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thyme-in-a-bubble · 3 months ago

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too big

a/n: honestly, bless this man for being such a dick (and having such a dick, holy fuck i’m gonna pass out)

summary: cock throbbing in his grasp, he stared down at your pussy as he swept his intimidating girth against it, “you know, you have been such a fucking tease for way too long… only giving me handjobs or rubbing that little cunt on me, basically taunting me, while the rest of these assholes get to have you, all of you, anyway they want,” he stopped nudging your buzzing pearl and instead dragged through your petals till he found your opening, quivering and dripping as he nuzzled against it, “I’m fucking tired…” he groaned slowly, “…so I’m done waiting… I’ll finally feel this fucking pussy wrapped around me whether you like it or not.”

warnings: innocent!reader x frat!bucky barnes, stepbro!steve rogers, frat!ari levinson, marc spector, ransom drysdale, curtis everett, lloyd hansen, andy barber, thor odinson, scott lang, miguel o'hara, frank castle, billy russo, smut, dark content, dubcon halfway through, college au, polyamory, kissing, corruption kink, shower sex, bondage, exhibitionism, voyeurism, crying, dacryphilia, dirty talk, size kink, gaping, belly bulge, manhandling, overstimulation, orgasm denial, edging, multiple orgasms, squirting, impact play, pain kink, spit kink, choking, masturbation, oral, fingering, anal, pussyjob, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, bukkake

word count: 6770

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“Ah, not yet,” your stepbrother groaned over the booming music, that rocked the frat house, as he cut the sip of his beer short, “if you really don’t wanna be here anymore, can’t you just like go up to my room and wait?”

“Seriously?” a long sigh flowed from your lungs, “then I’d rather just walk back to my dorm alone, I don’t even know why you insist on escorting me like I’m a child.”

“Because you shouldn’t walk alone at night,” Steve shot back as his gaze continued to keep his focus on the party around him, “don’t be a brat, just go wait upstairs.”

“Well, can’t someone else do it then if you’re so busy, your majesty,” your comment earned you a glare.

“You’re my responsibility,” he stated, the bridge of his nose twitching heatedly as he glowered down at you, “I’m not just gonna dump my problems on my friends for them to deal with.”

“Wow, okay,” you nearly choked on the lump that promptly formed in your throat, “I’m sorry for being such a burden then,” you muttered before spinning around and storming up the stairs.

The door to Steve’s room slammed shut like a crack of thunder behind your spine.

Chest still heaving, you stared down at the ground for a long moment before you finally managed to force your feet to move once again and peel you away from the door. You flopped down onto the bed with a heated huff, blinking up at the ceiling before your gaze flickered to the night sky twinkling on the other side of the windows.

Though as you laid there, your stepbrother's last words nearly swallowing you whole as they played on a loop in your brain like a plague, a different sound suddenly caught your ears and caused your cheeks to instantly heat up with something other than fury.

Reverberating through the thin wall, shrill moans were tangled with deep ones, some that were familiar, though you didn’t place them till the female whines started screaming out his name.

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky–,” the cries rang out each time the thud of a headboard thumped against the wall.

And though you couldn’t make out every word, you still thought that you could hear Bucky’s low timbre crackle in dirty soliloquies, fractured sentences that soon persuaded your hands to subconsciously drift down along your frame.

Though by the time that your fingers had found their way down your pants and stuffed up your hole, rocking them to the same rhythm of the pounding that nearly cracked through the wall, the door to Steve’s room was suddenly ripped open and you tore your hand away from your cunt.

“I am only gonna say this once, so you better fucking listen up,” he grumbled as he kicked the door shut behind him, “I–… am sorry…” he struggled to huff, “there, you happy now?”

The lewd noises that echoed through the wall didn’t faze him at all as he apparently was so used to such background noise in the house that he barely registered it at all.

“So, you don’t think I’m a burden?” you uttered, propping yourself up on your elbows as doubt stiffened your words.

“…no…” resisting a roll of his eye, he instead faintly shook his head as he began to walk closer, “you’re not a burden… a brat? Yes,” he stated, “but I guess you’re not that bad…” a slight smirk twitched at his lip before he then bent down over you and kissed you.

Though as it turned out to not just be a swift peck he’d sought after as he layed down at top of you, one of your palms pressed against the centre of his burly chest before you twisted your lips out of the way, “wait, wait,” your head faintly shook as you tried not to succumb to his intoxicating kiss, “no, if we do this, then we’ll both just fall asleep here.”

“Would that really be so bad?” a soft scoff crackled in his throat.

“I wanna sleep in my own bed tonight,” you tilted your head as you blinked up at him, your brows gently knitting together at the plea, “I didn’t even wanna come tonight.”

“Oh, come on,” he leaned back down till his nose ghosted against your own, “I’m too tired to walk across campus right now, and if I’m tired, then I can only imagine how you must feel. Come on, just crash here tonight, do it for me,” he croaked, “and you’ve been so boring all evening, barely had a sip of anything, so at the very least you owe me this.”

“But–”

“You can pop in some earplugs, then you won’t even know the difference,” his lips began to flutter across your cheekbone till his voice tickled your ear, all the while the party right downstairs still boomed above his manipulative murmurs.

And though you knew that it wasn’t true, that even if you could somehow block out the noise, you still couldn’t stop the base from rocking the entire house and make you dizzy as you laid in your stepbrother’s bed. So, as fear arose inside of you at the thought of telling him no, you instead heard yourself timidly whispering, “…alright…”

You’d managed to slip out of Steve’s bed without waking him up before you then sneaked down the long hallway to borrow the upstairs shower.

Though once the water was drizzling down upon you, in the relaxing steam that floated around your form, your thoughts couldn’t help but drift back to the night before, though not of the manner that your stepbrother had put you to sleep, but instead to the sinful sounds of his best friend that you’d overheard.

Swiftly, the pads of your fingers began to draw needy circles over your clit to try and dull the scandalously intruding thoughts, though even when you detached the showerhead to spray the gush of water directly against your pussy, a dire problem continued to stand in your way, like you were peeping over the edge of a cliff, too petrified to jump by yourself.

However, as time began to slip away from you, the door suddenly barged open.

Your stifled whimpers promptly ceased echoing in the shower as your eyes snapped to the figure now standing in the doorway.

“B-Bucky!” you dropped the showerhead in your humiliated scramble to twist your nude frame out of his sight. Picking it up as it began to spray up into your face, you swiftly spun around and splayed your hands across your frame in a feeble attempt at covering yourself up.

“You do know that this door locks, right?” he chuckled as he gently pushed the door closed behind him, the one that you had apparently still been half-asleep when you forgot to bolt, “that’s twice now,” he pointed out with a grin as his stare pierced through the fogged up glass, deja vu smacking you in the face as well, as he reminded you of the incident that had happened over the summer break, “I think if it ever happens a third, then I should win a prize or something.”

“Get out!” you screeched, embarrassment eating you alive.

“Why? So that you can go back to getting yourself off?”

“I–,” your head swiftly soared to catch sight of him over your shoulder, “I wasn’t–…” before you squeezed your eyes shut and huffed, “oh my god, I hate you…”

“I know,” he simply smiled at your groan before he shifted to go grab his toothbrush from the cabinet.

But before he could be on his way and slip back out, your head started spinning as your gaze traced him on the other side of the glass, going about his business as if you weren’t standing stark naked one single meter away from him.

“W-wait!” you then heard yourself squeak right as his fingers reached for the door handle. Glancing back over his shoulder at you, the words that then slipped out of your lungs were accompanied by a shiver that trickled down your spine, “…could you–…”

Blinking back at you, his eyes faintly squinted as a smirk plagued his lips, “could I what?”

“Well, I just–,” your breathing was ragged as you averted your gaze, “I’m having a bit of trouble making myself–, uhm…”

“Aw,” his broad shoulders gently shook in a laugh as he then began to mock, “what’s the matter? Can you not make your little pussy cum? Have you still not learned how to do it on your own?”

“I–, n-no!” you hastily lied, “I’ve totally done it myself, loads of times, what are you talking about?” even though the truth actually was that the sought-after high was still too overwhelming to reach on your own, “I just right now when I tried that it won’t happen… I–… I don’t know what’s wrong with me…”

“Well, maybe you’re doing it wrong,” he shrugged, “or school’s just got you crazy stressed out or something, so it can’t snap into place.”

“Yeah?” a small drop of assurance settled within your belly, “…so would you maybe–, I mean, I know that you’ve done it for me before, but still, could you maybe help me out a tiny bit?”

A big huff flowed from his lungs as Bucky then pretended that your request was something he wished to be no part of, “alright,” he teasingly grumbled, “I guess I could lend you a hand, but just saying, it’ll cost you.”

“Cost me?”

“Yeah,” he tried to keep a straight face, “I don’t give out favours free of charge.”

“Fine,” a short giggle bubbled out of you as you assumed his dramatic terms were but a joke, “I promise I’ll be your getaway driver on your next diamond heist or whatever.”

His tongue briefly flickered out to wet his lips before he simply chuckled condescendingly in return, “you’re cute,” before he then began to strip out of his sleepwear.

Though you probably shouldn’t have been surprised, in your mind, you had merely pictured that he would stay on the other glass a moment longer to give you the guidance that you needed, only explaining what you should do and nothing more before he then left you to carry it out on your own.

“What are you doing?” your eyes instinctively grew wide as his clothing hit the tile floor.

“Sweetheart,” his head swiftly cocked, “you literally just begged all pathetically for my help,” he pushed his underwear down, revealing his beast of a cock, already half-hard and heavy, resting like a freaking baseball bat against the top of his thigh, “so that’s what I’m doing,” he brashly stated before he then joined you in the shower.

Grabbing your face with both of his hands, he then held you in a kiss until the tension in your body gradually began to fade away. When you started to suck in deep breaths through your nose, truly landing in the devilish deal you’d just agreed to, one of his fiendishly, inked hands then began to wander. Skimming down over your wet skin, his palm first caught your tits, briefly giving one of your nipples a teasing tug, before his touch strayed down to knead your ass and draw you that much closer to his frame.

With the showerhead still clutched in your hands, hugged closely to your body, and gushing onto the both of you, the drawn-out kiss then broke when Bucky’s hand snuck down between your legs. Swiftly, he sought out your clit, already puffy and throbbing from the way you had bullied it mere moments earlier.

However, then, as you blinked up at him, mouth falling open in a gasp, he suddenly spun you around for your spine to be pressed up against his brawny chest, before stealing the showerhead from your grasp.

Extending his thumb, he dexterously switched the settings and changed the flow of water from several small and gentle streams to one thicker, and much stronger, jet.

A whimper rolled off your tongue as he then held the gush down to spray its firm pressure directly against your little pearl, and as you had already been so worked up when he found you, it didn’t take very long at all before you finally tasted that sweet high that you still weren’t yet brave enough to catch on your own, his expert touch instead guiding you there. Your eyes squeezed shut as, not only your head fell back against his broad shoulder, but your knees also threatened to give out, lending him to snake a swift arm around your waist to keep you from collapsing entirely.

“Oh my god,” you panted, completely melted back against his bulky physique, “how did you do that so fast?”

And as the muffled grunt, that had vibrated in his chest at your unravelling, morphed into a cocky chuckle that tickled your ear, he simply murmured, “you’re welcome,” before he then pressed a peck to the top of your head and began to tilt your body back away from his.

But at the loss of contact, one of your hands suddenly shot out in desperation before he could disappear completely, “wait, please I–,” you gasped foggily, “more–, I want more–, please don’t stop–”

And as you peeked over your shoulder to meet his eye, a glimmer flickered in his blue ones, “oh, looks like someone’s getting greedy,” he smirked, “you finally developing a taste for all of this? Becoming the little slut we’ve been telling you all along that you actually are?”

“No, I’m not a–,” you couldn’t even echo the same word out loud, “…Bucky, please? I just–, I can’t do it on my own–, I mean, not like you or any of the others can…”

“Well, you’ve just not had enough practice yet,” his palm swept up to find your jaw as he took a step back in your proximity, “you’ll get there if you just listen to Steve and stick with all of us,” he uttered as he turned your head for his lips to capture your own.

As he kissed you over your shoulder, his now raging hard-on digging into the softness of your bottom, he then blindly slotted the showerhead back into place on the wall, lending the water to drizzle down over the both of you as he swept his tongue ravenously against your own.

His feet then began to shift on the wet floor, and steered your own to move slightly as well, till your tits smooshed up against the cool tile wall of the shower. When his lips then faded and began to migrate down and past your neck, you continued to peek back at him as he then sank down onto his knees behind you. Grabbing your hips, he yanked your butt closer to his head till your back was arched and your arms were folded up against the wall for support. Burying his face in between your thighs, he then spent the next chunk of time eating you out till he once again had you tumbling over the edge.

Though after you’d cum this second time, he feverishly reached up and shut off the water before he plucked up your dazed form and dragged you out of the shower, planting you instead on the counter beside the sink.

Still all dizzy, you swayed slightly as Bucky then took a few steps away from you, enough to be out of your reach.

“I wanna see how many of your fingers you can fit inside that pretty little pussy of yours,” he demanded as his stare coasted down to your core, utterly on display as your limp legs hadn’t drifted closed yet.

“W-what?” you breathed, still too hazy to keep your heavy eyelids from temporarily blinding your vision.

“You heard what I said,” he briefly let a dollop of spit drop down into his open palm before he then grasped his thick girth and initiated a silky stroke, “show me.”

Though try as you might, the max you managed to cram inside of your drooling cunt was three of your digits as your stare stayed glued on his fist working over his big cock.

However as he watched you reach your capacity, he then stepped back up and, with his free hand, joined your own touch between your thighs. At first, as his gaze found your own and held it captive, the tips of his fingers traced your hole, all stretched out by your comparatively thin digits. But then, gradually, he traded your own touch out with his. To begin with, his finger hooked under one of your knuckles to pull one of your fingers out of your pussy, barely waiting any time at all before he then swapped places with it and slid his own digit in beside the two of yours that remained.

The stretch sent a shiver trickling down your spine and you swiftly tilted closer to crash your lips messily against his own.

And soon, none of your own fingers remained as he instead stuffed you full. Though you thought that two of his thick digits were a struggle, he somehow managed to work himself up and double it to four after he had coaxed your own touch away, his thumb being the only one he couldn’t cram inside, instead stretching it up to sweep against your swollen clit and roll it under the broad pad. His other hand stayed on his dick as your pussy began to stain his fingers with your cream, leaking needily into his palm.

Though just before you could cum once more, his zealous touch suddenly disappeared, denying you of the luxurious sensation once again. As you desperately reached down to take care of it yourself, he swiftly swatted your hand out of the way.

Both of his palms, still sticky from your essence as well as his own spit, then floated up to grasp the sides of your face before he then uttered, “grab my cock,” and frantically, you fulfilled his command as you shared his hot breath, “both hands, that’s it, good girl,” a gravelly groan rumbled in his throat as you wrapped your fingers around his fat girth and attempted a gentle stroke, “rub it against you,” he murmured as the tip of him was already mere inches away from your throbbing clit, “rub that big cock against your pussy, go on.”

And as you then tilted your hips and began to drag his hardness through your folds, parting your petals for his girth, a pout found your lips as you peeked down at his size as your juices soaked him, “why do you have to be so fucking big…” you heard yourself whine, “it’s not fair…”

“Aw, what’s wrong, huh?” he huffed out a cocky grin as he promptly leaned in a bit closer, “are you tired of not being able to take me? I thought you liked all the fun ways we make it work since you won’t let me even try to stick it in, how scaredlittle you think I’m too huge for it to ever work.”

“You are, that hasn’t changed, I’ve accepted that,” you puffed as you continued to tickle the bulbous tip of him against your core and drive yourself closer to the edge once again, “but I can just still, simultaneously, be a little sad about how I can’t do that with you, even with how crazy you make me, which is a mystery in itself, I don’t get it, frankly I think you’re a complete and utter asshole, but–, fuck… it’s like I lose my mind when I’m around you… all of you… I can’t even enter this house without forgetting my own name…”

But then, just before you could catch another orgasm, a low growl crackled in Bucky’s throat as your words caused him to finally snap, grasping your frame and tossing you over his shoulder before he nearly ripped the door off its hinges from how feverishly he yanked it open.

Stalking down the long hallways that slithered throughout the upper floor of the fraternity, fear arose in you at the thought that someone might spot you, though as you squeaked about it through your billowing laughter, Bucky only smacked your ass in return, lending you not to notice the handful of doors that clicked open behind you.

As you reached his room, your giggle still remained as he dropped you down upon his bed. You were too focused on him as he sank down over you to notice how he hadn’t bothered to shut the door.

Messily making out, his fingertips tickled your sides as he wrestled you lightly, grasping both of your wrists and pinning them above your head before his hips then grinded down against your own. Though your legs didn’t manage to tangle around him before he then flipped you around to lay on your stomach beneath him.

It continued to be all fun and game as he twisted your squirming hands down to the small of your back, even as he reached for a pair of handcuffs that rested on his nightstand before swiftly clicking them around your wrists, as you merely thought that it was something new and exciting, not him on the verge of crossing a line.

Though as he then yanked your hips up off of the mattress, your knees curling beneath you as your face and shoulder smooshed further into the bed, you playfully wiggled your ass back at him as you fully expected to feel the touch of his fingers or his tongue once again. But to your surprise, when you did feel something brush against your weepy cunt, your giggle finally ceased, gradually fizzling out as you realised what exactly it was that you were feeling caress against you.

“Wait, what are you–,” your neck twisted further as you tried to catch a glimpse of what he was doing, though only managed to spot his silhouette looming behind you.

Cock throbbing in his grasp, he stared down at your pussy as he swept his intimidating girth against it, “you know, you have been such a fucking tease for way too long… only giving me handjobs or rubbing that little cunt on me, basically taunting me, while the rest of these assholes get to have you, all of you, anyway they want,” he stopped nudging your buzzing pearl and instead dragged through your petals till he found your opening, quivering and dripping as he nuzzled against it, “I’m fucking tired…” he groaned slowly, “…so I’m done waiting… I’ll finally feel this fucking pussy wrapped around me whether you like it or not.”

“But I’m not ready–, Bucky, wait!” you tried to wiggle away from him, but he only grasped your ass and brought you back flush against him, “let’s just talk about this for a second–”

“What’s there to talk about, huh?”

“It won’t fit!” you yelped into the sheets.

“Yeah, probably not,” he smirked from behind you, “but I don’t care… I’ll just make it fit,” he uttered before then attempting to sink it in, though without success, his massive cock instead slipped through your slick folds and dragged roughly across your clit.

“Bucky, please! I’m scared!” you whimpered as his fat tip continued to nudge at your hole, smearing the mess leaking out of you further against your core, “you’re gonna break me in half!”

“I know, fuck, I know,” he chuckled darkly as he kept up his efforts, “your little pussy is just too goddamn tiny for this,” he pointed out before continuing anyway and trying once again to bury himself in your warmth, though this time failing as well, “fucking shit!” he exclaimed as rage began to bubble within him, making him huff like a bull behind you.

With a smack against your propped-up ass, he then took a step back before making his way around the bed to the nightstand. Once he’d grabbed a bottle of lube, he briefly dipped down to smother your frown with a peck.

“Please, Bucky,” you tried to plea once again, “you can stop now. You tried and it didn’t work, so just–, we can do something else, whatever you want, just please don’t try again.”

“But this is the only thing I want,” he murmured before kissing your nose and disappearing back behind you once more.

As he settled back into the same position as before, he liberally glazed his cock with some of the lube, as well as smearing some on your already slick pussy too, even pushing some inside of you with one of his long fingers.

And as he then attempted a third time, snapping his hips with all of his might, the very tip of him finally popped inside and an actual scream erupted from your lungs, partly from the severe stretch as he split you open with his monstrous girth, but also just from the pure shock of it miraculously working.

“Ah!” your vision blurred up with tears and you could barely breathe as your poor pussy ached around his obscene size he tried to wreck you with, “Buck! It’s too big! It’s too big!” your mind began to grow fuzzy as you’d never experienced such an intense sensation before, “o-oh, fuck, please take it out, it hurts!”

“Oh yeah, does it?” his palm swept up the goosebump-ridden skin on your back before he caught the cuffs that linked your wrists together, crudely tugging on them to drag you further down onto his cock, cramming even more of him inside of you, “it sure fucking looks like it, goddamn… I should take a picture of this shit, you’re so fucking stretched out right now, it looks like you might actually break on me,” his other hand drifted to your core to trace the way you struggled to take him.

“Oh fuck, too much–, too much!” you began to sob as he began to buck his hips and bury himself further inside of you, “t-that’s too deep, Bucky!”

“No, it’s not,” he chuckled breathlessly through a groan as he continued to stretch you to fit him, “I’m barely halfway.”

“Half–,” you gasped as it already felt as if he was so deep that you could feel him everywhere. From your toes that curled to all the way up in your fucking throat, there wasn’t a single part of you that didn’t flicker and spark for him like a bomb about to go off.

And as he huffed behind you with every laboured thrust, his hips snapping to crave his way deeper into your sweetness, his hands on you got rougher as they began to come down upon the curve of your bottom, smacking it and making you clench achingly around him at each blow.

