#sting like syrup

[kelin-is-writing]

guys… my throat stings… i’ve got a bad feeling about this 💀

[ddejavvu]

hmmm mean!logan who makes a GREAT brat tamer, who will give your ass a quick slap in public for embarrassing him or talking back to him and gets you over his lap the moment you’re alone to really let you have it

bro… I need a hard, firm hand to show me who’s boss lmao

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

contents/warnings: smut, minors dni, mean!logan, spanking, brat taming, don't like don't read.

"I want some." You appeal to Logan one day, glancing at the rather intimidating drink in his hand. It's straight liquor, no sweet syrups or even ice to tamp down the effects. He drinks hard, something he's built a tolerance to over his long life, aided by his remarkable healing abilities. What he drinks makes your eyes water and your throat itch, but today you're feeling brave- perhaps from the drink in your own hand.

"No." He says simply, raising his glass to his lips and taking a hefty swig. It lowers the volume of liquor in the glass substantially, but he swallows it like it's water. You watch as the muscles in his neck contract slightly with the motion of his throat, and perhaps they tense at the sharp taste, but he remains mostly reactionless to the drink he's downing. You, however, would be tipping over.

"Come on, please? Just a little bit? I just want to try." You plead, bracing your hands on his arm in hopes that he'll take pity on you. But he doesn't, and all that's sent your way is a warning glance.

"Nothing bad's gonna happen." You insist, "If I get all loopy you can just take me home."

"I said no." His voice is gruff, and something indignant sparks in your chest. Fine. You're a grown woman- you can order one yourself. You've seen Logan order it a thousand times, you know it by heart and you'll pay for it yourself. He can't stop you.

You spin with a huff towards the bar, stalking towards the bartender with determination that Logan should be afraid of. Seconds before you can reach the bar, your fingertips inches away from the smooth, albeit sticky surface, Logan's hand grips your arm tight, and you feel a sharp, stinging sensation against your skin as he lands a harsh smack on your ass.

The slap is rough, tough, and forceful, just the way Logan manhandles you into the dingy hallway that leads to the bathrooms. It's cut off from the crowd but you can still hear the patrons inside, mere feet away as Logan's scowl bores down on you.

"What did I fucking say?"

"You said no, like you control me," You scoff, "You're not my dad! I'm well over 21, Logan, I can drink whatever I want!"

"Not when I plan on fucking you into the mattress tonight, stupid." He snarls, and your stomach flips with an intensity you know you'll be feeling all night long, "You don't think there's a reason I'm trying to keep you sober? Those fruity little drinks don't do shit that water can't fix. If you downed one of these you'd be sick for a week.”

"I thought-" You start, but he plows on, undeterred.

"You think I care what you drink? Knock yourself out, cowgirl," He snickers, his irritation gone but not forgotten as he condescends, "If you wanna shoot shit that'll make your head spin, then do it. But not tonight. I want you to remember my name so you can scream it."

[yanderenightmare]

All For One

TW: nsfw, noncon, yandere, captive reader, mind deterioration

fem reader

All For One has a habit of subjugating you for his own pleasure. 

It’s a game he likes to play—quite like chess, only… you start off with a single pawn, and you don’t know any of the rules. And he’s been world champion ten years in a row. And he plays dirty.

Tonight, he’s dressed you up in a costume. Not any old Halloween costume, but a slutty one. Not a playboy bunny or a maid, nor a schoolgirl—this was worse—a sleazy rendition of your old hero uniform.

You’d barely recognized the faintly familiar design when he first laid it out on the bed for you. Silly and naïve, you thought his games of derision would end when you finally offered your submission, but that was a fool’s thought. What fun were you if not proof of his undying victory—a reminder, a trophy, a relic?

It’s beyond degrading. Tight and revealing. Less than an actual costume, it was more something one would wear in the bedroom, cosplaying for some fantasy starring an overly sexualized you. Only God knows where he’d gotten it from.

Your steel armor, once with the dignity of a knight, had instead been swapped out for a silly silver bikini—the shimmery fabric tacky and cheap, allowing your nipples to peak forth. Covering it was a top and a skirt made up of silver chains, which only further mocked the appearance of chainmail—looking more like the jewelry a stripper might wear.

He’d forgone your helmet, boots, and sword entirely. Truly, if it weren’t for the detailing of the pattern making the fabric vaguely resemble plated armor, it wouldn’t have been much different from any other set of lingerie.

And still, it’s just similar enough to make it sting.

“Look at you...” he jeers, his voice sodden with taunt—carmine stare faded and gleeful, thoroughly enjoying it. “What a sight for sore eyes.”

He stands behind you in the mirror, holding you delicately by the hips, intimately close, dressed in another one of his black suits, fully clothed in devastating contrast to you. His smile curls as he roams your ill-covered body, kissed with the flush of chagrin, leering at you in the reflection—his voice slithering right by your ear.

“Though I can’t say I remember it being quite so revealing, can you?” he jokes, running his hands up and down your waist, fiddling some with the intricacies—metal daintily clinking and clangoring. “No, there’s something else that’s different...”

You feel so humiliated, so small—as if he could hold you up by the scruff of your neck with ease. It isn’t just a feeling—you’re well aware that he most likely could.

“Why yes, of course…” he hums with delayed realization—you know he’s faking for anticipation, chittering while wrapping his thick arms around your tiny midsection, giving you a firm squeeze. “You’ve lost all muscle.”

It’s a painful truth. You don’t know how many months it’s been. Perhaps a year has passed already, maybe even more. He keeps you well aware of his triumph in the outside world, but time still eludes you.

You’d tried maintaining it in the beginning, even after he’d taken your quirk. You’d been vigilant, keeping up your workout regimens just as religiously as before. But you couldn’t pick what you ate, nor when—and he’d only feed you cake. It wasn’t long before all your hard-earned muscles had melted away like popsicle syrup off the stick, licked and lapped right up by the man holding you.

“Mmh, yes…” he murmurs gratingly while swaying you back against him, lips pressing against your ear. “And it’s left you oh-so-soft.”

His bulbous crotch slots against your upper ass, resting there as it grows fatter and warm—a sign of his enjoyment. The weight of him makes you feel all but paper-thin.

His voice rasps now. “If I were to give you your quirk back, I wager you wouldn’t even be able to use it anymore—it would sooner rip your poor limbs apart.”

It’s beyond cruel to suggest—as if disgracing your old costume wasn’t enough torment already. You bite your lip, gnaw it harshly—don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t let him see you cry.

“Isn’t that just fascinating?” He gives your earlobe a gentle bite, and the whimper in your throat springs free like prey out of hiding.

A sniffle shortly followed—along the dribble of the night’s very first tears. Your diminished spirit has made you all too prone to cry as if there’s nothing else for you to do but indulge in the small comfort it gives.

“Oh, sweetie—don’t weep over prowess long since lost. It was never enough to challenge me anyway,” he coos, as if consoling you—swaying your smaller brittle body back against his looming chest, a cage that seemed to swallow you whole.

Steering your jaw, he holds your face still before the mirror, unable to look away as the tears dribble down your sorry cheeks—he smears them further with a kiss.

“The world would chew you up as you are now, fragile like glass.” The grin curling his lips makes you resemble prey caught on a predator’s teeth—you can’t help but shiver at the sight of it. You wish he wouldn’t toy with you like food and just kill you already. “Mark my words, hero—the belly of the beast would not grant you as much comfort as I do.”

His other hand slips down to cup your mound—firmly, with a squeeze that has you curl yourself back against him as he presses two tough fingerpads into your clothed clit, rubbing it tightly enough to make your thighs shake.

“You’re better off like this,” he grunts, snickers at how your weak hands clutch the sleeve of his suit, curling the fabric in your palms until your knuckles whiten—watching the furrow further crease between your cinched brows as you try and bite back your pathetic little sounds even as more tears come tumbling down your swollen cheeks. “Mh, my pretty plaything.”

He makes you continue to look at yourself as he simply slides the panty to the side of your cunt. Encouraging you to place your hands flat against the mirror as he bends you forward, then to step back and stand atop his dress shoes.

“Don’t be shy now,” he makes sure to tell you. “You’re as light and negligible as a feather.”

He parts his feet and yours along with them, spreading your thighs enough to accommodate the fat heat he soon slides between them. Rigid and veiny, it competes with the size of your forearm—so thick that when he slaps it up against your slit, your knees buckle from the impact.

His chuckles rumble across your body like an earthquake. You only realize how much it makes you shake when he encloses your hip in his big hand, steadying you. Holding you still as he drags his engorged cockhead through your lips, catching your clit before resting on your entrance.

You’re so sore from prior nights—countless hours locked in this room with his visits the only thing keeping you company—everything has yet to forgive you for the wreckage those visits leave behind. Your sorry little puss rues and dreads another defeat now as he sinks inside the comfort of your battered walls, one unyielding inch at a time. 

You wince and tense, shoulders bracing, and yet he pushes deeper, sliding you down his shaft until you rest at the hilt of his base, kneading the tip into your gummy womb, giving it a deep kiss that bulges out from your poor belly.

The sight in the mirror is morbid, even more so than the feeling—the way he molds your insides to fit him, to cater and house his length and size. 

“Ah—just perfect, isn’t it, hero?” he purrs, chest resting heavily upon your spine while dwarfing both your hips in a firm grip, chin-stubble scraping along your neck as his voice comes out hot against your ear, “Obedience suits you so well, don’t you agree?”

Your knees buckle once he starts the heavy pace—slowly pounding into you from behind, dragging out and pushing deep in womb-robbing thrusts. You pant from the toll of it, feeling your muscles give—too tired and too broken to continue acting tough. He’s the only reason you’re left upright on your feet—keeping you standing with just his hold on your haunches. It seems like nothing to him, though it feels like the weight of the world to you.

“It’s only a shame it had to come with all these scars.” He clicks his tongue, eyes raking across your body as it takes him, resting on each mark disrupting the otherwise milk-smooth skin. “If only you’d accepted your place sooner.”

The ember burning within you is all but a piece of cooling charcoal now. You feel it diminish every day, leaving you even thinner than before.

“But then again, I quite enjoy you like this—littered with my battle scars from your toes up to your crown. It’s rather intimate, isn’t it?” he hums with a smile. “Proof of all the times I could’ve quashed you beneath my foot like a pitiful bug but decided to spare you. Teach you how to worship like the weak ought to.”

There was a time when you still humored the thought of killing him, even with your quirk taken from you. You thought, in your foolishness, that being this close to him must garner an opportunity, any, however slim, just enough for you to take advantage and finish what you vowed to end so long ago.

Now, you almost don’t care anymore. The world had moved on without you, and there was nothing more you could do about it.

You realize your promise had been as cheap as this outfit.

“The greater the fall, the sweeter the surrender, isn’t that right?” he states. “Doesn’t it feel good to finally accept your place in the world, hero?”

You can only nod your head and agree.

♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[inkykeiji]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ alastor + allowing you to ride him

character: alastor warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, pet/master dynamic (use of the term Master), toxic relationship, edging, pet names, fem!reader words: 665

Alastor doesn’t normally enjoy being ridden; Alastor doesn’t normally allow you to ride him. It relinquishes too much control, grants you too much power, and leaves him feeling bored and restless.

Most of the time. 

But sometimes, he gives in. Sometimes, he lets you use him like a toy.

And sometimes, when he’s feeling especially cruel, when he’s feeling like he wants to put in the effort and play, he’ll force you to edge yourself on him, eyes never leaving the pages of his novel as he nonchalantly instruct you to speed up, slow down, swivel, bounce, stop, hold, hold, hold—cockhead digging into that swollen patch of flesh buried deep within you, his hips shifting in micro-circles as he grinds into sensitive flesh, pained little sounds climbing higher and higher, tinged with pleasure, and don’t you dare fucking cum, darling—now begin again. 

So you do, and he drones on, commands drawling from his lips without casting you a single glance, eyes skimming over the words in front of his face, sometimes hovering, sometimes retracing their past trails, but never leaving the page. 

It’s almost offensive, how bored his tone is, how much he acts as if this doesn’t matter to him, as if he doesn’t care, as if it’s all for you, despite the way his cock twitches and his breath hitches, the very edges of his words gone wispy whenever your orgasm is on the cusp of cresting. 

He knows your body so well that he doesn’t even need to see you—doesn’t need to read the expressions on your face, features twisted tight with hedonism, doesn’t need to witness the harsh trembles rippling through your flesh—to know when you’re teetering on the edge of full-blown pleasure. 

No, he can feel it, feel it in the way your cunt begins to pulse with irregular flutters around his shaft; he can hear it, hear it in the cracked gasps he keeps forcing from your chest, fragments catching on thick moans; he can smell it, smell it in the dense, heady arousal copiously coating his thighs, slick and shimmering. 

“Please, Master,” you’re finally sobbing, when every muscle in your body has gone achy and heavy with continuously coiled tension, never allowed to loosen, release, snap, constantly rewound with a few simple orders. “Please, please, let me cum. It—It hurts!” 

It’s supposed to hurt, you silly little girl. It’s not fun if it doesn’t. 

“Now, now,” he’s saying conversationally, the slight breathlessness to his tone the only indication he’s being affected at all. “You wanted this, remember, sweetheart? You asked for it. Begged, actually, if I recall correctly.” 

You did, you did, but you’ve been at this for over an hour now, your body lacquered with sweat, quivering as tiny tremors of overstimulation bolt through your veins with each brush of your clit, each rub of his head, leaving your flesh feeling hypersensitive, overexposed. 

“I just—I thought—I wanted to—” hiccups stutter your words, nose twitching with a harsh sniffle.

A coo drips from his lips, spoiled syrup, sick and sadistic. Poor, pathetic baby. 

It stings, his disregard corrosive, gnawing away at your cheeks. A fresh torrent of tears floods your eyes, casting a thick watery shield that bulges along your lash line, wavering on the verge of overflowing, a single slow blink sending them cascading down your face in glittering streams. 

“Really, you should’ve known better,” he’s saying as you collapse against his chest, weeping into the curve of his neck. “What else did you possibly expect?” 

You don’t know, you aren’t sure, you can’t remember, brain gone melty and stupid beneath the constant enticement of pleasure, held just out of your grasp. Something tangles on your tongue, garbled and wet as it seeps into his flesh, fingers curling in starched cotton as you attempt to pull him closer. 

“Oh, dear,” he sighs gleefully, a palm petting your head. “If you want to ride me, you have to pay the price.”

[fictionismyreality3]

Come and Get It

Warnings: romance and everything that comes with it, primal play of you squint like really hard like you need glasses??

Notes: welcome to my cough syrup induced roman empire, there are no survivors (including my lungs) 🔥💯💯😎😎🐺🐺

The leaves crunched under you feet as you let the forest whip by you in a blurry array of yellows of reds.

“M’gonna eat you alive, bunny.”

Saccharine, and tauntingly so. The words curled in the flesh of your tummy, hooking themselves there with a permanent indent as they sunk their teeth into you. Simon Riley was an easy man to be distracted by.

Heat in your cheeks fought back against the biting air, the blood rushing under them as evidence of your misbehaviour. There was no running in the forest, not when your legs solidified with the cold of the lowering sun. Not when he knew every path.

It had been so easy to slip away, too easy, Simon wasn’t a man who couldn’t admit to a mistake. No, he should have kept a closer eye on such a wily thing like you, all soft flesh and warmth. But you had been so good lately, stopping your yipping and hissed words, staying with him over the winter. Taking his cock so sweetly— please, please, put it in me, Si— Course he’d buy you some new tools for the garden, luvie.

So pretty in your little yellow sundress, fiddling with the head of the water hose. Made Simon have to fuck you right there in the flowerbed, huh? Don’t worry ‘bout the dirt, dove.

He should have known you’d run. Left the front gate open, knowing you’d like to wander. An oversight. Oh, you wandered. Having to chase his pretty girl back where she belonged so soon was a sting to his brambly thoughts, a sense of ownership colouring his imagination every time you came into view.

But it was all the same in the end. Dirt under the fingernails. Silence in the forest being ripped open by two bodies colliding in a heap of furious belonging. The fighting fizzled away as quickly as it came.

There would be no arguments when he carried you back to his your cottage, and he’d scrub the soil from your hands in the sink later.

[mmso-notlikethat]

everyone kept saying I'm mean so I had to write a part 2, you all won :(

part1, both parts also on ao3

Buck woke up to a pounding headache and the bitter taste of regret on his tongue. He groaned, shifting against his pillows, only to realize he was practically undressed. His shirt was missing, his jeans were gone, and he was left in just his boxers.

“Ugh, what the—” he mumbled, forcing himself upright.

The room spun briefly, and he grabbed his bedside table for balance. That’s when he noticed the water bottle and pills sitting there, placed neatly like a quiet afterthought.

For a moment, he just stared at them, his foggy brain trying to piece together how they’d gotten there. He didn’t remember setting them out. Hell, he didn’t even remember getting to bed. The last thing he could recall clearly was...

He frowned, rubbing his temples as flashes of the night before began to surface: leaning heavily on someone, their arm steady around his waist; tripping on the stairs and being caught with ease. A voice—low, familiar, and maddeningly calm—had murmured something to him. What was it?

He glanced down at himself again, his bare chest and boxers making his face flush hot with embarrassment. His jeans. Someone had taken off his jeans.

“Jake,” he muttered, the name foreign and strange on his tongue.

He rubbed his face, squeezing his eyes shut, as more disjointed images floated to the surface. He could see himself sitting at the bar, laughing at his own stupid jokes, talking too much, sharing too much. There was something about pancakes—no, syrup. He had been slurring about syrup. And then there were hands, steady hands, pulling a blanket over him.

And then: "I don’t even look like a Jake, Evan."

The words came back to him in a sharp, gut-punching jolt, as clear as if someone had just whispered them into his ear.

Buck sat bolt upright, the headache momentarily forgotten. His heart thudded painfully as the weight of that one sentence crashed over him.

“No,” he said aloud, shaking his head as though it would physically dislodge the thought. “No way. That’s insane.”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, gripping the edge of the mattress as if the ground might give way. His gaze flicked back to the water bottle and pills on the bedside table, and a sick sort of certainty began to creep in.

The pieces were starting to fit now, sliding into place with an agonizing clarity.

