Not requested. !!First time trying to write sex scenes!!😀. I’m so embarrassed but equally hard. You may notice differences between the normal scenes and the smut cause I usually let my friend fix my mistakes, but she didn’t want to read the gay sex thing💋.
Bruised Knuckles, Broken Walls
Frank Castle x Male!VigilanteReader
Enemies to enemies with benefits, reader has a dick, AMAB reader, angry gay smut scene, oral (r receiving), handjobs, making out, canon violence, cock before taking a cartel down. DNI MINORS, GIRLS, PPL UNCOMFORTABLE WITH SMUT
You’d been tracking the same bastard for days. A dirty dealer with connections in the cartel deep enough to make you sweat and teeth sharp enough to bite back. You’d gotten the location, abandoned warehouse in the Narrows, and moved in like always- silent, clean, brutal.
And then he showed up.
You recognized him by the way the shadows bent around him, the skull on his chest catching the moonlight like a warning. Frank Castle. The Punisher. A walking wrecking ball with a moral code scribbled in blood and a reputation for not playing well with others. Especially not you.
“Of course” you muttered under your breath as he stomped through the broken door like a bear out of hibernation, shotgun already raised. He barely glanced at you. “I had this.”
“I had it first.”
“You sure? ‘Cause all I see is a bunch of guys still breathing.”
“You’re one to talk, Castle. Half the building’s still standing.”
It escalated quickly. It always did. Words turned into shoves. Shoves into fists. You cracked him across the jaw, he tackled you into a stack of crates. Splinters, curses, the sound of your bodies hitting the concrete hard enough to shake your teeth.
And underneath it all, something else. Something hot and electric, seething beneath every punch you threw.
He had you pinned to the ground, forearm to your throat, breathing hard. His eyes burned into yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of him, smell the sweat, the blood.
“You gonna back off?” he growled. You didn’t flinch. “Make me.” His grip tightened for a beat, then loosened.
That was the moment. That single second when something cracked open. His eyes dropped to your mouth. Yours to his. Breathing slowed. Shifted. Became something else entirely.
And then you kissed him.
You didn’t plan to. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was teeth clacking, breathless, rough, an extension of the fight. He froze for half a second, like the idea had never occurred to him, and then he was kissing you back with the kind of ferocity that made your spine arch off the floor.
It wasn’t just lust. It was frustration. Power. Rage and grief and too many years of carrying pain like armor. His hands gripped your face like he didn’t know whether to shove you away or pull you closer.
You rolled over, pinning him instead, your knees at his sides. He growled into your mouth, his hands digging into your jacket. You bit his lip hard enough to taste blood, and he gasped against you like it surprised him.
“I hate you” he muttered, breathless.
“You wish you did” you shot back, dragging your mouth down to his jaw, the curve of his throat. “You hate that you want this.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Then shut me up.”
He did.
Your back hit the floor again seconds later. He had your arms pinned above your head, the bulk of him pressing you into the cold brick, kissing you like he was trying to bruise the taste of you into his memory. You could feel every inch of him, anger, heat, want, like it was a second skin against yours.
When his hand dropped to your belt, you grabbed his wrist. “Frank.” He stopped. Breathing hard. Waiting.
You didn’t say anything for a second. Just met his eyes, dark, stormy, cracked wide open. You didn’t need to ask what this was. It was obvious. This wasn’t love. This was need.
You let go of his wrist. Nodded.
His hands were rough. Your mouths never stopped moving. There was nothing romantic about it, the way he shoved your shirt up, the way you hissed when your back scraped the bricks, the way you both fought for control with every kiss, every bite, every ragged breath.
You didn’t undress, not all the way, pulling your rough jeans and boxers down enough to free your achingly hard cock, the tension making you feel like it was about to explode.
He kissed you like the world was ending. You held him like it already had. His big, warm and calloused hand wrapped around your shaft, making you shiver and grunt in pain and want.
You kept on making out, swapping saliva and blood as Frank’s thump ran over the slit of your pulsing dick, spreading beads of precum all over the tip before finally starting moving.
You groaned against his mouth, your fingertips pressing into his scalp as Frank roughly pumped your member, letting his big fingers brush against your full balls.
