when you see his eyes flicker gold.

“I was just trying to make sure you’re okay! The lights were flickering..”

Bob groans and rolls off of you.

You just smile awkwardly to Yelena.

“He’s fine, we were just..” You shrug. “Uh..” You chuckle awkwardly.

“Right, just.. Tell him to relax whenever he comes back down to earth,” She says, and then steps forward and holds out her hand, “I’m Yelena, it’s nice to—”

“Okay,” Bob stands suddenly, walking towards Yelena, “I’ll see you at dinner, okay?” He says, and she just smirks.

“Have fun at uh.. Book Club.” She says, turning to leave. Bob closes the door behind her and then glances back to you, and then groans, covering his face with his hands.

“Bob,” You grin, a soft laugh lacing your words, “Baby, it’s really not that bad.”

He looks at you when you call him that.

“It’s not..?”

“No.” You smile. “Come back to bed..” And then, you try, “Please, baby?”

Bob moves like lightning to kiss you again. It’s actually impressive. Not as impressive as breaking the glass or turning off the lights because he was just too.. needy. But, his speed is pretty impressive.

///

“Decaf pumpkin spice chai with extra cinnamon and a medium hot coffee with half n half and two Splenda for Bob?” You take the drinks from the barista, and slide into the seat across from Bob, glancing over to him.

“So,” You start, “1984.” You sip your coffee.

Bob gestures to you.

“Go for it.” He smiles gently.

You begin to talk about the political implications of the novel..

And Bob becomes slowly lost in thought. It starts out simple enough.

He notices how gorgeous your hair looks. You’re always so pretty.

We could take such good care of her, a voice says in the back of his head, She should know everything we could offer her.

Or..

No, Bob thinks. It’s bad enough that the ‘Sentry’ wants a piece of you, he wouldn’t be able to stand it if he entertained any thought of letting the Void out.. especially if he wanted to get anywhere near you.

Why not?, the voice asks, you could help.. We could help. She wouldn’t have to worry about her sobriety or any of her silly thoughts.

He’s right, The Sentry agrees, and Bob feels like he might be sick, How could you even know what she wants if you haven’t asked?

Because, Bob thinks, you don’t even want him. Why would you want either of these—

Because I’m better than a God, The first voice tells him, And he’s..

Everything you aren’t.

Exactly.

Shut up, Bob thinks, She wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t at least a little bit into me.. right?

You’re so naïve, Bobby, He could hear the Void mocking him, and it was even worse when Sentry cut in—

She could get a fuck from anywhere, and let’s face it, you’re not particularly tal—

“Let’s go back to your place,” He says suddenly, cutting your rambles off.

“Everything okay?” You ask, watching as he stands, grabbing his jacket.

“Uh.. Yeah.” He smiles awkwardly, “I’m just..” He shrugs, “In a.. a giving mood.” His cheeks flush when he says it, and the tips of your ears go red when you realize what he’s saying.

“Okay,” you nod, “No, like—pastry or brownie or—”

Bob clears his throat and inhales like he doesn’t want to regret what he’s about to say,

“I’ll have something sweet real soon,” He says. Your ears get redder.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

You stand up and take the last sip of your coffee.

“Okay.” You say, throwing out the cup on your way out the door.

“Okay.” Bob smiles, following you to your apartment.

///

“Decaf caramel dolce Frappuccino with cinnamon and extra whipped cream and a medium hot coffee with half n half and two Splenda for Bob?” Bob takes the drink from the Barista and slides into his usual spot.

He hands you his drink, and then you start,

“I cannot believe she married Rochester!” you whine, tossing the book down on the table. Jane Eyre was the book selection for this week—well, two weeks, it took you guys some time to get through it.

“Yeah,” Bob breathes, shaking his head, “I.. I mean—”

“Do not defend the man who kept his mentally ill wife locked in an attic and got with a nineteen-year-old,” You start, and Bob smiles a bit. He stares at you for a long moment and then you ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Uh, no-nothing.” He shakes his head. “I was just..” He shrugged, then he clears his throat, “She got a family, right?” You sigh.

“Yeah, she did.”

“And yeah, it would’ve been.. nice for her to end up with someone her age, but..” he shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s really good for her.” You just look at him. “Or maybe he died tragically young and left her his money.” You smile then.

And after a moment, you say,

“I guess everyone deserves a second chance, right?” You wonder, and he nods.

