#“Nah he’ll he fine” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gojosconsort · 1 month ago

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hi! i hope you're doing well and having fun with our requests!✨ I've been thinking about this one for a good while... what if husband!Toji overhear a conversation of son! Megumi's teenage friends about you being a total MILF and teasing him about wanting to become their stepfathers? that'll lead to a NSFW where he feels a mix of proud about his wife and decides to pamper her a bit or something? please, please, please consider it.❤️ (it doesn't have to be necessarily only about Toji, I think this work with every JJK men, but that's on you.) bye, have a nice day. :)

WIFE’S REWARD ♡ // HEADCANONS

⁀➷ CONTENT. you’re toji’s gorgeous wife, and when he overhears megumi’s teenage friends drooling over you as a total MILF, he decides you deserve some extra attention for being so damn irresistible.

♡ PAIRING. afab!reader x husband!toji

♡ WARNINGS. mdni. possessiveness, LOTS of praise, oral sex (f receiving), creampie, light degradation, overstimulation, teasing, mild family awkwardness lmaoo

♡ AUTHOR’S NOTE. loved this one! ty for the request, have a great day too <3

HUSBAND!TOJI who’s lounging in the kitchen, cracking a beer, when he hears megumi’s teenage friends piled in the living room—rowdy as hell, laughing too loud. he’s half-tuned out ‘til one of them, some punk with a big mouth, says, “dude, your mom is such a fuckin’ MILF—hot as shit.” another chimes in, “yeah, i’d be her stepdaddy any day—tell your dad to watch out!” megumi groans, “shut the fuck up, you’re disgusting,” but toji’s already grinning, leaning against the counter, thinking, damn right she is.

HUSBAND!TOJI who feels a rush of smug pride—his wife, you, the woman he locked down, has these kids tripping over themselves. he smirks to himself, muttering under his breath, “little shits don’t even know the half of it.” he’s proud as hell—knows you’re a catch, always has. that night, he’s eyeing you across the room while you’re folding laundry, looking hot as shit in those tight leggings, and he’s like, fuck, i’m lucky—gonna show her tonight.

HUSBAND!TOJI who can’t resist messing with you a little—saunters over while you’re finishing up, big hands sliding around your waist, voice low, “heard some kids today callin’ you a MILF—megumi’s friends are fuckin’ drooling over you.” you blush, stammering, “what? that’s—oh god, embarrassing,” but he’s grinning, “nah, doll, that’s a compliment—means i got the hottest wife around.” he pulls you closer, whispering, “they don’t know i get all this to myself.”

HUSBAND!TOJI who decides you deserve a reward for being so damn fine—scoops you up mid-protest, tossing you over his shoulder, “c’mon, doll—time to treat my MILF wife right.” carries you to the bedroom, locking the door (megumi’s home, but fuck it, he’ll deal). starts slow—kisses down your neck, hands roaming, muttering, “fuckin’ gorgeous—every inch of you,” peeling your clothes off like he’s unwrapping a prize.

HUSBAND!TOJI who dives in with that possessive edge—spreads you out on the bed, big hands gripping your thighs, “these punks wish they could handle you—too bad you’re all mine.” goes down on you like a man starved, tongue working you sloppy and rough, growling, “taste so fuckin’ good, doll—gonna make you scream for me.” he’s relentless, loving how you squirm, knowing he’s the only one who gets you like this.

HUSBAND!TOJI who doesn’t stop when you tug his hair, whining, “toji—s’too much, i’m done.” he looks up, lips shiny, eyes dark, “no way, doll—you’re getting spoiled tonight. hot wife like you deserves it.” goes back down, sucking your clit hard, fingers curling inside you, “fuck, you’re so damn pretty when you shake—cum again for me, c’mon.”

HUSBAND!TOJI who’s all over you—after the second time you cum, he’s kissing up your thighs, biting soft marks, muttering, “look at this body—fuckin’ unreal, all mine.” crawls up, kissing you sloppy so you taste yourself, then slides back down, “third time’s the charm, babe—gonna make you scream my name ‘til you can’t talk.” tongue-fucks you ‘til you’re arching, sobbing, and he’s growling, “that’s my girl—fuckin’ gorgeous.”

HUSBAND!TOJI who keeps the praise coming—lifts his head between rounds, wiping his chin, “you’re so goddamn beautiful, y’know that? every punk out there wishes they had this.” dives back in, relentless, “taste so good, doll—could live between these legs.” when you cum again, he chuckles, “fuck, you’re perfect—gimme one more, yeah?”

HUSBAND!TOJI who finally lets up when you’re a boneless mess, but not before one last ride—flips you over, pulling your hips up for him, smirking, “ass up, babe—gonna finish you off now.” slides in raw and deep, grunting, “shit, so good—spoiled you good, huh.” he’s rough but praising, smacking your ass, “look at you—hot as shit, taking me so good.” pounds you ‘til the headboard’s banging, proud as hell that you’re his, muttering, “those kids’d lose their damn minds seeing you like this.”

HUSBAND!TOJI who doesn’t hold back—fucks you hard ‘til you’re gasping, then pulls you close, flipping you onto your back so he can see your face. “gonna fill you up, doll—my hot fuckin’ wife deserves it,” he groans, unloading deep with a low, “fuck, you’re mine—always.” collapses next to you, panting, smirking, “bet those little shits’d cry if they knew what i just did to you.”

HUSBAND!TOJI who’s still riding that high—pulls you into his chest, one arm draped over you, lazy grin on his face, “you’re stuck with me, MILF or not—nobody’s stealing you.” you laugh, flustered but warm, and he kisses your head, muttering, “fuckin’ love you, y’know that? too damn good for me.” it’s rough affection, but it’s toji—and you feel every bit of that pride he’s got in you, wrapped up in his arms.

————— ୨୧ —————

⁀➷ masterlist

#—amy writes : toji fushiguro ★#toji fushiguro smut #toji smut #toji fushigro x reader #toji x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x reader smut #toji fushiguro x you #toji x reader #toji x you #divider by cafekitsune

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luv-lock · 1 month ago

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ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤLITTLE FREAKㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : When You Like To Suck On Their Man Boobs...

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Terry McGinnis, Male Barbara Gordon, Male Cassandra Cain, Male Stephanie Brown.

☆⁠ NOTES : There are some +18 parts. Reader probably have mommy issues. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆

You crawl onto his lap in the dark after a rough day, mumbling something soft, curling into his chest—and then latch. Lips to his pec like it's instinct, soft suckling, warm breath fanning his skin. He freezes.

“...What are you doing?”

“Comforting myself,” you mumble.

And he goes silent. Letting you. One arm around you, the other gripping the armrest so tight it creaks. You’re suckling like you belong there, like he's yours, and he can’t say no.

From that moment on, he lets it happen. After patrol. Before bed. When you're needy. Bruce gives you his chest like it's sacred. He even leans back, pulls his shirt up, offers himself with that stoic daddy face like this isn’t the most perverted, intimate thing he’s ever allowed.

“If it helps you calm down… then it's fine with me, sweetheart.”

He never talks about how hard it makes him. How he aches when you sigh into his skin like you're home. But he thinks about it every night.

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

You don’t even warn him. You just crawl into his lap, kiss down his chest, and then suckle. Slowly. Gently. Dick yelps.

“OH my god, are you—?! Babe! You’re—?!”

He’s red. His abs are flexing. His hands are hovering, unsure if he should stop you or shove you closer. But then you whine softly, still suckling, still nuzzling like it soothes you—and he dies inside.

“Okay. Okay. You wanna use me like that? I’m… totally fine with it. This is fine. You’re so cute, I’m losing brain function.”

From then on, he encourages it. Shirtless in bed. Chest puffed. Pulls your head down while cooing in your ear, telling you how sweet and clingy you are.

“You just need your mommy, huh? That’s okay, baby. Mommy’s right here.”

(And yes, he gets off to it later. Always. Every time.)

— JASON TODD ⋆

Jason’s not built for it. You suckle his chest like it’s natural and he blanks out. Like, full system reboot. He was kissing your forehead. Then you latched. And now he’s short-circuiting.

“...Are you serious right now?”

“Mhm. You feel good…”

He just stares down at you. Then lets his big arms wrap around you. His whole body goes gentle, like he’s holding a baby deer.

But then—then—you do it again the next day. And the day after. And suddenly? He’s hooked. Growling in your ear when you try to pull away.

“Nah, nuh uh. You started this, now you finish it. This is mine, right? You suckin’ on me like you need it.”

He’ll strip shirtless and sit with his legs spread, arms open.

“C’mere, baby. You thirsty or just needy? Either way, I got you.”

He gets possessive. You’re his little freak. And he’ll make sure you never go a day without “nursing” on his chest.

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

You do it once and he loses his entire mind.

He glares at you like you’ve insulted his honor. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t stop you. Just clenches his jaw while you suckle his chest like it’s your only source of comfort.

“Tch. This is completely inappropriate.”

“Then push me off.”

“...I didn’t say stop.”

From then on, you have him wrapped around your finger. You climb into his lap and tug his robes aside, exposing his chest, and Damian just sighs like you're insufferable—even while he strokes your hair, thumb brushing your cheek lovingly.

