#this is why it feels a bit rushed and all

[classyrbf]

professor!nanami part 3?

professor!nanami who makes you wear a pretty little butt plug during class, making sure your hold is prepped and ready for him later today. Your in the corner of the lecture room, squirming in your seat at the thought of his cock, stretching you open. You’re trying your hardest to get some sort of friction, your nipples hardening under your shirt and your pussy growing wetter with each lewd thought that fills your head. You’re not listening to a word that’s coming out of his mouth, but you are eyeing him like a piece of meat. The small bulge in khakis because his cock is just that thick, the veins running down his forearms and to his large hands, his plump pink lips that having you imagining him eating your sloppy cunt. He’s teasing you in the worst way possible and you can’t stand it, you can’t do a thing with all these people around.

So you take it upon yourself, walking down the steps and up to his desk while everyone writes down the notes on the board. “Professor Nanami?” You stand in front of his desk, rocking back and forth on your heels.

His eyes flicker up to yours, focusing on your glossy lips before trailing down to the obvious cleavage you put on display for him. “Miss y/n.”

“I really need a pencil…is it okay if I borrow one?” You bat your eyelashes at him, a devious smile on your face. “Please?” He reaches into the pencil cup on his desk, handing you one. “Thank you, Professor.” You turn to walk away, taking a few steps before purposefully dropping the pencil on the floor. You fully bend over, flashing him, showing him your dripping cunt and your cute little plug he’s given you. No panties of course. Nanami loudly clears his throat, earning a giggle from you as you grab your pencil and walk back to your seat. He eyes you the whole way there, glaring at you when you sit down and spread your legs enough for him to see under the table. His khakis tighten, his cock straining against the fabric and making it so painful for him. You’re a menace, but he should’ve known better.

Later that day, he has you in home, using the plug he bought you to fuck your ass. He pulls the plug in and out, in and out, watching the way your pretty hole swallows it right up. You hate it, but you love it, but you know it’s not as good as his cock, no, nothing is as good as his cock. It’s right there, throbbing at each whimper and whine you elicit, so damn needy for more. “That little stunt you pulled today in class almost got me in trouble, sweetheart,” he sternly spoke. You writhe in his lap, tossing your head back in frustration when he removes the plug, he slowly rubs the metal over your hole, teasing you.

“I’m sorryyy, I just—ah—wanted…your attention, Professor,” you huff. “I’m really sorryyyy.” You apologize again, biting down on your bottom lip as your hands reach up to play with your perky nipples, pulling and tweaking them.

“Learn patience. Remember?” He raises a brow. “That’s why I’m teasing you now. Just like…this.” He slowly inserts the plug back in your ass, your eyes roll back. “Awe, you’re so fucking wet you don’t even need any lube for your ass,” he chuckles.

“But…mmph—don’t you think I’ve been teased enough? I just wanna feel you inside me,” you pout, wiggling in his grip as he holds your legs open.

His cock twitches at your words. “I know you do, sweetheart, and I wanna feel you too, but the longer we hold back the more good it’ll feel. Just think about it, all that intensity building, the heat on your skin, the blood rushing to your cunt, the desire to cum, your heart beating faster and faster. It’ll be worth it.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, slowly pulling your plug out once more. You whine loudly, growing impatient despite his words. “Stay still,” he demands.”

“Sorry, sir.” You let out shaky breath, lifting your head to watch him play and tease your hole. It’s an ache you need to get rid of, something to satisfy you just a bit longer until you’re ready. This can’t be the only thing. It’s driving you absolutely crazy, messing with your mind. Your pussy is throbbing, your asshole is begging to be stretched and filled, and you just wanna be fucked dumb. “Professor, please! I’ll do anything!” You break, now begging.

He lets out a sigh, putting the plug down. “Fine, you can have my cock, but I’ll go as slow or fast as I want. Got it?” He hooks his arms under your legs, pulling them back so that your knees are by your ears. “No complaining, sweetheart.”

“Yes, yes, I got it! I just wanna feel you! Want you inside meeeeahhhhh!” You gasp, eyes wide when you slowly sink down on his thick cock, you hole stretching open just for him. The feeling of his throbbing cock in your ass puts a smile on your face, and an even bigger smile when he starts moving his hips. “Oh my fucking godddd.” He slowly pistons his cock in and out, inch my inch, letting you feel everything. From the tip down to the very base. You didn’t care how slow he was going, it still felt so good. He was right, the more teasing, the better the feeling.

“Such a good girl for taking my thick cock in your tight little ass, sweetheart. You love it, huh? Tell me you love it.” He starts moving slightly faster, but not too much, it’s still agonizingly slow.

“Mmmph, I love it, Professor. Thank you.” You breathily chuckle, a wide toothed smile still on your face, almost like you were drugged by his cock. “I love watching it go in and out…in and out…ah, fuck!” You moan, eyes fixated on where you two meet. Your toes curl from the amount of pleasure building and coursing through your veins, feeling the static on your skin. “It already feels so good!”

“Ohh,” he chuckles, “don’t tell me you’re about to cum, darling?” He thrusts his hips faster than before, only adding to your pleasure and beckoning your orgasm. “Is me going faster gonna make you cum, hm?” He grunts in your ear, fully pushing his cock inside you. “I told you, teasing works.”

“How…how am I gonna cum already?! Oh my god! Can I cum? Can I cum?! Oh fuck! Please, please!” It creeps up on you entirely too fast, something you’ve never felt before, but it has your mind spiraling and your body on fire. You can feel everything.

“Let it out, sweetheart, let it all out,” he growls in your ear, keeping the same pace as before. Incoherent babbling and moans escape your throat, eyes rolling back when your body spasms in his grip. “That’s it, good girl. Let my cock make you feel good.” He presses a kiss to the back of your neck, keeping you locked in the same position while he fucks you through your orgasm.

“Fuckkkkk!” You cry out, sucking in a breath. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.” Your brows furrow in pleasure, shaking your head as if he was actually planning on stopping. Truth is, he wasn’t anywhere near done with you. Why would he be? He hasn’t even fucked you at full speed yet.

[kenyummy]

✰ 07. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 07. a fools own parade.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: im not really sure if it counts as it's a very small passage but tw for a lil bit of an identity/existential crisis??? not very sure haha I mostly just write what comes to mind

also, first father appearance! yay! he finally shows up, and he's as mysterious as ever, hehe. next chapter will be either dink focused or ... someone else... 🤔🤔🤔

You dab at your nose with a tissue, cringing at the sight of crimson still pouring out from it. How hard was that guy's chest, anyway?

A thick bandage is stuck tightly on your nosebridge, taped to your skin and soaked in blood. Changing it every hour was a giant pain, but you'd rather have a bloody bandage than clothes.

Thinking back on it, you almost can't imagine the look in Tim's eyes again. Nothing strange. Nothing too out of the ordinary, but different enough to make the hair on your arms raise.

(You're the greatest anomaly in his life. Isn't it natural a detective wishes to solve such a damning mystery?)

How differently his entire composure grew once he saw you laying there, dirtied hands clutching your face. Was it normal for a guy like him to change his entire stance at such a moment? You'd be inclined to believe he couldn't care less about something like this, from all those diary entries spanning several years.

But seeing that look, when you'd stopped him from coming closer, putting distance between you two, as you thought there'd always been, how could you possibly think that? That look of worry, fingers twitching as he reached out, and expression of pure betrayal when you'd stepped backwards. Away. From him.

Wasn't that how it'd always been? You couldn't stop thinking. Maybe you were wrong? Maybe your spidey sense, for the first time in your life, was wrong?

They say that a fool's time spent thinking is wasted time.

You spent hours sitting at your desk pondering all of this. What it meant. Why your siblings seemed to all give you this strange, sinking feeling in your stomach. Raise goosebumps up your arms.

Soon, these thoughts spiralled back to your home. How you could help Reed. Speed up the process. Not wishing to mess with his delicate work nor rush him, but also getting restless with this family.

This family who's known you for their whole lives, yet seems to similarly know nothing about you. This you, their you, any you. Too little to care, too much to hate. The worst kind of balance that upset the universe and made your stomach twist with bile.

But at this point, you weren't too sure who was who, which was which.

If, tommorow, you'd lost everything and if you were caught in a blazing heat, would it be you who had died? Or somebody else? Would it be you in that coffin, underneath a stone who's name carved into it, did not belong to you?

The concept of being your own person, what did it mean? What could it mean when there were more of you, exactly the same, only shaped by their environment? An endless amount of copies, down to the genetic level, each in different worlds yet unmistakably the same?

When you stare into the mirror, nothing is the same except the red that flows down your knuckles when you slam your fist into it. Nothing remains the same except what you look like inside.

Though—in the end—even that belonged to them, didn't it?

You barely ever see your sister, nor her blonde friend. The ginger haired woman has more pressing matters to attend to than ever seeing you, it seemed—something you'd actually grown to appreciate, seeing how positively suffocating those other "siblings" had started to become.

Dick, who was thankfully off in Bl��dhaven around now. Jason, who should be out doing his own thing, but seemed to always spare some time for you... as much as you insisted on him not doing that. Tim, who always stared with a little too much intensity and danger hidden behind a sharp smile.

And Damian—your only blood-related sibling, seeming to take great pride in such a fact as he brings it up far more often than not.

You'd begun to realise a distinct lack of a parental figure in your...—

This. This life.

Not yours. This life absolutely was not yours. Everything is seriously messing with your head. Belonging to another unfortunate soul, who happened to have your name, shared your face and voice, yet was everything you never were. Experienced things you never did, yet as you lived in a freedom they could never dream of.

You pitied them more than anything else. But that didn't mean you could just give everything you've ever known up. Your people, your city, your friends, your freedom. This blood that runs through your veins and makes your heart beat steady—it may belong to them, but you never will.

As it spills, you will be free. Losing that chain that binds you and perhaps you will be allowed to feel that wind hitting your face once more. Allowed to swing, fly, feel air and be everything you were destined to become.

Your suit forms over your body and you leap out of your window, leaving nothing but a gust of wind in your wake.

The Spectacular Spidey seems to swing and never sleep—the alliteration in the title of this news article you've read makes your head hurt. Said only as an unfortunate pun referring to how you swing from building to building, and only operate during night hours.

Because, despite everything, it is still you.

(Yet, still careful on avoiding your dearest family... as difficult as that may be—your senses are seriously saving your skin... wait, now you're using alliteration—)

You don't have anything against working during sunlight. In fact, it would be preferable for you. But escaping from school has now become increasingly more difficult after you'd "opened your heart" to MJ and Harry.

Both were completely convinced you were spiralling down a bad path after how you'd acted with Jason, or concerned for both your homelife and general wellbeing—sometimes you truly did damn yourself for picking such good friends.

Nevertheless, you couldn't possibly be worrying about something like that right now, when there's a much bigger problem right in front of you.

A man dressed in a rag-like coat lay beneath your heel, defeated and hands bound together with your webbing.

You'd originally expected to leave immediately, hoping to catch Reed before he was off looking for whatever new part he needed for his grandest project. But now, you can't even hope to move at this point—swamped by flashing cameras and microphones shoved into your face.

Suddenly, you're so incredibly grateful you wear a mask, because you aren't too excited at the prospect of having such unflattering photos of you taken.

"Spidey! What are you doing in Gotham?"

You stammer, "Uh—well, you know—"

"Spiderguy! What's your thoughts on the articles calling you a knockoff Batman?"

"How am I anything like him?" You gesture to your bright red suit. "Also, it's not Spiderguy—"

"Spidey! Spidey! How do you create that webbing fluid? Is it organic? And is it environmentally sustainable? Who's going to clean it?" The reporters move closer and closer.

You inch backwards, "Uh—well, you know, my webbing dissolves in a couple hours by itself, and of course it's sustainable—"

Before you can finish, a multitude of voices all ring through your ears at once. Piling atop eachother, all at the same time, forming into a mush of different tones and accents, indistinguishable from one another.

You can't even hear anything anymore, not until a voice, loud and clear, cuts through a multitude of others and strikes your ears with ease, "Hey, Spidey! Our viewers have a question for you—how have you gotten past Batman? I'm sure you know he doesn't allow metahumans in Gotham, right?"

You freeze. Shocked, but soon, that shock soon morphs into confusion at what exactly a metahuman is.

"I... uh—" You glance to the side. You know, doing this will spark way too much gossip for your own good. Doing this is practically asking for those headlines that, while technically true, are completely outlandish. You were a reporter yourself (for your alter ego, to be fair—but it still counts).

You know this can't end in any other way than complete disaster.

That's why you reach up, webbing to a building and wave goodbye to those pesky paparazzi, "No comment!" With all the wit a Spider must have, you decide that your flight or fight response instead chose: Web away with a sly remark.

"They should be around here, Batman."

Oracle's voice rings out through the earpiece. Barbara had taken the liberty of helping him in his little crusade after seeing that stunt on live television—that spider-hero running away after hearing that metas weren't allowed in Gotham... though, it provided more questions than answers.

Babs was growing restless. For one: that reaction possibly explained why they were so wary of any member of their family even coming close to them. Always running at the first sight of them, webbing away faster than they could hope to catch up. Escaping Batman and his Robin, Babs couldn't help but wonder about them.

They're good. Smart. They're not some new hero. Clearly whoever's behind that mask has experience.

But this raised far too many questions in it of itself. Why had you only popped up now? Why not years ago —if, judging purely by her own gaze, with the years of experience in crime fighting you must have? Why Gotham?

And perhaps, the most daunting question of them all, "Who exactly are you, Spider?"

Bruce's gruff voice reaches her ears, "What was that?"

Her eyes widen, not realising she'd spoken aloud. Shaking her head, she relents, "No... sorry, it's nothing. Right... according to witness sighting and where they were last spotted, you should be meeting them in the middle right now. Do you have any sightings?"

Bruce shakes his head, jumping over to the top of the next apartment block roof—cowl landing in a swoop behind him. "No. Not yet. See if there's any new sightings."

Bruce Wayne was beginning to grow tiresome of this new hero's antics. Running around through Gotham without a care in the world—all too bright and cheerful as if this was all that mattered. Running around as a meta—unchecked and absolutely dangerous.

Nothing good could come out of this. Not without knowing exactly who you were and what you wanted. He never was a dictator type—never had it in him—but with a crime-riddled city like Gotham, he had little choice.

One small mistake could ruin everything. Collapse all that he's worked so hard to create. A better city, a better future. A regular human—as he is—couldn't possibly ever handle a rouge meta... and in the end, this city may not want him, but he really is the type of hero it needs.

So, that's why, instead of patrolling through his sector—he asks Orphan, Batwoman, and Spoiler to take over for tonight, so he can do some much needed digging into this anomaly.

Tim told him that his webbing sample, one he managed to collect around a month ago, when he'd first come into contact with them, had dissolved within hours. Not enough time to perform any kind of intricate testing, not by a long shot.

Batman has taken the almost passive stance—uncharacteristic of him—but now, he realised with such a slippery Spider, he had to do what he does best, and corner them.

His whitened eyes dart up at the flash of red that flies past him. He snaps his head back and finds the Spider—the one he'd been looking for all this time—swinging from building to building, fast.

But not nearly fast enough. With one false swoop, Bruce is after you, grappling towards you, eyes narrowed and mind absolutely determined.

"Batman? Batman?" Oracle pipes up—he assumes she's been talking for the past couple minutes, but only realised she was speaking into his earpiece now. "Can you hear me? Do you have a visual?"

"I see them. Nearly have them."

The Spider darts their head over their shoulder almost frantically—moves stuttering when they see how close he's gotten toward them.

"Hey! Why are you so obsessed with me, huh?" Thrir voice calls out—unlike anything he'd ever heard. "I mean, okay—yeah, I get it. But if you want a fashion taste like mine, I can make you a suit of your own!"

He clenches his jaw to stop himself from saying anything back.

Their voice grows more framtic at his silence, "H... Hey! You're getting really close, there—let it go! I'm not a villain! I swear!"

More silence, and they seem to let out a loud groan of frustration, seemingly aimed at him.

They stop. Heels landing flat atop a building, and Batman, with his cowl wrapped around him like a cloak, follows on their heel, stalking closer towards them.

You raise your hands in defence, stepping backwards and shaking your masked head, "Waitwaitwait—! Don't get violent with me, I don't want to fight you!"

"Then what do you want?" His voice grows deeper, more gruff and cold. "No metahumans are allowed in Gotham without my permission. There's too much trouble that comes with it. Too many difficulties."

He pauses. "Too much crime. Too many deaths. Unnecessary, preventable ones. Who are you to be an exception?"

"I said wait—!" You shriek as he practically stalks into your personal space bubble. "I'm not a metahuman!"

He stops in his tracks. "... What?"

You let out a heavy sigh, now that he's stopped. Batman taps on his earpiece, "Oracle, can you hear this?"

"Reading, Batman."

You look around, to see nobody. "Oracle? Who's Oracle?" You never read anything about an Oracle.

"None of your business. Now speak. If you aren't a metahuman, what are you?" His whitened eyes narrow, and suddenly those pointy ears aren't so silly looking anymore.

You blink. Once, then twice. "Would you believe me if I said I was from an alien planet full of spider-people?"

Despite the reprocessing telling him your backstory would have on you being near non-existent—you still aren't too fond of the idea of the Batman, your father, knowing your secret backstory.

Besides, Oscorp really does exist in this universe, too—Norman is actually pretty nice. You don't want any unwarranted blame falling on him.

"Not a chance." He folds his arms over his bat-symboled chest and you falter with a sigh.

Worth a shot.

"Fine." Not to say he was the reason you finally relented—but his stare was pretty unnerving. "I was bit by genetically modified spider on a school field trip. It altered my DNA so I became stronger, faster, could stick to walls and became three times more flexible than the average person."

You finish with a winded breath, eyes scanning his expression for any hint of an emotion. You found none.

"Why should I believe you?"

Pausing, you glance away. Crouching down on that rooftop, on the ledge, staring down at the city below. Dimly lit roads and the people littering it. So much like your home, yet so different.

You could see why Batman was this city's protector. You could see why he was so careful about this world, and you almost respected him for it. At the same time, though, you couldn't help but think to all those chicken-scratched diaries.

By a helpless child, unable to depend on anybody but him in this world, and he had still failed. For that, you couldn't face him. Not now, not ever.

"You don't have to believe my story." You finally manage to unlodge the words from your throat. "I'm just saying that whatever your rules are—my existence doesn't defy them. You have no reason to keep chasing me down."

His sharp, whitened eyes narrow. It's the only thing visible in such deep darkness where he lingers.

"Actually..." Oracle's voice rings out through Batman's ears. "Their story... might have some truth to it. Check this out—Oscorp's been working on developing a, quote, super-powered spider. Says spider venom is the cure for disease and pandemics. They've been developing in this field for a while."

A super-powered spider sounds absolutely ridiculous, he thinks. But nothing he hadn't seen before. In a world full of aliens, heroes, personification of life, death, and everything in-between—he shouldn't be surprised at the prospect of gaining superpowers from spider venom.

Looking down at you now—slouched, facing away from him, and almost seeming restless... "Oscorp."

You look back at him, confused. "Huh?"

"Did that spider come from Oscorp?"

... You bite down on the inside of your cheek, hard. Looking back away before you could stop yourself. "No. I'm not from around here. I live far. Far away."

