#muttering to himself ‘that didn’t happen. that didn’t happen.’

[fluffymiyaa]

: ̗̀➛Rude Boy(s) ft. LADS Men

TW : Degradation, rough sex, face fucking, choke, hair pulling, tie up, spanking, brat taming, belly bulge, cockwarming, recording, toxic, dom/sub, brush painting play, gun play, biting, possessiveness, slight exhibition

Synopsis : In which, you having hate sex with them

➤ Neighbour!Xavier x reader

You step out of your apartment, dressed casually in just a T-shirt and shorts, clutching plastic bags full of trash. The air is cool, and the hallway is quiet—except for the sound of someone’s heavy footsteps.

It’s Xavier, your neighbor, stomping towards his door with a stormy expression. His face is marred by fresh bruises, and his hands are bandaged, blood seeping faintly through the wrappings. It’s obvious he’s fresh from a mission—one that didn’t go as planned.

A smirk creeps onto your face as you lean casually against the doorframe.

“My, my… someone looks like they had a rough night.” you say, voice laced with mockery.

Xavier’s dark eyes narrow, his jaw tightening as he stops briefly in his tracks. “I’m not in the mood for this.” he mutters through gritted teeth and continues walking past you.

But you’re not about to let him off that easily. You drop the trash bags to the floor with a loud thud and stride after him, your grin widening.

“Aw, come on. What happened? Did you mess up? Failed the big mission?” you taunt, your voice sing-songy.

He halts abruptly, turning on his heel to face you. His sharp gaze feels like it could cut through steel.

“Say another word,” he growls, his voice low and threatening, “and you’ll regret it.”

The tension in the air is electric, but you’re far too entertained to back down. You cock your head, your smirk unfaltering. “Oh? Really? Then make me.”

In a flash, Xavier closes the gap between you two, slamming you against the wall with a force that knocks the breath from your lungs. His large hand grips your jaw, squeezing your cheeks together just hard enough to make you wince. His face is inches from yours, his voice a deadly whisper.

“You wanna know what a rough night really feels like?” he hisses, his lips curling into a dangerous grin. “Fine. I’ll make it so rough, you won’t even remember your own name.”

That’s how you end up on your knees in his bedroom. Xavier's grip on your hair tightens as he forces your head down, his cock sliding deeper into your throat. The salty taste of his skin mingles with the coppery tang of blood from your split lip. Tears stream down your face, blurring your vision, but you can still see the cruel satisfaction in his eyes.

"Hmm..finally put that mouth in a good use," he growls, his voice thick with sadistic pleasure. "I knew you'd look so pretty choking on my cock."

“Mmphngh!”

You gag and sputter around his thick length, your throat convulsing as you struggle to breathe.

Xavier's hips snap forward, driving himself deeper still. The head of his cock hits the back of your throat, cutting off your air completely. Spots dance in your vision as you claw at his thighs, desperate for relief.

Xavier's fingers tighten in your hair as he groans, his hips stuttering and jerking as he nears his peak. He looks down on your messy face, god you look so hot it makes him wanna cum. His cock throbs against your tongue, the veins pulsing with need.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he pants, his voice ragged. "You better take it all, but don't swallow yet."

His command sends a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and anticipation. You brace yourself, knowing what's coming.

With a guttural moan, Xavier buries himself to the hilt in your throat. His cock pulses as he spills himself inside you, hot and thick. You can feel each spurt hitting the back of your throat, coating your tongue with his essence.

He holds you in place, his grip unyielding, as he rides out his orgasm. Finally, he pulls out, his softening cock slipping from your lips.

"Open up," he demands, his voice low and rough.

You obey, parting your lips to reveal the creamy load pooled on your tongue. His eyes darken with lust as he watches you,

Xavier's eyes darken with lust as he watches you, his spent cock twitching at the sight of his cum glistening on your tongue. He reaches out, his thumb brushing over your swollen lower lip, smearing the pearly drops.

"Such a good girl, taking my cum so well," he praises, his voice a low rumble. "Now, swallow it all down like a good little slut."

You obey, tilting your head back and letting the thick, salty fluid slide down your throat. Xavier's thumb presses against your chin, forcing your mouth closed as you swallow every last drop.

"Good girl." he praised, his other hand tapping your cheek.

Xavier's eyes blaze with a fierce, primal hunger as he hoists you up and tosses you onto the bed. The mattress dips under your weight, the sheets cool against your heated skin.

"We're not done." he growls, his voice a low, dangerous purr.

Before you can even catch your breath, he's on you, his hands ripping at your flimsy t-shirt. Buttons fly everywhere as he bares your chest to his greedy gaze.

"Xavier!" you gasp, arching into his touch. But he doesn't slow down, doesn't give you a chance to catch your breath.

He grabs the torn remnants of your shirt, using the fabric to bind your wrists together. The rough material bites into your skin, the sting only heightening your arousal.

Your shorts are next, yanked down your legs in one swift motion. You try to protest, to tell him to slow down.

“Wait! Slow-!”

He silences you with your own panties, shoving the damp fabric into your mouth.

"What? You said you wanted it rough, didn’t you?”

Xavier's eyes rake over your naked form, his gaze hot and possessive. He spreads your legs wide, exposing your glistening folds to his hungry stare.

"Fuck, look at you," he groans, his fingers delving between your thighs. "So wet already, so ready for me.”

He circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, the touch light and teasing. You arch into his hand, desperate for more, craving the pressure and friction that will send you over the edge.

"Stop teasing." you plead, your voice breathy and needy.

But Xavier just shakes his head, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "No."

You whine in frustration, your hips bucking against his hand. But he denies you, his movements maddeningly slow and deliberate.

Suddenly, his palm connects with your clit in a sharp, stinging slap. You yelp, your body jerking at the unexpected sensation.

He pull out your panties from your mouth. Give you a chance to speak.

"Beg for it," he demands, his voice low and commanding. "Say that I'm the best hunter, that I'm better than you."

You furrow your brows, hesitating. The words feel foreign on your tongue, a admission of defeat that you're not ready to make.

Xavier's eyes narrow, a dangerous glint flashing in their blue depths. "Don't want to? Okay, I'll just leave you here all spread out and unsatisfied."

He starts to pull away, but you stop him. “No! Please! W-wait! P-please xavier.. t-touch me.. want you to make me cum.. you're so good.. such a skilled hunter.. you're the best a-and way so much better than me..please…” your voice cracks, desperation and need coloring every word.

The words pour out of you in a rush, a desperate plea for his touch, his attention. You've never felt so vulnerable, so exposed.

He smirks, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. "See? That wasn't so hard."

He shoving you panties back into your mouth.

His fingers find your clit once more, circling the sensitive nub with deliberate, teasing strokes. You moan, your hips rocking against his hand, seeking more friction, more

"That’s it," he murmurs, his voice low and rough with desire. "Let me hear you. Let me feel you.”

He increases the pressure, rubbing your clit in firm, steady circles. At the same time, he slides two fingers inside you, curling them just right to hit that spot that makes you see stars.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he groans, his fingers pumping in and out of your tight heat. "So hot and ready for me."

He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear. "I'm going to make you come so hard," he promises, his breath hot against your skin. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk, until all you can think about is my cock inside you."

His words send a shiver down your spine, a thrill of anticipation and desire. You've never been talked to like this before, never been so thoroughly claimed and possessed.

Without warning, he’s inside you, his hard length stretching you, filling you in one brutal thrust. You cry out around the gag, your back arching off the bed.

“Ah!”

He sets a punishing pace, pounding into you with reckless abandon. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall with each powerful thrust.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he pants, his voice rough with need. "So tight, so perfect."

He pulls back, his eyes locking with yours. The intensity in his gaze steals your breath, makes your heart race.

"I'm going to ruin you," he growls, his thrusts growing harder, faster. "Ruin this sweet little cunt until you can't walk straight."

You whimper around the gag, your nails raking down the sheets.

Xavier's fingers dig into the soft flesh of your breasts, kneading and squeezing roughly. He pinches your nipples between his fingers, twisting and tugging until you're gasping and writhing beneath him.

"You said you wanted to know how rough my night was, right?" he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "Let's find out."

He leans down, his teeth closing around one sensitive peak. He bites down, hard enough to make you cry out, before soothing the sting with his tongue.

"Maybe next time I’ll take you there," he murmurs against your skin, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "I’ll fuck you there as we hide from the Wanderers. Let’s see how long you can keep your mouth shut.”

➤ Brat taming!Zayne x brat!reader

Your heels clicked loudly against the polished floor as you walked down the hall, head held high. Every step echoed with confidence, and you could feel the eyes on you—admiring, envious, curious. Flashing a dazzling smile, you tossed a playful wave toward a group of students, then blew a kiss toward a few boys who immediately scrambled to look cool. You chuckled to yourself. Being the most popular girl on campus had its perks.

When you reached the teacher's office, you smoothed your skirt, knocked lightly, and walked in. Mr. Ryo was at his desk, looking up from a pile of papers.

"You called for me, sir?" you asked with a practiced, polite tone.

He sighed, already looking exasperated as he handed you a stack of tests—your tests.

"Explain this." he said sharply.

Your stomach sank as you flipped through them. Red marks dominated every page. "Uh, well, you see... I haven’t been sleeping well because my house is under renov—"

"Save it," he cut you off, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You’re barely scraping by, and if this keeps up, you’ll fail my class."

Your eyes widened in panic. "What? No, I can’t fail! Please, sir, I’ll—"

"That’s why I’ve arranged a tutor for you," he said flatly, cutting off your plea.

You groaned. "A tutor? Come on, I don’t need—"

"He’s already here." Mr. Ruki interrupted, nodding toward the door as it opened.

You turned to see who it was, and your heart dropped. There, leaning casually against the doorframe, was Zayne.

Of all people.

Zayne, your eternal nemesis. You hated him since high school, where he lorded over everyone as the president of the student council. He had a talent for finding flaws in you specifically—your tardiness, your outfits, your general existence. And now, standing there with his arms crossed, he looked just as insufferable as ever.

His sharp eyes flicked over you, unimpressed, before he straightened. "I’m only doing this because Mr. Ryo asked me to," he said, his voice cool and detached. "We’ll start after class. Your place."

"Wait, my place?" you blurted, already bristling.

He raised an eyebrow, ignoring your tone. "Don’t waste my time." he said simply, then turned and walked away as if the conversation was over.

You stood frozen, jaw dropped. How was this your life right now?

"Dismissed." Mr. Ryo said, waving you off.

You left the office in a daze, gripping the stack of papers tightly. Of all the tutors in the world, it had to be Zayne.

"Oh, he's still an asshole." you muttered under your breath.

You spot him standing near the front gate of the campus, waiting with his usual stiff posture. He’s dressed in a crisp white shirt tucked neatly into his plain slacks, his glasses perched perfectly on his nose. Seriously, who even dresses like that these days? Zayne was still the same nerdy, old-fashioned perfectionist he’d always been.

“You’re late." he said as you approached, his tone as cold as ever.

You rolled your eyes, folding your arms. "Sorry." you muttered, not meaning it in the slightest.

He sighed heavily, the disappointment practically radiating off him. "You never change."

"And neither do you," you snapped back. "Look, let’s just cut this short, okay? We both hate this, and we both hate each other. I’ll tell Mr. Ryo that you were useless and told me to screw off. Problem solved. Bye."

You turned on your heel and walked away. He looked at you from behind, adjusting his glasses as his sharp gaze followed you.

"She needs to be disciplined."

Once you step in your room, Somehow, impossibly, you’ve ended up straddling Zayne’s lap, his thick length nestled snugly between your thighs. Skirt up, panties aside.

His fingers dig into your hips as he holds you steady, his hard length throbbing deep inside you. The books lay open on the desk before you.

He grip your hips, fingers digging into your soft flesh. His hazel eyes are dark with desire as they take over your form. "I'll give you five minutes to finish your quiz," he growls, voice low and commanding. "Start now."

You shiver at the authority in his tone, a thrill running down your spine. With trembling hands, you reach for your pen, but it's a struggle to focus. The heat of Zayne's cock deep inside you is a constant distraction, making it hard to.

You try to focus, pen hovering over the paper, but it's impossible to think with him filling you so completely. Your walls clench around him, desperate for more, for the friction that will send you spiraling into bliss. But he remains still, a cruel master determined to make you earn your pleasure.

"Three minutes," he growls, his breath hot against your neck. His hips twitch, a teasing promise of what's to come. "Don't make me wait."

You whimper, the sound lost in the rustle of turning pages. The first question swims into view, but the words blur together, meaningless in the face of the exquisite ache building within you. Your hand trembles as you scribble down an answer, praying it's correct.

“Times up.”

The exam paper lies crumpled on the desk, your pen clattering to the floor as you whimper loudly. Zayne moves closer, his hazel eyes scanning the answers you've scribbled down. As he reads, his cock twitches inside you, eliciting a moan from your lips.

"Look at your paper," he clicks his tongue disapprovingly. "Did you really finish high school? How did you even go to college? God, you're still as dumb as ever. What have you been doing all these years?"

You bite your lip, trying to stifle another moan as he pinches your clit. Your hips buck involuntarily, seeking more friction against his thick length buried deep within you.

"D-don't be mean, Zayne." you plead, humping against him desperately.

“D-don’t b-be mean, Z-zayne.” He mocked.

He scoffs, grips on your neck tightens, forcing you to meet his piercing gaze. His eyes are dark with lust and frustration, a dangerous combination that sends shivers down your spine.

"This won't do at all," he growls, his voice low and menacing. "You just want to get fucked stupid, don't you? To have your mind completely emptied by my cock until you can't think of anything but the pleasure I give you."

You whimper pathetically, your body trembling under his dominant touch. The degrading words only serve to heighten your arousal, your pussy clenching greedily around his thick shaft.

"Answer me," Zayne demands, his fingers digging into your skin. "Tell me what you want”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but they're not from pain. It's the overwhelming mix of shame and desire that threatens to consume you.

"Y-yes.. please want you to fuck me stupid, zayne.. been waiting for long." You beg.

The cool air hits your exposed skin as Zayne pulls his thick cock out of your dripping pussy, making you whine in protest. He grabs your hips and maneuvers you to the edge of the bed, your ass presented to him like an offering.

SLAP!

His palm connects with your cheek, the sting radiating through your body. You yelp and bury your face in the sheets, your fingers clutching at the fabric.

"And what makes you deserve it?" Zayne asks, his voice cold and demanding.

You can't response, your mind clouded with arousal and the throbbing pain in your ass. He rubs your reddening cheeks, soothing the sting before delivering another sharp spank.

"Ah! Zayne, it hurts!" you cry out, your voice muffled by the sheets.

"You want me to stop?" he asks, his fingers digging into your tender flesh.

"N-no," you whimper, shaking your head frantically. "Please don't stop.."

Zayne's dark chuckle rumbles through his chest as he delivers another stinging spank to your reddened ass. "I knew it," he growls, his fingers digging into your tender flesh. "You're just a pathetic little masochist, aren't you? You crave the pain, the degradation. It's the only way you can get off."

He leans over you, his body pressing against your back as he whispers in your ear. "Now, you better count for me. Maybe if you're being a good little slut, I'll fuck you senseless. But if you miss a number or hesitate, I'll keep spanking you until you can't sit for a week."

His hand hovers over your ass, the threat of another spank hanging in the air. "Start counting.”

You take a shaky breath, your mind racing with anticipation and fear. "O-one." you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper.

SLAP!

His palm connects with your cheek, the pain searing through your body.

"Louder," he commands, his voice cold and demanding. "I want the whole neighborhood to hear what a pathetic slut you are."

You bite your lip, trying to stifle a whimper as you force out the next number. "T-two."

SLAP!

Another spank lands on your reddened flesh, the sting radiating through your body.

Zayne's hand cracks against your ass again and again, the sharp sting of each spank sending jolts of pain and pleasure through your body. You lose track of how many times his palm connects with your reddened flesh, your mind hazing over with the intensity of it all.

"Twenty." you cry out, your voice hoarse and broken.

Zayne pauses, taking a deep breath as he admires his handiwork. His fingers trace over the raised welts on your skin, the heat radiating from your ass. He spreads your cheeks apart, exposing your dripping pussy to his hungry gaze.

"Fuck, look at you," he growls, his voice thick with lust. "So wet for me, even after all that. Aren't you ashamed? Didn't you say you hated me since high school? Now look at you, bent over and taking your punishment like a good little slut.

"I-I hate you!" you whimper, even as your hips push back against his touch.

Zayne chuckles darkly, his fingers rubbing your labia teasingly. His fingers slip easily into your soaked entrance, your body betraying your true desires despite your feeble protests. He pumps them in and out, curling them just right to hit that sensitive spot deep inside you.

"Don't worry, the feeling is mutual." he murmurs, his lips brushing against your back as he presses a tender kiss to your skin.

His fingers move faster, harder, the obscene sound of your arousal filling the room. Your walls clench around him, desperate for more, even as your mind reels from the degrading words falling from his lips.

Just as you about to cum, his fingers slip out of your dripping pussy, replaced by the thick, hard length of his cock. You arch your back with a loud moan, your body stretching to accommodate him.

"Oh! Zayne!" you cry out, your voice echoing off the walls.

He starts fucking you hard and fast, his grip on your hair tightening as he pulls your head back. His other hand presses down on your back, keeping you arched and exposed to his relentless thrusts.

The skin slapping sounds fill the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure. His palm connects with your ass, the sting only heightening your arousal.

"Ahhngh s-so good please please don't stop..!" you beg, your words dissolving into incoherent pleas.

Zayne chuckles darkly, his pace never faltering. "Yeah? Cock drunk already? I barely started, darling.”

He fucks you harder, faster, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you with every thrust. His hand runs to your belly, pressing down on the bulge as he pounds into you. The added pressure makes you scream, your pussy clenching around his cock like a vice.

"Fuck," he groans, his hips snapping forward with brutal force. "I fucking hate you. Fucking hate that short skirt, fucking hate that skimpy outfit, fucking hate your makeup, your attitude. Argh... so fucking hot. Makes me want to fuck you in front of everyone. God, this pussy feels so good."

His words are like a drug, your body responding to the degradation even as your mind reels. You can only moan in response, lost in the haze of pleasure and pain.

"Z-zayne... k-kiss me... please." you manage to gasp out, your voice broken and needy.

Zayne throws his glasses aside, grabbing your face and crushing his lips to yours in a bruising kiss. His tongue invades your mouth, claiming you, owning you.

"Fuck me like you hate me."

➤ Rival!Rafayel x reader

Your footsteps echo through the art exhibition, your eyes scanning the frames on the walls. Each piece is scrutinized in silence, the weight of your judgment unmistakable. You shake your head, disappointment flickering across your face. Sliding your hands into the pockets of your coat, you turn on your heels, ready to leave.

And then you see him.

Rafayel, the owner of the exhibition, stands a few feet away, his sharp gaze cutting through the distance. Anger burns in his eyes.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demands, his voice tight.

You scoff, taking a deliberate step toward him.

"Rafayel," you say, your tone laced with mockery, "have you learned nothing?"

His hands clench into fists at his sides, his body tense as he closes the gap between you.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he growls, his face mere inches from yours.

A smirk tugs at your lips, and you laugh softly, cocky and infuriating. Tilting your head, you deliver the blow.

"Your paintings," you say, gesturing toward the walls with a flick of your hand. "Still as dull as ever."

His jaw tightens, his glare sharp enough to cut glass. You can see him fighting the urge to lash out.

"You don’t know a damn thing." he hisses.

Turning back to the nearest painting, you feign a thoughtful gaze, letting the silence stretch just long enough to unnerve him. Then, almost casually, you speak.

"Have you heard the news? About the plagiarism accusations?"

You don’t need to look at him to feel the storm brewing in his chest.

"I didn’t plagiarize anything," he snaps, his voice low and trembling with restrained fury. "I don’t copy, and I don’t steal."

You let out a low laugh, shaking your head as if pitying him.

"Are you sure about that?" you ask, your smug expression cutting deeper than words.

His teeth grind together audibly.

"I don’t need to prove anything to you."

You shrug, your indifference only stoking the fire in his eyes. Slowly, you start toward the exit, your footsteps deliberate.

"Well," you call over your shoulder, "you’d better get a good lawyer, then."

Before you can leave, he grabs your arm, spinning you back toward him. His grip is desperate, his voice shaking.

"I didn’t do it!" he insists, his eyes pleading for you to believe him—or at least stop.

Your smirk widens as you raise a hand, your fingers brushing lightly against his cheek. He flinches but doesn’t pull away.

"Then you’d better give me a reason not to report you," you say, your voice silky, every word a trap. "What can you do for me, Rafayel? Hmm?"

His breath catches.

"I..." His voice falters, his resolve crumbling under the weight of your gaze. "I’ll do anything."

–

You smirk down at him, your shadow falling over his helpless form as he lies on the bed. His face is flushed, a deep crimson that spreads from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. He averts his gaze, his breath shallow and uneven, clearly wrestling with the embarrassment of the situation.

"You look pathetic like this." you say, your tone a mixture of mockery and amusement.

His lips part as if to respond, but no words come. Instead, he turns his head to the side, his fists gripping the sheets beneath him, as though anchoring himself against the storm of emotions threatening to consume him.

