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rafeysbangs · 1 day ago

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lachesism , rafe cameron ( series ) 09

pairing ; brother's!bsf!rafe x kook!female!reader

content ; mdni !! outerbanks au, eventual smut, angst, violence, underage drinking, family issues, substance abuse, s/a.

summary ; rafe cameron is everything you can’t stand; reckless, infuriating, and too self-assured for his own good. as your brother’s best friend, he’s always been a constant presence, one you’ve done your best to ignore. but the tension between you has always simmered just beneath the surface, sharp and impossible to ignore. you’ve spent years resisting his pull, refusing to give him the satisfaction. but in a world where lines blur and control slips away, you’re forced to face the truth: rafe cameron isn’t so easy to hate after all.

status ; ongoing .ᐟ

✺ navigation ; 008. 009. 010.

NINE, carrying the chaos.

RAFE HAD FINALLY LEFT FOR TANNEYHILL,

and the night ted and amanda returned, you couldn't shake the weight pressing down on you. laying in bed, the ceiling above you blurred by the shadows of restless thoughts. your stomach churned with unease, the memory of rafe's hands on your skin as fresh and unwelcome as the guilt that followed. you hated him. hated the way he consumed your thoughts, the way he invaded every quiet moment like a splinter lodged too deep to reach.

rafe cameron was a mistake. one you couldn't stop yourself from making again.

when your phone buzzed with a text, you half-hoped it wouldn't be him. but of course, it was.

rafe: stop staring at the ceiling and text me back.

you: go to hell.

rafe: only if you're coming.

you cursed under your breath, tossing your phone onto the bed as if it might burn you. but you couldn't stop yourself from picking it back up.

you: lose my number.

rafe: you didn't seem so eager to lose me the other night.

your jaw clenched, heat flooding your face. he was infuriating. smug and insufferable. you wanted to throw your phone out the window. instead, you ignored him, shoving the device under your pillow and turning over. sleep wouldn't come, but at least you wouldn't have to see his name glowing on the screen.

the next day, when your mom mentioned dinner at tanneyhill, your stomach sank. the idea of sitting across from rafe, pretending everything was normal, made your skin crawl. or maybe it was the memory of his hands gripping your waist, his voice low and venomous in your ear.

"do i have to go?" you asked, feigning disinterest as you flipped through a book you weren't pretending to read anymore.

her mother frowned. "of course, you do. it's polite. and you know how rose loves hosting."

polite. that word sat bitterly in your mouth. you wanted to laugh at the irony. there was nothing polite about rafe cameron.

the evening came too quickly. standing in front of your mirror, you smoothed down the hem of your dress—a white sundress that felt too innocent for what you'd become. you scowled at your reflection, fixing a stray strand of hair before heading downstairs.

the drive to tanneyhill was unbearable. carter yammered on about football and some girl he'd met, but you barely heard him. your thoughts too loud, drowning out everything but the dread pooling in your chest.

when you arrived, the first thing you saw was rafe. he stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his expression unreadable until his eyes landed on you. then came the smirk—the one that always made your blood boil.

"y/n," he said, dragging your name out like it was a private joke. "nice of you to grace us with your presence."

"rafe," you replied, your voice cold as ice. "i see you're still trying to act like you own the place."

"i do, don't i?" he shot back, his grin widening as he stepped aside to let her pass. his gaze lingered a beat too long, and you hated the way it made you feel exposed.

dinner was a strained affair. the table buzzed with polite conversation, but you could feel rafe's presence like a brand. every time you glanced up, his eyes were on you, sharp and unyielding. his foot brushed against yours once, then again, and when you kicked him under the table, he just chuckled softly.

"problem?" he murmured, leaning closer.

"you're the problem," you hissed, your tone low enough that only he could hear.

"and yet, here we are." his voice dripped with mockery, his smirk daring her to react.

after dinner, the parents retreated to the patio, and you found yourself alone in the living room, the tension finally catching up with you. you pressed your fingers to your temples, trying to will away the headache building behind your eyes.

"you look tense," rafe said from behind you, his voice smug and far too close.

you didn't turn around. "what do you want?"

he stepped around the couch, leaning casually against the armrest. his presence loomed, filling the room with an unbearable heat. "just wanted to check on you. you seemed... distracted at dinner."

"go bother someone else, rafe."

he tilted his head, studying you with that infuriating smirk. "you're cute when you're angry."

your patience snapped. "god, i hate you."

"funny," he said, leaning closer, "because you didn't hate me when i had you—"

your hand shot out before he could finish, shoving him back with more force than you intended. his laugh was sharp, almost predatory, as he steadied himself.

"feisty," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "you know, you can keep pretending you hate me, but we both know the truth."

you glared at him, your chest heaving with anger. "the truth is, i can't stand you."

"is that why you let me—"

"stop," you snapped, cutting him off. your voice wavered, but you refused to let him see how much he got to you.

rafe's smirk softened, but only slightly. "whatever helps you sleep at night, baby."

and just like that, he was gone, leaving you alone with the storm raging in your chest.

you finally left tanneyhill, and you couldn't help the faint smirk tugging at your lips as they drove home. the evening had been a tense balancing act, but you'd survived it without any cracks showing. the hum of the car engine filled the silence, carter too engrossed in his phone to notice your jittery hands or the way you bit at the inside of your cheek. relief curled through you—he hadn't caught on.

back at home, you moved quickly. upstairs, you shed the day's pretence like a heavy coat, trading your pristine sundress for panties and a loose t-shirt that barely hung off one shoulder. your hair fell in disarray, strands mussed from the humid night. you crossed the room and unlocked your window, pushing it open just enough to let in the cool night air. crickets chirped in the stillness, their song a steady, rhythmic backdrop as you hit play on a playlist, the low hum of music filling the room.

you climbed into bed, knees tucked close to your chest, trying to ignore the sharp tug of restlessness in your gut. you hated this feeling—this anticipation that set you on edge. it was ridiculous. infuriating. you despised him, loathed every arrogant smirk and cutting remark. and yet...

your eyes flicked to the window. you cursed under her breath, annoyed at yourself, annoyed at him, annoyed at the way her pulse quickened at the thought of his shadow slipping through the frame.

minutes passed. then, the unmistakable scrape of sneakers against the lattice. your heart stumbled. you clenched your fists beneath the blanket, willing herself to stay calm. to stay unaffected.

the window creaked open further, and rafe slipped inside, his movements smooth, deliberate, as though he belonged there. he landed silently, his sharp blue eyes locking on yours in the dim glow of your bedside lamp.

"thought you might've changed your mind," he said, his voice low, cutting through the quiet. he leaned against the window frame, arms crossed, his broad shoulders filling the small space with ease.

"wishful thinking," you shot back, your voice colder than you felt. you sat up, folding your arms as if to create a barrier between them. "what do you want, rafe?"

"same thing you do," he said, his mouth curving into that infuriating smirk. "you left the window open."

your cheeks burned. you hated how easily he read you, how he could peel back your carefully crafted exterior without even trying. "doesn't mean i wanted you to show up."

"sure," he drawled, stepping further into the room. his gaze swept over you, slow and deliberate, making your skin prickle. "is that why you're all dressed up for me?"

you scoffed, pulling the blanket tighter around you. "you're delusional."

"maybe," he said, inching closer, "but you didn't stop me from climbing in, did you?"

"maybe i didn't hear you," you snapped, though your voice faltered slightly. his presence was suffocating, the air between you thick with something you refused to name.

he tilted his head, watching you with that same maddening intensity. "you're a terrible liar."

"and you're a terrible person," you shot back, your tone sharper now. you needed to regain control, to push him back, even if it was only verbal. "what, did you get bored tormenting someone else? or is this just another game to you?"

his smirk faltered for the briefest moment, replaced by something darker, something that made your stomach twist. he stepped closer, towering over you now, and you hated how small you felt under his gaze.

"you think i'm here to play games?" his voice was quieter now, but no less dangerous. "trust me, if this were a game, i would've gotten bored a long time ago."

your breath hitched, your resolve wavering under the weight of his words. you hated him. hated the way he made you feel—off balance, exposed, vulnerable.

"then why are you here?" you asked, your voice softer, but no less biting.

he didn't answer, not right away. instead, he leaned in, his hands bracing against the bed on either side of you, caging you in. his face was so close now, his breath warm against your cheek.

"because you can't stop thinking about me," he said finally, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down her spine. "just like i can't stop thinking about you."

your pulse roared in your ears, your chest tightening with a mix of anger and something far more dangerous. "you're full of yourself."

"maybe," he admitted, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke. "but i'm not wrong."

your hands itched to shove him away, to push him out the window and slam it shut forever. but instead, you grabbed the collar of his shirt, yanking him down as if to make a point.

"shut up," you muttered against his lips before kissing him, hard and unforgiving, your frustration spilling out in every movement.

he didn't resist. he never did. his hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, each touch igniting a fire that burned away your better judgment.

you hated him. and you hated yourself for wanting him. but in this moment, with his weight pressing you into the mattress, the lines between hatred and desire blurred beyond recognition.

with your thighs exposed, rafe looked down at the sensitive skin, wanting nothing more than to bury his face there. you propped yourself up on your elbows, your eyebrows cinched together.

rafe kicked his shoes off before his fingers hooked though the soft material of your panties. you watched has he slid the garment down your legs, your head falling back as he then pinned your thighs to the tops of his shoulders. "rafe.." you breathed, reaching down your fingernails lightly dragged across his skin. he hummed, cupping your soaked pussy as you gasped.