"What do you mean by far away? Why are you in Gotham, then?" He steps closer, to the point he's standing over you with all that intimidating bat-aura that makes the criminals of Gotham run for the hills. Still, you can't bear to see him. Because if you do, you know you'll spill everything you've been holding in like a waterfall.

"I don't know," you admit, honestly. "I don't know why I'm here. I want to go home, but I don't know where that is anymore. All I know is that, while I'm here, I might as well help people. Because... that's what I do."

For a moment, there's no sound other than the honking of cars on a busy road. He's quiet, as silent as he always is. Always was. For a moment, you think you almost see him as that father from so long ago.

But only for a moment.

"... How old are you?"

To your surprise, he doesn't immediately go to accusing you of lying again, or keep his standoffish persona any longer—only asking you this simple, yet strangely personal, question.

In simple words, you're really confused. "What? Why does that matter?"

"You sound young. Too young. And from the way I've seen you fight, you're experienced in fighting high, street-level crime. If I had to guess, I'd say you've been doing this for at least three years. Maybe more."

Sweat beads at the back of your neck, and suddenly everything starts caving in, crumbling like failed architecture. How did he know? How could he have possibly—

Batman continues, "The way you talk, and the way you behave in the public eye, you can't be an adult. I'm assuming you're a child. Meaning you've been fighting crime since you've been in your early teens, right?"

"What are you talking about?" You stand up at your full height, staring up at him. Glaring, as well as you can manage from underneath those refractive lenses. He doesn't back down. "I'm not—"

"You're a child," He repeats. "Don't carry this weight. You don't have to carry the weight of—" Gesturing towards the ground below, he stares down at you, strangely sadly, "All this. Especially not all by yourself. Not as a child."

The only word you want to spit out at him is hypocrite.

"Don't act all high and mighty. That Robin you have looks 12. You're saying a 12 year old is capable of fighting crime but I shouldn't? I'm nearly an adult, for god's sake! I'm—"

You slap your hands over your masked mouth, but still continue. "Don't treat me like I don't know better. You don't know me. You have no idea what has happened in my life."

"I only take Robin under my wing because he needs it. So I can watch over him."

You glare, "So what? So he can turn out like you?"

"So that he doesn't."

And to this, your lips feel sealed shut. You want to say something, but you can't. What could you possibly reply to this?

Even Oracle is silent. Not a word, not a peep. Nothing. The honking of cars has ceased, and it's like the world itself had just gone quiet for that one, stunning moment.

"You're not from here, so I don't know you," Finally, he speaks, and it's like the silence has been shattered like glass. "You're right. But... you're a child. You aren't obligated to this. This isn't your responsibility—to make this world better. If you can live normally, you should."

Isn't such normalcy why you ended up like this in the first place? All those entries, wishing to be like the rest of them—and here your father is now, telling you to be yourself.

If only they had heard this, you think, bitterly. Then, you'd know you were right. That he would only ever see you if you had become one of them.

The thought makes your stomach churn. How pretentious could this man—this devil—possibly be?

"You're wrong. To live normally like this, when I was given the strength to be better, to do things to be a better me... that's just wrong." You clench your fists, hard. "I already made that mistake before. It doesn't matter whether I'm 18 or 80. All that matters is that I'm doing what I know is right."

You pause, allowing the words to sink in. "But to discard the normally in your life is a waste. That's why I live the way I do. To protect the normalcy around me, the ones who can't protect themselves. With great power comes great responsibility... my responsibility is to be the best Spidey I can be."

...

You angle your wrist up and don't bother to look back at him when you walk away, "You and your birds can come after me all you want, but I won't stop doing what I think is right. 'Cause I'm a hero."

When you thwip away, you aren't so sure how you'd forgotten that. How a hero protects the ones they love above all else.

Your family aren't heroes. Perhaps, to the public, and even the whole world—but not to you. They'd failed to protect that child, a miserable, small child, left in that massive world.

To make it so they felt they had to save people, to take that responsibility of power to matter—that was their greatest failure.

"... Batman?" Barbara's voice is a dramatic shift from the silence that started to consume him. "Batman,are you okay? Batman? ... Bruce? Are you..."

He takes a moment to regain his composure, world still spinning as he speaks, "I'm fine. They're... they're okay." Saying the world's like they're hard to spit out, or like he's unsure himself. "I'm coming home."

Barbara wants to say something. About that spider. About what they said to him. Power, responsibility, protection, normalcy, love. But she doesn't. By the sound of his voice, he seems just as frazzled as she is. A conflicted Batman means no good for anybody, including her.

So, she will let him think. Oracle can take a back-seat for now. So can Batman. For now, she's just Barbara Gordon. And he's just Uncle Bruce.

Holding her tongue, "Cass and Steph aren't back yet. Kate left a while ago... said there was something she needed to do. ... Everyone else should be at home, I think..."

"Okay." He murmurs, quieter.

Barbara shuts her mouth and leans back in her chair. There's nothing else for her to say, so once more, there is silence.

...

When Bruce returns back to the Manor, he finds himself pushing past everything and everyone, including Alfred, and rushing up the stairs. Not even bothering to take off his suit fully—tossing his helmet behind him and walking away.

Down a hall to the left, then up right, then left again. Stopping once he, finally, stands in front of a door. Blank. Colourless, dull. Like the rest of the manor, blending in away from those extravagant suits and too-bulky armours.

After a brief moment of confliction, he brings his fist up, and knocks. Standing there, almost the size of the doorway, waiting for any kind of reply.

"Hello? What—"

You freeze at the sight of your father staring down at you—this time, his eyes were as blue as ever and his face was less grim. This time, you could see the greying of his dark hair and the crease of his brows.

This time, there was no escape.

"[name]." He says your name as if it's foreign, unfamiliar. Testing it out like a new spice or seasoning, then seeming to come to the conclusion that he likes it. "It's been a while."

You're frozen in place, mouth open yet unable to speak. What could you possibly do now? Run? Swing? Duck past—

A hand places itself on your shoulder and every siren in your body blasts itself tenfold. Blaring like the most buzzing and painful alarms—so awful that you have to grab the side of the doorframe to stop yourself from falling over.

Panic gnaws at every side of you, chest rising and falling erratically when your headache grows.

What is this? This is so much worse than when I'm with Jason—

His face morphs and blurs as does his words, yet you manage to catch the few, "I think we should spend more time together. Become closer, like how it was before. You are my child after all. The only one who doesn't have patrol or scoutings with me. That calls for more regular ways of bonding, right? That's my responsibility... as your father."

He's smiling. Hardly so, but you're about to collapse. A deafening buzz in your skull, you spit out any agreements you can manage through squeezed eyes, waiting for him to go, to leave, so for a moment, you can finally breathe.

"I'm glad you agree," he says, moving back. Clearing his throat, he looks down at you, recovering as he gives you space. "Next week, then?"

You clutch your head, jaw taut and stance tense. It's a wonder how he hadn't noticed your absolute discomfort, but you digress—just wanting him to go. "Sure."

"Good, then—" Before he can finish, your door slams shut in his face and once again, that barrier has returned. Bruce pauses, staring at that slab of wood keeping you from his line of sight.

Bruce lingers for a few moments longer, fingers hovering the handle, before retracting back and swallowing thick.

Batman walks away, but glances twice over his shoulder, cowl falling behind him.

You slump down your door with a heaving sigh, feeling your head start to clear and breathing stabilise.

That feeling of fear, of utter terror—it was the feeling you'd get with Jason and Tim, but tripled. It was torture. Absolutely awful. Unbearable. You'd not relt anything while you were Spidey on that rooftop, but seeing him here now send your senses spiralling into a whirlwind of chaos.

You grab your head and it falls onto your knees, pulled up to your chest.

Your eyes fall bleak and everything blurry again. Are you going to cry, like a child? To prove him right again, that you're afraid of this? Of him?

Maybe you were more similar to his version of you than you were lead to believe. Maybe—

Still, though, your phone buzzes.

A strange sounding noise compared to the cheap, hand-me-down one you had in your other room. Probably spammed with stupid videos from MJ, and worried texts from Harry. Maybe even the odd "how are you?" from Matt, or something.

(You still don't know how he texts, but that's beyond you).

You pick up your phone, despite the lingering thought it could just be from one of your family members. Siblings, or father.

... You were half right.

From a contact customised to say, the #coolest auntie, there's a text.

Hey, kid. Let's go out. It's been way too long.

You stare down at the bright phone screen for a few seconds longer than you should've. Surprised, sure, but just as confused. Swallowing and considering your options for a second.

You haphazardly let your fingers fly over the keyboard. If your contact name for her was this comfortable, she must be a good person, right? Maybe she could provide an outside perspective on everything. Your family, their hero-lives, even you.

You press your lips tightly together narrowing your eyes down at her contact profile picture. Short, red hair and a smug smile. Pale skin, and the features reminiscent of your father.

Sure. Where?

When you watch the text bubbles pop up on the screen, you can't help but wonder what exactly you're going to do next.

taglist: @hello-bina @cosmosluckycharms @1abi @yhin-gg @insideoutjulie @bluepanda08 @omnivirgo @vanessa-boo @dind1n @welpthisisboring @lunaetiicsaystuff @marsmabe @atanukileaf @findingjaxx @4mrplumi @bunniotomia @lostsomewhereinthegarden @bat1212 @gaychaosgremlin @bongwaterflavoredgatorade @randomlyappearingartist @cxcilla @spidermanluvr444 @cruzerforce4256 @mybones537 @xjesterxjacksx @nirvanaxx1942 @djpuppy-kittens @br33zy-blizzardz @moon0goddess @0sunnyside01 @mei-simp @redsakura101 @the-dumber-scaramouche @wizzerreblogs @lovemiss-vale @deathbynarcisstick @allycat4458 @wonmyheart @luckyangelballoon @one-piecelover @hartwyrm @horror-lover-69 @maria-trisha @4rachn3 @galaxypurplerose @duskeras @coffeeaddictxd @lithiumval @kaz-playz

taglist is open!

[yeokii]

desire : unleash ♱ / 엔𝗂하이픈 . ⠀BAD DESIRE ❨ WITH OR WITHOUT YOU ❩

𝐘𝐊 / 지키고 싶어 투명한 널 제발 그만 멈춰 서 ' 𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑡𝑢𝑎𝑟𝑦 ' 𓈀 you're their baddest desire, but they find their way back to you 𝒇. ͏ ── ❨ 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 ❩ 𝑚. 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗒 . 𝖸𝖤𝖮𝖪𝖨𝖨 𝖯𝖱𝖣

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀' 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗋, ──𝗍'𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝗒 𝖻𝖺𝖽 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗋𝖾 ''

【 𝐈𝐍𝐋𝓲𝐍𝐄 】 ⠀𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑐𝘩 ! enha & fmr ﹒𓏶﹒ 15OO wrds / angst fs Ꜣ 善禹 ── skinship, kissing heh, enha are yearners, suggestive + CREATOR'S BOARD

🐰 : literally wrote this the moment i finished listening to the album. so the layout may seem a bit rushed ( I was literally giggling writing this someone stop me )

⠀⠀' HEESEUNG

you pulled him closer, his mouth tasted like regret.

you could feel it burning through your veins — a warning screaming at you to run away. but you couldn’t. you stayed still the moment he touched you. all you could think about was how you didn't pull away. heeseung cherished you like you meant the world to him and then ruined you completely.

he always got his way with you. and you always let him.

heeseung was never soft; it felt raw and real. never once has he sugarcoated anything to you; he spoke whatever was on his mind. he was the boy you swore you would never fall for.

but that look in his eyes — the kind that made your knees buckle under his gaze — was something you could never pull away from.

he wanted you.

he wanted to devour you whole.

no matter how many times you told him it wasn’t right, that you both weren’t right together, you would end up in his arms at the end of the day, his face nuzzled in your neck like it was his second home.

“this isn’t right.” he kissed your collarbone.

“then why do you keep coming back, doll?” your breath hitches.

because you couldn’t stay away. you couldn’t spend another night in a cold bed, awake and thinking about the boy who wrecked you. you wanted to spend eternity with his lips on yours, with his arms around you.

maybe it was wrong.

but it was the only thing that felt right.

⠀⠀⠀⠀read more ── open for the others !

⠀⠀' JONGSEONG

it’s silent. you can hear the soft patter of rain outside. the atmosphere feels heavy—the tension between you and jay is thick and suffocating.

you knew it was wrong. to be this close with the best friend of your brother.

jay presses his forehead against yours. "princess, i won’t be able to stop if you keep…"he says, meeting your gaze.

“do you just want to go back and pretend like nothing ever happened? like this doesn’t exist?” you asked.

“what about sunghoon?”

“i don’t care about him. not now.”

jay’s breath is hot against your skin. “say no,” he murmurs, his voice cracking just like his fleeting grip on self-control.

you don’t.

instead, you pull him closer, closing the gap between you.

he doesn’t ask again, crashing his lips against yours. all of sunghoon’s warnings fly out the window as he squeezes your waist, gripping onto you like you'd slip away from his fingers.

it’s just you and him now.

no one else.

and you both burn from the fire you created.

⠀⠀' JAEYUN

your world was built by rules and guarded by walls. it was clear you were brought up in a prestigious household, every movement precise, every word measured. from shoes that never touched the mud to your neatly ironed skirt resting at your thighs, everything felt calculated.

you were the epitome of elegance.

so it was obvious you weren't allowed to speak to boys like jake. his shirt was always a little wrinkled and his hair messy. never in a million could you imagine both your worlds colliding.

but it did.

from a glance to a kiss, he found his way through the cracks you didn’t even know you had.

it was pouring rain when jake showed up at your doorstep, his sneakers leaving muddy prints across the porch. he was drenched, his hair a mess.

but he didn’t care about that.

he cared about you.

it was the restless desire coursing through his veins that made him show up at your doorstep at 2 in the morning.

“what are you doing? my parents are asleep!” you whispered, heart pounding.

jake looked at you, his eyes speaking a million words. “i wanted to see you.”

you saw his desperate eyes.

he was begging.

“yn, i don’t think i can pull away from you. i need you.”

before you could respond, he pulled you in by the waist.

you didn’t resist.

instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck, crashing your lips against his.

because you needed him as much as he needed you.

⠀⠀' SUNGHOON

you thought sunghoon was the coldest boy you'd ever meet. and you were right. he was as sharp as a blade and always kept his walls up.

he didn’t feel or cry, distant from most people, always keeping them at arm’s length. but why did his heart pound whenever he came near you?

his usually steady hand trembled at your touch. he held you like you were made of glass.

he feared losing control, because he knew the moment he let go of every restraint, he’d ruin you completely.

you got him in places where no one else dared to. he pleaded, he was desperate. park sunghoon was wrapped around your fucking finger.

and you played with him like fire.

every second with you made him lose his mind. “if you knew what i’d do to you...” he whispered in your ear, his grip on your waist tightening.

you looked up at him, desperate to see what was hidden behind those eyes — "show me," you whispered, barely even hearing your voice.

but that was enough for sunghoon to lose it completely. his brain shut down; he was running purely by his heart. he was on fucking fire.

and before he could think, he kissed you like a man possessed. park sunghoon—the man who was always composed—finally broke under your touch.

⠀⠀' SUNOO

the golden prince. sunoo was flawless, soft-spoken, and untouchable. everyone loved him—in their eyes, he could never do anything wrong.

most people called him perfect—some envied him. but no one ever looked past the perfect facade he wore so carefully. no one had ever looked through the cracks he desperately tried to patch up.

until you met him. you saw right through him instantly. the shift in his eyes, even when he was smiling, the way his hand shook in a crowd despite his talkative character.

you understood him.

and that terrified him.

because if you asked him, sunoo would let go of everything in a heartbeat. everything he worked so hard for. his image, his reputation—he’d tear it all down for you.

all he wanted right now was you.

sunoo yearned for you.

he desired you.

he pressed you to the nearest wall, his breath hot against your skin. “tell me you’re mine.”

his words felt more like a plea than a command. they came from a heart set on fire.

“always.”

and that’s when sunoo knew—you were his to begin with, his to end with.

he kissed you like nothing else mattered. not his perfect image, not the eyes that watched him, nothing.

sunoo was the golden prince—flawless, adored. but with you, he was just a sinner on his knees begging for a taste of your touch.

⠀⠀' JUNGWON

jungwon always had a plan. for almost everything, he was ready. calm and collected through any situation—almost as if he was waiting for it to happen. he never let anything shake him.

but what happens when he falls hard for you the moment you walked into his life? he wasn’t ready for this. he never expected it.

jungwon’s feelings were out of control, with nothing to contain them. he hated the way he felt lost. he hated how your name tasted on his lips—bitter yet sweet, a curse he could never resist.

“i shouldn’t feel this. i can’t.”

“but you do. i can tell.” you guide his hand over to his chest. you both can feel his heart pounding. “you’re burning.”

he looks at you, flames in his eyes. he knew it from the kisses you shared and the touches that made him weak in the knees. with or without you, he was ruined anyways.

he holds you tighter now. “please, don’t let go.” it wasn’t a surrender—it was the only way he knew to keep holding on.

and you don’t. you’d never let go.

you only bring yourself closer, his lips instantly finding yours.

plans, rules, everything he lived by—shattered in that moment. nothing in his mind could stop his heart from wanting you.

⠀⠀' RIKI

riki was impossible to hold back. no one could keep him from crossing boundaries. he was reckless, chaotic, and out of control.

call him crazy and look at him like he just lost his mind, he wouldn't bat an eye at the comments. honestly, he never cared. being himself and speaking his mind was all he knew how to do, rather than creating chaos wherever he went—it was the only language he knew.

but it never felt like enough.

nothing satisfied him. with each reckless stunt, he only grew hungrier — searching for something raw, something real.

and then there was you, your eyes dared to slow him down, your touch made him crazy.

"fuck, admit it. you want this too. you want me too," riki said, out of breath from the kiss you both shared. his hands gripped your waist, a silent claim that you were his.

it wasn't a want anymore, it was a need.

it was desire that you both felt. the one that could have cities in flames, the one that never dies.

the desire that was bad for your heart, but was all you could think of.

you could only nod, already aching to feel his lips back on yours. you helped him. you made him full. you filled in that empty void he had. you were what he needed when his mind spoke chaos.

and then he realized— the hunger he’d been chasing all along was you.

tags. @zuyairus @bubblytaetae @yenqa @voikiraz @miumura @haechansbbg @taejaysreads @shinunoga-iie-wa @teddywonss @naespas @isoobie @dimplewonie @jennaissantes @aishigrey @firstclassjaylee @rikislove @hynjinnnnnnnn

⠀⠀𝖺 𝗒𝖾𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗂 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖽. do not copy, repost or translate my works

[torubeth]

stepping into the comfort of your home, nanami is met with a shrill cry from his four year old.

following her cry, he rushes to your room, mind cascading with the absolute worst scenarios he could walk into.

and upon opening the door, he’s met with a rather unusual atmosphere.

you sit leaning against the headboard, a smile on display whereas your daughter is crouched by the foot of the bed, a photo in hand while sobbing uncontrollably.

confusion etches a puzzled look onto his face and he steps into the room ‘hey..? what’s going on’ he asks, loosening his tie just in time for him to catch his daughter as she runs up to him.

leaning down, he picks her and plants a small kiss onto her hairline, her small body shaking with each sob.

he hates seeing his girl cry like this.

his hands stroke her back in hopes to calm her down ‘hi angel girl, why’re you crying hmm?’ he asks.

he feels her nod a “no” into his neck.

the cries still continue and he looks to you for help. a sigh leaves your lips ‘i was showing her our wedding photos and she started crying because she wasn’t invited’ you try to hide your grimace, because in all honesty, this situation was hilarious.

