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sukunasteeth · 2 days

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Stitches

Sukuna has never made you wait for him.

He was always on time, always there before you, and if circumstances arose where-in he couldn't be, you always knew an hour before. You were never left to wonder or worry.

If Sukuna says he'll be there, he's there.

So when you wake up to his cold and empty bed, after hours of waiting for him to return home from work, you want to assume the best case scenario.

He's just working late, you assure yourself when your eyes find the clock on the nightstand and it tells you that it's two o'clock in the morning. Maybe he was so entranced in whatever he was tending to that he had forgotten to call you and tell you he'd be late. It had never happened before, but there was a first time for everything.

You try not to trip over your own two feet on your way to the bathroom, ignoring the dread that immediately darkens your thoughts upon checking your phone for the hundredth time that night.

No call. No text... Did he tell you in person earlier in the day and you had simply forgotten?

What if he's hurt?

You round the corner of the hallway.

What if he's in trouble?

You're so lost in your thoughts that you don't even register seeing the bathroom light peeking out from under the door.

You push it open.

What if he's-

Standing over the sink, dripping in blood, and using a fishing line to sew up an enormous gash splitting into his side?

You're frozen in the doorway.

Faced with the unfortunate answer to the questions that had been progressively plaguing you the entirety of the night. Shock grips your throat and has a cold sweat breaking out over your skin.

You haven't seen him so roughed up since the two of you were in high school. Sukuna, always hungry for a test of strength, had often walked you home with a bloody nose or a ripped open pair of knuckles, but this would be the first time you've seen him look like he just rolled out of a fight club ring.

He's taken off his suit jacket and his usually pristine white button down has been torn to shreds. The pieces that are left of it have adhered to the deepest of his wounds, soaked in crimson. He's holding up the hem of his shirt with his teeth, glaring down at a particularly large slice in his torso as he feeds a needle into the skin and puts himself back together again. One of his eyes is swollen and there's a small cut to the side of it. You can tell that he'll have a black eye come morning. Sukuna must see you in the corner of it, because he suddenly turns to look at you. The edge of his shirt falls out of his mouth, but Sukuna doesn't seem to notice, too surprised by your presence.

The two of you take each other in. Silently appraising the situation.

Before you can react, his surprise is already morphing into a resigned, disappointed sigh.

"Aw shit."

"What the HELL?!" You don't recognize the voice that escapes you in your panic. Raspy from the sleep still coating your throat, disjointed as your tonsils remember themselves and yet forget how to operate in your shock. You're across the room in a flash, nearly tripping headfirst into him in your haste. "What happened?! Y-You're hurt. Why are you hurt? Jesus, that looks so bad- oh my god. 'Kuna-"

"Shhh," He's hushing you. You're close enough for him to reach out with his free hand and pull you even closer, he doesn't seem to notice the streak of fresh blood he leaves behind on your wrist. "It's not as bad as it looks."

"You're covered in blood!" You whisper in horror, you search his eyes for even an ounce of alarm, and find only his usual nonchalance lounging there. As though this was nothing out of the ordinary.

He even looks down at himself like he wants to refute you, but when he picks up the collar of his shirt, finding the shredded pieces of what remained of it, he seems to think better.

"Little bastards didn't do half bad, actually." He mutters to himself. He almost sounds... impressed. "Any deeper and it could have really been a pain in my ass."

"What happened?" You ask again, desperate.

"Just some kids waiting outside of the office." He rubs at the back of his head, and you notice another small cut there over a raised bump that seems to be swelling at the base of his skull. It must be tender, because he grimaces when he grazes it. You do too, just from watching him. "Trying to make some pocket money off of me and Uraume. They should have at least waited until we were both alone." When he pulls his hand away from his head, there's fresh blood glistening on his fingertips. He sucks his teeth. "Amateurs."

You take a deep, steadying breath- willing your heartbeat to slow.

You were the one who decided to fall for a man constantly looking for a good fight. At this point, you had only yourself to be disappointed with.

Without another word you turn your back to him and head straight for the shower. You needed him to wash off. You wouldn't be able to tell which parts of him needed attention in the mess that was currently coating his skin and you were already preparing mentally to tend to him. You spin the dial to ‘hot’ and turn back to him, trying your best to glare. You didn't think it was working very well. Especially because he's smiling softly at you.

"Get in." You command, pointing to the tub.

Sukuna scoffs softly, turning back to his needle and fishing line.

"It's fine.” He brushes you off. “I'm just going to rinse the cuts as I go-"

"Sukuna." You don't mean for it to come out as demanding as it does. Sukuna was hurt. You wanted to be gentle with him, but you can't help how overwhelmed you are at the sight of him battered to such a degree.

He slowly lifts his head like he was giving you time to think about the way you had just spoken to him before he meets your eyes again. You're too roused to take it back. "Get. In."

You can tell in his momentary silence that he doesn't recognize this shade of frustration on you. He's watching you like he's trying to take in every detail of it. Engrave it into his brain. Part of you is reminded in that moment that it wasn't Sukuna's anger you were in risk of pushing, but rather his excitement.

He folds up the fishing line and loops it around the sewing needle, placing it onto the counter without turning to look at it.

Your unrelenting stance falters a bit as he crosses the room after you, unbuttoning his dress shirt as he goes. His eyes never leave yours, testing your will.

When he makes it to you, he's brimming with pride. His belt clinks when he unloops the first notch.

"Yes ma'am." He purrs.

...

An hour later, he's as clean as he can be and sitting on the closed lid of the toilet seat. You're perched in his lap, having already finished stitching shut the larger wounds that needed it. Now you're down to the last small cut left, which is on his cheek. It didn't require much attention, it was a tiny graze compared to the rest of the gashes you had tended to.

You can feel Sukuna watching you with a smitten little smile, like you had just spent the past hour silently telling him how much you adored him with your gentle but stern touches.

It ticks you off.

"Stop looking at me like that." You mutter, pressing the last of the steri-strips against his skin.

He doesn't even pretend to stop. You refuse to meet his gaze as you do a final examination of your handiwork. Finally, with him properly patched up and without a single drop of fresh blood in sight, the pain in your heart eases. He was okay.

"...Why didn't you have Uraume help you with this before you came home?" You pretend to reassess one of the gauze strips on his bicep, but it's really just an excuse to nervously pick at the cotton while you're underneath his gaze.

There were plenty of people at the office who knew how to deal with wounds to this severity, professional medics that could have sewed him up twice as fast and sent him home just as clean as when he had arrived. So why did he wait so long for help?

Sukuna hums and his bandaged knuckles glide up and down the outsides of your thighs. "Maybe I like watching you play nurse."

"Kuna~" You groan hopelessly, letting your head thunk against his shoulder. "Quit teasing. I'm mad at you." You announce.

It only serves to widen his grin, which you can feel pressed against your hair as he kisses your forehead.

"But you're so cute when you want to be mad at me." He mocks your tone of voice and chuckles when you press your thumb into the bandage on his bicep in an attempt to punish him-just a bit.

Quickly, he snatches your hand, locking the both of your fingers together and gently nudging your head with his own. Silently asking you to look up again.

You're trying your best to pout at him, but you're surprised to see softness where you expected to find mischief in his expression. There's a warm fondness to his gaze. One you usually only see him wear when he's watching you talk about something you're particularly passionate about.

"I'm sorry I made you worry." The genuineness of the statement softens the hard lines of your face. And just like that, you completely forget that you’re supposed to be mad at him. His fingers trace the space between your brows where he had just made an angry knot disappear. "I do hate it when I do that."

Maybe it was a tactic to get off the hook. But it was a good one. It even has you feeling guilty for being hard on him.

"I don't like seeing you covered in blood." You whisper, finally meeting his eyes. The glimmer there is triumphant.

"I'll hose off out front next time, how's that?"

You bite back a laugh at the image, trying to keep your stern disposition. You lean in, so as to impart the severity of your tone. "No next time."

Sukuna leans in closer, "And I'll have to get you a nurse's outfit."

"No next time!"

You were in love with the epitome of mischief. There was always going to be a next time.

#sukuna #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna #fluff #I just want to give him a bath #and wrap him up in a towel #and smooch his cheek #Kuna has been bloody for months at this point #tw blood #short and sweet

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jo-com · 3 days

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i need either like a separate thing or a part two to clingy where they get reunited again and everyone’s all just very cuddly !!! i LOVE clingy so so so much

₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ➛ Home

Charles Leclerc x Fem!reader x Alexandra Saint Mieux

Summary: Part 2 of Clingy

Genre: Poly and fluff

Note: again just grammatical error and i just want to thank you for sending these requests cause i get more inspired to write because of these!!

───── ─ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅─ ───────

Time sure does slow down where you’re waiting for something to come back or in Alex and Charles’ case it’s definitely someone.

After learning of your return, they were nothing but bubbling with excitement. It’s been a month since they last saw you and it was gruesome—the days and nights spent with only the two of them only worsened the feeling of emptiness; even after doing everything they can to avoid thinking about you was no avail, nothing can truly replace your warm presence.

So when you told them the date of your flight back, Alex hurriedly added it to her calendar that was marked ‘Reunited at last’ with a big circle surrounding it.

It was quite silly but, if it means so much to her— it does to you too.

…

It was finally the day where you get to be by their sides. You were sadden to leave your home town but was delighted to meet your two lovers again— and nothing can beat the feeling of coming back to them.

…

They sat at the private section of the airport, waiting anxiously for your arrival. Alex was a nervous wreck—pacing back in forth to ease a little bit of her worries.

While on the other hand, Charles seated collectively; his eyes carefully following, Alex’s anxious pattering.

Their reaction to the situation was the complete opposite, but one thing that remains the same was the ache they both felt— longing for your presence to be back once again.

Charles sighed, ”Calm down mon amour, she’ll be here any minute now.”

She shook her head, not wanting to listen to Charles’ comforting yet not helping words.

With a heavy sigh, she threw her hands on the air and like a kid on a tantrum she sat by Charles’ side with a grunt. “I just worry that she haven’t eaten yet, you know how she hates airplane food.”

“I do know that, i am her love too. chérie, calme-toi, d'accord? (Sweetheart, calm down okay?)”

“Je sais, je sais, je vais me calmer (i know, i know, I’ll calm down)”

Charles tutted, “Come here, mon cœur”, his tone laced with concern for his lover— gesturing for her to come lean on his body for support. He knows what Alex is going through and it pains him to see her like that; he always was the stronger one between the two of them.

Alex closed her eyes and succumbed to his embrace— coming in closer to feel at ease and finding comfort.

The noises that was once deafening were now fading in the background, as the two of them find solace with one another. Not even hearing the announcement that boomed over the speakers.

“Wow, i am hurt that i am not included” a familiar voice spoke making their head look up faster than the seconds itself.

Y/n stood above them, towering their frames. Her smile radiated just like the sun does; it was infectious.

“I’ve missed you, my babies” she spoke, breaking the silence that lingered between the three of them. Their eyes still wide from her return— mouths agape from shock; they tried to say something but nothing came out.

So they did what any lovers do, they stood up and tackled y/n with a big tight hug. The grip they have on her showed how they truly missed her.

Y/n sighed contentedly; boy did she miss this,“calmez-vous mes amours, je ne vais plus repartir (come down my loves, i am not going to leave again)” she assured, patting their back and kissing their faces for assurance.

“Promise?” Alex asked, her tone dripped with worry as she hung her head down.

A soft smile tugged on y/n’s lips at alex’s gesture but nonetheless reciprocated her words.

The three of them then went home and enjoyed their moment together— the night ended with laughter and smiles as they reunited with one another. I am happy to say that y/n never left that long again.

…

Sorry if this is super short and took me a long time to make, thanks for requesting!! Really means a lot to me💋💞

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moonstruckme · 19 hours

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Are you going to continue the roomate James series? I’m actually in love with it😍

Yes! Thank you for reading <3

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 804 words

“Honey, I’m home!”

A smile tugs at your lips, even as you roll your eyes to yourself. James has become more and more fond of these pet names, and of announcing his comings and goings like he’s worried you’ll miss him. (He’s never gone long enough for that, though you might actually miss him if he were.) If you don’t respond in some way or another, he’ll—

“Hey.” He pokes his head through your cracked door. “You alive in here?”

You pause in folding your laundry to give him a deadpan look. “I could have been in my underwear.”

He looks mildly horrified. “I’d hope if you were, you’d close the door all the way.”

“You know, I did manage to stay alive even before you moved in.”

James leans on your doorframe, giving you the sort of lazy grin you have to pretend doesn’t scare butterflies into flight in your stomach. You really hope that wears off soon. “See, but now I’m convinced if I don’t check on you, you really will die and it’ll be my fault.”

