i've been thinking about this gif for HOURS now i just gotta pour some thoughts...... something to imagine about.....
﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒
frank probably doesn’t even realize how bad he’s affecting you.
he comes back late. he always does. the apartment is quiet except for the heavy sound of the door when he shuts it behind him. it echoes through the room and somehow it makes your stomach flip.
you’re already watching him. you try not to stare every time he comes home like this, but it’s impossible. your eyes go straight to his face. rough. tired. a little bloody. there’s always something new — a fresh bruise, a cut along his brow, another scar joining the dozens already there.
he looks like hell.
and somehow it only makes him more beautiful.
frank sighs under his breath as he walks further into the room, rolling the tension out of his shoulders. he doesn’t notice the way you’re looking at him yet. or maybe he does. with frank it’s always hard to tell.
slow. deliberate.
his thumbs hook into his belt.
the leather slides free from the loops with that low, dragging sound and it goes straight down your spine like a spark. your breath stutters before you can stop it.
he pulls the belt free and folds it once before setting it down on the table beside him.
still not looking at you. aaaaand, the silence stretches.
your mind is already running somewhere dangerous. the sound of the belt. the way his hands move. the broad line of his shoulders under that tight black shirt.
you swallow. shift where you’re sitting. your voice comes out smaller than you meant.
“frank…”
he finally looks at you then.
dark eyes. steady. sharp in that way that makes it feel like he sees right through you.
frank castle notices everything. even when he pretends he doesn’t.
his gaze flicks down your body for half a second. the way your knees press together, the way your hands grip the couch cushion.
his mouth twitches just slightly.
he knows.
he knows his needy girl too well.
and truth be told, you can be a lot for him sometimes. especially after everything. after the wife he still carries in his chest like a ghost. after the lives he lost.
he’s in his 40s. hardened, worn down by too many years of war. and you... you’re still in your 20s. soft in all the places he isn’t.
frank lets out a quiet huff that almost sounds like a laugh as he starts walking toward you with slow, steady steps. heavy boots against the floor. each one makes your heart beat faster, and instinctively your thighs press together before you can stop it.
“don’t,” you murmur weakly, already leaning forward, already reaching for him without even realizing it. “please… just—”
he stops right in front of you, one eyebrow lifts.
“what is it, sweetheart?” he asks, voice rough from exhaustion and... something else.
you look up at him through your lashes, warmth rushing through your whole body under the weight of his stare.
“let me please you,” you whisper. “i wanna make you feel good.”
frank goes very still.
for a second you think maybe you pushed too far.
then his hand comes up. rough fingers curling under your chin, tipping your face up so you have to look at him, and his thumb presses lightly against your jaw.
“you beggin’ for it?” he asks quietly.
your breath catches in your throat.
“yes,” you whisper. “yes, sir. please. please let me relieve your stress.”
something shifts in his expression when you say that.
sir.
the corner of his mouth twitches.
frank studies your face for another long second before finally leaning down just a little closer.
“go on then,” he murmurs, voice low and gravelly.
“show me.”
﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒
lowkey i'm going crazy watching the punisher is big time punishing me because FUUUUUUUUUUCKKADHHEHAHDHAHDHHAHSH
Could I request a fic with flirty George where reader is a prefect and she gets the letter at the burrow? Molly would be ecstatic because "she's such a proper girl nice student" meanwhile George is living his "chasing the perfect student" fantasies, if requests are closed I'm sorry!
Of course, this idea is so cute! My requests are ALWAYS open❤️
no warnings!! :)
Prefect Trouble - George Weasley
The sun was barely up when the Burrow began to stir.
You’d spent the night in Ginny’s room, crammed between a squeaky wardrobe and a stack of old Witch Weekly magazines, lulled to sleep by the soft creak of the floorboards and the scent of wildflowers drifting in through the open window. Now, wrapped in one of Molly’s oversized knit jumpers and still barefoot, you padded downstairs with Ginny for breakfast.
The kitchen already smelled like cinnamon and toast, and Molly was humming something sweet while waving her wand at a pot of tea. Chickens clucked lazily outside the open door, and the whole house seemed to hum with its usual, chaotic warmth.
You slid into a chair beside Ron, who was elbow-deep in a bowl of cereal, while Fred and George passed a sugar bowl back and forth with exaggerated, knight-like formality.
“Milord, your spoon.”
“Why thank you, good sir, may your goblet overflow with pumpkin juice.”
“You two are so exhausting in the mornings,” Ginny groaned, rubbing her eyes.
