#Christ Beckons

[christisilluminati]

A Call to Healing: The Word of Christ

This poem explores the struggle between darkness and redemption found within us through Christ. It begins by depicting a "single spirit" that embodies despair and sin, weaving through lives and igniting violence and turmoil. Amidst this chaos, the voice of Christ emerges as a beacon of hope, offering healing and the promise of redemption.

In the quiet depths of a hollowed heart, Where echoes of despair and shadows start, A single spirit roams, a specter of fate, Weaving through lives, a concealed darkness waits.

Born from the chaos of the earth, It whispers in silence, a murmur of coal, A flicker of violence, a breath of sin, The complex tapestry woven within.

In alleys forgotten, where shadows conspire, This spirit ignites an unquenchable fire, The rage of the voiceless, the cries of the meek, Mankind reflects it, the strong and the weak.

Beneath the surface, in each twisted lie, It dances through dreams, where the innocent die, With every decision, a choice to be made, The line between mercy and violence displayed.

Ode to the murders, the sins unconfessed, To the wars that were waged, to the souls dispossessed, Each drop of blood spilled stands as a testament, To the spirit of sin that whispers in every man's ear.

Yet amidst this turmoil, a voice breaks the night, The audible Word, a beacon of light, With power to shatter the chains of despair, A whisper of healing, a promise laid bare.

It echoes in the tabernacle, roaring through the night, A balm for the broken, a truth that defies, The weight of our burdens, the darkness we bear, The Word of Christ beckons, "Come, cast off your cares."

In the grip of temptation, we falter and fall, This viper bites us all, Yet the voice of redemption cuts through the venom, A reminder that love can conquer sin.

With the sound of Christs calling, the stillness gives way, To hope like a river that washes away, The scars of our past, the guilt we disguise, In the love of the Savior, our spirits can rise.

Oh, the stories we tell, of heroes and foes, Each tale a reflection of the spirit that grows, But the greatest of stories is woven in grace, In the heart of the One who showed us Christs place.

For violence breeds violence, and sin begets sin, Yet the audible Word can draw us within, Transforming our hearts, renewing our sight, Illuminating the path from darkness to light.

In the grip of despair, when our voices grow weak, The whispers of Christ, we find what we seek, A touch of forgiveness, a glimmer of hope, In the shadows of sorrow, we learn how to cope.

The temptress, the false god who lies, With promises gilded, he leads us to the grave, But the voice of the Savior speaks louder and clear, Inviting the weary to draw ever near.

For within this great struggle, a lesson unfolds: That love can triumph where the spirit once scolds, And the power of Christ, like a sword in the fray, Can vanquish the darkness, turning night into day.

So let us awaken to the truth of our plight, Embrace the complexity, the shadow, the light, For even in struggle, there’s a chance to be free, A recognition of Christ spirit, and who we can be.

Let us rise from the ashes, let us break every chain, A spirit of God, a union of pain, For in our collective, we’re bound to reflect, The beauty of life, the essence of respect.

The shadowed spirit walks, seeking control, For each heart has the power, each mind has the goal, To rise above violence, to shun the Vipers deceit, To find in the struggle, our journey complete.

And so, with each promise that Christ speaks aloud, We gather our courage, our heads unbowed, His Word is the light that dispels every fear, A melody soothing, whispering, “I’m here.”

For in the end, we are not shadows, we are the light, A single spirit binding, through day and through night, In the heart of humanity, where love will prevail, We rise from the ashes, becoming veiled.

So let this journey continue, with hearts open wide, For the audible Word is our anchor, our guide, In the depths of our struggles, in moments of strife, We find in His voice the true essence of life.

And thus, may we carry this truth as we tread, The spirit of Christ, a beacon ahead, In the shadows of chaos, in the weight of our sin, We hear Him calling us home, let the healing begin.

Learn more at:

[david-tennant-in-chairs]

They like holding hands

Source: AziracrowDaily on TikTok

[talentforlying]

@savagecowboy: Meta Topic: I’m sure canon wise this fluctuates a lot, but I’m curious on “your take”. Does Constantine genuinely think he is a “savior” type, like he is meant to be a hero to help prevent the evils of the world? Is he more of a “it’s a dirty job but someone’s gotta do it? Or is it ultimate reluctance, “if I could retire tomorrow I would”? I feel like you see a bit of all 3, but is any 1 more definitive than the other at his core? — SEND META TOPICS.

there's absolutely a bit of all three involved, and his moods fluctuate sharply enough (i tend to classify him in periods of highs and lows) that he has genuinely believed all three at different points in his life, but i think he has a desperate desire to be a savior, to make up for all the ways he's fucked up previously in life and have a slim chance of doing something good enough to earn his way out of eternal damnation, and i think that desire exists because he believes he's the opposite of one: at his base level, beneath the bravado and arrogance and pride, he quite genuinely considers himself a poison to people. he thinks this mostly on an interpersonal level rather than to the world at large — he's toxic to friends and family, but he prevents apocalypses and worldwide disasters enough to think he actually can do some good for humanity as a whole — but it certainly spreads through the well when he's in a darker mindset.

at his core, i think he's a combination of the last two. he's very, very much someone who would retire tomorrow if he could, he's lived his life hand-in-hand with guilt and violence and grief and the depravities of the human soul almost from day one and he is 70 goddamn years old now, he is so fucking tired. there is nothing he wants more in life than to settle down and be forgotten by the world. that said, he is also one of the biggest obstacles in his own way here. as much as he would find immense relief in no longer being approached as a defender of the desperate and the lost, he has also never been able to look away from people in trouble when he knows he's capable of helping them; it's a dirty job, but if he's the only one willing to do it, then he'll do it. he'll probably regret it, and it'll probably drag him further into other people's drama and politics and mess, but he can't just close his eyes and pretend there's nothing happening.

and yeah, it's a noble and tragic impulse and all that, but there's also just the fact that he's a nosy old bitch à la miss marple, with a narcissistic belief that he is always the only one willing to do the hard tasks and people would be hopelessly lost without him involved. so he does it to himself when he's not being manipulated / dragged kicking and screaming into it first, really.

[http-shield]

inspo: prompt three from this post

“Fuck, you turn me on so much.” Bucky groans and throws his head back, breathing ragged.

Your hands stop their work, fingers bloody as you hold the gauze against the wound to his ribs. "What the actual fuck is wrong with you?" you screech, quickly refocusing your thoughts and press harder against the bleeding gash.

"You just, fuck. It's just you." Bucky whines, and you don't know if it is pain or some weird, sick pleasure he is feeling. "You were so hot screamin' at me."

"Jesus Christ, James." you huff, no longer thinking of berating him further for his ridiculous actions in battle. "You... I can't even tell you off now."

Bucky smirks and shifts, grimacing at the pain radiating through his side. "Come here." he holds up his arm and beckons you with two bloody fingers.

"No, I'm not playing into your weird shit, Barnes." You glare at your partner. "You're bleeding, I need to secure the wound."

"I'm gonna be fine. Just come 'ere, baby." the name has your scowl softening.

You hold one hand to his abdomen, keeping pressure as the blood slows, and lean towards him, weight braced on your free arm. "that's my girl." he praises, words breathy.

Bucky slides his hand to the nape of your neck, securing his fingers in your hair. Your faces now inches apart, he lets his eyes slip shut. "I'm gonna to be fine, sweetheart. You worry too much."

"You don't worry enough."

"That's why I've got you. You stress enough for the both of us."

Bucky leans forward and presses his mouth to yours, the kiss slow and sloppy as tries not to move unnecessarily while his body stitches itself back up. His lips move languidly against yours, tongue brushing against your bottom lip in a way that is too casual for the impending doom you have just escaped from. You pull away, the taste of blood on your tongue, and frown at Bucky, his grin lazy and stupid.

"I'm serious. You turn me on so much."

[bi-writes]

I feel like now that MOB and Simon are comfy together and truly utterly unbelievably in love, they'd maybe wanna have a wedding. Not in the traditional, big church tons-of-guests way, but like in the dress up, say vows, and show off your love to your loved ones (no matter how few) way. Not cause they need it or cause they feel pressured, but just cause it's be sweet. A beautiful memory for them (and an excuse for MOB to see Simon in a suit and for Simon to see her in a wedding dress yknow?)

mail-order bride

you're nervous.

more nervous than you felt on the way to this house for the first time. sitting in the back of that taxi, one suitcase in the trunk and the cat in the seat beside you, even then, even knowing you were heading to meet a stranger, you did not feel this type of nervousness.

it's deep in your belly. a taut force that tangles your insides, and you try to hide the shake in your hands as you close the small book that holds your vows and pick up the small bouquet on the dresser.

they're daisies, from the garden. simon picked them for you this morning, had woken you up by tucking one of the stems behind your ear. you made sure to add a few to your hair before dressing.

the silk sits perfectly. that shop on the main street had kept your measurements, and when you asked if they could make you something a little more special, you could not have envisioned anything more beautiful.

structured bodice to hold you in, draped in silk that fell over every curve and every line like falling water, in an elegant white that made the sentiment of what today would be all too real.

he's leaning against the doorway to the backyard when you open the bedroom door. you're barefoot, quiet, so it takes him a minute before he notices you.

both of you pause at a reasonable distance when you finally get a good look at each other.

simon looks so handsome. he's all made-up in his dress uniform, a faded green jacket buttoned over slacks with a khaki shirt underneath, but it is tailored to perfect, and the belt around his waist makes him look all the more formal. what really has you swooning is the lovely medals on his chest--lined up in beautiful rows, glinting in the sunlight as he tips the beret he's wearing to eye you carefully.

"christ," simon murmurs, taking both his hands out of his pockets. he clears his throat, shifting in his boots, and he finally holds a hand out for you, beckoning you forward. "wot a bloody sight y'are, luv."

you pad forward, smiling, and when your hand fits in his, you both squeeze, staring at one another with grins that won't fade. he leans forward to pressing his face to yours before making his way outside with you.

there's a seat under the tree, with a small table beside it. there's flowers everywhere, petals across the grass, and you follow simon under the shade as he takes a seat, guiding you into his lap so you both can sit there for a moment.

it's quiet. there's a light breeze making the leaves fall, but the sun is peeking through the clouds, and you can see the cats in the window, staring at you both as they chew between nips of cat grass. you set down your bouquet on the table beside you, settling in simon's lap as you hold the notebook to your chest.

"can...can i go first?" you ask, and simon reaches up to brush a few strands of your hair out of your face. he nods, adjusting you in his lap, and you try not to focus too hard on how much your hands shake as you flip open the little book you're holding.

the first few pages are your first few drafts, scribbled out with messy pen strokes. you settle where your real words begin, somewhere in the middle, jumbled between messy handwriting since you spent so long perfecting it all.

"simon," you start gently, and you relax a little when you feel his hand settle on your lower back, soothing you gently as he listens. "i had no idea what i was getting myself into all that time ago. my entire life, it's felt like...i've felt like i've just been running. running from the things i've always been afraid of. from people that i didn't trust. from the things that have happened and the things i thought might happen. in fact...i felt like if i didn't keep running, something terrible would catch up to me."

one of your hand falls, and simon covers it with his own. the shaking settles, and you continue.

"and then i came here," you whisper. "i-i..." you swallow. "i-i came here, and i ran right into you." you notice a few wet spots on the pages, and you steady your breaths, trying not to focus too much on the wetness you feel along your cheeks. "a-and you caught me."

you look over at him, and he's smiling, dark eyes trained on your clasped hands in your lap. he squeezes, bringing your hand up to his mouth, and you have the courage to keep going when you feel him kiss your knuckles.

"i don't know how we found each other. i-i don't know who knew that this house was mine. i don't know who understood that there was an empty place inside that belonged to me, but i'm here now. a-and i'm not...i'm not going anywhere."

you bend, leaning forward, and you press your forehead to his temple.

"no one has ever loved me the way you do, simon riley. and i-i promise i will try until forever t-to do the same for you."

it hurts. there's a place in simon's chest that physically aches, like a tender wound, squeezing against his ribs as he hugs you close to his body. the time with you is precious. he fears the moment he knows that there is not much left, but that time isn't now, and he cherishes that fact.

he has always carried a sense for those kind of things. he can tell when there is little left, like knowing there is nothing more to drink in canister without shaking it. it's a feeling, one he knows well, but he doesn't feel that with you, not yet, and he will consume every breath he can that he shares with you until then (because when he feels the time waning, he will give you every breath of his that remains if it means you get just one more second of this life).

simon reaches into his jacket, pulling out a small paper. he unfolds it gently, still holding you close, and you cling to the lapels of his jacket as he talks to you in that low, soothing voice of his.

"'m not sure where t'start," simon chuckles. "was hard for me to think of wot t'say t'ya." he takes a small breath before kissing your forehead. "'s hard ta think about wot it was like before i had ya 'ere. only eatin' because i had to. only leavin' the house because the job demanded it of me. like the whole world was a terrible fuckin' grey. so fuckin' quiet, i could hear this nasty ringin' in my ears."

simon crumples the paper a little, and you wrap a hand around the back of his neck to anchor him.

"honest...i thought the job would 'ave me. tha' i'd go out in some reckless sort of way, or maybe i'd just...let it take me with it one day. and when i knew y'were comin', i still thought tha' was how it would be. tha' i'd settle in it alone, on my own, like i always 'ave."

you close your eyes, and you can hear nothing besides his voice.

