#i might go back and mess with him more. it's been a while

[lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom]

A Double Negative

Snotlout Jorgenson X Reader

Summary- Engaged to Snotlout, you're fed up with his flirting. You decide to get back at him with his own medicine.

Warnings- Sweet ending, axe swinging lol, fluff, minor angst

A/N- Well this is so awkward... I have like zero excuses. I just saw the HTTYD Live action and I knew I had to lock in. I present to ya'll my first fic in like 6 months....... :D

Word Count- 1,777

"I'm going to kill him." You say, roughly yanking an axe off of a nearby stand. If you weren't so angry, it might have made you lose balance by the sheer size. Your inexperience with weapons made you less intimidating, but every man on Berk knew not to mess with an enraged woman.

Adrenaline drove you.

Astrid followed you close, trying to calm you down from your previous conversation.

"I just don't get it, he always says that I am the only one for him. That he loves me. But there he is, running his mouth with some other girl. I don't think he realizes that no other girl would put up with his crap." Just venting to Astrid made your blood boil.

"Have you talked to him about how you feel?" She reasoned, knowing that deep down you did love him, and wanted peace.

"Why should I! Isn't it obvious that you shouldn't flirt with other girls while you're engaged!" You were increasingly frustrated, popping your knuckles to ease some kind of tension.

She sighed and threw herself back onto her bed. Neither of you planned that your sleepover would turn into a therapy sesh. "Men are stupid. We even have to tell them when they are being stupid. That's how stupid they are."

You contemplated her words, "And if Hiccup was flirting with another girl?" You queried.

"I'd gouge his eyes out so he couldn't even look at another." She said, calm as ever. Though, it was true that Hiccup would rather die than make Astrid feel that way.

Defeated, you puffed out a frustrated gust of air. "Maybe I should just talk to him..." Astrid laughed at the contrast. Your emotions ran wild, regretfully doubting him. You beat yourself up on the fact you thought him disloyal.

"I think that's a great idea." She said, getting comfortable in her pillow, hoping the conversation would end. That way the two of you could do something more fun or relaxing.

As much as you wanted to move on, your gaze didn't leave the ground. Astrid shot you an understanding look. "You can go now..." You looked up.

"Astrid we've been planning this night for weeks! I'm not going to leave you over some petty feelings." Astrid would love to argue how your feelings were valid, and not petty. But she was too busy ushering you out the door.

"Look, after- you can come right back over. We will have more fun when your conscience is clean." She desperately wanted this to be over with, for her best friend to be at ease.

You knew she was right. Still, she made her way with you to the mead hall, where most of the men were bound to be eating.

Just as you walked in, you located Snotlout. With a freshly dropped face and cold eyes, you watched him. He was sat next to a girl you'd seen around. She was the complete opposite of you. She was visibly strong, taller than Snotlout, and loud.

He had his head thrown back in laughter, the very laugh you loved to hear. The laugh that was only reserved for you. His real laugh that only came out when talking about your future, dragon riding, or joking about Hiccup's leg.

That laugh was for you. No one else. Definitely not this random girl.

"I'm going to kill him."

The next thing you know, you are running across the hall to him. Axe raised above your head. You weren't aware if you were screaming or not, but the looks people gave you implied you were.

"SNOTLOUT!" The girl quickly jumped out of the way, but Snotlout was caught off guard by your voice.

He let out a yelp, quickly throwing himself to the ground. "ARE YOU CRAZY?" He screams back at you.

"Only because you've made me so!" You swing again, narrowly missing his ear. A shred of his hair was caught in the crossfire.

His voice raised a few octaves at your shrew rage. "What is your problem!" He was too worried about you to care about his voice cracking.

"YOU are my problem!" Onlookers knew better than to interfere with your relationship.

"Woah, woah, what did I do?" He tried to grab the axe from you, but risked losing a finger.

You thought about not responding, but stopped swinging to catch your breath. "What haven't you done? Or better yet, WHO haven't you done?"

His demeanor changed immediately, swiftly wrestling the axe from your grasp. "We need to take this outside."

You glanced back at Astrid, who held an all-too-proud look. She nodded with crossed arms.

"Gladly." He went to put his hand on your back, like he typically would when guiding you somewhere. You stopped him, slapping his hand away before walking ahead of him.

As the two of you briskly walked out, you pulled off your engagement ring. "Does this mean nothing to you?" You whisper-yelled at him, shoving the item you held dear, in his face.

He grabbed onto your hand that held out the ring. “What’s gotten into you! If it meant nothing I wouldn't have given it to you.”

You were no longer concerned with where you were going, focusing on your reasoning. “If you’d prefer to stay ‘available’, then you should call off the wedding. It would save me the heartbreak.”

“You are so dramatic!” He threw his hands up, frustrated. “Its just being nice! They mean nothing to me!”

Stopping in your tracks you slowly turn to look at him. "I see how it is." You fake a smile, an idea striking you. His face grows regretful and disturbed.

"Have a great night Snotlout." You leave him confused and alone in the darkness.

The next morning Snotlout was praying that you would have slept off whatever was making you cranky. He had no idea what he was going to walk into...

He, like every morning, confidently strutted into the mead hall. Though, what stopped him straight in his tracks was you.

Typically, you'd wait for him. Always taking your seat by his side, everyone knew of the engagement. Everyone knew for you acted and proclaimed it out proudly. Though, today was different.

You laughed at someone. No, with someone. Now, that usually wouldn't be a problem. But you weren't just laughing.

You were sat next to some dragon trainee. Snotlout had seen him around the training grounds, he had helped care for the dragons while their riders were gone.

The man played no real physical threat to Snotlout. He knew that, but seeing you gently rest your hand on his shoulder. One hand covering your growing laughter. Leaning over him when reaching for the pitcher of water. It was all too much.

Sure, he was smaller than Snotlout. Weaker. Naive. Inexperienced...... More handsome? Funnier? Smarter?

He stormed over, slamming his fist down onto the table. The small man jumped at the sound, intimidated. But you paid no mind.

"Good morning Snotlout, when did you get here?" You mindlessly fiddled with your engagement ring. His eyes were locked on it.

"Not important. We need to talk." His tone suggested he was not asking.

You smiled at him, "Can you give me a moment, it would be rude to leave my friend so quick." Truthfully, the conversation was dull, he was nothing like your beloved fiancé. You were just desperate to prove your point.

"Now." He said, fist hitting the table once more. The poor dragon aid was paralyzed with fear.

Your head snapped in his direction, eyes piercing. "Excuse me?"

He stared back for a moment, but then backed down with a sigh. "Please?"

You smirked at that. "Of course."

He doesn't try to guide you with his hand this time, it saddened you more then you thought it would.

With a newfound cocky attitude, you ask "So, where are you taking us?"

"Just stop, okay." He halts on the pathway.

"I've no clue what you're talking about." You reply.

He steps forward, gently grabbing your hands in his. He looks you in the eyes, his filled with sorrow. "You've proved your point. You can quit the act, okay?" His tone is pleading.

You nod, his plea touching your heart faster than it should have. "...Can we take a walk to the shore?"

"Anything you want." He was dead serious, he might have given anything up- just to have the normal you.

The walk was silent, shoulders bumping together, fingers brushing. It was nervous, like a first date.

Once you reached the water, you sat down onto the sand. Fidgeting with it at your side. Snotlout joined you.

"It didn't take long..." You started light heartedly.

"Is that how you feel?" His gaze looked out onto the water.

"Hm?"

"When I saw you with him... I mean, I know you'd never betray me like that but I..." He licked his lips. "It feels awful." His face scrunched up, a hand hitting his chest.

You took a deep inhale of courage. "Every time... Every time I see you even look at another woman, my heart jumps. I- Snotlout, I don't think you'd actually... Y'know... but it still hurts." You shifted, turning to look at him.

"I just don't understand, why you would need to flirt. I mean, am I not enough?" You were finally able to breathe out your deepest fear.

Snotlout lowered his head into his hands, disappointed and upset. But not at you, never at you.

"I'm so sorry. This is my fault, I've been so amazingly stupid." You let out a chuckle at his words, remembering what Astrid had said.

"I swear it, I swear I won't even talk to another woman if it's your will." He pulled you closer to him, conveying how serious he was.

"Snotlout-"

"No, please just listen." He lifts up your right hand, pressing your palms together. "I should have never let you feel a shred of doubt for my love. I know I am the last person to deserve you, and if it will truly make you happier- I would break the engagement off. But there is no part of me that doesn't want to marry you, and have you for the rest of my life. Just as you already have me."

"Are you done?" You lightly laughed out. His eyes looked glossy, a slow nod erupting.

You said nothing, just pressing forward to feel his lips on yours. It was a familiar action, but just as intimate as the first time they touched.

"You're so stubborn."

"Says the woman who ran at me with an axe.

"That was well deserved."

"Yeah... it was wasn't it?"

[sharkbitten-sailor]

HOLY SHIT I , TOO , HAVE BEEN THINKING ABT A FORSAKEN X BLOCKTALES PLAYER ! READER ,,,,

perhaps if you could ,, maybe drop a 1x x blocktales player ! reader headcanon / drabbles ,,,, hehehheehhejags

I literally internally jumped for joy as i read that post LOL

THAT SMILE OF YOURS DISGUSTED ME.

sunrise is late!au - 1x1x1x x player!reader one-shot tw: blood, injury, minor gore and swearing.

a/n; tehee hope the meal hits the spot !! fyi , sunrise is late is the official name for this au,,, feel free to send your thoughts or requests anything he,,

you don’t know how you got here. no clue what this place even is.

then you learn- it’s a game. a fucked up game of survival and death. strangers thrown together, forced to cooperate just to avoid the one predator whose only mission is to kill. leave no one standing.

you quickly adapt and move forward. it’s not like you have a choice.

thankfully, you’re not alone. there are still others beside you, pushing you to keep going. and in this mess, that’s something.

the small, flickering warmth of that connection; it’s one of the few things left that even resembles good. so you cling to it, even while the dark coils just beneath the surface, waiting to swallow you whole.

you already know how it feels. once was more than enough. you’d never choose to go through it again.

-

you run. again, and again, and again. the world blurs around you. the pounding in your head is almost louder than your footsteps.

a quick glance over your shoulder. just one.

"this is, MASS INFECTION."

and that’s when it hits. you stumble. fall. the ground greets you with gravel and grit just as a black slash tears through the air. it catches your back: deep, burning, but not fatal. blood trickles down in thin, trembling lines. you’re lucky. if it had been your neck, you'd be scattered like discarded pieces on a broken board.

nevertheless, you wasted the opportunity to truly escape the wolf’s jaw. in this case, it’s 1x, the embodiment of hatred himself.

damn. you’re really dead this time. no healing items. no stamina. no call card-

wait.

call cards?

"well, look like your time's up, annoying pest."

you keep your distance, retreating despite the searing pain twisting down your spine. your hands fumble through the bag on your waist; frantic, clumsy, desperate. searching for something- anything that might keep you alive just a little longer.

and then, like a cruel reminder of how close you are to death’s door, 1x swings. the blade slices through the air, stopping just an inch from your face. close enough to make your breath hitch. close enough to impale your skull at any moment he wants.

"but go on. pull your little miracle. let's see how long it buys you."

…fuck. three whole minutes left. you’re her first target out of everyone else. you're bleeding, alone, and now very aware that your teammates are nowhere to be found.

in one reckless burst, you grab the daemonshank bare-handed; heat blistering your skin as you yank it wide. it screams past your jaw, grazing close enough to hum like a warning. your other arm lifts, instinct taking over. the second blade crashes into it, slicing deep. blood gushes out, hot and fast, soaking into your sleeve and dripping down like a countdown you can’t pause.

if you don’t figure something out now, blood loss is going to finish the job before 1x even gets the chance. damn it.

"tch. getting bold now, are we?" his voice drips with amusement; taunting. you can tell he’s holding back, and that means,. you’re so dead. well, at least you annoyed him. kind of a win.

a card slips free from your pack. cracked edges, faint glow. it hits the ground with a hiss.

then-

...

a burst of frost-laced smoke erupts on contact, swallowing everything in a wall of icy haze. the air turns sharp enough to cut. 1x stumbles back, blades twitching, vision muddied as frost scatters like glittering glass.

"so that’s your game," he spits, voice thick with venom. "smoke and mirrors. thought you’d have a spine by now."

from the veil steps cruel king.

he doesn’t speak at first. his face is unreadable. regal. cold. but his eyes sweep the battlefield like a predator. and when they land on you, he stops.

you’re on your knees, arm soaked red, breath rasping through clenched teeth.

he exhales through his nose. jaw tightens.

this is worse than any state he’s seen you in. or maybe it just hits harder this time. not that it matters. it's already getting on his nerves.

without a word, he lifts his wand. sigils shimmer along its length.

with a motion smooth as falling snow, he strips the blade from 1x’s grip like it’s nothing. metal clatters to the floor and stills.

"apologies for the delay," cruel king says, gaze fixed on 1x. his voice is soft, measured. a winter storm pretending to be calm. "i was under the impression they'd last longer."

"king.," you rasp. barely a whisper. you stumble, blood soaking through your sleeve and hoodie, hope clawing its way back into your chest.

he hums softly, "mhm. let me finish this. you’re bleeding on my patience."

but there’s that shift again. the way he places himself between you and the enemy. his hand tightening on the wand. not for style. or control.

he doesn’t say the words. but the fury sharpening in the air?

it’s not aimed at 1x, not fully. not yet.

it’s aimed at you. at the blood painting your arm, the sway in your stance, the choices that led you here. it’s the silent kind of anger, the sort that simmers behind cold eyes, not because he’s furious you’re hurt.

but because you acted like your life wasn’t worth as much as it is to him.

and once this is over? lecture’s coming, brace yourself.

-

bonus! - at the killers' cabin.

it’s a freaking sword in the wall, and nobody says a word. not because they don’t notice, no, everyone saw. but because 1x still has another blade in their hand, and she's in the mood where even eye contact might start a war.

noli stays quiet, eyes glued to the floor, pretending like his name wasn’t just nearly skewered out of existence.

1x isn’t looking at him anymore anyway. she’s still glaring at the wall. or, well... through it.

she’s seeing you.

specifically: you and your busted arm. you and your dumb, hopeful eyes when he showed up. and that smile.,,

that stupid, stubborn, reckless little smile you gave the frost king like he was your knight in snow-dusted armor.

disgusting.

their hands twitches.

next time, that smile?

they're going to wipe it off your face themself.

they’ll tear you down, piece by piece, until that stupid thing is gone.

they'll be your worst nightmare.

a/n; back in the survivors' cabin, you're casually bonking your teammates with no mercy. they still dont know about ck yet because that lecture is gonna be a private appointment. you’re sooo not ready lmaoo

[zyafics]

FULL THROTTLE (EXCERPT)

my submission to my lil' campaign, make rafe great again, if anyone wants to join! this is for a longer fic for biker!maybank!reader that i have yet to finish, but i love her attitude, so i fear i must share it <3

content: angst angst angst, tensionnnnn

Rafe’s trying to reach you.

He knows you’re back on the island, and for the past few days, you’ve been letting his calls go to voicemails and his texts on delivered. At this point, you should block him, but for some reason, you don’t. You tell yourself it’s because Rafe isn’t the extra effort, but you know, deep down, it’s because you don’t want to.

It’s an aggravating line to dance on.

Rafe hurt JJ. While they’ve previously had squabbles, this time, it’s different. Before, you weren’t sleeping with Rafe, weren’t spending time with him, and you didn’t care for him. Now, inexplicably, it feels like a complete betrayal of your trust.

You hate it.

Trying to keep your mind off the Kook, you wipe down the tables from the previous customers with complete vigor. It’s a slow day at the diner, and most customers have been attending to corner booths that are not in your jurisdiction. Perfect. This brevity of waitressing allows you to stew in your emotions with little interruption.

The bell chimes, and since you’re the closest to the door, you lift your head to welcome the customer. However, it came to be some sick cosmic joke because the one person you don’t want to see steps through the door.

Rafe’s holding a bouquet of flowers—your favorite, actually—and his eyes sweep across the small bistro. When his gaze catches yours, Rafe offers one of his charming smiles, taking a leisurely stroll to reach you.

“Hey,” Rafe greets. Upon arrival, you notice he has his own battle scars—spreads of yellow-and-blue bruising covering his cheekbones and jaw, a testimony to your brother’s blows.

Half of you is proud of JJ for managing to procure such vicious swings, but the other half—quieter, more empathetic��is concerned over Rafe’s injuries. A juxtaposition of emotions, you blame Rafe for putting you in this position. You blame him for letting it get this far.

Because it’s easier than admitting the truth.

“Do you need something?”

He raises a brow, not recognizing your indifference as resentment. “What’s up your ass? Bad tips?”

You shrug, not answering.

“I got a few ideas to cheer you up,” Rafe offers with a cocky grin, trailing down the length of your body in a suggestive manner. On any other day, you would reciprocate his flirt with a tease of your own—bantering and sharing sharp-witted comments as forms of foreplay. But today, you just want him out.

“No thanks,” you answer blankly, turning back to your cleaning.

Rafe bristles at your curtness, but he dismisses it as professionalism for your workplace. He understands that. Honestly, he shouldn’t be here in the first place but it’s been days since you returned to Kildare, and you haven’t returned any of his messages and as much as he refuses to admit it—he misses you.

He holds out the flowers. “I got you these.”

You don’t turn around to acknowledge them. “For what?”

“Heard you won some big competition in Charlotte; thought you might like a congratulations.”

You falter, slightly, slowing your sweeping circles. You almost turn around, to take a better look at the flowers, knowing they’re expensive, fresh, and exuding a pretty scent—but you stand your ground.

“I don’t like those flowers.”

Rafe’s taken aback by the comment. He was certain he remembered the right ones. “I’ll get you new ones.”

“I won’t like those either.”

He blinks, trying to figure out if you’re messing with him, as some sort of cat-and-mouse game. But with your back remaining, and your attention reduced to a clean spot that’s spotless, he realizes it’s something entirely different.

You’re distant. Cold. You refused to meet his gaze, nor spare an inch of your time, and Rafe is reminiscent of another period where you did the same thing.

“You’re mad,” Rafe concludes, lowering the flowers to this side, holding them by the plastic wrapping. You spritz another round of disinfectant on the already-cleaned surface. “I did something.”

Saying nothing, you head to the next set of tables, but Rafe matches your steps. Now recognizing your detachment, he’s also picking up the irritation radiating from your demeanor.

“Maybank,” he calls.

“Is that all you came here for?” You finally turn around, but Rafe doesn’t feel any gratification. Your eyes are sharp, your expression unreadable. “Because I need to get back to work.”

“I…” Rafe doesn’t even have the capacity to speak. All he can do is stare, taking in your indifference, and a curling sense of agitation is employed in his stomach. He hates being pushed into a corner.

“If you’re not ordering anything, I’m going to ask you to leave,” you point to the door. With no argument, Rafe hesitates before dropping your flowers on one of the tables and exits the establishment.

You pick up the bouquet and drop it to the nearest waste bin.

Afterwards, you finish the rest of your shift. It was difficult seeing Rafe in your place of work, but it’s over. When the diner comes to a close, and you’re locking up, you step out to discover Rafe waiting beside his motorcycle.

You forgot how stubborn he can be.

He pushes himself off the vehicle as you attempt to circumvent him, stepping between two cars parked beside each other.

