#told ya it made sense

[moondvncer]

I like to think that Luna pulled up to the carpentry and when Ryis welcomed her the conversation was kinda like

"how many storage chests would you like to craft?"

"yes"

[fobnsfwdoodles]

YEAH ME I DO I DO I JEED THICKER PREH PATRICK I NEED HOM SO BAD. need to ride him but he’s too far gone to act toppy so he just has his head thrown back and hands so tight on my hips it hurts a little (i’m also on the thicker side, two fat bitches in love)

[starphobe]

fh fandom back to wishing death on a fictional teenager for being mentally ill and not learning how to cope with that in a healthy way. what else is new

[insertcoolnameherethanks]

My one fear is that ST5 does go back in time and no one remembers, therefore Steve is still King Steve and loses the friendships he's made with the kids and Robin

[omisubi]

Kageyama has staring contests with your cat.

It usually only lasts a few minutes before your cat is leaping or walking away, even when Kageyama’s eyes are still on him. He had expressed to you that he always had an inkling cats did not like him very much, to which you insisted that isn’t true, that your cat just isn’t used to him yet.

Your cat is, however, used to and fond of your boyfriend’s volleyball cat toy he had purchased in hopes of winning some brownie points.

“He’s kind of like you if you were a cat,” you teased one time as you guys watched him play with it, also referring to your cat’s similar blue eyes and dark fur.

That just made Kageyama observe your cat more. Needless to say, the staring contests continue — occurrences of which you ignored, until now.

Today, it’s taking longer than usual and you sense that neither of your boys refuse to break eye contact, stormy gazes staying strong. And as amused as you are, you selfishly want some attention yourself.

“Tobio, let it go—“

You barely finish your sentence before you are both taken by surprise as your cat leaps off the coffee table, right into Kageyama’s lap, and proceeds to curl into a comfortable resting position.

You almost coo at the image, especially when Kageyama looks up at you with guileless awe, hand petting your purring void, and quietly exclaims, “He likes me.”

You smile, humming in agreement as you watch your home grow livelier. “Told ya so.”

[gutsby]

Seeing Pink

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel steals more of your innocence every day. Fortunately, you love to give as much as he loves to take.

Warnings: 18+. DD/LG—DON’T LIKE IT, DON’T READ IT. This depicts two consenting adults in a fictional setting! Freeuse & somnophilia with a pre-negotiated safeword. Unprotected p-in-v/a. Soft dom!Joel. Corruption kink (!!) Reading a Regency novel while fucking…for the culture.

Note: ***Spoilers*** for Jane Austen’s Emma. The book has been out for 208 years, but I wanted to give y’all a heads-up.

Word count: 4.4k

You woke with your pants around your ankles.

You don’t remember falling asleep that way.

In fact, you’d always taken great pains to follow the rules: ‘Don’t play while daddy’s away,’ ‘Clothes on if he’s gone.’ So to find yourself sprawled out on the couch, just as you’d been when you dozed off waiting for him to come home—sans bottoms—was unnerving, to say the least. Glancing at your hand, you found your book was still in it. Only the words were harder to read now that your eyes were bleary and the letters were all…jumpy. Jumping?

Bouncing.

As your mind made the slow, steady descent back into your body, you sensed you were rocking back and forth.

Someone was rocking you with the force of his thrusts.

“Daddy!” you gasped, nose half-buried in a cushion.

You were lying face-down on the old, weathered sofa, and you could feel your old, weathered man behind you. Inside you. Stuffing that tight, shiny space between your legs as he straddled your hips from above. His own hips made a soft click, click, click with every piston of his weary bones. He said it’d been that way since the day he’d turned forty. You just might’ve giggled if the sound hadn’t been paired with the chorus of a soft, wet, and sticky-sweet pleasure you knew to be coming from you.

The head of his dick then carved a delectable path to the center of you, like he’d made it himself. You whimpered.

“‘M’sorry to wake ya, bug.”

You could hear his voice was strained.

Daddy never got a head start on playtime unless his day had been particularly rough—unless he really needed it.

Unless he saw pink in your hair, and knew this was okay.

It was your own, secret language, of course. A silly idea brought to fruition by an even sillier admission: when Joel had told you one night that there were times he just wanted to use your body to feel good. When his big one had been at work for hours, and you were so invested in your book and just couldn’t bear looking away, or you’d fallen asleep���would it be alright if daddy put himself inside you for a little while then? I’ll be nice and gentle.

The code was a pink satin bow.

When you tied that ribbon in your hair, Joel knew you were giving him permission to use you as he pleased.

And then there were other ways to make sure he only did what you wanted to do, even in this special ‘scene’; if it ever got to be too much, or you just didn’t want him to be in you or on you anymore, all you had to say was ‘cinnamon’ and your playtime stopped right there. Joel made sure of it every time, and he didn’t make you wait.

When you’d fastened the satin in your hair that night before nestling down to read, you hadn’t expected him to be taking you up on it, really. He’d been so tired lately.

“It’s alright,” you told him, while the air was knocked out of your body through the place he kept pounding you.

“I-I missed you, daddy.” You added, a bit sheepish.

At that—or perhaps just feeling your walls pulse around him—Joel groaned. He placed a broad, callused palm over your spine and held you steady while he fucked you.

“I missed you…more, sweet girl.” And it sounded like a confession. The smallest sliver of an apology: ‘I know I haven’t been here as much as I’d like to be—I’m sorry.’

You’d accept that attempt at making amends, and any other kind Joel would try to proffer, in a position like this. With his hand on your hip and the small of your back, wet member gliding back and forth between your folds, you felt useful to him. His sweet girl. No better thing to be.

Him filling you, and then you, in turn, filling the whole living room with your soft, staccato whines. So nice.

So kind of him to spend his days toiling in the heat to put a roof over your head, a book in your hand, and the silkiest, comfiest pyjamas that money could buy—pooling around your ankles now, but you didn’t mind.

You dropped the novel so you could use your hands. Try to lower your touch to the curve of your cheeks, then spread yourself open for his eyes to drink you in: your tight, dripping hole getting stretched around his cock.

That was what you’d wanted to do, anyway. What Joel liked to see, ostensibly. But the second your fingers lifted from the book, he tightened his grip and shook his head.

“Keep readin’, baby. Looks like you’re close to the end.”

You didn’t know what to say. His observation was correct; you were ten pages shy of completing Emma—but why finish now? Why read when he was right here? If you ever spread your legs while you read it was because you were too engrossed in the plot, and Joel needed release. It was rare he made the suggestion himself.

As if to answer your questions, he wedged his cock even deeper. Confirming his wants with a gentle authority:

“You do like your book, don’t you, sweet pea?”

He’d bought it just weeks ago. You nodded, emphatic.

“I— I do, daddy! I do. I just…” you trailed off, trying to find the right words while his cock made you dizzy with pleasure, “Just…like you better, is all. Wanna feel you.”

You suspected that would work. From the rhythm of his hips, you guessed he’d be likely to assent at any second.

Then he didn’t.

Joel picked the book up and pushed it back to you.

“You can feel me just fine with your eyes on the paper. You did say you wanted to read to be more like a…?”

Uh.

Your brain blanked.

Then you remembered.

“Like a big girl,” you said, in a breath.

Those had been your words. Hardly of note to you now, with your cunt so happily occupied, but ones that Joel wasn’t ready to dispense with yet. Not when you’d been so eager to read these last weeks, to try proving yourself.

You braced your knees against the leather. Tried to shift yourself slightly while Joel kept knocking you back, again and again, with his balls slapping hard against your rear.

Then he slowed, and lowered himself, and came to rest with half his weight blanketing your soft, prone body and his face closer to yours. He kissed the shell of your ear.

“You do wanna get fucked like a big girl, don’t ya, baby?”

And he drove his cock in all the way down to the hilt.

You felt him in your tummy. Your fingers trembled as you reached for the book again and tried to nod your head.

This was a game you liked. An angle Joel loved. A dynamic between you two that turned your insides to syrup and your mind a soft, compliant puddle. He’d shown you what kind of treatment big girls get, and you felt your body wilt with the idea. Joel was laying overtop you now, hips rutting mindlessly against your ass and his arms sliding under you. Grazing the skin and feeling your breasts and telling you again, ‘You can show me, baby. No need to be shy. Daddy’s right here. You’re alright.’

Now it wasn’t so much the command which compelled you but the praise in that sweet Texan drawl. The patience. You could feel him stiff and hard and aching, but he was disciplined enough to wait—let you take your own pace now and show him, in your own special way.

You opened your book to the last page you’d read. Joel stroked your hair, and he kissed the edge of your cheek.

“You’ve made it so far, baby,” he said, admiringly, “Barely been two weeks and you’ve already finished it, nearly.”

You nodded. You let him play with your hair and graze your soft skin with his lips, and when his hips had stilled, you tried not to betray your disappointment. Daddy just wanted to see you could behave—you definitely could.

Even if all you wanted him to do was hold your body to his and fuck you senseless, make you cry and whine and squeeze all down his big, leaking cock while you came for him, you could stay calm. Good girls always did.

Big girls knew how to listen, and when to hold still.

“I like it…like it— a lot,” you told him, and you knew he knew there was more to those words than just the book.

With his hands still underneath you, Joel propped you up to rest more comfortably against a pillow. He slid one hand down your tummy and in between your legs, while the other kept squeezing your breast—tweaking the pebbled nub between forefinger and thumb and feeling you squirm under his touch. You gripped your book tight.

“Keep readin’, sweet pea,” he encouraged, words gentle, “I’d hate to be the one…distractin’ you from all the fun.”

How he could be so calm while talking such nonsense was beyond you. Maybe he’d grinned, too. You didn’t have the strength to peek behind you while his index started rubbing between your folds, and your walls clenched tighter. You wanted to wriggle your hips for friction, but as it was, you knew what you had to do.

You had to try.

At first you read a couple words. A short fragment of a sentence. You yearned to get more, really digest what the passage was attempting to convey—a friend of Emma’s getting engaged, as it was—but prospects were poor. Joel kissed your neck and toyed with your wetness and made you want to whine from all the tension within.

His cock was nestled deep. The smooth, bulbous head had found reprieve near the cusp of your cervix, and with every flick of his finger, it was like you could feel him sinking deeper. Kissing the most intimate parts of you while you had only to breathe. And think. And try to read.

“Learnin’ a lot?” Joel hummed in your ear.

You bit your lip and nodded. He knew you were full of it.

Your legs were now trembling around his hand and your eyes hadn’t moved so much as an inch across the page.

“Enjoyin’ yourself?” he pressed.

“I— I— yeah. Yeah,” you whimpered.

“What’s been your favorite part to read?”

Not this one, that’s for sure. You swallowed.

“W— When…” Again, your mind was wiped of all memory.

“When…”

His index drew a slick, pretty lemniscate on your clit, and you wanted to cry. But you had to keep trying. For him.

“When— when Frank finally shows up,” you huffed.

“Frank who?”

“Frank Churchill. He’s…Emma’s old governess’s stepson. He visits for a little, and then Mr. Knightley gets jealous.”

You were out of breath. Joel was trying his best not to smile behind your back, but you could feel him now—there, and between your legs, making speech a struggle.

“Who’s he?”

The man sounded like a father with all his sweet and calm curiosity. Like he wasn’t balls deep in your heat.

“Old family friend. But he…he’s got a thing for Emma.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah—” And you had to pause to swallow. Suck in a breath when Joel nosed your cheek and told you softly, ‘Doin’ so good for me’ “—but he doesn’t know it at first.”

You felt encouraged by Joel’s words. Enlivened by the pulse of his cock inside you, and pushed toward release with every circuit of his fingers. He was treating you well, making sure it felt good no matter how much he teased.

And then he reached up, leaving your poor little clit to throb all on its own. Something caught between a moan and a plea—‘Joe-el’—bubbled deep in your throat. But Joel was too focused on the book in your hand; he had a wet, sticky finger flipping the page in a second. He’d turned it back, to a passage you had marked in pink.

The sight of the line you’d highlighted made your cheeks heat instantly. That made you want to wriggle away.

Joel held you closer.

“Why’d you mark this, honey?”

Again with the loving, probing tone. You couldn’t bear the thought of explaining your reasoning here. Not now.

But he urged you to read it. Pulled your body nearer to his and kissed the side of your head, while his body blanketed yours and his words were spoken as gentle as ever. He wanted to know what it meant. Why you’d marked it in pink, no less. No diffidence would do.

You balked. Blinked. Remembered that big girls listened.

‘If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.’

And when you said it, it almost felt like telling him yourself. Your grip loosened from the book as soon as the words came out of your mouth, leaving Joel to hold it

“Knightley said that to Emma, did he?”

His eyes were scanning the page, eyes alight and lips smiling. From between your legs, you felt full, and yet nothing was more hollow or harrowing than presently hearing this man chuckle at the words that had made your heart swell in your chest that night. It felt belittling.

And not in the way you liked. Joel reached for your chin to tilt your face to him, and when you mumbled a short ‘yes’ to his question, he softened his hold. He hummed.

“I’m sorry, baby. ‘M’sorry. Knightley’s sweet, isn’t he?”

He nudged your cheek with his nose.

“Uh-hm,” you said, low. Ignoring the urge to be mature.

“Sweeter’n daddy?”

“Maybe.”

Joel grinned again. He shifted his weight. You were just about to tilt your head more, when he sat up completely. You felt his pelvis prod the flesh of your ass, and he left your book to you. He readjusted his grip on your hip in his hand while he used the other to knead your skin.

You keened at the change of angle—feeling the friction between the coarse grey hairs at the base of his tummy and the swell of your bottom, the brush of his manhood.

“Yeah? He treat Emma like this?”

And, to punctuate the question, Joel withdrew himself to the tip and slammed back in. He groaned with pleasure.

“Daddy,” you hissed, and he started sawing back and forth, gently like before, “He just…I— I— I don’t know.”

“400 pages in and they still haven’t fucked?”

“Daddy!”

“What?”

“They don’t do that. Mr. Knightley is a…a…gentleman.”

His thrusts were shaking you again, and you struggled to hold your book. Joel kept his motions shallow. Teasing.

“Is daddy not a gentleman when he does this to you?”

You could’ve laughed at that question. You did, a little bit.

“Plenty gentleman-ly, daddy,” you giggled, “Plenty.”

“Good,” Joel returned, swift.

Then, without warning or ceremony, he spit in his hand. He slicked his fingers with the stuff and sank his index and middle fingers between your cheeks—right above the hole he was stretching with his cock—and pressed.

You jumped, still getting fucked face-down, but now with the tips of Joel’s fingers circling a tiny ring of muscles.

His favorite to tease you with, of late. He leaned in.

“Even here?”

But before you could respond, and while thoughts of love, betrothals, and Georgian-era decorum were still floating through your mind, you felt one finger breach your hole. As his cock continued to slide messily, greedily inside your cunt, you let out a whine.

“Da-a-ddy.”

He knew what it would do to you. What it always did. Particularly when he was taking you from behind and telling you sweet and dirty things. Making you feel it.

You hardly knew what else to do but hold your book to your chest and purse your lips, sensing a familiar sting.

“Did men like him do this to sweet little girls like you?”