The sniffles that filtered through your strangled moans then found Bucky’s ears, and he briefly tore his stare away from where he split you apart, to glance to your face and spot the tears that rolled down your cheeks.

“Are you fucking crying right now?” he couldn’t help but huff out a faint and amazed laugh, “aw, that’s okay, baby,” your mouth then fell open as one of his thumbs moved to plug up your tiny asshole, “you can cry if you need to…”

But through the piercing stretch that terrorised your soul, like shocks of electricity flicking through your nerves, you began to notice the euphoria slowly overpowering the pain, confusing you from how the two mixed and mingled. And then suddenly, Bucky’s greedy thrusts started to sound wetter and wetter with each sloppy slam into your soaked pussy, soon coming to a crescendo when your walls promptly squeezed down around him so tight that it forced his huge cock back out as your cunt achingly gushed around nothing and your wobbly knees collapsed beneath you.

Though as you came crashing down upon the bed, he wasted no time at all sinking down with you, “fuck… you’re doing so good for me, you know that?” your eyes rolled as he hummed directly in your ear, “just a little bit more, okay? Just relax around me, let me in,” he groaned as he struggled a moment to stuff himself back inside, pushing past your trembling sensitivity to make room for his length once again.

Though when he sank in, a low and blissful groan rumbling in his chest, it vibrated against your spine as he nearly crushed you as his hips began to roll and rut down into you, burying himself even deeper than before.

“Be a good girl, just lay right there and take it while I finally get to use this tiny little hole of yours,” he grunted as his efforts overstimulated you so fiercely that your legs trembled violently beneath him and drool began to trickle out of the corner of your mouth, soaking the sheets below, “mould you so good around me, make you take me, fit me perfectly, just the way you should, make you a pretty little fuckdoll for me…”

Though your face was twisted to face the door, it was a struggle to keep your eyes open, lending you only to notice the figures that filled up the exit when one of them took a step to the side and spoke up as he knocked on the neighbouring door.

“Yo, Steve!” Thor slammed his fist against the door till it creaked open, “bro, come out here.”

“Yeah, you gotta see this, man,” Ransom called out as well, his feet remaining in the threshold so his stare could stay glued on your cockdrunk visage.

And when your stepbrother stepped out to spot what was happening just in the next room, he swiftly leaned his form against the doorframe as a wide grin bloomed on his features.

“Holy shit,” Steve chuckled breathlessly as he stared at the pair of you in amazement, “well fucking done, Buck!”

“Thank you,” the man that squished you further into the mattress chuckled smugly as he tangled a burly arm under your chin and let his inked bicep flex against your pulse and choke you lightly, “thank you very much.”

“I mean, I for sure thought you’d have to hold out even longer,” Steve tilted his head slightly to catch a glimpse of how your cream stained Bucky’s cock as it helplessly leaked out of you, forming a messy ring around his fat girth.

“Well, sometimes patience doesn’t get you what you want. Sometimes you just gotta stop playing by the rules and make life your bitch,” Bucky grunted before his lips began to nibble at your ear, “right, Y/n?”

Scarcely registering their sinful words through your fucked out fog, all you could reply with was a slurred, “mmngmphh…” your mumbled moan only triggering Bucky to grow even more cocky than before.

“That’s right, baby, I knew you could fucking take it. You didn’t, but I sure did,” he panted against your neck, “see, if you weren’t such a little prude, then you would have gotten this big dick so much earlier, wouldn’t you have liked that? Instead of being such a brat and making me wait till everyone else had gotten to use you as their own personal little fucktoy to get off with.”

And though you tried to answer, you instead heard your stepbrother chuckle over your pathetic moans, “fucking hell, look at how wrecked she is. Buddy, I think you might have actually broken her,” before he glanced over his shoulder at Thor, “hey, go get the other. Wake them up if you have to, they shouldn’t miss another second of this shit.”

You barely noticed as the rest of the fraternity slowly filtered into the room as your eyes soon fluttered shut and yet another orgasm rocked your sense, your cunt creaming all over Bucky’s excruciatingly thick cock. When he then suddenly flipped you around onto your back, you dizzily discovered the audience that had formed as you hazily blinked around the crowd. Some were lined up behind Bucky, others off to the side of where you laid melted against the sheets, and a few remained staring in the doorway, though over half of them had already freed their own dicks, while the remaining few that hadn’t yet still only palmed their palpable tents as they watched intently.

A shrill yelp bubbled up your lungs as Bucky then tapped the hefty weight of his length against your overly sensitive pussy. Your legs were folded and crumbled on either side of your frame as he sloppily rubbed himself against your mess, letting the rest see just how much he had ruined you.

“You guys wanna see how pretty I can make her gape for me?” Bucky asked the others as his gaze stayed glued to your little hole, nuzzling against it as it looked as if it had snapped back into place, almost like he’d never been in there at all.

And with the cheers that promptly rumbled behind him, he then repeatedly rammed his cock inside your cunt before retreating completely with the lewd pop of your poor pussy letting go of his monstrous girth. Each time he slid inside, he gradually ventured further, burying himself deeper before pulling back out and watching as your hole steadily relaxed for him, moulding to his size. At first, your leaky entrance only winked back at them all a brief moment before snapping back into place, till you eventually gaped properly enough for them all to applaud in awe as Bucky paused a moment to grasp you with both of his broad palms and spread you wide, holding you open for everyone a moment longer before your hole quivered back into place.

Struggling to keep your eyes open, you then forced them to blink as you felt Frank momentarily step up beside you and swiftly free your hands from the cuffs that still kept them bound behind your back, seeing as you couldn’t possibly escape now that you were so cockdrunk you could barely stay awake.

All of their deep voices and lewd comments washed over you like a stormy sea, crashing into you and making you even more lightheaded than before.

Ari then shifted to kneel down next to you and scoop his palm under your head, tilting it up for your hazy vision to flicker down to the unobscured crude view of how your pretty pussy got impaled by Bucky’s obscene size, stretching you apart way beyond your limits.

And as he mercilessly drove his cock into you, his balls managed to smack against your slick skin as he finally buried himself completely inside of your warmth, the tip of him not only diving deep enough to kiss your cervix, but to bump and bully against it with such force that it caused you to repeatedly lose your breath.

You had never felt so full before in your life, surely too full, as even though you were blinking down at the hard evidence before you, you still didn’t fully believe that you were capable of such feats, of taking him the way that he made you.

“O-oh, fuck…” you shakily whimpered when you caught sight of the way his monstrous size bulged through your belly, making it seem as though he was fucking straight through your pussy and into your guts.

Your teary eyes then flickered to find Steve in the crowd before one of your hands weakly grabbed for him. Seeing as it was the very least he could do, he granted you the comfort and closed the short distance, trading places with the frat’s president, before he grasped your trembling palm in his own.

“Damn,” you faintly heard Curtis mutter as he stared, his girth ever throbbing in his fist, mirroring the rest of them, “maybe you should just make her cockwarm you for the rest of the day, just as a precaution to make it easier for you next time.”

“Oh, you’re right, she might need that princess treatment,” Steve murmured as he raised the back of your palm up to his lips for a brief peck, “you’d let him do that, wouldn’t you, sis? For me? Be good for my best friend?”

“Uh-huh,” you found yourself panting as their words flew straight over your dazed head as it jostled on the mattress each time Bucky’s hips snapped against your ass, your zealous slickness being so messy at this point that it clung to his skin as well and kept you both connected in glossy strings, like spiderwebs, each time his efforts retreated.

“Shit,” Marc groaned as his fingers, tightly wrapped around his own dick, began to speed up, “this is so hot… I think I might blow my load.”

“Me too, fuck,” Scott harmonized.

“Cum in her mouth,” Bucky uttered, “go on, be a good girl, open up for them,” before you then felt your stepbrother beside you pry your lips apart mid-moan.

And as the pair stepped up and, one by one, painted your breathless tongue with their essence, you heard Lloyd rumble firmly, “you better swallow every single drop they give you, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, doesn’t it taste good what you do to them, to all of us?” Billy purred before he let a dollop of spit drop from his lips into his palm as he paused momentarily before silkily stroking his length one more to you.

“Maybe if you beg real pretty, it could become your dessert after every one of your meals,” Miguel suggested with a smirk, “but only if you’re good, then maybe you can have the privilege of being our little cumdump.”

“Is that what you want?” Andy uttered huskily, his fevered efforts stealing some of his breath, “you wanna be Kappa Alpha Nu’s official little toy? Just be all fucking adorable and help us get off?”

But then Bucky let out a low chuckle as he shifted your feet to rest up upon his broad shoulders, “you’re saying that like she isn’t already…” he grinned proudly before sinking down closer and folding your body in half.

Your free hand clawed at his bicep as both of them flexed to keep him from crushing you as he tilted down to kiss you ravenously. His rhythm picked up till it reached a desperate pace, pumping his fat cock into you as he groaned against your lips. Though even after you felt his big dick twitch inside of you and pump your pussy full of his cum, his efforts didn’t cease, only degraded slightly as he shivered above you, stubbornly fucking you till you unravelled as well.

With a ragged moan, he finally withdrew from your haven and reached down to messily rub his touch against your poor pussy, all swollen and puffy as it squirted once again for him, your juices weakly gushing all over the bed as his load too trickled out.

It was all a blur after that.

At first, as you still laid there, panting and twitching at Bucky’s overstimulating touch that he hadn’t yet freed you from, the three frat guys who were looming right beside you, Thor, Curtis and Andy, decorated your heaving tits and stomach with their hot cum.

After that, one by one, Miguel, Billy, Frank, Ransom, Lloyd and Ari stepped up and came wherever their heart desired. Some chose your exhausted face, all cute and breathless, blinking up at them, while others elected to finish on the soft peaks of your boobs, making you flash them your soft tongue, or even just paint your puffy pussy white and add to the mess already sticky and sore between your limp thighs.

And lastly, having clearly edged in order to grant himself the honour, your stepbrother let go of your shaky hand and slotted himself in between your legs. Wasting no time teasing you, he plugged the very tip of him into your wrecked hole, making your whole frame briefly jump and quiver on the mattress before your soreness clenched around him and milked him dry as he swiftly emptied his balls inside of you.

“Well, I think it’s official,” Steve exhaled when he finally pulled his dick back out to admire his cum slowly leaking out of you, “she is finally ready and broken in enough for us to start having some real fun…” his eyes then briefly flickered around to his friends beside him as he uttered, “gentlemen?” before his gaze once again returned to you, “let’s begin.”

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hearts4hughes · 21 days ago

Note

ex bf rafe finding you crying on the beach??🤔😌

you’re curled in on yourself at the edge of the water, knees hugged to your chest, cheek sticky with mascara stained tears. the tide is low as it hits your bare feet. the moonlight glints off your skin like something reverent.

you didn’t mean to cry here. you didn’t mean to cry at all. but your chest cracked open like a storm-bloated sky. bare feet in cold sand, silence thick around you, the voice mail still playing in your head on loop.

“you’re exhausting, you know that? i can’t keep doing this. no one else would, either.”

it’s funny, almost. or it would be, if it didn’t hurt so much. you hadn’t meant to get so attached to him. it was a friends with benefits relationship that went wrong. you started depending on him, reaching out for him in the night only to be met with cold sheets. he didn’t like that. he wasn’t rafe.

“you’re kidding me.” rafe’s voice rings through the silence. the sound of sand crunching becomes louder and louder. your breath stutters. you press your face harder into your arms.

he drops down beside you without ceremony, sneakers skidding in the sand, and suddenly the air smells like cologne and rafe cameron—your ex. your mistake, if you ask anyone else. your ache, if you ask yourself.

“who did this to you?” his voice cuts like glass. “why are you crying out here all alone?”

you don’t answer. you don’t trust your voice not to break again. so you sit there, breathing through the sting in your throat, the familiar ache of him being too close. he leans in, sharp and careful at the same time. that unbearable paradox of him. his hand ghosts your back like he wants to pull you in but isn’t sure if he should.

“tell me who it was,” he says again. lower now, quieter, dangerous. his hand wraps around your wrist, thumb stroking your skin. he fights the urge to intertwine his fingers with yours.

you shake your head. “it’s not important.”

“wrong,” he snaps, teeth clenched. “you’re crying. it’s important. whoever made you feel like this,” he takes in a sharp breath, “i swear to god, i’ll end them.”

your lip trembles. “you don’t get to do this anymore, rafe.” you pull your hand from his grasp and bury your face in your knees. he flinches. but doesn’t back off—he never has. he looks at you like you’re some kind of divine puzzle that he forgot how to solve.

“you think i stopped caring just ‘cause you broke up with me?” he says, voice thick. “sweetheart, that’s not how this works.”

the nickname lands like a bruise. it ignites a flame of memories—late night car rides, stolen kisses, sweet nothings in the sand of this very beach. it’s stupid how much you still want to fall apart in his arms.

you drag your eyes up to meet his. he looks wild. hair a mess, jaw tight, eyes burning, worried, like you’re still his to protect.

you say, “he said i’m too much.” rafe stills. his hand grips the sand beneath him. he stops breathing. “said i’m dramatic, selfish. that i make everything harder than it has to be.”

the silence that follows is thick and trembling. he’s frozen, staring at you like he might actually snap in two.

“what else?” his voice is soft. you remember that tone all too well. it’s the same one he’d use when you two used to call it love.

you hesitate, “that i don’t know when to shut up. that my feelings are exhausting.”

he shuts his eyes, breathing hard. he’s trying not to get up and track the guy down right now. “jesus,” he breathes, like a prayer or a curse. “jesus, baby.” rafe’s hand slides over yours, warm and comforting. he brushes his thumb over your knuckles like he’s trying to rub the words off your skin. “you’re not too much,” he says, looking at you like he wants to memorize every trace of sadness on your face just so he can erase it. “you’re exactly enough. always have been.”

you let out a shaky breath, something breaking in your chest. “you used to say that when i cried.”

“i meant it then and i mean it now.” his fingers move slow, tentative, like he’s scared you’ll pull away. “you think it was hard loving you? no, baby. what’s hard is trying not to loving you.” you want to look away, but he doesn’t let you. tilts your chin until your eyes meet his. “c’mon, i’ll bring you home.”

“no,” you stutter and the tears stream down once again. “he’ll be mad at me. if he finds out-”

“then i’ll bury him so deep that the tide won’t find him,” he grins, bumping your shoulder with his playfully.

you almost laugh. almost cry again, too. but then he pulls you into his chest, just long enough that your heart remembers what it feels like to be held by someone who never needed to be convinced you were worth the trouble.

he always made a mess of love, but he never made you feel like one.

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#nora’s writings 💐#rafe cameron #rafe cameron blurb #ex!rafe cameron #ex!rafe #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader

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yanderenightmare · 2 years ago

Text

♡ TW: NSFW, implied noncon, yandere, bondage, abuse, punishment, intense spanking/whipping-ish

♡ GN reader

“Please- plea- m’so- sorry-” you sob, voice cracking on its own blubbering. Chest full of panic—heaving for a fix but achieving little less than spurring even more hysteria.

“Haah…” he sighs. Casually fixing your bonds tighter around your wrists, hoisting them a little higher above your head until you were properly stretched up on your tippy-toes.

Shivering in just your undies in anxious wait of his anger.

Stroking your back while holding your belly in a steady hand, he thinks he’s never felt fear quite like it, but unfortunately, “Y’broke the rules, Sunshine… and now yer’ gettin’ punished.”

He unbuckles his belt. Your eardrums burn at the crisp sound, so much spiked blood rushing about, making you go dizzy.

You think you might pass out.

“What did I say the rules were, hm? ‘You remember ‘em?” he mumbles in a steady tone, speaking awfully softly with his lips pressed against your temple. Waiting for your answer.

You give a sob and a pitiful nod, and he hums in return, rubbing calm circles into your shivering, goose-fleshed skin.

“Recite them for me,” he requests, nose rubbing your hairline as you shiver from his touch.

Voice unsteady, filtered through tears and a hopeless sense of terror—chin tipped up, needing to gasp for breaths, “N-no fighting, no- no arguing, no run- running-”

“Mh…” he hums, taking in the scent of your shampoo with a sniff of your crown, placing a kiss there as though in kudos—or as a small mercy before getting started. “And you managed to do all three in one night. ‘You feel proud, hm? ‘You feel accomplished? Hm? Was it worth it?”

You whimper under the interrogation, feeling smaller and smaller by the second—so exposed where you are, practically hanging from the ceiling like dead meat. Stripped of everything that might’ve protected you—or that would have at least cushioned the coming onslaught of pain you knew to dread.

“Nah… it’s written all over your body. Goosebumps and cold sweat, shaking from tits to toes. You regret it, don’t you?” he murmured, winding his belt around his fist once, then twice, leaving a looped tail. “Mh, maybe you’ll think twice about it next time... or maybe you’ll finally learn your place.”

He finished with a soft bite to the chub of your cheek, then grabbed your chin just as gently, holding your face up to look at him as he sidestepped to your front. Leaning his forehead against yours, he stroked your jaw with his thumb—lips hovering just short of yours.

“I'm gonna hurt you, Sweetie,” he purred, stroking your asscheek with the cool leather in his grip—in such gross contrast to what you knew he planned on using it for. “I promised I would, and now I will…”

He kissed your lips then—slowly, sweetly, suffocatingly so as you cried—tasting your tears and doing a terrible job at withholding his grin as you felt it pull giddily at the corner of his mouth.

He licked his lips once he pulled away, walking a circle around you like a shark.

“How many hits do you deserve?” he mused. “I guess one for each rule you broke is fair, but it seems a little scant…”

He stopped behind you, placing a chaste kiss on your arm before nuzzling around it.

“Should we say thirty?” he offered, and your eyes immediately widened.

Shaking your head furiously, prayers already coming out in splutters, “No- please-”

“No? Too many?” he pouted, not bothering to mask his glee now. “Okay, okay, calm down, baby. Breathe,” he soothed with no effort. “I think…”

There was a pause—a hum of thought as he wrapped his arms around your front and swayed you back against his chest in a hug.

“Ugh fuck, I'm no good makin’ rules on the fly…” he feigned—sinking his jaw into the grove of your armpit before cuddling the soft flesh with his chin-stubble.

He sucked his teeth in a further display of thought before releasing an exasperated sigh.

“I really didn’t think you’d break ‘em, y’know? I thought you’d be a good pet…”

You trembled, eyes looking down at the belt held between his big hands—whimpering at the sight of him simply playing with it—psyching you out like a true sadist.

“But you just had to disappoint me, didn’t you?”

You bit your lip to stop a sob.

“Had to be difficult… and now I gotta make difficult decisions…”

He slinked off you, leaving you to wobble—toes barely grazing the cold basement floor.

You try your best to prepare yourself for the next events, but the more you brace yourself, the more tense you get and the harder you cry, “Please- I’ll be good- promise- m’real- really sorry-”

“I know, baby. I know~ I am, too,” he coos, kissing your spine while rubbing circles into your sides—feeling your ribs rattle with sniffles, struggling for air through your panic. “I wanna make sure we never have to be sorry again.”

He wraps an arm around the front of your hips, steadying you while stroking the loop of his belt over the plump of your cheeks—tentatively teasing the soft flesh with what was soon to come.

He licked his lips at the promise—already imagining the flawless flesh blooming with his marks.

“I think thirty is fair.”

“No- no please- please, don’t-” You thrash—but do so little more than in place.

“Don’t squirm,” he interrupts, his hand curling into your hip with blunt nails denting the fine skin, keeping you still, pushing your side snugly against his front—holding you intimately while gruffing out eerie murmurs still much too softly for what he was saying, “Remember, it’s another ten hits if you fight me and another ten if you argue.”

At least he doesn’t make you count....

You wouldn’t have been able to even under threat—too busy wailing.

Each hit like the lash of a whip, smacking you fast, one on top of the other. It’s enough to make you throw up after half of it—though it's mostly just water and acid.

He takes pity enough to allow you a small break. Wringing off his wife-beater and wiping your mouth with it—also brushing some of the sweat off your brow before kissing your forehead.

“Halfway there, Sweetie- you’re doing so good~” he whispered soothingly, holding your cheeks to pick your face up from hanging—looking into the hopeless look of your opium-blown eyes—so lost he didn’t know if you could even hear him.

He acts as though he’s sorry after, but the boner he’s got nudged against you doesn’t lie—desperately dry-humping your thigh for some sort of relief.

His breaths are tight and hot, puffed against your arm where he now mouths wet kisses. “Good-” he swallows thickly, brows tight-knit, voice thick with lust, “Good pet.”

You hadn’t noticed he was done. And the relief doesn’t register either. There isn’t much comfort in it to grasp, not with the pain still so numbingly intense that you can’t feel anything but the raw sting.

He drops the belt to the floor and struggles his fly open, shoving the trousers down along with his boxers, stepping out of the heap in a rush—all the while sucking sloppy kisses on your shoulder and nape, mumbling praise, “Y’were so good- so good fo’me- gonna reward yah- my good fuckin’ baby- gonna make yah feel so fuckin’ good now-”

The flesh of your ass burns with welts and split skin, ugly marks already lining the once-pretty color with horrid shades of bruise-dark. Your throat’s ripped raw from all the wailing—only weeping harder when he takes your hips and sways you back to meet his fat erection.

