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panda-puma · 1 year ago

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I'm a little baffled by your post about the one piece anime, because while I would also recommend people read the manga instead, it still is a vastly more accurate adaption than the opla? like, opla is lovely for what it is, but oda being involved in it doesn't change the fact that they took huuuge liberties that the anime just... doesn't? which is perfectly fine for an adaption, I'm just mentioning it because it sounded like you were focused on the character dynamics, which are just... vastly, vastly different in the manga AND anime vs the live action. I'm thinking about Nami and Sanji in particular (and Usopp as well to a degree), who all kind of feel like watered-down versions of their actual selves (Nami isn't greedy enough, Usopp not cowardly enough, Sanji... well, I'm not saying Sanji being different is a bad thing asdf). Again, perfectly fine for an adaption that doesn't mean to adapt its source material beat for beat, but it just leaves me really confused over how the opla is possibly a more faithful/a better adaption than the anime? Which, as far as I can recall, has severe pacing issues, annoying fillers and leaves out things like the cover stories, but still sticks waaaay closer to the actual story and dynamics as they are in the manga.

(First of all: you can like the Anime. As I said before, I've watched the entire Anime 3 times this last year. But you can enjoy something and still know it's flawed. Very flawed, even.)

Uf, I will try to make this as short as possible xD If i sound dry or "angy", sorry, English is not my first language ^^

What baffles me is that most people really think the Anime of One Piece is a faithful 1 to 1 adaptation, or that everything on it is canon (except the fillers), or that Oda approves the changes they make. For context: it was very common in the 90s/2000s to just take a manga that was doing good and make an animation that took the characters and story and did whatever they wanted with it. One Piece is not the only victim of this treatment.

I respect the animators and Seiyuus, they do their jobs good and are what makes the Anime enjoyable. But I really can not understand the Directors and the changes they decided to make to the characters (and this applies to the whole series, not only 20 years ago).

The changes you see in OPLA are necessary to translate a drawing (Manga) to a series acted by real people. Also, condensing 95 chapters of Manga in 8 episodes and trying to bring the essence of the characters to the screen, translating Japanese funny gags to an International Audience and also having the input of 25 years of Oda thinking "huh, maybe this could have been explained better" it's obviously going to make things change.

The Anime has none of those excuses. It's also a drawing so no need to tone down, supposed to have the same Audience (even tho they really tried to make it for little kids and it shows), they clearly don't have an issue with the length of the series and they don't ask Oda for nearly any of the changes they make!

Pretending Oda being involved or not doesn't matter is just so weird to me. You know all One Piece characters are Oda's OCs, right? He is the original creator of the characters. He knows them better than anyone else. He knows where the story is going, what is acceptable, what is on character and what is not. Just because they are very famous characters it doesn't mean they are not someones Original Characters. He loves them and cares for them. Not respecting him as the only one that can say something is canon or not is completely disrespectful and dehumanizing.

About watering down characters in OPLA: again, they are real people acting the characters. In the Manga they are exaggerated to a comical effect that wouldn't translate as comical if it's real people who do it, it'd just be weird. That's because it's different mediums and different audience. But the core of the characters is very present, just less cartoony. On the other hand, the Anime reduces the characters to just this comical effect, taking away nearly everything else of the characters, making them just gags.

Answering to the specific points you make about OPLA:

Nami not being greedy enough: Nami's greed before Arlong Park Arc is just her trying to save enough to free her people. We don't really see her greed until after she is free. We haven't reached this point yet in OPLA, apart of her wanting to dress nice and enjoy a bath.

Usopp not being cowardly enough: they can not spend 5 minutes of an 50 minute episode showing him screaming around or running away. But they did show him running as first reaction in Kaya's Mansion, twice. They showed him wanting to go back home after encountering Garp. He does say cowardly things all the time, like wanting to leave, stay on the Merry, not fight the Fish Men, running away the second Chu payed attention to him… It's just less cartoony. They are also not showing inner dialogue of the characters, it's just shown by their acting.

Sanji not being a pervert: Not only is Sanji's perversion waaaay exaggerated in the Anime, to an unpalatable degree, it's also a very Japanese Funny Gag that wouldn't translate good to an International Audience. Sanji in the Manga has, on top of everything else, a friendly relationship with Nami. He can talk to her like a human being. They are friends that can agree or disagree without drama, that join forces to fix things very often and act very calm around each other unless something "special" happens and Sanji is lovestruck, but even so, he usually comes back to being normal pretty fast. Of course he likes her and he is attracted to her, but he also sees her as a person... unlike the Anime. This translated to into the Live Action to a man that tries to flirt and has no success, but that can take a no as an answer without being offended. Also, Oda probably wanted to show on the Live Action that the real reason Sanji is on the crew is no other than him following Luffy (that is also a thing that the Anime waters down: Sanji's dedication to Luffy)

The main point is: yes, OPLA is an Alternative Universe where things are shown a bit differently, but the core of the characters is the same. You see them and you see real people, just like in the Manga.

And let's see about the faithfulness of the Anime... just because the Arcs are called the same and things kind of happen the same, it doesn't mean it's a faithful adaptation. The most important thing in a story is the characters and how they interact and react to the world. These are just some differences between the Anime and the Manga that I can think of off the top of my head, just from the East Blue Saga. (without any particular order)

-- Zoro's real backstory (Manga) is that he had been in the Shimotsuki Dojo probably since birth, practicing his 2 Sword Style and only starting the 3 Sword Style to carry Kuina's Soul with him. [((spoilers from Wano: now we know Zoro is also a Shimotsuki, so he was training in his family's Dojo. It also explains why Koushirou gave Kuina's sword to Zoro so easily: they are family, and Zoro would carry the Shimotsuki name to the top of Swordmanship))].

Zoro's backstory in the Anime is completely changed to make it look like he is a random funny kid that came out of nowhere and one day appeared in the Dojo. His signature 3 sword style is also made like he just "wanted to use as many swords as possible".

I don't think it's very necessary to explain why this changes are just... terrible for the character and continuity.

[Edit: the following is not correct! Check the reblog for the correction :D] The Anime also makes Zoro's departure from Shimotsuki Village like something he planned to do, saying goodbye to Kuina's Grave and Koushiro… when in the Manga he literally tells Luffy he was kicking pirates out of his village and he got lost and didn't know how to get back. [/end of incorrect part]

Changing Zoro's character at every turn is something they love to do in the Anime.

Usopp in the Manga wants Luffy&co. to meet Kaya, because he cares about her well being. He wants her to make new friends, to be able help them and feel useful doing it. Usopp knows what Kaya needs is contact with the world and tries to bring it to her.

Usopp in the Anime is jealous and secretive of her. He doesn't want the others to go meet her, even knowing they are good people. He'd rather have her to himself.

This is a fatal change to the character of Usopp. He is a kind hearted lovely man that wants what's best for his friend... but the Anime just shows a jealous asshole.

In the battle against Cabaji, Zoro cuts his own wound, so his opponent can't use it as an advantage anymore.

In the Anime, he lowers his defense on purpose and lets Cabaji cut his wound.

The first one shows how far he can go to prove himself, also shows he is not at all worried because he doesn't consider Cabaji up to his level. I'm not sure what the second one is supposed to show apart from "children can not see self-harm".

Also in Orange Town in Manga, Luffy is fighting as much as possible against the cage he is trapped in, biting the bars. And afterwards he is very worried asking Zoro to leave him and not carry him or he will get worse from his wounds. In the Anime he is just surprised that Zoro can carry him like that. He doesn't really fight his predicament.

The Anime usually shows Luffy as an uncaring friend, which is sad when he is a character that cares so much and has so much empathy.

In the Manga, Zeff cuts his own leg and eats it to survive after giving all the food they have to Sanji.

In the Anime, Zeff lost his leg because it got caught in the ships broken pieces, and he had to cut it to survive. (i guess he survived 80 days thanks to the Holy Spirit or something) (again with being palatable to children)

In the Manga, the first encounter between Tashigi and Zoro is brief, Zoro gives her back the glasses and carries on (even tho tilted by her looking so similar to Kuina).

In the Anime, Zoro breaks Tashigi's glasses with the shock and she proceeds to be the meanest person ever insulting him in many ways (isn't she supposed to be a good person?) and forcing him to work for her to pay her glasses back, even tho she has no need for the money.

The Anime shows Zoro as a pushover, when in reality he is not. He was "pushed over" by Luffy out of the blue because it is Luffy, not because Zoro would let someone random do that to him. This type of "Zoro gets messed up easily by anyone" is very repeated through the Anime, taking away the importance of his relationship with Luffy and the other few he pays really attention to.

In the Manga, Sanji wants to be famous and have his face seen in the Newspaper. That's why he gets mad when Usopp is in Luffy's Wanted Poster and he isn't.

In the Anime, he is already a famous cook. We can see it in one of the many filler in Loguetown, where another cook has been wanting to surpass him for a long time.

[((spoiler of Whole Cake Island: This collides directly with how his Wanted Poster makes his bio Family looks for him to use him, after knowing he is still alive.))]

Also in Loguetown, in the Manga Luffy goes directly to the place Roger was executed.

In the Anime they make him get lost a hundred times for comical effect. He also meets Smoker, Buggy and others on the way… taking away all the surprise.

In the Manga, Zoro and Luffy are pretty confused with Sanji's romantic reaction to Nami. They don't get why she's getting special treatment. Zoro even wonders if she bewitched him somehow.

In the Anime, as soon as Sanji starts flirting with Nami, Zoro gets irritated and Luffy gets uncomfortable.

In the Anime they try hard to make Zoro have a romance with any girl that shows up, adding reactions that are never present in the Manga.

And well, a huge one that needs more elaboration, because it is the core of the Manga: Luffy is shown observing and judging situations and people constantly. Every time something is happening that shows the true nature of people, he is specifically shown paying attention.

In the Anime this is translated as him being an empty headed kid that barely thinks or cares about anyone. He is a shell of a man, who only repeats that he wants to be King of the Pirates...

This is a very tiny list of examples that explain themselves without going into extensive detail…

I can go on and on about more changes that make no sense or change characters personalities, but if I do, I will dedicate its own blog to it to not clutter this one. I need bigger posts to explain the changes I see in dynamics between the characters xD

And as I said: if all of these changes were approved by Oda, I would be happy to accept them. But sadly they are not.

So to me, the One Piece Anime is just a fan-made adaptation that takes too many liberties. Or, as Animes are really considered in Japan: just advertisement for the Mangas.

On the other hand, OPLA changes were approved after negotiations and struggles and years of back and forth. Oda was very invested in it, trying to really show his vision and his world as good as possible. That's why i consider the Live Action as a faithful adaptation of the story.

Of course you may not consider these things important, but they are for me. In the end, you are free to enjoy One Piece as you wish! ^^

Anyways, thanks for reading so much! xD This ended up not being short at all, but i controlled myself as much as possible, i swear uvuU

#ask #one piece manga #one piece anime #comparison #one piece #very long post #one piece live action

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theonehitwonder · 7 months ago

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Can I ask why you don't want K-12 teachers following you? I'm a high school dropout and not a teacher, I'm just curious

lmao it’s cool, I wouldn’t have assumed you were, I have an. Extremely fringe stance on this.

so I went to traditional public school for elementary and middle school. It is, without question, the worst thing that has ever happened to me, the cause of pretty much all of my problems, etc. you get the the deal. Near the time I was finally expelled, I was miserable to the point of suicidality, barely ever left my room aside from being forced to go to school because I was so depressed, would at some points self-harm with biting in class so I could be excused.

And you know who the reason for this is? Teachers. I’m not going to pretend I was a perfect little sad kid because I wasn’t, I had a well-deserved reputation for being a demon child. Teachers hated me, and I would provoke fights with them, and I only submitted 2 finished assignments in the entirety of middle school. But the thing is that for everything I did, teachers responded with completely disproportionate vitriol. I did not deserve to have a teacher threaten to punch me for not finishing a worksheet, I did not deserve to be called a prideful brat for going nonverbal during an argument, I did not deserve to have my arm twisted for being too loud. Even if I had, do you know how it affects someone, especially a kid who’s actively trying to build a worldview, to be constantly told that they are nothing but a problem and that they will never be worth something and that they are a failure in everything, and it’s their fault? It messes you up, permanently, to have almost every authority figure you know hate you during your developmental years.

I have met, maybe, one teacher who didn’t constantly insult and disrespect and humiliate me. And you could say that it was my fault if every teacher treated me like that- I was a difficult kid, sure. But the thing is that I have witnessed incidents similar to how they treated me with other kids- I was a difficult kid, so I was treated like that constantly, but I was not some magical student that made every teacher near me turn into child-hating pieces of shit. All of them were the kind of people who would yell at a kid for annoying them before I showed up, I just happened to piss them off enough that they felt comfortable treating me like that routinely. And you can give me a thousand excuses about them being underpaid or overworked or whatever, and those are problems that should be solved, because everyone, even people I hate, deserve to live life comfortably- but at the end of the day, they still don’t justify what I went through. Practically everyone has a shitty job, and not everyone destroys kid’s self-esteem about it: k12 teachers are disgusting people, and I don’t want them on my blog.

thank you.

#asks #I got a bit aggressive here sorry; hope this explains

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girl4music · 11 months ago

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ANDY: “You’re calling me a slut?”

PRUITT: “I am just asking you why you can’t stop crapping where you eat.”

ANDY: “You’re calling me a slut.”

PRUITT: “Every time you make the decision to sleep with a firefighter-“

ANDY: “-I didn’t sleep with him, and if I had,-“

PRUITT: “-in your own station-“

ANDY: “-it’s none of your business.”

PRUITT: “-…you set back female firefighters a few years!”

ANDY: “Dad, you need to stop talking now.”

PRUITT: “I don’t care how many men you sleep with, Andy.”

ANDY: “Stop talking.”

PRUITT: “But your CAPTAIN!”

ANDY: “I DIDN’T SLEEP WITH HIM, AND IF I HAD, IT’S STILL NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!”

PRUITT: “IT DAMN WELL IS MY BUSINESS! YOU ARE MY CHILD! Your decisions reflect on me, on MY legacy.”

ANDY:

*quietly but sternly*

“Get out.”

PRUITT: “Andrea, I am your father. You may not have any respect for rules, for tradition, for authority, but you will respect your father.”

ANDY:

*voice hoarse*

“Got it, Dad. Then I’ll get out.”

*leaves*

PRUITT: “Andrea.

*raises voice*

Andrea!”

*Maya opens the door to her room and stares him down with a look so threatening that it would frighten the Olympian gods. He leaves Andy alone*

MAYA: “Captain Herrera, it’s late.”

PRUITT: “Uh… sorry to wake you.”

I do not think I have the words to explain my thoughts and feelings about this scene. I expected Pruitt to be upset for Andy and to have it out with Sullivan on her behalf even if she didn’t need him to act and speak for her. I did not expect him to get at Andy for it AT ALL because I would have thought he’d know better. That he’d know it wouldn’t be his place to tell Andy where hers is because who she sleeps with isn’t his business.

I… wow. Clearly he hasn’t caught up with the times that’s all but made this kind of behaviour a criminal offence to women. That was unbelievably sexist and extremely disrespectful to Andy. His own daughter. He really did just call her a slut. Not only that but he also implied that she’s not capable of understanding her own actions and choices when it comes to the consequences of her losing her job as lieutenant and ruining the chances for any women that apply for that job. As if it has anything to do with who they sleep with why they are even in that job in the first place.

Just the sheer audacity for Pruitt’s mind to go there was absolutely fucking disgusting. He does NOT get to decide or even comment on where Andy, or any woman for that matter, opens their legs and to whom because they’re firefighters and he once captain’d them. Never mind about his fucking “legacy”. You just don’t do that because a women’s right to do whatever or/and whomever they want is no man’s fucking business no matter what they are in relation to them.

