#I LOVE THAT THEY PUT IS IN THE CAGE AT NIGHT

[rosenclaws]

Imagine this. Being taken by three Logan variants at once. A hole for each. Maybe there's five. You've got two hands. Maybe seven. You've got some tits that need sucking too. Better make it eight. Someone's got to get their tongue on your clit.

warnings: MINORS DNIIII, NSFW 18+ ONLYYY, Gangbang with the Logans, afab!reader, oral, sex, anal, groping, hand jobs, just complete filth.

a/n: Yeah look ik I wrote a Logan cucking Logan fic but this might be the filthest thing ive ever posted on this account. Its not really a fic its like half one and half just a story but idk how to phrase it. Idk if its clear who is who but I did my best. There’s 7 Logan's in this btw

Alright I'll tell you how this goes.

I mean you really have Wade to thank for all of this. Pulling a few strings to get you a night alone with Logan. Or Logan's.

Your boyfriend was watching from the side. His hairy greasy abs showing as he sits in just his yellow suit. He’s already had to tell a few of his other selves to fuck off after they laughed at seeing those brightly colored pajamas. He has staked his claim early on. These other men get to touch you but you’re his.

You’re on your back now. Behind you is the firm chest of another Logan. The former cage fighter. He wore a white tank top and a brown leather jacket that has been thrown across the room. His hands were playing with your tits. Squeezing them with his rough hands. Fingers teasing your nipples as he sucked on your neck. Moaning as he his hips ground into your back.

Your head was resting against his shoulder as the old man got a taste. Devouring your cunt like his last meal as your legs hung limply around his shoulders. His gray hair was stupidly attractive and he claimed seniority. Wanting to be the first one between your legs.

“Now don’t forget about me baby.” The lumberjack purred.

He confused you the most, missing that perfect kitty hair you loved about your Logan. But you could see the youth in his eyes the pain that you saw in your own Logan was absent. The lumberjack guided his cock to your mouth. Cooing softly as you took him as deep as you could. You felt positively sinful.

“I get this hole when you’re done grandpa.” Another Logan growled.

Of all the Logan’s he seemed the dirtiest. His clothing made him stick wildly out of place. Then again he was plucked right from the 70’s.

He was watching the older Logan eat your cunt with hungry eyes. His fingers coating themselves in his spit and your cum to rub along your ass. He wanted to ruin that tight hole and oh was ready to pounce.

“Who made you the boss?” The professor growled.

Squaring up to his much younger self as he put out the cigar in his mouth. The sudden snkit of three sharp claws cuts between them. The two Logans look to Patch. The most mysterious of the Logans.

“Will you both quit your yapping. We can all have a turn. Right sweetheart?” He tilts his head as he watches you gag on the lumberjacks cock.

You nod your head pathetically. You need them all. You didn’t care who was where or what they did. You just needed them.

“Alright that’s enough.” Your Logan growls. Standing up and yanking back the old man from your cunt.

You pulled off the cock in your mouth to breathe. If it wasn’t for you, you were sure these men would have ripped each other apart. Too much pride and pure stubbornness to go around.

“Come on sweetheart. Get that ass up just how I like it.” Your Logan purrs.

It’a a blur of hands and skin as you get on all fours.

“Make sure you breathe alright baby? We’ll take good care of you.” The old cage fighter whispers. Smirking as you look up at him with eager eyes. He latched his mouth onto your boobs. Moaning as buries his face in your chest. He could die happy right there.

True to his word the man out of time claimed your ass while the professor took your cunt. The lumberjack had slipped his cock back in your mouth, ready to finish what he started as Patch forced his cock into your hand. He was meaner, rougher, as non stop filth poured from his mouth.

The old man has found his place at your clit. His rough fingers unrelenting in their movement as he pinched and rubbed your most sensitive area. He was stroking his cock, ready to sink in once those two brutes were done.

Your boyfriend had shed his suit and guided your other hand to his hard dick. Red and leaking and begging for some attention. You know just how he likes it.

You were a mess. A filthy, disgusting, hot mess. In a weird way you’ve never felt more loved. Your boyfriend wiped away a tear that had fallen down your cheek. He’s silently checking on you and you try your best to convey that you’re okay. That you’ve never been happier. He smiles as he grabs your hair. Forcing you deeper on the lumberjacks cock.

“Relax sweetheart, because we have all night long to play with our toy.” He purrs.

You lose track of where everyone had been after your first couple orgasms. You were blissfully fucked out. Just happy to be there. They werent kidding. Your body screamed and ached in such an amazing way and you never wanted it to end.

You wished you could keep them all here. They were all Logan after all meaning they all had a piece of your heart. But it was just for one night. One night of unbelievable pleasure that you’ll never forget.

You’ll have to remember to thank Wade. Maybe next time he’ll want to join. Well, there’s always next year.

[coupsalchemy]

Jealousy

Summary - The one where he gets jealous.

Tags: Lee Jihoon x (dramatic) f.reader, fluff, established relationship au

Warnings: swear words, possessive Jihoon, kissing, lots of touching

Word Count: 2.7k

A's Note: I wanted to share something on my birthday. Hope you enjoy it and this marks the end of Touch series. I enjoyed writing them a lot! Thank you all for reading!!!

part-1, part-2, part-3

“Feels good to have you back!” 

Jihoon watches his friend, Soonyoung, leaning in to hug you. He rolls his eyes at the antics of his overly touchy friend. He looks at the signs of discomfort on your face, a twitch of an eye and he is ready to tug you back into his arms. To his surprise, you let go of his hand, matching Soonyoung’s enthusiasm and returning his hug. 

Soonyoung is in heaven feeling your friendliness, his smiley eyes and the way he pulls you away from Jihoon to the line of drinks he arranged for the lowkey night. Lowkey night, my ass, Jihoon thinks, following you, and making sure he doesn’t collide with any of Soonyoung’s attendees. He is also on guard to not let any other man to even breathe in your direction. 

Is it the loudness of the music or cluster of people trying to smalltalk with him or Soonyoung stealing your entire attention? He has no idea but little of everything has Jihoon on edge. He didn’t want to come out tonight, heck, who in their right mind wants to go to a party (more like a pity party) the same day they return from a long trip? Not Jihoon, never Jihoon. As much as he just wants to spend the night and the next forthcoming days only with you, he can’t leave his heartbroken friend. Soonyoung texted on how he wants to take his mind off things. 

Jihoon wanted to tell him to fuck off, but he shoot a text to you to go to Soonyoung’s home straight after office. He hates to admit that he cares for his friend. He expected resistance from you, talking him out of the party and staying at home. You just sent a simple okay. Okay? From you? 

Soonyoung is pouring wine in a whiskey glass, you are entertaining him, indulging him in his atrocities. Jihoon pulls up the empty kitchen stool next to you, drags it a little closer, his arm brushing yours and his thigh pressing into you. You smile at him, momentarily forgetting the bartender act Soonyoung is putting on, your eyes trace from his hair to his eyes to his cheeks and to his lips. He reads the want in your eyes, your lips parts, still staring at his’, he licks his lips, placing his hand on the edge of your stool, crowding in your space. It startles you, you turn around to look at the arm pressing into your back. 

“Here you go, sunshine.” Soonyoung places the whiskey glass before you with expectant eyes. 

You exhale loudly, and with a small shake of your head you are back to beaming at his friend. “If anything happens, tell my boyfriend that I loved him.” 

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. Jihoon’s lip corner curls up, his hand moves to your waist, pressing into your skin. You choke on the first sip, coughing out at Soonyoung’s face. He reels back in disgust, wiping his face with his shirt. Jihoon alternates between giving pats and gentle rubs, “can you breathe?” 

You cough a little louder, now, covering your mouth with your palm. “No.”

Jihoon frowns, turning to your side completely and drags your stool between his legs. “Look at me.” 

Your eyes are red and watery from the cough, you cover half of your face with your hand, obscuring him from seeing you entirely. Thankfully your cough stopped. He carefully pries your arm off your face, searching for any signs of discomfort. You avoid meeting his eyes, cheeks pink and you stand up from the stool, his legs caging either side of you. 

“I.. I have to go to the washroom.”

Jihoon stands up to accompany you, you push him back to his seat and follow Soonyoung. He frowns at your retreating back, the gentle sway of your hair, and the way the white shirt and trousers hug your body. He presses his lips in a thin line, grabbing the whiskey bottle and pours himself a drink. He stops before sipping it remembering that he wants to drive you both back to his home. 

Are you avoiding him? You have been ecstatic on the phone that he is returning soon. Can’t wait to see you and hug you and bite you, were the words you said. In a corner of his heart, he is also looking forward to all the things you have promised him. 

He shouldn’t have bothered about the violation of privacy and just kissed you the moment he saw you at the entrance of the building. He has been doing okayish for a week without you and what’s two more hours? He couldn’t be more wrong than that assumption. 

“He moved on already?” Someone asks behind him. Jihoon doesn’t bother to spare a glance at the gossip. He traces the lip of the whiskey glass, waiting for his girl to come join him. 

“She’s pretty.” The other one supplies. “They should be seeing each other. I mean that’s the only explanation for the way his hand is all over her.” 

Jihoon’s heart drops to the fucking floor. You and Soonyoung are coming out of his room, you are throwing your head back laughing at his joke. Jihoon clenches his jaw not at all liking the look of you two. 

“Ugh, I need a girl too, man.” 

The two fuckers leave, good for them, or else Jihoon wouldn’t have known how he would be able to sit through another round of conversation about his girlfriend and his best friend without throwing his fist to someone’s jaw. 

“Jihoon,” Soonyoung drapes himself all over him, “thanks for coming man.”

Jihoon rams his elbow into his friend’s ribs. “Get off.” 

Soonyoung laughs, rubbing the sore spot. He steals a chair and sets it next to Jihoon. “How’s Japan?” 

“Good.” 

“Did you bring me any souvenirs?” He wiggles his eyebrows. 

Jihoon deadpans at the man. Soonyoung laughs once more, circling his arm around Jihoon only for him to get shoved off. Soonyoung chuckles, only now his smile is distant and sounds a lot painful. 

Jihoon shouldn’t inflict his irritation at his friend. He knows Soonyoung would never even look at his girl with nothing more than respect. It’s Soonyoung’s nature to be friendly and touchy. Sometimes he forgets the line, or the scene at hand, giving wrong ideas to outsiders. 

Irrespective of all the facts Jihoon can’t help but feel a little pissed. Soonyoung shouldn’t have gotten into your personal space. It’s his and his only. Soonyoung is tending to his broken heart, he is trying to divert himself with his loud laugh and parties from the silence cracking his lonely heart. Jihoon should be understanding. 

“How are you really doing?” Jihoon asks.

Soonyoung looks up at him, teary eyed. “Miss her. I want her back. Even now I’m holding myself back from texting or showing up at her house.”

Jihoon hums. “I wouldn’t recommend it. Let things cool down before you do something outrageous.” 

Soonyoung pouts, his eyes teary. You coo at him. “It’s okay. You big puppy.” You ruffle his hair. 

Jihoon holds his breath watching the scene unfold before him. Why are you playing with Soonyoung’s hair? He can recall all the times you were together both in public and private, you never, not even once, showed him that act of affection. 

Unease births inside him, his fingers twitch and he presses his lips in a thin line. What does this mean? Is he thinking too much? Did the gossip mongers get to him and effectively ruined the evening for him? He treads the dangerous waters, are you getting bored of him? 

He sucks in a deep breath at this very unsettling thought. He must have gone crazy now to doubt your affections. You are mindful of your touches with him when you are outside, he knows this. Soonyoung and you just share similar friendly nature, he saw you being all over your friend, Jihyun, early on in the relationship. 

What if you truly belong to someone who shows their love in your language and not in the mockery and teasing like him? A sour taste spreads across his mouth at the image of you cuddling with someone else. His entire body shivers thinking of someone else receiving your kisses. 

Realization dawns on him, in a violent manner, if he ever loses you he won’t be able to love again. Not in the way he loves you. If you ever choose to leave him, his life will stop that day and he will just exist till his breath stops. 

“..Jihoon. Jihoon.” You shake his arm, pulling him out of the gutter of his thoughts. “What happened? Are you okay?” You wipe the stray tear from his cheek, your voice laced with panic as you ask, “why are you crying? You were fine a minute ago?” 

You cup his cheeks, standing between his legs, tilt his head to you. Soonyoung is nowhere near and Jihoon wonders where he has gone. Hopefully not to his ex. If he did, Jihoon would understand. He would’ve bombarded you with his presence if he was in Soonyoung’s place.

Jihoon circles his hands around your waist, resting his head against your chest. You stiffen under his sudden act of love. He smiles when you give in and run your fingers through his hair, he nuzzles deeper into your body enjoying your touch. 

“Uh, Jihoon,” you try to separate yourself from him, he grunts in disapproval. “Baby, people are staring.” 

Satisfaction blooms inside him, he nudges his nose into your breast, sliding his face over your nipple. You grip the hair near his nape, and sink your other hand on his shoulder. 

Now, everyone knows who you belong with. 

“Let’s go home, please.” Your voice is barely a whisper, your want and need dripping just like the times he got you all turned on. 

“Where’s Soonyoung?” 

“He left ten minutes ago.” 

Jihoon raises his eyebrow, a little proud of his friend. “Let’s send everyone away. And we will leave.” 

You whine a little, grabbing his shirt. He clicks his tongue, “five minutes, baby, and I’m all yours.” 

He watches the satisfaction in your face, he tucks your stray hair behind your ear. He rises from the stool and commands the room to leave. It took a little more than ten minutes to empty the house and lock up. Another twenty minutes to reach home. 

He unlocks the door to his home, opening the door wide for you to enter first. He lugs the trolley behind him, closing the door and stands behind you admiring your ass as you bend down to take off your shoes. 

He follows you removing his shoes, leaving the trolley at the entrance he saunters to the couch in the living room. You wait for him to sit down. He does, leaning his head back watching you through his specs. 

“I want my two minutes.” 

His heart picks up pace, he wets his lips, giving a slow nod. You inhale shakily, dropping your gaze from him to the floor, and set the timer on your phone. 

Before starting the timer you ask, “if you feel overwhelmed you can always stop me.” 

His mouth corner curls up in fascination. Physical touch has never been his thing, he feels like worms wriggling on his skin whenever someone holds him for a bit too long and if it was someone who isn’t from his close people. He is selective of who can cross the line. 

You are the top on the list, if it hasn’t been crystal clear to anyone then they don’t know him too well. If you could see what he imagined doing to you for the past few days, maybe you would run the opposite direction. And, Jihoon, enjoys a chase. 

“Jihoon?” 

He sobers up from his thoughts, “sure.” 

You steal a glance at him and shyly bite on your lower lip, pressing on the start. “Here we go.” 

You climb on top of him, making home on his lap, he sits up straighter, resting his hands on the side giving you the freedom you wanted. With a shaky breath, you lean in, Jihoon holds his breath, waiting patiently for your move. 

You press your nose into his cheek, he could hear your heavy breath and the shaky hands holding onto his shirt, you kiss his jaw once, twice, readjusting in his lap to get a better angle. Jihoon groans once you sit exactly where he wants you to, he loops his arms around your waist, pressing into your sides.

“Jihoon,” your voice is a quiver, you bare your teeth sinking them in his neck. Jihoon grunts from the pain and pleasure, your hips pressing down into him, and the trace of your lips sends him to heaven and back. 

“I missed you.” 

You rub your face against his cheek, his hand goes to your hair in need to tug your hair so that he could see you, see the need for him on your face, the hood of eyes, wet parted lips and the red tint on your cheeks. But he doesn’t, remembering this is your time and he can do whatever he wants soon. For now, he will bask in your love and rebirth into a new person. 

You press your chest into his, hugging his neck, inhaling his scent. “My Jihoon, my baby,” you gasp once he shifts beneath you, seeking a brief relief. You feel him, you come out from his neck to kiss on his nose, his closed eyes, and pull the lower lip from his teeth, pressing a soft kiss on it. 

He moans your name, chasing your lips and you duck your head not giving into him. He slaps your hip, you smile, giving in and pecking his lips. “Now, shh, I only have one more minute.” 

Your hands are everywhere now, on his face, tracing his eyes, nose and mouth, and on his chest, on his biceps. He studies the hurry in your actions, his heart swells how frantic you are to get more of him, the man who didn’t fit you completely and fucked up few times. 

“When you weren’t here,” you hide in his chest, rubbing circles on his chest, his brain short circuits , overwhelmed from everything, and he only wants more. “I went crazy. Without you I don’t think I can even make a proper phone call, the amount of mistakes I made at work,” you groan in embarrassment, nosing at his chest, he runs his hand through your hair with a chuckle, “don’t leave me for too long, baby.” 

He tugs your hair at the endearment, pulling you to look at him. He loves that word, especially from you, after the confession of you going mad just like he went. Your sparkling eyes have him wrapped around your finger, one call from you and he is down to do anything you want. He has an inclination that you know it too, slowly weaponising it against him. 

You press a kiss on his lips, “if this ain’t love—” Jihoon’s eyes widen “—I don’t know what is.” 

The timer rings up. You smile dejectedly, unhappy with being done so soon. He turns off the timer and crashes his lips on yours, biting your lower lip, grunts in approval as you open for him to enter. He massages your waist, enjoying the softness of your flesh, turning you on more and more. You pant from the kiss, head reeling at the sensation, anchoring yourself by holding onto his hair. 

Jihoon unbuttons your shirt in the time you both catch breath, shoving off the piece of cloth off your shoulders, marveling at the view in front of him. 

He presses a long kiss to your cheek holding your face in place. “I missed you. Fuck, I love you, my baby. I went crazy too, you slowly crawled into my life and filled everywhere with you. Next time, you are coming with me. I can’t,” he shakes his head, “exist without you. I go wherever you go.” 

Tears well up in your eyes at his words. You hold his face, leaning your forehead against his, “we came a long way.” 

He hugs you, patting your bare skin. “Yeah.” 

Few seconds trickle by and he is back at undressing you, he unbuckles your bra, and stands up, heading to his bedroom with you in his arms. 

[sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame]

I wrote a letter to my favorite characters and then they all came to life and came to my house and fucked me dumb?! Part 1/?

This is the most blatant wish fulfillment 2015 tumblr "oi! She doesn't bloody want you" type of fanfiction I would've fucking killed seventeen men for when I was 12. I refuse to edit this. No beta we die like men. This whole thing was inspired by this manga I feel like, if this ever did happen (and yes gods please let this somehow happen to me except maybe not with Valeria I feel like she'd start a meth lab in my house) they would all kill each other in days. We're just pretending Ellie and Dina haven't met in this universe and Owen was a comphet situation that happened yeeeears ago and Ambessa isn't dead and most of the bad things haven't happened <3. We're going to put our suspension of disbelief glasses on and have a good time today. This story works best if you read it like an obviously fake aita post. Enjoy lesbians. Also fuck ai I don't respect clanker lovers, I just like the em dash because it's perfect, and you can tear it from my cold dead hands. Dedicated to Loki, one of the gods I actually work with. Also I was 100% joking about actually wanting them to come life my mental health would TANK if I had to deal with even just one of these people in real life. Ellie's trauma alone would turn my bedroom into a therapists office daily.