“We need to talk,” Rafe declares.

“I thought we already did,” you say apathetically. Before you go far, he pins you against one of the cars, arms on either side of your head, and his hardened gaze settles on you. You settle your eyes on his, tilting your head to the side, giving him that slow, irritating sense of detachment. “Throwing a tantrum?”

“You know that’s not the problem,” he grits out.

“I don’t see a problem at all.”

“We need to talk,” he repeats, irritation spiked his tone at your dismissiveness.

“You can talk; I’m not listening.” You attempt to duck under his arm, but Rafe moves it, quickly containing you. With a sigh, you lean back against the cool car door, crossing your arms over your chest. “What?”

His dark blue eyes study you. “You’re pissed,”

“I’m perfectly fine,”

“And you’re a terrible liar,”

“And you know me well enough to say that?”

“I know you pretty well, Maybank,” he declares, his words slow, drawing out the tension. All he needs to do is push your buttons to snap. His lips curl with a smirk. “At least, physically.”

Your jaw locks, but you refuse to let him rile you. “Charming, Cameron. Perhaps you should use it on girls who give a damn.”

As much as your relationship is undefined, the thought of Rafe with another woman stirs an ugly emotion inside of you. But you refuse to let it be shown.

He scoffs at your deflection. “Maybe I should,”

You roll your eyes, wanting nothing more than to appear like you don’t care. Especially if he’s talking about fucking other women. Both of your hands plant against his chest, giving a hard shove, but he barely moves an inch. You forget how strong Rafe is, how he doesn’t move unless he allows himself to be.

“Let me go,”

“Not until you talk.” He insists.

“About what?”

Rafe lowers his head to your level, closing the distance until he’s right in front of your face. Your breath hitches, heart stuttering. His eyes scan through your hardened features, loosening by his closeness, and he asks lowly. “What did I do?”

His unyielding attempt unnerves you. “You’re well aware of what you did.”

“So I did do something,” he deduces.

You don’t answer, shimmering in your renowned anger, and you break contact to look elsewhere, studying the flickering fluorescent sign of the diner. You trace the curve, and Rafe’s jaw ticks at your lack of attention. He grabs your chin, forcing your gaze back on him.

“Talk to me.”

“Let me go,”

“No,”

“Asshole,” you scowl, and Rafe grins.

“There she is.”

“You’re fucking irritating, you know that?” You shove him again, and while he takes a step back, he still cages you in. Anger fuses through your veins at your inability to change it.

“Because you’re being vague and distant,” he snaps. “If I fucked up, tell me. Stop giving me this prissy act like you’re too good for me.”

“Maybe I am,” you challenge with a skyward tilt of your chin, matching his hard stare. “Maybe this was all I needed to remind myself I should do better than fuck a Kook.”

His eyes narrows. “Shut the fuck up,”

“You shut the fuck up,” you hiss.

He slams his fist against the car, the loud thump booms beside your ear, but you remain unflinching. “Tell me what I did wrong!”

“You punched JJ!”

Rafe whips back. It takes a second for him to process, studying your face to recognize this was some random excuse. It’s the truth. “That’s what this is about?” He questions quietly.

“Of course it is,” you huff. “He’s my brother.”

He scoffs, looking elsewhere. He can’t believe you’re becoming reclusive and defensive without talking to him first. “Did he tell you what happened?”

“I didn’t need details. You punched him,”

“And he punched me,” Rafe retorts, showing his profile. “What do you make of that?”

It looks uglier on close proximity, the magnifying damage heightens. But you can’t seem to conceal the bitterness from your tongue. “He should’ve hit you harder.”

“You’re a hypocrite,”

“I’m loyal,” you correct. “I thought you would respect me enough to not stir trouble, but I’m guessing your pride can never be replaced with some considerations for a fuck buddy.”

“It’s different,” he declares. “He was the one who snuck into Midsummer. We got into an argument. We fought. It’s a guy thing—stop making it a big deal.”

You huff at his pathetic argument. “That’s your excuse? It’s a guy thing?”

Rafe’s getting agitated by your lack of comprehension, your refusal to accept it at face value. But he doesn’t want to disclose the full story. “What do you want me to say? You want me to apologize?”

“Are you even capable of such a thing?”

He exhales through his nose. “You know what your problem is?” He says lowly. “You’re using this as some pathetic excuse to break it off because you’re afraid.”

“I’m afraid?” You repeat, but your throat goes dry.

“Yeah,” Rafe nods. “You’re a coward.”

“Have you ever considered that I have more loyalty to my blood than who I fuck?” You snap, pushing at his chest. “That Kooks may not think the same way, but for me, for Pogues, it’s different? If you hurt my family, you’re done.”

“So that’s it?” Rafe challenges. “I mean nothing? What does it mean for you when he hurts me?”

Eyes slowly sweeping over his scars, unwanted emotions bubble inside you regarding his injuries. But you steel your expression. “What about it?”

Rafe scoffs at your coldness. “You’re such a bitch.”

“And you’re an asshole, we’re done,” you shove him off the last time, and this time, he lets it pass. Staggering back two steps, you use the opportunity to escape, fastening your steps until you’re out of the parking lot.

Rafe’s left at the side of the diner, fuming. He watches your silhouette grow smaller and smaller in the distance, and decidedly, he wants to do one last thing.

“Should’ve known better than to fuck a Pogue!” Rafe yells after you, full of rage, hurt, and insecurity. He needed something to cut you as deep as you done him. But you don’t respond, don’t entertain an answer, and uncross your arms just enough to raise your middle finger.

[delilahsturniolo]

— 𝜗ৎ the greatest . . . m.s

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© delilahsturniolo

💌: MAN AM I THE GREATESTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

[raven-dor]

illicit affairs

in which you distance yourself from bucky barnes, and he won’t rest until he knows why

PAIRING: congressman!bucky barnes x fem!reader

WARNINGS: fluff, morning sickness, pregnancy, miscommunication (but ig it's more like refusing to communicate), given last name! (Clark), arguing, ANGSTY ANGSTY ANGST, more arguing, kissing, fluff ending

WORD COUNT: 4.7k

🎶 : illicit affairs - taylor swift

AN: 🩵♥️💗 - this is like my favorite angsty fic of all time, like it's up there with me and my husband (gwayne hightower) EEEK HAPPY READING!! also i might write a part two where the use the house she bought if that's something you guys would be interested in

The sun shone through the curtains, yellow and bright. You stared at the man dead asleep beside you, a contented smile creeping on your lips. He looked so peaceful, not at all like how he looked awake, always stressed, always worrying over something. If it wasn’t Congress or the team, it was you. Worry was Bucky’s main emotion, you would say when you teased him. He worried over your safety the most, often trying to convince you to stop working in the office, practically begging you to work from home. 

You glared at him every time. 

You could never bring yourself to stay angry, though. He was caring, more than most had ever been with you. You were fragile, something he cherished. 

It made you feel valuable; your cheeks warmed just thinking about it. 

He grumbled, burying his face further into your torso. His arm was lazily wrapped around your waist, and he smiled in his sleep, pulling you closer. You hadn’t wanted to wake him, but he had a meeting in forty-five minutes, and he still needed his routine cup of coffee. “Buck. You have to get up.” 

“Five more minutes.” 

“Bucky…” You laughed, running your fingers through his hair. “You’ll be late.” 

“I could run there in five minutes.” You knew from the look on his face that he was considering it. Thanks to his super soldier serum, he really could run around the entirety of Washington D.C. in less than an hour. 

“You could, but your hair would be a mess.” You frowned, reaching down to run your fingers through the sleep-tangled tresses. “A lot like it is now. Besides, think about the people who voted for you, who elected you to this office. They wouldn’t exactly enjoy learning that their congressman was late to a meeting.” 

“I hate when you’re right.” He groaned, rolling over and walking toward the bathroom, leaving the door open as he fixed his appearance. “Have I told you how lovely you look this morning?”

“No.”  You playfully glared. “And if you did, you’d be a liar.”

He scoffed. “You’re timeless, Doll. Would’ve took my breath away even in the ’40s.” Your heart fluttered from his compliment. “Are you coming into work with me?” 

You shrugged, biting your lip as you admired his back muscles. “Dunno. I think I’ll take a half day. Probably go on a walk, find a nice cafe to get some work done in.” 

He frowned. “What am I going to do without you?” 

You rolled your eyes. “You’ll be just fine. The world will turn without me running the office while you’re gone.” 

“I don’t know.” He was rather dramatic in the morning. “My executive assistant is important-” 

“We can’t go to work together.” You hissed. “You know that. The press would have a field day-” 

“I don’t care.” He sat on the edge of your shared bed. “Don’t you think it’s time the office knows?”

“Bucky. Think of your career, your position. It would look like an abuse of power, I would have to stop working-” 

“Perfect.” He looked terribly pleased with your last statement. “I’ve been trying to get you to stop working in the office for months.” 

“I like working.” You glared. “And I thought we’d finally gotten past that.” 

“We have.” He smiled, reaching out to hold your hand in his. “I just want you to be-” 

“I know.” You sighed. “But I can take care of myself.” 

“I know you can.” He leaned in, lips brushing against yours. “Doesn’t mean I can’t worry.” 

Your eyes welled up, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “You love me too much.”

He shook his head, eyes darting to your lips. “Not such thing as too much, Doll.”

You leaped up, pulling him down to you, his eyes wide as you kissed him senseless. “God, I love you.” You murmured against his lips. 

He grinned, kissing down your neck. “I love you more.” 

He’d been late to work. You had to peel yourself away from his touch and practically push him out the door, waving goodbye until his car had vanished from your sight. 

His townhouse was perfect, warm and inviting. When you first started dating, it was empty, with only the bare necessities. You’d laughed when you’d entered, insisting that he let you take him shopping. He’d agreed, and you would later find out he would agree to anything you asked simply because he loved the way your eyes lit up when you were determined.

 Your stomach lurched, and you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut to try and quell the nausea. Finding your way into the kitchen, you grabbed your favorite mug, one that Bucky had bought with you in mind, and made yourself a cup of peppermint tea. Another wave of nausea, stronger than the last, hit you as the steam hit your nostrils. You realized that this was not something you could solve with a couple of deep breaths and a cup of tea; your stomach once again grumbled as you rushed toward the bathroom. 

Denial. 

That was the first stage, right? 

You stared at the tests on the bathroom counter, too shocked to cry. There was no possible way this was real. You’d been safe, you’d taken extra precautions. The science behind the super soldier serum coursing through his veins was something neither of you understood, and so you decided you’d rather be safe than sorry. 

Apparently, you thought as you stared wide-eyed at the positive pregnancy tests in front of you, your extra precautions had been for nothing. This was horrible timing, plain and simple. He’d finally made a name for himself other than the ‘Winter Soldier’. He was finally coming into his own, and you’d ruined it. 

You had to resign. You had to leave before the press found out. 

No, you reasoned with yourself. No one knew you were dating; if you simply pretended that you were pregnant by some random man, the office would believe you. 

There was one major flaw in that plan. What would Bucky think? What would he think if his girlfriend of almost two years suddenly broke up with him and showed up to work a week later, visibly pregnant? 

You decided to stick with your original plan, resigning from the office and fleeing DC. You ran up the stairs, shoving everything you’d accumulated into the two bags you kept here. Your drawer would be empty by the time he came home.

He would eventually understand that you were saving his job, saving what you’d both worked so hard for him to achieve. Besides, who knew if he even wanted that with you, a child, a domestic life? This was James Barnes, the World War II veteran, Avenger, and congressman. He had no time for trivial things like that. 

Anger. 

Your life was exactly what you’d wanted, perfect in every way that counted. Your relationship with Bucky was perfect.

At least, until now.

He had been the first man to truly love you, to care about you. You weren’t some object, some underling. You were his equal, his great love, his partner. 

You’d finally achieved your dream. You came to DC to head an office, to become a political weapon. You’d done that, you’d seen the potential in Bucky, and you had gotten him into office.

This wasn’t fair. 

You loved him, you loved him so much that it hurt. He was a gentleman. He held the door open, he respected you, he was- Angry hot tears ran down your cheeks as you lugged the bags over your shoulders, locking the front door behind you, leaving your key underneath the mat. 

This really sucked.

You hailed a taxi, smiling gratefully when the driver helped you with your bags. “Where to, Miss?” 

“Doll?” Bucky called out, shutting the door behind him. “You didn’t show up to work! Something wrong?” 

No response. You were probably upstairs, too tired to call back out to him. He set the takeout bags on the kitchen counter, shrugging off his sports coat. “I brought Indian food from your favorite place down on 8th street.” 

By this point, you were typically barreling down the hallway, jumping into his arms and peppering kisses over his face. He frowned, the house much too silent for his liking. “Baby? Are you home?” 

The hallway was dark, too dark for his liking. You were known for leaving the lights on, too scared to walk around his house in the dark. He laughed when you’d told him, but he’d never judged. If it made you feel safer, then he was all for it. 

He’d checked every room, every possible place you could be, but you were nowhere to be found. It was like you’d never even existed. His mind began to cloud, dark and poisonous. 

His first thought was that someone had taken you. That they, whoever they were, had followed the pair of you home one day, found out where he lived, and taken you as collateral. He began to dial Sam’s number when he pushed your shared bedroom door open, frowning at the sight before him. 

Your drawer was open, empty of all the things you’d brought over. He shut the door behind him, pushing the bathroom door open to find that even your products in the mirror above the sink and the shower had disappeared. His heart stopped, hands shaking as he deleted Sam’s number to make way for yours. It had rung two times before you picked up. 

“Hello?” 

“Thank god.” His voice was quiet. “Came home and you weren’t here. Thought something had happened.” 

“I um…” You felt horrible, horrible that he had thought you’d been taken. You almost gave in, almost told him the truth. He loved you, and you knew he would be excited. “I-” No, you shook your head, you had to do this for him, for his future. He loved you, and you loved him, which is precisely why you had to do this. “I think we should stop seeing each other.” 

This was his nightmare; this was infinitely worse than someone taking you. That he could fight, he could win; this was uncharted territory. His heart clenched, on the verge of breaking clean in half. “What?” 

“This has been on my mind for some time now.” Lie. “It would be best, for both of us, for your career-” You willed yourself not to cry, not to break from the sound of his voice, more anxious than you’d ever heard him. “I’m sorry, but-”

“Where is this coming from, Doll?” He sounded desperate, broken. A tear ran down your cheek. “Did something happen? Did I-” 

“Bucky.” You cried, the tears you’d tried so hard to hold back breaking free. “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.” 

“No.” He shook his head. “I am going to make this harder than it has to be, because I love you."

Bargaining. 

His voice broke, desperate for an explanation. “Just tell me what happened, baby.” 

“I’d like to take the rest of this week off, please.” He would be better off without you, without this whole mess. This was for the best, you tried to convince yourself. “I’ll be back to work next week.” 

“Where are you?” If he could just see you, he would know. He was sure of it; he could read you like an open book. It was for that very reason that you did not want to tell him where you were. 

“I’m-” It was only a matter of time before he found where you were. Hell, he’d had your location in his phone since before you started dating, for safety purposes, of course. You’d laughed when he'd asked, giving him yours in return. It had been sweet, the way he nervously bit his lip. You remembered your cheeks flushing, stomach fluttering at the action.

Now it made you want to cry.

“I’m at my apartment.” 

“Your apartment?” He felt like he was dying, his heart clenching so tightly he thought he was having a heart attack. Maybe he was. You hadn’t been to your apartment in months, spending virtually every waking moment at his place. He’d even persuaded you to move in last week. “Thought you were moving in with me-” 

“Things change, okay?” You snapped, slapping a hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- to snap like that.” You wiped your face clean of tears. “We were never going to last forever.” Lie number two. “Please, just let me do this.” 

“No.” He shook his head as if you could see him. “I can fix this, we can-” 

“I’ll see you in a week, Congressman.”

True to your word, he hadn’t seen or heard from you all week. The radio silence made him jittery, and he began to lose focus in meetings, his peers growing more and more annoyed by his apparent lack of care regarding the nation’s interest. 

He wished he could tell them that his life turned upside down on a random Tuesday, that the love of his life had left him out of nowhere, but he knew better. 

They wouldn’t care. 

He’d been counting down the days, staring at his door for some form of life, for your familiar frame. 

Your desk was right outside his office, and he often found himself watching you through the glass wall. Now he just stared at nothing, at the empty desk that turned his mood sour. He frowned, dropping his face into his hands, wallowing in misery.

“Congressman?” 

His heart skipped, head whipping up. “Ms. Clark.”

You hadn’t wanted to go back to work, but you couldn’t just quit over the phone. 

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself. You could have, probably should have, but your heart craved him, your eyes had to see him once more. 

Then you could hand in your resignation letter. 

You waved hello to the office as you walked toward your desk, almost laughing to yourself at the sight before you. There sat Bucky Barnes, in all his glory, with his head in his hands. If this were normal circumstances, if you hadn’t just broken up with him and were planning on moving across the country, you would have laughed. 

You draped your coat over the back of your chair, pulling your resignation letter out of your bag. “Congressman?” You cleared your throat, heart thumping hard against your chest.

“Ms. Clark.” His head whipped up, eyes wide as he stared at you. “You’re back.” 

“I am.” You reminded yourself that you were in the office and thus had to behave professionally. Placing the letter in front of him, you mustered up the weakest smile known to man. “Here is my resignation letter.” 

“Resignation letter?” Bucky rubbed his eyes, like you weren’t real, a figment of his imagination. “Ms. Clark-” 

“Thank you.” You whispered, not having the strength to look at him any longer. “For understanding.” 

“Wait just a second-” He stood up, practically racing toward the door to shut it before you could leave. “Don’t thank me for understanding.” His cologne threatened to overpower your senses. “Don’t thank me because I don’t understand.” He looked miserable, hands twitching like he was forcing himself not to touch you. “You haven’t given me any real reason.”

“Bucky.” Your voice was like a warning, a plea not to escalate things.

He didn’t happen to care, because he couldn’t let you go. Not without a fight, or at the very least, a reason for your sudden end of an otherwise happy relationship. 

He whispered your name so faintly you could have sworn he’d never said it. “I can’t let you go.” 

“This is highly inappropriate. We are at work, anyone could walk in at-” 

“I don’t care.” He hissed. “I love you? Do you know how much I love you?” 

“Of course I do.” You whispered, scared of someone overhearing. “And I- I loved-” 

“Bullshit.” He shook his head, refusing to believe it. “We were happy. You were happy. You told me you loved me that morning. What happened in nine hours?” 

“If there’s nothing else you need…” You straightened your posture. “I’ll be just outside.” 

“I need you.” He said it like it was a fact, like it was certain, etched in stone since the beginning of time. “You might not need me, but I need you.” 

Oh, how you wanted to correct him. You needed him like air, like the very oxygen that filled your lungs. You’d been in love with him for so long that you’d forgotten what it had been like before him. “Congressman-” 

“Don’t.” He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t hear you reject him one more time. Not when he knew that you still loved him. He knew it, even if you didn’t. “That will be all.” 

“Fine.” You nodded, turning on your heels like you hadn’t just broken his heart. Like you hadn’t just broken your own heart.

Depression.

You were actively fighting through it, fighting against crumbling into ash and letting the Earth swallow you whole. You’d been to a total of two doctors’ appointments, and even that had done nothing to improve your mood. 

If anything, it made it worse, knowing that Bucky would never be there, holding your hand and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. He would never see her first steps, her playing in the front yard, her first dance recital. 