“How would it be your fault?”

“Classic case of roommate neglect. I smell the rotting coming from inside your room, the police come, they ask How did you not know your roommate was dead for a month? I reply, Well, officer, she said she could be galavanting in her underwear at any moment. They put me in handcuffs and I spend the next five to fifteen years having Sirius bring me cigarettes I don’t want so that I can trade them for ramen noodles in the yard.”

You scoff, fighting a smile. “As if you would ever eat ramen.”

“That’s what I’m saying, sweetheart. You’d be forcing me upon desperate times. But hey,” he raises his hands in a show of surrender, “I didn’t come in here to discuss prison currency. Would it be alright with you if I had friends over tonight?”

“Of course,” you say, looking back down to match a pair of socks. “You don’t need to ask every time, it’s always alright.”

“Thanks,” he says warmly, “but it makes me feel better to ask. What do you want on your pizza?”

You blink. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” He smiles. Butterflies all over again. “You don’t have to hang out with us to eat it—though we’d love to have you—but I’m not just going to order pizza to your own apartment without having any for you.”

“It’s your apartment, too,” you remind him. “That’d be a very normal thing to do.”

“Irregardless.” James waves you off. You wrinkle your nose at the word choice. “What do you want?”

You swallow a sigh. There are some things, you’ve found, James is nearly impossible to argue with about. If you really dig your heels in, sometimes you can make him move first, but you don’t feel like it right now.

You do the next best thing you can think of: choosing the least obtrusive option. “Cheese is good with me, thanks.”

His eyes narrow like he knows what you’re doing, but he says, “Got it. I’ll let you know when it’s here.”

“Thanks.” You turn your attention back to your laundry. James lingers in the doorway.

A month ago, you would have kept ignoring him, working on the (unfounded) hope that he’d go away. Now, you look up.

“Do you think you might come downstairs and hang out?” he asks. He has a strange look on his face, one you can’t quite decipher. “You know you’re always invited.”

You give James a terse sort of smile. He’s not stopped inviting you to do things since the day he moved in. Your open invitation has been made very clear, and you’ve been accepting it more often lately. James is someone who makes it easy to feel close to him. He tosses pet names at you like they’re nothing, comes to check on you when he gets home, pretends he needs to go grocery shopping just because you need a ride to the store. Last week, you’d sat down to watch a movie with him and woken up to a black screen, your cheek smushed into his shoulder and his head resting atop yours.

Somehow, you’ve let him spill into your life without meaning to, and now you have these childish, crush-like reactions whenever he smiles a certain way or calls you pet names with that familiar bent to his voice. You know you just need time to sort these feelings out. It’d probably be ideal to keep yourself from spilling into his life as much as possible in the meantime.

But it’s hard to deny James anything when he’s so sweet to you. And he’s nice. His friends seem nice.

“I might,” you say.

“I’ll take the win,” James replies, smiling. These butterflies are seriously inconvenient.

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itneverendshere · 3 days

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THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18)

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛" + "def some little smut during the enemies part and a long story"

WARNINGS: maybank!reader; kidnapping; smut!; violence!; rafe is a red flag; guns and blood; p in v; they tell each other to shut the fuck up a lot lmao;

word count: 8k...im sorry

The sun dipped low, painting the Outer Banks marshes in shades of fiery orange. Tensions between the Kooks and the Pogues had hit a fever pitch, and in the middle of it all? Rafe Cameron, the last person you'd want to encounter. Ever.

Every run-in with him left a bitter taste in your mouth, lingering for days. It was like he had a knack for getting under your skin. Arrogant, volatile, downright psychotic — Rafe was a walking disaster. Each interaction with him sucked the life out of you. You were convinced that nothing good could ever come from being around him. And yet, there you were, another Maybank, caught in the chaos of the island's most influential family feud.

You knew the risks, but loyalty drove you forward. And now? Well, now you were in deep shit.

Your plan had been reckless, fueled by the desperate need to save Sarah from her deranged family and retrieve Pope's stolen cross. Everything had gone smoothly until chaos erupted, and you found yourself abruptly yanked away from the corridor by a strong grip on your arm, before you could even call out for your brother and Kie. Another hand clamped over your mouth, stifling any attempts to scream. In a blur, you were dragged into a dimly lit cabin, the men's hold on you unyielding. Struggling was futile against his iron grip. He tossed you inside, slamming the door shut and locking it behind him. The gravity of your situation hit hard immediately – you were alone, at the mercy of Ward Cameron. The man who'd silenced anyone who dared oppose him, even going as far as faking his own death, kidnapping his own daughter, and manipulating his son into committing murder.

Because in his twisted world, family trumped everything. Even murder.

Your mind raced as you took in your surroundings. The cabin was small and sparsely furnished: a bunk, a tiny porthole high on the wall, and a single chair bolted to the floor. There was a faint hum of the ship's engines, a constant reminder that you were far from land and any chance of immediate rescue. You quickly assessed your options. The door was solid, and you didn't have anything strong enough to force it open. Fuck, fuck fuck.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. Panic wouldn't help; you needed a plan. But then, like a nightmare come to life, the devil himself stepped into the room, his eyes piercing as they landed on you. The man who had captured you stood behind him, a smug grin on his face.

Rafe was visibly surprised to see you, but he quickly concealed it behind a cold, calculating expression. His forehead glistened with sweat, his hair damp and sticking to his temples. His shirt clung to his back, soaked through from the scorching heat, and beads of perspiration trickled down his face. He wiped his brow with a weary hand and his gun gleamed ominously in the dim light.

"Well shit,” Rafe said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Look what we have here. Didn't expect to see ya again so soon pretty Maybank.”

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but your mind was racing with questions. Where were your friends? Were they safe? Was your brother even alive? Before you could ask, Rafe continued, his tone mocking.

"Your brother really did a number on you, huh? Left you behind without a second thought. Typical Maybank shit, huh? Always knew you were unreliable."

Son of a bitch. You clenched your fists, fighting to keep your composure. "You're lying," you countered, your voice steady despite the fear gnawing at you, "He wouldn't leave me."

Not unless he was forced to.

Rafe chuckled, a dark, humorless sound. "Believe what you want. They left. Now, you're my problem. Lucky me."

“You’re lying.”

His eyes gleamed with a dangerous glint as he advanced towards you. You took a step back, but there was nowhere to go. The cold, metal wall pressed against your back, mirroring the chill that had settled in your bones.

"Now, what am I going to do with you?" he mused, tilting his head as if genuinely contemplating your fate. The gun in his hand swung lazily at his side, but you knew better than to think it wasn't ready to be used at a moment's notice. You swallowed hard, your mind frantically searching for a way out of this hellhole. He was unpredictable and volatile; years of snorting cocaine and family trauma did that to some people.

But maybe, just maybe, you could reason with him.

“Rafe, listen. You don't have to do this. Let me go and we can both walk away from this. No one has to get hurt."

Again.

His laugh was sharp and bitter. "You think I'm going to let you go just because you asked nicely?" He stepped closer, his breath hot against your face. "Nah. You're going to stay right here until I decide what to do with you.“

You tried to keep your breathing steady, but fear clawed at your chest. The odds were against you, as they had always been your entire life.

"What do you want, Rafe? The cross? We can make a deal."

His eyes narrowed, the amusement fading.

"You think this is about money? About that fucking cross? This is about power. Control. And right now...huh, shit, I control you." He leaned in, his voice a deadly whisper. "The cross is mine now. How do you feel about the Bahamas?”

Your top lip curled in disgust, “I’d rather drown.”

His smile twisted into something even darker. “I think you’re worth more alive, at least for now.”

You refused to show him any more fear. “To you? Or Ward? Do you only get this cocky when daddy’s not around to rein you in?”

Rafe’s expression hardened, and for a moment, you thought you’d pushed him too far. He leaned in close, his eyes cold and unforgiving.

“Watch your fucking mouth, Maybank. You don’t know anything about my family.”

You laughed bitterly, unable to stop yourself. “Yeah, no. You're right. Just that you're dad’s little lapdog, doing his dirty work while he pretends to be some upstanding citizen. And where’s your mom in all this? Oh! She left.”

The punch came so fast, you didn’t see it coming. Pain exploded across your jaw, and you tasted blood. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. “You don’t fucking talk about her, dirty pogue. Ever.”

Anger took over you like wildfire, burning hotter than the pain. Your jaw throbbed, but the rage was stronger. You wanted to hit him back, to wipe that smug look off his face, to make him feel the hurt he had inflicted on you. Your fists clenched at your sides, every muscle in your body taut with the desire for retribution. The fury in your eyes matched the darkness in his.

You spat blood at his face, glaring up at him defiantly. “You’re just a puppet. Your sister hates you, your dad uses you, and deep down, you know it. You’ll never be more than his bitch.”

His grip tightened painfully, rough fingers digging into your flesh, lips twitching into a snarl, but you didn’t flinch. If you were going down, you’d go down fighting. His eyes flickered with something you’d never seen in him, before he released you, stepping back. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? So tough.”

“Smarter than you,” you shot back. “At least I know who I am. What are you, Rafe?“

He stared at you, tongue pressed against his cheek, eyebrows furrowed. Then he laughed, a harsh, grating sound that sent chills down your spine. His hand reached out, and your breath stilled throat tightening as he fiddled with a lock of your hair. He’d let out another laugh, entirely dismissive of the trepidation you’d felt stuck.

“You’ve got guts, Maybank. It's gonna get you killed.“

You wiped the blood from your mouth, meeting his gaze with unwavering defiance. “I’ve survived worse than you.”

And you had. If anything prepared you for violence, drugs, and pain, was living with Luke Maybank your entire life. And maybe, if you didn’t hate Rafe with every fiber of your being, after everything he’d done, you’d feel sorry for him. But you didn’t, and he sure as hell didn't feel sorry for you.

For a moment, the room was silent except for the low hum of the ship’s engines. Then Rafe turned on his heel, motioning to the man by the door. “Watch her. Make sure she doesn’t go anywhere.”

“Do I look like fucking Michael Phelps? Where the fuck would I go? We’re on a ship you crazy bastar—Hey! Rafe! Open the fucking door!”

The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing through the small, dimly lit cabin. You listened to his footsteps fade away, feeling a sense of relief and dread settle in your chest. What the fuck had you gotten yourself into? They could kill you, dispose your body in the ocean and no would give a single fuck. No one would think you’d gone missing, because you’re a Maybank and that’s what your kind of people did, apparently. Your brother would probably assume you’re dead, he’d try to get justice and fail in the end, because the rich always won.

The musty air of the cabin felt oppressive as you turned away from the small porthole, where the bright sun and endless expanse of blue ocean taunted you from beyond. Days had melded into one another, each marked only by the arrival of meals and the sporadic presence of Rafe. You had hoped for some sense of clarity, some hint of what your future held, but his visits offered nothing but insults and foreboding silence.

You paced the small room, your mind racing with the possibilities of what they had planned for you. The guard remained a silent sentinel, a constant reminder that escape was not an option. But then, the cabin door creaked open again, and you tensed as Ward Cameron stepped in, his presence commanding immediate attention.

He gave a nod to the guard, who stepped out, leaving you alone with the man who held your fate in his hands. A fucking lunatic with enough means to play for all the dramatics he enjoyed. Great.

"Get comfortable," Ward said, his voice smooth but carrying an edge that set your nerves on edge. "We're almost there."

"Almost where?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

"The Bahamas," he replied, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "A little slice of paradise, if you will."

"And what happens then?" you pressed, needing to know more.

Ward studied you for a moment, as if weighing how much to reveal. “Keep out of sight, stay quiet. Rafe and I have some business to attend to, and we can't afford any distractions."

"And if I refuse?" you challenged, though you knew the answer.

Ward's smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. "Let's not be stupid, sweetheart. You're here because you know too much. Refusing isn't an option. Cooperation, however…”

A chill ran down your spine at his words. The stakes were clear, and you realized that your only chance was to play along, at least until you could figure out a way to escape this nightmare.

The rest of the day passed in a tense haze. Eventually, you felt the ship slow, the engines quieting as you approached your destination. When the door opened again, Rafe was there, his expression unreadable.

"Time to go," he said simply, motioning for you to follow, "Move."

You stepped out onto the deck, the warm, salty breeze hitting your face as you looked around. The sight of the lush, tropical landscape did little to ease your anxiety. You were led to a smaller boat, and soon you were speeding towards a secluded island, the main landmass of the Bahamas visible in the distance. This was a world away from the familiar streets and faces of The Cut. It was straight out of a postcard. Something you and JJ would fantasize about while high of your asses and writing bucklists.

