#HE shields all who take refuge in Him

[aspirant1598]

[dorabellingham]

Big boy

wanings: none

characters: jobe x reader

summary: when your boyfriend's job is to keep you warm during the winter

may contain spelling and translation errors!

birmingham, england — december 30

It was one of those cold winter nights, where the icy wind seemed to cut through your skin even through layers of clothing. You were wrapped in a blanket, looking out the window as the streets of Birmingham were covered in a thin layer of snow. Winter there always took you by surprise, being much colder than what you were used to. You sighed, even more so when the wind howled loudly outside.

The sound of the door opening made you look back. Jobe walked in, taking up almost the entire door frame with his tall, broad body. He was 6'4", and with his strong arms, he was the kind of guy who didn't go unnoticed. That big boy, as SZA sang, was the exact definition of what a girl needed in the winter.

—Damn, it's so cold out there.

He commented, closing the door and shaking out his coat. A slight smile appeared on his lips, even as he rubbed his hands together to warm himself.

—You should wear more clothes, babe. —You said, still wrapped in the blanket. —I’m freezing just looking at you.

The youngest Bellingham smiled, that warm smile that always warmed your heart, even on the coldest nights. He took off his heavy coat and threw it on the couch, revealing his strong arms covered only by a short-sleeved t-shirt. He was the typical guy who wasn’t intimidated by the cold. While you shivered at the thought of going outside, Jobe acted as if the sub-zero temperature was just a cool spring breeze.

—Who needs a coat when you have arms like that?

He joked, flexing his muscles and winking at his girlfriend.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help but smile. There was something so comforting and safe about his presence, especially on cold winter nights.

—Come here, big boy, warm me up.

Jobe didn’t need any further invitation. He walked over to you, sitting on the couch next to you and pulling you onto his lap with ease. Your legs dangled in the air for a second before finding a comfortable spot. He wrapped his arms around you, and you immediately felt his warmth envelop you.

—What would you do without me this winter, huh?

He asked, his voice low and husky, but full of amusement.

—I’d freeze, for sure! —You replied, snuggling even closer. The feeling of his strong arms around you was enough to drive away any chill. —You’re like a human heater.

—You know there’s nothing better than a great guy to keep you warm.

He said, chuckling to himself.

You couldn’t deny it. Being in Jobe’s arms during the winter was like finding the perfect refuge in the midst of the icy chaos. You were warm, safe, and the soft scent of his perfume enveloped you. You were silent for a moment, enjoying the feeling of being together.

—And not only that... —Jobe continued, as if reading your thoughts. —I’m also the guy who brings all your groceries in one trip. I bet you can’t do it alone.

You laughed, remembering all the times he had actually done that. It didn’t matter how many bags there were —Jobe always managed to bring them all in at once, balancing the groceries with ease as you followed him, almost in disbelief. It was impressive, to say the least.

—You really are useful for this! —You agreed, laughing. —I’ve never had to make more than one trip from the garage to the apartment again.

Jobe kissed the top of your head, still with that smile of someone who knew he was winning the debate.

—See? I’m the whole package. A true gentleman.

You just nodded, but you knew he was right. There was something special about being with someone like him—not just because of his physical appearance, but because of his presence, the sense of security and comfort he brought. Even in the midst of the most intense cold, Jobe was like a shield against it all.

The wind outside began to pick up, and the snow was now falling in thick flakes, covering the city streets. You looked out the window and mentally thanked yourself for being inside your house, in your boyfriend's arms. There was no place in the world you'd rather be right now.

—Are you hungry?

He asked after a while.

—A little...

You admitted, not wanting to move.

—I’ll make us something.

Jobe said, standing up with you still in his arms. He carried you to the kitchen with ease, while you laughed and protested that he didn’t have to do everything alone.

—I can walk, you know?

You said, laughing as he placed you on the kitchen counter.

—I know, but I like carrying you! —He replied, winking at you before starting to look for something to do. —Besides, who’s the big boy here?

You just watched as he started stirring the pots, feeling lucky to have him by your side. The winter might be relentless outside, but inside, with Jobe, you knew you would always be warm —both in body and in heart.

—Now —Jobe began, as he put the water to boil. —What do you want for dinner? I can make anything.

You watched him for a moment, biting your lower lip, as if you were considering it. Then, with a mischievous smile, you said:

—Anything that will keep me warm... but, more importantly, I want you.

Jobe stopped what he was doing, looking at you with a look that said here we go.

—I’m already enough to keep you warm, honey. —He said, walking over to you and planting a quick kiss on your forehead. —But, okay, I’ll make dinner special too.

And on that cold winter night, as the snow fell outside, you knew you wouldn’t need anything else but Jobe and his warmth to get through the cold.

[anjelicawrites]

In the night

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x reader

Synopsis: written as a part of Targaryen-Dinasty’s 3k milestone celebration. Whenever sleep evades him, Aemond can find refuge in his spouse’s embrace. Tonight he needs a little something more to fall deep into slumber. Read the other fics for this celebration here!

Warnings: breast kink, pregnancy kink (reader is not pregnant yet), a dash of lactation kink if you squint, oral (f receiving), Aemond coming untouched thanks to pussy eating

A/N: reader is AFAB, they/them pronouns used. One instance of “Lady” and “Wife” used.

Aemond has never been a deep sleeper, or someone capable to have a full night’s of rest, since his marriage to you, his habits have improved. Having your soothing presence by his side has helped him relax behind closed doors, resting his head on your bosom to listen to the beating of your heart has lulled him to sleep for countless nights, after long days at court.

But Aemond is a man, flesh and blood and fire, with carnal urges only your soft, willing body can fulfill.

He wakes up slowly, his head is hidden in the curve of your neck and he nuzzles the skin like a cat; he’s not sure of the time, the thick draping around the massive bed hides the windows and lets just flickers of the candlelight in, the silence he hears tells him it should still be night.

He doesn’t know what has woken him up at first, his mind is still clouded by the tendrils of the dream already fading. He doesn’t remember it, just the feeling of warmth and contentment coursing through his body, until his eye had opened, groggily, and you were next to him, keeping him warm and safe in your arms.

A long moan leaves his lips when his hips brush against your body, and his hard cock presses on your thigh. Oh, he thinks, that’s what it is then.

On instinct, your sleeping body curls tighter around his, almost trying to shield him even in the sanctuary of your shared quarters; he smiles at that. He’s the trained warrior, the prince who rides the biggest dragon in the whole world, you’re a lady, soft and gentle, but with a core of steel no one can imagine under the silks of your flowery dresses.

Against his naked chest the light material of your nightgown shifts, the loose bindings closing the neckline open to let a your heavy breasts spill out.

Not for the first time since the wedding, Aemond thinks that your body is made to carry forth pregnancies, that you have the wide hips for it and such a gentle disposition, that your children will never feel misunderstood by the person who should love them the most.

The thought of your body growing full with a child makes a pang of need burn in his lower belly, your breasts swollen with milk, your nipples tender and oh, so sensitive!

Aemond has to take a deep breathe trying to control himself and his raging erection. You were so tired last night, having to deal with all the guests at court for days, showing the ladies around and chatting with them for hours about inane topics. He saw how exhausted you were after another official dinner, where you had to keep a fake smile plastered on your face and pretend you weren’t bored to death: you deserve your rest for the night.

Trying not to wake you up, Aemond lays his head on your soft bosom and tries to make himself as small as possible to fit your frame, hoping that the lavender smell of your bathing oils will lull him to sleep.

He tries to relax and enjoy the closeness you two have been denied these days, tries to let your soft body envelope his into slumber again, yet having you in his reach only fuels the desire inflaming his loins. His neglected erection seems to grow, instead to flag, the longer he lays close to you, drunk on your lovely scent and silky skin.

You move in your sleep and the nightgown slips down your shoulders to show him more of your breathtaking body, as if the Gods are tempting him, as if barely being able to see you for days hasn’t hindered his self control enough!

Only a taste, he thinks, a quick taste without waking you up.

You’re, usually, a deep sleeper, dead to the world, you wouldn’t stir, would you?

As silent as a deadly snake, Aemond slides down your body, leaving butterfly kisses on the exposed skin that make goosebumps appear wherever his lips land, until he’s between your legs, slightly splayed in your slumber.

He has to bite down on a moan, when he lays on the bed and his erection comes in contact with the cotton of the bedding, his skin feels raw already and he has done nothing, yet.

Careful not to wake you, he spreads your legs more and rucks the light material of your nightgown up to your chest observing, adoringly, your soft tummy and heavy breast, trying to imagine how you’ll look like when you’ll be full of his child and he’ll take care of you in every way possible.

In the barely illuminated darkness he can make out the patch of hair adorning your cunt, the lips he loves to kiss and the small pearl that has you whine in his hold; his mouth waters with the phantom taste of your honey: if he could, he’d live off of that only, forever.

He lays between your legs, his hands take a loose hold of your splayed tights, before the tips of his tongue breaches your warmth, with a moan.

Just a taste, his brain says, a quick one, yet he’s already lost in you, his face plastered against your cunt, his tongue slowly fucking your hole; above him you start stirring, small flames of warmth licking at the edges of your consciousness have you whine, the pleasure a soft caress on your nerves that awakens you with a moan and your back arching.

For a moment you don’t know where you are, lust clouding your mind, before you feel the warmth of your husband’s hands on your skin.

“Aem… Aemond.” You moan, grabbing blindly at his hair.

He doesn’t respond, he’s too drunk on your taste to be coherent, his hips fuck the mattress and he groans against you, hungry for your essence.

You arch again, and squirm against his hold when his lips find your pearl, to suck it hard and fast, with wet sounds of appreciation. Fingers breach you now, and curl against that spongy part inside of your body that makes you jump against his arm weighting you down. His fingers fuck you faster, following the rapid shift of your hips, your muscles clench against his intrusion as pleasure washes over you, stealing you words away, leaving you squirming and moaning, tears streaming down your cheeks when his teeth gently nibble your pearl.

Uselessly you try to plant your feet on the mattress to push against him, your muscles liquefy against the pleasure, against his tongue writing nonsense on your pearl and his fingers so deep inside of you, fucking your tight hole.

He moans and whines against you, torn between his raw cock and your soft cunt, his orgasm so close he can feel his stones draw impossibly tight against his body as he finger fucks you with squelching sounds.

“Please!” You beg, voice drowned by the carnal sounds. “Please!”

Your legs wound tight around his head, forcing his face closer to you, the lack of air only spurring him on to add another finger inside your hole to spread you open and torture your battered insides when he feels you tremble against him, your end so close, so close.

You explode against his face, back arching painfully and he follows you, spending his seed on the bed sheets with a long groan against your center that makes you shudder.

You’re breathless, your legs lay splayed on the bed as you try to find purchase on Aemond’s naked skin to pull him closer to you.

On cue his face finds refuge on the hollow of your shoulder, so that he can look adoringly at your tired face before he makes himself as small as possible to fit against your body.

“Hello husband.” You smile tiredly. “Shall I ask what bought that forth?”

Aemond’s long fingers find yours to play with, lazily in the tendrils of light of the candles the canopy of the bed lets in.

“I woke up hungry, wife.” He answers.

The eyelid of his injured eye is closed to cover the hollow there, as he is not wearing his sapphire; it fills your with pride that your husband is showing himself to you, fully, even the parts he believes to be too ugly for you to see.

“Have you satisfied your hunger, my love?”

Aemond’s smile is sleepy on his cheeks, his cute dimples showing, a rare sight to behold.

“Come.” You say, before he can actually answer. “Let’s go back to sleep.”

Like a satisfied cat Aemond pushes his face against your bosom, until all he can smell his you, and he relaxes fully, lulled to sleep by the gentle carding of your fingers through his hair.

Ewanverse taglist: @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @zaldritzosrose

Aemond taglist: @fan-goddess, @xcharlottmikaelsonx, @qweencrimson

[joyfulcowboycandy]

The princess in the tower... And the dragon?

Malleus x Reader

❥ one shot

Content warning: murder, angst and fluff, malleus is very tall, hints of past sexual assault

fem reader

The princess in the tower… And the dragon?

This is how the story goes:

A beautiful princess from a faraway kingdom is kidnapped and held captive in a tower by an evil and strong dragon, and the knight must slay the dragon and save her from his evil clutches. The princess then falls in love with the strong knight who risked his life to save her, and they lived happily ever after.

This "princess," however, is far different from how the story is meant to go.

She is no princess at all.

Y/n is merely a common girl who ran away from a life of suffering, seeking refuge in a lonely tower in the middle of a desolate forest. She found solace here, safe from the cruelty of others. But the tower had a guardian of its own—a dragon. Not that she knew it at first.

The dragon was enormous, far too large to ever fit inside the tower, so at first, she thought she could stay without much trouble. After all, she reasoned, dragons don’t communicate with humans… Do they? If he wanted to harm her, he would’ve done so by now. Yet, despite his fearsome appearance, he never attacked her. Instead, he left her alone, merely resting atop the tower. He even brought her berries and fruits. It was confusing. Back in her village, dragons were supposed to be vile creatures—monsters of destruction.

But unlike the people she once knew, the dragon never hurt her. And that was all that mattered.

Back in her village, life had been anything but safe. Y/n was forever scarred by that one night, the night when she dared to speak up about the man who assaulted her. He was a respected figure, shielded by his reputation, while she was met with disbelief and scorn. Her cries for justice were silenced, twisted into accusations that she had tarnished his honor. Her family turned their backs on her, and the verbal abuse became unbearable. They accused her of lying, of bringing shame upon them. The whispers, the judgment, it all closed in on her, suffocating her until she could no longer bear it.

The fear of men had embedded itself deep in her heart, long before she ever arrived at the tower. Their leering gazes, their unchecked power—it had always terrified her. The man who hurt her wasn’t an isolated case. She’d witnessed the way men in the village treated women—like possessions, tools for their amusement, and nothing more. And her voice, like so many others, had been ignored.

The tower became her sanctuary, and the dragon… oddly enough, her only comfort.

He never tried to speak to her. He never tried to control her. He only existed, a quiet presence at the top of the tower. It was strange how she found herself feeling safe in his silent company, even if she knew nothing about him. There were no words exchanged, no gestures of friendship. But he brought her food, he never entered her space, and most importantly—he never tried to harm her.

The men who came after her, however, were nothing like the dragon.

One day, the peaceful silence was shattered by the sound of hooves pounding against the forest floor. Y/n’s heart jumped into her throat as she rushed to the window, peeking out just enough to see a knight approaching the base of the tower. A sinking feeling filled her chest as she backed away, trembling. He called out for her, and although she didn’t respond, she could feel his eyes tracking her every movement from below. The way he stared at her… it was enough to freeze her blood.

She didn’t want to face him, didn’t want him to come any closer. But when he started climbing up the tower, panic surged through her veins.

In his eyes, she was nothing more than a prize. A damsel in distress that needed saving. It disgusted her how these men—knights, they called themselves—felt entitled to her. They believed they could show up, kill the dragon, and take her hand in marriage as if she were a mere trophy. She’d seen that look in their eyes before. It wasn’t concern. It wasn’t compassion. It was desire. Lust. Greed.

She didn’t trust him. She couldn’t.

So, when he reached the top and looked at her with those hungry eyes, her fear turned into cold determination. She pushed him down the tower, watching as he fell.

The sickening thud echoed below.

It wasn’t the end, though. Someone found the body, and after that, more men came—knights in shining armor, each more eager than the last to claim the “princess” for themselves. None of them cared what she wanted. They were predators, and their so-called chivalry was nothing but a facade for their selfish ambitions.

They never once asked for her permission. They assumed their presence was wanted, that they had the right to "rescue" her. But she didn’t want to be rescued. She didn’t want them at all. And every time one of them climbed the tower, she pushed them down just the same. The rumors spread quickly—of a dragon killing knights left and right, all to protect the princess in the tower.

But she knew the truth. The dragon had done nothing.

In fact, the dragon had done more for her than any man ever had. He was gentle. He respected her space, and in return, she felt safer around him than she ever had with another human. It was strange, perhaps even foolish, to trust a dragon—an unpredictable creature of legend. But in his quietness, she found solace. He gave her berries and fruits, a kind of offering. Maybe the dragon, too, was lonely.

One evening, he left a clawful of berries by her window as usual. She hesitated for a moment before reaching out. With trembling hands, she touched his claw—a tentative gesture, a soft caress of gratitude. The dragon froze, as if startled by her touch. She could feel the cold, smooth surface beneath her fingers, the sharpness of his talons. Her heart pounded as she traced the lines of his scales, feeling a strange sense of connection.

Suddenly, he let out a low growl, pulling away quickly. Fear gripped her as she stepped back, her pulse racing in her chest. Did she do something wrong?

“T-thank you, dragon!” she stammered, her voice shaky with fear and something else—hope, maybe.

The dragon huffed, a deep, rumbling sound that reverberated through the air. Was it a response? She couldn’t tell. But she took it as one.

She watched him from the window, her eyes tracing his dark silhouette against the moonlit sky. For the first time in so long, she felt something other than fear—something closer to… peace. Maybe, just maybe, the dragon wasn’t as evil as the stories said.

Maybe they were both just trying to survive in a world that had been cruel to them.