Warnings: discussion of sex but no smut this time, masturbation mention, interdimensional sexting, constant threats of murder, guns, reader gets punched, reader is black, first person, the authors obvious self-insert, cursing, I def wouldn't read this at the thanksgiving table, girly reader, she/her pronouns used, and references to vaginas and tits (sorry butches and dolls, if this gets enough traction I'll write a couple other versions of it for u) , literally the most self-indulgent bullshit on earth but I know it'll be devoured

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

I've always had a soft spot for the tough characters. The women who look like they take no shit, like if I mouthed off to them they could rip me in half lengthwise.

I'd spent MANY a night with my hitachi in one hand and my phone, opened to ao3, or tumblr—and once, a long, long while ago, wattpad—scrolling through a fanfic about one of my beloved characters.

Sevika. Big. Strong. Loyal as fuck. The type to sneer at the stuffed animals I have on my dresser—I don't put them on my bed cause I don't have enough space for all of them and I can't just pick favorite, that'd be so mean—one second, and have three more sat on a new shelf she built for them the next.

Ambessa. Not evil, but far from good. A woman who'd give me everything in the world and then some. Sure, she's a "warlord" and she'd most definitely have me living in a cage next to her desk, but who am I to not support women?

Abby. Gorgeous and built like a fucking tank. Full of love and a need for control I would READILY hand over to her. The softest out of anyone of my faves for sure. I could spend years cuddled up next to her on the couch, watching romcoms and making fun of each other for crying at the sad parts. And even longer making her little protein packed lunches cut into Sanrio character shapes for her to take to work after the gym.

Ellie. Full of rage and curiosity. She should've been an astronomer in a band part time. She should've spent her weekends going to Pokémon conventions, getting into arguments with kids about whether fire type or ghost type are cooler. She should've made better decisions. She should've done a lot of things. It doesn't stop me from loving her character all the same.

And finally, Valeria. Genuinely terrifying. A woman determined to get what she wants at all costs. Truly independent and full of raw intelligence and cunning. If it's between her and the bear, I'm calling the cops on behalf of the bear, cause I know I couldn't beat her in a fight. That being said, I couldn't change her. But maybe I could show her what life looks like when 'winning' isn't your only goal. Probably not though.

I've read enough about them to write a series of novels on each of them, and that day was no different.

I truly do not know what happened. None of us do. I just know that whatever it is, it was probably stupid.

I had just left out offerings for all my gods, finishing with Loki. I'd bought a bunch of pop rock chocolate bars and I already knew he'd be psyched to try one. I'd placed it on his altar, lit the candle, and out of selfishness more than anything, I started talking.

About my day, my week, my job. How tiring it'd been. I loved writing, and I was happier than I'd ever been being able to support myself with my work, but the deadlines, and the book signings, and being in the public eye albeit how negligible the amount of reach I really had was starting to get to me.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful! I do NOT want it to go away. Let me be 100% clear about that. But I just want some more time to be, you know? Or at least some more time with people who'll let me simply exist. Oh my god, it's just like in this fanfic I read the other day—" I then proceeded to recount every detail of the last few fanfics I'd read, mostly because they couldn't physically manifest in front of me and tell me to shut up.

"Maybe I should try doing some character exercises with them? It might ease my writer's block a bit."

I nodded to myself. Satisfied with my excuse to play around and avoid writing the thing I actually needed to submit before the twenty-fourth.

"Yeah. That's what I'll do. Thanks Loki, you always know how to help me with this kind of thing."

Then I stayed up until four in the morning writing letters to each of the women I listed a couple paragraphs ago.

It did help a bit, actually. Writing a letter to someone who doesn't exist really brings up some deep, uncomfortable truths.

In case you're interested, here's what I wrote. Just scroll past it if you want to get to the fun part, that's what I usually did.

"Dear Sevika,

You're most likely horribly busy. You're a councilwoman now, I'm super proud of you by the way, you've managed to defy literally every obstacle in your way in order to get to a place where you have a chance of helping your community in ways you probably never thought possible, but strived towards anyway. I really envy that about you. You're a lot stronger than me in that way.

There are many things I would change about the world I'm in if I had the tenacity you do.

(Here's where I wrote multiple paragraphs of super personal shit I absolutely refuse to put on the internet, I will put this exact same message under every other one. Sharing is NOT caring, sharing spreads disease.)

Anyway, I think of you often. I find myself wishing you were here, or that I was there. Just with each other. Wrapped in each other's embrace in a comfortable silence. Or just sat near each other even, a jazz record playing on the vinyl you insisted we buy at the thrift store near my house, reading silently while I admire the sight of you in the reading glasses I had to bully you into buying. It's so odd missing someone who's never been there.

Thank you. For existing. You've given me reason to keep going and you're literally a drawing.

All the love."

"Dear Ambessa,

God they don't make them like you anymore and for that reason I grieve every single day.

I just look at you and see such beauty. I have no doubts in my mind that my work ethic and living space would appall you, there's a pile of dirty laundry on the chair I'm supposed to be writing this letter in instead of my bed as we speak. I hope there'd be parts of me you'd see as beautiful too.

(Personal shit paragraphs, I lied about copy and pasting the message. Hi. This is fun. I might throw in one personal thing as a treat in on of these)

I feel the need to speak formally with you despite the closeness I ache for from you. Despite that, I can't help but want to take care of you. I know you're used to pampering beyond what any one person could possibly offer, but in my daydreams, we go out to dinner and I walk you to the pier, and I tell you all the stories I'm too scared to show the world.

I can't tell you how proud I would be to be yours.

Sincerely."

"Dear Abby,

Hi love. God this is weird, I should definitely be working right now instead of doing this. I don't even know what I'll do with this letter when I'm done.

I guess I'll just say that I think you're beautiful. You do so much for everyone around you when life has been anything but kind to you and I truly wish you could have the softest life possible.

I want you in my life desperately. I want to bake cookies with you on Sundays, and braid your hair for you, and have you sit and help me retiwst my hair every couple months. I'd let you pick whatever movies we watched every time as payment. I sound like a redditor. I need to go to bed.

Goodnight, lovie."

"Dear Ellie,

I hope the world is treating you well, even though I know it isn't. I guess I hope it starts to. I would love to hear some space facts or hear you play the guitar or just put on a dvd with you.

(Personal shit again, I bet you thought I'd stopped randomly, huh? This section is just about grief. I won't say towards who specifically, but that's the little glimpse you get.)

I wish you peace. God knows you've fought for it enough.

All the best."

"Dear Valeria,

God you're terrifying. I'd gladly let you ruin my life. I'm sorry this letter is so horny, it's 3am right now. I also just think you're really cool. I don't think I could figure out how to become a kingpin if there was a wikihow article on it. Honestly, there probably is.

I wonder what your hobbies are. What your life would be like. I want to crack open your skull and climb in and just see how you see the world for once.

I'd apologize for that being creepy, but I'm 100% sure you'd say something worse to me and not regret it even a little bit.

(I didn't write her any personal shit. Even thinking absolutely nothing would come of this I didn't chance it.)

I hope it's all worth it for you, in the end.

Kisses."

I didn't sign my name on any of them. Even though I knew no one would ever see them, the idea of any of the letters being read was embarassing on a primal level. The next morning, I got up and burned them in the fireplace before I got my day started.

I fed the cat, I wrote, I answered emails, I drank coffee, I even went on a little walk to the park. I sat on an old log bench and counted every bee I saw, like I always did in the summer.

I went home early, tired despite having done as much in a day as a retired ceo.

I was all but ready to sink into the couch and watch as many episodes of say yes to the dress as I could before I got started on dinner when I noticed my mailbox.

I had my normal junk mail, complete with a random magazine I'd never read but will never unsubscribe from.

And five letters.

Naturally, I called ConEdison the second I could to check for a gas leak.

Mundane before magical, always. It'd make a lot more sense that I had some kind of mental break and written letters back to myself and forgotten then whatever the fuck was in those five envelopes.

I mean how the fuck would mail even work in the last of us?

Nothing though. The gas was fine. I felt ok, but I guess everyone thinks they're ok when they're having a break from reality.

I didn't open the letters for five days. I was scared what I'd see to be completely honest.

In those five days I got three more.

Here's the gist of what they said:

"Who is this? Where do you know me from? Your name isn't familiar, I know you're not one of Babette's girls.

Keep talking. That sounded nice.

Sevika."

"Dearest,

I apologize, I'm forced to assume I'm not exactly familiar with you as you haven't shared your name, but I have to assume we've met before. I can't say I've ever had someone speak to or of me in the way you have. It's amusing.

Pick up your laundry. A clean space can't make your current state any worse, now, can it?

This is by far the strangest proposal I've ever received. But I am intrigued.

Let's see if you'd carry my name well,

You are cordially invited to the Merida estate. I am expecting your presence within the week. Please give me your current state of residence so I can send for transportation.

I'll see you soon,

Sincerely,

Ambessa."

"Hi,

Who is this? And how are you sending mail to the wlf base? No one has seen anyone leave anything at the base and this letter showed up outside. If there is a postal system somewhere I'm not aware of, I'd love to discuss it in more detail and get involved. If you're in the base, I understand you might not want to meet, but leaving for the sole purpose of leaving me a love note when you could've left it at my door is not only dangerous, but very unnecessary.

As for the content of the letter, I'm not sure what to say. Thank you, first of all. I wish I could say the same for you, but I don't know who you are.

What is retwisting? Does it have something to do with Redditor? And where are you finding movies? And ways to watch them?

Please respond to this ASAP. And if you have enough paper to send letters, I'd greatly appreciate it if you could send some as well.

I hope you had a good night's sleep.

Kind regards,

Abby."

"Who the fuck is this? How did you get this address? What the fuck do you want?

Ellie."

"I'm going to find you. Keep that attitude when we meet.

Besos."

The second two were from Ambessa, again. Basically scolding me for not replying sooner.

I wasn't going to respond.

If it was a delusion I was experiencing, it would definitely not have been smart to keep playing into it. And if, some-fucking-how, it was really happening, what was I supposed to do? Be penpals with the most mentally unstable women on different planes of existence as me?

On the other hand, the world is on fire, and the president is evil, so maybe, it'd be worth it to respond a little. Just one letter back each, I figured. Maybe apologizing for being so forward, and explaining that I didn't think anyone would see it or respond, and that I'd actually tossed the letters into a fireplace in fact (Abby was especially stunned to hear that). Maybe explaining to Ellie specifically that I physically could not attack her and I didn't want to, mostly out of being a decent human being, but partially because there was zero chance I made it out of a fight with her alive.

That one letter didn't stay alone for long.

"So you're just, sending these letters with magic? You're a witch? Like Streganonna? How do you know me?" Were Abby's most pressing questions. She also thanked me profusely for sending paper, and bandaids, gauze, neosporin, anything else i had in my first aid kit I could shove in an extra large envelope.

"Fascinating. I have to say I'm even more intrigued now, dearest. Please, tell me where you are so I can send for you." I did not want Ambessa knowing my address. Especially considering whatever curtain kept our reality's separate was obviously breaking, we didn't need an actual dictator being made aware of the current political state of the world (this also didn't last long, I ended up venting about a lot more than my own personal life to her pretty soon. She knows about every war I know about now, and we're pretty much all screwed).

"I didn't ask how you sent it. Or how you knew.

Send me more, cariño. I'll let you crack me open if I can split you in half first.

Kisses." Was all Valeria said.

Ellie stopped threatening me and started asking how I knew her. After that creepy ass letter, it felt wrong to not explain it to her. It did seem like it'd do more harm than good, but what was I supposed to do? Imagine not knowing something like this forever. If she was real it was probably a snapewives situation or something where the creator (fuck Neil, free Palestine btw, the link in my bio has links to help people out) channeled the experiences of people from an alternate universe. That made the most sense out of every other explanation I could come up with.

And it felt like it'd be wrong to only respond to Ellie...

So, I kept sending them letters. For months.

I told them about each other. That went over about as well as you expected.

Ellie and Abby didn't respond to me for weeks, with Ellie just writing back "Tell me where she is."

Sevika and Ambessa clearly had met somewhere before, and refused to elaborate on how or when. But neither of them were particularly fond of the idea of me speaking to the other.

"She couldn't give you the life I could. You'd be royalty. A goddess among men. Stop responding to her." That letter came with several pieces of jewelry that each looked like they were worth about seventeen months of my rent.

"That bitch couldn't fuck you right."

That letter came with nothing.

I sent them photos, and cassette players and tapes of my favorite songs which they were all utterly fascinated by, and supplies for Ellie and Abby. It seemed like any sized package from any store or postal service worked as a method to send stuff, even if it seemed slightly too big for the fireplace. There was never any metal or plastic residue. I tested it frequently.

The more we talked the more I started to dread the idea of the letter s suddenly stopping.

I nearly had a panic attack when Abby let me know she was going on patrol for the first time.

It freaked the both of us out when we found out the letters just showed up close to wherever she was.

I was achingly curious how it all worked, as were they. All of them tried to find more about how it worked in their own way, Valeria especially.

She took the news of being in a video game the easiest.

"I always had the feeling no one but me was real." She'd said.

After a while, and multiple promises that Valeria wouldn't blow up my home if she got the chance to, I sent them pictures of me, my house, my senior cat, who Valeria sent me 8,000 US dollars to take to the vet one day when I told her she was sick.

"I don't like seeing animals hurt. That's all. If there's any left over, spend it on something nice, and send me a photo. Don't send it to any of those other bitches or I'll kill them."

I even sent them memes I saw, that I immediately regretted because explaining memes to people who've never seen them makes you sound insane.

"I could make a better mémé." Ellie had purposefully started miswriting the word meme ever since the first time I told her how it was pronounced.

She also stood by it, and sent me a realistic picture of a dinosaur holding a flower with the words 'this is a meme' under it.

"That is better than every other meme I've seen, you're right." I framed it.

It was by this time I started fully believing it was real.

I can't draw for shit, and unless I was secretly the most talented cat burglar in the world, there was physically no way I could get the money and jewelry I'd received.

I tried to send it all back, but Valeria just sent back 16,000$ and threatened to keep doubling it if I didn't "behave".

Ambessa did similar, except she never sent cash since she knew I couldn't use Noxian currency.

She sent luxurious fabrics, jewelry, body oils that smelled shockingly close to my perfume—which she knew about, cause I sent her a piece of paper I'd rubbed a little of my perfume onto once, cause I'm a whore—and once the most beautiful ring I'd ever seen.

I knew what it probably meant, and refused to speak on it.

I didn't know what I'd say if I did.

I told them about history, Ellie and Abby about the past 22 years, to which they both felt sympathy about, but not much, considering they were living through a literal zombie apocalypse. Reasonably so.

Most of their responses on politics boiled down to "that's awful. What are you doing about it?"

To which I responded "almost nothing, I'm black and also I don't want to get shot and killed by a cop."

Ambessa and Sevika were a different story.

Neither of them were strangers to injustice, but for different reason. After a bit of prompting, they apparently even met in person, and didn't kill each other! Ambessa actually was willing to build a school in Zaun, for god knows what reason. They sent me a letter from both of them with a small, sketched drawing of the both of them sitting next to each other.

I was completely fucking baffled I'm not gonna lie.

It got dangerous fast, the letters.

I never lied to any of them about each other. I told them everything both when promoted and unprompted. I grew to consider them all friends. If not, maybe a bit more. But they were just flirty by nature, they didn't actually mean anything! They couldn't. How would a relationship with them even work?

I found out eventually. Valeria sent me a fucking filthy letter. The kind of thing you need to read sitting down.

And god, I knew it was wrong but I just wanted to make her feel an inch of what I felt for her, so I got my little camera, and I went down to the bougiest lingerie store I could find, and I bought a light pink set—her favorite color—with her money. I took a couple photos of myself in it, sprawled out in bed. Hands dangerously close to my pussy. Then I sent her the pictures as well as said worn lingerie.

"Good girl. Again." She sent it with a brand new set she'd bought for me. And I listened. Because I really really wanted to be her good girl.

I did tell everyone else. God they're so fucking gay, was that actually the catalyst for this?

I think it actually was.

It'd been one day. I was dreading the responses. I knew I wasn't cheating, but I felt something for all of them and I know they all felt the same to different extents and I didn't want to assume what was ok and what wasn't.

I spent the day emailing my editor, asking for clarification on their notes and begging them to lie to me about the date of the next deadline so I could pretend it was earlier and actually finish the third draft in time.

And something downstairs fucking exploded.

I thought it might have been my cat, for a terrifying second before I saw she'd been sleeping next to me the whole time, and had just then been woken up by the noise.

She froze for a second, the way she did whenever someone was visiting.

Then she darted out of the door, to hide somewhere until whatever terrifying thing had caused that noise went away.

Then I heard the yelling.

I fucking sprinted downstairs, running into my living room in nothing but a t shirt that just barely covered my ass I'd gotten from an ex years ago cause I didn't exactly think I'd have company.

And there they were.

They didn't look exactly the same. Noses were slightly bigger, eyes were less pigmented, bodies were somehow fucking bigger than they looked animated, and Ellie's tattoo was slightly less defined than I would've thought it was.

But it was them. All about to fucking kill each other.

Then my dumbass came in, "oh my god, oh my fucking god, please stop! Wait—" then I'd gotten punched in the face and everything went black.

I woke up like ten minutes later, no headache or anything, just a fat purple bruise and an ice pack on my face.

"You fucking murderer. You killed her."

"I did not kill her. I didn't even hit her. It was that one, Vika."

"It's Sevika."

"That's not what she called you."

"No, it's what you call me."

I sat up, grateful for the blanket someone had draped over me.

They all immediately swarmed me, Sevika stepping away from my completely wrecked fireplace that she was trying to fix.

"Darling, are you alright, how are you feeling?"

"Baby, oh my god,"

"I'm so sorry, doll, I didn't mean to, I'd never hurt you, I'd never let anyone hurt you."

"Agehnei koosnb bdhauao."

Or that's what I assumed they all said, it's all kind of a blur. They all spoke at once, reaching for parts of me and glaring at each other.

They were all covered in soot like a bunch of lesbian Santa Clauses.

I started laughing like a maniac, my swollen jaw aching a bit with the smile stretching onto my face.

"Oh...hooooh my god,"

It quickly devolved into sobs, freaking them out even more.

I started scrambling around for my phone, I remembered when I first started researching psychosis that thing where you hold up your phone camera to see if what's in front of you is real, cause the brain hasn't quite figured out how to accommodate for phone cameras when it comes to hallucinations.

I couldn't find it, until a manicured tanned hand passed it to me over my couch, "thank you," I choked out through sobs.

They were there. I took several photos. And videos. They moved and talked and they all stared at me like dogs that had just gotten finished tearing the couch apart.

"Holy shit." I managed after a few minutes of struggle filled breathing.

"Told you I'd get you." Valeria said from behind me.