He shamelessly rubs himself between your cheeks—frenzied with his mouth gaping, releasing a filthy shuddering moan while leering at the beautiful sight of his handiwork—feeling so proud he was blushing just from sheer sadistic enjoyment—even letting slip a breathy laugh now.

He hung his tongue out and let his drool drip onto the shaft, then placed another kiss between your shoulder blades. Gliding his tip down and, with the help of a hand, pushed it between your cheeks until it caught your entrance.

A rugged groan blew hotly down your spine, and another cry was ripped from your chest as he sunk inside without a single spare second to waste.

He laid his face to rest against your back, nudging up inside you slowly with both arms wrapping around you like before—holding you snugly before he began the intimate pace, fucking only the deepest coziest parts of you.

“I love you, Sunshine- you’re mine- only one I give two shits about- rest can just fuck off for all I care- as long as I have you- right here… forever.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Kirishima, Dabi, Hawks, Aizawa, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Nanami, Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Kuro, Sakusa, Miya twins, Iwaizumi ♡ CSM – Aki ♡ BLLK – Reo, Isagi, Kunigami, Baro, Shido, Karasu, Aiku ♡ DS – Doma, Sanemi ♡ AOT – Zeke ♡ HxH – Feitan, Uvogin ♡ WB – Suo, Umemiya, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere smut #yancore #yandere bakugo #yandere kirishima #yandere dabi #yandere hawks #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere jjk #yandere haikyuu #yandere toji #yandere nanami #yandere geto #yandere demon slayer #yandere blue lock #yandere csm

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ssahotchnerr · 3 months ago

Note

this one is kinda angsty, but imagine Aaron and Reader are still kinda new (not even a year yet) and reader does something Hailey used to do all the time and Aaron (still grieving) just breaks down about it

-🗣️

flashbacks

aaron baby :( cw; fem!reader, established relationship, mentions of haley, references to the foyet arc, discussions of grief/death, food mentions, hurt to comfort <3, aaron cries :( wc; 1.4k

"Hi honey, welcome home."

"Hey," Aaron greeted you, confusion laced in his voice as his brows furrowed. "You're awake at this hour?"

It was about four in the morning, and the team had landed back in Quantico not even an hour ago. He had expected to come home to an asleep apartment, but found you fully awake, in the kitchen making something that smelled wonderful. Cinnamon, was it?

"Yeah, I couldn't sleep." You shrugged slightly, cracking an egg into a bowl and discarding the shell. "So I figured I'd make you a very early breakfast. I thought coming home to something warm would be nice." Glancing over your shoulder, you offered him a bright, kindhearted grin.

Aaron's mind immediately flashed to an image of Haley, the scene nearly identical. In her pjs, a dimly lit kitchen, the aroma of french toast drifting through the air. They'd both sit down to eat, Haley's lighthearted conversation pulling him from the case induced fog that always followed, until he felt like himself again. This was years ago, back when they were happy. Back before... everything.

It was like a smack to the face; the abruptness, the vividness, the grief took him completely by surprise. His whole upper body tensed up ; his chest was particularly tight, as if an exhale would break the barrier and a major flood would erupt.

"Aaron?" Your concerned voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"I'm not hungry."

That's not what he wanted to leave his mouth (he was also starving, in fact) but it was simpler. Horribly simpler by the look on your face that developed. Your expression dropped completely, cheeks warming from hurt and embarrassment.

You turned too late to hide it, beginning to tie up the bread. "Okay, that's fine."

"No that's not what I... shit." He mumbled under his breath, raising his hand to momentarily cover his face. Your wavering, not-sounding-like-you voice shattered his heart profusely more.

He was awful. Awful awful awful.

"It's no big deal, really," you insisted, your tone borderline high-pitched as you forced normalcy. "It was silly of me to assume-"

The very last thing he wanted was to push you away. To make you feel forgotten. Unwanted. In which from previous experience, he was evidently an expert in. He couldn't make the same mistake twice - he couldn't lose you too, by plain idiocy.

"Haley..." he began to explain, taking a deep breath and using it to open up the broken part of his heart - the one he purposely kept hidden away. He also didn't want to deny you any part of it; it was clear you loved him with all of yours, and you deserved to know all depths of his. "She used to do this for me whenever I got home from a case late."

Any short lived walls were dropped, and you faced him with slight horror, now fully aware of what you had done. "She did?"

Aaron met your eyes, nodding silently.

"I'm..." Lost for words, you urgently walked towards him, frazzled yourself. "I'm so, so sorry."

"You didn't know. I mean, how could you." Aaron shook his head, forcing an apologetic smile. He sat down at the table, his back hitting the chair defeatedly. "I didn't mean to be so harsh. It caught me off guard. I'm sorry sweetheart."

"I can only imagine." You dropped onto his lap, looping your arms around his neck. You felt horrible, greeting him with anguish rather than the warmth you had intended, especially after a long, grueling case.

"I didn't expect the memory to be so..." He searched for a word, ultimately failing as his chest rattled slightly.

"Grief is unexpected. It has its ways of sneaking up on you," you consoled softly. "It's okay."

"Yeah, but..." Aaron sighed, looking down with intent to gather his thoughts, if the deep line drawn in his eyebrows was anything to go by. Your fingers ran through the nape of his hair soothingly, an indication he could open up. You were here to listen.

"I feel bad grieving. As if I don't have the place to. I mean, I'm the reason she's well..." Dead. Even more images flashed through his mind, specifically ones of high school Haley: auditioning for Pirates of Penzance just to find the excuse to talk to her, the initial puppy love, the certainty they'd found their person. It made him sick to his stomach. She was so young, so full of life, and she made the deadly mistake of falling for him. "Not here."

"It's not your fault."

"I'm the one who-"

"No, you're not." As he raised his head to look at you, the tears he didn't know had escaped trailed down his cheeks. "Aaron, honey. That man," Your teeth clenched. You didn't want to say his name, knowing what he did to Aaron. The scars he caused, the very ones you saw Aaron glare at in the mirror while shirtless. The terror he caused Haley before taking her life. And Jack, too young to understand why he'd never see his mom again, "Is the only one responsible for what happened. You did everything you could."

"I let her down." He'd never forget Haley's voice during that phone call - the panic as she realized who she had encountered. He had failed her, he had failed to protect their family.

"No, you didn't. And in terms of the present too, you're still aren't." You breathed out softly, sympathetic. "Please, don't blame yourself. I know it's easy to, but it's unfair. And I'm certain Haley would agree."

You tightened your grip around him, pulling him closer with all your strength, as if doing so would alleviate some of his sadness. More than anything, you wished you could absorb some of his pain. You'd gladly take it and more, if that meant relief on his end.

And the two of you stayed like that for a while. Aaron pressed his face into your neck - savoring your warmth, your presence, that you were here with him. He never thought he'd find love again, let alone someone would love him. You were the sweetest miracle he could imagine.

"Thank you," he mumbled into your skin, closing his eyes.

"No need to thank me," Aaron pulled back as you spoke, opting to give you a kiss. "I'll always be here for you."

"I didn't mean to sound ungrateful before."

"I know you didn't," you graced him with another kiss. "And I understand. Moments like that will come and go, they most likely always will. I'm willing to help you through them."

He offered you a gentle smile, his sweet brown eyes relieved but sad.

You reached up, brushing back the cowlicks lazily draped over his forehead. "Tell me about her."

"Hm?"

The subject of Haley had never been forbidden - you wanted to keep her memory alive, for both Aaron and Jack. She played a huge part in both their lives, shaping who they had become. But you were always hesitant, not wanting to bring up the painful memories.

Aaron and yourself were a few days shy of your six month anniversary. But within that first month, in your heart you made her the promise to look after the two of them. You only hoped she somehow approved of you.

And talking openly about Haley could do wonders for him - helping the ongoing grieving process.

"Tell me about her." You used the pad of your thumb, to wipe away his stray tears. "Did she do it after every case?"

"Almost," Aaron chuckled, adjusting his seated position to get more comfortable, his hold on you not daring to lessen. "Sometimes my 'I'm almost home' message would wake her up, and she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep afterwards. I think that's what started it, but she also had trouble sleeping early on when I wasn't home." His thumb causally brushed against your hip bone as he reminisced. "Plus she would get on my ass for all the takeout I'd eat while away. She made sure to sneak some fruit onto my plate."

You couldn't help but laugh, offering an encouraging, soft smile. "She sounds sweet."

"Yeah..." Aaron sniffled lightly, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. There was a tenderness in his gaze, a warmth that wasn’t overshadowed by grief, but rather carried a sense of nostalgic, loving fondness; a ghost of the past. "She was."

"Tell me more." Before he could even begin, he was interrupted by a small grumble of his stomach. Your nose scrunched in amusement, a giggle escaping you. "Hungry?"

"Starving."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x fem!reader

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xoxolaw · 1 month ago

Note

Hi! Your writing is soo good, and your characterization of Seong-Je is so spot on that I’m in love!

I saw posts of another fandom quite a long time ago that wrote a series of characters and insecurities, so would it be okay to ask for a small fic of how Seong-Je would be with a much smaller/short reader? Since Seong-Je’s more on the rough and um… psycho (ahaha) side, I’d love to know how that contrast would work! thank you so much!💝

+ POCKET SIZED

in which Seong-je, all sharp edges and violent tendencies, finds himself completely undone by the tiny, stubborn girl who fits in his arms like she was made to be there.

Geum Seong-je x short!reader

fluff

From the moment Seong-je met her, he knew she was trouble—not in the knife-between-her-teeth kind of way he usually found thrilling, but something worse. She was small. Tiny, even. The kind of small that made him feel giant and dangerous, like the world had made her that size on purpose. Like someone, somewhere had looked at all the wreckage he’d left behind and said: Here. Try not to ruin this.

And God, how he tried.

But she was also mouthy. Stubborn. Soft in all the places he never thought he'd be allowed to touch. And every time she looked up at him with those wide eyes—chin barely brushing his chest—he felt like something inside him was cracking open, one hairline fracture at a time.

“You need a stool for that,” he said one evening, leaning in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, watching her struggle on her tiptoes.

She didn’t even flinch. “Or I could just climb you.”

He nearly choked on his drink.

She snagged the mug with a victorious little hum, only for Seong-je to pluck it effortlessly from her hands and hold it just out of reach.

“Seong-je!” she cried, flailing with mock betrayal. “Give. It. Back.”

“You started it,” he said smugly, holding the mug above her head like it was a crown.

She narrowed her eyes in challenge. “Give it back!!!"

She lunged. He dodged. She lunged again—and this time he caught her, one strong arm looped around her waist, lifting her clean off the ground like she weighed nothing.

She squeaked. “Put me down!”

“Say please.”

“No!!”

He smirked, holding her effortlessly with one arm while sipping from the mug with the other. “I could toss you over my shoulder right now.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, dipping his face close enough for her breath to catch, “wanna bet?”

---

Not everything between them was playful.

Some nights were quiet. Soft. The kind where the world felt too loud, and her shoulders curled in on themselves. Those were the nights she found her way into his lap—tiny knees tucked beneath her, fingers clutching his hoodie like an anchor.

He didn’t speak. Just held her tighter. Face buried in her hair. His hands spanning the small of her back like she might disappear if he let go.

“Do you ever wish you were taller?” he asked once, voice low, almost shy.

She blinked up at him, fingers playing with his drawstrings. “Sometimes. People take you more seriously when you don’t look like a misplaced library book.”

His brows knit together. “I like you small.”

“Yeah?” she teased, one brow arching. “You like having someone to reach the bottom shelf for?”

He snorted. “I like that you fit. Here.” His palm slid gently along her waist. “Like you were made to fit in my arms. Right there.”

Her breath caught. A smile bloomed slow and shy on her face.

“That was unfairly smooth.”

“I’m not smooth,” he mumbled. “I’m just losing it over you.”

---

There were harder nights, too.

Nights when he came home with bloodied knuckles, shadows in his eyes, and the world’s weight clawing at his spine.

He never said a word.

He’d collapse onto the floor, back against the wall like it was the only thing holding him up.

She didn’t ask questions.

She’d pad across the room in silence, climb into his lap, and curl herself against him like armor. Like warmth. Like a lifeline.

“You don’t have to talk,” she whispered against his jaw. “Just breathe.”

His fingers clutched at her shirt like a man lost at sea.

“I’m here,” she said. “I’m right here.”

And for the first time all night, he exhaled.

---

And then there were the moments where everything burned too hot to contain.

Where her hands threaded through his hair and his voice dropped low—dangerous and soft in the same breath.

“You’re so damn small,” he rasped, staring down at her, pupils blown wide with heat.

She crossed her arms with a defiant tilt of her chin. “I’m fun-sized.”

“You’re weaponized.”

She scoffed. “Says the guy who could bench press a motorcycle.”

“I wouldn’t need to,” he murmured, stepping in close, pinning her gently against the wall with the barest press of his body. “I could just pick you up and keep you.”

She tried to glare. Failed. Her breath hitched instead.

“Seong-je…”

His hand cupped the side of her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone. “You look at me like I’m not scary.”

“You’re not,” she whispered.

“I’m terrifying.”

She smiled. “Not to me.”

And when he kissed her—slow, deep, consuming—he was all restraint. He held her like he could break her. Like he wouldn’t dare.

---

Afterward, curled up on his chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over the lines of his tattoos, she whispered, “You’re not nearly as scary as you pretend to be.”

“I am scary,” he muttered.

She snorted. “You baby me in your sleep.”

“I what?”

“You tucked me in like a burrito last night.”

“Lies.”

“You also whispered, ‘mine’ and kissed my forehead.”

Seong-je buried his face in a pillow. “Stop.”

She giggled. “You’re soft.”

“You’re tiny. That’s different.”

“Is it?”

He peeked at her, sulky. “You’re lucky I like you this much.”

She grinned, kissing the tip of his nose. “You love me this much.”

“…Maybe.”

And she might’ve been small—palm-sized, pocket-sized, fun-sized—but somehow, she was the one who made a whole six-foot-something brawler melt like sugar in tea.

Seong-je didn’t know how she did it.

He just knew he’d never stop letting her.

---

AUTHOR'S NOTE + MASTERLIST

I hope you enjoyed this <33 I really think that he would be having constant cuteness aggression >.<

#fanfic #geum seong je #geum seong je x reader #geum seongje x reader #weak hero class two #weak hero x reader #weak hero webtoon #wolf keum

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emisluvr · 2 months ago

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jungwon w a daddy kink? ;3

oh my gahhh i see the vision.. i love this. (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝)

✧ tw. smut (18+ mdni!), rough sex, daddy kink, dirty talk

to many, jungwon wouldn’t look like the type to have a daddy kink — but in reality, it gets him so worked up. it makes him feel like he has full control over you, able to take care of you while absolutely fucking you dumb at the same time. and the fact that you’re his dumb little baby to play with? it drives him insane.

"d-daddy.. fuck!" your voice cracks as you cry out, hiccuping from the immense pleasure. you’re straddling his lap, arms looped tight around his neck while he pulls your chest against his, one hand holding your waist still as his hips snap up to fuck into you. his cock hits so deep, you swear you could cry.

"you’ve been wanting this all day, haven’t you?" he asks, voice soft but breathless, starting to lose his rhythm from how hard he’s working his hips. you nod quickly, just desperate for more, and start to move yourself instead—rolling your hips and continuing the pace he left off at. it’s slow, deliberate, brushing your sweet spot just right every time.

"mmh.. s-so good, daddy," you whimper, voice high and shaky. he lets his hand slide up to your tit, playing with the soft flesh before brushing his fingers over your sensitive nipple.

then he starts moving again, his hips jerking up as you sink down onto his cock, both of you falling into a rhythm — every time you lower yourself, he meets you with a deep thrust, hitting you just right. your moans spill out uncontrollably, hands tangled in his hair as you rock against him, tears pricking your eyes from how good it feels.

"aw, my baby’s all dumb for daddy now?" he coos, grinning against your skin. "can’t even think straight, can you?"

you try to shake your head, but the way his cock keeps kissing that spot inside you has you falling apart, little cries slipping past your lips as your body trembles in his hold.

#‎ ♡ ◞ 𝓲.#enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen hard hours #enhypen imagines #jungwon smut #jungwon x reader

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aetherraeys · 3 months ago

Text

hideaway

for this request x

sirius black x reader ⊹ 6.8k

cw ⟢ swearing, very toxic household, angsty, reader has a bad homelife, descriptions of panic attacks, hurt/comfort

summary: in your mind, home was home no matter what, and as much as leaving crossed you mind, it was never a real option, never something you could commit to. you'd learnt to be brave in a different way, through sacrifice and endurance. and it wasn't until one slip-up, one glimpse through a crack that sirius found out about your well kept secret.

a/n:...i just twisted the knife in myself WHY?? this is prolly my most angsty fic yet, cried three times. not proofread x

Everyone found their way. Moved on, living their lives comfortably—peacefully.

Everyone except you.

It’s like you missed the train. Standing on the platform in a terminated station—frozen, trapped—living the same days on loop over and over.

You had small moments of peace; fleeting, few and far between—but it was something. something to take you out of the relentless dark cloud that loomed over your home.

If you could even call it that.

It even burned you to admit how it truly made you feel—imprisoned, burdened. Part of you wished you could feel different about it, and some days you did.

And though they were rare, they were truly amazing, each room overflowing with joy and light—as if there had never been a second of despair between the walls.

Sometimes, it was hard to explain what made it so suffocating.

It wasn’t the shouting—not always. It wasn’t even the silence that came after, stretched so thin it felt like it might snap and slice your skin open. It was the way it changed—constantly, rapidly—until you couldn’t tell what was real anymore.

It was cruel, in a way. The house knew how to pretend. How to charm you into staying, to blur the sharp edges with just enough warmth to convince you it wasn’t always bad. That maybe you were the one making it worse, and the one keeping it together, all at the same time.

There were moments where everything felt fine. Better than fine, even. There’d be laughter echoing off the kitchen tiles, the faint smell of something sweet baking in the oven, sunlight pooling across the floor like warmth had always lived there. Someone would tousle your hair, call you darling, say how proud they were of you for something small and stupid—doing the washing up, remembering to take the bins out—just being around even.

In those moments, the house felt almost normal.

But peace never stayed long. It never stayed.

A single misplaced word could ruin everything. A look. A sigh. A silence that lingered just a second too long.

Suddenly, the temperature would shift. Like someone had sucked all the oxygen out of the room. The same mouths that had just praised you would twist into sneers. The eyes that once sparkled with love would turn sharp, empty, or worse—disappointed.

And it was always your fault. Somehow. Some way.

You should’ve said something. Or not said it. You should’ve known. Should’ve tried harder. Should’ve been better.

And once the mood turned, it didn't end in hours—it lingered for days. Weeks. Sometimes it felt like the bad would never end, caught in an endless storm that just kept circling, even when the sky looked clear.

Before going home, you learned to prepare. It became a ritual.

Standing outside the door, hand frozen over the knob. Breath caught in your throat. Shoulders tense, jaw clenched. You’d stare at the grain in the wood or rusted metal of the bell, counting backwards from ten like it would change anything, like it would miraculously make it more bareable.

The russian roulette of what version you were going to get.

Maybe it would be the loving one. The one who called you precious and kissed your forehead and begged you to believe they were trying. The one who cried in your arms after yelling too much, whispering “I don’t mean to hurt you, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I’m just...tired.”

Or maybe it would be the other one. The version that needed someone to blame—someone to tear down so they didn’t have to feel so small. And you were always within reach.

It was like being whiplashed by affection.

One moment, you were too much. The next, you were everything.

And you knew, in your heart, that they loved you.

But they also burned. And when the fire started, you were always the one left singed.

They hated themselves for it—told you that often. Said you were the only one who understood, the only one who stayed. And you held them. Every time. Because that was the part that hurt the most: you wanted to help them. Even as they broke you. Even when your chest felt hollow and your hands shook.

You learned to read the room like a map of landmines. Learned which words to avoid, which tones to use, when to keep your head down and when to nod, to agree, to thank them for their cruelty as if it were a gift. Because sometimes it came with a kiss on the head or a rare, fragile I love you.

You couldn’t leave.

Not because you weren’t desperate to.

But because the entire house felt built on your presence. Like the walls would collapse without you, someone needed to carry it all—and you did. Every single day. Without asking for help. Without complaining.

Because how could you justify saving yourself when they were still drowning?

Passing moments of peace kept you head somewhat above water, it was easier to pretend when you were with them—your friends—dulling the neverending whoosing ring of your heartbeat in your ears and the weighty pressure of your own thoughts.

Just slightly.

You’d laugh along, smile widely when expected. Hug back and sway along with each easy, warm embrace.

And sometimes, in those short-lived, temporary moments of solace—you’d indulge yourself, allow yourself to believe it.

When James would throw you over his shoulder with loud barking laughter, when you and Lily would spend hours lounging on the sofa, nonsense conversation filling the room, or when Remus would drap his arm over your shoulders—you could feel weightless. Safe.

