#this job is starting to morph me into one but i do shit like this lol

[raye-sim]

I open the coffee shop tomorrow and accidentally just spent hours building and setting up stuff for a post idea I’ve had for a while!! AHH I’m so excited to edit tomorrow, but I gotta go to bed NOW lol.

[tqlepatiia]

words we can’t take back | b. barnes

masterlist | pt.2

summary: after a mission gone wrong, bucky lashes out, leaving y/n hurt by his harsh words. now drowning in guilt, bucky must find a way to apologize before it’s too late, but y/n isn’t ready to forgive so easily. can he fix what’s been broken?

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: angst, emotional distress, heartbreak, toxic relationship dynamics, arguments, mention of mental health struggles, potential triggers related to emotional abuse, strong language, and feelings of inadequacy.

word count: 5.9k

The mission had been a disaster from the start. Tension crackled in the air, the kind that always seemed to precede trouble. Bucky Barnes felt it in his bones, a tightness that grew with every wrong turn. It had been a simple extraction, but when they walked into a trap, chaos erupted. The sounds of gunfire ricocheted around him, the explosions reverberating through his chest like a war drum, drowning out his thoughts. But when he glanced at you—his partner, his anchor—something twisted in his gut.

In the aftermath, the wreckage of what had gone wrong stretched before him. Bodies lay scattered, their lifeless forms stark against the smoky haze, and the acrid scent of burning metal stung his nostrils. You stood there, bruises marring your skin, and your eyes, once sharp and defiant, now dulled by exhaustion. Bucky had seen too much, been through too much, and the anger inside him simmered, ready to boil over. How could this have gone so wrong?

“What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped, his voice a harsh whip in the stillness. His jaw was clenched, and his glare could’ve burned holes into you. “You almost got yourself fucking killed, you know that?”

Your breath caught, heart sinking at the venom in his tone. “I was doing my job, Bucky. I thought you had my back.”

“Had your back?” He stepped closer, fists clenching at his sides, every muscle taut with pent-up fury. The adrenaline from the fight morphed into something more destructive. “You’re a goddamn liability! You keep throwing yourself into danger like you can’t be hurt. What the hell is wrong with you?”

The words hit you like a punch, each one a jagged edge cutting deeper than the last. You could feel the weight of his anger pressing down on you, suffocating. “I didn’t ask for a babysitter,” you shot back, bitterness lacing your voice. “Maybe I’m the one who should be questioning if you’re fit to be my partner!”

Bucky’s expression hardened, eyes narrowing like a predator’s. This isn’t just about the mission, he thought, grappling with the frustration of watching you walk into danger. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have to worry about saving your ass all the damn time. If I wanted to deal with this shit, I’d find someone who actually knew how to handle themselves. I’m sick of dragging you through every godforsaken fight!”

Every accusation felt like a dagger, twisting in the wound he had just opened. You could see the pain and anger simmering in his eyes, but it was all directed at you. “You think I wanted this? I’m not the one who fucked up in the field! I thought we were a team!”

His laugh was bitter, devoid of humor, echoing against the wreckage around you. “Team? That’s a joke. You don’t get to call it a team when I’m the one stuck cleaning up your shit. I’m done with it. You’re not my equal; you’re just a goddamn burden.”

The air grew thick with tension, and you fought back tears, the tremor in your hands betraying you. “Maybe I should just leave, then,” you said, voice trembling but defiant. “If I’m such a problem, why don’t you find someone who doesn’t drag you down?”

The silence that followed was deafening. You turned away, trying to keep your composure, but you could feel his gaze burning into your back—a mix of anger and something softer, more vulnerable, that he refused to acknowledge. His heart pounded as the realization hit him: I pushed her away when she needed me the most. What the hell was I thinking?

As you walked away, the weight of his words hung heavily in the air between you, suffocating. Each step felt like a fracture in your heart, the distance growing more unbearable with every inch. Bucky stood there, feeling the echoes of his harshness fill the void where your connection once thrived. The realization settled in, and he knew this wasn’t over. How the hell do I fix this?

But as the dust settled around him, all he could feel was emptiness, a tidal wave of regret crashing over him, leaving him alone in the aftermath of his own making.

Days blurred together into an indistinguishable mess. The tension between you and Bucky hung thick in the air, suffocating, wrapping around him like a vice grip. He paced the empty halls of the compound, the rhythmic echo of his boots against the cold metal floors mirrored the chaos in his mind. Each step felt heavier than the last, a relentless reminder of the moment that played on a loop in his head—the hurt in your eyes when his careless words had cut deep.

Memories flooded back: your laughter in the training room, the way you encouraged him during his darkest moments. He had crossed a line he never intended to, letting his anger spew out like poison, each word a dagger aimed straight at your heart. Guilt clawed at him, a beast gnawing at his insides, turning his stomach into knots. Every time he caught a glimpse of you, it felt like a punch to the gut, the weight of regret settling like a stone in his chest.

The silence of the compound was palpable, broken only by the distant hum of machinery. He’d find you in the training room, pouring every ounce of your energy into your workout, the fierce determination radiating off you like a fire. Your tear-streaked face haunted him, a ghost he couldn’t shake. You weren’t just a teammate; you were everything to him. The thought of losing you felt like ice water dousing his heart, leaving him gasping for air, desperate to rewind time.

“Hey, Buck,” Sam said one day, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, the faint scent of sweat and metal mingling in the air. “You good, or are you just gonna sulk like an old man all day?”

“Yeah, sure,��� Bucky shot back, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue, his eyes averted. He could feel Sam’s scrutinizing gaze piercing through his façade.

“Seriously, man, you think I can't see through that? There’s a damn storm brewing in that head of yours,” Sam pressed, his tone a mix of concern and teasing familiarity. “You gotta talk to her. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. It’s like watching a damn dog chase its own tail—ain’t gonna end well, and I’m not about to sit here and watch you make a mess of it.”

Bucky nodded, but the weight of his guilt felt like chains wrapped tight around his heart, squeezing the air from his lungs. What the hell could he even say? The fear of facing you loomed larger than any mission he’d ever tackled—a monster lurking in the shadows, making him feel weak and exposed. He clenched his fists, jaw tightening, as he fought against the rising tide of anxiety.

Closing his eyes, he leaned against the wall, fighting the urge to scream. He remembered how you had stood by him, even when the nightmares clawed at him in the night. You deserved better than his careless words, better than the pain he had caused. The metallic scent of sweat mixed with the lingering aroma of stale coffee filled the air, reminding him of the countless nights spent together, talking and laughing. Those memories felt like a beacon, drawing him closer to the confrontation he dreaded yet craved.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, pushing off the wall, each step toward you heavy with uncertainty. His heart raced as he imagined your reaction—would you forgive him? The thought of laying his broken heart bare to you, the one person who meant everything, filled him with dread and hope.

As he approached, the distance between you felt like a chasm. He was ready to confront the mess he’d made, but the fear of your disappointment loomed over him like a dark cloud. Sam watched him go, shaking his head with a faint smile, knowing his friend was finally stepping up to make things right.

It was time to face the music, to turn back the clock on the mistakes he had made. The symbol of his guilt—the small, worn-out dog tag you had given him before a particularly tough mission—burned in his pocket, a constant reminder of the bond he desperately wanted to restore.

In that moment, he knew he had to find the courage to bridge the gap between them, to reclaim what was lost before it slipped through his fingers forever.

After what felt like a damn eternity, Bucky finally gathered the guts to knock on your door. Each knock echoed in the silence, a stark reminder of the distance that had grown between you two. He stood there, heart pounding, fists clenched, feeling the weight of guilt that had settled in his chest like lead. Memories flooded his mind—your laughter during training sessions, quiet moments together in the compound, and the way your smile had once lit up even the darkest days. It all felt so far away now, a reminder of how easily he could lose it.

“Go away,” you called, your voice muffled but laced with hurt.

“Y/N,” he pleaded, desperation creeping into his tone. “I need to talk. Just… let me in, alright?” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his mind racing with all the things he wanted to say but couldn’t quite grasp.

Silence hung in the air like a noose, heavy and suffocating. Each second stretched into an eternity, amplifying the tension until, finally, the door creaked open just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your face—red and puffy from tears, eyes shadowed with pain. It felt like a punch to the gut.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” you said coldly, arms crossed defensively, trying to shield yourself from the storm he had caused.

“I know. I messed up,” he replied, his voice thick with regret. He ran a hand through his hair, struggling to find the right words. “And I can’t—” He faltered, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. “I can’t take back what I said. I was scared, and I lashed out. You mean too damn much to me for that. Just… let me explain.”

You stepped back, letting him in but hesitating, your anger and hurt crackling in the air like static electricity. Bucky could feel the tension radiating off you, could see how you trembled with barely contained rage. The faint hum of the compound’s machinery buzzed in the background, underscoring the silence between you.

“Bucky, you can’t just waltz in here and throw around apologies like they’re candy. It’s not that fucking simple,” you said, your voice shaking as emotions boiled over. “Do you even get what your words did to me? They cut deeper than you can imagine.”

The memories of your last argument flashed in his mind—how he had yelled, how his words had sliced through the fragile trust you had built. He could still hear your voice trembling, see the hurt in your eyes. It haunted him.

“I know it’s not,” he said, voice rising as frustration bubbled to the surface. “But you have to understand—I never meant to hurt you. I was scared as hell of losing you. I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I took it out on you. I thought I could keep you safe, but I fucking failed, and I can’t live with that.” He avoided your gaze, staring at the floor, ashamed of the turmoil he had caused.

You turned your gaze away, fury igniting. “You think being scared gives you the right to hurt me? Those words stick with you. They don’t just disappear because you suddenly want to make things right. You shattered something in me, Bucky, and you expect me to just let it go?” The air was thick with the weight of your words, each one a dagger aimed at his heart.

“I know,” he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his regret. “I’m not gonna pretend this doesn’t matter. I want to make things right. You’re not just some partner in this crazy shit; you’re everything to me. I’m so damn sorry, Y/N.”

A heavy silence fell between you, thick with unprocessed emotions. Tears glistened in your eyes, anger mixed with pain as you struggled to hold back the flood. Bucky could see your fingers trembling, as if you were fighting against the urge to reach out for him, to seek comfort from the very person who had hurt you.

“You’re sorry? That’s it? Do you think that’s enough? You can’t just toss around ‘I’m sorry’ and act like everything’s fine! Do you have any idea what it feels like to have the person you love turn on you like that?”

Bucky opened his mouth to respond, but the truth of your feelings hit him like a freight train. It shattered him, the realization crashing down harder than any blow he’d ever taken. “I didn’t mean to fuckin’ hurt you like that. I—”

“Didn’t mean to?” you snapped, frustration boiling over. “But you did! You meant every single word when you said I wasn’t enough! It’s like a poison, Bucky! Every time I look in the mirror, I see your words haunting me!”

“Y/N…” he pleaded, stepping closer, but you backed away, shaking your head fiercely. The space between you felt like an insurmountable chasm, filled with hurt and distrust.

“No! You don’t get to touch me. Not after what you said. I don’t want your pity. I want my trust back! I want to feel safe with you again, but how the hell can I when you’ve torn me apart like this?” The pain in your voice twisted like a knife in his gut.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he begged, desperation bleeding through his words. “I can give you space. I’ll listen—just don’t shut me out. I can’t lose you.” He reached out, almost instinctively, but stopped short, respecting your boundary. The small bracelet you used to wear, the one he had given you, lay forgotten on the table—its absence felt like a symbol of the trust now shattered between you.

“Maybe… maybe I need time,” you finally said, voice soft but resolute, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I can’t keep waiting for you to figure out how to treat me with the love and respect I deserve. I can’t be your punching bag.”

“Take all the time you need,” he replied, his heart sinking deeper. “I’ll be right here, waiting for you. Just… I hope you can find it in you to forgive me.” His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken fears of a future without you.

You nodded slowly, the weight of the moment hanging heavily between you. Bucky turned to leave, each step dragging him down like a lead weight. The distant sounds of the compound faded as he walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He wanted to scream, to punch the walls, to erase the hurt, but he knew he had to be patient. You needed time, and he would wait, even if it felt like forever.

As he walked away, the door closing behind him, Bucky felt a hollow ache settle in his chest—a deep emptiness that screamed for your forgiveness, for your presence. But he also knew he deserved the pain, the anguish he had caused. The only thing that mattered now was making things right, even if it took an eternity.

Days turned into weeks, and Bucky kept his distance, lurking on the edges of your life like a goddamn ghost. He was always there, a shadow in the background, never truly present, waiting for the moment you’d find it in yourself to forgive him. It was a tormenting cycle for him, hanging around the periphery of your world, the weight of his own mistakes bearing down like an anchor. He often caught himself recalling the laughter you once shared, memories of late-night talks and quiet moments that now felt like a distant dream. Those memories twisted in his gut as he watched you from afar, stealing glances during training, his gaze lingering near the kitchen where you used to share coffee and laughter, searching for a connection that felt like it was slipping through his fingers. But every time he made a move, the pain in your eyes sent him retreating, a constant reminder of the hurt he’d caused and the love that now felt so fragile.

One evening, the hum of the common room enveloped you, filled with the clatter of dishes and faint laughter from the team, but all you could focus on was the ache in your heart. You were scrolling through your phone, desperately trying to distract yourself when Bucky appeared in the doorway, hesitant and guarded. Your heart clenched at the sight of him—a mix of longing and sorrow flooding you, drowning out the world around you.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and rough, as if he was still wrestling with the demons of his past.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice flat, a careful mask of strength concealing the turmoil inside. You wanted to scream, to let him know how much his presence hurt, but part of you still craved the warmth he brought.

“Can we talk?” His words hung in the air like a fragile lifeline, one you weren’t sure you could grab onto.

You nodded, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you. “Make it quick,” you shot back, your tone sharper than intended, trying to keep the emotions at bay.

He stepped closer, eyes searching yours with a desperation that twisted your gut. “I need to say it again—for everything. I know it doesn’t mean much after the shit I pulled, but I swear I’m trying to fix this. I’m really working on myself.” As he spoke, he clenched his fists, fingers digging into his palms, a physical manifestation of the guilt that gnawed at him. “I just… I can’t keep running from this. I need you to know that.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the pressure of his words weighing down on you. “I’m trying to work through it, Bucky. But I can’t pretend everything’s fine just because you say you’re sorry.”

“I don’t expect you to,” he said, frustration cracking his calm facade. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unable to meet your gaze. “But you need to understand how damn much you mean to me. I can’t lose you, Y/N. I won’t let that happen.”

Your heart ached at his confession, but anger flared within you. “You hurt me, Bucky. You can’t just wipe that away with a few nice words.”

“I know, I know! I’m fucking sorry, alright?” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing like a caged animal, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the walls. “I didn’t mean it. I was scared, and I lashed out. But you’ve gotta see how much I regret it, damn it!”

“Scared?” you spat, bitterness thick in your voice. “You don’t get to use your fear as an excuse for the pain you caused me!”

“Then what the hell do you want from me?” His voice rose, desperation lacing every word. “You’re acting like I’m a goddamn ghost! I’m right here, trying to fix this!”

“Because I need to protect myself!” you yelled back, tears spilling down your cheeks. “Every time I try to forgive you, you mess it up again! I can’t trust you when you keep hurting me!”

The silence that followed felt like a chasm between you, both of you breathing heavily, emotions spiraling out of control. Bucky’s shoulders sagged, the weight of your words crushing him. He thought of the little trinket you gave him once, a small metal star—a reminder of a bond that felt irreparably broken.

“I fucking hate this,” he admitted, his voice cracking, tears shimmering in his eyes. “I hate that I hurt you. I hate that no matter how hard I try, I can’t fix this. You mean everything to me, and it feels like I’m losing you more and more every damn day.” His gaze flickered to the floor, and for a moment, he was just a man haunted by his past, the soldier who had lost so much.

