#I don’t feel so out of the loop anymore | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lolastrniolo · 1 month ago

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TAKE IT / M.S.

summary: your boyfriend matt got a little excited while watching a show with you, so you let him have his way with you.

contains: smut, oral (f!receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, hair pulling, hickeys, stomach bulge, slapping, spitting in mouth, size kink, dom!matt, established relationship, no use of y/n

wc: 1.9k

a/n: english is not my first language

the sound of the television filled the room as you traced slow circles over matts bare skin, your head rested on his chest. his hands played with your soft hair, his fingers massaging your scalp slowly. suddenly, an erotic scene beamed on the screen, in full explicit detail. matt cleared his throat and shifted his position, slightly pulling at his sweats as he did so. your eyes followed his movements, and eventually landed on the growing tent in his pants. he was praying you wouldn’t notice his arousal, but it was pretty hard to miss, to say the least.

“really, matt?” you picked your head up and looked at him with a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “sorry, this is embarrassing, i feel like a teenage boy.” he covered his face with his hands and let out a loud groan. “no, no, it’s fine!” you tried to conceal your amusement, but failed miserably when you let out a loud laugh, quickly slapping your hand over your mouth.

“see, you’re making fun of me!” he laughed with you, now also covering his mouth with his palm, aware of the fact your sister was asleep in the room across the hall. “sorry, it’s kinda cute tho, you getting worked up so fast.” you bit your bottom lip before straddling his lap, your heat hovering right above the bulge in his pants. he sat up and grabbed your hips to reposition you on top of him, his back now pressed against the headboard. he grabbed the remote and shut off the tv without breaking eye contact with you.

“you don’t wanna watch anymore?” you asked, acting oblivious. “nope”, he said, “done watching.” he closed the gap between you two and pressed his lips to yours, his hands immediately snaking around your waist. your lips moved against matts, soft moans and sighs escaping both your lips as you grinded your hips against his. his hands slid their way down to your ass and gripped it, guiding your movements.

he flipped the two of you around in one swift motion, pinning your hands above your head. “what do you want” he whispered, his lips inches away from yours. “you know what i want…” you didn’t wanna give in, avoiding the words he wanted you to say. he stood up from the bed and grabbed you by your legs, pulling you to the edge of the mattress with minimal effort. you loved the way he manhandled you, the way he threw you around. “i don’t know what you want, not if you don’t tell me.”

“matt, please…” you begged, “i need you.”. your hands were propped up behind you to hold you up as matt stood in between your legs. he softly traced your cheek before grabbing your chin and tilting up your head, making you look up at him with a desperate look on your face. “tell me exactly what you need, yeah? and i’ll give it to you.”

“your tongue” you finally confessed, the wetness between your legs growing with the second. “good girl.” matt got on his knees without breaking eye contact. he looped his fingers in your sweats and panties before looking up at you, and as soon as you nodded, he pulled them both down to your ankles before discarding them to the other side of the room.

you propped yourself up on your elbows and watched the way matt trailed kisses along your inner thighs, before sucking harshly on the skin, leaving behind some dark purple marks. “matt, enough teasing.” you groaned, throwing your head back in frustration. he chuckled and shook his head before finally licking a long stripe up your wet slit. a loud moan escaped your lips as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, “ah- f-fuck!”

“you taste so good”, matt mumbled. he grabbed both your legs and let them rest on his shoulders, gripping your thighs as he ate you out. soft moans escaped his lips, you could tell he loved every second of what was happening, he might have been enjoying this even more than you. you furrowed your brows as your eyes shut, the pleasure completely overtaking your body. you tried closing your legs in around his head when he started sucking on your clit, but matt forced them open easily.

suddenly, the sound of a door creaking and footsteps were heard across the hall. you quickly pushed back matts head, “fuck, my sister’s up…” you looked at him wide-eyed. he had an annoyed look on his face, frustrated he had to stop his work. a few minutes later, the sound of her door closing was heard, meaning she was probably back in her room. “you think she’s gone?” matt asked, still on his knees. “i don’t know… probably.” you responded, uncertain. that was all matt needed to hear, “good enough”, he whispered, before grabbing your thighs and pushing himself into your heat again, his tongue working between your folds.

you tried to be as quiet as possible, praying your sister wouldn’t hear the way matt made you feel, but matt wasn’t having it. “why are you holding back?” he questioned, his eyes locked onto yours. “i can’t, matt- my sister will hear.” you respond breathlessly. “i don’t give a fuck, wanna hear those pretty moans of yours.” he says, before back into your soaking pussy.

you didn’t need to be told twice, loud moans falling from your lips, “matt…” you whined, “oh my god”. you sat up and propped your left arm up behind you, your right hand flying to his hair. matt flattened his tongue against your folds, letting you do the work. you grinded your hips into his face, legs shaking around his head, your grip on his hair growing even tighter. he recognized your movements immediately and slid two fingers into your dripping hole, curling them up to get you closer to your climax.

the knot in your stomach got tighter and tighter, before finally snapping. the hand that was previously in matts hair slapped over your mouth as a loud gasp escaped your lips. matt worked you through your orgasm before removing his fingers and getting off his knees, standing in between your legs again. he brought his two fingers to your lips, “open,” he said.

you obeyed without question, opening up your lips and letting him slide his fingers into your mouth. you sucked on them greedily, tasting your own juices on your tongue. matt swore he could’ve came in his pants just from that sight, the desperate look on your face as you sucked your juices off his fingers, looking up at him with furrowed brows. “fuck, you look so good like that”, he rasped, his voice hoarse. he released his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop before running his fingers through your hair, tugging on it a bit to tilt your head back.

he hovered his face right above yours, and you quickly got the hint, opening up your mouth again. he held your jaw as he let a string of saliva drop from his mouth into yours. he smirked as he watched you swallow his spit, “face down, ass up.” he demanded. you did as told, arching your back for him, your pussy on full display.

you looked back over your shoulder, watching matt take off his boxers and sweats, on which had already formed a small wet patch from his pre-cum. you felt the mattress dip as matt situated himself right behind you and gripped your hips. “think you can take a little more, pretty?” he asked. “yes, i can take it, please.” you whined, wiggling with your ass a little to signal what you wanted.

matt chuckled at your greediness and slid his tip through your folds a few times, before lining himself with your entrance and slowly pushing in. moans and groans fell from both your lips as matt filled you up, completely bottoming out. “fuck, you’re so big…” you praised, you knew matt loved hearing it, and you loved saying it. it was the truth, after all. he probably had the biggest dick out of all the guys you had slept with.

matt grabbed a fistfull of your hair, making a makeshift ponytail with his hand as the other gripped your hip. he tugged on your hair harshly and slid his length almost all the way out of your pussy, before slamming back into you at full speed. you let out a loud cry, gripping the sheets underneath you to ground yourself in some way. matt lifted his hand and slammed it back down on your ass, leaving a red hand print. he pounded into you with no mercy, manhandling you as he groaned and moaned.

you had totally forgotten about your sister at this point, loud moans and screams falling from your lips, luckily slightly muffled by the pillow your face was pressed into. “m-matt, oh my god! fuck- d-don’t stop!” you pleaded. “fuck, good girl. take it- fucking take it. look at you, all fucked out.” he rambled, completely lost in essence as he slammed his length in and out of you repeatedly.

in one swift motion, he flipped you over, so you were now in a missionary position. “wanna look at your pretty face while i fuck you” he rasped. his left hand was gripping your thigh, nails digging into your skin. with his free hand, he pushed up your tank top to free your tits. he furrowed his brows and let out a groan as he watched the way your tits bounced as he slammed into you.

his gaze then lowered down to your stomach, seeing it bulge every time he bottomed out. he brought his right hand to your stomach and pressed down, his jaw hanging slack as he felt his cock slam into your walls from the outside. he grabbed your hand and replaced it with his, making you feel just how deep he was. you stared up at him with your mouth agape, “matt, ‘m gonna- gonna cum” you spoke out in between breaths and moans.

he slid his hand in between your legs, rubbing tight circles on your clit with his thumb. “cum again for me, baby.” he groaned. your legs trembled and your toes curled as you finally reached your climax, this one hitting even harder than the previous one. waves of pleasure ripped through your body as you threw your head back. matt finished shortly after, his hips stuttering and his head dropping forward as he coated your walls in his cum before collapsing next to you on the bed.

after a while of heavy breathing, you both finally caught your breath, chuckling from exhaustion. you cuddle up to him and reach over to grab your phone from the nightstand, your eyes immediately widen when your screen lights up, seeing multiple messages from your sister:

‘oh my god, shut the fuck up!!!!’

‘girl i’m trying to sleep please do this at his house.’

‘i’m so done with y’all. i’m smacking you both so hard tomorrow.’

you showed matt the screen, and his jaw dropped. you locked eyes with him before bursting out into laughter. “why did you decide to go live with your sister again?”

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salemlunaa · 2 months ago

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˚∘✵catch yourself before you fall✵˚∘

you guys say you stand firm, but do you really?

For those of you going through tough circumstances, I know how you feel, I know how it gets. And I know you just want everything to happen now. And you’re not going to like this because I know you’ve heard this a gabillion times but: it’s already happened. Stop doing things in order to receive, there’s nothing to receive, your desires are never coming because they are already here. Your dream life isn’t going to come to you, because it is already here. And you must stand firm in that.

And you guys say you do but, do you really? Because I know for a fact that you wouldn’t be struggling if that was true. You “sAtUrAtE yOuR mInD” for 30 minutes and then when something in the 3d gets you down you go against yourself. A routine doesn’t count for shit if as soon as circumstances arise you go back to hating life. And of course you’re allowed to have emotions, after all, this isn’t law of attraction and this certainly isn’t shiftok 💀.

HOWEVER, everytime circumstances get you down you must catch yourself before you fall. catch yourself before you go back into that rabbit hole of self hatred, catch yourself before you plummet into the hell that is your old story.

You can do ANYTHING, seriously, everything, anything, you are SO powerful and you should be SO excited. Excluding intrusive thoughts, everything you speak into existence will happen because you’re a god. simple. All you have to do is stand firm in that belief.

When circumstances hit, close your eyes and tell yourself:

“i’m catching myself before i fall, this isn’t my life anymore”

It can be so hard not to waver, especially when circumstances can be so in your face and apparent. And it can be so comforting to complain about circumstances because many people in this community have had to deal with hard times and misery loves company. But you don’t have to join the club. You don’t have to go back to the old story, save yourself catch yourself and remind yourself of what’s true.

You’ve induced pure consciousness already and have everything you could ever dream of. You’ve already shifted. You’ve already manifested. That’s your reality now, and you must catch yourself the second you feel you’re falling out of that loop. When circumstances hit you, take a deep breath and decide you’re going to save yourself, decide you’re going to catch yourself.

So scroll past that “here’s why you haven’t shifted/ induced pure consciousness already” post because you have. You aren’t a failure anymore, remind yourself of that.

Scroll past that post calling you a loser because you haven’t manifested anything. it doesn’t apply to you anymore. Remind yourself that you get everything you want.

When you feel lonely, remind yourself that you have the friends and family you’ve always desired.

When you feel your negative self image creeping into your mind, remind yourself you have that gorgeous body you want. That pretty face. That fat ass bank account.

When you feel down, remind yourself that you have that life you’ve always wanted, and that it’s not just some distant dream, it’s reality.

When it feels like you just wanna go back to feeling sorry for yourself, catch yourself. Save yourself, you are the ruler of your reality you don’t have to be subjected to that anymore.

That isn’t your life anymore, it’s nothing but an old, dead story, and it has nothing to do with you. Idc how much circumstances try and push you, don’t budge, ever.

You can choose to save yourself, I believe in you and always will.

🔮🌞 choose to save yourself instead of wallowing in self pity

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rafelandia · 3 months ago

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Two Babies (dad!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader)

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: angst, mentions of smut, pregnancy

Summary: Y/N is pregnant again before she’s ready.

Author's Note: Hello! Please enjoy my first Rafe one shot. I would love to expand on this couple so if you have any requests or any blurbs you'd like me to explore, please send me a message! As always, likes and reblogs are much appreciated - it helps more than you know. Happy reading :)

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my favorite tiny human,” the pediatrician chimed as she kicked the door to the small examination room shut with her sneaker.

“You must say that to all of the parents that you see,” Y/N blushed, unable to hide the smile that tugged on the corners of her lips.

“I do, but this is one of the rare times when I actually mean it. Those blonde curls! Are you freakin' kidding me?”

She padded over to the miniature exam table to get a better look at the infant that was lying contently on her back and chewing on her pudgy albeit still tiny fingers.

“Let’s take a look at how you’re doing, sweet pea.”

The doctor, Melanie, lifted the stethoscope that was looped around her neck and placed it into her ears. Listening to the baby’s heartbeat to check for any abnormalities, she couldn’t help but give a sympathetic frown when the tiny girl under her tensed up from the cool touch of the metal.

“Nurse’s notes say she’s put on quite a bit. She’s finally caught up to her age group in weight. I’m assuming breastfeeding is going better for you both now?”

Melanie lovingly squeezed the extra chub around the baby girl's thighs.

“Yeah. We don’t really use bottles anymore. Finally got her to latch on and now it seems like all she wants to do it eat,” Y/N chuckled.

“Good! That’s good. There’s nothing wrong with formula like we talked about, so don't overexert yourself if becomes too demanding. Breastfeeding is cheaper though," Melanie chucked, though in her head she was kicking herself. As if this family is in any need to save money. "Is she hitting the milestones? Rolling over? Propping her head up? Babbling a bit?” she continued.

“Babbling, definitely. She keeps us up sometimes because we can hear her talking to herself through the monitor at night,” Y/N poked her tongue out at her daughter in an attempt to get her to smile.

“Having a bit of trouble propping herself up though. She can only do it for a little bit and then she’ll give up. She’s got Rafe's big head, so I’m sure it’s a bit of a struggle.”

Melanie laughed loudly at the mention of her patient’s father, admiring Y/N's wittiness even in the absence of her husband. Given the reputation of the Cameron family, others might think the couple were all work and no play, but Melanie had the privilege of getting to know them behind closed doors. While they took doctor's visits seriously, always paying close attention to what the doctors and nurses had to say regarding the health of their firstborn, her experience with the Cameron's changed her outlook completely. Y/N and Rafe were warm, welcoming, and quite funny sometimes - always making jests at each other or sharing little tid-bits of what their life is like at home. She wished everyone could see them this way. Melanie really wasn't lying when she doted on the little girl, they were the best.

“She’ll get to it eventually. All babies are different. She seems to be coming along quite nicely, though. Nothing abnormal or anything to fuss about. A perfectly healthy six-month-old in my book.”

Y/N sighed in relief, though she knew there was nothing to worry over to begin with.

“How’s mum doing? You taking care of yourself, too? You’re just as important as baby.”

“When I can. Rafe's really good with her. He’ll take over when he sees me struggling, but it seems like she only wants me these days. Think I might be coming down with something, though. I’ve been feeling awful for a few weeks. Like I got hit by a train. I keep reminding myself to go get checked out, but I always get distracted taking care of her,” Y/N gestured to her daughter that was now drooling onto the parchment liner and staring up at the ceiling as if there was something ornately interesting about the popcorn texture that had been stippled onto it.

“When you say, ‘hit by a train,’ what do you mean? I can examine you here if you’d like. As long as it’s nothing serious, I can send you something off to the pharmacy.”

Melanie re-fastened the snaps on the infant’s onesie, making sure not to pinch her chunky legs and placed her back into her mother’s lap.

“Ummm,” Y/N began, “Just extra drained, I guess? Kinda nauseous. I’ve been getting migraines a lot and even when I do get a good night’s rest, I still feel like I could go back to bed for the rest of the day. Maybe I’m just exhausted, I don’t really know. But it just feels a bit different than being worn out like I have been before.”

She could see the wheels in Melanie's head turning, noting each of her symptoms and trying to align them in a path that would lead her to the root of the problem.

“Can I ask you something that might be a bit personal?”

Y/N nodded, rubbing her fingers absentmindedly along the bridge of her daughter’s socked foot.

“Have you and Rafe been intimate since she was born?”

She was taken aback by the question, not understanding where Melanie was going with this or why it was relevant.

“Umm,” Y/N stuttered, feeling a static-y surge of embarrassment travel up her neck and onto the sides of her face, “Yeah. We have.”

A whole fucking lot ever since I’ve been cleared for it, Y/N thought, but kept to herself.

“And can you tell me when your last menstrual cycle ended?”