I mean I wasn’t the greatest fan of Pruitt before but this scene has ruined his character in my eyes now. I have absolutely no respect for him whatsoever from this point onwards because there’s no coming back from discrimination to women, to Andy, with me ever. I get that Andy may have to forgive him, but as a woman on behalf of all women, I won’t. And I’m very sure neither will Maya because she was also livid. And she should be because men do not get to have any say over what women do or don’t do no matter what the relationship they have to us is. With this one scene, Pruitt has made it quite clear how he thinks of women because there is no way he would have spoken to his daughter like that if that wasn’t already his mindset.

That was the mindset of a misogynist, not a father. He can play the father card all he likes and pretend that he is just trying to protect Andy as his daughter. Nah, no way that excuse is going to fly because if it was about being a father, his first instinct would to be to act and speak on his daughter’s behalf to Sullivan, not immediately verbally attack her for assuming that she’d slept with him. It doesn’t matter who it is he’s assumed she’d slept with. It’s not his place as a father to ever comment on it to her because Andy is a fully grown consenting adult woman. He isn’t commenting on it to her because she is his daughter. He is really commenting on it to her because she’s a female firefighter and believes she is still under his command.

You see, because the thing is, if Sullivan got in trouble for sleeping with Andy as her Captain, it wouldn’t negatively reflect on every man that makes it as a Captain, or a firefighter in general who also did. Just Sullivan. But what Pruitt is telling Andy and why he is commenting on it to her over Sullivan, is that every time she sleeps with a firefighter in her team, her Captain at that, she is ruining the chances for more women being firefighters and making it to Captain status. He is basically saying to Andy that because she can’t keep her legs shut in her own place of work, that she doesn’t deserve the respect as a firefighter AND that neither does any woman who chooses to do the same as her AND that if they continue to behave as they do, they do not deserve to make it as Captain.

It’s absolutely fucking HORRID what he said to Andy not just as his daughter, but also as a woman in the job of being a lieutenant firefighter. He has just told her that her choice to sleep with her Captain will reflect negatively on and weigh heavily against hers and any other woman’s chances of becoming Captain NOT because it’s against the rules for both her and Sullivan to have sexual relations, but because she must earn her keep as a female fightfighter (of all female fightfighters by leading as a good example) on the way to becoming Captain by keeping her legs shut.

How fucking discriminatory to women is that? It is the definition of misogyny in context of employment and promotion to state that sexual abstinence and/or purity in the workplace is the requirement for a woman to achieving the same employment and promotion that a man would have regardless of where he put his dick or of who he put it into. Yeah, Sullivan would get in trouble just as much as Andy would because of them having a sexual relationship with each other but it wouldn’t be because of his gender identity or sexuality why he would get in trouble for it. Whereas with Andy, it would be because women have to work so much harder for respect in employment predominantly and traditionally made for men to be as deserving of the same job and to have any chance of promotion compared to men at all. So for a man to come up to a woman and say that the requirement for being worthy of employment and promotion in a male-dominated department of work is to not have sex with anybody on and within the job… it is beyond the pale.

And for Pruitt to say to Andy, knowing how damn hard she’s worked all her life to be worthy of his validation, that her decision to have a sexual relationship with Sullivan or any firefighter reflects negatively on his legacy because he has no understanding of a woman’s right to sleep with whomever she wants to whenever and wherever she wants to, even when he is no longer her Captain or has any authority over her whatsoever as she is a fully grown consenting adult woman now… I don’t even have the words to explain how awful that is.

That was A SCENE. It was only a short scene but it provided incredibly significant and necessary female representation. The acting was STELLAR! I really felt Andy and Maya’s anger and shock at what Pruitt was saying to Andy. Fantastic performances all around! Especially Jaina. My god girl, that was phenomenal!

#station 19 #I know this bar #andy herrera #jaina lee ortiz #pruitt herrera #miguel sandoval #maya bishop #danielle savre #misogny #sexism #descrimination #sexuality #gender identity #female representation

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sadpretty-blog-blog · 9 months ago

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i love you and i always will love you but do i love YOU anymore? do i still love the person that you are or do i just feel love for you? do i even like the person you are? do i like the things you like do i feel that i can live up to your expectations of me do i feel like i can give you what you want do i think you deserve the things you want do i think you can give me the things i want in the future do we want the same things in the future? i always said i wanted to be in each other's lives forever i never imagined my future without you in it and if i did imagine that it was out of fear, not curiosity or desire.

do i love the way you make me feel? i don't know. you make me feel bad a lot of the time. i don't even think i'm angry at you at all i don't even know if i care i just don't feel anything. and i don't feel this way about anything else in my life right now i'm not unsure about any of my friendships or about myself or how i spend my time or my career or literally anything besides our relationship. i used to be so sure i wanted to marry you but something in me lately a very small part of me lately keeps making me second guess. there have been a few times in the past few months i almost thought we should break up. but then you say something nice or i get upset and scared because i don't want to accept it.

i don't like the way you think. i think you think you deserve whatever you want from me, no excuses. i don't think you'd ever flat out say it to me but i can tell by the way you react when i tell you no. sometimes when i tell you no you tell me you're not mad or you don't care or it's not a big deal but i have to wonder whether you're trying to convince me or yourself. today i told you i was too tired to suck your dick and you told me not to come over tonight. you made me so upset but i somehow was not 1000% surprised. i was expecting you to say you were kidding but that never happened. you made me so upset i don't think you even fully comprehend why that was wrong of you and that makes me so fucking angry you're an adult and what you said made me feel so disrespected. and yes you apologized you know you shouldn't have said that but why the fuck would you say that? i know why you said it though i know you care more about getting off than i ever have or will in my life and i know you think i owe it to you because you're a good boyfriend to me. you made sure to remind me that you painted my apartment for me and that you bought me groceries and that you did me suuuuch a huge favor by not asking me for head after inviting yourself to my apartment after i worked a 10 hour shift.

i don't like talking on the phone after work anymore but i know i can't say that or you'll get upset and make me feel guilty for it and not take no for an answer and try to change my mind. and my mind will not change but i will pretend it did to get you to stop talking. i don't think you understand at all how emotionally and physically draining my job is. i don't think you understand the strain it takes on my body. i'm not asking for a pity party, i chose to do what i do and i knew what i was getting myself into. i don't want you to feel bad for me. i want you to understand that after work i do not want to come to your house and bend over for you or suck your dick i want to lay down and close my eyes and not move. and i do not fucking want or need deep emotional conversations or conversations about nothing or to hear you complain about your friends who you don't even like at 12:45 am on a thursday night. i spend the whole day being someone else's bitch and taking care of strangers and putting on an emotional show some days. so when i get home from 10 hours of that i don't exactly feel like chit chatting about what you ate for dinner or just sit there not speaking when i have things i want to do for myself.

maybe i am being selfish maybe i am just really tired of feeling like i am walking on eggshells with your feelings and need to appease you no matter how badly i don't want to because i don't want to deal with you throwing a tantrum or turning over in bed and not talking to me for hours. i think you're not as half as emotionally mature as you think you are. i don't think you realize how egotistical you are. you are so egotistical. you feel that everyone owes you something just because you think you deserve it. i don't think you're very patient. i don't think you're open minded or understanding. you always interrupt me. that shows me you don't care about anyone's thoughts but your own. i think when your mind is set no one can change it and you literally cannot comprehend the idea that other people's opinions may be correct if they are not the same as yours. "i don't feel that way how can it be true if i don't feel that way?" anorexics don't feel that they're skinny, is it not true that they are skinny?

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batheir · 21 days ago

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"see, that's why i don't talk to you," hand throwing up in frustration, JUST as she predicted. "i knew you'd say that, that's why i don't bother. meanwhile, i'm right. it goes completely right over your head... one day you'll realize it." that she was right and he'll feel like an idiot or either return his friend's love, because he realized he liked her too all along which is probably the case. "oh, thats just a cover up. she definitely is into guys like you. that's just what insecure girls do." eyes rolling, she doesn't want to talk about this though because it makes her sick. her crush on him is officially crushed. "we're NOT all friends, she makes it blatantly obvious ALL the time." her attitude starting to become more soured by the growing seconds.

"actually, they're the disrespectful ones for not coming." they just didn't let a night go to waste. "why? i'm not wasting my time trying to explain why it'd make me uncomfortable to someone who doesn't find anything wrong in it. you'll never get it." and there's clearly something wrong with someone if their girlfriend going off with a guy, leaving them behind on the trip, wouldn't bother them. "when it's simply just that anyway, it's uncomfortable and weird and makes me feel like i'm not important enough. i've never seen anyone do such things." she can't be crazy. "if he insisted on going with a girl on a trip without me, then i'd insist on leaving him. that's so royally disrespectful and ungentlemanly. and clearly i don't really mean a lot to him." and that's one thing helena will not tolerate once it gets to that point. in fact, she's getting to her tipping point now with harry. she can feel herself on the edge of breaking up with him because her mom and dad taught her so much better than this, to never let little boys treat her this way.

the stumbling around for an answer is causing her cheeks to flush, anger boiling her blood, he's royally starting to tick her off. she's getting so tired of everyone choosing their other friends over her. harry. alex. it's making her explode into emotional turmoil. "what we have isn't as special, that's what you're saying." her heart drops, wiggling her nose to keep the tears away. "i already knew that. i'm second best. you always do a good job at making me feel that way... that i'm excluded always from your little clique." speaking flatly, pretending it doesn't bother her anymore. but... screw him. next time she's stuck in a situation like this with him, she'll be sure to get on her phone and ignore him the entire time instead of engage. looking out the window as she chews, hard to swallow her dessert from emotions balling up in her throat. she can't look at him right now. "whatever, alex," saying exhaustingly, "i'm tired of hearing your excuses you're trying to pin on harry. i really don't care if he accuses me of being unfaithful, when he's probably already guilty for it at that lounge he goes to." when he tries to hide it but gets irritated when she pushes him away, because she doesn't want to be intimate– she has a good feeling he's already cheating. that she's pushed him to it. "i'm about sick of harry and all men because the males in my life have been extremely disappointing." all except her father, the only one she can say that doesn't make her cry and makes her feel less than. she's her father's whole world and helena knows it, it's probably why it's so difficult to take this treatment off men because she knows what it's like to feel like to be someone's world and this isn't it.

“actually, that’s not what you were doing. you were making faces and sarcastic remarks, and so i just decided to clarify a few things.” for conversation. yeah, right. bullshit. she thought she’d get away with yet another unfair implication. he doesn’t expect to get an honest answer to his question and so it catches him by surprise, his brows inching closer together, lines appearing on his forehead. “that’s kind of ridiculous, helena. poppy doesn’t have a crush on me. she doesn’t like men like myself. she’s into parties and wild adventures and cool guys, and i’m — i’m just not her type.” teeth sinking into his lower lip as they walk across the parking lot, his cheeks burning and the cool wind isn’t to blame. he doesn’t have an explanation prepared and can’t really argue with the other part of helena’s sentence. “if we are all friends, then how is anyone in anyone’s way?” but deep down, he’s sensed it, too. poppy’s reluctance to accept helena as part of their inner circle, as someone equal to her, as alex’s other best friend. and he knows why there’s so much tension between them. but if he said those things out loud, if he accepted them, he would have to do something about them and he’s not ready for the changes that would surely follow.

“by that logic, is what we’re doing now disrespectful as well? if so, why do we keep doing this?” was the way they were holding onto each other on ice disrespectful towards sarah and harry? he thinks he knows the answer, but once again refuses to acknowledge it. “but why would you be offended? do you not trust him?” not that he would trust harry. harry’s a selfish prick. “i trust sarah. if she wanted to go on a trip with a guy friend, i’d tell her go ahead, have fun, baby. why are you trying to say that jealousy is normal when it’s such a negative thing? i’m not mocking you or making fun of you. i genuinely want to understand where you’re coming from.” he only wouldn’t be jealous of sarah because he doesn’t love sarah enough to care so deeply. “why wouldn’t you let harry go on a trip with a girl friend? what has he done to make you distrust him so much?” instead of facing the truth, he turns the spotlight back onto helena, waiting by the driver’s side of her car to open the door for her when she unlocks the car. he might be annoyed with her, but that doesn’t mean he’ll forget his manners. but she reaches for it first and lets herself in, leaves him looking like an idiot.

circling around the car as it comes to life, he jolts a little at the sudden roar of the engine. “well, because…” he opens the passenger’s door and climbs inside, setting the paper bag with churros and small containers with dipping sauces on the console between them. think, you idiot, think, he scolds himself, closing the door and rubbing his hands together, waiting for the interior to warm up. “because it’s different, helena. what you and i have.” because he’s deeply attracted to her, because he never met a woman so beautiful, because he loves her mind more than anything else in this world… “i mean,” he’s quick to backtrack, unzipping his jacket just a little bit so that it’s not suffocating him, laying his gloves in his lap. “i met poppy before i met sarah. sarah’s used to having her around. i don’t think she knows you all that well.” because she avoids helena like the plague. apparently, every woman in his life feels threatened by helena wayne. rightfully so. “he’ll want to go, though. the second he hears that i’m going. and then he’ll accuse you of being unfaithful.” it’s his turn to grab a churro, numb fingers tearing off a piece and picking up the raspberry sauce since she took the best one. munching on it for a moment, he eventually speaks up again, “i do want to go.”

#4lexnilsen

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rafescoke · 3 years ago

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Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High ; Rafe Cameron

masterlist

Request: The second one I was hoping could be a Rafe x reader based on the song why’d you only call me when you’re high by arctic monkeys. Maybe something along the lines of rafe only calling and giving the reader attention when he wants to hook up. Finally, the reader gets tired of it their feelings known.

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Reader finds herself thinking about a certain boy more than what they had agreed on

Warnings: Hella angst, mentions of sex, masterbating, substance, cursing, toxic relationship

A/N: I’ve been updating a new fic every single day and the amount of love you guys are returning is beyond amazing. I love you so much, thank you for all of your kind words <3

p.s, again, my request box is always open. drop in any ideas and i’ll present to you my best :)

p.p.s, does anyone know why i can’t tag some users? im going crazy.

“I was thinking. . .” Rafe trailed, drawing invisible circles against her soft skin. She hummed in response, her eyes closed, feeling so relaxed under the silk bedsheet wrapping around her body.

“We should do this often.”

“Is twice a day isn’t enough for you?” she asked, hiding her smile. She felt him shift, placing his arms around her waist and pulling her close against him. She giggled lightly, feeling him behind her, but she was too tired to do anything.

“We should try doing it every minute,” he simply replied, smelling into her scent. She smelt like vanilla and caramel, just the way he likes it. “Is this the perfume I bought?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled, feeling so peaceful she could sleep if he hadn’t pulled her closer against his hardening member. She groaned, trying to scoot forward by an inch, but was stopped by his fingers gripping her hips.

“I’m sore.”

“I know,” he replied casually, still brushing against her bottom. Before he could do anything else she turned, now facing him. She looked at his handsome face, his blue eyes and his soft lips. Her thumb grazed over his top lip, and Rafe swore he could fuck her anytime soon if she kept doing that.

“Are you not tired?” she asked, now cupping his face. He stared into her eyes, feeling himself getting lost in them before giving her a smile.

“No.”

“You’re mental,” she sighed, but she failed to contain her laugh after. She giggled, still cupping his face, and she has never felt so calm and relax before. Just them two, on top of a bed in some cheap motel, sometimes hearing the couple staying on top of them screaming at each other.

“Are you?” he continued, tilting his head into her hands. She smiled when he closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth radiating from her. He loves it. He feels at peace.

(Y/N) sighed, loving yet also hating these kind of moments where she knew they would be acting like strangers after, in front of everyone else. She remembered the exact day after she had had sex with him for the first time, and how he acted so cold afterwards.

“Hey,” (Y/N) smiled, standing beside his form as he squinted his eyes against the bright sunlight to inspect his goal. He didn’t reply, swinging his golf club upwards and hit the golf ball. (Y/N) watched as it flew and landed near the goal, and expressed a smile.

“You’re good.”

“Huh?” he looked up to her, as if just noticed her existence. (Y/N) felt a pang of hurt across her heart, especially when he had just whispered so many love words into her ear the night before.

“I said you’re good.”