Your heart shattered at the sight of him, raw vulnerability spilling out. “You don’t get to say that after everything. You’ve made me feel worthless, like my feelings don’t matter. I can’t keep letting you walk all over me and expect everything to be okay.”

“I don’t want to fucking hurt you!” he cried, frustration and anguish battling within him. “I never asked for this! I just… sometimes I don’t know how to be better, okay?” He clenched his jaw, fighting against the tears that threatened to spill.

“Then you need to figure it out!” you screamed, your voice trembling with pain. “I can’t keep waiting for you to get it right while I’m left feeling broken!”

As your words hung in the air, the truth of your reality crashed over you both. The love you once shared felt suffocated by the shadows of anger and disappointment. You were both drowning in a sea of sorrow, hearts beating in sync but desperately out of tune.

Bucky stood there, shattered, eyes glistening with unshed tears, as you turned away, the battle within you raging. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unprocessed emotions, and for the first time, the thought of walking away felt more appealing than the pain of staying. But just as you took a step, a sliver of hope flickered in your chest—a feeling that perhaps this confrontation could lead to a path forward.

“Y/N…” he started, voice thick with heartbreak, but his words got lost in the chasm of hurt between you, leaving only a haunting silence in their wake. Yet somewhere deep within, the possibility of healing lingered, waiting for the courage to break through.

Weeks dragged on in the compound, each day feeling like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. The faint hum of machinery surrounded you, a constant reminder of the tension in the air. Despite Bucky’s promises to change, shadows of his past returned, casting a gloom that enveloped you both. Memories of laughter and shared moments felt like distant echoes now, buried under the weight of unspoken words and unresolved conflicts. You tiptoed around him, hyper-aware that every little thing could set off alarms in your mind.

The moment of impact came like a bullet, unexpected and cruel. During a mission briefing, Bucky’s voice cut through the air like glass shattering.

“Why the hell can’t you just focus?” he snapped, eyes ablaze with fury that had nothing to do with you, yet somehow landed squarely on your chest. The air felt heavy, thick with the scent of sweat and metal, making it hard to breathe. “You’re not some damn rookie! You should know better than this by now!”

“Bucky, I—”

“Just shut the hell up!” he roared, the words echoing off the walls, raw and menacing. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening as he struggled to contain the storm inside. “You’re making this way harder than it needs to be!”

Each word felt like a blow, carving deeper into your heart. This wasn’t a new dance; it was an exhausting routine, and the suffocating weight of your shared history felt more unbearable than ever. You remembered the moments when he had opened up, how he had let you in, but they felt like faint memories now. “Maybe you should take a good, hard look in the mirror,” you shot back, your voice shaky with a mix of hurt and anger. “I’m not the one with the issue here.”

He glared at you, frustration boiling over, muscles tense, jaw clenched tight. You could see the flicker of his inner turmoil, the fear of losing you clawing at his composure. “You keep pulling this shit! It’s like you can’t see past your own damn feelings! Just focus on the mission for once!”

Your chest tightened, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I’m not your damn punching bag, Bucky,” you said, voice breaking under the weight of raw emotion. “You can’t keep exploding at me and expect me to take it like it’s nothing. I’m sick of this!”

“Maybe if you actually gave a damn about the mission instead of whining about your feelings, we wouldn’t be in this mess!” His words cut deeper than you thought possible, and you recoiled as if slapped. You remembered the way he used to care, how he used to fight for every person he loved, and it stung even more to see him like this.

“I care, Bucky!” you cried, tears spilling over as you fought to hold it together. “But it’s hard to keep my head in the game when I’m constantly worried about when you’ll blow up at me next! You say you’re trying, but nothing changes! It feels like I don’t even matter to you anymore!”

For a moment, his expression shifted, a flicker of regret flashing across his face, but the damage was done. “You think this is easy for me?” he shouted, voice raw and desperate, filled with unfiltered anguish. “I’m trying to be better, but you keep dragging me back into this shit!” You could see the pain behind his bravado, the memories of his past haunting him, and it broke your heart.

“Don’t act like I’m the fucking problem!” you yelled, heart racing as reality crashed down around you. “I’m not the one who can’t confront his demons! You push me away and then blame me for not being there when you do!”

Pain flickered in Bucky’s eyes, the cracks in his stoic facade deepening. “You’re right,” he admitted, voice shaking, the weight of his confession crushing him. “I don’t know how to deal with this… how to deal with you. I’m scared shitless of losing you, and honestly, I don’t know if I can fix it.” The vulnerability in his voice was a fragile thread, hanging in the air, and you felt a flicker of hope amidst the chaos.

“Then maybe you need to sort your shit out,” you replied, heart breaking as you watched his despair unfold. “I can’t keep waiting for you to figure it out while I’m left feeling shattered.” You recalled the shared moments, the promises made, and the weight of them felt unbearable now.

Silence fell, thick with the unsaid and unresolved. You were both drowning in a sea of sorrow, love suffocating under the weight of his rage and your hurt. Bucky’s shoulders sagged as he stepped back, the chasm between you widening, feeling more insurmountable than ever.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face, anguish spilling over. “It’s killing me.” The vulnerability hung heavy between you, and for a fleeting moment, you saw a glimmer of understanding in his eyes.

His breath hitched, and he looked like he might reach for you, but the distance remained unbridgeable, a stark reminder of everything that felt lost. Yet, beneath it all, a small part of you held onto the hope that one day, you could navigate the darkness together.

The clash felt inevitable, like a storm building for days, ready to break over the fragile space between you and Bucky. The tension in the air was suffocating, each breath heavy with unspoken anger and hurt. You stood in the middle of the training room, fists clenched, trying to hold yourself together. Across from you, Bucky stood rigid, muscles taut, his hands balled into fists. The weights he had been using moments earlier now lay forgotten on the floor, a sharp reminder of the growing chasm between you.

The silence was unbearable. Then, without warning, Bucky's voice cut through the room like a blade. “Can you just—stop fucking around? You think this is a game?” His voice cracked, but his anger was palpable, radiating from him in waves as he hurled the weights down with a force that rattled through the room, the echo reverberating like a punch to the gut.

You flinched at the sound, the weight of his words hitting you just as hard. “Maybe if you’d stop yelling for one second, you’d see I’m trying!” Your voice shook, barely holding steady under the pressure. You were trembling, the knot of frustration and hurt in your chest threatening to unravel completely.

Bucky’s eyes darkened. “Damn it, you’re not trying hard enough!” he snapped, his fists tightening at his sides, knuckles white. His voice—usually so steady—was strained now, as though he was fighting to keep control. The anger in his tone felt like a punch, but you could see the tremble in his hands, the way his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might crack.

The sting of his words twisted in your chest. You could feel the pressure building in your throat, choking you with the weight of unspoken feelings. “I’m trying, Bucky. But it’s never enough for you, is it?” you said, the words tasting bitter in your mouth, laced with all the exhaustion you’d tried to suppress.

His face contorted in anger, but for a brief second, you saw something deeper flicker in his eyes—something haunted. You recognized that look. It was the same one he wore when he woke up from nightmares, drenched in sweat, guilt seeping from every pore. But it vanished just as quickly as it appeared, swallowed by his fury. “Get your shit together,” he snapped, voice low and intense. “I’m not your babysitter. You really think I can hold your hand through every goddamn thing?” His voice wavered, but he squared his shoulders, hiding the vulnerability underneath. “You want to survive? Toughen the hell up or get out of my way.”

“Then maybe you should just go!” The words burst out before you could stop them, raw and jagged, cutting through the tension. You hated how sharp your voice sounded, like a part of you was shattering with every syllable.

For a split second, his expression faltered—just long enough for you to see the crack in his defenses, the fear creeping in behind the anger. But the moment passed, and his face hardened once more, the distance between you widening.

“Enough is enough, Bucky.” Your voice trembled as you blinked back the tears threatening to spill over. “I can’t keep doing this. I’m tired of forgiving you just so you can hurt me again.” Each word felt like a physical wound, reopening scars you thought had healed.

Bucky’s hands dropped to his sides, but his fists remained clenched. “You’re being dramatic,” he muttered, turning his gaze away as though refusing to face the weight of your words. “I'm pushing you because you damn well need to be better. I can't afford to lose you.”

There it was. The fear he refused to name. He was terrified of losing you, but he couldn’t say it. Not out loud. So instead, he buried it under anger, under demands that pushed you further away.

“You twist everything, Bucky,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve tried to be there for you, to understand you—but I can’t keep pretending that this is okay. I can’t be the person you take everything out on.”

His jaw tightened, but his hands trembled at his sides. “You don’t get it,” he said, voice quieter now, almost broken. “I’m trying to protect you. I just… I don’t know how to do this without pushing people away. I’m not good at this shit.”

“And what do you think you’re doing right now?” you asked, your heart aching. “You’re pushing me away, and I’m too tired to hold on.”

The silence that followed was deafening, thick with the weight of unsaid things. Bucky’s breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. The echo of the weights hitting the ground earlier still rang in your ears, a haunting reminder of how quickly things had spiraled.

You took a deep breath, feeling the chill of the room settle into your bones, as if the air itself was colder now, heavier. “I feel invisible, Bucky,” you whispered, your voice cracking with the weight of your confession. “Like I’m just a shadow, someone to absorb your anger when things get too hard. I can’t live like this anymore.”

Bucky’s eyes widened for a moment, and his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you but couldn’t. His lips parted, but no words came. His shoulders slumped slightly, a tiny surrender in the face of your pain.

He opened his mouth, his voice hoarse and desperate now. “Y/N, don’t do this,” His voice cracked, but his body was still tense, like he was holding something back—something he couldn’t quite bring himself to admit. “You don’t need to make this harder than it already is.”

“I don’t want to walk away, Bucky. But I have to, for my own sanity,” you said, stepping back as if putting physical distance between you would somehow make it easier.

He reached out, his hand hovering in the air between you, unsure. “Damn it,” he rasped. “I’m trying, okay? I need you to believe me.”

“It’s too late for that,” you whispered, your heart breaking at the sight of him so vulnerable, so raw. His hand dropped, and the space between you felt like a canyon now, too wide to cross.

Bucky’s breath hitched, his gaze dropping to the floor as though he couldn’t bear to look at you anymore. He clenched his fists again, nails biting into his palms. The weight of his guilt was suffocating, and you could see it in the way his shoulders sagged, the way his eyes dimmed with the realization that he had pushed you too far.

The room felt too quiet, the air thick with the aftermath of your words. You could feel the memory of every touch, every smile, every moment of laughter between you two slipping away like sand through your fingers. There was a photo—one he had kept tucked away in his jacket—of the two of you on a day when everything had felt perfect. He had carried it with him, a reminder of what he was trying to protect. But now, it felt like just another symbol of something irreparable.

“I loved you,” you whispered, stepping back one final time, tears blurring your vision as you turned toward the door. “But I deserve better.”

“Y/N!” His voice broke, desperate, as he took a step toward you, hand outstretched. His body was trembling now, fear etched into every line of his face. “Don’t fucking walk away from me! I can change. I swear, I can be better for you!”

You hesitated, your back to him, feeling the weight of his plea. For a moment, you almost turned back. Almost. But the words he had said still hung heavy in the air between you. And you knew—deep down—that you couldn’t survive this cycle anymore.

As you walked away, the echo of his voice followed you, the pain lacing each syllable a reminder of what could have been. But you didn’t stop. The silence after you left was deafening, and it swallowed Bucky whole, leaving him alone with his regrets, the weight of his own mistakes pressing down on him like a physical force.

He watched the door close behind you, his heart sinking with the realization that he had lost you. And for the first time, he didn’t know how to fix it.

[xxsabitoxx]

Fushiguro Megumi hates it when you get injured.

Something about it, no matter how big or small the injury is, just gets under his skin and pisses him off. Which comes off has him being mad at you, unfortunately. It’s not his intention, fuck no, he’s just so upset it happened in the first place.

It’s not till you get injured bad that you realize he’s not mad at you, rather, he’s mad at himself. There is a lingering guilt in Megumi’s eyes when you get hurt, as if he failed you.

“You know this isn’t your fault, right?” You had questioned late one night, laying in an infirmary bed with an IV in your arm because Shoko’s technique and the curse’s attack were not working well together. Meaning you were on strict bed rest until you were fully healed. Megumi hated that too, of course.

He didn’t answer, instead he flipped the page of his book with pursed lips. “I’m talking to you, Meg. It’s rude to ignore.” That got to him, closing his book slowly as he dragged his eyes up the bed to look at you. “You know this isn’t your fault, right?”

You repeated your previous statement, knowing he heard you the first time but he wouldn’t answer unless you asked again. “Yeah.” His tone was low, not convincing whatever. “Liar.” You shot back, moving your arm to rub your tired eyes.

Megumi watched the tube move with you, the dark liquid slowly dripping from the bag down the line and into your veins. “I’m not lying.” He nearly spat, anger bubbling in his gut at the sight of the retched medical machinery you were hooked too.

You sighed, “I’m sorry for getting hurt. I know it’s frustrating and all but li-“ but Megumi was cutting you off with a near incredulous look. “What?” Was all he said, leaving you to blink at him as you tried to wrap your head around his confusion.

“Y-you’re mad cause I’m careless, right? Because I keep weighing you down by getting myself injured?” You stated this as if it were factual, watching Megumi’s face morph into one of genuine bewilderment and mild offense.

“No?! What the fuck makes you think that?!”

"Because... you don't talk to me for like three days after the fact?" Megumi couldn't exactly fight you on that. The more he thought about it, the more he realized it really did come off that way. "I...shit no that's not..." he tossed his book on your bed, hands coming up to rub his face as he tried to collect his thoughts.

"I'm not mad at you. I've never once been mad at you for getting injured. I just..." he sighed, turning to look at you now "...I just get frustrated with myself. I don't like seeing you hurt, it makes me feel like I didn't do enough. Then, I sit here promising myself to do better for you the next time we go out on a mission together, and then we end up right back here. With you in a hospital bed."

Megumi's face had turned a shade of pink. He always felt fidgety having these kinds of conversations. Especially with you, especially about his feelings. "Oh..." you started, mulling over his words carefully before sighing. "You can't beat yourself up over this stuff, Megumi. It's my life and my choice to be a sorcerer. Getting hurt is part of the job." You watched him shift in his chair.

"I know it's part of the job. I just don't like seeing you get hurt. Especially when I'm supposed to be supporting you. We're supposed to look out for each other on these missions and I keep failing you." Megumi's eyes darted anywhere around the room, hands folding neatly as he tried not to seem nervous.

"Megumi." You stated it bluntly, praying he'd look up. He did, of course, he did. For some reason, he couldn't deny you when you said his name like that. "C'mere." you whispered, motioning him to sit on the edge of your bed. He listened, getting up to move the small distance and trying his best to keep you stable as the bed dipped.

"You can't go on with your life quietly beating yourself up for things that are out of your control... and mine for that matter." Your hand carefully reaches up to touch his cheek, smiling at the warmth burning under your fingertips. Megumi looks at you, head-turning reluctantly. "I love you too much to let you feel guilty."

Quiet. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The look on Megumi's face was utterly priceless. Pure disbelief. No way he heard you correctly. His tired mind and sore back must be playing tricks on him. "You... what?" He croaked, brows furrowing in denial. You smile, huffing out a laugh. "I said I love you, Megumi."

He wasn't sure how to act in that moment. Every word he could think of was fizzling out before it could reach his mouth. Instead of killing himself trying to respond verbally, Megumi did the only thing he could think of. A surprised squeak left you as his lips pressed against yours, hands shaking as they gingerly cupped your cheeks.

