#Female reader insert

[salem-s]

can you please write a rafe fic based on the song “back to friends”?

like they were exes turned to strangers but there’s sooo much tension and they’re obviously still sooo in love with each other. just angst vibes with maybe some suggestive fluff? idk

just a suggestion though totally understand if it’s too specific for you!

yes! when you sent this in i had no idea what song you were talking about LOL but now ive heard it and it’s so good. love this prompt!

BACK TO FRIENDS — RAFE CAMERON ONE SHOT (18+)

SYNOPSIS you and rafe have been broken up for months, and despite not seeing him since, you haven't stopped thinking about him. then, out of the blue, he's suddenly there at one of your parties: coy yet shy, a presence yet a ghost, looking at you as if he's never seen anything prettier. and all you can think is: what the fuck?

WARNINGS aaaannnngst (miscommunication tendencies is very high here, they’re both idiots), fluff, suggestive content and descriptions of smut. post-grad au, living in a city of your choice. ex!rafe is fun to write, but apologies because this isn't super edited.

WORD COUNT 8.1k.

SONG OF THE CHAPTER back to friends by sombr

You've been single for six months.

Has it been easy? Absolutely not. Was it necessary? That's a bit subjective depending on who answers on the matter, but - of course - most of the time you'd argue no. Your ex would argue yes in a self-depricating sort of way. Part of you knew it was coming to a close in those final weeks, taking into account the way you drifted apart as one of life's natural tendencies.

You were heading in one direction. He was heading in another. There are so many things that he probably thought that he never spoke, especially with the way he hinted towards not being good enough for you, not being good enough to follow you into the next stages of your life. You, of course, knew that wasn't true, that it was his mind sending him into a spiral, not his heart. It ruptured your soul when the last image of him was his back towards you, not even having the gall to face you as he said goodbye. You never thought you'd see him after that.

So why the fuck is Rafe Cameron standing in your living room right now?

He looks good. Too good. The long locks that you used to toy with between your nimble fingers are gone, replaced with a slightly grown out buzz that suits him, makes him look more mature and grounded. A simple t-shirt adorns his torso, snug tight at the seams around his biceps, looking a little bigger than you last saw. He's clean cut, sleek in a way that makes your heart pound, and a head taller than everyone around him, commanding the room without even meaning to.

But his eyes tell a different story.

When those pretty blues meet yours, you see what he really feels: an emptiness and search for something to fulfill his soul, radiating a sadness to them that emulates the look of despair he had the last time you were with him. No one notices. He hides it well. But you were always able to read him like a book, to be able to pin point his emotion like it was your day job, to know how to approach him through various emotions to get him to feel better.

You, apparently, still can.

It's absolutely debilitating when you lock eyes across the room, and you can't even describe the weird feeling that settles in your gut. Is it anxiety? Dread? Excitement? It's a kettlebell in your stomach that only weighs more and more the longer you look at him, the more you register that Rafe Cameron, your ex and probably the only person you'll ever love, is standing in your living room in a state you never thought he'd be in with people you never associated him with.

First you feel shock. Then confusion.

How the fuck is he here? Who does he know? Did he - somehow - stumble upon this party in a stroke of pure luck and humiliation (on your part) or is this intentional? Does he know this is your apartment? Did he recognize the same decor that you had in your old place? Smell your favorite candle? See the furniture and overall mood of the house and think of you? Did he even know? How could he have?

It isn't until (some) of your questions are being answered when you spot another friend of yours, Wyatt, clap Rafe on the shoulder and whisper something in his ear, nodding in your direction and tugging him towards—

Fuck.

Tugging him towards you.

You wish you could move. Or do anything. Pretend to be caught up in a conversation with a friend or sneak out onto the fire escape that you can only access through your room. Anything would be better than this: simply standing in place and waiting for the inevitable. You're angry. Yet sad. Confused. You're mad that he's still looking at you like he's in love with you. You're sad that he's still looking at you like he's in love with you. You're confused that he's still looking at you like he's in love with you.

Before your brain can turn on and make a move, Wyatt's suddenly there with an audacious hand clapped on Rafe's shoulder and gently shaking it to emphasize the presence.

"Honey!” Wyatt chirps brightly (curse his ability to literally befriend a brick wall, and curse the fact that you can't hate him for doing this to you right now if you tried). "This is Rafe, the friend from Coastal that I was telling you about."

"Honey?" Rafe murmurs in surprise, and you nearly stop breathing at the fact that you're hearing his voice again. "This is Honey?"

Before your friend can explain the horrifically embarrassing story as to how you got that nickname that your friends use more than your actual name, you miraculously find your voice.

"And this is the friend from Coastal you were telling me about?" Your tone matches your ex's of surprise.

If Wyatt notices the clear apprehension between you two, he either doesn't notice or simply doesn't care enough to address it. With some sort of magic, he manages to smile wider.

"Yeah! Figured since you both went there, you might know the same people?" He offers innocently, darting his gaze cheerfully between you as if he's waiting for something magical to happen.

But it...doesn't.

Because you fucking laugh.

Right in Rafe's face. And it's out of disbelief (and slight drunkenness) that this is actually happening right now. Your good friend is introducing you to your ex, the same ex that you haven't spoken to (or much less heard from) in six fucking months. The same ex that you've been absolutely devastated over losing. The same ex that you've been attempting to find fragments of in different people, yet coming up short every single time and thus ruining the progression of your love life.

It's comical, really, it is. Because what are the odds of this happening? Of Rafe Cameron standing in your apartment, in a place you thought hidden well enough to shield you from the ghosts of your past? Of the mere concept that this is how you're seeing him again: flushed and drunk and having a great time at a party you organized. It's out of left field, completely throwing you off your game (if you even have one).

"Yeah," you manage to get out, "we know of each other."

Wyatt beams, and Rafe frowns, portraying the happy-sad theatrical masks to a fucking T.

Yet your friend takes that as a cue to pat Rafe's back, sending another knowing glance your way as if to say you're welcome! before disappearing into the party, chatting up another group of friends as if he didn't just cause a rapture in your brain. You let your gaze settling on your friend morphing into the crowd before glancing back at your ex.

Who's staring right at you.

The seriousness in his expression makes you falter slightly, not because of the intensity of it but because you just...miss him. You haven't seen him in so long, haven't been this close to him. If you wanted to, you could reach out and grab him, tether yourself to him, cling onto a bicep like you used to love doing, or sit snug under his arm and relish in the warmth he always unintentionally provided. But you can’t. Not anymore. He made that clear when he ended things with you: he wants nothing to do with you anymore, and that includes your touch.

"Why did you say that?" He asks gently, as if it's plaguing him. "Why didn't you tell him?"

Your expression must look whack, because you manage a confused smile and an arched brow, as if it's obvious. "Because I'm not about to re-hash the semantics of our break up in the middle of the function right now?"

The tone isn't nice, but it isn't mean either. It is indifferent. Tired. As if you've just picked up the pieces of your heart that shattered with him leaving you, only to have the cracks form again and threaten to burst through the seams of the fragile tape you used to stitch your heart back up. It's a bit crazy for him to ask that, you think. Because why would you bring it up? Wyatt doesn't know any better, as the faux introduction was done out of pure innocence, so why damper the mood with the truth?

Rafe pauses at your words, and the longer he's silent the more you feel stupid. You feel stupid that you're essentially backed into a corner, drawing shapes in the wooden floors with the tops of your toes to keep from slipping, swishing around a drink that has one small sip left in it. It's almost worse that he's silent. You want him to scream. To get mad, for whatever reason. Because then it'll be easier for you to pull away, to detach, to fucking move on.

But he doesn't. He's gentle with you. He always was. Never raised his voice or acted out. He was just...Rafe.

He still is, apparently.

"How have you been?" He manages to ask after a moment's silence, opting for the safe choice of not going on a tangent based on your snotty response.

What do you think? You want to snap.

But you don't. You simply shrug. "Fine. You?"

Rafe furrows his brows, as if his answer is obvious yet prolonging the response to see if you really know, or are asking out of courtesy. You're asking because it's the script you normally follow, when someone asks how you are you typically ask them back. It's not rocket science. It doesn't need to be complicated. God, why is he making it complicated?

Why is he looking at you like that?

"Are you going to answer, or..?" You trail off, searching his eyes for any sort of answer but coming up short.

Your tone is detached, as if you're talking to an old friend who you can joke and kid around with. Not the guy you've loved for years. The wince on his face reminds you of that, that you’re not joking around with just anyone. You’re with him. You’re acting like nothing is wrong, like these past few months have been a walk in the park. It’s funny that you’re going at him as if you haven’t shared your deepest vulnerabilities with him beneath soft sheets that smell of him.

Although Rafe has absolutely no room to guilt trip you right now. He orchestrated this. He wanted this. Not you.

You speak before tears can start brimming your waterline. “Whatever. See you around.”

You’re quick to duck around his audaciously broad figure, beelining towards…anywhere that isn’t here and anywhere that doesn’t have him infiltrating your senses, dulling you down. A flicker of anger crosses across your heart, because how dare he? How dare he show up here (even if he didn’t actually know this is your place, the meaning still applies) and send you all these weird signals? How dare he look at you as if he’s in pain?

Because this is his fucking fault. He broke it off, he separated himself when he didn’t need to, he lost faith in himself as a partner. You loved him through his faults, and you still do, yet that still wasn’t enough to make him change his mind. All him. Not you.

Rafe says your name quietly.

Like an idiot, you turn. Despite the thumping bass and the high pitched laughter wafted through each room, you hear him loud and clear. His blue eyes are too pretty, too intently focused on you, too…everything. It’s almost painful to look at, to see the reminder that you lost him, you lost the privilege of staring shamelessly at those pretty, pretty blues.

“You look beautiful,” he says ardently, low in a tone just reserved for you.

But it only upsets you further, makes your heart split in quarters after he split it in half six months ago. You hate how sincere he sounds, as if he’s been itching to say it all this time. Instead of a compliment, it comes across as a reminder that he left.

All you can do is shake your head. “Fuck you, Rafe.”

And you’re disappearing into the party before he can object.

You’re grateful that your room is somewhat secluded from the communal spaces.

It’s especially forgiving in this instant, when you’re cozied up alone on the fire escape that someone can only access from your bedroom, hugging your knees and staring out onto the cityscape with a scowl so deep one may think the horizon wronged you. A joint that was supposed to calm your racing heart lays untouched next to your lighter, and you don’t even have the gall to light it and try and forget about the events of tonight. Knowing yourself and knowing your brain, the weed will only tenfold the nagging emotion.

You fucking miss him. And you fucking hate him. And you fucking love him.

It caught you immensely off guard to see him again, much less standing in your living room and talking with your new friends without them even knowing who he is, without knowing what he did. The result in your brain is immediate: you miss him. You didn’t realize how much you did until you saw him.

You miss the way he’d always wake up before you, either getting up to brew your favorite coffee blend or simply waiting for you to wake in his arms, tracing idle fingertips along your smooth skin or kissing your hairline. You miss how he always made you laugh, no matter how grumpy or irritated you were at him or at the world. You miss his charm, the way he’d always flirt with you regardless of how long you’d been together, pretending to not know you in public just to ask you out all over again. You miss how he knew you, how he knew your favorite things and brought you your favorite foods and candies, how he’d buy you silly trinkets he saw in a store window simply because it reminded him of you, how he’d know how to approach you when you’ve had a bad day. You miss how he loved you, like there was nothing else around him worth his time.

The tears don’t come. They almost do, but when the time comes for them to fall, they just…don’t.

Perhaps it’s because you’ve already used all of them on him. Or because you’re tired. Or because you’re simply sitting with a pit in your stomach about the fact that he’s here, he’s actually here, probably making friends and slowly integrating himself in the life you wanted him to be in from the start.

God, feelings fucking suck.

“Hey.”

The voice (the all too familiar voice) startles you, snapping you out of your thousand yard stare to whip your head around to face the culprit. You blink dumbfounded when your eyes meet his pretty blues, yours definitely blown wide simply at the mere thought of someone disturbing your fire escape time, a fire escape hidden from the party.

Of course, it’s him. How did he even find you?

You didn’t even hear the window crack open. Nor your bedroom door. You didn’t think someone would have the audacity to enter someone else’s bedroom without knocking, or perhaps he did and you simply didn’t hear it. Regardless of the way in which the events played out, he’s still leaning through your window frame and still too fucking close to be considered apprehensive.

At your silence, Rafe clears his throat with a cautious glance. “Can I sit?”

I don’t know, can you? You almost snap childishly, disastrously still wanting to put on the front you had on earlier to attempt to show him your indifference, but it proves unlikely that you’ll have an ounce of that spark you had from before.

Because now you’re just tired. Worn out mentally. Re-hashing the details of your breakup over and over and over in your head to torture yourself. You have little fight left in you, and the mere thought of trying to stay strong only settles more of a kettlebell in your gut.

Wordlessly, you nod.

It’s a bit awkward when he actually realizes you’ve said yes (gestured it, actually), registering that you’ve given him the green light instead of the red that he had been expecting, especially since your venomous words about an hour ago. His limbs are long and lanky, and it takes him a bit of time to actually situate himself next to you and find a position comfortable enough to accommodate his stature. It’s not the most forgiving fire escape, but you’ve gotten used to the harsh ridges and crates that are now a source of comfort.

Rafe notices the unlit joint. “Were you gonna smoke?”

You shrug, because you don’t even know. You brought it out here just to have some sort of outlet in the beginning, but realized it actually might make your spiraling worse, so you left it untouched. Perhaps for later. You didn’t even bring your phone out here.

The stubborn silence coming from you makes him antsy, you can tell. Because there’s one thing that always made him nervous, and that was when you shut down. When you closed yourself off and drifted into the confinements of your mind that aren’t forgiving. When you are silent, because he’s said before that he loves your words, and life without them always hurt no matter what. He dealt with your quiet as best as he could, and for the most part he always handled it well.

Obviously, his method of coddling you back into speaking isn’t going to work now. So instead he sits, picking at his nail beds that confirms he picked up his bad habit again. You almost instinctively reach out to get him to stop, but catch yourself before you can further embarrass yourself.

“You can have it, if you want,” you offer tiredly, voice quieter than you intended.

But despite the volume, his shoulders visibly relax at the sound of your voice.

“No, I’m…” Rafe clears his throat. “I’m okay. Thanks.”

Then, more silence.

He’s so close yet so far, just barely brushing shoulders and you almost don’t want the connection because it’ll simply remind you of how good it feels to touch him. You don’t want to know it again only to have the rug swept out from beneath you once more. So instead you keep your distance, and don’t lean into him as your heart achingly wants you to do so.

You speak before you make a stupid decision. “How’d you find me?”

In your peripheral, you see Rafe’s head tilt quizzically towards you as if he wasn’t expecting you to speak, to initiate the conversation after the drought. He’s quiet for one, two beats, finally registering that, no, he didn’t imagine it, you asked him a question.

“Wyatt,” he responds simply. His eyes feel like lasers boring into your profile, but you don’t give in, keeping your gaze solely on the city. “Gave me directions.”

You hum. Of course.

“This is nice,” Rafe adds after a few moments. “The place and the…view.”

Again, you hum, ignoring how he’s only looking at you.

“What’re you doing here?” You ask gently.

His brows raise at you bringing out the one million dollar question earlier than you both anticipated, but of course it’s the only one that’s been on your mind for the better part of an hour. He’s here, in the place you initially planned for you two to be in, the place he said he couldn’t follow you to because he didn’t want to bring you down. It feels like one big joke, as if your breakup meant nothing because, despite it all, he’s here.

“Wyatt’s helping me get on my feet,” he answers quietly. “Dad cut me off.”

That piques your curiosity, facing him briefly. “He did? Why?”

Rafe almost looks relieved you’re meeting his gaze. “Backed out of the family business.”

“What?”

He nods. “Put myself in it for a few months and it…” He sucks in a harsh breath. “Fuckin’ blowed. I freaked out, got in a huge fight with him and he just…kicked me out. Cut me off. Told me to go do whatever it is I wanted to do without him.”

Your face must be puzzled as all hell.

He…stepped away from his father’s company? The business he’s been groomed to rule his entire life? Every single major step of Rafe’s life was done to accommodate his eventual take over once his father passes or retires. He majored in business and commercial real estate. He picked up ungodly hours during the holidays or whenever he went home or even logged in from miles and miles away from home to help his dad out with a deal. It’s the only path he’s ever known, only thing he’s ever planned for, only subject he’s been focused on since the responsibility of being a predecessor was high.

And now he’s not doing it anymore?

You want to pry, of course you do, and ask if he’s alright after suddenly dropping the one thing his life seemingly amounted to for the entirety of college. You’ve seen how stressed it made him, how business deals tampered with his mental health and the fear of fucking up weighed on his conscious. More so the fear of disappointing his father.

But Rafe looks content…relaxed, even. It’s as if a massive weight has clobbered to the ground off his shoulders, giving him a newfound lightness to him that you haven’t seen before. Sure, his eyes still brim with a hurt that yours surely reflect, but there’s an easiness to his posture and overall demeanor. It’s almost foreign to see on him.

“And what are you doing now?” You ask incredulously, still wrapping your head around the fact that his life has completely flipped.

Rafe looks down briefly, at the ring you still wear that he gave to you on your birthday one year.

“Working at Wyatt’s dad’s construction site.”

Your brows skyrocket.

He laughs boyishly. “I know. Totally rogue, right?”

Despite it all and despite your aching heart, you manage to laugh with him.

“Rafe Cameron in construction?” You joke. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

He hums low and amused, eyes trained on you. “Me neither. But it’s been good. Steady. Keeping me busy enough so I can save up for school.”

You furrow your brows at him for the umpteenth time. “You’re going back?”

Rafe confirms your suspicions when he nods slowly, earnestly. “Hopefully next fall.”

The words ring through silence for a few moments as you study him, really study his face. It’s soft, still laced with the etches of hurt that isn’t seeming to go away anytime soon, but there’s a firmness to his expression that encapsulates his goals for his future. He looks certain of himself, unsure of himself emotionally, but focused with the way he’s talking about his future.

Because he never really had to deal with that uncertainty. Rafe was always going to move back home after graduation and work with his dad. That was always the plan, nothing more or less to it. He never gave second options a chance and always chased the noble pursuits that would aide him in his future with the company.

But now he’s… free? If that’s the right term for it?

You remember how he used to talk about it sometimes as if it was a prison, as a wheel he’s caught on and never not spinning away from his actual dreams and desires. It was always his path, so Rafe never wanted to think about the possibility of doing something different, because it felt like a lost cause. He’d never be able to leave, so why day dream about doing so? It would only hurt his soul.

Now he’s freed from the burden. And he’s never looked more content.

“That’s…” You try and find the right words. “Good for you.”

You say it as genuinely as you mean it, one hundred percent earnestly. Because he does deserve it, the chance to find himself outside the confinements of what he was bred to be.

But it still doesn’t answer the grand scheme of questions, the big kahuna that’s been plaguing your conscious. Not the question of how he found your room, or your private rooftop, but more so you. Your apartment. Your city. You.

“Why here?” You ask gently. “Out of all the places to start over, you…”

You came to me, you almost say.

But refrain. Because that’s fucking stupid to assume.

It must be a coincidence, no? He has friends here, people to fall back on and places that someone else can introduce him to. He’s not completely alone in his endeavors, like he’s said that Wyatt is helping him get back on his feet. That’s no reason for you to assume that his presence, his uproot, is all because of you. You can’t. Because you’ll spiral more than you already are.

And his answer is worse.

“Because you’re here,” he says simply as if it’s law.

Wh—?

You can barely respond. “Bec—because I’m—?“

Rafe laughs quietly at your befuddlement. “I didn’t know you’d be here literally. Wyatt never told me your name when he told me about the party, only called you Honey. So that was…unintentional.” He hums. “What does Honey mean anyway?”

Your panic spikes. “Uh, nothing. It’s not— There’s no reason to— Semantics.” You’re still trying to wrap your head around the fact that he’s here for you. “You’re here— You— For me?”

When he nods, it literally sucks the air from your lungs.

“It’s strange,” he says quietly after a moment of relishing in your panicked demeanor. “Seeing you with people who are calling you a different name. Seeing pieces of you around the apartment. I knew as soon as I walked in, it just…fucking killed me.” His fingers twitch in your direction, as if his body is involuntarily drawing himself to touch you. “I didn’t realize it would hurt so fucking bad.”

You can’t help but frown. “You’re the one who did it.”

Rafe squeezes his eyes shut, almost pained. “I know. I know.”

“It’s not fair.”

“I know, baby,” he says, the name slipping out like a second nature that stabs your gut. “None of what I'm doing is fair, I- it's selfish. I know that. But I..."

Rafe trails off, scoffing at his own inability to form the words he wishes to speak. You can recognize that, understanding the frustration is not with you but rather the internal turmoil in his own mind. He's constantly fighting with himself, teetering between what feels wrong and what feels right and almost always self destructing in the end.

Words never came easy to him. It's something you learned early on with him, realizing that his actions spoke a lot louder than he ever could. At first, you thought he was odd for shutting down after arguments with his father or after the two of you would disagree on something. But once you saw the laundry neatly folded after one of your classes or the fridge restocked without you asking, you realized that this, the wordless acts, were his versions of mending broken amenities.

You also know that Rafe was probably never taught to properly emote. Orchestrated by the faults of his father.

So you wait patiently. You let him take time to find his words. You allow him to make up for the blunder of his break up.

Playing with the ends of your hoodie (you changed into comfort clothes an hour ago once you promptly decided you will not be returning to the party), you watch as Rafe studies the ring on your finger, brows knit as his eyes narrow in an attempt to ground himself, to focus his thoughts carefully and calculate what he wants to say, how he wants to say it. Trying really, really hard to articulate his bubbling feelings.

"There hasn't been a day that's gone by where I don't think about you," he starts slowly, tone low to articulate his seriousness. "Every fucking day, all I can see is how I hurt you."

The instinct to say something, to say anything, is stronger than you've ever felt. But you hold back, you bite your tongue, instead sucking in a deep breath with the anticipation that whatever he's about to say is going to fucking hurt. Not because you've already been through this before, but because he's probably about to break your heart without even knowing.