God, JJ. You only hoped he made it. You’d never gone a day without each other before you were dragged into this mess last summer. It wasn’t fair. You only wanted enough money to get by, an easy fix to get everything sorted, finish college, ship your dad somewhere far away from you two. But Ward’s greedy ass had to ruin everything for you.

As the boat neared the shore, you couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom. The island loomed closer, its pristine beaches and swaying palm trees offering a stark contrast to the danger that lurked just beneath the surface.

Rafe’s hand gripped your arm, his grasp tight and unyielding as he led you onto the sandy beach. Ward followed close behind, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the scene before him.

"This way," he said, his voice cutting through the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. You followed obediently, your mind racing with possibilities. Escape seemed unlikely, but you clung to the slim hope that you could find a way out of this mess. As you walked, you couldn't help but wonder what awaited you on this remote island.

The path led deeper into the heart of the island, the dense foliage casting long shadows as the sun began to set. You could feel the weight of Ward and Rafe's gazes on you, their presence a constant reminder of the mess you were in.

Finally, you reached a clearing, and your heart sank as you saw what awaited you. A small house. In the middle of nowhere. Oh god, you were a dead woman.

“This will be your home for the time being," Ward said, his voice cold and unfeeling, as if he was offering you a vacation rental and not kidnapping you. You wanted to protest, to demand answers, but you knew it was futile, there was a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, it practically swallowed you whole.

“My son will be keeping you company, don’t get too excited.”

The way Rafe’s head snapped in his father’s direction told you more than what you needed to know. Once again, daddy dearest was calling the shots without taking his opinion into consideration. Ward’s casual cruelty was suffocating, a stark reminder of the power he wielded over everyone. As he turned to leave, leaving no space of negotiations or pleadings, Rafe’s eyes bored into yours. No questions asked, only blind devotion to his father.

The door slammed shut, leaving you alone with Rafe once more. He looked at you, resentment playing across his face and something inside you urged you to fight.

“I’m not going to make this easy for you," you said, your voice a low growl, “I’m not dying here. Not with you.”

Rafe chuckled, greasy bangs moving as he shook his head, “You really think you have a choice here?” He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming in the confined space, “You think you’re special? Nah, Maybank. He’ll get rid of you eventually, don’t worry.”

“Exactly. He will, not you. You don’t have any control either and I think you hate being here as much as I do. That shit makes us both prisoners.”

He blinked, momentarily thrown off guard by your words, “Stay out my fucking way or I’ll kill you myself.”

You were sure he wouldn't, only if Ward asked him to. He’d fucked up enough before, when he accidentally shot Sarah and didn’t look the slightest bit apologetic. You know he wouldn’t do it again, not if he wanted to keep his head on his shoulder and his trust fund. Ward Cameron hated slips ups, hated even more the monster he raised, but he sure came in handy when he needed him.

Rafe’s words hung in the air like a noose, but you refused to let them tighten around your neck. "Empty threats," you shot back, squaring your shoulders. "I've dealt with bigger monsters than you, Rafe."

For a moment, a flicker of doubt passed through his blue eyes. They were bloodshot red, perhaps from the lack of sleep or maybe because he was high off his mind, you didn’t care to ask. But just as quickly, his usual sneer returned. "Enjoy your stay, Maybank.”

With that, he turned and left the room. Him and the stupid slamming of doors. You were alone again, your pulse racing but your resolve intact. You had to get out of here. You knew it wouldn't be easy, but you were a Maybank—survival was in your blood. You took stock of your surroundings once more, this time with a sharper eye. The walls were thin, the windows barred, but there had to be some weakness, some way to exploit the situation. You ran your fingers along the seams of the walls, looking for anything that might give. Your mind raced through every piece of advice JJ had ever given you about breaking and entering. You’d done a lot of that over the years, and while most people thought you pogues were simply criminals, they never cared enough to ask why you and your brother spent so much time in and out of the sheriff’s department.

So, what if two dirty, no-good kids were barely hanging on for dear life? No one gave a shit.

Weeks blurred into each other, each one marked by the same routine. Rafe's visits, Ward's looming threats, and the endless search for an opportunity to escape. You watched Rafe carefully, noting his every move, his every interaction with Ward. You noticed the way Ward belittled him, treating him more like a tool than a son. It was a toxic dynamic, one that made you wonder if Rafe was as much a victim as you were. You’d seen bits and pieces before, but Sarah had described Ward as some sort of saint up until recently. Rafe on the other hand? Their dynamic was so different from what you were used to. You and JJ were like two peas in a pod, you’d die for him and you know he would do the same, no questions asked. If there was one good thing in your life, it was your brother.

You couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for Rafe, despite everything he'd done. He was a product of his environment, molded by a father who saw him as nothing more than a means to an end.

You saw the cracks in his armor, the moments of doubt and vulnerability. The way his hands would shake every time Ward raised his voice, the way he would bite his nails to hide the embarrassment booming in his cheeks. How he never walked into his father’s space or any other room without announcing his presence. It gave you whiplash.

You began to argue less with him, your animosity slowly giving way to a grudging understanding. You hated feeling so…forgiving. This boy had done unspeakable things to you and your friends, to your family…and there you were. Feeling sorry for him like you didn’t know better.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the small house, Rafe brought you dinner. He placed the plate on the table, his movements tense, his expression unusually subdued. Strangely so, you’d memorized that expression. You didn’t even have to ask to understand what had gotten under his skin. You watched him for a moment before speaking.

"Why do you let him treat you like that?" you asked, your voice softer than usual. You didn’t understand why you did it. You regretted the words the moment they came out of your lips, but there was something inside itching you to ask.

Rafe's eyes snapped to yours, rage and something else—pain—flashing in them. "What the hell do you know about it?" he snapped, but there was less bite in his words.

At this point he just sounded tired.

"I understand,” you replied, thinking of your own father. "I know what it's like to want to prove yourself, to be more than what they think you are."

Rafe's jaw clenched, his eyes dropping to the floor. For a moment, he looked lost, like a boy searching for something he could never find. "You don't know shit," he muttered, but there was no conviction in his voice.

"I know enough," you said quietly. "You don't have to keep doing this. You don't have to be his puppet."

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "You think it's that simple?"

"Maybe not. But you can choose to be better than him. You can choose to stop this.”

Rafe looked at you, really looked at you, for the first time. It was borderline unnerving. The weight of his stare. The way your stomach flip-flops under his attention.

“Shut the fuck up and eat, Maybank."

But beneath it all, there was something else. Something you’d seen before, when you looked at yourself in the mirror after you took the biggest beating of your life and Luke finally got thrown into jail: hope.

He didn't say anything, just turned and walked out, leaving you alone.

Again.

The days continued to pass, but something had shifted. Rafe was less hostile, more contemplative. He didn't treat you as roughly, didn't hurl as many insults. It was a small change, but it was there. And you began to see a way out, not just for yourself, but for Rafe too. You knew what he did, knew what he was capable of, but no one deserved to rot in hell with someone like Ward. You needed to bide your time, to wait for the right moment. And when that moment came, you had to be ready to act.

Another day began with the same oppressive heat. The sun had just started to rise, casting a golden hue over the island. You were in the small kitchen of the house, preparing a meager breakfast from the limited supplies you had. The routine had become almost mechanical, a way to keep your mind occupied and stave off the rising panic.

Rafe entered the kitchen, eyes barely open as he wiped the sleep away. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the sound of the liquid hitting the glass breaking the silence. He stood with his back to you, staring out the window.

“What’s Luke like?”

You froze, your hands pausing mid-motion. It was an unexpected question, one that cut deep and made you want to hurl on the spot even though you hadn’t had anything to eat yet.

“Why do you want to know?" you asked cautiously, trying to keep your voice steady.

Rafe shrugged, still not turning to face you. "Just curious. You Maybanks are a tight bunch, right? So what's he like?"

Tight bunch…that was one way to put it.

You took a deep breath, trying to decide how much to reveal. "He’s a drunk, a thief. But he's still my dad."

He finally turned to look at you, his eyes narrowing. "So why do you stick around? Why not just leave him?"

You knew what he was trying to do, giving you a taste of your own medicine. You couldn’t blame him.

You met his gaze, the raw honesty of your answer surprising even you. "Because he's family. And sometimes, family is all you have. Even when they’re terrible, even when they hurt you, sometimes you can’t just walk away."

Rafe seemed to consider this, his expression unreadable. "Family's supposed to be everything, right?" His voice carried a bitter edge, hinting at his own unresolved conflicts.

"That's what they say," you replied quietly.

He took another sip of his whiskey, his eyes never leaving yours. "Must be tough, having a dad like that."

Tough? It’s heartbreaking. Knowing that the one person who was supposed to love you, cherish you and protect you for life never gave a single fuck about his kids? Yeah, sure it’s “tough”

You nodded, a sad smile playing on your lips. "Guess we have that in common.”

Rafe looked away, his jaw tightening. "Yeah, we do." He set his glass down with a heavy thud, the sound resonating in the small kitchen.

For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, but then he took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. "I get it," he said quietly. "More than you know."

You watched him, the way his fingers ran along the rim of the glass. "Then why do you keep doing this? You don’t have to."

His eyes blazed with anger. “It's not that simple," he snapped. "You think I have a choice? I killed someone. For him.”

It was the first time he had said those words out loud. And it made him sick to his stomach. That he’d been scared and high enough to do something so reckless, just so they wouldn’t take away his dad.

"We always have a choice," you countered, your voice firm. "Maybe not the best ones, but we can always choose to be better."

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression a tumult of emotions. Then he shook his head, turning away. "You don't know anything," he muttered, but there was less conviction in his words than before.

"I know enough," you said softly, watching his retreating back. "And so do you."

He paused at the doorway, his hand gripping the frame tightly. Without turning around, he spoke, his voice low and strained. "I'll see you later."

As he left, the kitchen felt colder, but you knew you had reached him, even if just a little. And that gave you hope.

After that, Rafe’s visits were less frequent, and when he did come by, there was an uneasy tension between you both. You couldn't tell if it was the weight of your conversations or the sheer exhaustion of being trapped in this toxic cycle. Still, every interaction chipped away at the walls he'd built around himself, revealing glimpses of the person he might have been, had his life taken a different path.

Tonight, the air was still, the only sound was the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. You had been biding your time, watching for the perfect moment to make your escape. The house was quiet, Ward was gone and you hadn’t seen Rafe in two days. By now, you knew how the guards outside fell asleep before 2am like clockwork.

You could it.

This was your chance, and you couldn't afford to waste it.

You moved silently, slipping out of the small bedroom and into the hallway. Every creak of the wooden floorboards seemed to echo in the stillness, and you held your breath, praying you wouldn't be caught. The front door loomed ahead, your path to freedom. Your heart raced as you slowly turned the handle, wincing at the faint click that accompanied the action.

The night air hit you like a wave as you stepped outside, the cool breeze a stark contrast to the oppressive heat that had been your constant companion. You glanced around, ensuring the coast was clear, then made your way towards the small boat moored at the edge of the beach. The plan was simple: get to the boat, start the engine, and head for the main island where you could find help.

You kept low, moving quickly but cautiously, every step bringing you closer to your goal. The boat was within reach when a noise behind you made your blood run cold.

The crunch of gravel underfoot was unmistakable. You turned sharply, and in the dim moonlight, the silhouette of one of the guards emerged from the shadows. The asshole who’d gotten you here in the first place. He was closer than you had anticipated. Your heart pounded, adrenaline surging through your veins as you broke into a sprint, abandoning stealth for speed.

"Stop!" the guard shouted, his voice carrying across the trees. You didn't dare look back, your eyes locked on the boat. A sharp crack split the night—a gunshot. You felt a searing pain in your arm, but you couldn't stop. You pushed through the pain, your goal now just a few yards away.

Another gunshot rang out, but you were too focused to determine where it landed. You reached the boat, hands trembling as you fumbled with the ropes. The pain in your arm intensified, but you forced yourself to keep moving. Suddenly, a heavy hand grabbed your shoulder, spinning you around. You struggled, kicking and thrashing, but he was stronger. He pulled you to the ground, pinning you down as he radioed for backup.

"Got her," he said into the radio, his breath hot against your ear. You tried to wriggle free, but his grip tightened. Moments later, two more guards arrived, hauling you to your feet and dragging you back towards the house.

Your mind raced the sting in your arm a painful reminder of your failed attempt. As they pulled you inside, the walls seemed to close in around you, your brief taste of freedom slipping away.

Moments felt like hours as you sat in the chair, the pain in your arm throbbing with each heartbeat. The quiet murmurs of the guards outside were interrupted by the heavy, hurried footsteps of someone approaching. The door flew open, and there stood Rafe, disheveled and wild-eyed, a gun clutched tightly in his hand.