I turned to her, in complete awe.

She leaned in, "you gonna try on that set for me in person, muñekita?"

A hand swiftly reached up and pushed her back, and she immediately pulled out her gun.

"NO! NO! Ok, rule, no fighting or shooting or killing in or out of my house!"

Valeria huffed, but didn't pull her piece out, so I considered it a small win.

"Ok...you're here...oh my god, you're here!" I said, about the start crying for a whole other reason now.

"If I'd known you'd be this weepy, I would've brought you tissues, dearest." Ambessa said, putting her hand on my thigh.

"Does anyone know how?"

Ambessa gave me the most predatory grin I'd ever seen.

"I made it happen. I told you I'd send for you." She said, not breaking eye contact with me as she rubbed circles along the part of flesh she'd managed to snake her way to under the blanket.

Sevika spoke, "Merdada, you didn't."

I gasped, filling in the gaps as to what she could've meant.

"Bessa..."

"What? What did she do?" Abby asked. I gasped again, feeling more and more like a hallmark movie heroine with every freckle I counted on her face.

"Oh Abby, you sound so sweet." I said, watching her face flush red.

Ellie stepped in, "she's not. She's a fucking killer's what she is."

"Ellie! Oh my god, come here."

She did and I gave her the biggest hug, enjoying her warmth and feeling utterly terrified by the fact that I could feel her rubs through her shirt.

She was pulled away by Sevika and I could tell another fight was about to break out so I moved the blanket and stood up.

"Ok, I haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon—"

A series of grumbles and grimaces were immediately thrown my way, "—so can we sit and eat maybe? I'll order a pizza or something."

Everyone nodded and I opened up my phone, desperate for a reason to not make eye contact with any of them.

It didn't work, cause they all seemed insistent on putting their faces as close to my screen as humanely possible except Valeria.

"Just call, it'll come faster." Valeria said.

"I promise you it won't."

Valeria took the phone from me and promptly called the place for me.

"Any toppings?"

No one said a word. The tension in the air so thick I wasn't completely sure they could hear her over it.

"Just pepperoni. Mhmm. Ok." She said, winking at me.

"Can...can the discussion this warrants wait until after we eat?" I asked.

They all nodded, except Sevika, who promptly went back to trying to fix my fireplace, followed by Abby.

They both needed something to do with their hands, I couldn't blame them.

Ambessa spoke, firmly and swiftly. "I don't see what there is to discuss. I'm here. We are to be wed, and you will be coming back to my world with me."

"Like hell she will—"

"If it's even possible to go back, she's coming with me. Le doy dos semanas antes de que la decapiten y te lleve con ella." Valeria leaned down and whispered into my ear.

"Valeria, literally no one here speaks Spanish, I know!" I interrupted her before she could speak, "I need to learn, but duolingo costs money and is run by robots now."

"Lo hablo. Pero ella tampoco va a volver contigo. ¿Qué se supone que hará cuando te arresten? ¿Esperarte mientras te pudres en la cárcel sin dinero ni posibilidad de conseguir trabajo?" Said Abby.

"Ok, Abby speaks Spanish, no one else does can we please share what you both just said with the class?"

Valeria rolled her eyes "¿Oh? ¿Entonces ella debería ir contigo y ser comida?"

Then Abby reached for her gun.

"CAN WE PLEASE FUCKING CALM DOWN." I couldn't stop myself from shaking, "this is literally the first time I've even seen a gun in person and the five people I care about more than anyone in the world are about to kill each other can we please just take a minute?"

They didn't say anything, just stood, seething at each other.

"Thank you. Can I trust you all to not kill each other in the time it takes me to put panties on?"

Every head turned to stare at me the second I said it, which was the intended effect.

I even stretched slightly, letting my shirt hike up a bit.

"Careful, baby." Sevika said. "You're about to get yourself in trouble you can't get out of."

I am ashamed to admit I shuddered a bit.

"Maybe I want that. Be good and don't kill each other and I'll put on something that shows off my tits." I said before reaching for my tv remote and putting on the sports channel for the first time in my life, hoping whatever was on would be enough to distract them for a minute.

I tried to hold back my smile as I heard everyone but Valeria gasp as the tv turned on.

I rushed upstairs and put on my favorite nightgown. The pink one that was just long enough to be appropriate in company but fit me like a glove, and cupped my heavy tits perfectly, showing off every curve, every jiggle as I moved, every bounce I leaned into a bit more than necessary.

I overheard the surprisingly civil small talk from downstairs as Valeria filled them all in on the rules of soccer (I think?).

"So the game is actually happening right now?"

"Yes. I usually don't have time to watch it live."

"Not a great signal from the mob front?" Ellie said, jokingly.

"What exactly did she tell you?"

I came down just as the delivery guy came by, Valeria opened the door like it was her house and gave him the money in cash before I could reach for my bag.

Then she guided me by the small of my back to the couch.

And all eyes fell on me.

"Eat." Sevika said, opening the pizza box like she wasn't completely unsure how it worked.

I did. And I watched everyone visibly lower their defenses as I nibbled on a slice of pepperoni pizza. My favorite, which Valeria knew. "It's basic for a reason." I'd told her.

Ellie and Abby stared at the pizza like it'd bite them, and it'd be the best experience of their lives.

Sevika turned to them, I watched her recognize hunger on their faces.

"Fucking eat something. I'm not fixing the fireplace myself if you both pass out."

They stared at her quizzically, before I slid the box towards them.

Ellie tentatively took the first bite, hissing when it burned her tongue a bit before devouring her slice in about a minute. Abby followed suit. I just knew if she'd been born here she'd be patting the grease off with a paper towel instead of relishing in the calories the slice had, cause it'd mean she'd have enough energy to live another day.

Ambessa sneered at it. "You couldn't have gotten her something more substantial? Bread with cheese and cheap cuts of meat is what you'd spoil her with?"

"Te dispararé en el momento en que ella no esté mirando." Valeria said, earning a chuckle from Abby.

They shared a brief, soft moment where smirks melted just enough to become something close to a smile for half a second.

Everyone had eaten, and Abby had picked up the box and taken it to the recycling in the span of time it took for everyone to notice my tits were spilling out of my dress.

It was getting dark out, and the cat needed feeding. She'd hide for the rest of the night and miss getting her dose of medicine.

I told them as much, but no one moved to give me a way out.

"You know...Sevika and I talked." Ambessa said.

"Yeah? About what?" Abby said, voice low as she kept her eyes locked on chest.

Sevika rubbed her hand along the back of my neck. A gesture that should've been possessive.

"Sharing her."

[urf4vghoul]

Say It With Your Body

Pairing: Mystery x Romance (Poly!SAJA AU) Tags: Smut • Make-up Sex • Dom Mystery • Sub Romance • Balcony Sex • Light Hair Pulling • Jealousy Vibes • Hurt/Comfort Jinu Tired™ Rating: Explicit / 18+

It had been a long fucking day.

SAJA was deep in the middle of album promotions, and while the public saw sleek stage outfits, polished smiles, and choreographed perfection, the green room backstage told a different story. Specifically, a very tense, very petty cold war between Mystery and Romance.

All day it had been passive-aggressive jabs. Side-eyes during dance rehearsals. A shoulder bump here, a sarcastic “good job” there. Even during interviews, Mystery’s jaw was clenched and Romance wouldn’t stop flashing his fake little smile—that one he saved just for when he was pissed.

By the time they made it home, the air in the apartment was thick with it. The moment the door shut, Jinu didn’t even let them breathe.

“No. Nope. Not tonight. Not this energy,” he snapped, dropping his bag. “You two—balcony. Fix it. Now.”

Mystery glared. Romance rolled his eyes. But they both wordlessly obeyed.

The balcony door slid open and closed behind them with a harsh click. It was just them now. The nighttime breeze brushed past, cool against the sweat still clinging to their necks. The city lights flickered in the distance.

Romance crossed his arms. “So?”

Mystery leaned against the railing, jaw tight. “So what?”

“Don’t play stupid. You’ve been on my ass all day.”

Mystery’s brow twitched. “You’ve been acting like a brat since rehearsal. Don’t dish it if you can’t take it.”

“Oh fuck off. You’re just mad I got more center time this comeback—”

Mystery turned, suddenly close. “That’s what you think this is about?”

Romance faltered. “Isn’t it?”

“No,” Mystery growled. “I’m mad because I watch you drain yourself for everyone else, put on that stupid smile, and pretend you’re fine when you’re clearly not. I want you to just say something for once. To me. Not the camera. Not the fans. Me.”

Romance’s breath caught. “I— I don’t know how to do that.”

Mystery’s voice dropped, sharp and low. “Then let me remind you.”

In a flash, Romance’s back hit the wall of the balcony, the cool concrete sending a shiver up his spine. Mystery caged him in with his arms, their faces inches apart. There was heat in his eyes. Rage, sure—but underneath it? Need. Worry. Desire.

“You really think I give a fuck about stage time?” Mystery hissed. “I care when I see you running yourself into the ground and you don’t even look at me when I’m trying to help.”

Romance's breath was shallow now. His voice barely above a whisper. “You never say what you feel either.”

“Because I show it,” Mystery said, grabbing his chin. “Like this.”

And then he kissed him.

Hard.

Teeth clashed. Tongues met. It was messy, angry, and way overdue. Romance whimpered into it, grabbing at Mystery’s shirt, tugging him closer.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” Mystery murmured against his lips.

Romance smirked, breathless. “And you love it.”

Mystery shoved a knee between Romance’s thighs and pinned him harder against the wall. “You gonna let me remind you who you belong to?”

Romance’s voice cracked into a gasp. “Yes. Please.”

Mystery spun him around, pressing his chest to the concrete as he yanked his sweats and briefs down in one rough motion. Romance bit his lip to stop the moan. The night air kissed his skin.

“God, look at you,” Mystery muttered, palming him from behind. “Act like a diva all day, but melt the second I touch you.”

Romance whimpered again. “Shut up and—”

A sharp slap landed on his ass.

“You don’t tell me what to do, baby,” Mystery said, voice deep and cruel. “You take what I give you.”

Romance nodded, eyes fluttering shut. “Yes, sir.”

That was all it took.

Mystery spit into his hand, slicked himself, and eased in, slow and punishing. Romance choked on a moan as his fingers curled against the wall, back arching.

“You like this?” Mystery gritted through clenched teeth. “Getting fucked where anyone could see?”

Romance was already trembling. “Yes—fuck, yes—”

The thrusts came harder now, brutal and deep. Every slap of skin against skin echoed into the open air. Mystery gripped Romance’s hair, tugging his head back so he could whisper filth into his ear.

“All that attitude. All that sass. And you’re still mine. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” Romance gasped. “Always yours.”

Mystery reached around and started stroking him in time with his thrusts. “You better come for me, pretty boy.”

Romance’s knees buckled. His whole body seized with the force of his orgasm, biting his own wrist to muffle the scream. Mystery wasn’t far behind—he buried himself deep, groaning as he spilled inside him, hips jerking with the release.

They collapsed against each other, breath ragged.

For a moment, it was silent. Just heartbeats and night wind.

Then Romance laughed softly, still pressed to the wall.

“That was not what Jinu meant by ‘talk it out.’”

Mystery chuckled into the crook of his neck. “Worked, didn’t it?”

Romance turned his head, smiling lazily. “Yeah... it did.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They eventually shuffled back inside, clothing half-fumbled back into place, lips kiss-bitten and hair a mess. Romance was glowing and sore, his knees still a little wobbly. Mystery looked smug and loose, tension melted from his shoulders for the first time in days.

They thought they were being subtle.

They were not.

The second the sliding glass door shut behind them, Abby shot up from the couch like a trap springing. “Aha! I fucking knew it! Y’all nasty! That was balcony sex energy!!”

Baby looked up from his phone, blinked, then grinned. “Wait… for real?”

Mystery rolled his eyes and headed toward the kitchen for water. “None of your business.”

Romance just flopped onto the couch dramatically, looking very satisfied. “Don’t hate ‘cause you weren’t invited.”

Abby made a noise somewhere between a cackle and a fake gasp. “Romance! You can’t just—wait, did you leave, like, marks on the balcony?? We eat lunch out there!”

Romance winked. “Not on the table.”

Jinu, walking in with a cup of tea like a tired dad, paused mid-sip and stared between them.

Then he sighed. “You couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

Mystery shrugged. “You told us to fix it.”

“I meant talk,” Jinu muttered, sitting down. “Not blow each other’s backs out where the neighbors can hear.”

Abby howled.

Baby, who had been suspiciously quiet, shifted in his seat and grumbled, “Y’all are loud… I was tryna nap.”

Romance tossed a pillow at him. “You just mad it wasn’t you gettin’ railed.”

“I am!” Baby snapped back, pouting. “All that tension build-up and you hogged it!”

Abby leaned dramatically across the couch toward Mystery. “Okay but real talk—how’d you do it? ‘Cause he’s been bitchy all week.”

Mystery finally turned back to them, downed half a bottle of water, then said coolly, “I reminded him who he belongs to.”

The room went quiet.

Romance blinked.

Baby blushed.

Jinu muttered something like “I need a vacation.”

And Abby just whispered, “That’s so hot, actually. Wait, Romance, blink twice if you’re okay.”

Romance stuck out his tongue. “I’m fantastic. Better than fantastic. My legs are—”

“Nope!” Jinu cut in. “You finish that sentence and I’m pulling you both off the next radio appearance.”

They all laughed, but it was warm now. Cozy. Easy.

Mystery, quieter again, sat next to Romance and tugged him in gently. No words this time. Just fingers trailing lazily across his thigh under the blanket.

Romance sighed and melted into him like it was instinct.

No more tension. No more sharp words.

Just this: their weird, chaotic, poly-shaped home.

Later that night, Baby rolled over in bed and whispered to Abby, “Next fight I have with Mystery, I’m taking him straight to the balcony.”

Abby snorted. “You wish. He’d toss you over the railing.”

“…Still worth it.”

[heytinskatin]

pov ur inside a birdcage in a little red wagon the night before the festival <3

[marklikely]

just sharing a collection of some pics that i really like of mac <3 unfortunately he got very sick this past month and we lost him this morning. rip to a very sweet and curious boy who loved to explore and was the only one smart enough to learn a trick so far you will be missed <3

[caged-dreamland]

☁️✨🌙✨☁️

Art Fight!! This is my first year trying this so, there's a smaller roster than I would have liked... but I'm still excited! My Art Fight profile is ✨right here✨ for those who are interested!

[randygrim]

Birdies :]

[salmoncakepls]

..

[prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue]

Lone Warrior

summary : reader is put into emergency foster care after a tragedy , despite living with the Wayne family for a bit , reader takes it upon herself to move away and start anew since she clearly wasn't welcomed , after many years have passed Damian finally joins the family and after a particular spat w his father he finds himself in reader's room and an interest in them has sparked.

a/n : this story is a wip ( work in process )

part 2 , part 3 , part 4

Reader's POV

Beginning

Everyone knows biologically , a child needs a father and mother to come into existence . Growing up I had exactly that , a mother and a father . I had what many would consider a good childhood , a mom who brushed my hair everyday before I went to school , a mother who would have prepared meals and would have read me several stories . I had a father who would pick me up everyday and let me get a treat from the nearby parlor everyday after school. We certainly weren’t rich but we had enough to make do and I was content with it - I was content with my life until life struck.

My mother got laid off from her job - it was some run down mill cashier job at an old mechanics pit stop but it brought in money no matter how grimy the place was . I remember my younger self sat in front of the television when it was broadcasted - Joker , Prince of Gotham held three hostages at gunpoint in the shops and sadly despite Batman’s efforts , one hostage suffered a car falling onto their legs - crushing them instantly - the news anchor panned their camera onto the car and how it’s green front bumper was smeared in crimson blood.

Since then mom had been home while father went to work . It was fun at first , we had dinner earlier than usual , mom started back sewing and she even took up gardening since she loved planting tomatoes in our backyard garden . Everything was good but gradually - mom began feeling trapped like a bird in a cage . It started off slow - mum and dad arguing every night after dinner , sneering at each other as they walked past one another . It evolved into dad sleeping on the couch and mom sleeping in their bed . I was young and too naive - I assumed like the silly little girl I was , that mum and dad were just arguing about the dishes in the sink.

One day, it got extremely bad. It was a Tuesday morning and I had ran into mum’s arm’s , comb in hand, waiting for her to brush my hair like every other morning but instead she screamed at me to get out of her face . I ran away, of course, crying and brushing my own hair since then. Every day since that point had been utter agony - mother grew even more distant - began shouting , screaming at everything and everybody .Every day was a new struggle , she had no luck finding a new job, and there was no luck of her getting any better .

One day , dad just hugged me before he left out the front door . He kept muttering ‘sorrys’ and ‘i love yous’ and he kept weeping . I recall hugging him back , telling him it was okay, and he just smiled at me and left . He hadn't come back since. Mother grew furious that night, and for the first time - she screamed at me , blamed me , cursed me , cried about how I ruined everything, and then she choked me . I remember my young , frail body clawing at her tight grip desperately - pleading with her to let me go, but she didn’t let up . She kept squeezing me, and I remember going in between conscious and unconsciousness - I remember hearing police sirens blazing in front of our house.

I don't remember anything after that point . Memories were all a blur, but I recall a police officer handing me off to Mr. Wayne at his porch step. I remember the look of uncertainty, the look of pain and burden flashing in his eyes when he looked down on me . I remember him holding me by my elbow and guiding me through his foyer until he reached his butler.

I watched them both converse , the butler glanced at me every other moment. Eventually , Mr. Wayne leaves me alone with the butler and returns deeper into the mansion. The butler smiles down at me, though, and I just looked at him as he guides me down some halls and into a room.

It's been a full week , I've only ever known my room , the garden, and school. I haven't met anyone besides Alfred - the butler and my teachers. Alfred kept assuring me that I had brothers who would love to meet me and that my 'dad' , Mr.Wayne was busy, so I should bear him patience.

I hadn't really cared about Mr. Wayne's absence , as far as I considered my father, was out there somewhere and had left me, and I had no interest in having siblings. I hadn't told Alfred any of that, though - I had been silent since I had arrived here . Two weeks passed, and Alfred introduced me to someone named 'Ricard' , Mr. Wayne's eldest .

This Richard had given me a tight-lipped smile and a half hug that I didn't reciprocate . I could tell he felt uncomfortable and forced, and I respected his boundaries because I would of reacted the same way if I got introduced to my new supposed 'sibling' .

Alfred had told me that Richard lives away and visits when he can since he too has work . Since then, I haven't met anyone . Maybe if you count seeing Mr. Wayne walking in and out the foyer then maybe .

Months passed, and it's been the same process - I wake up , scarf down whatever Alfred makes , go to school , come home , sleep, and repeat. Now and again, Richard may perhaps drop by, but our meeting were just exchanging pleasantries before we go our own ways.