“I— I—”

“Or is that just daddy?” He pushed the finger deeper.

Your tender, yet-empty hole sucked him in like a dream. You almost couldn’t believe how quickly you spread for him, having only gotten touched in that new, precious place with just the tip of his thumb before. It was tight.

And tighter still, with Joel’s cock gliding in and out of your cunt and his finger sinking further in a hole he’d never fucked. You pressed your cheek to the couch.

“Go on,” Joel urged, gentle, “Use your words.”

You tried. You parted your lips and squeezed a nearby pillow for support, and Joel even pushed your book down flat on the sofa in front of you so you could see the words more clearly. Focus on those instead of his finger.

He pushed in to the second knuckle, and you whined.

Your mind was blanking again. You had only to say:

“He’s…like you, daddy. Knightley’s kinda…like you.”

Joel didn’t hamper the path of his index, but he did slow his hips. He let them peter off to only the gentlest of thrusts, while the motions of his finger flowed like a white-hot stream between your legs. Petting that tender little ring while diving in and out, swiftly, and teasing.

He stoked the flames of desire inside you with each new touch. He flattened his one free hand beside your book, anchoring himself a comfortable height above, and while you tried stealing a glance behind you, he peered down. Reading—or appearing to, anyway—as he fucked one hole with a gentle resolve and caressed the other. You’d never felt more full, or fucking insane to feel more of him.

Before you could even venture to beg, though, Joel said:

“How are we alike, honey? Tell me.”

You almost wanted to cry as his finger wiggled deeper. You had to answer, though. Recollect as best you could.

Stammering only the slightest bit: “He’s, uh, o— older.”

“Older?”

You could feel the smile start to stretch again overhead.

“Yeah. Emma’s twenty-one and he’s…a-almost forty.”

Presently, Joel’s smile morphed into a chuckle. Low.

“Almost forty? That must make me a fuckin’ fossil, then.”

“No!” you squeaked. And just when you had, Joel’s finger breached your hole straight down to the last knuckle. He let it rest while you squirmed, then dragged it out a little.

“I only—” You quickly tried resuming, but your brain was fried. Your body was limp, and all you could feel, or think, was the slow, sweet, and wet sensation tingling between your cheeks as Joel pushed his thick finger in and out, “—only meant he’s a bit more…experienced…than her. Knows her better than just about anyone, and he— he—”

Made you think of Joel. Made you dream of your own fifty-something lover situated amidst a world more than two centuries old, rousing the most romantic notions. You felt silly. You wanted to bury your face in your hands, were it not for the fear that your cheeks might sear them.

It didn’t matter, at length. Your sweet old man ensured it.

“‘S’okay, little bug. It’s alright. Makes me glad to think you’re thinkin’ of me while you read,” he told you, calm.

He stroked your hair. He stalled his hips, momentarily. And just when you thought you might’ve mustered the courage to speak to him yourself, you heard him again.

Except it wasn’t a word you heard—just a wet noise.

A glob of spit hitting the small of your back and sliding down, crawling slow between your cheeks for Joel’s warm, waiting finger. He withdrew the digit, and then he smeared his saliva all over the place he’d pried you open. Likely knowing you’d be too stunned to talk, he went on.

He worked his finger back in, now coated with a sheen of spit: “Always readin’…feelin’ new things, ain’t ya, baby?”

You nodded, and you scarcely even knew it.

“Only natural it happens like that,” Joel assured you, soft, “Daddy teaches, and you learn…and learn…like a big girl.”

With each new word he wanted to drive home, he pushed his finger in. Dragged it out. Curled it gently, as though beckoning you to him, then watched you rut your hips at the feeling of needing more. He sucked a breath through his teeth when he felt you ooze more, warm.

Nectar trickled down his length while your lips above were drooling, too. Your face was smushed to the cushion below, and your hips were tilted up, desperate.

“Daddypleasejustfuckit—fuck—now,” you cried out.

In all the time you’d been together, Joel had never heard you beg like that. The sound was gratifying to his ears, and his cock grew even stiffer inside you. Just barely checking himself, he moved his other hand to your hip.

Squeezing.

Trying to chide your lack of manners, your swearing.

“That ain’t how you ask daddy nicely, little lady—”

“Just make it full like my pussy, daddy, please.”

Though it was clear you knew better than to interrupt the man mid-sentence, you had used your ‘please,’ at least. Joel was strong, unyielding, in just about every place but the one between your thighs—and with words like those, he had only a moment before his primal drive kicked in and he wouldn’t be able to say no after that, for anything.

He would try to sound stern. Gruff, even. Mumbling something or other about how you had to be sweet to get this dick where you needed it, but the truth was that Joel couldn’t wait much longer for you, either. He caved.

He withdrew his finger, quick. Grabbed your hips. Spit.

Spit again. Smeared again. Felt perfectly depraved making this mess, but you seemed to like it all the same.

“Need daddy to teach you that, too?” he asked, hasty.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” you answered, helpless.

“Yeah? Teach you how to take it up the ass?”

“Please, daddy.”

“Dirty fuckin’ girl.”

He smacked your ass, just before poising his tip where his finger had been. He would’ve liked to drag it out. But as it was, the old man was probably four pumps shy of blowing his load; you were all but melted on the sofa.

Joel couldn’t deny it drove him out of his fucking mind to see you like that. Legs spread, slit wet, eyes glossy and listless and so wholly bereft of any other idea in the world but the need for him. It made him sick. He loved you so much. And he’d show you, in ways that any mentor worth his weight in salt was apt to do: he let you feel it.

Slowly, at first. Just the tip made you flinch, and your teeth grit together. Joel found your hand and held it.

“Nice and slow—you’re doin’ so good,” he said.

Even if you didn’t feel like you were in the moment, he always made sure to let you know how much he liked it. How nice you felt stretched for him, how good you took it, and how he had no doubts his girl was made for this.

“Made for me,” he added gently, feeding you some more.

And when he surmised from your soft, strangled sounds that this change was a lot, breaths fast, he knew better than to press again. He pulled out and turned you over.

He had your legs over his shoulders in no time at all and, afforded this new view, was delighted to find a trace of a smile still on your lips. He kissed them. Then he tried to make it fit again. He felt you tremble and held you closer.

“That’s it—that’s my girl—almost there.”

“C’mon baby, just a little bit more to go.”

When you keened at the stretch over halfway through, he brushed the hair from your face and kissed your forehead

“I know. I know. Keep goin’, little one. I know.”

Like he knew what to say to get you the wettest you could be. Your eyes winced, and your cunt dripped a dizzying amount—leaking liquid heat down your slit to coat Joel’s tummy, his overgrowth of hair, and your aching hole, of course. The whole thing was taking you out of yourself with every thrust, and your fingers were laced tight in his. Letting him shower you with kisses.

“Daddy’s so mean for doin’ this, isn’t he?”

He was teasing again, nipping at the hinge of your jaw and pressing kiss after kiss while he stuffed you full. Your eyes were ablaze and fucked-out of their mind, as it was, but still, you managed to smile when he spoke it so soft.

“Not— not mean at all, daddy.”

“You sure?”

Joel wedged himself in to the hilt and grinned back.

You might’ve whined, but you felt too full. Euphoric.

“Uh-huh,” you breathed, head reeling, “I like it.”

“How much?”

Your gut clenched with the punch of his thrusts. Lids fluttered as Joel trailed his tongue up your cheek—another mindless, feral tendency he had close to climax. He held your face and fucked you tender as ever, and when the feeling in your tummy grew and grew and almost bloomed, he slipped his tongue in your mouth. Groaning when your teeth met the muscle and bit it.

“I love it, Joel,” you corrected, panting against him.

He could’ve spanked you for saying his name—breaking character was your favorite way to get punished—but, at present, the man didn’t have the strength to do a thing. He just nodded, and grinned, and licked into your mouth and drove his dick so far up your body that he could’ve sworn he’d grazed your lungs. You kissed him again.

“I love you—” he groaned.

“I know, daddy,” you smiled.

“—so much.”

“I love you more.”

He spilled his warm, thick seed inside. You came undone. Your bodies melded and rutted together in a few last shuddering bursts, and with Joel pinning you down, kissing you more, guiding your lips against his own in a wanton tumult, you felt it—contentment. Full pleasure.

Another soft, dizzying, cum-drenched lesson with daddy.

You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing when Joel reached for you next, expression all smug and beaming.

Licking the sweat off your cheek like the freak he was.

“Did I ever tell you pink is my favorite fucking color?”

anyway this was my irl reaction to reading That Line for the first time:

#needthat

[hellisharchive]

・﹒・ hypersexual nights

Summary: How various Hazbin and Helluva Boss characters react to a hypersexual reader!

Warnings: 18+, sexual scenarios, Vouyer!Vox, does hypersexual not tell you enough lol just read it

Parings: [Seperate] Saint Peter, Lucifer, Valentino, Adam, Vox, Mammon, and Striker x hypersexual!reader

Notes: HOLY SHIT THIS WAS GONNA BE FOR 300 FOLLOWERS NOW ITS 400 FOLLOWERS! As a celebration, have this! I'm an hypersexual aroace myself so hypersexuals rise up! 💪

﹒Adam﹒

・He would notice how you always were down to fuck, almost every day in fact, how could he not? You've been the only one to truly keep up with him as most other people always had "low" sex drives and wouldn't be in the mood when he was. So you were like a blessing just for him when day after day, you would always be up for sex at any given moment. When you told him you were Hypersexual one day after a good fuck, he just laughed in your face.

・"Hypersexual? You're always horny? Bitch PLEASE I already knew that. You ask for sex like- every day and never shut up about it. That's why I like you so much. You want to be fucked just as much as I want to fuck"

﹒Saint Peter﹒

・He is a pretty innocent soul, he swears occasionally but when it comes to sex? Oh boy. And you? Being hypersexual? You always flirt with him in a suggestive manner, wanting him to just admit that he likes you. He can't help but simultaneously love the attention as the thoughts you always put in his head, but feel so embarrassed and dirty about it. He always seems to short circuit whenever you flirt with him, but he never says no, so you keep doing it. He of course noticed it after the first few times, you being on par with Adam in sexuality, how could he not? But when you admitted that you were hypersexual and he finally understood.

・"Oh? That's why you uh- why you're always flirt with me! Haha...and say those...really uhm...dirty things... Not that I mind of course! I actually uh...kind of like it..."

﹒Lucifer﹒

・He had his suspicions very early on, it was so obvious to notice how you and Angel Dust got along so well with the topic of sex. He also noticed how you always made sex jokes and talked about sex even without the porn star around. And when it came to him? You always seemed to get flustered whenever he flirted with you, always ensuring to make it dirty, and it worked everytime. After you got together, you almost pounced on him, wanting to have sex early on. He didn't mind it, but in fact, wanted it. You then apologized and said you were hypersexual, meaning you couldn't not think about sex constantly. He just laughed and pinned you down on the bed.

・"Oh I know very well, very well. And I will enjoy fulfilling every. Single. Desire. You could ever ask for"

﹒Mammon﹒

・He isn't exactly the smartest tool in the shed, but he knew you were just as greedy as him. Not in the money sense, no, no. But in sex. You haven't yet gotten to that point in your relationship yet, but he could tell you were denying taking the step. Was it because he was a Sin? He didn't know. All he knew is that if you didn't fuck him already, he was going to fuck you first. So he confronted you and you said you were scared of him just using you for sex due to your constant sexual nature. He reassured you that he truly did love you, but couldn't deny that someone just as greedy as him was very nice to have around.

・"Oi! Don't be scared mate! I won't use ya just for sex and toss ya away! I love ya too much for that. But ya know- I'd be down to fuck every single night if that's what you want"

﹒Vox﹒

・He is an interesting case. He isn't the best guy around and loves to spy on you. So, when you act all innocent and sweet around him, yet fuck yourself silly with a stupid toy screaming for him so incredibly often it becomes a pattern? Yeah, you're hiding your sexual nature. Which is odd, but probably so Valentino didn't swoop in to take advantage of you. Instead of talking to you, he let your feelings build and build and let your toy eventually not be enough for you. You finally burst into his office and told him you knew he was watching you while you masturbated. He was taken aback at first, but then laughed as he realized you loved that he watched you.

・"You need the real thing, huh? Was waiting for you to finally say it you dirty little whore"

﹒Valentino﹒

・He noticed immediately as you would constantly flirt with him in a suggestive way and he would flirt back just as hard if not harder. It was so easy to notice, he played into it very hard and took advantage of your very sexual nature. It was easy to get you hooked quickly and you never had to say a thing. He fucked you in every way he could imagine and you loved every second of it. It was a mutual understanding between you two- the thought of telling him that you're hypersexual was laughable in every sense of the idea.

・"Oh baby~ you wanna be fucked into the mattress again? It hasn't even been three hours amore~ you're still horny? I'll make sure you can't walk anymore after~"

﹒Striker﹒

He isn't apposed to sex, he just hates it when people makes jokes about it when he's just trying to do his job. In fact, he loves sex, have you seen the huge statue where his dick is very endowed? That man is full of himself and knows he can fuck good. You started out as a target for him and at first your sexual flirting threw him off his game. But after many failed attempts of cat and mouse, you finally managed to get him to admit that he liked it from your non stop remarks.

・"Ok fine- yer hot and I wanna fuck. Don't look at me like that! Not my fuckin' fault yer always telling me you wanna suck my cock"

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Desperate | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello hello hello! I’ve got some good, old-fashioned angst here for ya.

Word Count: 8.4k

Warnings: hella angst. Touch starved Bucky and reader. Some slight NSFW vibes, but nothing graphic.

Bucky didn’t seem to notice when you told him you had to step away for a moment. He remained focused on his clean up duties in the kitchen; he didn’t raise his head or look your way. In fact, he didn’t seem to be noticing you much at all, lately. But as you eyed your ensemble in the full-length mirror in your bedroom, you knew you’d win back his attention.

This was his absolute favorite lingerie of yours. The set that made him so feral, drove him so insane with lust, that he’d broken the headboard last time you wore it. After that, the two of you agreed you’d save it for special occasions only; otherwise, the apartment you shared would need to be entirely refurnished. And though tonight was just a normal, run of the mill Friday night, you needed to pull out the big guns.  

The black leather bustier- the one that made Bucky destroy furniture- hugged your figure perfectly. It’s plunging V-neck ended just above your navel. And the lacy details perfectly mirrored the cheeky black underwear Bucky gifted you last Valentine’s Day. A matching garter belt was the piece de resistance, and it held in place the thigh high stockings that drove Bucky wild. 

You gave yourself one final look before slipping on a pair of black stilettos and stalking out of the room. This was it- the perfect formula for recapturing Bucky’s gaze. 

He’d been distant lately. Almost cold. He hadn’t touched you- in even the most innocent sense- in nineteen days. It had been even longer since you were last able to steal a kiss. And the two of you hadn’t had sex in three weeks, which was unheard of.

Usually, Bucky gave his physical affections freely. He loved touching you, kissing you, holding you. He wanted to play with your hair, hold your hand, kiss your forehead- anything- as long as it meant he got to touch you. To feel you. When he had a rough day, your arms provided him with safety and comfort. And when a mission stole you from his side, your lips welcomed him home. He poured his love for you into every touch, leaving his fingerprints all over your soul.