"Don’t look away." you command, your voice sharp enough to make him flinch. Slowly, hesitantly, his eyes meet yours, wide and vulnerable.

The sight only fuels your satisfaction. Leaning in, you lower your face closer to his, your smirk widening as you watch him squirm.

"Embarrassed, are we?" you whisper, your words laced with cruel delight.

"I…" he stammers, his voice barely audible.

You chuckle softly, the sound echoing in the quiet room. Reaching out, you trail a finger along his jawline, savoring the way he shivers under your touch.

"Good," you murmur. "Stay just like this. Helpless. Humble."

His breath hitches, and for a moment, it feels as though the world has narrowed to just the two of you—the tension between dominance and submission hanging heavy in the air.

"Do you understand?" you ask, your voice low but firm.

He nods, barely, his pride crumbling under the weight of your gaze.

You slowly take one of the brush paint. Rafayel's eyes widen as he watches you approach, the brush in your hand, a wicked gleam in your eyes. He squirms on the bed, his face flushed with embarrassment and arousal, his hard cock standing proudly against his stomach.

“Mhm.. you’re so sensitive.”

"S-stop teasing.” he whimpers, his hips twitching as you tease the sensitive tip with the soft bristles.

You enjoying the power you hold over him, the way he's at your mercy. "And who said you get to decide?" you purr, your voice low and seductive. "I'm in charge now, and I'm going to take my time with you."

You trail the brush down his length, watching as he shudders and moans, his cock twitching under your touch. "Look at you," you murmur, your eyes roaming over his body, taking in every inch of him. "So hard for me already, so desperate for my touch.”

The brush go lower, teasing his balls, watching as he squirms and moans, his cock twitching and leaking pre-cum.

You trail the pre-cum coated brush over his sensitive skin, his body arching into your touch. He watches, transfixed, as you paint his abs, his nipples, his neck, his face, leaving a glistening trail of his own essence in your wake.

"Fuck," he groans, his voice rough with need. "You're driving me crazy."

He licks his lips as you rub the brush over them, tasting himself, the flavor heady and intoxicating. His eyes meet yours, dark with lust and adoration, his gaze never leaving your face as you admire your handiwork.

"Such a work of art," you murmur, your voice filled with reverence. "My own personal masterpiece.”

You throw away the paintbrush, your hands sliding over his cum-slicked skin. He gasps as you grip his neck, forcing him to meet your piercing gaze, your words hitting him like a punch to the gut.

"I never liked you," you hiss, your voice dripping with venom. "Back in art college, you were so arrogant, so childish. And yet, you always won every competition."

Your other hand flicks and pinches his nipple, making him moan and arch into your touch. "I wonder what people would think if they saw you like this," you mused, your eyes glinting with malice. "So helpless, so desperate under me. Should we show them? Should I record how pathetic you look right now?"

Rafayel's cock twitches at the thought, his body betraying his desire even as he shakes his head, pleading with you. "Please, don't." he begs, his voice hoarse with need.

His breath hitches as your hand drifts lower, your fingers wrapping around his throbbing cock, stroking him slowly, teasingly. "Look at you," you purr, your voice low and seductive. "So hard for me, even as I threaten to expose you."

You squeeze him tighter, your thumb swirling around the sensitive head, smearing the pre-cum that leaks from the tip. "I could ruin you, you know," you whisper, your lips brushing against his ear. "One video, one scandal, and your reputation would be in tatters."

Rafayel whimpers, his hips bucking into your hand, seeking more of your touch. "Please," he begs, his voice breaking. "Don't do this. I'll do anything, be anything you want."

You smirk, your eyes gleaming with triumph. "Anything, huh?" you ask, your hand stilling on his cock. "Even if I want to use you like my own personal toy?”

His eyes widen at the suggestion, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through him. He swallows hard, his throat bobbing as he tries to find his voice.

"Y-yes," he stammers, his cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of red. "I'll do anything you want. Use me however you see fit."

He looks up at you, his gaze pleading and desperate, silently begging you to take control, to dominate him completely. "Please," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "I'm yours."

You smirk, your eyes gleaming with triumph and lust. You release his cock, your hand trailing up his body, your nails dragging lightly over his skin.

"Good boy," you purr, your voice low and seductive. "Such a good obedient little toy.”

You take off your bra and panties, crawl on top of him teasingly.

Rafayel's eyes widen as you straddle his face, your bare pussy hovering just inches from his eager mouth. He licks his lips, his tongue darting out to taste you, to savor your essence.

"Make me cum first." you demand, your voice husky with desire. You grip his hair, your nails digging into his scalp as you lower yourself onto his face, your wet heat pressing against his lips.

He moans into you, the vibrations sending shivers through your body. He grips your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pulls you closer, his tongue delving deep into your folds, lapping at your clit, sucking and nibbling until you're writhing above him, your juices coating his face.

You ride him hard, grinding your pussy against his mouth, using his face for your pleasure. "Fuck, yes," you moan, your head thrown back in ecstasy. "Just like that.”

Rafayel's tongue delves deep, lapping at your clit, sucking and nibbling, his lips and teeth and chin all covered in your juices as he devours you. He grips your hips tighter, holding you in place as you grind against his face, using him for your pleasure.

Your hand wanders to look for your phone. Flashing coming up to his face. His eyes widen in shock as the flash of your phone goes off, momentarily blinding him. He squirms beneath you, instinctively trying to pull away from the sudden bright light.

But you press him down harder, your grip on his hair tightening, your thighs clamping around his head. "Stay still," you command, your voice firm. "Keep going, baby. Don't you want to make me cum?"

Rafayel whimpers, his body trembling with a mix of fear and arousal. He knows he's helpless, completely at your mercy, and yet the thought of being recorded, of being exposed, only serves to heighten his desire.

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and then dives back in, his tongue lapping at your clit, his lips sealing around it and sucking hard. He can feel you tensing above him, your moans growing louder, more desperate, as he works you closer and closer to the edge.

Rafayel's tongue works feverishly, his lips and teeth and chin all covered in your juices as he devours you, determined to bring you to the edge. He can feel you tensing above him, your thighs quivering, your juices flowing freely as he pushes you closer and closer to the release you so desperately crave.

He doubles his efforts, his tongue flicking rapidly over your clit, his lips sealing around it and sucking hard, his nose pressing against your sensitive bundle of nerves as he breathes in your scent, intoxicated by your taste, your smell, the feel of you against his mouth.

Your moans grow louder, more desperate, your hips bucking wildly against his face as you ride him harder, chasing your release. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, I'm gonna cum," you cry out, your voice raw with need.

You came all over his face. Rafayel's face is drenched in your juices as you pull away, your release coating his lips and chin, dripping down onto his chest. He looks up at you, his eyes glazed with a mix of arousal and embarrassment, his cheeks flushed a deep red.

You smirk down at him, your phone still in hand, the camera trained on his cock as you pump it a few times, making him wince at the sensitivity. "Oh? Did you just cum? Only from me sitting on your face?" you mock, your voice dripping with amusement.

He grunts, his face burning with shame at the realization that he came just from pleasuring you, from the taste and feel of you against his mouth. He looks away, unable to meet your gaze, his cock twitching in your hand.

But then you cup his face, your fingers gentle against his skin as you pull him towards you, your lips meeting in a deep, passionate kiss. Rafayel melts into it, his embarrassment forgotten as he loses himself in the taste of you, in the feel of your lips against his.

When you pull away from the kiss, your lips leaving his with a soft smack. He watches, breathless and aching, as you place your phone on the desk, angling it to capture both of you.

"Just because I'm feeling nice, I'm gonna ride tonight," you purr, your hand still wrapped around his throbbing cock, stroking it slowly, teasingly.

"T-thank you," Rafayel stammers, his voice husky with need. He bucks into your touch, desperate for more, for the feel of you around him.

You position yourself over him, your wet heat hovering just above his tip. Then, with a slow, torturous descent, you sink down onto him, taking him inch by inch into your tight, slick heat.

Rafayel groans, his head falling back against the pillow as you envelop him, your walls clenching around his length. "Fuck, you feel so good," he gasps, his hands flying to your hips, gripping them tightly.

You start to move, rising up until just the tip remains inside you, then sinking back down, taking him deep. Rafayel's hips buck up to meet you, his rhythm matching yours as you ride him hard and fast.

"That's it, baby," he pants, his eyes locked on where you're joined, watching as his cock disappears into your heat over and over again. "Fuck, you're so tight, so perfect."

His hands slide up your body, cupping your breasts, thumbing your nipples as you bounce on his lap. You moan, your head falling back, your hair cascading down your back as you lose yourself in the pleasure.

He leans forward, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking and nipping at the sensitive bud as you ride him.

You grin down at him, your confidence radiating as you lean closer, lowering your head until your lips hover near his ear.

"I’m actually the one who’s been copying you.”

➤ Sylus x thief!reader

You slide your gun back into your pocket, your eyes darting around the sprawling, opulent house. The silence here is unnerving, as if the place has been abandoned, yet something about it feels... wrong. You tiptoe cautiously, the soles of your boots making the faintest of sounds against the polished floor.

Your boss had told you to rob this house, promising a hefty payoff. But now, separated from your partners, the task feels like a trap. The eerie quiet, the pristine state of everything—it’s like no one’s lived here in years.

Still, the sheer luxury of it all tempts you. Your gaze lingers on ornate paintings, golden vases, and intricately crafted furniture. You can't wait to make off with some of it. Before you realize it, your wandering feet lead you to the kitchen.

The darkness here is almost tangible, swallowing everything whole. You fumble forward, your fingers brushing against cold countertops. Suddenly, your hand knocks over something small and glass.

A spice jar tumbles to the floor with a sharp clink.

"Shit, shit!" you whisper, your hands scrambling to pick it up.

Then, without warning, the overhead light flicks on.

"Well, well," a low, amused voice drawls. "What do we have here? A curious little kitten prowling where it shouldn’t be?"

Your heart jumps to your throat as you whirl around. Standing in the doorway is a tall man with stark white hair and piercing eyes. He’s immaculate, like he stepped out of some glossy magazine, but there’s something deeply unnerving about the smirk playing on his lips.

You gulp, your hands trembling as you reach for your gun. "W-who are you?"

He steps closer, the smirk widening. "Me? I’m Sylus, the owner of this house. Just got back from... cleaning up a mess. Some little rats who tried to steal from me."

Your stomach drops. Your partners. They’re gone.

Fear overtakes you, but you steady your grip, pulling the gun free and aiming it square at his chest. "Don’t come any closer."

His expression doesn’t falter. If anything, his smirk grows darker, more mocking. "Oh, kitten," he murmurs, "you don’t want to do that."

"Sorry." you breathe, steeling yourself as you pull the trigger.

Bang!

You flinch, your eyes squeezed shut. When you finally force them open, he’s still standing there. Unharmed.

The bullet didn’t touch him.

"What the hell—" you stammer, panic rising as you pull the trigger again. And again.

Nothing works. He doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he laughs—a cold, menacing sound that echoes through the room.

In a flash, he’s on you, gripping your wrist with an iron strength. Pain shoots through you, forcing the gun to clatter to the floor. He lifts your chin with his free hand, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"I told you," he says, his voice soft but laced with menace. "You didn’t want to do that."

"F-fuck you!" you snap, struggling against his grip. "Let me go!"

He tilts his head, his gaze dragging over your pretty face. There’s an unsettling glint in his eyes, like a predator toying with its prey.

"Hm," he murmurs, his grip tightening. "No. I’ll keep this one.”

—

You're sprawled out on the cold kitchen table, tears streaming down your face as his tongue laps hungrily at your most intimate places. Your wrists are bound with his evol, holding your legs wide open for his feasting. The obscene sounds of his slurping and your desperate moans echo through the house.

"P-please, ahh! No more... too much...!" you beg, voice hoarse from crying out. But he just chuckles darkly, the vibrations sending shivers through your core.

"Mhm... not my fault this is my kitchen. I eat whatever I want. Let me enjoy my meal." he growls, diving back lap at your dripping folds. You arch off the floor, a loud moan tearing from your throat. Gods, if anyone hears...

"Ngghh... fuck you... I hate rich people like you... people like me barely have any meals..." you whimper, even as your hips buck into his face. It's your own fault for trying to rob this place, but what choice did you have? You need to survive.

Sylus pulls back, admiring your glistening body splayed out before him. Your thighs are trembling, your chest heaving with each ragged breath. He licks his lips, savoring your taste.

"People like me, huh? Tell me more, kitten. What do you think about me?" His voice is a low purr, dripping with dark amusement. He trails a clawed finger along your inner thigh, teasing.

You try to think of anything, but your mind is hazy with pleasure. All you can focus on is the heat of his gaze, the promise in his touch. Your body is betraying you, aching for more even as you struggle against the bonds.

"Uh... you... you're annoyingly rich... but ahh... you're so hot... mhh..." The words slip out between moans as you rub your thighs together, seeking friction. It's clear he's getting to you, driving you crazy with need.

He chuckles darkly, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he leans in close, his breath hot against your ear. "Is that so? And yet here you are, spread out like a feast just for me. I wonder... do you really hate me? Or do you crave the forbidden thrill of being at the mercy of someone like me?"

Sylus’ clawed hands trails up your thigh, sharp nails lightly scraping your sensitive skin. He can feel you trembling, feel the heat radiating off your body. Your arousal is intoxicating, a heady scent that fills his senses.

"I could give you everything you've ever wanted, kitten. All you have to do is ask nicely." He nips at your earlobe, soothing the sting with his tongue. "Or maybe you'd prefer I take it? I can be very persuasive when I want to be.”

His hand slides up your body, cupping your breast and squeezing roughly. He pinches your nipple between his fingers, rolling and tugging until you're arching into his touch with a desperate whine. Your body is so responsive, so eager for his touch even as you try to resist.

"Mhm..i could eat you whole up y’know.." he purrs, his voice a dark promise. He leans down, capturing your nipple between his lips and sucking hard. The sensation sends sparks of pleasure-pain shooting through you, making you gasp and writhe beneath him.

His free hand continues its teasing exploration of your body, dipping between your thighs to circle your clit. You're so wet, so ready for him. He can feel it in the way your hips buck against his touch, seeking more.

"Look at you, so desperate for my cock." he growls, releasing your nipple with a wet pop. He sits back on his heels, admiring the wanton picture you make - bound and spread out, flushed and panting with need.

Sylus smirks, an idea forming in his twisted mind. He pulls away from you, his gaze roaming the kitchen floor as if searching for something. Then he spots it - your gun, lying forgotten on the floor. He picks it up, turning it over in his hands with a wicked gleam in his eye.

"You remember this?" he asks, holding it up for you to see. Your eyes widen in fear and you gulp, shaking your head frantically.

"No, no, please don't kill me-" you beg, your voice trembling. But he just laughs, a dark, cruel sound that sends shivers down your spine.

"Shh... I won't kill you, kitten. I've decided to keep you instead. But let's make this more interesting, shall we?" He slides the gun up your body, making you flinch and squirm. He stops when the barrel is pressed against your lips.

"Open up." he commands, his voice brooking no argument. You have no choice but to comply, parting your lips.

He pushes the gun deeper into your mouth, watching with sadistic glee as you gag and choke around it. Tears stream down your face as you struggle to breathe, your body writhing in panic. But he just smirks, enjoying your distress.

"That's it, kitten. Take it all." he purrs, his voice dripping with dark amusement. He holds the gun in place for a long moment before finally pulling it out. Strings of saliva connect your lips to the barrel, a degrading reminder of what he's just made you do.

He trails the gun down your body, over your heaving breasts and quivering stomach, until he reaches the apex of your thighs. Your pussy is dripping with arousal, a fact that doesn't escape his notice.

"Look at you, so wet and ready," he taunts, rubbing the gun against your clit. You cry out, your hips bucking involuntarily into the touch. The sensation is strange but not entirely unpleasant, the cold metal a stark contrast to your heated flesh.

He continues to tease your clit with the gun. Your hips writhe and buck, seeking more of the strange sensation even as your mind rebels at the degradation of it all.

"You're such a filthy slut, getting off on having a gun shoved in your mouth and rubbed on your cunt, knowing it could kill you anytime." he growls, his voice thick with lust. He slides the barrel lower, pressing it against your entrance. Your eyes widen in fear and anticipation, your body tensing as he begins to push it inside.

"Oh god!" you cry out as the cold metal breaches your hot, slick flesh. The sensation is intense, bordering on painful, but there's an undeniable thrill to it as well. He works the gun in and out, fucking you with it in shallow thrusts that have you seeing stars.

He continues to fuck you with the gun, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure-pain through your body. Your pussy clenches around the cold metal, trying to draw it deeper even as your mind screams at the wrongness of it all. He leans over you, his body caging you in as he drives the gun in harder, faster.

"That's it, kitten. Take it all. Take every fucking inch." he growls, his voice a dark promise. His free hand releases your nipple to trail down your body, fingers dancing over your skin like a promise of more to come. He reaches your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight, fast circles that have you keening and thrashing beneath him.

The dual stimulation is too much, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of oblivion. Your body tenses, your muscles coiling tight as the pressure builds to an unbearable crescendo. You're so close, teetering on the brink of something huge and terrifying and utterly inevitable.

"Fuck, I can feel you tightening up.”

He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, "Come for me, kitten. Let me feel you come undone on your gun." His fingers work your clit with ruthless precision, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your body tenses, your muscles coiling tight as the pressure builds to an unbearable crescendo. You're so close, teetering on the brink of something huge and terrifying and utterly inevitable.

With a final, brutal thrust of the gun, he sends you careening over the edge. Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your pussy clenching and fluttering around the cold metal as wave after wave of ecstasy washes through you.

“Ahhhh!!”

You scream, your voice raw and ragged, as the intensity of your climax overwhelms you.

He brings the gun to his lips, licking your essence from the barrel with a wicked grin. The taste of your arousal mingles with the metallic tang of the gun, a heady combination that makes his cock throb with need.

"Delicious." he purrs, his eyes glinting with dark satisfaction. He sets the gun aside, his attention now fully focused on your quivering, spent form. He trails his fingers up your thighs, his touch feather-light and teasing.

"But we're far from done, kitten. I'm going to fuck you now, hard and deep, until you can't even remember your own name. Until the only thing you know is the feel of my cock splitting you open and the sound of my voice commanding you to come."

He positions himself between your legs, the thick head of his cock nudging against your sensitive, swollen flesh. You whimper, your body already tensing in anticipation of the intrusion. He chuckles darkly, enjoying your reaction.

"Shh, just relax and take it like a good little slut. This is what you're made for, after all. To be used and filled and fucked until you can't take anymore."

With those words, he thrusts forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke. You cry out, your back arching off the table as he stretches you wide around his thick length. The burn of the intrusion is intense, your body struggling to accommodate his size.

"Fuck, you're so tight." he groans, his hips grinding against yours. He gives you a moment to adjust before he starts to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in. He sets a punishing pace, his cock pistoning in and out of your dripping cunt with ruthless efficiency.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room as he pounds into you with wild abandon. His cock stretches you wide, the thick length hitting depths you didn't know you had. Each thrust sends jolts of pleasure-pain through your body, your nerves singing with the intensity of it all.

“Ahhh Sy-sylus! P-please ahh..! S-so good!”

Sylus pounds into you relentlessly, each thrust driving you harder against the table. His claws dig into your hips, leaving crescent-shaped marks in their wake. You can feel every ridge and vein of his thick cock as he stretches you, claiming you as his own.

He leans over you, his body caging you in as he drives into you harder, faster. His teeth find your neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin until you're sure you'll be marked for days. The thought sends a thrill through you, the idea of bearing his claim for all to see.

"Yeah... you're mine now. All mine," he said, his voice low and possessive. His eyes burned into yours, unrelenting. "No matter how much you hate it, I'm going to keep you here. Forever."

Before you could respond, he grabbed the back of your neck and crashed his lips onto yours. The kiss was rough, messy, and unapologetic, leaving you breathless and furious all at once.

When he pulled back, his smirk returned.

"That means I'll take care of you. Feed you. Buy you whatever you want. Take you anywhere you dream of going." he murmured, his tone deceptively sweet.

His grip tightened slightly, holding you in place. "I'll spoil you, treat you better than anyone ever could. But you're not leaving. Not now, not ever.”

I'm opening some request, send them to my inbox<3

Reblogs are more appreciated, thanks for the notes!

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[fear-less]

could you maybe do james potter x some one who is strange and wonderlandish (kinda like the one you wrote for sirius)

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 minorly stuck

paring: james potter x f!reader

➥ In which, james is now understanding the term of love at first sight when he sees a not so normal looking girl wondering around the castle.

warnings: silly reader, fluff, james is in love, use of y/n, lowkey ended it on a cliffhanger bc I was running out of ideas

1.7K words 

It had been the same as any other day for James Potter—chaotic morning, disorganized afternoon, and who knew what the night would hold. The usual whirlwind of mischief, laughter, and the occasional near-miss with Filch had made their way through the first few hours of the day, but there was something different about today.