And that was fine, because he would be doing great things, he would be changing the world. 

You didn’t even know if it was a girl or a boy. You had a feeling that it was a girl; your feeling was more of a wish than intuition. You’d always known you’d have a girl; it was something that had been part of you for as long as you’d loved playing with dolls. 

Your hand fell to your stomach, caressing it gently as you whispered. “Hello, my darling.” It was too early to tell if it was a boy or a girl, too early for kicking, too early for most things. 

You felt crazy when you talked to your baby; it wasn’t like she (or he) could hear you or show you that it could. “You’re going to be so loved, so deeply loved.” 

The bed in your apartment was comfortable, but you missed your bed, the one you’d been sleeping in for almost a year. Bucky’s bed. You missed his smell, his warmth. You slept in the one shirt he’d left over here every night, pretending as if nothing had gone wrong, that you hadn’t broken the one thing that kept you sane. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” You whispered again, eyes tearing up as you thought of him. “I miss your father.” 

Only two more days until you leave DC. 

Technically, one and a half. 

It felt surreal. You’d come here with such big dreams, and now, here you were, leaving with your tail tucked between your legs.

It was fine, not everyone was made for this life. 

You thought you had been. 

You’d already put a down payment on a modest house in a small town somewhere in Pennsylvania. It was pale blue, with three bedrooms, two stories, and it took everything in your savings. 

The front yard was perfect for playing in, for growing up. The large oak tree that shaded the house was perfect for climbing, even a tire swing. 

Maybe this was it, acceptance. 

It felt like it, in some horribly strange way. You’d finally reached the last stage of grief, of mourning your past life.

Mourning your great love. 

The office was relatively quiet, a nice reprieve from a normally chaotic environment. You’d decided to make the most of your last two days to finally organize the file system, hopefully enough so that his next executive assistant had an easier time finding things than you had. 

You wondered as you flipped through a folder labeled ‘The Superhero Support Act’ if he and his next assistant would fall in love, if she would make him forget about the pain you’d caused. 

You hoped she did; he deserved happiness.

By noon, you’d already organized all the digital files, your desk, and Bucky’s office. It was time for the white whale - the file closet.

It was dingy in here, the one hanging light doing nothing to brighten the space. You groaned, knowing that this would take longer than you thought. The files were dusty; they had obviously been neglected since the invention of the computer. Deciding to organize the files chronologically, you began your last mission.

 “Thought I’d find you here.” 

You cursed at the sky, wishing that Bucky would just leave before either of you said something you’d regret. You continued to face away from him, still sorting through the files as diligently as before. “Just doing my job.” 

“Mhm.” You imagined he was leaning against the doorway, looking as handsome as always, his jacket unbuttoned. “I see that.” He didn’t speak for a while, simply watching you organize. You wished he would leave once more. 

Wishes, apparently, are not granted on Capitol Hill. 

“I love you.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Congressman-” 

“Don’t call me that.” He frowned. “C’mon, Doll-” 

“Don’t.” You stood up, finally facing him. “We are at work.” He raised an eyebrow, stepping forward and letting the door fall shut. Your eyes widened, and you stepped forward, trying to open it. “If someone finds us in here-” 

“What will they do?” Bucky laughed. “You're leaving, as you love to remind me.”

“Why are you being so difficult?” 

“Funny.” He took in your face, trying to memorize it before you left. “I was about to ask you the same thing.” 

“Stop looking at me like that.” You whispered.

“Like what?” He whispered back.

“Like you still love me.” 

“Of course I still love you.” He scoffed, following after you as you walked backwards, desperate to put distance between the two of you. “I’ll always love you.” 

Your eyes welled. “You don’t mean that.” 

“Stop telling me what I mean.” 

Your back hit the file shelf, gasping. “I-” 

He was barely a breath away from you, eyes darting toward your lips. “When will you understand that I love you? That I’m here, and I’m not leaving. That I’ve loved you since you walked into my campaign office, all frazzled, barking out orders?” His hand came up to your cheek, wiping away the tears that had fallen against your will. “That I wake up in the middle of the night, and the first thing I do is look over to make sure you’re still there, that you’re breathing, that you're real?”

“Bucky-” You were sobbing, fighting every instinct that screamed to let him in, to tell him the truth. “Stop.” Every time he spoke, it softened your resolve, made you want to tell him what you’d been carrying by yourself. 

He shook his head, leaning his forehead against yours. “I don’t know what happened, but I’m not going to leave you alone. I know you love me, I know-” 

You place one hand over his mouth, the other on his chest. “It’s for the best, trust me. You said you love me, so just let me do this. Let me do this for you.” 

He raised an eyebrow, delicately peeling your hand away from his mouth. “Do what? What’s going on, baby?” He grew more and more worried every second you sobbed, every second you refused to open up to him. “Did someone-” 

“No.” You shook your head. “No, it’s nothing like that. Bucky, I love you so much-” 

He grinned, a glimmer of hope breaking through his otherwise melancholy face. “I love you too-” 

“But this is for your own good.” Both of your hands were on his chest, pushing him away like he was temptation itself. “You’re meant to do great things, and you can do those, but I can’t be the person who slows you down.” 

“Is that why you broke up with me?” He laughed. “I appreciate you looking out for me, really I do, but you can’t make that decision for me.” 

“Too late.” You cried, his shirt wrinkling under your hold. “It’s too late.” 

“No, it’s not.” He shook his head, his hands holding your face like it was precious. If you had asked him, it was. “You’re scaring me, baby. What’s got you so upset? Talk to me.” 

“I- I can’t-” 

“You can-” 

“You don’t get it-” You sobbed. “I-” 

“C’mon, Doll.” His lips brushed against yours as he spoke. “I’m right here.”

“I’m pregnant, alright?” You sobbed. “There you go, there it is.” He staggered back, staring at you in disbelief. You felt jittery, manic with fear from his reaction, or lack of reaction. “I’m sorry, I just-” You hugged yourself, rambling as you tried to explain the reasoning behind your decision.

“I found out after you left for work, and I-I couldn’t live with myself if I slowed you down. You’re amazing, you’re really making a change for these people. And I’m so proud of you, so so proud. You’re my finest achievement, and I-I couldn’t see it all go to waste. I knew if I told you, you’d drop everything, and I couldn’t have that. Because you care too much, and it scares me. It’s horrifying how much you love me. I’m not used to it. You’re supposed to be more selfish, you have to be more selfish, especially in this-” 

You tilted your head, glaring at the man in front of you. “Are you even listening?” He had that same glazed-over look in his eye, still staring in disbelief. “Are you serious? I know I messed up, but the least you could do is say something.” Bucky slowly walked back toward you, like a predator stalking its prey. “I’m sorry, I really am. Just please, say something, say anything-” You gasped when his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you carefully into his hold. “Bucky-”

His lips dove to yours, your eyes fluttering shut as your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. He grinned, your teeth momentarily clashing, neither of you wanting to let up. Your knees weakened, glad that he had an arm around your waist, holding you up with ease. “We can’t-” 

“Are you sure?” He pulled back, breath heaving as he spoke. “Are you sure that you’re pregnant?” 

You nodded, smiling timidly. “Eight weeks yesterday.” 

“Eight weeks?” His eyes welled with tears as he stared at your stomach. “Oh, baby…” 

“I’m so sorry.” You whispered. “I didn’t want to-” 

“I love you.” He grinned, peppering kisses all over your face, your laughter bubbling in waves as you squirmed under his attack of affection. “I love you so much, and I-” He fidgeted with something in his pocket. “This is horrible timing, I know that.” 

“What?” Your heart dropped as he lowered himself onto one knee. “Bucky-” 

“Before you say anything, just let me get this out, and then you can scold me or kiss me, whatever you want.” He smiled, pulling out a small velvet box. “I’ve been trying to find the right time to say this, and now seems as good a time as any.” The ring inside was old, simple, but elegant all the same. “This is my mother’s ring. Rebecca still had it.”

“Bucky-” 

“I want to marry you. So badly it hurts. Marry me, and I swear you’ll be happy as long as you live.”  

“You know my answer is yes.” You cried, leaning down to kiss him. “A million times, yes.” 

He smiled, placing the ring on your finger. “Thank god. If you tried to leave again i was just going to blurt it out, and I didn’t think that-” 

“This is perfect. You’re perfect.” You grinned, staring at the ring as he stood up. “I’m sorry.” 

“No need to apologize, Doll.” He kissed the back of your hand, smiling when he saw his mother’s ring. “I do have one request.” 

“Yeah?” You raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?” 

“Next time you’re pregnant…” Your heart skipped at the way he so casually said ‘next time,’ like it was inevitable. “Tell me before you do anything rash.” 

You nodded, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind his ear. “Sounds reasonable enough.”

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[dissociativewriter]

hello my sweetheart, congratulations once again for 400 followers <3 you deserve many many more. <3 if possible, can i please get a fluffy scenario with me and caleb when his 3 yo daughter says “dadda” for the first time 🥹💞 you are free to ignore this btw should it get too overwhelming <3 have a lovely day ahead. here, have some snuggles from me!!

ahhhhhhh hi honey!! giving you smooches cause you’re so sweet <3 thank you so much and omg this is such a cute ask! i did change it a little bit, just so that the daughter is younger now. i hope you like this!

request event

Tensions were high.

You and Caleb had been in a cold war for weeks. It felt like all your tactics were falling short as you sat in a stalemate.

The battleground? Your daughter’s nursery.

Months ago, when you were 9 months into pregnancy and terrified for the baby’s arrival, Caleb was reading and re-reading all the parenting tips and baby guides. He was scared, paranoid. He might not say it, but you could tell.

And in his mess of tips and tricks, he read the cause of this competition: babies typically start speaking at around 7 months.

Neither of you had said anything at the time, or when your baby girl was actually born. There wasn’t time to think of that, not when she came out with his bright eyes and your nose. You didn’t have time think about first words, because now there were first tears, and the new life of parenthood was quickly sinking in.

Caleb was a great father, just like you told him he’d be through all his fretting. Everything was already baby-proofed, every decision made now had him taking your little girl into consideration. His life was irreversibly changed, and he knew that having this little family with you was the bliss he didn’t think he’d ever reach.

He’d offered to take nights, insisting you needed your rest. He’d be awake anyway, Caleb explained, so he might as well take care of the baby while he’s up. And true to his word, with Caleb at your side, you were able to sleep through most nights.

Caleb always seemed grateful to hold her, grateful that he could be there through all of this. His hands shook ever so slightly every time he reached for her, the disbelief apparent in his eyes.

Everything was as peaceful as it could be with a newborn.

But then six months rolled around, and it seemed the both of you began plotting. Your daughter’s babbling filled the house, incoherent now but you both knew that soon those babbles would be words.

You were starting to wonder if Caleb had offered to take nights with an ulterior motive. You’d caught him, one late night, repeating “dada” to her. Over and over again, like a mantra. “You’ve got to say dada first, alright, little apple?” He’d whispered. “I’ve got to beat your mother on this.”

The next day, you’d made a show of using ‘mama’ around your daughter as much as you could. If Caleb wanted a competition, then so be it.

It went on for what felt like an eternity for the both of you, starting just before she turned six months old and ending when she was seven and half months old. You were anxious with anticipation, waiting to see what would be her first word.

It was around noon and the sun was high, streaming in through wide windows of the Skyhaven apartment. Caleb was in the kitchen with your daughter, prepping her food while your lunch was still cooking on the stove. He had her far away from anything that could possibly hurt her, his watchful eyes constantly snapping back to where she was, prepared to use his Evol to steady her or pull her away.

Caleb was talking to her as he stirred and mixed. He’d made a habit of it whenever they were together, constantly going back and forth with her as if she was holding an actual conversation instead of giggling nonsense.

“Okay, little apple, I hate to tell you this but your mama was very mean to me earlier.” He said seriously. He nodded with her as she babbled something. “I know, it’s hard to hear, but it’s true!” Caleb then proceeded to explain your most recent quarrel to your daughter, which was more brought on by pettiness and stress than an actual problem. He’d nodded along whenever she babbled, agreeing and further explaining as if he understood everything.

“Now tell me, little apple, who do you think is right?” He asked as he walked closer with her baby food.

She beamed as he approached, a wide smile growing on her face as she giggled, “Dada!”

Caleb froze. Mid-step, it felt like everything stopped. You padded into the kitchen from the living room, disbelief written all over your face as well.

“Did she just…?” Caleb’s voice cracked. He looked up at you, tears brimming at his eyes. “She just said dada!” he exclaimed. He rushed forward, laving the food on the counter as he scooped her up in his arms, pulling you in as well as he peppered kisses over both your foreheads.

“I can’t believe it,” he whispered. “My baby girl’s talking. I can’t—” Tears fell onto his cheeks as the words caught in his throat. “I love you, so much. Both of you.” Caleb kissed both of you again, barely able to hide his grin.

And staring at his triumphant, prideful smile, you decided not to tell him about all the days you spent whispering ‘dada’ to her, too.

thank you @syncaleb for this ask!

comments and reblogs appreciated and asks open! <3

masterlist

taglist: @coffeedragonhobbyist @sleepykittyenergy @orbitraiden @dolledbunnytail

[raekensluver]

almost something

masterlist | main masterlist

stephen lawson (stephentries) x fem!reader

a.n: this is for @xoxoxyra !!! happy, happy, birthday babe!!! muah muah xoxo

you weren’t supposed to stay this long.

it was supposed to be a quick shoot - a couple hours of reviewing the newest viral youtube videos. in and out. easy.

but now it’s close to midnight, and you’re still on his couch. your coat’s somewhere near the door, your shoes half-kicked off, and the laptop's long gone to sleep mode. the script you’d half-written is buried under two empty mugs and a shared packet of malted milks.

stephen’s lying back, one leg stretched out, the other knee bouncing lazily. “you’re really not going home, are you?”

you tilt your head, barely looking at him. “you haven’t told me to leave.”

he hums, grinning. “maybe i like having you here.”

it’s casual. it’s him. but your stomach flips anyway.

you’ve been filming with him for a while now - a mix of planned content and chaotic outtakes, the kind where your laughs get caught in the mic and your face aches from grinning. somewhere between editing sessions and late-night voice notes, something shifted. subtle at first - longer glances, quieter silences, inside jokes that hung in the air just a beat too long.

now, it’s quiet. that kind of quiet that feels full of something unspoken.

“do you want another tea?” he asks suddenly, sitting up like he only just remembered he’s the host.

you laugh. “you’ve already made me three.”

“yeah, well.” he shrugs, standing. “fourth one’s the charm.”

you watch him move around the kitchen - sleepy, soft, a little disheveled. the sleeves of his jumper pushed up, his hair messed from running his hands through it too many times. he looks...good. comfortable. like home, if you let him be.

when he comes back, he sits a little closer than before. one of his socked feet bumps yours, and neither of you pull away.

“you cold?” he asks after a while, his voice quieter now. he doesn’t wait for your answer. just picks up the blanket from behind him and drapes it over your legs. it smells like him. something clean, warm, and faintly citrusy.

“you’re being weirdly nice,” you say, not looking at him.

“you always say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“just not used to it.”

he glances at you, and there’s something in his eyes - curious, unsure, sincere.

“maybe you should be.”

you stare at him a second too long. he doesn’t look away.

and for a moment, it feels like you might say something. or do something. or lean in just slightly and see what happens.

but then he clears his throat. “you wanna rewatch that terrible pilot episode we never finished?”

you blink. breathe. nod. “yeah. why not.”

you don’t kiss. not yet.

but you let yourself lean a little more into him. let the blanket slip off your legs and pool between you like some kind of shared secret.

he doesn’t pull away.

[spenceragnewfics]

A LOVELY LITTLE PARTY | Spencer Agnew x F!Plus Size!Reader

This was a request, but I was stupid and accidentally deleted the ask, so here we go!

Summary: At your best friend’s glamorous summer garden party, you weren’t expecting to meet anyone, especially not Spencer, the charming and down-to-earth gaming channel director. What starts as small talk might just spark something more.

Word count: 1013

Summer has always been a favorite season for you.

You loved the heat, being able to go swimming whenever you wanted, and dressing up in the pretty sundresses you accumulated over the year. There is also always one event that kicks off the summer, your best friend’s annual garden party. Perks of marrying some rich Hollywood producer, but you’re not complaining.

When you arrive, the party is in full swing. You are dressed in a white and floral sundress, and your hair has a bow that matches the floral color. The backyard of your friend’s extravagant villa is full of people, and it grows every year with more people being invited because of her husband’s work and the people she meets.

“Ah! Finally, you’re here!” Your best friend says, quickly walking over with her arms open wide. You two embrace for the first time in months, both of you being busy with life, to hang out more than a FaceTime call every few weeks. “Look at you! I love this dress! You have to tell me where you got it.”

The two of you chit-chat for a few minutes before her husband walks over, a shorter man following behind him, looking very out of place at a party like this. “Honey, there you are.” Her husband says, his voice filled with love as he gently kisses her. Once they break apart, he smiles at you and says your name, “It’s been a while. How have you been?” he asks, pulling your best friend close to him with a protective hand on her hip.

You give him a warm smile. “I’ve been good. Busy, but good. This party gets more insane every year.”

He chuckles. “Blame her. She makes it look too perfect, so everyone wants an invite.” Then, with a small gesture toward the man beside him, he adds, “Speaking of which, I wanted to introduce you to someone, this is Spencer.”

Spencer is dressed in a casual button-down and slacks; his curly hair is somewhat tamed and styled, but the heat probably messed it up. His eyes meet yours and linger, just a moment longer than polite. “Hey,” he says, giving you a slightly shy smile. “Nice to meet you.”

You return the smile, heart doing an unexpected little flutter. “Hi.” You say, not being able to stop smiling.

Your best friend nudges him. “Spencer works in digital comedy. He’s one of the good ones. Funny, smart, too humble for his own good.”

He laughs—really laughs—and it lights up his whole face. “Guilty. I'm a behind-the-scenes guy, so this kind of thing always feels like I snuck into a place I don’t belong.”

“He works with Smosh, remember the channel we used to watch all the time in high school? He’s their head of their gaming channel,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows a bit.

“He’s done amazing work with growing the channel and viewership, from a professional standpoint.” Her husband says as things start to connect. Spencer must be here for a work thing, and you just happen to reap the benefits from it.

“Oh wow, that’s actually really cool,” you say, eyes flicking back to Spencer. “I haven’t watched as much recently, but I used to binge the Smosh Games videos.”

Spencer laughs softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Honestly, same. Except I was editing them back then when you were probably watching.”

You laugh with him, relaxing more. Something is refreshing about him, low-key, self-deprecating, genuine.

“Anyway,” your best friend’s husband says, glancing between the two of you with a not-so-subtle smirk, “I’ve gotta go talk to someone about a project. I’ll let you guys get better acquainted.”

Your best friend doesn’t even pretend not to be matchmaking as she squeezes your arm before being led away. “Be nice,” she whispers with a wink, then disappears into the crowd.

You turn back to Spencer, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. The music floats softly through the garden, and the breeze carries the scent of jasmine and grilled pineapple skewers.

“So…” you begin, “what’s got you at a fancy producer party?”

He shrugs, “his company is looking into investing in some digital media, and so with Smosh being what it is, we’re top of the list. All the different heads of the channels were invited.”

You both glance over at the shimmering pool across the patio, surrounded by floating floral centerpieces and people holding cocktails.

