#it just opens on him already on the ground

[bluebirdsfeathers]

Her Intern

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Relationship: Ceo!Wanda X Butch!Loser!Reader

Summary: You get a look into what it’s like to be on the receiving end of Wanda’s temper, but she could never be mad at you.

Words: 1.3K

Warnings: age gap relationship (R is early 20s, W is like 40), mention of stocks, Yelling if that stresses you out.

A/N: Wanted this to be longer but I’m starting class again on Monday and I’ve had way more work to do than I thought. Hope you enjoy this. I’ve tagged everyone who asked, if you want to be tagged in the next chapter, let me know.

Inspiration

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

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The silence in the room made every minuet feel like an eternity. No one dared to speak. You could feel your pulse rise as the clock hand inched closer to the number nine. This morning you had gotten ready on auto piolet, showered and once again put on your wrinkled shirt. You hadn’t bothered investing in any new clothing since you began working with Pietro. The lack of dress code made you feel like it wasn’t necessary, so this was still your most professional shirt. It was the same one you’d worn your first day here, now you worried this would be your last.

Sleep hadn’t come fast last night. You’d stayed up for hours running possible situations and outcomes, planning what you’d say for each one in excruciating detail. But by the time morning came all those preparations were gone from your mind. The only thing you could focus on was the memory of Wanda catching you in her office.

She looked so angry.

You blinked away the sting in your eyes and nose, not wanting to cry, not now at least. That could Wait till after the meeting, when you could lock yourself in the bathroom away from prying eyes.

The clock reached nine and the doors to the conference room flung open, Wanda entered leaving the door to slam shut behind her. Everyone in the room sat up straight and turned their attention to the red head, everyone but you. You couldn’t bring yourself to look, instead keeping your head down hoping the ground would swallow you whole.

“Good morning,” Wanda began as she retrieved some papers from her briefcase, “I know I’m taking you away from your work, but I wouldn’t have called this meeting if there wasn’t something important that needs to be discussed.” Her tone was polite, but anger was bubbling underneath. As she finished speaking her eyes scanned the room, eventually landing on you. Wanda faced twitched with annoyance at fact you weren’t looking at her. She cleared her thought before continuing. “Once I have everyone’s attention, I’ll tell you why you’re all here, or better why one of you isn’t.”

You took the hint and slowly raised your head, not expecting to find Wanda staring directly at you, stern eyes softening for a moment before hardening back over. Her words finally reached your brain, and you glanced quickly around table, the other interns seemingly doing the same.

Theo.

Theo wasn’t there. He hadn’t come in with Wanda, which was strange considering how he’d normally be following her around like a lost dog.

“I expect you to already know this, but Westview Paper is the most trusted news sources in the country,” Wanda paced at the front of the room, her voice and posture portraying nothing but power. “We take pride in being able to provide the American public with honest unbiased reporting. So what do you think might happen if an employee threatened that reputation?” She was now stood directly behind you; the room fell so silent you could hear your heart as it raced.

“They would be fired.” The silence was broken by an intern sat across from you. Despite his suit probably being worth more than you all make a month, fit him like a kid playing dress up in his days wardrobe, and he looked like he’d just been caught. Wanda let his words hang in the air for an uncomfortably long time.

“Yes, thank you Jake. They would be fired.” As Wanda moved back to the front of the room her fingers ghosted the nape of your neck, something so innocuous it could have easily been an accident. “Theo had gone behind my back, fed information about stories we were publishing to outsiders, and all to boost his stock portfolio.” Her voice dripped with distain. “He is no longer working here, in fact, he will no longer be working for any publisher this side of the Atlantic Ocean.” She gave her words time to breath, making sure we all understood the gravity of the situation. Your mind went back to yesterday, standing in her office when she came out angrily yelling down the phone, that’s what she was talking about.

“Now I called this meeting as a warning to all of you. You aren’t children anymore, this is the real world, your actions have consequences that go far beyond timeouts, or early bedtimes. So if any of you even think about trying anything that will tarnish the reputation of this organization, I want you to really consider what it means to throw your life away! A life that, I might add, for most in here was handed to them. Dismissed.” With every sentence her voice grew louder, the anger finally bubbling over as she slammed her fits onto the table.

There was a mad scramble for the door as everyone collected their things and piled out the room.

“Y/n, I want to have a word with you.” Wanda called out with a lingering trace of rage. The other interns turned to look at you as you awkwardly shuffled back from the door. Your anxiety was already high and now you truly felt like you were going to combust. It took a moment for the room to clear but once it had, and the door closed you jumped into speech.

“Ms Maximoff, I’m so sorry, Pietro said it was okay, not that it’s his fault, I should have never invaded your privacy like that.” The word vomit just kept coming. “I was just meant to drop off the magazine and leave, I shouldn’t have stayed as long as I did. I’m so sorry, I understand if you want to fire me.” With those last words your lip wobbled, and you could do nothing to stop the tears.

Wanda, who up until now had been watching you ramble with slight bewilderment, moved to comfort you. “Y/n. I’m not going to fire you, don’t be silly,” she shushed, placing a hand on your shoulder and motioning for you to sit down, “quite the opposite actually.” You sat down trying your hardest to steady your breathing. “What do you mean?” You asked, wiping your nose with your sleeve before Wanda instinctively handed you a tissue from the box on the table.

“First, I wanted to ask if you were okay.” She leaned in placing a gentle hand on your knee. “Yesterday, in my office, you left so quickly. I was worried about you.”

“You were worried about me?”

“Yes, y/n! I was because…” Wanda stopped herself and leaned back in her chair. “Because you are my employee, and I think you have a promising future here at Westview.” You go to speak but Wanda continues, “Which is why secondly, I wanted to ask if you would be interested in taking over as my intern. I can give you some time to think about…”

“Yes!” You blurted out a little louder than expected, your cheeks flushed as you saw Wanda’s shocked expression. “I mean yes Ms… I would… I’m sorry I didn’t mean to. It’s just… are you sure you want me?” Before you could start to spiral again, you were brought back to reality by the sound of Wanda giggling.

“I’ve wanted you from the start.” She stood up and began walking to the conference room’s door. “For the position of course.” She added before leaving.

As you sat alone in the room you couldn’t help it as a smile crept across your face. You were going to be her intern! Then the reality of the situation hit you. You were going to be her intern.

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Tag list: @wandaslittlehorns @starfire1008 @mirage018 @viosblog112 @nebthetautora @ciaoooooo111 @cowboy-hunter

[capquinn]

Do It For Me | N. Hischier

summary: nico takes what he wants — needs — and you let him, soft and pliant beneath him, made to be used, made to be his. pairing: nico hischier x sub!reader content: MDNI 18+ only smut, p in v, overstimulation, dirty talk, unprotected sex, spanking, squirting, word count: 2.3k note: at this point if i'm posting smut, trust that filthy things are being said in the group chat ↪masterlist

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You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve come — how many times he’s pulled you over the edge, how many times he’s dragged another orgasm out of you like it’s nothing. Your body is spent, trembling, your legs shaking beneath him, but he doesn’t stop. Won’t stop. And you don't want him to.

Because it’s not about you — hasn’t been from the start. It's about him. About the way you’re still gasping for breath, the way your fingers weakly clutch at the sheets like you’re trying to ground yourself, the way your body gives itself to him, muscles loose, limbs boneless, completely at his mercy.

Nico groans, low and wrecked, a hand sliding up your spine, pressing down between your shoulder blades until your chest is flush against the bed. The shift makes you moan, makes your back arch, makes him sink even deeper, and fuck, he feels it — feels the way you shudder, feels the way your toes curl when he stays there, buried to the hilt, just grinding against you, making you take every inch.

"That’s it, baby," he mutters, his teeth scraping along the curve of your shoulder.

He likes you like this — half-gone, barely able to move, taking everything he gives you. The way you're so soft and pliant beneath him, letting him use you however he wants because you know that’s exactly what he needs.

His fingers slip down, skating over the mess between your thighs, feeling just how soaked you still are, and he smirks, pressing a lazy kiss to your jaw as his other hand fists in the sheets beside your head, steadying himself.

"So fucking perfect for me," he breathes, snapping his hips forward again, chasing that familiar heat curling low in his stomach.

You whimper into the sheets, body twitching beneath him, but you don’t pull away. You never do. And that’s what drives him fucking insane. That he doesn’t have to ask. Doesn’t have to coax. You’re already there, already his, already so eager to let him take.

"You’re not even trying to stop me," he mutters, amused, voice thick with satisfaction. His hands slide over your body, slow and deliberate, fingers tracing the curve of your waist before skimming up your ribs, like he’s memorising every inch of you. "You just let me, huh?"

He takes his time, dragging it out, savouring the way your body gives to him, how you whimper into the sheets, how you shudder every time he sinks in deep and slow. His grip is firm, keeping you where he wants — folded beneath him, back arched, cheek pressed against the bed, your knees spread wide, open, ready for him. You don’t fight it, don’t push him away, don’t even try. Just let him fuck you like you were made for it, like this is the only thing you’re meant to do.

And fuck, you do it so well. So easily. Even when your body trembles, even when you’re already wrecked, already spent, skin damp with sweat, thighs shaking from the force of your last orgasm.

But that’s what makes it better. That’s what he loves most — seeing you like this, seeing how completely you give yourself to him over and over, how you let him have you. All of you.

And that’s what you love too. The way he needs this. The way he needs you. How his hands tighten on your hips like he can’t get enough, how he groans when you arch just a little more, offering yourself up for him, because you want to be wanted like this.

"That’s my girl," he mutters, dragging his teeth along your shoulder before pressing a kiss there, holy and filthy all at once.

You let out a soft, broken whimper, trying to squirm away, but there’s nowhere to go — nowhere you’d rather be, really — not when his hands tighten on your hips, not when his cock is still buried deep inside you, still dragging against every sensitive spot that has you begging for more and running away all at once.

He feels everything — the way you pulse around him, the way your breath hitches with every deep stroke, the way you squeeze him so fucking tight like you don’t really want him to stop. You’re perfect like this, letting him have you, letting him chase his pleasure without hesitation.

Like hell he’s letting you go. Not when you feel this good, not when your body is still so wet for him, still clenching down like you need him there.

He pushes himself up, chest peeling away from your back as he kneels between your spread thighs, never once slipping out, never once breaking his rhythm. The new angle has you gasping, has your hands fisting in the sheets until your knuckles turn white, has him watching the way you shudder under him, the way your body still gives even as you writhe beneath his hands. Even when you’re trying so hard to escape the overwhelming pleasure that’s got you teetering on the edge.