He only pulled away from your now bleeding lips after what felt like an eternity, his deep, dark eyes looking into yours as you both panted harshly.
The hand that was on your cock raised, brushing and tickling the pubic hair above as Frank made his way lower, now laying face to face with your annoyingly delicious looking penis. “Fuck” you groaned as he pushed your sweat damp hair away from your forehead, your eyes following Frank’s every movement.
He looked up at you, his mouth tentatively close to your lubed member, his big eyes looking into yours just to see how good he was already making you feel. As if on cue, you pushed both your hands into his dark hair, surprisingly softer than you imagined. You have it a tug, inviting him to continue before your balls exploded.
He didn’t waste a second, he didn’t want to go slow. He took half of you into his mouth, making you groan at the tight, fuzzy sensation you got from feeling and looking his thin lips wrap around your veiny cock.
He started nodding his head, eyes never leaving yours as he used his other hand to pump the part of you he couldn’t fit into his mouth. He was enjoying it, the feeling of your hairs on his nose, the wet stickiness on his hand, the precum mixing with the blood in his mouth…it was better than anything else he had ever tired.
You started rocking your hips, fucking into his mouth, feeling your cock curve down his throat. Frank was not gagging, somehow. He removed his hand from your member to go back and focus on your balls as well, as he took you deep inside.
But having Frank all to yourself is too nice to be real. The taste of you was still on his tongue when the noise started, somewhere deeper in the warehouse, the sound of movement. Footsteps. Muffled voices. A groan that was definitely not yours or his.
You both froze. Your back was against the wall, pants half-off, Frank practically welded to you, breath hot against your cock. His fingers were still digging into your thigh, lips grazing your skin. You could feel how badly he wanted to finish. You were right there too, already cursing the interruption.
“Shit” you muttered, dragging in a breath through clenched teeth.
Frank pulled back slightly, forehead pressed to yours, jaw clenched like he was physically holding himself back from finishing what you’d started. His hips were still twitching like muscle memory hadn’t gotten the memo yet.
“We didn’t clear the whole place” he growled, like it was your fault somehow.
“No shit, Castle.” He glared at you, breath still ragged. You both looked down. Yup. Still hard. Both of you.
You exhaled through your nose, slow and frustrated. “We gonna finish this or save the city or whatever?”
He let out a groan, half pissed, half desperate, and slammed his fist against the wall right next to your head.
“This never happened” he gritted out, already tucking himself back in, hands shaking slightly.
You adjusted your pants too, biting back a hiss at how sensitive everything still felt. “Sure. Never happened. Just two guys bumpin’ dicks in a warehouse. Completely normal vigilante behavior.”
“Shut up.”
“Make me- oh wait” you snapped, wiping his spit from your mouth with the back of your hand. “You were.”
Frank didn’t answer. Just gave you a look that said ‘I will end you’, but with slightly less conviction than usual. Like maybe he was still fighting the urge to drag you back against the wall and finish what you started.
Instead, he stormed off toward the noise. Like a punished guard dog with a bone still stuck in its teeth. You followed, adjusting your jacket, trying not to think about the ache between your legs or the heat still crawling across your skin. Your whole body was buzzing like it’d been jump started then left hanging.
This wasn’t over. Not even close. But for now? Duty called. And your blue balls were along for the ride.
It was season 6 apparently, so this is set in it. I had a middle child Winchester in mind cause of the whole “neglected middle child” stereotype, but I don’t really mention it cause it has no relevance in the story. Are the paragraphs weird looking and difficult to read?
When Grace Cracks
Castiel x Male!WinchesterReader
Hurt/comfort, angst, betrayal, (found) family, tears (reader explicitly cries), reader gets kicked out, rejection from family
You hadn’t meant for it to get this far.
What started as secret conversations turned into lingering looks. What started as a bond forged in war turned into something rawer, deeper. And when Castiel kissed you for the first time, grace flickering behind his eyes like static, you knew it was too late to walk away. You’d already fallen. No wings necessary.
He was different when it was just you. Quiet, unsure. Not the rigid soldier, not Heaven’s hammer. Just… Cas. Your Cas. The one who held your hand like he didn’t know if he had the right. The one who whispered your name like a prayer when the world got too loud.
So when you found out about Crowley…When you walked into that warehouse and saw the sigils, the demon deals, the half-lies and the broken promises…You said nothing.
