❛ THE POGUES INTERRUPTING YOU AND RAFE MID-FUCK ❜

”I never see you in the club” I never see you having violent meltdowns alone in your room and hitting yourself but ok

blurb concept with steve harrington. [ GAZE ] our muses are having sex in missionary and the one on the bottom tells them to slow down so they can just look at them for a few moments.

requested by @stardustmunson ᰔ

steve was in a rhythm, his body perfectly melding with yours with each jut of his hips, filling you right to the brim. there wasn't a beat that he was missing, hitting all the right spots as his tongue rolled across the cherubs of your breasts.

he leans back up, staring down at you now as his hair falls idly around his face. the lights were dim, but the moonlight from outside was dancing across his features.

god, he was beautiful.

you could feel the coil in the pit of your tummy building, wanting to bend and break, but seeing steve like this was something special. you were the only one that got to see him like this. vulnerable, needing, craving the feeling of being inside you.

you didn't want this moment to end.

"steve," you moan his name, but he thinks nothing of it. you always said his name while he was buried deep inside you and he loved it. "steve... slow down, baby."

it was evident by the way his eyes widened that he thought something was wrong and immediately stops thrusting, "i-i'm not hurting you, am i?"

"no, no, no," you brush the chocolate curls out of his face as best you can, letting your hand linger on his cheek, "you're not hurting me. i just - i want to look at you for a bit longer."

the corner of his mouth tugs up into a smirk, "in that case... is this slow enough?" he pushes himself into you at an almost torturous pace, pulling a moan from deep within you, and chuckles at your reaction.

how do you theoretically ride someones dimple? asking for a friend.

standing ovulation or whatever they say

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSkf4Yfqm/

I saw this TikTok and it's so cute! Can you write smt like this with military!rafe, I just feel like this would happen with them lol.

(for the sake of this blurb, the twins’ names are callum && emerson)

rafe’s packing his things for deployment, shirts and rations piled onto the living room floor while one of your twin boys sit on the couch watching tv. you’re in the kitchen, brows furrowing before you yell, “cal, come here baby!”

momentarily looking up from his task, he notices the little boy still sitting on the couch, before he says to him, “callum, your momma’s callin’ you, don’t ignore her.”

he doesn’t budge.

rafe doesn’t even notice the other boy beginning to clamber down and make his way over to the kitchen while he discards his bag. “callum?” he asks confused, pointing to emerson who’s still sitting on the couch, tilting his head at his dad before shaking his head.

“no?” rafe repeats, eyes flicking over to the toddler waddling over to the kitchen. moving around the couch, rafe catches up to the little legs, picking him up in his arms before questioning, “are you callum or emerson?”

you lift your eyes from where you’re cooking, shaking your head at the exchange but keeping quiet, letting rafe figure it out on his own.

“i callum,” the toddler babbles, and you’re grateful that they’re too young to have developed the trick of pretending to be the other twin.

“jesus, you’re callum,” he mutters, settling the boy on the kitchen counter for you to talk to him as you first wanted to.

“mixing up our kids rafe?” you chuckle, focusing your attention onto callum who’s trying to grab the potatoes you just cut, prying it gently out of his hands.

“no, dunno where you got that from,” he grumbles, not accepting his mistake in his usual stubborn fashion. walking back to the couch, the look he gives emerson, a slight cock of his head and narrow eyes as if to make sure it’s really him, doesn’t quite go over your head. you’ve seen it too often - rafe always mixes up your kids.

𝓟ATCHWORK.

pairings : frank castle x fem!reader warnings : injury, crying, non-sexual nudity, angst, size diff, hurt/comfort, teasing, fluff, happy ending summary : you take care of your boyfriend frank after he shows up at your door, bloody and bruised wc : 1.2k a/n : um hello punisher fandom i’m only on season one i’m so sorry #fakefan😥

the knock at your door came just after midnight, faint but insistent. you had a sinking feeling even before you opened it, knowing who it would be. frank always showed up like this - silent and battered, like a ghost returning to haunt your quiet life. except you really did love this ghost. but tonight was worse. the moment you saw him leaning heavily against the frame, his face pale under streaks of blood, your breath hitched.