"No, schatzi," he groans, voice wrecked, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you back onto his cock, guiding you into every deep stroke, letting you feel every inch, every pulse of him inside you. "You can take it, baby."

You sob into the sheets, thighs shaking, muscles twitching, but you don’t tell him to stop — can’t, not when you’re already this far gone, not when the pleasure has you dizzy, floating, wrecked.

And he knows. Knows your body better than you do, knows you’re right on the edge of another one, knows you like this. Like the way he doesn’t slow down, doesn’t let up, even when it’s too much.

"Feels so good when you’re like this," he mutters, voice thick, head tilting down to watch — to see himself stretching you, see the way you drip down onto his cock, see the way your thighs tremble but never close.

One hand smooths up your spine, tracing the sweat-slick curve of it, before pressing between your shoulder blades, forcing you deeper into the mattress, angling your hips higher. The other smacks down across your ass, hard and fast, making you jolt, making your breath catch in a sharp, broken wail. The sting blooms hot beneath his palm, sending another sharp pulse of pleasure through you, making your walls flutter around him, making you squeeze him even tighter. Making every slow, deep drag of his cock through your soaking heat even filthier.

His head tips back, a low, guttural moan slipping from his lips because fuck, you’re still so warm, so tight, still gripping him even though he’s been fucking you open for so long.

"That’s it, baby, take it," he groans, slamming forward, grinding deep. He’s gone now, completely lost in the way you wrap around him, your body responding to him, offering more with every thrust.

And then you break.

A sharp, high-pitched whine catches in your throat, your body tensing beneath him before you come undone, overwhelmed, overstimulated, pleasure crashing over you in waves.

Your moans dissolve into soft, desperate sobs, hands clawing at the sheets, thighs trembling as another orgasm rips through you, dragging you under. It’s too much, too intense, and your body reacts before your mind can catch up — twisting, squirming, trying to turn over, trying to shift beneath him like you can escape the pleasure that’s got you spiralling.

But no fucking way is he letting you slip away from him.

Nico growls low in his throat, hands gripping you tight, and before you can even process what’s happening, he grabs your hips, pulls out just long enough to flip you onto your back, your body pliant, wrecked, barely able to move before he’s already pushing back in, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth, brutal thrust.

"I know, baby, I know," he coos, but it’s nothing but taunting and indulgent as he watches you shudder beneath him, still locked in your orgasm.

His hands slide down, grip behind your knees, pushing them up and apart, folding you open so he can get deeper. He groans, dropping his head, watching the way you spread for him, the way your cunt grips him, and it’s so fucking messy, slick and filthy, and fuck, he needs more.

One hand leaves your leg, moves between your bodies, fingers pressing against your soaked clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles as he fucks you through it, as he drags out your pleasure, as he forces another orgasm to build before you’ve even come down from the last one.

And then he feels it.

The way your body locks up beneath him, muscles tensing so hard it makes your breath hitch, your nails digging into his thighs as a sharp, broken cry rips from your throat. Your back arches, thighs twitching in his grip, and then — fuck.

A gush of wetness spills between you, sudden and overwhelming, soaking his cock, dripping onto his thighs, splashing warm against his abs. Nico falters — just for a second, his hips stilling, eyes flicking down in pure, stunned awe as he watches it happen, as he feels the way you gush for him, your swollen, pink cunt pulsing, fluttering, completely wrecked.

That’s it. That’s it.

A rough, wrecked groan spills from his lips, his grip tightening behind your knees as he snaps his hips forward, dragging out another slick, obscene sound as he fucks into you harder, faster, chasing the way you shudder, the way you moan beneath him.

"Holy fuck," he breathes, voice rough, his fingers digging into your skin, keeping you spread wide open, watching as you drip for him, as his cock grinds through the mess pooling between your thighs.

It’s obscene — the wet, slick drag of him, the way your body keeps giving, keeps offering him more, even though you’re already spent, already trembling beneath him.

His other hand slides to your lower belly, pressing down just enough to make you feel him, every deep stroke, every slow, devastating roll of his hips. To make sure you know how deep he is, how full he’s got you, how there’s nowhere to go — nowhere to run from the pleasure that’s wrecking you from the inside out.

"You feel that, baby?" he rasps, grinding into you, his rhythm messy now, frantic, desperate. His thumb finds your swollen, oversensitive clit, rubbing fast, cruel circles, dragging another broken sob from your lips. "Fuck... look at you."

But he doesn’t let you look. Doesn’t give you time to breathe. Doesn’t let you come down — not when you’re still soaking him, not when your body is still so fucking hot and wet around him.

Nope.

He needs more. Needs to feel you break again, needs to chase that wet, messy release all over again.

"That’s it, baby. Give me one more," he mutters, rolling his hips deep, dragging himself through your soaked heat, through the mess of it, through the wreckage of the last orgasms he’s already pulled from you. "I know you can. Do it for me."

And you do.

Your body shatters beneath him again, thighs trembling, trying to close, trying to run from the intensity, but Nico doesn’t let you. He leans in, chest pressing flush against yours, his weight sinking into you, his hips forcing your legs open, keeping you there, holding you still, making sure you take everything he gives.

"Nico."

Your cry of his name is wrecked, punched out of you as your body clenches tight around him, trembling, desperate. Your fingers twist in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as you yank him closer, thighs squeezing around his hips, locking him in, holding him exactly where you want him.

A rough, broken groan tears from his chest as his hips snap forward once last time, burying himself deep, grinding into you as his own pleasure breaks over him. His breath catches, his fingers tighten where they grip your waist, his whole body shaking as he comes, hot and thick, filling you up, making sure you take all of it.

His thrusts slow, turning into this slow, dragged-out grind, like he’s chasing the feeling, like he doesn’t want to pull away from you yet, doesn’t want to leave the heat of you wrapped around him. His body is heavy against yours, his breath hot, uneven, spilling across your skin as he presses his forehead to yours, lips parting like he wants to say something but can’t — too lost in the feeling, too wrecked, too fucking gone.

His hands move without thought, without hesitation, already easing into gentleness, sliding down your sides, smoothing over the slight tremors still running through you.

"Fuck, baby," he breathes, voice low, hushed, still thick with the remnants of pleasure, his body heavy against yours, pressing you deeper into the mattress as he lingers in the aftermath.

His lips find your temple first, then your cheek, then the curve of your jaw — soft, lingering kisses, slow and reverent, like he’s grounding himself in you, memorising the way you feel beneath him, under him. His. Just his. All his.

His hips keep moving in slow, lazy grinds like he’s soothing you, like he’s soothing himself, chasing that last bit of warmth, of connection, of you.

"So fucking good for me," he mutters against your skin, his hands slipping lower, smoothing over your thighs, massaging where his grip had been firm before.

He stays deep, buried inside you, unwilling to leave just yet, unwilling to let go of the warmth, the intimacy, the quiet hum of pleasure still pulsing between you.

"Took me so fucking perfectly, schatzi," he murmurs, lips pressed to your shoulder, voice softer now, lower, his weight pressing solid against you. "My sweet girl... My good girl."

[umamaki]

HOW'S THE VIEW FROM UP THERE?

1/5 of my valentine's day event!

sylus x reader

CW reader with female anatomy, explicit smut, established relationship, kinda cutesy domestic imo, pet names, oral sex (f!receiving), oral slight teeth... wc. 0.9k

NOTE pls bear with me. drafting this was the hardest thing i’ve done and i think i genuinely forgot how to write.

You lean against the headboard, unmoving as Sylus lays on top of you. He’s on his stomach and his head rests just below your chin. You’d believe he’s asleep if not for his fingers absentmindedly tapping against your ribcage.

It’s out of the blue, but you can’t shake the urge to tell him the thought that just came to mind. A hand reaches down to play with his hair, lightly twirling his strands and scratching his scalp. He groans in contentment. The room’s silence had been broken and you take it as your chance. 

“Y’know, Sylus…”

You trail off, vaguely shy. He waits before prodding you on, “yes, what is it?”

“I… quite like this view of you.” He raises his head now, still confused. You continue, “I mean, seeing the top of your head like this. I like it. I like it a lot.”

There was truth in your words. Sylus is typically the one who towers over you, the one is used to seeing the top of your head. And so you’ve grown to cherish the moments in which he feels comfortable to be in a vulnerable position around you, offering his body to you, allowing you to touch him wherever you please. Though, the thought of not doing so had never once crossed his mind. 

So it intrigues him, what you had said. “Is that so?” You nod. He brings himself to hover face to face with you, “and what other times do you see the top of my head?”

You look up to think. He appreciates the way your lashes flutter against your cheeks and how your lips subconsciously pout when you’re lost in thought. 

“Well… When you carry me on your shoulders, when you tie my shoelaces, or right now when you lay on me, and um,” your voice lowers in saying the last part; you’re still a little embarrassed. 

But Sylus has never been a believer of shame. He’s smirks down at you now, a spark of excitement in his eyes. “Could you repeat that last part for me, sweetie?”

“You heard me.” You stand your ground.

“I did not,” he feigned innocence, eyebrows raised, “please?”

“I said, I like seeing the top of your head when you.. go down on me, too.” Your hands come up to cover your face in embarrassment as quickly as Sylus raises his to remove them from your face. 

“If you wanted me to eat you out, you could’ve just asked me to, dear.”

He laughs when you push his forehead back. The trail of kisses he leaves from your jaw to collarbone tickles and you give in, “fine, go on then,” your legs spread open for him, you sink back into the sheets, an invitation for him.

“Not feeling shy anymore, hm?” Of course he gives into your wishes, but it isn’t Sylus if he doesn’t at least ruffle you up beforehand. He licks a teasing stripe up through the fabric of your panties, eyes never breaking away from yours. “How’s the view now?”

His hot breath mingles with the wet patch on your underwear as he speaks directly into your cunt. You’re too pent up to entertain his teasing. An impatient hand pushes his face back down onto your heat, “view’s good, great. Please continue.”

You feel him smile into your cunt. He peels the fabric off, afterwards using his finger to separate the string of arousal that clung to your undergarment. The cold air of the room on your wet pussy makes you clench around nothing. “I can tell, you’re already drenched.”

He begins to lap at your slick folds before you can get a word back in. He eats you out like a man starved; never once coming up for air, but inhaling the scent of your heat so intensely that his back rises and falls with each deep breath. 

