#but y'all are almost certainly never going to see any of them

[parachutingkitten]

You ever look back in horror at all of the ninjago OCs you've abandoned over the years...

[shaguro]

synposis: the story of how you met your sugar-daddy, nanami, at the cafe you work at. ♡ (the prequel to this drabble!)

ੈ✩‧₊˚ tags: sugar daddy nanami! (college student/barista reader x coo nanami), reader is fem, age gap (nanami is 30, reader is 24.), ceo gojo cameo at the start, flirty nd playful banter btwn reader nd nanami, anna is reader's coworker nd friend. nanami calls reader sweetheart once, nanami is just smitten with her as soon as he sees her. sweet fluff! as a whole, this is very light-hearted and unserious y'all. — w.c: 2.2k. ♡

angel's note: consider this my official comeback from my hiatus! thank you so much @preciousamethyst for beta-reading, love you downn. ♡

“you’re telling me out of the five blind-dates that i set up . . . you didn’t like any of them? not even a little bit?” satoru asks incredulously, the french-vanilla latte in his hand almost spilling on the table as he leans forward. “you’re too damn picky, nanamin! they all seemed like nice, respectable ladies to me.”

nanami sighs, looking up from his laptop with an annoyed expression on his face. “the last one didn’t have any teeth . . . and can you keep it down? i’m trying to focus and you’re making a scene, as usual.”

“oh, heh. my bad.”

nanami’s eyes linger on the white-haired man for a moment before focusing on the screen in front of him again. he’s not sure why satoru tagged along to this new cafe with him on his lunch break. (when he clearly stopped visiting his favorite one to avoid him.) it’s not like nanami could say no, anyway — satoru is his boss. his annoying and extremely invasive boss who always finds a way to be in his way and in his business.

it goes without saying that his dating life is certainly not off-limits.

unwrapping the chocolate eclair he just bought, satoru takes a bite of the puffy pastry, humming once the sugary goodness hits his tastebuds. “you were right, nanamin. this does taste amazing.“ he pauses between his words to lick chocolate off his bottom lip, then off his fingers. “maybe we need to try a different approach . . . dating apps! ever tried tinder or bumble—“

“no.” nanami slams his laptop closed, shooting all satoru’s incoming questions down. “i don’t need your help. let’s try ‘letting things happen naturally and staying out of my business’ for a change, yeah?”

“but i have everything planned out! it’ll take me two seconds to make your profile and i have the perfect bio for you — thirty year old trick looking for a pretty woman to spend all my money on — how’s that sound?”

“terrible.” nanami deadpans, placing his laptop into his briefcase. he lifts the sleeve of his shirt, checking the time on his breitling navitimer before standing from his seat. “you have fun with that. i’m getting my pastry to go, i’ll see you back at the office.”

satoru’s jaw is on the floor. “but, nanami—“

without another word, nanami leaves a whining gojo to make his way towards the line that was, thankfully, empty. the baristas don’t notice him, backs turned while they talk to each other by the back counter and nanami doesn’t mind — it gives him more time to decide on what pastry he wants anyway.

truly, he doesn’t understand the obsession surrounding his love life. while nanami is looking, he is by no means desperate. even he knew it was a bad idea to present yourself as a sugar daddy on a dating app, unless you’re an idiot or just lacking a single ounce of dignity.

both categories that satoru fits into, nanami thinks. 

kneeling slightly for a better view at the assorted desserts behind the crystalline-glass case, nanami’s unsure of which one to choose. this cafè’s selection is extensive, they offer much more than what he’s used to; tarts, cakes and pastries that he’s never even seen before. ultimately, he opts to keep it simple with one of his favorites: a fluffy cinnamon roll with extra vanilla glaze.

“girl, i’ve been working real hard and i still don’t have enough saved to pay tuition.” you murmur, scooping a handful of coffee grounds into the filter and shaking the brew funnel to level them. “i’m stressed out.”

nanami’s eyes flicker to where the two of you stand. while he’s never considered himself to be a nosy man, he finds his focus shifting from his lunch to the conversation you’re having, ears perked in interest as he continues to weigh his other options.

your co-worker, anna, gives you a reassuring pat on the back, her face itched downward in concern. “yeah, you were telling me about that last week . . . how much more do you need?”

“around like five-hundred more.” you sigh, brushing your hands off on your apron. anna starts to speak but you stop her with a raise of your palm, already knowing what she’s thinking. “and yes, i’ve taken out loans already. my loans have loans at this point.”

anna raises her brows. “so what are you going to do?”

“i’m out of options.” you shrug, adjusting the valves on the coffee machine to their correct settings. with a heavy sigh, you lean your head on her shoulder with a pout on your glossed lips, “it’s either i start an onlyfans or god sends me a rich old man that wants to be my sugar-daddy.”

anna giggles and playfully swats your arm. even in a serious moment like this, you find a way to lighten the mood. she plays along, tapping her chin with her index finger, “hmm, that can work! maybe you can start stripping. you watched the tiktoks i sent you, right? they touch thousands on a good night.”

“oh my god, i didn’t even think of that!” you stand straight and cup your hands on your breasts through your shirt, poking your ass out a bit. “i might need a boob job and bbl if i wanna be serious about it, though . . . plus, isn’t twenty-four a little too old to start stripping?”

“girl, please. twenty-four isn’t old and you know that. you have a nice body and you’re pretty. they’ll throw stacks just based off that, trust me —”

that whole sugar-daddy thing that satoru was suggesting doesn’t sound half as bad to nanami, right now. you get the money you need and he gets to spend time with you, it’s a win-win.

“she’s right,” nanami agrees, unable to hold back the chuckle that leaves his mouth when the both of you literally jump at the sound of his voice, whipping your bodies around to see just who that deep, smooth timbre belonged to. “you’re very pretty miss . . .” his brown eyes shift down to your name-tag. “ . . . ( name ).”

you blink once, twice — lips slightly parted, heat slowly rising to your face once his sweet compliment slowly registers in your brain and how your name flowed so easily off his tongue. just looking at this man, you can tell that he has money. he’s handsome, even more so as your eyes shift from his chiseled face down to his body. nanami stands tall, he must be around six feet. sporting a white dress-shirt and navy-blue slacks that match his tie, nanami is built. the soft cotton of his shirt clings to his biceps, outlining each vein and curve. the very top of his shirt is unbuttoned, exposing a sliver of his toned chest underneath.

there is no way god answered your prayers this quickly.

in a trance, you stare at nanami like a deer in headlights, completely enamored until anna nudges your arm, snapping you back to reality. she whispers a curt ‘you better talk to that man, girl’ in your ear and that’s you realize that you didn’t even thank him yet, how rude. 

“o-oh, thank you.” you move towards the register, giving nanami a sheepish smile whilst drumming your french-tip acrylics against the granite counter. “so um . . how much of that did you hear?”

“hmm . . . most of it.”

“the onlyfans part too?”

nanami nods with a grin. “and the old rich sugar daddy part.”

you cover your face with your hand, letting out a long sigh. this is just your luck, embarrassing yourself in front of this extremely sexy stranger. “let’s just . . . pretend that didn’t happen.” you’re certain that you were definitely not getting his number after this. “what can i get you, mr . . .?”

“kento.” nanami answers, leaning a tad bit closer and you have to crane your neck slightly to look at him, that grin still on his plump lips. “but you can call me ken.”

“oh?” you catch the cheeky switch in his tone, the teasing glint in those pretty pools of brown. he’s flirting with you and why not return the same energy? you’re interested in him, too. biting back a smile of your own, you hold his gaze, staring up at him through your wispy extensions. “ok, ken, what can i get you?”

“two of those cinnamon rolls, please.” nanami answers, pointing towards the case he’d been looking at prior.

you nod and grab a set of tongs, opening the glass to place the rolls into a small plastic bag, then into a paper bag on the counter. “just that, nothing else?”

pondering on the question, nanami’s debating the risk of what he’s about to say. it’s obvious that you’re attracted to him but this was a whole different ballgame, asking you to be his sugar baby? — really, the worst that could happen is you rejecting him and as much as he doesn’t want that, he’d just have to accept it. nanami inhales a deep breath once he gathers his thoughts. here goes nothing. 

“well, there is something that i have. it’s a proposition of sorts for you.”

you look up from the register, one of your brows raised. “and what would that be?”

“allow me to take you out a few times a week, whenever you have the time . . . and i’ll pay your tuition.” nanami pauses and shakes his head, combing some of his blonde locks back with his fingers. “no, i’ll pay all your bills. as long as i get to see you, i’ll give you anything that you want.”

you tilt your head to the left and raise your brows. “you want to be my sugar daddy?”

nanami nods, chuckling at the look of sheer disbelief on your face on your face. “i’m missing the old part so i’m not exactly sure if i qualify . . . but yes, i do.”

you scoff at that. “. . . and you just want to see me, take me on dates, no sex?” did he think you were that naive? if there’s one thing you know for certain, it’s that nothing in this world is free —  everything has a price and in this case, your pussy would be the desired currency. you pout, crossing your arms over your chest. “i don’t believe that. what’s the catch?”

nanami supposes you aren’t wrong for thinking this way. it does sound far-fetched, especially from a stranger you met not even an hour ago. he wasn’t a liar or a perv, and he’d just have to make you see how serious he is. “there is no catch. i think you’re beautiful and i want to get to know you better. i understand that this may seem too good to be true but i promise you, my intentions are pure.”

nanami isn’t surprised when you don’t budge, eyes slanted as you glare him down. (and you look so adorable while doing it.) he expected this reaction from you and little did you know, he’s already one step ahead. if his words don’t move you, then he’s sure his actions will get the point across.

fishing for his wallet in his pocket, he pulls it out, handing you a five dollar bill, “this is for the cinnamon rolls and this,” he takes out a set of bills, hundred dollar bills and you watch him, mouth ajar as he counts off each one before placing it in your free hand. is he serious? “this is for your tuition and a little extra to spend. we’ll handle the ‘loans that have loans’ on our first date, alright?”

you’re speechless, eyes shifting between nanami’s face and the money in your hand as you try your best to process what’s happening before you. from joking about needing a sugar-daddy to having one in front of you. and the man wants to spend time with you, no sex required! you surely couldn’t doubt him now, not when he gave you the money without you actually agreeing. maybe this was the blessing from god you’d been waiting for.

you clear your throat, nodding dazedly. “a-alright, yeah . . . we can talk more on our first date.”

nanami smiles once more, glancing at his watch prior to picking up the paper bag off the counter. “as much as i want to stay with you, i have to get back to the office.” reaching into his pants pocket, he slides a laminated card on the counter. “my personal number is on this card. when you get a chance, call or send me a text. i’ll see you soon, sweetheart.”

with a playful wink, nanami leaves the cafe — your eyes trailing his lithe frame until he turns a street corner, completely out of sight. it’s like you were frozen in place, the money still in your hands. when you finally decide to take a look at the business card he left, your jaw quite literally drops to the floor: this man is the coo of jujutsu, one of the biggest marketing companies in the country.

                                 kento nanami

                            chief operating officer

               jujutsu marketing and e-commerce, llc.

                                 xxx-xxx-xxxx

kento.nanami@gmail.com

now, you were definitely certain that god did indeed hear and answer your prayers. in more ways than one.

tagging: @sttoru @screampied @thebimbopalace @tojancy

© shaguro, 2023 - do not plagiarise nor repost anything on any other platform.

[livefastdriveyoung]

Every team has a first and second driver. It is just that not every driver fulfills the role in the same way.

At Aston Martin we know Fernando is driver one. He is the more experienced driver, and right from the mouth of Lawrence Stroll himself, was brought in to make Lance a better driver so he could one day be the first driver. He does media, he's funny, and he also clearly has a mentor/mentee relationship with Lance.

I call this the mentor/mentee set up

At Mercedes, we know that Lewis is Driver one. Based on titles certainly, age almost definitely, and also because he is Lewis Hamilton. Until February, and even after, when you think Mercedes, you think Lewis. He is their better driver. He won six championships with them. He's stayed longer than most drivers stay on the whole grid. It is his through blood, sweat, and tears. George is the prince, he's set to inherit, potentially (BTW TORGER, I would like a word), and has a lot to live up to. Comparisons are hard, especially when the first driver is Lewis. I think that it's a forced proximity set-up, but they are friendly. Mostly off the track because on track they do not have their greatest moments.

I call this the King/Heir Apparent set up

At Red Bull, we know that Max is Driver one. Aside from the championships, he is just too fast. Every time one of the other drivers who drove alongside him was brought up to Horner or Helmut (YIKES to both), they would compare where they raced to Max. It is unattainable, and isolating. Until Checo. Checo didn't think he was going to be able to drive after BWT. He didn't have a contract, he was a middle of the pack driver, Mexico's son, and his story was supposed to end there. The Red Bull contract was a dream, but for all of the weird behavior some of y'all have with him (again, he's had his problems but the racism and idiot syndrome some apply to him is also NOT OK) he's not an idiot. He knows he's on a limited contract, he knows he's no spring chicken. Hearing him talk about next year, he knows he's very likely out of a contract. But he doesn't let any of this impact his relationship with Max. They are teammates, Checo will do what is best for the team. Max's whole world is predominantly driving. Checo has more of a balance, and in some ways, allows Max to be young.

I call this the Sibling set up.

At Ferrari, Charles LeClerc is Driver one. He is il Predestinato, the second coming, Monaco's prince. He can do no wrong. Carlos Sainz is the second driver. In spite of the fact that he got dropped from the team, in spite of the fact that he has won them two races, he is the one that is being pushed out. But he and Charles are friends, and teammates. They've driven together for several years now. Ultimately, while Carlos has done most of the heavy lifting on his side of the garage in terms of strategy and driving, he is also the one who knows when to walk away from the fight, when to stop letting yourself get hurt by the team that should be defending you. For Charles, Ferrari is a promise to Jules, to his father, to himself. He cannot walk away. In some way, Carlos can. That's why he makes the good second driver. The second in command is the one that sees the whole picture, including the first in command, because they never look at themselves.

I call this the friends/us against the world set up.

At Mclaren, driver one is Lando Norris. An indefinite contract, the sponsors, the adoration, Lando is the golden child. But Oscar is too, sort of. They're both young, both incredibly talented. But they're young. They're doing this together. McLaren went from disaster to top of the pack last season, and they're both on this ride together. I think McLaren is going to do whatever it takes to get Lando his win, but then I think they'll split 50/50. What will happen then, I don't know.

I call this the to soon to tell set up

At Williams, Alex Albon is so clearly driver one. Last year, he scored the majority of the points, they signed him for an extended contract, and they're desperate to keep him for 2026, when the car is supposedly going to be insane. Logan is the second driver. Alex wants to be the mentor, and to some degree he is. But Logan's narrative from last season to this season has shifted dramatically. Less and less people want to see him gone, they like the American. Williams renewed him. Whether because of sponsorship or genuine interest in his improvement, I don't know. But, in the last two races, they have managed to tank Alex's reputation, and boost Logan's. You don't publicly destroy your second driver's confidence, and career potential so publicly and walk away clean. We've seen it with Red Bull and Pierre, and Alex. Both times, those two drivers walked away with insane support. Logan is now receiving the same, but I wonder if it is going to make a difference. I think that Logan talking about what is best for the team is what is keeping him going, but if you watched the newest Team Torque, you can see fatigue and some tension between him and Alex. I don't know if it is jet lag, or work, or stress, or damage to the relationship. But this is a driver relationship on a razor wire.

I call this the Icarus set up

At Alpine, it is Pierre. He gets away with murder, at least by the team. Esteban has certainly mellowed a little, but he calls Pierre out still. However, they are both miserable with the car this year, so I think they are probably commiserating. The fact they can work together after years of rivalry and blatant hurt between the two is interesting. I think that both of these men have racing above all on their heart, and they will do whatever it takes to stay there. So for now, they suffer in the car, and they are colleagues.

I call this the "there's no other choice" set up (aka forced proximity)l

At Visa CashApp, there's currently a power struggle. Daniel is Daniel. He's been second driver for a few years, he's been third driver. He's got the popularity, though it is waning, and more importantly, he's got Christian Horner's support. That, plus the fact that the team talks about Daniel's presence being about helping them improve, makes him sound like first driver. Except, Yuki has been First driver for years. He's the one who stayed through the revolving door of drivers. This is his team. Honda pays the majority of his salary. So when you bring someone in, someone who doesn't even want the seat as much as he wants the Red Bull seat, the seat that should be yours, you're not going to go down without a fight. It creates this weird tension, but then Daniel is like "I know how lucky I am to be here, I'm focused on driving here," and is already being threatened with losing the seat like Nyck was, and Yuki realizes he might never get the Red Bull seat. So you have these two guys who are fighting for the same thing, that doesn't want them.

I call this the Alone Together set up

At Sauber, it is Valtteri. He has won gps, he's former Mercedes, who used to come second usually only to Lewis. He's funny, older, a weirdo that people love and feel they know. Zhou is younger, he's dealing with the pressure of being China's only son, and the higher expectations of him. Valtteri helps keep him young and focused. He's been through the wringer, and he's teaching Zhou that it is not going to be what breaks you.

Also Mentor/Mentee except the mentors are nuts in a different way

I don't know what the hell is going on at Haas.

[artists-ally]

Can you please write some more Azriel smut with his mate thank you !!!

{Bow} Reader x Azriel

Oh babes, you ask and you shall receive. Y'all went fucking BANANAS with my last Az smut, so here ya go you filthy sluts (i'm the filthiest slut there is i write this shit) Also you cannot convince me that Az isn't a dom. Enjoy!! Title from this song

Word Count: 2,869

Warnings: smut, spanking, spitting, choking, praise kink, breeding kink, possessive behavior, bondage, dom/sub vibes