“Yeah.”

Bob feels like he can’t breathe.

You notice he looks it too.

“Wanna split a brownie?” You ask, and Bob smiles.

“Yeah.”

  ///

1:32 A.M.

You’re not sure if this counts as relapsing. You twist your phone in your hands and try to focus on breathing. In and out and—who should you call?

Your therapist? Your sister? What would you even say? ‘Sorry, I know you’re usually worried about me drinking but I just couldn't fight off the compulsions or the depression tonight, so can I come over so I don’t do what I just did again?’

You open your stupid fucking flip phone and dial Bob’s number.

“Hey, everything okay?” You note the lack of sleep from his voice. He must’ve already been up.

You inhale to try and answer, but you hesitate. You don’t want to start crying.

“Can I come over?” Is all you can say.

“Sure,” he answers immediately. “Do you want me to pick you up?”

You do. You want to see him as quickly as possible, but.. you have this insane thought that you don’t deserve the comfort, that you must wait to see him.

“I’ll walk,” And if Bob notices the distant tone, he doesn’t say anything.

“Okay. I’ll see you in ten, I’ll meet you in the lobby.” He says gently, and you nod, even though he can’t see you.

“Okay.”

You get up from your place on the bathroom floor, but you don’t hang up, so after a moment, his voice comes through the other end of the phone,

“Everything okay?” And you wish he would stop asking it.

“Mhm,” Is all you manage as you get your shoes on. You make your way down the stairs, the phone pressed against your ear.

Maybe he knows something is wrong, so he asks,

“Have you started reading The Hunger Games yet?” He asks. It was for ‘book club’ this week, and he just needs to hear you talk so he knows you’re still there.

“Yeah,” You breath as you walk down the stairs, the movement down the stairs more instinctual and second nature than conscious movement, like your brain is fixated on the fact that if you can get to Bob, you’ll be safe—safe from what, you do not know.

“What did you think?” He asks, as he slips on his own slippers, trying to think of anything else he can ask.

And in your daze, in your foggy brain that you try to stumble your way through, as you walk down the streets of New York, the cold air sending goosebumps up your arms, the breeze even stinging the fresh cuts on your arms. A group of girls about your age come down the street past you, drunk and giggling and you think about how alone you feel.

Your feet stop in front of a bar, and you take a moment to just stare at the neon sign, thinking about how easy it would be to get a drink. Another breeze plucks you out of your spiral. You wish you had brought a sweater or something.

Your head turns and you can see the ‘new’ Avengers tower just a few blocks away. So, you keep walking. You can make it there. Bob is waiting for you in the lobby.

“I like that the first thing we learn about Katniss is that she loves someone,” you say, walking towards the tower now. Your hands are beginning to shake. “We don’t know anything about her, her name, her place in the world, or even anything about the world.. we just know that she loves someone.” And when you say ‘someone’, your voice cracks. You can see the doors of the tower now.

“Yeah,” he says on the other end of the phone, and as you get closer you see him there, a small smile on his face as he stands there, and it registers in your brain that he is smiling as he’s talking to you. It registers, just barely. “Sometimes I.. I can’t believe how smart you are.” He says, and it makes you feel almost.. anxious. Like he’s lying.

You hang up as you walk through the doors, and Bob’s shy, isolated smile falls when he sees you. When he sees your arms.

“Holy fuck,” is what he says, and that does not make you feel better.

“I’m sorry,” you say, your tears now falling freely, and not because you’re sad, but because you’re ashamed, and because you feel bad that Bob has to deal with this and because..

This definitely counts as a violation of your ‘book club with benefits’ agreements.

“It’s okay,” he starts, “it’s alright, we can handle this,” He says, but you hear the shakiness in his voice. You know he’s pushing through his own terror in this moment.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, taking a step back from him, but he shakes his head as you continue, “I.. I shouldn’t have come here,” And you go to turn but you feel Bob’s hand grab yours.

“Yes, you should have.” He says, “Because if it were me and I didn’t call you, and I just let myself spiral further, you’d be so mad at me.”

You know he’s right.

“You shouldn’t have to take care of me.”

“But I want to.” He says gently. “So let me.”

And you nod, because you know the path you’re on. You know what letting him in leads to.

So does he.

You don’t say much else, but you let him lead you upstairs, his hand clutched around yours.

