#one one hand it's so lovely to see but on the other hand where's my flower bouquet? 😔

[teaboot]

I've never had a cat before and I'm hoping to get one soon. Do you have any advice?

Treat a new cat as you would a new roommate. Give them space and time to settle, establish a pattern and a rhythm, and in time they may choose to become friends and spend time with you. Dont force a friendship.

Use simple words and repetition to establish communication. Words like breakfast, treat, snack, lunch, supper, dinner, food, and eat all basically mean, "I am feeding you; expect to be fed", but it's a lot for a little guy to remember. I just say "Dinner" when I mean "cat food is coming", and so my boy knows exactly what I mean when I say it. As a plus, using only one word for snack time means he has no idea what the other words mean, so I can talk about food in front of him without ruling him up.

Pay attention to body language. Cats all have different personalities, and you'll learn their likes, dislikes, and messages over time this way. Son boy here loves anything with plumbing but dislikes getting wet- his favourite blanket to chew and snuggle goes on his favourite chair, and he gives me a specific gesture when he wants me to kneel down so he can jump onto my shoulder.

Read into problematic behaviour. Cats pee in weird places when they're hurting, in distress, or have insufficient of unclean litter box space. Biting, attacking feet , and knocking things off tables often means they're understimulated and need you to play with them, or at least need some kind of enrichment or puzzle to tackle. Tail flicking can be frustration or irritation. Purring is usually good, but may also be self-soothing behaviour to alleviate pain, encourage healing, and relieve anxiety, like over-grooming.

Like children, "bad" behaviour isn't malicious- it usually means there's something you aren't seeing.

Learn how your cat expresses love. Loads of people think cats are uncaring, cruel, and indifferent, but the truth is, they're just not dogs. Spending time near you, showing an interest in tools you're using or projects you're working on, sitting the way you sit, laying on their back, rubbing on your legs, wiping their face on your shoes when you get home- these are signs that your cat is enamored with you. You're their family, they feel safe and protected around you, they're curious about things you enjoy and want everyone to know you're family.

Set reasonable expectations. Again, cats are not dogs.We bred dogs to desire our approval- cats walked into our lives themselves. They have no human-programmed need to fulfill a duty or perform a task to your standards.

Training cats to do tricks isn't as hard as people say, but the willingness or interest in doing the trick is more heavily reliant on personality and mood. Some cats will refuse all but the most basic requests- I'm lucky in that Ollie understands and is willing to do several, provided I don't abuse his trust and he's not crowded or overwhelmed or just bored of doing it over and over in a short period.

Ollie, for example, knows Up to stand on his back legs and hold my hand, Down to get to a surface I indicate, Out to emerge from a closed space, Come to find me where I am, Help? when I'm offering to let him use me as an elevator, Dinner when I understand he's hungry and am getting food, and when I put on his collar he knows to climb into his carrier 'cause we're going somewhere. And he'll do any of these about 90% of the time, either ignoring me or phoning it in when there's something interesting somewhere else, or if he's feeling anxious.

Lead by example. If you dread taking them to the vet, they'll see the anxiety in your body language and behaviour and likely learn to hate it, too. Again using my guy an example, I starred taking him on walks long before his first vet appointment, just to get used to his carrier and leash. Then his first checkup was relaxed and informal, with plenty of treats, and I let him explore the examination room with permission from the tech. Now he loves going, so I'm not stressed about taking him, so I don't stress him out in turn, and the vest doesn't have to deal with a stressed out cat slowing things down and fighting with them.

Make sure your sources are good ones, and also good ones for you. I will recommend Jackson Galaxy's YouTube channel for cat advice because a lot of what he does matches up with what I've learned and know to be true. I don't personally recommend Ceasar Milan because I personally find his methods distressing to recreate regardless of efficacy, so even if that advice was useful, *I'd* be miserable, and it'd just be trading one issue for another.

Have a person who can help. You never know when you might end up out of town overnight unexpectedly, or when your place may need serviced or fumigated, or if you may be called out of town. Before getting a cat, research reliable pet sitters, house sitters, pet daycares, whatever, just in case.

Consider pet insurance. No long spiel here, just think about it. Especially if you don't know your cats ancestry or potenyial health risks. An on top of that, fucking vaccinate them.

Dont let them free roam. At all.

I grew up on a farm with free-roaming barn cats. Do you know how many times child-me cried over having to bury them? Illness, disease, pregnancy, vehicles, other territorial cats, ticks, fleas, litter, poisoned prey, malicious humans, local wildlife, predatory birds, scrap metal, extreme heat, freezing temperatures, tainted water sources, poisonous or venomous critters, getting stuck in small or high places, tapeworms, loose nails, old equipment, falling branches...

I've seen some truly body-horror slasher-movie shit- just truly nauseating visual fuckery- and I'm telling you not to let your cat free-roam.

Leash training isn't hard. Supervised walks aren't hard. Even keeping your cat physically fit and entertained indoors isn't an impossible feat. Don't let your fucking cat fucking free-roam. Fuck

Also read up on foods and plants cats can't do, like every houseplant in existence is toxic it's insane

Anyhow yeah that's like. A couple things I guess

Here, have an Ollie Pic

[moonlight-prose]

i’d love to see your take on #15 from the prompt list: “jealous sex in the alleyway behind the bar” w logan 👀 i’m picturing logan in xmen 1 or 2 specifically 😫

have a cigar

a/n: i am such a fucking sucker for the jealousy trope. especially when he's the idiot who doesn't realize he's the only option. the best one in my opinion. but of course he's got his own hangups and his own issues. so i've thrown a bit of angst in here with the spice. enjoy darling! (the title is based off the pink floyd song which gives massive logan vibes.)

summary: everyone knows who you belong to. if the jacket you wore that left you drowning in the soft leather wasn't indication enough, then the claws attached to your guard dog certainly was.

word count: 3.3k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, possessive logan, violence, tw: blood, animalistic tendencies, cigar smoke, alcohol, harassment, spitting, exhibitionism, p in v sex, rough sex, bruising, choking, logan kinda refers to them as an object (out of love), he's literally unhinged.

The bar reeked of spilled beer and shitty cigarettes. A rock song from the seventies blasted from the speakers—crackling every time the front door was jostled open, another patron stumbling in for a night of fun. Raucous cheers erupted from the corner where four men in leather jackets had taken up residence at a pool table; each one betting higher than the other.

You were perched on a stool. A heavy brown leather jacket wrapped around your body, a half finished whiskey in front of you, and a cigar clutched in your fingers. Neither were yours.

Yet you couldn't help but sip at the drink with a happy sigh, the smoke curling down your hand with a familiar scent that twisted your inside.

For the past ten minutes, you'd been staring at the menu. Trying to discern if ordering the mini plate of nachos was worth it before Logan waltzed back in from the bathroom. He muttered about there being a fucking line due to someone locking the damn stall. But you didn't mind.

Time spent with him was worth sitting here alone.

That is until you heard the telltale familiar scratch of a stool being dragged away—someone sitting to your right with a heavy grunt.

You flinched slightly, turning your back towards them, but their knuckles were already rapping on the bartop. Demanding your attention with another grunt. You could smell the alcohol on their skin, the glaze in their blue eyes as you turned, but that isn't what sent fear curling low in your spine. It was the sleazy grin on their lips.

They wouldn't be taking no for an answer.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doin' sittin' here alone?" he slurred, eyes trailing down your form.

Suddenly wearing the simple sundress for Logan felt like an awful idea. Your stomach turned with nausea as he ogled your body without shame. To him you weren't a person. Fuck you'd be lucky if he even asked for your name before he spewed bullshit about taking you home.

The bartender eyed him with a glare, nodding his head in your direction for some affirmation of safety. He recognized you, knew Logan from the countless times he'd been here, and that left you with some peace to cling to. It wasn't much, but you grasped at it blindly. Offering an awkward smile to appease the victim of Logan's fist when he finally returned.

"I'm with someone." You hated how meek your voice sounded; how small you felt sitting here like prey.

He shrugged, leaning close enough for you to smell the vodka on his breath. "I won't tell if you don't babe."

Heavy boots thumped against the floor and you visibly relaxed in your seat as Logan's form filled your peripheral. He stood stiff at your side, hands curling into fists at the sight of a man practically laying across your lap. Your eyes met his, guilt bleeding into your pupil. Only for anger to fill his. His hand pressed to your back, thumb rubbing into your side softly.

"You got a problem boy?" he snapped.

The man sat up too quickly, his body swaying as he met the guard dog attached to your back. "Just talking to the lady man. Fuck off."

You sighed, feeling Logan's hand freeze. Out of all the mistakes that could be made—that remained the worst. The man had dug his own grave. Logan was merely the executioner tasked with bringing this man to his awaited appointment with death.

Who were you to stand in the way of that?

You slipped off the stool, moving with speed to get out of the way of Logan's claws. Slamming the man against the bartop, he set the blades to his throat. A snarl resonated in the place, forcing everyone to go quiet, as you watched in rapture at the sight of Logan pinning a man. Daring him to move.

He cried in pain, blood dripping from the split open wound in his forehead. But mercy wasn't something Logan gave willingly. You felt his love in the form of wrath. A weight against your chest that you sunk your teeth into with a smile.

He was willing to kill for you.

To spill blood for your lips to curve into a pleased grin.

You were breathless even thinking about it.

"Now," he growled, pressing the man down until he heard the snap of a bone. "Wanna repeat that shit to my face motherfucker?"

"N-No." The scent of copper tinged the air, laying on your tongue. "I'm—fuck—I'm sorry! I didn't know she was yours man."

He lowered his face, nostrils flaring at the scent of blood permeating the air. "Touch her again and it's your arm."

Nodding frantically, you watched as the man practically slid to the floor in a mess of tears. Part of you wanted to feel bad for him. A pathetic soul who couldn't find joy unless it was preying on others. Logan's hand wrapping around the back of your neck is what killed those feelings with a swift slice of an axe. The heat of his touch became an anchor against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

Sick, twisted, inhumane. You attempted to label the feelings that catapulted right into your chest at the sight of Logan's red stained fist. There had to be an explanation in the back of your mind. A missing piece as to why you felt such exhilaration in the face of violence.

"Motherfucker," he muttered under his breath, slamming the back door open with his foot, his fingers digging a bit deeper. "Thinks he can take what's mine."

Oh. You liked that.

The click of his lighter and spark of a flame illuminated the shadow of possession that lingered on his face. His eyes watched you, trailed down the form of your body beneath his oversized leather jacket. The soft echo of love was swapped out for something tenebrous—something raw.

"C'mere." He spoke the word as if his hand wasn't still around your neck, leading you into his vicinity.

You stumbled over your own feet, eyes wide with the type of veneration he felt slam into his chest. Such a pretty thing, so lovely and soft for him to caress. To call his.

Perhaps this need to claim you stemmed from an animalistic urge he should have tamped down. He knew he looked like an asshole back in the bar, knew that you weren't a fan of when he got his fists dirty. But the need to sink his teeth into the side of your neck until blood poured into his mouth overtook him on his worst days.

It was fucked to even think about. Harming you, marking you, all to make sure that drunken idiots knew to keep their hands to themselves.

That thought alone was enough to make him feel a hint of disgust over his own fantasies.

Until he smelled it.

Cigar smoke unfurled from his mouth, curling low and falling across your face with a soft brush of air. Your eyes fluttered from the scent, mouth filling with saliva at the thought of him blowing it between your parted lips. All you had to do was ask him—place your hands on his cheeks and press your lips to his. He certainly wouldn't be against kissing you.

But something darker swirled to life in your chest. A hidden truth you felt far too ashamed to reveal that you started to tuck away in the back of your mind.

That didn't stop your scent from growing thick in the air, filling his nose with the sharp tang of your sweetness. He could practically taste it on the tip of his tongue. The ache to see it for himself nearly overwhelmed his body.

Something shifted in the time it took for the both of you to get outside away from the prying eyes inside the bar. Everyone knew you were Logan's. That became clear the second his jacket draped your shoulders—his hand a permanent fixture on your hip as he saw with you at the bar. But seeing him confirm a truth already known.

The spillage of blood was a small price to pay to set his words into stone for those to read. Logan was prepared to do far more than that; the need to bend you over the bar and make you cry those pretty little tears only meant for him growing each time you came here.

"Logan," you murmured, eyes half lidded with lust.

"Yeah you liked that huh sugar."

"I–" What could you say to him? I loved seeing you claim me like an animal in front of everyone. That alone felt too fucking embarrassing to admit out loud.

His thumb pressed into the back of your skull, releasing what tension built up. Moaning softly, you curled your body into his, eyes fluttering shut as he massaged that spot until you purred. You were so pliable under his hold, willing to leap when he said the word, and Logan could feel his cock throb at the sight.

His pretty girl.

"Liked seeing me beat a man cause he touched you." Lips curled into a smirk around his cigar when your mouth parted, breaths coming in harder than before. "You'd let me fuck in front of all of 'em wouldn't ya. Just to show them you're mine."

You went lightheaded, slick pouring out of you, as a soft whine broke through the still night air. Something snapped in your mind at the thought—images of Logan pulling your skirt up and fingering you at the bar. Thoughts of him settling you on his lap to cockwarm him as he smoked his cigar at a table. Entirely at ease with the thought of everyone seeing you leak around him.

They all curled low in your belly, cracking open the door of desires you kept locked shut. Pandora's box was finally about to be pried open and yet all you could think about was his eagerness to show off what belonged to him.

Use me. Mark me. Take me however you want to.

Saying them with a shaky voice and shot nerves would do nothing for that unfathomable throbbing between your legs.

Not when he could see it written across your face with a clarity that should have scared you.

"You're my fuckin' filthy girl aren't ya," he muttered, drawing you close enough to taste the cigar smoke off his lips.

"Uh-huh." The dazed lilt of your words made him smile.

So needy for him even in the proximity of a disgusting alleyway in the back of a bar. How could he resist such sweetness?

His hand moved, closing around your throat, as he plucked the cigar from his lips. "Here's what I'm gonna do sugar." Your open mouth gave him enough leeway to blow the remainder of his smoke past your lips—forcing a gasp past your throat. "'M gonna fuck you right here. And I want you to make them hear it."

"A-Are you sure?"

He smiled, pushing you towards the wall and stubbing his cigar out on the brick. "What? Don't you wanna set those fuckers right?"

Nodding, you let him tug up the hem of your skirt of your dress, fingers delving beneath the lace panties you wore specially for him. With a groan, his eyes fell shut at the feel of you dripping so messily for him. Leaking across his hand even before he pressed the rough calloused pads to your clit—drawing a soft cry from your mouth.

"You get this wet watching me sugar?" he grunted against your cheek, mouth hovering right where you wanted him. "Poor thing. Didn't mean to make ya wait."

"Oh fuck," you gasped, fingers curling into his flannel. "L-Loved seeing you Logan."

He chuckled—degrading yet filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache. "I should fight in front of you more often. Get you nice and ready for me to fuck you whenever I want."

Whatever response you might have been able to form died in the back of your throat. A choking garbled moan of his name pierced the air when two fingers plunged into you knuckle deep. Curling roughly at your walls with a determined flare. This wasn't him trying to get you off. This was him proving he could.

"You hear that? She's singin' for me baby." The wet squelch of his fingers pounding into you left heat blooming beneath your cheeks and down your chest. "Beggin' for my cock."

"Need it Logan–"

A hand hiked your leg up to curl around his hip, lips finally slotting against yours with a stunted groan. Any coherent thoughts you might have had died with his tongue. He licked into you as if he was looking for something. Claimed your mouth with harsh moans and deep hot strokes against the roof of your mouth.

"I'll give it to you," he bit off, sucking your tongue into his mouth until you trembled in his hold.

He was everywhere. Pulling his fingers free and swallowing your whimper, he hoisted you up and shoved you against the wall so hard your back hurt. The pain quickly dwindled into a dull ache when the familiar clink of his belt buckle hit your ears.

Swallowing his harsh growl, you canted your hips against his. The growing heat in your body fanned into a fire you could no longer ignore; his touch echoing with the embers of something disastrous.

You knew you craved him, but this felt like a baseline urge your body couldn't give up. Some neolithic part of your brain that got off on being protected, possessed.

"You've got no idea how badly I wanna give it to ya," he muttered, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. "Gonna drive me fuckin' insane."

"Yes." The word felt diminutive compared to his, but everything else tapered off into garbled moans of his name.

"Already beggin' and I haven't even started." He smiled cruelly, cock sliding through your slickened pussy with a stuttered grunt.

If you were standing, your knees would have buckled. Even now they locked against his waist to keep him from pulling away. Secrets scratched at the nearly open door as he lined himself, fisting his cock with bared teeth and a throaty growl. There became no use in keeping them at bay. Not when Logan shared the fantasy in his own mind—playing it out like a film projected on your heart.

His hand slapped against the brick wall beside your head, the other snuggly resting at your throat. The flutter of your heart pulsed beneath the vein on your neck, directly along the jugular he often nipped and sucked at. The pad of his thumb pressed down against it—tongue swiping at his bottom lip when you moaned. Broken, pitched high enough to bounce off the alleyway walls.

"So pretty when you're needy." His lips caught yours, spit a glossy smear on your chin. "Can't even think straight without it."

You wanted to agree, to tell him you were nothing if you weren't his.

With a snarl pressed into your mouth he sunk into your pussy in one thrust and your mind went numb. You sagged against the wall, a splintered cry resonating in the air when he bottomed out. Your name a harsh groan—his neck strained and eyes squeezed tight.

"Logan," you sobbed loud enough for it to echo back into the bar. You could practically see them sitting there. Eyes wide and they fought the urge to get off to the sound of Logan fucking you within an inch of your life.

Nails scratched along his clothed shoulders in a desperate attempt at getting him closer when he began to pound into you. Hips slapped against yours with each roll of his hips, his hand slowly tightening around your throat. Even now you stared at him with wonder in your eyes. The glimmer he adored finding its way back into your iris as you admired how he looked.

The way his teeth grit together, nostrils flaring as your scent all but drowned him. He was a mythological being who'd come to declare that you had always been his. That this was merely an act of fate; the strings drawing you two together so tight it cut through your skin and bled you dry.

The hand on your throat shifted higher, prying open your mouth. "C'mon baby. Let 'em know who you belong to."

A ragged moan ripped free from the shackles of your chest, your eyes rolling back as his cock brushed against raw bliss. He smiled, forehead pressed to yours and hips shifting to keep the angle. Even when you began to cry loud enough to alert people on the streets Logan refused to give you a chance to breathe.

This wasn't the man you came with. This was the animal buried deep within his heart; the Wolverine snapping at anyone who dared to come near his other half.

"That's it," he bit out. "You gonna be a good fuckin' girl and cum for me?"

"Mm-hm."

He panted against your lips, tongue licking behind your front teeth. "Can feel her chokin' my cock."

You couldn't breathe. Each thrust sent what little air you had out of your lungs in small breathy whines. He fucked into you with abandon until you swore you felt him in your throat—the echo of skin against skin and the scrape of his boots on gravel when he shifted you higher became your gravity.

With a sharp intake of breath, he dropped his hand from the wall to cup your ass. Swiftly dropping you on his cock to force a scream from your mouth. It clawed up your chest, that familiar aching pull in your torso. The burn you clung to as he tipped your head back and messily spit into your open mouth. You swallowed it with a moan, thighs clenching around his hips.

"That's it," he rumbled, thumb finding your pulsing clit with ease. "Give it to me, yeah? Make a fuckin' mess on it."

A harsh thrust sent your head flying to the back of the wall. Logan was quick to slam his hand behind you, giving you a cushion to stop from severely hurting yourself. His mouth sought out yours with a mumble of your name, hips grinding deep as you came apart with a broken shout.

Bliss tore through every nerve in your body; your pussy now coating his throbbing cock in a fresh wave of slick. Logan moaned high and desperate against your tongue, following you quickly. Neither of you could tell if it was from the adrenaline of the fight or taking you out in the open, but he wouldn't stop coming.

"F-Fuck." He gasped, eyes rolling back as his head tipped. He filled you so much you could feel it leaking out, dripping down your thighs and coating the front of his jeans.

A nasty thought of dropping to your knees and licking the fabric clean filled your head—your walls spasming around him hard enough to make him hiss in pain. You quickly stored it away for later. When the feeling eventually returned to your legs.