“Oh, thanks,” he muttered, already making his way back to where his friends were. Clearly not satisfied, she followed him suit, watching as his friends cheered for him. Rafe groaned even harder, and turned to look at her before they got too close to his friends.

“What are you fucking doing here?” he scolded, his eyes staring at a space beside her. (Y/N) raised a brow, being caught off guard, but she tried to play it cool.

“I’m a member of this country club too, Rafe,” she replied, scoffing. “You’re an asshole, do you know that? Are we not going to talk about last ni-”

“Shut up,” he grunted, looking backwards to check on his friends before pulling her a few distance away. “Look, I was on drugs last night. That was not me. Let it go, okay?”

(Y/N) has never experienced that kind of disrespect, and she swore she hated Rafe Cameron so bad that when she got home, she cried against her pillows until the night sky greeted her.

She thought about the many other guys who tried to be with her, but she had pushed them all away for a certain rich boy living 6 houses away from her. The fact that her parents are good friends with Ward and Rose Cameron doesn’t make it any easier, not when she is forced to see him every single Saturday night for ‘barbecue night’.

“What are you thinking?” he suddenly spoke, interrupting her thoughts. She sighed, suddenly scooting away from him. He watched as she turned away, but he didn’t put much thoughts into it.

“I can still smell the weed from you,” she suddenly said, and Rafe let out a laugh. He rubbed his eyes, hating the fact that they are going to repeat the same topic they have fought countless of times before, especially after sex and they had both came down from the high.

“Don’t start, (Y/N), fuck,” he sighed, covering his face with his large hands. He watched as she scooted further, wrapping the covers around her body. “Can you please just lay right next to me?”

“I want to sleep,” she replied, and bit her lips before she could express any tears. Rafe sighed, groaning, and sat up straight, resting on the edge of the bed before reaching for his jeans discarded on the corner of the room.

“I’m leaving,” he said, and (Y/N) heard the metal bar of his belt clanking against his jeans button. “Since you wanna act like a bitch again.”

“You’re an asshole,” she replied, still not looking at him. A tear rolled down her cheeks before she could stop herself, and she quickly wiped them away.

“Whatever,” he said, and she heard the door slammed shut. She cursed, unable to stop her tears now that she was alone. The banter between the husband and wife from the room above filled the silence as (Y/N) sobbed against the pillow and she thought about how it resembled her and Rafe’s relationship so much.

He would call her when he’s under the influence, whispering sweet-nothings through the phone, saying how much he’s missing her and longing for her forehead kisses. The fight they had before the phone call will immediately evaporate into thin air, and (Y/N) will make her way to wherever Rafe is. Sometimes they’ll do it in the car in a secluded alley or sometimes in the cheap motel at Chapel Hill.

But then it was the moments after their brief meeting that had her all moody and depress throughout the week; how he would ignore her, pretending not to see her and forcing himself to say ‘hi’ during their family barbecue.

(Y/N) never thought of herself as someone who’s prone to being in a sneaky relationship, but if that what it takes to be with Rafe Cameron, she was willing to be in one.

It had been a week since the incidence, and Rafe hadn’t call her to meet or anything of the sort. (Y/N) frowned when she thought of this, because the longest fight they had before only lasted for 2 days before he rang her up, asking to meet up.

(Y/N) shook her head, sipping on her martini before setting it on the side of the swimming pool. She dived into the water, trying to get the heat from the scorching sun off of her, and resurfaced seconds after, her wet hair falling down her shoulders.

“(Y/N), where’s dad?” Topper appeared, squatting in front of her as she took another sip on the martini. Her eyes fell to the figure behind her brother, and she almost choked on the liquid.

“Um, I don’t know,” (Y/N) replied, staring at Rafe Cameron as he took out his phone to check on his messages, ignoring her like always. She rolled her eyes at this, knowing that there were no new texts and he was just trying to act like she wasn’t there. She dived into the water again and swam to the other side, away from Rafe and his negative energy.

If Rafe knew she was going to be in the swimming pool, he would have made an excuse to Topper, perhaps saying how he has to take Wheezie to the clinic for an appointment. (Y/N) was almost never home every time he hang out with Topper, so he thought he was safe. But there she was; in the most tempting bikini, swimming and constantly sipping on a martini.

Rafe sat right next to Topper, watching her back from the corners of his eyes as she gazed at the view in front of her. She was laying on her arms, lazily humming to a rock song Rafe plays every time he’s driving.

He jolted when Topper touched his hand.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Topper laughed, “I said, do you wanna eat?”

“I’m okay,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and thinking about good she looked in that bikini. He made a mental note to guess the brand to purchase more of that sort for her.

“Okay, I’m going in to get myself some food. Are you sure you don’t want any food?” Topper asked, sitting on the edge of the seat. Rafe nodded, his eyes still closed, and heard him walking towards the sliding door into the kitchen.

“Why are you ignoring me?”

Rafe opened his eyes, and to his satisfaction, the girl with the (H/C) locks stared at him with her face rested against her arms. His breath hitched, seeing how beautiful she was with the chlorine water dripping from her face, down to her neck, continuing to her che-

“God, you’re a fucking asshole,” she suddenly said, and Rafe had to shook his head from the involuntary thought that appeared in his mind. He groaned, watching as she dived in the water again, and almost catching a glimpse of her bottom. He smiled.

“Are you still a bitch?” he asked when she resurfaced, crossing his arms. “Because if you are, I don’t feel like fucking you right here and right now.”

(Y/N) halted her movements as she tried her best not to look at the smirking boy, and instead staring into the swimming pool as if there was something interesting in it. Rafe laughed, knowing exactly the impact of his words towards her, and thought about wanting to have a little more fun with her.

“I’m asking, baby,” he said softly, and her eyes landed on his. “Are you still a bitch?”

“I brought cookies!” Topper suddenly yelled, appearing from the sliding door and walking towards them with a bright smile. Rafe cursed, laying his back against the seat again and pretending to close his eyes while (Y/N) dived underwater, trying to hide her red face. He was glad when Topper handed him a cookie, talking about wanting to surf tomorrow - so oblivious towards the sexual tension between him and his own twin.

“What do you think?” Topper asked, munching on the cookies all the while trying to see Rafe’s reaction. Rafe nodded, muttering his agreement, but under his sunglasses, he was watching (Y/N) and she too, was watching him.

“Can I have a cookie, Tops?” (Y/N) suddenly interrupted, and without looking at her, Topper gave her a thumbs up sign. (Y/N) smiled, pulling herself up from the pool and Rafe almost had a heart attack from the sight of her curves donning the bikini and the water dripping off of her.

She walked towards them, hair swept to her left shoulder, and Rafe’s gaze followed her fingers as she grabbed a cookie and immediately putting it in her mouth. He watched as she closed her eyes, enjoying the sweet taste, all the while sitting under the glowing sun that highlighted her features even more.

He could feel himself getting harder.

“Well,” (Y/N) suddenly said, and Rafe had realized he was too busy looking at her to realize that she was already conversing with Topper. “I’ll go. Is Rafe coming too?”

Both of the siblings’ attention fell towards him, and Rafe found himself clearing his throat before he spoke.

“I’m sorry, where are we?”

“Man, are you sure you’re okay?” Topper asked, removing his sunglasses to look at him clearly. “Do you need water?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Rafe quickly added, “Can I, um, go up to your room? I think I need a nap.”

“Yeah, okay,” Topper replied, not thinking much of it. They had been spending so much time under the sun during the summer, he wouldn’t be surprised if one of them got sick. “I’ll go upstairs in a second.”

He muttered a thanks, quickly making his way to the top of the house, where Topper stayed. He groaned, feeling himself getting harder, and hating the fact that she was most probably liking the way he was reacting.

He locked the door of the bathroom he has been using since the first day he became friends with Topper, watching himself in the mirror. He closed his eyes while he tried to picture her in his mind, his fingers trying their best to untie the knot of the band of his swimming shorts.

He held himself in the palm of his hands as he pictured her again, this time with her under him. He started sliding his palm over his hardened member, his other hand safely placed on the sink for balance. He thought of the way she’ll bounce on him when she rides him, and bit his lips before he could let out any sounds.

Fuck.

He hated how easy she’ll make him hard and how she has him wrapped around her finger. It was true how they would only do the unholy thing when he was under the influence or they were both under the influence, but he couldn’t deny the unsettling feeling in his stomach every time he saw her.

“Fuck,” he expressed, his grip on the sink tightening. His movements became faster as he tried to picture her mouth and around him, and felt his end coming. He left a string of curses as he finally released himself, watching the shot dripping off the sides of the sink. He grunted, having to do more work, and grabbed himself the white tissues before wiping his mess.

. . .

“Hey.”

“Hey, Rafe,” (Y/N) said, trying to maintain her normal tone. She bit her lips at the sound of his heavy breathing, missing his voice and also his handsome face. She longed to have his face in her hands again, staring at each other’s eyes and kissing each other’s lips right after.

“Can you come over?” he asked, his voice slurring. “No, I mean, can I pick you up?” The sound of laughter and booming music could be heard behind him, giving out his location. (Y/N) sighed, knowing the exact request behind the words, and looked at her wall to check on the time.

“It’s 12 a.m., my mom won’t allow me to go out.”

“Sneak out, then,” Rafe replied, and he said something to his friends before focusing back on her. “Please? I missed you.”

(Y/N) sighed, knowing exactly her problem.

This.

“Okay,” she replied, leaning over her mattress to close her laptop now that she had new plans for the night. “What time are you picking me up?”

“I can’t drive right now,” he said, suddenly realizing how sloshed he was. “Can you come and pick me up, please?”

She sighed again, but she had missed him so much. Him and his touches. His and his words.

Him.

“Okay, send me your location, okay? I’ll pick you up.”

(Y/N) thought about how she couldn’t do it anymore. Not when she has spent most of her life trying to make him love her. He had been friends with her brother since forever, but yet he never seemed to settle on her. She heard about the amount of girls he dated and how she tried to become like them, but after a while, she grew bored of it. She was tired of running after someone who doesn’t want to be caught.

Until the night at the party, where they had been smoking and doing coke and god knows what else. (Y/N) had watched him from the corners of her eyes, liking how attractive he looked under the party lights. He was in a black shirt, his hair messily parted, a cigarette loosely hanging from his lips.

“Thornton, do you know how perfect your smile is?” he asked, leaning towards her. (Y/N) giggled, her back against the wall as she stared into his eyes.

“You’re mistaking me for my brother, Rafe?” she asked, with that smile again. Rafe licked his lips, looking down to hers before leaning closer to whisper into her ear.

“I’ve got to confess, (Y/N),” he whispered, sending shivers down to her spine. “You’re the hottest sibling.”

When she woke up the next day, laying right next to Rafe Cameron, she had to pinch herself a few times to make sure that she was living in reality, but when she tried to approach him that evening on the golf course, it was like nothing happened that night.

It scarred her until he rang her up again, six days after.

“Rafe,” (Y/N) sighed, leaning over to open the passenger’s door from her seat, seeing how drunk he was. Rafe giggled, getting himself in before shutting the door and staring at her. He leaned towards her and placed a sloppy kiss against her cheeks, down to her neck and stopped directly before her chest.

“Just park in the back,” he ordered, placing his palm on the upper side of her thigh, too close to her heat. She bit her lips as she turned her steering wheel, entering the back alley of the club. Soon after he had texted her his location, she sneaked out through her brother’s porch and stole his car, driving straight towards Rafe.

She turned the ignition off and looked at him, watching as he unbuttoned his shirt slowly, groaning when he missed one button. He tried to reach for her, but she pushed his hand away, her face expressing into anger.

“Don’t pull this shit again, fuck,” Rafe sighed, throwing his head back against the seat and covering his face with his hands. (Y/N) caught a glimpse of a gold ring, and noticed how it looked so similar to hers hanging around her neck.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she said, filling the silence. Rafe let out a shrill laugh, still closing his eyes.

“Still a bitch, I guess.”

“This is the problem, Rafe!” she groaned, causing Rafe to look at her fully in the face when he noticed her increasing volume. “What are we?”

“What do you want to hear?” he simply said, staring at her with empty eyes. He licked his lips, “No, seriously. Tell me the answer, and I’ll say it.”

How cold could he be?

“Rafe, do you see how you’re treating me?” she asked, and she could feel her tears threatening to fall. “Do you realize the difference between sober Rafe and intoxicated Rafe?”

Of course he knew. He just chose to ignore it.

“I can’t do this right now,” Rafe said, putting his hands up in defeat. “Can we just fuck, get over whatever fight we’re having right now, and live our best lives the next day? Can we do that?”

He turned to look at her, and noticed her glassy eyes. He sighed, trying to cup her face, but she flinched at his touch.

“You make me feel like a whore,” she whispered, her lips trembling. “One second you love me, the next second you’re spitting on me.”

He just had the worst night of his life; having a fight with Ward about his business, bumping onto the pogues, catching Sarah and John B. . . and now this?

“You think too much,” he said, but his heartbeat was quickening. He stole a glance at her and watched as she stared at him with empty eyes. “I’m sober now. You know what, (Y/N)? You’re right. I can’t even look at you when I’m not under the influence.”

He turned to open the door, getting out while buttoning his shirt back, not wanting to look at her. He couldn’t stand it, he knew he’ll be too broken if he sees her cry over him. He didn’t know what to do; he panicked, never preparing for this exact moment where he knew she will ask about the state of their relationship.

He watched as she sped away from the alley, her engine roaring against the silence of that particular Friday night, where his day had been nothing but miserable. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to contain his feelings, but before he knew it, he had kicked on the empty beer can on the side of the road, watching its movement as it hit the opposite wall and fell into the trash can.

He laughed at the strange occurrence, his tears slowly rolling down his cheeks and made his way back to the club.

If there’s one thing he’s so sure about himself; Rafe Cameron hates himself more than anyone else in the world.

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raineydays411 · 4 years ago

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My Father's daughter pt 3

Tony Stark x daughter!reader

Summary: Back at the Tower, Y/n has a talk with Pepper.

a/n: ohhh another part finished!! some new characters will be revealed next part and i’m so great full for @social-media-imagines-by-me fir helping me create them💕💕

You were furious.

You stormed into your room and slammed the door, finding satisfaction in the loud bang it produced. You then ripped through your drawers and closet, pulling on some work out clothes and some gloves. You then marched out of the room, slamming the door again, startling Sam and Bucky who happened to be passing by.

"Geez kid, slam it a little harder I don't think it fell off the hinges yet." Sam jokes, but you were in no joking mood so you swirled around with fire in your eyes.

"You okay doll?" Bucky softly asks, pushing a frightened Sam to the side. You sigh, knowing it's not fair to take out your anger on them.

"Sorry Sam, it's just...my biological mom is here and wants me to move in with her."

"Oh..." Bucky says, not good with things like this, " Do you want me to like...kill her or..."

"NO" You laugh, " It's just I haven't seen her in nine years and she has the audacity to come up here like it's nothing?!"

Your anger returns, " She thinks that just because she pushed me out of her vagina"

The two men cringe at the words

"That she can just claim me? That's not how it works!" You shout, " And, she brought her fucking husband. The man she left us for! Who does that?!"

Bucky looks at Sam, mentally asking him what they should do. Sam just rolls his eyes and turns back to you.

"Come on kid, it looks like you wanna punch something."

and with that he lead you to the training room where Steve was training with Peter.

"Come on queens, you gotta stay on your feet" Steve k=jokes as he, again, trips Peter.

"Mr. Rogers, do you think we should take a break?" Peter pants.

You stride pass them, not bothering to say hi. They look at Sam and Bucky for an explanation and just get a shake of the head.

"Hey Y/n that's my punching" Steve started to say when he saw you throw a hard punch to the bag, "Nevermind..."

You ignore the group behind you, opting to pummel the poor punching bag in front of you.

Your mind flashes back to your mother and her words.

"A girl needs her mother"

*punch*

"Oh petal I wanted to call"

*punch* *punch*

"Come to Gotham. Meet your siblings!"

*BANG*

You look down to see the punching bag flew off the hook and is spilling sand on the floor. You were confused, as you knew you weren't strong enough to do that, not even when you were angry.

