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colonel caleb and assistant!nonMC!reader, who he's desperately in love with
warnings. fluff, tending to wounds trope, boss x employee dynamic but caleb is whipped, caleb getting rejected, reader in denial and oblivious
preview. “I’ve always been like this,” he sighs, and then you feel him drop his head onto your shoulder. It makes you jolt, your breath hitching as you register what he’s doing. “You just don’t care enough to notice.”
wc. 3.5k
part 2 part 3
Although he’s infamous for being the most ruthless officer at his rank, Colonel Xia is actually a complete mess.
You can’t blame anyone for the rumors—he’s rather intimidating in nature. Tall stature. Narrow eyes. Broad shoulders and a uniform without a seam out of place. He rarely smiles. Voice unalarming at first, but far more unforgiving than most.
You’re like a fly on the wall, you suppose. You’ve been working as his assistant for years now, even before he’d been promoted to colonel. You have his coffee ready every morning, his meetings organized on your calendar, alarms on your phone for any big events he has. Your colleagues can’t fathom how you’re able to tolerate working for such a heartless man, but you don’t see it that way. Yes, you need to bite your tongue around him. Yes, you need to straighten your back just a tad bit more. Yes, and so much more.
But, you’ve learned that he’s just as human as you. And he thinks there’s nobody else in this world that gets him the way you do.
The first year you worked for him, you were constantly afraid of him. Well more so getting fired, than him. He’d order you to bring him coffee and you’d fear he’d fire you for getting his order wrong, he’d order you to print meeting notes and you’d fear he’d scream at you for failing to print them double-sided. Fortunately, he did neither of those things, but he would shoot you a glare or a jerk of a brow that would send you into a spiral. He didn’t seem to enjoy conversation, so you’d just scurry away, clutching your heart in your hands.
As time went on, you learned a lot about him. It’s inevitable when you’re essentially attached to his hip like a mute accessory, where it’s hard to do anything but focus on what he does.
He likes his coffee sweet. Two sugars and milk. Surprising, since he comes off as a black coffee connoisseur, but also kind of cute? The big scary colonel drinking a latte? He showers in the morning and at night. Cold in the morning, hot at night. He does his own laundry. You eventually figured out that he’s very particular with how he wants his laundry to smell and how he likes it folded—talk about being a control freak. He hates his bosses. Whenever he receives orders from them, it’s the only time you see him genuinely losing his cool–grumbling under his breath and angrily flipping through the paperwork on his desk. You try to avoid his office during these episodes.
Over the years, his routine becomes your own. His coffee is ready for him when he sits at his desk, his calendar organized perfectly, and even his laundry is folded the way he wants it to be. The last took some trial and error, but you’re proud of mastering the art.
Still, words between the two of you are scarce. You only tend to see him when he’s working (and so are you), and it’s made wordless communication between the two of you easier. When you stand in front of his desk, he takes it as a signal to clear it for you to place down a new stack of paperwork. When you knock on his door and remain under the doorframe, he sighs, realizing his bosses have called for him. When you place down a fresh cup of coffee at his desk, he takes it as a sign to have lunch.
It’s seamless coordination, to put it short.
There’s a particularly stressful week for him one month. You watch him slave away at his work, the bags beneath his eyes growing heavier and his hair becoming more disheveled. He hasn’t left the office in two days–you counted. He’s going to snap, you think. No matter how talented he is—and you know he is, given he’s become a colonel at his young age—he can’t overcome human biology.
“Shit!” you hear from his office. You peek inside to see that he’s spilled coffee on his lap. He pats aggressively at the stain, hissing under his breath when you place a new cup in front of him. His eyes flicker up to you.
“You have a meeting in an hour,” you say.
He frowns. “I’ll have to change.”
“And shower,” you scrunch up your nose. “And shave, preferably.”
He blinks, and then his lips purse in a weird shape. Wait. Surely not. You think you’re going crazy. Is he trying not to laugh? The colonel who's always glowering menacingly?
The lack of sleep must really be getting to him.
In the end, you somehow end up in the single-stall bathroom. You’re shaving the sides of his face as he fixes his freshly washed hair, staring at himself in the mirror. It’s to save time, you remind yourself as you wonder how many minutes he has left till his meeting. He crinkles his brows and then glances at you through the corner of his eyes. You pretend not to notice.
“Are you usually so comfortable in front of shirtless men?”
“No, but you’re not a man,” you snort. “You’re my boss.”
“I’m your male boss.”
Why are you so comfortable with him, you wonder? Well, you’ve known him for a few years—you know his everyday routine, his likes, his dislikes, his habits—that you might dare to even say you know him well. Not him, but your boss. You chew on the inside of your cheek, and then shrug.
His skin is soft against your fingertips, you think.
“Thanks,” he says. “For all you do. I don’t say it enough, but you’re one of the few people I trust in this place.”
“It’s my job, sir.”
He chuckles, and it catches you off guard. You can count on one hand how many times you’ve heard him laugh these past few years. And for some reason, you can’t look him in the eye, choosing to narrow in on the shaving cream you’re pushing off with his razor. He doesn’t say anything else either, and the two of you exist in the comfortable silence,
This is where it begins. The blurring between coworkers and friends, and maybe something more.
The two of you begin to exchange more conversation. When you drop off his coffee, he makes small talk. When you drop off his laundry, he praises you. When you bring him his paperwork, he complains to you about his bosses instead of shooing you away. You gradually spend more time in his office instead of your cubicle. At some point, he even treats you to dinner. Company dinner, but still.
You quickly realize the colonel is a mess. His usually composed and serious demeanor is a facade—or maybe he just has a switch? He talks a lot. He specifically likes vanilla lattes, you find. He despises seeing others with wrinkles in his uniform. And he calls home once a week to his sister and grandmother, in which you happen to eavesdrop once or twice and find that he can be a complete sap when he wants to be.
Of course, his mask is pulled back on the instant another person is in the room. Your coworkers ask how you managed to get so close to the terrifying Colonel Xia (though you don’t even know if you’re that close), but you have to bite your tongue before you spread to the world that the colonel is actually a family-obsessed crashout who likes vanilla lattes and cooking. Maybe you’ve gotten too close to him, you wonder, but too late to do anything about it now.
Especially when he hobbles into your cubicle one day, blood seeping from his arm despite his desperate clutch onto it. It’s late. Two in the morning at the earliest. You’re not sure why you decided to stay late today despite not having the work to warrant it. But when you noticed his office door remaining closed, lights shut off too early into the night, something felt off. So incredibly off.
You suppose you stayed for him. Just in case he needed something else.
“What happened to you?” you’re onto your feet in an instant, shoving your chair back as your hands hover over his wound. Half of his outer uniform is shredded off, leaving a trail of bloody marks and what you hope isn’t too deep of a cut. His face is pale, breathing shallow. Beads of sweat form at his temples as he looks straight at you, hunched over to your line of sight in pain. You don’t wait for his response and quickly shuffle him towards his office, letting him use you as a crutch.
You fumble around his room until you come across a first aid kit. It looks incredibly outdated, but it’ll do the job. “Take off your shirt.”
He does without complaint. It seems like you see him shirtless more often than an assistant ought to be.
As you tend to him, you begin to ask questions. And you’re not sure if it’s because of the exhaustion, but he answers them truthfully—though you suppose he’s rarely lied to you in the first place. It’d been an assassination attempt. Another one. The third one this year. You honestly don’t know how he bears to deal with the stress of his job, and you’re not sure why he does either, but you’re sure something is tying him down. Your fingers work diligently to tend to him, and you’re suddenly incredibly grateful to the first aid class you were required to take when you first took the job.
“You should transfer bases,” you mutter.
“Why would I do that?”
You raise your brows in disbelief, and he laughs—or at least, tries to. Another tally in your head. Now you need more than two hands to count the times he’s laughed in front of you. “I’m serious, sir.”
“And what would that achieve?”
“You won’t have as many knives at your back, for starters.”
“They could never kill me with those puny attacks.”
“But they can definitely hurt you...” you pause. “...sir.”
“I’m ranked highly for my age. I’m not leaving.”
“You’d climb back up in no time even if you started,” you snap, and he looks away. “Am I wrong?”
Nope.
It goes quiet for a moment. His shoulders fall, and he rocks his head backward, staring at the ceiling. “I won’t have anyone to trust.”
I don’t say it enough, but you’re one of the few people I trust in this place.
Your throat feels dry. Your stomach sinks for some reason—-or is your heart just hammering? You realize that he’s staring at you now, inches away from you as you hold his arm with bandages. The AC whirrs softly, but the only other thing you can hear is his breathing and your own.
“You’ll get another assistant.”
“Nobody else is as good as you,” he responds immediately.
Your eyes narrow, and you turn away, dropping his arm. “You must’ve not had many assistants.”
“I don’t need to.”
He sounds too serious. Too genuine. The air feels suffocating. You rise from the armchair and pace towards his desk with the first aid kit in hand, chewing on the insides of your cheek. Whatever he means—whatever he’s implying—it’s dangerous. He’s your boss. Your boss, who kills for a living on missions that could kill him. Your boss, who spends his nights passed out at his desk. Your boss, who most of your coworkers call an asshole.
His hands perch on either side of you onto his desk. He’s close. Close enough for you to feel his breath on the shell of your ear, and it sends shivers down your spine. Your fists clench as you will yourself to calm down, but to no avail. What the hell is even happening?
You whip your head to him. “Sir, I–”
“Caleb.”
“What?”
“Call me Caleb when we’re alone,” he mumbles. “Please.”
Your eyes go wide. “That’s not appropriate.”
“I don’t want to be appropriate.”
You nearly choke. He’s delirious. Perhaps from blood loss, surely. “You’re—you’re not acting yourself.”