“Well, at least you get fancy food.”

“Yeah,” He pauses, looking at you more fully now. “I just have to say, you look beautiful. Honestly my eye caught you the moment you walked in.”

You blink, caught off guard as your cheeks burn. “What do you mean?”

He gestures vaguely, his hand trailing through the warm air. “The dress, the bow, the way you just… fit here. I mean, not to come off as too forward but your curves look amazing in that dress.”

Your face flushes, and you let out a soft laugh. “That’s very smooth for someone who claimed to be behind the scenes.”

Spencer smiles, a little sheepishly. “That was smoother than I meant it to be, but… not wrong.”

A breeze picks up, and your skirt flutters around your knees. You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, feeling something settle between you, a quiet curiosity, a spark.

“Well,” you say, biting your lip, “what are your plans now? Go back to your co-workers?”

“I was thinking I’d start with finding a plate of whatever smells that good,” he says, nodding toward the catering table. “And, if I’m lucky, someone to sit with.”

You grin. “Lead the way, then.”

As the two of you walk side by side through the crowd, laughter and music all around, Spencer glances over at you again, like he’s still a little surprised you’re really there.

You glance back. A smile on your face that never leaves as long as you're at the party with Spencer. Hoping that maybe you’ll be able to extend this into a date or two sometime later.

[lunareclipse-writes]

Eddie Munson NSFW🔠 w/ gn reader

---

A = Aftercare

Eddie is ridiculously doting after sex. He’ll clean you up with whatever’s closest—probably a band tee—and then pull you close, mumbling sleepy praise into your hair. Expect him to keep a water bottle and snacks on the nightstand like the chaotic little caregiver he secretly is.

B = Body Part

He loves his hands—calls them “magic fingers” (which… he's not wrong). On you? He’s obsessed with your thighs, regardless of size or shape. Whether he’s gripping them during oral, marking them up with love bites, or laying his head there post-orgasm, they’re his comfort zone.

C = Cum

Messy. So fucking messy. He lives for the sight of you dripping, or being coated with his release. Might mutter shit like “look what you do to me…” and smear it across your stomach or lips like a worshipper painting his deity.

D = Dirty Secret

He’s jerked off in his van while thinking about you riding him right there in the driver’s seat. More than once. He might’ve even stolen a piece of your clothing for a while. Don’t ask what happened to that bandana…

E = Experience

More experienced than he lets on. He’s fumbled through enough casual flings to know his way around a body. But he gets especially good when he really cares. If it’s you? He’s patient, attentive, and eager to learn what makes you whimper.

F = Favorite Position

Doggy, with a fist in your hair and your back arched just right. But he also adores riding—whether it's you on top of him or the other way around. He loves watching your face contort when you take him deep.

G = Goofy

He’ll crack jokes, do a bad porn voice, or make a pun mid-thrust—but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t take your pleasure seriously. Expect to laugh and cum. Sometimes at the same time.

H = Hair

Messy, unkempt, definitely a thatch of curls down there. He trims just enough to not get caught in zippers. And no, the carpet doesn’t quite match—it's darker.

I = Intimacy

He pretends he’s just in it for the fun, but when it’s late and you're chest-to-chest and he’s whispering “you’re perfect” like a confession? That’s real. His touches are always a little worshipful, like you’re too good for him.

J = Jack Off

A chronic masturbator. He’s absolutely touched himself to your voice, your scent left on his clothes, even texts you sent. Sometimes multiple times a day if he's not seeing you. He’ll totally tell you about it, too.

K = Kink

Bondage (especially makeshift—ties you up with belts or guitar straps), praise/degradation mix (“You’re such a good fuckin’ slut for me”), a touch of voyeurism, mutual masturbation, and maybe some exhibitionism. He lives for getting you to moan in risky places.

L = Location

Anywhere that feels just risky enough: backstage at the Hideout, the van, your childhood bedroom when your parents are downstairs, the school auditorium after hours…

M = Motivation

Your sounds. You moaning his name or gasping into his ear? Instant hard-on. He’s also turned on by emotional vulnerability, weirdly—catch him after you’ve cried in his arms, and he’ll treat you like the most precious thing while fucking your brains out.

N = No

Anything that feels cold or overly clinical—he’s not into strict dom/sub protocols or totally silent sex. He needs emotion, mess, you reacting. Also no shaming; he's been shamed enough in life, he won’t do that to you.

O = Oral

Giving? Oh, he’s obsessed. Will spend hours between your thighs, moaning into you like he’s starving. Receiving? He loves it, especially when you’re watching his face and talking dirty. “Come on, baby, suck me like you mean it…”

P = Pace

He can go rough and fast, especially if he’s been teased, but most often it starts slow and builds. He loves dragging it out, letting you feel every inch before he ruins you. Alternates between deep strokes and frantic ruts.

Q = Quickie

Hell yes. He loves quickies, especially when he can bend you over the bathroom sink or drag you into the back of the van. They usually end with both of you giggling, sweating, and needing to fix your clothes.

R = Risk

Big risk-taker. He gets off on nearly being caught. He’ll try anything once if it sounds hot and isn’t harmful. He’s got that chaotic gremlin energy, so don't be surprised if he suggests sex on the school roof or while driving (bad idea, but hot).

S = Stamina

He can go at least two or three rounds if he’s well-fed and hyped. He’s not a marathon man, but he will edge you and himself until you’re both desperate. His refractory period shortens if you're touching him post-orgasm.

T = Toys

He’s curious and a little kinky—might have a vibrator or two, maybe a pair of cuffs from a Halloween costume that ended up being very real. Loves using toys on you while he watches you squirm.

U = Unfair

Master tease. Will absolutely edge you with his mouth or hands until you’re begging. Might hold you down with a smirk and say, “Not yet, sweetheart.” But he’ll always reward you in the end.

V = Volume

Loud. Whines, moans, breathy curses—he talks you through it the whole time. “You feel so good,” “You’re fuckin’ perfect,” “That’s it, take it.” He praises and swears like a rockstar in the throes of ecstasy.

W = Wild Card

Eddie has definitely written a dirty song about you. A whole filthy guitar riff matched to the rhythm of your moans. He’ll never play it in public—but you’ll hear it in private, with his fingers between your legs.

X = X-ray

He’s got a decent size, but it’s the curve and the way he uses his hips that’ll wreck you. Just enough girth to stretch without pain, and a thick vein that drags along every sweet spot. Plus, he knows how to use his fingers and tongue.

Y = Yearning

High. He’s always down for sex, but when he’s in love? It’s not just physical—it’s clingy, needy, borderline obsessed. He’ll touch you constantly, even if it’s just slipping a hand under your shirt or mouthing at your neck in passing.

Z = Zzz

He crashes fast once he’s worn out—but he has to be curled around you, preferably skin-to-skin. You’ll wake up tangled in limbs, his hair in your face, and his hand on your ass.

---

“Make Me Beg”

Eddie Munson x GN!Reader | Smut | ~1.2k words

The van rocks with every thrust of his hips.

Parked deep in the woods just off the main road, the sounds of cicadas and distant thunder are completely drowned out by Eddie’s ragged moans and the wet sounds of his mouth working between your thighs.

He’s been down there forever.

Pinned on your back across the backseat, shirt pushed up and pants discarded, you're a wreck—legs trembling, breath hiccupping, and hands fisted tightly in the tangled curls of Eddie’s hair. And the bastard’s loving it.

“You should see yourself,” he mutters, voice muffled as he kisses your inner thigh again, dragging his tongue along the skin there just to hear you whimper. “God, I should film this. You're shaking, sweetheart.”

You glare weakly down at him. “Eddie… please.”

“Please what?” His grin is all teeth and sin, chin glistening with your arousal. “Need me to use my magic tongue a little higher?”

You squirm and whimper when he doesn’t. Instead, he licks a slow, lazy stripe back down your thigh, mouthing at the sensitive skin again until you’re gasping, legs twitching around his shoulders.

His voice drops an octave, and his fingers dig into your hips. “I love your thighs, baby. You know that? Could fuckin’ live here. Bury my face in ‘em forever.”

“You’re not even touching me—”

“I am,” he argues, sucking another bruise into the soft skin, eyes flicking up at you like a challenge. “Just not where you want yet. But I will. You just look so fuckin’ hot like this.”

“Eddie—!”

Suddenly, he moves. One thick finger drags through your slick, slow and filthy, before he presses it into you with a groan.

“There we go,” he growls. “God, you're tight. Look at you—already clenching, and I haven’t even used my tongue yet.”

You whine so loudly it echoes, and Eddie smirks like he’s just won the lottery.

Then he devours you.

There’s no other word for it—he latches on like he’s starved, tongue fucking into you as his finger curls just right, just enough pressure to make you cry out and arch off the seat. He moans into it like you taste better than any drug, sloppy and loud, a mess of spit and slick and desperation.

And when you start to twitch—start to beg—he pulls back with a filthy pop.

“Not yet,” he pants, eyes blown wide, lips swollen. “I wanna hear you scream when you come.”

“Eddie—!”

He shoves his tongue back in before you can curse him out.

You come hard, with your thighs clamped around his head, his name ripped from your throat like a prayer and a curse in one. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t fucking stop until you’re crying, twitching, overstimulated, pleading.

When he finally pulls away, his chin is soaked and he looks wrecked, pupils blown wide with lust and pride.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, climbing up to cage you under him, pressing his still-clothed cock against your spent heat. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

You don’t even have the strength to sass him, but he’s already kissing you—messy and deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, whispering:

“Round two, baby. You’re not getting out of this van until I’ve fucked you into the cushions.”

---

Masterlist

[straightup-jerkingit]

[A few things: originally, the text was supposed to be in the images, but i figured it was easier to just write it out, so some of them are framed awkwardly. Also, I didn't think about whether or not this was in character because I was so blinded by lust, I'm sorry if you have issues with how i portrayed him.] Content warning: Reader x Cannon, Reader x Te/nna (del/ta/rune), sneeze fetish with extreme mess, cold whump, Dom!reader x Sub!Te/nna, exhibitionism, dubious consent, leash play (I think that's everything but please let me know if i missed something.)

-

The scene is a stage for what looks like a late night show, with a desk, comfy chairs, a big screen at the back and everything. But it's not any late night show, no... it's something a lil more special, maybe a lil more... icky. There's an audience present, waiting for the host(you) and their "special guest" to appear with bated breath

Finally, the moment comes: The confident host makes their entrance, and close behind them, being led in by a leash, is the iconic, lovable Mr. A/nt Te/nna himself. This gets the audience a little excited already, a few people whistle, and one even calls out: "I love tv!!!" Mr. Te/nna, who's normally very confident himself, would've been fired up by the excitement under any other circumstance, but this time it's different... here, he's rather meek, shuffling awkwardly behind the host and refusing to really look at the crowd at all, save for a few small glimpses here and there. He'd be nervously fidgeting with his hands if they weren't tied behind his back.

Host is someone Te/nna knows and trusts very much, and even had a couple flings with, so when they suggested a new program that could hopefully boost ratings, he was all for it. He knew the material would be a bit dirty, but since it was late night tv, that was to be expected, and the censors wouldn't wanna kill him too bad for it... but what Host was doing, it was starting to be a bit much. Not only that, but Te/nna happened to wake up with the worst head cold imaginable, just constant coughing and sniffling and sneezing everywhere. He was hoping filming would be pushed back, but Host insisted they try to work around it. They even seemed... excited about it? It was all making Te/nna very nervous, resulting in his meager and shrunken appearance.

Host sat down in one of the big comfy chairs. Te/nna went to join them, but was stopped and made to kneel down on the ground in front of them, profile facing the crowd. He stares at Host in anticipation, worried about what they'd do next. Then...

"Honey..." they start, their lips forming into a devious little smile. "You don't feel so good, do you?"

This snapped Te/nna out of his trance, and he began:

"W-what? Me??? N-no! that's silly! I'm doing FANTAST-"

"ghkkh!!"

Host suddenly pulls on the leash and begins to scold him, "Don't you lie to me, Mr! When we were alone back stage, you wouldn't stop whining and crying about how awful you felt. All those theatrics, just to hop on stage and act like you're peachy keen? Oh, puh-lease!" They suddenly switch from such a harsh demeanor to a softer, more caring one, "Now, why don't you turn to the audience and tell them how you're really feeling?" Before Te/nna could actually do or say anything, they cupped his cheek in their hand and faced him toward the crowd themselves.

"Tell them you don't feel well."

As Te/nna looked out at the people, who were all excited to see him, but not in the way they usually are... all these people were blushing and focusing on him really hard, some were rubbing their hands together, others looked like they were getting impatient and wanted to just see something happen, and even more others were... oh my. Whatever was going on, it was certainly working, so at that point Te/nna figured he might as well just do what Host told him to do. He turns back to Host while looking down at the ground in shame, and finally murmurs:

"I... I don't don't feel well. I don't feel v-very well at all..."

Then, by luck or by some kind of sick joke, a tickle flickered in his nose, and it was starting to build up into a sneeze rather quickly. He began hitching and hitching, and continuously building up, to the delight of both Host and the audience. He was nervous before, but all the positive attention was starting to do something to him. Suddenly, it was like a light switch in his head just flipped, and all he wanted to do in that moment was blabber on about his condition, to ham it up a bit more just for that extra scrap of approval, so he spoke through his buildup:

"I- I r-really- hih- I really d-do.. heh- f-f-feel, so aw.. AH- HAHH---!!"

"HAH- SHIEEEEEWWW!!! *snrghff!* guhh...huh?"

Host pushed up the tip of his nose, revealing the reddened, sensitive, mucus-lined walls of his nostrils, and by the way they were twitching, he wasn't done yet. Host says to him, just before his blows again,

"Keep your head up baby, I wanna see your pretty little face as you put on a show for me~"

Te/nna gulps, but is quickly overtaken by a tickle yet again, and has to put all his attention on his poor, itchy nose in order to get those last few sneezes out. It's hard to focus though, because the audience is getting even more excited, starting to lightly cheer and clap, and some people are even moaning a bit. Te/nna wants to be fully enraptured by their admiration, but the body wants what the body wants, and with one final, shaky breath, he explodes into a devastating fit:

"hahh-- HAAAASSHHIIEEWW!!! ah-SHIEWW!!! ESHOO!!! HEH- HUHH-- HUUUAAASSHHOOOOOO!!!!!"

This sends everyone into hysterics, everyone except Host, who's just coolly sitting there, drinking in the scenery, a devious smile sitting across their face once again.

Te/nna's face was caked in sweat, tears, and snot, but despite this, he looks so happy that he was able to please everyone, especially you. Even though his nose had calmed down for a moment, it was still raring and ready to go again, but the man attached to it looked so tired that Host decided to end things right there for the sake of his health. They quieted the audience down and said to Te/nna, dotingly:

"You did so good baby! Aw, look at you, you're a mess, and I bet you're so exhausted! C'mere," They open their arms out wide, "Your prize, for being such a good boy!"

"G... good.. boy? You- you think I'm a g-good boy?" he beamed at Host's words and quickly hopped into their arms, and after undoing the binds that held his wrists together, they hugged each other tightly.

"Thangk you! Thangk you thangk you thangkyou!!!" His voice was heavy with congestion, which was only made worse with the onslaught of tears rolling down his face. He was so happy and delirious with fever that he actually started to cry a bit, but was quickly soothed with a few soft kisses on the cheek and some loving "it's ok"s from Host.

Host snagged some tissues from the box beside them and quickly cleaned up Te/nna's face, then let him blow his nose. After he was all clean, they allowed him to lay his head over their shoulder as they lightly traced circles along his back. It was so soothing, that he just couldn't help but begin to fall sleep. As he nodded off, he heard Host start to speak:

"Degradation, Praise, and Dynamics: Tonight on T/V Ti/me After Dark, what to know about BD/SM relationships and how you could have one of your own..."

It turns out all that was just a preview to the topic of the show, and if that was only the beginning of it all, who knows what would come up next. It was all very exciting to think about, but still, Te/nna was just too tired to stay awake and listen to what Host was saying. He slowly drifted off to sleep, hoping that when he woke up, he'd be met with even more fun and even more praise from his beloved Host.

[batlcver]

❝I do. I was looking into it for a few months. It's what I wanted, room for people, for my things, to grow with.❞

That was the main appeal of it for him, having so much room, and three rows of seats meant that he didn't have to constantly think about looking around again should his needs change again. It was roomy enough, and if he didn't need the back seats they could just fold down giving even more room. Not to mention the fact that it was all so dark black, and having the windows already tinted, it was a dream.

Hands drumming on the steering wheel as they approach a red light, reaching up to close the sunroof's cover- didn't need any of that heat coming in right now. Moving to mess with the radio next, it was gonna be some getting used to with a screen instead of just a regular radio and aux cord. Shuffling through channels as he peaks up at the light, finally settling on a classic rock station for the moment it would have to do.

❝I am gonna miss the old one too. It was with me for a decade, it's seen a lot, but it was just time to part. I probably would've kept it even longer if things weren't changing my life, if it kept being just me using it- and maybe occasionally driving someone else- then I would've ran it into the ground. But now there's you, there's him, might not seem like big changes, but they are.❞

At least to him they were. They were important life changes, you didn't just think about the present when you're in a relationship, you had to envision the future too. Stuff he used to put off while he was single, 'cause it was just him. Who cared if he had a shitty car so long as it got him places, right? So long as he was happy with it then it didn't matter, but now he had other things in the mix. Not that big changes were going to happen soon, but still, it was important to get a head start on stuff even when that stuff is a distant "what if".

❝It was time. Easier than I thought it would be at least.❞

He thought he was really going to be hard to pull away from that car, that even though he had been looking into it for months that he'd just change his mind immediately on the lot and leave. That even though he was trying to think of the future that it would be hard to leave the past behind. Too many memories resurfacing about his life with his father, with his moving out, with going to college, all of it would deter him, but it didn't. That was probably some kind of growth if you asked Sydney about it. Probably again 'cause of Eros, not only being there, but being someone he wanted to have a future with.

❝I think I'm gonna have to get used to having AC again though, I'm already freezing.❞

Not an attempt to diffuse like he probably would have before, god forbid he ever speak his mind without making it a joke, but this time genuinely because he was cold. Quickly turning aside his fan before getting his attention back on the road. It's not too long of a drive to the store, or maybe it felt shorter because he was genuinely excited and having a good time. Parking and running a hand through his hair as he takes a second, grabbing his phone before taking off his seatbelt. Turning his attention to Eros and the puppy, pointing at the little guy just to for it to lick his finger, a chuckle escaping at that.

❝I forgot what I was gonna say.❞

Shrugging as he exits the car. Force of habit as he circles around and opens the passenger side door for them, shoving his phone in his pocket as he begins to walk to the entrance. A thought passes his mind to see if Susie needs anything for Ed, but it's quickly thrown out as he remembers that he'd have bags of bugs in his brand new car if he did check. Loved Ed as he did, that was not happening.

❝It's his time.❞

     To be honest, this was sort of a bittersweet thing for him, too. As much as he'd jokingly complained about the car, they had memories in it. Hell, they'd kissed for the first time in there. It had been a bit rushed and a surprise to seemingly both of them, but it had been in there. Suppose, though, they would make new memories in a new car, too. It just wouldn't be the same.

     It was definitely better – nicer, too. To be in the AC as he set the little puppy in his lap. The seatbelt over him as he held onto the little creature. He was all too happy to have the attention, too. What a cute little guy. 