Tagging: @librafairy @needylilgal022

Summary: Azriel goes a little feral after the mating bond snaps into place.

~~~~~

I knew it was going to happen. I could feel it coming. Just one of those once-in-a-lifetime feelings when you just know something is going to happen. There wasn’t anything I could do to warn Az since he was on the other end of the continent in Illyria. 

But my bones buzzed when he told me he was coming home. It was just a caress down the bond, a flicker of his shadow around my hand to let me know, but it was intense. I didn’t know if he knew or not, but I certainly did. 

“Okay, why are you pacing around?” Mor snapped me out of my thoughts. 

“I think it’s going to happen. Like today,” I said through a hurried breath. Mor squealed and I flinched, the sound doing nothing to help the vein pulsing in my head. 

“Oh my gods oh my gods I cannot believe it!” She jumped up and down. “Finally.”

“Hey,” I frowned slightly. “It’s not our fault. And we both agreed we’d wait until it felt right to pursue it. Who knew it would take two and a half years.”

“Can I say how proud of you I am for waiting? I could never be that patient,” Mor grabbed me by my shoulders. “I am so happy for you, Yn. No one in Prythian deserves this more than you two.” “Thanks,” I smiled sweetly, taking her hands in mine. I inhaled sharply and let it out. “What do I do?”

“You need to make him something to eat,” Mor hurried out, dragging me out of the living room of the Townhouse and into the kitchen. “What’s his favorite thing to eat?”

I thought for a moment, stuffing down the urge to say me and trying to think of a legit response. “He has always loved those pork dumplings I made for Solstice one year.”

“Perfect,” Mor ran around and grabbed the ingredients I listed off. “Let's make this the most memorable meal of his life!”

For about an hour I kneaded and folded the little dumplings into half circles, filling them with pork and vegetables before sealing them and dropping them in a pan. I was filled with so much excitement that the normally terrifying process of splattering oil didn't faze me. It was so hard to think about anything other than Azriel and what we’d do later tonight. Hopefully, anyway. 

I remember what Feyre told me about her and Rhys. What Cassian said about him and Nesta. That it had been a fury of teeth and tongues and touches. That there wasn’t any time to be wasted. The want. The primal need for each other and how brutal it was. But how satisfying and soul-bonding it was. 

Quite literally.

I finished the last of them up, plating the others for when he got home. He was getting closer; the shadow he always left me with was writhing between my fingers, circling around my wrist. 

“Okay, I will make sure everything is tidy and then I’m gone. And I will make sure no one comes within a three mile radius of this place for the next week. Or until you send word Azriel isn’t going to rip someone's head off.”

I rolled my eyes, “We’ll be fine. He’s almost here so get out.” “Good luck,” she winked, disappearing behind the corner. The front door opened and closed and I watched her winnow away. 

Why am I so nervous? It isn’t like it’s our first date all over again. He has seen the most intimate parts of my body, the most intricate parts of my mind and yet I was shivering with anticipation. Not nerves– excitement. 

I can hear the mighty beat of his wings as he approaches, and I see him land in the back garden, pushing his wind-blown hair off his forehead. My heart is at a furious pace. Gods he looks… it’s like I’m seeing him all over again. For the first time. All those thoughts and feelings rushing into me. 

There isn’t a fucking doubt in my mind that this is going to happen. 

Azriel draws open the back door and turns his head to the left, then to the right to find me motionless in the kitchen. “Yn…”

He says my name in the same breathless way he has since he learned what it was years ago. Our eyes lock and he shuts the door behind him. Azriel doesn’t waste a single second, scooping me up and drawing me in tight against his chest. He smells of the slight salt and lemon of the Sidra, but deep down his natural, rugged scent washes over me. 

“I have to stop taking such long trips to the Camp,” Azriel grumbles a laugh, pressing his lips to the top of my head. He takes a deep breath, then releases it. When I don’t respond– or chuckle alongside him– he draws back. “Yn?”

All I can do is look at him. His eyes are impossibly green at this moment. All the flecks of gold and amber igniting them. My chest is tight and the edges of my control are slipping. 

He furrows his brows, “Is everything…” And the words die on his tongue. 

It’s like Prythian tilts and slides into the sea. Down down down we go with it. I might’ve actually gasped with the crack that formed in my chest, breath still in my throat. 

It’s not the shimmering gold or tether of silver Feyre and Nesta had described. It is an inky black tendril of shadow that I can see, that I can feel, as clear as day. And right there, tied to the other end, is Azriel. Mate mate mate is the only hum I feel besides the roar of hope. Of promise. Of forever. 

Azriel shudders a breath, staggering a step back, eyes blinking as rapidly as his chest moves. His hands are digging into the sides of my arms. “Y-Yn-”

“I feel it,” I finished his unasked question. I nod again, forcing myself to believe that this is actually happening. He nods back, eyes never leaving mine. “I thought that I could feel it coming. Like- like this huge build up in my chest and… almost like a doorway? Like I could see the door but didn’t quite know how to unlock it.”

Azriel doesn’t say anything for a long few beats. “Mates…”

I nod. “Mates.”

It’s like saying it outloud solidified it because only after that did the burn for him become unbearable. It was untamed and wild and feral, just like Feyre had said it would be. Before we wrecked everything in the kitchen, I dropped his hands from my body and walked to the counter. 

I held out the plate of homemade dumplings and presented them to Azriel. His eyes looked from the plate and back up to me. 

He looked hungry. Not for the dumplings– most definitely not for the dumplings. I wonder what it feels like for him. If he’s as desperate as I am. As eager and impatient. If he can barely stand the two feet between us like I do. 

Azriel’s fingers are trembling as he plucks one of the dumplings off the plate and brings it to his mouth. In any other scenario I’d find it weird as he doesn’t look away while he chews… but his scent is driving me in-fucking-sane and I can't look away. 

I think it’s safe to say that he doesn’t taste it, practically swallowing it whole. The plate of dumplings are on the floor the next second and a gasp leaves my mouth. His hand is fisted in my hair, mouth covering mine. 

Fuck me. Feyre wasn’t joking about everything feeling different. About feeling better. 

I pressed onto my toes and looped my arm around the back of his neck. He grabbed the backs of both my thighs and hauled me onto his hips. 

“Mate,” Azriel growled out. “My mate, my mate.”

My ass hit the counter and the canister of spoons and utensils crashed to the floor. I went to look, but Az gripped my throat and forced me to look back at him. He looked wild. Like pure instinct had taken over. 

“Az-”

“You’re fucking mine,” he spoke through clenched teeth. “All fucking mine.”

“All yours, Az,” I breathed out, his thumb pulling down my bottom lip. I sucked on it, tears springing into my eyes when he shoved it further down my throat. I watched the grin spread across his face. “All mine,” I said with equal possession. 

“Only you have that power now, Yn. The power to bring me to my knees. I do not bend to anyone except you. Always you. Forever you.”

My heart swelled before his lips were back on mine, tongue curling with mine in haste. His hands worked their way down my thighs, spreading them apart. I shuddered at the feeling of him against my core, cock already hard and pulsing against me. 

His scent– lightning hot with a touch of cinnamon– cascaded around me, blooming into the air and making my body react in a way I didn’t know it could. I scratched at the edges of his fighting leathers, desperate for his body against mine. Azriel reached for the straps, sliding them through the buckles with five centuries of experience and effortless precision. 

The material gave away and fell to the floor and there was nothing but his tattooed skin in my hands. Nails clawing up his back and shoulders, I couldn’t get closer if I tried. I needed closer. I Needed him inside me like I needed water or the sun. 

My body was thinking for me, hands fumbling with my bottoms as he ripped off his. Even as much as I didn’t want to draw away from his mouth, I couldn’t help the curiosity to look at him. 

I dipped my eyes down, seeing a few beads of slick slip from his body, coating the tip of him. I reached down, even more desperate for a taste than I had been for the feeling of his lips on mine. 

Az watched with a predatory look etched in his eyes. I gathered it and brought my finger to my mouth, the taste of him settling in my bones. He tasted how he always did, but there was just something more satisfying about it now. The confirmation that for the rest of our lives I would be able to have every part of him. Whenever I wanted. 

He couldn’t wait. And I didn’t blame him. In another heartbeat I was flipped over and on my stomach, knees knocking into the cabinet below. His hands tore the rest of the material from my body and the scraps gave away. 

He was panting. I’ve never heard him be this vocal. Or this destructive. “Hold still.” He commanded, pressing on the middle of my back to get me to stop squirming.

I obeyed. 

His hands spread my ass apart and I heard his tongue working in his mouth. I gasp when he spits onto my already soaked cunt, spreading it around with his fingers. He lands a crack to my ass with his palm next and I grit my teeth together, whining when he does it again. 

“Fucking mine,” He snarls, and I feel the tip of his chock slide over my clit. There is the familiar sting that comes with his size as he presses all the way in, not giving me the time to adjust like he normally would. 

But Cauldron damn me if I actually cared. I need him inside me. Need to feel every inch of his length until I couldn’t feel him at all. 

My body was vibrating, as was his. He pulled out and rocked back in, nails dragging down my spine. He let out a dark laugh, void of any real tenderness. “Gods I am going to fucking ruin you, Yn. Yeah you like that don’t you? Fuck.”

I cried out. My body was on fire. Every single hair on my skin stood up on end as he claimed me. Every part of my mind and body and soul melded together with Azriels with each snap of his hips. 

It was not soft. Or sweet. Or comfortable. We were both satisfying an ancient need for each other in every way possible. That door with his shadow leading me was wide open, and it was like I could see into his mind. Through his eyes, I looked at my marked body.

The noises tore through me as did my release. I convulsed around him, arching up and into the momentum as he rocked into me. In seconds I was lifted off the counter, still shuddering around his cock when we landed on the floor. 

Azriel hauled my ass into the hollow of his hips and hit places so deep inside me I didn’t know how to breathe. 

He was a panting, shaking mess behind me. 

“Mine,” he murmured against my neck, teeth grazing the skin. “You’re doing such a good job, taking my cock like that.”

I whimpered as he forced my hips to meet his. He leaned over my body and I felt a few drops of sweat trickle onto my skin. He pushed my chest flat against the floor and I wasn’t entirely sure that my spine wasn’t going to break with the force. With one hand pinning my shoulder, the other ripped my hair back, creating the most painful yet pleasurable angle. 

Shadows whirled around my body, ghosting every inch to stimulate me beyond anything I thought possible. All reason left my mind. I was his, and he was mine. His body, his soul… it was all mine. He was giving himself to me, just like I was giving myself to him. 

Every push of his body into mine drew sounds I didn’t know we could make. At this angle I could feel how much bigger he was than me. Knowing that if he wanted to he could easily over power my body without lifting a finger. 

For a second time my body overtook my mind, leaving me no choice to follow its lead. I shook and cried out, chanting his name over and over again as I came a second time in only a few minutes. 

“Fucking look at you,” Azriel said, easing up on his lod of my hair. “Taking my cock like it’s nothing. You are doing such a good job, Yn. Gonna fucking breed you. Aww, you’d like that, hmm? I can feel you clenching, feel how much you want it.”

I nodded, not able to form any words. 

Azriel turned me over on my back and pinned my knees to the floor with his shadows. That same darkness curled around my wrists and sealed them above my head while his hands worked my nipples, my clit. 

I couldn’t thrash even if I wanted to. His teeth left marks along my chest, the muscles in his shoulders rippling as he forced his cock into me at a brutal pace. 

“Oh fuck,” he whimpered. “F-fuck yes, Gods you feel so fucking hot.”

I did my best to tighten around him, and judging by the way his hips stuttered, I did a good job. The muscles around his ribs and abdomen flared, the veins in his arms pushing to the surface. 

“I can’t-” he heaved for a breath, mumbling curses and pleas. “Can’t hold on anymore.”

“Let go,” I beg, new tears spilling down my cheeks. “Fill me up.”

Azriel was a mess of gasping breaths and praise as he focused all his motion. Every hard ridge of his body was constricted and convulsing with power as he cursed again, head dipped low, breath fanning over my chest and neck. 

My mind melted as I felt the bond snap into place even deeper. There had been a mental connection earlier, but this was the physical side. Azriel’s front draped over mine as he came deep inside me, his thighs shaking as he fucking into me over and over and over, cum trickling out with each new push of his cock into my aching cunt. 

“That’s a good girl… there you go,” he slurred his words, drunk off the feeling of his release. I could feel it as if it was my own. Feel his claim on my body as if it was my own. “Take it all. All fucking mine. Such a good mate. Taking all my cum so fucking good.”

I moaned, fingers and toes tingling as he took his weight off my chest and sat up. Sweat gleamed his body. My eyes were blurry, but I could still see the need in his eyes. 

I swallowed, the high of it all settling in. His hands roamed over my body, up around the creases of my still bound thighs, and up my sides. 

After a few more short gasps, his hand was gripping my chin. “I am not letting you out of the fucking bed until no one is able to tell our scents apart again. Everyone is gonna know that you’re mine. My mate, and everyone will know I am yours.”

[winterarmyy]

Plot Twist | Part III*

An arranged marriage with mafia!bucky.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III* (end) | Extra

Words: 4.8k++ (of mostly filth)

Pairing: beefy mafia!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: 18+ content, no minors allowed, nsfw, cunnilingus, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, lots and lots of praises, bucky's filthy mouth, tiny hint of wife!kink from bucky, soft!bucky being romantic, fluffy date, reader is quite a menace at the end, honestly.

A/N: This is the last chapter because I didn't really have a long plot for this specific fic. I wrote this fic entirely out of impulse.

P/S:  I have no idea what I just wrote for the smut scene; partially because english is not my first language and the rest is because I literally have no experience but I hope y'all enjoy it somehow!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

"Don't hide those noises from me, doll. I want to hear you." Bucky licked a strip up across her gushing pussy before lewdly suckling on her sensitive clit.

 "Bucky." she whined so needily as if she hadn't just come on his tongue a few moments ago.

How did they even get here in the first place?

One minute Bucky was proposing to ditch the gala, that's when she decided to bring him to one of the most underrated diners in Brooklyn. 

Then somehow, there was Bucky, eating her out as if he was still starving. 

"Oh my, Irene is that you?" The way the old lady gasped with excitement as she walked towards the couple; Bucky was assuming she was indeed talking to his wife.

Y/N grinned with a tiny scrunch on her nose, a goofy smile that Bucky never seen before. Entranced, he didn't even notice how his heartbeats quickens, let alone process the fact that Irene was not his wife's name.

"Long time no see, Maria." Y/N didn't hesitate to be engulfed by the warm and welcoming hug from Maria as if she was one of her grandchildren.

The tight squeeze loosen up after a while, followed by a compliment, "You look absolutely stunning, sweetheart." By the way she was looking up and down at Y/N, it seems like she doesn't want to move on from the topic.

But swiftly, a frown formed on her forehead when she realizes, "But why are you having a date at my old rackety diner?" Maria was quick to read the room.

Well, it's not that hard when you see a gorgeous, well-dressed couple walk in together. Him opening the door for her, the shy smile on her lips, any excuse to have his hands on her, glimmer in those eyes of hers.

Of course, it was a date.

"Now, why would I trade some fancy overprized steak with your absolute perfection of a burger? God don't get started on those crispy fries. I've been craving them for weeks!" Y/N could feel her mouth-watering from her own imagination.

"Oh, stop it! You're exaggerating!" Maria chuckles, lightly taping the side of Y/N's shoulder.

"I certainly am not!" Y/N exclaimed, almost animatedly.

The conversation in front of Bucky seemed to be silenced by his own racing thoughts.

Bucky was certain that these past few months being married to Y/N, he already knew her. All her patterns were memorized in the back of his head.

But this was different. It doesn't look like her; at least not the look that she always displayed around their mansion, nor any events they went to.

However, it feels so much like her at the same time.

If she still has other sides and expressions hidden from him, then wanted to see them all.

His hearing started to regain its ability when Y/N spoke, "This is my date, Sebastian. Babe, this is Maria, the owner of this diner." She introduces them.

Bucky leaned forward as he offered his hand, only to be pulled into the similar hug that his wife just received. Maybe he let his guard down, or maybe Maria was just stronger than him to be able to pull him in like that.

"I heard so much about you and this place. Thought nice to bring Irene to her favourite place for a date." Bucky was partially lying. He did promise her that she could choose anywhere she wanted to go to, but at the same time he had no idea this place existed before.

Maria had an approving smile on her face, as if he ticked off several of her checklist for choosing Y/N's boyfriend. She shot a look at Y/N, showing her approval which only made Y/N rolled her eyes.

When they settled in their booth and their orders taken, Bucky started to come up with the first topic, "So, Irene..." he purposely slowed his pace, as if he knew that Y/N would burst into laughter. A triumph smirk curved across his lips, knowing he managed to pull one of her rare laughs.

"...I just wanted to say that I, Sebastian, am honoured to be able to take you on a date this lovely evening." He managed to sound effortlessly posh while saying it, which makes Y/N laugh even more so.

"Oh god, stop, Bucky. It's just us. You don't need to act anymore." Her eyes briefly pointed to their surroundings. Indeed, there was just them and a group of teenagers all the way across the diner.

Bucky chuckled, "Well the way you act just now makes me think you me to stay in character."

"I didn't know that my wife had different identities. Wanna tell me about it?"

Y/N hesitated at first, she wonders if Bucky can accept what she had to say about this, but the anticipation and curiosity in his face seemed to look like he was sincere.

She took a deep breath before letting out a sigh and explained, "People like us can't just go out and about with our family names attached on our faces. We'd be sticking out like a sore thumb."

Bucky thought of what she said for a bit before he asked, "And you hate that? Having my name as part of your identity?" His brow quirked.

She exhaled deeply, "No, I didn't mean it like that, Bucky."

Her hesitation after only urged Bucky to silently demand for further explanation.

She admit defeat as she spoke, "Let's be real our lives are not ordinary. We weren't born in normal society like these people do." Y/N gaze roamed around the few people within the diner. There was this longing in her eyes.

"And I just want to feel what is it like to be one of them. To able to bond other people without greed or malice behind their intentions." There was only truth in her gaze, and Bucky saw that.

"I-- it's like an escape for me. A breath of fresh air if you will." She expressed.

"Like your books? Are they your escape too?" Bucky asked after thinking about how many hours she spent reading.

A fond smile curved on her lips, "Precisely."

He thought deeply before asking, "If you're constantly trying to escape, then what is it that you are trying to run from?" he riddled.

Y/N leaned back to her seat and think of the best way to put her feelings in simple words, "Nothing. I guess that I haven't find something that make me wanna stay in this reality."

"Yet" Bucky didn't mean to say it out loud. It was supposed to be his personal thoughts, but Y/N's eyes unexpectedly lit up, "Yet." She repeated his word, with a hopeful tone behind her natural voice.

The prolonged eye-contact broke when Maria came to serve their food. The conversation after that was nothing too deep, nothing too general. It was the type of conversation that left a light-hearted residue within their chest.

Hours passed and the music resonating from the jukebox seemed to shift into something slow, something more ballad-like. Bucky had an idea. He stood on his feet and walk out of their space while straightening his jacket.

Y/N was confused at first, "Are we leaving already?" was what she thought of before Bucky spoke, "A dance, my dear?"

She trailed the hand that was outreaching towards her, then up to his face. His smile was charming, and the crinkled lines on the side of his eyes were even more endearing.

Who'd knew those small things could become one her little weaknesses. She accepted his offer by grasping on his hand while he gracefully pulled her out of their booth towards the empty space between rows tables and the jukebox.

Bucky pulled her in, even closer than deemed necessary. She followed his lead; fingers laced lightly with each other's. His other hand rests right above her backside. And hers on one of his shoulders.

Though both of them didn't have a clue on how to dance but it didn't stop them to naturally fall into step and let the rhythm control their movements.

Everything else around them; the diner, the people, seemed to dissolve with time. It felt like there was just him and her, alone. Only the sounds of their heart beats and the music that remained.

People in the diner sat on their seats; watching the couple swayed along the melody of the song; couldn't help to admire the sight in front of them.

Even the bunch of teenagers on the other side was suddenly intrigued, some of them gawked and squealed at them, others didn't waste any time and started pull out their phone to record the moment.

Bucky leaned in as he whispered her name. She looked up in respond, with a smile spread across her beautiful face and eyes curved into upside down crescent moons.

A storm of uncontrollable emotions surged throughout Bucky's body, and his nerves tingled in delight. His brought his hand towards her face and brushed his thumb across her cheek.

His body was acting on its own as all the restrains he locked himself before vanished into thin air. Nothing was holding him back from this slice of paradise.

Her eyes glistened the moment Bucky's thumb pressed against her soft lips. "You're so beautiful, Y/N. Do you know that?" He whispered. His eyes searched her features as if he can't believe that his wife was real.

Her lips parted as a laugh escaped through her mouth; it seems to be that she doesn't believe him. Though the truth was clear, and yet somehow she couldn't see it.

"I'm serious, doll. You don't know how gorgeous you look right now." Her cheeks deepen in the colour of rose.

Bucky drew her close to his chest, so close he could feel the warmth of her body; while she wrapped her arms around his neck, tip toe-ing towards the side of his face. He could smell the delicate perfume on her.

Her lips went to his ear as she whispered ever so softly. "And you're such a flirt, do you know that?"

She returned to her original position, looking up with mischief gleaming in her eyes. Whatever spell did she just put on Bucky in that very moment, it certainly work wonders as all he can think about is how her lips feels against his own.

Bucky looked like as if he was in a daze, lips slightly parted, his gaze soften as they fixated on her maroon painted lips.

Y/N seemed to pick up on what's going to happen. Her hands trembled in anticipation; his scent was alluring, almost intoxicating that she might recall this moment whenever she smell this cologne again.

The moment seemed to prolonged but then it feels like the time stops entirely when Bucky pressed his lips on hers. The kiss was delicate, and soft, and passionate and real all at the same time.

Bucky pulled away momentarily only to pull her close again by the back her neck, tilting the heads in opposite direction as he licked her lips for permission in which she gladly comply.

Her hands gripping on the fabric of his shirt that's rested on his chest, holding on to him for her dear life as he stole her breath away.

Soft moans were slipping through the kiss as she felt the delicious burn of his stumble on her skin. Little did she know that, that might just be one of a trigger for Bucky to lose control.

He grunted in disapproval when she pulled away, wanting nothing more than to kiss her again and again and again until both of them forgot how to even breath.

But looking down at her trembling lips, the glaze across her eyes, her shaky breath; Bucky might just turn feral right there and then.

"Bucky..."

Bucky swore that she was whining his name.

"...Take me home."

Which then leads to this very moment where Bucky grabbed her by the waist, pushing her cunt further on his tongue before wrapping his arms around her thighs.

He wants to make sure she's strapped in for another wave that's about to crush her.

He flicked his tongue in an up and down motion, gliding through sensitive bundle of nerves. As if he knew what she like. No, he knows exactly what makes her squirm.

It took him a few orgasms on his tongue to know that she loves those small circles over her clit, those flat licks when he spread her pussy apart, how she much prefer to have her clit played rather than her hole fucked by his fingers, all of the little notes were already buried in Bucky's head.

And oh how divine does she look when she came for him. Bucky couldn't take his eyes off her; he was already addicted her taste, the shudders of her thighs on the sides of his face, and her pretty voice moaning his name.

Why hasn't he done this earlier?  

"It's been too long, doll. Should've claimed this gorgeous pussy long ago. Shit." He growled his desire before diving back to her leaking heat.

Wet vulgar sounds echoes within the enclosed space of their bedroom as he devoured her whole. His changing speed really was too much for her to handle, and him gripping onto her thighs was the right choice.

Especially, when she started to squirm upwards, "Oh god Bucky,," moaning as she threw her head back to the soft pillow under her head.

Smirking proud against her parted lips, he pulled her back where she was before, pinning her hips against the bed. He sucks her aching bud into his hot, wet mouth so ferociously she can only gasp to the immense pleasure.