His hands are splayed out on each of your thighs, keeping your legs apart, allowing himself to relentlessly continue lapping up your leaking juices, savoring your taste on his tongue. Your legs shake under his grip as he switches between flattening and tensing his tongue, pushing the muscle up your cunt and through your folds. His nose bumps into your clit, sending a jolt up your body.

“Oh my god—Sylus—” the stimulation draws out breathless moans and whimpers from your lips and he’s enjoying every sound of it, “Sylus, m’close.”

“Yeah? Gonna come on my face baby?” His red eyes lock with your pleading ones before shifting his appreciative gaze down to the marks on your tits and the crease in your tummy, then back onto your eyes.

“Mhm—” 

“Now tell me,” his bruising grip on your legs pushes them up, knees reaching your ears, “you cumming because of the view? Or because of my tongue on your pussy?” He had always been so brazen with his words, never filtering his vulgar language. For some reason, the fact turns you on extraordinarily. 

“B-both!” You had to stutter it out in between moans, using up the last of your coherence to respond to him.

“Good.” You’re immediately taken to your climax when he catches your clit between his teeth; he does it lightly, but the unexpected sharpness of it immediately sends your orgasm crashing through you. His tongue guides you through your release, unwavering, despite your thrashing body beneath him. The orgasm is intense and overwhelming, blurring your vision before finally making your body go slack against the sheets. 

At last, he relieves you from the overstimulation. Your sheen covers the entirety of his chin, and he’s shameless in licking his lips clean when he catches you staring. 

“Darling, I just might have a new favorite view after this.”

taglist form

@jin-fei @isagistar @venussakura @syluriar @shoyosthighs

[maiiuelle]

the hunt

based on this post.. literally could not get this out of my head. nobody can do crazy like my man.

warnings: minors dni!! dom!rafe, chasing, pred/prey dynamic, basically breath and impact play

under different circumstances, you wouldn’t be caught dead knee-deep in the muddy swampland of the cut. but, you can’t stop moving now, the purr of rafe’s truck is growing to a roar behind you.

⊹₊⟡⋆

your legs are burning, and covered in mud and cuts from tree branches grazing by your delicate skin. you don’t know how long you’ve been running, long enough for your lungs to ache so painfully you could surrender.

you almost consider it until you realize what kind of punishment he must have waiting for you. you were bad. rafe is the cruelest man you know, and knowing that, you’d never disobeyed him in fear of how he’d react. until today.

your chest heaves as you push to keep running, each step onto the soft ground is pronounced with more dirt splattering your thighs. for a moment, you think he’s lost you, until a pair of bright LED headlights shine past your head and into your view.

he’s too close, the blood chilling rumble of his truck is approaching fast and the pain throbbing throughout your body is becoming too unbearable to keep going. you veer off of your course, weaving through trees until you find one with a thick enough trunk to hide behind. you slam your back into the wood, chest heaving as you lower yourself to a squat. you press a hand to your chest, desperately trying to catch your breath. the wheezing will only give you away.

you hear his truck stop, the humming of the engine fades out and the door slams, your whole body lurches against the rough tree bark.

rafe whistles. “babe!” he chides, the smirk on his lips clear through his voice. he’s enjoying this. “don’t play this game with me, alright? you know i saw you.”

your heart thumps in your ears, the pitter-patter taking over your senses as you try to think of what to do, but your body is frozen. whether it be from exhaustion, or fear, you’re paralyzed on the root rippled ground.

he may be having a good time chasing you around, but he’s growing impatient by the minute. “you’re really gonna make me come get you? gonna make this more difficult for yourself? huh?” the irritation lining his voice turns your stomach. you’re done for.

“what? you just wanna piss me off a little more, is that it? you like getting on my fuckin’ nerves?” he rants, twigs snapping under his feet as he stalks closer. “you’re a brat!”

you cover your mouth and suck in fresh air through your nose, the overwhelming scent of soil and swamp water fills your senses, only the unnatural sweet aroma of rafe’s luxury cologne suddenly catches in the soft breeze. before the panic can set in, a rough hand grabs your arm and pulls you to a stand, but you trip over your legs in shock and you fall right into your boyfriends chest. your face is met with the cold material of his golfing polo, one of his favorites, only now it’s stained with soot along with the rest of his expensive clothing.

“no, no! rafe!” you begin to plead, feeling guilty about what you’d done, and running. he pushes you off of him, his strong hands controlling your movements as he turns you at his will, holding you with his grip settled on your arms, using the leverage to hoist you up and over his shoulder like you’re nothing. “rafe, stop!” you hang limply, his arm coming to hold you down like he’s carrying a bundle of logs, only he holds your arms tight against your torso. with your arms trapped, and your legs already growing sore, you have no chance of escape.

rafe just scoffs, stomping through the wood back to his parked pick-up. “don’t beg now — like i didn’t just chase you down through the entire goddamn cut. you deserve what you’re gonna fucking get, know that.” he grits, and you whine out a strained cry.

once he reaches the truck, he rounds the passenger side and flicks the back door open. “y’know, at this point i’d at least expect an apology.” without warning, he bucks forward and throws you on your back onto the leather back seat. you stare up at him like a spooked doe, eyes wide as you finally get a good look at him. like you, he’s covered head to toe in mud. his sweaty bangs hang messily over his forehead as he looks down on you, nostrils flaring as his eyes watch your stiffened frame expectantly. “i’d start with ‘i’m so sorry, rafey!’” he teases, his thick finger suddenly coming up to hook under the waistband of your skirt. he invades your space, tall enough to hover over you even though he’s still standing outside of the truck. he gets so close your hands instinctively come up to brace yourself, they ball up in his stained shirt in fear, but you hold onto the slight hope he’ll have some sort of mercy on you.

“rafe — rafe, i am sorry! i just — i was..” you cry, only he smacks his other heavy hand over your mouth before you can get far. even doing what he says, he grows even angrier. he’s completely unpredictable.

“shut the fuck up!” rafe shouts, his hand on your waistband adjusts and he grabs your waist, his grip bruising. “you wanna apologize? yeah?” he pushes, and when you nod he helps you along with his palm over your mouth. “good girl. that’s it.”

warmth spreads through your stomach, pulsing in slow waves as his warm fingers trail up your torso to your tit to palm it gently like a stress ball. his eyes outline your body, while yours stay on his face, watching him take in his prey. it’s odd, you’re terrified and yet so eager to be splayed out in front of him like this.

“fuck.” he groans, the hand on your mouth pivots to your jaw, positioning your head upward to meet his lips. they crash into yours, and you’re desperate to reciprocate, grasping for any affection from him. he breaks to push his forehead into yours, hands suddenly occupied with prying off his mud-caked belt. “take ‘em off, come on.” rafe urges under his breath, clearly running low on patience. in part due to your own mounting desire, you shuffle to push your tennis skirt and panties down to your knees.

rafe forces down his shorts just enough to free himself, eyes raking over you. impatiently, he rips your bottoms right off your legs, balling them up in his palm and chucking them deeper into the backseat before he resumes ravishing you. he’s pinned you to the leather seat with the weight of his body, pressing against you as he forces his lips into yours. the animalistic, hungry way he’s handling you is delicious. your core is throbbing hot against the cold outdoor air, his cock smooths over your thigh, and your head goes blank. you can’t wait any longer to feel him push inside of you. the fear and distress you’d been filled with before has melted completely into submission.

he lifts himself up, one hand coming to position himself at your entrance, and the other pushes your fitted cropped t-shirt up over your tits. he pauses, slotting his tip between your folds, mindlessly making you shudder in need. rafe couldn’t care, he’s taking his time now, too focused on playing with your tits with his free hand, watching them peak through his fingers. imagining what he could do to you. “god, you are so fucking lucky i love you.”

his hips come flush with yours as he plunges into you. your satisfied scream is immediately muffled by his hand coming back to its place over your lips, the force pins your head to the seat.

rafe rocks into you slowly, but with a force that pushes your limp body up the seat with every thrust. you’re so full, it’s intoxicating. you’re taken over by the feeling of him, you close your eyes so there isn’t anything but him, how he’s making you feel. your hands come to claw at his arm, even in your state, you’re desperate to breathe through the hand that’s covering your mouth and shifting over your nose. he’s completely entranced, watching himself disappear inside of you over and over again. he deserved this after all you’d put him through.

but, it’s not enough. his snapping movements are slowly pushing you away, and his frustration swells. “fuck.. fuck!” rafe growls, moving both arms to wrap around your muddy thighs, hooking underneath to pull you impossibly closer to him. your ass is completely hanging off the back seat now, suspended in mid-air held up completely by him. you take the chance to sit up on your elbows, peeking down to where your bodies meet. it’s so overwhelming, you rush to catch your breath, but it’s impossible with the unrelenting pace he’s setting. your poor lungs burn as your throat forces out strangled moans, the stretch of him inside of you feels too good to stay quiet. the sound of your skin smacking together fills the truck, beautifully conjoined with the pretty sounds he’s pulling from you. “yeah, yeah. is this what you wanted?” rafe looks at your fucked out face, your lashes fluttering as you try to keep yourself together. “fucking say it.”

“just wanted you, rafe!” you whine, your pussy pulsing around him as a wave of heat spreads through your abdomen. a moan rips from you, he knows you’re about to burst, and he’s feeling mean.

rafe’s hips smack against yours, punctuating his assault with a hard chap before he completely unsheathes himself. you’re brave enough to pout, crumbling with a whine as you clench around nothing. he grabs your jaw, forcing your attention. “you do some stupid shit like that again, i’m leaving you with the gators.”

and with that, rafe stands up straight, shifting his shorts back into place and stuffing himself inside. once he’s sorted, he plants a hand on the fat of your thigh and shoves you inside. without sparing you a glance, he runs his hand down his face, looking behind his truck to surveil the surrounding woods. he slams the back door, leaving you to stare at the leather interior bewildered. rafe reappears, tugging open the drivers side door, hauling himself inside and bringing the truck’s engine back to life. rafe doesn’t say a word to you as he drives you back to tannyhill, too busy plotting how he’s going to finish you off when you get there.