I was still mourning my parents. It's weird to mourn when they aren't dead. Today I had I.T class , meaning I had access to a laptop . Using what minimum sites I could , I dug up that my mother was admitted to Arkham asylum and was deemed ' mentally unstable ' . It's weird seeing her in that old , grimy straight jacket and her worn hands in silver cuffs . It's weird that she is the same person who used to bake me fresh cookies when I was sad and used to so attentively braid my hair everyday - It's weird to know that somehow my pure , kind mother somehow turned into what she is.

I hadn't found out nothing about my father - reports just suggested he moved to another city or somewhat - some speculated he manipulated her into the abuse - but I knew my father went far away to start a new life - a new life that hadn't involve me .

It stings every time I think about that, though , that my dad thought I was so much of a burden he had to leave me to start anew . A part of me loathes him - wants to tear him out , another part of me wants to cry and scream ' how could he ', but the biggest part of me has already grown numb to everything around me and has accepted the fact that it's better off being on your own.

Months continue to pass on - nothing really changed , I haven't 'bonded' with anyone at the mansion , Alfred keeps making excuses for their wariness and coldness. I discovered through him that recently, one of Mr.Wayne's children , Jason, had recently passed due to a mishap with the Joker . He hadn't gone into full detail, but I understood the pain and grief - the pain of losing your loved ones and having to bury them.

Days blurred into one another, but as recently, I have been seeing advertisements for a youth camp. It's new to be supposedly based in Russia and aims to teach children survival skills, and for some odd reason, it called out to me . I became further intrigued when on one particular evening , my English teacher pulled me across after class and handed me a pamphlet for it , I remembered her saying " I thought ...maybe you can use this Y/N maybe they can help you " . I remember taking it home and staring at it for a good while.

That same day - apparently we got a new member to the family named Tim , I saw him walk in the foyer , Mr. Wayne's hands practically draped over his shoulder with a proud 'dad' smile on his face . I exchanged pleasantries with both, but the Tim guy was giving me a dirty look .

After that night , after careful consideration, I decided to join this youth camp but in order to do so I would of course need money so that very nigh I applied to some jobs . A week passed since Tim and I didn't really get along . He kept glaring at me, and I just kept ignoring him .

Apparently he didn't like that and one morning when I was leaving for school he pulled me across and with a nasty snare said , " can't believe Bruce and I bust our asses every night protecting the city and people like you get to squander away - you know for someone who uses so much of Bruce's resources I don't understand why he hasn't gotten rid of you ".

I slapped him in response and walked out - I won't and don't tolerate shit - especially from someone so far up their ass . Alfred walked in on us in the foyer and began lecturing me on the spot, but I had a cold, hard look - challenging him . Alfred just tutted and carried us both to school.

Yes - apparently, this Tim person goes to the same school as me, and I had to listen to him nag Alfred about it on the way there . I rolled my eyes - seriously, he sounds like an entitled brat . Alfred dropped us off . The moment Tim stepped foot in school lots of kids approached him - probably because it was publicly known he was a Wayne , I on the other hand wasn't- hell I didn't even take his name I still kept my father's surname .

I left him and continued my day like normal, and after school, I went to my waitress job on the block. It's a quaint little cafe waitress job . It was nice and had good pay, so I wasn't too bothered. Of course, a week into my job and Tim had to already cause a scene .

The brat had to walk in with his group of little friends and had the audacity to demand I get them a table . I sat them down, took everyone's orders, and this man had to order some complicated shit with absurd add ins. Why order expresso and complain it's too bitter ?? Why order no flat decaf when decaf is already flat ? Why , when I explain to you , you snare at me .

The brat even had the audacity to say ' I was embarrassing the family by working here ' . I stepped on his foot, causing him to flinch and whispered to him , " Frankly I don't give a fuck what you or anyone thinks or has to say - you can frankly kiss my ass and see if I could care " and walked off .

He didn't leave a tip sadly and walked out of there with a nasty glare . I came home that evening and met Alfred, leaving out my dinner in my room , " Master Wayne restricts you joining dinner tonight since you are behaving too violent." I just gave him a look . For one pathetic of Tim to tattle to Daddy darest - another many reasons why I don't want siblings and secondly I've never joined anyone at dinner , I live and breathe in this room and unless the mansion is burning down I won't leave it to go anywhere unnecessary.

Months like this pass , Tim and I glaring at each other. Occasionally, Richard stops by to check on Mr. Wayne, or simply hang out with Tim and I was steadily saving money to go to this youth camp.

On my final day , I paid off for the youth camp registry and began packing my things - I simply began packing my clothes , I left behind any things deemed unnecessary like my record players , little nicks and knacks friends gifted me , the very painful photos of my parents and I and the home sewn clothes I once made in tech Ed.

Everything held very little value to me here , especially since I wanted a fresh start there . I packed my bags that night and left without a trace. Downtown Gotham was dangerous but had useful people for the wrong things. I carefully knocked on a banged up door and waited .

I heard a latch move itself and a wrinkly , obese man peers through at me . " What you want, kid?" he grunted . " A passport and a straightway ticket to Russia tonight," I say monotonous. He stared at me for a moment and left . Moments pass and he returns and slips me a passport and a ticket . I let our a small grun before slipping a $100 dollar bill in the latch before taking off in the night.

Training

Russia was cold - but for some odd , maybe sick and twisted way, I loved it . I loved the feeling of the cold nipping at my fingertips , I love the ghostly feeling when the cold air blows in you and I love the way it makes me feel alive .

The youth camp was a successful idea - marvelous even . Though many in my unit complained about how strenuous the training was , I enjoyed it . Every morning , from 4 am to 6 am , our mentors took us on a two hour long jog in the snowy forest of Cheremkhovsky .

It was hard at first , I had literally fainted on my first go, but as I eased into this , it became easier . After that jog , we had breakfast, and then we trained in our combat , hand to hand , handling weaponry such as guns and knives, etc.

My mentor , Kerry Lenz, took me under her wing when I joined . She saw my raw potential, my greedy need to feel alive and belonging . She had practically made me into what I am , a trained assassin .

While most of my peers were asleep in the dead of night , she took me out into the forest , regardless of whether it was snowing , raining, or a massive heatwave . There, under the start nights, she taught me the art of murder , she taught me how to effectively hide a body in plain sight and taught me how to read a person thoroughly , taught me how to stalk a prey and how to notice the tiniest details no matter how absurd .

She taught me like a mother hen would to her chick, and it made us closer. I came here to Russia at fourteen, and now here I am, graduating at eighteen into Russia's CIA program.

She kissed both of my cheeks that day and hugged me, and for once , I reciprocated it . " My beautiful rose , be the strong daring girl I taught you to be," She sobbed into my shirt . I smiled and hugged her , my eyes brimming with tears as I nuzzle into her shirt - her smell of rose scented perfume and Columbian cigar wafted into my nose .

" I promise to be that strong girl , mom," I promised her that day . She smiled at me and patted my shoulder . " hun , this life is a life you can't back away from , it digs its claws into you and keeps you hostage, promise me , you would not deter."

I nodded into her and tightened my hold on her . Since my graduation , I , out of the twenty five candidates at the youth camp , graduated into Russia's CIA task force . Our missions were never easy , every one we face the brutality of human nature - from sex traffic rings , child predators , serial killers to huge organizations abusing civilians , we were tasked to handle them all.

Every mission had its difficulty, a loss albeit one of our own or a victim, or maybe it's the mind-numbing pain of killing . Every mission had its fair share of shit but that didn't deter me one bit - I loved my job - I lived knowing that when I killed another child predator that I saved another child.

What's the use of arresting them in a system we're they are bound to be free and face no repercussions? Doing this job made me look at persons like Batman and his folk and a bit differently - he knowingly puts people like the Joker back into the Arkham asylum, knowing they'd break out and wreck havoc again.

Damian's p.o.v

If anyone told me that I of all people would feel out of place I would laugh at you . For my whole entire life - I've been a man sure of everything - down to the nitty things - I've been sure of everything.

I knew what I liked to eat , what shirt I wore with its specific pants , what show I like to watch , knew for certainty I wanted to be Robin but here - in this family I'm at a loss.

I'm always cleft confused and rather frustrated . My father's eldest , Dick , keeps lecturing me about how 'violent' my ways are , how I'm not suited to be Robin , that Robin is not 'violent'.

How is a boy supposed to believe the methods he's had instilled in him from birth are considered wrong - considered too orthodox. We both always argue - he always pushes me to my wits end . Today, though - today, he took it a notch further .

Today he involved father in our spat . It was a simple situation - a simple stake-out , a robbery being done in some small local supermarket , the robber noticed us before we noticed them and took off running and I had simply launched a batrang into his leg to stop him.

It led to the robber bleeding out in the road and almost dying, but wasn't the objective met ? Father and Dick seemed to think otherwise considering I was berated for it for fifteen minutes straight.

But what got me was when dick said , " You're a monster like your mother." I literally launched myself at him - almost prying out his eyes but father managed to pull me off and send me off to my room with a glare.

I didn't go to my room - I was far too angry, so I just roamed around the mansion . I have never been to this side of the mansion - to be fair, I don't even think Alfred ventures down here, but somehow - the quiet halls bring a bit of peace to me .

I walked down a hall and stopped at a door left abit ajar - weird I thought all doors in this house automatically closed . Approaching it , I carefully opened the door and peer in , inside - inside looked like a bedroom.

The bed looked like it was purposely shoved up against the window , it only had two pillows but frankly sat plush in-between them was a small plushie of a penguin. The room held minimum decor - whoever lived here may have been a minimalist or has long since moved on .

It had a quaint dark oak desk covered in dust and had several stacks of books that looked well used . Next to it was a wardrobe in matching oak that had a red,very worn , backpack hung on it's round handle . The room had a vanity , a cute miniature white one that every little girl must dream off , it held a simple comb and hair ties in a singular cup but the mirror was covered in old polaraid pictures.

So someone definitely lived here - but who ? I've seen Dick's room , even though he isn't here often Alfred cleans it and he has those stupid posters all over , it can't be Tim's either because his room is all dark and has a bunch of clothes strewn around , it's clearly a girl's so Cassandra? No she's too neat for this - steph ? No , I remember her decorating her room with pink frilly ribbons last Christmas- Jason? - no so then who -

" I see you've come across y/n's room " comes a sudden voice behind me . Turning around , I am met with Alfred, who looks around the room so - so sullen ? " Pennyworth, why such a cres- fallen face ?" I enquire . Alfred looks everywhere but me .

" This is y/n's bedroom " he says as he steps in. " y/n ?" I ask perplexed - father - hell no one has mentioned y/n to me ever .

ty for reading !!!

incorrect quotes

[buckysleftbicep]

what home feels like 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader (5 + 1 trope)

warnings: loads, like mountains of fluff, soft!bucky, some angst, bucky in an apron, team shenanigans

summary: the 5 times bucky thinks of proposing to you and the 1 time he does

word count: 6.1k (i couldn't help myself 🥹)

author's note: hi loves! i am in the middle of my vacation and i had this written during my layover, and i just couldn't wait to let you guys read it, so here it is! i hope you'll love it as much as i do! love ya and stay safe out there! 💌

The first time Bucky thought of proposing to you, you were asleep on his chest, and the world was still.

The sun filtered softly through gauzy curtains, turning the room to gold, that liminal hush between dawn and morning, when the world had yet to stir. 

The compound was silent. Peaceful. A rare luxury. And in the center of it all was you, curled in the tangle of Bucky’s arms, your face pressed to his chest, your breath warm and even against the fabric of his shirt.

One of your hands was fisted there, right over his heart, like you’d been afraid he might drift away in the night and needed something to anchor you. As if your body, even in sleep, refused to let him go. 

He didn’t mind. He never minded. In fact, if he had it his way, he’d never move from this moment at all. He could stay like this forever. And maybe, for once, he actually believed he deserved to.

Alpine lay nestled between your legs, a puddle of white fur with her chin resting lazily on your calf. She let out a soft mewl, stretching languidly, paws reaching toward the warm patch of sunlight spilling across the bed before curling tighter into the cradle you made for her.

Bucky watched her for a beat, the corners of his mouth twitching, and then looked back down at you, the way your lashes flickered in dreams, the way your lips parted with each slow breath, your features soft and at peace in the golden quiet.

There was a kind of stillness in the air that made everything feel sacred. Like nothing bad could touch the room you shared. Like the outside world, the violence, the ghosts, the endless fight didn’t exist here. 

Just you. Just him. Just this.

And his heart ached a little with the weight of it, of how far he’d come, of how long it had taken to get here. To something this gentle. This good.

Because this life had once seemed impossible.

Germany, 2016.

The first time Bucky saw you, he had been standing at the far end of the airport carpark in Berlin, still learning how to breathe in spaces that weren’t cages.

Still unsure of who he was supposed to be outside the Soldier. Still half-listening, half-drifting.

Steve had brought you in, voice warm, saying you’d be helping with strategy and tech coordination for the joint ops.

There had been a familiarity in how he spoke to you, like you were someone he already trusted. That alone had caught Bucky’s attention. 

And then… then you walked in beside him.

Wearing jeans and a simple button-down shirt rolled at the sleeves, your hair pulled back in some easy style like you hadn’t even put much thought into it.

You had a notebook in one hand, and your eyes were wide, bright. Like you hadn’t yet learned to keep your guard up in this line of work. Like the job hadn’t bled the softness out of you.

And Bucky… Bucky had stared.

Not out of rudeness—not really. But because you’d laughed. Full-bodied and unfiltered.

Scott had said something dumb—some half-witted quip about old men and bluetooth—and you had tipped your head back, laughing like it was the best thing you’d heard all week.

The sound of it went straight through him.

It didn’t just catch his attention. It wrecked him, a little. That laugh landed somewhere behind his ribs, somewhere he hadn’t even realised was still raw. And for the first time in a long time, something in him stirred. Something slow and silent and stupidly hopeful.

Then you turned to him. Your gaze met his.

You smiled.

Held out your hand.

“Hi, I’m (Y/N),” you’d said, your voice warm, effortless and kind. The kind of voice that made people feel safe. The kind of voice that felt like a hand resting lightly on a wound.

“You must be Bucky.”

He hadn’t said a word at first. Couldn’t. His brain had short-circuited under the weight of your gaze and the gentle curl of your mouth. His pulse roared in his ears like it did in combat zones—sharp, hot, all-consuming.

But then, somehow, he managed a smile. A real one. Small. Tentative. But genuine. And when he took your hand in his, shaking it carefully, cautiously, something in his chest locked into place.

He remembered how soft your skin had felt against his calloused fingers. How you hadn’t flinched at the sight of the metal. How your touch had lingered just long enough.

You didn’t seem put off by his silence. You’d just nodded, eyes full of something unspoken, and walked off with Wanda, the two of you giggling about something he couldn’t hear. Just like that, you were gone. But the space you left behind stayed.

That’s when Sam had sidled up beside him, elbowing him just hard enough to knock him out of his daze.

“You know if you keep staring, it’s gonna get reak creepy,” he said, smirking.

Bucky had scowled at him. Sam had just grinned wider, all smug and knowing, before turning back.

But even then—Bucky knew.

Knew he was already in trouble.

Because something had shifted. A compass needle inside him, snapping north.

And from that moment on, he’d been tilting toward you.

Now, as he looked down at you all these years later—your lashes fluttering in dreams, your nose scrunching as Alpine adjusted herself—the same flutter stirred in his chest. The same ache, the same quiet kind of awe.

The kind of wonder a man feels when he realises he’s been given the one thing he never dared to ask for.

You shifted in your sleep, barely a breath of movement, but your hand remained curled tight in his shirt, right over his heart.

A reflex, even now. And Bucky let his vibranium fingers trace along your spine, the weight of them light, slow, gentle. Careful not to wake you. He wanted to hold onto this moment just a little longer.

That’s when he thought about the ring.

The one you’d pretended not to look at in the window of that little shop in town last week, red velvet box, delicate curve of diamonds catching the light.

You’d been with Yelena and Bob, arms full of coffee cups and teasing each other about something John had said.

But as you passed the display, you slowed.

He’d noticed it. The way your gaze had lingered. The way your fingers shifted slightly on the cup, like you were reaching for something you wouldn’t admit to wanting. The way your smile curved at the corners, quiet and wistful, like a secret you didn’t plan on sharing.

He saw it and tucked it away.

And now, with you asleep in his arms, your heartbeat matching his, the sun painting gold into your skin, Alpine’s fur warming your legs and that familiar weight of your hand pressed into his chest—he made the decision he’d been dancing around for weeks.

He was going to buy it.

Because this—this lazy Sunday morning with your body draped over his, your love stitched into the silence—this was it.

This was forever.

The second time Bucky thought of proposing, the kitchen had smelled like toast and sunlight.

It was late morning when he found you in the kitchen, barefoot on cool tile, hips swaying to the distant echo of Taylor Swift playing from a speaker;

The track was barely audible—warbled through the walls, a little staticky at the edges, but you didn’t seem to care.

You moved with it anyway, letting the music carry you from one counter to the next like it had been written for this exact moment—lazy, sun-warmed, still wrapped in the quiet of sleep.

You were wearing his shirt—that old red henley he loved and you’d stolen without apology—sleeves pushed up to your elbows, the hem brushing mid-thigh and clinging in places where the steam from the kettle had warmed the air. 

Your hair was still mussed from sleep, strands curling at your temples, and one sock was scrunched halfway down your ankle like you’d forgotten to pull it all the way on.

You held a wooden spoon in one hand like a microphone, lips parted, eyes closed, your voice rising with the chorus as you spun in a loose, lazy circle in front of the stove.

You were completely at ease. Utterly unbothered. Just lost in the song and the morning and the rhythm of your own joy.

Sunlight streamed in through the half-open blinds, casting golden stripes across the floor and lighting you up like something out of a dream.

You looked like every warm Sunday morning he’d ever wanted, the kind of morning he didn’t believe he’d ever actually get.

Bucky leaned against the doorframe, watching the way your feet padded across the tile, how your hips swayed, how you bobbed your head to the beat like no one was watching—because you didn’t think anyone was.

And maybe he should’ve said something—greeted you, teased you, but the words stayed lodged in his throat, caught somewhere behind the knot that had formed in his chest. Because there was something about you like this that undid him.

Completely.

You were radiant in a way he didn’t think you realised. The kind of radiant that came from joy—unfiltered, unguarded. The kind that wasn’t curated or calculated or polished for the world.

The kind of beauty that only existed in the in-between spaces—in the stretch of a yawn, in a wooden spoon masquerading as a microphone, in the way your laugh cracked when you hit the high notes wrong.

And god, he thought, watching the sway of your hips, the grin playing at your lips, this is home.

You.

You were home.

He thought about the way you’d slowly, gently introduced him to pop culture like it was your personal mission to drag him into the 21st century. 

The curated playlists you made, some with real titles and others labeled “Bucky’s Soft Bitch Era” just to get a rise out of him. The back-to-back movie nights where you made him swear, hand over heart, that he wouldn’t fall asleep during The Notebook.

He remembered the first time he said TokTok by accident and you’d nearly fallen off the couch laughing, giggling so hard you landed half in his lap. 