"Wow, I guess Cap didn't secure that hook again."

You jump, not expecting someone to be there, as you heard Sam, Bucky, Steve, and Peter leave. You turn to see Pepper there looking at the bag in surprise. You sigh, stepping away from the mess and taking off your gloves. You make your way to the bench and take a swig of water.

"Did you need something Pep?" You ask, avoiding eye contact.

"Well, i was just wondering if my kid was okay. But given the fact that you punched that bag like it would restore your honor.."

You knew you shouldn't have showed her Avatar.

"I'm assuming your not." She finishes.

You give her a half smile, looking down at your hands.

"Y/n" She says, " Talk to me."

You finally speak, "Why now?"

Pepper frowns, understanding that small phrase, ' I don't know."

"She's not my mother." You state, " She...she might have been once but now?"

Pepper nods," I love you."

You smile, the words reassuring you, " I love you too Pep."

"Come on, your messing up your manicure." She says with a smile, standing and extending a hand towards you. You feel your demnor soften and your mood lighten. Pepper always managed to make you feel better.

"Yeah okay..thanks." You say, taking her hand and letting her pull you from the bench, " Are you hungry? Cause I am>"

"Y/n we just ate!"

"Like an hour ago"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Days went by and you hadn't heard a peep from Christine. It was like she went off to lick her wounds and just decided not to reach out again.

Which didn't bother you one bit.

But apparently the universe wanted to fuck with you because when you came home from a day out with Peter, there was your mother, Bruce Wayne, and all six million of her fucking kids sitting on the couch.

"What the fuck?" You say causing the attention to turn to you.

"Language" Peter says, You smile softly at him before then turning to glare at Tony.

"Don't look at me, it was your moth-uh Peppers idea." Tony stumbled, looking rather uncomfortable sharing a drink with the man that his...wife? girlfriend?... whatever she was left him for.

"Pep what?" You asking, softening your glare because you'd be damned if you disrespected her.

"I just think it'd be best if we clear the air and get everything out on the table." Pepper said in that tone she uses when she's dealing with difficult people or the press. You called it her CEO tone.

"Now, go take your bags upstairs and wash up. And I'll pretend that you aren't an hour late"

"It was Peter's idea..." You mumbled and walking to the stairs that lead to the bed rooms.

"It was not!" Peter shouts following you to the rooms to help with the bags.

Christine watched as her daughter walked out of the room, playfully arguing with Peter. It was as if she were a whole different person, carefree and playful. Totally different from when she was glaring and stiff when talking to her. It broke her heart hearing Tony refer to Pepper as her Mother rather than Christine. But what did she expect?

Damian scoffed catching her attention, "Mother I do not see why you've dragged us here, that girl didn't even acknowledge us."

"Damian, enough" Bruce said, not looking away from his awkward conversation with Tony.

"Gee if only I could do that with our kids." Tony mutters into his drink.

"Does Y/n argue often?" Bruce asks trying to engage in conversation.

Tony laughs before fondly speaking, " Sort of. She isn't the type to back down when she thinks something is right. There was this one time I caught her arguing with one of my business partners about his "condescending tone and misogynistic attitude"."

""And did she apologize after?"

"Hell no. She glared at me and told me apologizing just for his ego would be demeaning her experiences as a woman. Although to be fair he was an asshole."

Bruce chuckles, " She sounds like a well rounded young woman. How old was she then?"

"Ah about 10, it was funny seeing this little girl argue in a Justin Bieber shirt argue about the patriarchy with a full grown man."

Bruce and Tony shared a laugh, picturing the scene.

"You must be very proud of her." Bruce mentions after they quieted down. Tony let a small smile escape.

" I am. She's had a rough life, and I..." Tony trails off, " She means everything to me. Without her...I don't think I'd be the same person I am today."

And with that, Tony downed his drink and stood, " Want another?"

Bruce smiled and accepted, watching Tony leave. He can tell that the man was close to his daughter. A bond that formed due to a loss, they both grew from it and grew closer. He understood, thinking about his own children.

Pepper and Christine were having a somewhat similar conversation, although it was a little more tense.

"So...Pepper-"

"Virginia." Pepper said, cutting her off.

"Excuse me?"

"My name is Virginia. Pepper is a nickname my family calls me."

"Oh. Okay, Virginia, how long have you known Y/n and Tony?"

"Oh about nine or so years. I was promoted to assistant when I saw how much of a mess Tony was." Pepper said casually.

Dick and Jason tensed, overhearing the tense conversation between the two mothers. But before Dick could interrupt Jason sat him back down.

"I wanna see what happens."

Christine continued, " And when did you become a..more permanent around the house?"

"When I saw that Y/n the one taking care of Tony." Pepper said in a serious tone, "She was the one making sure he didn't choke on his vomit and eating cereal as his flings walked out the room. Then he got kidnapped...and y/n was alone. So I made sure she’d never be alone again.”

Christine heart sank. She knew about the whole kidnapping thing. Why she didn't step in, she doesn't know. It's just another thing she regrets to this day.

Before Pepper could continue, she heard two sets of footsteps and voices

"All I'm saying is, if he looks at me funny, I'm fighting him and that's that."

"Yeah maybe not the best impression on..." Peter cuts off when they reach the living room. Eyes again on the two of you.

"Let's get this over with." You muttered, saying bye to Peter and making way over to the couch to sit next to Pepper.

"Y/n!" Christine says happily, " I'm glad you're here. We brought you something!"

She pulls out a box and she carefully hands it over to you.

You look at it suspiciously before getting a nudge from Pepper.

"Thank you." You grit out. Earning a glare from Damian and Cassandra.

You open the box to see...cupcakes.

"They're the peanut butter strawberry cupcakes you used to like. Remember? I used to bring them when I came to see you." Christine says, trying to bring up good memories.

You frown and close the box, " I'm allergic to strawberries."

Lie.

Pepper casts a glance towards you, "They look lovely, let me take them into the kitchen, I'll check on dinner."

And with that she takes the box and leaves into the kitchen. Leaving you and Tony alone.

"So...Stark" Damian started fixing his gaze on you.

"Yes, Wayne?" You said, matching his energy.

"What exactly is it you want from my mother?" He asks, earning a groan from his older brothers.

"Well, I'd appreciate it if she left me alone." You say with a straight face.

Christine frowns but before she says something Damian speaks up again.

"Tt, all this drama for the likes of you? It's honestly disappointing" He drawls, trying to get under your skin.

"Damian!" Christine scolded.

"Well, I apologize for not meeting your standards. I'd try harder if I cared what a toddler thought of me."

Jason let out a surprised chuckle while the rest of the family looked on in shock. Tony just rolled his eyes.

"I do not understand why Mother insists on rekindling her relationship with you. You obviously weren't worth the effort the first time around." He spits, causing the rest of the family to gasp.

You however, just laugh, " When you figure it out, let me know. It's probably the same reason she puts up with you."

Damian glares, about to start in again when Jason cuts him off " Shut up Demon. She got you man."

"Tt"

"I'm Jason, and anyone who can out that brat in check is good in my book." He says sending you a smirk.

You smile back, " I'm friends with Loki and Wade Wilson, I'm hardly affected by anything anymore." Your dad rolls his eyes again, he’s not exactly enthusiastic about your choice in friends.

You like this one. Probably the one you're gonna be able to stand in this family.

"Don't hog her Jason!" Dick shouts pushing him away before turning to smile at you, " Hi! I'm-"

"Dick Grayson. I know, you spilled your champagne on my dress a few years ago at a New Years gala." You say, still a little bitter about it.

"Oh. heh, right, sorry about that. Again." He says sheepishly.

You turn to Cassandra, " You're Cassandra. You and your friend cornered me in the bathroom."

Cassandra scowls and looks away.

Then you turned to Tim, " And you need to learn how to secure your fire walls better."

Tim looked at you confused, "Um excuse me?"

You smirked, " Just a suggestion. I assume you don't want people to know about your...bats in the attic?"

The whole family froze.

You knew? There was no way.

"Kid, are you hacking again?" Tony said exasperatedly, " You promised you'd stop after the last time."

"Hey it's not my fault Shuri didn't think about changing her password." You say defensively, “ and it’s not like you were complaining when you had me hack into SHEILDS databases”

“What was that!?” Pepper shouts from the kitchen.

“Heheh, nothing dear.” Tony shouts back then in a hushed voice scolds you, “ I gave you fifty bucks to keep that a secret.”

“I didn’t say what you had me retrieve.” You said smugly leaning back in your chair.

Bruce didn’t know how to feel.

On one hand, this teen that objectively hates his family, knows their biggest secret. She can singlehandedly destroy their family and expose them. And she has the means to.

But on the other, she’s a perfect fit for their family. She gets along with Jason, doesn’t let Damian get under her skin, and from the looks of it can definitely take care of herself. Only thing is, again, she hates his wife and by association, his family.

“I’m sorry, hacking? You know that’s illegal right?” Tim asks, still in shock that you got past his security systems.

You turn to him and in a bored tone replied , “Yeah? and?”

Tim stuttered for a bit before going quiet with a blush. It was adorable really.

You had to hold back a laugh, it was fun getting this stuffy family all riled up. Especially when you can see the disapproval in Christines face.

“Tony, you let our daughter participate in illegal activities??” Christine asks with a raised brow.

The table goes silent at the tone of her voice. Knowing that when she uses it someone is really in trouble.

But you roll your eyes because how are you supposed to know what that tone means?

“I let my daughter express herself in a ...healthy way. She knows her limits.” Tony replies cooly, taking a drink and looking back into the kitchen wondering where Pepper went.

”Obviously not. Tony she has no regard for the laws at all! You think i didn’t see the headlines last year?!”

Ah yes, last year you had a slight scandal where you may have punched a pap for trying to get a picture up your skirt but who wouldn’t?!

“ And you let her hang around criminals and terrorists?!”

You scoff, “ Oh please everyone in the Avengers was a criminal or terrorist at least once.”

“Not helping kid.” Tony says, “Christine, you and your family have no right to come into my home and judge my family. I’ve been civil. Hell maybe a little too much. Mainly because if I wasn’t, my wife—err Fiancée, would kill me.”

You snicker, earning a few glares.

“Look the point is, don’t tell me how to raise my daughter. Especially because I was doing it all alone.” Tony finishes with a sigh.

The table goes silent. You were getting tired of all the tense silences today.

“ Look.” You turn to Christine, “ I get that you probably feel guilty or something because you ditched me. And I appreciate that or whatever.”

You were not good at this.

“ But I don’t wanna live with you.”

Christine looks down sadly, “ Y/n I just...I just want to get to know you again. You’re my baby.”

Before you could answer you heard a crash come from the kitchen and smoke fill the rooms.

“ Pepper?!” You cough, “ Dad what’s happening?!”

“ I don’t know. Stay here” He says summoning his suit.

“FRIDAY?!” You shout, but not hearing the AI.

The Wayne’s all looked at each other in panic. They didn’t bring their suits, thinking it was just a dinner.

You turn to them and shout “ Come with me, and stay low!”

You start to lead them to the stair case, knowing that the rooms were relatively safe.

“Come on!” you yell when they don’t follow you.

Christine stands from her seat and makes to follow you before being stopped by Damian.

“Mother we cannot..”

“Damian, I’ve had about enough of you. Let’s go.” She says sternly and follows you. The rest of the family following behind as Bruce nudges Damian.

“ Come on son.”

“Father we don’t know where she’s leading us.” Damian says stubbornly.

“There’s nothing we can do right now.” he coughs.

The sounds of punching and the blasts come from the kitchen.

“Let’s go.”

They finally join the rest of the family. You have them crouched in the hallway.

“ This is James’ room. Dad had it modified just incase he was ever triggered into the Winter Solider again. No ones getting through this door when it’s locked.”

You usher them in.

“Come on Y/n” Christine says reaching a hand out to you.

You smirk, “ What? and miss all the action?”

You close the door and lock it before leaving. Laughing at their surprised faces.

The room is silent.

“ She’s awesome!” Jason says with a laugh.

#tony stark x daughter!reader #crossover #marvel x reader #avengers x teen!reader #poc reader #reader insert #marvel #tony is a good dad #tony stark x teen!reader #batfam x reader

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empyrangel · 7 months ago

Text

Oh boy I’ve seen people talking about people like you but I haven’t seen a post like this in the wild yet.

1. Yes, the beauty standard in China is pale skin. So what? That’s an explanation for why the characters are pale, but you’re acting like it’s an excuse. It’s not.

2. People can still criticize things they like. It’s not some kind of paradox like you seem to think it is. I feel like I shouldn’t have to explain this, but just because someone likes or interacts with media does mean they condone everything about it, or think it’s perfect. Nothing is above criticism, and you can still play and enjoy the game without spending money while calling out its cultural insensitivity.

3. Stop acting like the ccp has a gun to hoyo’s head about this. Yeah, they’re strict, but this game gets away with a lot of shit that they aren’t supposed to with no consequences, plus there are other Chinese based games (like Reverse 1999) that have dark skinned characters no problem, so clearly the ccp doesn’t care as much about this as you seem to think they do.

4. Nobody is criticizing the individual people who designed the characters, now you’re just making shit up. All of the criticism is directed towards the company as a whole, not the individual employees.

5. “Is it really a misrepresentation of culture when the people are just pale skinned?” Yes?? Why are you even asking this? Sure they have other cultural elements, but when skin color is a huge factor in the culture having it be inaccurate is very disrespectful and very much misrepresentative.

6. There was backlash over Sumeru, it wasn’t quite this much, but it did happen. You just weren’t paying attention.

7. The people criticizing and boycotting the game are not preventing you or anyone else from playing or enjoying the game. No one else’s experiences are impacted by boycotts or social media posts from people you don’t know. Maybe you should take your own advice and not take all this so personally. You can literally just ignore all of it and mind your own business if you want to. But that’s not what you did. You made a post going “Pwease don’t attack me uwu” where you shamed people for caring about the serious issue of misrepresentation and colorism in a major video game, tried to silence their protests, and demanded they stop because… I’m not even sure why. Because you find it annoying? Because you’re at most mildly inconvenienced by their criticism and boycott? Because you think it affects your enjoyment of the game even though it doesn’t? Because you just like pretending to be victimized? Whatever the case, you don’t get to complain about the existence of discourse when you’ve decided to purposefully involve yourself in said discourse in an antagonistic way while showing how ignorant you are about everything, and on top of that adding tags to make sure your post gets engagement from the people involved in the discourse. Yeah, people are probably going to send you hate, but that’s nobody’s fault but your own. Nobody else made you make this dumbass post.

Please don’t attack me Hoyoverse people

Okay , so I’ve seen a lot of posts where people are complaining about the cultural representation of the Aztecs and Mexican people , saying that the company is not representing them properly and there’s actually a post where the link a petition to get hoyo to stop making their characters so white .

I’m going to be real here .

People , stop taking things so personally, they are a Chinese company , the beauty standard is white , also , you play the game , stop complaining when you also enjoy the game too. The people at hoyo have tons of pressure from the Chinese government and standards of games .

There’s literally changed their character designs to fit the standards of games for Asian servers

The workers spend hours trying to design characters and parts of treat all for our entertainment while we leak the content and shame everything they make , currently, we’re hating on them for making characters that don’t represent the culture.

But listen.

Is it really a misrepresentation of culture when the people are just pale skinned?

They’ve added the features of the land like how Mexico would be represented as and also they’ve spent days designing and developing characters for us .

We really need to stop this .

Now it is completely okay to spam my inbox with hate , I understand if it’s offensive.

But why the fuck would you people recent people form actually enjoying the fycking game but spamming back reviews and trying to prevent people from finding content they actually like .

You guys didn’t complain when Subaru came out .

So why Natlan?

