#i will say though the ending did it for me ill give it that

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Andrew Doyle

Published: Jan 21, 2025

Day one. It’s already started. ‘Elon Musk appears to make back-to-back fascist salutes at inauguration rally’ claims the Guardian. ‘Elon Musk accused of giving “Nazi salute” at Trump inauguration celebration’ says the Independent. The activist media are positively priapic with glee that Donald Trump’s most powerful ally just publicly endorsed Hitler live at his inauguration. Except of course that didn’t happen. And we know it didn’t happen because we do not have cabbages for heads. Let’s just hypothetically suppose for one moment that Musk��is a clandestine fascist, one so ingenious and Machiavellian that he has managed to inveigle his way into the White House and is now poised to initiate the Fourth Reich. Does any sentient human being suppose for one moment that such an evil genius would now accidentally reveal his scheme to millions of people live on television?

Nobody believes this, of course. Or if they do, they should be supervised at all times, especially around cutlery. That goes for Rex Huppke at USA Today, who has published a piece entitled ‘Elon Musk’s “odd-looking” salute sure looked like a “Sieg heil” to me’. Perhaps it does. But I could have sworn that I saw the face of David Hasselhoff in my spinach frittata yesterday, and yet I’m pretty sure that’ll be the old pareidolia playing tricks on me again. If I were as literal-minded as Huppke, I’d probably assume that The Hoff had actually found a way to invade my breakfast and call an exorcist or something.

Within an hour of Huppke’s article being posted online, the following note was appended: ‘This column was updated to add new information’. God knows what defamatory nonsense that hit-piece contained before I got around to reading it. The media class still hasn’t quite grasped that falsely smearing someone as a Nazi is libellous, and that perhaps someone like Musk has the financial means to do something about it. (Also at the end of the article we have this little nugget: ‘Follow USA Today columnist Rex Huppke on Bluesky’. That explains quite a lot.)

I’m starting to think that avoiding libel should be included on the first day of any basic journalism course, given how often we see media outlets posting lies and then having to frantically apologise for it. And while they’re at it, the course should probably also include a session on why male rapists, paedophiles and murderers shouldn’t be referred to as ‘she’ and ‘her’. Just a thought.

While I would usually be prepared to concede that Huppke might just be as simple-minded as he seems, there’s something about his article that suggests otherwise. If he genuinely believed that Musk was giving a Nazi salute, why did he have to misrepresent the story? Not once in his piece does Huppke mention the context for the admittedly ill-advised gesture. Musk said to the audience, ‘my heart goes out to you’, which is why he struck his heart and mimed throwing it out to the crowd. He then turned and did it again, and the meaning is perfectly clear when the clip is seen in its entirety:

Now look at the clip that was being shared online by Musk’s detractors.

We have seen this kind of dishonesty so often, and it simply never works. The internet has certainly enabled the media to spread this misleadingly edited clip, but it also enables us to check its authenticity. And when people release that they have been lied to, the inevitable outcome is resentment. This is why throwing the word ‘Nazi’ around as though it has no meaning other than ‘someone I vaguely dislike’ is not an endearing or astute way to behave.

Naturally, Democratic politicians have been quick to exploit the situation as much as the press. Jerry Nadler, Representative for the 12th District of New York, jumped on to X to post his verdict:

‘I never imagined we would see the day when what appears to be a Heil Hitler salute would be made behind the Presidential seal. This abhorrent gesture has no place in our society and belongs in the darkest chapters of human history. I urge all of my colleagues to unite in condemning this hateful gesture for what it is: antisemitism.’

Thankfully, there have been some voices of reason. The Anti-Defamation League put out a sensible statement in an effort to subdue all the frenzied mutual masturbation of the Bluesky clan:

‘It seems that Elon Musk made an awkward gesture in a moment of enthusiasm, not a Nazi salute, but again, we appreciate that people are on edge. In this moment, all sides should give one another a bit of grace, perhaps even the benefit of the doubt, and take a breath.’

Musk and Trump have their political opponents; that much is obvious and all for the good. But given all the histrionic hogwash about ‘Nazis’ and ‘fascists’ during the run-up to the last election, I was hoping they might have all grown up a little. As I say, it’s absolutely clear that this strategy is wholly ineffective. The public are capable of reading history books. They understand that Nazis generally don’t pay visits to Auschwitz to learn about the horrors of the Holocaust and lay wreaths at memorial services there, as Musk did last year. They also are unlikely to be seen dancing to ‘YMCA’ with the Village People.

So once more for the hard of thinking in the media: calling people Nazis doesn’t work anymore. It’s not only unethical, it virtually guarantees that the very people you don’t want to be in power will win their elections. By all means, criticise Musk and Trump as much as you like. Those in power must be criticised; it’s essential for any functioning democracy. But lying about them and smearing them as fascists only lets the public know that you’re not to be trusted.

--

==

It's all so fucking tedious.

You don't hate legacy media enough. You think you do, but you don't.

[moldytiramisu]

𝕾𝖎𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖍𝖎𝖑𝖑

In my restless dreams, I see that town.

Silent hill.

You promised me you'd take me there again someday. But you never did. Well, I'm alone there now... Waiting for you... Waiting for you to come and see me. But you never do. And so I wait, wrapped in my cocoon of pain and loneliness. I know I've done a terrible thing to you. Something you'll never forgive me for. I wish I could change that, but I can't. I feel so pathetic and ugly laying here, waiting for you... Everyday I stare up at the cracks in the ceiling all I can think about is how unfair it all is... The doctor came today. He told me I could go home for a short day. It's not that I'm getting better. It's just that this may be my last chance... I think you know what I mean... Even so, I'm glad to be coming home. I've missed you terribly. But I'm afraid, James, I'm afraid you don't really want me to come home. Whenever you come see me, I can tell how hard it is on you. I don't know if you hate me or pity me... Or maybe I just disgust you... I'm sorry about that. When I first learned that I was going to die, I just didn't want to accept it. I was so angry all the time and I struck out everyone I loved most. Especially you, James. That is why I understand if you do hate me. But I want you to know this, James. I'll always love you. Even though our life together had to end like this, I still wouldn't trade it for the world. We had some wonderful years together. Well, this letter has gone on too long, so I'll say goodbye. I told the nurse to give this to you after I'm gone. That means as you read this, I'm already dead. I can't tell you to remember me, but I can't bear for you to forget me. These last few years since I became ill... I'm so sorry for what I did to you, did to us... You've given me so much and I haven't been able to return a single thing. That's why I want you to live for yourself now. Do what's best for you, James.

James... You made me happy.

[necrowtic]

Haven’t watched i saw the tv glow but everything besides your crit has been positive, is it worth it or another fad?

its not a Bad Film necessarily its just a bit too surface level in what its trying to say while presenting itself as having Something More, best analogy i can think of is that its the barbie movie for transgenders

[xxplastic-cubexx]

bro the feminine wiles aren’t even a joke like. im with that anon who thought hellfire gala charles was a woman when they first saw him bc same, that design is insaaaane (/pos). how could u not think that when u see it lmfao. idk whose choice it was to give him a corset but the hourglass figure + female coded jawline combo do not lie. i saw it on pinterest and i was like ohhh don’t lie to me i know an anime girl when i see one- WAIT PROFESSOR X????

and that’s not even to mention movieverse charles ofc. we’ve all seen james mcavoy and his big sparkly kawaii anime eyes, i shouldn’t have to say it. charles xavier is never beating the allegations, i fear

gonna need this ask hung in the louvre i fear

[feroluce]

So I went to the wiki page for the henghill Bullet & Brain mission of 2.2 looking for some dialogue I had missed and

a) I found something incredibly tasty that slotted into some other thoughts I'd been having, more on that on another day, and

b) I saw this super fun little trivia at the bottom, which!

I knew Penacony characters like Boothill took a lot of inspirations from old movies, but I didn't realize it was even in his and Dan Heng's relationship, that's so cool!!

It fits them very well, it's such a fun reference. "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" was an old buddy Western film (from 1969- nice) about a pair of outlaws. Butch Cassidy was the leader of a gang, and described as clever, affable, and talkative. Meanwhile, his closest companion, the Sundance Kid, was known as a man of few words.

Cassidy's original birth name was much more plain, but similar to Boothill, he took on a new moniker when he became an outlaw. "Cassidy" had been the last name of his beloved mentor, who taught him how to shoot and ride. And Sundance Kid was known as he was because Sundance was the name of his hometown, and it was the only place that had ever managed to catch and jail him, back when he'd been younger (also similar to Dan Heng, but ouch).

These two stick together like glue throughout the length of the film- through Cassidy's leadership of the gang being challenged, through a train robbery gone wrong, through being pursued by mercenaries, and even through fleeing to Bolivia and trying to start over together.

I don't want to say too much more, since the mission title is referencing one specific movie that I've never seen. I kinda wanna watch it now, though, just to see the inspiration that went into Boothill and Dan Heng and how they get along. I just think it's really sweet that these two were literally made to be the best of bros, how lovely is that. 💕

[trashworldblog]

shocking: autistic person is having a meltdown because she doesnt know what the schedule is, if it needs to change, or if people are being truthful to her or giving her a half truth answer

[todayisafridaynight]

any hopes for kiwami 3? like things u wanna see added or changed stuff like that

if they dont keep kiryu's goofy walk stance and the hoof-like walk sounds i dont wanna play it

[tshifty]

this is going to be a hot take but the worst managers ive had have all been millennials. like don't get me wrong, gen x and boomer managers can also be wild. but the most notably terrible managers? millennials. lmao

[mars-ipan]

i do love my family very dearly but the internalized ableism the men in here struggle with is. so much

[apathyfairy]

not me pulling up to the starbucks drive thru looking as ugly as humanly possible only to realize that the cute barista boy is working and he got a haircut and he's even cuter than before i fear

[the-amber-droid-dreams]

[ID: A priest in a confession booth looking shocked]

[thebigqueer]

its so funny to me that she was like 'you deserve better' because little does she even know she genuilnely was best. like no one is ever going to top her. and i know with my full heart that she will find better than me and im supposed to want that for her but i really really dont. cuz i know theres so much better than me but theres no one better than her

[willowpains]

we listen and we don’t judge

drew starkey x latina actress reader!

Drew was not a fan of social media.

Unlike you.

Chronically online was a term that was gaining fame to describe someone who spent quite some time on the internet, and who knew all the trends going on.

You weren’t exactly proud to be a part of that community.

But it kept you entertained.

And that’s how you ended up setting your phone up, ready to record Drew and you filming a new trend on TikTok.

How did you convince him to do it? You don’t even remember.

And after what felt like an eternity of explaining the dynamic to Drew, you both were finally ready to begin.

Both of you sitting next to each other on your couch, you looked at him with a mischievous smirk while he stared at you suspiciously.

“We listen and we don’t judge” you both said at the same time, Drew smirking at you.

