#CRYING AND SCREAMING AND SCREAMING AND CRYING> WE ARE SO BACK

[nanamisgirly]

Am I, not a good dad? ྀི

“I want mama!” your son screams, tears filling up his eyes—the same color as Nanami’s.

And speaking of Nanami…he feels helpless.

The boy won’t stop crying, won’t stop calling for you. His little face is red and scrunched up, his cheeks wet, chest heaving with each shaky breath. You’d told him you’d be gone for a few hours—explained it gently, with a kiss to his forehead and a promise that Papa would take care of everything. But none of it seemed to matter.

You’re gone and his world feels like it’s ended.

“Please, baby…Mum will be back any time soon.” Nanami spares a glance at the clock, in thirty minutes you’d be here. “Should we finish your meal in the meantime, mh?” He tries, voice tight, panic folding over his usual calm.

But your son only screams louder, fists pounding the highchair tray, tears flowing freely.

It’s been hours, and Nanami has come to the conclusion that : he doesn’t want me.

He stares at his son’s red, tear-slicked face. There’s no hatred in it, just unfiltered, helpless longing.

“I want Mamaaaaaa!!” Nanami flinches. Exactly, the toddler is longing for you.

The little boy’s small chest rises and falls in erratic sobs, hiccupping on the edge of breathlessness.

Nanami exhales slowly through his nose. You can do this, he tells himself. You’re his father. You can do this.

So, he tries.

He pulls out the little wooden train you carved together one weekend. Places it on the floor. “Do you want to show Papa how fast it goes again?” he asks, voice as gentle as possible.

No response.

He tries the animal book—the one with flaps and texture that always make him giggle. “Tell Papa where’s the lion. Can you find the lion for me?”

Nothing.

Just a heartbreaking, hoarse little “Mama…”

Nanami even tries to put on the cartoon with the talking blue bear. The one your son usually dances to.

As nothing seems to work, Kento feels his heart breaking inch by inch. He picks him up despite the flailing little arms, holds him against his chest, firm but not tight, like you’ve teached him.

His son won’t stop. Not even a little. The screams turn into an open-mouthed wail, the kind that turns cheeks purple and voices raw for hours. 

Nanami’s hands tremble slightly. He sits down on the floor with the boy in his lap, gently cradling him, head bowed. He’s never felt this powerless.

Not during cursed missions, not under pressure—but here, in his own home, with his child breaking apart in his arms… He feels not enough.

Not soft enough. Not warm enough. Not you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the crown of his son’s head. “I’m trying. Papa’s trying so hard.”                 

And that’s when the front door creaks open. “I’m home!”

And just like that, your son’s head snaps up from where he’s been sobbing into Nanami’s lap. Your husband doesn’t even have the time to rise to his feet that the boy is squirming violently in his arms, “mama! Mama! MAMA!!” Nanami lets him go without resistance. He stands slowly as your son flings himself into your arms when you appear in the doorway.

Concern is written all over your face. “I’m here, baby. I’m here…”  you look up and see Nanami standing a few feet away, shoulders sagging, eyes tired behind his glasses.

“he’s been crying for hours,” he says softly. “didn’t want anything from me. Wouldn’t eat. Wouldn’t play.”

You nod as your rubs your son’s back. “I’m sorry. He’s just been going through this clingy phase.” 

“I know.” Nanami offers a tired smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “it’s okay.”

Later, after dinner and a bath your son is finally asleep, curled on your side of the shared bed, clutching one of your shirts tightly, your sent comforting him.

Nanami stands in the doorway, arms crosses, watching the soft rise and fall of your kid. You come up behind him, circling his waist with your arms, letting your cheek rest on his strong back.

One of his hands intertwin with yours. “He wouldn’t even let me hold him,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I’ve never felt that…useless before.”

“Kento…”

“I know he’s still small. I know it’s not personal. But…” he pauses, swallowing hard. “I tried everything. Toys, books, food, music. He didn’t want any of it. It felt like…like…I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t…probably am, not a good dad.”

Your heart twists at the words. “Can you please turn to face me, love?”

He lets out a deep exhale, like the breath hurts to let go, and turns. When his eyes meet yours, you feel like the weight of the whole world just collapsed onto your chest. 

Nanami is silently crying.

His eyes are rimmed red, and cheeks drenched wet.

You gently cup his jaw. “You were more than enough Kento. You held him even when he didn’t want to be held. You didn’t get angry. You didn’t walk away. You didn’t even raise your voice once. That’s not just ‘enough’. That’s what a good dad does. That’s love.”

He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch as more tears gather in his long blonde lashes. “I just…” his voice breaks. “I just wanted to be what he needed.”

Nanami wraps his arms around you tighter, letting his forehead drop to your shoulder. He breathes into your neck, letting your sent comforting him­—just like his son does.

“I don’t mind not being the favorite,” he murmurs after a while, his voice quiet and raw. “But I hope, one day, he’ll reach for me too.”

You press a kiss the top of his head, pulling him impossibly closer to you. “He will. And when he does…he won’t want to let go.”

(request)

[priisprii]

Insatiable — K.MG & C SC

Summary :Mean mean assholes.

Warnings: dom! Seungcheol,dom! Mingyu, sub!fem reader, blow job, handjob, reader's crop top used as a blindfold, degradation,face slapping, cum swallowing, tit pinching, they are mean but you like them mean :3

Word count: 1.8 k

Read the warnings and click at your own risk and minors don't interact.

mingyu and seungcheol are two simple guys with same fucked up mentality and fantasies. they encourage each other run after things they desperately want no matter how wrong it is. They support each other. It's simple.

And you?

You were obsessed with both of them,not just at surface level like memorising thier hangout places and lurking around there or stalking them on social media. Yeah you did that all but it wasn't enough to satisfy your hunger for them.

You meticulously planned coincidence after coincidence, enrolling into the same classes as them, showing up at every party they would be and what not. To the outside world it would seem a series of coincidence just like you hoped but mingyu and seungcheol aren't as stupid and oblivious as you think they are. They know you were embodiment of lady Gaga's song paparazzi.

Seungcheol wanted to maintain distance from you, according to him you weren't the of girl who would be interested in his and mingyu's ways of mind breaking and ruining the girls they bring to bed. Too vanilla he says, how fucking wrong he was. Mingyu helped him change his mind, he knew you were a sick in the head pervert; just like them and you were expert of hiding that side of you behind your innocence filled eyes.

Nevertheless, three of you got what you all always searched for. You —two hot guys with mean and dirty mouths and huge dicks and them; a girl who is just abnormally obsessed with them. They can sometimes be the sweetest people in your life, catering to your every need, providing you with everything you demand, sometimes sneakily beating up your professor cause' he graded your paper unfairly, seungcheol never holding back a punch on guys who eyed you even for a second and mingyu pirating endless movies for you to watch in your free time. They were everything you ever wished for.

♥

A stinging slap was delivered on your face, the impact of it making you come back from your haze. Your eyes were covered with some rag which happened to be your favourite top — until seungcheol decided to tear it off.

"want us to find some other slut who can actually suck a cock properly?" Mingyu asked. annoyed.an underlying threat clear in his voice. you wanted to argue, scream and cry. your throat was all bruised up —a consequence of them using your mouth like a fleshlight from the past half an hour. they sat comfortably on couch playing whatever shitty game you had no idea about while passing you around between them like a cigarette, your knees burning and on the verge of giving up.

Body decorated with their cum, hair, chest, stomach, any part —you name it. Those sadistic assholes can't seem to get tired no matter what.sitting next to each other and conversing about all the fucked up things they are about to do with you, things that would land them in prison for sure but the worst part was—you loved it , loved each and every word, syllabus, command and insult they directed towards you, you loved it more than they could ever.

"Mingyu, be kind, That's not how we treat our fuck toys" seungcheol chides , but you could feel he's just being pretentious and you were right cause' just after few seconds you felt somone back handing you, not with sheer strength but enough to draw out a choked moan out of your lungs. "See that's how you treat erm" seungcheol chuckles followed by mingyu. They were enjoying this a little too much, having someone like you who's far too gone to think straight and allow them to treat you like an absolute rag doll. It's so fun for them to see you breaking down over and over.

Someone bought your mouth closer to their cock, again, probably Mingyu . You weren't even able to smell the cum or his scent, nose too blocked and runny— completely useless. "Now be a good and useful cock sleeve"

You nod aimlessly, licking your lips in anticipation.that wasn't enough for Mingyu though "words dollface ,words" he commands, tightening his grip around your hair. You let out a choked yes and it was enough for Mingyu to get started with you yet again.

"so beautiful yet so filthy" mingyu grunts, outlining your lips with tip of his cock, faintly coating them with your existing spit and cum. once he was satisfied enough he slapped it few times on your cheek "Need you to choke on it" , forcing his dick into your mouth, a choked noise escaped your throat as he buried himself deep touching the back of your throat roughly, he threw his head back, moaning in pure ecstasy .

He continued with his cruel pace, thrusting his hips upwards making you constantly gag and choke around his length , drool pooling around his balls. Your nails were digging into his muscular thigh, anchoring yourself with help of it as you couldn't feel any sensation in your body except the cries of your pussy —begging to be filled up with anything,cock, fingers, dildos it doesn't matter the emptiness was almost painful, clenching around air helplessly.

"mingyu slow down, she will pass out I don't wanna fuck unconscious body" seungcheol complains from side, half focused on the game and half on the porn show happening beside him. He's no better than mingyu, even worse sometimes, when seungcheol is frustrated, he takes it on you— in the most delicious way possible. Landing slaps on your ass and cunt till it's red and swollen up or making you gag around your own panties, his strange obsession with challenging you to be silent while he ruins your insides. Yeah he's no better than mingyu.

the prospect of your passed out body being used by these two men is extremely hot and intense. having your pleasure completely disregarded and thrown out ,just being a real fleshlight for their big and veiny cocks. You need to talk about this some other time with them.

"hyung, can't help it— her mouth is so warm and wet almost as good as her tight cunt" mingyu whines, his cock twitching inside your mouth as his grip on your hair becomes more rigid , a clear sign of him being close. Something about having such a big guy like Mingyu whining because of you makes your chest tight with emotion similar to happiness and pride.

Seungcheol throws the gaming console somewhere, the loud thud echoing in your ears. He takes your hand and spits on it generously before bringing it to his cock , making you wrap your palm around it, his own palm wrapped around yours. In your head which is floating in another dimension this is practically intertwining hands. almost romantic.

"you feel it baby? How hard I am? It's your fucking fault. parading around us in your slutty outfits. told you to wait for few minutes but you just don't understand " seungcheol sneers, biting his lips remembering how they even got you like this in the first place. Teasing them while they were deeply engrossed in their game, hands reaching down your shorts threatening to touch their property, that made them snap.

you whined against Mingyu's cock, sending vibrations down his spine, he pulled your head back, only his tip remaining in your mouth before slamming you down against his length in a quick motion, making you gag uncomfortably, he kept you like that, his unforgiving grip on your hair making you unable to move while seungcheol made you give him a hand job, guiding each of your moments. You were overwhelmed, not sure where to focus; on Mingyu's pulsating length or Seungcheol's painfully hard cock, unsure whether to cry or scream, eyes blinded by the blindfold.

"fuck cumming" Mingyu slurred thrusting his hips upwards one last time before cumming inside your mouth. Ropes of thick, creamy white pooling around your tongue.

" Dare you waste any drop slut" Mingyu rasps still coming down from his high. " She won't gyu, she needs cum like oxygen, right slut?" Seungcheol comments, seeing you swallow his bestfriend's cum like your life depends on it while having you fist his cock with your tiny hand made him so feral, he has never had such a perfect girl at his disposal. Seungcheol found his own orgasm near but he didn't feel like wasting his cum , it belonged in deepest corner of your cunt.

Finally after few seconds or minutes mingyu decides to let you breathe, pulling you away from his cock. you look like you walked straight out his favourite porn; spit and cum smeared all over your face and dripping down your breast. he looks at seungcheol, both being proud of each other to see your defiled state. "Pathetic whore" seungcheol groans.

Seungcheol reluctantly lets go of your hand which was timidly rubbing against cock. He comes near, yanking the excuse of a blindfold off your face, sharp lights hitting you at once, vision blurry due to tears. Mingyu gathers the tears around your eye bags carefully scoops with his two fingers, then puts it in his mouth. The simple action making your pussy needy with desire.

"please touch me" you beg, voice unfamiliar to your own self. your knees finally give out, ass hitting the floor and sitting pathetically. Your headspace was all mushy and soft, blurry vision drinking up their visuals. their upper body was fully exposed,sweat glistening down their skin which you might lick happily if they gave you permission to do so. "touch me please, anyone" you whimpered again.

seungcheol hmms, like he's thinking deep about something before he smirks, getting down on the floor at your level . His hand moves to your exposed breast, carelessly pinching the perky sensitive nipple. "Poor baby, dying to have her desperate pussy filled" seungcheol sings in a patronizing way, continuing his cruel torture on your breast, cupping and pinching the poor bud till it turns into angry shade of red.

"mingyu what do you think? Should we fuck this slut or leave her here all exposed and dripping on the floor like a broken cum dump?" seungcheol leaves the question hanging in the air, slapping your right tit, an evil smirk dancing on his face.

"please, don't leave please I am —" your words were cut off by Seungcheol's slap on your cheek, eyebrow raised, looking at you with disapproving glare.

"are you mingyu dumb slut?" he asks, massaging the area he just hit previously.

"sorry" you mumble, voice barely audible.

Mingyu cooes, feeling bad for you, just a tiny bit, he gets down on the floor, pulling you closer, your back pressed to his chest. hand circling around your neck lightly.

"she's begging, it's only right decision to fuck her hyung till she's begging us to stop" mingyu says tightening his hold around your neck, hand moving down between your legs, moving between your folds and collecting your wetness. " she's so fucking wet" mingyu says, bringing his fingers up near seungcheol, which Seungcheol proudly puts in his mouth, groaning at your taste. He sucks them clean.

"let's take this to our bedroom" seungcheol says, he cups your cheek tenderly"shall we Love?" He asks, masking the lust behind his eyes, mind corrupted with all the possible positions he's about to put you in.You got yourself insatiable freaks who would always stay hungry for your taste.

A/N: I have so many evil ideas for this au .would you all like to read them?

[lymtw]

hi!! i love your fics theyre highkey my fav rereads🤭idk if youre taking requests but if you were, could you possibly do a hurt/comfort fic with toji and shy reader where shes mad/upset with him? hope youre having a great day btw!