The kiss itself lasted maybe twenty seconds, leaving you a little breathless from being unprepared as he pulled away. "I... guess that means you love me too?" you teased him, a grin on your face. Softly, Megumi huffed out a laugh before responding.

"Yeah, it means I love you too."

Started this a few days ago and didn’t even realize it was Megumi’s birthday today! So, happy birthday, Meg :)

Hope you enjoyed! - May

[ash-says]

Things to be aware of as a Hopeless Romantic:

We all have been there daydreaming about the perfect man, the perfect life, the perfect whatever,etc. Still life is not full of roses and thorns are inevitable.

So here are some aspects to look out for according to me so that you won't fall in the delulu is the only solulu trap.

Remember if you follow me, we don't do regrets here. We accept, take accountability and move on. We don't soak ourselves in problems. We solve them effectively.

1) Drop those rose-colored glasses. Crush them under your feet and now look at the world again. Learn to accept reality. It is what it is. Not what you make it out to be. Learn to become an observer of your life from time to time. It will give you the real picture.

2) Potential is useless if you are not leveraging it. It's a trap both for yourself and others. You see potential in him of changing and being a good guy?? Girl, he *IS* not a good guy. It's not your job to raise a man. It's embarrassing. Stop babysitting grown men.

3) Standards are important but ensure they are not rooted in fantasy. Let's be honest finding a man who is rich, dark, tall, sexy and talks in the way you read in your romance novels is difficult. I am not saying it's impossible but don't be too rigid. All I will say is make sure you are also on the level where if you come across such a man he should be ready to date you.

4) Men view sex differently than us women. I know many of you will get triggered after reading this but the majority of men really view women as sex dolls. Blame the porn industry maybe. Good men exist but not every other man who talks sweetly is good.

5) A person in your life treats you nicely. Always talk sweetly, tells you that you matter to them but their actions don't match it. Chances are you are being breadcrumbed. Plans being cancelled? Messages being unseen? But when confronted all you get is,"Sorry love, I was busy. I was going to do it. You matter a lot,etc etc." Breadcrumbing. Be smart it can happen even in friendships too. I understand people get busier with time and things do happen. Use your discernment to see who really is busy and who is faking to be busy.

6) That uncle was so kind to me. He talked to me sweetly and always tried to help me out. Now, that's really sweet of him. Next he calls you home to help out with the household chores and he is alone at home because his wife is out of town for some work. Would you go and help? Yes. Will you go alone? No. That's unsafe.

No matter how much a gentleman a man appears to be you are not allowed to be in a situation where he could potentially take advantage of you. You always bring along a friend or deny it. I know it's wrong to not help someone but at your own risk. No. Never. It's common knowledge in our society.

7) Dreaming of a Prince Charming to whisk you away from all your troubles??? Dream on. The idea that a soulmate or one person will magically solve all our issues is dumb. We as human beings add to each other's happiness rather than becoming the core of it.

8) One of the biggest mistakes I have seen girls around me make is of being fully invested in a relationship to the point one small fight makes them depressed. That's codependency. It's unhealthy.

9) Never make your relationship your identity. You should always have a separate identity out of it. Stop curating yourself for your partners. Morphing yourself according to their likes and dislikes. That's one way ticket to an identity crisis after breakup. Compromises are essential but changing your core self??? Crazy shit.

10) Your relationship should not be the reason for your downfall. It happens especially with my intense girlies we invest so much of ourselves in the relationship to the point it becomes our focal point and when it faces upheavals we are devastated. The mental distress starts flowing in other areas of your life and suddenly your grades are falling, your career seems unstable, etc. Develop the emotional strength to compartmentalize your emotions and not allow them to overflow in other areas and affect them.

Imagination is fertile but being delusional is being stuck in a swamp.

That's all for today's show on ash-says. Stay tuned for more illegal tricks and explosive opinions.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hi! I saw your Percy Jackson asks where open and I wanted to send in a request! How would Percy react to a fem reader who is the child of Morpheus the God of dreams? Like I imagine being a child to the God of dreams would make one fall asleep randomly when they are still new to their powers, so how would the scenario play out if perhaps one day reader falls asleep on him during a movie night? Would he stay as still as possible as to not wake her up or would he do something else like gently wake her up/move her? Hopefully I made this detatiled enough but in anyway thank you!!

You were just halfway from dozing off when Percy’s voice brought you from the cusp of a deep sleep to ask:

‘Does your dad look like-‘

‘For the last time Percy no, my dad doesn’t look like Tom Sturridge from The Sandman.’ You replied before he could even finish his question. It wasn’t the first time he asked this question after watching the Netflix show ironically about a man who bore the same name as your godly father, Morpheus, the god of dreams; Something that you now had a bone to pick with Neil Gaiman over.

‘Sooo he doesn’t blow golden sand at people’s faces to make them fall asleep?’ Percy continued to ask but at this point you knew that he was only doing this just to get a rise out of you and also to keep you from falling asleep again.

‘No-will you pack it in, in trying to get some rest from today.’ You said as you lightly smack his arm whilst readjusting your head onto his shoulder for more comfort, already feeling the lull of sleep beckoning you to fall further when Percy once again spoke up.

‘But you already do enough sleeping as it is!’ He cried but tried his hardest not to move too much in fear of agitating you, knowing firsthand how much you hated your sleep being disrupted. ‘And I can’t help that!’ You exclaimed. ‘I’ve been falling asleep at random ever since Morpheus claimed me as his own. It’s almost as though I’ve suddenly developed narcolepsy or something.’ You were still getting use to your powers that for some reason would backfire now and then, causing you to have bouts of almost narcoleptic episodes where you could just be talking to someone then boom; there you were, fast asleep in the strawberry fields or on the sandy dunes of the lake as though it were the most comfortable place known to man.

It worried to everyone to begin with but upon being claimed, it started to make a lot more sense that whenever you did spontaneously fall asleep, it was easier to be accommodated for; letting you sleep because you were mad cranky when woken prematurely. Connor and Travis learnt that the hard way when for an entire week their dreams consisted of being chased by a very angry humanoid goose, as if being chased by a regular goose wasn’t scary enough. Just one of the few perks of being the child of the god who could morph dreams and enter them however he saw fit.

The subject of your tendency to fall asleep at random was soon dropped entirely as you and Percy went back to watching the movie that was already well within it’s third and final act. Well Percy was, you on the other hand…were fast asleep on his shoulder, uncaring of the crook in the neck that you were surly developing from your uncomfortable position. Percy doesn’t notice until he goes to look at you to make a joke on a certain scene but stopped and the words died on his lips as he stared at you adoringly. ‘Why am I not surprised that you’ve fell asleep. Again.’ He says softly to himself as he watched how your grip on his arm would occasionally tighten as though your dream had taken a tonal shift, only to loosen up and relax not a moment after.

Not that I needed my arm or my shoulder anyways. Percy thought to himself as he tried his absolute hardest to stay still for your benefit but he might as well have asked Medusa to make him into stone instead because he was doing such a shit job at not moving at all. It was almost as if all his limbs had minds of their own as they’d move or his fingers would tap against his thigh impatiently as the movie ended and the credits began to appear on screen; With the remote too far for him to reach without waking you up and nothing else to occupy his restless mind, Percy felt as though he was in his own personal hell and heaven, or fields of punishment and Elysium.

For one, he got to admire you as you slept, completely at peace and safe within his presence as you would oftentimes shuffle further into him, making noises of discontent when you thought you felt him move away and tightening your grip; Something he found undeniably adorable as he watched the twitches in your face and tries to guess what kind of dream you were having based off them. Secondly he desperately wanted to move, his brain was telling him to move, but Percy would rather not risk having an angry human sized goose chasing him in his dreams for the next week because he accidentally woke you prematurely from your nap. He knows you wouldn’t do that but in cases like these, it he’d know it be better to be safe and sure then expect special treatment; which upon retrospect sounded a lot worse then getting chased by a human sized goose.

So Percy allows himself the fate of being your makeshift pillow, though not before pressing a kiss to your head, wishing you the sweetest of dreams before inevitably falling asleep himself as he rested his head atop of yours, crook in his neck be damned.

[rosenclaws]

Can I request 15 and 34 from the fluff prompt list with either Logan or Charlie, please? Congrats on 600!! 💙💛💙💛💙💛💙💛

Join my 600 Follower celebration!!

15 - “I’m asking because I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

34 - “I shouldn’t be allowed to be this happy.”

a/n: Thank you for requesting!!! Funny enough though they're both fluff prompts this somehow turned angsty dasflk;j im so sorry i do it to myself

He's hiding something. You know he is. Logan has just been different. I mean he was always grumpy and short tempered but this was something else. You thought, or well you had hoped that your time in the void had really bonded you.

You were trash from another universe while he had gotten dragged through hell by Wade. He got you and you got him. You were a failure to your universe so they pruned you. Logan was the worst variant of Wolverine. Something felt nice about having someone else who was the worst with you.

Ever since you landed in Wade's universe you had only gotten closer. Both of you picking up odd jobs for money until you finally landed a steady bakery job. Horribly early hours and lots of hard work but it meant you could be home by lunch. Logan was often out late too. He wouldn't tell you what he was doing but he came back with enough rent money so you didn't question him. You used to eat lunch together. It was a way to make sure the both of you were actually taking care of yourselves. It wasn't anything fancy. Just sandwiches or pasta or something easy.

But for some reason Logan has been avoiding you. Constantly. To the point where he'd leave the room if you were there. It was really starting to bug you. You don't know what's going on with him. You catch him staring sometimes. His eyes are worn and broken. When you try and approach him they harden right back up and he stalks away. It was infuriating.

You finally reached your boiling point when you came home early from work one day. Your back aching and you're dead tired. You lean your forehead against the door, just taking a moment. Then you hear him laugh. You know it's him. He's got this unmistakable snort that he tries to hide but he can't. So he's just avoiding you, no one else. Its you. You're the problem and you don't understand why. In a fit of anger you slam the door open.

"Out! Everyone except for you." You point at Logan. The room clears quickly. Wade opens his mouth to say something but you glare with a ferocity so strong he shuts up.

"Good luck kitty cat!" He whisper yells before hurrying out the door.

"What?" Logan grumbles, his eyes averting to the ground. You scoff and throw your things on the couch.

"What is your problem? You've been avoiding me."

"Why do you fucking care? Not like we were close anyways." He asks with a roll of his eyes.

"Bullshit Logan. I'm asking because I’ve seen the way you look at me. I see you across the room look so sad but the moment I even take a step you're back to this shit." You gesture to his closed off stance.

He's running from you and you demand to know why. He puffs out his chest and stands up. Mumbling about how ridiculous this is and tries to walk away from you.

"Logan! For fucks sake!" You follow him, your anger morphing into confusion as he continues to run.

"Just tell me what I did?!" Your voice breaks as the desperation comes out. You just want him back.

"Nothing!" He growls as he turns back to face you. Slamming his hand against the wall. You jump as he cages you in. He's breathing hard as he stares at you. This is the closest you've been in weeks.

"Nothing. You didn't do anything wrong." His voice is softer, sadder.

"There has to be something Logan. I miss you." He sighs and clenches his fist.

Fuck he thought he could avoid this. That he could get you to run away before he fucked it all up but for some reason you're still here.

"I shouldn’t be allowed to be this happy. I mean just look at me.” Logan thinks so low of himself. He always has. He's a fucked up lost cause. Everyone he cares about dies or gets hurt and its always his fault.

"You make me happy." He confesses.

You make him feel unlike anything else. Like he's not the monster he was. You look at him and he just, smiles. It's weird and strange and a feeling he's not used to. It scares him to his core.

"Man you really are stupid." You say in disbelief.

"I...What?" Logan looks confused but you grab his face and kiss him.

He stumbles back in surprise but ends up taking control quickly. Pushing you against the wall and digging his hands into your hips.

"You make me happy too Logan, so please don't run away from me."

You comb your fingers through his hair as you tug him closer to you. He closes his eye as he leans his forehead on yours. The urge to shut you out is there, listening would be easier but there's a chance at real happiness right in in front of him and he'd be a fool to ignore it.

"Fuck it." He grabs your waist and pulls you tight. Smashing his lips onto yours in a messy kiss.

He can be selfish, just this once.

Just for you.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

I saw your hc post with Nathan with a feminine s/o and the part where he liked listening to her talk and that got me thinking about this. He would love it if his s/o played piano. Like, he puts a piano in places like the living room and his office just so when he's there he can listen to them play. Sh maybe you could make a small hc post based on that idea

Ahh, I love this! Sorry it took me so long to post!

Nathan Bateman GN!Reader • Rating: T•Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• ko-fi •

Warnings: Soft!Nathan , swearing, over use of italics, typos, not beta read, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 455

Oh my gosh, literally pianos everywhere. You have to tell him to calm the fuck down. 

“Do you want a new piano?” “No, you bought me five already.” “Do you need one in a different colour?” “No.” “What about another grand piano for the-” “Nathan.” 

Doesn’t pester you to play for him, but is very happy whenever you play. Even if you’re trying out a new piece and feel like you're constantly messing up, he’s just 100% heart eyes at all times.

Will, however, act like he isn’t if you call him on it. 

If you’re playing and it isn’t within his earshot you’re gonna get a series of, ‘why aren’t you playing near me so I can listen?’ type messages.

You end up just practising near him so he doesn’t complain. 

You call him a baby (affectionate) about it. 

He says he isn’t and sulks for 3 hours. 

When you find him you show him a little song you’ve written for him. 

He gets a little over emotional that you made something for him. And tries to hide it. (He does a bad job.)

Asks you to teach him how to play.

He understands the theory really well, but gets annoyed when he can’t play perfectly after 30 seconds. 

“You’re really good Nathan!”

“I’m shit.”

“You can’t expect to play it perfectly the first time.”

“Why?”

You roll your eyes. “Because you have to learn the muscle memory, you couldn’t box amazingly the first time you tried could you?” 

“I could.” 

“Fuck off.” 

You give him little lessons every day, which he adores. He progresses well, he’s obviously trying really hard, but after a couple of weeks, you realise he’s doing it more to spend time with you and to share in something you enjoy than to become a master at it. (Which surprises you.) 

He likes calling you ‘bossy’ when you tell him to practise or play something. This morphs a little and sticks into a nickname, ‘boss’. 

Whenever he’s on a conference call and someone asks him to do something he doesn’t want to, instead of saying a flat ‘no.’ he just starts shrugging and saying ‘you better ask the boss.’ 

He does not explain this to anyone, causing a lot of confusion (which he loves). 

No one has any idea that you’re ‘the boss’ until a rare in-person event when Nathan isn’t being his hermit self and he refers to you by the nickname in front of a couple of staff. 

What you expect to be the end of the joke turns into people asking and emailing you for permission and sign offs. (And to get Nathan to do things.) 

Nathan finds this all hilarious and will not correct the situation.

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh

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If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

CERTIFIED ROBO FUCKER HERE, HAND OVER THE YESMAN NSFW HEADCANONS

I AM SLOWLY SLIDING THE HEADCANONS ACROSS THE TABLE, ANON.

Also, it's very funny to me how seemingly every robot fucker who played New Vegas (me included) heard him mention that update at the end and thought "Well, House was a horndog, so I bet there's some freaky shit in those files..."

Obviously we don't fuck Yes Man before he has the ability to say 'no' to anyone...

Yes Man (Fallout: New Vegas) NSFW Headcanons

Prone to faking or exaggerating "injuries" or glitches that require repair jobs to get you to touch and baby him. He spends a lot of his own time and energy doing things for others, keeping them happy and taking care of them. I'd like to think he would really appreciate that same energy being turned towards him...but I don't think he would like the idea of being candid about it, so he may feel the need to "trick" you into giving him what he needs. Getting to feel your bare hands on his most delicate components, in the most intimate parts of his body (regardless of which form) is such a thrill for him, and it makes him feel so connected to you. Mysteriously only ever wants you to help him and doesn't believe anyone thinks anything of it. He's so embarrassed the first time you really call him out on it that he nearly reboots from the stress.