˙ ✩°˖🫐 ⋆｡˚꩜

Several days passed like this—her exchanging brief touches and whispers, him delivering food and resting on the roof of her tower. Until one day, something changed.

She had been waiting for the usual sound of his wings flapping when she heard something else—a soft footstep. Startled, she spun around, expecting another knight who had somehow scaled the tower. But when her eyes fell on the figure at the entrance, she froze.

He was very tall, but not in the imposing, armor-clad way of the knights. His clothes were dark, elegant, and his presence felt… different. The horns on his head glistened in the dim light of the moonlight, curling like the very symbol of power. His eyes, sharp and glowing, locked onto hers, and yet, they didn’t hold that familiar lust or greed she had come to expect. They were curious… warm.

Her breath hitched, her mind racing. Who—no, what was he? He wasn’t a knight, not a man here to take her away. But he wasn’t just any ordinary human either.

"Who… are you?" she whispered, voice trembling, not from fear, but from uncertainty.

The man—no, the creature—tilted his head, eyes softening. He didn’t speak, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was familiar, almost as if she had known him all along.

It clicked slowly in her mind. The dragon. The same eyes, the same gentle aura. He had always been watching over her, not as a threat, but as a guardian.

"You're... him, aren't you?" she murmured, stepping closer. She noticed the slight huff of air escaping his nose, much like the dragon’s low rumble when she thanked him. Her fear melted, replaced with wonder.

Her hands, almost instinctively, reached up toward his face, fingers lightly grazing his jawline. He stood still, just like he did when she touched his scales as a dragon, as if allowing her to confirm what she already knew.

He brought his hand up to meet hers, softly guiding it against his cheek. The coolness of his skin startled her—so cold, it almost seemed impossible that he was alive. In contrast, her hand was warm, curling instinctively against him, feeling the soft tickle of his hair as it cascaded over his shoulder and brushed lightly against her fingers.

“I am,” he finally spoke, his voice low and rich, carrying a quiet power that resonated deep within her.

There was no doubt left. He was the dragon—the creature that had watched over her, protected her from the horrors of the world, and silently kept her company all this time. And now, he stood before her in this form, speaking, meeting her touch with a tenderness that was both startling and comforting.

"Why… why didn’t you tell me?" she whispered, her fingers still resting against his cold cheek, her voice barely more than a breath.

The corners of his lips twitched slightly, as if he wanted to smile but wasn’t used to it. His hand, still holding hers, gently lowered it from his face, though he didn’t let go. "You were afraid," he said, his gaze softening as he looked at her, the golden glow in his eyes dimming into something calmer, more serene. "And I did not wish to make you more so."

She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "Afraid?" She almost laughed, though there was nothing humorous about it. "Of the knights, maybe, but never of you. You…" Her voice cracked, and she paused, taking in a shaky breath. "You’ve been the only one I could trust."

For the first time in a long while, the truth was spilling out of her. All those months of isolation, of pushing knights off the tower in desperate fear, and yet somehow, she had found solace in him—a dragon, a creature who shouldn’t have had any reason to care about her. She couldn’t even understand why herself.

His thumb brushed over the back of her hand, a barely-there gesture, but one that sent warmth spreading through her. "I have watched over you," he said quietly, "and I have seen your strength." His gaze flickered, the glow intensifying briefly. "But I have also seen your sorrow."

She blinked rapidly, her breath catching in her throat. It was true—her life had been marked by sorrow for as long as she could remember. The betrayal of her village, the trauma that haunted her every waking moment, the men who tried to take what wasn’t theirs to claim. They all left scars, both visible and invisible, and for so long, she had felt alone in carrying them.

But with him… she hadn’t felt so alone anymore.

"I don’t know why I stayed," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "When I first came here, I didn’t know if you were going to kill me, or… or worse." She laughed softly, a bitter sound. "But I couldn’t leave either. There was nowhere else to go."

"You stayed because you found safety," he murmured, his voice almost a growl, but one laced with understanding. "You stayed because you are not like them."

Her gaze met his, and for the first time, she didn’t feel the familiar tightness in her chest that came with looking into the eyes of a man. He wasn’t like them either. He wasn’t like the knights who invaded her sanctuary with their hungry gazes and false promises. He didn’t look at her like something to be claimed.

Slowly, she pulled her hand back, though her eyes remained fixed on him. "I’ve never met anyone like you," she confessed softly, taking a small step back, though she wasn’t retreating. She was just… overwhelmed. "You’re… not human, are you?"

He shook his head. "No. I am not."

She studied him for a long moment, her eyes tracing the curve of his horns, the ethereal glow of his eyes, the way he stood so still, so calm, so unlike any man she had ever known. And then, as if the weight of everything suddenly caught up with her, she let out a shaky breath. "I don’t know what to say," she whispered, her voice cracking with the weight of all the emotions swirling inside her.

"You don’t have to say anything," he replied gently. His voice was like the rumble of distant thunder, soft but powerful. "I will not force you to speak."

She bit her lip, her gaze lowering to the floor as she tried to collect her thoughts. "I just… I feel like I’ve been running for so long. Hiding." Her voice broke on the last word, and she quickly swiped at the tear that slipped down her cheek, hating how vulnerable she felt in this moment.

Malleus watched her in silence, his eyes never leaving her, though his expression never changed. He wasn’t judging her. He wasn’t pitying her. He was just… there, with her, in this moment. And that alone made her feel a strange kind of safety she hadn’t known in a long time.

"You don’t need to run anymore," he said quietly, his voice a low murmur that seemed to reverberate in her chest. "Not from me."

Her breath hitched, and for the first time, she felt the warmth of hope flicker inside her, fragile but present. Could it really be that simple? Could she really stop running? Stop hiding? It had been so long since she felt safe, truly safe.

And yet, here he was, the dragon she had once feared, now standing before her as her protector.

Tentatively, she reached out again, her fingers brushing against the fabric of his sleeve. "Then… stay," she whispered, her voice so soft it was almost lost in the stillness between them. "Don’t leave me alone."

His gaze softened further, and for a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes—something she couldn’t quite place, but it warmed her all the same.

"As you wish," he replied, his voice as soft as the night air around them. "I will stay."

[itneverendshere]

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - three

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

WARNINGS: maybank!reader; smut!; rafe is a red flag; guns; mentions of human trafficking; 80% of it is smut you've been warned;

word count: 7.9k...

part i; part ii; part iv

Growing up, you had to develop a thick skin.

With two deadbeat parents, it wasn't a choice—it was a necessity. Unlike JJ, you never blamed your mother for leaving. She was a victim too, and despite your nightly wishes and prayers that she had taken you with her, you found solace in knowing that at least one of you had escaped the torment of the Maybank household.

You learned early on to rely only on yourself.

While you had your younger brother, you never placed that burden on his shoulders. As the older sister, it was your responsibility to take the blame for everything and to shield him from Luke's drunken or drug-fueled rages.

You never resented JJ for it, you couldn’t—neither of you asked to be born into that situation.

You tried to take each day slowly, avoiding the house and staying at John B's as much as possible.

It was easier said than done; it was hard not to feel like a burden to your friends, especially since you were the one who had to be the adult in the group.

Kie, Pope, John B…weren’t supposed to take care of you. And yet, they did. They took you in, shared their homes, and gave you the semblance of family you craved but never had. It was a weird balance, living with a foot in both worlds: the chaotic storm of the Maybank household and the calm haven of your friends' places.

At John B's, despite its share of brokenness, it provided a refuge where you could breathe without the constant fear of violence.

You often found yourself on the porch, watching the sunset over the marsh, your mind wandering to dreams of freedom. Those moments were precious, tiny pockets of peace in your life. But no matter how much you tried to distance yourself from the fucking chaos, it was always there, lurking in the background.

Luke Maybank’s shadow was long and dark, and it followed you everywhere. Each time your phone buzzed with a message from JJ, your heart would race, fearing the worst.

It was a burden you bore proudly, protecting your brother from a world that seemed determined to break you both.

You eased into being the provider, to think, to act, to protect. It became second nature, an ingrained part of your identity forged from necessity.

While others your age worried about stupid matters, you were strategizing the best ways to keep your brother safe, figuring out how to stretch what little money you had, and ensuring that there was always something for JJ to eat, even if it meant you went without. 

You learned how to calm Luke down when he was on the brink of a violent outburst, and how to read the signs of an impending beating in his eyes.

You figured out which neighbors might turn a blind eye to your requests for help, and which ones might call social services if they saw too much. There were moments, rare and fleeting when you allowed yourself to dream.

You imagined a future where you and JJ were free from the chains of your upbringing. But dreams were a luxury you could rarely afford.

So, when Rafe told you—no, demanded—that you stayed in the deadbeat motel room while he met up with his contacts, you lost it. 

He'd gotten the text earlier in the morning and decided he was smart enough to lure you out of this. Except he wasn't.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not going.”

You didn’t take it lightly to people making choices for you. Your eyebrows shot up, mouth opening in indignant shock, "You think you can just order me around like I'm some puppet? I'm not staying here while you go off and do God knows what.”

Rafe's eyes narrowed. He wasn’t used to people standing up to him, you knew that. His expression hardened, the arrogance, and entitlement you’d grown to familiarize yourself with flaring up again.

"It's for your own good," his tone was condescending, like you were a child, “You don't understand the kind of people I'm dealing with. It's dangerous."

"Dangerous?" you laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "You think I don’t know what danger is? Look around, Cameron.”

Rafe opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off, stepping closer and jabbing a finger into his chest. You’d done a lot of that recently.

"It’s my life on the line too. And I’m not going to sit here and wait for you to come back like some obedient little bitch.”

His face practically matched the color of the deep red curtains in your room, “You’re making this a lot harder than it needs to be, Maybank.”

"No, you are," you fired back. "I’m going with you.”

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

He took a step away from you, fingers pointed at his temples, “What part of fucking dangerous do you not get?”

“If it’s dangerous for me, it’s dangerous for you.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tensing visibly. His gaze bore into yours, and you’d be damned if you were the first one to look away.

“This isn’t a game,” he said, clearly growing frustrated with your stubbornness, “You have no idea what these people are capable of.”

“Maybe not,” you conceded, “But I’m not staying behind and you’re not going alone.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand along his grown-out hair. 

“They chew up people like you.”

 “I’ve been chewed up by worse.”

He knew that.

And then, he saw the determination in you, that unyielding resolve that drove him up the fucking walls and he understood that he wasn’t going to win the fight. Unless he played dirty. 

“You’re too stubborn, y’know that, right?”

You chose to ignore him, grabbing the simple sweater he’d gotten for you the day before at a local market, “So, when do we leave?”

He almost sprinted to the door, “Now.”

You moved to follow him as he stepped outside into the hallway, but before you could follow, he grabbed your arm.

"Wait."

You almost pulled away, frustration boiling over.

"What now?"

His grip tightened, "This might hurt.”

"What?" You tried to twist free, glaring at him.

"Change of plans."

Before you could react, he pushed you back inside the room, slamming the door shut. He didn’t push you hard enough to fall, but the treason came so suddenly that you nearly lost your balance as you heard the lock click, the sound echoing in the small space. 

"Rafe! You piece of shit!” You pounded on the door, “Let me out! You can't do this!"

His voice was muffled but firm from the other side. "Stay here.”

"You motherfucker!" You screamed, kicking the door. But there's no clipped answer from the other side. The only sound was the echo of your own frantic breathing.

He was gone, the stupid bastard.

You collapsed against the door, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Rafe just left you there, locked like some helpless child. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

You were a Maybank, damn it, and Maybanks didn’t back down from a fight, even when their choices were taken from them.

In any other situation, you would’ve jumped out the window. You’d done it enough times back home, but this was different.

Your room’s floor was too high and even though you could get away with just a few scrapes or a broken finger, you couldn’t risk putting yourself in such a vulnerable state. You needed your body intact in case danger was nearby. If you had to run for your life, you needed both legs functioning. 

You glanced around the room, eyes landing on the bed, the frame sturdy.

That’s it! 

You thought to yourself as you rushed over and began to strip the sheets from the mattress, working quickly as you tied them together, creating a makeshift rope.

And they said pogues weren’t fucking smart.

It wasn’t your best work, but it was the best you could have under the circumstances.

Once you had fashioned the rope, you secured one end to the bed frame, testing it to ensure it could hold your weight. Satisfied that it was strong enough, you tossed the other end out the window, watching as it unfurled down the side of the building. 

You gripped the makeshift rope tightly and began to lower yourself out the window. It wasn’t your first rodeo; you knew better than to rush. Your heart pounded in your chest as you slowly inched your way down the side of the building.

Finally, your feet touched solid ground, and you released a breath you didn't realize you were holding. You tried to remember bits and pieces of information Rafe had laid out the night before, about the meeting, something about a dingy marine bar, a bartender named Miguel. 

You rushed back inside the motel, ignoring the puzzled look from the front desk guy as you practically demanded information about the bar. He hesitated clearly taken aback by your urgency, the way you blurted out the words, but you didn’t have time for explanations or politeness.

"Just tell me where it is," you pleaded, “It’s important.”

He scribbled down an address on a piece of paper and thrusted it into your hand.

"It's not far from here," his tone was wary, "But be careful. That place is no good for a lady on her own.”

So, nothing new, you wanted to tell him.

Any place infested with men or drunk men was a trap of its own. But instead, you only offered him a curt nod of thanks before running out the door again. You needed to find Rafe, you couldn’t afford to waste any time. 

You nearly raced through the streets, the address clutched tightly in your hand. And then, before you could process what the hell was going on, a hand enveloped your upper arm, fingers digging dip in your flesh before you could make a turn, dragging you to the dark alley you’d avoided.

The situation felt all too familiar. Your heart leaped into your throat, adrenaline pumping in and out of your veins. Instinctively, you struggled against the unknown grip, kicking and clawing in a desperate attempt to break free. Were you getting mugged?

"Let go of me!" you shouted, your voice echoing off the narrow walls of the alley, “I got nothing on me, let me go you stupid fuck!”

With a surge of adrenaline, you mustered all your strength and delivered a sharp elbow to your captor's stomach, causing them to grunt in pain and loosen their hold for a moment.

You wrenched yourself free, stumbling backward as you scrambled to put some distance between you and your attacker. You were about to land the best punch of your life as you spun around to face them, but as you finally got a good look at him, fear turned into anger. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you!”

“Me?” Rafe barked, all up in your personal space, “What the fuck is wrong with you? You jumped out a fucking window?!”

He knew you wouldn’t back down so easily. So he waited around the corner, hoping you were smart enough to keep still even though he knew you would never.

You blinked, the shock of seeing him in front of you momentarily overriding your anger. "You... You locked me in there!"

"Yeah, because you wouldn't listen!" he shot back, his frustration evident in his tone, “Fuck—Jesus fucking Christ.” He was shaking his head wildly, his hands balled into fists as he cursed away like a mantra. 

"I told you; I'm not staying behind while you go off risking your life!" You nearly spit but managed to tone down just enough.

"And I told you, it's too dangerous for you!" Rafe's voice rose with each word, his hands balling into fists at his sides. His pacing intensified, “What the hell were you thinking? What were you gonna do? Walk in and what, huh? You don't even have a gun on you!"

“So? Give me yours!”

Rafe’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Give you, my gun?! Did you hit your fucking head against the concrete?

“I’ll hit your head against the concrete if I have to.”

His left eye twitched in irritation, the look he gave you filled with enough ire to leave a hint of satisfaction sparking in your chest, “Maybank, I have half a mind to spank you right now, don’t fucking push it.”

You ignored him, “You’d rather I go in there unarmed?” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm, “I can do it.”

“Clearly. Look at you,” Rafe’s voice was sharp,“You think I wanted to leave you behind? You think I liked putting you in that room?”

“You didn't give me a choice! You think I was just gonna sit around waiting for you?”

Rafe sighed, palms pressing into his eyes “I’m trying to protect you, God fucking damn it. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“Save it,” You hissed out, pressing a hand to your chest as though to keep everything in. “How am I supposed to trust you when you pull this—this shit!”

Rafe reached into the waistband of his trousers, his movements slow and deliberate. Your breath caught in your throat as he pulled out his gun, lifting his shirt in the process. He took your hand and dropped it into your palm.

“Show me.”

“Uh?”

He nodded towards the gun in your hand. “Show me you know how to handle it.”

The sudden changes in his attitude always left you speechless. You hesitated, staring at the weapon in your hand. You had never held a gun before, let alone fired one. But the authority in Rafe’s eyes spurred you to action. With trembling fingers, you checked the safety and made sure the gun was loaded, trying to mimic what you had seen in movies.

“Alright,” Rafe said, his voice low. “Now, point it at me.”

“What?!”

“I said point it at me,” he repeated, “C’mon.”

You swallowed hard, your grip tightening on the gun. This was crazy. With shaky hands, you raised the gun, aiming it at his chest. Your heart pounded in your ears, the weight of the weapon feeling heavier with each passing second.

“Good,” Rafe nodded in approval. “Now, pull the trigger.”

“What the hell?! Rafe?!”

“Trust me, Maybank, just once.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Pull the trigger? He wasn’t fucking serious, was he? You couldn’t actually shoot him, could you?

