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lilianne-tarot · 2 days ago

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PICK-A-CARD: What's your lowkey powerful move? ˚୨୧⋆.˚

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I. II. III.

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Hey there! Welcome to another PAC reading on my blog page—I hope you all enjoy it! Comment down what you felt about the reading and if it resonated with you and show some love, Your support means everything to me!<3 How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images below. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you—go ahead and read both!

get your own personalized paid reading here! it would really help me out!😊🦋

My KO-FI link: HERE! 🫶🏻

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⋆˙⟡Pile I

Ohhh, bestie, this spread is JUICY. I can already feel the energy radiating off these cards. So, the Ace of Pentacles is giving “I walk in, and the room shifts” vibes, maybe some of yall even feel that thing. people see you as someone who knows how to manifest real, concrete results. You give off that effortless “I make things happen” energy, and the wild part? Half the time, you don’t even have to announce it. You just move in silence, and suddenly, things start aligning in your favor. It’s like you have a golden touch, and people feel that. Now, here’s where it gets interesting—because the Magician reversed is shaking things up. Normally, the Magician is that “I have all the tools, I can do anything” card, but reversed? This is the art of the illusion. You have this insane ability to make things look effortless when, in reality, there’s a whole strategy behind it. nobody ever fully understands how you do it. Are you lucky? Are you secretly a mastermind? Do you have some divine favor that keeps you ahead? (👀 Spoiler alert: it’s all of the above.) this spread overall screams natural-born leader—you don’t even have to try to command attention, you just do, some of yall have held some major leader position in their lives, maybe in school or in now in your work space. What keeps people thinking about you? It’s the way you exude confidence in a way that’s not cocky, but magnetic. You have presence. You don’t need to brag, you don’t need to prove yourself, and you definitely don’t need outside validation. yall seem to be really secure in yourselves. but I would def say, Some people may even wonder if you’re manipulative, or if you’ve got some sort of secret advantage. People admire you, but they also lowkey fear you—because not everyone can handle someone who just moves differently.

This is the kind of energy that leaves ex-friends and past situationships wondering if they fumbled the bag . So keep doing what you’re doing, because this is powerful energy. Now tell me, does this reading not scream “you”? Because I feel like I just exposed your entire aura rn. 😂🔥

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⋆˙⟡Pile II

first of all i was so shocked when I saw all cards of this deck was cups. we’re not just talking about leaving a cute impression on people. This is some straight-up, ‘I met them once, and now they live rent-free in my head’ type of impact. Let’s break it down. Your Vibe? Ethereal, Emotionally Addictive, Unforgettable. Look, not everyone has the ability to make people feel something so intensely that they’re out here journaling about it six months later, you're that airport crush of people 😭.You are that person. The Knight of Cups, Queen of Cups, and Six of Cups together? Ohhh, this is emotional witchcraft. You have this almost cinematic energy—people don’t just remember you, they replay you like their favourite movie scene. It’s like you’re the embodiment of a nostalgic song that makes them stare out of the window like they’re in a music video. You’re not trying to be unforgettable—you just are. People feel safe with you, seen by you, and understood by you. And that?? That’s rare as hell in a world full of surface-level interactions(cmon we all what a pile 2 person in our life) . This also tells me your impact isn’t just strong—it’s lasting. People don’t move on from you quickly. Even if they don’t see you for years, something will trigger a memory of you (a song, a scent, a random moment), and suddenly, boom—there you are, sitting pretty in their mind like you never left.

people always remember you anyway. It’s not about being the loudest in the room—it’s about how deeply you made them feel something. And let’s be real: people forget words, but they never forget emotions. You might not even realize the weight of your presence until years later, when someone confesses, “You changed my life and didn’t even know it.”

So yeah, your power move? You leave emotional fingerprints on people’s souls. And the gag is? You don’t even have to try. 🤷‍♀️

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⋆˙⟡Pile III

They’re screaming depth, and an almost frustratingly intriguing energy. Like, people think they know you, but then you do or say something that makes them go, “Wait… who are you, actually?” And that question? That is why people cannot get you out of their heads.

Let’s talk about The Hanged Man sitting right in the middle—because that’s the core of your vibe. You don’t operate on the same wavelength as everyone else. Your energy is like when you’re watching a thriller, and the main character does something weird, and you just know there's a deeper reason, but you won’t find out until the end. You have this eerie, compelling stillness that makes people want to decode you. Then we have The Moon along with the hanged man, which? Chef’s kiss—because now we’re getting into that dreamy, slightly chaotic, almost unreal quality about you. You give people just enough to feel like they’re getting closer to understanding you… only for them to realize they have no idea what’s real and what’s projection. People get lost in their own assumptions about you. They see what they want to see, not necessarily who you actually are. (💀 Tell me why this feels like exactly the kind of energy that makes exes spiral at 3 AM, trying to figure out why they still don’t understand you.)You don’t need to flex your growth because by the time people catch on, you’re already five steps ahead. There’s something almost intimidating about how quietly powerful you are. Like, you might not even realize how often people compare themselves to you. You make people feel like they need to level up—but they’ll never admit you were their motivation.

Listen, you’re not just memorable—you’re the unresolved mystery in someone’s story. The “what if,” the “I never quite figured them out,” the “damn, I wish I could talk to them one more time.” People replay their interactions with you because they feel like they missed something. You don’t just linger in their mind—you haunt it. And the best part? You don’t even try. You don’t have to force an impact, you don’t need attention—you just exist in a way that makes people feel like they almost got close to understanding you… but never fully did. And that? That’s the kind of unforgettable energy that lives rent-free in people's minds forever.

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Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog—it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! ♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not predict the future in a fixed way. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

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taliabhattwrites · 8 hours ago

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Here's a mini-version so I can go back to Sifu.

A lot of people have voiced confusion at the backlash against characters like Bridget being depicted as textually transfem, or the general drive to refuse to name the transfeminine body as a woman's body in erotic media. While my transhet friends have talked to me at length about how cis queer men's transmisogyny does manifest in this kind of degendering--and how they rationalize it by considering transition a sort of 'betrayal' of their community, as though trans women were simply trying to transition to greener pastures--I hope it's obvious to everyone that gay men alone cannot sustain this kind of pervasive cultural attitude. Especially when homophobia and transmisogyny are coterminous in patriarchal societies.

So why do men, in general, and even people of genders beyond 'man', insist on third-sexing the transfeminine body? Wouldn't it be preferable, more stable for a straight man and his identity to consume the eroticized transfem as a woman?

Well, if you don't have time to read the 10,000-word article I just linked--though you should, I worked quite hard on it--the shortest version possible I can give you is that the sexual consumption of third-sexed populations by men doesn't destabilize their gender or sexuality as much as you might think. Patriarchy has always had "fail-states", the faggotized, degendered, un-manned subject that cannot be allowed to consider itself a Woman, but is definitely something Lesser than a full-fledged Man.

Given that modern sexual mores are no less centered around penetration than they were in Roman times, men can freely engage in that form of intercourse with the third-sexed, transfeminized woman without having to name her as a woman, and without that being disruptive to his place in the gender heirarchy.

Once you understand that, you realize what the value of the transfeminized sexual object is to a man that wishes to use her as such. The un-womaned transfem is abject, highly precarious, vulnerable, disposable, a dehumanized creature whose entire purpose has been reduced to taking it, whether we mean "sex" or "violence" (and oftentimes, both). She has value in her utter devaluation, in her reduction to a place below the respectable, marriageable Woman that can be taken home, introduced to the parents, and exploited for reproductive labor. The third-sexed, degendered transfem is the Platonic ideal of a fuckable object that can be discarded.

And while some of you might be tempted to kinkpost about that, when we're not horny and are trying to navigate through the world as people, being seen in that way constantly is a very, very bad thing. It's what gets us hurled out of society and locked out of the formal economy, left to subsist or perish on the margins as we are able.

So people are very attached to the idea that their favorite porn category is just that--a 'shemale', a 'futa', a 'dickgirl', an 'otokonoko', a 'ladyboy'--any dehumanizing, degendering term that renders her neither man nor woman, but purely a sexual fantasy. The idea that this sex toy they wish to use could actually be considered a person, a woman, or even a trans woman, that horrid, 'woke', 'political' individual with multicolored hair and multivariate pronouns, feels existentially threatening.

"What do you mean, I've been fantasizing about exploiting a person this entire time? Fuck you!"

Anyway, this little piece has focused exclusively on men's relationship to transfemininity. Do people of other genders have similarly exploitative relationships to us, and a consequent desire to third-sex us?

In a word, yes, but you might have to wait for me to write more essays before I go into it. So look out for those in the future. Quick disclaimers: I've focused this writing on why transfeminine abjection is attractive to those who wish to consume us, but please do not misconstrue this me as saying that cis women are always considered 'people' or 'respectable' under patriarchy--this is very much not the case. I'm simply discussing this as a matter of degrees, where the transfem is more easily and utterly dehumanized due to her being constructed as both failed man, unable to sire, and failed woman, unable to gestate.

Furthermore, entire classes of cis women are also often reduced to this kind of degendered, exploitable state. Degendering is a broader force that is core to transmisogyny, but is not the entirety of transmisogyny, and more women than merely trans women are degendered.

Okay, NOW back to Sifu.

trap hentai now blatantly shows their "boys" with obvious hrt titties but still calls them boys whats up with that. back in my day they they were flat chested but now its "draw a trans woman and misgender her"

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canyonmooncreations · 18 hours ago

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Normalcy on a tough day with neighbor Simon

Simon moved in almost a year ago. Since then you’ve become friends, nothing more. Coffee here and there, shared meals, neighborly help with some DIY projects. It’s become familiar sense of comfort and consistency for the both of you.

Simon relishes in the domestic sound of your cabinets closing, footsteps throughout the day, and just the normalcy of your life. His concerns begins when he hears the lack of.

It’s been a day. One of those days where the solitude eats away at your heart and mind. One of those days where it feels pointless to keep going.

You get home from work thankful it’s the weekend. Your footsteps fall silent as your head straight to bed not even bothering with changing or dinner.

Simon is confused when he doesn’t hear the air fryer or the microwave. There’s no water running or closet closing. Your footsteps are gone as soon as they arrive, fallen short at your bedroom. There’s no FaceTime call to your friend you talk to daily. There’s no sound of your comfort show. There’s just silence.

You toss and turn over and over. The thoughts just don’t stop. You can’t help but let the tears fall. Your silent tears soon turn to sobs. You just can’t stop it.

Your missing footsteps are replaced with the sound of Simon’s as he paces his apartment. He knows something is wrong, he can hear something is wrong. But what’s he to do? Are you close enough for him to come knocking on your door? He thinks so. But what if you just want to be alone? What if you..

Before he can finish the thought, he’s at your door. He can’t just sit here and listen to you sob. You, someone he cares about so much. Someone who’s slowly wormed their way into his heart.

It’s a sight when you finally open the door. Work clothes a mess, makeup smeared, and face puffy.

No words are exchanged as you melt into his arms. His warmth inviting you to just let it all out. He carries you to the couch and sits with you in his arms. It goes on for a bit, you crying and him just holding you.

He eventually coaxes you into the bathroom, sitting you on the counter. He helps you change into your comfy clothes and wipes away today’s makeup. All the while his hands never leave you, his touch grounding you to reality. Showing you, you aren’t alone no matter how alone you feel.

He carries you gently to the bedroom and tucks you in.

All the normalcy you both crave, he created. He ran the air fryer, he washed up the dishes, and he turned on your comfort show.

He joins you in bed with your comfort food and holds both of your plates. You lean into his side as you both sit in silence enjoying your show.

After eating, you’ve wormed your way into his warmth again. Both of you falling asleep to the sound of the others jagged heartbeat.

That’s what you’ve grown to love about Simon. There doesn’t have to be all this talking and explaining. Just grounding touch and domestic normalcy.

Omg what? Another self indulgent depressing fic? Whoooooo wrote this???

#fanfic #call of duty #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader

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ebodebo · 15 hours ago

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Friends Who Kiss!

with Jason Todd.

...it's okay to kiss a friend. right?

You catch a whiff of cheap beer and weed from a mile away, even before stepping into the party.

The scent hit you like a wall as the door swung open, revealing a crowd of crossfaded college students behind a plastered guy who could barely hold it together.

“Yo! Who brought the strippers?” He shouts, slurring his words, clearly trying to joke about you and your friend.

“Knock it off, dipshit,” your friend shoots back, rolling her eyes as she shoves him aside and reaches for your hand, pulling you inside behind her.

It felt oddly surreal.

You had been to countless college parties at both sororities and fraternities, yet nothing could quite prepare you for the atmosphere of this place.

To your left, a couple was grinding, nearing dry-humping, against each other on the tattered couch.

To your right, a group of friends were passing around a blunt, all while downing shots of vodka.

And ahead of you and your friend, a raucous game of strip beer pong was in full swing.

The two guys, their competitive spirits high, were down to their boxers while the girls remained fully clothed.

Who knew that most college guys, the self-proclaimed beer pong champions, were so ass at the game?

As you approached the kitchen, the smell of stale beer and sweat hit you. "You want a drink?" Your friend chimes, her voice barely audible over the thumping bass.

Her hand was already reaching for two plastic cups and a bottle of straight Jägermeister.

"Getting straight to it, huh?" You reply, grinning as she pours a heaping shot for herself.

"Gonna need the alcohol to deal with these fucking moron guys," she laughs, automatically pouring a shot for you too.

"You know I have an eight a.m. tomorrow?" You raise an eyebrow as she slides the liquor your way.

With a smile, she takes hold of her plastic cup. "All the more reason for you to drink," she replies, her lips brushing the rim.

"You're a bad girl," you tease, a playful spark in your eye as you quickly grab the cup and bring it to your lips.

"The baddest," she purrs, and you both down the shot in unison.

The tangy citrus liquor burns as it goes down, leaving a fiery trail in its wake.

"Tastes like shit," you hiss, wiping your lips with the back of your hand as the intense aroma lingers on your tongue.

"All the booze that gets you fucked up tastes like shit," she corrects, picking up a left-out slice of lime and sucking the juice from it.

"Here," she offers you a fresh lime wedge.

You bite into the wedge, the juice washing away the harsh taste of the potent liqueur.

"Let’s pour another," your friend suggests, already reaching for the bottle of Fireball on the counter.

You roll your eyes but didn’t turn down the offer.

After all, you had been pretty good these last couple of months, only enjoying the occasional glass of wine.

As she fills the plastic cups with whiskey, the remnants of Jägermeister mingling with the liqueur, you notice some commotion by the entrance.

Your gaze drifted over to the front door, curious about the sudden influx of people that seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

"I knew you’d show up!" A guy shouted excitedly.

"Dude, you've got to try this new stuff I brought back from Ibiza!" Another one yelled.

"What’s all the fuss about over there?" Your friend remarks, Fireball dripping from her lip down to her chin in her usual carefree style.

You side-eye her, glancing at her now empty cup.

"Sorry! It was just calling to me," she says, raising her hands in mock surrender.

"It’s a liquid," you reply dryly, adding to the playful banter.

"It was!" She insists with a grin.

You roll your eyes at her playful antics and turn your attention back to the commotion, where an apparent celebrity has caught everyone’s attention.

To your surprise, it was Jason, someone you recognized well, making his way through the crowd.

Guys were clapping him on the shoulder, and girls were gazing at him as he passed by.

A truly ridiculous sight.

When his eyes locked onto yours, he veered off course and headed straight towards you and your friend.

You shook off your disbelief and chuckled as he approached.

"Ladies," he greets with a smile.

"Hi, Jason," your friend timidly greets.

"Blondie," he tips his head towards her.

"Big man on campus, huh?" You tease, a playful glint in your eye.

He shrugs, rolling his eyes. "You know how they are."

"Thought you'd be in Gotham tonight?" You cut in before he can greet you separately, a hint of curiosity in your voice.

"Eh. Plans changed," he remarks, a sly smirk on his lips.

You pick up the plastic cup with Fireball, placing the rim on your lips. "Have they?"

"Yeah," his eyes wander to your cup. "You gonna drink that?"

"I was planning to—" You begin before Jason takes the cup and downs it in one gulp.