“What the fuck is going on?” he barked, his voice a volatile mix of anger and confusion. His gaze scanned the room, landing on you.

The sight of the blood staining your arm made his expression shift from bewilderment to fury.

He stormed towards you, his eyes blazing. “What happened?” he demanded, his voice low but dangerous. Before you could answer, he whirled around to face the guards who had re-entered the room. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Rafe shouted, waving his gun erratically. “She’s bleeding! I try to sleep in peace and this is what I come back to?”

The guards exchanged nervous glances, shifting uncomfortably under Rafe’s glare. “She was trying to escape, Mr. Cameron,” one of them stammered. “We had to stop her.”

His expression twisted with rage. “So you fucking shot her?” His voice dripped with incredulity and disdain. “Do you even understand what you’ve done? My father wants her in once piece.”

The guard who had caught you tried to explain, but Rafe cut him off. “Shut up. Just... shut up.” He turned back to you, his eyes softening slightly as he took in the sight of your injured arm. Or maybe the pain was making you delirious.

“We need to get that cleaned up,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. Without another word, he holstered his gun and gently took your uninjured arm, pulling you to your feet. The guards looked on, unsure of what to do or say.

Rafe shot them a deadly look. “Get out,” he snapped. “Before I shoot you bitches myself.”

Once Ward’s men had left, Rafe's demeanor changed. His concern, which had briefly softened his striking features, hardened back into anger. He ran a hand through his long hair, pacing the small bathroom before finally stopping in front of you. His eyes were intense, burning with frustration.

He sneered at you, his voice dripping with disappointment and exasperation, "I thought you had some brains in that pretty little head of yours," he spat out, his frustration palpable. "What were you even thinking? Do you realize how close you came to getting yourself killed?"

You tried to speak, to defend yourself, but he didn't give you the chance. His words came fast, each one like a dagger aimed at your heart. "You could've died out there! A bullet barely missed you—do you even understand how lucky you are?"

His fists clenched at his sides, his eyes burning into yours. "I just don't get it. Do you think you're invincible? Because you're not. You're just..." He stopped himself, taking a deep breath as if trying to regain control of his temper. "You're just reckless," he continued, his voice quieter but still seething with anger. "You didn’t think about the consequences, about what it would do to..."

He trailed off, his attention faltering for a moment before snapping back to you. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the battle between knocking you out cold and something else—maybe concern, maybe fear.

"Don't act like you give a shit about me," you called after him, your voice trembling with both pain and defiance.

He stopped in his tracks, his back stiffening for a moment before slowly turning to face you. The fury in his eyes was matched only by the bitterness in your own. "I don't," he retorted, his tone icy. "But my ass is on the line too. You think Ward won't come down on me if something happens to you?"

You stood up, despite the throbbing pain in your arm, facing him head-on. "So this is all about you, then? Your precious ass and how it looks to Ward? Typical Cameron bullshit, only caring about themselves."

Rafe's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching. "You don't know what you're talking about," he said, his voice dangerously low. "You think this is easy for me? Keeping you safe, dealing with all this? It's not just about me. It's about keeping everything under control."

You scoff through your nose "Here we go again. Control? You think dragging me back here, shooting at me, is control? It's chaos, Rafe. You're just as trapped as I am, and you can't stand it."

His face twisted showcasing his wrath, and he took a step towards you, closing the distance. "Shut up!” he growled. "You don’t understand the pressure I'm under. The expectations, the demands. I didn’t ask for any of this."

"And neither did I," you shot back, a strict finger aimed at his face in warning, “So shut the fuck up.”

He took another step towards you, his face inches from yours, his breath hot and ragged.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You think this is just about me? It's about keeping everything from falling apart. It's about—"

Before he could finish, you grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him even closer, your faces almost touching. "I don’t care about your excuses, Rafe. I don’t care about your pressures or your fucking control. All I know is I’m not staying here.”

The look he gave you was filled with enough ire to have a hint of satisfaction sparking in your chest, the hollow beneath his dark brows deepening as his classical features twisted into an expression of silent hatred. His breath came in short, sharp bursts. His hands came up, gripping your waist, not gently but not roughly either, as if he couldn’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer.

"You're impossible," he hissed, his voice a raw whisper.

"And you’re a coward," you shot back, your voice equally low but no less fierce.

The next moment happened in a blur. Rafe’s grip tightened, and before you could process what was happening, his lips crashed into yours with a ferocity that left you breathless. His mouth was demanding, almost punishing, and you responded, your hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer even as you wanted to push him away.

The kiss was rough and desperate, fueled by anger and frustration, a collision of two souls too damaged to recognize the depths of their own pain. And yet, beneath the layers of animosity and resentment, there was a spark—as if you were both too messed up to understand how much you needed each other. Each fingertip left an imprint, a silent declaration of the strength he was restraining. It was like he was fighting to contain this force within him, to keep it from overwhelming you both.

If someone told you you’d be kissing Rafe fucking Cameron of all people just a month ago, you’d think they were crazy. And yet… All you wanted were his hands on your body, his warm skin against your own.

Oh his hands.

They roamed slowly yet purposefully over your lower back, over your waist. You breathed out a sigh of relief, taking the collar of his shirt in both your hands as you pulled him closer, relishing in his warmth. He smelled like whiskey and cigarettes.

He pulled away slowly, your lips the last to part, and blinked down at you. You watched him lick his bottom lip, taking in the sight of you.

“’You’re bleeding—“

“Shut the fuck up.”

His eyes flared with renewed anger, but also with something else—something darker, more primal. Your words were like a match to gasoline. He didn't respond verbally; instead, he took a half step back before swooping you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly.

With a swift, decisive motion, Rafe carried you to the dining table, and you barely had time to register the cool wood against your back before he was on you again, his body pressing down on yours with a desperation that matched your own. There was no tenderness there, only raw need and a desire to consume. He pried your lips apart again, his tongue sweeping in as he kissed you deeply, his mouth moving invasively over yours. His fingers gripped your jaw with a vice-like hold. A strange sensation fluttered beneath your skin, and you wrapped your legs around his hips, closing the distance between your bodies as he pressed flush against your center.

His hands moved with such intent, slipping under your shirt, his fingers tracing every curve with a delicious blend of roughness and urgency. You reciprocated eagerly, your own hands tangling in his hair, urging him closer as your kiss deepened. Everything around you blurred as the room spun, his warmth against you making you breathless, his taste lingering on your lips, intoxicating and irresistible.

You tugged at his shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons because you just couldn't wait. He let out that deep, sexy growl that made a shiver run down your spine. His hands were all over you, touching your skin and leaving fiery trails wherever they went. It felt like he was trying to memorize every inch of you, wanting to claim you in a way that words could never capture.

"You're impossible," he muttered against your lips, the words barely audible over the sound of your heavy breathing. He leaned down closer to your collarbone, to catch the scent on your skin, and he couldn't tell if you were amused or annoyed from the way your cheeks rounded as you narrowed your eyes at him.

"And you’re an asshole,” you shot back, your voice breathless, your body arching into his touch.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, the tip of his nose brushing against yours slightly "Drive me fucking crazy.”

"Good," you replied, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him down again. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding back, trying to maintain some semblance of control. But you didn't want control. You wanted to lose yourself in this moment, to forget everything you'd been through and just feel.

Rafe seemed to sense this, his hands becoming more insistent, his touch more possessive. He lifted you slightly, positioning you better on the table, his body slotting perfectly between your legs. The friction was exquisite, a delicious tease that left you craving more.

"Rafe," you breathed, and he almost fell to his knees at the soft whimper that left your lips when he couldn’t help but jerk his hips forward. He responded instantly, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer as he kissed you with a fervor that left you dizzy. The table creaked under your combined weight, but neither of you cared. Your hand grabbed his forearm, over the veins strained from his grip on you, your nails sinking into the skin exposed.

You broke the kiss, gasping for air, your eyes locking with his. There was a wildness there, a reflection of the storm inside you. You reached up, tracing his jaw with your fingers, feeling the stubble beneath your touch as his mouth, hot and demanding, left a trail of fire in its wake on your neck. A noise of pleasure slipped from your mouth as he palmed at your breast, thumb grazing across your nipple as his teeth grazed your collarbone, kissing down, littering your skin bite marks.

"I hate you," you panted, pouring as much venom into your words as possible. Your thighs tightened around his hips, feeling every inch of him against you.

“Your body doesn’t,” He replied coldly, each syllable slowly drawn from his throat, "

“Fucking asshole.”

“Fucking brat.”

You opened your mouth to hiss something at him, to fight back, show him that you were the one in charge, but the intention died the moment Rafe cupped you through your shorts. A pathetic excuse of shorts due to the heat. Heat bloomed in your stomach, melting into a torrent want that flooded your skin and left you breathless. His determined blue eyes pierced into yours, watching as he pressed the heel of his palm against the apex of your thighs, his middle finger tracing your entrance and applying light pressure to the sensitive dip between your legs.

“Cat got your tongue, pretty?” He asked, lips brushing over your mouth, loose bangs brushing against your brow “Thought you had more fire in you.” he rasped coldly, moving your shorts and underwear out of the way and your lips parted on a sharp inhale as you felt him touch you for the first time, “Yeah, thought so.”

Every nerve ending seemed to come alive under his hands, and the room around you blurred into insignificance. All that mattered was the man in front of you, his relentless grip on your senses, his unwavering control over your body.

"God, I hate you," you whispered again, the words almost a prayer, a futile attempt to cling to the anger that had fueled you for so long. But even as you said it, you knew it was a lie. You hated how much you needed him, how much you craved his touch, his dominance. Perhaps you’d been locked away from society for too long. That was the only plausible reason for you to let Rafe Cameron touch you.

Rafe smirked, a dark, satisfied gleam in his eyes. "No, you don’t.”

You did. At least you used to, everything was confusing now.

He teased you, his touch light and teasing, drawing out your frustration, your need. "Tell me what you want," he murmured against your lips, his voice a seductive growl that made your heart race.

You bit back a whimper, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing you beg. But the need was overwhelming, a fierce ache that demanded release.

“Fuck you," you spat, your defiance crumbling under the weight of your desire.

He chuckled darkly, his fingers finally slipping inside you, curling and stroking in a way that made your hips buck against his hand. "That's right," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Let me hear you."

A broken moan escaped your lips, and you arched into his touch, your body writhing with need. His fingers moved expertly, finding all the right spots, driving you near the edge with a skill that left you breathless. Every touch, every stroke was designed to push you closer to the brink, to break you down until you were nothing but a trembling, pleading mess.

"Rafe, please," you finally gasped, the words ripped from your throat by the overwhelming pleasure. "Please, I need you."

His smirk widened, and he pulled his fingers away, making you whimper in frustration. He didn't make you wait long, though. With swift, practiced movements, he freed himself from his pants, the sight of him hard and ready making your mouth water.

Without a word, he positioned himself between your legs, the head of his pretty cock teasing your entrance. "You ready for me?" he asked, his voice a rough whisper that made your heart skip a beat.

You nodded, your eyes locking with his, the intensity of the moment almost too much to bear. "Yes," you breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation. "Please, Rafe."

He didn't need any further encouragement. With a single, powerful thrust, he buried himself inside you. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of pain and pleasure that made you cry out. Your back arched involuntarily, your lips parting as he entered you, filling you completely in a way you had never imagined.

He rolled his hips firmly against yours, and your head tipped back as his cock rubbed perfectly against you. You’d never felt so full. He didn’t give you a moment to catch your breath. After another firm roll of his hips, testing you out, figuring out his rhythm. His movements were hard and relentless, pounding into you, knocking the breath from your lungs with each forceful thrust, barely giving you time to adjust.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his muscular back, your body moving in perfect rhythm with his. The table creaked and groaned beneath you, but you didn't care. All that mattered was the man above you, his relentless drive, his unwavering hips. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, deeper, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate. You could feel him losing control, his need matching your own.

Your eyes squeezed shut, blocking him out so you could pretend you weren’t stupid enough to let the man that ruined your life fuck the living hell out of you.

"Eyes on me,” he growled, his voice rough and commanding. "Let me see you.”

Even though you really wanted to shut him out, you just couldn’t fight the crazy pull he had over you. His voice was like a force of nature. You opened your eyes and locked onto his intense gaze. Seeing him above you, his face twisted with raw need and determination sent chills down your spine. His eyes were locked onto yours, filled with this dark, unyielding intensity that left you totally breathless.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice dripping with approval and something deeper, something that made your heart race even more. It made you want to run for the hills, "Fucki—Oh, fuck"

With each thrust, he drove you closer to the edge, your body responding to him in ways you couldn’t hold back. The pleasure was overwhelming, a torrent of sensations that left you gasping, moaning, begging for more. His name slipped from your lips in a broken, desperate plea, and he answered with a renewed vigor, his movements becoming more frenzied, more primal.