He’d recognized the voice, hadn’t he? Not in the moment, but now that he was sober, it felt impossible to mistake. The calm demeanor, the way "Jake" had held him, carried him, the way he’d spoken with quiet humor and careful distance.

And then there was the way he’d said his name.

Not "Buck." Not "buddy" or "man" like a stranger might. He’d said Evan.

“No,” Buck whispered again, his voice trembling. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the small room like it might burn off the sickening realization building in his chest. “No way. It can’t—he wouldn’t—”

But the more he tried to shove it down, the clearer it became. It wasn’t just the voice or the name. It was the water and the pills, the fact that someone had taken off his jeans and tucked him in. The way "Jake" had been there, steady and unshakable, even when Buck had been at his absolute worst.

Only one person would have done all that.

Only one person would have cared enough.

“That bastard,” Buck said, his voice breaking on a shaky laugh. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, like it might stop the sting that was creeping into them.

It had to be him. Tommy.

And if it was... if it really had been Tommy... then what the hell had he been doing there?

Buck shuffled to his kitchen, shirtless and still groggy, to make coffee. The loft was too quiet, the kind of quiet that made it impossible to ignore his own thoughts. Every creak of the floorboards and hum of the coffee pot seemed louder, sharper, pressing on him like the silence was mocking him.

He stared at the coffee pot as it brewed, drumming his fingers on the counter. “No way,” he muttered again, though this time it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.

But the more he replayed the night in his mind, the harder it was to deny. It wasn’t just the familiarity of the voice—it was the details. The way "Jake" had carried him up the stairs, tucked him in, and left water and pills by the bed, all without a single complaint. Even the way he’d spoken, low and calm, with that quiet humor in his tone—it wasn’t the way a stranger would treat him. It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t indifferent.

“That bastard,” Buck muttered again, his head throbbing and his chest tightening. He ran a hand through his hair, his pacing growing more erratic in the small space. “Why wouldn’t he just—” His voice caught, the question hanging in the air, unfinished.

And then it hit him, sharp and sudden, like a gut punch.

Because Tommy left.

Eddie had gone to Texas, chasing a fresh start for himself and Christopher. Maddie had her own family now, her own life to focus on. And Tommy... Tommy had looked him in the eyes and told him he wasn’t the last.

Buck let out a bitter laugh, his hand clutching the edge of the counter for balance. “Not the last, huh? Guess you were right.”

The words came out shakier than he wanted them to, his throat tightening with the weight of it all. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the memories to stop, but they kept coming—Tommy’s steady hands catching him as he stumbled on the stairs, his calm voice murmuring reassurances Buck couldn’t quite make out, the way he’d tugged off his jeans with quiet care, like Buck was something fragile.

And then, the words that lingered in his mind like a bruise: “I don’t even look like a Jake, Evan.”

Buck opened his eyes, staring down at his empty hands like they might somehow hold the answers he couldn’t find.

Tommy had left to protect himself. That much was clear now. But why had he come back? Why show up, take care of him, and leave all over again? What kind of person did that?

Buck’s jaw clenched, anger flaring briefly before it was swallowed by something heavier, something that felt a lot like grief.

“Damn it, Tommy,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Why do you keep doing this?”

The coffee pot beeped, startling him out of his spiral. He grabbed the mug with trembling hands, taking a sip that burned his tongue but didn’t dull the ache in his chest.

The loft was still quiet, but now the silence felt unbearable.

---

"He’s the worst best person I’ve ever met.”

Tommy huffed out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, you’re not so easy yourself, Evan.” He said it aloud, as though Buck was standing right there, the sarcasm softening into something raw and defeated. “But you’re... God, you’re everything.”

He’d thought helping Buck home would be enough—a small act of care to make sure he was okay. But it hadn’t been enough. Not even close.

“Tell him... I miss him.”

Tommy sighed, wiping his hands on a rag. He wasn’t good at walking away—not really. It wasn’t something he’d practiced or perfected. In truth, Tommy had always been the one left behind. The one who’d watched people walk out of his life, one after another, leaving him to pick up the pieces of himself they’d shattered on their way out.

Maybe that was why he’d left Buck first.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care—God, he cared too much. That was the problem. He’d looked at Buck, at all the messy, beautiful hope in him, and thought: This is going to break me. He’d seen the writing on the wall and decided that this time, for once, he’d be the one to leave.

It hadn’t made it any easier. Leaving Buck had felt like cutting off a part of himself, like walking away from something he wasn’t sure he’d ever find again. But at the time, it had felt like survival.

But with Buck, it was different.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since the moment he walked away. Every memory of Buck—the way he laughed too loud, the way he threw himself into everything with reckless abandon, the way he looked at Tommy like he was worth something—kept creeping back in, no matter how hard Tommy tried to shut them out.

And then, last night.

Tommy hadn’t planned on seeing Buck again. He’d been out running an errand, a late-night excuse to get out of his empty house and clear his head, when he spotted him through the hazy glass of the bar. At first, he thought he’d imagined it—just another trick his mind was playing on him.

But then he saw Buck stumble, his head lolling forward as he waved a nearly empty glass around. Even from outside, Tommy could hear the slur in Buck’s voice, the faint, muffled sound of his laughter as he leaned too heavily against the bar.

Tommy’s instinct had been to walk away. To pretend he hadn’t seen him, to let someone else deal with it. It wasn’t his problem anymore.

Except that it was.

Because it wasn’t just someone in there; it was Evan. And no matter how much distance Tommy tried to put between them, that had never stopped mattering.

So he’d gone inside, telling himself he’d just make sure Buck got home safe and then leave again. No lingering, no conversations. No giving himself room to feel the pull he knew he’d never be able to resist.

But Buck had made that impossible.

Tommy could still hear him in his head, the drunken, rambling way he talked about him—not knowing who he was talking to, not knowing Tommy was right there. “He’s the worst best person I’ve ever met.” The words had been funny at the time, but now they just felt like a punch to the gut.

And then Buck had said it—those five small words that Tommy hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since. “Tell him... I miss him.”

Tommy rubbed a hand over his face, staring blankly at the engine in front of him. He’d thought hearing Buck’s voice again would help. That it would give him some kind of closure, make him feel like he’d done the right thing by leaving.

Instead, it had unraveled him completely.

He stood there for a moment, the rag dangling uselessly in his hand, his mind spinning in circles.

Tommy had always thought he’d be good at leaving. But now, for the first time, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do it again

---

It didn’t take Buck long to find Tommy. He wasn’t even sure why he’d gone looking—anger, maybe, or closure. Probably both.

The garage door was open, the faint sound of an old rock song playing. Tommy was leaning over the engine, his broad shoulders taut, his hands steady as they adjusted something Buck didn’t care to figure out.

“You don’t even look like a Jake.”

Tommy froze. His shoulders stiffened, his grip tightening on the wrench. Slowly, he set it down, straightening and turning to face Buck. His expression was calm—too calm—but his eyes betrayed him.

“Evan.”

Hearing his name made Buck’s chest ache. It wasn’t the anger he’d expected to feel—it was something messier. He crossed his arms, but it did nothing to steady him. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

Tommy sighed, running a hand over his jaw. “What do you want me to say?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Buck snapped, stepping closer. “Maybe why you couldn’t just tell me it was you? Why you came back at all? Why you think you get to show up, play the hero, and then disappear all over again?”

Tommy’s gaze dropped to the concrete floor for a moment before he looked back up. “You were drunk. You didn’t need me making it more complicated.”

“Complicated?” Buck’s laugh was sharp and bitter. “That’s what you’re calling this? You didn’t do it because I was drunk. You did it because you’re a goddamn coward.”

Tommy flinched, and for a second, Buck thought he might argue. But instead, he just nodded.

“You’re right,” Tommy said softly.

The admission threw Buck off balance, his anger faltering. He blinked at him, unsure what to do with the raw honesty in Tommy’s voice. “That’s it?” he demanded. “You’re just gonna admit it and think that makes it okay?”

Tommy’s jaw clenched. “No, Ev-Buck. I don’t think it’s okay. I know it’s not okay.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “But I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t think I could stay, and I didn’t know how to leave without breaking both of us.”

“Well, congrats, Tommy. You managed to do both,” Buck shot back, his voice cracking under the weight of his words. “You broke me when you left, and now you’re breaking me all over again.”

Tommy’s face twisted, his carefully constructed calm cracking under the force of Buck’s pain. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry I left, and I’m sorry I came back. I just—” He stopped, dragging a hand through his hair. “I thought I could handle seeing you again. I thought maybe... maybe I could fix something.”

“Fix what?” Buck demanded, stepping closer. “You can’t just patch this up like one of your damn engines, Tommy. You can’t just...” His voice broke, and he shook his head, looking away. “You can’t just leave and then show up like this. It’s not fair.”

“I know it’s not,” Tommy said quietly. “But I couldn’t stay away. Not after seeing you like that.”

“That’s not an excuse,” Buck muttered, wiping at his face.

“No, it’s not,” Tommy admitted. He hesitated, his voice softening. “But it’s the truth.”

Buck stared at him, his chest heaving with the effort of holding himself together. “You don’t get to do this to me, Tommy. You don’t get to show up and remind me that you cared—because you did care, right?”

“I never stopped,” Tommy said, his voice steady but full of regret.

“Then why wasn’t I enough?” Buck’s voice cracked, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

Tommy stepped back, the question hitting him like a blow. “You were,” he said quietly, his voice breaking. “You are. But I didn’t think I could be enough for you. And I didn’t want to hurt myself—and you by staying and proving myself right.”

“You hurt me... us, anyway,” Buck said, his tone flat but laced with exhaustion.

They stood there in the heavy silence, neither of them knowing what to say. Buck’s chest felt hollow, like he’d poured out every piece of himself and there was nothing left. Finally, he let out a shaky breath and shook his head.

“I don’t know if this can be fixed,” Buck said, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. “But I think... I think I need you to figure out what you want before you come back again.”

Tommy’s shoulders slumped, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t blame you for feeling that way,” he said quietly.

Buck hesitated, the ache in his chest screaming at him to leave before he broke down completely. He turned toward the door but stopped just before stepping out.

“If you ever figure yourself out...” His voice was steady this time, but there was something fragile underneath it. “Maybe call me. Maybe I’ll pick up.”

Tommy didn’t respond, but his eyes were on Buck as he left, filled with everything he couldn’t say.

---

Back in his loft, Buck stared at the bottle of water on his bedside table. He didn’t throw it out. Instead, he placed it back carefully, like it was something worth keeping.

Across town, Tommy sat with his phone in his hand, a message typed but unsent. It read simply: "Hey."

He didn’t send it. But he didn’t delete it either.

Part3

[persicipen]

𑑛 “WEAPONS” ﾉ ARGENTI. HONKAI STAR RAIL

afab gn reader ﾉ words 0.5k ᯽ written for @ficsforgaza kinktober ﾉ praise. compliments. endearments. riding argenti’s spear. assisted masturbation. letting him hold you and guide you <3 ᯽ ADULT CONTENT ﾉ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ᯽

You doubt you would let anyone else guide you through what you’re currently attempting to do. Not any mere amount of trust could sit you down on the marble-smooth handle of the spear; no armour to hide your body, not even a tunic or any clothes at all to shield you from the steel intrusion between your legs.

Only your skin. And desire.

“Such courage.” Argenti murmurs into your ear as he strokes the soft curve of your bottom with his hands, almost petting you. Crimson locks running in waves down his shoulders caress you like flowers in the wind. “Now, please, show me the spectacle — how beautiful you look whilst the pleasure engulfs you from the core.”

How you wished to melt into Argenti’s silver chest plate now, beyond what is rational and possible. Painfully aware of the polearm beneath you. When he tells you to lower yourself onto it and press between your legs, you are throbbing with excitement at the contact with the cold metal.

Say, this must feel so enthralling to find pleasure where others find defeat versus the shining knight. He did defeat you once before, after all.

What he took was your heart.

Your body shakes as you ease your hips down to glide gently back and forth, stimulating your folds. It is not as frightening as you thought it would be — steel on bare skin, a real weapon teasing your clit. The touch is far from soft, but you can get used to it. Sink into the warm ripples, guided by his praise, velvet compliments trickling down your silhouette until they reach your sweet spot.

A reward of a crystalline teardrop of arousal lazily getting smeared as you chase the higher satisfaction.

“You are doing so well,” Argenti whispers again.

Perfect, divine, beautiful…

“It is as if you were meant to be riding this spear.” His luscious lips wander to your neck, kissing there every curve and shiver as you take in a ragged breath. “You will be mine, dear one, and I am yours forever.”

Staying on his spear is so tempting that you cannot help but shift your weight forward, finding courage to move faster.

To please the knight, whose irises sparkle emerald green, devouring the image before him; if not for his fist gripping the weapon tighter, you would wonder if there’s really any effect setting his soul ablaze in this very moment.

Yet the thought does not linger, for there are other places on your body that need attention — to be soothed and stroked, fondled until they cry in happiness. Your hands find their way to Argenti’s — a place they know too well, a home for themselves and for you as well.

And so, your eyes shut in awe at the blissful sensation running through your nerves like rosy syrup as you slide against the metal, its shape too similar to what you would love to feel, but made of flesh and pulsating with arousal. No matter, you feel so high, delirious, you could believe the spear is his cock instead.

Euphoria shatters through you like an arrowhead tearing through armour. What used to be icy between your legs now stings like flames, the fever blooming from your core.

You wonder, is this the devotion to which he calls for? Beauty, yes? He finds you gorgeous, then. He grants you what he considers pure and divine.

A release.

[anantaru]

DAY 29 — nipple play

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — sampo, blade

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, nipple play, rough teasing

𖧡 — SAMPO

sampo's warm kisses on your chest are burning through your flesh that it feels like he's about to devour you through your skin, strong hands fumbling around the plump sides of your ass when you take a seat on his lap— your pretty breasts exposed to his famished gaze, he notices a cloying taste on your skin when he pushes your breasts into his mouth, just like syrup, probably even a little sweeter than that to be honest, no, scrap that, he was sure of it.

sampo notices that you're quite nervous too, so naturally, he had to tease you about it, "are you that excited to see me?" he mutters before flicking one digit over your erected nipple, then pinching it in between his finger pads— and you squeal out immediately, cursing him underneath your shallow breathing when he does it again, and again, very well being aware that you're exceptionally reactive right there, right now and whenever he started off just unbearably smothering your mounds.

it's very cute in sampo's opinion, he thinks there was nothing more exciting than seeing you welcome his touch just like that— and he's a tease because of that, always has been, his breaths rapidly falling over your damped breasts when he shuts himself off by latching on your nipples again, your broken cries and those sweet, little mewls against him only spurring him on to suck back the air from his lungs to slurp on your tits.

a set of wet lines are burning down his chin, his saliva covering most of your chest when you arch your back into his strong one, grabbing his shoulders and squeezing down to ground yourself when you part your mouth to moan and breathe, not ready to ever stop feeling his hot tongue rub over your skin and his sealed mouth clamping on you sinfully.

𖧡 — BLADE

at first, blade found it mildly amusing on how impossibly sensitive you were to his searing touches, particularly around the area of your chest and he thought it was adquate enough to tease you about it, lick over one erected nipple real slow while pinching the other.

"blade," you pause when he latches over one nipple again, suckling on the flesh like he was really focused— and it's cute, adorable even, you think he looks absolutely handsome with that lingering glow on his face or the subtle shades of blush cradling his cheeks.

"not done yet," he insists, shaking his head as your tit plops out of his mouth, his lips, carved within a soft smile when he stares at you fondly, "just need one more," he grumbles, deeply muffled against your chest, and ugh, blade obviously knows how soft your skin felt, soft as silk but your taste? that's a different story, you remind him of a sweet paradise that it made him lose his mind.

he's so in awe with your beauty and cannot help himself but push his tongue back put, rolling the tip of the warm muscle over your stinging nipple in a way where it's devouring, his saliva pooling from the sides of his mouth and coating his chin, his cheeks and most importantly, your breasts— and you flinch suddenly, followed by a hiccup that forms into a squeal of sorts, a slight pain ruffling over the blood in your veins when he adds his pearly whites into the mix.

although only distantly, falling forward as your chin rest against his head with his scent now, all over you— it's easy to discern a slight aroma of shampoo on his hair, it's earthy, however, also ambrosial which might be due to his fragrance lingering all over his clothes and body, intensifying the pressure on your chest being played with and your throbbing hole aching to be touched next.

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[ervotica]

𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

pairing; azriel x fem!reader

summary; and so i cry the light is white and i see you

when your wings are taken from you in a brutal act of torture, you see no way to ease your grief. your mate is there to guide you back when you need him most.

warnings; hurt/comfort, ANGST, suicidal ideation, sorta suicide attempt, in depth descriptions of injury

The wind stings at your flushed cheeks where you stand at the edge of the rooftop. It's dark, iridescent balls of light expanding at every edge of your vision as you take a step towards the lip of the roof that overhangs from the house. Wetness clings to your eyes, threatening to spill over your itching waterline when you gaze down to the sea of lights below.

You long to feel the whip of the breeze against your face as you rise and dive into the night sky, to scream and yell at the top of your lungs as your wings flap behind you in tandem with your family.

You'll never feel that again.

You've been a shell of yourself since the day your wings were taken. Had them brutally cut from your body, hacksawed until all that remained were jagged stumps in place of gorgeous, thick corded planes of muscle. Naked. Half the person you once were. Your back is a myriad of scars, still healing and bruised, ripples of broken flesh marring your once untouched skin.

You are broken and ugly and miserable.

It took weeks to even walk again, weeks of rehabilitation, physical therapy with Madja. Weeks of sobbing in your mate's arms as he held you upright, of wanting to claw your way out of your own skin and scream and rage until something snaps you out of this living nightmare. Weeks of Azriel having to force you to eat and drink, to get outside in favour of withering away in your bed.

You're teetering on the edge of the building now, swaying in time with the gusts of air that threaten to send you toppling onto the street below.

"My love, what are you doing?" Azriel's voice breaks you out of your haze, but you don't move; you don't make any effort to step away from the edge. One wrong move from either of you and you're dead.

"I miss flying," you croak.

"I know you do." His voice oozes with pity and it sends rage hurting through your veins like the white-hot lick of a flame. You stumble, swatting Azriel's hands away when he surges forward to wrench you back. Your pulse roars in your ears and you lose focus of his speech, each pleading word blending into one another until you don't bother to decipher the words at all.