"mmm, use your words baby," he traced your folds, losing his mind internally, he couldn't wait to taste you. you blinked hazily when you felt his thumb tease your sensitive clit.

rafe's tongue lapped against your clit, your back arching off the bed as he splayed a hand across your stomach. letting out a whine, rafe ate you like a man starved.

you fought the urge to shut your thighs around his head when two of his fingers poked at your entrance, you could feel him smirking into your pussy proudly. he groaned when he thrusted them into you, the pretty sounds you were making driving him up the wall.

the coil in your stomach only grew tighter until rafe had your thighs trembling. you cried out, your first orgasm of the night ripping through your lungs. rafe grinned as your hips stuttered in a poor attempt to chase the feeling of his tongue.

you stared at the ceiling for a moment then looked at him as the tips of your fingers tugged at his shirt. he tore it off, his toned body highlighted by only the salt lamp shining. he flipped you over and grinded his erection into your ass. he shamelessly rut against you while leaning down, kissing you sloppily, both of them moaning.

taking himself out of his pants, he wrapped a large hand around your throat, his arm flexing, thrusting into you harshly. "oh my- fuck rafe!" you wailed, your walls immediately clenching around him. rafe shut his eyes, his mouth ghosting over yours as he fucked into you hard and slow.

"you miss me?" he breathed, going deeper with each thrust, yanking at your top to pull you against him. your walls stretched deliciously around his length as you whined, "yes- god. i missed your dick."

rafe smirked proudly as he rolled you over and slot himself between your thighs before picking up the pace again.

you looked up at him, already completely fucked out as he pawed at your tits through your top before tearing it off. you began moving your hips in sync with his, meeting his thrusts as he groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

wrapping your legs around his waist tightly, his toned stomach slapped against your clit as you both rolled your hips in desperation to feel each other finish. "ah fuck," rafe rasped as your nails tore into his back. it wasn't long before you both started shuddering with pleasure, the waves of your orgasms rushing over your bodies.

"shiit." rafe drawled, pressing a kiss to your temple before pulling out. you whined at the empty feeling, clarity setting in again as you looked up at the boy once more with a satisfied but exhausted sigh.

he rolled off of you, catching his breath but taking a moment to smirk as he gazed down at your body. "christ delilah," he rasped, adjusting his pants before he handed you the top you were wearing. your movements stuttered before sitting up and taking it from him, slowly pulling it back over your head before grabbing his from across the bed and handing it to him.

silence engulfed the room, both of them without a word to say as he pulled it over his head.

you finally spoke up, "you can stay the night.. if you want." you shrugged before getting up and walking over to your drawers, grabbing a fresh pair of panties. rafe's mouth opened as if he were about to say something before shutting, he stretched and scratched at the back of his neck.

guilt radiated off him as he looked down, "sorry i uh, i've gotta deal with somethin'... another time." you said nothing, just nodded your head before disappearing into the bathroom. rafe stayed for a moment, waiting for you to come out to say goodbye but left figuring you were angry.

you washed your hands before coming out to find an empty bedroom, clenching your jaw for a moment you slipped under the covers and flipped off your salt lamp, hoping to easily drift off to sleep.

you woke slowly, the pale morning light filtering through the curtains and painting the room in soft gold. you stretched under the covers, your hand sliding across the sheets. they were cold, empty. you frowned, the absence sinking into your chest like a weight. you rolled onto your side and pulled the duvet higher over your head, wishing, for once, that rafe would still be there, his arm heavy over your waist, his breath warm against your neck. but no such luck. your room was silent, the stillness deafening.

you dragged yourself up, the ache of disappointment lingering as you set about starting your day.

a quick text to cora later, and the plan was set. the country club was as good a place as any to escape—fresh air, a cold beer, and some much-needed distance from everything that had been clawing at your mind. by the time you arrived, the weight of the morning had lessened just a little. cora was already there, leaning against the entrance with that easy grin of hers, making your mood lift even more as you grabbed your gear and made your way to the course.

you took a deep breath, the scent of freshly cut grass filling your lungs, the cool breeze teasing your hair. you cracked open a beer from the cooler you'd brought, the chill of it a welcome distraction from the storm still swirling inside you. lining up your first shot, you tried to focus, but then you heard it—the unmistakable sound of rafe's voice, laughing too loud, too carefree.

your heart skipped. you snapped your head up, eyes already searching the course. and there he was.

rafe. as obnoxious as ever. he was stumbling between swings, a golf club hanging limply in his hand, topper trailing behind him with that idiotic grin on his face. they were both clearly drunk. of course they were. the sight of him had your teeth grinding before you even realised it. your jaw tightened, fingers curling around your beer can. where the hell did he go last night?

"you good?" cora's voice cut through, pulling you back to the present.

your gaze flicked to your friend, trying to smooth out the glimpse of annoyance that must've been obvious on your face. "yeah," you said quickly, forcing a tight smile, though you knew it didn't reach your eyes. "let's keep playing."

but the game was lost the moment your eyes found him again. there was no escaping rafe. no matter how much you tried to focus on your swing, every part of you was keyed into the sight of him across the course—his loud, careless laughter, the way his stupidly perfect smile twisted when he looked back at you. it was all a reminder of how little you actually controlled, of how much he still got under your skin.

"you're staring," cora pointed out, glancing over at you with a knowing look, but you quickly redirected your gaze, your face going cool again.

"not staring," you muttered. "just trying to focus."

cora didn't press, but you could feel your friend's eyes linger for a moment longer. you didn't need to know the truth, not about that—the part of your life that still felt like a secret you weren't ready to untangle. especially not after last night.

rafe hadn't just messed with your head—he'd taken everything you'd ever built between your rivalry and twisted it into something far worse, something that made your stomach churn every time you even thought about it.

but that didn't mean you were about to give him the satisfaction of knowing he still had that power over you. not when you had control of this moment.

except every time you looked up, there he was again. stumbling, grinning, so damn sure of himself. everything about him infuriated you—how he seemed to move through life with the kind of cocky grace that made every other guy look like an amateur. how his gaze lingered on you for just a moment too long whenever you dared meet it. how, despite your best efforts to push him away, it only made him linger more.

at one point, you hit a shot that sent your ball flying off the green, and as you moved to retrieve it, you felt a familiar presence behind you.

"nice shot," rafe called out, his voice thick with amusement. he had appeared out of nowhere, standing just behind you, making your skin prickle with unwanted awareness. you refused to let your shoulders stiffen, but damn, it was hard to ignore him when he was this close. you could feel the heat of his gaze even before you turned.

you bit back the urge to snap at him, but it was there, clawing at the back of your throat. he was the reason you couldn't concentrate. he was the reason you felt this constant simmering heat under your skin, the thing that kept you up late at night, unable to push him out of your thoughts.

"don't know why you're out here, rafe," you said instead, forcing a biting tone. "shouldn't you be out reeking havoc somewhere else?"

he smirked, taking a step closer. "maybe," he said, and your heart stuttered for a fraction of a second. "but i figured i'd grace you with my presence." his voice dropped lower, teasing, but there was something darker underneath it. "you didn't seem like you were having much fun without me."

your stomach clenched. "fun? not when you're around, no."

he raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "how mature of you."

"whatever, don't pretend you care about what i'm doing," you snapped, but even as you said it, you could feel the tension building, stretching thinner by the second. every word that passed between you was another match tossed onto the fire, and neither of you could seem to stop adding fuel to it.

he didn't say anything else for a moment, his gaze running over you like he was calculating something—figuring you out, peeling back another layer you'd rather keep hidden.

when he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter, more dangerous. "you know, i didn't forget about last night."

you froze, your breath catching in your throat. your eyes narrowed instinctively, but the warning in your chest only deepened.

"keep talking, rafe," you said coldly, your hands curling into fists at your sides instinctively.

he took another step closer, his scent hitting you like a punch—cologne, smoke, and something else you couldn't quite place. he was too close now, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that it was suffocating.

"oh, i will," he murmured, his voice low, lips twitching into that infuriating, maddening smirk. "but you're not gonna like where it goes."

you clenched your jaw, refusing to let the flicker of nervousness show. you hated him. but as he moved closer again, your feelings betrayed you—your body pulsing with an undeniable tension that made everything inside you scream to run, and yet... you couldn't.

not when he was right there. not when he was still the one thing that made everything else seem so damn insignificant.

just as you opened your mouth to retort, ready to snap back at him, cora appeared like a much-needed breath of fresh air. her voice cut through the tension like a knife. "hey, you two. enough with the glares and the bullshit, okay?"

cora's easy-going tone contrasted sharply with the fire that had been building between you, and somehow, it worked. you took a step back, not quite retreating but pulling yourself out of the storm that rafe was stirring up. your eyes shot one last look at him, but he didn't seem too fazed, just watching you with that infuriating smirk.

"yeah, well, i don't need this today," you muttered, not meeting rafe's gaze again as you turned to walk away, cora falling into step beside you.

cora shot rafe a pointed look, one that made it clear she wasn't about to entertain whatever game he was playing, before following you off the course.

once you reached the car, you felt the air settle between the two of you, your chest still tight with everything left unsaid. cora opened the door to the passenger side, tossing her golf bag into the back seat with an exaggerated sigh.