“I’ll start” you said, looking from your phone screen to your boyfriend. “Sometimes, when I don’t really wanna cook, I get all dramatic and lie about us not having all the ingredients for the dish I was supposed to make, so you can offer to make something instead with what we do have” you say, giving him an embarrassed smile.

He chuckled at your words.

“I knew that love” he lets out a laugh. “You’re not good at lying to me”.

Your mouth opens up in shock.

“We listen and we don’t judge”.

Drew pauses for a moment, smiling at you.

"When you're showering, i close the door of our room so the sound of your music gets as muffled as possible" he admits.

You giggle as you nod at his words, you did like to shower with loud music.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You look at him through the screen.

“I thought you hated me when we first met, so I would intentionally try to stay out of your way our first couple of working days together”.

Drew gives you a puzzled expression trying his best not to judge.

“We listen and we don’t judge”.

He clears his throat before speaking.

“I often fake coming home super tired and stressed so that you take pity on me and cuddle me while playing with my hair” he says giving you a cute smile.

You giggle at his words.

“That’s cute” you admit leaning to peck his lips.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You take a couple of seconds before speaking, trying to be dramatic.

“I have a lot of edits of you saved on my favorites folder on TikTok” you look at him.

Drew covers his eyes while letting out a chuckle.

“We listen and we don’t judge”.

He looks at you mischievously.

“I get jealous of the guys in your books” he admits seriously.

You let out a laugh as you throw your head back.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You giggle softly before confessing the next one.

“Whenever I feel sick in the middle of the night, I wiggle a lot in bed or move your body so you’ll accidentally wake up and ask me what’s wrong”.

He opens his mouth surprised at your words.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

Drew thinks a little before speaking.

“Ever since we met I’ve always been skeptical of your at home remedies for illnesses, even though they work every time” he admits.

You slowly nod while giving him a defeated look, knowing that already.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You give him a playful look before speaking.

“When we’re cuddling, sometimes I have the urge to stand up abruptly because I get too hot and I feel like I can’t breathe because you’re too big” you say, barely getting out the words without laughing.

Drew looks at you with big eyes, moving his brows up and down at the double meaning of your last words.

You roll your eyes at him.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

He thinks for a moment before speaking.

“When I’m showering, sometimes I’ll use your shampoo rather than mine” he pauses as he looks at your baffled face. “It leaves my hair softer! And smells like you”.

Of course, there were a few confessions you had to cut from the video because your PR managers would hunt you down if they made it out into the internet.

“We listen and we don’t judge” you both say smiling at each other.

You smirk playfully at him before speaking.

“I cannot stand one of your friends and past coworkers” you admit, making a serious face.

Drew immediately throws his head back and lets out a chuckle, knowing exactly who you’re referring to.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

He clears his throat before looking at you.

“I don’t like watching F1 since you told me about that driver that slid into your dm’s” he lets out cockily.

You burst out laughing looking at him while he joins you.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You make a thinking face looking at him.

“I wish you sent me more shirtless photos” you say giving him puppy eyes. “Or like, you took more of those with my phone, so I could look at them”.

He snorted out a laugh.

“That can be fixed baby” he says as he looks at you mischievously.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

He gives you a smile.

“When I travel for work and you’re not coming with me, I take a pair of your panties and stuff them in my suitcase” he says laughing.

You scrunch up your nose at him.

“Drewwwwww” you say covering your face, now knowing where those missing undies went.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You avoid his eyes for the next one.

“Sometimes when I’m cold, I throw on one of your dirty hoodies that you used while working out, cause they’re sweaty and smell like you” you say, trying not to burst out laughing.

He gives you a grossed out look.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You look at him waiting for him to speak.

“You know those sleeping shorts Brooke sent you cause she accidentally bought too many?” He says, making quotation marks with his fingers while saying sent and accidentally.

You nod at his words.

“I actually bought them for you because I love how your ass looks in them”.

Your mouth opens at his confession while you hit him playfully in the chest.

Drew laughs at your reaction.

“Oh my god baby, this is definitely not making it to the video” you say as you stand up from your position while laughing at him, walking to your phone to stop recording, while he stands back watching your movements with a smile.

Noticing that in fact, you were wearing a pair of those shorts.

“We don’t judge remember?” he said cheekily.

*

inspired by @valstranquility lando blurb<3

I love this trend on TikTok and I just couldn’t help myself

they’re just too cute I can’t

this was short n sweet hope you like it, if you have any other concepts you’d like to read let me know!

[whytheylosttheirminds]

home for the holidays (part one) - r.c.

❄️ a frat!rafe cameron holiday mini series ❄️

summary a simple favor for a friend ends with you reluctantly bringing Rafe Cameron, resident campus fuckboy, home for the holidays. It’s gonna take more than a little mistletoe for him to win you over…

content “enemies” to lovers, copious amounts of flirting, eventual smut, a dash of familial angst, parental illness and mentions of parental death, 18+ mdni

Brodyyy <3: hey thanks again for offering to give me a ride back to nc for break!

You: ofc! anything for u after u gave me those o chem notes bestie

Brodyyy <3: i’m glad to hear ya say that…bc i have one more favor to ask

You: what’s up?

Brodyyy <3: one of my frat bros needs a ride back too, can he join?

You: does he live near us?

Brodyyy <3: he’s from obx but if you get us to my house I can take him the rest of the way in my mom’s car, so no extra driving for you!

You: yeah then i guess that’s cool!!

You: as long as i’m home before 6pm on the 21st i’m good

Brodyyy <3: cookie day?

You: exactly, u get me

Brodyyy <3: dw we’ll get you home in time for cookies! Tysm!

You: np!

You: what’s his name btw?

Brodyyy <3: …

You: *questioned* “what’s his name btw?”

Brodyyy <3: rafe

You: be so fr rn

You: as in cameron???

You: Brody, did u seriously invite rafe cameron to drive home with us??

Hour one

You could see your breath, fog filling the air with each shivering exhale as you pulled your coat tighter around your shoulders. Even after three-and-a-half years, you’d never gotten used to these North Eastern winters. The plan was to be well on your way towards a milder climate by now, but here you were, leaning against the open hatchback trunk of your car, desperately clutching your hot coffee as you waited for your friend to show up. With his friend. You rolled your eyes as you checked the time on your phone for the hundredth time, none of your many texts to Brody returned.

“Brody, I swear to god,” you mumbled under your breath, “five more minutes and I’m leaving your ass.”

Time ticked on without any sight of him. With a resigned sigh, you reached up to close the trunk.

“Hey wait up!” a voice called from behind you. You whipped around to find its owner.

Standing a few feet back on the sidewalk, sherpa lined corduroy jacket, backpack slung over his shoulder and obnoxiously handsome smirk painted on his face, was Rafe Cameron. Notorious playboy, frat president, and hands down your least favorite person on this campus. 

It wasn’t a big school, everyone knew Rafe Cameron. All of your friends had crushes on him, some of them even managed to hook up with him or have stories of making out with him at frat parties. Every Friday night, he popped up on every Insta story on campus, somehow everywhere at once, and yet your paths had never crossed directly. You were okay with that. You knew his type well enough.

“I’m Rafe,” he interjected when you didn’t greet him.

“I know,” you said dryly.

“My reputation precedes me?” He grinned, his slight southern drawl reminding you of home with a pang of nostalgia, until you remembered that this guy was from a completely different world than you.

“I wouldn’t be too proud of that,” you shot back, slamming the trunk closed. “Where’s Brody?”

Rafe usually gave people about ten seconds before he decided if he liked them or not. A lethal combination of impatience and general distrust that he disguised seamlessly under cocky confidence. Your arms were crossed in hostility as you frowned at him, even though he’d barely said two words to you. 

Ah yes, he knew exactly your type. You were that irritating brand of stuck up smart girl who always saw right through him. Sure, you were surprisingly really pretty, a fact Brody had forgotten to mention, but annoying nonetheless. He decided right then not to like you, since you so clearly had already decided not to like him. 

“He’s not coming,” Rafe informed you. “Didn’t he tell you?”

“No, he didn’t,” you huffed, “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he got a gig with a professor to be a research assistant, but he’s gotta stay on campus to do it,” he explained.

“He could’ve told me,” you rolled your eyes, checking the time again to calculate how far behind his no-show had made you. “I’m gonna have to adjust the schedule.”

“The schedule?” He cocked his head, picking up on the tightly wrinkled knot in your forehead as you pulled a folded piece of graph paper from your pocket.

It was color coded and intricate, every mile, every meal, every gas stop accounted for, down to the minute. You had a pencil in your hair, tucked neatly into your messy bun so you could pull it out quickly and make necessary changes, as you were doing now. You held the paper up against the side of your car, erasing and scribbling intensely as you recalculated the trip. 

“I need to be home by six at the latest, it’s nine now, that leaves only an hour for stops and traffic, we were supposed to leave at eight…” you looked up to eye him pointedly as you said the last part, silently blaming him for the delay as you did your mental math.

“Sorry to make you wait, I needed my beauty sleep,” he raised his hands in defense, lips curling back to display his shiny white smile. “You don’t think this all just happens naturally do you?” He gestured to his face.

You tucked the paper back into your pocket as you eyed him up and down, unimpressed and yet simultaneously beginning to understand why all your girlfriends had fallen so easily for this douchebag. He was handsome, sharp features permanently set in an arrogant smirk. His body was tall and lean yet built, enough that you could tell he was muscular even under all those layers. His dirty blonde hair sat messy over his forehead, sticking out at all angles in a way that made it clear he’d just woken up. 

But you were smart, life and your high IQ made you an expert in reading people. You could see right through him.

“I wasn’t waiting for you, I was waiting for Brody,” you shut him down. “And since he’s apparently not coming, I’m gonna hit the road,” you slammed the trunk closed, pulling your keys from your pocket and making your way to the driver’s side door.

You opened the door, fully intending to climb in and drive off on your own, but Rafe appeared quickly by your side, closing the door before you could climb in.

“Woah, woah, wait,” he said, his arm out next to your head to hold the door closed.

You scoffed at his boldness and stepped back, “uhm excuse me!”

“You’re excused,” he smirked down at you. “How am I gonna get home?”

“Greyhound station is that way,” you pointed over your shoulder, trying to push him out of the way of your door, but he was too sturdy to be moved. He leaned back against the door and crossed his arms, planting himself.

“I’d rather ride with you,” he flashed you a devilish grin you just knew he was used to throwing around like currency.

“Dude, can you just let me into my car?” You shut him down.

“What’s the magic word?” God, did this guy have a punchable face.

“Please,” you reluctantly let out through gritted teeth.

“Hmm, no,” he turned it back on you, planting his feet firmly on the ground, both of you knowing there was no way you were gonna be able to overpower his large frame.

“Okay seriously? I know you’re used to using your body to get what you want, but it’s not gonna work this time,” you were done fucking around, an invisible clock ticking in your mind while your trip was delayed even further by this jackass. “Get away from my car.”