But Rafe’s expression remained unwavering. He was being dead serious.

Maybe months ago you would’ve done it without a second guess, but now?

“I’m not pulling the trigger.”

“Just do it. You’re not going to hurt me, okay?”

With a deep breath, you squeezed the trigger, half expecting the gun to recoil in your hand. But nothing happened.

Oh. You had forgotten to chamber a round. He knew that already.

Rafe’s mouth twitched in a half-smile, as if the entire situation was normal, “You forgot to chamber a round.”

You watched him carefully, his bottom lip stuck out and, embarrassingly, you found you wanted to kiss him.

You lowered the gun, your hands shaking with adrenaline. You had just fired a weapon for the first time in your life. He reached out and gently took the gun from your hand, expertly chambering a round before handing it back to you. 

“Try again.”

This time, when you aimed the gun at the wall and pulled the trigger, you felt the recoil jolt along your body as the bullet fired. The sound echoed off the walls of the alley, causing your heart to race even faster.

“Atta girl.”

“I’m still pissed, Cameron.”

“I know,” Rafe conceded as he reached up to brush your hair from your eye, fingers grazing the side of your neck.  “I panicked, okay?”

You studied him for a moment, taking in the tired lines around his eyes, the way his shoulders sagged with exhaustion. He’d done so much for you over the past weeks, it shook you to the core. The countless times he had gone above and beyond, selflessly putting your needs before his own. So maybe, just maybe…you could let it go. 

“Okay.”

"Let's go.”

“Wait, right now?”

“Yeah,” Rafe said, his tone brisk as he holstered the gun. "We’re late.”

Hours later, you collapsed onto the bed, wondering what the hell you’d gotten yourself into, again. The events of the meeting replaying in your mind like a broken record. You’d never met such a group of people before. And you didn’t want to, ever again.

"Human traffickers," you muttered, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. "I can't believe we just met with human traffickers."

Rafe nodded solemnly, "Yeah.”

"I don't trust them. What if... What if they decide to snatch us up and... Oh my god, what if this is all just a ploy..."

“We’re in this together, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You wanted to believe him.

Your brow furrowed, your mind racing with questions. “How do you even know these people?”

He hesitated, “Barry. It’s... a long story. But right now, what’s important is that we got a way out, yeah?”

You nodded slowly, realizing that asking him for more information wouldn’t get you anywhere.

There were more important things to worry about. 

You didn’t know what was worse, running from Ward Cameron, finding yourself at the mercy of human traffickers, or potentially developing feelings for someone who’d ruined so many lives. 

God, if your brother saw you now…you’d be the greatest disappointment of his life. The mere idea consumed you entirely. The things you’d done.

The way you’d let Rafe into your bloodstream.

You hated yourself for it. Everything felt like it was spiraling out of your grasp, and you hated it.

What would you even tell him? You didn’t even know if had made it, but something told you that he did. He always did. And that meant that sooner or later you’d see him, and you’d have to watch him gradually despise you. 

And then there was Rafe.

The very thought of him made you want to stop breathing altogether. How could you even begin to reconcile the feelings you harbored for someone who had brought so much pain and destruction into your life? It felt like a betrayal to even consider it.

“You good, Maybank?”

You dragged your gaze away from the swirling fan on the ceiling to meet Rafe's concerned stare. He was studying you intently. You shifted on the bed, turning to face him fully. 

"I don’t know,” you muttered, forcing a weak smile that didn't quite reach your eyes, “You?”

He reached out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch always surprised you, how surprisingly light it felt.

“I don’t know.”

He had every reason to abandon you, to wash his hands clean of the entire situation, but he hadn’t.

You nodded, a lump forming in your throat.

It was hard to believe that someone like him could be capable of such tenderness, such vulnerability. But there he was, lying beside you, his attention fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart race.

“They’re about you.”

"Me?" you repeated confused, your voice barely a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile moment between you. 

Rafe nodded, scanning your face for any sign of understanding. "Yeah. You."

Your brows pulled together, “What is?”

He visibly gulped, pressing his lips together, blinking several times before releasing a held breath “The nightmares.”

You almost stopped breathing, "What about them?" 

He shifted uncomfortably, “They used to be just about my mom. Then dad. Now, it’s—uh, it’s just you. Ever since that night, it’s just you. Dying, because of—yeah.”

Oh. 

You hadn’t realized the extent of the impact that night had on him, on both of you

It was a lot to process, and you handy had the time to figure everything out yet.

His fingers brushed over the scar on your arm, and memories flooded your mind. The gunshots, the crippling fear you felt when they got to you, how Rafe reacted, how he touched you. 

“You should’ve told me before.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

You flinched instinctively at his touch, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity through your body. For a moment, you let yourself lean into his touch, allowing the warmth of his hand to chase away the ghosts that haunted you.

"Does it still hurt?" He asked, leaning in so his nose brushed against yours; it was warm against your skin. 

You shook your head, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Not anymore."

His fingers continued their path up, eventually reaching your cheek as he cupped it tenderly, carefully, as if he’d break you if he rushed it. 

You closed your eyes, savoring the closeness between you. And then, almost hesitantly, you felt him lean in, his mouth brushing against yours in a delicate caress. You hardly had to move to kiss him, only tilting your chin up.

It was tender, different from the ones you had before, just so quiet that it made you want to burst into tears. 

You kissed him back, tentatively at first, then with a growing hunger that mirrored the longing you had been feeling deep within your soul. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as if afraid to let you slip away. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the dangers lurking in the shadows, not the weight of your past sins, not the uncertain future that lay ahead.

All that existed was the intoxicating feeling between you and Rafe. But as the kiss deepened, a voice of reason scolded you in the back of your mind, reminding you of the consequences of your actions. You pulled away, breathless and dizzy, your heart pounding in your chest.

“We shouldn’t…”

Rafe only stared, before he nodded, understanding dawning in him. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I know,” he sighed, “Just get some rest.”

You nodded in agreement, grateful for the distraction. With a heavy grunt, you lifted yourself off the bed, making your way to the bathroom to change into some booty shorts and a simple tee.

When you emerged from the bathroom, Rafe was already settled on the bed, only in his boxers, his attention fixed on some point in the distance. You hesitated for a moment before joining him, the distance and closeness between you feeling suffocating. 

You wanted to say something, anything to break the tension, but the words stuck in your throat like a lump of lead.

Instead, you settled for a nod, and a quiet “Goodnight.” 

You slipped under the covers, the warmth of the blankets cocooning you in a false sense of security. 

“Night, pretty Maybank.”

You shut your eyelids, willing your racing mind to quiet down. But no matter how hard you tried, sleep eluded you, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant sound of passing cars sent a shiver down your spine, your senses heightened to the point of paranoia. You shifted restlessly in bed, the new sheets tangling around your legs like shackles, trapping you in a prison of your own making. 

You heard Rafe's voice beside you, breaking the silence of the room, “Can’t sleep if you keep moving.”

“Sorry.”

Rafe reached out, his hand finding yours in the darkness, “What is it?”

“I can’t sleep.”

His hold tightened around yours, "I know, Maybank," he spoke in a ushed tone, "But you're safe here. Try to relax, okay?"

You squeezed your eyes shut, already feeling the upcoming headache, “I don’t know how to.”

It was quiet again for a minute and you feared you’d bored the man to sleep with your insecurities, but then he spoke again.

“Turn around.”

You opened your eyes, even though you could barely see him. Was he telling you to spoon him?

“What?”

Rafe's thumb gently brushed against the back of your hand in a soothing rhythm, “Turn round f’me, kay?”

With a soft sigh, you did as he asked, turning onto your side to face away from him.

He moved closer, his body pulling against yours as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you snugly against his chest. His warmth enveloped you like some kind of shield as he pressed a light kiss to the back of your neck, his lips lingering against your skin. 

“There,” he whispered, his breath tickling your ear. “Better?”

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

These were dangerous waters.

If you couldn’t sleep before, you sure as hell weren’t about to do it now. All you could think about was that night, how he felt, how he touched you, how he fit right. 

An almost overwhelming feeling of arousal took over you, and with whatever courage you had left from the day, you moved again, pressing yourself impossibly closer to him. His warmth seeped into your skin, melting away the tension that had coiled tight in your muscles during the day, you could feel every ridge and turn of his body.

Your touch drew a low, guttural groan from Rafe, his breath hot against your skin as he pressed closer, his arousal unmistakable against your back. His teeth grazed your shoulder, followed by the flick of his tongue, and you released a breathy sigh as he lowered his head to bite the area.

His arm tightened around you as you traced the contours of his fingers, mapping out the familiar territory with ease and want. His heartbeat echoed against your back, a steady rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your own heart.

His lips brushed against your neck, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core, “Relax,” he murmured, his hoarse, “’M right here.”

With a boldness that surprised even yourself, you shifted your hips, grinding back against him, seeking the friction that would ease the ache between your legs and your head.

Rafe's reaction was immediate, his hands roaming over your body with a fervor that left you dizzy. His fingers found their way to the hem of your shorts, teasing the sensitive skin with feather-light touches. You twisted your fingers into his long hair, tugging lightly, delighting in the gasp it pulled from him.

“Tell me to stop, please,” His mouth brushed against your ear again, words coming out a slurred mess.

You ran you finger over his leg, where his boxers had risen, the warm skin driving you insane. If you lifted your fingers just a little higher, you’d be able to feel all of him.

You had to bite back a squeal when his thumb brushed over your covered nipple, “I can’t.”

You felt the tension in his muscles as he paused for a moment, his grip on you tightening. An unrestrained, almost desperate plea escaping his mouth, "Are you sure?"

You swallowed hard. This was so fucking wrong. But underneath it all, you knew what you wanted.

You turned your head slightly, your lips grazing his jawline as you muttered a "Yes."

You gasped when Rafe raised his thigh, placing it between your own, as he used his hands on your hips to guide you back and forth, grinding you down against his skin. You couldn’t remember a time you’d ever felt so out of control, so desperate for someone’s touch. The thin barrier of your shorts and panties felt like an unbearable hindrance, a small but significant obstruction to the shattering desire you needed to reach.

One of his hands slipped under the waistband of your panties, the other splaying across your stomach, holding you firmly in place. His fingers found you slick and ready, a whimper vibrating across his chest at the discovery.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, his fingers starting a slow, torturous rhythm against your clit.

You bucked against his hand, seeking more, needing more. Your head fell back against his shoulder, and you turned slightly to capture his lips in a heated kiss.

You felt his tongue press against yours and you nearly came on the spot. He slowly circled your clit, sending your hips jerking into him, “I can’t stop touching you.”

You struggled to form words as breathy moans escaped your mouth, “Please don’t,” you rasped, your thoughts turning to mush as he dipped the tips of his fingers inside you, gathering your wetness. When you finally found your voice, it was a mere screech, “Rafe...”

“I’ve got you,” he murmured back, finally pushing two fingers inside you, at an agonizing pace, “I’ve got you.”

Your jaw went slack as he curled his thick fingers, a gasp escaping when he found that spot that made you see stars. Your nails involuntarily dug into his skin. The heel of his hand pressed against your clit, pulling another moan from you. With his other hand still on your hip, he pushed you back, guiding you to grind against his fingers.

The rhythm he set was maddening.

His breath was hot against your neck, his voice a growl as he removed his fingers, making you whine in protest.

He glided one between your folds, the wetness easing up the process, “You’re so fucking perfect,” he muttered, his words sending a thrill down your spine. “Can’t get enough of you.”

“Ra—You’re gonna make me come,” you gasped as his arm left your waist, sliding underneath your ribcage and resting on your chest, kneading your breast through the fabric of your shirt, “Fuck.”

“Yeah, baby, that’s the point,” he purred into your ear, two fingers sliding inside you again, so suddenly you threw your head back again, thighs clenching together tightly as he pumped his fingers in and out.

At this point, you were lightheaded, fucking yourself back onto him, grinding down as you chased your orgasm. 

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice trembling with desperation. “Please, Rafe...”

His fingers quickened their pace, each thrust sending oceans of pleasure down your body. “Not stopping,” he promised,“Want to feel you dripping around my fingers.”

His words sent you spiraling, the buzz inside you building to an unbearable peak. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling with the intensity of your approaching climax. Rafe's touch was relentless, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot over and over.

“Rafe—” you cried out, your voice breaking as your orgasm crashed over you, wave after wave of intense pleasure radiating from your pussy.

Your body convulsed, and you clung to him, nails digging into his arm as you rode out the ecstasy.

Rafe held you without a break, his fingers never slowing, drawing out every last tremor of your release. When you finally came down, breathless and spent, he withdrew his fingers, not giving you a break to breathe as he shuffled behind you, pulling his boxers down, just enough to release his aching cock, doing the same to you as he slid his length between your folds.

The sensation was…everything, his heaviness pressing against your sensitive, slick entrance, the heat of him making you shiver. You bit your lip, suppressing a scream as Rafe's hand gripped your hip, holding you steady.

“Shit shit”, you breathed out, barely able to form coherent thoughts. The anticipation coiled inside you again, your body already aching for him, “’M sensitive.”

“Shhhh,” he purred, his voice husky against your ear. “Just relax, pretty.”

He rocked his hips slowly, the head of his fat cock teasing your entrance, not pushing in but sliding between your folds, spreading your wetness over his length. 

Holy fuck, you’d gone to heaven.

Rafe's breath hitched, his grip on your hip tightening as he tried to control himself.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, “So perfect.”

“Oh my god,” you sighed, biting your lip when his tip bumped against your clit, “I need you to—Shit, just fuck me.”

With a slow, deliberate motion, he angled his hips and began to push inside you, inch by tantalizing inch. The stretch was exquisite, slowly filling you in a way that left you gasping, your body accommodating him with a shuddering breath.

��Jesus,” Rafe hissed, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as his cock twitched inside you. “So tight.”

Your fingers dug into the sheets, the thrill and the sensation of being filled to the hilt almost too much. You could feel every part of him, the way he throbbed inside you, the way his body fit perfectly against yours. You felt his breathing against your skin, coming out in uneven and ragged breaths.

He started a slow, steady rhythm, each thrust measured and deep, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in.

His other hand found your breasts, kneading the sensitive flesh through your shirt, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

You couldn’t hold back the mewls that escaped your lips, each movement driving you higher, the tension building again. Rafe’s breath was ragged against your ear, his lips brushing your skin in sloppy, open-mouthed kisses.

He gently bit your earlobe, withdrawing his hips until only the tip of him remained inside you, before slowly pushing back in with deliberate, languid movements. You reached back, tangling your fingers in his hair once again.

“Rafe... harder, please,” you begged, shame thrown out the window, “I need it harder.”

He moaned, the sound vibrating through his chest as he complied, his hips snapping against you with more force, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. His hand slid down from your chest to your clit, circling the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts.

You felt the familiar coil of pleasure tightening, your body tensing as you teetered on the brink.

“Can’t belie—fuck. Can’t believe I get to have you again.”

You curved your back again, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor, your body craving the release that was so so close.

“I c-can’t hold on much longer,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a breathless whimper.

“Then let go,” Rafe growled, his fingers pressing harder against your clit. “Come for me, baby. I want to feel you.”

You groaned, “I want to see you when I do.”

Before he could answer, you pulled away from him, making him groan, but you shut him up as you turned to face him, dragging your shorts and panties out of the way, not looking where you threw them as you quickly lifted your body and settled over his, hands pressed to his naked chest as you rubbed yourself against him. 

Rafe's hands gripped your hips firmly as you positioned yourself above him, “You tryn’ to kill me, pretty Maybank?”

You smirked, leaning down to press a quick peck against his lips, “Yeah.”

Without any warning, you lowered yourself onto him, both gasping at the sensation of being joined once again. He filled you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way, his tip touching your cervix.

Your movements were slow at first, savoring all of him, every sensation that rippled from end to end of your body. But soon, the slow burn grew into a raging inferno, and you found yourself moving faster, chasing that peak of pleasure one more time.

“Get this fucking thing off,” He growled, pulling at your shirt. You would’ve found it funny if you weren’t so desperate to feel him.

You sat up, quickly tugging the shirt over your head and tossing it aside. Rafe's eyes darkened with lust as he took in your bare chest, his hands immediately finding your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples in a way that made you gasp and arch into his touch.

You started to move again, lifting yourself up before sinking back down onto him, each movement sending waves of desire through both of you.

A filthy kiss followed, all spit and tongues tangling messily as if trying to devour each other whole.

The taste of him filled your mouth, cigarettes and toothpaste, his moans mingling with yours.

The kiss was a brutal assault, his teeth nipping at your lips, drawing blood, which only seemed to fuel the frenzied rhythm of your body. Rafe's grip on your hips tightened, guiding your movements, and encouraging you to take him deeper, pounding into you, abs flexing.

You leaned forward, your hands bracing against his sturdy chest, the new angle allowing him to hit even deeper inside you. The room was filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, your cries, and the rhythmic, filthy, slap of skin against skin.

“Fuck, this pussy can’t be real,” Rafe groaned, his eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race. “Ride me harder, baby. Wanna watch you.”

You increased your pace, the friction and fullness driving you closer to the edge with each thrust. His hands moved from your hips to your waist, holding you steady as you moved, his touch grounding you even as you felt like you were about to come apart at the seams. His thumb found your clit again, rubbing it in tight, precise circles that had you crying out his name.

