#ivory drabbles | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

harryspet · 3 months ago

Text

rough hands, soft chains [4] r. cameron

[warnings] dark!rancher!rafe x bimbo!cowgirl!reader, arranged marriage, rancher au, manipulation, size difference, jealousy, DUBCON, oral sex, rafe is HUGE, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

a/n: I posted this drabble about readers' state of mind at the end of chapter 3 if you'd like read it before this chapter :)

In which everything is perfect, it's you and Rafe’s wedding shower, and nothing could possibly go wrong.

word count: 5.5k

rough hands, soft chains masterlist

“I hate this shit,” Rafe grumbled, fumbling with the engraved silver buckle that adorned his belt. You thought he looked handsome. His shirt was crisp and white, his leather blazer a deep charcoal with subtle western embroidery, and his dark-wash jeans looked expensive but well-worn enough to look natural on him. He looked like the perfect cowboy to you. He’d sat his deep brown hat on the edge of your freshly made bed before he plopped down next to it, “We should stay up here. Have Wheezie bring us food.”

"But it's our wedding shower," you murmured absentmindedly, your focus fixed on the precise sweep of your mascara wand. Each coat was deliberate, just enough to make your eyes stand out, but not so much that it overwhelmed the rest of your look.

“I never would’ve agreed to let Rose plan this if I-I …. if I knew there had to be an engagement party, bridal shower, wedding shower, and a rehearsal dinner before we even got to the actual wedding.”

“But you only get married once, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, baby,” Rafe continued, waving a hand dismissively, “But that’s not the point.”

You spent another five minutes adding blush and bronzer, then you spent a full ten minutes doing your lips, and you topped it off with a fine mist, locking everything into place. Your armor for the day. Rafe had begun pacing but that wasn’t out of the norm, “How do I look?” You asked when you finally revealed your carefully designed look to match the dress you and Sarah had bought together.

The dress was made of delicate lace, an ivory color, that gave a hint of the skin beneath. The bodice was fitted, hugging your curves, strapless and the skirt flowed softly from your waist, ending above your knees. It was completely romantic, in your opinion, and Sarah had begged you to get it.

At first, Rafe said nothing. His expression shifted, his brow knitting together, lips pressing into a firm line. His eyes locked onto you, dark and unreadable. He scratched at the back of his head, shifting his weight from foot to foot, a sign that something was brewing beneath his surface.

“Uh,” Rafe started, his eyes going wide, “Fuck …yeah, baby, you look fucking gorgeous.”

You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your face, glossy lips pulled into a curve. You walked closer and Rafe placed his hands on your hips, “You think so?” You batted heavy eyelashes up at him, placing your hands on his chest. You felt his heart beating fast beneath your palm.

“Don’t do that,” Rafe smirked, leaning down until his breath was fanning over your face, “I’ll keep you up here, I will. Tie you down to the bed.”

“That will mess up my makeup.”

“Well, I was going to mess up your makeup either way. You can decide if it’s before or after the party.”

He didn’t wait for your response, leaning down to peck your lips. It was brief but soft and warm. You giggled when you opened your eyes, finding his lips glossy in the same shade of pink as yours.

You liked the version Rafe you’d gotten to know over the last two weeks. It made your heart race with anxiety to even think about him pinning you down on Ward’s desk. But your heart filled up when you thought about laying next to Rafe everyday after that. You felt broken, barely able to pull yourself out of bed, but he stayed with you. He made sure you ate, kept Rose from prying into your business, and brought you flowers nearly every other day, filling the surface of your antique dresser. You did your best to care for them, but only now were they beginning to wilt.

He wiped his lips with the sleeve of his suit jacket and you saw a bit of blush rise in his cheeks.

You pulled from him, crossing the room to your closet. You picked out the strappy heels that you’d also bought with Sarah. You came back to sit on your bed, leaning down to lace them onto your feet. Rafe rounded your footboard, hand hanging on the wood and upholstery.

“I’m excited,” You admitted, “I’m, like, nervous still. But it’s exciting.”

You glanced at him, finding his eyes fixed on your exposed legs, his eys trailing up to your thighs. It was a hungry look. He’d grown kinder but his appetite was still there. Part of you worried that his darker side might return, that he couldn’t contain his true nature, and it was a matter of time before he snapped. He held you tight at night, his fingers slipped into the front of your panties, oftentimes when you were still drowsy in the morning. He took your orgasms from you, as he always did, but he hadn’t pushed you again like that day two weeks ago.

“You should be excited,” He said, “We’re very close to life being exactly as it should be.”

You gave him an agreeing look. A honeymoon in Florida and then you and Rafe would have a whole house to yourself. A home. You didn’t know what you wanted from life before you met Rafe. You knew you wanted your Dad back but since you couldn’t have that, following his wishes would the next best thing. Maybe this was the best thing your father could’ve done for you.

“I’m excited to meet Kiara,” You said, finishing strapping your feet into your heels. You stood, taller than before, but still much shorter than Rafe.

“Kie?” Rafe’s brow raised and your heart stumbled, afraid that you had made a mistep, “What do you mean?”

Sarah had explained that Rafe didn’t necessarily like her friends but you also understood that Rafe didn’t like many things in general. You'd thought hard about it once. He liked you and Wheezie. He liked whiskey. He liked movies where guys raced fast cars. He liked riding his horse and working with his Dad. You couldn't come up with anything else.

"Sarah’s bringing her as a date," you said, your voice turning a little unsure. "And, um, I think her family is, like… catering the wedding? I think?"

You could feel him thinking deeply, “Interesting.” Was all he said.

That sounded neutral, right? Neutral was good. Safe.

You smiled, encouraged. "Oh! I was thinking it’d be fun if she came to my bachelorette too! So it’s not just me and Sarah."

“What about Wheeze?” He asked, voice deep and concerned.

“Oh,” You started, “Sarah thinks she’s too young.”

“Sarah,” he spoke his sister’s name like it was a cruse, “You know she’ll be pissed. And I don’t think Sarah should be planning anything for your day that isn’t appropriate for my little sister. I thought you guys were going to the spa or something.”

You took in all his words, beginning to feel guilty about not including Wheezie, “I can talk to Sarah,” You said, “I just don’t know what most girls do. Sarah seemed to have good ideas about fun things to do. And she said the spa ideas was, um, boring.”

“Sarah’s idea of fun should not be your idea of fun.”

Your brows furrowed. Now you were confused, “But …” Despite the time you had spent with him, you’d yet to learn how to successfully argue with him, “What’s my idea of fun then?”

Sometimes you liked when Rafe filled in all of your blanks. It kept you from thinking too much and overthinking always led to shallow breaths and watery eyes.

Rafe exhaled, like he’d already worked this all out in his head. “Something that involves Wheezie.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an answer. You nodded automatically. “Okay.”

It was a simple enough request. You’d just have to tell Sarah. And really, what was there to do in town, anyway? It wasn’t like you had a million options.

The backyard stretched endlessly, turing into rolling hills, and groves of towering pines. Edison bulbs twinkled above your head, shining light down onto long, wooden banquet tables. Dinner was over. Everyone was standing now, drinking glasses of wine, and talking in small groups. The Cameron’s knew a lot of people. People you didn’t even recognize from living here all your life. Rafe explained that they were business partners. A live band, one man with an acoustic guitar, the other with a fiddle played softly from a wooden platform.

You were at Rafe’s side for a majority of the night. A photographer also seemd to follow the two of you everywhere. Under Rose’s direction, you took posed photos under a floral arch with white roses, Montana wildflowers and fresh greenery. In one, Rafe tilted your chin up, kissing you so deeply that you thought your heart might explode.

The sky had darkened, the party continued to stretch into the night, and Rafe’s attention began to wander. He’d made it to his fifth bud light and now he was loudly talking into his friend, Kelce’s ear, his hand having left your hips moments before.

You decided to look for Sarah, slipping away because Rafe wasn’t paying attention to you anyways. Some people walked up to you to congratulate you, some to offer condolences, and some just stared.

You weren’t sure what to say to any of them. The words tangled somewhere in your throat, so you just smiled. Small, pretty, vacant. You scanned the crowd, searching for Sarah’s familiar silhouette, but all you found were unfamiliar faces, whispering in hushed voices as their eyes lingered on you just a second too long.

Once you made your way back inside, shuffling through servers in their bright white shirts, you found Wheezie standing in the foyer, her eyes fixed down on her phone, “Wheezie, have you seen Sarah?” You asked and she barely looked up.

“She left.”

You stomached dipped, “What do you mean?”

“Kiara and her walked out like twenty minutes ago. Think they went to the barn.”

“Oh," You tried to hide your disappointment with a small grin, “Why?”

“I don’t know why Sarah does anything she does,” Wheezie tilted her head, studying you, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna go look for them.”

“Alone?” She inquired, “Rafe’s gonna come looking for you.”

“He’s busy, I think,” You said, “I’ll be back in like ten minutes anways!”

Although Wheezie didn’t look convinced, she didn’t stop you either. She simply hummed, shifting her focus back to her phone. You walked out the front door, feeling the cool night air on your skin. You decided to leave your heels behind, knowing they’d just get stuck in the mud. Rafe would notice you were gone, eventually, but still your feet carried you forward.

You recalled the first night you were here, when Rafe walked with you to the barn, and spread your legs on the floor of it. The other building, farther off in the distance, was the ranch hand’s quarters. You remembered that too.

You heard them before you saw them. Laughter. Sarah’s was unmistakable and you’d gotten used to John B’s voice as well but you hesitated at the barn’s open doors when you heard an unfamiliar male voice. Slowly, you peered inside. You spotted Sarah sitting on a bale of hay next to a girl with light brown skin and curly hair. Sarah had an entire bottle of wine in her hand and sipped from it casually.

Across from them stood John B. and a dark-skinned boy with a lean build and soft, deep brown eyes. Next to him was a boy whose sun-kissed blonde hair was kept in check by a weathered white cowboy hat. His skin was tanned and his smile was wide with mischief.

A strong smell hit your nose too, earthy and smoky. You assumed it came from the cigarette in John B.'s hand, or at least, you thought it was a cigarette.

It was too late to abort, because the blonde had spotted you and, in turn, all eyes turned to you. You wandered into the light of the barn awkwardly, your eyes meeting Sarah’s, her brown one’s lighting up with excitement, “Y/N!” She shouted, handing the wine bottle over to Kiara, and crossing the space to get to you. Her arms wrapped around your waist as she pulled you forward, “Guys, this is Y/N! Y/N, these are my friends I was telling you about.”

The group looked you over with curious eyes, their smiles friendly but tinged with cautious skepticism, as if still unsure of what to make of you.