“I will when you agree to give me a ride,” his lips twisted and his voice dropped, aimed down at you, “or we can keep standing here and talking about my body.”

You couldn’t help but blush, and he couldn’t help but like it. The embarrassment at the involuntary response only fueled your anger.

“Why would I do that? I don’t even know you,” it wasn’t entirely true, you knew more than you cared to know about him. Or at least, in this moment, you thought you did.

“Brody said you owe him a favor right? Do it for him,” he suggested.

“If he wanted to cash in on his favor, he should’ve been here himself.”

“Okay then, what if I paid for gas? What was Brody gonna do, go 50/50 with you? I’ll cover the whole trip,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick leather wallet, opening it to flash you his black card. 

You couldn’t help but also notice the polaroids tucked in the see-through pockets. On one side, what appeared to be a family photo; Rafe, an older man and two young girls smiling on a giant boat. On the other side, some sorority girls in bikinis, flashing the camera at a charity car wash. Who the fuck was this guy? 

“Brody was also gonna take you the rest of the way to the Outer Banks. I’m going west and there’s no way I’m getting on a ferry, how are you gonna get home?” You reasoned, though he could hear in your tone that you were starting to actually consider saying yes. 

Time to bring it home, he thought.

“I’ll figure it out. Just get me to the ferry and I’ll be fine. I’ll be eternally grateful, I’ll owe you a big favor. And I never do people favors.”

“The more you talk, the less I want to be stuck in a car with you for eight hours,” you said. 

Dammit, his plan backfired. But he hadn’t missed the way you eyed the picture of him with his dad, Sarah and Wheezie in his wallet. Maybe he could use that to his advantage.

“Please? All flights are sold out and I’d really like to see my little sisters for Christmas,” he blinked his wide blue eyes, mustering up all the sincerity he could find.

Family was your weak spot, you wondered if Brody had told him that. As much as you truly did not want to get in this cramped, two-door car with him, you felt bad picturing the two little girls waiting patiently for their big brother to come home for Christmas. Ugh.

With a deep sigh, you finally said, “fine.” 

Rafe slapped his hand on the car’s roof in celebration, reveling in his victory as he finally stepped away from your door.

“I’ll get you to the ferry and that’s it,” you qualified, trying to dampen his enthusiasm. “I need to be home by six, if I’m late you’re gonna owe me a lot more than a favor.”

He crossed his fingers over his heart solemnly, “scout’s honor!”

“You can throw your stuff in the backseat,” you instructed, your trunk already full to the brim with presents for your family.

“What, you got too much junk in your trunk?” He chuckled at his own joke as he jogged around to the passenger’s side.

You rolled your eyes hard as you climbed in the driver’s seat. This was gonna be the longest eight hours of your life.

Hour two

The heat in your car was cranked at full blast, but you were still shivering as you drove. This car was a hand-me-down from your dad, it got you back and forth to school, but left plenty to be desired in the way of amenities.

Based on the designer watch he was wearing and his Gatsby-esque reputation, you were pretty confident this was the least fancy car Rafe had ever been in.

“Sorry about the rattling,” you said, needlessly gesturing toward the dash, which shook steadily with the hum of the engine. “She’s a good car, but she’s got creaky bones.”

“It’s cool,” he shrugged, pulling a pack of gum out of his coat pocket.

“I’m sure the G-wagons you’re used to don’t shake when you accelerate.”

Rafe popped a piece of gum in his mouth, snapping it obnoxiously between his teeth as he looked over at you, head cocked in observation.

“You don’t like me,” he surmised simply.

Your mouth fell open slightly, startled by how directly he clocked you, “I- I barely know you.”

“Then why do you roll your eyes everytime I open my mouth?”

“Maybe I just don’t like what you have to say.”

His eyes narrowed, considering this for a moment before deciding, “nah, I think it’s something else. Did we have a class together or something?”

“No, just a couple mutual friends,” you smiled the fakest of smiles.

“Yeah? Like who?”

“Girls you’ve ghosted mainly,” you said.

“Whaaat, me? Ghost someone? I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he smirked.

“Yeah right,” you shook your head with an incredulous laugh that only widened his grin. “You know exactly what I mean, you ghost them and then you gaslight them that you were never a thing to begin with. We call it the Rafe Cameron special.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, I’ve never done that,” he said.

“That’s such bullshit, this girl in my hall freshman year showed me all your texts, you totally gaslit her.” 

“Gaslit? Me? You’re crazy…” he said.

You almost took the bait, mouth opened indignantly to argue again before you finally caught onto his game and the growing prideful smirk on his face. He was fucking with you.

You turned the music up, blocking him out as he chuckled under his breath in the seat next to you, ever so pleased with himself.

“Oh, c’mon, lighten up,” he tilted his body toward you, his long legs cramped in the small space of your front seat. 

He placed his hand on the back of your headrest, his arm easily reaching the distance between you. 

“It’s college, it’s not that serious. Everybody’s hooking up and breaking up. I mean, I’m sure you’ve had your fair share of flings,” his eyes ran up and down your body with that final remark.

You stumbled over your response. You weren’t necessarily a shy person, but you didn’t walk around discussing your personal life as openly as he apparently does. 

“I…can you stop looking at me like that please?”

“Looking at you like what?” He grinned, feigning innocence.

“Like you know me at all.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” he nodded. “Though I think I’ve pretty much figured you out.”

“Oh have you?” Your eyebrows shot up.

“Yeah, I mean, I have my guesses at least…”

“Please, share with the class,” you turned the radio down to better hear his absurdity, sure that he was full of shit.

“You were top of your class in high school, graduating with a…3.97 GPA,” he began. “You got in automatic acceptance to a bunch of state schools but you insisted on going to your reach, which thrilled your parents I’m sure. College isn’t as easy as high school, but you’ve settled around an A minus average final grade. You’re not in a sorority, I would’ve seen you at a mixer, but you’re definitely in some organized groups. Not sports, that’s not practical enough, it’s gotta be something where you can do some networking. Brody said you’re what, pre-med? So you’re probably in some kind of medical honors society. I bet you’ve had only one serious boyfriend, maybe a long distance high school sweetheart, but you’re too focused on school to make that work so you dumped his ass. A few hook ups since then, but nothing real. How am I doing?”

Your eyes were glued to the road, face gone ashen as he continued to nail correct guess after correct guess.

“My high school GPA was 3.98 actually,” you said weakly. “And I don’t like this game.”

Rafe had never been more smug, beaming triumphantly at your confirmation of all his assumptions.

“Don’t worry, I’m done playing,” he leaned forward to take off his coat, balling it up to use as a pillow so he could lean his head on the window. “Wake me up when at the next scheduled stop, will ya?”

“No promises,” you grumbled, making him smile as he drifted off to sleep.

Hour three

Bright red brake lights glowed in a line stretched out in front of you for a mile. You sighed deeply, your foot sore from holding down the brake for a full ten minutes. Resigned, you finally gave in and put the car in park, eyeing the clock on the dash anxiously.

Rafe snored. Loudly.

You shot him a bitter glare as he sat passed out in the passenger seat, blissfully unaware of the stop-and-go traffic jam you had gotten stuck in, enjoying his free ride and interrupting your music with his loud snores. Out of spite, you leaned forward and turned up the radio until your music was practically blaring through the speakers.

Somehow, like even in his sleep he knew how to push your buttons, he started snoring louder. You turned the music up as high as it would go, singing along at the top of your lungs until he finally started stirring, eyes blinking open. You quickly turned down the music, stifling a laugh at the confused, grumpy look on his face.

“We’re not moving,” he mumbled, groggily taking in your surroundings.

“You have great observational skills,” you teased him.

“You didn’t think to account for traffic on your little itinerary?” He said smugly.

“I did,” you defended yourself, “just not until we passed through DC. This part of I-95 isn’t usually so packed.”

Rafe sat up in his seat, not having much room to stretch out his legs but trying anyway. He watched the way you were chewing on the inside of your cheek, nervously tapping your hands on the steering wheel.

“So what’s happening at six o’clock?” He asked, trying to pull you from your anxious thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“Before we left, you said you had to be home at six. What’s at six?” 

“Oh, uh, it’s kind of silly actually, you wouldn’t get it,” you sat back in your seat, finally accepting that the car in front of you wasn’t moving anytime soon.

“Try me,” he said.

You looked at him, trying to decide if you wanted to share and risk his getting his rude opinion on something so special to you. But you were hungry, and tired, and stressed, and honestly, after a few too many hours in his charismatic orbit, you were looking for more reasons not to like him.

“It’s because of cookies,” you admitted.

“Cookies?” He cocked his eyebrow, trying to maintain his non-judgemental stance.

“My mom makes these gingerbread cookies that are literally the best thing I’ve ever tasted. They’re so good, she makes them every christmas, but she only makes one batch. It’s an old family recipe her mom left her when she passed away and my mom said she isn’t supposed to give it to me until she’s…gone…”

You paused to swallow hard, like there were more words fighting their way out. Feeling a little too vulnerable with Rafe’s eyes on you, you pushed them back down. 

“…anyway, I have three younger brothers, and they get home from their practices at six. The second they walk in the door, they’ll attack those cookies and there won’t be any left for me. So I need to get home before them or I’ll have to wait a whole year for more cookies.”

You watched him out of the corner of your eye as he decided whether or not he was gonna tease you.

Finally he landed on, “gingerbread, really? They can’t possibly be that good.”

“Oh no, believe me they really are. I’m not usually into gingerbread either but these are seriously the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

Rafe’s eyebrows shot up, smirking at you from his side of the car. It took a second for you to hear your own double entenadre. 

“Oh shut up,” you laughed, reaching over to swat his arm.

“I didn’t say anything!” He pretended to wince, rubbing the spot on his arm you’d hit dramatically. You flexed your hand, surprised that it stung a little, his arm firmer than you were expecting. 

“You question the cookies and then you mock me,” you shook your head. “I should make you get out and walk the rest of the way.”

“No, no!” He chuckled. “I would never question the cookies. I’m sure they’re delicious. Don’t make me walk.”

You zeroed your eyes in on him, “fine. You're safe. For now.”

He wiped his forehead playfully, mouthing a silent ‘phew!’

After a few minutes, traffic started moving again, though painfully slowly. Rafe was drumming along to the radio on the dashboard, growing more impatient by the second. His fidgeting reminded you of a bored toddler.

“Why can’t you mom just make more cookies?” He blurted out.

Your grip tightened on the wheel as sudden brake lights ahead of you forced you to slam on your own brake yet again. This was the direction you were hoping the conversation wouldn’t head in.

“She, uh…she just makes the one batch,” you tried to shrug the question off, but he was too busy tapping away and shifting in his seat to notice your growing discomfort.

“I mean how long can it take? A couple hours maybe? I bet she could just -”

“She just can’t, okay?” You snapped, your growing irritation with the traffic jam making the words come out a little sharper than you’d intended. You took a deep breath when his eyes snapped toward you, “sorry. She just…she can only make one.”