“I’ve always been like this,” he sighs, and then you feel him drop his head onto your shoulder. It makes you jolt, your breath hitching as you register what he’s doing. “You just don’t care enough to notice.”
“What are you—”
“How much more obvious do I have to make myself?” he whispers against your neck. “Do you like humiliating me?”
Either pigs are flying or hell must’ve froze over. You open your mouth to respond, unsure of what you’ll say until you feel him slump over your shoulder. You blink. Did he just?
You nudge his limp body.
He did. He did just pass out. You might kill him before anyone else does.
Colonel Xia, as you’ve known for some time now, is a mess.
But only to you.
He doesn’t make you nervous anymore. If anything, he’s annoying. Alarmingly so. You’ve become a kind of emotional support pet and assistant rolled into one, to the point that he deems it acceptable to message (spam) you at twelve in the morning. You roll your eyes when you see your screen light up in the darkness of your room, knowing there’s only one person who’d message you at this time.
[vanilla boss (DNI)]: where are the files i asked you for this morning? I can’t find them
[vanilla boss (DNI)]: hello?
[vanilla boss (DNI)]: hellooooooo
[vanilla boss (DNI)]: also do you have time tmr night :) we should go out
[vanilla boss (DNI)]: please (unsent)
[vanilla boss (DNI)]: oh the files
[vanilla boss (DNI)]: xie is on my ass about it
[vanilla boss (DNI)]: fucking asshole, im gonna kill him :3
[vanilla boss (DNI)]: hello??? Where is my pretty assistant that nobody can replace
[vanilla boss (DNI)]: that wasn’t sarcasm btw
When you tap away your answer, pressing send and tossing your phone across your bed, the response is immediate.
[vanilla boss (DNI)]: thanks hot stuff ><
[vanilla boss (DNI)]: the office misses you already
The office that only he occupies at this hour?
You’re not paid enough for this. You ignore the subtle burning in your cheeks.
His feelings for you become an unspoken truth between the two of you for the next few months. Oddly enough, he doesn’t seem embarrassed about it at all. Despite most of his attempts to egg you on being rejected, he doesn’t let most of it faze him. You remind him that he’d look bad to others if he started dating his assistant, but the thought doesn’t seem to even cross his mind, even if you tack on a dozen other reasons why the two of you shouldn’t mingle in anything romantic. He’s never really convinced, much to your dismay.
Which is unfortunate, especially when you realize how much this is affecting you.
When his eyes seem to always drift in your direction, even when he’s in a meeting, you can’t help but feel your heart race. When his name pops up onto your phone, you can’t help but check what he said immediately. You stay later into the night to bring him an extra cup of coffee.
But this is what any assistant would do, right?
“What’s that?” you ask a coworker as she paces towards the colonel’s office with a stack of papers. You eye it suspiciously, especially considering the giddy look she has on her face.
“The colonel asked for these. He asked me, specifically,” she smiles, cheeks pink. “Y’know, up close, he isn’t so scary. He’s kind of nice, and also really cute…have you noticed that?”
Of fucking course you’ve noticed it. You’ve worked with the man for the past few years! Even when everyone else said he was terrifying. Even when everyone else avoided him! Before you know it, your fists are balled at your sides, and you don’t even know why. All you know is that you want to yell at him right now. What’s the point of having an assistant if you’re just going to use other girls? Is he taunting you? Does he have no use for you anymore? Is your work not good enough—even after you responded to him in the middle of the night to his stupid questions with his stupid cute emojis? Your annoyance burns, and you suddenly find yourself marching to his door after having snatched the stack of papers from the woman. She remains oblivious and completely confused as you leave her behind.
You don’t bother knocking as you slam the door open.
He looks up from his desk, eyes widening. Upon realizing it’s you, his lips etch into a lopsided grin. “Oh, hey, what—”
You stroll straight to him, dumping the entire stack just inches from his face. It lands onto the desk with a loud slam, and it surprises him as he jerks back. His gaze flickers back up to you, and he blinks. “Why are you bringing me this?”
“It’s what you requested, sir,” you snap, and his smile is gone. “From someone else, for some strange reason. But as your assistant, I felt it was appropriate for me to bring it, no?”
What the hell were you even saying? The words were tumbling out, fired by anger but uncontrollable. You were definitely going to die of embarrassment later on, but you don’t care in the moment. For someone who claims to like you so much, why is he asking other girls to get his things? What are you, some backup plan? As if you don’t bring him his coffee every day? His paperwork? His laundry—
He blinks. “It was a lot to carry, and I didn’t want to make you—”
“Yes, and let’s ask some bumbling woman who doesn’t even know how to make these double-sided. That’ll get the job done instead of asking the woman who’s been doing this for years,” you hiss. The more you speak, the more unreasonable it sounds. You know it’s ridiculous, but…
Gears turn in his head. And when it clicks, his eyes soften. His adam’s apple bobs as he slowly stands from his desk, seemingly beginning to understand your frustration. He’s always been quick to noticing how you feel, even before you could fully process it—and you don’t know if you hate or love it.
“Are you jealous?”
You balk, appalled at the thought. “No! Of course not!”
“Then, why are you angry?”
“Because—” you sputter for an answer. “--I have a job, and—I want to do my job!”
He tilts his head. “Is that really it?”
“Yes!”
“You’re angry, because I didn’t let you bring me paperwork,” he confirms. "And I asked someone else to do it."
“Yes!”
His lips break out into a grin. “Sounds like jealousy to me.”
Your jaw slacks. Head spinning, you can’t ignore how your heart is going at an unreasonable speed, face heating in embarrassment as you entertain the thought. You can’t help but avoid his gaze, brows furrowing in an attempt appear more intimidating, but it does little for this purpose. So instead, you glare knives at him. His brown tousled hair. His purple eyes. His pink lips. The straight edge of his nose. His lashes that put most peoples' to shame. His grin. His laugh. That stupid fucking laugh that you count in tallies in your head, almost as if you’re always waiting for the next one. Looking forward to them. Yearning for them. His stupidly cute coffee order and his stupidly cute texts and his stupidly good-looking uniform and his stupid—
Fuck.
God, you want to kiss him.
“Hey,” he waves a hand in front of you, brow raising. “Sorry, I’ll stop teasing. I won’t do it next time so–”
Before he can finish his sentence, you yank him by the collar of his shirt and smash his lips against yours. The kiss is a mess. When he recognizes what’s happening after the immediate shock, he’s kissing back desperately, hands flying to either sides of your face to pull you closer. It’s awkward, given that you’re kissing over the desk, but neither of you could care any less. There’s a few grunts that escape your lips until you gently punch at his chest, pointing at your nose when his eyes flutter open. He pulls away to let you breathe, and he has the widest smile plastered on his mouth. You don’t know if you want to slap it off or kiss him again.
eren who is categorically moody and sulky, always talks back, and operates on his own agenda-the type of person who should be labeled unlikeable...but everyone is weirdly protective and defensive over him?? it confuses you to end and maybe it's because you're new but he gets all of these special privileges, and everyone just lets him kind of act out?
he has two friends who are constantly by his side-Armin and Mikasa. Student Government president Armin who is smart and kind, and will absolutely bend the rules for him. You don't much about Mikasa but she's devoted to eren.
"are they dating?" you've wondered, and people will kind of chuckle and just say "just their dynamic". it doesn't even look like this devotion is mutual in any way possible. even though Jean will periodically get into heated arguments with eren, it never seems to last longer than a day. like their fights are just two friends ribbing each other, and well that's their dynamic too.
it's not like eren is some cult leader and everyone worships the ground he walks on...it's weirder than that. his faults will be acknowledged, he will be teased, but he's just never...properly punished.
so when eren corners you in between classes, shoving you to tiny closets to drag his lips over your neck, when he douses water on you to see your shirt turn transparent, takes upshots of your panties and then demand you give them to him, roughly fondles your ass and breasts and thighs when he wants to, forces you to sit on his lap during assembly events, all you know is that people won't care.
can we have another yandere bakugou bully? i have nothing unique maybe the common on where he likes to bully the girl severely all throughout highschool and then when they are abt to graduate that’s where he kidnap. If u want to add smut it’s okay but i don’t really mind i kinda just like the fear when u write like that little scared feeling THATS ITTTTT OMG I LOVE UR FICSSSSS
yandere bully ! BAKUGO KATSUKI
TIP-JAR
goodiebag WARNINGS: nsfw, dubcon/noncon, jealousy, stalking, obsession to the extreme, manipulation, blackmail, sexual harassment angst, bullying, trauma, threats, death/near death of a third character, slut shaming
BAD GUY
How long had she known Bakugo?
All her life.
That was the short answer.
He’s made himself known. Without fail, without break, without mercy.
Childhood friends?
Neighbours...
That’s what she’d say.
As though there was nothing more to it. Like he wasn't a stain on her life. A stain no amount of bleach or vinegar-and-soda or peroxide-and-dish-soap could ever hope to remove.
Come to think of it, he was more like a scar than a stain. Or really, more like an open wound refusing to heal.
Which was why it felt like a rusty blade being twisted in her gut when she opened the door to find him the one who’d rung her apartment’s bell.
“I guess... what I’ve been trying to say- what I wanted to say... was... I’m sorry.”
He’d been scratching the back of his neck throughout the entirety of what jumbled, struggled, sorry excuse for an apology he’d forced from somewhere unknown in the hard clump of ember he had for a heart.
Something which unsurprisingly made for an insulting effort to erase what effects he’d had on her childhood.
One staggering sentence after the other of frustrating confessions, wishes gone to waste, things he hadn't meant, things he would have done differently if only he were fourteen years younger, and he could start again right when his quirk manifested before he turned into a self-righteous narcissistic prick of human waste. One dedicated to making everyone revere him by fearing him.
“For everything.”
