#no reader insert

[hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog]

Hard Hitter

Happy Wednesday Readers!!! I know,  it's been a minute since I have grace you all with my writing, good, bad, or otherwise. Life has been a bit hectic to say the least as it has been for everyone I am sure. But hopefully I will be getting back into the swing of it, and writing/posting more.

I have been working on a few things, and been throwing some ideas around, possibly making a few changes to how I do/write moving forward, I am not sure if they will go over well with the fanfic community, but we will see. 

anyhoo, let's get to it. This is a one shot, request/ask that I am filling, in for @nancymcl for some reason my desktop version of Tumblr won't let me pull her ask so I will just retype her ask here: 

I am just now getting to Leverage. (Because Christian Kane) Would love to see how Eliot would react to Dean if they ran across each other while the boys were on a hunt.

I mean come on this sounds amazing! I hope I did you justice and you like what I came up with. I also tried something different with the "mood board" or "photo card" do we like it? I mean I could find a photo of Christian Kane shirtless in a boxing ring (the tap out job) but Dean not one I like, and AI I could not for the life of me, make anything work. Please for the love of God, anyone out there that can make good AI fan art, teach me your ways, send me some basic prompts and settings that I need to use, I will be forever grateful.

But, again anyhoo....back to the story at hand: 

Plot: Eliot Spencer from Leverage and Dean Winchester from Supernatural. The story follows them as they discover an underground fighting ring with supernatural elements and eventually team up to take it down. We also have appearances from Hardison, Parker, Sophie, Nate, and Sam Winchester to round out the supporting cast. 

This is intended as a one shot, but I did leave the door open for a series or a follow up. Let me know in the comments, if that is something you all would like to see???? Suggestions on where this could go. 

Word Count: 3K+

-Multi POV-

Feedback, likes and reblogs are always welcomed. Please don't post as your own work, this is my work. If you would like to be added to my tag list, just ask, I am always happy to add you.

Thanks!

-Eliot POV-

The warehouse district of Boston wasn't Eliot Spencer's favorite place to be at 2 AM on a Tuesday, but after three weeks of fighting in this underground ring, he was finally getting close to the real money. Tonight was the big one—a hundred grand in unmarked bills riding on his fight. Not for himself—those days were behind him—but for the job. Hardison had tracked suspicious financial movements to this fight club with stakes higher than any legitimate boxing commission would allow, and Eliot had gone in as a fighter to infiltrate from the inside.

"I don't like this, Eliot." Parker's voice crackled through his earpiece. "The heat signatures in that building don't make sense."

Eliot adjusted his jacket, sore muscles protesting from his previous fights. "What do you mean they don't make sense?"

"Some of them are... too hot. Like, way too hot for a human." There was concern in her voice, rare for someone who typically treated danger like a playground.

"It's probably just the thermal imaging acting up," Hardison chimed in. "These warehouse walls are thick, man."

"Stay focused, Eliot," Nate's steady voice cut in. "You've built your reputation as the Mountain Man for weeks now. Tonight we find out who's really behind this operation."

Eliot grunted. "I've beaten everyone they've put in front of me except the champion. Tonight I finally get my shot at him."

The doorman—all three hundred pounds of him—gave Eliot a respectful nod as he walked through. Several spectators recognized him, some slapping him on the back, others quickly moving out of his way. Three weeks of bruising victories had earned him both fans and respect in this underground circuit. The interior smelled of sweat, blood, and something else... sulfur? Eliot put that in the back of his mind as he made his way through the crowd. His eyes, as always, noted the exits, the guards, and the cage in the center where two men were currently beating each other senseless.

Or rather, one was beating the other senseless. The victor moved with a fluid grace that seemed almost inhuman. His eyes flashed—and for a moment, Eliot could have sworn they turned completely black.

"Found our guy," he muttered into his comm. "The winner in the cage. Something's off about him."

"Define 'off,'" Sophie's cultured voice replied.

"Eliot, get visual," Nate instructed. "Hardison needs to run facial recognition."

Before Eliot could answer, the announcer bellowed into the microphone: "AND STILL UNDEFEATED! THE DEMON OF DETROIT!"

The crowd roared as the fighter raised his arms, a malevolent grin spreading across his face.

"Looking for fresh meat!" The announcer continued. "Who's brave enough to challenge our champion?"

Eliot was about to volunteer when another voice rang out.

"I'll take him on!"

The crowd parted to reveal a tall man with close-cropped hair and a cocky grin. Something about him seemed familiar to Eliot—the stance, the awareness, the way his eyes scanned the room. This wasn't some amateur looking for glory. This was a professional.

The newcomer entered the cage, shrugging off a worn leather jacket, his red flannel, and black t-shirt to reveal his bare muscled chest. Raising up his arms, to get the crown on his side, some cheering him on, he moves around the ring, as he turns towards Eliot, Eliot can now see, near the man's left side of his chest near his heart what looked suspiciously like protective sigils tattooed.

"Name?" The announcer asked.

"Dean. Dean Winchester."

"Hardison, you getting this?" Nate asked over the comms. "Run this Dean Winchester through the system."

"Already on it," Hardison replied. "But I gotta tell you, this guy's record is... interesting. Multiple reports of death, grave desecration, impersonating federal agents. Either we're dealing with the world's luckiest criminal or something else entirely."

-Dean POV-

Dean hadn't expected to find a demon fighting ring in Boston, but the trail of mysteriously broken-necked losers had brought him here. Sam was working another angle—checking the morgue for sulfur residue on the corpses—while Dean went straight to the source.

The "Demon of Detroit" wasn't subtle with his nickname, but Dean doubted anyone here realized it was literal. The black eyes had confirmed his suspicions. Now he just needed to get close enough to exorcise the bastard before he killed anyone else.

What he hadn't counted on was being matched up against another fighter first—a compact, hard-looking man with long hair and a stare that could cut glass. The crowd was already chanting "Mountain Man" as the fighter approached the cage.