⊹₊⟡⋆

[littlelamy]

more cowboy rafe pls 🙏🏾🙏🏾, maybe one where he wins first place in the bull riding competition and they celebrate after, maybe a bj fic 👀

lamy's note: hope you enjoy it!!!

the night sky stretched endless above the rodeo grounds, a sprawling canvas of stars winking down at the bustling crowd. the smell of dirt and leather filled the air, the sound of cheers and stomping boots reverberating through the stands as the crowd roared for the final event of the evening. bull riding. the main event.

you stood by the fence, your fingers curled around the worn wooden rail, heart pounding in time with the anticipation that buzzed through the crowd. your eyes never left him—cowboy rafe, the rugged, daring man who had stolen your breath and made your pulse race every time he so much as glanced your way.

he was in the center of the ring now, perched on the back of a massive, thrashing bull, his hat tilted low over his brow, his muscles taut beneath the snug fabric of his shirt. his jaw was set, eyes focused, every inch of him exuding confidence and control. this was his world, where danger was a dance partner, and victory was just a heartbeat away.

"hold tight, rafe!" someone shouted from the sidelines as the gate flung open, and the bull charged into the arena with a fury unmatched.

the crowd held its breath, watching as rafe moved with the beast, his body fluid and controlled, as if he and the bull were part of the same wild, untamed force. every buck, every twist, every second felt like an eternity, the tension mounting as the eight-second mark approached.

when the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the ride, the crowd erupted into applause. rafe leapt from the bull's back with practiced ease, landing on his feet, a victorious grin spreading across his face as he tipped his hat to the cheering masses.

you couldn't stop the smile that spread across your lips, your heart swelling with pride and something deeper, something hotter that simmered just beneath the surface.

as the crowd surged forward to congratulate him, rafe's eyes found yours, a flicker of something dark and knowing sparking in his gaze. he made his way through the throng, his boots kicking up dust as he closed the distance between you.

"didn't know i had such a pretty fan watchin' me," he drawled, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. he was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his shirt clinging to the hard lines of his chest, and the sheer presence of him so close made your breath hitch.

"first place, huh?" you teased, trying to keep your voice steady, though your body was already thrumming with anticipation.

he smirked, stepping closer, his fingers brushing against your arm. "you proud of me, darlin'?"

"maybe a little," you murmured, your cheeks heating as his touch lingered, his hand slipping around your waist to pull you closer.

"thought maybe we could celebrate... just the two of us," he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

your knees went weak at the suggestion, a wave of heat washing over you as you nodded, unable to find your voice. he took your hand, leading you away from the noise and the lights, to a quiet spot behind the barn, where the only sound was the rustle of the wind through the grass and the distant hum of the crowd.

the shadows stretched long around you, the moon casting a silvery glow over his features as he turned to face you, his eyes dark with desire.

"been thinkin' 'bout this all damn day," he murmured, his hands cupping your face as he kissed you, slow and deep, his tongue sweeping into your mouth in a way that made you melt against him.

your hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, eager to feel the warmth of his skin beneath your palms. he groaned into your mouth as your fingers traced over the hard planes of his chest, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, pulling you flush against him.

"want you, rafe," you whispered, your voice trembling with need as you dropped to your knees before him, your fingers working at the buckle of his belt, the heat of him already pressing against you through the fabric of his jeans.

he cursed under his breath, his hands tangling in your hair as you freed him, his length hard and throbbing in your hand. you glanced up at him through your lashes, your lips curling into a teasing smile before you leaned in, your tongue flicking out to taste him.

"fuck," he groaned, his grip tightening as you took him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the head before sliding down his shaft, taking him as deep as you could.

his hips bucked, a guttural moan escaping his lips as you hollowed your cheeks, the wet heat of your mouth driving him wild. you moved slowly at first, savoring the way he shuddered beneath your touch, the way his breathing grew ragged with every bob of your head.

"you're gonna be the death of me, darlin'," he rasped, his voice thick with pleasure as he watched you, his hand guiding your movements as you set a steady rhythm, the sounds of your mouth on him filling the air.

you moaned around him, the vibrations making him groan, his hand tightening in your hair as he thrust into your mouth, his control slipping with every second. the taste of him, the feel of him, the way he trembled and cursed your name—it was intoxicating, your own arousal pooling between your thighs as you took him deeper, faster, your own need building with every desperate sound that escaped his lips.

"gonna come, baby," he warned, his voice hoarse as he teetered on the edge, his hips snapping forward in a frenzy of need. "fuck, you're too good... too perfect..."

you hummed in response, your tongue swirling around him one last time as he spilled into your mouth, his release hot and salty as you swallowed him down, milking him for every drop. his body shuddered, his head thrown back as he rode out the waves of pleasure, his hands cradling your face as he gazed down at you with a mixture of awe and adoration.

"c'mere," he murmured, pulling you to your feet and wrapping his arms around you, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. "you’re mine tonight. let’s keep this celebration goin’."

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesbabygirlx

[pain-is-forever]

OPEN STARTER: VOICES.

TW: Delusions, mentions of murder, self harm, blood, mentions of suicide attempts.

Theo hates talking about his past. He's never been much of a talker, anyway. But his past is something he's especially secretive about. He feels as though talking about it makes him weak. Like he can't handle himself good enough to be able to deal with it on his own.

Now, he doesn't want to talk more than ever. About anything. He wants to sink into the ground and disappear forever. The voices in his head got louder recently. Especially his father's. He's been berating Theo basically 24/7 as of late. He tried ignoring it for a while. His sister's voice helped him tune it out. Then, his mother's voice appeared again. And that was hard to ignore.

Bickering. Yelling. Arguing. It won't let him sleep. Worst of all, his sister's been silent for a while now. He's going to go batshit crazy if this continues. He's already dealing with constant headaches from the lack of sleep and nonstop yelling. He just can't deal with it anymore.

One day, he snaps. He starts talking to the voices. Telling them to shut up more frequently. It doesn't help, in fact, it only worsens the problem. His father is now mad, his mother is lamenting. Both are annoying as fuck. Even worse, it's making his skin crawl. He wants to just peel it off and get a new one. It feels like there's bugs crawling underneath it.

You find Theo sitting on the ground, his temples are bleeding, it's almost like something clawed on them. There's a bloodied scalpel on the ground beside him, chunks of skin missing from his forearms, revealing muscle. He's shaking. "Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up." He's saying it over and over again, his voice full of venom. He's grabbing at his hair with his blood-stained hands, strands of it sticking together with the green-tinted blood.

Taglist (ask to be added or deleted!!!): @the-great-emperor-commodus @steve-the-union-man @another-argo @literally-tinker-bell @the-son-of-the-sun @roryandthethorns @dad-left-for-the-milk @reyno-solis-real @onlymythologypersonincamp @l0st-child-of-war @lyric-of-the-sun @toxic-daughter-of-love

[zephyrchama]

Make barbatos fanfics pls

The memory of your recent mishap kept playing in your mind. It was a complete mistake - you hadn't intended to drench Barbatos in tea. Despite him being more than capable of protecting himself, you foolishly attempted to shield him from whatever toxic concoction Solomon was cooking up. One thing led to another, a massive pot fell over, there was an ear-deafening clang, and Barbatos was on the ground. Sopping wet.

He wasted no time in excusing himself to clean off, leaving you to bear the weight of your sins. Anyone could have easily cleaned the mess with magic, but Barbatos instead opted for a shower for some peace and quiet to calm down. Solomon was left to scrub the floor by hand since he started this issue in the first place.

As all of the castle's linens had been conveniently gathered in the laundry room to be inventoried, you took it upon yourself to grab a clean towel and deliver it to Barbatos.

You could hear the water running from down the hall. It was so loud, you weren't sure Barbatos could hear you. Wisps of steam escaped from the cracks around the bathroom door. You knocked. There was no answer.

"Barbatos?" you called, knocking again. There was no answer. Only the running of water. He was probably already in the shower. You could take this opportunity to grab his soiled uniform and clean it before the stains permanently set in.

With that plan of action, you opened the door. Barbatos was not in the shower, despite the running faucet. In fact, Barbatos was stark naked in the middle of the room. A washcloth in his hand indicated he had already obtained his own towels. He had his back to the door, as if he was just about to enter the tub. He made eye contact with you over his shoulder, eyes wide.

That one second felt like an hour.

His posture was superb. A mix of tea and condensation from the muggy bathroom air trailed down the curve of his spine, fine enough to be in a medical textbook. Your eyes followed, down to the base of his tail and the derriere behind it. Two fabulous, firm full moons. A sight rarer than anything else in all the three realms.

"Did you need something?"

Barbatos' usual polite tone was punctuated with umbrage. He placed a hand on his chest, as though shielding his visage.

"I'm sorry!" were the first words you spat out, on reflex. Coherent thinking failed you in the face of such art. Sentences started falling out of your mouth and you hoped they made sense. "I thought you might need a towel, so I got one from the laundry and came to give it to you. I knocked! I did, I knocked, but you didn't answer so I came in to leave this."

You held the towel forward with both hands as an offering. "And I was gonna collect your clothes so I could wash them. As an apology for, ah, that other thing I did. Sorry."

You stared at the ground. Even Barbatos' ankles were pristine. A little bony, tapering down at the sides that led to his slender feet. You watched his weight shift as his tail curled closer to his body.

"How thoughtful. I'd appreciate if you could hang it on the towel bar. I will handle my clothes myself, later."

"Right, of course." You swiveled and diligently hung the towel up. The dirty clothes in question were on the ground, still soaking wet, neatly folded in a square. You looked from them back to Barbatos. He was rooted in place, not budging in the slightest. One wrong move, and who knew how much you'd see?

More than the current eyeful, that's for sure. More than the slope of his shoulders. More than the rise and fall of his upper body with each fresh breath. More than the sight of his wet hair clinging to the curve of his jawbone and the tenseness in his arm when his painted fingernails wrapped around the tiny washcloth.

"Do you need anything else?" he asked. An obvious cue for you to leave.

"I'm good," you said. It was hard not to ogle at the size of his waist fully unobscured by clothing, and its ratio to his hips. "Do you... need any help?"

"I am fine. I will be taking my shower now." His voice echoed around the bathroom as you finally left. It echoed around your head, too, when he said, "be good and wait for me."

[merakidoll]

— the store is now open!

the coolness of the freezer blew against your nipples making them harden against the rose gold bar. you could hear customers. the opening and closing of the drink doors, how connie flirted with almost everyone he saw, the sport car engines that roared just outside, and the signature bell that dinged with every open and close. “you like this? such a slut sweet thang” ony’s country twang had your pussy clenching against him, your hands trying to grip the hard cold ground but it was impossible. “t-too deepp” you whined bitting your glossed lip. your eyes rolled to the back of your head, ony’s fat mushroom head plunging at every given spot inside of you.