He continues. "It wasn't— When you told Wyatt we knew of each other, I... To look at you and pretend you were someone I've never met as if you aren't the only thing keeping my life together at this point.”

Rafe trails off, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily to avoid going on a tangent, to focus on what's important to him in this moment, to not get hung up on semantics from earlier when you were being an asshole.

With another deep breath, he continues.

"I thought I was doing what was right by distancing myself from you, because I knew I'd be suck at home working a job that would've made me miserable, and I..." He sucks in a harsh breath, shaking his head.

But you're yearning for an answer. For anything. "You what?"

Rafe briefly meets your gaze, almost shyly, because you're still here hanging onto every single one of his words. And the look on your face is fucking killing him, because you only look more hurt than before yet prettier than ever.

He swallows harshly. "I know what I'm like. Especially around my old man, and I didn't want to subject you to that."

"Rafe."

It's said as a plea, so earnest and heartbroken that he didn't think you would stand by him, through his wide range of emotions. Because you love him. You know the mental struggle he deals with whenever his father is involved in anything, and you knew that going into your post grad lives. Still, you were going to stick by him, no matter what.

Rafe says your name quietly. "I don't like who I am when I'm around him. I'm mean, and self destructive and...and a total fucking head case."

You whisper his name once more.

But he only shakes his head. "Please, I—I know it sounds stupid, alright? I just didn't want you to see that, to see that part of me. The thought of being long distance with you already fucking killed me, and I didn't need my temper adding onto it."

Rafe's eyes leave yours and settle downwards on the metal crate you're practically both sitting on. His fingers immediately fly to his hand, incessantly picking at his nail beds as a tell that he's on edge, close to panicking. He probably doesn't even realize he's doing it, but his eyes dart back on forth as he shakes his head, almost to himself, as the gears in his mind turn and turn and turn to desperately search for something more to say.

The act is muscle memory when your hand goes to cover his, stopping his bad habit immediately.

His head whips up to meet your gaze, jolted by the contact he surely was not expecting.

But you hold your own, gazing at him gently to stop the horrific insecurities you know he's spewing to himself in his head. For once, you need him to stop listening to himself and listen to his heart, listen to you, to stop trusting the devil on his shoulder and self sabotage in fear of others doing it first. You'd never. Not with him. He must know that.

"I know you," you say quietly. "And I know you would never hurt me without meaning to."

He winces.

Yet you continue. "I know you push people away before they can do it to you. But you need to understand something, Rafe, that I wasn't going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere now. When will you let yourself believe that?"

Rafe frowns impossibly deep, brows furrowing at the notion that you're still here. Despite everything he's done to you, said to you, made you think, you're still here. Wanting him. Caring for him. Being too damn sweet for your own good as you always were. And still are. You're still you, through fragments and a smile that doesn't reach your eyes quite yet, but you're still you. Looking at him like you still love him.

When your hand leaves his to cup his jaw gently, it feels like he can breathe again.

Holy fuck. You've almost forgotten what it's like to touch him. To feel him. To run your fingers along the smoothness of his skin and ground him to a moment so emotional that it nearly sends you flying away. Your palm is practically molded to the sculpture of his bone structure, as if it's been without a puzzle piece for so long, spending so much time incomplete and half of a whole.

Subconsciously, he leans into your touch.

"It feels wrong," he murmurs, eyes boring into yours so deeply that you're getting whiplash. "Having someone care about me like you do. It's not... No one has ever... I don't know how to deal with it."

"By talking," you hum low. "By telling me how you feel. Telling me what you need." Your thumb rubs an absentminded circle over his cheekbone.

He nearly sighs at the sensation. "I don't want to be a burden."

If possible, you frown even more than before. "You're not— Why would you say that? You're not a burden. At all."

Rafe doesn't answer you immediately. His brows pinch at the concept, as if it's foreign, as if what you've said is two plus two is five. His cheek is hot under your palm, hot with nerves and vulnerability that makes him temporarily speechless, and all you do is watch him. You wait for him to come to you. You've said (partially) your piece. His mouth opens and closes once, twice, as if the words are on the tip of his tongue but he refrains last minute, recalibrating his thoughts into something more cohesive.

"My worst fear is disappointing you," he says after a moment of considering your words. "Bringing you down with me. I can't... I won't let that happen."

"You're not," you say almost immediately.

"But I—“

"Do you remember the first week we met?" You blurt out suddenly, rudely interrupting him.

Confusedly, Rafe's head tilts slightly at the anecdote. Nonetheless, he nods slowly, almost egging you to continue.

And you do. "When I cancelled the dinner date at that fancy restaurant you set up? Because I had the flu?"

It was only one of the worst days of your life. Bedridden. Immobile. Practically death without the actual dying part. Too frail to even pick up a water bottle and too stubborn to ask for help. Teetering between being buried under six blankets to cranking the AC on full blast. It was grueling. Debilitating. You missed a plethora of assignments and social gatherings (despite it only being a few days).

He says your name gently. "What's this got to do wit—"

Again, you interrupt him. "You dropped everything, and I mean everything, to take care of me. And then you spent so much time with me that you fucking got sick too," you reminisce, adding a soft chuckle at the end when you think back on the don't be mad text that came from him just days after he was with you.

But he's still not getting it, blinking wordlessly at you in hopes you'll tell him what you mean, why this story has something to do with anything that's going on right now. What he doesn't realize, though, is that it is exactly the kind of thing he sees past. He probably doesn't know how much that meant to you, despite it probably being mindless for him.

How could he even think of himself as a burden? As wasted air? When all he's done is loved you in every way he knows how? How could he even think he's disappointed you when his love has been unlike anything you've ever experienced before? How could he think that low of himself?

"You could never disappoint me," you continue to further add your point. "Never. When all you've done was love me."

“I still do,” he answers almost immediately. “I haven’t stopped.”

You’re moving forward before you both can process it.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, your body is instantly taut to his, chest to chest and cheek to cheek as you find your mold against his body. It’s familiar yet agonizing, almost mind blowing that you’ve gone so long without him, without his touch, without his embrace that you quickly grew to love the first time he held you. You feel like you can finally breathe, finally remember the beautiful feeling after losing it.

Rafe’s nearly — if not more — relieved than you are, wrapping his arms around you immediately with one hand butterfly splaying on your back and the other on the back of your head, keeping you close. The deep exhale that emits from his mouth tickles your ear, and you let yourself close your eyes at the warmth of him, of how he smells the same.

“Fuck,” he murmurs quietly, almost to himself. “I missed you. I missed you so fucking much.”

Tears brim your waterline. You’ve been without him for so long, loving a shadow of a man without ever seeing or hearing from him. You wanted to be angry, to hate him, to say fuck it and move on with your life. But you couldn’t. Not when he’s the only one who has ever made you feel alive. Not when he’s been hurting in his own quiet way and self sabotaging at the fear of hurting you.

Rafe sucks in a large breath and, with that, his chest bumps impossibly taut to yours. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I made a mistake.”

“Don’t leave,” you plead, your voice ghosting the shell of his ear that makes the hair on his arm stand up. “Please. Not again.”

“I won’t,” he answers immediately, sounding absolutely wrecked. “I won’t, baby. I promise. I’m here. Not going anywhere.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, readjusting your grip around him to pull tighter — if possible — and practically seating yourself in his lap. It’s not comfortable at all, and you can’t imagine it’s comfortable for him against the grate-like fire escape. But it’s when you need, it’s what he needs, and neither of you can fathom how long you spent away from each other, almost like a sick joke.

And you just stay like this for a bit, holding onto each other as if you’re gripping onto a balloon threatening to float away. Despite his shorter, new hair, his cologne is the same as you first met him. The ring adorning his finger, the family ring, is missing from his hand, instead replaced with a similar looking one. The shirt is sleek and thin and you can feel the ridges and hills of his muscles underneath it. He may look a little different, more mature and in different clothes, but he feels the same as he’s always been, he’s still the person you know through and through.

“Inside,” you say after a while. “Please?”

“Yes,” he whispers immediately, certain. “No need to beg, baby. I’ll do whatever you want.”

When you untangle limbs, it’s slow, calculated, appreciative. His hands linger on your body longer than they should, mapping regions he hasn’t touched in months, re-familiarizing himself with the dips and crevices of your body. You do the same, pressing the pads of your fingertips along his shoulder blades and on the columns of his neck, skimming gently over the single earring adorning his left ear that definitely wasn’t there before. His skin is hot, almost burning for you, yet inviting in a way that makes you never want to let go.

It takes a little while to mobilize. You’re so caught up in feeling each other that you don’t realize how much time has passed. Not that it matters anyway. Because all you can focus on is the man in front of you, putting his heart on a silver platter and serving it to you hot. It’s all limbs and incoordination when climbing back through your window, soft laughter echoing off the alley walls and reverberating into your bedroom. His hands attempt to help you, drifting down to your waist as you climb through and you assume it’s a gesture just for him to cop a feel. But you don’t mind. You’ve missed it. You never want his hands away from you again.

When you change into pajamas and you slither into bed, your eyes brazenly watch him. The way he peels his t-shirt off his body, or unbuckles his pants to leave him solely in his boxers, in his preferred sleep wear. Yet he does it because he knows you: he knows you don’t like “outside clothes” in your sheets, wordlessly respecting your wishes without even being told so.

Rafe climbs under the sheets like he owns it, and you’ve already designated that side of the bed to him long ago, so seeing him here doesn’t feel so foreign. It’s muscle memory when his hand seeks refuge on your waist, shamelessly settling under your sleep shirt to let the pads of his fingertips dig into your flesh to almost stake a claim, but also to tether himself.

Your hand, on instinct, ghosts the skin of his chest, palm skimming over his heart. Despite not pressing fully, you can practically feel how fast it’s beating, how hard it’s thrumming against his ribcage. Though his content expression is a contrary to the feeling, looking more relaxed than ever.

The sensation makes your lips twitch. “Your heart is racing.” You let your palm press gently onto the rhythm.

His smile is impossibly bright.

“Remember when I kissed you for the first time?”

“I remember you being so nervous that you missed.”

“Alright.” Rafe laughs. “Not what I was referring to, but I guess.”

It’s devastatingly refreshing to see his smile, almost forgetting how pretty he looks like this: happy, unguarded, mind quiet of its vulnerabilities and allowing him to enjoy the moment, to slow down and indulge in the simplicities yet complexities of love.

“Then what?” You hum teasingly, his blue eyes piercing despite the dim lighting. “If not that?”

The laughter dies down. His gaze softens. His thumb traces shapes on your skin.

“Thought my heart was gonna burst out of my fuckin’ chest,” he murmurs casually as if that doesn’t make yours skip a beat, even more so when his hand comes up to caress your face, thumb skimming over your bottom lip. “Every single time.”

“You should probably see a cardiologist.”

“Don’t need a diagnosis, baby. ‘S just you.”

You try not to smile. You really try. But it’s really fucking difficult when he looks so pretty, staring at you like you’ve hung the stars yourself and holding you here in place so firmly yet gently at the same time that you couldn’t move if you tried. And he knows it. He knows you’re trying not to give into his charm, the same charm that you’ve been falling for for as long as you’ve known him.

“And now?” You dare, pressing your hand into his beating heart. “How’s it feel?”

“Like it’s gonna burst outta my chest,” he says before kissing you.

Instantly, you’re arching into his body, palms pressed firmly on his chest as a feeble attempt to ground yourself, to remind yourself that this is happening and, no, you’re not dreaming. Rafe’s here, in your bed, kissing you like his life depends on it (and it probably does). Your brows pinch even though he can’t see your face, furrowed in focus to narrow in on the passion.

Rafe makes a noise. A sigh? You think. Regardless, you reciprocate and deepen the kiss by slightly parting your lips, allowing him the access he’s been craving. And he takes advantage in less than a second, a large hand splayed on the column of your neck to keep you here against him, feeling the way your jaw slightly opens to accommodate him.

“I love you,” he praises between breaths as if it’ll kill him if he doesn’t. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

You say it back. He says it again. You tennis-match the phrase over and over and over until the phonetics are burned into your tongues. He murmurs it against your skin against your lips, you beck, your chest, your stomach, the inside of your thighs. You whisper it into the air as if it’s prayer, an incantation that, strung together, produces a spell unlike any other.

And he’s hypnotized. It isn’t until you finish twice on his tongue that he’s even thinking about himself, and it’s only when you, in a daze, paw at his chest as ask for him, for all of him. He nearly double takes, caught up in the moment of simply pleasuring you, and if you hadn’t stopped him, if you hadn’t asked so sweetly, he would’ve went down on you ‘til sunrise.

The whole ordeal is slow. Unhurried. Deep and sensual that rattles your bones to shake. When he slips inside, it’s fucking euphoric, with an overwhelming sense of longing, nostalgia that causes a pleasure tear to slip from your eye, a tear that falls without you knowing. Not until he brushes it away with the pad of his thumb, anyway.

You’re sure you’re a babbling mess, spewing out incoherent sentences and mumbles of an I love you that probably don’t make sense. But he hears you all the same, going as far as repeating the phrase over and over against your skin like a mantra, telling you how nice you feel, that you’re made for him, how beautiful you are despite probably looking like a hot mess.

When all is said and done, Rafe is right there to tend to your needs. He’s kissing your stomach as he cleans the mess from your inner thighs. His thumb is smoothing over the hickies he peppered over multiple regions of your body, praising how beautiful you look, how good you were for him. He patiently waits for you to go to the bathroom and get ready for bed before he’s welcoming you back with open arms, and you’re not hesitating to fall into them. His embrace is warm and familiar, and you find it easy to breathe, to feel like you can relax. Rafe must feel the same, because his breathing is deeper, more evened out. Calmer and more sure of himself. Content.

“Stay the night,” you plea gently as you’re halfway to falling asleep.

You know it’s pathetic to ask, that he probably was going to anyway. But there’s that small sliver of doubt, the tiny voice in the back of your brain that’s haunted from the first time he left, driven to separation by his insecurities. You say it to be sure he knows, that he could stay for the rest of your life and you wouldn’t mind.

“I’m not leaving,” Rafe reassures against your hairline. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Not again.”

And you fall asleep like that: entangled limbs and sharing the same pillow despite a whole arm’s length of space. Your even breaths are what lure him to sleep, waiting for the crazy thumping of his heartbeat to die down before you can wake up to it. He relishes in the sensation of your breathing, how your chest rises and falls against his, and how you practically nuzzle into his embrace that confirms that you missed him just as much as he missed you.

Rafe pulls you a fraction tighter, refusing to let you go again. It’s a wordless promise that he’s going to try to be better for you, to stop listening to the vulgarities of his mind and listen to his heart. He’s going to allow himself to be loved by you and he’s going to let himself believe he deserves it.

Because if you say it? It’s as good as law.

© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work unless given permission.

notes hope this request is what you envisioned???? hope you enjoyed!!

[thelovelywriteress]

NERO AND HIS GIRLFRIEND𓂃 ࣪˖ ཐིཋྀ

Silly and random headcannons for my boy, which may or may not make sense 😭 so read at your risk!

Ever since you realised how much of lonely childhood Nero had and how he thought he did not deserve good things, you made it your goal to make him feel loved every moment for rest of his life.

Through you have good intentions, Nero initially start there was something wrong with you, as suddenly you couldn't keep your hands to yourself anymore if he was in same room as you.

"Whatever it is─never let your weapon or focus down." Nero explained to children in orphanage as it was obvious many of them was joining Order in future and he wanted to give them some advice as it feels good to be admired.

"Hey there pretty boy!" You exclaimed with happiness as you hug him from behind, making his face flushed and definitely his guard along weapon down.

Nero tried to prey you off from him as he felt the stare of children, seeing him contrary his words as you just harden your grip around him, making sure your affection and love reaches him.

"Do we got a beautiful girl hugging us too?" One of kid asked in aw as you let out suppressed laugh─snort.

"If we are strong, do you give hug to us too sister?"

Children were now more interested on how to get you more than whatever Nero was teaching them. Nero look at the scene─feeling annoyed how attention was taken from him and how these brat thinks they can have you too.

"Find someone for yourself. She is mine."

He pulled you to his chest as his hand claims place on your head. Safe to say everyone including you was completely in aw. Damn when did your boyfriend got so bold?

Kids were more sharped than you both expected. They quickly understood you both got something going on and exactly what you have going on as they corner you both with various questions. Definitely more excited and engaged than whatever Nero was initially was teaching them.

"So you hold hands?"

"You sleep together?"

"You feed each other?"

"YOU KISS EACH OTHER?"

With each question they cornered you more and more as they finally ask you to kiss each other to prove your relationship.

"The hell we proving yourself to you?" Nero throw him an annoyed glare through you have opposite reaction as you were acting all blushing and shy, mumbling it is something you guys really needed to do for your relationship.

"Did you finally turn crazy?" He asked his vien popping out as you give him a flirtatious smile before wrapping arms around him and almost pushing a kiss on flustered Nero.

Sadly kissed was stopped by Kyrie who scold you for being pushy and pointed at poor Nero who was vigoursly fan himself to cool down his warm face.

"Don't tease him. You know he isn't much for affection in public." She gently reminded you and took the kids, who were complain about not seeing kiss, so you guys could continue on private.

"Try to do push these things on me again and see what happens." Nero warn you but he didn't missed that mischievous look in your eyes. Things were just starting.

Now Nero loved you very much and wouldn't give you for anything but these days you were getting really out of hands─especially in public, you would just barely lay your eyes on him and next moment you would be either clinging to his arm or hugging him.

You would hesitate to call him your boyfriend in front of others, which he kinda likes but won't say but sometimes boyfriend just kinda get overused.

"Hey there didn't notice you because my eyes only focused on my boyfriend."

"Yeah and then my boyfriend said─I shouldn't and I was like boyfriend─I am fine. But boyfriend didn't took me seriously then boyfriend──"

Nero would be lying tho if he said he hated all the attention tho. The way you prioritize him, made me so happy but he was sad that he couldn't match your enthusiasm in relationship.

Nero, who was before, was still used get embarrassed in private too now was getting clinging. Always holding you and giving you random pecks on cheek as it was his way of showing he loves as same. He even started to hold your hands in public on his own.

"Whoa Nero─e-enough." You said in between the giggles that left your mouth as Nero keep on kissing you around the face.

Bro turned into some kinda animal who just wanted to cuddle you. He even started to bite you as you give him such a cute aggression. In private, he don't want to do anything just cuddle with you, with you telling him how you adore him. It gives him so much contentment.

"Aren't mosquitoes eating you too much these days?" Kyrie humoured on your reasoning for bite marks as you felt your cheeks warming. Is that how Nero felt when you used to be clingy with him in public?

When you thought your boyfriend wouldn't make your heart do more flips, he pulled the boldest stunt which made you sure that you never want to let go of him.

You were both were exploring the island (which initially was Nero fighting with the demons but then you followed him and forced him tag along).

Nero keep on reminding you how dangerous the forest would be and how easy it would be for demons to you guys but ask him to chill, saying how you believe your knight in armour will protect you to which Nero let out an annoyed huff. Yes he would definitely protect you, even with his own life but it doesn't mean you could be reckless.

You come across a high tree and competed who can reach the top first, in which of course Nero won and you pout but he keep his confident smile as enjoying seeing you mad.

"Whoa you can see whole Fortuna from here!" You exclaimed as you and both observe the town. Pointing at various places and identifying them.

"Oh and that's the church where marriages happens." Nero highlighted as you nodded along,"Hopefully one day ours too." You mumbled in flow but it reach Nero's eyes who give you an suprised look.

His reaction made you realised your words and embarrassing they were asking you quickly start to explain how you didn't meant what you meant─life is short and it's not like marrying him was your only goal of life through you wouldn't mind but OF COURSE it still got time and m-maybe you guys won't be even together in future. You keep on speaking but Nero cut you off saying how it wasn't like he was against the marriage and he DEFINITELY DO NOT want a future where you guys aren't together.

"It's just I was surprised that you hold such a deep feelings for me that you even imagined our marriage." He confessed rubbing back of his head.

"It's not like I do that on daily basis. . .it just come out in flow of conversation." You mumbled feeling flustered.

"But I do not want you to think I am against it." He started again as your cheeks started to get visible red, you didn't even thought that,"Yeah I get it─" You were cut off as he put his hands on your shoulder,"I don't know what kind of future this island filled with all this demon killing holds for us but I still want to be by your side. To give you best and see you forever smiling."

Your face was in aw hearing his words, how sincere and geniune they were. It was like he was doing some confession you remarked to which's response he turn around in embarrassment, stating how his confession can't be this lame.

"Well, well don't be embarrassed now. I like that confession─or whatever it was. So you can kiss me as a reward."

He gave a hesitate look, before leaning in and kissing you on lips.

"How rude!" You slapped him in angry.

You meant on cheeks. He can't kiss an unmarried girl on cheeks. He retorted back with how much close you guys are from cuddling to even kissing at other parts of face is lips where you drew the line? Hypocrite.

"Oh yeah." You mumbled, looking down. Realising with how much physical contact you guys shared, this kiss practically meant nothing,"But it still don't make it right. I didn't give you the consent." You continue on hit his face which he shield with his arms.

You were just weird girl. You bathe him in affection in public and private but one kiss from him in private turn such a big thing.

He is pretty sure more than consent, it was about your suprise. You never thought he could kiss on lips, atleast not this randomly. Guess this marks a point for him tho. He is going do all sorts of things out random from now.

[slasherslittlesimp]

Not Yours Anymore (Jasper X Reader)

Part One

“Do we have to do this?” Paul questions Sam with a sneer on his face, clearly displeased at the idea of having to help the Cullen family.

“It’s a newborn army, Paul. It’s better to fight against them together.” Sam explains, though you can see the displeasure on his face. The only person who seems all for it is Jacob seeing as he’s the person that brought it up- all to protect his little leech lover that has been leading him on for who knows how long.