She pointed them all out. Pope, JJ and Kiara. John B., you knew, of course. “Welcome,” John B. said.

“Hi,” You waved.

“You look so good!” Sarah exclaimed and you smelt the wine on her breath, “I was telling everyone how beautiful you are!”

“Thank you,” You smiled faintly, glancing over at Kiara, who gave you a soft, welcoming wave, “...Um, how come you guys didn’t come to the party?”

“Oh–” JJ started but Pope quickly interjected.

“It was a little too crowded,” Pope said, offering you an apologetic smile.

You nodded, accepting it, but your eyes couldn’t help but find JJ’s. His gaze was intense, but not in the way Rafe’s could be. It was the kind of stare that took you in without any hidden motive, no pressure. Just curiosity.

“Yeah,” Sarah chimed in, trying to ease the moment. “But I’m glad you came out here.”

“Rafe didn’t follow you, did he?” Kiara asked and you felt the tension that grew between the five of them.

“No,” You shook your head, “I didn’t say anything,” you assured them, looking at each of them with wide, innocent eyes.

“Good,” Sarah said in approval and your mood lightened.

JJ, however, seemed unfazed by the tension. He pushed past Pope, whose gaze had hardened slightly, as if issuing a warning that went unnoticed. JJ’s eyes were back on you, and his voice was playful as he moved closer, his grin widening. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Really?” You blinked, feeling a little taken aback.

“Yeah, word gets around,” JJ replied, his eyes scanning you again, like he was memorizing your every detail. You fidgeted with the edge of your lace dress, “And now I see why. You're hard to miss.”

“JJ,” John B. and Pope spoke at the same time.

“What? I was just about to offer our guest some refreshments,” He turned to look at them but his gaze was fixed back on you soon. He gestured to the makeshift bar sitting on top of one of the stall gates. A bottle of clear liquor, a six-pack of beers with only two beers left, and a dirty shot glass, “She’s the bride. Gotta make sure she has a good time.”

“You don’t have to drink anything,” Sarah said.

“She should at least have a shot,” JJ argued, “It’s her party, after all.”

You hesitated, but something about JJ’s easy confidence made the thought of refusing feel wrong. You didn’t want to come off as boring.

“JJ, don’t be weird,” Kiara spoke, sounding annoyed, “That’s Rafe’s fiance.”

“Don’t you think I know that? Big, bad, Rafe. I’m shaking in my boots,” You didn’t understand and your eyes darted between all of them before they landed back on JJ, “What do you say, Y/N? Celebratory shot?’

It was just a shot. Nothing crazy. Except you’d forgotten to eat in all the commotion and attention, and the alcohol immediately went to your head. Plus, it burned your throat. You coughed but JJ’s smiled wider, making you think that you’d done something right. Everyone else was watching you with interest.

Moments later, he was pouring you another and cracking open the rest of the beers, handing one to Kiara and then to Pope, “To new friends?” He raised his glass and you glanced around as everyone raised their respective glasses.

“To new friends,” The others answered reluctantly and tilted back their drinks. You downed the second shot, wincing as it went down, smoother than the first one but still awful.

Surprisingly, you heard Kiara laugh, “You’re brave for drinking out of that glass, girl.”

"You’re more fun than I expected, cowgirl," JJ said with a teasing grin, his voice low and smooth.

“That’s mean, JJ.” Kiara said.

“Seriously, you’re cool, how did you end up engaged to Rafe?”

"JJ," John B. warned, his voice a little sharp as he glanced at him.

To your surprise, Pope, who’d been mostly quiet up until now, chimed in with a serious look. “No, I think it’s a valid question.”

You froze for a second. It wasn’t like you could just come out and say, well, it’s complicated and totally a mess. You didn’t even know what was going on with Rafe half the time. You decided to shrug it off, “I’m still figuring things out,” You tried to sound casual, though your heart was pounding, “I mean, we’re figuring things out together.”

“Enough interrogating, guys,” John B. said and you were grateful.

You’d been gone for too long, anyways, “I should get back to the party. It was really nice meeting ya'll.”

“We’ll see you around then, Y/N,” Pope smiled at you and you couldn’t help but feel warm. Or maybe that was just the alcohol.

“Yeah,” you agreed. You turned to Kiara, “Kiara, I hope you can come to my bachelorette.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” She spoke in a way that made you think she might be coolest girl you’d ever met.

“Alright,” As you walked pass, Sarah grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze. The warmth of her touch felt like a promise, like you’d just been accepted into something new, something different than what you were used to.

When you were back in the night, clear of the barn doors, you heard Pope’s voice loudly erupt, “Are you a fucking idiot, JJ?”

Back inside the house, you searched for Wheezie, wanting her to break the news to Rose that you wanted to retire for the night. The party could certainly go on without you seeing as you knew barely anyone here. Your eyes felt tired, and honestly you felt a little bit wobbly, “Wheezie,” You whispered, as you peaked around corners and opened all the downstairs doors, hoping to find her on her phone, “Wheeeeezie.”

You made your way upstairs next, deciding to check her room. The teenager’s room was completely empty and you let out a tired huff. You just needed to lay down for a second. As soon as you turned on your heel, Rafe appeared, tall legs hurrying up the stairs.

“Y/N,” His voice boomed as heavy as his steps, “Where you been?”

You tried to steady yourself but you stumbled backwards, “What’s going on, baby?” He caught you quickly, his voice softening. He held your waist, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You leaned against the wall, “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I just …wanted to get away from the party,” You spoke slowly, your head swimming, “I’m fine. Just sleepy.”

Rafe studied you for a moment longer, his brows furrowing as if piecing something together. He looked down at your feet, “You went outside. Where’s your shoes?”

“Downstairs somewhere. I guess I lost them,” You smiled weakly.

“Hmm,” He leaned down to kiss your lips and you accepted, your tongue dancing with his.

He pulled away, his eyes darkening, “You taste like vodka,” he murmured, his voice low and quiet. “Cheap vodka.”

“It’s a party, right?” You asked softly, “Our party.”

“I know they weren’t serving whatever you’ve been drinking. Tell me, what have you been doing? And with who?”

“I feel like … I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

His hand reached up, cupping your face with surprising tenderness. “I won’t be mad at you,” he said, his voice reassuring, though his eyes betrayed something darker. “But I need to know, darlin’. And I need you to be honest.”

You faltered, struggling with your words. “I don’t want you to be mad at anyone else either. Can we just go to bed?”

His jaw tightened, his patience wearing thin. “Sarah,” he muttered, his voice low. “She gave it to you, didn’t she?”

“Wha–” You froze as Rafe’s jaw tightened, “It wasn’t her–”

“And you smell like fucking weed,” His face scrunched up and his voice turned low and painful.

"I smell like... a weed?" you asked, confused, the words coming out in a dazed haze as you tried to process his words.

“Fucking Pogues,” Rafe cursed and you yelped when his fist pounded against the wall beside your head, “Stay here. I’ll deal with this.”

You reached out to grab his arm, your fingers trembling against tense muscles beneath his skin, “Wait. No, no, no, stay here with me.”

He grabbed you next, and lifted you off your feet as he dragged you across the hallway. You tried to pull away, to get him to let you go, but his grip tightened. "Rafe, please!" you cried, struggling to free yourself, but it was futile. His hold on you was ironclad.

"Stay the fuck in here. I’ll be right back," he commanded, his voice colder than ice as he forced you into his room. The door slammed shut and then there was a wall between the two of you. The click of the lock followed and you stumbled back, your heart racing.

You heard his footsteps retreat, a few heavy thuds followed by the faint sound of him calling out to someone. You pressed your ear against the door, straining to hear anything, but it was quiet for a moment.

You hurried towards the window, pressing your palms against the cool glass as you looked down toward the front of the house. Through the dim light spilling from the porch, you could see a trio of men walking in a purposeful, determined line away from the house.

He’ll be right back. You doubted that. You should’ve laid down then. But you did your best to undo the zipper of your dress, needing more room to breathe, before you wandered into Rafe’s closet. You pushed a mountain of clothes to the side, settling in the corner, and cried your makeup away.

How did you manage to mess up everything with Sarah, her friends, and Rafe all in one night? Why did you have to ruin everything?

It wasn’t the first time Rafe had blown up at Sarah. She often stood in the way of everything he wanted in life. Ward loved her more than him, for some unknown reason that baffled Rafe the more he tried to understand it. This night was about him and you and yet Sarah and her pogue friends had to crash their party. Rafe couldn’t have one thing that was just his. Now she was trying to corrupt you, his sweet and clueless bride.

“Where’s the rest of your friends?” Rafe asked when he and his friends found just John B., Kiara and Sarah in the barn, “They run? Huh?”

Sarah rolled her eyes, hard, “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t mess with me, Sarah.”

“What? Did you snort too many lines tonight?”

Rafe imagined his hands around her throat. He squeezed his fist tight, examining the scene before him, assessing what exactly he could get away with in this moment. Soon, someone would notice that both Rafe and his future bride had disappeared from their own party. He was on thin ice with Ward already.

Kiara shifted, stepping in front of Sarah like some kind of shield. “Back off, Rafe.” Her voice was steady, but he could see the way her hands clenched into nervous fists.

Rafe let out a cold laugh, pointing straight at his sister, his gaze razor-sharp. “I’ll make every last one of your little Pogue friends miserable, you hear me?” His voice was low, dangerous, a promise rather than a threat. “I’m gettin’ the company, the money, the influence, every goddamn thing. Cameron Ranch pays all their fucking bills, and you know it. You think Heyward’s could run without us? Kie, your parents buy their beef from us, same as every other rich asshole in this town. Y’all survive because we let you…and you …”

Rafe turned towards John B., “You know better. No one else in this town would have you on with your history. And your friend, JJ, if I find out he put one finger on her. I’ll fucking kill him.” His voice dropped to a whisper, seething with a quiet rage.

It was a promise. His blood boiled at the idea of JJ’s eyes on you. He would’ve killed him if the pogue hadn't been smart enough to run. That’s why he left you in his room, he knew he wouldn’t be able to control himself if he saw him.

“That’s enough!” Sarah shouted, her expression twisted in frustration, “Stop, Rafe. You got your point across.”

“Nothing even happened, asshole,” Kiara said.

“Like he should believe that,” Topper scoffed, speaking up, “Dirty pogues.”

“Let it go,” John B. said, “Before you do something you regret, man.”

Rafe nodded, jaw tight. He considered them lucky. Damn lucky. They were on his property, his land, trespassing, he had every right to go after them, “Keep your friends away from Y/N,” Rafe said to his sister, “I’m serious.”

