[lincccc233]

[pyr0nie]

what's his problem

[lumi-nay]

Waitress!reader, who's a new hire, working part time in a restaurant to make just enough money to support yourself through uni.

Youve been having the absolute worst day, from losing the assignment that you were supposed to hand in today and getting reamed out by your professor, to having dropped a tray of waters at the start of your shift, a preemptive sign that the rest of your night would be tough.

You're just trying to make it through your shift, when you get a table of crude, middle aged men, who make you feel anything but pleasant.

You do your best to cater to their needs and try be as polite and neutral as possible, despite wanting to give them to another waiter, but as usual, the restaurant is overwhelmed and understaffed.

Line cook!Simon who's been watching the pretty little new hire get progressively stressed as your shift goes on. His heart aches for you a bit. A pretty little thing, doing her best to make ends meet, whilst dealing with idiot customers.

Simon who feels his jaw tighten whem you come back into the kitchen, teary eyed, explaining to another server how one of the men at your table tried to hit on you and grabbed the back of your thigh.

Simon who tells you to sit in the walk-in for a bit, whilst he goes to deal with your table, he was needing some fresh air anyway.

Simon who soon comes into the walk-in pantry with a little plate of chips and hands it to you with his now-bruised hands. He pats your head softly, before gruffly saying 'take a break, yeah luv? Go' someone on yer tables'

...Line Cook!Simon who refuses to address his soft spot for you, telling the whole kitchen to shut up when teasing him about it. They can see the faint pink on the tips of his ears though.

--------------------------------------------------

A/n: Am I in my consistency era or what 😛

[koifee]

Secondhand smoke 🚬

[lincccc233]

[pale-elysium]

Pondering a cold war AU with an irresistible young soviet army officer Nikto stationed in 1960s East Berlin.

You're the daughter of a high-ranking soviet general who is stationed in the heart of the cold war in East Berlin. Sheltered and spoiled you're your father's greatest treasure. Representative duties are part of his deployment here as well, so regularly dinner parties with diplomats, politicians and other esteemed guests are held at the beautiful house you had been given when your family followed your father here from Russia.

The silverware is polished and your mother wears her best dress and a whole can of hairspray in her updo when a dinner is hosted for honoured officers of the division your father is responsible for. Soldiers in sharp full dress uniforms far from home and sent here to defend the iron curtain, their boots polished to a shine and their spines straight when they snap a salute to your father upon arrival.

You're used to those men in their olive green attire with those shiny gold buttons and the red rimmed caps. But one of them sticks out tonight.

A promising young officer your father informs when you're introduced, who joined his division just a few months ago after a glorious review from his previous deployment, ordered to defend the Motherland where his skills are most needed.

You shake his hand and he inclines his head politely, but the pair of sharp and glacial blue eyes is fixed on you, his hand enveloping yours just a second longer than would be appropriate before your father cheerfully calls for the first round of vodka of the night.

It doesn't need more for you to fall head over heels for him right there.

Your mother notices your stolen glances throughout the dinner and remarks with a tiny knowing smirk what a handsome young man this particular soldier is and how pleased your father would certainly be with a son-in-law like this. He's proven to be so helpful to the General since his arrival, an honourable comrade through and through. There will surely be more occasions to get to know him a bit more.

After the dinner though, the young officer doesn't immediately return to the barracks outside of the city with the others. His duty isn't fulfilled yet for today.

Changed into civilian clothing he meets up with another man in a small pub in the nearby small town. The locals are tipsy enough at this hour to pay no mind to the two strangers settling on a table in the corner with a beer.

He has visited the Generals house tonight, as it was arranged, met the wife and the daughter. Infiltrating the family further shouldn't be a problem as well as gaining the Generals full trust.

The other man nods thoughtfully and scribbles something into his notepad.

His new order is clear now:

Become an important asset to the General and gain the daughter's favour. Find a way to search the house for intel and gather compromising information from the daughter and the wife.

And if you find prove of the suspected ties to the western agressor, namely the Americans, or any treasonous activities by the General — act accordingly.

The safety of the Motherland and all its brother states relies on you, comrade. Uncover the traitor.

---

@xoxunhinged that's your fault so please would you write this research-heavy fic for me thank you

[kaadaaan]

MDNI

not developed idea at all but thinking about Ghost torturing some crime lord or other and he’s using the man’s wife as leverage. Gun to her head as she cries and shakes, tied up on the floor of the concrete room, begging her husband to help her.

Ghost gives the man a choice; his life, or hers. His lip curls beneath the mask when the man chooses his own life.

“Shouldn’t treat y’wife that way.” He says coldly. “Bad for you, yeah? Happy wife, and all that.”

The bullet lands exactly where he means it to go; between the bloke’s eyes. Blood trickles down his forehead, body slackens in the restraints holding him. The pretty thing on the floor screams. Thrashes and thumps her tied wrists off his legs while she curses him out.

“Thank you wouldn’t hurt,” he rumbles dryly. “Would’ve been you if your man had his way. Up you get, c’mon.”

He pulls her to her feet, brushes her down with lingering hands. Smooths over her hair and thumbs away the tears. The mask shifts, like he’s frowning.

“Calm down, y’fine. Not going to shoot you.” He doesn’t trust her to walk alongside him nicely, so he lifts her over his shoulder with a pat to her arse. “Alright, ‘bout time we get you home. Spare rooms a tip so we’ll be sharing the bed, mind.”

[conleches]

some fucking resources for all ur writing fuckin needs

body language masterlist

a translator that doesn’t eat ass like google translate does

a reverse dictionary for when ur brain freezes

550 words to say instead of fuckin said

638 character traits for when ur brain freezes again

some more body language help 

[bellero]

REBLOG TO SAVE A WRITER

[loveridden1999]

what doesn't kill you makes you overshare on the internet

[darlingpye]

Niktos Captive

७ Nikto x Reader Oneshot: explicit smut, non-con, rough, mean, painful, virginity loss. ୭

Nikto dug his knee into the bed causing it to dip slightly. Your breath, soft and warm against the cold air of the dimly lit room. So delicate.

 “Wake up, girl.” He whispered, leaning over and tenderly brushing a strand of hair over your ear.

Stirring slightly you furrowed your eyebrows. He stroked his hand over your arm then down against the curve in your hips until he reached your butt. 

“Wake up,” he cooed again, leaning back slightly to get a better view of your rear end. Your lace panties were exposed slightly under the nightie you had been found in. The shape of your folds could just be made out under the soft, white fabric. Blood rushed to Nikto's cock, it ached to be inside of you. 

Three days had passed since your capture. Just a civilian, easy prey. It was his men who had discovered you initially, in the now blown out ruin of your family home. Shoving you back and forth between each other as they argued over who would plunge into your virgin core first. If Nikto hadn’t broken it up in time, then it would have been all four of the brutes. 