As the pack argues and debates, you remain silent, simply leaning against the wall of Sam’s kitchen while staring at the ground. You have no particular opinion on whether or not you all help fight. You’ve never met the Cullen’s, and despite knowing they’re vampires you have no problem with their existence since they’re supposedly vegan. You’re actually kind of interested in meeting the family that pisses the rest of the pack off. It’s a shame it’s under the circumstances of fighting a newborn army, though.

You’d prefer not to put your life on the line for people you don’t even know. Though you suppose it’s also to protect your pack since the newborns will be close to your territory. It’s also to protect the rest of Forks, as well, considering the blood suckers have been killing lots of people. Though none of that seems to matter to the others who only seem to care about the fact you’ll be fighting alongside the Cullen family.

“What do you think about this fighting with the leeches crap?” Paul’s voice pulls you from your daze as you look at him, finding him to be leaning against the wall with his shoulder, arms crossed and face formed into a scowl.

“I think it’s necessary if we want to keep Forks safe.” You shrug. “Besides, it’s only until the end of the fight. It’s not like Sam is telling you to become best friends with them.”

“So you don’t agree with me?” Paul huffs in anger, nostrils flaring.

You deadpan at him. “Last I checked, we’re no longer dating, which means I’m no longer obligated to side with you on things. You can’t get mad at me for having a different opinion.” You walk away before he can reply, saying a quick goodbye to the others before heading home.

It’s a few days later when you all meet up again, shifting into your wolf forms before heading over to the Cullen house in order to start training for the fight. You linger near the back of the pack, a bit wary about meeting the Cullen’s for the first time.

The Cullen family watches as the pack emerges one by one, Sam’s large black wolf at the front with Jacob’s russet-brown wolf following close behind. One by one each wolf emerges, a few snarling and huffing as they do. Soon enough the entire pack is in front of the Cullen’s minus yourself who lingers in the trees for a moment, a bit hesitant at meeting vampires for the first time. When Sam’s voice echoes in your mind telling you to come forward, reassuring there’s nothing to be afraid of- despite you not being scared- you finally come out from the dark shadows of the trees. Your once pitch black fur shifts more into a dark shade of red the second you step out into the sunlight.

You keep your head ducked as you slowly make your way to stand next to Jacob. He leans over, nudging you with his body in reassurance. With a deep inhale you finally look up, taking in the sight of the Cullen family- the first vampires you’ve ever seen. Your gaze flicks from face to face, committing each one to memory. The blond male with chiseled cheeks and a polite smile, who stand with his arm draped around the back of a dark haired woman. Then there’s a very buff male standing with a blonde haired woman whose jaw looks to be clenched in anger. Then there’s the one standing with the human, which makes you assume he’s Edward. You’re promptly proven correct when he nods towards you. After them is a girl with short spiky hair. And then finally….

Oh.

Oh no.

The second you look at the final Cullen heat floods throughout your body, a burning desire to be near him practically tearing your breath away. The reactions from the pack is instantaneous as various different voices flood through your mind. Jacob is questioning if you just imprinted, Quil and Embry are in disbelief your imprint is a leech, Sam is warning the others to behave, but the loudest voice is Paul’s. You can practically feel the rage radiating from him as his voice echoes in your mind, basically threatening to tear your imprint apart. The threat makes you turn to face him, a warning growl leaving you involuntarily as you instinctively prepare to protect your imprint.

“What’s happening?” Carlisle questions, watching with interest and concern as your wolf snarls at one of the others. One minute everything was fine, the next there appears to be a fight on the verge of breaking out.

Edward nods towards you, his lips twitching a bit as he fights back a smile. “She imprinted on Jasper. The other one is threatening to tear him apart because of it.”

Despite the tension rising, Jasper finds his gaze to be solely focused on you. He can feel your emotions radiating strongly both from you but also from the bond connecting you two. He can feel your confusion, your anger… but the strongest of all is your desire. The desire to be close to him, to protect him. To simply be his. It’s intense, and if Jasper needed to breathe he’s almost certain your emotions would’ve stolen his breath away.

‘That’s enough!’ Sam’s voice rips through the packs minds with a growl as his wolf stands taller, towering over Paul. ‘We can deal with this at a later time. Right now we need to focus on training for the battle.’

Paul reluctantly backs down, unable to go against the pack alpha. Seeing him back off, your wolf finally relaxes from its tense state. You turn and face the Cullen’s once again, though this time your focus stays glued to your imprint who begins the lesson since he has the most experience against newborns.

You can only hope that everything goes well.

[lenaswritingandstuff]

Home • Mattheo Riddle x bff!fem!reader

Requested: No

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x f!reader

Summary: y/n wants to make something special for Mattheo's birthday, but little does she know how special it is about to get.

Word count: 3.1K

Warnings: Fluff; English is not my first language.

A/N: Thank you guys so, so much for over 300 followers, love y'all!! That said, I don't think I like this one lol. Comments and feedback are always appreciated. Sorry for the typos. Hope you enjoy it! xx

Tag list: @helendeath @im-jesus @wolfyychan @blocked-zombieartist

Tag list for this story: @lilloves-34

“Aw, how lovely it is to see you two!”

“Hi, mum.”

Your mother held you warmly before turning to the person next to you.

“You’ve grown taller, Mattheo, dear.”

“As always, Mrs. y/l/n.”

She held him too, and Mattheo did his best to return the hug. His dark eyes turned to you and you offered him a small, affectionate smile. He suddenly looked more comfortable and smiled at your mother when she let him go. 

“Leave your luggage here, dears, it can be unpacked later. Come, I’ve made you two some snacks.”

You and Mattheo follow her into the kitchen, and you can’t help but look at Mattheo. Partly because, well, it’s not like he wasn’t the most handsome boy you’ve ever seen, but mostly because you know he’s not always comfortable in your mother’s house, despite having living here for over two years now. 

Mattheo and you had been best friends since your first year at Hogwarts. But as the years went by, knowing Mattheo was alone at Hogwarts during the holidays made you feel so upset that you started asking him if he wanted to spend it with you, which he accepted with a gratitude he had a hard time hiding. And, naturally, you also asked him if he wanted to come for summer break here as well. From the day Mattheo met your mother, she adored him and soon considered him a full member of the family, sending him sweets and gifts while at school just like she did for you, offering him gifts for his birthdays and Christmas as well, and he started coming every holiday without you asking him. You knew Mattheo was thankful for your mother’s hospitality and affection, as he always made sure to let her know, but you knew - despite him doing his best to hide it - that he felt that he somehow didn’t deserve the kindness and care you mother had shown him. It broke your heart to know he felt like that, but Mattheo wasn’t the kind to easily speak about his feelings so you never dared to bring it up, only sometimes telling him how happy you were that he was here, and that this house was his home.

But what your mother - or anyone else for that matter - didn’t know was that now having Mattheo around at all times was bittersweet for you. You absolutely loved having him in your house, where you knew he was finally loved and cared for, but it also made you two closer and made feelings for him grow - feelings you didn’t know were shared or not. It was slowly breaking you from the inside, and you didn’t know how to deal with it. Of course, you could talk about it with Pansy, who was your other best friend, or your mother, but you perfectly knew what they would both tell you: “tell him how you feel.” Merlin, no. You just couldn’t. Not only because if Mattheo didn’t feel the same way, your friendship would never be the same at best - or completely destroyed in the worst case scenario - and in both cases, you knew it wouldn’t take long for Mattheo to decide to leave your house. If I ever do tell him how I feel, it’s better to wait until we’re both out of Hogwarts and have our own places. 

You walked in the kitchen to find your favourite snacks on the table. 

“Aw, thanks, mum.”

“Yes, thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re more than welcome. Come, sit.”

The three of you sat around the table, you being next to Mattheo on one side and your mother on the other. You and Mattheo started eating while your mother asked about yours and Mattheo’s lives at school. You and Mattheo took turns in making conversation and even had a few laughs as you recalled some of the funny memories you had. After both your stomachs were full, you decided to go unpack your luggage. Mattheo had the same idea, and went to the bedroom that was now essentially his. You both finished at the same time, and found yourselves in the corridor of the second floor. 

“I’ll go take a shower,” Mattheo said quietly. “If you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.”

He walked to the bathroom, but before he came in, you called for him. “Matty?” 

He turned to you and you continued, “As always, this is your home.” 

He gave you a single nod before quickly turning away and going into the bathroom. Letting out a small sigh, you went down downstairs in the living room and found your mother reading a book. 

“Mum?”

She raised her head from her book, “Yes?”

You sat on the sofa next to her, a small smile on your face.

“You know Mattheo’s birthday is coming up?”

“Yes,” she nodded, “I already got his gifts and have everything I need to make his favourite cake. Why?”

“Well,” you said, “I thought that we could do something else for a change. We usually have quiet birthdays and it’s nice but I’d really like to do something for Mattheo this time.”

Your mother frowned, “Like what?”

“A surprise party?” you answered. “I could write to the boys and invite them to celebrate?” 

“That’s a good idea, darling. I’ll soon go to Diagon Alley to buy some decorations and, well, more food and drinks.”

You smiled and went to give her a quick hug. “Thank you, mum. You’re the best.”

The evening was nice and quiet, spent playing chess with Mattheo on the ground in the living room like you always did, with your mother playfully cheering on the one winning from the sofa. Mattheo and you laughed a lot while playing, and it warmed your heart to see him relaxed and happy. You knew he was usually shy in the first days he came here, and while you perfectly understood it, you couldn’t wait for him to be his warm, chill, funny self again. The Mattheo you knew and loved. After dinner, your mother went to bed and soon after, Mattheo and you decided to follow. You both went upstairs, and you then went into the bathroom to take a shower and put on your pyjamas. Mattheo had his own bathroom, and he was likely getting himself ready to go to bed. Once you were done, you went to your bedroom, and you weren’t surprised to see Mattheo casually laying on your bed. You went to close the shutters, and when you got in bed, Mattheo’s arms immediately wrapped around your body, and you put your head on his chest. Mattheo and you had taken the habit of cuddling to sleep since the first night he spent here, where a discussion before going to sleep ended up with you guys falling asleep and for some reason waking up in each other’s arms. You found that you slept way better in Mattheo’s arms, so much so that this situation continued in Hogwarts - and it was made easier by your roommate Pansy essentially spending all her nights with Blaise. At first, you just enjoyed the feeling of warmth and safety Mattheo’s embrace gave you, but as your heart started to feel more than friendship for him, cuddling, just like his perpetual presence, became bitter-sweet. You still loved cuddling with Mattheo, in fact you didn’t even know if you could even sleep without him now, but you wondered if it was a good idea to continue like this. But even if I decided it was better to stop, how do I tell him? 

“You alright?” you whispered, raising your head to look at him.

He nodded, “Yeah. Why?” 

“I just want to make sure you’re comfortable here. This is your home, Matty. And it will always be. But if you’re feeling something different, I want you to tell me.” 

“I’m fine, y/n, really. I’m grateful for your mum and you, you know that. Don’t worry your pretty little head over me.”

He kissed your hair, his hands started gently caressing your shoulder and the middle of your back. Soon after, you felt yourself going to sleep, and thought you heard a voice saying “sleep well, princess.” 

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The next following days, Mattheo and you spent all of your time together. Every meal, every activity - playing Quidditch in the garden, reading, studying, taking a nap - was done with him. You loved it, but it made it harder to write to Mattheo’s friends to invite them to the surprise party or to prepare the said party without him knowing, but you still managed to do it while he was reading a book in the living room. Thankfully, all the boys answered your letter and said they would come, and thankfully also, your mother had time to buy what was needed and had the idea to hide it in her room, where you and her knew Mattheo would never dare to go. 

On the day of his birthday, you woke up once again in his arms, and kissed him on the cheek as he was slowly waking up.

“Happy birthday, Matty.”

“Thank you, pretty girl.”

You had managed to get Mattheo agree to go to Hogsmeade in the beginning of the afternoon to get his favourite sweets from Honeydukes so your mom could prepare everything for the party and welcome the guests. You spent some time here, and once you knew everything was likely to be ready, you and Mattheo got back home, and you had a hard time not smiling. But you also suddenly worried about how Mattheo would react. Last year, Theo had a surprise party and Mattheo was happy to help prepare it. But does that mean he wants one for himself?

You opened the door, and entered the silent house. Mattheo looked around the corridor, and put his bag full of sweets on the floor in order to take off his jacket.

“Is your mom here?” he asked. 

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Let’s check the living room.”

Mattheo remained silent and approached said living room, and you had the biggest smile on your face when he suddenly stopped.

“Happy birthday!”

There was some cheering and applause, and Mattheo turned to you as you approached him.

“What-”

“It’s a surprise, Matty,” you couldn’t help but laugh at his confused face. “You deserved to have your friends and your brother with you today.”

He stared at you for a long minute, and you felt your heart beat faster, and he finally smiled at you.

“Thank you, y/n.”

You smiled back at him and gestured for him to go say hi to his friends, who were quick to wish him a happy birthday and greet him warmly, and his brother Tom, who was colder and more silent than the others. You looked around the room, and what your mother had done to decorate was incredible: there were numerous small fireworks up in the air alongside big golden letters saying “happy birthday Mattheo”, small decorations all around, and the long wooden table, usually bare, was also very much magically decorated. Mattheo hugged your mother to thank her while Pansy came closer to you. 

“Well done, dear. If you’ve put it together for a friend, I can’t wait to see what you will do when you’ll be dating him.”

“Don’t start,” you warmed her. “Mattheo and I have always been friends and will always be.” 

“We’ll see,” she teased.

You rolled your eyes and went closer to Mattheo. It was now time for him to blow out the candles and make a wish, and everyone was gathered around him as your mother brought his favourite cake decorated with whipped cream and full of magic candles.

“Happy birthday again, dear,” your mother smiled. “Make a wish.”

Mattheo closed his eyes for an instant and then blew out the candles. You applauded alongside the others, and everyone gave Mattheo their birthday gifts - books on Quidditch or history or wizards, Quidditch equipment, special quills, a watch - and then came your turn. Feeling your cheeks becoming red, you handed him your own gift, scared he might not like it. He unwrapped it and then saw the book.

“It’s, um, a photo album with some pictures we took along the years and, well, I wrote down some of my favourite memories with you.” 

You heard some whispers among Mattheo’s friends - his brother Tom remained silent - but your only focus was on Mattheo’s reaction. He turned some of the pages, smiled at some of the pictures and read the memories you wrote down - and the note you had also written him about how much he meant to you and how special you genuinely thought he was. After a moment of apparently being lost in thoughts, he gently put down the book on the table near the others books he got and looked at you to give you a half-smile.

“Thank you, y/n.”

He gave you a quick, strange hug, and then turned to his plate. Feeling confused, you wondered if he truly liked the gift. You went to sit between your mother and Lorenzo, and as you ate the cake, you looked sometimes as Mattheo, who was now the center of attention, and as time went by, you saw him switching from his usual, funny self to a more quiet, uneasy self, barely listening to what Theo was saying to him. You guessed he was feeling overwhelmed, and as the others finished their plates and went to sit on the sofas, you saw Mattheo mumbling an excuse before leaving the room to go to the garden. You wanted to follow him to make sure everything was fine, but you knew he probably needed some time alone. After a while, you finally went outside, and found him sitting in the grass, lost in thoughts. You approached him slowly before sitting down next to him.

“Are you okay, Matty?” 

He nodded, “Yes. Was it your idea to have this party?”

“Yes,” you said quietly. “Why?” 

“Thank you, y/n. It means a lot,” he looked at the grass before shaking his head. 

“You deserve it,” you said with a gentle voice. 

“Actually, I’m not sure,” Mattheo said in a low voice, his head now down.

You frowned, confused. “What? Why?”

Mattheo turned to you and had a small sigh.

“Honestly, y/n. You and your mum have already so much for me. Letting me live here, giving me gifts, being there for me, and now this…What did I ever give you back? Nothing.”

You opened your mouth, but it took a few seconds to answer. “Mattheo, have you not read what I wrote in the photo album?” 

He didn’t answer, still looking at the grass.

“Well?” you insisted. “What did the text say?”

“That you deeply cared about me,” he said, almost mumbling. “And that you thought of me as caring, and kind.”

“I meant it, alright?” you said in a more serious voice, wanting him to understand. “You’re the most exceptional person I know. You’re kind, gentle, funny, and caring. You’re a great friend to the boys, and you’re doing your best to have a good relationship with Tom, even when it’s not easy. You’re always there for me, you're always ready to spend time with me no matter the activity, and I know I always count on you whenever I need help or need comfort. You always know what to say, and you always listen to me when I have something to say. You’re also smart, and a damn good Quidditch player. I know you’re scared of becoming like your father, but I know you won’t. Because you two couldn’t be more different. And even if you started to be like him, we both know I’d smack some sense into you.” He had a hint of a smile and you went on, “Yes, sometimes you’re annoying and I think you love to fight too much, but nobody’s perfect, and I wouldn't want you to change for anything in the world. You’re the best person I know, Mattheo, and that’s why I’m in love with you.”

He whipped his head towards you, and that’s when you realised what you just said. 

Oh, no. Oh, no. Merlin, no.

“I…Just…Forget what I said.”

You quickly rose up and almost ran back to the house, but you suddenly felt a warm hand on your wrist. 

“Wait!” Mattheo said, “What the hell, you can’t leave like that after saying that to me.”

“Yes I can,” you retorted, panicking, “and that’s what I’m doing, just…forget it happened, alright?”

Mattheo let go of your wrist to run a hand through his dark curls. 

“But, y/n, I can’t forget,” he said, frowning, as if it was obvious, “and I don’t want to. Did you really mean it?”

“Mattheo, I…”

“y/n, please,” he cut off more severely, both his voice and eyes now pleading. “Please, answer me.”

Doing your best to not look at him, you hesitated before nodding, feeling the need to disappear. He looked at you in a strange way, and you wondered what he was going to say.

“Look, Mattheo,” you started, “I know our f…”

“I love you too.”

It was now you turn to look at him with confusion. “What?”

“I love you too,” he whispered. “You’re…all I want, and all I need. You said this house is my home, but the truth is, you’re my home.” 

All of a sudden, he stepped closer to you and brought his hand to your face, slowly caressing your cheek with all the gentleness in the world. You wondered what you should do next -  put your hand on his? Put your own hand on his cheek? - but he made the decision for you, suddenly lowering his head towards yours.

“Fuck, y/n…”

And after that whisper, he pressed his lips on yours. It took you a few seconds to kiss him back, but when you did, he immediately grabbed your waist to pull you closer before putting a hand on the back of your neck. You let out a moan, and he deepened the kiss. You had a hard time believing what you had been dreaming for years now was actually happening but at the same time, Mattheo’s lips on yours and his hands on your body was all you could feel, all you could think about and all that mattered. When he finally pulled away, you were both out of breath. 

“Does you saying that you love me and this kiss count as two more birthday gifts?” he suddenly asked. 

“If you want,” you laughed. 

“Then, it really is the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

You both smiled at each other before he kissed you again before taking you into his arms, holding you as if he died if he let go. You held him as well, feeling that, wherever you were, Mattheo was also your home. 

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[bump1nthen1ght]

The Family Jewels (Pt. 1/4)

Pairing: M!Vampire!Father-In-Law x F!Reader x M!Vampire!Husband

Genre: Regency, Gothic, Dark, Yandere, Pining

Series Summary: Months of loveless married life would be taxing on any soul, especially when confined to the secluded country estate of your new family. But a blossoming connection with you reclusive father-in-law offers you comfort where there should be none, bringing respite to your otherwise dreadful nights. After months of disinterest, how will your husband react to such a development?

Series Warnings: Obsessive + Controlling Behavior, Fucked up Family Dynamics, Confinement, Misogyny, Future Non-Con, Degradation, Angst, Jealousy

Chapter Warnings: Slight hints of Obsessive Behavior, Mentions of Infidelity, Degradative Language

A/N: Whoo another series! Been a while since I did one of these, though this one is a bit shorter than others. As you can probably tell from the warnings this series is going to be a darker tone, nevertheless I hope y'all enjoy!

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

The night time on the estate is cool, even with the sun having just tucked under the horizon. The winds move quicker over the rolling hills, no trees to catch and rustle before it’s billowing across your dress, sending goosebumps across your skin. It’s enough to send anyone scurrying inside at the hint of darkness, but not you. Yes, you dread the cold and the way it pinches at your nose and fingertips, but anything is better than being stuck inside the house, alone with your thoughts. Not again.

“Ahh, yes. It should be ready now dear.”

And especially not when your father-in-law has promised a special treat this particular evening. One that he assured would make the cold worth it.

You tentatively walk toward the telescope, still nervous to touch its magnificence. The craftsmanship alone betrays an elegance far beyond your understanding, even after joining this house nearly a season ago. But your father-in-law is kind, gentle as he guides your eye to the glass, not as reprimanding as your former tutors or even governess’ were.

You peek into the glass, perfectly centered on the main event of tonight; The bright ‘evening star’, whose path perfectly crosses the night sky tonight.

“Is that-”

“It’s Venus, my dear.” A gloved hand settles on your shoulder, your father-in-law’s dulcet voice dancing across your inner ear. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

If he was anyone else, even your husband, the familiar touch would have shocked you out of your reverence. But after weeks of stargazing, nights spent in gentle conversation, you’ve learned that The Earl was just the affectionate type. Nothing untoward, of course, but the sort of casual touches and grazes one would expect of an exuberant father. You have a feeling he’d always wanted someone out here with him, and is simply too unpracticed to restrain himself.

“It is.” You gasp, still reeling on the fact you’re seeing a planet. An actual planet, other than Earth, rendered in such detail. “Oh, Sir, it’s incredible.”

“I knew you’d like it.” The Earl chuckles. “I remember the first time I saw her in such splendor. I was speechless.” The hand on your shoulder rubs its thumb across the planes of your back, never leaving the fabric. “And dear, you know you can call me Edric.”

His voice rings in your ears, an imperceptible shiver running down your spine as the Earl’s, Edric’s, voice grows subtly darker. You swallow a deep breath and convince yourself it’s from the excitement of seeing Venus herself. Pulling back from the telescope, you give him a small smile, unable to meet his deep, black eyes.

“O-of course, Sir-I mean, Edric.” Your head bobs, some emotion caught in your throat.