Oh, does it feel good having his mouth wrapping around her pussy like this, while the tip of his dangerous tongue flicking mercilessly on her swollen bundle of nerves.

So good to the point she was seeing stars. Literal stars at the back of her head as her high was reaching for euphoria. The aching pleasure caused her toes to curl and thighs burning, shaking as she cried out his name.

But, he wasn't satisfied yet, insatiably greedy for more, "So sweet, baby. Come on give it to me." He growled against her.

He continued to abuse that cunt over and over as the shameless wailing and chanting of how bad she wanted to come, filling up not just the room but also his pride.

Bucky wants to make her feel each stroke and glide of his wicked, delicious tongue. Feeling the electrifying pleasure surging within her core, her thighs involuntarily started closing around his head.

He can barely breathe from how much she was suffocating him, but he certainly refused to stop.

Not until he ruined that needy cunt of hers.

Over and over, he sucks and pulls while his tongue danced through her until her sanity was close to breaking, body trembling in his hold.

The wet squelches, the lapping of his tongue, her sexy moans. He drowned himself to every single one of them.

"Fuck! Bucky, I'm coming. Please, please please don't stop!" She begged for his mercy even if he never asked for it.

Her moan was getting needier than ever, while her hips jerked upwards to meet his tongue. Her fingers gripping on his soft hair, guiding his through the sweet torturous pace.

Fortunately, she wasn't the only one who was close to an explosive high. Bucky's cock, hard and pulsing, twitched against the constraint of his boxer. Even without any simulation from any kind of touch, his cock was more than overjoyed to come along with her.

And it was all because of her.

From the way she was shamelessly humping against his mouth, using him to get herself off. Gripping and pulling his hair, so she could ride his tongue faster.

Bucky hummed against her clit, before chuckling, "You're already such a good girl, doll. So perfect. You taste..." his tongue licked through her folds, grazing on the throbbing clit. "...Perfect."

A whisper of his name escaped as she gasped into a back arching shudder, head thrown back, eyes rolling, unable to focus on anything other than the pleasure of his tongue.

"Do it." he growled out. "Come for me, baby. Make a mess on my tongue."

That command was all it supposed to take, for her to finally let go but feeling his tongue flicking against her clit was what ripped the orgasm right from her begging pussy.

A loud scream of curses of his name was the only thing she can utter once the orgasm washed over. She let the pleasure unravel from within to every part of her shivering body, until she was left limping on the bed.

"Gorgeous..." he grunted with a horny tone, tongue sliding in between her wet slit, making sure every lick managed to collect the sweet nectar she had bestowed him.

Finally pulling away from between her legs, the lower half of Bucky's face was drenched; his lips glistened with the mixture of spit and slick, dripping down along the chin, down to his neck.

His eyes closed in an euphoric high, tongue licking her cum off his lips before forming a devilish smirk on his face. He looked as happy as a man can be with that smug smile of his.

Bucky smirked at her broken moan, "...so pretty coming for me." he praised ever so endearingly.

He climbed over as he continued to praise what a good girl she was, how well she did, how addictive she tastes, and how he would gladly eat her out for the rest of his life.

Bucky's mouth watered and his cock twitched at the beautiful, yet filthy sight of his wife splayed on their bed; her breasts moved every so gracefully despite her heavy breaths, legs spread apart as he kneeled in between.

Looking down at her mess, he might just want to be greedy and devour her once again, but his cock was much more needy than his anticipated. Right now, he wants nothing more than to feel her tightness around him.

Bucky levelled his face over hers, "Open up, honey." he husked. Still in a slight daze, Y/N blindly followed his temptation, only to feel his lips on her, his tongue settled within her heated cavern.

Every wave and movement of his tongue on hers were purposely slow and gentle. She can feel herself melted into the kiss, even more hypnotized into a dreamy haze.

Bucky pulled away with a rumbling hum, "Taste good doesn't it?" He prompted as he stroked the strand of her hair behind her ear. Y/N can only nod with an approving moan as she relished the gentle caresses on her cheek.

"That's all you, babydoll. Addictive isn't it? So, when I ask for this pussy, you will give it to me. Every single time. Do you understand?" Bucky tighten his gripped on her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes.

Her eyes gleamed in ecstasy, "Yes, Bucky." she let out a breathy tone, not trusting that she can keep her moans in if she speaks any louder.

Bucky smiled fondly, "That's my girl." he proclaimed.

"Now, how about making a mess on my cock, hmm? That sounds good to you, angel?" Honestly, it was Bucky who wanted to make a mess in her pussy, but she didn't need to know that for now.

"Yes, please." Y/N answered that way too quick, but she didn't care. The other reason why she was constantly leaking apart from Bucky's skilful tongue, was because she wanted to feel his cock stretching her apart.

Bucky chuckled to her neediness while his hand worked its way to remove his boxers. His cock sprung up to his stomach, with precum spilling from the tip. God he was so wet for her.

"...Hmmm, my sweet little wife had been so so good for me, isn't that right?" He cooed as he pulled her hips to him and lined his cock with her slick entrance that was just aching to be filled.

"Yes, Bucky" She breathed his name, as she looked up to him with full blown lusty eyes. The anticipation for him to plunge inside her needy hole were immaculate. But Bucky loved to edge a little.

"So good to me." Bucky stroked his heavy cock in between her slippery folds; the tip gliding so easily against her clit before proceeding to insert his throbbing length into her, groaning out a pleasurable 'ahhh' when he felt his cock wrapped around her tight, twitching walls, "F-fuck" He nearly whimpered, closing his eyes as he refused to come right when he just entered her tightness.

She gasped in pure ecstasy, feeling his cock in her core.

Bucky stilled as he fully filled her to the brim, letting her adjust to size as he peppered gentle kisses on her face, down to her neck and breasts.

The trembling in her cunt didn't drop its pulse, instead he swore it just increases, "Ease up, baby.. " his mouth wrapped around her nipple, "..or I might come before the fun begins." He mumbled against her breast before giving a harsh suck on her nipple.

That might just multiply the pressure around his cock though.

Even if Y/N knew she might come just by him adjusting the pace, but she didn't care, she craves the friction inside of her, "Buck-- Move please."

She didn't need to tell him twice, Bucky complied quite instantly.

"Oh, fuck!" She whimpered as his cock glide in and out of her at a sluggish pace.

"Fuck you feel damn good, baby," he rasps under his breath, his eyes drinking in every little expression she make. The little nose scrunch, her brows furrow together when he hit the spot deep within her, the way her swollen lips parted only to let out those sinful moans of his name.

"Never stop giving this pussy to me. God, I need this pussy y'hear me? I need it so bad." Bucky was well aware how addicted he was already. And he had no shame on that.

It didn't take him too long to increase the speed which led to him railing her into the bed as her muffled screams filled the room. Y/N sobbed softly to the overstimulating pleasure that started filling her body with Bucky's harsh thrusts. "So good, so fucking good!"

"Mhmm! Too much, I can't" She whimpered. She could feel how Bucky was tearing her apart, spreading her cunt as his cock lunged inside her tight walls, deliciously.

Bucky looks down to where his cock was fucking into her cunt and he shamelessly moaned, loud, deep from within his chest.

He wished she could see the vision in front of him; how her pussy displayed and wide open for his cock as he plunged in and out of her hard.

Gritting his teeth, he fucked her harder, more desperate than before, his fingers digging into her hip.  

Y/N was whimpering mad, eyes rolled back mouth wide open, drooling to every thrust Bucky pushed into her. By that point she just had lost every sanity she had in her mind and just wanted Bucky to really fuck the life out of her.

It felt so good.

Too good.

Bucky’s brows knitted into a frown, and his mouth falls open. The deep grunts he was groaning turn into frantic higher pitched moans. His eyes shut, and his head falls back in pleasure.

Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck for support as her body racked in pleasure from his deep, hard, merciless thrusts. Her body jerked back and forth with his movement.

Their skin on each other; chest touching, the intertwining sound of sinful moans and lewd, wet squelching sound, the whispers of praises uttered for one another, lingered their mind as it gave physical effect to their body.

"A little more baby, please, please— fuckin' take my cock." When was the last time he felt this good? Perhaps never because he couldn't believe how close he was to coming already.

"It feels so good, Bucky."

"Yeah? hmmm, you're handling it so well, honey."

"Yes, yes, yes, -ahh shit, so deep inside me, fuck."

"...Can't believe this pretty little thing is mine."

Those were one of the many, many whispers they had said to each other. They were dirty yet it so sincerely intimate.

Not able to control himself any longer Bucky began thrusting faster than the original pace he had set before, causing her body to thrash around.

She gripped on the bedsheets behind her as he was grunting mad over the way his cock slipped so easily in and out of her tight pussy. The way she bucked her hips to match Bucky's pace, to have more friction between the two.

Oh, it was nastily enticing.

Everything about this moment was passionate and overpowering; to the point where their minds were getting fuzzy.

It's amazing how his body conquered hers like no one had before. Somehow, he knew where all her sweet spots were and how her body would react to them, but he would still be eager to found new ones to tease her right after.

Y/N's body jerked up in pleasure as his cock repeatedly hit her spot. It felt so good, her body to started shake and spasm. Tears were threatening to spill from her eyes as the pleasure racked her body with such force she had never felt or known before.

And Bucky was the only one to ever see her like this and he would like to keep it that way.

"Mhmm, can't wait to come in this pretty pussy of yours babydoll. Fuck-- I'm already leaking inside you, baby. You're going to be so full and messy. Don't you want that, angel?" he teased as he thrusted in and out of her, groaning.

His thumb manage to find its way to play with her sensitive clit, not wanting to neglect that poor needy thing.

Feeling electrified from both his drilling cock and the way he was skilfully rubbing her clit, she squirmed and whined out unintelligible words, somewhere in between moaning his name and something about dying.

Bucky chuckled an amused laugh, somehow he managed to understand her words perfectly.

He removed his other unoccupied hand from her hip, and went to grab her both of her hands, placing them above her head. Restraining her wrists as he continued to fuck her hole; deeply, deliciously.

His body hovered over hers and their pupils dilated as their hot breath danced upon each other's skin. His erotic slid in and out of her cunt with such ease and his strong hands held a hard grip onto her contained wrists as he felt his orgasm arriving.

She felt the same familiar knot in her stomach just aching to be released." oh -oh god, Bucky. I'm gonna come!" she cried out.

"That's right, fucking cum for me!" he groaned out as he pressed his finger a little rough on her throbbing clit.

She shivered and gasped as she could feel her excitement gush out of her pussy as Bucky continued to fuck her through her high. Obscene wet noises coming from between her thighs.

And oh how Bucky relished the feeling of her walls clenching and twitching uncontrollably around his cock, licking his lip as he watched her wet juices spurting out of her pussy, drenching him more than be it was before.

"Feels fucking amazing to be inside you when you come like this, doll. So wet and tight for me..." he praised, getting replies of 'thank you's from her; she sounded delirious but that only ignites the feral in Bucky.

"...F-fuck I'm coming." His cock twitches violently. "Coming inside you, my pretty little wife. Fuckk--" His body jolted, eyes opening for just a second before they rolled shut as his hips snapped forward.

He came with a loud cry of her name, hips stilling as ropes of hot and slick cum shot out of his cock. His hot seed spread over her walls, filling her nice and full, sending shudders down her back.

Y/N can feel how he throbbed inside as each pulse of the delicious sensation came along with the ropes of cum that shoots from his cock.

He sighed as he thrusted his cock with a few more slow and lazy thrusts, letting her twitching walls milks the rest of his cum.

Bucky, soon slowly pulled out of her; she hissed as felt his cum dripping out, down to her asshole. It's a shame that he pulled out quite early than she expected; Y/N wished he could stay inside a little while longer.

He leaned down to spread multiple of soft kisses all over her face. Praising every little thing about her. Bucky thought of giving her the softest after-care she well-deserved after such a long night.

But when she looked up at him with those pair of lust-blown eyes, he never thought those words would've come out from her mouth, "Want more, please Bucky?" her tiny hand managed to grasp on his semi-hard cock, before rubbing his tip on her cum-filled hole.

Bucky never been that hard within that short amount of time. He grunted in pleasure when she pushed herself on his cock.

He let out a breathy chuckle as he cock reached the deepest part of her, "What a plot twist you are, doll."

End.

<< Part II || Extra >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Even if this is the last chapter, I’d still love to hear from you!  🤍

[jals-stuff]

a routine.

Orter Madl x f!reader

Obnoxious, sour, call him whatever you want, Orter Mádl couldn't care less about what people thought of him. You can’t help but wonder if that’s what you find attractive, or if you just have a thing for authoritative, serious-looking jerks (because I do).

Warnings: slight angst? orter is a jerk, hurt (just a bit) with comfort, reader being too nice.

Word count: 3.4k words

Note: again with no sleep, sorry for any spelling mistakes, don't stone me to death. thought about making a part 2 for this, no clue yet let me know what y'all think. (i swear i have never simped for a man that hard before)

definitions at the end, but it doesn't matter if you don't read them so no worries! enjoy-

Indeed, Orter was a man who would sweat for the status quo to be protected. If this man had his name on an alignment chart, the creators would have to make up something like “lawful lawful”. That is how lawful Orter Mádl gets. It didn’t matter to him how people perceived him, or whispered to each other whenever they saw him walk through the large corridors of the Bureau of Magic. Few things mattered to him in fact, but if he had to put them into a list, it would look like this:

Making sure rules and order are respected

Staying undisturbed during working hours (and out of working hours, too)

Not doing anything unnecessary.

He had a very specific routine he followed almost perfectly everyday, and so far, nothing had pushed him to change it. No one had, either, because from an ordinary person’s point of view, Orter was nothing else than a sour workaholic, strict, obnoxious man. Most women (and some men as well) who worked at the Bureau always seemed to look to the ground when crossing his path, while the other ones were too busy gossiping about him being a potential serial killer, since he was “so calm and quiet”. But one (wo)man’s trash is another (wo)man’s treasure and surely enough, you were one hell of a hungry raccoon lady. 

You had been working at the Bureau for almost a year now, and since the very first time your eyes had landed on him, you knew he was the one you wanted. And since that day, you were one of the only people who even dared speak to him— if you don’t count the other Divine Visionaries as people (because Kaldo’s… obsession¹ with honey made him a creature, and not a human being, we have to be honest here). 

You’d always greet Orter when meeting him in the morning, or wish him to have a nice break time when he’d actually allow himself to take a break, and he would simply greet you back, always giving you the same confused look. Simply seeing him illuminated your days and kept you going through your seemingly unending workload. Yet, as much as you enjoyed these small interactions, the same couldn’t be said about him. 

Orter didn’t dislike these despite the way he looked down at you everytime you greeted him. He simply wasn’t used to such… fervour² from any of his other colleagues. You were certainly very passionate, and he had to put in a lot of effort not to just immediately send you away whenever you’d bring him coffee when you had free time or simply try to chat a little when you were to give him a report. 

It wasn’t against you or anything specifically, but Orter was a firm believer that saving energy was the move. After all, why bother doing anything that is unnecessary? 

Even if it, indeed, was nothing personal, you were pretty much everything he disliked. Noisy, talkative, full of energy, sPEED, and quite naive as well. The embodiment of a child who has been given too much sugar and is now experiencing the zoomies. 

And so, like an uninvited grain of sand in his eye, you slithered your way into his daily routine. Each morning, before entering his office, he knew he would encounter you at this specific time of the morning shift, by turning this corner. It happens everyday, and it will happen again today. He knows you get your break at 10:05 am and usually will knock on his office door at exactly 10:11 am to bring him your reports as well as some coffee you grabbed for him.

He knows that in the afternoon, usually between 3:48 pm and 4 pm, you’ll find an excuse— any excuse to bring him some pastries, or any kind of snack with another cup of coffee, but this time a bit more sugary. 

He has gotten used to it now, but he still cannot quite understand why you’re spending so much energy on him, and when Orter doesn’t understand something, he gets frustrated. He does not often interact with anyone, and so the fact that people around him might have feelings is completely unbeknownst to him, or so it seems. 

...

It’s approximately 4pm on that day and, as usual, you knock on his door. He looks up from his paperwork and just mutters to come in, knowing damn well it’s you. But this time, you’re not bringing any coffee or snacks. You just hand him a report you had written, as usual, and he notes that you look a little nervous.

You patiently wait for him to read through your carefully written report. He gives a nod, not even a word, as usual, and this time, instead of immediately leaving, you decide to speak up.

“Umm..” you start, and you start wondering whether this is a good idea or not. He’s looking at you now, in all of his cold, emotionless expression. “So… would you maybe… like to have your coffee break with me this time…?” you ask, looking away a little bit.

He leans against his chair’s backrest at the suggestion. He could definitely use a break and some coffee right now, but he isn’t sure if he can take the amount of energy you’ll be talking with for the whole duration of your time together.

“With you?” He asks, and you’re unsure if he means this in a mocking way, or if he’s just asking. You shyly nod and he adjusts the position of his glasses a little bit. “I could use a break,” he starts “but I’m not sure I can handle more of your… eagerness to converse³.”

It hurts quite a lot; you knew Orter had always been blunt, but to hear it from his mouth was something else. Were you really bothering him that much? Maybe he didn’t mean it in a bad way? After all, he did have a lot of work, and of course he’d like to free his mind a little bit and enjoy peaceful silence with his afternoon coffee. He quickly takes note of your nervous squirming and your lack of response.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he finally says after what seemed like an eternity “I don’t want this headache to get any worse.”

A headache. Was this really all you were to him?

“I.. can stay quiet if you’d like me to, but I would really like to have—”

“No, thank you. I’ll have coffee on my own. ” He cuts you off, looking back to his paperwork, probably very oblivious to the fact that he just hurt you deeply. “I don’t understand why you’re so eager to interact with me when all I’m really asking for is to be undisturbed.” Was it personal, or was it because of his lack of human interaction? Well, both meant the same to you, if you really were the only person he interacted with, it was directly against you.

You didn’t know what to say. You wouldn’t give up on him, of course, but your entire personality had just proven to be a nuisance to him, and you weren’t sure how you’d recover from this one. You had been standing for a minute, looking at the ground in front of his desk, before his authoritative voice you loved so much pulled you out of your overthinking.

“Anything else?”

You shake your head ‘no’ and promptly exit his office now. It sounded clear to you that you were a disturbance to him, and it was the complete opposite of what you wanted to be. But again, no matter how bad his rejection felt, you decided you’d be a little more like he wished you’d be: invisible, silent.

You made a mental note to change your behaviour around him and stop being so clingy and noisy all the time, then maybe, if you destroyed this personality of yours he seemed to loathe, maybe he would look at you. Even just once.

...

Orter arrives at the Bureau the next day as usual, and already knows you’ll be just around the corner where he meets you everyday. He gives a sigh and walks around… to find no one. He blinks a few times in surprise, but simply assumes you’ll be somewhere else, ready to greet him…. But there’s no sign of you. Or rather there is one, but it’s only the usual morning coffee you give him, and it’s sitting on his desk inside his office. You, on the other hand, aren’t here.

“Probably a different schedule today.” he thinks and quickly dismisses it to sit at his desk and remove his coat. He takes a few sips of the warm coffee and sighs before diving into his unending paperwork again.

As expected, there is a knock on his door at 10:11 am. He lets you come in and is pleased to see you’re still bringing him some coffee, along with your usual report. You quietly greet him and hand him the papers as you put the tall coffee cup on his desk, and await his review. Again, he gives you a nod and puts the papers back into his drawer, and as he looks up from his paperwork again to listen to your usual morning talk, he’s surprised to see you leave his office without a word.

“Probably has more work today.” he thinks, dismissing the change in your behaviour as the man sinks into his paperwork once more. You, on the other side, are only hoping your efforts aren’t vain. You’ve practised staying silent for a bit and you think you’re nailing it, honestly. All for the sake of the obnoxious, lawful man.

It doesn’t occur to him even once that you might be in emotional pain from his words; he isn’t well versed with other people’s feelings— and probably not his own either. You probably have more work today, and that’s why you’re not as talkative as usual. Or maybe you’re tired. Are you sick?

He stops himself for a second and takes off his glasses to rub his eyes a little; no. No, no. It shouldn’t matter to him whether you are ill or simply tired. He has too much work to do to care about one of his coworkers.

Roughly around 3:50 pm, you knock on his door again, bringing in the usual pastries and sweet coffee. Now, he’s wondering which excuse you found to visit him as he crosses his hands on his desk and looks at you intently.

His eyes on you start to feel uncomfortable. It’s like he’s tearing your soul open and trying to figure out what’s going on in this little skull of yours⁴, and really, it isn’t just an impression. He was expecting you to ask him out again, or talk about the weather, complain about your workload, but none of these words escape your mouth. A simple, polite “have a good afternoon”, and you’re gone immediately.

Your schedule must really be something else for you to quit pestering him about your state of mind like you used to do. But again, he takes a bite of the delicious pastries you brought him, and keeps working in religious silence as he occasionally takes a sip of the sweet coffee you delivered.

Time flies fast, and it’s already evening. You clock out, as one does, and as you walk away from your office, you encounter Orter, who seems to be clocking out at the same time. And this is when the overthinking kicks in. Is he going to think you waited for him? Will he believe it was a mere coincidence? What if he thinks you’re being clingy and annoying for clocking out at the same time? 

But your thoughts come to an end as he simply walks away without a word; maybe he just doesn’t care. Right, maybe he just doesn’t care. It probably didn't matter whether you were quiet or talkative, hyper or calm. He probably didn’t care.

...

The next morning, you arrive earlier at the Bureau, as you did yesterday, and fulfil your morning routine: getting a few snacks for yourself, and a tall coffee for Orter. But unfortunately, the cafeteria is a bit more crowded than usual, and you end up exiting it at the same time you usually did. 

He encounters you again at the very same corner, and he is now convinced you simply had a rough schedule yesterday, but as he was about to greet you, you simply hand him the coffee and walk away towards your office without a word. 

The day goes on like the previous one; you barely exchange any words with him, and he makes no effort to change this. You’re quiet, reserved now, and you just internally pray that he will like you more. This isn’t you, but you will be whoever he wants you to be, if there’s the slightest chance that he will look at you.

What you were completely clueless about was how this little change of yours was affecting him. At first he didn’t think much of it, but he had gotten used to your nonstop talking, to your cheerful voice when you greeted him, and to the very specific hours you’d come to visit him and ask him out or talk about everything and nothing. 

Orter was going nuts. The routine he had gotten used to was crumbling for reasons unknown, and he couldn’t understand why, it was beyond his power. The grain of sand in his eye⁵ had become an entire desert, and the frustration was great enough that he could barely focus on his work anymore. Something was missing. He needed to figure it out quickly.

His focus was long gone, and all he could think about was why the usual, cheerful girl who always greeted him with a smile and warm coffee had become so… dull and painfully normal. Had you been sick the whole time? Why did he even care in the first place?

But as much as he disliked admitting it, he had grown quite fond of your behaviour, even though his words had proven to oppose this fact. He needed to make sure of what was lacking in his daily routine now. You were still here, you still brought him coffee everyday, did your job correctly… What could be missing?

His mind was a complete mess and he could not get you out of his head for some reason, which made him even more annoyed. You were such a headache and a nuisance, right? He couldn’t possibly be going insane from the lack of… you?