To him, any moment spent without your skin pressed against his was a moment wasted. 

And your sex life was mind-blowing, to say the least. Bucky’s stamina and eagerness to please you left you breathless and seeing stars almost every night of the week. After a few rounds with him, you found yourself unable to speak, unable to think. The only thing that had the power to permeate your hazy, lust-filled mind was him. Your hunger, your need for him could never be sated, and fucking him only made you want him more. But he was more than happy to give himself over to you. He could pull two or seven orgasms from you before you even knew what hit you. And that was just his warmup. 

But the last three weeks had been completely void of any debauchery. Bucky didn’t slip into your shower or slide his hand up your skirt. He didn’t even grab your ass when you walked by wearing leggings. It was a startling difference that filled the apartment with a biting, bitter cold, chilling you to the bone. But Bucky said- he swore- he was fine. That he was just tired. Or stressed. Or busy with work. And while you knew his work-life was intense, it never before stopped him from jumping at the chance to make you scream. 

And it wasn’t just the lack of erotic touches that gnawed at you. It was the loss of all physical affections. He didn’t reach for your hand in the store. Didn’t pull you into his chest at night. Didn’t kiss you goodbye in the morning. It left you agonized. Miserable. Empty. 

Every day, you wondered what could’ve possibly caused Bucky to pull away. What could make him withdraw from you so suddenly. Worry ate away at you, slowly devouring you whole. He seemed to work late almost every night these past few weeks. And when he was home, your attempts to talk to him about the issue went nowhere. 

You thought he’d gotten past his urge to hide his troubles from you. It took time, but he learned to be honest. To communicate. And when you were finally confident that he’d stopped hiding his struggles, you learned to stop reading into his every mannerism. His every muscle twitch. His every vocal change. If he said he was okay, he was okay. And after working together- he trusted you to listen, and you trusted him to tell you the truth.

And over the last few weeks, he did, indeed, say that he was okay. That there was nothing lurking beneath his surface. And so, you did as he asked, and you believed him.

But after three weeks of nothing- no roaming hands, no bite marks, no early morning quickies- you were hungry for him. Aching for him. You feared that your bottled-up lust would actually drive you crazy. And so, you decided reach for your secret weapon. 

You found Bucky right where you’d left him: leaning over the kitchen sink, taking care of the dishes from dinner. 

You kept your tone light, innocent, casual. “Hey, Buck.”

“Hey, baby.” He didn’t look up. 

“Um, do you think you could help me with something real quick, Sergeant?” Sergeant. It was devious. Wicked, really. The sound of his title coming out of your mouth always got his heart racing, always made the blood drain from his brain and travel elsewhere.

But he didn’t fall for it.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Just give me one second, I’m-” Finally, he looked up.

His words died in throat, his mind went blank. The pan he’d been scrubbing fell into the sink with a loud crash. Want filled his eyes. He could’ve sworn his mouth started watering. 

“What do you think, Sarge? You wanna come over here and,” you ran a few fingers up your thigh, “help me out?” 

You braced yourself, knowing Bucky was about to pounce. You figured you had less than five seconds before he swept you off your feet and hoisted up over his shoulder. He’d fireman-carried you to bed that way more times than you could count, and you knew this would be one of those nights. 

But five seconds became ten. And then fifteen. And then twenty. And all he’d done was stare at you. 

“Buck?” you took a few steps in his direction. “I thought we could have some dessert.”

He struggled to form coherent thoughts or piece sentences together. “Um, well, I was-” he gestured to the mess in the sink, “I was gonna do the dishes.”

“I know, baby,” you placed a light hand on his shoulder. “But I think you can finish them after- I mean, later.”

Bucky should’ve jumped at the opportunity. He should’ve taken you apart right there on the kitchen counter. But he didn’t. He didn’t even touch you. 

He cleared his throat, “I’m- I’m just gonna do ‘em now.”

Without a word, you turned on your stiletto and retreated to the bedroom. 

Humiliation flared in your chest. Tears gathered in your eyes. And your heartbeat pounded in your ears, drowning out the rest of the world. Suddenly, you felt stupid. Foolish. Part of you wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment. 

Bucky had every right to refuse your advances- that wasn’t the issue. It was his complete and utter lack of affection for you. If he didn’t want to have sex with you ever again, you’d (probably) survive. But the harsh and sudden halt of any and all physical affection was eating you alive.

You kicked off your heels the moment you entered the bedroom and found yourself stomping toward the bathroom. You needed to get away. To hide. To protect yourself from any further mortification. The bathroom door slammed shut behind you, and you leaned against the cool wood, hoping to find some peace. But the bathroom mirror only doubled your shame. And as you stared at yourself, clad in what you thought to be Bucky’s favorite lingerie, your breathing hitched in your chest. 

This whole venture was so idiotic. So thoroughly and excruciatingly mortifying. It felt like the final nail in the coffin. If Bucky didn’t want you in your best lingerie, he must not want you at all.

The hoodie you’d slipped out of only minutes ago sat crumpled in a pile on the counter, and eagerly you shimmied into it. Anything to cover up your failed attempt at seduction. 

What was wrong with Bucky? Was he not interested in you anymore? Did he find you unattractive? If he wasn’t seeking sex with you, he had to be getting it from someone else, didn’t he? Who was it? Who-

A gentle knock yanked you out of your spiral.

“Sweetheart…” Bucky called through the door. He tried the handle and found it locked. “Can you come out, baby? Please?”

No part of you wanted to leave the safety of the bathroom. Something deep within you feared that this would be it- the tipping point, the moment of truth. If you did as Bucky asked and ventured out of the bathroom, there was a chance that Bucky would drop some major, soul-crushing truth on you. 

Maybe he’d spent the last three weeks trying to figure out how to break up with you, and this was his perfect opportunity. Maybe he’d break your heart and ruin your life the second you opened the bathroom door. If you could just stay in here- forever- maybe he wouldn’t dump you. Maybe you could delay your heartbreak and extend whatever feelings he once had for you, just for a little while.

But if he didn’t want you anymore, what was the point of prolonging the inevitable? 

With a huff, you dabbed at your eyes with your sleeve and opened the door.

There stood Bucky, looking hopeless. Lost. Miserable. He was propped against the door frame with slumped shoulders and a downtrodden expression- but perked up a bit when you opened the door. A sad smile stretched across his face, and he stood up straight, but his frown returned as you brushed right past him. 

“Baby, can we please talk about this?” He almost begged. 

There was a heavy desperation in his voice. Panic blazed through his chest. Something told him he might be losing you.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you!” You removed your garter belt and slipped off one of your stockings. “I’ve been trying to talk to you about this for weeks! And you just keep saying you’re 'fine'. Or that you’re tired. Or that there’s 'nothing to talk about'- when there clearly is!”

Normally, Bucky could always make you feel better with a hug. Anytime the two of you got into a fight, a long, warm embrace helped ease both of you into open, honest communication. But Bucky didn't reach for you. He opted to keep his distance. To allow you some space.

But space was the last thing you wanted. 

“Look, if there’s something going on and you’re not interested in having sex, that’s fine,” you told him. “I get it. It happens sometimes. But the-” you yanked your other thigh high off and tossed it to the side. “The total embargo on physical touch is really fucking with my head.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears, your hands shook with wrath. “Buck, you’re never home anymore- you’re always ‘working late’.” You let out a sharp exhale, “and when you are home, it’s like you’re on another planet. You keep your distance from me- you won’t even sit next to me on the couch.”

All Bucky could do was nod. Everything you said was true; there wasn’t a point in arguing.

And as the weight of Bucky’s sudden frigidity finally hit you, your fury was snuffed out. Rage no longer pulsed through your veins with each beat of your heart. Grief took its place. It forced its way into your heart, into your bones. You could’ve sworn you felt fractures spider-webbing their way through your ribs. 

Tears trickled slowly down your cheeks at first, but a downpour followed soon after. “Are you- are you not attracted to me anymore?” You asked between heaving sobs. “Do you not want me? Did I do something?”

“Sweetheart, I-”

“Is there…” your voice cracked. Saying it was too much; part of you feared that vocalizing your fear would make it come true. As though another woman would materialize simply because you asked whether she existed. “Is there someone else?”

The question sucked all of the oxygen out of the room. Bucky stared at you with wide eyes, his mouth slightly agape. You did your best to get a handle on your shaky breaths and pained wails; if Bucky was about to reveal an affair, you didn’t want to seem so broken. So hopeless. So pathetic. You didn’t want to give him any ammo to take back to his side piece. Any dramatic tales that would make her howl with laughter.

But he didn’t admit to having a mistress. He, instead, let loose a few tears himself. Knowing that he’d made you question his loyalties, that you’d actually feared he’d been unfaithful, made him want to die.  

“Oh my god,” His voice wavered under the hefty weight of his pain,“Baby-” 

“Is there someone better?”

“No.” He couldn’t fathom the suggestion that there was someone- anyone- out there better than you. “There is no one better.”

He couldn’t take it anymore, he had to be near you. In three quick strides, he arrived in your vicinity. But he remained just out of your reach. Everything in him begged - screamed- to hold you close. To kiss you. To take your hand, at the very least. His fingers twitched with the need to touch you. But he refrained. 

 “There’s no one else- of course, there’s not. There will never be anyone else. I still want you, I will always want you. I love you.” 

The overwhelming urge to remove himself from your space barked at him. It screamed and hollered from the deep recesses of his mind. And he knew he should listen. But he couldn’t- not when you were falling apart in front of him. Not when he’d made you feel unwanted, unattractive, and unloved.

“You didn’t do anything, doll,” he hated himself for doing this to you. For making you doubt his love. For reducing you to a sobbing, heaving shell of yourself. “I’m still attracted to you- I’m so attracted to you. You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.”

His reassurances helped assuage some of the fear, some of the worry. But only a small portion. Because even though he’d refuted all of your hypotheses and accusations, he still hadn’t given you a reason. And he still hadn’t touched you. 

“Then what’s-” you forced yourself to take a moment to think. To breathe. To get your head on straight. “What’s the problem? What’s going on with you?”

Bucky didn’t answer. He didn’t make eye contact. He simply stared at the area rug, tracing its border with his eyes. And though he knew you needed his touch, needed his affection, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Couldn’t bring himself to slip his hand into yours or cradle your face in his hands. 

His silence sliced through you and tore you open. You could’ve sworn you were bleeding out. 

“Buck, I miss you-” It was needy. Ugly. But you didn’t care. “Please, just be honest with me. I’m worried about you. And this isn’t normal for us, so-”

His words came out so low, so hushed, that you struggled to hear him. “I just haven’t been able to shake what happened last time.”

He clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut. He gave a small shake of his head. His hands balled into tight fists. He’d thought about what happened over and over and over again. He thought about it every day for the last three weeks. Relived the panic, the fear. And every night when he tried to fall asleep, the scene played out on an endless loop inside his mind. Horrifying nightmares plagued him each time he closed his eyes. He woke up shaking, covered in a cold sweat. There was no escaping it.

---Three weeks ago---

Things started around 8pm. It was all innocent enough, with Bucky spooning you as the two of you rewatched New Girl. But Bucky let his hands roam, as he so often did. And after only one episode, his hand had snaked up your shirt. His warm palm rested against your breast as his fingers swept over your skin. He teased your nipple once, twice. It was all the motivation you needed.

At his prompting, you pushed your body back against his, allowing your ass to grind against him. A low, animalistic moan vibrated deep within his chest. All bets were off after that. 

Before you could even blink, Bucky had you in his arms. He palmed your ass and positioned your legs around his waist as he set off down the hall toward the bedroom. His lips hungrily devoured yours. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging on the strands every now and again. He let more depraved sounds loose and you happily swallowed them all. 

Time lost all meaning after Bucky laid you out on the bed. The world outside of your bedroom ceased to exist- only Bucky remained. The two of you were a frantic, needy tangle of pounding hearts and sweat-slick skin. Teeth marks adorned his chest. Scratches adorned his back and shoulders. And Bucky devoted all of his time, all of his energy, all of him to pleasing you.

He took his time, slowly working you over as though it were his job. He loved teasing you, love watching you squirm. And when he had you absolutely begging, he gave you exactly what you wanted. In fact, he kept giving it to you- and had no intention to stop. 

He’d lost track of time. Lost count of how many times he made you come. All he knew was that double digits had been reached- and that was a long time ago. Was it an hour ago? Or three? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he had his best girl falling apart at the seams. Over and over and over again. 

He made sure to check in with you after every bout of world-shattering ecstasy, and you always gave him the green light. As time passed, your sentences turned into solitary words, which devolved into incoherent, needy sounds. But you always gave him a fervent nod, ensuring that you absolutely wanted- needed- him to continue. 

Even as sweat dampened the hair around your face, even as your lips grew swollen- you wanted more. More Bucky- there was never enough of him. It didn’t matter that he’d carried you to bed hours ago, you were insatiable. If he fucked you for a full twenty-four hours, it still wouldn’t have been enough.

At one point, you ended up in his lap, riding him like your life depended on it. He was seated upright on the edge of the bed, his chest pressed to yours. And by the depraved sounds and shaky breaths that fell from your lips, he knew you were close to yet another heart-stopping moment of bliss. His right arm snaked around your back, holding you firmly in place. He forced his vibranium fist down into the mattress; it gave him the extra leverage he needed to fuck into you even deeper. To push you over the edge. 

With a strangled scream, your orgasm crested over you. Your eyes squeezed shut. Sharp inhales filled your chest. Your mouth hung open. Every muscle in your body went rigid. Tense. Slight tremors rocked you every few moments- it was exactly what Bucky wanted. 

“Oh, that’s my girl,” praises dripped from his lips like honey.  A debauched moan vibrated out of his chest. “So good for me, always so good for me, baby.”

He watched as your eyes rolled back in your head. And with a final exhale, your limp body slumped forward, your face landing against Bucky’s chest. He put his movements on pause and allowed you to recover. To catch your breath. To rest.

He smoothed his cold, metallic hand up and down your spine. “You doing okay, sweetheart? You tired?” He dotted a kiss to your hair, “We can call it a night.”

You didn’t say a word.

“Baby,” he scratched gently at your shoulder blade. “Can you answer me?” 

But you remained silent.

Concern coursed through his veins. He feared he’d gone too far. That he’d pushed you past your limits. And if you were upset, he needed to do whatever he could to help you through. As gently as he could, he used both of his hands to lift your head from his chest. 

What he found sent a wave of chills rushing over his skin. 

You were out cold. Completely unconscious. 

Bucky found himself operating on autopilot. He removed you from his lap and laid you flat on the bed. His fingers searched your neck for a pulse. Your name fell from his lips in a horrified, desperate prayer. 

A breakdown loomed on the horizon, darkening everything around him. His hands shook, his chest tightened. The copper-penny taste of blood exploded across his tongue as he sunk his teeth into his cheek. But he couldn’t fall apart- not when your life depended on it. 

And massive sigh of relief left his chest when he felt your strong, steady pulse beating beneath his fingertips. 

And once he knew that you were, indeed, alive, he allowed himself to fall apart- but only for a moment. Tears dripped down his face and splashed against your chest as he loomed over you. He breathlessly told you he was sorry. That he loved you. That he didn’t mean to hurt you. 