“that’s how you like it mama.” he did a slight chuckle, then hissed slapping her ass and looking at the glass door to the drinks open almost right by where you two played. onyankopon smirked eyeing the man who was grabbing too many damn drinks than necessary. he could feel you tense, then squeeze his cock, his strokes slowing but the sound of your wet pussy never wavered. to top it off the small hiccuped whine you let out made the coustmers eyebrows frown, eyes looking up through the shelves”

“shut. the. fuck. up.” he gritted through his teeth pounding you. he spread your ass cheeks going deeper into your making your knees unlock which almost made you fall but onyankopon was quicker. it was already too late. he locked eyes with the man, continuing to beat your cunt and ignore how your squirted bitting your hand while your head rested against his shoulder. “you wanted to get caught huh ma?” ony spread his legs a little further, gripping the back of your thigh and picking you up fucking you up and down his length. the man continued to watch a feeling of ‘this is wrong - but too good to look away’ dawning onto him.

“o-onyyyy fuckk i-can’t baby” you knew - that your boyfriend knew - you loved what was happening right now. the way your pussy got extra juicy at the preying eyes, added with the overstimulation, and ony’s signature scent. “you can. ony’s big girl right sweetheart? take yo dick.” your squeaked at the feeling of you now getting slid up and down him slowly, the coolness of the freezer doing nothing to cool your hot bodies. the man who watched the whole ordeal dropped his Arizonans with a hard dick running out of the corner store.

connie - with a knowing smirk; sat down his magazine and gave him a small wave. “thanks for coming see you next time!”

[aakeysmash]

Pregnancy cravings

Farmer!Sukuna’s masterlist

Farmer!Sukuna thought dealing with your pregnancy cravings would be a walk in the park. I mean, come on, you two are basically self sufficient: he’s literally a farmer, what could you possibly crave that he doesn’t already have planted or stored?

Your cravings hit at the start of your second trimester. You’re barely showing, and probably the fact that nothing you eat stays in your stomach for more than two hours isn’t helping your case.

It’s winter and it’s snowing: your fields are currently covered in snow, your chickens are huddled up in their coop, your cows are sleeping in their heated stable… and you? You’re reading a book right in front of your fireplace. Sukuna gets home with his arms full of logs to keep the fire alive all night. He sets them on the ground before plopping down next to you with snow clinging to his hair.

“Get off, your nose is cold,” you mumble, pushing him away when he tries to give you a kiss. He raises one of his eyebrows, kissing you on the cheek either way (two times, to spite you). You let out a dramatic whine.

He chuckles, ruffling his hair and wetting your book’s pages with a couple of snowflakes. Annoyed, you roughly close the book, and turn around to give him a piece of your mind, just to find yourself wrapped in his arms.

“I said get off,” you repeat, softer, leaning in despite your words. His body heat is doing a better job than the fire at thawing the chill from your limbs.

“And I don’t care,” he replies nonchalantly. He kisses your temple, cocooning you deeper into him by opening his legs and tucking you into the space in front of him. You grumble something unintelligible.

“How are the only two people I can stand doing today?” He asks you, rocking you side by side. Seeing you pregnant makes him feel uncomfortably soft. And seeing you pregnant with his child? Oh god.

“I want ice cream.”

He stops.

“Huh?”

“More like your offspring wants ice cream,” you sniffle from under his jaw.

“I don’t think we have any in the freezer,” he responds, looking you in the eyes. Your lip starts wobbling.

“But I want it,” you brokenly say, trying to swallow your sobs. His heart clenches.

“I don’t think you’ll be able to have it today,” he says, and immediately regrets it when your eyes well up with tears.

“C’mon, don’t cry now, it’s just ice cream,” he tries to comfort you. Apparently he does a horrible job, because you start bawling.

“But I want it! And I hate that I want it so bad! You know how much I hate playing the weak and fragile woman part, why are you being mean?” you wail, shoving him away and getting up. You quickly go to the kitchen to drink a glass of water, the duvet that was covering you mere seconds ago acting as your cloak.

“No, babe, I’m not-“

You snap your head back angrily, levelling him with a hostile glare. “Yes you are! You’re being mean when it’s your fault I’m like this!” You motion to your body.

“Actually, you begged for it, wife,” he shrugs, a corner of his mouth lifting. He doesn’t expect the punch you throw at his chest.

“Don’t ever come near me again,” you seethe, drinking your water and flying up the stairs. He sighs, rubbing his temples, wincing when he hears you sniffle again.

After ten minutes he knocks on your bedroom door- the same one you not-so-gracefully threw in his face.

“C’mon. Get out,” he grits out. Who knew dealing with a pregnant woman would strip him of the little patience he still has left?

“No. You value me less than ice cream.”

He sighs. “What can I do t’ make you forgive me?” He hears the soft pit pat of your sock-clad feet on the floor before the door creaks open. From the last few months, he'd say your mood swing should be finished by now.

You gently lower the handle, looking at his condescending espression. Then you sag your shoulder, gazing at the floor.

"You big crybaby. C'mere," he smirks, opening his arms. You bury your head in his shoulder, and he pats your hair mockingly.

"I still want ice cream, though," you mumble.

"I'll go get it at the city right now if ya stop crying," he chuckles. He widens his eyes, realizing that... he caught himself too late.

You abruptly step back. He winces.

"And you'd leave me here all alone?! Why don't you love me anymore?!"

[sosasturns]

knock em out - c. sturniolo

blurb, in which reader puts mma!chris to sleep… based on by this ask from bat anon.

your face was pressed deep into the hotel suite's plush pillows, hands flat against the sheets, your feet barely touching the floor as chris let his frustrations out on you. he was going hard-each sharp thrust knocking the literal sonic coins out of you, leaving you breathless, gripping onto the bedding like it could somehow ground you.

"take this shit," he murmured, voice dark and clipped, still riled up from the shit-talking that went down earlier. his grip was unforgiving, big hands spreading you wider, pressing down on the small of your back to get that perfect fucking angle. "take my dick, just like that. mhm. doin' so well takin' this dick."

he was pissed. furious. this fight had him on edge, the opponent running his fucking mouth, and chris was dealing with it the only way he knew how-channeling all that pent-up aggression into you, fucking you deep, sharp, rough, his breath heavy against the back of your neck as his fingers slid up to grasp your throat, tilting your head up slightly so he could murmur into your ear.

"gon' knock his ass the fuck out," he gritted, each word punctuated by a harsh thrust that had your toes curling.

you couldn't even speak-just gasping, moaning into the pillow, your body damn near limp as he took full control.

then, suddenly, it stopped.

a deep inhale from behind you, followed by chris flipping you over in one smooth motion, your back meeting the mattress before his hand slid to your jaw, guiding your gaze to meet his. his eyes were dark, heavy-lidded, jaw clenched tight.

"get on top," he muttered, voice low, demanding.

"not letting you come yet. you want it? you work for it."

you didn't hesitate, already straddling his lap, rolling your hips as you slid down onto him with a moan, feeling every inch. chris' head tilted back against the pillows, lips parted, a sharp inhale leaving him as you started to move. slow at first, teasing, rolling your hips just the way he liked, before shifting into a steady bounce.

his hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your skin. he was struggling-you could tell. the way his brows furrowed, his teeth sunk into his bottom lip, his chest rising and falling heavily.

"slow," he rasped, trying to steady your movements.

"slow, baby. fuck."

but you weren't listening. you leaned forward, your palm grasping his chin, forcing his head up to meet your gaze.

"you're gonna knock the fuck out of him tomorrow," you whispered, your lips grazing his as you continued to ride him, keeping him deep, squeezing around him.

his lips twitched into a lazy, hooded smirk, a breathy huff leaving him. "this pussy 'bouta knock me out next," he muttered.

you laughed softly, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips, feeling the way he shuddered beneath you. it didn't take long after that-his grip tightening, hips stuttering up into yours, a string of curses and your name leaving his lips as he came, head tilting back, body relaxing completely beneath you.

you took a moment to catch your breath before slipping off of him, settling beside him, your cheek resting against his chest. a comfortable silence filled the room, the only sounds being his steady breathing.

when you lifted your head to glance at him, his eyes were already shut, mouth parted slightly, knocked out.

you shook your head with a small smile, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw before whispering,

"good luck tomorrow, baby."

but he was already deep in sleep.

@ sosasturns

sosas 💬’s : WWWHO GOT THE BADDEST PUSSY ON THE PLANETTT. like this blurb? want more? sound off in my inbox! requests r open

“sosa mafia” taglist: @submattenthusiast @sophand4n4 @secretlocket @mrsdillonx @ch6rm @sweetrelieef @gabri3la-sturns @inspiredangel @sturn777 @et6rnalsun @faiyaz555 @whore4mattsturniolo @courta13 @katie-tibo @ifwdominicfike @raesturns @adoremattsturns @conspiracy-ash

[luvvictoria]

First Impressions

+ pairings. simon "ghost" riley x f!reader

+ tags. romance, heavy (?) angst, slow-burn, action-packed military romance with angst and tension

+ summary. A skilled Air Force pilot is assigned to provide air support for a mission alongside Task Force 141, specifically working with the infamous Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley. You immediately feel the tension in the room, as Ghost is cold, distant, and unapproachable. Despite the pilot's efforts to be professional, it’s clear that Ghost doesn’t trust easily, especially not outsiders. The mission itself is simple — clear the skies while the ground team breaches a weapons facility — but the dynamic between you and Ghost is far from smooth. Your mutual dislike is evident.

+ materialist ; next part.

+ a/n. Reblog with your favorite line! It would help me to grow my account !! Thank you in advance. Thank you so much for your support ! It means very much to me! Also if you want to take a little peek at the next chapter here is my ko-fi !!

Task Force 141’s briefing room smelled of burnt coffee and sweat. It was the kind of stale air that clung to your skin and made your throat feel like it was coated in ash. The kind of air you had grown accustomed to on long missions, though nothing about the situation in front of you felt familiar.

You had barely stepped inside when you felt it — eyes boring into you like lasers. You didn’t have to look to know who it was. Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley. The man was infamous, a ghost in every sense of the word, and everyone who worked with him learned one thing fast: don’t try to get close.

Seated in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, he was every bit as unapproachable as they said he’d be. His iconic skull mask was in place, his body language closed off, as if daring anyone to try and get past the cold exterior. The air around him practically screamed I don’t need anyone but myself. It was the kind of attitude you had always hated. People who acted like they were the only ones who mattered. The lone wolf mentality.