"Change of plans, folks!" The announcer called out. "Our new challenger will face our local favorite, the undefeated Mountain Man, before earning a shot at the champion!"

Dean cursed under his breath. This Mountain Man had clearly been fighting here for a while—the crowd loved him, and judging by the announcer's introduction, he hadn't lost a match yet. He looked like he knew what he was doing, and Dean couldn't afford to get beaten to a pulp before dealing with the actual demon.

As they circled each other in the cage, Dean tried to size up his opponent. The way this guy moved told Dean everything he needed to know—trained, experienced, and dangerous. Far more skilled than anyone else he'd seen in these kinds of underground fights.

"Hey, man, I'm not here for you," Dean said quietly.

The long-haired fighter didn't blink. His eyes showed a calculating intelligence that didn't match the typical brawler profile. "Then why are you here?"

"Would you believe I'm hunting a demon?"

That earned him a scoff. "Sure. And I'm here collecting Easter eggs."

The first punch came so fast Dean barely saw it, connecting with his jaw and sending him staggering back. He recovered quickly, blocking the next blow and countering with one of his own that the other man slipped with practiced ease.

"You're good," Dean admitted, tasting blood. "Military?"

"Something like that," the man replied, landing a kick to Dean's thigh that nearly buckled his knee. "You?"

Dean grinned through the pain. "Family business."

They exchanged blows for another minute, neither gaining a clear advantage, though Dean suspected the other man was holding back.

"Look," Dean grunted after barely dodging a lightning-fast combination, "I'm serious about the demon thing. The champion? Black eyes? Sulfur smell? Ringing any bells?"

The other fighter paused, reassessing Dean. "You're saying the champion is... actually a demon?"

"Bingo." Dean used the momentary distraction to pull a small flask from his pocket. "Holy water. Watch."

He unscrewed the cap and flicked a few drops toward the champion, who was watching their fight with interest from the side of the cage. The water hit his arm, and the skin immediately sizzled and smoked. The demon hissed, eyes flashing black.

The long-haired man's expression hardened. "I'll be damned."

"Not yet," Dean said, "but if we don't stop this thing, plenty of others will be."

-Eliot POV-

Eliot had seen a lot of strange things in his life—corrupt governments, experimental weapons, Hardison's attempts at cooking—but actual demons were new.

"Guys," he whispered into his comm, "you hearing this?"

"If you're asking if we heard that demons are real and currently running a fight club, then yeah," Hardison replied, voice higher than usual. "Man, I was happier not knowing that."

"Eliot," Parker cut in, "the thermal scan makes sense now. That champion guy is literally burning hotter than a human should."

"Stay calm, everyone," Nate's voice came through, steady as always despite the revelation. "If demons are real, then this is a lot bigger than we thought. Eliot, work with this Winchester character if you think he's legitimate. Sophie, I need you to start looking into occult connections with these fights."

The Winchester guy was eyeing him, waiting for a response. Eliot made a quick decision. "I'm Eliot Spencer. Sounds like we're both here to shut this operation down."

"Dean Winchester. And yeah, I'm here to exorcise that demon and find out who's behind this. These fights are being used to identify potential vessels—humans strong enough to contain powerful demons."

Eliot nodded. "My team tracked money from some suspicious deaths back to this place. We thought it was just illegal gambling."

"Oh, there's gambling alright," Dean said. "Just with souls instead of cash."

The announcer was getting impatient. "Fight or forfeit, gentlemen!"

Dean leaned in closer. "We need to make this look good, then take on the demon together. I've got holy water and salt, but I'll need a distraction to start the exorcism."

Eliot resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Holy water and salt? Why don't we just hit him really hard until he stops moving?"

"Because he's a demon," Dean said slowly, as if explaining to a child. "Physical damage won't stop him."

"You'd be surprised what physical damage can accomplish," Eliot muttered, but nodded his agreement. "Fine. Your way first. If that fails, we try mine."

"Eliot," Nate's voice came through his earpiece, "I'm sending Parker and Hardison to back you up. Sophie and I will work on identifying who's really pulling the strings here."

They started fighting again, this time choreographing it to look convincing while minimizing actual damage. Dean was skilled—not quite at Eliot's level, but he clearly had a lifetime of training.

"On three," Dean whispered after a particularly convincing exchange of blows, "I'll go down. You'll be declared the winner and face the demon. I'll circle around outside the cage."

Eliot nodded imperceptibly, then landed the pulled punch that Dean sold with an oscar-worthy performance, collapsing to the mat.

The crowd roared as Eliot was declared the winner. As promised, his next opponent would be the undefeated champion. As Dean was helped out of the cage—slipping away from his handlers at the first opportunity—Eliot prepared himself to face a literal demon.

"Hardison," he muttered, "I'm about to fight an actual demon. Any advice?"

"Besides 'don't'?" Hardison replied. "Man, I don't know. I'm still processing the fact that demons exist!"

"Focus, Eliot," Nate commanded. "Demon or not, this is just another opponent. Find its weakness and exploit it."

"Sophie, can you create a distraction if this goes south?" Eliot asked.

"Already on it," she replied smoothly. "I've identified the circuit breaker. On your signal, we can cut the lights."

The demon entered the cage, grinning at Eliot with malevolent confidence. Up close, the sulfur smell was overwhelming.

"You look tasty," the demon said, his voice oddly layered. "Strong vessel. Good soul. I'll enjoy wearing you to the prom."

"Yeah, not interested," Eliot replied, falling into his fighting stance.

The bell rang, and the demon attacked with inhuman speed. Eliot barely managed to dodge, countering with a strike to the kidney that would have dropped a normal man. The demon merely laughed.

From the corner of his eye, Eliot spotted Dean slipping along the edge of the crowd, a duffel bag now in his hand. Whatever plan the hunter had, Eliot needed to buy him time.

The demon landed a punch that felt like being hit by a truck. Eliot rolled with it, using the momentum to create distance. His ribs protested, and he tasted blood.

"Your friend was right," the demon taunted. "Holy water and salt are the traditional methods. But he forgot the most important thing—you need to trap me first."

