#I ended up getting carried away. If you can’t tell
Note
hey! Could you make reader and Natasha as parents? reader being that type of mother (or another gender I don't know) who takes her children to all their games and teaches them how to play tennis and Natasha being the worried mother who is afraid of their children getting hurt
one-shot of forty, love
synopsis: a combination of the different requests above, and below, of natasha and R as parents :) lmk if you guys are interested in seeing more of these two!
natasha romanoff x tennis player! reader
word count: 3.5k words
warning: smut below, skip if you're under 18 or uncomfortable reading!
masterlist
“almost hit it, a little closer!”
thwock.
“there we go! you can do it, let’s do a last forehand, sweetheart.”
thwock.
“another!” this time, the voice came from the tiny girl far across the court, shouting out to you as you kept the last of the tennis balls. you shouted back that it was nearly time for dinner, and that you didn’t want to make her mother wait, but she was insistent, just like her mother was.
you relented, sighing as you prepared the serve, and hit. but this time, the hit was just a slightly bit ill-timed, off the pace of the usual strength you would serve to a kid her size. but she was already running, and before you could call out that it was going to be too far for her to hit, she had dived, trying to hit the ball desperately with her racket. unfortunately, she lost her balance, and the next thing you remembered was your own feet carrying you as fast as they could to the other side of the court, rushing to the aid of the crying child.
your daughter instinctively reached out for your arms as you bent down to pick her up, face already red from her tears. she was in as much shock as you were, as you looked down towards her scraped knee, the abrasion causing little trickles of blood to run across the broken skin. natasha’s going to kill me, you thought, as you began rocking the little girl and apologising profusely.
“i’m sorry, so sorry, my love, mummy’s serve was too far,” you consoled her, her fingers gripping the ends of your shirt as tightly as she could.
you let her calm down for a bit, before taking another look at the injury. “is it bad…mummy?”
you looked back up at her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “nothing a band-aid and a kiss can’t fix.”
with her lips still trembling, you brought a bottle of water to wash off any debris from the abrasion, and began patching the wound up. then, right after, your lips landed on the band-aid, and said, “there, boo boo is gone. my brave girl.”
her mood considerably lifted when you offered her a piggyback ride all the way home, and when the both of you walked past an ice-cream shop, you offered her a sweet treat in exchange for her not mentioning a word to natasha.
–
“you’re both late for dinner,” a voice called out from the kitchen as you entered the house, the smells from dinner in the oven already enticing you further and further in.
you looked towards your daughter nervously, her mouth still a little sticky with leftover chocolate, but her smile back towards you indicated that she was intending to keep her promise. but you didn’t even get a chance to say another word to her, for in the next moment, natasha had rounded the corner, carrying a deep dish of lasagna in thick oven mitts. she glanced towards the both of you, and beyond glancing at the sweat that glistened on your daughter’s forehead, her keen sense of observation from her years as a reporter instinctively caught the anomaly in the form of the band-aid.
the girl happily munched on with dinner, as she watched in curiosity, and slight amusement, natasha angrily pulling you away to the kitchen again.
“what did we just talk about yesterday? what did i just tell you?”
you pursed your lips, head hung low as you kicked the floor ashamedly. “that i was training her…a little bit tough.”
“too tough!” she exclaimed, hands on her hips this time. she was a sight to behold, nine months pregnant with your second baby, face scrunched in annoyance, but still looking absolutely glowing. it was unfair just how beautiful she was, even standing a head shorter than you were and stance ready to bite off your head. “and look what’s happened! she injured herself!”
on the other hand, natasha was fighting off the urge to forgive you right away, as you pouted and reached out for her hands, saying, “sorry. i promise it won’t happen again. please don’t be angry, please…?”
you watched her roll her eyes, before sighing. “you are such a child.”
“sorry,” you said in a cuter tone. you were playing to her weaknesses.
“let’s just eat dinner. i’m starving. baby is too.” you smiled, knowing you won when natasha allowed you to kiss her in appreciation for her forgiveness.
afterwards, when natasha still had worry lines pertinent on her forehead as she inspected the scrape on your daughter’s knee while the three of you watched a movie, you caught yourself being webbed into a danger zone again. you knew better than to say it’s not that bad to a very hormonal, very pregnant woman who was fighting the urge to scream i told you so at you.
so when your wife got up for a toilet break later on, and was making her way back, she caught you on your knees in front of the girl, speaking lowly to her. “–you have to tell her, okay? you have to tell mama that mummy is very sorry, and to not be angry at her. tell mama that if she stays angry at mummy, mummy will be very sad.”
that alone was enough for natasha to finally forgive you, almost scoffing with how cute she found the scene in front of her was.
–
natasha was waiting outside when you shut your daughter’s room, safely tucked into bed, injury forgotten as she hugged her teddy to sleep. you raised your eyebrows in question. usually she would have already been in bed, the strain on her back too much to remain sitting and standing for long. however, this time, even though her features looked exhausted, she came to you.
you instantly knew what was bothering her when her arms seeked out for yours, just like her daughter’s did. you enveloped her in an embrace, when she muttered, “i’m in so much pain right now.”
nearing the end of her third trimester, you knew this second pregnancy was taking a heavier toll on her than your first one had. most nights you felt terrible that you couldn't help to shoulder even an ounce of the physical pain she was enduring by herself. but you could help her, at least.
“turn around,” you guided her to have her back towards you, and natasha knew what was coming. still, when your hands found the bump underneath her, and gently lifted it to rest the weight on you instead, it didn’t stop the cry of relief from escaping her lips. her body instinctively rested against yours as well, feet thanking the heavens for the lightness she was suddenly experiencing.
“i love you, i love you so much,” she whimpered, and you kissed her neck tenderly as you muttered that it was the least you could do.
you held on as the both of you kept each other in that intimate embrace, when natasha muttered, “i had such a bad day today too, and with the baby being like this, i’m sorry i got annoyed at you for nora’s scrape.”
“it’s alright, it was my fault,” you replied, “served too hard. tell me about your day, my love.”
“i–” natasha suddenly felt tears springing to her eyes, hearing the soothing tone of your voice. but she pressed on, “–jenny, from the crime division, she yelled at me today. said i gave her the wrong tip-off, led her down the wrong path and losing the lead. in front of everyone in the department. and you know what’s the worst part?”
you kept silent, feeling small droplets of tears on your skin already, “...i just stood there, and took it. stood there…and i cried. like i was a new hire, an intern, for fuck’s sake. i let her step all over me like that.”
she felt your lips on her cheek this time, kissing away the angry and frustrated streaks down her face. “natasha, it’s normal to feel like this. she was being a bitch, and very unprofessional.”
“still! i…i…stupid hormones,” she cried, clearly more vexed with herself than anything else.
but you were there to reassure her that she didn’t deserve to berate her own body for having heightened emotions. “her outburst reflects more on her as a person than it does on you. you did nothing wrong, everyone makes mistakes, and it wasn’t your fault she lost the lead. your feelings are valid, and there is nothing wrong with crying, baby. with or without the hormones, you shouldn’t be embarrassed for reacting in that way, and i’m sure your colleagues all know that she’s unreasonable for lashing out at you like that.”
natasha didn’t look convinced, pent-up emotions still simmering in her chest, and you knew it. she believed you, but not so much of herself. so you kissed her again, to gain her attention, and coaxed her to a hot bath that the two of you would share, knowing that it would alleviate both her physical and mental ailments.
–
the hot water was calming, almost liberating, to almost every fibre of her body. with the water taking the weight off the shoulders, she found it easier to relax against you, the skin to skin contact soothing her even more. she was lucky that she still had you, even after the day she had, she thought.
“better?” your smile made her mirror one herself, nodding as you began massaging shampoo into her wet hair.
“better.”
with your fingers in her hair, her body almost weightless in the water, natasha could finally let her guard down. she could finally tell you, something that you knew had been bothering her for a while.
“i feel like this one is going to be bigger than nora was,” she quietly said.
“i think so too.”
she sighed when your hands came to massage her shoulders. “...what if my body doesn’t return…to my usual size…after this? what if i can’t lose the weight?”
the massage stopped briefly, you sighing behind her. “you know it won’t matter to me. as long as you and the baby are healthy.”
“i know, i know,” you had told her, even in her first pregnancy, that you didn’t care if her body changed, if her looks changed, after the pregnancy. it was only understandable, you thought, for all that she was doing for you both by carrying the child, “but i just–i feel–i won’t be attractive to you anymore, after all this. i’ll just be a mom, and nothing more. what if the station ousts me, because i can’t chase around stories at their beck and call anymore? because i have to be home early most nights, to pick up the kids, because i can’t work so many weekends in a row, because i have to spend time with my family?”
“natasha,” you quelled her worries, “first, you shouldn’t feel guilty for making more time for your family, for being a mom. besides, we can always afford to hire help, and if i don’t have matches, i’ll be there to attend to the kids. you’re amazing, you’ve always been amazing, the station can’t kick you out just because you decided to have a family. if they do…you know i’ll have a strongly-worded email from my team sent to them in the next second. and if you do decide to take a little time off to spend more time with the kids, i’ll support you, i’ll support us, no matter what. whatever you want, i’ll be there to support your decisions, i’ll be there to back you up through it all.”
“and second…” slowly, natasha felt the hands that were on her shoulders travel lower and lower, “...only a madman would ever think that you are any less attractive, any less sexy, with the beautiful body you are graced with from pregnancy. in fact, i think i find you even more sexy with how you looked after giving birth to nora, and if possible, even sexier than that now that you’re pregnant again.”
your fingers had entered the soft, spongy walls that they had memorised their way around, working expertly at natasha’s gasp of the intrusion. your other hand on her breasts, natasha let out a soft whimper when they began working miraculously together, her brain already turning to mush. “i must be insane to ever have the thought of you being unattractive cross my mind. when that happens, shoot me.”
another finger entered her, your mouth travelling from her neck, to the valley of her breasts, pressing open-mouthed kisses until she felt them latch on to her nipples, making eye contact with her as you let out a sly smirk, sucking. natasha broke eye contact when another thought crossed her head, “you’re crazy. so many years together, then so many years apart, don’t tell me–don’t tell me–you’ve never found anyone else that caught your eye. a player, a reporter, the celebrities that come to your matches…i’ve seen them–trying to get your attention–your number. i’ve seen–”
natasha was cut off with a yelp as you moved to the other breast, biting down slightly. “–the way they look at you. and it’s hard to get angry, when i know i would do the same, because you’re so…hot.”
you finally let go, letting up a small chuckle as your fingers quickened their pace. “natty, natty, natty.”
“what’s so funn–”
another gasp escaped her throat as you found her g-spot, where she needed you most. “–is it so hard to believe that you’re the only one i want, the only one i’ve ever wanted? nobody else comes close, you are all my eyes can see.”
she was writhing and moaning in your hold now, fuelling the ego that had been steadily growing as you started worshipping your wife. with the bathwater sloshing and her hands gripping the edge of the bathtub, you whispered, “careful. we don’t want to wake the baby, do we? let mama have her fun for a bit.”
“oh my god.” at the final roll of her hips, “i’m gonna cum.”
“then let go, sweetheart.”
the moan natasha let out sounded almost otherworldly, earth-shatteringly delicious to your ears, as you felt her squeeze in and crumble around you, trapping your fingers in her while she came undone, head in the space between your neck and your shoulder, eyes shut in pleasure. you met her lips with yours, assuring her, “i love you, i love you, i love you.”
it was almost unfair how ethereal she looked, post-orgasm and looking up with you with her eyes glazed. you could only meet her with the kisses she so badly craves after nights like these, each time marvelling about how pretty your wife looked in your arms.
–
“you don’t have to come for the match tomorrow if your back still hurts, baby,” you reassured her later on, after carrying her out of the tub and helping her dress, as natasha slowly dozed to sleep with how tired she was, and how comfortable she felt.
but your words seemed to stir her awake. “no, it’s okay. i’ll come. i want to come.”
your smile to her was almost patronising, to which she scoffed at and held your hand to drag you into bed. “i’m serious. i’ll be there.”
“it’s only a semifinal.”
“still important to me.”
“tomorrow’s your only day off this week. don’t you want to spend it resting?”
“i want to spend it supporting you.”
“and if i don’t win?”
“still important to me. all the more important to me. means you won’t be away for the finals in france, means you can be with me for a few more weeks until your next tournament.”
at your sigh of relief, and contentment, natasha let the ends of her lips curl upon feeling you kiss her cheeks lovingly. “i don’t deserve you. i’ll make sure you’re comfortable tomorrow. it’s going to be a long game.”
sleepily, she replied, “you better.”
–
it was your daughter that won your attention first, as you approached the stands after the semifinals win to thank the crowd. her little hands reaching for your embrace from the first row, natasha watched as your eyes positively beamed as she felt you take over her hold from her. the crowd roared even louder, if possible, seeing nora balanced on your hips and celebrating your win with you. it was a scene to behold, and one that natasha knew would be etched in her mind for a lifetime.
this was all she ever wanted. this was all she could ever ask for. even as you invited her down to the court to take pictures with your family, even as the photographer almost blinded her with the flash as you wrapped your arms around her and your daughter.
–
thumbing over the printed photograph of the match earlier, safe in your arms in bed again, natasha couldn’t help but realise it; you really did only have eyes for her. your team and coach were in the frame along with the family, and in the candid shot that had become natasha’s favourite, your eyes were only on hers, gazing at her lovingly as she kissed your daughter’s cheek in the shot.
said daughter was beside her in that moment, the skies outside thundering loudly and her crawling into bed between the both of you just minutes before. her heart pooled into a puddle when she woke up to you comforting her and wiping away her tears. she looked almost exactly like natasha, so alike that she felt she was given a second chance with her life in nora. her chance to love you right.
she only felt you again a few hours later, returning from bringing nora back to her room after she decided she wasn’t scared anymore, and accidentally falling asleep holding her hand in her own room. you slipped into bed with her, and reached for her touch again.
your eyes were closed, but you weren’t asleep, sleepily rubbing circles on natasha’s back. you had earlier given her a massage and spoiled her rotten, even though you had a match earlier in the day, even though she knew you must have been more than exhausted.
“baby,” she called out, readjusting her position, “i know you said we could have as many kids as i am willing to push out of me.”
“mm, of course. we could even have an army if you wanted to.”
“well, if you ever catch me saying that i want one more after birthing this one, please slap me.”
there was a mirthless chuckle from your end, when suddenly, your hands were caught in a death grip, natasha nearly crushing your fingers. shooting up out of bed, you screamed, “ouch! natasha, why–”
then you saw it. but even if you hadn’t seen it in the dark of the night, you definitely felt it; the rush of wetness that had gushed onto the bed. natasha had her eyes shut in pain, still, allowing the contraction to pass, and you knew they were definitely not false alarms this time. her water had broke.
“okay, okay,” you had been through this once before, but the panic, and anxiety, settled in all the same. “okay, you stay right here, i’m getting the hospital bag, then i’ll call the hospital, and then i’m calling steve to come over to pick up nora, just…wait here.”
“can’t–really–go–anywhere,” natasha gritted her teeth. she sounded murderous.
you scooped her up just minutes later, settling into your arms as you carried her bridal style, just like you had the night of your wedding, and so many nights after. only this time, natasha was struggling to control her breathing, trying not to suffocate you with how hard she was holding onto you. she couldn’t wait to get the baby out and get it over and done with already.
–
“aaargh!” she screamed as you carried her through the hospital doors, the team already prepared to wheel her in to prep her. still, she refused to let go of your hand, insisting on you staying by her side even as she changed into her hospital gown, and especially as she faced contraction after contraction.
you were almost worried she was going to destroy your playing hand, but thought it was worth it; ending your career to ensure she safely gave birth. it was a fair tradeoff. you even joked, “guess i’m not going to france for the final after all.”
if natasha wasn’t in so much pain she would have strangled you. you were supposed to catch a flight the next day. “if you even dare step out of this room before i pop this baby out, i am divorcing you, you hear me?”
the doctors struggled to hide their amused grins, as you quickly reached for your phone to call your manager to cancel the flight and the match upon hearing her words.
#natasha romanoff x reader#black widow x reader#natasha romanoff#black widow#marvel cinematic universe#tennis player! reader#forty love#natasha romanoff x tennis player! reader
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📄 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧
↳ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈
(Part 1)
Francis Mosses x Fem!Reader
𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.5k
𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Wife!Reader, lactation kink, breast milk in coffee (lmao?)
𝐀/𝐍: Yes, this is an extended version of Milk Fiend
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After trying your milk, Francis can’t get enough. But he can’t let you know that.
Like a hawk, Francis couldn’t tear his gaze away as you poured some of your milk that you just pumped out into a flask before storing it in the fridge. Ever since that night you found out you were hyperlactating, you’ve made a routine to pump out the excess milk to avoid the risk of leaking in your sleep.
Francis caught a quick glimpse inside the fridge— there were several flasks full of your milk, all labeled with the dates— before you closed the door. As you left the kitchen, Francis lingered a little longer and eyed the fridge door.
He wondered how much milk you pumped out just now. Was it the same volume everyday? Did you produce more milk on some days than the others? He turned his attention away and followed you back into the bedroom.
Francis tucked himself into bed silently while you went on to ramble about your day. Your hand movements were very animated and your voice carried a lot of energy and emphasis, which Francis would always be enamored by. But tonight he couldn’t stay focused on whatever you were talking about.
“I’m telling you Francis, she’s been acting very strange lately. I don’t want to point fingers and claim she’s a doppelgänger but I’m having my doubts…” you were reeling on about another neighbour again; Francis nodded occasionally to show his engagement.
He couldn’t stop himself from stealing quick glances at your chest, thinking back to the milk you just pumped out in the kitchen. He was grateful that you were too engrossed in your story telling to even notice.
The following morning, Francis was the first out of bed as per usual. He freshened himself up and put on his milkman uniform before heading to the kitchen. His routine always followed the same pattern and it made everything feel mechanical, like he was on constant auto-pilot mode.
However this morning, as he was making his usual coffee, his eyes lingered over the fridge that stored all your milk in. He recalled the night he tasted your milks for the first time. The memory made his heart hammer in his chest with a warmth pooling to his cock.
But it’s been a while since that night and he would be lying if he said he didn’t want another taste.
Something was pulling him closer toward the fridge before opening the door. He felt like he had no motor control over his limbs now as he grasped onto one of the flasks and unscrewed the lid.