“You are ridiculous. Clingy. Absurd. …Are you comfortable?”

But god forbid someone else see it. He will murder. You’re his. He keeps you close, glares at everyone, makes sure you get to suckle whenever you want—because it keeps you soft. Dependent. His.

And when you sleep with your mouth still against his skin, he watches you with a low, reverent whisper.

“Mine. My strange, beautiful girl.”

— TERRY MCGINNIS ⋆

At first? He thinks you’re being cute. Kissing his chest. Nuzzling against him. He’s like,

“Aw, you’re clingy today—wait. Are you sucking?”

And then your mouth doesn’t move. It just latches onto his pec like you belong there. Warm, slow, wet. Like his chest is your pacifier and you’re not going anywhere. Terry freezes. Blinks. His heart does that thing where it drops into his stomach.

“Baby… what’re you—mm… okay. Yeah. Okay. That’s… yeah.”

Now he lets you do it. Arms behind his head, letting you suck while he talks casually, like this isn’t the hottest thing he’s ever experienced. He starts wearing looser shirts around the house. No reason. Just in case you want to do it again.

“You’re kinda insane, you know that? But… I’d let you do this forever.”

— BARRY GORDON ⋆

He should be more shocked, but Barry’s been lonely for years. The moment you curl into his lap and push up his shirt, placing your lips to his chest, he goes still—then melts. His hands cradle your head. His voice drops to a murmur.

“You want comfort? This what helps you, sweetheart?”

He doesn’t tease. He just… offers himself. Calm, soft, safe. But it makes his whole body burn. He starts getting hard every time you do it, even if all you’re doing is suckling gently and sighing against him. You mumble about how he feels like a mommy, and he chuckles, brushing your hair back.

“You like being my little girl, huh? Keep going, then. Take what you need.”

His voice is so steady, but he’s feral inside.

— CASSIAN CAIN ⋆

You latch on without warning. Soft, suckling, making the tiniest sounds like you're trying to fall asleep against him. Cassian doesn’t get it. His whole body tenses like you just broke him. He looks down with wide eyes, confused as hell—then just lets you do it.

Every night after that, he waits for it. Pulls you to his chest. Doesn’t even ask. He just slides his shirt off and holds you there, hand in your hair, legs tangled with yours.

He doesn’t speak, but his eyes say everything. Please stay close. Please don’t stop. You’re not just his lover—you’re his obsession, and this is your way of claiming him.

Eventually he starts doing it back. His mouth on your chest, copying you, learning it, giving it back with trembling need.

— STEPHEN BROWN ⋆

You? Suckling on his chest like a needy little brat? Stephen thinks he died and went to heaven. The first time you do it, he moans out loud, throws his head back like you just blew his mind.

“OH my god. Are you breastfeeding on me? Babe. Babe. You can’t just do that and expect me to not get hard.”

He starts wearing tank tops. Starts offering his chest like it’s free real estate. Arms out, smug grin, like:

“You want my milkers, baby? Come get ‘em.”

Every time you do it, he talks. Teases you. Groans. Calls you “his little baby” and “his needy girl” while cradling you in his lap and rocking you like a lunatic. But under the playfulness he’s gone. Worshipping the closeness, the warmth, the way you melt in his arms and claim him with your mouth like he’s yours to feed on.

“You’re never gonna grow out of this, huh? Good. I’ll let you feed forever.”

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

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ghostwhippet · 5 months ago

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From Scratch

Nutrition Info: Johnny/Reader; 4k; a meetcute launched by Reader's inability to cook reasonable portions, and Johnny's... well, just Johnny

No matter how long you live alone, you can’t get the hang of cooking for one person. Even when you try to make a single-serving meal instead of batch cooking, somehow it balloons out of control. Wasting food makes you feel awful, but you can only freeze so much.

One evening, desperate and utterly fed up, you go kick gently at a neighbor’s door, both hands full, trying to mimic a knock with your shoe. Jason, you think his name was? Striking blue eyes, big frame, a cute cropped mohawk, amazing brogue, and he’s always been cordial when you’ve run into him around the building. Friendly, but not too friendly.

He’s understandably confused by your request at first, but seems happy enough for the food, and takes it around your repeated apologies–for bothering him, for existing, for anything you can find, really.

Unfortunately, not even forcing yourself to go and do all of that manages to pierce your shite sense of volume. Your trips to his door do get less awkward over time, though. And Johnny, his name is, always has sparklingly clean dishes and containers to return in exchange for the full ones.

Eventually he just starts showing up at your place instead and eats with you at your bar counter. He didn’t really ask, and you definitely didn’t, but there he is all the same, and… if you're honest? He’s just so easy to be around, it quickly feels natural having him there. He puts you off your guard, puts you at ease and makes you smile, like those are somehow the most natural things in the world.

From that first night, Johnny has insisted on helping with dishes. Starting the second, he’s always got groceries with him. Even manages to talk you out of your discomfort over accepting them, so well that on his fourth night, you’ve got a small shopping list ready. He’s cheeky, you don’t think he’ll mind. And he is right, after all: you're probably feeding him at least three or four nights out of the week, what with all the leftovers.

You start eating better, and trying new things you'd always planned on “getting around to,” now that you've got a reason to cook beyond not starving. Everything comes out fine the first time you make it, when you’re closely following a recipe, and Johnny has no qualms about trying anything you put in front of him. You’ve never met someone so genuinely un-fussy when it comes to food.

A couple months after he’s started eating at your place, he disappears for a while. “Work trip,” is all he'll say, and you don’t pry, even though you really want to.

Once he’s back, he starts coming over weekend afternoons sometimes. You do brunch with beer or fancy drinks in champagne flutes, or occasional breakfast on the roof before other people are awake, him in a big hoodie or jumper, and you wearing a thick blanket like it's trying to digest you, looking like a half-drowned cat because no living being is meant to be awake at such an hour.

You cut fruit into mangled flowers and vague geometric shapes for the brunches, usually while just spending time with him. He tries his hand at it once, with you pulling up videos, laughing the whole time you’re explaining how it’s supposed to work, and the utter bastard is better at it on his first go than you were after weeks. His hands are confoundingly steady, and his hand-eye coordination borders on the unnatural.

That’s probably the official start of his sous chef arc. And that’s what has him spending a night judging your knives and marveling, repeatedly and loudly, that you still have all your fingers.

You might put a piece of eggshell into his omelet that night in retaliation, and he might not even have the decency to react to it.

“...Johnny I can hear it crunching, oh my God would you spit it out!” You manage between laughter that’s got your face hurting.

That happens a lot around him. Smiling so much it hurts.

“Nah, i’s nice texture,” he says around the mouthful, then starts enunciating the longer words. “Very advanced technique. Shows a great awareness of the culinary experience–”

“You’re being such a prat. Why are you being such a prat!”

He talks over you as if he can’t hear you, as if he’s doing some mockingly posh review. “And honestly, the crunching–” he pauses and chomps down on the shell for effect, and how is it still intact, “it really engages the senses. Keeps me immersed in my dining experience.”

You regret loaning him your cooking books. Never again.

After that, though, he steals your knives, takes them home, and they come back so sharp you can cut windowpane slices of potato. He offers to teach you how to do it yourself–after stipulating with heart-clenching eagerness that he’s happy to come over and do it for you any time.

Johnny gets weirdly into shopping farmer’s markets, walking around discovering new produce and varieties of things he’s never seen before. “Fuck would I know tomatoes come in this color? Look at this thing, it’s like a feckin’... it’s a wee lumpy sunset, isn’t it? And this! Like someone took the heart of a dragon,” his voice had gone terribly dramatic, and you definitely hadn’t covered your face, “and stuck it on a bush somewhere.”

“Baby how are you so huge, but so adorable?” You don't know when the pet names started, but you know he started them; sometimes it feels like you two grew up together.

You like the challenge of the new and unexpected ingredients that come from his trips, and by this point, he’s keeping your kitchen pretty stocked with whatever oddball pantry items you ask for, so you're set up to deal with almost anything. But on rare occasions he’ll call you with a question, too. You’ve had each other’s numbers for a while, it just made coordinating easier.

“Oi can you make sommat with uh… fiddlehead ferns?”

You always can, whatever he asks about. It just takes a quick internet search to find out if you can tackle it that same night, or if it needs to wait for another day. Sometimes it ends up disastrous, but like a shot, Johnny has you laughing or throwing something at him (usually-but-not-always also while laughing) before guilt or shame can get a proper foothold.

There was a night when he was too excited about something to wait for you to answer the door when he knocked, and since then, he just sort of comes in on his own after he announces himself—at least when you know to expect him. That feels right, too, just like having him at your counter had.

You’re feeding the both of you almost every night of the week by now, even if you’re still not cooking often. You like being around him so much, you can’t imagine doing it less, not even when cooking is the last thing you want to be doing. It’s like there’s a bubbly little sun in your chest when he’s around.

Johnny makes you so happy, in fact, and you’re so afraid of losing your time with him, it’s nearly six months before the first time you have to tap out of a dinner, too knackered to make yourself even casually presentable, nevermind cook so much as instant noodles.