"Good thing I didn't forget," Dean's voice called out as he flung a handful of white powder in a circle around the cage. Salt, Eliot realized. Completing a circle that Dean must have started laying down while everyone was distracted by the fight.

The demon snarled, lunging for Eliot with renewed fury, clearly hoping to finish the fight before Dean could complete whatever ritual he was planning.

"Now would be good!" Eliot shouted, barely avoiding a blow that would have crushed his windpipe.

Dean began reciting something in Latin, his voice carrying through the suddenly quiet warehouse. The crowd, confused but sensing something was wrong, began to murmur uneasily.

The demon screamed in rage, its attacks becoming wilder. Eliot took advantage, using the demon's fury against it, deflecting rather than blocking, conserving his strength.

"Sophie, lights!" he called.

The warehouse plunged into darkness, illuminated seconds later by emergency lights that cast everything in an eerie red glow. In the confusion, Dean had somehow made it into the cage and was continuing his Latin chant while flinging holy water at the demon, who screamed as each drop hit like acid.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus..." Dean continued, voice rising.

"Eliot, remember that move you used in Belgrade?" Nate's voice was calm but urgent in his ear. "The one that disrupted the energy flow? Try it now."

The demon, now desperate, broke through Eliot's guard and grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off his feet. "I'll snap his neck before you finish, hunter!"

Eliot, vision darkening from lack of oxygen, did what he did best. He hit the demon. Hard. Right in the throat, using a strike he'd learned from a monastery in Tibet that was specifically designed to disrupt energy flow. It wasn't meant for demons, but apparently interdimensional entities still needed functioning vessels.

The demon's grip loosened enough for Eliot to break free, gasping for air.

"Keep chanting!" he rasped at Dean. "I've got this!"

"Holy water works better!" Dean argued, even as he continued the exorcism.

"Just finish the damn Latin!" Eliot snapped, launching into a flurry of strikes targeting nerve clusters and pressure points that would incapacitate even superhuman strength if hit precisely enough.

The demon staggered under the assault, its movements becoming jerky and uncoordinated. Dean's exorcism reached its crescendo, and the demon threw its head back, black smoke pouring from its mouth and eyes as it screamed in unholy agony.

The human host collapsed, unconscious but alive. Around them, chaos had erupted as the crowd realized something very wrong was happening. Several black-eyed individuals were trying to flee, only to be intercepted by a blonde woman wielding what looked like a taser and a tall, shaggy-haired man with a shotgun.

"That's my brother Sam," Dean explained, catching his breath. "Looks like your team met up with him."

"Parker and Hardison," Eliot nodded. "Sophie's probably already got the money trail locked down." He eyed Dean. "Not bad with the Latin. Still think a good punch works faster."

Dean rolled his eyes. "The punch wouldn't have expelled the demon. The exorcism did that."

"My punch gave you time to finish the exorcism," Eliot countered. "And it didn't require any arts and crafts supplies."

"It's not arts and crafts, it's—" Dean started, then stopped as he noticed more demons converging on their position. "We can argue methodology later. Right now, we've got more company."

Eliot cracked his knuckles. "Fine. We'll try it your way again. But if that doesn't work fast enough..."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean conceded, pulling out more holy water and a sawed-off shotgun loaded with salt rounds. "Then we punch things harder. I got it."

"Eliot, Dean, get ready," Nate's voice came through the comm. "Parker and Hardison have set up a trap by the east exit. Herd them that way."

Together, they turned to face the oncoming demons, an unlikely alliance of hitter and hunter, bound by a common enemy and a shared determination to protect the innocent—even if they couldn't agree on the best way to do it.

Three hours later, the warehouse was quiet again. The fighting ring had been dismantled, the demons exorcised, and the human organizers of the operation—a group of occultists trying to create the perfect vessels for higher-level demons—were zip-tied and waiting for the authorities, though their statements about demonic possession would likely land them in psychiatric care rather than prison.

"So you guys do this kind of thing often?" Eliot asked, pressing an ice pack to his bruised ribs as the two teams compared notes in the Leverage headquarters.

"Hunting demons? Yeah, family business," Dean replied. His brother Sam was deep in conversation with Hardison about tracking patterns of supernatural activity.

"And you... steal from the rich and give to the poor?" Sam asked, looking up from Hardison's array of screens.

"We provide... alternative leverage," Sophie explained diplomatically.

Nate sipped his whiskey thoughtfully. "We help people who have nowhere else to turn. When the law fails them, we provide... other options."

Parker, who had been studying Dean's collection of weapons with undisguised interest, picked up a flask of holy water. "So this stuff actually burns demons? That's so cool."

"Not as cool as watching Eliot punch that demon in the throat," Hardison added. "Man, I didn't think anything could make that thing flinch, and then you hit it with some Crouching Tiger Hidden Hitter move."

Eliot shrugged. "Just because something's supernatural doesn't mean it doesn't have weak points."

"Still," Dean insisted, "you need the right tools for the job. Holy water, salt, iron, Latin exorcisms—these things work because they have power over the supernatural."

"And a well-placed hit works because physics is physics," Eliot countered. "Even for demons."

Dean raised his hands in surrender. "Fine. Next time we fight a werewolf, you can try punching it while I use silver bullets, and we'll see who gets better results."

"Next time?" Sophie raised an eyebrow.

Sam and Dean exchanged glances. "This operation was bigger than just Boston," Sam explained. "We found evidence of similar fighting rings in five other cities. They're systematically testing human hosts for demon compatibility."

"That kind of geographical spread means serious organization," Nate mused, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "Money trails, shell companies, probably legitimate businesses as fronts."

"Exactly," Sam nodded, impressed with Nate's quick grasp of the situation. "We've been tracking the supernatural side, but the human infrastructure behind it has been harder to crack."

"Well, that's our specialty," Nate smiled, a calculating look in his eyes that his team knew well. "I think we might have a mutually beneficial partnership opportunity here."