As usual, at 10:11 am sharp, you visit his office with your daily report and his coffee. This time though, he doesn’t take the papers from your hands and just crosses his legs, looking straight into your eyes. “I would like you to read it out loud for me.”

Read it out? You ask yourself, why couldn’t he read it himself? But again, we are talking about Orter Mádl; this man could tell you to get on all fours and bark, and you would gladly do it without giving it a second thought.

“...right.” You started, a little confused at his sudden request. “The Bureau’s investigation on Magol Castle…”

Your words grew distant to him, but not your voice. He wasn’t listening, he was listening. He felt himself oddly soothed at your tone, for once, as he kept trying to find this missing piece of the jigsaw. But it was as if his focus had returned and he could finally get back to work. As soon as you stopped talking, he extended a hand for you to give him the reports, and you did.

“Good, very good. I’ll read it again later.”

You stood in awe for a second; Orter had just praised you. Your efforts were working, and now you just had to keep going and stay quiet most of the time. You gave a polite nod and walked away from his desk. 

“Wait.”

That was it. You were the missing piece. But it made no sense, since you hadn't left, you were still here with him at the very moment... but then why did it feel like you weren't?

You turn around as you hear him speak and you just stand there, waiting for him to keep going. The silence is heavy and it seems like an eternity before he finally speaks up again.

“You’ve been… quiet.” He remarks, his eyes never leaving yours, and you couldn’t tell whether he meant this in a good or a bad way. Of course, his expressions always suggested that everything he said was to be taken in a bad way, but you knew better than to assume anything, especially about Orter Mádl. “Why?” he asks, and there’s an undertone of desperation in his voice. He sounds like he’s at his wit’s end.

At this point, you can’t really do anything else than speak up and tell the truth, can you? So you take a few steps towards his desk and nervously fiddle with the hem of your shirt.

“I… do not wish to be a nuisance or give you a headache.” You simply reply, in all of your honesty, and he looks at you, clueless and distraught now. Was that the reason why you had been silent the entire time? Were you driving him completely crazy because of what he said to you?

He buries his face in his hands and sighs. His glasses were slightly falling from his nose now that his hands were rubbing it entirely. You walk around his desk and gently push his glasses back in place, his state worrying you a little bit. You had never seen him being affected by anything before, so you were a bit confused.

“Are you alright..?” You quietly asked, not daring to touch him too much, lest he’d find you clingy, but the man sighed loudly once again and cleared his throat, his hands crossing against his desk again.

“You are driving me insane, (Y/N).”

You’ve never heard him speak your name before, and it felt… rather nice. You couldn’t tell if his words were meant to be good or bad though, so you only stood next to him and waited for him to speak up again. An uninvited feeling of guilt made its way to your heart and you couldn’t help but feel like all of this was your fault. You only wanted him to look at you, to make his life a little easier… but instead, you had somehow wrecked it.

After what seemed like an eternity, Orter was still dead silent, and you had to do something.

“I… I’m sorry…” you mutter quietly, not fully sure of what you did, but feeling the urge to apologise anyway. His state was more than concerning and you were the cause for it. “I… meant no harm, with whatever I did to you…”

And then something hits him. A feeling he’s probably rarely felt before: guilt. He looks up at you, and you clearly look like you’re holding back your tears as you shamefully look away from him. It takes all of his energy not to get angry— but at himself this time. He was the one who caused this situation, not you.

“It wasn’t your fault, only mine.” He sighed as he took off his glasses and started wiping them to distract himself from your sad expression that was awakening a myriad of new feelings within him. “I shouldn’t have said those things. I… did get quite used to your company. Please, feel free to speak as much as you want.”

He looks up at you, and despite the fact that he still isn’t smiling, his eyes are softer now, his expression is gentler and his voice has lost its authority. He is just asking you to speak to him. It isn’t even an order, he is actually pleading.

You can’t help this slight blush from creeping up to your cheeks as you try to regain your composure. You had gotten praised by Orter today, and he even pleaded with you and apologised? It was clearly your lucky day, so you thought you might as well try your luck. You cleared your throat a little.

“A-hem… so… maybe you… would like to have coffee with me this time?” You ask, timidly.

Orter merely chuckles, still not letting his face sport the ghost of a smile. He simply pushes his glasses up to his nose and stands up, pulling his coat back to his shoulders. 

“I would love to.”

¹: this man will cover his sashimi in honey and proclaim it’s still edible.

²: read → insistence. 

³: nonstop yapping.

⁴: empty, hollow. Not a single thought behind those eyes— or so he thinks.

⁵: you, sorry.

[wttcsms]

excerpts;

i have over 100k+ words in unfinished drafts/wips in my google docs. yikes.

in an attempt to gauge general interest + also to motivate myself in attempting to at least finish half of the projects i've started, i'm going to share some of the fics i think y'all will be most interested in 🤍 (and also because these are my usual first rough draft attempts, so these are just the best of the worst LOL)

as always, lmk what you think, what you're most excited for, and i'm always open to chatting about any of my concepts in depth 🤭

featuring keiji akaashi, atsumu miya, sae itoshi, tobio kageyama, naoya zenin, satoru gojo, + a plot that's still open for any character so tell me why ur fave deserves it (all with fem reader)

— brace for impact, keiji akaashi elevator pitch: rich college girl with daddy issues is roommates/put under the care of old-time family friend, 20-something y/o keiji akaashi

“I just don’t want you to waste your life away.” He answers, which is the truth. He really hates picking you up when you’re drunk off your ass, unable to defend yourself against the swarms of sleazy college guys that are attending the same party as you. He hates the fact that you’ve been raised — if the dozen father-daughter interactions you had with your dad counts as him “raising” you — to believe that money can solve all your problems. Because, sure, having money has gotten you out of many tight spots, but it wasn’t money that drove to a college on the other side of the city to pick you up, it was him. He has to stand here and watch you push the universe’s boundaries, trying to test your luck, to see if there’s a problem or a bad situation that you can’t get out of this time. You’re reckless and privileged and insecure and rich — the deadliest combination for any college age girl to be. You’re going to ruin your life before it even fully begins. It’s like your default mode is self destruction. 

“Not this speech again.” You sigh, shifting your body so that your knees are turned towards the door instead of him. “Y’know, Akaashi, you’re not my dad.” 

“Yeah, because unlike him, I actually care about you.”

You’re silent now, still staring out the window. He’s usually better at keeping his mouth shut, but it’s hard to do whenever you’re constantly pushing and pushing and testing his patience and he’s just so—

“—sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” His knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel. It’s a wonder how the words leave his mouth; you think the way he’s clenching his teeth acts as a formidable enough boundary. 

Actually, you think, it’s entirely justifiable. You’re coy, not dumb. You know when you’ve pushed Akaashi too far, and this is one of those times. And, really, you kind of — scratch that — you do deserve it. All of it. And then some. You’re irresponsible, and you drag him out to the other side of the city so he can act as your guardian, your protector, even though that is most certainly not the role he planned on playing. Honestly, you’re just surprised that he hasn’t left you out to rot like everyone else, and you’re thankful, you really are. But what are you supposed to say? That? The truth? Probably. 

You don’t, though. You just mutter some weak ass retort that sounds an awful lot like “you need to get laid” before staring out the window for the rest of the ride. 

— devil on my shoulder tellin' me i'll die soon (i don't really want that to impact you), atsumu miya elevator pitch: yakuza au but a healthy amount of porn and plot. sequel to this.

The first time Osamu Miya meets you, you’re unconscious, and he has a feeling you’d be grateful about this fact considering the state you’re in. 

Atsumu’s carrying you bridal style, and even in your sleep, you still cling to him. The sight would be almost sweet, but Osamu’s not an idiot. There can never be anything sweet in his dear older brother’s life. Even in the pale moonlight, Osamu can see the bruises and hickeys lining your neck, a trail of them that seem to disappear underneath your clothes (he wouldn’t be shocked if there’s a map of hickeys littering your skin). Your hair is sticking up at odd angles, your lips are swollen, and you are knocked out in every sense of the word. 

If the situation wasn’t serious (even without verbal confirmation, he’s well aware of how dire this situation is right now; Atsumu wouldn’t have visited him if it weren’t), Osamu thinks he would have made a comment about his brother’s rough handling. 

(He doesn’t, though, because Osamu knows all about just how rough his brother can get — after all, they both had the same upbringing.) 

“‘Samu,” Atsumu says, and his voice makes him sound like he’s worse for wear. He sounds like when he was fourteen and had his first taste of initiation, when a group of the strongest men would beat him relentlessly for thirty seconds and he wasn’t allowed to fight back. The crack in his voice is subtle, and even though Osamu rarely speaks to his brother anymore, he’s still a master at reading him. 

“Who’s the girl?” Osamu nods to your sleeping form, trying not to focus on the purple and red marks. God, he can’t tell if he, Atsumu, you, or all three of you are lucky it’s so dark. Osamu can’t really believe it’s possible to go out in public after a night with his brother; not without being on the receiving end of a few concerned looks. 

“I need a favor.” Atsumu ignores his question, which is typical behavior for him, so Osamu’s not entirely too surprised or annoyed. “She’s in danger, and it’s—” 

Atsumu grimaces like the next words he’s about to say are going to leave a bitter taste in his mouth. And maybe it’s because that’s his brother and they grew up together, or maybe it’s because ‘Tsumu’s always been a little predictable (or has Osamu just always been good at predicting?), but Osamu can almost mouth what his brother’s about to say.

“—my fault.” 

So, you must be someone awfully important to his brother then. Important enough that Atsumu would finally visit him in person after all these years (with barely any warning beforehand, too). Important enough that Atsumu would treat you so roughly (if the marks on your body are any indication of what you’ve been through) and still care about you so deeply. Important enough that he’s finally taking accountability, finally taking the blame for his actions.

He didn’t think it was possible, but Atsumu’s left him genuinely speechless for a moment. 

“Please, ‘Samu.” Atsumu Miya is not the type of person who breaks down easily. He does not beg, he commands. But right now, Atsumu sounds like he’s this close to getting down on his knees and clasping his hands together if that’s what it’ll take to get Osamu to help him. “You told me you would owe me after what I did for you. Consider this your repayment.” 

Apparently, you’re someone so important to Atsumu, he’s cashing in a favor that’s worth his life just to ensure your safety. Osamu can’t tell if that’s true idiocy or true love — then again, there’s hardly a difference between the two, is there? 

“Idiot. I would have helped ya regardless, y’know.” He means it. Every word. 

“I know.” And Atsumu means it, too. Because even if they’ve went years with little to no contact, even though they both belong to two completely different worlds, they’re still brothers. Which means that they also know each other as well as they know themselves, and Atsumu knows that Osamu can never truly be at peace until he feels like the completely imaginary debt he owes is paid back in full. 

The universe must have a taste for irony, though, because Atsumu thought that ensuring your safety and bringing his brother peace would make him feel good. Instead, transferring you to his brother’s arms allows the weight of the world to rest more comfortably on his shoulders. 

Osamu takes one last look at his older brother, and he’s not entirely surprised to see that his attention is on you, dark eyes staring so intensely at your sleeping figure, he wonders if he’s trying to commit your face to his memory. He’s worried about Atsumu. Sure, he’s got a whole entire gang on his side, a rather powerful one too, but ‘Tsumu’s never been the greatest at being left alone to his devices, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. 

But then Atsumu looks up at him, and Osamu feels like they’re both fourteen again. Trapped, vulnerable, in immense pain… But not alone, never alone. 

“Thanks, ‘Samu.” 

“Any time, ‘Tsumu.” 

(It’s the same words exchanged by their teenage selves years ago, whenever Osamu would help him clean his cuts and sloppily stitch him up.

To them, it was another way of saying “I love you”.)

— it always leads to you [chapter one], sae itoshi elevator pitch: literally the long ass, long awaited start to this series. if you listened to taylor's new album (ttpd)... yeah, that's basically the new soundtrack for this fic. do what u will with that info <3

A hard pill to swallow is that people never get over their first loves. 

It’s like, scientifically proven, or something. There’s been studies, you think. Not to mention that you belong to the group of people who have never gotten over their first loves. 

You’re aware that it’s probably embarrassing and should be something that brings you shame, but when Sae comes knocking on your door, infrequent, surprise visits that always catch you off-guard, you find yourself opening the door for him. 

(He has a key. He can let himself in any time he wants. You think he must forget.)

This time, he’s not knocking on your door, but he is waiting in the stairwell near the entrance to the floor of your apartment. He’s got a baseball cap on and a dark sweatshirt, and you want to tell him that everyone who lives here is most definitely getting shitfaced at the college bar you just left (the one whose only redeeming qualities are that it’s by campus and the drinks are cheap). He doesn’t have to worry about hiding his identity. 

You frown when he approaches you. 

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” you pout and complain about this halfheartedly, but it’s all for nothing. Sae never tells you when he’s coming; it’s almost like you’re just a spur-of-the-moment decision to him, which doesn’t feel right since the Sae you grew up with was always meticulous and purposeful with his actions. Granted, the Sae you grew up with left on a plane to an entirely different continent four years ago, and the one you have standing next to you now sometimes feels more like a doppelganger than your ex-boyfriend. 

He doesn’t answer, because of course he fucking wouldn’t. He waits for you to fumble with your keys; if you knew he was coming, you wouldn’t have let Akane convince you to take as many shots as you did. Now everything is kind of blurry and hazy, and your hands shake despite the lack of coldness you’re feeling. 

You delude yourself into thinking that there’s something of the old Sae left inside of him as he gently pries the keys from your fumbling fingers and unlocks the door to your apartment himself. 

Entering your apartment feels like traveling in a time machine, only instead of traveling back in time or to the future, Sae is entering a present-day parallel universe. This apartment, with its best (and only) amenity being a short distance from campus, could have been his. Could have been shared by the two of you, even. 

If he had stayed, that is.

Sometimes Sae ponders what his life would be like if he stuck around. If he had never had the ego or the audacity to want to see more of the world. You know better than to ask him why he never visits you when you’re on a holiday break from school, and he thinks it’s because you still know him the best out of anybody, even Rin. The truth is, Sae is too uncomfortable to come crawling back to his childhood home that he grew up in, the one he’s spent years determined to grow out of. He only comes back home when absolutely necessary — out of eldest son/family obligation. 

This college apartment, seeing remnants of a life you’re living that he doesn’t know much about (even though all he has to do is ask, and you would gladly tell), feels wrongly nostalgic. Like, the sweatshirt lying haphazardly on the couch displaying a big, fat Tokyo U logo on its front could have been his instead of your roommate’s. He could have played college ball instead of trying to get recruited directly to the big leagues. Sae’s good enough to get a scholarship. Even received a letter informing him that Tokyo U would be more than glad to have him, full-ride. 

(The letter resides in the back of his closet, crumpled up but never forgotten.) 

And, most importantly, you wouldn’t be looking at him like this. 

Even drunk off of cheap alcohol, you sober up startlingly fast when you see him. You shouldn’t give him so much power over your life, but he’d be a damn liar if he said he didn’t relish in the overwhelming relief that you still love him just the same. Nothing ever changes back home, and he says this with disdain, but when it comes to your unshifting affection for him, he figures staying the same can’t be all bad.

“Y’know, it always feels like you’re judging me when you just stand there and look at everything.” An intoxicated you is an honest you. If he wasn’t so determined to mask everything about himself, he would have smiled at your admittance. 

He doesn’t smile, though. He just continues to let his cold eyes roam across the entirety of your cramped, college apartment.

— an indentation in the shape of you, tobio kageyama elevator pitch: idol!reader who goes into hiding after a major scandal despite being the victim x pro!tobio who's been hopelessly pining after you since forever. now you're in hiding, but also living in the apartment right across from his.

SEARCH NEWS: [NAME] [SURNAME] > TOP RESULTS (SORTED FROM MOST TO LEAST RECENT)

WHERE DID [NAME] [SURNAME] GO? *INCLUDES EXCLUSIVE PHOTO OF HER MOST RECENT SIGHTING!*Posted on March 10, 2019

[NAME]’S SOCIAL MEDIA ACCOUNTS HAVE BEEN TAKEN DOWN, IDOL HAS NOT BEEN SPOTTED IN A WEEK Posted on January 4, 2019   BREAKING: [NAME] [SURNAME] GOES SOLO! LEAVES IDOL GROUP TO START HER OWN CAREER! Posted November 6, 2018

KENTARO TANAKA NOW DATING J-POP IDOL AYAME MATSUMOTO, [NAME]’S FELLOW GIRL GROUP MEMBER!Posted on November 1, 2018

AFTER RECEIVING BACKLASH FROM ANNOUNCEMENT OF HER RELATIONSHIP, [NAME] [SURNAME] ISSUES AN APOLOGY ON ALL SOCIAL MEDIA ACCOUNTS Posted on September 3, 2018

NEW COUPLE ALERT! IDOL [NAME] AND HER RECORD LABEL’S EXECUTIVE, KENTARO TANAKA, SPARK DATING RUMORS Posted on August 16, 2018

When you spend most of your adolescent and young adult years standing in front of a camera, constantly served on a platter for the masses to scrutinize during your most formative years, you get used to being seen. People’s eyes locked in on you isn’t a comfortable feeling, but it’s one you’re very well acquainted with. Watchful, judging gazes cling to you like a second skin. 

It comes with the job is what your personal manager, Fumiko Gima, tells you, right before she tells you to toughen up. You had been fifteen at the time and saw a blogger discussing how you were the least attractive cast member on the children’s ensemble show you starred in. 

All eyes are on you from this point forward. You really going to let them see you cry? Fumiko is not a nice person, but she is incredibly kind, in her own way. She’s the type of person who believes in tough love, all while claiming that she doesn’t even think love exists. 

You think about the disapproving frown on her face when you revealed your relationship with Kentaro Tanaka. 

“You think you’re in love with him?” Sometimes it’s hard to believe that Fumiko is barely seven years older than you. Her youth is evident in her flawless skin and shiny hair (both of which are maintained by very meticulous routines), but the flat expression she wears on her face makes her seem like a woman who found out the hard way that her thirties are not going the way she planned. You’re eighteen when she asks you this question, and you don’t know how a twenty-five year old woman can have such an intimidating aura, but you think that only adds to her beauty. 

“He told me he loves me.” 

“People like him and I don’t believe in love.” Fumiko makes a face; sometimes, she lets her poker face drop in favor of making a face of disgust, annoyance, irritation, or extreme smugness. Right now, she looks disgusted. “Well, I wouldn’t normally place myself in the same group as him, but our industries are pretty much the same. You don’t get to where we’re at because of love, that’s for damn certain.” 

At this point in time, you’re adamant that it’s love because that’s what he says it is, and you’ve never been in love before, but you know that it’s something great. You’re eighteen, and insecure, and he’s in such a powerful position — he could have anyone he wants, and he loves you, so he picks you. Maybe Fumiko is just bitter because no one’s ever chosen her. 

— angel of the morning, atsumu miya elevator pitch: historical, ambiguous war au ft. soldier!atsumu x the civilian sweetheart reader who nurses him back to health

It’s the thunder that wakes you first. 

Lately, you’ve been a light sleeper. Paranoia is a good companion whenever you’re a young, pitifully unmarried lady who lives alone. You keep a chair propped under the knob of the front door, and you no longer open any windows, scared that you’ll forget to lock them at night. 

Normally, it’s the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer, or the creaks that come and interrupt the silence of the night (your parents used to swear that old houses just make those noises) that keeps you up. Sometimes it’s the neighbors next door; they like to get into screaming matches that seem to be so loud, they shake the walls of your home. 

It’s not your neighbors’ arguing that rattles the walls tonight. It’s the thunderstorm that the sweet old man at the farmer’s market warned you about. You be safe out, miss. Take some extra apples. It might be too flooded for you to go out like you normally do. 

You pull your blanket over your head, enveloping yourself in darkness but doing very little to block out the noise outside. The thunder seems to only grow louder, each boom punctuating the lightning that you’re certain is striking through the sky. It’s too loud. 

And rhythmic. 

You listen closer… Three booms in succession. A pause. Three more booms. After a minute of this pattern, the sound only comes more rapidly — louder than before, too. 

The loud booms — it’s not from the storm, then. 

There’s someone knocking at your door. 

You debate hiding under the blanket forever. Maybe this stranger will go away and leave once they realize that no one is going to answer the door. Besides, no one trustworthy is roaming the area at this time of night, right? What possible explanation could there be for someone to be stranded outside at midnight during a major thunderstorm? 

But the knocking persists. Whoever this stranger is, they don’t know when to quit. You’d be annoyed if you weren’t so paralyzed with fear. 

“Open up!” A muffled voice still manages to cut through the front door, traveling all the way to your bedroom. It only serves to make you more afraid; what sort of monster is waiting for you outside? The storm rages on, and the knocking won’t stop. 

What happens if this person is in genuine trouble? Would a murderer truly be going through such lengths to kill someone? A thief? 

Well, you rationalize, it’s not as if you have many items worth stealing. Besides, you have no family, no marriage prospects, and a dwindling stash of money with no means to make more. You’re just existing at this point, and you’re surviving on limited time.

So you make your way to the front door, cringing as one section of the floor creaks as you tiptoe through the darkness of your home. You highly doubt the stranger outside can hear you, but you still hold your breath as you peek through the curtains. It’s too dark inside and out for anyone to notice the movement, and all you can make out is a large figure. There’s a knapsack by their feet and hanging off their shoulder is a gun. 

The knocks shouldn’t catch you off guard by now, but one particular hard bang against the door has you jumping in surprise, away from the window. 

This stranger must be a soldier. 

There’s not a lot of fighting to be done down here. The southern towns have mostly been unaffected. Most of the war is being fought up north. All the southern soldiers write back home, telling stories about the cities they visited, careful not to mention the red that runs through the streets and the way the citizens will have to update the population count on the sign outside their City Hall. 

But still, you know what everyone knows — when a soldier, especially one from your side, shows up on your front step, you better let him know that this home is now his. 

You slide the deadbolt with shaky hands, turn the lock on the doorknob, and only hesitate for a few seconds before removing the chair that serves as your last barrier. He’s a soldier, you remind yourself, hoping that you’re not wrong. The least you can do for him is offer him a hot bath for leaving him outside for so long. 

You open the door, revealing a blond-haired soldier weighed down from the weight of his sopping wet uniform, his hair sticking to his forehead because his face is also covered in rainwater, and it’s now that you notice that he’s got one arm wrapped around his abdomen. His hand is pressing down on his side, and you don’t think the dark liquid coating his fingers is water. 

“Finally.” He says. “I’m First Lieutenant Miya, and I fight for the south. I am seeking temporary refuge in your home, and I require only what you can afford to give me. I–“ Before he can finish rattling off what he’s been forced to memorize for times like these, First Lieutenant Miya falls forward, his body crashing into yours. 

It’s been a rough day. 

A rough week. 

A rough month.

A rough life, really, but Atsumu Miya’s long past the days of whining and complaining about things he can’t control. For example, he no longer dwells on his father abandoning his mother right before she gave birth to him and Osamu. There’s still a bitter taste that gets left on his tongue when he mentions dear old pa, which is why, for the most part, he chooses not to discuss him at all. He can’t control the way the north and the south view each other; sure, the mandatory draft isn’t his definition of a fun time, but he honestly didn’t have many plans after school, anyway. He probably would’ve joined the cause, regardless of the law or not. It’s just… A choice is nice to have, y’know? 

Like, if he had it his way, he wouldn’t have gotten caught up in some ambush tonight. If only he weren’t just a lieutenant. If only his captain weren’t such a dumbass.

If he had a group to command, Atsumu’s certain that he wouldn’t lead his men into obvious traps, unlike some captains. But newly promoted Brigadier General Kita isn’t here to force people to listen to what Atsumu has to say. Kita has bigger problems to worry about, bigger troops to organize. 