‘oh’ kento says, a small smile on his face as he turns your daughter’s face towards him ‘sweet girl can you look at me? please?’ he murmurs.

his little girl lifts her head from his neck, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand ‘why was i not invited?’ she asks, her doe eyes starting to fill with tears once again.

chuckling at this, kento pats down her hair and smiles at her ‘you weren’t born yet angel, otherwise you know for sure you would’ve been there’

this seems to have consoled her a tad bit ‘really?’ she asks.

‘really’ he confirms, placing a kiss onto her cheek as he places her back on the bed, her sobs coming to an abrupt stop.

your girl has this thing where she’ll listen to anything and everything kento says. if her dad says it, it must be true.

she goes back to looking through the albums, cheeks still a bit damp and red from all that crying.

you scoff at this ‘i told her the same thing at least a 50 times, but no, she only take your word’ you get up from the bed, walking over to him.

he pulls you in by the waist, pressing his forehead against yours ‘well, then this concludes our last week’s discussion on who her favourite is’ he smirks.

‘hmph, yeah okay’ you roll your eyes, as you feel him plant a kiss to your temple.

and suddenly-

‘you went to school together!? without me!?’ your daughter shrieks and her lips wobble, now looking at your and kento’s high school album.

oh shucks.

(rblogs are appreciated but this is not proofread so do w that info what you will🤟🏼)

[societyfolklore]

My skin is very sensitive (especially on my back and thighs), and whenever I get bitten hard, I can't control myself and cry. Depending on how many times I get bitten, I cry a lot. But I don't feel that much pain, my eyes react automatically and overflow like a river... Could you write something obscene with Bucky, related to this? Anyway, I love your writing (sorry for bothering me)°•.♡

Title: Cry for Me, Sweetheart

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary:  You always cry when he bites you. It’s not pain, not really. It’s too much your system overloads and Bucky can’t help himself.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: /Explicit Content / 18+, Minors DNI, SMUT, Explicit sexual content. Biting kink. Crying kink. Rough PIV. Fingering. Overstimulation. Possessive behavior. Praise kink. Primal sex. Gentle aftercare. Bucky gets a little beastly…

A/N:  Thank you for this ask.. he got a little bit mean here but so worth it! Hope you enjoy @venunsgirl

You hadn’t meant to cry.

But the moment his teeth sank into the soft curve of your inner thigh, just above the bruising grip of his metal hand and it happened again. That hot, involuntary prickle behind your eyes. That tremble in your gut. You bit your lip to keep from whimpering, but it was too late—he’d already noticed.

“Aw, doll…” Bucky's voice was low, dark velvet, sticky with something dangerous. He didn’t lift his head right away, just let his teeth drag a second longer, slow and sharp, before he kissed the mark he left behind. “Still this sensitive, huh?”

You nodded, uselessly. Your breath caught, a wet hiccup threatening.

“I barely touched you.” He grinned against your skin against the shaking muscle of your thigh—and then bit again. Harder. Deeper.

You cried out, spine arching. And then the tears came, hot and unstoppable, slipping from your eyes even as your body pulsed with something that wasn’t pain. Not really.

“Oh fuck,” he breathed, sitting back on his heels, jaw tight as he watched you. “It’s like your body just gives up for me. That sweet little system can’t even tell the difference, can it?” He wiped a tear away with his thumb. Smiled, feral. “You gonna cry for every bite, sweetheart?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your chest heaved, lips parted, and when he leaned in again, you flinched but not from fear.

He kissed the swell of your hip, the hollow of your stomach. Then dragged his teeth up.

Slowly, deliberately.

Up to your ribs. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered.

You didn’t.

So he didn’t.

He bit again just under your breast this time and the choked sob that escaped your mouth made him groan.

“That’s it. That’s my girl” His metal hand held you still as you twisted, caught between burning pleasure and something far too much. “You cry all you want, baby. I’ll make you feel so good you forget why you ever wanted me to be gentle.”

His fingers didn’t rush.

Two thick digits pushed deep, slow and deliberate, stretching you open with a slick, rhythmic curl that made your breath hitch and your thighs tremble. Every time he pressed just right, your back arched, hips grinding helplessly into his palm—and he watched. Watched your tears slip down over your cheekbones, your bottom lip wobble with every moan you tried to swallow.

"Good girl… look at you, baby," Bucky murmured, voice hoarse with pride. “Fuckin’ weeping for me, and I haven’t even put my cock in you yet.”

His flesh hand rubbed gentle circles over your knee, grounding you, while the cold vibranium of his other arm stayed braced along your thigh, fingers buried in your heat.

And then his mouth was back on you biting just above the bone of your hip, sharp and possessive. You cried out, full-throated, tears spilling faster now, and that made him groan.

"Gonna be my perfect fuckin’ girl?" He nipped higher, right where the softness met your ribs. “Your body knows who it belongs to, doesn’t it?”

You nodded, frantic, choking on another sob as his fingers worked deeper, pumping slick and steady. The wet sounds between your legs were one thing but it was the way he kissed the bites after like he owned your pain, your pleasure, all of you that left you trembling.

“You can’t help it, can you?” His metal fingers spread inside you, stretching you open while his flesh thumb slid slow circles over your clit. “Cryin’ for me already and I haven’t even made you come yet.”

You keened, overwhelmed and then he did it again. Bit the underside of your breast, hard, while his fingers pushed deep and slow and relentless. It hurt and it didn’t. It burned and it sang.

Your eyes rolled back as your orgasm broke; messy, full-bodied, your thighs shaking as your hips bucked against his hand. You trembled through it, mouth open, drool on your chin as your climax rolled through you.

“Fuck.”  he growled, withdrawing his fingers, wet and shining, only to flip you effortlessly onto your stomach. “Did so good for me… now I want you to feel me everywhere.”

You barely had time to gasp before you felt the heavy heat of his cock dragging between your folds, thick, hard, and already slick with your arousal.

He bent over you, one hand braced beside your face, the other gripping your hip as he lifted you just enough to tilt your hips up for him, aligning his cock with your entrance in a slow, claiming press, the spongy tip pushing just inside of you. 

“You gonna cry for me again, baby?” he whispered against your shoulder, before sinking his teeth in- hard.

You wailed.

And he pushed inside, slow, deep, unyielding. Burying himself in one long, devastating thrust.

Your body clenched, tears falling fast as he filled you.

“All fucking mine,” he groaned, rolling his hips in a slow grind that pressed you flat to the bed. “Feel that baby? Ya gonna ache tomorrow - right where I want you to. No one else gets these tears. Just me.”

His lips found the top of your spine, then your shoulder, leaving wet bites and open-mouthed kisses in his wake as he rocked into you, steady and slow. Each movement was a claim. Every thrust, every bite, every whispered ‘good girl’ bwas a brand on your skin.

You were shaking. Overwhelmed. Owned. The weight of him above you, the press of his body keeping you grounded, it was overwhelming, and still, somehow, not enough. Every breath you took felt shallow, caught between sobs and moans, between surrender and hunger.

And he wasn’t even close to finished. You felt it in the deliberate roll of his hips, the thick drag of his cock stroking right up against your sweet spot, in the way he breathed you in like a drug and let his teeth graze every inch of skin he could reach. His mouth found the curve of your neck again, just above the bruise he’d left earlier, and he sucked until you whimpered.

“Not done with you yet,” he growled, voice a dangerous rasp against your ear. “Gonna fuck every tear outta you, baby. Gonna take my time—make sure you feel me dripping out of you for days.”

His hands tightened on your hips, keeping you spread and still, letting him grind slow and deep. Each motion had your eyes rolling, body twitching under him. You could feel that maddening stretch dragging against soaked, sensitive flesh, the tip bumping your cervix with enough pressure to make you cry harder. And he loved it.

“Damn sweetheart,” he hissed. “So fucking wet. You hear that? That’s how bad she wants me. She’s sobbing just like you are—begging me not to stop.”

He bit your shoulder again, rougher this time, tongue flicking over the bite before pulling away, breath warm and ragged. He was pacing himself like he wanted to ruin you slowly. Like he wanted to carve this into your body and memory both. Like if he couldn’t live inside you, he’d settle for wrecking you from the inside out.

You were already close again- your body twitching around him with every slow drag of his cock, your breath breaking into high, shaky gasps. Your muscles were trembling, hypersensitive, every stroke of his body over yours like a new flame licking your nerves. Still writhing under him, still flushed from the last climax, you couldn’t even think. Could barely breathe. Every sound you made turned into something needy and raw, a pleading ache he fed off with every motion.

But Bucky didn’t let up.

Didn’t let you drift.

“Come on, babygirl,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear. His voice was thick, rough with restraint. “I feel you… already squeezing me again, aren’t you? So fuckin’ needy for it.”

You whimpered, fists curled in the sheets, nails dragging down the fabric like it might anchor you. His hand slipped beneath your body, warm palm splayed low over your belly—holding you in place, tilting you just enough so he could hit deeper. He rocked his hips again, achingly slow, dragging every thick inch out before pushing back in until his pelvis was flush to your ass.

"There it is," he groaned, voice wrecked. "Right there, baby. Like it there don’t ya?"

You did. God, you did—the deliberate curve of his cock grinding up into every swollen, overstimulated nerve ending inside you. Every thrust lit you up from the inside, pressure building tight and fast, every breath you took punched out with a moan as he rolled his hips with filthy precision.

His cock pulsed inside you, the ridged veins dragging perfectly with each withdrawal, sending sparks ricocheting through your core. It was unbearable in the best way, every nerve-ending lit—and Bucky fucking knew it. Knew exactly how to angle his body, how to push you toward the edge again, how to make you feel every single devastating inch.

"That's it, baby. Take it. So fuckin' full of me, squeezing like you're tryin' to milk every drop outta me already." Bucky crooned, voice tightening as your walls fluttered around him. “You can let go. I know it���s too much, I know, baby—but you can take it. You always take it.”

His metal fingers found your clit again, rubbing gentle, coaxing circles while his cock stayed buried deep. “Give it to me. Let me feel you fall apart. You gonna cry for me again, sweetheart?”

You sobbed—helpless, overwhelmed—and your body answered him before your voice could. You shattered. Again.

You clenched around him like a vice, thighs trembling as you screamed into the mattress. Tears spilled freely now, soaking the sheet with quiet whimpers as your climax ripped through you, harder than the first, shaking and raw and electric.

And that was when Bucky snapped.

“Fuck—” he growled, voice low and wrecked as he reared up, dragging nearly all the way out before slamming back in, hard enough to make the bedframe creak.

He grabbed your hips with both hands—one warm, one cold—and began to fuck you in earnest. Brutal. Hungry. Deep.

No more teasing.

Just need.

The sounds were primal—skin on skin, the wet slap of his hips pounding into you, your cries muffled by the sheets. Your body jolted with every thrust, pinned beneath him, caught in the rhythm of his relentless claiming. He was back over you in the next heartbeat, flattening you into the mattress as he pounded into you, growling with every slap of skin against skin.

His mouth found where your shoulder met the curve of your neck and his teeth sank in.

“Mine,” he growled, half-animal, grinding the word against your sweat-damp skin. “Fucking mine.”

You screamed.

Your third orgasm hit like lightning—violent, unbearable, your whole body locking up as you came around him again, shaking now, raw and ruined and glowing.

And still he didn’t stop.

He fucked you through it, losing rhythm as his hips stuttered. His teeth stayed locked onto your skin as he thrust one last time, hard and deep—grinding his cock against your pulsing walls as he came with a ragged, feral growl.

Hot and thick and endless.

You could feel him. Every twitch, every pulse, the way he pushed it deeper with shallow, grinding thrusts as if trying to brand you from the inside out.

When he finally collapsed over you, panting against your bitten skin, you were still weeping a little. Though you'd gone all soft now. Spent.

And Bucky didn’t move, just kissed the wet track of tears on your cheek, his voice tender, low, possessive.

“Shh, it's ok. You're alright," he murmured, pressing another kiss just below your ear. “Took it all like I knew you would. Every fuckin’ inch. Every bite. So good for me… made me lose my damn mind.”

He shifted slowly, careful not to pull out too fast, keeping his body draped over yours while one hand softly brushed your hair back. “You did so good, sweetheart. You feel me? Still here. Still with you.”

You nodded faintly, too wrung out for words. He wrapped an arm around your waist and nuzzled into your neck, soothing the bite marks with gentle kisses. “We’re gonna stay right here for a bit. I got you. Gonna clean you up in a minute, then we’ll get under the blankets, yeah?”

His voice stayed close to a whisper, slow and steady, grounding you while his hands roamed in slow, comforting strokes. “You want water? Or just me?”

Your fingers barely moved as they curled over his wrist. And Bucky smiled against your shoulder, lips ghosting over a bruise he’d left. “Just me,” he echoed, kissing it before wrapping the blanket around you both. “Always gonna be here when you fall apart, sweetheart. I’ll catch you every time.”

Tags: @ruexj283 @yesiamthatwierd @trojanaurora @hextech-bros

[knslut]

Seek For The Answers In Heaven ☆

summary. The N109 zone became the number one paranormal investigating area, no one seemed to get proper answers when they visited...except you. (kind of)

pairing. sylus x fem!reader

warnings. ghost!sylus, paranormal investigator!reader, creepy shi, p in v, sylus is a little mean for 2 seconds, oral (m), tiny tiny bit of angst, fingering, biting, teasing, creampie, passing out during sex, 2.6k wc

a/n. might be my only post on this account LOL we will see <3 cross posted on ao3 btw !!

“Listen, this is the most haunted place here and nobody has gotten answers,” Tara explained, writing a few notes on her notebook as she glanced up at you for your understanding.

“So I'm hoping you get at least something, okay?” she continued, patting your shoulder before glancing back at the base.

You nodded and sighed, looking at the dark, large building, surrounded by dead trees and a dim light casting a shadow upon it. With another look of approval you turn away from Tara and step in.

The moment your heel landed on the ground a suffocating feeling of fear rushed through you. You clutch on your small bag of equipment and the clipboard as you continue your dreadful walk through the hallway.

Every step that echoed through the hallway appeared to sound more ominous by the second, all you needed to do was head to Sylus’ bedroom.

---

Before the N109 zone base became a huge historical sighting, the owner of the place–Sylus–mysteriously died in an accident and rumors have it that he’s lurking in his bedroom, or just around the base.

The amount of people who tried to seek for answers by visiting the cold, twisted place, received nothing but an eerie feeling back home.

But you? You were determined to find some information, it doesn't matter what.

As you reached his door you placed your hand on his cold, rusted door knob. For a said dead rich guy, this house was in awful condition. But considering the fact nobody has taken care of it you could see why.

You push down on the knob and walk in the room. And immediately, the second you walked in, a cool breeze swirled through you. With the clear of your throat you glance around the room before bringing out your clipboard.

There were a bunch of questions that needed to be asked, all ranging from how he died to even his relationship status, it was a complete mess. As you wrote the description of the room and walked around it a small thud made you flinch on the spot.

You told yourself to ignore it though. I mean, you were a paranormal investigator, this was normal for you. But your heart couldn't stop beating more than it should have. You kept pondering a bunch of questions and wondered if someone was actually here, but there was no way.

You flicked your pen around your fingers and soon put your clipboard and equipment on a random rocking chair nearby.

You didn't even get to turn your head and another thud echoed through the room, but this time appeared louder, more closer than before. You sigh and hesitantly sputter some words, thinking of what to say.

“Hello?”

Of course, nobody would respond. The house was practically empt–

CRASH!

You jolt your head to the sound and notice a vase that was resting on the bedside table was now shattered all over the ground. And stupidly you decide to walk towards the mess, shuffling the shards with your foot and looking around the room once more.

Still no sight of anybody.

“heh..”

You froze in your spot and gulped the lump in your throat. Eyes darting left, then right, and finally, up.

And that's when you saw it. You saw Sylus sitting against the large tinted window, his figure slumping along the frame as he stared at the view outside. It looked so real, so real that it looked like he was actually there with you.

“Sylus?” you ask, stepping closer to the window.

“Stay back. You and I both know why you’re here.”

You listen to the man's echoed orders, standing in place and sighing in defeat, there was no other reason why you were here but at some point you did genuinely want answers. But after people got no feedback you were giving up on investigating this place.

Even though you had a little hope, Tara convinced you to the fullest and you gave in.

Before letting him speak you immediately start asking your questions, “How did you die? Why can I see you? How–”

“Slow down, sweetie.” he laughed, hopping off the window and stepping towards you. Footsteps echo through the ground in a menacing manner. You stood in place and stared at the translucent figure creeping closer and closer.

“Touch me.”

“Huh?”

You glance at his ruby iris, shining in the dim lit room. You hesitantly raise your hand and graze your fingers along his chest.

Your eyes widened when you could actually feel him.

A low whimper left Sylus’ lips when you continued to toy with his chest, rubbing small patterns along the hardened flesh, fingers grazing against his perked nipples, soon making their way to his abs and before you could continue, he held onto your wrist with a firm grasp.

“You don't get it that easily now.” he yanked your hand away, making you stumble back and almost trip against a desk. Your eyes twist in a dirty look and you scoff, holding onto the edges of the desk as your gaze lingered on his chest.

“Fine then, no touching. How about you answer my questions?” you say.

“Your questions or the questions every person that's been here has been wondering?”

“Okay well i do have one question,” you say, raising your finger in the air and pushing yourself off the desk, taking a few steps towards him. Your arm rests on your sides and you sigh, “how–”

“If you’re asking how you could touch or see me, I'm not telling you.”

“Seriously?” you deadpan.

“Mhm.”

“Then answer my other questions…please?” the last words came out in a convincingly desperate tone, all you needed was just one out of these hundreds of questions and then you were out.

Sylus pondered, resting his finger on his chin as he stared at the ground, acting like he was seriously thinking of giving you your answers. A beat of silence echoed through the room and you tap your foot against the ground in an offbeat rhythm.

“You don’t get it that easily.” he said, plopping himself on the bed and staring at you with a teasing look. You mutter something under your breath and step towards him, stopping just meters away.

“What do you–mind you, a ghost–need so bad so that you’ll give me answers?”

“You’re pretty.” he mumbled, “paranormal investigator, right?” he asked, eyeing down your professional outfit before staring back into your eyes, seeking for an answer.

Ignoring the first thing he said, you nod, “it’s just for fun though, not my actual job, now answer my questio–ugh” before you could finish your sentence Sylus grabbed you by the collar and pulled you close to him.

Your clipboard dangled on your fingers as you stared into his seductive eyes, a surge of blush forms on your cheeks and you use your clipboard to divide the two of you, which only makes Sylus laugh in response.

With his other hand he removed the clipboard between the two of you, making a loud thud echo through the room and you glance down at the item rocking back and forth on the ground then back at Sylus who leaned in closer.

“All i need is this,” he eyed down at your lips then back at your eyes, seeking for approval, “then i’ll give you your answers.”

You scoff and look to the side, not believing a word he was saying.

“How am I so sure you didn’t do this to the other investigators?”

A mocking, cold chuckle left Sylus’ lips and he leaned in closer.

“You’re the only one. I’ve been waiting for someone who would stay,” his voice dropped five octaves deeper as his hand cupped the side of your head, forehead touching yours, as he stayed in that position.