“This one's mine.” He asserted. They scoffed and bickered at his claim, but overall there was nothing they could do, he was in command. He took you back to their makeshift barracks, his men lagging behind, dissatisfied with the fact they would be getting nothing tonight while Nikto would. Though it never came. Nikto promised he wouldn’t force you into anything but each day he became more persistent in you giving up your innocence for him.

He pressed a thumb between the mountains of your folds where a wet patch began to form through the lace. 

“You will have to let me take you at some point.” He mewed, growing harder in his pants.

You writhed your legs as if trying to dislodge the firm placement of his thumb. 

“You like, yeah?” He smirked, moving his thumb in a circular motion. The feeling became too much and with a sharp moan you jolted awake. Pulling your body away from him you pushed yourself against the wall on the far side of the bed. A pathetic “no” was all you could squeak.

Sighing, he looked up at the ceiling then back at you, his eyes the only thing visible on his covered face. 

“My men complain to me,” he started in his thick accent, “you’re free use, they say, since I’m not using you.” You twitched as he gripped your ankle, a subtle hint at the power he had over you. “I don’t want to cause arguments over you, they should get to–” he paused, trying to remember the phrase “--blow off steam.” 

The thought of them discussing you like this made you dizzy, you tried pulling your leg away from his grasp, however he held you still.

“I don’t think you understand, girl. My men, not so nice. Me, nice.”

His calm disposition made his empathy seem almost believable. Whimpering, you tried relaxing your body. Nikto dragged himself closer to you onto the bed as you let out soft cries. 

“Hush, hush. There, there.” His cock couldn't help but throb at the sight of your pathetic state.

You let him take your hand, dainty and small against his rough palm. He put it to the bulge growing in his cargo pants, letting you feel his hardness.

Bucking his hips just slightly, he breathed, “you do this to me.” 

Looking away, you hid your red face behind your hair. Embarrassment encompassed you like a cage. Nikto let go of your hand, the sound of a zipper followed.

“Look,” he said. 

When you didn’t move he pushed himself closer to you on his knees. You were now cornered against the wall you had retreated to for safety. 

“Look,” he repeated, sounding slightly more annoyed. 

Sighing at your lack of compliance, he took your hand again and used it like a fleshlight to grip his cock; he moaned while rubbing it up and down along his length. The heat and size of it making you squirm.  

He carried on for a minute then set you free.

“Come now,” his breath was heavy with desire, “time to taste.” With tenderness he stroked the hair out of your face, chuckling at the sight of your tightly shut eyes, “is not scary.”

You made no effort to move with your brain locked in a fawn response. 

He exhaled, “don’t make me get rough with you.” 

He waited a moment then clawed into your arm, dragging you forward. You opened your eyes in shock, choking on a cry. He gripped your hair, forcing you into a kneeling position directly below his heat.

“Lick my balls,” he barked.

You winced at the harshness in his order and the pain in the tug of your hair. In defeat you stuck your tongue out, letting him use it to his liking. “Ah, so you are a good girl.” You could tell he was smirking. 

All you could taste was the build up of sweat accumulated over days of stress and labour out in the field. Gripping his thick thighs you tried not to think about when he might have last washed himself. It didn’t matter, your mouth was cleaning him now.

Humiliation was the only feeling you had and he was getting off on it. It was driving him into a frenzy. 

“You like the taste of my balls, whore?” The slight comfort that was once in his voice had shifted. "You like cleaning the enemy with your mouth?"

He jerked himself off while high on the pleasure the wet warmth of your tongue gave him. Tears rolling down your face met the saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth. 

All of a sudden he twisted your hair and shoved you down onto the bed with a growl in his throat. Falling onto your stomach, you craned your neck to look at him. Without hesitation he straddled your thighs, preventing your legs from moving and rubbed his sticky cock against one of your soft, round cheeks. 

Nikto huffed greedily, eager to mount you. He had been waiting so long to stuff you full. The suffering he had faced from being around your soft, delicious body, knowing you were ripe for a fucking had been brutal. Now it was time he brutalised you.

“Please,” you cried, “please sto–” Your words were cut short by a wail of pain as he spanked your butt with his large hand. 

“Shut the fuck up.” His accent had become heavier from annoyance. “I waited enough already.”

He pulled your panties to the side, fingering your folds, searching for your hole. 

“Mmm, so wet for me,” he chuckled. 

You squirmed, trying to grab at his hands from behind your back. He took no notice, gripping both your wrists in one hand and pressing them down into the curve of your spine. There was nothing you could do against his strength. He was wide and built like a ten tonne truck. Any effort you made to struggle was void. Such a weak thing.

The search for your hole continued, his middle finger rubbing in between your slick mountains until he found what he was looking for. He forced his finger into your heat slowly, relishing in your moans, your small legs trying to free themselves from under his weight. What a pathetic little toy. 

He tested your hole with his finger a few times, pulling it in and out. 

“Your little virgin hole is in trouble.” He laughed at the fear in your eyes. “No worries, no worries. I’ll make it fit.” 

Nikto unsheathed his finger from your hole. He pushed the head of his member against the tiny slit of your entrance then put his body weight to good use. A blessing to ruin such a sweet little hole.

“Plea—it hurts.” You sobbed as his tip stretched you open. Nikto knew himself this would be no easy task, but his ambition to break you in spurred him on. He pulled his tip out, wiping it down through your folds to soak it in your fluids. 

The hem of your panties pissed him off. He let go of your wrists, using both hands to tear apart your underwear. 

Pumped with adrenaline, he growled, shoving your head down into the mattress; ignoring your flailing attempts to escape. 

“Stupid fucking bitch.” He spat, wrapping his free arm under your stomach to pull your butt up towards him, still with his other arm resting hard onto your head. 

He pressed the tip of his cock back against your entrance, using more force than before. This bitch needs to know who she belongs to. 

Your pathetic moans of pain muffled into the mattress only spurred him on. Nikto used more of his weight to force his way in. You could feel yourself stretching around his girth. 

The pain was too much. You tried your best to plead with him, whimpering pitifully, "hurts, it hurts.” 

He ignored you, too focused on his plunder.

With every tiny thrust he made his way deeper. Your walls clenched around him, squeezing against his length, trying to push him out. The pressure building up inside of you became unbearable. Your legs quivered, becoming limp against his thighs where he held you in place.

Nikto lifted his head back with a grunt. “You love it, huh?”

A few more gentle thrust and he was balls deep. He stayed there for a moment, relishing over your trembling form. The pain of being pried open had turned you completely disabled, the only thing you could do was let him have you. Nikto had mounted you completely and conformed you to his demand. 

“Finally mine now,” he cuffawed. He rubbed a hand over your butt, admiring what he had turned you into. Scrunched up and lifeless, speared on his cock, your walls clenching around him over and over. He chuckled to himself, then initiated the slow motion of rocking back and forth.

You gasped at his movements. Back and forth, back and forth. There was no pleasure, just pure pain as though someone was gutting your insides. 