"I think they know not to touch what's mine now," he mumbled, stealing a chaste kiss as he rubbed a soothing shape in your hip.

"Logan." He cupped your chin, lips curling into a dopey smile that bled warmth into your chest. "Take me home?"

His nose nudged yours in an act so gentle you nearly forgot how he fucked you a minute prior. "Sure thing sweetheart. Kiss?"

You grinned, eyes still shimmering with that love-struck awe; he felt it clench around his heart. "Well come here baby."

In the dark of the alley his lips found yours, sealing the deal of fate with the fulfillment of a life spent in each other's arms.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Mornings With All Of You » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Husband/Dad!Bucky x Wife/Mom/Pregnant!Reader with kids Becca and James Jr

Summary: Bucky enjoys his morning with his wife and kids.

Warnings: Fluff, language, kissing, nicknames/pet names

A/N: Thank you @buckys-wintersoldier for brainstorming ideas with me🥰🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

“Mommy said to not wake up daddy.” Yours and Bucky’s 4 year old daughter, Becca says to her 2 year old brother James Jr.

“Dada.” James Jr says, pointing at the closed bedroom door.

Bucky just got home from a two week long mission and you’re letting him sleep in. You told the kids to let their daddy sleep, but they didn’t listen. They just want daddy’s attention and lovings.

Becca is the smart one. She gets that from you. She knows it’s bad to disobey what you tell her and her brother, but she’s a total daddy’s girl. If she wants to see her daddy, she’ll see her daddy.

She walked to the closed bedroom door and stood on her tippy toes to open it. She held onto the wall so she didn’t fall. She opened the door with ease and pushed it open. Becca turned to James Jr and put a finger against her lips, telling him to be quiet as they walked in the bedroom where their daddy is sleeping.

Bucky may have enhanced hearing, but surprisingly he didn’t hear the door open and his kids walk in the room. They somehow to manage to climb up the side of the bed to get on top of it. They crawled to him and snuggled themselves under the blanket and against Bucky’s sides.

They couldn’t hold their giggles in. Bucky’s eyes fluttered open when he heard his kids’ giggles. He looked on both sides of him, seeing them laying next to him.

“Good morning, daddy.” They say at the same time.

“Good morning, munchkins.” Bucky says happily.

Bucky sat up, leaning his back against the headboard of the bed.

“Where’s mommy?” He asks.

“Cooking and baking room.” Becca answers.

That’s what she calls the kitchen.

“Mommy make muffins.” Jame Jr tells him.

“What kind?” He asks.

“Chocolate chip blueberry!” Becca answers.

“Ooh, sounds good!” Bucky says.

Bucky got out of bed and carefully picked up his son and daughter in each arm, making them giggle uncontrollably. You put a tray of muffins on the kitchen counter and looked up when you heard the sound of giggles entering the kitchen. You smiled when you seen your husband and kids.

“I told them not to wake you up.” You say, kissing Bucky good morning.

“It’s fine, doll.” Bucky carefully placed them on the floor and they ran to the living room to watch cartoons. “I love it when they wake me up.” He says.

Bucky put his hands on your sides, rubbing them up and down. His hands slowly made their way to your 2 month pregnant belly, caressing it. He looked down at your belly with the look of love and adoration on his face.

“I can’t believe we have third one on the way.” He muses.

“You better believe it cause she’ll be here before we know it.” You mused with him, putting your hands on top of his.

“She?” Bucky playfully raised an eyebrow at you. “I think we’re going to have another boy.” He says.

“You just like to be right, don’t you, Sarge?” You giggled.

“I was right with James Jr.” He says with a proud smile.

You playfully rolled your eyes at your husband and kissed him. You wrapped your arms around his waist, wanting him to be close to you.

“Do you have to go to the compound today?” You asked.

“Nope.” Bucky answers. “Steve gave me the next couple of days off to spend with you and the kids.” He tells you.

“That’s good, because I missed you.” You put your chin on his chest, looking up at him. “I think the kids missed you more than me though.” You say.

“Our kids always find a way to out rank us.” He says.

You giggled softly. Bucky kissed your forehead, making you smile. As you two were pulling away from each other, the kids came running in the kitchen.

“Are the muffins done?” Becca asks, looking up at you.

“Yes.” You confirmed with a smile.

The kids cheered happily and excitedly, making you and Bucky smile down at the two little creations you two brought into this world. Bucky got the kids seated at the table in the dining room while you took breakfast in there. During breakfast, the kids told you and Bucky what they want to do today. Bucky listened to everything his son and daughter said with the look of adoration on his face.

After breakfast, you cleaned up while Bucky cleaned the kids up. They’re messy eaters. He got them dressed and then got himself dressed. He walked back in the kitchen at the same time you were finishing up with washing the dishes. He walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around you from behind and put his hands on your belly. You smiled and leaned into his touch.

“Do you know how much I love you?” Bucky asks softly, leaning his chin on your shoulder.

“You tell me about a billion times a day.” You say with a smile.

Bucky carefully spun you around so you were facing him. His hands were now on your waist, pulling you against his body.

“Let me tell you a billion times more.” He murmurs softly.

You wrapped your arms around his neck when he kissed you softly and sweetly. You two couldn’t help but smile against each other’s lips.

“Hey!” You and Bucky heard a small high pitched voice, already knowing it’s Becca.

You and Bucky laughed lightly and pulled away to see what she needed.

“That’s how you get cooties!” Becca exclaims.

“Me and daddy can’t get cooties, because we’re married.” You explained to your daughter. “Plus, daddy is a Super Soldier so it won’t affect him at all.” You tell her.

Becca stared at you like you just said the most interesting thing in the world. You walked past her and playfully ruffled her hair and went to the bedroom to get dressed. Becca didn’t miss the way Bucky was looking at you as you were walking away. He had the look of love and adoration on his face. She was curious to know why he was looking at you like that.

“Daddy?” Becca taps on Bucky’s leg to get his attention.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Bucky asks, picking her up and walked to the living room to sit down on the couch.

“Why do you look at mommy like that?” She asks curiously.

“Mommy is my wife and the love of my life. I love her with all of my heart. She makes me so happy.” He explains. “You and your brother make happy and I love you two as well.” He says, kissing her forehead.

“What about the baby in mommy’s belly?” She asks.

“I love the baby in mommy’s belly too. He or she is going to make me happy too.” He says happily.

You walked in the living room with James Jr in your arms and sat down on the couch next to Bucky and Becca.

“Daddy love you!” Becca blurts out.

“Oh, he does, does he?” You say.

“He said you’re his wife.” She says.

“He’s right. I am his wife.” You smile widely. “And I wouldn’t change it for the world.” You say, kissing Bucky’s cheek.

Becca and James Jr carefully slid off of yours and Bucky’s lap to play with their toys on the floor while cartoons played on the TV. You slid closer to Bucky, snuggling yourself against his side. Bucky wrapped his arm around you, gently rubbing your belly with his hand.

“I love mornings with all of you.” Bucky says softly and happily.

“Me too.” You say softly, leaning up to kiss him sweetly.

James Jr threw a stuffed animal at you and Bucky when he seen you two kissing.

“Yucky!” James Jr shouts loudly, making you and Bucky laugh.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[luveline]

could you please write something with bombshell reader and spencer where there is a misunderstanding and she thinks he is cheating on her?? or anything angsty? love your work and just want to tell you how you are the best author in this fandom! besos <333

thanks so much, hope this is okay! fem, 1.2k

You bend forward and breathe. 

Rough breathing. Audibly disjointed, and panicked, and drawing attention. You clasp at the side of the counter in the office kitchen and everyone standing around you goes silent. 

Someone must tell someone who tells someone, because Anderson makes his way to your side soon after. “Y/N, do you need me to get someone?” he asks. 

“Hotch?” you ask. 

“Sure. Do you want to sit down?” 

Your mouth isn’t calibrated to your mind. Your answer takes time. “I’m okay.” 

You blink hard. Your lashes are sticky, mascara wet in the corners and pulling on each other as you force yourself to keep them open. When Hotch collects you, it is with an immense tenderness, and a poorly concealed confusion. “Hey, come on,” he says, guiding you toward the office doors, “let’s find somewhere quieter.” 

You’re three steps down the hallway when you stop. You cover your face with both hands. 

Your entire world just got rocked… you don’t even know how to say it. You can’t stop seeing it, his hand on her shoulder, his head tilted to one side like he always does with you, like he’s going to kiss her cheek. And she’d just let him do it. 

“What happened?” 

“They were kissing.” 

Hotch looks down at you patiently. “Who?” 

“Spencer and JJ.” You swallow down bile. Your voice sounds far away, “They were so close…” 

“Are you sure?” 

“No… Just, it looked like they were. She had her arms around him, he…” 

You blink hard again, but the panic, the agony remains. You could see it, Spencer kissing her, and it just tore you to pieces right then and there. How could he do that to you? The stereotypical you’d always expected to be above races through your head. Weren’t you too much to lose? 

“They were too close,” you say more firmly. 

“Alright,” Hotch says softly. Then, because he’s your friend, even if you’ve thrust him into an awkward position. “I can work this out for you, if you want. I can kill him for you if necessary.” 

“That’s not funny,” you say, because even if it were, it’s way too soon. 

“I’m not joking. If Spencer ever did that to you, I’d… well, I wouldn’t hurt him, but he would lose my respect, and he would lose yours. Do you believe Spencer would put that at risk?” 

“You think I’m overreacting.” 

Hotch gives you a look. Full Hotchner. Understanding, patient, a little humorous. “I honestly can’t imagine a world where Spencer does something that would hurt you, that’s all. I’m not trying to mock you. I’m not saying you can’t be upset.” 

You realise after a few deep breaths that he was trying to drive you from a panic attack, and he did it successfully. You swallow a nervous lump.

“Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.”

“I think I can kill him.”

“I don’t doubt it. Do you want to?” 

“Depends on what I saw,” you mutter, turning away from the glass office doors as they open. 

“Well… perhaps you can–”

“Hey, what are you guys doing out here?” Spencer interrupts, breathless as he slides around Hotch and takes your arm in his hand. “Angel, I need your help, urgently. JJ’s earring got caught in my hair, I’m pretty sure I’m bald.” 

You squint at him, still a little breathless yourself. 

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks, looking between you and Hotch with regret. “What’s wrong? You look sick.”

“What did JJ do?” you ask. 

“Angel?” 

He squints. When you fail to offer a reason, he tips his head down to show you the top of his head. “Am I bald? She dropped her pencil case and I tried to grab it, and she yanked back. I tried to stop her from ripping it out, but she said I had to stop being a big baby.” 

He laughs. Hotch lets out an audible breath. 

“I’m hideous,” Spencer surmises from your silence. 

“I didn’t really look.” 

Spencer looks at Hotch. “Can you tell me what’s wrong? Please?” 

You send Hotch a look that says please, don’t.  

“I just felt a bit panicked,” you confess, a half truth to spare your dignity.

“I brought her out here for some quiet,” Hotch says. 

Spencer frowns and holds your arm again with more softness. “You did? Are you feeling better now? You know, the sudden onset of panic is often caused by a process called overbreathing, have you felt that happen to you recently? It’s accidental hyperventilation. Low carbon dioxide in the blood.” His frown deepens. “Unless it’s not that. Are you worried about something?” 

You watch as his hand glides further up, his thumb rubbing into the soft fat of your upper arm. 

“Worried about your hairline,” you mumble. 

Look, you’ll tell Spencer eventually, maybe. But for now your head hurts and you really had almost spun yourself into an anxiety attack, and you need the rest, and meeting his eyes isn’t easy. 

If he were lying about the earring, you’d be able to tell. If he’d kissed JJ, the guilt would be pouring off of him. 

“I can trust you to look after her?” Hotch asks. 

“When can’t you?” Spencer asks sincerely. 

Footsteps. A door opening. 

You and Spencer alone, his voice warm with concern. “Are you okay? Really okay?” 

“Can you hug me?” 

“Sure I can.” He slips his arms through yours and pulls you in. “Do you need something? Listening to music can help, I have my headphones on my desk. Or we can just– walk.” His hand spread wide over your shoulder. “You’re shaking.” 

“I am?” 

“Just a little…” 

You try your best to stand completely still. 

“Oh,” he says softly, pulling you with more force toward his chest, “I’m sorry, I had no idea you weren’t feeling okay today. But it’ll be okay, I promise. I got you.” 

It’s not often you feel like the smaller person in your relationship, and he doesn’t make you feel small, but the depth of his promise gives him this bigness that dulls the panic. Spencer… he really wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. You aren’t at fault for thinking they were too close, but there’s an explanation, and for now that’s enough to make you feel better. 

“How much hair did she rip out, sweetheart?” you murmur, leaning back just far to see his face, not wanting to disturb the stable quiet. “Does it hurt?” 

“No, I’m fine. Honestly I’m more worried about you than my hair.” 

“Can I explain it to you later?” 

“You’ll sleep over?” he asks, lips thinning into a smile. 

“Yeah.” 

“We’ll talk about it later,” he says. 

You close your eyes as he cups your face with both hands. Later, when you tell him, he isn’t offended, just sorry. Necessary or not, he apologises and holds you with so much tenderness you’re assured again that Spencer hurting you would only ever be an accident.

[papaya-twinks]

lando x roommate!reader where the reader thinks he isn't home so she just runs around the flat in lingerie doing her daily things and lando decides to get something from the kitchen while he does so he sees her and decides to fuck her!

including a little teasing and maybe size kink?

love your work!<3

Warnings: lingerie, smut, 18+, tad of fingering

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

Lando had yapped something or the other about needing to go and get some drinks with his mates and wouldn’t be back for ages. So you didn’t necessarily care that you were in a set of fluro yellow lingerie, conveniently whatever you could grab from the closet. 

You were reaching at rhe tip of the bookshelf, your duster fluttering over the crevices, when a sudden voice made you nearly tip the damn shelf down. “That’s a….sight to see,”.

You sound around at the voice, eyes wide as you saw Lando, his eyes scanning your body. You’d been going through a constant array of flirting and teasing throughout your stay with Lando, most of it, well, sexual. 

“Looking nice, though, Y/N,” he said,  smirk across his features as you took in his own outfit. It was a  white button up shirt, well, he buttons undone down to his chest, an array of chains on neck and collarbone. 

You’d seen him shirtless countless times anyways, the man insisted on walking around the damn apartment without anything om his torso anyways. “Yeah?” you asked, not afraid or jump into your own little teasing.

“You like what you see?” you asked, watching Lando take a slightly shaky step forwards, his eyes glued to your thighs and chest. “So fucking gorgeous,” Lando muttered under his breath, his eyes tracing every dip and curve in your body.

“Doing housework?” Lando’s attention dropped to the duster in your hand, as you shrugged. “Carry on, then,” he said simply, moving to change his attention to taking his shows off. Your smirk fell as he did so, had he teased you just for the fun of it. 

“Clean mr bedroom as well,” Lando called to you as you rolled your eyes indignantly. “I’m not a maid, Lando,” you said to him with a scowl. “I’ll reward you for it,” Lando smirked. Like you’d ever turn that down. 

You made your way upstairs, leaning over the bed as you worked in plumping up the pillows. “God, you look so good like that,” Lando said, walking into the room behind you as you looked up, “on all fours, on my bed,”. God you could basically feel the possessiveness. 

“Lando…” you gasped as he stood behind you, pressing his growing bulge against your thighs, his lips coming to trace and pepper your neck and shoulders with kisses. He hummed into your neck, not stopping as he slowly undid his belt, his cock springing rock-hard in his hand.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned as he ran the thick head of member up your clothed cunt, his hand coming to rub soft circles on your clit. “Let’s get this off, yeah?” Lando grinned. God, you wanted nothing more. 

As soon as you were stripped of the lingerie, which Lando took ages to remove, due to him admiring you in his colour, Lando didn’t hesitate in running his hand over your sensitive bud. “Fuck,” you moaned, breath hitched as Lando held you from behind, one hand caressing your clit, the other tangled in your hair. 

Lando pulled you it o a messy kiss, tongue begging for entrance as he slowly pumped his fingers in and out of you, running his dick through your folds as a lube to help him enter you. 

He didn’t leave a second before he removed his fingers, immediately replacing it with his thick cock, his head stretching you out. “God, you’re beautiful,” he pumped himself in and out of you, before sliding out to turn you onto your back. 

Your moans could’ve probably been heard by the neighbours as Lando pushed back into you, his chains dangling over your face, one hand tangled in your hair, the other squeezing at your breast. 

“You should be in lingerie everything I come back from a race,” he groaned, his hips snapping into yours with a powerful thrust. “I’d run out of lingerie,” you reminded him as he rolled his eyes. “Whenever I win, then,” Lando changed his words. 

“I’d still run out,” you said, nails digging into his back as he groaned. “Supporting me is so hot on you, Y/N,” he said, your pretty moans and whimpers muffled into his neck as he hammered into you. It didn’t take long for Lando to pivot his angle, finding your g-spot easily. 

“Too big for you?” Lando smirked seeing the flicker of tears in your eyes as you hit his chest, cheeks a pink hue. “Jerk,” you muttered under your breath with a scowl as he rolled his eyes, turning his body quickly as you gasped, eyes rolling.

It wasn’t hard, all it took was finding which spot made you scream. 

“I’m so close,” you gasped, Lando’s cold-ringed fingers tangled in your locks. “But you’re not” Lando said, slowing down as you shrieked in protest, eyes wide. “No, Lando,” you whined, “I need this,”. 

“I said I’d reward you if you cleaned my room,” he reminded you, “finish that pillow,” he gestured to the un-fluffed pillow beside your head. “Dickhead,” you huffed, reaching for the pillow and bringing it down lightly on his head before you fluffed it. 

“Brat,” he rolled his eyes, letting you have your orgasm as he pulled out. his cock throbbing against your abdomen as his cum spilled onto your thighs. “Nice thing to come home to,” he smirked, giving you a gentle kiss as he gently untangled your hair with his fingers.

[rafecameronssl4t]

i miss thornton!reader so bad!!! can we get one, maybe reader got hurt by barry and topper fights rafe about it! love uuuuu

Protective || Rafe Cameron x Thornton!reader

A/n: I've missed writing Thornton!reader :(

Warnings: suggestive, slight angst if you even call it that lol, other than that nothing rlly

Word count: 3,417 (longest fic i've written so far lol)

MASTERLIST (rafe x Thornton!reader au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

The music thrummed through the house, filling every corner with a heavy bass as Kelce glanced around the crowded room, his brows furrowed. He leaned closer to Topper, who was lounging on the couch with a half-empty beer in hand. “Yo, where’s Rafe? Haven’t seen him all night,” Kelce shouted over the noise.

Topper, barely looking up from his drink, shrugged lazily. “Probably off somewhere with my sister,” he muttered, taking a slow sip. Just as he said it, the sight of you and Rafe caught Kelce's attention, and Topper turned his head. Rafe appeared at the top of the staircase, hand firmly gripping yours as the two of you descended.

His expression was smug, almost victorious, while you walked carefully beside him, your legs unsteady, a faint flush still lingering on your cheeks. The subtle tension between you didn’t go unnoticed. Topper narrowed his eyes, rolling them dramatically. “Where were you guys?” he started, though a moment later he held up a hand, groaning.

“Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t even wanna know,” Topper groaned, his eyes narrowing as he sank deeper into the couch, clearly regretting the question. Rafe’s smirk only widened in response, that signature arrogance playing on his lips as he pulled you closer, his hand sliding possessively to the small of your back.

“What’s wrong? Not havin’ fun?” Rafe’s tone was taunting as he sat down, effortlessly pulling you into his lap. You settled against him, your body fitting into his like second nature, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the alcohol in the air. Topper’s response was a dry scoff, his eyes cutting away, tired of the banter.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” He took another sip of his drink, clearly unimpressed with the scene unfolding in front of him. You glanced at your brother, trying to lighten the tension. “Where’s that girl you were seeing? Natalie or something—” you began, but Topper’s cold voice sliced through your words, shutting them down.

“Broke it off with her. She was a bitch anyway,” he said, his tone harsh, dismissive, like the whole thing had been a waste of his time. There was a chill to his words that left an awkward silence between you, broken only by the sound of the party continuing in the background. You exchanged a quick glance with Rafe, who simply shrugged, his expression unbothered, like the drama swirling around him barely registered.