"Come back to me," he shouts over the ringing in your ears. "Come back to me, mate."

The name seizes your muscles, pours into your soul like molten lava and solidifies, heavy and unforgiving.

"Why?" you whirl around, heels hanging over thin air, nothing to break your impact were you to fall - or throw yourself - from this great height. Azriel's unnaturally still, not moving, not breathing- calculating how long it would take him to dive after you if you were to slip. "Why do you call me that? Why don't you run from me, leave me here now I'm not of use anymore."

He takes one step, and then another. Sweat beads on your brow despite the frigid chill of the night- his scarred fingers outstretched, waiting for you to take them. The golden thread inside your chest pulls taut like a bowstring. He's calling you home.

"You are my mate." he says. "I need you. Come back to me, my love."

"I'm ruined, Az." The words stick in your throat like syrup. "I'm no good to anyone, anymore. All I'll do is burden you." A sob rips through you. "You won't be happy with what I am now. I just want you to be happy."

The confession almost brings him to his knees.

Something snaps inside of him; eery calm replaces terror as he surveys you with narrowed eyes and a tilt of his head.

This is not your Azriel.

This is the feared shadowsinger- who wears a mask of cool wrath, who bows to no one. A calculated facade of composure.

"You are not ruined," he growls. The glacial fury in his voice has your breath catching in your throat, your insides freezing as if his words have wrapped icy fingers around your throat. "You are my mate, and you will step down and come to me. Now."

You find yourself complying without question, moving away on wobbling legs until your limbs give out and you're tripping over your own feet, hurtling towards the ground. As fast as the mask appears, it slips away, pure, unrelenting relief cascading down the bond.

Azriel's already there, hooking his arms beneath your own to shoulder your weight, a hand atop your head to anchor your body to his own even as you shudder and scream and soak his leathers with angry tears.

"I know, my love. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he murmurs, the words a whisper into your hair as you claw at him, legs buckled and utterly useless. You're settled against thick muscle, tucked under Azriel's chin where he's lowered you both to the ground.

"I'm nothing," you gasp against his chest. "I have no place here anymore. I'm useless."

His hand is an anchor against the back of your neck, grounding when he squeezes the malleable flesh to draw your gaze to his own.

"You are everything."

The welcome pressure on your neck lulls you into drawing a long breath. Azriel deflates, hazel eyes trained on the rise and fall of your heaving chest.

"I am nothing without you," he continues on. "You are my life and my heart. Were you to die, I'd go by your side with a smile. I can't bear the thought of living in a world where you do not exist."

His wings twitch where they're tucked behind him. Your trembling fingers splay against the sharp angle of his jaw.

"I'm sorry," you croak. "I never want to leave you." His knuckles drag across your cheekbones, brushing away the tears that stain your balmy face. "I don't know how to live like this."

His lips press to your temple, brow nestled against the wisps of windswept hair at the crown of your head. He smears a kiss there and ventures lower. One against your jaw, your chin, in the crease of your brows.

And then he slants his lips over your own. Your muscles go soft, ragged breaths evening as he parts your lips with a swipe of his tongue, a hand splayed against the base of your spine as you sag. He brushes your nose with the tip of a scarred finger.

"Come on," he murmurs, urging you to stand. When you do, he tucks you into his chest, arms slung over your shoulders in a crushing embrace. "I will do anything to make this easier for you, my heart. I know it will be difficult, and I know it's scary. But stay with me."

Your arms tighten around his middle.

"Always."

[starsinmylatte]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧

Yet another wonderful request as part of my JJK Fic Readers Supporting Noury event!

This fic is a gift for @starlitnotes (who Tumblr is apparently against me tagging, so I will DM her 😅) Thank you so much to everyone who has supported my event and my writing so far 💜

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Afab!reader x Hiromi Higuruma Rating: Explicit (18+ minors DNI) Word Count: 9k Request: Yakuza bosses Nanami and Higuruma

Click here to join my taglist!

Warnings are found below the cut!

Warnings (besides what it says on the request): Use of pet names (darling, baby, etc), threesome, oral sex, cum swallowing, praise kink, breeding kink, masturbation, Double penetration (vaginal), cervix fucking, etc.

“Excuse me, Miss?” An unfamiliar voice rang out from behind you as you scoured hardened syrup from the wooden surface of your coffee bar. 

You whirled around, tossing your rag aside and snatching a spatula off the other counter. The cafe had been empty five minutes ago, and you knew that you’d already locked all the doors. No matter how polite your intruder was, he shouldn’t have been able to get in.

“Don’t come any closer,” you warned, clutching the spatula like a lifeline and pointing it toward the voice. Even though it was just a small silicone and wood tool, you felt safer with it in your hands.

A tall young man in a well-cut black suit seemed to melt out of the shadows that lined the back exit hallway. He calmly walked closer as you brandished your “weapon” at him, running a hand through his unruly brown hair and smiling sheepishly. 

“I swear I’m a friend; I’m not here to hurt you.” The mystery guest raised his hands placatingly, showing you that he was unarmed. “My name is Takuma Ino, and unless you want to be arrested for conspiring with the yakuza…. please come with me.” 

There was a loud, booming knock at your front door as if on cue, and another unfamiliar male voice yelled. “This is Detective Zen’in with the Tokyo Police Department! I’m here about an urgent matter. Please open the door so we can speak.” 

Ino bristled at the sound of the detective’s voice. He immediately grabbed your upper arm and attempted to tug you towards the back door, but the sudden action spooked you. Your reflexes completely took over, and you slammed the wooden handle of the spatula against his fingers with a resounding crack. The young man barely suppressed a yelp of surprise, snatching his hand back and hissing in pain. 

“Owwww,” he groaned quietly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, but we have to go now.” 

The detective knocked at your front door again, and you flinched, feeling very much like cornered prey. Ino nervously rubbed his fingers, trying to soothe the sting as he glanced at the front door. “Please, Miss….. Look, you can bring that thing and hit me again if I make you feel uncomfortable in any way, but please just come with me.” 

The knocking grew more insistent, and the detective yelled again, “Ma’am, we know you’re in there. If you do not comply, we will forcefully open this door.” 

Ino looked at you frantically as he mouthed another silent plea and gestured toward the exit. A potent, white-hot mixture of fear and adrenaline shot through you as you realized that you had no time left; you had to decide now. You could only hope you wouldn’t regret your choice as you nodded at Ino, grabbed your purse, and followed him out the back door into the night. 

As soon as the two of you reached the back alley, Ino motioned for you to stay put. He glanced around, scanning the other small, connecting road. Due to the lack of foot traffic behind the stores, there were only a few street lights in the alley, and you could barely see anything beyond your feet. Ino seemed frustrated, muttering under his breath until suddenly, lights flicked on inside a sleek, expensive-looking black car near the road. Your savoir sighed in relief as he ushered you towards the vehicle, throwing the door open and nearly tossing you in. 

It all happened so fast that you barely had time to think before Ino slammed your door closed and vaulted into the passenger’s seat. The driver instantly shut off all the interior lights and revved the engine, leaving you scrambling to buckle your seatbelt in the dark. Your fingers scraped over supple, well-conditioned leather as the car shot forward, hurtling through the back roads and away from the cafe. Ino and the driver carried on a hushed conversation across the front seat as you tried to process everything that had just happened, but there was one primary concern on your mind. 

“Ino-san….” you spoke carefully into the dark, “Why do the police think that a Cafe owner is involved with the Yakuza?”

“It’ll make more sense when you meet the Oyabun… er, well, both of them. They can explain everything,” Ino offered, exchanging a look with the driver. You felt so frustrated; they had left you literally and metaphorically in the dark. All you could do was sit there in the quiet luxury of your surroundings, more questions and concerns brewing in your mind as the car sped off into the night. 

You passed the time by staring out the window, trying to retain some bearing of your surroundings, but the car was traveling too quickly for you to read the names of any streets or buildings. Soon, the blurry grey cityscape disappeared altogether. Lush trees began to fill your vision as moonlight poured into the car. The treeline grew thicker and thicker, seemingly stretching on forever as the road began to incline steadily. You realized the two men were taking you deeper into the mountains outside Tokyo, and an icy chill shot through you.

“Oh, god…. They’re going to kill me out here, and no one will ever find my body.” 

The driver must have sensed your quiet fear, and he sighed deeply. “Ino-kun, please tell me that you explained at least some of the situation to her.”

“I figured that the Oyabun would want to tell her most of it,” Ino grumbled, still nursing his hand, “We didn’t have a lot of time with that weasel of a detective outside her door, so I just told her to come with me if she didn’t want to be arrested, and that she could hit me with that spatula again if I scared her.” 

The exhausted-looking driver removed one hand from the steering wheel and slapped it against his forehead, wincing and rubbing his eyes over the rim of his glasses. 

“What!?!” Ino protested, throwing his arms out dramatically. “It seemed reasonable enough to me. That thing hurts, and besides-! She’s safe, and that’s what matters!” 

In any other situation, you probably would’ve found the scene hilarious. The other man gave a long-suffering sigh, pointedly ignoring Ino as the young man continued to try and explain his reasoning, complete with a dramatic re-enactment of you smacking him. The driver slowed the vehicle in the middle of the road and pulled off to the side without another word. Your hand crept towards the door handle, just in case. 

“Please…. don’t.” The driver clicked on the cabin light and turned around, looking at you tiredly as your fingertips brushed the only barrier that stood between your freedom, “I give you my word that it would be a mistake to leave now; please let me explain more thoroughly.”

You gazed back at him warily, moving your hand away from the handle just enough to signal that you’d hear him out. The driver had a kind but somewhat pinched and anxious face; for a yakuza driver, he seemed strangely considerate.

“My name is Kiyotaka Ijichi, and this is Takuma Ino. We both work for the Kintatsu-ikka, and our Oyabun-” 

“Our boss!” Ino supplied helpfully, turning to give you a lopsided grin. 

“We received a tip that you were wrongfully associated with two different Yakuza groups and placed in danger. That detective who arrived at your Cafe is not a good man; if he had reached you first, you’d likely be jailed over false charges. The Oyabun of our family sent us to pick you up and bring you somewhere safe.” Ijichi explained calmly, adjusting his glasses. 

“That still doesn’t answer why they think I know you people.” You snapped back, a little more forcefully than intended. Hot, angry tears welled up, threatening to spill over at any moment as you huffed. “I’m innocent. I don’t associate with criminals.” 

“Don’t panic,” Ijichi reassured you gently. “I may not have the answers, but I’m taking you to people who will. It may not mean much coming from me, but our organization is different than what you think. Let us prove to you that we aren’t just ‘criminals.’”

“It doesn’t sound like I have much of a choice,” you sniffled, toying with the hem of your sleeve.  

Ijichi smiled at you, the expression softening his face and lightening the dark circles under his eyes. “We aren’t too far from our destination, but please try to relax some.” 

He left the light on as he started to drive again, quickly pulling back onto the road with smooth precision. You sighed, suddenly aware of the massive amount of tension in your shoulders and back that wasn’t there an hour ago. Ijichi leaving the light on was a small gesture, but it did help you relax. Ino remained silent in the passenger seat, and every so often, you could see him glance at you using the rearview mirror, but the atmosphere was no longer tense. Still, you couldn’t shake all of the anxiety from your mind as the car traveled on.

 After a few more minutes passed, Ijichi turned the car down an almost-hidden road, and the massive outline of a house appeared through the dark curtain of trees. As you drew closer, the soft glow of lanterns lined a well-paved stone driveway, growing brighter and illuminating more of the multi-floored house and surrounding gardens. Your mouth parted in a silent exclamation as you stared out the window. It was gorgeous…. dark and sleek, like a modern mansion, but heavily influenced by the style of a traditional Japanese home. Like many other people who lived in Tokyo, you’d only ever lived in a tiny, very drab city apartment; there was no way you could fathom anyone owning something that massive.

You tried to stifle your amazement, quietly reminding yourself that you weren’t here to ogle some crime boss’s home as Ijichi pulled up and around to the front steps. Ino stepped out, opened your door, and offered his hand with a small smile. As you looked out, you were distracted by two massive stone dragon statues that flanked the steps. Their teeth were permanently bared in a protective snarl as a warning for those who entered, and you shivered. 

“Kintatsu-Ikka,” Ino reminded you coyly.

Tentatively, you accepted the young man’s help, and he led you onto the beautiful wooden engawa that surrounded the entire mansion. He didn’t even need to unlock the door; he simply pushed it open to lead you inside.

Your jaw dropped despite your best attempt to keep a neutral expression; the interior was somehow even more beautiful than the exterior. Moonlight entwined with lanternlight pooled through massive floor-to-ceiling windows, shining on dark, polished wood floors. A crackling fire burned in a glass fireplace beside a common area furnished with plush-looking leather couches and chairs. 

Notably, the central couch was occupied by a young boy in the most rumpled suit you’d ever seen. He was completely sprawled out in a position that made your back hurt just to look at, watching a cheesy action movie on a glossy, widescreen T.V. that probably cost more than your entire yearly salary. 

Ino chuckled at your awe-struck expression, “I know, right? I think everyone had that reaction the first time they saw the place. Our Oyabun has good taste.”

The young boy perked up at the sound of Ino’s voice, nearly falling off the couch as he tried to stand up. “Kyodai! You’re back!”

He bounced onto the floor with youthful zeal, altogether abandoning the movie he had been so engrossed in and running up to the two of you. “Hi, I’m Yuji. Who are you?” 

Yuji cocked his head at you in curiosity, the sudden movement causing his strawberry-pink hair to flop to one side. You smiled and introduced yourself, charmed by the sweet boy, but your inner thoughts only grew more complicated. 

“This sweet boy is supposed to be a criminal?? Why do none of these supposed Yakuza act or look anything like the stories?” 

Of course, you had heard more than your fair share of stories about the shady criminal organizations that Japan was so infamous for. Yakuza were supposed to be malicious gangsters who only pretended to follow an honor code. They were supposed to be rough, low-life criminals who had simply been given a spit-shine and a suit, but the young boy who stood in front of you seemed like an overeager puppy, energetic and harmless. 

Yuji’s eyes shone as he recognized your name. “Oh! You’re-”

“Can’t talk now, little bro. She’s got a meeting with your dad.” Ino interrupted him, pulling you past before you could register what he said.

Ino led you past a few rooms where the glossy wooden floors gave way to traditional tatami mats. You turned down another hallway, passing more closed doors and what looked like a sizeable library before the two of you arrived at the end of the hallway, where one more door waited. The soft glow of lamplight shone out from the frame, signaling that it was occupied. Your stomach fluttered anxiously as Ino stepped up and knocked softly. A low, delighted chuckle came from inside, and your heart stopped as the door finally swung open.

“N-Nanami-san?!?” You managed to squeak out, almost dropping your purse in surprise. 

You had no idea who you had expected to meet, but it certainly wasn’t one of your favorite longtime customers. Moonlight shone down on Nanami Kento's tall, well-built figure, further softening his sharp features as he sat behind a massive wooden desk on the far side of the room. Despite the late hour, he was still dressed in the tan suit and spotted tie he always seemed to favor. A few stray strands of Nanami’s beautiful golden hair framed his face as he nursed a glass of whiskey, raising the crystal highball glass to his lips for a taste of the amber liquid. He let his gaze wash over you, almost as if he was savoring your presence alongside the alcohol. 

A low chuckle came from behind the door, and a raspy, darkly intelligent voice teased. “Oh? I didn’t think you’d ignore me…. I’m hurt.”

 Your heart had stopped earlier, but now it just left your body entirely as Higuruma Hiromi stepped into view. As always, he was almost the visual opposite of Nanami but no less handsome in his black suit. Hiromi walked towards you, tall and lanky, darkly attractive with mussed hair and a near-permanent look of exhaustion hidden behind a small grin. 

“Don’t badger her, Hiromi. She’s had a long day.” Nanami chastised firmly.

Hiromi adjusted the sleeves of his crisp dress shirt and gave you a lopsided grin that made your stomach churn. “Sorry, sorry. I was trying to lighten the mood.” 

The two men were night and day from each other, but they were both your favorite patrons by far, each visiting the Cafe on the same day every week. As certain as night became day, Hiromi showed up on Monday mornings, and Nanami visited you every Thursday. You had grown to cherish their company, even allowing them to come and visit with you in the early hours before the Cafe actually opened, something you had never let anyone else do. However, neither man had ever mentioned the other, and you had never seen them at the same time. You had absolutely no reason to think the men had known each other. 

A memory flashed through your mind as you stared at Nanami, gasping for air.

He had come to visit even earlier than usual one morning, walking in while you were tending to the pastry dough in your small professional kitchen. 

Nanami had poked his head in to find you listening to an old song on your small radio, swaying your hips and humming along to the infectious tune. You were in your own little world, completely oblivious to his presence as you systematically filled croissant dough with chocolate and plopped them onto an awaiting tray. 

You moved to place the tray into the oven but tripped over a rag on the way over, crying out as you braced to hit the hard tile floor…. but the pain you had expected never arrived. Instead, you landed against a broad chest and surprisingly muscular arms that broke your fall. The pastries hit the floor with a loud clatter, but it didn’t matter as Nanami chuckled in your ear, his low, rich voice bringing a deep flush to your cheeks as his hand stroked your waist. 

“Careful, now.”

Only a few weeks later, Hiromi knocked on your front door one morning and stumbled in, tired and exhausted from “a long night at work,” but he had come anyway, wholly unwilling to miss his visit with you. 

“You’d worry too much if I didn’t come,” he’d grinned at you, teasing but infuriatingly correct.

You had steadfastly ignored him, instead choosing to chastise the exhausted man for not taking better care of himself. You made his usual order from memory while making him swear that he’d get more rest. As you pushed the warm cappuccino into his hands, Hiromi’s clever fingers brushed against yours in a way that made your heart flutter. 

“Anything for you,” he had said, looking into your eyes with a smile that made your knees weak.

You lurched back to reality as Hiromi led you to a plush leather armchair and gently helped you sit back. Your movements were slow and robotic, but you didn’t pull away from the warmth of his hand. 

“What… what the fuck is going on?”  You suddenly felt breathless, like you were drowning in the deep end of a pool. Hurt and anger flashed through you like wildfire. You had let these men in. Not only that, you had trusted them and grown to care for each of them. 