“Feels good, yeah?” Nikto grunted, speeding up slightly. You gritted your teeth, an exasperated groan filtering through your lips. 

Nikto couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He wanted you exhausted, folded up under his weight; completely ruined. 

After only just getting used to his cock inside of you, he pulls out. Gasping at the pain of his sudden movement, you flinch hard. He grabs your arm, manhandling you onto your back. 

You looked up at him, your wide eyes filled with terror. He glared back, hungry and unsatisfied. 

Nikto grappled at his cock, giving it a few tugs before angling it against your slit. He pushed into you hard, groaning at your entrance trying to resist him. He put his full weight on top of you, his heavy breathing hot against your ear. You choked on a cry as his persistence to shove himself inside of you became more ruthless. 

With a rough thrust he growled, breaking far into your core. The sound of your pitiful moan, mixed with the pleasure emitting from his groin coaxed him on. There was no time to wait for adjustments. He needed to satisfy himself while your walls were still tight with fear. 

Nikto pulled out a few inches, then thrust back in with all his weight. Your wails snuffed out by his pleasure filled groans. He was loud, huffing and panting like a dog in heat as he rutted into you. There was no shame in his actions, he was selfish, your body there solely to satisfy his needs. A way for his frustration of war to be taken away for a moment and put onto you. 

Nikto pounded into you without remorse, each thrust long and rough, deliberately designed to make you scream. He was making music with his cock. Every wail of pain gave him a sense of victory. There’s nothing like killing a man, besides fucking a girl into a coma. 

“Good girl.” He groaned, clutching at your breast through your nightie. “Who’s my little slut?” 

You felt exhausted, your cries of pain died down into pathetic whimpers. Pressure was building deep inside of you even more. Nikto could feel your walls contracting around his cock. She was made to be dicked down by me. 

“Answer me.” He grunted.

Nikto gripped his hand around your neck, not enough to choke you, just enough to be reminded he could snap it in half.

“Tell me you’re my little slut.” He pushed his thumb against your throat. 

“I’m—I'm." you stammered, whincing at his rhythmic, cruel pace. 

“You’re what?” He smirked under his mask, pleased at your inability to get your words out. It made him thrust harder, your walls clenching more and more until you let yourself go in a cry of overstimulation. You curled your toes, shaking as mess leaked from your abused hole.

Nikto laughed at your organism. Such a pathetic little thing. Refusal will always end in orgasm. 

Your finish didn’t slow him down, your hole ached for him to pull out, which only caused your walls to cinch. 

“My turn now.” He chuckled, pushing his weight onto you all the more, forcing you into a claustrophobic mating press. “Your pussy wants my cum.” 

Your eyes turned wide, panic filling your body.

“No, please," you cried.

“Ah, now you can speak?” He tutted, driving his cock into you, his instincts telling him he needs to be as deep as possible. He buried into your tunnel, carving it out ready for his load.

“I can’t get pregnant,” you tried your best to plead with him, “please don’t cum in me.” 

Your pleading only made him more hungry. He wanted to own you, to dominate you; to show you who you belong to. 

He panted, “tell me you’re my slut.”

You did as you were told, giving in to what he wanted. Obeying him might get you what you want. 

“I’m your slut,” you cried. “I’m your slut. I’m your slut.” You repeated it over and over, humiliating yourself. Anything was better than your insides being plastered in cum.

“You’re so good,” he praised. His pounding became sloppy and disorganised, his groans more needy. 

He huffed against your neck, desperate for release. With a few final slow thrusts, you thought he would pull out. He didn’t. He rammed back into you with a single forceful blow. You screamed as he hit the entrance to your cervix. Nikto grunted, filling you with his seed. 

“No!” You screamed, trying to pull away. You hands grasping at his biceps. He held you still, rocking into your slightly to milk himself dry. 

“Don’t tell me what to do.” He groaned. 

You lay still, quivering, whincing as Nikto pulled out of you. His cock limp and slick with both your fluids. He leaned back, admiring his work. 

Your hole, now brutalised and aching, began to leak his white seed. Nikto tutted, using his finger to stuff it back inside of you. “No wasting,”

You moaned and flinched a little at his touch, too weak and exhausted to do anything else. 

such a sweet little thing.

Nikto closed your legs for you and rolled you over to one side.

“You are very good for me,” he said, patting your butt which you took as praise. He stretched, revealing the row of abs under his shirt. Then he wiped his cock clean on the bed sheets next to you.

“Get some rest now, my pretty girl.” He said cheerfully, leaving the room and shutting the door behind himself.

७ apologies for any mistakes or errors!! <3 ୭

[skyrimhusbandmaterial]

[bfbkg]

PROS AND CONS : BKG (2.3k)

bakugou finds a list you made before you dated him

“one. big cock and knows how to use it. two and it’s in all caps. EATER.”

you rest on your forearms on your sofa, looking across the living room to your boyfriend who has appeared from your bedroom. he’s reading a crumpled sheet of paper from god knows where with a massive grin on his face.

“did you get the fan from my room? katsuki, it’s hot!” you whine petulantly. you've got your thin shorts and bralette on, trying to fight the heatwave that has taken over your city.

the heat has beat you down, left you stranded in your living room with three ice lolly packets in your path and skin sticky. you can feel the sweat trickle down your spine, you can see it gathered on katsuki’s exposed forehead, yet he still stands there reading.

“hold on, i’m lovin’ this,” he says, gold tooth shining as his mouth stretches wider, “three. rich and generous with it. is that right? you with me for my cock and money?”

you blink at him a few times, trying not to get distracted by his shirtless bare chest or the black headband he’s got on to push his unruly blonde locks back. he’s handsome, deliciously so. still, you think back to why everything he’s saying is so familiar.

“four. handsome. deliciously so. body and face. rare,” bakugou laughs, boyish and booming, “thanks, babe.”

you feel uncomfortable, perspiration dribbling between your breasts, limbs heavy with exhaustion.

“what is that? what are you reading?”

still bakugou ignores you and continues reading from the paper, “five. successful and ambitious. six. good friend even though he pretends he’s not. protective!! seven. so gentlemanly, holding open doors, paying for dates, very clear on why he likes me.” ruby pupils flicker over to you, “that last one is bare minimum.”

then it clicks, about seven points too late. your head snaps over to him robotically, eyes about to fall out of your head. “where the hell did you find that! stop reading it! stop katsuki!”

you hop up from your seat on your sofa, speed like no other taking over you as you run across the room to grab at the paper in bakugou’s hands. his laugh only booms louder, holding the flimsy sheet in the air over your head as you jump like a child.

“seriously, don’t read anymore!” you shout, trying to hoist yourself up his larger body, using his arms and shoulder as a climbing frame.

nothing about bakugou budges, he just continues reading with the paper in the air.