But that was all he permitted. You still needed him, even if you weren’t in dire straits. And so, he forced his emotion behind a wall and pressed on. 

No part of him wanted to leave your side, but it was a necessary evil. He sped through the apartment and into the kitchen, digging in the freezer for ice packs. And when he found the two you required, he snagged a couple dish towels from the drawer by the sink and raced back to the bedroom. 

“Hey, I’m- I’m back, baby,” he said to your unconscious body. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I just had to get-” he held up the icepacks. Even if you couldn’t hear him, he wanted you to know that he’d never- under any circumstances- abandon you when you needed him. 

He wrapped each ice pack in a towel and tucked one behind your neck while the other rested on your chest. And then, all he could do was wait. 

He hovered over you, watching for any signs of waking, any signs of distress. His hands smoothed over your hair and drifted across your cheek. His fingers monitored your pulse every few seconds. His lips left kisses against your forehead. And though he knew that your life wasn’t in danger, it didn’t quell the shaking in his hands. Didn’t stop the waves of nausea cresting over him. 

And he didn’t take a full inhale until your eyelids finally began to flutter open. 

He watched closely as you finally blinked your way back into consciousness. Everything was kind of fuzzy, a bit hazy around the edges. A quiet ringing filled your ears. A slight tremor rendered your hands unsteady. And the world around you seemed to tilt and twist without warning.

But Bucky was right there, anchoring you to the earth. He let a gentle hand rest against your cheek. 

“Hi, baby,” his voice was soft, sweet, comforting.

But you couldn’t respond even if you wanted to, as your synapses refused to get their shit together. Words collided and melted together, dripping into amorphous puddles inside your mind. You swore someone had stuffed your head full of cotton. Everything felt far away; the entire world was muffled somehow, as though you were trapped behind fifty feet of glass.

Concern bled into Bucky’s words, “Sweetheart, are you alright?” 

And it wasn’t easy, but you finally remembered how to think. How to speak. You chipped away at the thick pane of glass separating you from Bucky, and finally answered. 

“’m okay…” You reached for Bucky’s face and allowed your fingers to gently trace down his jawline. His stubble pricked at your skin. His warm breath fanned your face. 

And without warning, tears slipped from your eyes. Rivulets coursed down the sides of your face and dripped into your hair. It was a sudden, jarring shift that sent Bucky’s heart leaping into his throat. 

“Oh, no- oh, sweetheart,” he gently cradled your face in his hands. “Baby, you’re okay- everything’s okay. You’re fine. You’re safe.” 

He did everything in his power to bring you some sense of peace, but the tears refused to stop. And he found himself desperately, hopelessly, trying to comfort you. He tripped over himself again and again, apologizing endlessly. And when that didn’t work, he changed tactics. He spelled out what happened for you in clear, easy to understand terms, ridding you of the dreaded unknown. He promised that you were only out for a minute or two. That you were perfectly safe.  

He left gentle touches against your skin and dotted kisses to your cheeks and hairline- just like you always did for him when he fell to pieces. And if it worked for him, he hoped it might work for you.

He wasn’t sure what brought an end to your waterworks- his reassurances or his touch- but he didn’t care. All that mattered was that you’d finally stopped crying. That your breathing was returning to normal. The sharp pain radiating through his chest dulled a little bit as he dried your last few tears. Finally, your hands stopped trembling. And your heartrate slowly regressed to its mean. He thanked a startling number of deities that you were alive and seemed to be improving.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, “How do you feel, baby? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Um…” you dried your damp lashes on the backs of your hands. “I’m cold.”

“Shit- sorry,” Bucky snatched your icepacks from their respective positions and threw them to the floor. 

Guilt bloomed in his chest; he should’ve removed the ice the second you woke up. Should’ve covered you with a blanket. Should’ve used his body to keep yours warm. Should’ve- 

He didn’t have time to spiral into guilt and shame and ‘should haves’. 

He leaned over the side of the bed and located his discarded hoodie, the one you’d yanked over his head only a few hours ago in your insatiable pursuit of his body.

“Hey, here you go, doll,” he gently helped you wriggle into the soft fabric and covered you with the bedspread. And once he was confident that you were comfortable, he slid under the blanket with you and vowed to give you all of his body heat. 

The second he laid down next to you, you rolled onto your side and buried your face in his chest. He curled his body protectively around yours; he wasn’t going to let anything else happen to you tonight. Or ever. His hand swept up and down the length of your spine on a seemingly endless loop. He whispered ‘I love yous’ and “I’m sorrys” until he thought he might go hoarse.

And when your world fell properly into place and you finally felt like yourself again, you plucked your head from his chest.

“Hi,” you reached upward and let your fingers slowly drift across his cheek bones. The slope of his nose. His lips.

“Hi, baby.” He couldn’t fight the smile that pulled at his features. This was the version of you he knew. The version that, only a few minutes ago, hungrily egged him on in his pursuit of your pleasure. “You doing okay?”

You gave him a confident nod, “Yeah, I’m okay now.” Your lips drifted across his, “Sorry, it kinda took me a minute to come back to myself, you know?”

“That’s okay, doll,” he let he tips of his fingers ghost over your spine. “Don’t apologize.”

“And I really didn’t mean for there to be any,” you gave Bucky some unenthusiastic jazz hands, “any theatrics tonight. Sorry about the drama.”

Bucky gave a shake of his head, “No, baby, it’s okay. I’m…” he traced your features with his cold, gentle fingers. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Yeah, I’m totally fine,” you shrugged. “It was weird though, right? This has never happened to me before- I’ve never passed out during sex.” You gazed at him with a spark of lust in your eyes, “You know, I’m actually impressed. You made me come so many times that I actually blacked out. None of my ex-boyfriends can say that.”

You let out a quiet laugh that Bucky didn’t return. He didn’t find it funny- he didn’t find any of this funny. But he put on a smile for your benefit.

“Oh, and sorry about all the crying,” you sighed. “I don’t know what that was about.”

“That’s alright- it happens,” he shrugged. “You went from really high highs and then fell to some pretty low lows. It’s just got to do with the chemicals in your brain, nothing to apologize for.” He trailed kisses across your forehead and down your nose, “Plus, you were probably scared. Or freaked out, at least.”

The guilt sunk its teeth into every fiber of Bucky’s being. And as you nestled closer to him, a tidal wave of revulsion nearly dragged him from the bed. He should’ve known better. Should’ve exercised better judgment. You weren’t like him; you didn’t have the enhanced energy and stamina to match his. He shouldn’t have pushed you to the edge like that. Shouldn’t have carried you past your limits. 

Normally, he’d do anything to be near you. He wanted- needed- to touch you as much as possible. And if he couldn’t touch you, he at least had to be close to you. But the voice in his head screamed at him, telling him to vacate your vicinity. And the overwhelming, urgent need to put some space between his body and yours yanked him out of bed. 

“Baby, I’m gonna go get you some water, okay? And a snack,” he headed for the door, “you stay there, I’ll be right back.”

It was the perfect excuse. He really did need to provide you with sustenance and hydration after your black out- but a trip to the kitchen also provided him with a reason to remove himself from your side. He counted it as a win-win.

And from that moment on, he did his best- his very best- to keep his hands off of you. To stay as far away as possible. To ensure that you would be safe. 

He couldn’t risk your well-being, not again.

------

It wasn’t quite what you expected him to say. And though it was a far better reason than the affair you concocted for him during your downward spiral, it still didn’t make much sense. 

“Last time?” 

What exactly happened last time? You wracked your brain, searching your memories for some terrible event- but you came up empty. And just as you were about to call bullshit on Bucky’s reasoning, you stumbled upon the memory of your innocuous, minute-long black out. 

“Oh, the thing with me passing out?”  

Bucky gave a solemn nod. At the thought of it, his face lost all color, all warmth. A sickly shade of gray tainted his skin.

“Buck, I know that was kind of weird and not at all ideal, but it was fine,” you shrugged, “It wasn’t a big deal.”

You took a cautious step toward him, and much to your dismay, he countered with a step back. 

“If anything, it was a fluke.” Again, you took a step in his direction. And again, he backed away. 

Bucky feared what might happen when you backed him into a corner, when his spine hit the wall. He knew he’d have to slip from your grasp and vacate the room. That he’d have to find an escape. But he knew it would hurt you. After weeks of no warmth, no touching, no physical intimacy, you were barely hanging on by a thread. And if he ran from the room, it would surely cause that thread to snap. But wasn’t that better than the snapping of your neck? Or your spine? Wasn’t it better for you to hurt emotionally, rather than physically?

“Buck, it’s never happened before, and I highly doubt it will ever happen again,” you said. “I didn’t sleep well the night before, and I had a long day leading up to that. I didn’t eat breakfast or lunch, I was dehydrated, and I’d been sick the week prior. It was a perfect storm of circumstances that made me pass out. Not you.” 

You intertwined your fingers, locking them together in search of any kind of touch. Any physical reassurance. “Seriously, Buck, that will never happen again. I promise.”

Bucky knew of one surefire way to ensure it would never, ever happen again. All he had to do was keep his distance. If he could refrain from touching you, if he could keep his hands to himself, you’d be safe.

But you’d be miserable- he knew you would. And as he gave you a long once-over, a sharp pain shot through him like lightning. Tear tracks trailed down your cheeks. Your eyes were red and puffy. Dark circles stained your under eyes- you hadn’t been sleeping, had you? No, you’d been staying up all night, worrying about Bucky. About the state of your relationship. 

And when he noticed the way you’d tangled your hands together, the way your right thumb stroked against the back of your left hand, he could’ve sworn he’d been stabbed through the chest. You were so desperate for affection, so robbed of touch, that you were trying- and failing- to self-soothe. 

“I know it was scary for you,” he finally said. “And I know you’re the one who passed out, so I’m not trying to make this about me- I swear. But it was…” He, too, found himself absentmindedly searching for physical comforts. He slowly raked a hand through his hair a few times, but it didn’t have the same effect; only your hands could bring him peace. “It was scary for me, too.”

A pang of anxiety rocketed through you. How could you have been so selfish? So heartless toward Bucky’s plight? Of course, he’d been scared. Of course, the events of that night affected him, too. And you knew that if the situation were reversed, you would’ve been paralyzed with fear. With worry. 

You’d just gotten so swept up, so overwhelmed by the loss of his hands. His lips. His arms. It darkened your periphery and gave you tunnel-vision. All you could see- all you could feel- was the cold. The emptiness. The fear of losing him.

“Shit, baby, I’m-” you reached for Bucky but recoiled. “I’m so sorry. You just- you said you were fine. Every time I asked, you swore everything was okay. So I thought-”

“I know…” Bucky chewed on the inside of his cheek. He let his head droop, allowed his gaze to drop to the floor. And he stayed that way. For a while.

His hands dug deep into his pockets and his shoulders fell forward ever so slightly. He found himself awash in regret. Longing. Loneliness. He knew it was his fault; he’d done this to himself. He’d chosen to isolate, to pull away. But it was the safest option for you, wasn’t it? And your safety came before anything and everything else- full stop. 

“It took me a long time,” he finally said, “it took me a long time to be able to touch you. I couldn’t bring myself to do it for…” He silently thought back on that time, adding up the days where he kept his hands to himself- but they were far too numerous. “For a while. Do you remember that?”

You nodded. “Yeah, but I- I guess I always figured it was just some old-fashioned, chivalrous, nineteen-forties type of thing…”

“Well, that was,” a small smile flickered across his face, “that was part of it. But the real reason is that I was too scared. To touch you, I mean.” His smile disappeared. His features suddenly fell. His eyes darkened. “Sometimes, I don’t know my own strength, you know? And I was too- I was so afraid that I’d hurt you, baby.” 

“Oh…” You hadn’t thought of it that way. 

“I had to kind of overcome that fear, and it took time. I think it took me over a month just to hold your hand- and even then, it was only for a second.”

Bucky’s words had an endless darkness to them- a darkness you were well acquainted with by now. When he was really down, when he was going through a particularly miserable time, his voice took on the pitch-black tone of the abyss. And when he found himself drowning in the obsidian sea, it was your hands that guided him out. You’d hold him close to your body, wrapping him in the safety of your embrace- and slowly, he’d wade out of his agony. 

But this time was different. 

No matter desperately you longed to touch him, to comfort him, to save him- you couldn’t. He didn’t want your hands, your body anywhere near him. Of course, he did want you close- he just wouldn’t allow it. 

“But you know I’ve never been afraid of you, right?” Your arm twitched with want. Almost on autopilot, your hand tried to reach out and touch him, but you forbade it. “I’ve never thought that you’d hurt me-”

“I know.” He couldn’t stop himself from smiling. You never saw him as a monster or a threat- you never saw him the way he saw himself. “But when we first started dating, I was having these nightmares. I actually had them for the first year of our relationship- at the least…”

Your heart sank. He had enough nightmares as it was; and to know that you’d somehow delivered him a fresh crop of terror made you nauseous.

“Every night when I went to sleep, I’d have these awful dreams…” His eyes took on a hollow quality as he hurdled backward and fell into his memories. “They always started out okay- they seemed like normal dreams. In some of them, we were hugging. In others, we were having sex. And everything was fine. But then, you’d start-” He dragged a few fingers across his bottom lip and down his chin, “you’d start bleeding out of your mouth. Your eyes would roll back in your head. And you’d collapse. You’d die in my arms. Every time.”

A small gasp filled your lungs, “Buck…” It was your most basic, most intrinsic instinct to comfort Bucky with soft, gentle touches. Your hands were his homing signal, and when he got lost in the dark labyrinth of his past, you automatically guided him to safety. You couldn’t remember a time when you’d ever caged that reflex- until now. He stood in front of you, completely despondent, and you couldn’t do a damn thing to help him.

“And the other night- it was exactly like one of my nightmares. You went completely limp, baby, and your eyes rolled back in your head. You were unresponsive. I was so scared, I…” He almost didn’t want to say the words. Didn’t want to tempt the universe by voicing his greatest fear. “I thought I killed you. I thought I’d held you too tight and crushed your spine, or something. I had to-” He cleared his throat, forcing the oncoming emotion away, “I actually had to feel for a pulse to make sure you were still alive.”

“Baby, I- I didn’t know that.” He’d conveniently left that out when he walked you through what happened. He’d sidestepped his horror and his trauma and put you first, as he always did. “But you’d never hurt me- you couldn’t.”

He shrugged. “Maybe not on purpose. But I thought I’d gone too far in the heat of the moment, and…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. “Even though you didn’t pass out because of me, I’m still- I can’t get over it. I can’t stop thinking about it. It was like one of my nightmares had come to life- it hit way too close to home.” He pressed his palms to his eyes for a moment and forced himself to catch his breath. Only when he felt his heartrate return to normal did he speak again. “So, I’ve been scared- too scared to touch you.”

It shattered you. All Bucky did- all he’d ever wanted to do- was protect you. And though he’d spent the last three weeks aching for his best girl, he didn’t dare lay a finger on you- all in the name of your safety. Sure, his execution wasn’t the best, but his intentions were pure and kind, as they always were. 