But those moments always ended.

And when they did, you’d find yourself drifting. Zoning out in the middle of a conversation. Watching James and Remus banter across the room, listening to Regulus hum absently to himself while reading, or Sirius—loud, beautiful Sirius—throwing his head back in a laugh so real it cracked something open in your ribs.

And the ache would start.

That slow, creeping anxiety that curled its way up your spine like frost. A sadness so soft and sharp you couldn’t explain it. The kind that whispered: This will end. This peace isn’t yours to keep.

You almost envied them—quietly, desperately.

Not just because they were happy—they’re happiness was your only escape, only taste of normality in your wharped, upturned daily combat. But because they’d all chosen to be. Sirius and Regulus had walked out of the same kind of fire you were stuck in, years and years before the idea even crossed your mind, and they didn’t look back

They had each other.

Sometimes, you wanted to Sirius. Tell any of them. But the words never came, getting caught on the lump that forms in your throat at the mere thought at opening up. And you trusted them—with your life—but they’d already escaped. They’d clawed their way into the light. You couldn’t drag them back into the dark for your sake-you couldn’t taint what they’d built with your shadows. So you kept it to yourself.

You bore it in silence. Let it hollow you out.

The first time Sirius really noticed, it wasn’t because of something you said.

It was more because you weren’t saying anything.

Sirius noticed it the first time when you were sitting at the edge of the couch, surrounded by warmth and noise and comfort, yet entirely apart from it. Your shoulders were stiff, posture too still to be at ease, your eyes fixed on nothing in particular—swimming with a dejected sort of melancholy that seemed to drag your whole presence down like an anchor.

All sprawled across the living room with mugs in hand, a record spinning lazily in the background. Conversation hummed around you, warm and full, but you barely blinked. You sat curled in on herself, tucked into the far corner of the couch like you were trying to disappear into it. Eyes dull, distant. Fingers pressed so tightly into the palm of your hand that Sirius could see the tremor across your knuckles, and the skin by your thumb was raw, scratched and pinched like a nervous tic left to fester. It was a small glimpse—accidental, unmasked—of something Sirius couldn’t name but knew wasn’t right.

It was like looking at someone underwater.

He watched you from the seat opposite, brow slightly furrowed, worry pressing lines into his face. And then Lily came around, all bright eyes and warmth, with a cup of tea held out toward you and a gentle hand on your shoulder. You blinked, startled, your body jerking almost imperceptibly before you looked up at her, and in the span of a heartbeat, the wall slammed back up.

You smiled—too quick, too practiced—and took the tea with a murmured thanks. Sirius could see the way you tried to shake it off, tucking your hands beneath the throw pillow in your lap, casting your gaze downward with a practiced tilt of your lips. But he saw it, always saw you.

He didn’t miss the performance.

The second time, it was during a seemingly harmless spat between James and Marlene. Something inconsequential—voices raised, tones sharp and clipped but still laced with the air of playfulness. No one else batted an eye.

Except you.

You’d gone still again, your fingers twitching faintly like you were reaching for something—some invisible thread to tug the tension down. Your eyes darted back and forth between them, wide and alert, chest rising too quickly for what the situation called for. And then, without a word, you slipped away into the kitchen.

Sirius waited a beat, ignoring the puzzled look on Remus’ face, trailing after your absences, heart tightening.

You were hunched over the sink when he found you, your hands gripping the ceramic edge so tightly your knuckles were white. Forcing the lump in your throat down with a laboured swallow—ears filled with a dreadful high pitched ringing that made your head spin.

Trying desperately to at least be discrete—avoid detection, because now really wasn’t the time for this. You were trying to breathe—he could tell—but it was shallow, uneven, a tremor threading through every exhale. Your shoulders trembled, your head bowed, and he could hear the faintest sound of numbers being whispered under your breath.

“Y/N,” he called softly.

You didn’t react.

He stepped closer, cautious, watching you closely. He could hear the shuddering breaths now, the way your voice cracked on the number seven, like your lungs were collapsing inward. “Y/N,” he tried again, a little louder.

Still nothing.

Coming around your side, ducking his head down to catch a glimpse of your face, eyes screwed shut tightly, brows pinched high on your forehead. He reached out, hand tentative as it landed on your shoulder. You jumped—nearly recoiled, entire frame jerking as you tried to flinch away from his touch. Sirius immediately withdrew, holding his hands up between you like a surrender.

“It’s just me,” he said, gently. His voice was quiet but firm, grounding. “Just me.”

Your eyes were wide, glassy, rimmed red. Panic painted across your face in strokes Sirius had never seen on you before, and it made something in him crack.

He slowly took your hands, still trembling at your sides, coaxing them away from the tight curl of your fists. “Look at me,” he murmured. “Just me, alright?”

He guided your hand to his chest, letting you feel the steady beat of his heart. “Breathe with me, yeah?”

It took a moment—didn’t speak, didn’t nod, but your breathing started to shift—still shallow, but not so frantic, breathing just barely evening out, He walked you backwards gently, step by step, until the kitchen door opened behind you, the air brushing cool against your skin, subdueing the flush that burned under your skin ever so slightly.

“Come on. Let’s get some fresh air,” he suggested softly, guiding you to the bench in the garden.

You still hadn’t said a word—curled up, knees to your chest, arms wrapped around yourself. Fingers picked absently at the skin of your thumb, scratching with a quiet urgency that made Sirius reach out again, covering your hand with his.

And though your face was no longer twisted and scrunched in panic, its replacing expression had Sirius feeling no more comforted; the vacany in your eyes, the way you were scrunched into the corner, taking up as little space as physically possible. Scooting closer to you cautiously, his warmth washing over you in slow swathe, silence stretching between you.

“Are you okay?” his voice was quiet, careful.

It was too fast—too easy, the wa you nodded, not able to look at him. Gaze focused on an unimportant slab of concrete.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” he said, his thumb brushing slow circles over the back of your hand.

Another nod, a shorter silence gracing you.

Before you stood up abruptly, muttering something about needing to go, moving faster than Sirius could process. Words only computing when he heard your short excuse and rushed goodbyes to the others.

He followed you in, quiet in his pursuit, waiting until the living room door closed before he rush his endless flow of questions—why you were leaving, if you were alright. You waved them off, pulling your shoes on with hurried hands, pulling on your coat—swift to escape.

“Just need to go,” you said.

And Sirius stopped you at the door, stepping out onto the road with you, voices and laughter from inside barely audible through the cracked front door, now a distant hum.

“Are we not going to talk about what just happened?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” completely dismissive, voice pinched.

Sirius scoffed, disbelief cracking through his voice, frustration creeping in. “There’s plenty to talk about. And don’t lie to me—I know when you’re lying.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, voice sharper now, almost defensive. “Go back inside.” inching further down the path, putting a small distance between you.

“I’m just worried, alright? I’ve never seen you like that, you were shaking—.”

You huffed, turning your back to him, cutting him off. “—Sirius, I’m fine. Just drop it.”

Trailing away from him, walking down the driveway to the main road in hurried steps, and he was moving after you before he realised, instinctively reaching out, stopping you with with the soft pull of his hand around your wrist, his desperation seeping out, words adopting a pleading tone.

“At least let me drop you home—”

“No.”

The response was immediate, not even a second after his voice had uttered the words, home. So sharp, too much like a command, tone foreign to both your ears, voice cracked at the edges, panicked—raw.

He stopped, hands slipping from where they’d held you, palms raised. Your was breathing fast again, shoulders twitching with effort to stay composed, whole body ridged as though you were bracing yourself.

“Y/N…” he said your name like it hurt. And it did. Seeing you like this, curled in on yourself—it hurt in a way he hadn’t expected. And he stepped tentatively towards you, his approach so painfully careful—as if he was closing in on an injured animal, like he was fearful of scaring you away. You still wouldn’t look at him, but he could see it—that same dread swimming in your eyes and it made his stomach lurch.

“I’m sorry. I just want to make sure you’re okay. That you get home safe.”

With a shake of your head, you voice was quiet, hollow—“Don’t be sorry. I’m fine—I promise. Goodnight, Siri,”

And then you was walking away before he could stop you, the night swallowing your figure whole, shadow stretching before it vanished under the dull streetlights. His throat was painfully dry, the way you said his name, it lacked all aspects of you. Void of all warmth and wary, your empty words—promise—sounding too much like a lie for his liking.

Sirius stood there for a long time, the front door cracked open behind him—frozen on the pavement. A quiet ache twisted in his gut, cold and heavy as he pushed down the urge to chase after you. Brows furrowing further—tightly on his forehead as a small reality dawned on him.

He wouldn’t even know where to start.

He’d never been to your house, in all the years of knowing you, loving you, being your friend, he’d not once even seen the road you lived on, what your area looked like, what you went home to.

Stepping back inside the house where everything buzzed and thrived in his absence, settling solemnly into his seat—leg bouncing while he droned out the chatter around him—endlessly racking through his brain, almost spiralling.

Sighing as he tried to pinpoint just one time you’d spoken about your family, your home, something soild—real. But he couldn’t, not one detail. Not one word—throat tightening under the weight of his discovery, under the shame he felt.

It could be nothing, could be something—could be what he hoped and prayed it wasn’t. And now, he couldn’t stop replaying every second of what just happened, feeling sick to his stomach almost, scolding himself over and over. For not asking. For not realising. For not knowing for sure that you were okay.

The walk home was long, so long your feet burned in your shoes, hands tucked firmly into you coat pocket, fiddling with a loose string—the night’s biting wind had your ears burning. But you needed it—the time, the solitude. Watching the half-moon with a lonely eye, your only company until you reached your driveway.

Hesitating before you twisted the key, counting down slowly, fingers trembling and palms sweaty. Its been bad recently, the worst its been in a while; lasting especially long. And it had you on edge all the time, hands twitching around the door handle—and it was eerily silent.

You swallowed thickly, slipping off your shoes as silently as physically possible—treading up the stairs, recoiling under each whine and creak of the steps.

It felt like a short forever before you reached the top of the stairs and pausing, chest tight, fingers still wrapped in that string from your coat pocket. You didn't let go. You couldn't. That fraying thread was the only thing tethering you in the moment—something to anchor you before you crossed the threshold into your room.

The door clicked shut behind you with the softest sound, but it still made you wince. You stood in place for a second, maybe two—waiting. Listening. Hoping you hadn’t drawn attention, it was better this way—waiting for the storm to pass silently, with as little interaction as possible.

Looking down at your hands—red and raw from where you’d scratched them earlier, the skin near your thumb scabbed over. You picked at it without thinking. It was a habit you hadn’t even realised had gotten worse until Sirius noticed. You didn’t want him to notice. You didn’t want anyone to see the parts of you that were unravelling.

You curled up under the thin blanket on your bed, still in your clothes, pulling your knees to your chest. The silence wasn’t comforting anymore. It was just waiting for the next blow, the next explosion over the miniscule. And you lay awake like that for hours, flinching at every floorboard creak downstairs, eyes wide open in the dark, unable to find peace even in sleep—your pulse disruptive and invasive in your ears.

It was cruel, the way you felt trapped in your own space, in your own skin, folding in on yourself.

The look on Siriur’s face flashing behind your eyes—pleading, concerned. But you couldn’t drag him into this. He had escaped his own hell. He didn’t deserve to be tethered to someone else’s.

You turned over, burying your face in your pillow, holding your breath until your ribs ached. Truly forsaken—not even granted the small mercy of peace when with your friends—tainted with subsequent aftermath, the risidual burn from the scorching fire of your house.

Dinner was meant to be a break.

A breath of fresh air after two long, suffocating weeks. You had told yourself that over and over again while getting ready—while dabbing concealer beneath eyes sunken from too many nights spent awake. You’d smiled at your reflection in the mirror like you were rehearsing for a play. Even your voice, when it left your mouth, felt unfamiliar. Bright. Effervescent. Someone else's.

But the truth was your bones ached with exhaustion.

Two weeks passed. You hadn’t slept properly in days.

Maybe it was the walking-on-eggshells routine, the volatile rhythms of home. Maybe it was the internal noise that never seemed to stop—gnawing at the walls of your brain, keeping your body tired and your mind too wired to rest. You weren’t really sure anymore.

Your appetite had long since vanished. Food sat like lead in your stomach now—you hadn’t eaten all day, but the idea of it made your stomach lurch. The energy it took to just sit there—smiling, nodding, pretending—was all-consuming. The world felt too loud. Every clink of a glass. Every laugh. Every shifting of silverware scraped against the edges of your nerves.

Sitting at the restaurant table, smile wide, voice artifically light. You even laughed once or twice, chiming into the conversations with a manufactured sort of brightness. But it never reached your eyes.

But your posture was a little too perfect. Your hands too still in your lap—firmly pressed to your thighs so you wouldn’t give yourself away. Because the minute you let them move, they’d be scratching. Picking. Clawing. The skin at the base of your thumb already bore the quiet story of weeks spent fending off invisible monsters.

Sirius was watching you—he hadn’t looked away once in the past twenty minutes.

You could feel his eyes, a constant presence weighing on your shoulders. It was suffocating. He saw everything—every fake smile, every too-long blink, every glance downward as you recalibrated your mask.

And he wasn’t the only one watching anymore.

Regulus had clocked it too. His eyes didn’t leave you for long. The weight of their observation heavy on your shoulders—brothers with matching glares of concern—watching you across the table. Quiet. Calculating. Waiting.

It made your chest constrict.

So you excused yourself. Bathroom. You even smiled when you said it, tossing out a breathy little laugh to sell the illusion, leaving your phone on the table without thinking.

First mistake.

The bathroom was cool, mercifully quiet. You weren’t even gone for five minutes—fingers gripping the edge of the sink, letting your head fall forward. Gone just long enough to take just one breath. One single breath that didn’t feel like you were underwater.

When you returned to the table, something in the air had shifted.

Sirius had your phone. He wasn’t looking at it—not really. But he was holding it like it had burned him. The screen still lit up with missed calls. Texts. All from the same contact. Dozens of them. You felt the blood drain from your face.

Sirius didn’t look at you. Not directly. But you felt the flicker of his gaze as your expression fell—just a millimeter, just enough to crack the mask you’d so carefully painted on.

You forced another smile. Another hollow laugh. “I’ll just—step outside for a second,” you said, tone light, like your hands weren’t trembling at your sides.

He watched you slip out the back exit of the restaurant, disappearing into the alley. And the moment the door clicked shut behind you, you thumbed through your notifications and hit the call button.

It didn’t even ring once.

The voice on the other end was sharp. Cold. Punishment. Words hurled at you with precision and force, too fast for you to defend yourself. You tried anyway—murmuring apologies, soft placating words. Recoiling instinctively, holding the phone a few centimeters away from your ear as the berating began.

It wasn’t a conversation. It never was. Just a torrent of demands, accusations, complaints. Ech time you tried to get a word in, it only escalated the volume. Pacing the small space, like that might somehow drain the pressure building in your chest. Head bowed in shame—lump settling familiarly in your throat—one arm wrapped tightly around your torso, the other fiddling compulsively with the raw patch of skin by your thumb, picking until it bled.

Sirius cracked the back door open quietly. He’d lasted three minutes before excusing himself under the pretence of a smoke.

You didn’t even see him.

Didn’t hear him call your name quietly as he stepped into the alley.

But he heard everything.

The voice on the other end of the phone was loud even from a distance. Not the words, just the tone—loud and sharp enough that it cut through the quiet evening air. He watched the way you winced, head ducking as though the volume alone could bruise you—the way you flinched—physically leaned away from the device pressed to your ear. How your body shrank into itself as though trying to disappear. His stomach turned.

When you finally saw him, you froze.

He looked furious—hurt. And you backed up, instinctively shielding him from the sound, from your shame, from the bile being spilled into your ear, from the chaos bleeding through the tiny speaker.

The call ended after another five minutes, your voice small and desperate: “Yes, I understand. I’ll be home soon. I’m sorry—I’ll fix it.”

Silence followed. The kind that rang louder than shouting.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

A few long moments passed before your lips parted to say something, anything, but he cut you off, sharper than he meant to be; “Don’t—lie to me.”

It made the air in your throat catch, a grimancing frown pulled at the corners of your mouth as your eyes slipped shut, forcing a breath through your nose. His tone stung, the simmering anger in his voice almost too much—take a second to push down the urge to breakdown right then and there. Already on edge.

Sirius’s face immediately softened. He took a deep breath, correcting his tone before he spoke again, “I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry. Please…just talk to me.” Lips curving into a frown when he stepped closer to you, and in return you back away slightly.

Your voice came out flat, strained, as you shook your head. “Can we not do this right now?”

And he runs a hand roughly through his hair, feet twitching in the ground, desperate to reduce the distance between you, he tried to keep the soft tone of his voice, regulate his emotions not just for your sake, exhaling hard. “If not now, then when? You’ve been holding this in for God knows how long. It’s not fair—just let me help you.”

“I don’t want your help,” you said quickly, too quickly. “I can handle it.”

His eyes widened. “Handle it?” he repeated, voice laced with disbelief. “You’re not handling anything—this isn’t handling it. This is barely surviving.”

“I don’t need you to rescue me, Sirius,” tone rising. “Not everyone gets to run away,” you snapped, the words out before you could stop them.

Your voice cracked, sharp and cutting, and his mouth fell open, recoiling like you’d hit him.

“Do you even hear yourself?” he asked bitterly, stepping closer. “You think this is normal? That panic attack you had at James and Lily’s?” He didn’t even notice the climbing volume of his voice, the abrasive tone his words took as he stepped further into your space—stopping just out of arms reach.

“That twenty-minute verbal assault on the phone?! That’s not normal?! That’s not love!”

His words ricochetted off the brick walls that surrounded you, loud and booming. It had you staggering a step back until your back hit the cold wall, like you were trying to disappear into it. Breathing turned jagged—short breaths that never made it out again. Eyes screwed tightly shut.

Hands came up instinctively in surrender, shoulders tensing, chest heaving.

Sirius’ heart cracked, all air punching out of his lungs—eyes glossy as he watched you shake.

You flinched away from him.

Sirius reeled, instantly stepping back. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry,” he breathed, hands held out in front of him like he was warding off a wild animal. “I didn’t mean—fuck, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

But you couldn’t hear him. Not properly. The ringing in your ears was deafening, pressing your trembling hand to your mouth, trying to breathe, but your chest was tightening like a vice—vision blurring. The only sound filling the backroads were his slow, cautious footsteps closer, eacch pitched shallow fight for breath accompanying.

And your hand came out infront of you, as if to keep him away, trembling and outstretched like a shield between you and him—an unspoken plea for space.

But your breathing was no longer steady. It had unraveled completely, fractured into desperate, choking gasps, each one more strained than the last. Your chest rose and fell in stutters, panic carving hollows into your ribs, lungs too tight to hold even the shallowest breath.

Sirius froze, his heart in his throat at the sight of you unraveling in front of him. But then—slowly, carefully—he edged forward, hands open, voice impossibly gentle as he murmured your name over and over again like a prayer. Like the sound of it alone might bring you back to yourself.

“Hey, hey—breathe with me,” he whispered, voice steady even as panic swelled in his chest. “Just breathe. In. And out. Come on, love, with me.”

And something about his tone—low and sure, threaded with a kind of fragile desperation—broke through the haze. Hands latched onto him like you were drowning. He cradled your head to his chest, murmuring affirmations, stroking your hair. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re alright. Just breathe.”

You did your best to listen. To match the rhythm of his breathing, to follow the rise and fall of his chest, to drown out the echo of everything else.

And eventually, your gasps turned into shaky, stuttered breaths. Still uneven. Still fragile. But breaths, nonetheless.

Sirius held you for a moment longer, just breathing with you, hands never leaving your skin—afraid that if he let go, you might disappear altogether.

“Do you want to go back inside?” he whispered, voice barely audible.

You shook your head. “I have to go.”

His brows drew together. “You’re not serious—you're not going back there.”

“They need me,” you said quietly, still not looking at him.

“Y/N, they’re hurting you.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You just stepped away—untangling yourself from his arms, slipping from his grasp with quiet finality.

And all he could do was watch—stood there, helpless, in that dark alley as you walked away.

The ghost of you still in his arms, the ghost of you pressed into his chest lingered, carved into his memory like a wound. His lungs ached. His eyes burned. His heart—he wasn’t sure he still had one. It had followed you down the street, scattered in broken pieces behind you.

The back door swung shut behind him. Inside, laughter echoed. Warmth spilled from the lights and the soft hum of conversation. But Sirius felt none of it. Just the sting of cold night air and the bitter ache of the knowledge that you were suffering.

The following days were unbearable for Sirius. He tried to keep himself distracted—he really did—but every time he sat down, his eyes would flick to his phone. And when there wasn’t a notification lighting up the screen, he’d pick it up anyway, tapping to refresh the messages you hadn’t answered.

He called you more than he’d admit—morning, midday, evening. Sometimes just to leave voicemails: “Hey, just checking in… again. Let me know you're okay, alright? Please.”

But you rarely answered. When you did, it was always the same. Vague assurances, soft and distant: I'm fine. Don’t worry.

But Sirius did worry. Constantly. He couldn't help it.