Rafe nodded, his bottom lip sticking out as he returned his attention to his phone, typing rapidly.

“Alright then, take the next exit,” he said.

“What?”

“In a half mile on the right, take that exit,” he repeated.

“Why?” you asked.

“I found a faster route,” he explained. “Let’s get you those cookies.”

Hour four

Rafe was right, the alternate route he found for you had caught you up to schedule, even putting you about twenty miles ahead of where you expected to be by this point.

With the made up time, Rafe finally convinced you to stop for food, and, after several minutes of arguing, to let him drive the next stretch.

It was amazing how much your mood improved with some food in your system. Now that you weren’t the one behind the wheel, it was you shuffling restlessly in the seat, unfolding and refolding your schedule and refreshing the GPS on your phone every couple of minutes. 

“In one hundred and twenty two miles, veer left…” refresh “in one hundred and twenty miles, veer left…” refresh “in one hundred and nineteen miles-“

“Veer left! It’s gonna keep saying the same thing every time, you really don’t need to keep refreshing it,” Rafe grunted.

You shot him a glare, making a show of turning your phone off and tucking it in your pocket. 

“Remind me why you couldn’t just drive yourself?” You snarled. “What, is the Beamer in the shop?”

“It’s a Range Rover, actually,” he corrected you, pulling forth yet another eye roll from you as you mumbled ‘of course it is.’ “And yes, actually, it is.”

“Ah, you pimping your ride?”

He snorted, “what is it 2005? No, I, uh, totaled it, actually.”

“I knew I shouldn’t let you drive,” you winced, grabbing the handle above the passenger door theatrically.

“Relax, it wasn’t my fault,” he assured you.

“Let me guess, the other driver was so blinded by your dazzling smile that they crashed right into you?” 

“There was no other driver,” he said, smirking with a sidelong glance in your direction. “Glad to know you think my smile is that powerful though.”

You regretted your word choice immediately, your brain was working so fast to deflect his charm you had lost the plot a bit. You scrambled to put the focus back on him so he wouldn’t see the way you were blushing.

“Okay so what’s the story then?” You asked.

“It’s really not that interesting. I was driving around campus and there was something in the street, I swerved and hit a tree, that’s it,” he reached to turn the radio a little louder, your eyes narrowing at the avoidant tone he’d adopted.

“You saw ‘something?’ What ‘something’ did you see?” You pressed, amused by his discomfort.

“Just, uhm, an animal in the road,” he said dismissively.

You nodded, a little “ah” leaving your lips as you returned your gaze to the window. You tapped your fingers on your thigh to the beat of the song. You wanted to know more, he knew you wanted to know more. The tension broke quick.

“What kind of animal was -”

“Ohhh my god, you’re so nosy, it was-“ he cut himself off momentarily to lower his voice, “it was a bunny alright?”

Your laugh was immediate and loud, head falling back at the image he’d conjured for you.

“Alright, it’s not that funny but whatever,” he rolled his eyes, unable to suppress the little curve of his lips at the pretty sound of your unguarded giggles. 

“No, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you said between laughs, wiping the tears from the corner of your eyes, “it’s not funny. It’s nice. You crashed your Range Rover trying to save a little rabbit. I just didn’t expect Rafe Cameron to break for bunnies, it’s very cute.”

Rafe never got flustered, he practically majored in flirting, it never phased him. So why the fuck was he blushing like a little kid right now?

Get your shit together, Cameron, he thought, she’s just some girl.

“So you and Brody, y’all sleeping together or...?”

Your laughter stopped dead in its tracks, head snapping towards him as your jaw slammed shut.

Pointedly not answering him, you grabbed your Coke from the cupholder and took a long sip.

“Is that a yes?” he continued. 

“Not that it’s any of your business,” you cut him off, fiddling with the straw, “but no, we’re just old friends.”

Long gone was the playful air of the bunny story. Unable to recover and get a positive reaction from you, he figured he might as well dig himself deeper. In for a penny…

“But, c’mon, you’re saying you two have seriously never…”

“Ew no, he’s literally like my brother,” you shut him down. “Why do you care so much? You jealous?”

Fuck, he hadn’t meant to give you the upper ground, he needed to level the field. 

“You just seemed pretty upset when you found out he wasn’t coming is all. Like, I dunno, a woman scorned and all that…”

“Have you considered it’s because I realized I was gonna be stuck in a car alone with you for eight hours?”

Thoroughly pissed off, you sank down in your seat and continued sipping your Coke, avoiding looking at him by counting the mile markers on the side of the highway. 

Rafe looked over at you, taking in the flex of your jaw as you stewed. He usually didn’t give a fuck if his words offended people. He preferred it, actually. But something about the shape of your smile and the sound of your laughter made him wish you were always happy. He felt like shit for making it go away, then he felt like shit for feeling like shit given his decision not to like you.

His eyes stayed on you for longer than they should, studying the shape of your silhouette in the soft light of the December sun. 

“Watch out!” You shrieked suddenly.

Rafe’s eyes shot forward and he realized with panic that he’d been veering off the road, the front of the car dangerously skewed in the direction of the metal guard rail. 

“Fuck!” 

He cut the wheel hard, overshooting his correction and causing the car to jerk sharply to the left. In your concern, you gripped your drink so hard the lid came off, your ice cold diet coke splashing out of the cup and all over you.

Rafe redirected the car until it was back in the correct lane, but you were already covered in diet soda. Coke dripped from your hair onto your face, your mouth hung wide open in shock and fury.

“Shit, my bad,” Rafe said, reaching in the fast food bag for some napkins.

He started dabbing it completely unhelpfully at your shoulder and you ripped the napkin from his hands.

“This is my favorite shirt, ugh what the fuck Rafe!” You scolded him, trying to use the napkins with very little luck, the shirt was definitely ruined.

“I said I’m sorry! Jesus calm down, it’s not like I did it on purpose,” he huffed at you, hating that he liked how you said his name, even when you were yelling at him.

“No of course not, you never do anything on purpose,” you quipped.

It took everything in him not to snap back with a “you don’t even fucking know me,” but he remained silent. Biting his tongue was a new taste to him, he didn’t like it, but he didn’t like the feeling of you being pissed at him either. Today was a day of firsts.

“We’re gonna have to stop so I can get a new shirt from the trunk,” you said.

Eager to return to familiar territory, he jumped at the opportunity to antagonize you, shaking his head and tsking condescendingly, “no can do, there’s no stops on the schedule for an hour.”

“Okay well this is obviously an extenuating circumstance,” you argued.

“So was me wanting to stop at that outlet mall to get presents for my family, but we didn’t stop then,” he countered.

“Right, because those things are comparable,” you scoffed. “It’s not my fault you waited until the last second to do your Christmas shopping.”

You were right, but he still resented the know-it-all tone in your accusation.

“Well I’m the driver and I say we’re sticking to the schedule,” he doubled down.

“So I’m just supposed to sit here covered in soft drink for the rest of the trip?”

“I have an old sweatshirt in my bag you can borrow,” he offered.

The urge to continue fighting with him until he agreed to pull over was strong, but the urge to get out of the cold, sticky shirt was stronger. With a sigh, you climbed into the backseat and dug through Rafe’s bag until you found a soft, worn out hoodie with a logo on the front that said “Kildare Academy Lacrosse” and on the back “Cameron #44.”

You reached down to peel off your shirt, looking up first to catch Rafe watching you through the rear view mirror. Your hands paused on the hem, giving him a steely look.

“Uh, a little privacy please?” 

His eyes continued flicking between you and the road, “I just wanna see if you found the right sweatshirt,” he claimed.

You let out an indignant tsk, mouth open in disbelief when he gave you a little wink through the mirror. You reached forward and smushed your hand into his cheek, pushing his head back toward the road. He bit his bottom lip, trying to play nonchalant as you stripped off your shirt just inches behind him. He might act like a playboy, but he did actually have enough respect not to look at you while you changed.

Still, keeping his eyes on the road meant seeing the fuzzy form of you in his peripheral vision. The general hue of your skin tone and the swift movement of you pulling your shirt over your head sucked some of the air from his usually puffed-out chest. He felt like he was twelve years old, the way just the thought of you shirtless in the backseat made his hands clammy and his heart pick up speed. He needed to get a grip.

The sweatshirt was about two sizes too big but so warm and comfortable you didn’t care. You expected it to smell like some cheap cologne or boy sweat, but instead it smelled like something sweet and inviting - fabric softener, you realized with a grin. You’d tease him for that later.

Hour five

Somewhere in the middle-of-nowhere Virginia, your gas light came on. You agreed to let him drive for another fifty miles after a quick gas station pit stop, planning to take the allotted thirty minute nap you’d mapped out on your schedule before driving the rest of the way.

Rafe paid for the gas, as promised, and stood by the car as he filled your tank. You never did get to finish your Diet Coke, so you ran inside to grab another while he pumped.

“That’ll be $2.79, dear,” the cashier told you, her southern accent and charm a tell-tale sign that you were nearing home.

With a smile, you pulled out your debit card and held it out for her to swipe.

“Sorry sweetheart, there’s a five dollar minimum for cards,” she informed you politely.

“Oh, okay,” you looked around the counter for something to add, swiping some knick-knacks from their display to round up your bill.

----❄----

The car door slammed as Rafe climbed back in next to you, balling up the receipt for the gas and tossing it into the backseat.

“How much was it?” You asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” he shrugged, turning the key as the engine sputtered to life. 

You shouldn’t feel bad, he offered to pay, and you were technically the one doing him a favor. Still, you were raised by blue collar parents, ‘neither a borrower nor a lender be’ and elbow grease was gospel in your home. You felt like you needed to give him something.

“Here,” you passed him the bag of trinkets you’d bought inside.

Rafe looked in the bag with a confused grin.

“What am I supposed to do with these?” He laughed as he pulled the items out of the bag.

“You could…give them to your sisters,” you suggested.

“What are they gonna do with a Thomas Jefferson snow globe and a bumper sticker that says ‘Virginia is for Lovers’?”

“Well it’s better than a slip of paper that says ‘IOU one christmas present,’” You teased him.

“Y’know what? Very true,” he nodded, tucking the bag of goodies in the backseat and pulling out of the gas station. 

The drive was silent for a few minutes. You leaned forward, resting your arms on the dash as you watched the emerging silhouette of the Blue Ridge Mountains on the far horizon. It was all getting so close; a crackling fire, drinking hot cocoa while watching How The Grinch Stole Christmas with your brothers, decorating the tree, those gingerbread cookies…

“What are you smiling about?” Rafe’s voice interrupted your revelry.

“I’m just excited to get home and see my family,” you said with a happy smile. “Aren’t you?”