"Sounds like our kind of problem," Parker grinned.

"And the demons are definitely our kind of problem," Dean added.

Eliot looked at the hunter, a reluctant respect forming. "So what you're saying is..."

"We might need to work together again," Dean finished, extending his hand. "God help me, but your punch-first-ask-questions-later approach actually worked pretty well with our holy water."

Eliot shook the offered hand, his grip firm. "And I guess the Latin wasn't completely useless."

"High praise," Dean smirked.

"I'll start planning our approach," Nate said, already moving to the whiteboard. "Sophie, we'll need covers for multiple cities. Hardison, I want everything you can find on these fight promoters, investors, property holdings."

As the two teams continued sharing information, planning their next move against the supernatural fighting rings, Eliot couldn't help but wonder what other impossible things might exist in the world. Demons were real—what else might be lurking in the shadows?

One thing was certain: whatever came next, he'd face it the way he always did—head-on, fists ready. And if Dean Winchester insisted on bringing salt and holy water to the fight, well, Eliot supposed there were worse backup plans.

After all, when it came to taking down the bad guys—supernatural or otherwise—results were what mattered. And between his fists and Dean's arsenal, results were something they could definitely deliver.

[dailydragon08]

Fic in the queue for tomorrow in honor of May the Fourth! Hopefully it will be up at 12:00am EST 3/4. This one is just a standalone, no Remnants, reader insert, or OC (kind of want to write more of those, so let me know after if you liked it and want more!).

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Hi again! 🥰 I started thinking this morning about Wayne and Eddie getting matching tattoos!!!! 🥹 Wayne doesn’t have any tattoos in my mind but we all know Eddie has lots but maybe one day Wayne brings up the idea to Eddie and so Eddie starts drawing some up and brainstorming and they go and get it!! 🥹🥹 you can decide what the tattoo would look like or be 🥰❤️❤️

OMG OKAY!!!!!

Sooooooo I think about this alot! I think Eddie has matching tattoos with many many many people. I think that he gets one with Dustin as soon as he turns 18, I think he has stick and pokes that match with Gareth and Jeff, and he for sure has some with Wayne.

This is how I think it happens 🤭

I think it happens after Eddie graduates high school and is talking about moving out soon. Hearing his son nephew talking about moving out really breaks Waynes heart, he knew that the day would come but he never prepared himself for it. Wayne is on his lunch break when he gets the idea of wanting to do something with Eddie before he leaves. He didn't immediately think of a tattoo though, he thought maybe doing a road trip or going house shopping/furniture shopping with his boy.

However, he thinks of getting a tattoo when Eddie comes home with a new tattoo. Usually he doesn't care about Eddie's tattoos but this one really hit him in the feels. Eddie got his graduation year done however!!!! it is within a pair of dnd dice. For some reason seeing this tattoo switched a switch within Wayne and he immediately wants a tattoo with Eddie.

Wayne brings the idea up during dinner, he completely shocks Eddie, like he dropped his fork he was so shocked. "You-you want to get a tattoo?" Wayne nods with a soft smile, "I do, I want you to design something but it better be professionally done boy I'm not letting you poke me." Eddie's eyes light up and nods quickly before rushing to get a notebook and pen completely forgetting about dinner. He had something planned by the next day.

Wayne got home from work and was bombarded by Eddie as soon as he walked in the door. "I have it all planned out! When is your next day off???" Wayne chuckles and tells him the day and he is handed a notebook while Eddie runs off to make a phone call.

The day came quicker than Wayne expected and while he is nervous, Eddie is practically bouncing off the wall. They stopped to get breakfast and then goes to the shop. (AN: IT"S IMPORTANT TO EAT BEFORE YOUR TATTOO APPOINTMENT PEOPLE!!) While Wayne was getting the tattoo done Eddie talked his head off to help distract him from the whole thing, and once it was all said and done Wayne knew he was still going to struggle when Eddie moves out, but he also knows that he will always be apart of his son's nephew's life.

I couldn't decide what tattoo they would get! All I knew was it had to be meaningful and about how they always will be there for one another.

tagging: @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @succubusmunson @emmyshortcake @bloodthirstybreedingbunny @thefreak0fhawkinshigh @lofaewrites @tiannasfanfic

[olinblogin]

I’m a big ol’ angst fan, so can u please write like- Caine putting on a fake smile type of stich, and over time, it suddenly becomes obvious that he’s upset, and frustrated with himself, and he just keeps saying he doesn’t want to talk about his emotions, no matter how many times he’s bugged about it? And maybe he thinks that if he explains his thoughts, it’ll lead his only friends to abstract

I’ll once again say I’m not the best a writing angst so please cut me some slack when I write this (ㆀ˘･з･˘)

(WARNINGS - ANGST, NO READER, BITTER ENDING, SHORT ASK)

Every time Caine would try to make himself happy it would always fail. Shattered mirrors littered him own room from his frustration getting the better of him.

When presenting himself to everyone in the circus he would put on a happy act, smiling and cheery.

But even then that facade soon faded, his frustration more obvious with every day that went by.

Many would try to reach out to him, mainly Kaufmo.

Kaufmo knew how it felt to put on an act. He knew what it was like to pretend to be happy in fear of concerning your friends with your well-being. As many times as Kaufmo would try to reach to him, that eventually came to an end when Kaufmo abstracted, going insane after accidentally catching glimpses of the exit door.

Caine only blamed himself. He was the one who made it, that’s what lead to Kaufmo’s demise. He didn’t take Kaufmo’s abstraction well one bit. But for the sake of everyone, especially the new addition, Pomni, he had to keep strong.

Days went on and on until the members of the circus became more distant, until they started abstracting.

One by one they were picked off by their own deterioration… Ragatha was the last to go, but even she couldn’t stay strong enough to prevent her own abstraction. He was alone.

All alone.

Had the circus always been this spacious?

He never noticed.

This was the end, wasn’t it? Just being alone, a husk of once he once was. Unable to abstract as his friends, unable to feel the sweet release of death.