He’d rolled his eyes and muttered something about the whole app being made by “brain rot,” a term you taught him. but you’d refused to correct him, smirking every time he repeated it wrong.

You’d made it all so effortless. The joy.

He hadn’t known it was happening—not at first. Not until it was already too late to stop. Until you were part of everything. His mornings, his evenings, the space between missions, the quiet between nightmares. The laughter between breaths.

You hadn’t forced him to change.

You’d just given him something worth changing for.

He smiled to himself, one hand curling loosely around the coffee mug, now half-cold in his grip.

You were singing now, his shirt shifted with every movement, slipping just slightly off one shoulder. The sight of it—your bare skin against his worn cotton, the easy claim of it—made his stomach twist.

And maybe it was stupid.

Maybe it was too soon.

But the thought still rooted deep in his chest and bloomed like something inevitable.

I want to come home to this for the rest of my life.

He could see it, so vividly it ached. This kitchen, your voice, that damn wooden spoon. The rest of your lives written in sunlight and bad karaoke, laughter and bare feet on tile. He wanted to memorise this, frame it. Carve it into stone so it would never change, never fade.

Because at that moment, it wasn’t just love.

It belonged.

But he didn’t say anything.

Didn’t move.

Because the moment felt too perfect, too suspended in its own little pocket of magic, like one wrong word might startle it, might shatter the stillness and send it fleeing out the window with the breeze.

So he let it be.

Let it unfold in golden quiet, you twirling in his shirt, bathed in sunlight, the world narrowed down to the music and the soft clatter of silverware in the drying rack, the steam rising from your forgotten tea on the counter.

And Bucky stood there, still and quiet and entirely undone, holding a lukewarm cup of coffee and the sharp, aching certainty that one day, maybe soon, maybe not, he was going to ask you.

The third time Bucky thought about proposing to you, you were laughing in the golden light, beer in hand, surrounded by people who loved you almost as much as he did.

The sky had started to turn.

That soft stretch between afternoon and evening where the sun melted into everything it touched, bathing the world in a low, amber haze. The backyard was warm with the glow of it—fairy lights strung lazily along the rails of the compound’s rooftop. 

Smoke curled up from the grill, rich and familiar, while laughter rippled across the patio like music. Somewhere in the corner, Bob’s speaker hummed with old rock music and the occasional burst of static.

It didn’t matter. Nobody seemed to mind.

You were laughing again.

That soft, breathless kind of laughter that tugged at the corners of Bucky’s mouth every damn time he heard it. Like some part of him lit up in response—quiet and instinctive, like your joy flipped a switch inside him that nothing else could.

He stood just outside the patio doors, a paper plate in hand—barely touched—but his eyes were on you. 

Only you.

You were perched on the arm of John’s chair, elbow resting on his shoulder like it was second nature, beer bottle tilted carelessly in your hand. John was mid-sentence, half-defending himself from whatever teasing you were throwing at him, and you were clearly winning. 

Your smile was crooked, mischievous. Familiar. The same one you always wore when you knew you were about to land a joke that would ruin someone’s ego for the rest of the week.

“You’re just mad because I’m funnier than you,” you said, clinking your bottle against his in mock sympathy, your tone soaked in smug satisfaction.

John groaned dramatically. “Please. I’m hilarious.”

Yelena snorted from the grill without even looking up. “You are a tragedy.”

Bob raised his hand like he was in a courtroom. “She’s not wrong.”

“You people have no taste,” John muttered, but there was no real bite behind it.

“You overcooked the burgers,” Bob added casually.

“Exactly,” Yelena chimed in, jabbing a fork in his direction with finality. “He’s lost all credibility.”

Over by the cooler, Alexei was deep in what could only be described as a passionate retelling of something that definitely hadn’t happened—this time about his red guardian days and a hand-to-paw brawl with some Siberian bear. 

He waved his arms dramatically, chest puffed out, his voice rising with each sentence like a man delivering a one-man play. 

Ava had tuned him out completely, scrolling through her phone with surgical focus and only humming in vague acknowledgment whenever he shouted the word “bear” a little too loud.

It was chaotic, the kind of mess Bucky never would’ve imagined himself a part of—let alone something he could belong to.

But he wasn’t listening to any of it.

His eyes were on you.

The way you leaned into the warmth of the moment, head tilted back in laughter, eyes crinkling at the edges like sun lines. The way you had this unspoken ease with the people around you—even the ones who hadn’t always been easy to love. 

You fit into the team not like glue, but gravity—like you kept everyone tethered without even meaning to.

He shifted, let his free hand drift toward the pocket of his jeans. His fingers brushed the small velvet box tucked there.

He remembered the aftermath of what happened in New York, it had been brutal.

For everyone. But especially for John.

No one really knew what to say to him. No one quite knew how to reach him, not after it came out that Olivia had left. That the wife and baby he said was waiting back home had already left months before.

He was splintered.

You hadn’t flinched. You hadn’t hesitated.

You’d found John on the compound steps the night he returned, still bloodied and shaking, the seams of his restraint barely holding—and sat beside him.

No grand entrance. No fuss. Just a quiet presence. You didn’t offer him pity or force conversation. You didn’t tell him it would be okay, you didn’t lie.

You had reached over and took his hand.

Held it, steady and solid—while the others kept their distance. It was simply, completely unremarkable on the surface.

But it worked. Somehow. Quietly. Without demand.

And Bucky had watched it unfold, breath lodged somewhere behind his ribs. Because that was the thing about you. You never tried to fix anyone, but somehow, you still managed to help them heal.

You were everyone’s lighthouse in the dark, even the ones who pretended they didn’t need one.

Especially them.

It was only a week later when the compound had gone still when Bucky had found himself at the dining table, elbows braced, shoulders tight, knuckles white around the edge of a ceramic mug he wasn’t drinking from. 

He sat there for a long time, unmoving, eyes fixed on nothing, haunted by something he couldn’t name. The image of what he saw in the void still crawled under his skin—loud in the quiet, vivid behind his eyes.

He hadn’t noticed you until you spoke.

You padded in barefoot, still warm from sleep, wrapped in his shirt that hung off one shoulder. Your hair was tangled, voice soft and low like you hadn’t used it yet that day.

You didn’t ask what was wrong. You didn’t need to.

You just pulled out the chair beside him, sat down, and reached for his hand. No preamble. No questions. Just your fingers curling gently around his.

“I’m here, James,” you whispered, voice so quiet he barely caught it. “You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

And that—that was all it took.

He hadn’t said anything. Just nodded once, jaw tight as the tears came fast and quiet and unexpected.

Your grip never loosened.

And then Bucky blinked, too, like waking from a dream.

The memory dissolved around the edges, softening into the golden blur of now. 

You were still laughing with John, chin resting on your hand, your bottle now empty and forgotten.

The sky behind you had turned a dusky pink, streaked with orange and fading blue. The fairy lights blinked overhead like slow, lazy fireflies.

Bucky swallowed hard, throat thick, heart heavy with something he didn’t quite know how to hold. Something fragile and infinite.

The ring burned in his pocket.

Yelena sidled up beside him, two plates balanced in one hand, her eyes trailing the line of his gaze before she leaned in just enough to bump her shoulder against his.

“She’s good for you,” she said simply, like it was fact, like it had always been obvious.

He blinked, pulled his eyes from you long enough to glance at her. She was right.

“I know,” he said softly, mostly to himself, his fingers brushing the velvet box again, like the shape of it grounded him.

Soon.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he just stood there in the glow of fairy lights and fading sunlight, and let himself love you in silence.

The fourth time Bucky thought of proposing to you was during that one particular movie night.

The rec room buzzed, the lights were dimmed, shadows stretched across the walls in flickering shapes, and someone had dragged in extra bean bags and pillows from the training room—turning the entire floor into a makeshift nest of mismatched blankets and old couch cushions. 

The screen glowed in the dark, casting soft blues and golds onto lazy limbs and half-finished bowls of popcorn.

You were curled beside Bucky on the couch, shoulder pressed into his side, legs tangled loosely beneath a shared blanket.

One of your socks had slipped off sometime during the first act. He didn’t even know when. He just knew your toes were cold when they nudged against his shin—and he hadn’t moved away.

He didn’t think he ever could.

The room smelled like buttered popcorn and worn fabric, like sleep and safety and leftover takeout from the kitchen. 

Ava was stretched out across two bean bags with Alpine curled on her stomach. Bob had his head tipped back, already snoring softly, while Yelena and Alexei were still arguing in hushed voices about who cried harder during The Lion King.

It was quiet in a way that only felt possible when you were all together. The kind of quiet that wasn’t empty—just easy.

You shifted slightly, your fingers brushing over Bucky’s hand beneath the blanket. And then, without thinking, you began to trace the ridges of his knuckles. Absentminded. Familiar. Like muscle memory. 

Like you’d done it a hundred times before—because you had.

It was your comfort habit. Your way of grounding yourself when the day had been too long or your eyes were growing heavy. 

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look up.

Your breathing slowed and your head dropped against his chest.

Bucky watched you as your eyelids fluttered, your face softening in sleep, lips parting slightly with each slow breath. Your lashes twitched like you were dreaming already—and god, you looked peaceful. Completely undone by comfort and warmth.

You drooled a little. Right there on his chest.

And he chuckled quietly to himself, shaking his head like it didn’t knock the breath out of him. Like it didn’t make his heart twist with something so fierce and tender he couldn’t look away.

Because this—this stupid little moment, your drool soaking into his shirt and your body heavy against his side—this was it.

This was love.

This was the kind of night that carved itself into your bones without even asking.

The movie ended in the background—soft fade-to-black and swelling music—but Bucky didn’t move. People started shifting. Groaning. Standing. 

Bob staggered to his feet, mumbling something about a sugar crash. Alexei wandered off in search of leftovers.

Even Yelena, who usually never missed a chance to call Bucky a “domestic menace,” didn’t say anything this time. She just shot him a look, eyes soft for once, and tugged Bob toward the hallway by the sleeve.

Eventually, the room emptied.

But he stayed right where he was.

Blanket pooled over both your legs. Your body curled into his. One of your hands still loosely wrapped around his.

And Bucky leaned his head back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.

“I want every night like this,” he murmured, barely above a whisper.

It wasn’t even a thought—just something that slipped out, something too true to hold in.

He looked down at you again, the words still blooming on his tongue, soft and certain.

He nearly asked.

Right then.

Nearly reached into his pocket for the ring that had never left his side since he’d bought it. Nearly tilted your chin up, brushed your hair out of your face, and told you he never wanted to do this life without you.

But then—

You snored.

Not loud. Not obnoxious.

Just enough to break the spell.

And Bucky laughed under his breath, the kind of laugh that cracked his chest open a little. He dipped his head, pressed a slow kiss to your forehead, and breathed in the soft scent of your shampoo, your skin, the safety of you asleep against him.

“Soon, baby,” he whispered, lips against your temple. “I’ll ask you soon.”

And in that quiet, golden stillness, as the credits rolled and your breathing evened out again, Bucky knew he could wait.

Just a little longer.

The fifth time Bucky thought of proposing to you, it was in a hospital ward.

Sokovia had been burning.

The sky was thick with smoke and dust, buildings gutted by fire and shrapnel, streets vibrating beneath their feet as another explosion rocked the earth in the distance.

The air was chaos—civilians screaming, radios crackling, the stench of blood sharp against the tang of ash and diesel.

And through it all, Bucky could still hear your voice in his ear—calm, clear, steady, a tether in the madness as you moved beside him.

“There’s two trapped in the north alley,” you’d said, breathless from the sprint, dirt streaked across your cheek. “I’ve got them Buck, go cover the evac point.”

He should’ve listened.

God, he should’ve listened.

But you were always the brave one. The reckless one when it counted. The one who would throw yourself into the fire if it meant pulling someone else out. And before he could stop you, before he could argue, it was already happening.

The shot came out of nowhere—a single, clean crack that split the world in half.

Then motion.

You.

Slamming into him with a force that knocked the air from his lungs — all instinct and desperation. The bullet was meant for him, but it found you instead.

The sound it made when it hit you would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Not a scream. Not even a gasp.

Just a sickening, solid thud, and the look in your eyes, just for a second, before your legs buckled and you collapsed into him like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

Bucky caught you before your knees hit the ground.

He hit his knees with you, arms tightening, hands already pressing hard against your chest, where blood was blooming fast. Too fast.

The warmth of it soaked his fingers, thick and terrifying, spilling between them like time slipping away.

His breath stuttered. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking—both of them slick and red—no line anymore between man and machine, just one desperate body trying to hold another together.

“Nonononono—baby, stay with me,” he begged, voice cracking. “Look at me. Come on, just look at me.”

Your eyes fluttered.

Barely.

You were gasping, breath catching on every inhale, body struggling against gravity and pain—but still, somehow, you found his hand. Still curled your blood-slicked fingers into his like it mattered. Like he mattered.

And then—the whisper.

Barely a breath.

“It’s okay, James.”

You tried to smile. You tried. Even as your chest heaved, even as your face paled. You were still trying to make him feel better. Even then.

And then your eyes slipped closed.

Your hand went slack in his.

“No—” His voice broke. “No, baby, please. Please—stay with me. Stay.”

He screamed for help, hell he shouted it until his throat tore open.

It wasn’t words anymore. It was a sound. Something raw and helpless, a sound he hadn’t made in years—maybe ever. The comms burst to life in his ear, voices overlapping—Alexei calling coordinates, Ava yelling his name, John barking into his comm and Yelena screaming at Bob to send a medic to your position.

But Bucky heard none of it.

Just the ringing. Just the static in his head. Just the crushing silence of your body going still in his arms.

Blood on his hands, blood on his knees, blood on your lips.

And you weren’t moving.

The hallway outside the operating room was too clean. Too bright and way too quiet.

The overhead lights buzzed faintly, and Bucky sat slouched against the wall, the chill of the tile seeping through his suit as he clutched a cup of coffee gone long cold. It had stopped steaming ages ago, untouched, forgotten. He didn’t even remember someone giving it to him.

His front was still damp. His knees stained, his fingers raw from scrubbing your blood off in the sink—not all of it had come out.

Yelena sat nearby, arms folded, her head bowed in a silence she never wore. Bob paced. John stood against the far wall with his arms crossed tight over his chest, unmoving. Nobody had spoken in what felt like hours.

Then the door opened.

And Bucky was on his feet before the surgeon even stepped fully into the hallway.

“She made it.”

Three words.

Three impossible, world-shifting words.

Bucky didn’t remember moving, he didn’t remember dropping the cup or pushing past the doctor or the sound of someone calling after him.

He only remembered one thing:

Your name. In his mouth, in his heart. Like prayer.

You had looked so small in the bed.

The hospital sheets were too white against your skin, the steady beep of the monitors barely loud enough to be real.

Your chest rose and fell beneath the thin blanket, each breath shallow but steady. Your face was pale, lashes resting against your cheeks, an IV threaded into the back of your hand.

But you were breathing. Alive.

Bucky stood at your bedside, his hands hovering before he let himself reach—let his fingers wrap gently around yours, careful not to jostle the wires and tubes. He brought your hand to his lips, pressed a kiss to your knuckles like you were made of glass.

Only then did he let himself breathe.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered, voice cracked and hoarse. “God, I thought—”

He couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t shape the rest of the words around the tremble in his throat. His eyes stung, vision blurring.

He sat down slowly, legs folding under him, and leaned in until his forehead rested against yours.

And there, in the soft hum of hospital machines and the scent of antiseptic and blood and you, he whispered:

“I can’t lose you.”

And in that moment, Bucky knew with more certainty than he’d ever known anything that he didn’t want a life unless it was with you in it. That love wasn’t a question anymore. 

It was you. It had always been you.

The day Bucky proposed to you, it didn’t go as he had hoped.

The plan had been simple.

Well… sort of.

Bucky had spent most of the afternoon in the kitchen with Alpine circling his feet and panic setting in somewhere between how hard can it be? and why is this bread still doughy on the inside?

He had bribed Bob and Yelena with a full month of coffee runs to get you out of the compound—bought himself a few uninterrupted hours. Just enough time to pull together something romantic. 

A quiet night with a dinner he made just for the both of you. Something that felt normal—something that felt like home.

You deserved that.

You deserved wine, and music, and a man who tried.

And god, was he trying.

He’d even worn the apron you got him last Christmas—Kiss the Cook (or Else)—tied it on with absolutely no protest, even though he had grumbled when he found it.

The fabric was too pink, the font was too aggressive. You had giggled when you gave it to him and well, he had never actually worn it.

Until today.

It was stupid. It was stupidly perfect.

And then everything went sideways.

The sauce burned—thick and bitter and clingy, turning the pan black and smoky before he could scrape it off."The bread didn’t rise right—not the first, second, or even the third time. Each loaf slumped in the center like it had given up halfway through baking.

Bucky had followed the recipe twice. Nothing worked. The wine bottle tipped when he reached too fast for a spoon. It spilled across the counter, down the cabinet, pooled under the fruit bowl. Then he dropped a fork into the pan of sauce, tried to fish it out and burned his hand. Swore loudly enough that Alpine hissed and darted under the kitchen table like he had somehow betrayed her on a spiritual level.

The smoke alarm nearly went off.

He hit it with a dish towel and muttered threats at it.

It was a disaster. A complete and utter disaster.

And that was before he heard the front door creak open.

His whole body froze.

He turned slowly, eyes wide, just as your footsteps reached the edge of the hall—too light to be Bob, too quiet to be Yelena. He knew your walk by now. The soft padding of your soles. The way you always slowed down when your hands were full. The way the silence always shifted when you entered a room.

And his stomach sank.

You were home. Too early.

The clock on the oven blinked at him uselessly, and he barely had time to wipe his hands on the apron when you walked into the kitchen.

You stopped short.

Still holding your coat, still glowing faintly from the wind outside and the laughter that hadn’t quite left your face.

And then you saw it.

The smoke, the scorched pan, the puddle of wine dripping a slow trail toward the floor. The half-risen bread like a sad little crater on the counter.

And in the middle of it all—Bucky. In the pink apron. Covered in flour and tomato splatter, clutching a wooden spoon like it might just attack him.

You blinked.

“Was this all for me?”

Bucky looked like a deer caught in a trap.

Or maybe more like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar—big and awkward and helpless, covered in guilt and powdered sugar.

“I—” He swallowed. “I realised I haven’t taken you out on a real date.”

He shifted, the wooden spoon still in his hand like he didn’t know what to do with it anymore.

“I just… I wanted to make tonight special.”

Your lips twitched.

The kitchen smelled like defeat and oregano. The oven was beeping at nothing. Smoke hung faintly in the air like an accusation. And still, your heart cracked wide open.

You stepped toward him—slowly, gently—and rose onto your toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

��It’s okay, Buck,” you murmured, lips brushing the curve of his jaw. “I’ve got leftover cereal.”

Your tone was teasing, warm, affectionate in the way only you could be. Forgiving. Soft. Home.

You turned, half-laughing, reaching for the cupboard above the microwave, the one that always held your comfort stash. Granola and that one sugar cereal you swore was for cheat days and ate every Sunday anyway.