As James and the rest of the Marauders made their way to the Great Hall for lunch, they were stopped in their tracks by an unexpected sight. A girl stood just ahead, the very picture of contradiction and eccentricity. She was dressed in a riot of colors—patches of reds, yellows, greens, and blues—clashing wildly yet somehow coming together in a way that defied all logic. There were layers of mismatched fabrics, a plaid shirt with a striped skirt that seemed to swirl in a strange dance with every step, and shoes that looked as though they’d been chosen by a person who didn’t care to follow the rules of symmetry.

James, who was known for his casual but fashionable style, couldn’t help but be drawn to her outfit. He’d never considered himself a fashion expert, but even he knew better than to pair such audacious patterns. He’d never be caught dead wearing something so utterly mismatched, yet here she was—radiating an aura of confidence that made the idea of conformity seem utterly unimportant.

“Bloody hell, look at her,” Sirius muttered under his breath, though it wasn’t entirely in judgment. More like... fascination. “Who wears a plaid shirt with striped skirts?”

James grinned, watching the girl curiously. “She does, apparently.”

“You think she’s lost?” Remus asked, raising an eyebrow. He’d heard of eccentric students from the other houses, but this one was something else entirely.

Before anyone could offer another word, the girl turned towards them, her eyes gleaming with a strange, knowing look. She smiled, as if seeing them for the first time, but somehow, James had the oddest sensation that she had already been watching them for far longer.

“You must be the Marauders,” she said, her voice light and airy, like the sound of a bell ringing in the distance. It was both an observation and a statement, as if she knew their every move before they even made it. “You’re much easier to spot than you think.”

James blinked, his mouth slightly open in surprise. "And you are?" he asked, his voice a little more curious than he intended.

The girl tilted her head, her mismatched socks peeking out from beneath her skirt. “Oh, I’m just someone passing through your world. But, I think you’ll find my path crosses with yours more often than you realize.”

She gave them one last smile, a cryptic little twist of her lips, before turning away and walking off into the maze of Hogwarts corridors. Her steps were light, almost as though she were floating rather than walking, her mismatched clothes swishing around her like a kaleidoscope of color. Before long, she disappeared into the distance, leaving behind a lingering sense of wonder, or perhaps confusion, that none of them could quite shake.

While the Marauders continued toward the Great Hall, chatting among themselves as if nothing had happened, James found himself walking on autopilot, his mind elsewhere. His feet carried him forward, but his thoughts were still tangled in the strange girl they had just encountered. Who was she? Why did she seem so... out of place yet completely in tune with the madness of Hogwarts? He had no answers, but there was something about her that he couldn’t ignore. Her smile, the way she spoke, the sheer oddity of her presence—it was all so... mysterious.

"Oi, Potter, you all right?" Remus’ voice broke through his thoughts, and James blinked, momentarily shaken. He glanced at his friends, who had already started making their way toward the Great Hall, completely unaware of the strange moment that had just passed.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," James mumbled, his voice absent as he unconsciously followed them. “Just... thinking.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. "You're awfully quiet today. You were boasting about how you were going to charm some first-year by the end of the week, and now you're just... spaced out?"

James didn’t respond right away, his mind still far from where they were. He was still replaying the image of her in his head—her odd clothes, her cryptic words, that strange, otherworldly aura. It was like something from a dream, something out of place in the dull routine of Hogwarts. His heart thudded slightly faster with a sudden, inexplicable pull.

Then, without warning, the words slipped out of him. “I think I found my soulmate.”

Sirius, who had been walking beside James, nearly tripped over his own feet in surprise. Remus and Peter looked at him with equal disbelief.

“Say what now?” Sirius laughed, the grin on his face widening. “What are you talking about, mate?”

James’ cheeks flushed slightly at the attention, but he didn’t care. He was too caught up in the idea that had just dawned on him. “I don’t know her name, but I swear… I’ve never met anyone like her.”

The three boys stared at him, dumbfounded. James had always been the first to boast about his latest romantic conquests, but this… this was different. It wasn’t like the usual flirty comments or half-hearted crushes.

“Well, who is she, then?” Sirius prodded, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Where’d you find her, and why hasn’t anyone else noticed?”

James shook his head, a small grin tugging at his lips. “I don’t know yet. But I will. And I’m going to find her again. No one else can see it, but I can. I’m going to figure it out.”

He paused, as if gathering his thoughts, before turning to his friends. “Actually… forget about the Great Hall. I’ll catch up with you guys later. I need to find her. I'll see you in a bit."

Without waiting for a response, James turned on his heel, his eyes scanning the crowd of students moving in the opposite direction, searching for the mysterious girl who had already captured his full attention. He didn’t know what it was about her—her quirky, untamed nature or the strange sense of destiny he felt—but he knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t about to let this feeling slip away.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

As James was walking through the corridor, deep in thought about the strange girl, something caught his eye—a flash of color. It was a brief glimpse, but enough to stop him in his tracks. The bright, mismatched clothes reminded him immediately of her, the girl who had wandered into his life only hours before, leaving behind a trail of questions. Without thinking, his feet carried him toward the left, where the corridor opened up to the outside grounds.

He hesitated for a moment, a small voice in his head telling him to turn back, but his curiosity won out. This could be his chance to figure out more about her. With a quick glance to make sure no one was watching, he decided to follow.

His heart raced as he moved closer, and soon enough, there she was. She walked with a carefree stride, her arms holding something—James couldn’t quite make out what it was. It looked like a bundle of books or perhaps a strange collection of trinkets, but it was hard to tell from the distance. Whatever it was, it only added to the air of mystery surrounding her. James made a mental note to ask her about it later, curious to see what she might be carrying.

He took a breath and straightened up, trying to approach nonchalantly, like he wasn’t following her at all. He even threw in a casual little flick of his hair, trying his best to act as if he just happened to be walking in the same direction. But before he could get any closer, she turned—suddenly, almost as if she’d sensed him.

Her eyes met his immediately, that mischievous glint flashing in them once more. The smile she gave him was a curious one, not quite a greeting, but something else entirely. It was as if she already knew exactly why he was there, even though he hadn’t said a word.

James froze for a split second, caught completely off guard. He had expected to catch up to her, perhaps even start a casual conversation. But now that she had turned to face him, there was an intensity in her gaze that made his confidence falter, just for a moment.

"Following me, are you?" Her voice was light, almost teasing, like she had been waiting for him all along.

James opened his mouth to reply, but the words got stuck somewhere in his throat. He wasn’t sure how to explain that he’d been thinking about her, or that something about her was completely captivating. Instead, he just flashed her a grin, hoping to play it cool.

“Maybe,” he said with a wink, finally finding his voice. “But I’m just hoping I can learn more about... you.”

"Hmm, well then, James, I am Y/N," she said, her smile widening, a glimmer of mischief dancing in her eyes.

James blinked, momentarily struck by the sound of her voice, soft yet full of mystery, like a melody he couldn’t quite place. “Y/N…” he repeated under his breath, testing the name on his tongue. It was simple, yet somehow, it felt like it held an entire world of secrets.

What a lovely name, he thought, a strange warmth blooming in his chest. He couldn’t quite explain why, but it seemed to suit her—unusual, elegant, and more than a little out of place in the best way possible. There was something about it that made her feel even more enigmatic, as if she were meant to be a riddle he’d have to solve.

He met her gaze again, trying not to let his smile slip too widely. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N,” he said, his voice a bit lighter than he’d intended, like he was speaking a line from some grand tale. And, in a way, he felt like he was.

[revelboo]

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t log on every day to check for updates to your Trine x Reader series (Skywarp you lil shit 💜) but I do hope you continue your writing with Thundercracker and his love of movies.

I definitely will, I enjoy writing them 😁 Shockwave and Optimus arrived, Skywarp and Thundercracker got delayed

True Romance Pt 12

Seeker Trine x Reader

• There’s something oddly comforting about feeling all three of them hold onto you. Not demanding anything more than this as you stare up at the sky. Like you just belong here with them and it lifts through you with an ache you don’t quite understand. Because Skywarp and Thundercracker are always reaching for you, but Starscream’s only just started to lose some of his frosty indifference. Watching you more, glancing at you while he’s working to check on where you are, who has you. Gruffly asking if you need anything, his wings fidgeting. You’d assumed he’d been annoyed at having to look after you, but maybe that’s just how he is. Wondering if maybe the aloof, distant act is just that- an act.

• Aware of his brothers around him, his trine together and at peace, the warmth of you against him, there’s the uncomfortable realization of how fragile this is. Finding you had been pure chance. You might not have survived the wreck. Might have run towards the Autobots instead of staggering his way. What he’s sure of? Skywarp and Thundercracker are happy and there’s nothing he won’t do to protect that. “I thought we could all watch a movie together when we go home,” you say, voice soft and hesitant. Asking. And that word, home, rings through him coiling warm about his spark. Because it’s right.

• “Not the sappy stuff,” Skywarp mutters, turning his face against your throat and venting. Because if Thundercracker picks, it’ll be a love story. It’s all he wants to watch lately. Since finding you. Feels your fingers brush a wing and he shivers slightly, leaning into the touch, wings flaring. Aware of Star shooting him a look to behave when it’s so hard when you don’t know what your soft touch does to him. Tempting him to bite the curve of your shoulder when you absently brush over his sensitive wings. Growling when Thundercracker reaches up to grab your wrist and pull your hand away.

• “Wings are sensitive,” Thundercracker says, gripping your hand to keep you from accidentally finding any other sensitive spots. Sees your face redden slightly as he rubs a servo against the back of your hand. “Like mesh.” Carefully tugging your hand so your fingertips brush his neck. Shivering despite himself and avoiding Star and Sky’s optics as they stare at him. Judging the little teaching lesson, recognizing that he’d just wanted to feel you touch him.

• And everything just sort of shifts even though you have no idea what just happened. Aware of a tension that hadn’t been there just a second ago as Thundercracker keeps your hand trapped in his, servos rubbing absently against you like you’d been touching Skywarp’s wings. “I don’t care if you touch my wings,” Skywarp grumbles, looping an arm around your neck, face so close to yours you can feel it when he vents, brushing his cheek to yours so your skin prickles with awareness. And then Star is gently pulling Thundercracker’s hand from yours.

• “Everyone keep their hands to themself.” Stiffening when you pull your other hand from his helm, Starscream has to resist the urge to pull it back to him after just saying that. Because he understands Skywarp’s grumpy muttering. You’re soft and warm. And absolutely off limits. Even if Skywarp is right and you are compatible that way, he’s not interested in the drama of his trine squabbling over you. Which means keeping the other two and himself in line to keep the peace. Resisting the temptation that you pose, something that had never occurred to him might be an issue. Realizing he likes the feel of you against him a bit more than he should.

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[wendyyyyyyyy]

"The Princess and her Eight Knights"

Pairing : skz x fem reader (9th member, maknae)

Synopsis : Skz members taking care of you during that time of your month, while you were on tour.

Warning : No warning at all. Just pure fluff and wholesomeness all the way.

Enjoy!

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The day of the concert was already shaping up to be chaotic, and you weren’t exactly in the best mood. During soundcheck the day before, you had been snappy and bratty with everyone, but the boys knew better than to take it personally. Felix, being your self-proclaimed “bestie,” had pulled Hyunjin aside with a knowing smirk, whispering, “It’s time.”

“Again?” Hyunjin muttered with a sigh, rolling his eyes. But there was no annoyance behind it—only quiet understanding.

Felix, ever prepared, pulled out his phone and checked the tracker he’d set up for you months ago. You were too lazy to bother with one yourself, so he had taken it upon himself to track it for you, much to your embarrassment. “Yep. She probably doesn't even realize it yet.”

Later that evening, Hyunjin and Lee Know made a quick convenience store stop. While it was still to grab their own essentials, they secretly loaded their basket with your favorite ice cream and a stash of chocolates.

“She’ll be insufferable if we don’t have these,” Lee Know muttered with a smirk.

“She’s already insufferable,” Hyunjin shot back, chuckling as he placed the items on the counter.

. . .

Fast forward to the day of the concert.

You were doing your best to push through. The lights were blinding, the screams of STAY filling the massive venue as adrenaline coursed through your veins. But halfway through one of the songs, you began to feel an all-too-familiar discomfort—a dull ache in your abdomen, along with that unsettling dampness.

You froze, panic rising in your chest as you realized what had happened. You tried to continue performing, but the next time you turned, Seungmin’s sharp eyes caught the faint but noticeable red stain forming on your white pants, just above your hip.

Without a word, Seungmin took off his jacket mid-performance and draped it around your waist, securing it tightly. The move was subtle, but STAY noticed, gasps and murmurs rippling through the crowd. You wanted to cry from embarrassment, but there wasn’t time to dwell on it.

Han, quick on his feet, immediately moved toward you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder as he led you off stage. “Come on, let’s get you changed,” he whispered, his tone gentle.

The fans watched as the boys seamlessly adjusted their positions on stage, filling in for you without skipping a beat. Their professionalism was flawless, but their care for you was even more apparent, and the entire venue seemed to soften at the sight.

. . .

Backstage, you were still mortified. By the time you changed and cleaned up, the concert was wrapping up, and you felt the weight of the day crashing down on you.

Back at the hotel, you curled up in bed, ready to hide from the world. But that peace didn’t last long. A knock on your door made you groan, and when you opened it, Changbin stood there with the biggest grin on his face, holding out a hot pack.

“Special delivery!” he announced, wiggling the hot pack in his hand. “Look, it has my face on it. You’re welcome.”

You let out a laugh despite yourself, grabbing it from him. “Seriously? Only you would do this.”

But before you could shut the door, Hyunjin and Felix appeared, carrying bags of goodies. “Don’t think you’re getting rid of us,” Felix teased.

Hyunjin smirked as he plopped down on your bed, holding up a tub of your favorite ice cream. “We come bearing gifts.”

Soon, the rest of the boys filed in—Lee Know with a bag of chocolates, I.N clutching a stack of your favorite DVDs, and Han holding a fluffy blanket he had swiped from his own room.

“Group movie night!” I.N declared, setting up the portable DVD player on the desk.

“Guys, I’m fine. Really,” you tried to protest, but they weren’t having it.

“You say that, but you were crying over a jacket an hour ago,” Seungmin quipped, earning a chorus of laughs.

Changbin handed you the hot pack, his tone suddenly soft. “Seriously, though. You don’t have to be embarrassed. We’ve got you, okay?”

“Always,” Chan added from his spot on the couch, busy working on his laptop, but with a warm smile on his face.

And just like that, the room filled with laughter and teasing as you all settled in for the night. You felt a little embarrassed still, but more than that, you felt loved.

. . .

The next morning, “The Princess and Her Eight Knights” was trending on X. Clips of Seungmin wrapping his jacket around you, Han leading you backstage, and the way all of them subtly taking care of you had gone viral, with fans swooning over how considerate they were.

Chan showed you the hashtag over breakfast, a small smile on his face. “Looks like STAY thinks you’re royalty now.”

You rolled your eyes, but deep down, you couldn’t help but feel a little like a princess—because you had eight knights who always had your back.

[joelmillerisapunk]

Lonely Hearts Club

Joel Miller x His Hand ★ 2.5K

Summary: idk Joel meets Sarah's teacher, masturbates about it, and then buys a sex toy about it?

-Or-

Joel's first time with a sex toy

Warnings: male masturbation, use of a female sex toy with female anatomy and breasts.

Notes: I have no words, only a big tysm to @thundermartini for always listening to me ramble off ideas and always being their number one fan I love you so much. A big tysm to my wifey @evolnoomym & @syd-djarin for reading this over as well you're the mvps & finally thank you @enchanthings-a for the divider

Joel Miller wasn’t sure what he expected when Sarah asked him to come to her school for parent-teacher night. Maybe some stern-faced woman with reading glasses and a pencil skirt, the type to make him feel like he was back in high school and getting scolded for not paying attention.

What he didn't expect was you.

When he stepped into the brightly lit classroom, his eyes were immediately drawn to you. You stood by your desk, shuffling papers with a warm smile as you greeted parents. Joel felt like he’d been hit by a truck. You were gorgeous—radiant in a way that knocked the breath out of him. The kind of pretty that made his chest ache, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

Sarah tugged at his sleeve, snapping him out of his daze. “Dad, c’mon,” she urged, dragging him closer to the desk where you stood.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you said, looking up at him with a smile that made his heart stutter. “I’m Sarah’s teacher. She talks about you all the time—says you’re the best dad ever.”

Joel felt his face flush. He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling like an awkward teenager again. “She, uh... she says that, huh?”

“She does,” you confirmed, your eyes sparkling with warmth.

He found himself staring, his gaze lingering on the curve of your lips, the way your hair framed your face, the faint scent of your perfume that drifted in the air between you. It had been a long time since Joel felt... this. Like the ground beneath him was suddenly unsteady.

“Daddy, stop staring,” Sarah whispered loudly, nudging him with her elbow.

Joel blinked, mortified, and quickly turned his attention back to you. “Sorry about that,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

You laughed softly, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. “Don’t worry, Mr. Miller. Happens all the time.”

He couldn’t tell if you were teasing him or not, but damn if it didn’t make his pulse race.

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur. Joel listened as you talked about Sarah—how bright and inquisitive she was, how she always made you laugh with her clever observations. He nodded in all the right places, even managed to ask a question or two about her progress, but his brain was still stuck on how pretty you were. The way you smiled, the way you spoke, the way you looked at him like he was the only one in the room.

Later that night, back home, Joel sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. Sarah was already asleep, her laughter from earlier still echoing faintly in his mind.

When it was finally time to leave, Joel thanked you, his voice gruff but sincere. You gave him another one of those dazzling smiles, and it took everything in him not to trip over his own feet on the way out.

But his thoughts weren’t on Sarah anymore.

They were on you.

He could still see the way your lips curved when you smiled, the softness in your eyes when you talked about his daughter. Could still hear the lilt of your voice, feel the phantom warmth of your hand when you’d shaken his at the end of the meeting.

Joel leaned back, his breath hitching as his mind wandered further, the images of you becoming more vivid. He imagined what it’d feel like to have you close, to run his hands over the curves he’d tried so hard not to stare at in the classroom.

His hand drifted lower as he let himself sink into the fantasy, his body responding to the thought of you—of how soft you’d feel, how sweet you’d sound whispering his name.

He shouldn’t be thinking about you like this. He knew that. But, fuck, he couldn’t stop himself.

For the first time in a long time, Joel allowed himself to want.

He leaned back against the headboard, his eyes slipping shut as he let the memory of you take over. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, his sweatpants suddenly feeling too tight as his mind conjured up the soft lilt of your voice and the curve of your smile. He thought about the way your shirt hugged your body, the delicate slope of your collarbone, and how your lips had parted just slightly when you laughed.

“Jesus christ,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand over his face like he could scrub the image of you away. But it was no use.

With a frustrated groan, Joel shifted, his hand trailing down to undo the string of his pants. He hesitated for a brief moment, guilt prickling at the edges of his thoughts. You were Sarah’s teacher, for god’s sake. This wasn’t right.

But the ache in his body drowned out the protests in his head, and before he knew it, his hand was wrapping around himself, his calloused palm stroking slowly as he let out a quiet sigh of relief.

He imagined it was your hand instead, soft and teasing, guiding him with a confidence that left him breathless. In his mind, you were sitting on the edge of the bed, your lips curved into that sweet, knowing smile as you leaned closer, whispering his name like a secret.

Joel’s hand moved faster, his breaths turning ragged as the fantasy deepened. He pictured you on top of him, your hair tumbling around your face as you smiled down at him, your hips rolling slowly, deliberately, as you took him in.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head falling back against the headboard, his mind consumed by thoughts of you—how you’d feel, how you’d sound, how perfect you’d look with your lips parted around his cock.

The tension coiled tighter in his stomach, his strokes growing uneven as he chased the release he so desperately needed. He imagined the way you’d moan his name, soft and breathless, your nails digging into his shoulders as he pulled you closer, deeper.

It didn’t take long before the fantasy overtook him completely, and with a low, guttural groan, Joel’s body tensed, pleasure crashing over him in waves as he spilled into his hand.

He sat there for a moment afterward, his chest heaving and his mind still clouded with thoughts of you. Guilt tried to creep in again, but it was dulled by the lingering warmth in his body and the memory of your smile that refused to leave him.

Joel sighed, grabbing a tissue from the nightstand and cleaning himself up.

Joel sat at the edge of his bed the next night, the box on his nightstand catching the faint light from his bedside lamp. His jaw tightened as he stared at it, an undeniable pull gnawing at his resolve. He’d been alone for far too long, and no amount of guilt was going to extinguish the ache in his chest—or lower—that had been consuming him.

“You're gonna be trouble,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he laid back against the pillows. But even as he closed his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep, all he could see was you.

He hadn’t planned on walking into that adult store. Hell, he’d almost turned around and walked out. But the memory of you, with your bright smile, the way your laugh lingered in his ears, and the warmth in your eyes when you spoke to him—it haunted him. Every detail of you was seared into his mind, a constant presence he couldn’t shake.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, but his hands were already working to pull the contents free. The toy, a Body Banger Silicone Masturbator, felt heavier than he expected as he set it down on the bed.