Dean raged. Sam paced. Bobby cursed the sky and threw a bottle so hard it shattered the salt lines around the room. And you stood still, arms crossed, mouth shut.
Because you knew. You’d known. And you didn’t say a damn thing.
“You’re kidding” Dean spat, voice thick with disbelief and betrayal. “You knew he was working with Crowley?! You knew and you just- what, let it slide?!”
Sam’s eyes were wide, disbelieving. “Why would you keep that from us?”
You opened your mouth. Nothing came out.
Bobby didn’t look at you. Not yet. “Well? You got a defense, or should we just go ahead and call you the traitor too?”
The word hit like a blade.
“Cas had his reasons” you muttered.
“Oh, Cas had his reasons” Dean snapped. “He’s in bed with the King of Hell and your answer is ‘he had his reasons’? Jesus, Y/N, you’ve lost it.”
“I didn’t tell you-” you said, finally looking up “-because I knew you’d react like this.”
Dean’s voice dropped low. “You lied.”
“No” you said firmly. “I chose not to tell you. There’s a difference.”
Sam scoffed. “Not much of one when the world’s ending. Again.”
You wanted to scream. You wanted to rip something apart. But you didn’t. You just stood there, letting the weight of their anger crush your ribs. Because they were right. And they were wrong. And none of it mattered anymore.
It was Crowley, of course. Smirking little bastard with his whiskey and smug satisfaction.
“Oh come on, boys. Did you really think he wasn’t keeping secrets? Look at that face. That’s the face of a man who’s been thoroughly divinely screwed.”
Cas looked at you then. Across the room. Like he wanted to speak. Like he wanted to fix it. But he said nothing.
Coward.
When they told you to leave, it wasn’t with screaming. It wasn’t some dramatic brawl.
It was worse.
Dean wouldn’t even look at you. “We can’t trust you.”
Sam nodded, slow. “You should go. For now.”
Bobby handed you your duffel. “Family don’t lie like that, son.”
You stood there, waiting for someone, anyone, to flinch. They didn’t.
Castiel found you that night. You were holed up in some godforsaken motel off Route 9, staring at the ceiling, trying not to cry because your ribs still ached from the way Dean said “we can’t trust you.”
“You shouldn’t be here” you muttered as soon as he appeared.
“I know.”
You sat up. “So why are you?”
“I thought…” His voice faltered. “You might want company.”
You laughed, sharp and ugly. “Bit late for that, Cas.”
“I never meant for you to get caught in this” he said, stepping forward. “I thought I could handle it. Keep you safe. Keep them safe.”
“By teaming up with the King of Hell?” you snapped, standing. “By lying to all of us? To me?”
He looked down. “I did what I thought was necessary.”
“So did I” you bit out. “And now I’ve got no home and no family because of it.”
Cas flinched. Actually flinched.
You shoved past him, pacing. “I trusted you. I defended you. I took beatings for you, Cas. I lied for you.”
Silence.
And then, quietly, he asked “Would you take it back?”
You froze.
“Would you take back the nights I held you?” he whispered. “The way we touched? The way I made you feel…safe? Would you erase me?”
You hated that your eyes burned.
“No” you admitted, voice cracking. “I’d do it all again.”
His hand reached for yours. You didn’t stop him.
You stayed with him after that. Not because it was smart. Not because it was safe. But because there was nowhere else to go, and you were so damn tired of pretending he didn’t mean everything.
He never said ‘I love you.’ Angels didn’t work like that. But sometimes he’d watch you sleep and brush his fingers over your cheek like you were the last good thing left.
Sometimes he’d sit beside you, eyes stormy, and say ‘I wish I were human. Just long enough to deserve you.’
And sometimes, you believed him.
Sam called once. Didn’t leave a message.
Dean never called at all.
Bobby sent you an old flask with a note: ‘Still think you’re an idiot. Stay alive anyway.’ You cried over that one.
It couldn’t last. You knew it couldn’t. The war was getting worse. Cas was slipping. The power was eating him alive. And when he told you he was becoming God, you broke.
“No” you whispered. “Cas, please. Don’t do this.”
“I have to.”
“You don’t!” you yelled. “You’re not saving anyone. You’re destroying yourself!”