“You can’t control who she’s friends with!”

“I promise you won’t like it if you push me on this one, Sarah,” With one last glance at Sarah, he turned on his heel, heading back toward the house, back toward something far more important, back towards you.

Rose ripped into him, of course, after the happy couple completely abandoned their own wedding shower. He would’ve preferred his father’s yelling over hers. She cornered him in the foyer, before he could climb the stairs, and Rafe started to feel a headache coming on. It was then he remembered the beers and the fact that he was not even close to sober. It wasn’t his fault the night ended in disaster. He’d done his part, networked, kept up appearances, and even posed for a million photos. The Pogues showing up and manipulating his fiance into getting drunk was out of his control.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Wheezie peaking from the bannister upstairs. She was eavesdropping, of course. He apologized to Rose instead of raising his voice. She continued. He apologized five more times. She didn’t accept, he didn’t expect her to. She threw up her hands in exhaustion, said she was going to talk to Ward, and then stormed off.

With a heavy sigh, Rafe climbed the stairs.

His nosy little sister asked, “Why is Y/N crying in your room? She sounds like a kicked puppy.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched. Great.

“Ask Sarah,” Rafe spoke curtly, annoyed. He reached into his pocket for his keys.

“Sarah?”

“Goodnight, Wheezie.” Was all he said before he unlocked his bedroom door, pushed inside, and slammed it shut.

He understood immediately what Wheezie meant by you sounding like a kicked puppy. You weren’t where he expected you'd be but it didn’t take long to narrow down where you were. He gave himself a few minutes to collect himself, bracing for your torrent of emotions, bracing for the anger you probably felt towards him.

Being mad at him would be useless in the end. Rafe had decided the two of your belonged together. He certainly didn’t believe in soulmates but he understood ownership and possession. Whatever it was, the two of you would work for it, because you belonged to him.

He found you, head in your hands, shaking like a leaf. He kicked off his boots, lowered down to the ground, and moved next to you, “Y/N?”

“I’m sorry,” You said immediately, your voice pitiful.

“You’re sorry, baby?” It wasn’t the reaction he expected from you but he leaned into it, “You’re sorry for what?”

“I’m sorry for,” You hiccuped, “For drinking. I don’t know why I did it. I just …”

“You want Sarah to like you,” Rafe filled in your often incomplete thoughts and you finally looked up. Despite the streaked mascara and smudged lipstick, he thought you looked gorgeous.

“Yeah … I shouldn’t, right?” You asked hesitantly, "You know, sometimes it feels like everyone knows what’s going on except me. I think she thinks I’m stupid and she’d be right.. I can’t even take care of myself.”

“Look, I’m not happy with Sarah but I know she doesn’t think that,” Rafe assured you, but made sure to add on, “And you shouldn’t care what she thinks. She hangs out with a bunch of lowlifes. She’s going nowhere. You, baby, have so much potential. So what, you don’t know everything, but you don’t need to take care of yourself. How many times do I have to tell you? That’s my job.”

Rafe watched you nod your head, eyes still watery, “My Dad wanted it.”

“He did,” Rafe agreed, “I don’t like to see you like this …things will be better when we have our own house. Our own family. I know it will.”

“Was she upset?” You wiped your own tears, “When you went out there…”

“You’re too sweet for your own good.”

He was watching you closely now, scanning your body language, gauging whether you were on the verge of a panic attack. This moment, it was an opportunity for him. Somehow, despite everything, he wasn’t the bad guy in this situation. Maybe it was the trust he’d built with you over the last two weeks, maybe it was something else entirely. Either way, he wasn’t about to let it slip through his fingers.

“C’mere,” He reached for you, fingers wrapping around your wrists, guiding you toward him. You shuffled forward onto your knees, letting him pull you closer. His hands slid to your hips, gripping firmly as he positioned you over his lap, your legs straddling his. Now, you were right where he wanted you, face to face, eyes locked, nowhere to hide.

“She was upset,” he admitted, his thumbs smoothing slow circles against your sides. “But not as upset as me.”

You blinked, lips parting slightly.

“It wasn’t just the drinking,” he continued, voice low and steady. “It was who you were drinking with. You were with them. Without me.” His jaw tensed. “Knowing that those dirty Pogues got to look at you, be near you-” He inhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You’re the most beautiful thing in my life. I don’t think it’s selfish to want you to myself.”

Shame flickered across your features.

“I wasn’t thinking,” You murmured and part of Rafe’s mind, the sick part, rejoiced, “I’m so sorry.”

A weak smile tugged at his lips, “I forgive you, baby. I’m not mad anymore. At all. “

He kept his voice reassuring, his words gentle, but his touch was anything but.

“What makes them so bad, Rafe?” You asked curiously, your voice barely above a whisper, “They didn’t look that dirty to me.”

“Not tonight, I don’t want to talk about them,” Rafe ran his hands over your thighs, traveling beneath the skirt of your dress, before he gripped a handful of your ass in his hands, “I wanna teach you something.”

“Mhm,” You hummed as Rafe leaned into your neck, kissing you softly. You were so responsive, even in this fragile state.

“I know how you can make it up to me.”

Rafe felt you tense when you felt it, the growing hardness that was currently being restrained by his zipper. Barely contained. He leaned his head down, just as he moved his hands to your breast. He squeezed tightly, savoring the handful, “Rafe …I-I–I don’t know.”

He did wonder how far he could push you before you couldn’t take it anymore. But he remembered how much further he’d gotten with you being a little more gentle, “Don’t worry,” He assured you, “I’m going to teach you how to use your mouth on me. It won’t hurt at all.”

“It won’t? But …. But it can’t fit in my mouth.”

Patience, he reminded himself.

“I’ll show you,” Rafe pressed his thumb against your soft lips, “Open, baby.”

Rafe saw it in your eyes, the hesitance, the fear but he kept his touch soft. He brushed your tongue, “Suck on my finger,” You closed your mouth around his finger and when he felt your teeth scrape his skin, he added, “But don’t bite. No teeth. That’s lesson number one.”

He moved his thumb slowly in and out of your mouth, allowing you practice. The way your wide eyes were fixed on him, looking for his approval, was probably the sexiest thing he’d seen you do. And you were his, “Good girl, darlin’” he praised, and your lashes fluttered at the words.

He promised to take it slow and was a man of his word. He gave you plenty of practice before the real thing. You were right, he couldn’t fit inside your mouth. Most of him. But he taught you how to hold him, how to stroke him, how to keep touching him in the moments where your mouth got too tired. That was lesson two. Just the tip this time, you could handle that. He had been holding off for two weeks, and it wouldn’t take much.

And when the moment finally came, when his release spilled hot and thick onto your tongue, Rafe taught you lesson number three.

“You never spit, baby,” he murmured, his thumb grazing your swollen lips. “My cum is your reward for all your hard work. You swallow all of it.”

And when you did, although your face scrunched at the unfamiliarity of it, Rafe pressed a slow, claiming kiss against your lips.

hope you enjoyed!!

#rafe cameron #rafe fanfiction #rafe smut #dark fic #rafe obx #black!reader #rafe cameron x black!reader #sarah cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron x reader #jj maybank x reader #pope heyward #john b routledge

876 notes · View notes

poguehearted77 · 7 months ago

Note

Imagine y’all just had the fight of your lives (maybe over his dumb gun or something equally Rafe), but later when you’re lying on opposite sides of the bed, he reaches out and pulls you close and says somthing cute or annoying idk And then, oh my GOD—it’s slow, emotional, and HOT because making up with Rafe would be next-level intense. please i NEEED😫😩

OH MY GOD YES. SOME SWEET RAFE AND EVEN SWEETER MAKE UP SEX AFTER A HUGE FIGHT. NEED IT.

#2 from my drabble game

smut: penetrative sex, some praise, I love you's, unprotected sex

Rafe is in deep shit.

You know that, he knows that-- hell, even your pet beagle, Poppy knew it. For once, she bolted away the moment the front door opened, and your oh-so-handsome, conniving and deceitful boyfriend walked in instead of running towards him.

Rafe is a dead man walking. How ironic would it be if he were to die at your hands with the very same gun he'd promised you he'd gotten rid of.

His body goes rigid when he sees the weapon in your palm. A nervous gulp falls down his throat as he does his best to stand tall. "Where did you get that?" That's what he asks you, he should've never opened his mouth.

You scoff immediately, carelessly angling it around as your upset mannerisms control your arms. "Get it? You mean where did I find it." He doesn't respond which is a wise choice.

"Mr. Montogommery called me earlier, he was looking for you--said you weren't answering your phone. He asked me to leave you a message," You're pacing now, and it made Rafe nervous. You're a little crazy, but so was he. It's why you went so well together.

"Like the good girlfriend I am, I opened your office drawer for a sticky note to leave on your desk, but what did I find? The same gun you told me would never be back in the house, Rafe are you serious?!" Your arms are flailing and he's half-certain he'll catch a stray by the end of the conversation.

He steps towards you with his hands up cautiously, "Baby, give me the gun, and we can talk about this." You snap, "No! Why should I? You don't trust me with it? Why because it's dangerous? Because it could kill you! You're right, Rafe. Why didn't I think of that sooner--oh wait, I did! And you fucking lied to me, Rafe."

Your voice is enraged and bouncing off the ivory-panelled walls of the house but it dies down to a shaky one as tears threaten to spill over the brims of your eyes. "Y/n-" He holds his hand out for you, but you give him the gun instead.

You execute a sharp pivot on the tips of your toes, ready to walk away from him but he finally speaks up and you stop--not turning around, standing still, anticipating. "I'm not getting rid of the gun." It's all he says.

Had you been in the mood, you would've turned around, lounged at him and strangled him, but no, you just kept walking.

Your bedroom is freezing that night, despite it being the middle of summer, and it only gets colder everytime you glance towards Rafe as he gets ready for the bed you begrudgingly shared.

Your expression remains sour, even in your sleep, no matter how far away from your boyfriend you are. There's enough room to fit a full-grown adult between you. The isolation was holding the production of your melatonin hostage, forcing you both to lay awake, backs facing each other but hearts reaching out.

Rafe flips onto his side, staring longingly at the back of your frame. He missed you and you were right in front of him. "Baby," His voice is soft, and the pet name lands on you gently, a testament that your anger has subsided a bit.

You turn over, choosing to lie on your back and face the ceiling. You deem that he's undeserving to see your face at the moment. "I've got another gun in my nightstand." You blamed your miscomprehension on the late hours of the night because surely he did not just say what you think he said.