“it’s getting good, baby!” he laughs, ignoring your jumps and furrowed brows, “eight. listens to me. really listens. makes me feel heard and remembers what i say.”

he looks down at you, whose fingertips are slapping the bottom of the paper. you recognise it all too clearly now. the pink ruled lines, the edges ripped out from one of your old notebooks. your handwriting. “that’s cute. i still listen to you, don’t i?”

“you’re not now! give it back!”

“i’m almost done, two more,” bakugou says, hooking his arm behind your back to keep you locked close to him. you’re both sweaty and sticky. you’ve got no choice but to listen, “nine. cooks. such a good cook! you added five exclamation marks there. ten. fulfils some of my love languages. some?”

“now stop.” you urge. he can’t turn the paper around. he can’t.

bakugou pecks your forehead, his cheeks blushed with all the compliments. he continues skimming the list, rereading it. 

“so this is why you chose to date me, huh?” he looks down at you, pouts his lips, “c'mon gimme a kiss.”

if you just grab it out his hands, he won’t see the other side. with pros always comes—

he stops pouting at you.

“give me the paper. i wrote this all a few years ago!”

“if these are the pros, where’s the cons? you must have done a cons list.” 

you shake your head, side to side. he holds the paper away from you. the opposite side, the list of all your cons, written back at you. you loop out of his arm, trying to reach for it.

he notices you staring, eyes fixated and that’s when he flips the paper around. CONS in big red capital lettering.

“this is private! you weren’t meant to see this, you shouldn’t be snooping in my room!” you squeak but bakugou’s already half down the page, pupils running across every line like he’s in a race.

“one. WILL choose his job over me—,”

“well obviously, your job is to save the world!”

“two. odd relationship with his mother? but apparently it’s better than before.”

“it’s so much better now!”

bakugou’s eyebrows drop now, voice getting lower as he continues, “three. argumentative. argues with EVERYONE. his agency workers, the media and his friends.”

“i understand why you argue with them all now! it makes sense!”

“three. his job is terrifying.”

bakugou looks over to you, solemn narrowed eyes and you don’t have a positive word to say about that.

“it is, sometimes i don’t know if you’ll come home.”

“four. he doesn’t do much else besides work. all his friends are from work.” bakugou pinches his nose bridge, “really? you think that?”

“now i don’t! and i know they’re childhood friends and… and we do things together all the time. i know you love to read, game, you’ve got your lego. i didn’t know all of that then.”

“five. don’t know if my friends and family will understand.” bakugou steps away from you, “the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

you huff on the spot, “this was from when i met you! all they’ve seen of you is shouting and yelling on the television. they didn’t know how lovable you are. how well you treat me.”

bakugou looks at you, then back at the paper. scratches his head. “six. inexperienced with sex but it’s really cute. has never had a girlfriend?”

“but number one pro is that you know how to use it. obviously we’re experienced now, we know everything about each other,” you flick your finger between you and your boyfriend. 

“and the girlfriend comment? i can’t help the fact you’re my first.”

“no, i mean yes i know that. it was just a question as to why. it doesn’t mean anything to me now.”

“but it was a factor in whether you wanted to be my girlfriend,” he states.

“well, yeah,” you drawl, “i thought maybe there was a reason as to why. that’s all.”

bakugou raises his eyebrows, looks back at the sheet, “seven. doesn’t always have time for me. travels a lot for work.”

“that hasn’t changed.” bakugou grunts. it’s something he knows you struggle with while dating him. it’s even been a conversation you’ve had a few times throughout your relationship. quality time. you want to spend more time with him but he simply can’t. 

you sigh, grabbing his chin between your fingers so he looks directly at you. his eyes are half lidded, cheeks red and exhausted from the negativity and heat. “we’ve been through this. i’m still gonna stick by you, everything i love about you means more than all the things i find difficult.”

he takes your palm away from your face and squeezes it. but you can tell he’s feeling off. “the last one. eight, he’s surrounded by beautiful women all the time.”

“you’re with celebrities, pro heroes, socialites a lot,” you shrug, “that was jealousy on my part, nothing to do with you.”

“i don’t give a fuck about any of that.”

you nod sharply, “i know! i wrote this a while ago, two years even? a lot has changed.”

bakugou sighs from the pit of his stomach, then flings his head back in a huff. “fuck, baby.” he groans.

then he looks down at you, looking up at him.

“just wanna put it out there, that was private, you weren’t meant to see that, my opinions have now changed and i’m sure you had a mental pro con list for me. i just wrote mine down.”

bakugou folds the paper, “yeah, yeah, i get it. you hate my job that much, huh? it covered half of the fuckin’ cons.

“i also said i liked you were successful and ambitious.” you sit on the back of the sofa, crossing your arms. 

bakugou mirrors you standing, crossing his arms too. “but nothing about my job has changed since we’ve got together.”

you groan, leaning your head on your shoulder, “katsuki, i think you’re making problems out of nothing here.”

“you made a list of the problems with datin’ me.” he frowns, holding the folded paper between two fingers.

“and a list of the reasons why i wanted to date you. obviously the good reasons won if i’m with you now.” you glare at him with a sharp tone.

he begins to pace around the room, paper still in hand. a terrible sign. you watch as sweat trickles down his skin, body flush with heat.

“but, babe. the problems you’ve had with me from before we were dating are still problems now. i still don’t have time for you, you still are terrified every time i’m minutes late from a mission, you don’t think i’d choose you over my job and you don’t think i do anything but work.”

you moan aloud, “and i still want you despite that all. i get the world needs you, heck, i need you if i come across a villain. i don’t hate you for being a hero.”

he stops behind you, on the other side of the sofa, “i don’t want you to resent me when you realise you could have been with someone who does have more time for you, isn’t obsessed with their job, can put you first and doesn’t scare you.”

you hop off the sofa. leaning your forehead on his collarbone. “katsuki. i wouldn’t be here if i didn't want to be. i love you. i choose you everyday. i don’t want to argue with you.”

bakugou doesn’t touch you. there’s a shake to his voice, “i’m sorry i’m not better. i’m gonna try to be. just wait for me, fuck, maybe when i’m slower and the younger lot take over, they’ll need me less. it’s just now—,”

“it’s okay. you have time for me right now but you wanna argue with me," you pout up at him.

“you did put that i’m argumentative,” he looks away from you as your hands link around his neck. 

“look at me.”

shiny lava red pupils find you. you ground him, takes him out of the what ifs and the failures of his past and places him in the present with you. 

“i have dated bakugou katsuki for two years and i love him so much. i love how kind and generous he is, always putting his loved ones first. how he dedicates his life and body to saving the world. how even if he’s tired from a long week of working, he still comes over to cook me a three course meal because he wants to see me eat his food. who was so open and willing to change for me. to change his routines and learn my body. who is argumentative because he wants to make things right. who wanted so hard for my family and friends to love him and manages to see his mother once a week just to check up on her.”

you search in both his eyes and he’s listening, he always is.