“frank,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “oh my god, what happened?”

he grunted in response, brushing off your concern with a slight shake of his head. “‘s not as bad as it looks,” he muttered, but the way he swayed on his feet told a different story. instinctively, you reached out, your much smaller hands pressing against his chest to steady him. he was so solid, so big, but he felt fragile in this moment, like he might collapse if you let go.

“come inside,” you said, your voice wavering as you pulled him in. he barely made it two steps before you had to slip under his arm, guiding him toward the bathroom. “you shouldn’t even be walking. why didn’t you call me?”

“didn’t wanna… bother you,” he rasped, wincing as you helped him sit on the closed toilet lid. his broad shoulders hunched forward, and he sucked in a sharp breath when you knelt in front of him, slowly nestling in between his legs.

“bother me?” your voice cracked, tears already pricking at your eyes. “frank, you’re bleeding all over my bathroom. how could you think…” you trailed off, shaking your head as you reached for the first aid kit under the sink.

his lips twitched, a ghost of a smile despite the situation. “baby, you’re cryin’ already,” he murmured, his tone soft, almost teasing. “i’m the one all cut up, and you’re the one fallin’ apart.”

“shut up,” you sniffled, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand before focusing on the deep gash along his side. “it’s not funny.”

“maybe a little funny,” he said, but his voice was gentler now, his dark eyes watching you with something like affection. the size of him made you feel even smaller as you worked, your hands trembling as you cleaned the wound. “you don’t gotta do this, y’know.”

“stop saying that,” you mumbled, dabbing at the cut with antiseptic, trying to focus on stopping the bleeding rather than frank’s cooing at your sniffles. “you’re always saying that, like i’m not here because i want to be. you think i’d let just anyone bleed all over my floor?”

his chuckle was low, rumbling in his chest. “guess not.”

once the wound was cleaned and stitched, you leaned back on your heels, letting out a shaky breath. “all done. but you need to get cleaned up. you’re covered in…” you gestured vaguely at him, your lips quivering as you tried not to cry again.

“hey,” he said softly, his massive hand reaching out to cup your cheek, another of his little scoffs threatening to slip. he was trying to be as serious as possible for you, not wanting you to think he wasn’t taking you seriously, especially after putting you through so much. his thumb brushed away a stray tear, and the contrast of his rough skin against your softness made your heart ache. “don’t cry, sweetheart. it’s okay. i’m okay.”

“you’re not okay,” you whispered, your voice breaking. your train of thought stopped abruptly when you noticed the corners of his lips slightly turning up. “frank! stop smiling. just let me help, okay?” you whined, lifting your head away from his hands.

“okay, sweetheart,” he didn’t argue, too tired to fight you on it. you stood and turned to the tub, starting the water and letting it run warm. the quiet sound of it filled the room, grounding you as you grabbed a clean towel and set it aside. when you turned back to him, he was watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite place.

“come on,” you said, helping him to his feet. he towered over you, his sheer size making the act of guiding him to the tub feel almost absurd. but he let you, his movements slow and careful as he sank down onto the edge. his knees jutted up from the small space, his frame too large for the confines of your tiny bathroom.

“stay there,” you murmured, kneeling again to untie his boots and tug them off. your fingers worked quickly, but you were hyper-aware of his gaze, the weight of his attention making your cheeks flush.

once he was down to his boxers, you helped him ease into the water, your hands fluttering nervously as if you might break him. he let out a low sigh as the warm water enveloped him, his head tipping back against the edge of the tub.

“better?” you asked, perching on the side of the tub.

he hummed in response, his eyes slipping shut. after a moment, his head tipped forward, resting against your thigh. the vulnerability of the gesture stole your breath, and your hand hesitated mid-air before you rested it gently on his damp hair.

“you’re too good to me,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

“stop saying that,” you replied softly, your fingers threading through his hair. “you deserve someone to take care of you, frank. you deserve…” your voice caught, the words sticking in your throat.

he tilted his head slightly, looking up at you with an amused glint in his eyes. “you’re cryin’ again.”

“shut up,” you sniffled, swiping at your cheeks. “it’s your fault. you’re so… stubborn.”

his laugh was soft, barely more than a huff of air, but it made your chest ache. “didn’t mean to make you cry, sweetheart.”

you shook your head, your hand still brushing through his hair. “you didn’t. i just… i hate seeing you like this. you act like you don’t matter, but you do. you matter to me.”

for a long moment, he didn’t say anything, his dark eyes searching yours. then, slowly, he lifted a hand out of the water, his fingers brushing against your knee. it was such a small, tender gesture, but it spoke volumes.