“But I know I didn’t… I didn’t handle this the right way. And I’m sorry- I’m so sorry I pulled away,” he tripped over himself again and again, desperately begging for your understanding. For your forgiveness. “I know you’re not happy- believe me, I’m not happy either. I’ve been miserable this whole time- I miss you so much, sweetheart. And I never wanted to hurt you like this. I just didn’t…” He gave a small shake of his head, “I didn’t want to hurt you physically, either. And I didn’t know what to do. So, I figured that keeping my hands off of you was safest. But I didn’t mean to upset you.”

All the work he’d done, all the effort he’d put into fixing his self-image had crumbled in one fell swoop- all because you didn’t have the wherewithal to eat breakfast and stay hydrated three weeks ago. Bucky’s normally upright posture was sloped, his shoulders curved forward. He had the same hollow look in his eye that he had when you’d first met him. And now that he’d spent more than five minutes with you, you noticed all of the fingernails on his right hand were bitten down to the quick.

“Shit. Buck, I’m- I’m so sorry, baby.” You dried your cheeks on the sleeve of your hoodie. “I fucked up…”

“No, no. This is all on me- I fucked up. I basically abandoned you.” His voice took on a harsh, sharp edge he only ever reserved for use against himself. You knew the inside of his head was a horror scene, full of admonishing comments and self-flagellation. You wished you could rescue him from his own mind. 

But his tone softened when he spoke about you, “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart-”

“Buck, I accused you of cheating,” you nearly scoffed. It was ridiculous. Completely absurd. That you believed for even a moment that Bucky could actually have a mistress proved just how out of your mind you were. But grief, you figured, was capable of making people believe crazy things. “That was absolutely wrong of me. And I didn’t even-” you shook your head. “I didn’t even think that the other night might have affected you-”

“You were upset, and rightfully so.” He absolved you of any blame, any guilt. “Plus, you were the one who blacked out, not me. My feelings on the subject aren’t nearly as important as yours.”

“But you witnessed it. And it scared you. A lot.” You hated knowing that he’d been too horrified, too paralyzed with fear to even hold your hand. And the fact that he’d dealt with all of it alone was enough to force you to your knees. “I should’ve known better- I should’ve known you were upset. I’m so sorry, Buck. This was so unfair to you, I-”

He held up a hand, halting your words. “You can’t read my mind, sweetheart. And I could’ve communicated better.” He flashed you a sad smile, “That’s something I said I’d work on- communication. And I’m getting better at it, but I’m not perfect yet.”

“I’m not either, so… I guess we both have some stuff to work on. I probably shouldn’t go around alleging that you had an affair out of the blue.” You crossed your arms over your chest, hugging them tight to your body. Even if Bucky wasn’t sleeping with someone else, he still hadn’t allowed himself to touch you. And you were no match for the bone-chilling cold that had settled into the apartment.

“Um, okay, you know what? We can actually- let’s completely forget I said anything about this. Just put it out of your mind, alright?” This time, it was you who retreated. You who stepped away. 

“Sweetheart, wait-” Bucky adopted your role as the pursuer. He took a few strides in your direction, anxious to close the gap between you. He felt you slipping through his fingers, like he may never regain what the two of you used to have. 

“No, Buck, it’s okay. We’re okay. I just want you to do whatever works for you. I don’t want you to be hurting all the time, I don’t want you to be scared.” Again and again, you stroked your thumbs over your upper arms, but it didn’t bring you a hint of comfort. “And if that- if that means you can never touch me again, I’ll understand-”

“That’s not what I want- that’s absolutely not what I want,” Bucky’s eyes were wide. Almost crazed. It was as though the thought of never touching you again threatened to push him to the brink of madness. “I just need to… I need to take it slow. I have to start back at square one, like I did when I first met you. Is that okay? Can you- ”

“Whatever you need, I’m on board.” It was an automatic, instinctual response. Your voice was steady and even, free from any breaks or signs of uncertainty. You’d do anything for him, anything to ease his mind. “We can move as slowly as you need- there’s no rush.”

“But are you… are you sure?” His words dripped with anxiety, with fear. “Cause I can- I can try to get over it. I don’t want you to be miserable, doll. I can-”

“Buck, it’s okay.”

“Baby, I feel like I might…” He nearly doubled over, “I’m afraid I’m gonna lose you over this.”

“You won’t- I promise, you won’t.” Another surge of need coursed through you, begging you to wrap Bucky in an embrace, but you kept your hands to yourself. You’d never push him, would never dream of making him uncomfortable. “You will never lose me. I’m here for you, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care how long it takes.”

And you meant it. Now that Bucky let you in on his secret, you understood that there had to be some distance. Some space. Of course, you’d still miss the physical intimacy. The sleepy mornings spent with your body draped across his chest. The late nights full of depravity and lust. But with the looming darkness of a possible affair banished, you could wait.

Though, you didn’t have to wait long at all.

Because Bucky vanquished space remaining between your body and his. He strode eagerly, anxiously across the room and raised his right hand, desperate to feel you again. But just as his palm grew close to your cheek, he faltered. His brain struggled to reign him in, to put a pause on his possibly dangerous plan. Only millimeters remained between his skin and yours, but he couldn’t find it in him to close the final gap. 

“It’s okay,” you said. “Take your time.”

It was the final push he needed. And finally, he touched you again. His palm lightly ghosted over your cheek, and tears instantly crested over your lash line. The feeling of relief, of home, was almost intoxicating. It was the lightest, softest touch- almost imperceptible. But to you- to Bucky- it was like a fireworks show. 

And after testing the waters with his feather-light touch, he found himself nearly begging for more. 

He allowed his palm to actually rest against your face, to cup your cheek the way he always did. And it acted like an instant pain reliever. The excruciating ache in your chest relented, and your muscles slackened as they released their knots. An all-encompassing warmth wrapped around your entire body, finally ridding you of the vicious cold you’d suffered through all these weeks. This was the warmth you knew you couldn’t live without, the warmth only Bucky could provide. 

His knees almost buckled beneath him, but he wouldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t allow anything to take this moment from either of you. All this time, he’d felt unmoored, adrift, lost in a dark, endless sea. And no matter how hard he fought, he couldn’t seem to find his way back to shore. But with his skin pressed against yours, he finally felt steady. Stable. You provided him with a guiding light. An anchor. He felt more like himself than he had in the last three weeks, all because of you.

Your tears dampened Bucky’s skin, but he didn’t mind. He brushed them gently away with a light sweep of his thumb. 

“Can I?” you motioned to the tears trailing down his cheek.

And after a moment of thought, he gave you a nod. Your hand drifted lightly over his skin to mop up his tears, but your touch only brought on more waterworks. He was so starved of your affection that even the lightest touch made him whimper. He let out a soft, grateful sound that knocked the breath from your chest. 

The two of you remained there a while, soaking in the sensation of the other. Bucky didn’t dare to hug you, and kissing you was still off limits. But his palm remained flush with your cheek for as long as you allowed- and you had no urge to ever remove it.  

You knew there was a long road ahead for him, but you didn’t mind. Starting back at square one with him was something you could handle. Something the two of you could handle together.

“It’s kind of a bummer that I didn’t get to make good use of your…” Bucky gestured to your discarded garter belt and thigh-highs, “outfit.”

You let loose a laugh that vibrated under his palm- the sensation sent a wave of warmth cresting over him.

“It’s alright, Buck. I’ll wear it again, I promise.” You leaned into his touch, greedily searching for more of him. “You can take as much time as you need, okay? I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

———————————

@beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @lonewolf471 @purpleshallot @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @juvellian @samanthacookieone @frombkjar @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat @anything-more-than-human

[7s3ven]

MAFIA AU! TASK FORCE 141 x MOB BOSS GF! READER

( head cannons / might turn into a series )

( master list )

more

Feel free to to request more scenarios with this au LOL

Notes: poly, reader is described as on the shorter side, age gap, daddy issues (reader has a bad father), inappropriate jokes/themes mentioned

YSL, red bottom shoes, sugary cocktails, leopard print, faux fur, y2k, mcbling, lana del rey, cigarettes, mob boss wife…

- When people join the mafia, they expect tough muscled men, maybe a few scarred women carelessly waving around guns. What they don’t expect is you

- You’re an interesting sight, perched on Price’s lap like a little trophy, freshly manicured nails tapping away at your phone screen as you play a game

- You don’t care about whatever meeting you’re in, you aren’t even listening to Price’s rather gory plans. You’re too busy deciding what to have for lunch

- Nobody can look away from your pretty pout as you discover your favourite drink is temporarily out of stock

- Price was the one who found you first. Your father was indebted to the mafia and what better way to force him to pay than taking his precious daughter? Price found it strange how you were so willing to leave your father but it made sense when you told him the truth

- Your father wasn’t a good man. He had blood on his hands and he never cared much about you or your mother. You were thankful to find a way out, even if it meant going with a strange (but equally handsome) man

- You belonged to Price first but his property was Simon, Kyle, and Jonny’s as well

- “Jonny, is this skirt too short?” You asked, tilting your head to the side.

Jonny glanced up from his phone, shrugging. “Nah. It’s all good, bonnie. I can fight. ‘Sides, shorter skirts makes it easier to bend ya over.”

- Simon loves sharing his cigarettes with you, especially when you kiss him and transfer the smoke into his mouth. The best part is seeing your lipstick stain the end of his cigarette

- Price buys you lots of clothes and accessories. You’re never not draped in the most expensive jewellery he can find. Gaz is the one buying you heels. For some reason, he has a knack for choosing the best shoes

- Seeing you waltz around in your short skirts, lace tops, and clicking high heels is enough of a reward for the four men

- The rookies love the sight of you but you’re forbidden fruit. You belonged to their bosses who did not like to share

- When there’s talk of a rat among the mafia, your four lovers do not take it kindly. They need someone to infiltrate whatever plot is brewing up. Luckily, they have you. Nobody in their right mind would pass a chance on being able to get a taste of your strawberry-flavored lipgloss

- “Oh my gosh, it’s giving office siren.” You say, excitedly tugging on the tight, short-sleeved blouse that Ghost is shaking his head at.

“It’s too short.” He mutters, “Ain’t there a ‘nother size?”

“It was the only one. Sorry, baby.” You sheepishly smiled at your lover’s displeasure. “Anyway, how do I look?”

Clad in that damn white blouse, a short pencil skirt, and thinly rimmed glasses, you were a vision.

“You look like you’re ’bout to get some action when ya get back.” Kyle says, nodding over at Soap who’s staring at you shamelessly.

“How ‘bout this, lovie?” Price steps forward, “If you do a good job, we’ll give you a little reward. Sound good, yeah?”

( please note that for the cod tag list, you will be tagged in all the cod fics i post, not just this one lol )

COD TAG LIST (COMMENT TO BE ADDED/REMOVED): @galactict3a

[figsnpassionfruits]

Unexpected Tendencies

a/n: this basically happened w/ my bf so I had to turn it into a fic nsdjnsjk word count: 1k tags: logan howlett x fem!reader (can be read as gn!), smutty smut smut warnings: basically just bathroom sex, rough sex ig, daddy kink, implied age gap, praise kink, degradation, everything my heart longs for, 18+, mdni dividers by: @strangergraphics-archive pictures are from pinterest

Your fingers scratched on the oval mirror in front of you, desperate to get some sort of hold for some balance. There was no feeling in your hips anymore, the ramming against the edge of the sink now irrelevant. All you could think about was the man behind you, who had you bend over, both hands under your jaw, holding onto you like it was the only thing he was made to do.

The sounds in the bathroom consisted of the echoes of your skins clashing together, decorated with panting and moaning and the occasional filth coming out of Logan’s mouth here and there.

You? Yea, you were too fucked to even think about blurting anything that made sense.

“Yes, yes, yes.” You moan out, each one of the words matching the brutal pace Logan had on you. A hand of yours reached to get a grip on his wrist, your nails digging into his rough skin to cope with the pain that felt so good.

All Logan did as a response was release a chuckle, the speed and force of his thrusts remaining the same. “Getting fucked so well you can’t even speak huh, princess?” He mocked, grunting out the words as he travelled a hand of his to where your lower back meets your ass, clutching the skin as if it was the only thing worth holding on to in life.

You knew it would leave bruises; gosh you hoped it would leave bruises. Logan leaving his marks all over you, showing the world that you were his; yes. That was what you wanted. And that was exactly what you were getting.

The heels you decided to wear were starting to give in now. A foot of yours slipped further out, forcing Logan to squat a bit to adjust to the lowered height. The change of angle forced out a high-pitched moan out of you, his cock now hitting a spot that had yet been untouched tonight.

Out of sudden Logan stopped his thrusts, snickering at the whiny noises you were making, and replaced his rough pace with soft rolls of his hips. “Relax.” He purred into your ear, his hairy chest now leaning on your back, the texture of the sweaty hair tickling your skin. “Tell me what you want, love.” Logan breathed, pressing your leg that had moved back closer to the other.

“Please.” You whined, not knowing what you were asking for yourself. All you could do was reach your palm behind you to caress his face, silently begging him to do anything; just something.

Logan hummed at your gesture, finding it amusing. He turned his face into your hand, placing a single kiss there. “Gotta tell me what ya want.”

“Lo…”

“Hm?” He kept his hips rolling in the same motion as before, clearly enjoying the way you were struggling to form words. When there still was no answer from you, except for more panting, he moved his hand back to your face, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear before tracing a finger around your lips.

Without thinking you opened your mouth slightly, allowing his finger in. Immediately your lips wrapped around his thick finger, sucking on the skin of the older man.

“Look at ya.” Logan mumbled, admiring your motions in the mirror, looking into your eyes through it. “Such a good girl. Can’t even talk but smart enough to do as she’s told.”

Moaning at his words you arched your back even further, urging him to get back to fucking you the way you wanted.

He picked up on your needs, let out another low chuckle, and stood up straight, both of his hands now resting on your ass as he pounded into you. Your moans now louder than ever, your eyes rolling back as far as possible, Logan was satisfied. This is exactly what he wanted to give to you; exactly what he thought you deserved. A proper fuck just for his girl.

“Fuck, fuck!” You moan out, hands now gripping the sides of the sink, the cold marble creating a contrast to your burning hot body temperature.

“You love this cock, don’t you?” Logan bragged, knowing exactly what kind of an effect he had on you. With a harsh flick of his wrist, he delivered a spank to your ass, gripping the exact spot he just hit. “Tell me you do.”

“Yes, fuck, I love it, daddy.” You moaned out, eyes widening at the realization of what you just said. Did I really just say that?

His hips faltered at your words, an eyebrow of him raising as a response to your words. “Did you just call me ‘daddy’?” Logan asked, one corner of his mouth quirking up.

You made eye contact with him through the mirror once again. This had never happened before. You had never called him that, nor have you ever had a conversation of where you talked about what you were into where this kink was mentioned. It had just slipped out. Given by his reaction, you did not know whether it was a good thing or a bad thing. After letting a moment pass, you hesitantly gave him a small nod, biting your bottom lip in anticipation for his reaction.

But all Logan did was let out a breathy laugh, speeding up the snaps of his hips once again.  

Thank fuck.

“You're adorable.” He mocked once again, taking in the view he had in front of him. “Be good and tell daddy how much you love his cock, won’t ya?”