Then it clicked. She genuinely couldn’t recall her most recent period and even the thought of what Melanie was alluding to made her stomach twist into thousands of tiny knots.

“I- I don’t know. I’ve been so busy with her I don’t even really think about what’s going on with me half of the time.”

Y/N tried to make excuses, anything to avoid the obvious, but judging from the quizzical look on her daughter’s pediatrician’s face, she knew exactly where this was going.

“There’s no way,” she whispered, “I can’t be.”

Melanie's face dropped, now tender and apologetic when she realized that this was news Y/N was not ecstatic to hear.

“I know I’m a pediatrician, so that’s obviously the first thing my mind goes to, but can we at least get you to take a blood test? That way we’ll know for sure?”

Rafe came home to a quiet house. It wasn’t unusual, but seeing as it was well after six o’clock in the evening and his wife wasn’t in the kitchen making the pasta dish she'd been dying for all week was. Their grocery store had been out of her favorite canned tomatoes for over a week and she’d nearly tackled Rafe to the ground out of excitement when he’d come home from the grocery store with them the night before. Had he not seen her car in the driveway, he probably wouldn’t have even suspected her to be home.

He checked the living room first, and it was desolate apart from the baby pink, quilted playmat on the floor that was littered with a few of his daughter’s favorite rattles and teethers. Y/N's coat and purse were abandoned haphazardly on the couch, almost as if she tossed it aside in a hurry to get somewhere.

“Baby?” Rafe called out.

Nothing.

His head peaked into the nursery, stealthily and quietly in preparation to walk in on his daughter taking her scheduled nap before her actual bedtime. He’d gotten good at hushing his footfalls to almost complete silence as to not wake her, having made that mistake more than a handful of times.

And he was right. There she was, sprawled out in her crib with her arms outstretched over her head like a tiny starfish. Her chubby cheeks were smushed against her bicep, drawing her lips open the tiniest bit so that Rafe could see the tops of her fleshy, pink gums and the barely-there nub of her first tooth peeking through. More than anything, he wanted to wake her up - lift her from the plush mattress and cuddle her close, shower her with kisses and tickle her with his scruff to hear those baby squeals he adored so much, but he needed to find Y/N first.

She had to be in their bedroom, he thought to himself. Maybe she was taking advantage of their baby girl napping to also get some rest. She had been rather exhausted lately. Maybe she’d had a rough day and was relaxing in the clawfoot, porcelain bathtub that had been the selling point of the home they now lived in. The houses on Figure Eight were lavish, but not all of the bathtubs were - at least that's what Y/N told Rafe. Who was he to question his bride?

Turns out he was right again. Like he had done with the nursery, he held the metal doorknob tightly in his grip to keep the hinges from creeking and pressed it open gently. The room was completely dark, but he could make out the lump underneath the duvet on their king-sized bed as his wife.

Good. She was sleeping.

He padded across the hardwood floor, still being as quiet as he could until he crossed the threshold of the bathroom. There, he rid himself of the uncomfortable clothes he’d been wearing all day. Curse these professional business meetings that forced him to dress nicely.

All throughout the meetings, he wanted nothing more than to be home with his wife and baby, cuddling the afternoon away and watching shitty reality television while his daughter cooed and grunted and gurgled in her baby voice that he loved so much and could listen to all day. He wasn't always this way - he used to love this shit, but something inside him changed indefinitely when his daughter was born. Rafe was a softy now and he wasn't afraid to admit it. Maybe it was the fact that he’d been having to partake in these boring work meetings a lot more lately, which caused him to miss even the smallest aspects of his everyday life like changing diapers or checking the baby monitor eight hundred times throughout the day to make sure his daughter was still breathing. Perhaps he’d just been getting sentimental because she was growing so much these days, but it was an unpleasant feeling nonetheless.

His thoughts were interrupted when he deposited his heavy watch into the dish he kept on the counter and he heard a quiet yet still prominent sniffle among the clattering of metal against the glass dish.

“Baby? You awake?” Rafe peaked his head out from beyond the bathroom door.

He saw her body shift under the covers, but she gave no response. So he called out again.

“You sick or something? Can hear you sniffling."

Nothing.

Pivoting back around to the inside of the bathroom, he quickly shut off the light and carried himself over to her side of the bed where he could see her properly. Her face was tucked into her chin and all that was visible to him was the top of her head.

“Hey,” Rafe cooed, petting what he could reach of her hair and speaking even gentler than he had been, “What’s wrong?”

And that’s when he heard it - an almost inaudible choking sound of Y/N trying to catch her breath that immediately let him know she wasn’t sick. She had been crying.

“Whoa, baby,” he was already pulling the covers back with force, honestly not caring whether or not she minded the intrusion.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

She was emotionless when he saw what little he could her face, her puffy, bloodshot eyes and swollen lips illuminated by the hallway light being the only indicator that she was upset. She didn’t even react to Rafe tugging her head out from where it had been buried in the covers, simply rolling onto her back to stare idly at the ceiling.

“Y/N,” he called for his wife again, this time much more stern, “You’ve got to talk to me.”

She took several deep breaths through her nose, allowing her lungs to fill to their maximum capacity before exhaling with a sigh. Rafe could have sworn she was sucking all of the oxygen out of the room along with his patience each time she did so.

After what felt like ages, she parted her lips to speak.

“I went to the doctor today.”

“Yeah? For the six-month check up, right?” Rafe asked, not seeing why that was important but his mind quickly went to the worst scenario possible despite having just seen his daughter sleeping peacefully in her crib. He cut his eyes towards the hallway in the direction of her nursery before looking back to Y/N.

“Is she alright?” his voice now demanding urgency in the delivery of her response.

“She’s fine,” she quickly dismissed him, internally kicking herself for making Rafe worry.

“I was telling Melanie about how sick I’ve been lately and she -,” Y/N gulped and rubbed her knuckles against her tired eyes, bracing herself for whatever events unfolded after she said what she was about to say.

“She, umm. She made me take a pregnancy test.”

Now it was Rafe turn to be speechless. He stared at her with furrowed brows and his mouth slightly agape. His palms suddenly felt clammy against the white sheets that they rested on and his stomach felt like it had turned in on itself from how badly it was churning. Of all of the things he had expected to be wrong with her, this was certainly the last on the list.

“And?” he asked after what felt like an eternity of staring at her and saying absolutely nothing, though he already knew the answer.

“Ten weeks.”

Silent tears now spilled over her eyes and down past her temples. She couldn’t even be bothered to wipe them, instead letting them dampen a small patch of hair on either side of her head. Pregnancies weren’t supposed to be sad, but somehow, she had barely been able to stop crying since she left the pediatrician’s office.

“How,” Rafe whispered, moreso to himself than to her.

“I think you know how babies are made, Rafe” Y/N quipped.

“That's not what I meant,” Rafe fired back just as quickly, “It’s just...She’s still so little.”

He thought of his daughter asleep in the next room. She was the most perfect thing he’s ever seen and on the day that she was born, he knew he wanted nothing more than to fill his and Y/N’s house with as many blonde, chubby babies as he could fit beds in each room. He just hadn’t expected that his only child’s first birthday present would be the gift of being a big sister.

It was all too sudden.

“I just don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner. I mean,” Y/N raised her arms above her head before huffing and letting them fall to her sides, “I guess I was just so caught up with the baby that I hadn’t even had a second to think about what’s going on with me. It’s like I don’t even matter anymore and I-”

“Hey, hey now. Don't do that,” Rafe shushed her and curled up next to her frame as she began to sob.

He tucked her head into his neck, hugging her chest tightly as if he was trying to hold the pieces of her together before she shattered. His mind was running a mile per minute. It killed him to see her like this, killed him to be in this situation. The last time they had found out this news, there were happy tears - tears of shock and excitement about taking the next step in building a family. Never had he imagined that the next time they were presented with the very same news, that there would be tears of sadness.

Her voice was muffled against his now wrinkled button-down, but he could still make out what she was saying beneath her blubbers.

“I can’t do this.”

“What do you mean, honey? Of course you can. I can take more time off work like last time and let the boys handle everything for a bit. I know it's not ideal, but we’ll be alright,” he ran his hand up and down her arm in an attempt to soothe her.

“That’s the problem, Rafe.”

He lifted his chin from here it was resting on the top of her head to look down at her.

“What?”

“It's not ideal. You've only just now gotten back to work full time. You said everything almost fell apart while you were gone. It would fuck everything up. Plus, she's only six months old, Rafe. I can't go through that again so soon."

Rafe paused to break away from her and sit up straight against the headboard, “Are you serious? Of course I can take more time off work. You are more important than anything that could possibly be going on at the office.” He was a bit stunned by her words. She almost sounded annoyed, which didn't sit quite right with Rafe.

“But do you see what’s happening? Everything is fucked.”

His voice wasn’t so calm anymore.

“No, Y/N. I honestly don’t. I mean I know this is all happening much earlier than we expected, but what else is there to do? Will you please tell me what you're getting at, because I’m starting to get upset.”

Rafe's lips were pressed in a thin, straight line and his nostrils flared with every breath. Why was she being like this?

“I don’t know what I’m fucking getting at. I’m just overwhelmed."

“And you think I’m not? I'm trying my best to keep it together for your sake if you haven’t noticed,” it almost condescending the way the words rolled off his tongue.

“Oh, excuse me,” Y/N laughed sarcastically.

“Didn’t realize you were the one that's pregnant. Didn’t realize you’re the one that has to grow all big and gross and swollen and be in pain every fucking day to the point where walking to the bathroom feels like a fucking marathon. Didn’t realize you’re the one that has to feel like you're burning alive from the inside out for hours and then just have to lay there while a doctor you’ve never seen before stitches you up because it literally tore your insides apart. Didn’t realize you-”

“For fuck’s sake, I get it!” Rafe was yelling now. They hadn't argued like this since they were much younger, and he absolutely hated it.

“It’s not the same and I’m sorry for suggesting that it was. I'm not sure what you want me to say though. I’m sorry? Is that it? Sorry for getting you pregnant? Sorry for having a job that helps us get anything we want for ourselves and our family? Sorry that I do everything I possibly can to keep you and the baby and everyone else on the fucking planet happy?”

“You’re being an asshole, Rafe,” she was just as angry as he was, scowl evident on her face even in their dimly lit bedroom.

“And you’re not making any fucking sense! Are you telling me you don’t want to keep it? Because I never fucking said that you have to.”

The thought had crossed her mind on the drive home from the doctor’s office, but the feeling left as quickly as it approached. She’d taken one look at her daughter in her car seat through the rear view mirror happily sucking on her teether and knew without a doubt that she couldn’t.

She felt a tidal wave of fresh, salty tears peaking and about to crash over her.

“I don’t want - fuck,” she put her head in her hands.

“I just-,” and then she broke.

Sobs wracked her body, making her shoulders shake up and down. She wasn’t even sure how she had any more left to get out, but it just kept coming. Over and over and over again until it felt like she was being suffocated and that no one was going to save her. She felt Rafe's hands move to rest on her shoulder blades and heard gentle, cooing-like sounds coming out of his mouth, but she couldn’t make out what he had said over the sounds of her own wailing.

“Baby, it’s okay. Just breathe. It’s alri-”

His attempt at subduing her was cut short by shrill cries coming from the digital monitor that sat on their nightstand. Rafe peeked over his shoulder at the screen, seeing that their daughter had woken from her nap and was now demanding the attention of her parents. He couldn’t help but wince as he watched her socked feet flail around in the crib; it was without a doubt that the screaming match they’d just had that stirred her from her sleep, and that hurt him just as much as it did to see his wife crying right in front of him.

Y/N heard it too, somehow. Perhaps it was because she’d been trained to react to every minute sound that she made and could recognize her cries from a mile away in the paralyzing fear that something was wrong with her or maybe it was because she looking for any and every excuse to get Rafe's hands off of her so she could get away from him and escape the argument they’d just had without making the situation any worse than it already was. Regardless, she turned her own neck to peer at the monitor and sighed heavily.

“I’ll go, Y/N. Just stay here.”

“No. I got it. It’s after seven. She’s probably hungry.”

She shrugged Rafe's hands away from her shoulders like his touch physically pained her and climbed over his body and off the bed without another word, not even giving Rafe the chance to take her hand and help her over the edge of the mattress. He knew she wasn’t going anywhere but down the hall and into the nursery, but he couldn’t help but feel like she was walking away from everything.

Y/N stared her daughter while she nursed. She started from the top of her head that was riddled with sandy blonde curls and worked her way down to the tips of her toes that would occasionally flex themselves out of habit. Her hair? Undoubtedly Rafe's. Her eyes? A perfect, entrancing shade of blue akin to Rafe's. Her lips? The same almost inhuman shade of fleshy pink, just like Rafe's. Surprisingly, the only physical trait she’d inherited from her mother was her nose, which was funny considering that Y/N had always hated hers.

She was content, suckling away at Y/N’s breast - her cries of hunger long forgotten. The infant hadn’t even flinched when a few more of Y/N’s silent, cold tears spilled over and left small wet spots where her onesie rested over her belly. She had no idea that her parents were upset with each other and she had no idea that in a little more than six months time, she’d be a big sister and there would be two babies fighting for their attention. Y/N was also clueless, but only as to how she was going to take care of a newborn and a one-year-old simultaneously. She’d always thought she’d have more time than this - more time to spend with just her daughter and Rafe before they decided to have another, but just like her eyes, things always had a funny way of never working out in her favor.

Three soft knocks on the wall withdrew her from her thoughts and she was greeted by her husband idling in the doorway like he needed permission before entering a room in his own house. It was off seeing Rafe Cameron this way - being the one with his tail tucked beneath his legs. It was usually the opposite. He had changed out of his work clothes and was now clad in his favorite pair of sweats that were permanently stained with spit-up. Y/N had tried everything under the sun to get the spots out, but he’d been persistent on not throwing them out.

“Can I come in?”

His voice was barely above a whisper and much calmer than when he’d been yelling at her about twenty minutes ago. He still hesitated crossing the threshold even after Y/N had given him a skeptical nod, but allowed his bare feet to pad over the plush carpet as he joined her on the loveseat in the far corner of the nursery.

He watched their daughter just as Y/N had, taking in her tranquil state as her fingers brushed reflexively against the underside of Y/N’s breast. He’d never been able to pry his eyes away every time he watched her nurse. There were no ulterior motives behind it whatsoever. It amazed him each and every time, how Y/N was able to provide their child with everything that they needed to grow with only her body. At first, Y/N hated that Rafe loved sitting in on her feedings, feeling exposed and unattractive despite Rafe's continuous affirmations that it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever had the privilege of witnessing, but over time she’d grown fond of it.

“I'm sorry for yelling at you,” Rafe started.

“It was uncalled for,” she quipped.

Y/N sniffled, rubbing her swollen eyes with the back of her free hand that wasn’t supporting her daughter’s back as she held her.

“It’s okay. It was a lot to take in. I’m sorry for yelling at you too.”

She couldn’t quite look him in the eye just yet, but she was slowy but surely getting there.

“It's not okay, actually. You’re right. I’m not the one having the baby. It’s you that’s got to do all the hard stuff and I know how scary it was last time. I should've been more considerate before jumping the gun.”

He shifted towards her on the cushions, afraid to touch her just yet but still yearning to be closer to her.

The best Y/N could muster was a quiet, “Thank you,” before she busied herself by attempting to run her fingers through her baby’s hair and untangle the mess she’d created while she was sleeping.

“Can I hold you? Please?” his voice was quiet and pleading.

Now was when she turned to face him and she was met with eyes that were just as red-rimmed as hers. She had heard the bathroom sink running for an abnormally long amount of time and a hard, frustrated pounding against the wall shortly after she’d gone off in the nursery to feed the baby, which meant he must have been trying to muffle the sounds of his own crying when she left their bedroom.

Y/N didn’t say anything, only shifting her weight onto one side so Rafe could easily lift her onto his lap in one swift movement without disturbing their daughter. He tucked her shoulder into his neck and softly kissed her skin and his hands moved to mimic hers so they were both holding the baby that was nodding off again in their arms. She found herself relaxing into his loose grip, her head tilting to the side to rest against his.

“I love you so much. You know that? I’d drop everything for you if I had to. I don't care about any of it anymore.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” she refuted, but there was no malice in her tone.

“I wouldn’t let you. You try to play it cool and I know that things are different now, but I also know that deep down you really like what you do.” The corner of Rafe's lips turned upwards, suppressing a chuckle at the fact that she really does know him that well.

“Well, just know that I would if you wanted me to. I’ve thought about it a thousand times. I want to be here for you. For her. Don’t want to miss anything. I finally got my shot at being normal when I met you and I hate myself sometimes when I think about all of the bullshit I've put you through.”