“you’re somethin’ else,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion.

the two of you stayed like that for a while, the water growing cooler as his breathing slowed, the exhaustion finally taking hold. you didn’t move, didn’t dare disturb the fragile peace that had settled over the room. he looked so different like this, his usual hard edges softened by the quiet intimacy of the moment.

as his head grew heavier against your thigh, you leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. “get some rest,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “i’ve got you, frank. i’ve got you.”

and for the first time, he didn’t argue.

taglist form in pinned post, just added frank castle ><

Save It: Mikey Berzatto x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @cleacc @cutebookdragon1 @bungurus @nogoodbee

Sequel to:

Mess - Mikey tries to prove to you both he made the right decision by leaving.

The Diagnosis - Mikey recieves an explaination regarding his behaviour and addiction issues.

Being with you is akin to a religious experience, that’s what Mikey thinks as his mouth chases all over your skin, his calloused hands stroking over every part of your body. Your hands thread through his hair as he nuzzles your inner thigh, the stubble on his cheeks sending a rush of heat searing through your nerve endings.

He loves going down on you, he loves the way you arch against him, your grip tightening on his hair when he thrusts his tongue inside of you, his thumb tracing light circles over your clit. You taste like fucking sunshine and he just can’t get enough of you.

He devours you like man whose starving, like he’s trying to make up for every little shitty thing he’s ever done because in reality he is. He knows eating you out isn’t nearly enough but it’s a start he thinks, a way to remind you just how dedicated he is to you, just how much he loves you.

You’re breathing hitches and already Mikey can feel the fall coming. He hears it in those cute little whimpers, the breathy way you say his name as he uses his palms to hold you open as he fucks you with his mouth. Your grip tightens on his hair, your hips arching and suddenly your flooding his mouth with that sweet nectar of yours and Mikey’s just lapping it up because he needs to consume every single drop of your pleasure.

His hands grasp your waist as he begins to kiss his way back up your body, his heated lips dragging across your flushed skin as he caresses you. You need to stay connected in the aftermath and he gets that. You need to feel the weight of his, body, the press of him because it grounds you in the moment, it reminds you that he’s here to stay, that this isn’t a one night thing like all the other times he’s loved and left you.

“Mikey…” You whisper as his forehead comes to rest upon yours. He knows those three little words are on the tip of your tongue and Mikey, he just can’t bear to hear them because he’s not worthy of you, not yet.

“Save it for me.” He murmurs, his thumb trailing along the line of your jaw as he looks into your eyes. “Save it until I’m the man that I’m supposed to be.”

Love Mikey? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

Soft Heart and Sharp Edges

summary: You didn’t have to harden yourself to survive. Not with Rafe around.

characters: rafe cameron. crybaby! reader. mentions of ruthie. topper. kiara.

warnings: dead turtle :(

word count: 1k

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ────

The sky was slipping into dusk, the colors spilling across the ocean like someone had taken a watercolor brush and dragged it through the clouds - golds, pinks, and bleeding violets. The salt in the air clung to your skin, and the bonfire crackling nearby cast dancing shadows across the sand.

You stayed tucked against Rafe’s side, your fingers threaded tightly with his, feeling the steady pulse in his wrist against your own. His thumb brushed lazy circles along the back of your hand - grounding, possessive, sweet in a way no one else ever saw.

The beach was alive with chaos - Kooks and Pogues mixing in that strange, brittle way that could snap at any moment. Topper’s Jeep revved somewhere near the dunes, Ruthie shrieking with laughter as she gunned the engine too hard across the sand.

You heard it before you saw it - the sickening crunch. Then the tracks in the soft earth, torn straight through a scattering of tiny shapes.

At first, you didn’t understand. Then your stomach twisted. The tracks weren’t just in the sand. They were through a nest. A nest of baby sea turtles.

Kiara was the first to reach it, stumbling forward with a strangled sound. She bent down, her hands shaking as she scooped up a tiny, broken body. The hatchling fit into her palm like a fragile, ruined thing - a cracked shell, little flippers limp.

