#like. sharp objects is better

[chappell-roans]

i do think part of it is because gone girl got a little overexposed and overhyped but like. it's a good thriller, both the book and the movie. it tears holes in true crime, victimhood, white womanhood, sociopathy, gender roles, settling, all this shit?? and i totally enjoy talking about it and analyzing shit to death, trust me, but acting like it's Bad and morally reprehensible, but turning around and loving fight club, american psycho, goodfellas, i need you to be serious rn. what is the problem. "amy dunne is a bad person!!!" yes. and she's fictional.

[hinamie]

i fear i can never date a man bc none of them will ever be makoto tachibana

[book-lover85]

I need need neeeed Sophie to have some fight with the Neverseen where she just lets go

absolutely no fear she just puts all the skills she already has to use and fucking destroys like 5 members on her own

[faerileee]

🔪 PSYCHIATRIST 🔪

Most recent c⚫️m from a friend of her and her partner's Cyberpunk RED character, The Psychiatrist

[cowes]

just finished under the bridge (2024) and wow... what a terrible way to handle such a sensitive topic. rebecca talking about her book is her/the writers talking about the series and i just don't think their vision came across as intended.

e.g. rebecca says it's about young girls of victoria - about violence and isolation. and one of the final ~poignant lines is "it's mercy and mercy alone that transforms the human heart". i see what they were trying to go for, a look into the psychology of what could make someone do that terrible thing and then the psychology of what could make you come to terms with that and forgive.

BUT it ended up being a lot of focus on how sad it made rebecca and warren feel. and that focus just got more and more intense the further into the story - like, as more about the murder was revealed, it became more about rebecca, rather than the killers and, crucially, reena. just bizarre.

in an episode (can't remember which), rebecca says that she doesn't want to write only about reena because that would make it just a sad story. and.

well.

it IS a sad story.

[the-mirror-of-marianne-sheridan]

Sharp objects as a book-to-mini-series adaptation actually isn’t bad so far, I appreciate Amy adams’ subtle accent because it’s much more accurate for small town-to-city people

[tallaennatargaryen]

Wife Speak

Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Synopsis: You asked Bucky to install the security camera a month ago, and he still hasn’t done it. You take matters into your own hands, to his vexation.

Warnings: Bucky's been too busy to do what you asked, you put yourself in slight peril, worried!Bucky, gentle manhandling, protective!Bucky, mention of previous injury, my own lack of construction know-how so I apologize for any inaccuracies, no use of Y/N

This is my first time writing in second person so hopefully I did okay! This was inspired by this short I saw on YouTube.

You were good at a lot of things. The team’s go-to “girl in the chair,” there was no one better at intel, strategy, quick escape plans, and getting into just about any system you were presented with. You’d had the Avengers’ lives in your hands countless times, and never led them to put a foot wrong. Somehow, you, a girl with just a bachelor’s degree, a–perhaps excessive–perfectionist streak, and a mini fridge full of energy drinks to help you stay sharp on overnight missions, had become indispensable to the Earth’s mightiest heroes.

But you couldn’t install a security camera above your front door.

As smart as you were, you were probably equally as uncoordinated. All the bruises in odd places told the tale of your frequent misfortune. Walking by itself often presented a perilous challenge, so standing on a ladder, balancing precariously with expensive equipment and sharp objects in your hands seemed like a perfect recipe for a trip to the ER and a costly bill for tech replacements.

Which was why you’d asked your husband, a super soldier with a metal arm and a keen eye for home repairs, to do it.

A month ago.

And three weeks ago.

And two weeks ago.

And last week.

You were tired of waiting. Bucky, of course, was busy, and often away on missions, but you only ever asked him to do it when he had a moment to spare. He’d said he would, every time you’d asked, but there was still no camera above your front door. On top of it all, the camera had been Bucky’s idea, a little extra security for when he was away on missions; it was one of Stark’s smart cameras, which could differentiate between a mailman dropping off a package and a criminal about to break into the house. Bucky didn’t exactly know how all of that worked, but he was good with the installation, and you both knew better than to assign the job to you. But the camera had sat there for a month, collecting dust on the dining room table, and despite all his promises, you knew it was time to take matters into your own hands.

And maybe get a little payback while you were at it.

It was a warm spring day, and the front door was open to let the breeze in but the screen door was in place to keep the bugs out. Bucky was in the kitchen, making lunch, so he’d be able to hear everything easily, between his proximity, the open door, and his enhanced hearing. Smirking to yourself, you set up the ladder as quietly as possible, knowing that that alone would tip Bucky off and make him come rushing out before you were ready. If this was going to get done today, you needed to execute the full plan.

Picking up the electric drill and the mount for the camera, you put one foot up on the ladder, and held down the trigger of the drill for a few seconds, causing a loud whirring sound to tear through the quiet midday air. Just as you took another step up and held down the trigger again, Bucky’s voice carried out from the kitchen.

“Doll?” he questioned, and it took everything in you not to laugh. You gave no answer, instead only whirring the drill once more as you climbed to the top of the ladder. “What are you doing?”

You might have felt bad about the panic and concern in his voice, but if he’d done this a month ago when you’d asked, you wouldn’t have to go to such lengths to have it be done. Natasha had called it wife speak, when women use their sly little tricks to get their husbands to do what they need to. She used it with Banner, Pepper used it with Tony, Wanda used it with Vision; it was a universal language amongst women when requests and orders just weren’t cutting it.

Holding the mount up against the wall, you furrowed your brow in concentration as you tried to figure out how to hold the mount, place the screw, and drill it in all at the same time with only two hands. Judging by the purposeful footsteps pounding towards the front door, you knew you wouldn’t have to keep trying to figure it out for long. Still, you kept up the ruse, because he needed to think you were serious about doing it yourself if he was going to get it done right this minute.

“Baby, what are you doing?” Bucky asked, voice raising with alarm as he found you balancing precariously on top of the small ladder. Paying him no mind, you decided to just wing it and put the drill into the head of the screw, pulling the trigger to send the screw spinning into the wall. For extra effect, you added a little wobble, just enough to make Bucky worry more but not so much that your uncoordinated self would actually fall. “Honey! Stop! What are you doing?”

“What?” you responded innocently, still not turning around. “I’m putting up the camera.”

“Why?” His hands grasped at your waist, but you pushed him away as you continued your ruse and placed the next screw.

“Because it needs to go up?” you said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, because it was, hello, and you’d asked him to do it so many times. Once more, you placed the drill into the screw head and let it rip, watching it spin into place. Maybe you could do it yourself. Maybe impatience was all it took to overcome your incoordination. 

“Baby. Baby, baby, baby.” Bucky’s hands were on your waist again, this time with a firmer grip so you couldn’t brush him off so easily. “Come off the ladder.”

“It needs to go up, Bucky,” you insisted, milking your moment of acting for all it was worth.

“I know, so I’ll do it, okay? Just please, come off the ladder.”

“I’ve asked you a million times over the last month to do it and you still haven’t, so I’m gonna do it and then I’ll know it's done.”

The drill was slightly stuck in the screw head once it was screwed all the way in. You gave it a tug, and the force of it combined with the resistance of the drill to come loose caused you to tip backwards slightly; for a moment, you thought you might fall, but you regained your balance after a second or two. Still, it was a second or two too long for Bucky, who’d had enough of asking nicely and being patient. 

“Alright, that’s it,” he declared, using his strength and his grip on your waist to lift you off the ladder and set you on the wooden boards of the porch like you were little more than a doll. You almost grinned at the move, as being on the receiving end of his enhanced strength and fierce protectiveness always made your stomach do somersaults. By the time he spun you around to face him though, you had regained your self-control and regarded him with a displeased scowl. “What are you doing, huh, doll? You know I don’t like you up on that thing.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you huffed, “Well, someone has to put the camera up, since you’ve proven yourself incapable.” You turned to step back onto the ladder, but Bucky grasped your arm gently and pulled you to him, maneuvering at the same time to take the drill and the remaining screws from you. You resisted, but even when he was diluting his strength, you couldn’t hope to best him, so instead you started to complain, “Bucky-”

“I know, doll, I know,” he said, voice soft as he pried the drill and screws out of your hands. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and then your nose for extra contrition. “I’m sorry. I should’ve done it when you asked me to, but I’ll do it right now, okay? Just…please stay off the ladder?”