He reacts like it’s no problem at all, which of course he’d do, because he’s wonderful, but you don’t manage to keep your heart from dropping that he’s not at least a little sad. That he doesn’t, maybe, look forward to the nights like you do. You know your arrangement is practical, and he’s never been over unless there was food involved, but… well… seeing him seems to have become rather… vital to you.

Which means it’s better to put it away, anyhow, right?

So when, an hour after you’d texted him and basically all he’d said was No problem, thinking takeout, any votes?, he’s coming through your front door with delivery bags and talking a mile a minute like it’s just another night, you're left with your mouth open and your hand on the knob, because… because he's here.

You're not cooking, but he's still here.

You just stand there gobsmacked as he sits on the couch, nattering away, half the food out before he even realizes you’re still playing doorstop. He asks if you’re having the time of your life or if you’re going to come sit down, those horrible (wonderful) crinkles at the sides of his eyes, brows pulled up in the middle.

He looks confused when you say you want to freshen up, like he can’t see that your hair might’ve lost a row with a feral rodent, or that you’re wearing clothes that shouldn’t even be outside of a bin, nevermind on a person. He just tells you the food will get cold, and that it’ll be no good that way.

So you run your hands through your hair and sit, subdued and uncertain like you haven’t been around him in ages, as he amiably fills the silence. You know he can tell you’re not right, but he’s just… acting like it’s ok that you aren’t.

Midway through the meal, he reaches forward to grab a container and put it in front of you, and it makes his knee come up against yours.

It doesn’t move away when he sits back.

Then, as the night wears on and the very most jagged edges of your weariness have eased, he makes a joke and you bump your shoulder into him in retaliation. It pushes your legs flush… and neither of you do anything to separate them. He just keeps on being Johnny like nothing is different, like nothing strange is happening, like he can’t see how bloody flushed you must be, like the room hasn't turned to glass and burst, leaving the both of you toppling through the air.

You're not stupid, so you have to tell yourself repeatedly that he’s just trying to comfort you. He’s acting completely normal otherwise—for Johnny—and you look like a person in need of a friend tonight. And same as him, you’re at all your meal nights instead of off with friends or dates. At least for him, it’s because of his career. You haven’t even seen him bringing up a new fling in ages.

…You’re not stupid. Right?

After the food is finished, Johnny putters about cleaning up, working his way around your kitchen like he knows it exactly as well as he does. He puts all but one container of leftovers in your fridge.

You hug your knees comfortably, just sort of watching him, too full of static to be paranoid about it, and he either doesn’t realize or isn’t bothered by it. Not being a complete creep, you don’t keep it up for too long, anyhow. You’ve got plenty to occupy your thoughts.

He surprises you on his way out by casually setting a mug in front of you. He’d made you something hot to drink while he was cleaning up, and you were so spaced you hadn’t realized. He just gives you a little smile, a gentle squeeze on the shoulder with a stroke of his thumb, says, “Wednesday, yeah?” (the night of your next normal get-together), and moves on toward the door. All normal. But there’s some metal in your chest painfully bending itself into unaccustomed shapes, jabbing places that aren’t used to the pressure, pushing into your windpipe until it’s hard to breathe, and you can’t stop yourself from telling him that you made up a new seasoning blend for popcorn, if he’d maybe like to watch a movie before he goes.

He stands there by the door looking at you just for a split second too long, opens his mouth, closes it, then settles right back onto the couch up next to you. He reaches out an arm and pulls you gently into his side, moving in a way that makes it an invitation and not a demand, while he’s talking about what to watch.

You fall asleep there. So does he.

Things turn a bit funny after that in a way you can’t quite put your finger on. At the surface, everything is the same. But nothing feels the same. Every time there’s a tease, casual touches, close quarters, you have to chant not stupid not stupid not stupid on repeat in your head. He’s just Johnny, that’s all. The guy you could have grown up with.

You keep up the dinners and the weekends, and eventually, finally realize that with him around to take all your extras, you can bake. It’s something you’ve wanted to try forever, but recipes don’t really make single servings, and you never had anyone to pawn off the other 22 muffins or ¾ of the cake onto, or the sheet of croissants, because you absolutely want to try the most fussy, difficult things. And it turns out, when at last he tells you what he does, that Johnny works at the local military base–which at least explains his size–so if he can’t polish something off, well, he knows some blokes.

You’re so excited after that, things almost seem to return to normal. He even comes over and hangs out while you’re baking sometimes. Just knocking about, licking the beaters and the spoons and the bowls, doing dishes as you go, fidgeting with this or that, all while knowing you’re equally as likely to produce something inedible as you are a treat.

Johnny tells you a little about his career one evening. He says that it means he’s in real danger often, there’s a lot of secrecy with people in his personal life, long absences and surprise ones, shit pay, and likely a brief expiration date. (You don’t really let that last one in). He’s got a bit of a funny look in his eyes when he shares about all of it. Quite focused on you, in a way? It makes your cheeks heat. It isn’t as if it’s on you to approve of his life.

But at least now you understand why he’s on his own. And you suppose you’re a bit small, because while you’re incredibly sad for him, part of you is thrilled that it means he’s not likely to be swept away by someone else too soon.

You just gather yourself up, smile, and tell him that at least he’s spending the time he has as best he can, which is a hell of a lot more than a lot of people do–although you personally hope there’s a lot more of it. And that… at the end, you're glad for all the times you're involved.

Johnny’s leaning against the counter while you fold nuts and rum-soaked fruit into a thick batter, his normally busy hands jammed into his pockets, posture a bit off, and so close you almost keep elbowing him on accident, the two of you just bantering back and forth.

You turn your head toward him to fire back, and–

–his mouth is just there, on yours.

He lingers, but doesn’t move otherwise. It’s… testing, you think. You feel his lips shake against yours, in fact, just once.

Your shock dies fast and your eyes slip closed, and while it’s a brief kiss, when he pulls away, you don’t open them. You can’t. Because if you’re honest, you’ve probably been gone for him since the first time you gave him a friendly hug goodnight, and it’s only ever gotten worse. If you open your eyes, this won’t be real, or it won’t have happened, or it will shatter somehow.

After a pause, he runs the back of a finger down your temple, trailing the side of your face to your jaw. You still won’t open your eyes, so he just toys with your face until you do.

He’s got a soul-crushing smile at the corners of his eyes.

“Been wanting to do that for a long time,” he admits into the quiet.

“...Oh?” Your voice is embarrassingly, unhelpfully breathy. It’d probably be mortifying, if you had the mental capacity to fully register embarrassment at the moment.

He pauses, smile making its way to his lips, and curling them up at the corners, bit by bit. He cants his head, just a little, like he wants to see you from another angle. “Aye. …Might’ve been since the first time I saw you at the mailboxes.”

“Oh?”

That had been one of the first times you remember ever seeing him. He never said a word to you other than, “Mornin’” or “Evenin’,” if he said anything at all.

His smile blooms until you can see his teeth. “You were wearing this little shirt. Green, thin. Bit worn, like it was a favorite. Showed a wee spot of skin at your back.” His fingers brush the spot, soft and testing, near the base of your spine, and it jolts you from scalp to toes. “Might’ve… lost some time, thinking about what it’d feel like if I slid my hand up there.” He toys with the hem of your shirt and steps in, voice going deeper and rougher around the edges. “Might’ve imagined pushing it up, getting a bit closer. Really might’ve imagined putting your back up to the slots, mo–”

You kiss him this time, before he can go on, and it’s anything but testing.

And just like everything else about him, this fits.

His mouth fits against yours. His body fits against yours. And as if some band of control snaps, so abruptly you swear you feel it jolt through his skin, he's got you up on the counter, his thighs between yours, both of you already breathing hard.

His hands on you are perfect, calloused, slipping up under the back of your shirt, smoothing and gripping, making your chest and your thighs feel molten. It's ravenous, like he just has to touch your skin, has to get you closer. You arch toward him, fingers running up through his hair, legs curling around his and pulling him nearer.

His hips are carefully, stubbornly, infuriatingly back from you, but the kiss is so full of need, so close, that some of his breaths sound hollow against your mouth. It's like he can't decide whether inhaling or devouring you is more important, so he just doesn't choose.

When you're at the point of moaning unintentionally, of hungry little sounds forcing their way out of your chest, of your hips moving against the counter in desperation, when you're moments from outright begging, Johnny pulls back, and goes further when you try to chase his mouth.

His lips are red and full, his face dark--much worse when he catches sight of how completely drunk you must look--and he's panting. His fingers dig into your hips like he's trying to keep one or both of you from drowning. He squeezes his eyes shut.

You don't mean to, you really don't, but you look down, and lord help you but–

“That looks painful,” you tell him. Your voice sounds like it's been run over a washboard. He's tented against his denim, and his size is… proportional.

…You can't seem to remember how to make yourself look up.

“Really rather not talk about my cock just now, love,” he gravels, fingers clenching briefly against you. His head tips forward onto your shoulder, breaths panting out against your collar bone, leaving you to pick up every bit of heat he's trying to get out of himself.