"Fuck," he growled, his voice rough and strained. "You're so tight... feels so fucking good."

You could barely form coherent thoughts, let alone words. Your entire world had narrowed to this moment, to the feel of him inside you, to the overwhelming pleasure that consumed you. Your body arched beneath him, your nails digging into his skin, leaving marks that would undoubtedly linger.

"Rafe," you whimpered, the sound barely more than a breath. "I'm... I can't..."

He understood. His pace quickened, his thrusts becoming almost brutal in their intensity. "Come for me," he commanded his voice a raw whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "Let go."

His words pushed you over the edge, and you came with a scream, your body convulsing around him. The intensity of your release was like nothing you'd ever felt before, a white-hot explosion of pleasure that left you trembling and breathless.

Rafe followed you over the edge, his own release crashing through him with a force that left him shaking. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he rode out his orgasm, his movements slowing until he finally stilled, still buried deep inside you.

For a moment, everything was still, the only sound the ragged breaths but then Rafe lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, there was something almost tender in his gaze.

“Y-You—“ He sighed, pausing, “Don’t pull that shit again. I’ll get you out, okay?

“Rafe...“

Before you could process his words, before you could question or argue, his lips were on yours again. Differently this time. Gentle.

Devastating almost.

“You’re still bleeding Maybank.”

Rafe’s words snapped you back to reality, the pain in your arm a sharp reminder of your injury. The moment of vulnerability between you evaporated, leaving you with the stark realization of your situation. You pushed at his chest, forcing him to back off slightly, and hissed through clenched teeth, "Then do something about it."

He just stood there, staring at you as if he had never seen you before. As if he was truly seeing you for the first time despite having known you since you were seven, despite all the moments marked by violence and terror. And you hated every second of it because your heart was practically leaping out of your chest. No one had ever looked at you like that before.

And then he simply shook his head, drew closer again, resting his forehead against yours, hands back on your thighs, fingers pressing as if he needed to ensure that you were real, that everything was real.

“We’re getting out.”

You wanted to believe in him more than anything. In that moment, it was the only thing that mattered, “Yeah?"

“Yeah, pretty Maybank. You and me."

“Okay.”

#rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe cameron x maybank!reader #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe x female!mc #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe smut #rafe fic #request

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himezoro · 2 days

Text

your roman empire with the one piece men

that small gesture or word he said that entered your mind and never left.

starring : zoro, luffy and law !!

word count : 889

author's note : again, i'm so sorry for posting so rarely, working and planning a wedding has to be the most exhausting thing ever, i promise to go through all of your requests and to be more present, tysm for your support ♡౨ৎ⋆.˚ some of these scenarios have been inspired by moments i often think about in my life, can you guess which hahaha??

zoro was smitten with you, and longed taking a step forward in your camaraderie, and everyone with a pair of eyes could see it. so when nami told him he was on errand duty with you and only you today, the swordsman knew it was his shot to get closer to you.

gosh, you were gorgeous walking around the alleys with the wind blowing your hair and diffusing your hypnotizing scent. and there he was, walking by your side like a guard dog with his hands the pockets of his jacket, listening to your enchanting voice.

the errands were nearly coming to an end, and zoro did not dare to "make a move", which he knew he would regret. the alleys got more crowded and he was afraid to lose you, especially since his orientation is not the best, though his senses would always bring him back to you. he knew that.

as zoro listened to you and internally debated on whether he should say something about his feelings or not, his body acted on his own, finally closing the distance.

as he gently grabbed your left hand with his right one, intertwined his fingers with yours, before putting both of his hand and yours in his right pocket, acting like it was the most natural gesture on earth.

and the butterflies in your stomach never died since.

luffy has always brought joy to your life and fed your desire for adventures and fun. he lit stars to your world and invited you to let go of pressure and have fun, not minding about third parties' opinions. a lot of people would question your couple association because of luffy's exuberance, but all them be damned. the future king of the pirates brought you back to life and no one could make you happier.

a sudden rain came down pouring on the grand line and the wind blew hard. the entire crew started running around to put back inside the furnitures that were left outside. the rain was so much that it started freezing and you started to run to your quarters. yet, as you were about to finally reach your door, a pair of elastic arms grabbed you and brought you back outside under the pouring rain, their owner sporting a huge, bright grin on his face.

"luffy!!! what the hell are you doing? it's raining and we'll catch a cold!!"

"chichichi, i wanted to dance with you, (y/n)!" he beamed, his eyes adoringly pleading yours to allow his antics as he started twirling you around under the pouring rain.

between laughters only him could exulate, you tried to bring him back to his senses.

"but luffy, honey, we can't dance under the rain! it's cold and there's no music playing!"

luffy did not mind your ramblings as he kept on twirling you around, his hand standing on your the small of your back the whole time, his thumb occasionnaly drawing circles. with a determined gaze and his signature smile on his face, he pressed his forehead on yours, the rain drops falling from his nose to your lips from the closeness.

"together, there's nothing that we can't do (y/n). after all, i'm the future king of the pirates!!"

his laughter hugged the atmosphere and made your heart race even more.

your relationship with law was a secret on the submarine, and it was hard for you to hide your adoration for your boyfriend. after all, what wasn't there to love? law was smart, composed, mature and commited. yet, sometimes, it felt so easy for him to "ignore" your status in front of the crew or anyone for that matter, which tended to hurt your heart. did law appreciate you the way you did? was it unrequited?

little did you know, law had a hard time not paying as much attention as he would when with the others. because he had a lot of work, even when the others were not around, it did not mean the two of you could see each other. therefore, the soft gestures he wished to cover you with were quite lacking. and of course, he was the one to have asked to keep the relationship a secret, and because of his prideful persona, he would not admit it was not a good idea.

you and bepo were getting ready to work around the submarines for your chores of the day. you were busy going around the submarine with your chores tool and bepo, and failed to notice your shoe laces came undone.

and of course, this would not go unnoticed by law. the captain could not stop himself from going to you with a frown, which surprised (and scared) both of you and bepo.

is there anything you did wrong? why was he looking so pissed off?

"idiot. you could trip and injure yourself." your boyfriend sternly spoke, kneeling to the floor to tie your shoe-lace, leaving bepo dumbfounded and yourself out of breath, with a racing heartbeat.

"you know i don't want you to get hurt." he said getting up, his hot breath tickling your cheek in the process, his warm hand resting on yours, silently promising to show his adoration for you like you deserve.

and you swore you could still feel the warmth of his hand from that day again.

#one piece x reader #op x reader #one piece headcanon #one piece imagine #roronoa zoro #one piece headcanons #roronoa zoro x reader #monkey d luffy x reader #luffy x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law #trafalgar law x reader

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poppy-metal · 2 days

Note

how can you say the words porn star patrick and expect me to be the same afterwards?????? girl imagine being his fluffer and sucking his dick right before a shoot and staying to watch and as he’s fucking the girl on camera the director has to get him to stop because he’s staring at you………………. girl

hoarded this to myself bc bc bc..... aurrrrr...... just gazing down at you with his lips parted, eyesbrows drawn together as if in pain because you dont have to go in like you do - that's all you, your choice, going above and beyond on his cock - spit and drool dripping down his sack, gurgling on it, looking up at him through your wet lashes - with as much pussy as he's fucked he didn't think it was possible to receive such life altering head - to be so turned on by one individual he almost has hearts in his eyes. wants to cup your cheeks and lovingly feed you his cum since you're sucking him so well - but then someone taps his shoulder, says "you're on," and you're pulling off his wet cock - job done - hard and shiny with your spit.

he nearly fucking stumbles on his way to the bed on set. the girl he kisses is hot, but everything about it is mechanical - patrick zweig loves to fuck - that's why he made a job from it. he's good at it and nothing beats the feel of sinking into a warm hole and getting money for it on top of that.

but the sex is mechanical almost, because he cant stop glancing up, off camera somewhere when he should be looking into his costars eyes - they end up having to focus off his face, lead the camera down to where their bodies meet, where his cock is sliding in and out - but off camera he finds you, catches your eyes like a predator catches prey almost and the change is instant.

he grips the girls thighs under him and pushes her legs up, to her chest, bears down into her cunt all while he fucking stares at you, intense and hot and you feel your cunt clench, swallowing because it feels like you're the one on that bed, pinned on his cock - the producers notice and write that down because the way patrick fucks in that moment? its gonna bring in big bucks, people will want to see him fuck like that from now on - you feel him in your throat, how big and thick he was stuffing and filling every inch of you and imagine that feeling but in your pussy. tightening at the thought.

when you're packing up to leave for the day, your boss comes up to you.

"how do you feel about being on camera?"

#ask #frens <3 #id be a patrick zweig fan #if he had an OF id be subscribed #watching every video #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x reader

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papaya-twinks · 2 days

Note

Can you do one with lando. He’s kind of been cold to y/n, thinking about breaking up (for some reason you can make up) and giving her silent treatment to kind of push her away. It’s only after they break up that she realizes that she’s pregnant and she’s unsure if she wants to tell Lando or not. she ends up running into Lando’s mom at the dr office and she ends up telling her that she’s pregnant. Ending however you want

Warnings: Angst, depression, anxiety, pregnancy, cheating

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: Mixed with this:

A/N - Chat this is how my oldest brother was born FUN FACT also I’m using Lando’s sister, not mum.

You’d been feeling like utter shit ever since the Miami Grand Prix - but you’d chosen to keep it out the way, especially from your boyfriend, who still hadn’t come down from the joy of his victory. You weren’t annoyed about it, no way, that was exactly why you didn’t tell him. You didn’t want to ruin his celebrations for him, but you didn’t expect him to hold that AGAINST you. Surely he’d see you as a good girlfriend for it?

“Going out,” he said, it had been three days since his win, and he hadn’t stayed a single night with you. “Again?” you asked, sitting in the bed, wincing as you shuffled a bit. “Well you don’t want to,” he shrugged, ignoring your start to tell him otherwise and walking out. You jumped slightly at the sound of the door slamming before you sighed. He’d been cold with you the second he’d come home from the race and you’d said he could ‘party with his friends, if he wanted to’.

Maybe he wanted you to be there, sure, but still. You didn’t mean for him to give you the cold shoulder. You were woken up hours later by the sound of the door slamming and…a girl? She was giggling, mumbling something along the lines of, ‘Lando, please’. Your eyes widened but you said nothing, listening as Lando went into the guest bedroom, the ‘girl’ following him as she giggled. Did he even realise what he was doing? He was drunk, sure…was he about to cheat?

You didn’t have the heart to stop him, trying to block out the sound of the headrest hitting the wall and her annoying, shrieky moans. In the end, you plugged your headphones in and played the music as loud as you could. Wow. “Morning,” your boyfriend grumbled coldly as he walked into the kitchen. The girl must have gone home sometime during the night, because she was nowhere to be seen. “Have fun?” you asked, sipping on your tea. “At the party?” he asked. “Sounded like more fun at home,” you shrugged, looking away.

“Okay, Y/N, what the fuck does that mean?” Lando said, shoulders raised. “Why are you getting defensive?” you asked, putting the mug down as you turned back to him. “Fuck you,” he spat, scoffing as you frowned a bit. Harsh. “I’m done with you, Y/N,” he pushed your mug away, caging you in with his arms to the counter, “I’m done with us,”. You’d expected many different outcomes from your comment - but him dumping you? Not one of them. He walked away, leaving you with your thoughts as tears clouded your eyes.

“Be out by 10,” he yelled from upstairs. You coughed, your illness fading back to you as you flinched at his tone of voice. Ouch. So you did that, moving into a small hotel room for a few days, your illness getting worse and worse with the stress and anxiety, your eyes red, lip blue and body shaking. “Go to the doctors, Y/N,” your friend said sympathetically over the phone as you sighed. “Fine,”. You arrived at the small clinic, seeing a nice nurse waiting for you.

“Y/N, right?” she smiled gently. You nodded. “Tummy aches and a cough, is that it?” she asked, leading you to a chair. “Head hurts a lot too,” you mumbled. “Is it okay if I take your temperature and ask you to do a few tests?” she asked, to which you nodded. She gave a lot of tests. But of all of them, you didn’t expect the one to be positive. The pregnancy test. “Oh, hi, Y/N,” a voice said brightly behind you, making you jump and clutch the test to your chest.