“No matter how much noise I make. No matter how much I tease them, they all get scared.”

Your breath hitches and your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, fingers tickling against the ends of his hair.

“But you stayed, that's what i like abou–”

Without letting him continue his sentence you crash your lips onto his, tongue sliding against the rough flesh, tasting every inch of him. Sylus sighed in relief, sinking himself deeper in the kiss, tongue pressing against your parted lips, probing their way inside.

His tongue intertwined with yours, sucking and practically eating you alive. He pulls away, saliva trailing between the two of your lips as you breathlessly stared into each other's eyes.

Sylus smirked, eyes looking down at you, iris filled with hunger.

“Now ask away.” he said, pressing his lips back on your skin again, nibbling at your neck

“How did you die? People were saying it’s a suicide but others are saying you got murdered by someone.”

Sylus’ teeth sank into your skin and you shivered in shock, he mumbled an answer that was hard to decipher and you tried asking again but his lips found yours again, kissing the question away.

And as much as you wanted to resist, it was impossible from how good he was kissing you. With one arm he effortlessly lifted you up and plopped you on his lap as he rested against the bed.

“Ask another…” he groaned against your lips, draping your coat off your shoulders and throwing it to the side, making you shiver in response. You glance at the clipboard lying on the ground, unable to read because of your blurred up vision and tried to remember another question.

He bucked his hips against you and you could feel his boner press against your pants. A whine escaped your lips and you instinctively rolled your hips as you itched yourself closer and closer to him.

That caused a reaction from Sylus when he practically toree the rest of your clothes off, leaving you exposed on top of him. You quietly gasp, muttering how ‘embarrassing’ the situation was or how ‘wrong’ this felt but Sylus didn't care, it looked like you were enjoying it.

Enjoying it so bad that you already had your fingers unbuttoning his pants, and since he had no shirt on he was practically on the same level as you. Your fingers clasp under the waistband of his pants, quickly pulling them down and stare at his boxers.

You gulp at the wet mess all over his boxers and slid the fabric down, making his cock spring out in a quick movement.

Your eyes widened at the sight, and before Sylus could instruct you on what to do you already had your head dunked between his thighs, a quarter of his tip shoved deep in your mouth.

A surprised moan echoed through the room, Sylus had his fingers tangled around your hair as he slowly guided you to the right rhythm, the perfect length, savoring the feeling of your lips around him.

Your tongue swirls around his veined length, bobbing your head up and down, the beat starts losing its rhythm. You opened your mouth wider, darting your tongue at the lower part of his cock and slideee to his tip, slicking the tip of your tongue against his leaking head.

A quivered whimper left his lips and he pulled your head away, panting breathlessly at you, a threatening gaze appeared on his face he eyed you down before tucking his knee between your legs and raised you up, pushing you on the bed momentarily.

You yelp in surprise and grasp onto his shoulders. Sylus presses a finger against your soaked pussy and circles small movements on it before sliding a finger in.

“Question!—ngh” you arch your back in pleasure as he continued stroking you in a quick movement, teasing his fingers inside you, curling and pressing against your weak spots.

He watched intently, watched you sputter out gibberish, and sometimes his name also left your lips too. You were practically spitting out everything but a question.

He slides his fingers out of you and cups his hands on your knees, spreading your legs further apart. You whimpered in response and felt your body getting heavier, and breathing getting ragged as he pressed against you.

His tip pressed against your leaking pussy, he slowly pushed himself in, thumb resting on the clit as he pulled on it, thrusting himself deeper in you.

“Ungh — m-most asked question.. hah”

“Go on.” He cooed, pushing himself in and out, mercilessly thrusting himself in a broken rhythm, silent moans and breathless praises left his lips on every thrust, he closed his eyes yanking his head back.

“It was mainly just about– your death.. hngh and y-your relationshi–” you gulp up the rest of the words slipping out of your lips as Sylus’ pace quickens faster and faster after hearing that question, a low grumble echoed through the room and he continued to sink himself deeper and deeper inside you.

“Relationship, huh?” Sylus laughed.

“Does this count as one? But wait i’m already dead.” he frowned, leaning in closer, ghosting his lips above yours. Your head bobs back and forth at the impact and you try to warn him that you were close but he wasn’t listening and only seemed to be fixated on those stupid questions they had to ask.

“Well my death… hm.” he pulled away, staring down at you with a funny look before rolling his hips against you one more time, but this time it felt different, you felt like you were getting…filled up? Like someone was pumping some liquid inside you and, fuck seriously?

Sylus only grins at your reaction and hammers into you with that same needy force he was just moments ago. Your eyes roll back and you try to catch up with his stamina but you already felt like you were going to pass out any second now.

“Well i guess you could say i died from–”

Stay awake. Stay awake. Stay awaaakeee….

Ah, shit.

---

You flutter your eyes open, and notice you were still in Sylus’ bed, your coat draped around your body as you were peacefully sleeping on the bed, but no presence of Sylus near you.

You lift yourself from the bed and jerk your head to the side and notice Sylus sitting at a chair across from you, his arms crossed as his head was lightly bobbing up and down, trying to keep himself awake.

“Sylus.” you whisper, shaking his sleeping figure.

He shook his head in response and opened his eyes, peering at your figure before getting up from his seat and grabbing your clothes.

“I’m assuming it's time for you to go, right?” Sylus threw your clothes at you and you caught them, quickly putting them on.

“Yeah,” you sigh, getting up with your disheveled outfit and picking up your other things before heading to the door.

“What was the thing you said before I passed out?”

“Huh? Oh..” Sylus chuckled and stepped towards you, standing meters away before he brought his hand up in a snap motion, “close your eyes.” he asked.

You close your eyes.

“Goodbye, sweetie.” Sylus said, and then a Snap! echoed through the room.

You opened your eyes after the snap and frowned when Sylus wasn’t in front of you anymore.

---

“So! So! Did you get any information?!” Tara exclaimed

“Uh, nope. You were right, that place is hard to get information” you chuckle, bringing out your clipboard with the questions but when your eyes scan the paper you almost fainted at the spot.

All the important questions were answered in a handwriting that definitely wasn't yours.

Sylus wrote the answers for you?

“Uh.. hello? If it's nothing, let me see!” Tara tried reaching for the clipboard but you pulled away and shook your head, walking away from her and headed to your car.

“So it was a shooting accident?” you mumble, fingertips grazing along the pen stroke as you analyze his answers, a small smile rested on your lips.

Visiting one more time wouldn’t hurt, right?

the way I got this idea... we dont talk about

[azzishands]

Fan of a fan - Chapter four

Paige x Azzi

A/N: This is kind of a short chapter, so I'm def gonna try and update the next one this week as well. Hope you like it!

---

Azzi wakes up from hearing her phone vibrate. She opens her eyes and tries to move her arm to make the noise stop, but for some reason, her arm seems unable to move. Fully opening her eyes she sees Paige lying on her right shoulder, fast asleep, snuggled up to her side. 

The actress’ stomach flips at the sight. Her right arm is trapped under the blonde’s head, so she carefully tries to reach her phone with her left one. 

The screen lights up with the name “Zendaya” on it. Not wanting to wake the other girl up, she declines the call and texts her friend instead.

Azzi Fudd: Can’t talk right now

Zendaya: Where are you? We’re supposed to shoot in an hour

Shit, Azzi thinks as she looks at the time. 

Azzi Fudd: I’ll be right there

Azzi slowly and carefully frees herself from the singer, staring at her during every movement to make sure she doesn’t wake up. She looks around the room and sees their clothes spread out everywhere. She simply gathers them and puts them on, smiling a little to herself as the night before flashes in her mind as she collects each piece.

Fully dressed, she walks over to the bed quietly, just to look at Paige one last time. Her heart melts at seeing the blonde woman sleeping so peacefully. It reminds her of a cute little puppy, like a sleeping golden retriever or something. Azzi can’t help herself but to lean forward and gently stroke the blonde hair away from Paige’s face, planting a small kiss on her forehead. 

And with that, she leaves the hotel suite. 

Azzi hails a cab outside the hotel, riding to the location of the photoshoot she’s supposed to be at already. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she says as she enters the photo studio with quick breaths, clearly having rushed there. 

“It’s alright,” the creative director says. “We’re behind schedule a little bit so it’s all cool. But you gotta sit down for your makeup and hair right away.”

The actress nods and goes straight to the makeup chair, greeting the makeup and hair artists with a “sorry I’m late” and “nice to meet you’s”. She takes out her phone while the artists are doing their things, and sends a text to Paige, explaining why she had left. 

“Well look who’s in the same clothes as yesterday,” Zendaya comes in with a full on smirk.

“I forgot to set an alarm,” Azzi just states. “Thank you for calling me.”

“And why did you forget in the first place?” Zendaya continues to tease.

“You know why,” Azzi just mumbles. 

“Yes but I would love to hear all about it,” the co-star raises her eyebrows.

Azzi, feeling a bit conscious about the fact that the makeup and hair artists were still very much there, in her face, didn’t really know what to say.

“We can talk about that later,” she dismisses a bit embarrassed. “Let’s just focus on the shoot now.”

The two actresses are put into different outfits, shooting for a magazine for their upcoming movie. The shoot isn’t done until around lunch, and Azzi hasn’t looked at her phone once, partly because she wants to focus on the shoot but also because she’s feeling a bit nervous just thinking about if there would be a notification from a special someone or not.

“So tell me now, how was your night?” Zendaya asks as they’re walking together from the photoshoot to find someplace to eat lunch after having finished the work of the day.

“It was… great. She’s great, I really enjoy being with her,” Azzi confesses. 

“Bro, tell me the juicy details, don’t be so vague,” Zendaya scoffs. “Did you do it or not?”

Azzi rolls her eyes with a big grin. “Yeah, we did.”

“OH MY GOD,” Zendaya jumps up and down, slapping Azzi’s shoulder. 

“Calm down,” the younger one blushes. 

“No, tell me EVERYTHING.”

“I am not gonna tell you everything.”

“Okay but tell me something,” Zendaya keeps on pushing.

“Well, she’s actually way cuter than you’d think, and really down to earth,” Azzi smiles. “And very observant. It was everything I imagined. And so, so hot. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Zendaya replies. “You gonna see her again soon?”

“I don’t know, we fell asleep after, you know, and then I left her this morning when she was still asleep. But I left her a text, telling her to text me when she wakes up.”

“And has she?”

“I haven’t checked.”

The two actresses enter a sushi restaurant and order their food and proceed to take their seats in the corner of the restaurant.

“Check your phone now,” Zendaya urges. 

“Fine,” Azzi says and takes up her phone. 

No notifications from the blonde one. But one from Ice Brady.

Ice Brady: Someone had a good night? *Photo attached*

“Oh. My. God.” Azzi says with her mouth wide open. 

“What?”

“Ice sent me a screenshot from The Hollywood Reporter, there’s pictures of me and Paige leaving the club yesterday,” Azzi sighs. “Fuck, they’re fast.”

“Let me see,” her friend says and grabs the phone. “”’Is Azzi Fudd the new groupie of The Huskies’ Paige Bueckers?’ What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Cute pic tho, I like how she’s holding onto your wrist as if her life’s depending on it.”

“Yeah, the picture in itself isn’t the problem,” Azzi makes a face. “It’s more about the story they’re gonna invent from it.”

“You know this will blow over in a few days,” Zendaya comforts her friend. “After all, it’s just a photo of you guys escaping the paparazzi. It would have been another thing if they caught you kissing or something.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Azzi nods. “As long as they don’t have any photo evidence, it’s just empty claims.”

—

The scent of Azzi Fudd overwhelms Paige the second she wakes up. She can’t help but inhale deeply, smiling at her senses. Until she stretches out her arms and slowly realizes that she’s alone in bed.

“Azzi?” she mumbles confused as she opens her eyes and looks around. But there was no sight of the actress anywhere. 

A pang of sadness hits Paige. Did she leave? And when did she leave? What if she left the second Paige fell asleep last night?

Paige puts on her sweats and walks to check the bathroom. No one there. She goes to the hall and sees that Azzi’s shoes are gone.

But before the sadness fully takes over, Paige grabs her phone and sees the notification from the woman.

Azzi Fudd: Good morning! I had a photoshoot this morning, that’s why I had to leave so early. I hope I didn’t wake you up. I had a great time with you, text me when you’re awake:)

Paige checks the time. It is 1 pm right now, and Azzi sent that around 8 am. It warms Paige’s heart that she had texted her.

But before Paige can even respond, Aubrey calls her.

“Wassup,” she answers the phone.

“Bro, good morning to you. Is Azzi there?” Aubrey asks.

“No, no she’s not,” Paige replies confused. “Why?”

“Have you been on your phone yet?”

“No, I just woke up. What’s going on?”

“The paparazzi pictures of you and Azzi are going viral, and the headlines are that Azzi is your new groupie.”

Paige shakes her head in surprise. Well not surprise, she’s well aware and experienced how the media paints things awfully. But she never gets used to the audacity of the media.

“Shit, I gotta call Azzi,” Paige just says.

“Before you do, how was your night?” Aubrey asks.

“Ugh, it was amazing. Azzi Fudd is unreal,” Paige smiles. “I guess dreams do come true.”

“Aw, you’re adorable. Can I be your bridesmaid at your wedding?”

“Shut up,” Paige says, annoyed and slightly amused. “I’m hanging up now.”

Paige goes on social media to check what’s going on, and indeed what Aubrey had told her was true. ‘Azzi Fudd joins the obsession every teenage girl seems to have with The Huskies singer’, ‘Paige Bueckers newest conquest is none other than the Golden Globe winner Azzi Fudd’, and so on. Every headline wanted to paint Paige as a notorious fuckboy, and Azzi as the slutty victim, and it made Paige’s blood boil. 

The singer calls the actress.

“Hey you,” Azzi answers the phone. “Awake now?”

Paige calms down immediately at the sound of the actress. 

“Hey, yeah. You know, you were allowed to wake me up and say bye,” Paige says with a smile. 

“Yeah, I’m really sorry for leaving like that,” the actress says.

“Nah it’s cool, I just mean that you don’t have to be afraid to wake me up, like at all. Even if you just wanted to tell me that you’re going to the bathroom, it would be okay, you know?” Paige quickly says, not wanting to make Azzi feel guilty about leaving like that. 

“Is this for future reference, you mean?” the actress smiles. 

“Exactly,” Paige says, her heart beating faster, knowing that they both somehow had just confirmed that there might be another night like the last one. 

“Gotcha. How did you sleep?” 

“So good,” Paige answers. “But you must've gotten only like five hours tops, judging by the time you sent the text.”

“Yeah I’m a little tired today, not gonna lie. I forgot to set an alarm, so I woke up by Zendaya calling me, asking me where I was,” Azzi tells her. 

“Damn, how did I not wake up by that,” Paige says.

“You were pretty much knocked out,” Azzi chuckles. 

“I wonder why,” Paige smirks. 

“Hmm, I have some ideas,” Azzi playfully says.

Paige hesitates for a second before she decides that it’s best to not play around it.

“Have you been on social media yet?” Paige asks.

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

“So you’ve seen them?” Azzi states more than asks.

“Yeah. How are you feeling about it?”

“It’s fine. I mean it’s nothing new. If it’s not this then it’s something else. What can you do? As Zendaya said, this will blow over in a few days. Some influencer might cheat on someone tomorrow, who knows.”

Hearing those words was extremely comforting to Paige, and she finally understands why celebrities often date other celebrities. She felt instant gratitude for Azzi’s calm and mature approach to it all. Someone who’s not in the public eye would probably freak out by now. 

“God, it felt good to hear you say that,” Paige confesses. “I didn’t like the way they painted you out to be just another girl for me. I mean-”

Paige panics a little bit, not having realized fully what she had said and how it can be interpreted. Even though Azzi Fudd obviously isn’t just another girl for her, it felt weird to acknowledge that this early on. 

“Don’t worry,” Azzi cuts her off. “It’s fine.” 

The singer hears Azzi’s words, but it still doesn’t make her less upset about those headlines.

“Just… Promise me you’ll tell me if it ever gets to you?” Paige says softly, and Azzi’s heart skips a beat. “I don’t want to tarnish your image.”

“Paige…” Azzi says with a sad smile, just as softly. “It’s not your fault.”

The way she said it, with that soft voice, with a tone that makes you feel so seen and so cared about, it moved Paige. 

“Still,” she whispers. 

“I promise,” Azzi says firmly. “If you promise to let me know if it ever bothers you too.”

“Deal,” Paige says. 

“So, how long are you gonna stay here in LA?” 

“Why, you tryna see me again?” Paige teases. 

“Nah,” Azzi deadpans. 

“I’m actually leaving tonight.”

“For real?”

“Yeah,” Paige sighs. 

“Well shit,” Azzi says. “Where are you going?”

“Portland. We’re playing about eight more shows on this North America tour, which is about two weeks. Then we have a little break until the Europe tour.”

“Busy girl,” the actress just states.

“You’re the one to talk, miss working-early-on-a-saturday-morning,” Paige chuckles. 

“I guess we’re both busy women,” Azzi says, wondering reluctantly to herself if their schedules will be an issue for their newfound friendship. 

“But you should come see me in Minnesota before we go to Europe,” Paige says, so casually. 

Azzi lets out a breath of amusement. This girl really makes everything so easy. 

“I mean, if you can and want to,” the singer adds. 

“I’ll make sure my schedule is free for that,” Azzi smiles from ear to ear. “Wouldn’t want to miss Minnesota when Paige Bueckers is there to be my guide, would I?”

“It’s a once in a lifetime experience, what can I say?” Paige chuckles. “So, I guess I’ll see you in two weeks?”

“I guess so,” Azzi replies. “Oh and Paige?”

“Yeah?”

“Just know that you’re not what the tabloids make you out to be,” the actress says softly. “Like, at all. They don’t know you.”

Paige swallows hard and takes a deep breath. Azzi had struck a nerve with that comment, probably not realizing how much Paige struggles with what the tabloids say about her. What anyone says about her, really. It had mostly been okay, but from time to time they would tear her down, make her out to be something she’s not, and it always made Paige feel so small and tenuous. How sheer hatred could get in her head on a random night, just reading her own comment sections. She should be better at handling it by now, and she has become better, but not anywhere near how she wants to be. It might be hard to imagine, how the confident lead singer in a famous band, who never seems to be fazed by anything, actually really gets affected by false narratives about her. 

That’s why it meant a lot to her to hear Azzi say that. A lot more than Azzi probably understands.

Paige croaks out a weak “I appreciate that”. 

“I’ll see you in two weeks then, blondie,” Azzi says, wrapping up their phone call.

“Can’t wait.”

They say their goodbyes, and hang up the phone. Paige just sits on her bed, replaying every single word said between them just now. Azzi sure knows how to calm her down without even trying. 

Six hours later, and the band is on their way to Portland in their tour bus. It’s a spacious one with bunk beds and even a couch and a TV in the back, where they’re currently sitting, trying to do some songwriting while on the road.

Paige is sitting comfortably on the couch with an unplugged electric guitar in her hands, playing some chords, trying to come up with some melodies. 

“Mhm, how do you know everything I haven’t told you yet,” the singer hums. “How are you able to meet me in the middle when I’m all the way over here?”

“I like that,” Sarah nods along. “Do it again,” she says and records it on voice memos on her phone. Paige sings it again.

“I’ll name the recording ‘Azzi Fudd’,” Sarah says with a huge grin on her face, and KK and Aubrey burst out laughing. 