He found himself wandering the halls of Grimmauld Place like a ghost, distracted and irritable. The silence echoed louder than anything else, and it left him pacing the creaking floorboards of Grimmauld Place, heart thudding with unease. He hovered by the fireplace more than once, fingers twitching with the urge to call Kreacher to search for you—just to know you were somewhere, breathing, safe. But he didn’t. He didn’t want to breach your trust, even if it cost him his peace of mind.

Then came the silence.

By the third day, his calls stopped going through altogether. Messages went unread.

Not even a "seen." Just nothing.

Not even the hollow comfort of your voice. And that silence drove him mad. Rain lashed against the windows that evening, dark clouds crawling across the sky like bruises spreading. A storm had rolled in and so had the panic in his chest. Something was wrong. He knew it. Felt it deep in his bones.

You were just making dinner when it happened.

Standing quietly at the stove, stirring, trying to stay invisible. But they came in, heavy-footed and already brimming with rage. The moment the door swung shut behind them, it all snapped. And you barely had time to brace yourself before their voice exploded through the kitchen.

“Useless. Just fucking useless. Can’t even stand the sight of you anymore—GET OUT. OUT!”

You didn’t move right away. You stood still, spoon hanging limply from your hand, staring at the bubbling pot like it might anchor you in place. But then you set it down gently. Shoes. Jacket. Phone. That’s all you took.

And then you walked. No direction. Just away.

The sky wept with you as you wandered aimlessly, soaked to the bone, your skin ice-cold and trembling. Hours seemed to pass—or maybe it was minutes. The line blurred in your exhaustion. Your eyes were bloodshot, swollen, throat raw from holding in sobs that still found their way out. And then, as if your legs had decided for you, you found yourself standing at the foot of Grimmauld Place. It loomed tall and dark, but it wasn’t scary.

It was familiar.

Safe.

Your hands were trembling so violently it was hard to hold the phone, your fingers fumbling until Sirius’ name was highlighted in green. The rain relentless, soaking through every layer of clothing, your skin burned from the cold.

Staring up at the steps for a long moment before lifting your phone with shaking hands, battery hanging on its last breath.

The call connected on the first ring. “Y/N?” His voice cracked with urgency. “Y/N?! Where are you—?”

But you couldn’t speak.

The only thing he heard was the storm. The rain pouring and your soft, broken sobs tangled in its rhythm. He was already moving, phone clutched tight to his ear.

Sirius didn’t hesitate. He was out the door in seconds, shoelaces untied, jacket forgotten, his voice cracked, “I’m coming, I’m coming—just hang on, alright?” as he threw open the door, leaving it wide open as he raced outside into the storm.

But there you were. Just at the bottom of the steps, a ghost in the rain. He froze for a moment, heart seized in his chest at the sight of you—drenched, shaking, hollow-eyed and utterly broken. He didn’t hesitate after that.

Rushing down, wrapping his arms around you, whispering your name like it was the only thing he knew how to say. You didn’t resist. You didn’t speak. You just leaned into him, letting your head fall to his shoulder as he half-dragged, half-carried you inside.

The warmth of the house hit you like a wave, but it didn’t reach you. Sirius took your coat off with trembling hands, calling Kreacher in a voice tight with urgency. The elf vanished to prepare a bath as Sirius led you to his room, cradling your shivering body with care.

You stood motionless, silent tears accompanying the drips from your clothing on the rug—barely there. He fetched a towel, wrapped you in it, pulling you gently into his arms again as you finally hiccuped out, “Didn’t know where else to go.”

He cradled your head gently, resting his chin there, whispering.

“It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re with me now. You’re home, yeah? You’re home.”

You didn’t nod, just let him hold you, your body trembling in his embrace. When the bath was ready, he guided you there slowly, his hand on your back like a tether, steady and warm. You let him undress you like a doll, mechanical and unresponsive, let him wash your hair with careful fingers, his touch delicate, reverent—like if he was too rough, you might shatter completely.

Afterwards, he dressed you in his clothes, gently guiding your arms through sleeves, pulling the jumper down over your head. You sat where he put you, legs curled under you on the sofa, barely blinking.

He brought food—warm, nourishing—but the moment the smell hit you, your stomach turned. Your hand shot up to your mouth, eyes watering with a lurch of nausea. Sirius reacted instantly, waving the food away, concern etched deep in the lines of his face.

He brought you back to his bed, wrapping you up in the thick duvet, curling himself around you like a barrier against the world.

You barely registered when the door knocked gently and Regulus stepped inside, a mug of tea in hand. He said nothing, just handed it over with a soft look, his concern etched in the way he lingered before retreating.

Sirius coaxed you to sit up, holding the cup near your lips, voice tender. “Just try, yeah? Please.” Palm warm against your spine, making small soothing circles of encouragement, eyes pleading before he continue

“You haven’t eaten or drank anything since you got here. Just a sip. For me.”

A long pause. And then, finally, you nodded. The smallest motion. He let out a quiet sigh of relief and helped you sip slowly, one hand around yours to keep the mug steady.

When you finished, he set the cup aside and pulled you back into his chest, wrapping the duvet around the two of you like a cocoon. You were shivering again, even under the warmth, so he rubbed soft circles into your back.

“You’re so brave, you know that?” lips brushing your temple as he spoke softly. “You’ve been so strong for so long. But it’s okay now. You don’t have to go back. Not ever. You’re staying here. With me.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, he thought you’d slipped into sleep—until the first shake.

That was when you broke—really broke. Not violently. Not loudly. Just a soft, unraveling cry that soaked into his shirt, your fingers weakly clutching the fabric, your breath hitching in little sobs you couldn’t control. He held you through it all, his own eyes stinging.

“So tired, Sirius.”

His throat closed. A sharp, painful tug in his chest.

“I know, love.” he murmured, kissing your temple with trembling lips. “It’s okay. I’ve got you now. Just close your eyes. You’re safe here. You can rest.”

The rain still whispered outside, but within Grimmauld Place, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself fall into sleep.

And Sirius stayed awake long after you’d gone quiet, holding you like you were the only thing tethering him to this earth—because maybe you were.

He pressed one last kiss to your temple, letting his eyes slip shut.

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rin-may-1103 · 1 year ago

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Badger Day Au (part two)

Previous | Master Post | Next

"Fourteen?" Aquaman repeats, turning his chair to face Danny. "Fourteen what? Days, weeks, months?"

Flash hissed like he was in pain, "Please don't say it's been fourteen months!"

Danny trailed his eyes away from the ceiling, away from the bothersome crack, and toward the single window in the room. He could just barely make out the Cassiopeia constellation. Its distinct W shape winked and flickered, drawing up a memory from a few loops into this whole mess. Tucker had wanted to comfort him, seeing as Danny had just broken down crying over how frustrated he was with everything.

The Ghost of Cassiopeia. Also known as IC 63, about 550 light years away.

A giant cloud of dust and gas. A nebula. Its ethereal glow reminded people of spirits they would see in haunted houses or fields. So they called it the ghost of Cassiopeia.

But it wasn't a ghost, it's simply hydrogen that's been bombarded with ultraviolet radiation from the nearby star. A blue giant called Gamma Cassiopeiae. It's also known as the center of the constellation. The light from the blue giant makes the majority of the nebula glow a vivid red. The blue around the edges is just light reflected off the dust within.

Tucker had joked that Danny should try and see how far he could get before the loop restarted. See if he could even get past Jupiter. Danny had just snorted and brushed his suggestion off. What was the point when he should be spending his time trying to fix the loop?

About six years in, Danny had given up and tried.

Eight months he had spent flying. He got further and further out into the void, surrounded by darkness and the beautiful stars in the distance to guide him. He never managed to make it past Pluto before he was brought back.

"Years," Danny confessed, his eyes still trained on the faraway stars.

"YEARS!?!" Superman cried, standing up so fast his chair was sent flying into the wall. Danny glanced back up at the crack, watching as it grew just a little larger, plaster dust sprinkling down like freshly fallen snow.

Sighing, Danny sat up and stared at the group. How many times has he had this conversation? How many times was he going to explain what was happening? How many times was he going to wake up in his bed just to restart all over again?

"Years," Danny repeated, "Fourteen years. Like I said, I've tried everything."

They sat in silence for a moment, just digesting his situation. Batman was standing still, his fists clenched tightly. Superman looked faint like he would pass out. Flash looked devastated.

Wonder Woman leaned forward, her brows furled in confusion, "Were you cursed, young one?"

"No, I checked. You checked. Heck, even Zatanna and Constantine have checked. I'm not cursed." Danny grumbled, slumping down to rest his head on the table.

He wanted to go home. He wanted to just curl up and sleep for the next however long. Wanted to hug Jazz and cry about how unfair it all was. Wanted to curl into his mother's side and cling until she made it all better. Hide behind his father until he knew it was safe.

but he couldn't.

Something always happened when he tried. If he stayed home from the very beginning of the day, the league would call him over and over again, convinced he was needed for the case Batman had. They even sent Flash over a few times just to search the city to drag him to the meeting.

(He was happy they hadn't figured out his civilian identity yet, but man was it hard to watch as Flash stuck his face into every nook and cranny around town yelling his name. Danny's lost count of how many times the man got overshadowed.)

If he managed to convince them that he was in a loop, then they found it would be safer for him to stay up on the watchtower. where they could keep an eye on him while searching for a way to break it.

Or, if he managed to convince them he was sick or something and they left him alone, Vlad would start acting up. Jack would call him on the phone to cancel Maddie's meeting with him because Danny was 'sick'. If he convinces Maddie to go and stay home with his dad, then Jack somehow opens the portal long enough for one of his rogues to slip through.

It just never ends. Everything he's tried ends with him having to go ghost and fight. The calmest day he's managed to have ended with Box ghost blasting the portal doors open so he could give him a homemade lunch from his wife, which then led the ghost to find Jack's new weapon box and go ballistic because of his obsession.

after that, he gave up spending time with his parents and focused more on his friends and Jazz. This was equally disastrous.

so, his safest option was to go to the meeting and stay with the league.

Glancing up, Danny watched as the time slowly changed on the clock; six twenty-nine, tick, tick, tick, six thirty.

Sighing, Danny sat up and held his hand out, making eye contact with Batman. He might as well get the day going, no use in wallowing in self-pity. He's done that plenty already.

"I already figured out what the cult wanted to do, we just need to figure out where their next meeting is. I'll fill you guys in on the rest." Danny added, wiggling his fingers in the hope it would make Batman move faster.

Batman sighed and handed him the folder. Once Danny had the folder, Batman sat down to listen to his report intently.

Flipping the file open, Danny grabbed the first page and showed it to the group, ignoring how a copy showed up on the big screen behind Batman. (again, why use paper if he was just going to project it?)

"This is the result of the cult's last meeting, two weeks ago. as you can see, the ground has been scorched and the ritual circle permanently carved into the cement." Tossing the paper and ignoring it as Flash scrambled to catch it, Danny grabbed the next couple of pages.

Holding up the seventy missing person reports, Danny placed them on the table and separated them into four different piles. "After some digging, Batman was able to figure out the pattern between the missing people. This group," Danny pointed to the one on the left, "consists of organ donors who were anemic."

pointing to the pile on the right, Danny continued, "This group is made up of meta-humans who have powers related to the elements. they also all happen to have more than one piercing, though Batman didn't really figure out if that had an impact on whether they were chosen or not..."

Pointing to the northern pile, Danny separated the top seven pages. "while everyone in this pile has some relation to an ancient and powerful witch from the 1500s, these seven are the only ones who still share her 'family' name. I'm not sure exactly how this affects the cult's motives, Batman hadn't shared that with me in all the loops so far."

Danny glared at Batman in annoyance, he didn't care if there was a good reason or not. Without fail, in each loop that Danny's made it through where Batman makes the connection; he would refuse to tell Danny about it.

Rolling his eyes at Batman's unwavering apathy, Danny continued, "The last pile consists of people who have been dead at some point in their lives. whether it be just a few seconds or a few weeks."

passing the reports around, Danny pulled the next page from the file. "Flash and Constantine were able to connect the past locations of the cult gatherings. Constantine figured out there was a specific magic signature that he could follow, so he had Flash drag him around the world to map the locations."

tapping the table, Danny selected the world map. Glancing at the paper he had pulled out, Danny marked the places with a red dot. Then he marked the places Constantine found in blue. Looking up, Danny found the league staring at him.

"What?" Danny huffed, shoving the hologram away from him. Batman grabbed it and started to examine it.

"So, do we need Constantine for this?" Green Lantern asks, scratching his head.

Shrugging, Danny tossed the folder over to Wonder Woman. "You can call him if you want, but he won't get here until noon. He's in the house of mystery dealing with a pixie infestation."

"pixie infestation?" Superman asks, turning to look over to Zatanna. Zatanna reached into her jacket and handed him a pamphlet, not turning away from watching Danny with curious eyes.

"Anyway, like I was saying. the cult's been going around taking all these people and using them in their rituals."

"you said you knew what they were trying to do, what was it?" Batman asked with a noticeable frown.

Sighing, Danny pinched his nose. "they've been trying to summon Pariah Dark."

"The ghost king!?!?" Zatanna squawked, slamming her hands onto the table.

"yeah, that bastard," Danny grumbled, rubbing his face. The cult hadn't been successful for all fourteen years now, so Danny wasn't too worried about it. But still... If something, anything really, changed just the slightest; would they succeed? Would they drag Prariah out of his sarcophagus and let him lose on the living?

Danny's already had to face him once, he didn't know if he could do it again. The Fenton ecto-skeleton suit had been ruined last time, to the point dad hadn't even tried to fix it.

"Bastard?" Aquaman repeated, eyes narrowed, "You speak as if you've met him before."

"I have," Danny admitted, "and I will again if we don't do something about the cult." What if this is the loop the cult succeeded? what if it's the next one, or the one after that? could Danny even do anything to prevent it?

Zatara sat down with a heavy thump, her eyes widening in shock. Danny lifted his brow, wondering what was wrong with her. She hadn't acted like this any other time? what was different? had he said something he hadn't last time? hmm, something to think about later.

"back to the case," Danny shrugged, turning to gesture at the hologram of the world. "we were able to narrow down the cult's next location to about seven hundred places. I was able to check off about six hundred and thirty these last few loops. That leaves about seventy places they could be."

Danny used a yellow dot to select the seventy places he still needed to check.

"um," Flash started, nervously glancing between Danny and the globe. "you just highlighted the whole grand cannon and all of Alaska... and the Himalayas.... and the-"

"Yep," Danny cut in, "Like I said, I checked off all the others. These are the last seventy I still need to check. I haven't before because it's a lot of ground to cover. I was hoping I'd catch a break and find the cult before I had to check all those places, but nope. The fruitloops just had to make it difficult.

"oh," Flash winced, "do, do you want me to check them out?"

sighing, Danny leaned back in his chair, "I would love to have you check them out, but you need a magic user who knows what they're looking for to go with you. it's why we haven't found them yet, it's taking forever."

"Oh," was the only response he got.

"you know what we are looking for?" Zatara asks, finally getting over whatever had surprised her.

"yeah, it's hard to explain. I'll have to bring you or the others to a previous place and show you."

"hmm, alright. after the meeting, why don't you bring me so that at least one more person can help start looking, until, john is freed up at noon?" she suggests, tilting her head to the side.

"sounds good with me," Danny shrugged. it's not like it'll hurt to have her looking around, heck, they might even get lucky and she'll find them.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #danny phantom #danny fenton #justice league #dp x dc crossover #Danny is stuck in a Groundhog Day kinda situation #and he would like to be let out now please #Batman Is very worried #so is everyone else #Badger Day Au #The Badger Day Au #part two

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garden0fyves · 3 months ago

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arataki itto ♡ virgin hcs

virgin!itto who blushes when you touch his thighs, shuddering more than he wished to when you rake your nails down them. he knows he’s too big..too strong to be blushing under such a soft touch, but he can’t help it. he’s never felt this way before, he doesn’t know what it’s like to be touched by anyone but himself. he’s already twitching in his boxers and you haven’t so much as touched his cock. you’ve been kissing down to his thighs for a while, taking your precious time with him. he’s sure he’s almost came multiple times, he knows for a fact that when you rolled your thumb over his nipple he almost did.

virgin!itto who is on the verge of tears when you finally take his dick in your mouth, the sheer warmth and wetness of it throwing him for a loop. his thighs twitch when you start to bob your head, looking up into his orange eyes with the most innocent of looks. your palms are sat prettily in your lap as you think he isn’t ready for both quite yet, your pretty little oni was sensitive after all. you’re barely halfway down his length when he twitches, hands carefully coming down to grip your hair. he whines softly, “i c- i can’t. (name) please- i’m gonna-” and he’s quick to sob as he releases in your mouth.

virgin!itto who apologizes as you swallow dutifully, bringing a finger up to wipe excess cum from your lips. itto gently cups your cheeks in his hands, “oh i’m sorry,” his eyes are watery as he continues, “i’m sorry- i’ve just never done this before, and your mouth felt so nice i…” and he’s trailing off when you start laughing. you push up on your knees, hands falling against his chest, “it’s okay sweet boy, i know this is a first for you. you’re sensitive baby, don’t apologize.” you could see tears swell in his eyes as you spoke, smiling softly and kissing those same tears away.

virgin!itto who cries out when you sink down on his cock, which was entirely too big for you. you realize this when you feel full not even halfway down him, hands shaking and eyes watering. you ignore the slight burn blazing in your core, nipping softly at your lips until you sink all the way down. itto doesn’t know that he’s too damn big, thrusting into you out of pure desperation. you bite back a moan, rolling your hips against his in a desperate attempt to tell him to hold on. you gently pat his side, pressing your palms down on his hips to get him to stop on your own. you can’t be that mad at him though, he can’t focus his pretty little head on anything but the soft pussy wrapped around him.

virgin!itto who is as loud as can be when you’re finally bouncing on his cock. you thank the archons that the room you paid for during your stay in liyue was farthest from everyone, and hopefully it was soundproof. itto’s words slowly become more and more unintelligible, he’s babbling softly, shifting his hips. he meets yours in a weak and desperate rhythm, desperately trying to reach his release. you’ve barely been wrapped around him for ten minutes and here he is, trying to cum inside of you. your soft giggles spur him on further, wandering hands cupping his cheeks before bringing him into a heated kiss. itto’s moans are muted against your lips, swallowed into the sweetness that is your mouth.

virgin!itto whose hips stutter when you tug at his piercings, his lips pulling away from yours as a sob falls from his mouth. you smile at him, “if you’re gonna cum baby go on, wanna see you fall apart.” you murmur, pressing yourself against him. his hands desperately find your ass, “i- this- ‘s too much!” his voice cracks as he tries to find his words, hips pitifully rutting into you. the sheer force of his own hips bounces you slightly, and it reminds you just how big arataki is. to have such a big man weak at your touch makes you smile, how vulnerable.

virgin!itto who realizes everything is too much when his hips are harshly clashing with yours, and your fingers feel hot on his pierced nipples. the hungry look in your eyes makes him whimper, big eyes pleading with you as he finally realizes what this feeling is. he loses his voice as everything comes crashing down, gasps escaping his lips in intervals. you don’t stop moving, even when your legs shake as you feel his seed spurt into you, and even as his arms wrap around you. itto’s grip tightens when you keep clenching around him, trying to milk him of everything he has. you smile softly, delirious and surprised, “it hasn’t even been thirty minutes, sweet thing. you came already?”

virgin!itto who shoves his face into your neck, sloppily pushing his hips into yours as you finally cum. you giggle a little, gently kissing the side of your boyfriend’s head, “it’s okay, it was your first time baby.” itto, who’s clearly embarrassed, keeps his face in your neck, letting you softly pat his head. he flinches when your hands brush his horns, cock twitching and eyes squeezing shut. your laugh comes out breathy this time, “we can explore that next time, you can’t cum anymore today.”

virgin!itto who curls into your side once you’ve cleaned up, big arms wrapped around your hips. his head rests on your bare chest, careful not to poke into you with his horns. his eyes are soft as he looked up at you, “are you really okay?” he’s embarrassed to have cum so early, and that’s okay. you’ll always be there to reassure him. there’s a gentle smile on your lips before you kiss him, running your hands through his hair. you do your best to tell him how much you love him through the kiss, but as you pull away the words fall out. you hum, “it’s your first time, you have nothing to worry about baby. i love you, and i don’t want you to think too much of it,” you pause to place a kiss at the corner of his mouth, “let’s go to bed, hm?”

had this in the vault lol..i don't write for genshin anymore but i was particularly proud of this ♡

#gardenofyves #yvieyaps #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin smut #arataki itto #itto x reader #arataki itto x reader #arataki itto smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #itto smut

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rafeys-sweetie · 2 months ago

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Thinking of… ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Baby Daddy!Rafe letting Swan!reader have a nice girls night out and a break from being a full time mommy.

The house was quiet when you got home.

Too quiet.

You slipped your heels off by the marble entryway, your clutch still tucked under your arm, and tiptoed past the glowing chandelier light in the hallway. It was well past midnight, maybe close to 1am and you hadn’t meant to stay out that late. One drink turned into four. A rooftop dinner turned into club music and laughter with your girls. It had felt so good to let go — to not be “Mommy” for a night.