He looked at you then, really looked, and his eyes were full of stars and pain and something ancient and breaking.
“I’m sorry” he whispered. And then he was gone.
You didn’t see him again for weeks.
And when you did, when that door creaked open in yet another abandoned hideout and he stepped inside, he was different.
Dimmer. Bleeding grace.
“I was wrong” he said, voice hoarse. “About everything.” You stood, heart pounding. He collapsed into your arms before you could say a word.
It took time. The others still didn’t trust you, but when Cas gave up the power, when he started trying to fix what he broke, they started to soften. Slowly. Grudgingly.
Dean nodded at you once. Didn’t say anything. But it felt like a bandage.
Sam offered you coffee one morning. “You okay?” You weren’t. But you said yes.
Bobby slapped the back of your head. “Next time? Tell us the damn truth.”
“Yeah” you muttered. “Next time.”
That night, Cas curled beside you in bed, colder than usual. Grace flickering low.
“You still love me?” he asked. You looked at him, hand on his jaw, eyes locked. “Yeah. Even now.”
He closed his eyes. “Then I will never leave again.”
I just NEED a Spencer Reid x male reader fic,please please. Something fluffy..
I had NO idea, this is what my brain birthed
Chapter After Chapter
Spencer Reid x Male!Reader
Fluff, domestic, emotional intimacy, reader is not part of the team, cuddling, safe space, Reid with glasses
You’re not sure how this became your routine.
Maybe it started after a long case, after a late dinner where Spencer had fallen asleep on your couch with a book still open in his lap, glasses slipping down his nose. You’d covered him with a blanket, turned down the lights, and left him there, just for a moment, only to find he looked so peaceful that you didn’t have the heart to wake him.
Now it’s every Friday. No matter the chaos of the week, no matter the case or time zone or bruises, he finds his way to your apartment. Book in hand. Soft knock at the door. And you let him in. Every time.
He never calls first. You think it’s part of the ritual now, part of the comfort. Like he’s testing fate and it keeps saying yes.
Tonight, he shows up in a sweater too big for him and socks that don’t match, eyes tired but warm.
“Hey” he says. “Hey” you reply, stepping aside so he can slip in. You don’t say much else. You don’t need to.
He drops his bag by the door like it belongs there and you already have the kettle on. He notices. He always notices. “Chamomile?” he guesses. “Peppermint. You had a headache last night.” He nods. Doesn’t argue.
Spencer’s not much of a talker when he’s not working. People always think he is because of the facts, the numbers, the fast talking profiling machine. But when it’s quiet, when it’s just you and him, he rests in silence.
He sits on the floor while you take the couch, back against the cushions, legs stretched out. His book is open before he’s even gotten halfway through the tea. You sip yours and scroll on your phone, glancing up occasionally. Watching him read is like watching a sunrise in reverse, bright eyes slowly dimming, body curling inward, until he’s curled up like a comma.
He always falls asleep before finishing the chapter. Every. Time.
You drape the blanket over him again. His hair’s messy. Lips parted just a little. One hand still loosely holding the edge of the page like he didn’t mean to fall asleep but couldn’t help it. You sit beside him on the floor, book resting between you like a bridge you’re both afraid to cross.
It’s been months like this. Soft edges. Unspoken things. Late-night routines that look a lot like love, if you squint.
But you’re not sure. Maybe this is just how Spencer shows comfort. Maybe he needs you because you’re safe, not because he wants you. You’ve never tried to find out. Until now.
“Hey” you whisper, nudging his shoulder gently. “Spence.”
He hums, barely opening one eye. “What time is it?”
“Late.”
“Did I fall asleep again?”
You smile. “You always do.”
He stretches slowly, blinking up at you, still soft and warm and half-dreaming. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Silence again. Not heavy. Just full. And then, before you can chicken out, you say it.
“You know you don’t have to keep pretending this is about tea and books, right?”
Spencer pauses. “What?”
“I mean, you’re here every Friday. You fall asleep in the same spot. I have a blanket with your name on it and I literally buy tea based on what mood you’re gonna be in. And I like it. I like you. I just don’t know if this is… something.”
You don’t look at him when you say it. You stare at the book like it’ll save you from your own words.