Rafe can see the way your chest began to rise and fall at a much more shallow pace, he had about five seconds to start explaining before you turned on him. "I told you about my past. I've done some bad things. 'Burying the hatchet' doesn't exist for everyone, and I want to be prepared for anything. When I look at a gun now, it's not a weapon anymore, it's a tool. It's protection."

Your breathing slowed, a little. He takes it as a good sign. "I can't lose you. If something happened to you when I could've prevented it, I'd never forgive myself, and I know you know that." He's right. You did know that. He dedicated his life to you, making sure that you knew that. "I shouldn't have lied about getting rid of it, and I'm sorry."

Your breathing returns to its normal pace. You lay on your side, now facing him. "Fine." Rafe scoots closer to you, a small grin working its way on his lips. "Fine?" You nod, "Yeah, fine. I forgive you, this time, but don't you ever pull some shit like this again or so help me god I will-" He quiets you with a sweet kiss.

Well, it started sweet at least.

Now you're both watching him slide in. Your warm cunt wrapped around his length delightfully. "You're fuckin' perfect, too good f'me." He groans into your ear. His muscular arms cage you in, and you've decided you'd be more than happy to die between them.

Your soft moans bounced off his brawny chest and right back in your face, "Feels so good, Rafe-" Yougaspedp as he picked up the pace, hips rolling into yours for a much deeper angle. Your back arches off the bed slightly as sweat rolls down your back and sticks to the sheets.

It wasn't long before you were both chasing your highs. Rafe always sounded so fucking hot when he was close, his deep groans pitching up to breathless whines when you purposefully clenched around him, threatening him to fill you up unrestrained. Once you came, he pulled out and finished on your heaving stomach, catching your breath.

He doesn't get off of you just yet. He balances himself on one forearm as the other hand comes up to gently move the strands of hair from your face, "I love you," he means it, his eyes say it when his mouth does. "I love you".

1K notes · View notes

wildflowersandvibranium · 23 days ago

Text

Happy Father's Day - Oneshot

Pairing: Dad!Bucky Barnes x Mom!Reader

Summary: a simple fathers day with your four year old daughter Maisy celebrating Bucky!

Word Count: 1.2k+

Content: ALL THE FLUFF and more fluff!

A/N: threw together this short and sweet one shot/drabble at 11pm the day before fathers day hehe hope you enjoy it

I hope you are all having a safe and happy fathers day. Whether you have a dad to celebrate with today or not you are worthy and oh so loved my bbys! <3

Bucky had come home very late last night.

The mission he was leading had run longer than the expected forty eight hours in and out , he and the team ended up tangled in red tape and last-minute evac complications.

By the time he finally got to go home , the world and house was already a steady quiet. The house had been dark-turned off , the soft breathing of sleep echoing faintly from the smaller bedroom down the hall.

He barely remembered the quick shower he managed and then slowly crawled into bed. The only thing that he remembered was his pillow had never felt so welcoming and the blankets were so warm as he lifted them over the two of you, placing a soft kiss to the top of your shoulder and finally closing his heavy eyes.

The following morning into the late morning hours , Bucky was still asleep out cold , face half-buried in the soft pillow and his brown wavy hair a tousled sprawled out mess across his face.

The ivory curtains were still drawn tight , muting all brightness from the semi cloudy summer morning.

Downstairs , you moved quietly but swiftly around your kitchen , your daughter rested on her place on your hip , her tiny arms around your neck and curly brown hair still an uncombed nest atop her small head from deep sleep.

"What do we need next , baby girl?" you whispered , wiping your hands on the nearest tea towel.

Maisy squinted at the wooden tray sitting on the granite counter , her little face scrunched up in concentration as her tiny finger tapped her chin.

"Orange juice!, aaaand berries."

"Good call , chef Barnes."

You placed the very final touches on the tray that contained: cheesy scrambled eggs with a slice of toast shaped like a star (thank you , cookie cutters), a little bowl of strawberries and blueberries with a dollop of whipped cream on them and , the orange juice in Bucky's favorite red mug , with a small folded paper with Maisy's bold , crayon-scrawled handwriting that said "Hap y Fath er Day! !!" complete with a red heart and what looked like a drawing of him , metal arm and all.

With your empty arm , you balanced the tray ; with the other , you carried Maisy right up padding along the stairs.

The door softly creaked open just enough for the two of you to slip quietly inside. The bedroom was still dim , peaceful.

Bucky snoring softly inside.

You nudged the door with your foot. "Ready , Moo?"

Maisy nodded seriously , then leaned toward her dad on the bed and whispered a squeaky , hushed excitement "Hafpy Fadder's Day, Daddy."

He blinked slow and dazed. Then came a frown. A mumble and a sharp inhale.

He turned and squinted up at you both.

And then as quickly as it frowned his face softened into that lopsided , boyish grin that he never showed anyone else but your little family.

You and your daughter were wearing matching smiles and sparkling eyes.

Bucky stared at the pair , still foggy, and tired.

"What... day is it?" he croaked

You sat the tray on his lap gently , beaming. "Father's Day. You forgot, didn't you?"

"I..."

Maisy wriggled free and launched herself into his side , nestling against his ribs. "I made da card! I drawed us! That one's you and me and Mama and the raccoon is my stuffy!"

He rubbed a hand over his eyes, dragging it on his face , laughing under his breath.

"God, I really did forget."

You sat beside him on th4 edge of the bed , and kissed his temple.

"We didn’t. So eat up, soldier. You’ve got a full day ahead of you."

The morning bleeding into the afternoon was slow and sweet. After breakfast and a hot waking shower, the three of you changed into your day outfits: Maisy and Bucky in matching dark green rain jackets , tiny pink rubber boots for her and well-worn black combat ones for him. She even had a little patch on her jacket with a red star that matched the one he had.

The rain had started as you left the house , a lazy light drizzle falling from the gray blooming sky.

Instead of deterring you , it added a certain charm to the walk you took. The three of you headed toward the green neighborhood park , hand in hand.

Maisy skipped between you both humming a song you couldn't make out, occasionally stopping to jump in puddles , splash falling leaves , or pointing out every puppy that passed by squealing with delight.

Bucky kept pulling out his phone to snap photos of his daughter , her plush cheeks puffed out in a laugh as she got water on her button nose , her arms wide pretending to fly when she saw an airplane in the sky and , the way the rain speckled on her mop of chestnut curls. All very blurry but all his.

As she tried to cross the next puddle , she stopped mid skip , pouting.

"Too big," she declared like the water itself caused her harm.

She held her arms up spinning to her dad and Bucky didn’t hesitate , he scooped her up with ease , cradling her as if she weighed nothing at all.

"There you go , baby safe and dry."

"I'm not a baby , you're a baby ," she giggled , echoing his words.

"Uh oh ," you laughed, and he flashed you a grin rolling his eyes playfully.

Back home , you decided to make a simple grilled cheese and tomato soup for lunch. The comfort food warming all three of you guys both up after the dreary walk.

Maisy nodded off halfway through her bowl , her chin dipping into her chest as she fought sleep.

With the house briefly quiet , you cleaned up the post lunch kitchen mess , wiped the muddy footprints off the floor, and smiled to yourself at the sound of Bucky in the living room , wrestling around with blankets.

When you peeked in a few minutes later , the entire living room had transformed into a kingdom of pillows and blankets.

A flashlight flicked on under the sheets then emitting loud giggles from within.

"...and then the dragon said, 'I’m not scary! I just wanted to make friends and share my cupcakes!'"

"Daddy , that’s silly! Dragons don’t eat cupcakes!"

"This one does. Chocolate is his favorite."

You shook your head , laughing to yourself , and left them to their story.

While you were finishing up the last of the cleaning , you heard a soft huff and a thud.

Curiously you walked back into the living room and found Maisy shoving gently at Bucky’s shoulder with a tiny grunt.

"He felled asleep right on me," she said with a yawn , curling into your arms as you picked her up from the blanket fortress. "In the middle of the dragon story."

You kissed her forehead moving away hair that fell in her face. "He's a silly daddy."

She mumbled something sleepy , inaudible , tucking her head under your chin.

You walked to her room , tucked her in and , whispered a quiet “sweet dreams Maisy moo”

You padded barefoot back in the living room where Bucky still hadn’t moved. His large frame half in the blanket fort half out , snoring softly.

You kicked off your fluffy house slippers and crawled carefully next to him.

He shifted slightly in his sleep , arm sliding instinctively around you tight , his lips brushing your hairline.

"Mmm...love you."

AFter all these years together you still blushed at his words and whispered into his chest, "Happy Father’s Day , my love. You’re the best daddy to your daughter."

He cracked a small sleepy smile , eyes still closed.

And together , in your little makeshift shelter , you let the rainy day carry you both off to sleep.

-end

Comments , Reblogs , Likes and Requests are always loved!

(although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience)

They let me know that you are enjoying what I'm publishing and gives me motivation to write more and more! :33

449 notes · View notes

vixellate · 5 months ago

Text

IVORY MIURA ❒ 📷🩹

. ✧. ┊ ⁭"The worst day of the year...isn't so bad when you're here.." / DARK CONTENT! MDNI

Ugh. Already? Everywhere he looked……Cards. Chocolate. Heart-shaped balloons. And worst of all, couples. More than usual. If Ivory somehow managed to miss all of the cues, he would’ve definitely been reminded by the girls in the halls who snickered and whispered about him being alone today. Of being more pathetic than he usually is.

Valentine's Day.

It’s always been his least favorite holiday. Always. And it stings worse now that he's the newest freshman - the creepy new freshman.

Everyone calls him a weirdo. A pincushion. A fucking stalker just for carrying his camera around. They whisper about how he's always taking pictures of them; stealing moments that aren't meant for him. Of swiping things he'd never get the chance to touch, like their bras. Among other things.

But they don't know how close to the truth they are. It’s just that he wouldn’t ever entertain the thought of stalking them.

No.

Only you.

And you! You don’t have a Valentine either! But you aren’t as pathetic as he is, are you? So everyone assumes you're "waiting for the right one.” And Ivory knows that you are.

But "the right one" isn't here. He can't attend University with you every day the way he can. Follow you the way he can. Watch you turn down guys asking to be your Valentine and keep a record of their names. He isn't enrolled. And that's enough for the stalker to delude himself into thinking he's got a chance.

And…Oh… You just had to go and make his delusions so much worse.

Ivory doesn't usually think twice about the pile of cards left on his desk at the end of the day. Especially this day. Most are empty, he knows that already. And the ones that aren't probably taunt him with insults or accusations. But his eyes are drawn to one near the bottom of the pile - was it left here before all the others?