“Why? ‘Cause I’m a girl?”

Bucky chuckled in amusement, his free hand rising to cup your cheek and pull you closer so he could press a sweet kiss to your lips. You melted against him instantly, as you always did, because Bucky always kissed you like he was trying to transfer his heart from his body to yours, deeply and wholly and with every ounce of love that he had. After a moment, he pulled away, though he kept his nose touching yours as his twinkling eyes gazed at you adoringly. “It’s not because you’re a girl, it’s because it’s you, doll. The last time I trusted you with a drill and screws, you drilled your sleeve into the wall and broke your finger trying to pull it free.”

Nose scrunching and lips pouting, you did your best to fight off a smile, trying to lay it on just a little thicker to make sure you would get what you wanted. “Promise you’ll do it right now?”

“Pinky promise.” Bucky held up his pinky finger between you, and you locked yours around it. “You can stay and watch if you want, just to be sure. I think you’ll like the view.”

Rolling your eyes, you gave him another quick peck before stepping back and nodding for him to climb up the ladder. Once his back was turned and he was on the top step, your mischievous smirk returned in full force, not only because of your triumph, but because you really did like the view.

[buckysleftbicep]

exit wounds 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, choking, hairpulling, rough sex, degradation, overstimulation, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, possessiveness, dom!bucky, angst

summary: after you put yourself in danger once again during a mission, bucky finally snaps.

word count: 3.2k

author's note: hello my loves, i hope you enjoy this fic! also, i am currently looking through all the requests i've received and am excited to say i got started on a few! so please, keep sending them, fresh ideas always helps me write better! love you guys and please stay safe out there!

want him so badly

The storm broke before the mission did.

Rain pelted the shattered rooftops, thunder cracked above as you darted through the ruined alleyways of Bucharest, your pulse hammering in your ears. The objective was simple, get in, extract the intel, get out.

“Left. Take the left,” Bucky’s voice crackled through your comms, taut with command.

“I see the target,” you shot back, breathless. “I’m going in.”

“You go in alone, and I swear to god—”

You cut the line.

Not because you were being reckless. You knew what you were doing. You had spent hours upon hours studying the building’s layout, the guards’ rotations, and the window of opportunity that was already closing.

You didn’t need him barking orders in your ear. And you especially didn’t need your boyfriend second-guessing you when you were this close to securing the objective.

But then, behind you—boots pounded on wet concrete, close, fast, and furious.

“Fuck—(y/n)!”

Too late.

The intel was secured. The flash drive sat warm in the lining of your suit, pressed against your sternum. On paper, the mission was a success.

But the cost?

Three injured agents. A building engulfed in fire. And Bucky’s silence on the jet ride towards the nearest safehouse, the tension was thick enough to choke on. He hadn’t looked at you once.

Not when you handed Val the drive. Not when she nodded coolly and dismissed you without a word of praise. Not when the soft hydraulic hiss of the safehouse doors opened and when the rest of the team shuffled in like ghosts.

Now it was just the two of you. The others had scattered quietly, retreating to their temporary rooms for the night. The rain still dripped from your suit's collar, blood clung dry beneath your fingernails, and the silence between you and Bucky pulsed like a second heartbeat.

You peeled your damp tactical vest from your shoulders and tossed it onto the table. Every breath you took felt too loud in the stillness. Your skin was still buzzed with leftover adrenaline and heat, you didn't know if it was from the mission of the confrontation you knew was about to come.

You heard the final set of footsteps retreat, then the soft click of the outer door.

Still, you didn’t turn around.

“I had it,” you said calmly, your voice flat but controlled. “You didn’t need to come after me.”

He didn’t respond at first.

But you could feel him. The tension radiated off him like heat off an engine block. You didn’t need to look to know his jaw was clenched, his hands curled into fists at his sides. You could already feel his glare burning through your back almost as if it was trying to set you aflame.

You met his eyes—cerulean, but sharper than usual. Tense. Controlled.

“I got the drive, didn’t I?”

“That’s not the fucking point,” he snapped, the steel in his voice sharp now. “Three agents could’ve died (y/n). You could’ve died.”

“I didn’t,” you bit out. “And I wasn’t going to.”

His mouth twisted, his chest heaving once before he spoke again, voice splintering. “You think I give a shit about your stats? Your little field heroics?” His voice cracked then, just slightly.

“You think I want to scrape you off the concrete one day just because you were too stubborn to follow the damn protocol?”

You barked a bitter laugh. "Funny. You’ve been quiet up until now.”

He moved fast.

One moment, he was across the room. The next, he was inches from you, towering, taut with anger, fist clenched so tight you could see the veins straining in his forearm.

“You wanna say that again?” he asked, low and dangerous.

You squared your shoulders, refusing to flinch. “I said—”

“Don’t,” he cut in sharply. “Don’t test me tonight.”

“Why not?” you hissed. “You’ve been dying to explode since we landed Bucky. Go ahead. Yell. Blame me. Do what you always do when you don’t get your damn way—”

He didn’t yell. He didn’t move.

He just looked at you. And somehow, that was worse.

The silence that followed crackled with heat. His jaw tensed, eyes burning into yours like he was holding back with everything he had.

Then, slow and deliberate, he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His body radiated heat, tension rolling off him in waves.

“You think this is about me?” he whispered, dangerously quiet now.

“You think I give a fuck if I look bad in the debrief? I don’t care about orders, (y/n). I care about you. And you made the call without backup, without thinking. Again."

“I knew what I was doing,” you murmured, but it came out thinner now.

“And if you were wrong?” he snapped. His breath hit your cheek—damp, hot, ragged. “If I hadn’t gone in after you?”

You couldn’t answer. Because you didn’t know.

And suddenly the room felt too small. Too close. Your heart pounded against your ribs like it wanted out.

He was so close you could smell the rain still clinging to his skin, see the soaked-through fabric of his black shirt clinging to every line of muscle. His hair was still damp, curling around his jaw as his chest rose and fell with heavy, measured breaths.

He looked frayed at the edges, barely holding it together, and burning with fury.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he said, voice rough. “You think I care about the mission? You think I care about what Val thinks?”

Your breath hitched.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered. “I was just… I needed to prove I could handle it.”

He took another step forward. “To who?”

You blinked.

“To Val? The team?” He shook his head, eyes narrowing. “Or to me?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Your silence said enough.

Bucky’s hand came up, not fast, not aggressive, but deliberate. It hovered near your jaw, then gently ghosted along the column of your throat. Two fingers settled over your pulse, barely there. Feeling it. Reading you.

“You think I don’t see you?” he murmured. “Think I don’t know what you’re trying to prove every time you run headfirst into danger like you have nothing to lose?”

“You don’t have to be reckless to be worthy of standing next to me,” he said, and something broke in his voice then. Softer. Almost broken. “You already are.”

Your breath stuttered.

You hadn’t meant to move. You hadn’t even noticed your body leaning forward until your chest brushed his. Until you felt the ragged breath he caught against your cheek, until your eyes met his, and everything stopped.

He looked at you like he was drowning in everything he hadn’t said, rage, fear, hunger, all of it right there in his eyes, barely held back.

His thumb brushed your jaw, tilting your chin up. His touch was light, barely there, but it felt like the only thing tethering you to the ground.

“You keep pushing me,” he said, voice low and quiet, the kind of quiet that carried weight.

His eyes didn’t leave yours. “Always testing. Always toeing the line.”

Your throat tightened as you swallowed, pulse fluttering beneath your skin. A slow ache bloomed between your thighs, the kind that only got worse when you held his gaze.

“And what if I’m doing it on purpose?” you murmured. “What if I want you to snap?”

Something shifted behind his gaze, a flicker of heat barely restrained, and the air between you crackled like a live wire. His jaw flexed, his body unmoving, and then, the corner of his mouth lifted. Slow, measured, anything but kind.

“You really want to see what happens when I do?” he gritted out

“Maybe I like seeing how far I can push you.”

You didn’t get a second to breathe.

His hand clamped around your throat, not hard enough to cut off your air, but firm enough to remind you who was in control as he shoved you backward.