He put his hands in his pockets, but she could still see how they twitched inside the hoodie and bet they were weeping with sweat, adamant about starting fires.
“For all the years I put you through hell.”
He was taller now, she noted. While calculating how she’d have to call the police if she were to stand a chance of making him leave if he decided to do what he always did and make himself comfortable.
He was bigger as well. Probably thanks to UA, making him look like a true right and shining Hero... but all she could see was how it was as though he’d swelled like some blister or bruise, like some boil ready to pop and leak its nasty contents all over her life.
“Well?” He urged, ripping her from her heavy train of thought.
She blinked.
“Well, what?” She bit out. Still holding the door. Ready to close it if he were to try and step inside.
“Do you accept the apology?” He asked, leaning forward. Where, on pure survival instinct, she immediately drew back. While the gap between the door and frame became slimmer as she pulled it like a shield in front of her.
Her brows dipped. Eyes not daring to close. Not allowing him a single second of rest under her justified judgment.
“No.” She barked, only barely managing to avoid the scoff that wanted to follow, yet surprising herself with the strength her voice carried.
“W-what-” He started, but she wasn't feeling particularly eager to listen to any more of his dumb excuses or half-hearted regrets or too little-too-late so-called apologies.
“You fuck with me for eighteen years...”
It was strange looking directly into his vermillion eyes, watching him be the one to shrink away, him be the one to switch his footing, tense like a shamed pet under his owner's harsh, scolding voice. It almost wouldn't even have surprised her if he'd whimpered just a little with how round his eyes were, looking just like a kicked pup.
“And you think some half-assed apology is just suddenly going to make everything okay?”
“W-” He tried, his gaze shifting to look down at his feet.
“No.” She stopped him.
Opening the door to its original cavity. She struck a dominant pose even though he was a full head taller, her eyes narrowing in something that could only resemble disgust.
“You’re the reason I went through all of middle-school scared and alone.”
His ears drew back meekly. Feeling small under what look she was giving him.
“I left classes early in fear of meeting you in the halls. I made sure to look around the corners before walking down them. I ate lunch in the bathroom and listened from behind the door in case you were out there waiting.” She confessed, her eyes still maintaining contact with his, firmer the more he shrunk away. “I ran home unless you hadn't already caught me, I cried myself to sleep, I lied to my parents every single fucking day because I was afraid that if they got involved with your parents, you’d have to face the wrath of your mom, and I didn't want that for you.”
With water welling in her eyes now, she looked to the ceiling. Taking a breath, she clenched her jaw and almost chuckled at the absurdity of it. Not caring how Bakugo’s eyes seemed to widen even more.
“I was afraid to play on our block ‘cause I knew you would come out and make me regret it.”
She bit her lip, looking at the guy that would yank her hair to pull her inside his locker, leaving her there for entire periods.
Make her listen as he beat Deku up in the hall, his friends like goons on his side, laughing as Izuku snivelled.
“People were afraid to be seen with me.”
Knuckles were white and hot from how hard she clenched her fist at her side, the other gripping the door with nails marring the wood.
“Not because I’m quirkless, but because of you.”
Her hard gaze met him like daggers. Plunged right between his ribs into that thing that seemed to only beat faster the more she spoke.
“You had me think that was my fault.”
A tear slipped its confinement and went dripping down her cheek, a thin stream following it.
Her breath shuddered on intake.
“You made me think- you made think being quirkless was- was -a curse -a crime -a fucking abomination.”
Her shoulders grazed as she looked down to the ground and let more tears fall while Katsuki stood there frigid and so very rightfully uncomfortable.
“You made me feel like I didn’t deserve to breathe.”
He opened his mouth but quickly swallowed it as he realized he would only be repeating what dumb unsatisfactory words he’d given her before.
“You made me hate myself.”
She couldn't possibly hate herself more than she hated him, he thought.
“And if it wasn’t for Izuku... I wouldn’t be here.”
His thoughts flashed back to seeing her help the green-haired geek up off the floor each time he grew bored picking on him. After the halls had filled with enough smoke, it’d stain the walls grey, the scent of burning sugar a lingering reminder of who there runs the school.
“Still, you had the nerve to go about making him feel worthless too.”
She would shove him aside at once when he’d unlock his locker. She'd push at him to let her drop to her knees and tend to the green-eyed fucker who’d had the breath knocked from him. The twerp wheezing like a pathetic runt on the dirty school floors. So shamelessly unaware of how lucky he was to have someone like her tend to him.
Katsuki cleared his throat.
“I’ve talked to him too. We’re... working it out. Just tell me what I need to-”
“I’ll accept your apology when I stop waking up in the middle of the night because I think I feel you breathing down my neck.” She cut him off again. “When I stop looking over my shoulder because I think I hear you coming. When I stop hearing your voice in my head telling me that I’m useless, that I'm worth nothing, that I'm better off dead.”
Her eyes sized him up. Or, rather, took in his seemingly beaten state. Finding somewhat pleasure in the fact that there was at least one thing she could deny him.
“Until then, all you need to do is leave me alone.”
At that, she shut the door and locked it.
Her back pressed against the wood almost immediately as she drooped like drying paint. Sliding down to the ground, she listened while bating her breath for the retreating steps of the boy on the opposite side. Fearing that her speech hadn't slapped him hard enough for him to go home and lick his wounds.
Katsuki stood there for a moment, and years seemed to pass.
Hood lifted over his head, his body slouched with the terrible looming weight that pressed down upon him. Feeling so fucking tired and worn and defeated as he lifted his boot to saunter back down the stairs and make his way home.
A home, which was now not right across the street like it was back when they were kids, but a whole car ride away. Seemingly lives away. A beaten track of heavy regrets and loud, blinding, bitter disappointments.
All to be blamed on him.
~~~
It had been quiet lately.
A few comments were hurled at Deku here and there. Though they were dismissible in their dynamic as rivals.
But, as surprising as it was to admit, Bakugo had kept to her wish.
Where, overlooking those times she could feel his red stare lingering on her and searing notches into her neck, he had left her alone.
He would even give her a smile when their eyes locked gaze. Nothing like those blood-dripping battle grins but soft toothless quirks playing at the corner of his lips. Pleasant and weirdly hopeful, as though she’d come over and talk to him. Like they were friends.
Suppose she should believe Izuku when he told her Kachan was better. That he’d actually gone and grown up. That the hero course was succeeding in grooming him to become a fine hero, with the merit someone talented as him should have. That even they had a fighting chance at moving on, going back to how they’d push each other on the swing set back when they were four.
She doubted it.
She bet he’d be strung in his rightful and true colors not before long. Just red on red in red. Slipping right back into his ugly habits of making the world his playground and the people his toys.
This was just an act.
Those smiles he gave her were nothing but bait. Nothing but lies that would ensnare her in yet another decade of living under his boot.
But time is a funny thing. Where as much as you try fighting it, it always passes.
And paranoia is a difficult plant to grow during droughts.
And with months flying by, summer break being sweetly perfect for once, she’d soon enough discarded the notion that it was a trail bound to error or the calm before the storm.
In fact... she’d more or less let it fade like normal memories should. The open wound that used to be Bakugou’s sinister grin keeping her company at night had stopped bleeding.
And in the healing and pleasant quiet, she’d allowed herself to... let loose a little.
Or perhaps she’d just forgotten to be cautious when she was swept up in those ocean-blue eyes and that diamond-bright smile.
Maybe the warm, fuzzy feeling purring inside her gut was worth forgetting and even forgiving Bakugou in favor of getting lost to something else, someone else. Something a little warmer than hatred and a burning way more welcoming than what explosions Bakugou could offer her.
.
Meanwhile... Bakugou was going insane.
He’d been wrong.
He thought quitting his torment on her would be easier than with Deku, but Deku proved to be the least of his worries. In some form or way... they were actually getting closer. Going back to their roots and almost amounting to something he could only call brotherhood.
But with her...
It seemed he was only drifting farther and farther away.
He saw her hold hands with some blue-eyed fuck at lunch the other day. Heard her laugh, which pushed him with such force, thrusting him back in time. Retrieving some faint yet precious memory of her and him drying in the sun after bathing in the quarry on a warm summer’s day, back when no one and nothing could be more important than hearing that sound.
A laugh so light. So fluttering and blooming and beautiful. Followed by a snort that stuck in her nose.
It was enough to make his eyes shimmer and his ears burn while hanging onto every sound, trying to ingrain it, memorise it. Trying to ink down how it made him feel.
He made the mistake of finding her face in the crowd of what table she was seated at. Her small frame held inside the arms of the jerk she was pulled inside the lap of. A bright smile on both their faces, so bright he almost didn't even recognise her.
But it was her.
It shouldn't have surprised him.
He’d already seen the pictures on social media when going about his normal routine of checking up on all her different forums. Already fully aware of how the bastard was some summer fling she was the poor victim of.
He should have been prepared for it, but fuck....
It had hurt.
It had been loud and violent and jagged, like falling down a cliffside, yet so deathly silent as he sat safely in his room.
Kirishima and Denki were about halfway through their third or perhaps even fourth spliff. Laughing like clueless fucking morons without a shred or lick of issues and consequences. Having always just been nothing but laughs and smiles.
Fucking hell... He envied them so much sometimes. To be that dim. To be that careless and big-hearted and good-natured and...
It doesn't really matter.
Jealousy gets him nowhere.
He’s him, and they’re them, and fantasy is just that.
He knows this, and still, he finds himself fantasising about her smiling at him and giggling with him. Sitting in his lap. Whispering sweet little mischievous nothings in his ear and kissing him and talking to him and touching him and loving him.
He was so fucking frigid lately. So uncontrollably bothered and provoked and uncomfortable.