But now, as you padded barefoot through the massive, dimly lit living room in your mini dress and sparkly cardigan, your chest clenched.

What if D/n woke up and cried for me? What if she asked where I was? What if she thought I left?

You were halfway through the archway when you saw it.

And your heart shattered in the best way.

There in the middle of the living room, nestled inside a makeshift pillow fort built from $300 throw blankets and Restoration Hardware cushions was Rafe.

Shirtless, relaxed, completely passed out on the plush rug a little bit of sparkly toddler toy makeup on his eye lids.

And curled up right on top of his chest, dressed in a pair of pink butterfly pajamas, one hand tangled in his gold chain, was D/n.

She was fast asleep, mouth parted slightly, her cheek smooshed against his skin like she belonged there. One of her tiny plush unicorns lay beside her. Her other arm wrapped tightly around Rafe’s neck.

On the TV, the screen was paused on My Little Pony.

The table nearby still had half a bowl of popcorn, two sippy cups, some sour patch kids, and a baby bottle. Crayons and coloring books were scattered around the floor like confetti. You could smell the baby floral shampoo in her hair from where you stood.

And the fort — oh my God, the fort was ridiculously cute. Like something out of a magazine. Twinkly fairy lights looped around the top, pillows everywhere. They’d clearly been playing all day.

You pressed a hand to your mouth, tears instantly stinging your eyes.

It was just too much. Too perfect. Too soft.

Rafe — your Rafe, the boy who once broke shit for fun and drank too hard and cursed too loud was now this man. This dad. Protecting and loving your daughter with this fierce, quiet devotion.

You stepped closer, heart swelling in your chest.

He stirred.

Eyes cracked open, bleary and slow.

When he saw you, he gave you the tiniest, softest smile.

“Hey, pretty girl.” His voice was rough, low. “You have fun?”

You nodded, kneeling beside the fort, brushing D/N’s curls back from her face. “Yeah… I did. Thank you. So much.”

Rafe looked down at the tiny toddler wrapped around him and grinned sleepily.

“She missed you for like ten minutes. Then she made me watch six episodes of that sparkly pony show and told me I was Princess Daddy.”

You laughed — a quiet, wet laugh that cracked open your heart.

“You’re so good to her, Rafe.”

He shrugged, careful not to wake her as he brushed her hair with gentle fingers.

“She’s my girl. You both are.”

And God, that was it.

The guilt. The love. The joy. The ache of being loved like this — of coming home from champagne and city lights to find the man you love asleep in a glowing pillow fort with your daughter still wrapped around him like he was her entire world.

It hit all at once.

You crawled into the fort beside them, slipping into the space under Rafe’s arm, curling into his side and resting your head on his chest — right beside your daughter.

She stirred in her sleep, tiny hand patting blindly at Rafe’s chest.

He caught it and held it gently.

“We got along fine without you,” he teased, kissing the top of your head. “But we’re better with you home.”

You smiled, eyes finally closing.

“Yeah. We are.”

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rafesapologist · 8 months ago

Text

if you would've been the one ─ rafe cameron (part 2)

summary: rafe gets engaged and you find out

warnings: addiction, dr*g use, angst, mentions of drinking, sad rafe, infidelity (don't cheat guys), sensual moments

author's note: i wasn't sure if i was going to write a part two, but some of you requested one so here you go <3

It has been a month since that fateful encounter with you, since he last held you while you sobbed in the middle of town. The sight of you—broken down, vulnerable, crumbling in his arms—haunts Rafe like a tortured ghost, a specter that clings to him, refusing to be exorcised. It plays on a loop in his mind, a visceral memory he can’t escape no matter how hard he tries. He remembers the way your voice cracked, the way you trembled against him, and the sound of your broken cries feels like a knife twisting in his chest, again and again.

Sofia moved in with him just a few days after that night, boxes stacked in the living room, her laughter filling the house as she unpacked their future together. On the surface, everything looked perfect. Rafe played his part well—smiling, planning the wedding, talking about the life they were going to build. He made everyone believe that his life was finally on track, that he was happy and settled. But the truth was far from the polished facade he showed to the world.

In reality, his nights had become a battleground of regrets. He would lie awake long after Sofia had drifted off to sleep, staring up at the ceiling as the images of your tear-streaked face replayed behind his eyes. The memory of your sobs haunted him, an echo that reverberated in the dark corners of his mind, refusing to be silenced. The sound of your voice—broken, raw, filled with so much hurt—was something he couldn’t shut out, no matter how tightly he closed his eyes.

While Sofia lay beside him, dreaming about their wedding, their future, and all the things he had promised her, Rafe was stuck in a different kind of dream—a waking nightmare. He relived that night over and over, his subconscious torturing him with the choices he’d made, the words he couldn’t take back. He would wake up in a cold sweat, his chest tight, the ghost of your presence lingering in the room. He could almost feel your tears soaking through his shirt again, the phantom weight of your body pressed against his as you cried out every last bit of hurt he’d caused.

It was like being trapped in a loop he couldn’t escape from, a purgatory of his own making. Every smile he gave Sofia, every kiss, felt like a betrayal—to her, to you, and to himself. He was playing the role of a man who had everything figured out, but inside, he was unraveling, piece by piece. Because he knew the truth he couldn’t admit to anyone—not even to himself. He wasn’t haunted by the life he was building with Sofia. He was haunted by the life he’d lost with you. And it was a loss that was slowly eating him alive.

Rafe picked up his old habits like an old, familiar coat—one that he’d hoped to never wear again. In the days and weeks following that night, the weight of his regret and guilt became unbearable, pressing down on him until he could hardly breathe. He tried to push it all away, to bury himself in his plans with Sofia, to drown out the echo of your words in the monotony of his new life. But it didn’t work. He couldn’t escape the sound of your broken voice, the look in your eyes as you told him how much he had destroyed you.

That was the night his sobriety came to a screeching halt.

He remembered sitting on the edge of his bed, Sofia already asleep beside him, her breathing soft and steady. He stared down at his hands, the same hands that had held you, that had pushed you away, that had made all the wrong choices. It was like he could still feel the ghost of your touch, the imprint of your fingers as you shoved him in a fit of anger. His heart felt like it was being ripped apart, and he needed something—anything—to numb the pain.

Rafe knew where to go, who to call. It was frighteningly easy to slip back into old routines, to let the darkness swallow him whole. He took his first line of coke that night, the familiar burn hitting him hard, and for a brief, fleeting moment, he felt relief. The crushing weight of his emotions lifted, replaced by a rush of artificial euphoria. It felt like he had control again, like he could breathe. But it was a lie—a dangerous, seductive lie that he willingly bought into.

The weeks that followed were a blur of late nights and reckless choices. What had started as a desperate attempt to cope quickly spiraled into something darker. His addiction came back with a vengeance, tenfold worse than before. It became a weekly ritual, then every few days, until it was nearly a daily habit. Rafe would disappear for hours, locking himself in the bathroom or sneaking off to the garage, cutting lines on the cold surface of the counter, inhaling deeply as the familiar numbness washed over him.

Sofia was oblivious. She’d look at him with concern sometimes, noticing the dark circles under his eyes, the way his hands shook ever so slightly when he thought no one was watching. But Rafe was good at hiding it. He knew how to play the part, how to keep up the facade of the doting fiancé, the man who had everything under control. He’d smile, kiss her on the forehead, tell her everything was fine. And she believed him. Why wouldn’t she? To her, he was still the man who had turned his life around, who was ready to settle down and start fresh.

But in reality, Rafe was spiraling, falling deeper into a pit of his own making. The regret of losing you, the guilt of betraying what he once felt for you, was a constant gnawing at his soul. He’d lie awake at night, staring up at the ceiling, his mind racing with all the what ifs that he couldn’t shut off. What if he had fought for you? What if he had chosen you instead? What if he had never let things fall apart?

The only thing he felt like he had control over was the drugs he was putting into his body. It was the one thing that numbed the pain, that quieted the screaming in his head, even if just for a little while. It was the only way he knew how to cope with the reality he had created, a reality where he was haunted by the ghost of you, the woman he still loved, but had pushed away.

And with every line he snorted, he knew he was digging himself deeper into a hole he might never climb out of. But the truth was, he didn’t care. Not anymore. Because in his mind, this was his punishment—his self-inflicted penance for the life he had ruined, not just yours, but his own as well.

The weekend finally arrived, and Topper’s invitation to the Pelican Yacht Club felt like an aid thrown into the raging sea Rafe had been drowning in. Topper had insisted he come out, promising a carefree day of drinks and laughter with old friends—a chance to forget about the chaos that had become his life. Rafe had been hesitant, rightfully so. The yacht club wasn’t just a place anymore; it was a scene of memories, and there was a good chance you’d be there. It was your workplace, after all, and Rafe knew that running into you could rip open wounds that were still fresh and bleeding.

But as he stood there in the mirror, staring at his own reflection, he realized he had nothing left to lose. His spiraling had already reached its peak. He was a man standing at the edge, and avoiding you now felt pointless. The drugs had dulled the pain, numbed him enough to survive each day, but they hadn’t erased the hollow ache in his chest. In his mind, he reasoned that maybe seeing you would bring him the closure he never got—an end to the nightmare he’d been living since that night he held you while you cried.

He agreed to go. He left the house with Sofia behind, her cheerful wave and bright smile not reaching him the way it once might have. She asked him if he’d be home for dinner, her voice laced with hope, as if she sensed the growing distance between them but couldn’t quite put her finger on why. He told her he’d try, planting a kiss on her forehead out of habit more than affection, and walked out the door without looking back.

The drive to the yacht club felt like an eternity. His fingers drummed nervously on the steering wheel, the weight of anticipation gnawing at him. He couldn’t tell if he was hoping to see you or praying that you wouldn’t be there. When he arrived, he took a moment to steady himself, taking a deep breath as he stepped out of the car and into the blazing afternoon sun. The humid air clung to his skin, reminding him of countless summer days spent here with his friends, with you. It felt like a different lifetime.

He spotted Topper almost immediately, surrounded by a familiar group of friends, their laughter echoing across the dock. The sight was almost comforting, a sliver of normalcy in the midst of the chaos his life had become. Rafe plastered on a smile and made his way over, clapping Topper on the back as he was handed a drink. He took a long sip, feeling the burn of the alcohol slide down his throat, and for a moment, he felt like he could pretend that everything was okay.

But it was fleeting. His eyes scanned the crowd, searching for you almost unconsciously. He told himself he wasn’t looking for you, but his heart knew better. He could feel it racing in his chest, an unsteady rhythm that only worsened when he finally caught sight of you. There you were, behind the bar, moving with a practiced grace, serving drinks and laughing at something a customer said.

You looked good. Too good. It made his stomach twist with a mix of longing and regret. He wasn’t sure what he expected—that you’d be as broken as he was, perhaps. But you looked like you were surviving, like you had picked up the pieces of your shattered heart and put them back together, even if the cracks were still visible beneath the surface.

Rafe felt a lump form in his throat as he watched you. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, despite the sinking feeling in his gut. This was it, the moment he had been dreading and anticipating all at once. He had braced himself for what might happen, but seeing you again, looking so effortlessly beautiful and so painfully out of reach, knocked the air right out of his lungs.

He turned back to his friends, forcing himself to join in their conversation, to laugh at Topper’s jokes, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. He could feel the weight of your presence across the bar like a magnetic pull he couldn’t resist. He took another long swig of his drink, hoping the alcohol would calm his nerves, but it only made him feel more on edge.

Rafe knew he had to make a choice—approach you and risk tearing open old wounds, or avoid you and leave things unresolved, the way they’d been left that night in town. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, his hands trembling slightly as he set down his empty glass. He glanced back over at you, his front faltering as he watched you laugh with a customer, the sound of your laughter piercing through the haze of noise around him.

Suddenly, the conversations around Rafe begin to fade, the laughter and chatter of his friends muffled like he’s underwater. He forces a smile, offering a half-hearted chuckle here and there, but his mind is miles away. He keeps sneaking quick glances over his shoulder, looking for you across the bar, though every look is so brief you never notice. It almost pains him, the way you seem oblivious to his presence. But he tells himself it’s busy; you’re too focused on the flow of customers to scan the room. Still, he can’t shake the sting, a dull ache in his chest that grows stronger every time he catches sight of you, the girl he let slip away.

You hadn’t noticed him yet. The thought stings more than he expected it to. How could you be so unaware of the agony ripping him apart from across the room? But he knows it isn't fair to think that. The bar is packed, filled with the usual weekend crowd; your focus is split between orders, conversations, and the rhythm of your job. It's easier this way, he tells himself. If you noticed him, it would complicate things, make the air heavy with unsaid words and unresolved feelings. Yet part of him—a selfish, desperate part—aches for you to look up, to lock eyes with him, even if only for a second. Just to see if he could read something, anything, in your gaze.

Rafe is at war with himself, stuck between the urge to keep his distance and the desperate need to get closer, to say something—anything. His fingers tap nervously against his glass, the buzz of alcohol not strong enough to drown out the whirlwind of thoughts racing through his mind.

Then one of his friends speaks up, snapping him back to the present. “We’re running low on beer, man. Someone should get another round.”

Without thinking, Rafe jumps in, his voice a little too quick, a little too eager. “I got it,” he blurts out, pushing himself up from his seat. His friends barely notice his sudden enthusiasm, already lost in their own drunken conversations. For them, it’s just Rafe doing a favor. But for him, it’s an excuse, a chance to approach the bar and maybe, just maybe, get a moment alone with you.

He moves through the crowd, weaving between bodies as he makes his way toward the bar. His heart is pounding, adrenaline coursing through his veins as if he’s about to do something reckless. In a way, he is. He hasn’t seen you up close since that night a month ago when he held you in his arms while you broke down in tears, and the memory of it still haunts him. He doesn’t know what he plans to say, or if he’ll even say anything at all. But he has to see you, has to face whatever feelings linger between you.

As he reaches the bar, he spots you right away. You’re busy, turning to grab a bottle from the shelf, your hair falling in loose waves over your shoulder. The sight of you hits him hard, a wave of emotion crashing over him so violently it nearly knocks the breath out of him. It’s like seeing you for the first time all over again, except now there’s an insurmountable distance between you that wasn’t there before.

He wipes his sweaty palms on his khaki shorts, trying to calm himself, his fingers gripping the edge of the counter like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. When you turn around, you don’t notice him at first, focused on passing a drink to a customer. He takes a deep breath, his voice caught in his throat, but he forces the words out anyway.

“Hey, can I get a round of beers?” he asks, his voice barely louder than a whisper, but enough for you to hear.

The moment you look up to meet his gaze, it's as if time itself halts. The crowded, bustling room fades into the background, and for a fleeting heartbeat, it’s just you and him. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, a flicker of recognition passing across your face before you can mask it. It’s a split-second crack in your facade, but you quickly snap yourself back into place. The shock, the pain—it all gets shoved down as you force yourself into a state of icy calm.

You give a curt nod, your expression stone-cold, devoid of any trace of the emotions boiling beneath the surface. You glance away, reaching for a stack of glasses without missing a beat. To anyone else, it would look like he’s just another customer, another face in the sea of people.

“Gotcha,” you reply flatly, your voice monotone and unreadable, like a wall going up between you. You don’t give him the satisfaction of anything more, no warmth, no bitterness—just cold indifference. You’re determined not to let him see how much his presence unsettles you, how the mere sight of him brings back every hurtful word, every sleepless night spent crying over the pieces he left behind.

You focus on the task at hand, pulling a few cold beers from the cooler and lining them up on the counter. The silence that stretches between you is suffocating, thick with all the unspoken words that hang in the air like ghosts. You can feel his eyes on you, searching for something in your expression, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of looking back.

Rafe swallows hard, the tension settling heavy in his chest. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words die on his tongue. He watches your every move, hoping for a sign—anything—that might tell him you still care, even if it’s just a spark of anger or pain. But you give him nothing.

You slide the beers across the counter toward him, your movements quick and efficient. “Anything else?” you ask, your tone clipped and business-like, as if this moment isn’t ripping you apart from the inside.

Rafe stares at you, his eyes flickering back and forth between yours, searching desperately for something—anything—that might hint at what you’re feeling. But you don’t let him see it. You hold his gaze with a cold, distant expression, one that feels foreign even to you. It’s a stark contrast to the way you looked at him the last time he saw you, broken down and vulnerable. The warmth that once lived in your eyes is gone, replaced by an icy shield you’ve built up to protect yourself.

His mouth opens for a second, and it almost looks like he’s going to say something—something important, something that might change the trajectory of this interaction. But he hesitates, words caught in his throat, and you see the flicker of conflict flash across his face. He bites his tongue, the sentence dying before it ever has a chance to leave his lips.

“Uh—no, that’s all. Thank you,” he manages to say, his voice barely above a whisper. It’s awkward, hollow, like he’s a shell of the man you once knew. He picks up the beers off the counter, his hand shaking slightly, and without another word, he turns away from you. He moves quickly, as if he’s trying to escape the weight of the moment, the unbearable silence hanging between you.

You watch him leave, his shoulders tense, his movements almost robotic as he disappears back into the crowd. A part of you wants to call him back, to demand answers, to tell him how much he’s hurt you. But you don’t. You stand there, rooted to the spot, swallowing down the lump in your throat as you remind yourself that he’s no longer your concern. He made his choice.

Rafe returns to his friends, dropping the beers onto the table with a thud that goes unnoticed by the group. They’re too caught up in their drunken laughter, their cheers filling the air as they reach for the drinks, oblivious to the turmoil brewing inside him. He forces a smile, pretending to be present, but his mind is miles away.

The brief encounter with you replays in his head on an endless loop, each second of it magnified, dissected, and analyzed like a broken record he can’t turn off. He can’t stop thinking about the look in your eyes—so cold and unfeeling, a far cry from the warmth and love they used to hold. It’s like staring into the face of a stranger, and it makes his chest ache with regret.

He takes a long swig of his beer, hoping the alcohol will numb the gnawing feeling in his gut, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes the hollow sensation grow worse. He questions every part of that brief interaction: Should he have said something different? Should he have apologized again, right then and there? Should he have tried to explain himself, to make you see how much he’s been suffering too?

But it’s too late now. The moment has passed, and he knows he can’t change it. All he’s left with is the echo of your monotone “gotcha” and the way you looked right through him like he was nothing. He clenches his jaw, staring down at the condensation forming on his bottle, the laughter of his friends now just white noise in the background.

Rafe tries to shake it off, telling himself to get over it, to move on like everyone else seems to have. But he can’t. He’s stuck, trapped in his own head, replaying the scene over and over as he mentally beats himself up for everything he did wrong. It feels like a downward spiral he has no control over, a reminder that no matter how hard he tries to pretend everything is fine, the cracks are still there, ready to shatter him completely.

The night drags on, hours passing by in a haze for Rafe as he tries to drown his thoughts in drink after drink. The buzz of alcohol settles over him, a dull hum that makes him feel lighter, even if just for a moment. It’s a temporary escape, a slight escape from the relentless torment of his own mind. By the time his friends decide to call it a night, the Pelican Yacht Club has long since closed its doors.

The group gathers outside, their laughter a little louder, their goodbyes a little sloppier as they make plans to meet up again soon. Rafe stands at the edge of the group, his smile forced as he nods along, contributing half-heartedly to their final jokes. He feels distant, like he’s watching the scene play out from somewhere far away. One by one, his friends leave, until he’s the last one lingering in the parking lot, alone.

He sways slightly, fumbling in his pocket as he searches for his car keys. His coordination is off, the alcohol making his movements clumsy. He curses under his breath, frustration bubbling up as he struggles to pull the keys free from the tight fabric of his jeans. His head feels foggy, and the dull ache of regret pounds against his temples, as if the night is mocking him.

Just as he finally pulls the keys from his pocket, the sound of the front door creaking open behind him makes him freeze. The noise cuts through the silence, startling him. He turns around, his heart sinking when he sees you standing there.

You step out into the faint glow of the parking lot lights, your expression unreadable as you lock up for the night. The sight of you is enough to sober him up slightly, his buzz fading into a sharp pang of anxiety and longing. He hadn’t expected to see you again, not tonight, and certainly not like this. He opens his mouth, but no words come out, his mind racing with what he could possibly say after everything.

You don’t notice him at first, too focused on locking up, the familiar clicks of the door securing in place as you twist the key. It’s been a long night, and you’re eager to get home, to escape the remnants of the day’s chaos. But when you turn around, ready to leave, you see him standing there, swaying slightly under the lights of the parking lot. Rafe’s figure is slouched, his face half-shadowed, and even from a distance, you can tell he’s had too much to drink.

You sigh quietly to yourself, feeling a wave of irritation wash over you. You cross your arms defensively, a barrier between the two of you, as if it might protect you from the emotions he still stirs up inside you. “Rafe, what are you doing?” you ask, your tone edged with annoyance and judgment. It’s a reflex, your way of keeping him at arm’s length, of pretending that the sight of him doesn’t affect you as much as it does.