You stumbled, caught off guard, and then—without warning, he turned you. One arm braced across your shoulders, the other sliding between your thighs. You barely had time to gasp before he was behind you, chest flush to your back, hips grinding into your ass.

His body pinned you in place, unforgiving and close, and suddenly there was no space, no air, nothing except the burn of him against you and the way your body reacted, fast, instinctive and shameless.

“You want to push me?” Bucky snarled, the words like gravel dragged through his teeth. “Then take it. Don’t you fucking run from it now.”

Your pulse throbbed wildly beneath his fingers. He felt it—you knew he did—because he smiled against your neck. It wasn’t kind. It was the smile of a man barely containing the storm underneath, teeth bared like a wolf on a leash.

You tried to turn your head, to spit something sharp, something defiant, but his metal hand was there in an instant, pinning your cheek to the wall with a ruthless kind of tenderness. Cold vibranium fingers spread across your jaw, holding you still like he was lining up a shot.

“Don’t move unless I tell you to,” he growled. “You don’t get to talk back. Not after the fucking stunt you pulled.”

Then—he tore your suit open.

The front zipper split with a vicious rip, teeth dragging down your sternum, and then the fabric was shoved roughly off your shoulders. Your bra came into view, your skin prickling in the open air, exposed and vulnerable and throbbing with anticipation.

He didn’t hesitate.

His mouth latched onto the side of your neck, sucking hard enough to bruise, and your body reacted instantly, arching toward him, heat coiling low in your belly, wetness pooling between your thighs before you could even think to stop it.

It was humiliating how fast he had you soaked.

“Fucking wet,” he hissed, voice sharp with satisfaction. His flesh hand slid down the front of your suit. Two fingers pressed through your panties and straight into your slit, finding you hot, drenched and needy. “You’re dripping, sweetheart. All that mouth and you still want me this bad?”

You moaned—shameless, high-pitched and he growled like it offended him.

“Pathetic.”

Your suit hit the ground in a heap, shoved down carelessly around your boots. He didn’t bother to strip you completely, he didn’t need to. He just yanked them down far enough to spread your thighs apart, leaving you open, exposed, and trembling.

Then you heard it—the heavy clink of his belt, the hiss of his zipper. Your body jolted at the sound.

“Look at you,” he muttered, low and mean. “Begging to be fucked like a slut after risking your life like a dumb little brat.” The words hit you hard and god, they made your pussy throb.

You clenched around nothing, slick dripping down your thighs, and the worst part was how much you loved it. How much you needed more, needed him.

Your breath stuttered, your hips tilting back instinctively, shameless in how fast you were unraveling for him. You didn’t care what he called you. As long as he didn’t stop. As long as he fucked you like he meant every filthy word.

He pumped his cock once—twice—right behind you. You could feel it already, flushed and hard and heavy, the tip brushing the curve of your ass as he lined himself up.

“You wanted this,” Bucky rasped, voice dragging low and dark. “You pushed me on purpose. You knew exactly what would happen.”

You whimpered, cheeks burning.

And then he laughed, low and cruel and knowing.

“You like it when I’m like this, don’t you?”

His cock dragged through your folds—slick with your arousal, bumping your clit before dipping lower, teasing your entrance with maddening pressure. You nearly sobbed.

“Y-yes… I like it,” you breathed, eyes fluttering shut as your thighs trembled. “I wanted it. I wanted this. W-wanted you like this.”

He slammed into you.

You cry out, the stretch splitting you wide open in one unrelenting thrust. No warning. No mercy. Your nails scraped against the wall as your body spasmed around him, pussy clenching instinctively around the thick length now buried to the hilt.

“Oh my fucking—”

He slapped a hand over your mouth.

“Be quiet,” he gritted out, breath hot on your ear. “They’ll hear you.”

You moaned into his palm, the sound muffled and desperate, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes as he began to move—long, deep thrusts that rocked your entire body.

Each snap of his hips sent you forward, your chest jolting against the cold wall with every brutal push. Your legs shook beneath you, barely able to hold you up under the weight of him, his rhythm, his heat, the relentless way he claimed every inch of your body.

His cock hit every spot inside you—deep, relentless, perfect in its punishment. Each thrust drove you harder into the wall, your palms flattened against the cold surface, fingers splayed like you were holding on for dear life.

The air was thick with the sound of slick skin and broken moans, the wet slap of him pounding into you again and again until all you could do was whimper, body shaking, needing more.

He was ruthless.

“You feel that?” he grunted, fucking into you harder. “You feel how deep I am? Fuck, princess, your pussy’s squeezing me.”

You nodded, eyes rolling back. Everything was too much. Not enough.

He grabbed your hair and yanked your head back, lips brushing your ear.

“You gonna come already? Just from this? From getting fucked like you’re made for it?”

You tried to speak, tried to form a word, a plea, anything but your mouth refused to work. All that came out was a desperate, broken moan, choked off by the force of him inside you.

Every muscle in your body was strung tight, overwhelmed, aching, begging for release, but all you could do was let the sound of your need echo in the space between you, raw and strung out and wordless.

He let go of your mouth and slapped your ass—hard.

“Say it,” he snarled. “Tell me how badly you want to come.”

“I, god—I need it,” you choked. “Please, need your cock, need you to—”

He pulled out. Completely.

You cry, voice raw with frustration.

Bucky laughed, voice thick with dominance.

“Look at you. Falling apart already. And I haven’t even gotten started.”

Before you could respond, he seized your wrists and twisted them behind your back, pinning them there easily with his hand. The cool press of vibranium against your skin made your breath hitch, your chest rising in shallow gasps.

You barely had time to brace yourself before he drove back into you—harder, deeper, with a force that knocked a strangled sound from your throat and sent sparks ricocheting through your core.

Your body jolted. Your mouth dropped open in a silent cry. His flesh hand wrapped around your waist, fingers finding your clit again—rubbing tight, relentless circles in time with each brutal thrust.

You were unravelling, your legs burned and your body trembled. You were a babbling, incoherent mess as your orgasm built again—rising like a fucking tsunami.

“Don’t you dare come,” he growled. You tried. Fuck, you tried.

But he was everywhere—his cock driving into that sweet spot deep inside you with ruthless precision, his fingers working your clit in tight, relentless circles that had you trembling. His voice, low and filthy, poured into your ear like sin itself, each word pushing you closer to the edge.

“Say it,” he rasped. “Say who owns you.”

You sobbed.

“You do, Bucky! You do—”

“Good fucking girl.”

And then he snapped his hips again, slamming into you so deep you felt it in your throat.

You came with a strangled cry, body seizing as pleasure tore through you like a live wire. Your cunt clenched around him in tight, desperate pulses, milking every inch as wetness spilled down your thighs, slicking his cock and coating both of you in heat and ruin.

You slumped forward, forehead pressed to the wall, barely able to hold yourself upright as your orgasm wracked through you.

But he didn’t stop, he kept going—kept fucking you through it like he was trying to brand you from the inside out.

You sobbed, body trembling uncontrollably.

“That’s it,” he snarled. “Take it. Cry if you want princess, I’m not stopping.”

Your knees gave out, barely holding you upright and then the second wave hit. He slammed into you hard, tearing through your body before you had a chance to catch your breath.

You clenched around him again, tighter this time, a cry ripping from your throat as you came all over his cock. Everything blurred, your vision, your thoughts, until all that was left was the sharp pulse of pleasure and the rough sound of him still moving behind you.

“Gonna fill you up,” he muttered, pounding into you with short, broken thrusts. “Stuff you full, just like you deserve. Let it drip down those pretty thighs. Let everyone see who fucked you like this.”

He groaned—loud, rough—and then shuddered, cock twitching as he spilled inside you. You felt the warmth of it, the pulse of his release, the way his entire body seemed to collapse into yours.

The only sound was your wrecked breathing, the whine of your body, and the soft drip of his cum sliding down your thighs.

You were trembling, undone in every possible way—mind blank, body limp, pleasure still echoing through your nerves. Your knees wouldn’t hold you, but he didn’t let you fall. His arms were around you instantly, strong and steady, pulling you into his chest like he could anchor you there, like he needed to.

His breathing was still ragged, chest rising and falling against your back. His lips pressed to your temple, slow and soft, and you felt the way he lingered, like he was grounding himself, too.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded, barely able to speak. Tears still clung to your lashes, not from pain, not even from the intensity, but from the overwhelming ache in your chest.