For a moment, you hear nothing. And then he speaks, voice quiet. “I didn’t think I had to say it.”
Your head turns.
He’s watching you, eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. He pushes his glasses up his nose and tugs the blanket tighter around himself like he’s nervous and small and sixteen years old again. “I thought…maybe if I said it, it would ruin this.”
“Spencer.”
“I’ve been in love with you for months” he blurts, face flushed. “I didn’t mean to. It just happened. You make space for me without asking for anything back and I didn’t know how to say I want more without risking losing what I already had.”
Your heart trips over itself. You don’t say anything. You just reach out and take his hand, cold fingers and all, and squeeze. “You’re such a nerd” you murmur.
“I know.”
“And I’m in love with you too.”
“I know.”
You roll your eyes, laughing, and he leans into you, head on your shoulder, the blanket now wrapped around both of you. The book is forgotten. The tea is cold. But none of that matters.
For the first time, the silence isn’t holding anything back.
gossip girl is basically from a group of friends from Manhattan's elite , Gossip is a gossip site powered by the elite itself, Nate is like the good guy/golden boy of the group, the reader is georgina's brother (she is one of the bad girls in the series) the reader is like he is brave to everyone but with nate he would be almost an angel) they are friends to lovers, they know each other since childhood,I'm not very good with ideas, but I wanted something like they both fought because the reader saw Nate at the bar with Serena (a girl that Nate was in love with and was a little upset so he ignored them both), until the Does anyone give him some kind of warning? Then he magically runs to the reader's house taking his favorite candy (marshmallows) and there is a declaration from both of them and you can choose the ending, (a second part with hot would be cool, but I don't want to ask too much so do what you can.
Rushed, short, wrote it after like 10 months, completely different style than all my old works…I’m so sorry💋
Gossip Isn’t Always Wrong
Nate Archibald x Male!Reader
angst + fluff, friends to lovers, jealousy, gossip girl drama, me not knowing anything about the show, no smut-just sweet boy feelings and a kiss, my friend helped me write it cause she watched a couple episodes of GG
It started with a picture.
Gossip Girl had done it again, bless her (or curse her). A blurry, but obvious shot of Nate at some dimly lit bar, Serena curled in next to him like they were the stars of a soap. “Golden boy caught with golden girl—again? XOXO.”
You hadn’t even read the whole post before chucking your phone across the room. You and Serena were just starting to become something, something not friendly, not just childhood nostalgia. And now this?
You weren’t mad.
You were furious.
But you were also confused. Because seeing Nate at that bar with Serena felt like two knives to the gut. One labeled ‘jealous’ and the other ‘complicated feelings I never asked for.’
You liked Serena. Who didn’t? She was sunshine dipped in champagne. But then Nate showed up, your best friend since childhood, literal golden boy of Manhattan’s elite, with his stupid soft voice and dumber ocean eyes. And now your feelings were a mess.
You didn’t answer his texts. You didn’t show up to brunch. And when he did find you at the Met steps the next day, your only words were “Guess you missed being a cliché.”
Ouch.
The thing is, you weren’t usually like this. Not with Nate. With everyone else? Sure- brave, sharp tongued, kinda terrifying. You were Georgina’s brother, after all. But Nate brought out that soft part in you that you hated to admit existed. And seeing him with Serena felt like a knife to it.
So you ghosted. You holed up in your bedroom with a bowl of marshmallows, because yes, you were dramatic and emotionally constipated. When the doorbell rang.
You weren’t expecting him.
And yet, there he was- Nate Archibald, rain drenched and breathless, holding a bag of your favorite marshmallows like he was offering you peace.
“I don’t like Serena, not that way” he said all in one breath. “I swear. I was upset, she was being nice, I thought you hated me, and I panicked. But I should’ve come to you. I wanted to come to you.”
You blinked. “You bought me marshmallows?” He held up the bag. “Not organic. I know you hate that crap.”
Your heart did a stupid little flop. Everyone knew your preferences, but hearing from Nate felt…different.
Then, without saying a word, you reached out and shoved it into his mouth. He flinched back, startled, biting down on reflex.
“Chew.” you said, deadpan. He blinked, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk. “Whuh?”
“Chew.” you repeated. “You talk too much.” His muffled laugh escaped around the marshmallow as he finished it, still staring at you.