A/N: Five years later... 🫩👍 I'm sorry this took so long. I really, really appreciate your support 🫶 I hope this turned out at least okay, it's been a minute since i've finished any writing 🥲 Anyway, I hope you're having an amazing day :))

Thank you for sending in this request 💙

Toji and His Shy Girl

It's been a week since you and Toji have spoken, not for lack of effort or opportunities, but because the one sided attempts are not corresponded. It's hard to think about him, it's hard to read his words through your screen and see his name flash briefly, before your phone does its job of sending him to voicemail.

'Maybe we shouldn't be together, Toji. If me simply trying to talk to you is such a burden... I don't know if I should keep trying.'

You said this to him a week ago. You clicked the door shut and he sped off in his car, bleary-eyed, brimming with rage and regret the whole way home. He couldn't get the sound of your voice out of his head—the cracks, the occasional sharp inhales that came with your suppressed emotions. Even in the moment, he knew it was so, so wrong for you to be looking the way you did.

The instant he got home, all hell broke loose. His fists were clenched as he treaded towards his bedroom, and as if possessed by the force of a natural disaster, he tore apart his room—demolished it—throwing things blindly, uncaring if they broke beyond repair. The picture he keeps on his nightstand of the two of you was not safe. The encased memory was thrown with all the strength he has, at the wall, the frame instantly falling apart and the glass shattering to pieces.

He couldn't stop, it all hurt so much. His chest burned, his head was pounding, he felt like he couldn't breathe, and once there was nothing left to throw, nothing left to break, he finally broke down—wholly. Harsh, uncontrollable sobs racked his entire body as he sat there in the debris—the aftermath of losing his mind over you. Barely any sound came of it, his voice was shot, courtesy of the tormented screams that accompanied his meltdown.

This all happened a week ago. You won't talk to him and these days have been hell without your company. You won't respond to his good morning messages, and if he asks to meet up, you always have something to do. He calls you whenever he can, but you don't pick up. You're avoiding him like it's your job.

Everything feels pointless without you around, his little sunshine, the reason he wakes up motivated every morning, the light of his life. His routine has been altered in the worst way. It's work, home, work, home, and he absolutely detests it because if it weren't for that damned day, he would be with you, smothering you with the borderline overwhelming love he holds for you, making you laugh and watching you get flustered over the words he whispers in your ear. He wants it back—all of it. He can't let you go, it would break him entirely.

You don't want to let go of this love you have for Toji, either. You miss being in the warmth of his embrace, and you miss the sound of his voice, and the way he calls you 'sweetheart' when you're not focusing on him. You see every single one of the messages he sends you and the phone calls.

Good morning, baby.

Morning, sweetheart. Make sure to eat breakfast and lunch. One meal isn't enough.

Saw those fields of flowers you point at all the time on my way home. I miss you.

Baby, will you talk to me, please?

[Missed Call]

And you cry, because all you want to do is respond to every one of those messages and hear his voice again, but something always stops you. The memory of when he snapped at you. The sound of his voice—cutting and utterly spirit crushing. The furrow of his eyebrows that made you feel like everything you did was wrong. It hurts to think about the whole situation, and all these notifications only serve as reminders. Reminders of the way you immediately wilted when the door shut, chest heaving as you cried your way to bed and then to sleep, wondering what you did to deserve being lashed out at.

You're lying in bed, scrolling through your phone when he calls again. The instant you see his contact picture, your heart plummets to your stomach, but an irrepressible giggle escapes you. The picture on your screen... it's kind of blurry because he was chasing you and you were laughing so hard that you couldn't hold the phone steady, but you love it. You love the man in the picture, you love that he can make you smile through memories, even during tough times.

"Baby?" You hear through the speakers of your phone. A lump immediately forms in your throat and you painfully swallow. "Baby, can you hear me?" He tries again.

"Yeah, I'm here," you respond, quietly.

"Holy fuck, doll. Can I... Are you busy? Are you doing anything right now?"

"No, i'm home," you mumble.

"Can I come see you?"

"Toji..." you start, your tone conveying what you haven't even said yet. Your uncertainty.

"Baby, we have to talk. It's been a week and-- This can't be it. Please, just... just five minutes. Five minutes and i'll go."

You know it won't be five minutes. You can't force a solution out in five minutes—not a sincere one at least. Some part of you is soothed by the sound of his voice, regardless of how frantic and desperate he sounds. That's your love right there, and no matter how much hurt lingers from this whole dilemma, there's nothing you can do about your heart's response to him. So you open a door for him.

"Okay, Toji. I'll be here waiting for you."

"Thank you, pretty girl. I'll be there in a few. Love you."

There's a heavy, tense pause. Neither of you has hung up the phone, because something hasn't been done yet and he knows you know what he wants to hear. It would be enough for him to believe that you haven't forfeited. It would make him feel even the slightest bit of relief if you said those words he's been aching for.

"I love you, too, Toji," you utter, hanging up a couple seconds after.

Toji would be bouncing off the walls if he wasn't in such a hurry to get to you. He's been deprived of any form of love from you for a week and he was starting to go crazy, but hearing you say those words was all he needed for now.

Twenty something minutes later, you get a text from him, letting you know that he's outside. Your heart is in your throat, your stomach keeps flipping, and yet you use all the strength you have to get out of bed to meet him. Though you decide to take your time to get to your front door, you find that you're still there too soon, no time left to mentally prepare yourself for what is about to happen. With a final deep breath, you turn the lock, twist the doorknob, and open the door.

There Toji stands, hand suspended in the air with your spare key pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He steps back instinctively when you step aside from behind the door.

"I uh... I wasn't sure if you'd be okay with me using it, but you were taking a bit, so I thought maybe you'd want me to come in and we can talk inside or... I don't know."

He's rambling, there's a light stubble on his face, he's smiling at you like he always does—like you're his everything. Him being there doesn't actually process in your mind until he speaks up again.

"Hi, baby," he says, softly, observing you like you're some majestic painting hung up in a museum. Your eyes well up and it feels like there's a red-hot metal sphere lodged in your throat. "You're a saint for letting me come here and see you, you know that?"

Out of habit, you nod and mumble out a small, "yeah."

"I'm sorry, doll," he says, reaching for your hands to hold them. He barely manages to grab them, get a feel for your soft skin after so long, before you're pulling them away from him. "No, come on," he pleads, grasping your hands again. "Please? Please, look at me."

"You can't talk to me like that, Toji," you utter, voice unsteady because you're not used to having to stand up for yourself against the one who loves you like it's his life source.

"I know. I know that, baby, and I'm so fucking sorry," he says, nearly tripping over his words. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of the shit I said. I was having a bad day, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I don't know what the hell got into me, but please..." he mumbles, bringing your hands up to his lips, pressing weightless kisses on your fingers and knuckles. "Please, I love you, you have to believe me."

"You said..." you inhale sharply, doing all you can to get through this without choking on your emotions. "...you said you didn't have time to listen to me talk about nonsense, and that you wanted peace and quiet for once. Isn't... Isn't that all you get from me?"

"No tears," he says, warm palms moving up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing away the crystals that glide down them. "No tears," he repeats, softer this time. "This is gonna get worked out, my sweet girl. I swear."

"I don't know how you want me to be," you admit, your voice wavering. "And I don't have the ability to read minds. You acted like everything was fine when you texted me, and then when you got here..." You let out a shaky breath, your hold on your emotions slipping. "I don't want to be upset with you, anymore, but i-i'm trying... It's not right."

It's as if someone is jabbing at his chest over and over again, relentlessly, even when his skin starts to bruise and little pinpricks of blood begin to appear. He hates seeing you this way, especially when he knows he's the reason for why you're hurt this bad. He wants it to stop and for this enormous raincloud above both of you to just dissipate.

"Come here," he says, low, almost inaudible. His hands lower, arms making contact with your sides. It's been too long since he's held you, yet, pulling you in feels as natural as breathing.

Your hands come up to rest on his abdomen, keeping him at a distance. It feels unnatural, because you're so used to letting him handle you like you're a stuffed animal, pulling you around when you're adventuring together and picking you up just because he feels like it. Your mind immediately clouds with guilt at your denial of his embrace, you can't even meet his eyes, opting to look down at where your hands are.

"Please don't," he says, his voice so soft that it makes your chest feel tight again. He grabs ahold of your wrists, just to have some sort of contact with you. His grip is almost entirely loose and you're in control, he won't move until you pull your hands away. "I'm not gonna hurt you like that again."

You love him and you know he needs this—holding you in his arms, your confirmation that it's all going to be okay. You've said it before and the words have become one of his greatest comforts. What could be so bad when you tell him that it'll all turn out just fine?

"We've been apart for too long. A week shouldn't have gone by like this... and, fuck, I know it's my fault. I don't blame you for not wanting to see me, but... please, baby." His thumbs brush the insides of your wrists, eyes never leaving the sadness of your face, regardless of whether you look at him or not. He'll take this over not getting to see you at all, any day.

"Sweetheart."

You sniff, unmoving for a few more seconds. Your heartbeat is thrumming wildly in your ears, almost suffocating you with its relentlessness. It's all you hear, words lost in a spiral of ongoing silence. You still don't look at him when you finally pull your hands away, but you can feel his heavy, unwavering attention on you.

You're glad he doesn't wait for you to give him the green light to pull you in, because you have nothing to say at the moment, and it would be another test of patience. Instead, the second your hands are balled up at your sides, he moves at the speed of a lightning strike, your body colliding with his in an almost aggressive manner—there's an audible thump. His body heat mingles with the cologne on his shirt, the smell coiling around you and rushing through your nose with every breath you take. The feeling is familiar—love, safety, comfort—a second home, all wrapped up in your favorite person.

His hands scrunch up the back of your shirt like he's afraid you'll push him away again. "Baby," he mumbles, his voice almost inaudible. "Don't disappear like that again." A soft breath is expelled from his chest, riddled with the genuine fear he felt that he would never get to see you again.

"I know it's unfair of me to say this. I was an asshole and you were hurt, but, doll... I thought you were leaving me." There's a pause. Toji stares at the ground behind you, his hands deepening the creases he made on your shirt due to his unfaltering grip. "I don't want that."

"I'm not," you respond, heart shaking. "That day... it felt like you didn't even want to see me and you only came over because I asked not because you wanted to." The familiar ache in your chest stirs slightly, but you give it your all to get everything out in a steady and clear manner. "You can tell me you're tired, Toji. That you want to rest in the comfort of your own home, and I'll understand. I don't want to be another cause of stress for you."

It pains him to hear that because you're the one who keeps him sane, the one he thinks about when he settles into bed but can't get to sleep, the first person to know that he's still alive in morning, the one who has made him feel so safe, that he feels no shame when he occasionally calls to confirm that he's still loved by you.

"You're not," he simply murmurs. "It's not true."

"You don't have to worry about protecting my feelings."

His arms loosen around you, the back of your shirt wrinkled but freed from his clutches. Your heart is beating too fast, attempting to leave your chest. Now you're standing up straight, doing your best to not avert your gaze from the man before you.

"You're not a burden to me. Okay?" He says, and you want to believe him because of the way he's looking at you, like he's searching your eyes for even the smallest bit of confidence from you about the fact. "Say it."

The words are stuck, it's visible. Your lips twitch, but your voice doesn't progress. You just look at him, feeling the sadness seep into every part of you.

"You're not a burden to me. I need you to get that through your pretty head, right now," he says, only to feel his own heart skip a beat at your reaction.

"Sorry," you mumble, unable to instantly straighten out the curl of your lips.

In this moment, Toji knows that everything is going to be okay. He hasn't heard you laugh in a week, and though it was only a small, congested giggle, he savors it along with your inability to regain your bearing, like it's his last sip of water while he's stranded in the desert.

"Gets you every time, huh?" He says, his own faint smile emerging.

'Right now', a habitual phrase of his that is meant to comfort you. You've told him before that not everything can be fixed or healed in an instant—things don't work that way—but he never backs down. You've translated it into something akin to a bandage—the words are meant to cover you while you take the time to fully and properly heal. The joy you find in hearing them is a small beginning.

"It's funny," you respond, taking in his amused little grin. God, you missed his handsome face and the way he looks at you like everything about you makes perfect sense to him.

"My impatience is funny to you?" He teases, loving the way you press your lips together before proceeding to nod. He can't even be playfully offended, too entranced by the way you're actually smiling at him. He sighs through his nose and just watches you—admires you for a couple seconds, and when you start nervously shifting on your feet, he pulls you closer to him, his hands on your lower back as your body presses against his once more.

"Can you just say it, please? For me?" He murmurs, recognizing every one of the stars in your eyes. Though he thinks it's a tragedy to have gone a week without this view, he'll make up for lost time by creating new constellations.

"I don't know," you say, softly—filler words, your brain short circuits whenever he looks at you like that.

"For me, baby," he pleads once more. "Just wanna hear you say it."

You hum, unsure of whether you can say something you don't entirely believe. You want to make him happy, you want things to be better, you want to believe what he said—what he wants you to repeat to him, but it's hard. Damage is easy to inflict and hard to heal. It won't go away immediately, no matter how much you love the person who is trying to fix their mistake.

"I don't know-"

"Please?" he blurts.

"Toji, I don't-"

"Pretty please?" he cuts again, seeing the way your seriousness falters like before. Your laugh finds his ears once more, a sound he just wants to keep hearing. The sound embraces him. "With a cherry on top?" he adds, a sly little grin on his lips.

It's getting harder and harder to turn him down. He's precious, he's trying, and you cherish his effort. It's not going to kill you to just say it.

You sigh, "I'm not a burden."

"To who?" He questions, seeking elaboration from you.

"To you."

"Damn right," he says, proud. "We'll get you there. I'm not gonna leave you like this, alright?"

"Okay," you confirm, nodding slightly.

"Can I get a kiss?"

Again, you nod, expecting a quick peck—maybe a few quick pecks, but no, he goes on to kiss you like its been months since he last saw you, not a week. He's desperately chasing after your lips, seeking more and more of what he's been deprived of for too long. In his mind, he says 'never again, never again, never again', because he can't imagine going so long without your sweetness again. Without the softness of your lips against his, without those pretty smiles and laughs being thrown at him. It sounds like hell 2.0. when he thinks about losing it all over again.

"Fuck, I missed this," he murmurs, still just a breath away from your lips.

"Yeah," you respond, eyeing the short little pins of hair that sprinkle over his jaw and upper lip area. It makes you smile, you don't always get to see his face when it's not clean shaven.

"I was in a rush," he explains, unnecessarily, following the way your eyes trace his face.

"Mm," you hum, smiling. "Can I shave your face?"

"You wanna clean me up?" he asks, almost as if he's surprised.

"Only if you want me to. It was just an idea," you say, smiling sheepishly.

To that, he chuckles, a low sound that makes your stomach flip and your cheeks feel warmer.

"Oh, I want you to," he says, leaning forward to peck your lips, luring quiet giggles from you when he doesn't want to pull away.