Atsumu’s morning starts off bright and early with a five mile trek in the woods. The sky is overcast, and anyone with eyes is capable of predicting the storm that’s coming. Atsumu suggests building temporary shelter before the rain makes it too hard to walk; it’s already hard enough to navigate now, but Atsumu’s visited this town before, when he was a little boy. It floods easily, too easily. 

His captain doesn’t listen. Typical.

Around noon, they take a short break to eat. Rations are getting lower. Atsumu suggests that two or three soldiers turn around and head towards town to get supplies. His captain argues that their group is already small enough and sneers that Atsumu must be a northie lover since he’s trying so hard to sabotage this plan. 

The plan is shit, by the way. The captain swears his intel is good, that he’s just oh so certain that a troop of northern soldiers are planning to invade a series of small southern towns. They’re supposedly cutting through the woods to be discreet, and they plan on striking at night.

Atsumu thinks that the captain is just falling into their trap (spoiler: he’s right). There’s no way anyone would bother capturing small towns, just like there’s no way people ever want to listen to someone who’s just a lieutenant. Nobody thinks they have anything to offer, so it’s not worth the time to even pretend to care. These towns aren’t loaded with resources. They aren’t located in any coveted areas. There are only a couple of farms, but even then, they’re not big enough to justify wasting troops to terrorize the townspeople. 

But First Lieutenant Miya follows his orders anyway because what else is he supposed to do? Unfortunately, talking back comes to bite him in the ass because as nighttime starts to settle and the first drops of rain start to fall, his captain gives him a slimy smile before telling him, “Since you have such great ideas, Lieutenant, why don’t you go ahead and turn back into town to get us some of those supplies we needed?”

Well, Atsumu has a few choice words in reply, none of which will get him back into his captain’s good graces (not like he cares to be anyway). Atsumu can argue that it’s dark out, and no one in their right mind is going to be up at night. Atsumu can throw back his captain’s words and remind him that their measly team is already lacking in numbers. He can make the captain look dumb and ask him where the supposed enemy troops are at, since apparently they’re supposed to be capturing the town right about now. He can abandon the men, go back home, and enjoy a homecooked meal from ma. She wouldn’t care enough to scold him for being a dirty deserter; the lecture will come, surely, but she wouldn’t be too harsh with him. Atsumu misses home. He misses his brother, who belongs to a different troop. He misses Shinsuke, his former captain. He misses his mom. 

What he does end up doing, though, is biting back his tongue. He barely nods, clenches his teeth as he reluctantly says yes, sir, and treks off on his own. 

He’s about three miles in when the bullets start flying. 

Isn’t this just a lovely way to finish off the night, he thinks, before sprinting through the trees, weaving between them, trying to ignore how loud and how close the shots sound. He thinks he’ll probably go deaf by the time this damn war is over. A bullet narrowly misses his face, and then he starts to think he’ll probably be dead before then.

He can’t see. If he can’t see, he doubts the enemies can, either. That’s when he gets an idea. His legs are sore, he’s thirsty, and every step he takes is punctuated by a sloshing sound because the area is flooding, just like he predicted it would.

(Sometimes it’s a pain being right all the time.)

The shots are still coming at him in rapid succession, and he believes maybe it’s because they still think they have to shoot at him. If they think they got him, maybe they’ll leave him alone. It didn’t sound like anyone was bothering to chase after him, meaning they’re all probably perched in trees or hiding in bushes, shooting blindly into the night, hoping to land a lucky shot on a target. 

Before he can pretend to be hit, though, some bastard does get a lucky shot on him.

“Fuck!” He can’t help but yell out, the bullet piercing the side of his abdomen. A burning sensation begins to form on the spot where the bullet decided to make its happy home, and Atsumu can’t help but fall to the ground, clutching at the bottom half of his body. 

A minute goes by with no more shooting, and he’s glad he’s in enough pain not to realize that had he thought of his little plan of pretending to be shot sooner, he probably wouldn’t be in this predicament right now. 

It’d be so easy just to lie down and die. It’d be a slow death, sure. Painful, very much so. But no more fighting. No more captains belittling him. 

But if you die, a tiny voice in his head reminds him, it wouldn’t just be you that dies. It’d kill ma. It would ruin Osamu. Don’t be a selfish bastard. 

He allows himself only one more minute to stay absolutely still. He thinks the adrenaline pumping in his system helps to numb the pain, which is saying a lot, considering the fact that death would be preferable over this excruciating sensation. When he’s certain the coast is clear, he struggles to stand and keep himself steady.

He cannot die like this. 

Atsumu Miya knows better than to get upset at things he can’t control. He can’t control flying bullets aimed at him. He can’t control enemy soldiers; hell, he doesn’t even have soldiers he can control, enemy or ally. He can’t control a lot of shitty things that seem to happen to him, but as long as his heart is still beating, Atsumu Miya controls his own fate. He decides what happens next. 

It’s only a matter of putting one foot in front of the other, he rationalizes. He walks all the time. It’s not such a hard task. The storm continues to rage on, and Atsumu pretends he doesn’t even mind the water. He pretends that he’s not freezing. He pretends that he doesn’t care that his uniform is sticking to his body, making the dirty fabric cling onto him as if to act as a second skin. 

There’s a white flag in his knapsack. During training, they said to use it as a last resort. Die before you wave it, or something like that. 

He knows the intended use for it, but right now, he needs it as a tourniquet. He tightens the flag around his waist, using all his diminishing strength to get it as tight as possible. He can trick himself into thinking it’ll stop the flow of blood leaving his body, but at least it’ll slow it down. It’ll grant him enough time to make it into town and get help. 

He doesn’t choose the first house he sees; he chooses the one he likes the best. It’s nothing all too impressive — certainly not the biggest, but from what he can make out in the dark, it looks quaint. It reminds him of home, almost. There’s a porch with a bench outside and flowers on a window sill. It seems to glow in the darkness of the town, its paint a much brighter shade than the surrounding houses. A nice family must live here then. 

He knocks on the door, and there is no answer. Atsumu Miya did not walk this far with his life literally draining out of him to only make it this far. He knocks and knocks, and because he is too stubborn, even to the very end, he doesn’t quit. Someone must answer the door. It doesn’t cross his mind that perhaps this lovely family he’s envisioning might not even be home. It feels like ages since he first started banging on this door, and he thinks this might be it.

And then the door swings open, revealing a young lady with a certain glow about her. Maybe it’s the blood loss talking, but right now, you look like an absolute angel. His bright beacon of hope. 

“Finally.” He swallows hard, trying to remember what he’s supposed to tell you. The proper words are evading him right now. Honestly, even standing is a struggle now. He thinks he does a good enough job, but then he blinks, and his eyes don’t open back up after that.

— to the victor belong the spoils, naoya zenin elevator pitch: the dark longfic i mentioned abt borderline yandere naoya + how he basically slaughtered your whole entire clan and is going to force you to marry him because you have a cursed technique that will basically grant him invincibility

“Who did this?” You’ve seen Naoya so angry that his words seemed to shake the very interior of the room he was shouting in. You’ve seen Naoya so furious that he had everyone in his vicinity cowering in fear, scared to face his merciless wrath. Never have you seen him so enraged that he can hardly speak, the sentence coming out from between bared teeth; they’re discernible growls more than they are words, but his message doesn’t need to be understood in order to know his intent. 

Naoya Zenin is out for blood. 

“Tell me who did this.” He demands, hand gripping your chin, forcing you to tilt your head up and stare him directly in the eyes. You know why he does this; he can read you like a fucking book. He’ll know if you’re lying before you can even finish whatever fabricated story you’ve spent forever formulating. There’s no point in trying to trick him because it’ll cause him to get angrier, and then what? Then, you’ll have the whole entire room’s blood on your hands. A massacre dedicated just for you. 

You hadn’t cried when he had taken you from your home. You hadn’t cried when you were about to be killed by that curse. You hadn’t shed a single tear despite the unfamiliarity of the Zenin Estate, despite the fact that you were forced into a marriage with a man you did not know, despite the fact that you’ve never been this far from home, suffering silently in feelings of isolation and despair. You hadn’t cried after all of that, yet now you’re sobbing? Now you’re here, struggling to stand on your own, clutching onto the material of his shirt as if he’s your only lifeline, dangerously close to burying your face in his chest and crying your little eyes out. He’s been angry more times than he’s ever felt any other emotion. He’s numb to the feeling of his blood rising, of his vision being tainted with red, of having nothing but sick thoughts and vivid memories of torn flesh and severed limbs surrounding him. This emotion isn’t foreign to him; it’s a part ofhim. And he’s angry, yes, but there’s something else that he feels when he looks down and sees you making yourself smaller, as if trying to use him as your own personal shield.

— balancing act [chapter one], satoru gojo elevator pitch: the first month of your bet will you and gojo inevitably get together <3 the start of this series.

You have what you order down to a T. You first started your tried and true method of restaurant ordering when you were but a wee little intern, too shy to go to town on a rack of ribs in front of your peers and bosses. Once you entered the city’s dating scene (which is actually Dante’s tenth circle of hell — it’s just never discussed because that’s truly how vile trying to find a good man in a big city is), you realized that there’s not much difference between lunch dates and client lunches. 

You have the obligatory greeting exchanges (“hi,” “hello,” “how are you,” etc.), the awkward smiles, the mental countdown going off in your head as you wait for the perfect moment to get right into business (“what do you expect to gain from this partnership?” — a line surprisingly used more often in your meetings with potential investors and clients). There’s the pained professionalism, the tight-lipped smiles, the napkin resting in your lap, the battle to maintain constant eye-contact. When you sit across from someone at a table, date or client, you don’t see the person; you see a goal. 

And you’re good at working towards a goal. It’s why you’ve always been the analyst your managers rely on, why you’ve morphed into the senior associate that all your juniors look up to at G&G Capital, and why you automatically figure that if you set your sights on a man only to have him end things, it’s not you who was at fault. It has to be him. You’ve charmed the toughest clients and built fantastic working relationships with the most well-connected M&A lawyers; if you’re this good at professional relationships, why wouldn’t you also be fan-fucking-tastic at a romantic one? 

All the men who have taken you out on dates before wanted to sweep you off your feet. An ex-boyfriend once admitted to you that you appeared so unimpressed at everything, it had become this fun, twisted competition with himself to see what he had to do to get a look of amazement on your face. 

“I can tell by the look on your face that you’re impressed.” Gojo says gleefully, holding open the dirty glass door so you and Utahime can walk in. 

Utahime looks like Gojo just slid open the backdoor to a white van and told her to get in. There’s shock with a hint of disgust evident on her pretty, doll-like features, and you know you’ve got a similar expression, too. 

The floors inside this restaurant — if the dingy, dimly lit shack crammed with small tables and rickety chairs can even be considered a restaurant — are sticky with decades’ worth of mystery liquids that have congealed into the half-inch thick residue that coats the floorboards. You have to purposely think about moving one foot in front of the other in order to walk because actual pressure needs to be applied if you don’t want your heels to become glued to the floor. You’re walking in front of Utahime and Gojo, and you end up choosing a table in the far back; it looks the cleanest. Briefly, you wonder if you’re allowed to be here, then think better of it as Utahime takes the seat next to you, and Gojo takes the one across. You highly doubt there’s a hostess here that’s dictating where the customers sit.

Especially since, upon one glance of the whole place, you realize that it’s empty save for you three. 

“Gojo, if we get killed, I hope they murder you in front of us first,” Utahime hisses. Her family’s so rich (and traditional), she’s never willingly been to a restaurant that doesn’t have a Michelin star. Before college, she’s never even eaten out at a chain restaurant. Being caught in a place like this has Utahime mentally spiraling towards rock bottom. 

“I hope they would, too. I don’t think I have the stomach to watch you meet your grisly end.” Gojo says serenely. Usually, he says things loudly, teasingly, gets all up in your face. When it comes to Utahime, he likes to play at being nonchalant. He’s been doing this to her for over a decade now, and it still grates her. 

Before Utahime can reply, the shaky voice of an older woman is exclaiming, “Oh! Welcome in! Have you gotten a chance to look over the menu?” The voice belongs to a short, plump woman with gray hair, a wrinkly face, but a kind smile that reveals yellowing teeth. She’s got a slight hunch to her back and nails with overgrown cuticles. You try to do a mental calculation of what you could buy this building for, to ensure that this sweet old lady never has to work a day in her life ever again. 

“You know what I want, Mrs. Kimura.” Gojo is giving her one of his signature dazzling smiles. “You can just double the portions today since my friend Utahime here eats enough for a family of five.” 

Mrs. Kimura lets out a throaty laugh. Utahime kicks Gojo in the shin from underneath the table. You’re wondering what Gojo orders from this place, and why does he order here so often to the point of them memorizing his meals? 

“I’m glad you brought friends with you today, Satoru. Meals always taste better when shared with loved ones!” She directs a warm smile in your direction, and you feel bad for returning it with your normal polite one. Tiny and brief. It’s more muscle memory than born from any real emotion. She’s shuffling away to the kitchen before you can try to summon a genuine smile for her, and Utahime’s phone is ringing, filling this near empty space with the tinny, anxiety-inducing sound of an iPhone ringer. 

She doesn’t excuse herself; just looks down at the glowing screen, grabs her phone, and heads outside to take the call.

Which leaves you sitting across from Gojo. Just the two of you. Just the two of you in a dingy restaurant seemingly run by only one old woman. The table looks older than you. The chair you’re sitting on makes a weird squeaky noise with any slight movement of your body. There’s no decor on the walls, no windows either. Nothing to distract you, nothing for you to feign interest in as you wait for Utahime to come back. 

You straighten your posture, try to discreetly look out the front door to gauge how close Utahime is to wrapping up her conversation, and find yourself with no choice but to look in front of you. All you see is Gojo.

He’s tall, you know that. Broad shoulders. Definitely not hideous, you can give him that much. You just feel shocked at how much space he takes up, how it feels like your eyes have to stretch to try to accommodate all of him. 

You don’t know why you feel so awkward, almost like a teenager going on her very first date with a boy she barely knows but still, for some inexplicable reason, wants so badly to impress. You can’t remember the last time you’ve ever felt this way, and you definitely don’t like this feeling at all. 

“How’d you find this place?” You ask him.

“I like to support small businesses.” He’s not teasing you, but Gojo has this bad habit of always adding a playful inflection to his words. 

“I hope you tip well. You look like their only supporter.” It’s not meant to be an insult to the painfully empty restaurant. You know how much Gojo is worth; when Itadori Googled “Satoru Gojo net worth” and showed the results to everyone, Gojo caught him in the act, looked at the top result, and threw his head back in laughter as he told Itadori to “add an extra zero and triple the number.” You think back to your calculation and assessment of the place. “Might as well buy the business.” 

“You make capitalism so cute.” He has to be teasing you now. You scowl. 

(He means it.)

— i wish to know the fatal flaw that makes you long to be magnificently cursed, satoru gojo elevator pitch: yandere gojo, royal au, nanny!reader... yeah idk what happened to this fic either, just that it was depraved and i wish i wrote more to share LOL

You’re acutely aware of the noise you’re making, every huff and small, desperate gasp for breath only further betraying your location, but you can’t find it in you to care.

You know, deep inside your pounding, frightened heart, that it doesn’t really matter how fast or how far you run. 

I will always find you.

Just the mere thought of him is enough for you to ignore the ache in your legs and push forward. If you can find the exit, if you can just see the daylight, surely you’d be able to—

You stop in your tracks.

There are two paths: one right, one wrong. Left or right? Freedom or imprisonment? 

There’s no time to waste, but you can’t make a choice. Which decision would be the right one? Surely either route would still be able to lead you to the exit, right? The sharp snap! of a branch being trampled on leaves you even more frightened. Without thinking, you take a left.

— i think you're too divine for my human mind, undecided elevator pitch: rough around the edges but w a heart of gold underground fighter!character x ring girl!reader. i think this was gonna be for bakugo LMAO but i do not have bnha brain rot so maybe a bllk or jjk or hq boy... NO ONE SAY ATSUMU I DON'T WANNA GIVE IT TO ATSUMU

The couch seems to shift with his weight, and you swallow hard, staring straight ahead at the same cement wall you’ve been staring at for the last ten minutes because you’re still too much of a fucking wimp to navigate this area by yourself. 

Despite the two of you sitting at opposite ends of the couch, there’s only about one foot of space separating his knee from yours. You suppose that he gets away with the manspreading since he probably has no qualms with punching anyone who voices their offense. After witnessing just how brutal the infamous [ring name nickname] can get, you know that you’re definitely not going to be the one to say shit to him. You can’t even look at him.

Where the fuck is your sister? You have your arms crossed, covering your torso, and you think you must have subconsciously pressed yourself as far back into the couch as you possibly could. Everything about you must scream out “she wants to disappear!!!”, and the worst part of it all would be the fact that it’s the truth. You knew coming down here would be a bad idea, and the sinking feeling of regret is practically solidifying itself into your stomach. You think you could throw up. 

“Hey,” a voice — a deep voice, scratchy and low and so scarily close to you — breaks the silence. “You must be…”

Of course, you’re used to it by now. Always being referred to as “Akemi’s little sister” no matter the situation, the person, the setting. It makes sense, you rationalize. Everyone knows Akemi. And so, by extension, they must know you — her shadow, her little sister. 

“...helped out Sakura.” 

“What?” You don’t know anyone named Sakura, but you finally turn your head to properly look at him as you answer. He’s got on a white shirt now, incredibly form-fitting, and he’s staring right back at you. You're quick to meet his eyes before getting too nervous and focusing on the space just below his eyes. Then, that becomes too close to eye contact for comfort, so you settle for staring at his jaw. It’s a nice jaw. Sharp. He could probably cut you with it if you contradict any of his statements, so maybe you should pretend to know this Sakura girl. 

“You must be the girl that helped out Sakura.” He repeats. He says it slow and almost carefully, like he thinks you must be some sort of idiot who can’t comprehend the most basic of statements. “Gave her your jacket.” He clarifies, and it makes sense. The girl with the hot pink colored hair must have been Sakura. 

“Yeah.” You nod. 

“So why are you here?” 

“Huh?”

“Y’know… Pretty girls like you don’t normally end up here without a reason. So what’s your reason?”

He says it so casually, throwing it out there as easily as a punch. He probably means nothing deep by it, probably doesn’t even realize the fact that it is a compliment. 

He called you pretty.

“My sister.” You answer, finally looking away at him to look down at your hands that have settled nicely into your lap. Your cheeks feel a lot warmer than they did a second ago. You decide to blame this as a result of too many sweaty people in one basement. 

“She a ring girl?” 

“She’s dating a fighter here.”

“And you?”

“What about me?” 

“Are you dating a fighter here, too?” 

You look him properly in his face after that comment, almost resisting the urge to laugh. Fear that he’ll get offended and smack you into the floor stops that reaction. Instead, you stare at him, slightly surprised, lips almost curled up into an amused smile at just how unbelievable it would be for you to date anyone like him. 

“You finally did it.” 

“Did what?” 

“Look at me.” He holds eye contact, almost as if he’s trying to challenge you into looking away. “I don’t bite, y’know.” He smiles, showing off a surprisingly straight row of white teeth, not a single tooth missing despite the nature of his… job. “It’s against the rules.”

Yeah. Because [character], the fucking [ring name nickname], looks like the type of man who follows the rules.

[le-trash-prince]

Kenta

Okay. It is once again time for me to talk about my number one little man. I was interested in Kenta from the very beginning, and at some point I realized that I was not going to be normal about him, but I really did not anticipate how much he would come to mean to me. I hope y'all have enjoyed witnessing my descent into feral blorbo state. It is not over for me in the slightest.

I want to say that Garfield really acted the shit out of this role, and the writers knew what they were doing when they cast him. His arc was so important to the overall plot, with his growth being pivotal to Tony's downfall, and yet he had a relatively small amount of dialogue to work with (although certainly not the smallest amount of the cast).

A lot of his scenes involve him standing in Tony's office, taking instructions, or even just simply observing. A lot of his lines are based around business deals and errands—rather than furthering his emotional development. He doesn't give big speeches, he doesn't talk about his feelings or his dreams, it's always just "I'm doing xyz for Tony, and I will never betray him."

Some of his most dialogue heavy scenes are in one stairwell with Pete and in another with Tony, which I think are extremely pivotal moments, both of which reveal a fear of abandonment.

But it's honestly when he's quiet that he says the most.

And I love that, I'm obsessed with it. I love that the whole fandom could insantly tell that he and Pete had something going on, just from the way they looked at each other. I love that the storytelling in his arc was so highly visual.

In the beginning, Kenta appears to be nothing more than Tony's lackey: quiet, intimidating, and actively complicit with what is going on.

But as we see him more and more, it becomes exceedingly apparent that he cares, so much. I know I am biased in saying this, but I do also pay close attention to what other people are saying about Kenta, and I know almost everyone has been waiting the entire series to see him stand up to Tony. The amount of acting that Garfield did with his eyes, while remaining such a stoic character, was insane.

Despite him repeatedly declaring his loyalty to Tony, despite the fact that he does not reveal any actions against Tony until episode 12, we feel so much of his inner conflict.

I think for me, personally, the aspect of Kenta's character that I relate to the most is his inability to speak up when he wants to. I've struggled with selective mutism my entire life, and there have been countless, countless scenarios where I've had so many things to say and no ability to say them. The more dire the situation, the more my words fail me. I have to spend so much of my energy constantly planning for potential conflict scenarios just so I can have the time I need to figure out which words to use. Because it can sometimes take months for me to figure out certain phrases. And because it is so painful to stay silent when you want to tell someone to stop. To stop fighting, to stop hurting each other, to stop hurting me.

So I was beyond moved and proud to watch Kenta finally be able to protect his brothers and quietly say the one thing he has wanted to say all along.

Don't hurt anyone anymore.

Don't hurt anyone anymore.

Don't hurt anyone anymore.

I will take some of the words that P'Chod gave to Garfield before they went into production. "It’s just you want to live in a peaceful house and be happy together.” All we want is peace.

I wish that Kenta had not been forced to kill Tony because I don't think he has ever wanted to hurt anyone. But I'm sure as hell not sorry that he did it. There will always be people who are unwilling to stop.

And I recognize that Kenta tried a peaceful method first. He gave X-Hunter what they needed to put Tony in jail, and Tony refused to give up. He was never going to be the kind of person who would simply surrender. To him, these people's lives are property that he is entitled to.

Here is an auto translation of something Garfield said about Kenta at the final episode screening.

"I already knew that Kenta would be similar to me, in that I'm someone who doesn't dare to express my feelings to the people around me, saying very little. So when I got the role, I felt… that it teaches us that as long as we dare to be ourselves and do things that make us happy, that's enough."

We may never know what happened to Kenta after Tony died, but I hope he is able to find his peace. I hope he is able to engage with restorative justice, and I hope he is able to learn what family really should be.

And I hope that someone, anyone, will give him a goddamned hug.

the first shot / the last shot

Thank you, Kenta, from the bottom of my heart, for showing us yours.

[serenewrote]

Controversially Young ~ Matt Smith x fem! actress smau

Synopsis: You were recently cast as Bruce Wayne's love interest, which everyone adores, Selina Kyle. The age gap though, has some in a tizzy.

Warning(s): sexist comments, big age gap

Rating(s): NC-17

Actress Y/n L/n Cast alongside Matt Smith in upcoming Batman Movie

Here's what you need to know about Zack Synders new project...