He took one whiff, smelling the creaminess of the milk before he glanced back at his coffee mug that was sitting on the counter top. He always liked his coffee with milk so his curiosity piqued as he was wondering what would happen if he added some of your milk in the coffee.
He knew he shouldn’t and he really should ask for your consent before using your milk. But at the same time, he didn’t want to wake you up at the crack hours of dawn. Surely you wouldn’t notice if he used just a splash of milk.
Without a second thought, he started on his coffee and poured some of the ‘liquid gold’ into his mug, watching the dark beverage lighten in colour. After screwing the cap back on, he took a small sip from the coffee and relished its taste.
The subtle bitterness from the coffee blended perfectly with the natural sweetness from your milk. The taste was divine and unmatched. If he wasn’t tight on a schedule, he definitely would’ve savoured it for as long as he could, but he had to leave for an early shift.
The day burned out faster than he imagined. The coffee had given him an extra boost of energy that he didn’t know he could foster.
The evening came and Francis' shift finally ended. He found you in the kitchen holding onto one of the flasks that had your milk in. For a split second, Francis felt a thread of chill down his spine.
You were shaking the flask, feeling how full it was. Francis didn’t check if the content would be a little lighter after he used some of the milk this morning. Were you starting to suspect something? He felt his stomach slowly sink to the floor as your frown deepened.
But the feeling quickly disappeared when you finally locked eyes with him and gave him a soft smile. You put the flask back in the fridge and gave him a quick peck.
“I just put some roast chicken in the oven and it should be done shortly,” you said. He felt you tug on his bow tie until it unraveled. “Take off your uniform and you can tell me about your day at dinner,”
This has been going on for the past few days. Though as the days went on, there was the feeling of guilt that was prodding inside him.
He didn’t know how long he could keep this from you, especially given the fact that the content in the flask was getting less after the previous night of you pumping more of your milk.
But he couldn’t help himself— the taste was too good and had already fallen into this addiction. And on top of that, a part of him wanted to see how long he could get away with this, even if he knew he was going behind your back.
Until one morning where he was finally caught red handed. As usual, Francis didn’t expect you to be up early. He was so caught up in indulging in the taste of his coffee, he didn’t notice the sounds of your footsteps approaching the kitchen until you heard your voice.
“Francis?” Your voice tore through the room, making him freeze in his tracks.
You weren’t normally awake this early so seeing you here threw him off. He hadn’t even heard you come into the kitchen so he couldn’t cover up just how guilty he looked right now.
“What are you doing?” You stepped further into the kitchen towards him. His pulse was throbbing harder with each step you took and he wanted to disappear at that moment.
He tried to come up with an answer without blatantly lying to you. “Just having my coffee. How long have you been standing there?”
“I just stepped in now,” your gaze swept over him until you finally noticed the flask on the countertop beside him. “Is that the flask with the breast milk?”
Francis swallowed dryly.
“Yes…it is,” he said quietly.
“What on earth are you doing with that?”
There was no point lying to you so he spilled the truth. “Look darling, after I tried your milk I really like the taste so I’ve been having more of it. I’m sorry,”
“Is that your coffee too?” You paused with your eyes fixated on the mug. By the look in your expression, he could tell you were putting two and two together and he was dreading how you would react. “Oh my gosh…have you been using the milk in your coffee?”
“Yeah I’ve been doing it a few times now,” he admitted sheepishly.
“So that’s where the milk has disappeared to,” For a moment, Francis expected you to be disturbed by the revelation. However he was welcomed with your warm laugh that shook him.
“Oh Francis—” you said, reaching up to pinch one of his cheeks affectionately.
He stared at you quietly, completely baffled by your reaction. You continued laughing at the situation.
Despite the anxiety he had before, it was slightly relieving seeing your wholehearted reaction instead of you being disgusted with him.
After your laughter died down, you took a few deep breaths before you spoke again. “How long have you been doing this?”
“Uh…every morning this past week now,” it sounded shocking when said it out loud and he couldn’t help but give you a weary gaze.
“Do you think I could get a taste?” You asked. Francis nodded silently. If you were going to forgive him for secretly drinking so much of your milk so willingly, this was the least he could do.
He watched you intently as you took a small sip from the mug. There was something about watching you taste yourself that made his cock twitch slightly.
You smacked your lips, taking in the taste. “Oh…”
“How does it taste?”
“There’s a surprising subtle sweetness from the milk,”
“Heh, there certainly is. It’s quite strange,”
“I can see why you like this so much,” you said as you took another sip.
“I’d say it might be the highlight of my morning,”
“Mhmm. So what time is your shift today?” You asked. The question snapped him out of his trance and brought him back to reality.
“It’s supposed to start at 6 today,” he said with a tired groan. He wanted to stay in this moment with you for as long as he could but he knew he had a job to do.
He felt you reach over to kiss him on the cheek, making his heart stutter in surprise. The affectionate gesture from you was enough to lift some of the weight from his shoulders.
“Well, I’m going to be be making a cherry pie for dessert tonight, so that will be something to look forward to,”
Francis' lips twitched up in a small smile. “Yeah…that sounds lovely…”
𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @haikyuunerdsworld @facelessfionna (lmk if you want to be tagged in my Francis fics)
Btw since you’re here, I am very indecisive on what to choose for my next blog theme. So let’s vote it out!! Here are some navigation headers that I’m planning to use on my pinned post. Very distinctive themes I know !!
#★— ayrus writes#that’s not my neighbor#tnmn#francis mosses#francis mosses x reader#francis mosses x you#the milkman#milk man#milkman#milkman x reader#milkman x you#tnmn milkman#tnmn francis mosses#francis mosses milkman#francis mosses smut#milkman smut#francis tnmn
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Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen
TW: nsfw, violence, angst
“What–”
“The fuck you think you’re doing, McCauley?”
The cop on the stool–who is clearly drunk–turns his attention to Tom towering behind you. “Just enjoying the view, Ludz. She’s got great tits.”
He’s clearly stupid too.
A second passes that feels like an eternity, before Tom bursts into action, knocking the asshole off the barstool with one punch. There’s a wave of outcry through the crowd, but before anyone can do anything, Ludlow has the guy up by the collar and is marching him out of the bar. You watch through the dimmed front windows, barely able to see past the crowd, as there’s more of a scuffle between the two on the sidewalk. It doesn’t last long at all–Ludlow hits the guy like a hurricane, knocking him down flat, before stalking away back inside.
“Sorry about that asshole,” says Tom, barely broken a sweat, though you can’t help but notice his knuckles are torn. “Are you ok?”
“I’m fine,” you sigh, reaching for his hand. “Let’s go get you patched up.” Surely he has a first aid kit in his car.
However, he can tell something has changed. He turns your gaze up to his with a hand on your cheek, searching your eyes. “What’s wrong? What did he say to you? Swear to god, I’ll fucking kill him.”
You grab onto his arm before this high strung man can march back outside and finish the job, if the idiot has not yet cleared out.
“He said you’re married,” you inform him, doing your own search of his soul as you drop this bomb.
“What?” He seems genuinely confused.
“He said I should be careful, or I’ll end up like your wife?”
Tom shakes his head with a growl. “Fucking asshole. No, I’m not married, sweetheart, I promise you.”
“Then…?” It’s only getting louder in the bar as the night goes on, and you can barely hear each other now. It’s not the best place to have a serious conversation, and maybe he senses that you’re not going to enjoy yourself again until that conversation is had. You’re not the type to take a don’t worry about it at face value.
Tom sighs, throws some money down on the bar and lifts you down off your stool. “Come on.”
The ease with which he manhandles you is almost more intoxicating than the vodka you’ve just consumed.
He almost tries to carry you out of the damn bar, but you protest against that vehemently.
You spill out onto the sidewalk, and find the asshole has indeed made himself scarce. There’s a dark stain on the concrete that might be a little splatter of blood. You decide to ignore it.
“I’m guessing you want me to take you home?” It squeezes your heart, how disappointed he sounds, but you nod anyway. You walk back to his car in silence, only broken when you thank him softly for opening the door for you.
He starts the Charger’s engine, the thing growling to life like a beast of the jungle. His expression matches the sound of the car, thunderous and maybe a little feral. You don’t prod him as he drives, waiting. He knows very well what you want to know. It takes the whole journey home and him parking on the street before he’s willing to open his mouth again, and even then it’s begrudgingly.
He turns towards you in the seat, taking your little hand in his. He’s very interested in your silver rings, and you think you just might die from the suspense.
If this man is married, you are swearing off the dumber sex forever.
“I was married,” he finally begins. “She died of a blood clot in her brain. She was with another man, and he just dumped her on the sidewalk in front of the hospital where you work, like she was a sack of garbage. She died alone, and I’ve never been able to find out who the fucker was that treated her like that.”
You know your eyes are the size of half dollars by the time he finishes his tale. You think you might recognize this story, told by the nurses in the trauma center from a few years back. “What was her name?”
“Cheryl.”
“Fuck. I…heard about that, from the other nurses. God, Tom, I’m so sorry.”
At least you know he’s not lying.
He just nods, but he won’t look at you, and it chews your heart up. Finally you reach for him, physically turning his gaze back to yours. His eyes in that moment are black pits of despair, and a part of you is sorry for ever asking, even though you had every right to know.
“Come upstairs with me,” you say. “I’ll patch up your hand.”
He looks down at his excoriated knuckles, grins, shakes off that abused puppy dog look. You can tell he’s about as good with emotions as you are, which is going to be a match made in hell, but it doesn’t really matter right now when you want him so bad you can taste it.
“Alright, I guess if you’re gonna force me.”
“Nurse’s orders. Come on.”
“Bossy. I like it.” You roll your eyes, but utterly fail at suppressing a grin. You had to hand it to him. He knew how to lighten the mood from misery to humor in two seconds. You suppose that came with his occupation. Otherwise, you’d go mad.
He trails behind you, your tall shadow, letting you lead the way through the security door and up the stairs. When you let him into your tiny one bedroom apartment he smiles, looking around with the curious eyes of a detective. You're sure after five seconds he could describe the scene with 99 percent accuracy, down to the colors of the tapestry hanging above your blue couch, and how many house plants you managed to cram in the one good window in the kitchen.
“Have a seat,” you invite, waving towards the couch while you go to get your medical kit.
He perches himself on the edge of the couch, almost awkwardly. It's kind of cute, and something you don’t expect from this brutish man.
“The couch doesn’t bite,” you tell him, setting your little first aid bag on the stand and then taking his hand rather boldly in your own.
“Sorry, feel like I’m gonna ruin your cute place with my man smell, or something.”
You giggle, resisting the urge to tell him that if he wants to rub against everything in here like a cat in heat and leave it smelling just like him, you won’t mind it at all.
His woodsy spice would pair nicely with your patchouli-lavender candles and sandalwood incense.
“You’ve broken your knuckles a lot,” you inform him absentmindedly while cleaning his fist. You can tell by how prominent they are, how the ones in his left hand-his dominant hand-are bigger than the ones in his right. You’d hate to be on the receiving end of this fist when he’s mad.
“Yeah?” While you dote on his hand, wrapping and cleaning, his heavy attention is fully on you, and it would make you blush and squirm if you weren’t so focused on patching him up.
“How many fights have you been in?”
“I lost count. You?”
You scoff. “Hey, I actually have been in one fight.”
He gives a little whistle. “I was actually expecting that number to be higher, feisty girl.”
“Nah.”
“Okay, so who’d you fight on the school playground?”
You roll your eyes. “It was an ex.” You know you should learn to think before you speak, because fuck if that doesn’t open up a whole other can of worms when you watch those huge knuckles flex white while the rest of him visibly tenses.
“He beat you up?” His voice is low, quiet, it makes you want to turn the convo back around into playful territory again.
“Yeah.” You try to smile, play off the tension. “And I hit him with a flower pot.”
“What’s his name?”
It’s a horrible mistake to ever make direct eye contact with Tom, but especially in this circumstance. Even though his orbs are as black as the consuming ocean, the color of anger in them is vibrant and burning.
“It was a long time ago. Back in Kansas.”
He uses his other big hand to cup your cheek, run a calloused thumb over your bottom lip. “I’m gonna find out who he is whether you like it or not, honey.”
A cold steel spike of adrenaline straightens your spine when you understand his implication. “Tom, he lives in Kansas.”
“That’s the problem.”
You blink at him stupidly. “What?”
“That he lives.”
You would roll your eyes and swat his hand away and tell him to get real because you’ve heard all this shit before from other men who thought they were valiant, vengeful knights in armor. So, yeah, you would just brush him off with a scoff, but you have this feeling—and maybe it’s because of what happened at the bar or maybe it’s because of him “arresting” Julian or maybe it’s because of his terrifying tenacious persistence—that Tom will actually find him and wreck his shit.
The idea should not turn you on. It really fucking shouldn’t. And, since his knuckles are bandaged and you need to cut some of this tension and the alcohol still buzzes pleasantly in your veins, you lean up and distract him with a little wet kiss.
His eyes get softer for you, which is a mini power trip of its own, and he hazards a smile again. “Alright, alright. You fixed me, now I’m gonna fix you.”
You’re confused for a minute until he scoops an arm behind your knees and drapes your legs over his lap, settling back into the cushions.
The hem of your dress rides up over your thighs again, giving him a little peek of the cute, perpetually damp panties, before you can wiggle your legs shut and tug the fabric back down.
He adjusts you, asks if you’re comfortable while propping your knees on a pillow and turning sideways.
“I’m-yeah, I'm comfy. What’re you doing, Tom?”
“I’m gonna give you that massage I promised.”
Deja Vu. Two massages in one month from a hot doctor and a cop? You feel like an absolute little whore. “Wait, Tom, you don’t have to-“
He silences you with his mouth over yours, swallows the nervous words and turns them into a sweet moan. God, this man can kiss. You’ve never considered yourself unintelligent, but his lips make you absolutely stupid.
He untangles your hands from his hair, because apparently they ended up there somehow, sets them in your lap, and pulls away with a little trail of saliva. “Settle down,” he murmurs, guiding you back onto the throw pillows. “I’ve got you.”
“Really, you don’t,” you try with halfhearted sincerity.
“You know,” he says, making you jump when he engulfs your right foot in his hand. “My aunt, she had a chihuahua.”
“Yeah? Okay? Was it cute?”
His fingers press deep into your arch, and it’s actually really pleasant. The muscles in your foot, overworked and underpaid, sing for his hands as they knead the ache out.
You debate whether or not to tell him he’s better at this than an actual doctor who studies human anatomy, but he already looks like his ego has grown impossibly bigger throughout the night, so maybe you’ll save the praises for later when his dick is inside of your weeping, furious cunt.
“She was. You remind me of her.”
“I remind you. Of a chihuahua?” You feel the tension in your body fade while he works. “Okay, that actually feels really fucking good.”
“You do. Tiny, nippy, sweet once you warm up to someone. Adorable.” He knuckles your heel and you sigh in pleasure, pressing back into his hand.
“I’m gonna pretend you’re complimenting me just because of this amazing foot rub.”
“Well, I’ve already told you how smart and great you are, and I’ve already told you how pretty you are, so the only two things left, obviously, are either comparing you to a chihuahua or telling you how sexy you look in this dress and how hard it’s been not to rip it in half the entire night.”
You swallow your nerves and your rationality. “So, do it.” Then, you rethink, because this dress was thirty damn dollars and you like it. “Okay, maybe just take it off.”
This is when he offers you the most infuriating smirk in the history of mankind. “Maybe when I get up there…”
Waiting doesn't feel like a valid option, because you're pretty sure you’re on the brink of self-combustion. His hands on your feet are heaven, and he’s even moved those strong hands up to your calves, and you just wish he would keep going until he could find for himself exactly the damage he’s wreaked on your panties this whole time.
You collapse back on the arm of the couch dramatically, fighting not to squirm in the grip of your pent up desire. “Tom Ludlow,” you grouse, “I think you might be an evil man.”
“You have no idea,” he murmurs, lifts your ankle up to kiss and graze with that rough, tickling stubble, makes you giggle, then turns the laugh into a groan while his tongue travels the length of your calf, right up to the bend in your knee.
“Fucking shit.” It’s more your cunt talking than you, now, while he nibbles and kisses supple flesh. It's such a strange spot, one that you never thought could be erogenous in any way. And he finds so many of those tender slices of you with his mouth and hands that you’re sure by the end of it—panting and teary eyed and already asking please—it’s just the proverbial Tom Ludlow effect.
His hands move up your calves, thighs, skip the important stuff, which you curse at him for, a mean protest that he subdues by tugging your dress up and kissing your pantyline.
“You always give massages with your mouth?”
You don’t know how it’s possible, but that smirk just gets wickeder. “You need me that bad, baby?”
He would fucking make you tell him about it.
Not sure who you’re more annoyed with, him or yourself, you look away, huffing under your breath.
“Oh, no pouting, beautiful, a man can only take so much.” Suddenly he has grabbed you up, dragging you across the couch so that you are laying on top of him. All this happens in the blink of an eye–you’re not proud of the girlish yip that escapes you.
It only seems to spur him on, his mouth finding yours in one of those toe-curling, brain-melting kisses. “I am trying to prove to you that I’m a nice guy, remember?”
“Hmm,” you say cheekily, feigning amnesia. He is so broad and solid beneath you, that you just might pass out. “Seems unlikely. Your kisses are very nice though.”
“Oh?” He kisses your forehead, cheeks, the bridge of your nose, makes you laugh and bury your head into his neck where he uses the new found position to kiss your hair.
You have to chastise him a little bit when he pulls you up by your hips so his mouth can pepper kisses on your throat and shoulders, not because you don’t love being handled like that stuffed bunny you won, but more because you love it a little bit too much, and a girl could really get used to this.
“S’wrong, thought you liked my kisses?” He licks at the hollow of your throat, presses that knife of a grin to your jugular and sucks.
You have so much you could say, and all of it is lost in the wet, heated sin of this moment. You should be frightened of how preoccupied you are with everything that is Tom—the delicious, dark cologne, the solid weight, the burning, roaming, calloused hands—except you don’t have enough sense to be scared because he’s suckling your neck and teasing your dress higher and higher and higher until his fingertips graze the bottom of your ass and you make a pathetic sound with a bonus hip thrust just to add to the humiliation.
He pushes open your thighs just a tiny bit. “You want me to touch you?” He asks, tickling down the crease of your butt, so fucking close to where you need him.
“I can’t-yes. Yes. Touch me.”
His thumbs run the tops of your inner thighs, and you press down for more, absolutely positive you’re whining like that chihuahua he mentioned earlier.