Rafe’s fingers, however, were far more interested in the hem of your dress, teasing the fabric between his fingers as he leaned in closer. “I’m having a smoke. You comin’?” His voice dropped lower, intimate, a subtle invitation. You glanced towards the patio door, the thought of stepping into the cold night air making you hesitate. “But it’s so cold out there,” you pouted, your lips curving into a playful smile.

Rafe chuckled, his eyes dropping to your legs as he gave your thigh a teasing pat. “I told you it wasn’t a good idea wearin’ this dress,” he murmured, his voice filled with amusement as he traced lazy circles on your skin with his thumb. “Oh, it was a bad idea, huh?” you quipped back, tilting your head slightly, a smirk playing on your lips as you met his gaze.

You could feel the electricity between you, the unspoken tension that always lingered just beneath the surface. Before Rafe could respond, Topper groaned again, loudly this time, clearly done with the back-and-forth. “Get outta here, seriously. The two of you are disgusting,” he muttered, rolling his eyes so hard you were sure he was going to walk out. You held up your hands in mock surrender, laughing softly.

“Alright, alright, we’re going,” you teased, sliding off Rafe’s lap. Rafe stood, wrapping an arm around your waist, tugging you closer as the two of you made your way outside. The night air hit you immediately, crisp and cold, but Rafe didn’t seem to mind, pulling you against him as if he could keep you warm just by being close.

~

Rafe leaned back against the side of the house, the dim glow of the porch light casting shadows across his sharp features. A cigarette hung loosely from his lips, the faint trail of smoke curling lazily into the cool night air as he gazed down at you. He wasn’t really paying attention to the words spilling from your mouth, your voice a pleasant hum in the background, but his eyes were locked on you—specifically, the way your glossy lips moved as you talked.

You were leaning casually against the wall, your phone in hand, gesturing slightly as you yapped about the latest gossip swirling around Figure 8. Your voice was animated, every detail about who hooked up with whom and who got into another petty fight filling the air with energy.

Rafe, however, was only half-listening, his attention drawn more to the subtle curve of your lips, how they glistened under the soft light each time you spoke. The way your mouth moved was more captivating than any story you could tell. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, the embers lighting up briefly as his gaze drifted lower, trailing from your lips down to your neckline, his mind wandering.

You didn’t seem to notice his distracted state, too engrossed in the details of your latest story. But to Rafe, it didn’t matter what you were saying. He was content just watching you, the way you moved, the way your presence filled the space between you both.

You continued talking, the glow of your phone illuminating your face as you swiped through the latest drama on social media. “So apparently, Anna broke up with Drew,” you said, your voice filled with excitement as if it was the most riveting thing that had happened all week. “And get this—she’s already seeing Chase. Like, they were spotted together at The Wreck, can you believe it?”

Rafe exhaled a slow puff of smoke, his eyes lazily following the movement of your lips, still half lost in his own thoughts. “Mm-hmm,” he mumbled in response, barely processing the names you were tossing out. His mind kept drifting—your lips, the way your hair fell over your shoulders, the subtle scent of your perfume mixing with the cool night air.

You didn’t seem to notice his lack of enthusiasm as you scrolled through your phone, continuing. “And then there’s Claire—God, she’s still with that guy from The Cut. You know everyone’s talking about it, right? Like, what is she even thinking? She could do so much better, but nope, she’s still with him.”

Rafe took another drag of his cigarette, flicking the ash off to the side before responding, his tone casual and almost uninterested. “Yeah, she’s an idiot,” he muttered, his gaze still fixated on your lips, completely disconnected from the gossip itself. You sighed, exasperated by how uninterested he seemed. “Are you even listening, Rafe?” you asked, shooting him a playful glare, though you knew this was how he always acted when you talked about Figure 8 drama.

He smirked, letting the cigarette dangle from his lips as he finally met your eyes. “I’m listenin’,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “I just don’t care about half the people you’re talkin’ about.” You rolled your eyes, leaning in just a little closer. “You should care. It’s your crowd, Rafe. You act like you’re too cool for it, but you know you love it when someone else’s life is falling apart.”

Rafe chuckled, his hand firmly tugging you closer by the waist. “Nah, I just like watchin’ you get all worked up about it,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on your lips as he tossed his cigarette aside, his focus now entirely on you. You sighed, tucking your phone into your back pocket, arms crossing over your chest as a shiver ran down your spine.

“Can you hurry up? I’m freezing my tits off out here,” you groaned, leaning into Rafe for warmth. The night air was biting, and the flimsy dress you’d chosen was doing nothing to help. Rafe smirked, wrapping an arm casually around your neck and pulling you against him.

“Quit whining. I already warmed you up earlier,” he teased, his eyes twinkling as they glanced down at you. His hand rested possessively on your hip, the cockiness in his tone making you roll your eyes. You were about to fire back a snarky remark when a voice cut through the darkness. "Rafe!" someone called out, the tone sharp and angry.

Before you could turn to see who it was, you suddenly felt a rough pair of hands grab your shoulders and shove you aside with force. The world seemed to tilt for a moment as you let out a startled shriek, your body stumbling as you lost your balance, crashing into a bush. The cold leaves scratched against your skin, the shock of the shove still fresh as you blinked, trying to regain your composure.

“What the fuck, Barry?!” Rafe’s voice exploded with fury as he shoved the man back, his stance immediately tense, ready to throw a punch. But before he could escalate, he turned back to you, eyes wide with concern. He was by your side in an instant, one hand gripping your arm, steadying you as you struggled to get up.

“You okay?” Rafe asked, his voice softening, all the teasing from before gone, replaced by genuine worry. His hands moved to gently brush the dirt and leaves off you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of injury. You took a deep breath, still a little shaken, but nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you muttered, your voice quieter now.

But your eyes were narrowed, darting to Barry, who stood a few feet away, his face twisted in a malicious grin, his energy dark and threatening. “Oh, my bad, Princess,” Barry sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he glared at you. “Just here to let your boy know he’s gotta pay up. Real fuckin’ soon.”

The tension in the air was palpable as Rafe instinctively moved you behind him, his body blocking yours in a protective stance. His jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed in confusion and anger. “Pay up? What the fuck are you talking about?” Rafe snapped, his voice rising with frustration. “I already gave you the money—what more do you want?”

Barry chuckled darkly, taking a step closer, his eyes flickering with something dangerous. “Yeah, you gave me some of it,” he growled, his tone low and threatening. “But we both know that wasn’t the full amount, Cameron. I don’t like bein’ shortchanged.” Rafe’s posture stiffened, his fists clenching at his sides as he squared up to Barry, tension rippling through his body. “You got what I owed you,” Rafe hissed, his voice laced with fury.

“I’m not giving you a goddamn cent more.” Barry took another step forward, his gaze shifting from Rafe to you, a wicked smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Better be careful, Rafe,” he taunted, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. “You wouldn’t want Princess here to get caught in the middle of your little debt, would you?”

Rafe’s entire body went rigid, the implication in Barry’s words sending a jolt of rage through him. He stepped closer to Barry, his voice low and dangerous. “You keep her out of this,” Rafe growled, the muscles in his neck tightening. “Or I’ll make sure you regret it.” You stood behind Rafe, your heart pounding in your chest, the weight of the situation finally sinking in.

You could see the barely contained fury in Rafe’s stance, the way he was holding himself back from lunging at Barry right then and there. Barry gave a mocking shrug, stepping back with a grin still plastered on his face. “We’ll see about that,” he said casually, turning on his heel as if the conversation was over. “But I’ll be back, Rafe. You know where to find me. Don’t make me wait.”

He shot one last look over his shoulder before disappearing into the night, leaving you and Rafe standing there in the cold, the air heavy with unsaid threats. Rafe exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before turning to you, his expression softening only slightly. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly, his voice still tight with lingering anger.

You nodded, but the unease in your chest didn’t go away. “What the hell was that about, Rafe?” you asked, your voice a mix of concern and frustration. He sighed, pulling you into his arms and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s nothin’ you need to worry about,” he muttered, though the look in his eyes told you it was anything but nothing.

"Why the fuck was a drug dealer walking through my house?" Topper’s angry voice sliced through the tension, making both you and Rafe turn toward him. His face was red, brows knitted together in fury as he stormed up to the two of you. The pulse of the party inside was distant, but the rage in Topper’s voice filled the silence outside.

His eyes landed on you, taking in your disheveled appearance, the dirt on your dress, and the lingering shock in your expression. “The fuck happened to you?” he demanded, his gaze sharp and piercing, searching your face for answers. You swallowed hard, trying to shake off the remnants of the altercation with Barry.

“Nothing,” you mumbled, brushing a hand over your arm as if to wipe away the discomfort. “Bullshit,” Topper snapped, cutting you off before you could even try to explain. His anger shifted, his eyes narrowing as they darted to Rafe, who was still standing protectively in front of you. “I told you to take care of my sister,” Topper growled, his voice low but filled with fury.

“I don’t want her around a fucking drug dealer, Rafe!” Rafe straightened up, his expression hardening. “Topper, calm the fuck down,” he shot back, his voice steady but laced with annoyance. “It wasn’t like that.” “Oh really?” Topper scoffed, taking a step closer. “’Cause from where I’m standing, it sure as hell looks like it was like that. What the fuck is Barry doing here, and why is my sister gettin’ shoved into a goddamn bush?!”

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated. “Barry’s deal is with me. I’m handling it,” he muttered, but the tightness in his voice betrayed the weight of the situation. “I didn’t know he’d pull shit like that.” “That’s not good enough, Rafe,” Topper spat, his voice rising. “She’s not some collateral damage in whatever fucked-up deal you have goin’ on.” You stood between them, feeling the heat of the argument escalating, the tension rolling off both of them in waves.

“Topper, seriously, I’m fine,” you tried to interject, though your voice was drowned out by the two of them squaring up. Rafe shot a glare at Topper, his patience thinning. “I told you, I’ve got it under control.” Topper barked out a laugh, disbelief in his voice. “Under control? My little sister gets shoved around, and that’s you havin’ things under control?”

Rafe’s jaw clenched as he took a step forward, his temper flaring. “Watch it, Top,” he warned, his voice dark. “Barry’s my problem, and I’ll deal with him. You don’t need to worry about her.” But Topper wasn’t backing down, his protective instincts kicking in as his eyes darted between you and Rafe. “You better,” Topper seethed, his voice dangerously low.

“’Cause if this happens again, I won’t just be worried—I’ll make sure this thing between you and her is done. I don’t care what you two have going on, Rafe. If she gets hurt because of your shit, I’ll end it myself. She deserves better than to be dragged into whatever mess you’re caught up in.” Your jaw dropped, disbelief flooding your face. “You don’t mean that—” you began, your voice trembling as you searched Topper’s eyes for any sign that he might back down.

But the fierce determination in his gaze made it clear he was dead serious. “Oh yes, I fucking do,” he snapped, his voice sharp as a blade, unwavering in its conviction. “And I’ll tell Mom and Dad.” The threat hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and suffocating, charged with unspoken tension.

A chill raced down your spine, and your heart pounded violently in your chest at the thought of your parents getting involved. They had always been skeptical about your relationship with Rafe, questioning his intentions and whether he was truly good for you. You could almost hear their voices in your head, echoing their concerns “He’s trouble,” and “You deserve someone better.” The idea of them finding out about the chaos swirling around you made your stomach churn.

“Topper, wait—” you tried to interject, stepping forward to bridge the widening gap between them. “You can’t just threaten Rafe like that. It’s not fair—” “Fair?” Topper shot back, cutting you off with a glare. “What’s not fair is that my sister is getting mixed up with someone who can’t keep her safe. This isn’t just about you two playing house; this is serious!”

Rafe stepped in, his voice steady but edged with irritation. “I get it, Topper. You’re trying to protect her, but you’re not seeing the whole picture. I care about her. You think I want any of this to happen?” “Then act like it!” Topper snapped, his frustration boiling over. “You’re letting this shit happen right under your nose. If you truly cared, you’d make damn sure it never came to this.”

The intensity of the moment hung between the three of you, a taut string ready to snap. You glanced at Rafe, searching for reassurance, but his jaw was clenched tight, frustration and anger warring in his expression. “Topper, please,” you pleaded, your voice softer now, desperate to diffuse the situation. “You know how much Rafe means to me. He’s not like that—”

“Not like what?” Topper interrupted, his voice rising again. “Not like a drug dealer? Not like someone who can’t keep his life together? You’re smarter than this, and I refuse to watch you throw yourself into the fire just because you think you can handle it.” Your heart sank as you realized that his anger was coming from a place of love, a protective instinct that had always been there.

But it still hurt to see him turning on Rafe, the person you cared about deeply. Rafe’s expression softened slightly as he looked at you, and for a moment, it felt like the two of you were the only ones in the world. “Topper, if you really want to protect her, then trust me to do the same,” he said, his voice calmer, but the fire still simmered beneath the surface. “I won’t let anything happen to her. I promise.”

“Promises don’t mean shit when you’re dealing with guys like Barry,” Topper shot back, his voice taut. “You need to figure this out, Rafe. Because if you can’t, I’ll step in, and I won’t hesitate to make it clear to everyone—including Mom and Dad—that you’re not the right guy for her.” Rafe's lips part slightly as he glances at you, his brow furrowed with concern as he notices the tears welling up in your eyes.

“And you both know that the only reason this even works is because I’m allowing it. Mom and Dad are already skeptical enough about this whole thing. If anything goes wrong, you know it’ll be on me to explain why I let it happen” Topper says, his voice laced with frustration as he narrows his eyes at both of you.

He glances at you one last time, his expression a mix of anger and disappointment, before he turns and walks away, leaving the tension hanging in the air. As soon as he’s out of sight, the tears spill down your cheeks, warm and stinging. “Rafe…” you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion, but Rafe doesn’t respond with words.

Instead, he pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you tightly, enveloping you in his warmth as you quietly sob against his chest. “Shh, it’ll all be fine, don’t worry about it, okay?” he murmurs softly, his voice a gentle balm against your hurt. His hand caresses your hair, fingers weaving through the strands in a soothing rhythm as you cling to him, seeking comfort in his presence.

[dollniu]

my filthy little doll.. 🎀 — ryomen sukuna

synopsis: spicy headcanons for our king of curses 💋

content — degradation, masochism, choking, hair pulling, begging, degrading names, punishment, missionary, crying, f!reader

info — this is a request from @lustchan , i hope you and all the other horny sukuna lovers fw it too

other — MDNI.🔞 if you have any blog suggestions, comment or reblog!

when you’re with sukuna, there is not a DAY that goes by where you guys don’t have sex. usually after a long day, sukuna takes out all his stress onto you by literally fucking the shit out of you 🙏

whenever you “disobey him” or do things without his permission, he likes to “punish you.” whether it’s by pinning you against the wall by your throat or throwing you on the bed and fucking you from the back, this man will hold you accountable 😋

it’s canon that the guy can have his mouth anywhere on his body and he uses this to his advantage. he’ll use his hands to eat out your cunt or play with your tits, or even let you ride the mouth on his stomach!

he lovessss pet names, especially the ones that turn you into a pathetic little sex toy for him to play with. calling you doll, a filthy little slut, always making sure you know that you are his and his only 💋

he likes missionary, staring into your eyes while he fucks you, seeing you throw your head back in pleasure, sweet moans that ring across his chamber, it drives him absolutely crazy. he also loves how he has full range to touch you wherever he wants, pinning you hands above your head, choking you, etc etc

there’s nothing more amusing than sukuna seeing you on your knees begging to let you cum. hearing you plead and whine makes him hungry for you, he’ll make you cum for sure.. just probably 5 more times than expected.

he uses his tongue all over you, licking your tits and nipples with the tip of his tongue, sitting on his face, he just loves the taste of your skin

sukuna lovesss getting head, he usually uses it as punishment when you’re running your mouth a little too much, and seeing you swallowing his dick is forgiving enough. he’ll pull at your hair, forcing your head deeper into his length.

he’s a very auditory person, he wants to hear you scream his name and make you whimper and beg out of both pain and pleasure. he makes low deep groans during sex but occasionally lets out a high pitched whimper whenever you ride him just right 🤭

tears. HE LOVES SEEING TEARS. seeing you cry underneath him from overstimulation drives him insane and only makes him fuck you harder and rougher. he’s a sadist after all 😵‍💫

he is merciless when you’re having sex with him, like even after you’ve came he will continuously fuck you and eat you out just for his own pleasure. if he’s not done, then you’re not either !

he rips your clothes off whenever he wants to fuck, like no matter where you are or what room you’re in he will rip those clothes off and fuck you right there and then 😭

he’s not one to be submissive in any means, he will always be on top of you regardless 🤷‍♀️ but whenever you put your hand on his chest and graze his markings, it makes him so fucking horny

[moonstruckme]

Hi! My inbox is being evil again (it's trying to keep us apart!) and temporarily deleting the exact requests I want to find, so here's a copy+paste of the request I got and thank you so much anon :)

could you do a james x fem!reader where he helps her through a particularly bad panic attack and then just cuddles her and grounds her again? i get them all the time and the thought of the comfort just makes me feel better :,)

cw: modern au, panic attack

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 730 words

James knows it’d be no help to tell you how scared these attacks make him, but they do make him very scared. He imagines it’s not too different from your reasoning right now; he knows, ultimately, that you’ll be alright, but the thought doesn’t provide as much comfort as it should when he’s watching you with your breaths coming quick and short and your nails digging into your own palm like you can hurt yourself worse on the surface that whatever’s doing this to you. 

He starts there. Takes your hand and uncurls your fingers, threading them through his. 

“You’re okay,” he tells you, sitting on the coffee table with his knees touching yours. He shuts the computer on your lap, easing it out of your grip to move it away. “Take a breath, sweetheart.” 

If you can still hear him you show no sign of it. A tear forms in the corner of your eye, falling when you blink. He can feel your heartbeat jumping where the base of his palm rests over your wrist. 

“Can I give you a hug?” 

There, a slight nod. James curls towards you eagerly, if a bit awkwardly, his knees on either side of your thighs and sitting a bit taller than you while he rubs your back. He makes big, sweeping circles, hoping to lull you with the slow pattern. Tears slug down your cheeks in curved lines, his shirt collecting their damp masses. 

“It’ll pass, angel. It always does, yeah? I know it feels like it’s not going to get better, but it will. You’re doing so good. So, so good, my love.” 

Your breath wheezes slightly on the way in, evidence of your diligent efforts, and when it comes out a low, pained sound comes with it. James feels it deep in his throat. He increases his pressure on your back. 

“Is this okay?” he worries, then feels shitty. You’re hardly up for questioning right now. He tries to sound certain. “Focus on my hand, angel. You’re okay, I’ve got you. Take a big breath for me.” 

He feels you try, your little sob when it doesn’t go as deep as either of you want. 

“I can’t—” 

“You can, it’s alright. You’re already doing so much better, see? It’s going away.” 

This one is worse than some of the others James has sat through with you. It seems to take ages for your breathing to slow down, and a while after that until he feels your heart find a somewhat normal rhythm under his palm. 

He knows you’re with him, more present, when you move your legs to give him easier access to you. James adjusts eagerly, giving you a proper hug. Your crying is less stilted now. He never thought he’d be so relieved to hear you sniffle and weep on his shoulder. 

“There you are,” he sighs, holding you tight. “You did it, sweetheart.” 

“James,” you whimper. 

“I know, but you’re okay. Keep breathing nice and deep,” he reminds you, worried another one will start up. “You made it. Now all you have to do is take it easy for a while.” 

“Thank you.” Your voice is a soft, small thing. It encourages James back from you, though only far enough to see your face. One tear hangs from your bottom lashes like a dewdrop from a petal. When he kisses beneath your eye it transfers to his skin. 

“No thanks necessary.” He kisses you on your other cheek, just to make it even. “You did all the hard work yourself.” 

“Still,” you say, a bit wobbly, “thanks.” 

James frowns. He allows himself to stop rubbing that same endless circle on your back, brushes a piece of hair away from your face. “Anytime,” he tells you sincerely. 

The worst of your crying seems over, but the look you give him suggests you might start again. James likes to think of himself as a man unafraid of tears and strong emotions; he’ll let you cry all night if that’s what you need. Still, he’d prefer to avoid it. 

“How do you feel?” he asks quickly. “Do you want some water? We could go for a walk, it might help to be outside.” 