He’d even asked Deku who the fucker was. Had him spill all her dirty little secrets. How she’d been seeing the blue-eye fuck for a short while. How she thought he was really sweet and kind. How he made her happy.
And the more he let himself think about it, let it fester like acid bubbling and foaming on his heart, the more blinding the pain became.
And so following the pain, like it always does and always had with Bakugou...
Came rage.
She’d betrayed him. Broken his good will.
He should have known...
Give a bitch some lee-way with her leash, and she'll take a fucking mile.
He’d been so fucking good. So fucking perfect...
Leaving her be, allowing her friends, letting her prance about in her short school skirt without any comment, not even as much a curt whistle.
And this is how she chooses to repay him?!
Fucking with some fucking fucker right in front of him?
Right in his fucking face?
Fuck, he wanted to bash his brains out. Wanted to burn him from the inside out, watch his stupid blue eyes melt like runny rotten eggs.
He snapped the cafeteria chopsticks as easily as one would a toothpick in one hand. His eyes twitched while his nostrils flared, burning the wooden splinters in his white-knuckled fist as he watched them flirt.
Her in her thigh-high socks and tight white shirt, rubbing down against his slacks. Where he bet something was struggling to stay down. Stay hidden inside the fucker’s boxers.
But looking at his face and that bright, innocent smile shining as though he wasn't a disgusting man with ulterior motives, he could see why she chose the guy... instead of him.
.
He couldn't defend why he had him pushed into the wall behind the gym.
He could try and fool himself and the scared boy by saying he had responsibilities as her eldest friend. Alike a brother has responsibilities for his sister.
But that would be the dirtiest fucking lie.
Bakugou had no right, and he knew that, he really did. He felt it in his hands as they balled up the collar to the guy’s uniform. Had the poor sucker lifted off his feet with his bright baby-blue eyes freaking out when levelled by his own deadly red stare.
It wasn't done due to something noble like responsibility.
It was done out of pure toxic white-hot raging jealousy.
“Bakugou, man, what the fuck-” The guy tried, but the hero-course student was like a bull that saw red. Seething as he snarled into the poor boy’s face.
“Stay the fuck away from her.”
His knuckles whitened in their death-grip. Steaming with heat. Singing the fabric it clutched.
The poor boy kicked against the wall. Trying his best to reach down to the ground with the tips of his toes.
“Calm down- the fuck you talking about?” He screeched. His voice an unstable choked pathetic thing as he cowered in panic by the heat simmering close to his neck and the maroon slits that had him pinned.
“Quirkless.” Bakugou answered curtly. “Keep your fucking paws to yourself, shit-stain.”
“Quirkless?”
Split-second confusion narrowed into reliazation at the remembrance of what little information she’d given him about what strange relationship transpired between her and the loud hero-course student.
“You mean-” He started, but was once again pulled and slammed into the brick wall behind him. Knocking his head with a wince.
“Just stay away from her!” Bakugo barked again.
“Me?” The boy objected. Though, not really in any position to further anger the fire-wielder. “What about you? You’re the one she can't stand.”
Bakugo swallowed. Stopping.
“She said what?”
His grip loosened a pinch. Allowing the guy to drop down the wall to stand on his own. Though he still remained close.
His head hung slightly. Looking at his shoes. Put-out and thoroughly ticked off.
Dangerously so.
Nose flaring as he felt his eyes sting. Wanting to break something.
Preferably bones.
Meanwhile, blue eyes widened in realisation.
“Man... you... you like her, don't you?” He asked, or rather accused. His ears drawing back and hands rising in defence.
“Shut up.” Katsuki voice grumbled from a place the other kid couldn't see. Only the wild ash-blonde bush of hair that seemed to shake with either seething rage or a building sob.
He made the mistake of thinking it was the latter.
“You’re too late, dude... years too late.” He scoffed. Unsure if whether his disbelief outweighed outrage or amusement.
“I said-”
Bakugo lifted his head again. This time seemingly radiating with heat as sickeningly overwhelming as the scent of burning sugar.
“Shut the fuck up!”
Though with the threat of being charred into a crisp, the boy still hadn't the smarts to know when to quit.
“Should have thought about that before treating her like shit." He mocked. "She will never forgive you, Bakugou.”
Katsuki’s vision went blank at that, and the poor bright-eyed boy couldn't see anything but prickly spots of white in an otherwise sea of black.
Having had his head banged against the wall for one final time as he slumped down in a pathetic sack at Katsuki’s feet.
“Beating me up won't help your case.” He coughed. Groaning in pain.
A crisp chirp was heard and Bakugou snatched the phone that had slipped from the guy’s pocket.
Reading the label of a sweet nickname which made his stomach churn and head burn.
The text doing little to ease his building fuming boiling rage.
“She invited you to her apartment, did she? Tch- To watch Netflix.”
He put his fat military boot to the guys throat. Keeping it there with building pressure. Squeezing the air from his windpipe. Grinding him into the coarse bricks. Disregarding the weak hands that clutched to the fabric of his pant-leg desperately.
“If the little slut wants cock, she shouldn't be asking someone like you.” He sneered. Typing something back.
“Sick-fuck, leave her alo-”
The sweat boiling against his palm simmered in heatwaves, melting the phone before he finally ignited. Bits of glass and metal flying everywhere. Nicking his skin. Before he dropped the thing to the ground.
Unrecognizable.
A good reference to what the boy at the end of his foot would look like once Bakugou was through with him.
.
He could hear every little thump of his heart in his head.
Pumping in the tips of his fingers. Hot and numbing.
Tongue heavy in his throat as his jaw strained. Teeth grit in his mouth.
Fist clenching at his sides. Stained with crimson.
Eyes blood-shot as they focused on placing one foot in front of the other. Counting the steps while lifting his legs.
Boots sounding heavy and substantial in their echo as he climbed the stairs to where she waited ever so unknowingly.
Ever so excitedly. With a heart hammering quite similarly to how his was pounding. For much of the same reason.
Yet hers with an entirely different person in mind.
A person that was currently struggling to breath behind the gymnasium.
He bet she was getting ready with every virginal anxious thought running on replay in her head.
If she was sexy and sultry and smooth enough? Yet, not too much, because then she'd seem like a slut. But perfectly cute and shy and girly. Timid but lustful, precious yet wanton.
She was probably practicing batting her eyelashes and pouting and biting her lips. And how she would run her hands on his skin. How she would touch, when and what to touch. What to say, what not to say. How she was going to say it. What tone of voice. Like a whisper or a moan or a needy little whine.
Wondering if she smelled good. If he liked her perfume or if it was too pungent. Maybe he doesn't like her signature scent of fresh apples.
Pondering whether her hair was nice or not. If her skin was smooth enough. If her outfit was the right choice or if she should make a quick last second change.
She's probably hid her plushies. Taken down some childish anime posters she didn't want embarrassing her. Changed the sheets. Cleaned up the kitchen, cleared out the bathroom. Tidied up so he wouldn't know what a complete clutter-head she is.
She was probably getting all hot and bothered waiting for that blue-eyed shit-stain.
Rubbing her thighs together. Letting her hand dance down between them as she lost herself to the softness of the mattress. Letting the cool air nip at her fiery hot skin, kissing her blushed red cheeks. Eyes drifting to a close. Slight soft smile on her face. Legs spread on top of the sheets.
He bet she had lighted candles. Bet she had pre-picked a handful of movies. The soundtrack to what she would be losing her virginity to. Bet she had bought sweets, and cider, maybe even wine.
Bet she was planning to make the night perfect.
Too bad he was going to ruin it.
Just like he was going to ruin her.
Just like he had been ruining everything else for the past eighteen years of their life.
Just like he was going to continue ruining her until the day they die.
He banged on the door. Or rather, tapped a playful tune he thought would be similar to something the guy he’d bashed into a pulp not even half an hour ago would do. Something similar to what the girl behind the door was waiting to hear.
He heard her pad across the floor. Quick gleeful feet hopping to the entrance to swing it open with a great big goofy smile on her face.
Only to stop dead in her tracks.
Bakugou was taller. Bigger compared to what lean frame she was expecting.
Her eyes levelling at his chest, where she was expecting to see a familiar friendly face. Familiar pretty blue eyes.
Gaze rising to find him towering at the threshold to her home instead.
His sharp eyes looking every drop worth of red.
“Happy to see me?”
He pushed himself inside. Her along with him. Ever so rightfully in his stride. Stomping, like the floor beneath belonged to him. Like everything belonged to him.
“What are you doing here, Bakugou?”
Her tone was the same it always was when she addressed him. Annoyed and ugly. Like he was just another jerk. Just another face. Just another problem.
“I heard you were serving up your virginity...”
Her face grimaced.
“So... I came to have first take.”
Only now did she notice the blood.
Though not dripping from his fists anymore. The thickest parts were still glossy in texture. Still fresh. Whereas all else had turned sticky. Coating him like a second skin.
Her face shed its disgusted features and drained. Paled, chilled and tightened.
Scrutinising eyes turning wide like skies. Little flecks of shimmer flickering like starlight within the glossy pools.
Her mouth parted and hung open to let a gasp out as she eyed the blood-splatter on his jacket. Gaze glitching as she struggled to take in the maroon colour of his fists.
“Whu- what did you do? What did you do to him?”
She shook. Hands raising to level with her chest. Forming some type of feeble shield as she stepped away from the menacing man.
Bakugo simply followed. His dominant footing naturally succeeding hers. The space between them shortening quickly.
“Worried about your lapdog?” He laughed.
Stalking forward. He trapped her further into the apartment. Watching her petrified moves clumsily try and keep the distance.
“Don't think about it too much.”
“Get out, Bakugou. I'll call the cops.” She tried sounding strong even as she whimpered.
That made him crack a smile. And by All Might did it feel like it was the first time in such a very long time that he could finally breathe again.