"you alright?" cora asked, watching you carefully as she slid into the car. her tone was quiet but knowing, the kind that suggested she wasn't about to let you off the hook so easily.

you clicked your seatbelt into place, staring out the window for a long moment before answering. "yeah, i'm fine," you said, though your voice didn't sound convincing even to your own ears.

cora raised an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. "don't lie. what's going on with you and rafe?"

your breath caught at the question. you had hoped to avoid it. hoped—but cora wasn't one to back down once she got a sense of something being off. and after everything that had happened today, it wasn't going to stay buried for long.

"it's nothing," you said quickly, the words rushing out, but cora didn't let you off the hook.

"y/n," cora's voice was firm now, her eyes never leaving the road as they pulled out of the parking lot. "i saw the way he was looking at you, and i heard what he said. that wasn't just nothing. what is going on?"

you couldn't help the way your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your top, a nervous habit you hadn't been able to shake. you didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to acknowledge how messy everything had become. but cora's gaze was unwavering, and you knew she wasn't going to let up until you spilled something.

sighing, you leaned back in her seat, turning your head to glance at cora. "we... we hooked up," you muttered, the words coming out like they tasted bad on your tongue. "and now everything is... weird."

cora's eyes widened for a moment, then she glanced over at you, a playful but cautious grin tugging at her lips. "rafe cameron? really?" she raised an eyebrow, a mix of disbelief and amusement dancing in her eyes.

"yeah, i know," you shot back, bitterness coating your words. "i'm just as disgusted by it as you are."

"you're not disgusted," cora countered, her voice softer now, more understanding. "you're... frustrated. because there's something between you two. and you're fighting it."

you shook her head, exhaling sharply. "don't you think i know that? don't you think i've been fighting it this whole time? i hate him. i hate him." you gritted your teeth, your fingers curling into your palms. "but it's like nothing else matters when he's around. it's... it's maddening, cora."

there was a long pause as they drove, the air in the car feeling thick with the unspoken tension. cora didn't say anything right away, giving you the space to process your own thoughts.

"this is insane," you muttered after a moment, more to yourself than to cora. "he's a jerk, he's volatile... everything about him is wrong. but it's like i can't... not be around him."

cora's voice broke through the silence, softer now, with a trace of sympathy. "he's messing with you. and you're letting him."

"i know," you whispered, your gaze fixed on the road ahead as the words settled heavily in your chest. "i can't help it. i don't know what to do anymore."

cora glanced over at you, her expression still open and unjudging. "look, i'm not gonna say anything to anyone. this stays between us. but... you're gonna have to figure this out. because if you don't, it's just gonna keep eating at you."

you nodded slowly, the weight of everything pressing on your shoulders. "i don't know how to fix it."

cora smiled, you usual teasing grin softening. "don't worry about it. you'll figure it out. eventually."

"i hope so," you replied quietly, your fingers tapping absently on the window, the thoughts of rafe still swirling around in your head, no matter how hard you tried to push them away.

notes ; hello !!!!!! god im so sorry i've been awol for ages, uni is hectic but anyway i hope you enjoy !

series taglist ; @rafegetinmybed @sqfewrd @dreamyy-cloud @vampteeth @wtfisastiles @flvredcas @plaidcowboy @sematarygirls @slut4you @kravitzwhore @daryldixon83 @lexavanhuelee @dorcas4meadowes @i2rapunzel @rafestoothbrush @drewizz @6r4cie @akobx @seehowitshines @rafeswhoooreee @vbstrewbieri @waywarddiplomatfarmmonger-blog @ariivv01 @k4yr14 @luvrcndy @teleishachrisy @importantbeardcupcake @vanessa-rafesgirl @ltristessedureratoujours @cutkoskysnix1 @kennedywxlsh @funnyalpca @eeveelizabethh @burnburritono @marleymarleymarleymarley @katiebby04 @simplymaeee @hoppinbunny @slutglimreqpers ( lachesism taglist ) in order to stay on this taglist you must interact with the posts !

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jjaehyunnxie · 2 days ago

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drabble gf!reader x bf!jaemin, where reader is on her period

! MDNI, period sex, mentions of: throwing up, blood, fainting.

Jaemin who nods in an understanding way with a soft smile whenever you crash out and end up yelling at him due to your drastic mood swings. He understands you don't feel well, and tries to find all means possible to make you feel as heard and validated as possible. But also he just finds your angry side adorable.

Jaemin who buys you heat pads because he knows that above all the pills you take, heat pads are still the cure to your unbearable cramps.

Jaemin who tries his best to stay beside you whenever you're not feeling well. Giving head pats, holding you in his arms and rubbing his thumb gently on your shoulder, whispering sweet praises and soft words, or even playing your favorite song on the speakers.

Jaemin who's always by your side when your cramps get so bad you have to throw up. He holds your hair up as you puke in the toilet, completely spent and exhausted. "There we go. Let it all out, princess. You're doing great." Then, he'd help you gargle water while also wiping your tears and comforting you with hugs. "I know, I know. It's scary. But you did so well."

Jaemin who loves coming home from work to see you cuddled up, asleep, in bed with his cats. Something about seeing you so peaceful, arms carefully wrapped around Luna, the others curled up elsewhere near you, fills his heart with adoration. He's quick to shower and get in bed with you.

Jaemin who prepares all of your favorite meals when you're too weak to do anything. He'd look up recommended meals for that time of the month and make them all for you.

Jaemin who got so worried the first time you fainted due to rapid loss of blood. When he heard the sudden thud from the bathroom, he rushed over, knocking with pure fear in his voice. When you didn't answer, he opened the door with a warning only to find you on the floor. You woke up quickly once he shook you back to life, his eyes widened with worry. "Oh gosh, thank god, you're okay..." he'd sigh heavily before giving you a cup of water and insisting you stay in bed the whole day.

Jaemin who now knows you sometimes have a tendency to not let yourself rest and you always want to prioritise your work over your health so he takes matters into his own hands, calling your boss and explaining to him that you need to take a few days rest. Although you complain whenever he does this, you end up thanking him because, really, you were too weak to do any work.

Jaemin who's always ready to assure you about how beautiful you are whenever your period gives you body dysmorphia. "Look in the mirror for me" he'd say with a soft yet firm voice, making you face your full-body mirror while he stays behind, holding your waist gently. "You're so beautiful, princess. I fall in love with you every time I see this gorgeous body of yours." he'd whisper in your ear while tracing your curves before giving your cheek a loving kiss.

Jaemin who never has to ask you for which size pads, or what specific pills you need, or what snacks you're craving, because he just knows you that well.

Jaemin who has an app installed on his phone to track your period so he's always ready for any phase you might be in; be it your moody period or your overly horny ovulation week.

Jaemin who's ready to do anything you want him to do whenever you're on your period. Be it make you meals, change your clothes, shower you, praise you, give you kisses, and even sing you songs. You often find yourself with your head on his chest as he sings you songs to put you to sleep.

Jaemin who absolutely loves period sex. He just loves showing you how much adoration he has for you, even in this state where you feel the most disgusting. He'd prep the sheets with a cloth so no blood stains your bed before giving you the most gentle and passionate love-making session ever. Thrusting in you at a calm pace, absolutely no intention of rushing anything. Stripping your clothes while pressing kisses on every inch of your body, worshipping and cherishing it. "You're so beautiful. I love you...fuck, I love you so much, princess." he'd say between grunts. Just as he's about to cum, he quickly pulls out, releasing on your stomach as he continues to thrust his fingers in you, pushing you to your orgasm as well.

Jaemin who always excels in aftercare. He never leaves you hanging after sex, no matter how tired he might be. Whether its by carrying you to the tub to give you a warm shower, or by wiping you down with a wet cloth, he always makes sure to leave you sparkly clean and smelling like red roses.

Jaemin who adores how high your sex drive is after your period. How you always wake him up by grinding your hips on him, or how you never forget to give him a certain look only he knows. He enjoys seeing you so needy for him and is always ready and excited to give you exactly what you want.

#nct #nct dream #nct hard thoughts #nct jaemin smut #na jaemin x reader #drabbles #nct drabbles

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niftykin · 2 days ago

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" Each kiss breaks a wall "

RUGGIE BUCCHI - Twisted wonderland

Sypnosis: He will always know when you feel insecure, and he will always made sure that each one of his kisses break every brick you have placed in every one of your walls, once his lips caress your skin as a symbol of his everlasting love for you, he will make you feel worshipped. Soft Dom! Ruggie

Request: could I request a similar prompt (love-making, maybe reader feeling insecure?) w a dom!ruggie and established relationship? i know the prompt was from a writing event so feel free to ignore this request or change it!! have a nice day mwah mwah ❤️🍒

A/N: I have decided to get full on writing again after a writer's block that lasted a lot. I was ill, I'm pretty much okay now and I'm truly on this now, very nice, request are open

Warning: Smut, MDNI, all characters portrayed are up to 18, AFAB reader, romantic, fluff and a lot of smut, actually just cunnilingus, I say that people made sculptures after people with body like yours I don't really specify it tho, reader is insecure by a part of her body and is also not specified which.

He has seen you, he knows you, more than anything in this world— He pays attention.

He watches, he has seen how you look at yourself in the mirror, the slight distaste that runs on your pupils, how you refuse to look at certain spots of your skin, how you ignore them. He has realized how you flinch when he touches that patches of skin, he knows why that is but he doesn't really get why. People made sculptures over people like you, how could you feel disgusted over something so gorgeous— So natural.