     Waiting for mason to get back didn't feel like it took too long, either. Though, suppose, again, that was because he had something to occupy his time. It was really fun when animal videos came on and the void of a dog was so excited to see them. He'd even touch his little nose to the screen and pause or scroll past one. Oh, he really was just too adorable!

     His attention runs for a moment over to Mason in the other car. Getting everything from there and into a backpack. Taking out all the important things he'd probably forgot were even there. His gaze lingers for awhile.

     This is a nice memory, he thinks. Or it will be. Like a new beginning for things – for them? Something like that. And then he looked idly around the spacious SUV. He'd never really taken Mason for an SUV guy, but then it made sense when he could drive people around. Asher and the others. Eros, too. Plus there being that nice little space between the seats would be a nice space for Agape to sit or lay when she went anywhere with them.

     He runs his fingers absently through the small puppy's fur, head canting to the side as he looks back at his boyfriend. If he had a tail, it'd be wagging just as surely as the creature in his arms' was. 

     When the door opens, he quickly looks away with a whistle, pretending he hadn't be staring at the other the entire time. Quiet as he fiddles around with figuring out the new gizmos in the car. 

     “ Pet store time~. Y'excited, baby boy? Yeah, I bet. ”

     His gaze turns back over to look at Mason when he speaks. It was definitely nicer – cooler. It felt like they were on a whole new sort of adventure. And getting to share in all of this with him… it made Eros feel all the closer to him. Like he had a nice place carved out in his life just as surely as the new little puppy.

     “ I like it. S'nice and cool. But… I am gonna miss that old thing, y'know? Jus' means we're gonna need t' make new memories with this one. ”

     He stretches out a bit before putting his sunglasses back down from where they'd been in his hair before. Reaching over just enough so he could squeeze the other's leg in a sign of affection. Today was exciting. More than exciting, it was fun too. Even if it wasn't done yet, he was looking forward to the pet store and introducing the dogs. 

     Would Agape like getting to meet her new sibling that she'd get to see when they went out together? Would she like him as much as she liked the triplets? She let those little freaks climb all over her and never complained unless they tried to bat at her tail. And even then all she'd do was bark and paw at them to get them to stop.

     “ D'ya like it? I mean – of course ya like it enough t' buy it but… y'know what I mean. ”

[destinywillowleaf]

i think if fully charged ever had a shadow man he should lean into being alien and weird since wood kinda took the ninja elements

[bonus teeth under the cut]

fucked up alien guy <3

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Yakuza

When your brother gets himself deep into debt, one yakuza is surprisingly willing to help you get him out. Word Count: 4.3k

When your brother asks you to visit him in Tokyo, something about his voice makes your big sister instincts buzz.

He's great at putting on a show, but there's a twinge of nervousness to him that you've seldom heard before.

You spend your first week in the city with your hackles raised, trying and failing to figure out what he's hiding from you. And you might never have figured it out.

But then he showed up.

Yandere! Yakuza who kicks open your brother's door at three in the morning, a cigarette in one hand and a baseball bat in the other.

You scramble out of bed, convinced you're about to be murdered. And it's only your brother's hand hastily slapped over your mouth that keeps you from screaming bloody murder.

"Relax, I know these guys."

Despite his words, your brother doesn't look relaxed at all. His eyes dart around the room and he balls his fists into his jeans. It's a habit he hasn't broken since childhood and before you know it, you're stepping between him and a dangerously scarred yakuza.

Your Japanese is beyond rudimentary and your course didn't exactly cover how to have conversations with members of an organised crime family, but you tilt your chin back and try to keep your voice steady.

"Naze anata ga koko ni iru no ka? [why are you here?]"

Yandere! Yakuza who shamelessly leers at your tiny summer pyjamas. He pulls at his cigarette and when he speaks, his English is heavy with an accent.

"Came to collect what he owes us."

Of all the possible answers he could have given you, that was one you don't expect in the slightest. You turn to your brother and the way he avoids your eyes is answer enough. God, how could he be so stupid? Didn't you teach him better?

Yandere! Yakuza who came prepared to smash furniture and rough up a stubborn debtor suddenly finds himself at the mercy of your glare. You're at least a foot or two shorter than him and somehow it feels like he's the one being overpowered.

"How much does he owe?"

"Sis really I can-"

Yandere! Yakuza who scoffs and names a number much, much larger than you expected. It takes every ounce of will power not to scream at your brother right then and there. How could he get himself into such a mess? He's barely been here more than six months!

Yandere! Yakuza who watches the emotions flicker across your face and has to admire the way you fight them back. The only sign of your fear is a slight tremble in your hand.

"How much do you need tonight?"

The amount he names is just about everything you have in savings. You bite your lip. One look at him tells you everything you need to know. This isn't some small time crook. The pin on his suit jacket is clear as day, even to a foreigner like you.

You pull your coat over your pyjamas and grab your handbag.

"Let's go then."

When you step out into the hall, you're met with two other Yakuza. How didn't you notice them?

You meet their eyes, trying your absolute hardest to seem unruffled. Predators get violent when they sense fear, right? So don't like them catch that smell on you, no matter how fast your heart is racing.

The night air nips at your skin as you head to the nearest ATM.

"Sis it isn't that bad, I swear -"

"We'll talk about it later, ok?"

Yandere! Yakuza who walks close behind you. You can catch the smell of his cologne - something woody and pleasantly sharp.

When you slip your card into the ATM, he leans against the wall next to you and pulls out another cigarette. He watches you while he lights it, the flame throwing his cheekbones into sharp relief.

"You got a boyfriend?"

You're genuinely surprised. Your relationship status isn't exactly on your list of things dangerous criminals should be concerned about.

"No. I don't."

He let's the smoke curl up between his teeth.

"Good. Pretty girl like you shouldn't bother with relationships."

"Why not?"

The ATM spits out your cash before he can answer.

He doesn't take the money immediately. Instead, he let's his eyes roam down your body, like he can still see what's underneath your bulky coat.

"You're never gonna pay it off at this rate."

"You're offering me advice? Didn't think that was part of your job."

"Sōde wa arimasen [it isn't]. But what kind of man would I be if I didn't help you out?"

He digs in his inner pocket and you catch a glimpse of the gun holstered under his jacket.

He pulls out a business card and scribbles something at the back of it.

"He hasn't told you, but we've got his passport. He can't leave until he's settled what he owes."

You suck in a sharp breath at that. How much worse could this situation get?

He holds out the card. "Come work for us and maybe we can work out a better deal, yeah?"

You scoff. "Does that deal involve selling my organs?"

He smiles a little at that. "Īe - no. It's easy work. Come by tomorrow and see for yourself."

You look down at the card and the hand offering it. His tattoos peak out of his sleeve, blue-black and twisting in patterns you can't recognise. Better to not offend a gangster, right?

You take the card.

"Iiko [good girl]."

He turns to go, his baseball bat slung over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow hanī [honey]."

He's barely out of sight before you're grabbing your brother's ear and dragging him back to the apartment.

You spend the rest of the night talking to - or more accurately, interrogating - your brother.

"Gambling? What the hell where you thinking?"

"I was drunk, okay?"

You hiss and rub at your temples. And the worst part? The yakuza was right. You can't pay it off. Not without a very well paying job.

His card glares at you from the kitchen table. An easy job, huh?

The address on the card leads you to a hostess club in the middle of the Red Light District.

He isn't going to kidnap you in the middle of the day in the middle of the city, right? Slightly comforted, you make your way into the club.

It's cool and dark, lit by colorful lamps more than anything. You show the card to the bartender and a few minutes later your yakuza is sitting across from you and ordering you both drinks.

Yandere! Yakuza who wears a suit in the slouched, lazy way of a school delinquent. Shirt unbuttoned so you can see the edge his tattoos and the gold chain gleaming at his neck.

He gestures at the bar and the room around you, his cigarette hanging lazily between his fingers. "The Family owns this place. And my kyodai manages it."

He studies you while he smokes, eyes dipping to your chest and lingering. "You can work as a hostess here. Make good money and we'll take a cut of it to pay off what your brother owes."

You take a sip of your drink to avoid answering him. The sake leaves a tingle on your lips.

"But I'm not exactly fluent in Japanese. How am I supposed to entertain customers?"

He grins wolfishly at you. "Just wear something tight and you won't have to talk at all."

"Perv," you mutter into your drink.

On the surface, you can't see anything wrong with his offer. It makes perfect sense - the club gets a new girl they barely have to pay and your brother's creditors don't need to keep tracking him down.

But he's a yakuza and you'd be a fool to trust him.

"Fine. I'll work here, try my hardest to learn Japanese and sell drinks."

You hold his gaze. "But I'm gone the second I think you're being shady. Got it?"

Yandere! Yakuza who smiles like he's won the lottery. "Wakatta [got it]."

When you show up later that evening, he's your first customer. He orders you a bottle of champagne and keeps topping up your glass without ever touching his own.

A few drinks in you manage to finally loosen up enough to hold a conversation. He asks you endless questions - about your childhood, your hobbies, the movies you've been watching.

But in return, he dodges any question you throw at him. "Don't ask about my family." "My childhood was boring. You don't want to hear about it." "Hobbies? Does puss-"

"No."

"Then no."

He's surprisingly fun to talk to. And when he gets a call and has to leave you, there's a pang of disappointment that you can't quite mask.

He grins and flicks your forehead. "Don't miss me too much."

When you pick up the bill, you realise he left you a hefty tip. You stare at it and then at his retreating back. Just what is his angle?

Yandere! Yakuza who's back the next day and the one after that. He sprawls in the booth like a spoiled prince, his arms thrown across the headrest and his legs spread.

"Let me teach you Japanese."

You perk up. A native teacher would be so much easier to learn from compared to the dense textbooks you've tried using.

"Repeat after me. Onegaishimasu. It means 'please'."

You try and imitate his intonation. He walks you through a few more common phrases with moderate success.

"Need to work on your accent, but that was decent. Ready to try something longer? Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne [I think you're very handsome]."

"Anato wa...wa totemo hansam... hansamudesu ne."

He smirks at you over the rim of his glass. He seems immensely pleased.

"What does it mean?"

"Just another way to... greet someone. Kinda tricky though, so you should just use it on me."

He spends the rest of the day explaining kanji and grammar. You take notes on the back of a receipt and promise to rewrite them when you get home.

Your shift is practically over when he finally stands to leave.

"Say goodbye like I taught you."

"Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne."

He grins at you again, his voice a bit sweeter when he replies. "Anata mo totemo kireidesu ne [you're pretty too]."

You tilt your head, struggling to understand. You don't recognise the phrase, but he's gone before you can ask what it means.

Yandere! Yakuza who requests you almost everyday. Until the house mother snaps at him to give it a rest, there are other clients who want to talk to you.

He scoffs and throws back his drink, Adam's apple bobbing like he's swallowing down his anger too.

"If they want to talk to her so bad, they should get here earlier. Watashitachiha kono basho o shoyū shite imasu [we own this place]. So go and get me my girl."

When you finally make it to his table, he's back to being all smiles. The only person who notices his jealousy is the house mother and she's far too busy to mention it.

"My head is killing me. Give me a massage please?"

He flops down into your lap before you can say no.

You sigh and run your fingers through his hair, trying to remember where the pressure points are.

Yandere! Yakuza who practically purrs at your touch. When you lift a hand away to take a sip of your water, he barely waits for you to swallow before he's dragging it back.

There's something very strange about having a deadly gangster in your lap. With his eyes closed, you can almost forget just how much he scared you when you first met. Can forget how he still scares you.

He opens his eyes and catches you studying him. He reaches up and catches your hand as you draw away from him. His touch is gentle, softer than you would expect from looking at him.

"Go on a date with me."

You aren't sure if it's an offer or a command. There's something so intimate about the way he looks at you, the club lights carving hollows into his cheeks, eyes dark and sweet.

And God help you, he's so close. Only the thin fabric of your stockings between his skin and yours.

"Okay."

His lips quirk into a half smile, boyishly handsome.

"Good. You'll like it."

By the next evening, you're already regretting your decision. What kind of idiot goes on a date with a yakuza? You blame the alcohol and the closeness of his body and your stupid, stupid hormones for getting you into this.

But when he picks you up, you find yourself smiling. He actually knocks on the apartment door this time and you open it with the full intention of teasing him.

"My brother's landlord-"

Your words die in your throat. You always knew he was handsome but the man waiting for you takes your breath away.

His hair is slicked away from his face and a sparkling cross dangles from one ear. His lazy suits are gone, replaced with a suit that's pressed and tailored. Hell, even his shirt is buttoned up properly.

He looks good. Dangerously good.

He takes you in, eyes lingering at your curves. You swallow and try not to blush. You do your hair and makeup everyday for the club and he's seen you in this dress before, but he looks at you like it's all new to him, like he wants to drink in every inch of you.

You somehow manage to find your voice and it has none of its usual bite. "You look good. Really good."

He smoothes a hand over his hair self consciously. "Arigatō. Shall we go?"

He offers you his arm and you take it, your heart thundering. He opens the car door for you and helps you in like a proper gentleman. You catch a whiff of his cologne - the same woodsy scent from the night you met.

He takes you to a skyscraper restaurant and sits down right next to the window. The city is a sparkling sprawl at your feet.

"I didn't think you'd be into a place like this," you say.

"What? You think I don't got class?" He grins and points his fork at you, "I've got the best damn taste in this whole city."

"Explains why you asked me out then."

"Obviously." He leans forward. "Only the best for my girl, yeah?"

"I'm your girl? Since when?"

"Since..." He makes a show of checking his watch. "Since the night I met you. You just didn't know it yet."

Ah, now that's one way to make a girl fall for you. And despite your better sense, you feel yourself falling.

You can still taste the lingering sweetness of dessert when he walks you back to his car. His leans against the car door and loops his arms around your waist.

"You had fun tonight?"

"Yes. More than I expected honestly."

He pulls you closer to him, softly enough that you can step back at any point. You don't.

"Gonna give me a kiss to say thank you? It's a very important part of our culture."

You clasp your hands together behind his neck.

"You liar."

He grins that boyish half smile of his. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

He doesn't feel like a gangster or a creditor or a customer. In that moment he feels like just a man - someone strong and handsome that you desperately want to kiss.

Your gaze flickers down to his lips and then back to his eyes. You pull gently at his neck and his head dips lower. You stay like that for a moment, lips almost touching. Too nervous to make the final move.

His hands move to cradle your waist and he closes the gap between you.

You pull him closer, your hands slipping from his neck to his jaw. His stubble scrapes your palm and makes your whole body tingle. He tastes of wine and sugar.

When you finally pull away, you draw your thumb across his lower lip. His eyes are half lidded and when he moves, it's with a sluggish reluctance. Like he doesn't want to let go of you.

He keeps one hand on your waist and draws out a stack of cash with the other. When he speaks, his voice is husky.

"How much for tonight?"

"What?"

His draws his hand up your waist to rest against your sternum. Like he wants to dig his hand into your heart.

"How much to take you home?"

A bucket of cold water would have been less shocking. You pull away from him, your mind racing.

God, why are you such an idiot? Of course he only wants to fuck you. He's just a thug, what did you expect?

And worse, you feel like a small part of your heart is breaking. Why be so sweet to you, why go out of his way to spend time with you, if all he wants is a one night stand?

"Are you serious?"

"Obviously. How much do you charge?"

You act without thinking and slap him right across his face.

The sound of it is terribly sharp in the open quite of the parking lot. It leaves your palm stinging. You freeze, terrified of what you've just done.

He doesn't move, his head turned to the side from the force of your slap. Slowly, he touches his fingers to his cheek. His expression is unreadable.

Oh, you're so dead. You just hit a yakuza. A guy who probably breaks faces everyday, who has who knows how many felonies to his name.

Your first instinct is to apologise, say you weren't thinking and that you're so so sorry. You lift your chin and squash down that part of you.

"I'm not for sale."

The quiet stretches out, tense and dangerous. He turns away and opens the car door for you. He doesn't meet your eyes.

"I understand now. Gomen'nasai [I'm sorry]."

The drive home is terribly quiet. You keep expecting him to lash out - hit you or humiliate you for daring to slap him like that.

He doesn't. He just keeps eyes on the road.

When you reach your building, he follows you to the door and rests his hand on the frame above your head. You can feel him behind you, close enough for his breath to tickle the back of your neck.

"I can't buy you."

"No."

"But I want you."

You pull in a shuddering breath. "Earn it."

You shut the door without turning back.

He doesn't show up at the club for the next week. At first you're on edge - what if he gets you fired? Or worse, does something to your brother?

But your boss doesn't mention anything and your brother keeps coming home in one piece. Slowly, you relax. Tell yourself that he's done with you now that you won't give him what he wants. You try and ignore the way it hurts.

When he does finally show up, he's dangerously tipsy. He yanks you out of your booth in the middle of a date and leaves the house mother to bow and apologise to the customer.

You try not to make a scene as he pulls you along behind him. But you look about desperately for any of the other yakuza. Where the hell are they when you need them?

Finally, he drops you in a booth in the corner of the club and collapses across from you. His hair is messier than you've ever seen it and there's a feverish wildness in the way he looks at you.

"Fine. I'm here. Let me earn your love."

You rub your arm and scowl at him. "Your idea of winning me over is to leave a huge bruise on my arm?"

He runs his hands through his hair. "Hell, I don't know. I've never had to win a girl over before."

"Yeah right. I've seen the girls you go out with. There's no shortage of women in your life."

He looks you in the eye. "Bought and paid for." He gestures at the table and at you. "Not like this. Not like you."

That gives you pause. It makes sense. Gangsters don't exactly have the time to go on Sunday morning brunch dates or meet the family.

"So why not just pay someone else?"

You don't say it out loud but the rest of your question is clear. Why me?

"I...I don't want to. Setsumei suru no wa totemo muzukashīdesu [It's so hard to explain]. But I don't want anyone else."

A confession from a yakuza was not at all on your list on fun and lighthearted tourist activities. You're not entirely sure how to deal with it.

Your sense is screaming at you to be smart. And when is dating a criminal ever smart? You're supposed to get yourself and your brother away from the underworld, not get roped deeper in. And what happens if you want to break up? When has a man with a gun and too many scars ever taken a heartbreak well?

And yet...

You want him. Stupidly, against all sense, you want to be with him. He's dangerous. He probably only wants to fuck you. He has too much power over your life. He might never let you leave him.

And still you want him.

You take a deep breath. "Come over tonight and I'll cook you something. And if my cooking doesn't change your mind then... then we can talk about it."

He smiles at you and the wild look in his eye seems to finally dim.

"Anata ga watashi o oidasou to shite mo dekinakatta [Baby, you couldn't get rid of me if you tried]."

You weren't lying when you said you were a terrible cook. When he finally arrives, the rice is somehow both burnt and slightly undercooked and your curry is severely under-salted.

You scrunch your nose when you take a bite. "This is awful."

"You cooked it." He takes another bite. "And I hate to say it, but I've had worse."

You push your bowl away and mutter, "I didn't think rice could be so complicated. I followed the instructions and everything."

He takes another bite. "I can make decent rice. And udon."

"So between the two of us, there's only one good cook? Shameful."

He adds some salt to his bowl. "Neither of us ever has the time to cook anyway, so I don't know why you're surprised."

You shake your head and watch him. He's halfway through your abysmal culinary concoction and somehow not green in the face.

"You never talk about yourself," you tell him.