“Don’t,” Y/N paused to press a chaste kiss to Rafe's cheek.

“You’re a good person, Rafe's. A good dad. A good husband. Please don’t ever think that you’re not.”

She felt moisture pool in the dips of her collarbones where Rafe's chin lied, but she didn’t acknowledge it.

“I’ll be okay. Sorry if I freaked you out earlier. Think I just need some time to get used to it all. Just wasn’t expecting Melanie to drop the ball that I was pregnant when all I was expecting was for her to tell me that our kid is in the 99th percentile for weight and then send me on my way.”

This got a chuckle out of him, almost causing him to choke on his tears. He quickly rubbed the sleeves of his sweatshirt against his eyes to dry up any remaining wet spots on his face.

“She is pretty chunky, isn’t she?” Rafe jested while thumbing over his daughter’s rounded tummy.

After a moment of admiring their little chunk of a baby, with her milk-drunk eyes and puckered lips, Rafe spoke again.

“Two babies,” he huffed.

“Two babies,” she repeated.

His hands moved to caress Y/N’s stomach. She wasn’t showing yet considering that neither of them had even known Y/N was pregnant until today, but he still held her like her belly was the size of a watermelon and he was waiting anxiously to feel a hand or a foot press up against his palm.

“Might be kinda nice. They can share everything and we’ll only have to have one birthday party because they’ll be born around the same time. They’ll go to the same school and probably have the same friends. Kinda like twins.”

“Are you hearing yourself? Rafe Cameron? The party connoisseur? Suggesting his two precious babies share a birthday party?”

Rafe pursed his lips and blushed, recalling the fact that he'd already planned his daughter's first birthday in his head. Down to the tablecloth colors and dinnerware.

“Got me there,” Rafe chuckled.

Their banter was interrupted by a grueling rumbling sound coming from Y/N’s stomach that Rafe could feel throughout his entire body.

“Jesus, Y/N. You hungry too? When’s the last time you ate?”

“Uhh...this morning I think?” Y/N sighed.

“Couldn’t stomach anything when I got home.”

Rafe's heart dropped when he thought of how distraught she’d been all day while he was gone and with everything in him, he’d wished he would have postponed his meetings to go to check up with her and they could have found out together.

“Found those tomatoes at the store the other day, remember? Want me to make that pasta for you?”

“Ohh, yes please,” she immediately perked up at the thought.

“Starting to wonder if that was a craving now that I think about it. Didn’t we have it, what? Three nights in a row a while back?” she proposed.

Rafe giggled as he reluctantly removed Y/N from his lap and stood up from the sofa.

“Thought it was a bit weird that you wanted it so badly, but I know better than to question you.”

“She’s going back down. If you give me a minute, I’ll come downstairs and help you,” Y/N said, pulling up the straps of her tank top after realizing her daughter had long since forgotten about her breast and was conked out in her arms.

“I've got it, mama” Rafe quickly refuted. “Take a bath or something and I’ll bring it up when it’s done.”

“Okay.”

Y/N couldn’t fight the grin growing on her face at the nickname Rafe used that she still hadn’t gotten used to.

When she placed their daughter soundly in her crib, Y/N’s fingers stayed put from where they sat on the railing as she caught herself staring at the sleeping infant once more. Though she’d felt like her world was caving in on her just a handful of hours ago, the pieces were all coming back together now.

Of course, she wanted more children with Rafe. And now she was getting what she wanted. Just like he’d told her back in the bedroom, it wasn’t ideal, but they’d make it work. They always did.

With two babies.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #dad!rafe #dad!rafe x reader #dad rafe #dad!rafe x pregnant!reader #dad!rafe x fem!reader #rafe x pregnant!reader #dad!rafe cameron #mine #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron one shot #drew starkey x reader

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fxstpace · 3 months ago

Text

oh, snap!

summary: you and jake sim might have been best friends once upon a time, but not anymore. now, you barely talk to each other—so you decide to prove the universe wrong when you find out that he’s your soulmate, because there’s no way both of you are compatible.

⇢ pairing: jake sim x fem!reader ⇢ genres: fluff, angst, childhood friends to lovers au, soulmate au, college au ⇢ word count: 7.0k ⇢ warnings: profanity, alcohol consumption, sexual jokes, soulmate lore i made up ⇢ a/n: this is a fic i had posted on my now deactivated blog, which i’ve made minor modifications to. thanks for reading!

The universe has to be fucking with you.

You aren’t one to believe in manifestation or the law of attraction or whatever other nonsense your TikTok feed provides you with. You think it’s a total waste of time, energy, and resources.

Right now, however, you’re manifesting with all your might—eyes screwed tightly shut, hands clasped in front of your chest, only one thought running through your head: Please don’t let it be Jake Sim, please don’t let it be Jake Sim, please don’t let it be—

You open one eye cautiously. You lift up the pinkie finger of your right hand equally carefully.

Fuck.

You drop your hands and let your head fall onto the desk in front of you. A dull thud echoes around you, and normally, you would be apologetic since you’re at the library, but because you’re wallowing in self-pity you can’t bring yourself to care. A frown mars your forehead. Maybe you’re manifesting wrong. Is that even a thing? Perhaps you should ask your friend Yizhou how to do it; she’s pretty popular on Instagram so surely she’d have some idea. Maybe one of her fellow influencer friends is a manifester. (Is that what they call it?)

You lift your head up and stare morosely at the red thread twined around your little finger. It winds down the floor, swirling and looping in gentle curves. You glare at the person it’s connected to.

Jake Sim, that little piece of shit.

The object of your disdain is seated one table away from yours. He’s hunched over his laptop, occasionally scribbling something into the messy notebook in front of him. His glasses keep slipping down the bridge of his nose, and every time he pushes them back up, you feel a tug on your finger.

This brings you to the following question: Does he not know you’re his soulmate?

You have three answers. One: He knows, but he doesn’t care. Two: He doesn’t know. Three: He doesn’t care.

The second option is rare but not unheard of. There have been several cases where people vehemently deny the existence of soulmates and refuse to believe in it. Such people never get to see the red thread that is wrapped around their finger, even though it exists. Truthfully, you feel bad for the people on the other side of the thread—the non-believer’s alleged soulmate. They will forever watch from afar, never going too close, but never straying away either. It sounds lonely, more than anything else.

You push that thought away. If Jake doesn’t know, it should be a good thing, right? You don’t need a soulmate to survive. You can just continue with your life as it is—attending classes, hanging out with your friends… Yeah, you’re happy with everything you have.

Another tug at your pinkie forces out an annoyed huff from your mouth. You glare at the perpetrator, still engrossed in his work. To be fair, you didn’t know Jake was your soulmate until very recently either. You knew the thread existed but didn’t know who it was connected to. When you were younger, you and your friends would have tons of fun pulling at the thread to annoy your unknown soulmate. Getting a pull back was a source of glee for seven-year-old you. Now, it just fills you with dread.

“Oi.” Someone’s breath tickles your ear.

“Fucking hell!”

You swat at your best friend’s face, successfully smacking his cheek. Taehyun grunts in pain. “Uncalled for.”

“What the fuck, Taehyun?” You grouse. “Don’t scare me like that. Sorry ‘bout your cheek.”

The boy rolls his eyes, sitting down on the chair next to you and dumping his tote bag on the table. “I’d feel better if you actually meant your apology. Also, why aren’t you studying? Our midterms start in a week and staring at Lover Boy isn’t gonna help you pass your classes.”

“Don’t call him that,” you snap. “And I was… studying.”

“Right. That’s exactly why none of your books are open.”

“Shut up, people are staring.”

Taehyun raises his eyebrows but doesn’t comment. You’re not wrong—people are staring. Well, specifically, one person. You flex your little finger a little, straightening it out and then bending it again. If Jake feels any sort of yank, he doesn’t show it. Not that you’re interested, of course. You’re just… observing. So is he, clearly. He peers over his glasses at you both, his expression not betraying anything.

You flinch when Taehyun pinches your side. Turning back to him, you’re ready to yell at him for being an annoying asshole, when he fixes you with a pitying sort of look. You swallow.

“Hey,” he says softly, “don’t overthink, okay? He’s alone right now, you might as well talk to him about this.”

You blink uneasily, eyes flitting between your friend and the unopened book in front of you.

“How long are you gonna avoid him? You’ve been hiding this for months. And… he has a right to know,” Taehyun finishes, flicking a strand of hair out of his eyes.

You swallow again, around the lump in your throat that’s been sitting there for months. You found out that Jake was your soulmate months ago. Yet, you can’t seem to bring yourself to confront him or tell him about it. A far cry from the whole entire concept of soulmates—isn’t he supposed to be your missing puzzle piece? Certainly not, if you’re too nervous to even approach him. The universe must have made a mistake. Whatever higher being exists must have assigned you to the wrong person.

Taehyun is right, though. (You’re not going to admit it to him, of course; there’s no need to boost his already inflated ego.)

Jake Sim does have a right to know that he’s your soulmate.

You shift uncomfortably. Taehyun drops his gaze with a sigh. “I know you two have a history but can’t you just sort this out?”

“I… can’t,” you say lamely.

Your best friend looks sadly at you. You look away, fidgeting with the cover of your textbook. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a girl make her way to Jake’s table. He perks up immediately, greeting her with a soft smile. She sits down next to him and grabs Jake’s laptop, angling it towards her like it’s second nature. It probably is, you think bitterly.

Another reason why you can’t tell Jake Sim about this whole Situation: He has a girlfriend.

Park Chaerin meets your eyes and waves at you cheerfully. You wave back, feeling sick to your stomach.

You press the tip of your pen into your notebook, fighting the urge to close your eyes. Even the half-empty cup of coffee next to your laptop has done little to wake you up. Morning classes are the bane of your existence, and as a night owl, you vehemently dislike getting up early. Your professor rattles on about an assignment due in a week. You stifle another yawn behind your hand.

Feeling a yank on your little finger, you press the palm of your hand on the desk and ignore it. Jake Sim is sitting right next to you—courtesy of both of you having arrived five minutes late, and the only seats left were in the last row. Your Friday 8 AM lecture on the Quantum Theory of Electromagnetism is normally interesting, but Professor Jang makes even the most stimulating topics seem dry. You usually end up resorting to self-study sessions in order to understand everything.

Jake is scribbling something next to you. He’s probably doodling. He used to do that a lot when he was little, too. You recall pages upon pages of maths notes interspersed with tiny drawings of dinosaurs and dragons in the margins. They had made you laugh at the time.

“Hey,” he whispers.

You blink.

“Hi,” you say.

Jake grins at you—and you’re dazzled, for a moment. It’s been so long since you’ve had that smile of his being directed at you. You’ve seen him smile at other people on campus—his new friends, his girlfriend, acquaintances—all from afar, and you push down the bitter sting of rejection that pricks you every time. After so many months, it feels like you were in a pitch-black room all this time, and someone suddenly turned on the lights. It’s blinding.

Your former friend caps his pen and leans back in his chair. “Did you get enough sleep?”

“Um, yeah,” you answer. Just to be polite, you add, “...Did you?”

“Kind of.” Jake winces.

“Oh.”

“I was trying to understand the topic before this. Y’know—” he meets your eyes expectantly— “the whole Kronig-Penney model and the Bloch function and all that. I spent, like, two hours on them,” he says sheepishly.

“Oh, uh, yeah, those are kinda difficult,” you offer.

You’re still perplexed by this whole situation. Admittedly, after weeks of minimal contact with your childhood best friend, this isn’t how you imagined your reunion would go. All awkwardness aside, however, it feels… nice, talking to him again. It’s hard to move past the last few months, but there’s nothing wrong with this, right? You can think of it as two classmates bonding over a hard course they willingly chose. Two classmates who’ve known each other since they were toddlers just learning to walk, but you deliberately don’t think of that.

Jake hums. “The graphs get super confusing.”

“I guess,” you say.

He leans forward abruptly, elbows knocking on the edge of the desk. His stare on you is intent, focused. “Is your number still the same?”

You gape at him, mouth open like a blown-out fish. “Uh… yeah. Why?”

“So I can text you if I don’t understand anything,” Jake says simply, easily, still sporting that same easygoing smile of his. Your stomach twists into knots, and you force yourself to appear calm and not like your heart is about to leap out of your throat.

“I think you should’ve asked me first,” you manage to say.

He looks at you strangely, a dip in his eyebrows. “Why would I do that?”

Why, indeed.

Jake has known you for years; this is an undeniable fact. Even now, he probably knows you better than anyone else does—or ever could. So there’s absolutely no way he can’t make sense of the stifling awkwardness that surrounds you both.

However, the same holds true for you: You know Jake Sim just as well as he knows you. You know he’s trying to bridge a gap, make amends in a way only he does. You would be a fool if you didn’t take it in stride.

You crack a small smile. “Fair enough.”

He picks up his pen and twirls it between his fingers idly, before saying, “I’ll text you about other stuff, too.”

“Okay.”

“Great.”

Jake is all smiles and sunshine. He starts doodling again—what looks like a misshapen traffic cone of some sort. You look away, and tuck this little slice of goldenness into your rapidly rabbiting heart.

This is not good. You pay no heed to the thread around your little finger, and pick up your own pen. Angling your notebook away from your deskmate, you begin to write.

REASONS WHY JAKE SIM CANNOT BE MY SOULMATE FUCK THIS SHIT IM OUT

#1. he doesn’t know you as well as he should (okay, maybe he does)

You have no clue how you ended up studying with Jake Sim and Park Chaerin, of all people.

Your own friends, Kang Taehyun and Kim Gaeul are utterly nonplussed at this new situation. You give them a helpless shrug when they elbow each other and raise their eyebrows at you. The library is fairly empty at this hour, which makes it an ideal time to study without the distractions of other people. Of course, you didn’t consider the two people who’ve decided you’re a physics expert and require your guidance.

You humour them because you’re a nice person—not because you’re weak to Jake’s entreaties and his offer of buying you food for a whole week.

Chaerin smiles at your friends. “Hey, guys! Come join us.”

Taehyun is the first to blink out of his confusion. He moves forward, pulling out the chair opposite yours and settling down. “Thanks. We won’t bother you guys much.”

Gaeul nods her head. “Yeah, I have a bunch of assignments to finish.” She chuckles nervously, smoothing out her hair.

“No problem,” Jake supplies. “Your friend is super smart.”

Taehyun raises his eyebrows, pointing an incredulous finger at you. “You mean…?”

“Hey!” You swing your leg and kick Taehyun’s shin from under the table. He winces in pain. Gaeul giggles, and so does Chaerin. Jake lets out an amused snort.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” you say, “this bit isn’t that important from a test point of view, so just go over it to get the general idea.” You mark the paragraph you were referring to with a pencil.

Chaerin and Jake nod in tandem, like a pair of bobbleheads. You bite your lip to stifle your smile—they’re so perfect together, it’s ridiculous. You wouldn’t be surprised if Jake’s end of the string was connected to Chaerin’s instead. Is that even possible? You’ll have to google it up.

The thought puts a significant damper on your mood, and you turn away, drawing back from the pair sitting next to you.

Instead, you lock eyes with Taehyun, who’s glaring at you with enough intensity to drill a hole through your forehead. Talk to him, he mouths. You give him a small shake of your head.

You can’t talk to him about anything serious. Explaining physics to him and his girlfriend in the presence of your own best friends is a sort of safe zone; you don’t have to discuss anything personal whatsoever. All you have to do is prattle off a list of formulae and derivations and graphs, and hope that what you’re telling them to study is actually going to be asked on your midterm next week.

Taehyun rolls his eyes so hard, you wonder how they haven’t popped out of their sockets. He’s exasperated, you can tell—and Gaeul has probably been receiving the brunt of it all, because he would never outrightly say he’s upset with you. He would rant to Gaeul instead, trusting that she would tell you everything he told her but more nicely. That’s how your little trio circles back to each other.

You shift uncomfortably. Gaeul catches your eye and gives you a small, sympathetic smile. Your lips twitch upwards slightly.

“Wow,” Chaerin says, “I can’t believe we finished a whole unit in, like, one and a half hours.” She directs the next part to you. “You’re really smart. Don’t listen to Taehyun.”

“Y/N doesn’t listen to me anyway,” your friend grumbles. Gaeul hides her snort behind her styrofoam cup of coffee.

Speaking of which, you could really use some caffeine too. Anything to get away from Jake Sim and his quiet, knowing… aura, is the word you settle for. He wasn’t always this quiet—he used to be loud and raucous when it was just the two of you in high school—so while this new development isn’t surprising, it certainly is jarring.