~~~

y/nl/n

now wait just a meowment...

are you going to see Batman (2024)?

see comments

charliebushnell y/n we've talked abt this

↪️ y/nl/n I couldn't help ittttt

user420 still have no idea how they could subject you to this

↪️ user2 subject her to what

↪️ user420 working with someone twice her age

hater2 be honest... whose d*ck did you suck to get this role?

↪️ hater34 probably Matt's

~~~

y/nl/n

Press paws and live in the meow!

trash007 if I were Matt, I'd hit

↪️ trash006 same

user360 y'all are gross up in these comments

↪️ trash56 if she didn't want these comments, she wouldn’t have auditioned for CATWOMAN

↪️ trash001 the sexist dc character to exist

user49 I could never work with someone twice my age, I'd be scared

↪️ user86 y/n's worked with Matt before I think she knows how he is

batman2024 we love our bat and cat

leahsavajefferies as purr-ty as a picture

↪️ charliebushnell no! no puns

↪️ diorgoodjohn these puns are hissterical

↪️ y/nl/n lol

~~~

Y/n L/n talks Catwoman, DC, and new interests

by Young Hollywood

Interviewer: Hello Readers! Today I am joined by one of these most known young actresses of our generation, Y/n L/n! Thank you for being here.

Y/n: Thank you for inviting me. I love doing interviews.

Interviewer: So, how have you been?

Y/n: I've been good. Doing a lot of filming for Batman, catching up with old friends, trying to up my instagram game. I've gotten into videography, shooting mini vlogs and cooking videos.

Interviewer: Sounds fun! I love that! Is there any insight into the movie that you can give us?

Y/n: Sure! If any of you were wondering, this is going to be very different from any portrayal of Batman and Catwoman that you've seen or read. Obviously because Selina Kyle is a lot younger than Bruce in this adaptation which is a plot within itself. This Selina, and because she is younger, her story has changed, is a street rat or stray cat. She lives on the streets, and her story in this, is similar to that of her portrayal in the show, Gotham. She meets Bruce as she is trying pickpocket off him out in the open. Then, it goes from there.

Interviewer: Wow! That certainly is a must-watch. Now, I hate to get deep all of a sudden, but have you seen the comments regarding your casting?

Y/n: Yes, I have actually. A lot of them are for disgusting middle-aged men, so I don't really bother with them. I knew what I was getting into when I auditioned.

Interviews: You also get to work with Matt Smith again. Did you know that he was casted as Bruce or did you find out after you got the call?

Y/n: You know what's funny? Zack told me that Matt told him not to tell me. So, I didn't know until our table read!

Interviewer: Oh my god! What?!

Y/n: Yeah! And I hadn't seen him in so long that I almost jumped across the table to hug him.

Interviews: Aw!

Y/n: A lot of people also would say that they felt bad for me because I'm the love interest to someone twice my age, but I've known Matt for a long time. He worked with my father in Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. I played young Rhaena in House of the Dragon. He's a family friend, a beloved friend. I trust him.

Y/n: I understand the public's concerns though. I did just turn 24 earlier this year. The age gap is big, but it is strictly for storytelling purposes.

Interviews: There you have it. I loved talking with you today.

Y/n: I always look forward to interviews with you. Big fan.

Interviewer: Big fan of you too! Any last words?

Y/n: Go see Batman in theaters near you coming this December!

fin.

I tried my best.

[icyharrington]

would there be any way for you to write a scenario where //plus size reader// is tutoring eddie in algebra and he asks you what you want out of it, so you ask him to tutor you in giving blowjobs because you’ve never done it and he’s taken aback,,, nsfw, lots of praise, gentle eddie pls 🥺💛

haiii okay so! i have another plus size request in my inbox rn so i decided to just make this one for anybody! so yea im sorry about that also eddie's a SMIDDGEEEE rough in this (not super rough tho, like just a tiny bit of hair pulling and pushing ur head down to deepthroat) cuz i forgot that you asked for gentle eddie but he's still pretty soft in this. so yea this took me ridiculously long to write for no reason so i hope y'all like it lmfaooo

contains: blowjobs, deepthroating, inexperienced reader, praise kink, soft dom eddie, dirty talk, hair pulling

wc: 3.3k

“I’m sorry, I just don’t see the point in any of this,” Eddie says, after a several-minute-long period of silent staring at the math textbook that sits in between you. You’re sitting on the cluttered carpeting of his bedroom, with both of your backs propped up against the side of his bed. “Where the hell are all these letters coming from? It’s like they’re purposely trying to make this as confusing as possible.”

You shake your head, leaning over to take a closer look at the text. “The letters are just placeholders for other numbers. You have to solve the equation to find out what they are.” 

“What am I, Sherlock Holmes?!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in an exaggerated show of defeat. Eddie’s a smart guy, but math is certainly not one of his strong suits, which is why you’re here in the first place to tutor him. You’re not exactly a math genius yourself, but you’ve been managing to pull B’s and A’s all semester in algebra, and with Eddie assigned to the seat right next to yours, it didn’t take very long for him to catch on. 

He’d started out copying your answers during tests, attempting to come off as inconspicuous despite him breathing down your neck to get a glimpse at your work. When you finally called him out for it, he’d been apologetic and somewhat embarrassed, which made you feel sorry for him; wanting to help, it was then that you offered to give him a few free tutoring sessions. 

Eddie brings his knees up and settles his elbows against them, the heels of his palms pressing into his forehead in exasperation. “Honestly, (y/n), thank you for offering to tutor me, but I think I’m a lost cause.” 

“You’re not a lost cause, Eddie. You just need to study more,” you say, reaching out to place a hand on his denim-clad shoulder. “I bet if we do a couple more sessions you’ll be able to land a C on next week’s test.” 

Eddie peeks at you from between his hands, the yellow overhead light reflecting brightly in the dark roundness of his eyes. “No way. You’re not giving me any more free tutoring sessions.” 

“I don’t mind helping you, Eddie,” you say, patting him where your hand still lays. And it’s true- while he might be difficult to teach, he’s still a good-natured, funny guy, and you’ve grown to enjoy his company. In fact, you’ve even began to detect the faintest hint of a crush in the pit of your stomach, having been charmed by his smile and laugh and general mischievous demeanor. With Eddie being Eddie, though, it’s almost impossible to tell if he feels the same way, since he’s always putting on a show, never allowing his true emotions to show through his theatrical exterior. “I like hanging out with you.”

“Really? I kind of just assumed you found me annoying,” he grins, dropping his large hands to settle them atop his slender thighs. “But still- I’m not going to milk your generosity any more than I already have. I might be poor, but I’m not a fuckin’ bum.” 

“Well, maybe you can just do me a favor or something?” You scratch your chin pensively, racking your brain for something you could ask Eddie to do for you. What could a guy like Eddie Munson do for you, anyway? 

“What kind of a favor?” Eddie questions, apparently just as perplexed as you are, his head cocking to one side. “Man, I wish there was something I could tutor you in, but, uh, I’m kind of failing most of my classes.” 

You chew on your bottom lip for a moment, his statement jumping out to you for a reason you’re unsure of. You glance at Eddie’s sheepish face as he tucks a strand of dark hair behind one ear, drumming the fingers of his opposite hand against his thigh; you can’t help but find him ridiculously handsome when he’s like this, all shy and indecisive, and you ignore the sudden urge to lean in and kiss him. 

You try to imagine how Eddie would react if you were to make a pass at him; you’re fairly inexperienced, so you haven’t gotten much practice in the department of flirting, which makes you worry you might say something idiotic if you try. 

Licking your lips, you shrug noncommittally, praying that your face doesn’t reveal your current topic of thought. “Maybe you could tutor me in something, like, not school-related.”

“Such as?” Eddie surveys you with his big eyes, blinking rapidly to communicate his impatience with you. “Listen, (y/n). I’m really not good enough at anything to be a tutor.”

Shifting, you toy with an idea that’s begun to form in the back of your mind, inflicting a sudden sense of urgency in your gut. It’s risky, but so tempting, with him this close to you. 

“There’s still things that you know more about than I do,” you start, fidgeting with the hem of your sweater as a means of avoiding his eyes. You’re easing your way in now, testing the waters, and holy fuck, are you scared. “Y’know, like music, dungeons and dragons… and other stuff.”

“What other stuff?” Eddie says skeptically, crossing his tattooed arms across the front of his beloved Hellfire tee. “Those are the only two things I even do. I’m a simple guy.” 

“Well…” you mutter, hugging your legs closely to your chest in an act of self-soothing. You’re running purely on adrenaline now, numb to the doubtful thoughts that nag at you incessantly. “Do you remember yesterday, when we were talking about that rumor that went around about you?”

He furrows his brows, obviously caught off guard by your seemingly random change in subject. “The one about Cheryl giving me a blowjob in the prop closet? I already told you, (y/n), that wasn’t a rumor.” 

Cheryl is Eddie’s acquaintance from his times working backstage for the school plays, and the thought of her flirting with Eddie with her high-pitched voice and bleach-blond hair makes you want to throw up. You hadn’t known she was the type to give blowjobs, and at school, no less; the information had been enough to make your head spin- was everybody at Hawkins getting more action than you?

“I know,” you say slowly, stretching your legs out to recline in front of you. “That’s the ‘other stuff’ I’m talking about. You actually have a sex life, I don’t.” 

Eddie chuckles, looping his fingers into one of the frayed tears on the front of his jeans. “I’m not, like, a sex god or anything like that. I’ve just fooled around a few times, that’s all.” 

“Yeah, but at least you have an idea of what you’re doing.” There’s a gnawing anxiety creeping up within you, and you want to smack Eddie over the head just for being so damn clueless. Peering at him from underneath a veil of dark-painted lashes, you can see the confusion in his face, but to your relief, he doesn’t seem upset by your persistence- maybe this won’t end so horribly, after all. “Sometimes I just get nervous, y’know? ‘Cause what if I meet someone I want to fool around with, but I make a complete idiot out of myself because I don’t know anything?” 

Eddie lifts his gaze to meet with yours, a half-smile making its way across his full lips. Fuck- is he starting to pick up what you’re putting down? You feel your heart skip a beat, palms prickling with sweat as he opens his mouth to speak. “What exactly are you asking me for right now, (y/n)? ‘Cause if I didn’t know any better…”

His words trail off, pink tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as he observes you quizzically; he’s unsure of himself, with a visible heat flooding the pale expanse of his cheeks. After a prolonged beat, you say, “maybe you could show me how to do it right? So it feels good?”

For the first time since you’ve met, Eddie Munson is speechless. His skin darkens to an even more conspicuous shade of burgundy, his arm lifting to scratch at the back of his neck, and you begin to wonder if you made a mistake. 

“Do…what right?” he asks you, though the tone of his voice tells you that he’s already well aware of what you mean. “You want me to tutor you in-“

“-blowjobs. Yeah.” You cut him off without really meaning to, but it’s not like your mind is focused on trivial things like manners at a time like this. “I mean- only if you want to, obviously.”

He stares at you blank-faced before breaking out into a wild grin, amused giggles bubbling up from the back of his throat. “You want me to repay you- by letting you give me head? Kinda sounds like more of a benefit for me than you, hon.” 

“Just ‘cause it benefits you doesn’t mean it won’t benefit me, too.” You subtly inch your way closer to Eddie until your hips are side-by-side, encouraged to continue when he doesn’t back away. “I wanna know what it’s like.”

“You sure you’re in your right mind right now?” Eddie says wryly, sizing you up, adorning you with goosebumps at the invisible sensation of his dark eyes dragging up and down your body. “You didn’t get into my stash or something while I was in the bathroom?” 

“I’m very much sober, Eddie,” you assure him, hesitating as you prepare to go even further, your palm finally dropping to rest on his thigh. He stirs ever-so-slightly at your touch, although he manages to keep his excitement contained for the most part. “I really do want you to teach me.”

“I don’t know how helpful I’ll actually be, but…” he gestures down at his crotch, where his erection is starting to press through the front of his pants obscenely. The view is satisfying, knowing that you’re the one responsible for it- if you’d have known it would be this easy to get Eddie Munson in the mood, you probably would’ve tried your luck with him a long time ago. “I’d definitely be willing to give it a try.”

“Really?” you say hopefully, letting your fingers trail in the direction of his hard-on until you’re toying with the front button of his jeans. “You’re sure?”

His eyes shoot down to where your hand is, your thumb and forefinger playing idly with the metal zipper. He nods rapidly, allowing you to proceed in unfastening his pants, your hands shaking as you do. “Are you sure about this? I mean, damn, you really wanna get blowjob lessons from the freak of Hawkins high?” 

You don’t respond, rolling your eyes dismissively at his frantic line of questioning; nudging his bent legs so that he stretches them before him, you start pulling his pants and boxers down to pool around his hips. Eddie lifts himself up to assist you in the task, and in a matter of seconds his thick cock is on full display for you, flushed and thick and leaking. 

“Holy shit…” you murmur, in a daze; it’s the first dick you’ve ever seen this close-up, and it’s so more intimidating than you could’ve ever imagined. You wonder if all dicks are this massive, or if Eddie is just particularly well-endowed, as you extend your arm to feel along his length experimentally. 

“Was that a good holy shit, or a bad holy shit?” Eddie asks bashfully, nodding his head forward so that his long hair can obscure part of his face. 

“Eddie, your dick is huge,” is all you say to shut him up, and he’s unable to resist the cocky smirk that teases at the corners of his lips. 

He dips back against his bed so that his head is nearly flush with the mattress, pushing his hips out to elongate his body. He groans and stretches, his t-shirt hiking up around his midsection to reveal his soft belly, your gaze lingering there for far longer than it probably should. “Ah, c’mon. I’m not that big.”

The smugness is palpable within his protests, and you narrow your eyes as you position yourself on all fours next to him. “Just tell me what I should do first.”

“Well…” he looks at your face for awhile, before switching his attention to your cleavage, which is completely visible now that your baggy sweater is hanging off your body. Pretending not to notice, he says, “Usually you’d, um. Want to get it wet. Maybe stroke it a little with your hand before you put it in your mouth.” 

“Like this?” You shift your weight onto your knees so you can sit upright, holding your hand out in front of your mouth and spitting into it crudely. Eddie inhales sharply, closely examining your every motion as you draw your arm away from yourself, a string of spit connecting your palm and bitten lips. 

His cock is warm and silky to the touch as you wrap your fingers around it, and you take note of the way he hisses when you begin to move your hand up and down his generous length. “Y-yeah. Like that. That’s- fuck- good.” 

You quicken your pace, a triumphant feeling washing over you as his head lolls back towards the ceiling, his stomach clenching and releasing in direct response to your manipulations. “And then what?” 

Sinking down until your elbows are on the carpet and your back is arched up high, you bring your face closer to his cock, blinking up innocently in wait of his next set of instructions. 

Eddie clears his throat, obviously making an effort to come off as unfazed, although neither of you are strangers to the truth. “You can, uh, put it in your mouth now.” 