-

Now, you sit on the counter of your bathroom sink, with Toji standing between your legs. There's a slight tremble in your hand, spurred on by his hands resting on your hips and the way he watches you with so much focus, trusting you enough to let you do this without a word from him. You drag the razor carefully along his cheek, making sure not to move too fast or use too much pressure.

Toji waits until you're cleaning off the blade to make his move of leaning in to press kisses to your face. Small peaks of foam are left behind on your skin, wiped away by gentle strokes of his thumb.

"I'm about to start again," you say through a laugh, leaning away to avoid ridding his face of all the protective spume on it. The razor remains beside you until he finally behaves himself. He huffs like you've been rejecting his affection the whole time, but nonetheless stands up straight and as still as a statue.

After some time, longer than it would have taken him alone—longer than it would have taken you if he didn't smother you every time you paused to clean the razor—you got it done. You brought back the smoothness of his skin.

"Am I pretty again?" he jests, drying his face with one of your towels.

"Stunning," you quip in response, shifting on the counter to signal that you're going to hop off.

"You're stunning," he says, low, unmoving from where he stands between your legs. "My gorgeous, gorgeous girl," he adds, seeking more of that feeling the flustered smile on your face gives him. "Missed you lots, you know that?" You just laugh and shake your head, like you're silently calling him crazy. "What? I'm serious," he says in response, a soft grin on his face. "Did you miss me? Even a little bit?"

A single second passes by. You can't lie to him and say you didn't. You missed him every single day, through the hurt. Your chest ached and your heart dropped every time you remembered the incident, but your love for him never wavered. You couldn't stop thinking about him, and with how often he tried to reach you, it was nearly impossible not to have him on your mind.

"Of course I did. I took the time I needed, but that doesn't mean I wanted it."

"I know, baby. And I would never hold it against you. I'm just... glad I can see you again, is all."

You smile. The gleam and sincerity in his eyes is a wonder to witness and well worth the butterflies that overly crowd your stomach.

"I really did miss you," you mumble.

"Yeah?" He asks.

"Mhm," you hum, nodding. "'Lots.'"

A soft chuckle rumbles in his chest, then he leans in close for nth time, peppering kisses across your cheek until he reaches your lips. He can feel you smiling into the kisses, a sensation he yearned for with every fiber of his being for the past week. One of his hands rests on your thigh, caressing the inner part of it, while the other slides up your shirt and settles on your waist. The lip-lock steals your breath away, but even then, you challenge your lungs for your lover's sake, only pulling away when you're a panting mess and Toji's breathing is more audible.

The tension is palpable, the silence loud as you look at one another like you're still taking in the fact that you can be loving towards each other again, in a manner that doesn't derive from guilt for the time that you didn't get to demonstrate how much you truly love each other. Enough to not be able to leave a fresh wound alone, enough to forgive while outwardly expressing that you have not healed but are patient enough to work towards regaining that strength.

"I don't wanna go home," he murmurs, eyes flitting between your eyes and lips before focusing on solely your eyes.

"You don't have to," you respond. "Stay as long as you'd like."

"And if I said I wanted to spend a week here with you? Would you hate it?"

You shake your head. "No, but I think you'd get tired of seeing me all the time."

"You're wrong, pretty girl. Is this your subtle way of saying you're tired of looking at my mug, already?" He asks, lips curling with amusement at your giggle.

"No, I want you to stay," you say, honest.

"Promise?"

You nod, followed by an affirmative hum.

"Say it again," he requests, heart thudding just a little faster when you smile.

"I want you to stay, Toji," you repeat, his name on your tongue causing your cheeks to warm up.

"Again." His hands mold around your hips—squeezing, loving.

"Stay," you say, softer.

He sighs, heavy, an enamored look in his eyes that you have never been able to comprehend. Those dark, viridescent eyes, have a brilliance to them as he looks at you like you're the last good thing he'll ever be able to call his. You're good for him, you're good to him, and there is nothing in the world that he wouldn't do for you because you gave him your heart.

"Yeah... you're stuck with me here for a week and you're come with me to pick some stuff up from my place, tomorrow. Okay? Okay."

"Okay," you respond, with a laugh.

"Now, we get you off this counter," he says, lifting you like you're a teddy bear that he carries around for protection. He doesn't miss the way you gasp at the suddenness. "Hold me tight, baby," he says, allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist before moving anywhere. A kiss is planted on your shoulder as he turns around to exit the bathroom.

"And now you let me show you some love," he says, low, carrying you to your bedroom.

[kotareadsbooks]

my toddler was fighting naptime a week or two ago REALLY hard, and he usually doesn't go all out like that. maybe a lil fussy bc he's almost two, you know, he's got FOMO and doesn't wanna be shut away in his room while mom does Very Cool Things (i don't but whatever). So he's fussing, crying, floppin on the floor, and then he screams. And, like. It's a big deal in my house that my spouse and I do not tell our kid how to feel or that he can't cry, be upset, etc. - he can have his feelings no matter their size, but he has to be kind while having them, right? But this is a no-yelling household. we don't raise our voices. So we say (often, lately, bc he's going through a v screamy phase right now) 'you can cry, but you cannot scream'.

So I took a breath and said, 'whoa, hey, no screaming, please. What does mommy always do?' intending him to say 'take a breath and let it out', bc that's what our main calming technique is. but my lil baby looks at me and says, 'mommy come back'. bc I also say, when he's upset I'm leaving a room, 'mommy always comes back'.

so nbd I just cried. but at the time, I hugged him and said, 'yes, mommy always comes back. I'll come back in here if you need me, okay? And I'll come back in here when you wake up. So lay down, and take a nap; mom will come back.'

anyway he hasn't fought nap since then.

saw this cute post and now I'm not going on reddit for the rest of the day. quit while you're ahead

[demie90s]

Your Fault

Diana Taurasi x Fem!Reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You’ve been in a mood all damn day—rolling your eyes, being mouthy, and acting like Diana don’t run that.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~ 2.7k

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Smut, Age Gap, Power Play, Brat Taming, Soft Dom Diana, Emotional Burnout Themes

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: SMUT. Oral (f receiving), strap use, dom/sub dynamics, choking, begging, refusal of touch (at first), light degradation, possessiveness, vacation setting

I woke up agitated. Not irritated. Not upset. Agitated. Like my skin was tight and everything was two seconds from being the final straw. The sun was out. The bed was soft. The AC was perfect. Diana was still asleep, breathing slow, her shoulder bare and glowing with leftover sun from yesterday.

I should’ve been grateful. But I wanted to scream.

The vacation was her idea. You need a break, she said. You’ve been saving the damn world every shift. Your charting looks like a crime scene. You need sand, a tan, and me. In that order.

She wasn’t wrong. But this morning I hated everything.

“Come on,” she said, eyes still sleepy as I stood at the bathroom mirror with my arms folded. “Don’t start today mad. It’s illegal to be fine and fussy on an island.”

I cut her a look. “It’s not fussy. It’s overstimulated and under-fucked.”

“Exactly,” she muttered, already dragging the covers off and tossing a bikini my way. “Put this on. We’re going to the water.”

She didn’t give me room to protest. Practically drug me out the room like a toddler in time-out, grinning like she hadn’t just ignored my very real cry for help. And maybe that’s what pissed me off the most. I was telling her. Plain. Calm. Mouthy. But honest.

I needed her. And she just kept walking.

The morning became the afternoon. The beach got louder. My mood got worse.

She bought me a coconut, held my waist when I rolled my eyes at strangers, whispered shit in my ear just to watch me huff.

“Why you so pretty when you mad?”

“Shut up.”

“I should’ve filmed this.”

She wasn’t helping. She was making it worse. Then came the moment.

We were standing near the rocks, sun hitting the water like a goddamn oil painting, and I was staring at it like it offended me.

She sat behind me on the stone bench, arms draped around my hips lazily.

“You know,” she said, voice low, “I love you, but you got the worst attitude on Earth when you don’t get your way.”

That hit. Not hard. But deep. I swallowed. Kept my eyes on the tide. “…So fuck it out of me.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t even kiss me.

By the time we got back to the room, I was fuming in silence. She knew it. She was eating it up. That smirk was back on her face, smug and slow as she leaned against the patio door, eyes flicking toward me every time I moved like she was watching a volcano warm up.

“You done sulking?” she asked, peeling off her tank top with no urgency.

“No.”

“You hungry?”

“No.”

“You still mad?”

“…Yes.”

She laughed. Laughed.

Then laid on the bed like she wasn’t the problem. Head on the pillows, long legs stretched out, watching me like I wasn’t mentally screaming.

I stood at the end of the bed, arms crossed again. “Why couldn’t you just fuck it outta me earlier?”

She blinked slow. That smug-ass look turned into something hungrier.

“…Say that again?”

I didn’t. I got in the bed. Got close. Didn’t touch her—just leaned in like heat was enough. My lips barely touched her shoulder.

“You wait until I’m begging,” I muttered. “You wait until I’m crawling. That’s not fair.”

She turned to face me, hand sliding over my waist as I straddled her thigh without thinking. My hips didn’t move—but my mouth did.

“You like when I act like this?” I asked, lips brushing her collarbone. “You like when I’m miserable with an attitude? That turn you on?”

“I like when you act like you don’t need me.”

She kissed my jaw, lips soft but firm.

“And then melt the second I touch you.”

I scoffed. But my hips rocked slow against her leg.

“That’s evil.”

“That’s honest.”

She sat up. Kissed me like she’d been waiting all day—hands under my thighs, mouth opening over mine, tongue slow and deep. I moaned and felt stupid for being mad. For going the whole day aching when I could’ve just thrown myself into her lap.

But no. She liked that I waited. I liked how she made me come apart for it.

Her fingers found me without a word. My whole body shivered.

Just when I gasped—whined, needy, almost crying from how good it felt—she whispered “There’s my girl.”

She didn’t say it soft. She said it like finally.

Like it took all day to break me down just to rebuild me open and wet and obedient under her hand.

But I was still a brat. She slid two fingers along my slit—over my panties—and watched my thighs twitch. I exhaled like I hadn’t breathed in hours.

Then her voice dropped low, calm as ever.

“…Tell me.”

I blinked. “Huh?”

“Tell me about work, baby.”

I almost laughed. Almost. But she didn’t. Her mouth brushed my neck. Her fingers stroked again. Slow. Lazy.

I narrowed my eyes. “You wanna talk about work?”

She hummed like yes. Like I didn’t have a pussy leaking for her right now. Like she wasn’t slipping the pad of her thumb over my clit through soaked fabric.

I swear—swear—I tried to ignore it. I looked up at the ceiling like that would keep my mind straight.

I started slow. “It’s been… long. Stupid.”

“Mhm.” She mouthed at my throat, still warm, still moving her hand with zero rush.

“I’m tired of people acting like I don’t know what I’m doing. Like I didn’t graduate, like I’m not licensed. You know this old man tried to—f-fuck—”

Her mouth was lower now, smirking against my chest. I paused.

“Keep going,” she said.

My stomach clenched. I should’ve told her to stop. But my hands were already in her hair.

“I had to cover three patients on restraints. One bit me. You saw the bruise.”

“I did.” She licked slowly over my nipple. Bit it. Sucked it.

“Keep talkin’.”

“You’re such a bitch,” I whispered. She laughed into my skin.

Then kissed down. Slower than necessary. Mouth dragging over my stomach, my hip, my inner thigh like she was reading a script off me.

She kissed my pussy through the panties—one kiss. Two. I gasped. She didn’t move them yet. Just flattened her tongue over the fabric and moaned, deep and smug like this what you wanted, huh?

She looked up. “Mad again?”

I glared. “Yes.”

“Mhm.” She kissed again. “Keep goin’, nurse.”

I whimpered. “He told me I was rude… for not smiling. While I was cleaning shit. Actual shit.”

That’s when she moved the panties. One hand, no hesitation. Slick and sticky and hot underneath, and she grinned.

“Aw. That why you been actin’ out?” she teased, running her thumb over my clit now, bare and throbbing. “Needed a little attention? Thought I forgot how nasty you get when you’re tired.”

I tried to sit up. She pushed my hips down. She didn’t even look at me.

Her mouth found me again. No warm-up. No soft licks. Just her tongue, slow and firm, licking right up the middle while her hand spread me wider.

I whined. Embarrassingly. Loud and helpless. My thighs shook, but her hands were locked around them—tight grip, holding me still.

I wanted to grind, to press harder, to roll my hips.

She did not let me.

“Diana—”

She paused. Glanced up. “Say it right.”

“…D.”

That got her going. She hummed low and started sucking on my clit. Tongue firm. Circles. I yanked at her hair—moaning, open-mouthed, legs trying to close.

She didn’t let me. She moved lower, tongue dipping into me, deep. Then up again—licking through everything, slow and wide and endless.

“You taste so mad,” she teased. “So fuckin’ mad at me. Can’t even focus.”

Her fingers replaced her tongue, two slipping in like nothing, making me arch.

“Oh my God—” She curled them. Hit it. Smirked. Bit my inner thigh.

“God’s not here right now, nurse.”

I was panting now, voice stuck in my throat, heat crawling up my neck.

“You said you wanted me to fuck it outta you,” she said, dragging her tongue back over my clit. “So stop running.”

I cried out. Actual tears stinging a little. Not from pain. From overwhelm. From the slow, deep suck of her lips around me like she was drinking a mood swing out of my body. Like she was cleansing me.

I grabbed the sheets. She kept going.

No breaks. No mercy. And still—still—so fucking slow. I felt the build. All of it. A full-day ache tightening into one perfect climax.

“D—I’m—fuck, I’m—” She moaned, loud and proud, mouth locked on me, fingers never slowing.

And I Came hard. Legs shaking, pussy twitching, toes curled, moaning her name like a secret I couldn’t keep.

She licked me through it. Then back up. Then kissed my lips like she hadn’t just ruined me. I could barely speak. She grinned against my mouth.

“Still mad?” I blinked. Then nodded.

She was smirking.

But not sweet. Not teasing. Not that I told you so look from earlier. No. This was different. This was dangerous.

This was the look of a grown woman who’d been waiting to make you cry since the first week you whined about your hours.

Since you slammed the car door, threw your bag, and muttered shit under your breath. She let you live. Let you talk slick. Let you sulk through a vacation she paid for.

Now she had the strap on. Now she was gonna make you apologize.

“…D-Dee.”

It barely came out. My throat burned. I was already shaky and tender from her mouth, but this? This wasn’t fair. The way she fucked—it didn’t feel good in the moment. It felt like I was losing my mind. Like I couldn’t breathe right. Like I was vibrating from the inside out and couldn’t find the sound that matched what my body was screaming.

Butterflies. Not the cute kind. These were the wild, erratic, emergency alarm kind.

The kind that told you something was happening in your body that your brain couldn’t catch up with.