He is family now. It is sensible.

Your eyes dart around the courtyard, almost wishing there were some servants darting around, something to distract yourself with. But the staff always seems to disappear at the hint of night time. It was rather shocking to you at first, but after a while you assumed maybe the Earl was just diligent in making sure they have proper rest. It did make the house quite…eerie at night. Wandering the long halls, peering out at the endless darkness that was the rolling hills, it was what drew you to the night’s sky in the first place. What drew you and Edric together.

—

“Dear?”

Already on edge by the quiet and the dark, your father-in-law’s voice nearly scares you out of your skin. Jumping from your bench, you turn to him, ashamedly unprepared and ghoulish-looking.

“Earl Gulliver!” You drop into a deep curtsy, hoping your father-in-law doesn’t notice your frazzled appearance. “I w-was not expecting anyone. It is quite late.”

That is an understatement, to say the least. The last person you had expected to see this night was your reclusive father-in-law, a man you hadn’t exchanged a single word with since your wedding two months ago. It could’ve been the size of your newfound home, but you hadn’t seen him once since moving in. Not at meal times, not in the fabulously large library, and certainly not wandering the grounds. You assumed he kept odd hours, working hard on whatever it is that Earls do. Or maybe he enjoyed the lifestyle of your husband, was sleeping all day and then spending his nights out on the town, either at a tavern or a brothel or both.

“It is. I must admit, I was not expecting you either.” The Earl tightens the sides of his jacket, although the cold seems to be not affecting him at all. His face grows no flush; His fine, ivory cheekbones as brilliantly white as they are in the daytime. “If I may, what are you doing in the garden?”

You swallow your saliva, realizing that this is now a full conversation. Darn, your governess was right in saying you should have practiced the art a bit more. 

“I was looking at the stars, sir.” You fight off the urge to curtsy at the end of each sentence, something about The Earl’s regality instilling a need to appease. He was every bit the nobility that your husband wasn’t, his thick black hair combed neatly, even at this late of night. “I used to do it when I was younger, but this estate has a much b-better view.” Your fingers knot in your dress, a frustrating habit you never grew out of. “I quite like…the constellations.”

The Earl stands there, and for a second you wonder if you’re about to be scolded for such a girlish inclination. But the smile that curls up his face is kind, The Earl stepping into the garden with a sweep of his waistcoat. In no time he is by your side, and pointing up at the sky.

“My favorite is the Pleiades.” The Earls’ gloved fingers draw across the sky, expertly pointing out the star cluster. “It’s also known as the Seven-”

“-Sisters! Yes, it’s one of my favorites too!” The excitement bursts out of you before you think better, the first positive interaction in months getting to you. Like a child having sugar after rationing. But the shame is just as quick, the realization of another girlish outburst, causing you to curl in and a heat to spread across your cheeks. The only thing that bats it away is your father-in-laws smile, even wider than ebfore.

“Do you know the story of the sisters?” The Earl moves in closer, leaning down to meet your eye. Your father-in-law is of an impressive height, just like his son, and the way your neck cranes to look at him has a way of making you feel child-like. 

“My nursemaid used to tell me a version of it, though I am not sure how accurate it maye be.” You giggle, now drawing shapes in the fabric of your skirt. “I believed she liked to embellish.”

“Well, there are quite a many versions of it, from all over the globe. Perhaps there isn’t one true version, but many concurrent ones.” The Earl says with a gentle nod of his head. “Humanity has always had a way of crafting myths, of telling stories that make something as big as the world, make a little more sense.” 

“That's beautiful.” You say, looking back up at the constellation, the wonder apparent in your eyes. “Isn’t it strange to think that so many people, even centuries ago, were doing the same thing as us? Looking up at the stars and telling stories?” Your eyes stay locked on the great abyss, dancing from star to star, wondering of all the people before you.

The Earl, however, keeps his eyes on you.

“Indeed, it is beautiful.”

—

That was the start of your connection with your father-in-law, an unlikely friendship which has made me these past weeks bearable. You never knew you could look forward to night time like this, but sitting down and stargazing was the last bastion of comfort and companionship you had here. The Earl would point out different bodies, telling you myths and stories, some versions you had never even heard of. You would tell him your own tales, the ones your maids would make up, or your sisters dramatized, but he enjoyed them all the same. 

To think such a stoic and quiet man was hiding such a laugh, such a loving personality, was astonishing. In a way it baffles you how his son turned out as he did, although you admit you do not know your husband that well. Your wedding had been short and formal, your husband as eager to get it over with as he was to down another cup of foul-smelling wine. Your interaction with him so far had been just as short, your husband rather displeased in every iteration you saw him. Nothing like the gentle, attentive man you now know Edric to be.

“It is getting late now, dear.” The hand on your shoulder moves up, nearly pressing on the hem of your dress. Darn, this is your least favorite time of the night. “I think it is best you go to bed now.”

Just the thought puts a yawn into your mouth, has your eyes drooping. Edric must have a way of sensing these things, you think to yourself.

“You are right. Though I would love to keep watching.”

Edric chuckles, and brushes a stray hair behind your ear.

“The stars will be there tomorrow night too, dearest.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks, your heartbeat thrumming in your ears as you lock eyes with Edric. Those deep, dark pools are as unfathomable as ever, the same abyss you could get lost in, just like the sky. 

He had never called you dearest before, only dear.

“Y-yes, you’re right.” You swallow another bout of troubling emotion, tearing your eyes away from The Earl’s carved visage. “Have a good night, Edric.”

“You as well, my dear.”

It takes everything in you to depart, to leave the little bubble of you two and head to your bedroom. With him, you are happy. With him, you are safe, and heading to your empty bed is just another reminder.

Of what, exactly?

That thought has you scurrying along. Perhaps you are more tired than you thought. It is the lack of sleep, surely.

The Earl watches as you leave, standing still.

Your night has ended, yet his has just begun.

—

Edric fears he is making a mistake.

Since this immortal life was thrust upon him, he’s always been deigned sentimental. Too sentimental, many others would chide, especially for a beast of the night. This longing he had was so human, so mortal, so unbecoming of a vampire of his station and age. He knew it well, aware of this irritating tendency of his to grow so attached.

He had done much to keep it down. When it had first come to a head, becoming unbearable for his immortal soul, he had compromised and found Caleb. It was the perfect middleground: Siring a fledgling was a perfectly natural, vampiric thing to do. He had made himself a companion, a young vampire to explore the world with, to help guide, he had made himself a son. That had been enough the past couple of decades.

But the boy had become such a brat.

Edric thought the conditions were perfectly tolerable; In order to live the lavish life they do, Caleb and him had to compromise. Rather than sink to the level of so many others, living in alleys and shadows with only the stolen goods on their back, to live like nobility one must have to act like nobility. If it meant marrying every once in a while, so be it. They could find a quiet girl with a proper name, whisk her away from her family with promises of wealth and titles, and enjoy a couple years of peaceful solitude before she died of a mysterious illness. Just a couple years of playing the part and they could have decades of a lavish country life, all with the veil of grief to cover up any of their eccentricities.

But that boy just couldn’t handle it, could he?

Edric thought he raised him better than this, raised him smarter than this. But no, Caleb couldn’t content himself with even one second of his immortal life not being rambunctious. He married the girl Edric selected, all right, yet spat in the name of matrimony at every chance. While Edric stayed at home, managing the estate and growing their profits, Caleb was in town acting every bit a rake: Whores, booze, gambling. Like a petulant child he was throwing a tantrum, appalled that his father would “dare” take away any of his new toys, the utter debauchery of this immortal life.

The worst part of it all is that…it didn’t seem to matter.

Edric honors himself in keeping up with the times, of seamlessly blending with the ever shifting ways of human society. But this new found apathey to men's behavior had thrown him off. It’s a known secret that his son is an adulterous, drink-crazed partier, and yet no one seems to care! All they do is cast the occasionally disapproving gaze and talk amongst themselves, but it hasn’t seemed to affect his son’s social standing at all. In fact, most of the gentlemen of the town seemed to like him even more, embracing his wild ways and straying from their own confinements of proper morality.

Edirc hated to say it, but back in his day, marriage meant something. Men had affairs sure, but either they were secretive or properly shamed once found out. None such flagrant displays were respected, they were spat upon, they were easy weaknesses to exploit. Back in his day, men were either honorable, or good enough at pretending to be honorable.

The real problem now is his new daughter-in-law. His sweet, kind daughter in law. Who loves his library, who loves the stars and the all encompassing universe of which you are only a small speck. Who loves romance and tragedy loves to talk to him, The Earl, of all people. A droll, ancient vampire with nothing better to do but haunt this old house in the countryside. It’s pathetic, just how besotten he has become in such a short time, with this miniscule thing that should be nothing more than a cog in the machine.

Everyone always said he was too sentimental, that he got attached too easily. More in love with the fruits of humanity than with endless possibilities of his own immortality. They all called him weak, and yet he was still here, and many of them were not. His son, for all his problems, was still here, ever indulgent in the base sins which clung to his old mortal life. 

Maybe it was time for him to indulge too.

Maybe it's time for the plan to change.

—

Caleb is lost.

He knows he’s on the property, for sure. But this new estate his master so gracefully bought for them was a goddamn labyrinth. Too many large halls that all look the same, the decorations so methodically similar to match current mortal’s tastes. It's confusing as is when he’s sober, even more so with a full belly of wine and whore’s blood.

It doesn’t help Caleb’s headache, an unfortunate side effect of his unexpected glutton. He had been sloppy tonight, shifting while caught in the raptures with the lady of the night, forced to drain her dry and ditch her in a river. No one would miss her, another forgettable face in a sea of brothels and wenches.

No, they aren’t called wenches anymore. At least, he doesn’t think. Devils, humans could be so confusing.

He stumbled into the first available room he sees, the door big and opulent enough to befit a fine bedchamber. It's probably a guest room, but whatever, he can crash for the day and-

Oh, this is not a guest room.

The sickly sweet smell of your blood alerts him immediately to your presence. If it hadn’t, then the site of you curled up on your bed, the moonlight shining down romantically on your sleeping self, would have. You look like a proper fairy tale princess, chest slowly rising up and down, your soft, long neck bare for all the terrible creatures that go bump in the night.

He lingers, he doesn’t know why. Walking along the side of your bed, pupils roving over your collarbone. His claws trace over the fine velvet of your bedding, luckily licked clean of the filthy blood of the whore and leaving no stains. Your head tosses in your sleep, but your face remains peaceful, completely unaware of your intruder.

You are a pretty thing, Caleb supposes. His creator could’ve done far worse in that department. You had a soft voice too, from what he remembered of the wedding. You had asked what he liked to do in his free time, gentle as a whisper amongst the bustling party going on around you. In another decade, Caleb myself might have pursued you, drawn in by your sweet face and even sweeter blood. He’d have seduced you, ravished you, and savored you like a fine wine.

But Caleb is older now, he isn’t the bumbling fool he was when first risen from the grave. He didn’t need you, didn’t need to have his prey fetched and prepared, like his creator insisted. It was an insult to his charm, to his prowess, that his master somehow couldn't understand.

He thought about killing you, the night of the wedding. Insisting on a witness for your consummation, then defiling you like an animal and ripping your throat out. That would show him that he wasn't a weak-willed child, who needs to play pretend. Who needs some perfectly demure debutante to flout about on his arm, who needs to shackle himself to the ridiculous norms of the bugs beneath them. Why would he crave any of that, when he had finally tasted true freedom?

You have no survival instinct, Caleb thinks as he draws a finger down your jaw. You barely even twitch, no fear from the cool nail that could slit your throat in a second. Just a pretty face, meant to be bought and sold. A warm hearted maiden that only exists in fairy tales.

You turn your head, unintentionally nuzzling into Caleb’s touch. Goosebumps pepper across the line of your jaw, but still you do not stir.

Utterly hopeless.

That's what you were. Hopeless. Useless. A pretty doll to decorate the hallways. It’s why Caleb didn’t even bother consummating your “union”, if one could even call it that. That would imply that he cared, that he wanted you.

Caleb stands at the foot at the bed, and watches the covers rise and fall with each slow breath. Watches your pupils flutter behind your eyelids, your toes curling when the covers pull up and reveal the bitter cold. Even in sleep, you’re just so human.

If he still was one, Caleb’s sure he would have fallen for you. Such a beautiful noble girl, the soft-hearted kind that would have been kind to a peasant farm boy like himself, saw past his poor station. You would've forced him to become this poor, besotted, love struck fool. He would’ve fallen to his knees and begged for even a scrap of your attention. He would’ve desired you like an addict does his drugs, like a prisoner does the sun.

He isn’t that anymore. That weak, romantic idiot dreaming of a noble life. Now he’s just….

Caleb's claws dig into the bedframe.

He takes what he wants now, no matter what anyone else says.

[starglow-xx]

𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘺 ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

(𝘯.) 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘵

the nakajima atsushi collection of “the love of an older brother” series

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ synopsis: he’s had a terrible childhood, and is in no condition to take care of himself much less a newborn, but he’ll do everything it takes to make sure you’ll have the childhood he’s never had

having a baby sister pt. 3 !!

(platonic!) older brother! nakajima atsushi x baby sister! reader

characters: tanizaki junichiro, tanizaki naomi, miyazawa kenji, izumi kyouka | type of work: head canons | pt. 1 | pt. 2 |

a/n : i have risen from the dead! hope u enjoy!

mini guardians time ✧˖*°࿐

when the agency adults can’t watch you and neither can atsushi, it’s lucky that there’s still some people who can! let’s see how things work out…

tanizaki junichiro ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

he's already a big brother so what could go wrong?

many, many things

he’s genuinely a good caretaker but smth always happens idk

nothing bad or like dangerous but like clumsy and or inconvenient little mishaps yk?

but the thing is, it’s never his fault

things just happen ™

“u-um tanizaki-san why are u and my sister covered in formula?...”

“please don’t ask atsushi-kun”

It’s like in those cliche movies where there’s like a character that just has really bad luck

once he was feeding u and the nipple of the bottle just popped off somehow

so like the responsible young adult he is, he cleans up the mess and goes to change you, but right after he changes you, like 5 minutes later you end up needing a diaper change, so he undresses you again to change your diaper only to have to change your clothes again after you spit up some milk 10 minutes later

it only really seems to happen to him and boy is tired

his favorite times are probably when he’s on baby duty and ur sleeping

1) because he doesn’t have to deal with those poor mishaps and 

2) no one bothers him when ur sleeping

yeah sure u have a baby car seat thingy but he also uses the carrier thing that get strapped onto you

kunikida makes sure dazai isn’t near him so that u can sleep which means he doesn’t get dragged into what poor atsushi-kun got dragged into by his mentor

not his circus not his monkeys or whatever the saying is

another plus ranpo-san can’t send him on any errands bc the president (god bless him) forbade him 

and yosano-sensei can’t try to bring him into her office when he gets a papercut or some shit

he’s terrified even when he knows she’s joking

anyways, all in all a pretty solid 8 or 9/10

tanizaki naomi ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

usually the one taking care of u when everyone else is pretty busy

she and haruno-san love to buy u cute little outfits to dress u up in

maybe goes a little overboard…

“n-naomi-san isn’t that a little too much..? and my arms are getting tired…”

“nonsense atsushi-kun! she looks darling in everything!”

started to play peek-a-boo with u and lowkey regrets it a little bc u want to play for what seems like forever

just mindlessly yaps to u while she works and u just sit there in your little carrier car seat thing with a rattle

atsushi fears when he and tanizaki come back from some sort of errand or mission bc well…yk naomi

“jokes” abt how ur like her child and him coming back from the mission is like him coming back to take care of his family…

…yeah atsushi snatches u right out of that situation very, very quickly

but despite those…uncomfortable moments, atsushi genuinely trusts her with u

he’s glad that you’ll have a somewhat more normal female figure to look up to (sis/bro con thing aside)

your other options are yosano and kyouka and well, while he trusts them with his life and care abt them sm…

…scary sadistic doctor lady and innocent yet impassive and scary little assassin does he need to say more

…or actually now that atsushi thinks about it, maybe haruno-san should look after u more…

anyways

a solid 8/10 on atsushi trust scale

miyazawa kenji ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

teehee finds u cute

all the kids loved to play with him back in his village bc he was so strong but he’s never looked after someone this young before

he gets along with old people pretty well, but yeah hasn’t hung around babies much

when he goes around town to just help out the old folks, he brings u along since he knows that they like to see u too hehe

everyone literally needs sunglasses to look at you both

it’s too bright

likes reading children’s book to u

especially when it’s abt farmers or smth on a farm since he can share his own stories too

Is very fond of singing the old mcdonald had a farm

introduced u to his cow and kunikida nearly had a heart attack seeing it in the office

“(y/n)-chan this is a cow! just like the one old mcdonald had! remember cows go moo!”

“kenji, i can take over watching (y/n)--WHY IS THERE A COW IN THE AGENCY?!?!”

got scolded by kunikida but got saved bc dazai was giggling so kunikida went to strangle him instead

besides ranpo and dazai, tbh kenji is the one that give kunikida the most heart attacks bc unlike the other two where kunikida knows they’re joking (he hopes), kenji genuinely doesn’t know any better (for the most part)

“kenji have you seen–WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“oh! hello kunikida-san!”

“kenji why are you throwing (y/n) up in the air like that?!”

“oh! I heard it’s a thing people do”

“NOT WHEN THEY’RE NEWBORNS”

“but she’s still all bundled up! and look she’s smiling!”

“....”

a solid 7 on the atsushi trust scale

izumi kyouka ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

means well, but like kunikida…

is just a little stiff

“k-kyouka-chan you can breathe…”

“...”

anyways

like dazai, is curious about u and just watches u do ur thing (which isn’t much but yk, it’s the thought that counts?)

but sometimes she stares…just a bit too intently

“ne ne atsushi-kun…is kyouka-chan okay?”

“...i…i’m not too sure dazai-san…she…she’s starting to scare me a little…”

yk how when she gets excited or amazed, her eyes sparkle amd stuff, that’s what she’s like when u start to giggle, babble, or coo

buys u a little bunny plush that matches hers!

now ur both bunny buddies ⸜( *ˊᵕˋ* )⸝

while getting the hang of watching over the baby, she does over time, begin to relax a little, but there was this one incident where you, her, and atsushi were walking through the city, you in atsushi’s arms when someone accidentally bumped into him and in like .2847309 seconds kyouka had her blade out

atsushi profusely apologized, bowing again and again for 5 minutes while kyouka stood behind him with an impassive look on her face as she held you

protective mama bear instincts 1927402/10

can even give kunikida a run for his money

(not that he has much given how often dazai steals his wallet…)

speaking of money

is lowkey excited for when you can start eating solids and have other things besides formula bc she can have tofu with u at tachibana

atsushi will mourn that day bc of his poor wallet

overall, just adores being with u

and bc of the fact that she and atsushi dorm together, she gets to spend more time with u!

although, in her eagerness to do everything…

sometimes it leave atsushi with nothing to do (・_・;)

nonetheless, thinks it’s endearing the way she cares for u

no matter how intense she can be (￣ ￣|||)

another solid 7/10

and as always, reblogs and shares are appreciated! i hope you all stay safe! and just in case nobody told you they loved you today, i love you! you are enough! <3

writing belongs to me! please do not plagiarize, repost, or translate on here or any other sites!

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join the tag list here !!

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[salem-s]

FINAL ── TEMPORARY TRUCE ── RAFE CAMERON

SYNOPSIS you absolutely can't stand your roommate's brother, and Rafe can't not take an opportunity to poke fun at you every chance he gets. but when you both accidentally have a jello shot infused with molly, you decide to have a temporary truce and enjoy the night. SERIES MASTERLIST

WARNINGS language, fluff, sssmmmmmuuuut (fingering, oral fem receiving, p-in-v unprotected (do not follow their footsteps) you get the idea), mentions of staples in head. 18+ mdni. please i am not condoning drug use don't take after these idiots for the love of god. also i didn’t feel like waiting until 6pm est to post this so here’s an early last chapter? happy friday? sorry if there’s mistakes alright godspeed.

WORD COUNT 10.4k. alright. no one say anything. it was originally around 5k but like the ptputss final chapter, i couldn't let that happen. hope you enjoy this scrap.

SONG OF THE CHAPTER motion picture soundtrack by radiohead

Sarah is usually a pretty good roommate.

Despite growing up with cleaning services and maids and private chefs, she's always done a good job at tidying up after herself. Dishes are rarely left in the sink (you two normally have a truce of doing the dishes the morning after a night out, rather than dealing with them in your drunken splendor), communal spaces such as the kitchen, living room, and bathroom are, for the most part, always crumb-free and organized, and you'll even take turns cooking for each other on occasion. The two of you have fallen into a nice routine in terms of sharing your own space.

However, Sarah has little to no concept of privacy.

Especially now, as she pounds on your door and yells your name as if there's a fire.

"Why the fuck are all the condoms all over the floor?!"

It takes you a full minute to realize what's going on, where you are, who you're with.

The sliver of sunrise pokes through your sheer curtains, audaciously shining into the room and into your eyes when you momentarily prop yourself up on your elbows and squint. You blink blearily as your senses slowly start to come back to you: the sunrise indicating an early morning, the lingering scent of your body wash littering your skin, the increments of knocking on your door, and the warmth of Rafe right beside you.

He stirs not only from Sarah's loud voice, but from your movement, and you watch him endearingly frown, eyes still screwed shut as he paws for you with the quietest groan, as if the notion of you being away from him in a time like this is offensive. Once his hands find your body, he's gripping whatever he feels first — in this instance, your lower hips — and curling his fingers into your flesh and pulling you tight against him, so tight that you're no longer propped up on your elbows and instead trapped in the confinements of his arms.

You blink from the jolting movement, heart skipping when he lazily slots a leg in between yours as if the gesture is second nature.

Sarah calls your name again.

"I don't care if you have someone in there!" She yells, slightly slurring as if she's just gotten in for the night (morning?). "If you don't answer in five seconds, I'm coming in."

You stiffen in Rafe's arms.

Fuck. Holy fuck.