Rafe stares at you for a moment, looking caught off guard. He struggles to find his words, his brain muddled from the alcohol. “I was just—uh, leaving,” he mumbles, the words tumbling out clumsily. He mentally curses himself, hating how weak he sounds, how pathetic he must look to you right now. He’s Rafe Cameron—he’s supposed to have it all together, but here he is, fumbling in front of you like a lost kid.

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Well, we’re closed, so...” you say, your voice trailing off in a dismissive tone. You don’t finish the sentence, but the implication is clear: there’s nothing left for him here. Not tonight, and maybe not ever.

Your expression remains stone-cold, void of any emotion, and it sends a sharp pang through Rafe’s chest. He’s used to seeing fire in your eyes, whether it was anger, passion, or even sadness. But this cold indifference—it’s like a knife twisting in his gut. It’s as if you’ve already made up your mind about him, as if he’s just another inconvenience at the end of your shift.

Rafe stands frozen for a moment, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him, suffocating him with each passing second. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to undo the damage he’s done, but his mind races, desperate for something to break the silence. Your cold indifference cuts through him like a blade, and for a moment, he feels as if he’s drowning in his own regret.

You turn your heel to walk to your car, the sound of your footsteps sharp against the quiet night, but Rafe’s voice halts you abruptly. “Y/n, wait,” he calls out, his tone more urgent than he intended, the alcohol slurring his words slightly.

You pause, but don’t turn around immediately, your body stiff with tension. You can feel the heaviness of his gaze on you. You knew he was going to say something, but you didn’t know what. Did he even have the right to speak to you? After everything?

Rafe takes a tentative step forward, his voice quieter now, but no less filled with a kind of desperation. “Please,” he adds, almost pleading. "I... I just need to say something." His hand twitches at his side, as if he wants to reach out, but he doesn’t, knowing it’s the last thing you probably want from him.

You hesitate, your fingers brushing the handle of your car door, torn between the need to escape and the need to understand. Rafe’s presence pulls at something deep inside you, but it’s a complicated knot of emotions you can’t untangle in a moment. You glance between him and your car, the battle in your chest raging, before your shoulders slump in defeat. You can’t leave him like this—not without hearing him out.

With a sharp exhale, you turn, looking at him once more. He’s waiting, as if he didn’t quite believe you’d stay, his posture stiff with tension. His eyes meet yours, and for the first time in a long while, you allow him that moment to speak. You give him an inch, but that’s all you’re willing to give.

Rafe’s breath shakes as he lets out a small sigh of relief, as though your decision to stay has momentarily lifted a weight from his chest. He shifts his weight nervously, not sure if he’s even saying the right things, but it doesn’t matter now. The words come tumbling out, almost too quickly. “I can’t... leave things where they were when we last talked,” he admits, his voice wavering with something close to regret and need.

You stare at him, confused, eyebrows furrowing as you process what he’s saying. The statement doesn’t sit right with you. You’ve been through so much, and now, after everything, he’s just showing up like this? The anger and the hurt bubble back up, and you feel your guard rise even higher. "What’s that supposed to mean?" you ask, your voice laced with uncertainty and a hint of frustration. His words don’t add up. After everything he’s put you through, after how he left, now he’s trying to make things right? It doesn’t make sense.

Rafe’s gaze flits around the parking lot, his fingers tugging at his hair as if trying to find something solid to hold onto in this conversation. His thoughts are racing, but the words come out in fragments, stammering as though he doesn’t even believe what he’s trying to say. “I—I don’t think we should leave off this way, you know? Maybe we just need... some closure?” He glances at you briefly, but quickly looks away, the uncertainty in his voice giving the whole thing a shaky feel.

You stand there, arms still crossed tightly over your chest, your posture defensive as you process his words. You stare at him, a bitter chuckle escaping your lips, shaking your head in disbelief. “Closure?” you repeat, scoffing slightly, as if the very idea of it is laughable. Your voice hardens as the frustration and anger come rushing back, thickening your tone. “I don’t need any closure from you, Rafe. It’s pretty damn clear what your decision is here. You’re getting married. What else is there to say?”

Rafe’s face pales at your words, and for a moment, he looks almost defeated. The sting of your anger hits him harder than anything he could have prepared for. He expected you to be upset, angry—hell, maybe even hurt—but this... this is different. The bitterness in your voice, the coldness in your eyes, it cuts deeper than anything he’s felt before.

"I know, I know but—" he mutters, his frustration bleeding through as he paces, running a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to gather his thoughts. "I can’t stand the thought of you hating me for the rest of your life because of this." The words fall from his lips full of desperation, his voice strained as he looks back at you, trying to convey something—anything—that could undo the damage.

His gaze locks with yours, searching for any hint of vulnerability, any crack in the wall you’ve built between the two of you. And for a brief, fleeting moment, he swears he sees something in your eyes—hurt, maybe even a glimmer of sympathy—but it’s gone just as quickly as it appeared. In its place, that same stone-cold, unreadable look that he’s grown all too familiar with tonight.

Your expression hardens again, and when you speak, your voice is quieter, but just as resolute. "Why are you doing this? I’m trying to move on, Rafe. I don’t have anything left to say to you anymore that’s gonna change what happens." You take a deep breath, your body tense as you prepare to put an end to this conversation. "So go back home to your fiancée and leave me alone."

His heart clenches painfully at the finality of your words. The way you speak—so detached, so sure of yourself—it makes everything feel so much worse. He thought there might be a chance, even the smallest one, for him to explain himself, to somehow make things right, but with each word you say, that possibility slips further and further away.

“Y/n,” he says softly, and it feels like a plea, like he’s begging for something you can’t give. His eyes meet yours, desperation and regret clouding his expression. “I made a mistake. You were right, I didn’t try hard enough. I was so used to everyone in my life leaving me that I pushed you away before I thought you could do it to me.” His voice cracks slightly on the last part, and he takes a step closer, but you don’t flinch. You stay still, frozen by his words. “I can’t change that, but I need you to know that this is ruining me. I spend every damn day and night replaying what you said to me in my head,” he continues, his fingers tapping frantically at his temple, as if the memory of your hurtful words is a physical wound he can’t escape. “I can’t let you go, y/n.”

The air between you thickens, the words hanging heavily in the silence that follows. Your heart wrenches at the rawness in his voice, but there’s still so much anger, so much betrayal coiled inside you that you refuse to let it go. You were right. You knew, deep down, that the Rafe you loved—who you thought was yours—was gone, replaced by someone who could never give you what you needed.

"Stop," you finally say, your voice low, trembling with everything you've been holding inside. "Stop pretending like this is about me. It’s about you, Rafe. Always has been. You don’t get to come here, to pull me back into your mess, just because you feel guilty. You don’t get to destroy me and expect me to just pick up the pieces and put you back together."

You take a step back, the space between you growing, but your chest tightens. His words echo in your mind, but you can't let them have the power they once did. Not anymore.

“Y/n, please, don’t do this,” he begs, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and pain as he gazes up at you. Then, before you can even process it, he falls to his knees in front of you. The motion is sudden, startling, and leaves you frozen, speechless. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close, as if he can somehow erase the past with his touch, his brokenness seeping into you like a virus you’ve already fought too long to get rid of.

“I need you,” he mumbles against your stomach, and you can hear the tears in his voice. The man who used to be your world is now kneeling before you, broken, crying, and pleading in a way you never thought you'd see. It's almost too much, the weight of it crushing your chest, but you fight it. You fight it hard, as though giving in would undo everything you’ve worked so hard to build.

You try to push him away, but your hands falter, shaking as they hover over him. You don’t want to give in. You don’t want to let him pull you back into his chaos. Not after everything.

“Rafe... please, just stop,” you say, but even to your own ears, your voice is weak, trembling with the same sorrow you’ve been trying so hard to bury. You don’t know whether you’re trying to convince him or yourself. Your chest tightens with every second he holds onto you, every second he doesn’t let go.

He doesn’t stop. His grip on you only tightens as he looks up at you, his face streaked with tears, eyes full of raw, untamed emotion.

“I’m sorry, y/n,” he chokes out. “I’m so sorry. I never should’ve let you go. I never should’ve pushed you away. I—” His voice cracks, and he buries his face in your stomach, unable to finish the sentence. The sound of his sobs against your skin is almost too much to bear. It stirs something in you, something painful, something you thought you’d buried so deep that it couldn’t hurt anymore. But it does.

You shake your head, fighting against the part of you that still wants to be there for him, that still wants to believe in the words he’s saying.

“I can’t look at you the same, Rafe,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the strain of holding back tears. You tense up, every muscle in your body recoiling from the touch that once brought you comfort but now only fills you with a deep, searing pain. Your face twists into an expression of disgust, your lip trembling as you continue. “I can’t look at you knowing you’ve proposed to somebody else. I don’t think I could ever forget that.”

Your words are laced with a solemn, heartbreaking truth that makes Rafe’s breath hitch. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but no words come out. He looks utterly broken, his eyes searching yours desperately for any sign that you don’t mean it. But he finds none.

“That’s not something somebody can just get over,” you add, your voice barely above a whisper, yet it echoes in his ears like a shout.

Rafe’s eyes well up with fresh tears. He drops his head, resting his forehead against your stomach as he chokes out a shaky breath. “I know,” he whispers, his voice filled with raw anguish. “I know I’ve ruined everything. But I still love you, y/n. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

You swallow hard, squeezing your eyes shut as if that could block out the pain of his words. “That doesn’t change anything,” you murmur, your hands still hovering over him, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer. “You made your choice, Rafe. And it wasn’t me.”

He flinches as if you’ve slapped him, his arms falling limply to his sides. The realization that he can’t undo what he’s done, that he’s lost you for good, washes over him, leaving him hollow. He looks up at you one last time, his expression a mixture of desperation and helplessness.

Once Rafe stands up, there’s a brief silence as he stares into your teary eyes. He swallows the lump in his throat as he takes in your appearance — even after a busy day, you still look beautiful and flawless. It’s one of the things he always admired about you, how you could be under a whirlwind of stress and still somehow look perfect. But as he gazes at you now, his eyes fill with dread and desperation.

“Listen to me, y/n, please just listen to me,” he pleads, his voice breaking as he points to his chest. You stay silent but don’t move, your eyes peering up at him with a painfully broken look that he wishes he could erase. “I fucked up, okay? I fucked up. It shouldn’t have taken me so long to realize it, but I did, and I’m so, so sorry.” His lip trembles, his eyes filled with tears and sorrow.

You stand there, unmoving, as his words spill out with raw emotion, almost tripping over themselves in his haste to get them out. The sight of Rafe, usually so composed, now crumbling in front of you is enough to make your heart ache. You clench your jaw, trying to keep your composure, but you can feel your front wavering.

Rafe’s eyes are red and glossy, his lips trembling as he desperately tries to explain himself. He points to his chest, almost as if he’s trying to pull the words directly from his heart, like they’ve been buried deep inside him for too long.

“I still love you,” he whispers, the words trembling on his lips like they’re too fragile to say out loud. “This entire time, I never stopped. I just thought I was doing what was right by letting you go. I thought I was saving you from… from me. I couldn’t ruin your life anymore.”

You inhale sharply, the air catching in your throat as his words hang in the space between you like a heavy fog. You want to be angry, to lash out, but instead, all you feel is a deep, consuming sadness. It’s like everything you’ve held back, every ounce of pain and longing, is suddenly sitting right there on the surface, impossible to hide.

Your voice is soft, almost trembling as you speak. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me, Rafe. You don’t get to choose when you love me and when you let me go.”

Rafe’s face crumples at your words, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “I know,” he chokes out, his voice barely a whisper. “I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was hurt you. I was so scared of losing you that I ended up pushing you away. And now… now I’ve lost you anyway.”

There’s a silence that follows, heavy and suffocating, as if the weight of everything left unsaid is pressing down on your chest. You blink back the tears that have gathered in your eyes, finally allowing one to slip down your cheek.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you for this,” you admit, your voice strained and filled with a pain that’s almost unbearable to hear.

Rafe steps forward as if to reach for you, but he stops himself, his hand falling back to his side. “I don’t expect you to,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “I just needed you to know… I needed you to hear it from me. I never stopped loving you, and I never will.”

You close your eyes, letting the tears fall freely as his words wash over you. It feels like every emotion you’ve tried to bury is clawing its way back up to the surface, tearing you apart from the inside. You want to shut him out, to run away and pretend this conversation never happened, but you can’t. Not now. Not after everything he’s said.

With a shaky hand, you wipe the tears from your cheeks, sniffling as you let out a bitter, humorless laugh. “So what now, huh?” you ask, your voice strained with raw emotion. “You love me, but in a few weeks, you’ll be off marrying someone else?”

Your expression twists with anger and heartbreak, the frustration building up like an unbearable pressure in your chest. It’s like everything you’ve held back for so long is finally breaking free, and you can’t stop it anymore. You look at him with a fury born out of pain, your eyes ablaze with a mix of betrayal and sorrow.

Rafe flinches at your words, his face crumpling as if you’ve physically struck him. He shakes his head frantically, trying to find something — anything — to say that will make this right. But the truth is, he doesn’t have an answer. He’s caught in his own web of mistakes, and he knows it.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he whispers, almost to himself, as if he’s trying to convince himself that his actions were justified. But even he knows it’s a lie. He looks up at you, his eyes pleading for some kind of forgiveness, some kind of understanding. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Then why did you?” you cry out, your voice breaking. “Why did you do this to me? Why did you let me believe that you didn’t care when you knew how much I loved you?”

The silence that follows is deafening, filled with all the things that neither of you can say. You’re both standing there, barely holding it together. Rafe takes a step towards you, his hand reaching out as if he wants to touch you, to comfort you. But you take a step back, shaking your head.

“No — don’t touch me!” you shout, stumbling back as Rafe reaches out for you. You throw your hand in the air, creating a barrier between you. “Don’t fucking touch me!” Your voice cracks, filled with a raw pain that you’ve been holding in for far too long.

The words escape your lips like a scream, your sobs growing louder as the reality of everything crashes over you like a wave, threatening to pull you under. It’s as if the dam you’ve kept up for so long has finally broken, and there’s no stopping the flood of emotions now.

Rafe’s hand drops to his side, his face pale and stricken as he watches you fall apart in front of him. He wants to say something, anything, to take back what he’s done, but the words seem to be caught in his throat, strangled by his own guilt.

“You ruined me, Rafe!” you cry out, your voice laced with a bitterness that makes him flinch. “You fucking ruined me!” You point to your chest, stabbing your finger against your sternum as if you’re trying to drill the pain into him, to make him feel even an ounce of what you’re feeling.

“And now you get to live your life with someone else,” you continue, your words heavy with despair, “and I’m still here, trying to get over you.” Your voice breaks on the last word, your face contorted in anguish as tears stream down your cheeks.

You look at him, your eyes filled with a mix of heartbreak and fury. It’s almost unbearable, the way he looks at you — like he’s seeing you for the first time, truly understanding the depth of the pain he’s caused. His lips part as if to say something, but no sound comes out. He stands there, helpless and broken, as he realizes the full weight of what he’s done to you.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” you continue, your voice trembling. “To be replaced? To watch you make a future with someone else while I'm still stuck in the past?”

Rafe’s eyes fill with tears, his chest heaving as the weight of his own guilt crashes down on him. He shakes his head, and when he finally speaks, his voice is barely a whisper, strained with intense emotion. “I see what this has done to you, y/n," he says, his words trembling with sincerity. "And I can’t tell you how sorry I am for hurting you like this. But this —” he gestures between the two of you, his hand trembling as he struggles to find the right words, “— this is hurting me too.”

His eyes are pleading, desperate for you to understand. “You don’t get what I’m saying, y/n. There is no future without you. I can’t even fucking look at Sofia without subconsciously comparing her to you. I can’t even imagine a life where you’re not there.”

You flinch at his confession, feeling your chest tighten as his words sink in. It feels like a gut punch, hearing him say out loud what you’ve feared deep down — that he still loves you, that he’s been pretending all along. You clench your fists, trying to steel yourself against the burning emotions his words bring up. It hurts too much to even look at him right now, the man who was once your everything, standing there and admitting he still wants you despite everything.

“You’re engaged, Rafe,” you choke out, as if reminding him — or maybe reminding yourself. “You’re about to marry her, start a new life with her. How can you say that to me?”

Rafe shakes his head frantically, wiping the tears from his cheeks as if trying to scrub away his own shame. “I don’t know,” he admits, his voice breaking. “I don’t fucking know how I got here. I thought I was doing what was right, I thought I was moving on. But the entire time I’ve been fooling myself. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

You stare at him, stunned into silence. The sincerity in his eyes, the way his voice cracks when he says your name — it’s too much. It’s everything you’ve wanted to hear, but it’s also everything you’ve feared because it complicates the pain you’ve worked so hard to bury.

“I can’t stand this,” he continues, taking a step closer. He looks at you with an anguish that you’ve never seen from him before, like he’s on the verge of completely unraveling. “I can’t stand the thought of spending my life with someone else when every part of me still loves you. I don’t want a future where I’m constantly wishing it was you beside me instead.”

“Then why?” you finally whisper, your voice breaking as you look at him through your tears. “Why didn’t you fight for us? Why didn’t you choose me?”

Rafe’s face crumples, a sob escaping his lips as he takes another step forward. “Because I was scared, Y/N. I was scared that I’d destroy you, that I’d ruin your life the way I’ve ruined everything else. I thought you deserved better, someone who wouldn’t drag you down with their bullshit. I thought letting you go was what you needed.”

Your lips tremble, your eyes glued to the ground as you stand there before him, openly weeping. The sobs come out in shuddering gasps, and it’s painfully clear that you’re waging a war with yourself, torn between the pull of your heart and the reality staring you in the face.

“This is wrong...” you choke out, shaking your head as you look down at the pavement. “This entire thing is so fucked up now, Rafe.” You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, but your voice cracks with the weight of your words. “I can’t tell you I want to be with you knowing you have a fiancée. I’m not that type of person.”

Rafe looks at you, completely shattered. The realization of how deeply he’s hurt you, and how badly he’s messed everything up, is etched across his face. He steps closer, his hands reaching out, but he stops himself just inches away, as if he’s afraid that touching you would make it even worse.

“You don’t think I know that?” he whispers, his voice filled with a vulnerable, desperate plea. “You don’t think I’ve been tearing myself apart over this? I know what I did. I know I put you in this impossible position. But God, y/n, I can’t lose you. Not like this.”

It’s as if the sincerity in Rafe’s voice drags you into a tidal wave of emotions you can’t control. Your sobs grow harder, louder, as you struggle against the rising tide of everything you’ve kept bottled up inside. You wipe your tears with the back of your trembling hand, trying to steady your breath. It takes every ounce of strength you have left to lift your eyes and look at him, your voice barely a whisper, choked with disbelief.

"So what do you suggest, Rafe?" you manage to get out, your words laced with pain and anger. "Because I’m not a homewrecker, and I’m sure as hell not gonna start now." You say it with a force that surprises even you, as if you need to convince yourself just as much as him.

Rafe’s eyes widen, filling with a desperate, almost frantic light. He steps closer, his hands reaching out as if to touch you, but he hesitates, letting them fall back to his sides. He’s trembling, his chest heaving as he struggles to get the words out. "I’ll... I’ll break things off with her," he stammers, his voice raw and pleading. "I’ll tell her I don’t want this anymore. Whatever it takes, I’ll do it."

He looks at you with an earnestness that you haven’t seen in years, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He’s practically begging, his voice breaking as he continues, "Please, just... just let me make this right. Let me fix this."

You stand there, stunned into silence. The weight of his words, the sheer gravity of his promise, leaves you breathless. You search his face, trying to find any hint of doubt or hesitation, but all you see is desperation. He’s standing there, laying his heart bare before you, offering you everything he has left.

And yet, the fear and doubt in your chest tighten like a vice. It’s everything you ever wanted to hear from him, and yet it feels like it’s coming too late. "You’d break off your engagement?" you whisper, almost disbelieving, as if you need him to say it again for you to believe it.

"Yes," Rafe breathes out without hesitation, his voice cracking. "I would. I’ll do it right now if that’s what it takes. I’ll call her, I’ll tell her everything. Just—just don’t walk away from me. Not again."

You stand there, frozen in shock and grief. He’s offering to leave everything behind—his fiancée, his life as he knows it—all for you. It’s everything you once dreamed of hearing from him, but now it feels like a hollow promise, a desperate plea that leaves you at odds with yourself. Your heart pounds in your chest, torn between the memories of the boy you first loved and the stranger standing before you now, a man who’s broken you more than anyone ever has.

You swallow hard, your voice barely above a whisper as you look at him, searching his face for any sign of the boy you once knew. "How do I know you won't do the same to me, Rafe?" you ask, your eyes filled with both heartbreak and accusation. "How do I know that you won't change your mind in a few months, or decide again that I'm not worth the fight? How do I trust you after everything you've put me through?"

Rafe's voice shakes, his eyes searching yours, desperate for any sign of understanding. "You’re my first love," he repeats, softer this time, as if the words themselves carry a burden he’s never let go of. His gaze is intense, filled with intense emotion that seems to pierce straight through you.