"Sorry. Was a little thirsty," he suspires, wiping the alcohol from his lips.

Your eyes narrow. "Yeah. I'd say so."

"Well...I'm gonna leave you too," your friend beside you says. "Nice to see you, Jason," she beams.

"Likewise," he winks at her as she walks away, almost hitting the wall. "She's cute," he remarks.

"What were your plans before you detoured here?" You ask, eyebrow raised, paying no mind to his previous comment.

"That's classified, Sweetheart," he says, his voice a mix of authority and warmth.

"Oh, right," you nod along, moving closer to him. "I almost forgot you habitually swing around Gotham at night."

"Hey, hey!" He mutters, ushering you to a nearby empty hallway. "What the hell is up with you?" Concern laces his tone.

"You totally flaked on me yesterday," you mutter, annoyance in your tone. "Had to go eat dinner with my mom alone."

"What do you—oh shit," he sighs, realization dawning on him. "That was yesterday?"

You nod. "Yeah, and you ditched me."

He runs a hand over his face, a mix of frustration and regret evident in his expression. "I'm—fuck. I'm really sorry."

There is sincerity in his tone, but you’re not ready to let him off that easily.

You wanted to bust his balls a little.

"I'm still mad at you," you say, turning your head away from him and crossing your arms.

He lets out a breathy laugh at your display. "Is that how it's gonna be?" He remarks, his voice low.

"Seems so," you reply matter-of-factly.

"That's a shame," he mutters gruffly.

You glance at him, arms still crossed. "Why's that?"

"Well…I just. Nah. Never mind," he says, raising his hands as if to shoo away the question.

You turn to face him fully. "Now you have to tell me!" You exclaim, playfully pushing his shoulder with your hand.

"I was just thinking we could, you know, do another shot?" He suggests. "Have a little fun?"

You purse your lips. "Hmm. It depends on what the shots are."

He smiles. "Whatever the hell you want."

You give him a curt nod, satisfied with his answer. "Good answer."

Grabbing him by the forearm, you pull him back to the kitchen, where you pour a mixture of whiskey, vodka, and juice into two plastic cups.

"This is gonna taste like shit," Jason groans as he peers into the cup on the counter.

"Yeah, but it's what I want," you pass him the cup, taking the other in your hand.

He rolls his eyes playfully. "Okay, okay."

You both knock back the shots simultaneously.

It tastes...well, like shit.

But, whatever.

You just wanted to get fucked up.

And maybe bust Jason's balls some more.

Only time will tell.

"We can't. We're just friends," you murmur, a hint of desperation in your voice.

You've known Jason for years, and your friendship has always been a safe haven, a place where you could be yourself without any romantic complications.

But tonight, something has changed.

"Come on, Sweetheart," Jason coaxes. "We can have fun. Can't we?"

You're struggling to understand how this unexpected turn of events has shaped your night.

You and Jason weren't even really that drunk, just tipsy.

Not slurring words or wobbly when walking, just loose lips apparently.

After that weird cocktail mix you made, you and Jason took one more shot of straight vodka, made your way to one of the rooms off the kitchen, and simply sat on the ground in front of the bed and talked.

Talked for how long?

You're not entirely sure.

But somewhere in between talking about your exam next Wednesday and Jason's nights spent as a vigilante, things became more intimate.

Because now he was trying to convince you that one kiss won't hurt.

You do want to kiss him.

Desperately actually.

But the fear of losing his friendship or changing the dynamics holds you back.

"I don't know..." You trail off as Jason's hand brushes against your cheek. "Won't it be weird after?"

"Not if we don't make it weird," he hums, eyes staring at your lips.

You release a small breath as his hand moves to cup your jaw.

"You tell me no if you don't want to," his voice is serious, and his eyes lock with yours.

You nod, teeth digging into your lip. "I think...just a small kiss won't hurt. Right?" You try to convince yourself as you find yourself leaning closer.

"Yeah," he says mechanically. "Small," he affirms as his lips press into yours.

You weren't entirely sure what you expected, but, holy shit, it wasn't this.

Your skin sizzled, and a fire ignited in your stomach.

His lips were so soft against yours.

Although it was meant to be a brief kiss, just a fleeting moment of connection you both knew you shouldn't indulge in, the pull was too strong and the desire too intense to resist.

It was a battle you were losing, and you didn't even want to win.

Your lips moved in perfect sync.

Why the hell would you want to stop that?

You placed your hand gently on his jaw, drawing him closer and deepening the kiss.

A soft groan escapes from him, and you catch it in your mouth, causing you to whimper.

Jason can't help it.

The soft sounds you were making were slowly driving him up the wall.

His hands moved to grip your waist, pulling you onto you so you straddle him.

You never stop kissing him.

Not even to complain about him moving you onto his lap.

You can't even find it in you to be bothered.

Your hands are moving through his hair, as his messily skim over your hips, occasionally squeezing your ass.

"Can’t believe I waited so long to kiss you," he whispers against your lips.

"Feels so good."

A soft moan escapes your lips at his compliment, and you can feel a wave of tingles spreading over your skin.

"Yeah?" You murmur, your teeth playfully nibbling at his bottom lip.

"Oh fuck," he mumbles, fingers digging into your waist.

His heavy-lidded gaze catches yours. "Yeah, feels so good, Baby."

You let out a soft breath in response to his endearing words. "Should we...stop?" you ask hesitantly, your fingers gently running through his hair.

Internally, hoping he says no.

“No, Sweetheart,” he replies softly, his gaze fixed on your lips with undeniable fascination. “Unless you want to.”

Just as you’re about to respond, a loud banging on the door startles both you and Jason.

"Occupied!" You shout back, turning towards the door.

You shift your focus back to Jason's eyes, and in that moment, something pulls you back into reality.

"Oh, fuck," you exclaim, shifting off his lap and settling onto the carpet beside him instead.

"You oka—" Jason begins, sensing your frenzy before you interrupt him.

"Oh my God. We totally just made out," your hands are anxiously gliding through your hair. "And I liked it!"

Jason lets out a shallow laugh as his hand gently rests against your shoulder. "It's alright," he coos. “I liked it, too."

Your eyes flick to his. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, it was...really nice," he awkwardly says.

Your lip quips at his awkwardness. "It was," you agree.

"Listen, I—" He starts to say, but is cut off once more by a notification on his phone. It’s from Barbara, alerting him about a local crime circuit in Blüdhaven.

"Shit," he curses as he moves to stand. "I'm really sorry. I have to—"

"It's okay, Jason. I get it," you say with complete assurance. "Gotta go play vigilante."

"I'm in a rush, so I'm not going to touch on that," he shoves the phone into his pocket. "Can I come by your dorm after?" He carefully asks.

"Yeah. Okay..." You nod your head, pursing your lips awkwardly.

"You're being weird about it," Jason tips his head down.

"No! No! I just...let's talk later, alright?" You exhale deeply, doing your best to suppress your shyness.

He gives a nod before leaning down to kiss your forehead, then turns and walks out of the bedroom.

As he steps out, you lean your head against the bed's edge, allowing yourself to dive deep into your thoughts.

It wouldn't be the worst if you and Jason started dating.

If that's what he wanted.

He's kind, charming, and quite attractive.

You're unsure if it's just your inebriated state of mind.

But then you remember drunk words are sober thoughts.

So, you may be totally crushing one of your dear friends.

There are worse things to have happened.

author’s note: sorry to tease, but writing smut is too much atm lol also tried a new format hehe i’m kind of feeling it. not proofread!

divider by @/saradika-graphics!

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codnasties · 11 hours ago

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Hi! Love the stuff so much I don't have any links or anything but hear me out-

Reader and Simon are like friends or something and maybe they invite him over to watch a movie in their apartment (COUGH COUGH 28 DAYS LATER COUGH COUGH) yeah uh...they end getting hot and bothered half way through and just like fuckin go at it

movie night w/ghost 👻 (🌽 link)

having ghost as a friend is, simply put, amazing. contrary to his tough exterior, he's a softie. all he wants is to make sure that you are safe and happy and that no one messes with you. always there for you, in joyous moments as well as when you need a shoulder to cry on.

so when you told him to come over, an innocent invitation to watch a movie, just as friends, neither of you thought you would end up naked and straight up fucking in the couch. because all it took was a raunchy scene or two to get you both horny.

the proximity, almost cuddling, didn't help at all. two people alone, comfortable with each other, and all hot and bothered? that only leads one way. in the blink of an eye, you just ended up naked, sitting sideways in ghost's lap as his thick cock stretching you open.

holding you close while the movie still plays in the background. desperately fucking up into your wet cunt, loving the way your spongy walls seem to be pulling him in and how your slick is slowly accumulating at your entrance and running down his balls. when your walls started fluttering around him with an impeding orgasm he had to fight hard to not spill his cum inside of you and fill you up - even though he wouldn't have loved anything more than that -.

what you did not know was that was the last push ghost needed to officialy ask you out

#cod #cod smut #cod x reader #cod headcanons #cod x y/n #cod x you #p!link #ghost smut #cod ghost #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost #simon ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost simon riley #simon riley

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bratbarzal · 2 days ago

Note

maggie i’m going a bit off-script here, but for your valentine’s blurbs can i request ³⁾ “has it occurred to you that we’ve spent more valentine’s days with each other than with people we’ve actually been dating?” with quinn — but plot twist, he thought you were passed the just friends phase. just a little awkward & flustered quinn vday moment 💌

✩‧₊˚ bratbarzal's valentines event!˚₊‧✩

3. “has it occurred to you that we’ve spent more valentine’s days with each other than with people we’ve actually been dating?” we love awkward and flustered quinn in this house!!!

"I can't do this anymore," Quinn grumbles out of nowhere as the two of you are on his couch, drawing your attention from the dimmed screen of your phone to watch him pinch at the bridge of his nose and kick the throw that is draped over both of your lower bodies.

"Can't do what?" You frown, tilting your head to watch the theatrics, the blanket falling from your own lap into a tangled mess on the floor.

"Sit here and do nothing. I'm sick of doing nothing. You're driving me crazy, is this like, some sort of power thing? Are you seriously not even gonna acknowledge what's going on here?"

"What's-," You literally have no idea what the hell has gotten into him. "Going on? Quinn, what are you even talking about? When did you get all antsy and weird?"

"Uh, I don't know," he retorts, narrowing his eyes in your general direction, not quite able to meet yours. "Maybe when you started giggling at your phone and acting like this is any normal day? I get trying to convince yourself that this is no different to all the other times, it's what I kept telling myself to calm down earlier, considering we've been technically doing this," he gestures around the two of you, "For the past few years now, but I thought this time was different. I want it to be different."

"What do you mean by that?" You frown, pushing your phone under the pillow you're leaning on, shuffling a little where your legs are tucked beneath you on the couch and watching as he stands, arms thrown out in irritation as he turns back to you, swiping quickly where the blanket is bunched up and an inevitable trip hazard and throwing it over the back of the couch.

"Alright, has it ever occurred to you that the two of us have spent more Valentine's Days with each other than with the people we've actually been dating?"

You stare blankly at him for a second, mouth agape as you register what he's actually talking about, before you clear your throat with a hand to your mouth as Quinn stares back, waiting for a response, eyes narrowed as his patience wears thin. "It's Valentines Day? Today?"

He's right - for as long as you've lived in the same building as Quinn over the past few years, the two of you have spent the day together, making a tradition of it, even when you'd had boyfriends and he'd had girlfriends, somehow always finding yourselves in distant relationships with people who travelled or just plain didn't care.

Quinn's door was always open to you - even on days saved specifically for romance, even if the two of you had never even considered crossing that line.

You know you've been a little distracted with work lately, but surely you'd have heard about it being Valentines Day sooner than now. You reach back for your phone just to check, and sure as anything on your homescreen is the date - Friday, February 14th.

Crap.

You've literally spent the past twenty minutes texting your group chat, following along on the boozy girls night you had turned down in order to spend another night in with Quinn. A night you hadn't given a second thought to, as the two of you have been hanging out more and more, lately - him slotting you in pretty much any and every time he's free.

And now it makes sense - they're doing Galentines.

Double crap.

"Oh my God," he runs a hand through his hair in exasperation, that one thick strand you always thought was a cool stylistic choice bouncing straight back into place across his forehead - because of course it just naturally does that. "I can't tell if you're just oblivious or I'm a complete idiot."

"Maybe it's a secret third option?" You offer, standing from the couch and taking a cautious step towards his now pacing figure.

"Don't be cute," he glares back at you, "I'm really not in the mood right now for you to be cracking jokes, I'm embarrassed enough-,"

"Embarrassed?" You frown, taking another step, "Why would you be embarrassed?"

"Because I thought this was a date," he jabs a finger into his chest before pointing it back in your direction, "And you thought it was any other Friday night."

"Oh."

"Yeah," he huffs.

"That is embarrassing."

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, spinning on his feet and starting to make his way over to the kitchen before you panic and grab at his wrist, tugging him back with a little more effort than you're used to - because Quinn Hughes is nothing if not stubborn when he wants to be.

"Wait," you pout, trying to meet his avoidant gaze as he looks at anything but you, jaw set and body angled away. "Why did you think it was a date?"

"What is this, a humiliation ritual?" he scoffs, "I thought it was obvious. I asked you over. For dinner. I cooked! When you walked in here I was wearing an apron, for crying out loud! There's flowers on the table," he hooks a thumb over to where the two of you had eaten - sat across from one another at his small dining table, for once, instead of on the couch or the breakfast bar, places set before you even got there. A small vase with gerbera daisies and a little ribbon around the rim. "And I'm wearing a shirt. In my own home." You cast your eyes down, to the way the buttons are popped at the top, a small sliver of his chest peaking through - and it feels like the first time you're really taking him in.

Not even tonight, but maybe ever.

It's not like you've never thought Quinn was hot - he's gorgeous, Mike Wazowski in a blindfold could see that - but there's always been a barrier there, like a cartoonish, pixelated sort of blur that hides him from full view, unlocked only by some costly subscription with life changing terms and conditions that you could never be bothered reading.

And you might have struck him off, until now - until he stood before you with a pouty bottom lip and a mortified flush to his cheeks - and he all of a sudden doesn't look like someone who could never be more than a friend.

Especially when you consider that maybe he's been thinking about crossing that line.

In a new light, he looks like someone who goes the extra mile, who gets you flowers and cooks you your favourite pasta dish, buys your favourite wine, puts an effort into his appearance to distinguish between all the times you've seen each other in sweatpants and actively listens to your dumb stories about office politics and teams meeting etiquette - like it ties in at all to any part of his world.

He sighs, heavy and resigned, and you see his chest deflate where your eyes are locked on it, catching the subtle shake of his head in your peripheral as you take too long to respond.

"Look, I kinda feel like an idiot, so maybe it's better if we just-,"

It's the tug of his wrist that spurs you into action, and you let it drop - too eager to grab him elsewhere, like by the front of his soft, pretty shirt - pulling him in by the collar and pressing your lips firmly to his.

You worry for all of three seconds until his fingertips dig pointedly into your hips, guiding you forward until you're a little closer, and they can slide further back. Your own hands move higher, touching skin now - curling around the back of his neck to bury themselves in his hair, pushing at his head to better meet where you're angled up to kiss him.

He purrs almost at the feeling, a hum of satisfaction that's spoken straight into your lips, and it almost distracts you from the way his touch wanders, one hand sliding up the back of your shirt and the other hand sliding lower.

You hum back at the firm press of his palm into the small of your back - his hand warm and his touch soothing, your shoulders loosening until all the tension seeps from your body, and you start to feel like you're floating.

Or falling.

You part slowly - of equal volition, you think - your eyes opening to see Quinn's screwed shut, and you take the second he keeps them that way to feel a flush of pride at the soft pink tint that has taken to his lips.

"I'm sorry," you tell him, barely above a whisper, when he finally opens his eyes and flashes you that darkened gaze, where it darts between your own eyes and your lips in a tantalising triangle.

He clears his own throat then, blinking hard and purposefully, and licking at his swollen lips.