Ruggie admires you.

His gaze makes you feel vulnerable under his knowing eyes, every blink adds a layer of tension in the whole deal. He doesn't look at you with disgust, ¿How could he? He worships your body and your body is the very extent of your soul— just as beautiful as it is. You're his soulmate, he feels at ease with you, his mind tranquil, his gaze soft, his pupils dilated like a doped man, you fit. You for in his arms, you fit in his very soul.

You're his Oasis. The water in his desert, the gold in his ambition, the one who brings light in his eyes. He loves you, ¿how could you ever think otherwise? He doesn't get it, he tried to, multiple times, but ¿why do you feel like that?.

If you don't feel welcomed in your own skin, he will let you have his. You live in his insides without knowing, every emotion, every thought, every flavor, every sensation. Everything is you.

You're his muse— he is no soldier, nor poet, nor a prince, nor an artist. But he loves just as deeply. You're not portrayed in his battles, or his poems, or his rules, or his paintings but on every single action he takes every single day, in every moment of his life, to be better. For you.

He will close your eyes when you don't want to see and he will cover you when you don't want to be seen.

So every time he catches a glimpse of you looking with distaste a part of your skin his hands cradle from behind you, his touch reverent, almost feather-like as his fingertips run over your cheeks and stop to cover your eyes. The reflection— your reflection is no longer visible for you, but for him. His lips travel over your skin softly, his words like a soothing balm to your very soul: "You're beautiful", like a bandage in a wound.

The bandage won't heal the wound, but it will help to stop burning.

The kisses won't make your insecurities fade away, but they will show you that not everyone hates that part of your body. That you are beautiful. That you are oh so very loved.

Then, he will lead you to the bed, lay you on you back as he watches you with pure devotion glimmering in his eyes, the malice he shows when he laughs at Leona or anybody else is completely gone in this— your chambers. His lips curving themselves in a soft smile as he looks down at you, his head tilted and his tail swinging calmly "I love you" he would say while he looked at you right on the eyes.

He would kiss you after, a soft kiss in the lips that only lasted a second, it burnt but it didn't hurt.

You laughed. He did too.

Then, he leaned for another, and then another, each one being slightly longer than the last, his fingertips moving over the patches of skin you hate without distaste but adoration.

His lips over yours as his hand travelled down your thighs, caressing them softly. "Do you want this?" He asked, his tone calm, peaceful, respectful— once you nodded he started kissing your cheek, travelling down your jaw, neck and collarbone, his hands undressing you with a calmness you would have never expected of a Hyena beastman like him.

He kissed the middle of your ribs, travelling his lips further down as one of his hands played with one of your breasts until he reached your lower abdomen and he took a breath. "¿Can I?" Ruggie asked to you, his eyes doe and clouded with desire and affection for you and the moment you gave him the green light his head dissapeared between your thighs, his ears twitching in satisfaction in you sight as his tongue sucked and licked all of your wetness. It was heavenly, it felt heavenly.

You were his Oasis, and he made sure to drink you like it. His hands grabbed your hips to keep you in place as he continued his restless assault to your core, his legs moved slightly in the bed, trying to put him closer to your crotch as his face kept placed in it, he hummed around your clit, his breath ragged as he sucked on your sensitive bud before he released it and gave you a few licks, your juices dripping from his chin to the sheets, but he couldn't care less about it. You tasted too good to stop and think about those little details.

His hand travelled to your thigh, making you rest it agaisnt his shoulder as his hand quickly went to your chest, massaging it as he let out another him of appreciation. He was drinking you like a dehydrated man.

His other hand, on the contrary, went to your heat, his middle finger teasing your entrance as his lips sucked at your clit ruthlessly before he started pulling the tip of his finger inside and move it at a painfully slow velocity before he started to pull more and more deeply on you until he was knuckle-deep inside. His movements were like waves mixed with the sucking and licking at your clit, the pleasure became almost unbearable and before you could know, your back was arched, your head thrown back and your head dizzy for the amount of pleasure. His finger drove you off of that high and when you were recovering, he pulled his finger outside of you with a lascive "Pop" before he put it in his mouth and sucked it suggestively, moaning at the taste.

"¿are you ready for another round, my love? I don't think I can show you how badly I desire you in just one ¿you know?"

AAA I forgot to write smut, I apologize for any mistakes in the grammar, english is not my first language, my request are open and I write for almost every fandom! Just ask!

#ruggie bucci x reader #twst ruggie #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #dialogue prompt #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland smut #twst smut #twst x reader smut #ruggie bucchi #twisted wonderland ruggie #ruggie x reader #ruggie bucchi smut #twst ruggie smut

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pricegouge · 8 hours ago

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prompt fill based off this request. can be read as a sister piece to unlucky foot

rat race

cw: simon x gn!fairy!reader. predator prey dynamic and i really mean it. implied deaths offscreen. MDNI

it's a new maze every time. peg board floor, the walls mounted to it shifting with each session to keep you confused and, lost amid the erratic angles and dead ends. sometimes they're mirrored, reflect your mounting dismay back at you with every turn. mostly, he likes other obstacles, small puzzles you have to solve before continuing on to the next part of the maze.

today's impediment is a little more dire.

you smell it before you see it, the familiar reek of soiled bedding and cloyingly strong aspen. you're not alone.

simon sees the minute you register your predicament, dark eyes becoming hyperfocused when you stiffen up, fear locking your joints. he looms overhead, bad omen hung double in the sky where the glass which prevents you and the rat both from climbing out catches his reflection just enough to mirror him again, superimposes his mask just there above you. inescapable.

you think maybe one of these days he'll make the maze the same and pray it's not this day. you'd rather starve to death within it's confines than let the rat live off your corpse for a few days longer. maybe that's where he'd gotten all those fairy specimen that lined his study, their little shadow boxes visible even now, his largest mount displayed proudly behind his desk, looking over his shoulder at you pityingly. maybe you'll get a spot of honor, too.

but not if the rat finds you, vicious teeth and ravenous appetite. it had come close a few times, clever little nose giving it a leg up on you. simon had never once moved to help as it had closed in, just leaning closer to watch as the rat closed in, eyes darting between the two of you with the sort of anticipation and excitement one usually reserved for a well-balanced match.

so you can't depend on his mercy - not that he's ever given you reason to, really, but you'd hoped -

the pegboard holes are just big enough to catch your toes. you trip as you scurry along, fingers trailing on the walls next to you lest you miss a turn in your haste. not that it really matters, not when each turn looks the same. simon used to leave you little hints, offerings of sweets which would guide you closer to the end. he'd long since stopped that, seemed content to watch you twist yourself into knots for hours before you found a way out if needed. you hoped that wouldn't be the case tonight. the rat rarely ever needed hours to find you.

you stop to catch your breath when you reach the next four-corners. it's a dangerous spot to be, what with all the straight shots where the rat might see you, but it also gives you the most options for an escape if it comes to it, something you've learned the hard way. your chest rises with effort, tiny cloud of condensation collecting on the glass above. beyond it, you see simon's eyes dart to your left with just a little too much excitement and you take off to the right before you can even collect yourself, wood paneling flying by as you run blindly, right, left, left again, one-eighty when you hit a dead end. you huff in frustration, a muted spark flying when your fists clench in frustration and fear. you have options, you know, but you don't like the odds and -

it's surprising how quiet your companion can be, when it suits him. you don't hear the quiet chuffing of his breathing, nor the gentle patter of his little paws as he creeps closer. it's not even the slithering of its tail that gives it away, but the subtle scrape of its whiskers against the paneling, the wall on your left seeming to swell closer as the beast stalks by on the other side of it.

simon had lied, that pointed look from before meant to send you scurrying in the wrong direction - right into the rat's clutches. you'd be more mad, if you had time to be.

the path to the right is short - doesn't let you wander too far away from the beast that dogs you before forcing you to turn left. you're running parallel with it now, or at least you would be if it had kept on its same path. but that's unlikely in this labyrinth, and one right hand turn could send it your way. another could have it barreling down the aisle at you. you dip right as soon as you're able, do it again at your next chance -

and stop dead in your tracks when you see the very end of its scaly tale disappear around a corner up ahead.

faltering where you stand, you take a minute to try and find your bearings, weigh your options as you see them. there's no exit behind, but death could be waiting before and it takes you a minute to remember that if it's not there, it will be around the next corner (or the next, or the next) until you find your way out of here.

so you creep forward, each step placed carefully lest you slip, bare skin squeaking off the cheap wood. you don't make a sound as you approach the blind, not even as you peek around the corner to find the rat still at the end of the path, strong nose raised as if to sniff out whatever might be on the other end of the wall before it. you keep your wits about you, pull your head back to collect a calming breath before darting past the gap while it's distracted, your footsteps coming a little more calmly, a little more confidently as you slink away. you can feel simon's heavy gaze on you, seemingly magnified by the glass overhead. he's rapt now, his unwavering gaze only adding to your stress, nerves a tangled ball of pollen you can't find the end of, can't get a grasp on.

maybe that's why you're too distracted to mind your breathing, the harsh pants of your panic alerting the rat to your presence. it chuffs in its excitement, long body struggling as it tries to turn around in the close press of walls that surround it. you hear the scrape of its little claws, a series of suppressed sneezes it would never emit if it was still in stalking mode. the gig is up.