This was the end.

[poppadom0912]

A firefighters colours

A/N: So I wrote this quite a while ago. There's not much meaning behind it. The 'she' referenced is more of an oc rather than 'reader' like I usually do. Think of this as a possible preview for something in the future - possibly.

This isn't my best piece of writing so please excuse me. Please try to enjoy this very short piece. If there are any ideas for how I can take this idea forward then I'm open to anything :)

High fives went all around. Men dressed in their usual burnt out gear, names printed in reflective on the backs.

It was orderly chaos, like usual. Blood red trucks diagonal across the road, the bold police tape barricading most houses as the uniforms held back blurry figures clutching their bare foot children in the distance.

Finding rough patches and discolouration, she ripped off her mocha gloves graciously given to her by her chief. The familiar voices faded away as she went on, the bustling street transitioned into bliss within seconds. It seemed that, despite sharing the same sky, this part of town preferred to stay on the moodier side of the sunset, refusing to make contact with what she used to describe as the 'cotton candy sky'.

Her destination was the last house on the street that caused all the havoc. Even after all these years, somehow, it continued seeking trouble.

Face completely monotone, shoulders slightly slumped despite her perfect posture; everything was hazy at first but with a few blinks, it was as clear as water.

She laid eyes on cerulean irises, perfectly complimenting the mop of frizzy honey sat on a petite head. Another had emerald, rivalling the leaves above her and he too had identical strands of hair perfectly groomed.

The figures came up to her waist, wishing they could be as tall as the ladders their father climbed. They ran with nothing but ignorance for the outside world; high pitched screams echoing down the road causing multi-coloured painted doors to slam shut.

In perfect sync, they turned to her, running as fast as their little legs could take them, latching onto her hips that held heavy equipment.

All she felt was a cold breeze, no added weight was on her and she could only watch with passive eyes as a tall man, dressed so similar to her, held onto his children as though they were his life line. Perching one onto his shoulders, the other on his side, he walked with ease to the crimson door where the most beautiful woman stood in a floral apron, waiting for his arrival.

Hearing a shout from behind her, the firefighter blinked, ignoring the single tear that fell leaving a single clean streak on her soot covered face.

Cerulean eyes inspected the scene, the grey of the house, fallen roof as the leafless tree fell in.

Nostalgia seeped into her veins, replacing the adrenaline that was long gone after taming the house fires; the houses she grew up in and the fires she made a living off of.

The comforting smell of smoke polluted the once clean air. Nothing about the dullness of this home felt right.

Oh, how she started to despise the colour grey.

[loquaciousscribe]

this is really obscure but could you possibly write for the angel and devil mascots from girls go games??? their doomed yuri subtext allures me, but i suck ass at writing:(

if you don’t that’s fine obviously! i know it’s a strange request.

my idea was for an angst if you want, maybe write angel’s confrontation with devil after they’re long(and i mean like they’re immortals type long) on and off but the kidnapping thing was the last straw and it made angel genuinely really uncomfortable(devil is kinda obsessive). and instead of just sending her to angel prison again they need to actually stay away from each other.

once again i know this is a long and weird request but i’m actually begging y’all here…..

me when i steal this ask so @somberauthor doesn't feel bad deleting it

GIRLS GO GAMES ANGEL X DEVIL MASCOTS CONFRONTATION(ANGST)

angel dreaded this. it was usually SO easy to push devil's shenanigans aside... but this was too much. the next time she see's her she oughta- thunk

that was the sound of devil 'breaking in' through the window that angel had left unlocked in case she decided to come here on her own.. and well she did...

far too soon. angel gulped a bit as she saw devil brushing herself off in an attempt to hide the fact that she came through the window(despite how obvious it was). angel didn't say anything about it, instead giving a warm yet uneasy smile.

"haii devil..! what an.. unexpected surprise!"

"you sure sound excited to see me" devil grins, she almost seemed proud of angel's hesitance.

"look devil.. we...we need to talk." angel says, deciding to just rip off the bandage and get it over with.

those simple words sent a shiver down devil's spine.. and not in a good way. she didn't want to confront any emotions, that just wasn't what demons did.. she thinks. any emotional thing was besides the point(for her at least), devil was frozen in place.

angel take's a deep breath "we... i can't keep doing this"

"doing what?" devil says nervously, mind buzzing with everything that she's ever done to get sent to angel prison.. that's just what devils do though. they cause mischief, she's doing everything right she thought. according to demon standards that is.

angel took a steadying breath, her wings fluttering lightly as she tried to find the right words. "Doing this… all of this" she gestured around the room, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and resolve. "all of what?!" devil was starting to get angry at this point, but she tried her best to refrain from yelling.

"you kidnapped me, devil."

it was said so calmly, yet you could feel the fear and hurt in her voice. she hadn't been hurt physically during that venture but.. devil's heart was in her stomach. she didn't fully understand what was so bad about it, she'd left plenty of times before but this.. felt different. this shouldn't be different.

"i gave you cookies!!" she tried to defend. it could have been a fun outing had angel gone consentually. sure it was alright but.. "you kidnapped me. do you know how violating that is??"

"..so what, you're gonna put me in angel prison again??"

Angel shook her head slowly, her gaze softening even as the pain in her eyes deepened. "No, Devil, I'm not going to send you to Angel prison again. This... this isn’t about punishment. It’s about something more serious."

Devil’s frustration flared, she crossed her arms, struggling to understand. "Then what? Why are you doing this? We always get through things, Angel. This isn’t any different!"

"It is different!" Angel’s voice trembled, her wings twitching as she fought to keep her composure. "You don’t understand, Devil. You’ve crossed a line that you can’t just charm your way back over. You took me against my will. You thought it was just another game, but it wasn’t. It was terrifying. I felt helpless-" "c'mon it wasn't THAT bad, i mean i-" "and it made me realize something… something that I’ve been avoiding for a long time."

Devil’s face dropped as Angel’s words sank in. The room seemed to grow heavier with unspoken truths and regrets.