"thought i'd run outta luck. thought crawlin' out of my fuckin' grave was the last thing that they'd ever give me," he mutters, and you suck in a shaky breath when you hear the paper crumple sharply. "i don't know wot i ever did to deserve someone like you, luv. 'm not good. never 'ave been. the things i've done, wot i've seen, i wasn't meant for good things."

you pull back a little and open your eyes, and simon's own are full of pain. he grips your waist a little firmly, digging his fingers into you there.

"'n ya aren't just good. y'r perfect. like y'were made in my dreams. and still y'r 'ere, and ya haven't left, and..." he swallows. "nothing else matters, swee'eart." his eyes meet yours. big, brown ones, sadness so permeable, striking, an unnerving kind. "family is oll that matters." when your foreheads touch again, you can't stop yourself. his voice is low, gravelly, weighed down by some kind of pain that you'll never understand. simon has pieces of himself that are missing. people from a past life that he tries to keep finding, things that he knows should be here, but will forever disappoint him by no longer being real.

when he puts his hand over your heart, you can't see him anymore, not really. your tears blur your vision.

"y'r all that matters."

when you cut the cake in the kitchen, you feed each other small bites of decadent chocolate, and when you finish, you gift each other the vows you've written, to tuck away somewhere special, to read when the world gets too loud or when the colors of life get washed out by meaningless distractions.

the dance in the kitchen has lasted for minutes or hours, you can't remember. the music is soft, and you're swaying, but time is meaningless when you're looking into simon's eyes.

it is a part of him that will never change. you memorize how they look, because you want to recognize them in every place that you see them. you want to remember them everywhere, now, soon, until time rots the plants above the sink and kills the vegetables in your garden and makes threadbare the kitchen towels on the counter--you want to remember them.

so you can find him in this life, and every other one that comes after.

[semperreformanda]

pray. it doesn't have to be eloquent. you don't need a whole hour. sometimes all it takes is "help me please" under your breath as you try to navigate through your difficult day. sometimes words don't come when the pain is too heavy, but the Spirit understands. sometimes it looks like crying and all the words you can muster up to say is "You know... You know." and that is okay. He still says, "Come to Me."

come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy-laden, I will give you rest.

come to the throne of grace, where you can receive mercy and find grace in your time of need.

cast all your cares upon Him, because He cares for you.

do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. and the peace of God which transcends all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.

over and over in Scripture, God beckons us: come! come to the throne! don't carry this on your own, come to Me! I will give you grace. I will give you wisdom. I will strengthen you.

what mercies we have in Christ! that we can come to the King of Kings any time of the day with our request, and He listens! truly He gives us all that we need and more. we are never in lack, but there is grace upon grace upon grace.

beloved, it's time to pray.

[moonstruckme]

hi mae you mentioned new girl au asks and so i have arrived!

i've lived alone most of my adult life and while i'm content pretty much all of the time, there is a specific situation where i've wished i had roommates.

it's those days where i've fucked up at work or a friend is mad at me and I miss the bus and have to wait in the rain without an umbrella, and I get home to a completely empty and cold apartment and just start sobbing as soon as i get through the door. during those days i feel like the most pathetic girl in the world and really just wish i could text my roommates to make extra food or turn on a heated blanket or just like, offer a hug lol.

i would love to see how the marauders would react to their new roommate on a shitty day like that, if you feel like writing it <3

Thank you lovely <3

roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

It’s all you can do to make it inside. Your throat has been tight the entire last two blocks to your building; your eyes start to burn in the elevator, small puddles of rainwater forming beneath your shoes. By the time you’re fitting your key into the lock, you know you won’t make it to your room. You only hope that no one is home to witness your upset. 

Of course, with three flatmates who all have incredibly varying schedules, that is never the case. 

“Hey!” says James, not immediately visible but evidently having heard the door. “Do you wanna come say something to Mr. Palmer? We’re trying to make him believe in ghosts.” 

You look into his room as you pass by. James is lying stomach-down on his bed above a heating vent situated low in the wall. His smile is all mischievous anticipation. When he looks up at your approach, it falters. 

“You alright?” 

“Who’s Mr. Palmer?” you ask. 

“He’s…” James blinks, sitting up. “He lives below us. Hey, are you okay?” 

You shrug pathetically, pressing your lips together as your eyes burn even more furiously. You take a step back, retreating automatically to your room, but James frowns and opens his arms, beckoning you towards him. It’s too tempting an offer to pass up. 

“What happened?” he asks, rubbing your back. He hugs you like you’ve known each other for years, unreserved in his touching. “You’re soaked, babe.” 

You give a little laugh. “I know.” 

“Did you walk in the rain the whole way to your interview?” 

“I got kinda wet on the way there, then bombed it, then missed the bus coming home.” 

James makes a sympathetic noise. “Why didn’t you just get the tube? Or call one of us to come get you?” 

Your heart warms at the thought that one of your flatmates would have left the flat and taken their own public transportation just to bring you home. “My phone died.” 

“Oh.” James rubs your back again. “I’m sorry, babe. That’s tough luck.” 

You sniffle. You feel bad for crying into the shoulder of this boy who you really only met recently, but the hug actually is helping. You feel half as anxious as you had when you came in, though nothing really has changed. James must just give really good hugs. 

You look over your shoulder when you hear footsteps approaching. Like James, the impishness in Sirius’ expression dies when he sees you. “Good god.” He lowers the plastic recorder he’s carrying. “What happened to you? You’re soaked.” 

What is it with these boys and stating the obvious?

“I know,” you say, using the butt of your palm to wipe your face, “thanks.” 

“James, what’ve you done to her?”

“It wasn’t me!” James holds up his hands. “It was the weather. And the TfL.” 

“Well get the poor thing a towel!” Sirius tosses the recorder onto the bed, stalking from the room. “Christ, I have to do everything around here.” 

You eye the recorder. “Why did he bring…?” 

“We were trying to make Mr. Palmer think he’s hearing ghosts,” James explains. “Thought woodwinds might add to the effect. Do you want tea?” 

Tea, you’ve learned, is how your flatmates sometimes refer to dinner. Most of the time this sounds far preferable to you than the actual beverage. 

“I could eat,” you say. 

“Can’t believe you didn’t leave a trail of water from the door,” says Sirius, returning with a towel. “Here.” 

You take it, not keen on admitting how you wrung the moisture from the ends of your hair before entering the building. Too humiliating. 

You allow James to shepherd you into the kitchen, where Remus is busy with something on the stove. His brow creases with concern at the state of you. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“She missed the bus,” James explains succinctly. 

Remus frowns. “Oh, that’s shit. How did your interview go?” 

Your throat contracts all over again. You try to keep your mouth from wobbling. “Not very good,” you say quietly. 

“I’m sure it was better than you thought,” says James. 

Remus hums his agreement. “I’m making pasta. Would you like any?” 

“But I…” You clear your throat, trying not to seem too pathetic. “I didn’t pay for any of the groceries.” 

He tsks. “Don’t worry about that. Would you like some?” 

James nudges you towards a chair beside the one Sirius has already taken. “Um,” you hesitate, “sure, please. Thank you.” 

Sirius smirks. “And people say the English are overly polite.” 

You don’t speak much. You aren’t in a mood for talking, and Sirius and James do well enough to fill the silence anyways. They don’t seem to mind letting you mope, though after a while their chatter does lighten your mood some. They’re just so at home with each other, it’s difficult to be around them and not feel like you’re home too. 

“Thanks,” you murmur when Remus brings you a plate. 

He sets a hand on top of your head, a brief solace. “Don’t mention it.” 

The more familiar you become with English accents, the more distinct Remus’ sounds to you. You can hear it in his vowels sometimes, the way he says news or orange, the soft lilt when you try to help him in the kitchen and he tells you to sit down, love. You wonder if he’s from a different area than James and Sirius. You’ll have to ask him sometime. 

“Can I ask for something ridiculous?” you say. 

Sirius raises an eyebrow at you. “You’re always being some degree of ridiculous,” he drawls, in the sort of tone you’ve only recently learned to recognize as teasing, “so why stop now.” 

“Is it, like, treasonous to ask to have actual tea with your tea?” 

James looks delighted. “You want tea?” 

You squirm, oddly sheepish. “It sounds sort of comforting, I guess.” 

He hops up, kissing the top of your head enthusiastically as he goes for the kettle. “We’ll make a Brit out of you yet.” 

[spurbleu]

unraveling careful threads

nurse!reader x johnny mactavish (sfw oneshot)

s. johnny finds you where he needs you. wc. 2k for @kentwos, <3

you don’t know what it is about your door, but it seems to beckon chaos.

it has no business being there. on the days you return with sore heels and needle indents on your pointer and thumb, it should not follow you. the military is its ball and chain- two trenches deep behind security fences. it should remain there- you’ve told the damn thing to sit and lie and yet it stalks you to a place of respite.

stray cats pitch on fat paws by your front steps. doorbell ditches- neighborhood boys who strangle their youth. rain.

tonight, its dressed in a bleeding temple and wine cheeks. bruises beneath the porch light and leans against the wood of your door frame. lubberly smile.

“come here often?”

although your concern is sluggish, it waxes the underside of your ribs when he lumbers past you into your living room. you lock the door before following him.

“johnny? what on earth h-“

“jus’ a scuffle. some bam off his rocker- one tae maneh bevvy’s,” he limps across your carpet with a right lean- sobering up slowly as he rummages through your cabinets, “where d’ye keep yer aid?”

whatever brought him to your door had beaten off the drunken stupor. you can’t classify what replaces it, but the shadow of it follows him. wimpish, reeking of pub grease, caramelized liquor, a drying anger.

the lights of your flat soften it.

in fact, it softens him.

unfamiliarity sheets the corners of your vision. him, unmitigated substance- raw sinews that thread thick strands beneath tanned skin are left exposed to the mundane. violence in a butter dish. grisly silt on a vacuumed carpet. a sergeant in cotton.

you’ve seen him only in the context of harsh lines. charcoal draws his boots on concrete, nothing picks the gravel from his teeth, and horizon grays let him taunt grim reapers and their assault rifles. where the world is his adversary and he takes it by the throat. even in the confines of your office, the walls feel as though they’d been sanded on whetstone when he receives a third set of stitches.

delicate looked unnatural on him. johnny was rock. impenetrable, inevitable. a dulled stone, rounded and heavy, bludgeons docile until it’s drying in saline and the vim that grows haphazardly on his knuckles. he did not belong where things were soft, and certainly didn’t fit in your kitchen.

he sends you a look over his shoulder. “ah ken ‘m good lookin, but i could realleh use a bandage.”

you swallow. “what?”

realization funnels through your exhaustion. you’re on leave. so is he. neither of them, given the circumstances and distance, should converge. regardless, he stands beaten to a variant of death, offering you a wilting smile and a flirt.

your eyes narrow. “johnny, why are you here.”

“cannae wounded soldier nae get help from his favorite nurse?”

a cautious step forward. “on base. but this is my house. how-“

“christ bonnie, jus quit it with the interview ‘n give me yer aid,” he rubs his temple and leans against the fridge, “that fuckin bastard.”

the disquiet comes back in a wave.

you’re vaguely acquainted with the state. the lull of anticipation as you sit in the after brood of consequence, sore operative on a stretcher. a mothering silence, rocks you both into placidity. its where you become removed from the outcome of the stitches, the draw of their brow, the blood that gets on your shirt. fades to somewhere beyond the both of you, mental death among other reliefs. lets you work.

but its never there when you look at johnny. never has been.

you’re left so agonizingly present around him. you blamed his sound for years- the resonate baritone in foreign gaelic that forges its way into spaces that cannot fit it (medic rooms, your ears…wayward sentimental thoughts) and how after he’s stopped speaking, it lingers on the back of your neck for hours.

but the longer you’ve known him, you realize it isn’t how loud he is, or the territory of his torso- not even his eyes. it’s the untitled charm that soothes a callous under your skin. you don’t know how to name it, so you let it guide your body to the corner base cabinet, searching for your aid.

because he needs it. and you have never been above giving johnny want he needs.

“go sit down.” there’s a disjointed noise from behind you as you pull the box to the counter.

“’m perfectly capable of-“

“johnny- go sit.”

you feel him staring at your back, but when the kitchen goes quiet, you know he’s done as told. you put the kettle on the back stove and set the heat to low, before walking around the banister back to the living room, where he waits with a pouting lip and a wide sit.

what a charmer.

you set the aid on the coffee table and assess the damage. shallow gash on the right side of his temple, bruising cheekbone that swells his left eye, split lip and a smudge of blood under his nostrils.

you pause where you stand, realizing in order to be productive you’ll have to be up close. you don’t have another chair that won’t risk an unsteady hand. johnny follows your thinking rather quickly for being roughed up and half sober. “my lap donae look comfeh enough for ye, bonnie?”

this little-

out of spite, you plop ungracefully on his right thigh. you hoped- expected- a fragment of surprise. instead, he gives you a loose grin, before gently resting his hands on your hips. the breeze of his fingertips makes you flinch.

“wha-“

“jus’ tryna keep ye steady,” he close one eye, the other full of mirth, “ready for my check up, doc.”

you scoff before pulling out your cotton swabs.

the routine begins. cleaning infections, pinching the skin to prepare it for stitches, breathing slowing. all while trying to ignore the sensation of your hands ghosting over his face, and how when you pull them back, they’re burning, sweating between each gap. all this fuss over how his thumbs mindlessly fiddle with the hem of your sleep shirt.

your fingers are the spiders that web him back together. the lifelines of your palm could never reach him, but you find that he’s already been there. burrows in the vulnerable fissures of your body, your mind, until you’re unravelling while he’s sewn together.  

and yet, you’re anchored. calmed. his discord serves as relief from a world that is inherently boring. you’d feel compelled to thank him if you think he’d understand.