You hum, teasing. “Shame, because I can't think of anything I'd rather talk ab—”

His big paw covers your mouth. “For the love of every Saint, I’m beggi—”

You cut him off right back. By licking his palm.

He recoils in horror, but the moment your eyes meet, you both burst into laughter, made worse every time he tries to tell you how disgusting that is, something about his sisters as kids, you don't know what else.

You're the first to sober, breathing almost back to normal, thoughts already whirring on fast-forward. You look down, pulling your knees together, hands gripping the edge of the counter. “Are we…. Will we be ok, after this?”

You peek up to see him looking at you like you're daft.

“‘S been the better part of a year,” he says softly, moving forward and running his thumbs over your knees. Asking your legs to make room again, to let him get close again. “Have you really not figured it out, all this time?”

Your legs open hesitantly, and he steps in and, when you look up at him, kisses one corner of your mouth, then the other, slow and warm and so tender it feels like your chest is cracking right down the center.

Eyes closed, brows a little pinched, you murmur, “We can't all be SAS savants, Johnny.” Maybe you know. Maybe. But it has been all this time, so maybe you need to hear it, too.

He's still kissing, pace unhurried and savouring, making his way to your jaw and just beneath it. But it's calming now, somewhere between reverential and still trying to bring the both of you down. Himself especially, you think.

“Then let me spell it out for you. Gladly.” He noses up against the bottom of your ear and roughs, “You are fucking stuck with me. Glued. Bloody welded.” He huffs a laugh and leans back upright—but not all the way, not too far back. “This isnae a new thing for me. You know that, right? I just….” He shakes his head and abandons the thought, “Hell, my mates have already been asking when they can come over for dinner, the dobbers.”

Your brows shoot up. “You've talked about me at work?”

He looks down, and while his face is in half a scowl, you'd swear he does it to hide a slight flush, too. “Haven't shut up about you, more like. Should hear what my Lieutenant– Ach, nevermind that.”

You hurry to say that they're welcome any time, but it makes him scowl fully.

“Not exactly keen on the idea just yet.” He puts his arms around you, buries his face in your neck, and just stands there, breathing you in. He mutters into the crook of your shoulder, “Mind if I stay like this for a bit? Just while I, uh… calm down.”

His hips are still well back from you. You’re not sure you’ve ever adored and hated him so much at once.

“I’d really like that,” you tell him softly, arms going around his ribs, hands on his shoulders, chest to chest.

It's warm and resounding like this, so after a spell, without thinking, you bite his shoulder. Just sink your teeth in and leave them there. It’s not even entirely conscious, it's just so comfortable and comforting.

“All good, there, wee piranha?” he eventually asks, a smile in his voice.

You detach instantly. “Ah, sorry! I, uh, might have a tiny bit of an oral fixation.”

He groans. “Are ye trying to do me in?”

“I’m not the one who said we had to stop, Mr. Military Discipline.”

His eyes darken in a flash, but he tamps down on it just as quickly and gets that godawful cocky look on his face, instead. “Pardon me for not wanting to rush something that really matters.” His tone goes so soft at the end that you can’t even be mad at him--exactly as you know he intended, the great bastard.

“How did I not know what a sadist you are?”

And that look means he’s about to make you eat your words.

“Johnny I will happily kill you in your sleep.”

“I could handle that. Means you'd be in my bed, aye?”

He pulls your hands up from the death grip they've found on the edge of the counter and laces your fingers together. “I dinnae….” He clears his throat, frowns. “Just being away on deployment is shite now, and I love what I do. But I miss you while I'm gone, think about you back here all the bloody time, and we havnae even….”

When he doesn’t finish, you whisper, heart clenching with the realization, “You really don't want to rush this.”

He laughs quietly like he wants to argue. But what he says is, “No. I don't. But while that's true….” He steps in, chin ducking, eyes darkening even as they shine, voice lowering. “What do you say we turn the oven off? I've a funny feeling you willnae be getting around to that bake today.”

Masterlist

#johnny soap mactavish #cod soap #john soap mactavish #soap cod #soap x reader #johnny mactavish #slow burn #friends to lovers #060 #meet cute #comfort fic #demisexual #fluff #johnny x reader #cod

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nadvs · 1 month ago

Text

the power play (part three)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

< prev

Rafe is waiting for you in front of your building, this time to take you to a frat party.

“Hi,” you say cheerfully, settling into his passenger seat, “for the third day in a row.”

Apparently, Emma always goes to these parties, and since Beck is friends with a lot of the frat’s members, you’re almost certain he’ll go, too.

You’re also meeting Lyla there. She’s been open-minded about Rafe. You hope he doesn’t make her regret it.

“You’re going to have to be nice tonight,” you say, then shut the door with a hard thud.

“Why?”

“Because my best friend will be there and I want her to like you.”

Rafe stares ahead, his mood plummeting. He doesn’t want to deal with this.

He didn’t care what Emma’s friends thought about him, until she started bringing up how much they don’t like him. You’re not even his real girlfriend, and the thought of being subject to that sort of judgement again makes his blood run hot.

He drives out onto the road. You wait for him to speak, but he doesn’t.

“Don’t tell me you’re already mad about something,” you say with a quiet laugh. “What’s up?”

You haven’t even been in his car for half a minute and you’re already trying to open up his wounds again, clueless to the fact that you’re reminding him of the things he wants to forget.

“What am I supposed to say to her?” Rafe murmurs.

“Just be polite,” you reply. “And act like you like me.”

He tensley rakes a hand through his hair. Something’s off with him. He’s never had to ask you how to navigate this.

“Are you nervous?” you ask.

“Nah.”

“What are you then?”

“I’m fine,” he says tersely.

You roll your eyes. You thought you’d gotten past feeling uneasy about pulling this off, but right now, you have no idea if this is going to work when you and Rafe are so out of sync.

You already aren’t in the mood to go to a party. He’s not doing anything to change that.

“I guess I should take back what I said about us being friends,” you tease.

He doesn’t say anything. You gaze up at the starry night sky through the window, letting out a sigh.

“I’m okay to cancel if you don’t feel like doing this,” you offer. “I’m in the middle of a great book that I’d like to get back to anyway.”

Rafe doesn’t know what to do with the things you say sometimes. It’d be easier if you snipped back or iced him out like everyone else does, because then, he wouldn’t feel shitty like he does now.

It’s annoying how much you unknowingly push these touchy, complicated topics. Even though you’re giving him an out, it’s hard to ignore how rotten he feels when he shuts down your innocent chit-chat.

So, he relents.

“I don’t want to – to have to think about impressing someone,” he admits with a stammer you haven’t heard before.

You look at him again, somewhat stunned. You almost make a joke about how this whole ruse, which he thought up, sort of hinges on impressing people. But the tension is too thick.

“You don’t have to impress her,” you reply, your eyes drifting over the outlines of his profile. “I just want her to believe you like me because she might mention it to her brother. But it’s not like… a test. If it were, I’d make you study. That’s kind of my whole thing.”

You find relief when he cracks a small smile, his eyes still on the road. You smile back, wishing he thought of you as someone he could trust, and wondering why he’s stressed about his fake girlfriend’s best friend's opinion, when he doesn’t seem like the type to worry about what anybody thinks of him.

“I’m surprised you care what she thinks,” you say, your tone lighthearted.

Rafe chews on his lip.

“I know this isn’t…” He motions between you, aware of how ridiculous it is to be tense about this when you’re not even really dating. He exhales, giving in. “Emma’s friends didn’t like me. She always brought it up.”

His words hit you, sadness twisting your heart. His ex did badmouth him minutes after she met you; you wouldn’t be surprised if she complained about him to her friends, handing them reasons to dislike him, using it against him.

That’s what’s bothering him. This is a bad reminder.

“All you have to do is what you did last night,” you tell him. “You don’t even have to talk much. I honestly think Lyla expects to see me with a guy who lets me do all the talking.”

You continue to stare at him. He’s stiff. On edge. It’s another crack in the facade, another peek into the things he hides.

“Why would she… always bring it up?” you ask quietly.

Rafe turns the car onto a narrow street, the steering wheel sliding underneath his hands.

“We said shit just to hurt each other all the time,” he mutters.

You gaze forward, your chest tight. At this point, you’re sure that what they had was toxic. His ex said he had red flags, but it sounds like she was the same way. You still don’t know why he liked her so much.

He’s obviously worked up. You shouldn’t push. You decide to put yourself in the spotlight to even the score.

“I never told you how Beck rejected me,” you say. “He hugged me, then said I’m a better friend than his sister.”

“Shit,” he winces.

“Yeah,” you chuckle. “You know when you can’t fall asleep and you think about all of your most embarrassing moments? That’s one of mine.”

Rafe breathes a quiet laugh. He grips the wheel when he reaches a stop sign, frustrated that he’s so curt with you, and even more frustrated that he cares. You’re slowly claiming a soft spot he didn’t know he had, whether he likes it or not.

“I’m… still pissed off,” he explains, his syllables sharp. “At her. Not you.”

It’s something that you didn’t expect about Rafe when you first met – that he can tell when he’s being too harsh and then tensely backpedals. You have a feeling he’s not really mad. He’s hurt. But he’d rather hide behind anger.