The masturbator sat there mocking him, with its realistic breasts, curves, and inviting openings, seemed absurd—and yet, his imagination filled in the gaps. It wasn’t you. It could never be you. But in the dim, lonely quiet of his room, it was the closest he would get to feeling you beneath him.

“Goddamn it what am I doin’,” Joel muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

He placed his hands on the toy, testing the lifelike silicone under his fingers. It was soft—uncomfortably realistic—and when he gave the butt a firm smack, the flesh jiggled slightly in response. Joel froze, his lips twitching into a half-smile despite himself.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered. He slapped the toy again, harder this time, watching the way it moved under his hand. “Huh,” he said, his voice low and rough as his fingers kneaded the soft silicone.

His hands roamed over the curves, squeezing the hips and brushing over the small of its back. He flipped it onto its back, his gaze drifting over the chest, the inviting curves of the molded breasts. “They really went all out on this thing,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing over the silicone nipples.

A spark of heat flared low in his stomach as he explored further, trailing his fingers along the narrow waist and down between the thighs. The openings were tight, smooth, and designed to feel as real as possible. Joel’s breath hitched, his arousal stirring as his imagination filled with thoughts of you—how you’d feel, how you’d react to his touch.

“Shit,” he murmured. His pants were already uncomfortably tight, and he tugged them down. He positioned the toy on the bed, his hands once again roaming over its chest and hips.

Before long, he was lost in the moment, his rough hands squeezing and teasing, his hips shifting as his arousal grew impossible to ignore. He turned it over and slapped the ass one more time, groaning softly at the way it bounced under his palm, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet room.

“Yeah,” he rasped, his voice low. “This’ll do just fine.”

His palms lingered on the roundness of the ass, giving it another firm squeeze before he flipped it back onto its back.

The chest rose invitingly, and his fingers instinctively found their way to the breasts. He squeezed one, his thumb circling over the firm peak, marveling at the lifelike feel beneath his hand. His other hand slid down the toy’s waist, brushing over its soft surface as he adjusted it on the bed.

He paused, his gaze settling on the toy’s inviting opening. For a moment, he just stared, the vivid image of you flashing in his mind. He imagined you lying beneath him, your body trembling as his hands roamed over you. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, the heat in his stomach flaring as his arousal grew harder to ignore.

“Goddamn,” he muttered under his breath. His hand moved lower, his rough fingertips brushing over the toy’s entrance. The soft material yielded under his touch, and he groaned quietly, his imagination filling in the details of how it might feel if it were you instead.

Joel leaned closer, his thumb teasing at the opening, spreading it slightly as he explored it with his fingers. He slid one thick digit inside, the tightness making him suck in a sharp breath. “So fuckin’ tight,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. He worked his finger in and out slowly, adding another as he imagined the way you’d react—your soft gasps, your body shifting under his touch.

Unable to help himself, he spat directly onto the entrance, watching as the wetness coated the material. He worked it in with his fingers, twisting and curling them as if testing how it would feel to have you clench around him. His breathing grew heavier, his hips shifting against the bed as his arousal pressed painfully against his boxers.

The thought of you consumed him, and before he realized it, he leaned down, his tongue darting out to taste the opening. The silicone was smooth under his tongue as he licked a slow, deliberate path, his breath hot against the toy. He teased the entrance with the tip of his tongue, groaning softly as he imagined the sweet taste of you instead.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to spit onto the opening again, his fingers spreading it wide to coat it thoroughly. His arousal throbbed in response, the thought of finally sinking into the toy was almost too much to bear.

Sitting up, he tugged his boxers down, freeing himself. He spat into his hand, slicking himself up with a low groan as his cock twitched in anticipation. His hand gripped the base as he positioned himself, the tip pressing against the entrance.

He paused, exhaling a shaky breath as he imagined it was you—your warmth, your softness, your voice whispering his name. “Wish it was you, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice rough with longing.

Joel pushed forward, his tip slipping inside, and he groaned at the sensation. The tightness was almost too real, and he sank deeper, his hips moving slowly as he buried himself to the hilt. “Shit,” he hissed, his head falling back as his hands gripped the toy’s hips to steady it.

His rhythm was slow at first, his body adjusting to the overwhelming sensation. His hands roamed over the toy’s chest, squeezing the breasts, teasing the nipples, but his mind stayed on you. He imagined your body arching beneath him, your lips parting with gasps as he filled you completely.

“Goddamn, you feel so good,” he murmured, his hips moving faster now, the sound of his body meeting the toy filling the room. He slapped one of the breasts, groaning at the way it jiggled beneath his palm. “So fuckin’ sweet, darlin’. Could have you like this all night.”

His thrusts grew rougher, deeper, his need taking over as his fantasies consumed him. He pictured your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, your nails dragging down his back as you begged him for more. His breathing was ragged, his voice hoarse as your name spilled from his lips like a prayer.

The tension inside him built rapidly, his muscles tightening with every stroke. “Fuck,” he groaned, his grip on the toy tightening as his hips snapped forward. The thought of you—your warmth, your voice, the way you’d feel around him—pushed him over the edge.

With a guttural cry, Joel came hard, his body shuddering as pleasure crashed over him. He stayed still for a moment as his chest heaved with every labored breath.

When he finally pulled away, the room was quiet except for his ragged breathing. He cleaned himself and the toy carefully before setting it aside.

Collapsing onto the bed, he draped an arm over his eyes, his thoughts a mess of guilt, relief, and a longing for you that refused to fade. Next time he saw you, there was no way he’d be able to keep himself together.

[moomuzan]

— 𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖙

your wounds are critical! chuuya , akutagawa , dazai , two endings: no-comfort & comfort , requested

Unraveling, the night was a cacophony of chaos. The scent of blood lingered in the air, mingling with the acrid tang of gunpowder. The world around him was a haze of noise and movement, but Chuuya saw none of it. He was focused on you, lying on the cold pavement, your body still and fragile in the growing pool of your own blood.

“Hey,” he rasped, his voice breaking as he dropped to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as they hovered over the wound in your abdomen. “Stay with me. Don’t you dare give up on me now.”

You blinked up at him, your vision hazy and unfocused. The corners of your lips quirked in a weak attempt at a smile, the kind you always gave him when you were trying to reassure him—even now, when you were the one who needed reassurance.

“Ch-Chuuya… I’m fine…” Your words were a whisper, barely audible over the pounding in his ears.

“No, you’re not!” he snapped, his voice raw and desperate. “Don’t say that. You’re not fine—you’re bleeding out!” His gloved hands pressed down on the wound, trying to stem the relentless flow of crimson that spilled between his fingers.

It was everywhere, staining his hands, soaking into his coat, dripping onto the ground—The sight of your blood shattered something inside him. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to be untouchable, invincible, his equal in every way. You were his partner, the one person he trusted to have his back.

And now you were slipping away.

He threw his hat aside, his fiery hair clinging to his forehead, damp with sweat. His eyes glistened, but no tears fell—not yet. Instead, his fury burned hotter than ever.

“They’ll pay for this,” he growled under his breath, his voice low and venomous. “Every single one of them. I’ll make them regret the day they thought they could touch you.”

But his anger was hollow, a desperate attempt to distract himself from the reality unfolding in front of him. Every breath you took was shallower than the last, and he couldn’t stop the dread creeping into his heart.

happy ending

Chuuya didn’t leave your side—not for a second. He carried you in his arms, running through the streets with a single-minded determination that bordered on madness. The people who dared to get in his way didn’t live long enough to regret it.

When he finally reached an empty building, he laid you down on a makeshift bed, his hands working with frantic precision to tend to your wounds. He tore off his gloves, his fingers shaking as he cleaned and dressed the injury, his mind screaming at him to stay calm.

“Don’t you dare die on me,” he muttered under his breath, his voice cracking. “You hear me? I’m not letting you go. Not like this.”

As the hours passed in agonizing silence, broken only by the sound of your labored breathing, Chuuya sat beside you, his hand wrapped around yours, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. He spoke to you—soft, quiet words filled with guilt and love, his usually sharp tone now trembling with vulnerability.

When your eyes finally fluttered open, your voice was faint but steady. “Chuuya…”

Relief flooded his face, and he leaned closer, his forehead resting against yours. “You scared the hell out of me,” he whispered. “Don’t ever do that again, you hear me?”

You smiled weakly, squeezing his hand. “I’ll try.”

Chuuya didn’t let go of you, not that night or the nights that followed. He stayed by your side, caring for you with a tenderness that only you ever got to see, his usual brash demeanor softened by the sheer relief of having you alive.

sad ending

Chuuya’s fury burned like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. He carried you to the nearest safe house, his movements quick and precise, but his heart was a storm of fear and guilt.

Once inside, he worked tirelessly to tend to your wounds, his hands steady but his mind fractured. He talked to you, begged you to stay awake, to fight, but your responses grew weaker and weaker.

When he finally finished patching you up, he collapsed into a chair beside the bed, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. The room was too quiet, the sound of your breathing too faint.

“You’ve got to pull through,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I can’t do this without you. I need you.”

Hours passed, and Chuuya didn’t move. His eyes were fixed on you, on the shallow rise and fall of your chest, on the pale color of your skin. He wanted to believe you would wake up, that you would pull through like you always did.

But doubt gnawed at him, an unrelenting reminder of the fragility of life. The memory of your blood on his hands, of the way your body had gone limp in his arms, haunted him like a ghost.

When dawn broke, the faint light spilling through the window did nothing to ease his torment. He sat there, still as stone, waiting, hoping, praying for a sign that you would come back to him.

But you didn’t wake—not yet. And Chuuya was left in the agonizing limbo of uncertainty, caught between the hope that you would survive and the crushing guilt that he had failed to protect you.

For the first time in his life, Chuuya Nakahara felt truly powerless. And it was a feeling he would never forgive himself for.

,

As a mentor Akutagawa had always been unrelenting, cold, and merciless. The way he barked orders and pushed you beyond your limits was suffocating at times, but you knew it stemmed from something deeper—a warped belief in perfection, in power, in survival. He demanded nothing less than absolute excellence, and you worked tirelessly to meet his expectations, even when they left you bruised and battered.

However, this mission was different. It was dangerous, even by his standards, and the risk was glaringly obvious. He had chosen you for it anyway, confident in your ability to deliver. Confidence that now felt like arrogance as he scoured the desolate streets, his coat whipping around him in the wind, his sharp eyes darting in search of any sign of you.

You were late—far too late. And by the time these hours turned to days, dread began to sink its claws into him, deeper and deeper with every second of silence. He replayed the last time he’d seen you, the way you’d nodded with quiet determination when he gave you your orders. You had trusted him, relied on him to prepare you. And now, the thought that you might be gone, that he had sent you to your death, was a weight he couldn't bear.

When he finally found you, collapsed in a heap in the shadows of a back alley, his breath caught in his throat. Blood soaked your clothes, dripping onto the cracked pavement below. Your skin was pallid, your chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. You looked like a ghost of yourself, barely clinging to life.

Akutagawa stood frozen for a moment, his mind racing with emotions he didn’t know how to process. Anger, guilt, and something else—a foreign ache that felt far too close to grief. He approached you slowly, his usual sharp, deliberate movements replaced by something hesitant, almost tender.

“Fool,” he hissed under his breath, though his voice wavered. “Why didn’t you retreat when it became too much? Why didn’t you come back to me?”

Stirring slightly at the sound of his voice, your eyes fluttered open just enough to meet his gaze. “I… I thought I could handle it,” you whispered, your voice so faint it was almost swallowed by the wind.

Akutagawa clenched his jaw, kneeling beside you. His hands hovered over you, unsure of where to start. He had always been so sure of himself, so in control, but now? Now, he felt powerless.

happy ending

Akutagawa wasted no time. He lifted you into his arms, his expression hardening into a mask of determination. He wasn’t going to lose you—not like this.

Instinctively, he brought you to the Mafia hideout, ignoring the startled glances of the other members as he stormed through the corridors. His focus was singular, his steps purposeful as he gathered everything he needed to tend to your wounds.

For hours, he worked in silence, his sharp, precise movements betraying the storm brewing inside him. He cleaned and bandaged your wounds with care that seemed almost out of character, his hands steady despite the turmoil in his chest.

When you finally regained consciousness, your voice was weak but steady. “Why are you… doing this?”

Not looking at you, his focus was hyper-fixed on tightening the last bandage around your arm. “Because you’re still my responsibility,” he muttered, though the words carried an undercurrent of something deeper.

Over the next few weeks, he rarely left your side. He ensured you had everything you needed to recover, from medical supplies to food, though he never lingered long enough for the conversations to grow soft. He kept his distance emotionally, even as his actions betrayed his concern.

On the day you were finally strong enough to stand on your own, you thanked him quietly, and for a brief moment, something unspoken passed between you. His gaze lingered on you a second too long before he turned away, his coat billowing as he walked toward the door.

“Don’t fail me again,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual bite. And when you joined him on the battlefield once more, it was as though nothing had changed—except for the silent understanding that he would never let you fall again.

sad ending

Lost in motion, Akutagawa carried you to a secluded place, far from the chaos of the city, where the air was still and heavy with the scent of earth and rain. He laid you down gently, his hands trembling as he tried to stop the bleeding, to keep you alive. But the wound was too deep, the damage too severe.

“You’re going to be fine,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. It sounded more like a plea than a statement, a desperate attempt to will the universe into giving him more time.

Smiling faintly—your lips pale and cracked. “You don’t… have to lie,” you whispered, your words slurred with exhaustion.

“Stop talking,” he snapped, though his tone was more broken than angry. “Save your strength.”

Of course, you didn’t stop. “I… wanted to prove myself to you,” you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment before you forced them open again. “I wanted… to be someone you could rely on.”

As Akutagawa’s chest tightened, he surely didn’t know what to say. He had always believed in power, in strength, in the cold, unfeeling logic of survival. But now, as he watched you slip away, he realized how hollow those beliefs felt without you by his side.

“Don’t go,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. His hand hovered over yours, hesitating before he finally took it, his grip firm but trembling. “You don’t get to leave me like this. Not after everything.”

Your breathing grew slower, more labored, until it finally stopped altogether. Akutagawa didn’t move, didn’t speak. He sat there, his hand still clutching yours, his usually cold, emotionless expression shattered by a grief he couldn’t contain.

When the sun rose, casting its golden light over the world, he was still there, silent and still, watching over your lifeless body as though he could bring you back to life through sheer force of will. But no matter how much he wanted to, you were gone. And he was left with nothing but the ghost of your presence and the crushing weight of his own failure.

,

Dazai Osamu had always been an artist of detachment, a master of keeping the world at arm’s length, of slipping between roles and masks until even he could no longer remember where the performance ended and the truth began. But with you, he’d let himself forget the artifice, if only for fleeting moments. You, the civilian who had somehow carved your way into the abyss of his existence, had become an unwelcome but intoxicating anomaly.

Though he never admitted it—not even to himself, you were his sanctuary. The weight of his sins seemed lighter when he lay beside you, your warmth an anchor against the ever-present pull of the void. You were the only piece of his life untainted by blood, betrayal, and violence, and that was why he kept you far away from the shadows that clung to him like a second skin.

But no matter how hard Dazai tried to shield you, the world he belonged to always found a way to destroy everything good.

The hitmen weren’t looking for you. They wanted him—Dazai Osamu, the man who had walked out of hell and left corpses in his wake. But when they didn’t find him, they found you instead. And they made you their message.

He came home to silence—a silence that wasn’t the kind you filled with soft conversation or lazy laughter. This silence was heavier, darker, and it hit him in the chest like the memory of a long-forgotten betrayal.

Dazai knew before he even saw the blood.

The sight of you lying there, your body broken and barely clinging to life, stole the air from his lungs. For a moment, he stood frozen, his mind blank as the weight of it all came crashing down. And then something primal snapped inside him.

His voice was low as he called out your name, trembling, barely audible. He dropped to his knees beside you, his fingers shaking as he touched your blood-streaked face, as if he were afraid you’d shatter beneath his touch.

You were still breathing, but it was faint, so faint that he felt like every second could be your last.

“Why—why did this have to happen?” he whispered, his words more to himself than to you. He pressed his forehead to yours, his eyes burning with unshed tears. “I kept you away from all of this, didn’t I? I thought I did...”

And yet, even in this, he couldn’t escape the guilt, the bitter irony of how his world devoured anything it touched.

happy ending

Against all odds, you survived. Dazai, his hands unsteady but precise, tended to your wounds in those first crucial hours, working with a focus born of desperation. He called in favors, used every connection he had to ensure you lived.

When you finally opened your eyes, weak and disoriented, he was there. His face betrayed nothing, but his hands—gentle as they brushed the hair from your face—told a different story.

“You’re safe now,” he murmured, though the words felt hollow even to him.

In the days that followed, he didn’t leave your side. He cared for you with a devotion so intense it bordered on obsession. He bought you whatever you needed, whatever you might want, as if material things could erase the pain, as if spoiling you could atone for his failure.

But no matter how much he gave, the guilt never left. Every time he looked at you, he saw the scars—both the ones on your skin and the ones buried deeper, in places he could never reach.

Dazai, the man who had once thought himself untouchable, now found himself tethered to a new kind of torment: the knowledge that he had been the one to bring ruin to the one thing he loved.

sad ending

But fate wasn’t kind, and this time, the genius himself couldn’t outsmart the universe.

You didn’t make it.

Holding you as the life drained from your body, his voice was soft and trembling as he whispered words meant to soothe, to distract you from the pain.

“Just stay with me a little longer,” he pleaded, his tone almost casual, as if he could trick you into staying by pretending this wasn’t goodbye. “We’ll laugh about this later, won’t we? You’ll make fun of me for being so dramatic, and I’ll tell you how ridiculous you are for worrying me like this.”

Still, even as he spoke, he felt your breaths grow weaker, your body heavier in his arms. And when you finally stilled, when the silence became absolute, Dazai didn’t cry.

Instead, he sat there, holding you, his mind a maelstrom of thoughts too fractured to form words. He replayed every moment he’d spent with you, every smile, every laugh, every time you had looked at him like he was more than the sum of his sins.

And now you were gone.

The hitmen who had done this would pay—of that, he was certain. But even vengeance felt hollow, meaningless, because no amount of bloodshed could bring you back.

As he laid your body down and stepped away, he thought of all the times he had tried to leave the darkness behind, all the times he had thought you might be the one to pull him out of it.

In the end, Dazai was a man who destroyed everything he touched. And now, as he walked away from the life you would never return to, he realized that perhaps he had always known this would end in ruin.

Because that’s what he was: ruin, wrapped in charm and wit and hollow smiles. And this—losing you—was the cost of pretending he could be anything else.

thx for reading <3

[nino-rox]

PETER PARKER | BOYFRIEND HEADCANONS | M | GENDER NEUTRAL READER

Warnings: Sexual Themes, Mature/Explicit, Gender Neutral Reader, Tom Holland As Spider-Man, Not Proof Read

DISCLAIMER: Please be of the appropriate age ( i.e, Adult as per your country’s stipulations and regulations) before interacting with this post.

(Author’s Note: Requested by Anonymous user. My first time writing headcanons, I’ve barely even read any so I’m sorry if it’s not great ! Please request for more ! )

~What dating Parker feels like on a day to day basis

THE SKYLIGHT CATASTROPHE

One night, there’s a thud loud enough to rattle the walls, followed by an ominous silence. You know exactly what’s happened even before Peter pokes his head through the window, windswept and grinning sheepishly.“So, uh… surprise! You have a new skylight!”

You cross your arms, unimpressed. “You broke my roof again?”“Okay, technically, it was already fragile. I just… sped up the process.”

The next morning, you find him on the roof, duct tape and webs in hand, muttering to himself like he’s crafting a masterpiece.“Peter, you’re going to fall.”He waves you off without even looking up. “Relax! You’re being ridiculous. I’m Spider-Man—I won’t fall. Skylights are all the rage anyway. Just think of it as me upgrading your house for free!”

Right as he says it, his foot slips, and he stumbles forward, barely catching himself with a web against the gutter.“SEE? I caught myself!” he says triumphantly, cheeks flushed as he steadies himself.

You stare at him, appalled. “Peter, I’m not worried about you, you blithering idiot. I’m worried about my house! Fall on the road and break your head if you want, but I swear to god, if you break my house again—”

“Noted. No more house-breaking. Promise. Bob the Builder’s retired anyway,” he grins.

WEBBED LAUNDRY

You pull a ruined hoodie out of the wash—bright red, stretched beyond recognition, and sticky with web fluid. Marching into the living room, you hold it up like evidence.“Peter! Why is my hoodie fused with web glue?”

Peter looks up from the couch, cereal bowl in hand, his eyes widening. “Ohhh… yeah, about that…”

You glare, waiting.

“I, uh, might’ve had to yank my suit off super quickly after patrol last night—it was covered in webs—and I didn’t realize it stuck to your hoodie in the laundry pile.”

You narrow your eyes. “You didn’t realize?”

Peter sets the bowl down, flashing a nervous grin. “Look, web fluid is mostly water-soluble! If we wait a day, it’ll dissolve!”

You groan, holding up the ruined fabric. “It better dissolve. Or you’re buying me a new hoodie.”