You’d just sat down at the kitchen table, still tugging at the hem of your pajama shorts, when Errol crashed into the Burrow like a half-blind cannonball, tumbling through the window and directly into the fruit bowl with a pitiful squawk and a few stray feathers.
“Blimey,” Ron muttered, digging the poor bird out. “I thought he died last week.”
“No, just built different,” Fred said solemnly, patting Errol’s crooked head.
But your attention snapped to the scroll tied to his leg, bearing a red wax seal with the Hogwarts crest.
“What’s that?” you asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“Oh!” Molly gasped from behind you. “Errol only delivers school letters. Go on, dear, open it!”
You untied the scroll, fingers trembling just slightly. As you read the words, your mouth fell open.
“Congratulations, you have been chosen as a Gryffindor Prefect…”
Fred made a choking noise.
George dropped his toast.
“NO,” Fred said dramatically. “You’re one of them now?”
You looked up, stunned. “Apparently.”
George’s eyes were wide—amused, impressed, and… scheming. “This is brilliant.”
Molly gasped, practically glowing. “Oh, I knew it! You’re such a proper girl—always respectful, always tidy, finally, someone in this house setting a good example!”
You felt your cheeks flush hot under the praise, even as Fred and Ron groaned in the background.
“I’m doomed,” Ron muttered. “She’s going to give me detentions just for breathing too loud.”
“She’s going to get us killed,” Fred whispered. “We’re not built for authority.”
But George… George looked like Christmas had come early.
He leaned across the table, eyes locked on yours, that infuriating smirk playing on his lips. “Guess I’ll be seeing a lot more of you in the corridors, then, love.”
“Guess you’ll be avoiding a lot more detentions,” you replied sweetly, slipping the badge into your jumper pocket.
“Or maybe I’ll be earning them,” George murmured, resting his chin in his palm, “just for the pleasure of being escorted by the prettiest prefect Gryffindor’s ever seen.”
Molly tutted. “George Weasley! Don’t you dare corrupt her. She’s the kind of girl who could keep you in line for once.”
George glanced at you again, that wicked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”
You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you.
Most likely you’re not living on campus. The two of you have your own little place close to campus, so you two don’t have to walk far. If you both go to different colleges then it’s closer to yours. Decorated with both your little trinkets and a hint of that monochrome style I think he’d decorate in. When friends are coming over they’re so confused lol
But, if you want to live on campus, be ready to always let him into the building. Like if they have locks and such, he’ll play the role of “waiting boyfriend outside” knowing damn well he can pick the lock so easily and just let himself in. But most of the time, he’s coming in through the window. No matter the floor.
Because of this the two of you have a slotted time he’s allowed too, because your roommate would just absolutely freak if they saw someone come through your window causally. Even more so if you’re on the fourth floor of the building.
No terrible cafeteria food for you. Your dorm/apartment is always scarringly stocked with your favorites and healthy food. You think that he has a secret grocery shopper hired for you, since whenever you’re low more magically gets delivered at your doorstep. After about a month you start to miss the shitty cafeteria food on campus.
The first day you moved into your dorm/apartment he’s staying until so late into the night. Helping watching him decorate your dorm for him, because you’ve “already done too much carrying items up stairs” when moving in. Takes you out to dinner, and is very grumpy about being asked to leave when you want to have some time alone. I can imagine him trying to hide that it’s not a big deal and he’s not grumpy, but he is.
Always over. When talking over rules with your roommate they thought you were joking when you said your boyfriend was more clingy than most. Most of the time when they come back to class he’s there, or perhaps the two of you are cuddling. And Damian ALWAYS complains about your twin xl, no matter how many mattress toppers or blankets and plushies there are. Always tries to convince you to go over to his place.
Random packages in the mail room. If you get alerts you get them so out of the blue, you don’t remember ordering a package??? He knows your mail box address and number if you have one. There’s always a letter or blurb attached to it too. It’s not like thousands of dollars high end items(you told him you were uncomfortable with them, he looked offended but totally respected it) but items that he knows you enjoy/need.
You have a box of hand written letters under your bed from him. Whenever a lecture goes shitty or a test is failed and you feel ready to cry or overwhelmed, you read them. Does it make you cry more? Yes. Does it also make you feel better? Also yes. Whenever he’s over he somehow adds more letters/diy items when you’re not looking, so it’s a small surprise every time. Something to brighten up your day.
”No, seriously it was insane.” Peter zoned out as some random girl told a story he couldn’t even remember the beginning of. This party was loud and overwhelming, all things he should’ve been trying to avoid. Peter was surrounded by people he didn’t know at all—which meant he clung to you like a lifeline.