Paige’s eyes widen. The audacity of the bass player. “Sarah!” she exclaims.

“What, is it not about her? Do you have anyone else in mind?” Sarah innocently asks. 

“I don’t- I mean I-” Paige stammers. “Fuck y’all. I’m not writing any more.”

“No come on, we’re just messing with ya,” KK says, walking over to the singer and gives her a hug. “We’re just not used to hearing you write happy lyrics, that’s all. But we love to hear it.”

“What do you mean, I’ve written lots of happy lyrics,” Paige mutters, feeling more embarrassed than mad. 

“Okay girly pops,” KK says sarcastically. 

“What did you guys do after we left the club last night, by the way?” Paige asks to change the subject. 

“We just hung out with Zendaya,” Aubrey answers. “She’s cool.”

“Yeah, she’s like our friend now,” Sarah chimes in. 

“Aww, did you guys make a friend, I’m so proud of you” Paige coos like a proud parent and pinches Sarah’s cheeks. 

“Stop,” Sarah moves away from the blonde.

“She told us all about how it was to film Dune and Challengers, it was really cool to hear, and now I kinda want to watch them all again,” KK says. 

“Yeah, let’s have a movie night!” Aubrey agrees. “With lots of snacks.”

“But I wanna watch a Azzi Fudd movie,” Sarah says. “I don’t think I’ve ever watched one.”

“Bruh, what? How can you not have seen any of her movies? You live under a rock?” Paige frowns. 

“I’m not really into those types of movies,” the bass player shrugs. “I just watch horror and comedy.”

“You mean you only watch unserious movies,” the singer deadpans. 

“If Azzi Fudd would’ve done a horror movie, you would’ve loved it,” Sarah argues. 

“Maybe… But that would probably be a Jordan Peele type of horror movie then, not those horrible indie horror movies you watch,” Paige says.

“Don’t-”

“OKAY, whatever, y’all can fight about Azzi Fudd’s movies another time, I wanna watch Dune!” KK interrupts.

“Nah, Sarah has to watch Ricochet now,” Paige protests. “You gotta see Azzi in it, she’s incredible.”

“You can’t go a day without seeing your girl?” KK crosses her arms, really wanting to watch Dune.

“Bro, I’m not gonna be able to see her in two weeks, don’t even start,” the singer responds. 

“Two weeks? You’re not gonna go home to see your family during break?” Aubrey asks.

“No I am… She’s gonna come to Minnesota.”

“Oh.”

“Girl, you’re down bad,” KK just says. “But we’re gonna watch Dune anyway.”

Paige just shakes her head, letting KK have it this time. 

After all, she’s gonna see the actress in person soon again. 

Two more weeks. 

—

[miiyas]

SILENT (not so much)

katsuki bakugo’s world is quiet, mundane. and yet, with you, he might as well have the entire world of sound to himself

wc: 910, gn reader, deaf bakugo, not proof read

katsuki bakugo’s world hasn’t always been silent. it boomed and echoed just as he did, highlight every little bit of his being and making sure that everyone—everyone—knew of his name.

the ringing in his ear after nitroglycerin sweat explodes out of his hands was one he relished in, proof that yes, he was stronger than most. but that drum off the bass seems to slowly cloud into a tinker of a cow bell and before he knew it, katsuki bakugo can barely hear his own voice.

katsuki’s world hasn’t always been silent, but when counselors and teachers say him down, typing out hiragana and kanji on their keyboard to communicate with him, it felt like there was a thick, glass barrier that separated him and the normal world. he couldn’t hear them, no matter how irritatingly slow everyone mouths to him. they point and their lips and treat him like he’s a helpless child and the same feeling he felt when he fell into that river in his childhood rushes back to him like a tidal wave.

bakugo always finds himself storming out of the classroom during the one on ones with counselors and teachers, slamming the table with rough, calloused hands and knocking his chair down with full throttle of his legs, shouting with what he thinks is what he wants to say before walking out with a slam of the sliding shoji doors. his parents can’t blame him, especially if the world he once knew was slowly going quiet around him.

despite those meetings, he always finds the people who call themselves his friends waiting outside of the classroom, leaning against the wall across the door and smiling gently at him. they didn’t treat him any differently, but bakugo could always feel that they were a lot more softer on him now, more cautious with their action and hands becoming more fluid.

then, there was you, and by god, he hated you.

there was a way you slam down a packet of papers before tugging a chair close to his desk, sitting with a lazy grin and pointing at a math problem he swears you’ve asked help over for days, the way you aren’t as careful with him as the others are, the way you treat him like he’s can still hear your voice. maybe because of it all, that’s why he wasn’t as shocked when you learned to sign.

katsuki has long gotten used to signing and he isn’t bothered with how people ask him to write or type down what he’s saying. the rough etching of his handwriting becomes ever so slightly softer and the grains of pencil lead doesn’t dust and crumble out as it once did. maybe it’s because he’s learning how to sign and maybe it’s because the rough motion of his handwriting has now translated into the waves and swoops of his fingers and hands.

“how do you do this,” you sign like a child learning how to move their hands for the first time— messy and discombobulated— but the thought was there. you point at a math question with complex letters scattered and placed onto top of a fraction, accompanied by a number you don’t even want to think about saying out loud.

you lazily spin your pencil around between your fingers, only for it to be snatched away with rough hands by the individual in front of you. you let out an almost offended ‘hey !’ yet, you don’t do anything. bakugo is crouched down and quickly scribbling on your paper, using the eraser once or twice just because he wrote a number weird.

adjusting your seating, you rest your head on the palm of your hand, watching with a lazy grin as the equation is quickly solved within a minute. the blonde drops the pencil like a mic drop and turns the paper for you to see.

“hmm,” with an index finger, you glide through the paper and lazily read the steps getting smaller and smaller as the unknown x is quickly found. you notice a few arrows pointing to a step or two as detailed explanations of just what exactly he did is written nearly, a chuckle escaping from your breath. “you’re too good at this. makes me pissed.”

katsuki can see your lips moving, but never catches just what exactly you had said. there’s a clear raise of his brow that you see and you smile, taking the pencil from his hands and writing just exactly you had said on side corner side of the paper. he reads it. then frowns.

‘you’re pissed ? what does that make me ?’ he signs with a little more aggression than usually put. it takes a moment for you to process fully on what he had signed before you burst out laughing, the type that makes you throw your head back and hold your stomach as you struggle to catch breath in your lungs and prevent cramps from happening. katsuki can’t hear your laugh, but he remembers it. it’s the kind that echoes in classrooms and hallways and the kind that you can’t miss. it’s the kind that someone would make when forming an inside joke and the kind that rumbles with all your heart.

katsuki bakugo’s world hand grown to become silent, but with you, your laughter and the way you speak to him as if he can still hear your voice, he might as well have full hearing.

[ladykailitha]

Heartbreak in Overdrive Part 10

Hello! I am absolutely loving the response for this fic!

In this one we get Steve editing the photos and the reveal party. Or at least the first part of it.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

~

Steve put the phone down with a sigh. Hearing from Eddie was amazing, incredible even. They had texted a bit since the shoot, but this was their first call and Steve was addicted to the sound of his laugh.

He turned back to his monitor screens and bit down on his fist.

He was editing one of the nude shots. One of the ones Steve had taken from kneeling on the bed. Eddie was stretched out with his hands above his head looking half-lidded into the camera, like the only two people in the world were them.

Steve was used to feeling all sorts of things when editing pictures for magazines, it was a first time for lust though. It lanced hot and liquid down his spine to pool in his gut. He rubbed his fingers together as the memory of getting to touch that broad and tattooed chest seared his fingertips, like touching a hot stove.

Dustin came through the door with fast food hamburgers.

“It’s looking really good, Steve,” he said as he handed Steve his drink. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Munson depicted looking like that.”

Steve hummed as he took the drink. He knew. He had gone through the man’s portfolio a dozen of times looking for the spark that he had seen on his Ravenscroft shoot, but he hadn’t found it. Everything was perfect except the eyes.

“I guess when you’ve been in the business as long as he has,” he huffed grabbing the bag of burgers and fries from Dustin, “I guess it all becomes routine.”

Dustin scoffed and pulled up a seat next to him. “Dude, if you think Mr. Ice Cold gave you bedroom eyes because you were a novelty then I guess I just figured out why you’re perpetually single.”

Steve shoved his arm. “I am not perpetually single! I’ve gone on dates.”

“Steve, my man,” Dustin said around at least a dozen fries, “one night stands and casual hook ups are not dating.”

“You’re acting like all I do is slut it up around town,” Steve denied hotly. Dustin raised an eyebrow. “I don’t! What the hell? What about Baron?”

“Dude,” Dustin scoffed, “he’s disqualified for being unironically named Baron. The name for rich assholes everywhere, he was never going to stick around.”

He snorted. “You sound like Robin. And at least he didn’t cheat on me the way Monica did. So I think that’s a mark in the win column.”

“The bar is literally in hell,” Dustin said shaking his head, “if you think that’s a plus.”

Steve snapped his fingers. “What about Abel? That was a decently long relationship that wasn’t with a douchebag or a cheater.”

Dustin slurped his soda and then cocked his head to the side. “He’s the one that got that job in London, right?” Steve nodded. “All right, I’ll give you Abel. I would have kicked his ass if he hadn’t taken that job. Plus you got that Fashion Week gig around the same time.”

“Yeah,” Steve said wistfully, “he was really sweet. We still exchange texts on occasion. He’s got a steady boyfriend now. A chill guy name Rhys. I’m happy for him...”

“You literally have the worst luck, Steve,” Dustin said, crumpling up his wrapper and throwing it at the garbage. And missing by a mile.

Steve took his own wrapper and made it in, dead center. “You can’t rush perfection.” He winked at Dustin.

“All right, I amend my statement,” Dustin said rolling his eyes, “you have the worst luck in dating.”

“That was all skill, baby,” Steve teased, wagging his eyebrows. He got up and picked up Dustin’s wrapper. He went back to the desk and threw it in, again making for the perfect middle of the garbage can.

“Show off,” Dustin grumbled.

Steve cackled. “If you’re not going to be useful, get the hell out so I can work, dumbass.”

Dustin shook his head. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You just want to ogle your boyfriend in peace.”

“He is so not my boyfriend,” Steve said scandalized. “I spent three days with the guy and while there was some flirting between us, I told him I had to keep it professional.”

“Dude,” Dustin huffed. “You were just on the phone with the guy for two hours, I’m pretty sure that is not an acquaintance no matter how you want to slice it.”

“Out!” Steve crowed.

Dustin raised his hands and slowly backed out of the room, leaving Steve shaking his head.

He turned back to the screens. Eddie Munson looking at him as if Steve was the reason for the lust in his eyes. The heat coming off the page was palpable. He closed his eyes with a sigh and then opened them slowly.

Eddie was still there in all his naked glory, but at least Steve no longer felt the lancing lust slicing through him.

He zoomed in so that it was merely Eddie’s eyes and while that helped for the most part, those eyes were like a pathway into his soul and he was inviting Steve in. He covered his mouth with his hand and got to work. Maybe he could make everyone see what Steve did in Eddie Munson.

~

Steve sat across from Dottie and Margaret, the owners of Ravenscroft. They were looking over the final edits of the pictures Eddie had chosen and Steve had given one final pass through for touch ups.

Dottie turned the page. She was a tall thin woman with dark hair cut in a bob and piercing blue eyes. Her style was one that Robin would kill for the money to pull off. Perfectly tailored man’s suit that gave her a boxy style but with a feminine edge.

Margaret was a fiery red head whose curls were artfully arranged. She wore beautiful white skirt and pink sleeveless blouse. She pointed at photo with her perfectly manicured French tip nails and Dottie nodded.

Again they turned the page and Steve held his breath. This was it. These were the nudes. The ones they had specifically asked for.

They conferred together, quietly whispering to themselves.

“Mr. Harrington,” Dottie said with a smile. “I really must commend you. These are all amazing photos. I would be proud to put them in any magazine in the world.”

“Thank you,” Steve murmured. “I’m very pleased with the results.” And he was too. They had a great product, Eddie was good model, and his team knocked every look out of the ballpark. But it was the combined effort that made everything like starlight.

“How was Mr. Munson on set?” Margaret asked delicately. “We had heard he was difficult to work with. Though his work speaks for itself on how that is absolutely worth it.”

“Honestly,” Steve said with a winning smile, “he wasn’t difficult at all. I laid out my expectations for the shoot, the schedule and how each outfit would be crafted and he even brought donuts for breakfast on the second day.”

Dottie and Margaret shared a glance. Margaret pressed her lips together tightly.

“No issues at all?” Dottie pressed. “We are just very concerned with the press this ad will receive and want to make sure we’re made aware of any troubles so that they could be handed to the PR department to minimize their impact.”

Steve shook his head. “He was a little standoffish to start because of my insistence on using my own people and not his. But once he met my team, all doubts were put to bed and he preformed amiably.”

Both women sighed in relief.

“That is good to hear,” Margaret said. “We know that he is difficult to work with because of his exacting nature. It is a good trait for someone you want to represent our brand as we move forward into this new endeavor.”

“He was a dream to work with,” Steve said with a bright smile, crossing his legs. “Truly. I have worked with a few models since starting in this industry and he was the best I’ve ever worked with.”

“Well, thank you,” Dottie said, extending her hand for him to take. “I hope you will make it to the release party?”

“Of course,” Steve said standing up to shake her hand and then Margaret’s. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Until then,” Margaret said with a faint blush on her cheeks.

“Yes,” Dottie said with a small smirk at her friend. “I look forward to seeing you there, as well.”

Steve smiled at each of them and then quickly made his exit. As beautiful as Margaret and Dottie were, they were not his type and didn’t want to even entertain the idea of something more with either one.

~

Steve looked around at all the beautiful people and was suddenly very grateful for his career change. This really did beat roach infested motels in desolate places seeing hurt, hunger, and pain everywhere he looked.

He knew that what he had been doing was important. By putting names and faces to suffering it made it easier for those with money to do something about it. But he couldn’t deny the affect it had on him in the long run. It would have gotten to the point where he had become numb to it all or had a mental breakdown.

And he knew which one he had been headed for before the kidnapping. The kidnapping had only sped the mental breakdown.

“They’re so pretty, Steve,” Robin said with a happy sigh.

“Yeah,” he murmured, craning his neck to see around the crowd.

She hit him in the chest, knocking a bit of breath out of him with a muffled, ‘oof’. “He’ll be here. His manager says he never misses this release parties.”

Steve chewed on his bottom lip and forced himself to take a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, handing one glass to Robin.

“I know,” he said with a heavy sigh. He took a sip of his drink and hummed as the tang of the liquid hit his tongue. “Thanks for being my plus one. I didn’t want to face the owners of Ravenscroft by myself.”

Robin snorted around the lip of her glass and took a sip. She regarded the glass appreciatively. “Damn that’s good champagne.” She turned back to Steve who was worrying the stem of his glass between his fingers. “Just because they thought you were hot, doesn’t mean they were going to proposition you, dingus.”

Steve highly doubted they would go that far, but he didn’t want to make everything awkward so he brought Robin with him. Ellie and Max had been jealous as they hadn’t been invited. Just him. So he had to promise that the next event he would take one of them instead of Robin. To make it fair.

Which was ridiculous. He didn’t think that he would be invited to parties like this one a lot. But he told that he would to keep the peace. The last thing he needed was his team being mad at him for not taking them to a party for crying out loud.

Margaret and Dottie ended up coming up to them together.

“Steve!” Margaret cried and ‘air’ kissed both of his cheeks. “It’s so good to see that you were able to make it.”

She stepped back and Dottie moved forward to the same. “Always a pleasure! You must introduce us to your lovely companion.”

“It’s good to see you both as well,” Steve murmured accepting their greeting with grace. “This is my best friend and make artist, Robin Buckley. Robbie, this is Margaret Burton and Dottie Cox, these wonderful ladies are the brains behind Ravenscroft.”

Robin shook both of their hands. “Pleasure to meet you. I’ve used Ravenscroft for a number of years and have always been happy with the result.”

“Oh!” Dottie said with a bright smile. “You must tell us all about it!”

Her and Margaret, each grabbed an arm of Robin’s and gently led her away so they could talk about her love for their company.

Steve chuckled into his champagne as he watched her gush to her rapt audience. Looking at Dottie, eyeing his best friend as if Robin was a tasty morsel ready to be devoured, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she got laid tonight. Maybe even a three-some if she played her cards right.

Then the crowd parted and all thoughts of Robin and her two suitors flew from his mind.

For standing in the middle of the room in artfully styled clothes was Eddie Munson.

Steve’s breath quickened, his pulse raced, and his hands sweat. Eddie looked gorgeous. Which really was a no brainer. He was a fashion model after all.

Eddie lifted his head and they made eye contact.

Suddenly all breath left Steve’s lungs and his heart stopped as Eddie made his way across crowded room, right to him.

~

If you saw this on Tuesday, I'm sorry!

Tag List: ONE SLOT REMAINING

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2- @gregre369 @gloomysoup @cryptid-system @kultiras @maya-custodios-dionach

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @bookbinderbitch

4- @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006 @yikes-a-bee

5- @awkwardgravity1 @oopsallgender @fearieshadow @stedestielfrattficlover @dragonmama76

6- @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars

7- @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gutterflower77 @wheneverfeasible

8- @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss @chaotic-waffle @steddieislife

9- @oh-no-its-danger-gays @ollieolive @micheledawn1975 @little-birch-boy @alfhitchblonde

10- @tartarusknight @chocolateracconlights @spookycollectorcandies @themoonagainstmers

[kiba-uwuzuka]

Bitter Sweet Café

pairing: congressman!bucky barnes x reader

summary: five times Bucky orders a black coffee, and one time he takes your suggestion.

word count: 4.7k+

author's note: this is the first fic i've ever posted! this is also my first attempt at reader insert, so bear with me! all reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated!! ‪❤︎

this has also been cross posted on my ao3!

The morning rush at Rise & Grind Coffeehouse was slower today, some merciful god looking down at you so that you might have a breather on this early Tuesday morning. Spring was here, shaking off the frost of winter, reminding people that it was okay to come outside and feel the sun. 

You wipe down the espresso machine, appreciating the lull that was soon to end. You often worked the morning shifts, it freed up your afternoons to take a walk around the city or return home and unwind with a good book or some mindless tv. 

The doorbell rang as another customer walked in. You look up, calling out a greeting. “Welcome to Rise & Grind!”

The man was someone you had never seen before; tall, broad shouldered, wearing a long black overcoat and a finely pressed suit underneath–the kind that looked allergic to color or fun. His facial hair was short but neat, his eyes tired and apprehensive as he took in the brightly colored cafe. 

“First time in?” You ask, your lips curving in a slight grin as he walks up to the counter. His posture was straight and his expression was serious, like a man on a mission for caffeine in enemy territory. He definitely looked out of place here with his monotone color palette.

“My regular place closed down recently.” His voice was quiet, measured, but not unfriendly. “This one’s on the way to work.”

You nod, understanding. Independent coffee shops in the city were a hit or a miss. “Well, what can I get you started with? Maybe a Sugar Cookie Frappe?” You suggest, giving him a playful smile. “It’s been a real hit lately.” 

He levels a stare at you like you had just personally ran over his cat. “A what?” 

“A Sugar Cookie Frappe.”

“...Why would anyone drink that?” 