You hated guys like that. The ones who acted like they were the only ones capable of doing their job. The ones who prided themselves on keeping everyone at arm’s length, hiding behind walls of silence and intimidation. It wasn’t that you were a stranger to soldiers like him. Hell, you’d worked with your share of them in the past. But Ghost? He was different. He was untouchable.

You squared your shoulders, taking a step forward and offering a firm, steady greeting, “Lieutenant Riley.”

He didn’t stand or offer any sort of acknowledgment beyond the briefest of nods. The words that came out of his mouth were clipped, as if he couldn’t be bothered. “Pilot.”

His voice was rough, like gravel under your boots, and the way he said it made it clear he was already annoyed by your presence.

Yeah. This was going to be fun.

You took a seat at the table, eyeing him for a moment. The silence between you two felt thick and uncomfortable, but you didn’t care. You were here to do your job, and nothing was going to stand in the way of that. Not even the infamous Ghost.

Before either of you could exchange another word, the door to the briefing room swung open with a force that rattled the walls. Captain Price, as always, looked like he had been born in a battlefield. His voice had the weight of a man who had seen it all. He stormed in, boots thudding against the floor, a mission file clutched in his hands. The moment he entered, everyone straightened, their focus snapping to him without question. Price wasn’t someone you ignored.

“Alright, listen up!” He slammed the mission file onto the table with a force that made the papers inside rustle. “We’ve got a mission to execute. A weapons facility deep in hostile territory. The ground team will breach and clear the place; air support will provide the cover we need. That means you, Captain,” he said, nodding at you, his gaze unflinching.

You nodded back, your stomach tightening just a little. Simple enough. The mission was straightforward — clear the skies, keep the enemy away, let the ground team do their thing. You had done it countless times. It wasn’t the mission itself that had your nerves a little on edge. It was the man sitting across from you.

“Any problems?” Price’s eyes scanned the room, taking in each of the team members. His gaze lingered for a moment on you, and then on Ghost. But neither of you said anything.

“No, sir,” you replied, your voice steady, though you couldn’t stop the way your fingers gripped the edge of your seat. You weren’t exactly a stranger to these kinds of situations, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong.

Price’s gaze slid to Ghost then, who grunted in response but didn’t speak. The tension between the two of them was palpable. It was like they were communicating without saying a word, an unspoken understanding that you weren’t a part of. Ghost didn’t even look up at Price, as if he was too busy running through the mission in his head. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was already preparing for the worst.

“We move out in two hours,” Price continued. “Make sure you’re ready. Ghost, you’re the point man. I’ll leave the rest of the details to you two.” He nodded at both of you before turning on his heel and walking out of the room without another word.

You glanced at Ghost again, but this time, there was something different in his eyes. A flicker of something. It was so brief, you almost convinced yourself you imagined it. But for the first time since you entered the room, you felt like he was acknowledging you in some way. Maybe it was the way his jaw tightened, or how his gaze seemed to linger just a little longer than necessary.

You weren’t sure, but you knew one thing for sure: this wasn’t going to be easy. You were going to have to prove yourself to him. Everyone knew that working with Ghost meant earning his trust, and trust wasn’t something he gave out freely.

The room emptied out soon after Price left, and you found yourself alone with Ghost. The silence stretched between you like a thick rope, taut and ready to snap at any moment.

“Look, I don’t know what you’ve heard about me,” you finally spoke, your voice cutting through the quiet. “But I’m here to do my job. Just like you.” You knew you were walking a fine line. You didn’t want to provoke him, but you needed to make it clear. You weren’t intimidated. Not by him. Not by anyone.

Ghost didn’t respond right away. He kept his eyes forward, scanning the mission files Price had left on the table. His fingers brushed over the edges of the papers, but his mind was somewhere else — lost in his own thoughts. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke.

“Just keep your head in the game. Don’t get in my way,” he muttered, voice low, but there was a certain finality to it. A warning, maybe. Or maybe just his way of setting the boundaries. You weren’t sure.

You couldn’t help but smirk. “Don’t worry, Ghost. I’m used to flying solo too.”

At that, his head snapped toward you, his eyes darkened behind that damn mask. “We’ll see about that.”

And just like that, the challenge was set.

As you walked out of the briefing room, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this mission was going to change everything. You had a hunch that, somehow, you and Ghost were going to collide in ways you hadn’t anticipated. You didn’t know what it was going to look like, but you were certain of one thing — it wouldn’t just be the mission that made this complicated.

It was him.

It was always going to be him.

[bussolares]

── MOUTH SORE.

ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡ 양정원 x fem! reader content idol-au established elationship au inspired by the video of jake and jungwon suffering due to their mouth sore ✿ warning this was not proofread and wrote in one sitting. . .!? ˃ᴗ˂ wc 564 𖦹 mlist and tag list

note. so uh, i know i've been pretty inactive on this blog (mostly it's because i'm more active in my NSFW enha blog-) but i got a sudden motivation to write for jungwon after watching bro and jake suffering from their mouth sores LMAO. sorry if this is short because i don't know what else to write.

“No.” 

“Baby—” 

“I said no. No means no,” you interrupted, cutting your boyfriend off, warily backing away whenever he tried to approach you. Your eyes were fixated on the bottle of medicine he held in his right hand and a cotton bud in his left hand. 

“I am not putting medicine on it,” you protested, only for your back to hit something firm. You glanced behind to see Heeseung standing behind you. Before you could protest, he wrapped his arms around you, easily carrying you over to a chair. 

“Lee Heeseung, don’t! Let me go or I’ll kick your balls!” You shrieked, flailing your limbs like a frantic chicken but his strength easily overwhelmed yours. The eldest member laughed, plopping you down on the chair. 

You tried to get up but he was faster, typing your wrists behind and against the chair, locking you in place. Normally, you would’ve made a remark about your current position but you were filled with nothing but pure fear and dread for what’s to come. The other members were more than amused with your predicament. Jake and Riki had whipped out their phones, already filming as they giggled nonstop. 

“Look, we can talk about this. How about I buy you anything you want and you let me go? How does that sound?” You pleaded, trying to free yourself but it was futile. 

Jungwon sighed, now standing right before you with an expectant look on his face. “You need to get your mouth sore treated or it won’t go away. Unless you want to continue living with the pain then go ahead.” 

You scowled, muttering a string of curses under your breath and reluctantly opened your mouth wide enough for the other to see. Jungwon leaned closer, narrowing his eyes to see better. Your shoulders instinctively tensed, mentally bracing yourself for the pain. But no matter how prepared you are, you visibly jumped in your seat the moment you felt the sting. 

“Fuck!” You exclaimed, cursing at the top of your lungs. You kicked out your legs—a poor attempt to distract yourself from the lingering pain. You were aware of how everyone’s eyes were on you now but you didn’t care. 

“Alright, one more time and then you’re done,” Jungwon encouraged, but his words had the opposite effect. 

“Yang Jungwon, I hope you know I’ll find you after my last breath,” you warned him, opening your mouth for the second time. 

“Stop being dramatic, you won’t die,” he light-heartedly rolled his eyes, gently dabbing the tip of the cotton bud on the exact same spot. 

Just like before, shockwaves of excruciating pain hit you like a lightning bolt. You swore you nearly passed out from it. Heeseung moved to untie your wrists and the moment you were freed, you dropped to the ground and slammed your fists on it, to distract yourself from the pain. When you were done, you laid there, limbs spread out like a starfish. 

“(Name), get up. The floor’s dirty,” Jungwon chided, reaching out his hand towards you. You accepted his help, allowing him to pull you up. He pressed kisses all over your face, ignoring the fake gagging sounds Riki made at the display of affection. 

“You’re really brave for doing it. I’m proud of you,” he murmured. His words made you smiled, as you buried your face in his chest and hugged him. 

[daryltwdixon]

Summary: fluffy, domestic grumpy Joel drabble—he finds you after a trail ride with Ellie, acting all huffy like you were gone for days instead of a few hours. But for all his grumbling, he can’t seem to keep his hands off you, sneaking in every touch he can while you untack your horse.

I had this dream last night and after getting done with my morning shift at the barn (yes im a tried and true horse girl) I had to get home to write it asap. I really hope you guys don't mind my random stream of consciousness fluff ideas because I don't plan on stopping

The sun was dipping behind the mountains when you and Ellie rode back into Jackson, the warm glow stretching long shadows across the main road. The ride had been good—brisk air, the scent of pine, the rhythmic drum of hooves against the dirt. Ellie had been chatty, as always, rambling about how she totally could’ve shot that deer quicker if you’d just let her.

You laughed, nudging your horse forward as the gates swung open, and right there—like he had been waiting, though he’d never admit it—was Joel.

His arms were crossed, his mouth set in that usual line of perpetual disapproval, but the second his eyes landed on you, something softened. It was quick, a flash of warmth before he scowled at Ellie instead. “Took you long enough,” he grumbled.

Ellie huffed as she swung off her horse. “We weren’t exactly in a hurry, old man.”

“Obviously,” he muttered, though his gaze flicked back to you, sweeping over you like he was checking for any sign of trouble.

You grinned as you slid off your horse, your boots hitting the ground. Before you could even brush the dust off your pants, Joel was there, his hands bracketing your waist as he pulled you in. His lips pressed firm against yours, warm, familiar, and entirely unapologetic despite the fact that Ellie was loudly gagging in the background.

“Oh my God, can you guys not?” she groaned, dragging her horse toward the stables.

Joel ignored her, his thumb tracing along your cheek as he reluctantly pulled away, his voice gruff but low just for you. “Go get cleaned up. I got the horse.”

You tilted your head at him with a teasing smile pulling at your lips. “I'm perfectly capable to untack my own horse,”

Joel exhaled through his nose, already shaking his head. “Never said you weren't.”

“But I want to.” You met his gaze, steady and unwavering, knowing exactly how this would go.

He held your stare, jaw ticking, that stubborn streak flaring like he was about to tell you to get your ass home. But you saw it—the way his resolve crumbled almost immediately. Joel never really fought you on anything, not when you looked at him like that, not when he’d do just about anything to make you happy.

With a sigh, he muttered, “Stubborn woman,” before stepping back and nodding toward the stable. “Fine. But you brush 'em down. My back ain't gonna put up with that tonight.”

You beamed, looping your arm through his as you led your horse inside, and though he grumbled about how he was too old for this, you saw the way his fingers lingered against yours, like he had missed you the entire time you were gone.

The scent of hay and leather wrapped around you like something familiar and safe as you entered the stables with your horse in tow. Ellie was already tending to Shimmer, loudly talking about how next time she’d take you to a cool spot by the creek she found, but you weren’t paying her much mind. Joel was right behind you, keeping close, as if he still wasn’t convinced you’d made it back in one piece.