“Oh god, Rafe, I’m s-so close,” you panted, your body trembling with the effort to hold back your release, wanting to savor every second of this moment.

“Come for me, pretty. Wanna to feel you drippin’ all over my cock.”

That was all it took.

With a loud moan, you came, your body convulsing around him, your nails digging into his chest as the phases of your pleasure crashed over you. Rafe watched you, his expression one of pure awe, jaw slack open as his hands never left your body.

As your climax subsided, your breathing ragged and your limbs trembling, he gently kissed your temple, his lips tender. He murmured soothing words and you swore you were on cloud nine.

You felt his heartbeat, steady and strong against your own. His fingers traced lazy circles on your back, calming you, bringing you back to earth. 

But as the pleasure subsided, you became acutely aware of Rafe's cock still hard and throbbing inside you. His breath was ragged, his eyes void of any color, and you knew he was on the brink. You lifted yourself slightly, feeling him slip almost out of you before you sank back down, taking him deep again, despite the way your thighs burned, the way your hole ached.

"Rafe," you called, “Need to feel you come inside me."

His grip on you tightened, his eyes briefly closing as a guttural moan escaped his lips. He released you for a moment, only to bring his hand down sharply, delivering a stinging smack to your ass,

"Watch your fucking mouth.”

The sudden impact made you gasp, the pain amplifying your desire.

Rafe's eyes snapped open,"You like that, don't you?" he growled, "Look at you."

You could only nod, breathless and aching for more. His hands returned to your hips, guiding your movements with a renewed urgency. The sting from the slap lingered, a delicious reminder of his dominance, the only place you'd let him take the lead.

You started to move again, your pace slow and deliberate, your movements designed to drive him wild. Each time you sank onto him, you could feel him throbbing, his control slipping with every passing second. His fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he tried to hold on.

"Please, baby," you whined, "I need to feel your cum."

The pet name did it.

With a growl, he shifted, flipping you onto your back and pinning you beneath him.

The sudden change made you gasp, your legs instinctively wrapping around his ass as he drove into you in a mean mating press. His pace was relentless, like he’d die if he stopped.

The sounds of your “oh’s” mixed with his grunts, only amplified the passion. You could feel the tension coiling inside him, the way his body strained against yours, every muscle taut with anticipation.

"Gonna fill you up,” he grounded out, his voice strained, "So fucking close."

You tightened your legs around him, pulling him deeper, your nails raking down his back, leaving red trails in their wake. "Come for me, baby," you urged, your desire reigniting at the thought of him finding his release, “Need you so bad.”

His eyes snapped open, locking onto yours with a feral intensity. "You want my cum?" he growled, thrusting harder, making you cry out in pleasure. "Beg for it."

"Please, Rafe," you gasped, feeling the pressure building inside you, "Fill me up. I need it. I need you."

With a final, powerful thrust, Rafe's body stiffened, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as he let out a hoarse cry. You felt the hot rush of his release, the pulsing of his cock as he emptied himself inside you. His entire body trembled, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he rode out his orgasm. You could feel him pulsing, the warmth flooding you as he let out a primal growl, his grip on you almost bruising.

And right there, another orgasm ripped through you, your body tightening around him as you cried out his name.

He collapsed onto you, both of you panting and trembling. His weight was comforting, his breath hot against your neck as he pressed soft kisses to your skin, his earlier roughness giving way to a tender aftermath.

You held him close, your hands running soothingly over his back, feeling the ridges of the muscles you had just marked with your nails. Your own body still buzzed with the aftermath of your pleasure.

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes met yours, a look of pure adoration in his gaze that left you speechless. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender, lingering kiss.

He cradled your face in his hands. "We’re gonna be okay," his breath felt warm against your lips.

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten with emotion.

Tears welled up in your eyes as his lips touched yours again, the faint tender kiss so different to the man you used to know. You tried to hold back, to keep the overwhelming tide at bay, but you broke, and a sob escaped your lips.

He pulled back slightly, concern etched across his pretty features. "Hey," he murmured, his thumb brushing away the tears that spilled down your cheeks. "What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?"

You shook your head, "No, it’s not that," your voice trembled, “I’m scared.”

Rafe's expression softened, thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. "Shh, it's okay," he soothed, "Let it out, baby. I’m right here."

You buried your face in his chest, your tears soaking into his skin. The warmth of his embrace, the rhythm of his heartbeat, and his hold were the only thing keeping you together at this point and if you weren’t feeling so much, you’d feel pathetic for relying so much on someone else.

He held you tightly, his hand stroking your hair as you cried, releasing the pent-up anxiety.

"We—I, I don’t know what I’m doing," you admitted through your tears, your voice muffled against his chest. "I’m really, really scared.”

Rafe kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering, "I know, Maybank," he whispered,"I’m scared too.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him through tear-filled eyes. "You are?"

He nodded, his attention never wavering from features.

"Yeah, I am. This...And—don’t know what I’m doing either. But I want it. I want you."

“But it’s wrong.”

“I know, pretty.”

He pulled out slowly, both of you hissing at the sensitivity. Rolling onto his side, he gathered you into his arms, holding you close. You nestled against his chest.

“I’m sorry for jumping out the window,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his skin, “You just...make me so angry.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers running through your hair in soothing strokes. "I shouldn’t have locked you in.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the last of your tears dry against his skin. You knew things wouldn’t be easy, but his reassurance gave you a little strength.

After a while, Rafe shifted slightly, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. 

"We’ll figure this out, Maybank.”

“Promise?”

He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly.

Promises weren’t something he was used to making, you knew that. But then he nodded.

“Promise.”

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 31: "I've got you"

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

Imagining Spencer as the unit chief drives me feral, and this is kinda hurt/comfort, but I hope you like it.

I'm sorry it's been a few more days, but I needed a break from everything urgently. Anyway, here it is! Thanks for making it this far, see you next year ;)

For weeks, Spencer Reid had been temporarily filling the role of unit chief. He still felt a bit uncomfortable in this position, more accustomed to contributing his knowledge than leading. However, with each new case, his responsibility towards the team—and especially towards you—became clearer. He wasn’t just your mentor in an academic sense, but also in a professional one, and he felt a connection that went beyond mere work. Spencer had become someone who wanted to protect you, not just guide you.

That’s why, when the preliminary analysis of the case indicated that the victim they had just found at the crime scene was someone close to you, he felt an uncontrollable urge to keep you away from that situation. He remembered all too well what it felt like to lose someone dear in such a violent way and didn’t want you to have to face that same shattering reality.

You were already walking toward the yellow tape, ready to help decipher the modus operandi of the killer you were chasing, when he quickly approached you, his expression grave and full of concern. He wasn’t going to give you the chance to resist; he had decided that the best course of action was to pull you back, to shield you from the pain before it was too late.

“You’re off this case,” he said firmly, his voice carrying an authority he rarely used with you.

“What? Why?” you protested, frowning. “Why are you asking me this, Reid? Do you think I can’t handle it?”

He shook his head, his face serious, his gaze trying to persuade you without words. The idea of letting you see that was unbearable to him. He already knew it wasn’t a guess; it was a hard truth, difficult to digest and even harder to accept. He felt his fingers tense, his hands fighting the urge to physically hold your shoulders, to restrain you with the strength he needed to keep you from facing that devastating sight.

“Listen to me. This isn’t something you should see. The victim… it’s someone you know.”

You stayed silent for a few seconds, trying to process what you had just heard. The air grew thick, your breathing heavier as a wave of disbelief and fear began to take hold. Yet, you resisted. Ignoring his words, you pulled away from his side in a desperate impulse, determined to confirm the truth for yourself.

Spencer tried to stop you, but it was no use. The scene unfolded before you, and your eyes landed on the lifeless face of someone you deeply loved. Reality hit you hard, and all your strength collapsed in an instant. It was as if the world crumbled around you, and you were paralyzed, trapped in that endless moment of pain and desolation.

Spencer watched as you broke down. The shock in your face, the trembling in your hands, the emptiness in your gaze… it was all a blend of emotions he knew too well. Seeing any corpse was hard, for sure, but seeing someone you knew lying on the floor was heartbreaking.

As he looked at you, he recalled his own experiences of loss. Those nights when he had desperately wished for a hug, a refuge, a promise that things would be okay. His heart broke seeing you so vulnerable, and without thinking further, he crossed the distance between you and wrapped you in his arms.

The warmth of his embrace shattered the emotional blockade you had been submerged in, and suddenly, you found yourself clinging to him with all your might, seeking in his presence a comfort that seemed impossible.

You felt the weight of your emotions overflowing, the pain pulling you down with an unstoppable force. Your hands gripped the fabric of his shirt, and you buried your face in his chest, as if you were trying to disappear in his embrace. Spencer felt each shaky breath, each tear that fell onto his clothing, and he held you with the same intensity, as if he too depended on that contact to stay whole.

“Hey, I’ve got you,” he murmured against your hair, his voice barely breaking, as if those words could somehow shield you from reality.

In his mind, Spencer couldn’t stop thinking about all he had wished for in his worst moments. No one had been there to hold him in the same way when he faced his own tragedies. He remembered the loneliness, the deep pain that threatened to consume him, and how he had learned to bury his feelings just to keep going. But now, at that moment, he felt a desperate urge to be for you everything he had never had.

“I’ve got you,” he repeated, with a conviction that brought you a faint sense of calm. His arms were like a barrier against the world, a shield that offered you protection amidst the chaos around you. In that moment, nothing else mattered; only the warmth of his embrace, the firmness of his hold, and the words he whispered like a mantra. He wasn’t promising that the pain would go away, but that he would be there to hold you through it.

Around you, the crime scene continued its course: the patrol lights illuminated the night, agents went on with their work, and the murmur of voices mixed with the ambient noise. But for you, all of that faded away; there was only Spencer and the refuge he provided in that moment of weakness.

The trembling in your hands began to subside little by little, though the pain did not disappear. Your breathing became a bit steadier, and you dared to look up, meeting Spencer’s eyes. There was something in his expression, a mix of empathy and determination that made you feel understood. He wasn’t just there as your boss or your mentor; he was there as someone who understood your suffering in a way no one else could.

In his mind, Spencer repeated a silent promise. He wouldn’t let you go through the same things he had. You couldn’t know it, but each gentle rub on your back, each softly whispered word, was charged with a silent resolve, a promise that he would do everything he could so you wouldn’t have to face the pain alone.

“We’re going to get through this,” he finally whispered, his voice steadier than he actually felt. And as you nodded weakly, you clung to that phrase as if it were an unbreakable promise.

Spencer kept his arms around you for several minutes, ignoring the passage of time and the murmur of the other agents. He was aware that you’d have to face reality eventually, that you’d have to process what had happened. However, he was willing to hold you as long as necessary, because he knew that in moments like this, support and company were the only things that could mitigate the pain, even if just a little.

To him, holding you was more than an act of comfort; it was an act of redemption, a way to heal his own wounds by offering you the support he had never received. And in that instant, you both shared a moment of intimacy and understanding so profound that it transcended words.

When you finally pulled away, he kept a hand on your shoulder, a gesture of support that anchored you to reality. Your eyes met, and in Spencer’s gaze, you found a silent promise that you would be okay, that he would be by your side for as long as it took. And although the pain hadn’t vanished, you knew that, at least for that moment, you weren’t alone.

[with-my-calamitous-love]

I’VE NEVER SEEN, SOMEONE LIT FROM WITHIN

touya todoroki x reader

you and touya, in the midst of hiding, try to live some semblance of a normal life and enjoy the first snowfall on the season.

for the anon who asked for touya with a reader who isn’t a human lighter who gets cold easily in comparison to him. also, my hometown got snow and i’m in the philippines missing it :(

inspired by snow on the beach

“i’m getting restless.” he groans.

a lot of complaining from someone who would be taken down or arrested if he made even the slightest unplanned public appearance.

the weather outside was less than ideal for you, anyway. a chilly -9°, and snow falling to replace the autumn leaves now buried beneath it. you were happy for touya, at least. summers he spent shirtless, seated in front of a fan had now been laid to rest. in the dead of winter, he could lounge around comfortably with nothing but a light sweater on. he enjoyed it.

he didn’t enjoy seeing your shivering, however.

like all the times he asked to shower with you- one of his favourite activities- he has to remember that not everyone has a burning heart. he was admittedly a bit confused when you jumped out of the tub after just dipping your toe into the below freezing water he finds normal to bathe in.

“i know.” you say, sympathetically joining him on the couch. he pulls you to sit between his legs, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on top of your heard. he’s so warm.

“its near midnight. no one would see us anyway.” he quietly argues. and admittedly, he’s right. anyone out in this cold at this time of night likely would be minding their own business, just waiting to make it back to warmth.

you grumble, annoyed by his insistence. but in that moment, you catch a rare glimpse of him.

his ocean eyes are staring out the window, staring at the flecks of light through the dark winter night. theres a certain longing in his expression he wouldn’t dare to show anyone on purpose.

his life had been emotionally abusive, time never stopping for him to process his hurt and his losses. he only truly finds refuge in you, who validates his pain and who unglues himself from that pain, even for a moment when he’s with you.

as a child, his favourite season was winter.

and it still is.

touya misses it, though he’d never admit. you can see it. you’ve caught him staring out with winter, drawing stupid doodles with his finger against the frost. its weird, but its beautiful. he looks at the snow like a screen, lighting his soul from within.

you just want him to be safe. you don’t want him to be taken away from you.

but at least, you could give him this.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

the snow blurs out your periphery, but you’re still safe. after all, touya’s next to you, his warm hand cupping yours.

he still doesn’t need any layers. you, on the other hand, are wrapped up in his jacket. its big on you, but it somehow feels better than any coat you have ever tried in your life.

his words remain neutral as he stands on the outside of the sidewalk, shielding you. but his eyes have found some sense of familiarity. he’s a walking through the snow, stars in his hands as he holds you next to him. ✩

“you warm enough, doll?” he asks, blue eyes flicking down to you. he doesn’t fail to notice how he can see your breath. he finds that red tinge on your nose adorable.

“mhm.” you say, momentarily broken from your thoughts. truthfully, all you can focus on is how you’ve never seen this side of him before. the side of touya that had some semblance of a normal child. in his eyes, you know more and more clearly that he was once a kid who had a favourite toy, a favourite game, and a favourite season.

“good, ‘don’t wanna deal with you and your immune system getting sick.” he jokes, though you both know he’ll move mountains to ensure your health. right now, he’s a bit distracted to. his ears take in the crunching of the snow beneath his feet, the sight of snow falling, and the feeling of your colder hand in his.

he’s nostalgic for a time he never really got to have.

he can’t speak but he doesn’t want to jinx it. he doesn’t even wanna think it. all he can do is wishes he never loses you. because you’re his winter, all year round. you’re that thing that extinguishes his burning soul.

so he squeezes your hand tighter as he redirects the two of you home, sensing you’re getting cold. he can cut the winter walk short if it means having a warm, loving night with you.

you wanting him feels impossible. but here you are, spending the winter with him.

he hears you sniffle, and looks back to see your scrunched up nose and red-tinged cheeks. he just chuckles, resolving to make it up to you later.

[miniwheat77]

Give into me. (König x Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, rough p in v sex, unprotected sex, König manhandling reader a bit, lot of blood and violence, sex pollen, poorly translated german, (sorry if I missed any.)

This is NOT proofread because I am lazyyyyy. Hope you enjoy :)))))

Your boots make the faintest of sounds as you trek through the forest, it’s dense, the air is cool and it’s humid. It’s something you’ve never experienced before.

You weren’t exactly new to being in the military but you’d had little experience outside of the base considering there wasn’t much war going on as of late, which was a good thing. Until of course another country stuck their nose in business that wasn’t there’s and started one.

You’re in alliance with them, and have to come when they call for you. That’s what friends do.

So here you are, fighting in a war that isn’t yours. In unfamiliar territory. Terrified.

You’re standing close to your Colonel, the massive man is like a shield in front of you. He may be quiet, but he doesn’t hide very easily. He’s a stern man who doesn’t say much. But he offers comfort to you somehow. Being close to him makes you feel better. A whistle leaving his lips has you stopping right in your tracks. Almost running into him. He holds his hand up, motioning for everyone to stop. You don’t know how long you’ve been walking for, or where you’re even going. You’re frozen, and when the first shot rings out, you freeze.

König crouches down from the shots, retreating into the tree line and yelling orders, watching as his soldiers are taken off guard and ambushed. You’re closest to him, finally snapping out of it and jumping out of the line of fire. König grasps hold of your backpack, tugging you into him. “Stay still.” He breathes.

It’s silent.

Your entire group aside from you and König are dead.

You’re staring in shock.

“Konzentriere dich, sieh mich an” he reaches out, holding onto you. “Focus.” He says it again so you understand. “The only way we’re getting out of this alive is to be completely aware of our surroundings.” He breathes. You nod your head. His accent is strong and it makes your head fuzzy. You can hardly focus, ears still buzzing from the gunshots.