“i can write an updated list for you, if you want.”

he shakes his head, stuffs his forehead into your neck and slowly pushes you down into the sofa. you laugh, his hands plastered into your waist as his body crushes you in the plush cushions ever so slightly.

“‘m sorry. i shouldn’t have read it. even though i enjoyed the pros.” he muffles, lips tickling your skin.

you tap his shoulder. “you shouldn’t have but it’s okay. i still need you to get my fan. it’s hot.”

“promise you’ll tell me if you want somethin’ to change between us. i’m not wakin’ up one day to you leavin’ me for a reason right under my nose.” he urges and you can see him pleading. the desperation for you to agree.

“promise. now you promise me.”

“course i promise. i couldn’t even fill out ten reasons as to why i hate you.”

“i didn't say i hate you. and sure you can. you hate my cold feet. you hate how i moan about my job. you hate how i hate your job. you hate how i always want a massage. you hate how i wait until the last minute when you’re tucked up in bed for you to get me a glass of water. you hate how i’m indecisive for what i want for my birthdays and—,”

bakugou sits up, “i don't hate any of that shit. love listenin’ to you and half that shit is cute as hell.”

you pout, “you hate when i wear low cut tops out—,”

he frowns, “that’s foreplay, baby. you let me suck your tits after to make me happy. couldn’t give a shit what you wear.”

“how about how protective my friends are? and the fact i tell them everything?”

bakugou shrugs, “you deserve friends that love you that much and that you can tell everythin’.”

“i get snappy when i’m running late or too much is going on or i’m hot.”

with that bakugou gets up. your fan. though not without hovering over you to give you a peck. then another. you press your soft lips against his though you don’t open up because then you will get even hotter and snappy.

he pulls off you and rises from the sofa, “that makes sense, baby. you’re stressed and uncomfortable.”

you roll your eyes, “stop being so understanding!”

he walks towards your bedroom, but not without turning around to look at you. his fingers grip the door frame, “i love you.”

“i love you too… and no snooping!”

[beebymoonlight]

baby mine — ghost x f!reader

when your stupid ex boyfriend kicks you out of the flat, he forgets to give you your cat back. you find the meanest looking guy in the bar to help you get her back.

type: one-shot (3.4k), ao3

cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of violence, smut, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral, simon is not a good or nice person (except to reader), reader also maybe isn't a good person who knows, reader has hair long enough to hold, curvy/plus-sized!reader, size difference, size kink, military inaccuracies, 18+

There is a special place in hell for men like Michael.

You can see her through the window by the door. Her big eyes are looking at where you are, paws against the glass. Her mouth opens, and she scratches at the window, and your bottom lip trembles as you set your hand down where she touches.

You could care less about the things you left inside. Your clothes, your bags, your shoes, even your fucking computer can stay behind, but not her. Your tabby cat is inside, sitting by the window, and Michael changed the fucking locks.

You bang on the door for an hour. You leave, come back, keep banging, but no one ever answers. You've never felt this desperate or uneasy, but every time you come back and see her by the window, you nearly lose all of your composure. It isn't fair. She doesn't belong to him. He can take years from you, take your money, take your sanity, but he won't take her. You'll come back every single day. You'll become a nuisance. You'll never let him relax. Until he gives her back to you, he will never know peace.

A single day passes before you decide it's time to take drastic measures.

The nearest military base is situated a good distance away, but not so far that you won't drive to its neighboring city. There's a small main road with a few local shops, including a few restaurants, a bookstore, a coffee shop, and the crown jewel—a pub.

It's just after supper time when you ring the bell above the door walking inside. On a Friday evening, it's lively, packed close with warmth and tall pints and plastic baskets full of chips and greasy fingerfoods.

There's a lot of military around here. You can tell by their haircuts and the way they chug their glasses; but you aren't looking for baby-faced rookies with too much pent-up aggression. You're looking for the meanest guy in the room, and that means someone with scars and someone who goes cloudy behind the eyes when you ask him how he's gotten back from where he's been.

That man is sitting at the far booth with his back to the wall. A place where he can have an eye on the rest of the room at all times. Big, gloved hand wrapped around a sweating glass, gaze focused on the foam of his beer as he pretends to listen to whatever the red-cheeked man across from him is laughing about.

You ask the bartender what they're drinking and order another round, picking up each glass and making your way towards their table. You'd be nervous if you weren't so determined. You stand awkwardly beside the table before his friend notices you there.

"Tha' fer us, bonnie?"

He juts his chin out at the drinks you're holding, and you set them down with a nervous smile.

"Yeah," you look between them. You fixate on the big guy, who barely squints at you over his drink, and you bite your lip. "I was hoping you had room for one more."

His friend cackles, "aye. Always fer a pretty face."

"Cute," you swallow. "But…I wasn't really talking to you."

The bigger one sits up at that. He leans back in the booth, rolling out his shoulders, and you hop up onto the seat next to him. His friend seems to get the message, picking up his new drink and tipping it towards you before taking a long drink of it and going to find a warm spot at the bar.

"Lookin' for advice or a fuck?"

"Neither," you say softly. "You're big, yeah? Are people…generally afraid of you?"

He laughs, and when he wipes at his masked face, you see a glimpse of a tattoo sleeve that adorns his massive left arm.

"Suppose."

"Great. How much for you to be my bodyguard for a few hours?"

He kisses his teeth under the mask, and then he turns his head to look down at you. His eyes are half-lidded, the skin looking a little greasy under the eye-black smudged there, but he's so calm and collected and amused. You've amused him; you're entertaining him. It's the most interesting thing that's happened to him all week, and you hope you're keeping his attention.

"Wot's tha' include?"

"It's gonna be illegal," you mumble, biting your bottom lip. "Just a little bit."

"Tha's my specialty, love."

"Not murder," you clarify, and he just shrugs. "Just…a little breaking and entering. Maybe some intimidation."

"'s Friday night, swee'eart, at least offer me somethin' fun."

"This isn't funny," you suck in a shaky breath. "It's…" You look down at the sticky pub table, swallowing again. You dig your nails into your own legs to keep your composure. "I need to get something back. Something that belongs to me. So it's not really…it's not really stealing."

A pregnant silence falls between you. You fail to keep the tears at your lash line back, and you quickly use the back of your hand to wipe your face gently. You think about your cat scratching for you on the other side of the window. You think about her sweet face; you think about Michael forgetting to feed her in the mornings as he usually did, and how he never changed the water filter in time even when you asked him to.

"'m Simon."

The low timbered voice breaks you out of your inner spiral. You look up at him again, and when you meet his eyes, you're finally able to let out a breath of relief. You don't know why, but there's something extremely soothing about sitting next to him. About being in his vicinity. He's so large and takes up so much space, but it's warm there, and he's not as mean as his outer layer might suggest. He's calm, and the way he presents himself tells you that it is not by luck that he's still sitting beside you.

You tell him your name, and his gloved hand touches under your chin.

"Olright, love. Lead the way."