“I would be, too,” you say.

He offers an appreciative nod, avoiding eye contact.

════════

Lyla greets you with a big hug once you find her in the crowded frat house.

“I haven’t seen you in forever,” she says, then looks up at Rafe. “You stole my best friend.”

“Can you blame me?” Rafe replies, putting his arm around your shoulders. You smile up at him, the uneasiness you’d felt dissolving. He can put on a good show when he wants to.

You quickly catch up with Lyla while Rafe quietly stands next to you. When there’s a gap in conversation, you turn to him and motion for him to come closer. He leans down.

“You can go hang out with your friends now,” you whisper. “Or should we stay together? What do couples do?”

Your words echo in his head. He didn’t think about if you’ve actually been part of a real couple before. He gazes at you, wondering why you never said anything about it.

“They should see us together first,” he finally says.

“Good point,” you say. “Let’s do a lap.”

Lyla finds a friend in the crowd and you take the opportunity to get a drink with Rafe. You walk to the kitchen, nudging past people together, your fingers interlaced with his.

Behind the worn laminate kitchen island, a lively game of beer pong is taking place. Emma is standing by the far end of the table, playing next to a guy who’s standing close to her.

You look up to see if Rafe notices. He does. His jaw tenses as he stares at her.

When you step up to the stack of empty solo cups, you catch Beck on the other side of the living room, leaning against a wall and chatting with a couple of his friends. You hate that your stomach still goes numb at his smile.

“They’re both here,” you tell Rafe.

He turns to face you, your hands still joined. You know what he looks like when he’s concentrating. You’ve seen it through your tutoring sessions, the way his eyes narrow and his dimples cave in as he flattens his lips together.

“You have your thinking face on,” you laugh.

“On the counter,” he says.

“Excuse me?” you nearly shout, eyes widened.

He nudges your hips with firm hands. The edge of the counter is hard against your lower back. He steps forward to push the clutter behind you aside.

Rafe’s brows lift in expectation.

“Sit on the counter,” he explains, “so they can’t miss us.”

You let him take the lead and feel for the counter with your palms. With Rafe’s grasp on your hips and your own force, you settle on the hard countertop. He guides your knees apart and shifts to stand between your thighs.

Your throat goes dry.

He’s smooth, experienced, clearly having done stuff like this before. The thought of it, of him, makes your skin burn and you force yourself not to picture it.

You’ve been close to Rafe before – you sat on his lap just last night – but this is the most suggestive position you’ve been in together, and it’s sending your thoughts into an uncontrollable frenzy.

Just a second ago, you were standing a few feet away from him, and now he’s between your legs, his frame big and dominating, his palms hot on your thighs.

“Hands on me,” he instructs.

You stiffly rest your forearms on his shoulders, the crisp smell of his cologne dancing over you. Your eyes dart to Beck, who hasn’t noticed you, and you tell yourself to do with Rafe what you always imagined doing with him.

You cradle the back of his neck, gently lacing his soft hair between your fingers. The conversations and music fade away as you and Rafe settle in a moment that looks private, but is really just for show.

Your mind slows down as you remind yourself that this isn’t real and there’s no reason to be shy.

Rafe is eye-level to you now. It’s still bothering him – why wouldn’t a girl who never stops talking tell him that she hasn’t been in a relationship?

“You haven’t dated before?” he asks.

“What?”

“Why are you asking me what couples do?”

“Oh.” You laugh and shrug, as if it’s apparent. “When you’re in love with someone for, like four years, you don’t really pay attention to other guys.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Rafe murmurs.

“Is it important?”

“A lot of things you say aren’t, but you still say them.”

You laugh, lips parting in shock.

“Jerk,” you mutter under your breath.

“You’re name-calling now?” he says, amused at the way that calling him that, even as a joke, seemed like it made you a little uncomfortable.

“Sure am,” you retort. “I’m kidding, though.”

He scoffs, amused again. Of course you had to clarify that you didn’t mean it.

“That’s why you’ve been so freaked out about this?” he realizes, cluing in that all your nerves have been because this, all of this, is entirely new to you.

“Paired with the fact that this is a ridiculous thing to be doing,” you say. “I thought it was obvious. So much for being easy to read, huh?”

Rafe’s brows furrow. It makes no sense. You two couldn’t be more different, but he can imagine what other guys would see in you now that he’s used to your unrestrained cheerfulness. You have a rare sincerity to you. It’s absurd how many years you wasted on Beck.

“What the hell do you see in him?” he asks, an unexpected sense of protectiveness pricking at him.

You look up to the ceiling in thought. Your fingers continue to lace through his hair, and he ignores the goosebumps that are blossoming on his skin.

When you look back down again, you notice Beck’s gaze on you from across the room.

“This is a first. I’m telling my pretend boyfriend why I like a guy that’s looking right at me,” you say. “I had fun with him. He’s hardworking and he’s nice to everybody and I respect that in a person. And when I talked to him, he cared about what I was saying. He remembered little things about me. He’s kind.”

“He led you on, though,” he remembers.

“Maybe. I do wonder if he knew I liked him and kept me around because he enjoyed the flattery or the help with school,” you say. “But I don’t know. He could’ve hoped I’d get over it and wanted to spare me the embarrassment. Or maybe I read into things and imagined he was flirting with me when he never was. I could’ve built all this stuff up in my head.”

Rafe takes in all the words you just threw at him, bringing out a touch of amusement from you.

“I fell for him because he made me feel special,” you conclude. “Isn’t that a big part of loving someone? You like the person you are when you’re with them?”

He looks at you silently, reminding you of when you met him and all he would offer you is a blank stare. Then, his face drops in melancholy.

While he’s usually drowning in his overwhelming thoughts, with his ex, life was simple. He could forget about the shit he didn’t want to think about because she never pushed.

Before they started fighting so much, he could do his best impression of who he always wanted to be. A man who’s steady. Who’s strong.

“Yeah,” Rafe says.

“How’d you feel with her?” you ask. “When things were good, I mean.”

You hope he meets your eyes again. He does.

“Everything was easy,” he says. “It’s like I wasn’t as…”

“As?”

“Fucked up,” he admits.

Your shoulders drop. For the first time, you see a piece of why he was with Emma. She made him feel uncomplicated.

You wonder what Rafe has been through to make him think of himself that way, but you’re treading carefully, avoiding any risk of embarrassing him. No matter how rude he can be, you’re almost certain it comes from a place of sensitivity, and of wishing it didn’t.

“Isn’t it kind of funny?” you say, trying to lighten the mood. “He made me feel special and you make me feel annoying. She made things easy for you and I literally nag you to do your homework. And we’re supposedly dating.”

Rafe’s lips curl into a smile. You mirror it.

Just past his shoulder, you spot Emma’s gaze on you. She’s still playing beer pong, laughing with the guy she’s standing next to, but her eyes land on you and Rafe every few seconds.

“She keeps looking over,” you say. You think of their shared history, of how many memories they must have made together. Maybe Emma just needs to see him with someone else long enough to realize she wants him back. “What will you do if she wants to get back together?”

Rafe squints. He kept trying to make things work after she broke up with him because he just wanted the peace he’d once had with her back.

But when someone fucks him over, he’s done. The way she’s been dragging his name to anyone who’ll listen, to you the very day she met you, leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. She may have broken his heart, but she doesn’t own it anymore.

“I’m done with her,” he tells you. “What if Beck asks you out?”

You’re not sure how to answer him, because you’d written off Beck being interested in you as a possibility. You hate that your heart skips thinking about it.

You shouldn’t want a man who could only want you once he thinks he can’t have you. But it’s easier said than done. The years of infatuation have a hold on you.

“I don’t know,” you confess. “But no matter what happens, we should have an easy-out clause. No hard feelings when one of us is done with this. Cool?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Cool.”

“Beck’s looking, too,” you say. “I think they’re buying it. Can I…?”

You bring your hands forward to gently rest on Rafe’s jaw, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones.

“You don’t have to ask,” he says with a subtly irritated shake of his head.

His hands are splayed over your thighs and your knees are pressed against his hips. It might be a good thing to get some practice with a guy you’re not really with. Affection won’t be as intimidating if you’ve already done it in a controlled setting.

Rafe waits for you to say something, to do something. Maybe you’ll break your ‘no kissing’ rule, even though now he’s pretty sure it’d be your first kiss.

“You know what?” you say gently.

He takes in the way your eyes travel over his face, and for a split second, it’s like you can see just how much he hides below the surface, like you’re going to keep digging until you find out what it is.

He nods once, silently beckoning you to continue.

“The next book on the syllabus is one of my favorites,” you say.

He smirks, relieved you’re joking instead of prying.

“This really is the type of shit you’d talk about with your boyfriend,” he realizes. He thought you were just nervously rambling the other night because you had nothing else to talk about, but he was wrong.

You purse your lips in thought, memories trickling in.

“Yeah,” you say, sadness clouding your features. “It’s one of the reasons I thought Beck liked me back. He liked to listen to me ramble about whatever I was reading. And he was interested. Or he acted like it. I really… I wish I could get over him.”