He avoids your eyes. "I'm not that interesting."

"But I am?"

"Yes." There's a quiet fierceness to his answer that makes your heart stutter.

"Tell me a secret about yourself."

It's his turn to study you. "A secret."

"That's what I said."

He considers you for a long moment before reaching up and undoing his shirt buttons. He turns his back to you and let's his shirt fall away.

You gasp. His tattoo covers his entire back. It's every bit as intricate as you suspected - there's lotus flowers between his shoulder blades and a spider inked below his ribcage.

But it's the snake that takes up most of the space. It curls and unwinds across his back, every scale painstakingly inked. It's hissing mouth rests on his shoulder blade, opposite his heart.

He flinches when you touch him, but doesn't ask you to stop. You run your fingertips up his back, tracing the snakes coiling body.

"It's incredible."

He doesn't answer you. Eventually your fingers come to rest on his neck.

He reaches back and takes hold of your wrist. He draws it forward and tilts his head to press a kiss against your pulse. You wonder if he can feel the way your heart jumps when he touches you.

"Do you want to know the real secret? I go home at night and lie awake thinking about you."

You lean forward and rest your forehead against his bare back. "What do you think about?"

He inhales sharply. "Your voice... your lips... your body."

You laugh a little and your warm breath on his skin makes him shiver. "You're shameless."

"Mattaku hajishirazuna [totally shameless]."

You tilt his head towards you and kiss his cheek.

You can feel him smile against your lips. When you pull away, he turns to you and cups your jaw.

Your Japanese has gotten better, but you don't understand what he whispers before he kisses you.

"Watashi Kazu anata ni koiwoshiteiru, soshite watashi wa tomaranai [I'm falling in love with you and I can't stop]."

He presses his lips against yours, so much hungrier this time. His hand slips from your cheek to the nape of your neck to pull you closer to him.

"My girl, my pretty girl. Hanaretakute mo hanare rarenakatta [I couldn't let you go even if I wanted to]."

He presses hot kisses against your throat. His grip on your neck almost painfully tight.

"Hitsuyōniōjite, anata no kyōdai ni wa nan-nen mo shakkin o showa seru koto ni narudeshou [gonna keep your brother in debt for years if I have to]."

The rest of his sentence is little more than a growl. "Nanrakano hōhō de anata ni watashi o aishite morau tsumoridesu [gonna make you love me back one way or another]."

The one downside of courting a yakuza is not understanding everything he says. But maybe it's safer that way.

[lolab4t]

off duty - fluff

18 + part two

pairing: avenger!bucky barnes x fem!avenger!younger!reader summary: after a rare night off, you stumble back into avengers tower at 2 am.. tipsy, feet hurting, and definitely not expecting to run into bucky barnes on the couch. word count: 5.8k warning(s): light cursing, alcohol consumption/intoxication, fluff, use of nicknames, humor, age gap, mild suggestive language, reader is a young adult avenger, reader is described as wanting to party a/n: here's my first fic! it's a throwback to the avengers before the infinity war. i really hope you enjoy :) and if you do, please like, comment, or reblog! <3

cherry - lana del rey

being a young adult and an avenger at the same time wasn't easy. you wanted to be like others your age... party, stay out late, maybe dance with a random guy you found mildly attractive under the dim nightclub lighting, then bolt when you actually saw his face in the light. hell, you would settle for just shopping or grabbing lunch with your friends, however mundane that sounded.

but, as a full-time avenger, you weren't privy to this lifestyle. the main issue was your schedule. being an avenger isn't exactly a 9–5 job... it's more 24/7. you're meant to always be ready to jump into a mission when needed. with your time mainly consisting of training, meetings, and missions, you didn't exactly have free time.

this didn't stop your friends from pushing, though, and they eventually got through. so, after a few long conversations of begging stark, here you are, stumbling into the elevator of the avengers tower at like 2 in the morning, ever so slightly intoxicated. who can blame you? it was your first night off in a while; of course you took advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and got shitfaced. you might regret it during training later that day, but for now, all that mattered was that you had fun with your friends.

you did regret wearing heels, though. you wanted to trade in your boots for something more fun tonight, but god, did your feet hurt. you were also dying to get out of your minidress. considering your wardrobe now reflects your job and only consists of suits and very little casual clothes, you had to borrow this dress from your friend. you were beginning to remember why you never liked to wear dresses even before joining the avengers.

the elevator dinged, and the door opened to the top floor, the avengers' quarters. you dragged yourself out, hair messy, dress slightly hiked up, and feet already blistering. your makeup made it clear you had been sweating on a dancefloor not long ago. you headed to your room when a voice stopped you in your tracks.

"where ya been?"

you turned to the source, shocked to see bucky barnes sitting on the sofa. he was laid back, one arm draped lazily on the backrest, and the other on his knee. he was almost smirking, likely having a good idea of your whereabouts based on your appearance.

you and the winter soldier weren't exactly close. he was a very quiet and reserved guy, usually a man of few words. your interactions mainly consisted of short conversation and sometimes catching him staring at you on the quinjet or in meetings. you never really thought much of it.

but his tone... his expression right now was different. it was weird, but a good weird.

"why're you awake?" you huffed, walking toward the couch.

"couldn't sleep," he stated simply, scanning your form with that smug look on his face. "you have a fun night?" he chuckled to himself a bit.

"yeah, i went out with some friends," you replied, sitting on the couch. you began fiddling with your heels, wanting to go ahead and relieve yourself of the pain. however, the alcohol was messing with your coordination, and you were struggling rather pathetically.

noticing the pout forming on your lips and the clear trouble you were having, bucky snickered, speaking in his gruff voice, "need some help?"

you looked up at him and nodded, still pouting. without a word, he moved a bit closer to you and curled his fingers around your ankles, a soft gasp escaping your lips as he rested them across his lap. you were reclining into the corner of the sofa now, watching him in shock. he hummed as his fingers slipped through the straps of the heels, sliding them off your feet gently. he set them down carefully, his free hand absentmindedly rubbing your calves.

"i've never seen you in anything but your boots," he grinned, turning his head toward you. "so, how much did you drink?" his grin turned into a knowing smirk.

you scoffed, pulling your legs away, drawing your knees to your chest. the short dress wasn’t doing you any favors, and you were probably flashing him, but bucky never looked. he was a gentleman... at least in the ways that mattered. you groaned, rubbing your face sleepily. no point in pretending.

"too much," you muttered.

"yeah, i can tell. you practically stumbled out of the elevator," he chuckled, eyes following your every move.

you let out a half-laugh, sheepish. your head dropped to rest on your knee as you sighed.

"kill me."

"not tonight, doll. i’m off duty."

your head lifted slightly, an eyebrow raising. "did you just call me ‘doll’?" you snickered at the old-fashioned nickname, trying to hide how much it made your heart beat faster.

he smirked, leaning back again with that maddening ease. "i dunno. you kinda look like one."

was he flirting? surely not. he probably saw you as some annoying kid.

"alright, old man. what do you call natasha then? sugar? darling?" you smiled lazily, thinking of more old-timey terms of endearment.

"hell no. she’d break my jaw," he grinned.

"and you think i won’t break your jaw?" you smirked, raising a brow.

bucky scoffed out a laugh. "oh, i'm sure you can, but i don't think you would."

"if i wasn't tipsy, i might've. you're getting off easy this time, grandpa," you giggled, starting to slur your words. your eyelids were beginning to feel heavy, and you found your head resting on your knee again.

bucky laughed at your slurred speech, not sure if it was the alcohol or just exhaustion. "you okay, doll?"

"mhm," you hummed, obviously dozing off.

"alright, i guess i'll babysit the lightweight," he joked, his grin never faltering.

you eventually drifted off, and so did bucky not long after. you both slept better than you had in a while. that was, until you awoke to the stunned faces of the other avengers. they definitely weren't expecting to find you in bucky's arms on the sofa. hell, you weren't expecting it either.

thanks so much for reading <3

18+ part two

[pandapetals]

The Glasses Stay On

Summary: A quiet evening turns into something far steamier when Joel catches you teasing him while he's wearing those damn glasses he swore he didn’t need.

Pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

Word count: 4k

Content warnings: smut, no plot, joel keeps the glasses on, blowjob, face riding, pet names, no y/n used, established relationship, teasing, banter, not proofread

A/N: divider by @saradika-graphics. i am feeling feral after seeing joel in glasses. it's my first time writing oral sex (blowjob) so...hopefully it's good? also inspired by elliespuns answer on joel asking for eye contact when he eats you out.

All thoughts scattered the moment you stepped through the door.

Joel sat at the kitchen table, shoulders hunched, sleeves shoved to his elbows. He didn’t look up, too focused on the mess of metal and wire in front of him. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and his lower lip was caught slightly between his teeth.

But it wasn’t the project that caught your attention.

It was the glasses.

Thin, silver-framed and slightly crooked—he always refused to wear them around you, brushing off your teasing with a stubborn, "Don’t need ‘em." But here he was, home alone, caught in the act. A quiet, unguarded moment. And for some reason, it hit you low and warm.

His hands moved with surprising precision, thick fingers maneuvering the pliers with rough delicacy that made your mouth go dry. The edge of his brown jacket was rolled to the midpoint of his forearms, a smear of grease trailing across one vein-lined wrist. He looked like something out of a dream you didn’t realize you’d been having.

You didn’t mean to stare. You certainly didn’t mean to feel like this—heart kicking up, thighs pressing together before you even crossed the room.

Your bag hit the floor with a soft thud. Shoes were toed off. You padded closer, heat rising up your neck.

“Well, don’t you look pretty,” you teased, voice lighter than you felt. Your smile curled slowly, eyes drinking him in.

Joel let out a low grunt, not lifting his head. “Don’t start.”

You chuckled under your breath, stopping beside the table. “But you look so cute,” you cooed, hand reaching out before you could stop yourself. Your fingers brushed his jaw, gentle but insistently coaxing his chin up.

He finally looked at you, his eyes slowly lifting just above the rim of his glasses. They were darker now, narrowed beneath furrowed brows, unreadable… but there was something there. A flicker. A tension. Heat coiled low in your belly at the sight of it.

His voice was low and hoarse, scraping at your spine like sandpaper. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, “don’t distract me.”

Your lips parted, breath catching how he said it—gritty, quiet, like a warning—only made your pulse faster.

“Me?” you whispered, placing a hand against your chest with exaggerated innocence. “Distract you? Never.”

Joel huffed a soft laugh through his nose, shaking his head, but his hand faltered slightly as he adjusted the wire he was working on. You saw it—the smallest stutter in his movement. Not much. Just enough to know he wasn’t unaffected.

You stepped closer, just enough for your knee to brush the edge of his thigh under the table. His hand stilled completely.

He didn’t look up this time. Just exhaled slowly through his nose, nostrils flaring. A vein in his forearm twitched, like he was holding something back.

God, he was so handsome like this—jaw tight, lips pressed in a firm line, glasses slipping a little down the bridge of his nose. His shirt clung in places from the house's heat, damp at the collar. One more minute of watching him like this and you would lose it.

Your voice dropped, barely above a hum. “You know,” you said, tilting your head, “if this is what you look like when you’re focused, I might have to start leaving you little projects more often.”

He froze for a beat. Then slowly, he set the pliers down with a quiet clink.

Joel turned in his chair, eyes dragging up your body—deliberate, slow, heat simmering behind his stare. He pushed his glasses up with one finger, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“You keep talkin’ like that,” he muttered, “and you’re gonna find yourself bent over this table ‘fore I even finish fixin’ this damn thing.”

You shook your head slowly, lips curling into a wicked little smirk. Then, without breaking eye contact, you sank to your knees between his legs.

“I’ve got other plans,” you murmured, voice silk-soft, threaded with heat.

Your hands found his knees first—broad, warm, solid beneath your palms. You slid them upward, slow and teasing, feeling the muscle tense beneath your touch as you traced the line of his thighs.

Joel’s breath hitched. Barely audible, but you caught it.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, voice gone gravel-deep. His hands flexed where they rested on the edge of the table. “You ain’t gotta do that, honey.”

He said it like a protest, but there was no weight behind it—no real resistance, just that familiar Joel reluctance, that soft spot he tried to hide behind rough hands and gruff words.

“I want to,” you whispered, looking up at him through your lashes. Your fingers were already at the button of his jeans, popping it open with practiced ease. “You just keep working.”

You winked, dragging the zipper down slowly. The rasp of metal filled the quiet space between you, and you felt the way his thighs tightened beneath your touch—his whole body coiled like a live wire.

Joel cursed again, one hand lifting to pinch the bridge of his nose, half in disbelief, half trying to hold himself together. But his hips shifted, just slightly, a silent surrender.

He still hadn’t looked down at you.

The challenge of it made your pulse race.

You leaned in, pressing a kiss just above the waistband of his boxers, your lips lingering against the warm skin.

Joel’s breath came sharp through his nose.

“Keep your hands steady, handsome,” you whispered, your voice low and playful. “Don’t want you messing up that wiring.”

His answer came through clenched teeth. “You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.”

You weren’t in a rush.

You wanted to savor this—to savor him. Every slow, deliberate motion was part of the tease, your fingers hooking into the waistband of his jeans and dragging them down inch by inch. The fabric scraped rough against your knuckles, and you could feel the heat radiating off his skin before you even reached him.

Joel’s breath came unevenly, his hands gripping the table's edge hard enough to whiten his knuckles.

When his boxers followed, his cock sprang free—already half-hard, heavy, and twitching slightly in the cool air. You let your eyes linger on him, licking your lips without shame. Then you wrapped your fingers around him, dragging your fist down the thick length once… twice…

Joel groaned, deep and guttural. His hips jerked forward against your hand like his body was acting on instinct, chasing more.

You looked up at him through your lashes, your strokes lazy, teasing. Just enough to drive him mad. You were in control now, and he was already starting to unravel.

“Fuck,” he hissed, head falling back slightly, jaw clenched tight. “You’re gonna kill me.”

A smile tugged at your lips. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin beneath the head, then another to the base, watching the muscles in his thighs tense and flex beneath your touch.

You adored him like this.

Unraveling. Wordless. Tension bleeding out of that tightly-wound body because of you.

You dragged your mouth up the length of him, slow as sin, your breath hot and heavy against his skin. Joel’s hand shot out, fingers curling tight into your hair, but he didn’t push—just held, like he needed the anchor.

“I love watchin’ you fall apart for me,” you whispered against him, lips brushing the sensitive ridge.

Joel finally looked down at you, eyes dark and glassy, his chest rising and falling in deep, uneven pulls like he’d just fought his way through a storm.

“Jesus,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “You look so fuckin’ pretty like this.”

The words hit you low and deep, lighting something hot inside your belly. You beamed at him, lips parting in a slow, satisfied smile because you knew exactly what you were doing to him. Knew he could barely hold himself together.

You leaned in and finally took him into your mouth without breaking eye contact.

The warm and heavy taste of him on your tongue made your thighs press together. You kept the pace gentle at first, hollowing your cheeks just enough, letting your lips glide over the sensitive skin as you drew him in.

Joel groaned—deep and rough—and his hips shifted, his body fighting to stay still. One of his hands was still tangled in your hair, not pulling, just holding like he didn’t trust himself not to lose control.

You hummed around him, loving how he twitched against your tongue in response. His breath stuttered. Another soft sound escaped him—a whimper, barely audible, but it sent a pulse of heat straight between your legs.

God, you lived for this. Watching Joel come undone, letting you see the cracks in that hard exterior. Every ragged breath, every broken sound, was a gift—a secret he gave only to you.

Your hands gripped his thighs, fingers digging in for leverage as you took him deeper, the stretch making your eyes water just slightly, but you didn’t stop. Couldn’t. You wanted all of him. Needed it.

His voice came out strangled, wrecked, and desperate. “Fuck—sweetheart, you keep goin’ like that, I ain’t gonna last.”

You pulled back just enough to breathe, letting your tongue flick against the tip before sinking again, taking him deeper this time, allowing your throat to relax as far as you could. His hips bucked, involuntary, a hiss tearing from between his clenched teeth.

Your hands smoothed up his stomach beneath his shirt, feeling his belly tensed under your touch. You could feel it—how close he was—the tremble in his thighs, the low groan vibrating in his chest, the way his fingers gripped your hair like he was hanging on by a thread.

You looked up at him again, eyes wet, lips swollen, mouth full of him, and smiled the best you could.

You wanted him to come apart. To feel it. To lose himself in you.

Joel’s voice cracked low and rough above you. “That’s it, darlin’... fuck.”

His hips jerked, shallow and restrained at first, but then a little deeper and needier. He was trying to hold back, trying not to thrust too hard, but his control was fraying with every flick of your tongue, every slow pull of your mouth.

You let him. 

You welcomed the way he started to fuck into your mouth, hips rolling forward in time with the wet slide of your lips. He was breathing hard now, one hand clenched in your hair, the other braced on the table behind him—his whole body taut, vibrating with the effort of staying upright.

“Shit—sweetheart, I’m—I’m not gonna last,” he gritted out, voice low and broken. “Fuck, you feel too good…”

Your hands smoothed under his shirt again, fingertips brushing his stomach, feeling how it flexed under your touch. You moaned around him, soft and encouraging, and that was it—that did it.

Joel’s breath hitched, his thighs tensed beneath your hands.

“Fuck—fuck,” he choked, voice strangled as his hips snapped forward one last time, his release hitting hard and fast. You felt the twitch of him on your tongue, the warmth spilling into your mouth as he gasped your name like a prayer and a curse all at once.

You didn’t pull away. You took every bit of it, swallowing around him lazily, like you had all the time in the world.

When you finally drew back, a thin string of spit still connected your lips to the head of his cock. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, blinking up at him with that same wicked smile.

“You’re trouble,” Joel rasped, still catching his breath, voice thick and rough like gravel. “Sweet, dangerous fuckin’ trouble.”

You tilted your head, eyes flicking up to where his glasses had slipped slightly down his nose with a slow, satisfied smile. Your fingers gliding down the inside of his thighs, just to feel the aftershocks still buzzing beneath his skin. He was flushed and sweaty, chest rising and falling, shirt clinging to him in all the right places. The sight of him like this—flushed, undone, still wearing those damn glasses—made your smirk deepen.

“You should wear your glasses more often,” you teased, dragging your nails lightly along his thigh. “Kinda makes you look like a professor with a filthy mouth.”

Joel huffed out a weak laugh, head tipping back against the chair with a groan.

“Don’t start,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “You just about killed me and now you’re lookin’ to finish the job.”

You pushed yourself up between his knees slowly, hands braced on his thighs as you leaned in so close your breath tickled the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, I haven’t even started yet,” you whispered, lips brushing barely against his.

His hand came up to cup the side of your neck, thumb stroking slow against your jaw. The heat in his gaze had shifted, less wrecked, more focused. Grounded. Dangerous in a different way.

“Is that so?” he murmured, voice still low but steadying, a challenge creeping back in. “Guess it’s my turn, then.”

You opened your mouth to protest—to tell Joel he didn’t have to, that he could sit back down and finish whatever project had his attention before you rudely distracted him.

But then he gave you that look.

That smirk. That slow, knowing curl of his mouth paired with eyes that dragged over your body like he was undressing you.

“Don’t act like you don’t want me to make you feel good, sweet girl,” he murmured, voice all gravel and heat.

His words alone sent a spark straight through you—low, heavy, and impossible to ignore. Your thighs pressed together, the aftershocks of your earlier teasing still lingering between them.