“Here?” He asks, and the humor in his voice makes your bare toes curl against his calves.
“Maybe here?” He tries, smoothing the pantyline that covers the very start of your puffy cunt. “Oh, you’re soaked under here, huh?”
“Tom. Please. Fuck.”
“I bet.” He covers the center of you completely with three fingers. “I bet I could fit right in - nice and tight and comfy.”
You grind down onto his hand. “Yeah, yeah, do that.”
You let out an exasperated cry when he retreats from your center, moving to trace the lacy edge of your panties on your butt cheek, slipping his fingertip just inside the seam. Even that is enough to make you writhe against him; the impressive (perhaps even intimidating) bulge in his pants beneath you is driving you equally mad.
You decide to take matters into your own shaking hands, sitting up to straddle him, reaching for his belt, the buckle jangling beneath your fingers. You’ve never met a man who could resist it, once his dick was out.
But he outmaneuvers you in that too, pushing your hands away to wrench the leather free of its loops. The resulting crack raises every little hair on your body; yet you don’t have the sense to be terribly afraid.
Either that, or…you trust this man.
“So I’ve been thinking, about you, and Dr. Bitch, and what exactly about him might have appealed to you.”
Nevermind the fact that Julian is a handsome, successful doctor…You’re smart enough not to say this aloud.
He reaches around you, securing your hands behind your back with a loop of the belt. “And I think what you want, Miss Tough Girl, is someone to take charge for you, just for a little while.” He adds another loop. “Someone you trust.” He lifts one of those perfect eyebrows, and something crucial inside you just melts. His voice softens. “Is this ok?”
He can probably tell by your body language alone—the cant of your hips, the flushing goosebumps dimpling your flesh, the little choked sounds of anticipation while he tightens his belt around your wrists—that this is more than okay, but that’s not good enough for him, so he cradles your cheek and runs his thumb over your lips while leaving one hand secured around the unfinished cinch of his belt. You reach out to kiss his fingertip, suck and taste as much as he’ll let you before he takes it away. “Is it okay, baby?”
“Yeah.”
“Is it what you want?” You have never felt so seen in your life as in this moment, with this man’s penetrating dark eyes looking straight into your soul.
You realize you do trust Officer Tom Ludlow implicitly, not to hurt you physically, at least. You do not feel any of the uneasy trepidation you’d experienced with Dr. Julian, only a burning desire that, if not satisfied, will surely eat you alive.
Licking your lips, trembling like a newborn fawn, you slowly nod.
“You know you’re safe with me?”
You nod again, and fuck if his wicked smile does not melt all the rest of your doubts, your inhibitions, and your sanity. He is so handsome it hurts, and you know it’s stupid, but you want to give him everything.
He seals the deal with an expertly executed cinch of that belt, and fuck if it doesn’t echo something inside your heart falling into place for this man.
“Good. Now come back here, I like you laying on top of me with all these luscious curves of yours.” He guides you back down on top of him, and you swear this man is going to fry some crucial wires in your brain, and turn you into a vegetable. You are doubly certain of this, when he catches your mouth with his, working you over with those plush lips in a way that absolutely makes you see stars. By the time he is done with you, he’s turned you into a quivering, needy mess on top of him, and you can tell he’s loving every minute of it.
Really, you’re easy to please after a lifetime of being touch starved and mostly void of the basic pleasures of human softness, so his everywhere hands and hungry mouth and bulky warmth are more than enough to drive you up the fucking wall, but then he adds those little coos of reassurance—the hushed repetition of “you’re safe, pretty girl”, “I got you”—and just absolutely destroys you.
For most men the position he has you in would be a problem, but his arms are so long he can easily reach his intended prize–or grab two handfuls of it, squeezing the globes of your ass with a groan of appreciation.
“Finally, I get some payback for the torture you put me through, having to watch you in your cute fucking scrubs but you wouldn’t let me touch you.”
“I’m sorry I wouldn’t let you feel me up at work?” There’s no real venom in your words as you fire back–how the tables have turned.
“You’re going to be.” You can just hear the grin in his voice, and that alone is enough to make you squirm against him, burying your face in the bend of his neck. You kiss the column of his throat, sucking at his pulse; you feel the rumble of approval from deep in his chest, more than hear it.
His big hands slide up your back, under your dress, kneading the tension and ache out and in all at the same time, and there is something maddening about this man’s touch that makes you feel uncharacteristically small, and vulnerable. When at last his hand rubs down, into the back of your panties, you think you just might die. The tip of his middle finger tests your weeping hole, just barely pressing in. Before you can even think to whine about it, his mouth is covering yours, swallowing your cries and your curses as he only slides into the first knuckle, teasing you with slow circles.
While he plays with your insides, his mouth does equal damage to your lips. Fast learner that he is, he’s come to find that if he just sucks and licks and nips your top lip swollen without really kissing you it makes you clamp and pulse rhythmically and desperately on his long digit.
You unstick your mouth from his to plead your case, because if you don’t get more you’re going to fucking die, and he follows your lips with his teeth.
“Wai-“ takes you back into a slow, awful, soaked kiss that sets every piece of you on fire, sizzles the skin and fat and meat off your body to leave only exposed nerve endings.
Reasoning turns to begging fairly quickly when he finally lets you talk. “Want your fingers on my clit, please.”
He hums and pushes sweaty hair behind your ear. “Just my fingers? Not my tongue?”
“No no no yes that’s better ok-“
“Shh.” He gives you a tiny peck, nuzzles his nose against yours, inspires a strangled gurgle of frustration.
You're about to press the issue, but then he’s on top of you with your body pressed tight into the couch cushions.
He really does dwarf you, gets concerned about his full weight and keeping it off your lungs. Unfortunately-fortunately-the position his caution inspires puts his mouth in line with your chest.
Your chest, with which you so masterfully distracted him into missing his last shot in the shooting gallery.
You just know he’s thinking about that, as he glares down at your breasts as though they’d talked back to him. “I should cite these,” he says between planting open mouthed kisses to your cleavage, “for Reckless Endangerment.” He sucks at your tender flesh, hard enough that you know there will be a purple mark.
“I can’t help it that you looked,” you protest, arching against him. Here you are with your hands bound behind your back, with the cheek to talk back to this big, bad man pinning you down with his delicious weight–you must be missing some crucial wrinkle in your brain just for risk assessment.
He just clicks his tongue in answer. “Please keep talking back to me, sweet girl, it’s giving me ideas.”
Said ideas seem to include nibbling at your nipple through the thin satin of your bra, sending a jolt of longing straight to your already agonizingly aching cunt. “Please,” you beg, on the edge of losing your mind to this man’s touch.
“I could spend all day giving these attention,” he tells you, ignoring your begging, flicking a path of saliva over the fabric covering your tits, landing a wide kiss on your other hardened bud while his thumb tweaks the tip of the last.
You wish you could grind into the solid mass of him, but his weight pins your hips still, and this inspires a little feral growl that is, apparently, hilarious judging by his responding laugh.
“That so?” He asks, finally giving you a proper hard suck that puts little teardrops in your lashes and conjures a strangled scream. “Didn’t think it through, huh?”
“I hate you. You expect me to be able to think right now?”
“Yeah. Maybe that’s not fair,” he agrees with a wicked curl of lips.
You think that maybe, just maybe, he might take some mercy on you, as he begins to move down your body. His long fingers hook in your panties, drawing them down your legs as slow as is humanly possible. You hold your breath, determined not to make the slightest sound of complaint, because if you do you just know he will punish you somehow.
With your ruffly skirt up around your waist he stares down at you, long enough that you almost wish you could cover yourself. Yet when his dark eyes roll up to meet yours, the intensity in his gaze makes your needy cunt clench so hard it borders on pain. “So fucking beautiful.” Suddenly it’s as though he is the one who cannot wait, scooping under your hips with his strong arms, holding you down with his big hand spread over your belly as his tongue dips into your center.
This is how you die.
From pure pleasure, and if he did not restrain you, you would have arched off of the couch as he laps at your clit, driving you wild with pointed licks and wide strokes of his tongue. He does not tease you with a single finger, gifting you two thick digits as deep inside you as he can reach, your needy cunt clenching fiercely upon him. It makes him groan, and he slides his fingers in and out of your velvety wet warmth as he takes you to heaven with his lush mouth. You fight not to crush his head with your thighs, your hips canted desperately as you strain for release.
“Oh, god, Tom…” You don’t know how you manage to form even that much of a coherent thought. The deep grumble of his approval vibrates against your pussy, straight to your womb, and you feel the tightening coil of pleasure tensing in your loins. It’s ridiculous, how fucking grateful you are that he doesnt tease you any longer, his clever, furious tongue shoving you over the edge of oblivion into a place of ecstasy that lasts for just a few, perfect, seconds. You’re not proud, but you scream nearly at the top of your lungs as it washes through you.
You’re afraid he’s going to think you’re a spazz, because there are tears in your eyes, and you literally cannot remember the last time anyone took such good care of you. Jesus fucking Christ. Do you say that? To this man, who was so generous to you, but is so fucking full of himself? He already knows he holds the keys to your castle. Does he have to have access to the inner sanctum too?
“My pretty girl,” he coaxes you with a kiss to your inner thigh, bringing you down so sweetly with his fingers still stretching you inside. “You taste so good, I could eat you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” Just hearing it makes your pussy flutter around his fingers, and he smiles to himself, bestowing your clit with one last lazy lick.
“Fuck. Tom!” You're not sure if you’re begging, or protesting, at this point.
When he slides out of you, you feel almost unbearably bereft of him, too empty for words, only able to watch with a lazy gaze as he sucks your glistening cum off his fingers.
Those damp fingers flick some tears off your face. “You alright?”
You try a little timid smile. “Yeah, I’m great.”
“Good, cuz I might have to make you cum again just to see that pretty look on your face.”
You squirm in either protest or agreement, unsure if your body can handle more so soon. It would be kind of like going from 0 to 100. Plus, your hands are going a little numb underneath you.
He must sense your hesitation, great detective that he is, and helps you sit up.
“Why don’t you lay on your belly? Let me put a pillow under your hips?”
Even though your body is thoroughly stimulated, it bristles at the idea of him inside of you. The idea of getting him closer, of having more of him is intoxicating, enthralling.
He pulls your bottom lip from the sharp grip of your teeth, and kisses the sting away. “C’mon, I know you can give me more than that, beautiful.”
You don’t know why you feel so embarrassed asking for this, but your eyes can’t focus on his own when you open your mouth. “Are you—can you be inside of me?”
“Ass up and I’ll think about it.”
And you do—you do end up with your ass in the air, dress pooled around your hips, cool air licking at your soaked cunt that you didn’t realize would be so open for his viewing pleasure.
You squirm, huff, make him laugh. He kisses the hill of your bottom and gives the crease of your thigh a little singing slap.
“Ow,” you whine, attempting to slide away from his fingers. He settles you back into place with a tug on the belt around your wrists and then kisses the little raw red mark left from his hand.
“Let’s take a vacation so I can spend it sucking on this pretty pussy.” He flicks his tongue over the plumped back of your cunt.
“Tommmm.” Frustrated. Because he promised—okay, he said maybe—he would fuck you if you got into this vulnerable position, and instead he’s just teasing you with his tongue again, cleaning up all that sensitive sticky flesh and coaxing you back into a needy little creature.
You hear blessed fabric being pulled and shifted, the telltale sign of his beautiful cock springing free, and this has never happened to you before, but when you look back at him, your mouth actually waters. He’s perfect. Dark, plush hair, florid, plump tip with just a tiny bead of cum dolloped on top that you desperately want to lick into your mouth. The tops of his thighs are bulky and lined with muscle. He’s thick and slim in the right places, eats his goddamn wheaties, that’s for sure, and you want to taste every inch of that tight olive skin.
He pets the length of his shaft with his thumb, grips the head, and smiles at the probably stupid little look of awe on your face. “You good?”
Spectacular. Goddamn fantastic. “Take the rest of your clothes off. Let me see you.” You don’t even care that you’re basically begging at this point. Anything to see him, feel him sliding inside your deprived, clenching cunt. Anything for him.
His smile does not waver, as his hands go to the buttons of his shirt. He is not shy about laying himself bare, but then, why would he be? He’s the most gorgeous specimen of male beauty you’ve ever seen. You make a small sound, when all his clothes are in a pile on the floor, and his broad chest is on full display.
You cannot stop staring.
His smile widens a little, though there is a softness in his eyes for you that melts you even more as he lets you stare at the beautiful length of him. All you can really do is look at him, so much so that it strains your neck and makes the space between your shoulder blades ache.
He takes that wonderful appendage between his legs and presses the bulk of it inside your pussy lips, grinding the head against your clit and getting the whole thing nice and soaked in preparation. “You know,” he grunts, “when I first saw you in that waiting room, I thought you were beautiful.”
His sweet words contrast so beautifully with the filthy slipping tease of his cock, and you could cum from the combination, but you’d much rather do that with him stretching you open and pounding into your desperate pussy. “Tom, want you.” You take a ragged breath when he presses his tip more firmly against your clit.
“You got me, baby,” he soothes, steadying the thrum of your hips with his sure grip.
He’s so close to sinking inside you, splitting you open, filling you in a way that’s surely. going to ruin you for any other man. You sob into the pillows, hands knuckled tight around the thick leather of his belt when his head presses against your gasping entrance.
“Please please please.” You’re not even sure if you’re begging aloud or if your voice is even coherent at this point. All you know is Tom, and he’s all you want to know.
He sinks into you, deeper than his fingers and tongue, deeper than anything you’ve ever experienced. You feel more whole, in this moment, than you have in a very long time with him nudged up against your cervix, with his warm hips pressing into your ass. Maybe you never realized just how empty you were up until now.
He doesn’t sound much better off than you do, and you can tell by the tightening of his thigh muscles he’s trying to give it to you slow and deep, just like you told him on the phone, instead of fucking into you like a depraved animal.
You giggle when he curses, using this new found position to wiggle your hips and push him deeper, wrenching sharp groans from the both of you.
“Jesus, fuck.” He spreads you open so that he can watch himself sink in and out, see your overfilled cunt milk him slowly. “I knew you’d feel like heaven,” he growls. “Do you have any idea how insane you’ve been making me?”
When he reaches to touch your clit with his thick cock filling you to the brim, your smug laughter dies on your lips, replaced by a hedonistic moan, a sound you hardly recognize as coming from your own mouth.
“Yeah?” he says, as though you’ve said something actually intelligible. “Is that good, baby? You like my fingers while I fuck you with this big cock?” The panting strain in this steadfast man’s voice, who is usually so in control, is as maddening as all the rest. That this man goes to pieces for you is as intoxicating as it is seemingly unbelievable.
“Yes,” is all you can manage, your face pressed into the cushions of the couch, your hips straining for him even though it must be physically impossible for you to take any more. After the fury of your first orgasm, you don’t know how it’s possible that your body could deliver again, but by some miracle you feel it filling the cradle of your hips, the clench and burn of your nerves desperate to immolate themselves again.
You have a feeling this miracle has a name, and it is Tom Ludlow.
“You gonna cum again for me, pretty girl?”
You absolutely are.
You answer him with a fierce squeeze that makes him curse again. You feel him trembling behind you, fighting not to drive himself inside you with total abandon. You decide that you want that. You want to feel him come undone, to fuck you the way he wants to. For once you’re not afraid. You want to give him everything.
“Harder,” you pant. “It’s ok. Take me. I want you.” He stutters in his rhythm behind you, as though just the thought is almost enough to drive him over.
“You sure, baby girl?” His big hand makes a soothing circle over the globe of your ass. It makes you purr like a cat, and you know you are utterly lost to this man.
“Yes.”
He gives a tiny thrust, hitting just right, pinching your clit at the same time, taunting. “You positive?”
“Fuck you, Tom. Just fuck me. Please.”
And he does. Not only understands the assignment, but goes above and beyond to achieve it. Your first orgasm on his cock is white hot, back arching, lip splitting. You think for a second you might pass out, like when you’re laughing too hard or stand up too fast, but he’s still drilling away. Rubbing diligently with three disperse fingers, staying right there despite having to fight against his own girth getting in the way and the absolutely slippery soaked mess between your bodies.
“There you go,” he praises, “you deserve it, honey. Take it all.” His words are broken, voice evident with the threat of his own release.
You’re an absolute mess, wracked with sobs, clawing at the skin of your own back. He tugs you back, because you’re trying to unconsciously get away from the overwhelming stimulation, absolutely painfully and pleasurably fucking cock drunk. The sole focus of your body is where you are joined with Tom, where he is doing exactly what you asked.
He leans over you so that his scratchy five o clock shadow presses into the crook of your shoulder and makes a shiver curl down your spine. He’s not doing it because he’s tired, he’s doing it so he can talk to you, whisper in your ear and lick your throat and take you deeper.
“One more, baby girl. Can you do that for me? Love feeling you cum on my cock. Could stay inside you for hours, sweet girl, give me another one.”
Filthy words whispered so lovingly against your skin–who knew it could work out for you, for once, to be a people pleaser? That is, if this doesn’t kill you. But God, what a way to go. You have reached a point of euphoria and overstimulation where you are practically hovering outside your own body, watching yourself with a birds eye view as Tom absolutely rails you from behind. Defying your own expectation and hell, maybe even anatomical possibility, that scintillating pleasure explodes and spreads through your loins. You cry out into the couch, partly for happiness and in part for mercy. It’s all so much and you’ve never felt anything like it in your life.
“That’s my girl,” rasps Tom from above you. “So perfect. So good for me, giving me everything I want.” His thrusts become longer, more erratic, his tip bumping your cervix before withdrawing almost completely, then slamming back inside you again. You can hardly control your own body at this point, your every muscle trembling with the intensity of it all. “Love the way you take me. Want me to fill you up, beautiful?”
If you had a brain cell left in your body, you might have found this amusing. The unflappable Tom Ludlow, babbling, for you? But somehow, at the the same time, amidst the desperate bump and grind of this carnal dance between you–it’s also impossibly sweet. Without a grain of shame left to your name, you beg for it. “Yes, I want you. Give me what’s mine, baby.”
With a groan that rattles you to the marrow of your bones Tom’s hips snap and lock against you, filling you with the hot rush of his seed. You cry out with him, meeting him as he spasms against you.
The world has taken on a hazy, golden edged focus. You are vaguely aware of deft fingers on your wrists, the belt loosening behind you. “You ok, baby?” He rubs your wrists, kissing the reddened skin.