You don’t want to do either of those, but you do consent to another hug. Which, really, is a better outcome than he’d dared to hope for. 

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 THE GROUND FINDS ITS BRUTAL WAY TO ME

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: the moment you've been dreading has finally arrived—there's no turning back now.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: GOOOOOOOOD EVENING LOVEBUGS, HAPPY FRIDAY!!! anyway i hope you guys are excited for this chapter because i AM chapter seven through nine is the reason i started writing this fic, it all goes downhill from here HAHAHAHAHAHAH JKKKKKKK kind of BUT ANYWAY i hope you guys enjoyed, im having the time of my life writing this chapter and the other upcoming ones. im so excited for you guys to read chapter 9 actually and the end of chapter 8, it's gonna be soooo good i swear. anyway!! reblogs and comments greatly appreciated as always!! ENJOY heheh!

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited - i've been busy. MAFIA BUSINESS. rather graphic depictions of violence. character death (not anyone major). mentions of human/child trafficking. depictions of dissociation. i used a bit of creative liberty with the depictions of lovecraft, corruption (here in particular), and yosano's ability.

ANOTHER THING TO NOTE: our lovely reader IS A MAFIA EXECUTIVE !! as a port mafia executive, she does port mafia things, this will become very apparent in this chapter and the rest of the upcoming chapters. it hasn't been as apparent in the past few, so it might be a bit jarring to read (especially when we get to chapter 9) but it is something to keep in mind. additionally, she is FLAWED and that is very apparent with how she acts with a certain member of the ada. i wanted to add this warning just to give you all a bit of a heads up.

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

Your foot presses the pedal against the floor as you race down the backstreets of the Kanagawa prefecture. Dazai has been trying to talk to you but you can’t even bring yourself to respond to him. You try but you’re incapable of pushing any words past your lips. He asks you where you’re going and your lips part to tell him but you can’t. He asks you if you’re okay and you try to say ‘I don’t know’ but all that escapes you is a shaky breath. He asks you what’s going on but your mind is on the brink of collapse.

You’re not going to get there in time.

You can hardly keep your eyes on the road and at the speed you’re going, you know you can’t afford to look away. But you can’t stop yourself from looking down at your phone, throat clogged with fear as you wait to see if Chuuya sends another text. You told him not to, told him to wait but he hasn’t even read your text, doesn’t know that you weren’t in Yokohama when he was about to use Corruption.

If he used Corruption as soon as he texted you thinking that you were in the area… it’s already been fifteen minutes. Chuuya has never used Corruption longer than five. He’d be ash and bone by the time you get there if he already activated it. You’re still at least ten minutes away from where he pinned his location even at the speed you’re going. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, slamming your hand against the wheel as you urge the car to go faster, watching the speedometer wobble in the red zone. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Can you talk to me at least?” Dazai tries again, sounding frustrated. “What’s going on? Why did we have to rush out of the beach house?”

You don’t even know why Dazai is with you.

Well, that’s not true. You know exactly why Dazai is with you. There’s a sick feeling in your gut that leads you to believe that the Guild might know about Dazai already and if that’s the case, you can’t leave him alone at the beach house. You don’t think the Guild would have planned such a blatant attack on the Port Mafia without ulterior motives and with even the smallest reason to believe that their primary goal might be getting their hands on Dazai to back you into a corner… You just can’t risk it. 

But you’re risking bringing him to a battlefield where Chuuya might have activated Corruption. You try to convince yourself that he’s safer at your side than he is alone but… is that even true? Chuuya under the effects of Corruption is unpredictable and destructive, you can’t ensure his safety—you can’t even ensure your own. Every time he goes into Corruption, it’s both his life and yours that are most at risk, it’s why he rarely lets himself use it even when in trouble, so that’s how you know things must be bad.

“You’re not going to get wherever you’re trying to get to if you crash the car into a tree,” Dazai says airly, still irritated from how he’s side-eyeing you but none too bothered by the speed you’re racing down windy streets. “How about you slow down and tell me what’s going on?”

You let out a sharp puff of air. You don’t slow down, but you do force yourself to speak.

“Chuuya is in trouble. Bad trouble,” you finally say tightly. “The Guild… They launched an attack. I don’t… he might already be dead for all I know. I have to get to him—couldn’t leave you alone in case…”

“In case the attack was just a distraction to try to get to me?” Dazai finishes for you—as always, too quick and perceptive for a random college student. “Shouldn’t you try to figure out a game plan before, I don’t know, rushing head first into what might be a trap?” 

He’s far too sarcastic for your liking. You give him a cold look and to his credit, he does back down for the most part, but he’s still waiting for a response from you. 

“I have a plan,” you finally say, gnawing at the inside of your cheek. “I just…”

Need to know the situation. If Chuuya has already activated Corruption, you need to get to him as soon as possible. If Chuuya is dead, you need to figure out which other members of the Mafia are around so you can figure out how to deal with the remaining enemy—although if they killed Chuuya, your chances of winning are bleak. If Chuuya is still alive and hasn’t activated Corruption, you need to figure out the best course of action to take to prevent him from having to activate it. Without knowing the situation, you might as well be walking blind into a lion’s den. 

“What do you need me to do?” Dazai asks quietly.

“Stay out of the way,” you say too sharply. Your eyes flit to the side when Dazai winces and shifts back a bit, slowing down just a little to remove one hand from the wheel to grab his and squeeze it gently. “The Flags should be there too… At least Albatross, Iceman and Piano Man… Doc is probably off the field waiting for injuries. You know Albatross—he was the one with me at your apartment and in mine the day you came over while I was drunk—get to him, he’ll bring you to wherever Doc is. If you can’t get to him, Klaus and Akutagawa are on their way… might be there already, get to one of them and they’ll get you somewhere safer.”

Dazai doesn’t look pleased by your directives but he nods. 

“What if… what if I can’t get to anybody?” he questions hesitantly after a few moments. 

Your eyes meet his for a split second before you let out a heavy breath. You don’t really want to consider what to do if he can’t get to someone because that means he’ll be in much more danger than you’re willing to accept. After a few moments, you nod to the glove box, watching from the corner of your eye as he opens it and freezes up a bit when he sees the gun inside.

“Only use it if you have to,” you tell him quietly, “and if you have to use it…”

Aim for the head, you want to say, but you can’t push the words out because fuck, what have you dragged him into? A few months ago, his biggest problem was figuring out what he was going to use as inspiration for his fucking writing workshop project and now you’re telling him to shoot to kill if someone comes after him while he’s alone and vulnerable.

Chuuya was right. Chuuya was right and you’re a goddamn fool for not listening to him. You should have cut Dazai off right away, right when you realized things were going too far, you never should have let this happen. You knew better.

You knew better.

“I’ll do what I have to.” Dazai nods, throat bobbing as he keeps a steady face, clearly trying to make himself seem unbothered when he sees how distressed you are. You watch as he fumbles to click off the safety of the gun. “It’s okay.”

“You won’t have to do anything,” you say tightly, gaze snapping to the side when ground beneath the car shakes violently and a loud crashing noise comes from the left. Your eyes focus on a dirt path leading deeper into the forests on the outskirts of the Kanagawa prefecture and grimace before taking a sharp left. “But keep it on you just in case.”

Dazai nods, letting out a long breath, dark eyes darting around nervously as you turn off the car’s headlights to continue down the dirt road more inconspicuously. You don’t get more than half a mile before you have to pull over onto the side of the road when you hear fighting in the distance—explosive and dangerous. You stop Dazai before he opens the door to get out of the car and he looks at you curiously, waiting to see what you have to say.

For a moment, you contemplate telling him to wait in the car for you but you can’t, because if anyone happens upon the car then he’ll be alone and vulnerable. So, instead, you reach forward and cup his cheek. His lashes flutter as he leans into your touch and you run your thumb along his cheekbone, watching him with a heavy feeling in your chest.

This is all your fault.

You brought him into this life. 

You let them back you into a corner like this. 

You ruined his life.

It’s all your fault. You let this happen. 

“Get to Albatross,” you say, hating the way your voice cracks. “To Albatross, or Iceman, or Piano Man. Get to one of them and let them get you out of here, okay?” 

He nods, keeping his face pressed to your hand as he looks up at you through his lashes. “I will.”

“Doc will probably be three miles out from where the combat is taking place. Whoever you get to—the two of you will head there on foot, they’ll tell you what to do and make sure there’s no one tailing you guys, but you’ll have to be quick.”

Dazai gives you a small, wavering smile. “I almost failed my phys ed class in high school because I couldn’t complete the mile fast enough.” 

You snort. “I can’t believe you actually just admitted that out loud.”

Dazai smiles sweetly and then says, “Kiss me before we go?” 

Your lips curve up gently as you lean in to press your lips against his. You feel him let out a soft, pleased sigh but even with your lips moving slowly against each other, you can’t help but feel the dread build more and more in your chest.

You pull back to look him in the eyes again as you whisper, “Be careful.”

“No you,” Dazai says with a simpering smile as he leans in so he can brush his nose against yours. For a moment, he looks as if he wants to say something but then he seals his lips shut and gives you another soft smile. 

I’m sorry, you want to say but the words just don’t come out. You think Dazai must know what you’re trying to say from the way he squeezes your hand. It’s all too soon and all too long before you push yourself away from him and step out of the car.

The brisk early morning air is almost uncomfortable as you breathe it in. You usually find it refreshing—you like the morning, you’re always more productive at dawn even if most nights you find yourself up until the moon sets in the west trying to get work done. But now, you only find discomfort, a tight feeling in your chest and a prickly feeling across your skin. Your hair stands on end as you reach for the gun holstered at your side, flicking off the safety as Dazai comes to stand next to you.

“Stay behind me,” you tell him quietly.

You can hear the fighting in the near-distance. Can feel it. You can hear the sounds of gunshots and people yelling, some voices you recognize as the Flags and others you don’t recognize at all. The ground is shaking—undoubtedly proof of Chuuya using his ability and you can only let out a sigh of relief now, realizing that he must not have activated Corruption yet. 

If he had, the entire forest would be obliterated. 

You motion for Dazai to follow you. He’s light on his feet—lighter than you expected from a twenty two year old college student—he’s careful not to step on any twigs and stays close behind you, each step finding where yours had lifted from the ground as soon as you move from it.

You make your way in the direction of the shouting and fighting. Every step forward leaves you more and more ridden with dread—your feet feel heavy like weights are holding you down, your mouth feels like it’s filled with ash. You should be moving faster than you are—your friends, Chuuya, they’re in danger but… but the closer you get, the closer Dazai is to danger.

What are you doing? You think desperately. What are you doing?

You doubt yourself. 

You doubt yourself so much that a part of you deep down wants to turn on your heel and drag Dazai back to safety, out of danger, out of this shitty forest, out of your life. It’s not worth it—your happiness isn’t worth his life. He’s convinced himself that he cares about you, that he needs you, that you make him happy but you know it’s not true. You know it’s just your ability at work.

But it’s too late now.

The distant shouts have become near—you see Albatross, Piano Man, and Iceman all crouched beneath rubble, grimacing as they dodge… you don’t know what they’re dodging and quite frankly, you don’t think you want to know but you don’t think you’re going to have a choice. 

You don’t even spare a look to the battlefield, reaching back to grab Dazai’s wrist so you can drag him in front of you, pressing your hand to his lower back to make him move faster. You only just barely get him down beneath the metal that the three Flags are using as cover before another… thing (a tentacle?) is snapping out toward you—luckily, Iceman is quick to the draw as always and prevents it from taking off your head. 

Piano Man yanks Dazai closer to him, away from the edge of the rubble, and Albatross wraps an arm around your waist with a wild smile. “There ya are, dollface, we’ve been waiting on you.”

Your eyes linger on Dazai for a split second, seeing the wide-eyed expression on his face and how his knuckles are white around the grip of the gun you gave him. The guilt claws to your throat again but you force it away as you focus your attention on Albatross.

“Tell me the situation,” you say, voice rougher than you intended. “What’s happening?”

“The fuckin’ Americans lured us out here,” Iceman says, taking a long drag of his cigarette before laying back down flat against the ground, eye looking through the scope and chin pressed to the stock of the sniper rifle as he prepares for another shot. “There’s only two of them but something’s wrong with one of ‘em.”

“What does that mean?” you demand, looking between Iceman, Albatross and Piano Man. Albatross grimaces and looks away, Piano Man meets your gaze. Iceman pulls the trigger to the gun and Dazai cringes at the sharp noise, but you have to focus on Piano Man’s response over trying to comfort him.

“It won’t die,” Piano Man says, the characteristically whimsical tone to his voice long gone, face pinched. “No matter what we hit it with.”

“I’m sorry?” you ask, staring at Piano Man blankly as you wait for him to elaborate.

“It won’t die,” Albatross repeats, looking equally stressed as he manhandles you to face the other direction, looking in the direction of the battlefield where Chuuya is in combat with an unfamiliar black-haired man whose arms seem to have transformed into tentacles whipping around at a lethal speed, the dismembered bodies of his subordinates littered in pieces across the forest floor. “He has a partner who has taken cover in the forest too. Can manipulate trees. Can’t fucking get to him because of the tentacle monster.”

You suddenly wish you never left the beach house.

“What the fuck,” you breathe out, watching as the man (man?) grows tentacles to reattach his head to his shoulders after a devastating blow from Chuuya that should have sent his head flying. “Where-”

Movement from the corner of your eye catches your attention and your head snaps to the side to focus on where four people—one very unfortunately familiar—are taking cover in the tree line, talking frantically amongst each other.

“Yeah,” Albatross mutters, shoulder pressed to yours as he follows your gaze. “The Agency showed up too. We don’t know why, haven’t been able to get over there because of fuckin’ Woody Woodpecker over there.”

“Steinbeck,” you say, voice sounding distant even to your own ears as your eyes tunnel in on Yosano Akiko, the same woman who has been haunting you for over a decade now. God, you’ll never be free of her, of the reminder of your inadequacy. You have to force yourself to look back at the situation at hand. “John Steinbeck. The Grapes of Wrath. An executive of the Guild. Big in the US farming industry but that’s just about-”

“We don’t need an info dump on him, Christ, how do we kill him?” Iceman says dryly and you give him a withering look.

“I was getting to that,” you reply icily. “The vines he controls. They and anything they attach to are extensions of himself, meaning if you attack them…”

“It harms him,” Iceman finishes, the corner of his lips curling up into a slow smirk. “Got it.”

You look over to Albatross. “What types of weapons do you have on you?”

Albatross winks at you. “What don’t I have on me?”

“Can you smoke him out?”

“For you, dollface, I can do anything.”

You roll your eyes but grimace as Chuuya is knocked backward hard, blood spilling from his mouth as he takes a violent hit from the black-haired man that you don’t recognize. He looks exhausted, you wonder how long he’s been fighting trying to protect the Flags and the guilt that’s been hanging over you like a dark cloud intensifies. 

“If we can’t figure out any weaknesses, Chuuya is probably going to have to use Corruption against that thing,” you say quietly. “... We need to make sure there are no interfering factors before he activates it to make sure his time in Corruption is as short as possible. We draw out Steinbeck, I’ll go out there and get information from him. Once we kill him, we figure out if those detectives are allies or enemies today. Handle them if they’retheir enemies. Then, you guys need to get the fuck out of the area.”

You need Dazai out of here, you think, teeth grinding together as you look between the forest, the fight between Chuuya and that monster, and then to Dazai, whose face is white and eyes are trained on you, as if he’s trying to keep himself calm by training his attention on the only person in the vicinity that he knows he can trust. You want to reach out and grab his hand but you can’t move.

Piano Man squeezes your shoulder. “As soon as Steinbeck is handled, I’ll get him to Doc. I don't want to bring him through the forest while Steinbeck can pretty much control it.”

You nod and then look at Albatross. His lips curl into a crooked grin as he holds up his fist to you. “Ready? Gotta be quick once I’ve got him panicked running out of the treeline otherwise he’ll get to that fuckin’ squid and we’ll lose our chance.”

You bump your fist against his. “I know what I’ve got to do. You better not fuck up.”

“When have I ever?”

“Too many times to count.”

“... Rude.”

Albatross heads off without another word and you watch with bated breath, waiting for Steinbeck to flee the forest so you can make your move. You’ll have to be careful of the stray tentacles unless you want to lose a limb or two, but you trust Iceman to cover you and you know Chuuya will figure out what you’re trying to do so he’ll be quick to adjust accordingly.

But it just… has too far of a range. The tentacles can reach too far, too quickly. As powerful as Chuuya is, he can’t be in two places at once, so someone else needs to take over the right flank while he handles the left so there are no openings for it to get to you while you interrogate Steinbeck…

As Albatross heads in his direction, you head in your own direction, darting from your safe cover with the other two Flags and Dazai over to where the four detectives are taking cover. Yosano is the first one to look at you, a conflicted expression on her face as she stares at you. You can’t even bring yourself to look her in the eye, instead focusing your attention on the blonde.

“Are you here as enemies or allies?” you ask tightly, getting straight to the point because it’s only a matter of time before Albatross smokes out Steinbeck.

“Until that thing is dead, it’s the enemy,” the blonde says, raising his chin. “We’re here to protect Yokohama.”

You scoff—he says that as if you guys aren’t, you think bitterly, but you don’t have the time to argue. Instead, you nod in the direction of where Albatross left. “One of my comrades went to draw out the Guild member hiding in the trees. Once he’s out, I’m going after him to figure out its weakness. Chuuya can’t handle the right and left flank at the same time, the thing has too wide of a range and he can’t be in two places at once. You guys need to hold off the right flank while he holds off the left so I can get the information from Steinbeck.”

The blonde looks disgruntled by the order, and certainly doesn’t seem pleased by the prospect of working with the Port Mafia, but he steels his face and nods, evidently more concerned with the threat that the monstrous man-creature in the center of the clearing poses more than you and the Mafia.

Yosano says your name quietly, but Albatross finishes the job just in time so you don’t have to acknowledge her—as quick and efficient as ever. As much as you give him shit for everything, he’s always been the most reliable to get the job done. It takes not more than five minutes before the entire northern sector of the forest is burning and John Steinbeck is stumbling from the shrubs, pain twisted on his face as he gasps for air and coughs over the smoke clogging his lungs.

You strike just as quickly to get to Steinbeck before his partner can get him back somewhere safe behind him; he darted out close to where Piano Man, Iceman and Dazai are still taking cover. The blonde doesn’t even see you coming because of the way he keeps rubbing at his eyes. You kick his ankles out from under him hard and drive your foot into his back, slamming his head hard against a flat rock to stun him.

You grab him by the hair to flip him onto his back and press the muzzle of your gun beneath his chin before he can reorient himself. His eyes are still partially glazed over when you drive your knee into his chest and settle above him, giving him a sweet smile. 

“You must be Steinbeck,” you say lightly, “I’ve learned a lot about you recently.”

Steinbeck’s expression twists when he recognizes you and instantly, you’re met with a faceful of blood as he spits it on your face. You click your tongue in disgust and whip the barrel of your gun against his jaw, watching his eyes bulge in pain as you wipe the blood off of your face.

“You’re going to tell me all about your friend over there,” you tell him, voice cool. “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

“I’m not telling you anything,” Steinbeck hisses, cringing at the pain that blooms through him when he speaks. “You and your friends are done. Lovecraft can’t be killed. You’re going to join the rest of your subordinates in pieces on the ground.”

“For your sake,” you murmur, sending Chuuya your silent thanks when he positions himself between you and Lovecraft, “that better not be true.”

“I was told you were cruel, but it’s so kind of you to be worried about my wellbeing,” Steinbeck says, lips slanted upward in a smile too arrogant for your liking, leading you to believe you’re really not going to like what he’s about to say next. You’re proven correct swiftly. “Especially when you really should be worrying about yourself and your little friend over there now that our leader, Francis, has confirmation about his existence. I was also told you were smart, but this was a bit of a silly move on your part, hm?”

You raise your chin, careful to not let your sudden distress show on your face as you look down at him blankly. 

Is that what this is all about? Was it not them setting you up to try to get Dazai alone? Did they not even know about Dazai yet? Was Fitzgerald just trying to get confirmation on his existence and you just played right into it like a fool? Or is Steinbeck just trying to get into your head? You don’t know. 

“Let me rephrase,” you say flatly, “for your sister’s sake, that better not be true.”