“Hi Cisca,” you mumbled. You guessed Lando hadn’t told her. “What’s that ya got there?” she chirped, smiley and nice as usual. “Nothing,” you said, far too quickly. “Y/N, are you alright? Your eyes are all red,” she said slowly stepping forwards. “Just ill,” you said. “No, you’ve been crying,” she frowned. “Y/N, did my brother do something?” she asked, taking your hand as you tried to stop shaking.

“I just…” you trailed off before the nurse left, leaving you two together, as you explained to her. “And now?” she asked, eyes wide at what Lando had done. “And this,” you showed her the test. “You’re pregnant?” her jaw dropped. You nodded. “Oh sweetheart,” she hugged you softly as your tears poured out, head buried in her shoulder. “Cisca, it doesn’t take a fucking decade to- Y/N?” a familiar voice said, making you jump. Lando.

“Fuck you, Lando,” Cisca snapped at him as he raised an eyebrow. “What bullshit has she made up?” he asked, looking at you, unimpressed. “Made up?” his sister scoffed. “Don’t, please,” you gripped her hand as she groaned. “He’s a been a right dick, though,” she huffed, frowning a bit. “He needs to know,” she added. You sighed, still holding her hand slightly. “I don’t want him back,” you said softly, as she nodded.

“Tell him anyways,” she said, frowning at her brother. “Tell me what, exactly?” Lando said, crossing his arms. Slowly, you stepped forwards, pushing the test into his hand. “What, you got STDs? Who d’you sleep with this time?” he snorted, not even looking at the test. “Very funny, Lando. Now stop running your mouth and look,” Cisca pulled you back. “What the fuck is this?” the Brit demanded to you as you turned away. “Oh fuck, slipper my mind,” his sister said haughtily, “she’s pregnant,”.

“Who’s the father?” Lando demanded. “What?” you asked, eyes wide. “You, obviously? Because unlike you, I don’t go around sleeping with other people when my significant other is in the other room,”. Lando rolled his eyes. “A simple misunderstanding. Was drunk, thought she was you. You look the same as every girl. Basic and simple,” he shrugged as you turned, tears welling again. “Don’t EVEN,” Cisca snapped, pulling your hand.

You ended up staying with his sister for a few weeks, which led to months, and eventually, a year. Your bond with her had been strong before, but now? Stronger than ever. She helped support you and your beautiful baby girl, Cherrii, til she turned 1 years old. You loved her so, so much, but she was almost like a painful reminder of Lando, with soft brunette curls, wide green eyes, and his nose and face shape.

It was almost like he’d done the whole tango thing himself. Lamdo had cut off all ties with his sister too, so as to avoid you before suddenly, on a random day, the doorbell rang. And you expected a parcel or something, as you sat in the lounge, playing with your daughter and her pretend dolls, when a shout came from the door, from Cisca. “What are YOU doing her?” she yelled. “Baby, I’ll be back, okay?” you said to your daughter, kissing her cheek before peering round the door.

Lando.

He looked so much more…different. He had a beard, for fucks’ sake. “Y/N?” he saw you round the door as you pulled back. You weren’t ready for him. You gasped as an incoherent babble made you look down, seeing your daughter waddling towards Cisca. “Cherrii,” you frowned, lifting her into your arms as she pouted slightly, her curls bouncing. “Is that..?” Lando asked, eyes wide at the girl. “It doesn’t matter, you,” Cisca pointed her finger in his face accusingly.

“I just…Y/N, I…she’s beautiful,” he began, gesturing to the girl as she turned to him. “Who he?” she said, frowning a bit. “Doesn’t matter, baby,” you shook your head. “Eyes,” she said, pointing at him, then her. The resemblance was uncanny. You frowned putting her down and shutting the door before standing behind Cisca. “What do you want?” she demanded. “I just…I made a big mistake,” he said weakly. “No shit,” Cisca said sarcastically. “Cisca,” you held your hand up. “Took a while to realise it,”.

“Cherrii? That her name?” Lando asked, to which you added. “Pretty. Like you,” he said. “Thought I was ‘boring and simple’,” you said, the words still stung to this day. “Y/N, please, I need you back,” he said, almost begging now as you turned your head, “and Cherry, she…” he trailed off, but you knew of his implications. “See her,” you said simply. “I don’t care for you. I don’t want my baby growing up without her dad,” you said coldly. “Thank you,” he said, following you into the room.

“Cher,” you smiled at the girl as she grinned toothily - Lando’s smile. “This is…your dad,” you almost sighed. “Daddy!” she clapped her hands, reaching them up so Lando could pick her up. “Hey princess,” he gave her the same smile, “look at you,” he held her up as she giggled, making you turn away from the sight. You did miss Lando. But he’d need to prove he wanted you back, and not just your daughter, who you’d spent your time and effort raising.

“Y/N,” Lando said, planting his hand on your waist. “Please,” he said, one last time, before pressing his lips to yours. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you huffed, pulling your daughter back. “You have a year to make up for,”.

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #lando x reader #f1 #lando norris smut

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loveinhawkins · 3 days

Text

The squeak of Dustin’s sneakers fades away as he heads back to the hospital parking lot, where his mom’s waiting for him.

Eddie watches the door to his room swing shut—the movement as boisterous as Dustin’s entrance had been; for the whole visit, he’d acted almost as if nothing had ever happened.

“You know,” he says once the door’s fully closed, “I kinda thought he hated me.”

He tries to make it come out like a joke—maybe then, it won’t hurt quite as much. He should’ve known that Steve would see straight through it.

“That’s not fair,” Steve says quietly, from where he sits in the corner of the room—arms folded, eyes sharp.

The silence feels damning. Eddie doesn’t dare break it: just sits there and lets it sting.

But then—

“That’s not fair,” Steve repeats, a little softer, “to him or to you.”

Eddie can’t look him in the eye. If he does, he’s going to say something that’s true but hurtful nonetheless—and God knows, he’s done more than enough damage already.

Steve sighs. Eddie can’t work out how to read him.

Maybe if he just keeps staring at the clock on the wall, Steve will give up and leave, and Eddie can keep it together until he knows that he’s alone.

“When are you going to stop?” Steve says and, damn it, Eddie’s resolve breaks in an instant; his head turns, but now Steve’s the one who’s not looking, his gaze fixed on the ceiling like he’s trying to memorise it.

(Fourteen hairline cracks on the tiles. Eddie’s counted.)

“Stop what, Steve?” Eddie says shortly. Maybe this will work instead: if he manages to hold that awful, flat tone for long enough—

“When are you going to stop punishing yourself?” Steve says. His eyes flicker across the ceiling tiles.

Eddie swallows. Forces out, hoarse, “That’s not—”

“Not what?” Steve interrupts. “Not what you’re doing?” He shakes his head a little, and his voice lowers. “You’re acting like they’re right.”

Eddie grits his teeth; he asks even though he already knows. “Like who—”

“You do know you didn’t kill anyone, right?” Steve says bluntly.

For a horrible moment, Eddie can’t breathe. “I—yes,” he says; it’s wrenched out of him like an involuntary reflex, the thought playing in his head over and over at the boathouse, then at Skull Rock—I didn’t do it, I didn’t, please, please—until it sounded less and less like the truth, and more like desperation.

“Then what?” Steve says. His head tilts down—he looks right at Eddie, eyes blazing like a challenge. “What is it? What is so fucking terrible, Eddie, that you’d—”

“What d’you want me to say, man?” Eddie says, exhausted. “I—I hurt—”

His voice cracks; he can’t get through it, can only think about what he wasn’t meant to have seen: a nurse opening his door too wide, and in that split second, catching a glimpse of Dustin frozen in the hallway, Steve crouched down in front of him, speaking too softly to hear; how Dustin’s shoulders shook; you did this, you—

“You don’t think I wish I could take it back?” Steve says.

The words pull Eddie right out of his head. Cautiously, he asks, “What?”

“Because I would,” Steve continues, like Eddie hasn’t said anything. “I’d take it back in a second.” There’s a harsh scraping sound: the chair legs dragging against the floor as Steve stands, like he suddenly can’t bear being still. “I think about it every day. If I hadn’t—” He stops abruptly, like the words have got stuck somewhere painful. His jaw works once, twice. “If I hadn’t left you to—”

“Don’t,” Eddie gets out, pleading. His hand twitches on the bedsheets uselessly; he’s too far away to…

In so many ways, he wishes he was stronger.

“Steve, you—you can’t do that to your—”

“Right,” Steve cuts across with a humourless laugh, “yeah, exactly,” and Eddie gets the feeling that he’s walked right into a trap without realising. “So you don’t get to, either.”

”Steve—”

“No! No, I’m not gonna just watch you fucking hate yourself for—for what? For being scared? For doing the best you could to—” Steve shakes his head again. “Dustin, he—he knows you were… I would’ve done the same thing.”

Eddie can hardly argue the point. He can hear from the strain in Steve’s voice just how much he means it.

And then Steve scoffs slightly, glancing up at the ceiling again—a fragile smile, like it’s only there to keep himself from crying.

“There’s—there’s so much—God.” He drags a hand down his face. “So much blame, Eddie. All the time.” He gets that awful, distant look to his eyes, the one that reminds Eddie that he was thrown into a story in its last horrific chapter; there are things he doesn’t know, but when Steve looks at him, he can feel an echo of the pain in his chest. “And I’m so sick of it.”

“I’m—”

But Steve interrupts before Eddie can voice it: a weak laugh then, “Jesus Christ, haven’t you been listening? Don’t apologise. It’s enough that—that you’re alive.” Steve swallows, steps back. Jerks his head to the door, “Dustin—he’ll be okay, I swear, just give it time. Before you—it kinda, uh. It was awful?” His voice goes up, but not in question, not really: more like he’s the one trying to joke around it, now—because anything else is too much.

It’s another story Eddie isn’t privy to. But he can read it in the way Steve’s eyes trace the ceiling. In soft words exchanged just before a hospital room.

The guilt doesn’t fade, not yet. But its grip eases around his heart. Makes room for…

“Hey,” Steve says shakily, like he’s crying, too. “Eddie, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

Hands are on Eddie’s face, and maybe it should be overwhelming—but all Eddie can feel is something like forgiveness.

“It’s enough,” Steve whispers. “Eddie, I promise you. Please. Please let it be enough.”

Eddie can’t speak. But he gathers Steve’s shirt in his fist; and you, he means, and you.

And maybe Steve hears it, because he sighs like he’s finally let go of something—like he, too, has been cleansed.

#in which healing is messy and hard but so worth it. always worth it #they love each other #pre steddie #eddie and dustin #steve and dustin #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie

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jarofstyles · 15 hours

Note

Could you do one about overstimulating him, like after he’s come you just continue riding him and hes all squirmy and moaning

Is the sky blue? Yes we can 🤭🤭🤭 here’s a little nerdrry

Check out our Patreon

Warnings- overstim, smut, subrry-ish, daddy kink (what a mix), cum play, unprotected sex, completely desperate H

——-

“Fuck- fuck, baby, please…” sweat glued strands of hair to his forehead as Y/N continued to grind in his cock. “Please, I dunno if I can go again so soon.” His mouth was dry and his stomach clenching as the wet confines of her cunt kept his snug inside of her. His glasses falling down his nose, he felt her push them back up as his head tilted against the back of the couch.

His hands gripped her hips, unsure if he wanted to actually stop. It felt so good, so overwhelming as his cum dribbled out of her and down his balls. The blanket they had under them would be ruined, the slushy sound of her lifting up and down shallowly and the hit of her ass against his thighs made his eyes blurry. He knew what to say to get her to stop, if it was really too much, but it felt so delicious that his toes curled and his cock twitched inside of her.

“I’m not done.” She pouted, eyes peering down at him. “God, it feels so good. Got your big cock all the way in my tummy, H. It’s not fair.” One hand kept her upright on him whilst the other pushed his hair back, observing how pretty he was. Such broad shoulders, his button up half undone and skewed to the side. His hair that he kept mostly tamed, a complete mess from her hands. Seeing him so utterly undone by her own hands, her own cunt? She’d never felt better in her life. “Do you really want me to stop? Because I will, baby…”

Harry could feel her grinding on him with each drop down onto his prick. He was aching from it, his thighs tingling but it was too incredible to stop. Digging his fingers into her hips he shook his head, a little whine leaving his throat as his cock twitched pathetically inside of her.

“N-No, baby. No. Don’t stop. It’s jus’ so much.” He slurred, eyes holding as she tilted his head back. “I can’t- it feels amazing n’ I want more, but I feel like M’gonna explode. Baby…. Fuck, you’re so perfect n’amazing and I’ve never-“ he let out a shaky gasp as she bounced harder on his cock. He could feel how wet it was, what a mess they were making. His trousers a heap around his ankles and the taste of the her engrained on his tongue, there hadn’t been much experience before her but he knew he didn’t want anything after her. It was her or nothing. No one else could feel this good. “Baby, angel, my love- oh my god.” He shuddered, the squelch of their sex was loud, her pussy sopping wet with her arousal and the last load he’d given her.