 “I’m sorry. We should have told you sooner.” Nanami sighed, “We both agree that keeping you in the dark was wrong, but please give us the chance to explain. The last thing either of us wanted was to hurt you.”

Hiromi reluctantly pulled away from your side, returning to take his seat next to Nanami. He nodded in agreement with the blonde man’s words and took a deep drink from his wine glass before he spoke. “We may not have been completely forthright with everything, but I promise that neither my brother nor I ever lied to you.” 

“But… I thought you were a salaryman, and I thought you were a lawyer?? You didn’t ever mention each other, but now you’re brothers? I thought I knew you. What are you… Who are you?” You questioned furiously, gesturing between the two men. 

All the stolen touches, all the charged glances, and honeyed words... Were they all a lie? 

You’d wanted one or both men so desperately that you’d deleted the dating app on your phone, praying that eventually, you’d work up the courage to ask one of them out. At night, you dreamed about how they’d touch you; in your wildest dreams, you even thought about what having both of them at once would be like. 

Both men had the decency to look ashamed as a single, angry tear rolled down your cheek. Hiromi tugged at his tie as if it had grown too tight, and Nanami sighed deeply, bowing his head. “We aren’t brothers in the literal sense, but we are ‘brothers’ because Hiromi and I joined the same Yakuza family when we were young. You may have heard Ino refer to another member of the Kintatsu-Ikka as ‘shatei’ or ‘little brother,’ which is the same concept.”   

Hiromi finished fiddling with his tie, leaving it undone around his neck. “As for your other question, I am still a lawyer, and he does have some salaryman duties; Kento still handles a lot of booking-related concerns because he’s too damn good with numbers. We both started our careers in administration….” he paused, selecting his next words carefully, “...before we decided that certain things in our organization needed to change.”

You stared at the desk, steadfastly refusing to look at either man as Nanami continued, “Our family split into two rival factions, and Hiromi and I each took control of one side. We reshaped both organizations but left them separate because it allowed us a certain advantage over other, much less savory groups. My men became known as the Kintatsu-ikka, and Hiromi formed the Kageakuma-Kai.”

The names bounced around in your brain, and suddenly, something clicked. You had heard of them; some of the other shopkeepers around your district had specifically purchased protection from one of the two groups. They told you that the men were kind and honorable and could help you if any other Yakuza families tried to trouble you. 

“Why didn’t you tell me who you were in the first place?” Your cheeks flushed hot, and you drew your arms around your body, desperate for some comfort from the way your heart ached. “Were you wanting to play with my emotions… to make me look like a fool?” 

Both men looked instantly mortified. 

“No. Absolutely not.” Hiromi said firmly, frowning as he set his wine glass down with a soft clink.

“That is the last thing we wanted,” Nanami’s handsome brow furrowed deeply as he agreed. 

“You must understand that in our line of work, we don’t meet many genuine people,” Hiromi mused, studying how his red wine swirled against the glass. “Most people we meet either instantly fear us or they want something from us. You…. were an outlier; you were kind, warm, and just-.” 

“Lovely,” Nanami murmured, finishing the raven-haired man’s sentence. “You were lovely. By the time we realized that we needed to tell you, neither of us knew how to. It isn’t an excuse, but we do want to make it up to you.”

“W-what am I supposed to do now?” You stammered. “Ijichi-san mentioned that the detective who showed up at the Cafe today was a ‘bad man.’ What does that even mean?” 

If you had any doubt that the two men in front of you were telling the truth about being Yakuza, it immediately vanished as their expressions hardened in an instant. Nanami’s normally warm, brown gaze carried the full weight of scorched earth, and Higuruma’s dark irises glinted like obsidian.

“Don’t worry; he will be taken care of,” Hiromi muttered, staring intensely over the rim of his wine glass. His tone had a dark, glittering edge, and the implication behind his words made you freeze. 

“The two of you… You hurt people, don’t you?” You questioned softly, almost afraid of the answer. 

Hiromi and Nanami looked at each other briefly before the weight of their combined gaze settled back on you.

“We do, but only people who deserve it,” Nanami said plainly as if he were discussing the weather. “Both the Kintatsu-Ikka and the Kageakuma-Kai are groups that actively follow the code of bushido. We practice honor and restraint but do not show those virtues to those who do not deserve them.”

“That weasel knows that you likely have nothing to do with our organization. He’s a corrupt cop that another Association bought with their blood money; you’re innocent, and he’s trying to hurt you.” Hiromi spat darkly. 

Both men radiated a fiercely protective aura that filled the room and made your heart skip a beat. You had been absolutely terrified earlier, and you had even felt betrayed by both men. They had certainly made a mistake by keeping you in the dark about their identities, but they had also done their best to fix it by helping you and answering all of your questions. A warmth began to blossom in your chest, replacing the fear and anger that previously resided there. With the intensity and honesty of your conversation, you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that both Nanami and Higuruma would walk through fire to keep you safe. 

“So…. What do I do now, then?” You questioned with a soft smile, trying your best to extend an olive branch. 

Their intensity faded, giving way to sheer relief as Nanami exhaled softly, and some of the tension left Higuruma’s shoulders. 

“I’d like for you to stay here, at least for a little while,” Nanami responded gently. “This house is safer than almost any other place in Tokyo.” 

Higuruma huffed into his wine glass, “I think you’re vastly underselling it, but I agree. My place would be the other option, but it’s in the middle of the city, and I don’t think it’s safe for you to re-enter Tokyo just yet.”

You looked down at your coffee-stained clothes and then back to the two men, trying to figure out how to ask what you’d do about basic necessities. Nanami caught on to your dilemma quickly, and he simply smiled and waved his hand. “Oh, don’t worry. One of the guest rooms is already fully set up and we can have anything you need brought in tomorrow.” 

“We’ve caused you enough stress,” Higuruma acknowledged with an apologetic smile. “I can easily speak for both of us when I say that we’d like to take good care of you while you’re here.” 

The lamplight reflected off his dark eyes, which were slightly hazy from the wine. You blushed and swallowed nervously at his words; your frustration had evaporated, leaving you painfully aware of the feelings you still harbored toward both men.

“You’re to treat my home as your own while you’re here,” Nanami added softly. “Ino and Yuji will keep you safe if we have to step out during the day, but both Hiromi and I will be here all night, every night. We will do everything in our power to resolve this matter and keep you safe.” 

The two men shared a pointed look before turning back to face you. Higuruma and Nanami gazed at you with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat. 

“It must be obvious by now that both of us… care for you,” Hiromi murmured, his black eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. “If you allow us, we want to make up for our mistakes. We want to care for you- honestly, we’d both like to spoil you rotten.” 

Your breath caught in your throat as Nanami nodded in agreement. “We both just want to see you safe and happy.” 

“Thank you. I feel much better now with both of you here,” you murmured, desperately trying to keep your voice from shaking. 

It was true. You did feel much better, but you were also completely exhausted from the day's harrowing events. Your body had held so much stress and tension over the last few hours that almost every inch of your skin hurt. 

Hiromi noticed your discomfort, frowning slightly. “Kento, let’s save the rest of this for later. She’s beyond exhausted.”

“How about a hot shower and some sleep?” Nanami suggested softly, and you nodded in vigorous agreement. 

“That sounds lovely.” You murmured wistfully, already imagining how the hot water would soothe your aches and pains. 

Without further fanfare, Nanami and Higuruma got up to escort you from the office. Your legs were wobbly from sheer exhaustion, but you managed to stand and follow the two men without any major issues. As they led you through the house, it was empty; everyone else had either gone home or had long since gone to bed. 

“This will be your room, and the one next to it is mine. Hiromi is on your other side, and my son sleeps across the hall,” Nanami said with a smile, gesturing at each door in turn. If you need anything, please let one of us know.”  

“I will,” you murmured, returning his smile. 

Both men studied you carefully in the dim lighting. They seemed reluctant just to leave you alone, but Hiromi finally broke the silence rather awkwardly. “Er, well, I can only think of one more thing you’ll need to know. We wanted to give you clean clothes to sleep in, but we don’t have many women around… Anyway, we both left you a few choices that should be comfortable enough.” 

Hiromi’s voice was raspier than usual as he looked to the side and scratched his head sheepishly. A light flush had spread across the lawyer's cheeks if your eyes weren’t tricking you in the dim lighting. 

“Ok….?” You said tentatively. Part of you questioned his reaction, but the tired half of your brain just decided to go with it.

“Good night, then. We are glad that you arrived safely.” Nanami whispered with a small smile as the two men headed off to their respective rooms. 

Unsurprisingly, the room they had you staying in was no less beautiful than the rest of the house, but you were far too tired to inspect it thoroughly. All you cared about was the large, soft bed and the attached bathroom as you opened the door, threw off your clothes, and immediately jumped into the shower. The warm water felt just as good as you’d thought, and the spacious bathroom was stocked with any luxury product you could ever need. When you were ready to get out, your skin felt soft and wonderfully pampered. 

You still didn’t fully realize why Hiromi had been so sheepish until after you had toweled off and stepped back into the bedroom. A small, multicolored mountain on top of the dresser caught your eye, and you audibly gasped when you realized that it was entirely made up of men’s clothing. There were luxuriously soft sweatpants, pattered pajama pants, socks, hoodies, and many different styles of well-loved T-shirts, all laid out for you to choose from. Honestly, there were enough clothes in the pile that you could easily have pajamas or comfortable loungewear for an entire month. 

Eventually, you decided on a pair of lovely knit socks, some soft grey sweatpants that were clearly from Nanami’s wardrobe, and one of Higuruma’s old law school shirts. It was almost unfair; the clothes smelled like a perfect mixture of the two men. A heady blend of leather, aftershave, tea, and tobacco clouded your senses, and you blushed, realizing that you’d be wearing their clothes and nothing else since you had no clean underwear to put on. As you dressed, a shiver ran down your spine, but it wasn’t from fear; no, this was a shiver of pure need. 

Both Higuruma and Nanami had been recurring visitors in your dreams for many months, and you had only grown more desperate to know how they’d feel and how they’d taste. You wanted to know if they’d be rough, pressing you into the mattress with deep, almost brutal thrusts, or if they’d be slow and sensual, coaxing orgasm after orgasm from you with their tongues and fingers, making you beg to feel their cocks. Maybe they’d switch between the two, or maybe they’d want you on top. Honestly, you couldn’t even tell what scenario you wanted more. 

Your desire for both men had grown to the point where they were all you could think about. No porn quelled your appetite; no erotic novels brought you relief from the deep-seated desire that throbbed deep in your core and refused to leave for hours at a time. Honestly, you felt like it was driving you insane. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost swear the two men sent you into some kind of feral heat because you were always obscenely wet every night, nearly sobbing in frustration as your pussy begged for something more than your own fingers.

You’d tried overstimulation, erotic ASMR, vibrators, plugs, and even lube meant to replicate cum… literally everything you could think of. You tried to stuff your aching cunt full of every toy imaginable, desperate to find some relief, but nothing truly worked. Sure, you’d eventually orgasm, but it was never as satisfying as you needed it to be, and it did nothing to sate your desire. If anything, it was like only being able to swat at an itch instead of scratching it outright. 

Tonight was even worse than usual; the way Nanami and Higuruma had been so protective of you earlier had only added fuel to the fire. You clenched your thighs together in sheer desperation as you slid into bed and slipped your hand underneath the waistband of your—no, Nanami’s—sweatpants with a whimper. 

 “Both of us care for you…. We want to spoil you….”

Their earlier words rang in your ears as you slid a finger through your folds teasingly, biting the swell of your lower lip to stifle the next pitiful whine that escaped. Your poor little clit was already throbbing, so puffy and sensitive that you had to turn over and bury your face into the pillow as you circled it with your fingers. The men you had fantasized about for so long were literally on either side of you as you touched yourself to thoughts of them, and you could only pray that you were being quiet enough-

There was a single, sharp knock on the door before it cracked open, catching you right at the moment your fingers slid into your soaked cunt.

You could hear Hiromi’s muffled voice, his tone urgent as he asked, “Are you okay? We heard you cry- oh.” 

Two sets of footsteps entered the room and approached you on the bed as you slipped your hand out from between your legs, threw the sheet over your head, and prayed to somehow evaporate on the spot. 

“Is there something you want to tell us, sweetheart?” Nanami rasped, voice low and thick with barely restrained lust. 

“C’mon now, don’t be shy,” Hiromi purred, drawing another whimper from your lips. “We want to help you.” 

You babbled an incoherent mess of words into the pillow, and Nanami slowly pulled the sheet back from your body. He hooked a thick finger under your jaw, gently pulling your face away from the pillow. 

“Need you to use your words for us, darling.” The blonde man murmured. 

“‘M so sorry… just need it so bad. Please, I need you both.” You sobbed shamefully, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as you clenched your thighs together in desperation. 

Something instantly snapped in both men. You felt the bed dip behind you as Nanami crouched down to pull you into a searing kiss. Hiromi slotted himself between your legs, pulling them apart, and you whined desperately against Nanami’s lips as the man between your legs pressed his gorgeous, hooked nose directly against your still-clothed cunt. 

Higuruma inhaled deeply, luxuriating in the scent of your arousal as he growled and cursed under his breath, “Fuck, she’s so goddamn wet already.” 

Nanami sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, nipping it lightly with his teeth as you moaned again, completely lost in your desire. Hiromi licked greedily at the damp patch of fabric that separated his hot mouth from your cunt, shoving his face even further in between your legs like he intended to devour you through the fabric of Nanami’s sweatpants. 

“Ngh, ‘Romi,” You whined against Nanami’s lips as you kissed him sloppily, drawing a deep chuckle from the blonde. 

“What about me, hmmm?” He teased. “If he gets to taste your pretty little pussy, what do I get? 

Nanami trailed his lips across your jaw and down the corner of your neck, licking and biting at your pulse point before making his way up to coo against the shell of your ear, “I think I have an idea.” 

You had never been so aroused in your entire life. All you could do was lay there as Nanami stepped away to undress, and Hiromi pulled you backward. He ripped off your clothes and coaxed you to your hands and knees, stroking your back and sides and whispering hoarse praises as you forced your jelly-like limbs to support the weight of your body. 

As soon as you had all four limbs solidly planted on the bed, Hiromi’s patience snapped, and he lurched forward, sinking his tongue into your dripping cunt. The lawyer moaned shamelessly against your folds as he explored every inch of you with his tongue, kissing and sucking at your labia before reaching forward to stimulate your puffy little clit. 

“Kento, she tastes so fucking good.” He groaned, leaning back to kiss and nip at the pillowy, soft skin of your inner thighs. You shook above him, back arched in pure hedonistic bliss as Higuruma devoured you like a man starved.  

Your eyes rolled back in your head as Hiromi wrapped his hands around your hipbones, encouraging you to thrust back against his eager mouth. Nanami groaned at the sight of the raven-haired man devouring you as he returned to the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, and your eyes fluttered open again. Suddenly, you were treated to the sight of the tall, blonde man completely nude and kneeling in front of you. 

Moonlight shone through the window, once again illuminating Nanami Kento's form, and your mouth went bone-dry. Sure, you had noticed how broad his chest was and how his suit jacket clung to his form, but now you could watch the way his muscles rippled and flexed with every move. Certainly, nothing had prepared you for the massive, golden dragon proudly inked over his entire right arm. It started at his wrist, wrapping up and around his shoulder to bare its fangs in a ferocious snarl across his pectoral. Your gaze trailed further down, past defined abdominal muscles to where his erection stood proudly against his belly. It was certainly larger than average, but what stood out the most was how thick his erect cock was. 

You whimpered, and your cunt throbbed around Hiromi’s tongue as your gaze traveled to the swollen tip that was already starting to leak pre-cum. The raven-haired lawyer pulled back from your thighs, chuckling hoarsely, “I think our pretty baby likes what she sees, Kento. You should’ve felt the way she just squeezed me like a damn vice.” 

Nanami’s large hand cupped your jaw, stroking it with his thumb as he leaned down and pulled you forward into another bruising kiss. In doing so, he accidentally pulled you forward and away from Hiromi’s mouth, causing him to growl in displeasure. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll learn to share,” Nanami whispered against your lips, trailing his hand down to palm your tender breasts. “Are you going to let me feel that pretty mouth, sweetheart?” 

“Please…. Wanna taste you.” You nodded rapidly, already almost salivating in anticipation as the golden-haired man rose and shifted his hips forward. Without any further encouragement, you licked his swollen tip, swirling your tongue around it to taste the heady musk of his pre-cum. His thick cock twitched, and Nanami groaned your name softly, guiding his shaft towards your plush, kiss-swollen lips with one of his hands. 

You greedily sucked the thick tip into your mouth with an audible pop as Higuruma continued to torture you with his tongue and clever fingers, still completely drunk on your taste. Nanami cupped your cheek with one of his large hands before moving that same hand into your hair, entwining his fingers with the strands. From the look of intense concentration on his face and the way his abdomen twitched, you could easily tell that he was fighting the desire to sheath his cock in your throat all at once. 

“Fuck, sweetheart…. you have such a perfect mouth,” Nanami groaned hoarsely, reflexively tightening his grip on your hair. 

You moaned around his cock in response, causing even more of the thick shaft to slide in. 

“Perfect, hah, beautiful…. Divine.” He growled more praises as you slowly took more and more of him until, finally, you nuzzled your nose against the coarse, honey-blonde hairs that trailed up from the base of his cock. 

You had never felt so perfectly and deliciously used as Nanami began to thrust his hips shallowly, sliding his thick cock in and out of your throat. Hiromi’s clever fingers kept circling your engorged clit in the most delicious way, and you launched higher and higher into ecstasy between the two men. 

The band of pleasure in your stomach began to tighten uncontrollably, causing you to moan and drool even more. You could actually hear how aroused you were as Hiromi drilled his fingers into your soaked cunt, easily rubbing against the spongy spot that had you whining like a bitch in heat. 

“Please cum, baby. Need to feel you cum.” Hiromi groaned reverently, almost like he was praying. He reached down to squeeze the base of his own cock hard, trying to keep from cumming in his pants. 

“You're doing so well for us. Please, sweetheart.” Nanami joined in as his thrusts became shaky. 

You wanted to tell them that you would, that you were trying, and that you were so close to the best orgasm you’ve ever had…. but you didn’t even get to finish the thought before your bliss hit you like a falling star, sending you shattering over the edge into hedonistic oblivion. 