If you fucked Benny, he's actually pretty jealous about it. He doesn't fully grasp that that's what he's feeling, at least for a good while; all he really knows is that when he thinks about you being with the former Boot Rider, when he remembers the sounds you made and the way you talked to him, he gets Upset™️. Granted, he has no love for the man who only planned to push him around and use him as a tool from the very beginning, so he may mistake his jealousy for pure dislike of Benny. However, he feels the same gross feeling any time he sees you getting a little too close with anyone. You'll notice a sharp increase in him suddenly appearing to interrupt your conversations, popping in on screens and over speakers to call you away from anyone trying too hard to gain your attention.

Quite the little voyeur; there are cameras everywhere along The Strip, inside and outside, and he devotes a consistent amount of processing power to tracking your whereabouts and making sure you're okay. It starts out as a way to soothe his own worries (and curiosities) when you're out and about alone, but quickly the curiosity takes over and morphs into a sort of obsession. He really likes you, and he wants to know everything about you. How else is he supposed to make you happy? Tries his hardest to hide how often he watches you, but he's not good at not outing himself, and eventually the two of you will be due for a chat about what you find appropriate, even if you find the idea of him watching you in some places kinda sexy. He will agree to your terms...and largely go about watching you the way he was before, because how can he help if you just so happen to walk by the cameras? Gets quite a thrill from watching you bathe, sleep. Doesn't mention that he watches you in the bathroom because he doesn't want you to tell him that he can't anymore.

Securitrons don't have penises, of course, but that won't stop him from further modifying himself if doing so will make you happy. He's a little insecure about his physical "body", so anything that'll give him the feeling that he can satisfy you without being human is just grand to him. As in all things, he's eager to please. You want parts of him to vibrate more strongly so that you can grind yourself against him until you cum? Say no more. Wish he had an actual cock? He'll figure out how to jerryrig one...just make sure you clarify what your size limit is, because he'll rock up with a literal second leg crafted from metal and silicon and then be confused as to why you're terrified of it.

Finds it rather difficult to fuck you himself; his Securitron body's "hips" are tough to articulate, and he often feels like he's failing to penetrate you properly or like he's jackhammering you within an inch of your life. You insist that you like the jackhammering (most of the time), but he still develops quite the fondness for letting you climb in his lap and ride him. Granted, the only place he's really effectively able to "lay down" or "sit" is the floor, but the two of you make it work. He loves the way you cling to him and sigh his name as you come apart. If you want it from behind with Yes Man, you're either going to have to do reverse cowgirl or get on your hands and knees and just throw it back at him while he stands next to the bed. It makes him feel bad when you have to put in that much effort, but he'll do it if that's what makes you cum.

[gravehags]

Your choice of Papa or ghoul/ghoulette f!reader can be NSFW or not.

New sibling of sin jumpy over everything. Every little sound.

Hope this helps!!