He recognizes your handwriting right away and pulls it out. His throat runs dry when he notices the hand-drawn hearts on the front. His fingers tremble as he slowly pulls it open…

Happy Valentine's Day, Ivory!

..written in big bold letters across the card. That’s all. No long message, no chocolate or doodles, just the simple line. But it’s your handwriting. You wrote his name! You remembered him. You made a card for him. Him!

Hearts form in his eyes and he smiles. The corners of his lips shake in an attempt to keep him from grinning outright. He lifts the card to his nose, inhaling deeply in hopes of catching a whiff of your scent. He doesn’t, but that’s okay. Instead, he presses his lips to the paper and imagines it’s your palms instead.

His next few moments are hazy. One second, he’s at his desk. The next, he’s leaving his classroom to go to yours - his feet moving purely by instinct. He doesn’t need to think about where you’ll be. He knows you haven’t left for home yet. Your schedule was like clockwork to him. Every event and every class of yours burned into his memory.

And right about now, you should be…

There! At your desk! But…you’re asleep.

That makes Ivory’s heart beat just a bit faster before he enters. His footsteps are light - a habit he’s picked up long before he’s needed to sneak up on you like this.

He’s close now. Able to lean over just enough to bury his nose in your hair and take a deep breath. Close enough to ghost his cold fingers across the back of your neck, drinking in the way you shift and your small sounds of discomfort.

Of course, the materials on your desk don’t go unnoticed. There are blank cards. Red markers. Your handwriting. The realization dawns on him quickly. Ivory can tell that you tried making cards for everyone you knew. But that isn’t the worst part. He knows they probably don’t even appreciate it as half as he did. Not like he does.

His touch is still so feather-light so that he doesn’t wake you up. His fingers brush over your shoulders, down the curve of your spine, before eventually resting on your thighs. A quiet breath escapes him as he lowers himself to his knees at your side, his heart-shaped pupils watching your face closely.

Slowly and carefully, he crawls underneath your table to hide himself from view. So that if anyone passes by, they won’t notice him there, hidden between your legs.

And he gently urges them apart further, making himself even more comfortable. With a sigh, he rests his cheek on your inner thigh and traces idle shapes on the other.

If only for a little while. He needs to be here. He feels safe and warm here. Completely surrounded by you.

Those ungrateful bastards. They don’t deserve you. Your kindness... They don’t appreciate you the way he does. When will you see how devoted he is to you? When will you realize that he’s the only one that truly needs you - and the only one that you need?

Another shaky sigh leaves his lips to ghost over your thighs. He gazes up at your sleeping face, tiny spirals now appearing with the hearts in his eyes.

“Ah…I love you so much..”

#male yandere #yandere oc #oc #vn #yandere #ivory #stalker yandere #yandere x reader #yandere male #yandere x darling #yandere x you #sub yandere #drabble

240 notes · View notes

lovemni · 4 months ago

Text

𐔌 현진 .ᐟ ꒱ ── "i'm burning hot? damn right i am."ㅤ♡

HWANG HYUNJIN! ⓘ you come over to his place, only to find your boyfriend burning hot. literally and figuratively. . . ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;)⁭ ⁭

۫ 𖨂 𓈒 𝑏f!hyunjin ₊ ‎ ‎ 𝑓em!reader ˙ . ꒷ g. fluff , crack ! 3IOOwc. ⎯⎯ Yᗩᑎi's ᒪIᗷᖇᗩᖇY ⟢ cw. nicknames , kisses , intimacy , fever. ┆ 🐇 ⋮ an original drabble .ᐟ ֹ ₊

𝑦𝑎𝑛𝑖'𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑙 𓈒 𓈒 ⭑ happy birthday to the squishiest dumpling! i wasn't sure if i'd be able to post on hyune day... but i did, thanks to the week i have off before my next exam! yn in this entire fic lowkey reminded me of my darling ishi, don't ask why >< also, dear fahrenheit users, please do not attack me. i'm a mere celsius huzz. happy reading <3

the sky outside was a dull slate gray, clouds hanging low and swollen with the promise of rain. city lights flickered through the haze, their reflections smudged against the apartment windows like forgotten brushstrokes. drops of water from the afternoon drizzle traced lazy paths down the glass, the rhythmic pattering mingling with the hum of distant traffic below.

inside, however, the atmosphere was far from serene.

the living room bore every sign of a day spent in restless sickness. a half-crumpled blanket, patterned with little stars, was tangled across the couch. an empty mug, rim stained with honeyed ginger tea, perched precariously on the coffee table next to an abandoned packet of cold medicine.

the air was tinged with the faint scent of eucalyptus and lemon, the lingering evidence of an essential oil diffuser doing its best to combat the stuffiness. the heater hummed low, emitting a warmth that made the space feel cocooned and sluggish.

but the most striking sight of all was hyunjin — sprawled across the bed like a fallen monarch, wrapped dramatically in a heap of ivory sheets. his buzzcut barely peeked from beneath the folds, and his cheeks were flushed a fevered pink.

the poor man had always been a little.. theatrical when sick, but this time? this time, he looked like he was moments from composing his own funeral hymn.

y/n nearly dropped her keys as she stepped inside.

“oh my god, hyunjin!” she kicked off her shoes hastily, the door slamming shut behind her. “you look like death.”

from the depths of the pillows, a low, pitiful groan emerged. “and yet, i’m still somehow the most handsome man alive.”

y/n rolled her eyes, but a smile twitched at her lips. “god,” she murmured, already shrugging off her jacket and abandoning her bag on the armchair.

the warmth of the apartment immediately clung to her, a contrast to the chilly air outside. she ran a hand through her slightly damp hair, droplets clinging to the strands from the drizzle she’d escaped.

hyunjin’s eyes fluttered open, though his movements were sluggish. they were glassy, dazed, but still sparkling with that familiar playful mischief. his lips, a little dry from the fever, curled into a weak grin.

“y/n,” he croaked, voice raspy from sleep and congestion. “you’re back.”

“of course, i’m back!” her brows knit together, as a frown graced her lips. “you didn’t answer any of my texts.” she was already approaching, hands on her hips like a mother about to scold her child. “you could’ve told me you were dying.”

“i wasn’t dying,” hyunjin sniffled dramatically, though the slight tremble in his voice betrayed him. “i was simply… wilting. like a delicate flower.”

“oh, my poor rose,” she mocked, leaning down to press the back of her hand against his forehead. the second her skin touched his burning flesh, her brows furrowed. “jesus, hyun. you’re burning hot.”

his grin grew smug. “damn right i am.”

y/n shot him a glare, though her lips twitched with amusement. “unbelievable.”

she straightened, already scanning the room with purpose. the cluttered state of the apartment made it evident he’d been too miserable to bother tidying up. the comforter had been dragged halfway to the floor, the pillowcases crumpled and damp from sweat.

on the nightstand, a little mountain of used tissues teetered precariously. the sight alone was enough to make her sigh.

“i was going to get a kiss,” hyunjin whined weakly, watching her with puppy eyes as she disappeared into the bathroom. “where’s my ‘welcome home, my beloved’ smooch?”

y/n’s voice echoed from the tiled space. “not until i make sure you’re not actually on the verge of spontaneous combustion.”

“but i miss you,” he drawled, the dramatic edge returning. “it’s been hours. days. years, probably.”

“four hours, cuh.”

“still too long, cuh.”

when she returned, a damp towel in one hand and a thermometer in the other, hyunjin barely reacted — aside from the way his lower lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout.

his buzzed hair gleamed under the soft glow of the bedside lamp, the sheen of sweat on his forehead making it shine.

y/n thought it was unfair, really, how he could still look so stupidly pretty while practically melting into the bed.

“come on, open up,” she instructed, holding the thermometer to his plush lips.

hyunjin obliged his lover without protest, though his eyes never left her. they followed her every move — the way her brows furrowed in worry, the soft parting of her lips as she focused.

her presence alone seemed to soothe him, like a cool breeze through a fevered haze.

after a moment, the thermometer beeped. y/n’s eyes narrowed.

“39.3 degrees,” she muttered, her heart sinking a little. “hyun, you’re literally a furnace.”

“that explains the unbearable hotness.”

“not the time.”

but even as she scolded, she couldn’t hide the tenderness in her voice. her fingers brushed over his buzzed scalp, tracing the warmth radiating from him.

the short hair suited him ridiculously well — made his sharp jawline and pretty features stand out even more. and yet, with his flushed cheeks and glassy eyes, he looked more like a grumpy child than an idol adored by millions.

“i’m staying,” she declared firmly, already kicking off her socks and climbing onto the bed.

hyunjin blinked at her, eyes wide. “you don’t have to, baby. i’m fine.”

“oh sure, because i’m totally convinced by the fact that you look like a victorian orphan on his deathbed.”

“i’m merely delicate.”

“you’re ridiculous.”

but she was already tucking the blanket up to his chin, brushing damp strands of hair away from his forehead. hyunjin melted under her touch, nuzzling into the comforter with a content hum.

he was so terribly clingy when sick — and even now, his hands sought her out, fingers curling weakly around her wrist.

“you’re the best,” he murmured, voice slurred. “my beautiful nurse. my savior.”

“i’m your babysitter,” she deadpanned.

hyunjin grinned lazily. “hot babysitter.”

y/n snorted. “sleep for a bit, patient hwang.”