It was such a foreign concept to him he almost laughed. He was still playing the angle that he was desperate to get home to his family so you’d give him a ride. He couldn’t tell you the truth; that he wasn’t sure anyone at his house even remembered he was coming, that Christmases in the Cameron house for the last decade were more about the pictures his father could put on the cards he sent to clients than they were about celebrating, or love. 

“Uh, yeah, ‘course,” he said, hoping you’d drop it. 

You didn’t.

“Does your family have any traditions?” 

“Like what?” He knew what you meant, but his brain wasn’t working fast enough to come up with a lie, the truth sitting on his chest in the uncomfortable way he spent his life trying to avoid.

“Like, okay,” you started. “Me and my brothers always sleep in the living room on Christmas Eve. We get all the pillows and blankets in the house and make a big pile in front of the fireplace and keep the fire going all night so we can stay up to try and catch Santa.” 

“How’s he gonna come down the chimney if you keep the fire going?” Rafe questioned logically.

“Oh Rafe, I’m so sorry I have to be the one to tell you this…but Santa isn’t real,” you placed your hand on his arm like you were trying to console him. 

He let it linger for a minute before shaking you off, “you know what I meant!” he grumbled, making you laugh. The sound was so sweet it made him dizzy.

“What else do you do?” He asked impulsively, surprising both you and himself with his desire to hear you keep talking.

“Well, you know about my mom’s cookies, and we always drink cocoa with peppermint sticks, and oh! Me and my dad used to cut down a real tree together the day after Thanksgiving- I’m sure they’ve already gotten it this year since I wasn’t home- but we’d always decorate it together, just the two of us, while listening to his old Bing Crosby vinyl.”

It sounded so nice, so idyllic and comforting, like a Hallmark card. Jealousy roared in his chest, hoping you couldn’t see it on his face as he pictured the much colder, tension filled holiday that was awaiting him.

“Didn’t Bing Crosby used to hit his kids?” He blurted out coldly, the holly jolly joy in the car becoming a little too much for him to handle.

Your face soured, lips twisted as he burst your bubble. 

“You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch,” you mumbled. Even when he was being an ass, you were being cute. It was killing him. “Not a Christmas guy, huh?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be napping right now?” He brushed off your question.

“I don’t know, maybe you shouldn’t drive so grumpy.”

“I’ll be fine. Your thirty minutes is slipping away, though.”

“Okay fine, but don’t forget to wake me up when we cross the state line,” you reminded him.

“I know, I know. Are you always this bossy?” He snipped, his sudden coldness making you wish you’d never opened up to him about your family to begin with.

With a final, pointed look at him, you pulled the strings of his sweatshirt to cover your eyes and sank down into the seat. 

“Bah humbug,” you threw at him before drifting off to sleep.

Almost immediately, he missed the sound of your voice. 

Hour six

In your dream, you sat alone at your kitchen table, your dad’s Bing Crosby vinyl skipped on the record player as you cried over an empty plate, not a single crumb of gingerbread left…

Hour seven

The world was moving outside the windows, the early darkness of winter making the scene blurry, but you could tell the car was definitely still moving.

And Rafe was out cold in the driver’s seat.

“Oh my god!!” 

You shot up in your seat and grabbed the wheel, sure that you were about to go flying off the road any second. But the wheel was locked, and there was no engine’s rumble shaking the dash. The car was off. 

You blinked, your groggy mind finally catching up with reality. You weren’t driving, you were floating. The choppy ocean crashing against the side of the ship spraying little droplets of water on your windshield.

“Oh my god,” you repeated with a groan, this time less panicked and more pissed.

Rafe woke up with your body stretched across his lap, gripping the wheel as you groaned.

“Hi,” he mumbled with a sleepy smile, completely misreading the situation.

You sat back in your own seat and hit him on the shoulder, hard. 

“Oww, what the hell?” He sat up, rubbing his arm.

“Where the fuck are we?” You barked at him.

“We’re in your car on the way home,” he avoided the true answer. 

“I said I’d get you to the ferry…”

“And would ya look at that? You did!” He smiled sheepishly.

With scarily accurate comedic timing, the ship’s horn blared loudly, leaving no doubt.

“Rafe, we’re on the ferry!” You yelled, smacking him again.

“Would you stop hitting me please?! We were making good time and you looked so peaceful sleeping so I figured we’d just hop the ferry real quick and you’ll still make it home by six.”

You checked the time on your phone, eyes widening with realization.

“Just barely! At this rate I’ll be walking in the door at 5:58,” you argued.

“And just think of how many cookies you can eat in two minutes if you really put your mind to it,” he grinned at you. You were having none of his boyish charm this time, back to being a card carrying member of the “I Hate Rafe Cameron” club.

“I’m gonna kill you,” you mumbled.

“Okay, well can it wait until we’re on dry land? I get seasick and I want it to be a fair fight.”

He wasn’t letting up on the flirting, and you weren’t giving in. The rest of the boat ride was painfully quiet.

----❄----

“It’s just up here on the right, that metal gate,” he assured you as he approached his home, still trying to convince you that you had plenty of time.

Headlights bounced off the high white walls of his estate as the car pulled up. Your mouth hung open in disbelief.

“What is it?” He questioned.

“I knew you were probably rich, y’know based on your whole…” you gestured vaguely to him, “...thing. But holy shit.”

He grinned, “yeah it’s alright I guess.”

“Oh whatever,” you laughed. “It’s like a fucking castle!”

With a final left turn, he pulled into Tannyhill, the giant house completely dark at the end of the long drive. Rafe’s face fell slightly as he drove up, but he pushed the disappointment down when he felt your eyes on him.

“Home sweet home,” he said, feigning holiday cheer.

He put the car in park and grabbed his stuff from the backseat. You both got out, stopping in front of the car so he could hand you the keys.

“I should change so you can have your sweatshirt back,” you said.

“Nah you can give it back to me at school, I’ve delayed your schedule long enough.”

You smiled softly, giving him a grateful nod.

It was strange, you felt like you’d known him much longer than eight hours and yet you weren’t quite friends…you weren’t enemies either, but definitely not friends. How is one supposed to say goodbye to a non-enemy/non-friend? You settled on holding out your hand to shake. Rafe just looked down at your palm, huffing a laugh at the gesture.

“Well,” you shrugged, smiling back, “Merry Christmas I guess?”

He took your hand, giving it a firm shake and a squeeze, “yeah, Merry Christmas I guess.”

With a nod, you stepped around him and got back into your car, pulling up your GPS and entering your home address. So long as the ferry was still running on schedule and there wasn’t too much traffic, you’d get home with about five minutes to spare.

You put the car in reverse and got ready to back out of the driveway. You tried to keep your eyes fixed on the rearview, but you couldn’t help but steal one last look at Rafe as he walked through his front door.

Only, he wasn’t going inside. Or maybe he couldn’t go inside? He stood at the front door shaking the handle and having a very animated conversation with someone on his phone. Something wasn’t right.

Even though you knew you shouldn’t, you cracked your window slightly to hear the phone call. His back still turned to you, Rafe didn’t notice you could hear him and kept talking, loudly…

“The Bahamas? Are you kidding me?...I can’t believe you guys just left without me...well I wasn’t and then I got a ride…this could’ve been avoided if you’d just sent the jet like I asked…since when are you concerned about that?...well what the hell am I supposed to do now?!” 

The last question was said with a raised voice, aggression seeping into his tone. He made like he was about to say something else, but was cut-off, his shoulders falling as the voice on the other end got so loud that it carried all the way to your car. You couldn’t make out the words, but whoever he was talking to was clearly shouting even louder than Rafe had just been.

“Y-yes sir…I’m sorry…yes sir…no sir…okay I will…I lo-”

The phone beeped three times and the screen went black. Rafe stared down at it for a second before slipping it in his pocket and lifting a rock close to the door, retrieving a small silver key. As he raised it to the doorknob, his eyes caught yours in the reflection of the glass.

“You should get going,” he said, turning and noticing your window cracked. “You’re gonna miss your cookies.”

Fully busted for eavesdropping, you rolled the window the rest of the way down, “did they…are they not home?”

“Nah, they decided to spend Christmas in the Bahamas,” he explained.

“Oh. So you’re just gonna be here, like, alone?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m not a Christmas guy anyway, remember?” He gave you a tight lipped smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Are-are you sure? You could…” You couldn’t quite bring yourself to say it. Were you really gonna offer for him to come home with you? You barely knew him, surely you couldn’t bring him home for Christmas. 

The offer fell dead on your lips, but Rafe knew where you were going with it, the pity in your voice a little too much for his pride.

“I’m really fine,” he said, nodding his head toward the road, “you should get back on the road. You’ve got a schedule to keep”

You gave him a soft smile as you put the car back into reverse, feeling guilty the whole way out of the driveway.

----❄----

Turning the Christmas radio station up, you tried to focus on gingerbread cookies as you waited in the long car line to get back on the ferry. 

He wasn’t your friend, in fact, he was kind of an asshole to you all day. You didn’t owe him anything. Plus, he surely wouldn’t be comfortable at your little house in the country. Not when he was used to all the flash of this island, the one his family seemingly owned based on all the signs with their name on it you passed on your short drive. No, he’d be fine. You’d get your cookies and he’d be fine.

“Ma’am,” the Ferry ticketing attendant tapped on your window to get your attention. 

You sighed deeply as you looked at the big ship, then down to your GPS, telling you there was only a minute to spare if you were gonna get home on time. 

Home. Yours, warm and full of love. His, empty and dark.

“We’ve got a schedule to keep,” the attendant urged. “Are you boarding or not?”

----❄----

The house was still dark but for one light glowing through an upstairs window.

You knocked three times, Rafe’s confused face finally appearing behind the glass. He opened the door with a questioning furrow of his brow. His bag was still packed, sitting right inside the door. You reached down to grab it, throwing it over your shoulder as you said, 

“You owe me a cookie.”

(part two)

a/n: merry everything! I had so much fun writing this! There will be 3 more parts, just a lil present from me to you <3 there will be some hurt, but mostly comfort and a stocking full of fluff!

for updates, follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs. to be tagged, just ask in the replies or send me an ask!

taglist: @itneverendshere @rafediaries @promiscuousg1rl @eolsens @inlovewrafe

[ram-bles]

a crumb of nsfw daisuke?

daisuke x reader | headcanons

requests/inbox: open

[ 🔞 minors dni ]

woah. from sweet to spicy. ill give this a try!

wrote this on mobile, sorry for the fuckass formatting.

gender neutral reader. sillies. lots of sillies. weed mention (like once).

🌺 c'mon, he somehow sneaked in some of his secret stash'a magazines. he's still a guy after all.

"Dai?" "Yeah?" He's busy on his Gameboy, but he acknowledges you, tilting his body to show his face but his eyes were glued to the screen. "Did you steal these porn mags from Jimmy or someth—" A pink blur suddenly pushes you away, using his feet to kick it back under his bed. "DUDE. PRIVACY. C'MON NOW."