You raise your eyebrows. “Some people like flavor?” 

He looks apprehensive, almost offended. “Just a large black coffee. Whatever your.. Most normal medium roast is.” 

You huff a laugh as you type his order into the system. “No cream or sugar, I’m assuming?” 

“You would assume correctly.” He said dryly. 

“One large, boring coffee coming right up.” You say, and write the order on a cup. He makes a noise that could perhaps be a chuckle as you write medium roast, maximum mystery in place of a name, and he pays with a card. 

You don’t mean to look at his card, but you catch a glimpse of a name. Barnes. Familiar, but you couldn’t place your finger on it. 

It takes you no time to make his simple order, which is probably good for you. Questions were on the tip of your tongue, but he didn’t seem the type to give you a real answer. You hand the finished coffee back to him with the lid on tight and a sleeve on the cup, your fingers brushing a bit as he takes the hot drink from you. He looks at the cup like it might poison him, and you snort a bit. 

“Have a good day, mystery man.” You say with a wave as he walks to the door. He leaves without a word, but you're almost certain that he might have smiled.

It had been two days since that mystery man came into the cafe.

Not that you were counting. 

But you did look up ‘Barnes’ as soon as your shift ended. You told yourself it was because the name sounded familiar, vaguely historical. A quick google search confirmed what your gut had already suspected. 

James Buchanan Barnes. 

New York’s 12th Congressional District Representative. 

Mid-30s (appearance wise). War veteran (WWII, specifically). An interesting metal arm that you realized you mistook for a glove when he first arrived at the cafe. You barely remembered a historical paper you did on the Avengers in college, and wondered why it took you so long to recognize him. 

Your search only came up with headlines and boring congressional interviews, no nonsense such as social media or anything he was currently up to in his private life. No fun, no flavor. 

So when he walks in again – same time, same coat, same dry stare – you’re smiling a bit brighter than you probably should be. 

The cafe is quiet this morning, the faint whirr of the grinder blending in with the lo-fi music playing over the speakers. A few people were tucked away in the corners, tapping away at their laptop for some midterm paper, probably. When he approaches the counter, you tamper down your school-girl excitement – you don’t want to scare him off.

“Morning.” He says, almost apprehensive. 

You tilt your head, a small smile playing on your lips. “You’re back.”

He regards you for a moment. “All the other coffee shops are out of the way.” He says lightly, almost like it was an excuse he just made up. 

You can’t help but grin, and tap your screen awake for his order. “May I suggest our Cotton Candy Cloud Macchiato?” You say breezily, knowing it would probably make him rethink his entire life choices. 

He narrows his eyes, most certainly offended. “Do I even want to know what that is?” 

“It has edible glitter.” You say with a sparkle of mischief in your eye. 

He scowls. “No.”

You laugh, and type in his order in the system. “Alright, alright. One large black coffee. No cream, no sugar, no joy.” 

There’s a pause as you write zero sugar, zero joy on his cup, and he exhales a short breath of a laugh. “Do people not get regular coffee anymore?” He asks, looking at you with a slight smirk on his face as he slides his card into the machine to pay.

You look over your shoulder at him with a sly grin as you brew his coffee. “There’s enjoying coffee, and then there’s drinking it like it’s a punishment.” His order is simple and done almost instantly, you place the lid and sleeve on and slide it to him. He hums, picking the cup up and inspecting it like it might bite back. 

“Tell me something, Congressman Barnes.” You say casually, wiping your hands on your apron. “Is the joyless monotone vibe a politician thing, or a personal choice?” 

His eyes narrow, but only slightly. “You looked me up.” 

You gave a noncommittal shrug. “I may have seen your name on your card.”

He glances at your apron, where a name tag might be, but your boss wasn’t a fan of such things. He looks back up at your eyes, the direct eye contact making your heart stumble a bit. “Are you always this nosy?” 

You grin, shameless. “Only with regulars.”

That gets another faint smile – barely there, but the corners of his mouth twitch like he’s fighting it. You take that as a win.

“You planning on making fun of me every time I come in?” He asks. 

“Only if you keep denying joy and exciting flavor.” 

He takes a sip, eyes still on you over the rim of the cup. He hums, seemingly satisfied with the drink, and turns to leave. “Then I guess I’ll see you again.” He lifts a hand in a small wave as he heads to the door. 

You smile, soft and warm. “Till next time.”

It’s the middle of the lunch rush, and the cafe is buzzing. Apparently everyone in the city has decided that this is the place to get mediocre Wi-Fi and overpriced croissants. You’re practically vibrating off of three espresso shots, you’re two orders behind and you’ve already spilled mocha sauce all over your apron at least once. 

Which, of course, is exactly when you see him. 

You lift your head away from some overcomplicated almond milk situation to call out the usual greeting as the door chimes, catching sight of the tall man scowling at the sight of the line ahead of him. He lingers by the door for a moment, seeming to consider his choices, when he catches your eye. A flicker of recognition flashes in his eyes, and he joins the line with disgruntled reluctance. 

 You catch yourself smiling a bit and take over for your coworker at the counter who was getting overwhelmed with the line. When it’s his turn, he raises an eyebrow at you. “I came by the other day, you weren’t here.” He says casually with a smirk. “I didn’t know this place existed without you.” 

You laugh, feeling a bit warm and gooey inside that he looked for you. It had  been about four days since you had last seen him, and you couldn’t help but feel your pulse quicken under his intense blue-eyed gaze. “Am I hearing that you missed me?” 

“I wasn’t suggested some sugar-filled heart attack inducing drink, if that’s what you mean.” He snorts, but you notice he didn’t deny your question. 

“Speaking of,” you start with a grin, “Why don’t you try our S’more Mocha Madness? It even has mini marshmallows.” 

“Tempting.” He says in a voice that is not tempted at all. 

You shake your head almost teasingly, tapping in his order and grabbing a cup. Still bitter, with a side of coffee, you write on the cup, turning away to brew his drink. It’s simple and quick, and you turn back around just as he finishes paying, sliding him the cup. “Here you are. Large, medium roast, no joy and extra bitter – just how you like it.” 

He snorts, picking up the cup. “Are you always this aggressive with your customers?” 

“Only with people who actively reject happiness.” You say with a sly grin. The line grows behind him, but you can't find it in you to care. “You know, at some point you’re going to have to try something new.”

“I sit through six-hour budget hearings.” He says dryly. “I know how to outlast you.” 

You narrow your eyes, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “So this is a power struggle now?” 

“I'm a congressman. This is the closest thing I get to winning a debate.” 

You laugh despite yourself, and he watches you with a hint of a smile on his lips. Not in a predatory way, not even flirtatious, just… Present. Like you’re the only thing in the room worth focusing on. It makes your heart skip a beat, and you’re sure it’s not from the excess amount of espresso in your system. 

“Well, we do have a reward system here, you know.” You say, wiping your hands with a clean rag. “You might even get a free latte one of these days, Barnes. Maybe even something with sugar in it.” 

“Don’t push your luck,” He says with a snort, but it comes out a bit softer than he meant, something more teasing and playful than that first day he came in. 

He picks up his drink and nods his thanks as he disappears behind the line and out the door; moving like a man who was well experienced moving silently and unnoticed. 

You take the next customer, giving them a smile that was much more real than your usual customer service attitude, a warmth lingering in your chest for the remainder of the day.

Rain was pouring unrelentingly outside, a storm had moved in the night before and seemed to be here to stay. You opened the coffee shop by yourself this morning–the rain made it too difficult for any of your coworkers to come in–but it also kept away the usual Monday morning rush. Only a few wet and determined loyal regulars trudged their way into Rise & Grind, leaving you behind the counter doing some idle sweeping. 

It had been a whole week since you had last seen Congressman Barnes, (James? Mr. Barnes? What do you call him?) and you couldn’t help but overthink your last encounter. Maybe you were pushing it with your teasing? You’ve only met a handful of times, and you’re pretty sure he doesn’t even know your name. 

You were busy sweeping up fallen coffee grounds from when you emptied the grinder when the door jingled, announcing another brave soul who survived the torrential downpour outside. ”I’ll be with you in a moment!” You call over your shoulder, sweeping the pile into the waiting dustpan. 

When you turn, dustpan and broom in hand, you almost jump at the sight, nearly scattering the coffee grounds everywhere again. 

Like you summoned him from your internal lamenting, there he was. Standing before the counter like a half-drowned rat, his hair slicked back with rain and his long black overcoat dripping everywhere. Exhaustion wore heavy on his shoulders, bags under his eyes showing countless days of minimal sleep. His beard was still short but rough and in desperate need of a trim. His face softened a bit when your eyes met – not necessarily a smile but… Relieved, almost. Kinder. 

“Congressman Barnes.” You say lightly. He physically cringes at the name as you tip the dustpan into the trash, and set the dustpan and broom away. 

“Bucky.” He says. 

You lift an eyebrow. “Bucky?” 

He shrugs as you lean against the counter. “I’ve been Congressman Barnes for a very long, exhausting week.” The corner of his mouth tugged into a tired, lopsided smile. “My friends call me Bucky.” 

The familiarity in his tone throws you off a bit, but a soft smile of your own plays on your lips. “Well, my friends call me ____.”

“____.” He repeats softly, like he’s testing the name out on his tongue. You can’t deny the way your stomach flutters with butterflies at the sound of him saying your name. 

You tap the order screen awake, trying to push down the soft feelings and potential swooning you were getting just from him saying your name. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.” You say lightly, curious but not outright prying. 

He sighs, the sound nearly bone deep with exhaustion. “Yeah, sorry. Its been.. A rough week.” 

“I can tell,” you say, raising both brows slightly. “I figured you were off somewhere being important, or wrestling with some government things.” You were not going to admit that you had almost convinced yourself that you had scared him away.  

He huffed, pushing his wet, rain soaked hair back, his metal fingers gleaming in the light of the cafe. “A bit of both, I guess.”

You type in his regular order, not teasing him so much about it this time. He truly did look tired, and probably needed this coffee for more than the caffeine. 

Still… You really couldn’t help yourself. 

“You know,” you say slowly, earning a playful narrow-eyed stare from Bucky as you grab a cup. “We do have this wonderful Peach Hibiscus Tea that might revive your soul a bit.” 

The corners of his mouth twitch, like he was remembering how to smile. “I don’t think I’ve got a soul left after the way this week went.” 

“All the more reason, then.” You grin, writing soul healing caffeine on the cup. 

He snorts like he was trying not to, and pays as you turn around to make his coffee. Not a laugh, but close enough. Real. 

You turn back around and slide the warm drink towards him. He holds it, looking like he was savoring the warmth it brought to his hands, both metal and real. You lean to the side, reaching into the display cabinet next to the register, and pull out a blueberry muffin. Still soft and fresh from when they came out of the oven when you opened this morning. You place it on the counter, and push it towards him. 

He raises an eyebrow, and you shrug. “On the house. You look like you could use a pick-me-up.”

He doesn’t argue, doesn’t fight it. He picks it up, almost carefully, and regards you for a moment. His lips pull into another crooked smile, warmer this time. Softer.

“Thank you.” He says quietly, and you can tell it wasn’t just about the muffin. You smile, glancing down at your hands as you absentmindedly wipe them on your apron.

“Just doing my job.”

“It’s not just your job.” He says softly, making you look up again. 

He lingers around for a bit. Not long, just enough time for him to finish the muffin. You two talk quietly, despite the cafe being empty and the rain still pouring. You tell him about the ridiculous orders people come up with, and he tells you what ridiculous things the old men in the Senate say nowadays. 

It’s the longest you two have talked, and the longest that he’s stayed in the cafe. When he finishes his muffin and departs, he does so slowly, like he doesn’t actually want to leave. You smile and wave him goodbye, your heart warm knowing he’ll be back sooner or later.

The air was filled with humidity the next morning, the storm finally blowing away and leaving behind wet, sticky air and puddles everywhere. You got the morning shift again, and hoped for another slow day (and maybe a certain congressman). You slipped into the rhythm of opening the cafe with practiced ease, a routine you’ve done hundreds of times in your time of working at Rise & Grind.

You had the doors unlocked for barely ten minutes when the bell jingled, the noise echoing in the silent cafe – the music had yet to be turned on. It wasn’t uncommon for an early riser or someone pulling an all-nighter to walk in as soon as you had opened, but it was still far too early to deal with customers. Regardless, you turned to the door with the regular greeting on your tongue and a smile forced on your lips before you see who stepped inside.

Bucky Barnes stood just inside the door, his eyes sweeping the empty cafe in a way you’ve noticed him do before. His eyes were clear and bright when he saw you, a slight pleased expression on his face as he came up to the counter. He looked refreshed, maybe even vibrant. His coat was dry and he even looked like he got a full night of sleep. 

“We just opened.” You say with a smile that was much more genuine as he joins you at the counter. “Are you that desperate for bitter-filled punishment?” 

He huffs out a laugh, shrugging. “Desperate, yes. Bitter? The day is young, and I am a pessimist.” 

You squint at him. “Are you smiling?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late.” You say with a beaming grin. You study him for a moment, then turn to the menu with a dramatic hum. “Hmm, let’s see. You look like you are in great need of our Unicorn Fuel Mocha Latte, I think.” 

“Unicorn fuel?” He repeats, like you just suggested committing a war crime.

You point at the menus behind you, in the latte section.

“Why is this the second drink you’ve recommended that has edible glitter?” 

You shrug. “Some people like to have fun, Bucky.” 

He looks back at you, narrowing his eyes but an amused expression on his face. “No way.” 

“Come on,” you say, grinning. “Live a little.”

“I am living. I actively choose life. That’s why I’m not ordering that.”

You laugh, shrugging in defeat as you reach for a cup, his order already typed into the system. “Alright, alright, fine. Back to the most boring coffee known to man.”  You write faithful and bitter on his cup.

“Who even names these things?” He asks in disbelief as he continues to read the menu while you make his drink. “Birthday Cake Iced Latte? Banana Cream Cold Brew?”

“My boss, actually.” You laugh. “She’s quite proud.”

When you hand the drink back to him, he makes no move to leave. He takes a sip, and leans against the counter, regarding you with those blue eyes. “So, I never did get around to asking you. Do you often google your customers?” 

You pause mid-wipe on the counter, looking up at him. “Only the ones who drink coffee like divine punishment.” You say teasingly, but truthfully you don’t quite know why you looked him up in the first place. 

“Oh yeah?” He raises an eyebrow. “And what did you find?” 

“Mostly congress stuff, nowadays. A piece on you in World War II. Buzzfeed did an article on you, you know. Most importantly, no social media.” You shook your head in mock shame. “You are practically impossible to stalk online. It’s tragic, really.” 

He chuckles a bit. “Social media isn’t really my thing. Too much.. Noise.” 

“Makes sense.” You nod sagely. “You seem pretty.. Old fashioned.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you calling me old?” 

You raise an eyebrow. “Aren’t you like, 110? How’s your back feeling?” 

He laughs, a real one, the noise coming out like a surprise. “Do you treat all your regulars like this?”

You couldn’t help the small smile rising on your lips. “Not all my regulars are so interesting, after all.”

He made a small, curious noise in response, his eyes glinting a bit with amusement as he took another sip of his coffee. “Well. I'm glad that you find me… interesting.” His voice was soft and low, his eyes meeting yours over the lid of his cup. 

You fought the rising blush on your cheeks, the eye contact and sound of his voice making your heart thud in your chest. He headed to the door with a slight smirk, pausing before he exited. He turned to you, and raised his cup a bit. 

“See you later, ____.” He said, giving you a wink, and was out the door before you could stumble together your words. 

You spent the rest of the day smiling like a fool, thinking that maybe he found you just as interesting.

Saturday brought in a different type of rush – the regular 9 to 5ers usually taking the weekend to stay home or run errands – leaving a more relaxed crowd to come into the cafe. 

The cafe was buzzing with activity, people at almost every table catching up with friends or huddled in groups with laptops. The sun was bright and shining outside, making people come out to enjoy the fresh weather and a good cup of coffee. 

You wiped down one of the empty tables, sighing. You hadn’t seen Bucky since Tuesday (you had already given up on denying the fact you counted the days between his visits), but you weren’t as worried that you did something wrong this time around. 

You had only met a handful of times, but there was something about him that made your heart flutter. The way he smiled, soft and rare. The way it was so easy to talk to him, something effortless and comforting. He lingered in your mind more than you cared to admit.

Your coworkers had already caught on, teasing you about your not-so-subtle crush, but you hadn’t bothered to deny it. Why would you?

Still, part of you held back. He was a congressman, after all. A former ally to the Avengers. (Part of the Avengers? That never did get clarified, in the end.) He was a man with nearly a century of a past, and a future shaped by headlines and handshakes. 

And you were… Here. Behind the counter. Watching the door, wondering if he ever thought of you the way you found yourself thinking of him.

You finished cleaning the empty tables and walked back to the counter, pushing those thoughts out of your mind. You huffed to yourself, and glance at the clock. You had just about ten minutes left in your shift, and then you would be free to go grab some lunch and head home. Just as you got behind the counter, the door jingled with the arrival of another customer. You looked up, standing at the register, and raised your eyebrows in surprise. 

Bucky Barnes, here on a weekend. He was obviously off work, his outfit was much more casual than you had seen. He had a navy henley on with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing one muscular forearm and more of his metal arm than you had ever seen before. He wore dark jeans and sneakers, and gave you a slanted grin as he walked up to the counter. 

“I didn’t know you existed outside of the weekdays.” You say, your eyes openly taking in his relaxed appearance. “Or had any other clothes.”

Bucky chuckled, running his metal hand through his hair. You couldn’t help but admire the way the dark metal gleamed in the light. “I do actually have a life, you know.”

“Do you?” You ask with a tilted head and narrowed eyes, a small teasing smile playing on your lips. 

He gives you a dry look, making you laugh a bit. He shakes his head, a small smile rising on his face. “Alright, alright. What’s the weekend special you’re having? I’m sure it’s something equally horrifying to the abominations you’ve mentioned before.”

“Have you such little faith in me?” You muse, and glance up at the menu with a thoughtful hum. “Perhaps our Honey Oatmilk Latte?” 

He paused, then nodded. “Yeah, sure.” 

You turn back to him, blinking in surprise. “What?” 

“I mean, it doesn’t sound that bad.” He shrugs. He looks at your surprised face, and grins a bit. “Just don’t send me into cardiac arrest, alright?” 

You huff a laugh, and grab a cup. “Such high standards,” you tease, shaking your head. You step away from the counter as he pays, and begin to make his drink. It was a simple latte, espresso with oatmilk, honey and a dash of vanilla and cinnamon. It wasn’t overly sweet, not too complicated, but you wanted to make sure it was perfect. 

You turn back around and slide the drink to him, an almost nervous smile tugging at your lips. He picks up the cup and gives it a look. 

“What, no passive-aggressive notes today?” He asks, amused with an eyebrow raised. You roll your eyes playfully, waving him away. 

“Positive reinforcement, and all that.” You shrug, but you don’t take your eyes away from him as he gives the drink a small sip. 

He’s quiet for a moment, considering the flavors, then raises both his brows. “This is.. Pretty good, actually.” 

“Wow, look at that.” You couldn’t help the smug grin on your face as you lean against the counter. “A compliment? And you doubted me, what a shame.” You shook your head. “You could have had so many good drinks by now.” 

He snorts and rolls his eyes. “Well, we’ll just have to make up for lost time now, won’t we?” His grin makes your stomach twist, and you find yourself trying not to blush. 