“Why so hostile?” He barked out with another laugh. A growl like thunder behind that wide sharpened grin. “We’re friends, aren't we?”
His red-eyes gleaming. Just like they did all throughout primary-school. Just like they do when he’s about to beat the shit out of someone. Just like how they do when he can taste that addictive bitingly sweet flavour of victory on his tongue.
“Besides...”
He tilted his head to the side and looked at her like he was admiring something.
“You’ll never make it to the phone in time.”
She should have run towards the bathroom instead.
Granted, that’s why he’d made the comment.
Make her think that the phone was of importance. Where it laid blank and black on her bed. The exact destination he wanted her.
It was of no use to her smashed against the wall.
Nor was she ever in reach of it anyway. Not with Bakugo and his blood-stained hands keeping her down.
“I've wanted you our entire fucking lives.” He seethed.
Strong dedicated hands curled around her wrists. Pressing her down into the mattress.
“I’m the only one who deserves you!” He roared into her ear. His words hot on her cheek.
Her eyes scrunched closed. Her face tight as she felt the heavy weight of the brute on top of her.
“And no one-”
His grip tightened as his voice turned so gruffly dark it made her heart stop.
“No one is going to take you away from me.” He growled. “Especially not some blue-eyed shit-eating waste.”
Greediness got the best of him this time as he dived in to take a kiss. One hungry, open-mouthed, wanting, lustful, desperate, raw and wolfish kiss. Where in all her fuelled panicked adrenaline, driving purely on blind instinct, perhaps also due to Bakugo not being used to handling something so much smaller, she managed to angle her legs in a way that gave her permission to knee him right in the groin.
Second chances are only given once. But she was a smart girl and knew she wouldn't make it to the door in time. Knew that her best hope was to lock herself in.
And if being quirkless had taught her anything, it was to hope for a hero to come to her rescue.
That her only chance was to pray for her blue-eyed angel to come and save her.
The bathroom was the safest bet for now.
He had to laugh as he grabbed his aching ball-sack through the slacks of his uniform. Torn between being impressed and pissed off.
He'd only barely missed grabbing her ankle before she slipped through the door and pulled it to a close. The click of a lock sounding off soon after.
“I was never good enough for you.” He growled. The sound muffled into the floor where he lied.
His fist clenched as he banged the shoddy faux-wood paneling.
“All our lives! Didn't matter what I did... you were always gonna hate me.”
She fumbled around the bathroom in a shaky frenzy. Eyes spiralling. Trying to find anything sharp. Anything at all she could use as a weapon if the door proved too weak to withstand the force of Bakugou.
“You were always gonna fear me.” He scoffed. "Weak and quirkless- heh... heck... it wouldn't even matter if I was quirkless too. You'd fear me either way."
Her heart beating like a galloping racehorse. Mind reeling in on the fact that he was taking his sweet time. Just like predators do when they’ve already caught their prey.
Playing with her.
“More than Deku ever did... But I guess I fucked with him differently from how I fucked with you.”
All she found was an old nail-filer. Not exactly sharp and not really at all that long. But her best and only option.
She knew it wouldn't do shit in the end though.
And then it was quiet again.
And she shook as she held onto her tiny weapon. Tears burning down her damp aching skin while every shuddering breath she dared supply her lungs with felt like it would cause her to combust as though she was made out up of thin glass.
And yet, in the chaos of fear, it was still so dreadfully painstakingly quiet.
Until he decided to break the silence again.
“He’s bleeding out where no one’ll ever find him...”
His voice wasn't haunting. It wasn't amused, but dead and had the ability to make her feel dead as well.
Blood freezing over. Heart eerily sinking like a block of led inside her. Skin crawling. Cold and raw and naked.
She shook. Looking back at the door. Admitting the flimsy wood was as much defence as paper to the hellhound on the other side.
Though, in the light of his taunt, her safety seemed miles away from her biggest worry.
“He’s dying, Quirkless.”
She knew then all she could do was watch.
Watch the tacky white paint-job flake on the planks.
Watch the door and wait for it to come splitting and splintering to oblivion. Like there was no door there at all.
But it hardly mattered...
What happens to her hardly matters.
Just like running to safety when Bakugo caught Deku and her in the school-halls wasn't ever what she did. No matter how much Deku would plead for her to run. She wouldn't.
She would do anything to switch places with him. Anything so he wouldn't be the one limping home with a cut on his cheek and a broken rib.
“And it’s all your fault.”
She whimpered at that. Nail-filer held tightly in her hand, but only for a couple more seconds until it went clattering to the cold tiles by her feet.
“You know how this works...” He said calmly. “You come out here... and I'll make sure he survives.”
She took a step closer to his voice. Knees numb and weak yet steady. Her hand reaching out to the doorknob. Blood prickling where it rushed about.
“You unlock the door. Step out in your pretty little dress... and I’ll go fetch the wine.”
She swallowed. Burning fingertips touching down on the icy metal of the knob. Trembling as she drew in a shaky breath, and pulled the trigger.
He heard the click of the lock opening and scoffed out a curt chuckle. Lips curling into a smile that showed off his teeth as he watched her small bare-foot step out.
Shiny leg following. Knees then after. The hem of her skirt that frilled loosely around her thighs. Up and up to the swell of her breasts and her chest. Her collarbones and neck.
And that pretty defeated little face.
He sauntered over to the kitchen nook where he’d spotted the wine. Washing the blood from his hands first while thinking it weird and silly and slightly shameful that he’d imagined this so many times.
Her in a pretty dress. Thin summer fabric, easily torn. Silky and form-fitting. Leaving just her natural silhouette.
Drinking red in a dimly lit room. The taste still on her tongue when he kisses her.
“Drink.” He commanded. His hand shoving the open bottle to her lips. Tilting it up and spilling it over her chest.
She gasped but did nothing to stop him. Not so much as backing away even.
She just stood there and bowed her head as the maroon liquid, strong in scent, stained her skin. Seeping through her clothing. Spilling down the valley between her breasts.
Making her shift uncomfortably as the stream trailed down to drip between her thighs. Soaking her underwear.
And then she sniffled. Biting her bottom lip, with brows curled into such an adorable woeful look it made him want to lick the tears off her precious little face.
He lobbed the empty bottle into a cushioned armchair. Hand returning to raise her chin with his knuckles. Pushing down on her lip with his thumb, hooking it onto the bottom row of teeth, making her gape as she looked up at him.
He had the thought of spitting. But, found that he didn't really feel like it.
“You never dared put a word to it.” He stated instead.
His red eyes somehow seeming so cold, so lifeless. His lips a stern firm line. Features blank beside the tension in his jaw.
“You’re afraid to acknowledge it.”
Thumbing her lip a second time as he licked his own. He brushed her hair behind her shoulders with his other hand. Knuckles gliding over the spaghetti-straps to her dress. Amusing the idea of how easy they’d be to rip loose.
Then acting on that very same thought.
Torn fabric pooled around her ankles as she stood there bleating. Still not daring to move a single muscle. Not with his thumb still in her mouth and the wine spilled on her skin still dripping down her legs making her shiver on a coat of goosebumps.
He licked his lips again with his eyes drinking in the sight of her glowing dewy skin. Looking to her face and how the hot streams of tears ran down her cheeks as silently as she could muster.
Removing his hand from her mouth. He turned around with a scoff.
Walking off to her bedside table. He sighed as he begun removing his rings. The ones that made it easier to split skin open upon impact.
She guessed she should have seen it as a relief. But, she couldn't bring herself to it.
“You'd never say anything, but you knew.”
He threw his grey blazer to the floor. Un-cuffing his sleeves before rolling them up to his elbows. Arms flexing while unbuckling his belt. Ripping the leather out through the reims and dropping it to the floor with a sharp clatter. Tugging loose his red tie to free his collar so that he could pop open the first three buttons of his shirt.
Getting comfortable.
“Shit- you must’ve known.”
He returned to where she still hadn't dared move a muscle. Her eyes only skittering around as he preformed his rituals.
The wine drying to a sticky thick sheen on her skin. Tinting her with pink.
“You never cried either.” He stated.
Though, it wasn't true.
“Deku would fucking wail like a kicked bitch, but you’d just stare at me... So much fucking hatred in your eyes...”
His hands dropped to his sides and her eyes anxiously trailed the thick veins running like lightning across his bulging muscles.
“No tears. No rage. Just hate.”
A tiny whimper sprung form the confines of her tight chest as he fingered the thin silky material of the lacy racy red panty at her hip.
Knees shaking as she bowed her head some more.
Toes curling into their own comfort. Trying to escape the threat of being crushed beneath his big heavy combat boots.
“But you cried.. when I touched you in ways I really shouldn't have.”
One time, she'd dared fall asleep at her desk. So tired from a night spent crying because she couldn't get Bakugou to stop dunking Izuku’s head in the nasty toilet bowls of the school bathroom.
Only to be woken up by Katsuki’s thick warm sluggish tongue gliding up her sore cheek as she hugged the desk.
Finding the video in her inbox of someone jacking off right into her unsuspecting sleeping face. Knowing it was Katsuki but having not a single way to prove it.
“When it was just the two of us and I said things and did things, touched things-”
He’d sweet talk with her mother. Acting so trivial with his handsome charming smile that would easily have any of the girl’s panties dropping if only he’d use it more often. Were it not for him wasting it on manipulating and arranging it so that he would be the one driving her home after school when he turned sixteen.
Brand new car and everything. Meant to impress her.
Perhaps she would have let herself fall for it if he hadn't put his hand on her thigh. If he hadn't locked the doors and trapped her in there with him.
Maybe she would have thanked him for the ride home if he hadn't made her beg him to get off her. Only allowed to go after he’d marked up her pretty neck and twisted a nipple or two once or twice until they were left sore.
“Made you do things, say things, give me things.”