Rafe’s face falls again, confused over why a guy who did shit like that for years, who stared at you the way he did last night, pushed you away.

“I know,” is all he can offer, because he really does understand the desperation of wanting to feel whole again after somebody breaks you.

“Sorry to interrupt,” you hear.

You glance up to see Lyla, her eyes darting to where Rafe is standing between your legs. You almost want to pull away, explain that it’s not what it looks like, nearly forgetting that you’re supposed to be fooling her, too.

“Hey,” you say.

“You want to do a shot with me?” she asks.

“Sure.”

You grip Rafe’s shoulders and shift forward. His hands tighten on your hips and you gently drop to the ground, pressed against his body.

“I’ll find you later?” you ask him.

He leans down low again, his temple brushing against yours.

“Take it easy, lightweight,” he replies.

You look up at him with a big grin.

“What?” he mutters.

“You’re worrying about me,” you whisper. “We are friends.”

“Get out of here,” he sighs.

You laugh and squeeze his hand before you step aside.

════════

You meant to keep count of your drinks. You really did. But every drink was like a temporary antidote against the heartbreak that’s been haunting you, and before you knew it, you were drunker than you’ve ever been before.

The night slips in and out of focus. You’re laughing with Lyla, then you’re playing beer pong, then you’re looking for Rafe.

You find him in a pocket of the crowd standing with a few other hockey players, your mind and body dizzy and hot. You cover his hand with yours, gently tugging him closer.

“I came here to ask you something,” you mumble into his ear when he leans down, his cologne hitting you again. “And… I don’t remember what it was.”

He shakes his head disapprovingly. You were stone cold sober earlier in the kitchen, and now you’re plastered.

“I told you to take it easy,” he says.

“I thought I was. I’m usually very responsible.” You shift to meet his eyes. “You smell great, by the way.”

“Okay?” he replies stiffly.

“Are you always this bad at accepting compliments?” you ask.

He is, and he hates how quickly you figure this kind of stuff out about him.

“What do you want?”

You squint, looking out at the crowd as you attempt to put your fragmented thoughts together. You spot Lyla.

“Oh! Could you give me and Lyla a ride home?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I’m done here anyway.”

Just a few minutes ago, Rafe watched Emma leave the house with the same guy she was playing beer pong with. It screwed a hole into his chest and he’s been wanting to get the fuck out of here since.

════════

You crack open the window as Rafe drives away from the frat house. Lyla’s in the backseat, tapping on her phone.

He glares at the road. Who was that guy Emma left with? And how the hell does he stop giving a shit? Is he doomed to spend the rest of his life wishing he didn’t care about things as much as he does?

Thinking of her with him doesn’t bring up jealousy. It’s anger. Disappointment. Because he’s losing this game.

“Did you have a good time tonight?” you ask Rafe, the cool spring breeze pressing against your face.

He glances at you. Even though you hardly ever see eye-to-eye, you genuinely want to be kind to him, consoling him on the way to the party, paying him compliments when drunkenness took away your filter.

Despite how irritating it can be when you pry, you don’t do it out of malice. And you even cracked him up a few times tonight.

He decides to answer you honestly, to be nice like you told him to be, ignoring the discomfort.

“When I was with you, yeah,” he replies.

“Aww,” Lyla coos from behind you.

You smile, discreetly giving him a thumbs up for his performance. He means it, but he’ll let you believe he said it just because your friend’s listening.

════════

Lyla directs Rafe to the front doors of her dorm, and when she tries to say goodbye to you, she laughs once she realizes you dozed off.

“Thanks for the ride. I still don’t really get this,” she says to Rafe, pointing between you two, “but I can tell it works.”

He knows why it looks like that. It’s because, as much as Rafe didn’t expect it, you’re right. You two genuinely became friends at some point over the last three weeks.

The sound of Lyla shutting her door snaps you awake. You quickly gauge your surroundings, realizing you’re on the opposite end of campus by Lyla’s building. The athletes’ dorm is practically a ten second drive away and the route to your building will be a long detour for Rafe.

“Isn’t your dorm like, right next door?” you murmur.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll just sleep over,” you say in an exhausted daze. “So you don’t have to drive all the way to the other side of campus and back.”

It’s nearing two in the morning. Rafe just wants to be in his bed. So, he goes along with your idea.

════════

Your eyelids flutter open. You stare ahead to see a broad, bare back sitting at a desk. Then, you recognize the unkept dark hair you ran your fingers through last night, as well as your tabbed copy of Lost Horizon sitting on the dresser.

You’re in Rafe’s dorm room. In his bed. Your face buried in his pillow.

Last night flashes through your mind. You’d thoughtlessly suggested a sleepover. Rafe helped you out of the car and let you lean on him in the elevator and complained that you weren’t making enough space for him in his bed.

“I am so sorry,” you murmur.

Rafe turns around, taking out an earbud with an eyebrow raised.

“Finally awake?” he says.

Your chest stings and your stomach turns as you slowly sit up. You put your hand on your forehead, tangled up in his duvet, last night’s clothes tight and uncomfortable as you think back to how much you drank.

“I should’ve listened to you,” you murmur. “That was not taking it easy. I was stupid.”

“Thought that was a bad word.”

“It is,” you say with a pointed finger. “Thank you. It is.”

You finally look at him again. He’s in sweats, gray boxers peeking out the band, his muscular body curled over the chair. It’s unusual to see him like this; in his downtime, sitting at his desk, using his laptop, shirtless.

You’d felt his body against yours, felt the firmness of his muscles, but seeing him like this in broad daylight raises your pulse.

Rafe notices your gaze linger on his chest before you meet his eyes again. If he really is flustering you, it’s a good dose of payback, considering how he felt when you sat on his lap and played with his hair.

“What the hell did I drink last night?” you mumble.

“You tell me.”

He gazes at you as you try to remember. Even though it was snug sleeping next to you in his tiny single bed, it was nice to not spend a night on his own. He already knew he was lonely, but feeling you next to him, hearing your breath as he dozed off, showed him just how much.

“Shots? Beer? Something really sweet?”

“You mixed,” he realizes. “Bad move.”

“I feel like death,” you groan. “I’m going home now.”

You shuffle forward, your legs hanging over the edge of his bed. You slide off, briefly losing your balance before your feet touch the carpet.

You catch yourself, gripping his shoulder. He cups your wrist as you wobble. You pull your hand back and readjust your clothes, a wrinkled mess now, then pick your bag up off the floor, which you’re glad you thought to bring in your stupor.

“I’m sorry again. Thanks for… dealing with me,” you say quickly, smoothing back your hair. Rafe only smirks, entertained by how embarrassed you are. “I’m walking home because I might throw up and I don’t think we’re at the point where I can do that in front of you yet.”

“You already did.”

Your lips part in shock and he laughs.

“You’re kidding,” you realize. “I didn’t expect you to be a morning person.”

“I’m not.” He looks over at his laptop for the time. “It’s half past noon.”

You sigh in shame and make your way to the door.

“Hold on,” he says. You turn and almost miss the ball of fabric he throws towards you. When you hold it up and realize it’s one of his extra jerseys, you laugh.

“Wear it to the next game,” Rafe tells you.

“Good idea,” you say, imagining the way Emma, and hopefully Beck, will fume at the sight of you with Cameron across your back. “See you.”

You rush down the hallway, thrown out of your thoughts when you hear a loud click. Beck is unlocking his door a few feet ahead of you.

You internally groan. You feel awful and you’re sure you look it, too.

His eyes search your face, as if he doesn’t recognize you. On top of the embarrassment and anxiety you’re already feeling, the sight of him bombards you with the familiar pain of rejection.

“Hey,” you say with an awkward laugh. You need to act casual. You figure if you can pretend to like Rafe, you can pretend to not like Beck. “How’s it going?”

He looks past you, no doubt cluing in that you’re leaving Rafe’s dorm in last night’s clothes. You know what he’s going to think – you spent the night doing more than just sleeping. Suddenly, you’re glad you ran into him.

“Good,” he says absentmindedly. “You?”

“Good,” you reply, continuing to walk past him. Beck looks down, seemingly thrown off.

“I have to say…” He lets out a humorless chuckle. You stop and turn to look at him. “It’s kind of crazy that you’re hanging out with him.”

“Crazy?”

“He’s not really your type.”

Your heart hammers in your chest.

“What is my type?” you challenge.

Beck’s forehead crinkles in what you’d have to guess is disappointment. You swallow nervously. He could say so many things that would break your heart even more. And you hate that he has that much power over you.

“I just think he’s… intense,” he replies.

“I like intense,” you say.

Beck seems out of words. And as much as you want to stay, to ask what he’s thinking, you’re done waiting on bated breath for him, hoping he feels how you do when you share a private moment.

If you act like you’re not in love with him, your heart will eventually catch up. It has to.