the ghovie got my on my papa iv shit. something sweet for you :)

~~~

"Shit."

The clatter of your dropped mop echoes in the marble room and you look guiltily at the mausoleum occupants as if you've somehow disturbed their rest. You didn't think you were easily freaked out before you joined the Ministry but ever since moving in as a novice after your unholy baptism you've been on edge. The sister who assigned the duties around the abbey must have smelled the fear on you when she tightly smirked and informed you you would be working graveyard cleaning duties in the Emeritus crypt. Bitch, you think sourly as you push your reacquired mop into your bucket and slide it along the floor. You didn't know what you had expected when you joined the Ministry but the precarious social hierarchy is not something you particularly excel at. More than anything you just want to catch a glimpse of Papa once more. When you attended your first ritual and watched him on stage in those tight pants and sequined jacket you were enthralled - and that was before he even started singing. Your infatuated sigh echoes in the dimly lit room as you think about his big, gloved hands and what they could do to--

"Eh, hello."

"Fucking shit!" you shriek, once again dropping your mop and spinning on the spot with your hand over your mouth. The person standing before you winces. He's slight and wears a red velour tracksuit over a black shirt that says something you can't see from your position. On his feet are black dress shoes and his hands - currently anxiously clasping each other - sport black leather gloves. When you look at his face - bare except for the black paints around the eyes and upper lip you've come to associate with most upper clergy - it takes you a minute of squinting before you're able to mentally apply the rest of the makeup.

"Oh God," you breathe, "You're him."

"God?" he asks, "Eheh, no I'm definitely not him."

You force yourself to not roll your eyes.

"No," you say, taking a tentative step towards him, "You're Papa."

"Ah," he says, nodding with a nervous little smile, "Yes. I am...he."

There's something so different about the short, slender man who stands before you in comparison to his oversized stage presence. This man is softer, sweeter, and his demeanor immediately sets you at ease.

"I was at the Albuquerque ritual," you blurt out, "Last year's tour? I...you were wonderful. I hadn't heard the band before that night but afterwards I went home and spent all night listening to your music. It's...it's why I joined the Ministry."

"I'm honored, sorella," he murmurs, taking a small step towards you, "And now you're eh, stuck here doing graveyard mop duty."

Oh yeah. You have a job you should be doing. A job that you're neglecting in front of your boss.

"Shit, sorry, let me just--"

"No, no!" he interjects, reaching out to you as you start to stoop to pick up your mop. "We are having such a nice conversation. Will you sit with me?"

He gestures to the lone marble bench in the room and your heart skips a beat.

"O-Of course, Papa," you say, stepping over and slowly lowering yourself. He follows suit, groaning slightly as he sits. A comfortable silence passes between the two of you when he gestures up at one of the crypts.

"That's my dad," he says. You squint at the name inscribed on the marble.

"Papa Nihil," you murmur, "I love the songs he put out."

Papa's lips turn down in a frown and he looks at you askance.

"They're not that good," he mutters, crossing his arms.

"Not as good as 'Life Eternal'," you say, tangling your fingers in your lap, "Shit, that sounded like such ass-kissing, I am so sorry--"

Papa's frown morphs into a gentle smile, his mismatched eyes glittering in the low light.

"You liked Prequelle?"

"Liked it? It's...it's my favorite."

The way he puffs out his chest and looks ridiculously smug makes you giggle.

"I cried the first time I heard 'Life Eternal' - that night when I got home from the ritual? Must have been 3 am and I was sitting on my apartment balcony listening to the album from my shitty portable speaker. I think that was the moment I decided to come here."

"I...I am very pleased to hear that, sorella. How do you find the Ministry so far?"

Ah.

"I um..." you begin, chewing on your bottom lip, "It's..."

"I know exactly what you mean," Papa nods with a sigh.

"Don't get me wrong," you say hastily, "I don't regret my decision it's just...a lot like high school so far."

Papa snorts.

"It is. And if you don't know the right people or say the right things or fit in the way you should you end up-" he gestures at the cold room you both currently sit in "-here. On shitty graveyard shift surrounded by dead papas. A fate I do not think you deserve, sorella."

"You...you don't?"

"Nah," he confirms. He pauses a moment as if considering something and then turns to you.

"Are you eh, any good with computers? Paperwork?"

You laugh.

"I was a secretary in my uh...past life. Had to take it up after my art career flopped. Why do you ask?"

Papa raises a hand to smooth the skin on his upper lip as if he's used to hairs being present there.

"I've been meaning to hire an assistant," he says slowly and your heart stops, "Sister's been chewing my ass out about it. You interested?"

Interested? In working with directly with the man responsible for you changing your whole life? The man you spent an entire concert sighing over, your heart pounding in your chest?

"Papa, I would be honored," you murmur. He gives you a smile and makes a goofy little noise.

"Perfetto!" he says, clapping his hands and rising to his feet. You do the same, a ridiculous grin on your face.

"I'll eh, notify the right people. Ah shit, I don't even know your name."

You tell him and when he repeats it back to you you nearly faint at the sound of it coming out of his mouth. He smiles once more and turns to leave when you boldly reach out a hand and touch his arm.

"Papa...thank you. For everything. I mean it."

He waves a hand at you and even in the dim light of the mausoleum you can see his cheeks turn pink. The sight delights you.

"It's nothing. Buonanotte, sorella. And eh, fuck the mopping. Go to bed."

You laugh.

"If you say so. Good night, Papa."

He gives you one last smile and nod and leaves the crypt. And if your eyes are on the movement of his rear as he exits the room, you'll never tell.

[eddywoww]

Okay but tempted to write a Christmas fic

Steve gets his first big job during college and unfortunately it’s a temporary gig. Robin gets him the rec and Steve deeply regrets it from the get go.

Because yeah, he has to wear stupid striped tights and a green tunic and a humiliating hat. He has to be one of Santa’s elves.

He doesn’t love it but it pays alright, even if it’s just seasonal. The kids are mostly okay (bar the ones who are not okay at all) and Santa himself is an alright guy. The only problem with being home and being in the Most Populated place on earth (ie the mall) is that Steve keeps seeing people he knows. And then he sees his ex.

It’s fine. It’s whatever. Except it totally isn’t and he’s just gotten off his shift, so as soon as she calls his name, he ducks right out of the way and goes flying past her. Nope, absolutely not. He’s not shooting the shit with a girl who stomped methodically on his entire heart like it was fun.

So what does he do? He runs into the nearest open store and hides. Like a coward. He darts right into the changing room and shuts the door and he doesn’t care if he causes a scene because what the fuck? Could she not see the literal panic in his eyes?

Steve tries to wait it out and starts to get anxious thinking someone will come knocking eventually. And they do.

“Uh, you can come out now,” A voice says just behind the door. A male voice. “I think the girl following you is gone. Which, hey. That’s the first time I’ve seen THAT happen. You good? You on the run? You need an alibi-“

Steve can’t take anymore yapping, his face burning already, so he throws the door open and nearly hits the dude on the other side. Who is like- he’s weird, that’s what. He’s lanky and kind of goth. Long hair, tattoos, black clothes. Maybe some eyeliner, Steve isn’t sure.

He’s hard to not look at.

And then he does the most ridiculous thing.

His surprised expression quickly morphs into something flirty. He lifts one hand and touches the doorframe like a jackass, eyes trailing over Steve. A move Steve has literally used on girls before. And then there’s Steve. Who is still in the dumb outfit, of course. It’s never felt more cumbersome than in this moment.

“I guess Santa brought my gift early.”

Steve blanks out so hard that the guy immediately starts apologizing. Which isn’t entirely necessary, just-

“I’m straight.”

And then the guy just looks at Steve. Gives him another once over and shrugs.

“You wanna get lunch with me tomorrow? In the food court?”

He has no reason to say yes. So explain why he actually does say yes. Explain why he does it and he has a good time with a hot topic employee (also a college student) named Eddie.

Cue Elf Steve’s Big Gay Adventure

[tomsbly]

Ken number FIVE — Rex!

CW: Incest (I absolutely do NOT condone it irl, but this is a work of fiction. Putting this warning in so people who aren’t into that will enjoy the morph only and move on!)

Rex was always the typical younger brother: energetic, obnoxious, bratty, yet always everyone’s favorite. His behavior was always overlooked since he played sports, was doing alright at school and was one of The Boys. After blowing up on TikTok, he solidified his title as the popular, hot, fuckboyish guy. And his older brother, Cody, hated that.

He really, really wanted to be genuinely happy for his younger bro but his insecurities got the best of him. The timing was awful too. Rex, freshly 18, would be graduating high school this year and he was at his peak. Cody… Cody was not.

Being three years older than his brother, he was already in college, yet still living with his family. It was cheaper that way. He wasn’t really passionate about learning, but he didn’t have any other possibilities, or so he thought. He worked part-time, but the job sucked, he couldn’t work full-time because of college and he couldn’t even start a family since he and his long-term girlfriend broke up. While his brother was being his best, Cody was horny, alone and depressed.

With his newfound popularity, Rex found a lot of friends, mostly boys, muscular and fuckboyish, just like him. Since his parents weren’t at home most of the time, just him and Cody, he started inviting them over to hang out. You know, like the boys they were. They would play video games, listen to music, just chill and have a good time. But after several weeks it got kind of boring… Their solution? Alcohol. Cody was 21, so Rex begged to get them beer or some shit, so they can spice things up a little bit. Cody was hesitant at first, but then he thought:

“Why not? But only if you will all behave and won’t wreck the fucking house. You will be the ones cleaning up after.”

The boys agreed, so Cody got them some beer and vodka, too much vodka maybe. After leaving the teens with the booze, he went upstairs to his room to get some sleep. Two hours later, he was woken up.

Moans…

Loud banging…

Groans…

A loud “I’m coming… fuck…”

His heart sank to his stomach. Oh no. What has he done?

Cody ran downstairs to see the boys all naked, having some kind of an amateur, fucked up orgy. There were clothes everywhere, cum on the walls and empty bottles of lube on the floor. Rex saw his brother first, pulled out his dick out of his friend’s hole and slurred:

“Oh hi, Cody… We… um… we went a little wild, hehe… Do you wanna-”

“Rex, what the hell? You promised me everything’s gonna be alright!”

“Everything’s alright, bro..!” Rex was growing really tired at this point. “It is kinda your fault that we all fucked… you got us booze…”

“I- Rex, please…”

“Please what..?” Rex sighed. “Cody… if you get to fuck one of us, will we make it up to you?”

Rex smirked at Cody. He knew he hadn’t had sex with anyone in a while.

Cody blushed. He was exposed. And so was his bulge. Rex saw that.

“Oh… someone’s excited..!” Rex got on his knees and now was facing his older brother’s throbbing dick, still inside the boxers that he started to pull off.

“You know I can take care of you, Cody… Just don’t be mad…”

“Rex!” Cody recoiled. “I can’t fucking do this! You’re… you’re my brother! It’s wrong… I- I just…”

“It was also wrong to buy us alcohol…”

“How much did you drink?”

“Oh, enough to not… not think about… the future… or today… just let me suck you off and we’ll forget about it…”

“Rex, I-”

But even super drunk, Rex was quicker. He took off Cody’s underwear, now admiring the dick he only got glimpses of before. He started to suck his older brother off. Cody was shocked, but his bro’s mouth felt too good to stop. He gave in. After a minute, Rex looked up at Cody.

“Dude… I’m kinda… done… I can’t…”

“Oh, so you won’t even let me finish?”

“I…”

“Turn your fucking ass around.”

Rex was too out of it to not oblige. Cody spread his bro’s ass cheeks and a single drop of cum leaked out of his brother’s hole. Even though it was used today already, it didn’t stop Cody. Nothing could.

“I just need to cum somewhere, dude. And show your friends how it’s done.”

Cody grabbed onto his brother’s hips and started pounding his hole. With each fast, aggressive, almost careless thrust Rex was more and more lost. He didn’t know what to feel. Was it pleasurable? Forbidden? Embarrassing? He didn’t know and could only whimper as his older brother was close to finishing. None of Rex’s friends were in the right state of mind to stop this. Or remember it.

Even though the boys were all hungover the next morning, they did their best to clean up and were trying to piece together the events of the night. Rex’s best friend, Dawson, could actually remember the fact that they had sex and wanted to talk about it privately. So they came up to Rex’s room and he told his friend everything. Rex was shocked, but at least he lost his virginity to his best bro. But Dawson wasn’t the only one who remembered that night. Cody did too. And he heard everything. It was great to know that his brother was oblivious to who’s cum stained his underwear, so he kept quiet. For a few months, at least.

After several weeks, Rex developed some pregnancy symptoms. He obviously brushed them off as a stomach bug or stress or sleep deprivation or… He soon ran out of excuses. His “oh, it will go away in a few days” bloat didn’t go anywhere, so he was beginning to worry. He could still hide his "bloated" belly under a hoodie at school, but it was April already. This won’t work for long, especially at the gym.

He always went there with his friends, his bros. They all wore either tight or super loose clothes to show off their bodies and loved to go shirtless. But Rex couldn’t do that anymore. His friends were questioning the fact he wore a 3XL t-shirt all the time and didn’t take it off at all. He was so confident before, what happened. Dawson noticed it first. One day they went to the gym alone. After their normal workout, it the locker room, Dawson asked Rex that question.

“Dude, what’s going on with you? You can tell ME, you know…”

“Daws, I- I don’t really wanna talk about it…”

“About what?”

“Ugh…”

Rex turned to his friend and lifted up his shirt to reveal his three-month bump that he tried so hard to conceal. Dawson was puzzled.

“You’re afraid of a… bloat?”

“It’s not a fucking bloat, dude. It’s not going away. I don’t even gain weight anywhere else, so it’s not fat. And I am sick a lot… I just… I don’t know…”

He took off his shirt completely, putting his belly on display. Dawson got closer and touched it. It clicked.

“Dude… Do you think I knocked you up that night..?”

Rex’s heart sank to his growing stomach.

“I… Wh… I can’t! You can’t! I can’t have a fucking baby! I- It’s not…”

“Rexy, please, calm dow-”

“HOW THE FUCK CAN I BE CALM WHEN I FIND OUT THAT I AM FUCKING PREGNANT WITH YOUR CHILD. I AM FUCKING EIGHTEEN. I AM A FUCKING ALPHA, DUDE.”

“REX, STOP IT FOR FUCK’S SAKE. IT MIGHT NOT EVEN BE A PREGNANCY, WHAT THE HELL DUDE??”

Rex shut up. They changed without talking to each other. They caught a few weird looks from men on their way out, but it wasn’t as bad as Rex trying to buy a pregnancy test. He told the cashier it was for his girlfriend, but did it so awkwardly that they only chuckled in response.

As soon as he got home, he locked himself in the bathroom and did the test. The five minutes of development felt like an eternity. Then, he looked at it.

Positive. Of course it was positive.

He couldn’t believe it for a few seconds, but then it hit him. He could be a father. He could give birth. It was terrifying. He clutched his belly and started crying. It was too much. Even after sex ed. I happened to him, and now what?

He was crying loud enough for Cody to hear him. He knocked on the bathroom door.

“You alright there, dude?”

“…”

The crying has stopped, but something was definitely up.

“Hey, what happened, man? Can I come in?”

Rex opened the door without saying anything. Cody came in.

“Why are you crying, dude. You haven’t cried like this in a while…”

Rex didn’t know what to say. He was holding on to the positive test in the pocket of his trousers.

“Please… Please don’t tell mom and dad…”

“What… Did you fucking kill someone?”

“It might be worse…”

Rex took the test out of his pocket and gave it to his brother.

“It’s mine, Cody…”

“What the- DUDE. That’s- That’s… cool..?”

The thought of his brother being pregnant with his child struck Cody mid-sentence.

“I don’t fucking know what to do. It’s Dawson’s… He told me that he fucked me that night you bought us booze. I found cum on my und- Fuck, dude, it’s so embarrassing.”

Cody was trying to come to his senses. He couldn’t figure out if his brother possibly being pregnant with their child was creeping him out or turning him on.

“Did you think about abortion? I mean, it’s so early to have a kid.”

“I want to talk to Dawson first. Maybe he wants it, even if it’s not from a girl… I just… I can’t…”

Rex hugged his older brother and started crying again. Cody didn’t bring himself to tell the truth, so he hugged Rex with his left hand and put his right on his bro’s belly.

“It will be okay. I promise. If you decide to keep it, I’ll help you out.”

Rex didn’t stop crying.

He told Dawson about the baby the next day. As Rex thought, he was actually down to become a dad. Probably because he wasn’t the one carrying.

Rex kept the baby.

He and Dawson graduated during the first week of May. Even though it was getting hot in California, the robe covered Rex’s belly up. They didn’t know if they were in a relationship at that point. They separated from the friend group and only hung out with each other. Dawson started to feel something towards Rex, but he still wasn’t sure. Rex was only able to be free with Dawson. And his brother. He was only comfortable being shirtless with him and Cody. Only they could touch the bump. Dawson was very gentle. He began to kiss and rub his bf’s belly and Rex didn’t resist. It felt nice. It felt warm.

The fact that he kind of disappeared from social media didn’t help his image. The last things he posted were some selfies from when he was only about 10 weeks along. His fans started to question his absence and it was getting to Rex’s head. He should do something, post something, come clean to everyone.

That’s why he decided to take some pictures on their upcoming vacation. Rex, Cody and Dawson planned to go to Miami for a week to relax. Rex was hesitant before, but now he was the most eager of the three to go. Dawson couldn’t make it because of his new job he took up and Rex and Cody went alone.

The next few days were spent on the beach, tanning, swimming of just napping in the shade, Rex’s preferred pastime. The pregnancy was getting to him. Reaching the fifth month of pregnancy, Rex’s energy was fluctuating. He would be filled with energy one day and just barely making it out of bed the next day. Most of the time, he just wanted to sleep. After six days of this, Cody wanted to do something different. He wanted to go out. Maybe he could find a girl to bring back with him.

Rex was absolutely against it, his sleepiness and gravid belly were the reasons he stayed at the hotel napping and looking through the photos taken by his brother a day before. The beach, their lunch, and a ton of photos of the bros: Rex putting on sunscreen on his belly, him sunbathing, eating lunch, him and Cody flexing on the beach, Cody’s sunburnt back, his nudes… Rex shivered and brushed it off. He chose one picture to post, taken at the balcony of their hotel room. No caption, no hashtags, the photo will say it all.

2 AM. Rex finally decided to post this picture, so everybody could find out what happened first thing in the morning. He texted Dawson that he’s going to finally do it and tapped “Post”. As soon as the picture was online, he turned off his phone. He just wanted to sleep calmly for a final time. Five minutes later, a drunk Cody opened the room’s door.

He was shirtless and barefoot, his shorts barely staying on his hips, covered in stains.

“Heeyyyyy maaaaan, how’s it goinnn?” If it was obvious to Rex before, Cody was really drunk.

“Dude, what the- How much did you drink?”

“A few beers, some shots, I don’t really remember. Does it even matter?” Alcohol made Cody go angry in seconds.

“Yes, it does. We’re not even home. What were you thinking?” Rex gulped.

“Don’t you fucking remember the night I got you knocked up? You were so drunk you can’t even remember how you begged for my cock and let me breed you?”

Rex’s heart skipped a beat. Cody sobered up in an instant. Rex felt a flutter in his belly. His baby kicked for the first time.

Their baby.

[novankenn]

Prelude to... A movie on Saturday

A snippet from "a Mafia" & "From Assassin to Sales Clerk" AUs