Your eyes trail to your mates, who are all dead now. It makes you sick, but this is the harsh truth about the military. You and König manage to slip away unharmed, creeping your way into their base where they are taking refuge. The only way to infiltrate and win is to be quiet and tactical. König’s stealth and ability to stay hidden surprises you. He’s clearly had years of experience. His heart rate stays the same, never elevates. He doesn’t even seem nervous.

Maybe this was the wrong mission for you to come along on. You follow behind him into the building, he’s equipped with a silencer and a knife, which is how he’s killing each of them.

You can’t deny it, and even in the worst time in the world to find someone attractive, he still is. He’s strong and smart. He’s good at what he does.

“Clear.” He mumbles.

You’ve got a knife in your hand. Covered in blood that may or may not be yours anymore. You don’t know. “They’re hiding something here. Time to find out what it is.” He mumbles. You nod your head, following behind him like a lost puppy. You decide you need to stop, show him that you can handle yourself so you branch off. Viewing a couple of the rooms. You don’t see anything, they look just like normal offices to you. Until you step foot into the last one. Your gun is raised, just in case. Pushing the door open. Your eyes widen. “Uh.. Colonel? I think I found what we’re looking for.” You say. He walks in, eyes going wide when he see it.

There are some rats and rabbits in cages, they’re still in tact but there’s something going on. You take a step closer, looking around. Noticing most of the rats have babies in their cages. You look across paperwork, trying to figure out what it is.

König opens up a filing cabinet, it’s full of small silver briefcases. He takes one of them out, opening it up.

There’s 5 small syringes in the briefcases. Bright blue liquid. “Looks like window cleaner.” You smile. Earning an eye roll from him. “You read anything?” He asks. “Reproductive drug.” You nod. He looks confused. “It’s meant to kick your reproductive system into overdrive, meant for people who struggle to conceive. There’s a lot of money in this.” You look at him. He nods. “verrückte Leute” he mumbles under his breath. “What happened to these ones?” He asks. There’s a few rats dead inside of a cage.

“If you don’t.. conceive. You die.” His eyebrows raise, but you can’t see it because of his mask. “Christ..” he mumbles. It’s silent.

Too silent.

A vent being kicked open from above has you both flinching away, hiding behind furniture in the room. You watch above, worried.

You hear the clinking sounds of something falling into the room, landing right in the center. It explodes and blue smoke fills the room. It sends you and König into a coughing fit, exposing you to the drug you’ve just looked at. “Fuck!” He yells. Drawing his gun and firing up into the ceiling. He hears something collapse up above.

“Bleiben Sie sitzen, Sergeant!” He yells. You know what this means, not moving a muscle. You don’t want to die today. Not like the others. Blood begins to drip from the bullet holes in the ceiling, becoming easier to see as the smoke dissipates. König had eliminated your assailant. You stay still, your body starting to feel warm. “Clear.” König says. “For now.” He breathes. He lowers his gun, fastening it back into its holster on his hip. His hands are getting more and more appealing as time passes. Your blood is pumping through you quickly, the only thing on your mind is what he must taste like. What his skin must feel like.

He snaps in front of your face. “Passt auf” his stern voice is enough to make your knees weak. “Sorry Colonel.” You blush, looking down. “We need to find an antidote. Look around.” He says. He’s starting to feel it too, but it’s moving slower through him because of his massive size.

While sifting through papers, your hands are shaky.

The throbbing between your legs is getting harder and harder to ignore and you’re getting distracted. Eyes following König as he sifts through paperwork.

You’re rocking your hips into the chair beneath you, the warmth becoming harder and harder to ignore. “F-fuck-“ you whimper, which draws his eyes to you.

They widen slightly at your appearance. You’ve shed a layer of clothing, all that was left was your shirt and cargo pants. The rest is discarded somewhere in the room. “Are you okay?” He asks. “No- need to find s-something.” A moan leaves your lips. “Anything.” You whimper. Sliding your hips forward again, body begging for some kind of friction. His pupils darken, feeling himself harden in his pants. He needed to find that fucking antidote. Now.

He’s sorting through paperwork, but not finding anything. As he reads across the papers, the only thing going through his mind is the both of you dying at the tail end of a success, he doesn’t want those soldiers dying in vain, for nothing. He stands up, maybe they needed to look in another room. “Come on, wir schauen uns woanders um” he mumbles, pulling you along. The warmth from his hand has your knees buckling again but you catch yourself as he pulls you along. You’ve lost every bit of control you have. You’re seconds away from shedding your pants and relieving the ache between your legs.

He pushes you back into a chair and you tilt your head back, groaning out. König is sweating under his hood, he’s rock hard. He’s desperately searching through paperwork, looking for anything.

Finally, he gets his hands on a paper.

He reads across the paper, but it’s too late.

There are stages to the drug, and you’re both already passed stage 2, which is when the antidote needs to be administered.

It’s fuck or die now.

König sighs. It’s the only choice the both of you have now. “It’s too late.” He breathes. “What?”

“I found the cure but it has to be given sooner. Too late.” He breathes. “So.. what does that mean?” You breathe. “It means.. we give in. oder wir sterben” he breathes. “Fuck..” you whine. You grasp the hem of your shirt, you can’t take it anymore. You need his hands on you. “König, please.” You breathe. “I know you feel it too.” You pant. He moves closer, kneeling down in front of you. “What do you want me to do?” He breathes. “Just..” you reach for his hand, placing it on your own thigh. “Please- fuck me Colonel.” You mewl, pushing your hips forward. He breathes. He chews on his lips nervously. If he does this, there’s no going back.

He pushes his hand up your thigh, higher. Feeling you tense up, pushing your hips closer to him.

“Scheiß drauf” they’re the only words out of his mouth before he closes the distance between the both of you, pulling you down onto the ground and pushing the chair back away from you. He hovers himself over you, tugging his hood off. Right now, he didn’t care. The only thing he cared about was feeling how tight you’d be around him. He tugs his gear off, you start pulling the remainder of your clothes off beneath him as well. Once he’s got himself exposed enough, he’s burying himself into you.

The relief you feel seems impossible, it feels like fireworks are going off in your stomach.

You can’t stay still beneath him, squirming. You can hardly stay quiet.

Despite how desperate he was, König was still on high alert, which is how he managed to hear footsteps. He clamps a hand over your mouth, reaching for his gun. He halts his thrusts for just a second. You rock your hips up into him, he flinches at the pleasure. “Ah- Y/N. Stop it for a second.” When you don’t stop, raising your hips into him over and over for any friction, he groans out. “Verdammt, Liebling” he breathes, just then, a man steps into the doorway. His eyes going wide. “What the fu-“ König pulls the trigger before he can even finish his sentence, throwing his gun down and rocking his hips into yours. He grasps hold of you, lifting you up with him. He stands up straight with you. He backs you up into a wall, holding you steady as he he fucks into you harder. He can’t seem to focus on anything but you. Doesn’t care that he’s just killed a man while he’s buried deep inside of you, and it doesn’t seem like you care much either.

“So desperate.. didn’t even flinch.” He breathes. “dreckiges Mädchen”

He wraps his hands around you, squeezing you tight and holding you still as he rocks his big cock up into your weeping hole. You can’t stay quiet, whining out as he fucks into you. “Colonel, please-“ you whimper. “So so good.”

He bites down onto your shoulder, feeling you tense up in his grasp. Another string of moans leaving your lips. You can’t get enough of him, no matter what.

König feels like he could spend hours inside of you. Rocking his sensitive cock into your hole until neither of you can take anymore. Rubbed raw and sore from the friction. He’s getting close, he can barely handle it. He’s got to make you his. Fill you full of him. He grits his teeth. “Ah! Going to cum-“ he gasps. He sits back into a chair, and you lift yourself up onto him, riding his cock through his high. You wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face into the crook of his neck as you move against him. He cries out, cock twitching hard as he fills you up with his cum. Gasping out at you overstimulating him. You keep riding him, desperate for your own release. He’s sensitive but he’s not the kind of man willing to deny you of an orgasm. Not like this. “Fuck- riding my cock like this.. like a fucking bitch in heat.” He growls. Rocking his hips up into you. Thrusting up as you ride him like your life depends on it.

“Nimm was du willst, I’ll give it to you.” He breathes. A cry leaves your mouth from deep in your throat. One last thrust up from him has you crumbling, sending you spiraling. It’s by far the hardest you’ll ever cum. You raise your hips up once more, sliding back down onto him and halting. Cockwarming him as you sit there, coming down from your high. His hands are still at your hips, gripping you. You’ve still got your head buried into the crook of his neck, panting into him.

When you finally pull away, getting a good look at him, you breathe out. “I’m sorry.” You blush. He smiles. “Nothing to be sorry for. Let’s get the hell out of here, talk later.” He breathes. His English is very blunt, but he’s trying.

You gather up all of your clothing and everything else you’d need, preparing yourselves for exfil. You didn’t know how this was going to work.

As you wait for the exfil chopper, he finally looks at you through his hood. Loving eyes glaring down at you. This mission should’ve never happened. But despite the death toll, despite everything that went wrong. The newfound feelings for your colonel. The baby that was most likely to come from this. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

[neuvislover]

☆༉ — 𝔀𝓻𝓲𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓼𝓵𝓮𝔂. when in your arms, I feel safe.

about. wriothesley arms

tags. fluff, established relationship, wriothesley being protective, talk about injuries

I can’t stop thinking about wriothesley arms

When you're feeling down, you would often think about wriothesley's arms. Yes, one reason is because his arms are extremely attractive and it lifts your mood. But more importantly, wriothesley's arms are the safest place on earth.

wriothesley is so protective over you, he's practically like your guard dog. Like scary dog privileges? Check! No matter where you are, whether you're at home, in a quiet street or shop, at a loud party, or an extremely crowded street, wriothesley makes an effort to keep an eye on you. Even if you are someone who is more conscious of your surroundings, it's basically second nature to him at this point.

wriothesley is always ready to step in to protect you from anything, anyone, and everything. At the first signs of danger or if he sees you being uncomfortable, you don't need to say anything, he's already there. Often, he uses his arms (and hands) to pull you away from danger like falling objects or people intentionally/ unintentionally bumping into you. Or, he would use his arms to physically shield you from any danger that comes your way.

There has certainly been more than one occasion when you're at home or in a store trying to reach something on the higher shelf when an object starts to fall on you. Instead of it hitting you, you always look up to see wriothesley's arms between you on the falling object. He never ever scolds you for being clumsy or not asking him for help. Instead, he's just happy that he was able to protect you. The bumps, scrapes, and bruises littered on his arm don't bother him. In fact, he's rather proud of them. It means he was able to save you from feeling that pain. Plus, it helps that you tenderly look after his injuries and give him kisses after.

Besides that, wriothesley's arms are your lifeline. He's always happy to let you cling onto his arm whenever you want.

He finds it so endearing that he's basically your comfort person. You cling onto his arm in crowded places so you don't get lost and also to soothe the overwhelming feeling of just being in a crowd. You practically cling onto his arm anywhere at any time. It brings you comfort. Something about clinging onto his arms grounds you. It helps to calm you when your nerves are in overdrive. Of course, the physical touch and close proximity to his person helps too.

Big strong muscular arms = warmest, best hugs. wriothesley loves to swing his arms around you. From the front, from the back, around your waist, hips, legs?), you name it, his arms have been around it before. He loves bringing you closer to him. And no matter how warm it gets, you can't help but adore being hugged by him. Whether you are happy, sad, or just feeling a complex mix of emotions, wriothesley is always there for you with his arms outstretched, ready for you to dive into them.

When wriothesley envelopes you in his arms, it's like the feeling of a warm, weighted blanket being wrapped around you on the coldest of winter nights. At the same time, it feels like a different kind of weight, an emotional or mental one, has been lifted from your person. It's the feeling of coming home and being able to finally relax. The physical sight and feeling of his arms wrapping around you also feels like you are taking refuge behind a large, resilient shield. One that would hide you away and protect you from all the hardship in the world.

wriothesley's arms being around you brings physical protection, mental stability, emotional reprieve, comfort, love, the feeling of home, a feeling of liberation, and protection all at once. And there's no place else you would rather be.

[hisui-dreamer]

ode to the protective aide

Pairing: Sebek Zigvolt x gn!reader

Synopsis: you were one of the few in his life who could see past his rough exterior

Tags: drabble, fluff, slightly poetic hehe, reader is a simp for sebek

Word count: 605

Notes: happy birthday sebek!! this grumpy crocodile guy really wormed his way into my heart haha (•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

Masterlist

Your lover possesses a remarkable honesty that cuts through the veils of pretence and artifice with surgical precision. His words, though often delivered with the blunt force of a hammer, carry an authenticity that is both refreshing and intimidating. He doesn't sugarcoat his opinions or dance around the truth; instead, he lays bare his thoughts and feelings with a rawness that can leave others reeling in its wake. Whether he's heaping praise upon someone for their talents or delivering a harsh critique, you can always trust that your lover's words come from the depths of his heart, unfiltered and unapologetic.

Your lover harbours an unyielding disdain for the cold, a sentiment that becomes all too apparent in the subtle ways he seeks warmth and comfort. Though he may never openly admit it, you've noticed how he unconsciously gravitates towards you, seeking solace in the heat of your presence. Whether it's a casual brush of his arm against yours or the way he leans just a little closer during a chilly evening stroll, his subconscious need for warmth speaks volumes. You offer him the refuge he seeks each time without fail, enveloping him in your embrace and shielding him from the biting chill of the world outside.

Your lover possesses a curious tendency to wander through life with a certain air of obliviousness. Despite his sharp wit and fierce determination, there are moments when he seems to be operating on a different wavelength altogether. Whether it's getting swept up in the excitement of the moment or simply failing to grasp the subtleties of a situation, he has a knack for stumbling into the most absurd of predicaments. It's both exasperating and endearing to witness his frequent bouts of air headedness, but there's an undeniable certain charm to his innocence.

Your lover may exude confidence and pride in most aspects of his life, but when it comes to you, he is surprisingly easily flustered. Despite his fiery demeanour, his heart skips a beat at the mere mention of your name, and his usually loud voice softens to a barely audible whisper in your presence. You've seen the flush of colour that creeps into his cheeks when you compliment him, his words stumbling over each other as he struggles to articulate his gratitude. It's both amusing and endearing to watch him squirm under your gaze, his pride momentarily forgotten as he fumbles for the right words to express the depth of his affection. And in those moments, you can't help but feel a surge of love for the vulnerable, lovestruck man before you.

Your lover finds immense joy in providing for you, in being the pillar of strength upon which you can lean. Whether it's through grand gestures or small acts of kindness, he delights in seeing you smile, in knowing that he's the reason for the light in your eyes. He takes pride in ensuring your safety, standing as a fierce protector against any threat, real or imagined. In his arms, you feel sheltered from the storms of life, cocooned in a warmth that is both physical and emotional. For him, there is no greater pleasure than knowing that he can make you feel loved, cherished, and above all, safe.

Your lover is a whirlwind of contradictions, a puzzle with pieces that seem to defy logic. Yet, beneath the bravado and the bluster, there beats a heart that is fiercely loyal and unabashedly passionate. And in that, you find solace, knowing that despite his flaws, he loves you with a fervour that is as undeniable as it is intoxicating.

Your lover, is none other than Sebek Zigvolt.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

[earthlybeam]

Just some random headcanons i think that fit Gil-Galad (my opinion)

↓

↓

↓

Gil-galad Version below. (I will be doing more for Gil-galad and other characters)

🏵️ 𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

Gil-galad’s Love Language? Gil-galad’s love language is subtle and refined, weaving together acts of service, quality time, and physical touch, all rooted in his deep sense of responsibility and respect. He expresses affection with quiet dignity, preferring meaningful actions over grand, sweeping gestures. His love is steady and unwavering, deeply tied to his values and commitment. Though his emotions are not immediately visible, when he loves, his devotion is profound.

Acts of Service: As a king, Gil-galad sees his duty as a way of life. He applies this same philosophy to his relationship, viewing the well-being of his significant other as a natural extension of his duty. His acts of service are rooted in his commitment to their comfort and safety, whether it’s through shielding them from the weight of his royal responsibilities or offering them a safe refuge in a world filled with turmoil. He is not one to overtly ask for gratitude, but every action he takes for their benefit speaks volumes about the depth of his care.

Quality Time: Due to his royal obligations, time alone with his significant other is often scarce, yet when it does occur, it is cherished. Gil-galad’s love is shown through undistracted attention and shared silence. His calm, composed demeanor ensures that the time spent together is meaningful, as he is fully present in the moment. In these instances, there is no rush, no pressure—only a deep, mutual understanding that these moments are precious.

Physical Touch: Though initially reserved and cautious, Gil-galad expresses love through the gentleness of physical touch when he feels emotionally secure. His touches are tender and deliberate, never forceful or rushed. The brush of his fingers against their skin, the soft resting of his hand on their shoulder, or the quiet pressure of his lips on their forehead serve as a constant reminder of his care. When he is emotionally invested, his touch is grounding and sincere—a silent but profound declaration of his affection.