You think for a brief second on the implications of her walking in right now, and seeing the two of you cozied beneath the sheets after months of telling her that he's the blueprint of a guy you'd never want to be with. A flicker of panic rises in your chest at the thought of seeing him, her fucking brother, laying in your bed like he was made to be here and, apparently, successfully scoring with the girl he's been talking to her about for ages.

The attempt to free yourself from his hold fails, and he only nuzzles further into you.

"Hey," you whisper hurriedly, "wake up."

"I can hear you!" Sarah accuses from the other side of the door. "Five, four-"

You pinch Rafe's abdomen, and your quest to see if he's ticklish falls short as he barely budges, instead humming low and baritone and un-fucking-fazed at the fact that his sister is about to walk in on you two right now. While you can practically hear your own heartbeat, you can feel his beating in a slow, syncopated rhythm, relaxed more than ever despite the premeditated headache you're both about to endure.

"Three!"

Rafe doesn't even open his eyes, using his other senses to simply feel you. He gently nudges his nose against your temple, inhaling deep as his lips find your hairline to press a morning kiss, and he does it delicately enough to avoid the area with the staples. Warm hands splay on your back and waist, mapping out the bareness of your skin and nimble fingers settling under your shirt as if he has every right (he does).

If your roommate (your friend, the sister of the guy you have in your bed right now) wasn't inducing a mild panic on your part, you'd surely swoon over the simple act.

"Two—"

"Sare," Rafe mutters and the baritone of his voice vibrates against your skin, loud enough to get the counting to suddenly stop. "'T's too early for this shit."

Utter silence from the other side of the door.

The implication almost makes you burst out laughing. Almost.

Because you think at how out of left field this must seem to her right now, especially if she hasn't been to bed yet and is coming down from her drunkenness and roll. The two of you have been M.I.A. all night, not even charging your phone and his being somewhere amongst the city in someone's back pocket, so you figure they've spent a long time trying to figure out where you went.

Also because it's Rafe. Her brother. Sleeping in your room after all this time of threatening him with death if he so much as looked at you wrong. Being in your sacred space that you only let few people enter. Staying together behind closed doors after she discovered enough condoms to last a lifetime littered across the floor.

Sarah doesn't even say anything, and instead you hear the bedroom door creak open.

You can't even look at her if you tried, because you're helplessly taut to Rafe with your face buried in the crook of his neck. You can't even turn and shoot her a sheepish look because he simply won't let you, he won't let go, simply holding onto the moment just a fraction longer. Not that you necessarily mind, because — for starters — you're comfortable and warm and he smells very nice, and you could really get used to waking up like this: pressed up to him and peppered with an influx of affection that you aren't sure you deserve.

All you can do is idly lay, butterfly kissing the skin on his neck as you can only imagine the look on her face as well as his. You can picture it: his lazy, shit eating grin and her furrowed brows and incessantly blinking eyes. The image only progresses in your mind when his hand rubs gently up and down your spine, but you figure it's less of an affectionate gesture and more as a possessive stake in his claim of you, almost to rub it in her face.

"Good mornin'," Rafe drawls out, as if he's taunting her. "Fun night?"

There are a few moments of silence between the siblings, and you can only roll your eyes at his proud demeanor. Prick.

She speaks probably after staring between you two for all this time. "What the fuck? I mean, like, what the fuck?"

He only hums, and when you try to turn over onto your back so you can look at your friend, he actually lets you. But not without his hand smushing between your back and the mattress, not that he necessarily seems to mind at all because he doesn't pull it away, nor does he remove his other hand that splays audaciously on your hip, nimble fingers skimming the waistband of your sleep shorts.

The look on Sarah's face is quite literally what you pictured: her brows furrowed yet eyes wide in disbelief, her hand still lingering on the doorknob as if she's been petrified at the sight before her. She's still in last night's outfit, hair a bit mussed and mascara shadowing the slight bags under her eyes, yet she looks more awake than ever as she blinks her gaze between you and her brother. Finally, her eyes settle on you.

Her words are immediate. "Did he pay you?"

Rafe snorts as you reach your arms up, stretching long like a cat and yawning as if you've worked a twelve hour shift. "Only offered to pay off her student loans, 's all."

Sarah narrows her eyes at her brother. "Shut up." Then, she looks back to you. "Did he?"

You find the gall to roll your eyes, even though your heart is racing and your expression is sheepish. "Is it that hard to believe?"

"Yes," she retorts instantly, apparently in the mood to deprecate her brother's dignity. "He's only been obsessed with you since move-in, and it's made him dumber than usual."

"I'm right here?"

Sarah ignores him completely. "I can't believe this is actually happening. I totally called it."

Your face flushes, and you're really, really grateful that you're not facing him right now.

Unfortunately, she’s right. Sarah has been (not) subtly rooting for you and her brother to get together ever since you first threw him a scowl, ever since Rafe’s brows flung high in surprise when you — instead of ogling and swooning over his introductory flirtation — simply looked him up and down, scoffed, and carried on with moving your stuff into the apartment, ever since Sarah doubled over laughing at her brother’s shocked expression. He obviously wasn’t used to that working, and she got the biggest kick out of your no-bullshit attitude.

Ever since that day, the very first time you and him met, Sarah’s been praying to all higher beings to get you two together.

When he’d leave a room, she’d raise her brows at you as if to say “So?” and your answer was always the same: an eye roll, a snort, and a “Yeah, right” that transcended time and space. When you dislocated your shoulder and were retelling the story later to all your friends, she asked three different times to clarify that it was Rafe — the guy you wouldn’t let touch you with so much as a breath — who carried and brought you to the ER (at the time you ignored the giant fucking grin she shot her brother, who glared at her to relax). Every single time the three of you ran errands or went out and about in the city, Sarah always accidentally asked you both to accompany her, telling you it slipped her mind that he was coming along.

Your answer was always the same, consisting either of an eye roll, a groan, a snide comment, or all of the above in one go. She knew that the possibility of you ever being with him was slim to none, yet always subconsciously rooted for the best case scenario for her brother, which would be ending up with a person like you.

So now, as she looks between you and him cuddled together in a way she never thought possible, it’s obvious to tell she is thoroughly confused, yet elated.

“Okay, well,” she starts, failing to suppress a giant grin, “next time you want to rob me and John B of all our condoms, just ask.”

God, if your face wasn’t burning before, it’s definitely on fire now.

“Yup, okay,” you say quickly, “thanks so much. See you later!”

Rafe laughs next to you as Sarah takes one last fleeting glance at the two of you, before slowly retreating from the room and closing the door behind her. From the hallway, she makes a noise of excitement, a squeal? Something along those lines, and you don’t have the vicinities to study the sound since she’s already gradually getting quieter, retreating to her room with a door slam.

Silence is met between you and him for a beat, two, three, before his thumb starts rubbing gentle circles on the bare skin of your hip, just above the waistband of your sleep shorts. It sends goosebumps shooting up your arm.

“Mornin’, Star,” Rafe muses low, almost cautiously.

You wait a few moments to look at him, letting your gaze linger on the door before slowly lulling your head to tilt towards him. The sight of his hair sticking up in a million different directions nearly makes you snort, but the noise dies in your throat when you really notice how pretty he is right now: bleary eyes, tousled hair, a smile so gentle it would’ve made your knees weak if you were standing. He’s so close, closer than ever, and with the rising sunlight backlighting his features, you wish you had the capacities to take a picture, to capture this moment and save it for the books.

Apparently, you stare for too long, because with each second passing, his smile augments.

It takes you a stupid amount of time to find your voice. “Hi.”

His gaze flickers up for a moment, to where the staples lay hidden in your hair. “How’s your head?”

You go to answer, you really do, but his arm that was trapped under your back is slithering itself out, and soon his hand comes up to cradle the side of your jaw, fingers ghosting over your hairline with such delicacy that it short circuits your brain.

“Mhm?” He prompts again at your silence.

You blink stupidly. “T’s okay.”

“Just okay?”

“Yeah.”

Rafe doesn’t really like that answer. Well, you assume he doesn’t because he frowns, eyes lingering on the wound for a few moments longer before settling back into you, bright blues boring into yours with such unnerved intensity that you squirm. Instead of looking away, instead of rolling your eyes and settling on something else, you hold his gaze, and it never dawned on you how pretty his eyes really are, an alluring bright blue.

The words blurt before you can stop them.

“You still have me.” Your voice is impossibly quiet. “By the way.”

It's nothing fancy, no grandeur gesture or announcement. It's a soft spoken promise etched in the basking sunlight under lavender scented sheets, sheets that smell of him already. The words are simple, yet they hold a heavy insinuation about locked off parts of you, parts of you that you never let anyone see or feel or experience.

Yet it's how you say it, sweet and soft and laced with as much honey as a morning voice can have, but also firm and certain as if they hold their own, stand tall without a pillar as their foundation. Perhaps it's enough, at least for now, because even though it it isn't a monologue of any sorts, it's confirmation. It's hope.

Rafe swears he's never heard anything better.

His grin is lazy and relaxed, gaze soft and unnerved as he peers at you as if you've hung the stars yourself. His hands press a little firmer into your skin, simply relishing in the privilege to hold you, to feel you, to open yourself up to him as you never have with anyone before. An overwhelming sense of pride swells in his chest, of possession, because you're his. After what felt like a bedtime story, a far away fantasy, a dream, you're finally his.

His voice is saccharine. "Thank you, baby."

And the moment's ruined, at least the lovey-dovey part of it, because you can't help but scrunch your nose and feel your lip twitch at his words.

"Did you really just thank me?"

All he does is hum in affirmation, not even caring that you're practically laughing at him. He'll be fine if you jab at him until the end of time if it gets you to smile at him like this. The thought of forever with you makes his heart skip, and he attempts to mask it by leaning in, lowering his face into the crook of your neck and placing gentle kisses on your soft skin.

You feel a shiver up your spine as his fingers gently skim over the bare skin of your tummy at the same time he peppers kisses. "Sarah said since move in."

Another hum, and this time he's sucking a particularly sweet spot right under your jaw.

It makes you let out a low sigh, but you're not letting him distract you. "You've liked me since move in?"

I've loved you since move in, he almost says.

Instead, he settles on, yet, another hum.

Your hand flies to the nape of his neck, nails gently scratching the ends of his hair in a way that makes him emit a low groan. It's baritone against your vocal cord that sends warmth immediately to your core, the sensation of his body heat against yours, his lips, his nimble fingers, it's all too much, too teasing, too cruel if he still pushes you away with the fear of your injury.

"Rafe," you say in a hushed tone, embarrassed at how it's borderline a whine.

"Mhm?"

The vibration tickles your neck, and you attempt to hold onto your remaining piece of dignity as you manually shut your mouth to refrain from further humiliating yourself. Instead, you practically writhe beneath him, a hand coming up to grasp the back of his that shamelessly explores your stomach, squeezing once to emphasize your need without explicitly saying anything.

But, of course, Rafe isn't the type to let that slide.

You want to smack him when you feel him grin against your neck.

"You're insufferable," you manage to mumble.

He chuckles against your neck, low and audacious. "Sorry, baby." He doesn't sound the slightest bit apologetic. "What d'ya need?"

The words feel foreign on your tongue, words you've thought time and time again yet never had the gall to say, to speak into fruition, to submit to someone else in such a way.

"I want you."

The sigh that emits from him is guttural, deep from the back of his throat and almost needy at the sound of your words. It's dreamy, almost, as if you'd just set a nice, hot plate of his favorite meal right in front of him, ready to consume and exactly how he likes it. You figure he has been dreaming of this, dreaming of you beneath him and begging for him like a bitch in heat.

Rafe says your name almost painfully, his kisses and fondling coming to a halt.

But you groan, already knowing what he's about to say. "No. No, I literally feel fine."

He says your name again, almost in warning.

You ignore it. "It doesn't even hurt." It does a little. "Stop acting like I'm in a full body cast."

Rafe sighs gutturally, but not like before out of lust and instead out of annoyance, as if him withholding the act of sleeping with you is a giant inconvenience to him, especially when you try and push back. It's bad, really bad, timing, and sure you could wait a few days until he feels as though you're somewhat better, but, frankly, you don't want to. You assume he doesn't want to wait either, but is trying to be better, more gentlemanly with you.

You even go as far as throwing your dignity out the window.

"Please?"

The single word feels strange coming from you, as you've always hated the notion of begging for anything, especially for dick, and especially when the dick is attached to a guy like Rafe Cameron, a guy who's all flirt like it's a sport. And it's something he never hears from you, always double-taking when you add it to make sure he's heard you right.

But right now, he hears you loud and clear. And it kills him.

Rafe takes a beat, digesting the severity of your request and internally battling himself on the morality of the situation. Eventually, what feels like eons when in reality it's only been a minute, he pulls back from you, propping himself up on an elbow so he can stare down at you.

His eyes search yours for any uncertainty, any doubt or shroud of pain in your pretty features. But you give him nothing of the sorts, only peering up at him full blown with lust and need. You can tell he's thinking, the gears in his mind working overtime as he stares at you, eyes flickering from yours to the area with the staples.

"Here's the deal," he starts quietly, yet firm enough to get you nodding eagerly already. "I'm doing all the work."

You frown. "But—“

Immediately, his hand comes up to cover your mouth, palm pressing firmly to get you to shut up real quick. "No. You're gonna lay here and look pretty, and that's all you're going to do."

You're reluctant. You want to engage, to touch him freely, to be able to move to his mercy. You want to give back, to jerk him off and make him squirm just as he has to you, to love on him in the way he deserves for taking care of you all last night. The last thing you want to do here is lay still and offer nothing, not after what he's done for you, how he's made you feel in these past few hours, how he can make you feel from here on out.

It hardly seems fair to him. You're not concerned with yourself.

But all of that flies out the window when you feel him pressed against your thigh.

The breath nearly escapes from your lungs, your need suddenly tenfolds when you understand just how big he is, just how hard he is from a bit of kissing and folding from his end. You haven't even touched him yet, you've only simply said please, and he's ready for you yet patiently prolonging his need to check in on you.

"And at any point your head starts hurting," he continues nonchalantly as if his cock isn't pressing against you, "I'm stopping. Immediately. Understand?"

You blink at him, barely registering his words because you can't get over that this is happening.

"Star." A warning.

Stupidly, you find the ability to move again when you're nodding against his hand, anticipation bubbling in your stomach as your eyes meet. His brows are slightly furrowed in seriousness, blue eyes still bleary from just waking up. His hair, ridiculously, is still incredibly messy, yet as endearing as the sight is, you are seconds away from jumping his bones.

But you need to play this coy, need to behave so he'll indulge your (and his) wishes without any mishaps with your wound.

Rafe removes his hand. It sits idly on your ribcage.

"Words," he demands, fingers twitching with anticipation.

You nod anyway. "I understand." Your lips twitch. "Now, since I'm not allowed to move, can you kiss me or what?"

His mouth is on yours before you can even finish the sentence, and he swallows your words with a low mmrph, a hand teasing up your ribcage under your shirt to rest under the swell of your breast. Instantly, you're gripping his knuckles and moving his hand up so he can shamelessly fondle you where you want him to be, and at the feeling of his cool ring brushing over your nipple, you sigh into his mouth.

Rafe nearly reciprocates the sound, emitting a groan as he feels your hand leave his, instead bracing on the ridges of his abdomen and trailing down his shirt. It isn't until your fingers are skimming the waistband of his shorts where he's wincing, almost as if he's in pain.

"What'd I say, Star?"

You pout with faux innocence. "But I want to."

He nearly scoffs at you. "You'll have plenty of time for that later. For now, sit pretty and lemme eat you out, yeah?"

Your heart skips a beat as you try to rack your brain for the last time someone's eaten you out, more so the last time someone has offered to do so. The excitement outweighs the curiosity.

It's usually a pity reciprocation, as in you blow someone first, they eat you out after or the next time you see each other, or they don't even offer at all. You rarely even finish from it and have faked it more than once, but you know the stories surrounding Rafe Cameron. All of them say the same thing: he knows what he's doing. You're more than willing to find out.

"You want to?"

He scoffs again, nearly offended that you'd think he wouldn't want to. "Only been thinkin' about doin' so for ages."

His mouth is on yours again and you whine quietly, but it leaves as soon as it came before he's kissing your jaw, moving to your neck, descending down your body.

"Been wondering how you taste."

Biting a sweet spot on your neck.

"I think about you every fucking night."

Sucking one of your nipples through your sleep shirt.

"Fuck my hand to the thought of you 'til I'm seein' stars."

Kissing the flesh of your stomach as his fingers dangerously hook under your waistband. And from this angle with his face hovering at your hips, Rafe peers up at you, still searching for any uncertainty or flickers of pain.

"Can I, baby?" He asks, voice saccharine.

You're thrown for a loop, caught off guard by the obscenities of his comments (that you're not even sure he knew he made) that starkly contradict the softness of his tone asking for permission, peering up at you with a sliver of innocence that doesn't match the words he previously spoke, as if they were on his mind for ages, as if they were his second nature.

All you do is nod, blinking down at him.

He doesn’t like that. “Words.”

“Yes.” Your response is immediate. “Yours.”

Rafe lets out a shaky breath that tickles your stomach. “Gonna make me finish if you say stuff like that.”

“Isn’t that the plan?”

All he does is shake his head, shutting you up immediately when his fingers hook under the waistband of your sleep shorts and yank. Your breath hitches and, with a blink of an eye, you’re bare below the waist to him.

The shorts and underwear are thrown carelessly over his shoulder. “Plan is to fuck you right back to sleep,” he murmurs low, almost to himself as he stares at your cunt. “Sound good?”

His breath fanning over your core sends a chill down your spine, and you assume you’re glistening with need with the way his eyes almost darken at the sight of you, legs slowly spreading open and hooking over his shoulders as if you’ve done it a thousand times before. And he settled right in, one hand slithering up your chest to fondle your breast as the other ghosts over your cunt, his index and middle finger spreading you open achingly slow.

Your back arches. “Rafe.”

“Mhm?”

“Stop teasing.”

“I’m not,” he says simply, eyes glued to the way his fingers slowly disappear inside you.

You realize he’s not doing this to torture you, but to make himself actually believe this is happening, to soak in the moment that he’s been dreaming to experience. Here you are: cunt to the wind and begging for him, and he can’t get enough of it, of you. He’s seconds away from losing his mind, especially when you let out breathy moans when his fingers completely bury in you, curling in that sweet spot that has you whining so pretty he nearly finishes from the sound of it.

His eyes hungrily dart between his hand disappearing into you and your face, brows etched in pleasure and lips parted all hot and bothered. Slowly, so achingly slowly, Rafe pumps his fingers in and out, almost leaving your cunt entirely before slamming back in. His thumb, experimentally, rubs firm circles as to where he thinks your clit is.

He misses once, twice, but once he finds the spot that makes you let out a ragged moan, he doesn’t miss again.

A hand flies to his hair, tugging the messy strands harshly yet he pays no mind to it, completely and enamoringly bewitched to the sight of your glistening cunt taking his fingers so well, stretching open for him, inviting them with your warmth as if they were meant to stay buried in you. But he’s starting to get jealous of his hand, jealous of the way it gets to fuck you and his mouth doesn’t.

Without a word, Rafe lowers himself completely between your thighs.

His tongue feels like nothing you’ve experienced before as he eats you out like a man starving. Ravenous. Insatiable.

Selfishly, his fingers leave your cunt so his mouth can have you all to himself, groaning at the sweet taste of you as if it’s been paining him that he’s never gotten to taste you before. When his nose brushes your clit, you writhe pathetically beneath him, so much that his arm flies up to press down on your hip to stop you from moving, even though you continue to attempt fucking his face against his iron grip.

With a particularly firm brush of his nose against your clit, your hips practically buck up into him, and the coil gradually starts to build in your core.

“Fuck,” you breathily moan. "You're so— And I can't— You just— Fuck."

You sound like an idiot. A wriggling, babbling idiot as your mind tugs you in a million different directions, constantly distracted by his mouth, his moans, his fingers that re-enter your cunt and aid his tongue in a way that flips you sideways. You aren't sure what way is up right now, and your fruitless attempt to speak fails miserably, irrevocably rendering you speechless as the added combination of his mouth and fingers and thumb pressed firmly on your clit leave you moaning his name as if it's the only word you know.

His hips stutter into the mattress, both of you rutting like bitches in heat as he can tell you’re getting close. It’s all in the way you tug his hair a little tighter, arch your back a little higher, moan a little louder. His name falls from your lips like a mantra, a prayer, an incantation that renders you completely enamored with him, his touch, his mouth.

Especially when he groans into your cunt, the vibration only spurring you on further.

"Oh my god," Rafe murmurs into you, almost without meaning to. "You taste so sweet, Star."

All you can do in response is writhe, feeling the familiar coil start to build.

"Even better than I imagined," he rasps, inches from your cunt as he hovers for a moment, eyes darting between his hand fucking you and your face. Your head is thrown back on the pillow, eyes fluttered shut at the sensation of him, him, him. An unoccupied hand slithers up your ribcage under your shirt, reaching the swell of your breast and kneading the flesh. The ice sensation of his ring against your nipple only augments the pleasure.

And suddenly, it's bearing too much. His fingers plunging in and out, in and out, in and out, curling into the sweet spot inside your cunt over, and over, and over as his thumb presses firmly on your clit. It's the spot he hasn't missed since he found it, rubbing circles counterclockwise that make you practically see stars. His other hand pinching your nipple and shamelessly fondling the flesh as if he has every right (he does). His breathy moans fanning hot against your cunt as he stares abashedly.

"Never gonna get used to this," he curses, almost pained. "There isn't a fucking day that goes by where I don’t think about you."

The coil builds.

"You make me crazy and you don’t even know it. Wearin' my shirts thinking they were Sarah's, walking around in fucking nothing and lookin' like a fucking sin."

And builds.

He lets out a breath. "I can't count how many times I've thought about you like this, so fucking pretty underneath me."

And builds.

Rafe can tell, because you grip his hair a little harsher and grab the hand that's on your breast, almost as a way to ground yourself to the moment and make sure you don't fly away in pleasure. Your hips squirm and buck into his hand, chasing a high you can already tell is different from the rest. He's decided that you've never looked prettier: laying flush and moaning his name like a prayer.