Diana didn’t care.

“Come here,” she said, voice flat but full.

Like she meant business. Like she was certified in this shit.

I climbed over her, knees shaking, pussy aching. She didn’t wait. She grabbed my hip, lifted my leg, and pushed in again—slow, mean, deep.

My eyes rolled. My mouth dropped open. Her other hand slid up my back, holding me close while her hips rolled into me like a damn curse. And she kissed my neck. My shoulder. Whispered shit I couldn’t even hear over the sound of my own broken breathing.

“This what you needed?” I nodded. Couldn’t even lie.

“Then take it.”

She fucked me like she was fixing something.

Like my attitude was a medical emergency and her strap was the cure.

She hit every spot, slow enough to feel like it was personal but hard enough to break rhythm. I was grinding, panting, eyes fluttering.

Just when I felt it—right there, right there—she pulled out.

I gasped. Clawed at her forearm. “No, no—Diana please—”

She laid back. Calm. Hands behind her head like she wasn’t just inside me seconds ago.

“You wanna act brand new?” she said.

“Cool. You do all the work. Don’t touch me.”

I stared at her. Stunned. Heart racing. “Now.”

I climbed on like I had no pride.

Slow. Needy. Sinking down on the strap with a shaky moan that made my knees buckle. She didn’t help. Didn’t move. Just watched. Eyes locked on my face like she was enjoying the show, the breakdown, the sweat glistening on my chest.

I tried to fuck her right. Roll my hips. Find a rhythm. But my thighs were weak, my clit pulsing, my brain scrambled.

I tried to kiss her. Tried to lean forward and press my mouth to hers like that would make her touch me.

She turned her head.

“You hard of hearing?”

I froze. Sat up straight again. My hands clenched on her stomach. I was losing it.

“You said not to touch you…” I mumbled. Voice cracking.

She raised a brow. “I meant all of me, smartass.”

My breath caught. I gave up. Whined. Actually whimpered, lips trembling.

“…Please touch me.” Still nothing.

I ground down on her anyway. Hips desperate. Neck arched. Whimpers turning to cries. And finally—finally—when I shook so hard I had to collapse forward, she caught me.

One hand around my throat, thumb on my chin, bringing my mouth to hers.

“You gon’ act right now?” she whispered, dragging her hips up, slow and deep again.

“Y-yes.”

“Good girl.”

She said it like a reward, like a verdict—like I hadn’t been anything close to good all day, but somehow, she’d trained me there. Hips still moving under mine, hands tight on my waist, guiding my body like I was just something she’d decided to break in slowly.

I was gone. Fully. Head back, lips parted, brain blank. All I could do was ride. And let her fuck me up.

Her thumb dragged across my bottom lip, and her voice was low, barely above a hum. “That’s it, baby. Don’t think, just feel it.”

I couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t form a single sentence. My moans weren’t words anymore—just breath and pitch, soft at first, then ragged. The deeper she hit, the wetter I got. I could feel it. The mess. The slap of our bodies. Her name falling out of me without permission.

She loved it.

Her hands slid down to grip my thighs, pulling me down rougher, meaner. Her strap curved just right, hitting that spot that made my stomach twitch.

“D… D—fuck—”

I reached for her again, desperate, fingers curling on her chest. I needed something—anything to ground me—but she grabbed both wrists in one hand and pinned them behind my back like no. Like take it.

That’s when the tears hit. Not sobbing. But the kind that slid out quietly, uninvited, just ‘cause the pleasure was too much. I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t scared. I was overwhelmed.

She noticed. Of course she did. She kissed the edge of my jaw, her voice syrup-slow.

“There she go. Look at you.”

She rocked up deeper. “This how you act when you finally get touched right?”

I nodded. Barely. My whole body tensed, locked down on the strap so hard I felt my orgasm choke halfway out my throat.

“I—fuck—I’m gonna—”

She grabbed a handful of my ass, her other arm wrapped around my waist, and she fucked into me. Intentional. Punishing. Her goal wasn’t to get me off. Her goal was to empty me.

I came. Hard. But it didn’t stop there. She kept going. Stroking through it. Pushing past it. My thighs shaking so bad they gave out, and that’s when it happened.

My whole body snapped forward—and I squirted. Loud. Wet. Shameless.

She groaned into my neck. “There she is.”

I whimpered. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Yes you did. You always do.”

She eased the strap out slow, dragging my body with it, guiding me back onto my side like I’d been spun in a dryer. She kissed my temple. My shoulder. My spine.

I was twitching. Barely conscious. Breathing like I’d run laps around the planet.

“Next time you get mad on vacation,” she whispered, “just ask.”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. But the next tear that slid down my cheek had nothing to do with frustration. And everything to do with how full I finally felt.

She kissed my back, whispered a smug little, “There you go…” and tucked me in like I wasn’t still twitching from the inside out.

Didn’t even bother wiping me up all the way—just enough so I didn’t stick to her chest while you curled up against it, knocked clean out. Face buried in her neck, thighs still sore, pussy pulsing like it knew better next time.

I didn’t say another word. Didn’t need to. She had me slumped, soul quiet, body fed. Just what her baby needed.

She laid there wide awake, arm wrapped tight around my waist, smirking in the dark like. Attitude? Where? That’s what I thought.

@letsnowtalk @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264 @yorubagirlsworld @daffodil-darlings @h4untedghOul @followthesvn @hibiscusblu @sevikasleftbicep @swiftie4evr @babyphatbrat @sivensblog @beeop223 @huntedghOul @tpwkrosalinda @lightsgore @em-nems @salemsuccss @villain-ryuk @ihrtsarahstrOng @liyahh037 @sillystarv @somedetailsinthefabric @essence-134340 @mochelisgf @soph1asticated @heheievidbri @unvswrld @breezybellab @planet-ghoulborne @art-ofmusic @toorealrai

[revelboo]

I had terrible PPD when my son was born. It was so bad that I was almost hospitalized. I lied through my teeth to get out of it, because I didn't want to leave my son. But man, that crying did something to me.

May I request a scenario where reader and Megatron both get PPD? As always, you don't have to if you don't wanna. Thank you!

P.S. We all survived. The baby will be 18 soon. :)

Sure- I can only imagine that would be particularly stressful if they won’t stop crying

Stress

TFP Megatron x Reader

• “Please, please stop,” you whisper, sitting crosslegged on the berth with your son in your arms, rocking him and yourself as you curl forward around him. And his venting is hitching noisily as he wails and he’s been at it so long, he’s rasping now, optics squeezed shut and tiny servos curled in fists. It’s you. It must be you, you’re failing him. Not cut out for this as the anxiety cranks higher until you’re crying, too. Bent forward over him sobbing. “I’m trying.”

• Freezing when he lets himself into the habsuite and he’s greeted with his sparkling screaming, his jaw clenches. Half tempted to just go right back out, because he can’t take that spark wrenching noise. And you look up, eyes red and tears running down your face. Sees the fear and panic in your eyes, the way your shoulders hunch and it’s like a physical blow that you act like you think he’s about to yell at you. Head lowering as your shoulders tremble, tears dripping on his son’s head as you cup the sparkling to you and Megatron crosses the floor, mass shifting to join you. Doesn’t know what to do with this, how to fix it, both of you sobbing brokenly. Hurting. Reaches for you and you flinch, still not looking at him. Do you really think he’s that much of a monster? Except, that is how he’s acted, isn’t it?

• Wails faltering into hiccuping chirps and ragged hisses as soon as your son spots Megatron, you go limp and docile as he sits and drags you into his, his thighs on either side of you. Because the only time he’s not screaming is when he’s hissing at his big, asshole sire. Everything about this wrong. You’d loved your son the second you’d held him in your arms, but you feel like you’re failing him. That’s why he’s screaming, it’s you. It has to be you. “He won’t stop,” you whisper, sobbing as Megatron’s chin brushes your head and you hang onto his arm.

• Almost resents his own sparkling, almost despises him for hurting you like this, because you faced him head on. Never backed down even when you were scared, but this is breaking you and he doesn’t know how to fix it. Hears his son hissing and clearing his vents in little coughs, upset and stressed. And you’re crying, holding the sparkling and shaking against him. “I can’t do this,” you sob and he presses his mouth against the top of your head.

• Need him, need the warmth of that little frame against you. Those little servos clinging to your fingers or Megatron’s harness. But you feel like you’re unraveling every time he cries and you don’t know how to make it better. Shouldn’t you just know? Instead you’re struggling, depressed and anxious and failing him. And Megatron’s arms come around you even as your son warbles his distress and your big mate is rocking you, cheek sliding against your own. “We’ll figure this out,” he growls, voice gruff as your son’s face crumples and he wails even louder.

[hyperfixationstation128]

My niece is half-Haitian and has pretty loose curls. For like, the first four years of her life, her hair was washed like she had straight hair, and omfg I wanted to cry for her. It was frizzy, matted, and brittle. Thankfully, eventually, my sister wised up and bought her hair products, but never used them.

I eventually got so fed up with her hair looking like that because she was about to start school and I know how mean little girls can be. So I went online, figured out how to do loose curly hair, bought her a brush meant for curly hair, and would sit her down once a week for "hair day".

She used to cry and scream (it was a huge learning process for me), but eventually, we were able to figure it out together. She would watch She-Ra while I did her hair and since then, no more screaming or crying. It became like a sweet ritual for us and sometimes I miss doing her hair.

I moved away from my family about 5 years ago and she's so grown up now. She started doing her own hair about a year after I left because STILL no one does it for her, which pissed me off, but I was also so proud of her.

I miss my niece so much. She was practically like a daughter to me, and I can only hope to pick the ritual back up with my own children, or maybe have one last chance to do her hair again.

somewhere out there right now is a kid with curly hair being raised by people who have wavy hair at best and those people are giving them 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner and telling them to dry brush it. and that kid is gonna spend all of middle school and high school hating their hair and moping over the flat iron. they're being told right now that if they don't dry-brush their curl pattern into oblivion every morning it means they're unkempt and gross even though they naturally have the kind of ringlets that a thousand bridezillas would commit horrible murders for every june. it's happening right now it's an absolute epidemic and a tragedy every time

[delilahsturniolo]

— 𝜗ৎ the greatest . . . m.s

in which . . . you want something more with fwb!matt, but he shuts you down, turning it into an argument, so he decides to “make it up to you” and you can’t help but give in

warnings . . . fwb!matt, smut, arguing, crying, unprotected sex, unresolved angst, use of pet names, fingering, multiple orgasms.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

HIT ME HARD AND SOFT WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #6

there's something about matt that just drives you wild. maybe it's the way he looks at you with those piercing blue eyes or the way his hair falls perfectly into place. whatever it is, you can't get enough of him. but the problem is, all he wants from you is to fuck, and nothing more. a real relationship is where he draws the line. you've been friends with benefits for a while now, but lately, you've been wanting something more. you want to be able to call him yours, to have him hold you close and tell you that he loves you. but every time you bring it up, he shuts you down.

"matt, we need to talk," you say, tangled in the sheets. "about what?" he asks, pulling on his shirt and avoiding your gaze. "about us. about what we're doing here."

"we're having fun, aren't we? i mean, the sex is amazing. what more do you want?" you take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. "i want more than just sex, matt. i want a relationship. i want to be with you." he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "i can't give you that. i'm not the relationship type."

"why not? why can't you just give us a chance?" you plead, matt snaps back. "because i don't want to hurt you. i care about you, i do. but i'm not capable of being what you need." you feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "how do you know what i need? you've never even tried."

"look, let's just drop it, okay? we're good together, let's not ruin it by trying to make it into something it's not." you shake your head, wiping away a stray tear. "i can't keep doing this, matt.." he looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment you think he might actually be considering it. but then he leans in close, his breath hot on your neck, and whispers, "let me make it up to you."

and just like that, you're putty in his hands. he knows exactly how to touch you, how to make you moan and writhe beneath him. he trails kisses down your neck, his hands roaming over your curves, and you know you should stop him, should tell him no, but you can't. you need him, need this. you can’t resist going back to him. you love the way he makes you feel and you will never escape that.

he pushes you back onto the bed, his body covering yours, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. he thrusts into you, filling you completely, and you cry out, your nails digging into his back. “you feel so good," he groans, his hips slamming against yours. "so tight and wet for me."

"matt, please," you whimper, not even sure what you're asking for. "i've got you, baby. i'll take care of you." and he does. he fucks you hard and deep, hitting all the right spots, until you're a writhing, moaning mess beneath him. and when you finally cum, screaming his name, he follows right behind you, spilling himself inside you.

but you’re not done yet. matt leans in, his hot breath tickling your ear, and whispers, "you want this, don't you?" you can only nod, your heart pounding in your chest. his fingers brush against your panties, already damp with your arousal. he chuckles softly, a sound that sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

his fingers deftly push your panties aside, revealing your slick folds. he runs a finger along your slit, gathering your wetness on his fingertip. he brings it to his lips, tasting you. "mmm," he hums, "you taste so sweet, can’t get enough of this pretty pussy..” then, without warning, he plunges a finger inside you. you gasp, your back arching off the sheets. he pumps his finger in and out of you, adding another when he feels you're ready. his thumb presses against your clit, rubbing circles around it.

your hips buck wildly, meeting his thrusts. you can feel your orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter. "that's it," matt encourages, "cum for me again.” and you do. your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your walls clamping down on matt's fingers. he continues to pump them in and out of you, prolonging your pleasure until you're left a quivering mess on the couch. he withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his lips once again. he sucks them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

afterwards, he holds you close, stroking your hair and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. and even though you know it's not real, that he's not really yours, you can't help but bask in the afterglow. you know you shouldn't keep doing this, shouldn't keep falling back into bed with him, all he wanted was to see you naked. but the truth is, you're addicted to him, to the way he makes you feel. and as much as you want more, you're not sure you're ready to give this up just yet.

© delilahsturniolo

💌: MAN AM I THE GREATESTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

Don’t Blame Me pt2

Evan Buckley x Fem!Reader

The sound is unreal.

Flat. Piercing. Endless.

The moment the monitor flatlines, Buck forgets how to breathe. The shrill scream of it cuts through him like glass, splintering the last fragile thread holding him together.

“No—no, no, no—SOMEONE HELP!”

He’s on his feet, shoving the chair back so violently it crashes against the wall. Nurses rush in. Alarms blare. The room is suddenly chaos—but Buck is the still point at the center of it. Frozen. Pale. Eyes wide as his whole world slips through trembling fingers.

“She was just moving,” he gasps. “She—her hand moved—I swear to God—”

They’re already pulling him back. Code blue. Hands on chest. Chest compressions. Fast. Hard. Unrelenting.

Buck stumbles into the hallway. Eddie catches him, but it’s like trying to hold back a tidal wave with bare hands.