Angel took a deep breath, her voice barely above a whisper. "i’ve been avoiding the truth for so long. This... this friendship, it’s unhealthy. It's always been unhealthy. but the kidnapping... it was the last straw. It made me see that we’re trapped in a cycle that’s tearing us both apart and i just can't ignore that anymore..."

devil’s eyes widened, a mix of shock and hurt flickering across her features. "you think I’m... what? toxic? Is that what you’re saying? i'm a demon."

Angel nodded slowly, her wings drooping as if carrying an unbearable weight. "I’m saying that we both need to face the truth. we keep falling back into this destructive pattern, and it’s not fair to either of us. i can’t keep pretending that everything will magically get better. It won’t."

Devil’s eyes narrowed, her hands trembling as she fought to keep her composure. "So what now? You just want to cut me out of your life completely? Is that it?" she said that a lot more aggressively than she had meant to. she couldn't stand the thought of losing devil and she couldn't place entirely why... she shouldn't care this much.

"not completely.." angel mumbles "we just need.. a break. a long long break"

"so like.. a month?"

"longer.."

"a year?"

"longer......"

"HOW LONG?!" devil nearly screams

angel raises her voice, which she rarely does "I DON'T KNOW! LONG ENOUGH TO- TO GET YOUR POOP TOGETHER!!"

devil stares a her for a second, and angel is a bit worried she might get violent

"sorry just- please - please just go"

"okay."

"please just lea- oh.."

"i'm going."

devil turns to leave, hoping deep down that angel stops her from leaving.. but she doesn't.

and devil leaves. planning on being petty and seeing how long it takes angel to come crawling back.. but she doesn't

and devil has a lot of time to think.

honestly this request is so real tbh, hopefully i did it justice.

i didn't know wether to use devils or demons pls don't come for me

[bring-back-hotch]

Does anyone have any good hitch fics that are NOT X READER cos I seriously can't find any on this app

[v1x3n]

innocent virgin reader this, sweet virgin reader that

how about virgin reader whos far from innocent, you probably know more about sex than toji - just no hands on experience. you are the filthiest person on earth!! you have a sex drive that flys off the charts, constantly rubbing at your poor hole, pinching your clit and nipples.

you're also far from sweet, you're crude and cruel. that's why toji was so drawn to you. when he discovered you were a virgin, he couldn't believe it honestly. he didn't ask any questions, didn't care. he just knew he had to have you.

he expected you to be shy during your first time, but no, you were a filthy fucking mess.

sprawled out beneath him, his tip entering your tight cunt. you moan loud, meeting his eyes. toji groaned out, a strained, growl. your eyes lock with his, direct eye contact as he shoves his dick further into you. deep breaths swarm the sticky room.

the pace picks up, you had complained it wasn't fast enough so fuck, he would show you. you're gripping tight onto the bedsheets, spurting everywhere as drool runs out from your lips. he thrusts into you with a fury, stretching your virgin hole in a harsh way. but you loved it. you open your mouth and he spits into it. you swallow instantly, he didn't even need to tell you. toji frees a hand and lowers himself onto you, trapping you with his body and his heat. your body smushed by his larger one, his free hand runs a thumb over your cheek.

you grin at him. "that all you got?" you challenge, smirk plastered over your satified expression. and just as those wods utter out, a slap is brought to your cheek. well ,fuck.

you cum right there, cream ringing around his dick as you clench like a fist around him. he groans out and his breath stutters. hips copying his lungs and stuttering too.

toji lets out a hot load, deep inside of you. his body twitching and shaking as if it was his first time. he had expected you to be the same, fucked out, passed out possibly, from the intense orgasm you just had. but no, you were smiling sweetly at him, "round two?"

[thatboisus]

me logging onto tumblr after consuming a new piece of media

[white-poppie]

𐙚 ‧₊˚ Thinking 'bout Older!Toji <33

Older!Toji who very clearly needs reading glasses but refuses to wear them because "he doesn't need it." So he's just squinting his eyes trying to read whatever is written on the newspaper.

Older!Toji who's your biggest hypeman; you'll find him whistling "damn mama" at anything you wear, sweatpants, large ugly t-shirts? He's hyping you up like you're wearing designer clothes, his hands constantly on your butt, smacking whenever he has a chance. And if you whine cutely, he'll just chuckle and do it again!

Older!Toji who just refuses to fight with you even if it's for valid reason. You'd be screaming at him, and he'll wait till you tire out and just look at you with a coy smirk and say, "You done, baby?" ugh, he's so annoying.

Older!Toji, who has this weird thing where he squishes your face and then leans down to kiss your puckered lips with an audible smooch.

Older!Toji who's super clingy in the morning (contrary to popular belief) and just sags half of his body weight on you, and you can barely move. " 'jus five more mins ma," he'd whisper in his hoary voice and you'd have no choice but to relent.

Older!Toji who doesn't have the energy he used to have in his younger years, so after particularly tiring days, he just wants to lay his head on your lap and have you run your fingers through his hair and he's out like a baby...except the fact his snores could wake up the entire neighbourhood.

Older!Toji who loves wearing the black compression shirt and grey sweatpants combo just to see you salivate over him. He pats his thighs and gestures for you to sit on his lap before burying his nose in your neck and pressing a kiss on your shoulder.

Older!Toji fell in love with you all over again when he let you shave his face after you insisted. He just looks up at you with his intense eyes, being so silent you can't even tell if you accidentally hurt him or something, and after you're done, he grabs your hand and whispers out, "I swear to god, I am gonna marry you again."

[magical-reid]

The Soldier and His Mission

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 1K

Summary: When a trigger sends Bucky back into the grip of the Winter Soldier, he shadows you with an unyielding protectiveness that leaves the team on edge, though he doesn't harm anyone. After days of tension and careful steps, Bucky finally breaks through the icy barrier, returning to himself in a quiet, tender moment, finding solace in your presence.

You should’ve known something was wrong the moment Bucky went still.