You glance away, at the clock, and realize it's about five minutes after your shift ends. Bucky glances that way as well, before looking back at you. “Ah, my shift is over.” You say, feeling a bit awkward now. He often came by in the mornings, or that one time you had an afternoon shift. You step back, and then shuffle awkwardly to the back to hang up your apron and clock out. 

When you come back to the front, Bucky is still there, standing a bit aways from the counter. He smiles softly at you as you come up to him, your bag slung over your shoulder. “Have you had lunch yet?” He asks, almost too casually. 

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Is this you asking me out on a date?”

He purses his lips, and takes another sip of the coffee. “I might have waited to come in when I thought your shift ended.” He shrugs. “There’s a deli shop I like, just around the corner. Why don’t you join me?”

A smile tugs at your lips, your heart practically leaping out of your chest. “My, my. You let me pick your drink, and now a date. Have I worn you down that much?” 

He chuckles, the sound rumbling softly out of his chest. “You can tell me what I should get there, too, if you’d like.”

You laugh, and he leads you out of the cafe. The bell over the door jingles as he pushes on it and holds it open for you. Your heart is light and you can’t keep the smile off your face, and it delights you to see a smile on his, something more genuine than you’ve seen in the whole time you’ve known him. He looks down at you with a gleam in his eye, and you know you’ll never be wondering for the next time he comes around.

my very small taglist <3 -

@makehydrafictionagain

[blasphemyandbackshots]

Can you do how jjk men would hold/help you during a panic attack, like shortness of breath and irrational crying/sense of doom. Love your work 🩷🩷

Love you dear - I hope you’re okay and that brings you and anyone reading it a bit of comfort.

ღ Satoru Gojo - Satoru notices it instantly. You’re too quiet. Your breath’s gone shallow. Your eyes don’t meet his. And then it hits; a wave of irrational fear and you start to cry. “Hey. Hey, baby, look at me.” He crouches down and takes your hand gently. There’s no jokes, no cocky smile. Just him, raw and present. He presses your palm to his chest and let you feel his strong and steady heartbeat. “Breathe with me. Okay? That’s it. I’ve got you. Nothing’s gonna touch you… not when I’m here.” And he stays there, no matter how long it takes. He’ll never leave, don’t flinch and definitely not judge. “You don’t have to be strong right now. I’ll carry it all for you.”

ღ Suguru Geto - Suguru moves slowly towards you, like approaching a wounded animal. You’re trembling and stuck in the spiral. And you can’t explain why it feels like you’re dying. Suguru doesn’t ask why. He doesn’t need a reason. “It’s okay. I’m here. Just let it happen. I won’t leave.” He sits behind you on the floor, legs around you and his strong arms like a shield. You sob into his shirt. “You’re safe. You’re allowed to fall apart. Nothing you say or feel will make me love you less.” And when your breathing finally steadies, he presses his lips to your temple. “You did so well, sweetheart. I’m proud of you.”

ღ Kento Nanami - Kento isn’t good with emotions, but he learns for you. You can’t breathe. You’re crying and shaking and muttering that something feels wrong but you don’t know what. He doesn’t try to talk you out of it. He kneels in front of you, like a shelter in the storm. “I understand. Let’s just focus on breathing. I’m not going anywhere.” He reads your body language like a map and holds your hand with firm, grounding pressure. He times your inhales with his own voice. “In… and out. Just like that. Good. I’m with you.” Later, when it passes, he rubs your back gently. “This isn’t weakness. This is human. And I love you for all of it.”

ღ Ryomen Sukuna - Sukuna’s not gentle until he is. At first he growls. “The fuck is happening?” But then he sees your hands clenching. Your breath hitching. Your eyes wide and lost in dread. He freezes. And for the first time he softens completely. “You’re alright. Breathe, girl.” He doesn’t know how to fix it, so he offers the only thing he’s ever known—power. He sits beside you, protective and still. “You’re not gonna die. You’re mine. And nothing touches what’s mine.” He doesn’t say “I love you.” But his hand never leaves yours as he sits with you through the storm like a silent promise.

ღ Choso Kamo - Choso understands instantly. The fear. The loss of control. The pain that has no words. He cups your cheeks, presses his forehead to yours. “It’s okay. I know this. I’ve felt it too.” He doesn’t rush you. He just hums softly. His big warm hands stroking your back, whispering over and over, “You’re safe. You’re safe. I’m here. Nothing bad is going to happen.” He makes you feel like it’s okay to fall apart. That your panic doesn’t scare him. “You don’t have to explain. Just let me hold you until it’s gone.” And he does.

ღ Toji Fushiguro - Toji’s not used to this. Emotions? They’re dangerous. But then he sees your chest rising fast. Your hands shaking. Your words crumbling. And suddenly? To hell with his fear of intimacy! “Hey. Hey, breathe. You’re okay. You hear me?” He presses your face into his shoulder, hands braced around you like you might break. “I’ve got you. Let it out. Cry if you need to. Scream. Hit me. I don’t care.” He doesn’t judge. Doesn’t ask. He just holds you. Later he presses a kiss to your temple and mutters, “Next time this happens, you come straight to me. You don’t have to fight it alone anymore.”

ღ Takuma Ino - “Oh shit, baby? Baby, what’s wrong?” Takuma panics for half a second, but then drops everything. He’s on the floor in front of you, wrapping his hoodie around your trembling frame. “You’re okay. You’re okay. I got you. Just squeeze my hand, okay?” He talks to you gently the whole time. Nonsense sometimes, just to keep your brain somewhere safe. “You’re the strongest person I know. I’ve got you. I love you so much. You’re gonna get through this.” He kisses your knuckles when the tears stop and holds you close. “You’re never a burden. Never. I’ll sit through every storm with you.”

[paperaddictionss]

Bakugou Katsuki~

Crossed paths.

You and Bakugou had a history, you fell in love in high school but broke up as you left so he could focus on himself and his career. It hadn’t been easy, in fact it felt like a whole piece of you was torn from your chest, torn from your heart, torn from your soul.

He missed you so much, he purposely went routes he knew that you used to go just to try and bump into you again. The heartache and headache was a constant reminder of his stupid mistake, he never should’ve left you. He never should’ve broken up with you. Maybe if he didn’t he wouldn’t feel such a void within him, such a dark empty hole where a part of his soul has been took away.

It’s not like you were dead, you were very much alive. He saw you on news channels all the time, forever admiring your excellence, your strength and your courage to be the pro hero you were. It was admirable as hard as that was for him to admit, he found himself often looking up to you on how to be a better person. How to be a better hero.

He knew he could’ve just gone to your apartment or messaged you, but he couldn’t allow himself to swallow his pride. He couldn’t face you, he couldn’t admit he was in the wrong.

You were walking the streets, off-shift looking down at your shoes it was weird not being in your hero costume since you practically lived in it, your own clothes felt almost foreign on your body even though they belonged to you.

Not looking where you were going you bumped into a hard chest, stumbling backwards before gaining your stability. You rubbed your head groaning, “watch where you’re going asshat.”

He heard the voice, the soft melody of your voice. His heart dropped and his eyes snapped up meeting yours. His heart thudded against his chest, the beats echoing throughout his whole body. Was it really you?

He swallowed the lump in his throat but it didn’t cover the fact it felt like all the air in his lungs had been squeezed out. Was he dreaming? Was this reality?

“Katsuki..” You trail off your voice almost a whisper as all the emotions, all the memories spent together rush back whirling around you. It was harder to breathe, but was it the air or was it him?

“Y/N…” He croaked out his voice wobbling due to the intensity of his emotions. He didn’t know where to start, what to say, what to do. Should he flee? Should he stay?

“Where have you been?” You finally break the silence that loomed around you two, anger seeping in between each of your words.

He left you. He didn’t visit. He didn’t call. He didn’t even message to get his stuff back and now he was just here speechless gawking at you.

Bakugou looked to you, seeing the slight furrow in your brows and the harsh annoyed glimmer in your eyes. You had every right to hate him. He wouldn’t blame you. He hated himself. But he had to say something back, it was the least he could do for you.

“Work,” his reply was more blunt than he intended it to be, the words aching his chest as they came out.

“Right. Work.” You scoff shaking your head, did he really not care? “I wasn’t on about it like that,” you mumble the words coming out quiet and vulnerable.

It ached his chest more seeing how much he had truly hurt you, “I’m sorry Y/N i really am,” was all he managed to croak out as he fought back the tears that yearned to be let from his eyes.

You bit your bottom lip, stuck in a war with your mind, part of you was telling you to walk off to move on with your life like he had. While the other half was screaming at you to jump into his arms like old times.

You swallowed the harsh bitter lump in your throat, wincing at the reminder of your pain. Your chin wobbled as you miserably failed to suppress how you were feeling.

Bakugou’s eyes immediately went to your wobbling chest, it cut him deeper, like rubbing salt in his already open wounds. Why was this so hard? He chose this. So why did seeing your face, seeing those big beautiful eyes for the first time in forever punch a hole through his stomach?

“I- i can’t do this,” you whispered as a solemn tear slipped down your cheek, cascading down the curves of your face. You went to turn away but the sound of his broken, beaten voice echoed through your ears.

“Wait…please,” He begged, watching your turn he took it as his cue to continue, “i never should have left you Y/N, i thought that leaving you would be for the better, would help me focus more on my career. But…but without you it’s been hell, i think of you 24/7, i watch you on the news. Everything is a reminder of you, a reminder of what im missing out on. That beautiful smile, that infectious laugh..”

That’s all it took for the control over your emotions to snap. The tears now flowed freely, as you stared at him the whole world around you fading, like it was just you two. He did care.

You were overwhelmed with emotions, confusion, annoyance, love, sadness and pain. It was almost unbearable, you stood there tears streaming down your cheeks unable to muster up words to him.

His heart tore more and more as he watched you unfold, revealing your shattered self piece by piece. He clenched his jaw, swallowing his pride before bringing you into his chest, holding onto your body like it was the last thing he could ever touch in this world.

Like it was natural, your body reacted immediately wrapping around him your hands bawling his shirt into your fists as you weeped into his chest. The smell of his aftershave drowning part of your senses, it was comforting and a play button, rolling all your memories into your head. You missed this and so did he.

“Please don’t ever leave again,” you sobbed into his shoulder, clinging to him for dear life, scared of him abandoning you again.

“I won’t, i promise,” he whispered into your hair as he, himself silently cried.

[lovevika]

a change — sevika x f!reader [2.2k words]

╰ sevika week day three: SHIMMER STRAP. | sevika discovers that shimmer has been altered to something else.

18+, top!sevika bottom!reader, strap referred to as cock in some instances, brief nipple play, fingering, missionary, strap on ejaculation (yes, the shimmer goes in DON'T ASK ME WHY), technically use of aphrodisiacs. a product of me ovulating.

—> i'd like to highlight that i didn't want to use the classic shimmer since it results into some bodily mutations and the thought of shimmer being ejaculated in a vagina and waking up to something grotesque?! my goodness. yes, this shimmer is completely non-canon, i made it up, it's kinda funny in all honesty and hence i opted for a post canon setting.

sevika had been up to date with the talk in both zaun and piltover happening about someone altering the chemicals used in the shimmer to make something lighter and, well, more satisfactory. she couldn’t comprehend why shimmer was still allowed to be passed around like this, especially after the consequences people had to face after its misuse. it was fine as moderated medicine in the manner which she’d been using for a while now, yet her curiousity had been piqued by the new invention.

satisfactory, you say?

it had been easy for sevika to contact some old connections, to guarantee that the product was safe. it was the usual shimmer — some minor enhancements — quite similar to being drunk for that matter, with some specks of aphrodisiacs. she’d just been filling her strap with the usual for a while now and maybe it was time for a change.

“so that’s basically it. there are no side effects, i’ve made sure of it..” sevika shrugged, not specifying how she almost threatened the seller to be prepared for getting his neck crushed if the shimmer harmed you in any way. she was sitting beside you on your shared bed, watching your eyes dart towards the shimmer vial grasped in her fingers before up at her face, taking note of the seriousness etched in her expression yet a hint of being flustered, heat radiating from her. “i’ll take it a bit before putting it inside the strap.” it was endearing how she was going over it, trying to make sure you were on board with it.

“i know.” a giggle involuntarily slipped from your lips, blood rushing to your cheeks as you shuffled closer to her, one hand gently resting on the side of her face, feeling her lean into your palm, eyes fluttering shut. “i trust you. just can’t believe they invented something like this.” you snorted, and a rough chuckle left her.

“people are always up to something, my love.”

she moved forward to gently capture your lips with hers, and you instantly melted, arms wrapped around her neck to pull her closer while her tongue tenderly slipped into your mouth. it was slow yet raw, unlike the brief kisses. no, sevika was barely containing her ardent hunger in, threatening to spill out with the way you pressed your chest against hers, feeling her hands clasp by your sides to gently guide you against the headboard, your tongue giving a light flick to her labret piercing — a little habit you had developed.

“needy little thing, aren’t we?” her tone held that amusement you’d become familiar with, her head falling to your neck as she pressed gentle kisses along your throat, feeling your breath hitch when she nipped at the skin. her left hand slipped inside your shirt, your skin tingling at the cold mechanical fingers digging into your side as she suckled onto your neck, cherishing each little bite she gave you, hissing at the way the sting made your hips buck against hers in a rather desperate manner.

“patience.” she tutted.

you watched in awe as she injected a small dose of shimmer into her arm, feeling her brows raise. it didn’t seem to hurt in the way sevika had expected, and a look of relief instantly fell over her face. “i think you’ll like it.” she said, leaning over to press a kiss on your forehead. you nodded wordlessly, aware of the way her breathing had gotten a tad bit heavier, pupils dilated. but with you, it wasn’t ever just lust. it was much more to her, something all consuming.

her right hand cupped your jaw, thumb pressing against your bottom lip, urging you to suck on it. you obeyed, taking her thumb into your mouth, whimpering as it pressed down against your tongue, your teeth lightly biting onto it though she seemed unfazed, lips curling into a smirk. “so fucking gorgeous.” she exhaled, mechanical hand cupping your breast, fondling it in a tender manner, making sure she didn’t hurt you while her grey eyes stayed focused on the way your lips enclosed around her thumb. it was making her lose her mind.

pulling her thumb out of your mouth, she lifted your shirt over your head and tossed it over the bed. the shift was noticeable, her earlier slow movements now more fervent, more impatient, hands greedily cupping your breasts as she leaned down to take your nipple into her mouth, sucking on it passionately. “‘vika-!” you gasped, soon dissolving into a little weak noise as your body squirmed beneath hers, the heat growing between your legs overwhelming. and you hadn’t even taken a dose of the shimmer yet.

sevika gave your other nipple the similar attention, nipping on it with her teeth solely to see your eyes widen. her hands slipped down to your shorts, fingers loosely curling around the hem. “how are you feeling, my love?” she breathed heavily, eyes glazed with something unexplainable as she looked at your face.

“good… feels so good.” your hands fisted into the back of her shirt, trying to take it off. the feeble attempt made her snort slightly, one hand reaching to effortlessly take her shirt off for you. your fingers caressed her shoulder blades and the strong muscles underneath, always enamoured with how she was sculpted, better than any sculpture or piece of art you had laid your eyes upon.

“m’glad.” she whispered hoarsely, your hips raising a bit as she took your shorts off your legs. you could swear that you saw her irises shine purple for a split second as her gaze fell upon the dampness of your panties, your legs trying to squeeze shut in a bashful manner before her hands pried them open. “no, no. let me see.”

the tremor in your legs was evident, your body clearly eager to be taken by her. her thumb pressed against your clit through your panties, rubbing in slow deliberate circles, making you whine as the friction from the cloth pressed against your sensitive nub. “please… need to feel you.” she almost took pity on your words. almost.

“y’know i gotta prepare you first.” she feigned concern, guiding your panties off you, your folds slick enough for her to shove her fingers right into your tightness, watching in satisfaction as your back arched at the sudden intrusion, walls tightening around her two fingers, your throat eliciting traitorous noise of pleasure.

“you can’t… just do that!”

“oh? but i can.”

her fingers steadily pumped in and out of you, her other hand taking care of your clit, rubbing it in tight circles while your hips trembled and shamelessly bucked against her hand, chasing the heat that was blooming in your abdomen, your breathing growing shallower. though what made you even closer to tipping over the edge was the way sevika stared at her fingers pounding your pussy, as if enamoured by it.

you didn’t have it in you to tell her to stop staring. how could you even? your mind was clouded with the pleasure building in your body, the way her mechanical thumb rubbed your clit making your eyes roll back. her fingers curled inside you just right and the pleasure washed over you like waves, a broken moan leaving you as you came all over her fingers, her thumb not ceasing, carrying you through your orgasm.

you fell onto the mattress, strands of hair clinging to your forehead as you tried to catch your breath, your body twitching from the aftershocks, gasping when sevika pulled her fingers out and left you feeling empty. “sevi…” you trailed off, brows furrowing as she licked her fingers off, humming at the taste as if she’d just finished her dinner. well, an appetiser in this case.

“don’t worry. gonna fill you up again real soon.” she huffed, pulling back slightly so she could open the drawer and reach for her strap. your eyes widened in excitement, heart skipping a beat at the sheer thrill of watching her pour a small dose of the shiver in the strap on, the silicone cock glowing slightly as the shimmer filled it up. it was exhilarating, it was filthy.

you watched her strip fully, adjusting the harness around her hips, her thick bush peeking out. fuck, you were going to go mad. sevika settled herself in between your parted legs, hands holding your hips, the cool metal of her left hand caressing your skin in a soothing manner. the shimmer was high in her system, yet her mind was clear enough to see you wanted this as much as her.

“you ready, my love?” she asked, her voice softening as her fingers tapped against your hips.

“yes.” you nodded, hands falling by your sides.

the burning stretch of her cock entering you soon dissolved into something blissful as she began gently thrusting in and out, ensuring that she was slow and steady so you could adjust. “sevika…” you gasped, eyes fluttering as her thrusts became a little deeper. it was intentional, your eyes widening in shock when she was deep enough for the silicone balls to be pressed, the strap suddenly ejaculating shimmer deep within you.

it just felt like any other lube except it wasn’t, your pupils were quick to dilate and heart rate pick up, skin feeling hot, ablazed. the humidity in the bedroom felt as if you could touch it. sevika’s thrusts paused to watch your reaction, to see if you were holding up okay, her hands haste to cup your cheeks. “how’re you feeling?” she asked.

“woozy… not so bad.” you spoke truthfully. in all honesty, you were beginning to realise that this really was just aphrodisiac, and as a sense of satisfaction flooded over you when your body became all the more aware of her cock still nestled within you, your walls instantly clenching around it, almost greedily. “please, can you move again…?” you plead, hearing the way blood rushed to your ears.

sevika’s eyes darkened for a split second before she grunted and began thrusting again, her movements noticeably more impassioned, her mechanical hand pushed your hands together above your head, grasping them by the wrists, her other resting by your head to keep her balance. “fuck- look at you. the prettiest thing i’ve ever seen.”

your face tilted a bit to nuzzle into the pillow, a giggle — soon dissolved into a moan — leaving your lips at the sound of the bed creaking with each thrust of hers, your heat sucking her cock in. “i love you, ‘vika…” you spoke, followed by a small muffled gasp when you felt the head of her cock rubbing against that sweet spot inside of you, making your hips buck forward.

her hand gave your wrists one final squeeze before letting go and instead slipping amidst your joined bodies to give attention to your clit, puffy and twitching to be touched, the cool metal soothing as she began rubbing your sensitive nub over and over. your hands busied themselves by grasping onto her broad shoulders, fingernails digging into her skin while the shimmer heightened your senses, making everything seem all the more gratifying.