“Yes.” You laugh, a sound of dazed joy. “More than ok. Jesus fucking christ, Tom.”
He collapses on the couch beside you with a knowing smile, pulling you into his arms, where you both rest in a breathless heap.
“Fuck,” he says softly, kissing the crown of your messy hair.
“What?” You ask.
“We’re gonna have to get Plan B.”
“I’m–” You are still trying to catch your breath, your face buried in his broad chest. “On birth control.”
“Sorry, I should have asked.” he kisses your hair again. “Just wanted inside you so bad.”
You giggle for a little bit, and he laughs with you. For a minute, that’s all the both of you can do. It’s the after euphoria, that pleasant droopy high. “Oh, how terrible of you, Tom.”
“We should get you cleaned up,” he suggests, making no move to untangle himself from you.
“Mm, yeah,” you agree, also not moving at all.
The temptation of sleep looms closer and closer while you’re wrapped up in Tom, and you know you have to go to the bathroom because UTIs are never pleasant, but the thought of getting up almost makes you want to cry. Maybe Tom Ludlow knows more about female anatomy than you would give him credit for, though, and it makes you admire him even more. “Hey,” he says in a sleepy voice, rubbing your side. “C’mon. I’ll be right here waiting.”
He helps you stand, kisses your tummy, and then waits patiently to pull you back into his arms where everything is golden and warm and safe. You kiss his cheek, and he chuckles. “Me too, honey.”
You fall asleep in his arms, and you’ve never, ever felt more safe.
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I To Dig a Grave I Chapter 2 I
Summary: Twenty-one years after the outbreak, you come to Wyoming looking for something and end up in Jackson after a stranger saves your life.
But he doesn't stay a stranger.
Turns out Joel Miller is looking for something too. It feels like a fresh start. But when bad luck seems to follow you, Joel is the only one to turn to, forcing both of you to confront your feelings about your pasts- and each other.
Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader
Rating: Explicit / MDNI
Word count: 7k+
Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Age Difference, Smut, Explicit Content, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Canon-Typical Violence, Chose not to use Archive Warnings, Tags to be added
AO3 LINK // Series Masterlist // Playlist
notes: i can't tell you all how i excited i am to get this fic going! thank you for the lovely comments on the first chapter, i promise there is a lot of cool stuff to come!
this fic will deal with heavy topics. please note that it doesn't use archive warnings and tags will be added as we go in order to avoid spoilers. each chapter will have detailed warnings in the end notes on ao3.
Chapter 2 - The Patrol
‘Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story.
There is no other version of this story.’
- Richard Silken, The Worm King’s Lullaby
There is a thin sheet of ice covering the streams that are heading downwards. It crunches under the hooves of their horses that dutifully carry them up the hill and past the gas station.
Joel is glad that it's Tommy next to him. He's more tense than he's felt in ages, a gnawing feeling in his stomach that has little to do with the skipped breakfast and a lot with the worry that is etched into the frown between his brows. He wouldn't want anyone to see him like this, much less try and calm him down, something he knows is a lost battle.
“They might be fine, Joel,” his younger brother says gently, just loud enough for him to hear. Tommy thinks there will be no response until one comes, a little too late for it to not be premeditated.
“She talked about leaving, sometimes. They would be stupid enough to run off-”
“And leave Jackson?” Tommy raises a brow. “Maria said their house looked normal, all their things still in place. They wouldn't be stupid enough to leave all that behind.”
Joel doesn't want to hear it. He knows, better than anyone. Knows that you wouldn't just leave, not without saying goodbye to the children you'd come to care about so much. Would you leave him without a goodbye?
He almost hopes you would. Because if you didn't leave willingly, what was the alternative? It would've been nearly impossible for someone to take you from inside Jackson with no one noticing. But he can't shake the feeling that something is off.
It’s Tommy who has to keep reminding him to ride slow, to keep an eye on the ground for possible tracks. Joel just wants to go, to spur Old Beardy on until they're galloping up the hill, despite not knowing where it is he needs to go. He just wants to find you. Preferably in one piece, happy and healthy.
He would’ve missed it.
The small footprints leading off the road and onto a smaller path, one that's twisting through pines and further into the woods.
Tommy nods. “Pretty sure ‘tis the one that leads to the hunting cabin.”
It only takes a few minutes for them to be sure. The wooden cabin is hidden away behind a few trees, difficult to spot if you don't know where to look. It doesn't really serve any purpose, at least not anymore. The roof at the back caved in years ago, allowing rain and plants alike to enter the dimly lit room. It’s less than five miles from the gate of Jackson, tucked away from the main road.
He can’t help but think that this would be the perfect place to run off to. Or to hide a body.
Joel is off his horse in a second, not even bothering to tie the stallion's halter to the wooden posts in front of the cabin. Without thinking, he tugs his revolver out of his waistband, using his foot to nudge the door open.
He smells it before his eyes even have a chance to adjust to the dim light. The unmistakable stench of blood. And mixed with it, creating an odor that immediately makes him sick to his stomach, the smell of gunpowder in the air.
***
The sun has been slowly rising while you’ve been flipping through the pages, trying to find the volumes you’re looking for. The library of Jackson, though rather small, has been frequented more and more, especially in the winter months when the weather doesn’t always allow activities outside and people resort to what they’ve always known: Books.
The entire place is supposed to be relocated soon, to a small store on main street. But compared to the greenhouses needing repairs and the stables being expanded, books don't seem to be a priority for most of the townsfolk.
“Books can’t feed us or keep us safe,” Maria pointed out when you brought the slow progress up to her. You politely disagree. You feel like you could live off books for the rest of your life.
Still, packing up everything means the old place, a shed tucked away behind the church, is currently a mess. Sagging bookshelves, a leaky roof and too many books for too little space means chaos. One that only few bother to navigate in its current state. You among them.
It was the crack of dawn when you slipped out of the house, deciding to let Lane sleep in while you walked through the still empty streets to the far end of the town, hoping to get the library work out of the way before the first lesson of the day.
Maria is the one that finds you, making your head peek up from between two shelves with a frown. “You changed your mind on those books?”
She gives a small laugh, one that sounds oddly like relief. Then her face becomes stern again, the look she carries much more often. “You two have some explaining to do, do you realize that?”
Now it's your turn to frown. “We two?” She pauses at that, looking around the small room. But there is no one here but you and her and the characters bleeding from the pages.
“Is Lane not with you?”
You shake your head, turning your attention back to the book in your hands. “She has the 8AM class today.”
“She's not there,” Maria curtly responds. You can tell she's trying to keep her voice steady but there is a hint of anxiety regardless.
“Then she overslept again,” you half guess-half ask, closing the book again.
“She's not at home either.”
An odd feeling crawls over your body. You can't remember what was in your hands a moment ago, but the question is forgotten in an instant. Maria carefully watches as you step out from between the shelves, her tone still gentle. “I've sent Tommy and Joel out to search. We thought you two snuck out.”
You feel numb as you shake your head. “No, I- I didn't see her this morning. I thought she was still asleep.” You rack your brain for the memories of this morning, of last night, of the last week even. But nothing comes to mind, nothing out of the ordinary.
“I was out late last night, finishing up some paperwork,” you mutter, more to yourself than the woman in front of you, retracing your steps in your mind. “Lane got home before me, I had dinner, we talked about blueberries-”
“Blueberries?” Maria asks, her hand already back on the doorknob. She seems restless and it's that fleeting detail that worries you more than anything. Maria stays in control. Always.
“Yeah, we- It doesn't matter. I don't know where she is,” you finish lamely, getting up and joining her at the door. But she hasn't moved yet.
“You should stay at home. I'm sure she'll show up again soon and if she comes back to your place, someone should be there.” You nod but your mind is already drifting again. Lane’s been doing fine, good. So have you, really. Maria gently reaches for your shoulder, steering you out of the shed and towards the church, down the street that leads to the center of Jackson.
You're passing the small graveyard that's protected by brick walls, the stones already withered, pale in contrast to the dark metal fence running along on top. The gate is ajar, but you barely pay it any attention as the information settles in your brain. It takes a few seconds for it to reach your mouth and leave your lips.
“She went out a few times.”
“Out?” Maria enquires, raising an eyebrow as her attention shifts back to you.
“I thought she'd met someone. Cat and her were pretty close and I figured-” You give a small shrug. It's more than uncomfortable, suddenly, and absurd, that you're discussing Lane's private life so openly, with Maria of all people.
“Don't tell her I said that,” you add quickly.
Maria nods as you reach the end of the brick wall. “I won't. I'll get back to the city hall and see if there’s any news yet. You go home.”
Your head nods as if on its own accord. Maria has already turned her back towards you when you pipe up. “Maria?”
She pauses, her back straightening a bit. “Yes?”
“You don't think anything happened to Lane, do you?”
The older woman shakes her head softly. “No. I'm sure she's fine. Now get home. Maybe she's already there.”
And she hurries off, leaving you at the corner of the street with a trembling body and a heavy feeling in your stomach. For a fleeting moment, you allow your thoughts to wander past the point you've been dreading to consider. What if something has happened? If Lane did sneak out, maybe with Cat, maybe alone, and got into some sort of situation? What if she's hurt?
The sky has turned from pink to a light blue, only a few clouds piling around the mountains on the horizon.
You glance down at your hands, shaking ever so slightly. You decide to blame it on the cold. The cold that may be getting to your head as well. Because after a few moments, you turn on your heels, heading for the stables. It's only a few rows of houses until the large wooden wall looms in front of you, blocking out the little sunlight you could get in the morning. The wall that protects you from what lies beyond. Infected and Raiders and maybe, you think, as you slip into the stables, maybe answers.
if you enjoyed the chapter, please consider reblogging/sharing and commenting, every single notif on this fic makes my heart swell with love <3
#to dig a grave#joel miller / reader#joel miller x reader#joel miller / you#joel miller x you#joel miller x female reader#joel miller / original female character#joel miller / oc#joel miller#fanfic#fanfiction#the last of us#the last of us part 2#tommy miller#ellie williams#softpascalito#tlou#hurt/comfort#angst#smut#grief/mourning#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal#joel miller fanfic#joel miller fanfiction#the last of us fanfiction#joel / reader#joel x reader#chapter 2
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the hockey game / r. cameron
warnings: mentions violence, profanity
pairings: hockey!kook!rafe x college!pouge!reader
a/n: all characters mentioned in the story ARE of age. i’ll make a part two if this gets to 200 notes
wc: 2.1k
you’d been best friends with his sister back in obx, sarah. but when the both you became a pouge you stopped talking to rafe and your relationship fell apart, strained. it fell apart officially when you had to hit him upside the head when he tried to drown sarah—the fucking bastard had stolen wheezie’s phone, then it spiraled from there. you couldn’t stand rafe and he couldn’t stand you.
your plan was to go to the same college as pope, but when they rejected him he had said ‘don’t worry, i’ll find a different college.’ your college friend—cali, had dragged you to the schools hockey game, and there rafe was in his snapback, maybe a bit hotter now, maybe—hopefully more matured.
you rolled your eyes, of course. you escaped the shithole town you were in, only for rafe to follow you. he had to have been in his second year because he disappeared one year, but you didn’t really care that he left. you were matching pajama pants with your friend because why not. your eyes hooked on rafe again, this time, your eyes hooked rafe’s attention. he gave you a mock wave, knowing just how to rile you the fuck up.
your friend on the other hand, had no clue you knew rafe and when he waved she was in utter shouting fits “that’s rafe fucking cameron, how do you know him? he’s like the best hockey player on the team!” your friend shook you ridiculously hard “he’s got the face of a model, y/n, tell me how you know him. spill the beans.”
you rolled your eyes, you could tell the truth about how he was a dick and tried to drown his sister, but you left that out. “he’s my best friends brother back in outer banks.” you rolled your eyes at rafe “and he’s insufferable.” “insufferably hot.” “cali, no.” you rolled your eyes again, “don’t ever say that again, insufferable s’all he is.”
cali rolled her eyes “he’s hot, you just won’t admit it because he’s your best friends brother,” she shook her head “and if he’s that insufferable, you two would make a perfect couple.” cali finally started to watch the hockey game in front of her face, you were utterly lost, you had no clue what the hell was going on—which might’ve been the reason you kept stealing a glance or two at rafe to figure out what the fuck was going on.
it must’ve been some sorta half time because both teams went to the lockers or took a seat. you slipped off to go to concessions while cali was on her phone doing god knows what, probably texting her boyfriend or some shit, you could care less. you look at the snacks in the stand before asking “can i get like, two sodas and a bag of skittles?”
the guy just nodded “that’ll be fourteen and ninety-seven cents.” just like you know it, someone slaps down money, “bit overpriced dontcha think, mr..” rafe looked at the cheap ass name tag on his shirt “-mr. valdez.” rafe straightened his yellow-ish shirt, “y/n, it’s been to long.”
rafe’s hand rests on the small of your back as you pick up your snacks. “yeah.” you murmured in annoyance, “i have to get back to my friend.” you slipped away from rafe’s hand “great reunion.”
“hey, going so soon?” rafe slipped his hand around your forearm “can’t your friend wait? please?” rafe feigned puppy dog eyes. “the game ended, and all my frat boys are going out. i took a raincheck.” he lets go of you “just for a second.”
you rolled your eyes softly, knowing you shouldn’t. you promised sarah you wouldn’t. “fine. just a second.” you put the skittles in your hoodie pocket, carrying the drinks “hurry up. what do you want?”
“a’ight, my friend barry- you know that fuckin’ drug dealer back in outer banks.” you nodded softly, so he continued “your little friends have been fucking with him, stealin’ his money. tell them to stop, i’m not going to ask again.”
“what? they did steal from him.” you rolled your eyes in sheer annoyance as he pressed it on you. “they may live in poverty but they don’t steal.” you start to turn around, but rafe’s hand catches your shoulder. “let go of me.” you hiss out, your voice dripping with venom.
“tell your friends not to fucking steal, got me?” rafe growls when you shake your head no—in an obvious denial the pouges would steal from a drug dealer—“we’re talking after the game. don’t try to leave with your friend, you fucking hear me?”
“y-yes sir.” you watch as he walks away, you grab your shit and headed back to your friend, who had seemingly still been on her phone by the time you got back. “i got your drink” you said, handing her the sprite.
cali looked at you, “you alright? you seem kinda.. i dunno- on edge? did someone bother you?” she opened her sprite, sipping on it. “you can tell me if someone bothered you, we can start throwing hands.” cali pulled her hands up, pretending to box with her face guarded.
“it’s fine, just rafe- he wanted to talk to me after the game.” you picked at your fingers nervously “i just, don’t really trust him, you know.” you turned your attention to the game in front of you, watching rafe do whatever the hell he was doing.
“shut the fuck up.” cali said excitedly “rafe cameron, the oldest cameron wants to talk to you, and your worried? he never bats an eye for a girl, not even for his flings, girl there’s something you ain’t fucking telling me.” cali pushed her loose curls out of her face, looking at you expecting a story.
you take a breath, maybe making a tiny squeak “there’s no story to be told.”
cali sighed dramatically, “fine, keep your secrets.” she turned her attention back to the game, but you could tell she was still curious. you felt a shiver run down your spine; you hadn’t been this close to rafe in years, and it brought back all those memories you’d tried so hard to bury. you were lost in thought when a loud cheer erupted from the crowd. rafe had scored.
“see, told you he’s amazing!” cali nudged you, eyes sparkling with excitement. you just nodded, unable to muster any enthusiasm. the game continued, but your mind was elsewhere. what could rafe possibly want from you now, after all this time?
when the final buzzer sounded, the teams began to file out of the rink. you and cali stood to leave, but you felt a hand on your shoulder. you turned to see rafe, still in his gear, looking at you intently. “cali, go on ahead. i’ll catch up,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.
“you sure?” she asked, giving rafe a skeptical look.
“yeah, it’s fine. i’ll be right behind you.”
cali reluctantly left, glancing back at you a couple of times. once she was out of earshot, rafe spoke. “we need to talk, y/n.”
“about barry? i already told you, my friends didn’t steal from him.”
“not just about that.” rafe sighed, running a hand through his hair. “look, i know we’ve had our differences, but things have changed. i’ve changed. i’m trying to fix things.”
you crossed your arms, skeptical. “fix things? by threatening me and my friends?”
“i’m not threatening you. i’m warning you. barry’s dangerous, and if your friends are messing with him, they’re in serious trouble.”
“and what about you, rafe? are you still dangerous?” you asked, voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger.
“i’m trying not to be,” he said softly, looking down. “i made a lot of mistakes, y/n. i’m trying to make up for them.”
you stared at him, searching his eyes for any sign of the old rafe. the rafe who’d tried to drown his own sister. but all you saw was a tired, haunted look. maybe he was telling the truth. maybe he had changed. “fine,” you said finally. “i’ll talk to my friends. but if i find out you’re lying, or if anything happens to them, i swear to god—”
“i get it,” rafe interrupted. “thanks, y/n. really.”
you turned to leave, but rafe grabbed your arm again. “one more thing.” his tight grip making it seemingly impossible to pull away from.
“what now?”
“stay away from barry. he’s bad news.”
“i can take care of myself,” you snapped, pulling your arm free.
“i know you can. but just… be careful, okay?”
you didn’t respond, just walked away, heart pounding. you found cali waiting for you outside, a worried look on her face.
“everything okay?” she asked.
“yeah,” you lied. “just a lot of old drama.”
“well, if you need to talk, i’m here,” cali said, giving you a reassuring smile.
“thanks, cali.” you forced a smile, but your mind was still reeling. what was rafe really up to? and how were you going to keep your friends safe?
the walk back to your dorm was quiet, cali occasionally glancing at you with concern. when you finally got back to your room, you dropped onto your bed with a sigh. cali sat down at her desk, watching you carefully.
“you sure you’re okay?” she asked again.
“yeah, just tired,” you said, rubbing your temples.
“that didn’t look like just tired to me. you looked freaked out.”
“it’s just… complicated, cali. rafe brings back a lot of bad memories.”
“like what?”
you hesitated, debating how much to tell her. cali had become one of your closest friends, but the past was something you rarely talked about.
“rafe and i used to be close. but then things got… messed up. really messed up.”
“how messed up?”
“he tried to drown his own sister, cali. and i had to stop him.”
cali’s eyes widened in shock. “holy shit. seriously?”
“yeah. seriously. and now he’s here, acting like he’s all changed, but i don’t trust him.”
“sounds like a total psycho.”
“he was. maybe he still is.”
“so what are you gonna do?”