"For what?" he asks, breathless, his hands still in the exact same places, thumb swiping at the dip in your spine and the fingers of his other hand temptingly close to crossing the curve of your ass - confident more in his touch than he seems to be with anything else.

"For wearing sweatpants to our date," you huff, embarrassed yourself, because even if you hadn't known the implications of him asking you over for dinner, why couldn't you have at least put on something nice. "Now I get why you looked at me so funny when you opened the door, earlier."

He laughs then, slow and easy, his smile crooked and his eyes a melting kind of warm.

"I'll forgive you if I can change into mine."

"Deal," you nod, lips twisting as you take him in - those barriers, that pixelated blur, animating into something crystal clear and definite, something you can't believe you haven't given yourself the pleasure of seeing until now. "I'm sorry for being oblivious, too."

"It's alright," he shrugs, "I'm sure there's some way you can make it up to me."

And you're still standing with your arms resting on his shoulders and your hands behind his neck - the prime position to lean up and kiss him again.

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #.ve #💌.valentinesevent #*writing #4th valentines blurb in and finally a kiss look at me go!!!!#I'm so bad at endings tho lmao

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transforming-transformer · 2 days ago

Text

Call Me Chad

Charlie never thought that a beautiful girl like Rachel would show any real interest in a geek like him, but to use him just to get to Jack? His dumb musclehead roommate who he also had to tutor to get paid enough by his football coach? He felt heartbroken, trying to find the right words to say to her to not leave him.

“I just can’t see a future between us, especially if you’re not hot like Jack,” Rachel said, as Jack wrapped his arm around her slender waist.

“Bro, she’ll never continue dating a nerdy loser like you,” Jack scoffed, cutting Charlie off.

The small, twig-like nerd lips quivered and his reddened eyes burst into tears as he ran out of the frat party, only to be caught by a few of Jack’s douchebag posse to be stripped till he was completely naked and eventually dunked into the swimming pool. It left him embarrassed, vulnerable and overwhelmed, as he was surrounded by pompous, superficial jerks that kept laughing and sneering at him. All of it turned his shame and guilt into anger and vengeance—

———

“CHARLIE! Wake up, man. The library’s gonna close in half an hour.”

Charlie woke up disgruntled and deeply frustrated. Fuck, he’d dreamt about the set-up. Again. It’d been a few weeks since he got dumped, and it still consumed his mind like crazy. He rubbed his eyes softly and looked up to see his good friend William waving his hand in front of Charlie’s face.

“Hey, you okay? You’ve been dozing off quite a bit during study group,” William asked, looking concerned.

Charlie sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good, I’m awake. Just…”

“The set-up?” William replied. Charlie froze.

“Was it that obvious?”

“Charlie, it’s the only thing that’s been on your mind for three months, and with the way things happened, I wouldn’t blame you for being so fixated on it,” William rubbed Charlie’s back caringly as he spoke, his hand pushing his glasses back up to position.

Charlie sighed again, and sunk his head down. “But I shouldn’t be. I should have moved on by now, found someone new—”

William cut him off. “Don’t you dare go into what-ifs. That’ll only keep you miserable.”

“I know�� it’s just… I wanna be someone’s special someone, but I can’t when I look like a stick and have to compete with huge muscle guys like Jack and his friends…” Charlie shook his head, frustrated and exasperated, while William gave him a comforting bro hug…

But William wished he could be more than just a friend to Charlie. See, William had been there for Charlie pretty much all their lives, growing up together and being very close. Hell, William had especially been there for him that night too: picking him up from the frat house; sitting with and comforting Charlie in his dorm; making sure he ate well and didn’t binge or starve himself; if anything, William would’ve made a great, loving boyfriend to Charlie… if only Charlie wasn’t so painfully straight and thought this was just a good friend looking out for a friend in pain. He, too, was frustrated by Charlie’s situation and constant thinking of the past.

Charlie rose from his chair and looked at William, smiling softly. “Thanks for being here for me, Will. It really means a lot to have a friend like you,” he said before walking away.

“L-likewise, Charlie. I’ll see you later,” Will replied, a smile forced onto his lips as he watched Charlie leave the library. Fuck, if only there was something he could do to make both his and Charlie’s situations ease up, but also align so they could be together.

Just as William was about to leave, he noticed a shimmer out of the corner of his eye. Turning to see where it came from, he noticed an old, rickety door with an oddly polished handle built in between the bookshelves. “Huh, I’d not seen that there before…” he mumbled as he walked over to it and turned the handle. The door swiftly opened, and Will stepped into what looked like a dusty, abandoned storage room, covered in cobwebs, rags and dust. He was intrigued at first, but screamed when he heard the door slam behind him without warning.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT??” he shouted, grabbing his phone and turning its flashlight on to look around for the source of the door closing. As he kept searching, a bunch of lanterns mysteriously flared up, suddenly illuminating the room to reveal an ancient-looking book on a cobwebbed lectern. After taking a few breaths to calm down, Will blew the dust off the book, to see its title: “The Jock Bible”. An Ancient Greek-style illustration of a hot, muscular guy adorned the cover.

“Hmm, interesting name for a book…” he pursed his lips, intrigued as he lifted the cover. He was suddenly overwhelmed when a golden aura emerged from the pages and blinded him, filling him with immense knowledge, knowledge that could play to both his benefit, as well as Charlie’s. The thoughts swirling in his mind made him smirk. Perhaps there could be a way to make Charlie his after all… though he himself might want to use it for his own needs too.

The next morning, Charlie waited in line at the cafeteria, concealing himself in a purple hoodie to not draw any attention from people. The party had made him embarrassingly and overwhelmingly visible, which gnawed at him and forced the poor nerd to resort to wearing more and more hoodies, just to hide. As he neared the trays and plates on the way to the buffet, he felt a firm, thick-fingered hand grab his shoulder, which sent shivers down his spine.

“Hey there, Chad, man you’re looking more huge every day,” a deep voice spoke.

“Wait, that voice is familiar,” Charlie thought, and turned around to see a handsome hunk standing there, in a blue tank top and grey sweatpants, which threw him off so much he jumped. The jock in front of him chuckled, while Charlie gripped his tray.

“Bro, chill, looks like you’ve seen a ghost or something,” he smirked as he eyed Charlie up and down. Another shiver ran down the nerd’s spine, and he felt strangely… comfortable. Charlie took a few steps back as he still felt nervous around this guy, even if he was more chill about it, but the musclehead sauntered over and slapped the nerd’s back.

“Come on, let’s sit together and chat, Chad,” he said.

Charlie replied back, firmly, “My name’s not Chad! It’s Charlie!”

The jock shook his head and smirked. “Nah, dude, you’re Chad alright. One of the biggest dudes I’d ever seen.”

Afraid of this guy and what he was saying, Charlie threw his tray at the jock and made a run for it. He ran past the building he was supposed to have class in in an hour, past his residence hall, he even ran past the fraternity quad. When he stopped and took a breath, he looked around to see he was in the athletics area of campus, which spooked him. He could see the gym and the football field in front of him, and as he took a step back to wonder what the hell was going on, that slight shiver that ran down his spine tingled once more, and all of a sudden, his shirt felt extremely tight on him, as if compressing him.

“What the fuck is happening?” he asked, panting as he peeled off his shirt to no avail, the fabric tearing at his growing body. The buttons on his shirt bounced off as he felt his muscles grow at a rapid rate, which made him almost scream, while his shirt finally fell to the ground in a pile of shredded rags, to reveal a shocking surprise: rounded shoulders, defined pecs, washboard abs, toned arms, and a pair of legs strong enough to crush watermelons.

“H-holy shit, I’m buff??” he asked himself, and as he curled his arm into a flex, his bicep vein popped out, showing just how lean he was. His eyes went wide in horror. “What the fuck is going on??”

“Chad, Bro, I told you, you’re looking more huge everyday,” the jock from the canteen said, appearing as if out of nowhere. Charlie jumped and stepped back.

“Who the fuck are you?” Charlie asked, shutting his mouth as he heard a deep, bovine voice emerge from his mouth. “What the fuck is happening to me? What are you doing to me?” he cried, cowering in fear.

“That’s not the Chad I know. Dude, you’re the cockiest, most confident sigma jock on campus, not some wussy nerd,” the jock responded with a chuckle.

“I keep telling you, my name’s not Chad! It’s Chad—” Charlie tried to say his own name, but the name Chad slipped out of his lips instead. No matter how hard he tried, the name Chad stuck to his tongue like honey. “What the hell is going on?”

“You’ll see when we’re done, Chad.” The jock winked and sauntered away, his muscles defined by the sunlight above while Charlie watched, confused and terrified altogether. What did that musclehead mean by “you’ll see when we’re done”?

Walking back to his dorm, Charlie felt exposed. Embarrassed. He tried to cover up his body, but his hands, large as they were, were unable to fully cover his massively ripped chest, which bounced with every step he took. The now-lean muscular nerd, glasses still on, kept his head hung low to avoid attracting any more attention. However, when he was a few feet away from the front door, he heard giggles and whistles from the other side of the street. Charlie looked up, and noticed a trio of sorority girls looking at him. No, not just looking. Ogling him. Licking their lips and blowing kisses at him. As they did, his spine tingled… and he thought his dick was getting hard too. He smirked back at them with a confident grin, flexing one of his arms. The girls giggled even more, which made the nerd blush, until he realized his dick was still soft and limp.

His face went pale at the realization, and before he could even try to process what the hell was going on, Charlie ran off into his residence hall, until he was finally in the comfort of his own room. Not at all realizing that he’d dropped and broken his glasses on the way.

———

It had been an intense two days since that strange jock pestered Charlie, and since he… well, got the body of one. He was still confused as to how he could just magically buff up like he did, especially since it looked like he’d been working out since he was thirteen and played football at the same time. Scouring through Google to find answers, there seemed to be no solution to changing himself back to his normal nerdy self. Not just that, he knew he couldn’t keep hiding like this - he was bound to step outside and run into people.

“Ughhhh, what do I do?” he asked himself.

Then, he realized there was one person he hadn’t seen since his change. William.

Charlie grabbed his phone and, with his meaty fingers, sent a message to his best friend, hoping he could have someone to trust with his secret.

CHARLIE: <<William, I need your help>>

The nerd-in-a-jock’s-body held his breath, waiting for a response, and sure enough, the text bubble showed up as William typed out his reply… one that poor Charlie was not expecting.

WILLIAM: <<sup chad? i was wondering where u went>>

Charlie was baffled, and in his shock, dropped his phone. Did that jock steal William’s phone? Was this some sort of elaborate prank that Jack and his buddies were pulling? His phone buzzed again, and he picked it up to see a new message from whoever had his bestie’s phone.

WILLIAM: <<earth to chad, bruh sometimes you can be so thick huhuhu>>

As he read this, he felt an intense fog fill his mind, obscuring his panic and attempts to make sense of the situation. A chuckle left his lips, and his hand covered them in waning concern. Charlie wasn’t dumb… was he?

He put the phone down on his bed, and looked around the mess of a bedroom he was in: empty packs of chips, half-full bottles of soda and water, clothes strewn in every corner. Well, less clothes, more like shredded pieces of fabric that were once clothes that used to fit his lanky frame. All that survived were some of his oversized t-shirts and baggy jeans, which were more form-fitting on his now-muscular physique, leaving little to the imagination. That, and a set of gym clothes he found outside his door the night after his sudden second puberty. A tight grey Under Armour compression shirt that showed off his massive pecs, a pair of black five-inch inseam shorts that hugged his thighs, and a jockstrap.

If anything, his room resembled what he thought a douchey jock’s dorm would look like.

Charlie stood up, and he felt his head go woozy, the fog in his mind intensifying and concealing more of his usual train of thought. He sniffed like a dog, sensing there was an awful stench coming from inside his room. He first thought it was his clothes - sure, they had some cheesy scent to them, but not as intense as this one was. His shoes? Rank, but not what he was looking—OH, it was himself. Charlie’s pits reeked like crazy, his B.O. filling up the room and replacing the oxygen in it. Normally, he would wrinkle his nose in disgust, but with his mind in a daze, he let out another chuckle.

“Bruh, I reek,” he said, in a low, bovine tone reminiscent of Jack.

Fuck, Jack. That sexy motherfucker, with muscles that glistened with sweat, a handsome face that he could just kiss, and a dick worth sucking—

Wait, what??

Charlie quickly got dressed in the new gym clothes he got, not even bothering to shower or clean himself up, grabbed his phone and bag, and ran out of his dorm, pushing some of his fellow nerds out of the way. He made it outside, the sun shining on his chiseled face, and he began to saunter over to…

Wait, where was he going again?

He pulled out his phone, and looked through his calendar to see what class he had. He’d already missed his degree-required Python Coding class at 8:30 AM, History of Japan at 11:30 AM, and now it was past 2:00 PM. Charlie had… Physiology of Exercise at 3:00 PM followed by HIT DA GYM at 6:00 PM? As he regained some of his composure, Charlie was shaken. These two things on his roster were stuff a jock would study and do. He usually had Study Group with his friends at six… what the fuck was going on with him?

As the nerd felt some of the mind fog ease and dissipate, he noticed the same trio of girls from two days back, the ones Charlie flexed for, but this time they were accompanied by their frat bro boyfriends - all looked like they were cut from the same cloth: white, chiseled jawlines, built bodies. Charlie’s jaw dropped at the sight of these men, his cock was getting hard just by ogling them, and tenting visibly in his tight shorts. He was straight! Into girls! He wasn’t gay. He… he couldn’t be. He grabbed his bag and covered his obscene bulge, waddling over to the library to calm himself down and figure out what was happening to him.

———

William, meanwhile, was returning to his room at the Eta Theta Tau frat house, locking the door behind him as he pulled out The Jock Bible from his backpack. He smirked as he flexed his biceps in front of the full-length mirror on the wall, before sitting down and opening the magical tome that had granted him not only the body and life he’d dreamt of. He charmed his way, literally and figuratively, into Eta Theta Tau, the college football team, and even the Honors Society. He became insanely popular, grew in strength as he did bicep curls with 28-kilogram dumbbells, gained a rugged handsomeness by stealing some traits from his fellow frat bros, all of which made William more visible and prominent in the social fabric of campus life.

The Jock Bible also gave the new frat bro, actually more like the Frat President, immense power to reshape reality and whoever he wanted to fit his new life. That included his crush on Charlie, soon to be his dumb boyfriend Chad. He laughed as he remembered scaring the shit out of his skinny nerd friend, taunting him into growing his muscles. They were getting big enough for William’s, or rather Will’s, taste, but he wasn’t so much into Charlie’s intellect. It kinda drove an unseen wedge between the two of them, and made Will feel dumb sometimes.

Well, with this next phase of the plan, that was about to change, and now he wondered what Charlie was doing with his text messages from earlier.

“Charlie, I can’t wait to make you my blissfully dumb muscle slut,” he chuckled as he turned the pages of the book to see what else he could pull off.

———

Charlie stumbled out of the library two hours later. It was fine, he thought, I can skip this class, it’s not even a class I remember signing up for. As he walked around, the golden rays of sunlight hitting his perfectly-tanned skin, he saw the jock who’d made him into an oaf of a man strutting in his direction. Charlie hid behind a tree, his breath picking up as he shivered nervously. His mind felt somewhat the same, but also felt a bit slower than usual.

“Who is this dude, and what does he want with me?” he asked himself.

He suddenly gasped as he felt a bunch of hands grab his arm, yanking him from his very obvious hiding place. Charlie’s eyes went wide when he saw who pulled him out - it was Jack and his group of bros, smirks on their faces as they looked at him.

“Yo, Chad, why’re you hiding from us dude?” Jack chuckled, patting the nerd’s back.

One of his posse, Dan, smirked. “Bruh, we got push day at six, you’ll be there, right?” he asked.

Charlie was even more confused, seeing his tormentors treat him as if he were like one of them. No, they were treating him as one of them. Panic rose inside Charlie, as it was quite the shift. Something felt really off, but before he could even speak his mind, his mouth spoke for him. “You know it, my man. Gotta get this chest so huge it’ll break a bra in half,” Charlie grinned back involuntarily, his hand cupping his pecs, which caused him to moan.