🌺 You've probably caught him once or twice even before you two were a thing. It wasn't hard to, after all, you both shared a room.

Too lost in the sauce to even notice you, so you had to clear your throat. You've never seen someone so shocked to the point he doesn't know whether to shove his dick back in his pants, hide under the blankets, or try to do both at the same time but completely failing. He's stuttering your name out along with strings of apologies. Don't get your dick caught in your zipper now, Daisuke. "I didn't know you were there! Shitshitshit- I'm so so sorry- Aghhhh." He felt pathetic, whining in embarrassment. Daisuke ends up just pulling the blanket over the entirety of him. "You could've just asked me for help, y'know." He stares at you, scandalized as if he wasn't rubbing one off just moments ago. "How the fuck was I s'posed to know?!" You shrug, amused. "Dunno." "Man, fuck youuuu." "Happily." "Get over here already, please!"

🌺 Outside internship though? Weed before sex seems like something he'd do. I can't explain why.

🌺 Feeling his rings on you... in many ways.

🌺 Pretty sure we all agree that he's into praising. Both giving and receiving.

🌺 You know he's having lots of fun when the pitch of his voice goes high. Squeaking, voice cracking, whining.

🌺 Speaking of how vocal he is, he's probably loud too. But, since you're in the ship now, he'll try his best to keep it down, either on the pillow or you. He'll also be rambling about random things just so he doesn't finish early.

🌺 Dirty talking? ❌ He'll be cringing like there's no tomorrow. He'll make a discord (or whatever equivalent) kitten joke about it if he does.

🌺 Unintentional dirty talking though... That's another story. Or should I rephrase, more-so leaning towards cussing.

"Fuck— you're sosososo pretty..." His hands were pressing the back of your knees, folding and spreading your legs for him. He whines your name out, resting his length on your abdomen while he impatiently waits for your permission. "C'mon, pretty. I'll be this deep inside you." - "Feels good. Feels so good." He's panting and rutting into you like a dog. "You should- nh- loosen up a little- shit- if you get any tighter I think I'll cum..."

🌺 Quickies galore. Sure, it's less risky, but with his libido? Anyways, he's pretty easy to please anyways. A round or two would probably be enough for him.

🌺 Wearing his clothes while at it? Mega turn on for him.

🌺 Well, yes his libido is high, but you still need to be straightforward with him. He can't take hints...

"Want head?" "?!? Who's head?!" "YOUR DICK." "YOU'RE CUTTING IT OFF?" "WHAT? NO, I MEANT SUCKING YOUR—" "Good morning to you both too." "CAPTAIN?"

🌺 He loves giving and receiving hickeys. You would have to remind him everytime not to mark too high on your neck.

🌺 His aftercare involves lots of cuddling and lots of smooching.

🌺 Ending with a silly note. The first time you've done it with him, he ended up saying thank you since he didn't know what to do.

[cowboybeepboop]

Patience 

"Ah-ah," he chides. "Use your words, like I said. Tell me exactly where you want my hands."

Pairing: Carlisle Cullen x fem! Reader 

Genre: Smut

Word count: 6.4k

Summary: You’re a newish member to the town of Forks, with an extreme obsession with Doctor Cullen. One day he finally gives in after you’ve visited the clinic for the 5th time that month. 

Warnings: light choking, semi public sex, fingering, oral (male receiving), unprotected sex, p in v, teasing, praising, orgasm denial. 

a/n: I know this is a shift from my usual posts but I've been desperate for some more Carlisle content. As always, I hope you enjoy <3 and send any requests my way!

As you stepped into the small, dimly lit clinic, the antiseptic smell filled your nostrils, mingling with the faint scent of pine from the freshly wiped floor. The receptionist looked up from her computer, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Hello again," she said, her voice dripping with a hint of amusement. 

You returned the smile, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible, and proceeded to the triage desk. Gripping my chest dramatically, you winced. "I've got these terrible chest pains," you gasp, hoping she wouldn't recognize your voice from the numerous calls I'd made over the past few weeks. "I think it's happening again." 

She nodded sympathetically, though her eyes betrayed a spark of curiosity. "I'll let Dr. Cullen know right away," she assures you, before disappearing into the back rooms of the clinic. Your heart raced with anticipation as you take a seat, glancing around the empty waiting area.

Little did they know that your only ailment was an extreme obsession with the enigmatic doctor who had recently become the talk of the town.

The receptionist emerged from the back, her smile widening as she beckoned you to follow her. She led you down the hallway to a small, cozy examination room, the walls adorned with diplomas and medical charts. "Dr. Cullen will be with you in just a moment," she said, the amusement in her voice now unmistakable. 

You nodded, trying to compose yourself as she closed the door behind you. The room was warm, and the gentle hum of the heater filled the space. You sat on the crinkling paper of the examination table, heart pounding in your chest. 

Would he finally see through your facade of feigned illnesses? Or would he offer the attention and concern that you so desperately sought? The anticipation was almost too much to bear as you heard the soft footsteps approaching, and the door handle turned with a quiet click.

He stepped into the exam room with his usual grace and composure, a hint of surprise flickering across his features as his gaze fell on you. His cool, pale fingers clutched a patient chart, which he quickly placed on the counter. His voice, as smooth and soothing as ever, broke the silence.

Cullen leaned against the counter, folding his arms across his chest and studying you with a mix of curiosity and veiled amusement. "Back again," he commented, his voice betraying a hint of recognition. "Chest pains, you say?"

“Mhm,” you bite your lip as you gaze up at him, “It comes and goes..” 

Carlisle hummed softly, tilting his head to one side as he observed you. The flicker of recognition in his eyes now more pronounced. He grabbed the stethoscope that hung around his neck, looping it over his ears.

He closed the small distance between you, his presence seeming to fill the room. He placed the cold metal end of the stethoscope against your chest, his touch as gentle as a butterfly's wings. "Take a deep breath for me," he requested, his voice velvety and commanding.

 You gasp at the chill of the metal, a soft surprised sound escaping your lips as you try to steady your heart rate. You follow his instructions, taking in a deep breath. 

Dr. Cullen listens intently as the sound of your heartbeat fills his ears through the stethoscope. His brows furrowed slightly, a look of concentration on his face. The cool and professional demeanor remains, his focus on your heart.

"Again," he instructs, moving the stethoscope slightly to a different spot on your chest. His gaze never wavers from yours, his eyes betraying a hint of suspicion laced with a touch of curiosity.

You nod, taking in a deep breath, your hands resting on your knees as you gaze up at his strong jaw. Your heart rate picks up as you admire his face from where you're sitting. 

Carlisle can't help but notice the hitch in your heartbeat, his sharp hearing catching the slight acceleration. A small flicker of a smirk plays on the corner of his lips, as he continues to listen intently.

He lifts the stethoscope from your chest, his eyes locking with yours once more. "Your heart rate is elevated," he comments, his voice a low hum. "Any idea why that might be?" The hint of a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Uh,” you gulp, looking off to the side of the room. “No, I’m not quite sure..” your fingers fumble with the hem of your short skirt as you suck your bottom lip between your teeth. 

Cullen's eyes flickered down to your fingers fidgeting with the hemline of your skirt before meeting your gaze once more. He raised an eyebrow, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

He took a step back, returning the stethoscope to his desk and perching himself on the edge of it, folding his arms across his broad chest. "You know," he began, his voice a low growl, "I've noticed a pattern. Every time you come to visit, you seem to have a different ailment."

“I guess I’m just,” you try to come up with an excuse. “I just have a lot of things going on, huh?” you grin up at him stiffly. 

The doctor tilts his head to one side, a smirk playing on his lips as he studies you intently. He pushes himself off the desk and begins pacing slowly in front of you.

"That's the thing," he says, his voice quiet and measured. "I've been a doctor for a very long time, and I've seen many patients through the years."

He stops in front of you, his gaze locking with yours. "And yet, I've never seen someone quite so...frequent as you."

“Oh..” you lick your lip, “I guess I’m just a bit worried, you know.. Chest pains aren’t a good sign..” your gaze falls to the tiled floor. 

Dr. Cullen hums softly, a hint of amused skepticism in his voice. "That's true.. Chest pains aren't something to be taken lightly," he agrees, his gaze locked on your face. "But I have a feeling there's more than just chest pains that are troubling you."

“What.. what do you mean?” your eyes widen as you look up at him, body straightening under his intense stare. 

Cullen cocks his head to the side, his eyes never leaving yours. He takes a step closer, his presence becoming more commanding.

"I mean," he began, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "that I suspect there's something more going on here. Something that has little to do with your physical ailments and more to do with..." he pauses, his eyes sweeping over your body briefly, "...something else entirely."

You take a deep breath, gulping as he moves closer. “Oh?” 

Carlisle’s gaze hardens as he moves even closer, nearly towering over you now. "What if I were to suggest that your frequent visits here have less to do with medical concerns and more to do with something else, something more intimate?" he asks, his voice soft but commanding.

He leans closer still, his cool breath ghosting across your skin. "What if I were to suggest that there's a deeper, underlying reason for your...obsession with this clinic?"

You lean back, legs squeezing together as warmth fills your stomach. “Like what? Doctor Cullen?” you furrow your eyebrows, feigning innocence. 

Dr. Cullen's eyes narrow ever so slightly at your feigned innocence. He can sense the heat coursing through your body and the way your legs press together. A smile tugs at the corner of his lip.

He leans in, his voice lowering to a near growl. "Don't play coy with me," he murmurs, closing what little distance remains between you. "You know exactly what I'm referring to." 

“I don't-” you shake your head in response, eyes wide as you scoot further back on the table. “I don't think I know what you mean…” your body tenses with desire as he looks down at you. 

Cullen's eyes darken at the way you scoot back further on the table, the subtle signs of your tension not escaping his sharp senses. He rests his hands on the edge of the table, effectively caging you in.

"Oh? You don't?" he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Then tell me why you've been coming here every week for months. And don't give me that 'I'm just clumsy' or 'I have bad headaches' act again."

You open your mouth to give another excuse but nothing comes out, words seemingly caught in your throat. Eyes falling to his lips as your heart hammers against your chest erratically. 

His lips curved into a knowing smirk as he noticed the way your gaze fixed on them. It was all the confirmation he needed.

He leaned in even closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Why don't you just admit it?" he asked, his breath fanning against your skin. "Admit why you keep coming back here. To see me. To see what it's like to have my hands on you."

“Doctor..” you start, voice soft and full of desperation. 

Cullen's eyes flicker with a hint of satisfaction as he hears the desperation in your voice. He raises a hand, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch feather-light yet full of possession.

"Say it," he commands, his voice low and authoritative. "Say it, and then you can get exactly what you've been coming here for all these weeks."

“I..” your eyes flutter shut as you take a deep breath. “I’ve been coming here because I want to feel your hands on me.” you gasp out, cheeks flushing with your whispered confession. 