“Nice to see you,” you say, carrying on towards the elevator. And walking away from him instead of the other way around for once gives you a newfound feeling of victory that you realize you really needed.

next >

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#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and y/n #rafe x you #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfic

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hoshifighting · 7 months ago

Note

can u do svt reaction with no nut november😋 love ur writing!!!!

seungcheol: he starts off strong, “this is easy, i’m basically a monk.” but makes it to day three, tops, before he’s in your DMs, like, “okay, you win, come over.” literally holding his head in his hands before fisting his hard cock.

jeonghan: jeonghan only joins no nut november to annoy you, trying to show off his self-control. “oh, it’s nothing. i can do this easily.” but when you start teasing him day after day, sending him nudes and flirty messages, he’s practically boiling. but he holds out until the end of the month, when December 1st 00h comes, this man is slutting you out.

joshua: tells you he’s “doing great” and that the challenge is “actually easy.” but secretly, he’s sneaking off every day, trying to relieve himself without you finding out. when you catch him, all flushed and a mess, and he’s stuttering like, “uh, i… didn’t know you’d see that.”

junhui: bro is all talk, boasting that he can last the whole month, but he’s the first one to start slipping. he tries to distract himself by going out, playing games, whatever he can, blows his cover, blow his load, by day five.

hoshi: this poor dude loses on day one. you know it, and he knows it. he tries to act tough, but if you cross from the bathroom to the bedroom only in a towel, he’s done for. he sulks the rest of the day, throwing a mini tantrum after fucking you and losing it, and when you tease him about it, he’s all pouty. “you did this to me!”

wonwoo: he thinks he can outsmart everyone, claiming he’s going to meditate his way through november. when you sleep with him in your babydoll or tiny shorts, he’s all softening up, biting his lip and fighting his instincts. he tries to be stoic, he’s grumbling under his breath, and it’s hilarious to watch. “this is unfair. can you at least stop wearing those?”

woozi: he’s stressed from the get-go. the man is rolling his eyes at everyone, snapping at the members over the tiniest things, all because he’s with a throbbing erection in his pants. you’re just fanning the flames, sending him ALL the nudes you can, and he’s getting more and more drained. “why are you like this?” he hisses, but he secretly loves the attention. by week two, he’s a complete mess, desperately trying to hide it, but he’s too transparent. every time you catch him zoning out, you know exactly where his mind is.

minghao: iron will. he goes through the whole month with a straight face, the second december hits, he’s on you. he’s using every spare second to make up for lost ground. by week’s end, he’s practically cock-sore from going at it so much, and you’re laughing, asking him if all that was worth it.

mingyu: he’s so sure he can trick his way through it, asking you to dry hump him because, technically, it’s not breaking the rules, right? but the second you start grinding down, he keeps trying to pull you off before he cums, soon, he’s begging you to stop, whispering about how he can’t take it anymore, so.. just another way losing the NNN.

seokmin: determined to stick to the rules, but struggling hard. he’ll pull you in for heated makeouts, his hands squeezing and holding you tight as he tries to discount on something. flushed and breathing hard, whispering apologies for pulling away clearly fighting himself every step of the way. he’s convinced he can make it to the end “it’s fine, i got this,” he’d insist, though his grip on you says contrary.

seungkwan: “oh my god, don’t come near me!” gets whiny about how hard he is. he’ll throw little tantrums, pouting and going on about how it’s torture whenever you tease him. by the end of the month, he’s practically begging, dropping hints that he’d break if you just said the word, making it clear he’s only “doing this for you” while clearly waiting for the green light to give in.

vernon: he's “nah, i’m good” from the start. “you’re trying too hard.” but little by little, he catches himself glancing your way, biting his lip, feeling the itch just a bit more every time you walk by. he won’t admit it, but by week four, he’s giving you these longing looks when he thinks you aren’t looking.

chan: determined, but let’s be real, he’s also a bit naive about how tough it’ll be. if you teasw him, he’s practically falling apart every time you’re around. by the middle of the month, he’s so worked up he’s stammering just being near you, you catch him blushing like crazy when you touch him, and by the end of it, he’s practically begging you to let him break the rules.

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celaenaeiln · 2 years ago

Text

Jason: *on private line* Swanhead.

Tim: Red Hood. Don’t call me that. What is it?

Jason: Send me my location, I don’t know where I am.

Tim: Hold-

Dick: *batkids group channel* Hey Baby Bird.

Tim: Nightwing. Again don’t call me-you know what? Nevermind. What’s the problem?

Dick: I need you to send me my location, I got kidnapped overseas.

Tim: Red Hood too.

Jason: Hey! I didn’t get kidnapped, I was violently taken hostage for a minor drug deal that went wrong. Totally different.

Tim: Right.

Jason: Listen here you little shi-

Dick: Oh, Little Wing’s in Belarus. Coordinates: 53.6212, 27.94683 and there’s a bike nearby he can use to get to the aircraft landing space close by but he’ll have to be careful because it’s swarmed by mean-looking guards.

Tim: …..

Jason: Since when are the guards nice-looking?

Dick: Little Wing, when you get kidnapped as often as I do, you get to pick and choose who you like.

Tim: Not getting into that mess but how’d you know Jason’s coordinates?

Dick: Older Sibling’s Intuition!

Tim and Jason: Bullshit.

Tim: Anyway, I’ll send Batman to pick you up.

Dick: Wait, no, Batman will bring Robin and little D just went over to J-Superboy’s house to play video games.

Tim: ….Okay, then I’ll send Batgirl.

Dick: No Batgirl’s throwing it back at a frat party so don’t bother her. She’s winning.

Tim: Orphan.

Dick: No she’s busy dismantling an underground mercenary establishment in Shanghai.

Tim: I’ll-

Dick: Nah, enjoy your date with your golden teddy bear tonight. It’s also a bit of a distance to go from Gotham to Metropolis to pick up your other one.

Tim: OKAY HOW DO YOU KNOW EVERYONE’S LOCATION BUT YOUR OWN?!

Dick: ….Tee Hee 😋✨

Jason: *muffled* did he just “Tee Hee?”

Tim: ….where are the kidnappers, I gotta rescue them.

Dick: *in the background on Dick’s line: sobbing and nonstop muffled thank you’s*

Dick: Whaddya mean? They’re fine. Right, guys? *more crying heard*

Tim: Dick….

Jason: *on private channel* Shushhh. Just let him have this. Still send help though. For them.

#dick grayson #nightwing #tim drake #red robin #jason todd #red hood #batfam incorrect quotes #timberkon #stephanie brown #spoiler #cassandra cain #orphan #damian wayne #robin #bruce wayne #batman

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neeeooon · 3 months ago

Note

I liked your stalker ask, maybe part 2 for the rest of boys? Like Michael, Isagi, Barou, Reo, Nagi, Ness, Chigiri, Hiori and Kurona?

okay!! these aren’t as long since there are more characters, but i hope you enjoy and ty for the request!

when you have a stalker pt 2 ;

bf blue lock x gn!reader (some scenes may be unsettling, but are all sfw!)

michael kaiser

-> he’s already always on edge and aware of his surroundings because of his past, so dating you just means he now looks out for you as well

-> because of this, he’s pretty quick to notice the discomfort in your stance when he picks you up at your place

-> he’d get the door for you and still at the hand on his chest. “don’t make it obvious, but do you see that guy in the black hat? he’s been following me for the past twenty minutes…”

-> “stay in the car.” “wh.. kaiser, i said don’t make it obvious—!” he just kisses the back of your hand and closes the car door behind you, making sure to lock it

-> you can’t make yourself watch as kaiser approaches the hat guy, but he’s back three minutes later with a few specks of blood on his cheek. “you good, sweetheart?” “mhm.. are you?” “oh, i’m fine. it’s not mine :)”

isagi yoichi

-> isagi, your cute little boyfriend who never so much as cusses when he’s around you, becomes a loose cannon

-> he was walking you home from one of his games when someone started catcalling you. when you ignored him and tightened your grip on isagi’s hand, the guy started following

-> he doesn’t get very close, though, because you feel isagi tensing up beside you. he shoots you an almost sheepish look, as if asking permission to defend you, and you step to the side

-> isagi immediately whirls on the guy, insults flying as he shoves his finger repeatedly against the guy’s chest. “who raised you? who told you it was okay to speak to people like that? are you dumb or something? fucking dead and blind? helen keller has more manner than you, dipshit. my god. get the fuck out of here before and die i kill you myself.”

-> you are thoroughly impressed and delight in the sight of the guy sulking away. isagi shoots you a bashful look. “too much?” “nah, that was perfect.”

barou shouei

-> people don’t usually mess with you when barou is around (i mean, look at him), but usually isn’t always

-> contrary to popular belief, barou is actually a gentleman. he’s super sweet to you and would do any and everything for you without complain if you asked. so imagine your surprise when your sweet natured boyfriend catches someone eyeing you a bit too comfortably

-> barou gently takes your hand in his and asks if you’re okay with moving to a different table, telling you he’ll be right back

-> after a minute of waiting, you go looking and find barou trapping the guy from before against the wall, his forearm on the man’s neck. “look at them again. i fucking dare you. look at them and see what happens.”