“Joel, you don’t—”

He didn’t let you finish.

Instead, he stood up, towering over you, then bent just enough to hook his arms around your waist. You let out a startled laugh as he lifted you clean off the ground and slung you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

“Joel!” you squealed, half laughing and breathless, but your protest died when your eyes landed on the sight before you—his ass—still exposed from where you’d dragged his jeans down earlier.

You grinned, biting your lip, but the amusement twisted into something hotter the moment Joel’s palm came down in a firm, playful smack against the curve of your ass.

“Don’t tempt me,” he said, voice low, barely above a rumble. You could feel it against your stomach where your body pressed against his.

Then, almost to himself, more thoughtful than teasing. “What should I do for you, honey…”

You shivered at the question—not because you didn’t have answers, but because it came out like a promise. Like he wasn’t just thinking about giving you pleasure—he was planning it. Mapping it out in that careful, deliberate way, Joel did everything.

As he carried you toward the bedroom, your fingers curled into the hem of his jacket, nails scraping lightly against his lower back.

“You’re such a caveman,” you muttered, trying to sound annoyed. But your voice came out breathy, wrecked with anticipation.

Joel chuckled, one hand sliding up to grip your thigh.

“Yeah, but you like it when I drag you off like this,” he said, shouldering the bedroom door open. “Don’t think I didn’t see the way you smiled when I smacked your ass.”

He dropped you onto the bed with a gentle thud, your back hitting the mattress and bouncing slightly. Before you could sit up, he crawled over you, glasses still somehow on, those eyes burning into yours like you were the only thing he wanted to see in the world.

“Now,” he said, his voice dropping to a near-growl as he kissed a slow path down your neck, “lemme return the favor.”

Joel undressed you in a blur of rough hands and reverent kisses—fingers tugging at fabric, mouth tracing the skin he exposed, piece by piece. He didn’t rush, but he didn’t waste time either, like he couldn’t stand the thought of you being covered for a second longer than necessary.

By the time you were bare beneath him, chest rising and falling with anticipation, his touch softened—thumb and forefinger teasing your nipples with slow, deliberate rolls that had you gasping beneath him.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he muttered, almost to himself, eyes drinking you like something sacred. Then he dipped lower, kissing a slow, open-mouthed path down your stomach, dragging his stubble just enough to make you squirm.

You braced for it—for him to settle between your thighs, but instead, Joel pulled back.

You blinked, breath caught in your throat as he stripped out of his jacket and shirt, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the sweat-slick heat of him. Then, with surprising ease, he lay flat on his back and shifted you with him, guiding your thighs to straddle his chest, then higher, until you were hovering above his face.

“Joel,” you said, half-breathless. “What are you—? I thought you were gonna return the favor.”

He smirked, brow arched, the picture of smug, ruined perfection beneath you.

“I am, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice a gravelly promise. His hands gripped your hips, firm and possessive, and dragged you up a little higher until your knees were planted on either side of his head, your pussy just inches above his mouth. “You like riding so much…” His gaze flicked up, hot and hungry. “So ride my face.”

Your breath caught, stolen clean out of your chest.

You let out a quiet, stunned laugh, but it faltered when you met his eyes. He wasn’t joking. There was no teasing in his expression now—just heat, need, and the kind of patience that made your stomach flip.

“Joel,” you breathed, your voice trembling, your fingers curling into his hair for balance.

You’d done this before, but never like this. Never with him lay out like a man ready to worship. His hands coaxing you down, his mouth open, waiting, like he was the lucky one.

And fuck… maybe he was.

In this moment, as his grip tightened and he pulled you gently down to his lips, you felt like you were the one about to be worshipped.

“C’mon, darlin’,” he said, voice low and reverent as his breath ghosted over your skin. “Don’t be shy now. Let me taste you.”

You leaned down slightly, breath hitching as you reached for the bridge of his glasses, fingertips brushing the metal.

Joel gently batted your hand away, his voice low and commanding, but soft around the edges.

“Nah,” he murmured, eyes locking with yours beneath the lenses. “I wanna see you. Wanna see how pretty you look when you come.”

The words landed like a punch to your gut—hot and heavy, straight between your thighs. Your body tensed in response, breath stalling in your chest. The idea of him watching—really watching—every twitch, every gasp, every moment of you falling apart on top of him?

It short-circuited your brain.

You barely had time to respond—no witty retort, no teasing comeback—before Joel’s grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into your skin in that possessive way he always touched you when his restraint started to slip.

And then he pulled you down onto his mouth.

You gasped loudly, the sound ripping from your throat as your hips met his face. His tongue was already there, already moving, hot and slow and devastating between your folds.

Your hands flew forward, scrambling until you found the headboard. Gripping it like a lifeline, your thighs trembled on either side of his head.

“Joel—” you choked out, but it was barely a sound.

He groaned into you in response, the vibration making your spine arch. His hands slid from your hips to your ass, holding you in place, guiding your movement—urging you to grind against his mouth.

He wanted you to ride. Wanted to feel it. Wanted to watch every second through those damn glasses like it was his favorite view in the world.

You looked down and nearly fell apart again.

Joel’s eyes were open, locked on yours—dark and intent, his lashes damp with sweat, the lower half of his face already glistening. He looked wrecked and entirely in control all at once.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, rolling your hips without meaning to, chasing the pressure, the friction of his tongue dragging through your slick.

He groaned again, his grip flexing, his mouth working you with purpose now—slow circles, firm flicks, sucking gently on your clit before diving back in with messy, open-mouthed hunger.

You couldn’t look away. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

Joel didn’t stop or even blink as he kept watching you. 

“Joel… oh, fuck, right there—” you moaned, voice cracking as your fingers dug harder into the headboard, knuckles white with the effort to stay grounded.

He didn’t let up.

Joel’s mouth moved with deliberate, devastating precision—his tongue lapping over your clit in slow, firm strokes, just the way he knew would push you over the edge. Every flick, every pull of his lips sent shocks through you, your thighs trembling where they bracketed his face.

He was relentless. His hands gripping your ass, holding you down against his mouth as if he knew you were close, as if he could feel it in the way your body started to twitch, to quake. His stubble scraped deliciously along your inner thighs, raw and unfiltered, the kind of burn you’d crave after it was over.

You were sweating, skin flushed and damp, the air thick and heavy around you. Every nerve felt on fire. Your back arching, hips rocking helplessly against him, chasing every bit of friction his mouth offered.

Your head tipped forward, forehead pressing against the cool wood of the headboard as the tension inside you twisted tighter and tighter, impossible to contain.

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, your voice barely recognizable—hoarse, wrecked. “Joel, please—right there, don’t stop—”

He groaned beneath you, the sound sending another ripple of heat through your core. One of his hands slid between your legs, two fingers slipping inside you with ease—thick, perfect, curling just right as his mouth stayed locked on your clit.

The sensation shattered you.

Your entire body seized, hips jerking forward as the orgasm slammed into you. A cry tore from your throat, as wave after wave rolled through you, pleasure sparking like electricity from your core to your fingertips.

Joel didn’t stop.

He kept working you through it, drawing out every last twitch, every helpless moan, until your legs went weak and your grip on the headboard loosened.

When you finally opened your eyes, panting and dazed, Joel was still beneath you—his lips wet, beard damp, and those goddamn glasses still on as he looked up at you like you were his favorite sin.

“Pretty when you beg,” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction.

You took a shaky breath, your body still trembling with the echoes of release as Joel guided you down onto the bed. His movements were deliberate. He hovered for a second, eyes scanning your face, like he needed to make sure you were still there, still okay.

You were. You just felt like you’d melted into the mattress.

His hands smoothed over your hips, then your thighs, grounding you with his touch. You could feel how gentle and attuned he was to every little shiver running through you. Like he didn’t just want to hold you—he wanted to protect whatever fragile thing had bloomed between you in that moment.

“So goddamn pretty,” Joel murmured, voice hoarse and low as he leaned down to kiss you.

The kiss was soft and slow. You could taste yourself on his lips, the faintest salty-sweet tang, and instead of embarrassment, it only made your stomach flip again.

Your fingers found the back of his neck, curling into the damp hair at his nape, stroking gently. His weight was warm above you, comforting, and you let yourself sink into the feeling of him, skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat.

When he pulled back, you caught sight of his glasses, still clinging to his face, slightly fogged from the heat radiating between your bodies.

You blinked, then let out a soft laugh.

“Oh, shit,” you muttered, reaching up to nudge them crooked on his nose. “I think I bent your glasses.”

Joel gave you that slow, lazy smirk, eyes still dark with the afterglow.

“Worth it,” he murmured.

He peeled them off with one hand and set them aside on the nightstand, not bothering to look at the damage. Then he rolled onto his side, tugging you until your head rested against his chest, one of his arms wrapped tightly around your back.

He kissed the top of your head, his scruff scratching lightly against your scalp.

“Y’alright?” he murmured into your hair, voice softened now, more Joel than ever.

You nodded, pressing your nose to his skin and breathing him in.

“Better than alright,” you whispered.

He hummed low in his throat, content and quiet, fingertips tracing lazy circles along your spine like he never wanted to let you go.

[tonycries]

A Million Dollar Baby! - N.K.

Synopsis. Turns out, rent can be paid in much more than one way.

Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, landlord! Nanami (kinda), oraI (male + fem), cúmplay, reader’s a tease, unprotected, creampíe, down bad FERAL Nanami, spítting, bréeding, messing up his glasses, pantý-stealing, he’s sweet but fúcks so MEAN, mentions of Higuruma, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.8k (wild)

A/N. Decided it was high time I feed my Nanami girlies hehe.

“Just get the money and go.” Nanami deadpans, like a mantra. Giving a rapt knock on your apartment door, “I swear m’making him buy me lunch for this.”

Now, it wasn’t that Nanami was exactly upset about taking over Higuruma’s landlord duties for the day - no, in fact, he was the first one at his friend’s door with a bag of prescription medicine for the other man’s fever and the suggestion to take the day off.

But it was the thought of finally coming face-to-face with you - that mysterious new tenant that’d just moved into his building. The one that had Nanami wondering whether you were really as “sugary sweet n’ irresistible” as Higuruma raved you were. 

Though, he can’t imagine you’d be particularly happy about being woken up at 10am on a Sunday for overdue rent - he certainly wasn’t.

Seriously, he had no idea how Higuruma managed to do this every-

Click!

“Higu- you’re not Higuruma.”

Oh, and suddenly, Nanami gets it.

If he got to see this view, too, then he might just become the landlord himself.

It’s as if you knew you’d be playing with his sanity as soon as you opened that door, dressed in a fitted t-shirt that did absolutely everything to show off every bit of skin he shouldn’t be looking at. Your lips curving into a sinful little smirk when you notice his eyes dancing off that excuse of fabric you call “shorts”.

“Um…” you hum, after a few moments of silence. Leaning against your wooden door frame to give the tall man an appreciative one-over, “Nanami, right? You’re Higuruma’s friend?”

It’s as if the sound of his own name jolts Nanami right back into his senses, clearing his throat as he readjusts his glasses. “Y-yes. Nanami Kento.” And he winces, fuck he’s never stuttered like this. Never, even in the toughest of board meetings. Yet, here he was - making a fool out of himself. 

Knowing he’s completely fucked when your delicious grin only widens, he bows politely, “Apologies for barging in like this, ma’am. But Higuruma’s sick n’ m’here to collect the rent in his place.”

You wave off his formality, introducing yourself. “Ah, of course. I’ve seen you around, always been too nervous to come up and say hello, though.”

And, suddenly, Nanami’s glad you never came up to him to talk out of your own volition, he thinks he’s rather put off embarrassing himself for later. Coughing softly, “I apologize, s’my fault. It was rude of me to not introduce myself first.”

“Well, better late than never, right?” you continue in your smooth tone. Before your eyes catch down his broad shoulders, the bob of his Adam’s apple, the clipboard held between his long, long fingers. “Right- the overdue rent. I swear, Higuruma’s always such a sweetheart, he doesn’t bother to remind me.” Opening your door wider to give Nanami a good look inside your cozy apartment - something forbidden. “Come in come in, I seem to have lost my wallet somewhere in here though, maybe you can help me find it.”

Oh? 

And Nanami knows this is dangerous. He knows this is much more than his simple plan earlier of just “get the money and go”. He knows that little glint in your eye certainly does not bode well for him as soon as he steps through that door. 

Yet, he answers anyway, “Of course, lead the way.”

Every bit of small talk in your sultry voice has Nanami gulping, loosening his favorite yellow tie while he follows you inside. Averting his eyes from the curve of your shorts, he takes in the neat state of your apartment. 

That is, until-

“Here we are.” you lead him to a towering pile of clothes piled unceremoniously on your tv room couch. Gesturing airily at the mess, “I’m sure I left my wallet in one of my pants, so you can just sit here until I-”

“I’ll do it.” Nanami’s quick answer stuns the both of you momentarily. But before you can resist, he’s shrugging off his jacket, ignoring the heat of your gaze when he bunches up his sleeves to reveal strong, veined forearms. “It’s only fair, since m’bothering you so early.”

You chuckle, “Oh? What a gentleman, we can do it together then, handsome.”

So here he was - sat on your cramped couch, your thighs flush against his, tackling your laundry. This was definitely a far cry from getting the rent and leaving - but, alas, Nanami can’t find it in himself to complain when he neatly folds up your clothes. 

Whereas you were hastily throwing them god-knows-where, hissing, “Where- is it-” 

“Patience.” he’s humming, placing another t-shirt on your coffee table. “Higuruma’s in no hurry, he can barely get out of bed right now.”

You click your tongue in frustration, “But you, Nanami-”

“-are perfectly fine helping you out.” Nanami cuts in, flashing you a gentle smile. Your eyes widen at the sight of a soft dimple at the corner of it. Which makes him tear his gaze from that pretty pout on your lips to turn back to his dwindling half of the pile, “Besides, it would be a shame if such a nice apartment was messed up by- by-”

Fuck. 

Was that what he thought it was?

His fingers tremble, looking so fucking big wrapped around that those tiny strings of hot pink. Sinful. Obscene. Shit, if he tried he could just rip it to pieces with his bare hands right now - even if you’d been wearing it.

“Hm?” you’re gasping at the sight of the man before you, body stiff, ears a guilty red, gaze hardening at where he was holding onto one of your panties. Oh, shit. You pluck the offending piece of material from his hands, “Oh- whoops. Um- that can’t really be folded.” Throwing a wink at the flustered man - and the lingerie right back at him. “Evidently.”

It was all too much for Nanami, and he’s bringing a hand up to cover his blush - before ripping it off like it burned when he realized it was the same hand he held your panties with. 

Somehow, he manages to choke out, “Maybe- maybe we should try looking somewhere else.”

And it was true - the few messy clothes now leftover (and…Nanami couldn’t forget, your underwear) didn’t show any signs of hiding your wallet. 

“If you say so~” you muse, getting up from your seat - only to get down on your knees. Right in front of Nanami’s manspread legs. 

“Wh-what are you-”

“Under the couch.” you interrupt, enjoying this way too fucking much for the poor man’s sanity as you flash him a cheeky grin. And he smacks himself mentally for letting his imagination be toyed by your teasing whims. “I might’ve dropped it under the couch, so won’t you be a dear and help lift it while I look?”

He couldn’t get up fast enough, almost stumbling over his long legs to crouch down beside you - just anywhere away from this scandalous position. “Ready?” Nanami rasps, biceps bulging tight against his button-up when he easily tilts over your couch. 

“More than.” you take a second longer to admire him before going back to your mission.

Which - whatever’s left of the rational part of Nanami’s brain really thinks might just be to drive him insane instead finding that fucking- what was it- wallet? 

“Hmmm seems it’s not here either, right, Ken?” He doesn’t know what he’s reeling at more - the fact that you used his first fucking name or the way you were arched so teasingly like that. On your knees, spine curving into a delicious little bend that has the crotch of his pants growing just a bit tighter. And- shit he was wrong. So, so wrong. Because those weren’t a sinful pair of shorts like he’d initially thought after all, instead, they were more like underwear. Flimsy and thin, bunching up perfectly at the crease of your hips. 

You were captivating. 

At his heavy silence, you bat your lashes so deceivingly innocently, “Oh? Was it the name? Sorry, Nanami, you’ve just helped me so much that it ah- slipped out. I won’t do it again.”

“No.” he grits out, the both of you surprised by the ragged hitch in his answer. Already so disgustingly missing the sound of his first name rolling off your tongue. “I’d like it if you called me that- ‘Ken’ that is, if you want.”

“Well then, Ken.” you brush up unnecessarily against his sculpted body as you move to get up and dust yourself down. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my wallet’s not down there.”

Shit, he thinks, looking down at the empty spot of carpeted floor for the first time. You little tease, you knew what you were doing. 

Grinning unabashedly as you tug on his arm, “Come on! There’s one more place to look.”

As you pulled him along to the kitchen, Nanami had held out the hope that maybe - just maybe - this would be an actual attempt at finally paying off your overdue rent. Maybe he could walk out of this unscathed and holding onto whatever’s left of his dignity (and lacking the raging boner that was threatening against his slacks right now).

But every feeble hope of that was thrown out the window the moment you instructed him to hold the rickety, certainly unsafe chair propped up in front of your counter steady. 

“I swear I must’ve left it somewhere up there.” you grumble. Not wasting a moment before climbing onto it and rifling on top of your high cabinets. “No harm in trying, right?”

He gulps, palms getting sweaty on the wooden back of the chair with the effort to keep it still. “Are you sure you left it on top of there?”

“Huh? Yes yes, of course.” you answer absentmindedly. Your shirt snagging on your arms as you raise them even higher, “Think you can see something from down there?”

If Nanami could see the top of your shelves, then he didn’t want to find out - not when one glance upwards blessed him with a forbidden glimpse right up your t-shirt. All it took was a flash of skin before he was hit with the realization that you weren’t wearing a bra. 

“Ken~”

“Fuck!” he breathes, when he looks up involuntarily at the sound of his name. Face burning when you raise a brow, “U-um, m’not sure.” 

Yeah, he sure could see something - hell, he wanted to see more. 

He urgently swipes at the sweat slowly beading at his forehead, immediately regretting his actions when the chair tips ever-so-slightly. “Shit, I apologize, n’ I also apologize for what I’m about to do-” He gasps over your soft yelp, before wrapping two warm hands around the small of your waist. Searing. Soft. Planting you softly on the firm floor like some lil’ ragdoll, “-but I can’t let you put yourself in danger this way.”

Before you know it, you’re back in the safety of the ground. Stood right in front of a determined Nanami as he cranes his head up in your stuffy kitchen, backed up against the counter as he takes over looking for your wallet. 

“Let me, instead.” he grunts. 

But oh even with how genius he thought it was to look instead - even with how he stopped himself from looking at that sinful little slice of heaven - Nanami Kento had another problem. 

A problem that presented itself in the way that your body was pressed flush against his muscled chest, two of your thighs straddling his thick ones. Caged perfectly against him, exactly in the way he shouldn’t have been imagining - but did, anyway. And shit if he angled his body just right he could feel the heat of your core - the way your eager front was drawing in closer. 

“Ah-” he grunts when your soft palm glides lightly across his pecs. Jaw clenching while he tries to blink his hazy eyes back into the glaringly empty top of your cabinets, “My apologies, seems uh- your wallet isn’t- here-” 

Each word is wrenching out of his pretty, worry-bitten lips, a ragged gasp with every accidental brush of the pads of your fingers at the hem of his tight pants. 