“No—she can’t—she was just here—I FELT HER—”

The sound of the defibrillator charging coils down the hallway.

“Clear!”

He watches the jolt ripple through her.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

No response.

A nurse closes the curtain halfway. Buck screams.

“I NEED TO SEE HER—LET ME SEE HER—”

His knees hit the linoleum before his brain even realizes he’s falling. His hands cover his face, and his voice shatters beneath them.

The wind outside howls against the ICU windows. It moans like it’s grieving too—rattling the panes, pushing against the glass as if trying to crawl inside and hold him. The rain has started. A slow, cold drizzle that runs down the windows in crooked trails like tears.

Buck doesn’t know how long he stays there.

Long enough for his voice to crack.

Long enough for his fingers to go numb.

Long enough to realize that if she dies, so does he.

“She was just here,” he whispers, forehead against the floor. “She was just here.”

———

There’s no pain here.

No beeping. No blood. No wires.

Just… quiet.

Soft, muted quiet—like the whole world’s holding its breath.

You’re standing in a field, barefoot on damp grass. The air is warm and thick with the scent of wildflowers. Lavender. Honeysuckle. Sunlight cuts through tall trees in golden shards. It should feel peaceful. Beautiful, even.

But your chest aches like something important is missing.

Like you forgot to breathe. Like your heart doesn’t know if it’s supposed to be beating anymore.

The wind shifts, and it’s the kind that lifts your hair and brushes your skin so gently it feels like a memory. The breeze smells like home.

And then—

You hear it.

Footsteps.

Familiar. Light.

You turn.

Your breath catches.

“Mom?” you whisper.

She’s walking toward you with that same soft smile she used to wear when she’d wake you up for school with a kiss on your forehead. Her hair is down. She’s barefoot too. And behind her—

“Dad,” you whisper, a sob cracking in your throat.

He’s smiling too. His arms are open.

You run.

You hit them like a wave, arms wrapping around their waists, your body collapsing into theirs like you’re still five years old. Their hands come up, stroking your hair, cradling your head.

“I missed you,” you choke. “God, I missed you—”

“We know, baby,” your mom murmurs. Her voice is exactly the same. Gentle. Sacred. “We missed you too.”

You pull back just enough to look at them, to memorize the lines of their faces again.

“I thought you were gone.”

“We are,” your dad says, softly. “But you’re not.”

You look around the field again, confused.

“Then where am I?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He just gently takes your hand and presses it to your chest.

You feel it.

A thready, slow heartbeat.

Barely there.

“You’re not done fighting,” he says.

Your mom strokes your cheek. Her eyes shine. “He’s waiting for you.”

You flinch.

“Buck—” His name breaks on your lips. “He thinks I’m dead. He was there when I—he heard the monitors—he was right there—”

Tears spill down your face before you realize you’re crying.

“Sweetheart,” your mom whispers, pulling you close again. “He’s breaking. But he hasn’t stopped hoping. Not for a second.”

“I’m scared,” you admit. “I don’t know if I can come back. Everything hurts.”

“You don’t have to be unafraid,” your dad says. “You just have to be willing.”

You grip his hand tighter.

“Do you want to go?” he asks you gently. “Be here—with us?”

The question sits in the air like smoke.

You look between them.

This would be easier. No more pain. No more heartbreak. No more wondering if you’re enough. If you’re too much. If you’ll ever stop falling apart.

But then—

You remember the marsala sauce.

The look on Buck’s face when he begged you to wake up.

The way his voice cracked when he said he was sorry.

And you know.

You’d never forgive yourself if you left him like that.

“I want to stay,” you whisper. “I want to live.”

Your parents smile.

Your mom kisses your forehead.

“Then go, baby.”

“Go back to him,” your dad adds. “He’s waiting.”

———

The flatline doesn’t stop.

It drills into Buck’s skull like a spike — one long, steady note of devastation.

His world narrows into sound:

That alarm.

The hiss of the ventilator disconnecting.

The soft shuffle of the nurse’s footsteps.

And then, silence.

Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that confirms your worst fear.

“No…” Buck breathes. His knees hit the floor beside her bed. “No, please—please don’t do this…”

The ICU nurse checks again. Calm, composed. Doing her job.

“Time of death?” the attending doctor says softly, eyes on the monitor, his voice muted through the ringing in Buck’s ears.

Buck grabs her hand. “No. No! You don’t get to say that! You don’t get to say that! She just moved — I felt her move! You said she was stable!”

The doctor’s face is soft with sympathy but firm with finality. He looks to the nurse and nods.

And then they leave.

They leave him in the room.

Alone.

With her body still and her hand still cooling in his.

The curtain falls back into place.

Outside, down the hall, Eddie stands, eyes locked on the closed doors. Chim’s sitting, head in hands. Hen hasn’t spoken in twenty minutes. Bobby paces like he’ll wear through the floor.

None of them go in.

Because Buck asked them not to.

He didn’t want anyone to see what he’d become.

⸻

Inside the Room

The wind wails outside. The room is dim, shadows crawling across the floor. Machines buzz faintly.

Buck is still on the floor, forehead pressed to her hand like he could breathe life back into her.

His body shakes. His whole chest convulses.

“I was supposed to come home,” he sobs. “You waited for me… You made dinner for me. You tried, and I couldn’t even text you back.”

His voice is a rasp now — hoarse and shredded, spoken into the dark.

“I was scared,” he whispers. “But not of you. Never of you. I was scared of how much I loved you. Scared I’d lose you if I let you see all the messy shit in my head.”

His thumb strokes over her knuckles.

“But I lost you anyway.”

He presses her hand to his lips, trembling.

“I never said it enough. I didn’t show it enough. I kept thinking there’d be time.”

His breath shudders.

“There was supposed to be more time.”

His voice collapses into a sob, and then another. Deep, aching, guttural. He presses his face into the bed, curls around her hand like a man begging God not to take the only thing keeping him alive.

“I can’t do this without you,” he whispers. “I don’t want to. You hear me? I don’t want to!”

Thunder rolls far off in the distance. The wind picks up. The curtain flutters like breath.

Then—

Something shifts.

Not big. Not loud.

But something.

Buck stills.

Very slowly… he lifts his head.

The monitor that had flatlined — that had drawn the line between life and loss — flickers.

A small sound. Beep.

Then another.

His eyes widen. He scrambles upright, hand flying to her wrist.

“C’mon. C’mon, please…”

The pulse is faint.

But it’s there.

“HEY! NURSE!” Buck bellows, nearly throwing the door open. “SHE’S BACK—SHE’S BACK—SHE HAS A PULSE!”

The nurse rushes in with a code team. The room erupts with motion again, but this time it’s not grief — it’s hope.

They check monitors. Shout orders. Hook her back to the machines.

And Buck is still right there. Hands trembling, tears still falling, eyes locked on her face.

“Come on, baby,” he whispers, voice cracking. “Come back to me. You’re almost here.”

She doesn’t open her eyes yet.

But the pulse grows stronger.

Her chest rises more fully with each breath the ventilator gives her.

And her hand?

That fingers-curled hand in his?

It twitches again.

This time, she doesn’t let go.

⸻

Just outside, in the waiting room—

Eddie looks up from where he’s sitting.

He hears Buck’s voice. Yelling.

But not in pain.

In hope.

Then the door bursts open.

Buck’s standing there, soaked in sweat and tears, breathless.

“She’s back,” he gasps. “She’s back.”

And then he’s on the floor again — but this time, Eddie catches him.

Buck falls into his arms like the weight of the world just slipped off his shoulders.

“She came back,” he chokes. “She came back to me.”

And this time, he lets himself cry.

Not for what he lost.

But for what he almost did.

———

One Week Later

The heart monitor beeps steady and slow.

The sky is a soft silver blue outside the window, the faint hum of early traffic drifting through the glass. Rain falls in a thin mist, clinging to the edge of the city like a secret it hasn’t told yet.

Buck hasn’t moved from the chair beside her bed. Not all night. Not since the monitor stopped flatlining and the room filled with the frantic sound of doctors bringing her back.

He’s barely breathed since.

She hasn’t stirred since they stabilized her again.

But now—

Now something shifts.

Her fingers twitch.

Just barely.

Then again.

Buck shoots up like a live wire, eyes wide. “Nurse—hey! Hey—she’s moving!”

The charge nurse is already at the monitor, eyes flying to the numbers. She glances down. Her voice is calm but clipped. “Get respiratory in here. She’s coming out of it.”

Another twitch. Her brows furrow. Her hand tugs weakly at the sheet.

She’s waking up.

“Y/N?” Buck’s voice is shaking. He stands over her now, leaning close, barely breathing. “Baby, you’re okay. You’re safe.”

Her eyes flutter. Her lashes twitch. A low, muffled sound escapes her throat — tight, gagging.

The nurse is already pulling gloves on. “She’s conscious and fighting the tube. We need to extubate—now.”

“Is she in pain?” Buck chokes.

“She’s panicking. Her body’s waking up faster than we planned for.”

Another breath catches in her throat — shallow, panicked.

You’re awake. Almost fully.

And there’s something in your throat you can’t breathe around. Something cold. Foreign. You gag. Panic coils up like fire. Your chest rises too fast. You try to reach, but your arms are heavy, like lead.

But then—

A hand wraps around yours.

Warm. Steady. Familiar.

“Hey, hey,” Buck’s voice breaks at the edges, cracking with both love and fear. “You’re okay, baby. You’re safe. They’re going to take it out, okay? Just hold on. I’m right here.”

You blink.

His face swims into view — blurry at first, but then crystal sharp.

His eyes are shining, wide with tears. His thumb strokes your knuckles.

“I’m right here,” he whispers again. “Don’t be scared.”

Respiratory therapy arrives, fast and focused. The nurse nods to Buck. “You can stay. Just stay to the side and don’t get in the way.”

He nods, gripping your hand tighter.

You gag again. You want it out.

The respiratory therapist leans in. “Y/N, I know it’s scary, but we’re going to take the tube out now. I need you to cough when I say. Do you understand?”

You blink once.

Then again.

Enough to say yes.

“Good girl,” Buck whispers.

The therapist gets in position. “Okay. On three. One… two… cough—”

You do.

You gag, heave—

And the tube slides out in one long, horrible pull.

You gasp.

Buck’s heart breaks in that moment, watching you struggle for that first clean, clear breath. The tears slip from his eyes and land in the sheets.

You cough, hard, your throat raw and burning. Your eyes flood. A nasal cannula is slipped into place, giving you oxygen. You suck in the air like it’s the first breath of your entire life.

And maybe it is.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Buck soothes, brushing the hair back from your damp forehead. “You’re doing so good. I’m right here.”

You squeeze his hand so tight now. Desperate. Real.

The nurse steps back, eyes checking the vitals. “She’s stable. Off the vent. She’s going to be hoarse for a while, but she’s breathing on her own.”

Buck just nods, forehead against your hand.

You’re exhausted, but your eyes don’t leave his. And his — God, his — they don’t stop watching you like you’re the only star in the sky he’s ever wanted to find his way back to.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispers, lips trembling as he kisses the back of your hand. “I thought you were gone.”

You open your mouth, voice raw.

A croak.

He grabs the water before the nurse can even move. “Here—small sips, okay?”

You take a sip — it burns a little, but the water is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever tasted.

You blink. Tears slipping down your temple now. “You were here?”

“I never left,” Buck breathes. “Not for a second.”

You close your eyes.

The worst part is over.

You’re back.

And he’s here.

———

Your hand is trembling in his. Your throat is scorched raw, but your heart aches louder.

Buck sinks down into the chair, still gripping you like you might disappear again. His free hand presses against his lips for a second, like if he doesn’t hold it there, the emotion will pour out too fast.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so—God, I’m so sorry.”

Your lashes flutter, slow and wet, as you turn your head the tiniest bit toward him.

“I didn’t come home,” he says, voice cracking. “You cooked dinner, you waited for me, and I didn’t show up. I didn’t even tell you I took that shift. And then when you came to the station—when you dropped that food off—I just… I froze. I didn’t stop you.”

You try to speak again. Your voice catches.

“Water,” he murmurs, grabbing the cup again.

You sip. The plastic straw feels foreign, but the water is cool and kind. Your next breath is a little easier.

“Evan,” you rasp, throat like sandpaper.

His name on your tongue makes his head drop, shoulders folding in like you knocked the wind out of him.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” you say, barely audible.

“You didn’t scare me,” he says hoarsely. “You wrecked me.”

His eyes find yours again, red and wide.

“I thought you were dead. I thought I’d lost you because I didn’t come home. Because I was too much of a coward to tell you I was scared of being loved that hard.”

Your brows pull together, a tear sliding down your cheek.

He’s already reaching to wipe it away.

“You were trying to fix things,” he says, voice small. “And I made you walk away thinking I didn’t care. That I didn’t love you. And that—that’s the thing that’s been killing me every second since.”

You squeeze his fingers.

“I knew,” you whisper, broken but sure. “I knew you loved me.”

He shakes his head, one tear slipping down his cheek. “I didn’t show it. Not that night. Not the way you deserved.”

You manage another sip of water.

“You were scared,” you say gently. “I was too.”

Buck presses his forehead to the back of your hand again. You can feel his breath shaking.

“I should’ve answered you that morning,” he murmurs. “When you asked if I was still in it with you. I should’ve said yes. Because I am. I always was.”

Your hand finds the side of his face, weak but determined. He leans into it like he’s been waiting his whole life for your touch.

“Then say it now,” you whisper, voice cracking with everything inside you. “Say it like you mean it.”

He lifts his head slowly.

“I’m in this,” Buck says, like a vow. “With you. All the way. No more running. No more hiding. No more shutting you out.”

You nod, tears slipping freely down your cheeks now.

“I thought…” you breathe, “I wouldn’t get to see your face again.”

He shakes his head, cradling your hand against his heart.

“I would’ve traded mine for yours.”

Silence falls for a moment, but it’s not heavy anymore.

It’s full.

Full of the weight of survival. Of love. Of a second chance neither of you are going to waste.

“You came back to me,” Buck whispers.

“I always will,” you rasp.

His thumb brushes the side of your wrist, just over your pulse, and you both feel it — there. Steady. Alive.

[nostarfights]

If I Ever Were To Lose You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X fem!supersoldier!Reader

Summary: Seeing you get injured during a mission helps Bucky come to terms with his feelings for you.

Warnings: Mentions of violence, reader getting injured, blood, a concussion, stitches, a coma, guns, crying, kissing, friends to lovers trope, takes place during tfatws and a few uses of y/n.

Word Count: 2.4K

a/n: ngl this is a little cringe but i hope y’all like it anyway lol

the photo below does not belong to me

Your breathing was quick but quiet as you and Bucky entered the warehouse Redwing had spotted Walker hiding in just a few hours ago, your hand placed on the gun holster on your hip, ready to grab your gun the second you needed it.