🍯

[hawkinsbnbg]

“Can we keep him, Uncle Wayne?”

Wayne didn’t look up from his newspaper, too used to his nephew picking up strays and bringing them home. God blessed the boy’s big young heart, but their trailer didn’t have space for another kitty or pup.

“I told ya before and I told ya it now,” Wayne said gruffly but not unkindly. “We don’t have space for your pet, son.”

“He’s not–”

“Eds, I’ll be fine on my own,” a quiet voice cut in before Eddie could start his usual speech.

That garnered Wayne’s attention immediately. And there standing next to his nephew was Steve Harrington who looked worse for wear—red puffy eyes, split lips, disheveled hair, and rumpled clothes.

“What happened?” Wayne set his newspaper aside and straightened up in his chair. He had a few good guesses already given what he knew of Richard and Amanda, but he still wanted to hear their side of the story first.

“His parents kicked him out,” Eddie hissed, hand clutching Steve’s fiercely in case the other boy tried to get away. He didn’t, just deflated as soon as the words were out of Eddie’s mouth.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Steve mumbled, eyes shining stubbornly as they locked with Wayne’s. “I just need a place to stay until tomorrow and then I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

“Stevie,” Eddie turned to him with an exasperated look. “You can’t believe that I’d let you leave after everything, right?”

“I know you want to help,” Steve rubbed a hand down his face tiredly, like he needed to hide a part of himself, vulnerable and slightly worn-out. “But I don’t wanna intrude.”

“You won’t,” Eddie shook his head rapidly and then looked at Wayne. “Right, Wayne? He’s not bothering you or anything, right?”

Wayne took in the sight of the Harrington boy, scared and lost, and knew his decision had been made for him. It wasn’t his first time taking in a stray anyway.

“Just call me Wayne or Uncle Wayne, kid,” he offered Steve a closed-mouthed smile, his most amiable one. “We don’t have much here, but feel free to ask me anything you need.”

When Steve ducked his head with a shy smile and sniffled a small Thank you, Wayne didn’t regret his choice.

It didn’t hurt that his nephew also beamed at him like Wayne had just saved the world.

And in a sense, to Eddie, it was true.

Because Wayne could see how much the Harrington boy meant to him, see the way they looked at each other without admitting it aloud.

Perhaps, Wayne picked up his newspaper again as Eddie offered the Munson’s new member a mug of warm milk, he was going to have another son soon enough.

[kitkatwinchester]

I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS!!

I know who they're looking for.

YOU don't know who they're looking for.

But I know.

What I don't know, and what I need to know freaking ASAP, is WHY?!

Why Stiles?

WHY DID IT PICK STILES?!

WHY WOULD IT RUIN ME LIKE THAT?!

Also can we just appreciate Katashi for a second?

Like, I wish we had more answers than we do, but he also gave us way more information than we ever could've hoped to have, and his appreciation of Chris is honestly so beautiful and I love it.

Also can we just talk about all of the other werewolves showing up out of nowhere to come save Scott?

Like, dude.

Ethan and Aiden were like "nah fam, we still here", and Derek LITERALLY CAME OUT OF NOWHERE.

And then the fact that he had ALSO been following Scott all day...I love our loyal little werewolves, protecting their Alpha (...is Scott Derek's Alpha? That seems weird. No, he wouldn't be, technically, right? But either way, Derek would certainly jump in front of a bullet for him any day--hence his interrogation of the twins--so...it counts lol.)

Also DEATON MAN! We love him so much. That was SUCH a good idea. I mean, it's now gonna start failing us, because of course it is, but hey, it bought us time. Maybe. I hope.

Okay...I have to say this, because it was bugging me, and I'm sure this is the only time I will ever say it, BUT...

Tyler Posey's acting in this last sequence was...not very good. ESPECIALLY at the very beginning of the scene when the Oni (hey, I have a name for them now!) first showed up.

Which...honestly makes me think that maybe he and Matthew Del Negro just have really bad screen chemistry. 'Cause, like, I don't know. Posey's usually really good, but that was just...not it.

Okay. I said it. I'll move on now.

Anyways let's put a nice little Stiles gif because I'm upsetti spaghetti and I want a nice, happy Stiles before this all gets soooo much worse.

(LOOK AT THAT BABY HOW DARE YOU HURT HIM!!!! :( :( :(:( :( )

P.S. As an aside, the Oni are apparently REALLY bad at their job, since the person they're looking for is LITERALLY NOT THERE and yet they're at Scott's house, for SOME reason. Like, y'all can't smell evil? You're literally shadows of darkness, I mean, you would think you'd have SOME sort of radar for that kind of thing. Do you really have to walk right up to people and stare them in the face and make them freeze to near death just to be able to say "ope, you're not possessed, my b dude". Whatever I guess. XD

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yakuza x Reader (III)

A whole lot of confusion as to whether Reader and her yakuza friend are actually dating. After much back and forth and a coworker being threatened, the awaited confession might finally take place.

Bonus part: Kazuya tells Reader about his and Daitou's past and how they ended up working for the yakuza.

Content: female reader, obsessive behavior, violence

Tags: @vinivave @ansy-tea @evvie8 @angelicbunnee @jingerbreadoutofstock @azukoya @randomlyblues @alien-consummation @neverlandlostchild @mimiemie @toji-whore @cloudie-skay @lilkittenmitten

[Part 2] | [Part 4] | [Yakuza Masterlist]

The items are scanned and Kazuya finishes paying. He looks back, searching for Daitou, and finds him wandering among the narrow aisles of magazines and manga. They'd stopped by the konbini at the train station after their job.

"Here's your bentou." The blonde man extends a small box, eyeing his friend suspiciously. "Say, do you have an upset stomach or something? You're uglier than usual." 

Daitou thanks him with a nod, but doesn't take the neatly packaged food. He's idly playing with the cover of a romance volume, bending and straightening its corner.

"Nah, nothing like that. Just, ya know, feels a bit like (Y/N)'s been avoiding me. She hurries straight home after work and barely waves hi. I thought we'd do more things together now that we're dating."

Kazuya nearly spits out the soda he opened while listening to Daitou's troubles. He snorts and quickly wipes his mouth. 

"Wait, are you serious? You actually asked her out? And she said yes??"

Daitou thinks back to the time he gifted you your stalker's finger and teeth, the way you defended him, and the way you quietly walked home and almost held hands. That pretty much made it official, didn't it? So he confidently nods to his utterly baffled partner in crime.

"You little rascal, you! Who would've thought you had it in you?!" He cheerfully slaps Daitou's back and wraps his arm around his neck. The dark haired man blushes and scratches his cheek awkwardly. "You should've told me earlier!"

True. Between the two of them, Kazuya has always been extremely charismatic and popular with women. His perfectly combed blonde hair, his sparkling designer suits, his luxuriously elegant cologne. The handsome features and assertive smile. More than once he'd been approached by modeling agencies, and he likes to joke his lust for violence stopped him from living the glamorous life. In comparison, Daitou has the opposite effect on people. The room will empty if he steps inside. He's unnervingly tall, with bulging muscles, has multiple scars crossing his face, and his prosthetic eye always ends up twisted in the strangest position, causing him to look like he's only missing the straight jacket. Everyone is shocked upon hearing about their friendship. 

So it makes sense that Kazuya would have the required experience to offer him decent advice when it comes to (Y/N).

"Listen here, if there's one thing you should know, it's that women like a guy that fights for them. You gotta show them you care. What can you offer that other guys can't?"

The tall man listens intently, with a concentrated frown as if taking mental notes. He's not entirely sure who he should fight in this ordeal, but he doesn't want to embarrass himself in front of Kazuya, so he nods vehemently to his words.

"That's the short preview. If you have any more questions, just come over later. I'm piss tired, so I'll go home and have the nap of a lifetime." He yawns deeply to showcase his exhaustion and slowly walks away, throwing his hand in a lazy wave. 

The yakuza remains standing, still ruminating over the words of wisdom generously offered by the expert himself. Is he to randomly beat up people on the street as you watch? Won't Boss be angry if he attacks civilians? He gasps in realization. Perhaps this is what Kazuya meant. What kind of man is he if he can't even go against his Boss? So what if Boss won't like it? He has to prove himself to you. 

With newfound determination, he clenches his fists and gazes out of the window. 

That's when he notices you. You seem to be returning from work. Even more - and this causes his jaw to tighten in anger - some unknown man is walking next to you, cheerfully chitchatting and gesturing. 

That settles it. 

"You really didn't have to walk me home." You laugh clumsily to the man at your side.

A new coworker recently joined your company, and you've been asked to show him the ropes. You gradually discovered you had quite a lot in common, throughout your ample opportunities to gossip and talk leisurely. Your schedule isn't as packed nowadays, given you'll show up earlier and leave later.

Normally you'd prefer to be in your warm bed as soon as possible, but you've been feeling rather tense since the incident with Daitou. During his heated exchange with Kazuya, you've heard mentions of 'being liked by women' and 'having a crush on someone'. You thought it involved you and you nervously awaited further explanations from Daitou himself, but on the way back he was completely silent. You didn't have the courage to bring it up, so you assumed there must've been a misunderstanding somewhere along the way. 

Which, after all, would make plenty of sense. What business would a yakuza have with you? He's already shown much more courtesy than it was required of him. Hoping he'd also confess his feelings on top of everything was downright ridiculous and you're embarrassed to admit you'd harbored such cheesy fantasies to begin with. 

"Don't sweat it. You might not know", the coworker warns with lowered voice, "but this area is reeking of gangsters. I'm surprised you've been fine so far, but you should be more careful."

"O-oh...I see..." You glance at him and hold back a smirk. You doubt he could protect you from Daitou or Kazuya, but you appreciate his chivalry nonetheless. 

There's an uncomfortable pause as you stand in your doorframe, having reached the intended destination. The man hasn't left yet, waiting expectantly. He lowers his head towards yours and you swiftly slam the door, muttering something about an emergency. 

"Cute." He thinks to himself as he chuckles and steps away.

There's always a next time.

The coworker heads towards the train station in a relaxed strut. At the first intersection, however, he feels his clothes being pulled and he finds himself abruptly shoved in an empty room by an unknown assailant. 

Daitou easily lifts him up by his collar and nonchalantly throws him in a chair. It seems to be a small storage unit, possibly belonging to one of the shops. 

"What's your business with (Y/N)?" He barks.

"Huh? I should be the one asking-" The man pauses for a second, going over his conversations with you. "Could it be that you're the stalker she mentioned?"

Naturally, you had left out the part where your stalker was carefully packaged and dumped in a place unknown. To your coworker, he was very much still alive and a potential threat.

The yakuza is taken aback. 

"I'm her boyfriend!" He retorts angrily. 

"Bullshit. She doesn't have a boyfriend."

Another slap to the face. Daitou's cheeks are becoming increasingly red and he runs his fingers through his hair, attempting to calm down. Why, this son of a...

He marches to one of the metal shelves behind, grabbing his tool belt. Simultaneously, the door opens and Kazuya sheepishly peeks his head in. His blonde locks are ruffled and one can tell he's freshly woken up. 

"Yo, I just realized I might've been too metaphorical with you back at the store so I've been texting you, but you didn't-...Wait, why is there a guy handcuffed to the chair?"

He crosses his arms, with a habitual scolding glare towards his friend. 

"I just caught this cockroach flirting with (Y/N)! Went all the way to her place!" Daitou whines, his face full of indignation.

"Of course you know where she lives, you fucking stalker." The coworker exclaims bitterly. 

"Watch your mouth buddy, he ain't no stalker!" Kazuya straightens his back and approaches the mysterious man. "If he's right, and you've been messing with his woman...We ain't letting that go. Today you learn why no one fucks with the yakuza." 

The two men exchange a knowing look.

You drop yourself on the sofa and groan. Tomorrow will certainly be strange. Was the coworker trying to kiss you just now? You'll have to think of a polite way to turn him down next shift. Is it because you're not interested, or because you're still hoping to have a chance with Daitou? You slap your cheeks vigorously, trying to pull yourself out of such thoughts. 

You suddenly notice the foreign wallet sticking out of your bag. Your  coworker had dropped it earlier today while running for the train, and you offered to throw it in your bag to save time. Except you forgot to return it.

You check your phone. It hasn't been that long, so maybe you can still reach him if you hurry. Without much contemplation, you pluck the wallet and sprint out.

As you dash past the buildings, you have the idea of calling the man and asking him to wait instead. Why run like a madman? You stop and rest a hand against the wall, trying to catch your breath. Ugh, you've been so scattered today. This should've been the obvious choice, instead you sprang out. Silly. 

From around the corner you can make out the familiar wails you've learned to ignore. Whoever the yakuza tortures is not your problem. You are about to scurry away, yet something about these whimpers feels odd. No...Could it be?

You tiptoe down the vacant alleyway and try to catch a glimpse inside through the small, dirty window. As a matter of fact, it is your beloved coworker. Kazuya is holding his arm against a table, with the fingers forcefully fanned out, and Daitou has a blade secured over the pinky finger. 

You elbow yourself against the door in a theatrical entry. 

"What the hell are you guys doing?! That's my coworker!" You yell.

Daitou freezes, and Kazuya instantly releases his grasp. They turn to you, shocked.

"Stay out of it, (Y/N), this is to be settled among men. This bastard insulted your boyfriend, we can't let it slide!" Kazuya regains his composure and defends his cause fervently, pointing to the man that's now sobbing and crying uncontrollably. 

"Boyfriend?" You question, mouth agape. 

The blonde man stares at you. 

"You're...You're dating, aren't you?"

"Since when?" You demand, confused and upset.

Both you and Kazuya turn to Daitou for answers.

"I'm going to ask you one more time. Did you actually ask her out, Daitou? Did you say it out loud?" Kazuya's voice breaks in exasperation.

"W-well, I didn't...I didn't say it, but I thought..." the man's eyes dart between you and his friend. He gulps. "W-we almost held hands, didn't we?"

Overwhelmed with anger, the blonde stomps over to the shelves and kicks one to make his point, loudly bemoaning his friend's lack of social awareness. He can't believe he went along with his nonsense. Him, of all people! He should've anticipated it. 

As the coworker weeps and Kazuya continues his foul monologue, you can't help the blush that's now burning across your face. You fidget anxiously next to the tattooed man.

"Y-you thought we were dating?"

"Sorry for not making it clear." Daitou is once again twiddling with his prosthetic eye, dejected. "Is it too late to ask you out now? Because I do like you a lot..."

"Since you put it so nicely...I can't really say no~" Your ears are bright red and you're twirling your hair. Is it truly happening? Are you dreaming? Everything feels snug and fuzzy and the butterflies are swarming your stomach. 

You don't have time to enjoy your romantic encounter, as Kazuya is now behind you, clearing his throat.

"Alright, you lovebirds, what about this one here, then?" 

You suddenly remember your coworker and an icy cold flashes through your body. 

"Oh God, how will I explain this at work? I'll get fired!" You bite your nails in terror. You can already visualize the slip of unemployment. The long lines at the Job Center, you and the homeless. Panic begins to build up. 

Until Daitou's large hands rest on your shoulders. He's unexpectedly warm. 

"Don't worry about it, (Y/N). I'll have a word with Boss, and we can get you a job here. This way we can spend more time together", he suggests with childish enthusiasm. 