“i don’t know,” you admitted. “but i’m not letting him or anyone else hurt my friends.”
“damn right,” cali said, standing up and giving you a determined look. “we’ll figure it out together. no way you’re dealing with this alone.”
you smiled, feeling a little bit of the weight lift off your shoulders. “thanks, cali.”
“anytime, y/n.”
the next day, you met up with pope and jj at the coffee shop near campus. you told them about your encounter with rafe, leaving out some of the more personal details but making it clear that barry was a threat.
“barry’s bad news,” pope agreed, frowning. “but we didn’t steal from him. why would he think we did?”
“who knows? maybe rafe’s just trying to scare us,” jj said, looking irritated. “he’s always been a prick.”
“well, we need to be careful. if barry thinks we’re messing with him, he won’t hesitate to come after us.”
“we can handle barry,” jj said confidently. “we’ve dealt with worse.”
“still, let’s not take any unnecessary risks,” you said. “we stick together and watch each other’s backs.”
“agreed,” pope said. “we’ll be careful.”
as you walked back to campus, you couldn’t shake the feeling that things were going to get a lot more complicated. rafe’s sudden reappearance, his warnings about barry—it all felt like the calm before the storm.
later that night, as you lay in bed, your mind kept replaying rafe’s words. he claimed to have changed, but could you really believe him? and what did he really want from you?
your phone buzzed, snapping you out of your thoughts. it was a message from sarah. “heard rafe’s at your school. be careful. he’s been acting weird.” great, you thought. just what you needed to hear. you typed a quick response, telling her you’d be careful, then put your phone down and tried to get some sleep.
but sleep wouldn’t come easily. not with the shadow of rafe cameron looming over you, bringing with him all the chaos and danger you thought you’d left behind. with the inability to shake the thoughts through your head, you decide to go on a walk. to clear your mind. to relax. fresh air.
you were just going on a peaceful walk—no one should bother you, right? wrong. there rafe was sitting on the bench, hands shoved into his pocket, almost if he was waiting for you. but that's probably just paranoia, right?
“y/n.” rafe muttered, gesturing for the seat beside him. “we still need to talk.”
the end <3
#rafe cameron#outerbanks rafe#rafe imagine#rafe obx#rafe outer banks#frat!rafe#hockey!au#hockey!rafe#rafe x reader#rafe cameron fluff
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i have not posted art in literally forever but i couldn’t not do @less-depresso-more-espresso’s dtiys. Also Raph is literally the girl of all time and i!!! Want to draw her more dammit!!!!
#espresso 7k dtiys#Rottmnt#rottmnt raph#rottmnt raphael#rise raph#rise raphael#rottmnt fanart#transfem raph#?#Really i need to draw her more because it gives me the chance to use a lot of nice chunky shapes#I ended up getting carried away. If you can’t tell#It is. Two am right now. I will be seeing myself out#Jules art
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soft-tummy simon riley save me… cause you cannot look at that man and tell me he doesn’t love to eat!! like, a constant snacker. and his heart absolutely swells when you indulge so heavily in his needs.
it’s practically his love language, to scarf down anything you put on the table in front of him, and you can certainly tell since now he’s not nearly in the same shape as he was when you found him.
he likes to think you’ve fixed him in a way; spending his evenings cuddling in bed for hours on end with you, rather than heading to the gym for the second time that day to burn off dinner. thanking you for the savory meal with kisses all over instead of fighting off the impulse to purge his usual bland chicken breast and vegetables every night.
and it all hits him far, far deeper than just his gut; feeling it in his heart more than the soft layer of fat blanketing his tummy he has to see in the mirror every morning. just the fact that a sweet thing like you wants to take care of him, ensure he eats plentiful yet still healthy for his work, has him whipped. showering him with endless i love you’s and praising him all up and down until his cheeks tint a light, flustered pink and his dick gets achingly hard in his pants.
he won’t pretend the change was easy on him, seeing the clean-cut abs and fit appearance that made him feel young fade away the further you got into your relationship, but he’d also be a filthy liar if he said he didn’t prefer the pros to his current build way more.
simon begins wearing shirts less around the house on his lazy days, at your lovely request of course, and it does feel quite freeing. especially when he’s able to come up behind you in the kitchen, cage you in with his burly arms, bend you over the counter and fuck you senseless because part of the deal was that his shirts would go to you, and with nothing but your lace panties on underneath.
he can’t help but get riled up seeing you walk around like that, and you’re no saint either when you catch a glimpse of his broad chest and relaxed, pillowy belly as he reads the morning newspaper. you tend to drop to your knees and tug at his boxers faster than he can even greet you properly, showing him just how much you love him.
he loves eating you out more than anything, especially with a full tummy after a late meal. you’ll take his and your empty plates to the kitchen to clean up, but you’re being bent over the counter before you can even wipe it down!! and squealing his name in surprise won’t stop him, nor will your giggles as he’s lifting the skirt of your dress to reveal your pretty ass, getting down on his knees and delving right in.
dragging his tongue through your drenched seam, grinning softly against your skin when you jolt and whine out of sensitivity. tongue-fucking your pretty, tight hole only for a moment before he’s returning to messily play with your swollen clit.
and you just know it’s entirely selfish, simon not even paying mind to the way your legs shake and relentlessly convulse and you can barely stay still because his stubble is unceasingly tickling your inner thighs. making you cum until you can’t anymore, and he’s happily forced to carry your numbed, twitchy body to bed so you can catch your breath and rest while he finishes up the chores.
would probably send you off by say something cliché about you being his favorite dessert. he’s so stupid when he’s horny.
simon is weak for when you ride his stomach, with both his hands planted firmly on your hips as you rub your bare pussy back and forth on his hard abdomen. his hidden muscles become more apparent the longer you go at it and the harder he holds you down, little whimpers spilling from your puffy lips as the light hairs coating his tummy create just the perfect amount of friction to your poor, little clit for that hot, familiar sensation in your lower belly to bubble up.
your hands clawing at his chest and shoulders, leaving lines and crescent indents in his skin that soon turn red in their wake, and the pain only turns him on more, his cock excruciatingly hard, long hums of pleasure omitting straight from his throat as he grits his teeth.
“yeah, that’s it, sweetheart—there’s my dirty girl. jus’ keep goin’ for me now, don’t stop… make yourself cum without me touchin’ you down there, ‘nd then i’ll fuck you real nicely after. alright, princess?”
and you soon follow through with just that, nodding decorously with tears welling at your eyes’ waterlines before you’re lurching forward, crying out his name. thighs giving out and fighting to ride out your orgasm, where simon then saves you with his attentive grip on your hips, finishing the job for you rather recklessly.
“good fuckin’ girl… y’did so well for me, love,” and every other gruff, dragged word of praise in his vocabulary echos in your fuzzy mind as you come down from your high.
you’re still catching your breath, fulling laying on his chest by the time he’s inching you backwards whilst taking his hard dick out from his boxers. lifting your weak hips for you as he whispers small, reassuring hushes right by your ear, soothing your winces as he fully sheathes you on his thick cock, inch by fucking inch.
he fucks himself up into you, not daring to make you overwork your body anymore, and he handles you so delicately you could almost fall asleep on his mattress of a body. you crumble to pieces with the vibrations of his chest from his unending groaning, the feeling of his veiny and rough cock stretching and filling you to the brim almost becoming minute compared to the sleepiness washing over you.
“there ya go, pretty… don’t have’ta do any work now, jus’ like i promised, eh?” he coos, and he could feel you smiling against his collarbone. one of his large hands cradles the back of your head while the other gropes at your ass lovingly. “takin’ me just fine, sweet girl.”
you bury your heated face into his squishy pectoral, whining at the overstimulation to your clit at the particular angle, left so utterly sensitive from your prior orgasm. you’re limp in his strong hold, securer than ever as he lifts your hips up and down his thick cock.
he uses your tender cunt ‘til he’s satisfied, groaning right up against your ticklish ear when he empties his hot cum in your throbbing pussy, the perfect thing milking him dry and turning you exhausted.
he actually sits in the moment for a peaceful while, coddling you against his rising and falling chest and murmuring sweet praises, until eventually his disciplined brain kicks in despite your protests.
“don’t go passin’ out on me yet, sweetheart.” you grumble out a refusing noise which makes him laugh softly, but apparently it’s not enough to win him over. “let’s go get you cleaned up, yeah?”
(simon and his size difference & free use kinks go CRAZY in this one. also this instagram reel is so him coded ok bye bye <3 cont.)
#cod mw#simon riley#ghost cod#simon ghost riley#simon riley smut#ghost smut#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#ghost x female reader#simon riley x female reader
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⋆ LACTATION KINK
ft. Sukuna, Toji, Satoru
𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 cw. f!reader, praising, nipple play, hand jobs ( s.g ), unprotected sex ( t.f ), reader is pregnant, mentions of breeding.
NAVI ⁞ EVENT MASTERLIST
“who could have thought the brat growing inside you came with perks” is what Sukuna mumbles, a lazy smile spreading through his lips as he leans down once again, fervently suckling on your swollen nipples and greedily swallowing the milk that’s supposedly for your unborn baby.
the first time Sukuna noticed the damp spot in your shirt, he didn’t even give you a moment to think before he’s carrying and dropping you in bed, hands eagerly ripping open the fabric, “what is that?”
you sigh, rubbing your forehead, “i’m lactating, Sukuna”
and he is not a stupid man in the slightest, but he never expected the sight of your pretty nipples, all swollen and dribbling white-ish, creamy drops of milk could have his cock twitching so fast.
he’s not giving you a break after that, “tell your pretty tits to stop being so shy” Sukuna murmurs hoarsely, pinching on your nipples for the flow of milk to continue. you’re probably sucked dry at this point, his tongue lazily wrapping around the bud before sucking again, cozily laying between your thighs. the pink haired is so greedy, wishing to have you all for himself, “mmm, that’s perfect, good girl” his voice comes as a groan once the sweetness of your milk comes to coat his taste buds.
“we’re having more babies after this one.” he promises with hooded eyes that barely flick up to meet yours before diving in again.
“too heavy, babydoll?” Toji almost purrs, weighing your soft and swollen tits on the palm of his hand, he knows it hurts, stretching every couple days to get plump and full of milk, but your lover is more than ready to provide the relief you so desperately crave.
you can only whimper and nod, making Toji’s smirk widen “aw, I know, baby, I know, i got you” he coos now, gently massaging your sore tits, pressing the calloused tip of his thumb under the soft skin and sliding up, easing the tension before leaning down to suckle on the bud, a loud groan rumbling on your skin at the taste, his hips unconscious bucking down into your heat, “you look so gorgeous, all full of milk and my cock”
your sore body is just too sensitive you can’t help and continuously cream Toji’s cock, the prominent, pulsing vein rubbing against your g-spot mixed with the sensation of his lips on your nipples and hands caressing the swollen flesh drives you mad, “don’t s-stop” you barely croak, thighs shaking and laying flat with your lover’s body towering above yours.
he groans, “no need to tell me twice” and he’s sucking and lapping again, much similar to what he’d do with your clit, drinking in your taste and creamy milk on his tongue, each suck forcing his hips to move faster, pistoning into your cunt, you turn him on so much it’s kinda embarrassing how quick Toji desperately needs to cum and breed you a bit more, “fuck, baby...” a murmur laced with a groan, “need to keep you full for the rest of your life”
how’s my baby?
and you know he’s not speaking about the baby, but you.
sore :(
you text back, and that’s all he needs to flee from his job, because to Satoru there is not a better way to end his day then laying in the soft, plush and warm mattress of your shared bed. the window is slightly open, letting in a gentle breeze that swirls the curtain around, you’re sitting on his lap, his hands on your tits, mouth on your nipples and your hand stroking his cock.
Satoru is too eager, almost as if he’s making out with your nipples, cupping both tits in his large hands and switching between them, sucking on one while the other gets pinched by his fingers, “why do you taste so fuckin’ good?” it’s not really a question, or at least he doesn’t care, every single second away from your sweet milk is like torture, “can’t get enough of these gorgeous tits of yours, fuck...! it’s so sweet” he constantly rambles, barely audible through the sound of his slurping and the squelch of your hand on his cock, drooling so much precum it feels like he’ll cum on the spot.
and you’re gushing too much slick too, lazily humping on Satoru’s thigh, but don’t worry, he’ll fuck you nice and good, perhaps you can ride his cock and make your tits jiggle right on his face.
#jjk#jjk x reader smut#jjk x you#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jjk sukuna smut#jjk toji smut#jjk gojo smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen sukuna smut#jujutsu kaisen toji smut#jujutsu kaisen satoru smut#jujutsu kaisen gojo smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader smut#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#sukuna smut#sukuna x you#sukuna x reader#toji smut#toji fushiguro smut#toji x you#toji x reader#gojo satoru x reader#satoru x reader#satoru smut#gojo satoru smut#gojou satoru x reader#gojo x reader
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“what’s on these?” megumi asks, holding up a box of memory cards.
cleaning day always unearthed all types of lost and forgotten items. sometimes it was clothes long forgotten in you and gojo’s closet, other times it was the kid’s old books or toys. you knew every inch of your little apartment, so most times you could identify any mystery items that came up.
“i don’t know,” you hum, plucking a card from the box to inspect it a little more closely. the only hint as to what’s actually on it seems to just be a date.
2006
…and it’s in gojo’s handwriting.
curious, you pop one into the video player and turn on the tv. the kids join you on the couch, clearly eager to entertain any distraction from your cleaning crusade.
when the screen flickers to life, a familiar courtyard comes into view.
you can’t help the gasp when haibara comes into focus…but then you see satoru standing standing across from him, arms spread out.
“who is that?” megumi asks, pointing at haibara.
you think of the bright smile of the boy still lingering in the edges of your memory and tell him, softly, “an old friend.”
“suguru!” gojo shouts, looking towards the person holding the camera. he’s all messy hair and wide smiles, exactly how you remember him in his youth. “make sure you get this one!”
geto grumbles about how he’s paying attention, and suddenly you remember exactly what this is.
“ah, these are from when yaga would make us record ourselves practicing cursed technique application,” you explain as a haibara lines up a shot with a pencil.
the pencil hits gojo in the face, gifting him a small cut on his cheek. “ah, shit!”
behind the camera you can hear nanami and geto laughing as haibara apologizes profusely, and shoko comes over to practice her healing. you come over too, holding a cloth.
“don’t pout,” your younger self says, reaching up to wipe a thin trail of blood from his cheek. “you’ll get it next time.”
as soon you turn away, you hear geto snicker and the camera suddenly zooms in on gojo’s face.
he’s blushing.
“ugh,” you hear him groan behind the three of you, finally finished cleaning the bathroom. “are we done cleaning yet?”
“we’re taking a break!” tsumiki tells him, as megumi pops another card in.
gojo ignores megumi’s protests, stealing the spot on the couch next to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders with a smirk. “move your feet, lose your seat.”
tsumiki, angel that she is, moves over so her brother can sit on your other side as the video starts.
this time, gojo is the one recording, holding the camera out so it’s pointed at his own smiling face. “haibara versus nanami, round one!”
you feel your boyfriend stiffen beside you, looking over to see an odd look on his face. “oh, fuck—”
“jar,” megumi says flatly.
he glares at the kid, and is about to get up when you stop him. “wait! i want to watch this!”
he slumps back, throwing an arm over his eyes as he groans dramatically. ignoring him, you watch the fight play out, which ends with haibara whining whilst in a headlock.
you hear geto’s murmured commentary off camera as nanami releases his classmate, expecting the video to zoom in on the victor.
but it drifts a little to the left, where you’re laughing with shoko on the sidelines.
“so obvious,” geto scoffs. the video wobbles for a moment before being pointed directly at the tips of satoru’s shoes, then ends abruptly.
when you glance over at satoru, he’s pulled his sunglasses over his eyes as if they can hide his pink cheeks.
the next videos are similar. memories of your past viewed through a different lens, showing you things you’d never picked up on when you were living them.
some moments you watch with an aching heart. like when suguru leans close to you and makes a joke at satoru’s expense, or when you reach up to ruffle haibara’s hair.
(moments with cherished friends proving that the grief of losing them never got any lighter as you moved forward with your life, but at some point you’d just gotten used to carrying the weight.)
but what might be most interesting is seeing yourself in satoru’s eyes.
his focus, whether he was the one holding the camera or not, always seemed to drift to you. for all the times he’d denied crushing on you in your early years, the camera proves otherwise.
the way he peeks at you shyly as you fix your hair before a fight.
the way he reaches out instinctively whenever you’re knocked backwards.
the way he smiles brightly whenever you laugh at one of his jokes.
the way your gaze would occasionally meet his, and his smile seemed to come naturally.
“okay, that’s enough for tonight,” satoru announces, shutting the tv off and shooing the children away. “go clean your rooms, you freeloaders.”
you stand, looping your arms around his neck before he can run away. smiling, you gently pull his glasses off, tossing them onto the couch.
“hey! those are gucci—”
you shut him up with a kiss, feeling the way his lips curve upwards against yours. “i love you, you know that?”
blue eyes meet yours, the pensive look he’d been wearing melting into something a little softer. something reserved for you. “you’re obsessed with me, i know.”
you simply laugh, letting him dip down to give you another kiss.
(because you’d had his heart in your pocket long before either of you had realized.)
#thank u cherrykoo12 for this prompt omg#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#jjk x reader#jjk fluff#keeping up with the fushigojos
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𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀…
Sukuna
Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x f!Reader
Summary: Sukuna comes to terms with the idea of having a daughter with you.
Warnings: MDNI, smut, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, double penetration, creampie, pregnancy, slightly ooc but still a misogynist, fluff at the end
Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi
“What the hell are you doing?” Sukuna squints his eyes, looking down at you as you knit something for your baby girl. There’s no way of actually knowing the sex of your baby, but something tells you that you’re expecting a daughter. Sukuna negates the thought, assuring you that you’re carrying a son. He can’t possibly have a daughter, he’s always saying something along those lines.
“Just making a little something for our child.” You inform him, and Sukuna frowns. Your child is not going to wear something so pink because they’ll be a boy, Sukuna is sure of it. He snatches the cloth out of your hand and tosses it.
“Why pink? Are you saying we’re having a girl?” Sukuna questions, and you cross your arms. You look up at your husband, mad that he's tossed your hard work to the side.
“You have pink hair, Suku… Are you a girl?” You cock your eyebrow, and he’s not amused. He crosses both pairs of arms, rolling his eyes. Maybe he shouldn’t associate colors with a certain gender because you are right, he does have pink hair… But he also knows that you’re making a pink blanket because you think you’re having a girl.