He kissed your temple again. Then your jaw. Then the corner of your mouth.

“Don’t ever fucking do that again.” he murmured.

You blinked, surprised by the tremble in his voice. He wasn’t angry. Not now.

“I can’t—” he swallowed, brow pressed to yours. “I know you’re capable, I know you’re smart. But I can’t watch you walk into something like that again.”

Your throat tightened.

“I thought I could handle it,” you whispered.

He shook his head. “No. No more of that. If something happened to you out there—”

He cut himself off. Pulled you closer. One hand cradled the back of your head. The other still wrapped around your waist, like he was afraid you would slip through his fingers.

“You don’t get to scare the shit out of me like that,” he rasped, voice cracking. “I’ve lost so much—and, fuck, I can’t lose you too.”

He looked away, just for a second, like the words hurt to say.

“I wouldn’t survive it.”

You nuzzled into his chest, heart hammering. His scent, his warmth, the rasp of his voice in your ear, it was all too much and not enough.

“I’m sorry,” you said, small and hoarse.

Bucky didn’t say anything right away. He just held you tighter, kissed the top of your head.

“I know”

requests are open!

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Sleepwalking

How I imagine the lads men handle a partner that sleepwalks. [requested by: anon & @nocturnaoasis]

𝚉𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎

calmly watches you as you move around the house

knows not to wake you up ; tries to guide you back to bed without waking you

cleans up your messes behind you ; taking socks into the bathroom? he’s putting them away ; you left the fridge door open? don’t worry he's closing it ; opening the windows? he’s already on it

you tried to use a knife for something one time while you were asleep so now Zayne locks up any sharp utensils before bed

tells you in detail exactly what you did while you were sleepwalking

makes you whatever it was that you were trying to make while asleep “how did you know I wanted sliced fruit this morning?” “You took out all the fruit last night and stood in the kitchen saying ‘knives I need knives’ for ten minutes”

teases you sometimes ; he finds your antics cute

will hold anything you hand him

forbids you from eating foods that will trigger your sleepwalking close to bedtime ; you do it out of spite

𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚕

the first thing he does is wake you up ; rookie mistake

won’t let you live down the fact that you made the funniest face when you were confused

baby proofs the house “why are all the outlets covered?!” “you can’t be trusted”

screamed bloody murder when he woke up one night and you were standing over him

you got outside once and he about had a heart attack

tries singing to you so you follow his voice ; it worked now this is how he gets you back in bed every time he catches you sleepwalking

asks if you’re awake and wholeheartedly believes you when you say yea even though you’re 1000% not awake

doesn’t mind when you indulge on foods that trigger your sleepwalking ; he knows he’ll keep you safe

if you ever say something unsettling he acts like it didnt scare him ; he’s scared af

𝚇𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛

wakes up when he feels you getting out of bed ; groggily follows you around at a distance to make sure you don’t hurt yourself

gently takes objects out of your hands

tries to block your paths in attempts to guide you back to bed

responds to your rambling as if you’re actually having a conversation

tuck you into bed and stays up for a while watching you sleep

wraps his arms around you so he can feel you get up

would follow you down the road if you decided to go for a walk outside

keeps his distance so you can get your bearings I you start to wake up “Hi starlight lets go to bed”

tries to get you to not eat foods that will trigger your sleepwalking, but one look of those puppy dog eyes and he’s folding

𝚂𝚢𝚕𝚞𝚜

Sylus is probably the perfect man to sleepwalk with considering he sleeps during the day and you sleep at night.

advises you to not eat anything that will trigger it close to bed, but won’t stop you if you’re really craving it

he would already be up and about when he sees you walking to the bathroom with socks in hand ; he would use his evol to catch the socks when you try to drop them in the toilet

Meticulously guides you away from anything that you might walk into

knows better than to try and wake you up

finds your sleepwalking kind of amusing except when you stand over him and stare with dead eyes

first instinct is to guide you back to bed and he’d use his evol to do this and the second you become difficult he’d keep a close eye on you; has Mephisto follow you as well

Sylus has to hold the twins back from waking you up “She’s gonna get hurt!” “She’s fine” “What if she goes over the balcony?!” “She’s fine”

will always protect you and get you back in bed with no harm

from time to time will indulge in your sleep conversations “I only have five left” “but I need six sweetie” “I have five take it or leave it” ; he’s trying so hard not to die of laughter

the twins once left the kitchen a mess and tried to blame it on your sleepwalking ; he wasn't happy

𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚋

records the whole thing ; shows you the videos and teases you “look even in your sleep you try to reach the top shelf” “delete it” “luckily for you I caught every dish in time” “shut up”

compiles the videos together and even has favorites

it was all fun and games until you got outside one night and he about lost his damn mind

baby proofs the house every night ; locks up sharp utensils ; deadbolt on the front door

holds you tight every night so he can feel you get up

cleans up behind you when/if you take anything out

shifts furniture slightly if you run into it so your mental map doesn’t get you hurt ; uses his hands or body as a barrier to keep you from running into walls or hitting your head on anything

has considered waking you up, but will never do it

sometimes responds to your sleep rambling “Pears are better than apples” “I like apples better” “……NO!”

forbids you from eating anything that triggers your sleepwalking close to bedtime ; you still eat it anyway

[finallychaoticeffigy]

Can you make a fic where the reader is in a mental hospital and their psychiatrist is a yandere, who purposely keeps reader unstable so he can keep treating them?

Yandere psychiatrist x patient reader

(sorry this is late, my life's falling apart)

It's been over 6 months since you've been admitted to a mental hospital. Apparently you have some sort of mental illness you didn't understand, but you trust your parents especially the Doctors. They're professional and they know whats best . You didn't like the fact that they recommended you staying here but you agreed since you didn't wanna seem crazy, the more you tried to refuse the more they'll be convinced your ill, you pondered lost in thoughts.

You hissed when you felt the needle being pressed into contact with your skin. That sharp metalic object, Gosh how you hate that thing. For some reason during your time period of staying here, you didn't seem to be getting any better. Infact you seem to be getting worse. You started thinking if it was the medicine that's making you feel worse. You softly rub your temples. 'NO' you thought. That's exactly how a mentaly ill person thinks . They all think that the medicine given by the doctors are bad news, and your becoming one of them. 

"How are you doing Y/n? " your doctor interrupted, softly caressing your hand that was placed on your lap.

Your personal Doctor is literally the hottest guy you've ever seen. You remembered first time seeing him ,your felt your mouth unconsciously dropped to the floor. That's one of the reason you agreed staying here, a hot Doctor will seriously makes you feel better.

"Um...Good, i think? " You lied, No you don't feel good. You started seeing things that weren't there. The headaches, the hallucinations, you know it wasn't normal , especially after you saw a patient walking with four legs.

It was quite a funny sight. "HAHAHA" you unconsciously laughed. The image of the woman with four legs flashed through your mind. 

You suddenly stopped and looked at the male doctor beside you already eying you carefully. He pulled out his notes and wrote something quick.

"Did i say something funny?" He raised a brow, taking your hand squeezing it.

You softly yank your hand away. He's always so touchy that it makes you uncomfortable, but hey hes a professional and hes hot so you brushed it off....but that's the least of your concern now. "This isn't what it looks like i swear. Um ..... I just thought of something funny.... I didn't like laugh for no reason.. I'm not ill" you  defensively declared biting your lips. It's not a lie, you've always laugh with your own ever since you were a kid thinking about something. Wait.... does that mean you've had mental illness ever since you were in nappies!?

He chuckled taking your hands and placing it with his. "It's fine...When I'm thinking of something, it sometimes makes me happy too" He flashed you a cute smile.

"Hmm.. i see hehe" 

"I just need you to take this medicine and your good to sleep" he muttered softly 

He takes out what seems to be a medicine and feeds it on you. "Swallow my dear " you did as he instructed . "Goodjob.. you're always so good Y/n. " He grin wider caressing your hair.

"Doc?"

"Yeah Y/n?"

"Why are you so touchy? I don't know...It makes me uncomfortable sometimes" you mumbled feeling shy, you weren't one of those types to confront others. You were used to keeping your mouth shut and just letting others do what they want, but this time you got a bit of courage.