“i love you too.” she whispered back, her words strained, her senses overwhelmed from watching you so blissed out, all because of her. her thrusts remained steady, pounding into your wetness, the subtle squelching sounds lingering in the air, her bangs falling on her face, continuing to rub your clit with her other hand. “close, baby?”

“mhm… don’t stop-!” you whimpered, well aware of the pleasure building up within you, somehow the pressure being harder than before. it increased and increased until your orgasm crashed into you, your body convulsing in pleasure, folds fluttering around her cock as you came hard, a broken cry leaving you at the intensity of it, fingers ending up scratching her back subconsciously. sevika hissed and gritted her teeth, though you didn’t hear her, at least not over how loud your heart was beating. her thrusts slowed down, hands gently sliding up to cup your face.

“you okay?” she panted, watching you try to catch your breath, a sheen of sweat visible on your forehead as you instinctively nuzzled into her warmth, nodding wordlessly, unable to form coherent words.

“the shimmer wasn’t so bad, huh?” she chuckled lightheartedly, slowly and carefully slipping her cock out, the silicone surface coated with your release. “so messy.” she playfully clicked her tongue, though her voice softened at the sound of your giggle, your hand weakly smacking her arm.

“shut up…!” you huffed back a laughter. oh, how ridiculous she could be sometimes. it was adorable.

“well, let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” she rose to fetch a wet towel from the bathroom, taking off the strap in the process, gently cleaning your inner thighs. “want a shower?”

“ugh… later.” you groaned tiredly, arms securing themselves around her, simply burying your face into her chest, not wanting to do anything else.

a content sigh left sevika’s lips, her arms wrapping around yours, holding you close to her. the next morning, the effects of the shimmer were fully gone. the supplier remained safe and alive.

[aurxllia]

004 ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⸻ ❝ Outside they’re push and shoving, you’re in the kitchen humming. ❞

phainon x gender neutral reader

Today has been hectic.

Work has always been hard but you ensured that the working environment you were in was somewhat nice and professional. That can somehow make your work life bearable.

But today? Nothing has been bearable.

You didn’t get the promotion you were hoping to get. You were sure you did everything. Every requirements that needed to be met in order to attain that promotion you’ve been wanting for months.

But why did it suddenly go to someone who didn’t even lift a finger to get that position? Did your boss purposely made sure to make him get the promotion because he deserves it “more”?

Oh, to hell with that.

Not to mention, your mother was demanding another thousand dollars to fund her “luxurious life” that she flaunts on Facebook, probably to make her Facebook mutuals envious of her.

She’s always been that way ever since you were young. You never grew up with a silver spoon. Yet somehow, your mother will always find ways to get her hands on luxury items.

You didn’t know that just two situations could make you feel drained and on the verge of breaking down.

First, the unrecognized effort you put into getting that promotion, and second, your mother’s ridiculous demands of you.

Seriously, when will this ever end—

“Love?”

You were on the couch of your apartment, on the verge of breaking down in tears when all of a sudden, your lover, oh your dearest and handsome lover, Phainon, emerged from the kitchen, wearing an apron and wearing a concerned expression on his face.

“Phai?” You mumbled and blinked your tears away. But Phainon can already tell that you weren’t okay.

“Wait a minute,” Phainon rushed to the kitchen first to turn off the stove. He doesn’t want his cooking to go burnt again. He’s come a long way but for some reason, sometimes, he tends to burn his cooking.

He took his apron off and went back to the living room.

“Love, what’s wrong?” He asked and sat beside you, his arms caging your smaller form. “And don’t tell me it’s nothing. I can see through you,” his hand ran up and down on your back as an attempt to comfort you.

It did, a little. But the feeling of failure and rejection still lingered in your mind.

“I didn’t get the promotion,” upon saying those words, Phainon lets out a frown. “What? But why? You’ve been working hard for that promotion for so long.” He couldn’t believe that someone as capable and as professional as you didn’t get that position. You were better than anyone else in terms of fulfilling that role.

Phainon’s expression softened when he felt your tears dampening his shirt. Your head was buried against his chest, your figure trembling slightly as you cried silently in your arms.

“Shh, love…” He softly spoke and rubbed your back. He hated seeing you like this. He hated it so much. It tugged at his heartstrings knowing that you were distressed. And he would do anything to take that pain away from you.

With a broken voice, you also explained the situation with your mom. Basically, you ranted everything to Phainon. You can tell he was a bit irritated at both your situation at work and your mother.

But he was there, his arms around you as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

Gradually, you were slowly feeling better by Phainon’s reassurances that rejection is redirection. And their loss anyway to lose someone who will slay that role and they ended up handing it to someone who’s not even capable of understanding the fundamentals of your work.

“Your day may be hectic, but at least, you have me,” Phainon stated and planted a soft kiss on your forehead and cheek. His words prompted a soft chuckle from you.

“You couldn’t be more right,” you smiled.

“Finally, my star is smiling,” he grinned and hugged you even tighter. “I always want you like this, smiling like the pretty that you are. But if you’re ever feeling sad and vulnerable once more, you can always run into my arms,” he nuzzled his nose on your cheek.

“Oh, Phainon,” you plant a soft peck on his lips. In return, he peppered your face with kisses to ease the lingering stress you were feeling.

“My one and only.” He whispered and wrapped his arms around you again, planting the final kiss on your temple as he gently rocked you both.

Yes, today was hectic. But tonight reminded you that you have Phainon.

You will always have Phainon.

© AURIE 2025 | do not copy and don't repost on other platforms without permission. all dividers provided in this post are not mine, ctto.

[dragonmasterhiccup]

"It's probably rare for a human to have a magical signature as well..." He added.

It wouldn't be the first time he was a mystery. Though this was all new to him, too. Did simply staying close to his sister's give him his own magic? Why did it only happen now, and not sooner?

Was there still a remnant of fae magic in him from the switch?

His mind was still trying to figure it out as Lyra leaned into him. Helping to steady her, he pushed those thoughts aside until later. "Good. I know that's quite the ordeal, getting your wings."

Toothless stood as well, following closely behind. He huffed in surprise. Hiccup's scent had changed again... just a little bit. It was strange.

The Chief nodded. "I've been working with her on that a bit, but she's been very diligent about documenting everything."

Hm. His brows furrowed, wondering what the implications could be. Feeling Lyra letting go of his hand, he glanced over at his sister, his breath becoming ragged for a split second in his surprise.

He...he could sense her emotions again, her magic being pulled in. And...he could finally sense her signature as well, though it was faint to him. "Hey," he whispered, eyes laced with concern, "I'm sure it's all fine. No one has any clue about there being fae among them."

As he inspected the axe, he nodded at Rose's words. "Nice work," he said, turning it over in his hands. "I see what you mean. It's not quite balanced...leave the blade as is, it's tough to make adjustments to that. Maybe add a band of metal to the handle, right about here," he pointed two inches up from the bottom. "That should do it."

Turning to the forest fae, he held up the axe. "What do you think?"

Hiccup's eyes widened, and he quickly set the axe down, rushing to his sister and grabbing the hammer from her grasp. "What are you doing?" He held her hands, inspecting her palms for burns, but there were none.

Looking up at her in disbelief, he explained, "That, that hammer...it wasn't fae iron. It was pure iron, Lyra. It...it didn't burn you?"

@dragonmasterhiccup

Púca mischief and magic switch (closed starter)

The house was coming along great. Ash balanced on the roof as he laid the boards. His brothers were around him helping with the building’s exterior. Ash had chosen a piece of land more towards the outside of the Viking village but an easy walk to the chief’s hut. And a much easy walk for the people to get to Lyra than Gothi’s hut. Ash’s chest warmed at the thought. Lyra would be the main village healer one day. A high honor.

“Hey! Stop day dreaming lover boy.” His eldest brother, Talon, nudged him. With an eye roll he got back to work. His other two brothers, Finn and Rhys, had returned through his circle carrying carpets and more wood for the roof. Soon they’d be able to work on the inside.

“Hey! Dad needs all of us back for a meeting! That means you too, Ashy! We’ll come back after.” That… was annoying. But fae councils were serious if all the court was needed. The two hopped off the roof with help from their magic.

Little did they know that a púca had snuck its way through the open circle. Taking the form of a wolf at first it snuck into the forest. Watching the faes work. The creature waited for the perfect time to cause trouble. As the brothers left through the circle they closed it. The púca changed shape again. A black cat with gold eyes stalked into the village. The feline making its way towards the next grouping of magic.

Lyra and Hiccup came into view. Looks like the two had been heading towards the new home. The púca could feel the power surrounding her. With a purr the cat rubbed up against her leg, causing her to stop.

“Aw, look at you! You’re so pretty.” Lyra picked the cat up and cradled it in her arms.

“Do you know who he belongs to, Hiccup? I don’t think I’ve seen this one around before.” She turned so her brother could pet the cat too. But as soon as Hiccup’s hand made contact with the sleek fur both he and Lyra were struck with pain like being struck by lightning. Lyra fell to her knees as the waves of electric shock went through her limbs. The cat jumping away and shifting into a more goblin like form. It cackled at the two in pain before running off.

As the agony faded away, Lyra found herself shaking. Her body felt heavy and tired and… sore? She blinked in confusion. The earth was oddly silent too. She… she couldn’t sense the magic around her anymore! Wait.. Hiccup! Hiccup was hurt too!

“Hiccup? Are you okay?” She’d worry about herself after. That… thing had zapped her brother.

[scribbledghost]

Hello! I absolutely love all of your writing about the vessels in their manor, especially the poly vessels stuff. I'd love something with poly vessels where everyone except reader has been collared by ii and they want to be collared by him as well but think he doesn't want to, but really he's just been taking things slowly so he doesn't rush or force the reader into anything. Maybe they came to ivy about their feelings first to confide in him. Would love a soft and maybe smutty ending with ii <3

Note: typically in my fics it's the reader doing the collaring, so this will be an interesting shift lol. Thank you for sending this in! Tags: GN!Reader, collaring, oral (m receiving), penetration from behind (cringed typing that but it's the only way I can think of to describe it without gendered terms lmao)

Collar

"Can I ask you something?"

IV instantly looks over at you. The two of you have been wandering around the manor gardens for a bit together, a frequent activity for you both, but something has been eating at your mind for some time now. You haven't yet developed the courage to speak directly about it to the vessel in question, but IV is particularly easy to confide in.

"This is about II, isn't it?" he asks smoothly.

You keep forgetting your thoughts aren't secret unless you will them to be around here.

"I... yeah, it is."

"He doesn't hate you, you know."

You sigh. It's not that you think he hates you - his behavior is more than enough to reassure you to the contrary - but there is something that you continue to be reminded of on an almost daily basis:

Everyone except for you bears some sort of collar from II.

Vessel has more of a necklace, something to still symbolize his connection with II but without the constrictive nature of standard collars. III and IV have more traditional ones; black leather with metal rings on the front (though II has threatened more than once to add a bell to III's to "keep an eye on the jackass").

Meanwhile, II himself bears a single necklace that sports three keys. None of the others' collars have locks and can be removed at will, so the necklace he wears is a purely symbolic gesture on II's part. Something about how it "wouldn't feel right to have them tied to him without something to tie him to them in return".

But he's never approached you about getting one yourself. You've been in a courtship with the rest of the vessels for months now, but it has yet to come up. You don't want to push too much for it, instead choosing to deliberately think about it every so often when II is around. But nothing has ever happened. At least, not yet.

"You need to talk to him, you know," IV finally says. "Out loud."

You have to admit he's right. Thinking up conversations, while more than feasible with the vessels, can't always cross the kind of barriers you need to cross.

You find II in his study later that evening, reading over Vessel's latest offering and beginning to write the drum portion of it. You hear him faintly tapping at his desk as he works out the rhythm he wants. On his desk sits his mask, discarded for now.

You can come in, you know, his voice finds you through your mind. Don't have to stand out in the cold.

Gently, you walk over to him. He turns to meet you, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles as he looks up at you.

What's on your mind, dove?

You don't particularly have it in you to say it out loud just yet, so you project to him instead.

Why haven't you given me a collar yet?

II looks at you, an unreadable expression on his face. He stands from his chair, hooking a finger under your chin to ensure you look him in the eye.

Do you want one?

Yes, you answer plainly.

"Say it then," he says aloud. "Use your words."

The tinge of dominance in his tone sends heat crawling up your face.

"I want a collar."

II smiles at you, using the finger under your chin to guide your lips to his.

"Then a collar you shall have," he says. "Give me a few days to find one. I want it to be perfect."

"You don't have to if you don't want to," you blurt out without thinking. This causes II to pause, furrowing his brows slightly.

"What makes you think I don't want to?" he asks softly.

You stumble over your words, finally managing to convey how you didn't think he wanted you to partake in that aspect of your relationship considering he hadn't brought up the subject himself yet.

Oh love, II projects to you as he pulls you in for a kiss. It's not that I didn't want to. Just wanted to take things slow. Didn't want you to feel like you had to do this.

He pulls away from you only to tilt his head forward and rest his forehead against yours.

I'll work on finding you one today. You'll know when I have one.

It's three days later when II summons you to his quarters. You're with III at the time, and he gives you a knowing look when you take your leave.

II is standing in the middle of the room when you find him, one hand behind his back and his face maskless as he extends his other hand for you to take. You place your hand in his, and he leads you to his desk, atop of which lay a selection of skeleton keys.

Pick one, he says as he stands behind you, one arm wrapping around you to rest his hand on your stomach.

"Pick one?" you ask aloud. II kisses your neck and projects to you again.

I picked yours, he says. You pick mine.

The keys on his necklace. Of course.

You look over the keys for a few moments, never once feeling rushed or as if II is in any particular hurry. He gently rubs his thumb back and forth on your stomach, resting his chin on your shoulder. Your gaze keeps returning to one key in particular: a medium-sized brass one, a simple design aside from a small sapphire inlaid in the stem of it. It reminds you of his eyes.

You pick it up, turning in II's hold to present it to him. He gives you a soft smile before bringing his hand out from behind his back to present you with your collar.

It is also a simple design. It could be mistaken for a regular choker necklace if one didn't realize what it was for; a thin leather band, with a silver o-ring in the center, and hanging from the ring is a silver pendant of two crossing scythes. It's simple and discreet, yet still a symbol of what the two of you mean to each other.

"It's perfect," you breathe, and II seems to sigh in relief.

Turn around, he says, and you obey almost on instinct. He places the collar around your neck, adjusting the buckle tighter and looser depending on your feedback until it feels snug, but not constrictive. Just to make sure it's not too tight, he slips two fingers beneath it before allowing you to turn back to face him.

He hands you the key you've chosen, and removes the necklace that bears the other three from around his neck. He extends it to you for you to take, and you gently thread your key onto it before he turns his back to you as well.

It takes little time for you to drape the necklace over him and re-fasten it around his neck, after which he turns around and brings his hands up to your jawline. II brings you in for a kiss, then another, then another. As he pulls away from you, he hangs one finger from the ring in your collar, not quite tugging you but rather settling as a weight.

You wanna give this a go now, or wait until later? he asks. You gaze at him, his pupils dilated and his features soft.

Now, you reply.

II gives you a grin, his sharp canines gleaming at you.

"Beautiful."

He guides you to the bed, sitting down at the edge of it as he tugs at your collar.

Kneel.

You obey on instinct, settling onto your knees in front of him. His legs spread, and you can see the imprint of him in his pants, already hard with a noticeable wet patch.

II tugs down his pants, just enough to release his cock to the open air. Leaning forward, he hooks a finger into your collar and begins to bring you forward.

Open that pretty mouth for me, he instructs, taking himself in one hand and guiding your mouth to him.

He keeps perfect control over your pace with a grip on the collar. Any time you attempt to move too fast, he gently pulls you backwards until you slow to his preference. The weight of him on your tongue, coupled with the scent and taste of him, sends a shock of arousal pulsing through your veins. The sensation is only heightened when you hear low groans and throaty growls coming from the man above you.

However, II doesn't wish to come down your throat. Not this time.

Alright, he says after a time, once again pulling you back and off of him by the collar. On your feet.

You stand slowly, limbs stiff from remaining in one place. Your hands find II's shoulders as you stand between his legs, and he leans forward to press a kiss to the center of your chest over your clothes. He says nothing as he disrobes you, helping you step out of your pants and underwear before lifting your other garments away from your torso.

On the bed, love, he says after a kiss to your collarbone. Hands and knees. Present yourself for me.

You do as he asks, feeling vulnerable and exposed, but not necessarily in a negative way. You can feel II's appreciative gaze from behind you, enhanced by the bridge to his mind. A soft hand grazes the skin of your ass before he trails it up your back and to your collar. He turns it until the ring is facing him, then grips it to ground you.

"Ready?" he asks aloud. You attempt to nod, but the collar keeps you in place, so you hum in the affirmative.

II enters you slowly, combining the use of his hips with the pull of your collar to help sheathe himself fully. His breath is shallow as he stills, allowing you precious time to adjust to the girth of him.

Fuck, you look so fucking good like this, he praises. That collar feel good still?

You once again give him an affirmative hum, unable to think of much else besides the feeling of fullness and the pressure of the leather band against your throat.

He starts slow, letting you feel every inch of his cock as it drags through you. You allow yourself to let the rest of the world fall away, leaving just the two of you in your thoughts. Nothing else matters right now, only II and his movements.

Over time, his pace increases, and the grip on your collar gets more firm. One of II's hands finds your hip, helping to bring you back onto him. After a bit longer of being at his mercy, he shifts, pushing at your collar instead of pulling, sending your head and upper torso down onto the mattress below. His other hand comes to rest next to your head, helping to take some of the pressure off of your neck to ensure your airflow is never cut off.

Touch yourself, he commands. Wanna feel you come around my cock like this.

Your hand moves of its own accord, your mind empty except for the bliss coursing through your veins. II's pace has increased to a fever pitch, helped along by his particular inhuman ability of speed. The knot in your core tightens to a nearly unbearable degree, and it only takes one slight tug of your collar to make the coil snap.

You come hard, vision blurring at the edges as you cry out. II slows somewhat, allowing you to stave off the pressure of overstimulation while still chasing his own high.

The cycle continues again, however, and you come twice more before II's pace even begins to falter from its steady rhythm. Suddenly, he drapes himself over you, pressing his weight down over your back as he keeps a grip on your collar. With one final press, he buries himself to the hilt, a deep groan reverberating from his lungs as he fills you.

Little noise can be heard now aside from your heavy breaths, coupled with the quiet sound of II's lips against your skin from behind.

So good, he projects to you. Did so fucking well, dove.

You bask in the glow as II slowly removes himself from you, padding over to the attached bathroom to fetch something to clean you with. He'd already prepared a glass of water on the bedside table, though how you missed it until now will remain a mystery to you.

II returns, sitting next to you on the bed. He runs a gentle hand over your skin before he begins to tend to you, his touch so soft it nearly puts you to sleep. No words are said, none are even projected. Just thoughts of care, tenderness, and appreciation.

The keys around his neck catch the light every so often, reminding you that he belongs to you just as much as you belong to him.