You’re perhaps a bit too hasty in your movements, because by the time Eddie’s cock is halfway in your mouth, he eases you back by your hair, stinging your scalp. 

Rather than pissing you off, however, the sensation travels straight from your head to your cunt, and you let out a strangled moan. 

“Shit- sorry,” Eddie says, his big hand stroking your skull where he’d tugged on it. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

You take him out of your mouth but remain close by, your spit-slick lips hovering mere centimeters away from the tip of his cock. “You didn’t. I, um, actually liked it.” 

He raises his eyebrows, seeming equal parts surprised and pleased by your declaration. “Oh yeah? Guess I’m helping you learn a little more than just giving head, huh?”

Flicking out your tongue, you administer tiny licks to his slit, lapping up all of the pre-cum that’s gathered there; Eddie really seems to like this, because he fists your hair in one hand, a string of profanities spilling out past his lips. “F-fuck. Yeah, atta girl. Gotta take it slow at the beginning.” 

Greedy for more of him, your tongue begins sweeping up the side of his dick, tracing lazily alongside the veins that travel throughout. When you’re certain you’ve covered every square inch of him with your hot tongue, you return once again to latch your mouth over the tip. 

“Damn. No fuckin’ way you haven’t done this before,” he manages to say through grit teeth, fisting a clump of your hair to give him better control over your actions. “Yeah, that’s a good girl. Nice and easy.” 

It’s undeniable what his praise and guidance does to you- your thighs are clamped together in a desperate attempt to create friction between them, hips rocking back and forth as you try in vain to rid yourself of the hungry feeling that’s taken you over. You bob your head down to usher a couple more inches of him into your gaping mouth, flattening your tongue against the side so as to fully embrace his salty taste. 

“Ahh, shit. Fuck yeah, (y/n). That’s so fuckin’ good,” he urges, applying some pressure to the back of your head so you can swallow another several inches of his length. “Little less teeth. ’S’it. Yeah, see how deep you can take it.”  

He gathers up your hair to keep it from getting in the way as you start to take him into your throat, your nose almost up against his pelvis as you choke and sputter around him. It’s difficult to breathe with your mouth this filled, but Eddie’s raspy words of encouragement serve in keeping you motivated.

“Keep going, sweetheart. Doing such a good fucking job for me,” he groans, his grasp on your hair loosening to that you can do as you please. With tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, you work to take in the entirety of his cock, gagging noisily when you feel it brush the back of your throat. “Your mouth is like fuckin’ heaven, babe.”  

Your lips curve upwards at the compliment, but you’re incapable of thanking him, your mouth overflowing with nothing but him; as an alternative, you focus on bringing Eddie to his orgasm, painfully curious to discover how he’ll look and feel during his moments of release. 

“Put your hand underneath. Yeah, right there,” he sighs approvingly as your fingers cup and massage his balls, bouncing them lightly in your palm as you continue to suck him. You’re on autopilot at this point, your rhythm impeccable and unrelenting; the noises of your wet mouth working at him are vulgar, your head plunging down on him again and again like you’ve been starved for a year. “Good fuckin’ girl. Yeah, you like choking on my big dick?”

You whimper at this, the vibrations from your throat transferring straight to his cock. Eddie’s grip on your hair tightens as he bucks his hips up underneath you, causing you to drool uncontrollably all over his thick length. 

“Mhm. Take it nice and deep for me,” he mutters lowly, his head tilting upwards so that you're only able to see his parted lips and sculpted jaw. “Gonna cum in your mouth now. Think you can handle that, babe?” 

You nod weakly, speeding up until his breathing becomes choppy and irregular. Your jaw is aching with exhaust, but you don’t dare stop- you’re too close to the finish line to start showing any slack now. 

“Fuck, (y/n)-“ he gasps, and then his cock twitches, a spray of hot liquid coating the inside of your mouth as his veined hand keeps you securely in place. You find yourself struggling against his tight grip as the bittersweet taste of his cum paints your tongue, but you steady yourself enough to swallow it all. 

Eddie takes in a shaky breath as he combs his fingers through your hair affectionately, giving you the opportunity to sit up and recover. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, (y/n). Now I really feel like I owe you something.” 

He shimmies his clothes back up so that he’s covered again, his tongue sticking out thoughtfully from the corner of his mouth. His face is flushed and rosy, forehead kissed with the soft glow of sweat, and for the second time today, all you want is to kiss him. 

“So… I did okay?” You wipe your slick face with the back of your sleeve, running the fingers of your opposite hand through your unkempt mess of hair. Sure, it’s pretty clear that he’d enjoyed himself, but there’s still a part of you that craves his verbal confirmation. 

“Are you kidding? That was some A-plus head in my book. You didn’t even really need me to help you,” Eddie smiles, casually looping his arm around your shoulders, the basic act of which fills your abdomen with butterflies. “But y’know what? I realized that I kinda like being a teacher.” 

You poise an eyebrow, a suggestive glint in your big doe eyes. You've got him. “Yeah? Why don't you show me what else you can teach me?”

[ghastigiggles]

Hi again! :3 I hope you're still open for drawing Pressure prompts cuz I think I got a few in mind now~

https://www.tumblr.com/ghastigiggles/758820297344417792/i-imagine-if-you-tickle-sebastian-by-the-tail-his?source=share

I really wanna see a part 2 to the above. There's about two different scenarios I thought up for this (you can pick either one). Either A) Audie quickly gauges from Fish Boy's reaction that his tail fin is a lot more sensitive than he might've admitted to it being, and they take full risk opportunity to tease him for it, tickling it more purposely. Or B) Do a reverse version where Seb is curiously examining Audie's features (mainly the thick blubbery skin & flesh around their abdomen) which ends up tickling them a lot~ Accidentally at first but then... ;-)

[ conceeeept ]

I ran out of drawing energy tonight but I genuinely did wanna build on this. Like I warned y'all earlier, this ended up just kind of being an exploratory piece than tickles, but they're still there if you squint.

Never ask me for anything again /nsrs /j

ouroboros

“You’re really pushing your luck.”

“2000 data and,” They pressed, “You can check mine out, too.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Liar.”

“... 3000.”

“2500.”

“Fine. But –”

“You call the shots. Wouldn’t have it any other way!”

So that, long and short, was how Audie ended up seated against the wall behind Sebastian’s tail, practically being crushed by the weight but not seeming to mind too much. Anyone else, and he might’ve actually finished the job – but the Assets were different from the Expendables, and he’d been patient enough until now to know they’d respect a firm no when he’d truly had enough.

Too sweet for their own good – but in this case, he couldn’t truly complain. He’d take their hand gently running across the length of his scales over scalpels and vinyl gloves any day. 

Not that it stopped him, of course. But still.

There was a mutual curiosity he was interested in exploring, at least passively. They’d both been subject to very similar experiments and changes, though the result was certainly wildly different between them. At least they had their legs, he mused somewhat bitterly, though he knew it still came at a cost.

“Your tail must be crazy strong,” They commented, applying a little pressure with the heel of their palm and just missing a knot in the muscle he hadn’t realized was there. He fought to swallow a groan at that, his fins twitching; “You’re built like a brick house under there.”

“It has its uses. Carries all the stock, after all.”

Sebastian turned his gaze upon the scattered straps and belts and supplies on the ground, silently bemoaning the process of re-attaching them all he’d have to go through once Audie’d had their fill. The asset themself giggled softly, giving his tail a gentle pat as they moved downwards.

“It’s cool! Yours is smoother than I thought it would be, too.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah! The way the light hits your scales, I thought it’d be more bumpy.”

He decided to withhold the fact that his scales would stiffen up underwater for now – had to keep some things a mystery, after all – and simply rolled his eyes, leaning a shoulder against the wall nearest to him and watching them with his arms crossed. Admittedly, it was a little endearing how fascinated they seemed to be. 

It was almost enough to distract him from how much he despised his new form.

Almost.

“Are you done yet, or…?”

“Do you want me to be done?”

They met his gaze evenly, and he could only huff in reply, the tip of his tail twitching in their hands. Yes, but no, was the honest answer – and fuck that. Regardless, Audie took his silence as ongoing permission, and continued onwards with their investigation.

More than once, their claws dragged in just such a way to prompt his tail to jerk – more than once, he’d choked on a snort and cast them a withering look that they either ignored or missed. The sensation was more annoying than anything, yet still sent nervous butterflies through his system.

And then their hands were on his fins, and his breath hitched – barely-perceptible, thank God, but still embarrassing. Their thumbs gently pressed down where the flesh of his fins met the scales of his tail, tapering into either texture, and that almost felt nice.

Their claws trailing over the delicate skin, however, was not something he could tolerate for long – and with a stifled snort, his tail jerked. Audie squeaked with annoyance as he smacked them in the face. An unintended attack, granted, but still…

Deserved.

“T-Time’s up, knock it off,” He chimed quickly, pulling his tail off of them entirely and willing his gills to relax where they’d flared up from the nerves. God, that would’ve sucked immensely. Audie pouted, but allowed him the opportunity to call it, standing up and stretching with a groan of their own. 

“Alright. My turn, then – how d’you wanna do this?”

It took a little thought and finagling, but the two of them settled for letting them sit on his tail and lean against his body, their back to his front. Their tail curled up between their legs like a pool toy, and they playfully drooped the fins over their own head before allowing him to take the limb in his hands.

Just like his, Sebastian could feel the muscle underneath – powerful and developed, though the joints themselves felt stiff as he manipulated the limb. Audie seemed to wince when he pressed down, and he grunted – concerned, against his better judgement.

“Doesn’t hurt,” They assured without further prompting; “I mean – it does, when the meds wear off, but it’s good for now. It’s just – the bone problem… My tail was grafted on.”

“Mm. That’s right… You mentioned.”

They hadn’t. But they overshared so much that they didn’t remember that. He, meanwhile, remembered reading their file. 

“Is it numb right now?”

“No… Soft touches don’t feel like much, with the painkillers n’ all.”

A bitter twinge of mild jealousy sprouted in Sebastian’s chest – at least they wouldn’t be having an embarrassing, dumb reaction – though he was quickly proven wrong when a bit of pressure applied on either side of their tail made it twitch and prompted a strangled noise from them.

“Uh?”

“Uh.”

A beat, and he snorted, tilting his head down at them as he let up on the squeeze.

“... You good?”

“Kinda? It felt like – you know when someone pinches that point at the back between your shoulders and neck?”

Well. It’d been literal decades, but – “Sure.”

“That - hhHAAH, hey!”

Sebastian chuckled to himself as he pressed down again, and Audie whined, pressing back against him as their tail jerked in his hand – woefully helpless, what with their size difference. With a second hand, he experimentally ran a claw of his own over their fin, pressing down just enough to prompt a soft squeal.

Audie’s back arched, and they kicked lightly at the new addition to their torment, shaking their head.

“Nonononono that’s so bad that’ssobadstop!”

“Geeze, you’re gonna break the sound barrier at this rate…”

He longed to push his own luck a little – but courtesy given was courtesy returned, at least, and Audie hadn’t done him wrong. So, begrudgingly, he relented, and Audie slid off him to plop on the ground, curling their tail around their body and holding it close. Sebastian craned his neck to grin down at them, amused.

“So much for not being sensitive, huh?”

“Shut it. As if I didn’t catch your reaction earlier.”

“... Touche. I won’t take advantage if you won’t.”

“Deal.”

That deal would, inevitably, break – but not before they helped him get all the belts and supplies back on. Hopefully. 

[tillwehavefaces]

I have literally never posted about Buddie before, but I want to add my two cents to the whole Buck/Tommy debate. I know there are mixed feelings and both sides have valid points, but to those who were expecting a Buddie kiss this soon - I don't get it?

Ever since I found out abc had picked up 911, I was and remain cautiously hopeful for Buddie endgame - in fact, the kiss makes me far more hopeful than I was a week ago. Because the truth is that if they'd gone straight for Buddie, it would have been bad storytelling. Offensively bad storytelling.

Hear me out. I agree with y'all that the storytelling that's happened up until now makes it clear that Buddie are in love with each other. I also happen to think that the storytelling that's happened up until now makes it clear that neither of these himbos have any clue that they're in love with each other, or that they even could fall in love with a man.

And it's not for lack of opportunity, if the writers had wanted to go that way, obviously! There's was Buck's reaction to Eddie being stuck in the well and Eddie making Buck Christopher's guardian in his will and both of them almost dying and Eddie having a literal breakdown over all the trauma he's repressed and they've both been to therapy and they've both broken up with women who were all wrong for them ... I could go on and on.

But not only did the writers not take any of these opportunities to make at least one of them realize their feelings for the other might not be platonic (certainly, no explicit indication on screen), but because fox was so afraid of losing viewers if they made both their supposedly straight male firefighters queer, they doubled down on Eddie and Buck seeing their relationship as platonic. Every time one of them went through some kind of life-changing experience and questioned deeply held beliefs about themselves yet never questioned their sexuality, it made it seem less and less likely that *anything* would make them realize they might be queer and in love with their best friend.

Honestly, I think if abc had gotten the show at a different point, they might have been able to go straight into Buddie. For example, a season earlier? Eddie's just gotten through a ton of trauma with the help of a therapist and is returning to the 118, and it would've been easy to write a storyline where he's realized his feelings for Buck and tries to do something about it. Or maybe right after Buck's near-death experience. But they both got through those traumas and started dating new women, as oblivious to the love right in front of them as ever. And that's how S6 ended.

So I don't think there's anything abc could have done to convince me that either one of them suddenly realizes how they feel without something happening. If that Buck/Tommy kiss had instead been a Buddie kiss, I would have loved it, but I wouldn't have really believed it. It wouldn't have felt genuine.

Excuse my nerdy science brain, but it's like inertia - Buck and Eddie have both been going in one direction for so long (the 'we're straight best friends!' direction) that it's going to take some kind of force to knock them off that path. It can't be near death experiences, cause they've both been there and it hasn't worked. It can't be finding new girlfriends or breaking up with said girlfriends. No, it's gotta be something really obvious.

That force is Tommy. A canon gay character who recognizes Buck as queer even when Buck doesn't recognize himself as queer. Who (unknowingly) forces Buck to confront that part of himself by kissing him, which will in turn force Eddie to confront his feelings and reaction to seeing his best friend and co-parent now dating a man. I can't say for sure that Buddie is coming, but I honestly think this (not Tommy specifically, but a queer man who is outside the whole Buddie situation) is the only way to tell this story in a way that makes it feel true to life, given the mess that fox created.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Febuwhump Day 6 - "You Lied to Me"

I decided to try something different today, and I hope y'all don't mind. Introducing Link, the Hero of Power—predecessor to Captain Link, the Hero of Warriors—and Queen Zelda, the Sacred Diplomat. Together, these two legendary figures, alongside Gerudo Chief Hemisi, split Ganondorf's soul into pieces and sealed him away across time and space as a permanent way to end the ageless curse (before that got reversed in Hyrule Warriors). Anyway, here's a little angst with them!

X

The water was almost too hot as it bubbled against his skin. Link sighed, trying to relax into it, accepting this odd vacation he and Zelda had been given. The Gorons weren't unfriendly by any means, but it was strange that they had invited the monarchs to their hot springs for some time off.

Stranger still that Zelda had accepted.

Link glanced over at his queen as she bathed in the water, her figure wavering in the heat as it lazily drifted up from the surface. He was still curious why she'd agreed to come. The pair had never taken time off, and most certainly never together alone. This was a bizarre move, and it made him slightly uneasy. Although it felt beyond freeing to leave the castle, he missed his children. Relaxing like this was a foreign concept to him at this point.

What are you up to, Zelda? he wondered.

He decided to try his luck, swimming over to her. She turned in the water as he approached, face imperceptible as usual.

"Why are we here?" he asked softly, cautiously.

"The Gorons invited us," Zelda answered simply. "I wasn't going to refuse such kindness."

"Because they would view it as a slight, or because of something else?" Link pressed. When Zelda watched him a moment longer, he continued, "We've... been married for years, my queen. I imagine we can speak plainly to each other by now? It's just you and me."

Zelda's façade cracked, her lips twitching, gaze falling to the water level. "You can call me Zelda, you know. You do that, sometimes, when we are being intimate."

He supposed he did. And he supposed this was a moment of intimacy and vulnerability. "Then what's this about, Zelda?"

"I just..." Zelda faltered, showing uncharacteristic hesitancy. It reminded him of how she'd acted at her father's funeral, when it had just been the two of them, long after the crowds had dissipated (and after she had left). "I just wanted you to have something nice. I... I wanted us to have something nice."

Her voice grew so quiet as she added the last statement, nearly shriveling into the water. Link could understand why. She wasn't exactly responsible for giving him anything nice for a long time.

Well... aside from their children. But even then...

A bitter part of him let her look this small and defeated, demure and timid and so penitent. A part of him was angry that she was even trying.

You had promised a brighter future for all of Hyrule, that voice snapped. You lied to me.

It wasn't a lie, though, and he knew it. Just because he had sacrificed his happiness and his life didn't mean the rest of Hyrule wasn't thriving.

Link sighed tiredly. Despite all the hurt between them, he still didn't like to see her like this. It wasn't as if he was the only one who had sacrificed everything. He leaned forward, pulling her close, letting her rest against him, his finger absentmindedly tracing the green paint that adorned her arms, watching it slowly trail off her pale skin. "That's... considerate of you."

Zelda's own hands traced a scar on his chest, and he swallowed, feeling his heart start to race. She pulled away, though, calming his rushing blood and making him curious again.

"I figured I'd... try," she said quietly, refusing to make eye contact. "After... we don't do this much. Spend time together."

Why would they? This marriage hadn't exactly been his choice. He'd hardly spent enough time with her to create an heir the first year. Though in the years after that, he'd used her as his escape as much as she'd used him as her political toy.

So was she using him now? Or was she being genuine? He remembered she was capable of being kind to him.

Was she lying to him now?

"Is this some sort of favor to the Gorons?" he finally asked, letting himself be candid. She'd requested as much, anyway. "Creating a child in their homeland? Would they view that as some sort of honor?"

"This isn't--this isn't about that," Zelda shook her head. "I just wanted you to be able to relax. Back home, you... you're usually taking care of the children more than me."

"Then why did you come along?" Link questioned further. When Zelda winced and swam back a hair, his wariness died down, replaced by guilt.

She really... she just wants to spend time with me?

Oh.

She was lonely.

Link huffed, looking away. Goddesses above. He really was being self-centered, he supposed.

"Well..." he trailed off awkwardly, not really knowing what to say. "Even sacred diplomats need a break, I guess."

Zelda smiled a little forlornly, still looking into the water. Link moved towards her again, letting his body sink into the bubbling warmth so he could look up at her from where her gaze had stayed. He rose up to her with an inviting kiss, and she let him lead.

Though the act was nothing new, it held a bit more tenderness to it than ever before, a sort of mutual pain that emanated between the quiet couple as they sought comfort in each other. Typically after the fact the two would go their separate ways, but this time they basked in the heat, letting themselves dry off on the volcanic rock, draped in towels. Neither had anything to say—at this point what could they say—but they stayed, and Link settled into a nap that was more restful than he'd had in years.

[thegreatyin]

26 27 30 36... Scoundrel and Scientist. Also gimme the cufflink saga already.

IM STILL PIECING THE SNIPPETS TOGETHER IM SORRY I KNOW IVE TAUNTED YALL WITH ALLUSIONS TO IT FOR AGES JDFHDHDJDK

26 - What would be their ideal romance? Did they find a perfect match already, is it still a work in progress, or have they experienced something out of their expectations?

The Scoundrel's ideal partner would probably be someone willing to put up with her... everything. Either because they don't care, or because they indulge her to her heart's content. Someone able to back up her wildest dreams (or even fulfill them) while still being there at the end of the day to kiss her head and tell her it's all going to turn out okay.

She thinks this someone is Wines. It is not Wines.

The Scientist's ideal partner... is a lot more broad, and also simultaneously a bit more narrow.

See, he's fine with just about anyone, theoretically. All he wants is someone he can live for, and work to protect. He doesn't even care if he gets the same in return. Ideally someone patient, and clever, and maybe a little bit terrifying- someone he can trust completely and utterly-

But he doesn't really care about any of that. He just wants someone he can get along with. Someone he can almost feel safe around. He doesn't care about anything else.

-

27 - What is their romance’s theme song?

The Hatsune Miku cover of Poison. And Butcher Vanity.

...oh, you meant general romance, not together. That's, admittedly trickier.

And by "trickier" I mean "I'm stumped". I have absolutely no idea. I've never thought about it before. Consider this an open invitation for y'all to come in and suggest romance songs, because I'm kind of at a loss rn

-

30 - What is their love language?

The Scoundrel gives gifts. A lot of gifts. If you've actually, sincerely, unironically, somehow, against every odd in the universe, thoroughly captivated them, you'd get absolutely smothered in more gifts than anyone could hope to count. Extravagant ones, too.

Like.

They're the kind of person who thinks a comically expensive romantic dinner at the most exclusive restaurant in the country is "modest". They're the kind of person who'd send you hourly updates on how their day is going because they think you genuinely unironically need to know this pressing information because you love them and they love you back. They're the kind of person who spends hours trying and failing to win a giant stuffed animal at a carnival because you said it looked cute and they want to impress and pamper you.