“yer makin tha’ face again.”

you pause the needle before it hits his skin. “what face?”

“yer lip puffs out and yer brows do tis’ ting where d’ey meet n ta’ middle of yer-“ he smiles to himself and loses your eyes, “ye make it when ye need tae focus.”

you squint. “does it bother you?”

he laughs. a deep sound, resonates with the child in you that remembers waves against mercury bluffs, or watching thunder from your bedroom window. awe. having heard them before, and yet they sound foreign every time.

“nae,” he shakes his head softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a classic grin. if you had been standing, your knees would weaken at the gnaw of their blue when he looks at you again, “nae quite ta’ opposite. might be the most beautiful thing i’ve eva’ seen.”

the ceiling fan whirrs above you in a rhythm that matches your heartbeat, the carpet feels decade rough on your socks, and the clock in the corner is quieter than it’s ever been. and it’s all because a man who takes up leagues of space just by smiling called you beautiful.

you’d never say that aloud though. you’d be feeding the thing that makes him that way.  

“you’re hopeless.” is all that you muster.

he smiles, but its without gravity. it’s almost sad. “aye, maybe for ye.”

you lose yourself in the moments you find him like this. pliant, willing, gentle. (is that how cain killed abel? virgin hands wield a rock on innocence? softness weaponizing itself? you’re unsure, but when he meets your eyes for a third time, you’re convinced he’s waiting to kill you with the tender that holds you still on his thigh.)

“this is going to hurt.”

he recoils when you push the needle through the edge of his temple, but relaxes with a labored exhale. suddenly its quiet like it hadn’t been before. a breed of silence where you realize how close you are, how you swallow his breath, and feel the blimp of his pulse on your hip bone.

it doesn’t take long for you to finish closing the tear. when he feels you pull away, he tips his head up to look at you.

“looks like i came tae the righ’ d-“

“why are you out at this hour?”

your interruption is involuntary if anything else, but now that you look at him- half blue and half bloody- the concern you usually remove from patients rears an ugly head and hits the roof of your mouth.

he falters. “wha’d’ye mean?”

you drag your knuckles across his cheek bone and the flesh swelters. plums where other men became sideways and angry- and it’s the cotton in you that can’t help but swipe a thumb over it. he cringes, but you persist until the pad of your thumb cools where it burns. when you find his eyes, you lose something in your lungs.

“I…I know you’re on leave, and your life is your own but…” you pretend to idle your hands over his jaw- looking for any contusions, or perhaps a lifeline that could stabilize you as you rest on his lap, “getting into fights at pubs isn’t exactly the point of a vacation.”

he sighs before looking at your palm, “I…” his voice below a whisper, his stubble barely itching your fingers tells you he’s trying not to startle you,  “I get… antsy. gets me inta’ trouble,” he offers you a clumsy smile, “donae think I’m capable of sittin’ still for very long.”

you steal a look at his lips. they’re not bleeding anymore. you blink. “you’re doing it now.”

he gives you a look like you’re torturing him and your mouth dries. “I’ve got ye on my lap. ay’d be a very, very foolish man, to move now.”

johnny has a way of saying things so simply that you think it’s better if you say nothing at all.

instead you take antiseptic and wipe his stitches clean. the only remnants that remain of night- the swell of his eye, the healing cut on his temple- are now replaced with remnants of you. needle and thread, careful breath, your skin on his.

you didn’t know nursing could ever feel so intimate.

“i’m…you’re all..” you swallow the blue in his eyes like their air, “done.”

he nods, but doesn’t move. in fact, neither of you do.

the lamp light tames the sting of his iris. they can’t startle a paralysis under downy soft yellow. instead, hot blue steel melts you. diminishes the flesh and bone of your second skin. he has a tendency to stare at it until it’s been torn apart and pieced together (the countless times you’ve done it for him under a needle and thread do not compare to what he does with his eyes).

it’s an oddity you’ve grown much to fond of for something that is so inherently finite.

“ah…meant what ‘ah said,” this will not last, “about ye being beautiful.”

it will pass, god let it pass. “Johnny…”

the teapot whistles from the kitchen brings you back to your senses. you cough the penciled fear into your fist and try for a smile. both of you know its not honest.

“sit tight.”

the tea is still warm in your belly as you watch him shuck his coat on his shoulders from your position on the wall. you both remain comfortably mute, in this odd routine that doesn’t feel new at all. despite every experience tonight proving something different, as he stands at your door you’re prompted with an overwhelming rush of deja’vu.

“you sure you’re alright to drive home?” you stifle a yawn. “I know you’ve slept on more uncomfortable surfaces than my couch.”

he laughs, albeit its muddled by his own exhaustion. “very temptin’ bonnie. but i cannae stay- gotta get back to my own.” something other than his own bed is tugging him out the door, but you let a sleeping dog lay (or, an injured sergeant lie).

he opens your door and turns to face you before walking out. you can’t tell if the shiver is from the cold rush of air that hits your bare elbows, or the preserving look he throws your way. “thank ye, bonnie. yer a life saver.”

you smile. “i would say come again, but i feel like that’s redundant.”

he nods. his eyes flit to the space behind you and then back to your face. he pulls his hand from his pocket and tucks a stray behind your ear, and you swear it’s the first time you’ve seen the sergeant properly blush.

“sweet dreams, mm bonnie?”

“yeah. get home safe,” your smile broads, “not keen on staying awake too much longer to fish you out of trouble again.”

he nods, stepping out the threshold of your door. you feel like you’ve lost things tonight but gained something infinitely more important. “goodnight, Johnny.”

“g’night.”

you don’t realize that its yearning until his footfall recedes back into a world that is boundless and without your hands to keep him threaded together.

at least then, he’ll return to you.

[cyberstrm]

what you get

dr greg house x gn!reader

cws: blood, comical violence, your dickhead husband sneaking up on you

back on my house md bullshit

the lab was quiet as you worked methodically. searching for answers to save lives was exhausting work, but you had to keep going.

you felt your eyelids droop, but you had to stay awake.

although you were stood up, you were so comfortable...sleep was beckoning...your eyes closed slowly...

"BOO!"

two firm hands grab your waist, you shriek in surprise and your instincts kick in, and you throw a hard punch at your attacker.

"jesus christ!" greg's voice rang through the once quiet lab, along with the sound of his cane skittering across the tiled floor.

"greg?" you breathed exasperatedly, heart racing. "you asshole! why did you do that?" despite your anger, you knelt down and helped him to his feet, handing him back his cane.

"you throw quite a punch." he mumbled, wiping his bleeding nose.

"yeah, well..." you muttered, "that's what you get for sneaking up on me."

once stood up and stable, he leaned forward and kisses your cheek lazily. "yeah well, just wanted to come surprise my spouse so we can go home, have dinner, have sex, and go to bed."

"there are other ways to surprise me rather than nearly giving me a heart attack-"

"i know, but it would've been way less fun." he smirked, placing a hand at your waist and squeezing. "cmon, let's go home, doll."

[leclercstars]

perfectly matched.

college!art donaldson x reader

Summary: You and Art swore to never speak of that drunken night again. But you found yourselves together at your college bar, tipsy, and almost unable to resist each other. Warnings: SMUT! 18! alcohol usage, drunk sex, cursing, biting, protected sex

It was one night.

One night, three months ago. Swept up in too many celebratory glasses of champagne. His messy blonde curls looked like a halo with your blurred vision. The traces of liquor on his upper lip seemed to be beckoning you in, begging you to find out if it was vodka or tequila. You left at the same time, he had offered to walk you home. Always a gentleman, always seemed to care about you. You both were stumbling, the drinks hitting the two of you all at once. You ended up outside your house, and then inside your house, up your stairs, in your bedroom. You’d seen his strong hands gripping the racket before but god they looked even better gripping your ass. Clothes thrown all over the room, not able to undress each other fast enough. His chiseled collarbones the perfect culprit for you to leave bite marks along. You woke up the next morning, head pounding, still naked. You felt him next to you, his tight abs pressed against your bare back, curls tickling the side of your neck. Fuck, how could you let that happen. He left in a haste, each of you promising to not discuss the events of the night prior ever again.

And now here you were. A few too many double vodka lemonades deep inside your shitty college bar. The whole team had decided to go out to celebrate the end of a stellar season and unfortunately, Art looked just as good as ever. His backwards Stanford cap and his loose Budweiser t-shirt made him look like some sort of shitty frat guy, which certainly wasn't unappealing to you since that tended to be your type. You tried to play it cool when he walked over to you. “Having fun?” he smirked, sidling up on the barstool next to yours. He leaned back against the bar, looking so perfectly relaxed. How do people end up this sexy?

“Could be having more fun,” you said casually, sipping your drink. Wait. What the fuck. Why did you just say that. You knew you had drank quite a bit but jesus christ isn’t it supposed to be liquid courage not liquid “ruin this friendship?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Art, looking genuinely confused. God sometimes his innocence was almost a little annoying, made you want him even more half the time.

“Sorry, geez I should not have said that,” you were slurring, the alcohol and your emotions making it hard to think straight.

He leaned in closer to you. You could smell the tequila on his breath, knowing that was his liquor of choice from the last time this happened. “I think I can make this night a whole lot more fun,” Art growled. 

You had never heard his voice sound like that before. Low and lusting, you knew you were not going to be able to resist. You locked eyes with him, and you could just feel how needy you probably looked. The two of you got up and left without saying goodbye.

Art was gentle. He was caring, a shoulder to cry on. Someone you could turn to if you were having a bad day and needed a hug. That side of him was not so apparent behind your bedroom door. He pinned you against the wall, muscles rippling in your face as he sucked on your neck. Your moans were soft, hands pulling on his curls, earning equally soft groans from him. You were obsessed, this didn’t happen often and you knew you had to take in every moment. Every inch of him that you could feel, taste, touch, it was completely overtaking you. His boxers were sitting low on his hips, exposing his v-line. Your lacy bralette had been tossed aside, leaving your nipples free to be caressed by his rough hands. His mouth roamed from your neck down to your tits, taking one in his mouth as he gazed up at you. Fuck, your head rolled back against the wall. His eyes were shut, tongue flicking so expertly across your nipple. You never wanted this image of him, looking so intoxicated with your body, to leave your mind.

He stood back up, leaving no room between your now naked bodies. Suddenly his features softened, a nervousness painting itself across his face. He scratched the back of his head, a tell-tale sign that something was on his mind. “Do you want to like-” he was basically whispering, cheeks flushed. It was astonishing how all his confidence had suddenly evaporated. “Fuck?” you filled in the blank, leaning closer to his lips, teasing him with the thought. That hadn’t happened last time you were together. He was too drunk, and well,  he just couldn’t quite get it up. “Yeah, fuck yes please.” he groaned. You laid down on your bed as he walked to his wallet, pulling out that little gold wrapper. He climbed up on top of you, using his thumb to gently brush the hair away from your face. He looked ecstatic, the drunken-ness painting a stupid grin across his face and making you just feel insanely horny. He slid the condom on over his already throbbing cock, positioning it just outside your entrance.

He slid just the tip in first, making you wince. You needed to get used to how big he was, learn how to take him. His hips rocked gently as he gave you more each time, slowly starting to fill you up.

“God I needed this,” you moaned breathlessly. “Yeah baby?” he cooed, giving you more of him as he pressed his lips against your tits, leaving marks along your cleavage. “Making sure you don’t forget this in the morning,” he smirked, his confidence returning. “Then fuck me like I won’t forget it,” you clapped back, basically saying you wanted all of him.

“Oh yeah?” He thrusted inside you, making you cry out in ecstasy. No dick had ever felt this good before, and maybe it was because you were drunk, but you could just tell he was hitting it like he fucking meant it. Your hands clawed into his back, legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper inside. He was pounding into you now, the sound of your bodies echoing throughout the room. You watched as he slid in and out. “You like watching huh baby? Like seeing how good you are at taking me?” 

You grabbed his hair in response, pulling his head into your neck and making him groan and fuck you harder. His tip found your g-spot, and the feeling was unlike any other. Watching his muscles ripple with each thrust, so far inside you he was nearly in your stomach. You squirted all around his cock, leaving his abs glistening. He bit his lip and looked at you, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “God that is so hot.” he wasted no time getting back to the rhythm of things.

This sex was truly unlike anything else. Watching the man you saw as a teammate, so vulnerable above you. Completely naked, so far inside you. And you were taking him so well, the sexual chemistry between the two of you just completely undeniable. You made great hitting partners on the court, and that relationship suddenly didn’t feel so different from this one. The way you both knew exactly what the other wanted. The perfect balance of teasing and support. “Fuck, fuck.” Art’s moans were primal, and you could feel how close he was getting, watching his arms tense up. “I’m gonna cum too,” you said breathlessly.

“Look at me,” he grabbed your jaw, making you lock eyes.

It was like an explosion, overtaking every inch of skin on your body. You cried out, feeling his cock throb inside your pussy as you came simultaneously. You fit perfectly together, feeling each other up as you rode out your orgasms. His hand was wrapped around your arm, yours clawed into his back. He collapsed onto your chest, looking up at you in awe.

“You are unbelievable.”

dividers by : @.cafekitsune

[2tarbell]

TRAILERPARK!RAFE letting reader play dress up in his clothes ‘cause he knows his girl loves fashion and modeling. if he could he’d buy her all kinds of expensive things to wear, but seeing her in his shirts was just as mind reeling.