You pulled your saddle off and hoisted it over the railing, rolling your shoulders to ease the weight. Joel moved beside you, unclipping the bridle from your horse, his touch careful as he slipped the worn leather over her ears. “Good boy,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing a rough palm against the gelding’s neck. His hand brushed against yours as he stepped past, slow and deliberate, like he was making sure you felt it.

It was such a small touch, but it sent warmth curling up your spine.

“You do the brushin',” he murmured, voice low beside you. “I’ll put this away.”

You huffed a soft laugh. “Delegating, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said, deadpan, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Gotta keep you in line somehow.”

You shot him an unimpressed look. “Oh, that’s what this is? You think you’re in charge?”

Joel gave a low huff, shaking his head as he passed behind you, his hand dragging slow along your waist. “Ain’t no thinkin’ about it, sweetheart.”

You smirked, brushing your horse with a little extra purpose. “Mm-hmm. Keep telling yourself that, Miller.”

That earned you a sharp look, but it didn’t have a single ounce of bite. He moved past you, close enough that his palm landed at your lower back, just for a moment, a quick press of warmth before he was gone. Always touching, always making sure you were there, close enough to reach.

You picked up the brush and started working through your horse’s coat, sweeping in long, even strokes while it grazed on its hay. Joel returned a moment later, settling in the stall, already working the leather cleaner into the seat of the saddle on the railing. But every time you passed near him—every time you shifted to reach another spot—his hands found you. A steadying palm on your hip. A slow drag along the small of your back. Fingers curling at your elbow, thumb smoothing over the inside of your wrist. You wondered if he was even trying to help or just wanted to stare.

“Y’know,” you mused, keeping your tone casual even as heat bloomed under every touch, “you could help.”

“I am helpin’,” he said, completely serious. “Cleanin' yer damn tack. Supervisin’.”

You shot him a look. “Uh-huh.”

Joel exhaled a slow breath, like you were really putting him through it, and finally relented. He stepped behind you, so close his chest pressed against your back as he reached around you to grab another brush. Instead of moving away, he stayed there, caging you in with warm, steady hands.

“Like this,” he murmured, guiding your hand with his own, their weight pressing down together against the horse’s coat.

You swallowed hard, heart knocking against your ribs. “You think I don’t know how to brush a horse, Miller?”

He smirked, his breath warm against the side of your face. “Just makin’ sure.”

You scoffed, but your voice came out softer than you meant it to. He was teasing you, but you could feel the way he lingered, the way he soaked up every second of being this close, like he’d been waiting for it.

Ellie made a disgusted noise from across the aisle. “Are you guys seriously flirting while brushing a horse?”

Joel barely even glanced her way. “Go home, Ellie.”

She groaned, muttering something about old people being gross as she grabbed her stuff and left. But you barely noticed. Joel’s hand was still over yours, fingers brushing slow circles into your skin, like he had no intention of letting go.

“You miss me that much?” you teased, leaning into him just a little.

Joel grunted, pressing a kiss against the top of your head before stepping away to put the brush back. “Every damn minute.”

Your stomach flipped at that, at the gruff honesty of it, no hesitation in his voice. You watched as he opened the stall door, letting your horse into the pasture for the night, his movements slow, easy—so at home here, so at home with you.

When he turned back, his hand slipped around your waist, pulling you gently from the stall. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Let’s go eat.”

You exhaled with a smile, warmth curling through your chest. “Fine. I’m starved.” You hesitated for just a second, then reached for his hand, fingers slotting between his as you squeezed. “And, Joel?”

He glanced down at you, his grip instinctively tightening. “Yeah?”

Your smile turned softer, quieter. “I missed you too.”

Joel didn’t say anything, but his hand slid from your waist up to the back of your neck, tilting your face up to lean into you. He kissed you slow, deliberate—like it wasn’t enough to just hear it, like he needed you to feel it. Needed to remind you, in the only way he really knew how, just how much you meant to him.

Joel Miller was never a man of many words, but the way he held you, the way he kissed you in moments like this...it said more than words ever could.

[dulcescorderitas]

it was late when you stumbled up the gravel driveway to the kent farmhouse, the cool night air doing nothing to sober the haze clouding your mind. the porch light was on, a soft yellow glow that made the house feel impossibly warm and inviting—just like clark. your clark. you could already picture him inside, probably reading or fixing something, being his usual annoyingly perfect self.

“claaaark,” you called, your voice dragging as you pushed the screen door open with more force than necessary. it banged against the frame, and you winced, giggling at your own clumsiness. “clark, where are you? i need youuuu.”

the sound of heavy, familiar footsteps thudded through the house, and a moment later, clark appeared in the doorway, his brows furrowed in confusion. “(y/n)? what are you… are you drunk?”

you flopped against the doorframe dramatically, looking up at him with what you were sure was the most pitiful expression you could muster. “maybe,” you said, dragging the word out. “but it’s not my fault, clark. it’s… it’s tequila’s fault. and also, you weren’t there, and i missed you.”

his frown softened immediately, replaced by something warmer, something that made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol. “you missed me?” he asked, stepping closer and gently taking your arm to steady you. his touch was so solid, so grounding, that you leaned into him instinctively.

“so much,” you whined, pressing your forehead against his chest. “you’re always off saving people or… lifting tractors or whatever it is you do, and i’m just… lonely.”

his arms came up around you, warm and secure, and he let out a soft chuckle. “first of all, i don’t just lift tractors,” he said, his voice full of that teasing affection that made your heart flutter. “and second, you could’ve called me. i’d have come running.”

you tilted your head back to look at him, pouting. “but i wanted to see you. and hug you. and…” your fingers fumbled with the buttons on his flannel shirt, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “and maybe do a little more than just kiss you.”

his blush deepened, spreading up his neck, but his hands stayed firmly on your waist, steadying you. “(y/n), you…” he trailed off, his voice soft but cautious. “you’re not exactly in a clear headspace right now.”

“but i’m so frustrated,” you whined, leaning up to nuzzle into his neck, your lips brushing against his skin. “you’re always running off, being all heroic and perfect, and i… i just want you, clark. right now. please? i want you to…” your voice dipped lower, a sultry edge creeping in despite the slur, “just take me upstairs and fuck me already.”

his breath hitched, and for a moment, you felt his hands tighten on your hips, his resolve wavering. the tension in the air was thick enough to choke on, but then he pulled back slightly, cradling your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “hey,” he said gently, his voice steady and full of warmth. “you know i want you too. you have no idea how much. but not like this, not when you’re like this. you’ll thank me tomorrow, i promise.”

“i won’t,” you grumbled, but your words lacked any real conviction. “you’re too good, you know that? too damn good.”

“and you’re tipsy,” he replied with a small smile, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “but we’ve got forever, remember? there’s no rush.”

“i hate when you’re right,” you muttered, but you let him guide you toward the couch, where he grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around your shoulders.

“get some rest,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “and tomorrow, we’ll talk. properly.”

even in your hazy, frustrated state, you couldn’t help but smile at him. “fine,” you said, sinking into the couch and letting the warmth of the blanket and his presence lull you into a drowsy calm. “but you’re not getting out of this forever thing, kent.”

“wouldn’t dream of it,” he said softly, watching over you as you drifted off, his love for you shining in his eyes.

taglist: @legalmente-loca @soangelbaby

[reidmania]

maiden name | s.reid

summary; reader is struggling to accept having to change her last name, spencer is there to remind her he will love her regardless.

warnings; fem reader, talks about changing names, reader has a healthy childhood (the fact this is a warning?!?) reader grew up with two brothers, fiancee!reader, almost smitten spencer, mentions a childhood dog death, doubts, anxiety, hurt x comfort, a little angst but its pretty sweet overall, happy ending duh! Reader graduated highschool and uni

an; HAI GUYS!! first fic in who knows how long 🔥🔥

Spencer was perfect. The proposal was perfect. Private, safe, romantic. Everything you had always dreamed of and more. He had made sure you had gotten your nails done recently enough, he made sure you loved them. He used Penelope and his female coworkers to figure out exactly what ring you would want. Of course, he already knew, but their reassurance helped.

You didn’t see it coming, but that wasn’t a bad thing. saying yes to spending the rest of your life with Spencer Reid was the easiest thing you had ever done. You never doubted that for a second, the fact you wanted Spencer, everyday, for the rest of your life. To feel the warmth of him when you woke up, or to see the small note on your bedside table when he had to wake up early for work and didn’t want to disturb you.

You wanted his long rambles, and beautiful mind everyday, for as long as the universe would allow you to have it. You wanted his too sweet left over coffee’s when you were running late and he offered you the rest of his so you didn’t have to wait for your own to brew.

You wanted his fears, everything that made him second guess, you wanted every chance to reassure him, you would spend the rest of your life reminding him how perfect he was to you, for you, and you would do so happily.

You were completely enthralled by Spencer from the moment you met him. And he never let you second guess if he felt the same when his actions made the answer clear as day. Spencer was the person you wanted to have a family with, to grow old with.

So why, a week before your wedding did a daunting feeling fill your stomach.

“You alright, baby?” Spencer’s hands gripped your waist gently as he moved past you in the kitchen, where the two of you were supposed to be cooking dinner. This had been routine, something you fell in love with. One night, dedicated to making dinner together. Eating it while watching some documentaries, because to you and him date nights didn’t need to be fancy, just together.

You however had zoned out, probably for the last long while. You had been cutting tomatos but your thoughts had gotten the best of you, leaving you staring at the knife in your hands, but not really looking at it. Now, snapped out of your daze, your head turned to Spencer as he held out a sheet of paper towel for you to wipe your hands.

You took it, pushing a soft smile to your lips. “Sorry- Yeah.” You said, eyes moving to the paper towel as you wiped away the juices the tomato had left. Spencer seemed unconvinced but hummed, moving to wrap his arms around your waist, his chin finding place on your shoulder.

The way his hands slipped under your (his) t-shirt, fingernails drawing gently up and down the skin of your waist, made you smile. The action so gentle and full of everything you needed in that moment. “Talk to me, sweet girl.” The touch a grounding reassurance that Spencer Reid, was not the issue.

And while you couldn’t seem to pinpoint the exact reason, you knew that reason was sitting in your childhood home, at the breakfast bar in the morning, the house smelling sweet with whatever your mother had been cooking for breakfast, the front door left wide open as your brothers came in and out, noise following where ever they went. Their friends coming in to steal a slice of toast, or a piece of fruit before they drove you all too school.