The ride up the elevator is quiet. Bob just keeps his grip on your hand and then he asks,

“What else did you.. like about the book?” He asked.

You search your brain for an answer. You know he’s trying to keep you distracted.

“I like Peeta. He’s a sweet character.” You say gently. And then, before you can stop yourself, you say, “He reminds me of you.” Your hand shakily comes up to brush a lock of hair behind his ear. You notice the way a small smile tugs at his face. His head tilts and he kisses the palm of your hand.

The doors to the elevator open, and Bob’s fingers lace with yours.

“Let’s..” he nods towards the door, and you nod in return. He walks just a step ahead of you, but you notice the way he takes the occasional glance back. Both of your heads pick up when you hear footsteps approaching, and there stands Yelena, in these plaid pajama pants and a big tee shirt for some beer company. She looks half asleep but she smiles when she sees you two.

“Oh look, book club meets late now, how—” she stops, her face growing concerned when she sees your arms, “What did—” But she stops when she sees Bob shake his head. Instead, she glances back to you and in a way that leaves no room for argument, she says, “You call if you need me.” And without another word, she turns and makes her way past you down the hall.

You and Bob find the bathroom. “Take a seat,” he gently says, and you decide to sit on the edge of the tub. He shuffles through the supplies and pulls out some bandages and some antibiotic spray. He takes a rag from off the counter and soaks it in some warm water. Then, he turns back to you. “Can I see?”

You just hold your hands out, and Bob starts by just looking at the cuts. There’s not a ton of them, but there are enough for him to notice. He gently cleans them with the warm rag and then sprays your wrists with the antibiotic spray.

“When did you learn first aid?” you ask.

Bob shrugs.

“When.. when you’re the standby in a team of superheroes..” he shrugs. “You pick up on a few things.”

“You’re a hero too.” You say softly. Bob doesn’t respond, he just wraps your wrists with the bandages he holds. He doesn’t want to tell you that he’s no hero, that he’s hurt so many people that he thinks he’ll be repenting for the rest of his life.

He turns around to put the spray and bandages away, and when he turns back, he sees you sitting on the floor, leaning against the tub. He sighs and sits next to you on the floor. Then, he asks,

“Do you want to talk about it?” You shake your head. “C’mon..” he says softly. “It’s just me.” He reminds.

“I..”  You sigh. “I haven’t.. self-harmed like that since.. middle school. I just wanted to feel something, anything that didn’t feel like I was drowning.” You confess. “I’m sorry I bothered you, I don’t know—”

“Stop,” he says softly, “We’re..” He sighs. “I meant it. I want to take care of you.”

You can’t stop the tears from falling as you shake your head.

“You wanna know the worst part?”

Bob’s voice is genuine when he says,

“I want to know all of it.”

Finally, you turn your head to look at him.

“I’m falling back in love with you.” You tell him. He nods.

“Can I tell you a secret?” He asks softly. You feel a smile tug at your lips, and it makes Bob smile too.

“Sure.” You answer.

“I never stopped.” He said, “When I saw you again, it was like..” He shook his head. “I should’ve gone to rehab with you.” He whispered. Your heart aches. “I never.. never should’ve went to Malaysia or..” He frowns. “I could’ve built a life with you. A real life, not just.. One where I have to pretend like I don’t.. like I don’t want to ask you to stay.”

Your heart breaks when you see tears brimming his eyes.

“Robby,” You whisper, even though it’s just the two of you in this bathroom. The lights flicker just a bit, so you lace your fingers with his.

“I.. I was so.. so stupid.” He shakes his head, “I never..” His eyes meet yours. “I really screwed it up, and.. I’m sorry. And I love you.” He confesses.

“What about uh..” You sniff, “What about neither of us wanting to be in a.. serious relationship?”

“Fuck that.” He says, and his confidence in it takes you back, “I’m tired of.. of not seeing you everyday. A week is too long to go without seeing you.” He confesses, and your free hand comes up to tuck a curl behind his ear.

“I love you too.” You tell him. You lean your forehead against his and then say, “So ask me.”

“Ask.. Ask you what?”

“Ask me to stay.” You whisper, “And maybe I will.”

“..Just.. Just maybe?”

“Guess you’ll have to ask and see.”

“..Stay.” He says softly. You can’t help it, so, you say,

“That’s not really a question—” Bob stares at you for a long time, a smile making his glare much less intimidating.