You reached for the handle.

And Bucky’s heart stuttered.

He watched your hand move in slow motion, watched as your fingers curl around the cupboard door, the hinge creaking faintly.

His stomach dropped.

“Baby, wait—no—”

But it was too late.

You opened the door. Your fingers paused.

And there it was.

Tucked behind a half-finished bag of granola and an emergency box of toaster waffles sat a small red velvet box. Not fancy or flashy, but unmistakable. The kind that didn’t belong next to cereal.

The kind that meant something. The kind that meant everything.

You didn’t move.

Just stared.

And across the room, Bucky stood frozen, apron crooked, hair still damp from the steam, sauce on his cheek, and absolutely no words left in his mouth.

“I was gonna ask later,” he muttered, voice low, thick with something heavy. “There was a whole thing. Music. Dessert. A ring not hidden behind cereal.”

He sighed, shoulders sagging.

“I ruined it.”

You didn’t say anything at first.

You just looked at him—really looked at him. At the mess behind him. At the pink apron barely clinging to its dignity. At the way he stood there like he still expected the floor to swallow him whole.

And your eyes welled up.

Your smile tugged softly at the corners of your mouth, cracking you wide open like a sunrise.

“Yes,” you said.

Bucky blinked. “But… you didn’t even open it.”

You closed the cupboard gently and turned to face him. A breath caught somewhere between a sob and a laugh as you stepped forward.

“I don’t have to.”

And that was it.

That was all it took.

Bucky crossed the kitchen in three slow steps, reached for your face with both hands like you were made of something precious—fragile and entirely his.

He kissed you like he was carving the moment into memory. Like nothing else existed but the space between your lips and his heart.

Then, wordlessly, he lifted you onto the counter, settling between your legs, hands braced on your thighs like they were the only anchor he needed.

“God, I love you,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, breath shaking. “You have no idea.”

You laughed, watery and real, arms wrapping around his neck as you pulled him closer.

“I do,” you whispered. “Me too.”

The kitchen was still a disaster.

The bread was half-baked. The wine was staining the grout. The sauce had scorched itself into the pan so deeply it might never come out.

But none of it mattered.

Because this—this—was perfect.

And it always would be.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed it!! if you did, please leave a comment or a reblog! thank you my love 💖

[writing-munchies]

NSFW HC'S— Daisuke, Cam, Chance & Tony x GN!Reader (MDNI)

A/N: I have found out that listening to Meghan is the best way to get me to write smut, bigger in texas is so damn good. Sorry for any mistakes as English isn't my first language:-]

WC: 4K

Daisuke

Whenever he has the even shortest window available to be with you, he will initiate. Sometimes, he’ll even let you pull him from his work, a very rare sight, though.

Calls you so many lovely pet names, ‘my love’, ‘my everything’, ‘my world’, will press a kiss on your temple as he does so.

Whatever you do, do not ask to fuck in the kitchen counters, he can fuck you just as well on a table if you’re craving it that badly.

He has to see your face when he’s balls deep inside you, loves seeing how your face contorts into such expressions as he drives his cock in and out of you; he leaks pre inside every time you look at him with teary eyes.

This man loves using his fingers on you. One time you took your hands in his and admired how slender and long they were compared to yours, he was flattered by your compliment. He fingered you for 3 hours that night, the feeling of you writhing on his lap, your ass grinding down on his hard on as he feels your hole clench down on his fingers, broken moans of his name slipping from your lips just has him on cloud nine and his dick harder than it has ever been.

When it’s late in the night—which is usually when you two have sex— and you’re being a little too loud as the head of his cock keeps brushing against the spot inside that has you seeing stars, he puts those pretty fingers in your mouth to shush you with a, “my love, I don’t want anyone else to hear you like this,” yes he does stroke his dick to cum on your stomach with that hand on purpose; your saliva coating his fingers is just so erotic to him.

Has a real bad fixation with your mouth. Make out sessions with him will last for at least an hour, will not let your tongue go. Especially after you gave him a blowjob, or he fucked your mouth, loves to taste himself on your tongue, does the same for you whenever his mouth is coated with your cum. When you have his cum on your face, instead of cleaning it up on the spot he just wipes it across your lips with his thumb, you look gorgeous like that.

This man loves giving head, especially by having your thighs around his head, he’ll pull you up from your hips;

AFAB; he’ll pull you up from your hips, lock your thighs around his head and his tongue will go to town on your clit, even if his tongue is busy fucking in and out of you, his thumb will never leave your clit. Wants your cum and slick to coat his mouth, will not stop until your hands can’t even tug on his hair from how much you’re shaking and whining from overstimulation, this man will eat you out like he’s been starving for pussy.

AMAB; he’ll pull your bottom half up by your thighs, anchor you by gripping your ass and taking your dick in his mouth in one go. He has no gag reflex, which is very advantageous, as he will not stop until you’re shooting blanks down his throat. He makes so much noise when he’s sucking you off, he is starving for even a drop of pre, of course his hold on your ass or thighs will harden as you’re about to cum and your hips start bucking, he wants every last drop that he can milk out of your—to him, very ‘pretty’— dick. 

He has one guilty pleasure, and that's fucking on the floor. As long as you’re comfortable with it, especially on a cold night, he just loves the contrast of the temperature and how even though you have so many places to shy away from his touch when you’re overstimulated his body caging you in makes it impossible and that makes his dick so hard he can feel all the blood rushing to it.

Loves getting his hair pulled, especially as he’s cumming inside of you, the added stimulation makes him whimper your name quietly as his dick is pumping cum inside of you. Loves to thrust one more time just to see his cum gush out of your hole.

If you propose to pop his cherry—take his anal virginity—he won’t be opposed at all, whether it’s with a dildo, strap or your own dick, God he just loves taking any kind of pleasure from you. Pulling his hair especially becomes more of a turn on when you’re fucking him from behind, smack his ass every once in a while if you want to hear him cry out your name.

Will cry during sex when he’s overwhelmed, whether he’s topping or bottoming. When he’s topping, being inside you for the first time already has his nerves fried, but when you keep tightening around him, telling him that you love him, oh his dick has never hurt from how hard it was before. When bottoming, tell him how good he’s sucking you in and how pretty he looks while hitting his prostate again and again, and he’ll be a crying mess.

He actually prefers to go slow and deep, but when he’s inside you, and you’re looking at him like that, he can’t stop his hips from fucking you so hard that he can feel his thighs going sore. 

Body worshiper, will be telling you how handsome/beautiful/gorgeous you look with the most soft, smitten tone as his dick is drilling inside you so deep that you’re seeing stars behind your eyes.

Tease him about how he moans your name if you want to see him blush. Tell him how the entire house knows just how whiny he gets when you’re bouncing on his dick, tell him how cute his whimpers sound after a blowjob, about how the entire house now knows how fast you make him cum with your mouth, touch his tip and watch him cum with a quiet whimper on the spot for a second time right after his first.

Fucks real good, but he gets so shy when you're direct. Instead of flowering your words, tell him to fuck you or how good his dick feels inside of you, and he’ll flush red from top to bottom. The way his dick throbs inside you and the way his grip tightens on your hips tells you he likes it, though.

He is genuinely so loving even when having sex, his arms will always be around you, your bodies will always be flush against each other, and he’ll always press a kiss on your eyelids or your temple when he calls you one of his lovely pet names.

Exceptionally good aftercare, will bathe you, will lie you down on your bed, trail your whole body with kisses as he massages your body. Will even bring you food, he has it at the ready. Even has some lotion to really up the feeling and effectiveness of the massage, will pamper you with cuddles. 10000/10. 

Cam

This man not only initiates, he tells you he wants to bend you over the table and fuck you ‘till you forget your own name. No playing around, he gets straight to the point.

If you give him the okay, he will be ripping those clothes off your body, and he’ll latch his mouth onto your nipple the second they are visible.

He is very direct. He’ll be kissing your neck, telling you how he wants to see you crying on his cock, your hips bucking up as he’s pumping his cum inside you.

This man hates to see you go but loves to watch you leave, his eyes never leave your ass and legs.

He loves giving head, but the image of you on your knees, his cock fill,ng you up, the look on your face as you feel his cock throb against your tongue… oh there’s nothing like it. He’ll let you suck him off for a bit, but for you two, a blowjob always ends up with him fucking your mouth. Loves seeing his cum on your face, he’ll lick his lips as his dick gets hard again just at the sight, “open up,” and he’s cumming down your throat again; gripping your jaw and telling you to swallow, he wants to see you do it.

When he’s giving head he will be licking your sex through your underwear, this man loves to do this when you have jeans on the most though:

AMAB; his tongue will never leave your tip, teases you about how much pre you’re leaking. His hand will stroke you through the fabric, biting his lip when he sees your pre stain your underwear/jeans, gets so horny at how reactive your cock is. Loves how it throbs against his fingers, will be licking through the fabric too, makes sure to take your cock out when you warn him that you’re close, making sure to suck on your tip as his hands squeeze and palm your balls. Cum all over his face and he’ll be chirpy all day.

AFAB; Licks you through your underwear as he keeps you still with an iron grip on your thighs. Sucking on your clit through the cloth as he buries his head between your legs. When he tastes some slick through the damp fabric, whimpers, grinds his tongue down harder. His fingers will come in too, just stroking your cunt up and down as he keeps pressing his tongue down on your clit, will be licking your underwear after you cum.

So many, so, so many marks all over your back and inner thighs. This man loves to hear you squeal or cry out when he’s driving his cock in and out of you so deep you can feel every vein grinding down inside, he’ll suck on your neck, will hear you moan, then bite down to hear you squeal his name as he finds the spot that makes you mess when he drills his cock into it a few times.

Cam loves to just go deep, as deep as he can, as deep as it takes for you to throw your head back and your hips start stuttering with how hard he’s driving his cock inside of you. He wants to hear you cry, wants to feel you tighten around him with every little thing he’s telling you, like how he should just tie you up and keep you only for himself as he uses your body to get off, or how he wants to watch you ruin yourself on his dick !till he’s shooting blanks inside you; he’s insatiable.

His hands will never leave your ass if you’re riding him, whether you’re facing him or not, his hands will never leave your ass. Smacks it hard when you slow down, pinches it when he knows you’re close, snapping his hips up as you’re cumming just to watch you squirm. He’ll make sure there are nail marks on your ass by the time he’s done with you.

Loves to bite down on… anywhere on your body, really. Your inner thighs the most, especially when he’s giving you head, he’ll kiss and bite before his tongue even touches your sex, his eyes will never leave yours as he’s doing this. Loves to bite down on your ass, neck, and the middle of your chest, it’s just so damn hot to him.

Cam enjoys humping more when you’re both naked, he’ll get on top of you, his arms hugging you as his hips grind his dick down on your sex, he loves grinding down in circles as that gives him the most stimulation. He loves fucking your thighs, will tap your ass with his palm and tell you to, “get ‘em ready for my cock, I missed doing this with you, fuck…” His dick gets so hard off this, the way your thighs slick up as his pre is smeared all over them, his nails digging into your waist as he thrusts until he’s cumming, making sure his tip is flush against your thighs to coat your inner thighs and make you, in a way.

Not at all opposed to using toys on himself, he’ll have a vibrator deep inside him as he’s fucking you, whining as his hips stutter and his cock strains inside you when you up the setting of the vibrator. Will let you fuck him with a dildo, he’s not sure about a full on strap/dick, but he will try anything once with you. He gets so whiny when you get the toy inside him as deep as he fucks you, mimicking the pace he usually uses on you and cooing at him when he starts to whine out your name, becomes a mess under you rather easily with that.

Puts a pillow under your hips to make sure you feel every inch of him as he’s driving his cock inside in one thrust. His hands never leave your clit/dick when he’s inside you, always rubbing/stroking your sex as he fucks into you, wants to watch you come undone under him.

His aftercare isn’t the best but not the worst either, he’s fine. He’ll get you anything you want, but he’ll mostly be answering you in grunts and unintelligible noises, will insist on cuddling with all of his limbs tight around you like he’s an octopus. 

Chance

He’ll initiate after a really good G&G session, but other than that, if you ask him to, he’s almost always up for it.

Role-play, come on, he’s into this. Show him the kind of costume you want on those sex role-play character sheets he’s making, and he will get a boner on the spot.

Take the sex role-play session he crafted with so much care seriously, and he’ll be so deep with his dick pumping cum inside of you, you’ll see stars behind your eyes as his cock just won’t stop throbbing inside, this man cums a lot and especially when he’s emotionally invested.

He blushes a lot and all over his body, one whine of his name as he’s taking your clothes off and now 60% of his body is red. 

He gets so horny if, in an RP where you’re royalty, and he’s your knight, and you’re sucking his dick as he sits on your throne. The power of it all, combined with how good your throat tightens around his dick when he whines and bucks his hips, the way your hands play with his balls as his pitch gets higher and higher, a mess above you.

He loves a good RP session, he writes down how you sucked him off, the sounds you made as he fucked into you, the dialogue that was said and later strokes his cock to it when he’s re-reading it. He can never control just how fast his fist gets when he reads about how your legs locked him in place when he warned you he was close just to make him cum inside you, and now it makes him cum the second he finishes reading the sentence.

If you’re up for it, while in one of your private sessions, he’ll narrate as you masturbate in front of him. Stuttering and whimpering involuntarily when you cum, begging you to let him lick it all off of you, loves cleaning you up. Will narrate and tell you just how gorgeous you look when you’re so close, how your sex reacts to his voice when he says something horny, how he’d feel so good inside you and from there it snowballs into him fucking into you while whimpering and holding you in his arms.

Will dirty talk in character, like in the previous Royalty and Knight one, he’ll tell you how unashamedly you’re taking someone’s cock that isn’t even royalty, how if you keep this up you’ll just become a commoner hole for everyone with enough wit and charm to cum into. Reply in character and oh, he’s cumming on the spot. His hips will just start snapping down into your hole, going so deep and slow you can feel every drag of his cock as he bullies your sweet spot ‘till he’s filling you up with his cum.

Somehow you two always ends up either with his head between your legs or with him balls deep inside of you. It’s rare for him to break character ever but when he’s so close, and you’re so fucking tight like you’re trying to milk him for all his worth, his hips lose their consistent rhythm, and he’ll start fucking into you like he’s using you to get off, like he wants your insides to be painted white with his cum.

Get real close to him, your fingers plying with the hem of his pants as he looks at you with a blush ready on his cheeks, tell hi how badly you want to put on a show for the others with him. How you want them to see how good his cock treats you, how full it gets you, how you want them to see the way he cries and snaps his hips down with desperation when he’s so close, and he’s getting a boner on the spot.

Would actually love to fuck in a closet, closed spaces and the way your bodies just have to be flush against each other just gets him so turned on.

Always checks up on you after, getting you food, clean towels, water, and cuddles. He’ll cuddle up to you rambling about some of the ideas he’ had and after a while you’ll feel his hard on grinding down on your ass and his lips on your neck, he’s a bit insatiable. Good aftercare, he’s a little freaky with it even when you’re supposed to be resting, but not bad at all.

Tony

He will initiate, and he will initiate with style, he’ll gently grab you by the hips, give a peck, “give me some sugar, missed your sweetness in my mouth, yeah?”

Direct, he isn’t shy at all, he’ll say that he wants to fuck you ‘till every pump of his cum has you whimpering his name and means it.

Holds you by your thighs as he’s fucking into you, the way you clench so tight around him when he hits that spot like you told him to do, has his dick leaking inside you. Loves how your tongue peeks out with every whimper and whine leaving your mouth, he thinks it's cute and sexy as hell at the same time.

Has an oral fixation. Has to have his dick in your mouth at least once a day, or he won’t be able to function properly. He’ll anchor himself with his hand on the back of your head and just fuck your mouth, throwing his head back as his hips buck into your mouth with every drag of his cock against your tongue. Will drag his cock along your tongue after he’s done cumming down your throat, just to watch you drool on his tip, that has him hard again in five seconds.

Loves to fuck you from behind, his chest flush against your back as his arms are wrapped against you, his hips flush against your ass as he drives his cock in and out of in a pace that has your head spinning. Makes sure the tip of his cock hits your spot, he did promise to make you a dumb drooling mess on his dick after all, and Tony keeps his promises.

Let him fuck your mouth after a long day while stroking the base while squeezing and massaging his balls, “fuck, babe, you want me to lose my mind or somethin’?”, and if you moan around it afterward, taking it all in one go all the way down your throat he just might cum on the spot while his thighs shake from the stimulation.

Sometimes he’ll just get you on his lap, palm your sex through your clothes while making out with you, his hands slipping down your underwear and taking it off with ease. He wants to make you cum only by fingering you, maybe he’ll touch your clit/cock, but he won’t let you cum any other way. He wants to feel that hole tightens around his fingers, he wants to hear you whine his name, grip his arms as his fingers just don’t stop after you’ve already come, the noises your slick/the lube along with his spit covered fingers are making when he’s fucking you with his fingers is like music to his ears. The way you throw your head back onto his shoulders, the way your hips buck up as his fingers never slow down, the way you cry out his name, oh it’s heaven.

Will tell you that you taste sweeter than sugar when he’s giving you head:

AMAB; this man loves sucking on your tip and playing with your balls the most. The way you whine out his name when he takes your dick down in on ego spurs him on so good he starts to hump the ground as he’s sucking you off. Wants to feel every vein with every single drag in and out of his mouth, his hips matching the pace he’s sucking you off with. Cum down his throat, coat his tongue, and he’ll make you suck it all off from his tongue when you’re making out after.

AFAB; Tony eats pussy like he’s been starving for it before he met you, his fingers will always work with his tongue. His thumb will never leave your clit as his tongue’s lapping up every bit of slick comin’ out of your cunt. Loves rubbing your clit as fast as he can while he sticks his tongue inside you deep and just sucks, will also make you suck your cum off of his tongue when you’re making out.

He’s very vocal, cannot shut up when he’s so deep and snug inside you, when you’re fucking yourself on his dick as your ass slams on his hips, ‘sugar’, ‘babe’, and a lot of curses as he grips your hips with his life, trying to stop himself from just slamming his hips down and pump you full of cum himself.

If he sees you naked or catches a nip slip, you’re getting bent over as he holds your arms behind your back and fucks into you, making sure that by the end of it you’re full of cum, just to continue after 5 minutes; to watch his cum drip down your ass and stick to his hips as he drills his cock into you so deep you damn near scream his name.

Wear jeans, and he’ll open the zipper with his teeth to get his tongue on his favorite meal, “open up babe, I’ve been craving some of this honey deep down my throat and coating my tongue”, he loves seeing the way you react to what he says.

Loves that mouth of yours, loves to make out after a good blow job, his hand massaging your nape as he’s moaning your name into your mouth while he bites your bottom lip and sucks on your tongue.

Marks you up all over your body, loves to bite and suck on your back as his cock is making you cum your brains out under him, his hands massaging your ass as his lips latch onto your neck; taking you by the hips and slamming your ass onto his hips to fuck you on his dick like you’re a toy.