How Does Gil-galad View His Significant Other?Are they the light in their life? Best friend? Savior, etc.? Gil-galad’s view of his significant other is one of deep respect and admiration, balanced by his long-standing wariness of attaching his heart too easily. His love is not rooted in youthful infatuation or an idealized fantasy. Instead, his partner becomes the light that helps him navigate the dark complexities of his life. They are not just the person he loves—they are the only one who fully understands him, who bears witness to the weight of his crown and the soul beneath it. They provide solace and refuge, offering a reprieve from the incessant burdens of kingship. In his eyes, they are his confidante and his anchor—someone who balances the often isolated nature of his rule with warmth, offering both companionship and peace. They are the one person who doesn’t see him as simply the High King, but as the person he is outside of his royal title. His love for them is not easily displayed, but it is constant and unwavering. His significant other is his best friend, the person who understands his needs and desires without words, and the one who gives him space to be vulnerable. They are the silent strength beside him, filling the spaces left by the demands of his leadership.

How Does Gil-galad Act When Falling Out of Love? If Gil-galad were to fall out of love, it would be a slow, methodical process—one that takes place within the quiet recesses of his heart. His outward demeanor would remain unchanged for a time, as he remains dignified and courteous. However, his affection would gradually diminish, as he distances himself both emotionally and physically. His attentions would no longer be as focused; the warmth that once radiated from his actions would fade. Gil-galad’s natural reserve would make him less likely to express pain or frustration openly, and he would retreat into his royal duties, using them as a shield to avoid confrontation. If it were a mutual parting, he would handle it with grace and honor, never allowing the emotional distance to manifest in animosity or bitterness. Instead, he would remain a steadfast presence in their life, though without the intimacy that once existed. He would not give in to manipulative displays, like crocodile tears, as his moral code would guide him to act with integrity. His duty, his sense of honor, and his emotional resolve would all remain intact, even as the bond between them waned.

Would Gil-galad Do Anything for His Significant Other? Gil-galad’s love is selfless, but it is not without boundaries. He is deeply committed to his role as king, and he will never allow his personal desires or attachments to undermine his responsibility to his people or his moral code. However, within the boundaries of honor and duty, he would move mountains for his significant other. He would go to great lengths to ensure their safety and well-being, even at great personal cost, though he would never act in a way that compromised his integrity or the larger good. His love would lead him to make difficult choices and sacrifices, but always with careful consideration of the consequences. He would not be easily swayed by emotion alone, especially if it involved compromising the welfare of his people or the laws of his kingdom. His devotion is steadfast and unwavering, and while he is not easily manipulated, his love for his partner would drive him to offer everything he has—except his honor and his duty.

How Does Gil-galad Kiss? Gil-galad’s kisses are imbued with thoughtfulness and intention, never rushed or given in fleeting moments of impulsivity. Each kiss is an act of devotion, a reflection of his deep and enduring love. He approaches the act with the same care and gravity that he brings to every facet of his life, ensuring that his affection is expressed in ways that resonate with meaning and sincerity.

Forehead Kisses These are his most frequent and cherished expressions of love, carrying with them a quiet reverence. A kiss placed gently on the forehead is not just a mark of affection but a profound symbol of respect and admiration. To Gil-galad, this gesture is sacred—a way of honoring his partner’s presence in his life. It conveys protection, care, and a silent vow to always be there. These kisses often come during quiet moments, such as when his significant other is lost in thought, resting, or simply in need of reassurance. They are his way of saying, “You are safe with me,” without needing to speak a word.

Kisses on the Lips When Gil-galad kisses his significant other on the lips, the act is measured and deliberate, carrying with it the full weight of his emotions. These kisses are not fueled by fleeting passion but by a deeper connection, a profound sense of unity and trust. His lips meet theirs softly, lingering just long enough to communicate what words cannot: his unwavering love, his steadfast loyalty, and the unspoken promise that they will always have his heart. Every kiss is an affirmation of their bond, a reminder that his love is enduring and absolute.

Touch Gil-galad’s kisses are rarely given in isolation—they are always accompanied by the warmth of his touch. Whether his hand rests gently against their cheek, cradles the back of their neck, or rests lightly on their waist, his touch is a grounding force. It serves as an anchor, a way of silently telling his partner that they are cherished and valued. His touch is tender, never forceful, always respectful. It is a physical manifestation of the unshakable promise of his love and devotion. For Gil-galad, every kiss is more than an expression of affection—it is a reflection of his character and the depth of his feelings. Whether a forehead kiss offered in quiet moments of reflection, or a lingering kiss on the lips shared in the intimacy of their love, his kisses are deliberate, meaningful, and imbued with the full measure of his heart.

What’s His Favorite Part of His Significant Other?Gil-galad’s love is not rooted in superficial attraction but in the quiet, enduring qualities that his significant other embodies. He is captivated by their inner strength, the way they navigate the complexities of life with a grace that feels like a balm to his often chaotic and war-torn world. Their calm and composed demeanor, even in the face of adversity, is a source of comfort to him—a steady presence that contrasts the storm of responsibilities and burdens he must shoulder as High King. Beyond their external poise, he is deeply drawn to their mind. If they possess insight, intelligence, or a shared vision for a better Middle-earth, Gil-galad finds himself endlessly fascinated by their conversations. Whether discussing matters of state, the future of their people, or simply sharing quiet reflections, he treasures the way their thoughts resonate with his own ideals. Their wisdom and clarity are a reminder to him of the better world they strive to build together. However, it is their spirit that truly holds his heart. Their kindness, empathy, and ability to find light even in the darkest times are what he admires most. He observes how they care for others, how their actions are guided by compassion, and how their love extends not only to him but to the world around them. To Gil-galad, these qualities are rare and precious, a testament to their strength and beauty in a world that often feels unyielding. Whether they are offering a kind word to someone in need or standing firm in their convictions, their essence inspires him. To him, they are not just a source of love and companionship but a reminder of what makes life worth fighting for—a beacon of hope and goodness in a realm often overshadowed by darkness.

Is Gil-galad Protective? Yes, Gil-galad is profoundly protective of his significant other, though his protective nature is marked by quiet dignity and subtlety rather than overt or possessive displays. His concern for their safety stems not from insecurity but from a deep understanding of the fragility of life in a world constantly threatened by conflict. Gil-galad’s protection is woven into his every action, a steady and unspoken promise to shield them from harm, whether it be physical, emotional, or spiritual. He ensures their safety in ways that might not always be visible—arranging trusted guards, creating a peaceful environment within the chaos of war, or subtly steering them away from potential danger. His thoughtfulness extends to their emotional well-being as well. Gil-galad understands the weight that comes with being close to someone of his station and does everything in his power to ease that burden, protecting them from the pressures of his role as High King. Though he may not always express his fears or concerns verbally, his actions speak for him. If danger arises, Gil-galad would stand unflinchingly between his significant other and any threat, even if it meant putting himself in harm’s way. He would face such challenges with calm determination, his primary focus always being their safety and peace. His protectiveness is never overbearing but instead stems from love and respect. It’s the quiet way he ensures they are always cared for, the moments he shields them from unnecessary worry, and the lengths he would go to keep them safe, even at great personal cost. His protection is a natural extension of his love—a steady, unwavering force born from his profound care and the knowledge of what it means to lose what is most precious.

How Far Will Gil-galad Go to Take Care of a Sick S/O? When his significant other falls ill, Gil-galad’s care becomes all-encompassing, driven by a deep, unwavering love. The composed High King, often burdened with the weight of his realm, would shed his regal exterior to focus entirely on their well-being. No detail would escape his notice—he would personally ensure they receive the best possible care, summoning the most skilled healers and overseeing every aspect of their treatment. Nothing would be left to chance under his watch. Time itself would feel suspended as he dedicates himself to their recovery. He would spend long hours by their side, his presence a quiet reassurance of his devotion. Whether reading softly from ancient tomes, whispering words of encouragement, or simply sitting silently with their hand in his, Gil-galad’s presence would be a constant source of comfort. He would soothe them with the steady calm of his voice, using both words and touch to ease their pain. If their condition grew serious, his priorities would shift entirely—no diplomatic duty, no royal council, no matter how pressing, would come before their care. He would remain with them, his usual stoic demeanor softened by concern, until he was certain they were out of danger. Even in the smallest gestures, his love would shine—adjusting their blankets to ensure they are warm, bringing fresh water, or placing a hand gently on their forehead to check their temperature. For Gil-galad, there is no higher calling than safeguarding their health and happiness, and he would exhaust every resource, even his own strength, to see them well again.

How Does Gil-galad Cheer His Significant Other Up? When his partner is feeling low, Gil-galad provides quiet, steadfast support, becoming a calm and grounding presence in their moment of need. He listens with unwavering patience, allowing them to speak freely, his attention wholly focused on their words. He never rushes to offer solutions but instead chooses his responses with care, his deep wisdom shining through as he offers thoughtful reassurance or gentle perspective. To lift their spirits, he might suggest a walk through Lindon’s tranquil gardens or along its serene shores, believing in the restorative power of nature’s beauty. These peaceful moments, shared in silence or with soft conversation, help ease their burdens. Additionally, Gil-galad often shows his care through small, deeply personal gestures. He might present them with wildflowers picked during his travels or a handcrafted token—simple yet heartfelt reminders of his love. His ways may be understated, but they carry the weight of his unshakable devotion, offering comfort that lingers long after the moment has passed.

How Does Gil-galad React When They Find Out Their S/O Is Dead? Gil-galad’s reaction to the death of his significant other would be one of profound, silent grief. As a king, he is no stranger to loss, but the death of his beloved would strike a blow unlike any he has ever endured. His emotional reserve and composed demeanor would prevent him from outwardly expressing raw anguish in the presence of others, but the depth of his sorrow would be unmistakable to those who know him well. In the Immediate Moment: Upon receiving the news, Gil-galad would remain stoic and composed, his features unreadable as he absorbs the weight of what has happened. He would not lash out in anger or collapse in despair; instead, he would likely dismiss himself from any company, retreating into solitude to process the enormity of his loss. His responsibilities as king would compel him to maintain control, but his mind would be awash with memories of his beloved—their voice, their smile, their touch—all now gone.

In Private Mourning: Alone, Gil-galad would allow himself the rare luxury of grief. Tears, though infrequent and hard-won, might fall in these private moments as he reflects on the love they shared. He would likely find solace in small tokens or reminders of their time together—a piece of jewelry, a note, or an object they once cherished. These would become sacred to him, fragments of a life now forever altered. He might spend long hours in quiet reflection, perhaps seeking comfort in the starlit skies of Lindon, where he feels closest to their memory.

How He Carries On: Despite the depth of his loss, Gil-galad would not falter in his duties as king. His sense of responsibility to his people would not allow him to succumb fully to despair. Outwardly, he would appear unchanged—calm, composed, and resolute—but those closest to him might notice subtle differences. His smiles would be rarer, his silences longer, and his moments of solitude more frequent. The weight of their absence would become a constant companion, a quiet ache that he bears silently.

How It Changes Him: The loss of his significant other would leave an indelible mark on Gil-galad, shaping him in ways both visible and invisible. He would likely grow even more introspective, his already solemn nature deepened by the pain of losing someone so dear. His sense of purpose as king might intensify, driven by a need to honor their memory through his actions. However, he would carry with him a lingering sorrow, a quiet reminder of the love he once held and the cost of his long years in Middle-earth. To the outside world, Gil-galad would remain the unyielding High King, but those who look closer would see a man forever changed by loss. Though he would carry on, as he always does, his beloved’s memory would remain etched into his heart, a bittersweet presence that both burdens and sustains him through the ages.

What Makes Gil-galad Worry About His S/O the Most? Gil-galad, as a king and a partner, carries an innate sense of responsibility for those he loves. His worries about his significant other stem from the deep care and protection he feels for them, as well as the unique pressures of his station. Their Safety: Gil-galad’s greatest worry is that his partner might face danger, especially in times of conflict or unrest. Having seen the toll of war and strife, he is acutely aware of how fragile life can be. The thought of them being caught in harm’s way, particularly while he is away fulfilling his royal duties, is a constant source of anxiety. While he trusts their strength and resourcefulness, he cannot help but fear the unpredictability of the world—a stray arrow, an unforeseen ambush, or an enemy too strong to evade. When apart, he often finds himself wondering if they are safe, his mind replaying worst-case scenarios he would rather not imagine. Their Emotional Well-being: As a ruler, Gil-galad understands the emotional burdens that come with responsibility and conflict. He fears that the pressures of his life might spill over into their world, placing an undue weight on their heart. He worries that they might quietly endure these struggles, not wanting to burden him further, even though he would gladly bear anything for them. His fear is not that they lack resilience but that they might carry their pain in silence, unwilling to let him see the toll it takes. He remains vigilant, watching for signs of unease, and does all he can to create a space where they feel safe enough to share their feelings.

Their Health: Distance amplifies Gil-galad’s worries. When his partner is far away from him, his anxiety over their physical well-being grows. He fears the possibility of illness or injury, imagining them enduring suffering without his presence to comfort or care for them. The idea of them in pain, unable to receive the attention and support he would willingly provide, weighs heavily on his mind. Even when they are near, he is quietly attentive to their health, watching for subtle signs of fatigue or discomfort and acting swiftly to ensure they have what they need to recover. In every worry he holds for them, his love is evident. Though he trusts their strength and independence, his protective nature and deep affection make their safety, emotional well-being, and health a constant focus in his heart and mind.

How Often Does Gil-galad Stare Lovingly at His S/O? Gil-galad’s love is most often expressed through the quiet intensity of his gaze. Though he is not one for overly verbal declarations of affection, his eyes reveal everything he feels for his significant other. He frequently finds himself watching them with silent adoration, especially in unguarded moments when they are unaware of his attention. When his partner is lost in thought, immersed in a task, or simply enjoying a quiet moment, Gil-galad’s gaze softens into something tender and reverent. He studies the curve of their smile, the way their hands move, or the way the light catches in their hair. In those moments, the weight of his responsibilities fades, and all that exists is them—a quiet reprieve from the burdens of kingship. He cherishes these opportunities to simply be present with them, as though he is committing every detail of their being to memory. His love is palpable in these stolen glances, his expression filled with a mixture of awe, devotion, and gratitude for the joy they bring to his life. During shared conversations or intimate moments, his gaze lingers, conveying the depth of his feelings even when words fail him. And though he tries to temper the intensity of his emotions, his love still shines through in those private, stolen moments when his walls fall away. For Gil-galad, staring lovingly at his significant other is not a conscious act but an inevitability—a reflection of just how deeply they’ve become a part of him.

How Does Gil-galad Impress His Significant Other? Gil-galad does not seek to impress with grand, flashy gestures or displays of wealth. Instead, he leaves a lasting impression through the quiet strength of his character and the depth of his actions. His steadfast devotion, wisdom, and unshakable honor form the foundation of his appeal. As a king, he commands respect naturally, but it is the subtle, deeply personal ways he expresses love and care that truly captivate his significant other. He leads by example, showing that his love is not just spoken but lived. Whether it’s through the thoughtful allocation of his precious time, ensuring his significant other feels seen and valued despite his many responsibilities, or through small, deeply meaningful acts of kindness, his care is evident in every detail. For instance, he might remember their favorite flower and quietly ensure it’s in bloom in the gardens, or he might set aside a moment of peace in his hectic schedule just to be with them, offering his undivided attention.

Gil-galad’s sense of integrity also plays a crucial role. His partner is drawn to the way he remains true to his principles, no matter the pressures or temptations he faces as High King. His reliability is magnetic—he is someone who can always be counted on, and his consistency in both leadership and love reassures his partner that they are cherished in every moment, even when life is tumultuous. His presence alone is enough to inspire admiration. The way he holds himself with quiet dignity, the way he listens intently, and the calm, steady way he speaks all reflect a man whose essence is rooted in purpose and love. For his significant other, Gil-galad doesn’t need to perform or try to impress. The constancy of his love, the thoughtfulness in his actions, and the balance he finds between duty and affection all make it clear how much they mean to him. To be loved by him is to know a devotion as deep and unyielding as the tides.

Extra bonus (these parts just for fun, love writing them 😈🙈)

🜲 Gil-galad has a secret sweet tooth. Despite his regal demeanor and warrior-king image, Gil-galad loves pastries, especially honey cakes. He keeps a stash of them hidden in his chambers, which he enjoys in private, away from the eyes of his court. His stoic face doesn’t give it away, but he’ll sneak a bite if no one is looking.

🜲 He talks to his horses like they’re old friends. While Gil-galad is known for his serious, dignified presence, he has a deep affection for his horses. He’ll often mutter calming words or give them encouraging pats, treating them like trusted companions rather than mere beasts of burden.

🜲 Gil-galad owns a collection of strange trinkets. Over the years, he’s accumulated odd, seemingly insignificant items from his travels—rocks from distant lands, a piece of Elven jewelry from an ancient time, a carved figurine from a faraway village. He doesn’t display them openly, but he keeps them in a hidden drawer, occasionally taking them out to remember old times.

🜲 He hums absentmindedly while thinking. When deep in thought or when planning strategies, Gil-galad has a tendency to hum softly to himself. It’s a strange habit for someone so composed, and those around him find it oddly comforting. It’s as though the hum helps him sort through his thoughts, though he rarely realizes he’s doing it.