Every time you have ever come back to this apartment, you have met the closed door with dread. A little fear. You feel none of that; not with the apparition at your back. You knock on the window beside the door, and like always, she appears. She meows on the other side, her eyes wet as she scratches and sniffs. You look over your shoulder at Simon who tilts his head to the side.

"This wot he stole?"

You look back at her on the other side of the window, shrugging.

"No," you say softly. "But it's all that matters."

The jiggling of metal brings your attention back to him. Simon is at the door, a multi-tool in one hand, and he's focused intently on working the doorknob until you hear the sound of a lock turn and then the door opens. The chain on the door jangles just as Simon opens it slightly, and you watch with rapt attention as he sticks his arm inside for just a few seconds, and then he swings the door open wide.

You push past him, reaching for the cat. She meows loudly, coming right to you, and you coo as you bend and pick her up from the floor. Loud purrs and sweet chirps follow as you hug her to your chest. You pet her little head, turning towards the living room. You used to keep her carrier behind the couch, and you find it as you go searching for it, exactly where you left it. You slip her inside and zip it up.

"What the fuck is this?"

You freeze, standing up straight and turning. You're caught, definitely—you knew he must have been home by the fact that the chain was latched, but you tried the nice way. You weren't going to get your cat back by being patient, not anymore.

"I'm just getting her, I'll…I was just leaving."

"Fuck no, you broke into my flat."

"Our flat," you snap back, putting the straps of the carrier over your shoulder. "And I'm leaving."

Michael looks like he's going to take a step towards you, but then he notices the dark shape in the corner of the room. He frowns a little, squinting.

"Who the bloody hell is that?"

You turn just in time to see Simon take a small step forward. The sudden movement seems to terrify Michael; he scrambles backwards into the kitchen counter, making the plates behind him fall off the counter and shatter onto the ground. He nearly trips over himself trying to get distance, and Simon seems to think it's very funny. He laughs, chest heaving, and he looks down at you as he gets closer.

"Flopping like a fuckin' fish, he is, in'he?"

Michael looks around frantically before he finds a pair of prongs. His hand shakes as he holds the pointy end towards Simon, spitting at him.

"Get the fuck out of my flat! T-The both of you!"

Simon's reaction tells you that maybe he has a few wires crossed in his head. He steps forward instead of away, laughing still, and you watch warily as he tilts his head to the side and nods his head towards Michael.

"Go on, then, mate," Simon taunts. "Try it."

Like a fool, Michael obliges. You flinch when Michael swings, but Simon tilts his body at just the right moment to dodge. He smacks Michael's arm, but he tries again—and like playing footie with a child, the weapon is now in Simon's hand, and then oh—

Michael's screaming as it pierces through his open palm.

He bleeds a lot less than you thought he might. Sadly, also, his blood is as red as yours. You thought he might be a little less pathetic at a moment like this. It is a gift, however, to see him bursting into tears as Simon grips the collar of his shirt and leans over him.

"Lot like you like to take things that aren't yers, tha' right?" Simon spits. "Like to punish and intimidate and fuckin' take, even if ya aren't owed."

"Please—please just get out, take her, fuckin' please!"

"Oi, wot's all this?" Simon snorts. "Now yer pissin' where you stand cause it got too real, eh? Got wot was comin' ta you? Reckon it's not like you thought. Reckon you thought she'd come hat in hand, beggin' for wot she deserves, but you wouldn't know good cunt even if it sat on yer face, yeah?"

"Please…"

"Simon—" You try, but he tsks, shaking his head.

"Nah, love, he's gonna learn," Simon murmurs. "Have you learned?"

"Yes," Michael squeaks, and you're not longer staring at the blood dripping on the hardwood, you're oogling at the giant man standing in what once was your kitchen that's starting to look more delicious by the second.

"Good," Simon breathes. "I know where ya lay yer head, mate. Know where ta come back if things aren't quiet on her end. You'd do well to remember tha'."

He releases Michael with a shove; Michael sinks to the floor, hands trembling, and Simon makes his way towards you to put a hand to your back and turn you around towards the front door.

"Need anythin' else?" Simon asks. You're too speechless to say anything, so all you do is shake your head. You clutch the carrier closer; she meows from inside the bag, and Simon nods his head towards outside so that you start moving. The door shuts behind you both, and then you're being led to his truck, ushered into the passenger seat, precious cargo on your lap as you breathe a huge sigh of relief.

The drive is quiet, but a comfortable quiet. You don't realize until a few streets over that you're smiling; a big, sparkling grin that's taking over your face, and when Simon rolls his truck to a stop at a red light, you lean over the center console and give his masked cheek a big, wet kiss of gratitude.

"Got a death wish or somethin'?" Simon turns to look at you, glaring from under the mask. It's so hard to be scared of him. He just put the fear of God into your terrible ex-boyfriend so you could get your precious cat back; he scared him shitless—literally—and he did it looking this good.

"Is that what a kiss gets me?" You ask. You slide your hand down his bicep, swallowing the drool when you feel just how solid and beefy he is under that hoodie. He fills it out too well. He must be so fucking handsome under that mask; there's no way he wears it for anonymity, he must be so hot, he wears it so he doesn't have to swat away all the boys and girls when they usually buzz around him like moths to light—

Maybe death is really this sweet. This good. Your cat is snoozing, safe and sound, in your bedroom with a full belly. The lights are on low; soft orange glows from well-placed lamps, giving the entire living room a warm feeling. There's a man on your couch with his belt unbuckled, mask halfway up his face as he pants because his cock is in your mouth, and he tastes like sweet, sweet victory.

"Ahh—fuck."

You nuzzle your nose up the length. He's so hard; you don't think a man has ever been this hard for you. He's leaking so pretty, dribbles down the length that you catch with the tip of your tongue, forcing him to hiss and spit and bite his knuckles. He keeps his hips still, but his hand around your hip squeezes the flesh there nice and tight, borderline bruising when you suck his tip a little too softly. You lick a stripe around the head before leaning back up towards him, and his hand around your hip curls against the back of your neck as you share a messy, wet kiss.

You twist your wrist, pumping his cock with a gentle glide of your palm, and he grits his teeth between kisses, touching his forehead to yours.

"Oll tha' for a cat, yeah?"

It is true. You did do it for her. But you did it for you, too.

"Not just the cat," you whisper, smoothing your thumb along the tip. He kisses you again, slower this time, and you groan into his mouth as you squeeze your thighs together. "Look at you…"

"Fuck—" Simon grunts, and his other hand finds the base of his cock, squeezing hard, and you giggle as he scrunches his nose. "Don't say shit like tha'."

You can't with his mouth on your cunt. He's laying flat on his back on the couch, legs too long to fit. Boots against your blanket, you'll whine to him about it later, but now both thighs are on either side of his head, and he's slurping with a hot tongue. You cup both sides of his head, dragging your hips, and while normally you'd think twice about dropping your weight on someone like this, the ease at which he hoisted you up his chest tells you Simon's a big, big boy—and he can handle whatever you give him.