Peter slides an arm around your waist, grinning. “Or… we could share this one? Exclusive Spider-Merch for my favorite person.”

THE GREAT SPIDER-MAN’S HANDYMAN FAILS

You and Peter finally move in together, which should have been exciting—except unpacking with Spider-Man is a nightmare.“Peter, where’s the box with the kitchen stuff?” you ask, arms crossed.

Peter scratches the back of his head, sheepishly pointing to a corner. “Uh… it’s webbed to the ceiling. I thought it’d save space?”

You sigh. “Okay, fine. But why is there a Spider-Tracer in the toaster?”

He grins nervously. “Security measure?”

Later, you catch him trying to web a shelf together instead of using screws.“PETER!”“What? This is structurally sound!”

THE HOODIE INCIDENT

Peter freezes when he sees you curled up in his hoodie, sleeves hanging past your hands.“You stole it again?”“Finders keepers.”

He steps closer, voice low and teasing. “Looks better on you anyway.”

Before you can respond, he tackles you onto the couch, hovering over you with a grin.“You’re not keeping it.”“Make me.”

MORNING HEATWAVE SNUGGLES

You wake up tangled in Peter’s limbs, his face buried in the crook of your neck. It’s cozy—until you realize he’s a human heater.“Peter. Let me go. I have stuff to do.”

“Five more minutes,” he murmurs, pulling you closer with ridiculous Spider-strength. “Spider-Boyfriend privilege.”

“You smell like sweat and bad decisions.”

Peter chuckles, his breath warm against your skin. “Want me to make another bad decision?” His lips brush your jaw as his voice drops, teasing. “I can make you sweaty too.”

Heat flares in your cheeks, but you manage to mutter, “You’re impossible.”

His smirk is pure trouble as he rolls you onto your back. “And you love it.”

SWINGING FOR BEGINNERS

The first time Peter suggests swinging with you, you laugh nervously. “No way. I like my life.”“It’s safe! You’ll love it—I promise.”

The moment he scoops you into his arms and leaps off the edge, you scream loud enough to wake half of Queens.“PETER, I SWEAR—”

“You’re fine!” he calls out, laughing as the wind whips past. “Just enjoy the ride!”

You bury your face in his shoulder, heart pounding. “I’m never letting go. Ever.”

Peter grins, holding you tighter. “Good. I wasn’t planning to let you go anyway.”

ROOFTOP MIDNIGHT ESCAPES

Peter swings into your room after patrol, his suit half-off, hair wild from the wind. “C’mon. Let’s go somewhere.”

Before you can finish protesting, he sweeps you into his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.“Peter!” you yelp, clutching his shoulders as he shoots a web and leaps into the night.“Trust me, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his grin softening.

The wind whips past, adrenaline rushing through your veins as he swings effortlessly between buildings. When you finally land on a rooftop, he pulls you close, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re not scared, are you?”“Not anymore,” you whisper, and his smirk grows as his lips meet yours, slow and steady, grounding you after the thrill.

POST SWING MOMENTS

After a particularly daring swing where Peter narrowly dodges a billboard, he sets you down on a rooftop, his arms still firmly wrapped around your waist.“Are you okay?” he murmurs, his voice low as his thumb brushes your cheek.“I’m fine, Peter. You can let go now.”

He doesn’t. His grip tightens, and his voice drops to a husky whisper. “You have no idea how hard it is to let you go.”

Your breath catches as his lips brush yours softly at first, then with increasing intensity. His hands slide to your lower back, pulling you closer until the world disappears around you.

“SHH, I’LL MAKE IT WORTH IT.”

Peter returns from patrol late at night, finding you half-asleep on the couch. He crouches down, brushing a kiss to your temple.“You awake?” he whispers.

You mumble something incoherent, only stirring when his lips brush yours again, this time slower, more deliberate.“Shh,” he murmurs, pinning your wrists gently above your head. His grin turns playful as he leans closer. “I’ll make it worth keeping you awake.”

Your heart races as his kisses deepen, trailing down the side of your neck. “You’re impossible,” you manage to say, though the way your breath hitches betrays you.

“And you love it,” he murmurs, his lips pressing firmly against your pulse, his smirk growing when you shiver under his touch.

SHOWER?

Peter comes home sweaty and grimy after patrol, and you shove him toward the shower. Minutes later, his head pokes out, water dripping over his shoulders as he leans lazily against the doorway.“You know… showers are more efficient with two people,” he says, his grin pure trouble.

You roll your eyes, turning back to your book. “Peter, no.”

He steps closer, letting water drip from his still-damp hair onto your shoulder as he leans down to whisper in your ear, his voice low. “You sure? I could scrub your back… or hold you against the tiles.”

Your cheeks burn, and you push him away half-heartedly, glaring. “Peter—”

He catches your wrist, pulling you to stand, his eyes locked on yours. “What?” he murmurs, tilting his head, his smirk teasing but his touch firm. “You’d look cute all wet.”

“Stop!” you squeak, swatting his chest, but he’s already laughing, pressing a kiss to your temple before finally retreating back to the bathroom.“I’ll leave the door unlocked, just in case,” he teases before disappearing behind the steam.

DATE

Peter had promised to meet you at the café after your shift. You’d been looking forward to it all day—just a simple hour with him, no superheroes, no chaos. But an emergency call from Ned about some escaped tech left you waiting alone, watching the minutes tick by.

When Peter finally arrived, his hair disheveled and guilt written all over his face, you didn’t even need to ask.“I’m so sorry,” he blurted out, his voice tinged with desperation. “There was this thing—Ned needed help—and I couldn’t just leave it—”

“It’s fine,” you said sharply, though your tone betrayed your disappointment. “I get it. You have other responsibilities.”

His shoulders slumped. “No, it’s not fine,” he muttered. “I messed up. And I know it’s not the first time.”

You sighed, softening as you saw the guilt etched across his face. “Peter…”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said, almost pleading. “Just… give me a chance.”

Later that night, he showed up at your window with a bouquet of daisies that looked like they’d survived a tornado and a homemade playlist.“I know it’s not much,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “But these reminded me of you—bright and sweet. And I put all your favorite songs on here, so… I hope it makes up for me being a total idiot.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you took the flowers, pulling him into a tight hug. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered.

“Lucky you think I’m cute,” he teased, kissing your temple. “I’ll do better next time. Promise.”

TRIVIA NIGHT

Ned had invited you both to trivia night, but no one warned you how competitive Peter could get. It started innocently enough, with Peter rattling off science and history facts like a human encyclopedia. But when the questions shifted to pop culture, his confidence started to falter.

“You’ve never seen Mean Girls?” you asked, incredulous.“Uh, no?” he replied, looking genuinely confused.MJ rolled her eyes. “Peter, how do you even function as a person?”“I fight bad guys!” he defended, flustered. “I don’t have time for… whatever this is!”

As the final round approached, you noticed the way Peter’s brows furrowed, his shoulders tensing like he was about to swing into battle. Leaning over, you cupped his face gently, forcing him to meet your gaze.“Peter,” you said, your voice teasing but warm, “you’re cute when you’re losing.”

His jaw dropped, and before he could protest, you kissed him in front of everyone.

Ned let out a dramatic gasp. “In public? With witnesses?!”MJ snorted. “That’s disgusting. I’m rooting for you two.”

When you pulled back, Peter’s face was a brilliant shade of red, but the grin he gave you was dazzling.“I don’t even care if I lose now,” he whispered, leaning in for another kiss. “This is so worth it.”

HANDMADE

Peter had been acting strange all week—fidgety, distracted, and overly secretive. You were starting to wonder if something was wrong when he showed up at your door with a small, carefully wrapped box and a sheepish grin.

“What’s this?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as he practically shoved it into your hands.“Just… open it,” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Inside was a sleek black flashlight, surprisingly lightweight, with a small engraved spider emblem on the side. You turned it over in your hands, curious.

“It’s not just a flashlight,” Peter said quickly, scratching the back of his neck. “I, uh, noticed you sometimes leave the light on at night, and I thought… maybe this would help.”

Your chest tightened. He’d picked up on your fear of the dark without you ever telling him outright.

“It’s also kind of… Spider-Man-approved,” he added, gesturing nervously. “There’s a tracker inside, so I’ll always know where you are. And if you press the button three times really fast, it sends an SOS directly to me.”

You stared at him, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of it all. “Peter…”“I just want you to feel safe,” he said softly, his brown eyes earnest. “Even when I’m not around. You’re my world, and I want you to have something to remind you that I’m always here for you.”

Your throat felt tight as you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him. “I don’t even know what to say,” you murmured against his shoulder.

“‘Thank you’ works,” he joked, though his voice was thick with emotion.

Pulling back, you met his gaze and smiled. “Thank you, Peter. I love it. And I love you.”

His face lit up, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, holding you close. “I love you too. Always.”

SPILLING

Peter had always admired how hard you worked. While he juggled Spider-Man and school, you balanced late-night shifts, studying at your rundown public school, and still somehow found time to make him feel like the center of your world. But admiration wasn’t the only thing he felt—sometimes, he felt inadequate.

On the other hand, you often wondered how you ended up with someone like Peter Parker. He was a literal superhero, acing advanced physics while you struggled with Algebra II. You worked part-time jobs just to help keep the lights on at home, and there were days when you felt like you’d drown under the weight of it all.

That tension finally bubbled over one evening. Peter swung by your place unannounced, but his usual warmth was absent. He dropped onto your couch with a sigh, his shoulders slumping.

“You okay?” you asked, sitting beside him.

He shook his head, staring at his hands. “How do you do it?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Do what?”

“Everything,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “You don’t have superpowers, or Stark tech, or a fancy school helping you out. And you’re still… incredible. You’re better at life than I am, and I’ve got every advantage.”

The words stung—not because of what he said, but because they mirrored your own insecurities.

“What are you trying to say?” you asked, your voice cracking as you braced yourself for what felt inevitable.

Peter hesitated, his jaw working as he tried to find the right words. “You deserve someone who can keep up with you. And I’m not sure I’m enough.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could stop them, tears began streaming down your cheeks. “Wait, are you saying this is over?”

“What? No!” Peter sat up straight, his hands shooting out to reach for yours. “That’s not what I meant! I’m talking about me, not you! I’m the one who’s not enough!”

“You are enough!” The words burst out of you, but the crack in your voice betrayed how deeply his statement had shaken you. “I’m the one who’s not enough, Peter. Look at you! You’re saving lives while I’m just trying to keep the lights on at home.”

Peter’s brows furrowed, guilt flooding his features. “What? No—no, don’t say that.”

“But it’s true,” you whispered, pulling your hands free and wrapping your arms around yourself. “I can barely make it through my shifts without wondering if I’m going to mess something up. And then I see you—perfect Peter Parker, superhero and genius—and I just… I feel so small.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between you. Then Peter moved closer, carefully placing his hands on your shoulders. “You’re not small,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping your eyes. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Peter insisted, gently tilting your chin up so you’d look at him. “You don’t have powers, but you work harder than anyone I’ve ever met. You care about people. You care about me. And I…” He trailed off, his voice breaking. “I don’t always feel like I deserve that.”

Your breath caught at the raw vulnerability in his words. “You don’t have to be perfect, Peter. You don’t have to save me, or prove anything. I just want you.”

He stared at you, his eyes glistening. “I want you too,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’m sorry I made you think otherwise. I just… I don’t always know how to keep up with someone like you.”

“We’re both trying to keep up,” you said quietly, leaning forward until your foreheads touched. “And that’s okay. We’ll figure it out together.”

Peter nodded, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you into his chest. “Yeah,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Together.”

The two of you sat like that for a long time, the weight of your shared insecurities fading, replaced by something stronger—a quiet, unshakable love.

SERIOUS

Peter comes home late—bruised, bleeding, and far too casual about it. You snap.“Do you like scaring me to death?”“It’s just a scratch!” he argues, dropping his mask on the couch.“Peter, you’re not invincible. What happens if one day you don’t come back?”

He pauses, guilt flickering across his face. “I can’t stop being Spider-Man.”“And I can’t stop worrying about you,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

He looks away, fiddling with his web-shooter. “I don’t want to scare you. I’m sorry.”

MAYBE NOT SO SERIOUS?

Later that night, Peter finds you sitting on the fire escape, staring out at the skyline. He hesitates before sitting beside you.“I hate fighting with you,” he says quietly. “You’re the only person who makes all of this feel worth it.”

You exhale slowly, leaning into him. “Then don’t make me feel like I’m losing you.”His arm wraps around you, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ll do everything I can to come home to you. That’s a promise.”

He presses his forehead to yours, and when his lips brush yours, it’s soft and full of unspoken apologies.

THANK YOU FOR READING ! PLEASE SEND KINKMAS REQUESTS AND PROMPTS! <3 Please Request if you’d like me to expand the headcanon into SMUT <3

[societyfolklore]

Merry Christmas, I Miss You

Title:  Merry Christmas, I Miss You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Female Reader

Summary: After overhearing a conversation at a Christmas party, Bucky realizes that you may miss him as much as he misses you. Determined to bridge the distance, he makes the first move to reconnect during the holidays, risking vulnerability to say the words he’s been holding back: Merry Christmas, I miss you.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings:  //Warnings // Explicit Content //18+, Minors DNI, smut, Angsty, Petsname, Unprotected sex,  No Beta reading…

A/N:  Alex Crichton – 'Merry Christmas, I miss you' was the inspo for this.. damn song has been living in my head!

The compound was alive with holiday cheer, every surface glittering with Tony’s trademark flair for the extravagant. Twinkling lights wrapped around beams, garlands of evergreen adorned the walls, and a grand Christmas tree stood at the center of the room, its branches heavy with ornaments that seemed far too expensive for their own good. The scent of mulled cider and freshly baked cookies filled the air, mingling with the distant hum of holiday classics playing over the speakers.

It was everything a holiday gathering should be, filled with warmth and laughter, but for Bucky Barnes, it felt like he was standing outside of it all. He leaned against a corner wall, arms crossed over his chest, his lukewarm drink forgotten in his hand. His steel-blue eyes scanned the room, taking in the sight of his teammates laughing, mingling, and for once, letting their guards down.

He tried to let the festive energy seep into him, to shake off the weight that had been pressing on him for weeks now. But no matter how hard he tried, he felt miles away. Like he was a ghost in the room, watching everyone else enjoy a life he wasn’t sure he belonged in anymore.

It wasn’t just the usual holiday blues-no, this emptiness had a name. Yours.

Bucky sighed, his gaze drifting to the corner of the room where you’d stood last year. He could still picture you as if it had happened yesterday. You’d walked in late, the chill of the winter air clinging to you as you shrugged off your coat. Your cheeks had been flushed red from the cold, your smile sheepish as you muttered something about how much you hated New York winters.

He remembered how you’d lit up the room without even trying. Your laughter, your warmth, the way you managed to draw people in without a second thought. You’d been the brightest part of the party back then, and now your absence was like a gaping void, one he couldn’t ignore no matter how hard he tried.

He’d told himself he wouldn’t think about you tonight. That he’d keep his distance, let you enjoy the evening without the weight of his presence lingering in the background. But that had been a lie from the start. Every corner of the compound reminded him of you, of the way you’d made him feel less like the broken man he believed himself to be.

From his spot near the doorway, Bucky’s sharp gaze caught a flash of red on the balcony. Natasha. She was standing outside, her crimson hair catching the soft glow of the string lights wrapped around the railing.

And then he saw you.

His heart clenched painfully in his chest as you came into view, standing beside Nat. He hadn’t even realized you’d arrived. You were bundled in a soft sweater, the colour rich and vibrant against your skin, your hair catching the faint glow of the lights. From a distance, you looked as radiant as ever, but as he watched you, he noticed something different.

There was a sadness in your posture that hadn’t been there before. The way your shoulders slumped slightly, the faint shadow in your eyes, even as you laughed softly at something Natasha said. It was as if you were carrying a weight you didn’t know how to set down, and it made Bucky’s chest tighten all over again.

He should’ve turned away, should’ve given you the space you deserved. But curiosity got the better of him, and he found himself inching closer to the balcony, staying just out of sight as your voices drifted toward him.

“I don’t know, Nat,” you said, your voice soft but tinged with a melancholy that struck Bucky like a blow. “The city just feels too heavy this time of year. Everywhere I go, it’s like I’m walking through ghosts.”

Natasha’s reply was quieter, harder for him to catch. She placed a gentle hand on your arm, her expression unreadable as she listened.

“Maybe I need to get away,” you admitted after a pause, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just for a little while. A beach somewhere, maybe. I don’t know. It’s easier to forget when I’m not here.”

Bucky’s grip on his glass tightened, the faint sound of creaking metal snapping him out of his trance. You were leaving?

The idea of you slipping further out of his life sent a wave of panic crashing over him. He’d spent months convincing himself that letting you go was the right thing to do. That you deserved someone better, someone less damaged, someone whole. But now, hearing those words, he couldn’t help but wonder-had he made a mistake?

The thought hit him harder than he expected, knocking the air from his lungs. He turned away before you could spot him, retreating back into the warmth of the party. But even as he moved, the tightness in his chest didn’t fade.

Bucky leaned against the nearest wall, his head dropping as he fought to steady his breathing. The echo of your words replayed in his mind, louder and louder with each passing second.

He’d let you go, convinced it was the right thing. But what if it wasn’t? What if letting you go had been the biggest mistake of his life?

The noise of the party faded into the background, the laughter and music a distant hum as he stared blankly ahead. For the first time in a long time, he felt the stirrings of something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years: hope.

If you were still here, still lingering on the edges of his world, maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe he could fix this. Maybe he could find the courage to reach out.

But as he stood there, chest tight with regret and longing, one thought kept echoing in his mind, louder than the rest.

He didn’t want you to go.

*~*

That night, Bucky lay awake in his dimly lit apartment, the weight of your words pressing heavily on his chest. The room was silent save for the faint hum of the heater in the corner, its effort to fight off the biting chill doing little to ease the ache within him. The phone on his bedside table seemed to mock him, its dark screen reflecting his indecision.

He had your number. He could call you. The thought sent a jolt of nervous energy through him, his heart pounding against his ribcage. He imagined your voice on the other end, soft and familiar, the sound of it enough to pull him back from the edge of the spiral he’d been in for months.

But what if you didn’t want to hear from him? What if he’d already done too much damage, created a chasm between you that couldn’t be bridged? The fear of rejection kept his hand frozen, hovering over the phone but unable to bring himself to pick it up.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, his metal fingers brushing against his temple as he let out a shaky breath. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, each second passing with the same relentless rhythm as his thoughts. He replayed your voice in his head-the sadness that lingered in your words, the wistful tone that had nearly undone him when you spoke of leaving.

What if this was his last chance?

When the clock struck midnight, something in him snapped. His hand shot out, grabbing the phone before he could second-guess himself again. The screen lit up as he dialled your number, his heart hammering with every ring.

One ring. Two.

He almost ended the call, the weight of his doubt clawing at him. But then-

“Hello?”

Your voice was soft, hesitant, and so achingly familiar that it felt like a lifeline. The knot in his chest loosened slightly, though the words he wanted to say lodged themselves in his throat.

“It’s me,” he managed, his voice rough and unsteady. “Bucky.”

A pause stretched between you, the silence both heavy and fragile. “Bucky… hey, Is everything okay?”

He closed his eyes, the sound of your voice stirring something deep within him. “Yeah,” he said, exhaling a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I’m fine. I just… I overheard you at the party. About leaving.”

“Oh.” Your voice was quieter now, and he imagined the way your brow might furrow as you processed his words. “I didn’t realize you were there.”

“I was,” he admitted, his fingers gripping the edge of the blanket as if grounding himself. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but… I heard enough.”

There was another pause, longer this time, and he could almost hear the gears turning in your mind.

“Why does it matter to you?” you asked softly, your tone cautious, as though bracing for his response.

Bucky swallowed hard, his throat dry as he tried to find the right words. “Because I don’t want you to go Doll,” he said, the vulnerability in his voice surprising even to him.

His admission hung in the air like a fragile thread, and he waited, his pulse thundering in his ears.

“Why not?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitated, the fear of baring himself completely nearly stopping him. But the memory of your laughter, the light you’d brought into his life, pushed him forward.

“Because I miss you Dol,” he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I know I shouldn’t. I know I messed things up, but I miss you. And I thought… maybe… maybe you miss me too.”

Your breath hitched on the other end of the line, the sound so soft he almost missed it. The silence extended, and he wondered if you were even still there.

“Doll?”

“I do,” you whispered after a moment, the words cracking slightly. “I miss you too.”

Relief flooded him, leaving him momentarily speechless. He pressed the phone tighter to his ear, needing the connection, even if it was only through a device. His metal hand running through his hair.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said after a moment, his voice trembling. “Letting you go. I thought you’d be better off without me, that I’d just mess things up more if I stayed.”

“Bucky…” Your voice was thick with emotion, and he imagined the way your lips might tremble, the way you’d fight back tears even as your heart softened.

“But I was wrong,” he continued, his voice firming with the weight of his conviction. “I was so wrong. Losing you-letting you walk away-was the worst mistake I could make. If there’s chance I can fix that,  fix us, I wanna do that it take to try.”