But even with Bucky there by your side and Sam waiting nearby just in case, you still had a bad feeling about this mission. Like something was going to go wrong, especially now that Walker was stronger due to the serum.

Your heart pounded more and more the closer you got to where Walker had been spotted hiding behind a pillar within the building. “Walker, we know you’re here. Just come with us and no one has to get hurt.” Bucky called out as you slowly withdrew your gun from its holster.

You’d given Walker enough chances to surrender, there was no point in trying to negotiate with him anymore. But Walker wasn’t in the mood for surrendering and he sure as hell wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

Not feeling the need to reply to Bucky, Walker left his hiding spot and headed right for Bucky. He then barreled into him with enough force to cause him to stumble back a few feet, using that chance to send punch after punch into Bucky’s face while he tried to regain his footing. It was shocking to you in this moment to see just how strong Walker had become, you’d never seen any enemy catch Bucky off guard like this for as long as you’d known him. 

But you weren’t going to just stand by and watch. So you quickly slid your gun back into its holster and ran over to where the two of them were fighting, immediately pulling Walker off of Bucky. “Give up, Walker. It’s over.” you sternly said through clenched teeth while you shoved him to the ground then cuffed his hands together.

And as you stood up and walked over to Bucky to make sure he was okay, you thought that you’d been right. That this long fight with Walker was over and you could finally put him away, but he soon proved you wrong. 

“You okay?” you’d started to say to Bucky as the sound of the cuffs breaking apart rang out, cutting you off as you both whipped your heads in Walker’s direction. He’d broken out of the cuffs and was now back on his feet, ready to fight again. But before he could get the chance to swing, you were on him again, sending punch after punch of your own into his face and body, knocking him back onto the ground. He stayed there for a minute, giving himself the chance to recover once more and in a blink of an eye he was back on his feet yet again. 

To see how much stronger he was currently compared to you and Bucky terrified you, would this fight ever end? “(y/n), watch out!” Bucky warned as Walker barreled towards you this time. He’d tried to stop Walker but it was too late and when his fist made contact with your chest, your body went flying for a few seconds before you hit the ground, your head roughly smacking against the concrete floor below you once you landed. 

And before you could even get the chance to get back up, Walker had pinned you to the ground by your shoulders and slid the knife he’d been hiding in his boot into your right side, causing you to scream out in pain. It’d be a lot easier for him to get away again if Bucky was distracted by your injuries.

In this moment, you couldn’t move even as Walker eased up on his grip on you, you were paralyzed with fear and pain and Bucky just watched, like a deer frozen in headlights. He’d never frozen up like this ever before and that scared him.

But before another thought could pop into his head, Bucky got a good look at you and began to feel as if he was seeing red. He was done going easy on Walker, he needed to pay for what he’d done. Bucky then placed his hands on Walker’s shoulders and ripped him off of you, giving him one final punch to the face that finally knocked him out, letting his now unconscious body fall to the floor below.

Bucky then rushed to your side right away and started to hold you in his bruised arms. You began to grow heavy as you laid there in Bucky’s arms, the handkerchief he’d retrieved from his pocket moments ago barely doing anything to stop or at least slow down your bleeding. It was no use.

“Stay with me, baby. Keep your eyes open for me please.” he begged as his voice broke, tears streaming down his face. “Bucky?” you weakly said as your eyes fluttered closed for the last time today and your blood began to stain the concrete. 

“No!” he screamed, his voice bouncing off of the walls of the nearly empty warehouse. Bucky quickly checked your heartbeat in the midst of his crying as he’d started to talk to Sam through the comms, it was shallow but still there. “Sam, we need help. (y/n)’s been stabbed, it’s not looking too good.” he quickly said, trying to hide the fact that he was crying. 

Upon his quick arrival just a few minutes later, Bucky gently scooped your limp body off of the ground and handed you over to Sam. “What the hell happened?” Sam muttered whilst a shock look took over his face and he took you from Bucky.

“I’ll tell you another time, just please, get her to the hospital. Promise me that you’ll keep her safe.” Bucky begged as Sam’s wings began to extend, his eyes bright red and his face covered in tears. “You have my word.” Sam said before he started to fly away, going as fast as his wings could possibly go before it was too late. 

Bucky wanted more than anything else in the world to go with you and Sam but he knew that it’d be for the best to have Sam take you to the hospital, even if it broke his heart to let you go while he went back to the tower alone, still sobbing. 

—-------------------------------------------

As soon as he made it back to the tower, Bucky felt himself sprinting to the part of the building that Tony had turned into a hospital years ago as if his body was on autopilot. All that mattered to him in this moment was making sure that you were okay. He’d become so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn’t even realized that he’d made it to the hospital and almost ran into a sad looking Sam who had just finished speaking with your doctor. 

“Bucky.” Sam softly said, immediately catching his attention as Sam placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from going any further. Bucky’s eyes teared up once more as he looked at his friend, “She’s going to be okay,” Sam started, pausing for a moment as he took a breath then began to deliver the bad news to Bucky, who currently felt like he could finally breathe again since you passed out, “But because of how hard her head hit the ground, the concussion she got caused her to fall into a coma. The doctor doesn’t know when she’ll wake up, it could be days or weeks.” Sam explained, trying his best to be strong for you and Bucky. 

Bucky’s heart dropped and even though he knew you were going to be okay, he was still riddled with fear and worry. He felt like he’d gotten the wind knocked out of him. He’d come so close to losing you and the fact that you were in a coma broke his heart.

As he continued to process everything he’d just been told, a wave of sadness hit him and Bucky collapsed into Sam’s arms while sobs violently shook his body. He wished he could’ve been better at protecting you. He could’ve prevented this but instead he froze up and let it happen, like an idiot. 

Sam helped Bucky back onto his feet, supporting him while he walked him to your room, tears pouring down his own face. It’d been years since he had seen Bucky this broken and he desperately hoped, for Bucky’s sake, that you’d pull through.

Once they made it into your room, Bucky could barely stand the second his eyes landed on your sleeping form, your skin was paler and there were bruises scattered across your arms and face, breaking Bucky’s heart even more. The emotional pain he was feeling as a result of today’s events had become too much. But before he could collapse again, Sam quickly pulled up a chair to your bedside and helped Bucky sit down. 

“I’m here for you if you need anything, Buck. Stay as long as you need.” Sam told Bucky as he stood next to him and Bucky quickly became a shell of a man the longer he stared at you. “Thanks.” Bucky quietly said through his tears and Sam started to leave the room, closing the door behind him to give the two of you some privacy. 

Bucky was silent as he began to hold your hand in both of his and pressed his forehead to it as he closed his eyes. He felt so guilty, he had always vowed to himself to protect you and he failed, he hoped you'd forgive him once you woke up.

And as he sat there with you, seeing you almost die finally made him see that he was in love with you and that was okay. He promised himself that he wouldn’t bury his feelings for you ever again. Life was too short for him to continue hiding the fact that he loved you more than anyone else. 

“Come back to me, baby. I love you.” he muttered against your skin. 

—-------------------------------------------

One Week Later

As you woke up, you began to feel confused and disoriented while you opened your eyes for the first time in seven days and the bright light above you in your hospital room caused your head to start to hurt.

“Where am I? Why does my hand feel so heavy?” you thought as you slowly looked around the room and you began to squint your eyes. A soft smile appeared on your face as you looked to your left and saw Bucky sitting next to your bed, his head resting on your joined hands while he slept. 

“Bucky?” you quietly said, still squinting due to the light. He looked tired, pale and there were bags under his eyes. You wondered how long he’d been there. He awoke abruptly, the sound of your voice calming him. You were okay, you’d come back to him. He could finally breathe again. “(y/n)!” he exclaimed as he began to gently hug you and tears welled up in his eyes.

“How long was I out for?” you quietly asked him as you looked into his tired eyes, the sight of this making you frown. “A week,” he told you, pausing before he spoke up again a moment later, “I missed you so much. I’ve been so worried but I’m glad you’re okay,” he continued before silence soon took over the room, “I’m so sorry this happened and that I wasn’t able to stop Walker.” he confessed as a few tears fell down his face, showing you just how guilty he’d been feeling for the past week.

Your frown became deeper as you reached up and wiped Bucky’s tears away, “Bucky, you have nothing to apologize for. I can handle myself.” you told him as he placed his hand over yours. Bucky let out a deep breath as he opened his mouth to speak, “I know,” he began as he nodded his head, “I’m just always terrified that I’m going to lose you every time we go on a mission. And even though I knew you were okay, seeing you like this broke my heart. I haven’t been able to leave your side this entire time.” he explained, prompting you to hold his hand and stroke the back of it with your thumb. “I’m okay, stop worrying.” you quietly said, making Bucky smile a little.  

Silence took over the room for the second time that day as both of your minds began to run rampant and you processed everything that had been said as well as the things Bucky had wanted to say. “I’m in love with you, sweetheart. I just wish I could've had the confidence to tell you before all of this happened.” Bucky simply said as he looked over into your eyes, his heart on his sleeve.

Hearing him say this caused your face to break out into a smile, you’d been waiting for what like forever to hear these words leave his mouth. “I love you too, James, I always have. I’ve just been waiting for you to tell me that you felt the same,” you said, the sound of your confession and his name falling from your lips causing his heart to warm, “But maybe now that I’m awake we can make up for lost time?” you suggested to him with a wink.

And in an instant, Bucky started to softly kiss you while he held your face in his large hands once more. “I love you so much, baby.” he muttered against your lips in between kisses, causing butterflies to appear in your stomach. 

“Bucky? Could you turn the lights off please? I have a headache.” you softly asked him once his lips pulled away from yours again a few seconds later. “Of course.” he answered with a soft smile as he stood up from his chair and crossed the room to turn the lights off. 

Upon returning to your bedside, he gently scooped you up and moved you over a little so that he could lay down with you. You then slowly rotated so that you were facing him on your non-injured side and snuggled into him, resting your head on his chest.

And although you had just woken up, being in a coma had caused you to feel exhausted and you soon started to get sleepy. “Rest, sweetheart.” Bucky murmured against your hair as he wrapped his arm around you. He’d ask you to be his another time, for now he’d just let you sleep.

NAVIGATION

send me a request!

[psycholuvrgirl]

like him

featuring... megumi!

summary: you have to be the one to break the news to a very emotional megumi after his fight with toji

warnings: brief mention of gruesome injuries, literally the megumi and toji scene is a warning in itself, canon divergence to fit this scene better

a/n: i cooked this up in less than an hour before work i hope it's not ass + sorry it's so short

it’s subtle. a slight shift in the air that tells you something’s wrong.

“megumi?” you scream.

the last time you saw him, he was being chased by none other than toji fushiguro. you were helpless, too busy with your own fights to help him. he ran, and that was all you knew.

you shout his name again and take off in the direction he fled. there are curses hot on your tail, making you speed up. 

“megumi! where are you?” you cry out.

not megumi. please, god, not megumi.

you plead with yourself, with god, with the universe, anything to make sure that megumi’s okay. something’s wrong and you know it. it’s not just your binding technique telling you something is off with megumi. it’s something deep in your soul screaming and clawing its way out of you that makes you sick to your stomach. 

when you finally stumble upon megumi it’s not what you expect. you expect him limp on the floor, bleeding, dying. you expect the worst.

instead you find him standing over a body, head tilted and tears brimming in his eyes. he looks up, hands out as if he’s ready to attack until he sees it’s you.

“who is this?” he asks, pointing down to the man at his feet.

your eyes travel down and you let out the smallest gasp, eyes widening a little. no. it can’t be. you already know that it is, but the shock isn't lessened.

your eyes snap back up to megumi, whose cursed energy is flaring around him wildly.

“megs…”

“who is this?” he repeats, firmer this time.

“i don’t know,” you whisper.

“don’t lie to me,” he growls.

you look away from your boyfriend, eyes landing on a nearby lamppost. “that’s toji.”

“toji who?” he asks.

you stay silent, tears stinging the back of your eyes. you can’t be the one who does this. it was supposed to be gojo who told him when he was ready, not you.

“who the hell is this?” he roars. he’s in front of you before you can process it, hand wrapped around your throat. it’s not hard, he doesn’t squeeze and there’s no real threat behind it, but he’s angry and growing more impatient. and you can’t really blame him.

“that…” you let out a quiet sigh, closing your eyes as the tears roll down your cheeks finally. you turn back to megumi and open your eyes, staring into his dark blue ones. “he’s an assassin. the sorcerer killer.” you swallow thickly. “that’s toji fushiguro.”

megumi’s eyes flash with something. not anger or sadness, no, not an emotion with a name.

he lets go of you, stumbling back a few steps. he glances down at the man.

“fushiguro?” he mutters, more to himself than anything. he looks back up at you. “you mean… this man is…”

“yes,” you say, even though the question remained unfinished. you nod your head. “that’s him.”

you don’t have to say it. megumi’s a smart boy, he can connect the easily connectable dots. he knows exactly who this is, and you think he might’ve known for a little longer than when you told him.

“no,” he breathes out, shaking his head. he closes his eyes, the heels of his hands pressing into his eyes. “no, that’s not—”

“it is—”

“it’s not!” he yells.

the usually stoic boy, void of feeling or emotion to others lets out the loudest sob you’ve ever heard. he drops to his knees, hands now reaching out to toji, but never quite touching him.

“no, no, no, no, no,” megumi mutters to himself. his hand touches the handle of the blade that sticks out from toji’s head.

you kneel down next to megumi, looking over his body. “megumi, you’re bleeding. we should get you—”

“are you lying to me?” he asks, aggressively swiping away at his tears. he lets out a shaky breath. “is this your idea of some kind of sick joke?”

“megumi, why would i joke at a time like this?” you ask.

megumi closes his eyes, face scrunching as more tears fall down his face. they drip down onto toji’s body, washing away at blood and dirt that cover him from the fight.

then he lets out the most guttural scream you’ve ever heard. years worth of pain and unknowing finally releasing in one loud wail. and every time he stops screaming he sucks in a breath just to start again. his forehead falls down against toji’s body, shoulders shaking with every sob he lets out.

“get up!” megumi yells, shoving toji’s body. he shakes toji violently. “get up you bastard!”

“megumi, he’s gone—”

“i said get up!” megumi cries. “get up! get up! get up!”

“megumi—”

“get up now and finish this!” he shouts, pounding on toji’s chest like it’ll bring him back.

“megumi,” you whisper, softer this time. he finally turns, looking at you with widened eyes. you shake your head, holding your arms out. “he’s gone, megs.”

megumi’s bottom lip wobbles before he collapses into your lap. you shush him, gently running your finger through the his spiky, dark hair. you whisper little reassurances that you know mean nothing to him right now. and you let him cry. he cries and cries until there’s no tears left inside of him.

and you stay there with him through it all despite hell coming to earth around you.