"Gonna let me handle things from now on," Simon murmurs. He kisses the inside of your thigh, and you yelp when he smacks one side of your ass. He's waiting for an answer, and you took too long to give one.

"Y-Yeah," you breathe, leaning your head back. You feel yourself dripping between the legs, flooding his mouth, but he curls his tongue all the same. Uses two thumbs now as he hooks his arms around your thighs to pull the wet, sensitive skin back so he can drink what he's owed. He said he takes payment like this, getting his fill; he says he's never really satisfied until there's cum in his mouth and some in your cunt, and he's not gonna leave your flat before becoming familiar with those two, mutually non-exclusive events.

"Yeah, y'r pretty, olright," Simon laughs, but there's no more humor when he bounces you on his cock. Oh, he hurts a little. He told you he might, but then you're really there, knees on either side of him as you clutch onto the meat of his shoulders and hope to God he doesn't let you go. "Told you tha' you'd feel it, didn't I?"

"Yeah," you whisper, cupping that face of his, half-revealed to you, and you rub your thumbs down his scarred cheeks. Gorgeous, even with eyes that dead inside. "'s big."

"Don't—" He snarls, holding down your hips, shaking his head. "Wot did I say about sayin' shit like tha', eh?"

Life has spoiled you. Life is too good. Life is your pet curled up between your pillows and warm beneath the blankets, and life is fucking the sanity out of big, pudgy military men with blood under their fingernails and their breath stuck in their throat. You've rendered Simon to nothing but grunts and sputters. He's focused on keep the rhythm, arms clasped around your middle as he fucks up into you and pants into your neck. You reach for the back of the couch, digging your nails in, and all you can do is cry and take it as he keeps bringing you back down again and again and again.

The kiss you share is starved. You're so hungry, your hand slipping under the mask to cup the back of his head, and he draws your hips down and holds you there as he licks into your mouth and relishes in the pulsing of your cunt. This is what he fights for, maybe.

Not the glory. Not for the good of others. Not for Price and his self-guided moral compass, not for Laswell and her targets, not for revenge, not for blood, not to save the world. It's so he can come back here onto home soil and fuck a gorgeous girl without ever being interrupted by the sound of anything but her.

Her. You. Whatever she is, what you are, what you will eventually be—it manifests itself in the very room he's in, and he's got it between his teeth, and he won't be letting go for anything.

Nothing at all.

He's smoking a cigarette by the open window as she makes tea. He smiles, just barely, with teeth a little yellow when he sees you burn your hand a little as you pour the water into a misshapen mug.

"Olright?" He asks. The mugs shake a little as you bring them back into the room, precarious as you overfilled the mugs. He takes one from you and takes a long sip, flicking the cigarette out as he watches you get settled. You set your mug down on the coffee table, leaning forward to give him that same sweet, wet kiss on his cheek.

"Never better."

Belly full. Eyes bright. You are nothing like the woman that propositioned him just a few hours ago. A monotone, piss-drink evening, and then a scared, desperate girl asking him if he was willing to do something a little off the books.

Fucking finally. The world was just starting to get a little too dull.

It's the middle of the night when he hears the creak of a door. The sound of a little bell. You're laid out on your side, having just fallen asleep. The movie on the telly still plays, but Simon has turned the volume down. The light flickering from the screen is enough that he sees the cat trot into the room, eyes searching for you and seeing the two of you settled there.

She comes over slowly, sniffing the toes of Simon's boots, and then she closes her eyes as she rubs her face against his leg. Low purring, headbutts, and then she's putting a paw to his boot and looking up at him with the same big, wet eyes her mother has. Simon reaches down, scratching under her chin, and then she's curling up on his lap, little head next to yours as he leans back and takes it in. The sight for sore eyes. The thing that makes his medals and his stripes and all the money in the world look worthless—cheap.

"Yeah," Simon takes another sip of his tea. "This'll do."

[skyrigel]

Simon “Domesticated” Riley is my favourite.

Yes, he would kill for you and he would die for you but his affections and undying love isn't limited to oaths. It's boundless and endless.

He will cook for you, learn because he wasn't taught very good and he wants everything to be good for you.

He will sing for you, because you'd heard him in the shower and couldn't get past to fall asleep without his husky songs to make you fall asleep on his chest.

He will wash the dishes, side by side you. Laughing along as you dry the plates and using his hands at work to your own advantage to play mischief on him.

He will hear you, as you would continue to talk about everything because nothing was out of field, and despite you being a very seducing distraction, he's always trying his best.

He's a “my girlfriend, my wife” guy despite the other Task force guys teasing him about it, he doesn't mind holding your purse, instead he prods on it, he's always on his knees to tie your shoelaces, to help you out from those pointy heels. He doesn't mind being whipped, as Soap christened it, or smitten as Gaz chortled, because he is, as he should.

He's not patronising, despite being raised up to be one. He's gentle and kind and soft for you, and he's working on becoming a better man everyday for you.

He doesn't let his anger that's so unforgiving and terrible get the better of him, he's not a monster despite the blood on his hands as you've always told him so, he would pace around the lawn, sit in the grass, wash his face but he wouldn't let his anger be something you should be scared off, he wouldn't let it get between this holy thing called love.

He talks things out, understands your opinion, values them openly. 

He expresses everything even so it'd become difficult after being told to be stoic for so long, but he tries, always for you. 

He's always startled and flushed when you compliment him and he's trying to learn that you mean every word of it.

Masterlist

[rawme-price]

Inspired by [this] lovely post by @on-a-lucky-tide

Thinking about ghost who, since you moved in together, has always had a preferred side of the bed.

He doesn't like sleeping next to the wall, as you've come to learn. The fist few nights he would grumble and push you further onto the bed before snuggling up to your back with a "my spot now, love. Comes with the relationship."

Not that you mind, of course. You like how it almost feels like he envelops you, tucked between the wall and simon.

It's not until you two stay at a hotel this unofficial rule you've decided ghost lives by is brought into question.

You don't think much of the bed being in the center of the space, it's a standard layout. So you pick a side arbitrarily, exhausted and wanted to pass out. Only to peek your eye's open to ghost looming over you, frowning "yer in the wrong spot. I go there."

Which....makes no sense. There's no wall, no nice space to hide in. The thought ghost had a designated place without the presence of a wall makes you question the entire rule itself!

Every place after that, you start taking greater note, until it huts you.

Ghost always sleeps on the side closest to the door.

In fact....ghost is always closest to the door. Manhandling you into a different seat at restaurants, or climbing over you on the sofa to claim "his spot".

A physical barrier between you and the entrance.

Ghost has been protecting you this whole time without you even realizing. He's been enveloping you in his form of safety. If someone were to enter with bad intentions, they'd reach him before you.