“whatever you say, doc.”

and with that, his eyes fluttered shut once more, the fevered haze pulling him back under. y/n stayed close, her fingers tracing gentle patterns along his buzzed scalp, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest a comforting lull. outside, the rain had begun to fall steadily, a soothing patter against the windows.

the apartment smelled like lemon balm and warmth. and despite the fever, despite the mess, there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

the apartment was quiet now, save for the rhythmic sound of hyunjin’s breathing. it came slow and steady, the fever finally pulling him into a much-needed rest.

y/n watched him for a moment longer, making sure he was truly asleep. his lashes, dark against the flush of his cheeks, didn’t so much as twitch. his lips, parted slightly, had softened from their usual dramatic pouts into something innocent, almost boyish.

his fingers, which had been curled loosely around the sleeve of her sweater, finally slackened their grip.

she exhaled softly.

gently, she peeled herself away from his warmth, slipping out of the bed with careful precision. the room was dimly lit by the soft golden glow of the bedside lamp, casting elongated shadows across the walls.

the rain outside had settled into a gentle drizzle, droplets streaking against the windows like ink on parchment. the air smelled faintly of eucalyptus, a relic of the essential oils she had turned on earlier to help clear hyunjin’s congestion.

her socks padded silently against the wooden floor as she made her way out, glancing over the apartment with a newfound awareness. hyunjin wasn’t usually messy—if anything, he was meticulous about keeping his space tidy, an artist who treated both his canvases and his home with careful reverence. but sickness had a way of unraveling even the most put-together people. and today, the apartment was evidence of his fevered unrest.

his paint supplies were scattered across the living room table—a wooden palette still smeared with dried strokes of cobalt blue and burnt sienna, paintbrushes left to dry on a paper towel that had since crumpled at the edges. a few unfinished sketches were abandoned on the couch, their graphite lines smudged in places where hyunjin had likely rubbed his tired eyes.

an empty glass sat next to a bottle of vitamin c tablets, along with a half-eaten granola bar he had probably forgotten about.

y/n sighed, rolling up the sleeves of her sweater. alright. time to fix this.

she started with the living room, carefully gathering the paintbrushes and rinsing them in the sink. cool water rushed over her fingers, the bristles softening as the leftover pigment bled away, swirling in delicate patterns down the drain. she arranged them neatly in a cup by the window, letting them dry properly this time.

next, she picked up the sketches. a small smile tugged at her lips as she recognized his latest works—quick portraits, some unfinished, some detailed enough to look like they might spring to life.

one was of a woman sitting by a windowsill, her expression contemplative, lost in thought. another was more abstract, a flurry of delicate brushstrokes forming something that looked like wings. and then, of course, there was one of her.

hyunjin had drawn her dozens of times before, but it never failed to warm her heart. this one was a loose sketch, probably something he had done absentmindedly while resting—her face turned slightly to the side, strands of her hair tucked behind her ear, a soft expression in her eyes. dork.

shaking her head fondly, she stacked the papers neatly on the side table before moving on.

the bedroom came next. the blankets were still tangled from when he had shifted around earlier, his fever making him restless. she smoothed them out carefully, tucking the edges so he wouldn’t get cold.

the used tissues on the nightstand were disposed of, the mug from his previous tea taken back to the kitchen. she fluffed his pillow, letting her fingers briefly brush over the soft linen before stepping back.

the scent of eucalyptus lingered in the air, blending with the faint traces of his cologne that clung to the fabric of the bed. something warm settled in her chest.

with the apartment finally back in order, she turned to the kitchen.

the overhead light cast a soft glow over the space, illuminating the sleek countertops and the small collection of ingredients she pulled out. the rain had picked up again, tapping gently against the windowpane, a soothing backdrop to the quiet hum of the refrigerator as she rummaged through it.

soup. that’s what he needed. something warm, nourishing.

she set a pot on the stove, the sound of sizzling garlic and onions filling the air as she started cooking. the fragrance curled around her, mingling with the hints of citrus and eucalyptus still present in the apartment.

as the broth simmered, she added vegetables—thinly sliced carrots, soft potatoes, leafy greens that wilted beautifully into the golden liquid. she shredded some chicken, letting it soak in the flavors, steam rising in gentle swirls as she stirred.

the soft clink of a spoon against the ceramic pot, the occasional bubbling of the broth—it all felt strangely peaceful. outside, the city continued on, neon lights blinking through the misty evening. but here, in the cozy warmth of hyunjin’s kitchen, time felt slower, more intimate.

while the soup finished cooking, she rummaged through the cupboards for medicine. there it was—a box of cold relief capsules, the kind hyunjin always complained tasted like chalk. she grabbed them anyway, along with a fresh bottle of water, setting everything neatly on the counter.

finally, she ladled the soup into a bowl, the aroma filling the kitchen like a quiet promise of comfort. the steam curled in delicate tendrils, rising into the dim light. it smelled of warmth, of care. of home.

y/n leaned against the counter for a moment, exhaling softly.

hyunjin was still asleep, oblivious to the quiet effort she had poured into tidying his space, making sure he’d have something warm to eat when he woke.

but she didn’t mind. of course she didn't. taking care of him wasn’t a chore—it was second nature, something as effortless as breathing.

she glanced at the clock. 19:45.

the rain continued its steady rhythm against the window. the apartment was clean again, the soup was ready, the medicine waiting. everything was in place.

now, all that was left was to wait for the sleeping beauty to wake up.

in the bedroom, hyunjin was still cocooned beneath the blankets, his buzzed head barely peeking out. his fevered flush had deepened, cheeks tinged a stubborn pink. the dampness of sweat clung to his forehead, strands of hair curling against his skin. but despite it all, there was something disarmingly soft about him — his sharp features relaxed in sleep, long lashes resting gently against his cheeks.

y/n stood at the edge of the bed, a bowl of steaming chicken soup balanced carefully in her hands. the broth gleamed golden, the steam curling like tendrils of silk. it was the perfect remedy — warmth in a bowl, made with far too much love. she shifted her weight, gazing down at her sickly boyfriend.

god, he’s lucky he’s pretty.

“hyune,” she called softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

nothing. not even a twitch.

she lowered herself onto the mattress, the blankets dipping slightly under her weight. her free hand reached out, brushing gently over his forehead. he was still warm, though not as alarmingly so. the fever wasn’t gone, but it had relented — for now.

“hyunjin,” she tried again, this time pressing a soft kiss to his temple. his skin was dewy beneath her lips, and even in his sleep, he made the smallest noise of contentment.

still, no sign of waking.

“oh my god,” she muttered, setting the soup carefully on the nightstand. “you’re actually impossible.”

she leaned down, her nose brushing lightly against his. “if you don’t wake up, i’m taking all the blankets. and the pillows. maybe even your skincare.”

that did it.

his lashes fluttered, and with a low groan, hyunjin cracked one eye open. “you wouldn’t dare.”

y/n grinned, already cupping his face between her hands. “i would. and i’d post your bare, moisturized face on instagram. hashtag ‘fever chic.’”

“evil,” he rasped, though the corners of his lips twitched upward. his voice was hoarse, deepened further by sleep and congestion. somehow, it still managed to sound ridiculously attractive.

“you sound like you’ve been chain-smoking for a decade.”

“i sound sexy.”

“you sound like a gremlin.”

he chuckled — a low, rough sound that only made him wince. “ouch.”

“that’s what you get for being cocky while half-dead.”

hyunjin hummed dramatically, letting his eyes flutter shut again. “fine. let me die beautifully.”

y/n rolled her eyes but didn’t miss the small, teasing smile playing on his lips. “not happening. you’re getting soup. and meds. and possibly a smack if you keep up with the theatrics.”

“i thought you loved my theatrics,” he mumbled, his voice muffled as he burrowed further into the pillows.

“i tolerate them.” she carded her fingers gently through his buzzed hair, the short strands soft against her fingertips. “now come on. sit up for me, baby.”

with a dramatic groan — as though she’d asked him to scale mount everest — hyunjin finally shifted. his limbs were slow and heavy, the fever still anchoring him. y/n tucked an arm behind his back, guiding him carefully until he was propped against the pillows. the blankets pooled around his waist, the flush of his bare chest visible beneath the dim light. his skin gleamed slightly from the fever’s sheen, but the sight of him, even like this, still made her heart stumble.

“you’re staring,” he rasped, eyes half-lidded.

“i’m admiring, yes,” she corrected, fingers tracing lightly over his jawline. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“damn right i am.”

she swatted him lightly on the shoulder, earning a lazy grin. “stay put.”

reaching for the bowl of soup, she gave it one last stir before settling it in her lap. the steam curled up between them, the scent of garlic, ginger, and tender chicken filling the air.

“you cooked?” hyunjin asked, his eyes shining even through the fever haze.

“of course.” she blew gently on the spoonful of broth, then held it up. “i don’t trust you to eat without spilling it all over yourself.”

“i’m a grown man.”

“you’re a sick man.”

“same difference.”

but even as he whined, he parted his lips obediently, letting her feed him the first spoonful. the warmth of the broth seemed to melt into him instantly, his tense shoulders relaxing as the flavor settled. his eyes fluttered shut with a soft hum of approval.

“okay,” he mumbled. “that’s stupid good. you have god's hands.”

y/n grinned, scooping up another bite. “i know.”

and so it went. spoonful after spoonful, hyunjin accepting each bite with minimal complaint — though not without the occasional dramatic sigh, just to keep her on her toes. the warmth seeped into his bones, soothing the ache that had plagued him all day.

every so often, y/n’s fingers would brush against his skin, adjusting the blankets or tucking a stray strand of hair away from his forehead. each touch lingered, soft and reassuring.

“you’re the best,” he murmured between bites, his voice still low and gravelly.

“i know.”

“my angel.”

“mhm.”

“my goddess.”

“mhm..”

“my muse. my light. my—”

“i swear to god, if you say one more word, i’m mixing cough syrup into your soup.”

his eyes gleamed mischievously. “kinky.”

“says you.”

but she was laughing, her nose crinkling in that way that made hyunjin’s chest ache for entirely different reasons. she reached for a tissue, gently dabbing at the corner of his lips, and in that moment, the world outside ceased to exist. the rain could pour, the city could buzz — but here, wrapped in warmth and laughter, nothing else mattered.

“thank you,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “for everything.”

y/n tilted her head, her fingers brushing along his jawline. “you’d do the same for me.”

“in a heartbeat.”

and with that, he leaned forward, his lips brushing against hers. the kiss was gentle, fevered warmth meeting cool tenderness. he tasted like salt and broth and something undeniably hyunjin — familiar, grounding, home.

“ew,” she muttered playfully, pulling away. “you taste like sick.”

“still hot though.”

“debatable.”

but her laughter filled the space, mingling with his, and as hyunjin curled back into the blankets, y/n tucked him in without a word. the fever would pass, the mess would return, and the city would wake again.

but tonight?

tonight, they had soup, kisses, and the soft hum of rain. and that was more than enough.