Because your house was the type of house they could do that.

The reason was in the living room on weekends, where you watched your brothers laughing and fighting over the mario kart round they had been playing, while you sat on the floor in between your mums legs while she braided your hair. Your dad due home from work any moment, which would be followed by more chaos and laughter because Saturday nights were movie night.

It was in long car rides full of meaningless bickering with your brothers, then a lot of giggling, pit stops and bathroom breaks. It was in your dad carrying you inside after you fell asleep in the car, which eventually turned into your brothers carrying you inside, when everyone got older and your dad’s back was no longer equipped for carrying body weight, your brothers never minded.

The reason was in your brother’s shared bedroom curled up in one of the beds, both of them on either of your side, all three teary eyed and sniffling because your childhood dog had just passed away and at 15, there was no where safer then in your older brothers arms. The reason was in how they allowed you to sleep on a mattress in their room for a month after, because your room felt too lonely without your dogs company anymore.

The reason was in when you graduated from high school, and your family cheered so loudly you couldn’t hear anyone else. It was in the flowers they gave you, in the hugs — and how it was the exact same when you graduated from university. It was in doing the exact same for your brothers when they graduated.

You hadn’t realised Spencer’s arms were wrapped around you, at some point you shifted, or he shifted you so your face was buried in his chest, cheeks tear stained. His hand on the back of your head, rubbing gently over your hair. Movement so tender it made you realise now Spencer’s arms were the safest place in the world.

“M’ sorry” you sniffled as you pulled away from the hug, the knuckles of your fingers coming to wipe away the wet spots under your eyes that left an uncomfortable residue of everything you were feeling. A shaky sort of breathless laugh leaving your lips, “It’s not a big deal, I’m being dramatic.” You smiled up at Spencer, a sad sort of smile.

He smiled back but you could see the worry in his eyes as he leant over to turn off the stove. He could read you better than you could, well enough to know this wasn’t a conversation you could have while juggling between cooking dinner. His hands then moved to cup your face, thumbs replacing your knuckles as he wiped away whatever was left on your cheeks.

“If its making you cry, its not dramatic, its how you feel.” He mumbled gently, eyes dancing over your face. Before he leant forward, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, the sort of one that made you exhale and melt into him a bit, the soft, lingering one he saved for moments when he knew you needed it. “Talking about it?” He asked, because he knew you, and knew sometimes all you needed was to cry, words weren’t always necessary to deal with it.

But you nodded, sniffling slightly. “Talking about it.” You agreed gently. Back of your hand coming to wipe your nose, followed by another sniffle.

Spencer smiled, “Okay pretty, go sit on the couch and I’ll make you a tea yeah?” He offered gently, you knew it was more because he knew you’d need a minute to mentally prepare what you were going to say, he knew you’d do that better without his gaze on you. He knew you’d be more comfortable on the couch, in the corner where you had a place to sink into in the corner because at least once, you would feel silly and embarrassed. Spencer knew you.

You nodded, offering him a grateful smile to which he responded by scrunching up his nose a little playfully, pressing another two quick kisses against your forehead before letting you go so you could walk to the living room. Which you sat, trying to make sense of your own emotions.

He didn’t take long but you know he waited till you nodded to follow through with entering the living room. He sat close, but not close enough to overwhelm you if your emotions became too much, but still close enough for you to feel he was there, enough to remind you that he was not the reason you were down.

The candle, the one lit in the middle of your coffee table, the same one your mother had lit your entire childhood didn’t help the way you were feeling, but it didn’t make it worse. In a way it was comforting, just no longer comforting enough.

“Did i do something?” Spencer asked, because he knew figuring out what the issue was vaguely would help him help you, and it would help you build the courage to tell him what was going on, and what you needed from him in order to fix this.

You shook your head, smiling gently. “No, Spence. It’s not— Nobody did anything. It’s just me.” You said quietly, his face twisted into something familiar, concern, doubt, worry. You hated that, and he knew you did. When he jumped to conclusions in his mind, overthinking getting the better of him.

“Second guessing?” He asked, his lip then caught in his teeth as he tried not to show how much getting the answer terrified him. You knew what he meant, second guessing the wedding, getting married. You almost wanted to laugh at his lack of understanding of how impossible it was for you to doubt that, when he was him, and oh so perfect, all the time even when he wasn’t — especially when he wasn’t.

You shook your head again, “No.” it was simple, straightforward because it was true.

He sighed something similar to relief, his eyes studying yours for a moment. “You gotta help me out here, angel.” He silently pleaded with you, because he tried not to show it, but you knew your random crying and emotional change was concerning to him, because he cared about you in an all consuming way.

“I don’t— i don’t know how to make it make sense.” You said quietly, looking down to fiddle with the engagement ring on your finger. Not because you were thinking about taking it off, but because it was something safe, and fiddling helped calm you down.

“Word vomit, I’ll put it together.” He said. A familiar line you had heard a hundred times, and he always seemed to prove that.

You sniffled again. “I- I just-“ you sighed, “I want to make it clear I’m not doubting you or us or anything— And its not that I don’t want yours.. Really its not— I like the way it sounds. I love your family.. Your mum- i feel bad i feel this way. I love you and I’m yours forever, I want this, I want you and I can’t wait” You breathed out, then your voice broke and the tears started all over again, a wet lining on your eyes that made your vision blurry and you afraid to blink, “And I’ll really miss my last name.”

You didn’t watch Spencer’s face twist into something a lot gentler and softer, as he shuffled closer on the couch to wrap his arms around you. It was easy to melt into him, so secure and safe and something that made this so difficult. Something you should be excited for feeling so scary and distant, and you really did feel bad you felt this way.

“You don’t have to change it, honey. You- I would take your name a million times if thats what you wanted — You don’t- Oh Im so sorry baby.” He mumbled as he pressed a handful of kisses into your hair, his hand moving to smooth it over in between.

“We could hyphenate it, if that’s what you wanted. God- Honey I don’t care about whose last name we take as long as I have you.” He said gently, voice so soft and honest in made your stomach twist and you wish you could better explain yourself, but you melted into him, letting the tears fall from your eyes.

A shaky breath left your lips, “Its not even so much about the name.” You spoke out quietly, “I guess— Its just my family, my life- Im good with change, y’know I am— I just.. I want yours— I’m just really gonna miss mine.” You breathed out.

He nodded and you could feel it, his hand moving from your head to your lower back.

“Okay— Thats okay. We can wait a while, yeah? You don’t have to change it immediately, we can wait till you have processed it and you’re ready. And if then — You decide you want to keep yours, or you want me to change mine, thats okay too. Sounds like a plan?” He offered.

Perfect Spencer Reid. He never failed you remind you. His patience and gentleness everlasting and unconditional.

“Sounds like a plan.”

[mayanneaa]

always and (not) forever - ʀᴀꜰᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴏɴ.

PAIRING : rafe cameron x reader

SUMMARY : rafe breaks up with you right after you get accepted to stanford university.

WARNING(S) : angst, swearing, not really proofread

A/N : can you tell i just watched to all the boys: always and forever? (divider by @roseraris )

WC : 0.7k

masterlist.

Your heart’s pounding more and more as you click on the email you just got.

It’s late at night, only the crickets outside accompanying your growing emancipation. You squeeze the hem of your pajama shirt, biting your lip almost to blood.

This is the moment you’ve been waiting for forever— the week of acceptance letters from Stanford.

You can’t really remember when exactly you decided that a university across the whole country was good for you. It just… happened.

Your boyfriend, Rafe, wasn’t particularly excited for you to study so far away since he wanted to go to the one in-state. You managed to convince him that you’ll be well.

The email is long, but after the first words, you don’t even bother reading more. You got in.

A scream escapes your lips, quickly muffled by your hands. You sit there wide-eyed, the faint light of your laptop’s screen falling on your face.

“Oh my God.”

You immediately grab your phone, trembling fingers dialing Rafe’s number. He answers faster than the first ding.

“What’s up, baby?” His voice’s a little raspy and low as if he was falling asleep.

“I got into Stanford,” you whisper, the words feeling unreal once they leave your mouth. “Can you believe it, Rafe?”

There’s a silence, followed by a hum. “That’s… great. I mean, you’re happy, right?”

“Yeah, of course!”

There’s a silence— a moment where you can let your emotions cool off a bit, followed by Rafe clearing his throat.

“Actually… Can we meet?”

You knit your eyebrows. His voice is steady but distant. Something you haven’t heard in a while. “Like, right now?”

Rafe hums in response, and you feel the confusion bubbling up. “Well, if you want to you can come over, but be quiet. My parents are asleep.”

“I’ll be there in five.”

You hang up the phone, your hand lingering as you glance at the laptop screen.

Was Rafe overthinking this whole ‘distance’ thing once again?

You’ve already told him a million times that it will work out. So why the sudden change of mind?

You slip your feet into your slippers and grab a hoodie you throw on on the stairs.

The light from Rafe’s motorcycle flashes through the windows, a quiet buzz filling the natural silence. You quickly open the door and get outside, a chilly breeze hitting your bare legs.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, crossing your arms on your chest.

Rafe takes off his helmet and looks at the ground. “I think we should break up before you go to Stanford.”

You grimace, scrunching your nose. “What are you talking about? Rafe, we’ve been through this. I know it’s hard to be this long distance, but we can do it—”

“No.” The word comes out of his mouth so quickly, you gasp under your breath. “Honestly, how do you see that? Going from what we are now, from me getting to your door in five fucking minutes to seeing each other once God knows how much time?”

“But… you agreed to that earlier…”

“I was wrong,” Rafe says as quietly as a whisper, his voice cracking. “I’m not going to watch it all fall apart in two, four, or even six months. It’s better if we just end it now.”

You squeeze your arms and clench your jaw so tight it almost hurts.

How dare he just stand there, not even looking at you, as your life seems to split in two?

“Don’t say that, Rafe. You don’t mean it…” You say, your voice is small, but you know better than this. Rafe doesn’t just say things.

“I do.”

Two words. Those two words were enough to let the tears pushing onto your eyelids fall.

“Are you serious? After all we’ve been through, you leave me because of some stupid belief that we will not make it?” You sigh, anger spilling out with each breath you take.

“Go, Rafe. I don’t want to see your face.”

He inhales sharply as if you just slapped him. Maybe you should’ve done that. Instead, you turn on your heels and storm into the house, not giving Rafe another glance.

All you hear is the engine running, and the quiet sound of your heart breaking.

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