You just wanted him to come so bad, you claimed it would ‘help him break out of his shell’. All he felt like was a shell. You were so charismatic and charming…and easy to talk to. You made socializing seem easy.
Peter’s chocolate orbs flickered up to your figure. He watched as you sipped on the cold beer in your hand—smile never leaving your face. Even as you were so caught up in the people around you, your arm was still laced around his at all times.
Still, it felt like too much. The booming bass of the music, the laughter of the crowd, the constant bumping of shoulders. Peter’s senses were going off the rails. So, he had no choice.
“Sorry guys, I’m gonna steal her for a little!” Peter yelled over the hip-hop song, tugging your arm.
“Oh…don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!!” One of your friends shouted—winking at the two of you.
You shook your head while giggling as Peter led you down the hall to the quiet of your room. Your apartment was quite big—so getting away from the chaos wasn’t hard. The pair of you stepped into your bedroom and Peter locked the door.
“Oh?” Your eyebrow raised at his action. Was he finally going to-
“I just needed to get out of there.” He interrupted your thoughts, shoving down any hope you might’ve had about finally having sex.
You frowned, plopping down on your bed next to where he sat. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s overwhelming is all.” Peter flashed you a reassuring glance, but you could tell it was just an act. You slid your fingers through his—interlocking them.
“Didn’t like Stacie’s story I’m guessing?” You joked, earning a small laugh from the man.
“No, not really.” He chuckled. Peter looked down at your intertwined hands, his mind flashing back to all those years ago.
Peter tried to suppress it, he tried his best to give you the realest version of himself, but he couldn’t. Because really, he didn’t even know who he was. Every time you touched him, it was a reminder of what was, not what is.
A part of you always knew this—knew that his mind was constantly somewhere else. Maybe that’s why he refused to take things further with you. The moment Peter revealed to you his past, and his secret identity you knew.
Yet, it didn’t matter to you. You loved Peter, and the feeling grew more and more everyday. It’s true that Peter may love you, but not like he loves her. Pathetic. That’s what you’d call yourself for not being able to call him out on it.
You squeezed your eyes shut, pushing away the thoughts running through your mind. Gently, you cupped Peter’s face—turning it towards you. His lips pressed against your own softly, melting away all the prior doubt in your heart.
It was that easy.
You felt his hand settle on your waist, not moving any further. The music in the background faded away—the only sound being each other’s slow breaths.
Peter knew his was kissing you, he knew that you were the one he was touching. But Mj’s soft lips plagued his mind. Her caring touch and bright smile infiltrated his vision despite his eyes being closed. Peter felt a tear drip down his cheek.
“I can’t..” He pulled back, removing his hand from your body. Peter stood, leaving you confused on the edge of the bed.
“You can’t what?” You rose shortly afterward, fear beginning to course through your veins.
“I can’t keep doing this to you! When I was just kissing you…it wasn’t-it didn’t feel right! I was thinking of someone else.” Peter admitted, his expression pained. You frowned, already beginning to feel that tightness in your throat.
“Peter-“
“No, Y/n. It isn’t right. You deserve more. Much more than me.” Peter began towards your window, unlocking it.
“Peter, wait! I love you.” You stalked up to him, grabbing his face. Your eyes blurred as you felt wetness stream down your cheeks. He couldn’t leave you, not now.
“I know…I love you. But it’s just…not the same. I’m sorry.” He grabs hold of your hands gently, pulling them away from him.
“Please don’t do this…don’t leave me.” You sobbed.
“I’m sorry, Y/n. I just can’t give you what you want.”
That was the last thing Peter Parker ever said to you. He was gone just as fast as he’d appeared. You stepped back from your window, falling down onto your bed.
It was bound to happen eventually.
•̩̩͙⁺˚ ⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙⁺˚ ⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙⁺˚ ⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙⁺˚
a/n : GIRL…I loved brand new day. I know this is short but I just wanted to write out this little idea I had. School is about to start for me and having time to write will be hard…I’m sobbing…take me back to June:(.
“What kind of video!?” Lloyd questioned as he looked through his packed bag.
“ and the video was leaked to everyone!” You added on for dramatic effect. Lloyd winced as he felt bad for the dude. Though not really because it was of Chad.
Your footsteps can be heard heading to the bathroom. Lloyd took this as a chance to swap out his shirt for his pajama shirt.
As you brushed your hair in the bathroom, you noticed Lloyd fix his shirt. You blushed at the small exposed skin before. Suddenly you remembered what had happened earlier.
“Oh, can you believe Avery tried to hit on the Spanish teacher” you shared, Lloyd paused.
“Huh?” You nodded your head,
“ yeah everyone knows she has a crush on the guy”.