you don't even bother to look behind you before you're off, feet slamming against the pegboard in your haste. simon's too excited to bother suppressing it, unwittingly leading you toward the exit by how he leans too far forward, a subconscious tell which you try to focus all your concentration on. anything to avoid looking back, avoid seeing the scurrying beast which tails you.

it's gaining is the worst part. you can take corners quicker than it, but it's faster on straightaways and it's only now, as you weave your way through row after row of them that you realize there are a lot of straightaways in this maze. simon's note taking wasn't just for show, it seemed.

right, left, straight, right and right again. teeth snatch at your clothes, sharp enough to tear instead of catch. a mixed blessing as it allows you to slip its grasp this time. you drive yourself harder, chest aching with your labored breath as you try to stay just outside of its range. it squeaks and squeals in its excitement, a terifying littany you can't quite drown out even with your blood pounding in your ears. you focus on trending right because that's the way simon's leaning, are just starting to worry you've misjudged him when you see it: sweet sanctuary, a perfect circle in an external wall, the sweet smell of candy sitting just beyond.

you leap through it as soon as you're able, shriek in fright when you swear you can feel teeth snapping at your toes. but simon shutters the door as soon as you're through it, dull thud of the rat slamming against it the last thing you hear of it for the night.

supine, catching your breath, you watch almost disinterestedly as simon stands and collects the massive box from off his desk, big meaty hands lifting it gently before carrying it off to the other side of the room where he takes a minute to extract the rat and return it to its cage. it nips him, retaliation for a pointless maze, but simon just chuckles darkly, calls it cheeky as he feeds it a grape from his pocket. when he turns back to you, he asks why you haven't had your treat yet and you just shake your head, stomach turning at the thought of sweets right then. or maybe it's because the thought of being treated like just another one of his lab rats leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

the chair groans under him when he sits back down, his fist heavy as it drags over the pad of paper before him, taking more notes. everything about him is heavy and he never lets you forget it - movements purposefully drawn out to emphasize it, as if he's any need for it. even for a human he's a large man, and there's nothing your paltry sparks could ever do against him. you're not stupid, despite what he thinks.

"almost got you that time," he grumbles as he finishes up. you're still laying on your back, processing your predicament. he just uses it as an excuse to slide the paper you're laying on closer, his palm planted frimly next to you, framing you between forefinger and thumb. you don't bother arguing with him, don't see the point.

over his shoulder, some long-dead kin seems to agree.

"you'll be a wet specimen, won't you?" his mask hides his expression when he says it, but his eyes are just as animated as they'd been when he'd lead you astray, gleaming darkly in the low light of his banker's lamp.

you can only pout up at him, confused until he picks you up, turns you so you face the cupboard, one of its door's hanging slightly ajar, the low glint of glass glowing from within. even static it seems to dance, and you imagine the jarred contents within rippling, the mangled little corpses preserved in formaldehyde bobbing along. you shake your head adamantly, fear bubbling back to life in your belly. you'd only seen inside the cupboard once but it had been enough, shelves full of gored little fairies haunting you ever since, constant threat.

simon tuts, as if you're being petulant and contrary. "you'd best shape up, then. can't mount a half-eaten fairy."

#please let me know if there's anything you think should be added as a tag!#fairy!reader

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agerasiaa · 1 day ago

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Eyes, bones and human hearts

by agerasia

I have been in the habit of dragging my finger against fantasy maps. I tell it not with my lungs, but carve it into the corner of my brain: “something is missing in this world."

I mouth it against book pages and television screens, amidst the quiet reading lesson and the buzzing living room static, yet no one seems to notice when an 11-year-old girl longs away from home. there is nothing to long for, and so the unspoken faith changes into a twisted belief: “something is missing in this body."

I avoid glass surfaces and beaches with still water, fearing I will find something horribly amiss with the reflection. so I search for the thunder and the stormy seas—and there stands you, with wobbling legs in the waves, feet stuck in the sand that sinks. it’s like looking in the mirror, trying to see which wounds are yours and which are mine, only to discover they all match or parallel each other with every edge. we both fear the wrongs in our own skin, yet find nothing sinful in each other.

one by one, I have been cracking my bones to fit into even the most cramped of rooms, I could not have while keeping myself whole. the mold of a good, loyal dog suits us well.

you crack your throat—keeping an ashy fledgling inside, feeling its feathers as it chokes down your windpipe. no one needs to see it push its repulsive head from behind our lips. neither of us would burden others with our non-human being, so we often forget: a mortal heart is also meant for self-hatred.

and I would have wanted to guard yours, before a ghost of a friend or two stabbed it. you spent early, cold mornings and desolate midnights feeling it bleed on the hallway floors, under the glaring eyes of a hundred judges. you made sure to let it drip on the secret bathroom tiles and sweep the red into the white porcelain of a bathtub. where you soak even years later, forgetting the blood is supposed to be all dried by now.

mine never beat to the rhythm of another, so I deemed it a useless, fragile thing and spent hours calculating my protein intake, pretending a heart attack was not a distant delusion. memories filled with futile attempts at finding a matching one: my cousin's unused suicide letter has long lost its value. every classmate has drifted to those still waters where people don't fear to sing nor bask in a human embrace. my heart wouldn't dance with anyone else's—I wondered if it was supposed to move at all.

we dread the days when parents tell us: it's time to stop falling asleep, clutching the plastic of your phone case like a life-line, when the real world is right there. they won't understand the device keeps your hollow chest warm like a faint recollection, back when half your teeth were made of milk, you dreamt of free skies and dragons, running your unblemished palms across the scales. now you stand between the Minute and the Hour hand with untouched Word documents and the pitched memory of your father's roaring voice. while my mother looks across the crowded room with a familiar frown on her lip. I cover your ears with my hands; you put a blindfold around my head. with a gentle touch, muffled breath and irregularly beating human hearts, you and I are still dreaming of make-believe love.

#human connection #poetry #my poem #slam poetry #poets on tumblr #writers on tumblr #spilled ink #tw implied sui ideation #books & libraries #aesthetic #art #dark acadamia aesthetic #literature #quotes #writeblr #dead poets society #light academia #chaotic academia #dark academia

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wondergirlsthings · 4 hours ago

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Lando Norris Tries to Guess Female Products...He's So Confused

Lando Norris x Reader

You set up your phone on the kitchen counter, grinning at Lando Norris as he stands next to you. Today’s challenge is all about female products, and you’re determined to see his reaction.

"Alright, Lando," you say with a playful smirk, "let's see how well you know your stuff. I'm going to show you some female products, and you have to guess what they are used for."

Lando raises an eyebrow, looking both intrigued and a little nervous. "Okay, I'm game. But I warn you, I'm not exactly an expert in... this area."

You hold up a box of tampons. "First up: what do you think this is for?"

Lando stares at the box for a moment, his eyes darting around as if trying to decode it. "Uh, is that... for—um—periods?" he ventures slowly.

You burst out laughing. "Yes, exactly! That one was easy. Now, how about this?" You pick up a bottle of essential oils.

He squints at it. "Hmm... is it for... relaxation? Aromatherapy?"

"Right again," you reply, impressed. "You're doing well."

Encouraged, you move on to the next item: a fancy, multicolored compact mirror. Lando holds it up, puzzled. "Okay, now tell me—what's this one? Is it for... makeup?"

You shake your head, giggling. "Close, but no. It's actually a compact mirror. You know, for checking your look on the go."

Lando laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess that makes sense. I mean, I always check my reflection, but usually in a phone camera."

The final challenge is a small, discreet pouch. You hand it to him. "And this?"

Lando examines it carefully. "Hmm... a purse? Like, a small bag for essentials?"

You smile widely. "Bingo! You've got it."

Just as he starts to relax, you throw in one more twist. "Alright, one bonus challenge: this is a women's hygiene product, but it's not for makeup, and it's not for periods. What is it used for?"

Lando's face contorts in confusion as he furrows his brow. "Uh... is that for, like, cleaning or... I don't know, managing...?" He trails off, clearly out of his element.

You laugh as you gently explain, "It's actually a menstrual cup. It's used as a reusable alternative to tampons and pads."

Lando chuckles, shaking his head. "Man, I really am clueless when it comes to this stuff. I feel like I just got schooled!"

You step closer and give him a light nudge. "Don't worry, Lando. You're doing great. Maybe next time, I'll quiz you on something more your speed, like racing trivia!"

Lando grins, still a bit embarrassed but clearly entertained. "Yeah, maybe I'll stick to that. But hey, thanks for the lesson—I guess every day is a school day."

[TikTok ends – comments start rolling in]

Top Comment: "Lando's face when he saw the menstrual cup is priceless 😂"

Second Comment: "I learned more about female products in one minute than in a whole semester! 😂"

Third Comment: "Lando, you're a good sport! Keep it up!"

#f1 x reader #lando norris x yn #lando norris x reader #lando norris #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x you #lando norris fic #F1 fic #tiktok

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cillianmurphysdimples · 17 hours ago

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A female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Part Twenty Four)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful and all total bollocks.

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

We Got Issues

Part Twenty Four: Y/N feels more unwell, and Cillian tries to be supportive. He's loving, he's attentive, and meets her every need. [Sexual scenes]

@strangeions @meadowshelby @watermeezer @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @cherry-cilly @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme @lavender-haze-01

To proofread deeply so apologies for typos. I shall fix.