Ghost huffs in confusion when you cuddle him much tighter than usual that night, but indulges either way. He's just happy to keep one of the few good things in his life safe.

[dynameow]

Hii! Do you know about that one trend where "asking my partner permition to eat" in public or with their parents, now imagine reader doing this to bakugo infront of mitsuki

She would beat up his ass LMAO

PERMISSION ✶ FT. BAKUGOU KATSUKI

── ✶ before you read: 1k words ; fem reader ; established relationship ; mitsuki and masaru are good parents ; katsuki has an aneurysm (almost) ; masterlist.

꒰ commentary ꒱ ✶ ANON YOU ARE TOO FUNNY FOR THIS ASK LMAOOO

“Kats, am I allowed to order a drink, too?” You whisper. “This one seems good. It’s okay if I can’t, though.”

Katsuki stiffens, turning to you in disbelief. The waitress pauses. Mitsuki raises a brow. Masaru looks up from the menu in concern.

“What the fuck do you mean allowed—what…what are you talkin’ about?”

“Am I allowed to get it?” You ask, like it’s a simple question. You give him a confused look before you add, “I don’t want to order too much and then upset you.”

The waitress gives him a look from the corner of her eyes. It’s a nasty look if you’ve ever seen one, and coupled by Mitsuki’s eyes narrowing at her son, you have to fight every bone in your body not to laugh.

“Did your head get knocked loose?” He does a double take. “Why the fuck would I be upset? You…okay, you know what,” he turns to the waitress, already having enough of your antics, and says, “add a large drink to that, please.”

“A large drink, got it,” she nods slowly, jotting it down. “How generous of you.”

You bite your lip when he stares after her incredulously as she walks away. And as soon as the waitress is gone, he has another problem just waiting.

You start, “Thanks for letting me get a drink today—”

“And just what do you mean let?!” Mitsuki cuts in, staring between you and her son.

You blink at her with your best innocent look. (One good thing about making it your lifelong hobby to get under Katsuki’s skin is that you’ve learned you’re very good at the innocent look. Exceedingly good.)

“Well, I mean, I know how he feels about me ordering things, so I just wanted to check that it was okay—”

“Hah!? What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” Katsuki stares. “How do I feel about you ordering things?”

You shrug sheepishly, feigning, to your credit, a very convincingly nervous look. “I just didn’t want to upset you.”

The look on Masaru’s face twists immediately to heartbreak—like he can’t believe his son would turn out this way. Meanwhile, Mitsuki’s eyes narrow into dangerous slits. Katsuki waves a hand gesturing at you in shock as if to ask, are you seeing this? as he stares at his parents helplessly.

“She’s messin’ around, I swear, she always does this—”

“Katsuki.”

“Don’t Katsuki me—I haven’t done anything!”

“You know,” Masaru says carefully, eyeing his son in disappointment, “sometimes people don’t realize they’re behaving a certain way until there are signs. But we have to look at the signs for what they are, son.”

“Dad—”

“No, let me finish.” Masaru holds up a hand. “You’re supposed to be equals in a relationship. If she’s worried about upsetting you over something as simple as ordering a drink, maybe you should ask yourself why she feels that way.”

“Because she’s insane!”

“Katsuki!” Mitsuki hisses, pointing a finger at him as she says, “don’t call her that! The only reason for that is because you’re driving her crazy—look at her! The poor thing! She’s shaking over there, and it’s because of you!”

“She’s not shakin’ for shit! Look—look at her! She’s fighting back a fuckin’ smug little look on her face because she’s—”

Mitsuki suddenly reaches across the table and catches him by the ear. “What have I told you about making girls feel respected, huh? This is why they’ve never liked you! And now one finally does and you’re scaring her off?”

“Ow—you fucking hag!”

She gives his ear a sharp tug. “Language.”

“Ow! Let go, you old—”

You look up innocently, “Please don’t scold him, he’ll be in a bad mood when we get home.”

Mitsuki yanks his ear harder at that, steam practically pouring from her own ears, and Masaru holds a hand to his chin in deep, concerned thought.

“Just what happens at home when it’s just the two of you, huh? Why is she scared about what’ll happen when you’re home?!”

“Nothing! Literally fuckin’ nothing, she terrorizes me at home, if anything! Look with your eyes, you old hag!”

Finally taking mercy on him, you chuckle, reaching over to ruffle Katsuki’s hair. He gives you a nasty side glare, but it softens just a smidge when you lean into his side and kiss his cheek.

“I was only kidding,” you beam at Mitsuki, “I just wanted to make him sweat a bit.”

She looks at you with a cautious gaze, her fingers still tightly wrapped around Katsuki’s poor (and red) earlobe as she asks, “Are you sure you’re not just protecting him?”

“Oh don’t worry,” you hum, patting your boyfriend’s chest as he shakes his head in irritation, “you’d be the first to know if he acts even the slightest bit out of line.”

“I never get a chance to be out of line, cause you’re the bossiest—”

Just then, the waitress arrives with your drinks. She sets yours down first. “Here you go, honey.” Then she places Katsuki’s down. The sour look she gives him could practically curdle milk. “Sir.”

Katsuki stares after her as she walks off, and you giggle as you pinch his cheek affectionately. “We should come back here next week, huh baby?”

“Yeah, if my face isn’t on a wanted poster at the door,” he grumbles under his breath.

You reach over with a cheeky grin, grabbing his drink and taking a sip before taking another from your own glass. After a moment of contemplating, you hum, “I like your drink better. I’m taking it. Here—” you slide him yours as you pull his own glass to your side of the table. “You take that one.”

He turns to his mother and waves a hand. “See?! She terrorizes me!”

“I’m not seeing a problem,” she says, giving him a less than impressed look. “All I’m seeing is a poor girl finally realizing her worth after dealing with your nonsense.”

He slumps into his seat, giving up, and you lean your head onto his shoulder, beaming up at him victoriously as he gives you a tired look. (And, much to your pride, you know are getting very, exceedingly good at getting under Katsuki’s skin—it’s a hobby you’re quite talented at.)

[141bean]

simon, who found out how easily you fall asleep when hearing his voice whispering.

simon, who secretly takes an hour each day while he is on deployment to record whispering audios for you and sends a new one to you every day.

simon, who knows how anxious you get when you‘re alone and he‘s deployed.

simon, who asks you how your day is going, that he hopes you‘re not missing him too much and who always ends with "i‘ll come back. i love you." even though you never hear it because you fell asleep before the 10 minute mark.

simon, who knows if anything goes wrong, you‘ll find his hidden messages.

simon, who doesn‘t get the appeal of asmr at all.

simon, who as he gets wheeled into the military base’s er can only think about how he wished for you to be here.

simon, who knows how you‘ll react when he gets home with a bandaged arm,

simon, who will never tell you that the bullet barely missed his heart.

simon, who keeps whispering stuff into your ear if you can‘t fall asleep at night.

simon, who buys a better microphone so you can experience his voice with 360° spatial audio.