You glance up at him, moved by his soothing words.

"I wouldn't want to bother you like that."

"Hey, it's my fault you ended up in this situation. You can leave everything to me." He reassures you proudly.

"That didn't answer my damn question." Kazuya points out, annoyed.

"Can't we just kill him or something? He did call me a stalker, and I'm still upset about that..."

Daitou stretches and sighs in boredom, pondering the options. Once he's decided on the outcome, he shoos you away lovingly. You don't need to see this part. 

Bonus: Daitou's backstory 

"Oh, right, how did it go with your tickets?"

Kazuya is walking beside you, hands in pockets. Every now and then he removes the cigarette from his mouth to tap away the piling ash.

"Well, I still have both kidneys, but I won't be swimming in cash for the next months at least." You respond, slouching your shoulders dramatically for the effect. 

"Flying abroad is always expensive. Unless, I don't know, you book years in advance."

"Yeah. I should've looked earlier, but I wasn't sure about my work schedule. At least I get to see my family and friends for Christmas." 

After a few more steps in silence, you glance up at the blonde man. He notices your curious stare and raises his eyebrows, as if encouraging you to speak up. 

"What about you? Will you be going home for the holidays?"

He grins at your question and proudly places a hand on his chest.

"This is my home, actually! I was born and raised in this very neighborhood."

"Really? Was it not a yakuza quarter before?" Your eyes widen at his statement. 

"It was." Kazuya blows some of his smoke in your direction and you cough lightly. "You know the soapland further down the street?"

You nod.

"Mom used to work there. One of the clients got her pregnant and she found out too late. She had a room upstairs, and I just kind of tagged along. The other girls looked after me, too."

You recall one instance when Kazuya received a phone call about some drunkard causing a ruckus at the brothel, and he shot up without a word, rushed out and returned with bloodied knuckles. At the time, you'd assumed he's a client himself and maybe got attached to one of the girls. Now it makes sense. You're a little embarrassed of your obvious prejudice. If he grew up there, it must be his way of showing gratitude to the workers who loved him despite the circumstances. 

"Oh, what about Daitou, then? Is he from the area, too?"

The man frowns and purses his lips thoughtfully. After a moment, his features soften up again and he sighs.

"I suppose you're his girlfriend, after all. It's also not a secret per se..."

Your ears perk up at the strange reaction to your inquiry. 

"I mean, it's just a bit of a grim topic. No one knows for sure. Boss found him on the streets years ago, when he was a wee kid." 

He presses his thumb and index finger together, emphasizing the small size to you. 

"I don't know all the details, just what the Seniors told me - I was a kid myself back then - but it was pretty bad. Had no shoes on, scratches and cuts all over. His left eye was swollen and terribly infected, that's how he lost it, actually. Boss felt sorry for him, so he took him in.

They did try to ask him for parents or relatives, but apparently he wouldn't speak at all. Took him like a year to finally open his mouth. Even now, if you ask him anything about his past, he just pretends he didn't hear you. So maybe don't bring it up to him."

You shake your head along, urging him to continue with more details. Kazuya seems to warm up to the memories and slows down, indulging in the recollection. 

"Anyways, one day Boss' car is followed and he gets shot in the shoulder. Some snot-nosed trainees from the rival gang. They hadn't even gotten their pins yet, wanted to impress their older brothers I guess.

Daitou heard about it and went after them. One of our Seniors - he's a tough guy alright, been with the Family for decades - he told me he was sweating like mad when they found him. Daitou was just a teen at the time, but he butchered those guys up so bad they couldn't tell them apart anymore. Even bit a few bullets, and still kept going, like a crazed animal. The adults were freaking out. They didn't expect him to be this strong.

I suspect they were pretty afraid of him, you know? They were probably thinking, "if one day he has it out for us, we're done for!", so they told Boss they should kick him out. But at this point Daitou was like his own son, so he laughed and said, "What's the matter with ya, he does your dirty work and you wanna get rid of him?! If the boy wants to fight, let him!", and he arranged for Daitou to join the Family officially. I was recruited around the same time.

We didn't get along at first, I mean, they warned me to stay away because he's crazy and also Boss' favorite. He didn't hang out with anyone. He had his own jobs, the mercenary stuff no one else wanted to deal with.

You might not believe it, but back then I was an angry, stubborn asshole. It didn't sit well with me that this guy was out there, doing his own thing. I had a reputation myself, before I dropped out of high school I was pretty much undefeated. I thought I'd see it with my own eyes, this all-powerful jackass even the Seniors avoided."

You smile faintly, trying to imagine a young Kazuya without the expensive, flashy suit and polished appearance.

"So one evening I just walked up to him and told him to join me outside. Didn't even give him a speech, just rammed my fist into his face. This was my signature move, you know, I can't even count how many guys I knocked out with this punch. Straight into the jaw, sends your brain spinning. Whew, and this guy? He didn't even flinch! Just stood there and looked at me like I was dumb. I was pissed off at this point, you can imagine, it felt like he was mocking me. So I yelled we ain't done until one of us gives up. 

He understood what I wanted and finally fought me earnestly. Hell, he even knocked some of my teeth out. This one here's an implant. Mad expensive. Anyhow, as much as it hurt my pride, I'd lost fair and square. So I got up, wiped the blood, and asked him to come grab a drink with me. My treat. 

You should've seen his face, (Y/N). I think it was the first time I've witnessed him smile. 'Really? Can I? Are you sure?' He was like a stray dog after you've thrown him some leftovers. Kept that dumb grin the whole night. You could've given him a clown hat and people would've paid to see the circus. 

That's when I realized this poor bastard probably just wanted a friend. The next day I went to pick him up again and he was beaming like a princess. Heh. Afterwards he started following me around and eventually Boss called me in. I thought I got into trouble or something, even brought a bunch of gauze pads in case I needed to slice off my finger. Turns out he'd heard of us becoming pals, and he asked me to maybe attend Daitou every now and then because he always leaves a mess and everyone's too scared to deal with him. We've been teamed together ever since."

You realize you've been standing in the same spot ever since Kazuya begun talking, completely entranced by his story. He chuckles upon seeing your expression and ruffles your hair. 

"Man, I sure rambled a lot. Sorry about that. In any case, that was my piece about Daitou. I'm sure you already know this, but he's not a bad guy. Just has a twisted sense of loyalty. Once he finds someone to serve, he doesn't see anything else.

Hell, I'm his closest friend and I'm convinced he wouldn't hesitate to kill me if it was for Boss."

Upon further consideration, he smiles and winks at you.

"Or for you. Especially you."

[natriae]

part 1

honestly this could be read alone

Osamu watched as his brother angrily walked out of his restaurant. It was obvious that this wasn’t Atsumu’s standard victim pout he did to get attention. This was his ‘fuck, i just fucked something up so badly that even i know it’. Rare for Atsumu but not new. Osamu, however, is quickly distracted by your trembling body as you run to the bathroom. What the fuck did he do now?

Suna glances at Osamu as his body turns back around towards the front door. The silent interaction doesn’t go unnoticed by the other boys, but they know better than to interfere. Quickly excusing himself, Osamu exits the front door to find his brother crouched on the side of the building with his head in his hands. There was one thing Osamu told his brother when he first introduced you too. You simply were just another loyal patron to his establishment, but he saw how his brother looked at you. After you had left, Osamu made it very clear that Atsumu was not to hurt you. You were a sweet girl who did not need to be left crying over his brother. He knew the kind of man Atsumu was. He wasn’t ever there for a long time. All he wanted was a good one, but the way Atsumu's eyes watched you thank Osamu for delivering your food had a look of childlike innocence that Osamu had only seen in Atsumu’s first love.

Back in the restaurant the boys had their own conversation about what was possibly happening. Not realizing how thin the walls were to the bathroom. Your sobs had quieted down and you were sure you were ready to head back out and pretend that none of this ever happened. While grabbing the handle you hear the soft talk of Sunarin’s voice, “You know I surprisingly had hope he wouldn’t fuck this one up too. I mean she really isn’t his type, but I don’t know maybe he wanted to try something new.”

“Rin knock it off, that's not nice,” Kita quickly responds, but all you can hear is the low chuckle of Suna’s laugh. What did he mean? Were you really not Atsumu’s type at all? It wouldn’t be the first time you had heard this, but hearing it from someone that Atsumu sees as a brother hurts worse. Your hand slowly reclines back to a position at your side, body falling into the same sync softly sliding down the wall. Your eyes twitch, unable to find the water to cry. It all hurts. Of course it was silly to date him.

Outside Osamu crouches down next to his brother. Atsumu doesn’t bother looking up, already sensing who was there. The younger twin waits patiently watching the lights switch from red to green down the street. It’s much quieter here than in Tokyo. Most of the city is already asleep and the streets are empty. The occasional sound of another restaurant closing up for the night is loud and clear for the two boys to hear. He watches as Atsumu’s arms fall to rest on his knees and he lifts his head so body leans back to completely rest on the wall. Osamu notices how Atsumu patiently waits for him to scold him. For him to immediately question what the hell he did. To possibly pick a fight this late in the night, but none of that comes. Life’s different now, and they both know now that some situations can’t be solved by bickering. He’s grateful his brother can read him well enough that he knows he regrets what happened without having to say it.

“I messed up ‘samu. Just like ya said I would,” Atsumu states, looking to the ground. Too ashamed to look at his brother. If there's one thing Atsumu has had to learn to control while growing up, it’s his ego, and he’s constantly being tested by the universe to see if he finally learned better. Yet here he is once again ruining something that was good for him all because he got defensive. He wasn’t thinking. Something he’s really good at. It was a cheap shot that he deeply regrets.

“I neva said ya were gonna to mess up,” Osamu sighs, watching his brother’s face for a twitch of emotion, “I wanned ta make sure ‘ou were gonna go into this for the right reasons. I’ve watched ya crash and burn far too much. I just want ya to be happy.” Osamu finishes. Calmly watching his brother he notices Atsumu's face go through several emotions.

Eventually the elder twin settles on, “what should i do ‘samu?” the look on his face resembling one of a kicked puppy. It hurts Osamu to see his brother like this. He can even remember the last time Atsumu came to him for advice, but here he is looking like a lost little boy who wants his mother.

“do what y're good at,'' Osamu lightly chuckles, “talk ta her, dude,” is all he says before he gets up and walks back into Onigiri Miya. Atsumu is left with his thoughts for a little bit longer before he gets up and watches the scene from the front window.

He leans against the wall and watches Osamu wave his arm up, motioning the small party to follow him to his apartment. He can't hear what they are saying, but based on Osamu's face he knows there's no room for anyone to question.

Walking back into the empty restaurant he slowly locks the door worrying about the inevitable. His brother's restaurant is a mess. There are streamers everywhere, some ripped from where they were taped to the wall. Plastic cups litter the tables who's chairs have been stacked away in the back to make more space. His eyes finally land on the bathroom door where you hide.

His heart feels like it's tearing itself in two. Something he hasn't felt in years, but he's older now and he won't lose you. When his grandma passed back then Atsumu covered his pain with what he thought was love. Yet it always ended the same, with his brother drinking away till he passed out. However, he was okay with losing them. It was almost a pain he wanted to feel for not grieving his grandmother like he should have. A torment he thought he deserved.

Then he met you. When he learned you've never been in a relationship, nor a situationship, he felt as though it was a gift from his ancestors. A way for him to learn that he does deserve happiness, but he never thought about the many tests it would come with. He's old enough now to stop running from his problems. You were perfect for him. He wasn't going to lose you now.

“y/n” he says quietly while knocking on the bathroom door, “y/n please open up, please” he begs. There's a small shuffling on the other side that's just enough to keep his thoughts from spiraling further. He takes a deep breath before going up to knock again. As his hand raises, he hears the door click signaling you've unlocked it.

You’ve opened the door just enough to be able to see him. Not fully exiting. “what?” you question softly. Your throat dry from the constant tears. You're careful in noticing how his face morphs into multiple emotions seemingly fighting with his brain and heart.

“please come out, will ya,” he begs once more, hand reaching out for yours. He pulls his bottom lip in as he takes a deep breath. It’s as though the man before you is made of glass - for you to see all of him, and you’ll take it. Even if it is far too late.

Finally stepping out of the bathroom Atsumu is left to see your flushed face obviously reddened by the constant wiping of tears. He swears his heart shattered further. He needs to explain, but his mouth simply won't open, so he gestures to the booth where it all began.

Your miind finally has time to recognize the pounding headache overtaking your body. Hardly allowing you to recognize that the shop is completely empty. Atsumu sits down first then you follow in suit on the opposite side. Resting your eyes for a moment you don't realize that Atsumu has already grabbed you a glass of water for your headache. You politely thank him and take a sip. Your brain and body immediately relaxing at the sign of water.

“I want to ask for you to be patient with me, but I don’t deserve it—” Atsumu starts quietly.

“‘sumu—”

“no, please let me say it all before m’ ego gets in the way,” his face slowly lifts and his eyes go searching for yours. Once they catch he immediately looks away. Not once in this relationship have you seen Atsumu so unconfident. He always walked into every situation with a level of confidence you could only wish to achieve. From day one, he took charge. Always guiding you, being there for you, and all around keeping you safe, but it was obvious sometimes it became too much for even him to keep up with. He'd break down when you weren't around and walk out with a mask.

He knew there were a lot of first for you when this relationship started, and the way he approached all of them made you feel loved. A rare feeling that made you love him all the more. He never out right showed his inner turmoil. Which is why today came as such a shock, but with the way his eyes glossed over and his hands shook you figured today might be the day he finally opens up. “I'm sorry y/n. I really really am,” he says, voice cracking towards the end. He takes a deep breath before continuing, “ I shouldn't ‘ave snapped at ya,” he lets out a sound similar to scoff, yet also laughing at himself, “ I- I've never been good at communicating my feelings very well,” this makes you laugh. No shit.

“ I know, it's obvious, but there was one thing ya should know. I made a promise to m’self, ‘samu, and even my ma. That's how ya know it's serious. From the moment I met ya… I knew ‘ou were the one. I'm not entirely sure how ta explain it, but I wanted no one but y’u, and when ya left this very restaurant. I ran ta Osamu ta ask about y’u, so ya can imagine my disappointment when he said y’u were quiet and all he knew was your order,” He smiles back at the thought, “I- I don't mean i was disappointed ya were quiet by the way,” he rushes out making you smile. You nod your head telling him to continue.

“That day while I was still tryna to understand these new feelings I eventually made a promise to m’self… Y’u were going to be mine, but I told m’self that I will make ya the happiest person on earth. Whatever it takes, and when I finally told ‘samu I was gonna ask ya out. He stared me directly in the eye and said ‘’tsumu ya break her heart i'll kill ya’ and that's when I knew for sure y’u were a gift ta me.” Atsumu’s eyes glass over before he continues, “Ya know, when ya first met my ma she said ta me ‘’honey, she’s a nice girl. Be nice.’ and I know that doesn’t sound like a lot, but I know my ma was never proud of my decisions especially when it came ta love. I was stubborn and I would always flee the minute things got difficult, and If i’m being honest I think it was a way to distract myself from all the pain I held in.