You watch as Steinbeck’s face shifts as soon as your words register through his head. It’s only then that you finally decide to use your ability. You’d been contemplating whether or not you’d get quicker results by trying to ease him into revealing the information or if you should intimidate him into it, but from what you’ve heard about Steinbeck—he’s devoted to the cause and will do whatever it takes to get the job done.

The only thing he’s more devoted to is his family.

“I told you, I’ve learned a lot about you,” you say softly, lips curling up. “Little Eden is turning thirteen this year, isn’t she? A teenager. She’s going to be a high schooler soon. You must be proud… She’s a little above the age range that Paz seeks out for his rings, but I’m sure he’ll find some kind of work for her.”

Paz’s trafficking rings are not to your taste. You’ve never been fond of the business, try to avoid it as much as possible, especially after taking Klaus in, so you’re not going to contribute to them in any way, but Steinbeck doesn’t need to know that. You just need him to believe you will and from the reputation that follows you and the black tendrils of fear curling around his brain courtesy of your ability, you think he’s plenty convinced. 

“Don’t you dare go anywhere near her, I swear I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” you interrupt, tilting your head to the side. “This isn’t on me, Steinbeck. Your decisions will decide what happens to your family. So, you can sit here and be stubborn—I’ll let you live, if only so you can go back to that lovely town you call home in Glidden, Iowa so you can find your parents strung up like the pigs you sell to slaughterhouses and all eight of your younger siblings separated all across the world in different trafficking rings. Or, you can tell me what I want to know and die here so your family can live. It’s your choice.”

Steinbeck’s face is a ghastly pallor as he stares up at you, white and gaunt with eyes void of reasonable thought. “You’re doing something to me,” he says shakily. “I can’t-I can’t think. I don’t-they said you didn’t have an ability but you’re doing something to me. I can’t think.”

You smile. You don’t even have to keep your ability activated—never do, not with fear, it always spirals, the mindkiller—so you’re not even lying as you tell him, “I’m not. I suggest you start talking because if the next words from your lips aren’t telling me what exactly can kill your little friend over there, the next words from mine will be your home address to Octavio Paz.”

“He can’t be killed,” Steinbeck says, expression still painted with fear, pleading for you to believe him. “He can’t. Lovecraft-he’s not-he’s not like us. He’s invulnerable on the outside. He’s not killable.”

That can’t be true. Your breath shakes a little as you lift your gaze to look over at where Chuuya is still ardently trying to defend you from Lovecraft’s attacks, batting away tentacles and taking hits so they can’t get to you, to where the blonde member of the Agency grunts as he takes a painful blow to the side to protect one of the other detectives. That can’t be-

“On the outside,” a familiar voice calls frantically, loud over the fighting but too close for liking. Your head twists around to see Dazai hanging off the rubble that the Flags had been using as cover, ignoring Piano Man as he tries to drag the stupid boy back to safety. “He said that he’s invulnerable on the outside.”

Your eyes widen when you realize what Dazai is trying to get at and when you look down at Steinbeck, it’s with far more malice. You’re tired of this—Dazai shouldn’t be here, you were stupid enough to fall into the Guild’s trap and now Chuuya is at risk because of your incapability. God, you need to end this conflict. 

“So, even after all of the threats, you still try to lie to my face to protect him and the Guild. You’re going to die here… you won’t be alone though, your family will join you soon enough.”

Steinbeck’s eyes fly open with panic but neither of you get the chance to say anything else because suddenly, the entire earth is trembling. You gasp in pain as you’re tossed a few feet away, shoulder slamming against the same rock you’d bashed Steinbeck’s head against. The world spins as you stare up at the sky, trying to figure out what happened, but you’re only met with an incomprehensible sight.

What?

You-

You don’t even know what you’re looking at. Your lips part as you stare up at the massive creature that’s suddenly in your line of vision—something so foreign and ungodly that you think it doesn’t belong on the earth. The air around you has become heavy and oppressive, the particles themselves holding you down like weights; it’s early morning so it should be light out, but somehow your surroundings feel dark and gloomy, unnaturally so.

Is that… Lovecraft? You only manage to put it together because the monstrous creature is the same color as the tentacles that had been trying to cut you and Chuuya down. You can’t help but wonder what demon Francis Fitzgerald must have dealt with to get something like this on his side. 

You don’t snap out of your dazed, horrified state until you hear a scream of your name coming from your left. You’re too slow to the draw when you realize that Dazai is trying to warn you of an attack—Steinbeck must’ve recovered when you were still stunned by the appearance of Lovecraft’s new form and he’s flung his hand forward, sharp grape vines hurtling right toward you, about to pierce through your chest when-

When the branches wither and crumble to the ground. When a shot rings through the air and finds itself embedded in Steinbeck’s forehead. You let out a breath of relief and turn to thank Iceman but you freeze when you realize it’s not Iceman who protected you from a would-be lethal blow because he’s still scrambling from being tossed several feet away by the blast of Lovecraft’s transformation.

Instead, it’s Dazai standing there, lips parted in shock and fingers shaky around the gun you’d given him for protection, the one you promised him he wouldn’t have to use. 

“I’ll do what I have to. It’s okay.”

“You won’t have to do anything.”

“Get him out of here,” you breathe out, horror clogging your throat, preventing you from raising your voice because what have you done? What have you done? What have you done? “Get him out of here, now.”

You feel sick, your stomach twists and turns and your vision blurs. Your fingers feel numb and clunky and you can hardly focus as you try to look over at Chuuya, who’s still staring up at Lovecraft, aghast. You need to focus. Need to get rid of the most imminent threat. Then, you can come to terms with what you’ve just allowed to happen. 

Only then.

“Chuuya,” you shout for your friend over the ominous sound of birds screeching as they fly away from the forest. He looks back at you, eyes wide and wild. “It’s weak from the inside. Now’s the time.”

Chuuya’s gaze becomes steely as he nods, turning his attention back to Lovecraft and slowly pulling off his gloves. You turn to run for cover but don’t get more than a step before a familiar black tendril is wrapping around your waist, yanking you thirty yards away just as the entire world begins to shift around you. You land hard against Akutagawa’s chest, grimacing as Klaus throws himself over the two of you when a shockwave rattles the entire forest, knocking down nearly all of the trees in the vicinity.

“Are you okay?” Klaus asks breathlessly. “What’s going on?” 

“Long story,” you say as you push yourself into a sitting position. “Just… be ready for the worst case scenario.”

Klaus’s eyes widen but he nods and instead of focusing your attention on Chuuya so that you can get to him as soon as his battle with Lovecraft ends, you find your eyes seeking Dazai out, trying to make sure that he got out of the immediate impact zone with Piano Man before Chuuya activated Corruption.

But you can’t find him. Your gaze becomes more and more panicked as your head swivels around trying to spot them. They shouldn’t have gotten that far—they should still be in your line of vision but-

Shit.

Shit.

Your throat swells when you finally catch sight of Piano Man’s white and black bob fifteen or twenty yards away to your left. His face is twisted and he’s struggling to lift a fallen tree—your lips part to tell Klaus to get to them but you can’t even push the words out. You can’t see Dazai from the angle you’re standing at, but you can see the frustration on Piano Man’s face and the stress as his eyes flicker up to where Chuuya is fighting Lovecraft.

“Something… is wrong with Executive Nakahara.” You hear Klaus say behind you, voice wavering. You look back at him, seeing the disturbed expression on his face as he stares at the fighting. “He’s not usually this aggressive under Corruption, is he?”

The dread you’ve been feeling all morning intensifies as your head snaps back in the direction of the battle. At first, you think nothing is out of the ordinary—Chuuya is destructive while under the effects of Corruption, always has been. Gravity brings ruin to the land around him, slaughters his enemies and allies alike; it’s no different now, you watch as Lovecraft falls to the destruction of the calamity god Arahabaki and you wait for it to calm down, always does when it realizes all of the immediate enemies in the area have been destroyed. 

Or, maybe calm down isn’t the right word but it does become more reckless in its efforts to destroy, blows holes in the ground and laughs at the destruction, is less aware of its surroundings—it’s only then that you approach it to put it to sleep, but now…?

Chuuya—no, Arahabaki is still hunting. It hasn’t celebrated the defeat of Lovecraft, head whipping around and black eyes wide and searching. You don’t know what it’s looking for but you don’t like it, rising to your feet slowly, pulling your wrist away from Klaus as he tries to stop you from moving.

Is it looking for the detectives, maybe? Chuuya would probably consider them his enemies and Arahabaki would feel those residual emotions and he would know they’re here even if they’ve seemingly disappeared. You think maybe you should intervene—if Arahabaki kills the detectives and Fukuzawa Yukichi learns of it, it’ll make messy times even messier for the Port Mafia. But… there is always the chance you can blame it on the Guild.

No, it’s not worth risking making the situation worse than it is. 

“I’m going to go to him,” you say quietly. “Be ready.”

“Maybe you should wait,” Klaus tells you hesitantly but you ignore him. “Something’s not right.”

 “Each second I wait, the closer Chuuya gets to death,” you hiss. “I’m not waiting.”

You don’t bother listening to the next protest that’s bound to leave both of your subordinates’ lips. You can see Akutagawa’s face twisting so you know it’s coming; instead, you turn around and make your way slowly in the direction of Arahabaki.

God, it’s disturbing, a sight so unearthly that you can hardly stand to look at it. Black guck is splattered all across the forest floor from where Arahabaki had torn Lovecraft apart from the inside out, chunks of the tentacles littered around the area. And Arahabaki itself is there in the middle of it, using the body of your closest friend as a grotesque vessel of calamity—the ground shudders around him, rubble suspended midair as gravity fluctuates precariously. No matter how many times you see Chuuya under the effects of Corruption, you’ll never get used to the way it transforms him: the way his eyes become black voids, empty and haunting, the way his pale skin starts to rot black from his fingertips to his forearms to his biceps. 

Destroys him just as much as it destroys everything around him.

You don’t know if it’s just your imagination when you approach cautiously and realize that the rot seems to be spreading faster this time. It’s been less than half of the amount of time he was in Corruption during the conflict with the Inagawa-kai and yet already, the black decay has spread to nearly his elbows. Either way, it only serves to stress you out more.

You’re less than ten yards away from it when Arahabaki suddenly stiffens and goes still, all of the rubble suspended in the air drops to the ground with a thunderous noise. Your breath catches in the back of your throat—Arahabaki has never sensed your presence before, you and Chuuya theorize that it’s because of how comfortable Chuuya is around you. He thinks that parts of it transfer over to Arahabaki when it takes over so it just instinctually doesn’t register you near him or as a threat. It’s the only reason why you’re even able to approach it when it’s in control, otherwise you’d be as dead as any other enemy in the vicinity—you still have to worry about the stray rubble and increased pressure of course, but it’s much more manageable, and survivable, than a God of Calamity smushing you like a bug.

Has that changed? Has something changed?

You can hardly breathe as Arahabaki looks over its shoulder and a shiver runs down your spine at the sight of Chuuya’s warped face. But Arahabaki’s gaze shifts over you like you aren’t even there. 

Instead, it looks past you.

Looks past you right at Piano Man and Dazai.

Iceman joined them and with their combined effort, they managed to get the tree off of Dazai’s leg, freeing him from where he was pinned to the ground. His ankle looks bad, twisted in all of the wrong spots, blood staining his tan pants. But the three of them stand frozen, Iceman mid-reloading his gun, Piano Man mid-step, and Dazai standing uncomfortably on his twisted ankle, none of them even daring to take in a single breath as they wait for Arahabaki to look away from them. In the entire vicinity, no one moves, no one breathes, no one even blinks—a bunch of deer frozen beneath the gaze of a predator, knowing that the wrong move would lead to them getting torn to pieces.

And then-

And then Dazai shifts onto his good leg.

The crunching of leaves beneath his foot is so loud in contrast to the stillness that had spread across the area, and it’s the only thing needed to get Arahabaki moving.

“Chuuya, no!” you scream futilely as Arahabaki uses gravity to propel itself forward in the direction of Dazai, Piano Man and Iceman. 

The two Flags shove Dazai behind them and brace themselves for the brunt of Arahabaki’s attack but you’re faster and positioned at just the right angle between the three of them and Arahabaki to throw yourself right in Arahabaki’s path. And maybe it’s stupid, you realize that a bit too late when you’re face to face with the god that’s using your friend as a vessel but-

But you can’t let it get to Dazai.

You can’t put Arahabaki to sleep without physical contact—sleep is too strong of a state and Arahabaki is too powerful of a subject. It’s one of the only things you can’t induce without physical touch. If you could just-

Your vision blurs and you taste iron. Something warm and thick pools in the back of your throat and you gag on it, feet suddenly dangling in the air as you stare down at Arahabaki’s empty eyes. You can hear people yelling around you—Klaus and Akutagawa rushing in your direction, Albatross firing off shots at Arahabaki to try to get its attention off of you, Dazai screaming your name.

Dazai.

Shit.

You don’t want him to see this. 

You think that Arahabaki must’ve ruptured one of your lungs because every breath you take in is wet and the oxygen just isn’t reaching where it needs to. Your vision swims with black dots and you need to lift your hand—if you could just wrap your hand around his forearm, it would be worth it. You could put him to sleep; you always knew one day you’d probably meet your fate at the hands of Arahabaki, you just wish that Dazai wasn’t here to witness it. 

But you can’t. And it’s frustrating, it’s so frustrating, your eyes feel wet and you don’t know if it’s from tears or blood considering the pressure around you just keeps getting more and more intense. His forearm is right there, impaled through your fucking stomach, inches away but you can’t lift it high enough for you to force Arahabaki to sleep, your arms just sway limply at your side until Arahabaki has had enough of you and tosses your body several yards away into a pile of rubble.

You can’t move and the fucking bastard managed to land you at a perfect angle for you to witness what’s about to happen. Even as your vision starts to go out, you’re forced to watch as Arahabaki approaches Piano Man, Iceman and Dazai. You watch as Klaus attacks in blind rage only to get his legs crushed to dust—he’ll be able to heal them through Mephisto (he’ll pay for it, though, he always does), but not fast enough to stop Arahabaki from getting to Dazai. Akutagawa lands the next blow, consuming the space near Arahabaki’s neck to try to land what could have been an incapacitating hit but Arahabaki is faster and Akutagawa suffers for the attempt.

Arahabaki knocks Piano Man and Iceman out of the way, its gaze set on Dazai. Dazai doesn’t even try to run, he stares at where your body is crumpled against the rubble with a wrecked expression on his face. You don’t want to watch but you can’t even bring yourself to turn your gaze away. Klaus doesn’t even wait for his other leg to heal—as soon as one has reformed, he’s throwing himself at Arahabaki again to try to protect Dazai. When Arahabaki knocks him away again, he uses his arms to propel himself forward onto its back.

As Klaus utilizes his ability to try to wrangle Arahabaki away from Dazai, desperately healing himself as gravity crushes him, you become acutely aware of a new presence at your side.

Yosano.

Familiar purple eyes stare down at you, conflicted, breath shuddered. You can’t even fathom to understand what she might be thinking and you want her to get away from you. You think it’s cruel even for the gods to have your last sight be her of all people, the same girl that Mori has held over you since the day he met her, heralding her as the perfect linchpin of his plans and disparaging you as nothing more than a failure.

“Fuck off,” you try to tell her, but the words are garbled over blood. 

“I know you hate me,” she says quietly and her words aren’t even registering in your brain, the lack of air makes your ears ring so loud that you can’t hear anything over it and you can’t make out what words her lips are forming because of the blood in your eyes. You think she knows that, but speaks anyway, “but everyday… I wonder how things might’ve been different if I’d gotten you off of Tokoyami Island with me. I couldn’t save you back then, so I will now… Whether it’s the right decision or not, I won’t let you die.”

You feel the effects of Yosano’s dreadful ability instantly, gasping as your lung stitches itself back to better, the hole through your abdomen closing up and the lost blood replenishing in your body. Your body still hurts—the soreness is there and you can feel the ghosts of the wounds, but you feel alive, forcibly pulled back from the brink of death by the last person in the world you’d ever want to save you. 

“Don’t touch me,” you hiss, shoving her away when she tries to help you to your feet. 

God, if Mori knew that Yosano of all fucking people saved your life it would just be more ammunition against you. You think you’d rather have died. Your eyes feel wet again, but this time you can’t use Arahabaki as an excuse, glaring at the other woman who looks oddly solemn at your reaction, disappointed but not surprised.

You turn your attention back to the more pressing matter, praying to god that you wouldn’t be met with the sight of Dazai’s obliterated body in the near distance. Your breath catches when you see Klaus crumpled on the ground, still alive but healing much more slowly and-

And Arahabaki approaching Dazai.

Dazai doesn’t even seem to notice, staring listlessly at the ground with a haunted expression on his face, like he doesn’t even realize death is approaching him.

 Like he doesn’t care.

“Osamu, run!” you cry out, even though you know it’s to no avail, that Arahabaki will hunt him down, but he needs to try.

Dazai’s head snaps toward you, dark eyes wide and relieved when he sees you standing there, wounds healed. But just as your gaze meets his, Arahabaki strikes, hand darting out to curl around Dazai’s thin neck with every intention of using gravity to crush it to dust. Someone screams—you, maybe, though it’s unfamiliar, shrill and piercing, more animalistic than human—and Klaus is still trying to claw his way through the dirt toward Arahabaki to no avail. Piano Man is watching the scene with a shattered arm and leg and Iceman is fumbling for one of his guns, Akutagawa is hurtling himself through the air with Rashomon, holding his bloody side as he tries to sever Arahabaki’s hand before it can follow through with Dazai’s execution.

He’s not fast enough. None of them will be.

But they don’t need to be.

You watch as a strange white and blue color emits from where Arahabaki’s hand is curled around Dazai’s neck, as the black rot recedes and the blackness of his eyes gives way to familiar brown and blue. Chuuya—not Arahabaki—falls limply to the ground, exhausted from using Corruption, and Dazai just stands there, eyes wide and confused.

What the fuck?

Piano Man. Iceman. Albatross. Klaus and Akutagawa. They all look equally perplexed as they stare at what just happened and you fumble for answers to make sense of it. Did Arahabaki exhaust itself on its own? Did it feel Chuuya’s body crumbling under the force of Corruption and instead of letting its host die, it gave control back over? It would make sense if Arahabaki was a parasite that needed Chuuya to exist, but it’s not a parasite and Chuuya is its prison.

And either way, it only happened when he touched Dazai. A light emanated between the two of them like-

Like the activation of an ability, like the reaction between two abilities.

Is… Dazai an ability user?

He can’t be, there’s no way he’s gone his whole life without ever activating it once—or even knowing he has one. It doesn’t make sense. When he asked about yours, it was clearly with the curiosity of someone who’d never encountered an ability before. Unless-

Unless he was lying.

No. He wasn’t. He must not have known, but this changes everything. 

You hardly even get the chance to play with your thoughts and come to a solid conclusion, because you realize that Yosano is storming past you in the direction of where Chuuya is unconscious and vulnerable.

“Where do you think you’re going?” you ask tightly, trying to take a step forward but wincing, so instead, you reach for the gun you’d placed back into your holster, grip firm on the handle. 

Yosano doesn’t respond to you, her hand resting on the hilt of her machete is enough of an answer for you. The threat of Lovecraft is gone and the next biggest threat to the city is none other than the vessel of the calamity god lying unconscious in the dirt—if you were her, you would also move for the execution. 

But you’re not her, so you pull out your gun and flick the safety off, not wasting any time before you drag your eyes over to where the blonde you’d spoken to before is resting on the ground with a wounded side. You lift your gun and point it at his leg, the gunshot resounding sharply through the air and causing Yosano to stop dead in her tracks, head snapping back toward you in disbelief.

Your gaze meets hers. “A nick to the femoral artery can cause a man to bleed out within thirty seconds… we learned that together, don’t you remember?”

“You-”

“The enemy is dead, we no longer have to work together. I suggest you handle your people and I’ll handle mine.”

Yosano looks frustrated, but her hesitation gave Akutagawa enough time to get between her and Chuuya. He tilts his head to the side as if daring her to try to get through him; she looks distressed as she looks between the blonde and Chuuya, but eventually rushes in your direction to get to her comrade.

She stops as she passes you and you don’t look at her, staring ahead at Dazai as she tells you tightly, “You… really have grown into someone who Mori should be proud of.”

Mori will never be proud of you, so Yosano’s words only serve to make you even more bitter. 