Silence stretched again, but this time it wasn’t heavy. It was charged, filled with the echoes of words unsaid and the fragile hope blooming between you.

“I don’t know what to say,” you finally admitted, your voice trembling.

“Just say you’ll give me a chance Doll,” he said, his tone quiet but resolute. “One more chance to make things right.”

Your breath hitched again, and he waited, hiSSs heart hanging on the edge of your response.

“Okay,” you said softly, the word like a balm to his frayed nerves. “Okay, Bucky.”

His lips curved into the faintest smile, the weight in his chest lifting for the first time in what felt like forever.

“Thank you,” he murmured, the words carrying all the emotion he couldn’t yet express.

“Don’t thank me yet,” you replied, a hint of humour lacing your voice. “You’ve got a lot to make up for.”

“I know,” he said, his tone filled with quiet determination. “And I will. I promise sweetheart.”

As the call ended, Bucky set the phone down with a steadiness he hadn’t felt in months. For the first time, hope flickered in the dark corners of his heart, and he clung to it with everything he had.

*~*~*~*

The next day, Bucky woke with a rare sense of determination. If there was even a sliver of hope to rebuild what he’d lost with you, he wasn’t going to waste it. His mind replayed the sound of your voice from the night before-soft, hesitant, but filled with the same longing that had kept him awake for months. It was enough to spur him into action.

Inspired by your love for grand gestures, he decided to do something bold, something undeniably him, and undeniably you. His plan? Turn his small, unassuming house into a beacon of Christmas cheer, a declaration of hope, vulnerability, and just a little bit of chaos.

The execution, however, proved to be more challenging than he’d anticipated.

For hours, Bucky wrestled with tangled strings of lights that seemed to fight back at every turn. He balanced precariously on ladders, muttering curses under his breath as the icy wind nipped at his fingers. Halfway through, he managed to drop an entire box of ornaments, glitter exploding across the room like a small festive bomb.

By the time he finished, he was sweaty, exhausted, and sparkling faintly from head to toe. He stepped back to admire his handiwork, his breath puffing in the cold evening air as he surveyed the glowing masterpiece.

The house was dazzling- perhaps a bit too dazzling. Twinkling lights wrapped around every beam, eaves lined with a cascade of shimmering icicle bulbs, and the walkway lit by glowing candy canes. It was extravagant, chaotic, and just a little ridiculous. But it was perfect.

To Bucky, it felt like more than just a holiday display. It was a reflection of everything he wanted to tell you but hadn’t found the words for yet. It was an invitation, a promise, and a plea all wrapped in one.

He pulled out his phone and dialled your number before he could second-guess himself.

“Come over,” he said simply when you picked up. “Please Doll, I want to show you something.”

You hesitated, and his heart stuttered. But then you sighed softly. “Okay, Bucky. I’ll be there soon.”

*~*~*~*

When you arrived, the sight stole the breath from your lungs.

Bucky’s house glowed like something out of a holiday dream, every inch covered in twinkling lights that danced against the snowy backdrop of the night. The air was crisp, the stars overhead faint in comparison to the warmth emanating from the home before you.

For the first time in weeks, a genuine smile tugged at your lips.

Bucky stood on the porch, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, his shoulders tense as he watched you. There was a nervous energy about him, as though he wasn’t sure if this gesture would land the way he hoped.

“Well?” he asked, his voice softer than you remembered, almost shy. “Is it too much?”

You shook your head, blinking back the sting of tears that pricked at the corners of your eyes. “No,” you said, your voice breaking slightly. “It’s perfect.”

Relief washed over his features, and he stepped closer, his boots crunching lightly against the snow-dusted porch. His gaze never left yours, the intensity of his steel-blue eyes grounding you as he bridged the gap between you.

“That look on your face right now,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “That’s all I want.”

Your breath hitched at the sincerity in his tone, the way his vulnerability wrapped around you like a second layer of warmth.

“Bucky,” you started, but he shook his head slightly, his lips curving into a soft, almost bittersweet smile.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, his words as much a confession as a plea. “I’ve missed this. Missed Us.”

Your heart clenched at the raw emotion in his voice. There was no hesitation, no bravado- just him, standing before you, laying his heart bare in a way that stole your words.

You took a tentative step closer, your hand reaching up to touch his cheek. The faint scruff of his beard scratched against your palm, grounding you in the moment. “I’ve missed you too,” you admitted softly.

Bucky leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment before he opened them again, locking onto yours. “I don’t want to waste any more time,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I want to make this right. Tell me I can do that?”

Tears spilled over, but this time they were warm, cathartic. “Yeah Buck, y-you can,” you whispered, the words thick with emotion.

“I can’t lose you,” he said simply. “Not again.”

His words broke the wall inside you, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward, your lips capturing his. The kiss was slow, tentative at first, but it quickly deepened, months of longing pouring into every movement. His hands cradled your face as if you were something fragile, something precious.

When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, your breath mingling in the space between you. Bucky’s hands lingered on your face, his thumbs brushing gently across your cheeks as if grounding himself in the reality of the moment. His chest rose and fell with unsteady breaths, the raw emotion in his eyes enough to steal the air from your lungs.

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you, one hand sliding beneath your legs as he effortlessly lifted you off the ground. A soft gasp escaped your lips, and you instinctively looped your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in the long strands of his hair.

“Let me take care of you, Doll,” he murmured, his voice rough but filled with tenderness.

He carried you up the porch steps, his footsteps slow and deliberate as if savouring the feeling of holding you close again. When he opened the door, the warm glow of the Christmas lights inside welcomed you, casting soft patterns on the walls. The room smelled faintly of pine and cinnamon, a cozy haven from the chill outside.

Bucky walked straight to the couch, sitting down with you still cradled in his arms. He shifted, his hands adjusting to hold you firmly as you straddled his lap. The proximity made your heart race, the heat of his body radiating through his jacket as your foreheads pressed together again.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” he whispered, his breath warm against your lips. “About you. About us. Tell me this isn’t a dream Doll.”

“It’s not,” you promised softly, your hands cupping his face. “I’m here, Buck. I’m yours.”

Something in him snapped at your words. His lips found yours again, more insistent this time, a hunger building between you that had been simmering for far too long. His hands slid down to your hips, gripping them firmly as he guided you closer, your bodies fitting together like pieces of a puzzle.

“God, Doll,” he groaned against your lips, his voice vibrating through you. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His mouth moved from yours, trailing heated kisses along your jaw and down to your neck. He nipped lightly at the sensitive skin there, soothing it with his tongue before whispering, “Missed the way you taste, the way you feel.”

A soft whimper escaped you as his hands slid beneath your sweater, his rough fingers skimming over your bare skin. He groaned when he felt you shiver beneath his touch, his lips finding their way back to yours as he tugged the fabric over your head.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes roaming over you with a reverence that made your breath hitch. “How’d I ever let you go?”

“Bucky,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you reached for the buttons of his jacket. He helped you shrug it off, the layers falling away until it was just the two of you, skin against skin, no barriers left to hide behind.

He shifted beneath you, his hands gripping your thighs as he stood, carrying you effortlessly toward the bedroom. “Need you,” he said, his voice raw. “Need to feel you, Doll. Need to remind you how much you mean to me.”

You barely registered the soft thud of the bedroom door closing before he laid you gently on the bed, his weight settling over you like a protective shield. His lips found yours again, his kiss deep and unrelenting as his hands explored every inch of you.

“Bucky,” you gasped when his lips trailed lower, leaving a path of fire down your chest and stomach. “Please.”

“Patience, Doll,” he murmured, his voice a mix of teasing and worship. “I’m gonna take my time with you. Show you how much I’ve missed you.”

His hands moved with a deliberate slowness, peeling your jeans down your legs inch by inch. His lips followed the curve of your hips, his breath warm against your skin as he left a trail of kisses down your thighs. Each touch sent a ripple of anticipation coursing through you, your body trembling beneath his attentions.

When you were bare before him, he paused, his eyes raking over you with an intensity that made your breath catch. The room seemed to hum with the weight of his gaze, the hunger and reverence in his expression sending a flush across your cheeks.

“So perfect,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. His hand slid up your legs, his calloused fingers trailing fire along your skin as they gripped your hips possessively. “All mine.”

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice a whispered plea as your fingers gripped the sheets beneath you. “All yours, Buck.”

A low growl rumbled in his throat at your words, and he leaned down, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that was both tender and demanding. His tongue slid against yours, tasting you, claiming you, while his hands continued their exploration, mapping every inch of you as if committing you to memory.

When his lips left yours, they trailed down your jaw, your neck, and then lower. He took his time, his mouth lavishing attention on every sensitive spot, drawing soft gasps and moans from your lips. His teeth grazed the curve of your breast before his tongue soothed the ache, his name tumbling from your mouth like a prayer as his hand found the heat between your thighs.

“You’re so wet for me, Doll,” he said, his voice thick with satisfaction. His fingers teased your folds, spreading your slick arousal before circling your clit with slow, torturous precision. “Been dreaming about this. About you.”

Your hips arched into his touch, your body begging for more as his fingers worked you expertly. The coil of pleasure in your belly tightened with each movement, and just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, his fingers slid inside you, curling to hit the spot that made your vision blur.

“Bucky,” you whimpered, your hands tangling in his hair as he kissed his way back up your body.

“Let go for me, baby girl,” he murmured against your skin.

You did as beautiful as he remembered. The release crashed over you like a tidal wave, your back arching off the bed as his name spilled from your lips in a breathless cry. Bucky watched you the entire time, his gaze dark and possessive as he guided you through the waves of pleasure.

But he wasn’t done.

As you came down, your body still trembling, he shed the last of his clothes, the sight of him stealing what little breath you had left. His muscles rippled as he moved over you, the heat of his body pressing into yours as he lined himself up at your entrance.

“Look at me, Doll,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His vibranium hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. “I need to see you. Need to know you’re here.”

Your eyes met his, and the intensity in his gaze made your heart ache. Slowly, he pushed into you, the stretch a perfect mix of pleasure and pain as he filled you completely. He groaned deeply, his head falling to your shoulder as he stilled for a moment, letting you adjust to the feel of him.

“Feel so fucking good,” he breathed, his voice raw and strained. “-made for me Doll.”

He began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, as though savouring every second. His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as he drove into you, the friction sparking fire in your veins.

“Bucky,” you moaned, your nails digging into his shoulders as he picked up the pace, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. The sound of your bodies moving together filled the room, every gasp, groan, and whispered plea driving Bucky on.

“That’s it,” he growled, his lips brushing against your ear. “Take me, Doll. Let me feel you.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer as he thrust into you with a desperation that matched your own. The tension between you built higher and higher, the edge drawing closer with every movement.

“Oh god.” It was impossible not to get lost in him.

“You going to come again for me, babygirl?” he rasped, his hand sliding between your bodies to find your clit. His thumb pressed down in time with his thrusts, and the combination sent you spiralling closer the edge, squeezing him. “Going to show me you missed me too?”

“Y-yeah Buck going, to.. god.. fuck.” You nodded frantically, your brows pinching together as it all started to build, a whimper leaving you and he hit that spongey spot inside.

Your release hit you hard, your walls clenching around him as your cries filled the room. Bucky followed seconds later, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep inside you, his release spilling into you as he groaned your name.

For a moment, the world stood still, the only sound the heavy breathing of the two of you tangled together. Bucky collapsed onto his forearms, his weight resting carefully on you as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Love you,” he whispered, the words slipping out in the haze of the moment.

Your heart swelled, and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. “I love you too, Bucky,” you said softly, the truth of it settling over both of you like a balm.

He shifted, rolling onto his side and pulling you with him so that you were tucked against his chest. The soft glow of the Christmas lights bathed the room in a warm hue, wrapping you both in their gentle light.

“Never letting you go again, Doll,” he murmured, his voice resolute as he pressed another kiss to your hair.

And as you lay there, wrapped in his arms, you believed him. For the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

[theemporium]

hmmmmm and perhaps also wrapping presents with Nico? perhaps Nico & Honey (if you’re feeling it)? i am an enabler (of you or myself, who’s to say)

what can i say, i am easily enabled👹thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

series masterlist

.

“Holy shit.”

Nico’s cheeks burned as he stared helplessly at the pile in front of him before turning to you, a sheepish smile on his face. “Okay so maybe I went a little insane with the twins’ Christmas gifts this year.”

You snorted before you could stop yourself. “A little?” 

“A lot,” Nico conceded. 

You placed your hands on your hips, staring at the pile with a determined look on your face. “This is a whole toy store.” 

“They deserve it,” Nico argued weakly. 

“They do,” you agreed, flashing him a smile. “But you are probably gonna have a lot of regrets in an hour.”

Which, truthfully, Nico thought you were exaggerating about because how bad could wrapping presents really be?

The answer was bad. 

Really fucking bad. 

Like, he is pretty sure he is going to have to spend longer with the massage therapists tomorrow after practice because Nico has learnt the hard way that wrapping presents does not do you any favours for your back.

“Now I know where the twins get their theatrics from,” you teased as you watched the way Nico starfished across the floor, surrounded by unravelling rolls of wrapping paper and tape. 

“Bet Santa doesn’t have to do this,” Nico grumbled, turning his head to look at you with those classic Hischier puppy dog eyes. 

“He doesn’t,” you nodded, pressing your lips together to hide your grin. “He has elves. Congrats, Captain, you’re an elf now.”

Nico frowned. 

You shook your head, kicking your leg out to nudge his ribs. “C’mon, we are almost half way done.”

“No, we aren’t.”

“Yeah, but I thought you’d appreciate the lie.”

Nico huffed out a laugh, letting out a groan as he pushed himself to sit up again. “I really didn’t appreciate how much my parents did for Christmas when I was younger.”

Your smile softened a little as you watched Nico stare helplessly at the toy he had been trying to wrap before. “You’re doing a great job, Nico.”

“It looks like an elf wrapped these blindfolded after too many glasses of eggnog,” Nico muttered, his brows furrowing together when he saw the leg of a stuffed toy sticking out the wrapped present. 

“I mean it,” you said again, a little more serious and sincere as his eyes snapped up to look at you. 

Nico swallowed, trying to push down the emotions that were threatening to bubble up since the month of December started. Ever since the twins were born, he always had family out here in Jersey with him for the holidays. This was the first time it was just him—and you, which he thanked every single day because he couldn’t imagine doing any of this without you—and saying he was stressed was an understatement.

It was probably one of the first years where the twins were actually aware of the festivities happening around them. He didn’t want to ruin those memories. 

“I just want to make it magical for them,” he confessed, reminding himself to keep his voice low despite the fact the twins were fast asleep in their bedroom, that they had been for the last few hours. 

“You are,” you smiled, leaning over to gently squeeze his knee. “You are giving them the most perfect Christmas.”

“Wouldn’t be able to do it without you,” he murmured, soft and sweet and sincere. 

You grinned. “We make a good team, Hischier.” 

His heart flipped at your words. “Yeah, we do.”

.

[jenosonlywife23]

No Nut November Regrets

summary; nnn with jaehyun but he actually regrets it cause his about to enlist and his devasted cause he should have used those days to bang you up teehee!!!

a/n; Lets pretend he still hasnt enlisted lol.

-------------------------------------------------------

Jaehyun’s pacing your bedroom like a man possessed, muttering to himself with his hands in his hair.

"Are you okay?" you ask, half-laughing at his dramatic behavior. He’s been acting weird ever since he got home.

"No, I’m not okay," he blurts out, turning to face you with a look of absolute despair. "I’ve made a grave mistake."

You tilt your head, trying to stifle a smile. "What, did you lose a bet? Forgot your phone at the gym again?"

He stares at you like you’ve missed the point of life itself. "Worse. I wasted an entire month."

You blink, thoroughly confused. "A month on what? Your skincare routine? 'Cause, babe, you look amazing—"

He groans, cutting you off. "No Nut November."

There’s a beat of silence before you burst out laughing. "Oh my God, that’s what this is about? Are you serious?"

"I’m dead serious!" he exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. "Do you know how much time we could’ve spent—" He stops, rubbing the back of his neck as he tries to find the words.

"Spent...?" you prompt, clearly enjoying his struggle.

He sighs deeply, his ears turning red. "Banging," he finally mutters, avoiding your gaze.

You choke on your laughter, clutching your stomach. "Are you actually upset you didn’t? What happened to self-control, proving something to yourself, all that motivational crap you were preaching?"

"That was before I knew I was enlisting!" he practically yells, throwing himself onto the bed like a soap opera heroine. "I thought I had time. But now? Now I’ve got weeks—weeks, baby! And I just... I feel like I’ve betrayed us both."

You sit beside him, trying to hold back your laughter. "So, let me get this straight. You’re mad because you spent thirty days not having sex with me, and now you think you’ve wasted your youth?"

"Exactly!" He sits up, his expression so sincere it makes you want to both laugh and kiss him. "I thought I was doing something noble. But now all I can think about is how many times we could’ve—"

"Jaehyun!" you cut him off, cheeks burning.

"No, listen!" he insists, gripping your hands like he’s about to deliver the speech of a lifetime. "We could’ve been doing it every night, every morning, maybe even on lunch breaks. Do you know how much catching up we have to do now?"

You’re crying with laughter at this point, collapsing onto the bed. "You’re ridiculous."

He flops beside you, throwing an arm over his eyes dramatically. "Ridiculous and horny," he declares. "And I’ve got no time to fix it."

"Well," you say, leaning over him with a sly smile, "we’ve got tonight. Think you can make up for thirty days in one go?"

He peeks at you from under his arm, his eyes narrowing like he’s accepting a challenge. "Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea."

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 8- Something to Believe In

Summary: Frankie makes good on his promise to pick you up from work.

Word count: 3.7K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname, no use of y/n)

Warnings: Having a panic attack (cue Frankie to the rescue), mentions of death and grieving, angst, yearning, could we perhaps be ✨making progress✨?

A/N: Hi friends!! Thanks for bearing with me after no new chapter last week! This one's also on the shorter side, but that's not to say there aren't some BIG things happening 👀 My hope is to have another chapter done by next week, but with holiday business, it may have to be two weeks between chapters again (sorry sorry sorry!!) Thank you as always for your lovely and kind words, ily all so much MWAH

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Frankie, Present 

“I’m done at ten.” 

By the time he gets back home at 6:43, he’s already counting down the hours until you’re finished with your shift. 

Three hours and seventeen minutes, to be exact. 

For as much as Frankie could easily spend the next three hours and seventeen minutes doing nothing but staring at the clock hanging adjacent to the TV in the living room, he knows he’ll drive himself out of his goddamn mind. He needs something to do. 

If he keeps himself busy, he can’t fester on the million and one ways he could manage to fuck this up. 

Frankie forces himself to eat some sort of half-assed dinner, despite his nervous nausea that’s got the best of him. He purposely uses as many dishes and utensils to make a sandwich as humanly possible- if he does, it gives him something to do after. 

He cleans out his entire truck, down to vacuuming every last crumb crunched between the driver’s seat and center console. He debates washing the car himself in the driveway, but if he drives it to the carwash three blocks down the road, it’ll kill more time. 

On his way home, he stops at Auto Zone to get you a new car battery and exchanges it for your old one, dead, under the hood of your car. 

Frankie takes a shower so long, he can feel in real time the water shift from boiling hot, to luke warm, to ice cold. He washes his hair twice. His body, three times. 

He unpacks just about every item of clothing from his suitcase, laying them out on his bed in multiple combinations of pants and shirts, debating whether you'll think he’s a psychopath for showing up in a different outfit only a few hours after dropping you off. Frankie settles on shorts and a t-shirt- nice enough he doesn’t look like a fool, but casual enough for you not to suspect he’s been staring at every article of clothes he owns for the past thirty minutes. 

And somehow, after all of that, he still ends up in the Parrot’s Nest parking lot at 9:23. 

Thirty-seven minutes worth of waiting is a lot more manageable than the better part of three hours. 

Unfortunately, the last thirty-seven minutes he spends sitting in the parking lot are the most agonizing of his whole endeavor. 

He throws the last few innings of the Tampa Bay Rays game on the radio in the background, unable to stand the sound of silence that haunts him when he’s alone with his thoughts. 

Frankie tries not to panic at the fact that it seems like he’s forgotten how to engage in basic human conversation, praying that no one can see the way he’s rehearsing his greeting to you upon your arrival into the passenger seat. 

“Hey, what’s up? No, fuck, that’s stupid.” Frankie mutters to himself, running his palm over his face, “Hey, MacKenzie, how was work? No, ‘cause what if work was fucking awful and I’m just gonna piss her off more. Jesus.” 

He takes a few more long, deep breaths, staring at the roof of his truck while he tries to concoct the perfect set of words to string together. 

“Hey, Kenz. Kenzie? MacKenzie? Does she even fucking go by Kenz anymore? Fuck. Hey, miss me?” He jokes by his lonesome, his fake smile quickly fading at the anticipation of your response, “She obviously didn’t miss you, idiot. You’re lucky you can barley get her to fucking talk to you. Fuck me.” 

His pained groan and scrunched shut face are enough cut off the awareness to his surroundings just long enough to leave him oblivious to the fact you’ve not only exited the Parrot’s Nest, but have made your way across the parking lot and have your hand wrapped around the passenger door, rattling the handle. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Frankie shouts, nearly jumping out of his own skin at the way you’ve announced yourself by shaking at the locked door. 