Good aftercare! Water, food, towels, kisses, compliments, and cuddles always at the ready. His hands will never leave your body, either roaming or groping you, loves squeezing that ass; his dick throbs a bit when his cum drips down to his fingers as he’s groping your ass. He’ll always tell you he loves you, just a sweetheart, really thankful for you in every way. 1000000/10.

[starstruckbich]

getting caught listening in ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

summary: vi knows you've been listening in on her.

tags: 18+ mdni men dni dom!vi, sub! reader, listening in, teasing, fingering, vi eating reader out, reader riding vi's face, soft!vi.

note: as usual, life is absolutely kicking my ass like WHAT THE FUCK uhm anyways im back to writing. im praying for this week to go by fast so i can get a break oh LAWD.

You feel gross. But also extremely good.

At first it was annoying, hearing every scream, every moan through thin paper walls at your shared dorm with Vi. Every time she brought a girl over, you would lose hours of sleep, again and again and again.

It's either the girl Vi is fucking moaning at the top of her lugs or Vi herself whining like a bitch. It left you so angry, but you never confronted her, because who actually has the balls to go to your dorm mate and say "hey would you quit having sex so fucking loud?".

You would rather just put on some headphones and call it a day.

Until that damn week came. That week before your period when you just want to fuck everyone and everything. It's specifically worse for you, for some reason.

So when you go to get a glass of water in the middle of the night and the sounds start once again, your body can't even get annoyed. Especially because this time, Vi didn't close the door all the way, leaving a creak open.

"a-ah! oh! oh fuck~!" looks like Vi was getting fucked that time.

So every single time, from that day. You lean agaisnt her door, touching yourself, listening to her filthy moans. Except one time, you actually moan a tad bit too loud. You don't think anyone noticed, since they didn´t stop.

But Vi knows. And god you can't even imagine how thrilled she is. She does EVERYTHING extra loud, moaning, whining, crying, grunting, begging, cumming. Everything.

But a problem comes up. Her usual hookup girlie hasn't had time for her, ignoring her texts and calls. So she is practically posessed, obviously more pent up. She resorts to just touching herself that night, moaning loudly. But it's just not enough. She needs someone, and right now, the nearest person to her is you.

You were so focused on making yourself feel good, layed down on your stomach and playing with your pretty clit, that you didn't even hear the heavy steps coming towards your bedroom door.

Suddenly your door slams open, causing your eyes to widen and your hand to move away from that sweet spot. oh no. you're totally going to get fucking humiliated, torn to shreds and get called a pervert. your life is over.

"Vi-" Your voice is shaky and ridiculously breathy. it's almost a cry, your mind trying to come up with some sort of excuse.

But before you can, Vi is already pouncing on the bed, turning you over, tongue entertwining with yours in a matter of seconds, muscular, tattooed arms locking your body in a cage as you cry into her mouth, almost as if saying "what the fuck is going on".

One of her hands trails down to your panties, fingers going underneath them and slipping in your pussy so easily that it makes you want to die of embarassment.

You pull away from her mouth, yelling. "fuck!! oh- ah! w-wait, i dont-"

Your heartbeat has skyrocketed in a matter of seconds, feeling Vi's thick fingers heat that sweet, sweet spot you love so much when you listen to her getting fucked. Except this time it's her fingers.

"Vi what is going on?" it's such a cute cry you let out, making her moan in your ear.

"oh just didn't to make you- hah... upset that my hookup didn't show up." she laughs. oh. so she has known huh.

you can't help but feel guilty, despite OBVIOUSLY knowing now that Vi clearly isn't bothered. "im sorry, im really sorry..." you cry out, spreading your legs further for her.

"trust me, don't be." she laughs, huffing into your ear. "yeah thats right just... spread your legs... yeah..." she groans, the pace of her fingers making you squirm and moan so loud that you get why the other girls weren't quiet at all.

your pussy clenches around her fingers, wet noises coming out, your body arching closer to her.

"you're so cute...so pretty, touching yourself because of me. do you like what you hear, hm?" Vi whispers into your ear, earning a frantic nod from you.

She kisses your temple "is it better hearing it up close? feeling it?" Teasing tone. Of course, just the right atittude to make your eyes roll back.

"fuck, please! just a little bit faster! oh-!" great, you're already begging, body twitching in a matter of minutes.

But Vi isn't done with you.

How many minutes has it been. Maybe a half an hour already. Vi's tongue lappig up at your cunt, tongue sliding in and out over and over again. god she gives great head, it makes you want to cum into her mouth right then and there.

you let out those " hm hm hm" sounds, biting your bottom lip so hard, head falling back, a blissed expression on your face.

"hmm... hmf... who does this pussy belong to, mmh...?" vi says, voice breathy and ugh every time she speaks your body feels like it's about to fall apart.

"yours vi, it's yours..." you say, rocking your hips. you pray that girl never answers her texts again. you'd rather have her tongue on you instead.

"good girl, fuck, you taste so sweet..." she spreads your legs further if thats even possible, kissing at your needy bundle of nerds as your hips chase her tongue. "you could have just asked me for this, you know..."

you wish you could answer, but your mouth just elts out repeated whines, moans or whatever you're screaming. next time you want her to fucking rail you, and you would let her if it wasn't so late. there is one thing you have the courage to ask though.

"can i ride your face- mh-please?" and how can she say no when you ask so nicely?

Now you're sat on her face, hips rolling agaisnt her mouth, letting out sweet sounds, not so animalistic anymore, not because you're not turned on, but because she handles you so good that you're getting tired. you feel heat pooling up even more below your belly, seeing Vi just eat the fuck out of you. literally.

her hands grip your hips, eyes opening ocasionally to look at you eye to eye and kiss your pussy sweetly. you let out one final, strangled moan, hips twitching, white liquid dripping into her tongue as your head lolls to the side.

she sucks your sweet nectar up, seeing you hold onto the bed frame, smiling at how cute you look when you're tired.

she caresses your ass, kissing your clit a few times before making you hop off her face and lay down on top of her.

"satisfied, pretty girl?"

"yes...."

[wingedfuncomputer]

The outskirts of Town

Remmick x fem!reader

Summary: Living far from town with a father who treats you more like a maid instead of a daughter proves itself exhausting. Secluded like a bird in a cage, a boring cycle life becomes until a random man shows up one night striking up an innocent deal. In name of your chicken coop you accept letting him in. Though as time passes & whispers of violence roughing a sweet couple up around town has you rethinking this weird relationship you have created with the Irish stranger who seemed to come out of thin air.

Warnings: naive!reader, apart from that none really just your father lowkey being rude to Remmick cause he’s Irish 💔.

Authors note: This is just a slice of what I’ve been writing for Remmick. My actual word count for the story is 8.5k as of now, close to finishing but I wanted to see if it’s something you Remmick lovers would want to see (I know it’s pretty lengthy). My story is aimed at not just the romance but scare factor? If that’s what you can call it. no full fledged smut or healthy romance here just trying to ground myself in realistic outcomes. I don’t think that man could love normally lmao. Let me know what you think!

Word count: 1.4K Fic playlist Full Fic!

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From a far his eyes locked on her. Right as the sun set she was tending the little chickens, ushering them into the coop. Softly, she tried her hardest to close the door as if not wanting to scare them. A regular passer by wouldn't glance an eye she was a normal little thing, but not to him, not to Remmick.

It was primal how he always found himself being dragged back to her every time the sun decided to hide behind the horizon. Her sweat, her skin, her pulsing blood enticed him as if he'd known her before. She was too sweet to ravish like all those ol' people he had left a mess of before. He let himself get enveloped in the idea that his human mind,what little of it remained had.Affection. With that utterly disgusting revelation he decided to knock on her door to put an end to the feeling once and for all. Heavy, knuckles contacted the chipping paint of the wood.

You had been sweeping the floor when you heard a noise coming from the front door. A little startled your active swipe back and forth stopped confused by who would be visiting your father so late at night. Most people weren't out after sun down. "The floors ain't gon' sweep themselves keep at it girl". His gruffy voice made you grip the wooden stick tighter negating the fact it caused splinters to get stuck to your skin. It was old, long due to be  thrown away but your voice was nonexistent in this house. With a small creak a hesitant humble from a very male voice spoke, "good afternoon... sir".  You whipped your head around intrigued but found your father's body blocking the man who stood at the door. "State your business". He had never learnt kindness, it was a foreign thing to him. "I'm just a lowly traveler going on by, was wonderin' if you could offer some hospitality". A huff emitted from your father as the man continued. "My wife she's no longer with us.. I must find myself across the state but the sun is beating and unforgiving".  Your heart  ached for him, he sounded defeated. Your father surely would say mean ol' things to him n’ get violent. But suprisingly he laughed barking your name then proceeded orders at you, "fetch this man a cup of water". Only for a split second when he turned were you able to capture a glimpse, the man already looking directly at you. His features resembled my father's, except for his frame he looked thinner his face covered in what seemed to be a mix of dirt and sweat. You nod and quickly keep your eyes down. Whilst you grab a tin cup and fill it with water by the sink you hear the small hushing of their conversation asking where he was headed to and why. Your steps are weary making sure you don't spill the water.

"The Catholics did a number on my people kindness is hard to come by. Could you let me in don't want to bother the young lady much?" His first comment is what makes your father's demeanor change, you see it from a few feet away as his back tenses. He ignores the man's request to come inside, "Where you from boy?". Once only a few inches away you decide to lay down the cup by a piece of furniture near by. Eyes creeping behind your father's shoulders it was obvious to see the man was not a boy. He had good amount of muscle on his arms and lines on his face. There's a glint of a smirk in the strangers lips as he glances at you no lack of confidence, "Ireland". That's when your heart drops, with poison your father spits "get your filthy Irish ass off my f*cking property".

"I don't mean no disrespect, I'd still appreciate that water" he takes a step forward which makes your father push him you yelp afraid they'd have a full brawl and the innocent man would end up in his grave. "You won't get nothin' here ! Leave my property". Your hands go up to your father’s arms as you can see his anger exalt, his fist itching to make contact with the Irish man's face. "Father please..." his face full of anger is concentrated on you before shoving your hand away and instead drags you inside from your arm instead. "It's best if you learn to keep away from men like that ." He speaks as if the man wasn't there, you can't help but take a look once behind you once more offering a look of "I'm sorry" before the front door is slammed shut by your father.

That whole night you couldn't bring yourself to sleep tossing and turning, imagining what that poor man was going through. You didn't hear about him the following day or day after that until you found yourself reluctantly putting yet another dead bird into a sack. They were being  ripped to shreds, you made sure the coop was secured each night so what could be killing them? It was sundown, the night air hitting your skin in a way that made your hairs stick up. "coyote... or fox" your body jolts hearing someone break the silent spell in the air. Immediately letting the bag fall and taking steps back as you twist to see who the voice belonged to. "Apologies I didn't mean to scare ya". It was hard to see in the darkness but the moonlight along with your small lamp on the ground allowed you to see enough to say, "your the man from a few days ago". He was standing behind the fence that surrounded your chicken coop. "Guilty as charged" you couldn't help but laugh along with him. "I'm Remmick" he extends his hand towards you which you can only just stare at. It would've been appropriate to say your name and envelope his hand but you don't. Remmick you repeat in your head liking the ring it had to it. "My Irish hands too dirty" he murmurs to himself  which makes you start to ramble in apologies insuring his heritage had nothing to do with your lack of a response. " f’course not It's just that, no offense sir your a- your a...." Your stuttering makes heat flood your cheeks in embarrassment . "A stranger?" He says it so casually no anger laced in between his words just light heartedness. You both stare at each other in an awkward pause before you find the courage to nod. Guilt weighs in your soul after reflecting "I'm truly ashamed about what happened last time, my father...-that is no way to be treated". He just smiles, a little huff of air being exhaled as he leaned into the fence, "it happens more than you know darlin' nothin' personal". His deep voice grumbles nicely when he calls you by that little pet name making your stomach flutter. It must've been as clear as the night sky you weren't allowed around men often, let alone other people.

Remmick seems intrigued by you growing quiet tilting his head to the side as he quirks , "the way across the state ain't an easy one.. stayin’ around these parts is easier. would help if I had a place to rest... ". You would offer him your home in a heartbeat but you knew how your pops wasn't fond of him, let alone yourself. He could barely tolerate you so how would tolerate this stranger . His eyes are trained on your every twitch, your chest constricting and trembling hands playing with the loose fabric of your skirt. It was quite nice really it felt like you were a lil' rabbit troubled by your surroundings. Yet You were unaware that the greatest danger wasn't your father, no not your  father it was the devil himself looming over you in this instant.

He smacks his lips making you look back at him once more. His pointer finger is near his mouth faking thought, "well I might just got a deal that could work for both 'f us". Your eyebrows furrow in confusion but you still hear the poor man out. "I can help ya with the lil' chicken problem... in exchange I get a piece of shelter". His eyes nudge at the forgotten sack beneath you then trail up your frame to your face. Your teeth grind in contemplation. If he helped manage the death of these chickens father would probably lay off my back, let me go in town for food trips or what not for the farm.

"So what da ya, say? You gon' let me in?"

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[bluepurplepinklock]

"You know I care..."

Itoshi Rin x reader, where you distance yourself from him thinking he has no interest in you, only for him to come running to you.

Rin didn't care. It pained you to accept that, but he really didn't care.

You were always there with him- talking, laughing, teasing and enjoying every moment. But when you realised how he never initiated any of it, you questioned yourself.

Do you annoy him? Is he really not interested? If you somehow disappear, would he even notice?

Given his resting bitch face, irritated eye rolls and annoyed sighs, the answer was clear. And so, you decided with a heavy heart that in order to preserve the little self respect you had left, you will do what is most logical- start distancing yourself from him.

As much as it hurt to not be around him, it was the best course of action to prevent your heart from loving him more only to be told he could never love you back.

You thought Rin wouldn't even notice your absence. The way you no longer attended his matches, or wait for him after class, or walked home with him, or sent him memes in the middle of the night, or steal every second to just be with him a little longer.

You thought he wouldn't bother, you were almost convinced he didn't- until he grabbed your wrist, yanking you away from your group of friends in the corridor.

"What's wrong?" he inquired, pulling you towards the lockers. His eyes bore deep into yours, like he might find the answer swirling behind your startled eyes if he stared intently.

"What?" you blink, taken aback.

"Don't act dumb," he spat, restlessly tapping his finger against his crossed arms, "why are you ignoring me?"

"I'm not," you shrug, trying your best to be nonchalant.

"Don't fuck with me, y/n" he breathed, his sharp gaze pinning you to your spot.

After picking through your words, trying your best not to show your own desperation to just give up on distancing and latch onto him again, you speak, "Stop acting like you care."

Rin's eyes widened, pure unfiltered confusion plastering his face. He blinked a couple times before clutching his head, "Gosh, what's wrong with you."

"Nothing," you shrug, sounding as confident as ever, "you know you never cared, so let me be. Besides, you must be delighted I stopped clinging onto you, annoying you to no ends."

You pivot on your heels, walking away until Rin's strong grasp holds you back and before you know it, he has you pinned against the locker.

His palms plant on either side of your head, into the locker behind. Rin's cold eyes stare right into yours, a blend of hurt and silent rage boiling in their depths, as his lips hover inches away from yours.

"Stop," his voice cracked and you felt his hot breath on your lips, "stop putting words in my mouth. I might have never said it out loud, but you know I care."

You gulp as heat rises to your cheeks when you feel his knee between your legs. He inches closer every second, caging you in yet still giving you enough time to break out if you want.

But you don't. You shove your plans of distancing yourself away because right now, all you want is to be impossibly close to this man.

Rin's lips press against yours, hot and impatient, and you totally give in to the desire in your heart. You drape your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he envelopes you in his arms.

When you break apart, you are shocked to find his eyes damp with the slightest hint of tears.

Rin knew his cold exterior costs him too much. But the moment he felt it would cost him losing you, he couldn't help but smack himself in the head and reach out to you. You knew it. All of it. Just by looking into his wet eyes, the fear of losing you still lingering in them, you knew.

"Don't ever think of leaving me again," he whispered against your lips before capturing them into a kiss once again.

©bluepurplepinklock (Do not copy, steal or translate my work)

[taeslarityy]

outage ༄ joel miller one shot (18+)

-> pairing: no-outbreak joel miller au x female curvy reader

-> word count: 4.3k

-> summary: after a citywide power outage, you're left to deal with the scorching texas heat. until, the well-respected neighborhood dilf — joel miller — lends you a more than generous hand.

-> warnings/tags: sarah is 10/11 so joel had her a bit older, power outage, texas heat, yes this is a warning because its not a joke, reader has a cat!!!, age gap (reader is 24, joel is late 40s), curvy/mid/plus size reader, brief fatphobia, reader has self-image/parent issues + is a lonely gal, fluff, SMUT (18+), unprotected piv, creampie, oral + fingering (f!recieving), squirting, body worship, brief ass play, daddy kink, big ole tits, spanking, spit kink, praise kink, a bit of belly bulge, cockwarming, pet names galore (darlin, sweetheart, baby, _ girl), joel has a huge dick (not canon!)

-> a/n: hi hi! i have been so anxious to begin writing again and currently have some wips that i am just not confident with. so when i saw the lovely @hellishjoel post her #hotdilfsummerchallenge, i was positive i wanted to join in! such a pleasure to be involved in this — thank you kylee for creating such a fun way for this community to get involved! as a curvier woman, i wanted reader to reflect that. because... joel miller is a handsy mf and loves to just grab himself some wide hips, thick thighs and phat tits <3 but ofc, this is can be for various body types. please please please, leave your thoughts and even constructive criticism! <3 DILF NEIGHBOR JOEL, YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS!!!!

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. 

You release a groan of annoyance as the visual of your TV, coffee table lamp and humming of the refrigerator all flicker off into silence. The frills on your throw-blanket settle, as the ceiling fan no longer produces the small gusts of wind that have caused you to be rather chilly on this hot, humid and rainy summer night. 

When you made the courageous decision of moving across the country for a new teaching opportunity in Austin — you were never informed on the true brutality summertime unleashed onto Texas residents. More-so, you really had nothing to do but be caged up in the comfortable AC of your home. You’ve been here for roughly 14 months and the only "friends" you’ve made have been the 28 fourth graders you had the pleasure of teaching last school year. Tragic. 

Your coworkers, did not handle your arrival pleasantly. Young, beautiful, freshly-educated and determined. That’s what your grandmother referred to you as when you called her sobbing after your first week. Informing her that the seasoned teachers won’t even bat an eye at you, and when they do it’s a look of disgust. Whispering amongst one another. Like you were in middle school again, trying to befriend the popular girls. 

“I was foolish to think things could be different for me down here, so stupid of me.”

“Now listen to me, you are the most intelligent woman I know. More than anyone in this family. Bullies like that, it stems from an unknown jealousy and overbearing insecurity. Don’t let a few sour grapes ruin this outstanding career for you. Your students adore you already, and so do I. Just continue to be yourself and if that isn’t enough for them, so be it.”