One second, the mission was wrapping up—just another Hydra facility wiped off the map, just another set of goons taken down. The next, something triggered him. A phrase muttered in Russian over a radio, the faintest crackle of a long-dead handler’s voice. You saw the shift in his posture before he even turned around, the telltale tightening of his jaw, the blankness overtaking those usually warm blue eyes.

Bucky Barnes was gone.

The Winter Soldier stood in his place.

And yet—he didn’t hurt you.

Not when he turned to face the team, his body language bristling with danger. Not when Steve hesitated before stepping forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. And certainly not when you cautiously called his name, your voice softer than the others.

Instead, the Soldier moved between you and everyone else.

A shield.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Back at the Tower, you thought the episode would pass. That maybe, after a few hours, after enough familiar sights and sounds, Bucky would shake it off like he always did.

But the Soldier wasn’t leaving. And he had decided you were his mission.

Not to eliminate.

To protect.

At first, it was just hovering. You moved—he followed. You sat—he stood at your back, ever watchful. The others gave him space, exchanging worried glances when they thought you weren’t looking. Steve was tense, obviously trying to figure out how to break through, while Tony was less patient about it.

“This is a problem,” Stark declared after the first few hours, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. “I mean, I hate to be the one to say it, but we have a fully armed, brainwashed assassin in the Tower again, and we all know how that went last time.”

“He’s not attacking anyone,” Natasha pointed out.

“Yet,” Tony shot back.

You ignored the argument as best you could, focusing instead on cooking something for Bucky—something normal, something familiar, something that might ground him. His eyes tracked you the entire time.

Then you miscalculated the heat on the stove.

The oil in the pan hissed and spat, and a second later, you hissed too as a sharp sting bloomed across your palm. You barely had time to react before there was a sudden blur of motion.

Bucky was on you instantly.

His flesh hand gripped your wrist, his metal one hovering protectively over the stove, as if it had personally attacked you. His face was unreadable, but his grip was firm, his hold gentle as he examined the burn.

“I’m okay,” you assured him, but he wasn’t listening.

Instead, he took the cold pack you hadn’t even reached for yet and pressed it carefully to your palm, his jaw tight, his brows furrowed in focus. You exchanged a look with Steve over Bucky’s shoulder, and the Captain exhaled, something like relief flashing in his eyes.

He was still in there.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Soldier continued shadowing you for the next two days, much to Tony’s frustration. But as Natasha had pointed out—he wasn’t hurting anyone.

Unless they posed a threat to you.

That was something Steve learned firsthand during a sparring session. You had barely landed a hit before Bucky, watching from the sidelines, had moved. The next thing you knew, Steve was on his ass, blinking up at the ceiling, while Bucky stood between you like a human wall, eyes cold and calculating.

“For the record,” Steve grunted as he sat up, rubbing his ribs, “I was letting her win.”

Bucky wasn’t convinced.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It wasn’t until you needed a medical checkup that things really came to a head.

“Barnes, I have to actually examine her,” Dr. Cho said patiently, eyeing where Bucky stood between you and the med bay’s equipment.

“No,” he replied flatly.

“Bucky—” you tried.

“The room is secure.”

“That’s not the—”

“She does not require assistance.”

“I do require assistance,” you corrected. “Because I burned my hand and twisted my shoulder thanks to a certain super soldier overreacting in the gym.”

Bucky didn’t move.

You exhaled slowly.

“Okay,” you said, shifting tactics. “Then stay.”

That got his attention.

“If you want to make sure nothing happens to me,” you reasoned, “then you can stay here. But you have to let the doctor check me out.”

His expression was unreadable for a long moment. Then, after what felt like an eternity—

“…Understood.”

Progress.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

When it finally broke, it wasn’t dramatic.

There was no grand trigger, no huge revelation.

Just a moment of quiet.

You had fallen asleep on the couch, exhaustion finally winning after two days of Bucky’s overprotective hovering. When you woke up, it was to warm hands gently brushing over your wrist—both flesh and metal, but softer this time, as if relearning the feeling of touching you.

And then you heard it—his breath hitching.

A tiny, barely-there sound, but one filled with something raw.

You blinked sleepily, looking up.

Bucky was staring at you. Not the Soldier. Bucky.

His face was pale, his jaw tight, his eyes wide—his real eyes.

“…Doll?” His voice cracked over the word, like it had been caught in his throat.

You smiled sleepily, shifting so your fingers curled around his. “Hey, Buck.”

His exhale was shaky. His shoulders sagged. And when you tugged him down to you, he didn’t resist.

He just buried his face in your neck and held on.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“You scared the hell out of me, you know,” you murmured later, your fingers absentmindedly running through his hair as he rested against you.

“I know,” he admitted, voice rough.

“You threw Steve like a ragdoll.”

“…Yeah.”

“…Kind of hot, not gonna lie.”

A laugh. Quiet, but real.

And just like that, Bucky Barnes was back.

[innerenigma]

•Normalize Fanart for Fanfics Again You Fools•

It's not cringe anymore (it SHOULDN'T be cringe anymore), just do it. You're doing something you enjoy, who cares what anybody else says! So spread the words my fellow internet brethren.

Spread the Word :)

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Yakuza

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

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

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

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

But then he showed up.

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

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

"Relax, I know these guys."

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

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

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

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

"Came to collect what he owes us."

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

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

"How much does he owe?"

"Sis really I can-"

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

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

"How much do you need tonight?"

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

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

"Let's go then."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You got a boyfriend?"

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

"No. I don't."

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

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

"Why not?"

The ATM spits out your cash before he can answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take the card.

"Iiko [good girl]."

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

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

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

"Gambling? What the hell where you thinking?"

"I was drunk, okay?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Perv," you mutter into your drink.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No."

"Then no."

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

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

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

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

"Let me teach you Japanese."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What does it mean?"

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

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

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

"Say goodbye like I taught you."

"Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Go on a date with me."

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

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

"Okay."

His lips quirk into a half smile, boyishly handsome.

"Good. You'll like it."