It nearly snaps. "Rafe, you're— I'm gonna—"

"I know." His voice is saccharine. "Let me hear you, baby."

His mouth is back on your cunt, and the added sensation of his tongue aiding his fingers sends you over the edge, a wave of ecstasy washing to your core and searing hot from the waist down. You come with a strangled moan, a sound that goes straight to his dick as his hips stutter into the mattress, lapping and suuuuuuuuucking the orgasm straight from you.

The low groan he emits vibrates your nerves as he eats you out as a starved man, the noises lewd and straight pornographic as you ride out your high against his face. Your hand that grips his hair is pushing him further into you, further burying his mouth into the spot you need him the most as he laps up every last drop. The act does little to faze him, instead spurring him on to moan into you, the sensation reverberating throughout your waist and sending a shiver down your spine.

Your legs shake around his head and your chest heaves when you slowly come down, blinking the white spots from your vision and, momentarily, coming back to earth. Rafe continues to lick and suck and clean you up, claiming every last drop as he's always thought about doing, mouth still buried between your thighs and even going as far as licking his fingers dry of you.

When he mouth eventually does leave you, he doesn't pull away without placing a chaste kiss over your swollen bud, moving to decorate your thighs in pretty purple hickies and kissing up your body, smoothing your shirt up past your ribcage to take a breast in his mouth. The sensitive bud has you subconsciously arching your back up into his touch, not even realizing you do it as you still fight to come back to earth from the stupidly earth-shattering orgasm.

Rafe eventually makes his way up to your neck, sucking a quick sweet spot before moving to your jaw, then finally your lips.

When you kiss him, the breath momentarily leaves your lungs as you taste yourself on his lips, dazedly smiling from the haze that he caused. Your hand paws at his chest, settling on the firmness of his abdomen before trailing lower, and lower until your fingers are dipping under the waistband of his shorts and boxers in the blink of an eye.

Before he can pull back like he did earlier, your fingers nimbly find the base of his cock and skim down his length as if you're admiring the topography of a map.

Rafe instantly folds.

"Shit," he mutters, a mix between a moan and a whine as he rests his cheek against yours. "You can't just—"

You squeeze his cock for emphasis, causing his hips to stutter forward.

Rafe curses. "Star, oh my fucking god, oh m- You can't keep touching me like that, holy shit."

Of course, you don't listen, and continue to slowly jerk him off. He lets you for a few moments, caught up in the sensation of how nice your fingers feel wrapped around him, thumb smearing the pre-cum from his tip down his length that nearly sends him over the edge. The indulgence lasts maybe fifteen seconds, perhaps twenty, before you're squeezing particularly hard again.

His hand grips your wrist instantly. "You— I can't— You've got to—"

"I gotta what?" You feign innocence, nearly grinning and how he groans in response. "I wanna make you feel good."

"Fuck, you are," he rasps as if it's been ripped from him. "You make me feel so good all the time, baby. You don't even know it."

Pride shamefully swells in your chest at the anecdote.

"Then let me right now," you practically purr. "Please?"

Rafe grips your wrist tighter, actually stopping your movements for real this time. "No."

"No?"

He scoffs, but it comes out shaky.

"I'm not finishing in my fucking pants the first time I'm with you."

He ends the sentence with your name, a word he rarely uses, yet a word that invokes a visceral reaction from you every time he does. It almost makes you whine, almost. Yet, you actually don't know if you do or not because you're so blinded by lust that he could be whispering the secrets of the universe and you'd have no idea. Revealing the ingredients to his famous chocolate chip cookies. Spilling confidential documents that contain the cure to immortality. You'd have no idea.

And you also have no idea where this newfound eagerness is coming from, knowing damn well you've never begged for dick in your entire life.

"Then be with me," you practically beseech. "I'm yours."

Rafe curses at your words, taking a beat, two, before pulling his head back to look at you, to really look at you, his pretty blues boring into yours that are so blown with lust they nearly look black. He searches your expression for any teasing regard, anything to make him think that you're just saying that to get laid.

But you're not. You're pulsing for him, heart beating in tandem with his as if you were made to sync up. The urge to arch into him, to forever be molded to the sculpture of his body, is so devastatingly strong that it nearly pains you. The realization is horrific enough, but you truthfully can't find the energy to care or dwell on the sanctions of your dignity as you peer up at him, certain and bleeding with need for him.

"Mine?" He asks, and the clarification is detrimental.

You oblige. "Yes."

His gaze flickers to the crown of your head, to the wound. "But—"

"We'll go slow," you assure instantly, cutting off what you know he's going to say. "I want you. I don't want to wait."

He's dreaming. He must be. Because how'd he get so lucky to have you underneath him telling him how much you want him? Touching him in a way he only fantasized about? Needing him in the same way he's needed you for a year? The second he's inside you, is he gonna wake up and realize it was all a figment of his imagination? Left to succumb to the hypocrisies of his mind and move back to square one?

How could you not be a dream? Especially when you look so pretty and sound so sweet and feel so heavenly?

Rafe would be stupid to say no since you asked so nice.

So when you tug at the end of his shirt, this time he doesn't second guess the implications of your intentions and aides your act, gripping his shirt by the collar and carelessly pulling it off. You take a long second to glance at his chest, chiseled and crafted by a higher being, before your fingers are back to his pants. When you slowly start to tug his shorts and boxers down, he lets you, eventually letting you get down to his pubic bone before he's leaning back to fully kick them off.

Shamelessly, you stare at his body fully bare to you, and you nearly scoff at the audacity of him actually having a big dick. It's one thing for a guy to act like he has one just for all that smack talk to fly out the window when it's revealed to be small, but it's a completely different thing when the dick matches the attitude. And for him, for Rafe Cameron, to be both a cocky prick who happens to be well endowed is perhaps one of the audacious things you can think of.

Although you barely have time to comment on his size before his hands are all over you again, pushing the material of your shirt up to your sternum until you eventually get the hint to slightly sit up so he can slide it up over your body. You hiss when your breasts are fully exposed to the cool air, and a flicker of excitement (nerves? Whatever it is) sparks when you realize you're both bare to each other, exposing one another to the simplest of vulnerabilities one can share.

"You're beautiful, Star," is all he says before his mouth is on yours.

You kiss him back and paw at his chest as if it's a lifeline, clawing to pull him closer as if he isn't already molded to your figure. He hovers over you and when his cock, hard and aching and beautiful, brushes against your hip, you both moan into each other's mouths, him from the sensation and you from the anticipation.

Rafe's breath hitches, and the air completely leaves his lungs when you wrap your hand around him again. But the way you grab his differs from before, as earlier you were firm and needy, whereas now you hold him delicately, a wordless promise that you’re ready for him, all of him, at any time.

His hand grabs the back of yours. “You okay?”

You nod immediately against his lips, heart racing as he guides your hand that’s holding him down, down, down until his length is slipping through your folds, and you swear that Rafe fucking shudders from the feel of it.

“Holy fuck.” His forehead gently rests against yours, staring down at your almost connected bodies. “I’m not even in you yet and you already feel so fucking nice.”

Your hips buck into him, eliciting a sharp breath from him. “Then be in me.” You hate how pathetic you sound. “Please.”

However, the words are music to his ears and he could bust right here and now from them. “You don’t need to beg, baby. I have you. Always will. I got you.”

His words are saccharine. Soft and delicate in a tone only reserved for you. It’s his version of a declaration of love, an indirect promise that he’ll be here, he’s it for you, he’s all you need. The words are full of life and hope, and you’re eternally grateful that he embraced your need instead of poking fun, and you realize it’s because he needs you just as bad as you need him in this given moment. He has no room to tease. Nor do you.

And when he does slip inside you, the feeling is indescribable.

Rafe’s big. Bigger than you’ve ever had. And he can definitely tell based on the sharp breath you take when he’s halfway in. Although he’s careful with you, gradually pushing in when you give him the green light and immediately stopping when you visibly react, and as much as you appreciate the time and care, it’s so achingly slow, so much slower than you need him to be and he’s teasing you without even realizing.

When he’s completely buried in you, pubic bone to pubic bone, you feel so irrevocably full in a way you never have had before. You can feel his cock twitch inside you when you moan into his mouth at the sensation of being completely succumbed to him, the feel of him, all of him everywhere at once.

“You okay?” His ask is immediate.

“Yes.” Your hands slither up his chest to grip his shoulders, to attempt to find something to ground yourself too. “Feel so full.”

He almost finishes just from that. Almost. And thank god he doesn’t.

“If you don’t start moving,” you shakily warn, “I’m gonna—”

You’re interrupted when Rafe rocks into you once, moving centimeters further into you before pulling out almost completely. You nearly curse at him again, yell at him for basically leaving your cunt until he’s thrusting back in faster than you anticipated. Your nails become talons in his shoulders, indenting crescent moons on his smooth skin and forever etching your mark, your claim.

“You’re gonna what?” His grin is wide and breath shaky, peering down at you with not only amusement, but pure admiration. “Kill me?”

“Shut up.”

Of course, he doesn’t. “You’re all talk, Star, you’ve been sayin’ that forever and you’ve never once tried.”

You moan when he buries in you deep, so deep, it brushes your cervix. “You’re—You’re insufferable.”

“Yet you let me fuck you nice.”

“Who said you do it nice—?”

The words are ripped from your throat when his thumb comes down to press on your clit, and the irony of that plus your previous words is comical. Especially when he grins so fucking wide that it sends you nearly into psychosis, arching your back to further press your chest to his.

He preens as his thumb rubs circles on your clit. “That qualify as nice?”

You want to kill him. You want to smack that stupid smile off his face. Yet you want to kiss him and yank him closer at the same time. The Jekyll and Hyde emotions make your brain feel all fuzzy, and for a moment, all you can respond with is a low moan, almost in annoyance yet dripping in pleasure. You can’t help it— he feels so fucking nice inside you, nicer than you’ve ever had before, rocking in and out of you as if it’s what he was put in this earth to do.

“You always this mouthy in bed?”

The attempt to keep your last shroud of dignity before he makes you a blabbering mess fails.

Rafe thrusts into you a little harder, a warning. “Always this mouthy with you.”

“How flattering.”

“Can’t help it, was made to worship you, baby.”

“Am I su-supposed to thank you?”

He grins at your stuttering, eyes shamelessly watching the way your tits bounce from the force of his thrusts. “A bit of appreciation would be nice.”

You hate that you’re getting close to finishing. In the time that you’ve known him, you’ve been building up walls and closing yourself off to the possibility of getting your heart broken by him. You told yourself that the day you let Rafe Cameron in is the day of rapture, of when all hell breaks loose, of when you finally lose your mind.

Yet his words, his touch, his pretty eyes: it’s all too much. The attention is too much, especially on your clit and how he manages to push himself deeper so delicately that it reaches regions unknown, hitting spots you didn’t think possible and rendering you speechless even further. You hate how he is fucking you nice.

“C’mon, Star,” Rafe muses low, yet there’s a slight strain to his voice that indicates he’s just as fucked out as you. “Tell me how good it feels.”

You don’t want to. You want him to eat that shit eating grin and, for once, be humbled. His ego is too big, too audacious, and you know that he’s only saying this because he knows it’s true, he knows how good it feels, he knows how badly you crave and respond to his touch. He only knows because he feels the same regarding you.

And for once in your life, you secede.

“Feels good.” You let your eyes flutter shut to try and mask your embarrassment. “Feels so good, Rafe.”

You hear him moan. His rhythm stuttering.

“But don’t let it get to your head,” you manage to add, nails scraping on his back as you feel a familiar jolt to your core.

“God, you’re a fucking dream,” he albeit whines, the teasing demeanor dropping immediately as he folds his cards to your hand. “Can’t believe you’re mine.”

The coil builds in your lower stomach.

“You’re so— And I’ve been—” He’s a fucking mess, and you figure he’s close, too. “Fuck, you’re perfect, so tight, so warm, I’m— Shit, baby, I’m losing my fucking mind.”

You’re right there with him, one hand scratching up his neck to grip at the ends of his grown hair, tugging like a bitch in heat to get his lips to hover over yours. And when he does, when Rafe’s mouth brushes yours, you yank him closer to kiss him as your orgasm builds. The kiss is barely a kiss as you both pant into each other’s mouths, breathy and needy and whining as the lewd noises coming from your connected bodies spurs you on further.

“Yours,” you manage shakily, orgasm moments away.

His is too. “Mine.”

And you both finish like that: needy and flush and pathetically encapsulated by the feeling of one another. Your nails indent crescent moons in the smoothness of his muscles, scratching fresh red marks along the porcelain skin while he moans pornographically into your mouth, brows pinched in pleasure as you feel him come hot spurts inside of you.

The intensity is tenfold from your earlier orgasm. It’s searing hot from the waist down plus the added sensation of him irrevocably filling you up in a way you didn’t know you craved until this very moment. Your back arrrrrches into his chest, to fit the mold of his body rocking ferociously into yours as your chests conduct heat from the friction. Your legs hook impossibly tight around his lower back, pulling him tighter than you thought possible by crossing your ankles and using that leverage to bring him closer, to bury him further into you.

The sound is obscene. The lewd noises coming from your simultaneous orgasms plus the shameful moans that escape both your lips. It’s filthy. Downright pathetic. Yet so utterly and completely unapologetic that you can’t find the capacities to care. You can’t even tell which way is up right now, hips bucking desperately into his to chase the high and relish in the feeling of Rafe, Rafe, Rafe.

Your ears have been ringing, body on the verge of floating, senses so incredibly dulled by the ferocity of your orgasm that you don’t realize he’s been speaking the whole time, riding out his high with his words that could come across as prayer.

“—love you, oh my— Never letting you go, never gonna fucking— Oh my god— Oh my— Can’t believe you’re mine, all mine, Star.”

“Yours,” you manage to repeat, breathy and moaning and so fucking pathetic. “All yours. Always.”

That just makes him whine into your mouth. Literally. His hips slam into you over and over and over as his cum gushes out of you and spills onto freshly washed sheets but you can’t find the gall to care, not when he feels this fucking good, not when you feel this fucking great, euphoric on the sensation of him surrounding you. He’s inside you. On top of you. All around you. It’s intoxicating yet alluring. You’re captivated, and your high has never hit harder.

You see white spots momentarily, all the bundle of nerves rushing south so quickly that you’re left with your brain as mush. Feeling your eyes roll back, your hips have a mind of their own as they rut in tandem with his, both of you riding out your highs together in solidarity as everything starts to numb.

Chest heaving, you slowly start to come down from the intensity as your vision slowly regenerates and your hands soon stop shaking. Your thighs, however, are a lost cause hooked around his waist, trembling and shaking his body with the ferocity. He comes down, too, thrusts gradually slowing down as he pumps the rest of his load into you, cum dribbling out of your cunt and down your thighs onto the lavender scented sheets now stained with him.

“Holy fuck,” he rasps when he stops moving, stops thrusting, stops coming, still buried to the hilt inside you.

His cheek is warm against yours. “That was… I’ve never.. You really…”

You’re a blabbering mess, that much is obvious, especially when the spots stop blurring your vision and your body stops trembling as much as before. And as if the moment couldn’t get intimate enough, his hand is leaving your clit (eliciting a low whine from you) and trailing up your stomach to your shoulder, skimming down your bicep and wrist to engulf your hand.

His fingers lace with yours like muscle memory, squeezing once, twice, three times.

It dawns on you right now, in this very moment, that he said that he loved you.

The words had been so sudden, came and went so quickly that you barely registered them in the moment as you were caught up with the intensity of your simultaneous orgasm. But you heard them, felt them roll off his tongue as if he’s been itching to say them for so long, with such ease to them that you figure it’s been sitting docile in his brain and waiting to be revealed.

But he doesn’t register them. Not outright, anyway, and you are thoroughly shocked at how easy you’re taking it.

Love has never come easy to you. Not until you met Sarah and your friends. Family weren’t reliable and home friends were caught in the past, so you’ve been reaching for a version of love you thought you deserved. But then you realized it’s more than blood and childhood obligations to tether yourself to, and more about connection, care, respect. Sarah and your friends made you come to that realization. Yet Rafe makes you believe them.

You’re about to say something, about to address the words and respond with something stupid.

But Rafe slowly pulls out of you, your combined fluids making an audacious mess at the action, as he rolls over onto his back, staring at the ceiling with his hand still laced in yours as if he’ll float away he lets go.

“Oh my fucking god,” he eventually curses, chest heaving. “I didn’t even use a condom.”

You can’t help but laugh. No, cackle.

Because that was the catalyst for the night’s mishap. You needed condoms, he left to get some, you fell in his absence, he discovered you too late. It was your attempt to be good, to be safe and responsible because you always are. But, of course, you were too caught up in the pleasantries of having him, needing him, craving him.

You squeeze his hand without meaning to. He doesn’t mind, lulling his head to the side to stare at your profile.

“So much for being careful,” you muse lightly, voice hoarse. “And so much for changing my sheets.”

You feel his bright blues boring into you as you stare at the ceiling. He boyishly laughs, a sound that is music to your ears as he squeezes your hand back in a way that makes your heart lurch, especially now that you know his true feelings, feelings he doesn’t realize he exposed in the heat of the moment.

“My bad, Star,” Rafe says with such eased nonchalance that it makes your head spin. “I’ll make sure your sheets live to see another day.”

All you do is hum, feeling airy and spacey in the rising sunlight as his hand is warm in yours. When the mattress dips beside you, you don’t flinch or crack a joke or freeze, but rather lull your head to the side to invite him into your space.

And he accepts the invitation, propping himself up on his side to practically peer down at you, taking the hand that isn’t in yours to cradle your face so delicately, so carefully, that your heart skips a beat. Especially when his blues bore into your eyes and gaze on you with a softness that augments the lovey-dovey feeling that you so desperately hate.

“You okay?” He asks for the umpteenth time tonight.

You nod against his palm, figuring that being vulnerable couldn’t hurt. After all, he’s seen you naked and bleeding and crying and still hadn’t run away yet, so you assume that he’s in it to see all your faults, unfazed by the ugly parts of you that you rarely let people see.

“Yeah,” you murmur gently. “Are you?”

Rafe can’t help but snort at your concern. “Baby, I’m on fuckin’ cloud nine right now.”

You manage a grin.

“Let me get you cleaned up,” he adds, leaning in before you can protest to place a soft chaste kiss on your lips. “Stay here and look pretty.”

He’s leaning back before you know it, hand leaving your face and body leaving your vicinity, the warmth leaving with him. You watch groggily as he slips his boxers back on (after standing idly for a moment to look and see where they went) and momentarily exiting your room. The first thought that comes to mind is that you should cover up, you should attempt to appear halfway decent before he comes back to try and gain back an ounce of your dignity.

But the urge never comes. You simply wait for him.

Rafe reappears seconds later, a warm damp towel between his fingers as he sits on the edge of the bed. Flinching when the towel meets your thighs, he cleans up what he can with the utmost delicacy that you’d think he’s handling fine china. And to him, he is.

When your eyelids hang heavy, you catch a glimpse of him smirking, almost to himself, as he finishes up wiping you clean.

You try to frown but you think it comes across as a smile. “What?”

All he does is hum gently. “Told you I’d fuck you back to sleep, that’s all,” he muses, clearly pleased with himself and your fucked our state.

“Rafe.”

“What? I’m a man of my word.”

When you try to stand on your own, he’s there to take place a guiding hand on your elbow, helping you find your footing like a baby fawn. Rafe grabs you your robe when you beckon for it, sliding over your body and maneuvering into the bathroom to use it and do a very, very quick version of your night routine (good morning, world). In the midst of you re-entering your bedroom, you find him just finishing up replacing the (now damp) fitted sheet with a clean (dry) one you had in the closet.

“Found a spare set,” is all he said about the matter, and instead helps you out of your robe to feel you bare again.

You crawl back into bed, nearly sighing at how inviting it is as you flip onto your back. Through sleepiness, you watch him make sure the towel and sheets are in your hamper before allowing himself to relax, wasting no time easing back into your bed and settling in next to you as if he was made to lay here, as if the mattress is already molded to his figure, as if you already haven’t designated that side of the bed to him anyway.

His hand slithers across your tummy, laying rest on your bare hip bone under the sheets and pulling you taut to him. You’re yanked away from your usual spot and held flush against his chest, inhaling his scent like a freak and letting the atmosphere lull you to sleep.

One of Rafe’s hands cradles the back of your head, the other tracing the vertebrae up and down your spine.

“Later,” he says after a long silence, “when we’re feeling okay, I’m taking you out.”

Your heart skips a beat. “You are?”

His response is immediate. “Yes. Dinner. Dessert. Fuckin’ go-kart for all I care. Whatever you want, Star. Wanna show you off ‘nd show everyone you’re mine,” he murmurs, voice low and baritone and so casual as if it doesn’t rattle your brain.

Still, you can’t help but smile.

“Don’t remember you asking,” you tease, seconds away from sleep. “Is this your fool-proof flirting tactic in action?”

He snorts, and it makes his chest bump impossibly closer to yours. “My tactic wasn’t all that fool-proof. It took you a year to notice.”

You preen, even though he can’t see it. “Had to keep you humble, Cameron.”

Your voice is impossibly soft, so genuinely fucking happy that he can’t even poke fun. Not while you feel so nice in his arms, anyway.

“Mhm, Star,” he drawls out. “Speaking of humility, we’re adding a new law to the friend constitution.”

You already know where he’s going with this, and groan against the soft skin of his neck.

“Rafe—“

“No one is allowed to shower in extreme temperatures while a second party isn’t present,” he recites formally, not even bothering to apologize for cutting you off. “I’m proposing that at the next town meeting.”

You manage to roll your eyes. “That’s excessive.”

He probably senses it. “It’s necessary. Your injuries make up at least half the list.”

“Semantics.”

“Never leaving your side from now on,” he murmurs casually, “and if I do, I’m wrapping you in bubble wrap.”

The thought pathetically excites you, biting your lip to suppress a wide grin that he wouldn’t even be able to see anyway. You smooth your fingers over his abdomen, simply taking a moment to appreciate the close proximity, how he opened his heart to you on a silver platter and irrevocably make him yours.