#the stars cast their gaze down ✨#traveler from another world ✨#I’d rather say this kind of stuff in the comments rather than have it on my blog but I’m not in the mood to deal with tumblr’s minuscule #character limit for comments so sorry about that #I wouldn’t mind having a debate about this but op seems more interested in spewing nonsense then sticking their fingers in their ears than #listening to other people #or even defending their own opinions #some people in the notes are assuming this is ragebait #I thought that too at first but upon visiting their blog it looks like your average writing blog #nothing ill-intentioned or mean spirited purposefully spiteful or provocative #so I think it’s more likely that this is just a really bad case of ignorance rather than something purposeful #doesn’t change what they said in the post but I do like trying to understand where people are coming from #discourse

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narancias-headband · 3 years ago

Note

How about headcanons for the Bucci gang boys comforting their future girlfriend in the aftermath of a nasty breakup with her cheating ex-boyfriend?

How they would say "Do you need me to chop his dick off?"

Joking tone, means it as a joke: Narancia, Mista

Genuine tone, means it as a joke: Giorno

Joking tone, means it for real: Bucciarati

Genuine tone, means it for real: Abbacchio, Fugo

[Actual Headcanons under the cut lol]

Bucciarati

He just wants to pamper you for a little while. Let you relax and get over the breakup.

All of your responsibilities have disappeared now. He'll handle them. No extra stress allowed.

If you want something to do to get your mind off of things, he'll give you back the low stress tasks. But he really just wants you to take some time to relax.

Will treat you to a spa day. All expenses paid, no strings attached, the most inclusive package offered. He'll drop you off and pick you up as well.

Even if you don't always see it, he's checking up on you constantly. Keeping mental notes of what you're up to and making sure you're getting enough sleep.

Abbacchio

Acts like it's not a big deal. Why should that bother him so much?

He's actually so pissed. Can not believe someone would be so stupid as to treat you like that.

He's not really sure how to go about comforting you, but he's always around. He makes sure you're never alone if he can help it.

Will gladly do what you ask of him. Is actually so thankful when you ask him to do something; finally he knows what he should be doing to help.

Giorno

He's making you flowers or little animals to make you smile. He'll make you whatever you want.

He is unable to say no to you right now. Anything to make you happy.

He'll cook you your favorite meal and stage the dining room like a fancy restaurant. He even has Mista and Narancia act as the 'waiters' for the night. You get an amazing meal, and a goofy little pretend dinner date with Giorno to make you smile.

If your hair is long enough, he'll put it up like his. Perfect excuse to spend time together and hopefully you'll have to laugh over how you look with Giorno's signature over the top hairstyle.

He just wants to be close to you and do anything he can to make you laugh and smile.

Mista

Unfortunately, he knows exactly how that feels.

Surprisingly sweet and sensitive to the issue at hand.

Running out to get ice cream, your favorite snacks, and that movie you said you wanted to see right after he hears the news.

Really wants to hang out with you and make you smile, but totally understands if you need your space too. Just let him know what you need and he'll be more than happy to comply.

Gets extra touchy feely out of care and concern. Expect lots of big, tight bear hugs. Lots of them.

Narancia

He's going to try his hardest to distract you from being sad/angry/feeling any bad emotions whatsoever.

Dragging you out on adventures and snack runs every two seconds. He just wants to keep you busy so you don't dwell on things.

It might not be the healthiest option to just avoid your feelings, and he knows that too, but seeing you so beat up over it breaks his heart.

If he brings you anywhere that reminds you of your ex, he's immediately scrambling to find something new to remember the spot for.

"Oh... This is where he took me on a date once..." Well, now you can remember it as, um, the place we saw that seagull sleeping on the bench!

Fugo

Someone is actually going to need to restrain him from going out and literally picking a fight with your ex.

How dare someone even think of disrespecting you like that? Honestly, he probably feels more strongly about the whole thing than you do.

Probably accidentally lets it slip that he does kind of have a huge crush on you. Or at least implies as much.

"Cheating on you? What a dumbass. If you were my girlfriend, [Y/N], I'd never even think to do that. You're like... The perfect woman. How could that... That asshole not see that?!"

At least trying to calm him down is a good distraction. And it does feel nice that someone sees how amazing you are...

#pls i hope u enjoy these and also i hope u didnt just go thru that kind of breakup anon!! <3 #golden wind #jjba part 5 #jjba #bruno bucciarati #bucciaratti #abbacchio #leone abbacchio #giorno #giorno giovanna #guido mista #mista #narancia #narancia ghirga #pannacotta fugo #fugo #anon ask

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lordelmelloi2 · 2 months ago

Text

It's normal for teens to be attracted to other teens, hell it's normal for teens to find adults attractive, but I do think that like. The phenomenon I witnessed in the circles I saw here on tumblr and twitter where we had *Grown Men, Women, And Everyone in-Between Or Neither Or Otherwise*, people who are adults, constantly talking about how bad Castoria needed to get fucked or how much of a sex pervert she was ... I don't know how anyone can witness anyone talking like that about a teenager and not be like, WTF? It was fucked up because so much of LB6 is strictly about Castoria's trauma and neglect, how she only could rely on Ector, and how her supports have been ripped away from her, and how she's expected to do this grand act without a chance to live humanely or experience life or love... and people just wouldn't shut up about sex or petplay or fucking whatever. And she's like just a teenager. She's 16. But people kept acting like she had absolutely insane raging hormones, and projecting their own sexuality onto her, and the shit ppl wrote and drew was like... bro is she not like in dire need of some happiness that doesn't assume sex fixes everything about her? Or rather, do you idiots really think sex just cures you and everything you ever went through? Is sex the end goal of happiness for yall? It just felt demented as fuck. Like, who cares? But also why is it any of their business?

That's what drives me nuts and people talk about it seriously when it's like, American media, like I read conversations discussing how weird it is that tv runners and filmmakers love hyperfocusing in on teenage sexuality & sexualizing teenagers, how burdensome that for teens they can't enjoy media meant for their age group without *somebody* joyfully writing or trying to depict how much Sex they're having or how Sexy they are... I'm not even asexual, I just think this is a patriarchal problem that a ton of people just decided didn't matter anymore. Like it's ok to sexualize teen girls because they're teenagers. And if they're anime it's doubly okay because otaku don't care about that stuff. "Buh its Fikshon. Its make believe its pretend" type excuses made by people who think you don't passively absorb messages about how you should be acting, how you should talk, or look, or behave, depending on the positive connotation and depiction of anything in media. Like we're already aware we are slaves to advertising. Im getting ahead of myself here so let me like recap my thoughts:

- I think a ton of adults have this assumption that fictionality means 1) No teens will see it and internalize Sex = Value, 2) No adults will internalize that it's ok to treat teens like this and start behaving strangely towards teenagers

- "oh well then we should never depict teenage sexuality" How about this: Teenage sexuality has rarely been depicted with the dignity that allows teens to process real emotions about it rather than simply existing as spectacle and entertainment for pedophilic, boundary-lacking, disrespectful adults. And teens know this.

- Castoria is just so blatantly a little girl that needs like guidance and support and real ways of treating her like a person first that when I see people jump to speculating her sex life or talk about fulfilling her through sex I just want to strangle them. It is mostly adults that I have witnessed doing this and very rarely teens.

- I don't trust these adults because I think they have implicit bias directed towards being disrespectful of the boundary between adults and teenagers, they likely don't understand that that boundary is about respect, it's about treating those younger and less experienced than you with dignity and not forcing expectations onto them, they don't understand that negating that boundary is predation. A teenager is not your emotional equal. Or rather, they shouldn't be -- and if they are, and you're an adult, you need to understand your own maturity being on par with a teenager's doesn't mean you have the right to make adult expectations of a teenager. & I think that last bit as a principle applies to Many, Many things, not just sexual abuse dynamics

- I think if people try to strawman and say "well we can never talk about sex ed then" are also stupid because any sex educator will tell you there are clear cut boundary respectful ways that you can advise minors on sex ed and health that are able to answer their questions Without being disrespectful towards the minors involved or prying or treating them as equals to you.

- The older I get the more I realize the sheer and utter gap between a 16-17 yo and Any person above like. TWENTY years old and I start getting angrier and angrier the more instances I see of people talking about teens, fictional teens, teenagers in media, ETC. like they're sex symbols instead of like. Just. Kids. They're kids. They are literally kids that are growing up. My god. You do not really start to understand until you hit like 25 on average, I think, how absolutely batshit insane it is for ppl to be fantasizing about teenagers. & Quite frankly. I find it all starkly antifeminist and properly aligned with fascist ideals to be obsessed with this kind of thing as a virtue of sexual ""liberation"" or whatever people are saying these days. What exactly is liberatory about this and who does it benefit? In what way? What kind of ideas and power does this align with in our current political climate?

Asides from her being 16 years old it does make me insane when people talk about how bad they wanna fuck Castoria or how bad they need her to get fucked or something. I think these people are just straight up deranged. Maybe its bc I have kids but like theres noooo fucking way anyone who looks at Castoria and is fantasizing about anything sexual wrt her isn't a predator in some way bc how the fuck do you look at a sheltered, emotionally neglected 16 yr old like that and start immediately thinking about sex. She should be doing a nature walk field study and like playing basketball with her friends and going to hot topic not doing whatever the hell these weirdos think she should be doing lmfao

#not to go all intersectional sex feminist on this blog but like. My god

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lsholland · 3 years ago

Text

London Lights (pt. 2) - Tom Holland

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader (1st person)

Genre: Party!Tom

Warnings: swearing; alcohol; smut (don’t recommend -18 to read)

Word count: 1.5k

Read part 1 here

Author’s note: Hey guys! Part 2 is out... I'd recommend listening to one of these slowed/reverb playlists while reading it. if you know what I mean.

Synopsis: Quarantine has been tough. I’ve lost my boyfriend, and I’m feeling lonely. Clubs and restaurants are open again, but I feel like it’ll never be like it used to. My friends have been pushing me to install Tinder and go on dates. Well, tonight, I’m going on a date. I don’t really want to but I’m going to try and have fun for once. Just a few drinks and I’ll go home. What else could happen?

PS. You can read the story on Wattpad.

What am I doing here with him? I think as I’m watching him wobbling.

The streets are getting darker as we walk out of the city centre. Only a few lamp posts on the sides of the pavement allow me to see his shadowy face. The streets are so quiet. My ears are still not used to this sudden switch to total silence. As I can’t hear my own footsteps, nor feel my feet, it becomes harder and harder to walk straight.

I stumble. I bump against a wall and stop for a few seconds to rest my aching head. My eyes are squeezed.

“Are you alright?” Tom asks when he notices I’m not next to him anymore. He approaches and firmly holds my arm.

I try to keep my eyes shut but he’s so close to me I feel nervous and keep opening them to make sure I’m not dreaming.

He glances around and raises his brows. “How far are we?”

“Far” is all I manage to say as I examine his facial features. I can only see his side profile and it’s enough for me to lose my mind. I’m mesmerised by his beautiful straight nose, his sharp jawline, and his wavy chocolate hair.

He glances at me.

Eye-contact.

I look away. I’m anxious. I’m intimidated. I’m overwhelmed. And I’m drunk above all. And I want to kiss him, but I know it’s only going to end up badly if I do so.

I discretely glance up, making sure I’m avoiding eye contact. He’s still watching me.

He’s so close to my face. His warm, beer-scented breath caresses my skin. I’m shivering.

“Let’s go” I whisper.

He smirks.

We keep walking next to each other. I make sure to keep a distance from him. For security.

He’s not as drunk as I am. And even though he seems adorable, I can’t truly trust him. Or that’s what I say not to admit I’m really attracted to this man.

For the first time since we met, he checks his phone. The screen is so bright it burns my eyes. I feel a certain dizziness in my body. My hands become numb.

Tom frowns his eyebrows as he reduces the brightness of his phone screen. He opens and closes apps. I can see the blue colour of text messages on his iPhone.

I’m insanely curious. I can’t read anything, but I stare at his screen.

Who is he texting?

He peers at me. I startle and look down instantly. I’m ashamed. I hope he didn’t notice I was watching his phone. I don’t want him to think I’m trying to invade his privacy.

“I wasn’t looking—just the brightness of the screen—I don’t know.” I babble.

He doesn’t react. He keeps reading his text messages and taps on his phone.

I messed up.

We keep walking silently until we reach my apartment. His attention’s been on his phone all the time. Disappointment is rushing through my body like a thrill as I prepare to say goodbye.

I don’t want to.

But I have to.

I stop walking to show him we’ve arrived. He turns his phone off and looks at the old building. His thoughts are transiting from whatever conversation he had with his friends/girlfriends or whoever – I don’t care – to the realisation that our paths are parting.

This moment has lasted for only one second, but my thoughts are going crazy. I think of all the possible outcomes. Of all the romantic movies I watched when I was younger. Of all the ideas I had on the road. At this particular moment, I am aware it was all just a dream. He’s just being nice with me.

I’ve known him for a couple of hours. We’ve only exchanged a few words, but I am deeply sad. I try to think of any excuse to make him come inside and spend the rest of the night together. But none of them are reasonable.

Get with it.

I glance at him. He’s watching me, waiting for a signal. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even blink.

“That’s where I live” I say as I’m going through my purse to find my keys. I’ve found them immediately, but I just pretend a little longer to give him the chance to say something.

He doesn’t.

I sigh. “Thank you for walking me home,” I grin while holding my tears, hoping he doesn’t notice I’m devastated. “Is it going to be okay to go back home on your own?”

He peers down at his phone one last time. “Yeah, it’ll be alright . . .”

That’s it. I’ve drawn on all my ideas. I can’t keep on trying. I’ve got to let him go.

“Good night . . .” I whisper as I put the key in the lock. I try my best not to look back.

Pathetic.

As a tear drops from my eye, I come to the sudden realisation none of this is real. I am so drunk my emotions are raw. But none of them are genuine. I didn’t even know him a few hours ago. The next morning I’ll have a laugh when I think of the whole situation.

I feel a little better.

“I’m sorry!” Tom shouts before I close the door behind me. I watch him through the gap. He comes to me with a grin on his face. “You’re fun, I like you.”

My eyes are wide open. I don’t know what to say. I stutter.

“I like to keep my circle close though. I hope you understand”

I nod.

What he just said is breaking my heart. It feels like I am the problem. Like I am not enough. Everything I’ve been trying to forget from my previous relationships is resurging in my mind.

I start crying.

My ex-boyfriend left me for someone else. He cheated on me. He disrespected me in every way that’s possible. He made me feel miserable for being who I am.

And even though it isn’t Tom’s intention, I feel the same.

“No, no, no!” he grabs my face in the palm of his hands and brings my face closer to his. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

I don’t understand anything.

“I really like you,” he added as he glanced at each one of my eyes and my lips and my hair and my eyes again “we’ve only just met.”

I nod. “It’s okay” I whisper as smoothly as possible.

I’m not okay.

“I mean—You know who I am . . .” he glances around as if we were being watched “That’s too big a risk.”

I nod, again.

I still don’t understand anything.

Anxiety and shame rush together through my body, from my core to the tip of my fingers. I’m feeling so bad.

I should’ve stayed with my boring date.

“Yeah, it’s alright” I whisper facing down.

He raises his eyebrows. I can’t look at him in his eyes, but I can feel he’s surprised by my reaction.

What did he expect?

“Just—Make sure you’re safe on your way home” I add.

This is my goodbye though I’m not entirely sure he understands.

His face shifts. He’s intensely watching the bottom of my face. His lips are moving as if he were trying to say something but silently stutters.

I’m not sure I want to hear another reason why he can’t be with me.

I glance at him. He doesn’t move.

We’ve stayed at my doorstep for way too long now. It’s getting awkward. It’s better to call it a night and just pretend like I never hoped for more than this.

I try to close the door but stumble. Even though I’m sobering up, I’m still feeling dizzy.

“Let me walk you to your apartment” Tom says.

I nod. I can’t do anything else.

There is no elevator in my building. Luckily, my apartment is on the second floor.

Tom is holding my shoulder as I step in the staircase. He doesn’t say a word.

I’m so anxious I can’t stop thinking about all the inconsistencies in his behaviour. Why would he come with me here? It’s quite risky. Paparazzies are going to think he’s getting lucky tonight. I thought he was avoiding this . . .

I’m now in front of my apartment door, completely out of breath.