“I’m going to get some coffee,” you announce to the table at large. “Anyone wanna come with?”

“I’ll come,” Jake says immediately. “I owe you for teaching us.”

“Oh, um.” You attempt to smile. “I—”

“Please go,” Taehyun says suddenly, his tone beseeching. “I need coffee too but I don’t trust Y/N to not put salt in mine or something.”

You gape at him, betrayal flooding your features. Gaeul snorts again. Chaerin just looks at you and Jake alternately. Jake’s lips twitch upwards. “Y/N still does that?”

You whirl around to face him. “What?”

“Oh, this is getting interesting,” Gaeul pipes up. “Do elaborate.”

“I second that,” Chaerin adds.

You feel your cheeks and the back of your neck heat up. You want to implore your former best friend to keep his pretty mouth shut, but your ego doesn’t let you grovel in front of three other people. Jake raises his eyebrows, lips parting to form a small ‘o’. He smiles, a little bit sheepish. Before he can say anything, you intervene.

“That was one time, Taehyun!” you snap. “And it was by accident. Why would I willingly put salt in your coffee?”

Taehyun raises an eyebrow at you, but inside, you know he’s laughing uncontrollably at your predicament. “Who knows? You might wanna poison me for being cooler than you.”

“What is this, high school? And why the fuck would I want a murder on my hands? I’m too young to go to jail.”

Chaerin tries to muffle her giggles with her hand. Both you and Taehyun turn simultaneously to look at her. “Sorry.” She giggles again. “You two talk like an old married couple.”

“Gross,” you say, at the same time Taehyun draws out an, “Ew,” and extends the last syllable like a child in kindergarten.

“Oh my God,” Gaeul says. “Chaerin, you’re a genius. I see it too.”

“Not you too,” Taehyun groans.

The two begin bickering again, and Chaerin joins them with enthusiasm, adding her own little tidbits of support for Gaeul in between the conversation. During all this, Jake remains remarkably quiet, an amused smile tugging on his lips.

You turn to him, a rush of sudden embarrassment making your cheeks heat up. It occurs to you that he’s never seen you like this—laughing and joking around with your friends. Friends that don’t include him. “Sorry,” you mumble. “Let’s go get coffee.”

“Okay.”

You and Jake push your chairs back under the table and exit the library. The coffee shop is two storeys down, so you make a beeline for the staircase. Your former best friend follows you, his undone shoelaces slapping on the tiles. He still doesn’t tie his shoelaces properly, then. Perhaps he hasn’t changed as much as you thought.

“Hey, by the way,” he says, “I was gonna tell Taehyun about the time I put salt in your coffee.”

“...I know.” Your answer is short, clipped. You force your shoulders to relax—there’s no need to tense up when Jake Sim is around.

“Oh. Uh, okay then.”

You don’t look at him, but you’re fairly certain he’s doing that thing he always does when he’s feeling awkward: A little rub of his thumb against the corner of his mouth. It’s a tic he’s always had, from the time you were in elementary school, and it isn’t any different now.

A stifling silence falls upon you both. You almost wish Taehyun and Gaeul were here, bringing Chaerin with them in tow. The three of them seemed to get along well; the chances of the five of you hanging out outside of college are high, now.

Of course, that also means you and Jake will have to pretend like everything’s alright between you both, and that your decades-long friendship wasn’t shattered by one single argument.

You round the corner to the staircase and begin the descent downwards. Jake holds onto the railing on the other side. Despite everything, you think Jake is the braver one between you two.

He breaks the silence as easily as he broke your heart, and asks:

“Do you still take your macchiato with two packets of sugar?”

“Yeah,” you say softly.

#2. he wants to be friends again (why?)

You blame Kang Taehyun for this.

Of course he had to forget to pick up the pizza from the local restaurant before coming back to his place. Of course he didn’t check the weather forecast beforehand, and even if he did, of course he didn’t tell you it was going to rain. Of fucking course he asks you to pick up the food for him because your classes only ended at 4 and the get-together to celebrate the end of midterms was at 4:30.

If you had the power, you would curse your best friend to oblivion. You grip your phone in your hand, gritting your teeth and staring down at the screen.

Group Chat: the holy trinity of dumbasses 🤡 [16:12] You: it’s fukcing pouring here and i didnt bring my car [16:12] taehyun (mega asshole 🤬): *Fucking [16:13] You: yeah it’s something you’ve never done before [16:13] You: i have the pizza [16:13] You: come and pick me up or im throwing it in the dustbin. [16:14] gaeul 🤍: u shouldn’t waste food y/n >:( [16:14] taehyun (mega asshole 🤬): You’re making Gaeul cry >:( [16:14] gaeul 🤍: girl what [16:15] You: aw cute [16:15] You: seriously tho [16:16] You: come pick me up [16:17] taehyun (mega asshole 🤬): OK, I’m on my way [16:17] You: FUCKING FINALLY

The plastic bag with all the pizza boxes dangles off your wrist, cutting into your skin. The steps that lead to the inside of the restaurant are slick with rainwater. You open Instagram and scroll through your feed mindlessly, clicking on your classmates’ stories.

You shiver. Rainy weather always makes the temperature drop by several degrees, and your flimsy jacket isn’t enough to drive away the chill. Forget Taehyun, maybe you should’ve checked the forecast instead. Sometimes (read: most of the time) you can be just as stupid as him. You wonder how Gaeul puts up with the single brain cell you and Taehyun toss between each other like a hot potato.

Honestly, you just want to go somewhere where it’s dry and warm.

Your phone vibrates in your hand, and it takes you a whole minute to comprehend the name that shows up on the caller ID.

Jake Sim.

Why is Jake Sim calling you?

You chew on your lip nervously before swiping your thumb up and accepting his call. Bringing your phone to your ear, you let the plastic bag sway gently. The line is silent for a few seconds, as though neither of you can comprehend the fact that you’re on a call with each other. It makes sense; this is the first time in months he’s calling you.

Finally, Jake’s voice crackles over the speaker. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“I’m outside. Can you see me?”

“I, uh.” You look around quickly. The parking lot in front of you is mostly empty, a good chunk of people having escaped the rain. It’s not hard to make out the solitary figure standing outside a beaten-down Toyota, holding an umbrella aloft. “Yeah, I see you.”

“Oh, good,” he says. “Do you have an umbrella?”

“Nope. Just… pizza.”

Jake makes a noise that sounds like a warbled chuckle. “Okay, I’m coming over there.”

“...Okay.”

For some strange reason, you don’t feel like ending the call. You fumble for something to say, because it’s weird just being on a call with someone you can literally see. The tug on your little finger as he comes closer to you makes a lump form in your throat. You take a deep breath and push it down into your stomach.

“You haven’t changed your car,” you say lightly.

Jake hums, the sound so familiar it doesn’t even surprise you until you register it. “Can’t afford a new one. Plus, it works decently.”

He strides over to you, and it’s unnecessarily sexy—the way he holds the black umbrella up with one hand and his phone to his ear with the other. You can see the speckles of rain on his grey hoodie where the raindrops bounce off the ends of the umbrella. His hair is swept to the side, lips pink with chapstick. Another yank on your pinkie finger; you clench your fist.

“Please,” you snort. “The last time I was in it, it took twenty minutes to start the engine. That was a year ago, Jake.”

He’s closer now, nearing the steps. His eyes don’t leave yours. They trace over all your features, as though he’s committing you to memory—you, with your tangled hair and tired eye bags, chapped lips and dirty sneakers. You swallow.

He puts his phone down and speaks to you directly. “I think that was the driver’s fault. But don’t worry, I can drive better now.”

You let your hand drop limply to your side.

“Hi,” Jake says.

“Hi again,” you manage to say.

“Here, let me take that.” He reaches out for the pizza bag, but you don’t give it to him.

“It’s fine. Just… hold up the umbrella and don’t get us wet.”

Jake laughs, a short, bright sound. “I won’t.”

You step towards him, quickly slipping underneath the shelter of the umbrella above your head. It’s a tight fit—one of your shoulders pokes out, as does one of his. You grimace when your sleeve gets splattered with rain.

Jake leads the way to his ancient car, scratched and scuffed with years of use. It was his dad’s old one, a gift for him on his seventeenth birthday, one that his mom had told you about to surprise him with. It seems like a bygone history now.

“I thought Taehyun was gonna come,” you comment.

Jake looks at you strangely. “I thought you asked for me to come pick you up.”

“I… did?” You gasp at the realisation. Kang Taehyun, that fucker. “I’m sorry,” you say awkwardly. “Taehyun probably told you that I was stuck in the rain.”

“He did,” Jake confirms. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. It’s not a problem at all.”

“Oh… okay, then.” Still, you feel guilty. Jake came all the way in the rain just because your best friend couldn’t stop being a meddling little nincompoop.

“Why wouldn’t I come?” Jake continues. His voice sounds deliberately casual. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“...Yeah. I guess.”

Jake stops near his car, fishing around in his pocket for the keys. “Look, I—I know things haven’t been the same lately, but I—” he licks his lips, another nervous tic of his— “I want you to know that I never stopped thinking of you as my best friend. Okay?”

You blink, sucking in a breath sharply. “I, um, yeah. Yeah, okay,” you say lamely.

Jake nods once, not meeting your eyes. “And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’ve found friends like Gaeul and Taehyun. They’re good people.”

“So is Chaerin,” you say. “And so is Sunghoon.”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling faintly, unlocking the door. “And so are you.”

Sometimes, you wonder if Jake also feels a pull on his little finger. If he does, does he ever wonder where it’s from? Or does he not feel it at all? You bend your finger and shuffle into the passenger side of his car. He closes the door for you before crossing over to the other side and climbing into the driver’s seat.

Whatever the case is, one thing is for sure: Jake Sim is your soulmate, and even if he wasn’t, you’d still be in love with him.

Just like you were one year ago.

#3. his parents adore you (and so do you, but there’s always the yearning and the aching)

“Hey, mom and dad are asking when you’re gonna visit again.”

Jake swings into your periphery, putting his phone back in his pocket. His mom had called about fifteen minutes ago to make plans for Jake to go home over the weekend. Potentially, you could also go—your childhood home is right next to his. It’s been a while since you last visited; your little sister sends you texts about how much she misses you.

He sits down on the chair next to yours, looking at you expectantly. You’re at your favourite spot in the library, one that’s been designated as you and your friends’ table. Jake and Chaerin have been officially integrated into your tiny trio; Gaeul and Chaerin get along really well, and Taehyun and Jake follow the same sports teams. Occasionally, their other friend, Park Sunghoon, joins you but he’s very quiet and mostly keeps to himself.

You don’t look up from your laptop screen when you answer, “I’m not sure.”

“Huh. Mom says you’ve said that to your mom every time she asks.”

Things between you and Jake have reached a semblance of normalcy, too. It’s not the same as it used to be—it can never be the same as it used to be—but at least the pang you feel in your chest whenever he talks to you has dulled somewhat.

“I’ve been busy,” you say vaguely.

“Oh, c’mon,” Jake retorts. “Our midterms were over a week ago. What’re you waiting for?”

You don’t reply. He waits for a moment before saying, “I could drive you.”

That gets your full attention. Your gaze snaps to him, mouth pressed together.

“I mean, we literally live right next to each other, Y/N,” he continues. “It’ll save gas. And the environment.”

You snort. “Your car is more of a hazard to the environment than us not carpooling is.”

“You don’t know how to drive,” he deadpans.

“That’s not true! I can drive, I just choose not to. Saving the environment and all.” You point an accusing finger at him. “If you really care about the environment, you should take the bus home with me.”

Jake shrugs loosely. “I don’t care how we go home, as long as you come with me. I’m sure your sister misses you too.”

There it is again: That easy, light way he says things. Nonchalant and unaffected—though it affects you more than it should.

“You’ll pay for the tickets?”

Jake’s grin is golden. “If that’s what it takes.”

That’s how you find yourself crammed in between Jake Sim and an old auntie with a flower-patterned bandana, on the bus back to your hometown three days later. The auntie gives you and Jake a few cookies she’d packed for her grandchildren, and then promptly falls asleep on your shoulder (Jake couldn’t stop laughing for ten minutes when he saw the line of drool she’d left on your shirt sleeve). He offers you his own shoulder in case you want to sleep too; your cheeks heat up at the thought. It’s a bumpy ride, but after stopping at the bus stop nearest to your house, Flower Auntie sends you off with a few more cookies and a box of homemade kimchi, and you and Jake begin walking back to your neighbourhood.

Some things have changed—the playground is being renovated, your old elementary school is being repainted, the Kims who owned the local ramen shop retired and set the place up for rent. But at its heart, it’s all the same, you think. Kids still run around holding warm bungeoppang from street stalls and cartons of strawberry milk from the convenience store. Their mothers sit around and gossip about celebrities and complain about their husbands. People working corporate jobs curse under their breaths about their bosses and their unforgiving schedules. It’s late in the evening when you arrive, a bag containing all of Flower Auntie’s goodies hanging off Jake’s arm. All the local eateries are opening up for the dinner rush, drawing people in with the offer of free beer and soju for every meal purchased.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Jake says, a fond smile on his lips.

“Yeah,” you agree softly.

Despite everything, it’s still home.

The two of you cross the streets to your houses, sneakers slapping against the pavement. Several neighbours who’ve seen you both grow up call out and wave hello. You’re stopped by Mrs. Lee’s son, Heeseung, who makes you both promise to go out for dinner with him tomorrow.

Finally, you stand in front of your childhood home. The rusted door and peeling-off paint greets you like a best friend. You shoulder your backpack and ring the doorbell, saying goodbye to Jake as he walks into his own house.

The door swings open—only to reveal Mrs. Sim standing at your doorway. Before you can voice your confusion, she pulls you into a tight hug, mumbling your name into your hair.

“Welcome home,” she says, moving aside and letting you in. “Your mother is in the kitchen. She’s just started making dinner.”

“Oh, okay.” You grin. “It’s great to see you, Mrs. Sim.”

“I swear you love Y/N more than me.”

You turn around and see Jake standing by the door, an affectionate look in his eyes. You direct your grin at him, too.

“Suck it up, loser.”

Jake’s guffaw rings in your ears even when your sister screams with unabashed joy as soon as she sees you.

#4. he broke your heart once (he could do it again)

You stare at the red thread wrapped around your finger. It’s dulled a bit now, compared to how it was a few years ago. Some of its shine is lost; it looks more opaque now. You crook your finger experimentally, knowing it's futile but still holding on to some hope that maybe Jake will feel it too.

To live for the hope of it all, as a wise song-writer once penned.

You startle when Jake sets a mug of coffee in front of you. His house is empty—your mother and Mrs. Sim went to buy groceries together and his father is out of the city on a business trip. Your sister is hanging out with her friends but told you to call her if you needed anything.

“Here you go,” Jake says, sitting down on the chair next to you. “Have some and then we can go buy some hangover soup.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, curling your fingers around the mug and savouring its warmth. The liquid inside is not too bitter, but not too sweet either—just how you like it.

“Feeling any better?”

You wince. Going out for dinner with Heeseung meant drinks were also attached. Being back in your hometown after weeks meant you had to check out all your favourite restaurants again and visit the ones that popped up after you left for college. The result: You swallowed down entirely too much soju, Heeseung and Jake had to physically carry you home, your head is killing you right now, and your embarrassment is at its peak.

When you woke up in the early afternoon to texts from your family members detailing their various absences, you reluctantly made your way out of your bedroom and to the Sims’ place.

Which brings you here, perched on a chair at the Sims’ dining table, fiddling with your red string of fate, while the object of your thoughts sits right next to you.

“Yeah, a little,” you murmur in response to his question.

“Good.” Jake stretches his arms above his head, exposing a sliver of his midriff. You swallow. “Your alcohol tolerance is still the same.”

“Yours isn’t any better,” you counter. “You didn’t drink more than one bottle of soju.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You were counting?”

You huff, ignoring the warmth that spreads to your cheeks. “That’s not the point.”

“I’m just joking,” he says, bringing his hands back down. “I was kinda surprised Heeseung has a girlfriend now.”

You hum, taking another sip of your drink. Your head still pounds, but the caffeine is kicking in and making you more lively. It is strange, though, seeing your childhood friend settle down. Judging by the way he talks about her, he’s completely smitten. She’s my soulmate, he had said, and I don’t even believe in my thread.

The memory makes hurt bubble up inside your throat, so you chug the remaining liquid in the mug.

“It’s nice, though,” Jake continues, something… wistful crossing his face. “I wish I had someone like that.”