“And you haven’t changed at all, Akiko-chan,” you say lightly. “The same scared girl on Tokoyami Island who made the same silly mistakes over and over again. You should have let me die today, just like you shouldn’t have gotten attached to every soldier that passed you by on that island. Your sentimentality will get you killed one day.”

Yosano scoffs. “You never were quite as good at utilizing your ability as I was,” she says coldly, digging a knife into an open wound, “but you did take quickly to his cold-hearted tactics and mentality… I wonder how he feels about your new weakness.”

Your gaze snaps to the side, focusing on her. “Tread carefully,” you say coldly.

“Relax, I’m not you,” Yosano spits out. “I wouldn’t use something like that against you. I don’t need to anyway, you’ll get him killed yourself.”

You don’t have a response to that, cringing and looking away. You miss the way her expression shifts when she sees your reaction; you also miss the way her lips part to say something else, leaving her behind without another word to go over to Dazai and the others.

Klaus is shakily pushing himself to his feet by the time you get there, exhausted and covered in his own blood. You reach out to grab his hand, squeezing it gently. “You did well,” you say quietly, watching how his eyes shine at the praise before glancing over to Akutagawa. “Both of you. You did good. Thank you. I parked my car two miles north of here, go get in there and sleep, I’ll drive you back to headquarters. Go on ahead, I’ll meet you there.”

The two nod and take off in the direction you gave them; you turn your attention to Iceman, who’s gathering Chuuya in his arms. Albatross helps Piano Man limp over to the group of you.

“We’re going to bring him back to his place to rest, Doc will look over him to make sure he’s alright. Was in Corruption for longer than usual,” Iceman says roughly, looking over you once to make sure you’re okay. “We’ll… we’ll all stay with him for a bit, if he remembers what happened when he wakes up…”

“That’s probably for the best,” you say quietly. Chuuya alone with his own mind after activating Corruption is quite the dangerous thing. You try to stay with him in the aftermath, but this time, you have things to deal with first. “He shouldn’t be alone. He’ll blame himself.”

Iceman nods, making his way toward where Doc must be camped out. As Albatross and Piano Man pass you by, Piano Man squeezes your shoulder with his good hand and says, “I’ll make sure the Boss doesn’t find out about the kid just yet… figure out what happened out here though, okay?” 

“I will,” you promise, finally glancing up at Dazai, who looks like he wants nothing more than to just collapse into your arms. You think you want the same. Not yet though. Your voice softens as you address him, “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Dazai sits cross-legged on your bedroom floor as he waits for you to come back from whatever meeting you had to attend as soon as you got back. He dragged your comforter off of the bed to wrap around him and he removed his clothes so he could put on a comfortable pair of sweats and a sweatshirt—yours, naturally, because he thinks if he doesn’t surround himself with your scent he might actually start to lose his mind.

He’s been teetering on the edge for hours. His eyes burn because he refuses to let them slide shut—the image of you impaled on Nakahara Chuuya’s arm is burned behind his eyelids. God, he still doesn’t really know what happened—apparently it wasn’t Chuuya from the little you were able to explain before having to leave, but instead some calamity god that uses his body as a vessel.

As insane as it sounds, Dazai somehow didn’t even doubt the words once you said them because only the power of a god could explain what he’d seen. The entire forest had been rendered to ruin in a matter of seconds, he could feel the way the air had come alive with dark, oppressive forces; he’d never experienced anything like it before. He’d only ever stumbled upon an ability user once in Suribachi City before Odasaku found him and though he’d been strong—Dazai could tell that much from the way he set half of the slums on fire—it hadn’t felt anything like this. This had been… unnatural. 

It had been incredible, he’d never seen anything so… powerful before, so close to divinity—or it had been until you were killed. 

Whatever it was—Nakahara Chuuya or a calamity god called Arabahaki—it had killed you. It had killed you right in front of Dazai. It had killed you because Dazai made the wrong move and drew its attention. It killed you because you threw yourself into the line of fire to protect him and he can’t rid himself of the image. 

No matter how hard he rubs his eyes, no matter how much he tells himself that you’re alive, he can only see the blood, the hole through your abdomen, the way your body had gone limp and your eyes had become cloudy. You were dead when it tossed your body to the side like it was nothing more than trash to be discarded—or you were close to it, at least, but you were definitely dead when you hit the rubble, body broken and shattered, eyes glassy.

You were dead because of him, that’s irrefutable. It doesn’t matter how you’re alive now—and he still doesn’t know how, you clammed up when he asked you how your wounds had disappeared—because you had been dead, and you’d been dead because of him and his mistake. 

He’s hardly even had the chance to talk to you. The drive back to headquarters was quick and quiet; your two subordinates had been passed out in the backseat of your car and you’d been so lost in thought that Dazai could hardly bring himself to badger you with questions. He thought he’d get the chance when the two of you got up to your apartment, but you only sent him up on his own and told him you’d be back soon because you had to report to Mori.

It’s been seven hours since then. 

He hasn’t budged an inch, hasn't eaten anything, hasn’t drank anything, hasn’t even wiped the crusted blood off of his neck. Your crusted blood in the shape of Nakahara Chuuya’s handprint wrapped around his throat because he’d used the very same hand that killed you to try to deliver the same fate to Dazai. 

A part of him is half convinced that he imagined it—that’s why you aren’t here—and each passing second, he becomes more and more convinced of it. He imagined the fact that you’d been brought back to life after being killed and imagined that you drove him home. The reality is that your body is still split open on the rocks that Arahabaki had thrown you into, you’re still staring emptily up at the sky, blood pooling around you. It hadn’t been you to drive him and the two kids home, it had been one of the men you’d told him to stay by during the battle and he’s waiting here for them to decide what they’re going to do with him.

Dazai is alone again. 

Everything he never wants to lose is lost—irrefutable, unchangeable. 

It’s his fate. 

It’s-

“Osamu.”

He doesn’t move. His gaze flickers to the side and he sees you standing there—you’re still dressed in the clothes that you were wearing when you dragged him from the beach house. The clothes you’d died in. A plain black shirt and black pants. You hadn’t given yourself any time to change once you got the message from Chuuya. As soon as you read it, you were ushering him to the car.

Except now, there’s a hole through the shirt where Arahabaki’s fist had ripped through your body. It’s all crusty with blood, Dazai can tell even if he can’t see the murky redness. Dazai thinks that if he stares long enough, he can see the wound reappear—the way your abdomen caves in on itself, how your skin starts to tear and…

He can’t look at this. His mind playing tricks on him like this, forcing him to see this—he can’t handle it. So, he looks away, breath shaky and fingers trembling beneath the comforter.

“Osamu,” you say again, voice quiet, garbled like you’re underwater. “Osamu.”

He ignores you still—doesn’t want to give in to the cruel imagination of his mind—so he tucks his legs closer to his chest and-

And you touch him.

He feels your fingers, warm and familiar, slide against the back of his head as you turn his head to force him to face you. You don’t let him look down at where the wound had been, forcing him to look up at your face. There’s a concerned look in your eyes, but your lips are curled up in a small smile.

“What’re you doing sitting on the floor?” you ask softly. 

His lashes flutter when he feels how you card your fingers through his hair but he doesn’t respond. You’re here. Alive. With him. 

He isn’t alone. 

(Not yet.) 

Your eyes flicker down to his neck, frowning when you see the blood. “C’mon, come with me to the bathroom.”

Dazai doesn’t respond but he does rise to his feet, dragging the comforter along with him as he follows after you, only dropping it when you give it a pointed look before he walks into the bathroom after you. He drops it on the floor before stepping in, letting you guide him to the toilet, sitting him down on top of the closed seat.

You don’t say anything as you step over to the sink, running the water for a few seconds before grabbing a soft rag and soaking it beneath. You ring it once before moving to stand in front of him again, tilting his head back gently before pressing the warm, damp rag against his skin.

“I didn’t think I would be as long as I was,” you say quietly. “I’m sorry. I thought I’d just be able to report in and then leave but he had me there for hours with some of the other executives trying to figure out how to proceed with the Guild.”

Dazai doesn’t respond, eyes sliding shut as you wipe away your crusted blood.

“He didn’t even let me change,” you say bitterly. “Think it was meant to be some sort of punishment.”

“Punishment for what?” Dazai asks, voice raspy even to his own ears.

“Failure.”

“But we won,” he frowns, a bit confused.

Your hand stills for a moment before you force yourself to continue cleaning him up, the expression on your face now a bit twisted. You seem to choose your words carefully as you tell him, “I didn’t. Not to him.”

Dazai isn’t quite sure what that means but he knows he doesn’t like the look on your face, so even though his fingers still feel a bit numb and clunky, he reaches out to grab your hand, watching as your expression immediately smoothes out, a small smile replacing the frown.

“I spoke to Piano Man,” you say lightly as you finish wiping off the blood, dropping the damp, dirty rag into the sink so you can cup his face and tilt it up toward you. “We figure that it must’ve been an ability that pulled Chuuya out of the Corrupted state. Your ability… Did you… know you had an ability?”

You ask the question hesitantly, watching him carefully for a response, and Dazai frowns, unsure why you even need to ask that because he would have told you if he had an ability and you should know that.

“No,” he finally says, brows knit together. “Of course not… what is it?” 

You don’t respond and the expression on your face is still contemplative—for a scary second, Dazai thinks that you don’t believe him, but then your expression smoothes out as you nod, putting his fears to rest. 

“We’re… not sure,” you admit. “Have you… been in situations before where you’ve been in danger?”

You cringe as you ask it like you already know the answer and Dazai gives you a flat look. 

“Yes.”

“Situations where you’ve been in contact with the person making you feel threatened?” you prod further and Dazai’s lips curl down into a frown, eyes lowering as he remembers the months he spent in Suribachi and the years after Odasaku’s death.

“Yes.”

“We theorized maybe it could’ve been your ability triggering as a defense mechanism—that maybe you had a similar ability to mine in that you could make people unconscious,” you say, leaning against the sink to look down at where he’s sitting. You tilt your head to the side and Dazai distinctly feels like a specimen being studied by a scientist. “But if that was the case, it likely would have triggered already and you would’ve known about it.”

“I didn’t know,” he says again like he has something to prove. Your expression doesn’t shift, an unreadable look in your eyes as you stare down at him. “I didn’t.”

Dazai doesn’t know why he’s getting so defensive about it, he knows that it’s probably only serving to make you more suspicious. He thinks it’s because he’s upset that you even need to ask that, it’s bothering him more than it should.

“Okay,” you say to placate him. “I have my own theory but…”

Dazai leans forward. “What is it?”

You look conflicted, brows knitting together and then you look away like you don’t even want to answer him, so he tilts to the side to force himself back into your line of vision again. You sigh heavily as your gaze drifts back to him. 

“I’m going to try to use my ability on you,” you tell him but your voice wavers and you look pained just by the prospect of it. Dazai’s eyes widen, remembering how angry you’d gotten when he first brought it up to you. “Just to… test something. Okay?” 

Dazai nods eagerly, eyes wide and imploring—he thinks that he shouldn’t feel so excited by this when you’re clearly conflicted and unhappy about it but… it’s not even a matter of an ability being used on him in a non-aggressive manner, it’s more just…

It’s a part of you. It’s a part of you that Dazai has never experienced before and he wants to experience all parts of you. Everything. Anything. No matter what it is as long as it’s you.

You reach out to brush your fingers against his cheek and Dazai waits with his heart in his throat and excitement thrumming through his body, pushing away all of the numbness. He looks up at you as he braces himself for something to happen and only begins to wonder if something is wrong when he sees how you tilt your head to the side curiously.

“What do you feel?” you finally ask him.

Dazai blinks and then says, “Excited?”

Your brows furrow. You wait a few moments before questioning, “And now?”

Dazai stares at you. “Nothing has changed.”

Your hand drops from his face and Dazai is pouting immediately, eyes following it as you rest it against your lap. His lips part to protest but before he can say anything, you press: “And now?” 

“Nothing has changed,” Dazai says, mind racing as he slowly puts together what your theory is: that no ability can affect him, and the reason why Arahabaki put to sleep after it came in contact with Dazai was because it couldn’t exist while in contact with him. “Wait, are you…?” 

“You nullify abilities,” you breathe out. “You… And not just by touch… it seems like any ability—around you? Or maybe if it just targets you?—it just like… gets sucked up into a black hole. Non-existent.”

Dazai feels a bit giddy as he looks at you. “I have an ability.”

You don’t even seem to register his words, staring at him with an expression so wrecked that Dazai is startled, thinking he did something to upset you. He’s about to ask when you speak again, voice sounding a bit distant as you say, “You’ve never been affected by my ability.”

And Dazai remembers. He remembers why you’d been so upset when he asked you to use your ability on him. Remembers how your face had started to crumble, the insecurity that had swept across it: I don’t know who wants to be around me for me and who’s just influenced by my ability.

“I told you,” Dazai says with a teasing smile, “I want you for you.”

“You do,” you agree, taking in a deep breath as you look down at your lap, lips curling up into a small smile that Dazai wishes would remain on your face forever. You look so at peace, so happy—and because of him. “You might be the only one.”

You say the words lightly but Dazai can feel the weight of them, so he reaches out to take your hands into his, squeezing them gently. “I doubt that,” he says, “but even if I am, I’ll love you enough that it won’t matter what anyone else thinks.”

Your eyes widen. Dazai immediately draws back and slaps his hand over his mouth, realizing what he’d just admitted out loud. He can feel the heat emanating from his cheeks and he’s sure that he’s probably as red as a tomato. He almost wants to bolt but before he can, your smile softens around the edges and you reach out to cup his cheek again, the look in your eyes so adoring that it makes Dazai’s breath catch in the back of his throat.

“I love you too,” you tell him quietly, and it’s with more emotion than when you told him last night—god, it’s hardly been twenty-four hours, all of this has happened within twenty-four hours. 

Dazai is suddenly acutely reminded of the fact that he’d almost lost you within those twenty-four hours and his chest feels much heavier. He wonders if you were abruptly reminded of the same thing because your nails dig into his cheek enough to sting, the look in your eyes more intense.

“Can we watch a movie?” he asks, voice wobbling as he holds your free hand between his so tightly that he fears he might break it. 

He wants to lay with you, wants to curl up in your arms and pretend he’s watching a movie that he doesn’t care for just so he can bask in the feeling of being loved and pretend he didn't just almost lose you.

“We can watch a movie,” you agree. “Let me go get changed. What are you feeling?” 

You take a step away from him and Dazai almost reaches out for you but refrains. “Horror?” he asks, if only because he likes to hide his face in your chest under the pretense of being scared.

You give him a side-eye over your shoulder as you walk into your bedroom and he promptly gives you a sweet smile, knowing that you know exactly why he picked the genre. You only roll your eyes and leave the bathroom and he sighs as he sits back against the toilet, a warm feeling spreading through his chest.

A warm feeling that is very quickly pushed away when his phone buzzes.

Professor Ui: Can you stop by the school with Koda-san and Otsuka-kun tomorrow? We received a tip-off concerning the exposé we were working on a few weeks ago. I want to run something by the three of you because we might just have the chance to drive the nail in the coffin.

His throat swells as his gaze flickers up to where you’re changing into a clean pair of pajamas and fixing the comforter that he’d pulled off of your bed, rattling off a few options for him to choose from—all going in one ear, out the other. His knuckles are white around his phone before he fumbles to stuff it in the pocket of his sweats. 

He just wants one night with you after everything that happened today and… he remembers the look on your face when you mentioned ‘punishment’ and ‘failure’, and he thinks that you deserve just one night of peace too. 

A night of peace that isn’t interrupted by another shitty text.

He’ll bring it up to you tomorrow or… or maybe he’ll handle it on his own. Go to the meeting, figure out what they’ve been tipped off about so he can report back to you… and then maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t be a liability to you anymore. He could do something to help you and… it’s not like he has to be as worried about danger considering the newfound revelation about his ability. Obviously, there are still other dangers but…

But Dazai could be helpful. Useful. He’s only been a hindrance to you up until now, but he could change that.

He could change it. And maybe—just maybe—if he could learn how to use his ability and you could rely on him for more things… Maybe there’s a chance he could change the fate he thought was inevitable. Maybe he wouldn’t lose you. You love him, so you won’t leave him, and he would be strong enough this time to make sure you wouldn’t be taken from him in the same way Odasaku was. 

Things would be different. 

He would be different. 

“Are you coming?” you call as you pull on a sweatshirt and peek your head back into the bathroom.

“Coming,” he agrees, bounding out of the bathroom and tossing himself right on top of you as you rest against the pillows, curling into your side and waiting for you to start the movie.

One night of peace. It couldn’t be too much for him to ask.

He tries to ignore the ghost weight of the gun in his hand as his arms tighten around you. 

[rcmclachlan]

8x01 coda

Inspired by @dadbodbuck's devastating post.

+

When Eddie draws in a breath, there's an audible crackle. It sounds almost like rales, or maybe heartbreak just manifests as broken glass and burnt particles from a discharged weapon in the lungs. He drops his head onto his chest as though it's too heavy to hold up and says, voice dead, "I don't know what else to do."

Tommy takes a sip of his beer—his fourth of the night—and stares at the ceiling while he tries to come up with the magical answer they've been searching for ever since the Skype call cut out. He frowns. Who still has a popcorn ceiling in the 2020s? He could scrape, skim, and sand it in a weekend.

Evan helpfully mutters something about non-native species into Tommy's thigh, a wet patch of drool expanding where his mouth is smushed into the denim, and Tommy presses his fingers slightly into the back of his neck. He settles almost immediately, then shows his appreciation by opening the floodgates again, soaking right through to Tommy's skin. He's still wearing the cone hat.

"Maybe there's nothing else to do," Tommy muses quietly. He takes another sip of the Nose Job he has no choice but to drink, because for some reason it's all Eddie has in the house. It tastes like grass.

"Used to be that when he was mad about something, he'd tell me to my face." Eddie lifts his head, only to drop it back against the edge of the couch. He's been sitting on the floor for almost an hour. "Even when he was little. He'd plant his feet and say it point blank: I'm mad at you."

Tommy huffs a reluctant laugh at the image.

"Guess he clocked that the reason he's said it so many times is because I never fucking learn." The crackle in Eddie's lungs is loud and awful. Tommy peers down to make sure there isn't blood in Eddie's teeth. "I just... I just hurt him, over and over. I've been doing it for years."

"Hey, no—" Tommy starts.

But Eddie either doesn't hear him or doesn't want even a crumb of kindness tossed his way, because he pushes on, voice growing weaker with every word. "I can blow up a million balloons and I can love him more than anything or anyone, but it's never going to be enough to make up for any of it. He cut his losses. I-I can't even be mad about him hating me, because I can't blame him."

With a wet gasp, Eddie turns his head against his shoulder and shudders.

Inhaling through his nose, Tommy closes his eyes and tries to see things from Christopher's point of view. It takes a few tries, mostly because of a gangly, desperate boy from thirty years ago who would've gladly sacrificed a limb to see his father show him a fraction of the love Eddie Diaz has for his kid.

But once Tommy shoves his inner child out of the way, he can see what Chris sees with startling clarity. Evan's said before that Chris hates their job, is terrified of losing Eddie or Buck the way he lost his mom. Tommy knows a little about Eddie's messy dating history and how it basically amounts to him just chasing one ghost after another out of some misplaced sense of duty to Chris—without ever asking Chris what he actually wants, or what he wants for Eddie.

The thing with his dead wife's doppelganger is too much for even Tommy, and he heard about it second hand. He can't imagine what it was like for Christopher to walk into that.

Tommy opens his eyes and looks down at Eddie, who's hunched over like an animal trying to hide a wound. He looks like something that belongs in the Louvre. The Despair of the Father Whose Best Isn't Good Enough (2024), oil on canvas.

"Eddie," he says gently. Any louder and Eddie will crumble to ruins. "There's nothing more for you to do other than what you're doing. Keep loving him and keep showing up for him, even though it hurts. He will talk to you again."

"How do you know?" Eddie mumbles into his own shoulder.

"Because if he hated you, he never would've taken the call in the first place."

Evan sighs in his sleep, and Tommy runs his thumb over the just-buzzed edge of his nape so softly it wouldn't wake a baby, never mind a full-grown man. He thinks idly about the way people bleed themselves dry for love, and for hope.