He’d bargain with her often.
Give him her panties and he’ll leave Deku alone at lunch. Give him a minute in an empty class-room with just the two of them and he’ll leave them both alone for a grand total of a day.
And to no ones surprise. Feed greed and greed will grow like a weed.
Soon small exchanges turned to threats.
Telling her to stop hanging out with Deku or else he’ll beat the nerd within an inch of his life. Come to his house after classes or suffer the nastiest of rumors being spread about her all around school. Send him a pretty picture and he won't leak what other pretty pictures he’s taken when she wasn't looking.
“I thought you’d call me out on it...”
She felt the puffs of his breathing hit against the top of her head. Her eyes dead-set on watching the movement of his hands that now had taken ahold of her waist. His thumb messaging around the hipbone. Pulling her closer before he stepped to her side. His large palm laid flat on her belly. The other gripping her midriff as he stopped behind her. Hot air running down her neck and spine where his breathing turned rugged.
“Went over battle-plans in my head-” He chuckled. “How I’d say you'd become just as fucking obsessed with me as Deku. How you shouldn't flatter yourself. How fucking desperate you must be to be falling in love with your own fucking bully.”
He wasn't always bad.
In all their years. In all fucked-up relations. He’d never let anyone else ever pick on her.
Where after fights. Sometimes drunken and other times not. He would never fuss when she rinsed out his wounds and patched him up. Instead always giving his thanks in the form of leaving in peace.
Sometimes she wonders if that was the reason he started getting into fights in the first place...
To have her stitch him back up again.
But she’d always deemed the thought foolish. And if not that then... scary.
She stopped at one point. After the time he’d fucked Deku up so badly, she hadn't enough bandages for the both of them. Favoring the freckle-faced one and his second-degree burns above the ash-blonde and the minor gash he got when she pushed him away and he fell to the ground.
But... still...
He wasn't always bad.
In fact, be it a brief moment. Sometimes she would even forget he was bad at all.
Sometimes he’d crack a few jokes when driving her home. Cackle out a laugh that somehow seemed to warm her gut. His eyes gentle as he peeked over at her from the driver’s seat. One hand held lazily on the wheel. Sun glowing on his face. Making him look like a dandelion in its prime.
So soft and so childishly happy.
Until and unless, of course. He’d lock the doors with her inside, and refuse to take her home. Sometimes leaving her on the side of the road when she wouldn't repay him for his kindness.
He’d come back though...
Sometimes.
He wasn't always bad.
Which is what made it hurt so much more when he was.
Sometimes he’d be sweet. Leaving cupcakes outside her home for her on her birthday. Offering her his jacket or hoodie on cold days.
So sweet. He’d ask her about things.
How her day was. What she’ll be doing once she gets home.
And seem truly genuinely interested each time she’d offer him an answer.
He’d even be cute on some days too.
When she’d ask him in return.
He’d talk up storms of ambition miles out of her reach. Of his hopes and his dreams and pursuits.
And she’d almost believe that the reasoning behind his quirk was passion and not violence.
He wasn't all bad.
Even when he’d forced her into yet another study-date at his house. He’d still provide much better tutoring than anyone else ever managed.
Patient and determined. As though he truthfully cared. Even with his hand drawing greedy circles on the fat of her thigh. With his fingers tickling over the thin fabric of her undies as he made her sit on his lap.
He wasn't only bad.
Because when she cried. When he’d make her cry. He’d always stroke the tears away with his thumb.
He would hush and coo at her. Tread loose locks of hair behind her ears and put her head against his chest.
Squeeze her until she felt like a human being again. Until her breaths would calm down to let her settle fully into his embrace.
He isn't evil.
But...
If he thinks she would or could ever...
Fall in love with him...
Then he must be...
Insane.
She placed a small hand over his knuckles once the grip he had on her waist become more like a pinch than a caress. Soundlessly asking him to loosen up.
But, only succeeding in making him even more rowdy.
Her small body was pulled harshly back into him. Her back pressed firmly against his stiff warm chest as he nuzzled his chin into the nook of her neck.
Letting his nose run along her jawline. Rub against her ear.
His thick arms coiling around her like an overbearing hug. One that had his heart thumping brutally against her spine when beating out of his ribcage.
And dick growing warm and heavy and pointy against her ass.
“You never said a thing though... you just looked at me, with so much... horror.”
She winced.
Her hands ever so gentle. Laying themselves on top of his arms.
Feeling like toothpicks against steel.
But she couldn't very well do nothing when he was squeezing her lungs free of air.
“You fucking hated me.”
It almost sounded like he was crying. Like he was sorry. Like he was pained and in regret.
His head rubbing against her shoulder. Trying to hold her even closer. Lifting her to her toes as he hunched over her small breakable frame.
And she thought she heard a sniffle before he spoke up again.
“So, I’ve been thinking...”
His tone was steadier now. Hot against her ear.
And even hotter as he flicked her lobe with his tongue. Making her cringe out a fearful whimper.
“You want me to be the bad guy?”
Everything stilled.
“Fuck it- I’ll be the bad guy.”
At that she was thrown to the bed.
Weak knees carrying her staggeringly. Receiving the edge of the foot-end with her hands.
Though not left slumped against the mattress for long as strong hands once again imposed on her being.
Pulling at her by snatching the band of her underwear and yanking her up to be placed on the bed with no hope of scurrying away.
“Please-” She whimpered.
Her tiny hands gripping the bedsheets for support. Trying to soothe the ache of the wedgie her childhood bully was giving her a great nostalgia trip with.
He smirked sadistically down at her before dropping her down with a bounce on the bed. Pulling her arm to flip her over on her back.
“Is that the only word you know?”
He quickly got on top of her. Fitting almost immediately between her thighs. Kneeling whilst looming above her half naked vulnerable self.
His hand placed at her throat. Keeping her down.
Whereas the other stroked tentative fingers down the smooth skin of her stomach.
“I think you know my name too, don't you?”
“Please, Bakugo-”
Her hands clutched onto his arm. Legs kicking though having no target to hit where they were spread out on each side of his torso. Looking like a ladybug on its back.
“No-” He clicked his tongue while his hand closed in on the elastic band to her perfect red lace-panties.
Ones that seemed entirely picked out for him.
“That’s not what you used to call me.”
“Katsuki-” She sobbed. Wiggling beneath his touch. Trying desperately to shake him off like he was some bug leaching off her blood. “Please stop.”
“Wrong again.”
Her efforts where ignored by the ash-blonde looming above her.
His hand utterly unbothered by her squirming. Brushing warm digits over the fabric to her pretty lace bottoms. Feeling her warmth seep through the thin silk as his fingertips ran up and down, dipping slightly into the squishy sensitive flesh. Almost as though he was cuddling with her tender sex. Coaxing for a reaction.
“Kachan, please.” She whined and he closed his eyes for a brief second to enjoy the sound of the nickname.
Such potent nostalgia making his heart fuzz and stomach warm. Pool with something sticky and sweet.
An appreciative soft hum slipped from him. Pushing his otherwise stiff lips into a small smile.
“There we go.... Perfect. Just like the good ol’ days.” He mused. His hand still rubbing abrasively large fingers between the space of her thighs.
Thumbing at where he felt her little clit wake up.
“Keep begging. You’re good at it.”
Her throat buzzed with warmth beneath the weight and simmering heat of the hand wrapped tightly around it. Successfully keeping her down and pushed into her pillow with no hope of shimming away from the other dangerous venturing hand.
She blinked away more tears. Felt them trail down into her hairline by her temple, itching on her scalp. Whimpering at the feel of his teeth nip on her collarbone, his warm tongue licking at the bittersweet dried wine, and the surprisingly pillowy lips kissing at her shoulder.
“You don't have to do this...” She attempted when the hand around her throat moved slightly to grip her cheeks instead. His fingers pushing into each their cavity of plush flesh, making her pout like a fish. Her lips pushed into a makeshift kiss.
To no surprise he chose to ignore whatever pitiful plea she’d wasted her breathe on. Too focused on drawing patterns into the heat between her legs.
“Fuck- I’ve missed this face.” He moaned. His breath hitting her lips as she shook beneath him. “This fucking adorable crybaby face.”
He licked his lips again, and his shameless wanton eyes stared lustfully down at her own glossy ones.
“You look so fucking pathetic.”
His mind couldn't help but stray as his heart clenched with fear for a split second. Getting lost to the unsavoury memory... Wondering if that was what he had looked like when the sludge-villain had him neck deep in despair. When he couldn't breathe. And how the whole experience had left him wanting for a type of comfort he in no way deserved.
Where in the self-loathing...
Being a villain had never seemed quite so inviting.
She didn't expect the kiss to be so soft.
She thought he was going to bite and chew and swallow.
But he brushed his lips quite smoothly against hers. Swiping his tongue over her bottom lip before pushing gently through to taste her.
With it she forgot to breathe. And in that darkness and stillness of having her lifelong fiend kiss her with the care no one she’d ever kissed had given her, she was left listening to what soft hums left the brutish male on top.
Wondering why he so suddenly sounded like he was nothing more but a boy kissing his crush for the first time.
And perhaps she would have forgotten who it was completely...
If only it weren't for the greedy hand that had finally decided to push aside the flimsy lace and push through the tender neatly-shaven lips of her drooling virginity.
“Aww-” His voice scraped mockingly. Gutturally low and sadistically gleeful. Hot on her lips. “Did you get yourself all nice and ready for me?”
She winced out a whimper as he pushed a thick muscly finger into her hole, playing with the tightness for a moment before filling her up with the entire length of his large long-reaching digit.
“So wet-” He commented, much to her embarrassment.
Though in her defence she had been awaiting someone else in silly thrill for the past hours, preparing like a little girl before the first day of school.