"What do you mean? I'm not doing anything wrong y/n. This is why your not getting any better, your always overthinking stuff. You need to start trusting people especially those who wants to help you Y/n" he said ,tone changing. Is he angry? Disappointed? You can't read his expression.

"I'm sorry... Um i will sleep now . Please leave" you lay on your bed feeling comfort.

"No, i need to observe more"

"Again?" You asked, voice masked of disappointment.

"Yes y/n ,again"

You felt yourself drifting to sleep . Sleeping now was easier than before . You used to tossed and turn but with the help of sleeping pills, you didn't have to anymore.

The man watched the girl asleep. Face flushed, heart shaped pupil and heavy panting. His hands traveled to her thighs and gently squeezed it. He got up from the chair he was sitting on and lay next to her .

He was being a creep, and he knows it.But fuck he loves and craves for her so much he didn't even think about morals. He wrapped his huge arms around her small waist hugging her and sniffing her addicting scent.

"Baby... I am so sorry, i know this is wrong but I can't help myself, i love you way to much. " He whispered licking her neck.

"Poor baby, i know am practically giving you poison, but i promise it won't hurt you too bad. Just enough so you can stay here... By my side." He embraced her tighter, giving her kisses all over her sleeping face.

"Your mine. Your only mine my Y/n. Your mine" he chanted reapetedly as he bit your cheeks

You winced in your sleep, having no idea what's been happening. He smiled, happiness evidence in his eyes. 

------+--+--+--------+++----------

"What ? Is that even allowed? " You questioned clearly shock. You're gonna stay at his house for 'recovery' apparently you need calm invironment where you can be alone. You can't go home yet so your best choice was his house, others explained.

"Dude what the fridge... I don't think that's appropriate. I thought you all graduated from Harvard or something, where's your common sense?" 

"I know what it seems like dear. But your doctor suggested it and it seems like a nice idea. It's for your own good , we care alot about our patients you see" the woman about in her 30s explained 

"Clearly" you said voice toned with sarcasm. You didn't argue further, you knew you couldn't do anything especially your basically recorded as a person with mental health problems. 

The headaches and hallucinations just seems to get worse. You almost couldn't get out of bed but today your legs unusually cooperated.

The door suddenly flung open revealing a massive man in his coat. Him. He looks strangely happy , like he just won a lotto or something. 

"Y/n come now, let's go home" he reached his out his hands with a smile which you clearly ignored and walked passed him. You were upset that the home your going to wasn't your own. You missed your room. You missed staying up late just binged reading shits on your phone.

Oh well... atleast your gonna gonna get out of that white room. It makes you sick seeing nothing but White and being outside again makes you a bit excited. 

When you left the smile that he already had grew wider. He just loves you so much. He would do anything just to be with you .

[galacticlavender]

You Only Think When I Allow It

cw: intelligence play, light memory play, clicker training

“I’m smart when I want to be!” You regretted your words the second they left your mouth, and sure enough you now had your Mistress’s undivided attention.

“Petal? I think you meant to say that you are smart when I want you do be.” You hear the slight hum of her biorhythm bouncing off your implant, not strong enough to overwhelm you but enough to warn you that you were on thin ice.

“I uh well sorry Mistress I just thought…” 

She cuts you off before you can even finish the sentence: “No. You don’t think, pet.” This time her biorhythm gave you no room to argue or explain yourself. Your mind simply went 

Blank.

“Come back to me dear.” You hear the musical tones of your Mistress’s voice as you suddenly snap back to awareness. How long had it been? It couldn���t have been long you’re still in the same spot. You decide that it isn’t really important especially when Mistress is talking. “Darling are you back?” You nod silently as the last of the fog clears your head. 

“Normally I would say that this was enough of a demonstration but brats need reminded of their place sometimes don’t they dear?”

“Yes Mistress.” You say it automatically and without hesitation, you know better than to say or do anything else.

“Good pet!” A pulse of pleasure radiates through you before she quickly catches your attention again. 

“I think it’s time for a pop quiz pet! I know how much you used to pride yourself on how smart you were and that fancy education you had. That’s not inherently a bad thing, but the pressures and expectations that they put on you were crushing you before I found you flower. Thinking all the time was hurting you and I simply cannot allow that. Of course it’s ok to be smart sometimes too, but you need balance just as in all other parts of life. You seem to have forgotten that and it’s time for me to give you a reminder that you can be smart, yes, but only when I allow it. Now can you think clearly right now pet?”

You nod again, not knowing what she has planned but eager to find out. “Excellent then lets begin. Don’t worry the questions aren’t hard, especially for a smart girl like you who got such a fancy education,” you feel as well as hear the mocking tone of her voice and remember that with their long lifespans and superior intelligence even the smartest and most educated terran couldn’t hope to compair to an affini. 

“First question: what year did the Affini compact make diplomatic contact with humanity?” That’s easy, it was only a few years ago afterall. Before you can answer though you hear a sharp Click and feel a rush of pleasure that leaves your thoughts just a little more fuzzy than they were before. “Well pet? Whats the answer?” 

You hear another Click and another wave of that fuzzy pleasure floods over you. “That’s easy it’s…” The answer eludes you, replaced with a fuzzy, tingly warmth. Why is your head so foggy  suddenly? You don’t know, but Mistress is waiting for an answer. “I don’t know” you quietly admit.

“Good floret!”

Your Mistress’s praise feels so good that you barely even notice the Click that accompanied it or the fog rising behind it. What was going on again? You were proving you were smart so why is it so hard to think right now?

“Mistress, are you cheating by using xenodruggies to make me stupid?” You slur the words slightly reenforcing your theory that you have been drugged.

“Well first off, it would not be cheating to use xenodrugs on you. You are my pet and I can drug or play with you whenever I choose. But, no dear, you aren’t drugged. You don’t need to be anymore, remember this?” She produces a small plastic object. You whimper involuntarily as memories of countless hours of painstaking training rush back.

“Wait… you clicker trained me then made me forget about it?” You try to sound assertive but fail to hide your arousal at the thought of being trained.

“Watching you remember always was my favorite part. It’s just so cute watching you realize how much I own you. How much control I have over you.” You a faint moan escapes your lips but thankfully she interrupts you before you could embarrass yourself further. “I think its time for the next question: what is the name of the ship we are on?” Click.

Again you know that you should know the answer but it just can’t quite make it through the rising fog. “Uhhhhh I don’t know?” 

“Good pet!” another Click another wave of fuzzy pleasure hits your brain. “That’s right! You don’t know. Afterall why would a silly little pet like you need to remember things like that?” 

Another Click reminds you just how owned you are. “Good pets like you don’t need to think. Good pets like you can’t think, not without their owners permission anyway. You only think when I allow it. You aren’t a person anymore dear, you’re my adorable, obedient pet.” You don’t even try to hide your moan this time, you aren’t even sure you could hide it at this point iso you decide not to bother with trying.

“Ok pet, last question: what are you?” The anticipation you feel waiting for that beautiful Click almost feels as good as hearing it at this point.

“I’m your obedient pet, Mistress.”

“Yes you certainly are dear. I think you deserve a reward for doing such a good job.

Click.

[beloveds-embrace]

(poly 141 x reader with non-sexual dom john price bc i am a whore for him)

You’re not reckless; you are calculated.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself when you rush the objective, half expecting to get clipped, half hoping it might happen just hard enough to matter. A sharp enough consequence to justify the chaos rattling in your chest. A hit that would, for once, hurt more physically than mentally.

But it never happens, because you get out.

Again.

And when you stagger into the safehouse, vest half-shredded, blood caking your neck and a quiet look in your eyes that screams what the fuck is wrong with you, it’s not Gaz or Soap who calls you on it. It’s not even your Lieutenant.

It’s the Captain.

Price doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands near the back wall, arms crossed, eyes cold and unreadable under the brim of his cap. Everyone else talks; Ghost grunts, Soap slaps your back, and Gaz offers water.

Price watches.

Watches you. Watches how you brush them off. How your hand trembles when you take the water bottle. How you don’t really hear anything they’re saying.

And when you try to pass him without a word- head down, body bowed, heart dragging low in your chest- that’s when it happens.