You cried out around Nanami’s cock, soaking Hiromi’s face in your arousal as your orgasm was ripped out of you. A shaky curse tumbled from Nanami’s lips as he felt his swollen balls clench hard.  As if you’d started a chain reaction, thick ropes of his cum filled your throat, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you registered Higuruma’s hoarse cry as you greedily swallowed every last drop of Kento’s cum. 

After a few minutes passed, Nanami gently pulled you off of his softening length. He held you against his broad chest, pressing reverent kisses to the top of your head and whispering praises against your skin. Hiromi remained pressed against the mattress for another moment, left completely spent from his own unexpected orgasm, but eventually, he slid up behind you, pressing kisses to your shoulder blades. 

“Beautiful girl, you did so well for us,” He murmured hoarsely, allowing you to slide into his arms as Nanami passed you over and slid out of bed to run the three of you a bath. 

You looked at him with eyes half-lidded in complete exhaustion. “‘Romi, didn’t get to make you feel good,” you fretted. 

“Oh, but you did,” he whispered back, pressing a kiss to each of your eyelids. “You tasted so good that I came in my damn pants like a teenager.” 

—

After that night, you rarely went more than two days without warming the bed of one or both men. True to Nanami’s word, he and Hiromi spoiled you rotten with anything you could ever want, and both men quickly became excellent at sharing you. You lightened up their lives in a way that did not go unnoticed by those around them, but the three of you hadn’t yet discussed what would happen with your relationship when you were entirely safe and able to return to the city. The uncertainty weighed heavily on your mind for a few weeks, and you finally decided to ask the two men. 

A few nights after you’d made up your mind, the opportunity to ask presented itself when the three of you went to the onsen late at night. Both Nanami and Hiromi used the spa and the attached bathing facilities almost religiously, finding it an excellent way to relax from the stress of their day. Like other Yakuza, their tattoos barred them from entering any public bathhouse, so they simply built their own far away from prying eyes. 

“Ken, Hiromi, I’ve got a question for the two of you,” You murmured, slipping into the warm water of the sizeable, man-made hot spring. 

Higuruma chuckled, pulling you close to nibble the shell of your ear playfully. “This could be trouble,” he teased, passing you to Nanami, who chose to press a soft, affectionate kiss to your cheek. 

You smiled at the two men, lightly smacking Hiromi’s arm for the quip. He growled at you playfully, surging forward to chase you around the small pool. Eventually, he caught you and tossed you over his lithely muscular back like a sack of potatoes, giving you a perfect view of the black, swirling Oni mask tattooed across his skin. 

He returned you to your rightful place between him and Nanami as the blonde man scoffed at him, although both of you knew the stern dragon secretly loved your antics. 

“You were saying, sweetheart?” Kento asked pointedly. 

“Mhhmmm,” you nodded slowly, “I… I wanted to know what’s going to happen when it’s time for me to return to the city.”

Both men looked at each other pointedly, just as they had on the night your relationship actually began. 

“Well, we’ve been discussing that, actually,” Hiromi started with a small smile. “Kento and I have concluded that it’ll be beneficial for the Kintatsu-Ikka and the Kageakuma-Kai to officially rejoin forces.” 

You stared at them blankly, “That’s good… I think?” 

“Yes, it is,” Nanami murmured smoothly. “Funnily enough, we both seemed to conclude that most important alliances are forged through marriage.” 

“And we aren’t planning on marrying each other, so, naturally, the best option would be to find a willing third party to act as a proxy.” Higuruma grinned at you. 

Tears of joy pricked at your eyes, “You know…. if you’re asking me to marry you, you may want to ask in slightly less legal terms.” 

Nanami slid up behind you, pulling you back against his muscular chest. He leaned down to kiss your shoulder reverently, cradling your body as if you were the most precious jewel.“Then allow me. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” 

Hiromi grew more serious, but his smile never faded as he knelt in the water in front of you and cupped your hand in his, “And I would also like to ask for your hand in marriage. Let us make you the happiest woman in the world, darling.” 

You pulled both men in to embrace you as tears of pure happiness rolled down your cheeks, splashing into the steaming water. “I love you both so much.”

Nanami and Hiromi wound their arms around you, completely interlocking your body with theirs. 

“There’s one more thing you’ll need to know, love,” Nanami murmured next to your ear. 

“Oh?” You purred.

“If you agree to marry us, there’s a certain…. competition we will need your help with.” 

“And what would that be?” You asked curiously, glancing between the two men. 

Nanami gently reached his hand to trail over your lower stomach, and your breath caught in your throat as you realized what they were about to ask. 

“We want you to give both of us children, darling,” Hiromi husked, roaming his hands over your body, “But instead of planning who will go first… we want it to be a surprise.” 

“You want to see who can get me pregnant first?” You asked in a daze. Both men inhaled deeply at your words, and you could feel them start to harden against you almost instantly. 

“We’ve both seen the way you dote on the babies who visited the cafe…  and the way you look at baby videos on your phone with that soft little smile on your face,” Nanami murmured, “Yuji could use a sibling or two… Just say the word, and we’ll give you a baby of your very own.” 

Your face flushed hotly at the idea of growing round and full with their children, and you had to bite your lip to stifle a whimper. The three of you could likely fill this spacious mountain mansion with children, and you knew that Hiromi and Kento would make the perfect fathers. They both knew when to be stern versus caring, and they’d protect their family with their lives if needed.

“Fuck, you’ll be such a pretty mommy,” Hiromi groaned, palming the swell of your breasts in the water. “We’ll get to see these all full and heavy…”

“If I say yes…. Can we start now?” You ask breathlessly, drawing a hoarse laugh from Nanami and a pleased grin from Higurumua. 

“I think it’d be a shame to waste any time,” Kento said, picking you up bridal-style and carrying you from the pool deck with Hiromi hot on his heels. 

–

In no time at all, you were lying on your back in Nanami’s spacious bed with both of your future husbands hell-bent on bringing you to the pinnacle of bliss. You’d already cum twice, and now Kento was sprawled out between your legs with your knees hooked over his shoulders, softly lapping at your clit as Hiromi kneaded your breasts with his clever fingers. Every so often, the lawyer leaned down to pop one of your hardened nipples into his hot mouth, sucking on the bud until you cried out. 

“Ken… ‘Romi, nnngh, it feels so good….. too much,” You whined desperately at the blissful almost-pain of overstimulation. 

“C’mon, baby. Make another mess for us, yeah?” Hiromi begged shamelessly, leaning up to kiss you deeply. He swirled his tongue into your mouth at the same time Nanami swiped his tongue across your clit, and you saw stars, wantonly moaning into the kiss. 

Nanami repeated the movement with his tongue, and your hips bucked off the bed, but the strong man simply pinned you back down with a growl that made your clit throb. 

“Darling, darling, fuck- so beautiful. You can do it,” The raven-haired man praised you desperately, and your back arched off the bed as your clit throbbed pitifully. Every nerve ending in your body lit up at once as your orgasm ripped through you, causing you to shudder between the two men. 

Nanami pushed himself off the bed and back onto his knees as he wiped the visible traces of your arousal from his chin and licked them from his fingers, smiling down at you in a manner that made you shiver with anticipation. 

“We’re going to fill you up now, darling,” he purred roughly, “One of us is about to get you pregnant, so what do you say?” 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” you mumbled over and over as Hiromi turned you over and laid you against his chest, making sure your legs were hooked over his. He palmed his erection between your legs, using his fingers to coat his thick shaft with your arousal before slowly sliding you down onto his length. 

You moaned in tandem with the raven-haired lawyer as he bottomed out inside you. He was only slightly less thick than Nanami, but his cock was beautifully long. The swollen tip greedily rubbed against your cervix, almost pleading for it to accept his babies as Hiromi tipped his head back, panting heavily. You had to claw at the sheets on either side of him to keep from moving your hips. 

“C’mon, Ken… ‘s not easy to stay still.” Hiromi groaned. 

Nanami chuckled roughly, positioning himself behind you and threading his legs over Higuruma’s but under yours. “Baby, do you remember the word if we need to stop?” 

You nodded frantically. “Please… I remember; just please, Ken.” 

With another long groan, Nanami positioned his swollen cock next to Hiromi’s, doused himself with lube, and very slowly began to push in. At first, it felt as if you were being completely split in half by the two men. You were well past properly aroused, but the intense stretch of taking two thick cocks at once simply took time. Fortunately, both men were more than willing to be patient. 

“Good fucking girl,” Kento moaned as he finally sank all the way in, his balls resting against your plush ass and his cock nestled directly on top of Hiromi’s as they took you at the same time. You sobbed against the dark-haired man’s chest, and he cursed loudly in return; the pressure and heat and delicious friction were almost too much for everyone involved to last any proper amount of time. 

Nanami began to slowly thrust in and out of your core, which was now soaked with a hedonistic mixture of your cum, a generous amount of lube, and the pre-cum from both men. Every thrust sent him rubbing against Hiromi’s cock, creating delicious friction for both men and giving you the overwhelming feeling of being obscenely full. 

Miraculously, the three of you managed to last another three minutes before you came unbelievably hard, convulsing between the two men as your vision turned white. As soon as your core began to flutter around Hiromi and Kento, both men were gone. They each came with a hoarse cry, painting your womb white with their combined seed as your cunt greedily milked it from their swollen balls. 

Eventually, the two men slowly recovered their senses, but you were still absolutely floating. Hiromi pulled out of you first, motioning to Nanami to keep their cum tucked safely inside you. The blonde did so happily, gently keeping you plugged with his cock and fingers until the other man returned with enough clean pillows to prop your hips up properly. After sorting out your positioning, they quickly cleaned themselves off and returned to your side, ready to spoil completely rotten you once you woke up. 

“Oh, and may the best man win.” Hiromi lazily jabbed at Kento, who simply scoffed with his own satisfied grin. 

“The way I see it, we both already won.”

Tagging some friends: @pseudowho @saradika @thefact0rygirl @babygirl-leon-kennedy @hereforthesunrise @ashotofspotchka @ironandglass @amyroswell @cassandrablacker @lady-valtieri @justanothersadperson93 @orangecremepuff @belle-smith07 @outspokenbrat @enchantedsylveon @khaleesihavilliard @spam-love @silverliningsandstorms @msniks @panteramarron @eldritchbeauty @unoriginalidea @cindyneko-strider @markleeisdabestdrug @gabbyburgers @its-chickenwing-450 @luneariaa @akiiireix @tojispookiebear @dangoank0 @ifuckinghateschool @barryatsumu @voids-universe @mahgyu @themoonmonologues @byul9158 @starlitnotes @makingtimemine @mischiefmanaged71 @galactict3a @dreahmdere @mirrors-musings

[writingoddess1125]

'Unique' Kinks

Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Buggy, Shanks, Mihawk X GNReader

⚠️ Warnings ⚠️ Sex- All types. Yeah-

MUST 18+ TO READ! 🚫

Support me on Ko-Fi! ;3

Luffy-

Biting {aka Odaxelagnia}/Food Play

• Everyone knows Luffy loves to eat, It's one of the pillars of his personality afterall

• However the extent of this is also in the bedroom. He loves to bite his significant other

- You couldn't help but blush as Luffy looked over your naked form. His eyes gleaming in a primal joy youd never seen in his gaze before. Smiling brightly and grabbing the chocolate sauce he had snagged from the kitchen he began to pour it over you.

"C-Cold!" You whimper out, But Luffy giggled at this. Leaning down were he had placed the syrup, aka your thighs and began to livk the gentle skin. Earning a embarrassed moan from you as the man continued to livk the chocolate syrup from your skin- His eyes gleamed at this as he smirked.

Giving a surprised yelp and jump suddently as Luffy bit down on the tender flesh slowly but deeply, pulling away to give a delicate kiss over the bruised skin.

"Delicious~"

• You leave every morning with new bites and bruises on your body- Especially on your thighs and throat.

• Don't dare cover then either! He wants everyone to see them and if you do will put them in places were you can't cover them.

Sanji-

Orgasm control/Begging

• This man- While he seems like a gentleman is a bastard in bed.

• He loves to tease you and make you a sobbing mess for him- Getting off by simply watching you and hearing your cries.

- It had been hours already- His fingers carefully between your legs as he forced another near orgasm from you. Tears rolling down your cheeks as you gasp in total desperation.

"P-Please Sanji!" You all but sob out, your hips bucking up to his as your legs shake from the rising build of your orgasm. Shallow gasp leaving you as you were seconds away from cumming- Before the evil man pulled his fingers away.

"Please! No no!!" You beg loudly in need.

"Aww~" He purred out, earning a desperate whimper from you as he licked his fingers clean.

"Not Yet~"

• Will let you cum- Sometimes. Depending on his mood that day.. or week

• Sometimes will make sure you don't cum for days before randomly giving you the biggest orgasm you can imagine- Savoring every moment of your blissed out state

Zoro-

Impact play/DomSub

• Zoro had a fascination when it came to you- mainly the way your skin would bounce and move when his hands slapped it.

• Your thighs being his favorite part about you.

- You grip onto the edge of the bed tightly, panting hard as the toy deep inside of you kept you from thinking straight.

"What number was that (Y/N)?" You heard Zoros voice, the feeling of his hand rubbing against the sore skin of your thighs as he inspected the reddness- His fingers working to nestle the toy back aa deeply into as possible.

"I-I lost count" You admit, your voice shaking as you hear Zoros sigh in disappointment- the thin leather of the belt rubbing across your skin.

"Guess we will have to start over" He hummed, before a quick snap of the leather across your skin drew a yelp from you- The sting paired with the arousal making you burn, a whimpering 'o-one' leaving your voice making Zoro chuckle.

"Count them out Clearly Pet~"

• Will soothe you afterwards with soft words and gentle rubs- His massive hands massaging away at the red skin

• You have to play off why it hurts to much to sit the next morning- Zoro just smirking into his drink

Buggy-

Exhibitionism/Humiliation

• This shouldn't be a surprise- Buggy loves the spotlight afterall.

• As his favorite toy he brings you everywhere with him naked as the day you were born.

- "I want the prop more to the left-" Buggy called out, Waving his hand at some crew members as they moved the massive painted prop. You however holding onto the Captian for dear life-

He'd had you seated on his cock for well over an hour now on his lap and facing him, your face delicately tucked into his shoulder- he was hitting every bundle of nerves inside you and just not moving. His fingers rubbing invisible patterns on your naked back.

You rock your hips for a second, but feel him grab your hips suddently.

"Don't be a total slut, did I tell you to move?" He growled in your ear, clearly amused by your attempt as you whimper into his shoulder.

"So Dirty~"

• Will of course fuck your brains out once you've cum a few times from just sitting on his lap or his fingers working their way between your legs lazily.

Shanks-

Wax play/Sensory Dep

• Most would expect Shanks to use something with his Haki- But no. He loves the warmth and Intimacy of wax play, for himself or his partners.

• Having a warm light basking over the both of your forms as gentle wax washes over his form

- Darkness and warmth- That's all you felt. You had been blindfolded by your partner earlier in the night. Deprived of sight and laying on your stomach in bed, feeling his hand rub oil on your skin as he said he had a special surprise. You waited in anticipation as you heard him shuffle around you-

'Drip'

A surprised gasp left you as the first few drops fell onto your skin, Warmth beading on your sensitive skin as more drops fell over your body and eventually hardening on the tender flesh.

Wax-

Feeling Shanks paint your skin in a erotic artwork of wax, how each splash and drop lit you up like fireworks. Especially since you couldn't feel were they were coming from-

"F-Fuck~"

You moan out as you feel the hot wax run down your back, pooling at the base of your back as the sensation of warmth coated your skin. Shanks chuckling at this as you felt him kiss your shoulder softly-

"A Masterpiece~"

• The best however is afterwards- He loves the sweet Intimacy of working his oiled hand over your body and taking off the wax which often tickles-

• Raveshes you in sweet embraces as you giggled from the cooled wax leaving your body.

Mihawk-

Shibari

• Mihawk likes careful control- That applies with sex as well.

• He will buy the most expensive rope he can to decorate your skin, maybe some toys also to add to his design.

- "Don't Move Little One" Mihawk purred out in your ear, His hands running over your body with firmness and confidence. The soft purple rope he had purchased in his hands as he carefully tightened it over your wrist- Warmth flooding your face as you can give only a pathetic noise.

Clearly pleased with this he tightened it further. Securing your wrist behind your head with your elbows pointed at the ceiling leaving you open and vulnerable.

"That's it~ Very good" He praised, Securing the rope around your torso and decorating it with a series of knots that made you unable to move or fuss- Long fingers working over your ass as he knotted tour legs in a bent state, forcing you to remain spread open for him to enjoy and watch.

"Last step" He hummed, His fingers brushing teasingly at your arousal- chuckling at hearing you wimper. With ease he hooked the excess rope up to the pull above and began to pull you up suspending you perfectly in the air as he walked around you- admiring your form.

"Beautiful"

• Will admire his work and take a sip of wine as he stares at your suspended form, Walking around you like you're a fine peice of art work for his gaze only.

• Will tease your body as you're left at his mercy to enjoy.

Bonus!!

Crocodile-

Voyeurism/BDSM

• To put it simply- He likes to watch..

• You are his favorite toy, his favorite thing to gaze upon like a sunset on the sea-

- You blush and whimper out a moan as you bounce on the rather large dildo under you, you'd already cum twice in 30 minutes but you couldn't let up now- especially with how excited he looked..

Crocodile Sat in a chair a few feet infront of you, a cigar to his lips as he watched your closely- The way your body jiggled and moved with each bounce of the toy, the redness of your skin- and especially the chain clasp tightned around your abused nipples. It was perfect.

"S-Sir" You whimper out, he smirks at your choice of word. Sitting forward as his fingers reached out and grabbed the chains on your chest, tugging on them.

"Faster" He commanded, a broken moan leaving you at his grasp on the clasp as you begin to bounce faster. Your cries getting louder before you sink down fully and cum- Shivering in pleasure as you look up at him teary eyed and too sensitive-

"One more go around~"

• Crocodile won't touch you, Not for a while anyway- Maybe using his sand to caress parts of your exposed form

• But eventually it will get too much for him and he will sleep with you. Rough and hard- Often breaking whatever furniture you happen to be lying on.