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

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

"My brother's landlord-"

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

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

He looks good. Dangerously good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Explains why you asked me out then."

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

"I'm your girl? Since when?"

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

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

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

"You had fun tonight?"

"Yes. More than I expected honestly."

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

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

You clasp your hands together behind his neck.

"You liar."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How much for tonight?"

"What?"

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

"How much to take you home?"

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

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

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

"Are you serious?"

"Obviously. How much do you charge?"

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm not for sale."

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

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

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

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

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

"I can't buy you."

"No."

"But I want you."

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

You shut the door without turning back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So why not just pay someone else?"

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

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

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

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

And yet...

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

And still you want him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But I am?"

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

"Tell me a secret about yourself."

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

"That's what I said."

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

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

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

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

"It's incredible."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mattaku hajishirazuna [totally shameless]."

You tilt his head towards you and kiss his cheek.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[hanasnx]

ᯓ★ “ I WANNA FUCK WITH THE LIGHTS ON ” — clark kent.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: this movie isn’t out yet but i can’t wait that long to take advantage of my superman kick and fuck this man. unfortunately i don’t know much about his characterization other than the trailer content. WARNINGS: fem reader ノ established relationship ノ explicit sexual content ノ size difference ノ dick riding ノ objectification ノ p in v ノ praise ノ clark has huge dick syndrome.

“Just… take it slow.” CLARK KENT encourages, but it’s said more so for himself than you. A large, flattened palm emphasizes his instruction, gesturing for you to relax without grabbing you to take over your actions. You stop, his eyes flickering to meet yours questioningly, until he takes a shot in the dark. “Please.” It’s delightfully endearing, and it loosens you up a little.

“It’s not that, Clark, I’m just—you’re just so… you know,” Big. You try to hint at it without blurting it out. Hovering over his lap too long, a tremor builds in your thighs, and you bite down onto your lip as you let it pass through you in a shudder.

His expression adjusts as the realization dawns on him, “Ah,” he exclaims thoughtfully, and he tests the waters, bringing his hands to your body to rest in comfortable places. Your waist seems appropriate, and your fingers fiddle with the muscle in his shoulders as you keep chewing your lip. “Do you want me to take over?” the question is punctuated with a shift of his hips, arranging himself in a better position to begin, but even the marginal movement has you whining with need. It alerts him, tensing up instantly as he freezes while your pretty face twists in pleasured agony. You’re still wrapped around his reddened tip, and it’s a burning kind of stretch that makes you wish you could just shove him in all the way—at the cost of ripping you in half.

Through your heavy lids and thick eyelashes, you manage to meet his gaze with darkened pupils that don’t want to cooperate. You hum a pitiful “uh-huh” while you nod your head, signaling to him that he’s right. His thumbs on your torso stroke at your skin comfortingly, big hands clamped around you as he raises you. The lip of his head catches on the rim of your pussy, and you suck in a breath as an emptiness replaces what used to be filled.

“We’re gonna take it nice and easy,” Clark talks you through it, but even his exhale hitches when cold air hits his slit. Carefully, he lowers you back on, feeding his dick back into your silken walls before taking it away again—all to introduce your hole to his size little by little. The method chips away at your tightness, and you try to follow his movements with yours even if you’re weak in the knees. “Wanna look at me, duchess? Let me see your eyes?” He tilts his head, his curls falling over his forehead as he chases your gaze. You do your best to peel your eyes open one-by-one, granting him his wish as you pant through your open mouth taking his cock one agonizing inch at a time. The sight of you barely holding on when he’s not even halfway in, stretches a smile onto his face, and if you were more coherent, you’d say it’s one of pride as well as endearment.

One hand cautiously releases your side, while the other takes your weight entirely, bobbing you up and down as if you were no heavier than a fleshlight. His other slides between you two to seek out your pretty bud, resting his thick fingers on your thigh while his thumb comes to stroke at that clit. The new sensation slicks you up as quickly as it occurred, and you gasp at how elevated it all feels from a simple action like that. “That’s what you were missing. Right, baby? It’s hard to loosen up without it. You’re so tight…” You know he didn’t say it like it’s a compliment, but it makes your insides jump anyway. Your muscle contracts and suddenly he can fit a lot more in. “Does that feel good?” he asks, his thumb leisurely circling your bud as your pussy drools around him.

Desperately, you nod your head with a couple of “mm-hmm’s!” that lead him to speed up—introducing you to more of his length as he picks up the pace on petting your clit. Your hands abandon gripping his shoulders for stability and instead overlay his. Yours are dwarfed by him, but he takes your guidance, absorbing how you’re putting pressure on his knuckles and replicating it against your poor pearl, getting puffy from the stimulation and the lack of getting railed. It all lights a fire under your ass, and your body moves for you, bouncing in place to try and force more of his cock into you. You can’t overpower the Superman, but he does let you take it all down to the hilt—his strength making a sex toy out of you.

[ghostedbunnie]

older bf!simon who is trying to keep you alive during your exam season in uni. he has to wrestle the caffeinated drink out of your hands as it makes your anxiety so much worse.

older bf!simon who has to force you to take breaks and he is not nice about it either. he'll throw you over his shoulder if he has to, doesn't matter if you hid in the library on campus, he will embody the caveman he is on the inside.

older bf!simon who helps you revise. honestly it feels more like a military drill than revision at some points, you fear he'll tell you to drop down and give him twenty when you mess up a definition, he never does but he definitely thought about it once or twice.

older bf!simon who doesn't go overboard with the praise when you succeed just a plain ol' "that's my girl." and a smooch on the side of the head is all you need to feel like you've won at life. and if it doesn't work out, he'll let you cry it out if you need to, doesn't grumble about the snot on his hoodie and then simply helps you out so you ace the next try because he hates to see you cry.

older bf!simon who was holding back on his urges the entire exam season so you can focus but once you're done with the last one he is going to town on you. i'm talking order some food for the weekend, lock the door and hold on because he is going to ravage you on any and every surface inside your home.