So much for rehearsing. 

“F-fuck-” He stammers, taking a moment to catch his breath from your scare, praying he hasn’t managed to shit his pants from how badly you’ve startled him. Once his pulse settles to rate low enough he’s convinced he hasn’t died of a heart attack, he leans over to unlock your door, unable to make eye contact with you as he grimaces his face in embarrassment. 

“S-sorry.” you murmur, sheepishly climbing into the seat next to him, quietly clicking in your seatbelt. 

“Jesus Kenz, you scared the shit outta me.” Frankie gulps, still trying to compose himself. He runs his hand through the curls of his hair, taking one last slow inhale and exhale with his eyes peeled to the floor, hoping the pink drains from his cheeks before he looks over at you. 

“Sorry, I- I didn’t mean to. I thought maybe you fell asleep, or something. You shrug, trying to defend your reasoning. 

“I wouldn’t offer to come pick you up and then fall asleep on you, I’m not that big of an assho-” 

Frankie cuts himself off before he can finish the rest of his thought, feeling the “L” and “E” of “asshole” die off somewhere in the back of his throat, killed by the death glare you give in proclamation of his own self-righteousness.  

He starts the car without another word, pulling out of the parking lot and hoping that his silence begs enough forgiveness. 

The crackling static of the car radio fills the void between you, Andy Freed’s ecstatic voice capturing both of your attentions enough to let the current state of the Tampa Bay Rays game shift your focus. 

“What’s the score?” You ask, nonchalant, eyes wandering anywhere but Frankie’s direction. 

“Oh- uh, I- I think it was 1-3 last time I checked, but it sounds like someone on the Rays just hit a sac fly, so I’m guessing it’s 2-3, now.” 

There’s a moment of silence, Frankie assuming you’ve got it in you to at least make one question’s worth of small talk. You seem just as surprised as him that you don’t let the conversation die there. 

“Did you um- you watched the game when you got home?” 

Your gaze won’t lock with his, but now, it’ll at least travel in his general direction. 

“N-no, I just uh- I just turned it on while I was waiting in the car.” 

“How long were you waiting for?” 

“N-not that long.” He barely gives you enough time to breathe, let alone call him out on his bullshit before he’s changing the subject, “How uh- how was work?” 

“Oh- It was uh- it was fine. Went by really slow. B-because it wasn’t um, it wasn’t that busy.” 

Frankie’s no code breaker, but he hopes the way you’re so quick to give him a reason why your shift had dragged on is a secret way of saying you spent just as long thinking about him as he did about you. 

“Sorry it was so slow.” 

Frankie knows his apology doesn’t do anything for you, but the way he’s picking each word that comes out of his mouth has him feeling like he’s tiptoeing through a minefield, too scared to make any move besides the one that seems the safest. 

“It’s okay, not your fault. That’s honestly part of the reason I took this job- was to give myself something to do, so I don’t spend every last second that my dad is alive dwelling on the fact that pretty soon, he’s not gonna be alive. It’s stupid, but I guess if being preoccupied with serving middle aged couples mozzarella sticks and over-cooked steak tacos for a few hours helps, then so be it.”  

He knows better than anyone that your attempt at humor is your shield, but it’s not hard to see how weathered and worn it’s become, barely hanging on by a thread to protect you from the worst battle you still have yet to face. 

“N-no, it makes sense. Distractions help. I-It’s been hard, having to see him like this. I get it.” 

His last sentence makes your head snap up from the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, Frankie hopes that maybe your attentiveness means he’s had a breakthrough, showing enough genuine empathy that you’ll cut him a little slack. 

When he turns enough to see the scowl plastered across your face, he realizes he’s stepped on a bomb, and he’s moments away from explosion. 

“Oh, you ‘get it’, huh?” You scoff, sadistic smile curling in the corner of your cheeks. 

Frankie can see the way your blood is beginning to boil, trying to backtrack as quickly as possible to find any way to save himself. 

“N-no- I mean, shit-  no, Kenz, you know what I mean.” Frankie pleads. 

“No, I don’t know what you mean, Frankie. Please, explain.” 

The way your arms are crossed and head is cocked tells him everything he needs to know. Against his better judgement, Frankie decides not to take cover. He goes headfirst into the warzone. 

“C’mon, Kenz, don’t be like this.” Frankie sighs, preemptively kicking himself that this is the route he’s chosen to take. 

“Like what?” You snap back, sharp and sarcastic. 

“Like it’s not hard for me, too. Like I can’t be sad about it. You’re not the only person who cares about him, MacKenzie. He was the closest thing I had to a dad, too.” 

“But he’s not your dad, is he? And if you were, that’d make you a pretty shitty son, wouldn’t it?” 

It hits him like a cold, hard slap to the face, the way you don’t dare to show him even an ounce of mercy. There’s something about the bitterness in the way you ask it that hurts even more than if you would have just screamed at him, cursed him out, punched and pushed him until he bruised. 

A stark silence falls over the car, tension so thick, it’s like a bag of bricks has been dropped from the sky, drowning him in a useless pile of cement. There’s no use in crying for help. He doesn’t dare to speak, simply out of fear that if he does, this won’t be the worst of what’s yet to come. 

Frankie stays trapped for what feels like hours, each second passing by more painfully slow than the last as you stare out your window, watching the shadows of street lights dance across your body, illuminating you just enough to see the way your chest trembles with short, frantic breaths as you unravel. Your sobs can’t hide behind the silence in the way your tears can in the darkness. 

“Do you know how fucking lonely it is, Frankie? How lonely it is when everyone you’ve ever cared about leaves you? It’s like I’m fucking Midas, but everything I touch, eventually, I lose. A life before cancer, my soccer career, an engagement, a future, my dad, you? You don’t get to tell me how hard it is for you, because you get to let go of what you want on your terms, when it’s convenient for you, don’t you? I’m so sick of losing, Frankie. I’m so sick of it.” 

He watches in real time how something inside you snaps, like a bottle of soda that’s erupted after someone’s violently shaken shaken it, the twist of the cap releasing all the pressure and tension that’s been stored up and compounded upon with each rattle of their wrist. 

Frankie knows he’s not responsible for all of it, but he's the last bump you can take before you have no other choice but to overflow, leaving every ounce of you to seep out, vulnerable and exposed. 

What starts off as softs sobs, quickly shifts to heart wrenching heaves of your chest, every word you’re trying to get out lodged in your throat. He sees how your eyes fill with fear at the way you suddenly can’t catch your breath, body shaking as you shrink into your seat, fingers wrapping around your seatbelt with an iron grip around the worn fabric. 

“Kenz? Kenzie, are you okay?” It only seems fair he’s completely disregarded everything you’d had to say, beginning to panic at your tremoring figure crumpled next to him, speaking in nothing but violent wails you can’t control. 

“I- I- f-fuck, f-f- Frankie, fuck, n- no, no, I-” 

He won’t let you finish your thought- he only lets you stammer out the few words you can manage before he’s pulled off on the nearest neighborhood side street he can find. He blames it on military habit, how quick he is to react in the face of your panic, but he knows damn well it’s nothing but instinct the way he’s all but throwing off his seatbelt so he can reach across the center console and wrap you in his arms. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. I’m here. Just try and breathe, okay?” Frankie whispers, squeezing you so tightly in his arms you just might break. 

“I c-can’t, I can’t, fuck, i-it- it, it f-feels like I can’t breathe.” You sob, feeling your tear stains pool in the fabric of his shirt covering, face buried against his chest. 

“I know. I know it’s scary. I promise you’re okay, it’ll pass. Just try and breathe with me, okay?” 

He hopes you don’t notice how shaky his own breaths are, trying his best to stay calm with each long inhale and exhale he takes. The wave of grief that washes over him is different than the one you’re drowning in, the kind that makes his heart break at the type of panic he’s known all too well- he’d give every bone in his body to absorb your pain and make it his, but the best he can do is hold you until it subsides. He’ll hold you all night, if that’s what it takes. 

It’s a few minutes before he can finally feel your heart rate starting to slow, the stiffness of your muscles beginning to ease in his grasp as you come back down to earth with him. Your tears haven’t stopped, but at least your chest starts to rise and fall with his. It’s a baby step, but he’ll take any steps he can get in the right direction. 

“There ya go. Just like that. It’s okay. Worst of it’s over, I promise.” 

With the way one thumb is gently stroking your back and the other is carefully brushing the back of your head, it’s safe to say every inhibition Frankie could have has flown out the window. He hates how there’s a selfish part of him that can’t describe the way it feels to hold you again, even if it’s like this, but that’s a battle of his own he’s not willing to face today. For now, he’ll accept the sweet bliss of his self-indulgence while you’re curled against him. 

“You’re okay, Kenz. I’m here. I promise, you’re okay.” 

Enough time passes that his t-shirt isn’t getting any wetter, finally brave enough to peek your head up from the crook of his neck to wipe your tear stained cheeks with the back of your hand. Frankie’s grip only loosens enough to let you sit up, arms still engulfing your frame, tight enough to make sure you don’t float away on him again. 

“I- I’m s-sorry.” 

It’s so soft as it leaves your lips, if he wasn’t waiting on your every word, Frankie just might have missed it. Little do you know, he’s hanging on your every breath. 

“Hey,” he pauses, your eyes locking with his, softly pouting at the way your panic has made your face red and puffy, carefully swiping his thumb across your cheek to catch the wetness still streaming down the corners of your eyes, “you have nothing to apologize about, okay?” 

He waits in the silence again, letting you softly nod your head in agreement, watching the gears turn in your head as you process everything that’s just happened. You’ve come to enough to notice the way his hand still sits on the small of your back- he’s just as surprised as you when you let him keep it there for another moment before subtly shifting back in your seat. 

Your face scrunches shut, wincing with the last few deep breaths you take, like you're trying to push the rest of it out of your system for good. Frankie runs his hand through his messy hair and down the nape of his neck as he takes you in, still riding his melancholy high of the weight of your body pressed into his. 

“Thank you. For um- just, t-thank you.” You mutter, too sheepish to look him in the eye again now that full blown embarrassment has set in. 

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” 

Frankie nods, trying his best to let you know that he means it- really, truly means it. It’s the way he won’t take his eyes off you that must let you know he understands, watching you shift just enough in your seat for him to notice how your body turns ever so slightly to face him. 

“They’ve uh- fuck, it just comes out of nowhere sometimes. It’s um- it’s happened before, but these past few weeks, it just- it’s been a lot, I guess.”  

“It’s been a while since I’ve had one, but I um- I got ‘em all the time after I came home. Feels like you’re dying. It sucks.” 

It’s not graceful, but it’s genuine. Vulnerable. Honest. Frankie knows it’s the most truth he’s given you in more years than he’d like to admit. It’s not much, but it’s enough to see you scale the top of the wall you’ve built between you and him and kick down one of the bricks that’s holding it together. It’s not much, but it’s one less brick than that wall has had for a very, very long time. 

“What are you talking about? That was so much fun.” 

In the shared moment of soft, sympathetic laughter, it’s that he realizes the softest smile that’s stretched in the corner of your lips. Frankie tries not to stare, but when he sees it, he remembers how much he’s hated living without it. He takes it in for as long as he can, memorizing every crease and crinkle in your face, no matter how subtle. He’ll soak in every second he can. He’s thankful he does, because it’s only a matter of time before it starts to shift, corners of your cheeks shifting as you pick at the skin around your nails. 

“I- um- I’m sorry- a-about what I said earlier.  I- I didn’t mean it.” 

Frankie lets out a huff of confusion, convinced you must be playing a joke on him with your unprompted apology. He’s almost tempted to laugh again, but the way your jaw shifts back and forth, anxiously grinding on your teeth while your eyes stay peeled to the fingers working away at your skin reminds him of every other apology you’ve ever offered. The same look when you accidentally popped the brand new basketball he got for his 13th birthday, the same fidgeting of your fingers when overreacted to the dent you thought he put in your brand new car backing out of your driveway, the same tick of your jaw when you had told him why you hadn’t written him more while he overseas on his last tour of duty. 

You really do mean it. 

“It’s okay. I deserve it.” Frankie admits. As hurtful as it was, he knows you weren’t completely unjustified in what you said. He also knows if you’re offering him an olive branch, he’ll offer you nothing short of a whole olive tree back. 

“No- well, I mean, maybe a little-” your sarcastic self correction makes him laugh again, something long forgotten warming in his heart at the way your hidden grin reappears in the corners of your cheeks, “No- I just- that was shitty of me to say. I’m sorry. It’s- it’s just a lot right now. Not totally fair to take it all out on you.” 

“I know. It’s okay.” Frankie pauses, captivated by the way your eyes flicker up to meet his, still wet and sparkling from the last of your tears, shimmering in the warm glow of the streetlights. He wants to reach out, to grab you, hold you, press you against his chest again and tell you that everything will be okay, but he won’t risk burning the bridge of the progress he’s built. Not yet. The best he can do is keep building, nail by nail, plank by plank. 

“If you um- if you ever need someone to- to talk to, or whatever, I’m always-” 

“I know.” 

There’s a different kind of silence that fills the empty spaces of his truck the last ten minutes of the ride home. It’s no longer heavy, burdened by pain and fear with every breath that enters its void. It’s the quiet kind of reassurance that doesn’t need any words. The kind that says everything it needs to from stolen glances back and forth, accompanied by the warmth of pink cheeks hidden in the black of the night sky. 

The last thing that’s said after he’s pulled into your driveway is a simple “thank you”. It’s only two words, but something about those 8 letters put together seems like enough to fill a book with how much it says. 

The only thing that says more is the way you look over your shoulder when you make it to your porch, so brief that if he wasn’t looking for it, he surely would have missed it. 

Because in that moment you look back at him, he swears there’s a smile straining against the line of your lips that you’re trying desperately to fight. 

Maybe he’s imagining it. Maybe he’s truly lost his mind. Maybe he’s crazy. Whatever he may be, Frankie Morales knows he won’t sleep a wink tonight at the thought that he’s finally the reason for the smile on your face again. 

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog @itsokbbygrl

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @jolapeno @ovaryacted

@amanitacowboy @mystickittytaco @anoverwhelmingdin @greenwitchfromthewoods

@witchofthedeepwoods @ericamarie093 @readingiskeepingmegoing @whimsiwitchy @whoaitspascal87

@vickie5446 @katw474 @ravenpoe67 @inthedarkestnight @brittmb115

@harryscherrysugar @wonderpillar @sunnytuliptime @pasc4lfuzz @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

@kungfucapslock @vannabanana1995 @beezusvreeland @guelyury

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[jjscrybaby]

Reader x Rafe smut/angst request. They have sex for the first time (and only she’s a virgin) Because Rafe is just really attracted to her and tension has built up for so long, he barley lasts and it’s over before it even starts, literally less then 2 min lol. The dynamic between them turns stiff and awkward, mainly because Rafe feels so embarrassed that he ruined her first time and couldn’t last, so he is distant with her and avoids her (cus he doesn’t know how to deal with the shame) BUT then……….he makes it so FREAKIN SPECIAL, ROMANTIC, I’M TALKING, HE GOES ALL OUT with candles etc.

rafe cameron x fem!reader | (implied smut) angst to fluff | (not full on smut because these are meant to be drabbles and this was getting a bit long, but still suggestive. virgin!reader.)

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

Your legs wrapped around his hips, face scrunched up in pain as he thrusted back and forth. All you could hear was the heavy breathing in your ear and the soft moans leaving your own lips.

“Fuck, baby,” Rafe groaned, hands tightening around your thighs where he was holding you up.

“Shit— it hurts, Rafe,” you whined, the sting too much for you to deal with.

He slowed his thrusts, pressing sweaty kisses to your cheek. “Give it a minute, sweetheart. Trust me, jus’ give it a minute.”

The problem was, you didn’t get the chance to give it a minute because the next thing you knew he was grunting in your ear and collapsing ontop of you. You felt him freeze above you, his entire body tensing up as he tried to catch his breath. Then you felt it, the stickiness of his cum dripping down your thighs.

“Did you…” you trailed off as he sat up, running a hand through his hair as he refused to look in your eyes.

“Um… shit, let me grab you a towel,” he muttered, leaving the room; leaving you high and dry.

You stared after him, mouth parted in shock. You looked down, finding a mixture of cum and blood beneath you. You’d never had sex before, but that didn’t mean you didn’t know anything about it. You’d watched porn. You knew that usually boys didn’t finish that quickly, and the girl normally got to enjoy it as well. You weren’t annoyed that he’d finished quickly, your friends had told you stories about their boyfriends doing the same thing, you were put off by how quickly he’d left the room; not even offering to get you off as well.

He came back, not even looking at you as he tossed a towel in your direction and pulled his clothes back on. You laid naked on his bed, in complete shock as you slowly started to clean yourself up. He looked over at you, and for a second you thought he was going to at least take the towel and clean you up himself. That’s not what happened.

“Uh, I told Top that I’d meet him at the club, so…” he muttered, rubbing his neck. You just blinked. There was no way he was kicking you out right now. “You drove here, right?”

“Yeah,” you replied, finally finding your voice. “I can stay here, wait for you to come back—”

“Nah. I’ll probably be gone awhile. I’ll just call you tomorrow,” he cut you off, making your stomach ache with nausea. Nausea and hurt.

“Okay,” you agreed softly, sitting up to reach for your clothes that he’d thrown across the room only minutes prior.

He walked you to the door, kissed your cheek goodbye and slammed the door behind you. With tears in your eyes, you waddled to your car and drove home; trying not to think about the hell you just endured.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

Two days went by without you even hearing from Rafe. You felt like complete and utter shit. You’d given him your virginity, something you actually cared about, and he hadn’t been able to even send you a text. You decided enough was enough, you showed up at his house with a sad scowl on your face.

“Uh, hey,” he greeted as you stormed into his bedroom after Rose had let you in. “Didn’t know you were comin’ over.”

“Well, my own boyfriend isn’t even talking to me so I figured I’d have to talk to him,” you stated bluntly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He stood the second you’d sat, as if you were some sort of germ.

“I’ve been busy,” he shrugged.

“No, you haven’t. Would you just be honest? You don’t want to see me because of… the other day,” you argued, voice softening.

His face scrunched up, irritation in his eyes at the fact you’d even brought that up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Seriously? You’re gonna play dumb?” You scoffed, looking up at him.

“Nothin’ to play dumb about. I don’t know what you’re going on about,” he retaliated.

You stood up, shaking your head in disappointment. “You know, I couldn’t care less that you finished too early. I care that it was my first time and you couldn’t even clean me up after, couldn’t even look me in the eyes! You made me feel like shit, Rafe.”

A look of understanding finally crossed his face, but you were too upset to notice. Instead, you walked right past him and back out the door. “Babe!” He called after you, but you kept going. You didn’t want to hear his half-asses excuses anymore.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

His text was cryptic. Come over, please. Need to talk. For a moment you’d thought of ignoring him, pretending you didn’t see it and going on with your night. But, deep down, whether you liked it or not, you were utterly in love with him; and you’d just about anything he asked of you.

So, you drove over to Tannyhill. You walked up to the door and knocked, clad in just your pyjamas since you were in bed when he texted. The door swung open and Rafe stood there, a pair of grey sweats on and a soft smile.

“Hi, beautiful,” he greeted softly, moving out of the way to let you in.

“Hi,” you murmured. The door closed behind you and you turned to look at him, hands on your hips. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Come upstairs, please,” he begged. You gave him a look, narrowed eyes and a frown. “Please.”

“Fine,” you huffed.

He smiled triumphantly, taking your head and leading you up the spiral staircase. You walked down the hallway and over to his closed bedroom door. He was fidgeting, and as you went to open it he grabbed your hand to stop you.

“Before you go in, I want to say sorry,” he interrupted. “I was a dick. I was embarrassed, ‘bout what happened, and I acted out. But I hate that I did that, especially since it was your first time. I just… I felt like I ruined it for you, wanted it to be good and then I just fuckin’… well, you know what happened.”

“It’s okay,” you reassured quietly. “Just wanted you to talk to me, that’s all.”

“I know. I know, baby. I’m really sorry. D’you think you can forgive me?” He asked, hand coming up to cup your cheek.

You couldn’t help but smile up at him, rolling your eyes fondly. “I suppose.”

“Thank God, ‘cause this would’ve been real awkward if you didn’t,” he chuckled.

“What would’ve?”

He gave you a tiny smirk, bringing his hand back down from your cheek to open his bedroom door. You looked past him, eyes widening in shock at the sight in front of you. His bedsheets were covered in rose petals, red and pink, there were candles surrounding the room; a fire hazard, but one you could get behind.

“Think we could have a re-do?” He murmured, arms wrapping around your waist from behind. He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your neck, and then to your cheek, until you spun around and his lips latched onto yours.

He kissed you gently, lovingly, not the same way he had last time you tried this. He tapped your hip, indicating for you to jump up. You hesitated, letting out a nervous giggle against his lips; he wasn’t having that, he grabbed under your thighs and pulled you up into his arms. Your thighs wrapped around his waist, not breaking the kiss as his hands roamed any bit of skin he could reach.