“Thanks, Tom” I whisper.

At this moment, I know it’s the last time I’ll ever see him. I feel it in my bones. I feel regret, hopelessness, dizziness, desire, tension . . .

Stop.

I unlock the door, open it and exhale. Excitement has left my body.

I look at him one last time.

He’s gorgeous.

I’m trying to remember his features for as long as possible. And I don’t realise I’ve been looking at him for a little too long until—

“Fuck” he whispers as he rushes in my apartment, grabs my neck, and pushes me against the wall. He uses his leg to slam the door shut.

I’m speechless.

He kisses me on my lips. A long, hard kiss.

It’s so dark in the room, I can only see his silhouette. And his hair falling on his face. I smell his cologne too. It’s divine.

He kisses my cheek, my jaw, my neck, my shoulder through my dress that seems to be bothering him.

His lips are so soft, it feels like velvet wrapping my skin. It’s intense. He grabs my hair and kisses me one more time, his fingers caressing my skin.

I feel the goosebumps on his skin. I hear his heart racing in his chest. He’s panting. He doesn’t look the same anymore.

The room is silent, I can only hear him breathing. He keeps kissing me and becomes more and more brutal. It feels so good I accidentally moan.

Tom grunts. He looks at me and smirks.

“I just want you”

(Part 3 soon)

#tom holland #tom holland imagines #Tom Holland smut #tom holland x reader #Tom Holland fiction #fan fiction #fanfic

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messwriting · 4 years ago

Text

Written for The Smut Pile Collab: Mafia AU | MASTERLIST HERE.

POISON AND PLEASURE

Osamu Miya (Post-Time Skip) x Mob Boss! Female Reader

“Backed into a corner, Osamu makes a deal with the devil -- you.”

Rating: E for explicit | Don’t read this if under eighteen.

Warnings: oh boy. Dub-con (Osamu does consent, but it is coercion); MANIPULATION AND EXTORTION; slight gun play, lasts for a moment; Rough sex; Hate-fucking; Degradation/Humiliation; Spanking, also just for a moment; Oral sex, fingering; Orgasm Denial; Choking; Violence; Dash of corruption and prey/predator; Deep throat; Facial. Fucking in a kitchen/public place. Also, just in case, toxic relationship and money talk (lol).

Word count: 9,889 (such a nice number)

A/N: Oh, this has been a ride. This is my contribution to The Smut Pile Collab, hosted by the lovelies @present-mel, @pleasantanathema and @linestrider. I’m very excited to participate, since it is my first collab and they are my (home) first server. Big, huge, gigantic thanks to Lauren (my wife) for reading this over and beta-ing for me. <3

Well, Osamu fuckers unite! :insert elmo fire: (i’ve been on discord too much)

Osamu gets up from his seat inside his small office, looking from the small window on his door inside the already closed restaurant lit only by the lights that come in through the windows, the time being well after closing. Shady deals are mostly done late at night, he thinks. Right as he’s leaving the office and closing the door behind him with a key, the movement outside catches his eye and Osamu turns just in time to watch as the black BMW sedan of the year quietly comes to a halt right in front of his store. He frowns, knowing who that means. He'd much rather deal with the soldier responsible for his loan initially than with you.

Two men emerge from the front doors of the car, one immediately heading for the passenger door while the driver checks the street; they exchange a small nod before the man on the side of the sidewalk opens the passenger door and when he does, he positions himself behind it and immediately out of the way. Osamu could be intrigued by the action if he didn't feel so represented by it - he, too, would prefer to always be out of your way.

There’s power in the way you move, ingrained in your body as you descend an expensive white heel onto the concrete beneath you on the sidewalk, the other following suit while you propel yourself out, holding the frame of the car for support. It’s late at night and the street is fairly dark, but your simple presence, clad in an impeccable white suit with a deep neckline showing immaculate skin, is enough to brighten the place. There’s an elegant, expensive-looking and equally unnecessary coat draped over your shoulders and your hair was flawlessly styled.

You draw attention as the color black absorbs light-- from all and everything. Maybe it is because of your soul, he muses.

Once you were standing outside the car, your driver marched to the door of the onigiri restaurant, holding it open for you while you strode inside, heels clicking on the pavement, the sway of your hips something Osamu may think beautiful to watch if it weren’t you.

“Hello, Miya-san. Hope you have better news for me this week.” You state as cheerfully as you can, calmly entering the establishment in a glory of white. You shed your coat once you passed the door, the driver catching it while the second man seemed to survey the outside area a little more before entering.

"Hi." Osamu extends his hand with the brown envelope. But you go around him and walk to the counter, calmly sitting down on one of the high stools while absentmindedly looking around his small restaurant.

“I missed my lunch today, so I hope you don’t mind me grabbing a bite before I leave.” You don’t look at Osamu when he doesn’t move for his place behind the counter immediately.

“We’re closed.” He says and you turn around just momentarily, piercing eyes on his profile. One of your men is still by the door and the look he gives the twin is also very compelling. Osamu feels his teeth gritting against the pressure he makes to shut his tongue. "Sure."

One of the goons comes closer and takes the brown envelope from his hands, without you even looking back as the burly tattooed man sits in one of the booths and starts counting the money.

“So, how’s business? I’ve heard you had a hard time these last two months.” You try to make small talk while checking the menu over the counter, carefully done nails threading along the restaurant menu. You only press a long nail against what you want and slide it to him, the 18K diamonds on your small and discreet Cartier watch and matching trinity ring on your finger catching more of his attention than your watchful eyes. Your jewelry is discrete, tasteful, and still amounting enough to buy the whole building where the Onirigi’s shop is located. Osamu's throat moves around nothing in reflex.

"Isn’t it obvious?" He grumbles while working against the counter, starting once he cleans his hands on the sink. He’d like to say his eyes keep diverting to your neckline because of your shining jewelry.

"So rude, Miya." you chuckle. “And I’ve been nothing but nice to you. Didn’t you pay for your little plumbing problem with my money? Is it only dirty to you once I’m present?”

"I don’t like people like you." Osamu doesn’t beat around the bush. And once he’s done with this payment he’d be completely free of you anyway, he doesn’t feel the need to pretend.

“Like me? You mean kind? All I ever did was help you out in a time of need.”

Osamu’s snort is disrespectful. The big man by the door moves but a simple turn of your hand in the air has him standing back, carefully looking down on Osamu, but unmoving. The other’s still counting the money rather calmly, the booth he’s seated unseeable from the shop window.

“You see, disrespect won’t take you far.” You say offhand, your watchful eyes on Osamu’s every move but with no real worry. You don’t trust him, but you know he’s not stupid.

"I don’t plan on it." He answers you after a beat, finishing wrapping the Salmon onigiri, disposing it carefully on a plate, and depositing it in front of you, accompaniments arranged around. Osamu doesn't use the fact that he doesn't like you as an excuse for a half-ass job; he's not the type, which is refreshing. Is what you like about him.

“Get started on a few others. I trust your recommendations.”

Osamu chooses to work quietly, in silence. You, however, are happily chatting away at his high stool as if this is just another day of bullying patrons. Maybe, for you, it is.

“You work very diligently.” You observe, eyes trailing from his toned arms to his deft fingers diligently working on the rice ball. He’s fast and experienced, rolling the nori around the triangled shaped steamed rice after successfully filling it with whatever he chose. Osamu just grumbles out something, or tsk, even when the way you look at his fingers takes an unexpected appreciative turn.

“Maybe I should have you working overtime more.” You muse when he finishes the new onigiris and carefully places them in front of you. Osamu eyes you nastily, clearly displeased at your comment, which makes your lips split in a bigger smile despite your teeth closing around the rice ball. Even so, you’re pleasantly surprised by their flavor.

“See, this is why I like you, Osamu.” The man frowned at your loose use of his first name, the way it rolls off your tongue so nicely. “You always deliver good work.”

“It’s my job.” Osamu retorts, unamused. “I do it right even if it’s for…” He catches his tongue right in time, his eyes catching movement from the man seated down at one of the tables, almost biting his tongue in the process. “--people like you.”

Osamu watches while the burly man with tattoos moves discreetly despite his size, bends down so his mouth can be on your ear level, and murmurs something to you that he doesn’t quite catch. Your steely eyes are momentarily looking down when they blink and fly back to his face, a deep, blank stare that makes Osamu’s brows furrow. His back becomes straighter, a gripping feeling in his gut that triggers his fight or flight.

He presses the urge down - tells himself he doesn’t have anything to fear.

He’s looking down at you, but Osamu feels small under your steady glare. Which in reflex, after several years of being stupid in pair, makes him want to act up.

"Seems to me you forgot some money, Miya."

"What?" His shocked tone is harsh and his eyes dart between you to the two men behind you, looking as steady as his walls and just as broad. "I counted it twice, everythin’ I owe ya ‘s there." His accent comes out pretty hard when he’s agitated.

"You only have fifty thousand here."

“I owe ya fifty thousand.” Osamu deadpans, almost sneering. “What ’re ya sayin’?"

“No, Miya. Fifty thousand is what you owed me two weeks ago.”

"You gave me an extension." He argues, brows furrowed.

"Exactly. I never said anything about the interest.”

"What?"

"You forgot the interest." You talk to him as if he’s a child, lips turning upwards at his confusion. Osamu has the gut feeling you’re enjoying every second of this. Every little moment of his deep discomfort. “You were informed about them when you accepted the loan, you know how they work. If you don’t pay on the due date, 10 percent interest each extra week you remain in debt.”

"Are you telling me I'm missin’ over 10K in interest rates?

"Yes." You say, smiling while tilting your head sideways, analytical. "Because you are."

“I'm paying you back,” Osamu grits through his clenched teeth, almost as if he’s willing it to be true, “Everything I owed ya is there. ”

"Not quite. You’re paying me back about--” You smile and press your lips in thinking, eyebrows furrowing while you calculate on your head the exact number. “-- 82 percent of what you owe me.”

Osamu’s fists close, veins bulging while his heart picks up with the adrenaline rush of a fit of rage. Aggression flows on his body to the point where his entire frame trembles. His teeth are clenched, tightly forced together by his pressed jaw. His brain cannot reason beyond the need to vent that outrage, and with every second he spends looking at your pretty-faced indifference sitting in front of him at the counter, his outrage slowly merges into fury. Osamu stares back at your emotionless eyes, turns, and walks two strides before burying his fist in the nearest plaster wall, the pain grounding him, soothing his nerves.

Pain is familiar -- what Osamu doesn’t like is to feel so deranged.

"Fuck!" He exclaims loudly but still controlled, turns his broad back to you, breathes deeply a few times, and then settles. You watch in delighted silence as he moves to the freezer, grabs an iced pack of random food, and puts on his busted knuckles, his eyes on the hole he left on the wall; The twin sighs audibly, then walks back while coldly regarding you and your two watchdogs who look over to him carefully, almost startled.

You, however, didn’t even flinch.

"So how much do I still have to give you?"

“I think the better question is: Can you pay?”

“I’ll figure it out.” Osamu grumbles out, his clenched jaw working over grinding teeth.

“That’s not how this works, Miya.” You tell him, your spine regally straight on the high seat as if it is your throne. Your lips move around the next word with malice. “When.”

“I--” Osamu stops to think for a moment, coldly calculating his financial situation. He has no way to withdraw money from the main branch to try and cover the losses of this branch, that would be simply stupid. There is no way for him to borrow money from Atsumu, who doesn’t know the concept of savings; Kita can not help him with such a great amount and he can’t recur to his poor parents. He also doesn’t want to resort to a bank at all, which doesn’t leave him many options. A new extension raises interests and he doesn't think he can do it beyond the amount he would need to add. Osamu's chest slowly fills with dread - he knows what’ll come if he doesn’t pay and he refuses to let his business become a Mafia parlor.

You watch Osamu slowly and quite meticulously calculate his options while engrossed in reasoning his dreadful situation; it’s thrilling, you almost can’t hide the contentment blossoming in your chest at his desperate situation.

His expression shifts and turns sour, before slowly building back his blank façade but it’s too late, you already know his conditions and capacities - it’s your job to know. And you pride yourself in never making bets, just assuming calculated risks, so Osamu is right where you wanted him to be.

You do suspect the black-haired male is the same, that disinterested stare in his handsome face nothing short of sharp, his aloof behavior making every second of rilling Osamu up to this manifestation of discomfort all the more delightful. His only problem is that the man plays by rules you don’t. And what you want, you take.

“I’ll need an extension for the rest.” He finally says, so absolutely angered it’s almost a curse. Even the hostility in his tone makes a shiver run down your spine, all the hairs on your arms standing on edge while your insides slowly melt, fed by the images in your brain.

“Really?” You playfully answer, faked surprise not made to convince anyone. Osamu seethes in place, labored breathing making his chest move up and down. “See, now I can’t help you out. I told you disrespect would only take you so far.”

You get up from your seat, a show of touching your expensive black plump Louboutin on the ground. “I can’t let you out like this, not when you did such a show of being… rude.”

“What do you want.” Osamu almost spits at you once you’re rounding his counter, entering his space, closing on him. But he holds himself in place by pressing his nails hardly against the inside of his palms.

“First, some respect.” You sultrily say at him, much as a viper luring its prey. It rolls off your scarlet lips while you look up at him from your long lashes and perfect face. It makes Osamu want to wreck it.

“I don’t respect you.” He says in undertone since you’re close, sounding much like a hiss.

“Doesn’t seem like a smart thing to say to someone to whom you owe so much.” You purse your lips, fake pout. “And you seem like a smart man, Miya. Or am I wrong?”

Osamu blinks, brows furrowing while he looks down at you, his mind working.

“Where are you going with this?” He eyes you warily, his eyebrows furrowing, his mind trying to gauge the target of your wicked intentions. “You want something.”

You smile, pretty red lips stretching to show a beautiful line of white teeth and he’s surprised that the poison isn’t dripping.

“See, I knew you were smart.”

“I’m not giving you my business.” Osamu hisses, like a cornered animal, but his instance shows he’s more prone to fight than flee.

“Don’t want it.” You’re quick to tell him, innocence so out of place that it makes even clearer that you’re being honest. “I may need… services, though.”

Osamu’s spine shoots straight once again, his eyes sharp boring into your face with cold disdain.

“I’m not laundering your money.”

“Money launder, Miya? That’s a federal felony.” You lean back, supporting yourself on your forearms against the balcony, vigilant eyes zooming on him. “Are you saying I’m a criminal?”

Osamu stays silent for the first time. There’s a predatory glint in your eyes that he understands as a warning, but that doesn’t stop him from upturning his brow and tilting his head in a small challenge. Osamu is appalled at what your upturning lips do to his guts, swallowing the saliva that pools in his mouth. He must be wrong in the fucking head to feel anything else than disgust in your sight, but even so, there’s no denying the way there’s a devilish pull around you, like the temptation of a capital sin.

“What I mean is… I have a specific service for you, personally. So you could pay me in...” Your tongue snaps against the roof of your mouth with a small noise, lips turning up in vile intention, “Different goods, per se.”

Osamu refuses to accept his train of thought, eyes pressing into slits while he watches you. His tone enunciates every word of his question.

“What do you mean?”

Your answering smile is sordid.

“You know what I mean Miya, we’ve just established you’re not stupid.”

“I’m starting ta’ think you are, though.”

Your laugh is loud, cheerful even. It makes him look at you as if you’re insane.

“Maybe.” You chuckle, retreating your arms back and straightening your posture on the tool, your neck tilting to the side. “But when I want something, I want it. So why deny myself that? I find the whole point of self-control to be so… pedestrian.” There’s this contempt in your tone at the word, mixing into trivial once your shoulders shrug your consideration for a whole chunk of what living in a society means. “Why hold myself to it if I’m above?” Osamu chooses to ignore that question.

“And what if I say no?”

“You’re free to do what you want, I don’t own you.” Yet, you think, smiling. “Then again you still owe me 10k in interests and with your measly weekly 5k profit and the increased interest percentage with the second extension, we know what’ll happen to you… And I’d hate for that to happen to you.”