They're the kind of person who spends half of their fortune supplying Mr Wines' revels because they think they're getting such an insanely good grade in flirting and serving and being such a good sexy appealing lover for their stupid horrible drunken crush that won't even give them a second glance-

I mean. Uh. Ahem. Clears throat.

Gift-giving. They like gift-giving.

The Scientist on the other hand- he's pretty squarely split between acts of service and quality time. I don't compare him to a cat for nothing. He's either actively being "useful" to people, or he's sitting with them in silence for 2 hours straight while they do an unrelated task in the same general vicinity.

He considers the latter to be fantastic socializing.

-

36 - What would they gift to their partner or their best friends to show their affection?

See the Scoundrel's aforementioned answer about giant stuffed animals and supplying revels. But also flower bundles. And honey. And bundled flowers dipped in honey. They feel like the type to gift what they like because they're under the impression that their favorite things are universal favorite things.

As for the Scientist... he's admittedly not the best at sending gifts, but he certainly tries? His gifts are way more humble. Way more small. Like the results of an interesting experiment, or a cool puzzle he thought up, or a handmade scrapbook that's not exactly good insomuch as it is unbelievably sincere. Tiny nerdy trinkets that won't mean much to an onlooker, but end up being super soft and sentimental to those in the know.

Also, I could see him knitting a bunch of stuff. Little winter hats, scarves, gloves, the works. It's sweet. He's sweet.

[eemcintyre]

Playing the Part

TW- an instance of nonconsensual kissing.

Summary- After the events of Rodeo Drive, the vibes between Valerie and Terry are noticeably different. Finally, Terry arranges for the media to discover them when they soft-launch their relationship to the public at a cafe.

Apologies that it's taken this long to get the third part out and that's it's not super long, but I'm finally happy with it and hopefully over my writer's block for a bit! Don't know why I was so stuck on this one but a big thank you to @karatekels for giving the me the inspo I needed to slightly rework and finish it! I hope y'all enjoy 😄

Several days had passed since the whirlwind day on Rodeo Drive, and on the following Wednesday, Valerie sat in the Dynatox office at her desk. Elbows propped atop the armrests of her chair, she clutched a steaming cup of tea to her chest, holding it more as a comfort and as something to do with her nervous hands than as a beverage, but remembering to take a sip every now and then.

It was safe to say that, if things already hadn’t felt odd and uncomfortable between her and Terry, they certainly were now. In addition to their regular duties at work, luckily a lot of the time when they had to be near each other was also consumed by preparations for their public debut that weekend.

Unfortunately, however, none of it was enough to prevent Valerie from inadvertently staring at Terry from across the office instead of at her computer. And, rather than glaring at him and his cigar smoke, her gaze curiously traced the curve of his ring-adorned fingers, as well as the faint outlines of muscle visible through his clothes; a sight that had been seared into her memory all too well after his damp, shirtless entrance at his home the other week.

Why didn’t God ever seem to give with both hands? How could such an egotistical, rude, depraved man have the nerve to be so good-looking?

While Valerie engaged in this mental battle of wills, pointedly scowling down into the murky depths of her tea, she didn’t notice Terry studying her just as intently from his own desk, his face partially hidden behind a folder. The hysterical irony of this moment was not lost on him; he could hardly contain his laughter at how the tables had turned within a matter of weeks, from him watching her obsessively, to her now doing the same, clearly trying to fight the urge but just as clearly losing.  

The next day, another afternoon at the Ennis House, was almost too much for Valerie to handle given the changed atmosphere between them. The purpose of this meeting was the carefully planned photoshoot, orchestrated to give the impression that they’d been dating for longer and spent many more occasions together than they really had. All afternoon they changed outfits while Terry’s staff reworked the amassed props and backdrops to mimic another building location or overseas locale. What an odd experience that had been, like they were models posing for an editorial shoot.

Valerie caught herself wondering throughout, as they held hands and beamed at each other and acted out scenes of parties, trips, and even just lounging together at the house, what it would actually be like to be in such a relationship, intermingling with that section of society.

On one hand, it seemed it would be full of whimsical adventure- she imagined the places around the world that she would see that she otherwise would probably never be able to; the celebrities, political figures, art collectors and other Silver-esque businessmen whose wealth made them influential that she would meet. And perhaps the most wonderful part of all- to never have to worry about money again; to be comfortable and unconcerned about whether she looked cheap or could make her rent; to have the freedom to treat herself to some of life’s finer things.

On the other hand, if Terry was any example to go off of, she wondered whether it would be worth sacrificing her humanity and sincerity. But, seeing as she would never know regardless, she soon stopped contemplating what was a nonexistent problem- in favor of devoting her attention to the very much existent one.

Despite the echoing roominess and impassive blocks of stone comprising every room in the Ennis House, with each moment of lingering eye contact or prolonged silence, all air seemed to leave the room and Valerie felt suffocated and sweaty. After a few too many times that she caught herself gazing at his mouth when he seemed not to be looking, she excused herself to the bathroom.

This would not do. She spent a chunk of time pacing before the mirror across the room’s red and black tiles, noting with an unsurprised chuckle that, of course, even his bathroom looked villainous and over-the-top. If she didn’t have the misfortune of knowing the man, she wouldn’t believe he was real. As Valerie paced, she whispered to her reflection in the mirror, lecturing herself. Even though she was rooms and hallways away from where she had left Terry, she had the weird feeling that he could hear and see everything that went on in that house.

“You didn’t move across the country, do all of this work, and take all of his bullshit just to become another of his one-night stands,” she hissed. “Sure, it’s not like this is something that happens to people every day and, all things considered, I think you’ve been handling things pretty well. Credit where credit is due. But try and act like you’ve been kissed before.” She paused in front of the mirror with a wilting look, gripping the black marble counter with both hands. “Sure, it was good, but it wasn’t that good.” She pointed firmly at herself in warning. “Remember who that mouth is attached to.”

~

When the morning dawned on the Saturday that was to be her and Terry’s official public debut, Valerie was struck for the first time with the feeling that she truly might not be able to handle the responsibilities she’d taken on in their ever-so-unconventional agreement. Dressing in another of the outfits she and Joan had picked out, Valerie tried to channel the grace, elegance, and poise of the attire as she stood in front of her mirror, shaking.

Struggling to fit her wallet and everything else she thought she might need into another of the new and unbearably small handbags, Valerie made a last check that her pearl earrings hadn’t fallen out along her frenzied way as Milos buzzed the apartment- the signal that it was time to be whisked away by the limo once more. Except, this time, instead of admiring the California scenery or feeling the least bit sophisticated and cool, she felt like she was being transported to her own public execution. At least she would leave behind a fashionable-looking corpse.

Over the entire drive to the café, Terry was listing off the facts of their fabricated backstory and coaching her on how to behave, but Valerie was too concentrated on trying not to throw up to retain much of it. Not only was the press always trying to dig up stories on Terry regardless, but he'd specifically arranged for reporters and paparazzi to witness the couple's upcoming appearance by utilizing one of his media contacts to drop a tip.

“Valerie!” he eventually snapped at her, succeeding in capturing her attention. “You can’t lose your nerve on me now. We’ve both put in too much work for you to go deer-in-the-headlights at the last minute.”

Valerie opened her mouth in a defensive but stammering reply; Terry could easily see past the thin layer of bluster. While part of him wanted to gloat about how she wasn’t so smart-mouthed now, huh? he knew he had to help her keep it together in this moment. The fun of breaking her down would come later and taste all the sweeter. He scooted closer to her, getting in her face, softening the volume of his voice but not the gravity of his tone or expression. She recoiled slightly, but not as much as she used to when they first interacted, he noted. Excellent.

“Listen to me. Fear does not exist. To get through this and give a truly believable performance, you’ve got to shut out everything but you and me. You’re the enchanting starlet, I’m your leading man, and we’re both method actors now, baby. If we really sell it, there’s no way any of them will know unless we tell them- which, of course, isn’t going to happen. We’re the ones in control here. They’re just a bunch of parasites looking for a good story. And, hell, are we going to give them one.”

Terry finished his pep talk with the cunning smirk that usually annoyed her, but in that moment, his persistent confidence reassured her.

The limo rolled to a stop soon after and the two of them were dropped at the curb- after that, everything became a blur until, suddenly, Valerie found herself sitting at a table on a café patio, hardly knowing how she or the drink and pastry on the table in front of her got there. Since scrutinizing their surroundings for reporters surprisingly didn’t do her anxiety any good, she attempted an alternate strategy, which was keeping her gaze glued to the foamy, white-beige surface of her London Fog. Terry, on the other hand, was surveying their view with calculated intentions, absentmindedly toying with the ring on his left pinky. He muttered a curse and something else inaudible, prompting Valerie to tear her gaze away from her tea and glance at him with her eyebrows furrowed.

“What?”

Terry pointedly glanced to a spot across the street. By a streetlamp and a decorative bed of greenery, a woman lurked in the shade provided by the nearby shrubs. At first glance, she looked like any other pedestrian, in a chic but nondescript pantsuit and orange-red hair swept and pinned up out of her face. But closer inspection revealed her to be scribbling furiously on a notepad, head bobbing up and down from the notepad to the couple seated in front of the café. Then a camera lens glinted from behind the bushes, alerting Valerie to the fact that the woman was not alone- accompanied by not one, but two photographers.

“Who’s that?” Valerie hissed, and Terry’s hand shot forward to grip one of hers in a warning not to react so visibly.

“That’s Amanda Shotwell, the gossip queen of L.A. Mandy’s been trying to come up with some kind of big story on me for years,” he remarked with a patronizing chuckle, suggesting she hadn't yet succeeded and never would unless he wanted her to.

Of the few sure things in Los Angeles, one was that the sun would rise and set each day. Another was that Ms. Shotwell would be knee-deep in everyone’s business for every moment in between.

Over her years as the leading reporter on First Look News’ staff, she had built up a reputation so relentless that she was once quoted as saying “If I don’t get threatened with a restraining order, it means I just haven’t been investigating hard enough.” She often justified her invasive practices, from straddling the fences of private estates to placing hidden cameras, with claims that she was on a noble mission to expose vice and promote transparency- that the people deserved to know what the public figures around them were doing. But anyone with the slightest grip on reality could see that she was addicted to the drama and the power trip that she got from essentially terrorizing the city’s upper circles.

“So, smile, honey- it’s showtime.”

Terry’s grip on Valerie’s hand tightened, and it seemed to her to be simultaneously a warning to begin playing it up, as well as a gesture of grounding comfort. It was now or never to show them all- him, the press, her family and friends, and herself that she could do something intimidating and impulsive- and succeed.

Now that the moment was upon her and the anticipation was over, it was like a switch inside had flipped. Boldly meeting Terry’s expectant eyes, she smiled forcefully, taking a long sip of her previously untouched London Fog.

“Atta girl,” he murmured, lifting her hand to press a kiss to it without breaking their eye contact.

Valerie glanced demurely down at her lap, eyelashes fluttering, pretending to laugh softly through gritted teeth.

“So, what are we supposed to do?” she replied, stealing another glance in Ms. Shotwell’s direction- the scribbling had increased in ferocity and she seemed to be quietly barking orders at the photographers.

“Drink your tea,” he muttered, as if he were stating the obvious.

“Shotwell can’t possibly be her real last name,” Valerie remarked on the all too well-fitting surname for a reporter, eyebrows furrowed.

Terry tried to engage her in small talk that was meant to distract her and help their performance, but which Valerie found only further maddening. Soon she realized that his face was now inches away from her own. Fighting the urge to jump backward despite how every nerve in her body was screaming, “What are you doing?” she hissed.

“Come on, they’ll love it; they’ll go crazy.”

“I… hold on, um-” Valerie felt the panic returning as Terry began to close the remainder of the space between them.

“Just remember the way we practiced- relax, let it flow.”

She felt his other hand, the one not already intertwined with one of hers, firmly at the back of her neck as he pressed his mouth to hers. She heard the frenetic clicking of cameras getting what was sure to be the next day’s juicy, front-page shot of the Society section.

When Terry finally released her, after what felt like an eternity, she felt heat ascending across her face. Wrenching her hand from his as nondescriptly as possible, she hid her face behind her teacup and took another sip, head spinning.

When she finally managed to look back at Terry, she saw that he was trying desperately not to laugh, and her disorientation turned to seething. By then, Amanda and her photoshoot entourage had given up even trying to hide and were out in the open across the street in the effort to get better shots.

Valerie and Terry pretended to only just now notice their presence, laughing together in embarrassment that their intimate moment had been immortalized in film and that their relationship would now be revealed- as if the choice to sit right in front of a popular café on a busy morning wouldn’t have been enough of a guarantee of that result.

But one benefit of Valerie's anger was that it had pushed even the thought of nervousness temporarily to the wayside. She was almost overcome with the urge to slap him, but that simply wouldn’t do. Another course of action, one that would arguably be an even better revenge on him, would have to suffice.

As the forced laughter stretched on, Valerie calmly set her teacup down and dipped the tip of her finger into the foam surface.

“You try that again before I’m ready and I’ll break your fingers,” she whispered saccharinely, while, without breaking eye contact or saying a word, she reached across the table and smeared the finger covered with foam across the point of Terry’s nose.

She saw him arm move almost imperceptibly to snap up and grab her, before his better judgment reeled him in. His normally icy-pale face took on a distinct shade of angry red underneath an absolutely shit-eating grin as he wiped his nose with his napkin.

“I’d love to see you try,” he replied through a tightly clenched jaw.

Even though she briefly wondered whether she’d gone too far, Valerie’s adrenaline allowed her to hold her ground. She was tired of Terry pushing her around and acting like he was the only one with power in this arrangement. He needed her. Her eyes flitted briefly to Ms. Shotwell and her cameramen and back to Terry.

“It wouldn’t be a good look for you to be caught in an angry outburst at your defenseless little girlfriend,” she murmured, unable to suppress a smirk. “You can’t do a thing.”

“You’re a fucking brat,” he retorted, before taking a deep breath, shifting his jaw, and downing the remainder of his coffee. She grinned to herself as she noted the vein bulging in his forehead.

After about a half-hour of playful displays of affection, punctuated by snide exchanges under their breath, the couple settled their check and got up to leave. That was when Amanda and her goons, as well as a couple of paparazzi from other publications, made their move and approached the couple on the sidewalk as they headed down the street to where Milos and the car were waiting for them.

A member of Terry’s security entourage, who had joined Milos in the limo, jumped from the car in an effort to keep the various interlopers from getting too far into Terry and Valerie’s space, growling at them to “make a lane.” Terry had also stepped protectively in front of Valerie as she followed closely behind, white-knuckling his hand, the two of them temporarily putting aside the earlier confrontation.

“No comment,” he replied flatly as the reporters and camerapeople, particularly Amanda, peppered them with questions.

“You two were looking pretty cozy back there; we’ve never seen this side of you before,” Amanda tried to prompt some kind of response from Terry, walking backwards so she could face him as they moved, nearly tripping over her cameramen and shooting them warning looks. “C’mon, Silver- give us something to work with!”

“What’s your name?”

“How do you know Terry?”

“How long have you been going out?”

They asked Valerie, who stared silently ahead, apart from copying Terry with a coy “No comment,” thankful that her wide eyes were now hidden behind a pair of heavily tinted sunglasses.

“Come on, honey- give us a smile for the cameras!”

The immediate silence was blissful, yet jarring, as Terry and Valerie finally hopped into the limo and drove off, leaving the media utterly maddened with curiosity and frothing for answers.

“That’s how we do it, Milos!” Terry exclaimed triumphantly, patting his driver on the back as he slid into the seat behind him. “Always leave ‘em wanting more.”

Willing to put the tension of the morning behind them, Valerie was about to make a celebratory statement about how they’d pulled off their debut, but before she could get a word out, Terry said sternly “Don’t you ever pull a stunt like that again.”

“Like what? Humanize you a little? Don’t be ridiculous- they loved it. Being so serious and perfectly rehearsed in front of the public all the time isn’t doing you any favors. If you’re so concerned about your image, it wouldn’t hurt once in a while to show people that you have a softer side- even if you and I know it’s all just bullshit.”

While Terry knew that she had a bit of a point, he bristled at the notion of showing weakness like that for the world to see. Convincing his potential investors, shareholders, employees and other associates that he was loyal and levelheaded and not some unstable, corrupt sex addict by no means had to include him parading around like a lovesick fool.

“In my world, you can’t show weakness,” was what he verbally boiled his thoughts down to. Valerie’s brows furrowed and she tilted her head skeptically.

“Everyone has some kind of weakness.”

He didn’t appreciate her insinuation but decided to move on; the conversation was a waste of time. He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m not going to debate the nature of humanity with you in the back of this limo.”

Remembering his ultimate goal, Terry relaxed his tensed posture and angry expression, taking a deep breath that, in the confines of the limo, was scented strongly with her perfume.

“They really loved it though, huh?” he grinned, tearing his gaze from out the front windshield of the vehicle and to her expectant face, which returned a hesitant smile. She figured that this was his subtle way of telling her that she did a good job without having to admit that she had been right.

“Without a doubt, we have their attention. Now, it’s just a matter of whether they really bought it and where they’re going to run with it.”

At his words, Valerie felt senses of both pride in her performance and fear of just where, exactly, the press was going to “run with it” prickle at her spine. She could probably expect curious and bewildered calls from her relatives and friends within the next couple of days if the media really cooked up an interesting story or gave it enough page space. But, for the time being, she just laughed in triumph along with Terry in the backseat of the limo, clasping his outstretched hand in a congratulatory gesture.

[arokel]

WIP WHATEVER

i forgot to do a wip thing yesterday but i wanna see what y'all are working on, so here's just a general "show off some of your wips" tag(ish) game! if you see this in the fandom tag or because you follow me, consider yourself tagged <3

anyway here are things i'm primarily focusing on right now despite The Sleepy

I've Heard About People Like Me (TBITB)

The rumors begin almost immediately. Joe, with his customary anxiety, wonders aloud if he's ill. Johnny thinks injury is more likely.

"Family emergency, maybe? His folks live in town; he could be with them," Bobby says, muffled as he pulls his undershirt over his head. He emerges ruffled and frowning, rotating his shoulders with a wince.

Shorty carefully looks away from the flex of tendons in Bobby's slim neck. He doesn't believe any of these proposed theories - to him, they all sound like something Ulbrickson would have addressed immediately. Whatever's going on, it's worse than the average personal tragedy: it's the kind of tragedy you don't talk about.

Love You Like That (TBITB)

He barely thinks anymore about how unconventional it is to have Bobby sprawled next to him on the bed as he reads portions of the letter aloud, offering helpful and acerbic commentary in turn. But of course they’re on the bed - in was a special occasion that Bobby has never indicated a desire to repeat. Don would if he did, no questions asked.

Unconventional or not, Bobby is adorable like this, kicking his feet in the air and letter held at arms' length above his head. It's a distance from which Don certainly couldn't make out words, but Bobby has always had sharp eyes. Don only hopes they're too focused on the letter to notice how often Don has to tear his own gaze away to focus on his updated draft.

He's so consumed with not looking too obviously and making Bobby uncomfortable that he doesn't realize Bobby has reached the end of the letter - and, more importantly, that Bobby has stopped talking.

Then, after several minutes of silence, Bobby says, hesitant and hushed, "I'm your best friend?"

Tell Me (ATPM)

“It wouldn’t kill you to stare a little less,” Carl murmurs, as Sy Hersh slips into the men’s locker room and out of sight, white tennis shorts stretching across heavy thighs for just a moment before they’re gone.

“What?” Bob says, distracted.

Carl rolls his eyes, once, before looking Bob up and down illustratively and not a little lecherously. “He’s not the kind of guy to keep quiet if you hit on him too obviously. You’re lucky I didn’t rat you out.”

“Because you’re so free of sin,” Bob scoffs, to cover the discomfort of having been caught looking. He and Carl are by no means exclusive - far from it; privately Bob thinks the only reason they’re fucking each other at all is that neither of them have time to meet anyone else. But he still feels guilty.

Carl cocks his arm as if he’s about to throw his fluffy white towel in Bob’s face, only to change course and playfully scrub it over Bob’s sweaty hair, succeeding only in disordering it even further. “He who speaks first is a witness,” he says philosophically, echoing Rosenfeld’s wry mantra ever since John Dean scooped Magruder in the race to join the Watergate prosecution.

“He who speaks second is a defendant,” Bob agrees.

What Extraordinary Vehicles (ATPM)

“Why me? Why not Anderson, or Sheehan, or - hell, everyone knows you're leaking to TIME. You've clearly got a direct line to Sandy Smith. So why me?”

Bernstein's eyes are squinted, his voice sharp and uncompromising. He's suspicious - both in this moment and, Bob suspects, by nature. Good. Bob made the right choice after all.

He shrugs. “You’re putting in the work.”

“Yeah, I am," Bernstein says matter-of-factly. Some of that suspicion melts away, to be replaced with a reluctant smile. "Glad someone around here appreciates me.”

Damn it. Yes, Bob made the right choice. He can work with Bernstein. But he can't let himself grow to like him.

“Make something out of what I give you, and we’ll see if that’s deserved," he says. He doesn't watch Bernstein's smile fade.