“whaddaya think ‘bout this one?” her voice gentle and airy, posing seductively and playfully under his intense gaze.

it was just such a sweet sight.

the way the fabric of his nicest button up swished at her thighs. the way the sleeves fell well past her hands. jesus christ. rafe sips his beer as he trails his gaze up her exposed legs, smirking at the goofy smile on her face.

he pretended to think over the question. the answer is easy: she is gorgeous, she always is. rafe just enjoyed winding her up.

“hmf, dunno... why don’t you gimme a spin?”

“rafeeee—“ she whined, feeling embarrassment (even though this was her idea) creep up her spine.

the thought of spinning for him, showing herself off for his cerulean eyes to appreciate all of her, made her heart pick up speed in double time.

“c’mon, do a spin f’dad, baby,” that low voice, commanding and comforting, always got to her. with an encouraging nod of his head and that sexy little smile on his pink lips, reader really had no choice.

with a playful pout, she spins around. the shirt lifts slightly and shows off the edge of her panties. the little show makes rafe adjust on the worn couch, man spreading further to accommodate the throbbing length of him, already half hard.

he’s ready to grab her and bend her over the couch. hell, he was ready two outfits ago. but her smile and cute poses rendered him soft. just not between his legs.

her sweet voice mumbles about having ‘jus’ one more, daddy’ and rafe needs a cigarette, now. his knee is bouncing incessantly but he nods and tries to will himself to be a little more patient.

but when she shyly steps out of their bedroom minutes later, sporting a pink lace lingerie set he’s never seen before, he freezes and drops his pack on the floor.

his mouth is suddenly very dry, “god—damn…”

reader is holding her arms behind her back, shuffling slightly as she gauges his reaction. she spent a little extra on the set to spoil him; he deserved it and more.

“d’ya like it, daddy?”

rafe whistles and leans back further, raking a hand through his grown out buzz cut. his eyes can’t seem to focus on one thing. from her batting lashes, cleavage pushed together from the bra, and the way the underwear straps are sitting on her hips, he more than likes it.

“shit, baby, s’uh— the— the prettiest little thing‘ve ever seen,” he mutters dumbly, eyebrows kissing his hairline from his wide eyes.

she giggles and pushes some hair away from her face. he huffs out a chuckle at her adorableness and beckons her closer with a crooked finger. she pads around the coffee table and stands in front of him. having her now in front of him makes rafe feel like he won the lottery. nah, any amount of cash was dull in comparison to her.

“you’re jus��… gorgeous,” a press of his lips to her hipbone. her hands immediately find purchase in his hair, now grown out enough to give her something to hold onto. the realization of the passage of time made her smile.

“yeah?”

“hell yeah.”

his hands pulls on her hips, urging her to come to closer. she climbs into his lap nimbly and straddles him. their bodies immediately settle together comfortably from nights spent in this position and many more. his firm bulge presses eagerly between her legs and he pulls her closer by the small of her back, leaving her to arch into him.

the friction and weight of her makes his brain feel fuzzy with want, want, want.

“seriously, i— i’ve never seen somethin’ as beautiful as you, sugar. takin’ my damn breath away, jesus…”

his gravelly praise and appreciation of the outfit makes her feel flush, a pleasant haze bathing her senses.

her smile is bashful as she leans in for a kiss. rafe hums as her lips meet his and her hands slide up his chest, the warmth of her palms felt through the fabric of his shirt. nipping at her bottom lip until she smiles, and he uses the moment to slide his tongue into meet hers. nothing has really ever felt more right in his life. at least until she mumbles her next words against his lips.

“daddy… wanna take a picture f’ya wallet?”

big thank u @fae-of-prey for helping with this!!!!!!💝💝

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

#5 or 50 for the touching prompts please ✨

this is irt this post!

steddie | M | 934 | shutting you up

He should’ve been fine.

He purposely waited until after all possible scheduled practices were done for the day, after the lights had been snapped off for the night, and there were only about ten minutes left before the doors were locked.

There should not have been another soul in the entire school.

And yet.

“Munson!”

Eddie yelps, jumping at least six feet off the floor at the sound of his name. He wheels around to see none other than Steve Harrington himself leaning out the nearby janitor’s closet.

“What the–”

“Get over here, quick!” Steve beckons, glancing up and down the hallway.

“Uh…”

“C’mon!”

“What is happening–”

“Just–” he huffs, darting out of the closet to grab Eddie’s arm and haul him back in with him.

“Dude! What in the hell are you doing??” Eddie complains as Steve shoves him amongst the frankly unusual amount of mops in the corner.

“Shh!” Steve says, pulling the door closed and peering back out the wire-crossed window.

“No! Tell me what you’re doing here so late!”

Steve looks back at him, baffled. “You’re one to talk!”

“I’ve got hobbies too, your majesty, I’ll have you know that—”

Steve’s head whips back around to the window and his hand comes up to clap down over Eddie’s mouth (not hard to do when the closet is only about two people deep and one and a half wide).

“Someone’s coming..” he whispers.

Eddie bats the hand away and asks “What are you waiting for??” at a normal volume.

“Shut up, Munson.” 

Steve’s hand once again comes up to Eddie’s face, the crook between his thumb and pointer finger resting under his nose and his palm and fingers pressed over the entire rest of the lower half of his face.

His hands are huge.

Holy shit he’s gonna have a damn heart attack.

Belatedly, Eddie realizes that Steve’s been hurriedly whispering at him, “--and they’re always already in my locker no matter when I get here, so whoever it is must be leaving them after hours right? So I just stayed here after practice and have been watching my locker to see if I can catch them in the act!”

Oh.

Oh Jesus Christ.

Thank fuck Steve pulled him in here. 

He would have died on the spot if he’d been caught putting the next note in his locker.

“Where are they?” Steve asks himself, looking up and down the hallway. “They’re gonna lock the doors in like eight minu— Dude, are you alright? Your pulse is going nuts.”

Steve’s looking back at him now, pushing his ring finger more purposefully into Eddie’s pulse point. Eddie feels his heart rate jump.

“Are you– shit,” he pulls his hand away, “Was it that? Sorry..”

Eddie just stares at him.

A muffled squeak pulls his attention back to the window, “Someone’s coming!” 

He’d hoped that Steve had been enjoying the notes he’d been leaving, lifting his spirits after that disastrous breakup with Wheeler.. but the pure excitement on Steve’s face at the prospect of seeing what cute girl was leaving these notes for him was something else entirely.

He’s gonna have to weasel out of this somehow.

“Steve–”

“Shh! Here they come!”

Sure enough, someone lopes into view through the window…

Darry, the school Janitor, whistles merrily on by with his keys spinning on his finger.

He passes, the squeaking of his boots going with him.

Steve turns around.

The high of Steve’s excitement curdles in Eddie’s stomach at the look on his face now.

“They didn’t come.”

Damn.

“Hey, don’t worry about it Stevie, I’m sure she just wasn’t able to come tonight.”

Steve sighs. “Yeah, they’ll probably just come tomor— what did you just say?”

Eddie rewinds the last bit of their conversation, not hard to do when you’ve only said the one thing, “Uh.. she wasn’t able to come tonight?”

Steve steps closer to him, Eddie steps back on instinct.

“Before that.” another tiny step forward.

Another tiny step back, “Uh, Don’t worry about it?”

“After that.” another step.

Another step– Eddie’s back hits the wall. “I–I don’t know?”

Steve is barely a hair’s width away from him. “What did you call me?”

“...Stevie? Why, am I not allowed t— oh shit.”

Oh holy shit.

You stupid motherfucker.

“Y’know who else has been calling me ‘Stevie’ recently, Eddie?”

Eddie’s mouth has gone as dry as a desert. He swallows around nothing, licking his lips to respond.

Steve’s eyes flick down momentarily.

…. Oh there’s no goddamn way.

“Me?”

Steve smirks, “Can I have my note?”

Eddie sighs, reaches into his pocket, and produces the folded scrap of paper.

He takes it, staring down at the ‘Stevie' scrawled across the front.

“Steve, listen, I–”

Instead of opening it, Steve tucks it into his pocket and reaches up instead, hooking a hand around the back of Eddie’s neck and pulling him into a kiss.

He presses fully into him, his other hand holding Eddie to him by the waistband of his jeans.

It takes a moment, but eventually Eddie gets with the program and spins them, pressing Steve into the wall behind them with a leg between his.

Breaking apart with the movement, Steve breathes out a “Holy shit.” then pulls him back in, rolling his hips for good measure.

“Holy shit.” Eddie repeats, this time into Steve’s mouth.

Breathlessly, Steve says “Are you gonna make out with me or not, Munson?”

“Oh don’t you worry sweetheart, I’m going to do that and more.” Eddie grins, rolling his hips forward in response, “But I’ve got a much better place to do it.”

Twenty minutes and one and a half blowjobs later (Eddie was never going to last long after getting Steve’s dick in his mouth the first time), Eddie watches bone jellied-ly as Steve fishes the note out of his pants pocket from where they’d been kicked off to the back corner of his van. “Oh god, you’re gonna read that now?” “Why not?” Steve shrugs, sitting back down on the haphazardly spread out comforter. “Shit’s embarrassing!” Steve levels him with a look. “More embarrassing than coming ten seconds after I got my mouth on you?” “...Yes.”

shoutout to @tinytalkingtina who responded to an old comment of mine on one of their fics and inspired the little bit of secret admirer-ness of this one!!

[writtenbymoonflower]

Hi! Can I please request a poly!Marauders x reader where the reader has a secret admirer? The reader is receiving anonymous gifts and letters, making the boys anxious and jealous. If not, it's okay! Thank you, author-san!

omg i love this! thank you so much, baby, hope this is okay! gn!reader x poly!marauders

cw: jealousy and possessiveness, borderline harassment and stalking, hickey

1.1k words

You groaned loudly when you opened the front door only to be greeted by yet another bouquet of flowers. You begrudgingly brought the arrangement into the house, setting it on the countertop. 

"Again? That’s like the third this week, and it’s only Wednesday." Sirius said, exasperated and (almost) as annoyed as you. 

"Fifth, actually." You hated that you were complaining, you knew you were technically very lucky to receive all these gifts, it was just distressing. And to be frank, getting very old.

"Christ, this person is thirsty." Sirius’ voice was strained, clearly more anxious than he was wanting to let on. 

"At least it seems they don’t have much of a chance, anyone worth their salt knows that you hate roses, angel." James said, between mouthfuls of his sandwich. 

"I know," You cringed. "Who should I give these to this time? Lily has enough flowers to open a shop" You rolled your eyes. "Speaking of," You reached into your work bag and pulled out two boxes. "There were chocolates at my work when I got there yesterday, and a pair of earrings on monday." You walked over to where Remus and Sirius were cuddled on the couch. 

“Geez, dove. Are we gonna have to step up our game?” Remus said, voice tinged with jealousy. 

"No, this person needs to step down. Or at least give me a return address or something. All the notes say is ‘from someone who appreciates you, xx.’ It’s actually kind of distressing." You handed the smaller box of earrings to Sirius, "Are these your style, honey?" 

"What? You don’t want them?" He sounded surprised. Of course you didn’t! Why would you need presents from a random person when you have three boys who give you all the love you could ever need? (and in the way you like it)

"No, I would feel weird wearing them." You cringed, handing the larger box to Remus. "You can have these, I don’t even like cherry chocolate." Remus took the box like it was filled with poison, a disgusted tilt to his lips, just as Sirius dramatically dropped the jewelry box onto the coffee table. 

"I don’t know whose grubby paws have been on this box." He sneered. You rolled your eyes at his dramatics, looking over to James who was still in the kitchen. He had set his sandwich down and was looking like a kicked puppy. It made your heart crack.

"Jamie, what’s wrong baby? Come here." You beckoned him over. He rushed to your side, placing his hand protectively on your shoulder and gripping you tight. You looked at your other two boyfriends, Remus’ jaw was clenched tight and Srius was still looking at the box and scowling. 

"I jus’ don’t like it." James said from your side, his voice was small like a child's. 

"Wait, hold on," You said, "Are you all actually worried about this?"

"Define ‘worried’ lovely," Remus said, his voice an awful mix of venomous and depressed. “I don’t think any of us like knowing there’s someone out there fighting for your affections.” His eyes had an angry glint to them. 

“Guys,” You said, your heart only breaking further. “You have nothing to be worried about, okay?” James’ grip tightened on you. “There is absolutely no competition here, I’m not even giving these the time of day. I don’t want anything to do with the gifts or the person sending them.” 

“But you would if we weren’t in the picture.” Sirius said quietly, all too insecure for your liking. You wormed your way out of James’ grasp, resulting in a whine being pulled from his throat, to crouch in front of Sirius. You grabbed his pretty face in your hands, looking into his sad eyes. 

“No, I wouldn’t. I’m not impressed by these gifts.” You took a deep breath, not wanting to confess the next part and worry your boyfriends worse. “They actually kind of scare me.” You admitted, making all their eyes snap to you. 

“Scared? Of what, darlin’?” James piped up. 

“I just,” You cringed. “I don’t like knowing that there is someone this obsessed with me and I don’t know who they are. And that they know where I live and where I work. I mean, who knows how much they know?” 

“Well now I feel like an arse.” Sirius grabbed you from the floor and hauled you onto the couch with him and Remus, wrapping himself tightly around you. “Here I was thinking this person was gonna get you away from us, not knowing they were worrying you.” 