“Make a blue one.” He orders, and you glare at him. You shake your head in response, you’re not making a blue one. He grits his teeth, grabbing the blanket that he just tossed to the side and shredding your hard work to pieces.
“Keep an eye open tonight, because when you least expect it, I’ll strangle you.” You warn him, and you’re dead serious. It’s clear that you’re carrying his child, you’ve never threatened to kill him before.
“If you even come close to it, I think I’ll fall more in love with you.” He chuckles, walking away, leaving you alone with your own anger. You let out a yell, cursing at him because the twinge of fear that you had for him completely faded a couple of months ago.
He holds no threat to you anymore. Sukuna wouldn’t have done anything to you anyway, since he hates that he loves you so dearly, but the realization that you carry his child and he’ll do no harm to you really gives you much more power and comfort. Sukuna finds humor in a very nonthreatening person, threatening to do something to him; especially when he knows that you can barely lift yourself up anymore.
He knows that you won’t even come close to succeeding in hurting him, and he laughs in amusement at the mere thought. But you’ll get him back, you know you will.
“I thought we were going to spend the day together?” Sukuna asks as he watches you get ready to go out. You never invited him anywhere, so he was shocked to hear that you weren’t at home. He isn’t well liked in public, there’s just something about being huge, having four arms and being extremely scary that people don’t like. Sukuna can kill anyone without a second thought.
“I thought so too before someone ruined the blanket that I was making for my daughter… So I had to get the materials to make it again.” You tell him, and Sukuna nearly gasps when you drop the d word. You’ve always refused to call the baby your daughter since you have no idea what the sex is, but it seems like you use it to piss him off. You click your tongue when you notice his reaction, “What? You’re so overdramatic. You’ve killed for fuck’s sake, why is saying daughter so scary to you.”
“Because we’re having a son!” He yells, getting defensive about it. You don’t understand why he gets upset at the mere suggestion that he’s having a daughter. Before you got pregnant, Sukuna never seemed to care about the gender of a hypothetical baby– Although you shouldn’t be shocked since your husband isn’t exactly the most fair when it comes to different sexes… Sukuna is a misogynist, that’s what you’re trying to get at. He treats all humans with the same disdain, but particularly women. It seems that you’ve forgotten because he doesn’t treat you the same way he treats everyone else.
“Sukuna, we’re having a daughter.” You reiterate, and you watch his eye twitch. You’re doing it to piss him off, he knows it, yet it’s working. “You wanted a baby, Sukuna. You knew there was no guarantee that you’d be having a son, but you still decided that you wanted one. You can’t cry about having a daughter.”
Sukuna takes a deep breath, surprisingly managing his anger well. He decides to leave the room, leaving you alone to do whatever the hell you want. You fuel his anger even more, yelling at him, “And don’t come back until you fix your attitude!”
You stare off into the distance, your hand resting on your bump. You begin to wonder what Sukuna will actually do, and you can’t do anything but hope that he’ll come around to the idea because you know Sukuna. He isn’t good whatsoever, he won’t hesitate to hurt her, even if she’s his own flesh and blood. You’re not sure you could stay by his side if he were to do anything, but you wouldn’t really have any other option either.
You decide to go to sleep, because thinking about it further won’t really help you in any way. You delude yourself, thinking that he’ll come around to the idea.
A large pair of arms wrap around you, waking you up from your slumber. Sukuna does it to try and be romantic, but he nearly suffocates you. You slap his arm, telling him, “Loosen the grip–”
He loosens his grip, which lets you know that he wasn’t trying to kill you. Thankfully. Sukuna would never do anything to harm you, but sometimes you swear you don’t know him much. It’s very rare when you get a heart to heart with Sukuna where he actually talks about him, he usually prefers to listen to listen, and to threaten anyone in the stories that offend you in the slightest.
“Can I say something without you getting mad?” You begin, still half asleep. Sukuna furrows his brows. Due to his lack of answer, you decide to speak, “You’re overreacting.”
“I just don’t know what I’d do with a daughter.” He confesses. He doesn’t know how he’d handle her, how to treat her fairly, how he would– He doesn’t know how he would do anything. He doesn’t know what being a woman entails so he won’t know how to teach her anything. He wants to teach her how to do everything.
“Everything you’d do with a son.” You reply. You really doubt that your child will be raised to have great morals, so there’s no point in really raising them differently. “Sukuna, how will it be different?”
“How will it not be different?” He sounds offended. There’s nothing similar between men and women. Sukuna’s hands go to your bump, his hand caressing it. “But for my heir, I guess I can make an exception.”
“Is that your way of telling me that you won’t make a fuss over the possibility of having a daughter?” You ask him, and his silence gives you an answer. Yes, Sukuna is fine with it, as fine as he can be at least.
His hand goes under your nightgown, caressing your thighs. You feel Sukuna kiss the back of your neck, and you squeeze your thighs, his large hand stuck between them. The man rarely touches you nowadays, seeing you as fragile as ever. You don’t know about the sudden change, but you certainly don’t mind.
“What changed in you?” You ask him as his hand goes up to your panties. He pushes them to the side because last time he tore something of yours, you got too mad at him so he’d rather not risk it. His fingers run through your folds before going to your clit, and you bite your bottom lip due to pure excitement.
“Was thinking about how I’d be nothing without you.” He confesses, letting you know that he didn’t come to terms with having a daughter– Sukuna is a man that fears nothing, at least that’s what you thought up until now. He fears losing you. It’s your issue… You’ve never paid attention to the love in his eyes when he speaks to you or about you. Sometimes you don’t realize just how much you mean to him. “Then I remembered how gorgeous you look carrying our son.”
“If you say that again I’ll–” You begin but Sukuna is two steps ahead of you. He pushes two large fingers inside of you. You can’t help but moan, covering your mouth immediately. One of his hands pulls your hand away, even in the dark he knows what you do. After all, you’re not just getting to know him, but he’s getting to know you too.
“Did I tell you to be fucking quiet?” He asks through gritted teeth. You have to be quiet at other times, like when the baby gets here and you risk waking them up. Now, if any of the servants hear, that’s their fucking problem. “Be loud, my love. Remind everyone who you belong to.”
“They know.” You tell him, which is quickly cut off by a moan as his fingers move faster. You feel his thumb graze your asshole, teasing you before he pushes it in. “Suku–”
“You’re not going to be able to stay quiet.” He ends up laughing. You never do because he’s just too much for you to handle. He curves his fingers so they hit your sweet spot. You shut your eyes, quickly succumbing to pleasure. You’ve missed this feeling so much, and he refuses to give it to you.
Sukuna loves when you turn into putty by his touch. It takes practically nothing to work you up, and you begin to squeeze around him. He smirks, knowing that it takes nothing for you to be practically screaming his name. Sukuna speaks into your ear, “Already so excited for me? Do you want more?”
“I need more.” Your voice sounds so demanding and Sukuna laughs. Another hand goes under your nightgown, his fingers focusing on your clit. You loudly moan his name as it all gets too much for you to handle.
“Is it too much?” He mocks you as your orgasm builds up, until you finally reach your peak, your legs shaking. Sukuna takes his fingers out, shoving the fingers that were in your cunt into your mouth, making you gag.
Sukuna lights a candle, providing some light in the room. You sit up, getting on top of him, undoing his robe. Your body yearns for more, and he smirks since he knows it. You lean down, your lips going on his, your tongue entering his mouth and pressing against his own. When you pull away from the kiss, you mutter, “I’ve missed you.”
You raise yourself, aligning the cock on the top with your pussy before slowly pushing yourself down on it. You take a moment to adjust to him since it’s been a while since the last time you’ve fucked her. You begin to bounce on him, and Sukuna spits in his palm, grabbing the cock on the bottom and teasing your asshole with the tip.
Sukuna holds you down when he begins to push the other tip in your asshole. Even though you’re expecting a child together, you’re still loud when he fills both of your holes. It’s too much for you to handle at first, but throughout the time you get used to it.
“Tight little cunt–” He groans, and he never thought that he of all people would end up touch deprived. But then he got too scared to hurt you in any way when you knew you were expecting, so he stuck to… Nothing. To suppress his dirty thoughts.
“Move.” You order, too tired to continue. Sukuna begins to move for you, thrusting slowly in and out of you. He continues at the pace you had set.
“Is it good? You’re making a fucking mess.” He says as he picks up speed. You throw your head back, one hand going down to play with your clit as he thrusts in and out of you.
“It’s so fucking good–” You answer. You’ve been needing this every single fucking night, and you’re lucky to be receiving it now. He’s finally giving into your cravings.
“You just love being filled up like a little slut, don’t you?” Sukuna’s hand goes up from your bump to your mouth, shoving two fingers into your mouth again. He feels the vibration of your moans through your tongue before you begin to twirl your tongue around his fingers.
Sukuna loves the way you take in his cocks, smiling at you at how well you take him– Of course he wouldn’t tell you though. Your hands go to his chest, using it for support as well as subconsciously digging your nails into his skin. It stings for him, but he can’t help but love it.
Sukuna does you a favor, his fingers rubbing your clit. Your eyes roll to the back of your head,
A second orgasm overtaking you. Sukuna feels you squeezing on both of his cocks, feeling himself get weak.
“Suku–” You loudly moan as you reach your second orgasm. Sukuna mocks you for it.
“What? Can’t handle it?” He asks, your nails digging deeper into his skin. He’s losing control, his thrusts getting sloppy. It’s been so long since the last time he did this– And when he finishes, he fills both of your holes with so much cum, and you swear you’re in heaven because there is no better feeling than this.
When he takes his cocks out, so much cum drips out of you. You end up falling on his chest, him wrapping a pair of large arms around you while another fixes your clothes.
“This is a nice way to apologize for misbehaving.” You comment, and Sukuna scoffs.
“Who said I was apologizing?” Sukuna is frowning, and you lightly smack his face which pisses him off more. He holds your hands so you don’t try to do anything more with them.
“I’ll take it as an apology.” You tell him. Sukuna wants to laugh, but he manages to keep a poker face. He grabs you up by your hair, putting his lips on yours.
“It was not an apology, woman. Shut your mouth.”
Bonus:
You swear that hell is freezing over because what the hell is the scene you’re witnessing. You’ve never seen Sukuna like this… You don’t think you are supposed to see him like this.
“Who’s a headstrong girl?” Sukuna is putting on a baby voice for fuck’s sake. For a daughter that he didn’t want. Your baby girl laughs, and he falls in love all over again. She’s just so fucking perfect– With her little eyes, her little nose, her little mouth, her four little arms, her soft pink hair. She’s everything to him.
“Do you need anything, Sukuna?” You approach them, but Sukuna pays little attention to you. He keeps looking down at his daughter who lays on your bed. She’s in need of a nap but Sukuna doesn’t like putting her to bed because she’s boring then.
“Yeah, how do I order another one of these?” He asks, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion.
“Of what?” You respond, wondering what the hell he talks about.
“Another daughter.”
#ryomen sukuna#sukuna x reader#sukuna#sukuna ryomen#jujutsu kaisen sukuna#jjk sukuna#sukuna smut#jujutsu sukuna#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna x you#sukuna x y/n#ryoumen sukuna#ryomen sukuna x you#sukuna ryoumen smut#sukuna x reader smut
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Satoru Gojo purposely keeping the scar you gave him instead of using reversed technique
Pairing: husband! Gojo x reader
Word Count: 1,6k
Synopsis: When his skin gets busted by your sheer excitement, it doesn't feel right to Satoru to use his reversed technique and simply heal.
Warnings: fluff fluff fluff, Yuji's "death" scnene in season 1, blood lol
Thank you dear anon for aggressively reminding me that it's canon for Gojo to not have any scars, it really helped me cooking up that fic! 🤍
Every step feels like hell, the only thing that keeps you from collapsing onto the floor being the reassuring hand of your husband on your shoulder.
This can’t be true, it’s just impossible. Yuji Itadori was a member of Jujutsu High for a few weeks, just started to get to know this world better. This was supposed to be an easy mission, the three of them should have made it out alive with ease. But apparently, Sukuna decided to show up. And apart from injuring Megumi, he violently took Yuji’s life by ripping his heart out. A heart made of pure gold, a heart so precious that you couldn’t help but care for that boy the minute you saw him.
But now he’s dead.
Your hands start shaking immediately the minute you step into this cursed room you visited far too often, gazing at Yuji’s body covered by a cloak. This isn’t a bad dream. No, the blood covering the white cloak tells you more than urgently that Yuji Itadori isn’t there anymore.
“Please tell me that there’s a chance he’ll come back”, you mutter.
Oh, how much both Shoko and Satoru hate to see you like that. It’s not a secret to anyone at Jujutsu High how deeply you care about your students, loving them like your own children. Of course, this isn’t the first time you’ve seen a student die in front of your eyes. In times like these, jujutsu sorcerers pass away like flies. But Satoru knows what you’ve seen in Yuji, that he somehow reflected parts of yourself. And still, you weren’t able to protect that boy, both Satoru and you coming too late to rescue him.
“I really wish I could, but he shows no signs of life. I’ll move on to autopsy now. If you want to say goodbye…Maybe do it now and leave afterwards.”
Satoru wraps his arms around you just in time before you slide onto the ground, holding you tightly against his chest.
“This is not fair”, you breathe out, head still not able to accept Yuji’s farewell.
He was so young, so full of life. He doesn’t deserve to die, he still had so much ahead of him. There needs to be something you are able to do. Aren’t Satoru or Shoko able to use their cursed technique?
“He didn’t show any signs of life for hours by now, (y/n). Not even Shoko or me are able to bring him back to life. I’m so sorry”, he mumbles against your ear out of nowhere.
So this is really how it ended? With Yuji getting killed by none other than Sukuna himself? Like in trance, your wobbly legs carry you to the autopsy table his lifeless body lays on. You want to stretch out your arm, want to look at that precious boy one last time before Shoko does her job.
But you can’t.
“I can’t look at him”, you blurt out.
With a swift motion, you turn around and burry your face against your husband’s chest.
“It’s okay babe, just look at me, okay? You don’t have to do this.”
Satoru’s arms keep you from losing yourself completely, soak up your falling tears while his head rests against yours. Oh Yuji, you’ll never be forgotten. All the laughter’s both of you shared, his potential, how he always cared about others. You will think about him every time the sun starts to rise, when new students get greeted, when you kill another curse-
“Hey, what’s up? Huh, what are both of you doing here, Gojo-sensei?”
This voice…
That was Yuji Itadori.
Out of instinct you turn around rapidly, not even noticing how the back of your head crushes into Satoru’s forehead with full force. He sees starts, blood taking his sight in an instant while his mind isn’t even able to comprehend it was Yuji who just spoke.
“Yuji! Are you okay? Are you hurt? You’re back!”, you babble out, embracing the boy in a tight hug.
“To be honest I don’t even know what happened last and I’m pretty hungry…Oh, you’re bleeding Gojo-sensei!”
You’re…bleeding? You turn around in confusion, following Yuji’s eyes.
“OMG SATORU!”, you cry out, the sight of your husband covered in his own blood shocking you to your core.
When did that happened…Was it…you?
“I guess you were so happy to see Itadori that you’ve forgot about me standing behind you”, he mutters amused.
“Babe I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just got so carried away and-“
“Don’t worry about me. Reversed technique, remember? I’ll be whole in seconds. Just look after Yuji, I love you.”
You let out the breath you were holding, the bright smile forming on your gorgeous face making Satoru forget the world around him for a moment. You are so caring, so passionate. And you are his wife.
“I’m a lucky man”, he mutters to himself while pressing the tissue Shoko handed him against his wound.
There you sit, gently caressing Yuji’s cheeks and asking him over and over if he’s okay.
“You really are. This isn’t a problem for you, right?”, Shoko questions with one glance at the laceration on his forehead.
The shocked look on your face replays itself over and over in his mind, lets a chuckle escape his lips. With the help but his reversed technique, it would be way too easy to get rid of that minor wound. Within seconds, there wouldn’t even be a scar left, just his flawless skin. But…it was you who did this to him out of sheer excitement. It sure would be nice to look into the mirror and get reminded of you daily, right?
“Oh, I might as well keep that”, he replies with a sly grin.
- a few weeks later -
You sit on the edge of the couch, desperately waiting for that time of the day. Even after being married to that force of a man for 4 years now, you find yourself getting all excited when he announces that he’s going to shower. Because going to shower means that he’ll come out just wearing boxers with his body still a little wet and his hair sticking to his face in that delicate way.
“Still waiting for me, huh? It’s not like you can see me naked every time you want, babe”, he finally purrs.
Your heart skips a beat. This man…How is it even allowed to look so breathtakingly gorgeous? The way a single droplet of water runs down his cheek, how he gently strokes his damp hair back.
Wait. You squint your eyes a little harder. What is that on his forehead?
“What do you have there?”, you question, rubbing your own hand against the ride side of your forehead.
This almost looks like a scar. But Satoru shouldn’t have scars. After all, he’s able to use reversed technique, healing himself in the matter of seconds. Is it just dirt? No, that definitely looks like scar tissue.
“Oh, it’s nothing”, he immediately tries to brush you off, pulling his hair back into his face.
“No way Romeo, come back here right now”, you demand.
With a swift motion you lift yourself off the couch and hunt after him.
“Is that a scar?”
“It might be…”
“Why didn’t you just heal it? Show it to me!”
When you finally catch him, you slick his hair back again. Only to be greeted what indeed looks like a middle-sized scar. But why and how did this happen, why didn’t he just heal like he usually does?
“You really don’t know where this came from?”, he challenges you.
You blink a few times. What the hell is your husband talking about?
“Why would I know where this came from?”
“Because it was you, (y/n)?”, he playfully bites back.
You? Your mind races, searching for a single moment you ever hurt your husband. You were never really able to even hurt him, no matter how berserk you went in training. When was the last time you even wounded him? But wait, there was this one time you made him bleed, that one time when…
“This was when Yuji woke up-“
“EXACTLY!”, Satoru cries out and gives you a round of applause.
“But why did you keep it? You said you’d be able to heal it…”
“Because I didn’t want to. This scar right here”
Gently, he takes your hand in his and traces the soft scar with your fingertips.
“will always remind me of what a wonderful human being you are.”
Oh. Your eyes turn glossy in an instant, staring up at your loving husband while he gifts you with the most breath-taking smile you’ve ever seen.
“Satoru”, you breathe out.