[luxiomahariel]

I'm gonna be real with you, I'm sick of the back and forth between "androphobia isn't real" and "we don't believe in androphobia either, only transandrophobia." Androphobia is a real thing that exists and no amount of screaming and crying about it is going to change that. Nobody is saying that it's as big of a systemic problem as misogyny, but it IS a thing. It's literally just the hatred and/or phobia of men. That's it. Anybody can hate or fear men, even if there's no systemic bigotry against (cis) men specifically. "Androphobia" doesn't mean "cishet white men suffer more than anyone in the entire world," it's literally JUST a word to describe being prejudiced against men. Why must everything be reduced to a non-existent black and white binary on this god forsaken website? I'm so tired.

Not directed at you, I'm just yelling into the void.

.

[gugudalala]

ft. sae itoshi / rin itoshi x reader

synopsis: They grew up together, hearts quietly entwined — even when Sae left for America. Now that Sae's back, Rin is done watching from the sidelines and pushes his way between them, Sae's long-suppressed jealousy boils over — the quiet bond they once shared threatens to erupt into something far more dangerous.

TW: smut with plot, spanking, degradation, size kink, unprotected, praise, ect+++

words: 1155

A/N. I do not own any of the character or picture (credit to the rightful owner) only the plots are mine. 

Enjoy ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

CH: 1 | 2 | 3

────୨ৎ────

"Rin, please stop" he pushed you back onto the door as you both got inside his room. With both his hands on the side of your head, kissing so passionately. When you try to escape only for him to force you back into the kiss. 

‘How... how did it come to this?’ 

Sae just returned for a family visit. You've known each other since we were kids, growing up in the same neighborhood and even sharing the same class. Then there's Rin, Sae’s younger brother. He’s always been around, even when Sae wasn't. When you were younger, you found it adorable how Rin looked up to his older brother. Even after Sae left, Rin kept showing up—asking for help with homework, tests, anything to stay close.

But over time, Rin began to change. He started to grow into someone who reminded me more and more of Sae—your first love… and your darkest secret.

You were just having a normal family dinner, with his parents and yours, celebrating Sae’s return. With Sae sitting right beside you, you couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter every time your eyes met. But that moment didn’t last—because then Rin caught your gaze, stood up without a word, and pulled you into his room before anyone even noticed.

Pulling away from the kiss "The way you looked at him… Why? I've always been here for you. Why can’t you look at me like that? What does he have that I don’t?" 

"Rin, please…" Confused by his actions, your heart stumbles. All this time, you believed he was just the younger brother of the one you once loved — one you never saw coming.

"You were so excited all morning, dressing so well... just because my brother was coming back?" pushing you into his bed, he reached into your skirt cupping onto my heat "Look at how wet you are, hopping for my brother to fuck you, don't you" his finger move your panties aside as he tease and thrust his finger into you. You can't help but squirm but his hand held you into place "listen to it" lewd squelching sound filled up the room, you can't help but listen to how wet you were. “Such a good girl being wet and ready to be fuck” Feeling of shame creeping up on you, this is just not right. His finger reached all the spots that had never been played with, pleasuring you like never before — and you don’t want him to stop. Each thrust is hard and fast and as you were about to reach your climax, he pulled out along with your panties. Looking back at him, he was licking his finger, cleaning off your juices, you can’t help but blush by his action

Getting on top of you, he pulled down his pants. Realizing how far this would go, you tried to escape him only to be dragged down by your leg toward him. “Rin, we should not be doing this… I have never done it before” you plead only for his eyes to light up “Then let me have it,  I won’t watch him steal what I’ve waited for all along." He slipped the dress off your shoulders, only to shove it upward, trapping your arms, and locking you in place. When your eyes met his, the air shifted, there was no mistaking it, the heat in his gaze said everything — raw, undeniable desire. He adjusted himself on you, spreading your leg and slowly pushed into you. Stretching and filling you out. You can’t help but to cry out only for him to kiss back your scream. He started moving while giving you small kisses around your face while keeping his thrust slow. “Rin..” you moaned “You are taking me so well” he praised as he kissed away your tears as he adjusted his place and moved faster.

The room is filled with the sound of your skin slapping against each other, while your arm is still trapped by your dress both his hands on your side pushing you toward his thrust. You almost reached your climax but then he suddenly pulled out, again. Flushed and whining “Rin?” you asked but only to be flip onto your stomach with your hip up in the air. He pushed right back in, this time thrusting deep and slowly edging you “Please, please” already breathless and crying from how sensitive you are. He's making you almost cum over and over again, you tried to bounce back into him as you felt the heat coming back but once again he pulled out before you could even cum

Pulling out he moved back, sitting on the bed with his black to the bed frame “Do it yourself” Looking straight at you he demanded “If you want to cum, help yourself” Looking into his eyes, buried by the tears. He's been edging you for hours and you want nothing more but to cum, hard. Even knowing that it is wrong you can’t help but get onto him, removing all your clothes you got on top of him, breath shaky as you sit up “Good girl, you don't know how long I have been waiting” he reaches and tugs some strain of hair behind your ear, tracing down onto your lip with another hand reaching down teasing your clit  “Whatever you're feeling right now—it’s not even half of what I’ve felt, waiting, aching for you all this time. You have no idea what it’s been like" he pushed his finger into your mouth at the same time with his other hand inside you, both your mouth getting filled and played with, making you see the star.

Once he pulled out, both hands reaching for your sides "Go ahead, take what you want” dropping your hip onto him, feeling him filling you to the top. “Too much” you cry trying to stop but only to be pushed down more by him. “All of it, take it all” With him gripping your side he pushed upward while holding you down. Desperately holding onto his shoulders as he drives his cock into your sloppy cunt. The heat came rushing back afraid he was going to stop once again. You bounced back down, meeting his thrust and finally coming on him, and with a few more thrust he comes into you

Within a moment, he pushed you down to your back, not letting you catch your breath before sliding back in “Rin! — Wait, I just came” your voice breaks, reaching toward him to stop but he uses that opportunity to grab both your hands and pull you toward his trust “Shh… you’re doing good, one more” he grunts, rocking his hips again, again, and again.

You didn’t even know how long you had been going for, but you woke in his arms as the first light of morning crept in—unaware of the shadow that had lingered all night beneath Rin’s door, silently listening.

[betweensnoopy]

see you again ⋆ ･˳

walking into the loud, crowded house, you could instantly smell alcohol and weed. your nose turns up to the smell and you face your friend, who’s already in the party mood.

her smile fades as soon as she see your face and she rolls her eyes in a playful way. ‘oh my gosh, we’re not even half way in the house and you already want to leave? i thought you wanted to go out, y/n?’

she was right. you thought that going out would help you get over your break up but all you want to do is lay in bed and cry your eyes out.

‘c’mon let’s go have fun! maybe you’ll find somebody better!’ she dragged you in and push y’all’s way through the crowd and right to the liquor. there were all types of alcohol—tequila, beer, vodka, whatever you named—it was definitely there.

your friend grabbed the tequila and poured 6 shots, 3 for her and 3 for you. ‘wait wait wait! this is too much..’ you rasped. she ignored you and continued to pour the shots.

‘I don’t need you worried about your ex or anything else while we’re at this party. girl, you’re gonna drink these shots’ she hands you your first shot and cheers you. you had a feeling in your stomach, not because you were scared.. well you were scared a little bit but, because it’s been months since you drank and you don’t want to be that one drunk girl at the party.

you quickly drink the shot, a burning sensation goes down your throat. you go to grab a cup of orange juice until your friend stops you. ‘nope, no chasers.’ she says and snatches the cup out of your hand.

a guy, who looks very tipsy—walks over to you and your friend and eyes her up and down.

the guys asks her to dance to the song that just screams sweaty, drunk bodies grinding on each other. she accepts to dance and gives you a look. ‘go have fun, y/n! finish your shots!’ she yells over the loud music and leaves you there—by yourself.

you eye down the two tequila shots. she’s right, you should have fun. you just got out of a relationship and is going out for the first time in forever. you need to turn back into your carefree, single self again and have fun.

you quickly take the two shots and make yourself a drink and step out the dance floor.

you finally started to let loose and danced to a couple songs. you know, really enjoying this party, even dancing with this one guy you came across.

you were having fun until you saw him.

the man that broke your heart, staring right at you. the man who’s the reason your at the stupid party in the first place.

your heart dropped to your stomach, what was he doing here? hamzah wasn’t really the party or any social activity type of guy.

you haven’t seen him the months. his hair is a buzzed bleach now and not the black curls that you love, or well loved. he looked more muscular than the last time you saw him, his eyes looked darker than his usual brown eyes.

hamzah looked totally different from when you guys broke up, and so have you—you two looked like two strangers to each other.

you looked away from hamzah and continued dancing with this stranger, putting on a fake smile—but you could feel his eyes still on you. his eyes basically burning holes into your back.

you tried the take your mind off your ex-boyfriend who’s standing in the corner, looking like the creep. you grind harder into the man behind you, his hand on your hips guiding you.

‘how about we take this somewhere else?’ the man says into your ear, before you can answer you were snatched away from the guy. you nearly fall due to the fast speed this person was walking.

your heart beating fast, you thought you were getting kidnapped and the guy you were dancing on didn’t when run after you. you look up and see that bleached buzz, it was hamzah.

before you could say something—he shoved you in a empty bathroom and locked the door. ‘what the fuck are you doing out there?’ he exclaimed.

you face scrunches up, what the fuck is he talking about?

‘what the hell do you mean? i’m enjoying being single, you know since you fucking dumped me!’ you snap back. hamzah pinches his nose bridge before looking down at you.

you walk up the mirror to fix your dress and fix your hair, hamzah’s eyes filling you ‘don’t worry, you still look the same way you did when you dancing on the guy, like a whore.’

without even thinking, you turn around and slap hamzah across the face. ‘fuck you, hamzah!’ you shout.

he has no reaction, fucking weirdo. ‘fuck me?’ he muttered.

‘yes, fuck you.’ you say. he looks down at you with hooded dark brown eyes, lips plump just asking to be kissed.

the two of you looked at each other until hamzah smashed his lips onto yours, you could taste the alcohol on his tongue. the kiss was tough and messy, your hands go on each side of hamzah’s face.

he breaks the kiss, turning you around and pushes you against the counter. your hands tightly grip the sides of the sink as he pulls up your dress and pulling your panties to the side, wasting no time.

his lips go on your neck—making little hickies all around it, visibly marking his territory.

you lightly gasp at the feeling of his fingers rubbing your entrance. ‘your already wet? you’re living up to your name, whore.’ hamzah grins.

you look up at him in the mirror ‘don’t call me th-’ he cuts you off by sticking his middle and ring finger inside your wet cunt. your head drops low and you lightly bite your lip.

‘what was that? I didn’t hear you..’ the man mutters. his fingers pump in and out of you at a torturing pace. hamzah places his hand on your throat, squeezing lightly—pulling your head back to kiss you from behind.

his curled fingers speed up, making you moan in his mouth. behind the muffled moan coming from you, you could hear the squelching from your pussy.

he fucked you with his fingers, knowing that it always get you loose. your creamy fluids spill on his fingers, dripping down on the tiled bathroom floor.

‘look at you, fucked out just by my fingers. you miss this down you.’ hamzah whispered as he looked at you through the mirror.

he groans at the sight in front of him. ‘look at me, y/n. look at how pretty you look with my fingers inside you.. fuck.’ hamzah cursed.

you slowly open your eyes to see him staring at you. the same stare that makes your knees weak everytime. he takes his fingers out of you, glistening in the bathroom light. you let out a little whine at the lost of contact, your cunt just throbbing.

hamzah puts his forcibly puts the same fingers that were inside you in your mouth. ‘taste yourself, see how good you taste, y/n.’ his voice rasped.

you slowly suck on his fingers as he watches you in the mirror— a number of curses coming out of his mouth.

he takes his hand out of your mouth and get a taste himself. he begins to unbuckle his pants, the tent in his pants is just raging. you reach down to help him, slowly palming him in thought his boxers.

you pull his cock out, hitting his stomach as you do. hamzah takes over and strokes his cock.

he rubs his tip against your entrance, gaining a small moan from you before he pushes all the way in. immediately, you feel full—it’s like you’ve never adjusted to his size.

hamzah doesn’t start off slow, no. he started off rough, fucking you like he hated you.

‘wait.. ham.. oh fuck..’ your eyes rolled back under your hooded eyes. your hands grip the sink for support. his mouth attaches to your neck once again as he pounds you.

the muttered music from the party played outside of the bathroom, you were hoping that it was enough that no one can hear how loud hamzah’s hips were slapping against yours and your high moaning.

this feels completely wrong but yet, so good. his hand wraps around your throat—making you look at him. ‘fuck, y/n. you must missed me fucking you like this, don’t you? say it. say you miss me fucking your guts.’ his mouth is so filthy.

it took you a while to get the words out, you were so overstimulated with him pounding into your aching pussy and slightly choking you.

‘i miss.. you.. s-shit.. fucking me like this..!’ you moan. hamzah groans at the words, his pace going even faster.

you lightly try push hamzah, putting a hand on his stomach. ‘nuh uh, don’t try to push me away. goddamn.. you know you want this.’ he moans as he pushes your hand away.

your makeup and hair was fucked up and smudged. you looked a hot mess but hamzah loved every sight of it, knowing he’s the one that caused you to look like that. your dress pushed all the way your waist, panties soaked and pushed to the side.

his cock hit your g-spot repeatedly, mouth opening into a ‘o’ shape.

‘that’s the spot? i know it is.’ hamzah spoke in your ear. your mouth opened but nothing came out.

his cock so deep—pushing the feeling of an orgasm at brink. ‘hamzah.. im close..’ you mutter.

‘you gonna cum? do it, fuckin cream all over me.’ hamzah groans. his cock pounding you over and over and over—until you came and your body fell limp against his. hamzah came right after you, letting out a deep moan, shooting his ropes inside you.

it’s quiet now, just muffled music in the background. he stayed inside for a minute, feeling your warmth for once again.

he carefully pulls out, his cum oozing out of you just turns him on again.

your dress wasn’t even fixed or actually anything, you still looked a mess before he left after getting dressed again.

‘it was nice seeing you again, y/n’ your ex-boyfriend says before leaving the messy bathroom.

TAGSLIST: @weirdogirl888

hey guys! ik it’s been a while since I’ve posted but trust i have some things in the drafts that i need to finish. I hope you guys enjoyed this! remember my requests and tagslist are open!

[ashthesalamipiece]

Hi! I love all your writings, they're amazing!!