“I mean, I knew she was a freak,but not that kind of freaky” you said with a grimace as you finished brushing your hair. So one of your hands moved freely in the air as you expressed yourself. You left the bathroom and made your way to your bed. Lloyd fished out his toothbrush and made his way to the bathroom sink.
“Also can you believe Angela thought I wanted her man!” Lloyd could hear you flop back on your bed.
“Is she still going on about the time her boyfriend apologized to you for bumping into you?” Lloyd asked as he spread the toothpaste on his toothbrush. You hummed in response, as you rose up from the bed to a sitting position. “She knows I'm in a relationship,yet is still set on having a problem with me!” Your hand hit your chest where your heart was located.
“I mean can you believe that” you groaned, falling back on your bed. Lloyd hummed in response, as he brushed his teeth.
Lloyd has always enjoyed the little gossip time the both of you shared. He never has been one for drama,or participate in it in the open. Though when it came from you. He loved it, always finding himself listening to you as if you held the sky. The way you expressed yourself when talking.The little gestures your hand made when you were really invested in the topic. He loved it all,never once had he ever been tired of your voice. Anytime and any place he would always choose you to listen to. No matter how small or little it was. You can always count on him to have an open ear.
“Can you believe that Mrs Smith found two students having intercourse at lunch today?” You sat up to look at Lloyd. Only to see him blue screen. “W-what?” Lloyd stuttered as his face went red at the thought.You laughed at his reaction,
“I know right?” Lloyd walked out of the bathroom.
“How about we get ready for bed?” You thought about it for a second before humming in agreement.
“You're lucky I'm tired ,samurai,” you pointed at him before fixing your bed. Lloyd chuckled in response.
“Don't worry princess, you can tell me more in the morning” Lloyd said softly as he went to the inflatable mattress. You sighed “but I still had more tea to pour”
Lloyd softly smiled, “and I will be here to hear it”
“Goodnight samurai” your tone soft as snow, as you turned off the light.
wuyang the typa guy to nod and sigh dreamily when he hears you speak your native language
he starts saying “yeah…” and “uh-huh…” with a smile on his face so you assume he can understand you until you whip your head around and ask him a question
he blinks a few times before admitting he can’t understand you but he loves the way the phonetics sound on your lips
Every morning he hears your muffled wailing through the floorboards, and every evening you’re still sniffling when he gets home from work.
It’s been twenty days since he brought you home, where you belong, and you still haven’t adjusted.
It’s not that he doesn’t love the pretty sight of your puffy, red cheeks when you’ve been sobbing, or the taste of your tears. Not when they’re for the right reasons.
You sputter out beautiful, watery pleas when he fucks into you at night. He’ll never get tired of those cries. But those are different. Those, he tells himself, are because he’s too big, too strong, loving you too passionately. And you take him so well, regardless. Your cute, little holes are still so tight for him. So perfect.
You even cry when you come. That’s his favorite. You’re so overwhelmed with pleasure that you can’t hold back the emotional sounds of release. They’re happy tears for the gift he’s giving you.
But when you’re all alone, convinced he’s not watching, not listening, sobbing mournfully for the shit life he saved you from? Those are the tears he despises.
It’s honestly just so fucking ungrateful. Don’t you know how much he loves you? How hard he works for you? Everything he’s done to protect you?
Of course you do, because he’s told you.
He knows every little detail about you, so it was only fair that he’d teach you about himself.
Each night, after stuffing you full of his love, he’d tuck you in and lock you in. He’d sit on the cold floor—not the comfy cushion he’d thoughtfully lined your cage with—and tell you all about his days. His past, his plans, his dreams for your future together.
He savored the memory of your pretty, red-rimmed eyes widening like saucers when he first explained the extent of his stalking.
Well you called it stalking, he called it looking out for you.
So, now you knew. You fucking knew, and still you snivel and weep like you actually missed your pathetic, miserable old life.
Fine.
If his gentle, doting approach isn’t good enough for you, he’ll have to try a different approach.
He hasn’t tried gagging you yet, worried that it may impede when you finally call for him with longing for his attention. That changes now.
You’ll lose the privilege to utter any sounds that aren’t smothered. The only time you’ll be relieved of a gag, tape or a muzzle are when he’s hand feeding you or fucking your face.
With his cock rammed down your wet, hot throat you’ll be allowed to cry all the lovely tears you want.
Maybe when you finally, finally tell him you love him and mean it he’ll give you back the privilege to pray for your freedom.
But by then you won’t want to.
You’ll adjust, little love. You will.
Because you’re perfect for him, and he’ll do anything to help you realize it.