“That a promise?”

He hums, as if he has all the time in the world to indulge, as if it’s obvious that he’d be serious. You’re his now, how could you forget? Especially when his arms hold you close and his knee slots between your legs, latching to you, claiming you in a way no one ever has before. It’s absolutely intoxicating, thrilling, allured to his scent and his touch and him, him, him.

You think you love him. You’d be stupid not to.

And you think he has some sort of idea, especially when you subconsciously pull your head back to stare at him, heads sharing the same pillow and faces inches apart. You simply stare at him, admire the strength of his jaw and the slope of his nose, how his laugh lines are accentuated when he smiles in the slightest, the blue of his eyes boring into yours, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours.

This is how you come down: bones exhausted from the night before, mind turned to mush by the injury and how he’s made your head spin with every flirtatious comment, every confession, every genuine act of love, compassion, care. You fall asleep in his arms and he falls asleep in yours, lulled by the cadence of his heartbeat and his soft, sweet nothings.

You think you say you love him, you aren’t sure in your practically asleep state, but when he pulls you a fraction tighter in his sleep, you let yourself relax. You let yourself be loved by him.

salem-s please do not copy or replicate work unless given permission. mdni.

notes sorry for the LAME ending hope u enjoyed the series!!! thank you for all the support this has been super fun to write. also NOT CONDONING DRUG USE okay thanks!!!!

[thelovelywriteress]

SEE YOU TOMORROW 𓂃 ࣪˖ ཐིཋྀ

── DANTE X F!READER

To say Vergil was suspicious of Dante would be not odd thing considering the same Dante who would give random excuses when ask to babysit Nero was now suddenly taking him daily for walk.

While Dante was a good uncle and took interest in his nephew, he wasn't much interested in playing or doing anything that required his physical moment.

"Okay Nero, it's time for walk with uncle. Say bye to your daddy." Dante waved from one of little boy's hand who give his daddy blank stare. Vergil wondered if he should enquire his doubts or not but his decision took so long and Dante was already gone.

"Now, now let's see if your aunt reached or not?" Dante narrated to the baby Nero who give him a disinterested look and move his gaze around the park: watching some ladies talk: kids playing; then his gaze fall on you.

"What is it little man?" Dante questioned Nero's gibberish words and then follow the moment of his hands─oh it was you.

"So you approved her, right?" And without much hesitation Dante walk towards where you were but acting like he didn't see you and was focused on handling Nero.

"What's all this excitement is for?" He laughed holding him mid air as Nero still stare and move his hands towards you which you catch your attention and you pass him a smile as you started to walk towards him much to happiness of both Nero and Dante.

"Hello baby." You cooed to Nero who was giggling on the sight of you,"Damn boy you be taking all attention now, huhh." Dante playfully complaint as you give him an amused look.

"Isn't your uncle even more baby then you, baby?" You said to Nero but your eyes were focused on Dante. Dante grinned today you were being respond to his hints, was he finally progressing with you.

Nero started to pull his hands towards you, indicating he wanted to be pick by you to which you happily obliged and he quickly snuggled into your arms once Dante hand him over.

"Let's walk around a bit." You suggested to which Dante happily agreed, feeling the stars on his side today,"Wow what good deeds am I getting rewarded for today?" He said as you both started to walk side-by-side,"I don't know maybe being a good uncle." You joked as you rub your cheek against Nero who in response laughed and grab your cheeks.

Dante grinned, thankfully for the day Vergil forced him to take Nero out for walk as it was what that lead him to the woman who stole his heart.

Dante still remember how he was getting tired up holding Nero in arms; not physically but rather mentally so he just put the little guy down so he could move his body a bit.

One moment he was observing Nero and his funny steps next moment he was surrounded by ladies─who question him one after and other and when he was able to escape them, Nero wasn't in his sight anymore.

A panic rise in his chest as his eyes started to searched for his little body. He was barely taking a step before? Where did he go in just a second? Did someone took him? His blood ran cold on mere thought of it.

"Is he yours?" He turns face to face with you, holding Nero in your arms and the said boy being all comfortable there like he did not give his uncle almost a heart attack.

"Sure is. Come on buddy." He open his arms with a exhausted smile but hide his face in your neck and refused to leave your for next one hour and now you were suck holding him and simultaneously chatting with his talkative uncle.

That one hour was blessing to Dante. He could never believe he would meet a woman he would be so attracted to. From the way you talk about society to way you would match his humour and that's how daily uncle-nephew walk started.

Through you initially were wary of Dante, the first time you were stuck with him due to Nero but soon you find yourself being interested in his jokes and his humourous flirting.

Before now you often act like you weren't expecting the uncle-nephew duo but now you felt it was right time to show you were also starting to look forward for them or especially him - Dante. (Don't tell Nero tho)

That day was supposed to be your one time reconnecting with nature but thanks to them now it was a daily occurance.

Both of your feelings were there yet you both treat them lightly and just enjoy the moment.

Maybe one day there will be confession. Maybe there won't be.

You just know that even tomorrow you guys will be meeting here.

"Shouldn't you leave a goodbye kiss?" You rise a eyebrow on hearing the bold suggestion from Dante,"To Nero." He quickly added with a grin like he was messing with you,"Or it could be me too." You pass him a flirtatious smile but still rejected the later statement, saying you prefer the more cuter guy here, who was Nero.

Dante pretend to be hurt but his eyes still stare at you with that dazzling look as he hold the Nero in middle as both of you lean in to kiss his chubby cheeks.

"See you tomorrow. . .Nero." You both simultaneously kissed his cheeks as he let out a delightful noise.

"I think she meant that last statement for me." Dante grinned as he look at your figure which was getting farther and farther to which's response Nero pulled his cheeks like he did not like Dante's assumption.

"I am seeing how aggressive you are getting for that woman to your own blood. How will your dad feel that you choose her over your blood?" Dante cried to Nero in dramatic way who give him a blank blink.

"Let's come again tomorrow."

[slasherslittlesimp]

Cursed (Avengers X F!Reader) Masterlist

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

[lenaswritingandstuff]

Not alone • Harry Potter x f!reader

Pairing: Harry Potter x f!reader

Summary: After spending some time with your crush Harry, and while on your way to Hogsmeade, you decide you don't want him to be alone.

Word Count: 1.3K

Warnings: Fluff, English is not my first language!

A/N: Had this idea (which was supposed to be a drabble but oh well) while watching the third movie yesterday. Harry and y/n are supposed to be in their third year (to stay true to the books) but feel 100% free to imagine them being older if it makes you more comfortable. Enjoy! Comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated :)

The one thing new third years in Hogwarts were looking forward to the most was the fact that, after hearing their elders talking about how awesome all the shops in Hogsmeade were and all these rumors about the Shrieking Shack, they were finally allowed to go too. When you received your permission form, you immediately went to your parents so they could sign it. Soon, your friends wrote to you about how fun the trips to the village would be, and you answered , genuinely, that you were just as excited. 

So when it was time for the new year to start and to get inside the Hogwarts express, your friends were already talking about it while looking for a compartment. After a while, you ran into three people, and you recognized them immediately, not only because they were in your year, but also because of them was your crush - Harry Potter. You immediately felt your heart beating faster and your cheeks becoming hotter, especially when, when he was about to enter a compartment after Hermione, he turned his head towards you, and seeing you, waved.

“Hi, y/n.”

You cleared your throat, trying to pull yourself back together, and managed to smile back.

“Hi, Harry.” 

He gave you one last smile before going into the compartment, and you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Your friends didn’t know you had a silly crush on the Boy who Lived, as you knew they wouldn’t stop teasing you about it if they did know, so you kept your disappointment - and hope of the dark haired boy truly noticing you - to yourself. He talked to you sometimes, and you two were sometimes paired together for group projects which all ended in a very good grade - and even a correct one with Snape - and he was nice and friendly, but you felt like he acted the same with most of your classmates, which made you believe that your crush wasn’t reciprocated. 

The next month, the visits to Hogsmeade started, and you and your friends were just as excited as the other students. The day before the first visit, you went to the common room sometime after class and found Harry there, a book open before him - but it was obvious he wasn’t reading it, as he looked lost in his thoughts. There were only you two here, and you didn’t know whether you should go and talk to him or not. Gathering up some courage, you walked up to him.

“That book seems fascinating,” you teased.

Coming back to reality, Harry raised his head towards you and smiled.

“Oh, hum, yes,” he said. “We’re supposed to read it for Binns and write something about it.” 

“Ah, yeah, that one. I planned to do it tonight, too.”

And before you realized what you said, Harry answered.

“Oh. Well, we can do it together if you want?” 

You looked at him, incapable of speaking, and after a while, Harry cleared his throat. 

“I mean, it’s fine if you don’t want to, I know you have good grades in that class…”

“No!” you almost screamed. “I mean, of course we can do it together. I’d love to.” 

“Cool,” Harry said, nodding slightly. “Well, you should take a seat.” 

“Oh, of course, sorry.”

You felt yourself blushing, feeling horrible for being so awkward around him, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. The two of you started doing your homework, but soon started to talk about other topics like Quidditch or Professor Hagrid’s classes, not noticing the people coming and going. You guys laughed a lot too, and for the first time, it felt easy to talk to him. You still managed to finish the homework, and when you did, it was already time for dinner.

“Maybe we should go, don’t you think?” Harry asked. 

“Yes,” you nodded.

You two went to put your bags in your respective dorms before meeting again in the common room a minute after, and went together to the Great Hall. Here, you saw your friends as well as Hermione and Ron, and wondered if Harry would decide to rather stay with them than with you, but you ended up sitting next to him, and actually talked a lot with him, inadvertently forgetting about your friends. After dinner, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, you and Harry walked together back to the common room, still chatting. 

“y/n?”

You turned your head and saw your friend Parvati.

“Sorry to interrupt, but it’s time to go to bed.” 

“Oh.”

You looked around and saw that the rest of the Gryffindor house had already gone to their dorms.

“I guess you’re right.” you said before turning back to Harry. “Well, good night, Harry.”

“Good night, y/n.”

The next day, everyone in your class was talking about going to Hogsmeade, which made you realize you maybe should have asked Harry if he was going.  The afternoon came, and you rolled your eyes when hearing Draco Malfoy brag about whatever new expensive thing his father had bought him, and went to the courtyard to join the students who were allowed to go to the village. After giving your signed permission form to Filch, you saw Hermione and Ron, and looked for Harry, who usually wasn’t far away, and saw him talking to Professor McGonnagall. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but seeing Harry’s face, it couldn’t be something positive. You saw your Professor shaking her head, and after walking away a bit, going back to him and petting him on the shoulder in a compassionate gesture. You wanted to go and talk to him, feeling sad for him, but Professor McGonnagall gently touched your elbow.

You followed Parvati into the dorm you shared, and fell into an easy sleep, dreaming of a boy with green eyes and a scar on his forehead.

“Let’s get going, Miss y/l/n.” 

You nodded, and turned back your head. Harry was still here, and your eyes met before he turned on his heels and went back inside the castle. Your friends actually waited for you, so it was easy to catch up with them, but as you approached Hogsmeade, you couldn’t help but think how Harry and how alone he must be feeling at this moment. Pondering whether you should go back to stay with him and if he wanted you to stay with him, you decided on the second option. Ignoring your friends’ confused questions and calls, you turned and ran back to the school, and, catching your breath, you went to look for the boy you had your heart. You started looking in the common room, but there was only the kind Neville. 

“Neville?” you asked. “Have you seen Harry?”

“Yes,” he nodded, “I saw him minutes ago, he was going to the library.” 

“Thank you,” you smiled.

You almost ran to the library, and found him sitting alone, a fist holding his cheek. He saw you when you came closer to the table, still a bit breathless.

“y/n? You’re not in Hogsmeade?” he asked, confused.

“I was going, but…” you gulped and had a small smile. “I…I didn’t want you to be alone.” 

Harry looked at you, not speaking a word, and after a moment, his silence made you doubt if you made the good decision.

“I mean, hum…I’d understand if you wanted to be alone, though? I��I can leave.” 

Feeling like you were gonna die of embarrassment, you quickly turned around to leave but you heard a chair moving and, seconds after, a hand on your arm. 

“y/n, wait!”

You stopped your pace, and when you turned around to face Harry, his hand was still on your arm.

“I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting you to come back for me. I…Maybe we can go eat chocolate by the fireplace in the common room?” 

You smiled, and felt your heart beater faster than ever.

“I’d love that very much.” 

Want to be tagged? Just use my Ask-Box!

Masterlist

[twisted-writing]

For Anonymous

Who asked: Hello😁! Can you make some platonic headcanons for Carter, Trey, Jade, Floyd and Malleus about how they would react if they saw a student getting angry with their friend Yuu (female if possible) and grabbing her by the collar of her clothes threatening to hit her?

——————————————————————

POV: FIRST PERSON

Characters: Female!reader, Cater Diamond, Trey Clover, Jade Leech, Floyd Leech, Malleus Draconia

WC: 416

Note: I might write future headcanon posts like this since it’s an easier format for me.

•There’s no way that Cater would allow you, the person already on the fast track to becoming his best friend, after all the both of you had spent hours together discussing the perfect aesthetic for selfies on Magicam! So when he sees you about to get hit, he immediately steps in and the look on his face? It’s something that you and the student who had threatened to hit you will never forget.•

•Like Cater, Trey wouldn’t allow you, the one who spends all his time trading recipes to get hit. He would even take the hit for you, causing you to fret with worry over him and the student to go pale. So pale that it looks like they might faint, since they did strike an upperclassman, a vice dorm leader at that, and the consequences aren’t kind to them at all.•

•Floyd wouldn’t hesitate to squeeze the unfortunate soul who thought that they could try to hit you with no one else seemingly around. You’re his shrimpy! His best friend! The one who matches his chaos unlike anyone else, other than his twin, Jade.•

•…Speaking of Jade. He, like Floyd, wouldn’t hesitate to squeeze the unfortunate soul who thought that you were unprotected. He does it all with a calm smile that never disappears, in fact it only grows as he threatens them with unspeakable consequences if they come anywhere near you. After all, you’re the only person who has delicious recipes for tea as well the tips you had given him for his mushrooms terrarium allows them to really thrive.•

•Malleus doesn’t take well to those dear to him being threatened in anyway and that includes you. The person who actually chooses to interact with him. The person who isn’t afraid of him. Who actually finds his his facts about gargoyles to be the most interesting thing that you’ve ever heard, which isn’t a lie since you do in fact find them to be interesting as well as fascinating.•

[bless-my-demons]

Redamancy: Chapter Twenty-Nine

Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: does a handsy Jasper need a warning?

Notes: oh my god it’s been so long, I’ve been eating myself up over not posting. I’ve been working myself to death, but I’ve finally got a long weekend off and so I used it to get back to what makes me happy - this story! Omg I hope you guys love it🥹 I also have to go through and update my taglist later tonight, so bear with me on that until I add it!

Word Count: 1500

Series Masterlist

• April 3rd, 2006 • Forks HS •

Reader

Tingly.

That’s the state of my body this morning, the state of my mind.

Not only am I riding an emotional high from our conversation this weekend, but my dream last night… Good lord, that dream.

I can feel the echoes of his fingers on my skin, the coolness of his lips, the wet trail they would’ve left behind… the solid weight of what surely his body would feel like, pressed against mine. I can imagine all of what it would be like vividly, to be under him, to get carried away, to just explore-

“You alright, darlin’?”

His voice jolts me from the day dreaming stare I had on the locker before me, caught red handed. To make matters worse, that deep southern tenor questioned me inches from my ear, causing a blush to heat my cheeks to an almost uncomfortable degree.

“Perfectly fine, why?” I immediately busy myself within my locker so that I don’t have to face him right away.

“You do remember that I can feel you, right?” His voice is low and his hands find my hips tenderly, but the air changes around us.

My heart rate skyrockets, this is dangerous. His fingers flex against me and the death grip I have on this book in my hands turns my knuckles white.

“Jasper-” his name is a whispered warning, but also a plea.

“I know.” Instantly a cooling, soothing balm blankets our tension and I release the tightness in my chest. Leaning backwards into him I just feel tired all of a sudden, like I had run a marathon. “Let’s get out of here.”

His request sounds more like a demand and I twist in his arms, “Is that a good idea?”

“Darlin’, I don’t have many of those these days.” His mouth quirks up in a lopsided grin as he shoves all of my school supplies back in my locker, shutting it and tugging me along behind him towards the student parking lot.

Jasper

Something is on her mind, something dangerous. Something I absolutely want to know, something I’m not sure I have the strength for, but I can’t help it - it’s her.

I’ve never been more thankful for an overcast day with no rain: perfect motorcycle weather. Come to think of it, my sister had a knowing look in her eyes as my siblings all piled into their respective vehicles as I straddled my bike this morning. A decision that currently led me to now: Y/n and I leaving school before midday.

Those thoughts I interrupted earlier have her quiet, but her emotions are raging and it is driving me insane. Curiosity, need, nervousness - a dangerous concoction begging to overtake my rational mind. Separating myself from her feelings is almost impossible at this point, she is so well ingrained in me.

Finally arriving at my thankfully empty home, I shut my motorcycle off and offer a steady hand to help her dismount. Swinging my own leg over, I turn towards her and lean against it, observing her for a moment with crossed arms.

“What?” She makes eye contact as she struggles with the chin strap of my helmet.

Grabbing the helmet by the chin piece, I gently tug her forward between my legs, “Tell me.” I lace the command with neediness to encourage her to be pliant.

And judging by the way her lips part behind the dark visor, the immediate dilation of her eyes, and the weight of her hands settling on my thighs gently, I might’ve laid it on a little too thick.

Chuckling, I free her from my helmet and riding jacket. By the time I finish, she seems to snap from the daze and her hands clench on top of my legs.

“Not fair, Hale.” Feisty this morning.

I lean forward towards her ear with a grin as I stand from my bike to put away the gear, “All’s fair in love and war, sweetheart.”

Reaching to swat my chest, I grab her hand gently before she could injure herself.

Pausing as I hang my jacket up, her teasing response sends excitement through me, “Two can play at that game, baby.”

Stepping into my room, I realize too late what has her curiosity: my desk. Well, the art that occupies every inch, my art.

“What is all this?” Leafing through pencil sketches of my favorite hunting spots and pen etchings of my family at random moments, she gets to the important ones hidden below. Her breathing hitches and I know she’s found them, the ones of her.

Some are in pencil, some are in random felt-tip pens, but my favorites? Those are charcoal. A decently basic medium, but I feel like it captures so much more than anything else ever could. Maybe it’s because I use my fingers to smudge and shape her perfect curves and lines, but it radiates emotion in sweeping gestures and subtle shading - something that’s hard to capture with anything else.

“There’s-” awe, shock, surprise, they all shuffle through her and I’m on edge, waiting to hear her thoughts. “There’s so many…”

I watch her carefully examine each one and I smile when she chuckles at a few - some of her at school, some of her here in my home, moments I not only committed to memory, but to paper.

“Now you know what I do with my free time.” I smile through the minuscule anxiety that bubbles up at her seeing my secret hobby. Everyone in my family knows I draw, but they haven’t seen my drawings.

“Jasper…” I can tell she’s getting emotional, but a part of me is excited for her to see my innermost thoughts on paper, to see herself through my eyes - the unaltered beauty she contains.

“You haven’t even seen the ones I cherish the most.” Opening a familiar sketchbook buried under many other drawings, I reveal my favorites. “The very first ones.”

Her breath hitches, running a reverent finger down the first page. It’s the very first moment I saw her, crouched, scooping up papers on her first day of high school in Forks - absolutely radiant.

“You were a vision that day. A beautiful tornado that wrecked my world, I tried to capture every detail from memory because I never want to forget-”

Her hand finding my cheek breaks me from my explanation and my eyes find her watery ones, mouth open, searching for words clearly hard to get out, “Jasper…”

“I love you.” My confession steals her breath completely this time, the first time I’ve uttered these words aloud and it feels absolutely right. “I’ve loved you since the moment you hit me with that door. I knew I was absolutely ruined for anyone else and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Tilting her chin up with the tip of my finger as it wobbles at my confession, I smile, “Say something, darlin’.”

“I love you, too.” Now it’s my turn to go wholly still. “I knew from the moment I saw you I’d never be the same, I was yours-”

I couldn’t wait another second, I closed the minuscule gap between our mouths to seal these confessions. I love her and she loves me. Me.

Tilting her head back slightly as I cradle her, I take my cue to deepen the kiss, to pull her closer carefully. Groaning into her mouth, fuck I can’t get enough of her. Trailing kisses down her jawline as she tips her head to the side for much needed air, her gasps drive me to lift her onto my desk.

“Jaz…” her breathy plea of my nickname freezes me, panic seizing my actions.

“I am a gentleman, but only just barely.” My voice is gravel in my own ears, breathed down the slender column of her throat.

A shiver from her causes me to clench my jaw and attempt to gather myself.

“Maybe I don’t want a gentleman right now.” Her whisper damns me, it fucking sets me on fire.

A slamming door downstairs straightens my spine and my hands abandon the exploration of her. Fuck, my family’s timing couldn’t be better, but also worse.

“Honey, we’re home!” Emmett’s booming voice echoes up the stairs and immediately I know he knows, he can probably smell it.

Huffing, I help her regain her footing and straighten her clothes from the rumpled mess my hands made of it. I also take half a thought to smooth her arousal, a damn shame-but a necessity if we’re to face my siblings for the rest of the evening.

“Fucking Emmett.” Her frustration draws a chuckle from me as we make our way downstairs.

“I heard that!” My brother’s response causes her to roll her eyes at me playfully and I shake my head, my heart weighing much fuller in my chest as she plucks its invisible strings with her shit-eating grin.