Your grandmother always knew how to make you feel better. She had been instilling your own sense of confidence since you were a little girl. The only adult in your life to do so. If only her words were enough. Your coworkers just never let up. After overhearing them gossip about you during lunch break, you gave up your attempts indefinitely. 

“She really thinks she deserves a place here?”

“Look at her back rolls in that shirt…”

“She really needs to put that sandwich down.”

“Why is she so quiet? It’s freaky, honestly. No wonder she’s always alone.”

You’re not a stranger to being alone. You practically have been your entire life. Your parents never really bothered to form a genuine relationship with you, always so focused on your younger sister. She was the prettier, thinner, more impressive version of you. You have only had one best friend throughout your long 24 years on this earth. She was smarter than you and moved away from the timid small town you shared in Northern Maine, choosing an out-of-state university. So, being alone was a familiarity. You have made peace with it. But being lonely — that’s a whole other ball-park. 

The booming thwack of thunder startles you from your thoughts. Your sweet calico boy leaps from your warm lap and scurries under the dining table — tail puffed in fear. “Milo... it’s okay,” you whisper. He just gleams at you with his jet-black saucer eyes. Even you don’t believe your own words. You are not used to storms like this, and you didn’t really prepare. You read some articles online about stocking up: having plently of batteries, candles, non-perishable foods. Yet, you didn’t do any of that. 

Rubbing away the moisture from your damp upper lip — the heat inside your home already becoming unbearable. Deciding on a whim, you can head to a nearby hotel for the night. Unsure how long you will be without power and don’t wish to succumb yourself or your cat to the searing temperatures of the night. 

The rain has slowed down, as you feel the soft patter on your umbrella. Throwing your purse and water bottle in the front seat, you begin to dread unpacking all this stuff when you get to the hotel. Bags, cat litter, cage — scrutinizing yourself mentally and deciding you better fucking prepare for the next storm. 

“Where ya headin’ sweetheart?”

Your heart jumps at the deep smooth Southern voice that fills your thoughts at night. When your hands would find their way in between your quivering legs. Throughout the day. Pretty much all the time.

Joel Miller is the only person in this town that has ever filled the lonely void you can never seem to fill. When you moved to the quiet suburban street, he was the first to come greet you as you struggled to pull your mattress out of the U-Haul. Immediately lending a hand, and proceeding to lug all of your remaining boxes, furniture, miscellaneous items into your new home. 

“Pretty lady like you, shouldn’t have to lift a single finger.” He remarked when you blushed and assured him you could handle the rest, not wanting to be a burden. Even though the sweat dripping down your back was apparent and 5 minutes prior you had no idea how you’d be able to unpack the remainder of the truck. He then assured you — there was no way in hell you were being a burden. Words that were a rarity. 

Later that afternoon, he invited you for dinner at his home. You met his lovely daughter, Sarah. Where everyone learned that you were her new school teacher. What were the odds? 

Following that, seeing Joel was frequent. From parent-teacher conferences, backyard barbecues for the neighborhood, or even small intimate dinners with Sarah at each others homes. Sarah would even spend the night at yours on occasion. When Joel had a late night at the construction site, or when she just needed some girl time. You adored that little girl, and vice versa. 

You also adored the fuck out of Joel. 

So when you looked up at his porch, finding him in nothing but a pair of plaid pajama pants.. your throat went dry. His tanned skin gleamed softly from the street light — little speckled freckles adorned his waist in various spots. And that darkish grey hair on his chest and fat of his lower tummy that flowed underneath his pants. Your brain fuzzy at the thought of your face pressed against it as you swallow his cock. 

But you were not a fool. Joel would never express an attraction towards you. A man like that? He deserved the perfect woman. 

“Darlin’?” He speaks again, a bit louder. Disturbing your wandering thoughts. 

“I- I was gonna head to a hotel for the night, my house is too hot already. And I don’t want Milo to be uncomfortable.” 

Joel’s eyes wander down your body as you explain — the plush jiggle of your tits in that small tank. Nearly spilling out. Slightly damp from the rain or humidity. The chub of your tummy spills slightly from your leggings. A sight that makes his cock swell unbearingly. An act that occurs more often than not when he sees you or even thinks of you for the countless minutes of his day. 

“No way. Not gonna let ya drive in this weather. Plus, most hotels nearby are gonna be overbooked. I got the generator up n’ working, got the spare room too. You’re stayin’ over.” 

“No! No, Joel. I can’t.”

“N’ why not?” His hands have found his way to his hips, popping a knee out and giving you that classic dad glare. Not angry, but confused as to why you’re even protesting when he’s already decided. 

“I don’t want to intrude and I have Milo. You and Sarah are allergic.”

“Sarah left yesterday to stay with her mom in California for the rest of the summer. Besides, Milo loves me. I can handle a runny nose as long as I know the two of ya are safe.” 

To this, your stomach nearly flips inward on itself. You’ve never been alone with Joel in his home. Not for this long. The few times you’ve come over to help him with dinner before Sarah got home from soccer practice, have always been excruciating. Staring at him without worry. Watching his muscles flex through his t-shirts. Big hands chopping vegetables and plating food. His hand lightly touching your waist when scooting by. 

There’s no possible way you can survive a night in Joel’s home. 

But, he’s already grabbing his umbrella and walking over to you. He grabs your stuff from the car and tells you to go grab Milo. So, you do.

Joel slips on a t-shirt after he put your stuff in the spare room, disappointedly enough. You nearly told him to keep it off, but held your tongue. You made yourself comfortable at the island barstool as you typed up some early lesson plans, Milo at your feet. 

He patters over to Joel who is now leaning against the counter, brushing against his leg. He then leaps onto the granite and purrs against Joel’s arm. 

“Psst! Milo get do-“ you beg, embarrassment coloring your cheeks. 

“S’ okay, sweetheart. He’s not botherin’ me,” Joel attempts to settle your nerves. Petting Milo’s soft fur and scratching under his chin, that special spot all cats love. “Can I get you anythin’ to drink?” He nods towards the coffee he’s brewing. 

“Coffee would be nice, thank you.” You beam at him. Joel’s heart skips a beat every time your cheeks puff up ever so slightly when you smile at him. It’s something he swears is the most endearing thing about you. Of course, he’s only ever shared that with his daughter. Who begs her father to just take her favorite teacher on a date already. 

Joel grabs some sugar and oat milk from the fridge, your favorite. He learned from the few breakfasts you guys had shared. A bit of sugar and a nice gulp of milk softens the dark roast color in the mug, he slides it over to you as he grabs his plain black coffee. 

“You remembered!” You giggle slightly at the Number 1 Dad title that adorns the mug, taking a sip. You moan at the taste, exactly how you like it. 

“Of course I did, darlin’.” You almost hate how easily those pet names roll of his tongue. You summed it up as his southern hospitality, figured he calls any woman those special names. “So, you ready for this new school year?”

An icky feeling settles in your stomach. The thought of returning to the painful and toxic work environment you can only escape when you’re with your students.

“Not without my Sarah girl,” you swiftly change the subject towards the one person he can talk hours about.

He smiles proudly at her name. 

“Ya know, she still all mad that you wouldn’t flunk her so she could have another year with ya.” Both your laughs quickly fill the empty house. 

“Well, even if I tried to, that girl is too smart for her own good. She should skip a grade in my opinion.” You state, and you’re truthful at that. Sarah Miller is as intelligent as she is quick-witted. 

“Yeah, she gets it from me.” At that you roll your eyes playfully. Typing something up before closing your computer and taking another sip of coffee. “Although I love boastin’ over her, I guess I meant are you excited to go back? They treat ya good there?” 

Joel watches the color drain from your soft skin. Realizing he touched somewhere that might be too personal. Too raw. “M’ sorry sweetheart, shouldn’t have asked.”

“No- no uh, you’re fine. Um, honestly? No. I’m not excited. The staff there aren’t exactly the kindest bunch.” You confess, slight unease crawling over you. 

Joel’s eyes scrunch in confusion. Mind blank on how the kindest soul he knows, could be surrounded by complete opposite. “Whatcha mean?”

You sigh letting the anxiousness settle a bit before speaking again, “they hate me. I don’t even know why, really? I have tried my hardest to get them to accept me but nothing seems to work. Whether it’s jabs at my appearance, teaching style, they’re never satisfied.” Your eyes are burning slightly, haven’t confessed this burden you constantly carry to anyone. “If it wasn’t for your daughter and my class, and… you.. well, I think I wouldn’t have made it through. I try to be strong, I try to be everything that people expect from me but it’s just so hard, Joel.” At that, the fat tears begin to stream down your face.

Joel was frozen in shock. Or maybe anger. Protectiveness. He wanted to hurt the people who made you feel like this. The least deserving of any pain. He sets his mug down and snatches you in his embrace. Holding your head with his hand, stroking your back with the other. He lets you sob almost uncontrollably into his firm chest. 

“I just hate being so alone.” You whisper, clutching onto him. You can’t even be embarrassed anymore, you’re so overthrown by his scent, his comfort. Comfort you’ve not felt in so so long. 

Joel kisses your temple softly, "promise you're not alone, sweet girl." He nudges your head to look up at his own sorrowful expression. His thumb running over your full lips, a bit swollen from your teeth biting down on them in an attempt to muffle your sobs. "So beautiful." He murmurs as he leans down to place a kiss on your left cheek, his lips skim over yours before he places another on your right.

Joel just barely hears the whimper from the back of your throat when that feather light skim happened. He leans back half an inch, staring into your glossy eyes. "Tell me not to, and I'll let you go upstairs and get some rest. Tell me, sweetheart."

It feels like a whole minute passes by. The soft patter of the rain, the smell of coffee beans from each others breath, the same slow breathing that overwhelms the little space between you both.

Desperation.

Your fingers tighten on his shirt, "don't let me go upstairs, Joel."

Joel smashes his mouth into yours, his guttural groan flying into your soft whimpers. The softness Joel expressed a moment ago is long gone. This kiss is messy, teeth-clanking, tongue inside your mouth. Like he wants to devour you from the outside in. He releases your lip with a pop.

He threads his thick fingers through the base of your hair and yanks it back gently, tongue on your neck. Biting the skin there. "You're so soft, baby. Just need me to mark ya up, is that right?"

You nod as hard as you can despite his harsh grip on your locks.

"I need you to use your words, sweet girl. Let me know what you're thinkin'."

"Everything you do is okay. I want more. I need it all. Please."

"Oh baby, cm'ere," he wraps your lavish thighs around his waist and hoists you into his arms. Easily. Like you're just the most delicate thing he's ever held.

As he walks to his bedroom, you smile into his neck. Arms wrapped over his shoulders, hand rubbing ever so softly at his greying curls. You bite at the skin under his ear and he gives your ass a huge squeeze. Groaning at how his big hands barely hold all the meat there. He couldn't wait to touch and gnaw at this body he loved.

At the foot of his bed, he taps your leg as if telling you to get down. You stand in front of his massive overbearing figure, staring up at him lustfully. You grab the bottom of your compression tank top and pull it over your head, revealing your unsupported chest. Your heavy tits fall a bit.

"My god," Joel falls to his knees in front of you, face nearly level with your pebbled nipples. Both his hands grab a fistful of each, rolling them in his palm. Your sweet noises fill the room and he swears he might've just came in his pajama pants right there. He takes his teeth and bite at the fat above your leggings, licking and sucking at a sensitive part of you. Literally and figuratively.

Joel abandons your chest to yank your leggings and panties down in one move, coming face-to-face with your prickly oozing pussy. He can't restrain himself much longer, spinning you around he pushes you down into his mattress.

He spreads your ass open with both hands, the chub of your lips open ever so slightly as the slick between them strings together.

"Perfect cunt." That's when you feel the chill of liquid spat right onto your puckered hole, dripping down to your clit. He leans in, tongue catching the tangy mixture of your slick and his saliva, right on your throbbing clit.

You screech into the sheets, so turned on from his actions. As he licks up to dip his tongue into your hole, one hand that's holding you open sneaks up your back, to your neck and yanks your head up.

"Nu-uh, let me hear you, baby girl." He demands as he pauses to throw his shirt off as fast as possible — not wanting to leave your cunt for too long without the warmth of his mouth.

He sloppily makes out with your cunt as it clenches and unclenches under his tongue, his beard prickling at your skin. Like he wants your scent all over him for as long as possible.

"Ohh daddy, more more," you whisper hazily, hand reaching back to grab his head desperate to have him as deep as possible.

Joel stops as he processes your choice of title. "What was that, darlin'?"

You freeze at his serious tone. Just now realizing what you've called the man. "Oh my god, I'm s-" Joel grabs your wrist and pins it against your lower back — thick middle and ring finger hooking into you with no warning. Your wetness aiding in the rapid slide of them.

He spits on your puckered hole again and abandons your wrist to land a harsh smack against your ass.

"Only dirty girls say that word, baby. Are you daddy's dirty girl?" He edges you on as he spanks you again on the opposite side. Hard. Unsparing. A side of Joel you've never seen. And oh, does it make you feel that coil tightening within you.

"Mmmm yes yes 'm your dirty girl, daddy!" You groan loudly, eyes swelling with fresh tears. But not tears of pain from earlier, pleasure.

Joel's fingers fuck into you harder, thumb now rubbing at your clit as he leans forward to prod his tongue at your asshole. "Cum for me, my nasty sweet girl. Drench my face. Let me taste you even more." He halts his fingers knuckle deep, hooked inside your cunt as he presses into that spot on repeat. Like he's stroking it out of you.

That's all it takes for you to silently scream as you squirt all over his lower beard covered face and your thick inner thighs, that nearly squish his head from how hard you're coming. Joel just keeps himself situated, never letting up. Allowing you to completely let go and rut back into him, telling him you need more.

"Thaaat's it, my good fuckin' girl.” He praises as he kisses your cunt and ass, he leans over your face capturing your lips in a kiss so messy and depraved. “Open that mouth.” Spitting roughly onto your tongue with a groan as you taste your sweetness that he knows he will forever be addicted to. No chance of recovery.

He ruts his thick bulge into your ass as you whine needly.

"Really want you to fuck my face, now." You beg, hand reaching down to grope him through his loose pjs.

"Mmmmm," he murmurs as his hips keep rutting into you. "Tonight is about you, baby. M' gonna stuff your tight cunt so fuckin' deep you'll feel it in your throat, don't worry." And with that promise, he releases himself, throbbing cock slapping against his lower tummy. You flip onto your back just to see it and your eyes widen at the sight before you.

You always knew it was huge just from perception, but god. It's thicker than your wrist, and looks like it would prod into your cervix. Painful even. Joel senses the worry on your face as he pushes your legs back against your chest. Admiring the way your stomach folds into itself, soft roll after roll. And the thickness of your inner thighs lays heavy. He just wants to get down and feast on you again but he might die if he doesn't feel you wrapped around him.

"You're in charge here, sweetheart. Understood?" He explains as he rubs his fat cock head up and down your swollen slit — notching on your opening with every downward stroke.

You nod slowly, peeking down at the monster between your legs once more. He squeezes your ankle, subtly reminding you to vocalize.

"Yes daddy, I understand."

"Good." And with that, he pushes into your fluttering hole. Your eyes roll back immediately, head thumping onto the soft duvet. He pushes in deeper, barely halfway in and he sees your feet and eyes scrunch a bit. It almost feels like he could rip you apart. Maybe it's because you haven't been fucked in a hot minute — or maybe it's just that Joel is so fucking hung. More than any guy you've slept with.

“Deep breath for me, sweetheart.” He soothes you, as soon as he sees your chest fall — he slams the rest of the way in. Hips flush with the back of your thighs. Cock fully sheathed in your warm soaked cunt. Heavy brimming balls pressed against your little puckered hole. “You feel so damn good. Dripping for me.” Joel’s eyes close at the feeling of you hugging him so tight. He suddenly forgets the feeling of any other woman he’s pleased. Utterly devoted to you from here on out.

When he pulls out all the way to his fat tip — it notches on your opening. Like he has to put in that extra effort to fully remove himself from you. But he doesn’t, and starts fucking into you fully. Never half way, never pulling completely out.. but always making sure he reaches the end of you.

“Da- daddy oh, harder please.” You plead, squeezing his forearm at the overwhelming feel of him nudging your cervix with every thrust.

That confirmation of pleasure is all Joel needs to push your legs back even more — ankles by your head — and began a brutal relentless pace. Grabbing a fistful of your jiggling tit and messy hair, he pulls your head up so you can watch how he ruins you for anyone else.

“Ya see that, see how swollen your gettin’ already?” Joel questions as he holds your head perfectly to observe the slight lifted pudge on your tummy. Paired with the way his coarse hair rubs against your swelled clit — it’s a drool worthy sight.

“Cus’ your so big, Joel.” You sigh, eyes fluttering from the primal force he’s using on your body.

A smug grin flicks across his face at the view. Mind consumed by the most perfect woman. Eyebrows turning inward, the little lines between them deepening as you try to comprehend all the emotions in this moment. Removing his hand from your head, he finds your clit and swipes it upward. Over and over. Leaning down, he sucks as much of your breast into his mouth as humanely possible. Tongue flicking the pebbled area, coercing your orgasm from you. “Cum with me, baby.” His muffled command shoots straight to your filled core.

As he feels you spasm around his thickness, he stills balls deep. “There it is, baby…” Spilling his cum inside your warmth. Plugging you, keeping you full of him. Joel relaxes his body against yours, finding your mouth to kiss you gently. Sweaty foreheads against one another. Joel goes to push off of you, his comforting body heat about to be ripped away.

"No! Wanna feel you longer, please."

Your protest makes Joel's heart surge. "Of course, sweet girl." Wrapping his large arms around you, he flips you both so that your soft plush body lays above him. The new angle makes his spent cock nudge a bit deeper, you both moan at the faint squelch of his cum overflowing your cunt. "You're so perfect," he mutters.

Smiling into his full chest, you leave a swift kiss. "So are you. Thank you for this. For.. everything."

Joel's hands finds your back as he begins gentle strokes onto your supple skin, his head resting atop your own. "Thank you, darlin'. I want you to understand something, you might just be the finest thing that ever happened to Sarah and I. Y'know, she didn't really want to see her mom. Never had the best relationship with her. She just wanted to spend the remainder of the summer havin' ya over everyday to swim and all. That girl admires you more than anyone."

Eyes foggy, you shift to gaze up at him. "And what does her father think?"

Joel pauses briefly, rich brown orbs beaming into yours. "Think she's damn right. She didn't want me to tell you this, but she left so I could have some alone time with you — take ya out. Scolded me sayin' by the time she's back, we better be together." He laughs at the thought, you join him. Picturing that 4'9 ball of fire lecturing her father on the rules of dating.

"So, you're asking me out Miller?" You question with a heavy hopeful heart.

"Should've done it forever ago, darlin'." He confesses, placing a delicate kiss on your temple.

And with that, you place your head back onto the warm chest of the man you've craved your entire life. Realizing, ever since that day where he first greeted you with that sultry gentleman voice — you were never truly alone.

thank you truly for reading! let me know your thoughts below or in asks!! reblogs are greatly appreciated <3