“You’re not, I promise!” You reassured. “Honestly, if there was someone doing all this for you three I would be really jealous too.” You placed a hand on two of your boyfriends’ thighs, looking over at James, who was still sulking, now sitting on the coffee table in front of you. “But I can assure you, even if I found out who this person was, they, and no one else, would be able to take me from you three. You aren’t getting rid of me that easy. Besides, I don’t like stalkers.” You joked. 

Remus pulled you closer to him, gentle but still much more aggressive than usual. Your other two boyfriends had settled, but he was still heated. 

“Remmy,” You turned to face him. “I promise, you have nothing to worry about.” 

“I know,” He grunted, burying his face into your neck. You wanted to shrink at the ticklish feeling but you allowed him to stay there, knowing he needed it. Remus had a jealous streak, perhaps the most of all your boyfriends. James and Sirius were more subtle in their protectiveness, but Remus started marking you all like a wolf anytime someone let their gaze linger too long. You buried your fingers in his hair and scratched his scalp, trying to relax him. 

“As soon as I find out who this is I will get them to stop, I promise.” You said vehemently. You looked guiltily at all your boyfriends, “I’m sorry this is happening, it isn’t fair to you all.” 

“It’s not your fault, dolly.” Sirius placed his hand on your back. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, you aren’t asking for this.” You were about to hug him, but Remus held fast around your waist, you started to protest, but you felt Remus’ lips latch to a spot on your neck, nibbling and sucking hard enough to sting, but not hurt. The sound you let out was half giggle and half moan.

“Christ, Moons!” James barked, “You trying to brand them or something?” The three of you started giggling like children. Remus released your skin from his teeth, observing the red and purple splotch that was left in his wake. 

“Gotta make sure they know what’s mine.” He said, possessively. “Don’t worry," His eyes glinted furiously at your two other boyfriends, "you two are next.” 

[cameronsbabydoll]

SUGAR-COATED CHAINS — EPILOGUE PART TWO

WARNINGS — woah where do i start…. warning it’s 5k words, sexism sorta, postpartum depression, pregnancy, possessiveness, controlling, there are a lot of time skips so be ware and it’s not really proofread sorry!

You had settled into a routine by now—waking up early, making breakfast for the kids, handling the school drop-offs, and managing the house while Rafe was off handling business. It wasn’t a bad life. The house was beautiful, your children were healthy, and you never had to worry about money.

But it was lonely.

Rafe was busy—always busy. If he wasn’t in meetings, he was on the phone. If he wasn’t on the phone, he was entertaining business partners. And if he was home, he was distracted, his mind somewhere else, even when he kissed your forehead in passing.

And now, you were pregnant. Again.

It wasn’t a surprise. It wasn’t even unwelcome. But it made everything feel heavier, made the loneliness settle deeper in your chest.

Rafe had been thrilled when he found out. Not in a loud, over-the-top way, but in the way that mattered to him—ordering the best doctors, ensuring you had everything you needed, making arrangements before you could even process it. You barely had a chance to blink before a baby shower was being planned for you, without you even having a say in it.

"It needs to be done right," Rafe had told you, as if that was the end of the discussion. And for him, it was.

And maybe that’s what stung the most. That he cared about making everything perfect, but he didn’t see you.

Not like others did.

It started small.

A lingering glance at school pickup, a polite smile from one of the younger dads who had just moved into the neighborhood. A stranger at the grocery store, looking a little too long at you as you maneuvered the shopping cart, your bump straining against your dress. It wasn’t blatant. It wasn’t even inappropriate.

But it was there.

You were still in your twenties, still young despite everything. And maybe, for the first time in a while, you remembered that.

But if you noticed, Rafe definitely noticed.

You caught it in the way his arm slung around your waist more often, the way his hand stayed on your stomach in public, fingers splayed wide in a silent mine. The way his blue eyes darkened if someone so much as looked your way for too long.

"Maybe I should start having someone drive you," he had murmured one night, tracing circles over your hip as you lay in bed.

You blinked, shifting against the silk sheets. "What?"

"You shouldn’t be out running errands alone. Doing drop-offs alone. You’re pregnant, baby. You don’t need the stress."

"It’s not stressful," you argued lightly, but he just looked at you.

"Still."

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a decision.

And you felt the grip tighten.

—

The house was filled with people.

The wives had outdone themselves—floral arrangements in shades of blue, an elegant dessert table, expensive gifts wrapped in ribbon. You stood at the center of it all, smiling, nodding, letting them fawn over you.

"Three kids already? And you’re still so young!"

"I can’t imagine! You must be exhausted!"

"Rafe must just worship the ground you walk on!"

You wanted to laugh. But you didn’t. You just smiled.

Rafe was across the room, deep in conversation with his business partners, glass of bourbon in hand. He wasn’t really paying attention to you, but you could feel him watching.

Then, he beckoned you over.

You swallowed back a sigh and made your way through the crowd. As soon as you were within reach, Rafe’s hand found your waist, pulling you flush against him. His grip was firm, possessive, his fingers pressing into the lace of your dress.

"Gentlemen," he drawled, tilting his head toward his colleagues, "my wife."

The men looked you over, eyes lingering on your round belly, your wedding band, the way Rafe kept you tucked under his arm like a prized possession.

"Christ, Rafe," one of them chuckled, swirling his drink. "Already on your third? You’re gonna have your hands full."

"Oh, please. Look at her," another one scoffed. "She makes it look easy."

"Bet he doesn’t let you out of his sight, huh?" the first one continued, smirking. "A wife this young, this pretty… well I wouldn’t either."

Rafe laughed like it was a joke, but you felt his fingers tighten ever so slightly on your waist.

Your stomach twisted. It was always the same. The quiet condescension, the way they spoke about you like you weren’t standing right there. Like you were a thing.

"I’m going to check on the kids," you murmured to Rafe, carefully stepping away.

Before you could, Rafe’s hand slid down, giving your ass a quick, condescending pat. "Go on, mama. Make sure they’re not wrecking the place."

Heat crept up your neck, but you didn’t say anything. You just left.

And that was that.

—

After the baby shower, the house was finally quiet.

The kids were still up, playing in their room when you turned to Rafe.

"Can you put them to bed?"

Rafe blinked, like the request was something absurd. "Your serious?"

You nodded. "I just... I just need a minute."

He let out a sharp exhale but didn’t argue, tossing his drink onto the counter before heading upstairs.

"Alright, enough," Rafe announced, stepping inside. "Bedtime."

Your son looked up, frowning. "Where’s Mama?"

"She’s busy," Rafe said shortly, nudging him toward the bed. "What, you need her to tuck you in like a baby?"

Your daughter pouted. "But Mama does the bedtime stories."

"Yeah, well, she’s not here, so get over it," Rafe said, yanking back the blankets. "I’ll tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a little boy and girl who went to bed when their dad told them to. The end."

Your son giggled. "That’s not a real story!"

"It is tonight," Rafe muttered.

Your daughter tilted her head. "Daddy, is the baby gonna sleep in here too?"

"Hell no," Rafe scoffed, tucking the blankets over her. "Baby’s gonna be keeping your mama up all night, not you two."

"But I wanna sleep with Mama," she whined.

"Well, too bad," Rafe said, ruffling her hair. "She’s mine."

By the time he returned to your bedroom, you were sitting on the bed, still in your delicate nightgown, eyes rimmed red.

"What’s this about?" His voice was lazy, almost amused.

You swallowed hard. "Nothing."

"No, go on. Let’s hear it. You’re crying in our thousand-dollar sheets—might as well tell me why."

Your fingers curled into the fabric. "You don’t even see me anymore."

He scoffed. "Oh, here we go."

"I’m always here, Rafe. Always pregnant, always taking care of the kids, always playing the perfect wife, and you just—"

You struggled for the words, pressing a hand over your belly. "I’m still so young. But I don’t even feel like a person anymore. I feel like—like an accessory to your life."

Silence.

And then—he laughed.

"Jesus, sweetheart. You’re really getting yourself worked up over nothing, huh?"

Your throat tightened.

He kissed your forehead like it was nothing.

"Go to bed, baby. You’ll feel better in the morning."

And then he pulled away.

Like the conversation didn’t even matter.

And you just laid there. Staring at the ceiling.

Still alone.

—

You woke up to the smell of coffee.

Not the comforting, homemade kind you would’ve made for yourself—freshly brewed, warm, familiar. No, this was the kind Rafe preferred. Strong. Expensive. Bitter.

The sound of distant voices carried through the house. You recognized Rafe’s—calm, controlled, the voice of a man who always had the final say. And then there was the kids'—lighter, full of energy, peppering him with questions.

You sighed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before pushing yourself out of bed.

By the time you made it to the kitchen, Rafe was already dressed for the day—dark slacks, a fitted button-up, Rolex gleaming in the morning light. He barely looked up from his phone as he sipped his coffee, effortlessly ignoring the chaos of breakfast around him.

Your daughter was at the table, swinging her legs as she nibbled on a piece of toast. Your son, still in his pajamas, was pushing cereal around in his bowl with his spoon, more focused on staring at his dad than eating.

"Daddy, are you coming to my soccer game today?"

Rafe exhaled through his nose, finally glancing up. "What time is it?"

"After school!" your son said eagerly.

Rafe gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "We'll see."

You saw the way your son’s shoulders sank at the answer.

It was always the same. Maybe. We’ll see. I’ll try. But he never did.

"Eat your breakfast," you said gently, running your fingers through his hair as you moved past him toward the coffee machine.

Rafe’s gaze finally flickered to you as you poured yourself a cup. He let his eyes linger, taking in the way your nightgown clung to your body, the way your hair was still slightly messy from sleep.

"You were pouting last night," he murmured, voice just low enough for only you to hear.

You swallowed, keeping your attention on your coffee. "I wasn’t pouting."

"Mhm." He set his phone down, leaning back in his chair as he studied you. "You feeling better?"

You knew what he meant. Did you get over it? Did you come to your senses?

You forced a small nod. "Yeah. I’m fine."

His lips curved, satisfied. "Good girl."

You took a sip of your coffee, barely tasting it.

Your daughter swung her legs, looking up at Rafe. "Daddy, when is the baby coming?"

He smirked. "When it’s ready."

"But when is that?"

"Couple months," he said, finishing the last of his coffee. "Until then, you and your brother better behave for your mom, alright?"

Your son perked up. "What if the baby’s a boy? Can we name him after me?"

Rafe let out a sharp laugh. "No chance, buddy."

"What if it’s a girl?" your daughter asked, voice small.

"Then she’s never leaving this house."

You shot him a look, but he only smirked.

And that was that.

Rafe’s phone buzzed. A reminder. He sighed, pushing back from the table.

"I have to head out."

Your son looked up hopefully. "But what about my game?"

"I’ll try, alright?" Rafe said, ruffling his hair before standing up.

You bit your tongue.

He wasn’t coming.

He kissed your daughter on the forehead, gave your son one last pat on the back, then turned to you.

For a moment, you thought he’d just leave. That he’d say nothing and walk out the door.

But instead, his hand found your waist, fingers pressing into the silk of your nightgown. His grip was firm, just enough to remind you of exactly where you stood.

"You know I take care of you, right?" he murmured against your temple.

You froze, the words settling heavy in your chest.

"Of course."

"Good," he said, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. "So don’t make me regret it."

It wasn’t a threat. Not really.

But it wasn’t nothing, either.

Then, just like that, he was gone.

And you were left standing in the kitchen, holding your coffee, pretending the walls weren’t closing in on you.

—

The school drop-off was routine, mechanical. You kissed your kids goodbye, fixed your son’s collar, smoothed down your daughter’s hair, and watched them run off toward their classrooms.

But today, instead of heading straight back to your car, you had a meeting with their teachers.

Your son’s teacher—Mr. Calloway—was young, maybe mid-thirties, and the kind of man who always smiled just a little too much. He was the new hire this year, fresh to the district, and while he wasn’t overly flirty, he was friendly.

Too friendly.

"Mrs. Cameron, always a pleasure," he greeted, standing as you entered his classroom.

"Just here for the progress update," you said politely, settling into the chair across from his desk.

"Of course," he said, sitting back down. "I have to say, your son is an incredibly bright kid. Very determined, very focused—definitely a leader."

You smiled. "He gets that from his dad."

"Ah," Mr. Calloway mused. "I should’ve known. I bet you two were high school sweethearts?"

You let out a small, breathy laugh. "Not exactly."

His eyes flickered over you, lingering just a second too long. "Well, either way, he’s lucky to have a mom who’s so involved. Not everyone takes the time to come in and meet with the teachers."

You nodded, shifting slightly in your seat, feeling just a little out of place under his gaze. "I just want what’s best for them."

"I can tell." He smiled, leaning back in his chair. "You’re… very devoted."

The conversation didn’t go much further than that, but what you didn’t notice—what you couldn’t have noticed—was that your kids saw. They were at the classroom door, waiting for you to finish, peeking in just in time to see their teacher smiling at you a little too much.

And later, they’d remember.

After the school drop-off, you decided to take a rare moment for yourself.

A spa day.

Nails—perfectly polished, a soft, delicate shade that Rafe liked.
Hair—blown out, glossy, falling in effortless waves down your back.
Wax—because you knew Rafe would notice if you didn’t.

For a few hours, you allowed yourself to breathe. To sit back and let someone else take care of you, even if it was only surface level.

But even then, you could still hear Rafe in your head. Look good. Stay polished. Be perfect.