⤿ 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝘵𝑒𝑟𝘵𝑎𝑔. @its-stayville-forever @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger @woozarts @katsukis1wife @bddaramjis @reignessance @peskybirdysya @honeyybbuubblleess @ellemir2404 @4ng3l-ch1ld @urlocalmultigroupfan @ashtxrie @minlixyaoi @shuuporanglinos — send in an ask, message or reply, to be added !! ✶

601 notes · View notes

rieamena · 5 months ago

Text

cosmic understanding

headcanons on nerd!takuma and sexually reserved!takuma

word count: 1.7k

riea's comments: can you tell idk the difference between a shortfic, hcs, a drabble, and whatever else there is. yes those are (twitter!!) visual links. mdni divider by @/cafekitsune ,, flower dividers by @/saradika-graphics ,, art on banner by @/nunusenpai on twt

nerd!takuma who is practically begging you to leave this after party that he dragged himself to. your so incredibly smart boyfriend of four years received a prestigious award for his new advancements in quantum physics and the makeup of the universe at an event that only happens once every five years. he was invited to the same event last time but was subject to teasing from his colleagues due to a lack of a plus one… eventually leading to them getting near blackout drunk and trying to set him up with any girl that looked their way, "hey, ino! what about her? she got the highest award for a field similar to ours. hm?"

nerd!takuma who managed to slip away from the confinement of his friends despite their protests. takuma inched out of the large hall and into the dusk blue evening, leaning his head against the ivory wall. he stayed in that position for a few moments before sliding down, bringing his chest to his bent knees. you watched on, cigarette and lighter in hand, as he grumbled and mumbled incoherent words. the drape of the deep red satin fabric on your figure matched the position mr. lonesome wore. "hey." you called out, abandoning your cig and lighter in the ashtray next to you. the guy just looked around for a bit, then looked at you and pointed to himself. "yeah, you. what award did you get?"

nerd!takuma who couldn't deny that there was something comfortable being in your presence, despite being a couple feet away from you. "it was the uh, celestial horizons award for pioneering contributions to cosmic understanding. what about you? what award did you get?" at that moment, you stood up and walked closer to him, your white heels clacking with every step. "me? i didn't get any award. my family is one of the sponsors for this event and my brother…," your voice trailed off, remembering his divine wall—as he called it—filled with every single major accomplishment since high school. that wall was nearly at full capacity; you guessed that it could only hold four or so more plaques, so it wouldn't be long before he needed to expand it. after all, he was already brainstorming names for it, divine wall junior? or divine wall part two? "gets at least one award every time. that satoru…"

nerd!takuma who watched every word fall from your lips like a pendulum he couldn't turn away from. "so what about you? what do you do?" his brown eyes met yours. it was an innocent and basic question, yet it's one you seldom hear. usually at the mention of your brother, satoru, people would connect the dots. satoru to satoru gojo the science prodigy to the gojo clan to satoru's sister. that's what people knew you as, satoru gojo's younger sister and the secondborn of the gojo clan. but this guy didn't seem to care about all that. a who are you? whispered through the air, your tinted and glossed lips holding the ghost of the phrase. a chuckle rang out not even a second later, "i asked you a question first." ah right. you explained that you worked in business and were training to become the chairwoman of the gojo business district before looking at the man expectantly. you didn't bother to take in his appearance before this moment. he was a man of stature, you wouldn't say he towered over you but even in your crouched position, he still had some height on you. the black and white suit he wore seemed tailored and you appreciated how it matched the nature of his brown hair and eyes. he was handsome, you couldn't deny that

nerd!takuma who put out his hand with a smile, "takuma ino, getting my doctorate in physics and chemistry in three-or-so years."

nerd!takuma who offered to bring you to a special place that… ended up being a fast food spot. but you'd be lying if you said that you hated it. it was private enough that even though people stared at your classy outfits, none would care to ask about it. talking about whatever came to mind, you and ino got your food and drinks, settling in a booth right in the corner of the establishment. before taking another bite from your burger, you spoke, "y'know ino, this kinda feels like a date." sputters came from the man across the table who nearly spit out his carbonated drink at your comment. "what? a date with me is that disappointing to you?" you questioned, burger in hand. "what no! absolutely not! this can be a date! t-this is a date! and…" he cleared his throat before continuing, "takuma. just call me takuma."

nerd!takuma who watched you pull out a pen and scribble something on a nearby napkin once you felt your phone buzz four times. you audibly groaned at the notifications from "useless satoru", sighing and shaking your head. "i gotta go. call me." and just like that, takuma was left with a wink, your number, and a blown kiss that he'd be sure to hold tight

nerd!takuma who is still begging you to leave this party. his hand is placed at the small of your back, urging you to the exit. you continued to converse with colleagues, briefly introducing the man behind you as your boyfriend when you saw their eyes flicker to him. taking another sip of your wine, you felt takuma's deathly close to your ear, "can we please leave?"

nerd!takuma who would've jumped for joy once he heard you make up a quick reason to excuse yourselves. once you both made it out of the grand hall and into the evening air, your boyfriend shrugged off his coat and draped it over your shoulders and, in one fluid motion, swept you off your feet. you gasped, laughing as he carried you bridal-style toward his car, the gold-and-crystal plaque shining in his hand

nerd!takuma who latches onto you upon entry into your shared home, disregarding your whines that you needed to take off your heels and dress, pushing his face further into the crook of your neck. "let me change," you whined, though you couldn't help smiling at how he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. "i'll let you change after i get a few minutes," he said, his lips grazing your skin. reluctantly, he let go, watching you as you slipped off your dress and reached for your favorite silk slip. as you adjusted the fabric, you turned to him with a teasing grin. "so, pretty boy, how does it feel to win the celestial horizons award for pioneering contributions to cosmic understanding…… again?"

nerd!takuma who sheepishly explains his project to you as you made quick work of his tie and blazer. "we worked on particle stabilization for high-energy states using a hybrid plasma matrix. it's about creating cohesion under extreme pressure—similar to the conditions found in stars. it could lead to advances in fusion energy and maybe even space travel." you leaned in, cupping his face and planting soft kisses across his cheeks and jawline. "you've got that big, beautiful brain and yet, you still act all shy."

nerd!takuma whose face is dusted with red as he whispers "stop it. you know the effect you have on me…," his words sending a shiver down your spine. and before you could tease him, his lips captured yours in a slow, tender kiss. the heat between you lingered even as he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. his brown eyes held a softness that melted your heart, a love too deep for words. "have i told you how gorgeous you looked today yet?" he asked, the familiar spark of adoration lighting up his face. you giggled at your boyfriend's words, an expression that couldn't be determined as anything other than pure love on his face. "yes, baby, you said it when i woke up from my nap, when i was getting ready, when we arrived, when we left, and just before we walked in." "oh, did i?" takuma's lips twitched into a grin. "doesn't matter to me—you're gorgeous." his hand slipped to the curve of your behind, holding it as he hugged you close, his heartbeat steady and warm beneath your palm. you tilted your head up, eyes locked on his. "i'll never get tired of hearing it. just like i'll never get tired of this." takuma traced slow circles along your lower back. "good, because i'm not planning on stopping anytime soon." in this moment, you realized something

sexually reserved!takuma who never did anything beyond making out with you in all four years of your relationship. it wasn't that he didn't want to or that you didn't want to either, you just wanted to wait until you knew you were ready and takuma respected that decision fully. and when those four words slipped from your tongue accompanied with your intentful stare, takuma felt something inside of him snap. takuma, i'm ready now

sexually reserved!takuma who spends hours between your legs, lapping up every drop of juice to come from your cunt

sexually reserved!takuma who feels like he's died and gone to heaven when you get on top of him. he's an absolute mess, moaning your name between bounces. his hands are firm on your waist, setting the pace of stimulation. in between moans and mewls of your own, you whisper to takuma, asking him to continue. and that he does, further explaining with many pauses. "w-we worked on a way to create—mmmhh—an artificial plasma field, a hybrid matrix, that mim—mimics those extreme conditions. fuuuck you're tight… most particles would scatter and—god, you're so good to me—destabilize under those circumstances, but by intro—just like that baby, don't stop—introducing certain electromagnetic waves and specific metallic nano—nanoparticles, we were able to get the particles to stabilize. it's kind of like corralling a storm with an invisible force fie—oh god i'm–oh fuck… thank you thank you thankyouthankyouthankyou—the uh, invisible force field."

"mhm… tell me more honey…"

jjk taglist

@blendingcaramal @gzchaos @theamazingrain @woah-girlz @voloslobotomyservice

@kyozvy @obessionofagrl @bubybubsters @sugurusbaobei @raindropsonrwses

@c-moon20-12 @saltynanobeanie @theamazingrain @synthiiiiis @ghostlyluminarycloud

@poopyyy @supernatrualqueen @bxrbie-jadeee @laitifly @babysoo-meu

@cheesecake95 @strawberry-cherrypie @makeshiftproject @magiamad0ka @ncitygreen

@mayyhaps @oniondrip @cloudy-yyy @definitely-not-leena @kidd3ath

@atigerandabear @russianremy @ohnoitsamistakee18 @ivy-vivii @ourfinalisation

@1ndee @yourhornysister @ancientimes @cupcaketeddybehr @tomikixd

@e-dollly @ozdramaqueen @nymphsdomain @beeksyurr @colorcode

@baekhyunsbestie @vorfreudevortex @leuriss @xaithings @corvid007

482 notes · View notes

tinaswampdweller · 8 months ago

Text

A small little ‘Drabble’ I guess about Ciel and wanting a specific reward from you

It had always been odd, to Ciel, the way you chose to show your affections. Opting out of a common hug, a polite handshake or even a juvenile ruffle of the hair. All actions he reluctantly had come to expect from the adults surrounding him. Even little Lizzy had begun to infantilise him with her tight embraces and slobbery kisses on his forehead.

Your choice of affections were unique, bordering on inappropriate. He was betrothed, despite how he felt towards the fact, he knew not to ever divulge the means of your affection.

He found himself trying a little harder to appease you, the rare times he saw you. That was a lot for him, making effort? It wasn’t his style, he’d usually leave that up to Sebastian, but the idea of you rewarding his butler with a kiss on the neck almost brought bile to his lips.

“A rose? What is the occasion, Earl Phantomhive?” you had asked softly, a playful tone present in your words.

A soft blush had formed on Ciel’s ivory skin, still visible even under the dim lights of your balcony. It wasn’t even your tone, just the idea of doing something so explicitly romantic caused the embarrassed flush of colour. This wasn’t his style.

“My butler had a spare from trimming the roses bushes earlier … I didn’t want it to go to waste.” He explained softly, reluctantly.

“Hmmm, nonetheless, thank you Queens Guard dog for … fetching me a rose.” you said with blinding smile. Dimples carved deep into your cheeks on show and white teeth gleaming.

Ciel gulped at the sight, opting to look away. Your smile was ravishingly beautiful, being the cause of it always made him feel overwhelmed. Lizzys gummy smile always reflected her age, a happy, spoiled child. Your smile was blinding, gorgeous with a hint of a slyness.

Pulling the rose closer to your face, the scent flooded your nostrils. The smell of a fresh rose was deep, strong and dark. Giving it was an innocent action with darker intentions hidden beneath.

You took a step towards the boy, he flinched at the sound of your heeled boots. Leaning towards him, you found his position adorable, his neck on display and red face still turned to the side. The top button of his navy shirt had been undone, you suspected in preparation. Ciel wasn’t usually so easy to read, everything was a game of chess to him. Perhaps, this time he didn’t feel the need to hide his intentions or desire. It wouldn’t keep him steps ahead in this game even if he tried.