“All hot and bothered, waiting for me to come?”
She sobbed in disgust as he started pumping and messaging her aching needy arousal. Her thighs trembling at how much the sticky warmth in her gut seemed to hum in utter betrayal by the blissful pleasure.
“You. Little. Fucking. Slut.” He whispered.
A haughty smile carved on his face as he watched the way her cheeks pooled with red and the shaky intake of breath on her lips, while feeling her tightness clench and pulsate on nothing more but one measly lonesome finger.
“How does it feel? Huh?” He panted against her cheek as she still ever so foolishly tried squirming away. “How does it feel to cum on my fucking hand? Same hand that’s been pushing you around your entire fucking life?”
She tried winding her thighs shut, but every shift had him sinking his finger in deeper and hooking it cruelly into her tightness.
“I bet you like it. No, I know you like it.”
He sunk a second one in and she cried out a wince, biting her lip to try and suppress the terrible treacherous moan that wanted to bloom from her throat as her pussy clenched, sucking happily on the new digit taking up the taunt space inside her.
“I can feel it plain and simple. Your slutty cunt clenching my fingers like your fucking life depends on it.” He snickered, knowing exactly what he was doing as he slid and slotted the two thick digits in and out while having his thumb pressing evilly into her clit, making her back want to arch off the bed as he kissed at her jaw, whispering his cruel words. “Fuck... I can even hear it.”
She wanted nothing more but to twist away, thinking things wouldn't be half as bad if she didn't have his lips on her cheek and his words tickling her ear and his eyes watching her every move as he made her cum on his hand with that sick twisted smirk on his face.
All she could do was count her blessing that he didn't have the ability to read her mind, because then he’d also know of how the growl in his throat still somehow managed to make the adder in her gut coil and purr with pleasure and how it made her cry in disgust of herself.
But then she was there.
Lips parted to gasp out the last moan yet caught by his and locked in yet another soul-sucking kiss that she now had not the strength or the mind to fight because all she could do was think of the fluttering rippling from the little pressure point found beneath his coarse thumb, and how with every little flick it sent blitz shooting through her core, zipping along her thighs, making her back lurch off the bed and into his chest, where his heart was panicking like a fucking madman with a hammer on an anvil.
His stomach warming at the sight of her all silken and soft and coming undone on his brutish hand, with her lips caught between his teeth as he kissed her like he was pouring his soul down her throat.
Until she woke up, after only a few passing seconds, a fleeting moment of bliss.
“You- you’re a fuck-king monster.”
Pained bleary oceans looked up into scarlet bloodbaths, yet couldn't see the amount of awe found in them, or saw it only to feel a deep shudder of disgust on the account of it.
The hand around her throat, kept there like a noose or a collar, didn't take kindly to her words.
Far from happy at how she chose to rob him of his satisfaction a moment too soon.
And if there’s one thing people know about Bakugo, it’s how if one indecent desire isn't satiated, he’ll gladly indulge another.
The strong trained hand made to squeeze frail fragile pipes.
His lips turned grim and stiff. Bloodthirsty eyes beholding what he’d always wanted to call his. Spiteful and desperate to make his wishes come true by any means necessary.
“This is how easy it would be, Quirkless.” He commented while listening to her choking.
Scarlet eyes watched, seemingly indifferent to the sight of her hopelessly trying to gasp for the air his hand wouldn't allow passage through to her burning lungs.
“It’d only take a minute and you’d be gone forever.”
He squeezed tighter and listened to her squeak.
Her little useless hands loosening their hold on his larger paw. Giving out, before his fist detached and she sprung back to life.
Coughing and gulping for air. Her hand soothing her throat as she tried curling up into herself, though not allowed to go anywhere but where Bakugo wanted her. His hands finding new purpose in holding her by the hips.
He pulled her naked body closer to his, which had her tender slick-soaked mess brush against the rough fabric to his pants, and her sensitive nipples, perky from the cool air, rub on his cotton-shirt.
“If I were you, I’d try figuring out ways to stay alive.”
Her lips quivered. Brows furrowed as she looked at him, thinking she’d never seen him quite this stone-cold.
Feeling that little ounce of hope she still had left for the boy in her heart flicker with its last will. Snuffed out by how he dragged her off her back and made her sit on his lap.
His harsh fingers burying themselves in the dough of her hips while his erection laid like a large bump of scratchy material against her clit, making her cringe as she trembled with tears falling silently in thin streams down her cheeks.
“Remember what you said to Deku when the shrimp tried fighting back?”
She closed her eyes and bowed her head. Feeling a hand leave her hip, and soon after the rip of a zipper being pulled. Her shoulders sinking as her breath shuddered.
“He’s not worth it.”
She felt his thighs shift beneath her, but she didn't dare open her eyes.
All she could do was swallow and feel the cold air brush against her naked flesh as she heated up by the fact that Katsuki was pulling his dick out with the intention to sink it inside her.
“I slapped the old hag that day when she asked me what was wrong. Square across the face. She had burns for months.”
She whimpered when she felt his breath on her cheek, and recoiled back, though held firmly and painfully by the large hand on her hip.
“You want me to slap you?” His voice was weirdly sweet whilst a knuckle went sliding against her cheek to pull the curtain of hair out of her face.
His lips soon pressing against her cheek as she choked on her own whimpering shallow breaths.
“No, right?” He whispered and that’s when she felt it.
Plush like velvet, squishy and warm, burning, thick and rounded, bobbing against her clit, being pushed to slide through her folds, make her squirm on top of him.
“So be a good slut and ride my fucking dick.”
He added pressure to the small of her back.
The slight inclination of heat and sweat in his palm telling her to move closer until she was hovering above something else that was radiating heat between her thighs.
Brushing up against her opening.
Her breath hitched in her throat as she felt it push, and she opened her eyes to look at him with the most pleadful expression she could muster.
Her lips trembling to their complete own accord, and brows joining the same dance of tremor.
“Kachan-”
But there was nothing staring back at her.
Nothing she could call human.
Not kindness nor mercy.
Not even pity.
“Come on, Quirkless. Show me what you were gonna do with that blue-eyed fuck.”
He didn't make a single move, as though he was waiting for her to do it for him.
“Don't be shy. Come on, slut.”
His fingers dug into her hips and she knew, by the burning cold in his eyes, he was dead-set on making her feel every lick of his hatred.
And it was hatred.
She couldn't allow it to be anything else.
She couldn't bare the thought of it being anything remotely similar to love as she lowered her hips slowly for him to fill her up inch by thick inch, sliding inside her wet virgin walls, all the way to the hilt, until his bulging head kissed sweetly into her screaming cervix.
It couldn't be love.
She didn't get a second to think before his hand once again grabbed ahold of her face.
His sandpaper fingers mushing her soft cheeks, making her stare into his bleeding-red look with those moon-wide tear-soaked horrified pretty eyes.
“Is this what it takes for you to notice me?” He puffed. “Huh? Can’t fucking focus without me threatening your life?”
She still flinched at the sharpness of his words. Feeling cold and tense and so very dreadfully alone, even with him twitching inside her.
“Am I only worth it when I got my cock balls-deep inside you?”
She closed her eyes but it was a mistake.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you, fucking bitch!” He barked. Spit flying into her squished face a mere half-inch away from his teeth. “You want me to fuck you like one? Bend you over, make you take it from behind, on your knees with your face down, like a good for nothing cum-dump whore?!”
His other hand pulled her even closer, made her tits hug against his chest where he still hadn't bothered removing his shirt. Buttons sharp and abrasive against her flesh as she shook at the feel of his cock warming and stretching her out. Weirded-out with how it sat lodged so well inside the comfort of her pussy, and how she was unwillingly clamping down around the girth of him, sucking on him gratefully, happily and passionately like how they used to huddle for warmth at nap-time on playdates.
He kissed her again. His forehead pushing achingly into hers. Noses hugging. Lips strutting forward and pressing into hers like letting go meant dying, where even his breath shuddered as she could swear his eyes seemed a bit more glossy then than before. Though it could easily have been brushed off as just a trick of the light in the dimly lit bleakness of her apartment in the night.
"Do you-" He whispered in a voice like from a complete different person. “Remember our first kiss?”
It had been back when they were only four and having only the slightest clue what kisses even were, but she could never forget it.
“You told me I sucked.” He added.
“I- I told you not to use so much teeth.” She whimpered. Voice weak and blubbering like it had been back in kindergarten. Soft and sweet and shy and only barely above a whisper.
“Guess I never learn...”
He didn't pull away. Their foreheads still seemingly glued together. Noses bumping. Breaths cohesive.
“You haven’t changed much since then either.”
That broke her heart.
His hands tightened against her flesh.
“Now ride. Or next time I fuck you, blue-eyes rotting head will be watching us.”
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Ex-husband Caleb who still has your wedding picture in a frame on his bedside table and still sometimes wears his wedding band secretly when he's on Colonel duty
Ex-husband Caleb who still calls you from time to time to see how you're doing. He randomly shows up at your place for a "visit" and ends up staying the night. On the couch of course.
Ex-husband Caleb who has trouble sleeping at night. He got so used to having you beside him and holding you that the bed feels more empty and bigger than before.
Ex-husband Caleb who still replays the argument that led to the divorce time and again and heavily blames himself for it.
Ex-husband Caleb doesn't like it when you show slight interest in dating again or some other man that's not him. If he can't have you, no one should. He makes sure none of the other men come near you. Even if you aren't together, you're still his.
Ex-husband Caleb who always brings something for you every time he shows up. And it's always your favourites.
Ex-husband Caleb cooks for you and makes sure you relax and suddenly he's back in time when you two were married and the memories of stealing kisses in the kitchen come back to him.
Ex-husband Caleb who always kisses you goodbye on the cheek even though you don't like it (but secretly you do). He tried everything to keep the divorce from happening but couldn't see you hurt anymore so he let you go. But did he actually?