You look away, staring down at the ring of coffee left on the wooden table from your mug. “Yeah, I guess… Aren’t you dating Chaerin, though?”

You bite the bullet—what’s the point, anyway? There’s no use in dragging it out. Not when he clearly doesn’t know that his soulmate is sitting right next to him. You can deal with the hurt that comes with rejection later.

Jake stills. You glance at him—he tilts his head confusedly. “Chaerin? No… What makes you think that?”

“Everyone said you guys were dating,” you say with a small, uncertain shrug.

“I mean…” He blinks. “We hooked up once, but that’s really it.”

It’s your turn to blink now, bemused. “Huh?”

“Yeah, we were drunk and it just sorta happened? I dunno,” he says sheepishly. “We didn’t remember any of it later, so we just agreed to remain friends. Plus, her soulmate is Sunghoon.”

“Wait, what?” Your teeth worry your bottom lip. Your mind is swirling with questions—was it possible that you had misread Jake Sim all this time?

“Yeah,” he says softly. “It’s no big deal.”

“...Oh. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed things,” you apologise quietly. Despite all this, his words make a swell of optimism rise in your chest.

He shrugs. “I, uh, wouldn’t blame you. We didn’t talk much after… after everything.”

“Yeah.” Your admission is soft, regret burning a hole in your tongue.

“So, um…” Jake trails off, looking unsure of himself. That’s a first, you realise with a start. He’s usually so calm and collected, even in the worst times. “Do you still feel the same as you did a year ago?”

You suck in a breath. “Why—why would you ask me something like that?”

“I—just curious.”

His eyes land on yours, beseeching and glorious. Even when he’s just woken up, he looks like he’s been dipped in the sun’s golden rays. Your heart hammers inside your chest.

“Wait, can I ask you something else? Why… did you reject me that night?”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you’re transported back to that fateful evening in July.

You stuttered the words out, and explained that you were in love with him, that you were pretty sure he was your soulmate, regardless of who your string was actually connected to. With every new sentence you tacked on, the emotion on Jake’s face vanished. Towards the end, you felt your face crumble.

He left you alone on the pavement, broken-hearted and lovesick.

Jake clears his throat awkwardly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come off so harsh on you that day.”

“I don’t care about that, Jake,” you say simply. “I just want to know why.”

“Because I was stupid. I didn’t believe in the soulmate bullshit, but I know you do. You’ve always been a hopeless romantic. I—” He licks his lips before continuing— “The truth is, Y/N, I really, really like you… But I didn’t want to hold you back from finding your true soulmate—whoever was on the other side of your string—’cause I know they’re gonna be the one for you.”

If you weren’t sitting already, you’re sure Jake’s confession would have swept you off your feet and you would be a bumbling mess on his dining room floor. Seeing the forlorn look on his face, you nearly crumble. How stupid your soulmate is. How kind and caring and selfless.

“So I rejected you. I thought I wouldn’t be able to make you happy.” He pauses for a moment, his voice dropping. “It’s still the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.”

You finally find your voice. “Jake…”

He laughs somberly. “You probably think I’m an asshole.”

“I could never think that,” you say firmly. Your hand finds his on the tabletop, and he laces your fingers together, staring at your connected palms with awe.

“I do think you’re a little bit dumb, because I’ve liked you too since, like, forever—”

“Define forever,” he interrupts, not unkindly.

“Well—maybe since the time you surprised me with all the physical copies of that book series I wanted for my fifteenth birthday?”

“Then,” he says, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand, “I’ve loved you since before forever.”

A surprised laugh bursts out of your mouth. You feel a tug on your little finger as Jake moves his hand away from yours and cups your cheek with it instead. “I’ve also wanted to kiss you since before forever.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confirms, drawing closer to you.

You lean forward and capture his lips with yours, running your tongue along his bottom lip. He parts his mouth with a sigh, tilting his head and deepening the kiss. His other free hand comes to rest on the nape of your neck; you wind your arms around his neck. The position is a bit cumbersome—the edge of the chair digs into your thigh, and he nearly knocks his elbow on the back of his chair—but his touch is searing hot, the welcome kind, the kind that makes you crave more and more and more.

“You promise you won’t do it again?” you ask later, out of breath and flushed.

“I promise,” he says, and he links his pinkie finger with yours to seal the deal.

The thread tied around it glows golden.

#5. he doesn’t even believe in soulmates (but he’ll try)

“You can’t see it?”

“I’ve told you a million times already,” Jake says patiently, “but I can’t.”

“How?” You look at him dubiously. “It’s literally a glowing golden thread connecting you and me.”

“I don’t need a thread to connect us,” your boyfriend quips. “I can think of better uses for a rope.”

You make a sound of disgust. “We’re at the library.”

Jake Sim grins at you, all bright and shining and vivid. “So?”

Taehyun lets out a pointed cough, typing on his laptop. “There are other people here,” he says, motioning to Gaeul, Chaerin and Sunghoon. All three of them are very obviously avoiding your gaze. Even the tips of Taehyun’s ears are pink. You stifle a giggle.

“Sorry,” Jake says, not sounding sorry at all. He picks up your hand again, thumb brushing against the knuckle of your little finger, right above the knot where the golden string is tied. He whispers to you, next, “I just don’t believe in it.”

“I know,” you say. “But you’re missing out on a lot.”

Jake hums. “I don’t believe in soulmates. But I believe in you.”

You roll your eyes, ready to chew him out for being a sappy romantic again, when his next words make your heart stutter.

“I think that’s good enough for me.”

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luna-azzurra · 5 months ago

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Dialogue Prompts for Self-Doubt

"I don’t know why I even bother. I try so hard, and it’s still not good enough."

"What if I’m just not meant to do this? Like… maybe I’m not the right person for it."

"I keep letting people down, and I’m starting to think that’s all I’m good at."

"You ever feel like no matter what you do, it’s never enough? Like you’re stuck in this endless loop of failing?"

"I’m so scared of messing up again. I can’t handle another failure."

"I feel like a total imposter, like any second, people are going to realize I don’t belong here."

"Why would anyone choose me? I mean, there are so many better people out there."

"No matter how hard I try, I never seem to get it right. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong."

"Sometimes I wonder if I’m even worth all the effort. Like, what if I’m not?"

"I don’t think I can keep going. This is too much, and I’m not strong enough for it anymore."

if you have questions or feedback on writing materials, please send me an email at [email protected] ✍🏻

#writing #writerscommunity #writer on tumblr #writing tips #character development #writing advice #oc character #writing help #writer tumblr #writblr #writing prompts

2K notes · View notes

yung-notorious · 3 months ago

Text

ALWAYS SOME NEW SHIT, AIN’T NEVER THE USUAL! I FUCK YOU SO GOOD TILL I HAVE YOU DELUSIONAL! - ♡

— your roommates are gone, the apartment is yours, and you're laid up in bed with somethin' dangerous. all you need is him, his hands, and a little time to make the most of it. — feat. satoru gojo

+18 MDI. WARNINGS. baddie!reader x college!gojo, excerpt from never lose my chapter 8, porn with plot, situationship, morning sex, that good 'ol sunday dick, protected sex, dirty talk, body worship, sub/dom undertones, trust & boundaries, slight cum play, squirting, riding, fingering, voice kink, gojo kink(?), edging & milking, overstimulation, gojo’s character may be questionable but his stroke game is A1. notes. word count 5.8K, apart of a larger body of work but can stand alone as a one-shot. you can read the full chapter here: A03 & master post. title: lick me - sexyy red ft. lil baby. divider: fairytopea (tumblr)

You knew Satoru was bullshitting when he said he’d be on the phone for a few more minutes. He’s been chatting away for an extra thirty, and you’ve already gone through your entire Instagram feeds stories and now the Tiktok burnout is starting to set in.

Exhausted from doom scrolling, you chuck your phone somewhere across the bed to snuggle deeper into his embrace, resting your head against his chest. You don’t have a single fucking clue what’s being said anymore with his ear now pressed against the phone, but whatever it is definitely isn't related to earlier’s conversation. You think you catch mention of the school’s football team and the names of people you don’t recognize, but at this point, you’re too out of the loop to care. He’s lucky you actually like being around him, because had this been anyone else you’d probably kick them out telling them to go the fuck home.

What’s even more surprising is that despite being bored out of your mind, chilling with him in bed while he talks on the phone is strangely confronting. You’ve had your share of intimate moments at your young age, but you’ve never simply laid up like this with a guy before. It’s domestic as hell— whatever the girls online call it— but you’re not pushing it away.

Resting your head on his chest as he rubs your shoulder, you let the rhythm of his voice wrap around you like a warm blanket. There’s this cool boyish charm that comes through as he talks— a side of him you’ve caught glimpses of only a few times when he’s speaking to his friends. He’s more commanding and animated, yet somehow still a relaxed version of himself all together, nearly a polar opposite of how he is with you.

And you know what? That’s exactly how it should be, you’re not the one to be treated like a homie. And even though his friends do annoy the hell out of you when they’re together, seeing him be himself with them is undeniably attractive and lowkey turning you on.

Shifting over onto your stomach, you tuck an arm behind his neck, hooking a leg around his waist, letting your free hand slowly trail down his body feeling him up. Stopping to rest your hand on the inside of his thigh, you look up, waiting for a reaction.

When you don’t get one— he’s still chatting away— you decide to take it a step further, slowly creeping your hand up to cup his balls, palming his bulge.

It only takes a couple good rubs for you to feel his dick harden beneath you. Feeling bold, you wrap a tight fist around his length stroking him through his briefs. All it takes is a couple tight ones for his thighs to widen up and you take that as permission to go further.

Slipping a hand under his waistband to squeeze his dick, you watch him bite his lip, still ignoring you as he lazily stares up at the ceiling. He can try to act all cool and unbothered all he wants, but you know exactly how to melt his ice.

Taking charge, you rub your thumb carefully around his slit, your acrylic nail getting caught in the fabric of his briefs with each pressing circle. It doesn't take much effort before you’re feeling the wetness of his pre sticking to the pad of your thumb as you. Pausing to collect up what you can to wet his shaft, you grip your hand back around his length giving him more quick strokes.

Feeling more daring, you connect your lips to his neck, slowly peppering soft, wet kisses along his skin as you continue working your hand around his dick and balls. You’re finding some sort of fun in all this really, feeling him up in every which way you please while he lays beside you trying to act like he’s not bricked the hell up.

You can hear every grunt that gets stuck in his throat and cracking of his toes each time you press against the underside of his tip. It’s kind of funny how you’re unsure who’s more of a slut now: you for daring to do this, or him for letting it happen while he’s on a call. Y’all are both some trouble!

Just as you’re about to go for a gentle bite on his ear you feel the deep bass of his voice against your lips.

“Choso— Choso…bro I’ma let you go…I’ll try to be over there later tonight. Alright, I'll talk to you later. Bye.” He ends the call to lean over— your hand still tightly wrapped around his dick— to drop his phone onto the nightside with a loud thud.

Unfortunately for him, no matter how hard he tries to maintain his composure, it’ll be his own body that will betray him every single time. Men, they’re so fucking weak. You probably could rob him with a fleshlight.

Falling back onto the mattress, he turns to give you a look before opening his mouth, and of all the things you expect him to say, it definitely isn’t, “Why’d you interrupt my phone call?”

“Because you talk too much.” You say smart, releasing him to wipe your hand clean on his briefs along the side of his hip. Sitting up on your elbow to rest your cheek in your hand, you hover above his face to stare down at him challengingly, awaiting his response. This could go one or two ways, but you know for sure either way ends with you getting fucked.

"All I needed was a few minutes.” He murmurs, his hand glides up your chest stopping just below your neck before gently tracing your jawline with his thumb.

“I gave you that, now I want your attention.” You cock your head. “Did you forget where you were at?”

"You have it— so now what’s up?" He asks, his tone still soft, eyes locked on yours as he tilts your chin up just as your hand slides over to squeeze his thigh.

“You know what I want…” You breathe, inching closer to his bulge.

“Yeah?” He lets go of your chin, trailing his hand down your chest. “You don’t have to ask me— could have just pulled it out.” Eyes still locked on yours as you slip a hand under his waistband.

Letting you go, he gives you space to slip under the covers, lifting his hips to help you tug off his briefs. The second they're gone, your hand is around him, leaning over to take him between your lips. You know exactly how he likes it— your mouth and hand wrapped tight around the tip, teasing him with just the right amount of pressure that’ll make his toes curl.

You know you're doing a good job when his hand resting at the back of your neck tightens, turning into a firm grip that keeps you exactly where he wants you. Not wanting to try your luck deep throating him just yet, you brace yourself with a hand on his thigh for balance, but soon find yourself running your hand along the muscle instead, grabbing on wherever please, feeling out their solid weight and smoothness. Even though his dick is the main event— hot, thick, and heavy in your hands each time you pull off to catch your breath— it’s his thighs that have your full attention. Maybe next time you'll leave a trail of bites and hickeys along them, marking him up good just because you can.

“Get in between my legs...” He throws the covers back making room for you. Without a second thought, you crawl between his thighs, and just as you’re about to shift down the bed to lay on your stomach, his voice interrupts.

“Uh-uh, sit up...” He whispers, and despite it being nothing more than a gentle correction, it still finds a way to make your stomach tingle. You can’t even lie, that bossy shit turns you up. Glancing up at him, you slowly prop yourself up on your elbows to part your knees just enough, arching yourself down low, nice and sexy in a way you know he’ll like.

Bobbing your head up and down his dick, you lose track of every grunt and curse you pull past his lips. The wet, squishy sounds from each tight squeeze, paired with the clacking of your pretty nails around his dick, become a rhythm you get lost in until the growing dampness in your panties pulls you back in. Fuck, you’re going to have to speed this up because you really want to fuck now.

“Sloppy, baby. Make it—” His voice breaks off, caught in his throat as you pull off to throw a nasty wad of spit on his dick, watching as it drips down his length. “There you go…” He murmurs, a grin tugging at his lips. You don’t even need to look up to know he’s smiling. Anything for him, right?

“Gotta get the sides too. All of it. Just how I taught you...” His words make your stomach tighten. Glancing up through your lashes, you latch onto his shaft, tongue tracing long, slow licks along his length. The salty taste of him mixing with the slick of your spit as you pump the head of his dick with a tight fist.

“Sloppier…spit on it some more…get that shit wet for me…” He murmurs, bringing his hands down into your hair to gently pull back to keep out of your face. Taking a moment to lick his pre-cum and drool off your lips, you teasingly slap his dick against your tongue, testing its weight. Spitting down onto him again, you let it drip slow and messy before taking him back into your mouth, your lips wrapping tight around him. As you glance up, you catch him smiling down at you, and you can’t help but sheepishly smile back. You used to hate giving head, but for him— talking to you like this— you’ll keep going till he busts in your mouth twice.

You swear everytime he looks at you like that, something inside you loosens up. You never thought sex could be like this— fun, messy, and so damn freeing. That it’s not just about getting him off; but letting yourself enjoy it too.

Remembering the times he’s whispered for you to drop your innocence and open up awakens those butterflies in your stomach. It’s a mystery how in such a short time of knowing him, he’s managed to create a safe space for you to let go and push past the boundaries you once clung to— all without a hint of judgment.

But no matter how amazing everything feels with him, there’s this nagging thing that won’t leave you alone—a constant reminder of how off this all this really is. No matter how hard you try to push it aside, the truth is starting to feel impossible to shake, and the longer you avoid the elephant in the room, the harder it becomes to hold it all together. It’s doubt that creeps in at the end of every night, makes you wonder if any of this is even real. But fuck it, you don’t have the time to make any sense of it right now. You can talk it out with Tink later, you have to get this nut in.

"Ahmp!" You bite back a moan, caught off guard as his hand slaps your ass right when he shifts to sit up.

“Come up here…” He says, and without a second thought, you slide your soaked panties off to straddle his lap. Once fully seated, you wrap your hand around his dick, stroking him from behind your back, while your other hand rests against his shoulder for support. You can feel your wetness sticking against him, and it’s taking every ounce of willpower not to be a horny bunny and grind your sloppy wet pussy against his chest.

“You know where that condom at?” The question catches you off guard, making you pause— again, definitely not what you expected to hear. Someone’s full of surprises today, huh?

“Yeah, why?” You give him a confused look.

“It’s early, and I’m still kinda tired…I don’t wanna have to worry about pulling out. It be in the back of my mind when we fuck...” He says, warm hands smoothing along your stomach then up around your ribs.