Next

Taglist part 1:

@aoi-targaryen @Min-jianhyung @pbbsl @timelordhunterandmysterysolver @sheerangermany @clearwater-hoe @Blackbluerose666 @ivy-plays @random-human02 @delightfulbluebirdstarlight @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @gaymazinglula @l3ejm @angelfuzzy2 @losa12308 @thekinkpopstandsforkrackheads @flyawayprincess @ropickle @catbusloki @deviat3dsn0wf0x @lovesanimals0000 @unrevived @h-naec @cutesnakemum @zudooms @itsmytimetoodream @stinkii-boii @acoolnight @anothercoffeeblogx @irishblend10 @from-now-on-im-switzerland @kyraslife2 @naolvshan @kiiwiigii @rosedpetal @kiaraandrea @foolsgoldxo @heartfilia01 @azuredgalaxies @geekysimmerthings @graciereads @ramen-girl-2424 @0hmydekiru @creeqvealley @Cherriebat @whichwitchisthebitch @dragon-rider-with-a-book @secretfairytailpetscookie @psychobitchsthings

[bump1nthen1ght]

A Very Monstrous Kinktober (2024) Day 8 - Heat/Rut cycles

Kink: Heat/Rut Cycles

Pairing: F!Reader x M!Minotaur

Other Kinks: Breeding, Aphrodisiacs, Thigh Fucking

Warnings: Non-Con

Word Count: 1271 words

Kinktober Masterlist

Those bastards set you up.

You thought they had chosen you for your wits. For your keen insight into Daedalus’ works, that what you were lacking in brawn and speed you made up for intelligence and cunning. But no, those bastards had watched the creature long enough to know exactly what they were sending you down for, exactly what time of the year it was.

“Ah!” You shiver, a thick, flat tongue licking up the side of your neck. The minotaur’s wet nose flares as he inhales your scent, nuzzles in and tastes your sweat.

Your nails dig and dig into the forearm wrapped around your waist and neck, trying to claw through the lick layer of fur and corded muscle. But it’s like a kitten batting at its mother, all show and no consequence. Those muscles flex and tighten, nearly cutting off your breathing.

“So good…” The minotaur licks up your neck again, ignoring your scrambling hands desperately trying to yank him off. “Smell…so good.”

The hair under his chin is scruffy, scratchy as the Minotaur nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder. Your vision is going blurry, spots dappling the dimly lit labyrinth hallway as oxygen becomes more and more precious.

“Can’t-” Your throat bobs as your voice goes raspy, “-breathe!”

The minotaur has enough awareness to understand that, loosening his grip just a smidgen. That’s good, it means he prefers an alive rut toy, not a dead one. 

You gasp, savoring the oxygen while you can. It’s only a momentary relief, your consciousness slowly turning back on when something wet and hot pokes at the back of your thighs. The Minotaur’s veiny cockhead throbs against the bottom of your ass cheeks, something already dripping down and onto the ground. You squeeze your legs together, not realizing you've just made it more pleasurable for him.

“Warm.” The minotaur grunts, his head easily pressing past your clenched thighs and slotting right under your pussy. Nervous sweat leaves them damp and disgustingly slick, the minotaur gliding through like a perfect fit.

“O-h!” A prominent vein pushes right up against you, pushing back your labial hood and focusing on your clit. Your body responds accordingly, your essence already dripping down the top of the minotaurs cock.

“More.” The minotaur’s rough palm digs into your side, steadying you as he thrusts into your thighs. Heavy balls slap against your legs with a wet noise, a quick peek down revealing a thoroughly lubed dick, pulsing with blood,

Oh dear gods.

The Minotaur’s cock is as thick around as your forearm, crimson red and bulging. The flat head of his cock is enough to split you in half, the length surely enough to rip apart your guts.

“There’s no way-” You yelp when the Minotaur begins thrusting faster and faster, the back and forth of his shaft rubbing against your cunt making you feel far too hot.

“Hmph, unrgh!” The Minotaur grunts, fingers leaving bruises as he grows frustrated, humping harder and harder. Your mouth grows dry as the fire inside burns hot, the small shocks of pleasure when he ruts against your clit making you wiggle in his grasp.

Something begins to build inside you, something that could help you forget the horrible circumstances you’re in, when the Minotaur stops. You gasp and whine, a shameful display which you quickly regret.

“Not enough!” The Minotaur unwraps his arm around your neck and wastes not a moment, not giving you the time to make an escape attempt before looping under your legs and hoisting you upwards. The ripped rags of your chiton slip behind your buttocks, your soaking core now exposed to the air, just as a heavy and hot cockhead lines up with it.

“N-no! It’s can-t fit!” Your voice devolves into squeals when the Minotaur’s dripping tip presses into your pussy, forcing past your lips and into your hole. Your wetness certainly helps in the process, but you saw this thing with your own eyes! There’s no way it could-

Oh, those bastards- A-h!

Left unimpeded, the Minotaur works his first inch inside of you. That oxygen you were begging for seems to leave all at once in your gasps, the memory of the suspicious concoction you were asked to drink before entering this shooting out of your mind. You have a faint recollection of being told it was to calm your nerves, an elixir help you relax as you descended into the labyrinth. It seems to be doing it’s job, the Minotaur working the second and third inch with very little issue.

Still, the potion did not relieve the immense pressure having something this thick inside you. Inch by inch your body spasms, spongy walls tightening around his cock, signals firing across your nerves as your back arches.

“Yes.” The minotaur sighs as he finally reaches the base of his cock, his balls plugging you up snugly. “Pussy. Nice, warm, pussy.” A shiver runs down the Minotaur’s body, the beast swiveling his hips and brushing against something inside that has you seeing stars. 

But the soft embrace of your cunt is only good enough for a short time.

“Breed you, gotta breed this pussy.” 

Before the words can register, the Minotaur is unsheathing his cock to the tip, thrusting back in one quick motion. You black out for a second, brain trying to catch up with the rapid stimuli as the Minotaur bounces you up and down on his cock. It’s the most talkative he’s been, the relief of a slick cunt around his dick helping push away the fog induced by his rut.

“Need you full of my calves. Need it now.”

“Pussy is so tight, squeezing me dry. Wants my cum so badly.”

“Tits will look so good full of milk. Will make calves extra strong.”

Sweaty balls slap against your clit with each thrust, sending a little jolt every time it pounds the bundle of nerves. They're heavy, practically bursting with semen, reading to shoot deep inside your womb. With the way the minotaurs cock hits your cervix, you’re sure it’d have no problem plugging you up. You’re not even sure one orgasm will be enough, that the Minotaurs rut-crazed mind won’t have him fucking you for hours.

Hands paw and squeeze at your breasts, not even needing to grip your leg to keep you in position. The pinching of your nipples only makes your cunt squeeze tighter, makes the Minotaur’s hip start to stutter. Your core clenches tight, the bulge in your lower abdomen pulsing with each thrust.

“Yes, yes, take my cum. Make me some babies, so many calves.”

Your cock-drunk brain loves the idea, toes curling as your whole body seizes up. You're so close, your g-spot battered and bruised and aching for release. 

“Ah, ah, ah-hhh!” You toss your head back as your hips thrust upward, orgasm bursting all at once. It’s the final push the Minotaur needs, balls tightening for one last push.

The Minotaur roars as he climaxes, hot streams filling you to the brim. The two of you collapse into the ground, the Minotaur falling to his knees with his cock still sheathed. He lets go of your legs lazily, letting them to the ground as you sit in his lap, cum still dripping out of your cunt.

A fuzzy mouth kisses at the side of your face, the sound of tail flicking contently against the labyrinth floor.

“We will make so many babies this rut. The Labyrinth will be full of our calves. ” Muscled arms wrap around your center, holding you and his cum in place. “I won’t be alone anymore.”

[pearlofthepitt]

@pear-1206 and @yxtkiwiyxt I finished the fic y’all inspired and I can’t find Kiwi’s. Once I do, I’ll make sure it’s included on the Ao3 version as well. I will link that here, once I remember how to embed links. Also thank you @thebreakfastgenie for reading/talking through the first draft. I was afraid that if I waited any longer the perfectionism would win.

Cathedrals of Our Own

A Jack Abbot x Autistic Female Reader

Jack gives his wife a hug, the lucky bastard

It’s after eight a.m. when Jack gets home. He opens the door to your apartment, and at the end of the little entrance hallway, between the arm of the couch and the kitchen’s breakfast bar, you are standing frozen: arms mid swing, neck snapped to the side, hips jutted at an uncomfortable angle. He closes the door behind him and turns the lock. In response-you stop breathing- and your neck jerks so hard that there’s an audible crack of the muscles and tendons against your bones.

Jack bites out a cursed apology. He approaches slowly. You aren’t able to turn your head-your eyes are twitching, focusing and unfocusing somewhere between the floor and the leg of a bar stool, but you feel with everything in you-each step he takes. After almost 20 hours awake, and a 12-hour ED shift, the friction of his prosthetic socket against the stump is always blistering, but his gate stays as soft and even as possible. He breathes steadily, slowly- in and out. The sound is barely audible, but you feel the rise and fall of his chest, like your body is the magnetic force pulling his heart home.

Your arms and hands are starting to twitch involuntarily, but you otherwise remain stiff, as he comes to rest in front of you. Jack’s enough taller than you are that he’d have to crouch a bit to try to make eye contact, but he doesn’t. Eye contact is his thing, but not your’s (definitely not on his level anyway), and he’s learned to respect that. He steps forward so that his nose graces your hair, raises one arm slowly and evenly till one warm palm is firmly at the based of your skull. Immediately, the muscles in your neck and shoulders begin to collapse under his touch. His other arm braces you at the middle of your back, almost like he’s about dip you dramatically at the end of a dance, but nobody moves. You can feel the tension in Jack’s jaw- trying not to grind his teeth- as he continues to breathe gently. A few beats later you give your first shuddering inhale, and in sync, you move flush against each other and he’s pressing his lips to your head, arms encircling you so that your wrists cross over one another and the backs of your perpetually freezing hands are cocooned between the two of you. His heart’s even quarter notes in time with the whole notes from his lungs give you a more complete rhythm to match and after a couple interminable minutes you collapse fully into him. Jack takes it-careful not to jostle the two of your more than is absolutely unavoidable.

Your pinched face finally relaxes in a slow, shuddering breath, and you roll your entire upper body so that you lean your head back into the cradle of his hand, and do briefly look into his eyes, before rising up on your toes and kissing him firmly, mouth closed, the same deep pressure sensation of his embrace on a smaller scale. You step back to breathe again, bringing your hands up to rest on his shoulders, and you’re smiling blearily at him like you’re the one who pulled a graveyard shift. You move your hands along his arms, taking the hand from your back and gently cradling it in your own at your sides, the other that was behind your head, you bring to rest against your cheek and you kiss his palm.

“Thank you my love. Now. Go sit down; your leg’s killing you.” you say all this with an exhausted sort of exhale as you break away, and then trudge stiffly past him into the kitchen. You skim your hands against the counter, the fridge, and the counter again like a foal or maybe a baby penguin, still wincing at every sound you make.

You hear Jack settled back into his favorite chair, and the suction release of his prosthetic. You know he’s watching you, and you know that he knows that you know he’s watching you. You start humming to distract from the creeping shame, shaking your medicine bottle like a maraca as you hunt for a glass to fill with water. The springs of the four slice toaster disengage and in response you start singing-loudly as if to drown out your body’s automatic response to the jump-scare-

“…Now we are forced to recognize our inhumanity…our reason coexists with our insanity….and though we choose between reality and madness, it’s either sadness or euphoria….” A new crescendo comes with your wincing as you try not to scrape the edge of the butter knife against the toast slices.

“….and as we stand upon the ledges of our lives, with our respective similarities…..it’s either sadness or euphoria-“ your voice softens as you reach the close- a string of ‘O’ vowels bouncing easily off your soft palate and echoing out across your molars, drowning the hiss and sputter of the coffee pot (Jack’s not working tonight, so he may drink it, or he may not. You won’t let it go to waste if he doesn’t.). You bring him his toast and coffee before returning to retrieve your own, a legato reintroduced to your gait. You tuck yourself into your favorite corner of the couch, your plate balanced on the end of the sofa’s wide arm. You’ve pulled your grandmother’s afghan down to envelope your entire body. Ironically, the scratchy seventies yarn doesn’t bother you at all, and you inhale the rich, indefinable, musty-spicy, almost floral scent that’s never faded. You’re soaking up the warmth of your mug into your fingers, but you make no move to start on breakfast. “I’m so sorry,” you begin softly-Jack is already shaking his head before you’ve finished the sentence.

“Honey, don’t you ever apologize for that. We’ve talked about this- you’ve had to teach me about this. What did you say the first time I saw you like that?” You wince, trying to push the memory from your mind- to stop yourself physically reliving the moment, a few months into your relationship, when Jack had unintentionally startled you by standing quietly in the kitchen while you sang along to an old Broadway standard and rummaged through the fridge.

“I said,” you mutter- recalling having to force yourself to calm down long enough to ease the horror stricken look Jack had worn on his face, “I have an overactive parasympathetic nervous system. I know what most of my triggers are but they aren’t consistent and they aren’t always avoidable. I’m sorry.”

“Right. And what did I say?” Technically, seeing you on the verge of hyperventilating Jack had said “Oh shit!” Before springing towards you to prevent your legs giving out, and then lowering you both to the kitchen floor, putting two fingers to your jugular and proceeding to perfectly recite the A-Anxiety Table of Army Field Manual FM-2251: “New Infantry Adaptation to a Threatening Situation”. But Jack means what he’d said, still kneeling on that same kitchen floor, when your pulse and respirations had finally returned to normal.

“You said- ‘Don’t ever apologize for that sweetheart. You don’t have any control over it. It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Jack nods, eyebrows raised almost sternly.

“You don’t get frustrated with me for phantom limb pain. Talk about an over active nervous system-“ he’s made that joke before too, and he keeps making it, because just like now, you burst into a fit of helpless giggle when he gets that flat, irritated, Donald Duck look on his face. It morphs into a concerned frown as he tilts his head in a question you don’t need him to ask before you’re answering.

“It was the door. The door opening-and then with the closing, and the dead bolt…” Jack nods again, and is unsuccessful at hiding a grimace. He hates it when it’s something he did. His grimace turns into a grin as he sees you glaring at him like you can melt the guilty cogs turning in his head with your laser vision.

“Jack, I was just standing in exactly, acoustically, the wrong spot. It wasn’t your fault either; it just happens.” Jack smiles ruefully at that.

“C’mere,” he whispers, beckoning you over to his chair. You hesitate, because you know that if you go over there, you’ll be putting further pressure on his overworked muscled and joints, but now he’s staring intently and determinedly at you in a way you can’t ignore, so you extricate your legs out from under you, abandoning your mug next to your plate and dragging the afghan behind. Once you’re close enough, Jack reaches out for your hips and pulls you gently into his lap- really, you think- physical therapists should study his muscle control. It only takes a few seconds for you to mold into each other, you drape the afghan over you both, careful to tuck it away from the surgical scars on his leg by hanging your legs over one of the sides of chair. Jack winds his arms around your torso easily and you lean your head into the crook of his neck.

“You are the only person ever in my life who knows what to do for me when it happens,” you say it softly, but you can tell by the way his arms tighten around you that he can hear every word, “You are the only person ever in my life who doesn’t treat this part like a chore.” Jack kisses your hair, then tilts his face ever so slightly so that he doesn’t break contact with the crown of your head, but his voice his still audible.

“That’s because it’s not. Helping you carrying shit like this-that’s in the marriage vows, and I’m the lucky bastard who gets to call you his wife.”

[a-spes]

{NATASHA ROMANOFF MASTERLIST }

❝ At some point, we all have to choose between what the world wants you to be and who you are. ❞

( ✿ ) fluff/comfort — ( ❆ ) angst — ( ☣ ) dark ( ❦ ) adults only — ( ✴︎ ) people's favorite (golden trio) — ( ♡ ) requests

{ Series }

➺ Devious Lies, 30.157 words. ( ❆ ♡ ) warnings : mental healh issues, suidical ideation, mentions of SA&SH, revenge porn, severe injuries.

When your friend asked you out for a drink, you didn't think much about it. Yet, maybe you should've, because that night ruined your life. It may have been two years since the events, but you still can't stop think about what you've lost. Your job, your friends, your lover, and even your mind was left in that motel room.

{ One-shots and drabbles }

➺ A Penny for your Love, 5.006 words. ( ✿ ❆ ♡ ) part one. part two. warnings : anxiety, spiralling thoughts, insecurities, alcohol consumption, cheating (not really), lies, manipulation, popular!wandanat x loner!R, bet trope.

➺ All the things I am not, 3.097 words. ( ✿ ❆ ✴︎ ) warnings : self-hatred, severe injuries, insecurities.

Since Peter Parker joined the team, things aren't the same anymore. Why does everyone seem to prefer him to you?

➺ Rise of the darkness, 2.000 words. ( ❆ ) warnings : major character death, past suicide attempt.

your family is cursed but you thought you were better, that you could keep the Beast away so you told no one about it. It turns out you can't.

➺ Six feet away, 2.600 words. ( ❆ ) warnings : none.

you were Natasha's girlfriend. It has been a year since she died and you still can't accept it, visiting her grave whenever you can.

➺ Stained hearts, 1.400 words. ( ✿ ) warnings : none.

Fury sent you and Natasha on a mission even if he knows you are in a relationship.

➺ Stolen freedom, 5.100 words. ( ❆ ♡ ) warnings : none for now.

Natasha became the most feared assassin yet again and a ruthless criminal, while you are working for the government, trying to take her down. You eventually face Nat' for the first time in years.

➺ The blood on my hands, 3.200 words. ( ✿ ❆ ) warnings : form of self-harm.

when you kill someone on duty for the first time, Natasha is the one being here to stop you from falling.

➺ The dog's fall, 5.200 words. ( ✿ ❆ ☣ ✴︎ ) warnings : human trafficking, past abuses.

anyone that can beat her in a fight will earn her, and Natasha intends to be the one, working hard to get what she thinks is hers. A dog can't fight for eternity, can it?

➺ The place we've been dreaming of, 2.252 words. ( ✿ ❆ ☣ ) part one. part two. warnings : human pet, past abuses.

when Natasha enventually gives in, and accept her wife's demand to adopt a pet.

➺ The shot you missed, 3.000 words. ( ✿ ✴︎ ) warnings : panic attack, guns.

you're spending a day at the fair with your girlfriend, the sweetest mob boss that possibly exists, and she makes sure that you've a good day.

[noobiestnoober]

Bang Bang, Baby (Leon X Reader)

When Leon offers to teach you how to shoot, you expect a lesson in marksmanship—not butterflies, blushing, and flirty banter that leaves him more rattled than a T-Virus outbreak. In the middle of a quiet training session, tension simmers and laughter sparks, turning a simple field test into something much more intimate. And maybe, just maybe, you’re a little more dangerous to Leon Kennedy’s heart than any mission ever was.

The gun was heavier than you expected. It wasn’t like in the movies—where characters held them with easy confidence and fired without hesitation. No, this was real. Cold, solid, dangerous. The metal pressed into your palms, unyielding, making your fingers ache with the unfamiliar weight. You shifted your grip, heart racing, just as Leon’s voice broke through the stillness.

"Finger off the trigger until you're ready," Leon said gently, stepping behind you. His tone was patient, like he’d said this a hundred times, but there was something softer in the way he spoke to you. His hand hovered just above your shoulder, guiding without touching—always respectful, always careful. Yet his closeness wrapped around you like armor. You could feel the weight of his presence like a second skin. Protective. Comforting.

You glanced back at him, lips twitching upward. "Like this?"

The gravel beneath your boots crunched as you adjusted your stance. The summer air buzzed with cicadas and the faint smell of gunpowder. You were somewhere remote, quiet—one of Leon’s off-the-grid training spots. The kind only someone like him would know about. The world felt distant here, like you had slipped into a secret pocket of time.

He stepped in closer, and this time, his hands met yours. Warm, steady, grounding. Your fingers curled a little tighter around the grip as he guided you from behind, gently shifting your aim.

"You're doing great," he murmured, voice low and gravelly by your ear. "Try aiming a little lower. Just a hair. There—perfect. Now breathe in... hold it... and squeeze."

The shot rang out. You flinched slightly at the sound, but kept your posture. The target—an empty soda can balanced on a stump—spun off into the grass.

"Bullseye!" you gasped, bursting into a wide grin as you lowered the gun. Excitement rushed through you like a thrill you hadn’t expected. Your chest swelled with pride. "Leon, that was amazing! You're such a good teacher. Seriously. I actually hit something!"

He blinked. Once. Twice. Then looked away, a deep flush creeping up from beneath his collar. "I—uh... thanks. Just... just doing my job."

"You're cute when you get all flustered," you said sweetly, tilting your head. You bit back a playful grin, watching his expression twitch like he was fighting the urge to smile.

He groaned softly, running a hand through his hair, his usual composure crumbling. "Don't say stuff like that when I'm trying to be professional."

You nudged him with your elbow. "Too late. You brought me out here to train, remember? You can’t expect me not to notice how hot you look holding a gun. All serious. All protective."

Leon’s ears turned red. His fingers flexed at his sides like he was grounding himself. "Lesson’s over. We’re going home."

You gasped dramatically, stepping in front of him. "Nooo! I was just getting good at this! I want to shoot at least two more cans!"

He sighed like a man who knew he’d already lost the argument. His shoulders dropped, but the smile pulling at his lips betrayed him. He looked at you—really looked—and you could see the fondness hiding behind his eyes. Like you were more than a trainee. More than a distraction.

He reached for your hand, his fingers brushing yours so lightly it felt like a secret shared in silence. "Fine. One more round. But if you flirt again, I’m calling it."

You smirked, loading another round. "So… what happens if I shoot better than you next time?"

He raised an eyebrow, that confident edge slipping back into place. "Then you get to teach me. And I promise I’ll be a very flustered student."

"Oh, I’ll hold you to that," you replied, cocking the gun with mock seriousness. You added a playful wink. "Now step back, Agent Kennedy. Let the rookie show you how it’s done."

Leon chuckled under his breath, watching you take aim. And maybe—just maybe—he let you win the next round. Because when you turned around, grinning like you’d just conquered the world, his heart did something stupid. That blush? It only deepened. And for a moment, in that quiet field, all he could think was this: you were dangerous—but in the most beautiful way possible.