“Will you stay? Here, with me?” he wonders, “Be with me.” He requests.

You kiss him, but there’s no expectation in this one. You don’t expect him to want to fuck, to want to sleep with you. This kiss is pure, with no strings attached. No benefits.

When you pull away, you nod.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll stay for as long as you want me to.” You promise, and Bob smiles a bit, looking down to your intwined fingers.

“That’s.. nice.” Your awkward Loverboy responds, and you’re shocked when he asks, “Do you.. uhm..”

“Do I..?”

“Do you.. wanna watch.. Star Wars with me?” he wonders.

You can’t help but smile.

“Which one?”

“The best one.” He shrugs. “Revenge of the Sith?”

“Sure. That sounds nice.” You confess.

Halfway through the movie, you would fall asleep right on top of him, and Bob would realize that this was always where he was meant to be.

///

For your birthday, Bob hands you a small present, wrapped in paper decorated with sprinkles. When you open it, you find a copy of The Great Gatsby.

Only this copy is bound by leather and has this beautiful dark blue and gold cover on it. It must’ve cost Bob—well, it wasn’t cheap, but It’s gorgeous, and inside, you find a note scribbled onto the title page—

“I found what I was looking for.

Love, Robby.”

[bonus-links]

Eeee Directors commentary for HOMESICK, pt. 13? (I’m particularly interested in Wake’s POV on Ganondorf’s character & exactly when he began thinking of him as someone who cares about more than just power?—If sharing that wouldn’t be a spoiler of/c.)

HI EVERYONE!!

okay so funny story about the castle. for some reason I had gotten it into my head that the castle was definitively located directly below the tower of the gods. I think it's because that's where the portal to enter it is located in the game. but it did not occur to me until I had literally already drawn it in this update that it. does not have to be that way. and probably makes more sense if it's not HAHA so anyway just go with this being the former location of the castle lol I needed them to be able to see it from outset

lots of people caught this but Wolf being like. hey wait a second I know that fucking guy

scary ganondorf silhouettes compared with the decidedly human version of him we met last update

and on that note: Wake is not necessarily arguing that Ganondorf was actually good all along. He's uncomfortable with dehumanizing him fully. He's kind of half trying to make a joke here about the stories he grew up with about Ganon, a joke Wolf takes very seriously lol. To your question about when exactly Wake started to actually think about Ganondorf, at the time of his first quest he mostly didn't take much of what he said seriously. Priority #1 was saving Aryll. In the years since though, he's had more time to consider Ganondorf's position. I don't think he likes or even sympathizes with Ganondorf, but he has begun to understand where he's coming from.

In Wolf's defense, his experience of Ganondorf was VERY different than Wake's lol. He knows his version of Ganondorf to be capable of puppeting disasters like this behind the scenes, and he also knows that Ganondorf has pulled off seemingly impossible feats before (divine prank, anyone). From his perspective he's like. in the fucking twilight zone right now. pun intended. what do you MEAN you're defending Ganondorf in front of me. what do you MEAN this isn't enough evidence for what is clearly a proven pattern of behavior. etc. ARE YOU PEOPLE NUTS???

I love conflict and arguing and being locked into your own worldview <3

lots of this chapter has just been me unpacking the different ways WW and TP respond to OOT as sequels SHJGKGJ

one thing I regret about last update in hindsight was not having Ganondorf say like. one line mentioning Wake. But also something something overshadowed by the Hero of Time even in this, so maybe it makes sense he didn't.

Slate and even Loft are both kind of outsiders to this conversation. Originally Slate was supposed to be in that 4th panel on the last page typing up notes on his Sheikah Slate, but I ran out of steam to draw him HAHA anyway he's not contributing to the argument much but he's definitely connecting some dots in his head. also Slate whistling to get everyone's attention is so funny to me

top ten favorite loft moments I also love lying liars who lie. anyway I'm sure he's being really normal about all of this in that noggin of his. adding: can and will lie to his list of character traits lol this is a little bit of a defining moment for him even tho it's small

I have a secret about this outset background. It's literally just this panel from pt. 4 zoomed in and blurred. I've been using it every time they're on this beach 😂 it's been a life saver for real

I might have more to say later but I am very tired KJHKLJDGKJ so that's all I've got for now. thanks for reading! we're really really almost to the end of ch2 now!