The group of jocks laughed out loud, as Jack held onto Charlie’s shoulder. “Man, you gotta control yourself, no one’s gotta know you turn yourself on,” he replied. Charlie stared at Jack, noticing that he was taller and bulkier than his bully. That was a welcome sight for him, considering he wanted revenge for the set-up, but there was something about Jack being smaller yet still muscular that Charlie was starting to find… hot. The posse sauntered off, cackling amongst themselves as the jock-nerd ogled them, feeling more confused than he did earlier. Poor Charlie, if only he knew…

The hours flew by, and before Charlie knew it, it was nearly six. He sat down on a rock by the lake, tears in his eyes as he watched the sun set, the sky filled with gold and the water crashing against the rocks below him. “What’s the matter with me?” he asked himself, rubbing his reddened eyes with his bear-like paws.

“Bro, chillax, you’re a jock now,” a voice bellowed in his head. Charlie turned around, trying to figure out where this jock-voice came from.

“Let go, man. No need for smarts anymore when you’re this jacked.”

His breath got heavier as he realized it was coming from his own head. “But… this isn’t me! I’m not a musclehead. I’m not friends with Jack. I’m not…” he paused.

“What, gay as a three dollar bill?” the voice, which he assumed must be the Chad everyone thought he was, asked. Charlie nodded.

“I’m straight, I’m into girls,” he stuttered out, feeling even more confused as his mind conjured up an image of the jock who’d started all this.

Chad chuckled dumbly. “Dude, chicks don’t really care about our muscles, but the bros? Man, do they want a piece of the action. Don’t you wanna finally enjoy life and get to fuck someone?”

Charlie gulped. This jock persona was right, even though it was hard to listen to an oaf, even if he was in his own mind. “I… I guess…”

“Then let go man, don’t be such a pussy. You’ll get everything you ever dreamed of,” Chad replied, and Charlie felt his lips curl into a jock-like smirk. One full of confidence, as if he knew he was the shit.

Charlie was now, though, now that he really, really thought about it. He had muscles now, and big ones too. He looked like he could play for the college football team as a tight end or a quarterback with his size. His face looked like it’d been carved by the ancient Greeks or Michelangelo, with how sharp his features were.`As for the python swinging between his legs? Well, I bet Jack’s couldn’t even compare.

“I just don’t wanna be—”

“What, an asshole? An arrogant douchebag?”

“Bingo,” Charlie sighed. “It all feels so surreal, but I don’t wanna betray who I am.”

Chad laughed. “Bruh, trust me, I’m just as dopey and curious as you are. I’m you, just hotter, more confident… maybe dumber, but at least I use my body and my mind for what actually matters.”

“So I’m just supposed to let go—what the fuck??”

Charlie screamed, as he suddenly found himself in the middle of the campus gym, and in the middle of a rep on the incline bench. His arms lifted the barbell with ease.

“How’d I get here?” he asked himself.

“You talked too much, little dude, had to get to the gym in time,” Chad replied as Charlie watched his body betray him, pushing and grunting through a few more reps on the bench press before setting the barbell down and sitting upright. “Trust me man, you, me, we can be happy if we choose to be.” Charlie stood up and saw his humongous body in one of the mirrors on the wall, his mouth agape in wonder while he flexed his biceps. They were the size of his former head. As he flexed, he felt… content. Strong as fuck. Happy, even.

“There we go, little dude, you and I are gonna become one sexy Chad by the end of tonight,” Chad spoke with Charlie’s mouth, and Charlie… well, he understood now. Maybe this was just what he needed.

———

Chad kept up the push day workout, grueling through incline bench presses, cable flys, weighted tricep dips, dumbbell skull crushers… the list went on. Grinding through each rep, Charlie felt his muscles pump up even more, sending a thrill of strength and cockiness through him, while Chad grunted, fixing his bulge every now and again. As the pair-in-one-body sauntered around each machine, they felt eyes staring at them - some girls found him hot, others found him disgusting when his B.O. wafted into their noses, while the other dudes… they thirsted over his physique, complimenting him.

“Holy shit, bro, you look huge!” one gym bro said.

Another one replied, “Dude, you’re the real alpha here.”

Chadlie smirked when a cute twink named Jamie came up to him and asked, “Um… excuse me, how do I work out to look just like you?” The twink’s bubble butt bounced, and Chad just wanted to plow his fuckstick inside that cute boy’s hole. Charlie stammered as he tried to give some tips, but he felt his hand cup the boy’s ass, squeezing that soft flesh between his fingers.

Jamie blushed scarlet. “W-would you wanna head to the showers?”

Chadie nodded, a sly grin on his face as he picked up the cutie and strutted to the locker room, grabbing a pair of towels and carrying Jamie into one of the private shower cubicles. Charlie couldn’t believe this was actually happening, but Chad could. The jock ripped off Jamie’s gym clothes off his slender body, while the very slutty twink got to work, peeling the stud’s shorts and jockstrap to the floor and getting onto his knees. Jamie licked the tip of Chadie’s cock, the jock shuddering in pleasure as his little boy guided his ten-inch monster through his dick-sucking lips and into his oh-so-perfectly-tight mouth.

“Fuckkkkk bro,” Chad and Charlie both moaned, their body’s hand grabbing Jamie’s soft, curly hair, letting his fingers run through each lock before gripping the twink’s head, then slamming his cock further down his throat, his lips meeting the base of his jock cock. Every inch of Charlie’s resistance to becoming Chad was wearing down with each thrust of his hips, precum dripping into Jamie’s throat as the twink cupped his baseball-sized nuts and massaged them so nicely, he almost busted one. But they kept going, and once he felt like his dick had been lubed up enough by the amazing sloppy he was getting, he pulled Jamie’s head off and lifted the twink up, turning him around and bending his sweet ass over.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard, slut,” Charlie whispered seductively into Jamie’s ear. Or was it Chad? It was unclear now who was who, as the nerd began to let the jock into him, letting go as he plowed Jamie’s ass raw. The twink whined like a bitch in heat as he couldn’t hold on for much longer, as Charlie kept ramming his cock against Jamie’s prostate so hard that he could only see stars. Jamie came from his tiny nub, but Chad kept going, fucking the cutie as if he were just a plaything, grunting like a beast as he neared his own climax.

“Holy shit bro, I’m gonna CUMMMMMM!” the jock shouted, as he blew a massive load inside Jamie’s tight ass, filling it up to the brim and letting it leak a bit out of the twink’s hole as he slid out. In his mind, Charlie’s and Chad’s minds melted together in orgasmic bliss, blending together to create a cocky yet dopey, dumb yet curious, straight-passing yet gay-as-fuck jock - the Chad everyone knew him to be. He took a deep breath as he turned the shower on, washing Jamie’s lithe body, while the cutie lathered up his huge muscles, kissing a few times, before drying each other up.

Jamie grabbed Chad’s phone and blushed as he typed in his number. “Call me, Chad.” The twink’s ass bounced hypnotically as he ran to his locker, got dressed, and headed out. Chad chuckled, cupping his bulge. He left a missed call for Jamie to save his contact, then got dressed in his gym clothes again, his scent barely erased by the shower he just had.

As Chad made his way back to his room, Will bumped into him, a slight blush on his frat-bro face. He looked up into Chad’s empty eyes and dumb grin, and noted them down in his head. “So, gave in to the jock life, Chad?” he asked.

“Dude, it’s soooo chill. No thoughts, just lifting, fucking, sleeping. I mean, I still have some smarts, but like, they’re all workout and nutrition shit, you feel me?” Chad replied, chuckling like the typical himbo he now was, as his fingers ran through his hair.

Will smirked. It worked. Charlie, or Chad now, could finally be his. But not just that, he seemed taller and bigger than ever. He moved closer to the jock he made, and smiled. “I get you, bro. Though, I have a question. You still into chicks?”

Chad let out a boastful laugh. “Nah man, dudes are the only ones who can appreciate all this,” he said as he gestured to his muscular body, his right arm flexed to show off.

“Is that so?” Will asked, flexing his own pecs to show off. “Then, mind if I say, I find you fucking hot, dude,” he whispered, cupping Chad’s bulge sexily. However, shock flooded his face when the jock pushed him off.

“Sorry, dude. I mean, you’re hot and all, but I’m only into cute twinks,” Chad replied with a firm frown, before sauntering off.

Will was confused as fuck. The Jock Bible promised him that anyone he turned into a jock would worship him, become his boyfriend and servant. Maybe that’s because he hadn’t read the footnotes - the fine print stated that whoever the converted jock would fuck first would be his desired lover. That was Jamie the twink. Now, Chad was dumb as a pile of rocks, but clearly, Will was dumber for missing this, and the Jock Bible weaved its magic into his mind, making sure he was dumb enough to forget about its existence and its powers, leaving him powerless and too dumb for college, that he soon dropped out.

And as for Chad? Well, with Jamie as his lover, and with his dopey confidence in life, who wouldn’t want to be like him?

———

Hello, Tumblr! I'm back with a new story after a long while - this one's a commission I'd been working on for some time now, though life had thrown me a few obstacles in getting it finished. Hope y'all enjoy this one!

If you're interested in commissioning a story from me, see my post on commissions here! If you can't or don't want to commission any stories, you can also tip me over on ko-fi.

#male tf #nerd to jock #jock tf #jockification #jock bible #straight to gay #reality change #unintended consequences #commission

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moongirlcleo · 1 day ago

Text

A Thorough Appointment

Tags: Jealousy, Childhood Friends, MMF Threesome, Counter Sex, Kitchen Sex, Oral, Caleb and Zayne get Competitive, Poly-ish, MC is a little Shit, Porn with Plot, Double Penetration AN: Check out all of my works on AO3! -> | link

🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI🔞 Dividers: @cafekitsune Fic: @moongirlcleo

After a long day of hunting—and a doctor’s appointment you were definitely late to—you barely have time to kick off your boots before walking straight into a storm: Caleb’s jealousy. One rescheduled date, one harmless visit to Dr. Zayne, and suddenly, you’re the grand prize in a competition you didn’t even sign up for.

What starts as a little petty jealousy spirals into a full-blown rivalry, and before you know it, they’re both set on proving exactly who knows how to take care of you best. Spoiler alert: they’re both very, very competitive.

“Your appointment was scheduled for 2:30 today, were you aware of that?” The receptionist at the desk of Akso Hospital said, barely looking up from the computer screen. Her plaited hair curled around her face from under the bonnet on top of her head, giving her a worn but stern look.

With a wince, you nodded.

“Er, yeah… I apologize, but I was working and I had an assignment run late.” You wrung your hands in embarrassment, hoping the receptionist would understand. After all, being a Deepspace Hunter wasn’t exactly your typical nine to five.

The receptionist gave you a withering look, causing the apples of your cheeks to burn with heat. She typed something onto her document and nodded toward a small cluster of chairs.

“You can wait over there. The practitioner will call your name when they’re ready for you.”

With a small sigh, you retreated toward the waiting ward, mulling over the previous assignment that had held your schedule up.

Wanderers had been attacking areas of Linkon City in droves lately, keeping all hunters busier than usual. So much so, that you had barely even seen your own partner, Xavier, in weeks. The sheer amount of protocores being turned into the association backlogged the systems, making paperwork become an even bigger nightmare too.

“Ms. L/n?”

Looking up from your hands, you saw a practitioner holding a chart, looking toward you. With a short nod, you stood up and followed the young man as he rattled off a grocery list of questions.

Mumbling a reply, you continued to follow him into Dr. Zayne’s examination room. It smelled of sterilized equipment and a fragrance you couldn’t quite place.

The NP guided you toward the examination bed, to which you hoisted yourself on top of. You silently watched as the practitioner took all of your vitals, quietly charting them down for the doctor to assess.

“Alright, Ms. L/n, Dr. Zayne will be along shortly. When you have a moment, please change out of your clothes into this examination robe.” The NP handed you a flimsy paper gown, and with a smile, he retreated from the room.

Once the door clicked shut, you began to strip down into bareness, hastily tying the rope around your waist to securely tie the gown down.

Settled, you sat on the bed once more and began flipping through your phone apps to entertain yourself while awaiting the doctor. It seemed like only yesterday that you and Zayne were snot-nosed kids, always hanging out together. With a smile, you remembered one such instance where you and Zayne played hide and seek with Caleb, the latter growing upset at being unable to find you until way later. The memory of your youth was enough to bring tears to your eyes.

“Y/n?” A voice came from behind the door. “May I enter?”

“Y-yes!” you called back. “I’m decent.”

The door opened and Dr. Zayne appeared, looking handsome as ever. He gave you a serene smile and picked up the chart on the counter.

“So,” he began, flipping through the papers. “Looks like you’ve been overexerting yourself again, haven’t you?”

With a sheepish grin, you nodded. “Well, yeah… I mean I’m fine, though, Zayne. Really.”

The doctor gives you a stern look, jaw set. “Y/n, I mean it. You know you’re not supposed to push yourself, else your heart co—”

“I know, Zayne,” you snapped at him. “But I can’t let that stop me from doing my job and protecting the people around Linkon.”

Zayne’s eyes softened as he looked over you. “I know you want to save people. But you can’t do that if you’re dead. I mean it, please try not to overexert yourself.”

Zayne sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he set your chart aside. “You always do this, n/n” he muttered, voice softening, though the frustration remained, laced with something unspoken. Something you didn’t want to name.

You blinked, thrown off for just a second. It had been years since he called you a nickname—since the days when scraped knees and childhood dares were your biggest worries. You shifted on the exam bed, folding your arms over your chest like a shield. “And you always worry too much,” you muttered.

Zayne exhaled, shaking his head. “Someone has to.”

A silence stretched between you, thick with familiarity, with the weight of history neither of you addressed. His gaze flickered over you, assessing, as if he could see past the mask of easy confidence you wore. For a moment, you thought he might say something more, something that would break the careful distance you’d kept.

But then his communicator beeped, the sterile air of the examination room shifting back to reality. You let out a small breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, taking the opportunity to hop off the table, your movements brisk, determined.

"Promise me you’ll at least consider taking a break," he said, quieter this time.

You hesitated, fingers ghosting over the knot of the paper gown before you forced a grin. "No promises, doc."

Zayne watched you go, jaw set, the worry never leaving his eyes.

The afternoon air was crisp as you stepped out of Akso Hospital, the scent of antiseptic replaced by the damp, metallic tang of the city. Sunlight glared off the polished streets, casting long shadows as you made your way to your vehicle—a sleek black hoverbike stationed in the parking dock. You ran a hand through your hair, exhaling as you swung one leg over the seat and keyed in the ignition.

The quiet hum of the engine filled the silence, but your mind wasn’t so easily drowned out.

Zayne’s voice still lingered, edged with concern, the ghost of his words brushing against your thoughts like a whisper from another time. You knew he meant well, that he had every reason to be worried, but slowing down wasn’t an option. Not when the city was crawling with Wanderers. Not when Xavier had been out in the field for weeks without so much as a check-in.

Not when you were already late.

Your eyes flicked to the clock on the dashboard—an angry red 3:37 PM blinking back at you.

“Shit.”

You revved the bike, the thrusters lifting you effortlessly above the streets of Linkon City. Buildings blurred past in streaks of neon and chrome, the hum of traffic and distant sirens becoming nothing more than background noise. Caleb was waiting. He hated when you were late—though he’d never say it outright, not in so many words. But you knew. You always knew.

He worried, too, though in his own quiet way.

Your grip on the handles tightened as you wove through the lanes of air traffic, mind cycling through a dozen excuses. The job ran late. Zayne held you up. It wasn’t entirely a lie, but something about the thought of Caleb’s knowing stare made your stomach twist with guilt.

You’d make it up to him.

You cut a sharp turn, your apartment complex coming into view, its glass windows reflecting the golden afternoon light. Your fingers tapped absently against the throttle, your heart still hammering from the weight of the day.

Late. Again.

Would Caleb still be waiting? Or had you let another person down today?

You barely had time to kill the engine before the apartment door swung open. Caleb stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes sharp and unreadable beneath the warm afternoon glow filtering in from the window behind him.

You could tell immediately—he knew.

“You’re late,” he said, voice deceptively even.