There is no time to waste. You wrap your longing arms around his tall frame tightly, aiming to never let him go again.
“Every time I look into the mirror, I think about my wonderful wife”, he mutters into your hair.
“Y’know, you could just take a picture of me or something-“
“No. I would rather just keep that scar of my wonderful wife smacking me over a student.”
You hit him playfully over his comment, a giggle escaping your precious lips.
“Come on, it wasn’t like that…”
“I’ll always tell the story like this.”
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Dividers by @saradika 🤍
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jjk gojo#gojo x reader#gojo satoru#gojo saturo#jujutsu gojo#gojou satoru x reader#gojo fluff#jjk fluff#jjk comfort#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x you#jujustu kaisen#jjk satoru#satoru x you#satoru x reader#satoru x y/n#gojo satorou#jujutsu kaisen gojo#gojou x reader#satoru gojo#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk fanfic#jjk imagines#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#jujutsu sorcerer#gojo's wife
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Wrong Number? Wrong Answer.
It was the usual deal that the Justice League Dark dealt with… way too often honestly.
Initially, it had been just Wonder Woman, investigating a cult that had attempted to abduct her earlier in the month.
Diana had defeated them. Easily. Of course. But upon questioning them, their reasoning had concerned her.
They had attacked her for a ritual to open the ‘Sarcophagus of Eternal Sleep’, a ritual which required ‘a blade blackened by the ichor of time.’
Once again, she was being targeted for her parentage. Did it ever end?
Of course, she questioned them further, what other ingredients did they need, what artifacts they would be hurting others to create.
A ring carved from the bone of an unfreed slave.
A crown made of lava untouched by human hands.
And sand directly from the pouch of Dream of the Endless themself.
It was an eclectic collection of items.
And yet, they had told her that only the blade remained to be created.
Again, it was concerning.
So Diana left the fools to be taken care of by men’s authorities, and focused on tracking down just what they were doing and if necessary, how to stop it.
After depleting her academic resources, and her connections within with nothing to show, Diana finally called in her friend through the league, Zatanna.
Zatanna had been frazzled by it, showing up in her living room before they’d even finished the call.
Together they tracked down the cult to Gotham… which was also a problem.
It was the reason why Diana was running through the caves beneath the crime ridden city with one of her closest friends in men’s world and a magician by her side.
All too quickly, they were surrounded by fanatics, each carrying sharp blades solely focused on her.
Working in sync with Batman and Zatanna throwing spells above them, Diana believed it would be a well-won battle.
Until a golden light flashed across the cave, blinding her for a precious second as she felt a sharp sting cut across her arm.
When her vision cleared, her arm was dripping blood and John Constantine stood in front of her.
“Sorry about that, love,” Constantine smirks, “No harm done?”
Diana’s teeth grind together as she turns away from him, fighting her way through more followers. The one who had injured her is nowhere to be seen, and the blade with them.
Even once the rest of the swarm is beaten, their numbers no longer being replenished, Diana does not feel content. The sense of danger lingers.
“Constantine.” Batman growls, “What are you doing in Gotham?”
The Brit rolls his eyes as he lights a new cigarette, “You know I don’t actually have to tell you every time I enter the city right? But besides, that’s news to me, portals are a tricky business, I’m tracking my own problem.”
Batman glares at him.
“Someone stole from me mate. And whatever they stole it for can’t be good, so I’m here ta get it back. Thought you’d be proud of something like that, Batsy, insteada leavin’ it for someone else?”
Batman’s eyes darken, “We’re tracking a group trying to open the Sarcophagus of Eternal Sleep, is your artifact related to that?”
“Fucking shit it is yeah! Bollocks I didn’t think they’d be using the dream sand for something like that, what sort of mannies are these?!” Constantine exclaims, hastily grinding his cigarette beneath his shoe.
“Hn.”
Suddenly, there’s a rattling boom, the ground and walls shaking around them as dust rains down and they are all forced into stabilizing stances.
They barely share a glance before all three are running down the hall to the source, Constantine left scrambling to keep up.
The scene they come to is equal parts confusing as it is problematic.
The cultists are each in states of disrepair, crusting on the edges or yelling at their leader. The leader is the first to notice their arrival.
“You! You say you are a child of Zeus and yet your blood does not work! You lie of your ancestry!”
Diana steps forward, “I do not! I am the daughter of Queen Hippolyta and Zeus, grandchild of Kronos! The fault of your magic does not lie with me!”
The leaders face twists, mouth open to shout, but a flash of gold slams into him.
“Z, the book!” Constantine yells, arms outstretched as he flings more spells at the surrounding people, glowing ropes binding each.
“On it! Etativel em dna eht koob!” Zatanna shouts, lifting into the air as a book the leader had been holding flies into her hands.
Immediately she begins turning pages with desperation, “Wohs em eht stsitluc lleps!”
The book flips to a distinct page, and Zatanna’s face drains of color.
“Batman, we need to be careful, this spell looks legitimate, we might still have a risk on our hands.”
Batman hummed, looking at the chalk lines of the summoning circle drawn out before them, drawing Diana to do the same. Looking closely at the artifacts placed at each cardinal direction, including a short dagger with her blood nearly completely dry on the flat of the blade.
Batman moves towards the gathered and bound cultists as both magicians whisper over the spell.
Diana continues to look out on the evidence of the ritual, confusion warring in her.
She lays a hand on the lasso at her side. She knew she had not been lying about her heritage, so then why….
‘A blade blackened by the ichor of time.’
She looks at the bloodied dagger once more. It didn’t make sense, even if they had managed to harm a godly descendent, pure ichor would be gold; and even her blood was simply a humanly deep crimson red, not black; not until it-
Diana lunges towards the knife, fingertips brushing its hilt just as her blood dries a flaky black.
Her body slams into the cave walls in the next second, percussive force rippling through the air.
She crumples to the ground, struggling to lift her head.
White boots pass in front of her eyes.
She watches as they move towards her colleague, her friend, only to be surprised as they stop in front of the cultists instead.
As the air returns to her body, Diana lifts herself up, shaking arms supporting her as the weight of the atmosphere presses down.
She looks at the being, the sight almost making her collapse once more.
Mist curls around its form like a mountain peak, iridescent light glowing near its head, pitch black night covering its body, the pinprick of stars so small you can’t see them straight on, claws like a falcon’s beak: unhidden and meant to tear apart. And more importantly, wrapped around the leaders neck.
““̵̨̮̣̀͊̓Y̷͖̊̒o̸̤͈͍͌̈́͘u̶̗̭̲̍ ̵̬̤̞̀̑ā̴̟r̸̹̝̉e̴̞̦̮͑̍ ̴̣̩̖͑̓͛a̷̮̞͍͊͆͝ ̶͍̀̈́́f̷̖̄ò̸͈̓͝ǫ̷̅̀̔l̶̹̥̹̋͌͠.̴̤̲̈́͋̀”̶̛̫̺̈́”
The voice rattles her heart within her chest. She watches as Batman continues to try and stand.
The cultist struggles against the hand, mumbling screams behind Constantine’s bind. The creature tears it off with one claw.
“We summ-moned-… the king! Pa-pariah-!“
The creatures hand barely twitches, but the cultist breaks off in a scream. She is surprised to note the other cultists react exactly alike. As if linked.
“̵̻͝Ý̷͚o̶͈͝u̷̦̐ ̶̆͜d̶͈̄ǐ̸̢d̵̲̓ ̴͖̽n̴̘̅ȯ̸͍t̵̛̯ ̴̫̐ŝ̵̗u̴̹̇m̶̨͠m̴̡̽o̴̱̐n̵̘͝ ̴̪̈h̴̨̀i̶͝ͅm̸̰͗.̴͍͆”̸͔̔ The creature growls, “À̴̳n̸̛̜d̶͒ͅ ̴̤̃y̸̬͝ǫ̸̒u̵̫͗ ̶̘͛a̴̫̐r̷̠̈e̶͂ͅ ̶͔̋ḽ̶̔ủ̷͜c̷̥̍k̴̲͊ÿ̸̯́ ̶͓́f̷͇͝o̷͎͒ŕ̴͇ ̶͔͝t̶̞̀h̸̲̉ȧ̸̮t̷̩͝.̷͔̍ ̵͙͐I̸͎͌f̶͖͛ ̶̜̇y̵̜͗o̴̩̍ṵ̶͆ ̵̫̈́h̴͛ͅā̴̼d̸̤͆…̵͍̈́i̵͍̐t̸̡̉ ̴̭͂w̷̥̔o̷̟̅u̴̪͂l̸̞̏d̵͚̀ ̵͓̃b̴̢̽e̵̗͠ ̸͕̉m̸̠͆u̶̖͘c̷̯͘h̴̤̎ ̸̥́w̷͚͝o̸͐ͅr̶̦͐s̵̨̿e̸͕͆ ̸̙̑f̴̧̂o̶̱̓ȓ̷̟ ̴̠͗ÿ̸̥́ö̵͜ŭ̶̟.̵͎̉”̶͍̀
The man whimpers under the claws.
"I̴n̷s̵t̴e̷a̵d̸,̶ ̵y̸o̷u̵ ̴g̵o̷t̶ ̷m̸e̸,̴I̴ ̶g̵u̸a̷r̶d̴ ̶h̶i̷s̵ ̶p̸r̸i̵s̵o̵n̶ ̶b̶e̷c̴a̷u̴s̶e̸ ̵I w̴a̸s̴ ̵t̴h̸e̷ ̸o̴n̸e̴ ̷t̸o̶ ̶p̵u̴t̵ ̴h̸i̴m̶ ̵t̴h̷e̸r̶e̴ ̵o̶n̵c̸e̵ ̶m̶o̸r̸e̸.̵”̴ The creature leans into the cultist, arching ever higher, angles sharpening, body distorting, "“̸̝͋a̵̱͋n̶͓͛d̵̘́ ̵̡̍f̷̱͊o̵͚̓r̷̪̎ ̴̭̑a̷̬̓s̷͙̅ ̷͍͌ĺ̵̫o̸̻͆ņ̵̀g̶̚ͅ ̷̬͌a̶̮̿s̵̩͊ ̸̫̌t̸̲̕h̸̢̉e̷̖͗ ̴̰̋c̸̹̀ȍ̸͎s̷̡̃m̵̥̍o̷̜͋s̷̗͐ ̴̜͆e̷̛̙x̸͓̑i̶͉̿s̸̹̀t̵̛̺,̴̡͠Í̷̢ ̷̣̽w̵̠͋i̶̺͒l̴̠͐l̸̮̃ ̴͍͌k̴̰̑e̸̠͐e̷̟͋p̵̲̏ ̸̙̂h̷̘͋ị̸́m̸͕̚ ̶̳̋t̶̡̒h̷̩͆e̷̪͝r̷̒͜e̵̡̔.̵̭͗”̵̮̔
There’s a dull flash as light flashes beneath the cultists skin, beneath all of the cultist’s skin, before they drop to the ground unconscious.
All too quickly, air returns to the room, pressure lifting like a deep breath into the room.
The creature turns, eyes meeting Diana’s for just a second as he turns towards the chalked lines of the circle. Diana lifts herself to her feet, drawing closer to Batman as they both watch him, hesitant.
On the other side of the room, Constantine and Zatanna also struggle to their feet, eyes filled with fear and caution as they take in the scene.
As the creature moves, mist still rolling off him in waves, his features fall away with it, gradually smoothing to a more human visage. It looks… young. Boyish.
Those same white boots crush down on the formed crown, the cooled lava rock crumbling under one step. Next is the ring, held carefully in two hands the creature whispers over it, breathy wind carrying it away as it turns to dust. He holds the blade with one hand, flakes disintegrating off as he lifts it.
Diana’s arm tingles.
Then the creature is standing in front of the last point, holding the small brown pouch of sand with consideration.
Silence reigns in the room.
Constantine, of course, is the one to break it.
“I believe that’s mine, mate,” he cuts in, stance still laden with suspicion.
“Oh?” The creature smiles, almost mockingly as he turns to Constantine, “Is it? If I wasn’t mistaken, this ritual calls for Dream’s sand. Are you Dream of the Endless, little magician?”
Constantine visibly swallows, “I’m not.”
The creature huffs a laugh, fangs glinting in his smirk. He moves swiftly, pivoting on one foot to toss the pouch at Constantine, “Catch.”
Constantine lurches forward to try and catch it, only to find it vanish in the air before it reaches his fingers.
The creature cackles, floating backwards, “What did you do to get your hands on such an amount of Dream’s sand, magician? I’m curious.”
“It was a family present,” Constantine grinds out as he turns back to the gently levitating humanoid form, “You can drop the kid facade by the way, you’re not tricking anyone here looking like that.”
The creature shrugs, “And if I’m comfortable like this?”
Diana steps in to stop Constantine from snapping back, “Who are you, spirit, to be summoned by such a ritual?”
The creature watches her for a beat, “I am Phantom of the Dead City, Protector of infinite realms. They did not bring me here, but I knew who they wished to summon and came because of it.”
Batman steps forward, voice interrogating, “The Sarcophagus of Eternal Sleep-“
“Remains sealed. The Tyrant King remains trapped and at rest, do not worry.”
Somehow Diana does not think that soothes Batman, even as a great a warrior as he is.
“Hn.”
“Now, about that spell book,” Phantom turns to Zatanna, waving a hand and the book flies to him. He hovers a hand over it, and Diana watches in fascination as the chalk on the floor begins to burn away, the drawing in the book following.
Phantom looks at her once more, eyes too wise and strong for the age of his face, and then from one moment to the next, he is gone.
The book drops to the floor with a slam, cover open to aged blank pages as the last of the sigil burns away.
Hesitantly, Constantine goes to it, the rest of them following. When Constantine lifts the book with careful hands, they watch another image fade into view on the paper.
A cool colored image of Phantom rising over a city skyline outlined in green against a deep violet sky. Even on paper, his visage shifts constantly between the boyish figure and the ethereal danger of the form he’d appeared in.
Beneath the city lays a large coffin covered in chains.
The lock glows a pulsing toxic green before fading to a steely gunmetal grey and going still.
“Well that was the best encounter I’ve had with a dangerous dimensional figure and I still lost the dream sand.”
Zatanna’s slap echoes in the cave.
#batman#danny phantom#batfam#dc#danny fenton#batman and robin#danny phantom crossover#young justice#bruce wayne#wonder woman#dpxdc#cryptid Danny fenton#John Constantine#Zatanna Zatara#dpdc#dp
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Would they or would they not catch you…
Dick: yes. 100% yes but he’s -no pun intended- a little bit of a teasing dick about it.
He will catch you but then act as though he’s going to drop you by loosening his grip, making you scream out of surprise and cling onto him tighter, all the while beaming that bright and beautiful smile of his as though he wasn’t about to willingly let you fall flat on your ass on multiple occasions.
‘I fucking hate you!’ You whined, smacking Dick on the bicep.
‘Oh do you now?’ Dick inquires as he slowly begins to losses his grip on you, smirking.
‘Did I say hate you? I meant love you, a lot! Please don’t drop me.’ You cried as you tightened your grip on his neck whilst struggling to keep your feet from touching the floor. ‘Awww I love you too gorgeous.’ Dick coos as he pressed kisses into your face as you could only glare at the cheeky bastard.
You hate him sometimes but you weren’t going to complain about the affection you were being given. So you guess you’ll suffer for now.
Side note: he might even try and see if you can catch him. 💀
Jason: He will catch you but makes it a big deal whenever he can. He loves holding you in his arms.
He could keep you in his arms forever if he could but knew that he can’t, so he settles for going about his day carrying you throughout the apartment instead.
‘You can put down any day now.’ You’d tell him but that only makes Jason tighten his grip on you as he moved in his makeshift library for a book to read.
‘No.’ He simply replied, scouring the many book titles in front of him in the hopes that one might speak to him. You pout. ‘What do you mean no?’ Jason then looks at you and says. ‘No means no. As in no I will not put you down because I do as I like and will not be told otherwise, so the cutie currently in my arms has to deal with it.’ He then smiles as he presses a kiss to your forehead before looking back towards the bookshelves.
You end up falling asleep in his arms and Jason couldn’t help but smile at how cute you were, even if you did look like the living dead.
Damian: says no but will in fact catch you without hesitation.
However if you do try to tease him about it, then he will drop you without a second thought. ‘You can catch yourself next time.’ He would say as he walks away, leaving you with a bruised ass. Titus -who saw the whole thing- would come up to you to make sure you weren’t genuinely hurt and encourage you to get up by nudging you with his head.
Don’t test him because he will do it and then act like the whole thing didn’t happen if you were to bring it up.
‘Dick.’ You’d say as you stood up.
‘I heard that.’ He’d call back, his voice echoing off the walls. ‘You were meant to.’ You reply. ‘And at least Titus came to check up on me to see if I wasn’t hurt.’ You’d add while scratching Titus behind the ear.
Needless to say you were more cautious when choosing Damian to catch you. However he does apologise for dropping you on your ass by gifting you something he himself drew by hand; He secretly doesn’t like it when you’re upset with him and will do anything to rectify it.
What a sweetheart.
Bruce: he’s too use to you pulling this type of shit that it’s basically muscle memory for him to catch you as you’re running towards him, all with a straight face mind you.
Be grateful because he risked a much needed bowl of Mulligatawny soup just to catch you in his arms, but then again the kisses you bombard his cheek is more than reward enough, a small almost missable smile appears on his lips as he then proceeds to carry you for the rest of the day as “punishment.”
( this only occurs when Bruce is feeling particularly affectionate or playful)
Much to your batkids -Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Duke, Cass and Steph- dismay. They’d want to use this as blackmail, but they know that it will backfire as you’ll probably hang the photo on a wall somewhere in the manor, reminding them of how disgustingly their parents can be when given the opportunity.