And hand shoots out, and thick fingers wrap around the scruff of your collar, yanking you back with practiced ease. You stumble, off-balance, but he barely lets you flinch before he drags you down into the seat between his knees. Scruffed, like a misbehaving mutt.

It’s not gentle. It’s not rough, either. It’s deliberate. Like everything else John Price does.

“Try that again,” he murmurs low against your ear, “and I’ll make sure you don’t so much as breathe without checking in first.”

His hands settle heavy across your shoulders, just there. Like an anchor. Like a silent demand: Stay. Sit. Don’t move. You’re not going anywhere. Like he thinks if he lets go, you might unravel into the smoke of his cigars and drift out the window.

You stare forward, muscles coiled, but not fighting it because even if you wanted to, you can’t bring yourself to do it.

The rest of the room doesn’t react. Gaz’s back is to you, unbothered, watching Soap root through the medkit. Ghost flicks his eyes your way once, gives a small nod to Price, then moves on.

This is normal. Not just that, but also routine.

You are under Price’s hand now, and they all know better than to interfere when he’s decided someone is his problem to handle.

They’ve seen this before.

They’ve been there, in their own ways.

“You think you’re clever,” he says quietly, voice low enough only for you, “Rushing in like that. Like your body’s expendable. Like I wouldn’t notice.”

You say nothing.

“I told you,” he continues, the growl of his voice like a match striking dry wood. “I see you pulling this shit again, I make damn sure you won’t so much as take a piss without me signing off.”

He tightens his grip just enough to remind you: talk.

You want to tell him to fuck off. To let you go. To stop seeing through you like glass held up to sunlight, but you aren’t stupid enough to do that.

“I’m fine.” You mutter.

“Bullshit,” he replies instantly, and you can feel his glare. “You’re bleeding, you’re shaking, and you’ve looked like a ghost since the last op.”

You try to shrug him off, instead, and it is a big mistake.

The arm around you locks, and suddenly your back is pressed tight to his chair. His breath is hot by your ear, the scent of blood and gunpowder and cigars curling around you.

“You wanna play this game?” he snaps. “Where you pretend not to care what happens to you? Fine. But you’ll do it sitting right the fuck here until I’m satisfied you won’t drop dead the moment I blink. You run, and I’ll find you. You disappear, and I’ll tear up every goddamn city from here to the Urals until I get my hands on you again. You hear me?”

You clench your jaw. Try to keep it together. The ache behind your eyes threatens to spill over.

“I don’t need to,” he murmurs back. “I just need to keep you breathing.”

There’s silence for a while, after that. Your mouth feels stitched shut, and you feel no particular rush to tear it open and let your words spill out. Eventually, your shoulders drop. Your head tilts, ever so slightly, against his knee. The tension bleeds out of you slow, like sap from a broken tree.

Price doesn’t move, and doesn’t say anything more. He simply keeps you there, solid against him, and the others still don’t say anything.

they’re used to how he gets when someone forgets their worth.

[loves0phelia]

Hi! I don’t know if you’ve watched part 2 of outer banks yet, and if you didn’t this request is a spoiler!!

Can you do JJ Maybank’s sister seeing him die and Rafe is just watching her break down and he’s comforting her while she cries in his arms? I’m sobbing over JJ right now 😭

Thank you!

Gone

Summery: outer banks season 4 episode 10/the anon

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: SPOILERS, death, grammar mistakes.

A/N: i also sobbed, i cant believe it and thank you for requesting love youuu.

The sandstorm hit suddenly. The air was thick, nearly solid with dust. You stumbled forward as the wind blew strongly, You screamed, begging JJ to come down before something terrible would happen but even if you pulled the scarf tighter across your nose and mouth every breath felt like swallowing shards of glass making it hard to speak. 

Everything was clouded and your goggles were smeared with sand dust. It was impossible to see your brother who was up high on that statue trying to find the blue crown you, the pogues and Rafe have been risking your lives for.

“Come down JJ!” You screamed as loud as you could, hoping he could hear you over the screaming wind. 

A surge of panic rose in you, he wasn't listening, only going higher and higher to reach the top.

“Hurry please!” You screamed again as the sandstorm was getting worse and worse. Squinting your eyes you could see JJ finally descending the statue after a while, carefully holding on to the rock.

“JJ, holy shit are you okay?” You rushed forward to him as he stumbled around frantically.

“I'm good! I'm better actually, I'm great. Look!” he yelled over the storm and held up the blue crown, it felt like a dream having it in front of you.

“No way, you found it” You both looked down at the dusty historical crown in silence for a second, sinking in it the victory that was so rare when it came to you and your twin.

“We got it!” He cheered, pumping his fist, jumping into place from all the adrenaline. The victory cheers didn't last long though, the next thing you knew shots were fired at you from the group who wanted to steal what was rightfully yours.

“Run, run, run” JJ shouted behind you as you ran through the sand blindly and desperate to find shelter.

The sandstorm roared with life around you, Yours and JJ's footsteps vanished almost as quickly as you made them, erased by the wind.

You coughed, your lungs stinging as you struggled to run down the stairs you had found leading inside the monument. 

But suddenly, a shadow appeared out of the storm. A strong hand gripped your forearms and in a sudden movement, your back was pressed on your “father's” chest, an arm around your neck holding on tightly, cutting your airflow and a sharp blade pressed into the side of your face.

“JJ!” you called out, trying to get out of his grasp.

“Let her go!” JJ shouted, his voice trembling with anger. He lunged towards you trying to rip you away from him but he only pressed the blade harder making you cry out. But Groff only shook his head.

You cried, struggling, and your heart pounding as Groff’s grip tightened. You fought against him, but his hold was unbreakable.

“You’re just like your mother,” Groff hissed, his gaze cold and unmoved. “Always standing in my way. Well, this time, you’re not going to stop me. Give me what I want”

“Let her go” He begged.

“If you had listened, we wouldn't be here JJ, you could have had everything. WE could have had the life we deserved as a family. All three of us. But now you get nothing. Nothing at all” Chandler pants like a maniac.

“I already have everything,” JJ says, shaking his head in disbelief. “I have everything I ever wanted. You want the crown? Sure, take it. I don't want it. Just let my sister go.”

“Give it to me, hold it out” He reached toward JJ for the precious object, his grip on you not loosening.

In a swift moment, an exchange was made. Groff grasped the crown, and JJ pulled you out of his arms.

“I got you” JJ breathed out with relief, like a weight was removed from his shoulders. He hugged you protectively. Holding your head against his shoulder like a shield. But then again, the victory was cut short.

“JJ, y/n” you were interrupted by the voice of your father, his call made both of you separate and turn to face him, JJ’s body still shielding you from further harm.

“It's a shame…you and I” You furrowed your brows and a gasp came out of your mouth when the sound of flesh being pierced rang out. 

“You should have given me the rope” Time was moving at a slow pace as the scene unfolded. Groff twisted the knife in JJ's stomach before pulling it out rapidly and running out into the desert.

"JJ!" You screamed, your voice raw with terror. You saw JJ stumble back, his hands flying to his side. Dark red blood was spreading through his shirt and across his fingers, and the sight of it hit you like a punch to the gut.

The world narrowed to the scene in front of you as you watched JJ fall, his face contorted in pain. 

“No, no, no” you cried, desperation thick in your voice.

You rushed to JJ’s side, catching him just as he stumbled. He looked up at you, his face pale and stained with tears.

“It's okay JJ, it's okay” You pressed into his wound, shaking terribly, sobbing when he let out a pained groan.

“No, please” you murmured, pressing your hand over the wound in a desperate attempt to slow the bleeding. “You’re going to be okay. Just stay with me, okay? Stay with me.”

“Hey, hey,” He whispered, his voice breaking. “Take care of the others for me, okay?”

“No! No” Your breaths shakes, your chest tight with sadness.

“I love you, y/n. You're the best sister anyone could ever have.” His gaze was beginning to drift, his eyes unfocused, and the strength in his grip was fading. Panic clawed at you.

“I love you, please don't go” you begged, but it was pointless he was already gone.

“No! No, no. Please! JJ, please” you shaked his shoulder weakly.

“John B!” You screamed, your chest burning from the lack of oxygen your lungs were getting.

“Pope! Rafe!” Your hands gripped your brother refusing to let go.