“It isn’t there, hm?” you purr, a low honeyed tone that has all the blood in Nanami’s body rushing to his fat cock. “Well what do you suppose we do about that, Ken? Since I can’t pay the rent?”

Nanami doesn’t know whether you’re talking about the rent or that massive tent in his pants he really couldn’t explain away. Instead, he spits, “You knew what you were hah- doing, didn’t you, you lil’ minx? You don’t have your fuckin’ wallet here.”

And the air is so thick, so heady that he can only bring himself to pull away mere millimeters from where he was hovering near your face. 

But even that was too much - and in a split-second, you have your deft fingers wrapped tightly around his speckled tie. “And if I did?” Pulling close enough to ghost your lips against his, “You’re smart, Ken. So m’asking once again, what do you suppose we do about that?”

As if to draw out the answer from him, you’re giving a long, hard drag of your hot cunt along the outline of his swollen cock. You could almost feel every throb and nudge of his veins along the side, and it made you salivate.

“I suppose…” he answers, guttural, like some dark, primal part of himself is peaking its head out with each hot breath fanning your face. A large hand coming up to squish your cheeks into a pretty pout, pursing your lips perfectly for him. “That you hit me if you don’t like this, darling.”

And fuck for all how much of a gentleman Nanami acted - he kissed the exact opposite. All but ruining your lips in such a messy clash of teeth and tongue and him. Devouring you. 

“Fuck- shoulda known.” he’s letting out a humorless laugh, swiping his tongue across your glossy lower lips. “Should’ve known when you invited me in. Such a tease.” Drinking in your breathless moans, sucking on your tongue, “Such a- ngh- horny lil’ thing. This what you wanted all along?”

You hum into the kiss so drunk, “Maybe.” Dancing your hands all across where his toned muscles were fighting against the restraints of his shirt, “But you really can’t blame me.”

And maybe it was true - maybe this was inevitable. Either way, Nanami didn’t know, nor did he really care - not when you were letting out such sweet gasps when he bites down on your bottom lip - just a little punishment. Kissing his way down your heated skin, giving a languid lick at where he suspected that secret sensitive spot on your neck would be. 

“Oh! Ken.” you moan. Bingo. 

He’s unbuttoned his shirt now - or maybe it was you. Fuck, either way you couldn’t tear your eyes off of his pretty washboard abs. Curving and dipping like he was sculpted meticulously. 

And that’s all it takes for your already-dripping cunt to grow impossibly wetter, and he could feel it leaking through those flimsy cotton shorts of yours. Forming a messy sheen right at that damp spot of precum on his pants.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet, my love.” Nanami murmurs, swiping a thumb down that sopping wet slit of yours through your shorts. Just marveling at the way that simple touch makes another wave of your sweet sweet juices bead through the fabric. “Hah, absolutely dripping. This all f’me?”

At your half-delirious nod, he flashes you a smile so handsome that it only makes you squirm more impatiently. “How sweet.” Giving your nose a chaste peck, “So good to me. So needy.”

“You’re the same, though.” you accuse, hotly.

And it’s true - Nanami couldn’t deny the aching need of his cock, the way he all but moans in response, “Then tell me- hngh tell me what you want. I’ll give you- anything-” Managing to get out through hot, sloppy kisses planted right on your wobbly lips, “-anything.”

But, ah, you always did manage to surprise him. And instead of an answer, you’re getting right down on your knees in front of him like you did not too long ago - though, this time, you’re reaching up to fumble with his belt. 

“Wan’ taste you.” you huff when his expensive notches prove too stubborn. “Wan’ feel you in my mouth so bad, Ken.” 

“Oh yeah?” he chuckles darkly, easily loosening his belt and his pants along with it. Rock-hard cock sensitive and just smearing a pool of precum where his fat head springs up to hit your lips. Such a pretty shade of gloss. Nanami laces his hand on your scalp to guide you forwards, slowly, “Then take it. Take it f’me, pretty.”

He was so pretty that you possibly couldn’t not - a delicate blushing red at his very tip, glistening and absolutely soaked in precum down the long path to his creamy base, his heavy balls. So girthy that it made your cunt clench in anticipation.

And then there’s no more talking. Hell, you barely get enough time to admire Nanami’s massive cock before he’s bullying it between your lips. Wetting his thick, angry tip with your saliva, just enough to eye down at the way your lips bulge so prettily around him. 

“Gonna hafta open w-wider if you wanna take me, pretty. Open hah- yeah jus’ like that.” He’s reeling your head back, all the way till you were just kissing at his thick, angry tip. “Now spit on it, my love.”

Despite being the one to say it, Nanami’s mouth drops into a fucked-out little oh! of disbelief when you’re readily decorating his swollen length with a steady stream of spit. Your soft palms smearing the saliva along his length. 

You’re slurring, “After all, I still haven’t found my wallet, right?”

And oh he doesn’t even have to ask for what comes next - doesn’t even have to make a noise. 

Immediately, you take him in inch by fucking inch. The deliciously salty twang taking over your senses, and he’s so hot and heavy over your tongue. Veins pulsing in a dizzyingly throb! throb! throb! against the roof of your mouth.

“Are you- are you sure you can-” You shut up his doubts by rubbing your hot tongue along every sensitive ridge you could reach. Bobbing your head at a quick, ruthless little pace to milk his pretty cock for all he’s worth. 

Nanami’s eyes roll to the back of his head. Was this what heaven felt like? 

“F-fuuuck, oh you-” his words are catching in his throat with each flick of the tip of your tongue against his sensitive slit. Just the way he liked it. “-ngh guess that sharp mouth of yours wasn’t just hah- good for teasing, huh?”

He’s running his mouth a mile a minute - the complete opposite of the reserved man that’d come knocking on your door. Hips grinding up into your warm tongue mindlessly, slow. Languid - like he didn’t even realize what he was doing. “Oh you feel so heavenly- so fuckin’ good it should be illegal.”

You can’t help but bat your teary eyes up at him in response, blinking away the lustful haze to drink in that utterly obscene sight above you. Nanami’s neat, blond hair uncharacteristically disheveled, stray strands sticking to his furrowed brow. Only deepening with each wrecked sigh that leaves his plump lips every time his abs flex with the movement of his fat head hitting the gummy back of your throat. 

He looks so pretty it makes you moan. 

Those electric vibrations going all the way down that wet divot on the tip of Nanami’s painfully hard cock to his heavy balls. 

“Oh shit- shit shit shit feels too good.” his words are slurring together, drunk off the way you gag around him. “Don’t do that don’t-” This only makes you drag your sloppy mouth down him deeper, syrupy moans sticking to

him all the while. 

“Fuck!” Nanami shudders. And he’s pulling you down - hard - barely letting you get a feverish little breath out until your nose is hitting the neat patch of blond at his base. Rubbing up against his toned pelvis. 

Still moving in deep, relentless thrusts inside your gummy cavern. “S’real fuckin’ hard to treat you as nice as I want when you act like that, my love.”

And, of course, the only response he gets are your pathetic, wet gurgles as you take him in faster. Cheeks hollowing to massaging his every sweet spot. Your jaw grinding against his twitching balls with each smack of his hypnotized hips against your mouth, fucking into you the way he wished he could do with your cunt. Frenzied. Sloppy. 

Yeah, this was heaven alright - but you were the fuckin’ devil. 

Of course, you wanted him to treat you like such a slut - so he does. 

Just dragging your stubborn mouth off of his twitching cock, Nanami only reaches down to place an accomplished peck on the pout of your mouth before hoisting you onto the counter. “What? You think I’d really ngh- cum before my darling girl?”

He’s groaning into your mouth, licking at the seam of your candied lips as two strong arms of his spread your legs so far apart it burned. “F-fuck, Ken-”

“Aw look. You’ve got another slutty pair, huh?” he gestures down at the drenched scrap of fabric you so proudly called “panties.” Sliding a thumb underneath to glide it underneath your puffy pussy lips. He’s echoing your sentiment from before, “Said you can’t find your hah- wallet, right?” Well, ya better start makin’ up for that now.”

In all of two seconds, Nanami’s hooking two fingers over your underwear - pulling - ripping. He was right -  Nanami takes a moment to admire your dripping cunt, glistening and needy for him - he could rip those panties right off of you. 

With just one hand pinning you to the cool marble of your counter, the other thumbing open your puffy folds, he’s giving all of your pussy a hot, open-mouthed kiss. 

“Mmm fuck-” he spits into your sloppy hole. Once. Twice. Letting it form a saturated little pool of your juices, before surging back nose-deep with a pained grunt. Again. And again. And again and again- “Jus’ as sweet- as sugary sweet ngh-”

Nanami didn’t think Higuruma knew about this little treasure trove when describing you - though, if he did, then he was well and fully intent on tongue-fucking every little thought out of him right now. 

“Hngh! Shit-” you’re keening when his greedy tongue laps up every bit of your syrupy sweet slick. Alternating - methodically, indecisively - between rolling over your throbbing clit and just dipping into your awaiting entrance. “It feels so- so good, Ken.”

“Yeah that’s right.” he gasps, wrapping those pretty pink lips of his to suck on your clit. Harsh. “Say my name- no, louder. Louder.” 

It’s all you can do to not just scream out his name without your neighbors filing a noise complaint. Dragging your sopping pussy all over his mouth - glistening and obscene right down the bottom half of his face all the way up to smear against his clear glasses. 

Such obscene squelches ring through your kitchen as Nanami keeps making out so messily with your sensitive nub. Ringing in your fucked-out brain, so obscene, so addictive that you barely even register the thick fingers dipping their way around your hole. 

You jolt when the cool metal of his glasses kiss your skin, “O-oh Ken what-” 

“Shhh shhh, darling.” he soothes. The tip of his manicured index circling around your elastic muscle. Hypnotic. “M’gonna take care of you. Gonna take such good-” With this, he’s bullying his fingers inside, “-care of you.”

Tears crinkle at the corners of your eyes at the sheer stimulation. Because for how sweet Nanami was talking you through this, he was absolutely ruthless on your cunt. Not half the man he was this morning - animalistic. Feral, even.

His sharp jaw grinding against your skin, fingers almost a blur with how depraved they were pumping in and out of you. Massaging every hidden corner of your plushy walls, yet you get the feeling that they were calculated. Nanami’s darkened eyes drinking in every whimper and twitch of your body over the glasses inching dangerously downwards. Searching, waiting for that one-

“Ngh!” You worry you’d have fallen off the counter if it wasn’t for Nanami holding you down. Body jolting at sudden electricity running through your veins, “Oh- fuck fuck fuck. Oh my god Ken, there. Right there–”

But before the sentence has even left your heavy lips, he’s hitting your g-spot once more. Easily finding the bullseye that has you bucking and arching into his mouth like such a slut. 

And this time - Nanami lets you use his mouth all you want. The fingers splayed out to pin you down moves to toy with your puffy clit. Rolling between his fingers while he hisses out syrupy sweet praises, “Shit, never liked m’name that much- ngh- but it sounds so pretty on your lips. So sweet. So- oh-” 

The sight of your cunt just beading with need has him kissing it once more. All over your sensitive nub, your ravaged hole, hell, even down to the mess of slick dripping down at your thighs. Faster. Sloppier. No rhythm or rhyme anymore. 

“M’so close.” you whine, weaving your fingers through his blond hair to help ride his face easier. Jolting with each purposeful flick of his tongue. “Gonna cum, Ken.”

“Cum then.” he answers, simply, grinning a guiltily glossy grin, “You’ve got a lot to make up for, right?”

And then you do - stars behind your eyes and that little nickname you’d made Nanami in your mouth. Over and over while he tonguefucks you through your high. 

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck–” you whine, big fat tears rolling down your cheeks eat time he swiped at your sensitive spots, dragging it out longer. Until your soft whimpers were drowning out the squelches from below. Until you were blinking your spotty vision back. Until you were squirming your hips higher up the counter to pull away from Nanami’s unforgiving tactics. “M’too sensitive- Nana-”

He tuts, interrupting your orgasm-drunk babbles, “Tha’s not what you call me.” Pulling away just enough to hum, “All I did was eat this pretty cunt out, darling n’ you already forgot my name?”

You shiver - both at his mean little tone and the absolutely sinful sight between your shaky thighs. Nanami’s lips plump and irritated, eyes foggy - glasses even more so with all the sloppy dredges of spit and your slick.

Shit, you think he’s never looked prettier. 

“Is that so?”

It’s all you hear before you’re hit with his glasses being gently placed onto your nose bridge - followed shortly by the realization that oh, you said that out loud. But Nanami basks in your sudden shyness, giving your lips a chaste, lingering peck. “You dirtied my glasses, y’know. Now you have to make up for that on top of the rent.”

And by the feeling of his thick tip kissing at your pussy lips, you had a very good idea about how you’d be making up for it. Making a mess. Sliding the curve of his head up and down. Up and down up and down up and-

“B-but don’t forget.” you manage to grit out by the time he’s nudging his divot against your clit. “You have to make- hah- make up for-” 

In a fluid motion, you’re reaching your fingers to dig into the irresistible tan skin at his hips, all hard muscle and the thick fabric of where he’d pulled his pants down just enough. You press down on his bulging back pocket, smirk growing at the familiar flash of hot pink you could spy, “-my panties.”

The moment the obscene little accusation leaves your lips, you give a soft tug forwards. Nanami’s towering body being pulled easily to push his weeping tip past your puffy folds. 

“F-fuck.” he’s throwing his head back at the feeling. “You hngh- saw, huh?”

Oh, if he hadn’t been imagining this the moment he’d stepped inside your apartment then Nanami thinks he might’ve just passed out right then and there. 

Because you were so warm, so addictive wrapped around his cock - even when he’s barely even in. That he just has to keep going - after all, it’s for the rent, right?

It’s what he likes to think.

It’s what he whispers - over and over into your open mouth as he bullies his thick cock past your gummy entrance. Letting your plush walls suck the ever-loving soul out of him with each lazy, lingering grind just to fit himself inside. 

“O-oh! Shit-” your nails leave jagged red marks down Nanami’s broad shoulders when he stuffs you full. Desperate. “Y-you’re so big, Ken–” 

At this, you feel Nanami’s girth grow even wider, stretching your walls until it felt like he was molding your poor pussy to the shape. Just reaching into your lungs. You squeal, “Wait- you got bigger- what-”

“I know I know, You got it, my love.” he’s soothing your cries with sugary kisses at the corners of your mouth. Drawing slow, methodical circles on your clit in time with his experimental thrusts. “You got it. You can take it. Shhh shh-” He’s drinking in your cute mewls, cupping your pretty face with his free hand, “You’ll take it right? All of it, like my good girl? You’ve gotta make up for it, right?” At your delirious nod, “Words, pretty.”

“Yes, please.” You buck your hips in a sultry tandem matching his, the cool frame of his glasses still kissing at your skin. “M’gonna take it all like your good girl, Ken.”

Shit, he can feel himself growing even bigger just halfway into you, “Then-” Angling your teary face down to watch the mess down below. The way your greedy cunt was trying to milk each and every inch of him like it was delicious. “-look.”

You can’t tear your eyes away as he delves into you so filthy. 

Not waiting for your pathetic whines about him being “too big” - no, Nanami’s only pulling you back from escaping like some sextoy - his favorite one. Still toying sweetly with your clit while he pushes against that feeble ring of resistance. Once. Twice. Thrice. 

“Ken!” you’re yelping out when he finally bottoms out. Your swollen folds meeting his drenched hilt, blond tufts of hair brushing up against your pelvis. Sighing, ”Finally.”

“Finally?” he’s dragging out his words with an already-crooked, pussydrunk grin. Eyes wild - bewildered almost at how well you were taking him. “S-seriously? Did you say ngh- ‘finally’, my girl?” Each word has him tapping more strength behind those thrusts, faster. Harder. Spitting out so contendly, “Finally- hah. Such a slut f’me, hm?”

He’s plunging into you like such an animal right now, so harsh that it was almost difficult to pull back. To dare subject himself to not be buried inside your dripping cunt for even a split-second. 

In response, you lick a long stripe up the sensitive area of his neck, splaying out a hand to squeeze Nanami’s pec - and the rapid heartbeat you felt beneath it. “You’re not- ngh- any better.”

“I know.” Nanami leers, unabashedly kneading at your sore tits now. Fucking you harder and harder into the counter. Connecting his sweaty forehead with yours to look you right in the eyes as he gruffs, “I’ve been thinking about fucking this pretty cunt as soon as you opened that door, y’know.”

You feel his cock twitch wildly at the confession, dragging against your gummy walls with his tip. Hitting - oh-so-expertly - that one sensitive honeypot of nerves. Which makes Nanami’s mouth fall slack with what a treasure you were. 

“Y-you’re such a-” you’re moans are syrupy and slurring together now. Holding onto the larger man for dear life, “such a pervert, Ken.”

Shit, you were squeezing around him so hard that it was almost impossible to pull out. Abs straining to keep up the loud staccato of skin-against-skin, and Nanami’s long, jagged rams inside your wet heaven.

Nanami’s nosing down your pulse, letting his hot tongue loll out to catch the salty drops of your tears, “Mhm, only for hngh- you. Because you’re my girl now, aren’t ya?”

So easy for him to trawl out those addictive moans with each drag of the upwards curve of his fat cock. Thick tip hitting your g-spot, your cervix - as if he was branding his name into your pretty pussy from the inside. Sloppy. 

Leaving a bruising little Kento. With his erratic fingers pinching and rolling your clit at the same feverish tempo of his cock bullying inside your cunt - Kento. With his heavy balls smacking against your ass, sending jolts of white-hot pleasure all the way up to his sensitive slit, rubbing up against your succubus walls - Kento. With the way your heels were now digging into those dimples at the bottom of his spine, sure to leave marks with the way you were pulling him impossibly closer. So needy - Kento.

Only getting sloppier. The only thing in your mind right now - Kento Kento Kento-

So, really, it makes sense when that’s the only thing you’re capable of getting out once you cum. It sneaks up on you at first, and then all at once - and before you know it, you’re cumming so desperately all over Nanami’s relentless cock. 

Over and over.

Your thighs spasming, such a slutty ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth with each wave of pleasure he’s forcing out of you by targeting your ravaged g-spot. Only a few more of those sloppy, mean thrusts left in the man himself before Nanami’s spilling into your greedy cunt. 

Painting your gummy walls white with each painful squeeze of his balls, he’s still thrusting - as if on instinct. Shoving his seed deeper and deeper down your cum-filled hole until he’s sure it’s overfilled. 

By god were you a vision, he’s thinking deliriously. Tears pooling at your eyes, drool dripping down the corner of your mouth, throat to shoot to do anything but whimper when he keeps going in and out in and out in and-

And if he angled his head just right, he could see the hot globs of cum that take to trickling out from your puffy folds, pooling at a mouthwateringly creamy base around his hilt.

“Ah,” Nanami wastes no time squeezing his index into your already-bulging entrance, pumping the cum slobbering out back in. “Better- hah- better not waste any-” He could barely speak right now, cumming harder than he has in his whole life - in fact, his overworked cock was still shooting out wispy spurts of his seed. Like he couldn’t stop. “-after all, y’haven’t made up for all the overdue rent yet, my love.”

A/N. Concept inspired by this NSFW audio by IchigekiVA that my friend sent me <3

Plagiarism of work not authorized.