Okay, cool, good to know at least one of you is trying to be responsible. Condom? Sure. Not a problem!

“I think it’s in here.” You lean over, trying to search in the top drawer of your nightstand without tipping over. “Hold me.” You warn, feeling yourself about to topple over. His hands quickly find your waist steadying you.

“I got it.” You find it stuck beneath a pile of clutter you've been meaning to sort out.

Handing him the gold foil, you scoot back a bit, giving him space to do his thing. As much as you love the feeling of raw sex, there’s something seriously hot about watching him work a tight fist along his length, struggling to stretch the latex over his girth. And as if that wasn’t enough, the damage your sanity takes from his dick snapping back against his abdomen when he lets go is downright disrespectful.

“Come on— ready?” He grabs you at your ribs, pulling you forward towards him, your breath hitches at his sudden eagerness. “You don’t need this…” He tugs at your shirt, and the second it’s off he’s grabbing hold of your boobs, squeezing them and sucking on your nipples like a baby. Never too tired to suck titties, huh!?

Taking your hand to guide his dick to your entrance, you carefully sink down onto the tip. Yet, no matter how many times you’ve done this, the feeling of just the head pushing through is one that’ll never get easier even with time.

It’s harder this time around— his dick— no pun intended. After nearly a week of constant sex, you have no choice but to take him slow, inch by inch, feeling yourself clench around him as you sink down.

“Gimme a second…” You plead, pressing your hand against his chest to keep him from bucking his hips up. On a good day you could take all of him, but with the way he’s bricked up, you’re not trying to bite off more than you can chew. See, this is that early morning dick, It’ll be a lot more than hurtful words flying out of your mouth if he so much as attempts to push you down.

“Take your time…” He teases, bringing both his hands to rub soothing circles along your jawline, fingers combing through your tresses around your nap. “Too much?”

“It’s enough— you’re not little.” You laugh, bouncing slowly on his length, giving your wetness a chance to moisten the condom as you try to fully take him in. It’s painstakingly slow working your sore pussy down his stiff dick, but guess this is the price you pay for letting him fuck you like a dog all week.

“My bad…” He chuckles. “Here, come lay on my chest— hmm.” He pulls you into his arms. Slanging one around your back, he scoots the both of you further down the bed gripping a handful of your ass to help guide you down his length.

“It’s too dry…” You come back up, the friction of the condom becoming unbearable as you feel yourself drying up from frustration. This isn’t working.

“I got you…” He brings two fingers to his mouth to wet them. Pulling out, he uses those same fingers to stroke your pussy, rubbing tight circles on and around your clit. Burying your face in his neck to stifle your moans, you feel yourself grow wetter as he whispers filthy praises in your ear, urging you on.

“This better?” He lips brush against the shell of your ear. Your thighs quiver with each teasing stroke to your clit, the oversensitivity heightening your arousal. And like a slut you can’t do much but moan against his neck when you feel those same two fingers sink into your heat. Curling deep, giving himself a feel around your velvety walls.

“Mhm…” You nod, slowly rolling your hips down to ride his hand. The exploratory movements of his fingers driving deep, stroking your g-spot. “Right there…fuck…right there…”

“I got you baby…I got you...” His palm presses against your clit as he drives his fingers even faster making sure to hit that sweet spot over and over, he’s so damn deep he could poke your cervix if he pleased. “…you’re squeezing baby, relax for me…there you go…how that feel, good?”

“Toru…I’ma fucking squirt…” You warn, already feeling yourself start to leak. Shit feels so fucking good he needs to publish a wikiHow on finger stroking pussy.

“Show me— go ‘head baby…you know I got you…” He exhales heavily, his other hand running through your hair to hold you close to him as he bullies your pussy like a pro, digging your coochie out so good, leaving her sorer than when you started. It’s a good soreness though, a sweet discomfort that’s nothing more than a reminder of how throughly he’s fucked you the past week.

“Fuck— hmmmm!” You grip his hair tight, trying your damn hardest to hold back the moan that’s fighting to erupt from you, but it’s no use because all it takes is one final stroke to your g-spot and you're cumming harder than a bull.

“Oh my god!” You cry out, clenching down on his fingers so tight he has to pull them out. Taking his hands to strum your pussy to keep you squirting, your thighs shake with such a force you have no choice but to cling onto him for dear life. A wave of pleasure hits you so intense your entire body electrifies like static off an old box TV across your chest and shoulders. His fingers are pruney once he lets go, all gooed up and coated with sticky globs of your cum.

Wiping his fingers clean on your thigh, he effortlessly guides your soaked pussy all the way down his dick, and a sweet moan comes up your throat once you’re fully seated. You’re so damn wet you can’t even feel the condom anymore, if it was any darker in here you wouldn’t even be able to tell he had one on.

“Bet that rose can’t do it like me, huh?” He teases, two hands at your waist rocking you forward. “I got you making a mess. Wetting the bed all up...”

“Heh— please shut up…” You laugh, catching your breath. Because of course he’d make a joke eight inches deep in your pussy. No matter how good his dick is it’ll never take away from how corny he can be sometimes.

Regaining your strength, your hands find his shoulders again to steady yourself as you begin a slow pace bouncing on his dick. It starts off a lot sweeter this time, nothing like your usual. No creaking bed or pounding headboard, just the quiet sound of your soft moans and his low grunts filling the room.

You’re fully lost in the moment when his hips start to move in perfect sync with yours, the delicious drag of his dick massaging your walls coaxes the softest, neediest whimpers past your lips. You’re so in love with his dick, you’re serious when you say you’ll fuck him up if you ever find out he’s sharing, because this shit right here makes no sense. It’s too damn good!

“More…right there…” You whine, needing to feel him deeper. Gripping your ass in response he presses his heels into the mattress, pulling your hips closer towards him to fuck up into you so well you have to put a hand to his chest to hold him back.

You totally get the need for the condom now— thankful for it even— because with the way he’s fucking you this damn good you don’t think he could push you off quick enough before he’s busting his load. And as bad as you want it, you’d hate to dip into that hundred dollars he gave you to spend half of it on a Plan B.

“Toru...Toru...Toru.." His name spills from your lips over and over as your brain goes fuzzy, slipping into a dizzy, dick drunken state. He's gripping you up just so right, and every stroke to your g-spot has you coming further undone, scattering every thought in your head until there's nothing left but his voice and touch occupying your mind.

“You’re so fucking pretty baby…didn’t I say I’d fuck you everyday? Hmm?” His voice rings.

“Thursday…Friday…Saturday…Sunday…” He murmurs, each day punctuated by a slow, deliberate thrust in sync with the roll of your hips. “You love this dick, don’t you?” He breathes, his hand coming down heavy giving a sharp slap against your ass.

“I do…” You whine, almost like a declaration, as you pull his hands off your waist to guide them up your chest to cup your boobs, lacing your fingers through his to show him how to squeeze them just right.

You feel so incredibly fucking sexy bouncing on his dick, riding him like it’s been a while and you miss him. You’re trying your hardest to keep it classy for him, but with one more slap to your ass, you’ll be begging him to take the safety off and hit your pussy raw from the side till it goes numb. You hope he’s loving this shit, because you’re not letting him get up in you for at least a week after this one. Your coochie needs a break!

“I wanna cum…” You whine, searching his face for permission, but he doesn’t hear you, too focused on working his own nut out.

“I wanna cum…” You whine again, your hands come down to press against his chest to grind your pussy down hard on his dick. You got him buried so deep inside you the weight of your hips are holding down his.

“You tryna be done already?” His hips still, falling flat as he watches you chase your orgasm all on your own.

“No. Just don’t move…” You plead, trying to keep him from messing up your rhythm as you hit that sweet spot like a drum. It doesn’t take long for that familiar heat to rise up your body, making your face flush hot and your heart rate pick up. You’re almost there!

“Don’t move— don't move— I’m close…fuck…ahh” You babble out, toes curling. Almost there, you’re almost there!

“Damn boo…” The pet name rolls off his tongue effortlessly, bringing you into focus, your eyes meeting his right as he wraps a firm hand around your neck holding you in place. You got him pussy drunk acting rough and nasty just how you like it. “When you start taking dick like this? You showing off for me today?”

“Mmmm— fuck me after I cum…” You say through a smile, his thumb brushing gently underneath your chin. The look in your eyes clear— you’re trying to get broken off like a Kit-Kat. You want it rough, and you know he’ll deliver. He’s got you.

“Say that again?” He asks as if he can’t understand a word you’re saying. There’s no denying that your voice turns him on. But it’s cool, you have no problem spelling it out for him.

“I said I want you to fuck the shit out of me after I c— ahmp!” You yelp, a wave of giddy pleasure washing over you from the sting of his heavy hand landing across your ass again.

“One more time for me?” He pulls you forward, a devilish look in his eyes waiting for you to soften into submission in his hands.

“I want you to fuck me so bad.” You whine, voice dripping with so much need. You don't give a fuck how you sound right now, his dick drilling your pussy deep, it’s thick head messaging against your puffy walls. “I wanna feel all of it— oowww— mmmm— Fuck! You feel so fuckin— ahh good!—” You moan out, each and every one of his deep strokes punching the words from out of your chest.

“You don’t want it.” He taunts, a smirk tugging at his lips daring you to prove him wrong— to show him just how badly you want it— to beg. The sudden shift in dominance sends your heart racing, and you find yourself rocking your hips even faster.

It’s this dynamic that you love the most: how one minute he’s soft and tender, talking you through with the filthiest yet gentlest whispers, and the next, commanding and rude, giving you the space to surrender completely and embrace your submissive side. It’s the perfect balance of give and take, and with him talking in your ear nasty like this, you’re more than willing to give it all up and let him lead.

“Yes I do— fuck…fuck…” You moan breathlessly, lost in the wave of pleasure taking you under. “Make me cum…” You look down at him with those needy doll eyes, the kind that silently beg for more, even as you roll your hips slow and deliberate like the little minx you are, teasing him just enough that you know will drive him wild.

Every move is a silent challenge, a tease, a true test of his strength and you’re doing it because you know exactly what he wants, and he’s already right there ready to meet you. His hands find your waist again, gripping you firmly, and that awaiting spark of dominance lights up his eyes as he pulls you in close.

No one but him can bring this side out of you, the one that craves to be taken, to be pushed to the edge. You know he’s been holding back, waiting for you to push him there, and now, you’ve done it. His hand then tightens around your frame, the tension in his body radiating through every inch of him, and that tells you everything you need to know; you’ve got him right where you want him, you can let go.

“You not gonna run?” He presses, but you know your answer is meaningless. He wouldn’t let you even if you tried.

“No—” You whine, the sound barely escaping your throat as you bounce, the strain in your knees starting to intensify with each movement as you chase your orgasm.

“No, what?” Another good grab to your ass, this time with two hands and enough grip to bounce you on his dick himself, fucking up into with a force that causes you to fall forward, nails digging into his shoulders as you cling onto him. “Tell me baby…go ‘head.”

“Fuck…Gojo— Go— AHMP!” Another heavy slap to your ass before you can catch your breath to repeat it. “I’m not gonna run Gojo— I'm not gonna run—”

“You know I love hearing you say it…” He beathes heavy, one hand now threading through your hair to grip your tresses tight, the other fucking you down his dick. “You gonna cum on this dick? Yeah?”

“Yes! Fuck— Fuck— Gojo! Gojo!” You choke out, orgasm fully taking over each and every one of your senses.

“Again baby…come on…this your dick right…” He breathes, voice low and hot in your ear, hips bucking up fast as another heavy slap comes down to your ass. “Don't run from it…don’t run from it.”

“Fucckkkk— Oh my godddddd! Keep going! Keep going! Don’t stop! Yes! Yes!” You cry out, your pussy clenching so tightly around him that you can feel the rim of the condom scratching against your entrance. The intensity of your grip threatens to pull it loose as it’s already slipped off some.

“Mmmmm— there you gooo~“ He coos, sensing you reached your climax seeing the way your jaw goes slack and your grip around him tightens.

“Fuck me! Fuck me! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” You’re begging like slut now throwing your arms around him to tuck behind his neck. Feeling you lose yourself, you take your fingers to work them up to brush along his undercut, anything to try and keep you grounded.

“Kiss on my neck…yeah…just like that for me— “ He moans, as you press your lips against his skin, licking hungry, wet, and sloppy. “Just like that…”

“Where you want me to nut?” His question meets your ear with urgency, the pace of his thrusts quickening in such a way that you can tell he’s close to cumming.

“Anywhere…I don’t care—” You gasp, words spilling, your body trembling with anticipation. Stupidest fucking question he could ask right now. He can bust it on your tits, ass, pussy, or even your face. You don’t care as long as his hot cum drips off your body, ready for him to scoop up and feed to you like you’re Suki.

“Shit!— Get up! Get up!” He groans, lifting you up just enough to pull off the condom to jerk his dick.

“Gimme your hand…” He takes yours to grab his length, wrapping his large hand around yours, guiding you as you both help work his nut out. Both of your bodies are hot and sweaty, and his heavy breathing is perfectly in sync with yours. Your thighs coming down from a trembling mess.

“Like that baby….mmmm…you gonna kiss it when you're done?” He hums through a smile, head thrown back in pure bliss. It doesn’t take more than a few tight strokes for you to feel his dick pulsate, his hot cum spills out running down both your knuckles sticking your fingers together.

“Oowww— it's so much!” You giggle, endorphins still having you feeling like you're on cloud nine as you watch amazed by the amount of cum he’s spilling, feeling a warm milky streak run sticky down the back of your hand.

“Fuck—” He exhales, chest heaving as he starts to come down from his climax. His arms drop limply to his sides, but you stay right where you’re sitting on his chest, reaching back as you keep working the cum out of his still hard dick.

You can feel him twitch with every pull as you coax the last drops of cum from him. There’s just something so sexy about the way his breath stutters and his toes crack as they curl with each slow tug…like you’re draining him of every ounce of cum he has left.

“That’s it…baby…that’s it…alright that’s it…stop…” He warns, voice strained and his face balling up, eyes shut tight as he tries to fight back a guttural moan. You feel his abs tense up underneath you, throwing off your balance but you take a hand to his chest— now flushed red and glistening with sweat— to hold him steady, fist tightening around his dick to jerk him quicker.

“Uh-uh, there’s more, look…lemme get it all out for you.” You tease with a playful laugh, tightening your hold around him. “Just relax, it doesn’t hurt.” You purr, your voice dropping low and sweet. More cum spilling with every pull.

“Oh my g— Yooooo! Stop! Stop! Stop! Bro! Stop!” He gasps, body jerking involuntarily from not being used to the overstimulation. His hips shake under your grip as if trying to escape, but he’s trapped under the weight you’re pressing down on him.

“Bro!? I’m not your bro!” You scoff with a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief at the fucking nerve to address you by anything other than something ladylike! Goofy ass, now you’re really not letting up. He must have you confused for someone else.

“I swear to god, if you make me nut again— Fuck!” He growls, head tipping back as he wraps a tight hand around your wrist trying to stop you.

“Satoru, you don’t scare me— let go!” You mock, your hand steadily working his dick, grip unwavering even as his strength weakens less and less from every stroke.

“What happened to all that shit you were talking, hmm?” You pause, watching him closely. “Bet that hand can’t do it like mine?”

“I’ma fuck you up after this…I’m so serious…watch.” He breathes out, a shaky laugh breaking through, his grip on your wrist loosens completely as he gives in, letting you milk him for everything he’s got. He’s probably dead serious too, but the way his fine ass is squirming under you is too entertaining to give a damn. And to be honest, that just sounds like a promise for round two and that’s not striking fear in your heart— or pussy. Ain't no fun when the rabbits got the gun now is it? We can go till the fucking bed breaks boo, y’all got all the time in the world today!

“Schhhhhoooowwww— oh my god!” He groans, his plump lips parting with a low, desperate growl. “Alright c’mon, chill! Stop!”

“Keep lying telling people I snore, and I’ma tell your friends you moan like a bitch." You taunt, leaning closer. Pressing more of your weight down on him, your strokes turn into slow teasing massages around the tip of his dick with your palm.

“You still mad over that?” His eyes open meeting yours as his hands grip the sheets in an attempt to hold back from cumming. He can try to look intimidating with those blue eyes all he wants, but they aren’t moving you.

“I don’t get mad, I get even.” You bite back with a whole lot of sass, letting his dick go the moment you feel your hand start to cramp up. He jerks slightly, caught off guard by your sudden release. “Told you to stop trying me.”

“Clean yourself up~” You shoot him a look, wiping your cum-sticky hand off his chest as you ease yourself off his body and slide off the bed.