“What, H?” She cooed, panting from the exertion. Seeing him wrecked under her was worth ruining every bit of makeup on her face, the burn her thighs would feel tomorrow, every bit. “You want to cum again? Love my pussy enough to give me another load? You can do it.” The encouragement had his eyes rolling back and her poor used pussy clenching around him. “Tell me, handsome. Fuck into me.” Grabbing his glasses off his face, she tossed them to the other side of the sofa and tugged his hair back with a sharp grip. “Give it to me, Daddy.”

One thing Harry was good at was listening to her. As weak as he felt, he held her hips and let her forehead fall to his own, breathing against her lips. Using his feet on the ground, he began to fuck up into her. It was sloppy and rough, whimpers leaving his mouth as his face contorted in pleasure. “Oh, my love- I can’t…” he gasped into her mouth. Even with her in charge, the nickname had his balls aching. “Fuck me. Please don’t stop, M’gonna cum again and I’m gonna make a mess and I want you to feel good, please baby- I love you, I love this pussy, I wanna cum in it again. Im gonna, please say you want it. Tell me to cum, I’ll give you anything you want.” The smack of skin increased, Y/N’s wet gasp from his cock pummeling up into her making her eyes widen. Harry really would give her anything, the sweet boy. He was all hers, and she wouldn’t be letting go.

#jarofstyles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #nerdrry #nerdy!h

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mm-lurking · 2 days

Text

To him, you are love.

Something I wrote in my friend’s dms while my simping juices were flowing. Written with Blade and Al-Haitham in my mind, but you can imagine your favourites.

Warnings: x fem! reader, pure fluff — The idea of his large, rough calloused yet gentle hands as he rests them on your smaller frame; he’s shocked by just how tiny you are and how he can fully enclose you in his arms like a vine that snakes around tree branches

The idea of just pressing your back into his chest and resting your head on the crook of his neck as his face and hair shades you from everything else and his beating heart soothes you

The idea of them just learning to sit with you in silence, learning to understand what love and to be loved is like, the silent message that their heavy breathing speaks, the gentleness in holding you in their arms as they protect you with quite literally everything they have

The idea of them just admiring you as you close your eyes and inhale their scent, completely satisfied with their existence while they struggle to embrace the concept of affection; it's so foreign but so pleasant and they cant help it because it's you, it's you whose breaking their barriers down and letting them know how to love

The idea of how he looks at you with such gentleness and tenderness and he finds an uncertain emotion stirring in his heart, the emotions violently tug on his heart strings and he just knows he's going to have you around for the rest of his life

The idea of how everything and anything you do killing him, he's absolutely floored by the littlest of your touches, giggles and smiles, the idea of him trying to just breathe as naturally as he can when he's with you but by god he cannot breathe when it comes to you

The idea of him going from not liking physical affection and anyone in his personal space to craving you to be around, he cannot bear to part with you in the privacy of your home, to deny holding your hands is to deny the very oxygen he breaths, he needs you, he needs your touch, he needs the way your gentle fingertips brush against his rough ones, the way your fingers so perfectly intertwine with his, you are sculpted to be his and no one can tell him otherwise

The idea of him accepting his fate, just completely surrendering himself to you as you trace his battle scars and whisper sweet-nothings into his ears; how could someone's touch and voice be so therapeutic and healing? He is drawn to the warmth you radiate like a moth buzzing around the streetlight on a dark night- yes that's precisely what you are to him, the light of his dark cold life and it drives him insane but he's addicted to you and he cannot withdraw himself away

Never had he thought he would express what they called love. It was a foolish emotion to him, one that distracted him from the path he had chosen to take. He did not have the time to love and be loved when life had never granted him a reason to do so. Then you came around and he's swept off his feet, and the more he tried to deny it the stronger these feelings got. How did someone break the walls of his heart so easily, so swiftly? How could someone just enter his life and crumble the shield he had built for himself so painstakingly? What magic did you possess in your words that he had fallen spellbound too?

And now here he was, with you in his arms, safe and secure, taken in every bit of you like a parched traveller who had gotten the taste of cool fresh water after days of thirst. If this was love, if this was what those foolish scholars and everyday humans giggled around about then he was willing to name himself as a fool too; for he was your fool, and yours only.

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yawnderu · 14 hours

Text

CW: mentions of kidnapping and stolen body autonomy.

Find a way in, kill the enemy, retrieve the hostages, leave. A routine of sorts that gave his life some sense of purpose to avoid going insane for the past two decades. Simon liked to believe he got over what happened in his past... truly, he did; and yet Manuel Roba’s horrors seem to haunt him no matter where how many years pass.

“C’mere.” Simon’s voice held no hostility, he made sure of it, yet your stiff position never changed. Legs angled to the right, hands folded on your lap, and eyes looking forward, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze even if it’s been hours since your rescue. Garrick, Price and Johnny have already tried to get you to talk multiple times, all of them with different approaches.

Garrick was friendly, trying his best to seem approachable, a bright smile on his lips that you didn’t seem to notice, too busy staring at a wall no matter how much he tried to hold a conversation.

Price seemed fatherly, never once laying a hand on you even if it was itching to comfort you, and so he settled with telling you you’re safe now, how no one will ever get you again now that they're here. His words didn’t seem to do much, either.

Johnny was… something else. His first attempt was a shitty pick up line, getting a reaction out of you for the first time— a nose scrunched up in disgust, but a reaction nonetheless.

And Simon… Simon’s approach was different. The man was used to barking out orders and obeying them himself, not to deal with an unresponsive hostage. His behemoth frame was nestled next to you, putting a tray on the table and observing your reactions. From the way you swallowed thickly the moment the meal was presented to you, to the sound of your stomach growling.

“Go on, then.” Your gaze follows his movements for the first time, the feeling of your stomach rumbling makes you more aware of your hunger, so many years being fed nothing but what was necessary to keep you alive by Manuel and his associates, so many years of being trained like a dog to obey to their very order.

Simon can see the hesitation in your body language, too tense to allow yourself to dig in the way you wanted, yet no longer as stiff as before. There was a sense of relief at the fact that they didn’t seem to want to hurt you —unlike Roba—, yet years of non-stop brutal training can’t be erased within hours.

Roba’s training was engraved into your brain, and while the sense of security the SAS blokes gave you is something you’re thankful for, nothing guarantees they’re not working for him. You’ve seen other military men come and go throughout the years, always Roba’s friends, and always sharing the same disgusting, sadistic desires.

“Eat up.” The rest of the men watch the way you move, curiosity and amusement mixing at how strange your movements seem, almost robotic. Your forearms rest on the table, elbows away from the cheap wood as you attempt to hold your own cutlery— attempt, because it looks fully foreign to you, trying out different angles to make it work, and yet it's the first time in years you've been allowed to try and feed yourself.

Simon is the first one to catch on, having lived under Roba’s rules for long enough to know he enjoys taking people’s autonomy, to reduce them to nothing but a pathetic mess that depends on him. His gloved fingers are gentle as he takes the spoon from your hand, scooping up some food before holding it up to your lips. His full attention is on you, relief starting to make its way into his body as sees your rather soft lips wrap around the spoon, eating whatever he was feeding you. Lucky for you, this time it wasn’t an MRE… or beans on toast.

His gloved thumb wipes the corners of your lips every time you’re done chewing, and he’s quick to pick up more food from the plate, nothing but patience and kindness shown in his actions, so unlike the brooding soldier he's known to be.

“... two goldfish are in a tank…?” Johnny’s loud groan gets your attention for a second, yet you quickly glance back at Simon, curious eyes looking up at him, almost as if asking him to go on.

“One turns to the other and says… ‘you know how to drive this thing?’” You can see the corners of his eyes crinkle before he even finishes his joke, clearly trying his best not to laugh at just how awful it was. A small smile hides in the corners of your lips, and Simon takes that as a victory, ignoring the questioning looks he’s getting from his team, for now.

#I've had this idea in my mind for MONTHS #Feeding you because he knows what it's like to be starved by Roba #being patient because Roba's torture is all you've known for years #silent promises of never letting anyone else take your body autonomy again #watching with nothing but pure pride the moment you're able to eat with no assistance #listening to your voice for the first time after you start getting better??#I'm going feral for this man #I'll rewrite this later but I needed to get it out of my head RAHHH #Simon being gentle to hostages save me...#cod mw2 #cod mwii #call of duty #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost simon riley #simon x reader #ghost x fem!reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost x female reader #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost x you

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lazyjellyfish300 · 23 hours

Note

(pls + ty) a funny/fluffy lil drabble about miguel working up the courage to finally tell reader he’s spiderman and reader’s like “yeah dude i know” 😭

Hello love! Here ya go!! Hope you like it 😁🥰

I know.

Miguel O'Hara x gn!Reader

CW: ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP, ANGST, FLUFF

Word count 1.5k

@1-900-venusluvs @thatone-writer

------

Miguel's suit dissipates in the bathroom, arriving home late after the police scanner alerted him to a heist at a bank uptown, freezing when he hears a creak and a sleepy groan coming from the bedroom you two shared.

The hour late, during which most diurnal beings would be asleep. Except for him.

He pauses, Adam's apple raised in his throat, until he hears the reassuring silence once more, letting out a deep exhale of relief as he opens the door.

You were tucked into dreamland, or so he thought. Bed dipping slightly with his weight as he got in next to you.

"How was the overtime?" You ask in a groggy voice, still turned away from him.

Alarmed, Miguel looks at your back then down at the floor as if he's calculating something in his head.

Shock, how did you....wait....oh.

He forgot that his cover up lie this time was that they needed him to come in for overtime at the office.

"It was okay." Miguel shifts over to you, laying his arm across your abdomen. "I'm sorry I woke you up."

A smile tugs at your lips. "The office won't be calling tomorrow morning, right?"

Miguel returns a lazy smile at you. He would do everything he can to be there for you to make up for it. Although, it would be a tall ask of Nueva York's unpredictable crime patterns.

"I am sure that they won't." He hums. "I'll have the cinnamon rolls and orange juice ready for your book club tomorrow like I promised."

You feel a grateful buzz in your heart. Even though your boyfriend could be busy, he wasn't forgetful. "Thanks, babe."

He looks down at you, brain wracked with guilt at lying to you again. He knew he couldn't keep you in the dark that much longer. He can't go on lying to you while you did absolutely nothing wrong. You kept his household up and running, did your cute little hobbies and entertained your rowdy group of friends you were always hanging out with, giving him a love that he was certain was never meant to find him in this lifetime, accepting all of his flaws in the messy packaging it came with, never once making him feel bad about who he was or his emotional struggles. You just patiently held his hand and waited for him in your cozy shared bed like you always did.

And how did he repay you? Oh, only by lying to you for the entire six months you were dating about his entire existence. His second secret occupation and double identity as Spider-Man, if his talons and his crimson eyes he hid behind contacts weren't glaringly obvious enough.

His lip trembles as his eyes rake over you, back in dreamland where you belonged. Something about seeing you so tranquil like this made it the final straw for him.

He was going to tell you, tomorrow. And you'd hate him for the rest of your life. Six months of bliss, a mere glimpse into the happy life you could have shared together, all shot down the drain with just two words. You deserved better and he knew it.

Selfishly, though, he kept up the act because the idea of doing life without you would've drained his world of all color and meaning quicker than his door slammed, the closet emptied of all signs of you except the sheets barely clinging to the scent you left behind, your taillights disappearing down his street for the final time while he reeled inside the home you built together from the shock of having all of you and then none of you all at once.

A couple tears fall down his face as he pulls your sleeping frame against his chest, too distraught to sleep. Savoring what it feels like to hold you just one more night before you slip through his fingers and he'll once again know a life where he must go on without it.

----

Since Miguel didn't sleep all night, he had no issues getting up in the morning to slide the cinnamon rolls in the oven. Filling up the fancy pitcher with orange juice he knew you liked to use for the guests for "fancy" occasions.

As he watches you bounce anxiously around the apartment, he feels horrible knowing that he's about to drop this bomb on you right before your friends come over, but he simply can't go another minute without being suffocated by the weight of his secret.

If his heart was going to get utterly destroyed and the one sliver of a fragment of happiness he's ever known in this existence will slip back into the staggering ocean of nothingness, then better to do it now.

Do it now when your friends were on their way, your mind was awake, and you'd be surrounded by everything else you loved in life besides him to fall back on. He figures now will be the best time.