Placing the rose on the balcony behind him, you used your free hands to pull him closer against you by his slender waist. He still refused to look your way as he allowed you to control him.

Your lips were cherry coloured due to the maids choice of makeup today. ‘A great choice’ you thought, knowing that it would stained better and brighter on his porcelain skin.

When Ciel felt your lips on his neck, it was searing hot, and tingly due to his sensitivity. It was a soft and sensual kiss, almost causing him to melt and drop his head back more to expose more skin. Your lips left his neck for a moment and he thought it was over until you returned. Multiple kisses this time, opened mouth kisses, ones unfamiliar to him. Making his eyes widen at the difference in feeling.

These kisses made your others feel like childish pecks. They made his knees buckle and his breath hitch. He almost fell back onto the banister but your grip on his waist was firm as you continued your assault.

You pulled back suddenly and gripped his chin, tugging him to face you. His eyes were shaking, an almost scared look present on his features, scared of your kisses, scared of how much he was enjoying them, scared he might have found a new addiction and scared he might never be able to look at Lizzy again.

You smiled, playful and sly, before moving to the other side of his neck. Sucking gently on the soft flesh. Ciels eyes closed and he breathed heavily, deeply. He was sure some marks would be left, but it wasn’t nothing a little powder couldn’t cover.

Sorry if some phrases, wording and grammar were incorrect. I’ve not written in a long time. I hope enjoy your day.

#ciel phantomhive #black butler #ciel phantomhive x reader #ciel x reader #earl phantomhive #drabbles #sub!ciel #sub!character #sub!Ciel Phantomhive

444 notes · View notes

edenspoem · 9 months ago

Text

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. ♡

summary: ellie simply cannot dance the odette variation perfectly without you spotting her. she calls you in, and swans begin to sing.

content: ballerina!ellie, smut, mdni, dom!reader, white swan and black swan dynamic, fingering(e!rec), slight choking, slight degradation, semi-public sex, presence of risk, drabble length, had to get something of this au out before i went psycho. think of this as series teaser, almost. barely, somewhat proofread. wc: 1.7k

Ellie works against her body, and time works against her.

“Dammit—I can't get it right.”

It is February: the unfurling of the year, and she is Odette this season. The white swan had incarnated, plucking only the most graceful, most sedulous ballerina from the flock. She begins to believe herself after all the blood, sweat, and tears produced in anticipation, and training. Nothing is graceful about this loathing season, though, and save for the culmination of when she was cast her sorrowful-swan, ivory feathers, this is a tribulation that eats her down to the sore ligaments of herself. Perfection is eroding.

She tries and she fumbles. “Fuck!”

Usually, this is no issue. Ellie is inherently so given to pirouettes; the group instructor is unapologetic about that praise. But their momentum overwhelms their beauty—her instructor also claims. She must find a balance, within, and without thinking too hard.

So she ends up calling you in to think for her.

The black swan.

Tutoring, of a sort. “You have the wings of a vulture,” you broach, pacing forth and from the space behind. You only brace the front when you spot an incorrection. “Loosen up.”

She is nervous to have her heartbeat in your ears. You have this touch nobody else can give, and yet it is for a reason she wishes not; correction, not love. However, she just might love it regardless. Touchings of the arms that mean nothing to you, and many things to her. You tap her shoulder, and the muscles noticeably stiffen. With a gulp, the chafing organ inside her is a solitary song she hopes you cannot sense the thrumming of.

Tired hands fall to her thighs in a slap. You watch her lips form a question in the mirror. “Can't you just show me?” She is adamant with it. Adamant with everything, if you recall each sentence you overheard from her private sessions. Somethings of malediction, most a pained curse.

Those bruises and bumps reflect that.

“Your grace should come from within, Swan Queen.” Although an aphorism most would groan at and nullify, it is almost vital to every professional dancer. Even you nourish yourself with the saying, and you are at the top. “Just as Pavlovich would say, right?” Ellie has technique. In fact, she has a grasp on it so violent—so obsessive, not a single other picture-perfect girl in that room on the day of Swan Lake casting could bear it.

Except you.

She puffs her cheeks into apples, “Fuck,” and mumbles under her breath. This day would leave a sprain.

Nuturing her inelegance. You think of it like this, and you treat it as such. When your palms introduce two gentle pressures upon her ribcage from behind, she fears you can hear it. Her heart; its rage. She overthinks the gesture and places her hands over yours on accident.

You hear air snag in her throat. Feel her fill.

“Feel my hands?” You motion with your thumbs, rubbing them back and forth under hers.

Ellie drops her head, and a strand of auburn slips. “Yeah.” Her voice is a feather. It writhes into the abditory of her chest.

She hates catching your eyes in the mirror. Especially right now.

Because she so graciously has her hands on yours, you turn your palms and basket the tense, fidgeting things in them. Raising them heavenward as a halo. “You have to let go up here. Don't overthink it.” Your fingers downpour all around her, until they return to her palpating ribcage. “Focus on your core.”

Fuck, what has she done? She invited you in here with the strict notion that you could implement her perfection. Nothing more, nothing less. Pavlovich would replace you as her tutor if the sun shone with the littlest deviation; you don't have to be here. But you are here, and she is borderline bleeding from her precious lips trying to distract herself from the warmth crawling out below. The visceral image of her leotard stained with a wet patch.

She feels like a loser.

She does anything but let go. “Like this?” It is so achingly obvious, the sleek of her juices making it uncomfortable to lift her leg.

“No,” you huff in a heavy increment, drawing away. Ellie's impliable arms were all over the place—and not in the graceful, poised manner of a swan. The poise she despairingly needs. “You can't be this nervous on stage. Someone psych you out or something?”

She descends from pointe. This girl is a rose-red silhouette of confusion, and crackling. “Um, not really.” But she is fucking easy to read.

All she needed was your hands again.

Handling her waist, her hips. “Did you lock the door?” Eating her mouth which gushes with the same, quiet concerns. You close it with yours.

“Mhm.” Ellie is feeding on your hums: fitting her lips in the cleft of yours, opening and closing, nodding and accepting, eager to pick from your fruit again. Docile creature in caging limbs. She is sat softly in your lap, doing all this like she cannot get enough of you, regardless if you are endless.

Her skin is peeking quietly from her neckline. Shining, shifting over her collarbones.

Post-practice glow.

She tries to relieve the throes of wanting immediately. This is not the same Ellie you tutored minutes ago; someone else crawled inside of her, made a corruptive influence. “Fuckin' soaked down there,” she hints with pacing breath, flexing her pelvis up. “Gonna buy me new ones?” She mentions about her tights. Those tights that always make her toned legs look woodland-born; spry as deer, long boughs laden with white bloomage.

You chuckle. “Oh, cause it's my fault?” But your hands push for that hot gap beneath, peel her leotard aside, and she goes white-eyed. Nudging to find the same kisses.

Opening her mouth opens her heart to you.

Then, her legs.

Full-walled mirrors reflect before her. Ellie goes insane watching the muscles of your fingers work her in numbing circles over the wet patch of her tights, and sometimes, insane from the stare you give while doing it. The friction is like molasses, but it is all she needs. God, she is pulsing on you. Whining on you. Does she come to rehearsals horny?

It certainly coheres.

Warming up next to each other on the barre, beholding one another during auditions, her cascading stares when you stretch, creeping softly up your legs. Wearing sheer skirts so wispy, so mini: you get it. Those sculpting shorts she wears—you're not even going to lie—prove the pleasure is visual. It creates a vertigo of pounding, indecent thoughts.

You folded them so delicately down her lovely hips. Now they lay stranded somewhere in the room, but fuck—does your skin raise thinking about her ass flexing in them before. Picture-perfect, palmful of an ass.

Has she touched herself to you?

She still avoids your eyes when you pick up your speed. “Fuckin' slut, aren't you?” Watching what was being done to her was all the more invigorating, hoping she would ruin her panties enough and swallow up your motions. Take you in closer.

She tells you she does like it. Well, whimpers, at least, and humps your river-paced fingers.

Then, she plucks at the band of her tights with her thumb, stretching it over the knuckle. You see where your finger pins it down.

Shadows brush against the frosted door. Soothing yourselves too comfortably into primal abandon and taking every tight piece of clothing off would maturate a scandal. Risks are high; you lead her wrist back.

Dopey giggles form her smile. “Why not?”

You affirm. “You know why.”

But no secretion of articulation was coming from her lips, only confirming sounds and thigh contractions when you grope and grab her thumping crotch. It was as though she was pent-up. Panting often out of her mouth, and glancing into the hoods of her eyes with a short leaning motion—you think she is. Pent-up, religiously for you. Little ligaments in her shiver with every little tug, barely moving anything under the layers, but she loves it.

She spent deadlight mornings dreaming that her bed beheld hers and your legs interlocked, cunts rubbing each other into humiliating moans and reeking of sex days afterward in the studio. It aches that she cannot see her bare pussy, and you, inside her. She thinks she might be fucking glistening under there. How exciting: what would it feel like if you ripped the fabric and stuffed her, displayed and degraded her? Your glare already does, Odile.

She needs to take you home. She needs the veiling between you and her so eroded, it rewrites the all-encompassing, eternal-age ballet right there on the grand stage. Makes the audience mull in their sleep. “Put your hands around my neck,” she beckons, inviting more hands on her.

“Yeah?”

She gulps. “Uh-huh.”

They fill the pale emptiness. After that, she finds herself trying to fuck herself more desperately on your fingers: she rides the length of them, using what is softened of her panties to slide up her folds. The pressure indescribable. She almost forgets that you are her competition; rivals shouldn't make her come this hard.

But, it's you. You lull the filthiness out of her.

When your fingers dig in the right spot, she pierces through her lower lip. “Yes, baby—fuck!” She jolts with a whimper. The sides of your fingers are scratched by the synthetic material of her thighs, her legs impulsing, eyes pinching, and her neck stringing up in your grasp. It is a chasm full of splutters. “That's it—right there, right there. Fuck, don't stop, please don't fuckin' stop.”

You palm her through it, fingers pouring out through the heart of her thighs in the mirror. And something else. Something that sticks her to her shame: orgasm-sopping panties she may replace, and replace twice. There is subtle moisture on your fingertips.

No way she goes home and sleeps soundlessly without flicking her pussy for you. In devotion of what you could not. She feens to be properly played with.

Ellie lies breathless in your lap, her skin sweating into yours. The scene is a silent basking until she breaks it:

“Should we continue this tomorrow?”

544 notes · View notes