Then, finally, you stepped in, grabbed the front of his soaked jacket, and kissed him. It wasn’t soft, not at first. It was frustration and longing and ‘I hate that I love you so much’ all crammed into one messy, rain damp moment.
But then it was soft. Like breathing again. Like all those childhood summers with him, running barefoot through parties you were too rich to enjoy, had led to this.
Later that night, Gossip Girl posted a new photo. Blurry. Slightly grainy. A boy with marshmallows in hand. Nate Archibald, kissing him like the world might end tomorrow.
“Looks like Georgina’s brother just made the elite’s golden boy melt. Sweet. XOXO.”
i love castiel… can you write an angst or hurt/comfort castiel x male reader?
during season 5 (was it 5 or 6 😭) where he’s working with crowley and the group just found out, and considered him an enemy. and then despite this reader chooses to continue his secret relationship with castiel. and sam, dean, and bobby find out about it through crowley or balthazar, and get infuriated with reader to the point where they feel they can’t trust him either, and ask him to leave.
and would it be weird to ask if you could make the reader a winchester brother?
thank you 😈🙏
Absolutely in LOVE with this. Would the reader be the oldest, middle or youngest child? Am I free to choose if it ends happy or sad?
I’ve gotten a new job and I’m feeling less bad, so I have time at night to write☝🏻👶🏻
I also think I’m gonna delete the older fics cause I don’t like them (I hate them actually, but don’t want my older self to feel bad😢) and don’t want to rewrite that mess they are.
Click this to see my main post (it features my masterlists, fandoms I write for and such)
I’ve never seen Gossip Girl, but if you tell me something about the plot of the show and about the story you want I’m absolutely happy to write for him. I honestly just know the actor cause he acted in the boys
Hello! I hope you’re having a lovely day. I don’t know if you’re not taking requests, but I read your requirements if that’s what they’re called. (I don’t know lol)
But I have an idea that I hope is acceptable and you’re comfortable with writing! Could you maybe do a Newt (from Maze Runner) x shy!quiet!fem!reader who doesn’t talk much? But she likes Newt so sometimes she had the courage to talk to him but it’s kinda quiet just so he can hear her?
But one day she overhears Minho and Thomas (or whoever else doesn’t matter to me) or whatever talking bad about her and making fun of her so she’s all sad and ANGST because I like to make myself cry. Since she’s sad she goes all quiet again because they made fun of her being quiet and all shy so she just decides to shut down all together? I want Newt to ask her what’s wrong or whatever but you can have some fun with it and write the ending however you want. As long as it’s a happy ending? It’s totally okay if you don’t wanna write it, just let me know I’ll understand. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this and I hope you have a wonderful day!!
(Also I hope it’s not too much I’m sorry.)
Guys sorry, I write for male reader only, as i unfortunately said already many times.
She made me realize that my lack of energy to write is (other than ADHD and everything else) caused by me being uncomfortable writing some things. So, so, sorry, but I really find myself uncomfortable while writing gn reader, fem or trans male reader (only the ones where the reader being trans is like the main thing, ex. reader having dysphoria, reader healing after bottom/top surgery, reader being comforted as he’s bullied/ashamed/beaten up and other angsty things just cause he’s trans). I’ve always tried to be open to write anything, just to not make anyone feel excluded or uncomfortable or make myself look like a terf or sum…but I really do not feel comfortable.
1. English’s not my first language. When I tried writing gn reader I would always come up with masculine leaning words, I felt like I would always accidentally make the reader too masc.
2. I’m scared that I might offend someone. Scared I might write something wrong.
3. I really don’t feel comfortable anymore to write about real people (ex. Kpop idols, actors and such). It makes me rather uncomfortable.
In conclusion, I’m sorry but I’ll only write cis male reader or trans male reader where the fact that he’s trans is not the main topic of the fic (hope that makes sense, I’m writing this in a rush). I’ll change my request post and add the things I’m comfortable and not comfortable writing, and I’ll only accept requests that I like/don’t feel uncomfortable writing.
Another thing, people asked me to write fics about underage characters. I get that some of my readers are underage, but I’m not. Writing about underage people makes me uncomfortable, very much. So I won’t write those fics anymore, so sorry for taking so long to say that.