He wouldn't spare his father a single drop of blood. He thinks he'd probably tap a vein if Evan asked.

Pressing his lips together, he nudges Eddie with his foot until Eddie lifts his head. His eyes are glassy and rimmed red, but there's a little less devastation in his gaze than there'd been when he'd shut the laptop and gone straight into the kitchen for the beer.

"Just give it time," Tommy says.

Sniffling, Eddie looks at the hand Tommy has on Evan's neck, and tries to muster up a smile. "And how much more time are you going to give before—"

"Nope," Tommy cuts in, because that's a conversation for another time, another place, and another person. "You think I won't literally kick a man when he's down?"

It's not his best work but it makes Eddie laugh, so he calls it a win.

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

logan having reader sit on his lap and he teasingly starts to bounce his knee from where we’re sitting

A/N: The reader is a female and wearing a dress, this turned smutty.

Request are open! I'm always open to ideas <3 and lmk if you'd like to be added to my taglist

I really appreciate all of the love you guys have been giving to my Logan works, it means the world to me and just makes me want to post even more. if you do enjoy my work please continue liking, reblogging, and commenting it helps so much with motivation <3

Logan always wanted you as close as possible. During family dinners, he made sure you had the sit next to him. When you came over for a movie night, he made sure you were next to him so you could cuddle into him and not have to be next to Wade. If there was ever a scenario where you had to sit, he wanted you by him.

Wade was having a little get-together with everyone, and you left to get more drinks after dinner. When you got back, you went to the kitchen and put all the drinks in the fridge before going back to sit with Logan only to discover your seat was taken. Oh, how awful... wherever will you sit? You looked over to Logan with a pout, and you were expecting to see him just shrug and not make a big deal of it, but you were met with his smirk. A faint blush dusted your cheeks seeing his smirk. You knew he was up to something.

You were killing him all night. You wore his favorite little dress. He always said it made you look even more like a princess. While you were gone, he decided that if you were going to tease him, he could do the same. Two can play this game, princess.

"Everything alright, princess?" He asked almost in a condensing way. "You know, Al was telling me about her latest bingo night. You should really come listen," he said, holding his arm out, waiting for you to walk into his arms. He waited until you were in arms reach before pulling you into his lap.

You fell into his lap with a quiet oof. It wasn't an uncomfortable fit, his lap was bigger than you realized and as you were sitting your mind started to wander 'how come you'd never sit on his lap before?' You leaned into his chest and got more comfortable. It was a really nice seat, his strong arms holding you, his scent surrounding you, it was comforting and as you listened to Al's story you felt yourself start to relax for the first time in a few weeks.

That was until you felt his hands begin to wander. Your body tensed up, and you didn't have to turn around to know he was smirking wider than before. That bastard knew what he was starting. "Relax darlin' ain't gonna bite...yet," he hums as he nudges your neck with his nose, taking pride in hearing how your heart skips a beat. "Beat you'd love that, wouldn't you? Love having me mark my girl, " he teases you as his leg starts to bounce.

"L-lo?" You muttered a little confused about what he was doing. He shushes you quietly. "Let me try something, darlin." You nodded and tried to focus on Al's story, but it was getting harder and harder as Logan started to move his leg a bit faster. He could smell how wet you were getting, not to mention feel it on his jeans. As you were moving against his leg you felt your clit rub against him more and more. Your mind was starting to get fuzzy, and all you could really focus on was him on you, one hand moving to your ass while the other stayed firmly on your hip, his lips traveling across the skin of your neck and your panties rubbing against his jeans. Fuck he was trying to kill you.

Just as you were about to cum his teeth caught your ear, you chocked on a moan making him tsk against you "gotta be quiet, don't want everyone to know you're such a slut for me"

You were trying to squirm out of his grasp and fight back your moans as you came on his leg. He cooed and praised you while kissing your neck, "Such a good girl for me, making such a pretty mess for me, princess." You fell against him thinking he'd give you a break, but as he continued moving you along his leg, you knew it was going to be a long night.

Tagging:

@userchai

@mahi-tamashi

@100percentlazybonez

@lanassmarty

@western-pyro

@misscrissfemmefatale

@marit332

@navs-bhat

@fluffy-b33z

@chaimshelii

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Bitter

Azriel x Reader - One Shot - Angst

Elain orders a couple shots. Azriel’s ex serves her.

“Now I’m sick in the head and it’s not even my fault”

She laughs as she approaches the bar. Lovely, beautiful, kind. Gods, she smells like honey and roses too. She even says “please” as she orders two shots of Patron.

I’m almost surprised, Patron for such a flowery thing. The most girls like her typically order are Lemon Drops. A sugar sweet rim with a bit of sour beneath.

I’m sure he encouraged her. Tequila, his drink of choice for the ladies. The clothes fall off easier that way.

I’d know.

Four years, four years I’d worked here and never gone home with a customer.

Until the Shadowsinger.

He had those sad brooding eyes that you can’t help but want to fix. Hazel irises that seeped into the marrow of your bones like a cancer, seeking out the guarded depths of the soul.

“He’s been gone for nearly fifty years now.” He’d say as he threw back another two finger pour of whiskey - neat.

“The court isn’t the same without him. Even from a business standpoint, our imports are lacking. Which is fine, but it’s a testament to the effect the High Lord has on this court.” I’d reply as I poured him another.

“Yeah…..” he’d trail off. My heart clenched at the emotion disguised by a stoic facade, the slight feathering of his jaw before throwing back the next shot.

I’d take care of a few other patrons, returning back to the Shadowsinger with another round from the occasional guest who’d send him a shot. Despite the “Illyrian bastard” reputation he blasted, he’s revered in Velaris, he fares quite well in the bedroom. What’s the classic phrase? Tall, dark, and handsome? Yeah, he’s got all that. That and a tragic backstory, a perfectly symmetrical face, and the highly gossiped about wingspan.

Females and males alike line up for a chance to have those scarred hands wrapped around their throat. A chance to win his heart through sexual prowess and witty one liners.

I didn’t even want him. Perhaps that’s what caught his eye. A customer who tipped well? Of course he was that. I gave him a free shot once for being patient while an influx of customers waved dollar bills at me desperate for their next shot in advance of the rest of the queue.

The nights that he sat at the bar extended later and later until it became routine for him to pop in, take a seat, and shut the place down- all from the shroud of wispy shadows.

When was the first time he fucked me in the alley? The first night he walked me home? The first night my cat curled up behind him as my head rested in the crook of his arm?

“It’s not serious.” I told myself as I came to depend on him like heroin. He sure as shit didn’t make it feel that way.

There were plans. Plans for what we’d do together when things settled down.

Rosehall was beautiful in the spring but a winter wonderland in December. Even the Illyrian Steppes had lovely secrets if you knew where to look. He couldn’t wait to cradle me in his arms as those membranous wings took flight to all the wonders he’d share with me.

There was the attack on Velaris. My apartment building was wrecked. He never came to check in.

Then the war came and I understood.

I was certain he was busy.

But I didn’t see him again.

Until tonight.

And here she is. Warm and lovely, she tipped well before walking back to the table with those two shots of Patron. I told her they were on the house.

I want to hate her. I want to loathe him. It would make me feel better, right?

But being bitter leaves the soul weathered, so I pour another shot, serve the next customer, cash out, and saunter home.

And if a stray shadow lurks in the dark as I wander, that’s not my business anymore.

—————————————-

Tags:

ACOTAR General: @lilah-asteria @thecollegecowgirl @mochibabycakes @nickishadow139 @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @ahaha0246

[robo-writing]

Logan happy trail. Logan happy trail. Logan happy trail—

You’d never stoop so low as to say you have a favorite part of Logan—he’s your boyfriend after all, you love him for all his faults and features. There isn’t a single thing you could ever definitively point out and say “that’s my favorite.”

However, if you had to choose—

“Christ doll, you’re lookin’ at me like a starving dog,” he says with a smug. “What’s got you so worked up?”

You’ve been waiting for him to come back from training all day, sitting on the couch practically counting the seconds. The training session he just came from must have been intense; shirt off, his entire torso glistening with sweat—his happy trail on full display.

You don’t even pretend to be ashamed, blatantly staring at the lovely trail of hair that starts from his belly and moves further down to where the rest is covered by a pair of low-hanging jeans. You’re forcefully pulled from your ogling, hand at your chin, removing your attention from his beautiful patch of hair to his face.

“Y’know, it’s rude to stare,” He whispers. His eyes hold only bad intentions, and you’re happy to oblige, leaning into his touch.

“Kinda wanna do more than just stare,” you whisper back.

His thumb reaches to stroke your cheek. You enjoy the soft touch, hands wandering closer to his torso to stroke the hair that’s been tempting you since he walked through the door, until he catches them in his own with a shake of his head.

“Baby, you know that’s bad manners,” He lets your face go and hooks his thumbs below his belt line, pulling his jeans down even further, exposing the veins that start to run from his v-line.

“If you want to touch, ask nicely.”

The words leave your lips embarrassingly fast. “Can I touch you? Please?”

Your thighs are rubbing together, hands at your side obediently. When he nods his head you reach forward, sliding your hands across his hot skin, nails scratching lightly with each pass, the softest groans escaping Logan with each touch.

“Good girl,” he praises. “Take what you want.”

Spurred on by his words you pull his pants down, boxers strained by the visible outline of his cock. Feeling mischievous, you place a kiss through the fabric, smile widening as you feel it twitch between your plump lips. He hisses in response, fingers curling around your hair.

“Don’t be a tease, or else I’ll leave you here all by yourself,” he says, tugging your head slightly. “We got a deal?”

You couldn’t say no if you tried, so pent up just the sound of his voice gets you riled up. “Promise, just lemme have a taste, I’ll behave.”

He mumbles something under his breath, tugging himself free. Pretty and pink, his cock in full view, still every bit as beautiful no matter how many times you see it. Your tongue peaks out from your lips, tracing every vein with excitement, a smile on your face as he strokes your hair.

“Just needed a taste, is that it?” He groans, rubbing his shiny tip against your lips. “Just needed your boyfriend’s fat cock in your mouth, didn’t you?”

You moan in response, opening your mouth as he feeds you what you’ve been waiting for. Slowly, gently, your tongue massaging the salty skin, inch by inch. Your hand reaches up to scratch at his happy trail and you can feel his cock twitch in response, a gruff laugh vibrating from his chest.

“Oh fuck me, you’re evil,” he sighs. You give him another scratch in response, enjoying the pre-cum that coats your tongue after.

The size of him never fails to make you work for it, heavy against your tongue as your spit runs down your chin. The sounds you make are lewd, sloppy—his fingers push your head further, forcing you to make more. One hand reaches to fondle his balls, the other still resting against his pubes. The feeling leaves Logan breathless, involuntarily thrusting against the wet heat of your mouth.

There’s only a single thread of self-control stopping him from grabbing your head with both hands and fucking your mouth, and you needed it cut yesterday. You force his hands into your hair, stare up at him with your best bedroom eyes, then lap at his balls.

His reaction is heavenly—eyes rolled back, hips stuttering, stomach sucked in as he calls your name.

“Darlin’ you’re gonna kill me,” he huffs, taking your head in his heads. Your lips return to the head of his cock, suckling at his sensitive tip when his fingers tighten in your hair.

You see his eyes darken, your only warning coming in the form of a command. “Keep your mouth open for me doll.”

Your pussy throbs, tongue unraveled as every inch of him slips past your lips and into your throat. Your eyes roll at the feeling, nose touching that oh-so-divine hair that got you here in the first place.

“Gonna fuck your mouth,” he grunts, “Ready for me?”

You moan your approval around his thick length, then gag as he makes good on his word. Every thrust has your hands bracing against his thick thighs, forced to do everything in your power not to choke. Your eyes water, nose full of his musky scent, drool pooling down your chest so much that it leaves a stain against your shirt.

Your brain is filled with nothing but Logan—his taste, his smell, the sound of his moans—it sends your body into overdrive, grinding against the fabric of the couch as he continues to use you for his own pleasure. You’re almost certain you’re leaving a stain against the pillows.

“Real desperate for it huh?” He hisses, using your mouth as a toy. “Gonna cum just like this ain’t you?”

Your lust-addled brain can’t even begin to form a response, but Logan smiles at your fucked-out expression anyway. He doesn’t need you to confirm what he already knows.

When he comes it’s with a shout, leaving you choking against his cock as you struggle to swallow it all. What you can’t runs from the sides of your mouth, his dick coated in a mix of saliva and seed. You greedily gulp down air, a cock-drunk smile plastered against your features as you kiss at his softening cock, then bury your face and nuzzle again his happy trail, tasting the sweat that lingers. The sticky feeling between your legs makes you think at some point you came, pussy still throbbing with that familiar aftershock.

You look like hell, but damn it if you aren’t satisfied—hair a mess, spit and cum staining your skin, tears running down your cheeks—Logan thinks you’re beautiful like this.

“I know vacuums that got less suction than you, fucking hell,” Logan says, still out of breath from what was most certainly a mind-blowing orgasm. He leans down to kiss at your cum-stained lips, messy and unoriented. “Hope you’re ready for me to return the favor princess, because we ain’t finished.”

[lidiasloca]

can i request a funny drabble? one with nyx being friends with reader for and she finally meets feyre and rhysand and she whispers to him,

” i see where you get your looks from, your mom and dad are dilfs snd milfs ”

and anytime they’re out she always kind of flirts with feyre and says hi ms archereon with a smile.

meeting the high lord and high lady

nyx x reader - rhys x reader - feyre x reader

fluff

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄☆

you knew who your best friend’s parents were. of course you knew. it was, in a way, the reason why you had become friends. 

on the first day at the training camp, you saw him there, alone, no one brave enough to speak to the high lord and lady’s only son. 

but you couldn’t have cared less when the most powerful boy in the camp set eyes on you and asked if he could borrow your wooden sword, having lost his. his words were soft, and his eyes so timid – you instantly knew you’d be great friends.

and you are now. such good friends that he finally asked you to meet his parents. it was no big deal meeting your friend’s parents – unless they were none other than the high lords of your court.

so, you were very, very nervous. 

“alright, i’m going to knock now, okay?” nyx asked, holding his hand up. “calm down.”

“i am calm.” you clearly were not. 

his lips formed a thin line, obviously holding back a remark. then, he finally knocked.

and – oh gods.

you could almost hear your friend’s words echo in your head. “act normal, stupid.”

but how could you? in front of you stood a literal goddess. no, it was beauty in the form of a female.

“hi! you must be y/n.” she smiled, and you felt like swooning. “i’m feyre. nice to meet you.”

“you are so beautiful,” you found yourself whispering.

her smile turned into a surprised beam, and from the corner of your eye, you saw the mortification of her son.

“thank you, love. you’re a beauty yourself.”

you chuckled nervously, almost ready to jump into her arms.

was it crazy to propose to her on your knees right there in front of nyx?

“let’s get inside, for fuck’s sake,” he grumbled in irritation. your best friend had told you how he always had to endure people drooling over his parents, and now you understood why.

“language,” feyre warned, and it was the most beautiful threat you had ever heard someone sing. gods – you had to play it cooler than this.

“could you behave, y/n?” he whisper-yelled as you followed feyre into the house.

you gave him a nod, accompanied by a cheeky grin that told him you were no longer nervous, just excited to spend the whole dinner watching his beautiful mother. by the way his sharp eyes glared at you, you knew he was not happy about it.

“rhys! they’re here!”

“coming,” a masculine voice called from somewhere far off. if the male was half as beautiful as his raspy voice, you knew you were really going to swoon.

you almost had to catch yourself when the high lord appeared through the door. “oh, gods.”

nyx elbowed you hard, but you couldn’t care less as the male smiled at you. “i’m rhysand. and you are?”

you couldn’t form any words, but the cauldron gifted you with feyre’s enchanting voice to help. “she’s y/n.”

“y/n,” he repeated, and it sounded heavenly. “great to meet you.”

“is dinner ready?” nyx cut in, clearly tired of this.

“yes, it is,” rhysand responded, his sharp eyes telling his son to act nicer. “and i hope you don’t mind,” he continued, now looking at you, “a friend is coming over to dine with us.”

“uncle cassian?” your friend asked.

“not exactly,” another voice you didn’t recognize answered. and – what a voice...

“please tell me it’s not azriel – y/n is going to swoon,” nyx muttered under his breath, but you heard it perfectly well. in fact, it was the last thing you heard before the most handsome male walked into the room.

“i’m azriel. nice to meet you.”

-Characters by Sarah J Maas

a/n: guys! lizzy mcalpine's "come down soon" is so so great. no, but really, go listen it, bc wow. well, hope you like this fic, if you did, maybe go check my masterlist :))

[nerdy-novelist017]

Soaked (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader Reader pt 8)

Hello, my lovelies! Sorry this took forever to write and post but I’ve been very busy with real life (ew) and I’m actually posting this while I’m on vacation. I wrote it on the plane and am posting in the car so please be kind if you see any mistakes hehe 😉

Benny x Bunny Masterlist

Word Count- 4.7k+

Summary- Benny’s never wanted anything as much as he wants to marry you, but with such different lives, you’re not so sure it will be as easy as he claims.

You felt the wind surge around you as Benny accelerated down the main road, his motorcycle roaring beneath you both. The world blurred past in a whirlwind of colors, but all you could focus on was the way your heart lifted, how a thrill of excitement shot through you as you zoomed past the rest of the gang. He did it just because he knew it’d make you giggle. And you did, the sound escaping you in a way that felt so carefree, so full of joy especially as you shot past Johnny and the others, leaving them in your dirt.

The wind was relentless, blowing your hair out of its carefully manicured braid, but you didn’t find yourself caring much anymore. The days spent with Benny had a way of shifting everything you thought had mattered. The things that once held so much weight – social status, gossip, public appearances – no longer seemed as important anymore. With Benny, it was almost like discovering a whole new world. No, not a new world. The same streets passed beneath the tires, the same faces you once worried about still existed. The world was still the same, but it was how he viewed it that felt so different. He didn’t care what others thought about him, didn’t pay attention to their expectations. He lived in his own world, surrounded by others like him that didn’t conform to the societal molds – people that you wouldn’t have even approached just based on their appearance. You never considered yourself a very judgemental person, but because of Benny, you have met and befriended people you could have never imagined.

That’s one of the things you loved about Benny. He wasn’t like anyone you had ever met before. He was different. And you were beginning to love that too.

He pulled off the main road, stopping in his signature spot in front of the club house. The roar of the rest of the gang pulling up sounded in the distance as Benny helped you off the bike. He held his grip on your hand, lacing his own fingers through yours as he pulled you gently into the bar. You followed him inside where the Vandals’ laughter and chatter soon filled the air. A familiar buzz of camaraderie enveloped the place, and before long, you found yourself seated around the table with a few of the core members. Benny was close – as always – with his arm draped over your shoulder.

“Hey, Bunny,” Cockroach’s voice cut through the sea of noise as he leaned forward and used his beer bottle to point at you. “When are you finally gonna say yes to our boy Benny, here?”

You stiffened slightly, the weight of the question hanging in the air and drawing the attention of the others at the table.

“Oh yeah,” Corky piped up, one eyebrow playfully cocked in a challenge. “He’s been asking, what, 100 times now? What’s the holdup? He’s not getting any younger, ya know?”

Heat filled your face at their teasing. Though Corky’s words were a bit of an exaggeration, they weren’t technically wrong. Since your kiss behind the clubhouse, Benny has asked you to marry him almost every day, sometimes more than once in a day. It had started by him mentioning married life in casual conversation, and you jokingly pointed out that he hadn’t actually proposed to begin with – not traditionally. And you were shocked to see him abandon everything he was doing in the moment to ask you to marry him. You giggled and rolled your eyes at his dramatics, but something deeper inside you caused your heart to flutter nervously. Since then, he’s asked several times, some in passing, a casual remark slipped into the conversation. Other times, he’d pause what he was doing, drop to one knee and grin up at you as if he were waiting for you to give in. But each time you’d laugh it off, brush it aside as him being unserious.

“Maybe I’m just waiting for the right moment?” you replied as you timidly played with the chain of your necklace, trying to deflect the attention.

“The right moment?” Cockroach parroted in disbelief. “He’s been proposin’ left and right for a week. Hell, I’d have said yes after the first time if it were me!”