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Slip Into Me Part 3: This Sticky Mess of Mine✨

QZ! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: Here is the final part for these two! I might do some one-shots in the future, but we will see. This one is mostly all in Joel’s POV so enjoy 🥰

Chapter Summary: While you’re indulging in a can of peaches, Joel can’t seem to keep his eyes or his hands off you.

Rating: 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 4.7k

Tags: Joel’s POV, QZ! Joel, feelings, a day on patrol with Joel, teasing, unprotected piv, oral and face riding (fem receiving), cream pie, smut and lots of fluff, no use y/n, soft! Joel

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The air is warm as sweat drips off Joel’s tanned skin, running through his slicked back curls as he leans against the rundown walls of an old rundown convenience store. Sunlight glitters off the broken glass shards by the front door. Forest green vines snake their way against the crevice of every corner, even against the ceiling that has mildew corrupting the structure. Picked over shelves and half-opened items litter the cracked ground. But none of that matters because you’re here with him out on patrol. You. The troublemaker that stole his heart back at the QZ. 

   And there you are. Sitting up on the dust-covered cabinet, legs swinging back and forth like you just found the last stash of candy. Hums of satisfaction leave your glossy lips that are now covered with the sticky syrup from the open can of peaches in your hands. And fuck do you look delicious.

   He can’t help but sit back and admire the blush of your cheeks, your beautiful eyes glowing like bright halos as you indulge in one of your favorite sweet treats. Peaches. And God, what he wouldn’t give to be that can of peaches right about now. 

   A smile permeates on his lips, tugging and curling to indent deep dimples in his cheeks, stinging because he can’t stop staring at the angel that sits in his presence. That angel being you, a downright troublemaker. But you’re his troublemaker, and he has no intention of letting you go. Ever. 

   “Good?” he asks, chuckling under his breath as you dip your hand inside the aluminum can and smile up at him, taking the breath from his lungs. 

   “Mmm, so good,” you moan, sucking your sticky-coated fingers in your mouth, licking the syrup slowly from your peach-covered skin. 

   He groans, dragging his fingers along his patchy scruff, undressing you with his eyes, pretending it’s his fingers invading your mouth, commanding you to suck, to taste every inch of his skin. He can feel the saliva coat his skin, can imagine how good your mouth would feel on his fingers, on his lips. Can already taste how fucking soft your lips would feel, his tongue dragging against yours, collecting peach nectar from your mouth, swallowing your moans, slipping his fingers inside your denim shorts, curling them up till you can’t see straight anymore, till you can only say his name again and again and again.

   He drags his tongue against his lower lip seductively, imagining you covered in the sticky syrup, his tongue lapping up every single beautiful inch of you. The smell of nectar and lavender enveloping his senses, getting lost in the sweet taste of your plush thighs, indulging and reveling in how good your pussy tastes. All sweet and messy and perfect for him. Always so perfect. And he wants you. Now. 

   “You want some?” you giggle, kicking your legs with another joyous laugh, your smile flashing in the sunlight trickling through the cracks in the ceiling, covering you in angelic light. 

   His breath hitches and he pushes himself off the wall, stalking toward you like a starving wolf, ready to swallow you whole like you’re a sweet, innocent lamb. But that’s his favorite thing to do. Eat you until you spill everything for him. Always for him. His good girl. 

   He chuckles and shakes his head, stepping in front of you, pushing your legs apart and crowding your space, big hands lingering on your soft skin, jean shorts barely covering your thick thighs. “Think I want something else, darlin’. Why don’t you be a good girl and let me have a taste?”

   “I thought you didn’t like sweets,” you smirk, eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief that he wants to devour fully. 

   “The only sweet thing I like is you, babygirl,” he smiles, his brown eyes melting into yours. And God, those eyes. Those beautiful, sparkling irises he can’t seem to get out of his head. They stick like glue. Permanent, paralyzing, something he wants to never forget. 

   “Is that right?” you ask giddily, a pretty blush staining your cheeks crimson, just like the color of your glossy lips. 

   “S’right. How ‘bout you give me a taste, darlin’?” He gently takes your hand in his and guides it to his mouth, eyes darkening and pupils expanding, giving you that look you know all too well. Your breath hitches when he slips your index and middle finger into his mouth, slowly sucking and gliding his tongue against your soft skin, making sure to clean every single speck of syrupy off your fingers. 

   Your mouth drops open as you gawk at him, watching him ravish your fingers, and it’s probably the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen in your whole existence.

   “S’good, so sweet,” he whispers, prying the can of peaches from your open palm, slowly tipping it to where the savory juice is running down your lips, your neck, your chest. And that’s when he snaps; his body filled with lust and fire pumping through his veins.

   He quickly pulls the cotton t-shirt over your head, leaving you in your lacy black bra and your denim shorts that tease him relentlessly. And as the sticky syrup covers your skin, there’s nothing but an aching need left in every single bone of his body. That need is screaming to devour you, fully and completely. And that’s exactly what he’ll do.

   He takes one more look at your wide doe eyes and jumps, every composure of his control gone in a flash. “C’mere, pretty girl.” His mouth molds to yours in the next second, hands roaming savagely over your body, one hand resting on the small of your back and the other twisting uncontrollably in your hair. 

   A moan slips free when you open your mouth, and it’s like music to his ears. He slots his tongue inside and strokes slowly, eating up every single drop of syrup on your tongue, groaning at the sweet sound of your pretty little moans that fall free as he devours you completely.

   Your fingers lace through his slicked back curls, and a deep groan leaves his throat. He loves the way your fingers brush through his hair, scraping against his scalp, eliciting goosebumps each time you touch him. You’re like lightning, and he’ll gladly accept every single strike you give him.

   Tongues clash wildly together, an uncontrollable wildfire blooming through the abandoned room. All thoughts of infected, raiders, and patrol take flight out the smashed door. There’s nothing in this world that can pry this moment from his fingers. He’ll continue to sink into you until you melt and unravel completely in the palm of his hands.

   He releases from your swollen lips, dragging his tongue down your cheek, sucking the savory skin of your elongated neck, your fingers digging deeper into his scalp as another moan leaves your pretty lips, making him feral with every quiver you breathe. 

   “Joel…” you moan as he unclasps your bra, pulling it free and letting your full breasts spill out for him. He kisses his way down your sticky chest, slowly rolling his tongue over each pebbled nipple, sucking and kneading the supple skin while another moan falls from your lips.

   “S’right, baby. Know jus’ what you need, my little troublemaker,” he smirks, unfastening each button on your denim shorts one at a time, dragging the metal zipper down gracefully and then letting the denim fall in a heap to the floor, leaving you in nothing but lacy underwear that are soaked against your beautiful core. 

   He takes a step back, assessing your arousal, dragging his eyes down your splayed body, your mouth breathing heavily and eyes wide with anticipation. It’s such a gorgeous view that he wishes he had a camera because he so badly wants to remember this moment in full detail. 

   “Look at you, darlin’. Soppin’ wet. Soakin’ right through that lace for me. What a messy girl you are,” he groans, dragging his thumb up the seam of your folds, eliciting a sweet moan from your lips. A choir of angels to his ears.

   “Yes, yes. Messy for you,” you choke out, his hand slipping beneath the drenched lace, rubbing his thumb in tantalizing, slow circles, making you shake beneath his touch.

   “So fuckin’ wet, sweetheart. Let me jus’ slip these off real quick. I’ll make a mess of you yet,” he promises, taking no time in ripping your ruined lace off, eyes wide as you take in the large size of him looming over your bare body. 

   “How are you going to ruin me, Joel?” you ask shakily, your core buzzing for him, your clit already swollen and ready for his meaty hands to ruin you. 

   “For starters, I’m gonna take my time with you. Yeah, gonna take my goddamn time.” He grabs the open can and tips it at a ninety degree angle, letting the syrupy juice of the canned peaches serenade your silky skin, running all the way down until your pretty pink pussy is gushing with the sugary goodness. 

   His hand guides down to your slick folds, rubbing the messy substance over your drenched center, creating the most obscene wet noises that vibrate off the walls, reverberating back into his eardrums like the sweetest sounds he’s ever heard in his entire fucking life. 

   “Goddamn, darlin’. You’re fuckin’ drenched. S’this all for me?” he smirks, eyes blowing out wide with every roll of your tongue, your large eyes burning with need.

   “Yes, it’s all for you. But Joel—fuck. Need you to…”

   “Shhh. I know what you need, sticky girl. Need my tongue, don’t ya?” Without giving you a moment to respond, his tongue darts down your stomach, sinking to his knees slowly, teasing the tip of his tongue over your dripping core, barely brushing against your needy clit.

   “Ohh,” you whine, bucking your hips up in hopes to get the friction you need. But you don’t need to beg because he’s sure to take care of all your needs and leave you completely satisfied and more. 

   “Patience, baby. I’ll give you what you need. Don’t worry,” he assures, guiding your legs over his shoulders slowly, opening your legs wide and sliding you to the very edge of the counter, just enough to let the sticky residue of the syrup slide down and drip into his thick beard.

   He chuckles to himself and licks his lips like he’s about to feast on the most delicious dessert of all. Because that’s exactly what he’ll be doing. Oh, yes. He’s always loved eating messy pussies, but yours takes the cake. 

   “Joel I…”

   He attacks, mouth molding to your perfect pussy, the flat of his tongue licking a clean stripe up the entirety of you, a low moan falling from your lips as he circles meticulously over your puffy clit. 

   “Oh, shit. Feels so good, Joel,” you moan, your arms falling behind you, nails scratching at the chipped wood, legs shaking from the thorough licks of his large tongue. 

   “Yeah, s’right. Take it,” he coaxes, slipping two thick fingers into your dripping hole, curling them up exactly where you like it, right into that spongy spot that makes you lose control.

   He falls into a trance. Licking and teasing and sucking you dry, slurping up the excess peach syrup, tasting the nectar of the gods with every stroke of his tongue. His nose seeps into the curls above your mound, inhaling the sweet aroma of you, drinking you down like he hasn’t tasted water in days. He’s addicted to this. To feasting on you, worshipping you, making you come over and over and over until you spill everything for him.

   He’s selfish for you and he knows it well. He’d gladly get on his knees every single day for the rest of his life if it meant you’d come for him, spill those pretty moans he dreams about night after night. Maybe he’s a mad man, maybe he’s addicted, but God, what it feels like to be addicted to you is like heaven. All consuming and reckless. You wrecked him, but he doesn’t care. You can take all of him, have all of him. He’s yours now. All fucking yours. 

   If this is what a ruined man feels like then so be it. He’s been swept out to sea the moment you stepped foot through his door. He should’ve known he was a goner the first time you laid eyes on him. 

   “Fuck. Joel, I’m gonna come…” you mewl, arching your back and bucking your hips just enough to get his meaty fingers deeper in your core. He knows you love it, him having all the control and ravishing you till you’re nothing but putty in his hands. He fucking loves every second of it.

   “Go on then, messy girl. Get me sticky.” He curls his fingers a little more and pulls hard on your puffy clit, sucking it deep into his mouth and overstimulating your nerve endings just the way you like it. 

   He pumps his fingers once, twice, three more times, and then you’re clenching around him, your walls suffocating his skin. “Spill,” he commands. With one more lick to your bundle of nerves, you’re a goner. 

   Your release floods over his fingers, drips all the way down his bruised knuckles, your high-pitched moans filling the stifling air and knocking the breath from him.

   “Atta fuckin’ girl,” he groans, slowly releasing his fingers from your pulsating core, licking you clean along with his fingers and reveling in the sweet juices of your body.

   “Joel, that was… amazing,” you whisper breathlessly, your body coming down from its orgasmic high.

   “What makes you think I’m done with you, huh?” One eyebrow arches, and a smug smirk curls against his lips, leaving him looking like the devil that he is.

   “Not done with me?” you ask all wide-eyed and surprised. 

   “Oh no, little troublemaker. Not even close.” He tugs at your legs, sending you flailing over the edge of the counter, landing with a thud on his chest, Joel flat on his back.

   You look down in shock, your legs straddled across his broad chest, your center still buzzing with aftershocks of the first orgasm. You should’ve known he wouldn’t leave you with just one. 

   Before you can say a word, he pulls you up to his chin, hovering your open legs right above his mouth, his beard sticky with your release and the remains of the syrupy goodness of the canned peaches. He looks like a mess you wouldn’t mind cleaning up. 

   “Now sit the fuck down and give me another,” he growls with a deep, commanding voice that sends chills down your spine. You obey his command and sit, letting his mouth take you to places you can only reach with his tongue.

   He groans, flicking his tongue up and down the wetness of your slit, pulling on your puffy pink clit, reveling in the glorious moans you fill the hot room with. He’s never tasted someone as sweet as you before, never been this pussy drunk over some girl. But you’re not just some girl to him. No. You’re special, one of a kind that was made just for him. And he plans to keep you for as long as he can. 

   Your fingers pull on his slicked back curls, eliciting a deep groan from his throat while he feasts on your dripping core, smearing your arousal all over his lapping tongue. 

   “So fuckin’ delicious,” he breathes out, diving his tongue inside your slick folds, finding your dripping hole and tongue fucking you till you’re screaming his name. 

   “Joel, Joel, Joel. Oh my GOD,” you moan as he squeezes one hand around your waist, the other drawing slow, languid circles against your bundle of nerves, your walls squeezing the perfect amount before you let another orgasm fall on the tip of his tongue. 

   He laps up every speck of cum that drips down your tight walls, groaning at the sweet taste of you that he just can’t seem to get enough of. You collapse on his chest, but he’s quick to slide you down, right where the tight bulge is struggling to be let free behind his denim jeans. He’s been hard ever since you dipped your finger into the can of peaches, his balls full of his seed, wanting so badly to bend you over and fuck the living daylights out of you. But he’s not selfish like that. He’s selfish for you, needing to consume you in pleasure, forgetting himself entirely until you’re fully satisfied. 

   Maybe it’s the way you always try to put him first, but he’ll be damned if he ever comes first. You’re not just any girl. You’re the fucking goddess that saved his life, the one that showed him a path out of the darkness. You’re the angel in disguise he’s always needed, and he’s forever grateful that he found you in that alleyway so many months ago. He thinks that’s when he fell. And he did. He crashed hard. 

   He grinds your core against his hard cock, digging you against the rough material of his jeans, straining to control himself with your little whimpers. “One more, baby. Give me one more.”

   “Joel, I can’t. It’s too much,” you mewl, brows furrowed in exhaustion.

   “Hey, you trust me?�� he asks softly, tracing a strand of hair behind the shell of your ear. 

   “Yes,” you whisper quietly, still grinding against his bulge.

   “You can take one more, sweetheart. Know you can. Think you can try for me?” he asks while he slowly unbuckles his belt, your fingers pulling the zipper down cautiously. He lifts his hips and pushes his denim jeans and boxers down, freeing his hard cock with precum spilling from the tip, desperate to get inside you. 

   “Mhm,” you hum, agreeing to indulge in his ask.

   “That’s my good girl,” he praises, your core sliding against his tip, smearing it in your wet slick. And then you start to ride him slowly. “Ride my cock, cowgirl. There ya go. Attagirl,” he groans as you fully seat yourself down on him, your tight walls squeezing his cock the perfect amount.

   You pick up the pace; grinding and riding him fluidly, your moans melting with his as bliss takes over his body. “Joel, feels so good,” you moan, eyes rolling back every time he kisses your cervix.

   “Damn right it does. That’s my good fuckin’ girl,” he growls. 

   One more motion and he’s wrapping his arm around your waist and rolling you over, pinning you to the ground as he takes control and fucks you relentlessly. His cock is buried deep inside your pussy, eliciting moan after pretty moan as he rocks his hips faster, his lips sucking and licking your glistening skin.

   He’s barely holding on, unable to focus on anything but you. Beautiful and writhing beneath his hips. “So fuckin’ perfect, baby. One more. C’mon. Let me feel you come again.”

   His thumb presses firmly on your puffy clit, circling slowly to draw all the pleasure out from your body. He wants it all, wants everything from you. He can never get enough of you.

   “Joel, I’m gonna—” 

   “Give it to me, sweetheart. Soak my cock,” he growls, thrusting deeper and circling his thumb faster and faster until you’re screaming his name and clenching him so tight he can’t help but to moan himself. 

   “That’s my girl. Good fuckin’ girl,” he says through clenched teeth, feeling your slick drenching his throbbing cock.

   He pumps in and out faster, huffing and groaning through each thrust he gives. You always feel so good, and he can never get enough. He’s like a starving man, dying when he can’t fill you up with his seed. He’d have you every day if he could. You’re a goddess, and he’ll worship you every single day. As long as you’ll let him.

   One more thrust and he’s throwing his head back, his seed filling inside you full, claiming you as his own. He stills above you, slowly pulls out and collapses to the ground in a heap. He pulls you on top of his sweat-coated chest, and then you both lay there just basking in the presence of each other, panting from the intense orgasms.

   He trails his fingertips down your jawline, lingering them on your glowing skin, needing to keep a grasp on your beautiful face.

   He loves the feel of your soft skin against his rough exterior, softening him up with every brush of your lips. He loves your glowing smile, how it always seems to light up every room you walk into. And your scent. God, the aroma of sunshine and violets and raspberry tea cling to his sheets, eliciting want and need that drives him up the walls. And he loves the way you say his name, all soft and slow, like you’re memorizing every syllable to memory, not wanting to forget the name that branded your tongue the night of the thunderstorm. His tongue swallowed you whole with every languid stroke, with every touch he could grasp. 

   Maybe he should’ve fallen for someone his own age, someone like Tess. But you. He couldn’t forget your lips, the way you blush every time he gives you that look, the one that gets him into trouble with his feelings. That deep, awestruck, mesmerizing look you give with every shy smile that curls against your perfect lips. And maybe… maybe it was that first night you stayed with him, that teasing knife practice lesson, the countless shotgun lessons and long patrol days in the blazing sun. Maybe it was that first touch that made him fall head over heels, crashing into the barricaded walls of the QZ. 

   He thinks it’s love. It is love. And God, he’s so fucking in love that he can hardly stand it. 

   It’s the way you're laying on his chest, leaning on your crossed arms, staring up at him with those beautiful glossy eyes, the warmest smile shining over your dewy lips. And that’s it. He’s a complete goner to the sweet girl that never should’ve walked through those QZ gates. Because now you’re his. 