Ex-husband Caleb who jokingly brings up about getting married again only it's not a joke and he really wants to be with you again, married or not.
“You were always a better cook than me Caleb.” You sat on the kitchen counter as Caleb cooked. He hummed in response. “But I miss having whatever you made,” he said, eyes fixed on the pot before him. Your heart skipped a beat hearing him say that. “I miss your cooking too..” you looked down, avoiding looking at him. The next moment you find his hand beside yours and look up to find yourself trapped between his arms. Both his arms on your side and only an inch of distance between you. “We can have those times back again, you know.” His eyes land on your lips and he leans in, but you face away. “Caleb, please.” You put a hand on his chest to stop him from doing anything more but instead he cages you in his arms and buries his head in your neck, taking in your scent. Deep down the love that you had for him still lingers.
“I want you... again.”
Ex-husband Rafayel
Ex-husband Rafayel who still has your wedding dress inside his studio. Something he himself designed but now the muse is gone.
Ex-husband Rafayel who still addresses you as his wife despite everyone knowing about your divorce. He could care less about that.
Ex-husband Rafayel whose inspiration for painting is you and you alone. You're etched into his memory for eternity.
Ex-husband Rafayel who mourns the relationship he had with you deeply, it agonizes him.
Ex-husband Rafayel who never took away the keys of his studio and apartment from you 'just in case'. They're all yours anyway.
Ex-husband Rafayel still wears his wedding ring despite the end of your marriage with him. How pathetic is what some people think of him.
Ex-husband Rafayel who still invites you as his plus one and partner at parties and ceremonies he's invited to.
Ex-husband Rafayel who keeps his hand on your waist the entire time and makes sure you're close to him and that everybody can see that. You're mine
Ex-husband Rafayel who still smothers you with affection even if it bothers you (which it doesn't)
Ex-husband Rafayel who still financially supports you and makes sure you get the best of everything.
“Rafayel you've been in there for too long now.” He was soaked in his tub and felt the touch of those oh so familiar hands, whose warmth he always sought. His eyes are closed, yet he can still smell the sweet scent of your radiant presence. And your voice is something he hears in his dreams every so often. Which is what this all was. A dream. Because when he opened his eyes, he realized you weren't really there. It all came back to him like a bad dream, the day you left him with a wounded heart inside this very studio. He was alone, once again. Only left with his thoughts of you that haunt him everyday.
Ex-husband Sylus
Ex-husband Sylus who still acts like you're married and despite that irritating you he pays no heed to it.
Ex-husband Sylus randomly shows up at your place and makes himself at home despite your glares at him. “May I join you in bed?,” he smirks. “No you may not.”
Ex-husband Sylus who still pays for your things. The package you have been waiting for has been paid for? But you didn't pay. No, he did and he's smug about it too.
Ex-husband Sylus in the quiet hours of the N109 zone, yearns for you. “Go make sure she's safely made it home.” Mephisto croaks and takes flight from his shoulders.
Ex-husband Sylus atones for his mistakes every chance he gets. He knows the damage he caused which led to your parting from him but he's not going to give up on you.
Ex-husband Sylus who hates residing in his mansion now. He's grown restless. It's not the same without you and it torments him. Come back.
Ex-husband Sylus who wears your wedding band around his neck. He is tied to you and forever will be. He kept a lot of your things and goes through them sometimes. One of your nightdress being one of them. He takes in the scent to remember how it used to be like back then, to remember how you were his.
Ex-husband Sylus who has grown more restless now than ever. He needs to see you now and he will and nothing can stop him.
It was storming outside when he appeared on your doorstep in the dead of the night, all drenched. You didn't question anything and let him in. Shadow fell over his face and when you were about to go get him a towel he caught you by your arm. “Sylus, is everything -” He plops his head down on your shoulder. His hand tracing down your arm and intertwining with your hand and you let him, let him stay like that. You can feel his warm breath against your neck and it took everything in you to not be reckless and do something you'd later regret. You know what he's doing and he knows that you know. You put a hand on his chest, “Sylus..I-” and try to slightly push him away but he captures your hand in his and cages you in his arm. Warm heavy breath falls on your neck and his lips are mere inches away from your skin. Your own cheeks flush, eyes forming tears and you bury your face in his shirt.
Ex-husband Xavier
Ex-husband Xavier who moves next door to your place. Seriously? “It shouldn't be a problem. Just pretend I'm your neighbor,” he says like it's absolutely normal for your ex husband to move next to you. Yeah right.
Ex-husband Xavier sees you at a cafe one day with someone else. A man? Why was there a man with you and why were you laughing? He used his evol to reflect the light in his eyes, flashing him and spilling whatever hot drink he had all over him.
Ex-husband Xavier nearly burns down the kitchen once again only for you to burst through his door. “Seriously Xavier what were you thinking?!” You run around inside his kitchen putting away whatever it is he burnt. Gosh you can't even recognize if it's meat or chicken or even vegetables. He ended up having dinner at your place.
Ex-husband Xavier now sleeps less than he did after the divorce. Faint dark circles form under his eyes and he's more tired than usual. All because your thoughts haunt him and his bed is more empty now.
Ex-husband Xavier feels every ounce of guilt for his mistakes. Would things have ended differently if he set his priorities straight? But one thing he knows now, he should've prioritized you more.
“I want to get married again,” he says with a straight face. You're dumbfounded with this sudden declaration and your face starts heating up from sudden indignation. “Xavier, as much as I have to put up with all this and allow you in my space, doesn't mean I want to and marriage isn't a joke. You've already-” Before you can finish you suddenly find your back against the wall and Xavier's arms on both sides of you. “I'm not joking. I want to marry you. Again,” he says, bold blue eyes looking at yours. “Xavier-” “I'll do better.” He leans in. “I will be better.” You can feel his breath, his scent that you know all too well. He leans closer, eyes locked with yours. “Marry me.”
Ex-husband Zayne
If Zayne is your ex husband there's clearly something wrong with YOU. You fumbled him.
⤷Yes I am biased, I am a Zayne girl. Not proofread.
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✧˚₊‧ down bad! peter parker who fucks like he’s mindless !
it’s not like he’s touch starved for any sort of real connection; everyone who he loves doesn’t know who he is, he doesn’t have anyone to go home to besides that red and blue stupid spider-man suit that mocks him from the hanger. he watches the news as people cheer for him but no one wants him.
truly wants him. peter parker, not spider-man.
peter parker is a man who is starved of touch. he can live with no connection— it was just him and his aunt for many years… but the feeling of another person’s hands on him that wasn’t some goon in manhattan trying to put him to early retirement… it was foreign to him.
it’s been four years since mj, and he hasn’t felt anything on his body… except now, his breaking point.
youre not quite sure how you ended up in his vicinity anyway, but you did. you were simply in professor banners class when he came running in at the last minute, completely sloppy looking and out of his mind to talk to the professor. you stayed back to watch him ramble to him, seeing how disgruntled he looked, the bruises on his jaw and his forearm peaking out under the empire state hoodie.
when he left, you left, and you asked for his number.
that’s how you ended up here; in his messy bed, his cock thrusting in and out of you like a piston. he’s rough with his thrusts but gentle with his hands, like his fingers are trying to mark every single inch of your body, his lips haven’t left your neck since he’s thrusted.
“o-oh god baby.” he whispers, voice cracking under the pressure of your pussy clenching down on him. your nails rake down his biceps,
you moan around him, listening to his chorus of whimpers and pleads as the wet sound of his cock forcing its way into your puffy folds fills his mundane apartment bedroom. “f-fuck peter! keep going! oh fuck!”
the apartment walls in this place may not be the thickest, but peter’s cock is, so you don’t care that your moans could probably be heard from top floor to basement.
he moans when your fingers create more markings into his body, his senses going haywire with each stroke of his dick. “feels good baby? pussy needing me s’so much, don’t you?” he whispers, sucking on his right thumb before bringing it down to your clit, rubbing tight circles on it. “never letting you go, swear to god, fucking christ…”
each one of his thrusts picks up with the speed and velocity only a man like peter parker could display. you couldn't describe it but you felt so full but so good at the time time. your eyes rolled back as he kisses your cheek, feeling his balls slap against your clit.
he kept thrusting like he had something to lose; his hands touched you like he was trying to keep a reminder to himself what a female body felt like, what another human's body felt like under his own callous palms.
he's never felt like this in four years, and now, he's a selfish man and who could blame him?
peter was a man suffering in silence, currently thrusting into you like he was personally trying to break your cervix— and you didn't mind it, feeling like heaven itself as his forearms cage your head, kissing your face even as the tears flow from overstimulation, his mouth catching each one.
he brings you closer and closer, groaning deep into your ear as you tighten around him. the bed was louder than you at some points but you didn't even try to be quiet.
if anyone truly knew what peter parker was suffering with for four years... they'd understand why he fucks like this. why he fucks like it's his last day on earth. why his cock ruins you like it's never done before... and you didn't quite understand the full extent of it...
you just understood peter parker making you cum, and feeling ropes of his hot and heavy cum filling your pussy.
and in the same night? he tucks you in and sneaks out the fire escape, because peter parker only gets temporary joy when the city needs spiderman all the time.
click here for main masterlist! 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃
AUTHOR'S NOTE: god, brand new day is gonna eat so hard. ive never written for peter, but he was so fucking fine in that trailer, so why not write for him. sadie, tom, and zendaya in the same movie + promotion is gonna be so funnnnn, I can’t fucking wait. I do not care; i will somehow get a sadie hot ones episode as well as a sadie vs tom hot ones episode because I said so.
thank you for all the support in every way possible! all support is very much appreciated! all content created on this blog is mine, do not copy or sent it through ai!
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