The group laughed, and you tensed under Benny’s arm, wanting to melt into the floor from embarrassment. Benny squeezed your hand reassuringly, and he leaned, his voice dropping to a low murmur that was only meant for you, “They don’t mean nothin’ by that, you know that.”

You nodded, not trusting your own voice. He was right, you knew that. They didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but the constant razzing – especially with this particular subject – was start to weigh on you.

“Yeah, c’mon, Bunny,” Cal chimed in from across the way, “What’s it gonna take? Benny’s a catch! He’s got the bike, the looks, the . . . mommy’s issues. If you don’t say yes soon, you might lose your chance.”

That playful jab was too much for Benny who stiffened next to you. You expected him to get angry, to blow up like you had seen your father do when he was upset. But instead, Benny leaned forward, eyes narrowing with a playful glint that you had come to adore. The table was buzzing with laughter, but he wasn’t about to let the spotlight stay on you for too long. Without missing a beat, he flashed a grin at Corky, his hand raised as he said, “Alright, alright. But let’s not pretend you all ain’t desperate for a distraction since none of you can keep a bike upright without fallin’ on your asses.”

The table roared with laughter and Corky’s mouth fell open in mock offense. “That was one time! And I had an oil slick!”

Johnny immediately jumped in, “Yeah Corky, an oil slick you created when your bike was leakin’ everywhere.”

Laughter erupted again and you shot Benny a grateful look as the guys started ribbing Corky about his infamous fall. Benny’s eyes met yours briefly, his thumb brushing your hand under the table in a silent message: I’ve got you. Most of the group knew you were shy and did not appreciate being the center of attention in a crowd, and they respected that. However, there were a few class clowns (as Benny called them) who loved to tease you, knowing it could get a reaction without fail. But Benny never let it go on for long, always shutting them down when he recognized your discomfort.

They’ve never teased you about marriage though. You had to wonder if Benny had voiced his irritation to them at some point or if they had picked up on your hesitation organically. Either way, it left you feeling bad. Excusing yourself, you wiggled out of Benny’s grasp as you stood and made your way for the restroom, needing a moment to breathe, to clear your head. But just as you reached the back of the bar, a voice stopped you.

“You ain’t gotta worry about what they say to you,” Funny Sonny stood leaning casually against the bar top as he sipped a glass of whiskey. “That just means they like you, accept you.”

You paused, glancing over your shoulder at the table of rowdy bikers. “I’m just not . . . used to it. All the teasin’.”

Sonny nodded, his disheveled hair falling into his eyes as he grinned. “You’ll get used to it. Won’t be long till you’re the one throwing out the first jabs.”

He said it so nonchalantly, as if it were the most obvious course of action, as if you weren’t from completely different worlds. You furrowed your brows, eyes casting downwards as you admitted, “I’m not so sure about that. I’m not at all like you guys.”

“You don’t gotta be like us to be with us. We’re family here and family means lookin’ out for each other, even the ones who came from different backgrounds,” he said, his voice lowering a register to a bit more of a serious tone.

His words settled over you like a warm blanket, the concept so foreign yet so familiar. Family. You knew what that was, you had one, you were loved by one. But for some reason, it felt like it meant something different with the Vandals. They chose their family, stood by them despite no blood relation. Your parents loved you, you knew that. They showed it in their own ways every day. But by default, they had to love you. With the Vandals, they chose to care for each other, chose to look out for each other. In a way, it almost seemed more powerful, more profound.

Being Benny’s girl didn’t just mean he alone had your best interest at heart. It also meant having the rest of the Vandals on your side too, all of them looking out for you. You weren’t sure if you’ve ever experienced such an intense loyalty before, even from blood relatives. And it left you with a warm feeling in your chest.

When you returned to the table, Benny was already standing as if he were waiting for you. His eyes met yours with a slight unease, almost like he thought you wouldn’t come back, like he thought you were so upset that you’d sneak out the backdoor.

“Wanna go for a night ride?” he asked, his voice soft as his hand extended out for you.

Your heart squeezed at his thoughtfulness. He knew how much you were growing to enjoy the feeling of blazing down the empty streets under a star-filled sky with him. A smile tugged at your lips, and you took his hand without hesitation, nodding.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips as your hand slid into his own. You were vaguely aware of the groans and exaggerated protests from the table about the night being still young, but you didn’t hesitate to follow Benny as he led you to the door. He pulled you along to his Harley, the cool and fresh air a welcome change.

The tension from earlier still lingered as Benny’s hand touched your leg, helping you onto the back of the bike. You wrapped your arms around his torso, pressing your face into his back, finding solace in the familiar scent from his jacket.

He drove you around the city, stars and stop lights shining above, engine roaring below. He eventually pulled off the main drag, heading down a quieter road that led out of town. The blacktop blurred beneath you as he slowed the speed to more of a lazy joyride. He took a familiar turn, stopping at the small pull off area before a bridge. The sound of the engine faded as he brought the bike to a stop, the air filling with crickets’ song. The night’s air was breezy, but a welcome change from the hot, loud atmosphere of the clubhouse.

Benny dismounted first, reaching out to help you down. His touch – lingering longer than necessary – against your arm felt electric, sending a jolt of butterflies to your stomach, his eyes searching your face as if he was trying to read your thoughts. The two of you walked over the concrete bridge, pausing once in the middle. You leaned over the railing, getting lost in the gentle swirl of the water below. But Benny was lost in the sight of you.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice low, the usual playful teasing replaced by something softer and reserved only for you.

With your heart beating hard at his gentle tone, you nodded. “I’m fine.”

He frowned, reaching out to brush a loose strand of hair from your face. “I know the guys can be a bit much. I don’t like when they tease you like that. I didn’t mean for them to make you uncomfortable.”

You couldn’t help but smile a bit at his words, knowing that wanting to protect you was something he took very seriously, even if it meant from his own friends, his own family.

“I know,” you responded softly, leaning your chin on your hand over the railing.

“I’ll talk to them, make sure they won’t raz you like that anymore,” he promised, his expression serious.

“It’s not that. It’s just . . . I don’t know. It’s a lot to get used to,” you admitted gently. Before Benny, you’d never even been in a bar before, never ridden a motorcycle, never stayed out past curfew. He was a completely different experience than you were accustomed to. And now he wanted you to marry, after only knowing him for a few weeks. He wanted to be your husband, your partner for life. Your life felt like a bit of a whirlwind ever since you met him, but you wanted to be certain it wasn’t just fun because it was new.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just stood there, his eyes tracing your features, his hand resting over your own. You could practically see the gears turning in his brain, something in him conflicted. Finally, he released a soft sigh, putting an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in close. “You don’t have to answer them, you know. Hell, you don’t have to answer me. Not till you’re ready.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you breathed in his scent – leather, smoke and something uniquely Benny. “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that I . . . ”

Benny pulled back slightly, his fingers tilting your chin up to meet his gaze, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. “Hey, you don’t owe anyone an explanation, not even me. You’ll say yes when you’re ready. And when that time comes, I’ll be here. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips as it was your turn to kid. “How do you know I’ll say yes?”

Benny’s smile was gentle but still roguishly confident. His hand lingered on your cheek, his fingers tracing down the curve of your jaw as if he were mapping every detail of you. “I just know. When you feel it – when it’s real – you just know.”

He said it so simply as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, as if love were the most uncomplicated concept. You didn’t understand that, couldn’t see it that way. You’d seen the love your parents shared and that was beautiful and kind but it was also messy and cruel more often than not. And you understood that your parents were not the only representation of what love and marriage was supposed to be, but it was a constant presence in your life. They didn’t have perfect love, not like what you’d see in the movies or read in books. And you wondered if maybe you were giving too high of expectations for what love was supposed to be, but what you felt when you were around Benny . . . well, it felt exactly like the books described.

The way he looked at you, as if you were the most important thing in the world, made you feel so seen. The way he listened to you as if you were the most entertaining show, made you feel so heard. And the truth was undeniable: you were falling for Benny faster than you thought possible. It was terrifying. Benny was all fire and freedom, a rebel who didn’t play by the rules, who followed his own path with reckless abandon. And you admired that about him, but the thought of stepping into his world permanently felt like stepping off a ledge into the unknown.

“What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” he asked, pulling you back into the present.

You pulled back slightly, biting your lip in contemplation before speaking your mind, “Don’t you wonder if there are other girls out there that you haven’t even met yet? Girls who are more suited for you?”

He shook his head, his voice light as he said, “Nah, I know you’re the only one for me, kid.”

“But marriage is serious. It’s forever.”

His hand slid down to your hip, turning you to face him fully, his expression solemn. “I never . . . I never thought marriage was real. The way I saw my mom and old man together . . . what they had wasn’t love. And I realized that at an early age. I didn’t think it was something that was real, just a bunch of fairytale bullshit you tell little kids. The girls I’ve been with, girls that may have been more suited for me, have never made me feel what I feel with you, Bunny. This is serious to me too because it proves everything I’ve never believed in.”

Emotion caught in the back of your throat as you pictured the man standing before you as just a boy living in a toxic household, an unloving home. It made you want to hold him tight, to shield him from the rest of the world. The man who held you so gently, who took you for night rides just to cheer you up. The man who came to your bake sale when nobody else did. The man who promised to drive slow so as not to scare you. The man who said he’d follow you all the way to California so that you didn’t have to go by yourself. The man who taught you about his hobbies with eagerness, and listened to yours with attentiveness.

He deserved to be loved in the same way he loved. But the tragic thing was that he didn’t see that, couldn’t comprehend someone loving him like that. He was damaged by his childhood, and you realized that he didn’t think he was worthy of repair. But you’d show him that he was, that he was worthy of everything he never had.

Slowly, you lifted your hands to gently cup his face, and his breath hitched in his throat. There was a shift in his expression – his usual teasing and bravado now replaced with some raw and unguarded as though he was offering you a glimpse into a deeper part of him, one rarely ever shown to anyone.

He pressed his forehead to yours, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “You’re not just some girl to me, Bunny. You know that, right?”

The words sent a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t playing around now, not hiding behind his usual flirty quips. His sincerity was almost overwhelming. You swallowed thickly. “But what if I mess this up? What if I’m the one who can’t do this?”

Benny’s brows furrowed and he lifted a hand to brush across your cheek, his touch gentle but grounding. “You won’t. You couldn’t, even if you tried.”

“You’re making it sound so easy,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, as if you didn’t quite believe him.

Benny could feel your tremble, the shaky laugh betraying your nerves you were trying so hard to hide. He could sense your heart racing, and he wanted so desperately to be the one to soothe it, to take away the hesitation in your eyes. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, the soft curve of it making his heart ache in his chest. He loved how your lips quivered just slightly under his touch. He loved making you blush, loved teasing you until you looked at him like you were annoyed or completely at his mercy. But this . . . this was different. His touch lingered on your lip, slow and almost reverent as he savored the way you responded to him. It wasn’t about teasing anymore – it was about showing you what you meant to him.

“It is,” he murmured, his voice a little rougher than he intended “It’s easy because it’s you.”

The air between you felt electric as his hand slid down the curve of your neck, his fingers lingering there, feeling the steady thrum of your heartbeat that seemed to match his own wild one. He ducked his head slightly as he whispered, “You’re scared. But you don’t need to be.”

He meant it, more than he meant anything in his life. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes again, searching for any sign of doubt, any sign that you didn’t feel the same way he did. Your eyes – wide and uncertain – met his, and Benny felt the weight of his words over them both.

“How can you be so sure?” you asked, your soft voice almost disappearing in the night.

And how could he explain it, especially since he’s never been good at explaining his feelings? How could he put into words what was so abundantly clear to him? That you made everything – even the most outrageous things – seem possible. That with you, he didn’t feel like just some fuck-up waiting for the next diaster. With you he felt grounded, like he belonged somewhere. Like you saw him for more than just the wild, reckless kid everyone else saw.

“Because you make me sure,” he responded with a gentle, encouraging smile as his hands moved to tilt your chin upwards to him. “You make my life feel like it’s supposed to.”

His gaze moved down to your mouth once more as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, and he simply couldn’t resist anymore. He closed the gap, brushing his lips so softly against your own. The kiss was gentle, tender, but as you responded to his touch, the need that had been simmering inside him for so long flared to life. His hands dropped down to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, smiling into the kiss when he heard your slight gasp.

His heart pounded in his chest as the world seemed to fade away briefly until it was just you and him, just this. He never wanted to stop, never wanted to let you go.

But you did eventually pull away, the need to breathe becoming all consuming. Breathlessly, he pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes remaining closed as he focused on slowing his pulse. His hands remained on your waist, holding you like you might slip away if he let go.

“You see?” he whispered as his lips brushing against your forehead softly. “It’s easy being with you.”

You giggled and his heart soared at the melody. It took everything in him not to pull you back into another kiss, not to hold onto you like you were the only thing that kept him grounded.

His lips still tingled from the kiss, and he could taste the faint sweetness of your breath, the softness of your lips. It wasn’t enough. It never felt like enough for Benny. He wanted more of you. He’d never wanted anything like he wanted you, never craved anyone like he craved you. It was almost unbearable, like every second where he wasn’t touching you was a second wasted.

And yet, he knew you were scared. He could see it in the way you looked down at your shoes, could hear it in the timidity of your voice. It only made him want to protect you more, to make you see that being with him would never be something you had to fear. But he didn’t know how to say that without sounding like he was pushing, without making you feel like you were being rushed into a decision that was as much about you as it was him.

But damn if he didn’t want to make you his.

He opened his eyes and pulled back enough to look at you face again, to really take you in. And my god, the way you were looking up at him with those wide, innocent eyes made his chest tighten. And you didn’t even realize how much power you had over him. One look, one smile, and he was a goner.

Before either of you could speak, thunder cracked off in the distance, bringing you both back to the present, back to the rest of the world. You glanced up at the dark clouds that blew in to cover the stars, wondering how long you had stood on this bridge with Benny.

“Guess we should get back,” you said sheepishly.

“Guess so,” Benny replied with a lazy grin as though the storm could come crashing down and he’d still be perfectly content standing here with you.

“Do you think it’s going to rain?” you asked as you walked to his bike, glancing up at the thick, dark clouds blowing in from the west.

“Nah,” he said as he swung a leg over the bike with that signature confidence that made your heart race. “We’ll be fine.”

Famous last words.

******

By the time Benny pulled up to your house, rain was pouring from the sky like a waterfall, fat and heavy droplets splattering onto the sidewalk. Despite wearing Benny’s Vandals jacket, the rain had completely soaked you. Your hair, which had been meticulously pinned up just hours ago, was plastered to your face, and your dress clung to your body like a second skin.

You didn’t wait for him to shut off the bike before you hopped off and tugged on his sleeve.

“C’mon!” You laughed, tugging on Benny’s sleeve as you ran for the safety of your porch overhang. Your heels splashed through the water pooling on the blacktop, and he followed quickly behind, his warm hands finding your waist to steady you from falling as you both stumbled beneath the overhang.

Breathless and grinning like an idiot, you turned to face him, and you were momentarily stunned by the sight. Rainwater rolled down from his usually swept up hair, sliding down the curve of his cheekbones and falling off his jawline. He only wore a whote t shirt, the wet fabric turning almost transparent as it clung to every ridge, every toned muscle and you blinked before your gaze shot back up to his face. Even as wet as a drowned rat, he still managed to look so effortlessly sexy.

He was grinning at you with that boyish expression, and heat filled your face at the realization that you were just as soaked as he was but definitely not as pretty a sight. You probably looked like a mess — makeup smeared, hair ruined — but he was staring at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

“Not gonna rain, huh?” you teased, quirking an eyebrow at the heavy rainfall just off your porch.

“Just a light sprinkle,” he returned easily, but you noticed he had to bite his bottom lip to keep from laughing.

“Do you wanna come in?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. “To dry off?”

He sobered instantly, his gaze raking over your form before moving to your front door. He’d never been inside your house, never seen where you call home, where you lay down at night and replay your memories of him. There was never really an option for him to be inside your house. He’d never met your parents — despite asking multiple times to meet them, but you couldn’t bring yourself to put neither your parents nor Benny though that. Deep down, you knew your father would never approve of Benny, never give him his blessing. It was a disaster waiting to happen when he found out that you were dating a biker. You begged your mother to keep it a secret to which she obliged, but you knew it wouldn’t be long till he found out.

Benny took a full step back from you, hesitation obvious in his face, his voice low and almost regretful he said. “I—I better not, Bun.”

Normally, you wouldn’t ask again after being denied, wouldn’t be so bold. But you weren’t the same girl you were a few weeks ago before you met Benny. Emboldened by the perfect opportunity to have him inside your home, to share a piece of yourself with him, you stepped forward.

You took a step forward, your voice soft but sure. “My parents aren’t home. C’mon, just to dry off and wait till the rain lets up a little. You can’t drive in that anyway. It’s not safe and I won’t let you.”

Benny released a breath that sounded a lot like a laugh as he shook his head, clearly conflicted by your invitation. And for a moment, you thought he might shake his head and turn away. You thought he might face the rainstorm and leave you behind.

But instead, he nodded and your heart soared at the small gesture. Filled with hopeful energy, you shot him a smile, moving to open the front door and invite him inside your home, inside your world.

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[haikyu-mp4]

Delivery boy

word count; 717 – f!reader

Akaashi gulped as he reread the order to ensure he wasn’t hallucinating his predicament.

Please send your cutest delivery boy<3

The sushi shop he worked at was family-owned, mainly run by the older family members, whose children went to university and couldn’t help deliver anymore. Thus, they hired him.

And when someone sent this request with their delivery order, the ladies had cooed and assured him he must be exactly what they were looking for. Those ladies loved their sweet, honorary family member.

He, however, wasn’t so sure. He looked at his reflection in a window he passed on his bike, pulling at the collar of his uniform and feeling the clammy edge, suddenly also noticing how the hair that peeked out of his cap clung to his forehead.

Honestly, didn’t feel like the kind of cute boy they wanted. At least not today.

Not when he had rolled out of bed way too late after studying until midnight last night. He broke his shower time record this morning and was incredibly thankful for his uniform including a cap when he had to leave it to dry by itself on the way to work.

Turning onto your street, he shook his head, trying to rid it of irrelevant negative thoughts. He has to deliver it anyway, it’s just a funny request.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine.

He parked his bike by the curb, taking a look around for anyone who looked like they might want a new bike for free before choosing to put the bike lock on even if he wasn’t staying.

The window on the door greeted him with his reflection once again, and he instinctively adjusted his glasses. Checking the names on the doorbells for the apartment building, he found the right one according to the order instructions and rang it.

It didn’t take long before he could hear two giggling voices from behind the door, making him purse his lips nervously and clutch the bag of food that he pulled from the delivery bag a minute ago.

“Hi! Can I pay by card?” you asked while Akaashi handed over your order. He nodded, going back into the delivery bag to fish out the handheld card machine.

“Did you write cutest boy in town?”

“Shh!” you hushed your friend, who hid behind the other door and just peeked at Akaashi through the little window. “Sorry about that…” you mumbled and held up your credit card, which was decorated with cute stickers.

Akaashi cleared his throat, completely overthinking it and assuming your friend thought you had forgotten to specify since you only got him. “I’m sorry, we currently don’t have any other delivery staff.”

You looked up with wide eyes, startling him. “What? No, you’re plenty cute!” you clarified before planting your face in your hands in defeat. “I mean- don’t worry about it. You’re great.”

Akaashi tried not to smile, finding you beautiful already and even sweeter when you were flustered. Flustered about him nonetheless. “Oh. Thank you.”

You came out of hiding to pay, but quickly lifted your card again. “Wait, is there a student discount?”

Akaashi hummed in thought before nodding, turning the machine’s screen back to himself. “Can I see your student ID?”

He was rolling on his heels while you fumbled for the other card in your pocket, holding it up so he could check. Instead of looking at the date, like he was supposed to, he observed your name and picture, then the school logo in the corner.

“Hm? We go to the same university.”

While he put in the student discount and then held the card reader out again, you said something about hoping you might see him around.

His teeth showed when he smiled, keeping his eyes on where the payment was confirmed because he knew that looking at your pretty face might give him heart palpitations at this point. 

There was an added tip as well, so he politely bowed his head before stepping back. “I’ll keep my eye out for you.”

He practically skipped down the steps, back straight as he glanced over his shoulder and just managed to catch you still looking at him through the window on the door before disappearing when he caught you.

Cutest delivery boy in town, huh.

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