“Please JJ!” Your heart shattered completely, a part of you gone forever. Your brother, your twin, your best friend, the other half of your soul, gone. 

“Please” You pressed your forehead against him, your tears falling over the blood-soaked shirt.

The pogues came running towards you, sinking to their knees, calling out to him, crying, sobbing, mourning.

Everything in you gave out as you held onto him, you couldn't even fight when hands grabbed onto your shoulder to bring you away from your brother's corpse.

Your body fell limp into Rafe's lap. His hands held your body up as if he was your lifeline. 

“It's gonna be okay” He whispered against your forehead but you barely registered any of it, only sobbing, and screaming in pain against him. 

The Pogues stood in a tight circle, all eyes fixed on JJ as if somehow their stares alone could bring him back. But no one spoke, and in the heavy silence, the truth crashed over them, settling deep in their bones. JJ was gone.

Kiara’s shoulders shook, a small, trembling motion that quickly overtook her entire body. She fell to her knees, hands pressed to her mouth as she fought to hold back the sobs. 

Pope was beside her, his eyes frantically looking over the scene, he didn't want to believe any of it, as if it was a cruel joke.

John B stood, rigid.  His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white, and his jaw was set, teeth gritted as he tried to hold it all in, to keep the pain from breaking him apart. 

Rafe's arms wrapped around you gently, his hand resting on the back of your head as he let you fall into his chest. You buried your face in his shoulder, the grief and sorrow pouring out in waves as he held you.

He didn’t speak of the rivalry, the old wounds and the bitterness between your families; none of that mattered now. At this moment, all he saw was your pain, and he was there, his own heart breaking a little as he watched you crumble.

When the sobs finally subsided, leaving you weak and exhausted, Rafe pulled back slightly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his eyes filled with something you’d never seen in him before—softness, understanding. 

“It's okay,” he murmured, his voice a promise, his hand gentle as he brushed a stray tear from your cheek. “I’ve got you.”

You sat on the sand as a fire crackled in front of you, you had just buried him, the silence was thick nobody wanted to believe the truth. 

Your head pounded, even when you were softly laying on Rafe's legs using them as pillows. His calloused fingers gently rubbed your hair and you tried to concentrate on the movement in an attempt to forget about the previous moment but you failed.

“Groff said he was going to Lisbon” Rafe whispered above you, making your eyes open and looking up at him. His eyes met yours and he continued.

“If he was my friend or my brother… I would go after the guy that just killed him” The mention made your heart burn but he had a point.

“He's not wrong” Kie whispered, agreeing with your inner thoughts. You snuggled against Rafe's legs one last time before sitting up and leaning your head on his shoulder. 

“JJ would already be on his way to kill him if it was one of us,” you said and everyone's eyes snapped towards you, those were the first words you had spoken since it happened. 

“He'd get even,” John B added.

“Let's get revenge,” you said, your voice more confident than it was before, you felt a hand grasp onto yours and slowly you turned your head to face Rafe. He nodded and tightened his grip in a comforting way, never letting go.

Send request please xx

[dykeadvocate]

you're just her property

pairing: dark!mobboss!ellabs x fem!reader

summary: after ellie watches you cockwarm abby for hours during a meeting, she wants to fuck you, too.

content: noncon/dubcon, slight daddy kink, cockwarming, public sex, face slapping, pain kink, crying, mention of kidnapping, sexual pictures without consent, voyeurism, overstimulation, begging, embarrassment.

masterlist

Even though it has been a few months since she took you, you don't know much about your kidnapper; only that her name is Abby and she's the boss of a powerful mob in your state.

She doesn't treat you like a human or even a pet. You're one of the prized objects she proudly displays to everyone. At the start, you would always refuse and 'bitch' when Abby wanted to publicly have her way with you; now, you wouldn't dare to disobey her.

So, when she demanded you cockwarm her for the entire meeting, you didn't say no.

Abby has her biggest dildo stuffed inside of you, stretching your aching walls and pressing against your tummy. She has given you stringent orders to not make a sound during the meeting, but that is impossible when you know you're dripping into her lap. It also doesn't help that Ellie, Abby's right-hand man, teases you like there is no tomorrow.

"You're a pathetic little slut, y'know that?"

An uncontrollable whimper leaves your lips and you pout. Abby's hand which is snaked around your torse, pulls you closer; the sudden shift makes you moan. Ellie grins as she watches your face drop in terror.

Abby's fingernails dig into your bare stomach and she hisses, "What'd I fucking tell you?"

"I'm sorry-"

Abby hushes you with a sharp slap to the face. You blink back tears and stifle a cry of pain. You rest your head on Abby's shoulder and watch as Ellie balls her fists and rubs at her eyes mockingly. You poke your tongue out at her.

Ellie leans closer to you, "I can't wait till your daddy lets me fuck that pretty pussy."

"Are you focusing, Ellie, or do I need to punish you, too?" Abby questions, raising her eyebrow.

Ellie opens her mouth several times before muttering "I'm listening. Chillax."

It's a miracle that you stayed quiet for the rest of the meeting. When everyone leaves the room, it's just you, Abby, and Ellie. Ellie looks at you like you're her prey and is ready to pounce at Abby's demand.

Abby looks at her with amusement. "You wanna fuck her, huh?"

"Really?" Ellie excitedly says.

Abby laughs. "I'm asking a question, not giving you permission."

Ellie clears her throat awkwardly. "Yeah, I do. Gotta see what all the hype is about, y'know."

"The hype?" Abby questions with a smile, to which Ellie nods. "Alright, she's all yours."

You whine in protest as you're lifted from Abby and pinned to the wooden table. Ellie stands in between your already soaking thighs and with a grin, wraps her hand around your throat and leans to your ear. "I'm gonna fuck you better than your daddy ever has."

Abby laughs, "Don't get cocky, Williams."

You push at Ellie's chest. You're too overstimulated from cockwarming Abby for hours to take anything else. Neither of the women like that.

"Arms above your head," Abby demands and you hesitate. "I said, arms above your fucking head."

You comply with a whine. Ellie kisses down your neck to the top of your cunt, paying extra attention to your perky nipples. She drags two fingers through your slick and moans. "God, those pictures are trash when compared to actually seeing this,"

You frown and snap your eyes to Abby, "Pictures?"

Abby hums, her eyes locked onto your pussy, "Don't worry about it, baby."

You want to continue interrogating her but all thoughts are washed away when Ellie wraps her lips around your puffy clit and shoves three fingers into your cunt. You cover your mouth to muffle your scream and your back arches. Her tongue moves relentlessly on your clit and her fingers pound inside of you.

"Slow down." You manage to weakly protest.

"Speed up." Abby counters you and Ellie listens.

Loud moans and wet noises are the only things that can be heard. If you had any brain power left, you would cringe at the thought of everyone in the building hearing you. Abby moans loudly and you glance over at her to see her stroking her strap, the base of it pushing against her clit.

Now, it's a race to who can finish first. You're never allowed to cum after Abby unless she specifically allows you to, which after your mess up earlier today, you doubt she'll let you.

You cry as Ellie changes her angle and presses perfectly against your most pleasurable spot. You grab Ellie's hair and tug her closer to your cunt. Your thighs clamp around her head and let out the most guttered moan possible as your blinding orgasm washes over you. Abby follows shortly after you, moaning lowly.

You don't have much strength left. You're barely able to process Abby pulling Ellie by the back of her hair, smashing her lips into hers, and moaning at your taste on her lips.

"Fuck, Abby." Ellie breathes heavily. "You gotta let me do that again."

Abby hums, "Go get that work done and I'll think about her as a reward."

"Hell yeah! I'll get it done ASAP, boss."

You listen as Ellie leaves the room. It's just you and your owner now. She kneels between your thighs, her head adjacent to your cunt. She wraps her hands around your thighs and pulls you closer. She drags her tongue across your quivering, dripping hole.

"Gotta clean you up, princess."

You shake your head, "No, please."

She ignores your cries as her tongue quickly builds you up to your second orgasm. You cum with a silent moan and shake in her hold. Abby stands and pats your thigh.

"Clean yourself up and meet me in my study when you're done."

You sigh and pull yourself to a sitting position. Abby didn't leave you anything to clean yourself with, meaning you had to walk through the entire building naked and dripping until you got to her office.