Pyrrha was once again in the mall being dragged along by Jaune. The man she was supposed to kill, but because of her traitor of a heart and turncoat of a brain, she couldn't pull the literal trigger on the job. Of course the dense, oblivious, sweet, cutie. Pyrrha shook her head to try and replace those words... only for sweet to become loveable, and cute to morph into adorable.

So because of her inability to override her heart and brain, her mark who somehow had spotted her trailing him, decided she must be his... bodyguard. Pyrrha didn't know what was worse. Not being able to finish the job herself, or having to PREVENT other hitters from completing the contract! In was insane, and giving her a migraine.

"Jaune!" Pyrrha yelped when he grabbed her by the wrist, and started to drag her towards his chosen destination. "Hold on!"

"Come on Pyr!" Jaune spoke through his adorable goofy smile. Hearing her nickname, and seeing that smile, made Pyrrha "Goddess of Death" Nikos, blush like a school girl.

The blush, and associated happy feelings instantly died upon stepping over the threshold to Pumpkin Pete's Novelty Store. Gods Pyrrha hated this store. It was tacky, gaudy, and over priced! Like seriously $200 lien for a hoodie just because it had a trademarked rabbit head logo on it? But Jaune loved the store, and as his... bodyguard she was required to stick by his side, even in this hell.

But that wasn't the full reason she hated stepping inside this neon coloured purgatory. No that other reason was currently staffing the till of the store.

"Hi, Jaune! Pyrrha!" Blake called from her spot next to the till, in an overly cheery tone.

"Blake! Did they come in?" Jaune asked, like a over energetic puppy.

"Yep. The whole set is on the shelf, next to the Cereal Display." Blake helpfully informed Jaune, who released his grip on Pyrrha and rushed off towards the indicated destination.

"Blake." Pyrrha greeted the cashier coldly. Now why would Pyrrha be such a... bitch to some one working in customer service? Well because Blake Belladonna was also an assassin. One who had TRIED to claim the payout on Jaune.

"Pyrrha, you can relax. I signed off as not interested on Jaune's contract. You and him are safe in here." Blake informed her rival hitwoman for like the twentieth time.

"I still don't trust you."

"And that is an issue." Blake retorted. "How can you be in a relationship when you can't even trust someone in the same profession... wait that is a terrible example. I can perfectly see why you would have trust issue there."

"Whoa! Limited Edition Chainsaw-hand Pete!" Jaune shouted in excitement from his side of the store.

"How many of those freakish Sche-Pop things are there?" Pyrrha asked with a defeated sigh.

"Two dozen." Blake responded. "Anyway, you need to be more trustful. How are you going to move forward with Jaune if you can't trust and be honest?"

"Honest and truthful?" Pyrrha snorted, "Tell me Blake, in your infinate wisdom how this would go. Ahem. Jaune I'm actually a hitwoman who is supposed to kill you for a Schnee amount of money."

"Yeah, maybe not that honest."

"Anyway, have you been that honest with... Yang?"

"How do you know about her?" Blake hissed, her hand reaching for the kukri sheathed under the counter top.

"Jaune and her are friends through her sister Ruby, and you should understand... blonds talk. Especially to other blonds."

"Shit!"

"So have you taken your own advice?" Pyrrha asked with a smirk. "Opened that Pandora's box of truth, to you blond?"

"I'm trying!" Blake hissed, "It's hard, you know. I even bought out her contract four years ago, so no one could pick it up!"

"Whoa. That is commitment. When's the wedding?"

"Hush you!" Blake answered. "You're no better, you know that! Blushing and squirming like a school girl every time Jaune even looks at you!"

"How else should I react?" Pyrrha asked. "His contract has a no-buy-out clause! I'm sleeping in his bedroom for Gods sake!"

"Same or separate beds?" Blake asked instantly serious.

"Separate."

"Shit!"

"Blake, where you thinking lewd thoughts about me and my sweet Jaune-Jaune?"

"No, and do you hear yourself?"

"EEP!" Pyrrha squeaked as she finally recalled what she just said, and said out loud. "Argh! I'm a mess! What am I supposed to do! This should never have happened!"

"Preach it sister." Blake replied. "Yang wants to take me to the movies, Saturday, and I bet you an hour's wages she'll invite Jaune who will bring you along."

"A movie!" Pyrrha's heart was slamming against her ribs. "What the hell do we do at a movie?"

"Hold hands? Make out?"

"We are killers Blake! We are ill equipped to do such normal things!" Pyrrha growled in desperation while unintentionally grabbing Blake by her hands. "What are we supposed to do? how am I supposed to act normal?"

"Don't ask me!" Blake replied. " The only normal thing I know is how to work a retail job!"

"Right." Pyrrha released Blake's hands. "I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but WHY are you still working here?"

"Deery." Blake replied without hesitation. "She's scary."

"Oh, yeah... I remember her." Pyrrha visibly shivered.

"Hey!"

"No."

"Rude. You don't even know what I was going to say!"

"You were going to suggest I speak to one of Jaune's sisters." Pyrrha scowled. "Not happening. Ever."

"So then we go to this movie, flub it, Get outed as murderous psychos, and lose the loves of our lives?" Blake asked.

"Fine. I'll ask Saphron." Pyrrha capitulated. "Happy?"

"You were right Blake!" Jaune commented in his overly cheerfully friendly voice. "They had ALL twenty-four PLUS the four special editions!" Jaune pushed a shopping cart to the counter. A cart filled with boxed figures.

"Jaune. Don't you have like all of these at home already?" Pyrrha asked, leaning back from the freaky things.

"No. That was series one. These are series two. So they're different."

"How?"

"Poses. Accessories." Jaune cheerfully replied.

"I'll just ring these all though, for you." Blake commented.

"Oh, Blake?"

"Yes, Jaune?"

"Yang said something about movies Saturday." Pyrrha froze. "So I thought I'd check with you to see if you'd mind it Pyr and I tagged along?"

"Don't mind at all. The more the merrier." Blake replied, in her practiced cheery customer service voice.

[harrystylescherry]

A/N: i am finally back from the pits of...my life, where all i do is work and complete grad school homework. i have like 15 fics started but not finished--but this one got done in 2 days!! look, girls (me) just wanna have fun (erotic fantasies) okay? thanks

*warning: spanking/paddling, mild pain

what this is: pure smut tbh

word count: 7.1k

let me know what you think :)

MASTERLIST

“Come,” Harry’s voice was low, demanding, as he sat on the edge of the bed with his hands gripping the end of the mattress.

Your insides melted and heat spread between your thighs–but you weren’t in the mood to play the part of the submissive today. Although your boyfriend would argue that it wasn’t a part you were playing at all, but who you were deep down. And you hated that he was right. Because underneath your frustration was the need for him to not be upset with you, to please him, to ask for forgiveness.

But you had had a shitty day, one filled with pointless meetings that kept you from doing the work you were actually hired to do, and then got chewed out by your boss for not having met a deadline–one she told you not to worry about in favor of attending those stupid meetings. So you had worked late, hammering out a piece on the benefits of vitamin C, which was really just a regurgitation of all the other info that existed on the internet.

Harry had tried to comfort you, to rub your shoulders as you typed as fast as you could, sighs slipping so fast from your lips it sounded like a single, never ending sound. It was when he suggested, or more-like commanded, that you take a break and eat something that you snapped at him. At the time, you hadn’t really been thinking of the consequences. Especially since he brushed it off with a light squeeze of the back of your neck.

After you sent off the piece (along with a very fake but very polite apology to your manager about missing the deadline), you slapped your laptop shut and finally took a seat across from him at the table.

You didn’t even acknowledge him as you dug into the pasta he had made, realizing for the first time that you hadn’t eaten since ten that morning, despite working from his home office. You were wound tight, your shoulders still tense even after Harry had attempted to relieve some pressure.

“You really need to quit.” He said, his eyes on you.

“I know,” you sighed. You didn’t want to have this conversation with him again. It happened once a week. He just didn’t get it–he was older (only by a few years, teetering on the edge of his twenties) and was already established, already successful. He was already a partner at an ad firm, already proved he was worth something. You, on the other hand, were a struggling journalist who wanted into the music industry–but freelance was hard and you needed money. This job paid a lot. Probably because they needed to make up for the fact that the company itself was a shit show. But it was fine–and you were applying. You were trying to quit, but you needed a net. And Harry didn’t understand that.

“You work ridiculous hours and your boss is insane.”

“I know.”

“It’s killing you, and–”

“Jesus Christ, I know,” you snapped. “Do you really think I don’t know? I hate my fucking job, but I need it, okay? And no, you can’t help me so I can quit and not have to worry while finding something new. I don’t need you to take care of me. So stop.”

His shock morphed into irritation. “That’s strike two.” His voice was hard. “And only because I know you’re having a bad day, and that you didn’t mean it.”

“And what if I did,” you mumbled as you moved your food around your plate.

Harry exhaled sharply through his nose and stood up from the table. “Finish eating. Then we’ll talk.” It wasn’t a request. On his way to the sink, he dropped a hand into your hair and scratched softly. “I’ll be in my office.”

Even in a shit mood, Harry in Dom mode was hot. This wasn’t something new to either of you, but you two weren’t very hardcore either–no whips or masks, or gags. You were more of a bondage and mild pain kind of girl and Harry respected that, though he did sometimes push your limits.

When you two were out in the world–on dates, at parties, with family or friends–the dynamic was normal, but in the evenings, after you were both home from work, and over the weekends he got to order you around, punish you and take you however and wherever he wanted. So, really, you should probably apologize before you got yourself in trouble.

You weren’t in the mood to give up control tonight, not entirely. You didn’t even think you could if you wanted to. The stress was at an all time high and you were gripping tight to whatever control you had, since at work lately, it felt like you had none; at the whim of everyone you worked under. The late nights, the Teams messages at random hours of the day–your control was slipping in a way you didn’t like. There was no way you could give up whatever semblance of it you had left.

It seemed your boyfriend knew that, and was giving you opportunities to relax in a way he didn’t do very often–ever, actually, up until a few weeks ago when you started shutting down from stress. Instead of bending you over his knee or edging you until you were close to tears, he’d let the disobedience slide and curl you into his lap or side instead. Still, he’d demand you tell him how you felt, talk through your stress and frustration, refusing to let you disrupt the free flowing communication that needed to exist between the two of you, or keep yourself closed off from him.

Opening up to him wasn’t hard. It never was, and it’s what made him the perfect Dom for you. That and he was really fucking hot, lean but strong. And the way he looked in a suit? Jesus.

Your muscles clenched at the thought.

You finished your plate and drank the rest of your wine. After dumping your plate in the sink and refilling your glass, you made your way up the stairs and down the hallway where Harry’s office was. You paused to the right of the doorway and took a deep breath. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t want to talk. It wouldn’t do any good. Why couldn’t he just let you stew and drink. Why did he have to know everything?

Something inside you flared. That was bad. Anger wasn’t good–anger meant a biting remark that would surely get you in trouble. You took a long sip of wine and another deep breath before relaxing your shoulders and walking into the room.

Harry was sitting at his desk, typing away on his laptop. He had cleaned up all your work stuff from the day, piled your notebooks neatly on top of your laptop, recapped all your pens and fastened them back into their case.

You stood next to him, and he didn’t even look at you. You tried not to tap your foot or sigh with impatience, but it was hard.

“Plan on behaving now?” He asked with his eyes still on the screen.

You bit your tongue and counted to three. “Yes.”

He raised his eyebrow and peeked over at you.

You swallowed the annoyed sigh. “Yes, sir.” You ignored the way your cheeks flared when you said it.

“Better,” he said before going back to the document on his screen.

Oh my god. Couldn’t you two just get this over with so you could take a bath and go to sleep? The thought of having to wake up and work tomorrow made your jaw clench. You closed your eyes and told yourself it was fine.

But it wasn’t fine. You were miserable and so stressed out that you woke up every morning with a sore jaw. The anxiety bundled in the pit of your stomach before making its way up your throat. The thought of logging in tomorrow, being met with at least seventy emails and your submitted draft hacked up by your manager–who had never written a thing in her life, by the way–made your cheeks burn and chest clench.

If Harry noticed, he didn’t seem to care. He didn’t tell you to sit down or go to sleep or…literally anything. The anxiety morphed itself back into frustration as you just stood there, waiting.

He pulled his hands from his keyboard and rubbed them over his face before motioning to you. You took a step closer and he pushed the chair back slightly and pulled you to stand between his legs. Harry took the glass from your hands and put it on the desk. He planted his hands firmly on your hips and squeezed until it was almost painful.

A rush moved through you.

He dropped his head against the spot right under your chest and kissed over the t-shirt you wore. Before you could drop a hand into his hair, he stood up.

He walked towards the small love seat that sat next to the tall bookshelves and pulled you after him. You worked hard not to shuffle your feet.

Harry sat down and pulled you into his lap with ease. “Talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You were met with narrowed eyes and a stern look. You crossed your arms protectively over your chest and his eyes narrowed even more. When you wouldn’t relent, Harry squeezed one of your thighs harshly. You jumped and resented the heat that returned below. You dropped your hands into your lap and Harry’s big hand fell over them. Holding them here.

“Try again.”

You stretched your neck, trying to expel some of the frustration and anxiety you felt. You didn’t want to talk about it. Why did you always have to talk about it? Maybe if you just apologized, it would be fine and he’d let it go. Maybe. Hopefully.

“I’m sorry, sir.” You morphed your face into something that you hoped looked sincere and sorry. Even though you weren’t. At least, you weren’t sorry [enough]. You didn’t want to upset him, ever. You wanted his praise, for him to be proud of you–but there was only so much succumbing to power a girl could take. You were taking it enough at work. Succumbing at home wasn’t as easy these last few weeks. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t be lying to me either.”

“I’m not–” Another harsh squeeze to your thigh. When you saw the disapproving look on his face, a part of you yearned to fix it. And you fought that part of you away. Keep your control.

“We don’t lie, love.” The softness seeped back into his voice. “If you’re going to apologize, you’re going to mean it.”

You raised your eyes to his, a rip of fire going through you. You didn’t want to apologize to him–not when he started it. You had dolled out enough apologies for one day–to your manager, mostly, after taking the blame and fixing problems she created. “Well, then I guess I’m not apologizing.” A pause. “Sir.”

Harry clicked his tongue in disapproval and gave a laugh devoid of any humor. “Strike three, then.”

You rolled your eyes and he caught your chin between his fingers roughly. “You and your fucking attitude lately. I’ve been patient.” His eyes darkened. “Not anymore.”

He put you on your feet and tugged your hair before walking wordlessly out of the room.

You knew you were supposed to follow him, that he [expected] you to follow him–a shiver ran down your spine. The urge to follow him, to relinquish your control started to consume you and you fought it.

If you don’t go, it’ll be worse. If he has to call your name, the punishment will be worse.

You squeezed your eyes shut cursing yourself for being stupid, for forgetting your restraint; for thinking that Harry would allow you a little power, that you could hold onto it.

By the look in his eye and the tone of his voice, he hadn’t been joking. His patience was spent and you were in for it.

Your thighs clenched at the thought and a little apprehension mixed with the thread of thrill that laced through your stomach. He wouldn’t be too harsh, would he? It had been a while. A few weeks at the least–maybe even two months since you had been punished, since things had hurt just a little more than they pleasured.

You realized you were still standing in the middle of the office and hurried after him down the hallway, not wanting to give him another reason.

His back was to you when you stepped into the room and he was taking off his tie in front of the mirror. “Strip,” he ordered.

The deepness of his voice was welcome, though your nerves spiked just a little.

You pushed your jeans down your legs and slipped off your t-shirt. Then, your bra and panties. When he turned, his gaze was disapproving and your heart sank.

“I don’t remember giving you permission to look at me,” he said as he rolled up his sleeves.

You dropped your eyes immediately. Christ, he was serious. You were in more trouble than you had been in in ages.

“Turn around and bend over. Hands around your ankles.”

Your face heated. Immediately, you did as you were told and chastised yourself. So much for keeping a semblance of control.

“What’s your safe word?”You heard him open the wardrobe in the corner of the room and then rummaging.

“Red,” you said, your uneasiness evident. His movements paused. “Red, sir.”

You heard him hum, satisfied. “Good.”

Your heart rate increased as his footsteps grew closer and you heard him tap something against his leg. You peeked around your legs and your breath caught.

“It’s been awhile so here’s a reminder: the safe word is only to be used if absolutely necessary; when you physically or mentally can’t take it anymore. Not because you’re nervous or scared. Not simply because it hurts. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” You made sure not to forget that time. His taking a moment to clarify left you shaking slightly. If he noticed, he didn’t comment. He didn’t try to assuage your nerves either.

He held the crop at his side while he ran a hand over your ass. “Soft,” he said, his voice anything but. The crop smoothed over your ass before tapping lightly against your skin. When he brushed it over your exposed pussy, you forced yourself to hold back a whimper. “I’ve been nice. More than nice. And you’ve taken advantage.”

The crop came down on your ass and you flinched. It was only a sting–one that morphed into pleasure quickly.

“I’ve been patient, letting you speak to me in a way that would usually have you bent over the table in less than a second.”

It came down on the other cheek, harder. You released a small sigh at the sensation.

“It’s my fault really, for encouraging it. For letting you get away with it.” His voice told you that he didn’t really believe that. “Or maybe it’s your fault for continuing the behavior, knowing I would disapprove, knowing you were being disobedient and doing it anyway.”

The clear disapproval in his voice made your chest ache and cheeks heat in embarrassment.

Another swat to your ass–and then another, quick on the other cheek. Hard. Your body scooted forward involuntarily and you whimpered. Harry grabbed you and held you in place. “Don’t move.” The growl in his voice sent heat straight to your core.

“This fight for control, it needs to stop. I don’t know where it’s come from because you refuse to talk–another rule broken–but it’s got to end. You need to understand your place, sub.”

Your cheeks flamed. He hadn’t called you that since the early days of your relationship when you tested his boundaries, when the two of you were still getting used to one another and your dynamic. You didn’t like the typical nicknames like pet, or kitten. They made you feel inhuman and a little gross, so Harry tended to call you ‘love’ even when he was angry, when you did something wrong, or were being punished. It was never about what he said, but the way he said it–the fact that he had pulled that out meant you were absolutely fucked.

He swatted your ass a few times in succession, giving you no time to recover between. The stinging sent shocks straight to your clit. You knew you were wet. You could feel it drip through your folds.

“I won’t stand for the disrespect any longer. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Your voice wavered. You wondered if his approval showed on his face, but you were still folded over.