You sighed, tugging your helmet off and running a hand through your wind-blown hair. “I know. I—”

“Had an ‘assignment run late’? Or did Zayne hold you up?”

The way he said the name—clipped, pointed—sent a prickle of irritation down your spine. You unzipped your jacket, tossing it over the back of the couch as you stepped inside, leveling him with a tired look. “Caleb.”

“What?” He pushed off the doorframe, shutting it behind you with a quiet click. “Just curious how long I was supposed to wait before you finally decided to show up.”

You rolled your eyes. “It was a doctor’s appointment. Not a date.”

His jaw tightened. “Didn’t look that way from what I heard.”

Your breath hitched for half a second. He had heard something.

“Who told you?” you asked, wary.

Caleb scoffed. “Does it matter?”

Yes, it did. But that wasn’t the fight you were having right now.

You exhaled, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Caleb, I didn’t plan on seeing him today. I had to go, I got chewed out, end of story.”

He took a slow step closer, eyes flicking over you, searching. “Chewed out?” His voice lowered, tone almost taunting. “So he was worried about you.”

Your lips pressed into a firm line. “That’s his job.”

Caleb let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Right. His job. Funny, because last I checked, I’m the one who actually has to patch you up when you push yourself too hard.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make this a competition.”

His gaze darkened, something possessive flickering behind his eyes. “I don’t have to make it one.”

Silence stretched between you, thick, charged. You should be annoyed. You were annoyed. But the heat in his stare, the sharp edge in his voice, sent something else curling in your chest.

Still, you wouldn’t let him get away with it.

“You know,” you said, tilting your head, voice deceptively light. “For someone who isn’t making this a competition, you sure seem jealous.”

Caleb’s jaw tensed, but you didn’t miss the flicker of something else—something unguarded—before he masked it behind a smirk.

“I’m not jealous,” he muttered, stepping back.

You arched a brow. “Uh-huh.”

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Forget it. You’re here now. Just… try not to keep me waiting next time.”

You studied him for a beat longer, then let out a quiet chuckle. “Alright, alright. I’ll make it up to you.”

Caleb glanced at you from the corner of his eye, skepticism still lingering in his expression. “Yeah? How?”

You grinned, tossing your helmet onto the couch. “I’ll figure something out.”

The tension didn’t fully dissipate, but for now, it was enough.

Caleb didn’t move right away. Instead, he watched you with that sharp, unreadable gaze, the smirk from earlier fading into something heavier. Something darker.

You barely had time to process it before he took a step forward—then another—until the space between you had all but disappeared.

“Caleb…” you started, voice caught somewhere between exasperation and warning.

But he wasn’t listening. His fingers brushed against your waist, slow, deliberate, tracing the fabric of your shirt as if mapping the shape of you.

“You think this is funny?” His voice had dropped lower, smoother, his breath warm against your skin as he leaned in—so close, you could feel the heat radiating from him.

You swallowed, but you refused to be the one to step back. “I think you’re being ridiculous.”

His lips quirked at that, but his eyes remained intense, smoldering. “Ridiculous, huh?”

His fingers flexed against your waist, grip tightening just enough to make your pulse spike. He wasn’t just annoyed anymore—he wanted to prove something. To remind you who you belonged to.

“Caleb,” you murmured, pulse thrumming under the skin of your throat.

“Tell me, baby.” His voice was pure velvet, thick with unspoken intent. “If I kissed you right now, would you still think I was being ridiculous?”

Your breath hitched.

He was playing dirty.

Your pride screamed at you to keep the upper hand, to smirk and brush him off like this wasn’t affecting you. But your body betrayed you, heart hammering against your ribs, a traitorous warmth pooling in your stomach at the way he was looking at you—like you were his.

And damn it, maybe you were.

Before you could form a retort, he tilted his head, nose grazing yours, the faintest ghost of a touch against your lips—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound shattered the moment like glass.

Caleb went still, his body tense with frustration, his jaw ticking like he was barely holding back a curse. You blinked, mind still fogged over as you registered the sound.

Another knock.

Caleb exhaled sharply, his hands leaving your body with obvious reluctance. His head fell forward slightly, his lips brushing your ear as he muttered a single word, voice dark with irritation—

“Unbelievable.”

You, still caught between flustered and amused, barely had time to compose yourself before—

“Y/n?”

That voice.

Your stomach dropped.

Caleb’s entire body stiffened, his grip tightening into fists at his sides.

Zayne.

You pulled away, clearing your throat as you straightened your clothes, ignoring the heated look Caleb shot toward the door.

“Uh—one second!” you called, hoping your voice sounded normal.

Caleb let out a low growl, raking a hand through his hair before turning toward the door, murder in his eyes. “Of course it’s him.”

You shot him a warning look, but he only leaned against the couch, arms crossed, a smirk playing at his lips. “Go ahead, pipsqueak. Let Doctor Perfect in.”

Oh, he was so not letting this go.

Taking a breath to steady yourself, you unlocked the door—only to be met with Zayne’s calm, knowing gaze.

And just like that, the tension in the room shifted again.

You barely had time to school your expression before Zayne’s eyes flickered over you, sharp and assessing. He was calm—too calm—the kind of composed that sent a prickle of unease down your spine.

“Hey,” you said, leaning against the doorframe, hoping you didn’t look as flustered as you felt. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon.”

Zayne’s gaze lingered on you a beat too long before he lifted an eyebrow. “You didn’t answer my messages.”

You blinked, stomach twisting as you glanced at your phone—still sitting on the couch, untouched. Damn it.

Before you could respond, a slow, almost too satisfied voice cut in from behind you.

“She was a little… busy.”

You closed your eyes briefly, bracing yourself before turning.

Caleb leaned against the back of the couch, arms still crossed, a smirk playing at his lips—relaxed, easy, deliberate. Like he wanted Zayne to see.

Zayne’s posture didn’t shift, but you caught the flicker of tension in his jaw.

“I see,” he said smoothly, though there was something clipped underneath his tone. His gaze moved between the two of you, his lips pressing into a firm line before he turned his attention back to you. “I needed to check in. You left the hospital in a hurry.”

“She’s fine,” Caleb interjected before you could answer, pushing off the couch and strolling toward you. He stopped just close enough that Zayne had to either stand his ground or step back.

Zayne didn’t move.

You sighed, muttering, “I was going to say that myself,” throwing Caleb a look.

Caleb just gave you an innocent shrug. “Just savin’ you the trouble.”

Zayne’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. “Right.” He turned his full attention back to you, clearly choosing to ignore Caleb’s presence. “You should be fine, but I meant it when I said you need to ease up. If you keep pushing yourself—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Caleb cut in again, voice lazy, but his eyes gleamed with something sharp. “I make sure she gets plenty of rest.”

Zayne’s jaw did tick this time, and you swore you felt the air in the room drop a degree.

Okay, enough.

You stepped between them, pressing a hand against Caleb’s chest to physically keep him from leaning any closer. “Okay, that’s enough out of you,” you muttered before looking at Zayne. “And I’m fine, I promise.”

Zayne’s gaze flickered down to your hand against Caleb’s chest before meeting your eyes again. “You said that last time.”

You huffed. “I mean it.”

Zayne studied you for a long moment before exhaling, rubbing a hand down his face. “Fine.” But the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease.

Caleb, sensing victory, let his smirk widen. “See? She means it, Doc. You can go now.”

Zayne’s eyes snapped toward him, sharp as a blade, but instead of biting back, he exhaled and turned to you. “I’ll check in later.”

The moment he stepped back toward the door, Caleb slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in just close enough that Zayne had to notice.

“Looking forward to it,” Caleb said, his tone all mockery and satisfaction.

Zayne’s eyes met yours one last time, and for a split second, you thought you saw something—something that wasn’t anger, wasn’t frustration, but something deeper.

He didn’t leave.

His fingers twitched at his side, his jaw set like he was debating something internally, but his feet stayed firmly planted. He wasn’t going to give Caleb the satisfaction of walking out first.

You felt the shift immediately. The charged air between them thickened, tension rolling through the room like an oncoming storm.

Caleb, always one to push, leaned further into your space, his arm still draped lazily around your shoulders. “Something wrong, Doctor?” he drawled, voice rich with amusement.

Zayne exhaled through his nose, but there was something measured in his expression, something controlled. “I just want to make sure she is actually taking care of herself,” he said, tone neutral. “Not being… distracted.”

Caleb let out a low chuckle, the kind that sent a shiver down your spine. “Oh, I make sure she’s taken care of. Every. Single. Day.” His fingers brushed against your arm as he spoke, slow and deliberate, just enough to make a point.

Zayne’s eyes darkened.

You let out an exasperated sigh, stepping forward to put some space between them before they started circling each other like predators. “Okay, that’s enough of whatever this is,” you muttered, rubbing your temples.

“This?” Caleb grinned. “Come on, pipsqueak, don’t act like you don’t enjoy a little attention.”

Zayne scoffed. “She doesn’t need this kind of attention. She needs rest.”

“Yeah?” Caleb mused, tilting his head. “And I bet you’d love to be the one to give it to her, wouldn’t you?”

Zayne’s jaw flexed.

You, caught between them, felt like you were standing at the edge of something dangerous—something thrilling. Caleb had always been possessive, but Zayne? Zayne was different. He was steady, rational, someone who thought things through.

But not right now.

Right now, he was pushing back.

Zayne took a step closer, his voice quieter but no less intense. “I care about her well-being.” His eyes locked onto Caleb’s. “That’s more than I can say for you.”

Caleb’s smirk widened, but his grip on your waist tightened. “That so?” His gaze flicked to you, hooded, deliberate. “What do you think, baby?”

Your breath caught.

You were so not getting in the middle of this.

Or maybe… you already were.

Zayne watched you carefully, the weight of his stare almost suffocating. Caleb’s fingers traced lazy circles against your hip, his expression smug, knowing.

Heat curled low in your stomach.

Damn them both.

You could play coy, pretend this was nothing more than a pissing contest. Or you could really test them.

You tilted your head, feigning thoughtfulness. “I think…” you dragged out, shifting slightly so Caleb’s grip adjusted and Zayne’s focus sharpened, “...this is pointless.”

Caleb chuckled. “Come on, pipsqueak. You love when we fight over you.”

Zayne exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not fighting over her.”

Caleb’s brows shot up. “No? Could’ve fooled me.”

You huffed, but your lips twitched. “I think I need a drink.”

Before either of them could argue, you slipped out from Caleb’s hold, brushing past Zayne on your way to the kitchen. You felt both of them watch you go, their attention a tangible weight pressing into your back.

This was dangerous.

This was reckless.

And yet, as you poured yourself a glass of wine with slightly unsteady fingers, you couldn't shake the realization:

You liked it.

You took a slow sip of your wine, savoring the quiet moment—if only to let the tension stretch a little further, tighten just enough before you snapped it.

Behind you, you could still feel their stares, the weight of them pressing into you like a tangible force. Caleb was undoubtedly grinning, waiting for you to react, waiting for you to play his game. And Zayne? Zayne was still convincing himself that he wasn’t in this game.

You smirked against the rim of your glass. That wouldn’t last long.

Turning on your heel, you leaned against the counter, tilting your head as you let your gaze flicker between them, slow, considering.

“So,” you said, swirling your glass between your fingers. “You two seem pretty convinced you know what’s best for me.”

Caleb arched a brow, crossing his arms. “That a problem, pipsqueak?”

Zayne’s expression remained unreadable, but his eyes sharpened. “We just don’t want you overworking yourself.”

You hummed. “Right. So which one of you actually plans to do something about it?”

That got their attention.

Caleb’s grin widened, a lazy, dangerous thing. “Oh, I like where this is going.”

Zayne, ever the rational one, exhaled. “Y/n.”

You shrugged, setting your glass down and stepping forward, close enough that they both had to take notice. “You both keep telling me you’re looking out for me, that I need to rest, that I should take care of myself.” You glanced up at Caleb, then at Zayne, letting the air between you all thrum with expectation. “So prove it.”

Caleb was already on board, eyes glinting with interest. He stepped in first, fingers brushing the inside of your wrist as he smirked down at you. “You know I don’t back down from a challenge, pipsqueak.”

You met his gaze, pulse ticking faster as you turned to Zayne, who was watching the exchange with something unreadable in his expression—something deep, something restrained.

You smiled, slow and knowing. “And you, Zayne?”

For a second, he didn’t move. But then—deliberately, purposefully—he reached out, trailing his fingers down your other arm, his touch featherlight but deliberate. “If you want me to prove something,” he murmured, voice low, “then I will.”

Your breath caught.

Oh.

This was happening.

Caleb chuckled, dark amusement rolling off him as he leaned in closer, the heat of his body radiating against yours. “Guess the real question is…” His fingers ghosted over your waist, teasing. “Who makes you feel better, pipsqueak?”

Zayne’s hand flexed subtly against your arm, his touch grounding, steady, intentional. “Tell us what you need.”

A slow, sharp thrill curled down your spine.

This wasn’t just them competing.

This was them laying it at your feet.

And you were going to take it.

Your smirk deepened as you glanced between them, heat curling through your veins. Oh, this was going to be fun.

You let out a slow breath, drawing out the tension as you trailed your fingers up Caleb’s chest, then turned and let your other hand slide along Zayne’s forearm. A test. A challenge.

“Well,” you mused, voice smooth as silk. “You both seem confident.” You tilted your head, gaze flickering with amusement. “But confidence doesn’t mean much without action, does it?”

Caleb’s grip tightened at your waist, his smirk widening. “Careful, pipsqueak. You know I love a dare.”

Zayne exhaled through his nose, steady but watching you, eyes hooded. “You shouldn’t play games you don’t want to win.”

You chuckled, slow and sweet. “Oh, but I do want to win.”

Caleb hummed low in his throat, his fingers grazing up your spine. “Then let’s play.”

And just like that, they did.

Caleb was the first to move—of course he was. He was reckless, fast, the one who always pushed boundaries first. His hands slid lower, gripping your hips just enough to make you suck in a breath, lips brushing your ear.

“You’re tense,” he murmured, voice dripping with amusement. “That little appointment stress you out, baby?”

You huffed, but before you could snap back, Zayne was already countering—his touch different, slower, methodical. His fingers traced up the back of your neck, barely there, teasing warmth spreading through you as he leaned in from the other side.

“You’re avoiding the question,” he said, voice dipping into something quieter, something that sent a shiver down your spine. “What do you need?”

Damn them both.

Your pulse thrummed as you swallowed, eyes flicking between them. They were the ones in competition, and yet here you were, caught in their little storm, heat rising in your cheeks, breath coming in shorter, sharper.

You had to regain control.

So you smirked and pulled back just slightly, dragging your hands down their arms as you stepped out of their space. Not a rejection—just a tease, a taunt.

“Honestly?” you mused, letting your fingers toy with the hem of your shirt, playful. “I’m still waiting for one of you to impress me with your little game.”

Caleb let out a low growl of approval, shaking his head. “Oh, you like pushing your luck, don’t you?”

Zayne, ever composed, rolled his shoulders back, gaze dark with something unreadable. “Careful,” he warned, though there was no real threat behind it. Only a promise.

You leaned against the counter, tilting your head. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Caleb moved first—again—grabbing your wrist and yanking you flush against him. Your breath caught, but you refused to falter, your hands landing against his shoulders as he smirked down at you.

“I don’t think you understand, pipsqueak,” he murmured, fingers tracing the line of your jaw. “You are the game.”

Before you could bite back a response, Zayne was there—his presence grounding, solid, but no less demanding. His fingers curled beneath your chin, tilting your head slightly so you had no choice but to look at him.

“Then we’ll just have to see,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk, “who wins.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

Oh, hell.

Before you could even think of responding, Caleb’s lips were on your neck, open-mouthed, hot, his fingers gripping your waist just enough to make you feel him, to know exactly how much he wanted this.

And then—Zayne’s fingers trailed up your throat, tilting your head further as his lips hovered just over yours, not kissing you, not yet, but so damn close you thought you might lose your mind.

“You wanted to be taken care of, didn’t you?” Zayne murmured against your lips, voice a phantom touch.

Caleb chuckled against your skin, biting down just enough to make you gasp.