What a dick.

[kysstar]

GAME OVER | JEONG YUNHO

pairing : : jeong yunho x fem!reader

synopsis : : yunho had been ignoring you for a game—so you gave him a taste of his own medicine.

genre : : fluff, suggestive

warnings : : kissing, making out

word count : : 0.6k

—You weren’t even trying to be subtle about it anymore. The way you flopped onto the couch right next to him, sighing dramatically for the fifth time, your legs draped over his lap like some sort of needy punctuation mark—yeah, no shame at all.

But Yunho? Eyes glued to the screen, headset on, fingers dancing over the controller like it was his first love. “Yuyu,” you murmured, dragging out the word as you ran your fingers through his hair, “I’m bored.”

He tilted his head just slightly, like he was trying to acknowledge you, but didn’t dare tear his focus away from the game. “Mmhm—just one more round, I swear.”

You squinted at him. “That’s what you said two rounds ago.”

He reached down and patted your knee absentmindedly, like you were a cat he needed to keep calm. That was it. Final straw.

You stood up without another word, padding into the kitchen with a huff. If he was too busy to give you attention, fine. You’d pretend he didn’t exist too. Petty? Maybe. But he deserved it. You started pulling things out of the fridge, slamming the door just a little louder than necessary.

Fifteen minutes later, you heard the soft pad of his footsteps. He stopped in the doorway, hands in his hoodie pockets, watching you. You ignored him completely.

"Baby?" he tried, voice soft, sheepish.

You hummed, not turning around.

Yunho walked up behind you, wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder. “Don’t be mad, I’m sorry,” he mumbled against your neck, kissing you there lightly. "I missed you."

“You missed me?” you repeated flatly, still focused on the cutting board.

“I did," he said, pressing another kiss to the side of your neck, slower this time. "I miss you even when I’m next to you. You know that?”

You rolled your eyes but your body leaned into his without meaning to. He noticed, smiling against your skin.

Without warning, Yunho spun you around and lifted you effortlessly, placing you on the counter like you weighed nothing. He stood between your legs, hands on either side of your thighs, caging you in with that smug smile he always wore when he knew he was winning.

“There we go,” he said with that boyish grin that always got to you. “You’re looking at me now.”

Your fingers toyed with the ends of his hair. “You ignored me first.”

“I was a fool,” he said dramatically, leaning in to kiss you. It started soft. Then it deepened, slow and warm, his tongue teasing yours, his hands gripping your thighs.

When he pulled back, both of you were breathing a little heavier. “Kitchen’s dangerous,” he said, voice a little husky. “Too many sharp objects. Better take you somewhere safer.”

You squealed when he bent down and threw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, one hand keeping you secure, the other giving your thigh a playful squeeze.

“Yunho!” you shouted, laughing and squirming as he carried you down the hall.

“You asked for my attention,” he said smugly. “Now you’ve got all of it.”

When he reached the bedroom, he tossed you gently on the bed, crawling over you with a teasing glint in his eyes. His hands slipped under the hoodie you were still wearing—his hoodie—and rested on your bare waist, thumbs stroking lazy circles into your skin.

“You’re not allowed to be this hot and mad at me,” he whispered, pressing kisses down your neck, lingering just below your ear. “I won’t survive it.”

You couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips as you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him in for another kiss.

“Maybe next time you’ll pause the game.”

“Darling,” he murmured between kisses, “I’ll delete the whole thing if you just keep kissing me like that.”

© kysstar

[dearru]

princess treatment | a.miya

-> pairing: miya atsumu x gn!reader | sfw | cw: reader wears makeup, u guys r flirty asf, i wrote this in a trance so it’s not proofread | wc: 849 | genre: fluff | mlist

-> synopsis: doing your boyfriend’s makeup and the other things that follow…

“Tsumu! Stop squirming.” 

Your hand rests firmly on his jaw, keeping him still. Gripping the sharp ridge of his face for leverage, you carefully apply eyeliner along your boyfriend’s lid. Atsumu's breath is warm against you, and his cheeks are tinged pink from the blush you’d placed on him moments before. Beneath your grip, you feel him twitching against your rigid touch.

“But it feels weird.” He whines, twitching, fighting the urge to break free. Pouting, his eyes dart to yours. “Can’t believe ya roped me into doin’ this.” 

You giggle, repositioning yourself in his lap. The pen is poised in your hand as you lean in to continue your skillful strokes. His breath hitches as you do so, and you revel in the power you have over him. 

“Almost done.” You coo, “I swear.” 

Finishing the last touch of eyeliner, you hum in delight at your handiwork and reach across the way for gloss. Atsumu’s lips curl in disgust and he jerks his head away.  

“Yer not puttin’ that on me.” 

Scoffing, you ignore his protests and untwist the cap. “Stop being a baby. You love it when I wear this stuff.” 

“Yeah, key-word: you.” He reasons, groaning in indignation, “I gotta stop lettin’ you talk me into doin’ weird shit.” 

“Men wearing lipgloss is not weird.” You giggle, pressing against him as you inch closer to his face. Your hands wave the applicator in front of him enticingly to no avail as he continues to look at the object like it’s a threat.  

“C’mon.” You sing, voice honeyed. “If you’re good– I’ll give you a reward.” 

His brows raise, curiosity painting his features. Body language changing in an instant, he puckers his lips dramatically in your direction. 

“Why didn’t ya tell me that before?” He says, eyes glistening with a bright mirth. His lips morph from puckered to a dopey grin as if he can’t help but smile at the thought of his reward. “If ya had, it would’ve made this process a lot easier.” 

“Would it have?” You hum, coyly. Pleased by the obliging mood he’s now in, you tilt his chin up and brush the gloss over his full lips with deliberate care. When you pull away, he poses, and you throw your head back in a hearty laugh. 

You wrap your hands around his shoulders and shudder at the feeling of them– broad and sturdy in your grasp. In the still of the moment, you let yourself drink him in. 

He looks really good. 

His striking features are cut by the softness of the makeup. The streaks of contour and glossy lips compliment him and make him look unreal. Your heart swells from the knowledge that only you could have enough sway to do this to him. 

To have and to hold Atsumu like this is a pleasure that belongs only to you.  

“You’re so pretty like this.” You murmur, thumb tracing his bottom lip. The gloss smudges from your touch, but you think he looks better when he’s a little messy. 

His nose scrunches. “I hate when ya call me pretty. Say I’m handsome, or somethin’ like everyone else.” 

 Despite the playfulness of the moment, there’s a slight tremor in his breath that feels so intimate your knees shake. There’s a tenseness in his shoulders that hints at the impact of your compliment. It fills your stomach with something warm and greedy. 

“But I love calling you pretty.” You grin, trying to stay composed as his strong arms snake around your waist and pull you taut against him. Hand moving to touch his chest, you gaze longingly into his eyes. “Especially when you have makeup on. It makes me want to give you the princess treatment.” 

He whistles, hands rubbing up your sides. You’re in such close proximity that you can just catch how the rise and fall of his chest speeds up when he receives the compliment. 

Eyes darkening, he hums thoughtfully. “And what’s the princess treatment?” 

You don’t reply. Leaning in, you capture his lips in a slow, sticky kiss. He grunts at the feeling and immediately deepens it, instantly stealing the domineering role from you. The dissonance between his aggressive movements and the taste of the strawberry gloss sends shivers down your spine. 

You pull away before it gets too heated, and he groans, chasing after your lips. 

“Stop fuckin’ with me.” He mewls, staring at you like a distressed child being denied his favorite toy. “I hate bein’ teased.”  

“I’m not.” You purr, one hand tracing his chest while the other reaches for your back pocket where your phone resides. “I just want a picture of you in your makeup before we mess it up too much.” 

Before you can open the camera app, his hand grabs your wrist. 

“Who’re ya gonna show that picture to?” He probes, whiney.

Your lips quirk up, “No one. It’s for my personal collection.” 

His eyes narrow before sighing and releasing you from his hold. 

“Yer so weird.” He huffs, but the soft blush on the tips of his ears and the warm affection in his eyes tell you that he doesn’t really mind.

—a/n: he’s just ur silly, loser, whiney bf guys how could u hate him…