"I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. And I know I messed up, I know I hurt you—more than I ever should have. But you’re the one I keep coming back to, no matter what, no matter how hard I try to move on." He swallows hard, his voice cracking slightly. "I’ve been trying to tell myself that I could be happy with Sofia, that I could settle for what I have now, but I can’t. Not when I keep thinking about you. About us."

His hands twitch at his sides, a barely contained energy as he steps closer, but not enough to invade your space. He seems to respect the distance you’ve created, but you can feel the pull of his presence, the desperation in his every word.

"I made a mistake, y/n," he says, his voice breaking as if the weight of the confession is physically painful. "And I know that doesn’t change anything. But what I feel for you—it’s not something I can just walk away from. I can’t forget about you. I don’t want to forget about you."

You’re silent, your thoughts a tangled mess, but the truth in his words cuts through the chaos, and you can’t help but feel that old connection flaring inside of you. The love that was once so pure, so certain, but now feels like a distant memory, something impossible to hold onto in this moment.

But Rafe is still standing there, eyes pleading with you, waiting for you to speak. His words hang in the air, heavy. "You’re my first love, y/n. And that means something to me. I can’t just let it go."

The sincerity in his voice cracks your walls just a little more, and for a brief second, you want to believe him. You want to give in and let him in again. But the fear, the pain, the loss—it all rushes back. How could you trust him again after everything he’s done?

But his eyes—those same eyes that once held so much promise—are full of regret, full of a longing that makes your heart ache. And despite everything, despite the doubt that still lingers like a shadow between you, you can’t help but ask, "What are you asking of me, Rafe?"

His lips tremble as he opens his mouth to respond, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’m asking you to give me a chance. A real chance to prove to you that I won’t make the same mistake again. I’m asking you to trust me again, even if it’s just for a little while. To let me show you I’m not the same person who walked away."

You take a shaky breath, your heart pounding in your chest. It feels like a decision that could change everything—everything you’ve worked for to protect yourself from him, from the hurt. But the sincerity in his eyes, the raw emotion in his voice, it pulls at something inside you. Something you thought was long buried.

"Please, y/n," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, "just give me a chance."

You stand there, frozen for a moment, as Rafe’s words echo in your mind. Your heart is a battlefield, torn between the pain of the past and the ache for what could’ve been. You can’t ignore the emotions swirling inside you—the longing, the betrayal, the love that’s never really gone away.

You stare at him, your expression unreadable, as your eyes flicker between his. You’re caught in a moment of vulnerability, unsure of what to do next. But then, all the years of hurt, the anger, the love you’d buried deep inside you, rush to the surface in one overwhelming wave.

Without thinking, you reach up to him, your hand trembling as you pull his face toward yours. His breath catches as your lips meet in a kiss that’s electric, full of all the things you can’t put into words. At first, it’s tentative, a question in the way you both move, as if unsure if this is real, if this is the right thing to do. But the moment he responds, pulling you closer, you know you’re both lost in this—lost in the feelings that have always been there, buried beneath the hurt and the distance.

Rafe’s hands slide to your back, pressing you against him, and you can feel the heat of his body, the desperation in the way he holds you, like he’s afraid to let go, like you might slip away again. His lips are soft but demanding, as if he’s trying to make up for all the time that’s been lost. Your heart races, and everything around you fades into nothingness. It’s just you and him, just the connection you once had, reigniting in a way that feels both comforting and painful all at once.

For a moment, everything is perfect. All the doubts, all the pain, fade away in the warmth of his touch, in the way his kiss deepens, as if he’s trying to pour everything he’s kept inside into you. But then, a sharp pang of reality stabs at you. This isn’t a fairytale. This isn’t a happy ending yet. Your hands push against his chest, breaking the kiss, and you take a step back, your breath ragged.

Rafe stares at you, his chest heaving, his face flushed with emotion. His hands are still outstretched, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets you go. His lips are swollen, his eyes searching yours for any sign that this is real, that you haven’t just pulled away because of the past.

You pull away from the kiss just long enough to look into his eyes, searching for any sign of doubt, any hint that this might be a fleeting moment, but you find none. There’s only sincerity and longing, as if he’s been waiting for this moment just as much as you have. The realization hits you all at once: this is real, and it’s all he’s ever wanted, too.

Before you can even process the thoughts racing through your mind, you’re pulled back into him. His lips crash against yours once again, but this time, it’s different. It’s not just a kiss—it’s a confession, a promise, a desperate release of everything you both kept inside for so long. The world around you disappears as your hands find their way to his hair, tugging him closer as if you can’t get enough of him.

His hands slide under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, and in a heartbeat, your legs are wrapped around his waist. The cool air outside disappears as the heat between you both intensifies. He presses you against the truck door, his lips still capturing yours, and you can feel the weight of his desire in every movement.

Rafe groans against your lips, his breath ragged, his hands pulling you closer as though he’s afraid you might slip away from him again. He moves with a hunger you’ve never seen before, and yet, it’s familiar, as if every kiss, every touch is a reminder of something you both once had and now desperately crave. You can feel his heart hammering in his chest, matching the erratic rhythm of your own.

You pull away, your lips swollen from the intensity, but your foreheads stay pressed together, both of you gasping for air. His hands roam to your back, holding you against him as if he can’t bear the thought of letting go. The vulnerability of the moment is overwhelming, but it’s also freeing. In this moment, you don’t care about the past. You don’t care about the pain, the mistakes, or the fear. All that matters is right here, right now, with him.

"Rafe," you whisper, your voice breaking as you look up at him. “This is… too much, I—”

He cuts you off with another kiss, gentle this time, his lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. “I know. I know. But I can’t help it, y/n. I need you. I’ve always needed you.”

The words hit you harder than anything else, and despite every doubt that lingers, you know this is the real Rafe, the one you fell for all those years ago. He’s here. And he’s not going anywhere.

"I still love you, Rafe. I've never fully stopped."

Rafe’s breath catches in his throat as he hears your words. His entire body goes still for a moment, as if he's trying to process what you've just said. His fingers dig into your back, pulling you even closer as though he's afraid that if he lets go, you’ll disappear.

His eyes search yours, desperate for confirmation, for a sign that you mean it, that you’re not saying it out of guilt or hurt. His heart races in his chest, the same way it always did when you were near. But this time, there’s something different in the way he looks at you—a sense of relief, of finally being seen and understood after everything that’s passed between you both.

“I never stopped loving you,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. “I never fucking stopped, y/n.”

His hands cradle your face gently, his thumb brushing away a stray tear you didn’t even realize had fallen. His gaze softens, a mix of regret and longing flooding his expression. “I don’t deserve you, but I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that I can be what you need. I can be the man you’ve always wanted me to be.”

You lean into his touch, the weight of the words, of everything that’s been left unsaid, starting to settle in. It’s still chaos, and the reality of everything is still real and messy. But in this moment, you realize that you don’t need to have it all figured out right now. What matters is the connection between you two, the bond that’s never really broken, no matter how far apart you’ve been.

“I just want you to stay,” you say softly, your voice trembling, but steady. “No more running. No more pushing me away. Just stay, Rafe. I need you.”

Rafe’s eyes close for a moment, taking in the full depth of your words, and then he nods. A tear slips down his cheek, but it’s not one of sadness—it’s one of relief, of knowing that maybe, just maybe, this is the second chance he’s been waiting for.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises, his voice filled with the certainty that comes with knowing exactly what he wants. “I’ll never leave you again.”

#rafe cameron #drew starkey #obx #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #rafe cameron imagine #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe outer banks #rafe fic #rafe obx

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wileycap · 10 months ago

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At the intersection of crack and tragedy, I have this fic idea about Zuko getting time looped during the day of his Agni Kai.

The first few loops are painful and traumatic. (Well, they're all painful and traumatic, but after the first fifty times... even getting half your face burned off by your own father gets old.)

After a while, he manages to stay awake long enough to hear Iroh crying at his bedside, begging for Zuko to stay. Pleading with the spirits, please, not him too.

(And then it takes more time for him to realize who visits him after Iroh falls asleep. She doesn't say anything.)

Zuko makes a Plan.

In the mornings, he tracks down Iroh or any experienced firebender, and he learns. So what if he isn't good? He'll make up for it the same way he always does: with hard work. He has the time.

(One of these days, Uncle won't have to spend the evening crying to the spirits.)

He gets better. Far better than he has any right to be. Iroh is thrilled on the days when he manages to catch him and not one of the other masters. Every time, the other masters barely tolerate him until he shows them. Iroh is always patient and kind.

Middays are reserved for Azula. A sister is a sister, and maybe... maybe Azula just needed somebody after Mom left.

(Zuko got that wrong, too. He's pretty sure he died the first time, and this is the spirits punishing him for being a bad son, a bad brother, a bad prince. He'll get it right, eventually.)

And at sunset, he still tries to plead with his father. Ozai will never hear him, but he has to try.

(A few hundred burns to the face can make you hate a man.)

But no matter how hard he tries, he can't beat Ozai. His skills improve, but his body doesn't - it will always be thirteen, with undeveloped chi paths he can barely break through to, and Ozai is a man in his prime.

Until one day he fights so well that Ozai halts the battle. He has the old general (after all this time, Zuko has completely forgotten the general) brought up, and orders Zuko to give him a mark of shame. To prove himself a good son and a good prince.

He stands above the general and looks at his tears and his shaking hands and his panicked eyes and he understands.

This time, Zuko earns his scar with pride.

(And when Iroh cries at his bedside, he reaches out and squeezes his Uncle's hand: I'm here, I'm not leaving.)

(And later, when Azula comes in with her soft steps and doesn't say anything, Zuko cracks open his good eye and gives her a smile.)

(And when he and Iroh set out the next morning, it is with purpose.)

(They leave behind a princess who knows that her father is not invincible.)

#avatar the last airbender #atla #zuko #atla zuko #atla fic #time loop #iroh #uncle iroh #ozai #azula #i don't know if the agni kai was at sunset or sunrise or either but if it's at sunset that works better for the fic. so. you understand.

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yuanology · 2 years ago

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m!reader fingering afab!geto while being 100% aware gojo's watching through the crack of the door so he decides to show gojo how sensitive his friend is and geto ends up squirting?? (lowkey embarrassed i wrote this, but yknow ignore it if you want😅)

what the Fuck .

gojo satoru was not a virtuous man. far from it, in fact. as a self-made god, satoru existed on a plane far above morality and whatever other human concept was created to define right and wrong. within infinity and the insurmountable power residing in it, there was only the man who wielded it and the humanity confining it.

even so, satoru still knew deep within his heart—the trembling, still beating thing residing underneath the constricts of his ribs—that he should not be doing this; that he should not be staying.

but satoru was not a virtuous man, and so he stayed.

because there, past the thin crack of the door, was his best friend—the same one he had known from childhood, the same one who had walked with him through the ins and outs of darkness—with his clothes stripped clean, thrown messily around the room, both of his feet planted flat on the bed, and his back arching off the mattress in a pleasured arch. between his legs, slick and heavy with evidence of his own debauchery, stood you—fully dressed, only the first two buttons of your collar open.

satoru knew of you. it was impossible not to. you were older than the both of them. when they were freshly entering their first year, you'd already matured where you existed in your third one. satoru himself had barely spared you a glance but in retrospect, he did remember suguru mentioning once or twice that he was training with you on the side.

fuck, satoru thought, dazed. if he had known this was what 'training' involved, he would have listened a bit better on what suguru had to say about you.

because you were holding his thighs apart, well-practiced fingers relentlessly pushing past suguru's slick folds, producing the loudest squelching noises. satoru couldn't see very well from this angle, but he could hear the sounds his best friend was making; fucked up and high-pitched, whiney in a way satoru had never heard him speak before.

suguru cried out your name, breathless and panting. "please," he was begging you, sounding close to tears. "please, no more."

you leaned in, mouth brushing over suguru's chest as you whispered your response. satoru couldn't hear you, even as his ears strained to catch a wisp of your words. but whatever it was, it must not be good because suguru is letting out a loud whine, one the turned into the strangled beginnings of a scream when satoru noticed that you had begun to pick up pace.

oh my god.

just as satoru took the first hesitant half step backwards, swaying in place, he hears your drawled out voice—cutting, brave, unyielding.

"now, where do you think you're going, satoru?"

satoru stiffened, and he realised that he wasn't the only one. suguru did, too—his body locking up as a new flush crawled across his skin. satoru had half the mind to apologise to his best friend in his head, a chant of i'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msuchashittyfriend looping in his head as if it could forgive him for not only being a pervert, but also for intruding on his best friend's secret.

satoru cleared his throat. he wanted to make an excuse, to apologise, but all that could tumble out of his throat was a hoarse, "um."

suguru let out a high whine at the sound of satoru's voice, as if he was spurred on by his audience. his back arched, his mouth parting as a deep sound escaped him. satoru watched, mesmerised, as the muscle on suguru's body rippled at the motion, your hands never once faltering in its ministrations.

"come here for a minute, satoru." your voice was calm, collected and almost clinical. as if you didn't practically have your entire fist buried in between suguru's slick folds, your thumb nudging at where satoru guessed must be suguru's clit if suguru's high pitched whimpers were anything to go by. "i need your opinion on something."

satoru swallowed thickly as he was drawn into the room, his motions dumb as if he was a mere puppet on your string. as he moved closer, he realised that there was more to the scene that he couldn't earlier see from his post by the door.

suguru's cunt was fucking drooling, slick dripping all over the place as his hips canted in the air as if to escape and to move closer to the pleasure. his hole would no doubt he gaping if you pulled your hand out, hungry for more. your thumb covered his clit wholly, rubbing at it mercilessly.

satoru felt himself twitching in his pants, throat working around the words stuck in his lungs.

"what do you need?" satoru asked, his voice wrecked. he would be embarrassed by it if it wasn't promptly drowned out by the sound of suguru's choked out noises.

without thinking, satoru moved a hand to rest on suguru's thigh, at the sight of his best friend in distress. he didn't realise what a great mistake it was until suguru did a full body shudder, a ragged gasp leaving him. satoru couldn't fucking breathe.

clearly, you didn't share the same sentiment because you were speaking again. "suguru wants me to stop, but i personally think he can come one more time," you said casually, as if this was a common conversation to have with just about anyone.

suguru let out a weak whimper, pathetic and desperate in a way satoru never knew him to be, at the sound of your words. you must have been trying to convince him about this for a while then.

stiffly, satoru nodded, not quite knowing how to react. "okay," he said dumbly.

he wasn't looking at you, too entranced by the sight of suguru with his legs spread wide open and his messy cunt being on full display, but he could hear the smile in your voice when you said, "well, what do you think? can he come one more time?"

satoru opened his mouth, a half-baked answer on the tip of his tongue, when he was interrupted by the sound of suguru's babbling.

"no. no, please. no more." there were tears in his eyes, dripping down his cheeks prettily, satoru noticed. suguru looked a mess, his hair a halo around his head and his hips lifted in the air as if he was nothing more than a cheap whore. satoru thought he was beautiful. "please. i can't. don't make me. please, please, please, pl—"

his words promptly turned into a loud scream, half-pained and half-pleasured, and satoru's head whipped around to look at the source of it. he swallowed thickly when his eyes dropped from suguru's face to his engorged clit, where your thumb was no longer rubbing at but rather, your earlier free hand was now gently tugging at the hood over it.

holy shit, satoru thought, his head spinning. because he just watched you pinch suguru's clit. you pinched suguru's clit. judging from the nonchalance of your gesture and the way suguru didn't try to fight back, instead canting his hips higher, this was something that you did often.

satoru was going to die. holy shit.

"shh, suguru," you reprimanded, silencing suguru's desperate sobs with a gentle pat to his thigh. suguru sniffled, but he stopped letting out those depressing sounds. "it's not you i'm talking to."

suddenly reminded that he owed you the debt of an answer, he blurted out an answer before he could think twice. "he can," satoru replied. "he's an overachiever, the dumbass. he can come another time."

suguru let out a loud sob at his answer, one that sounded a lot like betrayal.

satoru couldn't properly apologise to him, though, because your lips were curling into a sharp grin, looking like a cat who caught the canary, and satoru couldn't help but think that maybe, he was just in as big of a trouble as suguru was. maybe, with his answer, satoru had condemned not just his best friend, but himself as well.

you pulled your hand out of suguru with a lewd squelch, one that made satoru flush all the way to the roots of his hair—and oh god, he hadn't even realised he could burn up even more—and the way that suguru whimpered, both devastated and relieved by the loss, wasn't helping.

you took a step backwards, letting suguru's body drop onto the mattress. you gestured towards the now empty space between suguru's thighs. "on your knees, satoru. hands behind your back."

satoru couldn't do anything but comply. he dropped to his knees, his hands behind his back and his eyes now at level with suguru's fucked out cunt. holy shit. suguru was twitching, his pretty clit engorged and swollen from the earlier abuse and fucking pierced apparently. satoru exhaled sharply at the sight, his breath fanning across suguru's folds, and earning himself a short, aborted whine from suguru. oh my god.

satoru almost flinched when he felt your hand card through his hair, tangling your fingers into the strands as he guided your face closer to suguru's gushing pussy. "go on," you ordered him, your voice gentled by the sound of melodious laughter. "eat him."

thank you for the meal, satoru thought dazedly as his face was guided closer and closer, until he was buried in suguru's cunt and lapping up the taste of his best friend.

the response was immediate—suguru's thighs started quivering on either side of satoru's head, moving to rest on satoru's shoulders and pulling him in as if to suffocate him. satoru didn't mind, taking that as an unspoken order to start eating his best friend out like his life depended on it.

he didn't bother with hesitating or testing the waters. he licked a broad strip up the length of suguru's cunt, dipping in between his folds to gather the slick there at the centre of his tongue. satoru moaned at the taste, and he was immediately greeted by the feeling of suguru's walls squeezing around him as suguru met him with his own weak whimper.

"suguru's already sensitive." that was you again. there was notable amusement in your voice. "want me to help you make him come faster?"

satoru should say no. he wanted to stay buried in suguru's cunt forever, eating his best friend out until he was shaking all over the place. he wanted to make his best friend feel so good that he stopped being satoru's suguru and instead started becoming your suguru with satoru instead.

but he could hear his best friend's pleas even above the sound of his pounding heartbeat, the sound of suguru's suffering, and he couldn't let this keep going for much longer.

he nodded, the bridge of his nose bumping over suguru's clit in the process. suguru's thighs squeezed around him, a whimper escaping, and satoru quickly drew circles on suguru's hips in apology.

you, on the other hand, didn't seem to have the same courtesy as you told him, "suck on his clit, then open your jaw wide."

satoru obeyed even though he didn't really understand why you were telling him to do that, knowing that you likely understood suguru's body more than he did in this matter.

he pursed his lips around suguru's clit, sucking on it firmly, before he let his jaw drop open.

oh.

oh, holy fuck.

because suguru was squirting directly into his mouth, making a mess out of the lower side of his face, and satoru could only kneel there, his mouth wide open as he swallowed all of his best friend's slick juices. his head was light, and he couldn't breathe—both from the suffocation and the fact that geto suguru, his best friend, his one and only, just fucking squirted into his mouth.

when suguru finally let him free, thighs unlocking from around his head and limply falling onto the edge of the bed. satoru leaned back, unable to process what just happened, when he heard you speak again.

"don't forget your manners, suguru."

it was quiet for a moment, then he heard the small, almost shy, voice of his best friend. "thank you, satoru," suguru mumbled.

"you're welcome," satoru replied, his voice sounding fucked over. he couldn't correct himself just yet, though, his head still reeling.

he was still on his knees as he watched you rearrange suguru on the bed, peppering soft kisses onto his face and his collarbone and his chest in stark contrast to the way you had treated him earlier. there was the lull of soft conversation passing between the both of you, one that satoru didn't try being a voyeur of.

he was content with just kneeling there, his head filled with cotton and static. he didn't even bother with touching himself, still too entranced by the feeling of this all happening.

finally, your footsteps drew close to him. he tilted his head as he watched you approach him. you cupped his chin, tilting his head back to meet your gaze.

"messy," you noted, but the corners of your mouth were quirked into a smile. "but suguru's always been messy." satoru didn't have any response to that, so he simply nodded stupidly. somehow, that must be the right answer because you laughed.

you took a step back, taking a seat onto the edge of the bed. satoru's eyes tracked your movement almost curiously. he frowned when you patted your lap, as if you were expecting something from him.

"over my knee," you said. "i think fifteen should do. usually, i'd give more, but i'm assuming you're new to the scene, hm? don't forget to count."

satoru blinked dumbly. he stayed rooted on his knees. "what?" he asked hoarsely.

you raised a brow at him. "oh, satoru," you said, your voice placating. "did you really think that i was going to let you go unpunished just like that? over my knee. fifteen spanks and i want you to count."

when he still did nothing, your gaze darkened and your voice grew firm. "now, satoru."

oh, satoru thought smartly.

swallowing thickly, he moved to comply.

#once again . this ran away from me #idk if this was what you wanted anon but the idea of satoru eating suguru out literally invaded my brain i'm sorry #literally insane holy shitttt #sub jjk #sub geto suguru #sub gojo satoru #dom reader #top reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader x gojo satoru #( asks. )#( thirsts. )

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