---------

“Are y'alright?” Cillian's voice calls through the bathroom door and you can tell he's trying to be helpful, but it isn't. Sitting on the bathroom floor, you rest back against the side of the bath but you are too afraid to move too far away. The nausea is lingering, and what precious little of your hotly anticipated takeaway meal you managed to eat was now sitting at the bottom of the toilet. “Y/N, can I do anything?”

“No,” you say and swallow hard. Your throat burns, and you're not sure if the vomiting is worse than the constant nausea or not. “Just give me a minute, Cill. I just need a minute.”

“Did you get sick?” He asks, and he sounds concerned.

“Cill, please!” You moan, trying to focus on breathing to avoid activating your gag reflex again.

“Will I get you some 7up?” He calls out again and despite yourself you laugh.

“You and the fucking 7up!” You sigh softly, blowing air from your pursed lips, and turn slowly to use the edge of the bath to stand back up. You close the top of the toilet and flush it, then walk towards the sink to wash your face and briefly swill your mouth with water. You think about brushing your teeth but the idea of the toothpaste taste threatens to make you gag once again. You look into the mirror at your reflection and curse yourself for even considering food like you had when you know you've been feeling sick. Who eats when they're ill? Idiot! You reach for the door knob and pull open the bathroom door, and he's there - hands in his pockets, soft pout on his lips, and a sad look in his eyes that sits somewhere between sympathy and concern.

“You didn't like the spicebag?” He smirks and you shake your head, rolling your eyes.

“I'm stupid - it was a stupid idea. Who eats that when they're feeling sick all day?” You tease yourself, and he smirks.

He pulls his hands from his pockets and opens out his arms, “Ah, poor wee Y/N.” He says with a small laugh, “C'mere to me, you disgustingly pale looking weirdo ya.” He wraps his arms around you and you snuggle against his chest gratefully.

“I need to brush my teeth but I don't want to taste it.” You laugh, and Cillian's body shakes a little as he laughs too.

“Ah, you dirty bitch,” he teases. “C'mon, go and lay down in bed there and I'll get you some 7up.” He pats his hands on your back and you shake your head with a laugh.

“Stop it with the 7up, for God's sake,” you say, laughing a little more, and doing as you're told by approaching the bedroom. He follows you, and leans in the doorway as you turn and sit on the side of the bed.

“It's good for ya when you're sick, vomiting like, it's like magic.” He nods at you. “Quit your moaning.” He smirks at you again. “Maybe you've a virus, picked it up on your office day this week,” he suggests. “Because I'm not so sure this is just your anxiety.”

You shrug your shoulders, “Yeah, probably.” You sigh through the remaining nausea. “Okay, bring me the fucking 7up!” You relent. “And come and lie with me.”

“Jays, you're demanding.” He tuts, shaking his head. “Right, I'll be back,” he says, and disappears down the stairs.

In his absence, you strip to your knickers and throw on last night's pyjamas. Despite knowing he isn't a fan, you turn on the rarely used bedroom TV and find a ridiculous adult animation you've been seeing snippets of; you had intended to watch without him, knowing he was far too high brow to enjoy the base, inuendous humour, but you also know that when you're sick he'll give you whatever you want! You leave the light on - he can turn that out - and you snuggle yourself into a half-reclined position under the duvet. The bed smells of him again, after having him over night, and you tell yourself that perhaps you won't wash the sheets for an extra day - just to have his smell for a little longer when he leaves again tomorrow. You start the stupid show, and you're already tittering as he comes through the bedroom door nearly ten minutes later. He has your 7up, and a handful of carrier bags, and he smells of the outside air and cigarette smoke.

“You're a crafty shit.” You say, pausing the TV. He stands at your side of the bed with a confused expression.

“A wha’?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Cill, I can smell the smoke off you.* You shake your head. “Love, I can't make you stop, but you stopped before. I know you can do it.”

He tuts and rolls his eyes. “Here,” he sets the pint glass onto your nightstand. “And I thought you might need these.* He holds out the carrier bags. “I checked they don't have the wee holes in the bottom so if you throw up, you're grand and so is the carpet.” He smirks and places them beside your glass.

“Romantic, thanks.” You laugh. “I actually feel a lot better. A little sickly, but so much better.” You smile up at him. “Clothes off, butt in.” You say, tapping your hand against the duvet still pulled across his side of the bed. “Hug me.”

“Now who's fucking romantic?” He shakes his head. “Are you not going to come on to me better than that? Sure I'll never get the horn if you keep that up.”

“What makes you think I want your erection anywhere near me?” You widen your eyes, laughing at the slowly changing expression on his face. He's gradually turning from lightly slagging, to intending to push this down a more fruitful route. You've missed him, and even with the lingering nausea - milder though it is - if he wants sex, you'll give way in every capacity. Let him leave tomorrow having left your entire body remembering he was home.

He raises a single eyebrow and his tongue slowly moves across his lips before that cheeky glint flashes in his eyes. “Well! Sort yourself out, so. I've two perfectly good hands.”

“I didn't think you were getting hard?” You smirk, and his laugh is so worth the insane level of embarrassment you feel for uttering those words. “And anyway,” you ensure you sound offended, “Your hands are for when I'm not here.”

He laughs again, “My hands are for the shower too.* He has his back to you, dragging off his sweatshirt and t-shirt, then turns around to look at you with a cheeky grin. The belt on his jeans is, despite the growth of his body for Peaky, still pulled tightly at his waist.

You shake your head, laughing a little. “I hate you.” You laugh more, and tilt your head a little as you watch him unfasten the belt buckle and drag the leather from the loops. He drops it down onto the chair in the corner, on top of his already removed clothes, before he turns his back to you again and unfastens his jeans before dragging them down his legs and throwing them, too, onto the chair. He awkwardly fumbles to pull each sock off before he turns back to you, standing in his red Calvin's, and you smile softly as he looks at you like he's forgotten you were both just being teenage-like suggestive. He looks soft-faced, loving, and you wonder if the conversations earlier today had lifted a weight he didn't even know he was carrying. “Come here,” you say quietly, jerking your head a little to beckon him closer, and you hold open your arms as he walks towards his side of the bed and slides in under the covers. He shuffles close immediately, right up beside you, and you curl up into his side. The warmth and familiarity of his arms is soothing, the smell of his skin is intoxicating and nostalgic, and the thrum of his heart in your ear when your head rests on his collarbone is all the mindful music you'll ever need. “I don't want you to leave again tomorrow. I almost wish you hadn't come home because now I've got to get used to you not being here again.” You sigh sadly.

“A few more weeks, and then I'm home. I've to travel all over the UK now and while you're welcome to come, I'm not sure you'd want to.” He says quietly. “You sure you're feeling better?” He asks.

You nod your head, your chin swiping back and forth across his freckled skin. “A lot compared to before.”

“Good,” he sighs. He raises his right hand off the duvet and cups or around your cheek, and quickly insists you raise your face. As you lift your head from his body and look up, he pushes his lips down against yours. You feel momentarily concerned that you'll send him to England with a vomiting bug, but when his hand leaves your face and begins to move down your arm, igniting your skin, it vanishes quickly.

It takes mere moments for his soft kisses to become hungry, and his hands paw cup at your breasts over your pyjama top. Already, you want him. He smells better - better than what, you're not sure - but he smells so good, it's almost as encompassing as his kisses and his hands. You turn more towards him, and eventually find yourself on your knees. He doesn't break the kissing for a single second as he reaches for the hem of your shirt and drags it up over your head and arms. You cup your hands around his face - he hasn't shaved today and the subtle signs of stubble against your hands feel stirringly masculine. His hands move down over your bare back and he cups your arse over your pyjama bottoms. Kneading fingers and huffing breaths leave him freely and you're desperate for him now. You don't want slow hands, sensual side-lying or gentle fingering - god, you want him behind you, your ass in the air, and you want to feel every fucking slam of his pubis against your cheeks. No! No, you want him to sit, and you want to straddle his lap and ride him until you're insane. Every passing thought, as his hands push your trousers down, sends an igniting throb through your entire pelvis. He marches your positioning, kneeling too, and wraps both arms around your back. In a second he flips you down onto your back on the mattress, and drags your pyjamas from your legs.

You push up onto your elbows and immediately he shakes his head as he peers down at you, still kneeling, an obviously straining bulge prominent in his red boxers. But you know what you want. You push up fully, awkwardly, and rub your palm along the shape of his cock. He's trapped, and your hand applies pressure to an already restricted erection that makes him hiss. You take pity on him, though the face he pulls is fantastically erotic, and you drag his shorts down his thighs. His penis springs free instantly and you raise an eyebrow as you look up at him. Balancing yourself, and for a single second wondering if you might vomit if you do it, you open your mouth and take his entire, delicately curving length in. You sink down as low as you can go, pushing your head forward, and hold your lips ever so slightly tighter so that you drag the foreskin back over his gleaming head as you pull entirely back. Releasing him completely, he huffs a deep sigh.

Making sure you get what you want, but not wanting to say ‘’fuck me doggy style', you turn wordlessly and position yourself before him. You feel a little abashed, for a moment, as he moves behind you. When you realise he had only shifted to remove his underwear completely, you try to tell yourself not to be so shameful about getting what you want and need from him sexually. You're never unsatisfied, but you rarely have a strong urge for something like right now. He keeps occupied for a moment longer, and you see the condom wrapper flutter to the floor beside you before you finally feel him place his hands on you again. He roams them over your backside and lower back before keeping his left hand on your hip. He moves his right hand over your arse once again before smoothing his fingers slowly down towards your vulva. He roams wildly - he touches every fold, gives gentle attention to your clit, and then draws his finger down until it slowly pushes into your waiting, throbbing, and wet vagina. In, and out, in and out, he's soft and slow and you're desperate to fuck yourself on his finger. And then he draws his hand away and you bite your lip in desperate want of the next step.