So, you did.

—

The receptionist at Cameron Industries greeted you with a knowing smile when you arrived. She was used to this—used to the sight of you stepping into the building, perfectly put together, the ever-dutiful wife.

"He’s in a meeting, but he should be done soon," she told you.

You nodded, settling into one of the plush chairs in the waiting area.

Fifteen minutes later, Rafe emerged from his office, speaking in hushed tones with one of his business partners. But the second he saw you, his conversation halted.

His gaze swept over you, taking in your fresh hair, the flawless polish on your nails, the way your dress hugged your body just right.

"What’s this?" he asked, his voice almost amused as he approached.

"Lunch." You smiled, lifting the bag of food you had brought.

He hummed, grabbing your waist and pulling you in close. "And you didn’t bring me anything from home?"

"You like this place," you reminded him.

"I like you bringing me lunch," he murmured, pressing a slow kiss to your jaw.

His business partner cleared his throat awkwardly. "We’ll finish this later."

Rafe barely acknowledged him, too busy looking at you.

"Come on," he muttered, guiding you into his office with a hand at the small of your back.

Lunch was quiet—just the two of you, seated in his office, him stealing bites from your plate, watching you like he was waiting for something.

You pretended not to notice.

Before you left, you kissed him goodbye and said, "Pick up the kids for me later? I have a doctor’s appointment."

He frowned slightly. "What appointment?"

"Baby checkup."

He sighed but nodded. "Fine."

—

Rafe hated school pick-ups.

Too many moms, too much noise, too many people thinking they had a right to speak to him.

When he pulled up in his car, stepping out in his crisp suit, sunglasses shielding his eyes, he already felt the eyes on him.

And then came the women.

"Mr. Cameron! It’s so nice to finally see you do pick-up!"

"Your wife is just the sweetest."

"Oh, finally the famous husband makes an appearance!"

Rafe gritted his teeth, nodding politely, but when one of them—one who was far too bold—reached out to touch his arm, he immediately stepped back.

"I have a wife." His tone was flat, uninterested.

The woman flushed, stammering, "Oh, of course, I just—"

"Daddy!" His daughter’s voice cut through the conversation as she ran toward him, his son following closely behind.

Rafe crouched slightly, scooping her up with one arm while ruffling his son’s hair. "C’mon. Let’s go."

The car ride was quiet, at first.

Then, his son spoke.

"Mommy’s teacher was nice to her today."

Rafe’s hands tightened on the wheel. "What?"

"Our teacher!" his daughter chimed in. "He was so nice to Mommy. He smiled at her a lot."

Silence.

Then—Rafe let out a slow exhale, his grip on the wheel firm.

"Did he?"

His son nodded. "Yeah. He said she was real devoted."

Another long silence.

His daughter, ever the curious one, tilted her head. "Why are you mad?"

"I’m not mad," Rafe said smoothly.

"You look mad," his son pointed out.

Rafe smirked. "That’s because I’m your father."

His daughter frowned. "But Mommy doesn’t get mad like that."

His smirk deepened. "That’s because Mommy’s not in charge."

Neither of them really understood what he meant.

But soon enough, they would.

—

The day had come, quiet and steady, just like everything in your life with Rafe. The labor had started early in the morning, and, as always, Rafe was there—looming in the background, his presence as suffocating as it was constant. His hand never left yours, his voice a low, commanding whisper, reminding you that this was all part of his plan for you, for your family.

When your baby arrived, small and fragile but perfect, it was another moment marked in Rafe’s meticulous timeline of control. His eyes were on the baby, but his hand was still firmly pressed against your shoulder, as if to remind you that you were his—always.

You smiled weakly at the tiny bundle in your arms, feeling exhausted and disconnected. Rafe’s pride filled the room, but something else lingered in the air—a quiet tension that you couldn’t ignore. You had been through this before, but this time, something felt different. The fatigue weighed heavily on your shoulders, both physical and emotional.

The kids visited later that day, their excitement palpable as they gazed at their new sibling. They climbed onto the hospital bed, giggling and asking questions, completely unaware of the shifting undercurrents in your life.

“Mommy, is he gonna be just like us?” Your son asked, his innocent gaze full of curiosity.

You smiled, though it felt strained. “He’ll be his own person,” you whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. But deep down, you wondered if Rafe would allow him to be anything but what he envisioned.

Rafe stood nearby, arms crossed, watching over you all. He answered the kids’ questions, but his tone was clipped, possessive. Even in this tender moment, he couldn’t help but assert control. His eyes never left you, never left the children. It was as if he was taking a mental tally of everything that was his.

Later that night, as the kids were tucked into bed, you lay there, exhausted, the hum of the hospital room filling the space between you and Rafe. He was beside you, his hand resting on your stomach as it had done so many times before. His lips brushed your forehead, but his words were sharp.

“You did good,” Rafe murmured, though the praise was almost patronizing, as if he were acknowledging your success in fulfilling his plan.

You barely nodded, too tired to respond, too worn down to argue. Rafe always had a way of making you feel like an extension of his control rather than someone with their own needs or desires. And tonight, it hit harder than ever.

—

The days blurred together. The exhaustion of childbirth and the endless cycle of late-night feedings, diaper changes, and caring for your two older children drained you, both physically and emotionally. Postpartum depression settled in quietly, like a shadow you couldn’t escape.

Rafe was as distant as ever, caught up in his business, still dominating every part of your life. He made sure you were well taken care of—everything had a price. You didn’t have the energy to fight anymore, not with the kids to care for and a house to maintain. You were expected to be the perfect wife, the perfect mother. But you were tired—so, so tired.

You barely had time to reflect, but there were moments when you would catch yourself staring at the reflection in the mirror, wondering if this was truly all there was. Were you just a reflection of what Rafe wanted? Were your needs ever truly yours, or had they become another part of the life he controlled?

One evening, after another long day, you sat in the nursery, the quiet hum of the night surrounding you. The baby slept peacefully in his crib, your older kids long since tucked into bed. You hadn’t realized how long you’d been sitting there, the weight of it all pressing on your chest, making it harder to breathe.

Your phone buzzed, breaking the silence. It was a text from Rafe, his usual short and demanding message: “Where are you?”

You exhaled slowly, wiping away the tear that had escaped. You didn’t answer right away. You were exhausted. You were worn out.

But then, you heard him outside the door, his footsteps heavy, steady, like they always were when he was about to remind you of your place.

He stepped in without knocking, his eyes immediately scanning the room, assessing everything. “What are you doing?” His voice was cold, calculating.

“I was just checking on the kids.” You replied quietly, though you knew it wasn’t a satisfactory answer in his eyes.

He stepped closer, his hand on your back as he looked down at the baby. His grip was possessive, like everything in your life was something he needed to control, to own. His gaze softened for just a moment, but then it hardened again. “You should be in bed. You’re supposed to be resting.”

You nodded, feeling that familiar tightness in your chest. “I’m just tired, Rafe. I’m so tired,” you whispered, not looking up.

He sighed, his breath heavy with frustration. “You’ll get through it. We’ll get through it.” His words sounded more like a command than comfort.

And just like that, the moment passed. You stood up and walked out of the room, Rafe’s eyes never leaving you. There was no tenderness in his touch, no softness in his words. Only the constant weight of his control, pressing down on you like the gravity of the life he had built.

You didn’t know how much longer you could keep pretending that this was enough.

But soon enough the house had returned to its usual rhythm. The kids were growing, and Rafe’s business was thriving. But the exhaustion didn’t leave. Neither did the loneliness.

You had grown quieter, more withdrawn. Your conversations with Rafe had become more strained, the distance between you two growing with each passing day. It wasn’t that he didn’t care—it was that he didn’t know how to show it, beyond keeping you in your place.

The kids, now more aware, had started to ask questions. They could see the difference between how Rafe was with them and how he was with you. Your son once asked, “Why does Daddy talk to you like that? Why does he get so mad when you’re just trying to help?” You didn’t have an answer for him.

—

The sun hung low over the country club, bathing everything in a warm, golden hue. The sound of laughter and the clinking of glasses filled the air, echoing the vibrant energy of the place. It felt like it had been a lifetime since that first day you had met Rafe here. So much had changed, yet in some ways, it still felt like you had never left.

You stood at the same table where it all began, your newborn securely nestled in your arms, the familiar weight of motherhood grounding you. Dressed in an elegant dress that accentuated your figure, you sparkled with diamonds that had become as much a part of you as the life you’d built with Rafe. Your two older children played nearby, their giggles lifting your spirits even higher. You couldn’t help but marvel at how far you had come—three kids, a diamond-studded life, and a man whose presence still anchored you in ways you never thought possible.

Rafe stood next to you, his presence as commanding as ever. His eyes scanned the room with that same sharp, calculating gaze. He was still the man you had met all those years ago, but somehow, now there was a sense of permanence, like the world had shifted to accommodate him—and you.

But then, a voice cut through the air, familiar and bittersweet.

“Is this really you?” Your old best friend stood before you, her eyes wide as she took in the sight of you—the diamonds, the children, the whole picture. It was as if she had stepped into a dream, but not a dream she was part of.

You turned and smiled, but it wasn’t the same easy grin you would have given her years ago. Things had changed between you. Things had changed because of Rafe.

“It’s really me,” you said, your smile still warm, but a little guarded. You motioned to the children, to Rafe. “And it’s really this.”

Your old best friend didn’t try to hide the surprise in her eyes. She took a long, lingering look at Rafe, her gaze unreadable. Her lips tightened slightly as she glanced back at you.

“You’re really... here. With him.” Her words weren’t filled with malice, but there was an edge to them—something that hadn’t been there before.

Rafe, who had been half-paying attention to the exchange, finally stepped in, his gaze shifting briefly to your friend. His presence seemed to cast a shadow over the conversation, the dominance he exuded undeniable.

“She’s mine,” he said coldly, his voice carrying a sharp finality. “And everything you see here is because of that.”

Your old best friend raised an eyebrow at him, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she turned back to you, her eyes softening, though the skepticism never fully left them.

“I always wondered if you’d end up like this,” she said quietly, as if thinking aloud. “Three kids. A diamond ring. In your twenties. Still here, living this life. You always had it in you. But not like this. Not because of him.”

You felt a pang in your chest. She had always seen through Rafe, always known the side of him you tried so hard to ignore. But she had also never fully understood what you had with him—what it meant, the cost of it all.

“I made my choice,” you said, the words almost to yourself. “You saw the side of him I couldn’t deny. But I... I don’t know. Maybe it was always meant to be like this.”

Your friend’s eyes flickered to Rafe again, a flicker of disdain there, but she said nothing. It wasn’t her place to comment on how your life had turned out, even if she didn’t agree with it. She glanced down at your newborn, her expression softening, but then she straightened, taking a step back, clearly uncomfortable.

“I just... I never thought it would be this way,” she admitted, the bitterness mixing with something like sadness in her voice. “But I guess it is.”

You nodded, a silent understanding passing between you. You didn’t need her approval. You had come to terms with everything Rafe had made you into, even if that meant alienating the people you once cared for.

The kids came running over, breathless and excited, pulling you from the weight of the conversation. “Mom! Look, we found a fountain!” your son exclaimed, tugging at your sleeve. Your daughter grinned, her eyes sparkling with joy.

You smiled at them, but then turned to your friend, who was watching the scene unfold with a mixture of awe and something darker. “Be careful, you don’t want to fall in,” you teased, reaching down to pull your son away from the water’s edge.

As the children ran off again, you felt Rafe’s presence next to you, his hand resting possessively on your lower back. You didn’t need to look at him to know he was keeping an eye on the situation, his mind already working through what was said, what had happened. His hand tightened on you briefly, a reminder of who you belonged to.

“You’re mine,” he murmured into your ear, a soft growl in his voice. “I don’t share. Not with anyone.”

You could hear the possessiveness in his tone, the way he made it clear to your best friend—and to the world—that you were his and no one else’s. And you couldn’t deny it. You weren’t just his wife. You were everything he had made you. A trophy. A possession. A woman defined by the choices you’d made and the life he had created for you.

Your old friend gave a small, almost pitying smile, but didn’t say anything else. She watched as you turned your attention back to the children, back to the life that was yours now.

Rafe’s arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer, his eyes hardening as he observed the rest of the world.

“Let’s go,” he said, voice low, his possessiveness ever-present. “We don’t need to linger here.”

The sun was setting, the golden light casting long shadows over the country club. It was picturesque, everything perfect in its place. And as you stood there, surrounded by your children, your diamond-studded life, and the man who had made it all possible, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of something deep inside.

This was your life. And while it hadn’t been easy, and maybe not everything was what it seemed, you couldn’t deny the power of the life Rafe had given you. And as you looked back at your best friend, still standing there watching from a distance, you realized that this was the life you’d chosen.

And maybe that was enough.

[loveinhawkins]

gently prise the feeling out

ao3 Written for @steddie-week Day 2 prompt, “hands.”

It’s the movement that catches Steve’s eye: Eddie’s hands flexing gingerly as they walk through the woods.

At first Steve dismisses it as a nervous habit—honestly, he’d say Eddie’s holding up pretty well for someone who recently swam into an alternate dimension—but then his flashlight illuminates the side of Eddie’s face at just the right moment, and he sees the clenched jaw of discomfort.

“Are you hurt?”

Surprisingly, Eddie doesn’t look like he’s been found out; he just looks puzzled. “Uh, no?”

“Your hands,” Steve clarifies. “You keep…” With his free hand, he imitates the motion.