And just like that— the last shred of control snapped like a live wire.

Caleb, always the one who acted before thinking, always the one who wanted to leave a mark. His teeth scraped against the soft skin of your neck before he soothed it with his tongue, his grip tightening on your waist as if daring you to pull away.

But you wouldn’t.

Not when Zayne was still there, fingers tilting your chin, controlling the angle of your head, his breath hot against your lips. “You wanted to play,” he murmured, his voice lower now, thick with something darker. “Are you ready for the consequences?”

You barely had time to suck in a breath before Zayne finally closed the distance, his lips slanting over yours, slow but claiming, the kind of kiss that swallowed you whole. Where Caleb was fire, Zayne was an ocean, pulling you under with the sheer weight of his control.

You barely registered Caleb’s growl of amusement before his hands slid beneath your thighs.

“Up, pipsqueak.”

Before you could argue, he lifted you, strong and easy, and you yelped as he set you on the counter, your legs instinctively parting as he stepped between them.

Zayne barely moved from his spot, standing beside you, watching the way Caleb’s hands slid over your thighs, the way you instinctively leaned into the touch. But when you turned to meet his gaze, something dangerous flickered in his eyes—something restrained, like he was holding himself back just enough to let Caleb get away with it.

For now.

“Jealous, doc?” Caleb teased, his fingers playing with the hem of your shirt, testing.

Zayne hummed, rolling his sleeves up, eyes never leaving yours. “Not at all.”

Then he leaned in, ghosting his lips over the shell of your ear. “You know how patient I can be.”

You shivered.

Caleb chuckled darkly. “Yeah? Let’s see how long that lasts.”

Then his mouth was on you, lips searing as he kissed you like he wanted to burn himself into your skin. His hands roamed, fingers digging into your thighs as he pulled you closer, your body flush against his.

You moaned against his lips, but before you could lose yourself entirely, Zayne was there again—his fingers sliding up your arm, up your neck, threading through your hair as he pulled you away from Caleb and back into him.

His mouth met yours again, this time rougher, more demanding, as if he was reclaiming his space in this game.

Caleb let out a low, satisfied hum. “There’s that competitive side.”

You barely had time to process the heat in Zayne’s gaze before Caleb’s hands were sliding beneath your shirt, fingertips ghosting up your back, making you arch against him.

“I think,” Caleb murmured against your throat, “we should see just how much she can take.”

Zayne smirked against your lips. “Agreed.”

Caleb nudged you to the edge of the counter, fingers making quick work of your zipper. Beside you, Zayne watched, his expression carefully unreadable—but you could see the tension in his posture, the way his jaw clenched just slightly.

The glint in Caleb’s eye was unmistakable as he slowly peeled your pants down, his fingers dragging against your heated skin. A lazy grin spread across his lips as a flush crept up your cheeks.

“What a perfect spread you’ve got for me,” he murmured, licking his lips.

Zayne exhaled sharply, unimpressed. “If you’re just going to tease her, step aside so a real man can do the job.”

Caleb shot him a glare. “And what, you think that’s you? Come on, doc. Even as kids, you couldn’t take care of her like I could.”

Without another word, he hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties, sliding them down in one smooth motion. The way both men stared at you—hungry, reverent—sent a fresh wave of heat pooling between your thighs.

Then, slow as a hunter stalking prey, Caleb sank to his knees, lips ghosting over your inner thigh before his tongue swiped a deliberate path over your heat. The precise movement made you exhale shakily, your eyes fluttering shut—until a warm hand caught your chin.

Zayne.

He captured your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your soft whimpers as Caleb’s mouth worked between your legs, devouring you like a man starved.

You barely had time to register the way Caleb groaned against you, completely lost in the taste of you, before he pulled back just enough to smirk up at you. His lips glistened, his breath warm against your core.

“Pipsqueak, we’re moving this to the couch.”

Before you could respond, Zayne stepped in, effortlessly lifting you off the counter and turning you over in one fluid motion. Your stomach pressed against the cool surface, your ass high in the air, as he smoothed a hand down your spine.

“No, we’re not,” he murmured. “I’m taking her right here. Feel free to watch, Colonel.”

Caleb huffed a laugh, but there was an edge to it. He stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he eyed the doctor with barely contained irritation. “You always gotta be first, huh?”

Zayne ignored him, too focused on the way your body trembled in anticipation beneath him. His zipper slid down, the sound sharp in the quiet tension of the room.

Caleb scoffed at the sight of him stroking his thick length, precum already beading at the tip. “I’m bigger.”

Zayne didn’t dignify him with a response, instead lining himself up against your slick entrance. His breath was hot against your shoulder as he murmured, “Can I move?”

“Yes,” you whispered, then, remembering your audience, “But turn me to face Caleb.”

Caleb’s eyes darkened with interest as Zayne shifted you, allowing you to brace yourself against the counter while still facing the other man. The doctor’s first thrust was slow, deliberate, stretching you open inch by inch, pulling a broken moan from your lips.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Zayne breathed, his voice shaking with restraint. “You feel incredible. Even better than I imagined.”

Caleb barked a laugh, stepping closer. “So you have fantasized about her, doc.” His fingers tucked under your chin, tilting your face up toward him. “Not gonna lie, pipsqueak, as much as I hate that he’s fucking you first, you look damn good split apart on a cock.”

Your breath hitched as Zayne’s pace quickened, each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you. Your hands reached for Caleb’s waistband, already desperate to feel him too.

“I bet you wish it was you inside her right now, don’t you, Caleb?” Zayne grunted, hips snapping forward.

Caleb smirked, shoving his pants down and letting his thick length spring free. “Oh, I know I will be soon. Right, pipsqueak?”

Ignoring his words, you leaned forward, taking him into your mouth. The weight and heat of him sent a fresh wave of arousal through you, especially when he hissed at the flick of your tongue.

“Fuck,” Caleb panted, fingers threading through your hair. “I mean it, though. I need to fuck you too.”

Zayne groaned behind you, his thrusts growing erratic. “Then do it now, before I lose control.” His grip on your hips tightened. “I want to make her come before either of us do.”

Caleb glanced down at you, his eyes heavy-lidded, waiting for your answer. The air in the room was thick with tension, anticipation crackling between all three of you.

You swallowed around Caleb’s cock, then pulled back just enough to murmur, “Let’s make it work, then.”

Zayne paused, considering. “If you turn toward me, Caleb can—”

“No,” Caleb interrupted, voice firm. “You had your turn with her pussy. It’s my turn. You take her ass.”

Zayne pinched the bridge of his nose. “How about we let her decide?”

Two sets of eyes turned to you, heated and waiting.

You licked your lips, then smirked. “I am feeling a little needy… and I do think I want to feel Caleb.”

Caleb’s smirk was pure satisfaction as he reached for you, cradling you against his chest. Zayne schooled his features into something unreadable, but there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes as he pulled out and let you step toward Caleb.

“Come here, Y/N,” Caleb murmured, guiding you toward the couch. Zayne followed, his gaze heavy on your back.

Caleb sank onto the cushions, signaling you to straddle him. “Here’s how we do this. You ride me, and doc takes you from behind. You remember your safe word, yeah?”

Your heart pounded, excitement thrumming through you as you nodded. “Got it.”

You sank down onto Caleb’s cock, the stretch making your head fall back as he groaned, his hands gripping your hips.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he muttered.

Zayne, behind you, let out a slow breath. “She is.” His hands traced down your spine, soothing. “I’m going to put it in, alright? Let me know if it’s too much.”

You braced yourself as he pressed against your tight entrance, the sensation overwhelming in the best way.

“Should I stop?” Zayne asked, voice tight.

You shook your head, body thrumming with overstimulation. “No—just… keep going.”

Caleb kissed your throat, murmuring, “That’s my girl. You can take it, can’t you?”

Zayne gave a rare smirk. “Alright.” He pushed in fully, the stretch making both men groan at the tightness. Caleb’s grip on your hips tightened as he buried himself deeper.

“Holy fuck,” Caleb breathed.

Zayne exhaled sharply. “Agreed.”

The room filled with the slick, rhythmic sounds of their thrusts, the heat pooling low in your stomach. Your body trembled between them, caught in the perfect storm of their attention, their need.

“Guys,” you gasped, “I—I’m close.”

Both of them groaned, their own control unraveling.

“Can I come inside you?” Caleb rasped, his voice clipped. “Tell me I can, and I’ll fill you up.”

Zayne, voice low, added, “I won’t last much longer either.”

Your nails dug into Caleb’s shoulders. “I want you both to come inside me.”

That was all it took.

Zayne shuddered as he spilled into you, his grip almost bruising, his breath hot against your shoulder. Caleb wasn’t far behind, groaning into your skin as he pulsed inside you, their releases mixing within you.

The pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave, body clenching around them as your orgasm ripped through you.

All three of you collapsed in a tangled mess of limbs, panting, your skin humming with satisfaction.

You lay between them, your chest still rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths, your skin humming with the aftershocks of everything you’d just done. The air in the apartment was thick with heat, the kind that clung to your skin, leaving no room for pretense or denial.

Caleb was the first to break the silence, a lazy, satisfied chuckle rolling from deep in his throat as he draped an arm over his forehead. “Damn, pipsqueak,” he murmured, voice rough, spent, but still carrying that unmistakable smugness. “You really know how to keep a man on his toes.”

You exhaled a slow breath, a smirk curling at the edges of your lips. “I’d say the same for you.”

Zayne, ever composed, ran a hand through his tousled hair, the sharp control he always carried just barely slipping at the edges. He turned his head, gaze flickering over you, assessing, lingering. Then, without a word, he reached out, fingers brushing lightly down the curve of your waist—soft, reverent, a quiet claim. “Are you alright?”

You hummed, stretching slightly, feeling the delicious ache in your limbs. “More than alright.”

Caleb huffed a laugh, rolling onto his side, propping his head up with one hand as he trailed lazy fingers down your stomach, teasing. “So… who won?”

You bit your lip, flicking your gaze between the two of them—Caleb’s ever-present smirk, Zayne’s sharp, expectant stare. You let the silence stretch, relishing in their anticipation, in the way they both waited for your answer.

Then, you grinned. “Pipsqueak,” you echoed Caleb’s earlier words, sing-song voice dripping with amusement, “this was just round one.”

Caleb’s laughter rumbled through his chest as he tugged you closer, pressing a final kiss to your shoulder. “Cocky little thing.”

Zayne exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but there was something dangerous glinting in his eyes. He brushed his knuckles down your jaw, slow, intentional. “Next time,” he murmured, voice low with quiet promise, “I won’t be as patient.”

His words caused you to shiver.

Oh. This was far from over.

#love and deepspace #lads smut #lads caleb #lads zayne #lads #zayne x reader #caleb x reader #moongirlcleo #lnds caleb #lnds zayne #lnds smut #lnds

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unusualtfs · 2 days ago

Text

Public Transformation Network

“Hey bro, could I borrow your phone?”

You looked up from the online textbook you’d been reading. And up. And up. Looming over your bus seat was an absolute behemoth of a man. His black hair was slick with sweat, a clear sign he’d just been at the gym, although his beefy physique and rank musk could’ve clued you in just as easily.

“S-sorry, what?” you stammered.

The guy responded with an easygoing smile on his broad, bearded face. “Your phone. Could I borrow it for a sec? I’m visiting my bro, but my phone’s outta juice and I forget what stop to get off at. I just need to call him real quick.” His voice was deep and vacuous.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” you said. “Knock yourself out.” You placed your phone in his meaty bronze hand, carefully trying not to notice how dainty and pale your fingers looked compared to his sausages.

With nothing else to do, you watched awkwardly from your seat as he dialed his friend’s number. “Yo dude, it’s me,” he greeted boisterously. “Yeah I’m on the bus using this nerdy guy’s phone right now, mine fuckin’ ran out, haha…”

You blinked in outrage, and embarrassment. “Nerdy guy”??? Just because you wore a white button-down, and had a mousy brown mop and a complete lack of facial hair, and your entire body was skinnier than his arm, didn’t make you a nerd! You had a leather knapsack — those were cool, weren’t they? Anyways.

As the bus continued on, you caught snippets of the conversation unfolding in front of you. Evidently, the guy had gotten hopelessly turned around, and his friend was trying to figure out how to get him to his destination. Privately, you thought this seemed too complex for his simple brain to comprehend.

“Ok wait, so you’re saying I need to be on the 115? And then take Johnson Street to the 67 line? Uh-huh, uh-huh. Gotcha. Thanks, bro. That means I should get off on…” He glanced at the route map above you, and you could see his thick head visibly struggling to make sense of it. Then his brown eyes widened comically. “Shit, this stop right here!”

Sure enough, the bus had been decelerating, and now it came to a complete stop. The guy pushed his way to the crowded exit, still absorbed in his conversation. You noted with disgust that he had your phone lodged between his bristly cheek and his broad shoulder, both of which were sheened with sweat. Then it hit you — he was about to leave with your phone!

“Wait!” you said, trying to get his attention. You hated how squeaky your voice sounded compared to his bovine bass, but still, it worked.

“Huh? Oh right,” he said. Speaking into the phone, he said, “Fuck bro, gotta go. See ya soon, king.”

Then, he hung up and turned his attention to you. “Yo, thanks so much, little guy!” At this point, he was too close to the door, and there were too many people pushing to exit, for him to turn around and give your phone back. So instead, he stood up straight, braced his knees, and lobbed your phone at you with a dumb, cocky grin. “Catch, bro!”

Oh my god, what was this idiot thinking? You were going to miss, and then your phone would hit the floor and shatter into a million pieces, or it would smack someone’s head and they’d sue you for everything you had, or…

You gripped something in your hand. Peeking one eye open, you found that your phone was secure in your grip. Despite your lacking hand-eye coordination, you had somehow caught your phone, acting purely on instinct.

Then you immediately laid it on your lap, because it was slick with sweat and had thoroughly absorbed the guy’s scent. As you leaned down to clean it, your phone screen lit up with a notification. It was a message from an unknown number.

wait did u say u we’re on the 103

BRUH u werent supposed to get off yet lmaooo 💀💀

You internally groaned. Did that meathead’s friend think he was just going to keep your phone forever? He probably did; he was obviously just as much of a dumb gym bro as his friend.

You prepared to type in a polite response informing him that he had the wrong number, but suddenly the bus lurched and you lost control of your phone for a moment. Glancing back at your screen, you realized that you had accidentally pressed send:

bro just gimme ur addy i’ll put it into maps

That was absolutely not what you had typed in. You tended to be pretty dexterous, so you had no idea how that had happened. Although… you looked at your hands consideringly. They were brown and veiny, with wide and hairy fingers. You supposed it was hard to type on a phone keyboard with massive mitts like yours. Briefly, you thought that your hands seemed disproportionately large against the rest of you, that they weren’t supposed to be this big and manly, but you dismissed it, because why wouldn’t they be?

Anyways, now that that encounter was over, you could go back to studying. You scrolled through your phone, trying to locate your Kindle app. But it didn’t seem to be anywhere. Frustrated, you swiped back and forth across your home screen, not noticing how each tap sent a jolt up your body.

Swipe. You felt movement on either side of you — which you quickly realized was caused by the passengers sitting next to you. You couldn’t avoid brushing up against them with how broad your square shoulders were. It was a good problem to have.

Swipe. Absent-mindedly, you dragged your giant paws across your equally giant pecs. You didn’t know what made you feel more virile — scratching your tangled black curls of sweaty chest hair, or accidentally brushing against your protruding dark nipples. Oh wait, you knew the answer — scratching your tangled black treasure trail and brushing against your washboard abs.

Swipe. You splayed your tree trunk legs further out, stomping your size 14 feet on the floor of the bus. You didn’t care if the other passengers thought you were rude — with thighs this thick, it was impossible not to manspread, especially for someone as well-endowed as you. A wet protein fart trumpeted from your inflated ass, but you took it in stride.