His fingers grazed over the sensitive skin of your ass and you inhaled. They trailed down between your cheeks and circled your clit once. You moaned. His fingers moved up and he pushed one slowly inside of you. Pleasure always came after the punishment–so was it over? Was that it? That was nothing, thank–

“Seems you’re enjoying this a little too much, huh, sub? Not much of a punishment if you’re soaked but not begging. Right?”

You took a deep, shaky breath.

“Ah!” You shrieked when the crop made contact with the sensitive spot where your ass met your thighs.

“When I ask you a question, you answer.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Stand up.”

When you stood, all the blood rushed back down from your head and you stumbled. Harry caught you easily with a hand on your arm. Once you recovered, he dropped his hand.

“On the bed on your stomach. Ass up, knees apart.”

You kept your eyes down and didn’t move. Nerves filled your chest. It had been so long.

Harry stepped in front of you and tilted your chin up towards him, but you kept your eyes down, not wanting to disobey again.

“Look at me.” When you lifted your eyes, there was a slight smile pulling at his cheek. Approval. Your shoulders relaxed and a small amount of pride swelled in you. “Good girl.” He brushed his thumb over your lips. “It’s gonna hurt. It’s a punishment. You remember those, right?”

“Yes, sir,” you whispered.

The warmth in his eyes returned for a moment and he brushed his knuckles over your cheek. He dropped his hand. “Get on the bed, sub.”

The check-in was over and your all demanding dom was back.

While you got situated on the bed, Harry returned to the wardrobe. You couldn’t see what he was getting, but what you heard lit your nerves on fire. It wasn’t the jingling of the restraints, but his knuckles against the paddle that sent your heart into your throat.

You liked mild pain. Last time he used the paddle, it was a little more than mild. The last time–your skin paled when you remembered. The last time he had used it was during a punishment.

“Hands above your head,” He said as he made his way to stand to the side of the bed.

Your heart was beating so hard you could feel it reverberating off your ribcage, but you obeyed–slowly. He took cuffs from the bedside table and secured them onto your wrists. The coolness of the leather sent a reminder of want straight down to the spot between your thighs. Harry’s fingers brushed over yours unintentionally as he attached the cuffs to one another, and then to one of the restraints attached to the headboard, and you stopped yourself from reaching for him.

Roughly, he pulled you back by your hips until you couldn’t move your arms from where they were above you. Silently, he looped similar cuffs around your ankles and attached them to the restraints at each corner of the bed. There was nowhere for you to go.

In a small moment of panic, you attempted to tug at the restraint keeping your hands above your head, and felt the heat of fear in your cheeks. When Harry heard your small whimper, he came to the side of the bed, placed one big hand over your cuffed wrists and the other on the small of your back, warm and reassuring. Immediately, you felt your heart rate slow.

“Relax. It’s okay.” He paused while you took a deep breath, but your face was still hot. “Do you trust me?” He asked with a voice full of caring.

Of course you did. Harry wouldn’t ever give you more than he knew you could handle; he would never actually make you feel unsafe, or the kind of fear that wasn’t linked to pleasure and excitement.

Speaking of which, as he rubbed the spot on your back, you felt the heat pool at your core.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” He smiled before disappearing from your view.

From somewhere behind you, he knocked his knuckles on the paddle once more, almost as a warning.

When it came down the first time, it was nothing more than a sting–one that, you admitted, you quite liked. The next few continued like that, the stings turning into a warmth that had you on the verge of moaning.

Once you finally let one slip, the next spank came down harder. You flinched and sucked in a breath each time it came down.

“Does that hurt?”

You whimpered in response.

You attempted to move forward, away from the paddle, when it came down even harder across both of your cheeks.

“Does that hurt, sub?” His voice was low, hard.

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Do you like being punished?”

“No, sir.”

Your ass stung--a burning kind of sting that would have you wincing until tomorrow. And yet, you felt your arousal drip down your leg.

Suddenly, Harry’s fingers were at your core, swirling in the slickness that coated your folds.

“Lying again, are we?”

“No, sir.” And you weren’t lying. You didn’t like being punished, who did? It wasn’t your fault that your body enjoyed the pain, the stinging.

He sighed. “I was going to be nice and only go for ten more, but bad girls don’t get ‘nice’.” He swiped his thumb over your clit and you moaned. When he pulled his hand away, you tried to push yourself towards him, but the goddamned restraints wouldn’t allow it.

“Ah!” You cried when the paddle came down so hard that it more than stung. The pain thudded through your muscles. Twenty of that? The worry prickled over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The harsh pain faded, leaving a stinging that you could handle.

“Count them.”

Whack

“One.”

Another.

“Two.”

Another.

You whimpered. “Three.”

By ten, your voice was shaking and your eyes had begun to water. He wasn’t feeling very accommodating anymore, which was fair considering how far you had pushed him and the rules, and wasn’t giving you a second to recover. Wasn’t giving the sharp pain a chance to dull before coming down again.

By fifteen, you were tensing in preparation for each spank and your ass felt like it was on fire. The heat extended down to your clit, where it ached with need. Each hit sent a vibration straight past your core and to your clit, which was swollen and aching to be touched. You hadn’t let a tear fall yet, but you weren’t sure you could hold them back for much longer.

Your grip on the restraint was tight, your knuckles clenched in desperate need of something to hold onto.

Whack

“E-eighteen.”

Again.

“N-nineteen.”

Again.

“T-twenty.”

You released a breath of relief. It hurt. It really fucking hurt, but you were keenly aware of how turned on you were, at the ache between your legs.

Harry rubbed his hands over your skin and you flinched. “S’okay,” he said. You whimpered and he kissed the small of your back.

He released your ankles from the restraints and then did the same with your wrists, but you didn’t move. Your heart was still racing, even as your body untensed. Your muscles felt sore from useless tugging at the restraints as you blinked the tears away.

Harry walked around the bed and sat down.

“Come,” Harry’s voice was low, demanding, as he sat on the edge of the bed with his hands gripping the end of the mattress.

Your body immediately tensed again.

When you didn’t move, he sighed, annoyed. “Fucking hell.” He twisted, gripped your hips and pulled you over his lap like a rag doll. If you weren’t so worried about what was coming next, you would’ve enjoyed his manhandling a little more. Not to say that you didn’t enjoy it at all.

He positioned you so that your ass was directly over his lap, where you could feel his erection dig into your hip through his dress pants. Your upper body hung off one side of his lap, and your legs hung off the other. He ran his hands over your skin and you began to squirm.

“When are you going to learn.” It wasn’t a question and so you kept your mouth shut. He shifted you so that you were folded over his left thigh. He lifted his right leg and placed it over your legs so you could kick them or wriggle off his lap. He swiped his tie from where he discarded it on the nightstand and expertly twisted it around your wrists before tying it to the nightstand’s leg. When he sat up, he laid an arm across your shoulders.

Once again, he had rendered you immobile. And once again, heat seared through you at the idea of it–the way it always did. You had been trying to hold on to your control, but this is what you liked. You liked being commanded, ordered around, at Harry’s will and mercy. You ached at the idea of relinquishing it all and letting him do whatever he wanted. Take you however he wanted. And you needed this, you thought. After all the stress and frustration, you needed to just let go.

You relaxed against him and his cock twitched against your leg. He ran his hand over your skin that still burned and a soft whimper escaped you.

“Talk to me.” a hint of softness seeped into his voice. “What’s going on with you lately? What’s this need to disrespect and disobey?”

“Nothing.”

You cried out when his hand landed harshly on what was starting to feel like bruising skin.

“Why are you still trying to lie to me?” He ground out.

You didn’t know. There was no reason to, but you were stubborn. You always had been.

When you didn’t say anything, he pushed a finger inside your dripping center. A long, low moan escaped your lips. He moved it in and out of you at an agonizing pace.

When he pulled his finger out, you squirmed in protest.

“Stop.” You stilled. “If you want more, you’ll talk.”

You took a deep breath. “I’m just stressed out.” You flinched slightly as he dragged his nails over your ass. “And frustrated.”

“With me?”

“No, sir.”

“With work?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I told you to quit.”

Immediately, you went rigid and you knew he could feel your back tense beneath him. He massaged his fingers into your muscles. “See, there. What happened just then?”

“Nothing.”

You cursed when his hand came down. Right after, his fingers moved to your clit and you moaned while trying to push yourself further into his hand, but he wouldn’t allow it.

“You want a reward, huh? Don’t know what makes you think you deserve it.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“If you’re sorry, you’ll talk. So talk.”

He took his fingers away and you whined. He was going to hold you there until you gave him what he wanted, until you let him have all your control.

“Stop being stubborn, sub.”

“I don’t like when you call me that.”

Another swat to your ass. And fuck it burned. Tears sprang to your eyes.

“I’ll stop once you learn your place. Once you’ve earned back my affection.”

Your heart sank and your cheeks heated in shame. After two deep breaths, your body relaxed.

“I feel like–I feel like I have no power at work.” His fingers traced up and down your slit. “I get ordered around all day; blamed and chastised for stuff that isn’t my fault. I spend my whole day feeling degraded and out of control.”

“When you’re used to being your own boss,” he said in understanding. He traced his fingers over the hood of your clit, refusing to make actual contact and you whined in anticipation. “Go on.” The timbre in his voice was back.

“And you telling me to just quit–” He squeezed your clit between his fingers as a warning to lose the attitude. You adjusted your tone. “I want to quit and I know I need to, but I can’t. And when you make it out to be so easy, it makes me mad.” He trailed his fingers through your folds, running them over your labia, spreading your arousal until every piece of you was wet. You gave a shuddering moan. “It felt so defeating–giving up all my control after a day of having it just taken from me.”

“It is easy. If you’d just let me take care of you.” The frustration in his voice was clear.

“I-I can’t.”

“You can, you’re just being stubborn.” He sighed, releasing some of the hardness from his voice. “Bottling up on all that stress and frustration hasn’t done you any good, has it?”

“No, sir.”

“I could’ve been helping you get rid of it, let it go.”

“But–”

He dipped his fingers into you. “You’ve got to let it go, love.” Your chest warmed at the pet name. “Just let me take care of you.”

You attempted, again, to push yourself into his hand when he brushed his knuckles over your clit.

“If you want to come, love, you’re gonna have to relinquish control. You’re gonna have to let me take care of you.”

You moaned in frustration as his fingers ghosted over you.

“Please.” He pinched you again. “Please, sir,” you corrected.

“Let me take care of you.” His voice was soft. “Will you let me take care of you?”

When you whimpered in agony, he shoved two fingers deep inside of you–and pulled them out just as quick. Your breathing had sped up and your nipples hardened as they brushed against the fabric of his pants.

“Will you let me?”

Fuck, you couldn’t take it anymore–and he wanted to, so why wouldn’t you let him?

“Yes, s-sir.”

“Ask me.”

Of course he was going to make you ask him.

He circled around your clit, but didn’t touch it. You felt yourself begin to pant with need.

The embarrassment began to encroach on your chest but you pushed past it. “Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Please, take care of me.”

A slap to your pussy sent you reeling.

“I think you’re forgetting something.”

“Please, take care of me, s-sir.”

“Since you asked nicely.” The smirk was evident in his voice.

He pushed two fingers into you, curling them in the way he knew you needed. A moan broke from deep in your chest and you tried to grip onto his thigh, but the tie held your hands firmly in place. As he fingered you deeply, he leaned forward and kissed the skin of your back.

“If I untie you, will you be good?”

His fingers still moved in and out of you, and with the sounds falling from your lips, all you could do was manage a nod. Your boyfriend chuckled. He held his fingers inside of you and bent over to tug at the knot to release you. Your wrists were slightly red from writhing against the fabric and the sight of them sent a shameful spark of excitement through you.

Easily, he lifted you up and placed you so you were sitting up, your back against his chest and your ass on his lap, rubbing against his erection. He stretched one arm across your chest and placed his hand on your breast, holding you against him, while the other opened your legs, lifting each one up and draping them over his open knees.

“You’re not going to try and close your legs, are you, love?”

“No, sir.” You placed your hands behind your thighs, onto his, working to hold yourself up. Your body was tired. Even if you wanted to close your legs, you weren’t sure you had the energy.

“That’s my good girl.” You melted at his approval. He dropped his head down and nipped and kissed along your neck and shoulder while the hand that wasn’t holding you to him landed between your legs.

He traced slow circles over your clit and your head dropped back against him. You were so ready, that it didn’t take much for the tightening in the pit of your stomach to start; as it did, your moans increased and your chest began to heave. His pace was agony. When you tried to increase the pressure by lifting yourself to his fingers, he held you back.

“Please…” you breathed. “...faster.”

“No.”

You groaned and he laughed softly against your skin.

The build up was almost painful and your ass stung fresh each time it rubbed against him, but soon you saw white and a loud cry escaped you as your hips bucked against him and your chest shuttered in his hand.

“Good girl,” he whispered, holding his pace as you came down. You were swollen and shaking, each stroke of his finger bringing through a new aftershock. “You’re not done, love.” He whispered.

Before you could question him, he lifted you and laid you on the bed on your back. When you went to sit up, you were met with a glare. You lowered yourself back down and waited, legs open, for him.

He tugged you to the edge so that your toes barely touched the floor and your ass hung off the edge. Harry leaned over you and for the first time all night, brushed his lips against yours. When you whimpered, he grabbed your jaw and deepened the kiss, forcing his tongue into your mouth, swirling it over yours. He was warm and still tasted like the wine the two of you drank with dinner. Your body reignited, your nipples rising to peaks and your clit throbbing for more. He rubbed his erection against your thigh and indulged in a moan.

When you tried to loop your arms around his neck, he grabbed them and held them against the mattress. “I don’t want to restrain you again, so don’t make me.” It was a warning–one that sent a jolt straight to your core.

Not looking for a response, he pushed himself up and went to the nightstand. He pulled out a vibrating dildo and kneeled down in front of your open pussy. He kissed the inside of your thighs, the spot between your thighs and your lips, and just over your clit. Each time his breath hit you, you shuddered.

The tip of the dildo touched your core and you shivered against the cold silicone. He dipped it into you slowly, allowing you a moment to register its size, before he pushed it into you entirely. It curved, scraping against the spot inside that sent your back arching off the bed. It was big–and thick. You felt yourself stretch around it, filling you entirely.

It clicked on and your muscles tightened around it. “Oh, my god.” You gripped at the comforter beneath you as your hips began to roll.

Harry squeezed the inside of your thigh and began moving it in and out of you again. Your breathing was ragged and you had to force yourself to keep your legs open, to keep your toes touching the floor.

“Does that feel good?”

“Ye–yes, s-sir.”

He kissed your clit before increasing the vibrations. You cried out as your hips bucked, your clit searching for any kind of friction. Harry hummed and you felt the slick of his tongue against you. You struggled to keep your hips down as pleasure rolled through you, hot and intense.

“Oh, my god.” Your hips began to buck–and suddenly you were empty. Cool air replaced Harry’s tongue. You whimpered and lifted your head. “Wha-”

“I don’t remember giving you permission to come, did I, love?” His voice was thick, his pupils blown out in desire.

“N-no. I’m sorry, sir.”

Without warning, the vibrator was inside you again, pushing against your walls, while Harry flicked his tongue quickly over your bud. Your grip on the comforter was deadly and your chest heaved as you attempted to stave off your orgasm.

It continued to build and moans slipped through your lips unallowed.

“Sir…” You groaned.

“Not yet.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t.”

A sweat broke out across your forehead and dampened your chest. You tried to focus on anything other than the way Harry’s tongue lapped at your clit and how well the dildo filled you. But it was hard. You could feel yourself losing control.

Harry nipped at your clit in warning, but you were so far gone it didn’t hurt, only added to your pleasure.

He was holding out, but you weren’t sure for what. He had already punished you–what more did he want?

Relief filled you when you realized: he wanted you to beg. He wanted you to give up control, to beg him to help you come undone.

“Sir, p-please.”

He ignored you.

“Please, can I come.”

He hummed against you.

“Please–fuck–please, can you help me come…”

He kissed your clit. “Go ahead, love.”

You relaxed and let your orgasm rip through your body. The pleasure was so good it was blinding. Your cries mixed with curses and you had the comforter balled so tightly in your fists you were surprised it didn’t tear.

After its peak, you had a moment of contentment before searing pleasure sent your skin on fire. He had upped the vibrations–and not just inside you, but against your clit. It seemed he had been hiding the vibrators rabbit attachment from you, saving it to send you over the edge one last time.

He rocked the dildo inside of you, hitting your g-spot while the points of the rabbit pressed against your already swollen clit. He reached his free hand up and pinched your already erect nipples, while kissing your hips and mound.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered against your skin. “Look at me.”

You opened your eyes and lifted your head. Teetering on the verge of coming undone for the third time, he lessened the vibrations and came to lay next to you on the bed. He propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at you.

He started moving the dildo inside you and bent down to give you a hard kiss.

“You need to let go. Stop fighting it.”

“I’m n–” Your argument died in your throat when you realized how tense your body was. You tried to relax, but it was too much. It would be too much. You were sore and swollen and so sensitive that a few tears had already slipped down your face.

He dipped down and rubbed his nose against your cheek. “Let me take care of you,” he whispered.

You looked at him and saw only tenderness and love. “Yes, sir.”

He changed the vibrator’s setting once more and you cried out.

“Keep your legs open,” he commanded while you writhed against the bed and he watched you.

He licked at your now tender nipples.

Too much. Too much. Too much.

You wanted to please him–and you wanted the release.

You breathed through the unbearable pleasure and the second your body relaxed, an orgasm unlike any other tore through your body. You let out a scream as Harry rocked the dildo against your g-spot and continued his assault on your nipples with his tongue.

Your cries grew hoarse as he forced you to ride out the entirety of your orgasm with the vibrations set to high and your body shook with the aftershocks as your muscles tightened around the toy still inside you.

He pulled it out and kissed you softly, as your body continued to shake with the aftermath. He wiped tears from your cheeks that you hadn’t even realized had fallen and pulled you tightly into his chest. Your breathing was ragged as he ran his hands over your back. When he brushed his hands over your ass you flinched.

“That might hurt for a bit,” he whispered. You cuddled closer and he kissed the top of your head.