“Oh,” Eddie says. “I didn’t know I was—it’s nothing, man, really, just—” He laughs slightly. “Was swinging the oar around, managed to hit a bat—Jesus Christ, those fuckers are heavy. Honestly, it’s, uh, kind of a miracle I hit it at all, d’you remember how shit I was at baseball?”

“You weren’t that bad,” Steve says—vaguely recalls the days of shared phys ed and thinks, you were just left-handed, and no-one threw the ball at you properly.

Eddie’s lips twitch into a smile. “You’re very generous, Harrington,” he says; the words sound like they’re placed somewhere in between teasing and genuine. As he speaks, he subtly shakes his hands out.

Steve angles the flashlight down to them. “Lemme see.”

Eddie blinks. “You’re kidding.”

Steve stands his ground, just raises an eyebrow expectantly. Robin and Nancy aren’t that far ahead; they’ll catch up again in no time.

Eddie shakes his head in disbelief. Scoffs. “Um, I think I’ll live, Steve. I can’t believe you’re even—like, you’re—” He gestures wildly, and it takes Steve a second to realise that he’s referring to the bat bites.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Steve says with practised confidence; right now, he doesn’t have time to be anything else.

“Then I’m fine, too.”

Steve resists the urge to roll his eyes; he doesn’t want to be locked in a stalemate out of their mutual stubbornness.

“Dude, I could’ve already looked by now.”

Eddie actually rolls his eyes at that. He turns his hands over quickly, darting in and out of the flashlight’s beam like he’s saying ta-da!

“Wow,” Steve says in mock astonishment. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were five.” He makes a beckoning gesture, like an impatient teacher waiting for homework.

Eddie smirks as if he’s trying not to laugh outright. And then he joins in on the act, too, stomping over with theatrical reluctance.

“Watch the vines,” Steve says, amused.

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie says, “that’d be a real stupid way to go.” He stops right in front of Steve—and this time, he shows his hands properly: cupped together, arms outstretched.

“Can you just—need ‘em a little more—” Instinctively, Steve puts a hand underneath Eddie’s, gently pushes them up, further into the light. “Yeah, there.”

Eddie’s skin is cold to the touch; it reminds him of how Robin’s hands had felt the night of Starcourt and, less distressingly, whenever she’s nervous before a practical music exam.

He moves the flashlight back and forth in assessment. It doesn’t seem like anything’s swollen—he remembers the ache of his own hand that night in ‘83: the erratic pulse of Christmas lights as if they were possessed; the crack of the baseball bat; Jonathan and Nancy’s screams.

But what the flashlight does expose is…

“Ouch,” Steve says sincerely.

Eddie’s hands are embedded with splinters.

Eddie shakes his head again. He nods at the bandage across Steve’s middle. “C’mon, man, I don’t—these aren’t exactly war wounds.”

Steve decides not to fight him on it. Opts for a lighter touch, “No more oars for you.”

Eddie chuckles the tiniest bit. It’s a sad sound.

“Yeah, that’s not—they’re from Rick’s. The, um, the boat, y’know? I…” Eddie bites his lip. “It’s kinda… fuzzy, but I’d fall asleep in there, like just for a second, and then I guess I’d—” His fingers twitch above Steve’s palm. “Panic.”

Steve can picture it: Eddie starting awake, hands scrambling across the rough wood, as if in desperation for it all to be a nightmare; that maybe if he kept searching the splinters would melt away, transform into the softness of bedsheets.

“Remind me later,” Steve says, and he pats the unmarked skin of Eddie’s knuckles in reassurance. Keeps his touch there so he’s still partially holding Eddie’s hands up. “I’ll get them out with a pin, I’m good at…” He falters at Eddie’s silence. “I’ll be careful,” he says—it feels important, suddenly, that Eddie should know.

Eddie looks at him. The reflection of the flashlight’s glow flickers in his eyes.

“Yeah, I know,” he says softly.

One of his hands tilts ever so slightly, fingertips brushing against Steve’s palm. Then he steps back, hands falling down to his sides.

Steve resumes illuminating the forest floor. They walk on, and in the quiet, the air feels different, changed—for the better, Steve hopes: like something tender’s been exposed to the surface.

[lotsoflola]

happy new year - l. haechan

summary: when a stranger asks to share your first kiss of the new year, you allow yourself to have some fun, just for the night... genre: icl it's just smut warnings: smut, whole lotta smut, this is complete and utter filth i am so sorry. everyone gets head, dirty talk, spitting lol, praise, kinda dom!haechan, don’t really know what’s going on half the time word count: 5.1k authors note: happy new year!! little treat bc im on my period and in love with lee haechan. (sidenote: this went so far i don't know what came over me but jesus christ)

31st december 2023, seoul- 11:54pm

“come on mate, get another drink down you,” mark lee handed his best friend a jagerbomb, his spare hand resting on haechan's shoulder, his drunken self unable to stand properly.

haechan smiled slightly, before taking the drink and shotting it in one. it had been a few days since him and his girlfriend broke up, and he wasn’t anywhere near over her yet. he didn’t know if he ever would be, judging by how he felt right now. he wanted to be at home, bottle of some 40% spirit in hand and trying to forget.

mark wouldn’t let that happen though, forcing him out tonight so he finally left the confinement of his apartment, hoping that the party scene would alleviate some of the stress on his best friend's shoulder.

“come on, there’s so many fit girls here, take your pick,” he slurred, before being pulled away by his girlfriend for the traditional new years kiss.

haechan hadn’t realised it was almost midnight, and suddenly he felt his stomach drop at the reminder that last year he was doing this with his ex. he grabbed another drink from the bar and got it down him quickly, planning on sitting at the bar while everyone around him spend the next few minutes with their loved ones.

until he saw you.

his eyes were glued to you the moment he saw you, stuck on how the short red dress you were wearing clung to your curves, stuck on how your hair tumbled over your bare shoulders, stuck on how the sparkly eyeshadow glistened under the neon lights or the club and lit up your whole face.

you made eye contact was you turned towards the bar, and obviously he caught your fancy, with a black button up that pronounced his muscles more than usual, a chain around his neck, and his hair in defined curls that contrasted his tanned skin. he looked almost like an angel descended from the heavens, except an angel would never have such a sorrowed look upon their face.

he beckoned you over with a flick of his fingers, eyes never leaving your body, and you may have been upset if you weren’t as gone as you were. you settled yourself in between his legs, taking the half drank glass from his hand and finishing it off for him, leaving a faint red mark on the rim.

he was infatuated at first glance. his hands settled in the dip of your waist, almost engulfing your body with their size. his mouth slowly curved into a smirk as he watched you lean over him to place the now empty glass on the bar, allowing him a small look at your lace bra you were wearing under your dress.

he checked the time on the clock. 11:57.

“what’s your name, gorgeous?” he asked, thumbs drawing lazy circles against the fabric of your dress.

you told him your name, before then asking for his, and his eyes widened with the realisation that you didn’t know who he was, or you were too drunk to realise.

“haechan,” he smiled softly, voice deep and husky.

11:58.

“you here with anyone?” he asked, eyes dropping down to your red-stained lips before meeting your eyes again, the actions so quick you could barely recognise it happening.

you shook your head. “well, my friend, but she’s here with her boyfriend so…”

“i’m in the same boat,” he chuckled softly, subconsciously pulling you closer and closer towards him, so your thighs were brushing against his, “my mate mark is here but he’s ran off with his girlfriend now.”

“god i hate people in couples,” you laughed, receiving one in return from haechan, “they act all in love with no regard for those of us who are single.”

11:59.

“tell me about it,” haechan rolled his eyes, his hand slowly climbing up your body so they were now resting against your rib cage.

you looped your arms around him, hands settling in the nape of his neck, a finger wrapping around a loose curl in his hair. he stood up now, looking down on you, and leant down so your faces were mere centimetres apart.

“you know it’s almost midnight,” he whispered in your ear, breath warm against your skin.

you hummed in response, feeling your heart beat doubly as fast against your ribs, the air suddenly feeling so much warmer.

“and i don’t have anyone to kiss.” as the final word left his mouth his lips attached to your neck, soft under ear, leaving a sloppy kiss that made you want more, want so much more.

“i don’t have anyone either,” you almost whispered, scared you had the wrong impression, but of course you didn’t.

chants of people in the background took you out of your little bubble, as the familiar ‘ten, nine, eight,’ sounded through the club.

haechan leant right in, so your lips were practically touching already. “can i kiss you?”

you nodded just as the clock struck midnight, and his lips crashed into yours, with a sense of lust that you hadn’t felt in far too long.

the kiss was wet, it was sloppy, but it was desperate and needy and it sent a shiver through your body down to your core. your hands buried themselves in his hair, pulling against his roots and causing him to groan into the kiss, allowing him to stick his tongue in and control the kiss.

your tongues moved in harmony as his hands ran down the lengths of your body, as if he was scared this would be the last time he could touch you, the last time he could feel you under his fingertips. they eventually settled against your ass, cupping it lightly as he pushed your hips against his, so you could feel his semi through his jeans.

you wanted to kiss him forever, wanted all of him all at once. you decided that if the world ended now, you would be happy to die here and now, in haechan's embrace, his lips pressed against yours.

he pulled away, but only for his lips to find your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses until he found that sweet spot, the spot that made your neck roll back, giving him more access to suck against your skin, undoubtably leaving deep purple marks wherever he went.

your hands detached themselves from his hair and instead you dragged them down his body, fingers spaced out as you passed his pecs, passed his abs (though you were very tempted to linger there), and finished at the waistband of his jeans, dipping an index finger inside to trace the elastic of his boxers.

you felt him groan against your skin, pulling away to give you a look as if to say ‘really? in public?’. deciding to play it innocent, you just beat your eyelashes at him, a confused look on your face, and slowly ventured lower and lower.

haechan wasn’t having any of that, however, grabbing your wrists easily in one hand and dragging you over to the door, pulling his phone out to call a taxi. you tried to kiss him again, but he just tutted, with a dangerous glint in his eye that told you you were in for it when you got back to his.

the taxi arrived sooner rather than later, and haechan made an effort to sit in the front, leaving you in the back alone. you were confused, wondering where the sudden coldness had come from, wondering if you had pushed it too far. but when he turned around midway through the journey, and mouthed ‘behave now, and i’ll be nice later’, you knew it was going to be a fun night.

you quickly sent your friend a text to let her know you were okay, not that she would read it for another few hours, before deliberating whether or not to behave. on the one hand, behaving means that you wouldn’t piss haechan off and that he’ll ‘be nice’ later, whatever that meant. but one the other hand, you kind of wanted to push his buttons, see what you could get him to do. which is why you decided to call your friend and stir up some trouble.

“hey bitch!” you practically sang into the phone, the drunkenness being more apparent than ever. you could see haechan in the rear view mirror, and watched as his face seemed confused, but not upset.

“hey!” she slurred back, as drunk as you were, “where the fuck are you?”

“i’m with this guy,” you smirked to yourself as you started your plan, “but i can’t lie, he just doesn’t seem all that you know. like he seems like he’s all talk and he won’t deliver.”

haechan raised an eyebrow at that, but still didn’t say or do anything, though you could tell he was definitely listening in now.

“then why are you going with him?” your friend asked, and you could faintly here the music of the club in the background.

you hummed into the phone, but loud enough for haechan to hear as well. “don’t know, maybe i just feel bad for him. he just doesn’t seem like he knows how to fuck, you get what i’m saying?”

haechan's fist clenched at that comment, but he still kept his cool, at least from the outside.

“like, i don’t know, he just doesn’t seem like he knows how to make me cum.”

that particular comment must have hit a nerve because haechan leant back and grabbed the phone from your hand. you pouted and lazily attempted to grab it back, but really you were glad you were able to rile him up.

he quickly spoke to your friend, telling her you were okay and where you were going, before hanging up and ignoring your pleas for your phone.

it was only a few more minutes before you were back at haechan's flat, and he still ignored you while he paid the driver and guided you up the stairs, other than a link through your arm to make sure you didn’t fall. you liked the fact that he was still a gentleman, even though it seemed like he was about to not be.

“haechan-” you whined as you waited outside his apartment, watching him unlock the door, but he cut you off before you could say anything else.

“what did i tell you?” he asked, voice still and stern, not facing you at all.

you tried to grab his wrist to get him to face you but he resisted. “to behave.”

“and you didn’t behave, did you?” his voice was almost patronising, but it was deep and rough and so fucking sexy that you didn’t care. “so now, i have to show you that what you were saying to your friend isn’t true. unless you’re going to apologise and tell me you didn’t mean it?”

he was giving you a chance to back down, to take the easy route. but it was new year’s day and you were never going to see him again, so you decided to have some fun.

“i don’t know what to tell you, you just don’t seem like you could make a girl cum,” you played it like you didn’t care, when your heart was racing knowing that something good was coming next.

he finally opened the door to his apartment and picked you up, your legs naturally looping around his waist as he pulled you into a rough kiss. it wasn’t like the one earlier, where even though it was rough there was a sweetness behind it, but instead this was pure lust and need in a kiss. his tongue explored every part of your mouth, at a ferocity that you felt like you were on fire, and that no bucket of water could ever pull you out.

his hands settled under your ass, kneading the skin under the silk of your dress. your hands found his shoulders, broad and wide, and you needed them stabilise as your world was spinning around you.

he carried you through his apartment, with you getting a brief look before he threw you onto his bed, leaving you looking up at him with rosy cheeks and lust-hazed eyes.

in the light he looked majestic, with two dimmed lamps either side of you projecting warm orange hues onto his face. fuck, he was gorgeous, chiseled by the gods themselves, and as he undid the buttons on his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, your mouth almost started to water at how beautiful he looked.

you pulled yourself up, going to try and finish undoing the buttons to take his top off, but he stopped you, once again capturing your wrists but this time pinning them behind your back.