She whirled toward Ruthie, voice cracking in rage. "LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE!" Kiara screamed, her hand trembling as she held up the dead turtle.

The beach seemed to still. Even the music dipped lower, like the ocean itself was holding its breath.

Ruthie only laughed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "It’s a turtle, Kiara. Jesus. Chill out."

You stood frozen for a second, staring, until the devastation hit you like a wave. Your vision blurred instantly, hot tears welling up and slipping down your cheeks without permission.

The tiny creatures - their first instinct to find the sea - crushed before they even had a chance.

You sank down into the sand without thinking, your knees giving out as you scrambled forward to help the few hatchlings still moving. Your fingers, trembling, brushed one onto its feet again, coaxing it toward the surf like it could somehow make it if you just believed hard enough.

The tears came faster, silent but unstoppable, dripping off your chin onto the sand.

"Aw, are you serious?" Ruthie snickered loudly, catching sight of you. She elbowed Topper, gesturing. "Look at her. What a crybaby."

You flinched like she’d slapped you - not because it was mean, but because it was loud and sharp and cut through your soft grief like a knife.

That’s when it happened. You heard the change in Rafe’s breathing before you even looked up.

One second, he was beside you. The next, he was on Ruthie.

He crossed the sand in two strides, grabbed her by the wrist so roughly her laughter cracked into a yelp. Her phone tumbled from her fingers into the sand, screen face down.

"The fuck did you just call her?" Rafe’s voice was low, dangerous - like a lit fuse just waiting for the spark.

Topper lunged forward, trying to break it up, but Rafe shoved him back without even glancing at him. Topper stumbled, nearly falling onto his ass.

Kiara watched with wide eyes, still cradling the baby turtle.

"You crushed a goddamn turtle nest, Ruthie," Rafe growled, his hand tightening enough that Ruthie’s face twisted. "And now you wanna run your mouth about her? You think that’s funny?"

"Rafe-" Ruthie stammered, but Rafe leaned in closer, a razor smile cutting across his mouth.

"Apologize," he said, deadly quiet. "Or I’ll make you wish you had."

The fire snapped and popped behind them, casting Rafe’s face in flickering shadow. His pale blue eyes looked almost silver in the dark, furious and unblinking.

Ruthie went pale, nodding jerkily. She stammered something that vaguely sounded like sorry, and Rafe let her go with a shove that sent her stumbling backward.

But when he turned back to you, it was like a switch flipped. All that violence melted off him like a second skin he could shed just for you.

He crouched down next to you carefully, like approaching something too fragile to touch. His hands, rough and calloused, cupped your tear-streaked cheeks with a gentleness that made your chest ache.

"Hey, hey, baby…" His voice cracked a little - softer than the breeze. "Please don’t cry, alright? Please."

You hiccupped against him, your hands shaking as you tried to wipe at your wet cheeks with your sleeve. "They’re-they’re just little babies, Rafe… they didn’t even get to the water…"

"I know, sweetheart. I know." He kissed the damp trail of tears under your eye. "It’s fucking awful. I hate it, too."

You sobbed again, and Rafe tucked you into his chest without hesitation, wrapping both arms around you so tightly it felt like he was trying to hold you together by force.

"You want me to fix it?" he whispered fiercely against your hair. "Tell me what to do, baby. I’ll donate, I’ll fund the whole goddamn coast if you want. Ten grand, twenty - it’s yours. We'll save a thousand turtles. Just say the word."

You buried your face into his white shirt, breathing in the sharp, clean scent of him - cologne, salt, and smoke.

"You don't have to-" you started to whisper, but Rafe cut you off with a soft kiss to your temple.

"I want to," he said. "Because you care. And because no one gets to make you feel bad for having the biggest heart I've ever seen."

The fire crackled behind you. The tide tugged at the beach with a sleepy hush. Somewhere, a few stubborn hatchlings finally found the ocean.

And you stayed there, wrapped in Rafe’s arms, soft and broken - knowing that even if the world was cruel, he would always be crueler to protect you.

You didn’t have to harden yourself to survive. Not with Rafe around. He could be the sharp edges. You were allowed to stay soft.

ever look at a photo of drew starkey that is so perfect and ungodly beautiful that you just have to put your phone down and stare at the ceiling…?

Catch me riding his dick like I’m a professional