My shithead dad left when I was young, so when times got hard on my ma ‘Samu and I would go to my grandma’s.” A tear falls down his face and his leg begins to bounce under the table, “She was an amazing woman, and I’d spent a lot of time with her. I will not lie she was quite the gossip so there were a lot of things I shouldn’t have known…but I did. I knew that my ma just wanted to be loved, and I think from a young age I took that duty upon m’self. To make sure she knew she was loved, and my grandma was proud of me for that.

So, when my grandma passed I started college I figured I didn’t have time to grieve her and I spent a lot of time drownin’ out my sorrows with… sex.” He pauses for a moment, “ I-I noticed how happy it made me, and I figured I’m making these girls feel loved so I must be doing something right, but then things got messy. I spiraled and I swore it off when I got into MSBY, but then I met y’u.

I swear it was like my grandma placed ya here to knock me back into place. She always told me I would make an amazing husband and for some reason that day I met y’u I was reminded of that. I didn’t even know who ya were, but I knew deep down that y’u weren’t just anyone… I never told ya this, but I did start going to therapy after I met ya, and everything and every way I have reacted was genuine, but being here, with everyone, I think I knew ya would start ta see that old side of me that I tried so hard to bury, and I got scared…” by now the tears fall freely down his face, but he refuses to completely break. He’s always had to be the man of the house, but he needs to know that he’s allowed to show his emotions as well. That’s a lot of responsibility for a young boy.

Getting up from your seat, new tears fall from your face as you walk around to the same bench Atsumu sits on. Wrapping your arms around his frame you hold his head to your chest, and he breaks. He cries and his shoulders shake as he lets out the pain of the last several years.

It was obvious since the moment you met him that he was soft on the inside. He’s lost himself over the years like many have, but you’re glad he’s starting to pick up those pieces and put them back together. You squeeze him a little tighter before finally speaking up, “‘Tsumu…thank you for telling me all this. I was in my head a lot. I’m always in my head a lot,” you giggle, still holding him close, “If we want this to work we need to communicate,” you whispered for only him to hear. His head softly nods before he lifts his head up.

“What were ya gonna ask me before?” he whispers back.

You lean closer to him, your noses almost touching. Taking a deep breath you begin, “From the stories, and especially the things Suna was saying I was really beating myself up about how many relationships you’ve had. It’s stupid, It’s just jealousy.” you say, shaking your head.

“No, you’re allowed to feel that way. If we were switched I’d probably be in ma head about it too.” he attempts to calm you down. His hands move to hold yours, squeezing them to let you know that this is real.

“Sometimes I get really upset when I think about…maybe you had girlfriends with sexier bodies than me,” his head shakes, “ or maybe it’s a burden that I don’t always know what I’m doing, like when we kiss,” you finish, his head falls at your statement, but his hands never leaves yours. Now he understands why his statement before was so hurtful. Why can’t he just think about others for once?

You shake his hands to bring his attention back to you, “please don’t beat yourself up over it,” you beg.

He takes a deep breath before bringing one of your hands to his face so he can kiss it. “I hate that I hurt ya, but please do not ever compare yourself to anyone in my past. There’s a reason they’re in the past. Y’u are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Trust me I’ve seen a lotta woman,” He jokes. At that you lightly smack his arm. “I’m kidding, but seriously you are special, and I love you,” He brings your body close, holding you tight to his chest. Your hearts beating as one.

tags:

@mangiswig @fashionloverr846 @dracarysbitch @bbqsauceonmytitties2 @07-lsssaaa @touchmyanarchicblogs @z0mbi3dl @suyaaachin @fairyflorasworld @stellarnathy @kensqueent @gigiiiiislife @mncxbe @gustomagkalatnimicadito @yuminako @girlincrimson @haitanibros0007

IT WORKED!!!

[tinythebunni]

How bunnyprincess!reader and Rafe met!!

inspired by @rafesangelita @princessbrunette

Rafe always came to the country club on the weekends and on Wednesdays to play golf with his friends. He wore a polo every time and always had his shoes shined pristine. Rafe usually ended up winning and afterwards he’d go inside to sit by the bar or swim in the pool.

After a long and tedious match, Rafe ended up losing. He wasn’t completely locked in on the match due to the argument with Rose this morning.

Walking inside and huffing a sigh, he took off his shirt and slouched in the lounge chair with Kelce and Topper joining him. Rafe ran his hand through his sweaty buzzed hair and used his shirt to wipe his head. He closed his eyes, zoning out the stupid conversation around him.

his head was fucking pounding and their nonsensical ramblings made him even more and more irritated. pinching the bridge of his nose he sighed as he heard someone walking over to them. probably one of those fucking bartenders, he thought to himself.

Rafe was ready to just up and leave at this point but then he noticed 3 things. He could smell the sweet scent of your perfume. Smelled of cupcakes and the sugar cookies his mom would make. Your voice sounded of honey drizzling. And when he opened his eyes, his lashes flutter at how beautiful you were.

“Hai guys! The usual?” you spoke as you pulled out your notepad. your eyes did a sweep over the three guys in front of you, lingering a bit on him. Rafe was very fucking confused, he’d never seen you before and he definitely would know.

Kelce went to open his mouth but Rafe was faster than him. “What’s your name?” He spoke, sounding a little more angry than he meant to.

“Oh i’m sorry if i interrupted your nap, i just know that these two like to-“ He cut you off once more.

“Forget about it bun, ‘m not worried bout it. last fucking thing on my mind right now.”

you blushed and blinked, wide eyed. You told him your name, pen resting on your lip as you looked at him. He introduced himself to you and stood. he towered over you, which was unusual. being tall yourself, you often felt like a giant compared to most guys on the island.

Rafe smirked at your reaction, a laugh bubbling out his throat. You could sense the God inside him, aching to be let out. Maybe you were a bit dramatic but you’re just a teenage girl!

Stepping closer to you, he put his hand on your hip and turned you so that you were right next to him. He slid his hand to the small of your back, whispering a quick come with me to you before turning around and smiling at the boys.

“Rafe come on! Ya can’t keep stealing the pretty girls.” Topper yelled in exasperation, throwing his hands up.

Rafe chuckled before saying something that made your heart flutter. “You don’t gotta worry bout that no more. I want to keep this one. Make her mine and all that” he replied.

As he lead you away to a table in the corner, he asked you little questions. Mainly about your love life, what you were doing at this bar. “girl like you should never have to work. too pretty for all that shit” He added, watching as you glanced down as if your shoes were the most interesting thing in the world.

his thumb tilted your head up and you looked away nervously. “Hey hey. none of that shit. Look at me.” You did as he said, not wanting to lose his attention. “you should have someone providing for you. So you can do all that girly shit yall like and not worry about it.” He watched as you smiled, eating up your reaction. His tounge darts out to swipe at his bottom lip before he speaks again.

“I could be that for you. All my money just rots in my fucking bank account anyways. You want me to be that for you? Could be your boyfriend. Keep your tummy full, nails done, and make you feel good. Whenever you need it.” His words made you flush, your chest blooming with nerves and anxiety. But in the best way possible.

You nodded, your eyes a bit glossy at the casual dominance. You’d always been one to prefer when people take charge about certain things. And this? it was perfect. “Yea. I’d really like dat Rafe.” You stepped closer, making a move. You placed your hand on his chest and stood on your tip toes to kiss his cheek. “Can you wait for me to finish my shift? It’s over in 30 and I wanna talk to you more” you pouted trying to win him over as you regained your confidence.

“Fuck yea!” he said a little too excited. “I mean, yea yea for sure.” he corrected, nodding his head and he turned on his heel. You watched him walk away, noticing the slight bounce in his step.

[neiptune]

a simple complication

cw: 1.6k wc, female reader, miscommunication my beloved, you have no idea how to confess your feelings to the one miya twin who doesn't remember what happened at suna's party

You’ve never once felt uncomfortable in a Miya household but, as you stand frozen by the doorstep, you realize that just might be about to change.

As you take a deep breath, relentless inner monologue giving its best shot at calming you down, Osamu suddenly swings the door open and you find yourself taking a wobbly step back, surprised. One garbage bag in hand, he looks equally startled.

“Hey”, he smiles after a moment, “what are ya doing?”.

You can barely look him in the eye, which only confuses him more.

“Nothing. I mean, I wanted to see you. Was hoping we could talk?”.

“Uh, sure. Come in, I’ll be right back”.

You quickly do as you’re told, take your shoes off by the door and gingerly shuffle to the couch before your brain decides you may in fact be too much of a coward to initiate the conversation at all.

The apartment seems empty, which indicates that Atsumu is either sleeping or simply not home. You try to remember how many drinks he had the previous evening, at Suna’s halloween party, but the entire night is still such a blur. Except from one specific detail that still makes heat crawl from your throat up to the roots of your hair.

God, how could you be so stupid? It’d be easy to blame it all on the stupid drinks Rintaro kept bringing you, liquid courage, a dumb wink sent your way as he casually suggested it was time you stopped being a pussy. No, it wasn’t entirely his fault, although you should’ve guessed nothing good would come out of a halloween party thrown in the middle of January.

You were in a pretty low effort costume, clown makeup, black dress. You’re all adults now, which made you think no one would actually commit to the bit as much as they did back in high school or during college, but were soon enough proved wrong as soon as you saw Aran and Rintaro respectively in a Daphne and Velma costume. They looked ridiculous and spectacular at the same time.

The twins were the only ones proving your theory, they both arrived to the party in casual clothes and not one bit of makeup on. A shame, the opportunity to see them wear mascara or eyeliner is rare but when they do men and women are affected all the same. You clearly remember once catching Rintaro himself staring at Osamu for a little too long.

“What’s up? Are ya hungry? Brought back some leftovers from the shop, we can have lunch if ‘Tsumu didn’t gobble those down”, his voice makes you jump and your friend stops by the couch, brows suddenly furrowed. “Or not. Are you okay?”.

“Yes!”, you should be relieved, honestly, he’s acting normal. Which means that maybe you didn’t ruin anything. Are you about to? Perhaps coming was a mistake-

“What did you want to talk about?”, Osamu has always been way too good at sensing other people’s emotions, he quickly forgets the lunch proposal and sits next to you instead, close enough for your legs to be pressed against each other. You feel like you may be about to combust.

You’ve known him almost all your life, high school feels like a century ago. The Miyas came as a package deal back then, one couldn’t exist without the other, but as time passed and adulthood shaped their lives in different ways, most people thought each finally got to exist as his own person. Those people were wrong: at least to you, they always held their own individuality. It’s what made them special. It’s what made you fall in love with Samu when he was still a hotheaded teenager, parts of that immature youth still flashing through his grown up demeanor, especially when he’s put in a room with his brother.

“I just wanted to tell you I really value our friendship. You know that, right?”, it feels like you might be about to cry, the way your voice is wavering. He cocks his head.

“Why are ya being so formal?”, Osamu offers a warm chuckle.

“You know that, right?”, you insist.

“I do”, his features soften, “not sure what I’d do without you, honestly”.

You only realize you’re tormenting your fingers when he covers your nervous hands with his own, warm and solid and so much bigger. Once more, it reminds you of the previous night and suddenly you’re worried you might truly cry. The twins don’t do well with tears, every single time they’ve seen you cry throughout the years, they always comically panicked as they awkwardly tried to offer some comfort. It never worked. You wish Kita was here to save the day, just like he always did back then.

“Samu, I’m sorry”, you murmur.

“For what? Now you’re worrying me”, he squeezes your hands in his and you look up from your lap to meet his perturbed gaze.

Like a slap in the face, it hits you. He doesn’t remember. Now, this is a scenario you didn’t prepare yourself to face.

Osamu gently bumps his forehead against yours and you almost throw up on the spot.

“Hey? Care to let me in that pretty little head of yours?”.

“You don’t remember?”, you don’t mean for it to come out in such an accusing pitch but it’s inevitable.

“Don’t remember what?”.

Incredulous, you stare back at him. The front door opens once more and this time you both jump. You’re too shocked to pay attention to Atsumu entering the living room, back from a run and dripping with sweat. Samu’s hands on yours can only remind you of how it felt having them briefly take your face in them as he clumsily tried to kiss you back, or maybe push you away, who can tell? You were too drunk and clearly he was too. You basically jumped his bones in Suna’s hallway, thank god no one walked by to witness the way you ran away right after. You wish you were drunk enough to forget that too.

“Hi”, Atsumu says and you’re too absorbed by the vortex of your mortifying thoughts to notice how he awkwardly clears his throat.

“Hey, ‘Tsumu”, you say back distractedly, gaze kept on Samu’s coffee table.

“Go take a shower, you’re dripping on my counter”, Osamu barks as his brother casually opens the fridge to take out a protein shake.

“What’s for lunch?”, Atsumu ignores the order and flashes him a grin instead.

“My elbow in yer ribs if ya don’t go take a shower right now”.

“Jeez, fine. I’ll leave you both to it”.

Osamu furrows his brows as he watches Atsumu disappear upstairs with his shake and an amused grin he’s unable to interpret. It dawns on him that you barely talked to each other, which is usually not what happens. You’re disgustingly close, always have been walking the line between being siblings and something else he’s never really been able to pinpoint. He remembers once asking Atsumu if he liked you and he knows his brother well enough to be sure he was being sincere when he scrunched his face and shook his head no. Not like that.

Osamu would lie if he said he never wondered whether you could like him like that. But you’ve never been as… relaxed with him. It feels like Atsumu is the brother you’re most comfortable with and all these years he’s patiently waited for the news to drop, the relationship to start. Except it never did. He still wonders if ‘Tsumu had to friendly turn you down at some point. He still wonders if you could ever like the Miya you’re clearly less relaxed with, instead.

“What did I forget?”, Osamu gently grabs your chin to make sure you look up and meet his gaze once more. Your mouth feels dry.

“We…”, no, you can’t just say that. We kissed. Incorrect. More like you jumped him in a clearly drunken state and he was too much of a gentleman to fully push you away. It’s a faint memory, his hands on your face, and you can’t recall at all if his lips moved along with yours at some point. They most likely didn’t. And now, if you tell him, you’ll ruin everything. Maybe you should just keep quiet, be a coward and bury the whole thing in a place within your chest, inaccessible to anyone but your sense of guilt.

“We what?”, for a moment, Osamu’s exceptionally gentle tone, paired with his proximity, is inebriating enough to make you want to kiss him again. Then, something odd catches your attention and you blink a few times, surprised.

“What’s this?”, you reach to slightly pinch part of his dark hair between your thumb and pointer finger, to remove what looks like a gold grain. It’s dry and barely visible on your fingertip.

He follows your gaze and lets you go, slightly pulling back with a smile.

“Ah, that. I thought I washed it all off”, Osamu casually runs a hand through his hair a few times, “it’s temporary color spray”.

“You’re gonna dye your hair again?”.

“Nah. ‘Tsumu thought it’d be hilarious if we came to the party with a costume no one would notice. I think only Shinsuke guessed it by the end of the night and even he wasn’t so sure”, he offers a handsome grin but you feel petrified.

“What costume?”.

“We went as each other! Ya couldn’t tell us apart, could ya?”.

His amused smile slowly melts away as he takes in your horrified expression, eyes growing bigger by the second.

“Are you oka-”

“Oh my god”.