Carlisle’s eyes gleam with satisfaction as he hears the confession tumble from your lips. He leans in closer, his hand moving from your cheek to your chin, tilting it upwards so your gaze meets his.

"Good girl," he purrs, the words making heat flare in your stomach. "It wasn't so hard, was it? Admitting what you really want."

He leans even closer, his body pressed against the table, "And what do you want me to do with those hands, princess?"

“I want you to touch me..” you bite down on your lip, legs parting as he slips between them. He lets out a low growl, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. He presses even closer, his hips now pinning you against the table.

"Touch you where?" he whispers, his free hand moving to rest on your thigh, just beneath the hem of your skirt. He toys with the fabric, his fingers tracing small patterns on your bare skin. "You'll need to be more specific, princess."

You move your hand to his, guiding him to where you want him. Carlisle’s hand stops you, a smirk playing on his lips as he sees the slight frown on your face.

"Ah-ah," he chides. "Use your words, like I said. Tell me exactly where you want my hands." He runs his thumb across your lip, watching you expectantly, waiting for your response.

You shiver at his cold skin against you, “Doctor,” you whine out. A low chuckle escapes Cullen’s lips as he sees you shiver under his touch. He brushes his thumb across your lip again, the coldness a stark contrast to your own heat.

“Tell me, princess,” he whispers huskily, his voice like silk. “Where do you want my hands? You’ve been fantasizing about them for all these weeks, haven’t you? Now’s your chance to tell me exactly where you want me to touch you. Be specific.”

“I want you to,” you squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment. “Touch me, here, between my legs..” you murmur, motioning to your spread thighs. Dr. Cullen's eyes gleam with a mixture of satisfaction and arousal as he hears your whispered request. He moves his hand, which had been on your chin, to your hip, his fingers digging into your skin slightly.

“Is that so?” he murmurs, his voice laced with a hint of amusement. “And how long have you been imagining my hands on you there?” he asks, his hand slowly inching up your thigh, the coldness of his touch in stark contrast to the heat radiating from your body.

You gasp, forehead pressing against his shoulder as you shudder. Cullen lets out a low chuckle, enjoying the way you instinctively bury your face into his shoulder. His hand continues to move up your thigh, the coldness of his touch sending another shiver down your spine.

He brings his free hand up to run through your hair, his fingers tangling in the locks. "You're so sensitive, princess. Is that because you've been thinking about this for a long time, hmm?" he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

“Yes..” you choke out, feeling his hands part your legs further. A low growl rumbles through his chest once you confirm that you've been thinking about this for a while. He moves even closer, his hips pressing against yours, pinning you to the table.

"How often do you think about me like this?" he murmurs, his hand finally reaching the bare flesh of your inner thigh. He lets his fingers dance over your skin, the coolness of his touch sending sensations through your body. "Every day? Every night?" you moan softly, pulling his hand to your soaked panties. 

“Please… stop teasing me..” you whine, desperate for his touch. 

Cullen grinned, his teeth flashing white in the dim light as he finally slipped his fingers into your panties. The coldness of his skin sent a jolt of pleasure through you, making your core tighten around his touch. His longer pointer finger found your clit with unerring precision, teasing it in a slow, maddening circle. 

"You're so desperate for me," he whispered, his breath hot against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. His voice was a seductive purr that seemed to echo through your very soul. 

"Do you dream about this, my little patient?" he murmured, pressing down slightly, making you gasp. "Do you lie in bed at night, touching yourself and imagining it's me bringing you pleasure?" His touch grew more insistent, his voice a dark caress that only served to fuel your desire.

You whine, the embarrassment and arousal mixing in a potent cocktail that makes your voice tremble. Cullen's smirk widens, the sound of your need making his own desire spike. "There's no need to be shy now," he whispers, his voice a dark promise. "You've been so eager for this, haven't you?"

With a sudden, firm movement, he slides a finger into you, the coldness of his digit making you gasp. He moves it in and out with deliberate slowness, watching the way your body reacts to his touch. 

His thumb remains on your clit, swirling in a relentless pattern that sends waves of pleasure crashing through you. You can feel yourself growing wetter with each stroke, your body betraying just how much you crave his attention.

"Tell me," he murmurs, his voice a dark rumble that sends vibrations through your core. "How long have you dreamed of this moment?" His finger moves deeper, stretching you slightly, his eyes locked on yours, watching every flicker of emotion cross your face. "How long have you wanted me to do this to you?"

Your breath hitches as you struggle to answer, the sensation of his finger inside you making it difficult to form coherent thoughts. "Ever since my first visit," you stutter, your cheeks burning.

Cullen's smile turns predatory as he feels you clench around his finger. "Well," he says, his voice low and seductive, "today, all your dreams come true." 

He adds a second finger, the coldness now a familiar and welcome sensation. He starts to pump them in and out of you, his thumb never leaving your clit, keeping the pressure constant.

You moan, unable to stop yourself from arching into his touch, your body begging for more. "More," you murmur, the word barely audible. "Please."

Dr. Cullen chuckles, the sound dark and triumphant. "As you wish, my eager patient," he says, his eyes dark with lust. He quickens the pace, the coldness of his touch making you shiver with pleasure. His thumb presses harder on your clit, and you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

As your need grew more urgent, Cullen added another finger, stretching you further as you clenched around him. The sudden fullness made you gasp, and you bit down hard on the fabric of his white coat to muffle the moan that threatened to escape your lips. The material was stiff and cold, but it only served to heighten the warmth and pressure building within you. 

Each stroke of his fingers sent a new wave of pleasure crashing over you, the chilly touch of his skin against your heated flesh making you tremble with anticipation. Your eyes squeezed shut, and your nails dug into the material of his coat, leaving tiny marks of desperation as your orgasm began to coil tightly in your core. 

The sound of his fingers moving within you filled the room, a slick, intimate symphony that seemed to resonate with the thud of your racing heart. The tension grew, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you approached the precipice. 

The coldness of his touch was a stark contrast to the burning heat of your arousal, and you found yourself craving more of him, his mouth, his teeth, his tongue. 

You could feel yourself getting closer, your body tightening like a bowstring drawn taut, ready to snap at any moment. Carlisle watched you, his eyes dark with lust, his own breathing growing heavier as he pushed you further and further towards the edge.

Your body shudders as the orgasm crashes over you, a keening cry escaping your throat despite your efforts to muffle it. Cullen's eyes bore into yours, his own desire clear as he watches you fall apart under his skilled touch. 

His fingers continue to pump into you, drawing out every last tremor of pleasure until you're left panting and boneless against the exam table. He withdraws his hand, the loss of his cold digits making you whimper. 

He smirks, bringing his hand to his mouth and sucking on his fingers, tasting you, his eyes never leaving yours. The sound of his satisfaction echoes in the room, making your cheeks burn even hotter. 

The smugness in his gaze tells you that he's fully aware of the effect he's had, and the thrill of being so thoroughly exposed and dominated by him sends another shiver down your spine. You bite your lip, your eyes never leaving his, as you silently beg for more.

Dr. Cullen chuckles again at the sight of you, completely spent and utterly under his control. He takes a step back, admiring your flushed, disheveled appearance. “You're quite the picture, princess,” he murmurs, his voice low and sultry.

He moves to the sink and washes his hands, his eyes never leaving yours. Once finished, he turns back to you, his gaze dark with unfulfilled desire. “You know, I should reprimand you for all those fake ailments you've been coming in for,” he says, his voice deceptively casual

You cover your flushed cheeks with your hands, breathing heavy as you try to collect yourself. Cullen smirks as he watches you struggle to compose yourself. He moves back towards you, his footsteps slow and measured. He stops right in front of you, his broad frame towering over your seated figure.

"Embarrassed, are you?" he asks, his voice a low, amused purr. He reaches out, taking one of your wrists in his hand, slowly dragging it away from your face.

“You’re such a tease,” you whine, looking up at him, eyes still full of desire for him. Carlisle’s smirk widens as he hears the complaint in your voice. He releases your wrist, bringing his hand up to cup your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

"Who, me? A tease?" he asks, his voice dripping with a mix of feigned innocence and mockery. "I'm just doing my job as a doctor, princess. It's my duty to care for my patients," he says, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

You push your tongue out, licking the tip of his thumb with newfound confidence. “But what about you Doctor?” your hands go to his belt buckle, fingers brushing over his concealed erection. 

Cullen's eyes darken as he feels your tongue against his thumb. A sharp intake of breath escapes him as your fingers brush against his erection, the feeling stirring an immediate response.

"What about me, princess?" he asks, his voice gruff and huskier than before. He watches you closely, his eyes locked on your face as you toy with his buckle.

“Who will take care of you?” you unbuckle his belt, gazing up at him through half-lidded eyes, full of lust. Carlisle’s hands clench into fists as you unbuckle his belt, his restraint faltering slightly as you gaze up at him with that look in your eyes. 

He lets out a low, possessive growl, his body tensing as he struggles to maintain a semblance of composure. "You want to take care of me, princess?" he asks, his voice lower and more gravelly now. "Is that what you're offering?"

You nod eagerly, fingers fumbling with the zipper and button of his slacks. Slipping the pants away, you press your hand against his length through his boxers. Doctor Cullen’s eyes flash with desire as your hand presses against his length through the thin fabric of his boxers. He lets out a stifled groan, his hips involuntarily bucking against your touch.

"Eager, aren't you?" he mutters, his voice a deep rumble. He places a hand on your shoulder, half to steady himself, half to push you away. "You're playing a dangerous game, princess." 

You free his erection from his boxers, your hand wrapping around his length. You lean in, pressing a soft, tentative kiss to the tip of his erection, feeling it twitch against your lips. Carlisle's grip on your shoulder tightens as you begin to suck, his hips jerking slightly as you take him into your warm, eager mouth. 

His cock is hard and pulsing, the head slick with pre-cum that you greedily lick away. His hand slides into your hair, guiding you as you bob your head up and down his shaft, your cheeks hollowing with each suck. The room is filled with the sounds of your muffled moans and his stifled groans as you work to satisfy his desire. 

The taste of him is intoxicating, making you want more. You let your tongue dance around the sensitive ridge, feeling him throb against your tongue. His other hand comes up to the back of your head, his grip growing firmer, his hips beginning to thrust in time with your movements. You moan around his length, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through him. 

His eyes are closed, his head thrown back, and his chest heaves with each ragged breath. You can feel his need for release growing, his body tightening with every stroke of your tongue. You suck harder, taking him deeper, eager to bring him to climax. 

The power you have over him is exhilarating, and you revel in it, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. His hand in your hair tightens, his grip almost painful, but you don't care. All you want is to feel him come apart under your ministrations, to hear him cry out in pleasure. 

Cullen groans, his body shuddering as your eager mouth works on him, his hand finding its way to the strands of your hair. He takes a fistful, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply, your scent mingling with the musk of arousal filling the room. He savors the feeling of your warm, wet mouth wrapped around his cock. 