Rafe laid you above the rose petals, breaking the kiss to look down at you with a soft smile. He ran his fingers up your thigh, reaching your pyjama shorts. “Can I?”

“Can do whatever you want,” you murmured shyly. You’d been nervous last time, but it had all been so intense that you hadn’t had time to think about it. This time, he’s looking at you like you hung the moon and the stars.

“Is that right?” He smirked, easing your shorts down your legs until they were at your ankles. “Open up, baby.” Your legs parted, giving him a view he’d failed to take in before. He let out a hum, leaning in to kiss up your inner thighs.

“Shit, Rafe,” you murmured, eyes closing as his nose rubbed against your clit through your panties.

“This is allll about you, baby. Anythin’ you want, you get. Just lay back and relax, gonna be a long night,” he drawled, kissing your clit; your hips bucked up against his face and he let out a teasing chuckle. “Just want to feel special, huh? Well, I can promise you’re gonna feel like a damn princess once I’m done with you.”

[girlyrafe]

it’s snowing ray.ᐟ

ʚɞ a december to remember

𖢔 notes: I keep writing things I don’t like but anyways grumpy Rafe can never last + this one being posted a little late sorry

── .✦ advent .ᐟ

summary: for once it actually snows and excrement it actually an understatement when it comes to you so you just have to go out in in all day

ᯓᡣ𐭩

Finally. Finally, it was snowing.

It wasn’t just any snow, though. This was the snow. The kind that makes you feel like you’ve been waiting for it your entire life, even if you didn’t realise you were waiting until it was right there—perfectly soft, perfectly fluffy, and falling so gently from the sky that it almost felt like a secret only you knew. 

You’d woken up in Rafe’s bed like usual—no rush, no plans, just a cosy morning ahead. Wrapped in the warmth of the sheets, you’d been nursing a mug of coffee, lazily soaking in the quiet, sleepy atmosphere of the room. Then, still wrapped in that sleepy haze, you’d glanced out the large windows—and there it was. Snow. 

Not the sad little dusting that disappears before you even make it to the door, but real snow. Actual, magical snow. The kind that makes you want to shout, “I knew it! This was supposed to happen!” You could practically hear the soundtrack playing in the background as you watched the world turn into a snow globe.

Your heart leapt. Without even thinking, you scrambled out of the bed, missing the floor once or twice as you stumbled toward your clothes. It didn’t matter. You dressed like you were preparing for an Arctic adventure, throwing on the cosiest layers you could find, your excitement bubbling up with every button you fumbled.

Then, you were out the door, charging down the front steps like a snow-happy tornado, giggling as cold air slapped your face. You couldn’t help but grin like a kid who just discovered a secret passage to Narnia. Sure, the cold was biting, but it didn’t matter—every snowflake that landed on your cheeks felt like it was telling you, "This is the best day ever."

You skipped through the yard, leaving a trail of footprints in the fresh snow—your own little map of joy. You even made a snowman, though he was more of a lumpy snow blob with a stick for an arm and a crooked smile. But hey, he had character.

Time melted away as you tossed snowballs, twirled around, and lost yourself in the pure bliss of it all. Then, just when you thought the day couldn’t possibly get any better, you saw it. Rafe’s car—gliding down the street like it had been sent from the heavens, just to make your snow day even more perfect. 

Your heart did a happy little flip as the SUV pulled up. You plopped down in the yard, crossing your legs in the snow and waiting eagerly for him. And when he finally stepped out, all bundled up and looking like a snowman in training—pink nose, frown still hanging on stubbornly like it was stuck with duct tape—you couldn’t help but grin even wider.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, voice rough around the edges. “You’re gonna freeze.”

You looked up at him, your grin turning into an exaggerated eye roll. “Rafe, it’s snowing. It’s beautiful! You have to be happy. It’s literally impossible not to be happy in snow!” 

He groaned, the sound more like a reflex than actual annoyance. “I hate this snow. You should’ve seen how long it took me to get to work this morning—” He caught himself mid-rant, realising just how ridiculous he sounded as he took in the sight of you, sitting there in your snow angel pose, practically glowing with joy.

what was he thinking, as long as you where happy and he foot to see that smile he could never be stressed or unhappy

He sighed, shoulders slumping just a little, the tough guy routine cracking under the weight of your happiness. He knew how much you’d wanted this—how many times you’d gushed about snow, about how magical it would be. 

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, his voice softening. “The snow’s... great. It’s just... inconvenient for my work.” He winced at how flat his words came out, knowing they didn’t quite capture the warmth he was trying to convey.

You simply smiled, undeterred, tracing shapes in the snow like you were painting the day itself. 

Rafe crouched down in front of you, close enough that you could see the puff of his breath in little clouds. “Hey,” he murmured, looking at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. “I’m freezing my ass off, yeah?” 

You let out a laugh, so light and carefree it made his heart skip a beat. “Well, then wait here. I’ll go grab something warmer!” 

You planted a quick kiss on his cold nose, the sort of kiss that would’ve melted any other guy into a puddle. He nodded, chuckling despite himself, and disappeared inside.

A few minutes later, he came back, looking much warmer—and a lot less grumpy. He still wasn’t exactly jumping for joy, but seeing you so happy made his frustration seem... well, a little less important. 

The two of you spent the afternoon running around, throwing snowballs (which, let’s be honest, mostly missed), laughing like you’d never have another snow day again, and trying—really trying—to improve your lopsided snowman. 

By the time the sun began to set, painting the sky in pinks and purples, Rafe leaned over and brushed some snow out of your hair. “You know,” he said with a grin, “I’m not going to work tomorrow. They’re calling for more snow, and I think you might need my professional snowman-building expertise, yeah?”

You nodded eagerly, your smile so wide you thought it might split your face in half. It wasn’t about the snowman, of course. It was about the day. The snow. And the person you were sharing it with. 

Rafe, snowman expert and reluctant snow-lover, was the best part of it all.

©GIRLYRAFE

[cuddlyeren]

Meet My Girlfriend!

(Not clickbait)

—————————————————————

Hamzah leaned back in his chair, staring at the blank YouTube title box. His cursor blinked impatiently.

He sighed, running a hand through his curly hair. “Alright,” he muttered to himself. “Let’s rip the bandage off.”

In bold letters, he typed: “Meet My Girlfriend (not clickbait).”

A soft laugh escaped him, the irony of it all hitting him at once. For years, he had carefully cultivated a persona of the charming, funny, and very much single guy online. Fans loved him for it shipping him with their own imaginations, leaving cheeky comments like, “Hamzah, you’re my future husband, you just don’t know it yet!” or “Stay single forever!”

But now… things were about to change.

“Babe, are you sure you’re ready for this?” Y/N’s voice floated from the doorway.

Hamzah turned to see her leaning against the frame, dressed in one of his oversized hoodies. She looked nervous, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. It wasn’t like her to be unsure—one of the many things he loved about her was her confidence.

“Yes” he said, standing up and walking over to her. “I mean, I don’t want to hide you anymore. I’m tired of pretending like you don’t exist in my life when you’re the best part of it.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. “That’s a cheesy line.”

“Cheesy, but true,” he said, placing a hand on her cheek. “Listen, I know my fans are intense… Some of them might not take it well, but I want them to know the real me. And the real me is crazy about you.”

Her smile softened, but her eyes still carried doubt. “What if they hate me?”

“They won’t,” Hamzah said firmly. “And even if some do, they’ll get over it. I’m not going to let a few people’s opinions stop me from showing you off.”

Y/N exhaled, her resolve solidifying. “Okay. Let’s do it. But if this ruins your career, you’re not allowed to blame me.”

Hamzah grinned. “Deal.”

———

The next day, the internet buzzed with speculation.

Hamzah had tweeted:

Big news dropping tomorrow. 👀

In minutes, his fans were in a frenzy:

• “HE’S RELEASING MERCH, I KNOW IT!”

• “Collab with friends ? Please say it’s chase and Claire !”

• “WHAT IF IT’S A GIRLFRIEND??? 😱”

By the time the video premiered, his audience was practically vibrating with anticipation.

The screen lit up with Hamzah sitting in his usual filming spot, a goofy grin on his face. “Alright, guys, I know you’re all dying to know what the big news is, so I won’t drag it out too long. But first…” He leaned closer to the camera, lowering his voice dramatically. “How are you doing? You good? Hydrated? Alright, cool.”

He straightened up, his expression softening. “So, here’s the thing. You guys have been with me through everything—my first awkward videos, my cringe TikTok dances, my horrible attempts at cooking. You’re like family to me. And because of that, I think it’s time I introduce you to someone really special.”

The comments exploded immediately:

• “OH MY GOD IT’S HAPPENING.”

• “WAIT, WHAT?!?”

• “He’s trolling us… right??”

Hamzah chuckled, glancing off-camera. “Y/N, you ready?” He extends his hand signaling to y/n that she could come now

A moment later, Y/N walked into the frame, smiling nervously. She waved. “Hi, everyone!”

The comments came faster than either of them could read:

• “SHE’S SO PRETTY OMG.”

• “Wait, who is this???”

• “Not my parasocial relationship crumbling rn.”

“This is Y/N,” Hamzah said, his voice full of warmth. “My girlfriend. And before you freak out—yes, I’ve been keeping this a secret for a while. Not because I didn’t want you to know, but because I wanted to protect her from… well, you know how some of y’all can be.”

Y/N laughed nervously, and Hamzah squeezed her hand.

The video continued with them sharing how they met and answering some lighthearted questions. But as the comments poured in, it became clear that not everyone was thrilled.

Later that night, as Hamzah scrolled through Twitter, he sighed. “Well, the fans are… divided.”

Y/N peered over his shoulder. Among the supportive messages were tweets like:

• “Heartbroken. Never trusting men again.”

• “Unsubscribed. You ruined my fantasy, Hamzah.”

But then there were others:

• “Y/N seems sweet. I’m happy for you, Hamzah!”

• “As long as you keep posting funny videos, I don’t care who you date.”

He looked at Y/N, who was reading the tweets with an unreadable expression. “Hey,” he said softly, turning her face toward him. “Are you okay?”

She hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. It’s a lot, but I’ll survive. As long as you’re by my side.”

Hamzah smiled, pulling her into a hug. “Always.”

—-

Inspired by Mandy’s recent YT Video and everyone saying that he has a gf😭 hope yall liked my first fic…

[clarkeyshill]

white noise

george clarke x fem! reader

summary: you live in a different city for uni which causes tension between you and george.

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georgeclarkeey youre too sexy to die 😞

┃yourusername thanks for the encouragement

┃georgeclarkeey i try my hardest 😋

arthurnfhill please don’t die i cant deal with george 😓

┃yourusername ill do my best

┃arthurnfhill thank you

You sat by your desk gnawing at the inside of your cheek staring at your phone expectantly. It felt as if you were burning from the inside out, fighting back the tears that were pooling at your waterline. The pen in your drawing mindless shapes on the page instead any work.

You should’ve just gone to London when George asked then none of this would’ve happened and you could’ve got your work done anyways.

The pit in your stomach continued to grow throughout the day as no texts from your boyfriend lit up your phone. No updates from Chris or Arthur on if he was okay.

You felt helpless.

You felt lost without him.

You picked up your phone to send another text but stopped yourself not wanting to annoy him any more.

You dropped your phone to the desk and walked to your bathroom splashing water over your face to wake yourself up. You hadn’t slept, you couldn’t sleep, everytime you tried you were reminded of cold space next to you.

The soft sounds of knocking echoed through your apartment and you walked to the door in confusion opening it slowly.

“I’m sorry.” George apologised as soon as you made eye contact with each other, and your arms immediately wrapped around his neck holding him close, “I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you.”

George buried his head into the crook of your neck wrapping his arms around your waist, “No, I’m sorry, I should’ve just went to London. I wanted to but I’m just so overwhelmed and I didn’t want to stress you out.”

George pulled away cupping your jaw in his hands kissing your forehead lovingly, “Come on.” He muttered, “Lets get some more work done, so we can order food because I’m fucking starving.”

You let out a small laugh nodding as you both walked into your flat and George made himself comfortable on the sofa whilst you took your seat at your desk once again.

[sassenach77yle]

7x12 “Carnal Knowledge”

The haze had thickened into steel-gray clouds, coming purposefully up the river, muttering with thunder. I took a deep, lung-filling whiff of ozone and then another, of his skin. I detected the basic male animal, very appetizing in itself, but he seemed to have acquired a rather unusual—though savory—bouquet in addition: a faint whiff of sausage, the strong bitter scent of cabbage, and . . . yes, mustard, underlaid with something oddly spicy. I sniffed again, repressing the urge to lick him. “You smell like—” “I smell like a large plate of choucroute garnie,” he interrupted, with a slight grimace. “Give me a moment; I’ll have a wash.” He made as though to get up and go toward the river, and I reached out and seized him by the arm. He looked at me for a moment, then drew a deep breath and, reaching slowly out in turn, pulled me against him. I didn’t resist. In fact, my own arms went round him in reflex, and we both sighed in unison, in the sheer relief of embrace. I would have been quite content to sit there forever, breathing the musky, dusty, cabbage-laced smell of him and listening to the thump of his heart under my ear. All the things we’d said—all the things that had happened—hovered in the air around us like the cloud of troubles from Pandora’s box,—but for this one moment, there was nothing but each other. After a bit, his hand moved, smoothing the loose, damp curls behind my ear. He cleared his throat and shifted a little, drawing himself up, and I reluctantly let go of him, though I left my hand on his thigh. “I wish to say something,” he said, in the tone of one making a formal statement before a court. My heart had quieted while he held me; now it fluttered in renewed agitation. “What?” I sounded so apprehensive that he laughed. Only a breath, but he did laugh, and I was able to breathe again. He took my hand firmly and held it, looking into my eyes. “I don’t say that I dinna mind this, because I do. And I don’t say that I’ll no make a fuss about it later, because I likely will. But what I do say is that there is nothing in this world or the next that can take ye from me—or me from you.” He raised one brow. “D’ye disagree?” “Oh, no,” I said fervently. He breathed again, and his shoulders came down a fraction of an inch. “Well, that’s good, because it wouldna do ye any good if ye did. Just the one question,” he said.

“Are ye my wife?”

“Of course I am,” I said, in utter astonishment. “How could I not be?”

His face changed then; he drew a huge breath and took me into his arms. I embraced him, hard, and together we let out a great sigh, settling with it, his head bending over mine, kissing my hair, my face turned into his shoulder, openmouthed at the neck of his open shirt, our knees slowly giving way in mutual relief, so that we knelt in the fresh-turned earth, clinging together, rooted like a tree, leaf-tossed and multi-limbed but sharing one single solid trunk.

The first drops of rain began to fall.

HIS FACE WAS open now and his eyes clear blue and free of trouble—for the moment, at least. “Where is there a bed? I need to be naked with ye.” I was entirely in sympathy with this proposition, but the question took me momentarily aback.[...]

glanced at the river, wondering whether, after all, a nice, sheltering bush—but it was late in the afternoon, cloudy, and the gnats and mosquitoes were hanging in small carnivorous clouds of their own beneath the trees. Jamie stooped suddenly and swept me up in his arms.

“I’ll find a place.”

THERE WAS A wooden thump as he kicked open the door of the new potting shed, and suddenly we were in a light-streaked darkness smelling of sun-warmed boards, earth, water, damp clay, and plants.

“What, here?” It was abundantly clear that he wasn’t seeking privacy for the purpose of further inquiry, discussion, or reproach. For that matter, my own question was largely rhetorical. He stood me on my feet, turned me about, and began undoing my laces. I could feel his breath on the bare skin of my neck, and the tiny hairs there shivered.

“Are you—” I began, only to be interrupted by a terse “Hush.” I hushed. I could hear then what he’d heard: the Bartrams, in conversation with each other. They were some distance away, though—on the back porch of the house, I thought, screened from the river path by a thick hedge of English yew. “I don’t think they can hear us,” I said, though I lowered my voice.

“I’ve done wi’ talking,” he whispered, and, leaning forward, closed his teeth gently on the nape of my exposed neck.

“Hush,” he said again, though mildly. I hadn’t actually said anything, and the sound I’d made was too high-pitched to draw the attention of anything save a passing bat. I exhaled strongly through my nose and heard him chuckle deep in his throat. My stays came loose, and cool air flooded through the damp muslin of my shift. He paused, one hand on the tapes of my petticoats, to reach round with the other and gently lift one breast, heavy and free, thumb rubbing the nipple, hard and round as a cherry stone. I made another sound, this one lower-pitched.

I thought vaguely how fortunate it was that he was left-handed, as that was the hand nimbly engaged in undoing the tapes of my skirts. These fell in a swishing heap round my feet, and I had a sudden vision—as his hand left my breast and the shift whiffed up round my ears—of Young Mr. Bartram suddenly realizing a dire need to pot up a batch of rosemary seedlings. The shock probably wouldn’t kill him, but . . .

“May as well be hung for sheep as lambs,” Jamie said, having evidently divined my thought from the fact that I’d turned round and was shielding my more private bits in the manner of Botticelli’s Venus. “And I’ll have ye naked.”

He grinned at me, whipped off his own dirt-streaked shirt—he’d thrown off his coat when he set me down—and yanked down his breeks without pausing to undo the flies.

He was thin enough to make this possible; the breeches hung on his hipbones, barely staying up by themselves, and I saw the shadow of his ribs beneath his skin as he bent to shed his stockings.

He straightened and I put a hand on his chest. It was damp and warm, and the ruddy hairs prickled into gooseflesh at my touch. I could smell the hot, eager scent of him, even over the agricultural fug of the shed and the lingering smell of cabbage.

“Not so fast,” I whispered.

He made a Scottish sound of interrogation, reaching for me, and I dug my fingers into the muscle of his breast.

“I want a kiss first.”

He put his mouth against my ear and both hands firmly on my bottom. “Are ye in a position to make demands, d’ye think?” he whispered, tightening his grasp. I caught the faint barb in that. “Yes, I bloody am,” I said, and adjusted my own grip somewhat lower. He wouldn’t be attracting any bats, I thought.

We were eyeball-to-eyeball, clasped and breathing each other’s breath, close enough to see the smallest nuance of expression, even in the dimness. I saw the seriousness that underlay the laughter—and the doubt beneath the bravado.

“I am your wife,” I whispered, my lips brushing his.

“I ken that,” he said, very softly, and kissed me. Softly. Then closed his eyes and brushed his lips across my face, not so much kissing as feeling the contours of cheekbone and brow, of jaw and the tender skin below the ear, seeking to know me again past skin and breath, to know me to the blood and bone, to the heart that beat beneath.

I made a small sound and tried to find his mouth with my own, pressing against him, bare bodies cool and damp, hair rasping sweetly, and the lovely firmness of him rolling between us. He wouldn’t let me kiss him, though. His hand gripped the tail of my hair at the base of my neck, cupping my head, the other hand pursuing the same game of blind man’s buff. There was a rattling thump; I had backed into a potting bench, setting a tray of tiny seedling pots to vibrating, the spicy leaves of sweet basil trembling in agitation. Jamie pushed the tray aside with one hand, then grasped me by the elbows and lifted me onto the bench.

“Now,” he said, half breathless. “I must have ye now.” He did, and I ceased caring whether there were splinters in the bench or not.

I wrapped my legs round him and he laid me flat and leaned over me, hands braced on the bench, with a sound halfway between bliss and pain. He moved slowly in me and I gasped. The rain had grown from a patter to a ringing din on the tin roof of the shed, covering any sounds I might make, and a good thing, too, I thought dimly. The air had cooled but was full of moisture; our skins were slick, and heat sprang up where flesh touched flesh. He was slow, deliberate, and I arched my back, urging him. In response, he took me by the shoulders, bent lower, and kissed me lightly, barely moving. “I willna do it,” he whispered, and held tight when I struggled against him, trying vainly to goad him into the violent response I wished—I needed. “Won’t do what?” I was gasping. “I willna punish ye for it,” he said, so softly I could barely hear him, close as he was. “I’ll not do that, d’ye hear?” “I don’t frigging want you to punish me, you bastard.” I grunted with effort, my shoulder joints creaking as I tried to break free of his grasp. “I want you to . . . God, you know what I want!” “Aye, I do.” His hand left my shoulder and cupped beneath my buttock, touching the flesh of our joining, stretched and slippery. I made a small sound of surrender, and my knees loosened. He pulled back, then came back into me, strongly enough that I gave a small, high-pitched cry of relief.

“Ask me to your bed,” he said, breathless, hands on my arms. “I shall come to ye. For that matter—I shall come, whether ye ask it or no. But remember, Sassenach—I am your man; I serve ye as I will.” “Do,” I said. “Please do. Jamie, I want you so!” He seized my ars* in both hands, hard enough to leave bruises, and I arched up into him, grasping, hands sliding on his sweat-slick skin.

“God, Claire, I need ye!”

Rain was roaring on the tin roof now, and lightning struck close by, blue-white and sharp with ozone. We rode it together, forked and light-blind, breathless, and the thunder rolled through our bones.

24 WELCOME COOLNESS IN THE HEAT, COMFORT IN THE MIDST OF WOE ~ Written in My Own Heart's Blood