   “We should probably get up. Tess and Nathan might show up any minute now,” you sigh, starry eyes still locked on his. And fuck, you’re so beautiful.

   “Five more minutes,” he groans, pulling you closer, skimming his lips across your forehead.

   “Joel Miller. What if they see?!” you squeak, jaw dropped in amazement.

   “Let ‘em see. I suspect they already know what we’re up to,” he chuckles, fingers brushing down your back in slow circles.

   “Oh? Tess knows?” you ask with your brows raised in question.

   “She might know. Might’ve told her how much I like you. And you live at my place now, darlin’. Think she’s very aware of what we are,” he chuckles softly.

   “And what are we?” you ask with a devious smirk, wanting to hear it from his own lips.

   “We’re together, baby. A couple. You and me.”

   Your beautiful eyes glow under the sunlight basking through the window, your smile knocking the breath from his lungs. “I love hearing you say that,” you murmur dreamily, perched on top of his chest like a glowing angel.

   “I’ll say it every day if y’want me to,” he replies with a smile, his palm brushing softly against your cheek.

   “Please do,” you giggle, eyes softly waning in his wide eyes. He fucking loves when you do that.

   “You know. One of these days, I’m gonna take you away from the QZ gates. Somewhere far far away. Maybe to Jackson where there’s no soldiers, no strict rules, no curfew, jus’ mountains and fresh air and freedom.”

   You bite your bottom lip and brush a tousled curl from his forehead, his hand catching yours and lacing his fingers through yours. “And why would you do that?”

   “‘Cause I…” He pauses, the words running dry from the tip of his tongue. 

   “You what?” you push, wanting to hear the words from his mouth. 

   “‘Cause… I think I’m in love with you,” he whispers out, eyes glossy from the daze of basking in your glory. His sweet little angel.

   “You? You’re in love with me?” you gasp, eyes wide in awe. You never thought you’d hear the words fall off his lips first. 

   “S’right, sweetheart. I’ve fallen for the pretty troublemaker from California. My little smuggler,” he chuckles, cupping your chin between his index finger and thumb.

   You melt into his chest and sigh, eyes soft with love. “And what would you say if I told you I felt the same?”

   He smiles, tears pooling in the back of his eyes because he’s so fucking in love with you. “You feel the same ‘bout an old man like me?”

   “Mhm. I’m so in love with you, Joel Miller. Think I have been for a while now. Grey curls and all.” You push your fingers through his messy curls, and he groans beneath your touch. He’s always been so soft for you. For months now it’s always been you.

   “Well then. Looks like you’re all mine, sweet girl. The world is ours. We can go anywhere you want. Jus’ say the word and I’ll take you. Wherever you want. I’m all yours.”

   You graze your lips against his cheek, his patchy beard brushing against your jawline. “How about for now you just take me back home?”

   He nods and smiles gently. “I can do that. I’d do jus’ about anything for you, pretty girl.”

   When you shift your weight and fall into him more, where he can smell the taste of promises in the air, you look up with eyes that melt him into liquid. “Joel?”

   “Hmm?” he hums, mesmerized by the beauty before him. 

   “Kiss me?” you ask softly.

   He cups the back of your neck and pulls you to him, inches from his lips. “C’mere, love.” He crashes his mouth against yours, starting wildfires in his beating heart. He’ll never get enough of you, never get enough of this. You in his arms, your lips hanging off his, bodies burning for the other. 

   He’s engulfed in you, and he’ll let you swallow him until the only thing he can breathe is you.

   He faintly hears Tess closing in to the area, so he pulls you up and helps you dress, tossing his clothes on the moment you’re back in yours. Grabbing your soft hand in his, he leads you out into the light of the outside world again, breaking the peaceful bubble that only you and him shared. 

   When Tess emerges from behind a tall oak tree, Joel sighs but doesn’t drop his curled fingers that are interlocked tightly with yours. Nathan, one of the other smugglers trails behind, searching for any infected or raiders he might encounter.

   “There you are. What have you two love birds been up to?” she asks with a mischievous smirk, eyes locking on your entwined hands.

   “Wouldn’t you like to know,” Joel chuckles while Tess shakes her head in knowing. 

   “Glad to see you keep this one smiling. He’s a troublemaker, this one,” Tess laughs, your cheeks blazing hot under a pretty blush that stains your flawless skin.

   “You hear that, trouble? Looks like I’m also a troublemaker,” Joel whispers in your ear, his lips brushing against your jawline as he plants a soft kiss on your face.

   “Guess we’re perfect together then,” you smile, biting your lower lip as shyness takes over. God, he loves when you do that.

   “That’s right, baby. Looks like we were meant to be.” He gives you one more kiss atop the crown of your head and steers you forward, fingers still interlocked as the both of you make your way back into the green forest.

   Forever is an awfully long time, but for you? For you, he’d live a thousand lives if it meant he got to be with you. 

   You’re his little smuggler, and he’s never going to let you go.

[lvnleah]

could you please write a hc of mcfoord toddler maybe like readers first day of preschool and she gets hurt?

Tiny scrapes | Caitlin Foord x Katie McCabe.

word count: 700

Your morning started like any other, waking up to the soft sounds of your mums moving around the house. Caitlin was already in the kitchen, making you your favourite breakfast—pancakes with a little bit of syrup. You sat in your chair, still a little sleepy, as Mummy smiled at you.

“Ready for a big day at preschool, kiddo?” she asked, handing you a plate.

You nodded your head, “Mhm! I can’t wait to see all my friends.”

Katie came in a moment later, her hair still damp from her shower. She ruffled your hair as she sat beside you with her own plate of breakfast.

“It’s going to be a good day, kid. We’ll pick you up after training, so be good for your teachers, alright?” she said. You nodded eagerly between bites of pancake.

Once breakfast was done, Caitlin helped you get dressed and into your coat while Katie grabbed your backpack. The three of you headed out the door, and as always, you held both of their hands.

The drive to preschool was filled with the usual chatter. Caitlin asked you what you wanted to do today at school, and you told her about the swings and how you were going to be the fastest runner.

Katie laughed, “That’s my girl, the fastest runner on the playground.”

When you arrived at preschool, Caitlin knelt down to kiss your cheek. “Be good, little one,” she said, her voice soft as she hugged you tight.

Katie did the same, giving you a quick kiss on the top of your head. “We’ll see you later, kiddo. Have fun!”

The day started like any other at preschool. You played with your friends, built towers with blocks, and sang songs during circle time. Everything was going well until it was time to go outside for a break.

The playground was your favourite, and you were ready to show everyone how fast you could run. You darted around, pretending to be a superhero, your cape (which was really just a coat) flapping behind you.

But as you ran toward the swings, your foot caught on a tree root you hadn’t seen. Before you could stop yourself, you tumbled forward, landing hard on your hands and knees. The sting of the fall hit you all at once. You looked down at your knee, seeing a scrape with a bit of blood, and tears sprang to your eyes.

Your teacher rushed over, helping you up and giving you a comforting hug. “It’s okay. Let’s go inside and clean that up.”

But it hurt, and all you could think about was wanting Caitlin and Katie. The teacher called them, and while you waited, she gave you some ice and a drink, but nothing felt right.

Not long after, Caitlin and Katie arrived. They both came rushing in, eyes full of worry. Caitlin was the first to scoop you into her arms.

“Aw, sweetheart, what happened?” she asked, kissing your head as she held you close. Her voice was gentle, but you could hear the concern.

“Fell over,” you mumbled, sniffling a little, “Knee hurts, Mummy.”

Katie crouched beside you, looking at your knee with a frown. “Ach, that looks like it hurts,” she said “We’ll get you home, get that all cleaned up, eh?.”

Katie carried you out to the car, holding you tight as you rested your head against her shoulder. Once you were in the car, Caitlin kept a close eye on you from the front seat, turning around every few minutes to check if you were alright.

Instead of going home, though, they took you to the training ground. You were feeling a little better now that you were with them, but your knee still hurt. When you got there, Caitlin and Katie took you straight to the medical room. The team’s medic was gentle, cleaning your knee while Caitlin kept you distracted.

Katie held your hand the whole time, “You’re a tough one, aren’t ya, kiddo?” she said with a smile. “Braver than most of the players, eh!”

Once your knee was bandaged up and you’d had a big cuddle from both of them, you felt much better. Your bear even got his own little bandage while you got a little crayon plaster.

Caitlin kissed your forehead. “There’s my brave girl,” she said proudly. “How about you stay here with us and watch training?”

So, for the rest of the day, you sat on the sidelines with a snack in hand, cheering whenever Caitlin or Katie did something amazing to you on the field. Caitlin would give you a wave every time she looked your way, and Katie always made sure to pull funny faces at you when she ran past.

By the end of the day, you’d forgotten all about your scraped knee. You had your Mummy and Mama with you, and that made everything better.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Breakfast

Ellie Carpenter x Daniëlle van de Donk x Child!Reader

Summary: Ellie's in your house again

"Ellie," You say," What are you doing?"

She swears, jumping out of her skin and dropping the frying pan to the ground. "Jesus Christ," She gasps in her stupid accent," What are you doing here, kiddo?"

"This is my house," You reply," What are you doing here?"

Ellie's your Mamma's new girlfriend. Before her was Beth when you lived in England and now that you're in France, it's Ellie. You don't really know how you feel about Ellie just yet.

She makes Mamma happy, that's true, but she's in your house too often for your liking and the sting of Mamma's breakup with Beth is still a little too fresh in your mind.

"I slept round," Ellie says, bending to pick up the dropped frying pan and place it on the stove," And now I'm making breakfast."

You stare at her in suspicion before nodding. "Cool," You say," I'm going to see Mamma."

Ellie catches your arm before you can leave and you frown at her.

"Daan's still asleep," She says," Don't wake her up, kid."

Mamma always tells you not to do exactly what other people say without getting something out of it yourself so you cross your arms over your chest.

"What do I get if I don't?"

Ellie groans and you pull your arm away and take a firm step towards Mamma's closed door.

"Hey! No, wait! Wait! I'll...er...You like pancakes? I can make you pancakes."

You think about it for a minute.

"With syrup?"

"With syrup."

"Okay."

You hopped up onto one of the seats at the kitchen island and waited, just staring.

It was clear that Ellie didn't really know what to do with you. She had never really interacted with you on her own. You were Daan's kid and she was Daan's new girlfriend. It was only right that you seemed a little aloof around her.

You were older now than Ellie knew you were when you had interacted with Daan's previous girlfriends. You had your own opinions now and, clearly, one of these opinions was that you didn't really enjoy this veritable stranger in your house.

"Is it hot all the time in Australia?" You ask suddenly.

Ellie begins to mix her batter. "No, not always. It gets cold in the winter like everywhere else."

You made a noncommittal noise and reached out for some of the fruit in the fruit bowl. "Did you have a girlfriend before my Mamma?"

"I did."

"But Mamma's better." It wasn't a question and you bite into your apple as you kick your legs in boredom, sparing a look back at Mamma's closed door.

"Er...yeah," Ellie replies, finally putting the first of her batter into the pan," I guess you can put it like that. Me and your Mamma just fit better."

"Mamma and Beth used to fit," You say," Before we left and they argued. I'm not Beth's baby so they can't share me like my friends who have divorced parents get shared."

Ellie doesn't quite know how to respond to that as she plates up a pile of pancakes for you and a pile of pancakes for Daan.

"Mamma and Beth argued and argued and I never got to see them because they didn't like letting me see them angry. People who used to fit don't always end up fitting properly."

"I-I'm not trying to take Daan from you," Ellie says eventually. She's not looking at you but she's stopped plating up food to talk. "Look, kiddo, I'm dating your Mamma. And I don't plan on breaking up anytime soon." She turns around to look at you. "I understand that this is new to you and you're probably still a little hung up about Mead but I'm not going anywhere and neither of you. Can we just coexist?"

You stare at her for a moment before standing. You're not very tall for your age but it doesn't stop you from walking like your Ellie's height, sidling up next to her and scraping the pancakes meant for Daan onto your plate.

"Mamma doesn't like pancakes for breakfast," You tell Ellie," She has gross yoghurt and oats and some cut-up fruit." You reach for the squeezy bottle of syrup. "It's in the fridge."

Ellie looks at you in disbelief. You've somehow smuggled all of the pancakes onto your plate even though it was meant to be split between you and Daan.

"She likes the chocolate protein shake better than the mango one!" You also repeat before scampering off to wait by Daan's door.

You don't enter without Ellie but once she opens the door, you've bolted over to Daan.

"I was nice," You announce to your Mamma, who sits up in bed wide awake and looking like she had been for a while now," Promise."

Ellie slides back into bed on your other side, forcing you in the middle of them as she passes Daan her breakfast bowl. "How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough to catch y/n watching you from the hallway," Daan replies," And long enough to send her in to bond with you."

"Didn't bond," You insist through a mouthful of food," Just talked."

Daan smiles fondly at you, collecting some of the syrup from your plate with a finger and sticking it into her mouth. "Of course," She says," Because you're too cool to bond with your Mamma's new girlfriend."

You shrug but then quietly admit," Ellie made me pancakes. I guess she's kind of cool sometimes."

For some reason, that makes Ellie feel more proud and triumphant than any Champion's League medal ever could. She feels smug which Daan definitely spots from the way that she rolls her eyes.

"Cool enough to join us at the park today?"

You begrudgingly sigh. "Yeah, I guess so."

[howdoyousleep3]

Pairing: Daddy Steve/Baby Bucky Rating: E (Explicit) Word Count: 4.4K Tags: Porn Without Plot, Established Relationship, Drunk Sex, Daddy Kink, Light Dom/Sub Relationship, Brat Taming, CNC (Consensual Non-Consent), Dirty Talk, No Prep (there is an obscene amount of lube though lol), Spanking, Anal Sex, Manhandling, Feminization, Rough Sex, Light Exhibitionism, Light Subspace, Breeding Kink, Size Kink, Spitting, Coming on Face, Ruined Orgasm A/N: It's about time. The current state of my life and my mental health called for a mean and selfish Daddy Steve who doesn't give a fuck. In this fic, these two rely on their established relationship and deep understanding of one another. Daddy Steve has never talked or acted like this. Bucky loves it even if he is frightened by the thrill of it. I hope you trust them and love it too. ❤️

Read here on Ao3

“Listen, Buck— I’m going out to dinner with my friends and that’s that.” 

Bucky isn’t used to being told no. 

“I don’t know what else to tell you. You’re just going to have to deal with it, baby. I’ll be home later tonight.” 

Bucky doesn’t react well to being told no. 

“I love you,” Steve had told him to obviously end the conversation, something akin to annoyance evident in his tone, digging into and burning at Bucky’s skin. Being told no feels like rejection, feels like betrayal, feels like nothing his Daddy should be forcing him to feel. 

So, Bucky hung up without another word, without a proper response. 

Without giving Daddy his “I love you”. 

If Steve wants to be mean, Bucky can be mean too. He can be mean even through the tears and through the sting of rejection and through his admittedly unnecessary pouting. So, he ignores Steve’s calls, ignores his texts, ignores his warnings. 

Buck…

Don’t do this. You know this won’t end well. 

Pick up the phone, Bucky. 

He goes about his night alone at home, ignoring Steve’s attempts at communicating, at apologizing, at getting back onto Bucky’s good side. He orders takeout and ignores the immediate urge he’s met with to order Steve’s meal of choice as well; he doesn't deserve it. He drinks half a bottle of red wine as he scrolls through Instagram, watches reruns of Real Housewives of New Jersey, and waits for his food to be delivered. 

By the time he’s done with his meal, he’s finished off the bottle of wine and ignored three more of Steve’s texts and two more calls. 

Why are you being such a brat? 

Pick up the damn phone.

You’re fixing to piss me off, Buck.

Daddy’s been drinking. 

Bucky decides to shower. He takes a long, hot, luxurious shower. He shampoos his hair twice, uses his expensive body wash that smells like pumpkin cinnamon rolls. He drenches himself in the matching body oil once he’s done showering, takes the time to put on his best skincare, his favorite oil for his hair. 

He feels like he’s floating on a cloud as he falls into bed naked and wraps himself up in their flannel sheets and heavy duvet. He doesn’t even bother going in search of his phone; he has no plans to respond to whatever Steve sends him anyway. 

Steve can kiss his ass.

Bucky is pulled slowly from his sleep. 

It isn’t in an instant or a sharp awakening; it feels like he’s being pulled slowly through syrup from his dream-riddled sleep by something curious. 

Bucky furrows his brow. Is that—?

It’s a noise, a consistent noise. 

A familiar, wet noise that immediately sets Bucky on fire from the inside out. 

The recognition of that noise forces his body and mind into a state of almost panicked awakeness then. A sharp wave of premature arousal wracks his body, something of a Pavlovian response, and it sends his heart pounding against his ribs. He opens his eyes and blinks a few times in order to help adjust to the darkness of the room, the lights from the city just outside their windows helping to keep the room not fully encased in darkness.

Once his eyes adjust, he finds the source of the sound immediately. 

He was right.

Steve stands within reach of Bucky’s bedside, close enough to touch, his cock pulled through the zipper of his pants and held in his hand. 

Fisting it.

He doesn’t even say anything when he locks eyes with Bucky, his mouth slightly dropped open and a sharp gleam in his eyes just past his glasses that leaves Bucky on edge, curious and hesitant and hot. He tries hard not to let his eyes drop back down to the sight of Steve’s impressive cock, digs his fingers into the mattress in an attempt to ground himself, but it’s useless. It’s always useless. 

He loves his Daddy’s cock. 

Bucky doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word. He watches on as Steve reaches for an open bottle of lube he must have pulled out of Bucky’s bedside table, watches on as he squirts some messily into his palm before reaching for his cock again. He tosses the bottle onto the bed carelessly. 

Something deep, deep within Bucky begins to grow restless. 

“Still ain’t got nothin’ to say to your Daddy?” 

Steve’s voice cuts through the air and the tension like a hot knife through butter. Bucky feels the bass of it in his toes, the bite of Steve’s growl curling around his neck. 

He curses himself for once again not thinking his tantrums through to the end, for thinking he ever stood a chance against his Daddy. 

“Yeah, forgot how much of a fuckin’ punk you can be when you don’t get your way.” 

Oh.

That’s how it’s going to be? 