“Fuck you…” You hear him mumble under his breath with a laugh as you search the sheets for your phone, panties, and top before making your way to the bathroom to pee.

“What!?” You give him a look back, the fakest mean scowl you can muster up right now.

“Nothing— Fuck…” The back of his head hits the pillow again as he exhales deeply.

"Oh, okay! Like I won’t sit my ass on your chest and kill you. Talk to me nice." You fire back playfully, slipping on your top after giving up on the search for your panties— probably somewhere tangled up in the sheets.

Finding your footing, you cross the room to unplug the diffuser you left on throughout the night. With a gentle click, its light shuts off. You take a moment to gather yourself before stepping out and closing the door firmly behind you, leaving him to figure out what the hell just happened. You too are going to need a few minutes alone to yourself after this one.

#gojo x reader #gojo headcanons #tsnmi writes #never lose me #gojo smut #gojo x baddie #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #nlm collection #gojo satoru #jujutsu gojo #jjk fanfic #jjk fic #jjk smut #jjk gojo #jjk au #gojo x yn #gojo x y/n #gojo x you

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pathologicalreid · 3 months ago

Text

that gold mine changed you | s.r.

in which Spencer won't open up to you following his release from prison and you've reached your breaking point

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warning: post prison/prison arc, lack of communication, chemist!reader, slightly proofread word count: 2.13k a/n: love this song. both the original and the phoebe bridgers cover.

i don’t wanna be here anymore; it all tastes like poison

You rifled through the dish that you kept on the entryway console, looking for your car keys so that you could get out. It was hard to describe the way you felt like a spinning top, not dizzy but out of control. Everything felt so out of control.

How could you let it get this bad? You breathed heavily as you fished your keys from the pottery and looped your finger through the key ring. Wiping your nose with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, your eyes caught onto some movement in your periphery.

“You’re leaving?” Spencer asked from down the hallway; his work clothes were rumpled and creased like he’d fallen asleep in them.

You had hoped that he would have the ability to ease himself back into society after three months of prison, and you always took the time to assure him that you would be there for him. Desperately, you tried to be a pillar of support, but you had reached your breaking point.

He’d been given six weeks to readjust. When that didn’t seem to be working, you thought maybe he needed to find his rhythm again, but going back to work at the BAU didn’t seem to help him either. It wasn’t until his first sabbatical hit that you finally considered the fact that things would never be the same between the two of you again.

When you didn’t answer, Spencer put his foot out but hesitated to take a step toward you. “Are you going to come back?”

Swallowing thickly, you looked down at the keys in your hand, “I don’t know.” You eyed the key to your lab, the one place you could always go to escape when you needed to, but you never imagined needing to escape from Spencer.

You weren’t even sure he had been sleeping in the same bed as you, and if he was, he was getting in after you and getting up before you. There was once a moment when you and Spencer shared every minute detail of your lives with each other, at least the parts you weren’t together for, but now you wouldn’t be able to tell anyone what he was teaching in his lectures, and he couldn’t guess which projects you were working on.

When Spencer was in prison, you thought that was the loneliest you would ever be, but now you were living with the ghost of the man who you once loved, and you had never felt more alone.

Last week, you had practically begged him, very nearly gotten on your knees and pled with him to have a substantial conversation with you. He didn’t seem interested.

you believe that you love me

Looking back up, your eyes widened at the revelation that Spencer had made his way to you in complete silence; he was standing in front of you, “You’re sneaking out?”

Your nostrils flared in frustration; you were sneaking out of your own apartment, a space that you and Spencer were supposed to share, but it didn’t feel like home anymore. “Did I do something wrong?” You asked him, studying his brown eyes as they appeared until the cool light of the moon.

He set both of his hands on your upper arms, and you pulled away from his touch. Spencer flinched back as surely as if you’d struck him. If you pulling away from him hurt, then he wouldn’t be able to fathom how you were feeling right now—how you had been feeling for the last seven months.

“Is it because of your mom?” You tried again, silver lining your eyes as you looked up at him, mercurial tears streaming down your cheeks as you begged for an answer. “I was at work when she was abducted,” you reminded him, having thrown yourself into work while Spencer was in prison. “Is it because I didn’t help her?”

Spencer’s lips parted in surprise, “I didn’t know you blamed yourself for that.” His arms hung limply by his sides, fists clenching and unclenching in an attempt to release nervous energy.

Blinking tears from your eyes, your shoulders slouched at what felt like a rejection, “How would you? You don’t talk to me,” you told him, your tone wholly accusatory.

“We talk every day,” he rebutted, the energy in your conversation veering toward hostility. That’s not what you wanted; you just wanted to feel at peace.

Three months in prison, six weeks of mandatory leave, one hundred days with the team, twenty days into his first sabbatical, and Spencer was refusing to face what you had already run into headfirst. “We haven’t had a real conversation since February, Spencer. It’s September.”

His eyebrows pinched together as he studied your body language, profiling you to deduce what you wanted from him instead of just asking you. “What do you mean ‘a real conversation?’”

You pressed your lips together in a thin line, and you searched every part of your brain for something to say that wouldn’t contribute to taking your life apart brick by brick. You couldn’t. The words simply weren’t there anymore. Maybe you had left them behind months ago, but right now, you shrugged helplessly, “You’re different, Spence.”

He peered down at you as if you had offended him, “Did you expect me to stay the same?”

It was pathetic. You felt pathetic. Staying in your entryway and begging for someone who previously kissed the ground you walked on for a reason to stay. You never had to ask him before. “I’ve never expected anything but love from you, and you know that,” you told him, pulling the truth from the depths of your soul and putting it on display for him.

Spencer took a step back, stumbling as if his legs were threatening to give out beneath him. “You don’t think I love you anymore?” His own tears welled in his eyes, glittering saline along his lash line that made your chest ache.

You blinked, letting more tears fall down your cheeks. You heard the droplets as they fell on the vinyl decal of your sweatshirt, the only noise in the midst of an otherwise deathly silence. “You have given me no reason to believe that you do,” you admitted, your voice tight with emotion.

so, lose your faith in me

“Don’t leave,” he gasped, struggling through his tears. He held a hand out to you, too hesitant to touch you because of the way you reacted earlier.

You felt like you were tearing your own heart from your chest. You held the organ in your hands, blood dripping to the floor and seeping within the woodgrain, and you asked him to put it back where it belonged. “I can’t do this anymore,” you told him.

He set a hand on the side of your neck, and this time, you didn’t pull away from him. Instead, you savored his touch, the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin as the two of you waited for something to give. Three months in prison had been a test of your relationship; you had very little contact with each other. Nothing face-to-face, and after a while, Spencer’s mail started to go missing—interference by a prison guard who had it out for him. You thought that getting him back would fix everything.

Spencer was exactly the same, but somehow, he was completely different after his release. You couldn’t fault him for what he had gone through in prison, but you refused to continue your pattern of dancing around each other.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice so faint that you would’ve missed it had you not been searching for it. His breaths were quickening, and if it weren’t so dark, you’d be sure that his pupils were dilated in fear.

You pursed your lips, “Say it again.” You wanted to hear him. You needed to hear him. You so desperately wanted to hear him repeat himself so that you could throw your arms around him and let him know that everything was perfectly fine.

He panted, “I love you,” he echoed. “Please,” his voice broke, “I love you so much.”

“I want to believe you,” you breathed, looking back down at the keys that remained in your hand. As far as you were concerned, Spencer was the Patron Saint of Liars. He had the intelligence and the experience to become a master manipulator. He’d lied to you before. What was stopping him from doing it again? He knew that I love you was what you wanted to hear. When faced with telling a lie and losing you, the choice was laid out in front of him.

He nodded as if he understood, but you weren’t convinced that he possessed the bandwidth to fully comprehend why you were so unhappy. “I’m sorry for lying to you,” he whispered.

You lost your balance, your back slammed against the wall, and your eyes widened as a result of his apology, “Why?”

Spencer’s brown eyes widened as you slid down the wall, waiting until you were sat on the floor to speak again, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Mexico.”

“You could’ve told me,” you told him, “I could’ve helped you, Spencer. Then we could… Then maybe…” your voice trailed off, lost in a sea of hiccuping sobs.

Gingerly, Spencer lowered himself to the ground and took a seat next to you, “Maybe I wouldn’t have gone to jail. You’re right,” he admitted, “but maybe they would’ve killed you too. Maybe there would have been the same outcome as the one we got, or maybe it would have been much worse.”

Releasing a shuddering breath, you pulled your knees to your chest and wrapped your arms around them. “Lorenz,” you murmured, closing your eyes to relieve some of the burning.

“The Butterfly Effect,” Spencer commented, “Small changes can have large consequences. I made a decision that had massive ramifications and negatively impacted you, and I haven’t been doing enough to fix it.”

You sighed, “You can’t fix it, Spence. It’s like a band-aid over a bullet hole.” You thumbed the hem of your sweatpants, opening your eyes just to stare straight ahead at the wall.

He hummed in what you sincerely hoped was understanding, “I took six years of building trust with you and destroyed it, and now when I tell you I love you, you don’t believe me.”

“You told me you were going to Houston,” you whispered.

“I told everyone I was going to Houston,” he said softly.

Your head snapped in his direction, “I deserved more than what everyone else got. I deserved an explanation, and instead, you lied to me. You lied to me, and then you wouldn’t even let me see you while you were in prison.”

The corners of his mouth downturned, “I didn’t want you to see me in there, and I didn’t want anyone else to see you in there.” You’d heard second hand from JJ that the men at Millburn had ogled her the entire time she was visiting Spencer, and maybe he had explained himself in one of the missing letters, but he hadn’t mentioned it since coming home.

“Spencer, I just want to talk with you,” you whispered. “I want to have a conversation with my boyfriend that doesn’t end with him creating some arbitrary mental block because he doesn’t think I can handle it.”

There was a moment where you thought he was just going to let you go, but Spencer Reid liked to keep the things he cared about close. “It’s not because you can’t handle it, it’s because I can’t handle it,” he admitted.

You turned your body to face him, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to tell you about prison,” he clarified. “I barely want to tell my therapist about prison, but you—” his voice broke, and your heart went with it. “If I tell you everything I’ve done, you wouldn’t want to be with me anyway.”

You frowned, “Try me.” Your heart was racing; this bit here was decisive. His response would either mean letting go or moving forward.

He looked down at his lap, “Come to therapy with me tomorrow. It’s… there’s something about the leather couch that turns me into an open book.” He told you, nervously running his palms up and down his cloth-covered thighs. Instinctively, you reached out and grabbed his hands, putting a stop to his compulsive movements. He leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling, “Please don’t leave.”

Shaking your head, you sniffled through your tears. If you’d had more energy, maybe you would’ve given him a soft smile, but for now, you answered him, “I won’t.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot

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steveseddie · 1 month ago

Text

when the clock strikes twelve

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles “midnight” & @steddiebingo 12 days of christmas mini event “carol” | rated: t | wc: 1000 | tags: different first meeting, post season 2, new year’s kiss

read on ao3

It’s five minutes to midnight when Steve steps into the bathroom at Tina’s house.

If he’d known that coming to her New Year’s Eve party would mean welcoming the new year alone in the same bathroom where his girlfriend called their relationship bullshit, Steve would’ve stayed home.

“If it isn’t the King of Hawkins,” a voice says, startling Steve and making him turn around, his heart hammering in his chest. But it’s not a demodog or fucking Billy Hargrove, just Eddie Munson sitting on the sink with his legs swinging back and forth.

“Munson.”

“Welcome to my office, Your Highness,” Eddie says with a dorky salute.

Steve glances around them. “Your office?”

“This is where I do business, you see,” he says, flipping the lid of his metal lunchbox. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

Steve hangs a hand from his neck. “No, uh, I’m hiding from someone.”

Eddie perks up with interest. “Who?”

“Carol Perkins.”

“Your buddy Tommy’s girl?”

Steve’s nose wrinkles. “He’s not my buddy anymore and she’s not his girl either. And for some reason Carol thinks the best way to get back at him for being a dick is to kiss me at midnight.”

“And you don’t want that?” Steve shakes his head. “Thought you and Wheeler were done– or are you not over her yet? Don’t worry, big boy. There’s still time for that New Year’s resolution.”

“Shut up,” Steve says, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “It’s not about Nancy, I just don’t want to kiss the first girl who throws herself at me, you know?”

“I do not, Your Majesty,” Eddie says with an amused snort. “I’ve never participated in such activities.”

Steve tilts his head in question. “Kissing someone on New Year’s?”

Eddie looks away, nervously playing with a rip on his jeans. “Or you know, ever.”

He can’t see the way Steve’s eyebrows shoot up but he probably hears the surprise in his voice when he asks, “You’ve never kissed anyone?”

Eddie purses his lips. They’re nice lips, Steve observes. It’s a shame no one has kissed them. “No, Harrington. Go ahead and laugh it up,” he says, his voice clipped.

“I’m not laughing! I’m just–” Confused that someone as hot as you hasn’t kissed anyone. Steve clears his throat, his blush getting worse with that thought even if Eddie can’t read his mind. “I mean. Why haven’t you?”

Eddie scoffs. “People aren’t exactly lining up to kiss the town’s freak,” he says. Then hesitates before he adds, “Specifically guys.”

So the rumors about Munson are true. “Oh.”

The confession makes Steve blush, despite Eddie being the one who admitted something. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s afraid he’ll open his mouth and something stupid will come out. Something like– ‘I’m here! I’m a guy!’

So he stays silent, which makes Eddie wary.

“That’s it? You’re not gonna run? Call me names? Punch me?”

Steve can see that his shoulders are tense, his knuckles white where they’re gripping the sink tightly. It’s like he’s getting ready to run in case Steve reacts badly.

But running away or punching Eddie couldn’t be further away from what Steve wants to do right now.

“No, I–”

“Ten seconds to midnight!” Someone yells downstairs.

“I– I want to do something else,” Steve admits, his voice wavering slightly. He hesitantly steps closer to Eddie, who narrows his eyes.

“What?”

“Five seconds!” The same voice yells and the crowd joins the countdown.

“Four!”

Steve stands directly between Eddie’s legs.

“Three!”

He puts his hands on Eddie’s waist.

“Two!”

Steve raises his eyebrows in a silent question– is this okay?

“One!”

Eddie gives a tiny nod.

And then Steve swoops in, pressing his lips against Eddie’s as the crowd downstairs cheers and Eddie’s watch starts beeping.

Somewhere in the distance, fireworks go off but Steve could swear he can feel them inside him when Eddie kisses back, looping his arms around his neck.

Steve tilts his head, determined to give Eddie a good first kiss. He licks softly at his bottom lip, making him gasp. Then he kisses him a little harder, softly touching Eddie’s tongue with his, feeling the way he shudders.

He knows this is probably longer than the usual New Year’s kiss but Steve doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to stop. And apparently neither does Eddie, who pulls Steve closer and drags his teeth across his bottom lip.

It’s only when they need to breathe that they break apart.

Eddie’s eyes stay closed longer and only flutter open when Steve cups his neck and strokes an idle thumb against his jaw.

He decides that dazed and kiss-drunk are a good look on him.

“Happy New Year,” he says with a lopsided grin.

Eddie snorts amusedly. “Yeah, Happy New Year.”

The noise downstairs starts to die down. People are probably going back to drinking and dancing, maybe even leaving. He could easily slip out without running into Carol, but he doesn’t want to, not unless–

“Hey, uh, do you wanna get out of here?” Steve blurts out.

Eddie blinks. “Me?”

He can’t help but roll his eyes. “No, the other guy I just made out with in the bathroom.”

“And here I thought I was special,” Eddie says with pouty lips– fuck, Steve wants to kiss them again.

So he does. Just a quick press of lips.

When he pulls back, he places another small kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth.

“Say yes,” he says before doing the same on the other side. “And I’ll show you special.”

Steve hears the way Eddie’s breath hitches and feels a smirk teasing at his lips.

Only for it to be wiped away by Eddie grabbing him by his neck and pulling him in for more than a press of lips.

Damn, he’s a fast learner.

“Yes,” Eddie says once he pulls back, giving him a shit-eating grin.

Steve sends a silent ‘thank you’ to Carol Perkins before reaching for Eddie’s hand to drag him out of there.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddieholidaydrabbles #steddiebingo2025 #steddiebingo12daysofchristmas #stranger things #stranger things fic #shout out to carol perkins and her unplanned matchmaking #steve harrington #eddie munson #monse writes

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revelboo · 13 days ago

Note

Hope you don't mind me asking, but which Transformers do you think would have a breeding kink?