“you don’t get to touch if you misbehave, baby,” he said, fake-pity written all across his face.

his other hand pulled your dress off your shoulders, and he let go of your hands for just a moment to remove it from the rest of your body. your heels were next, as he undid them slowly and carefully, taking his time to admire you, watching as your patience was running out.

left in just your lacy red lingerie, you watched as he climbed back over you, obvious hard on that he ignored as his lips met yours in another kiss. it wasn’t quite like the other one, slightly softer, as if he was checking that you were okay with all this. and of course you were.

he pulled away. “i can’t make you cum, yeah?”

“that’s what i said, isn’t it?” you teased back, tilting your head while trying to catch your breath.

“well, i guess you won’t be coming tonight then,” he almost sighed, before diving into the crook of your neck and leaving harsh, aggressive kisses wherever he could, adding to the deep purple marks he caused earlier on.

he slowly made his way down your neck, before finally making it to the valley of your breasts, where he sucked harder than before, obviously trying to deepen the colour and add to your pleasure. his hands found your breasts, taking one in each and kneading them, a soft massage that felt better than it ever should have done. was it the alcohol? or was it him?

he pulled your right boob out of your bra, eyes widening as his index finger and thumb took your nipple in between them and started to roll it gently. you arched your back in reponse, a weak moan falling from your lips, which pushed your breast into his fingers more. his other hand pulled out your other breast, but instead of his fingers his lips attached to it, and your mouth parted subconsciously as a wave of pleasure washed over you.

god, he was good. and he knew he was good judging by the smirk on his face. you almost regretted not letting him pleasure you how he was planning to.

almost.

“fuck, haechan,” you let out a breathy whine as he swapped over, both of your nipples having an overwhelming sense of pleasure, “look so pretty sucking my tits.”

you could tell he liked that, as a vibration shook through your body when he moaned against your skin. he pulled away, much to your dismay, but you stopped minding as he slowly made his way down your body, still leaving the open mouthed kisses as he reached your belly button.

“you know,” he almost panted, hands still fixed on your tits, “i was gonna make you feel so fucking good.”

one hand leaves your nipple, a cool trail down your stomach before it settles at your waistband, mimicking your actions from in the club. your hips buck against his hand, causing him to chuckle slightly, as you crave more and more and more of his touch’s

“i was gonna make you come on my tongue, it would have felt so fucking good,” his sultry voice was working wonders as his fingertips traced the patterns in the lace, “would have had you screaming my name as i sucked your clit, would have felt fucking euphoric.”

even his words made you feel something, made you feel like any moment now you were about to combust. one finger trailed down your panties, feather light over where you needed him the most, but with the lace barrier in the way.

“god, you’ve ruined these, huh?” he chuckled, feeling how your wetness had soaked through your underwear. “so fucking wet and all i’ve touched are your tits. so responsive for me.”

you wanted to talk back, wanted to have some bite to you, spur him on even more, but you couldn’t conjure up anything while he left soft kisses on your inner thighs.

“still want my mouth, baby?” his voice was sickly sweet, but the tone behind it was cruel and teasing, because obviously you still wanted his mouth.

you nodded as best as you could, but he shook his head a response, a ‘tut tut tut’ leaving his mouth.

“need words, sweetheart,” he almost sang, the petname laced in a sense of mocking, “or else you’re not getting anything from me.”

you mustered up every last drop of energy you had and spoke up. “please, haechan. i want you.”

“want what?”

it took every fibre in your body to not tell him to fuck off there and then. you wanted to, you really wanted to, but you also wanted him. and that want won.

“want your mouth on me, please, baby.”

and that was enough for him, as he pulled down your lace panties and finally revealed your pussy to him.

“fuck me, sweetheart,” his finger trailed over your folds, feather light, as he took in the sight of it, “you’re glistening, look, you’re dripping out.”

you would have felt embarrassed, but the dutch courage must have taken over. “not used to seeing a girl so wet, huh?”

his tongue poked his cheek. “easy, pretty girl. let me make you feel good.”

he gently blew over you, making you squirm slightly, before he dived straight in and began sucking your clit. the pleasure was instant, your hips bucking into his face as he chuckled against you, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. everything he had made you feel up to this point was microscopic compared to the pleasure you felt now.

it only grew when he slid two fingers into your pussy, curling them up at hitting that spot inside of you, looking over as your face contorted in pleasure, eyes closed, mouth hung open, he thought you looked like the prettiest girl in the world.

you were already close, no idea how as you hadn’t been going for that long. but the mix of his fingers in your cunt and his mouth on your clit was bringing you to the edge.

“i- i’m close, haechan,” you stuttered, speaking hard when so much pleasure was coarsing through your veins.

he tilted his head slightly. “you’re close did you say?”

you nodded, feeling your orgasm approaching faster and faster, you could already feel it happening now. to add to everything, his fingers somehow reached deeper inside of you, contorting in a way where everything was just so fucking good.

“but wait,” he let out a soft, fake laugh, “i forgot. i can’t make you cum.”

and with that he pulled away, leaving you recovering from a high you never even got. you had to take a minute, your body feeling worse than ever as the euphoria slowly went away, and the lack of human touch was getting to you.

“what’s wrong, baby?” he faked pity, reaching down to swipe his thumb across your cheekbone. “you weren’t expecting to finish, not according to what you said in the car.”

you slowly opened your eyes, seeing his gorgeous face looking down on you, and fighting the urge to throw a punch. you subconsciously leaned into his touch, craving it despite the atrocity he just performed, and watched as he undid his belt with his other hand.

“here’s the deal,” he pulled away, leaving you with a whine, before unbuttoning his shirt and taking it all off, allowing you to see his abs for the first time that night, tone still ever-so-mocking. “you’re gonna suck me off, and if you do a good job, then, and only then, do you get to cum. understand, sweetheart?”

you nodded. secretly, you wanted to suck him off anyway, and with this deal you would get to come as well. he took a step back from the bed, tapping his foot against the floor as a gesture for you to come down. you couldn’t understand though, brain slightly fucked from the shortly lived pleasure, and instead looked at him confusedly.

“get on your knees for me, baby,” he cooed, and you did as he said, sinking onto his wooden floor and looking up at him, waiting for his next order. with the promise of an orgasm at the other end, at this point you would do anything to get to the prize.

he started to unzip his jeans, and as you went to help, he instantly took a step back. “hands behind your back, no touching remember?”

you pouted, but did as he said, linking for fingers behind your back as you waited for him to get ready. he pulled his boxers down, and jesus christ were you not ready.

he looked big through his hard on in his jeans, but you were not ready for all that. you could tell you were shocking your shock through your face, and he let out a soft chuckle and grabbed your chin with his right hand.

“think you can take it?” he asked, holding it with his other hand as he kept your eyes on it, watching as your mouth suddenly seemed to water.

you nodded. “mhm. just wanna make you feel good, baby. that’s all i want.”

he smiled down at you. “give me a kiss.”

you tried to climb up to kiss his lips, but his hand kept you pressed down, and you understood instantly. you leant forward to press your mouth against his dick, kissing the tip gently and watching as his head fell back. you left open mouthed kisses all down his length, finished at the base before climbing all the way back to the top. you started leaving kitten licks on the tip, watching the veins in his neck pulsate at your actions.

“god, you’re so fucking good,” he grunted, hand moving from your chin round to the back of your head, nestling in your hair as he started to take control. “you gonna take me all in?”

you hummed against his cock, opening your mouth as he guided you down, controlling your movements as he gently fucked your mouth. you tried your hardest not to move or choke, instead trying to focus on his pleasure.

you couldn’t help your eyes watering though, and when he looked down he obviously felt bad, relaxing a little bit as he let you take more charge.

“look so pretty naked on your knees for me,” he cooed, taking in sharp breaths as your tongue swirled around his tip. “who knew that such a sweet looking girl could give head like this? yeah, keep going, fuck, you’re so fucking good.”

you just kept going, knowing that the more you pleasured him the more likely you were to get pleasure yourself. haechan didn’t want to seem selfish, however, as his hand wrapped forward to stroke your cheek again.

“fuck, play with your nipples for me,” he ordered, slightly out of breath, but moaning as you started to play with yourself. he let out a groan as you moaned around his cock, head bobbing like this was your last day on earth. “such pretty tits, should be framed in a museum how good you look right now.”

you could tell he was close by how his breaths got shallower and shallower, and his thrusts into your throat got weaker. he pulled away though, leaving a string of saliva from your mouth to his cock, which you licked up instantly. you went back to kissing his cock, waiting as you could feel yourself growing wetter.

“you were so good, huh, baby?” he picked your naked body up, grabbing your hands and wrapping them round his neck, telling you that you could finally touch him again. “listened to everything i told you to do, such a good girl.”

his praise was music to your ears, and his actions matched the tone of his words. he lay you gently down on the bed, climbing over you as his lips met yours in the softest kiss of the night. it was an ‘are you okay?’ kiss, an ‘i hope i didn’t go too far’ kiss, a ‘you look beautiful’ kiss, and it was possibly your favourite of the night.

“gonna fuck that dripping pussy,” he mumbled into your lips before continuing the kiss, lining his cock up against your entrance, tapping it against your clit purely to watch you squirm with elation.

and as he thrusted into you it was like your world had stopped. fuck, he felt so good inside you, filling you up more than you could have imagined and left you choking on air as inch by inch he entered more and more.

haechan felt much the same, obsessed with how you felt clenched around him, how tight you were as he continued in. he waited once his whole dick was in, holding back from setting a rhythm until he was positive you could take it.

“feel so good clenched around me,” he muttered out, leaning back so he could check you were alright, check that you were ready for this, “such a tight little pussy needs to be stretched out.”

you nodded at him, a signal to start moving, and he did as he was told, beginning to thrust in and out of you at such a pace that your mouth flew open in shock. his hands dug into your hips, undoubtably causing marks as he fucked you deep and hard.

the moans emitted from your mouth were ungodly, borderline pornographic, and led to you covering your mouth in embarrassment. haechan was having none of that, however, stopping his movements to gaze into your eyes.

“don’t you dare not let me hear those pretty sounds,” he thrust at the end of the sentence, as if to solidify his point, and you allowed yourself to moan, “want all the neighbours to hear how good i’m fucking you.”

you were so close to the edge, once again seeing it in the distance, and you clenched around haechan trying to let him know. he chuckled and leant into your shoulder, kissing over the deep marks he’d left earlier, just adding to the euphoria you were feeling.

“gonna cum,” you whined, grabbing one of his hands and guiding it to your clit, needing that final push to make it over the edge.

he understood instantly, rubbing rough circles while sucking against your neck. the pleasure was washing over you in waves, and it wasn’t long until you felt your orgasm rush through your body, every part of you feeling lighter and in a state of happiness you couldn’t remember ever feeling before.

haechan kept going, however, chasing his own orgasm, and you decided to help him get thrre, however harsh it was for you. your lips found his neck for the first time, leaving sloppy kisses along his collarbones that were followed by a row of dark purple and red.

“fuck me,” he grunted, thrusts getting sloppier as he got closer and closer to the edge. “gonna pull out, yeah?”

you nodded against his chest, nails tracing over his abs as you rocked your hips in tandem with him, so sensitive that you might even come again.

as he kept thrusting into you, you remembered how much he loved being praised earlier, and thought that might help get him over the edge.

“being so good, fucking me so well, baby” you sighed, whispering into his ear as you kissed up his neck.

you felt his thrusts stutter with your words, obviously having a positive impact as a blush rose to his cheeks. his hands gripped even harder around your hips, and you began to feel another orgasm coming.

“such a pretty boy, so so pretty, look so good and fuck me so good,” you kept going, your hands leaving him and instead finding your clit. “got the prettiest dick as well, feels so good all wrapped inside me.”

“fuck-” he choked out, before pulling out and finishing all over his chest.

he panted while you got yourself to finish, cumming over your fingers. you threw your head back against the pillow, watching your chest as it rose and fell, trying to catch your breath.

haechan joined you, lying across the bed while pulling himself together. you decided you weren’t finished, however, crawling over on top of him and licking his cum off of his abs, making sure to get every last drop off. his hands tangled themselves as you finished, pulling you up to him so he could kiss you again, making out like teenagers as you just enjoyed each others company.

“so,” haechan finally broke the silence as he pulled away from the kiss, “i did make you cum.”

you shrugged as you rolled back to the side of him. “was it more fun that i challenged you?”

“definitely. never known someone so responsive to some dirty talk,” he jested, earning a slap on his bicep.

“never known someone love to be praised so much,” you retaliated, shutting him up as he went to grab you a glass of water.

he returned quickly, along with some boxers for him and a baggy t-shirt for you. you noticed the t-shirt it had ‘nct dream’ across it, and you hummed for his attention as you threw it on.

“you like kpop then?” you asked, not expecting him to laugh in reponse.

“yeah, you could say that.”

you tilted your head in confusion, but decided you were too tired to understand whatever was going on. “you don’t mind me staying the night?”

“not at all.”

“you gonna tell me why that was so funny in the morning?” you asked, knowing it would be your last question before you drifted off to sleep.

he hummed. “of course. happy new year.”

“happy new year.”