#dc imagine#dc x reader#dc x you#dc fanfic#dc fic#dc comics x reader#dc fluff#dc fanfiction#jason todd imagine#jason todd fluff#jason todd x reader#jason todd imagines#jason todd fanfiction#dick grayson x you#dick grayson imagine#dick grayson imagines#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson fluff#damian wayne x you#damian wayne imagine#damian wayne x reader#damian wayne imagines#damian wayne fluff#bruce wayne x you#bruce wayne fluff#bruce wayne x reader#bruce wayne imagine#bruce wayne fanfiction#nightwing x you#nightwing fluff
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i always end up writing way more than i intend to so im just gonna keep it short. hockey player! bakugou who’s absolutely enamored with lil ole quiet you. squealing. (ps @bkgpackets this is all your fault)
hockey player! bakugou who’s the star player of his team, who could have anyone he wants yet his eyes always search around in the stands for you so he can flash you that smirk.
hockey player! bakugou who absolutely demands a kiss on the cheek before every game, claims it brings him good luck even tho he really doesn’t need it. “m’not goin’ out there till you give me my kiss, sweetheart”
hockey player! bakugou who despite seeming all cool and casual, gets so incredibly nervous when he has to show any sign of being interested in you. his hands clammy when he brings you your favorite snack from that bakery you liked to go to when you were paired up for the project that sealed his fate. his friends never miss an opportunity to make fun of him for it, but he’d much rather take this than any chances of some random loser asking you out before he does
hockey player! bakugou who despite being the definition of a total hunk, is actually inexperienced as hell. he’s clunky and a little awkward when he asks you out, almost shoving the bouquet of your favorite flowers you’d once mentioned in passing in your face unceremoniously, but that cute little blush on his cheeks is to die for.
hockey player! bakugou who despite being inexperienced is also the most insufferable piece of shit ever. he teases you mercilessly, he tickles and pokes you and sneaks up behind you just to hear you squeal. he traps you between his broad chest and your locker just to see how flustered you get from how public he’s being. (not like he cares anyway) he’ll bite and kiss you randomly and he’ll steal bites of your food to see you pout and to have an excuse to share his lunch with you. “now we’re even so quit whinin’.” he snickers.
hockey player! bakugou who loves when you get all fired up for him. who feels his heart somersault in his chest when you give him your sweet pep talks during intermissions. who loves when you place your hands against his cheeks and can’t count the amount of times his mouth goes dry when you tell him he’s got this. who kisses you square on the mouth before he has to go and strategize with his team, newly reinvigorated resolve because his girl is watching and cheering him on.
hockey player! bakugou who after his team wins and they’re done celebrating, immediately bounds over to you with that dashing smile and picks you up over his shoulder. whooping and laughing meanly at your squeals and giggles while he carried you around like you’re the trophy. who kisses you long and hard before pulling away and grinning so so bright it almost blinds you but you can’t look away “you really are my good luck charm, aren’t ya ?”
#fem reader#bakugou katsuki x reader#katsuki bakugou x reader#bakugo fluff#bakugou imagine#bakugou x reader#katsuki x reader#katsuki bakugo x reader#bakugou katsuki#bakugou katuski x reader#bakugou fluff#im satisfied w my amount of words#yippee#bakugou x y/n#bakugou drabble#bakugo drabble#katsuki x you#bakugo katsuki x reader#katsuki x y/n#bakugou x fem!reader#bakugo x female reader#my boyfriend my one and only my beau my one my all
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𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✧ 𝒓. 𝒄.
pairing: rafe cameron x f!reader
warnings: brief sexual innuendo, rafe being a softie!!!!
word count: 2.6k (i *might* have gotten carried away i'm so sorry lol)
a/n: this is a sequel to late night and also based on this, so thanks @keziahcore ! your mind is literally everything!
it’s almost like a sixth sense.
rafe feels your absence from the bed, and immediately becomes agitated. he turns on the lamp next to his bed and looks for any sign that you’re still there, and finds your small handbag on the armchair, which makes him just slightly relieved.
when he looks at the clock, he sees that it is almost two in the morning. the bathroom door is ajar and the lights are off, which means you’re not there. before he can leave his room looking for you, you return, holding a glass of water, wearing only his shirt to cover yourself up.
“where were you? why did you leave me here?”
he can’t control this agony, this anguish that always catches him off guard when he finds himself alone. he can’t help feeling like a time bomb, ready to explode at any moment. the smallest things you do seem to trigger him massively, and he hates that. he hates that he ends up being rude and harsh to you, because you’re always so understanding and sweet.
even he knows he doesn’t deserve you.
“i was thirsty and went downstairs to drink some water.” your tone is sweet and calm, which makes him feel like shit.
his face changes, as he seems to calm down. you didn’t leave him, you just went to get some water. you’re there, your stuff is there, you’re not going anywhere.
“next time, leave a glass here. i don’t like it when you do that.” he says in a much softer tone, but he’s still upset that his sleep got interrupted.
“do what? get hydrated?” you joke, trying to lighten up his mood.
he rolls his eyes and huffs. don’t make him tell the truth.
“go back to bed. i’m tired, alright? i had a long day.”
“actually, i was going to read a book. i’m not sleepy and i don’t want to lie down right now.”
is it so hard to understand that he wants you to be close to him so that he feels safe enough to get a decent night’s sleep?
“you can read on the bed.”
“you won’t mind the lamp on?”
“no, just get the damn book and come back to bed.”
you laugh and nod, picking up the book from his desk and following him to his bed. rafe gets to his spot and as you sit down, he places one hand on your bare thigh and falls back to sleep almost immediately.
while he dives deep into his necessary rest, you start reading. it’s that book, in cold blood by truman capote. you don’t know if rafe is a reader, he never really talks about books with you.
every once in a while, you look down at your thighs to see his hand, firmly holding you, to make sure you won’t leave. this small gesture makes you feel stupid. stupid to believe he might feel something other than lust for you. rafe makes you question your beliefs and that itself makes you feel overwhelmed.
sometimes you want to leave, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. and you have tried countless times. he’s good for you in the same intensity he’s bad. to say you’re scared to ask him what you are would be an understatement, but you just would like some clarification, because you don’t beg the people you’re casually fucking to stay the night almost every night and throw a tantrum when they leave to get some water.
deep down, you know you’re more scared to hear you’re just an easy fuck. at this point, this would tear you apart.
being with rafe is a challenge. it’s like running a marathon you know you will not get to the finish line, and yet, you keep running.
when it’s almost four in the morning, you close the book and turn the lamp off. finally, sleep comes to you, and you settle into his bed, still holding rafe’s hand, which never left your thigh. with the touch, rafe wakes up, and this time he is no longer agitated.
“sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” you say, as you snuggle into the mattress.
“you- what time is it?” he asks, adorably confused and sleepy.
“it’s almost four.”
“and you’re going to sleep now?”
“yeah. go back to sleep, it’s early.” you say softly, placing a hand on his cheek, and he complies, pulling you close.
(...)
rafe’s alarm clock rings promptly at seven in the morning. he turns it off and goes back to his previous position: hugging you.
your hair smells like coconut and your skin is always soft. he never wants to not be touching you. it’s like your body was made to be next to his. for some reason, just your presence is enough to make him feel calm and at peace.
he places the softest kiss on your shoulder, enjoying the quietness that only early mornings can give him. the sweet sound of birds chirping outside makes him forget about everything else. rafe only has you in his mind (and in his arms).
you wake up and soon turn to face him. rafe has the most adorable sleepy face, and you might never stop melting over him. seeing him up close will never not be amazing. he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. he probably has the most beautiful shade of blue in his eyes.
“go back to sleep.” he whispers.
“‘m not sleepy anymore.” you mumble as you rub your eyes, which rafe finds captivating. “hi.”
“hi,” he smiles. “you only slept for three hours, sleep some more.” he insists, and you feel a tone of concern in his voice, but maybe it’s just your sleep giving you that impression.
“i’m okay, rafey.”
rafey. he hates that stupid nickname, but when it comes out of your mouth, he wants to legally change his name to it.
“you’re gonna be tired.”
“no, i’m not. i don’t normally sleep a lot.”
rafe frowns not because he’s confused - he obviously isn’t. he’s just not liking what you’re saying. he doesn’t like the idea of you struggling with whatever that may be. rafe knows damn well how bad it is to be sleep deprived, he doesn’t want you going through that.
“you have insomnia?”
“i guess i do,” you shrug. “i don’t really know. i just don’t sleep a lot. i wish i did, though. i get so jealous when i see you sleeping for hours on end.” you smile sweetly at him. “you’re so relaxed. must be nice…”
you let go of rafe after leaving a timid kiss on his lips, and stretch before getting up and going to his bathroom to start your morning routine.
after a quiet breakfast, rafe gives you a ride home, and he can’t hide his concern about what you said.
“i’ll see you around, yeah?” you tell him, with the sweetest smile you always have.
“of course. uh, about that sleep thing… if you need help with that… i’m here.”
“rafe, i think you might be a sex addict.” you joke, really not understanding what he meant. he isn’t talking about sex. the one time he isn’t talking about sex, you don’t get it.
“well, i’m just one call away.”
you chuckle and intend to kiss his cheek, but rafe is quick enough to turn his face and make you kiss his lips. you laugh at his antics.
silly rafe is your favorite. if only other people got to see this side of him.
he watches you leave his car and get inside your home. the strange feeling of loneliness comes back almost immediately, but it gets him thinking. it has to be some sort of irony that the person that quite literally helps him sleep isn’t sleeping.
(...)
only two days have passed and rafe already needs you to spend the night at his house again. he is so tired and exhausted. he takes out his phone and quickly types a message.
rafe: are u busy right now? can i pick u up?
you don’t tend to take long to respond to his texts, but this time, an hour goes by and nothing, so rafe starts to feel that unbearable anguish again, and starts to think that you left him and that you found someone better to spend you time with.
impulsively, rafe facetimes you, and you answer. from your face alone, he can see the tiredness in your eyes. or rather, in your dark circles. you’re in your bedroom, which makes him feel calmer.
“hi, rafey. sorry, i just got my phone.”
“what are you doing?”
“i’m studying for my exams.”
“i just wanted to know if i could pick you up.”
“i’d love to,” you smile. “but it’s not a good idea, i need to study and i have a mountain of books to read until tomorrow if i want a good grade, which i do.”
“you’re tired, you should rest.” he advises, visibly worried.
“nothing a can of red bull can’t fix.” you say showing him the can.
“y/n, please go to sleep.”
something about his request makes you angry. maybe it’s the stress, or the fact that this time rafe is right.
“rafe, you’re not my boss. i need to hang up, i got shit to do.”
before he can protest, you hang up the call, and surprisingly, rafe doesn’t get angry. this is what it’s like when he’s sleep deprived.
as always, rafe wants to take control of the situation, so he puts on a hoodie, grabs his car keys and leaves his house to go to yours. it’s late at night, and rafe knows your parents are probably asleep.
the path is short, and soon he arrives in front of your house and the light is on in your bedroom, which tells him that you are still up. carefully, rafe gets out of his car and walks to the back of your residence, and climbs the wall, always making sure he doesn’t get caught by anyone. finally, rafe gets on the small balcony of your room and sees you surrounded by papers, books and notebooks. it’s a mess.
he knocks on the glass door, which startles you, but you soon calm down when you see it’s him. you almost run to open the door, but your face isn’t the happiest.
“what are you doing here, rafe?”
“nice to see you, too.” he ironizes as he steps inside your bedroom. “i have a proposition for you.”
“i’m so not in the mood, rafe…”
“listen to me.” he says. “i’ll… i’ll help you out with this stuff, as long as you let me help you sleep.”
“i don’t wanna have sex.”
“i’m not talking about sex.”
oh.
“you mean… sleep? like, really sleep?”
“yeah. i don’t like that you sleep so little. you’re becoming cranky.”
you chuckle at the last bit. you can’t stay mad at him, can you?
“that’s a nice offer, rafe, but what do you know about biology?”
“i’ll have you know i was a good student.” he pouts and you laugh. “even if i don’t know what you’re studying, i’ll help you out.”
it takes you a few seconds, but it’s decided. your body is about to give out, you really need to rest. you can’t absorb any more information. a good sleep might even help you learn whatever you need.
“okay.”
rafe smiles and it might be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.
you begin to organize all your notes and books on your desk and rafe begins to undress down to his underwear, and gets comfortable on your bed. he realizes this is his first time sleeping on your bed, and he already likes the faint smell of rosemary that your bedroom exudes.
you have such a pretty bedroom. the walls are painted in the softest shade of blue, and you have books everywhere. no wonder you’re so smart, you read a lot.
the wooden furniture gives an earthy feel to your room, contrasting with the delicacy of the light blue walls. in the photos of the small mural on the wall, rafe realizes that he wanted to be there, present in the photos, and maybe, in a photo with you. you are always smiling and being hugged by someone, or hugging them. you are like that, you are magnetic.
you finish organizing your things and quickly change into a shirt of rafe’s that you hope he doesn’t recognize. it’s big and comfortable, and it makes you feel close to him when he’s far away.
the lamp next to your bed is on, so you turn off the main light in your room and go to your bed, meeting rafe, and he has the smallest smile on his lips. it’s ironic how having sex and being naked doesn’t feel as intimate as simply sleeping together does.
“are your parents home?” he asks.
“no, why?”
“so i could have come through the door, huh.”
“yeah.” you laugh.
a brief moment of silence sits between you two, as you’re staring at each other’s eyes. rafe is mesmerized and terrified at the same time. this - whatever this is - feels so nice and so foreign. he knows damn well he isn’t one to want to just sleep with someone, let alone climb up a wall to just sleep with someone.
rafe cameron is in love, and he is utterly terrified.
“what are you thinking?” you ask in a whisper.
your blinks are getting slower and slower. rafe begins to run his hand through your hair, combing them back, and touching the skin of your neck and shoulders ever so softly.
thinking about how much i want to be with you and how fucking scared i am.
“nothin’. close your eyes.”
you do, not because he told you to, but because you couldn’t keep them open any longer.
why do you feel the safest with someone as dangerous as rafe cameron? someone who deals with the shadiest people around, that has anger issues and violent behavior.
that tried to drown his own sister.
why none of that matters when you’re in his arms? are you actually insane?
probably.
(...)
as soon as you wake up, you see your bed empty, and rafe’s clothes are no longer on the floor, where he had left them last night. it was to be expected, but you still feel disappointed. he was so sweet last night.
when you look at the clock, it’s already past nine in the morning, which means you’ve slept, surprisingly, eight hours straight. damn, you really were sleep deprived.
the sound of your stomach begging for food makes you get out of bed.
when you leave your bedroom, you hear the sound of the tv on and get scared. slowly, without making any noise, you go down the stairs, trying to find out if your house has been invaded, but it would be strange, as it is daytime. soon you see rafe walking around your house.
he didn’t leave?
it’s like you’re not even there. you get to watch rafe make himself comfortable in your kitchen, looking for stuff to put on the table. there are two delivery bags on the counter, which means he bought food, but the gesture warms your heart, which was merely shattered.
“the cutlery is in the second drawer next to the sink.” you say, startling him a bit.
“jesus. can you, i don’t know, announce you’re in the room? i almost dropped your coffee.”
you laugh.
“sorry, rafey. what are you doing, i thought you had left.”
“uh, i bought breakfast for y- us.” he says. you look inside the bags and you can tell he ordered possibly everything you have eaten from that place. “c’mon, i ordered that vegan shit you like, your coffee and even a pretzel.”
you follow him to the table and you both begin helping yourselves. this isn’t your first time having breakfast with him, but it does feel like it’s a first.
for the first time, you don’t want to leave him.
i love feedback! let me know your thoughts! <3
#my writings#rafe cameron oneshot#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron x reader#outer banks#drew starkey#drew starkey x you#drew starkey x reader#drew starkey oneshot#drew starkey imagine
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https://www.tumblr.com/rafeysdoll/748215216138059776/bsf-rafe-convincing-reader-that-its-normal-to
i’m literally FERAL
could you please do one where rafe somehow convinces reader and he FINALLY gets to be inside of her🫶🫶🫶
"rafey," you mewl, tugging at his polo as he laid on the couch, writing emails and conducting business. "im.. needy, want help." you whisper, biting your lip as you tilt your head to the side. "what was that?" he taunts, shit eating grin displayed on his face as he dismisses his phone, tossing it aside as he gets up anyway.
you eagerly head back into his room, quickly jumping to his bed as you wait for him to lay, ready to hump him as if he was your very own toy to get rid of all your overwhelming desires.
but yet he remains the same, standing still with his tongue nudging at the side of his cheek as he sighs rather dramatically, hand now over his hip. "you know, baby.. i.. uh," he pauses, tactifully letting silence fill the room for you to worry, wanting you get yourself worked up.
"i just dont know how to say it," he continues, turning around so he can only give you a show of the back of him. “what is it?” you question, voice bordering a whimper. “did i do something wrong?”
rafe smiles menacingly, taking a deep breath. it was time for the last stone to be set.
“here, come stand next to me alright?” he requests, turning back around to offer his hand. you quickly listen, right besides him in seconds as he caresses your hand in his own. “baby, i don’t know if i can do this.” he states, brows meeting together in a tight line, leaning in slightly as if he was offended.
you take a shaky breath and gulp, a strong queasy feeling in your stomach. “w-why?” you reply, bottom lip put out. “you.. you don’t like it?” you frown.
“no, no i do. that’s the problem, im a man.. and, well uh.. it’s hard, you know baby? got all these feelings and i can’t even act on them. i mean, it can’t be fair.” he confesses, pretty blue eyes staring at your own.
“oh,” you realize, looking down at your connected hands. “well.. well that can change, can’t it? we can just.. you know.” you whisper, heat and desperation tingling through your body. you didn’t want any of this to end, you were willing to do anything before he had to be ripped away from your hands. “oh.. oh i dunno baby, that’s a big step.” rafe pretends to deny, his cock already twitching and throbbing. he was so close to what he had been working towards for so so long.
“no, no really rafe. i.. i mean now we can both.. enjoy it.” you carry on, nodding. “please? don’t wanna go to anyone else,” you plead, small tears collecting in your lower lash line. “you.. you sure?” he smiles, his own heart thumping profusely in his chest. “i’m sure, ray.”
the rest was a fast blur, your best friend’s thick length bullying himself inside you, crying at every single ministration he gave you, hoping this could never end.
it was the first night rafe finally got through to your tiny hole, writing and squirming under his touch as he mumbled sweet nothings besides your ear — telling you he had been waiting for so long.. that the wait was worth it to finally do this. it was perfect in both of your minds.. rafe finally getting his best friend on his cock and you simply thinking you were only making both you and him happy.
you were always rafe’s girl, even before you ever realized it.
#anon#rafe cameron prompt#bsf!rafe#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron smut#rafe obx#rafe x reader#rafe x you#rafe outer banks#rafe smut#rafe imagine#outerbanks rafe#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe fanfic#rafe fic#rafe cameron fic#drew starkey#drew starkey x reader#drew starkey smut#drew starkey imagine#drew starkey fanfic#drew starkey fanfiction#outerbanks smut#outerbanks imagine#outerbanks x reader#outerbanks fic#rafe cameron thoughts
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