With his hands on your hips, he pushes gently into you and all you can do is design with pure relief. He moves steadily at first, but when you begin pushing back against his efforts, he takes the hint gratefully. He's gasping fairly quickly, and he slams himself into you exactly how you'd hoped he would. His fingers push into your hips as he pulls you against him with each thrust forwards. Deeper and harder, it's driving you wild. Balancing, though, you reach your hand between your legs and double your enjoyment by ferociously stimulating your clitoris. You wonder how turned on it would make him if he noticed you doing it - he liked it when you guided hand and you bet it would absolutely drive him wild to watch you masturbate. The thought drive your body crazy and you find yourself cumming hard, spasming around his cock as he pushes deep into you on a fierce thrust. “Fuck, fuck…” you gasp. He stills, and you sigh. “No…don't stop…” you chuckle, breathless. His breathing is hard and ragged and he winks with a wide open mouth before he thrusts hard into you again. You keep both hands planted into the pillows before you, trying to keep stable, but it's hard not to falter as he ruts and drags you back at the same time. It's deep and hot and fucking amazing, and you know he's enjoy himself by the huffy little moans he keeps breathing out.

His movements quicken more and the sound of your bodies hitting together echoes through the room. He almost whimpers as he pulls you down hard on his cock and you feel overwhelmed at the heat in your whole body. He slows and stops and you begin to worry something is wrong, but when his hands move from your hips and slide up your sides, you wonder what he's doing. He doesn't pull out of you, and you can feel each twitch of his cock as it begs for its stolen pleasures to be resumed. “Up, up,” he huffs, breathily. You awkwardly arch yourself up, and as your movement almost dislodges his penis, he grabs your hips and pulls your body closer again. “Up…” he says again. You push back, like you're trying to sit on his lap, and raise your upper body unsteadily. Once you're high enough, he wraps his arms around your body and pulls your back against his chest as he sits back against his feet. Your new position forces his penis in deeper, at a slightly different angle, and you groan as you sink back against his sweaty torso. He cups your left breast in his left hand, and slides his right hand down between your legs, fingers rubbing deliriously skilled circles around your clit. You rock your hips steadily on his lap, swallowing his cock, and throw your head back onto his shoulder as his fingers continue to work.

“Jesus…” you sigh, rocking your pelvis quicker. “Cillian…” he applies more pressure with his hand, serving both to please you and push you further down against his penis. He grumbles a deep groan as you snap your hips back and forth, your arse right against his lower stomach, your back arched, your head still back on his shoulder. You reach your hand down over his, and urge him to move quicker. You feel him twitch ferociously inside of you at the action, and delight in the long moan that falls from his open lips. “More…” you beg him, moving his hand faster with your own. Even in his odd position, he gives a hard thrust up into you. Your free arm folds back and you grasp at the back of his head, eventually finding your fingers enough of his short hair to grip onto as your orgasm slowly builds. “Yeah…fuck…” you sigh, and the feeling of his quickening breathing in your chest tells you this is a joint descent. And as your glorious explosion of intense ecstasy hits, you're not at all blind to the fact your contracting muscles pull him over the edge too. He grunts loudly, his hand pushing hard against your vulva as he pushes you down against his spilling cock. The grunt becomes soft, higher moans as he rides out the final waves of intensity and your body is slack against his. You know he'll have no strength to hold you up in mere seconds, but fuck that was exactly what you needed.

Muscles weak and body like jelly, you do the unsexy separation and flop down onto the mattress on Cillian's side of the bed. He's beside you immediately, sighing unsteady breaths as he lies face-down against your pillow. After a moment he turns his head, eyes lidded and cheeky flushed pink, and gives you a sleepy, sated smile. “You horny mare…” he barely contains his laugh enough to say the words, and you giggle beside him. “Did you touch yourself too?” He asks and you bite your lip at the question. “...I can't even think about that right now…” he laughs, “I haven't the strength for another round…”

You turn into your side, facing him, and watch his lulling eyes dragging open and closed. His breathing is nearly normal now, and he'll be asleep sooner than later. “Take your helmet off.” You say, cringing, and laugh loudly when he grimaces. But he moves with a moan, turning and sitting up on the edge of the bed. You lie, enjoying your relaxed body for a moment, and close your eyes rather than watching him ‘disrobe’. But you're disappointed when you open your eyes again and find he's pulled his boxershorts back on, too. “Pass my jammers.” You say and hold out your right arm, fingers grabbing in and out.

“So you're a lazy mare, too?” He smirks, but bends to the floor for your pyjamas.

“I'm sick,” you say as he straightens up, and you laugh when he raises his eyebrows. He throws the clothes at you, and you reluctantly sit up to redress for bed.

“Sick, me hole,” he shakes his head, laughing. When you stand up to get your pyjamas on properly, he fixes the bed with a shake of the duvet and pounds at the flattened and abused pillows. “And don't be getting in my side,” he warns, joking. “You are feeling alright though, yeah?” He checks, and for a moment he does sound concerned.

Fixing your top, you nod your head and begin to walk around the bed so you can climb back in on your side. “Yeah, I do.” You stand before him and reach out your hand, resting your palm into the salt and pepper patch of hair close to his collarbone. “Fuck, I don't want you to leave me again.” You say, suddenly feeling a huge wave of preemptive sadness.

“Y/N,” he sighs, and you're worried it sounds like he's exasperated with you. Have you said it that much? Are you being too needy, tok possessive? Too much? He cups his hand over your wrist and drags your hand up to his face and kisses his hand against your palm. “Come then. We're moving about, but sure… come?” He raises his eyebrows. “I'll get you onto the flight, and if I can't then we'll rebook a different time or something. Yeah?”

You frown, unsure. “I've got to work.”

“You're sick,” he jokes, smiling gently. “Come.” He repeats quietly, “...I wanna watch you next time you…eh…do it yourself.”

You splutter a shocked laugh at his brazen comment. “Cillian!”

“Come with me.” He repeats more soberly, releasing your hand.

You smile softly and slowly nod your head. “Okay,” you agree. “Okay, I'll come with you.”

He smiles, his lips right and his cheeks pushing high up under his eyes. “Good,” he licks his lips as he cranes his head a little and kisses you softly.

You reach up your right hand when he draws his face back and you push your fingers through the locks of silvery hair against his forehead. You stare into his eyes as he blinks sleepily back at you. “I love you,” you say, feeling more serious than anything. “I can't quantify it.”

His face softens further as he smiles delicately at you. “I love you too, mo ghrá.”

#cillian murphy #my fic #my fic: we got issues #we got issues #reader fic #y/n fic #female reader #female y/n #cillian murphy fanfiction #female reader x Cillian Murphy #female y/n x Cillian Murphy #reader x Cillian Murphy #y/n x Cillian Murphy

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aroaceleovaldez · 12 hours ago

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You've talked about the pjo fandom's lack of fandom infrastructure a lot, what I want to ask is: why do you think the pjo fandom has so little?

I've seen other much smaller fandoms that have just developed infrastructure as the years go on but pjo feels like it's stayed quite stagnant in that regard. I would've thought that with pjo being so big there'd be a lot more than there is. Did we have a lot then we lost it along the way or did we just not develop it that much?

We definitely used to have way more! In my infrastructure list there's a LOT of old infrastructure blogs from back in the day. There's definitely more than what's on that list, but a lot of those blogs have been deactivated or otherwise lost. I've also talked a bit like [here] about some of the old stuff the fandom used to regularly have, like events that no longer run, common tag games and other community habits, etc. We also used to have more zines and other collaborative projects. These just don't happen nearly as often in our community anymore, because the people running them stopped being able to and nobody was able to pick them up and they were forgotten.

I mostly attribute this change to new fandom attitudes and the loss of community. Back in the day I feel like one of the most influential things to the fandom environment was how a lot of younger fans often looked to big-name-fans for how they should behave and navigate fandom spaces. A lot of people are familiar with the old "big 3" fanartists of the day - Viria, Burdge, and Minuiko - but what a lot of people don't remember is they used to trade art back and forth all the time! And with other artists/fans in the community! They were all just genuinely friends and so much collaboration happened between them! That's how we got a lot of the old big AUs and concepts in the fandom because people loved sharing those and collaborating. And because a lot of young folks often mirror the people they look up to in communities, younger fans were mimicking that behavior and there was a lot of exchange and communication and community happening in the fandom at the time. That behavior was demonstrated, replicated, and encouraged!

And young fans mirroring BNFs they look up to is still absolutely a thing! You can see this all the time if you just take a quick glance at fanart - how many character designs are clearly influenced from large artists in the fandom? Insert every Piper with Velinxi heart-shaped cowlicks here. But because there's a lot of ideas now about curating online presences as if it's a business (or literally turning it into a business) or outputting "content" we see a lot less of people - particularly larger fans in the community - vocally interacting with other fans. Everything feels very sanitized and polished and impersonal. There's way less exchange between fans now, or at least way less vocally.