Swipe. The bus lurched again, and for a moment it felt like you had leaped half a foot into the air. But your line of sight never shifted back down, and why would it? You had always been tall — just like you had always had perfectly sculpted lats and traps, and a thick bull neck, and…

Your swiping was interrupted by a notification: 5% battery remaining. You furrowed your caveman brow in confusion. Hadn’t you left your place with a full charge? How had it run out so quickly? As you were thinking, you grabbed your squirt bottle from the pocket of your gym bag and took a swig.

Duh, your gym bag — you’d been at the gym! That explained the phone battery, then; you liked to listen to workout podcasts or mindlessly scroll through TikTok as you worked out, and with how long you spent at the gym each day, more often than not you walked out of there with much less charge than you’d started with.

Judging by the sweat leaking through your black mesh tank top, though — and not to mention your musky stench — it had been an especially good session today. It had been an arm day, and you silently admired your hard work, the way your biceps and triceps swelled with power and your veiny forearms pulsed in time with your heartbeat, all wrapped up in a layer of thick black hair and perfectly tan coloring. Yeah. Those were some impressive arms you had.

A text notification popped up at the top of your screen:

bro how do you not know this by now 😭

its 992 carter st apt#208

Oh yeah, you’d been so distracted by your muscles that you’d forgotten why you were on this bus. You were going to visit your best bro later today, and your license was suspended from the last time you two had gotten a little too crunk, so public transit it was.

You glanced at the route map above you, trying to figure out the best way to get there. So you were on the red squiggly line on the left side of the image, which meant… no wait… maybe you were on that green dot in the middle? Your eyes glazed over, and your brain felt like it was stuffed with cotton candy. While that was a feeling you were very much used to, and even proud of, right now you were annoyed. Why’d they have to make these picture thingies so fucking confusing anyway? Whatever, that was why they’d invented Google Maps.

Copying over your friend’s address, you attempted to navigate to the map app. But your thick finger missed the icon entirely, instead opening your photo gallery. The most recent photo was a selfie you’d taken at the gym today, and you took a moment to admire yourself. You felt your blocky, bearded face form the exact same cocky smirk that was in the photo. Hell yeah, you were one sexy motherfucker.

Suddenly, the image turned black. You’d run out of power. You stared for a second at the face reflected on the blank phone screen, identical to the one in the photo.

“Fuck,” you muttered in your deep, slow voice, scratching your temple with one finger like a Neanderthal. You hadn’t gotten to put your friend’s address into Google Maps, and you definitely were too dumb to get there on your own. What to do?

Slowly, painstakingly, an idea formed in your thick meathead mind. Maybe… you could… use someone else’s phone… to call your friend up and ask him how to get there! You scanned the bus for people to ask. There were lots of people on their phones, but for some reason, one passenger stood out to you. He was shrimpy and short, sitting a few seats away from you in the opposite row as he tapped away at some mobile game.

Pocketing your dead device, you rose from your seat and swaggered over to the little guy.

“Hey bro, could I borrow your phone?”

#male tf #male transformation #mental transformation #personality change #mental tf #jock tf #nerd to jock #muscle growth tf #muscle tf #getting dumber #intelligence loss #unaware

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maretinelli · 2 days ago

Text

BRITISH PODIUM

DadLewis Hamilton X Mom!fem!reader

Summary: When the grand prix is in the UK, Lewis' home, and the girls are excited to join their dad in the garage, this eventually comes with a lot of questions from the Hamilton daughters.

Words: 3.8K+

Warnings: Mention of Aunt Carmen and Uncle George, some technical words coming from Marie, Pietra always making a funny comment, loving father and even better husband, mention of babies (oh!!!) Happy ending because I already put the anguish at the beginning of the miniseries hahaha

Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling, grammar, and slang mistakes that may be in the story. This story is part of the Universe of A NON-SEPARATION. But it can be read separately.

MASTERLIST

The UK race weekend was always special for Lewis, but this one had an even greater meaning. In addition to the fervent home crowd, he would have his family present in the garage, following every detail closely. His wife and two daughters would make that Sunday even more unforgettable.

That morning, Y/n was responsible for waking the girls up and starting their routine before heading out to the paddock. As soon as Pietra opened her eyes, she jumped out of bed and ran to her sister's room.

"Marie! Do you think my Ferrari t-shirt looks better with the ballet-like skirt or with my denim overalls?"

The sister, still stretching, glanced at Pietra and smiled.

"Anything will look good, you're beautiful either way."

Even though there were days of fights and arguments, most of the time the two were best friends. They always supported each other in small decisions, from choosing an outfit to making up stories together before bed.

Y/n and Lewis watched all that movement with smiles on their faces. It was impressive to see how a four-year-old girl cared so much about the clothes she would wear that day.

Sometimes, at night, when they were alone, they talked about their daughters' future. Marie was smart, fascinated by mathematics, and always asked detailed questions about her father's car when he returned from a race. For Lewis and Y/n, she would definitely be an engineer. Pietra, on the other hand, seemed to want to be everything at the same time. One week she wanted to be a journalist to interview her father, the next day an architect because she loved decorations, then a ballerina because the ballet class had been incredible. This always made them both laugh and become even more enchanted by the youngest.

Now, ready to leave the house, Marie was sitting in her car seat, while Y/n finished fastening her daughter's seatbelt. The girl was wearing a Ferrari t-shirt with her father's number and her name printed on the back, combined with loose jeans and sneakers that Lewis had helped her choose and put on. Her straight hair was tied with a red headband.

Lewis was finishing putting away his bag when he realized that Pietra was still not in the car.

"Honey, where's Pietra?"

Y/n raised her head, looking around until she noticed the open front door.

"She's still inside." She walked to the entrance and called out to her daughter. "P, come on! We're waiting for you."

The answer came from the stairs.

"I'm coming, mommy!"

Y/n walked back to the car and opened the backseat door, adjusting Pietra's chair and organizing the space. Lewis walked past her, leaving a quick kiss on her temple before heading to the driver's side.

When Yin turned to call Pietra again, the girl appeared in the doorway with a mischievous smile and a Union Jack wrapped around her body.

"Look, Mommy! Now I'm Daddy's superhero!"

Lewis laughed when he saw the scene and approached his daughter.

"Superhero, huh? Then you'll have to help me win this race today."

Pietra let out a laugh and nodded, as Lewis kissed her forehead before walking to the door to lock the house.

Y/n watched her daughter approach and smiled.

"You look beautiful with that flag. A true supporter of daddy."

Pietra gave a satisfied smile. Her curls were neatly styled and pulled back, decorated with a red bow. She was wearing the same T-shirt as her sister, but she had chosen tights and a ballet-like skirt. On her feet, black patent leather slippers gleamed in the morning sun.

Once everyone was settled in the car, Lewis started the car and asked:

"Everyone soon?"

"YES!" The girls responded in chorus, excitedly, making their parents laugh.

Y/n looked at Lewis, amused.

"If their excitement were measured in horsepower, I think it would outperform your car engine."

Lewis smiled. "If I could, I'd put both of them as my power unit. No one would catch me on the track."

Marie, leaning forward in her chair, touched her mother's shoulder.

"Mommy, can I put on some music?"

"Of course, my love."

Y/n took out her phone and connected it to the car's Bluetooth. When she opened the music app, she came across several playlists. One with only Pietra's songs, another with only Marie's, one of her own and another that she used to listen to with Lewis.

She laughed, shaking her head.

"My phone has become a playlist festival. There's something for everyone here."

Lewis gave her an amused look.

"I call this the democratization of sound."

Pietra raised her hand. "Then I'll choose the song first!"

Y/n laughed and put on her playlist. During the walk to the paddock, the girls sang happily, while Lewis and Y/n laughed, both at the childish voices and at Pietra's random comments.

When they arrived at the circuit, Lewis parked the car. The place was already busy, with fans arriving and journalists preparing their cameras. Photographers were already recording the first moments of the day.

As Y/n unbuttoned Pietra in the back seat, the girl looked at her and said: "Mommy, do you want to have another baby? Because these days I dreamed that I had a little brother."

Lewis laughed immediately, while Y/n's eyes widened, finishing unbuckling her daughter's belt before turning to Marie.

"P, my love... where did that idea come from?"

"Hey, from my dream!"

Lewis, still laughing, shrugged. "That wouldn't be such a bad idea."

Y/n turned to him, arching her eyebrow.

"Let's live in the present and think about it later, okay?"

Lewis leaned toward her, smiling.

"If it depends on me, the future is already planned."

Y/n laughed and rolled her eyes before everyone got out of the car. Each of them took one of the girls by the hand and they began walking through the parking lot towards the paddock.

When they reached the entrance turnstiles, Pietra held her father's hand tightly and looked at him expectantly.

"Daddy, can I swipe my badge by myself?"

Lewis smiled and picked her up.

"Sure, little one. Here, hold on."

Pietra took the badge and, focused, passed it through the machine, unlocking the turnstile.

"I achieved!"

Lewis walked past with her on his lap, while Y/n and Marie walked past together, laughing at something they were talking about. Lewis looked at them and smiled.

The girls carried small backpacks on their backs. Pietra had filled hers with new toys that her father had brought back from his trip, eager to show them to her favorite aunt and uncle, George and Carmen. Marie, more practical, put out cookies, snacks and candy. Y/n allowed it, after all, once in a while it wouldn't hurt.

The flag that Pietra had picked up earlier was now folded inside her backpack. She was waiting anxiously for the right moment to wrap herself in it again—her father would win this race, and she would be ready to celebrate.

As they approached the Ferrari garage, some people recognized the girls and greeted them. Pietra, always outgoing, waved excitedly, asked questions and smiled at everyone.

"Hi! Do you work with Daddy?" She asked an engineer, curious.

"Yes, I do work, I help take care of his car." The man replied, smiling.

"So you're also rooting for him to win, aren't you?"

"For sure!"

Marie, on the other hand, was more reserved, just waved shyly and responded with a polite "Hi" to whoever spoke to her.

When they arrived at the garage, the engineers greeted them with smiles and greetings. The girls were soon surrounded by people who were already used to seeing them there. Charles arrived soon after, bending down to talk to them.

"Bonjour, girls! Are you ready to cheer for daddy today?"

"Yes! We're home!" Pietra replied excitedly, while Marie just nodded with a small smile.

Meanwhile, Lewis was talking quickly with his engineer and the strategist, adjusting the last details of the race. Y/n, a little behind the girls, gave space so that they could fit in, while exchanging a few words with Charles' girlfriend.

Time passed, and Lewis was back in the garage, now dressed in his racing suit. Pietra was busy showing her toys to Carmen and George, who had stopped by to see them. George soon had to go back to his garage, leaving Pietra with Carmen.

Marie, meanwhile, stood beside her father, watching intently as he showed her the car.

"Dad, what's your strategy for today?"

Lewis smiled, admiring his daughter's interest. "I'll try to overtake early on to take the lead."

Marie frowned, analyzing. “But if you do it too aggressively, you might wear out your tires before the first stop.”

Lewis blinked a few times, surprised by the remark. A few engineers nearby also raised their eyebrows in surprise.

Y/n smiled proudly, while Alexandra, beside her, commented: "Marie is very intelligent."

Y/n replied, smiling. "I like to think a little something came from me too." They laugh.

At that moment, Pietra returned to the garage hand in hand with Carmen, who smiled affectionately at the little girl.

"Mommy, I think I want to watch the race with Aunt Carmen today." Pietra said, making Y/n laugh.

"Oh really? Are you going to abandon daddy like that?"

Pietra widened her eyes, realizing.

"True! Daddy needs me!" She looked at Carmen and sighed. "I'm sorry, Aunt Ca. I can't stay with you."

Carmen laughed and bent down to look at Pietra.

"Okay, my little one. But you can come and tell me everything after the race. Deal?"

"Combined!"

Y/n smiled, watching the interaction.

"They still haven't gotten used to the fact that we're not in the same garage anymore," he commented to Carmen.

"Two years already and still like this." Y/n laughs. "It took me a while to get used to it too."

After a few more words, Carmen said goodbye and headed to the other garage.

Pietra had run to where her father was with her sister, paying attention to her father's car and smiled.

"Daddy, can I get in the car?"

Lewis laughed. "If you go in, you might not want to come out."

"No problem! I'll drive for you, Daddy!"

Lewis laughed and picked up his daughter, placing her inside the cockpit. Pietra's eyes widened.

"Wow! But it's so small in here!" She grimaced. "AND THERE'S NO AIR!"

Lewis laughed, pulling her out of the car.

"You have a reason for that." Marie explained, looking at her sister on her father's lap. "The space is small because the car needs to be light and aerodynamic. And it may lack air because of the protections and the steering wheel."

Lewis smiled at his eldest daughter. "Exactly! You really pay attention to everything, huh?"

Marie smiled proudly.

Time passed quickly and, with only fifteen minutes left until the start, Y/n and the girls were in the area reserved for family members. Y/n was sitting with Marie next to her and Pietra on her lap, while they both ate the cookies that Marie had brought in her backpack. Y/n was talking to Alexandra when one of the engineers announced that the drivers were heading to the grid.

As soon as Lewis approached, the two girls ran towards him excitedly. Y/n laughed at the scene-the sound of their laughter was identical to Lewis's.

"Marie may look more like you physically, but she has her father's laugh." Alexandra smiled.

Y/n laughed and shook her head.

"That's right, two mini versions of Lewis. I'm surrounded!"

Pietra looked at her father and held out her hand with a biscuit. "Daddy, eat. What if you're hungry?"

"Oh, thank you, dear!" Lewis laughed and accepted, taking a bite before kissing his daughter's head.

"Don't make a mistake on Turn 3. I saw in the last race that it's a difficult section." Marie looked at him with a serious look.

Lewis laughed. "I'll be careful, I promise, honey."

He kissed his daughters' heads and then stood up, approaching Y/n. With a smile, he held her face and gave her a kiss.

"Take care." Y/n whispered, caressing his face.

"Always. And I'll be back." He replied with a smile.

Lewis then walked to the car. Y/n and the girls watched as he prepared to leave for the grid.

Pietra nudged her mother's arm. "Mommy, Daddy has to win! I want to get my flag again."

Y/n to them.

"I want him to win too, my love. But keep the flag safe for now, okay?"

Pietra smiled and hugged her mother's legs.

Y/n stroked the youngest's curls, while her other hand held Marie's. Her heart was beating fast not only from the race, but from the immense love she felt for that family.

There, in that corner of the garage, with Pietra snuggled in her lap and Marie sitting next to her, Y/n found herself reflecting on her life. Her dreams were all there, materialized. An incredible husband, whom she admired deeply, two sweet and intelligent daughters, and a dream job. Everything seemed perfect.

But sometimes, a strange feeling would come over her, as if something was still missing. She didn't know exactly what, only that every now and then, this feeling would arise subtly, leaving her thoughtful for a few seconds before being interrupted by the reality around her.

On the grid, with just a few minutes left before the race started, one of the engineers approached Marie, holding a special headset that transmitted communications directly between Lewis and the team.

"What is this?" Marie asked curiously, looking at the object.

"This will let you listen to your dad's radio during the race. Want to try it?"

The girl's eyes lit up, and she immediately looked at Y/n, who smiled and nodded.

"Go ahead, my love."

Marie picked up the earphone carefully, as if she were holding a treasure, and placed it on her ears. "Thank you so much!" She thanked the engineer, adjusting the earphones.

Meanwhile, Pietra had gone back to focusing on her cookies, swinging her little feet absentmindedly.

Then the lights on the grid went out and the race began. Pietra let out a little scream and covered her eyes, while Marie pressed the headphones to her ears, euphoric.

Y/n laughed at her daughters' reactions, watching as each one expressed their support in their own way.

The race unfolded and Marie gave detailed commentary, as if she were part of the engineering team.

"He needs to conserve the tyres more now because if there is a safety car the strategy can change completely." She murmured to her mother, paying attention to what she heard on the radio.

Pietra, although younger and less technical, was equally fascinated. She looked at the monitors with shining eyes, even though she had watched so many of her father's races before.

At one point, Pietra tugged on her mother's shirt sleeve. "Mommy, can I talk to Daddy on the radio?"

"What do you want to talk to him about?" Y/n looked at her daughter, amused.

"I want to ask if he ate the cookie I gave him!"

Y/n laughed and picked her up.