Can I ask for a continuation of that kiribaku x reader one where they came home to the reader after she gave birth on their house?

Like I would love more kiribaku dads, and all of them trying to figure out what to do with this VERY unexpected miracle.

Welcome Home, Baby Boom

Pt 1

Pt 2

The apartment felt different.

Same furniture. Same walls. Same dumb key rack Bakugou insisted on mounting himself (crookedly, which Kirishima pretended not to notice). But now, everything felt… softer.

Quieter.

Until the baby started screaming.

“OH MY GOD, WHAT DID I DO?” Kirishima practically shouted, holding the newborn like she was made of glass and guilt. “I JUST PICKED HER UP, I SWEAR!”

“She’s probably hungry,” you said, barely keeping your eyes open as you shuffled toward the couch in fuzzy socks and a nursing tank. “Or bored. Or tired. Or existentially aware that life is meaningless and taxes exist.”

Bakugou stared at you. “The hell is wrong with you?”

You flopped onto the couch. “No sleep. No filter.”

The baby kept wailing. Kirishima looked ready to cry too.

Bakugou sighed, rolled his shoulders like he was heading into battle, and reached out. “Give her here, shitty hair.”

“She doesn’t like me—”

“She screams at everyone. That’s her thing.”

Carefully, Bakugou took her from Kirishima, cradling her with surprising gentleness. You watched him, the way his brows furrowed in focus, the way his fingers tapped softly against the little swaddle.

He looked terrified.

And also like he’d set the world on fire to keep her safe.

“…She stopped crying,” Kirishima whispered.

“I know,” Bakugou whispered back, staring down at her like she was both a miracle and a bomb with a very cute face.

You reached out, curling a hand around Bakugou’s thigh, grounding him. “You’re doing great.”

“She’s not… screaming. So that’s a win.”

“You’re a natural,” Kirishima said, brushing his thumb across the baby’s little fist. “Even if you did suggest naming her Explosion Murder Princess.”

“She’ll earn that name,” Bakugou muttered.

You leaned your head against Kirishima’s shoulder. “We still don’t have a name.”

Bakugou’s mouth opened. Kirishima immediately raised a finger. “No. No. We are not naming her anything that sounds like a pro wrestling move.”

“Fine,” Bakugou snapped. “Then what? You wanna call her Fluffy Rainbow Kitten-chan or something?”

“…Katsuki.”

“…I’m just saying we need balance.”

“I’ve got a list,” you said, pulling your phone out with one hand, the other still resting against Bakugou’s leg.

They both leaned in.

“Okay, how about… Sora?”

Kirishima smiled. “Cute.”

Bakugou tilted his head. “Sky. Not bad.”

“Or Ren?”

Bakugou shrugged. “Better than Ashblaze.”

Kirishima smiled. “Definitely better than Ashblaze.”

You smirked. “Oh, here’s one you won’t like.”

“Try me.”

“Yui.”

Silence.

“…Okay, that one’s actually nice,” Bakugou admitted. “Short. Cool. No one’s gonna mess with a Yui.”

“She’s gonna be surrounded by pro heroes. Who’s gonna mess with her anyway?”

“I just like being prepared,” he grumbled, adjusting her swaddle like he was already planning her battle strategy.

Eventually, you all settled onto the couch. You curled between them, legs draped over Kirishima’s lap, baby asleep on Bakugou’s chest. It was quiet again—except for the soft breaths of the newest member of your chaotic little family.

Kirishima spoke softly. “This is really happening, huh?”

You nodded. “Yeah. We’re parents.”

Bakugou snorted. “We’re screwed.”

You smiled. “Totally.”

Then the baby hiccuped.

Bakugou froze. “What does that mean?! Is that a warning sign? Is she gonna throw up on me?”

Kirishima grabbed a burp rag. “Emergency protocols activated!”

You laughed until you cried.

And maybe it was the exhaustion. Or the hormones. Or the way both your boys were now dads and trying so hard not to mess up…

But in that moment—sitting in your slightly-too-small apartment, holding a baby none of you had seen coming—it felt like the start of something big.

Messy. Loud. Terrifying.

But big.

And beautiful.

[callsign-rogueone]

eighteen hours

sawyer henrick x reader (peach!)

words: 2.2k

🏷️: onyx storm spoilers (first few chapters), light angst re; peach’s fate after ditching a month of school to go to aretia, catriona lovers should be pleased with this chapter, it’s nice to let the girlfriends go a little feral sometimes, but it always has to immediately be followed by guilt because that’s how we do things on this blog, a little casual dom sawyer at the end there… and of course angst about him being bed bound and unable to take care of her ❤️‍🩹 but he’ll be out of the infirmary in their next chapter and then things will get a little sexy…

You’d decided to wait for a moment when everyone was here at the same time — it’ll be hard enough to give this speech once, let alone two or even three times. Rehearsing it in the mirror in your room had nearly broken you. But now that everyone is here, and you have to feel all of their pity, all at once, that seems like a bad idea. At least you’ll have the next week, and the rest of your life, to get over it.

“I, um… I have to tell you all something.”

All eyes turn toward you, softening — it’s clear from the quiet, strained tone of your voice that whatever this is, it won’t be good.

“I’m being dishonorably discharged. I just wanted to say thank you, and goodbye.”

Sawyer stiffens beside you, and the girls wince, but it’s Ridoc who speaks first. “That’s bullshit! None of us were even reprimanded for leaving. Why are they punishing you?”

“They don’t need me,” you say gently. “You guys are bonded to dragons for life. I’m just another healer.”

Violet picks up on the resignation in your voice, ever observant. “You’re not going to fight it?”

“I tried. There’s no getting around the fact that I went AWOL for nearly a month. I’m lucky they’re letting me go home, honestly.” The squad is silent, not knowing what to say, so you continue; if you let the words hang in the air too long, you’re going to cry again. “It won’t be too bad. I might never have the title of a learned healer, but they can’t take away the things they’ve taught me. I can go back to the valley and help people there, where they need it most. Just… remember to write every now and then, yeah?” you ask, your voice breaking.

Rhiannon is sitting closest to you, and she pulls you into a warm embrace, rubbing your back.

“I’m sorry, I thought I was over it,” you sniff, blotting at your eyes with the sleeve of your robe, which is a terrible idea in terms of sterility, but it’s all you have at the moment. “But this is the one thing I’ve wanted all my life, and to leave you all now…”

“When do you have to go?” Violet asks softly.

“Tomorrow, at noon.”

Sawyer squeezes your hand, finally speaking. “Then we have… eighteen hours to convince the leadership to let you stay.”

Your lips part to reply — and then you hear a scream rip its way down the hall.

“They’re within the walls,” Violet says, likely relaying the information from Tairn. “You need to get out of here, now.”

“Absolutely not. I’m not leaving him, or any of the patients.”

Cat turns to you, deciding how to best articulate exactly how stupid that would be. “You do realize that—”

“Give her the bow,” Sawyer interrupts. “She can split an apple clean in half from a hundred yards.”

Her eyebrows raise, then fall. “I guess there’s not much else to do in the middle of nowhere. Go for the eyes or the throat,” she advises, shrugging off the quiver and extending it to you.

“Don’t touch the arrowheads,” Sawyer instructs. “I’m gonna try to reshape them.”

“Can you do that from a distance?”

“Worth a shot.”

It’s been two full years since you’ve held a bow, let alone shot an arrow, but you don’t have much of a choice — it’s this, or letting dozens of people die.

The eyes or the throat. You can do that, right?

A purple-robed figure slips through the doors of the wing, fading the color from the tiles of the floor as they step on them, from the linen sheets on the beds as they pass by.

The bowstring pulls tight, the first shot missing by two inches from the shake of your hands — but it has the venin turning toward you, red irises meeting yours. Their face is ghost-white, the only coloring that of their veins, highlighted bright crimson like a textbook drawing.

And they’re getting closer, clearly intent on leeching your life away, however that works.

You have no intention of finding out.

You notch another arrow, take aim, and let sail. It pierces their shoulder with a sickening wet thunk that’s immediately followed by a scream of pain. Better, but not good enough.

Third time’s the charm — you finally get the throat, and they sink to their knees before falling still. But there’s two more closing in.

One takes an arrow to the collarbone, swearing in a language you’ve never heard before Maren’s runed dagger lodges into their chest.

The other is better at evading your shots, weaving around the beds and ducking behind supply carts, continuing to fade all the color from everything they touch. That must be how they get their power.

They’re too close to shoot accurately, but you still have a weapon. Several of them, actually. And they’re expecting you to retreat, to run.

To run away, that is. Not straight toward them.

There’s an agonized shout of your name from across the room, but you don’t turn your head — instead lifting your arm, swiping Sawyer’s dagger across their neck. They fall to their knees as they choke, clawing at their throat in a failed attempt to stop the bleeding.

The sight of all that red spilling out of their skin sets off an alarm in your head, the immediate instinct that you need to fix it, and an immediate sick feeling in your stomach.

Blood has never bothered you before.

But you’ve never been the one to spill it.

The dagger slips from your hand, the perfect grooves of the handle slickened with sweat. The bow falls to the floor beside it, the nearly empty quiver shrugged off and dropped too, its one remaining arrow rolling across the bloodied tiles.

You cover your mouth, trying to breathe through your nose as acid rises in your throat.

“I’ve got him,” Maren promises. “Go.”

You nod a thank you, turning and bolting down the hall.

Cat follows a step behind you, holding back your hair and your robes as you drop to the floor in front of the toilet. “Attagirl. Better out than in.”

“I just…” you whisper.

“I know.”

“They were people.”

“Were,” she emphasizes. “At one point, they were people. Now they’re monsters.”

“I’m supposed to do no harm.”

“You held the line, and saved the lives of every healer and patient who was there, including Sawyer,” she says gently, wiping what must be venin blood from your cheeks with a damp towel. “You prevented so much more harm.”

That’s one way to think about it, you suppose.

It doesn’t do much to ease your guilt.

How do your friends deal with this?

You aren’t sure about the others, but you know Violet has killed before, slit the throat of some boy who was sent to kill her. That was as much self defense as this was. Does she think about that moment every day, playing it on an endless loop in her mind? How many Hail-Amaris did she say that night? How many will be enough for the queen of the gods to forgive either of you?

Cat places a fleeting hand on your shoulder, standing up to discard the dirty towel, and the bathroom door creaks closed behind her.

A long moment passes before you rise from the floor, washing your hands and swirling a shot of disinfectant around your mouth to take away the acidic taste.

You waited long enough, evidently. The bodies are gone, the blood, too. It’s as if you’d dreamed it all up — except for the bleached tiles of the floor under your boots as you walk back to Sawyer’s bedside, settling on the edge of the mattress. His arm is around you in an instant, his head resting against your chest.

You stay like that for a long while, even as your friends come and go, sitting in near complete silence.

There isn’t much to say. But you don’t need words to feel the depth of each other’s pain and sadness, don't need to tell each other how terrifying that was, how you thought you’d lose them. It’s enough to stay there, leaning into his touch, combing your fingers through his hair, letting your eyes fall closed.

This may be the last time you can ever do any of this.

Footsteps have your eyes flying open, your hand reaching for the dagger that no longer rests at your hip. But the two robed figures approaching aren’t venin — just Helen and Winifred. And they’re here to speak to you, evidently.

“We heard what you did today.”

Fuck. They were already letting you off easy with a discharge, but now for them to find out that you broke the Healer’s Oath…

“It was quite the display, from what I’ve heard. A healer cadet killing two dark wielders.”

“Three,” you correct in a whisper.

Maren had helped with the second one, but you’d shot him before he went down. You’ll already wear the title of murderer for the rest of your life — might as well count him, too.

“The board has decided we’d like you to stay,” Winifred finishes for her.

What?

“You did an incredibly difficult thing today. There will be moments in your career like this — not exactly like this, of course, but situations when you have to decide how to best uphold the Oath. I, and several others on the board, have decided that you did that today, and your actions were justified.”

A beat, as you process her words.

Sawyer squeezes your hand gently, prompting you to say something.

“Thank you,” you breathe, bowing your head. “Thank you for giving me a second chance. I promise I’ll work twice as hard as I was before.”

Helen looks unconvinced, pursing her lips and huffing a breath of disbelief before turning to leave.

Winifred offers you a knowing smile over her shoulder, lingering a moment. “Some of us still remember what it’s like to be young and in love with a man who has sworn his life to the crown. And to make the choice to go where you’re needed most, knowing it could cost you everything… it doesn’t get much more exemplary than that.”

Sawyer leans into you a little further, and you can feel the warmth of his pride in his touch. “I knew they’d come around.”

Your lips part in realization. “You were the one who told them, weren’t you?”

He just smiles, giving you one last gentle squeeze. “You should get some sleep. You have a lot of work to do, starting tomorrow.”

—————-

A lot of work, indeed.

Sawyer doesn’t see you for the next three days.

“She’s resting,” Trager answers before Sawyer can ask, saving him the awkwardness. He glances around, seeing nobody, but still lowers his voice as he continues. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, with healer-patient confidentiality and all, but she collapsed this morning.”

Sawyer’s eyes blow wide. “What happened?”

The flier starts unwrapping the bandages, inspecting the sutures underneath. “They’re overworking her. Their justification is that she missed a month of work and school, so she has to make up for it now by doing double shifts, and turning in all her assignments by the end of this week.”

“That’s ridiculous. Who could possibly do a month’s work in a week?”

“Not her, evidently.”

It’s clear that Trager regrets his choice of words as soon as they’re spoken, but Sawyer doesn’t fault him for it, knowing it’s not intended as an insult.

He doesn’t see you until after dark, when you drag yourself out of bed and down to the infirmary. “Wanted to see you before visiting hours ended,” you murmur, bringing a hand up to cover a jaw-cracking yawn.

“You cut your nails,” he realizes, a little dismayed.

“Mm. Don’t have time to paint them anymore, anyway.”

“How are your assignments coming?”

You hum in response. “Two more essays, n’ then I’m done with it all. G’nna finish tonight.”

“I think you should sleep first,” he prods gently. “They can wait until morning.”

You shake your head, covering yet another yawn. “They’re due Friday night, and I have to work the next two days.”

“But they won’t be any good if you write them when you’re all loopy and sleep deprived.”

Oh.

The frown it brings to your face makes his heart ache, makes him regret this approach — but he has to do something to prevent you from working yourself to the bone, and his options are limited. “Shower, then sleep. No more writing until you’ve eaten breakfast, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good girl. C’mere.”

You step forward without thought, letting him press a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you.”

“Love you too,” you murmur. “G’night.”

He wants nothing more than to go with you, to get you through the shower and ready for bed, curl up with you and let you rest your head over his heart like you did every night in Aretia, but all he can do is watch from his bed as you walk away.