"...Then we need to have the welcome chalkboard on this side so that way when they come in...." You mumble, shuffling to the left and take three steps back. "Okay perfect..."

Miguel clears his throat. "We need to talk..."

"Not now, sweetie....got book club in 20 minutes and no plate settings laid out and goodie bags still in the closet...." Your voice tapers off as you run back into the bedroom.

"Oh, thank you for getting the cinnamon rolls and orange juice by the way!!!"

Miguel hears the police scanner go off. A high speed chase underway in Brooklyn. He curses quietly, then feels his face go white. "Baby?"

"What?!" You snap, slightly irritated and frozen in place, your clothes frazzled, balancing a box of neatly packed goodie bags themed after the book you're reading with some banners and streamers about to fall out of your arms.

Here goes nothing.

"I am Spider-Man."

One of the goodie bags falls to the ground with a thwack.

"And there are 12 inches in a foot." The plastic crinkles as you set the decorations on the countertop, pulling up a chair to tape a banner from one corner of the ceiling to another.

Miguel feels like he's got whiplash. "What...?"

"And my dad's a jerk." You pat a piece of tape to one end of the banner. "Also, smoking tobacco is bad for you!"

Miguel feels like he's in the Twilight Zone as he slowly walks to the couch with invisible math equations floating around his head.

"And the ending of Game of Thrones was a disappointment! And JonBenét Ramsey's family had something to do with her murder! And the Apollo 11 moon landing was the most highly televised event in human history!"

Miguel swallows slowly. "You...you know?"

You walk to where he's sitting, placing your hands on his shoulders.

"In other news, water is wet. Yes, I know, baby. You think I didn't notice your contacts that you always leave by the sink? Or the amazing coincidence that every time there's an Earth shattering event on the news, my boyfriend just happens to be absent? Or when I do turn on the news, a guy with your exact height, build, and cute pair of buns is plastered front and center on the screen? Not many people are six feet nine inches tall, Mig."

Miguel is speechless.

"Also, normal people don't have the police scanner running all day."

Miguel feels like he just jumped out of a plane, and 100 feet right before he was about to splatter all over the pavement, his parachute burst open.

"You're...not mad?"

You sigh. "No, I'm not mad."

You cup his cheek. How could you be mad at a face so sweet as his? Or the fact that your boyfriend's closest thing to a red flag was that he lied about public service and risking his life to save others in his free time.

"I was just waiting for you to be honest with me about it. Please don't ever hold something like that in again." You kiss him and he melts.

"I know what I signed up for when we started dating. I'm in it for the long haul and there's nothing that you could tell me that I wouldn't want to figure out together, okay?"

Miguel breathes a sigh of relief. "I love you..."

"I love you more." You hastily run back to the counter, setting out the goody bags and making the finishing touches to your lovely spread.

"Don't you have a 2006 Chevy Malibu that you need to go apprehend?"

He smiles. You're absolutely right.

---

And as he looks back at the offending vehicle slowly rotating in a circle of his red webs hanging from a tree just 30 minutes later while NYPD scratches their heads and books the driver into jail, he feels his phone buzz in his pocket with a text from you.

We're gonna need more cheese and crackers. Mind "swinging"by the store? 🕸️🕷️😏

The gals adored the cinnamon rolls btw!

Good work, today, Spider-Man! I love you. Make sure you come home to me. ❤️

And from then on, he always would.

----

🖤

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel x reader #miguel atsv #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel x you #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x reader

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suashii · 2 days

Text

— 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝑜𝓌𝓁 ౨ৎ

boothill x f!reader. 2k wc. ﾉ sfw ﾉ vaguely suggestive bits ﾉ fluff ﾉ non-canon compliant ﾉ farmhand!boothill ﾉ pet names ( darlin’ + sweetheart :3 )

previous part ౨ৎ masterlist ౨ৎ next part

it’s late—you know so because the sky has turned to a deep navy. you can hear the crickets chirping through the open window, feel the cool night breeze whisper against your skin. beyond those telling signs, your eyelids are beginning to feel heavy. they’re screaming at you to close them but you know that if you do, you’ll fall asleep in a second. you can’t do that now, not when you’re on the phone giving your weekly update to your friend back home.

“so,” her voice crackles over the line, “how are things in farmville?”

you snort at meg’s nickname for the little town you’ve come to know as a second home. as much as she pokes fun at the idea of having a ranch to run away to, she’s been supportive of your decision to retreat here for solace. she keeps you in the loop when it comes to the drama unfolding in the office and listens attentively when you tell her what you’re up to on the farm.

you have a feeling she might be offended that you didn’t tell her this bit sooner.

“fine.” you draw the word out, rolling onto your other side on the couch as if repositioning will give you enough time to stall. despite not being able to see her face, you imagine that the woman is wearing an expression that says something along the lines of i know you’re hiding something. even through the phone, she can see through you. “i might have gotten a concussion a few days ago.”

she gasps and you can hear her slap her hand over her mouth. you’re sure if she could, she’d reach through the phone and shake you by the shoulders before thinking better of it and rushing out a string of apologies. though, she can’t, so she settles on questioning you instead. “what happened? are you okay? why the hell are you just now telling me?”

you relay the series of events to her—how it happened, boothill finding you, your visit to the doctor, and boothill playing nurse since then. her worry seems to dissipate as you explain and by the time you’re done, she’s laughing.

“what are you giggling about?” you ask her, but a little part of you already knows. boothill’s name always seems to make its way into your conversations and since the start of these weekly calls, meg has held onto the belief that you’re harboring a crush on the farmhand. you brush her off every time she suggests that you like him but like a leech, the thought always latches on and lingers.

“probably hard to deny your feelings now, huh?” you can hear the smile in her voice. you pucker your lips in annoyance. you didn’t think telling her about the way boothill makes you feel would result in meg throwing it back in your face at any given moment. though, you suppose you can’t be surprised. she’s frustrated that you’ll admit those feelings to her and not him, that you won’t act on them. “he’s already taking care of you like you’re his girlfriend—how romantic!”

“it’s not romantic,” you tell her, shaking your head, “he’d do that for anyone.”

“even better!” meg squeals. the shrill sound makes you pull the phone away from your ear and you only return it to its former position when the woman lowers her voice. “if he’s like that with everyone, that means he isn’t trying to impress you. he’s just a compassionate, caring guy who happens to have a thing for you.”

you chew on your cheek as you contemplate her words. you’ve never doubted that he’s a good guy—you’ve seen too many instances of his big heart in action to think otherwise, though, the part about boothill having a “thing” for you is a bit harder to believe. sure, he’s called you pretty numerous times, unintentionally held your hands on a couple of occasions, but that means nothing, at least when it comes to whatever feelings he might have for you. you’ve convinced yourself that most of the things he does that make your heart flutter or your cheeks burn are simply to get a reaction out of you—a little embarrassment for the sake of his entertainment.

“ugh, when are you going to be brave and spill your guts to him?” meg’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

“never! i’m not telling him anything.” you close your eyes and take a deep breath to ground yourself. “i don’t know how long i’ll be here and, more importantly, i have no idea if he even likes me.”

“and you’ll never find out if you keep running away.”

you’re about to tell her that you aren’t running away or avoiding anything but you press your lips together before the words can hit the air. because you have been—you can recall a number of times you have in the past and you’re even thinking about it now, leaving without coming to terms with your feelings or figuring out if boothill reciprocates them.

“i’m not—” not running away? not going to tell him? not ready to tell him? you huff out a sigh, one that’s a mixture of frustration and confusion. “not now, meg.”

“that’s fine,” she assures you, her voice soft. “i just don’t want you to regret anything.”

“i know.” you nod even though she can’t see you.

she’s right. you’ll regret it if you don’t say anything, if you go home without facing your feelings head-on. the what ifs and what could have beens will follow you there, mercilessly haunting your mind.

“it’s getting late,” you tell meg, “i think i’m going to go to bed.”

“sure,” she hums. there’s a brief pause like she wants to say more but she settles on, “good night.”

“g’night.” you pull your phone away to end the call and toss the device on the other end of the couch. you should go upstairs and get in bed like you planned to but all these thoughts so fresh in your head make you feel like falling asleep won’t come easy tonight. slumping against the arm on the couch, you let out a groan, one quiet enough to not wake your grandpa and boothill upstairs but loud enough to grant you the slightest bit of relief.

though, the sound is cut off by another. it comes from the kitchen and you sit up to peer over the back of the couch to see if you’re hearing things—you’d prefer it that way. your fantasy comes to an end when you see boothill standing at the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water and closing the door once he’s finished.

he meets your gaze and shoots you a smile before uncapping the water and taking a few gulps. it’s strange seeing him at this hour; he usually sleeps early so he can wake up with the sun. you rarely ever see him wearing anything but his jeans and his top of choice but the look is traded in for pajamas now—if you can call nothing but a pair of boxers pajamas.

you gasp at the sight and turn around. he just wanders around the house half-naked? carelessly risks running into you while wearing nothing but his underwear? you might not have heard him but he certainly must have seen you stretched out on the couch or at the very least heard you talking to meg on the phone.

the call.

you quickly turn around to face him once more.

“how long have you been there?” the question comes out rushed but you’re frantic to know if he was around to hear you talking about him.

he shrugs and swallows, setting his bottle on the counter before leaning against it. “i don’t know. long enough to hear you’re having some boy troubles.”

the confession makes your heart jump into your throat. you choose not to expand on it, instead reprimanding him for eavesdropping. “it’s rude to listen in on conversations you aren’t part of.”

“my apologies.” he raises his hands in mock surrender. “i just didn’t wanna interrupt.”

you stare him down in an attempt to read his expression and the look in his eyes. his perpetual smile is in place like usual but nothing else about his countenance seems knowing. he’s either very good at hiding it or he didn’t pick up on the fact that he was the one you’re talking about.

“want some advice?” boothill speaks up, tilting his head in a question of its own.

you look at him for a second before a laugh bubbles up from your chest, permeating the air. boothill’s smile slowly falls and that’s the last you see of him before turning your back to him. it seems a little more polite to laugh at him if it isn’t in his face.

he doesn’t stay at his place in the kitchen, feet carrying him to the back of the couch. you’re still laughing when he gets there. he’s never heard you laugh like this before—not at anything he’s said or done. as captivated as he is by the sound, he’s a touch more curious as to what brought it about. a cushion in between you, he leans over the back of the couch to ask, “what’s so funny?”

“i’m sorry.” you try to clear the humor from your voice but it lingers with your explanation. you turn your head to look boothill in the eye. “it’s just—what do you know about problems of the male variety?”

“hello?” he straightens up and gestures to himself and it’s only then that you remember how…undressed he is. that’s enough to sober you up from your humor. “you’re looking at a man, sweetheart.”

you don’t need him to tell you that—you’re more than aware of that. you just meant that he doesn’t seem like the type to help people out of romantic hardships, rather, he’s the one who causes them. strangely enough, though, you consider hearing his perspective. after all, he is the subject of your “boy troubles” as boothill called them.

“so, how about it?” he rounds the couch and plops down on it beside you, leaving a safe amount of space between the two of you. you hold his gaze, light gray irises glowing like stars in the darkness of the living room. “wanna hear my opinion?”

your heart rate quickens and you can’t tell why. because he’s this close to you and practically naked? because those gray eyes are boring into you, urging you to hear him out? because his advice could be the courage you need to admit your feelings or the very deterrent to keep you from doing so?

maybe you aren’t quite brave enough to spill your guts yet but it’s time for you to stop being so scared of the what ifs. “okay, go for it.”

that seems to be the answer boothill was looking for, if his growing smile is any evidence. he doesn’t waste any time sharing his insight. “i say throw caution to the wind, tell him how you feel. and if he doesn’t feel the same way, well then, that’s his loss. because you, darlin’, are a catch. any man would be lucky to have you.”

you know boothill isn’t one to sugarcoat his words. every word he says, he means. is that the case here, too? any man would be lucky to have you—would he feel the same if that man was him?

“i’m headin’ to bed.” he groans as he stands up, stretching his arms above his head, mouth falling open in a yawn. you watch him silently, pondering his words. he doesn’t comment on your silence, doesn’t bother to tease you about your staring. all he does is offer you a wink before telling you, “sweet dreams.”

just as quietly as he appeared, he’s gone.

you let out a shaky breath that you didn’t know you were holding. instead of following boothill’s lead and going to sleep, you rest your head on the arm of the couch and turn your eyes up to the ceiling. your heart is still beating wildly against your rib cage but it’s not bad nerves this time around, it’s anticipation.

courage it is.

thanks for reading! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: honkai star rail #boothill x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #boothill drabble #hsr drabbles #boothill fluff #hsr fluff #honkai star rail fluff

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