"Daughter, daddy can't chat during the race." She said, kissing the little girl's cheek.

"But he ate it, didn't he?" Pietra pouted.

"Yes, he ate it all. Don't worry."

Meanwhile, the race broadcast captured footage of the Ferrari garage, and Pietra and Marie appeared on the screen, cheering enthusiastically.

Commentators were quick to notice.

"And look who showed up again! Lewis Hamilton's daughters, always super involved in their father's racing."

"Exactly! Marie, the six-year-old daughter, even seems like part of the team, always attentive to the technical details. Meanwhile, Pietra is pure emotion!"

The race continued intensely and was approaching the end. Lewis was in the lead, and Pietra was holding the flag inside her backpack.

"I'll only take it off when he crosses the finish line!" She said determinedly.

Marie squeezed her mother's hand and whispered softly, "Come on, Daddy...you can do it."

Y/n felt a tightness in her chest, moved to see how much the girls admired their father. He was an example to them, and the connection between the three of them was unbreakable. Practically triplets.

On the last curve, Pietra already started pulling the flag from her backpack. And then, Lewis crossed the finish line.

"DADDY WON!" Pietra shouted and, without thinking twice, wrapped herself in the Union Jack and ran out of the garage, making the engineers and Alexandra laugh.

Y/n smiled, her eyes watering. Her husband had won at home, her girls were beaming with pride, and she knew that in that moment, Lewis was fulfilled.

She held her daughters’ hands and led them to the front of the garage, waiting to see Lewis before the podium ceremony. As he stepped out of the car, still holding his helmet, his eyes swept the room until they found him. Before he even hugged the engineers, he bent down and opened his arms to his daughters.

Marie smiled, and with Pietra they ran towards their father, still with the youngest wrapped in the flag, causing laughter from everyone around.

Lewis laughed and picked them both up, still kneeling on the floor.

"You didn't miss turn 3, Daddy!" Marie said with a proud smile.

"I knew you were going to win, because I was rooting for you so much!" Pietra added, holding his face with her little hands.

Y/n walked over, and Lewis looked up at her. His smile was tired but radiant. Before she could say anything, he pulled her into a tight hug, not caring about the sweat and dirt on his overalls.

"I just needed to look at you and remember what I run for." He murmured in her ear.

Y/n smiled, moved, and replied lovingly: "And I only need to look at you to remember how much I love you."

Pietra, still wrapped in the flag, made a playful face. "YUCK! Here comes the kiss!"

Lewis and Y/n laughed. He kissed the little girl's forehead and then gave his wife a quick peck.

Marie, ever observant, tugged on her father's arm and pointed at the car. "You wore out the tires, huh? I think that strategy almost backfired."

An engineer nearby laughed and commented, "Hamilton, I think your daughter could be our strategist in a few years."

"She's my number one co-pilot!" Lewis smiled and picked Marie up, spinning her around in the air, making her laugh.

In the middle of the celebration, Pietra, excited, accidentally wrapped herself completely in the flag, leaving only her face visible.

"Ah! Mommy, help me! I'm stuck!"

Lewis, seeing the scene, let out a loud laugh.

"Come here, champ," he said, bending down to unroll it. Pietra laughed along, swinging her arms as she finally freed herself from the cloth. "There, now put it over your shoulders and tie it here near your neck." Lewis demonstrated, arranging the flag like a cape. "That way, you won't get caught again."

"Thank you, Daddy!" The youngest smiled and Lewis's heart skipped a beat.

Lewis kissed her cheek and then looked at Y/n and Marie.

"I need to get ready for the podium."

"Let's wait down here!!" Y/n smiled.

The Ferrari team quickly secured a safe space for Y/n and the girls to watch the ceremony without being squeezed in by journalists, photographers and other people.

When Lewis stepped up to the podium and lifted the trophy, Pietra began to scream excitedly and wave the flag wildly, while Marie just smiled, clapping with pride. Both were on their mother's lap, who was doing her best to balance her girls. They were growing up so fast.

When it was time for the anthem, the girls sang together, respecting the solemn moment. Lewis, up there, exchanged an intense and loving look with Y/n. Neither of them said anything, but they both had tears in their eyes.

When it was time for champagne, Lewis pretended to point the bottle in their direction.

Pietra let out a little scream and hid in her mother's neck and pulled Marie to do the same. "NO, DADDY! I already took a shower!"

Everyone around laughed, including the other drivers on the podium.

When the ceremony was over, Lewis went down to the garage, where he found his three girls waiting for him. As soon as she saw him, Pietra ran to him.

"Daddy! Can we put the trophy in my room?"

Lewis laughed, shaking his head. "The trophies go to the team, my champion. But I promise I'll make a copy just for you."

Marie, more serious, took the trophy and examined it carefully. "The design is well done."

Lewis raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Now you're a trophy expert too?" Marie laughed and hugged her father's waist, making Lewis's smile widen and he stroked her straight hair, identical to his mother's.

Y/n stepped closer, putting her arm around his shoulders. "And you deserve every single one of them."

Time passed and while Lewis was in interviews and post-race meetings, Pietra made Y/n and Marie go to the Mercedes garage to talk to Aunt Carmen and Uncle George.

She explained every move her father made with the car and sometimes Marie had to intervene because she was exaggerating the facts. Which made them and Y/n laugh.

Y/n and Carmen spent a good amount of time chatting as well, while the girls showed George everything they had learned in ballet last week and made the Mercedes driver do some steps with them. Or, with Marie making him say some words in Portuguese that he had learned in his language class.

And now, after fulfilling all his post-race commitments, Lewis finally drove home with Yin and the girls. In the back seat, Pietra played with the flag, while Marie looked out the window, tired but still excited.

Y/n looked at her husband and joked, "I think your victory only happened because your fans were strong today."

"Definitely! I'll need them for every race now." Lewis laughed.

Halfway there, the girls became tired. Pietra fell asleep holding the flag against her chest, while Marie rested her head against the window and fell asleep.

Y/n watched the two of them and suddenly felt that tightness in her heart again. Lewis noticed her gaze, took one of his hands off the steering wheel and held hers affectionately. Without needing to ask, he smiled, as if he knew exactly what she was feeling.

"Our team can still grow, love."

"I know..." Y/n smiled back, squeezing his hand lightly. "I appreciate that, love. I love you!"

"I love you, my sunshine!" He kissed the back of her hand, before turning his attention back to the road. "And you know, I'm here for whatever decision you make." Y/n smiled, leaning her head back against the seat and admiring her husband every now and then.

#fanfiction #y/n #romance #imagines #lovers #one shot #formula 1 #formula one #marriage #fem reader #lewis hamilton x y/n #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton #dad and daughter

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j2archives · 2 days ago

Text

(LOVER)BOY

summary sam has held a crush on you ever since he’d first saw you down stanford hallways, but once you got partnered up for a school project, sam understands why he’s always felt that attraction towards you. and now you as a sorority girl, have the same one.

pairings stanford!sam x popular!fem!reader

content warnings sam is a cutie, mentions of reader being a sorority girl, valentine’s day!!, sam watches a rom-com for reader, reader catches him staring at her lips, sam cannot stop falling in love with her, SMUT!!, unprotected sex, p!v, kissing, sub!sam, soft dom!reader, praise, dirty talk, creampie (if you squint), really needy, sam begging and whimpering, mentions of sam’s… size, short but cute ending, short and sweet honestly (go stream short ‘n sweet deluxe!!), and more.

notes definitely for my two babies @immodestly-marina AND @h8aaz . . . 1k+ and proofread, kinda rushed (i’ve been sitting for 3 days stuck on the sub!sam part because IM IN LOVE w/ this puppy dog eyed boy

Your dorm room is silent, but not an uncomfortable silence. it was comforting, a contrast to the usual music blasting in your ear around this time. most of your saturdays were spent like that, either being a designated driver for the drunk sorority girls or being the one in the backseat shitfaced straight to hell. but not today.

it was valentine’s day, and you weren’t at a party. you weren’t getting shitfaced. you were spending it with him.

on tuesday, you were assigned a project, your professor decided on pairing you up randomly instead of letting everyone choose a partner. you got paired with sam, the boy who sat two rows behind you.

he knew who you were, sam had been harboring a crush on you for a while now, and thanks to the professor, he got to speak to you instead of just offering you a pen like he would any other day. he kept to himself most of the time, so sam knew you probably didn’t know who he was. but to his surprise, you did. and the project was finished quicker than you both would’ve expected.

you and sam got along well, you shared a few interests and he was the first guy that didn’t start hitting on you with a pickup line during the first conversation. he was careful, always making sure that it was okay if he asked a question, even if he needed to borrow a pencil, he would ask so sweetly.

your friends didn’t understand why you hadn’t shown up to the party since you usually were always there, and your phone had rang for a good 30 minutes before you turned it off and placed it in your bag. sam was still a bit confused on why you decided to stay with him, he assumed that after the project was done you would’ve gone back to your friend group. but you didn’t, you stayed with him.

now, you were both in your dorm room. sam agreed when you asked him if he would watch a movie with you — maybe he agreed too fast. but here you were, it was a random rom-com. usually sam didn’t watch these type of movies, but he learned that you actually enjoyed laughing at the cheesy moments. and that was enough to convince him. he wished he could mentally record your laughter, store it away in his head somewhere. and your smile, he wanted to take a photo of it and tattoo it in his brain forever.

he couldn’t stop looking at you, admiring every detail on your face.

your voice cut through his thoughts, “what’s going on in there, lawboy?” sam blinked, your words starting to register. his face felt hot, and he was sure there was an obvious blush on his face.

“‘s nothing, just… thinking.” he nearly stumbled over his words, it was hard enough to try and not stutter in any way. but you knew there was more than that. he was sometimes a good liar, but you also could read him like a book. it was one of your talents.

“so… staring at my lips helps you think?” sam hadn’t realized that his eyes had lingered on them for so long, his eyes widened for a brief second as he tried to get an answer out. but you cut him off with your lips before he could.

he froze for a split second, but he melted into it. you could feel his lips moving back against yours, and you swore he seemed eager. your fingers went up to curl in his soft locks, tugging at them. sam let out a soft moan, his lips parted just enough for you to slip your tongue past. you explored every corner and crevice of his mouth, wanting to taste him. and he let you.

when you moved to straddle his lap, sam’s hands lifted to rest on your hips. his thumbs stroked the skin underneath the hem of your tank, your lips never disconnecting once. reluctantly, he pulled away, trailing open-mouthed kisses down starting from your jaw. his lips grazed over your pulse point, starting to suck and nibble at the sensitive skin, earning a gasp from you.

“fuck,” your curse spurred him on further, his fingers making their way up to the thin straps of your top. he tugged at it, looking up at you for permission.

“can i?” why did he have to sound so sweet?

with your nod, he tugged the straps down. he didn’t think anything could drive him more crazy but, you wearing no bra underneath did. sam’s thumbs traced over your nipples, feeling them harden beneath his touch. your hips rolled down against his, experimenting. this time, both of you let out a moan. you could feel his hardness pressing firmly against your core and you couldn’t help but to keep grinding down against it, craving the friction again.

—

he lifted his hips to help you undo his slacks, watching you undo his belt and pull down his jeans past his knees. you were both bare besides the thin barrier of his boxers and your panties were the only thing that separated you two. sam sounded breathless, “i need to feel you… please, baby.” he sounded so pretty when he begged, and you took note. keeping that in mind for next time.

once you started to lift yourself up, both hands flew to your hips to hold you steady. god, it was better than he imagined. your hands teased the hem of his briefs before tugging the fabric off. he was aching for this, the tip of him flushed a pretty red tint.

and he was leaking like a girl. all for you. everything was for you. it always had been.

“is that okay?” he sounded nervous, and his manners just fueled your arousal even more. he was putting your pleasure before his, wanting to make sure you were comfortable.

“you’re perfect, sam.” a nervous smile curled up on sam’s lips at your praise. the pink hue that was more evident on his cheeks was beautiful. he really was, and the way he was looking at you…

sam thought you were one of the most gorgeous, smartest, amazing women on campus, he always had. every time you walked down the hallways or on the sidewalks next to the building, he had his eyes on you. the way your hair flowed, the way your eyes darted to pay attention to who was speaking… when you first did that with him, he thought he would simply pass away. now he was going to have sex with you? now you were praising him? of all people? he’s never been harder in his life.

the hands on your hips guided you to align with his cock. once you hovered over him, sam let one hand slip down to your panties. he could feel the heat radiating from your core, “you’re so beautiful.” and he means it. he really does.

you were soaked, a damp patch apparent where your covered slit was. his eyes widened when he realized. sam winchester, the prelaw student, had you, the popular girl, wet because of him. fuck, he was gonna have good dreams tonight.

sam felt your hand over his, guiding him to pull your panties aside. revealing your most intimate part, he took in a sharp intake of breath.

“do you want me to do this with you, sam? is that okay?” you wanted to make sure this was what he wanted, even though the answer was obvious. he really was a sight to behold. he was perfect, thick and long… and much larger than anyone you’ve ever taken. but especially much softer, more gentle with you. he wasn’t trying to rush you, he was letting you take the lead.

“yes. please.” he begged, his puppy-dog eyes looking up at you with a loving expression.

he grasped his length in his hand, his free one on your hip. guiding his tip to your entrance, sam leaned forward. He captured your lips in a gentle, but passionate kiss. Soothing your nerves as he helped you lower down onto his cock.

you gasped against his mouth, the stretch burned a bit at first. and it took you a while to adjust to the intrusion, sam was still — he knew he was big, not in an egotistical way, but he knew it was a lot for you. His thumb stroked the skin of your hip, and now his other hand stroked the inside of your thigh. Once you were fully seated, he pulled away an inch. in a soft voice, “are you okay? we can stop if you want.” always a gentleman.

“no, no it’s okay, baby. jus’ give me a few minutes.” sam’s heart fluttered at the pet name, and he nodded. he never stopped the gentle caress on your sides, now pressing kisses to your jaw in attempts of calming you. and he was damn good at it.

with a deep breath, you nodded.

the first time you moved, you both groaned. he filled you deliciously, all in the right places. you didn’t want to stop, and you started a steady pace. he latched onto your nipple, sucking and biting at the pebble. your fingers went to his hair, tugging and stroking through the brown strands. sam whimpered against your breast.

he fucking whimpered because you pulled his hair. his hips bucked, earning a loud, wanton cry from you. the way you were bouncing on his cock, looking so blissed out because of him… it drew out a string of curses and moans from him. the sound of skin meeting skin, the obscene sound of your pussy being filled with every inch of his dick made his eyes roll back.

“y-you’re so tight, mph-“ your eyes rolled back, feeling sam twitch inside of you. you kissed him hard, pulling harder at his locks. mumbling against his lips, you managed out: “you’re so big in me, sam… fuck, is this what you imagined? you feel so good, baby.” the last sentence was a drawn out moan. you were so close, and he was barely hanging on. the way you tightened and pulsed around him made his balls draw up tight.

he whined this time, “i need to cum, please. please let me cum inside you- inside your pussy, fuck!” his voice was breaking. he wanted you, he needed you. you took pleasure in this, from him. it was driving you over the edge just by how pathetic he sounded right now.

“yes, you can. yeah, sammy… you can cum. fuck, push me over the edge, i know you can.” your forehead was pressed to his, your hips moving faster. his hand was shaky as he took two fingers to your clit, rubbing the pearl in continuous circles. sam barely could contain his cries as he came, painting your inner walls pure white. he felt your cunt spasm around him, and his body went limp beneath you.

sam let you ride out your orgasm on him, using his body for your pleasure. the sight was fucking stunning… there was a stirring in his groin again. he didn’t think he’d ever be able to stop.

“I um, I meant to say. Happy Valentine’s day.” a smile curved up on your lips, looking up at his still pink face. god he was adorable, “Happy Valentine’s day, Loverboy.”

#sam winchester #j2archives writes sammy ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆#sam winchester x female reader #sam winchester x reader #sub sam winchester #supernatural #sam winchester fluff #he’s a sweet boy #i love him #valentine’s day #god i’m gonna KISS HIM!!#stupid cupid #sam winchester smut #sam winchester/reader

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