Sure! Here’s some new ones

Headcanons and Scenarios- breeding kinks

18+ Mass displaced mechs 🌶️

Swerve

- absolute, babbling mess during sex, going on about sparking you with his sparklings even though you have no idea what he’s talking about

• “Oh, Primus,” Swerve groans, hips lifting to meet you as you ride his spike. He’s watching you, mouth parted as his hands slide up your sides. “Wanna spark you. Can I spark you? Primus, please.” Have no idea what he’s talking about as you move on him, feeling that thick spike slide deep, every ridge and bump stroking inside you. But he’s too cute absolutely out of control and babbling, making you want to agree to whatever as long as he keeps rolling his hips like that to meet you when you lower yourself.

• “Give it to me,” you whisper, voice breathy and he almost releases right then. Hears you gasp as he rolls you under him, hips moving frantically. Rutting against you with frantic movements.

ES Soundwave

- even after he warms up to you, he still snarls at you like a wild animal, especially during sex. Would rather offline than admit that he fantasizes about sparking you

• Gasping when his servos close around your upper arm and you go up on tiptoe, glaring up at him as he snarls. Know not to pick at the temperamental mech, but when the repercussions are this good? You can’t help yourself. Chin lifting, you grin at him. “Make me.” And you don’t even mind when you end up stripped and bent over the nearest convenient surface, his spike pounding into you. Angry fucking seems to be his only mode, but damn.

• Hips snapping against you as his spike drives deep into that slick heat of yours, he knows there’s something really wrong with him for wanting this. Wanting you. Can’t even say it’s about having power over you anymore, when he’s the one addicted to the feel of you gripping his spike like you were made just for him. And he also knows that you’re provoking him on purpose, wanting him angry and almost too rough, so there’s something equally wrong with you. Listening to your breathless moans and cries, he tries not to think about sparking you, but it’s harder every time. Shouldn’t want you sparked, definitely shouldn’t fantasize about it.

Krok

- allows himself to fantasize about it, but knows sparking you probably isn’t possible, and even if it was, with the life they lead it would be too dangerous.

• Lazily thrusting inside you as your arms loop around his neck, he just wants to savor the rare moment of peace. Nobody bothering him, had caught you alone so he doesn’t need to share. Lips brushing yours, your breath is warm on him, mingling with his rough venting. And the urge lifts through him to spark you. Pushing it down like he does every single time, because their lives are too dangerous for a sparkling. Can’t ask you for that, but he can dream. Hips moving faster to make you gasp, thrusts growing rougher, more urgent. Wanting to fill you over and over.

Waspinator

- desperately wants a home, to belong and dreams of sparklings with you.

• Glossa sliding against you, he can’t help his rumbling, buzzing growl as the taste of you, the scent of your heat and need become everything. Mandibles brushing your inner thighs as you arch and come apart, he goes up on his knees over you, forcing you to release his antenna, flipping you onto your belly and hooking the extra limbs from his alt mode under your hips to tug them up. He’s aching, almost hurting as he lines his spike up and feels you stretch to take him. Clawed servos digging into your bedding as he begins to move, hips snapping urgently against you. Finally. Finally accepting him as your mate and all he can think of is breeding you. Claiming you so thoroughly, you won’t leave him ever.

ES Megatron

- feels guilty for wanting to breed you, like he doesn’t deserve to be allowed this, but can’t stop himself either

• Frame straining on a rough snarl, his hips pump against you. Letting you milk him of his release as his lips brush the back of your neck. Draped against your back, it’s his arm and his cannon hooked under you keeping your hips up for him. “I can’t, please,” you protest when he shudders and begins rocking himself against you again. Taking his time coaxing your tired body. Knows he should let you rest instead of wanting to fill you again. Already made a mess, his excess slicking your thighs, but can’t seem to stop. Driven to give you everything, to breed you.

• “One more, just one more,” he growls against your nape, hips bucking faster, each thrust rocking you forward against his arm curled under you. Trembling on a breathy moan, you feel your oversensitive body coiling again, betraying you. Know you’re probably not going to be able to walk later, but that he’ll fuss over you after, take care of you. He always does.

TFP Ratchet

- when he’s dabbling with synth-energon, all impulse control goes out the window. Can’t resist trying to spark you.

• Legs hooked around his waist as he ruts against you, watching him bare his denta, you know he’s going to be annoyed later about the mess you’re both making on his console. But he’s the one who’d plopped you on it so you’d be at the perfect height for him, easy access. Optics green with that stuff, you just go along for the ride and enjoy the feel of his spike pounding into you almost too roughly.

• Groaning as he moves against you, driving deep into your heat, you’re so slick for him. Heels digging into him as if demanding he not stop until you’re sparked. And his mouth crashes against yours, servos tangling in your hair as that thought takes root. Fragging you all night long until his nanites can get established, then sparking you. He’s not even sure if it can work between yours species, but he wants to find out. Even if he has to try over and over again.

Armada Starscream

- it’s a guilty fascination with him. He’s seen how you fuss over his mini-cons like they’re your sparklings even if they’re bigger than you and he keeps imagining you with his sparklings.

• Mouth brushing along your jaw, back behind your ear as he groans at the feel of those little hands clinging to him, your wet, heat fists his spike as you arch on a ragged cry. Thrusts faltering slightly, he rocks his hips urgently until he comes apart, filling you. Brushing his cheek against yours, as you hold onto him. And from out of nowhere, he thinks about sparklings. Wondering about young when he’s never allowed himself to even consider that as a possibility. Because he’s remembering how you treat his mini-cons and imagining you with his sparklings instead. Whole frame shuddering as he releases inside you again, wings flaring.

• Hands sliding against his wings as he rocks himself against you, mouthing your throat. Still hard and apparently ready for another round as he begins to move faster, hips snapping against yours.

Bonecrusher

- unfortunately for his brothers, the first time they form Devastator while Bonecrusher is obsessing about breeding you, it unlocks the same kink in the rest of them because of how the gestalt works

• “Primus,” Hook snarls, tempted to shove the biggest of his brothers, but knowing that he’ll get punched in the face for it. Because Bonecrusher had been fantasizing of fragging and breeding you, trying to imagine how you’d feel wrapped around his spike. And when they’d combined, those graphic urges and fantasies had spilled into him. Into all of them.

• Hand over his face, Scrapper vents and tries to ignore that his spike is throbbing painfully where it’s trapped behind his plating. Can hear Long Haul and Scavenger speculating on if you’d survive one of them, much less all of them. Remembering Megatron’s warning about fragging humans. Because someone has to be doing it to have warranted that. And Bonecrusher is completely unapologetic about what’s he’s just inflicted on them. “Bet they’re soft inside, too,” Bonecrusher says as Scrapper groans. The big idiot deals with explosives, and he doesn’t understand that he just set a bomb ticking.

Kup

- knows he made quite a few mistakes raising Springer, that he was much too hard on the kid and wants a second chance at a sparkling with you

• You’re smiling up at Ricochet and Springer, little hands folded behind your back as you rock up on tiptoe. Can hear Ricochet flirting and joking with you, and of course you’re smiling. He’s a young mech. Most of the Wreckers are. The young, brave, and reckless. Knows he shouldn’t be bothered that you like the attention, that you’re not his. But he’s the one you run to when there’s danger, the one you trust. Because you have no idea that when you sprawl on him, leaching his heat at night, he’s thinking about rolling you under him. Exploring you with his hands and mouth. He’s old, but he’s not offline, yet. Can’t help but wonder about you, fantasize about claiming and breeding you. At having another chance at being a sire and doing better this time. Try to be gentler, less rough around the edges.

Breakdown

- would rather offline than admit that he wants to spark up Knockout’s little shared human.

• Resting his palm between your shoulders to bend you forward, for a moment he’s off balance at how big his hand is on you, just like how unbelievably tight you are wrapped around his spike. Always making him release quicker than he means to, but it’s easier with Knockout helping. On his knees behind you, he grips your hips, lines himself up and sheaths his spike inside you. Shuddering when you make that soft noise and quiver around his spike. Then your head is lowering, mouth teasing Knockout’s spike. Hears the other mech growl, servos sliding into your hair and that’s what he focuses on. Not you or that he keeps thinking about sparking you when you’re Knockout’s. Even if they are sharing.

Tailgate

- fantasizes about sparking you, but would be as happy if Cyclonus was the one to get the job done. Would ask Cyclonus to breed you so he can watch

• Mask retracting to brush his mouth against your neck, Tailgate lets his hands wander over soft skin. Spike still hard against your back where he’d tugged you to sprawl against him. And he’s aware of Cyclonus trying to ignore you both, a datapad in his hands. That the bigger mech is failing terribly as his hand slides to your thigh and hooks it over his own so you’re spread open to him. Watching Cyclonus, he slides his servos against your slick flesh, dipping his servos inside you to push his excess back where it belongs. Wants Cyclonus to take a turn, for their nanites and release to mingle inside you. “Cyclonus,” he whines, lazily pumping his servos. “We need you.” Wants to feel Cyclonus thrusting against you while you’re laying on him. Trapped between them both as Cyclonus breeds you. Wondering what would happen if they both tried to spark you at the same time.

#transformers x reader #swerve x reader #kup x reader #starscream x reader #constructicons x reader #waspinator x reader #megatron x reader #breakdown x reader #tailgate x reader #soundwave x reader

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wolvietxt · 24 days ago

Text

𝓓ISTANCE.

pairing : frank castle x fem!reader warnings : slightly suggestive, implied age gap, super light barely there angst, implied size diff, fluff, established relationship au, petnames summary : you miss your boyfriend more than anything, even though he’s currently sitting right next to you wc : 1.7k

the apartment felt too big, even with frank sitting just a few feet away. he was at the kitchen table, leaned back in one of the rickety chairs, his broad shoulders and solid frame making the furniture look almost laughably small. he was nursing a beer, gaze trained out the window like there was something out there worth watching.

but you weren’t looking out the window. you were watching him, the way his forearm flexed when he tipped the bottle to his lips, the way his jaw ticked as he thought about whatever was running through that head of his.

frank castle, in all his quiet intensity, was here. but for some reason, it felt like he wasn’t, and you hated it more than anything.

“are you all good over there?” you asked, breaking the silence.

he didn’t turn to look at you, but his lips twitched at the sound of your voice. “yeah, baby, m’fine. just thinkin’.”

“you’ve been thinking all day,” you mumbled begrudgingly, leaning against the couch and crossing your arms.

this time, he did glance at you, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing.” you bit your lip, shifting under his gaze, feeling the pout start to form on your lips. the truth was, you missed him - his touch, his warmth, the way he always made you feel so safe without even trying. but saying that out loud felt silly, especially when he was right there.

frank, however, didn’t let much slide. “don’t look like nothin’,” he said, setting the bottle down and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “you gonna tell me what’s goin’ on?”

you hesitated, cheeks warming under his scrutiny. “it’s dumb.”

“you know i don’t care if it’s dumb, sweetheart,” he said, his tone softening. “what‘s the matter?”

you huffed, feeling a little ridiculous but knowing he wasn’t going to let it go. “i just… really miss you, i guess.”

frank frowned, confusion flickering across his face. “miss me? i’m right here.”

“i know,” you said quickly, looking away, feeling small under the weight of his gaze. “it’s stupid, i know. but it’s like… you’re here, but you’re not really here, you know?”

he didn’t say anything right away, and the silence made you fidget. finally, he let out a quiet chuckle, the sound low and warm. “c’mere.”

you blinked, looking back at him. “what?”

“i said, c’mere,” he repeated, sitting back in his chair and holding out a hand. “if you miss me so much, then come over here, baby.”

you felt your cheeks heat even more, but you didn’t hesitate. pushing yourself off the couch, you crossed the small space between you and slipped into his lap, your arms looping around his neck instinctively.

frank’s hands settled on your hips, big and warm and steady, and you let out a quiet sigh of relief at the contact.

“that better?” he asked, his voice teasing but gentle.

“a little,” you admitted, resting your head against his shoulder.

his chest rumbled with a quiet laugh, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “needy little thing, aren’t you?”

“maybe,” you mumbled, nuzzling closer.

“it’s cute,” he said, his hands moving up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes. “you’re cute.”

you tilted your head to look up at him, your heart fluttering at the softness in his gaze. “you think so?”

“yeah,” he murmured, his lips twitching into a small smile. “damn adorable.”

you felt a little ridiculous, sitting there in his lap, your arms tight around his neck like you couldn’t get close enough. but it didn’t matter. the way frank’s hands were soothing your back, the way he was looking at you, made everything else disappear. you weren’t aware of the world outside the two of you anymore, just the warmth of his chest beneath your cheek and the steady beat of his heart that you could feel through the thin fabric of his shirt.

"so you really miss me, huh?" frank's voice was low, a bit rougher than usual, but there was no mocking in it. just something soft, something a little unexpected.

you nodded, unable to say anything else. your fingers idly traced the line of his jaw, the stubble there a little rough against your touch. you could feel your heart race just being this close to him.

“that’s cute,” frank murmured, his voice a little softer now as his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer. "you know you're all i need, right?"

“yeah, but you’re still so far away sometimes,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his neck as you settled against him more comfortably, your body fitting into his with an ease that surprised you.

he tensed for a moment, but it wasn’t from discomfort. he just seemed… caught off guard by your neediness, the way it pulled at something inside him. you could feel his breath hitch when you nuzzled closer, the tip of your nose brushing his collarbone.

“it’s not far away,” he said softly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “just been distracted, sweetheart. i’m here now.”

you melted a little more at his words, your heart swelling. "i know."

frank leaned down, pressing his lips against your temple in a gentle kiss that made everything inside you feel light and soft. his large hands moved again, this time running up your back before settling at the back of your neck, fingers gently threading through your hair.

“you get all soft like this, and i can’t resist,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

you laughed, the sound shaky but happy. “i’m not that soft.”

“yeah, you are,” frank teased, his lips brushing against your jaw now as his fingers lightly massaged your scalp. “so damn cute. don’t know how you do it.”

“do what?” you asked, your voice a little breathless from the closeness, the heat, the overwhelming affection in the air.

“make me wanna kiss you all the time,” he said, the words soft but full of meaning. “make me wanna keep you close, make sure no one else gets the chance to take you from me.”

you bit your lip, your hands sliding up to tug at the collar of his shirt, the movement a little desperate but filled with a need you couldn’t quite hide. “don’t want anyone else. just want you.”

that made his chest rumble with a soft laugh, but this time, there was something undeniably tender in it. he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he looked at you with that soft intensity you rarely saw.

“good. ‘cause i’m not lettin’ anyone take you,” he said, his lips curling into a smile.

you could feel the playful energy crackling between you, even as it was all wrapped in something softer, something more intimate. you weren’t entirely sure how you’d gone from missing him to practically begging for his touch, but it didn’t matter. all that mattered was that he was here, pulling you in even closer, his hands a warm anchor against you.

“come here,” frank murmured, his lips brushing yours in the faintest of kisses. “let me show you how much i want you too.”

without waiting for a response, he tilted his head, his mouth capturing yours in a deeper kiss, more forceful than before, but still tender. it felt like an anchor, like a reassurance that this - whatever this was between you - was real.

you let yourself fall into it, your hands roaming down his chest, feeling the solid muscles beneath his shirt, your fingers tracing the lines of his body like it was the first time you were allowed to touch him.

his hands slid down your back, his grip tightening just enough to pull you even closer, his body pressing against yours in a way that had your heart skipping a beat.

“you sure you’re alright?” frank asked against your lips, his voice heavy with desire but still laced with concern.

“yeah,” you breathed out, your fingers tugging at the waistband of his pants, the simple touch making him exhale sharply. “i’m more than alright now.”

he smirked against your mouth, pulling back just slightly to look at you. “thought you were just missin’ me, not all... this,” he teased, his voice low, filled with amusement and affection.

“missed you,” you confirmed, voice thick with the need you could no longer hide. “missed everything. all of you.”

there was something about the way he looked at you then, like you were the only thing that mattered in that moment. and you didn’t care how needy you seemed, didn’t care about anything other than him.

frank brushed a lock of hair out of your face, his fingers lingering along your jaw. “you’re somethin’ else,” he muttered, eyes soft as he looked down at you.

you smiled, finally feeling the weight of his attention in the most perfect way. “only for you, frank.”

his lips quirked up in that familiar, barely there smile, his hands pulling you in again. “damn right, sweetheart.”

and just like that, you were lost in him again, caught up in the softness of his touch, the warmth of his embrace, the undeniable need to be close to each other - always.

ᰔ frank castle : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc

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