The thrill of uncharted territory skirts up Bucky’s spine, the nervousness of the same curling into a ball in his belly. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t spoil me so much then,” Bucky weakly tries, but Steve only scoffs and strokes his cock harder, the girth of him making Bucky’s mouth traitorously water. 

“I’m not responsible for your fuckin attitude, Buck,” Steve bites out in a tone Bucky has only heard a few times before. It nearly forces tears to spring to his eyes, nearly pulls a whimper from the back of his throat. It also makes his balls begin to ache. 

He chooses not to say anything in response, but Steve fills the silence after a minute or two. 

“Thought about comin’ home to just blow my load all over your pretty face while you slept before crawling into bed, but…don’t know. Think I want you to be awake when I take out my anger on your pretty body.” 

Jesus. 

“Andy said I should do it, mark you up all over your face, maybe smack you around a little. But James said I need to take it out on your ass. And I gotta say…I’m keen on taking it out on your ass.” 

Bucky’s head spins. He grows dizzy from where he lays, his jaw going slack as that dizziness morphs into fuzz, into familiar heaviness. The erotic image of Steve sitting amongst his friends and discussing Bucky’s punishment pulls his hips into the bed beneath him, forcing his next few breaths to grate against the front of his throat. His dick fills out, chubbs up, fattens between his legs and in the sheets. 

Steve talking about him, about something so sexual, seeking advice from his friends on how to handle his baby— it’s all far too much to process at once.

The added layer of them all drinking, of knowing what Steve gets like when he has amber liquid slipping through his system, intensifies Bucky’s reaction. 

He’s certain Steve was spewing filth, was sharing intimate details of their relationship. He was surely discussing Bucky, what he likes and dislikes, how he reacts to Daddy’s decisions and hand. 

Fuck, Bucky shouldn’t find it so hot, but he’s damn near drooling for it. 

“Yeah, that’s right— it was a group decision. Had to tell ‘em all how bad you were bein’, had to explain why I was so fuckin’ fired up when I got there. You don’t even want to know the fucked up shit Levinson and Walker said I should force you to do. So, we decided on your ass, that your ass deserves the punishment.” 

Bucky will never be able to look Steve’s friends in the eyes again. Or maybe he will, but he’ll surely pop a boner the moment he does.

Steve’s groan is somehow thunderous yet low, long and drawn out, as he resumes stroking his cock, as he reaches into his pants and pulls his balls out. Bucky barely has time to whine at the sight before Steve is speaking again.

“But that works out ‘cause if I’m making you fuckin’ take it, I’m gonna be selfish about it. Yeah sure, I’m your Daddy and I’m supposed to teach you a lesson and make you aware of the consequences of your actions, blah blah blah—” 

Bucky’s not once heard Steve talk like this.

“— but not everything has to be a fuckin’ lesson. Sometimes I just wanna…just wanna make it hurt, lay you out a little bit. Don’t wanna make your punishment about you; I want it to be about me.” 

Bucky thinks for a moment that he has no footing, has nothing to grasp at to ground himself in the slightest. But Steve is his safety, is his other half; he’s safe here. He’s safe with Steve and he doesn’t need to question that. And because of that, because of the foundation of trust and love they share, Bucky comes to the decision that this? 

This is hot. 

It’s hot as fuck.

“Roll over,” Steve sharply and suddenly demands. “I wanna see that boy pussy I’ve been thinkin’ about fucking all night.”

Bucky whimpers, his legs spreading on instinct, his next few breaths shaking loose from his lungs. His noises sound almost like a hiccup, like a set of sobs, and he’s rising up onto his knees before he can think twice about it. 

Where he’d normally receive a noise of praise or appreciation, he instead receives a bark of, “Turn the fuck around, show it to me the way I deserve.” 

Bucky scrambles. At least he feels as if he’s scrambling, as if he’s moving quickly and awkwardly, but if the thickness of his thoughts and the difficulty of thinking a second ahead is any indication, he probably looks as if he’s lazily moving through molasses. 

Bucky still doesn’t get the noise or words of praise he’s used to when he’s finally turned around, when he’s got his back in a deep arch and his cheek pressed against the sheets as he faces away from Steve. He instead soaks in the noises of the sound of Steve beating himself off, the slick noise of his fist as he drags it up and down his— 

“You’ve been a little bitch tonight. The guys made me promise them I wouldn’t give into you the moment I saw your pretty hole, but fuck me— that’s a pretty fuckin’ pussy.” 

Bucky does moan this time, loud and ragged with tight emotion. His dick hangs heavy between his legs, achy from the suddenness and surprise of his arousal, and his hole clenches easily and involuntarily at the compliment. 

“Fuck, look how small it is, look how little that fuckin’ hole is. It’s a miracle I can fit my dick in there, my big fuckin’ dick. Your Daddy’s got a big dick, doesn’t he?” Goddamn. Bucky wants to shuffle around on his knees so he can choke on his Daddy’s big dick. He wants it in his mouth, on his tongue, in his throat. He wants—

“I asked you a fuckin’ question,” Steve damn near growls, and the sharp sting of a slap on the meat of his ass shocks Bucky’s answer from him. 

“D-Daddy’s got a big dick.” 

“Yeah, that’s right— say it again. Tell me again.”

Bucky tucks his arms under his chest, spreads his legs even more, offering himself up. 

“Daddy’s dick is so big.” 

Steve chuckles into his next groan. “Fuck, I love hearin’ that.”

He listens as Steve moves next, hears him take a few steps, hears him shuffle around before Bucky then feels a cold glob of liquid hit his ass cheek. He gasps, jumps even, but Steve just moans and spreads the liquid across Bucky’s ass with his hand. 

Bucky doesn’t even have time to ask questions or think of how messy or obscene smearing his ass in lube is when Steve’s hands are on him like this. It’s as if Bucky isn’t there as a person, as if Steve is alone in this room with his ass, as if he were a toy. Daddy’s hand rubs the lube into the cheeks of his ass carelessly, smearing it around and covering him in the slippery liquid simply for the selfish enjoyment of seeing Bucky’s ass oiled up. 

So much for his luxurious, self care shower. 

Bucky’s head is so far in the clouds that he barely registers more of it being squirt onto his ass, the feeling of Steve’s hands rubbing and moving almost hypnotizing, but then Steve is rubbing it over his hole, circling it with his fingers and thumb, pressing his thumb into his hole as he moans. 

Bucky squeals.

These touches are indicative of Steve meaning what he said about this punishment being for him; these are selfish touches. 

The slap of Daddy’s big cock right over his soaked pussy makes him whine. But the feel of Steve then resting his cock between Bucky’s cheeks, of pushing his hips forward in a rhythmic motion draws his whine out further. 

“I’m gonna be mean about it because it’s what you deserve. What I deserve. M’gonna fuck this little pussy the way I want to, for me— don’t give a shit about you right now. You wanna come? Fine. But this ain’t about you.” 

Steve pulls his hips back in order for his hand to come down over Bucky’s wet hole hard, just the once and then three more swift times, spanking it and forcing another squeal out of Bucky’s mouth. 

“Fuck…!”

He’s barely able to jump away from the sting, barely able to feel the burn of such a harsh touch, before Steve is stepping close again and pressing the fat tip of his cock back against Bucky’s soaked hole. 

“You better bear down on it, baby— didn’t spend my sweet time training this pussy for nothin’.” 

Bucky’s body and mind come together for a moment of panic, mesh in an effort to preserve what they perceive to be Bucky’s safety that is in danger. It’s too fast, too quick; it’s not what Bucky’s used to. He gasps as he shrinks away from Steve’s touch, his thoughts getting the best of him and— 

Steve’s strong hand on his nape is like a warm blanket, like an off switch, even when it’s a touch that makes it difficult to breathe. 

“None’a that now. Bear down, here we go…”

Claiming. 

Breeding. 

Steve’s always shown mercy, is in tune with Bucky’s mind and body, holds Bucky as a priority in life and in the bedroom; that is what Bucky is used to. But that Steve is nowhere to be found in their bedroom shrouded in darkness tonight. That Steve has been pushed past the brink of the vast amount of patience he holds, has been filled with amber liquid that takes away his softness. He’s nowhere to be found as he spears Bucky open on his cock, as he uses his big hands to press into the deep arch of Bucky’s back and use it as leverage to fuck into him faster, harder. 

Bucky tells himself it’s a lot, that it’s overwhelming, but that it doesn't hurt. He’s used to sex; they have sex frequently. His body doesn’t need to be warmed up to taking Steve when he takes Steve on the regular. But rarely does he take Steve’s cock this fast, this quick, this harsh. His stream of noise is constant, is veering on feral in nature, and he all but thrashes underneath Steve’s hands and on his cock in response to being split open. 

“This is my fuckin’ pussy,” Steve grounds out between what sounds to be gritted teeth, and Bucky can’t tell if it’s a reminder for Bucky or filth for himself. 

Bucky can’t breathe. He chokes on his breaths, on his noises that won’t stop pouring out, his breaths caged up in his chest. Steve has his waist in a brutal grip, pressing his body further into the mattress, and with Bucky’s arms trapped under his chest it makes it cages his breaths up further. 

He wills himself to breathe, begs himself to focus and to open up his willing body to his Daddy. It’s not difficult for him to want this, even as they tread new waters together, but he is quick to come to peace with his body taking the brunt of this…whatever type of punishment this is. 

The only moment of mercy Bucky is shown is when Steve’s hips meet the curve of Bucky’s ass, and even then Steve only stills long enough to press and grind his cock impossibly deeper into Bucky. It’s as if he wishes to crawl inside of Bucky with a growl, as if Bucky’s body taking the entirety of his cock isn’t enough and he needs more than Bucky can give him.

Bucky feels drool on his chin. 

His blinks are slow and lagging, or maybe that’s his eyes rolling back into his head. 

“God fucking damnit,” Steve groans, his tone showing evidence of both relief and frustration, the smack he gives Bucky’s ass driving that frustration home. He jerks his hips back, pulls out of Bucky halfway before filling him up to the brim again. The lewd, wet noises of his pussy makes his cheeks burn in embarrassment, makes him moan at the easy slide and overwhelming sensation of stretch.

Bucky doesn’t know why he pretends to be a brat. A few harsh words and a smack on his ass and here he is face down, ass up for his Daddy. 

Steve pulls his hips back again, is quick to slide them back home, beginning to fuck Bucky in earnest. 

Bucky’s head spins. 

“Pretty fuckin’ pussy for a pretty fuckin’ boy,” Steve tells him in a rumble, rubbing his thumb around Bucky’s stretched and wet rim. 

On the other hand, maybe he should be a brat more often. 

Steve fucks him without mercy. 

Bucky is used to mercy.

He’s used to eye contact and pauses and little, “You good, baby”s. He’s not used to feeling the entirety of Steve’s strength pressed into his body, not used to feeling bruises form in the moment. He’s not used to feeling like Daddy is simply using him for his hole, for somewhere wet and warm to stick his dick and fuck into. 

This is different. 

This feels so good even if it is a lot. 

It has his emotions twisted up in his stomach. 

The way his body rocks forward with every brutal thrust, the force of the stretch of his pussy, the feeling of spreading his legs and being bent over for his Daddy; he’s almost embarrassed he can very realistically come from this kind of treatment. 

He doesn’t realize he’s saying things until Steve is laughing, groaning, the noise of it swirling around Bucky’s empty brain like a marble. 

“Oh sugar,” he moans long and slow, his hands coming down to cup Bucky’s ass as he fucks it, spreading it wide. “You got nothin’ to apologize for— none of that fuckin’ matters now that I’m inside’a you.”

Was he apologizing? He can hear himself now, the drawn-out, almost mournful noises he’s making as spit pools into the sheets underneath him. It’s all nonsense; he can tell that even though his brain is having a hard time processing his own words. 

“Stretch me out, Daddy,” he hears himself whine. “I’m sorry— M’so sorry! Make it better, Daddy.” 

Steve only fucks into him harder, the slick smack of his groin and his heavy sac slapping against Bucky’s lube-covered ass adding to the cacophony of noises swirling around the room and muddying up his brain. 

“Whatever you say, baby.”

“Daddy…” 

“Of course I fucking am. Who’s your Daddy?” 

“You are…you’re my Daddy.” 

Bucky feels a hand wrap roughly around his nape. His face is shoved further into the mattress. The force of the touch and the angle of his body makes him sob.

“Yeah? And whose pussy is this? Whose fuckin’ pussy is this?” 

Bucky hiccups, sputters.  

“Daddy’s! S’Daddy’s!” 

His balls begin to tighten then, his groin stirring, the moment his hole relaxes and embraces the obscene stretch of Steve’s cock in full. Steve has always told him he has a sensitive sweet spot, a sensitive pussy, and this example is his Daddy’s checkmate. 

He bucks against Steve’s harsh touch and thrusts when he feels his orgasm rapidly build and stir. 

“M’gonna come, m’gonna…come,” he hears himself slur, a pitiful warning that he’s almost certain Steve can’t hear. 

“I don’t give a shit.” 

Oh.

He was wrong.

Bucky says the only thing that makes sense to him in this moment— 

“Come in my pussy, Daddy.” 

Steve roars, shoving at Bucky’s nape before letting go and reaching for his hair, all without pausing his thrusts. 

“Don’t you fucking do that. You motherfucker. Don’t do that, Buck.”

His orgasm must possess him, push him into doing things Daddy said not to do, because he’s immediately defying his Daddy and pouting out, “Come in my pussy, Daddy. Fill my pussy up,” just as his first spurt of come hits the sheets. 

It’s the only moment of his orgasm he is allowed to enjoy. 

He’s still coming, dick continuing to shoot off and body continuing to ride the waves of a shattering orgasm, when Steve pulls out of Bucky’s body and drags him to the floor by his neck. 

He hits the carpet with a thud and a shout, knees knocking and hands flying out to catch himself. He whines, cries, at losing such a memorable orgasm, at being pulled out of the experience of such, and tucks his chin to watch himself experience the end of his climax between his legs. 

“Open your fucking mouth. Look up at me.”

Even with his ruined orgasm, he listens easily. He’s slow to do so. He turns his head up to do his best to look up at his Daddy, but the tears in his eyes make it impossible to see Steve. 

He can see his fist though, see his cock as he uses his fist to fuck himself as they nearly come full circle for the night.

“You don’t let me come on your pretty face enough,” Steve accuses, voice hot and low, labored and barely audible over the ringing in Bucky’s ears and the sound of Steve aggressively jerking off above him. 

Bucky doesn’t respond, can’t bring forth any words in his brain. He sits there with his tongue out, tears in his eyes, hips doing what they can to rock from the aftershocks of his shattering yet unenjoyable orgasm. 

Steve groans and the noise hits Bucky right in the balls. He feels the result of it in his bloodstream, in his being, a noise that, at its core, is centered around Bucky being good. It’s gluttonous and selfish and sexy and Bucky could weep hearing it. 

He thinks he is weeping at this point.  

When he opens his eyes again, Steve is coming on his tongue. 

And then his cheek.

And then over his other cheek, onto his forehead. 

All Bucky can do is sob and moan, an odd combination that makes it sound like he’s begging for his life while also in heat. 

“Fuck, that’s good. Fuck yeah, look at’chu. Look at my fuckin’ baby. My baby…” 

Steve’s come feels as if it scalds his skin, the warmth of it both a shock and a comfort to him. Bucky lets it slide from his tongue, down his chin, has to close one eye in order to avoid a painful mess. 

He does nothing to fight against the urge to pout when Steve feeds him the last bit of come from the swollen tip of his cock, letting it fall onto his bottom lip. Steve’s fingers immediately follow it, two of them reaching forward to rub the mess into his lip, then across his chin. Bucky watches from the floor as Steve’s chest heaves up and down underneath his crisp dress shirt, his thick fingers pressing and smearing his warm come into Bucky’s skin.

Bucky chases after his Daddy’s fingers like a starving animal, gasping and groaning, tongue lapping up whatever Steve has to offer. 

Does he have no pride? 

Daddy answers that question with two fingers shoved in his mouth, stroking the back of his tongue so harshly Bucky’s left with no choice but to gag loudly. 

He still moans.

Steve lets out a long, happy noise that sounds like a sigh but feels like another groan in Bucky’s balls. It’s akin to the noise he lets out when he stands to stretch as the halftime show begins during the football games he watches on Sundays, deep and satisfied. He follows the noise up with a tight grip on Bucky’s jaw from the inside of his mouth, a hold on his teeth as he pulls Bucky further towards him. 

Where Bucky expects a kiss, he instead gets no warning of Steve spitting down between his open lips.

“Fuck yeah…”

He uses his fingers to spread that around as well, allowing for the combination of his come, his spit, and Bucky’s spit slip over Bucky’s bottom lip and slip down his neck before letting Bucky go with a bit of a shove. 

Bucky’s not used to this. 

Bucky thinks he’s fallen in love with Steve all over again.

His spent and heavy cock still hangs from the open zipper of his pants, framed by thighs that Bucky swears are the size of tree trunks from down here, when Steve lets out one last, resigned groan. 

“That was exactly what I fuckin’ needed,” he casually tells Bucky with more than a tap on his cheek. He turns on his heel and begins to walk away from Bucky and towards their shared bathroom. 

Bucky can barely follow him with his eyes, can barely hold his head up.

Steve’s sharp whistle rings in his ears. 

“C’mon, sugar— let’s see if you can wring another one outta me,” he hollers from over his shoulder, not bothering to look back at Bucky. Steve almost sounds like himself again, as if he hadn’t just hate fucked Bucky to the brink of psychosis. Bucky thinks he hears the shower.

Maybe that was all Steve needed to get out of his system. 

Bucky begins to maneuver himself to stand, ass already sore and come still covering his face, when Steve snaps from the door of their bathroom. 

“Nuh-uh— you crawl to your Daddy, kid.” 

Maybe not.

[fieriframes]

[The door creaks open, and burnt bacon fills the air. On the counter, a pie oozes, its filling like tar. A milkshake swirls, its pink turned sickly gray. Steak sizzles, too red, dripping into the flames. Eggs arrive, their yolks dark, tiny eclipses. Fries twist, blackened and brittle, crunching loudly. The coffee is sludge, bitter enough to sting. Burgers bleed, buns wet and collapsing fast. Pancakes sit cold, syrup congealed like amber. Your stomach turns, but the night has only just begun.]