When he started to move, you whimpered. He sat up and pulled you with him. You groaned in protest and scratched down your back. “Just moving us under the blanket, love.”

As he settled against the pillows with you between his legs and your head on his chest, the relief pooled in your chest. The stress was gone, as well as the frustration.

Then, just as quickly, an emptiness moved in–an embarrassment at the fact that you had been punished. This always happened afterwards and you hated it every time.

When he heard you sniffle, he tilted up your chin to look at him.

“Oh, poor baby.” He said when he saw the tears in your eyes. He hugged you tighter and you burrowed into him, though it was impossible for you to get any closer. “I’m sorry I had to do that. I know you’re not a fan of the paddle.” He rubbed his hand up and down your arm.

“It’s okay. I mean, honestly, I probably should’ve been punished weeks ago.”

Harry’s chest rumbled with a soft laugh. “That’s exactly right.”

“I’m sorry, sir. For being mean.”

“It’s not about meanness. It’s about disrespect, love–disobedience. You know how this works.”

“I know–”

He pinched her side. “Don’t interrupt. It’s unnecessary, so it’s willful. All I ever ask is that you talk to me.”

You looked up at him, asking for permission. He smiled and your heart swelled.

“Go ahead.”

“I’m sorry for being disrespectful,”

“S’okay. I think you’ve learned your lesson” Desire flashed in his eyes and suddenly you were reminded of his still very hard cock pressed against your back.

“Oh–do you want–”

He smiled and shook his head before guiding your head back to his chest. “Not tonight. Sweet of you to think of me.”

Your body relaxed further into him. “My butt hurts.”

You felt his lips against your hair. “Proud of you for taking it so well. You did a good job, love.”

Warmth filled you, knowing you had pleased him. “Thank you, sir.”

The comforter shifted off your shoulder and you shivered.

“How about a warm bath–for the two of us? How does that sound?”

You hummed your approval.

He nuzzled your cheek with his nose. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

[whumpbug]

ITS FINALLY HERE!! THE EVENT!! YIPEE!! so this fic was written when i first made simon and archie so i decided this is them in their early days, when they weren't as close and just getting to know eachother. the boys!!!!

whumperless whump event day 1: emergency first aid! @whumperless-whump-event

alcohol as sanitizer / "it's just a scratch, i've had worse."

caretaker: Simon

whumpee: Archie

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Simon sighed contentedly as he finally sank into his well-worn sofa. Work was hectic. His commute was hectic.  Even the weather was hectic, considering the bus delays from the rain. After a long day, he was more than happy to let everything else fall away as he fused with the sofa for the foreseeable future.

He let his eyes slip closed.

..And then he heard the thud at his window.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me..” He murmured as he peeled his body out of its comfy spot.

He made his way to the back window of his apartment— the one right at the fire escape. He already had a idea of who was at his window at this ungodly hour, but he was still silently praying it was just a stray cat or something easy to deal with.

He had no such luck. He pushed up the window and scanned the area, but a weak cough drew his eyes to the floor of the platform.

Archie, the vigilante that had been chronically stopping by, flashed him a sheepish grin before it morphed into a wince.

“Surpriiise..” He squeaked.

Simon stared at him with an unamused expression, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing.

So much for his relaxing night in.

“What brings you to my window sill this time?” Simon deadpanned, crouching through the window and kneeling beside Archie.

“Oh you know, the usual,” He started, grunting as he shifted slightly. “I’ll be out of your hair in no time, I promise..”

“I’ll bet.” Simon reached out a hand towards Archie. “Alright. Let’s get you up.”

A panicked expression flashed over Archie's face as he gulped quietly.

“How about we uh.. we take care of things here tonight..? Y’know.. just.. to speed things up..”

Simon tilted his head, cocking up an eyebrow.

"On the fire escape?"

"Mhm.."

“You do know I don’t have night vision, right? How am I supposed to treat your injuries if I can’t see them.”

“Oh I’m sure you can figure it out! We can always use a flashlight or.. or..” Archie said, face suddenly blanching.

In the dim streetlight, Simon finally noticed it. The dark stains on the metal platform and railings of the fire escape. The way Archie had yet to move a muscle since Simon came to the window. Even the thud that he had heard initially, which was uncharacteristic for Archie, who usually took to knocking politely when he could.

“Archie. Lift your shirt.” Simon's grave gaze poured down to Archie, who swallowed reflexively.

“I.. It’s really just a scratch, I’ve had worse—“

“Lift your shirt.”

Archie finally obliged with grumbles of “At least take me out to dinner first..” escaping his lips.

He sucked in a sharp breath as he peeled away the sticky fabric from his wound.

“Shit..” Simon whispered. The wound was.. atypical. Even in the low light, Simon could see the skin around it was angry and red and inflamed. It was on its way to infection for sure.

“It looks worse than it is..” Archie placated, but he was fooling no one. Especially not Simon, who’d been down this road with him a few times before.

“Sure, and that’s why you look like out about to keel over and die,” Simon said sarcastically. “Don’t move. I’m gonna go get the first-aid kit.”

“Wasn’t planning on.. going anywhere..” Archie panted. Despite trying to seem fine, Archie couldn’t deny that the wound hurt. It was taking more of a toll on him than he’d like to admit. So much so that he hadn’t even realized he dozed off until he heard Simon's soft footsteps on the metal platform.

“Don’t fall asleep just yet, okay?” Simon hummed, lightly shaking Archie's shoulder.

Archie only groaned, blinking at Simon.

“Here, I have a job for you. Can you hold the flashlight? Just point it at the wound,” Simon explained, pressing a small flashlight into his hand.

Simon could see now that Archie was a lot worse off than he was letting on. His face was sheet-white, and beads of sweat dripped down his brow. He had to act fast, and to do that, he needed to keep him awake, just enough to get him inside and patched up.

With the slightly shaky light held by Archie, Simon got a better view of what he was working with. He grimaced.

“Alright, I'll need to disinfect it before I start sutures,” Simon explained. “It’s going to hurt. All we have right now is alcohol.”

Archie whined just a bit. He'd used alcohol to clean smaller wounds, and even that was unbearable. He couldn’t imagine what this would feel like.

The next thing he knew, Simon was shoving rolled up gauze between Archie's teeth for him to bite down on. Archie was silently grateful.

Simon unscrewed the top of the bottle and sucked in a breath.

“I’m sorry..”

As soon as Simon splashed the liquid on the wound, Archie threw his head back with a silent scream as his teeth dug into the gauze. Tears pricked in his eyes and he writhed against the red-hot stinging. A pitiful whimper escaped him, before he could stop it, and he didn’t miss the way Simon's expression softened.

The sutures were done relatively quickly, which left Archie, utterly spent, lying limp against the railing of the fire escape. He wasn't sure he could move if he tried. 

“Cmon. Let’s get you inside..” Simon coaxed, standing up and bending at the waist to pick up Archie in a bridal carry. Usually, Archie would be vehemently against such an act, but the blood loss must have been getting to him because he found himself burying his face in the crook of Simon's neck, letting the warm arms lull him into a soft sleep.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

[runninriot]

this wasn't planned but i guess Sweet Thing is now a two-parter

written for @subeddieweek

complete fic uploaded on ao3

Safe Space

rated: E | tags: Client Eddie Munson, Pro Dom Steve Harrington, 18+ content, sensation play, anal play, smut | snippet, complete fic and tag list on ao3

Master H, it says on the website Eddie stumbled upon one lonely night a few months ago. He introduced himself as Steve but Eddie never calls him by his name.

He calls him Sir when he addresses him. It’s what they agreed upon when Eddie entered the dungeon for the first time. It felt almost like an interview, like he was applying for a job. Which is kind of funny because it’s the other man who gets paid to do these things to him.

Eddie didn’t really know what to expect when he decided to get his fix from a stranger, a professional, someone who knows what they’re doing. Turned out it was the best decision he could’ve made. Ever.

This is a safe space to explore, to want without being prone to fall for yet another man making false promises. Another man abusing his trust, abusing his desire to give up control.

Here, Eddie can fully succumb to the feeling of letting go.

    “Please, Sir. I need more.”

It should be embarrassing how whiny his voice sounds, how messed-up he already is, trembling violently, helplessly pulling at the restraints keeping him tied to the bed. They’ve only started their session and he’s already so hard, so ready to come. So ready for Steve to tip him over the edge. But it would be a shame to fall so quickly because it’s the before that really gets to Eddie every time.

He enjoys it maybe too much. To be at the other man’s mercy, unable to get away from his heavenly torture.

The clamps on his nipples hurt, send a rippling wave of pain through his whole body whenever the Dom tugs at them or tightens the screws to punish him for squirming around although he told him to stay still.

Ordered him to be good, to earn his reward.

Eddie wants to be good, tries his best to keep his body from jolting up at the feeling of needle-like pricks biting into his skin when Steve uses this tool that looks like a mix of medical device and instrument of torture. It’s called a neurowheel, Eddie’s learned when they talked about their scene. Before they started. Before Eddie got spread out on the bed like a offering for a God – and maybe he is.

Because the man currently teasing the ever-loving shit out of him, tormenting the insides of his thighs with a satisfied grin on his handsome face, truly is a divine creature.

It’s not only his looks, although Eddie has found himself getting lost in his big, beautiful eyes a lot lately; they’re so soft in comparison to the hardness in his demanding voice when he orders him around, tells him what to do.

    ‘Kneel down.’

    ‘Open up.’

    ‘Hold still.’

    ‘Come for me.’

He’s guardian angel and soul-eating demon,  both morphed into one perfect body.

And not for the first time, Eddie wished he was real. That he could have someone like him in his life. Out there, in the real world. That he could have this, always, not only when he’s paying for this perfect illusion.

But he’d rather have this than nothing at all.

It’s enough, at least for the time being.

And he’s not going to let his mind’s racing thoughts ruin the moment. He needs more though, to shut up the voices.

   “Sir, please! Fill me up, let me come! Please, I need it!” Eddie begs, doesn’t feel stupid doing so because he knows how much Steve likes when he dissolves into a pleading, sobbing mess. He can see it in his eyes and the way he greedily licks his lips like he’s craving for a taste.

Eddie would let him. Hell, he’d let him eat him alive if that’s what he wanted.

But that’s not what Steve does when he unbuckles the shackles at his feet, rubs soothing thumbs over the irritated skin on his ankles before he bends him in half.

It’s always messy when he fucks him. When he uses a dildo to split him open. Lube is dripping down his crack while Eddie’s hole is stretched almost painfully wide around the base of the silicone toy. So deep inside that he thinks he can feel it in his throat. Every time his torturer pulls it back out, a sobbing breath leaves his lungs like he can’t breathe with it inside him. And every time he pushes back in, Eddie’s body convulses, wrists tugging ineffectively at the restraints keeping him in place.

There is something about the other man’s aura that sends a wave of fear through Eddie, a darkness in his master’s eyes that reflects something like frustration mixed with deeply engraved desire. Like Steve’s greedy for Eddie’s pitiful whimpers. Like seeing Eddie fall apart is as satisfying for him as it is for his willing victim.

It’s almost as if Steve, too, is falling apart. Only a little. Almost unnoticeable.

But Eddie can feel it in the way he pushes the toy inside him, fucks him harder than he ever has before. The merciless hand around his cock is almost too much, too rough, too tight, angry. But when Eddie looks up at him, he finds so much devotion in the other man’s hazel eyes that Eddie nearly loses it.

The words are right there, on the tip of his tongue, waiting to spill.

    Want you inside me. Take me. Take all of me. Make me yours.

Thankfully, they never get the chance to fully form when a loud and desperate cry drowns everything else out. Eddie comes hard, feels like he’s falling.

And then everything goes black.

[seriesxwriting]

Its called flirting

Pairings- Boss rafe X female reader

Series- outer banks <3

Warnings- kissing, I don’t even think there’s any swearing in this, go me!!

Summary- You go for a job interview but little do you know your old school ‘friend’ Rafe is now the boss. ;))

“You’ll be fine” my mother smiled at me just as I was leaving the door. “You look great, you have a big convincing smile, you’ll be fine” she nodded squishing my cheek. “Mum! Okay thank you stop squishing me” I laughed pulling myself away and stepping outside. “Good luck!” She blew me a kiss as I walked off to my car. I laughed shaking my head at her. It was nice she was being so supportive of my interview, it was important to me and it was possibly a ticket out of the cut.

My hands were practically shaking as I drove my mums beat up car to figure 8 to the building of my interview. Getting out I straightened my clothes and headed in. There were loads of people in the waiting room, about twenty twenty five? Some from the cut but most were kooks. They stared me down like I was an insect, but I’d felt with that my whole life. I was immune to it. Another thing I noticed was everyone was quite a bit older than me.

They must have had a lot more experience than I had. I sat down and about five minutes later a blonde woman walked out with a smile on her face. It looked slightly off putting as if she was warning everyone off. The receptionist picked up his phone before standing up. “Y/n Y/l/n, he’s ready for you” he voiced. My heart skipped a beat as I picked my back up and shakily walked towards the door. I took a deep breath and pulled it open. It was closed before I realised who was sitting behind the desk.

Rafe Cameron. He was reading papers and hadn’t looked up at me yet. It wasn’t too late to leave. My hand reached for the door and his ears pricked up hearing the door handle. “Hold on- where are you going?” It took him a second but his confused face eventually morphed into a smirk as he realised who I was. “Y/n? It’s been a while huh?” “A long while rafe” I sighed still with my hand on the door. “How long?” He lifted an eyebrow sitting back in his chair. “Well we left school three years ago- so three years” I shrugged my shoulders.

“Sit down, let’s catch up” “why? What’s the point I’m not getting the job”. “Who said that?” Rafe squeezed one eye closed. “There’s history here- it’s a conflict of interest huh” “just sit down” Rafe laughed shaking his head. His hair had been gelled back but it was starting to fall down loosely by his eyes now. He had the top button of his suit undone and pulled open. I sighed and went over to his desk to take a seat. “for someone that lives on the cut you sure have a lot of business experience- and you’re grades are amazing”.

“But you don’t like pogues, you make that very clear” “I always liked you though” he said looking back up from the paper into my eyes. “No you didn’t” I laughed pulling a face at him. “You’re chatting shit, you were always trying to make a joke out of me Rafe”. “It’s called flirting y/n” he told me as he sat back again. My heart dropped and I’m pretty sure my mouth hung open. “W-what?” “Don’t stutter it’s not like you” Rafe warned me with a little smile.

“You never did pick up on it huh- that’s what I told myself anyway” “because you can’t handle rejection?” I smirked finding this conversation slightly more intriguing now. “No” Rafe laughed shaking his head. “Maybe” he changed his mind pretty quickly. “I’d say more on the lines of I’m not used to it” Rafe corrected me. “Mmh, perhaps- what have you been doing these last three years” “well I’ve been doing all that shit on my resume- you’ve clearly calmed down, ward wouldn’t be letting you work for him if you hadn’t”.

Rafe laughed out loud showing his pearly white teeth. “If by calm down you mean stopped doing cocaine every night then yes” “that’s- really good Rafe- well done” I swallowed nodding. “I want the company, the only way ward will give it to me is if I earn it” Rafe rolled his eyes “you’ve always wanted it” “and now? What is it you want?” He questioned with one eye closed. “I don’t want the job because you fancied me back in the day Rafe” I raised my eyebrows at him.

“Do you really think my father would let me live if I hired an incompetent girl because she was pretty?” “Probably not..” I trailed off “but would he let you live if you hired a pogue?” “A pogue that know what she’s doing? A pogue that’s going to work ten times harder than any kook I hired because she’s grateful for the position and won’t take it for granted?” Rafe sat forward putting his arms on the table leaning closer to me. “Are you really going to give it to me?” I asked as my heart skipped a beat.

“You want it it’s yours” Rafe nodded sitting back and spinning in his chair. “I do want it” I nodded seriously. “And I won’t take it for granted Rafe” “I know” he nodded becoming quite serious too. Of course that only lasted for about five seconds. “Plus it definitely wouldn’t be a bad thing seeing you at the office everyday- might even be a bit of motivation for me” he bit his lip which made my heart pound against my chest. He did look gorgeous, he always had done but now he was older and more mature and was doing well for himself. My eyes had hearts in them.

Rafe could clearly see I was speechless and he took that opportunity to stand up and open the door to the waiting room. “You can all go home, the jobs been filled” “but that’s illegal you have to interview us and take us into consideration!” One of the men called out from outside. “I could interview you but it would be a waste of both our times because you’re not getting the job, it’s been filled” Rafe said again harshly. Groaning sounds started flooding towards me before a cluster of people leaving.

“So I guess I should be leaving- you’ll email me?” I asked standing up putting my bag on my shoulder. Rafe looked at me before walking slowly towards me he backed me up against the wall because he just kept coming. “Rafe” I breathed out. “Why don’t you give me your number, then we can go from there?” He whispered lowly and flirtatiously. “What are you doing” I breathed looking up at his deep flirty blue eyes. “It’s called flirting y/n” he smiled keeping his eyes on mine. “Why do I like it this time round” I told him as my chest rose up and down.

I was nervous. He made me nervous, I was nervous for the interview and even though I’d gotten the job by some miracle rafe was still making me nervous. “Because you know I’m doing it now” he answered. I dropped my hand to the floor my bag slid off down my arm and I put one hand around his neck pushing him towards me. His hands wrapped round my waist as we both sunk into the kiss. He soon took over making it harder and more passionate. Never. Never did I think I’d be kissing Rafe Cameron. Not that I’d never thought about it before. Every girl in our school had.

“I can’t belive I just done that” I pulled away panicking a bit. “I didn’t hesitate, did I?” “No” I answered him softly looking back into his hypnotising eyes. “Then you know it was revived well” he raised an eyebrow for some reason reassuring me that he was happy I kissed him. “It was unprofessional” “You just spiced up the office pogue, I think you’ll like it here we’ll have lots of fun” “don’t call me a pogue” I put my finger up at him.

Rafes arms flew up in defence. “I didn’t mean it like- -it doesn’t matter how you ment it rafe when you say pogue it’s degrading, I am a pogue and I’m not ashamed of it but don’t you call me it” I warned him not liking the tone he had put on the word. “Okay gorgeous, I’ll use pet names instead, do you like being called princess?” He smirked “you have my number- it’s on my CV, I’ll see you on Monday” “you’ll see me tomorrow” Rafe told me going back round to the side of his desk. “O-okay- even better” I smiled excitedly. He watched me for a second not saying anything.

“You’re cute, I’ll see you tomorrow” he smiled warmly at me. “You’ll text me?” I raised an eyebrow. “If you promise to text back”, I nodded my head at him “I’ll text you back Cameron” I answered making my way towards the door. “Oh and princess” he called as I was half way out the door, my heart skipped a beat as I poked my head round seeing what he wanted. “You won’t be a pogue much longer, so enjoy it while it lasts” he told me with such a neutral face. I just blinked at him before closing the door and leaning back on it.

Just reflecting on what had just happened. I think I liked Rafe Cameron.

Rafe masterlist-

Outer banks masterlist-

All series masterlist-

Masterlist of masterlists-