-> when the guy gets the message, he’s released and books it out of the store. barou’s eyes widen almost shamefully when he sees you, but you wrap an arm around his and kiss his cheek. “thank you, love.”

mikage reo

-> he’s used to spoiling you and flattering you and making you feel pretty. he isn’t used to having to physically protect you, but he isn’t about to let anything happen to you, either

-> the two of you were at a karaoke bar with some friends when you were cornered by some older guys with smiles that unsettled you

-> they were being rowdy and pushing you around a little to tease you, but before anything serious happened, reo suddenly shoved himself between you and the guys, his arms outstretched almost comedically

-> “you alright, y/n?” “i’m alright.” “good. okay! we’ll be leaving now. you lads have a terrible night!” and he grabs your hand before kicking the middle one between the legs and running off

-> “that was so stupid!” you scream as you both run away from the guys, but you know they’re too far away to catch you. “probably. but it was funny, right?!”

nagi seishiro

-> the boyfriend who lets you drag him around while you shop despite complaining to go home within ten minutes of arriving

-> it was one of those days, nagi holding all your clothes, nodding along when you asked if certain things looked good, when nagi suddenly grabbed your hand

-> before you could ask what happened, he shot you a distracted look. “let’s leave.” “hm? but we just got here—“ “we can order everything online. i’m tired.”

-> usually you’d convince him to let you shop a little longer, but you could tell by his voice that something was wrong. instead of asking, you played along and returned what was in your hands. “okay. let’s go home.”

alexis ness

-> ness would be a little scared, but he’s willing to put on a brave face for you when he needs to

-> he was showing you around his favorite spots in germany, telling you all about the fabled magical properties, when you realized someone was behind you

-> you stood closer to your boyfriend, asking him lots of questions about his interests to try and distract yourself from the person rapidly approaching

-> ness freaks out when you scream as someone grabs you, but he can’t let anything happen to you. not while he can do something

-> so, ness grabs a very scary looking stick and uses it to whack the person until they let you go. he throws rocks and other random things he finds at them as they run away

-> “are you okay?!” “yeah, i’m… you just beat him off with a stick..” “oh… um, yeah, i—“ “that was so cool, lex! you saved me!” and he gets all blushy and happily hugs you back

chigiri hyoma

-> your stalker isn’t that smart, because his interest immediately shifted when he saw the pretty redhead sitting next to you at a cafe

-> he waited until the two of you were leaving before striking. that is, following you and using his large status to rush and overwhelm you—“you” being chigiri. and he was in for a treat!

-> you were holding your boyfriend hand since you both still had your drinks, so you didn’t exactly look “coupley”

-> imagine your surprise when a giant man suddenly appeared in front of you, and imagine when he grabbed chigiri’s chest just to freeze when he realized chigiri is a boy

-> you were busy laughing as chigiri loudly confronted the guy about being a pervert and kicked him before police heard the commotion and detained the guy

-> “did that seriously just happen?” “what part? that you had a stalker, or that he decided to grope me instead of you?” and your laughing at the absurdity all over again

hiori yo

-> he may look like a cute little pacifist in blue, hiori will gladly throw hands with anyone who asks for it

-> you were hanging out together at one of those gaming cafes when some rando decided to stand directly behind your chair and start touching your hair

-> you didn’t want to cause a scene and swatted him away twice before getting angry

-> the third time he tried it, you pushed your chair back, ready to verbally confront him, when a ball of blue flew in front of you. hiori roughly shoved the guy away, causing him to stumble and fall back onto a tray of glass drinks

-> hiori didn’t have to say anything as he grabbed your wrist and gently pulled you out of the cafe, snickering when you stuck your tongue out at the guy on the floor

kurona ranze

-> he’s the type to bite when he feels threatened

-> that said! you were at the beach playing mermaids when someone started swimming a bit too close for comfort

-> you kept ignoring them and drifting away but they didn’t let up. looking around, you grew worried when you couldn’t spot your boyfriend

-> until the person who’d been invading your space suddenly let out a scream and started swimming desperately to the shore shouting, “shark!!”

-> when you turned around, you saw kurona standing there in confusion before pointing from his mouth to the guy’s leg. “what a weirdo.”

part 1

#requested!#bllk #blue lock #bllk x reader #michael kaiser #isagi yoichi #barou shouei #mikage reo #nagi seishiro #alexis ness #chigiri hyoma #hiori yo #kurona ranze

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muniimyg · 2 months ago

Text

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . pov!jk . ۫ ꣑ৎ . — [ 1 . ] more

series m.list // taglist unavailable

friends to ???

slight angst & implied flirting

drunk/tipsy convo, hair play, and tension

note: nope . don't wanna hear it >< don't give me shit abt bad habit ,, i will apologize tho for edging u and then dipping to literally pursue my side quests ,,, i needed a break :') huhuhuuuu

by 2am, you’re officially the only sober person in the house.

it’s not yours—it belongs to jungkook and the rest of the boys—but somehow, you still find yourself in the middle of it, tugging open windows, waving off lingering stragglers, and listening to misa’s slurred complaints about how no one ever listens to her.

“you’re a lifesaver,” she groans, dramatically clinging to your arm. “i texted you like—like ten times.”

“you texted ‘hepl’ and then sent your location.”

“and you understood.” she gestures around like that explains everything. “take me home, please.”

“nope," you cross your arms. "you’re sleeping here tonight.”

she nods, accepting her fate. “are you sleeping here tonight too? it's too late for you to leave.”

“i have no choice,” you laugh. “i don’t have enough energy to take care of my roommate any more than i have now.”

misa scoffs at you and waves you off.

she stumbles away, headed towards jin’s room. you shake your head, knowing how this will play in the morning. jin is gonna get annoyed that she’s in his space but she’ll ignore every word of his lecture. he’ll forgive her 5 minutes after he’s done yapping and go back to being obsessed with her.

suddenly, your thoughts are interrupted with the sound of the door from the other room shutting. you turn your head and see jungkook walking in.

he’s quiet, gathering empty cups and bottles, and moving with the kind of focus that suggests he’s not as drunk as the others. jungkook barely acknowledges you at first, just a glance when you walked in, but now, as he passes by, he pauses.

“nice of you to show up,” he muses, stacking a few cups. his rings glint under the dim kitchen light, a stark contrast to the bruised-up knuckles beneath them. “missed a fun night.”

you huff a quiet laugh, brushing past him to grab a half-full beer bottle from the counter.

“are you drunk?”

“i’m jungkook, actually,” he offers you a lazy smile. “just in case you forgot, you know? you’ve been so mia.”

“i’ve been busy.”

“always are,” he tsks. “would a little time with your friends kill you?"

"maybe," you snort. "i'm too young to die."

he rolls his eyes at you before confessing; "i've sobered up.”

“really?” you ask, partly believing him. "didn't drink much tonight?"

"nah," jungkook answers. "waited for you and you took too long."

you blink at him.

jungkook looks at you then, and it’s the kind of look that stretches a second too long—like he’s waiting for you to call him out. when you just shake your head and laugh, he grins, full and boyish, before nudging past you toward the trash bag.

a few more minutes of quiet cleaning and you give up, collapsing onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. meanwhile, jungkook finishes tossing the last of the cups and then, without much thought, drops onto the couch next to you.

not next to you—into you.

his shoulder bumps yours, his head tipping back against the cushion, body slouching so low that his knee brushes against yours. you glance at him, unimpressed, but he just tilts his head lazily to meet your gaze.

“comfy?”

“mm.” he exhales, lids heavy. “i think i earned it.”

“you did, like, 5 minutes of cleaning.”

“exactly.”

you roll your eyes, but you don’t move away. the warmth of him seeps into your skin, grounding in a way that feels too easy.

“don’t you wanna go to your room?” you ask softly. “i’m fine on the couch.”

“i’m good here,” he murmurs. “unless you want me to—”

“it’s fine. it's okay.”

“this is okay?”

“y-yeah,” you clear your throat, unsure of what else to say.

then, jungkook shifts lower.

at first, it’s subtle—his arm brushing yours, the scent of his cologne clinging to the hoodie he’s been in all night. then, without hesitation, he slouches further until his head drops against your lap.

just like that.

your breath catches.

“since you’re already at it,” he murmurs, half-asleep, like this is normal.

like this is allowed.

you freeze, eyes darting down to where his lashes have fluttered shut, his face soft in the low light. his hair falls into his eyes, messy from the night, and before you can stop yourself—before you can even think—your fingers twitch.

you brush them through his hair, gentle, testing.

jungkook sighs.

a quiet, content sound.

and then he leans in.

his cheek presses further into your thigh, his hand curling loosely against your knee, and it’s so effortless—like he’s done this before. like he’s wanted to.

the weight of it lingers, heavy with something unspoken, something delicate and warm. you should stop, should pull away, should get him to his room and pretend like this isn’t happening… but then, his fingers twitch—just slightly, barely gripping the fabric of your sweatpants. and in a voice so quiet you almost miss it—

“more.”

the word sinks into you, settling in your chest.

because it’s not just about this. not just about the hair, or the warmth of your palm against his skin.

it’s about something else. something neither of you have been brave enough to name for the past few months.

so, for a moment, you keep going. you shut your eyes and pretend that this is it.

that this is more.

#bts scenario #jungkook imagine #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook series #jungkook fluff #jungkook f2l #jungkook x yn

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