The silence is heavy and acidic, burning on him. And you let the seconds pass, relishing in the way he seems to grow aggravated, jaw overworking around nothing to bite, hands in fists by his side.

Oh, you’re close to defiling the pristine white of your designer clothes, the feeling brewing inside you threatening to spill between your thighs. Osamu looks absolutely delicious while being so emotional.

You can see the gears turning inside his pretty dark-haired head, his eyes looking around and back at you, threading down your face, to your neck to the plunging neckline of your suit - you elongate your body while he watches, pleased to have his eyes on you, especially when they're burning with unattended violence and aggression.

Osamu’s always so detached from the events happening around him, so unshakable in that aura of apathetic tranquility that it has caused you to develop an almost macabre interest in making him desperate. And now you are continually enjoying the result, the awakening of the flames that you always knew existed inside the small business owner.

A few minutes pass while you’re just content to watch, the knot in your stomach growing tighter as you appreciate the size of his shoulders, the strength hidden in the strong biceps, the broad, defined torso that you know exists under that simple black outfit simply by gut feeling alone. You are tempted to ask him to turn around so that you can also enjoy his backside.

“Ok.” He says in a breath that seems more like it was ripped out of his chest. Like a dead man last world. You like this analysis. But of course, he can’t have it so easy.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear. Did you say anything?”

Osamu purses his lips in discomfort, almost bites his tongue in the process of not telling you to go to hell.

“I said,” he entones again, though his disdain is showing. “Ok”

“Ok, what?” You press. Oh, the way how his veins bulge on his forearms when his nails press on his palms have your hairs standing on end. You blink at him with a smile, all too pleased with yourself.

“Ok, I’ll do it.” Osamu squeezes out, brows furrowed in discovering your intentions. You’re leering with wicked prowess.

“I don’t think that's how you say it, Miya.” Your brows go up in the tiniest indication of irritation. Your voice is calculated, though unable to hide the elation.

“Ok… Miss. I’ll do anything you want.” The words come out of his mouth sounding nothing like submission and much like he just cursed your whole generation, teeth grinding. Still, it makes you smile. You don’t want to break his spirit -- that’s why you chose him.

“That’s what I like to hear.” You say, pushing yourself out from the counter where you supported yourself. Coat long forgotten on top of it, you cross your arms in front of your breasts, knowing exactly how you look and very pleased at the way his eyes ever so slightly thread down your plunging neckline. “But not so fast. I didn’t tell you I’d accept it-”

“Ya just--” Osamu almost explodes, the arms he holded closed in front of him being thrown in the air as if he’d be ready to grab you. You just turn a hand up and reels at how he actually shuts up right after.

“I just told you, you could pay me in services.” You continue, one step closer to him in your expensive shoes, plump red lips dripping wicked intent.

“But,” You start, closer to him enough that your breath is touching his heated skin and you can smell the sweat his aggression produced, your mouth salivating at the thought of tasting it on his skin.

Your finger rests on his chest and you thread it up while speaking, looking him in the eyes, so pleased at finding so much life in his usual dead stare, “I don’t know if you’re good enough for the job yet.”

Osamu stares back at you, hands in fists forcibly stuck next to his body, feeling the way your hot breath trails on his jaw and hating himself for what it brews in his insides.

You stretch up in your heels, mouth dangerously close to his, which rests ajar to let his breathing out, enough that he can taste your mint breath on his tongue.

“I think I may need a little…” Your eyes thread down to his mouth and then back to his eyes while you speak your next words, “--taste, you know?”

Osamu flexes his fingers, swallows dry around his closed throat, stares at your face -- so close the downright devilish smile on your red lips seems to narrow his field-view -- and he blinks.

The Miya thinks how he wants to wipe that smile off your sinful lips. How he wants to have you trembling, unattended, and disheveled. He thinks about you begging with his name on your tongue, for a release that he’ll keep denying at his disposition. Osamu thinks about leaving you sore and marked, thinks about wrapping his hands around your neck to watch as you struggle, turning purple, life evading you while he fucks you; consider this may be the only way he’d ever had the opportunity to get even close to a payback.

Osamu wants you to experience mind-numbing pleasure you’d never before, uniquelly brought by him… and suffer through the rest of your fucking disgraceful life without being able to taste it again once he’s done paying his debt. Because Osamu swears on his fucking name and whole life, he’ll never give it to you again.

He can see your future already and in it you’re fucked - both by him and for him, while he’s the one who gets away. The twin wonders if you ever lost anything like this in your life, can feel himself growing hard at being the one to make you cry.

“Sure.” Osamu smiles, lopsided, the devil himself being safer than him. “I’ll give ya the taste ya deserve.”

Your eyes press slightly closer in mistrust, the wicked intention pouring from his body so close to yours impossible to miss. Either way, it's your win; that’s exactly what you’ve been bargaining for, despite your game being rigged from the start.

You bring your face close to his as if you were going to kiss him and you are delighted when his eyes go down, although not completely closed, his pupils focusing on your lips.

You smile and retreat, turning to your men still positioned exactly where you left them, behind the bench where you were sitting previously. They remain so observant and sharp as ever, despite looking more like gargoyles than men.

“I’ll need a moment.” You tell them in a serious tone, calm. They both look at you for a second and nod, their stances changing very little despite it. You turn back to him but walk inside his establishment as if you own the place, pushing through the doors that lead to the back and inside his small, equipped kitchen. Osamu follows in silence, briefly wondering if he’d be able to snatch a knife and bury it in your chest.

There’s not much outside cooking paraphernalia, with two big counters and taller than normal table in the center. You stop right in front of it, your hand threading over it for a moment.

“That’ll do.” You say while you turn around to look at him. You look so strikingly bright in the middle of his rather normal kitchen, clad in both lavish clothes and unblemished skin; he wants so much to be able to say your sight doesn’t thrill him -- but he can’t lie to himself.

But then you pointedly eye him and then the ground in front of you, “Kneel.”

Osamu considers his previous thought about burying a knife deep in your chest but walks, stiff, to where you indicated. He kneels with even less disposition than when he walked towards you, the descent slow until the ground’s hard tile is registered against his knee. He makes a point of looking into your eyes as he lowers, hatred overflowing in waves that seem to give you a sick satisfaction, your eyes becoming slightly out of focus.

The Miya’s about to ask what you’d want him to do next, like pledge himself or some shit, when your hands move to the hidden zipper on the side of your impeccable white pants.

It drops to the floor in one go, displaying the graceful planes of your hips, appeasing spanse of flesh, a small triangle of silk hiding your most private parts. Saliva pools in Osamu’s mouth at the sight, his teeth pressing against one another to avoid betrayal. He’s still unsure of what’s his next step until your heel digs on his shoulder painfully, using him as leverage to prop yourself up on the high table.

His eyes snap to yours while he bite his tongue to not curse you out loud. There’s a gun on top of his head that is a big warning for Osamu to behave -- not that he’d have the chance to escape with the watchdogs outside his only exit. If he had, you could be dead already.

Your suit threads up when you move up and slide on the table, the white silk panties peeking in between your open thighs. You move your beretta calmly off his face and thread it slightly, almost fondly, over your naked thigh.

You make a small show of removing your finger from the trigger and depositing it far on the table, enough to be out of his reach and almost yours too. You look back at him once you’re empty handed and just so open right there on the table for him.

“Behave, Osamu. You know you wouldn’t make it very far.”

Osamu grits his teeth but nods, your heel still supported on his shoulder but not digging on his skin anymore. You lay slightly back against his tabletop, forearms resting on the surface carefully. Dressed in a white, stylish suit like the last trend, the skin in between so bright it feels like a taunt, the curves of your breasts so ripe he wants to taste, the closed lapels looking like his own pathway to sin. He can feel his blood boiling, aggression throbbing, and he wants to paint you in red.

“Well then,” You start, happily above him, spread like a meal, “Show me if you’re good enough to pay your debt. Consider this your warrant.”

“Don’t worry.” Osamu drawls out with dripping distaste, his hand slowly, almost bored, threading up from your ankle to your knees. “I’ll fuck ya like you want it. Within an inch of your life.”

His hands lock on the back of your knees and he parts them forcefully, while you leave a yelp followed by laughter, your head thrown back with glee.

You smell of flowers and spice, so expensive he was surprised that you weren’t dripping fucking gold. His palms slide through the back of your thigh and the skin under his fingertips is soft and firm, all shapes of heaven despite being in sole service of the devil.

Osamu starts slowly, the table leaving you open just at the height of his neck while he’s kneeled on the ground, at the perfect height. His thumb presses on your skin while he holds one of your legs up, brings his lips to your knee. There’s a welcoming stain on your panties, and he scoffs at you despite the way his cock responds on his trousers.

“I haven’t even started and you’re already wet?” The way you smile at him is both infuriating and bewitching.

“What? Didn’t you enjoy our little foreplay earlier?” You tease him, plump lips locked under a row of teeth with mirth. His skin feels prickling and Osamu decides he needs more room, roughly pushing on your thighs until he can fit between them with room to spare.

It’s not fair, how good you feel, the delicious smell of your skin, the way your taunt alights him with fire in his veins.

Osamu knows it’s bait -- and he’s willingly falling for it.

When his lips start to thread on the inner part of your knee and up, the twin does it with the intention to mark; he sucks instead of kissing, licks instead of caressing, and bites once he finds the plush meat of your inner thighs.

It stings and you let the smallest of sounds, but Osamu feels it in his gut, brings his hot tongue to soothe over it, bask in the way you tremble under his fingertips just enough for him to sink his teeth and revel in the pain on your groan.

His nose treads along the furthest expanse of the joining of your thighs, touches the silk of your expensive panties, senses the way you tense and watches while your pussy trembles, even while still covered by fabric.

He considers holding back his tongue, but Osamu has never been the type to be held back by the threat of punishment. And you’ve shown to clearly enjoy his fiery side.

“Such an eager pussy right here, isn't it?” He threads his nose against the wet patch in the silk, carefully breathes against the covered lips. Osamu lets one of his shoulders bear one leg and brings his thumb to pass over the growing wet patch. “Sticky.” He presses it from the wetness to the place where your clit should be, watches as you respond to his touch with aborted movement. “Such a slut.” It’s supposed to be degrading, but there’s a hint of appreciation in his words that isn’t lost on you. “Is this all it takes for my debt? It’ll be finished in a second then.”

Your mouth opens to retort but closes in time to withhold a moan before it falls through your lips. His thumb’s pressing against your clit in tight circles while the index of his other hand threads over your covered cunt. Turns out Osamu has moves to back up the big talk.

He’s methodical, clearly good and deft with his fingers, controlled pressure applied in a way that has you writhing on the table despite your intention to make this hard on him. Your desire to make him work for it, apparently, is no match for his.

Osamu presses the tips of his fingers on your clothed entrance, enough force that it barely breaks inside you but the teasing has you churning on the table for him, legs trying to part beyond limits, body arching where it’s been relegated. Your chest feels hot and heavy despite the little clothing. You’re hoping for the moment where he’ll tease the hard nipples pressing against the flimsy lace of your bralet and the inside of your suit with the same intensity he’s depositing on your cunt.

Osamu, on the other hand, has no rush. You did this, gave this opportunity for him to wreck you, and he plans on enjoying it to the bitter end. He’s fairly surprised at how responsive you are, how quickly you melt for him, how vocal you can be despite doing little more than grunts and sighs. A thought flashes through his mind when he feels a renewed wave of wetness blossom against the fabric where his fingers are pressing, his lips turning in a self-satisfied smirk.

“Have you been so desperate for a good cock you’ve resorted to blackmail?” Your eyes snap open at his voice, a warm wave of something that you refuse to believe in being embarrassment depositing in your cheekbones. Osamu’s fingers prod harder against your entrance, fingers spreading against the wet fabric to your outer lips while his thumb keeps drawing endless circles around your clit. “Tsk, what a dirty move from an even dirtier slut.”

He slaps your clit once, then twice, his bulking frame preventing you from closing your legs against the sudden pain. Your body trembles on unsteady forearms. You choke on a breath and then release a moan, the sound outrageous to Osamu even as his cock throbs from it.

“Maybe I’ll give ya what you want.” The Miya teases, his voice sounding even despite the turmoil inside him. You look up at him with such eyes he could fool himself into thinking he wanted this.

His fingers teether on the edge of your underwear, rough fingertips just daring to cross into the emanating heat. Your hips twitch, the emptiness inside you accentuated by your muscles clenching around nothing, desire pouring out against the prodding fingertips. Osamu snorts, throws you a hard stare that is equal parts fire and contempt.

“You’re so wet. Are you enjoying this that much?” It drips acidic from his tongue against your neck, after he bends himself over you. From so close, Osamu’s warm breath is the same as a caress, his tongue teasing you with the way it threads over his lips but doesn't extend the courtesy to your skin. “You’re rather easy to rile up, hah? Or is it that you enjoyed playin’ with me before?” His teeth flash white above your head and you swallow around the desire of having them plunging on your skin. “How was it ya said? Foreplay, hah?”

You feel weirdly wound up inside your own skin, as if there’s not enough space and still a growing void inside you waiting for him to fill. It’s insane, it’s delicious, and a loud moan breaches your throat when Osamu plunges two fingers inside you without warning.

Your body arches in such a curve your breasts press against his chest, the relieving brush too shallow to register in your brain when you’re hyper fixated on the sensation brewing inside you.

It doesn’t even sting, instead you feel like your hunger escalates, fed by such little push that your want becomes need and for the first time in forever you actually consider asking for something.

Your mouth opens, and Osamu snickers. “What?” He presses his thumb over your clit fast, relinquishes in the way you groan, feels the way your insides beg him to keep going.

Still not enough though. He wants it ruined for you.

“Maybe I’ll just make you cum on my fingers right here.” He spreads, scissor and twists them inside you, enjoying the feeling of your tight walls clenching around him at his every move. Osamu’s skin feels on fire, body overheating, and the way your lips turn up to reveal a line of white teeth in glee has his gut twisting.

“You have a pretty loose tongue for such a quiet guy.” You look at him with semi-closed eyes, the victorious smile of the cat who got the mouse. “Maybe you like me more than you thoug--ahhhhh!”

Osamu shoves and prods around your insides for that special place even demons like you have and his assault is nothing short of merciless. Your eyes snap open at the force of his ramming, eyebrows furrowing at the way your pleasure seems to have forgone climb to skyrocket instead. Osamu watches in begrudging enchantment while your lips fall open to suck air into your breathless lungs and your eyes grow unfocussed, shoulders falling against the table so your hands can come to hold his arms but for what he doubts even you know.

He’s not stopping. Until he does.

You let out a noise like a wounded animal, tethering on the edge of mind numbing pleasure he won’t give you and when your body trembles from exertion of a denied orgasm instead of bliss, Osamu’s chest swells in pride.

“Whydidyoustop?” You lament in one breath, eyes are blinking back into focus, sweat and - oh he hopes those are tears - droplets dripping from the corner of your eyes while you turn to press your face on the cold metal surface of the table. “I was so close!” This time you rage, nails pressing against his skin enough to hurt.

“Wadidya mean?” Osamu tilts his head sideways, patronizing. “You didn’t ask for it. I’m just doing what you told me: being respectful.”

You laugh, still breathless, and turn to him in disbelief. “Fucker.”

“Not yet,” He corrects you, nuzzling his hips on your thighs. “Maybe if you ask nicely enough.”

Osamu retreats while you regulate your breath, letting your useless legs fall limp while both of his hands come to help your panties down, marveling at the way they’re peeled off your wet pussy lips. His cock aches and demands, but he’s used to reining in his dick. And he’s just started, anyway.

The Miya pushes you forward on the table, opening your legs wide like a treat. Your pussy is glistening, rhythmically calling for something to fill it while you leak. He plunges a finger back inside to watch you tremble, stimulation enough to make your eyes fall closed, long black lashes against beautiful sweaty skin.

“Look at this.” Osamu plunges a second finger inside, opening them wide enough to sting. “What a desperate whore.”