🜲 Gil-galad has a weird attachment to a certain chair. There’s one chair in his council room that he always sits in during meetings, and no one else is allowed to use it. It’s not particularly more comfortable than any other chair, but for some reason, Gil-galad has a deep attachment to it. It’s become a running joke among his closest advisors, who often wonder if there’s any deeper significance to it.

🜲 He has a soft spot for small animals. While many Elves are known for their affinity with nature, Gil-galad has an especially soft spot for small creatures like squirrels, rabbits, and even butterflies. He might quietly watch them in the wild or stop to feed them if he’s walking alone in the woods. He finds their innocence and carefree nature oddly comforting.

🜲 Gil-galad is a hugger—but only for certain people. Despite his composed exterior, Gil-galad is surprisingly affectionate with those he considers close friends or family. When he’s had a particularly trying day, he may surprise someone with a spontaneous hug, which is rare for an Elf of his status. His hugs are warm, comforting, and a rare glimpse into the man beneath the crown

🜲 Gil-galad has a favorite childhood toy he can’t part with. Deep inside his chambers, behind a locked chest, is a small carved wooden animal—an heirloom from his youth. It’s something he’s kept hidden for centuries, a reminder of his innocence and the simplicity of life before he became the weight of a kingdom.

🜲 Gil-galad is incredibly bad at keeping a poker face when it comes to surprises. If someone pulls a prank on him, or reveals something unexpected, his face lights up with surprise immediately. It’s impossible for him to hide his emotions when something catches him off guard.

🜲 He’s the unofficial king of dad jokes. When he’s not busy ruling, Gil-galad occasionally unleashes an awkward dad joke to break the tension. His jokes are so groan-worthy that even the most serious Elves can’t help but smile—or roll their eyes. “What do you call a line of Elves? A long story.”

🜲 Gil-galad Secretly Loves Cheesy Romance Poetry and Novels Despite his stoic, kingly exterior, Gil-galad has a deeply hidden soft spot for cheesy romance poetry and novels. It all started when, during one of his long, solitary nights in Lindon, he found an old Elven book in the royal library. It was filled with over-the-top, flowery love poems that made his heart skip a beat—not because they were particularly well-written, but because they were so delightfully melodramatic. Soon enough, he was sneaking into the library late at night, his face hidden in the pages of the most absurdly romantic Elvish poetry. In fact, he has a secret stash of them hidden beneath his bed in the palace, carefully tucked between his more scholarly books. He reads them when he needs a moment of emotional escape, allowing himself to be swept up in the overly dramatic expressions of love. It’s his guilty pleasure, though he would never, ever admit it aloud. Occasionally, when a particularly sappy line gets to him, you might catch him muttering it under his breath. “My love for you is deeper than the night’s sky…” On rare occasions, he may even jot down a line or two on a scrap of parchment, intending it to be just a bit of poetic practice. But deep down, Gil-galad finds a strange comfort in those cheesy lines—they remind him that, even in a world full of war and turmoil, love can still be silly, sweet, and full of passion. And for just a little while, he lets himself enjoy the fantasy, even if only in private.

[ghost-proofbaby]

my little scaredy cat

request: [anon] i would love to see watching horror movies with best friend!eddie and reader instinctively grabs his arm and hides herself against him and it leads to feelings and confessions haha

warnings: none! except it's unedited, which would be scary if that wasn't 90% of my writing on here lmao

pairing: eddie x fem!reader

wc: 3.1k+

i had a lot of fun busting this one out. it's just so cute and certainly how i wish i was spending my halloween! also, rest assured, i am also eyeing the other request you submitting anon. <3 happy haunting, my friends.

This was such a stupid idea. Such a stupid, stupid idea. 

You’ve always been a scaredy cat. Everyone in your friend group was well aware of it – you loved the idea of Halloween, but your poor heart just couldn’t take most of the frights that came with the eccentric holiday. 

It was fine, most of the time. If anyone had the urge to plan out a day at a pumpkin patch, you were eagerly accepting the invitation. If anyone wanted to bake any sort of sweet treats laced with pumpkin spice or caramel apple flavor profiles, you were already in your car and armed with the perfect recipe to help them. Someone wanted to peruse the decoration aisles of various stores? Wait no more, the perfect shopping buddy could be found in you. You, who could handle most of the trivial and sweet aspects of the holiday. You, who divulged in the more aesthetic side of it all rather than the scary side of it. 

Your distaste of being jumpscared or unnerved by gore and ghouls alike only really caused issues when it came to your best friend, Eddie Munson. 

His taste in experience of the frightful time of year was entirely the opposite of yours. It’s not that he didn’t like decorating caramel apples with you or that he didn’t find your choice in decorations cute, because he did. But he liked the terrifying aspect of it all – he liked the adrenaline rush of fictional danger. 

And friendship, in all its glory, is about give and take, is it not? 

Compromise. That’s what he called it when he’d begged and pleaded for you to join him in a movie night. Because the moment the suggestion fell from his lips, you both knew he had no intentions of watching one of your usual festive movies that only teased about the creatures that crept through the night. PG-13 films that didn’t really do it for him. No, Eddie Munson had insisted you join him for a movie night, and you both knew exactly what kind of movie he intended to play. 

You just hadn’t anticipated the scariest fucking movie you’d ever endured for the boy beside you on the couch. 

“Shit!” 

Your squeak is muffled over by the crescendo of creepy instrumental echoing from the small TV across the room. A cycle had quickly been found during this movie night; the movie would fall eerily silent as a tense scene arrived, you’d tense every single muscle so hard that Eddie could feel you shaking from the other side of the couch, and then once the jumpscare occurred and your small squeals were let out involuntarily, his own laughter would follow. 

“Oh, come on,” he coos a little, leaning closer to the middle of the couch, still a fair distance away from your figure bundled up in blankets that were being used more as shields than anything at this point, “That one wasn’t even that bad!” 

“To you!” you snap, yanking the fabric back down from your eyes only to glare at Eddie rather than look at whatever grotesque was plaguing the screen, “I’m a scaredy cat, remember?” 

And oh, remember he does. In all your years of friendship, Eddie had called you that nickname more times than either of you could count. He never meant it with ill will, but it was easier to tease you than to admit just how adorable he found your small reactions. 

Easier to tease than to admit just how badly he wishes you would seek protection or refuge from him during the scares he put you through. 

His face falls slightly, but he doesn’t let his small grin slip up, not wanting to give himself or his twinge of guilt away, “I’m sorry, kitty cat. C’mere – I can protect you from all the big bad monsters-”

Eddie’s opened arms are only met with one of the pillows you’d stolen off his bed to make the couch more comfortable. It smacks into the center of his chest with deadly aim and ferocious power, making him let out an exaggerated oomph. 

“Fuck you,” you grumble, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders now that the scare had passed. You almost tack on a comment about how he’s lucky you like him, because you would never endure this for anyone else.

Robin had tried. Steve had tried. Nancy had tried. They’d all tried to entice you in the scarier, classic Halloween experiences to no avail. Every offer of going to a haunted house, or attending the premiere of the newest horror movies at the local theater, were shot down before they even finished their sentences. 

Only one person could break your staunch demeanor on your limits. And right now, you sort of hated his guts. 

Eddie softens a bit, watching the way you pout and curl into yourself just a little tighter.

“Sweetheart,” he finally drops the cool guy demeanor, his voice gentle as he leans over with genuine concern, “We can turn it off, if you really want. Hell, if you want me to, I’ll put on something in your taste. Little Shop of Horrors, or maybe Beetlejuice? Those don’t usually scare you.” 

The offer is enticing. But you have a point to prove. 

“No,” you sit up a little straighter, square your shoulders with a little more defiance and faux bravery, “No, you wanted to watch…” 

You pause, and Eddie smiles softly as he supplies the title of his film of choice, “Poltergeist.” 

“Right, yes, Poltergeist. You wanted to watch it, so we’re gonna watch it.” 

Your stubbornness is admirable. 

Even when it falters. Even when another jumpscare has you ever so slightly scooching towards the center of the couch, no longer pressed to the opposite arm from Eddie in defiance. Even when Eddie spreads his legs casually, and you bump your knee into his thigh, the slightest touch bringing immense comfort.  

Once you discover that, it all seems downhill from there. 

A press of a knee against the side of his thigh turns into your side brushing his. Suddenly, the blanket you’d wielded like a weapon becomes shared. Moments where you try to hold up a barrier between your eyes and the screen cause slight disturbances in Eddie’s own vision. And then, it happens.

The thing he’d been diabolically planning for years. The one scenario he’d dreamt of every Halloween season, the one intention he’d held secretly every time he’d put your through endless scares. 

The one touch that could send him into cardiac arrest. 

He almost missed it, it happens so suddenly. One moment, you’re just curling up a little bit closer to him. The next, your arms fully wiggly their way around his bicep, capturing his arm in your grasp as your face buries into his shoulder. He can no longer smell the buttery popcorn or faint chocolate on his breath as you invade his space. It’s all sweet shampoo and subtle perfume that tickles his nose, skin against skin in a quick flush as he can hear the vibrations of your predictable scream against the fabric of his shirt. 

You hardly seem to notice the sudden entanglement of your bodies in all your fear — your knees practically in his lap and your torso clinging onto his forearm for dear life. You’re acting on instinct, seeking out humane comfort without considering what you were doing.

When you do notice, you don’t let go, only slacken your grip. 

“Oh, I-“ you stutter, pulling back slightly to look up at a stunned Eddie, “I’m sorry, that’s- I just- I was scared and-“ 

“It’s fine,” he cuts you off, eyes blown wide, “It’s… it’s fine.” 

It’s more than fine.

His heart races in a way no horror movie or haunted house could incite. Every nerve ending tingles, everywhere his body connects to yours burning in delicious warmth. He wants to spend an eternity like this — you, curled up to him, clinging to him like your holy savior. 

Years, and years, and years of wait pays off. Patience is surely virtue as those big eyes of yours look into his. 

After a couple awkward beats of silence, you whisper, “I don’t think I like Poltergeist.” 

Just like that, you have him laughing again. It’s slow and steady, a gentle chuckle that stirs from his chest in disbelief as he tries to thaw from his shock and yearning.

“You think?” he breathes out, tone not nearly teasing enough to cover up the shakiness. 

He swears he can feel your heart pounding against his shoulder. 

“Don’t be mean,” you start to scowl, slowly unfurling. But he stops you — angles his arm so you can’t slip your arms away as easily as before, tilting his head in closer.

“Mean? I could never be mean to you, my little scaredy cat.” 

“You’re literally being mean as we speak-“

And so, he decides to stop speaking. 

It’s impulsive and an even dumber idea than you enduring such a scary movie to be around him. But you look so fucking cute, his heart is tearing up his throat, and suddenly his lips are on yours in his largest spurt of bravery to date. Even more brave than the time he’d made himself a human shield between you and that dude with a chainsaw at the local haunted house, despite the way chainsaws actually kind of made him shit himself.

You don’t fully reciprocate at first. His lips are pressed hard against yours, tips of noses crushed and eyes fluttered shut, and he starts to believe he’s made a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake that just washed years of friendship down the drain. 

Until your hands tighten on his bicep. Until that soft squeeze comes, and it feels like he can breathe again despite sharing the air with you. 

He breaks away for just a second, “I-“

“Don’t be mean,” you repeat your earlier words with entirely new meaning now. He opens his eyes and finds yours already pleading up at his face, glossy and desperate, movie forgotten. 

Those hands once squeezing his bicep let go and move to the collar of his t-shirt. Normally, he’d make a comment about you stretching it out, deforming the perfect fit that took him ages to wear in, but he can’t be bothered to feel anything but delight when you’re tugging him back in for another kiss. 

And the last thing he wants to be is mean. So he kisses you kindly, kisses you with all the care in the world that he had buried beneath his skin since the day he met you. Kisses you like it could scare away all the monsters that wait in the shadows. Like he’d lay down his life to protect you from the very frights he’d been subjecting you to for far too long now. 

“Hey,” he mumbles, pulling back briefly, “Hey.”

This time, his forehead doesn’t leave yours as he pauses the kisses. 

“God, Munson, I’ve waited for this God knows how long, sat through so many fucking scary movies, and you’re really going to-“ 

“Hold on, what?”

He’s grinning so hard, it aches. In his cheeks, in his chest, in the back of his head. Your words sink in and he relishes each syllable, even in your frustration.

“I- Uh,” you pull back suddenly, fingers still loosely tangled in his t-shirt, “I-“

“Enlighten me, sweetheart,” he insists, eyes finally fluttering back open to catch the embarrassment painted plainly across your face. You wear a nearly painful expression that only tightens as you know he’s watching you, “Just how many scary movies have you sat through wanting me to kiss you?” 

“Fuck off,” you sigh out, shaking your head a little, “I mean it. Fuck right off-“

“Cause I could probably give a ballpark number for how many times I’ve wanted to kiss you during them,” he continues on quickly, “Actually, I bet I could count how many times I suggested watching these fuckin’ films just for this moment only to chicken out.” 

Your eyes are open again in an instant. Sparkling with hope and realization of what he was getting at. “Excuse me?”

“Do you really think I’m that mean?” he scoffs, finally reaching up for your hands, surprisingly calm despite the delightful storm wreaking havoc in his chest. He takes your knuckles in his and lets his thumb trail right over them, “No offense, but if I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t have-“

“You like me?” 

Your voice is sweet as honey, bright and drowning out the horror movie still playing. 

He smiles, boyish glint and all, as he confirms, “I like you.” 

You put the first real amount of distance between the two of you since you’d started to cling to him out of fear, almost as if signaling that bravery beginning to bubble over in your chest, “You actually like me?”

“Yes. Is that so hard to believe?”

“No, I- Well, maybe,” you bite your lip, and he’s suddenly dizzy with the need to capture it between his own teeth, “I just… I always thought you might like someone a little braver.”

His nose wrinkles, hands still twisting yours in his, “Excuse me? I think you’re plenty brave.” 

“Eddie, you’ve said it yourself, I’m a goddamn scaredy cat.”

“So?”

“So,” you persist, shuffling so that your legs fold beneath you and you gain some leverage over him, “You’re the exact opposite. You love scary things. Not even just during Halloween, but year round. And you’re telling me you like me even though I’m a scaredy cat.” 

“I like you because you’re a scaredy cat, thank you very much,” he corrects you immediately, “I love the way you always need me to protect you. I know, I know — not very feminist of me. I’m sorry. It’s just- it’s really fuckin’ cute, y’know?” now that his floodgates have opened, he’s pouring out all the words he’s held back for so long, “And besides, you’re more than just a scaredy cat. You’re also so smart, so beautiful, so funny. Yeah, you scare easily, but you’re also the same person who is the first to put me in my place when I’m being an absolute little shit. And don’t even get me started on all the cute faces you make when you’re talking about things you actually like, or when you’ve been baking with Nance and have flour all over your cheeks-“ 

“Okay, okay,” you stop his rambling before he can embarrass you any further. Any more affection, and your face might end up buried in his shoulder again, “I get it. You like me.” 

It’s quiet for a few moments. The two of you only stare, both smiling stupid, the screams of whatever climax occurring in the movie not even reaching your ears. All you can hear is the echo of his words, of his admission. And all he can hear is the pretty way your breath catches when he gives a small squeeze to your palm. 

It’s nice. It should be more anxiety inducing, it should be more dramatic. Eddie Munson should be absolutely losing his mind right now because he just kissed his best friend he’s been in love with for ages, but he isn’t. Actually, for the first time in a while, it feels as though he’s finally found it — he’s found his mind, he’s found his peace as he’s staring at your shy expression. It just feels right. Like a sigh of relief from the Universe. 

“I like you, too,” you break the silence, unable to meet his gaze, “I mean, you probably already got that, but-“

“Say it again.”

“Huh?”

“I did gather that, but my God, please say it again.” 

Your eyes meet him, and another piece clicks into place. 

Right. It’s so fucking right.

“I like you,” you repeat yourself, a smile beginning to dance on your lips. He can’t help himself — he leans forward and pecks the corner of your upturned mouth, “I like you,” the repetition is music to his ears as he plants a second kiss on your cheek, “I like you, Munson.” 

His peppered kisses mark every inch of skin available to him, making giggles begin to escape you. You even try to hide from his onslaught, but it’s no use. He’s quick to drop your hands and wrap his arms around you, tugging you in close and trapping you against him as each kiss grows more obnoxious. Loud smacking sounds, deliberately leaving spit behind that has you squealing. It’s nothing like the squeaks from when you were watching the movie; these small noises are filled with a little more joy, a little more happiness that only fuels Eddie.

“Eddie!” you try to scold, placing two hands on his solid chest, “Oh my God, stop it. You’re gross.” 

“You love it,” he mutters with his mouth fully pressed to your temple, nose buried in your hair. That sweet, sweet shampoo intoxicating him.

You like him. He didn’t fuck it up. 

You finally go slack in his touch, succumbing and letting him place you in his lap, curled up comfortably as you sigh, “Yeah. Okay, maybe I do. Whatever.” 

“Oh, don’t act all tough now, kitty cat.” 

Your hands are curled back in the fabric against his chest and you share the wonderful ache he had been feeling in his own cheeks and bones as you look down at him with playfully squinted eyes.

When he ducks down for another kiss, you stop him easily, “Nope. First, I have a request.” 

“Anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything. Name it, and it’s yours.” 

“Please turn off that goddamn movie.” 

He throws his head back in laughter that shoots straight for your heart. The kind of laughter that haunts a chilled autumn night as children prance the streets for candy, as teenagers get into mischief in distant bonfire parties, as elderly couples enjoy morning coffees over eerie fog. 

It kind of feels like home. It kind of feels like everything is as it should be, finally. 

“I suppose I can do that for you, my little scaredy cat,” he muses as his head tilts back forward, chest swelling with affection, “Besides, I think I know something we can do that’s a little more fun than watching the Poltergeist.” 

“Oh, yeah? And what would that be?”

His arms tighten around you as he suddenly throws the two of you to lay down on the couch, his body hovering over yours and pick necklace nipping at your chin while he reaches out to click off the TV. The weight of him between your hips feels even better than either of your wildest dreams.

Years. You couldn’t believe it had taken years for this, and neither could he. But patience is virtue, and he probably would have waited another thousand years for this feeling, truth be told. 

“This,” he says boldly once the TV buzzes in sudden silence, dipping down and continuing where the two of you left off. Two sets of lips fit together like the world’s easiest jigsaw puzzle.

It’s safe to say the rest of the night, any further squeaks and squeals you let out aren’t due to ghosts.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @gagasbee @d64d-n0t-sl66p1ng @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n

[nhlclover]

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 | 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐘𝐒𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐄

summary: nearing the end of your pregnancy, you and jamie are stuck with the difficult decision of choosing a name

warnings: pregnant!reader, talks of accidental pregnancy + out of wedlock pregancy (idk if that needs to be warned but wtvr), one curse word

word count: 1.44k

Jamie shoved his keys into the lock, pushed open the door and stepped into the quiet home, a welcome change from the raucous rink he’d just left. Jamie called out your name but was met with silence. The house was unusually quiet, an almost serene atmosphere that made him curious. He dropped his bag at the door, the soft thud of it hitting the floor echoing slightly in the stillness. He ventured further into your home, glancing into the bedroom and kitchen, finding them both empty. Entering the living room, he finally spotted you on the couch, fast asleep.

Your swollen belly rose and fell gently with each breath, a book propped open on your stomach. Jamie took a moment to appreciate the scene, the soft afternoon light casting a warm glow over you. The sight of you resting so serenely, nurturing the life within you, brought a smile to his face. He felt a wave of affection and protectiveness wash over him, stronger than ever before.

Your falling pregnant had initially been an accident. Neither of you had planned for it and the news had come as a surprise. After consecutive mornings filled with nausea and random cravings for pickles, you brought up the prospect of potentially being pregnant to Jamie. He went out and bought pregnancy tests, with you taking them later that evening. Jamie remembered when the positive sign appeared on all four tests, your hands trembling with tears spilling down your cheeks — a mix of shock, fear, and an underlying sense of joy.

Jamie took you into his arms, whispering reassurances even as his own mind raced with thoughts of your future. The initial shock soon gave way to overwhelming excitement. Jamie had been on the fence about potential parentage, but the sudden reality of it had him more excited than ever.

You were now eight months pregnant, your lives slowly changing and adjusting to the impending rhythm of parenthood. Jamie watched with admiration as you embraced all aspects of the journey head-on, the good and the bad. Your resilience shone through even during the difficult days, which often included waking up with severe nausea and constantly feeling sore all over. Jamie also marveled at the way your body transformed, the pregnancy glow becoming a very real thing for you.

The house gradually filled with preparations for the baby, whom you’d come to learn was a girl. Gifts had come from those in your lives such as your families as well as Jamie’s teammates who had been nothing but supportive in your journey to parenthood. There was a crib in the corner of your bedroom, tiny clothes folded neatly in drawers, soft toys waiting to be loved.

In quiet moments like these, when he found you resting, he hoped to extend the peace for as long as possible. He knew that the stark reality of parenting would inevitably bring many late nights and hours filled with crying. These brief time-outs from life were precious, a refuge from the relentless demands that awaited. He wished to shield you from the exhaustion and overwhelm that he knew would plague you. Your due date was set right in the middle of the season, the both of you realizing that the first four months of responsibility would fall on your shoulders.

Jamie slowly and quietly approached you, reading the front cover of your book. 100,000+ Baby Names. Jamie chuckled softly as he bookmarked your page and placed it on the coffee table. The name of your daughter was something that you had been discussing since you found out about your pregnancy. You’d each thrown out a couple of names, but nothing seemed right.

Jamie moved to kick off his shoes but accidentally bumped into the empty laundry basket on the side table, sending it careening to the floor.

“Fuck.” Jamie said under his breath.

He glanced at you on the couch, hoping that the sudden noise had miraculously not woken you up, however, you stirred awake, blinking your eyes open and adjusting to the sunlight that flowed through the open windows. You spotted Jamie across from you, offering him a sleepy smile.

“Hey you,” you whispered, stretching your arms above your head and sitting up.

"Hey yourself," Jamie replied, coming to your side and kissing your forehead softly, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your eyes. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

“It’s okay, I wasn’t really sleeping anyways, just resting my eyes,” you tell him. With the baby being particularly active at night, you find your sleep schedule getting messed up and afternoon naps become a habit.

Jamie took a seat next to you, pulling you into his chest, and relaxing back onto the couch. “So how’s my favourite mom-to-be?” he asked.

“Tired as usual. No nausea though,” you said, Jamie offering his hand out for a high five, which you slap with a smile on your lips.

You nestle into each other's embrace, Jamie sticking a pillow under your belly to relieve some of the weight.

“So, any new contenders?” he asked, motioning to the book on the table.

You sighed, shaking your head. “I don’t think so,” you said. “I mean I read Sadie, which is cute but I’m not totally sold.”

Jamie reached over, picking up the book off the coffee table and flicking open to a random page, scanning the names.

“How about… Chloe?” he suggests.

You pull a sour face, shaking your head. “I knew a girl named Chloe back in grade school, and she was a bitch.”

Jamie chuckled, flipping through more pages. “Sophia?”

You sighed, shaking your head once again. It felt like no name was the right one for your daughter.

“Y’know, Trevor called the other day. Told me that if we were still stuck on a baby name, we could always name her after him.” Jamie told you.

You snorted, shaking your head at the idea of naming your baby girl Trevor. “Absolutely not. I do not need two Trevor’s in my life.”

Yours and Jamie’s laughter blended together, as you imagined naming your daughter after his friend. “Yeah, we don’t need to give Trevor even more of an ego boost,” Jamie said. “He’s already declared himself an uncle.”

You and Jamie once again went back to reading names before you spotted one that caught your eye. You placed your finger on it, stopping Jamie from flipping pages. “How about Darcy?” you suggested. “It means dark-haired one.” you read from the page, reaching behind you and running a hand through Jamie’s black locks.

“Darcy,” Jamie repeated with a satisfied hum in his voice. “I like it.”

“Darcy it is then,” you said softly, placing a hand on your bump. “Hi, little Darcy.”

Jamie placed the book of names on the coffee table and wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close. "Darcy," he said once again softly, the name finally feeling like the right one as it came off his tongue. "I can't wait to meet you."

You curled into Jamie, the warmth of his embrace and the sound of his heartbeat creating a comforting rhythm. The room filled with a peaceful silence, as your mind began to wander to the future. As you nestled closer, Jamie's hand found its way to your bump, resting there with gentle protectiveness. "Do you think she'll have your eyes?" he asked, his voice a soft murmur.

You smiled, imagining your daughter's tiny face. "Maybe. I think she’ll have your smile and your hair."

Jamie chuckled, the sound vibrating through you. "As long as she's healthy and happy, that's all that matters."

You nodded, feeling a wave of contentment wash over you. The future, once a vague concept, now felt more real with a name to hold onto. You could almost see her growing up, taking her first steps, saying her first words.

You and Jamie continued to talk about all the things you want to do with your daughter — reading her bedtime stories, teaching her to skate as you inevitably know you’ll maintain a hockey family. His excitement was infectious, and you found yourself lost in the vision of the family you'll soon be.

The room grew quieter as the evening progressed, the soft glow of the lamp casting a gentle light around you. Jamie's voice became a soothing lullaby, and you felt your eyelids grow heavy.

"You're going to be such an amazing mom," Jamie whispered, his lips brushing against your temple. "I love you both so much."

You managed a sleepy smile, your heart full. "I love you too," you say before your eyes close and you drift into sleep.

[jesuschristisgod]

As for God, his way is perfect:The Lord’s word is flawless;he shields all who take refuge in him.

Ps.18.30

[heartfullofleeches]

Hoiiii :3 can i ask for yan! Prince where he became sick and instead of the maids taking care of him, he insist that he rather wants knight! Reader to take care of them 0:

You use the bedroom door as a shield as a bowl flies into it, shattering into a million pieces and exploding a burst of hot broth against the wall. The prince's hoarse voice drowns his screams as he violently throws his head away from the cupful of medicine.

"Let me go! I don't want it! I. Want. Y/n! Bringing them to me now!"

Your kingdom is doomed. The prince never took being sick well. In youth, having the boy sit still was like a death penalty. He'd slip out of the servant's care and infect half the castle during his daily routine of greeting everyone who worked under his father's command. The one thing that brought an end to his reign of terror was a knight in training exhausted from practice and taking refuge in his comfortable bed. The two would end up sick as dogs the following morning, but for one night they both knew peace.

You fix the blanket on your arm back to your shoulder and step inside the room. The prince tries to leap out of bed, but is stopped by the strongest of the maids tossing him into the mattress; pushing his head into the pillow like she was attempting to suffocate him the wrong way.

"Y/n!" He breaks into a coughing fit, the hands restraining him quickly darting away. "you came."

"I was taking care of more important tasks." You spread the blanket over the empty half of the bed. The prince sighs dreamily.

"Your sheet..."

He runs his cheek against its corner as you turn to the maids. "Apologies for the trouble. If one of you could bring me some more soup, you all are free to good."

The servants race for the door, tripping over each other as they shout for the elixir likes it's a blood sacrifice. You sit down on the bed, placing the back of your hand to the prince's forehead - recoiling like you've touched coals.

"You're burning up. Keep this stubbornness up and your father may outlive you."

"I'll live a thousand years longer than that living corpse long as I have you~"

"You are delirious. Drink." Lifting his chin, you shovel the lukewarm warm tea down his throat. He gags from the temperature and flavor, but forces it all down in hopes you'll comply to his commands for being good. He sticks out his tongue once you set the cup down.

"Ahhh. All gone."

"You're not a child, and it's a fluid."

The prince clings to the tail end of your armor, voice meek and pleading as he begs. "Y/n, lay with me like you did when we were kids. I've been good."

"I missed a week's worth of training because of that."

"But it was time that you spent with your favorite person in the kindgom. Please, Y/n? Everything hurts.."

He pokes out his bottom lips; quivering, as his eyes go wide. You roll your eyes and remove the binds of your chest plate, setting it aside as you swing your legs onto the bed. The prince throws his arms and one leg over you, pressing his nose and lips to your collar; falling asleep almost instantaneously. You swear to the gods if you get sick he'll be your training dummy for everyday you're off the force.

[the-iceni-bitch]

𝕾𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕰𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖍 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖂𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖍 𝕳𝖊'𝖘 𝕭𝖔𝖗𝖓

𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚞𝚛 𝙱𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢 𝙱𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚜

𝙻𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚞𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎. 𝙸𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚐𝚘𝚙𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝.

𝙰𝚕𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚊 ~ 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚏 𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚢

𝙰𝚗𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊 ~ 𝙰 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜

Words: 1.3k

Relationship: minotaur!Bucky Barnes x chubby!prince male reader

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (m/m sex, fellatio, rimming), soft reassuring Bucky, fatphobia, self-loathing language, hurt/comfort, SMUT!!! 18+ ONLY!!

A/N: Who knows, maybe I’ll actually get all of these churned out before February. Wouldn’t that be neat?

You told yourself you were not going to cry. Not in front of your brothers, and definitely not in front of your father.

Your little mental pep talk did nothing to stop the stinging in your eyes, though. It was hard to stay strong when they were being so cruel. The flat of one of their tourney swords smacked against your stomach when you missed your chance to shield it and all of them laughed. All of them except your father, who just looked angry and disappointed in you. Just like he always did.

The hours in the training yard were always torturous, but they had become especially unbearable ever since your mother had announced her intention to begin the process of finding you a wife. For some reason their taunts about your soft belly and questioning of your manhood began to sting all the more. Not even your haven in the library was safe, you could hear their japes and laughter following you through the corridors of your family’s castle. You hated it, and you hated them, the prospect of finally running away becoming more and more tempting as their unkindness grew to be too much.

Today you didn’t think you could take it. As soon as training was complete and you were out of your leathers you made your way to the castle gate, trying your best not to run and give them further cause to torment you. You couldn’t be around them anymore. There was only one place where you felt truly safe, truly yourself.

The ruins at the edge of the city took less than half an hour to reach, and as soon as you saw them you felt a sense of peace. The broken fountains still flowed with clear, sweet water that you could drink or bathe in, fragrant flowers bloomed in the shade of the shattered rocky walls, and soft grass covered the ground that wind through a labyrinth of stones and statues.

But the thing that made this place feel truly like your refuge was hidden, known only to you and yours alone. You heard the deep rumble of his voice before you even saw him, the tears you had been struggling to hold back beginning to fall as you let yourself collapse on a bed of hyacinths.

“Little prince?” You could feel his massive hooves making the earth tremble as he rounded the corner to find you, trying to smile in spite of yourself and failing miserably. “What is wrong, my love? Why do you cry?”

“The same reason I always cry.” As soon as Bucky knelt next to you you rested your head in his lap, letting out a pathetic sob but unable to care when he stroked your head with a massive hand. “I hate my father and my brothers, they make me so miserable. Maybe I really will just live here with you and survive off honey and wine.”

“It is not a bad way to live, little prince.” Bucky smiled warmly at you when you turned your body so you could peer at his face. “But you deserve all the riches and spoils of castle life. My little prince should be pampered.”

“I’m too pampered.” Your little huff of frustration made Bucky chuckle. “I am! I’m soft and weak. Even though I hate hearing it from them I know they’re right.”

“That’s enough.” The deep growl of Bucky’s voice let you know he was not pleased with you speaking about yourself in such a way, and you swallowed the rest of your self-loathing when you saw his brow furrow. He was suddenly pinning you to the ground and blowing out heavy breaths that warmed your face, and you were reminded just how enormous the minotaur you had taken for a love was. “You are not weak, and your softness is beautiful. Would a weak man let a monster love him? Would a weak man be able to show such vulnerability? I will not listen to you say such things about yourself, not when you are the man I am in love with. I do not know how many times I will have to show you just how much you are worth, but I will do it over and over again.”

Your attempt to argue was quickly muffled by his lips, every thought in your head suddenly disappearing when his thick, warm tongue lapped at yours and his hands tugged at your tunic. Before you knew it you were bare beneath him, gazing up at him with widened eyes when he pulled back from your kiss then whimpering as he began to nuzzle his way down your torso.

“Buck…”

“Hush.” He stopped at the soft bulge of your stomach, kissing every inch of skin reverently as your cock started to twitch and grow hard. “Just let me love you, little prince.”

All you could do was sigh and let your eyes drift closed as he kept kissing and licking your stomach, relishing the feeling of his strong hands gripping your fleshy thighs and spreading them wide while he worshiped his favorite part of you. He adored how soft and bountiful your body was, how sensitive you were to his ministrations and the noises that escaped from you when you finally relax and let him love you like you deserved. When you giggled at the ring in his nose tickling your navel you could feel him grinning against your skin, a soft chuff of his breath warming your stomach before his tongue flicked out to tease the head of your cock.

His mouth on you was like elysium, your body rolling under him and your breath leaving you in a whine as he began to drag his broad, heavy tongue along the length of you. Bucky always did his best to take his time and appreciate every inch of you, but you couldn’t help but get worked up so quickly it was almost embarrassing. You never really could be embarrassed around your minotaur, though. He knew every inch of you and loved you just the same. He was the only truly comforting thing in your life. And by the gods, he made you feel incredible.

Hours or merely seconds may have passed since he started licking your cock. Time lost all meaning when you were with him like this, but you would never complain about it. When his lips wrapped around you it was impossible to keep yourself from moaning obscenely, your back arching as he began to take you deeper and deeper into his hot, wet mouth.

Then his tongue slithered lower, dragging over your balls then even further even as he kept his lips wrapped tightly around your cock. Your body arched and you cried out beneath him when he started to lap at your sensitive rim, barely holding yourself back from erupting in his mouth. But then Bucky hummed around you and you couldn’t contain yourself any longer, digging your fingers into the soft grass beneath you as you filled Bucky’s mouth with your seed.

“Mmmm,” Bucky grinned and licked his lips as he pulled away from you, winking when you could only whimper in response to the sight of your cum dribbling from the corner of his mouth. “My little prince is so sweet. Was that enough or do you still need to be convinced you are worthy of being cherished?”

“It… it was more than enough.” You sighed when he kissed you, laughing softly when he wrapped you in his arms and rolled onto his back so you were laying on top of him. “I can never stay sad when I know you love me, Bucky.”