And this is also pushed by general "new/passive fandom" culture as i generally refer to it, where there's so much more emphasis on consumption and "content" versus community (and again, that idea of curating socials like a business/brand). When everything kind of shifted with the like 2016-2018 adult content bans and everybody was moving around between platforms, folks lost a lot of means of learning about fandom history and their communities and how those communities looked. A lot of fans - including now older fans - have never known that fandom is supposed to be a community, and so now we have the older fans in the community with this very content-oriented presentation of fandom that is how fandom is generally advertised in mainstream media, because that's how they learned about it and how new fans are learning about it. They have no easy means to learn fandom history and nobody to mirror appropriate social fandom behavior from (which is also what i attribute to why so many fandoms have become "more toxic" or rude in recent years - especially with quarantine meaning a lot of young folks lost irl means of learning to mirror appropriate social behavior).

In smaller and newer fandoms, communities form easier and if they're the groundwork for the fandom it will persist and self-perpetuate most of the time. In general if a fandom is able to maintain that community aspect, it usually does just fine! (As per usual I point to the furry fandom as a great example of an older fandom with good infrastructure and community.) This is why I like to harp on about building community and reinstating these types of environments and blogs and such, and generally discussing the fandom's history as much as I can and remember it. People can't fix problems they don't understand or things they don't know about, so making that information as accessible as possible and encouraging these things is important.

#pjo #riordanverse #fandom infrastructure #fandom history #artemx746 #ask #long post //#making stuff accessible is also why i've been working on a lot of projects to help with setting up more fandom infrastructure #cause another thing pjo fandom has trouble with is that it's such a large and old fandom that it's very disparate #we have tons of international communities AND communities completely spread across different social media #and very little centralized anything to organize people and help them try to find whatever theyre looking for #basically the way i see it is somebody or a couple of folks just need to decide to put in some elbow grease and get that set up #to make it easier for folks to find things and do what they want/need to do and make onboarding into the fandom easier #and that makes it a whole lot easier for everybody else following afterwards

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tuttle-did-it · 3 days ago

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For 24 hours, I could not hit post, I couldn't respond to any posts, I couldn't reblog any posts, I couldn't message anyone, and I couldn't create any new posts. So I think something was definitely up-- mobile and browser, tried multiple browsers. I could read other people's posts, I could see when people RB my posts, but that's it. No idea why-- I didn't post anything controversial or problematic. All I can think is they didn't like how often I was reblogging Threshold day stuff? I don't know. I just know I couldn't do anything here. Bug or shadow-ban, all I know is for 24 hours, tumblr did not like me.

Apologising in advance for this rant:

The reset button is really bad in Trek in general-- DS9 pushed that as far as they could-- they go to the mirror universe and discover that Kirk completely destroyed it. Great! consequences. But even DS9-- O'Brien has an implant of being in prison for decades and killing his best friend in there, and then he's fine next week for new tortures. That man should have been riddled with PTSD-- crippling PTSD. They did the best they could with the restraints they had, but there was always a reset button. Fridge Jadzia. Rest-- here's Dax but she's neurotic and sad and a mess. And even tho we explicitely and repeatedly stated that Trill are not allowed to continue their lives when they are joined with another Trill, we're throwing that out the window and putting Ezri there because reset button, it's like having Jadzia back, but without any of the expertise, confidence, and joy she brought! yay!

Year of Hell should have been an entire SEASON as Ron Moore wanted it to be-- and they should have never reset to zero after that. They took a great storyline, great character development, and trashed it. They should have had a hobbled little ship held together by ducktape and spit by the time they made it home.

The reason we are whining about new Trek is not because there are finally consequences, but because the shows are just... they're just bad. (we meaning people who are not cis het white middle aged men who wank off to the nostalgia in Trek).

ST:PIC seasons 1-2 were a C- for me (and again-- NO consequence for what the fuck they did to the Borg in S2 but whatever). And then ST:P s3 was just the worst thing I've seen in so many years. Like... the WORST. Great, consequences. Cool. But also, worst writing I've seen in years. Worst acting I've seen in years. A kick-arse Black woman is repeatedly told to control herself by a man. She's not allowed to see her lover because ST:P s3 jumped back into 1980s politics and god forbid if we actually see a queer couple. And, as you say, 10 episodes of a reset button.

And no, Seven is too busy getting fucking deadnamed every time someone talks to her. And when she's not putting up with that, she's wallpaper sitting in the dark so a mary-sue 40-year old looking 20 year old nepo baby can wax purple prose about how hard his fucking life is. And we will spend 3 years telling you that Starfleet is corrupt, that the Federation is corrupt, and then everyone just rejoins up at the end--erasing what was the most interesting development within new Trek I've seen.

STP S3 was so, so unbearably unwatchable, it made me retroactively not only hate all of STP, but every episode of TNG and all the characters. I do not fucking care about any of them. I don't want to see Star Trek TNG ever again. Frankly, I don't even want to rewatch anything with the actors in it.

The TNG crew hijacked the entire last season. Everyone was angry when TNG hijacked Enterprise's finale to make it about them. Even Frakes said he regrets this. So what do they do? The one thing Patrick Stewart promised would never happen-- take over the entire Picard show and make it about the Legacy TNG cast. They turn all the women into wallpaper, make both Crusher and Troi's storylines about their children and nothing to do with anything else. LaForge's daughter? her storyline is about daddy issues and having a hard on for the 40 year old 20 year old nepo baby. Raffi? Her storyline is a man telling her she needs to behave herself. Seven's storyline is just being deadnamed and not getting to do a single thing that makes her worth being there. And fridge Ro. It's bullshit. They could digitally remove most of the women from the entire last season and the stories would *barely* change. Oh-- and that's only assuming you can make out a single thing in the entire series because everything is so fucking dark you cannot even recognise which characters are even there, let alone who is talking to whom. Gates has said she couldn't even SEE Patrick when they were filming because the lights were so low.

We're not complaining about consequences finally happening on Star Trek. We're complaining that the writing, directing, producing, lighting, and acting are all just BAD. We're complaining that they fucked up a perfectly great lesbian relationship for no reason. We're complaining that the Black woman was repeatedly told to control herself the whole series, but it became an entire plot point for s3. We're complaining that Deanna's story is just sitting in a cave crying. We're complaining that they fucking fridged Ro Laren for no fucking reason-- and made HER apologise when it should have been Picard.

The stories are AWFUL. How many Soongs do we need? I get it, you love Brent Spiner. But fucking hell, how many times are you going to bring Data-- in any form-- back? Just stop. Stop. Stop. Talk about consequences-- fucking kill Data and stop bringing him back every chance you can with dozens of different characters.

And don't even get me started on how DISCO botched Section 31 shit. Or how fucking uneven SNW is. Or how Lower Decks is nothing but constant references to previous things that have happened on Trek. There are no stories. It's just 'reference, reference, joke about a reference, pause for laugh, reference, joke, joke, lampshade wink to the audience, reference, reference.'

I welcome, with open arms, Star Trek that finally has consequences. That's not my problem. My problem is that the shows are all AWFUL.

I trusted the DS9 writers to ask a question like 'can you have a utopia without having a fascist shadow-government holding it up?' and you know what.. fair question. Cos humans are humans and, as Sisko says, it's easy to be a saint in paradise. But when you take away all their food replicators and easy living, are humans still going to human? turns out yes.

I trusted those DS9 writers to investigate that. But I do not trust current Trek writers to investigate that. They can't even seem to comprehend that Section 31 was actually a *bad* thing. I don't trust current Trek show-runners to run the shows, because they are just frankly awful. It's this terrible mix of 'oh yay 80s/90s nostalgia, oh legacy trek we love you' and 'hey you know what would be great? let's fridge Ro. Let's make Troi's entire storyline just sitting in a cave crying. Let's have some TNG references that will make the cis het white middle class men cheer and feel like they are part of the story. yay. And hey-- yay nostalgia-- you know how everyone was constantly telling a woman of colour, Torres, to control herself? Let's make that an entire fucking PLOT with a man ~teaching~ Raffi how to "control" herself.

Prodigy is the ONE show that I think has made a new Trek work, has shown consequences, has shown CRITICAL engagement with nostalgia to say hey, guess what? everything is fucked up. And of course, in the end of the final season, they fucking blow that with unnecessary tie-ins to ST:P.

TL;DR: post Legacy Star Trek shows are attempting to show consequences, which is great, but they are almost all unwatchable because they are so fucking obsessed with giving the nostalgia nerds something to wank off about. They do not care about quality, nor do they care about consequences. They care about nostalgia wankery and I am done with it all.

Prodigy is the only one that has even attempted to be critical about nostalgia, to make their own world-- one which has a LOT of consequence, and to show constant evolution and new character development for every one of the characters. And it was cancelled. Again.

Until there are writers I can trust who can create engaging storylines, great character arcs and stories that make sense-- and they hire gaffers so I can fucking SEE THE SETS AND CHARACTERS-- Trek and I are on a break. Like, I don't want to see any Trek, I don't want to even go out on casual dates with Trek because I just hate everything they are doing right now.

Because Star Trek is making me hate Star Trek.

What were the new organs Tom Paris got in Threshold? Wrong answers only

#rant #sorry #but this is the way it is #I know I am not the only one who cannot engage with new Trek #I know I'm not the only one who is angry about their treatment of women #and women of colour #and legacy wankery #i just don't trust them #star trek rant #star trek #star trek is making me hate star trek #star trek picard #star trek tng #star trek voyager #star trek ds9 #star trek prodigy #sorry for the rant but #not sorry #star trek discovery

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