Your mind is swirling in urge, but you refuse to spill the words on your tongue. It would give you what you want, but at what cost? Osamu looks positively ferocious above you, dark eyes focused on your every move; it sends shivers through your spine, your body trembling and blossoming for him once again. You’re in your personal heaven, in company of the devil himself.

Osamu kneels again in front of your open legs, hook one on his shoulder while he holds the other thigh forcefully up with a grip so hard your muscle aches under his fingers. But you don’t care, in fact you sigh “more” for him right as his breath teases your folds.

“No.” He tells you, two fingers pumping at leisure. His tongue slurps at your inner thigh, teeth closing in a bite with nothing to sooth.

“Fuck.” You breathe out in a groan and his smirk is pronounced against your skin.

Osamu, as you’re learning, is a tease.

His moves are soft, lacking in everything but aim; his tongue moves along the sensitive parts of your body you’ve never really cared for, like the plush flesh of your thighs, underside of your ass, the juncture of your groin. He has yet to taste you but you feel wounded, body constricted under weak ministrations, feather-like teases. It sinks with a piercing revelation that you could cum like this -- in an unfulfilled manner with not-good-enough touches that somehow have made your body feel raw like an exposed nerve in which the minimum touch would be enough to warrant waves of pleasure.

When his tongue comes to thread along your slit slowly, nose caressing along his way, your body clenches and threatens to spasm around unmoving fingers. You’re so close, so close, your body is ready to burst, fraying at the seams of a control you’re not using, your hands flying to try and find your clit at the same time Osamu’s eyes flash and he holds it, presses it forcefully against your belly while his lips slurp at your folds, circle your clit, but it’s so soft, it’s fucking unfair.

“Goddammit, Osamu!” You scream, enraged at the way your second orgasm flies away from you as his fingers leave your quivering hole, his mouth doing nothing more than lap at your overflowing juices with no real worry, no urgency.

“Oh, look at that.” The Miya smirks, drawing back up to look at your disheveled state; flustered, sweating, dripping and unattended. “You wanted a taste.” His hand comes back to your cunt, fingers thread along puffy lips. “I’m giving it to you.”

“You bastard.” His fingers leave your heat just to plunge inside again, a loud gushing sound following it. “Shit.” You sigh while falling back, and Osamu feels his cock throb once more at how breathless you sound.

Your mind works around the feeling of being spread so far you feel as if you’re paper thin. Your mind goes rushing in its last attempt at working. Osamu looks self-satisfied, almost content, so you know where to hit. You want it, so you find a way to have it.

“Oh, poor Miya--” You coo at him with a hoarse voice in glazed eyes, but the condescending tone is clear as day. “Are you trying to hurt me?” You plant a hand on his black hair, pulling at it enough to hurt. “‘Cause I like pain.”

Fire explodes in his eyes and you tighten around his fingers in response, but other than his frown, Osamu remains calm.

He slams three fingers inside before you can mouth any new words, smirks down at you with mischief when you tremble and bite your lips to hold the noises in, eyes falling back closed to hide the way they turn inside your skull. His other hand is holding your thigh forcefully open once again and his palm presses with hurtful intention, fingertips buried in your flesh so hard his digitals may mark you for days.

“Let you cum on my fingers and nothing else, is that going to be enough for you?” Osamu snarls against your ear, hot breath tickling your jaw. His hips hold you open to his assault at your pussy and his hand abandons your thigh to glide over your body and close around your throat.

Osamu squeezes hard.

“Then again I could ruin your orgasm for the third time.” He bends over you, his lips right in front of your sight; eyes looking down at you with such fire you almost wonder if they’re the cause for the burn in your lungs. “Leave you writhing on the table, empty, until you learn to have a little respect.”

This.

Your lips spread in a smile almost maniacal, goosebumps rising on your skin as if you’re electrified. This is what you’ve wanted all along -- passion, fearless assault of words, electrifying pleasure; and also, the detachment, the murderous intent, all merging together in one perfect Osamu Miya. Shit, you think to yourself, at this hate you may actually come from his teasing alone.

“You talk too much for someone who didn't make me cum yet.” You pour gasoline into his fire.

Osamu pulls you up by the lapels of your suit, button flying open at the hastiness, your breasts protected by such a flimsy piece of lace you’re surprised it doesn’t turn to ash at his stare. Your hard nipples mark the white bralet, the air feeling cold at how hot they are.

A hand covered in your juices closes on your cheeks, forcefully opening your lips at the threat of pain, his fingers with lingering heat from your insides.

“Such a big mouth, should I shut you up?” Osamu asks you, eyes boring on yours. The plea is on the point of your tongue as if he’d shoved his hand inside you to yank it himself, and it tips out when his dark eyes steal one single snippet of your smeared red lips open by his hands.

“Fuck me.”

He nods negatively, presses hard enough that your teeth could cut your inner cheeks. He relents and your tongue grazes your lips, moistening them for his eyes.

Osamu smiles, a tilt of his lips up but so earnestly you’re almost hopeful, then: “No.”

Even if as he says it, it’s a lie. He knows he’ll fuck you, but right now he’s enjoying the build-up, toying with you as if you’re his plaything and not the opposite. You growl and curse, head falling back when he palms at your covered breasts, push the lace up, hears the way it strains and threatens to rip.

It’s oddly relatable -- Osamu also feels taut, stretched around a fleeting control that he feels will slip with one dip inside you. His past sexual experiences involved partners who he cherished and few one-night stands which, for the small time his dick was inside them, he was mindful and cared for their pleasure.

Right now, while he pinches and palm at your body, he has not a single worry about your pleasure and all the concern about his. This is for him. He bends his head over your bosom, sucks a nipple inside the hot cave of his mouth and bites. As his cock twitches and aches inside his trousers, he relishes in the pained noises you leave, even when they’re marked by breathless arousal.

“You sure are fucked up. Look how much you’re enjoying this.” His fingers force the howl of your cheeks, feeling your teeth nicking the insides of your mouth even through layers of flesh. There’s an infuriating elation in your expression, and Osamu retaliates by sucking harshly on your skin, teeth finding soft places to close on.

You moan loudly and his hand slides back onto your throat in the motion. Your hand shots up from the table to find his hard dick and your laugh makes his blood boil. “Clearly I’m not the only one.”

His heartbeat spikes at the words, even if Osamu knows it. The twin pulls the suit jacket half-down your arms and slams your body on the slight cold surface of the metal table, noise sounding thunderous but still no one comes after you.

Your skin erupts in goosebumps at the aggression, blood flying so fast through your heart you feel lightheaded. You’re about to spit some more fire into Osamu when two of his fingers gag you, other hand descending on your ass with such force and so unexpectedly your legs give out, dangling from the table as if you’re a ragdoll.

Something remarkably close to a whine turning sob slides through your throat and dies at Osamu’s fingers, just as something big and hot surges over your ass cheeks. Something coils on your chest, the emotion makes your eyes water and for a moment you blink it away, thanking the new position doesn’t let Osamu catch that.

Too soon. Osamu pulls your head back as his hand peels the globes of your ass apart and before you can breathe, the little air inside you is being knocked out with one thrust of Osamu’s hip.

He forces his dick inside you, tearing you open as your walls make way for his aggression, wetness dripping while Osamu fills you to the hilt, because yes, that's what you want. You want his hate, his passion, you want Osamu to tear you apart while you enjoy every second of it.

“‘Samu!” His name is on your lips as your eyes roll back, whole body tensing until you’re falling, just like that.

Then he retreats. “Fuck! Fuck no!” This time it’s a wail, a sob as your third orgasm turns to ashes, your insides trembling with nothing to hold, empty and meager pleasure.

“Wha--Cummin’ already? Nope.” The twin laughs above you, hands tilting your head painfully back. “So embarrassing.” Osamu mocks you and you swear you can feel a renewed wave of cream slide down your insides to greet the head of his cock, nudging along your swollen lips. Your tongue feels so heavy on your mouth, parched and breathless all at once, no way out but silence.

“You are disgusting, you know that? Such a greedy fucking pussy doesn’t deserve to be this tight.”

Your laugh turns into a deep moan when Osamu hits deep inside you. “God yes.” You twist one hand out of the suit’s sleeve just to pull him by the hem of his blouse, your nails digging against the skin of his neck, blooming red yelts. “Talk shit to me Osamu. I know you have better lines.”

“Fuck you.” The twin spits, his hips pistoning harder against yours until he just stops the motion, leaves you open and gapping for him to fill you again. “Of course a pig like ya has the hots for humiliation. Look at that, the slut’s pussy squeezing around my dick because she thinks I'm doing this for her pleasure.” His hand comes down on the other side of your ass, where he hasn't hit yet. It stings, but the way his palm massages and grabs at it before almost soothes the burn. “Disgusting sluts don’t get to say anything, not even begging will get you what you want. I decide what you get."

You look back from your shoulder to see his cock is standing proud and angry, swollen head shining red and dripping translucent white, as if he hadn't been wet from your juices before. Osamu��s big, especially thick and he presses inside you again without giving you time to adjust, unforgiving pace right from the start.

You curse at the way one of your hands keeps locked behind you by your suit, your nails digging on your own skin without anything else to find purchase on; the other tries to grab onto Osamu to no avail, falling on the table to help support yourself at the strength of his pounding. Your mouth is open, divided between sucking breaths and puffs of air. Osamu’s hand has since found purchase in your neck, the way he forces it back painful, the pressure on your throat growing and ceasing as he wishes.

Still, you can’t think. Your mind is lost in a sea of searing pleasure, your nipples pressed against the metal surface as Osamu finally fucks you as you’ve been dreaming. No, maybe even better. The past men you’ve fucked had all been afraid of hurting you, careful with retaliation. As Osamu fists your hair and forcefully presses you against the table; you think you may be having a religious experience. Your eyes water from the force of his manhandling, tears spilling while you left unbelievable noises fall from your lips. You want to scream and laugh, a hot sensation spreading from your fingertips to your core.

The wave of the orgasm is forming quickly, your toes curling against the insides of your Louboutins enough to hurt, the incessant pounding of Osamu’s hips against your ass sounding downright pornographic. As the peak approaches, doubt gnaws at your chest for the first time in forever.

The simple thought of Osamu robbing you of your orgasm this time is enough to make your whole body tremble and recoil, your mind too slow to catch on to his intentions. You consider biting your tongue to hold the plea in, but as you bolt into mind-blowing pleasure you’ve never even imagined before, the alternative feels like dying.

You’re tethering the edge and you feel Osamu pressing harder against you, and you break. “Please!” You cry out, “Pleasepleaseplease, don’t stop.” His movements slow down and halt, and the hand on your ass slides around you, a single finger taps repeatedly on your swollen clit.

“Say it.” He all but howls at your ear, bites on it for good measure.

“Please, ‘samu, let me fucking cum!” You beg but you’re already falling over, whole body shuddering just from the way he nudges his hips against your ass and taps on your sensitive bundle of nerves. Panic surges in between your pleasure that he’ll ruin this one when he retreats from your quivering insides, but Osamu rams back inside you with such power that your head rattles, hips hurting from the impetus of his fucking.

Sound rings in your ear while you drown in the thunderous waves of your pleasure for what feels like forever. It flows and flows and flows to a point you can’t tell if you’re seeing black or just closed your eyes.

Osamu watches, enthralled, how you go completely boneless under him. Your insides have stopped squeezing him tight but his hard, aching cock still throbs inside your heat. It’s honestly unbelievable how tight you feel around him, how fantastic he feels buried balls deep inside your walls. He had to stop trying to fuck you through your orgasm in worry he’d may cum. Poison and pleasure curl in his chest at the thought. Osamu feels like spanking you, choking you, to punish you for this undeserving heaven you have between your thighs.

But he’s not done yet.

Osamu retreats, the slide of his cock leaving your delicious walls -- cold air from outside so less welcoming -- and you sag on the table. He pulls you up on unsteady legs and smirks, proud. Your bare feet touch the ground and Osamu spins you around, swallowing on a tight throat after one look at your disheveled blissful state, but then he retreats and let’s you collapse to the ground.

The image of your legs sliding open on the cold tiled floor, unsteady hands finding purchase to hold your torso up while your head looks up at him in outrage is one he sears in his mind, a wicked satisfaction sliding over his spine at the sight alone. The wreck of you at his feet, by his hands, nothing short of perfect.

His cock throbs and pulses in front of your eyes, dragging your attention and Osamu steps closer, poses one hand on the top of your head, ruins the rest of your styled hair by dragging fingertips in it.

You’re still lightheaded, shockwaves making you twitch on the cold floor and Osamu is elated at how wrecked you look, makeup smeared, hair disheveled, body holded up by unsteady arms. Your lips are open, between breathless pulls of air and heavy exhales, but Osamu doesn't care, hands forcefully tugging your hair back and angling your mouth at his swelled cockhead. He counts as a win that you don’t bite him, your tongue threading flat on the underside of his length as he buries himself on your throat.

There’s resistance, so the Miya retreats, forcing it back a few other times until it finally slides a few inches more inside. While he maintains the force over your hair, his other hand engulfs your chin, thumb breaching your lips to hold your mouth open despite the fact you don’t make any move to close it.

It feels his chest with acidic bitterness that you welcome his aggression, glazed, tearful eyes looking up at him as if the fact he’s using you as little more than a cocksleeve is the brightest part of your day. Still, Osamu’s skin feels close to tearing under the sheer amount of pleasure flooding his insides. His hairs are standing on end, heart beating so fast his lungs burn, every muscle on his body tensed at his mindless pursuit of his high. He buries his cock deep inside the tight space of your throat, your gurgles and groaning enhancing his sensation. It looks painful to you to hold him inside, tears ending your makeup, face turning red at the lack of air. He closes both hands behind your head, making you nuzzle his pelvis even as your nails close on his thighs threatening to break skin.

He retreats to let you breathe just as your eyes go unfocused, feels something squeezing inside as you cough and wheezes and his throat squeezes a large gulp of air when you look up at him, tongue hanging out with a wide-open mouth just offered for him.

Osamu feels like hurting you at how good you are, infuriatingly obedient and willing to be at the end of his aggression. So he buries himself back inside at one go, both hands holding your head for him. There’s too much chaos inside of him, so he decides to pour some out through words.

“You like being used like this, huh? Like little more than a fucking cocksleeve for me.”

“What is it? Does being in power make you this needy? Does being wrecked make you feel this good?” Your groan makes your throat tighter around him, your eyes rolling back from his fucking and degradation.

It’s unfair, infuriatingly so, that this might be the most unbelievable great sex he ever had.

Osamu can’t hold back much longer, everything feeling just too good, his skin burning at the stretch of the tourbillion of emotions inside his chest, the captivating sight of tears dropping from your jaw and coating your long lashes as your face darkens by the lack of air, swollen lips stretched beyond capacity around his cock while you willingly let him go harder, faster, into your tight throat. There’s a warm sensation flowing from his limbs to his spine, melting his bones and weighing on his balls until it spreads over Osamu’s whole being.

He pulls back from your throat in time but presses his hands on your jaw and hair to keep you up and open as he coats your wrecked face with hot spurts of cum -- the final touch to the perfection of your wrecked image at his feet.

It lands haphazardly over your lips and even your eyelashes, tear-stained mess of a face marked by his essence. Osamu tells himself he could never feel anything towards you, but for a second there’s a hint of territorial pride at how you look -- and how it is all his doing. The twin is still swimming in searing pleasure as you lick over your lips, hands almost fondly landing over his as if you're assuring him that he can let go.

He does, trying to step back and slowly descending onto the ground when his knees give out. His eyes are glued to how his cum is dripping from your chin onto your chest, how you bring your fingers to sweep over it and end it by cleaning the digits with your tongue. If Osamu’s cock wasn’t so spent, he’s sure it’d swell right back up at the sight alone.

“Can’t say what’s better,” your hoarse voice is barely above a murmur, “the taste or the feeling.”

As you’re standing on unsteady legs and already fixing yourself while he sits on the floor questioning his life choices, Osamu feels as if he’d made a deal with the devil, and you’ll be coming back to collect his soul.

“Seems like the start of a nice partnership, doesn’t it?”

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