His grip on your hair tightens, guiding you with a gentle but firm rhythm that matches the pulse of your own desire. Each time you take him deep, he lets out a soft hiss, his hips rocking slightly to meet your movements. His other hand rests on the counter, knuckles white with restrained need. 

The sound of your moans, muffled by his length, echoes in the room, a symphony of pleasure that drives him wild. His control is slipping, his breathing becoming ragged as you work your magic, your tongue swirling around the tip before taking him back in, deeper and deeper with every stroke. 

The anticipation of his release builds, his entire body coiled like a spring ready to snap. The coldness of his touch has given way to the heat of passion, his restrained demeanor now a distant memory. The clinical setting is forgotten, replaced by the primal dance of desire that plays out between you.

 You can feel him growing closer, his thighs tense and his breathing erratic. You know what he needs, what you've been longing to give him, and you push harder, faster, determined to bring him to the brink and watch him fall.

Cullen's eyes fly open, his gaze piercing yours as he feels the first pulse of his climax. He lets out a low, guttural moan, his hips bucking into your mouth as he releases. You swallow eagerly, your eyes never leaving his as he cums, the salty tang of his release coating your tongue. 

His hand in your hair tightens, almost painfully, as he holds you in place, his entire body trembling with the force of his orgasm. You watch, mesmerized, as his features contort with pleasure, his jaw clenched and eyes squeezed shut. He lets out a series of deep, shuddering breaths, his chest heaving as he slowly regains his composure. 

His hand releases your hair, moving to cradle the back of your head, his touch now gentle as the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through him. He opens his eyes, the intensity in them not diminished, and looks down at you with a mix of satisfaction and hunger. 

"Good girl," he whispers, his voice hoarse. You sit back, licking your lips clean, feeling a sense of pride at having brought him to this point. 

He leans down, cupping your chin and tilting your head up to meet his gaze. A possessive, satisfied smile plays on his lips. “You're quite the naughty little patient, aren't you?” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. “Taking advantage of my good nature like that.”

He releases your chin, his hand moving to your hair, running his fingers through the strands. He tugs lightly, just hard enough to get your attention. “But I must admit, I rather enjoyed it,” he adds, his gaze dark with restrained desire.

“Then maybe I should keep my habit of coming here so frequently,” you bite your lip, gazing up at him seductively. 

"You do seem to have a habit of finding yourself in my clinic quite often, princess." Cullen’s gaze darkens at your seductive bite of your lip. "And I do have a duty to ensure my patients are well taken care of..." he says, his voice a low, promising rumble.

He steps closer, his body now pressed against yours, his height towering over you. He leans down, his lips near your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "Maybe I should start charging extra for private appointments,” he murmurs.

You shiver at his words, hands reaching out to grasp his sides, your fingers digging into his cold skin. Dr. Cullen lets out a low, amused hum at your shiver, the feel of your fingers digging into his skin sending a jolt through him. "Someone's eager," he mutters, his hand sliding to the small of your back, pulling you even closer against him.

His other hand comes up, his thumb tracing the contour of your chin. He tilts your head up, his gaze a mixture of desire and possessive claiming. "You certainly know how to get my attention, princess," he murmurs, his voice a deep growl.

You slide your hands up his shirt, fingers dancing over his tense muscles. “Doctor..” you murmur. Cullen lets out a low hiss as your hands skim over his bare skin. Your touch seems to electrify him, his body tensing even more beneath your touch.

"Yes, princess?" he responds, his voice rougher than before. He leans down, his lips hovering over your ear. "What is it that you want?" he asks, his warm breath sending another shiver through you.

“I want..” you bury your face into his stomach, breathing in his musk mixed with his cologne. “Your hand wasn't enough… I need more of you..” your voice is needy and desperate as you gaze up at him, chin pressed against his firm abs. 

Carlisle’s breath hitches at your admission, the mix of desperation and need in your voice firing up his own primal instincts. His hand at the small of your back grips tighter, his body tensing as he struggles to keep control.

"You want more, huh?" he mutters, his voice thick with desire. He releases his grip on your chin, his hand moving to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. "You're a greedy little thing, aren't you?" he growls.

“Please doctor?” the pads of your fingers dig into his back. Cullen lets out a low, possessive growl as you dig your fingers into his back. The pleading tone of your voice, the desperation in your touch, only serves to fuel his own need.

"You beg so prettily, princess," he mutters, his voice a deep rumble. "How can I resist when you ask so nicely?" He leans down, his lips hovering over yours, his breath warm on your skin. "But you must be specific, sweetheart. You need to tell me exactly what it is you want.“

“I want you to fuck me, please..” you gasp, lips parting for him. Carlisle’s eyes darken at your blunt request, a sharp intake of breath escaping him. He closes the small gap between you, his lips capturing yours in a fierce, possessive kiss. His tongue pushes into your mouth, delving and tasting, his hand at the back of your head holding you in place.

He pulls back from the kiss, his lips hovering millimeters from yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "You're insatiable, you know that?" he mutters, his free hand sliding down your body to grasp your hip. "How am I supposed to deny such a pretty request?"

With a low growl of approval, Cullen's hands guide you to the edge of the exam table, your legs shaking with anticipation. He bends you over, the cold steel pressing into your abdomen as he pulls your panties down, exposing your trembling thighs. 

You feel his erection, hot and demanding, as he lines himself up with your slick entrance, the tip of his cock pressing into your wetness. His hand firmly grips your hip, his fingers digging into your skin as he adjusts his position, the sound of his zipper echoing in the small room. 

You gasp as he enters you, inch by inch, filling you completely, the sensation of his cold skin against your heated flesh sending waves of pleasure through your body. His other hand wraps around your throat, not tight enough to cut off your air, but enough to remind you of his dominance, his control over your body and your desires. 

He pulls almost all the way out before slamming back into you, the force making you cry out. His grip tightens, his hips setting a punishing rhythm that has you seeing stars. Each thrust sends a jolt of cold fire through you, the stark contrast of his frigid skin against your burning need only serving to heighten your pleasure. 

The room is filled with the sounds of your muffled whimpers and his deep, satisfied grunts as he claims you, his sharp canines grazing your shoulder as he marks you, his patient.

As your moans grew louder, Cullen's hand left your hip and covered your mouth, his thumb pressing against your lower lip as his other fingers dug into your cheek. He was relentless, his hips moving with a precision that spoke of his experience and his unyielding need to bring you to the brink of ecstasy. 

Each thrust hit the spot deep inside you that sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, and you could feel yourself growing wetter, your walls clenching around him with every stroke. The muffled sounds of your cries were only for his ears, a secret symphony of passion that played out in the quiet of the exam room. 

His own breaths grew harsher, his movements more erratic, as he felt your body tense beneath him, his name a silent scream against his palm. The heat of your arousal mixed with the coldness of his hand on your mouth was a delicious torment, your eyes rolling back in your head as he claimed you, his possession complete. 

The world outside the room ceased to exist, and all that remained was the frantic dance of your bodies, the cold steel of his touch, and the warm, velvety embrace of his cock filling you over and over again. You felt your climax building, a crescendo of pleasure that threatened to shatter you, your body begging for release. 

"Not yet, princess," Cullen whispers, his voice hoarse and urgent against your ear, his movements unrelenting. His cold hand slides from your mouth to your neck, his grip firm as he feels your body begin to tighten around him, the warmth of your passion meeting the chill of his touch. 

His strokes become deeper, more deliberate, as he watches your face contort with the beginnings of your climax. You try to hold back, your eyes squeezed shut, your teeth biting down on your bottom lip to muffle your cries. Each thrust sends a fresh wave of cold fire through you, making your toes curl and your nails dig into the edge of the exam table. 

"I’ll let you know when to cum for me," he commands, his voice a low growl that sends a shiver down your spine. His hand on your hip guides your hips back to meet his, his thrusts becoming more powerful, more demanding. You can feel the swell of his cock inside you, the pressure building, the coldness of his skin against your hot, wet flesh.

Your eyes fly open, and you stare at the wall, panting, as he continues to fuck you with a masterful precision that has you teetering on the edge of oblivion. Your body is his to command, your pleasure his to give and withhold. 

And as much as you want to cum, to shatter beneath his touch, you know that you won't until he says so. The anticipation is agonizing, a sweet torture that only makes the eventual release all the more potent. 

You whimper, your body begging for relief, but Cullen's grip tightens, his movements unyielding. "Soon," he murmurs, his breath hot against your neck. "But not yet. I want to feel you clench around me, tight and desperate, begging for it." His voice is a dark promise, a siren's call that you can't resist. 

You push back against him, your body moving in time with his rhythm, the cold steel of his hand on your neck a stark contrast to the warmth building in your core. The tension is unbearable, a coil winding tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. 

You're so close, so very close, but he won't let you go over the edge. Not yet. Not until he's ready. And in that moment, you realize just how much you crave his control, his dominance over your very being. It's a heady feeling, one that makes you want to both fight against him and surrender completely to his will. 

You gasp out his name, a plea and a curse all rolled into one, your voice echoing in the small, intimate space. His response is a feral growl, his hips slamming into you with renewed vigor, his hand on your neck pressing a little harder, his thumb stroking the pulse point beneath your jaw. 

You're so close, so incredibly close, and you know that when he finally lets you go, when he allows you to come, it's going to be like nothing you've ever felt before. The coldness of his touch, the heat of his desire, the raw power of his control all coalesce into a storm of sensation that threatens to consume you. And you can't wait.

“You can let go now.” he growls into your ear. With a final, powerful thrust, Cullen's hand clamps down hard over your mouth, muffling your scream of pleasure as your body finally gives in to the climax that had been building for what felt like an eternity. 

The pressure of his hand, the coldness of his skin against your flushed cheek, only heightens the sensation, making your orgasm feel like it's shattering you into a million pieces. Your eyes squeeze shut as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, your legs trembling and your core clenching around him, desperately trying to hold on to the feeling. 

His own release follows swiftly, his hips jerking as he buries himself to the hilt, filling you completely with his seed. His grip on your neck tightens, his breath hot against your ear, as he rides out his climax with a deep, guttural groan. The room seems to spin around you, the only solid point the cold steel of his hand, grounding you in the midst of the tumultuous storm of sensation. 

As your body starts to come down from the high, you feel him pull out slowly, his grip on you loosening, his breathing still ragged. He takes a step back, his eyes never leaving yours, his expression a mix of satisfaction and something else, something primal and possessive. 

You collapse onto the exam table, boneless and spent, the coldness of the room now a stark contrast to the heat that still pulses through your veins. He reaches down to pull your panties back up, his movements surprisingly gentle given the ferocity of his earlier actions. 

The cold fabric against your sensitive skin sends a shiver through you, a final reminder of the intensity of what just transpired. You can't help but feel a thrill of excitement at the thought of when you'll get to feel his cold touch again, eager to play out this twisted game of cat and mouse once more.